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 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 .»5, ... ^
 
 THE GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY UNVEILED : being 
 Essaj's by William Godwin, Author of ' Political Justice ' &c. 
 Never before published. Edited, -nith Preface, by C. Kegan Paul. 
 1 vol. crown Svo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 ' Few have thought more clearly 
 and directly tlaan William Godwin, 
 or expressed their reflections with 
 more simplicity and unreserve.' 
 Examiner. 
 
 'The deliberate thouijhts of 
 Godwin deserve to be put before 
 the world for reading and con- 
 sideration.' Athen^um. 
 
 WILLIAM GODWIN (Shelley's Father-in-Law). AUTO- 
 BIOGRAPHY, MEMOIR, AND CORRESPONDENCE OF. With 
 Portraits of W. Godwin and his Wife, Mary WoUstonecraft Godwin, 
 by C. Kegan Paul. 2 vols, demy Svo. {Preparing. 
 
 HENRY S. KING & CO. 
 
 65 Cornhill; and 12 Paternoster Row, London.

 
 SHELLEY MEMORLALS: 
 FROM A UTHENTIC SOURCES. 
 
 EDITED BY LADY SHELLEY. 
 
 WITH, NOW MUST rUlNTED, 
 
 AN ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY, 
 
 BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 Henry S. King & Co. 
 
 65 CoRNHiLL & 12 Pateknoster Row, London 
 1875
 
 {The right of translation is reserved.)
 
 
 
 5V3/ t» 
 
 PEEFACB 
 
 TO 
 
 THE THIED EDITION. 
 
 My publishers have asked me to introduce this third 
 edition of the Shelley Memorials by a few words ; and 
 this the more that, issued at a considerable interval of 
 time from the earlier editions, some expectation may 
 be raised of new disclosures in regard to Shelley's 
 Life. These might not unnaturally be looked for in 
 a work pretending, however slightly, to a biographical 
 character. 
 
 The time, however, has not arrived at which it is 
 desirable that facts already known to the poet's own 
 family and a few private friends should be disclosed. 
 Now, as when this book was first issued, we feel confident 
 that the more is really known the more will all mists 
 of false aspersion and misconception clear away from 
 Shelley's memory ; now, as then, we feel that we obey 
 the wishes of the dead in keeping silence on all beyond 
 what here is told. 
 
 Until, therefore, the life can be written with the full
 
 vi PEEFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 
 
 sanction of the family — and this will hereafter be done — 
 it seems best, in answer to a certain demand for it, to 
 reissue the work, with one exception, as it appeared in 
 1859. 
 
 That exception is the steel engraving which forms 
 the frontispiece. It is taken from the original picture 
 by Miss Curran, painted at Kome in 1818, now in Sir 
 
 Percy Shelley's possession. 
 
 Jane Shelley. 
 
 BoscoMBE Manob : 
 November 10, 187't.
 
 PEEFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE FIEST EDITION. 
 
 Had it been left entirely to the uninfluenced wishes of 
 Sir Percy Shelley and myself, we should have preferred 
 that the publication of the materials for a life of Shelley 
 which we possess should have been postponed to a later 
 period of our lives ; but, as we had recently noticed, 
 both in French and English magazines, many papers 
 on Shelley, all taking for their text Captain Medwin's 
 Life of the Poet (a book full of errors), and as other 
 biographies had been issued, written by those who had 
 no means of ascertaining the truth, we were anxious 
 that the numerous misstatements which had gone forth 
 should be corrected. 
 
 For this purpose, we placed the documents in our 
 possession at the disposal of a gentleman whose literary 
 habits and early knowledge of the poet seemed to point 
 him out as the most fitting person for bringing them 
 to the notice of the public. It was clearly understood, 
 however, that our wishes and feelings should be con- 
 sulted in all the details.
 
 viii PREFACE TO 
 
 We saw the book for the first time when it was given 
 to the world. It was impossible to imagine beforehand 
 that from such materials a book could have been pro- 
 duced which has astonished and shocked those who have 
 the greatest right to form an opinion on the character 
 of Shelley ; and it was with the most painful feelings of 
 dismay that we perused what we could only look upon 
 as a fantastic caricature, going forth to the public with 
 my apparent sanction, — for it was dedicated to myself. 
 
 Our feelings of duty to the memory of Shelley left 
 us no other alternative than to withdraw the materials 
 which we had originally entrusted to his early friend, 
 and which we could not but consider had been strangely 
 misused ; and to take upon ourselves the task of laying 
 them before the public, connected only by as slight 
 a thread of narrative as would suffice to make them 
 intelgible to the reader. 
 
 I have condensed as much as possible the details of 
 the early period of Shelley's life, for I am aware that 
 a great many of them have already appeared in print. 
 The repetition of some, however, was considered advis- 
 able, since it is very probable that this volume will be 
 read by many who have not seen, nor are likely to see, 
 any other work giving an account of the writings and 
 actions of Shelley. 
 
 I little expected that this task would devolve on me, 
 and I am fully sensible how unequal I am to its proper 
 fulfilment. To give a truthful statement of long-dis-
 
 THE FIRST EDITION. ix 
 
 torted facts, and to clear away the mist in wliich the 
 misrepresentations of foes and professed friends have 
 obscui'ed the memory of Shelley, have been my only 
 objects. My labom-s have been greatly assisted by the 
 help of an intimate and valued friend of Mrs. Shelley, 
 and by Mr. Edmund Oilier, whose father (the publisher 
 of Shelley's works) at once freely offered me the use of 
 some most interesting letters written to himself. I 
 regret to say that this gentleman died while the present 
 work was passing through the printer's hands. 
 
 It is needless to say that the authenticity of all the 
 documents contained in this volume is beyond question ; 
 but the public would do well to receive with the utmost 
 caution all letters purporting to be by Shelley which 
 have not some indisputable warrant.* 
 
 The art of forging letters purporting to be relics of 
 men of literary celebrity, and therefore apparently pos- 
 sessing a commercial value, has been brought to a rare 
 perfection by those who have made Mr. Shelley's hand- 
 writing the object of their imitation. Within the last 
 fom'teen years, on no less than three occasions, have 
 forged letters been presented to our family for purchase. 
 In December 1851, Sir Percy Shelley and the late 
 
 * Those printed in the -work to which allusion has already been 
 made have never, for the most part, been seen by any other person 
 than the author of that work ; and the erasures which he has already 
 made in them, together with the arrangement of their pai-agraphs, 
 render them of doubtful value, however authentic may be the originals 
 which that gentleman asserts he possesses.
 
 X PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 Mr. Moxon bought several letters, all of which proved 
 to be forgeries, though, on the most careful inspection, 
 we could scarcely detect any difference between these 
 and the originals ; for some were exact copies of docu- 
 ments in our possession. The water-mark on the paper 
 was generally, though not always, the mark appropriate 
 to the date ; and the amount of ingenuity exercised was 
 most extraordinary. Mr. Moxon published what he had 
 bought in a small volume, but recalled the work shortly 
 afterwards, on discovering that some of the letters 
 had been manufactured from articles in magazines and 
 reviews, written long after Shelley's death. 
 
 The letter to Lord EUenborough has never before 
 been published ; but I regard it as too extraordinary 
 a production for a youth of eighteen to feel myself 
 justified in suppressing it. 
 
 The fragmentary Essay on Christianity, published at 
 the end of this volume, was found amongst Shelley's 
 papers in the imperfect state in which it is now pro- 
 duced. 
 
 BoscoMBE : June 22, 18-39.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 Early Life of Shelley 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 FiEST Love : Oxford : Expulsion . 
 
 . 12 
 
 III. 
 
 First Marriage 
 
 . 20 
 
 IV. 
 
 Acquaintance with G-od-svin .... 
 
 . 24 
 
 V. 
 
 Literary Correspondence: 1812 . 
 
 . 38 
 
 VI. 
 
 Poetical Labours and Domestic Sorrows 
 
 . 50 
 
 VII. 
 
 Enc4land and Switzerland : Judgment of th 
 
 E Lord 
 
 
 Chancellor : the ' Kevolt of Islam ' 
 
 . 67 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Italy: 1818 
 
 . 90 
 
 IX. 
 
 ' Prometheus Unbound : ' the ' Cenci ' . 
 
 . 109 
 
 X. 
 
 The Poet's Life at Pisa and Leghorn . 
 
 . 131 
 
 XI. 
 
 Shelley and Byron at Pisa .... 
 
 • U7 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Bay of Spezzla 
 
 . 176 
 
 XIII 
 
 Shelley's Death and Obsequies 
 
 . 194 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Mary Shelley 
 
 . 20,5 
 
 
 Extracts fr »m Mrs. Shelley's Private Journ. 
 
 i.L . . 230 
 
 
 Essay on Christianity 
 
 . 253
 
 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY LIFE. 
 
 At the close of the last century, the family of the 
 Shelleys had long held a high position among the large 
 landholders of Sussex. Fortunate marriao;es in the 
 two generations preceding the birth of the poet con- 
 siderably increased the wealth and influence of the 
 house, the head of Avhich in 1806 was a staunch Whig, 
 and on that ground obtained a baronetcy from the 
 short-lived Whig Administration of that year. Four- 
 teen years previously, — viz., on the 4tli of August, 
 1792, — his illustrious grandson drew the first breath 
 of life. Percy Btsshe Shelley was born on that 
 day at Field Place, near Horsham, Sussex. He was 
 the eldest son of Timothy Shelley, Esq., subsequently 
 the second baronet ; and was christened Bysshe 
 after his grandfather. x\t six years of age, the boy 
 was sent to a day-school near the residence of his 
 
 B
 
 2 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 parents, and at ten left home for the seminary of 
 Dr. Greenlaw, at Brentford, Middlesex. Here he ac- 
 quired the dead languages, seemingly by intuition ; for, 
 during school hours, he would gaze abstractedly at 
 the passing clouds, or would scrawl in his school-books 
 (a habit which he never lost) rude drawings of pines 
 and cedars, in memory of those standing on the lawn 
 of his native home. 
 
 He was regarded by his schoolfellows as a strange, 
 unsociable person. Never joining in their sports, he 
 passed much of his leisure time in solitude, and on 
 holidays would walk backwards and forwards along 
 the southern wall of the playgromid, indulging in wild 
 fancies and vague meditations. Still, though he seem- 
 ingly neglected his tasks, he soon surpassed all his 
 competitors ; for his memory was so tenacious that he 
 never forgot what he had once learned. He was very 
 fond of reading, and eagerly perused all the books 
 which were brought to school after the holidays. Stories 
 of haunted castles, bandits, murderers, and various 
 grim creations of fancy, were his favourites ; and in 
 after years he began his literary life by writing similar 
 wild romances. When at Field Place during the 
 vacations, his propensity to frolic — always, however, 
 unaccompanied by the infliction of pain on any living 
 creatm'e — his partiality for moonlight walks, and his 
 wonderfully exuberant imagination, came under the 
 notice of his sister, who, in some spirited and graceful 
 letters, has recorded a few of the incidents of this 
 period.
 
 EARLY LIFE. 3 
 
 " Bysshe," writes Miss Shelley, " would frequently 
 come to the niu'sery, and was full of a peculiar kind 
 of pranks. One piece of mischief, for which he was 
 rebuked, was running a stick through the ceilmg of 
 a low passage, to find some new chamber which could 
 be made effective for some flights of his vivid imagi- 
 nation. The tales to which we have sat and listened, 
 evening after evening, seated on liis knee, when we 
 came to the dining-room for dessert, were anticipated 
 with that pleasing dread which so excites the minds 
 of cliildren, and fastens so strongly and indelibly on 
 the memory. 
 
 " There was a spacious garret under the roof of 
 rield Place, and a room which had been closed for 
 years, excepting an entrance made by the removal 
 of a board in the garret floor. This unknown land 
 was made the fancied habitation of an alchemist, old 
 and grey, with a long beard. Books and a lamp, with 
 all the attributes of a picturesque fancy, were poured 
 into our listening ears. We Avere to go and see liim 
 * some day,' but we were content to wait ; and a cave 
 was to be dug in the orchard for the accommodation 
 of this Cornelius Agrippa. 
 
 " Bysshe was certainly fond of eccentric amusements ; 
 but they delighted us, as children, quite as much as if 
 our minds had been naturally attmied to the same tastes : 
 for we di'essed ourselves in strange costumes to per- 
 sonate 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 ; 
 
 B 2
 
 4 SHELLEY iAIEilOPJALS. 
 
 but discovery of this dangerous amusement soon put a 
 stop to many repetitions. 
 
 " My brother was full of pleasant attention to children, 
 though his mind was so far above theirs. He had a 
 wish to educate some child, and often talked seriously 
 of purchasing a little girl for that purpose. A tumbler, 
 who came to the backdoor to display her wonderful 
 feats, attracted him, and he thought she would be a 
 good subject for the pm'pose. But all these wild 
 fancies came to nought. He would take his pony, and 
 ride about the beautiful lanes and fields surrounding 
 the house, and would talk of his intention ; but he did 
 not consider that board and lodging would be indispen- 
 sable ; and this difficulty, probably, was quite sufiicient 
 to prevent the talk from becoming reality." 
 
 In sti^ture, Shelley was slightly yet elegantly formed ; 
 he had deep blue eyes, of a wild, strange beauty, and 
 a high white forehead, overshadowed with a quantity of 
 dark brown curling hair. His complexion was very 
 fair ; and, though his features were not positively hand- 
 some, the expression of his countenance was one of 
 exceeding sweetness and sincerity. His look of youth- 
 fulness he retained to the end of his life, though his 
 hair was beginning to get grey — the effect of intense 
 study, and of the painful agitations of mind through 
 wliich he had passed. 
 
 At the age of thirteen, Shelley went to Eton, and 
 there began his earnest and life-lonii; struf]i:G;le with the 
 world. When he entered the college, the practice of 
 fagging flourished in all its vigour mider the superin-
 
 EARLY LIFE. 5 
 
 tendencc of the head-master. To the hloh-toned feel- 
 ings of Shelley, this daily experience of mihappiness 
 and tyi'anny was most revolting. Won by affection, 
 but unconquered by blows, he was not the kind of 
 youth likely to be happy at a public school. He 
 refused to fag, and was treated by master and boys 
 with the severity of passion and prejudice. But to 
 all the devices of despotism he opposed a brave and 
 dauntless spirit. At the same time, the purity, un- 
 selfishness, and generosity of his nature gained him 
 friends among his schoolfellows wherever there were 
 any corresponding qualities to appreciate these signs of 
 the nobility of his disposition. The power of fascina- 
 tion was, indeed, possessed by Shelley all through his 
 existence. 
 
 Mr. Packe, one of his schoolfellows at Eton, relates 
 in a letter that the embryo poet's tutor " was one of the 
 dullest men in the establishment;" that he did not under- 
 stand his pupil in the least ; that the boys made a point 
 of constantly "goading Shelley into a rage," though they 
 would run away, appalled, directly the storm they had 
 provoked bm-st forth ; that their victim would never 
 deign to pm-sue them, but would generously assist their 
 dulness when they came to him with petitions to help 
 them in then- tasks ; and that he woidd not at any time 
 submit to the trammels of the "gradus." His facility 
 in making Latin verses is described by Mr. Packe as 
 wonderful ; but not being in accordance with rule, these 
 compositions were generally torn up. However, his 
 greatest passion at Eton was for chemistry. Often did
 
 6 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 he astonish the boys by his experiments, and once he 
 accidentally set fire to some trees on the common. At 
 that time he lodged at the honse of his tutor, who, 
 on a certain day, found Shelley in his room amusing 
 himself by the production of a blue flame. Chemical 
 experiments 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 mys- 
 terious implement on the table, and in an instant was 
 thrown against the wall, having grasped a highly- 
 charged electrical machine. Of course, the yovmg 
 experimentalist paid dearly for this unfortunate oc- 
 currence. 
 
 "Among my latest recollections of Shelley's life at 
 Eton," concludes Mr. Packe, " is the publication of 
 Zastrozzi* for which I think he received 40Z. With 
 part of the proceeds he gave a most magnificent banquet 
 to eight of liis friends, among Avhom I was included. 
 I cannot now call to mind the names of the other 
 guests, excepting those of two or three who are not 
 now living. Shelley was too peculiar in his genius and 
 his habits to be ' the hare with many friends ; ' but the 
 few who knew him loved him, and, if I may judge from 
 myself, remember with affectionate regret that his school 
 days were more adventurous than happy." 
 
 His opposition to fagging was not without some good 
 effect for the time. He formed a conspiracy against 
 
 * A novel so called. — Ed.
 
 EARLY LIFE. 7 
 
 the system, and succeeded in checking it — at any rate, 
 as for as regarded himself. But the fiery conflicts 
 tlu*ough which he had to pass impressed him witli a 
 sense of wretchedness wliich he afterwards described 
 with passionate sw^eetness in the dedication of the Revolt 
 of Islam : — 
 
 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 walk'd 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 clasp'd my hands, and look'd around ; 
 But none was 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 armour 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 loneUness, a thirst with which I pined. 
 
 The agonv which Shcllev thus endured, for tlie very
 
 8 SHELLEY IMEMORIALS. 
 
 reason that he was more outspoken and truth-loving than 
 other boys, is only one out of many painful examples of 
 the frequent mifitness of schoolmasters and tutors for 
 the duty which they seek to execute. However, we 
 have improved since the early part of the present 
 century ; for those were the days when coercion was 
 looked on as the only principle of school government, 
 and when kindness was regarded as sentimentalism. 
 AVith one exception, Shelley found his tutors men of 
 rough, passionate, and hard natures, who claimed obe- 
 dience merely because they possessed authority, without 
 showing that they had any right to exercise their power 
 by reason of superior discretion and serener wisdom; 
 men who answered inquiries by cuffs, who sought to 
 tame independence by violence, who exasperated the 
 eccentricities of a wild but generous nature by the 
 opposition of their own coarser minds, and who made 
 religion distasteful by confounding it with dogmatism, 
 and learning repulsive by allying it with pedantic 
 formality. Had these instructors possessed half as 
 much knowledge of human natm'e as of Greek roots 
 and Latin " quantities," they might have developed 
 and guided the mind of Shelley ; but they thought not 
 of this, and therefore only irritated a sensitive and 
 ardent disposition. 
 
 The one exception to this narrow and unfortunate rule 
 was Dr. Lind, 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 phy- 
 sician, and also one of the tutors. Mrs. Shellev relates
 
 EARLY LIFE. 9 
 
 that the Doctor often stood by to befriend and support 
 the persecuted boy, and that her husband never, in after 
 life, mentioned his name without love and veneration. 
 The poet has introduced him into the Revolt of Islam, 
 as the old hermit who liberates Laon from prison, and 
 attends on him in sickness ; and into Prince Atlianase, as 
 tlie wise and benignant Zonoras. In the former poem 
 (Canto lY,), he speaks of the hermit's heart having 
 grown old without being corrupted, and adds : — 
 
 That hoaiy man had spent his livelong age 
 In converse with the dead, who leave the stamp 
 Of ever-burning thoughts on many a page 
 When they are gone into the senseless damp 
 Of graves. His spirit thus became a lamp 
 Of splendour, like to those on which it fed. 
 Through peopled haunts, the city and the camp, 
 Deep thirst for knowledge had his footsteps led. 
 And all the Avays of men among mankind he read. 
 
 But custom maketh blind and obdurate 
 
 The loftiest hearts. He had beheld the woe 
 
 In which mankind was boimd, but deem'd that fate, 
 
 AVhich made them abject, would preserve them so. 
 
 For his strange pupil, whose scientific studies he 
 directed, and whose pleasures he was eager to promote. 
 Dr. Lind entertained a warm affection. When Shelley 
 was seized with a dangerous fever, he hurried at a 
 moment's notice to Field Place, and by his skill, and the 
 soothing influence of his presence, saved his young 
 friend from pressing danger. The incident in the Revolt 
 of Islam is, therefore, a fact. The Doctor's kindness
 
 10 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 made on Shelley a deep and lasting impression; the 
 more so as, from the indiscreet gossip 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. 
 
 Shelley also felt an affectionate regard for his rela- 
 tions, particularly for his mother and sisters ; and I 
 have heard his eldest surviving sister relate that, 
 during a supposed dangerous attack of gout under 
 which his father was suffering, Bysshe would creep 
 noiselessly to his room door, to watch and listen with 
 tender anxiety. 
 
 The chemical experiments which the young student 
 eagerly piu'sued at Eton were not discontinued when he 
 was at home. His little sisters' frocks were often found 
 stained with caustic ; and Miss Shelley states in one of 
 her letters : — " I confess my pleasure was entirely nega- 
 tived by terror at the effects. Whenever he came to 
 me with his piece of brown paper under his arm, and a 
 bit of wire and a bottle (if I remember right), my heart 
 would beat with fear at his approach ; but shame kept 
 me silent, and, wath as many others as we could collect, 
 we were placed hand in hand round the nursery table 
 to be electrified ; but, when a suggestion was made that 
 chilblains were to be cured by this means, my terror 
 overwhelmed all other feelings, and the expression of it 
 released me from all future annoyance. His own hands 
 and clothes were constantly stained and corroded with 
 acids, find it only seemed too probable that some day the
 
 EARLY LIFE. U 
 
 house would be burnt down, or some serious mischief 
 happen to himself or others from the explosion of com- 
 l)ustibles. He used afterwards to speak himself with 
 horror of having once swallowed by accident some 
 arsenic at Eton, and feared he should never entirely re- 
 cover from the shock it had inflicted on his constitution." 
 The boy Shelley now passes from our sight, and in 
 the next chapter we shall have to speak of the poet in 
 the first dawn of manhood.
 
 12 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 SHELLEY'S FIRST LOVE : OXFORD : EXPULSION. 
 
 In 1809, Sliellej left Eton and returned home ; and, 
 being now of an age when it is not uncommon for people 
 to have some touch of romance in them — a tendency 
 Avhich in him was developed to an unusual degree — his 
 delight was to steal from the house, and to wander about 
 by moonlight. His sister remarks that "the prosaic 
 minds of ordinary mortals could not understand the 
 pleasure to be derived from contemplating the stars, 
 when he, probably, was repeating to himself lines which 
 were soon to astonish those who looked upon him as a 
 boy. The old servant of the family would follow him, 
 and say that * Master Bysslie only took a walk, and 
 came back again.' " But (as in Mrs. Barbauld's excel- 
 lent story of Eyes and no Eyes) the walk of one indivi- 
 dual along a given road may be as different from that 
 of another along the same path as a plenum is different 
 from a vacuum. While the old servant, probably, saw 
 little but the dust, and the monotonous hedges, and the 
 figure of his young master walking on before, the unde- 
 veloped poet saw the infinite beauty of Nature spreading 
 out in all its vastness and its minuteness, and was busied
 
 SHELLEY'S FIPvST LOVE. 13 
 
 Avlth speculations wliicli gave an additional and still more 
 solemn splendour to the mysterious loveliness of the 
 world. 
 
 It was in the summer of this year that Bysshe fell 
 desperately in love with his cousin, Harriet Grove, who, 
 with her brother, was on a visit to Field Place. Eliza- 
 beth Shelley, -who was then at home, always made one 
 of the party in their moonlight strolls through the 
 groves of Strood and the beautiful scenery of St. Leo- 
 nard's ; at which time the young lover had just reason 
 to suppose that his attachment had met with sym- 
 pathy. The whole party, with Bysshe's mother, went 
 from Sussex to Mr. Grove's house in London ; and the 
 presence of the parents, inasmuch as it appeared to 
 sanction the daily intercourse between the young couple, 
 carried to Bysshe's mind a well-grounded expectation 
 that his ardent affections and wandering sympathies had 
 found at last a resting-place and a home. It was not, 
 however, so to be. In the letters which passed between 
 them after Miss Harriet Grove had returned to Wilt- 
 shire, the speculative doubts which were expressed on 
 serious subjects alarmed the parents of the young lady 
 for the future welfare of their daughter ; and, on Shelley 
 being expelled from Oxford, all intimacy was broken off, 
 and Miss Grove soon made another choice. The blow 
 fell on Bysshe with cruel force. 
 
 Shelley went to Oxford in 1810, in which year he 
 became an undergraduate of University College. His 
 secluded habits, and the ardour with which he threw all 
 the energies of his mind into the acquisition of know-
 
 14 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 ledge, were gratified by the customs and opportunities 
 which he found when entering on this neAv mode of life. 
 The forms of study at Oxford, then as now, were well 
 adapted to exercise a beneficial influence on a mind 
 somewhat prone, at the time, to mysticism, and to the 
 neglect of practical results ; and it must therefore be 
 for ever regretted that Shelley's academical career ter- 
 minated so early. 
 
 Nothwithstanding the extremely spiritual and romantic 
 character of his genius, he applied himself to logic with 
 ardour and success, and of course brought it to bear on * 
 all subjects, including theology. With his habitual dis- 
 regard of consequences, he hastily wrote a pamphlet, in 
 which the defective logic of the usual arguments in favour 
 of the existence of a God was set forth : this he circu- 
 lated among the authorities and members of his college. 
 In point of fact, the pamphlet did not contain any posi- 
 tive assertion ; it was merely a challenge to discussion, 
 beginning with certain axioms, and finishing with a 
 Q. E. D. The publication (consisting of only two pages) 
 seemed rather to imply, on the part of the writer, a 
 desire to obtain better reasoning on the side of the com- 
 monly received opinion, than any wish to overthrow with 
 sudden violence the grounds of men's belief. In any 
 case, however, had the heads of the college been men of 
 candid and broad intellects, they would have recognised 
 in the author of the obnoxious pamphlet an earnest love 
 of truth, a noble passion for arriving at the nature of 
 things, however painful the road. They might at least 
 have souglit, by argument and remonstrance, to set him
 
 SHELLEY'S riRST LOVE. 15 
 
 in what they conceived to be the right path ; but either 
 they had not the courage and the regard for trutii 
 necessary for such a course, or they were themselves the 
 victims of a narrow education. At any rate, for this 
 exercise of scholastic ingenuity, Shelley was expelled. 
 A college friend of the poet (Mr. Hogg) shared the 
 same fate, for supporting his cause. 
 
 Mr. Hogg was the son of a gentleman in the north of 
 England, whose acquaintance Shelley had made on his 
 first arrival at Oxford, by sitting accidentally next to 
 him at the hall diiuier. To reason on any subject, at 
 any time, with any one, was to Shelley an ii-resistible 
 temptation. Discussion, and the clash of argument with 
 another, by which he strove to render his own perception 
 of any subject more clear and defined, delighted him. 
 In Mr. Hogg he found a companion acute enough to be 
 a worthy antagonist, and one who was always ready to 
 place himself at his disposal for the combat of words. 
 The two friends were inseparable. The bonds of sym- 
 pathy between them were their literary tastes and their 
 intellectual activity ; and accordingly they walked, dined, 
 and supped together, always discussing. 
 
 On Shelley receiving the sentence of expulsion, which 
 was ready drawn up in due form, under the seal of the 
 college, as if the act had been resolved on previously, he 
 immediately withdrew, and ran, in a state of painful 
 agitation, to INIr. Hogg's rooms. His friend, with a 
 generosity not uncommon in youth, though too seldom 
 retained in later life, speedily wrote a letter, remon- 
 strating with tlie authorities for their act He was at
 
 16 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 once sent for, and, after similar angry and ill-mannered 
 questioning to that wliich had been pursued in Shelley's 
 case, was sentenced to the same honourable expulsion 
 already pronounced against his companion. 
 
 This unhappy event took place on Lady Day, 1811. 
 The friends quitted Oxford next morning for London. 
 
 So far as I can gather from some scanty records, I 
 am inclined to think that, at this time, Shelley's father 
 would have been satisfied with some very slight conces- 
 sions on his son's part — in fact, with his promising a 
 merely formal compliance with the ceremonies observed 
 in most households. But, had he asked his native 
 stream, the Arun, to run up to its source, he would 
 have had as great a chance of obtaining his desire. 
 Exasperated by his son's refusal to conform to the 
 orthodox belief, he forbade him to appear at Field Place. 
 On the sensitively affectionate 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. 
 
 Conscious of high intellectual power, and of unsullied 
 moral purity, he had been persecuted at Eton for the 
 resistance he always offered to despotism. From Ox- 
 ford he had been expelled, with great injustice, for a 
 pamphlet which, if it had been given as a translation 
 of the work of some old Greek, would have been re- 
 garded as a model of subtle metaphysicid reasoning. 
 He was excluded from his fother's house for acting in 
 accordance with the dictates of his conscience : and he
 
 SHELLEY S FIRST LOVE. 17 
 
 found himself separated fi'om the society of his equals 
 in rank by his shyness, his sensitiveness, and his ascetic 
 habits. Among his few acquaintances at this time whose 
 names ai'e known, there was not one wlio had the 
 slightest aiBnity with him ; and it is not easy to con- 
 ceive a greater loneliness of the heart than that which 
 he now experienced. Feeling himself thus isolated, 
 his natm-ally high spii'it rose higher still ; and the 
 young warrior for truth went forth into the world 
 alone, but full of ardour. And it should be recollected 
 that he made this sacrifice out of a purely abstract and 
 intellectual love of truth ; for to all sensual pleasures 
 Shelley was a stranger. His usual food was bread, 
 sometimes seasoned with a few raisins; his beverage 
 was generally water ; if he drank tea or coifee, he would 
 take no sugar with it, because the produce of the cane 
 was then obtained by slave labour ; and the unanimous 
 voice of those who knew him acquits him of any par- 
 ticipation in the lax habits of life too common among 
 young men. Yet, when less than nineteen, " fragile in 
 health and frame ; of the purest habits in morals ; full 
 of devoted generosity and universal Idndness ; glowing 
 with ardour to attain wisdom ; resolved, at every per- 
 sonal sacrifice, to do right ; burning with a desire for 
 affection and sympathy, — he was treated as a reprobate, 
 cast forth as a criminal."* 
 
 On the other hand, the conduct of his father is sus- 
 ceptible of some excuse. Let those who utterly con- 
 
 * Mrs. Shelley.
 
 \ 
 
 18 SHELLEY MEMOKIALS. 
 
 demn liim ask themselves how tliey would like the 
 presence in their houses of a disciple of Spinoza or of 
 Calvin, whose enthusiasm never wanes, and whose voice 
 is seldom silent ; who, with the eloquence of conviction, 
 obtrudes his doctrines at all times ; who seeks the 
 youngest daughter in the schoolroom, and the butler in 
 his pantry, to make them converts, in the one case, to 
 the moral excellence of materialism, — in the other, to 
 the aesthetic comforts of eternal punishment by election : 
 and, if they can conscientiously say they would like it, 
 they may condemn the elder Mr. Shelley; but not 
 unless. Still, it is to be regretted that a milder course 
 was not pursued towards one who was peculiarly open 
 to the teachings of love. 
 
 In the present day, when a brighter morn seems 
 breaking on the future ; when another spirit is breatliing 
 over us ; when vengeance is departing from our laws, 
 and love is gradually creeping in; when freedom of 
 inquiry is becoming at once a social and a legal right ; 
 when the fierce voices of hatred, which burst in 
 Shelley's time on the man bold enough to question the 
 received notions of Church and State orthodoxy, have 
 ceased, or are faintly heard ; when a protecting hand is 
 extended over the toil of women and children; when 
 the claims of the uninstructed to their share of education 
 are cordially admitted ; when there is a growing convic- 
 tion that all the inhabitants of the earth, whatever may 
 be their creed, their colour, or their clime, should enjoy 
 a fair portion of the gifts of God, and that the chief 
 duty of all is to gird themselves, as in one common bro-
 
 SHELLEY'S FIRST LOVE. 19 
 
 therhood, for the struggle with the man}^ moral and 
 physical evils which are interwoven with our existence, 
 — it is not difficult to understand the throbbing interest 
 with which, in the distant colony and in the crowded 
 street at home, the many turn to the Memorials of the 
 life of him who, self-inspired and self-impelled, from the 
 earliest dawn of manhood to his day of death, shrank 
 from no sacrifice in his devotion to the cause of human 
 welfare. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHELLEY'S FIRST MARRIAGE. 
 
 Up to tliG present period of Shelley's life, there has been 
 little to chronicle with respect to his progress as an 
 author. While at Oxford, he had published, in con- 
 junction with Mr. Hogg, a little volume of burlesque 
 verses, and, at a yet earlier date, when still at home, he 
 had written a great many wild romances in prose, some 
 of whidi have been printed, though they have never 
 taken any place in literature, and are, in fact, the crude 
 productions of an enthusiastic boy. It was not, how- 
 ever, till he had been drawn into the conflict of existence 
 that he began that expression of his inner nature in 
 immortal verse which has since astonished the world. 
 But we must yet for a while follow the course of his 
 private life. 
 
 Discarded by his father, Shelley was now left in a 
 state of considerable pecuniary embarrassment, though 
 this did not prevent his performing acts of munificence 
 whenever he had any money at command. At one time 
 he pawned his favourite solar microscope in order to re- 
 lieve an urgent case of distress. He took lodgings in 
 Poland Street, but was often without the means of meet-
 
 SHELLFA''S FIRST MAKllIAGE. 21 
 
 ing tlie current expenses of the day. Ilis sisters, who 
 were aware of this, saved their pocket money, and, 
 from time to time, sent secretly to their brother tlie 
 fruits of their loving economy. This was the origin of 
 a new phase in Shelley's existence. The Miss Shelleys 
 were at that period at school at Brompton, and among 
 the pupils was a very handsome girl named Harriet 
 Westbrook. To her (as her parents resided in London) 
 was consigned the task of conveying the little sums 
 of money to Shelley, on whose susceptible fancy she 
 dawned as a celestial being, illumining the dingy lodg- 
 ings he inhabited. During the young lady's holidays, 
 Shelley was a constant and welcome visitor at the house 
 of her father ; and, on Harriet's recovery from a slight 
 indisposition, the young poet was chosen to escort her 
 back to school. About the same time, he went for a 
 few days to Field Place, and during this visit came to 
 an amicable arrangement with his father. In conside- 
 ration of a new settlement of the property. Sir Timothy 
 agreed to make him an allowance of 200^. a year, and 
 his son was to be at liberty to live where he pleased. 
 
 On leaving Field Place, he went to his cousin, Mr. T. 
 Grove, wdio resided at a country house near Rhayader, 
 in Radnorshire; whence, summoned by the pressing 
 appeals of the Miss Westbrooks, he hastily returned to 
 London, and eloped with Harriet. 
 
 From Shelley's own account, and from other sources 
 of information which have since transpired, this unfor- 
 timate marriage seems to have been thus brought about. 
 
 To the wild eloquence of the enthusiast, who claimed
 
 22 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 it as Iiis mission to regenerate the world, and to give it 
 freedom from the shackles which had been too long 
 endured, and which barred its progress to indefinite 
 perfectibility, Harriet had in their many interviews in 
 London bent a well-pleased ear; and when the day 
 came for her return to her Brompton seminary, these 
 new lights seemed to her mind to have a practical bear- 
 ing on the forms and discipline of her boarding-school. 
 She therefore petitioned her father to be allowed to 
 remain at home. On his refusal, she wrote to Shelley ; 
 and, in a sad and evil hour for both, this girl, " who 
 had thrown herself upon his protection," and " with 
 Avhom he was not in love,"* became his wife. 
 
 From London, the young pair (whose united ages 
 amounted to thirty-five years, Harriet being sixteen and 
 Shelley nineteen) went to Edinburgh, and thence to 
 York. During their residence in the latter town, a new 
 inmate was added to then- circle in the person of the 
 elder Miss Westbrook — a visitor whose presence was 
 in many respects unfortunate. From strength of cha- 
 racter and disparity of years (for she "was much older 
 than Harriet), she exercised a strong influence over her 
 sister ; and this influence was used without much dis- 
 cretion, and with little inclination to smooth the difficul- 
 ties or promote the happiness of the young couple. 
 
 Keswick was the next resting-place to which the 
 Shelleys were tempted by the beauty of the scenery and 
 the cheapness of the necessaries of life, which gave some 
 
 * These expressions are quoted from some published letters of 
 Shelley's, the authenticity of which I am not able to guarantee.
 
 SHELLEY'S FIRST MARRIAGE. 23 
 
 hope that theu* scanty income might suffice for their 
 moderate wants. While residing here, the then Duke of 
 Norfolk, who owned a large extent of land in the neigh- 
 bourhood, greatly interested himself in Shelley and his 
 girl wife, introduced them to the neighbouring gentry, 
 directed his agents to furnish their house with necessary 
 accommodations, and interceded (but in vain) with the 
 elder Mr. Shelley. The young poet became speedily 
 acquainted with Robert Southey, Thomas De Quincey, 
 and other eminent writers then resident in the north. 
 With Southey he was particularly intimate for a time, 
 despite the diametrical opposition of their creeds. It 
 was in the year 1811, also — but previous to his marriage 
 — that Shelley sought and obtained the friendship of 
 Leigh Hunt, whose noble-spirited political writings in 
 the Examiner had moved the highest admiration of the 
 youthful enthusiast. While the latter was yet unknown 
 to the journalist, he had proposed to him, in a letter, a 
 scheme for forming an association of Liberals, with a 
 view to resisting the spread of despotic principles ; and 
 this was followed by Shelley's self-introduction. The 
 friendship of the two writers was only broken by death.
 
 24 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE WITH GODWIN. 
 
 We noAv come to that period of Shelley's life when the 
 poet became acquainted with William Godwin — a period 
 fraught with important results, and one over which it 
 Avill be necessary to linger. 
 
 An eminent place among the writers of the eighteenth 
 ■centur}' is due to the author of Political Justice. He 
 came of a family which had long been connected with 
 the Nonconformist ministry ; for both his father and 
 grandfather were Dissenting preachers in their genera- 
 tion, and the grandfather had enj(jyed the intimate 
 friendship of Dr. Watts, Neale, and Baker. William 
 Godwin was born at Guestwick, Norfolk, in 1756. He 
 was educated at the Hoxton College by Dr. Kippis and 
 Dr. Rees, and for some time followed the profession of 
 his father at Stowmarket, Suffolk; but, in 1782, owing 
 to a change in liis religious opinions, he returned to Lon- 
 don, and for ten years devoted himself with unwearied 
 assiduity to historical and metaphysical inquiries. Tlie 
 result of this mental discipline was the publication, in 
 1793, of his Political Justice, the effect of which work 
 on the public mind is sufficiently attested by the fact that
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE WITH GODWIN. 25 
 
 tliree editions were sold in as many years. Caleb Wil- 
 liams and the Enquirer followed, and gave Godwin a 
 reputation which he preserved unsullied through the 
 whole of his long life. Early in 1797, Godwin married 
 the celebrated Mary Wollstonecraft, who died in giving 
 birth to a daughter.* 
 
 From the commencement of his career in London, the 
 philosopher lived in a small cottage, without any further 
 attendance than that of a woman who came every morn- 
 ing to set the house in order for the day. Liberal over- 
 tures from the leaders of the Whig ])lialanx, who desired 
 to enlist in their service so eminent and influential an 
 author, were repeatedly made to him, and as often 
 refused ; for Godwin, like a second Andrew IMarvell, 
 disdained to be the slave of party. This stern inde- 
 pendence of character, combined with the mild, unim- 
 passioned manner with which he prosecuted his inquiries 
 into subjects which most men at that time debated with 
 the fierceness and acrimony of personal strife, soon 
 gathered round him a small knot of disciples, v.dio sat at 
 his feet, and gathered up his sayings as they might have 
 done those of a sage of ancient Greece, He became, as 
 it were, the recognised head of a small sect ; and of tliis 
 sect Shelley speedily regarded himself as a member. 
 The poet wrote to the philosopher from Keswick, and, 
 frankly stating his position, his marriage, and his pro- 
 spects, proceeded to reveal his political, religious, and 
 moral opinions, and to declare his long-cherished hope of 
 being on some future day of use to his fellow-creatures. 
 
 * Mary, Shelley's second wife.
 
 26 SHELLEY ^lEMORIALS. 
 
 Towards tliis end, and foi* the better regulation of his 
 piu'suits and studies, he requested the aid of the author 
 of Political Justice. Godwin received this unexpected 
 communication with great kindness, and a long and 
 interesting correspondence ensued between the two 
 writers. Some portions of this will be found in the 
 present volume. 
 
 From Keswick, Shelley went to Dublin, and during 
 this period the influence of his newly acquired friend 
 and adviser was of incalculable benefit to him, in guard- 
 ing him from the consequences which his own fearless 
 impetuosity would have entailed, in his championship of 
 Irish wrongs. Ireland was at that time a disgrace to 
 England and to herself. A dominant caste — proud, 
 resolute, and vindictive, opposed to all change, and cer- 
 tain, in the last resort, of the support of England's 
 strength — misruled a population which was priest- 
 ridden, ignorant, and averse from labour. The priests 
 themselves (with the exception of those who had been 
 specially educated on the Continent, for the purpose of 
 representing the interests and maintaining the dignity 
 of their church in the more polished circles of Dublin) 
 were scarcely more literate than the rabble over whom 
 they possessed unbounded influence ; and the Union had 
 handed over to still meaner minds and yet more un- 
 cleanly hands the traditionary struggles for the perqui- 
 sites of a delegated Court. 
 
 Loud was the cry of Irish patriotism when Shelley 
 visited the sister island, where he flung himself, with 
 his usual impulsive ardour, into the turbid stream of
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAIXTAXCE WITH GODWIN. 27 
 
 Hibernian politics. It was then that the value of God- 
 win's calm, experienced intellect became manifest ; for 
 there is no doubt that his letters supplied the necessary 
 balance of j^rudence and matui'e thought to the youthful 
 vehemence of Shelley's mind. This good effect was 
 aided by an adventure which occurred to Bysshe during 
 his advocacy of Irish grievances. On one occasion, at a 
 meeting — probably a meeting of patriots — so much ill- 
 will against the Protestants was shoAvn, 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 afterwards, he was even threatened with 
 personal violence, and the police suggested to him the 
 propriety of quitting the country. 
 
 The philanthropic association which was to bestow 
 Arcadian days on Ireland was accordingly abandoned, 
 and, after a brief stay in the Isle of Man, and a residence 
 of some dm'ation in North Wales, Shelley and his wife 
 sheltered themselves in a cottage at Lymouth, a place 
 situated in a romantic part of North Devonshire. While 
 here, Bysshe addressed a letter to Lord Ellenborough, 
 touching the sentence passed by him on a man named 
 Eaton, a London bookseller, for publishing the third 
 part of Thomas Paine's Age of Reason. In a letter to 
 Godwin he says: —
 
 28 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 " What do you think of Eaton's trial and sentence ? 
 I mean not to insinuate that this poor bookseller has 
 any characteristics in common with Socrates or Jesus 
 Christ; still, the spirit which pillories and imprisons 
 him is the same which brought them to an untimely 
 end. Still, even in this enlightened age, the moralist 
 and the reformer may expect coercion analogous to that 
 used with the humble yet zealous imitator of their endea- 
 vours." 
 
 The larger part of the letter to Lord Ellenborough is 
 appended below.* It is 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. At the time of writing this letter, 
 Shelley was only nineteen years of age ; and, from his 
 earliest boyhood to his latest years, whatever varieties 
 of opinion may have marked his intellectual course, he 
 never for a moment swerved from the noble doctrine 
 of unbounded liberty of thought and speech. To him, 
 the rights of the intellect Avere 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. 
 
 * The omitted portions are the passages which Shelley introduced 
 into the notes to Queen Mab, and which are printed in the collected 
 edition of his works.
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE ^YYnl GODWIN. 29 
 
 A Letter to Lord ELLENnoROUGH, occasioned hij the Sentence 
 jchich he passed on Mr. D. J. Eaton, as publisher of the Third 
 Part of Paine's " Age of lieason." 
 
 " Deorum offensa, Diis curse." 
 
 " It is contraiy to the mild spirit of the Christian religion ; for 
 no sanction can be found under that dispensation ^yhich will Nvarrant 
 a Government to impose disabilities and penalties upon any man on 
 account of his religious opinions." — Marquis Welleslet's Speech. 
 —Globe, July 2. 
 
 Advertisement. — I have waited impatiently for these last four 
 inonthi--, in the hope that some pen fitter for the important task 
 would have spared me the perilous pleasure of becoming the 
 champion of an innocent man. This may serve as an excuse for 
 delay to those who think that I have let pass the aptest oppor- 
 tunity ; hut it is not to be supposed that in four short months the 
 public indignation raised by ]Mr. Eaton's unmerited suffering can 
 have subsided. 
 
 To Lord Eelenborough. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 As the station to which you have been called by your coun- 
 try is important, so much the more awful is your responsibility ; 
 so much the more does it become you to watch lest you inad- 
 vertently punish the virtuous and reward the vicious. 
 
 You preside over a Court whicli is instituted for the suppression 
 of crime, and to whose authority the people submit on no other 
 conditions than that its decrees should be conformable to justice. 
 
 If it should be demonstrated that a Judge had condemned an 
 innocent man, the bare existence of laws in conformity to which 
 the accused is punished would but little extenuate his offence. 
 The inquisitor, when he burns an obstinate heretic, may set up a 
 similar plea ; yet few are sufEciently blinded by intolerance to 
 acknowledge its validity. It will less avail such a Judge to assert 
 the policy of punishing one who has committed no crime. Policy 
 and morality ought to be deemed synonymous in a court of justice ; 
 and he whose conduct has been regulated by the latter principle
 
 30 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 is not j 118% amenable to any penal law for a supposed violation 
 of the former. It is true, my Lord, laws exist which suffice to 
 screen you from the animadversion of any constituted power, in 
 consequence of the unmerited sentence Avhich you have passed 
 upon Mr. Eaton ; but there are no laws which screen you from 
 the reproof of a nation's disgust — none which ward off the just 
 judgment of posterity, if that posterity will deign to recollect 
 you. 
 
 By what right do you punish Mr. Eaton? What but anti- 
 quated precedents, gathered from times of priestly and tyrannical 
 domination, can be adduced in palliation of an outrage so insulting 
 to humanity and justice ? Whom has he injured? What crime 
 has he committed ? Wherefore may he not walk abroad like 
 other men, and follow his accustomed pursuits ? What end is 
 proposed in confining this man, charged with the commission of 
 no dishonourable action? Wherefore did his aggressor avail 
 himself of popular prejudice, and return no answer but one of 
 commonplace contempt to a defence of plain and simple sincerity ? 
 Lastlj^ when the prejudices of the jury, as Christians, were strongly 
 and unfairly inflamed* against this injured man, as a Deist, where- 
 fore did not you, my Lord, check such unconstitutional pleading, 
 and desire the jury to pronounce the accused innocent or criminalf 
 Avithout reference to the particular faith which he professed ? 
 
 In the name of justice, Avhat answer is there to these questions ? 
 The answer which Heathen Athens made to Socrates is the same 
 Avith which Christian England must attempt to silence the advo- 
 cates of this injured man. " He has questioned established opinions." 
 Alas! the crime of inquiry- is one which religion never has 
 forgiven. Implicit faith and fearless inquiry have in all ages been 
 irreconcilable enemies. Unrestrained philosophy has in every 
 age opposed itself to the reveries of credulity and fanaticism. The 
 truths of astronomy demonstrated by NcAvton have superseded 
 astrology ; since the modern discoveries in chemisti-y, the philo- 
 sopher's stone has no longer been deemed attainable. Miracles 
 
 * See tlie Attorney-General's speech. 
 
 f By Mr. Fox's Bill (1791) juries are, in cases of libel, judges both 
 of the law and the fact.
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE AVITII GODWIN. 31 
 
 of every kind have become rare in proportion to the hidden prin- 
 ciples which those who stud}^ nature have developed. That which 
 is false will ultimately be controverted by its own falsehood. That 
 
 which is true needs but publicity to be acknowledged 
 
 Wherefore, I repeat, is Mr. Eaton punished ? Because he is 
 a Deist. And what are jon, ray Lord ? A Christian. Ha, then ! 
 the mask has fallen off. You persecute him because his faith 
 differs from yours. You copy the persecutors of Christianity in 
 your actions, and are an additional proof that your religion is as 
 bloody, barbarous, and intolerant as theirs. If some Deistical 
 bigot in power (supposing such a character for the sake of illus- 
 tration) should, in dark and barbarous ages, have enacted a statute 
 making the profession of Christianity criminal, if you, my Lord, 
 were a Christian bookseller, and Mr. Eaton a Judge, those argu- 
 ments which you consider adequate to justify yourself for the 
 sentence j'ou have passed must likewise suffice, in the supposi- 
 tionary case, to justify Mr. Eaton in sentencing you to Newgate 
 and the pillory fcr being a Christian. Whence is any right de- 
 rived, but that which power confers, for persecution? Do you 
 think to convert Mr. Eaton to your religion by embittering his 
 existence ? You might force him b}'' torture to profess yoiu- 
 tenets, but he could not believe them, except you should make 
 them credible, which perhaps exceeds your power. Do you think 
 to please the God you worship by this exhibition of your zeal ? 
 If so, the demon to whom some nations offer human hecatombs is 
 
 less barbarous than the Deity of civilized society 
 
 If the law de hceretico coniburendo has not been formally re- 
 pealed, I conceive that, from the promise held out by your 
 Lordship's zeal, Ave need not despair of beholding the flames of 
 persecution rekindled in Smithfield. Even now the lash that 
 drove Descartes and Voltaire from their native country, the chains 
 which bound Galileo, the flames which burned A^anini, again 
 
 resound Does the Christian God, whom his followers 
 
 eulogize as the Deity of humility and peace — He, the regenerator 
 of the world, the meek reformer — authorize one man to rise against 
 another, and, because lictors are at his beck, to chain and torture 
 him as an infidel ? 
 
 When the Apostles went abroad to convert the nations, were
 
 32 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 they enjoined to stab and poison all who disbelieved the divinity 
 of Christ's mission ? Assuredly, they would have been no more 
 justifiable in this case than he is at present who puts into execution 
 the law which inflicts pillory and imprisonment on the Deist. 
 
 Has not Mr. Eaton an equal right to call your Lordship an 
 infidel as you have to imprison him for promulgating a different 
 doctrine from that which you profess ? What do I say ! Has he 
 not even a stronger plea ? The word infidel can only mean any- 
 thing when applied to a person who professes that which he disbe- 
 lieves. The test of truth is an undivided reliance on its inclusive 
 powers ; the test of conscious fiilsehood is the variety of the forms 
 under which it presents itself, and its tendency towards employmg 
 whatever coercive means may be within its command, in order to 
 procure the admission of what is unsusceptible of support from 
 reason or persuasion 
 
 I hesitate not to afiirm that the opinions which Mr. Eaton sus- 
 tained, when undergoing that mockery of a trial, at which your 
 Lordship presided, appear to me more true and good than those of 
 his accuser ; but were they false as the yisions of a Calvinist, it 
 still would be the duty of those who love liberty and virtue to 
 raise their voice indignantly against a reviving system of persecu- 
 tion — against the coercively repressing any opinion, which, if false, 
 needs but the opposition of truth — which, if true, in spite of force 
 must ultimately prevail. 
 
 Mr. Eaton asserted that the Scriptures were, from beginning 
 to end, a fable.* He did so ; and the Attorney-General denied 
 the proposition which he asserted, and asserted that which he 
 denied. "What singular conclusion is deducible from this fact ? 
 None, but that the Attorney-General and Mr. Eaton sustained 
 two opposite opinions. The Attorney-General puts some obsolete 
 and tyrannical laws in force against Mr. Eaton, because he pub- 
 lishes a book tending to prove that certain supernatural events, 
 which are supposed to have taken place eighteen centuries ago, ia 
 a remote corner of the world, did not actually take place. But 
 how is the truth or falsehood of the facts in dispute relevant to 
 the merit or demerit attachable to the advocates of the two opi- 
 
 * Sec the Attorncy-Generars Speech.
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE WITH GODWIN. 33 
 
 nions ? No man is accountable for his belief, because no man is 
 capable of directing it. Mr. Eaton is therefore totally blameless. 
 What are we to think of the justice of a sentence which punishes 
 an individual against whom it is not even attempted to attach the 
 slightest stain of criminahty ? 
 
 It is asserted that Mr. Eaton's opinions are calculated to sub- 
 vert morality. How? What moral truth is spoken of with 
 irreverence or ridicule in the book which he published ? Morality, 
 or the duty of a man and a citizen, is founded on the relations 
 which arise from the association of human beings, and which vary 
 with the circumstances produced by the different states of this 
 association. This duty, in similar situations, must be precisely the 
 same in all ages and nations. The opinion contrary to this has 
 arisen from a supposition that the will of God is the source or cri- 
 terion of morality. It is plain that the utmost exertion of Omni- 
 potence could not cause that to be virtuous which actually is 
 vicious. An all-powerful Demon might, indubitably, annex punish- 
 ments to virtue and rewards to vice, but could not by these means 
 effect the slightest change in their abstract and immutable natures. 
 Omnipotence could vary, by a providential interposition, the re- 
 lations of human society; in this latter case, what before was 
 virtuous would become vicious, according to the necessary and 
 natural result of the alteration ; but the abstract natures of the 
 opposite principles would have sustained not the slightest change. 
 For instance, the pimishment with which society restrains the 
 robber, the assassin, and the ravisher, is just, laudable, and requi- 
 site. We admire and respect the institutions which curb those 
 who would defeat the ends for which society was established ; but, 
 should a precisely similar coercion be exercised against one who 
 merely expressed his disbelief of a system admitted by those 
 entrusted with the executive power, using at the same time no 
 methods of promulgation but those afforded by reason, certainly 
 this coercion would be eminently inhuman and immoral ; and 
 the supposition that any revelation from an unknown Power 
 avails to palliate a persecution so senseless, unprovoked, and 
 indefensible, is at once to destroy the barrier which reason 
 places between vice and virtue, and leave to unprincipled flma- 
 ticism a plea whereby it may excuse every act of frenzy which 
 
 D
 
 34 SHELLEY ^lEMORIALS. 
 
 its own -wild passions, not tbe inspirations of the Deit}', have 
 engendered. 
 
 Moral quahties 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 ? Xo. 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 nominall}' 
 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 ditferent 
 from those which they entertain ? Alas ! there is no consistency 
 in those persecutors who worship a benevolent Deity ; those who 
 Avorship a demon Avoxild alone act consonantly to these principles 
 by imprisoning and torturing in his name. 
 
 Persecution is the only name applicable to punishment inflicted 
 on an individual in consequence of his opinions. What end is 
 persecution designed to answer ? Can it convince him whom it 
 injures? Can it prove to the people the falsehood of his opinions? 
 It may make him a hypocrite, and them cowards ; but bad means 
 can promote no good end. The unprejudiced mind looks with 
 suspicion on a doctrine that needs the sustaining hand of power. 
 
 Socrates was poisoned because he dared to combat the degrad- 
 ing superstitions in which his countrymen were educated. Kot 
 long after his death, Athens recognised the injustice of his sen- 
 tence ; his accuser, Melitus, was condemned, and Socrates became 
 a demigod 
 
 Man! the very existence of whose most cherished opinions
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAD^TANCE WITH GODWm. 35 
 
 depends from a thread so feeble, arises out of a source so equi- 
 vocal,* learn at least humility; own at least that it is possible 
 for thyself also to have been seduced by education and circum- 
 stance into the admission of tenets destitute of rational proof, and 
 the truth of which has not yet been satisfactorily demonstrated. 
 Acknowledge at least that the falsehood of thy brother's opinions 
 is no sufficient reason for his meriting thy hatred. What ! be- 
 cause a fellow being disputes the reasonableness of thy faith, wilt 
 thou punish him with torture and imprisonment ? If persecution 
 for religious opinions were admitted by the moralist, how wide a 
 door would not be opened by which convulsionists of every kind 
 might make im-oads on the peace of society ! How many deeds of 
 barbarism and blood would not receive a sanction ! But I will 
 demand, if that man is not rather entitled to the respect than the 
 discountenance of society, who, by disputing a received doctrine, 
 either proves its falsehood and inutility (thereby aiming at the 
 abolition of what is false and useless), or gives to its adherents an 
 opportunity of establishing its excellence and truth. Surely this 
 can be no crime. Surely the individual who devotes his time 
 to fearless and unrestricted inquiry into the grand questions 
 arising out of our moral nature ought rather to receive the 
 patronage, than encounter the vengeance, of an enUghtened 
 legislature. I would have you to know, my Lord, that fetters of 
 iron cannot bind or subdue the soul of virtue. From the damps 
 and sohtude of its dungeon it ascends, firee and undaunted, 
 whither thine, from the pompous seat of judgment, dare not soar. 
 I do not warn you to beware lest your profession as a Christian 
 should make you forget that you are a man ; but I warn you 
 against festinating that period Avhich, under the present coercive 
 system, is too rapidly matviring, when the seats of justice shall be 
 the seats of venality and slavishness, and the cells of Newgate 
 become the abodes of aU that is honourable and true. 
 
 I mean not to compare jMr. Eaton with Socrates or Jesus ; he 
 is a man of blameless and respectable character ; he is a citizen 
 unimpeached with crime ; if, therefore, his rights as a citizen and 
 
 * He lias just been indicating what be regards as the weak 
 points in the proofs of the Christian religion. — Ed. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 a man have been infringed, they have been infringed by illegal 
 and immoral violence. But I will assert that, should a second 
 Jesus arise among men, should such a one as Socrates again 
 enlighten the earth, lengthened imprisonment and infamous 
 punishment (according to the regimen of persecution revived by 
 your Lordship) would effect what hemlock and the cross have 
 heretofore effected, and the stain on the national character, like 
 that on Athens and Judea, would remain indelible, but by the 
 destruction of the history in which it is recorded .... 
 
 The horrible and wide-wasting enormities, which gleam like 
 comets through the darkness of Gothic and superstitious ages, are 
 regarded by the moralist as no more than the necessary effects of 
 known causes ; but, when an enlightened age and nation signalizes 
 itself by a deed becoming none but barbarians and fanatics, phi- 
 losophy itself is even induced to doubt whether human nature 
 will ever emerge from the pettishness and imbecility of its child- 
 hood. The system of persecution, at whose new birth, you, my 
 Lord, are one of the presiding midwives, is not more impotent and 
 wicked than inconsistent. The press is loaded with what are 
 called (ironically, I should conceive) proofs of the Christian reli- 
 gion : these books are replete with invective and calumny against 
 infidels; they presuppose that he who rejects Christianity must 
 be utterly divested of reason and feeling ; they advance the most 
 unsupported assertions, and take as first principles the most revolt- 
 ing dogmas. The inferences drawn from these assumed premises 
 are imposingly logical and correct ; but, if a foundation is weak, 
 no architect is needed to foretell the instability of the superstruc- 
 ture. If the truth of Christianity is not disputable, for what 
 purpose are these books written ? If there are sufficient to prove 
 it, what further need of controversy ? . . . . 
 
 Let us suppose that some half-witted philosopher should assert 
 that the earth was the centre of the universe, or that idea could 
 enter the human mind independently of sensation or reflection. 
 This man would assert what is demonstrably incorrect ; he would 
 promulgate a false opinion. Yet, would he therefore deserve 
 pillory and imprisonment ? By no means ; probably few would 
 discharge more correctly the duties of a citizen and a man. I 
 admit that the case above stated is not precisely in point. The
 
 SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE WITH GODWIN. 37 
 
 thinking part of the community has not received as indisputable 
 the truth of Christianity, as they have that of the Newtonian 
 system. A very large portion of society, and that powerfully and 
 extensively connected, derives its sole emolument from the belief 
 of Christianity as a popular faith. 
 
 To torture and imprison the asserter of a dogma, however 
 ridiculous and false, is highly barbarous and impolitic. How, 
 then, does not the cruelty of persecution become aggravated when 
 it is directed against the opposer of an opinion yet under dispute, 
 and which men of unrivalled acquirements, penetrating genius, 
 and stainless virtue, have spent, and at last sacrificed, their lives 
 in combating ! 
 
 The time is rapidly approaching — I hope that you, my Lord, 
 may live to behold its arrival — when the Mahometan, the Jew, 
 the Christian, the Deist, and the Atheist, will live together in one 
 community, equally sharing the benefits which arise from its 
 association, and united in the bonds of charity and brotherly love. 
 My Lord, you have condemned an innocent man : no crime was 
 imputed to him, and you sentenced him to torture and imprison- 
 ment. I have not addressed this letter to you with the hope of 
 convincing you that you have acted wrong. The most unprin- 
 cipled and barbarous of men are not unprepared with sophisms to 
 prove that they would have acted in no other manner, and to show 
 that vice is virtue. But I raise my solitary voice, to express my 
 disapprobation, so far as it goes, of the cruel and unjust sentence 
 3'^ou passed upon Mr. Eaton — to assert, so far as I am capable of 
 influencing, those rights of humanity which you have wantonly 
 and unlawfully infringed. 
 
 My Lord, yours, &c.
 
 38 SHELLEY iVIEMOELA^LS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LITERAKY COEEESPONDENCE : 1812. 
 
 In the solitude of Ljmouth, Shelley read much, pro- 
 jected many works, and addressed several letters on 
 literary and social topics to his friends. These letters 
 will for the most part speak for themselves, and will 
 unfold, to a certain extent in an autobiograpliical form, 
 some of the ensuing phases of the poet's life. The 
 first of them is addressed to Mr. Thomas Hookham, 
 of Old Bond Street, a valued friend of Shelley; and 
 runs as follows : — 
 
 Deak Sir, Lymouth^ Barnstaple, Aug. I8th, 1812. 
 
 Your parcel arrived last night, for which I am much 
 obliged. Before I advert to any other topic, I will explain the 
 contents of mine in which this is enclosed. In the first place, I 
 send you fifty copies of the Letter [to Lord EUenborough] . 
 I send you a copy of a work which I have procured from America, 
 and which I am exceedingly anxious should be published. It 
 developes, as you will perceive by the most superficial reading, 
 the actual state of republicanized Ireland, and appears to me, 
 above all things, calculated to remove the prejudices which have 
 too long been cherished of that oppressed country. I enclose also 
 two pamphlets which I printed and distributed whilst in Ireland 
 some months ago (no bookseller daring to publish them). They 
 were on that account attended with only partial success, and I 
 
 ^
 
 LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 39 
 
 request your opinion as to the probable result of publishing them 
 with the annexed suggestions in one pamphlet, with an explana- 
 tory preface, in London. They would find their way to Dublin. 
 
 You confer on me an obligation, and involve a high compli- 
 ment, by your advice. I shall, if possible, prepare a volume of 
 essays, moral and religious., by November ; but, all my MSS. now 
 being in DubHn, and from peculiar circumstances not immediately 
 obtainable, I do not know whether I can. I enclose also, by way 
 of specimen, all that I have written of a little poem begun since 
 my arrival in England. I conceive I have matter enough for six 
 more cantos. You will perceive that I have not attempted to 
 temper my constitutional enthusiasm in that poem. Indeed, a poem 
 is safe : the iron-souled Attorney-General would scarcely dare to 
 attack [it]. The Past, the Present, and the Future, are the grand 
 and comprehensive topics of this poem. I have not yet half 
 exhausted the second of them.* 
 
 I shall take the liberty of retaining the two poems which you 
 have sent me (Mr. Peacock's), and only regret that my powers 
 are so circumscribed as to prevent me from becoming extensively 
 useful to your friend. The poems abound with a genius, an infor- 
 mation, the power and extent of which I admire, in proportion as 
 I lament the object of their application. Mr. Peacock conceives 
 that commerce is prosperity ; that the glory of the British flag is 
 the happiness of the British people ; that George III., so far from 
 having been a warrior and a tyrant, has been a patriot. To me 
 it appears otherwise ; and I have rigidly accustomed myself not 
 to be seduced by the loveliest eloquence or the sweetest strains 
 to regard with intellectual toleration that which ought not to be 
 tolerated by those who love liberty, truth, and virtue. I mean 
 not to say that Mr. Peacock does not love them ; but I mean to 
 say that he regards those means [as] instrumental to their pro- 
 gress, which I regard [as] instrumental to their destruction. 
 (See Genius of the Thames^ pp. 24, 26, 28, 76, 98.) At the same 
 time, I am free to say that the poem appears to be far beyond 
 mediocrity in genius and versification, and the conclusion of 
 Palmyra the finest piece of poetry I ever read. I have not had 
 
 * The poem here alluded to is (I conceive) Queen Mah. — Ed.
 
 40 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 time to read the Philosophy of Melancholy, and of course am only 
 half acquainted with that genius and those powers whose appli- 
 cation I should consider myself rash and impertinent in criticising, 
 did I not conceive that frankness and justice demand it. 
 
 I should esteem it as a favour if you would present the 
 enclosed letter to the Chevalier Lawrence. I have read his 
 Empire of the Nairs ; nay, have it. Perfectly and decidedly do I 
 subscribe to the truth of the principles which it is designed to 
 establish. 
 
 1 hoj)C you will excuse, nay, and doubt not but you will, the 
 frankness I have used. Characters of our liberality are so 
 wondrous rare, that the sooner they know each other, and the 
 fuller and more complete that knowledge is, the better. 
 Dear Sir, permit me to remain 
 
 Yours, very truly, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 I am about translating an old French work, professedly by 
 M. Mirabaud — not the famous one — La Systeme de la Nature. 
 Do you know anything of it ? 
 
 To T. Hookham, Esq., Bond Street, London. 
 
 Although by this time several letters had passed 
 between Slielley and Godwin, they had never met. The 
 former therefore addressed to the latter a warm invi- 
 tation to pay him and his wife a rural visit at their 
 cottage, where, in the perusal of ancient authors, and 
 the interchange of discourse on high social themes, they 
 might become personally acquainted. Godwin, however, 
 did not go immediately to Lymouth ; and, hi a letter 
 dated July 7th, 1812, Shelley declines to press the in- 
 vitation, because, as his wife suggested to him, their 
 wished-for guest was at that time in delicate health, and 
 their rooms " were complete servants' rooms." Allusion 
 is made in the same letter to the Shelleys going up to
 
 LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 41 
 
 London, and living with the Godwins. On the 18th of 
 September, the author of Political Justice unexpectedly 
 arrived at Lymouth — only to find that the young couple 
 had left since August 31st. This must have been a 
 great vexation to Godwin ; for, in a communication to 
 his wife, written from Bristol, previous to embarking 
 for Devonshire, he speaks of Shelley as "the young 
 man who has so greatly excited my curiosity." A sub- 
 sequent letter to Mrs. Godwin gives the details of the 
 
 misadventm'e. 
 
 Lymouth, Valley of Stones, 
 Mt dear Love, Sept. Idtk, 1812. 
 
 The Shelleys are gone! have been gone these three weeks. 
 I hope you hear this first from me ; I dread lest every day may 
 have brought you a letter from them, conveying this strange 
 inteUigence. I know you would conjure up a thousand frightful 
 ideas of my situation under this disappointment. I have mjself 
 a disposition to take quietly any evil, when it can no longer be 
 avoided, when it ceases to be attended with uncertamty, and when 
 I can already compute the amount of it. I heard this news in- 
 stantly on my arrival at this place, and therefore walked imme- 
 diately (that is, as soon as I had dined) to the Valley of Stones, 
 that, if I could not have what was gone away, I might at least 
 not fail to visit what remained. 
 
 You advise me to return by sea. I thank you a thousand 
 times for your kind and considerate motive in this ; but certainly 
 nothing more repulsive could be proposed to me at this moment 
 than a return by sea. I left Bristol at one o'clock on Wednesday, 
 and arrived here at four o'clock on Friday (yesterday), after a 
 passage of fifty-one hours. We had fourteen passengers, and only 
 four berths ; therefore, I lay down only once for a few hours. We 
 had very little wind, and accordingl}' regularly tided it for six 
 hours, and lay at anchor for six, till we reached this place. This 
 place is fifteen miles short of Ilfracombe. If the captain, after 
 great entreaty from the mate and one of his passengers (for I can- 
 not entreat for such things), [had not] lent me his own boat to put
 
 42 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 me ashore, I really think I should have died with erumi. We 
 anchored, Wednesday night, somewhere within sight of the 
 Holmes (small islands, so called, in the Bristol Channel). The 
 next night we came within sight of Minchead ; but the evening 
 set in with an alarming congregation of black clouds, the sea 
 rolled vehemently without a wind (a phenomenon which is said 
 to portend a storm), and the captain, in a fright, put over to 
 Penarth, near Cardiff, on the coast of Wales, and even told us 
 that he should put us ashore there for the night. At Penarth, he 
 said, there was but one house ; but it had a fine large bam 
 annexed to it, capable of accommodating us all. This was a cruel 
 reverse to me and my fellow passengers, who had never doubted 
 that we should reach the end of our voyage some time in the 
 second day. By the time, however, we had made the Welsh 
 coast, the fiightful symptoms disappeared, the night became clear 
 and serene, and I landed here happily — that is, without further 
 accident — the next day. These are small events to persons accus- 
 tomed to a seafaring life, but they were not small to me ; and 
 you will allow that they were not much mitigated by the elegant 
 and agreeable accommodations of our crazed vessel. I was not 
 decisively sea-sick ; but had qualmish and discomforting sensations 
 from the time we left the Bristol river, particularly after having 
 lain down a few hours on Wednesday night. 
 
 Since Avriting the above I have been to the house where Shelley 
 lodged, and I bring good news. I saw the woman of the house, 
 and I was delighted a\ ith her. She is a good creature, and quite 
 loved the Shelleys. They lived here nine weeks and three days. 
 They went away in a great hurry, and in debt to her and two 
 more. They gave her a draft upon the honourable Mr. Lawleys, 
 brother to Lord Cloncurry, and they borrowed of her twenty-nine 
 shillings, beside 31. that she got for them from a neighbour, all of 
 "which they faithfally returned when they got to Ilfracombe, the 
 people not choosing to change a bank-note which had been cut in 
 half for safety in sending it by the post.* But the best news is, 
 that the woman says they will be in London in a fortnight. This 
 quite comforts my heart. 
 
 * Thev had received only the half. — Ed.
 
 LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 43 
 
 In tte restlessness of his disposition, Shelley had 
 proceeded to Tanjralt, Caernarvonshire, where he 
 hired a cottage belonging to a INIr. Maddox. This 
 gentleman had reclaimed several thousand acres from 
 the sea ; but the embankment proved insufficient during 
 an unusually high tide. The poor cottagers li\'ing on 
 this hazardous land were thrown into great distress by 
 the incursions of the sea consequent on the breaches 
 made in the earthworks ; and Shelley now exhibited a 
 remarkable proof of that noble munificence which was 
 one of the most striking features of his character. He 
 personally solicited subscriptions from the gentlemen of 
 the neighbourhood, and himself headed the Hst with a 
 donation of 500/., though his means, as the reader has 
 seen, were small. But he did not allow his zeal to stop 
 even here ; for, accompanied by his wife, he hm-ried up 
 to London, to obtain further succour. He was finally 
 successful in his efibrts : the embankment was repaired 
 and strengthened, and the inhabitants w^ere protected 
 from futm'e risk. 
 
 Dm'ing his visit to London, Shelley made the personal 
 
 acquaintance of Godwin, with whom he lived for a 
 
 time ; and to the philosopher's daughter Fanny * he 
 
 addressed the subjoined letter, after ha\aug rather 
 
 abruptly left their house : — 
 
 Dear Fankt, Dec. lOtJi, 1812. 
 
 So you do not know whetlier it is proper to -write to me ? 
 Now, one of the most conspicuous considerations that arise from 
 
 * Eanny Godwin was the only sister of Shelley's second wife. She 
 died earlv in 1815.
 
 44 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 such a topic is — who and what am I? I am one of those formi- 
 dable and long-clawed animals called a man^ and it is not until I 
 have assured you that I am one of the most inoffensive of my 
 species, that I live on vegetable food, and never bit since I was 
 born, that I venture to obtrude myself on your attention. But to 
 be serious. I shall feel much satisfaction in replying, Avith as 
 much explicitness as my nature is capable of, to any questions you 
 ma}' put to me. I know that I have in some degree forfeited a 
 direct claim to your confidence and credit, and that of your 
 inestimable circle ; but, if you will believe me as much as you can, 
 I will be as sincere as I can. I certainly am convinced that, with 
 the exception of one or two isolated instances, I am so far from 
 being an insincere man, that my plainness has occasionally given 
 offence, and caused some to accuse me of being defective in that 
 urbanity and toleration which is supposed to be due to society. 
 Allow me, in the absence of the topics which are eventually to be 
 discussed between us, to assume the privilege you have claimed, 
 and ask a question. How is Harriet a fine lady ? You indirectly 
 accuse her in your letter of this offence — to me the most unpar- 
 donable of all. The ease and simplicity of her habits, the unas- 
 suming plainness of her address, the uncalculated connection of 
 her thought and speech, have ever formed, in my eyes, her greatest 
 charms ; and none of these are compatible with fashionable life, 
 or the attempted assumption of its vulgar and noisy eclat. You 
 have a prejudice to contend with in making me a convert to this 
 last opinion of yours, which, so long as I have a living and daily 
 witness to its futility before me, I fear will be insurmountable. 
 The second accusation (the abruptness of our departure) has more 
 foundation, though in its spirit it is not less false and futile than 
 the first. It must indeed, I confess it, have appeared insensible 
 and unfeeling ; it must have appeared an ill return for all the kind 
 greetings we have received at your house, to leave it in haste and 
 coldness — to leave even the enlightened and zealous benevolence 
 of Godwin ever [active] for good, and never deterred or dis- 
 couraged in schemes for rectifying our perplexed affairs — to bid 
 not one adieu to one of you; but, had j-ou been placed in a 
 situation where you might justly have balanced all our embarrass- 
 ments, qualms, and fluctuations, had seen the opposite motives
 
 LITEEAEY COERESPONDENCE. 45 
 
 combating in our minds for mastery, had felt some tithe of the 
 pain with which at length we submitted to a galling yet unappeal- 
 able necessity, you would have sympathized rather than con- 
 demned, have pitied rather than criminated, us unheard. Say the 
 truth : did not a sense of the injustice of our supposed unkindness 
 add some point to the sarcasms which we found occasionally in 
 your last letter ? . . . . 
 
 If all my laughs were not dreadful Sardonic grins, disgraceful 
 to the most hideous of Cheshire cats, I should certainly laugh at 
 two things in your last letter. The one is, " not knowing whetlier 
 it is proper to write to me," lest — God knows what might happen ; 
 and the other is, comparing our movement to that of a modern 
 novel. I^ow a novel (modern or ancient) never moves but as the 
 reader moves, and I, being a reader, if I take up one of these 
 similitudes of our progress, never can get beyond the third line in 
 the second page ; therefore, you ought rather to have compared a 
 novel to a snail than to us. 
 
 Now, my dear Fanny, do not be angry at either my laughs, my 
 criticisms, or my queries. They proceed from levity, my proper 
 view of things, and my desire of setting them before you in what 
 I consider a right light. 
 
 Your questions shall be answered with precision ; and, if hope 
 in my quality as a man be not too tremendous, I shall acquire from 
 the result an interesting and valuable correspondent. 
 
 With much esteem, your true friend, 
 
 To Miss Fanny Godwin. P. B. Shelley. 
 
 The following letter of literaiy advice from Godwin 
 to Shelley possesses great interest: — 
 
 My dear Shelley, Dec. 10th, 1812. 
 
 I sit down the sooner to answer your very kind and excellent 
 letter, because, if you are really desirous to make an experiment 
 of a plan of my recommending, it would be unfair and unjust in 
 me to withhold the information you ask. 
 
 The light in which I should wish every man, every young man 
 in particular, to consider the study of history, is as a means of 
 becoming acquainted with whatever of noble, useful, generous, and
 
 46 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 admirable, human nature is capable of designing and performing. 
 To see all this illustrated by examples carrying it directly into 
 act, is, perhaps, superior to all the theories and speculations that 
 can possibly be formed. History, in its most comprehensive 
 sense, is a detail of all that man has done in solitude or in society, 
 so far as it can be rendered matter of record. It is our own fault, 
 therefore, if we do not select and dwell upon the best. This is so 
 much matter of feeling among all who read history, that it is uni- 
 versally agreed that, next to the history of our own coimtry, the 
 histories of Greece and Rome most deserve to be studied. "Why ? 
 Because in them the achievements of the human species have been 
 most admirable : in Rome, in high moral and social qualities ; in 
 Greece, both in them, and also in literature and art. 
 
 The just way of criticising man, in my opinion, is analogous to 
 the right way of criticising works of literature and art. When 
 you talk to me of Milton and Shakspeare, I should begin with 
 saving : Let us set their faults out of our view ; not that they are 
 never to be considered, but that this makes no part of what is 
 most peculiar in them. Faults are like paper and ink ; no book 
 can exist without them ; but they have nothing to do, in the first 
 instance, with deciding upon the merits of an author. Put a new 
 book into my hands, and the first question I shall ask you, if I 
 question you wisely, is : What are its excellences ? Does it ex- 
 hibit any grand views ? Does it contain any beautiful passages ? 
 Here all the good and all the honour lies. Just so is man. I am 
 bound first to examine whether there were really great and high 
 qualities in Cato, in Eegulus, in Brutus, in Solon, in Themistocles ; 
 and when I have made my very heart familiar with the conception 
 of these, I will then proceed, if you like, to the examination of 
 those defects by which they were allied to the weakness and 
 errors of our common nature. A true student is a man seated in 
 his chair, and surrounded with a sort of intrenchment and breast- 
 work of books. It is for boarding-school misses to read one book 
 at a time. Particularly when I am sifting out facts, either of 
 science or history, I must place myself in the situation of a man 
 making a book, rather than reading books. When I have studied 
 the Grecian history in Homer, in Herodotus, Thucydides, Xeno- 
 phon, and Plutarch, together with those of the moderns that are
 
 LITERAEY COERESPONDENCE. 47 
 
 most capable, or most elaborate, in mifolding or appreciating the 
 materials the ancients have left us, I shall then begin to know 
 what Greece was. I need not, of course, mention how superior 
 is the information and representation of contemporaries to those 
 who come afterwards and write their stories over again. The 
 compilers are a sort of middle class between the real authors and 
 the makers of dictionaries. True reading is investigation — not a 
 passive reception of what our author gives us, but an active 
 inquiry, appreciation, and digestion of his subject. 
 
 Yet there is a certain difficulty in this. We ought first to take 
 a comprehensive survey of every subject, and a private view of 
 every author who, for his own merits, is worth our studying. 
 Hence it follows that there are various processes to be successively 
 performed by him who would master the histoiy of any one 
 country or memorable period; and hence it appears (what has 
 been observed in various forms by many writers) that it is almost 
 impossible for any man to get fuUy to the end of any subject. 
 There is another rule, that, both from expei-ience and reason, I 
 should strongly recommend to any one desirous of becoming a 
 student, and that is, to have three or four diiferent studies for 
 different parts of the day, or, if you will, to be taken up in a sort 
 of rotation in each day. Such a plan adds wonderfully to the 
 stimulus moving us, and to the progress actually made. I have 
 for the greater part of my life read at least for one hour a day in 
 some Greek, and for one hour in some Latin, author ; and I am 
 sure I have done twice as much as I should have done in any 
 other way of proceeding. 
 
 You ask me concerning some of our elder writers, and I Avill 
 therefore very briefly mention a few. I observed to you that 
 Shakspeare had many contemporary dramatists, any one of which 
 would have done for almost the best man of any other age. Such 
 were Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Webster, Ford, 
 Dekker, Heywood, and Llassinger. Then what illustrious poets 
 had those times in Spenser, Drayton, and Daniel ! not to men- 
 tion the minor poets (I mean in quantity), such as Davies and 
 Donne. Chapman's Homer has infinitely more fire than any other 
 translation I have ever read. He was thoroughly invested and 
 penetrated with the sacredness of the poetic character.
 
 48 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 To proceed from poetry to prose. Shakspeare, Bacon, and 
 Milton are the three greatest contemplative characters that this 
 island has produced. Therefore, as I put Shakspeare and ]\Iilton 
 at the head of our poetry, I put Bacon and Milton at the head of 
 our prose. Yet what astonishing prose writers had we in Sir 
 Thomas Browne and Jeremy Taylor ! not to mention two others, 
 only inferior to them, Robert Burton and Isaac Walton. Ilobbes 
 and Shelton, also, as prose translators, may almost rank with 
 Chapman in verse. 
 
 Those were the times when authors thought. Every line is 
 pregnant with sense, and the reader is inevitably put to the ex- 
 pense of thinking likewise. The writers were richly furnished 
 with conception, imagination, and feeling ; and out of the abund- 
 ance of their hearts flowed the lucubrations they committed to 
 paper. You have what appears to me a false taste in poetry. You 
 love a perpetual sparkle and glittering, such as are to be found in 
 Darwin, and Southey, and Scott, and Campbell. 
 
 Some light is tlirown on the peculiar literary tastes 
 and antipathies of Shelley by a letter which he wrote 
 about this time to Mr. Hookham, commissioning that 
 gentleman to pm'chase certain books for him. The 
 disgust of history here confessed has probably been 
 shared by all minds which have longed for a state of 
 ideal perfection ; but the young student resolved to 
 follow the advice of his self-chosen guide, whose words 
 the reader has just perused. 
 
 My bear Sir, Temp-alt, Dec. 17 th, 1812. 
 
 You will receive the Biblical Extracts * in a day or two by 
 the twopemiy post. I confide them to the care of a person going 
 to London. Would not Daniel J. Eaton publish them ? Could 
 the question be asked him in any manner ? 
 
 I am also preparing a volume of minor poems, respecting whose 
 publication I shall request your judgment, both as publisher and 
 
 *, This work has never been published. — Ed.
 
 LITERAEY CORRESPONDENCE. 49 
 
 friend. A very obvious question would be — Will they sell or 
 not ? Subjoined is a list of books which I wish you to send me 
 very soon. I am determined to apply myself to a study that 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. You see that the metaphysical works to which my heart 
 hankers are not numerous in this list. One thing will you take 
 care of for me ? that those standard and respectable works on 
 history, &c., be of the cheapest possible editions. With respect to 
 metaphysical works, I am less scrupulous. 
 
 Spinoza you may or may not be able to obtain. Kant is trans- 
 lated into Latin by some Englishman. I would prefer that the 
 Greek classics should have Latin or English versions printed 
 opposite. If not to be obtained thus, they must be sent other- 
 wise. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley is attacking Latin with considerable resolution, and. 
 can already read many odes in Horace. She unites with her sister 
 and myself in best wishes to yourself and brother. 
 
 Your very sincere friend, 
 
 T. Hoohham, Esq., P. B. Shelley. 
 
 15, Bond Street, London,
 
 50 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 
 
 The poetical element in Shelley's nature — that faculty 
 by which we mainly know him, though he himself con- 
 ceived it to be secondary to his love of logic and meta- 
 physics — was now beginning to develop itself more 
 ftiUy and systematically than it had yet done. That 
 he must have felt an intense pleasure in the gradual 
 unfolding of that gorgeous imagination wliich after- 
 Avards produced so many images of almost supernatural 
 loveliness, cannot be doubted; but, at the same time, 
 his keen, critical perceptions detected with remarkable 
 accuracy the faults of his early productions. In writing 
 to Mr. Hookham, during the January of 1813, he says : 
 — " My poems will, I fear, little stand the criticism 
 even of friendship. Some of the later ones" (it should 
 be recollected that these " later ones " must now be re- 
 garded as among the early fruit) " have the merit of 
 conveying a meaning in every Avord, and all are faithful 
 pictures of my feelings at the time of writing them; 
 but they are in a great measure obscm-e. One fault 
 they are indisputably exempt from — that of being a 
 volume of fashionable literatui^e. I doubt not but your
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 51 
 
 friendly hand Avill clip the wings of my Pegasus con- 
 siderably." The early poems of Shelley, however, 
 showed nothing more than the faults incidental to all 
 young writers ; and from the midst of their greatest 
 obscurities issued a golden dawn of promise. 
 
 But the pm'suits of art were always cheerfully aban- 
 doned by the poet when any occasion arose for the 
 exercise of his philanthropy, or whenever he conceived 
 himself called upon to vindicate and support an oppressed 
 fellow-struggler for liberty and. justice. In the year 
 1813, one of a series of Government prosecutions of the 
 Examiner newspaper, for speaking with more freedom on 
 political topics than rulers at that time would tolerate, 
 ended in the conviction of Messrs. John and Leigh Hunt, 
 who were sentenced to two years' imprisonment, and 
 condemned to pay a fine of ] ,000/. Hereupon, Shelley 
 wrote from Tanyralt, as follows, to Mr. Hookham : — 
 
 My dear Sir, February^ 1813. 
 
 I am boiling with indignation at the horrible injustice and 
 tyranny of the sentence pronounced on Plant and his brother; 
 and it is on this subject that I write to you. Surely the seal 
 of abjectness and slavery is indelibly stamped upon the character 
 of England. 
 
 Although I do not retract in the slightest degree my msh for 
 a subscription for the widows and children of those poor men 
 hung at York, yet this 1,000/. which the Hunts are sentenced to 
 pay is an affair of more consequence. Hunt is a brave, a good, 
 and an enlightened man. Surely the public, for whom Hunt 
 has done so much, will repay in part the great debt of obligation 
 which they owe the champion of their liberties and virtues; or 
 axe they dead, cold, stone-hearted, and insensible — brutalized by 
 centuries of unremitting bondage ? However that may be, they 
 surely may be excited into some slight acknowledgment of his 
 
 E 2
 
 52 SHELLEY ilEilORIALS. 
 
 merits. Whilst hundreds of thousands are sent to the tyrants of 
 Eussia, he pines in a dungeon, far from all that can make life 
 desired. 
 
 Well, I am rather poor at present ; but I have 20Z. which is not 
 immediately wanted. Pray, begin a subscription for the Hunts ; 
 put down my name for that sum, and, when I hear that you have 
 complied with my request, I will send it you.* Now, if there 
 are any difficulties in the way of this scheme of ours, for the love 
 of liberty and virtue, overcome them. Oh ! that I might wallow 
 for one night in the Bank of England ! 
 
 Queen Mah is finished and transcribed. I am now preparing 
 the notes, which shall be long and philosophical. You will receive 
 it with the other poems. I think that the whole should form 
 one volume ; but of that we can speak hereafter. 
 
 As to the French Encyclopedie, it is a book which I am desirous 
 — very desirous — of possessing ; and, if you could get me a few 
 months' credit (being at present rather low in cash), I should very 
 much desire to have it. 
 
 My dear sir, excuse the earnestness of the first part of my letter. 
 I feel warmly on this subject, and I flatter myself that, so long as 
 your own independence and liberty remain micompromised, you 
 are inclined to second my desires. 
 
 Your very sincere friend, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 P. S. — If no other way can be devised for this subscription, 
 will you take the trouble on yourself of writing an appropriate 
 advertisement for the papers, mserting, by \f^j of stimulant, my 
 subscription ? 
 
 On second thoughts, I enclose the 201. 
 
 According to Mrs. Shelleyj in the collected edition of 
 her husband's works, and to the poet himself, as we shall 
 
 * The Hunts, with a noble magnanimity, for which they long 
 suffered in a worldly point of view, however great miglit have been 
 the reward of their own consciences, refused to accept any subscrip- 
 tion, public or private, and paid the fine entirely out of their own 
 pockets. — Ed.
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 53 
 
 shortly see, the latter was eighteen when he wrote Queen 
 Mob; but it would appear from the foregoing that it 
 was at least not completed before he was in his twenty- 
 first year. He never published it (though at first he 
 designed to do so), but distributed copies amongst his 
 friends. In 1821, however, when Shelley was in Italy, 
 an edition was surreptitiously issued ; on which its 
 author applied to Chancery for an injunction to restrain 
 the sale. In addressing the Examiner (under date 
 June 22nd) on the subject, he thus spoke of the chief 
 composition of his youth : — 
 
 *' A poem, entitled Queen Mab, was written by me at 
 the age of eighteen — I dare say, in a sufficiently intem- 
 perate spirit. 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." 
 And in a letter to his publisher, Mr. Oilier, dated 
 June llth, 1821, he uses almost the same words, and 
 speaks of the poem as "villanous trash" — in which 
 sweeping condemnation, however, many readers will 
 disagree with him. He continues : — " In the name of 
 poetry, and as you are a bookseller (you observe the 
 strength of these conjurations), pray, give all manner
 
 54 SHELLEY MEMOKIALS. 
 
 of publicity to my disapprobation of this publication j in 
 fact, protest for me in an advertisement in the strongest 
 terms. I ought to say, however, that I am obliged to 
 this piratical fellow in one respect ; that he has omitted, 
 with a delicacy for which I thank him heartily, a foolish 
 dedication to my late wife, the publication of which 
 would have annoyed me, and indeed is the only part 
 of the business that could seriously have annoyed me, 
 although it is my duty to protest against the whole. 
 I have written to my attorney to do what he can to 
 suppress it, although I fear that, after the precedent of 
 Southey, there is little probability of an injmiction being 
 granted." The " feai' " here expressed proved to be well 
 based. The law gives no protection to a heretical book, 
 and in fact refuses to acknowledge it, except as the 
 object of a prosecution ; and so the Coui't of Chancery 
 connived at the sale of a work, the opinions of which it 
 held to be pernicious. 
 
 The more exalted Platonical speculations of his later 
 life naturally made Shelley discontented with the some- 
 what cold, though qualified, materialism of Queen Mob. 
 But it is a mistake to describe that poem as utterly 
 Atheistical in its tendency. It is rather Pantheistical, 
 since, while it rejects the hypothesis of a creative God, 
 it affirms the existence of " a pervading Spirit, co- 
 eternal with the universe." Passages might be quoted 
 from it, full of deep yet modest piety, as regarded from 
 the author's point of view — a point which must be con- 
 ceded to the believers in any creed. The involuntary 
 tendency of a poet to recognise spiritual existences
 
 POETICAL LABOUES AND DOIVEESTIC SOEEOWS. 55 
 
 constantly breaks forth, and peoples the world with 
 Fames and Genii. The immortality of the soul, and 
 its essential difference from the body, are like%yise 
 acknowledged — nay, even passionately enforced. But, 
 undoubtedly, the poem and the notes are anything but 
 orthodox. Shelley regarded the conventional religion as 
 gross, contradictory, and tending to oppression and 
 cruelty; and history supplied him with many dismal 
 facts in support of that view. He saw, moreover, that 
 the Christianity of worldly-minded men is not sincere, 
 — that their practice is at war with their profession ; 
 and so seeing, he spoke out with all the vehemence of 
 youth. For publisliing these bold comments on the 
 popular faith, Mr. Moxon, as late as 1840, was prose- 
 cuted and convicted. As a literary production. Queen 
 Mob will always possess interest, because of the vigorous 
 indications it contains of an expanding genius, ah'eady 
 haunted with images of splendour and with utterances 
 of sonorous melody; but it camiot be denied that it 
 sometimes betrays an adherence to that conventional style 
 of poetry which was then passing away from our htera- 
 ture, and from which Shelley himself afterwards widely 
 diverged. The notes exliibit a large extent of reading ; 
 and, whatever may be thought of the doctrines enforced, 
 no candid reader will refuse to admire the subtlety of 
 reasoning and the mastery of style which are here 
 evinced by a mere youth. 
 
 At Tanyralt, as at all other places, Shelley's benevo- 
 lence was in constant activity. The reader has ah'eady 
 seen how munificently it was exercised when the sea
 
 56 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 broke through the feeble barrier on which the safety of 
 many of the poor cottagers depended ; but this, though 
 the most conspicuous, was not the only instance. Mr. 
 Maddox, in subsequent years, told Captain Medwin, a 
 relative of the poet, and one of his biographers, that 
 Shelley was constantly reheving the humble and neces- 
 sitous, and that he would visit them in their homes, and 
 supply them, during the bleak winter months, with food, 
 clothes, and fuel. 
 
 Yet this continual beneficence could not save Shelley 
 from an attempt on his life, of a most atrocious and 
 extraordinary kind ; for the facts will not allow us to 
 hope that the horrible scene was the creation of an over- 
 excited and almost morbidly-sensitive brain. It is true 
 that there is somethino- of a nightmare character in the 
 incidents; but the testimony of Mrs. Shelley gives a 
 stamp of reality to the affau'. Miss Westbrook was also 
 in the house at the time, and often, in after years, 
 related the circumstance as a frightful fact. The details 
 of this strange circumstance are given by Shelley and 
 his wife in letters to Mr. Hookham : — 
 
 Mt dear Sie, 
 
 I have just escaped an atrocious assassination. Oh ! send 
 me 201., if you have it ! * You will perhaps hear of me no more. 
 
 ■ friend, 
 
 Percy Shelley. 
 
 * The incoherence of the few words here written by Shelley shows 
 the agitated state of his mind at the time. It would appear that, 
 after sending ofi" the 20/. for the Hunt subscription, he was in want 
 of money. Hence the request to Mr. Hookham for a little temporary 
 accommodation, to enable him to make the necessary removal from 
 Tanyralt. — Ed.
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 57 
 
 Postscript by Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 Mr. Shelley is so dreadfully nervous to-day ftom having been 
 up all night, that I am afraid what he has ^rritten -will alarm you 
 very much. We intend to leave this place as soon as possible, as 
 our lives are not safe so long as we remain. It is no common 
 robber we dread, but a person Avho is actuated by revenge, and 
 who threatens my life and my sister's as well. If you can send us 
 the money, it will greatly add to our comfort. 
 
 Sir, I remain your sincere friend, 
 
 T. Hookham, Esq. H. Shellet. 
 
 Mr. Hookham answered this letter by sending a re- 
 mittance, which was thus acknowledged : — 
 
 j\Iy dear Fsiend, Bangor Fer)'y, March 6th, 1813. 
 
 In the first stage of our journey towards Dublin we met 
 with your letter. How shall I express to you what I felt of 
 gratitude, surprise, and pleasure — not so much that the remittance 
 rescued us from a situation of peculiar perplexity, but that one 
 there was, who, by disinterested and imhesitating confidence, made 
 amends to our feelings, wounded by the suspicion, coldness, and 
 villany of the world. If the discovery of truth be a pleasure of 
 singular pm-ity, how far surpassing is the discovery of virtue ! 
 
 I am now recovered from an Ulness brought on by watching, 
 fatigue, and alarm ; and we are proceeding to DubUn to dissipate 
 the unpleasant impressions associated with the scene of our alarm. 
 
 We expect to be there on the 8th. You shall then hear the 
 details of our distresses. The ball of the assassin's pistols (he 
 fired at me twice) penetrated my night-gown and pierced the 
 wainscot. He is yet undiscovered, though not unsuspected, as you 
 will learn from my next. 
 
 Unless you knew us all more intimately, you cannot conceive 
 with what fervour and sincerity my "svife and sister join with me 
 to you in gratitude and esteem. 
 
 Yours ever faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 P.S. — Though overwhelmed by our own distresses, we are by 
 no means indifferent to those of liberty and virtue. From the
 
 58 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 tenor of your letter I augiir that you have applied the 20Z. I sent 
 to the benefit of the Hunts. I am anxious to hear further of the 
 success of this experiment. My direction is — 35, Great Cuflfe 
 Street, Dublin. By your kindness and generosity we are per- 
 fectly relieved from all pecuniary difficulties. "We only wanted a 
 little breathicg time, which the rapidity of our persecutions was 
 imwilling to allow us. We shall readily repay the 20Z. when I 
 hear from my correspondent in London ; but when can I repay 
 the friendship, the disinterestedness, and the zeal of your con- 
 fidence ? 
 
 T. Hookliam, Esq. 
 
 The most complete account of the attack is that con- 
 tained in the following letter from Mrs. Shelley to 
 Mr. Hookham :— 
 
 35, Cuffe Street, StepJien's G7'een, Dublin, 
 Mr DEAR Sib, 3farcJi llif/t [1813]. 
 
 We arrived here last Tuesday, after a most tedious passage 
 of forty hours, during the whole of Avhich time we were dreadfully 
 ill. I am afraid no diet will prevent us from the common lot of 
 suffering Avhen obliged to take a sea voyage. 
 
 Mr. S. promised you a recital of the horrible events that caused 
 us to leave Wales. I have imdertaken the task, as I wish to spare 
 him, in the present nervous state of his health, everything that 
 can recal to his mind the horrors of that night. 
 
 On Friday night, the 26th of February, we retired to bed 
 between ten and eleven o'clock. We had been in bed about half 
 an hour, when Mr. S. heard a noise proceeding from one of the 
 parlours. He immediately went down-stairs with two pistols, 
 which he had loaded that night, expecting to have occasion for 
 them. He went mto the billiard-room, where he heard footsteps 
 retreating ; he followed into another little room, which was called 
 an office. He there saw a man in the act of quitting the room 
 through a glass-door which opened into the shrubbery. The man 
 then fired at Mr. S., which he avoided. Bysshe then fired, but it 
 flashed in the pan. The man then knocked Bysshe down, and 
 they struggled on the ground. Bysshe then fu-ed his second pistol.
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AKD DOMESTIC SORROWS. b9 
 
 which he thought wounded him in the shoulder, as he uttered a 
 shriek and got up, when he said these words: — " By God, I will 
 be revenged ! I %vill murder your wife ; I will ravish your sister ! 
 By God, I will be revenged ! " He then fled — as we hoped, for the 
 night. Our servants were not gone to bed, but were just going, 
 when this horrible affair happened. This was about eleven 
 o'clock. We all assembled in the parlour, where we remained for 
 two hours. Mr. S. then advised us to retire, thinking it impos- 
 sible he would make a second attack. We left Bysshe and one 
 man-servant, who had only arrived that day, and who knew 
 nothing of the house, to sit up. I had been in bed three hours 
 when I heard a pistol go off. I immediately ran down-stairs, 
 when I perceived that Bysshe's flannel go^vn had been shot 
 through, and the window-curtain. Bysshe had sent Daniel to see 
 what hour it was, when he heard a noise at the window. He 
 went there, and a man thrust his arm through the glass and fired 
 at him. Thank Heaven ! the ball went through his gown, and 
 he remained unhurt. Mr. S. happened to stand sideways ; had he 
 stood fronting, the ball must have killed him. Bysshe fired his 
 pistol, but it would not go off; he then aimed a blow at him ^vith 
 an old sword, which we found in the house. The assassin attempted 
 to get the sword from him, and just as he was getting it away, 
 Dan rushed into the room, when he made his escape. 
 
 This was at four in the morning. It had been a most dreadful 
 night ; the wind was as loud as thunder, and the rain descended 
 in torrents. Xothing has been heard of him ; and we have every 
 reason to believe it was no stranger, as there is a man of the name 
 of Leeson, who, the next morning that it happened, went and told 
 the shopkeepers of Tremadoc that it was a tale of Mr. Shelley's 
 to impose upon them, that he might leave the country without 
 paying his bills. This they believed, and none of them attempted 
 to do anything towards his discovery. 
 
 We left Tanyralt on Saturday, and stayed, till everything was 
 ready for our leaving the place, at the Solicitor- General of the 
 county's house, who lived seven miles from us. This Mr. Leeson 
 had been heard to say that he was determined to drive us out of 
 the country. He once happened to get hold of a little pamphlet 
 which ]Mr. S. had printed in Dublin ; this he sent up to Govern-
 
 60 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 ment. In fact, he was for ever saying something against us, 
 and that because we were determined not to admit him to our 
 house, because we had heard his character, and from many acts of 
 his we found that he was mahgnant to the greatest degree, and 
 cruel. 
 
 The pleasure we experienced on reading your letter you may 
 conceive, at the time when every one seemed to be plotting 
 against us. 
 
 Pardon me if I Avound your feelings by dwelling on this subject. 
 Your conduct has made a deep impression upon our minds, which 
 no length of time can erase. Would that all mankind were like 
 thee! 
 
 After a short residence in Dublin, and a tour to the 
 Lakes of Killarney, the Shelleys returned to London in 
 May, 1813, and remained there until after the confine- 
 ment of Mrs. Shelley, who early in the summer gave 
 birth to a daughter, afterwards christened lanthe Eliza. 
 
 Mr. Peacock, one of the poet's most intimate friends 
 at that time, has recently given in Fraser's Magazine an 
 interesting account of Shelley's way of pleasing his 
 infant. 
 
 " He was extremely fond of his child," says Mr. Pea- 
 cock, " and would walk up and down a room with it in 
 his arms for a long time too;ether, singinp; to it a mono- 
 tonous melody of his own making, which ran on the 
 repetition of a word of his own coining. His song was 
 — ' Yahmani, yahmani, yahmani, yahmani ! ' It did not 
 please me, but, what was more important, it pleased the 
 child, and lulled it when it was fretful. Shelley was 
 extremely fond of his children. He was pre-eminently 
 an affectionate father. But to this first-born there were 
 accompaniments which did not please him. The child
 
 POETICAL LABOUES AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 61 
 
 had a wet-nurse whom he did not hke, and w^as much 
 looked after by his wife's sister, wdiom he intensely dis- 
 liked. I have often thought that, if Harriet had nursed 
 her own child, and if this sister had not lived with 
 them, the link of their married love would not have 
 been so readily broken." 
 
 Shelley was now in severe pecuniary distress ; for he 
 received nothing from his father beyond the stipulated 
 2001. a year, and he had not foimd it possible to raise 
 money on his future expectations. For the purpose of 
 economy he retired to a small cottage in Berkshire, 
 which bore the lofty title of High Elms, and where, in 
 the society of a few friends, varied by frequent visits to 
 London, some months glided by happily and quietly. 
 
 Dviring this summer, Shelley paid a visit to Field 
 Place, and his reception there is graphically told by a 
 friend of the family (Captain Kennedy), who was then 
 staying in the house : — 
 
 " At this time I had not seen Shelley ; but the ser- 
 vants, especially the old butler. Laker, had spoken of 
 him to me. He seemed to have won the hearts of the 
 whole household. Mrs. Shelley often spoke to me of 
 her son ; her heart yearned after him with all the fond- 
 ness of a mother's love. It was during the absence of 
 his father and the three youngest children that the 
 natural desire of a mother to see her son induced her to 
 propose that he should pay her a short visit. At this 
 time he resided somewhere in the country with his first 
 wife and their only child, lanthe. He walked from his 
 house until within a verv few miles of Field Place, when
 
 62 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 a farmer gave liim a seat in his travelling cart. As he 
 passed along, the farmer, ignorant of the quality of his 
 companion, amused Bysshe with descriptions of the 
 country and its inhabitants. When Field Place came in 
 sight, he told whose seat it was ; and, as the most re- 
 markable incident connected with the family, that young 
 Master Shelley seldom went to church. He arrived at 
 Field Place exceedingly fatigued. I came there the fol- 
 lowing morning to meet him. I found him with his 
 mother and his two elder sisters in a small room off the 
 drawing-room, which they had named Confusion Hall. 
 
 '' He received me with frankness and kindliness, as if 
 he had known me from childhood, and at once won my 
 heart. I fancy I see him now, as he sat by the window, 
 and hear his voice, the tones of which impressed me 
 with his sincerity and simplicity. His resemblance to 
 his sister Elizabeth was as striking as if they had been 
 twins. His eyes were most expressive, his complexion 
 beautifully fair, his features exquisitely fine; his hair 
 was dark, and no peculiar attention to its arrangement 
 w^as manifest. In person he was slender and gentleman- 
 like, but inclined to stoop ; his gait was decidedly not 
 military. The general appearance indicated great deli- 
 cacy of constitution. One woidd at once pronounce of 
 him that he was something different from other men. 
 There was an earnestness in his manner, and such per- 
 fect gentleness of breeding, and freedom from everything 
 artificial, as charmed every one. I never met a man 
 who so immediately won upon me. 
 
 " The generosity of his disposition and utter unself-
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 63 
 
 ishness imposed upon him the necessity of strict self- 
 denial in personal comforts. Consequently, lie was 
 obliged to be most economical in liis dress. He one day 
 asked us liow we liked his coat, the only one he had 
 brought with him. We said it was very nice ; it looked 
 as if new. * Well,' said he, ' it is an old black coat 
 which I have had done up, and smartened with metal 
 buttons and a velvet collar.' 
 
 "As it was not desirable that Bysshe's presence in the 
 country should be known, we arranged that, walking- 
 out, he should wear my scarlet uniform, and that I should 
 assiune his outer garments. So he donned the soldier's 
 dress, and sallied forth. His head was so remarkably 
 small that, though mine be not large, the cap came 
 down over his eyes, the peak resting on his nose, and it 
 had to be stuffed before it would fit him. His hat just 
 stuck on the crown of my head. He certainly looked 
 like an}d;hing but a soldier. The metamorphosis was 
 very amusing; he enjoyed it much, and made himself 
 perfectly at home in his unwonted garb. We gave him 
 the name of Captain Jones, under which name we used 
 to talk of Mm after his departure; but, with all our 
 care, Bysshe's visit could not be kept a secret. 
 
 " I chanced to mention the name of Sir James 
 Macintosh, of whom he expressed the highest admira- 
 tion. He told me Sir James was intimate with Godwin, 
 to whom, he said, he owed everything; from whose book. 
 Political Justice, he had derived all that was valuable in 
 knowledge and virtue. He discoursed with eloquence 
 and enthusiasm; but his views seemed to me exquisitely
 
 64 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 metapliysical, o,iid by no means clear, precise, or decided. 
 He told me tliat lie had already read the Bible four 
 times. He ^yas then only twenty years old.* He spoke 
 of tlie Supreme Being as of infinite mercy and bene- 
 volence. He disclosed no fixed views of spiritual things ; 
 all seemed wild and fanciful. He said that he once 
 thought the surrounding atmosphere was peopled with 
 the sj)irits of the departed. He reasoned and spoke as 
 a perfect gentleman, and treated my arguments, boy as 
 I was (I had lately completed my sixteenth year), with 
 as much consideration and respect as if I had been his 
 equal in ability and attainments. 
 
 " Shelley was one of the most sensitive of human 
 beings ; he had a horror of taking life, and looked upon 
 it as a crime. He read poetry with great emphasis and 
 solemnity; one evening he read aloud to us a translation 
 of one of Goethe's poems, and at this day I think I hear 
 him. In music he seemed to delight, as a medium of 
 association; the tunes which had been favourites in boy- 
 hood charmed him. There was one, which he played 
 several times on the piano with one hand, which seemed 
 to absorb him : it w^as an exceedingly simple air, which, 
 I understand, his earliest love (Harriet Grove) was wont 
 to play for him. He soon left us, and I never saw him 
 aftenvards ; but I can never forget him. It was his last 
 visit to Field Place. He was an amiable, gentle being." 
 
 Towards the close of 1813, estrangements, which 
 for some time had been slowly growing betw^een 
 
 * As this was in the summer of 1813, Shelley must have been 
 nearly, if not quite, twentj'-one. — Ed,
 
 POETICAL LABOURS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 65 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Shelley, came to a crisis. Separation 
 ensued ; and Mrs. Shelley retui'ned to her father's house. 
 Here she gave birth to her second child — a son, who 
 died in 1826. 
 
 The occurrences of this painful epoch in Shelley's 
 life, and of the causes which led to them, I am spared 
 from relating. In Mary Shelley's own words : — " 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." 
 
 Of those remaining who were intimate with Shelley 
 at this time, each has given us a different version of 
 this sad event, coloured by his own views and personal 
 feelings. Evidently, Shelley confided to none of these 
 friends. We, who bear his name, and are of his family, 
 have in our possession papers written by his own hand, 
 which in after years may make the story of his life 
 complete, and which few now living, except Shelley's 
 own children, have ever perused. 
 
 One mistake which has gone forth to the world, we 
 feel ourselves called upon positively to contradict. 
 
 Harriet's death has sometimes been ascribed to Shelley. 
 
 F
 
 66 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 This is entirely false. There was no immediate con- 
 nection whatever between her tragic end and any con- 
 duct on the part of her husband. It is true, however, 
 that it was a permanent source of the deepest sorrow 
 to him ; for never dvmng all his after life did the dark 
 shade depart which had fallen on his gentle and sensitive 
 natiu'e from the self-sought grave of the companion of 
 his early youth.
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND: JUDGMENT OF THE 
 LORD CHANCELLOR: THE "REVOLT OF ISLAM." 
 
 To the fainily of Godwin, Shelley had, from the 
 period of his self-introduction at Keswick, been an 
 object of interest; and the acquaintanceship which had 
 sprung up between them during the poet's occasional 
 visits to London had grown into a cordial friendship. 
 It was in the society and sympathy of the Godwins 
 that Shelley sought and found some relief in his present 
 sorrow. He was still extremely young. His anguish, 
 his isolation, his difiference 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 their fellow- 
 
 r 2
 
 68 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 men, and been true througli 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.^ 
 
 The short peace of 1814 having opened the Continent, 
 they went abroad, and, having visited some of the most 
 magnificent scenes of Switzerland, returned to England 
 from Lucerne by the Reuss and the Rhine. This river- 
 navigation enchanted Shelley. He was never so happy 
 as when he was in a boat, and " in his favourite poem 
 of Tlialaha^'' as Mrs. Shelley records in her notes to her 
 husband's works, " his imagination had been excited by 
 a description of such a voyage." His pleasure must 
 therefore have been keen. 
 
 On the death of Sir Bysshe, in January, 1815,
 
 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 69 
 
 Shelley's father inherited the title and the accumnlated 
 wealth. With respect to this event, Shelley records, in 
 a journal which he kept : — " The will has been opened, 
 and I am referred to Whitton " (Sir Timothy's legal 
 adviser). " j\Iy father would not allow me to enter 
 Field Place." Shelley Sidney — a half-brother of Sir 
 Timothy — expressed his opinion that the will was a 
 most extraordinary- one. The death of the old baronet, 
 however, placed the young poet in a better pecuniary 
 position than he had ever yet occupied. Being now the 
 direct heir to the estates, he could the more readily 
 raise money for his immediate necessities; besides 
 which, his father, yielding to the pressure of advice, 
 allowed him 1,000Z. a year. He was thus relieved from 
 the painful stringency of his former condition. 
 
 In the winter months, at the commencement of tliis 
 year, Shelley walked a hospital, for the purpose of 
 acquiring some slight knowledge of surgery, which 
 might enable him to alleviate the sufferings of the poor. 
 Yet, at the very time he subjected himself to these 
 painful and often harrowing experiences, he was him- 
 self in the most delicate state of health. In the spring, 
 he was said by an eminent physician to be in a rapid 
 consumption ; and so far had the malady progressed 
 that abscesses were formed on his lungs. His fragile 
 nature was shaken by frequent paroxysms of pain, 
 durino; which he was often obliged to lie on the ground, 
 or to have recourse to the perilous sedative of lauda- 
 num. He was at this time living in London. The 
 symptoms of pulmonary disorder subsequently left him,
 
 70 SPIELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 with a suddenness and completeness which seem to be 
 unaccomitable. A thorough change in his system 
 supervened, and he was never again tlu*eatened with 
 consumption; though he was at no time heahhy, or 
 free from the assauhs of pain. This change, however, 
 did not take place until some few years after the pre- 
 sent date. 
 
 The summer of 1815 was partly occupied by a tour 
 along the southern coast of Devonshire and a visit to 
 Clifton. On the completion of these trips, Shelley 
 rented a house on Bishopsgate Heath on the borders 
 of Windsor Forest, the air of which neighbourhood 
 did his health considerable service. The conclusion of 
 the summer was very fine, and all things contributed 
 to afford the worn spirits of Bysshe a brief interspace 
 of happiness and calm. He visited the soiu'ce of the 
 Thames, together with a few friends, and on this occa- 
 sion again indulged in the pleasure of boating — that 
 pleasure which was in the end to hu'e him to his death. 
 The party proceeded from Windsor to Cricklade in a 
 wherry. " His beautiful stanzas in the churchyard of 
 Lechlade," says Mrs. Shelley, in her collected edition 
 of the poems, "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 mag- 
 nificent woodland was a fitting study to inspire the 
 various descriptions of forest scenery we find in the 
 poem." This was the first production in verse which 
 Shelley ga^e openlv to the world. 
 
 In 1816, he again visited Switzerland, and made the
 
 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 71 
 
 acquaintance of Lord Bjron, for the first time, at 
 Secheron's hotel at Geneva, where the former was 
 staying when the latter arrived there. Both poets 
 being ardent lovers of boating, they joined in the 
 purchase of a small craft, in which, evening after 
 evening, they made sailing excursions on the lake of 
 Geneva, accompanied by Signor Polidori, a friend 
 of Byron, though by no means of Shelley, who dis- 
 liked him on account of the morbid vanity he was 
 constantly exhibiting. Bysshe afterwards rented a 
 house on the banks of the lake, and passed many days 
 alone in the boat, reading or meditating, and resigning 
 himself to the summer influences of winds and waters. 
 On one occasion, when Shelley and Byron were sailing 
 from Meillerie to St. Gingoux, a storm came on ; the 
 vessel was injured, and shipped a good deal of water ; 
 and, to make matters still worse, one of the boatmen 
 stupidly mismanaged the sail. The loss of the boat 
 seemed inevitable ; and Shelley, being unable to swim, 
 made up his mind that lie should have to meet that 
 death for which he was in fact only reserved imtil a 
 later period. But the vessel righted, and got safely 
 to the shore. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley has recorded that her husband's lines 
 on Mont Blanc, and his Hymn to Intellectual Beauty, 
 were written at this time. She thinks, however, that 
 the genius of Shelley was in some measure checked by 
 his association with Byron, " whose nature was utterly 
 dissimilar to his own ; " but that, at the same time, 
 Shelley had a corresponding influence on Byron, as
 
 72 SHELLEY jMEMOEIALS. 
 
 evinced in the abstractions of Childe Harold, then 
 flowing from its author's pen. 
 
 The period was, indeed, rich in the production of 
 works of o-enius. The famous " Monk " Lewis, as he is 
 called, joined the society of the two English poets, and 
 during some rainy weather he set them talking about 
 ghost stones. Each was to write one of these fasci- 
 nating toys of the imagination ; and Mrs. Shelley's 
 extraordinary romance of Franhenstein was the result, 
 as far as herself was concerned, and indeed the only one 
 of the proposed narratives which was completed. One 
 evening, the recital by Lord Byron of the commence- 
 ment of Coleridge's spectral poem, Christabel, conjmred 
 up in Shelley's mind, by an association of ideas, a 
 vision of a beautiful woman with four eyes, two of 
 which were glancing at him from out of her breast; 
 and he rushed from the room in an agony of horror. 
 
 On the 30th of December, 1816 (after his return to 
 England), Shelley's second marriage took place. She 
 who was thenceforward the companion of his existence 
 has left us some of the most interesting particulars 
 which we possess of his brief remnant of life, and of 
 his lamentable end. Her influence over him was of an 
 important kind. His anxiety to aid the intelligence 
 of the less instructed, and his effbrts to pi-omote the 
 well-being of the poorer classes of his fellow-creatures, 
 were as vivid and as strenuous as before ; yet his mind, 
 by gradually bending to milder influences, divested 
 itself of much of that hostile bitterness of thought and 
 expression with which he had hitherto attacked those
 
 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 73 
 
 jDolitical and social abuses whicli had seemed to him to 
 be the principal obstacles to the progressive development 
 of mankind. 
 
 His pecuniary struggles, his father's persevering- 
 anger, and the calumnies of his unscrupulous enemies, 
 had no longer the same power to embitter his existence, 
 and to rouse his darker passions. From them he had 
 now a sure refuge. Evil might be without ; but by liis 
 hearth were sympathy, and encouragement, and love. 
 
 They had fixed upon the neighbourhood of Marlow, 
 in Buckinghamshire, for their winter quarters. Wliile 
 Shelley was looking out in this locality for a suitable 
 residence, he received the following letter to aid him in 
 his researches : — 
 
 In the choice of a residence, dear Shellej', pray do not be too 
 quick, or attach yourself too much to one spot. A house with a 
 lavra, near a river or lake, noble trees or divine mountains — that 
 should be our little mouse-hole to retire to ; but never mind this. 
 Give me a garden, and I ■will thank my love for many fa^-ours. 
 If you go to London, you will, perhaps, try to procure me a good 
 Livy ; for I wish very much to read it. I must be more indus- 
 trious, especially in learning Latin, which I neglected shamefully 
 last summer at intervals ; and those periods of not reading at all 
 put me back very far. . . . Adieu ! Love me tenderly, and 
 think of me with affection whenever anything pleases you greatly. 
 
 On the 22nd of March, Shelley wrote as follows to 
 Godwin : — 
 
 Mt dear Godwin, 
 
 It was spring when I wrote to you, and winter when your 
 answer arrived. But the frost is very transitory; every bud is 
 ready to burst into leaf. It is a nice distinction j'ou make between 
 the development and the complete expansion of the leaves. The
 
 74 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 oak and the chesnut, the latest and the earliest parents of foliage, 
 would afford you a still subtler subdivision, which would enable 
 jou to defer the visit, from which we expect so much delight, for 
 six weeks. I hope we shall really see you before that time, and 
 that you will allow the chesnut, or any other important tree, as he 
 stands in the forcgromid, to be considered as a virtual represen- 
 tation of the rest. 
 
 Will is quite well, and very beautiful. IMary unites with me in 
 presenting her kind remembrances to Mrs. Godwin; and begs most 
 affectionate love to you. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 P. B. Sheixey. 
 
 Have you read Melincourt ? It would entertain you. 
 
 About this time, Sliellej became acquainted, at Leigh 
 Hunt's house, at Hampstead, with John Keats, and with 
 the brothers James and Horace Smith. The genius of 
 the former he at once recognised, and celebrated it, in a 
 subsequent year, in the eloquent poem, Adonais. For 
 Horace Smith, Shelley had the most affectionate regard 
 — a regard fully deserved by that excellent and warm- 
 hearted wit. 
 
 But now came one of the greatest sorrows which 
 Shelley ever had to encounter. Up to the time of 
 his first wife's death, her children had resided with her 
 and with her father; but, after that event, Shelley 
 claimed them. Mr. Westbrook refused to give them 
 up, and carried the case into Chancery, where he filed 
 a bill, asseverating that the remaining parent of the 
 children was unfit to have the charge of them, on 
 account of the alleged depravity of his religious and 
 moral opinions, in which he designed to bring them 
 up. The case having been argued, judgment was
 
 JUDGMENT OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 75 
 
 pronounced hj the Lord Chancellor (Eldon), and it was 
 decreed that Shelley should not be allowed to have the 
 custody of his own offspring. He was forced, how- 
 ever, to set aside 200/. a year for their support; and 
 this sum was deducted by Sir Timothy from his son's 
 annuity. The children were committed to the care of a 
 clergyman of the Church of England, and were of course 
 educated in those principles which their father looked on 
 with aversion. The son, as the reader has already seen, 
 died when a youth : the daughter is still living. 
 
 As to the monstrous injustice of this decree, most men 
 are now agreed ; and no further remark need be made 
 on so repellent a subject, except an expression of asto- 
 nishment that the name of Dr. Parr should be found 
 among Shelley's opponents. His testimony was given, 
 and quoted very frequently, as to the respectability of 
 the persons appointed, under Chancery, as guardians of 
 the children. 
 
 The ensuing letter from the poet's legal adviser, 
 written before the decision of the Lord Chancellor, 
 contains some points of interest: — 
 
 My dear Sir, Gray's Inn, 5th Aug., 1817. 
 
 I enclose you the Master's report on the subject of the 
 children, which I am sorry to say is against j'ou. I am taking 
 the necessary proceedings to bring the question before the Lord 
 Chancellor, and it will come on for his decision some time next 
 week ; or, at any rate, before he rises, Avhich is the 23rd instant. 
 One comfort is, that there could not be a weaker case against you 
 than this is. The only suj^port of Mr. Kendall * is Dr. Parr, 
 
 * One of the persons recommended as guardians for the 
 children. — Ed.
 
 76 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 who is himself open to a great deal of observation, and who, 
 except as a Greek scholar, does not stand high in any one's 
 opinion. 
 
 The Master, in the first place, omits to enquire what would be 
 a proper plan for the education of the children, though ordered by 
 the Chancellor to do so ; and then he goes on to approve a pro- 
 posal that Mr. Kendall should stand, in all respects, loco parentis^ 
 when the Lord Chancellor himself says that he has not yet made 
 up his mind as to how far he would interfere against parental 
 authority. 
 
 I should think that the plaintiffs will find it a difiicult matter 
 to prevail on the Chancellor to confirm this unnatural proposal of 
 abandoning these infants to the care of a stranger, of whom no- 
 body interested in the welfare of the children knows anything, — 
 who lives at a considerable distance from all the family, — who, 
 from his ignorance of all the family, can have no object but to 
 make the most of the children as a pecuniary transaction, — in 
 short, who has nothing to recommend him, but the affidavit of the 
 venerable bridegroom, Dr. Parr.* 
 
 As I objected to liberties being taken with your income, you 
 will observe that the proposal is altered. 
 
 Your faithful and obedient servant, 
 
 P. W. LONGDILL. 
 
 Moved to fiery wratli by the cruel injustice which 
 had been dealt out to him, Shelley wrote a terrible 
 curse on the Lord Chancellor, which Mrs. Shelley 
 published among her husband's poems. The outraged 
 father speaks grandly and fearfully in these lines : — 
 
 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 : 
 
 ***** 
 
 * Dr. Parr married, for the second time, in 1816, though then in 
 Ms seventietli year. — Ed,
 
 JUDGMENT or THE LORD CHANCELLOE. 77 
 
 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, " ]\Iy 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 vfell ! 
 
 In his Masque of Anarchy (written in 1819), Shelley 
 has two stanzas, hot with scorn and sarcasm, on the 
 man who had robbed him of his offspring : — 
 
 Next came Fraud, and he had on, 
 Like Lord Eldon, an ermine gown : 
 His big tears (for he wept well) 
 Turn'd to millstones as they fell : 
 
 And the little children^ who 
 Round his feet play'd to and fro. 
 Thinking every tear a gem, 
 Had their brains hiocKd out hy them. 
 
 Towards the end of 1817, Shelley was obliged, owing 
 to pecuniary difficulties, to stay for some time at the 
 house of Leigh Hunt, who had by that time removed to 
 Lisson Grove. He had been made answerable for cer- 
 tain liabilities incurred by his first wife, and the creditors 
 pressed him severely ; though, until the demands were 
 urged on him, he had no knowledge that any such
 
 78 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 claims existed ; nor liad he now an opportunity of veri- 
 fying their exactness. He even ran some danger of 
 arrest ; but matters were at length settled. In the 
 meanwhile, Mrs. Shelley resided at Marlow, in company 
 with her children, and with a little daughter of Lord 
 Byron, called AUegi'a, and sometimes Alba.* Shelley 
 returned to Marlow in the autumn. 
 
 On December 7th, he thus addressed Godwin : — 
 
 Mt dear Godwin, Marloiv, Decemher 7th, 1817. 
 
 To begin witli the subject of most immediate interest: close 
 with Richardson ; and when I say this, what relief should I not 
 feel from a thousand distressing emotions, if I could believe that 
 he was in earnest in his offer! I have not heard from Longdill, 
 though I wish earnestly for information. 
 
 My health has been materially worse. My feelings at intervals 
 are of a deadly and torpid kind, or awakened to a state of such 
 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 microscopical 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 reUeve me. But I have expe- 
 rienced a decisive pvdmonary attack ; and, although at present it 
 has passed away Avithout any very considerable vestige of its 
 existence, yet this symptom sufficiently shows the true nature of 
 my disease to be consumption. It is to my advantage that this 
 malady is in its nature slow, and, if one is sufficiently alive to 
 
 * The mother of Allegra was no relation whatever to either 
 Shelley or Mrs. Shelley, as some have asserted.
 
 JUDGMENT OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 79 
 
 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 ; and it is only when that measure becomes 
 an indispensable duty that, contrary to both Mary's feelings and 
 to mine, as they regard you, I shall go to Italy. I need not 
 remind you (besides the mere pain endured by the survivors) of 
 the train of evil consequences which my death would cause to 
 ensue. I am thus circumstantial and explicit, because you seem 
 to have misunderstood me. It is not health, but life, that I should 
 seek in Italy ; and that, not for my own sake — I feel that 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, secu- 
 rity, and honour, and to some of whom my death might be all that 
 is the reverse. 
 
 I ought to say I cannot persevere in the meat diet. AVhat you 
 say of Malthus fills me, as far as my intellect is concerned, with life 
 and strength. I believe that I have a most anxious desire that the 
 time should quickly come that, even so far as you are personally 
 concerned, you should be tranquil and independent. But when I 
 consider the intellectual lustre with which you clothe this world, 
 and how much the last generation of mankind may be benefited 
 by that light flowing forth without the intervention of one shadow, 
 I am elevated above all thoughts which tend to you or myself as 
 an individual, and become, by sympathy, part of those distant and 
 innumerable minds to whom your writings must be present. 
 
 I meant to have written to you about 3fandeville* solely ; but 
 I was so irritable and weak that I could not write, although I 
 thought I had much to say. I have read 3fandeviUe, but I must 
 read it again soon, for the interest is of that irresistible and over- 
 whelming kind, that the mind in its influence is like a cloud borne 
 on by an impetuous wind — like one breathlessly carried forward, 
 who has no time to pause or observe the causes of his career. I 
 think the power of Mandeville is inferior to nothing you have 
 done ; and, were it not for the character of Falkland,! no instance 
 in which you have exerted that power of creation which you 
 
 * Godwin's novel so called. — Ed. 
 
 t In the novel of Caleb Willia7ns. — Ed,
 
 80 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 possess beyond all contemporary writers, might compare with it. 
 Falkland is still alone ; power is, in Falkland, not, as in Mandeville, 
 tumult hurried onward by the tempest, but tranquillity standing 
 unshaken amid its fiercest rage. But Caleb Williams never shakes 
 the deepest soul like Mandeville. It must be said of the latter, 
 you rule with a rod of iron. The picture is never bright ; and we 
 wonder whence you drew the darkness with which its shades are 
 deepened, until the epithet of tenfold might almost cease to be a 
 metaphor. The noun smorjia touches some cord within us with 
 such a cold and jarring power, that I started, and for some time 
 could scarce believe but that I was Mandeville, and that this 
 hideous grin was stamped upon my own face. In style and 
 strength of expression, Mandeville is wonderfully great, and the 
 energy and the sweetness of the sentiments scarcely to be equalled. 
 Clifford's character, as mere beauty, is a divine and soothing con- 
 trast ; and I do not think — if, perhaps, I except (and I know not 
 if I ought to do so) the speech of Agathon in the Symposium of 
 Plato — that there ever was produced a moral discourse more cha- 
 racteristic of all that is admirable and lovely in human nature, — 
 more lovely and admirable in itself, — than that of Henrietta to 
 Mandeville, as he is recovering from madness. Shall I say that, 
 when I discovered that she was pleading all this time sweetly for 
 her lover, and when at last she weakly abandoned poor Mandeville, 
 I felt an involimtary and, perhaps, an unreasonable pang ? Adieu ! 
 Always most affectionately yours, 
 
 P.S. 
 
 During the summer and autumn of 1817, Shelley 
 had written the Revolt of Islam — a poem which was 
 originally put forth under the title o^ Laon and Cytlma; 
 or, the Revolution of the Golden City : a Vision of the 
 Nineteenth Century. Mr. Oilier (from w^hose house 
 proceeded the first volume of Keats) w\as the chief pub- 
 lisher ; and some copies of the poem with the original 
 name were issued a little before Christmas. Some appre- 
 hension, on the score of the bold doctrines advocated
 
 REVOLT OF ISLAM. 81 
 
 in its pages, induced Mr. Oilier to arrest the progress of 
 the work for awhile, with a view to obtaining some 
 modification of particnlar parts. Hereupon, Shelley 
 wrote to his publisher a letter, which is a remarkable 
 specimen of the coiu-age with which he defied conven- 
 tional opinions : — 
 
 Dear Sir, Marlow, December Wtli, 1817. 
 
 It is to be regretted that you did not consult your own safety 
 and advantage (if you consider it connected with the non-publica- 
 tion of my book) before your declining the publication, after 
 having accepted it, would have operated to so extensive and serious 
 an injury to my views as now. The instances of abuse and menace 
 Avhich you cite were such as you expected, and were, as I conceived, 
 prepared for. If not, it would have been just to me to have given 
 them their due Aveight and consideration before. You foresaw, 
 you foreknew, all that these people would say. You do your best 
 to condemn my book before it is given forth, because you publish 
 it, and then withdraw ; so that no other bookseller will publish it, 
 because one has already rejected it. You must be aware of the great 
 injury which you prepare for me. If I had never consulted your 
 advantage, my book would have had a fair hearing. But now it 
 is first published, and then the publisher, as if the author had de- 
 ceived him as to the contents of the work — and as if the inevitable 
 consequence of its publication would be ignominy and punishment 
 — and as if none should dare to touch it or look at it — retracts, 
 at a period when nothing but the most extraordinary and unfore- 
 seen circumstances can justify his retraction. 
 
 I beseech j-ou to reconsider the matter, for your sake no less 
 than for my own. Assume the high and the secure ground of 
 courage. The people who visit your shop, and the wretched bigot 
 who gave his worthless ciTstom to some other bookseller, are not 
 the public. The public respect talent ; and a large portion of them 
 are already undeceived with regard to the prejudices which my 
 book attacks. You would lose some customers, but you would gain 
 otheis. Your trade would be diverted into a channel more con- 
 sistent with your own principles. Not to say that a publisher is
 
 82. SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 ill no wise pledged to all the opinions of his publications, or to 
 any ; and that he may enter his protest with each copy sold, either 
 against the truth or the discretion of the principles of the books 
 he sells. But there is a much more important consideration in the 
 case. You are, and have been to a certain extent, the publisher. 
 I don't believe that, if the book was quietly and regularly pub- 
 lished, the Government would touch anything of a character so 
 refined, and so remote from the conceptions of the vulgar. They 
 would hesitate before they invaded a member of the higher circles 
 of the republic of letters. But, if they see us tremble, they will 
 make no distinctions ; they will feel their strength. You might 
 brmg the arm of the law down on us by flinching now. Directly 
 these scoundrels see that people are afraid of them, they seize 
 upon them and hold them up to mankind as criminals already 
 convicted by their own fears. You lay yourself prostrate, and 
 they trample on you. How glad they would be to seize on any 
 connection of Hunt's by this most powerful of all their arms — the 
 terrors and self-condemnation of their victim. Read all the ex 
 officio cases, and see what reward booksellers and printers have 
 received for their submission. 
 
 If, contrary to common sense and justice, j^ou resolve to give 
 me up, you shall receive no detriment from a connection with me 
 in small matters, though you determine to inflict so serious a one 
 on me in great. You shall not be at a farthing's expense. I shall 
 stUl, so far as my powers extend, do my best to promote your 
 interest. On the contrary supposition, even admitting you derive 
 no benefit from the book itself — and it should be my care that you 
 shall do so — I hold myself ready to make ample indemnity for any 
 loss you may sustain. 
 
 There is one compromise you might make, though that would 
 be still injurious to me. Sherwood and Neely Avished to be the 
 principal publishers. Call on them, and say that it was through a 
 mistake that you undertook the principal direction of the book, as 
 it was my wish that it should be theirs, and that I have written to 
 you to that effect. This, if it would be advantageous to yon, 
 would be detrimental to, but not utterly destructive of, my views. 
 To withdraw your name entirely, would be to inflict on me a bitter 
 and undeserved injury.
 
 REVOLT OF ISLAM. 83 
 
 Let me hear from you by return of post. I hope that you will 
 be influenced to fulfil j'our engagement with me, and proceed with 
 the pubhcation, as justice to me, and, indeed, a well-understood 
 estimate of your own interest and character, demand. I do hope 
 that you will have too much regard to the well-chosen motto of 
 your seal * to permit the murmurs of a few bigots to outweigh the 
 serious and permanent considerations presented in this letter. 
 To their remonstrances you have only to reply, " I did not write 
 the book ; I am not responsible ; here is the author's address — 
 state your objections to him. I do no more than sell it to those 
 who inquire for it ; and, if they are not pleased with their bargain, 
 the author empowers me to receive the book and to return the 
 money." As to the interference of Government, nothing is more 
 improbable [than] that in any case it would be attempted ; but, if 
 it should, it would be owing entirely to your perseverance in the 
 groundless apprehensions which dictated your communication 
 received this day, and conscious terror would be perverted into an 
 argument of guilt. 
 
 I have just received a most kind and encouraging letter from 
 Mr. Moore on the subject of my poem. I have the fairest chance 
 of the public approaching my work with unbiassed and unper- 
 verted feeling : the fruit of reputation (and you know for what 
 purposes I value it) is within my reach. It is for you, now^ you 
 have been once named as publisher, and have me in your power, 
 to blast all this, and to hold up my literary character in the eye 
 of mankind as that of a proscribed and rejected outcast. And for 
 no evil that I have ever done you, but in return for a preference 
 which, although you falsely now esteem injurious to you, was 
 solicited by Hunt, and conferred by me, as a source and a proof of 
 nothing but kind intentions. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 I remain your sincere well-wisher, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 The poet, however, was afterwards conv-inced of the 
 propriety of making certain alterations ; and the work 
 
 * " In omnibus libertas.'" 
 
 a2
 
 84 SHELLEY MEMORLA.LS. 
 
 was issued in the following Janiiaiy under the title of 
 the Revolt of Islam. 
 
 This eloquent and passionate poem was composed 
 partly on the Thames, while the poet rocked idly in 
 his boat " as it floated under the beech groves of Bi- 
 sham ; " partly dui'ing wanderings among the beautiful 
 scenery of the neighbom-hood. The mingled luxm-iance 
 and wildness of the country surrounding his dwelling 
 gave Shelley the greatest delight; but this pleasure 
 was marred by the pain arising from the contemplation 
 of the extreme poverty ei^erywhere visible in Marlow. 
 Many of the women of that town were (and are still) 
 lace-makers — an occupation which, while it entails loss 
 of health, is very ill-paid. The amount of distress 
 existing in the winter of 1817-18 was very severe; 
 the poor-laws were administered Avith rigour; the late 
 war had frightfully augmented taxation, while the peace 
 had tlu'own many persons, who had served as soldiers, 
 back on the rural population; and a bad harvest had 
 added to the other sources of human misery. " Shelley," 
 says his widow, " 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."* 
 
 The poem at once inspired all lovers of literature with 
 considerable interest in the author ; but it found many 
 severe critics. Even Godwin urged several objections 
 to its general style ; to which the poet replied in an in- 
 
 * Note to the Uevolt of Idam in the collected edition of the Foenis.
 
 REVOLT OF ISLAM. 85 
 
 teresting letter (dated December lltli, 1817), containing 
 a very deeply-felt and accurate estimate of the peculiar 
 tendencies of his own mind. 
 
 " I have read and considered," he writes, " 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 oi Laon and Cythna; but the productions 
 of mine which you commend hold a very low place in 
 my own esteem, and this reassured 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 
 resolved in this book to leave some records 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 considered contemporary productions of the 
 same apparent pretensions, I will own that I was filled 
 with confidence. I felt that it was in many respects a 
 genuine picture of my own mind. I felt that the sen- 
 timents were true, not assumed : and in this have I long 
 believed — that my power consists in sympathy, and that 
 part of imagination which relates to sentiment and con- 
 templation. I am formed, if for anytliing not in com-
 
 86 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 mon with the herd of mankind, to apprehend minute 
 and remote distinctions of feehng, 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 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 accompani- 
 ment 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 might be, 
 which a serious and earnest estimate of my powers will 
 suggest to me, and which will be in every respect accom- 
 modated to their utmost limits." 
 
 It is not diflicult to understand why Godwin failed to 
 appreciate the new production of his son-in-law. He 
 had formed bis tastes in poetry by a life-long perusal of 
 our old English masters — the men of the Shakspearean 
 and Miltonic eras ; and it was impossible that he could 
 have gone to a better school. But the poetry of Shelley, 
 excepting in as far as it was ins])ired, in its metaphysical 
 part, by the genius of ancient Greece — was essentially 
 modern in its character. It mingled the impalpable sug- 
 gestions of mysticism with images of exotic splendour, 
 tropical in the heat and glory of their hues, touched 
 with a light that seemed to dawn from some remote and 
 supernatural future, and often dim with the too great 
 intensity of the writer's emotions and the excessiv
 
 REVOLT OF ISLAM. 87 
 
 radiance in wliicli lie robed his subtle imaginings. Tlie 
 practical, acute, clear mind of Godwin could not live, 
 with anj comfort to itself, in this region of ethereal, 
 though sublime, magnificence : neither his temperament 
 nor his intellectual habits fitted him for deriving any 
 high degree of pleasure from a practice so opposed to 
 his own. But Shelley has helped to make the times 
 more poetical ; and the flame-like energy and grandeur, 
 the tumultuous passion, and the strange visionary beauty 
 of the Revolt of Islam are now universally acknow- 
 ledged. 
 
 In the same year, Shelley also wrote the highly 
 mystical fragments of Prince Athanase — fragments, 
 however, full of beauty and music ; a large part of 
 Rosalind and Helen ; a few small poems ; and a pam- 
 phlet advocating Parliamentary Reform, published under 
 the signature of the " Hermit of Marlow." This poli- 
 tical work is remarkable for the statesmanlike calmness 
 of the writer's opinions, and the moderation of his de- 
 mands. Shelley here proposed that committees should 
 be formed with a A'iew to polling the entire people on 
 the subject which was then, as now, agitating the whole 
 nation. He disavowed any wish to establish universal 
 suffrage at once, or to do away wdth monarchy and 
 aristocracy, wliile so large a proportion of the people 
 remained disqualified by ignorance from sharing in the 
 government of the country, though he looked forward 
 to a time when the world would be enabled to " disre- 
 gard the symbols of its childhood ; " and he suggested 
 that the fjualification for the suffrage should be the
 
 88 SHELLEY MEilOIlIALS. 
 
 registry of tlie voter's name as one who paid a certain 
 small sum in direct taxes. Sucli were the views of a 
 political thinker who Avas equally removed from being a 
 Tory or a demagogue. 
 
 At the end of tliis year (1817), a relapse of the 
 
 severe attack of ophthalmia, caught from his visits to 
 
 the poor cottagers in his neighbourhood, deprived Shelley 
 
 of his usual resource of reading. In looking over the 
 
 journal in which, from day to day, Mrs. Shelley was in 
 
 the habit of noting their occupations, as well as passing 
 
 events, one is struck with wonder at the number of 
 
 books which they read in the course of the year. At 
 
 home or travelling — before breakfast, or waiting for the 
 
 mid-day meal — by the side of a stream, or on the 
 
 ascent of a mountain — a book was never absent from 
 
 the hands of one or the other : and there were never 
 
 two books; one read while the other listened. The 
 
 catalogue of works perused, which I subjoin, would 
 
 seem to require the unremitting attention of unfettered 
 
 leisure ; yet at this time Shelley was greatly occupied 
 
 with affiiirs of business, and his mind was much 
 
 harassed by the Chancery suit with regard to his 
 
 children. 
 
 List of Books bead by Shelley and Mary in 1817. 
 
 Hymposium of Plato. 
 Plays of iEschylus. 
 Plays of Sophocles. 
 Iliad of Homer. 
 Arriani Ilistorialndise. 
 Homer's Hymns. 
 
 )■ Greek. 
 
 Histoire de la Eevolution 
 
 Franf;aise. 
 Apuleius. 
 
 Metamorphoses — Latin. 
 Coleridge's Biographia Lite- 
 
 raria.
 
 REVOLT OF ISLAM. 
 
 89 
 
 Political Justice. 
 
 Rights of Man. 
 
 Elphinstone's Embassy. 
 
 Several volumes of Gibbon. 
 
 Two volumes of Lord Chester- 
 field's Letters. 
 
 Coleridge's Lay Sermons. 
 
 IVIemoirs of Count Grammont. 
 
 Somnium Scipionis. 
 
 Eoderick Kandora. 
 
 Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher— three 
 plays. 
 
 Waverley. 
 
 Epistola) Plinii Secundi. 
 Vita Julii Ctesaris. — Suetonius. 
 Davis's Travels in America. 
 Manuscrit venu de St. Helene. 
 Buffon's Theorie de la Terre. 
 Lettres Persiennes. 
 Moliere's George Dandin. 
 La Nouvelle Ileloise. 
 Godwin's Miscellanies. 
 Spenser's Faery Queene. 
 First volume of Hume's Essays. 
 Besides many novels, poems, &c.
 
 90 SHELLEY MEMOraALS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ITALY: 1818. 
 
 The year 1818 was memorable in tlie life of Shelley, on 
 account of liis having at that date quitted England, to 
 which he was destined never to return. The general 
 state of his health, together with other motives, in- 
 duced him to seek a more genial climate in the south 
 of Europe. One of his most powerful reasons was a 
 fear lest the Lord Chancellor might follow out some 
 vague threat which he had uttered in delivering judg- 
 ment, and deprive liim of his infant son by his second 
 wife. No attempt was made to act on this threat : but 
 so much did Shelley fear that the outrage would be 
 committed, that he addressed the child (who after- 
 wards died at Rome) in some beautiful stanzas, 
 signifying his readiness to abandon his country for 
 ever, rather than be parted from another of his 
 offspring : — 
 
 The billows on the beach are leaping around it ; 
 
 The bark is weak and frail ; 
 The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it 
 
 Darkly strew the gale.
 
 ITALY. 91 
 
 Come with me, thou delightful child ! 
 Come with me ! Though the wave is wild 
 And the winds are loose, we must not stay, 
 Or the slaves of law may rend tliee away. 
 
 Rest, rest ! shriek not, thou gentle child ! — 
 
 The rocking of the boat thou fearest. 
 And the cold spray and the clamour wild ? 
 
 There, sit between us two, thou dearest, — 
 Me and thy mother. Well we know 
 The storm at which thou tremblest so, 
 "With all its dark and hungry graves, 
 Less cruel than the savage slaves 
 Who hunt thee o'er these sheltering waves. 
 
 This hour will in thy memory 
 
 Be a dream of days forgotten : 
 We soon shall dwell by the azure sea 
 
 Of serene and golden Italy, 
 
 Or Greece, tlie Mother of the Free. 
 And I will teach thine infant tongue 
 
 To call upon their heroes old 
 
 In their own language, and will mould 
 Thy growing spirit in the flame 
 Of Grecian lore ; that by such name, 
 A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim. 
 
 In the early part of the year, Slielley was mucli 
 occupied with matters of business in London ; but in 
 March they started for Italy. They went thither direct, 
 avoiding even Paris, and did not pause till they arrived 
 at Milan. From this city, the little Allegra was sent, 
 under the care of a nurse, to her father at Venice. 
 
 The removal to Italy was advantageous to Shelley in 
 almost every respect. It is true that he left behind
 
 92 SHELLEY ]MEMOEIALS. ' 
 
 liim friends to wliom lie Avas attached ; but cares of 
 various kinds, many of them springing from his lavish 
 generosity, crowded round him in his native country, 
 and the climate afflicted liim with extreme suffering. 
 His greatest pleasure — the free enjoyment of natural 
 scenery — was marred by this sensitiveness to the in- 
 fluence of English weather. 
 
 The very first aspect of Italy (as Mrs. Shelley has 
 recorded) enchanted him. The land appeared like " a 
 garden of delight placed beneath a clearer and brighter 
 heaven than any he had lived imder before. He wrote 
 long descriptive letters during the first year of his 
 residence ; " and m these Ave see not merely the con- 
 summate handling of a master of prose composition, 
 but a poet's appreciation of all forms of loveliness, 
 whether of nature or of art. 
 
 A very romantic story touching this period of Shel- 
 ley's life is told by Captain Medwin. He asserts that a 
 married lady introduced herself to the poet in the year 
 1816, shortly before his departure for Switzerland, and, 
 concealing her name, told him that his many virtues 
 and the grandeur of his opinions in politics, morals, and 
 religion, had inspired her Avith such an ardent passion 
 for him, that she had resolved on abandoning her hus- 
 band, her family, and her friends, Avith a view to linkmg 
 her fortunes to those of Shelley. 
 
 Of this strange narrati\'e, it will be sufficient to say 
 here that not the slightest allusion to it is to be fomid in 
 any of the family documents. 
 
 The Shelleys stayed a month at Milan; and, after
 
 ITALY. 93 
 
 visiting the Lake of Como, proceeded to Leghorn, 
 where they became acquainted with Mrs. Gisborne, a 
 lady who had formerly been a most intimate friend of 
 Mary Wollstonecraft (Mrs. Shelley's mother). The 
 thoughtful character and amiable disposition of this 
 lady seem to have boimd the whole party in ties of 
 friendship, which continued unbroken till the end. 
 
 At the Baths of Lucca, where the poet and his wife 
 next Avent, Rosalind and Helen, begun at Marlow, was 
 iinished, at the request of iSIrs. Shelley. Thence, in 
 August, Shelley visited Venice; and, cu'cumstances 
 rendering it advisable that he should remain near at 
 hand for a few weeks, he resided during that time at a 
 villa which Lord Byron rented at Este, and which was 
 kindly placed at his disposal. Here he was joined by 
 his family, and here also more than one literary work 
 was prosecuted. / Capuccini (such was the name of 
 the residence) is described by Mrs. Shelley as " 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 Promethexis ; 
 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 tlid ruins of the ancient castle of Este; whose
 
 94 SHELLEY LIEMORIALS. 
 
 dark massive wall gave forth an echo, and from whose 
 rumed cre\'ices owls and bats flitted forth at night, as 
 the crescent moon sank 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." 
 
 Julian and Maddalo is one of the most fervent, dra- 
 matic, and intense, of its author's productions ; and yet 
 one of the most compact, highly wrought, and mature. 
 The descriptions of Italian scenery are wonderfully 
 minute and particular, when we consider that the poet 
 had been only about half a year in the country. Of 
 the magnificence of the word-pictures — especially in 
 that gorgeous vision of a Venetian sunset, sphering in 
 a transitory glory the sea, the ships, the palaces, the 
 distant hills, and the ghastly mad-house — it would be 
 difficult to say too much ; while the soliloquy of the 
 poor maniac is dusky and thick with human passion and 
 pathos — the whole tragedy of a sorrowful life brought 
 within the compass of a few pages. The poem, more- 
 over, is interesting on account of the portraiture given 
 by Shelley of Lord Byron, who is figured under the 
 name of Maddalo — Julian being Shelley himself. The 
 little Allegra is also described in lines of gentle pathos 
 which have never been surpassed : — 
 
 The following morn was rainy, cold, and dim : 
 Ere Maddalo arose, I call'd on him ; 
 And, whilst I waited, with his child I play'd ; — 
 A lovelier to}' sweet Xature never made ;
 
 ITALY. 95 
 
 A serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being, 
 
 Graceflil without design, and unforeseeing ; 
 
 With eyes — oh ! speak not of her eyes, which seem 
 
 Twin mirrors of Italian heaven, yet gleam 
 
 With such deep meaning as we never see 
 
 But in the human countenance. With me 
 
 She was a special favourite : I had nurs'd 
 
 Her fine and feeble Umbs, when she came first 
 
 To this bleak world ; and yet she seemed to know. 
 
 On second sight, her ancient plaj-fellow. 
 
 Less changed than she was, by six months or so. 
 
 For, after her first shyness was worn out. 
 
 We sat there, rolling billiard balls about, 
 
 'N^Tien the Count enter'd. 
 
 Wliile they were at Este, their little daughter, Clara, 
 showed signs of suffering from the heat of the climate. 
 Her indisposition being increased to an alarming extent 
 by teething, the parents hastened to Venice for the best 
 advice, but discovered at Fusina that, in their agitation, 
 they had forgotten the passport. The soldiers on duty 
 attempted to prevent their crossing the lagune ; but 
 Shelley, with his usual vehemence, augmented by the 
 urgent natm'e of the case, broke through, and they 
 reached Venice. Unhappily, it was too late ; the little 
 creature died just as they arrived. 
 
 At this period Shelley composed his exquisite 
 descriptive poem. Lines written among the Euganean 
 Hills. In November, he and Mrs. Shelley started 
 southward, and on the 1st of December they arrived at 
 Naples. In the meanwhile, they had hastily "\asited 
 Terrara, Bologna, and Rome, as well as other towns of 
 less note. The whiter was spent in the hot and indolent
 
 96 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 city of tlie south ; and here the Shelleys lived very 
 solitarily — too much so, according to the opinion of his 
 widow, who thinks that a little intellectual society 
 would have done great service to the spirits of her 
 husband, now once more in a had state of health, and 
 often plunged into extreme gloom. He records this 
 state of mind in his Stanzas zcritten in Dejection near 
 Naples (December, 1818), giving vent to his sorrow in 
 lines whicli unite the utmost gentleness of pathos to the 
 most lovely conceptions of poetry and the finest har- 
 monies of verse: — 
 
 Yet now despair itself is mild, 
 
 ' Even as the winds and waters are : 
 I could lie down like a tired child, 
 And weeji away the life of care 
 Which I have borne, and yet must bear, 
 Till death, like sleep, might steal on me. 
 
 And T might feel in the' warm air 
 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 
 
 But this dejection — the result of many causes — gave 
 place to a happier mood before the poet was snatched 
 away from life. 
 
 The letters pertaining to this year may now follow in 
 their regular sequence. 
 
 From Godwin to Shelley. 
 
 My dear SnELLEY, Skinner Street, June Wi, 1818. 
 
 You are in a new countrj^, and mnst be from day to day 
 seeing objects and experiencing sensations, of which I should 
 be delighted to hear. Write as to your equal, and, if that word 
 is not discordant to your leelings, your friend. It would he
 
 ITALY. 97 
 
 strange indeed if we could not find topics of communication that 
 may be gratifying to both. Let each of us dwell on those qualities 
 in the other which may contribute most to the increase of mutual 
 kindness. It is the judgment of the human species, and is fully 
 accordant to my own experience, that the arrival and perusal of a 
 letter from an absent friend is naturally one of the sources of the 
 most delicious emotions of which man is susceptible. 
 
 Since I began this letter, I have conceived the plan of a book 
 which is, I think, a great desideratum in English history and 
 biography, to be called The Lives of the Conimonwealth's Men. I 
 would confine myself to ten names : — Sir Henry Vane, Henry 
 Martin, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, John jNIilton, John Hut- 
 chinson, Edmund Ludlow, Oliver St. John, Nathaniel Fiennes, 
 Algernon Sidney. The whole might be comprised in two volumes, 
 or perhaps in one. It has been the mode for more than a hundred 
 and fifty years to load the Commonwealth's men (regicides, as they 
 are often called,) with all the abuse and scurrihty that language 
 can furnish. I would have them shown as they are — "Xothing 
 extenuate, nor set down aught in malice;" — and perhaps they 
 ■wiU be found equal to any ten men in the annals of the Roman 
 republic. There were great and admirable personages among the 
 Presbyterians — Hampden and Pym for instance; these, fortu- 
 nately for themselves, died early : but the Presbyterians have this 
 slur upon them, that they contributed most actively, after the 
 death of Cromwell, to bring back the King, and thus to occasion 
 all the bloody, inhuman, and profligate scenes that followed. I 
 •would admit none into my hst but such to whom I could apply 
 Horace's rule — 
 
 Servetur ad imum, 
 Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet. 
 
 Now, this work I shall never Avi-ite. All that I intended, there- 
 fore, was to put down the plan of it in memorandum on a page of 
 paper. But in my bed this morning I thought — Mary, perhaps, 
 would like to write it ; and I should think she is perfectly capable. 
 The books to be considted would be comparatively few : Noble's 
 Memoirs opi^he Protectorate House of Cromwell; Whitlock's 
 Memorials of English Affairs under Charles the First; Ludlow's 
 
 H
 
 98 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 Memoirs ; Colonel Hutchinson's Memoirs ; the trial of the twenty- 
 nine Regicides ; the trial of Sir Henry Vane ; also, dying speeches 
 of Corbet, Okey, and Barkstead. In a few instances, as I have 
 observed in my letter of advice, the references of these authors 
 might lead to further materials. 
 
 By such a book as this, the English history, in one of its most 
 memorable periods, would be made intelligible, which has never 
 yet been the case. It has been shu-red and confounded, and no 
 grand and consistent picture of the men and their characters has 
 ever been made out. There is a strong and inveterate prejudice 
 in this country in favour of what these heroes styled " the govern- 
 ment of a single person." I would at least have it shown that ten 
 men, some of them never surpassed in ability, perhaps none of 
 them in integrity, in this island, devoted themselves in heart and 
 soul, with all their powers, to a purer creed. 
 
 Very affectionately yours, 
 
 W. GoDwrx. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 C'asa ISe?'tini, Bagni di Lucca, 
 My dear Madam, June 15, 1818. 
 
 It is strange, after having been in the habit of visiting you 
 daily now for so many days, to have no communication with you, 
 and, after having been accustomed for a month to the tumult of 
 Via Grande, to come to this quiet scene, where we hear no sound 
 except the rushing of the river in the valley below. While at 
 Livorno, I hardly heard the noise ; but, when I came here, I felt 
 the silence as a return to something very delightful from which I 
 had been long absent. We live here in the midst of a beautiful 
 scene, and I wish that I had the imagination and expressions of a 
 poet to describe it as it deserves, and to fill you all with an ardent 
 desire to visit it. We are surrounded by mountains covered with 
 thick chesnut woods ; they are peaked and picturesque, and some- 
 times you see peeping above them the bare summit of a distant 
 Apennine. Vines are cultivated at the foot of the mountains. 
 The walks in the woods are delightful; for I like nothing so 
 much as to be surrounded by the foliage of trees, only peeping
 
 ITALY. 99 
 
 now and then through the leafy screen on the scene about me. 
 You can either walk by the side of the river, or on commodious 
 paths cut in the mountains ; and, for rambles, the woods are 
 intersected with narrow paths in every direction. Our house is 
 small, but commodious, and exceedingly clean, for it has just been 
 painted, and the furniture is quite new. We have a small garden, 
 and at the end of it is an arbour of laurel trees, so thick that the 
 sun does not penetrate it ; nor has my prediction followed us, that 
 we should everywhere find it cold. Although not hot, the weather 
 has been verj^ pleasant. We see the fire-flies in an evening, some- 
 what dimmed by the bright rays of the moon. 
 
 And now I will say a few words of our domestic economy — 
 albeit, I am afraid the subject has tired you out of your wits more 
 than once. Signor Chiappa we found perfectly useless. He would 
 talk of nothing but himself, and recommended a person to cook 
 our dinner for us at three pauls a day. So, as it is, Paolo (whom 
 we find exceedingly useful) cooks and manages for us, and a 
 woman comes at one paul a day to do the dirty work. We live 
 very comfortably, and, if Paolo did not cheat us, he would be a 
 servant worth a treasure, for he does everything cleanlily and 
 exactly, without teaziug us in any way. So we lead here a very 
 quiet, pleasant life, reading our canto of Ariosto, and walking in 
 the evening among these delightful Avoods. We have but one 
 wish. You know what that is, but you take no pity on us, and 
 exile us from your presence so long that I quite long to see you 
 again. Now we see no one. The Signor Chiappa is a stupid 
 fellow, and the Casino is not open, that I know of — at least, it is 
 not at all frequented. When it is, every kind of amusement goes 
 on there, particularly dancing, which is divided into four parts — 
 English and French country dances, quadrilles, waltzes, and 
 Italian dances. These take place twice a week, on which even- 
 ings the ladies dress, but on others they go merely in a walking 
 dress. 
 
 We have found among our books a volume of poems of Lord 
 Byron's, which you have not seen. Some of them I think you 
 will like; but this will be a novelty to recommend us on our 
 return. I begin to be very much delighted with Ariosto ; the 
 beginning of the nineteenth canto is particularly beautifiil. It is 
 
 h2
 
 100 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 the wounding of Medoro, and his being relieved by Angelica, 
 who, for a wonder, shows herself in the light of a sympathising 
 and amiable person. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Maky Wollstoneckaft Shelley. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishornc. 
 
 My dear Madam, Bugni di Lucca, July 2, 1818. 
 
 An earthquake for the steam-engine, and thus to swallow up 
 Mr. Eeveley's* whole territory-, is somewhat a harsh remedy; yet 
 I could wish for one that could transport it (if you will not come 
 without it) to these Bagni, where I am sure you would be en- 
 chanted with everything except the English that are crowded here 
 to the almost entire exclusion of Italians, so that I think it would 
 be easier to have a conversazione of Italians in England than here 
 in their native countrj% We see none but English ; we hear 
 nothing but English spoken. The walks are filled with English 
 nursery maids — a kind of animal I by no means like — and dashing, 
 staring Englishwomen, who surprise the Itahans (who always are 
 carried about in sedan chairs) by riding on horseback. For us, 
 we generally walk, except last Tuesday, when Shelley and I took 
 a long ride to II Prato Fiorifo, a flowery meadow on the top of 
 one of the neighbouring Apennines. We rode among chesnut 
 woods, hearing the noisy cicala, and there was nothing disagreeable 
 in it, except the steepness of the ascent. The woods about here 
 are in every way delightful, especially when they are plain, with 
 grassy walks through them. They are filled with sweet singing 
 birds, and not long ago we heard a cuckoo. Mr. Shelley wishes 
 to go with me to Monte Pelerino — the highest of the Apennines — 
 at the top of which there is a shrine. It is distant about tvrenty- 
 two miles. Can it be there that the Italian palates were deceived 
 by unwholesome food ? (to talk of that hideous transaction in 
 their own cool way) ; and would you think it advisable for us to 
 make this pilgrimage ? We must go on horseback, and sleep in 
 one of the houses on the mountain. 
 
 * Mr. Eeveley was a son of Mrs. Gisborne by a former marriage. — Ed.
 
 ITALY. 101 
 
 I have had a letter from my father ; he does not appear very 
 ■\vell in health, but I hope the summer will restore him. He says 
 in his letter : — " I Vv'as extremely gratified by j^our account of 
 Mrs. Gisborne." 
 
 We are now in the 36th canto of Ariosto. How very enter- 
 taining it is, and how exceedingly beautiful are many of the 
 stories ! Yet I cannot think him so great a poet as Spenser, 
 although, as I said before, a much better story-teller. I wonder 
 if I shall like Tasso better ? 
 
 My dear jSIrs. Gisborne, 
 
 Y'ours affectionately and obliged, 
 
 Mary W. Shelley. 
 
 From Godwin to JTrs. Shelley. 
 
 My dear Mary, Sliinner Street^ July 7th, 1818. 
 
 l''ou will, I dare say, be glad to hear that I am now over 
 head and ears in my answer to Malthus. That painful complica- 
 tion of circumstances, which for four or five months suspended 
 mj' labours, seems at present to have dispersed itself like a summer 
 cloud. But I know that all these appearances are fallacious. I 
 know that the tempest is brewing in the distance, and that at no 
 very remote period it will pour all its fury upon my devoted 
 head.* But this very consciousness gives new energy to my 
 exertions. Providence, or by Avhatever other name we shall call 
 that principle that presides over the affairs of men, has granted 
 me an interval, however short, of cheerfulness and serenity ; and 
 (particularly at my time of life) such a favour is to be received as 
 an inestimable present, which it becomes me most assiduously and 
 vigilantly to improve. 
 
 The Westminster election closes on Saturday, and the result of 
 the whole in this division is, that the metropolis, which sends 
 eight members — four for London, two for Westminster, and two 
 for Southwark — has not sent, in its whole number, one old sup' 
 porter of the present Administration. The members for West- 
 minster are Ilomilly and Burdett ; for Southwark, Calvert, a 
 vetei'an Foxite, and Sir Robert Wilson ; and for London, Alder- 
 
 * Godwin here alludes to pecuniary difficulties. — Ed. 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 102 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 man Wood, Alderman Morp, and Waithman (all staunch Oppo- 
 sitionists), and Mr. Wilson, a new man, who will, in all probability, 
 vote for Government, but who is at least not an old supporter. 
 Sir AVilliam Curtis for London — their right-hand man — is throAvn 
 out. The consequence of all this is, that everybody is of opinion 
 that, if time had been given, and these examples had been suffi- 
 ciently early, the general defeat of the Ministry would have been 
 memorable. As it is, it is computed that the Ministerial majority 
 will immediately be diminished by forty or fifty votes ; and san- 
 guine people say, nobody can tell what that may end in. 
 
 My occupations call me aAvay, and I cannot add much to this 
 letter. I am anxious to know what you are about, and could 
 wish, as 3'ou kindly say on jour part, that I could hear from j'ou 
 more frequently. I follow you in imagination under Italian skies, 
 and amidst Italian scenery, and all the precious antiquities of that 
 memorable region. I should be happy to hear of Shelley's health, 
 of yoiu" occupations, and of the progress and improvement of 
 your William. 
 
 Farewell ! Be useful, be respectable, be happy ! Such is the 
 prayer of your affectionate father, 
 
 William Godwin. 
 
 P.S. — Mr. Brougham has just lost his election for Westmore- 
 land ; but he appears to be sanguine of success at the next oppor- 
 tunity. He had 900 votes ; his competitors, 1,100 and 1,200. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 My dear Madam, Bagni di Lucca, August 17th, 1818. 
 
 It gave me great pleasure to receive your letter after so 
 long a silence, when I had begun to conjecture a thousand reasons 
 for it, and, among others, illness, in which I was half right. In- 
 deed, I am much concerned to hear of Mr. R.'s attacks, and 
 sincerely hope that nothing will retard his speedy recover}". His 
 illness gives me a slight hope that you might now be induced to 
 come to the baths, if it were even to try the effect of the hot 
 baths. You would find the weather cool ; for we already feel in 
 this part of the world that the year is decUning, by the cold 
 mornings and eveninu;s. I have another selfish reason to wish that
 
 ITALY. 103 
 
 3'ou would come, which I have a great mind not to mention ; jet 
 
 I will not omit it, as it might induce you. Shelley and C are 
 
 gone ; they went to-day to Venice on important business ; and I 
 am left to take care of the house. Now, if all of you, or any of 
 3-0U, would come and cheer my solitude, it woidd be exceedingly 
 kind. I dare say you would find many of your friends here ; 
 among the rest there is the Signora Felicho, whom I beUeve you 
 knew at Pisa. 
 
 Shelley and I have ridden almost every evening. C did 
 
 the same at first ; but she has been unlucky and once fell from 
 her horse, and hurt her knee so as to knock her up for some time. 
 It is the fashion here for all the English to ride ; and it is very 
 pleasant on these fine evenings, when we set out at sunset and are 
 lighted home by Venus, Jupiter, and Diana, who kindly lend us 
 their light after the sleepy Apollo is gone to bed. The road 
 which we frequent is raised somewhat above, and overlooks, the 
 river, affording some very fine points of view amongst these 
 wood}^ momitains. 
 
 Still, we know no one ; we speak to one or two people at the 
 Casino, and that is all. We live in our studious way, going on 
 with Tasso, whom I like, but who, now I have read more than 
 half his poem, I do not know that I hke so well as Ariosto. 
 Shelley translated the Si/mposium in ten days. It is a most beau- 
 tiful piece of writing. I think you will be dehghted with it. It 
 is true that in many particulars it shocks our present manners ; 
 but no one can be a reader of the works of antiquity unless they 
 can transport themselves from these to other times, and judge not 
 by our, but their, morality. 
 
 Shelley is tolerably Avell in health ; the hot weather has done 
 him good. We have been in high debate — nor have we come to 
 any conclusion — concerning the land or sea journey to Naples. 
 We have been thinking that, when we want to go, although the 
 equinox will be past, yet the equinoctial winds will hardly have 
 spent themselves ; and I cannot express to you how I fear a storm 
 at sea, with two such young childi-en as William and Clara. Do 
 you know the periods when the Mediterranean is troubled, and 
 when the wintry halcyon days come ? However it may be, we 
 shall see you before vre proceed southward.
 
 104 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 We have been reading Eustace's Tour through Italy. I do not 
 "wonder the Italians reprinted it. Among other select si)eciraens 
 of his way of thinking, he says that the llomans did not derive 
 their arts and learning from the Greeks ; that Italian ladies are 
 chaste, and the lazzaroni honest and industrious ; and that, as to 
 assassination and highway robbery in Italy, it is all a calumny — no 
 such things were ever heard of. Italy Avas the garden of Eden, 
 and all the Italians Adams and Eves, until the blasts of hell 
 (i. e., the French — for by that polite name he designates them) 
 came. By the by, an Italian servant stabbed an English one here, 
 it was thought dangerously at first, but the man is doing better. 
 
 I have scribbled a long letter, and I daresay you have long 
 Avished to be at the end of it. Well, now you are ; so, my dear 
 Mrs. Gisborue, Avith best remembrances, 
 
 Yours obliged and aifectionately, 
 
 Mary W. Shelley. 
 
 In Mrs. Slielley's journal of this year are recorded 
 two amusing ghost stories, which may find a place here, 
 for the edification of believers in spectral appearances : — 
 
 Tuesday, October 20th. — The Chevalier INIcngaldo spends the 
 evening at the Hoppners', and relates several ghost stories — two 
 that occurred to himself. 
 
 When the Chevalier was at the University, and very young, on 
 returning home to pass the vacation, he heard that the inhabitants 
 of the town had been frightened by the mighty visitation of a 
 ghost, who traversed the tOAvn from one end to the other; so 
 much to their terror, that no one would venture out after dark. 
 The Chevalier felt a great curiosity to see the ghost, and stationed 
 himself at the window of a house of one of his friends, by which 
 the shadow always passed. Twelve o'clock struck ; no ghost 
 appeared. One ; half-past one. The Chevalier grcAv sleepy, and 
 determined to return home. The town chiefly consisted, like most 
 country towns, of one long street, and as the Chevalier, on his 
 road home, was at one end of it, he saw at the other something 
 white, like a rabbit or greyhound, that appeared to advance 
 towards him. He perceived that as it advanced it grew larger
 
 ITALY. 1 05 
 
 and larger, and appeared to take a human form. The Chevalier 
 could now no longer doubt but that it Avas the ghost, and felt his 
 courage fail him, although he strove to master it as well as he 
 could. The figure, as it approached, grew gigantic, and the 
 Chevalier cx'ouched behind a column as it passed, which it did 
 with enormous footsteps. As it passed, it appeared all dressed in 
 ■white; the face was long and white, and its hand appeared of 
 itself capable of covering the whole body of Mengaldo. 
 
 The Chevalier, when he was in the array, had a duel with a 
 brother officer, and wounded him in the arm. He was very sorry 
 at having wounded the young man, and attended him during its 
 cure ; so that when he got well they became firm and dear friends. 
 Being quartered, I think, at ]\lilan, the young officer fell despe- 
 rately in love with the wife of a musician, who disdained his 
 passion. The young man became miserable, and Mengaldo con- 
 tinually advised him to ask leave of absence — to hunt, to pay a 
 visit, and in some way to divert his passion. One evening, the 
 young man came to Mengaldo, and said, " Well, I have asked leave 
 of absence, and am to have it early to-morrow morning ; so lend 
 me your fowling-piece and cartridges, for I shall go to hunt for a 
 fortnight." Mengaldo gave it him ; and among his bird-shot were 
 some bullets, put there for safety, in case, while hunting, he should 
 be attacked by a wolf, &c. 
 
 The young man said : " Tell the lady I love that our conver- 
 sation has been chiefly about her to-night, and that her name was 
 the last I spoke." " Yes, yes," said Mengaldo ; " I will say any- 
 thing you please ; but do not talk of her any more — you must 
 forget her." On going away, the young man embraced Mengaldo 
 warmly ; but the latter saw nothing more in it than his affection, 
 combined with melancholy in separating himself from his mistress. 
 
 When Mengaldo was on guard that night, he heard the report 
 of a gun. He was first troubled and agitated by it, but afterwards 
 thought no more of it, and when relieved from guard went to bed, 
 although he passed a restless and sleepless night. In the morning 
 early, some one knocked at the door. The man said he had got 
 the young officer's leave of absence, and had taken it to his house. 
 A servant had opened the door, and he had gone upstairs ; but 
 the officer's room-door was locked, and no one answered to his
 
 106 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 knocking ; but something oozed through under the door, that ap- 
 peared like blood. Mengaldo was dreadfully terrified ; he hurried 
 to his friend's house, burst open the door, and found him stretched 
 on the ground. lie had blown out his brains, and his head and 
 brains were scattered about the room, so that no part of the head 
 remained on the shoulders. Mengaldo was grieved and shocked, 
 and had a fever in consequence, which lasted some days. When 
 he was well, he got leave of absence, and went into the country to 
 try to divert his mind. 
 
 One evening at moonlight, he was returning home from a walk, 
 and passing through a lane vdih a hedge on both sides, so high 
 that he could not see over it. As he walked along, he heard a 
 rustling in the bushes beside him, and the figure of his friend 
 issued from the hedge and stood before him, as he had seen him 
 after his death, without his head. This figure he saw many times 
 afterwards, always in the same place. It was impalpable to the 
 touch, and never spoke, although Mengaldo often addressed it. 
 Once he took another person with him. The same rustling was 
 heard ; the same shadow stepped forth : his companion was dread- 
 fully terrified ; he tried to cry, but his voice failed him, and he 
 ran ofi" as quickly as he could. 
 
 Under date " November 13tli, 1818," Godwin thus 
 gossips with Shelley on the events of the day, and on 
 his own projects : — 
 
 I am at present deeply engaged upon Malthus. It goes on 
 slowly, but so much the more surely (not the more surely as to 
 its being ever finished, but the more surely) as to its being finally 
 
 Eortis et in seipso totus teres atque rotundus, 
 Extern! ne quid valeat per Iseve morari, 
 In quem maneat semper fortuna. 
 
 I have just discovered a train of reasoning which, if I am not 
 mistaken, wUl utterly and for ever demolish his geometrical 
 ratio.
 
 ITALY. 107 
 
 You have heard, of course, of the melancholy suicide of Sir 
 Samuel Romilly. I do not remember any event that has produced 
 so deep a public sensation. He was undoubtedly an admirable 
 man ; and I do not know any one whose parliamentary existence 
 was so completely devoted to public good. 
 
 You are also, I suppose, informed of the withdrawing the army 
 of occupation from France. Lord Liverpool, we are told, has in 
 consequence insisted upon a large reduction of our peace esta- 
 blishment, and made this measure the sine qua non of his con- 
 tinuing in office. This is supposed to be owing to the turn matters 
 took in the General Election. So far we have really made some 
 advance in the scale of improvement. 
 
 The last letters I received from Mary are of the date of August 
 3rd and October 1st. In the October letter, she apparently 
 laboured under great depression of spirits, in consequence of the 
 loss of her infant. I hope she has by this time recovered her 
 accustomed tone, and is happy. 
 
 Very affectionately yours, 
 
 William Godwin. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Gisborne, Naples, Dec, 1818. 
 
 I hasten to answer your kind letter as soon as we are a little 
 recovered from the fatigue of our long jurney, although I still feel 
 wearied and overcome by it, — so you must expect a very stupid 
 letter. We set out from Este the day after I wrote to you. We 
 remained one day at Ferrara and two at Bologna, looking at the 
 memorials preserved of Tasso and Ariosto in the former town, and 
 at the most exquisite pictures in the latter. Afterwards, we pro- 
 ceeded along the coast road by Rimini, Fano, Fossombrone, &c. 
 We saw the divine waterfall, Terni, and arrived safely at Rome. 
 We performed this journey with our own horses, with Paolo to 
 drive us, which we found a very economical, but a very disagree- 
 able way ; so we shall not attempt it again. To you, who have 
 seen Rome, I need not say how enchanted we were with the first 
 view of Rome and its antiquities. One drawback they have at 
 present, which I hope will be fully compensated for in the future.
 
 108 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 The ruins are filled with galley slaves at work. They are propping 
 the Coliseum, and making very deep excavations in the Forum. 
 We remained a week at Eome, and our fears for the journey to 
 Naples were entirely removed. They said here that there had 
 not been a robbery on the road for eight months. This we found 
 afterwards to be an exaggeration ; but it tranquillized us so much 
 that Shelley went on first, to secure us lodgings, and we followed 
 a day or two after. We found the road guarded, and the only 
 part of the road where there was any talk of fear was between 
 Terracina and Fondi, when it was not thought desirable we should 
 set out from the former place before daylight. Shelley travelled 
 with a Lombard merchant and a Neapolitan priest. He remained 
 only two nights on the road, and he went veterino ; so you may 
 guess he had to travel early and late. The priest, a great, strong, 
 muscular fellow, was almost in convulsions with fear, to travel 
 before daylight along the Pontine marshes. There was talk of 
 two bishops murdered, and that touched him nearly. The robbers 
 spare foreigners, but never Neapolitan men, if they are young and 
 strong ; so he was the worst oflT of the party. The merchant 
 did not feel very comfortable, and they were both surprised at 
 Shelley's quietness. That quiet vras disturbed, hoAvever, between 
 Capua and Naples, by an assassination committed in broad day- 
 light before their eyes. A young man ran out of a shop on the 
 road, followed by a woman armed with a great stick and a man 
 with a great knife. The man overtook him, and stabbed him 
 in the nape of the neck, so that he fell down instantly, stone 
 dead. The fearful priest laughed heartily at Shelley's horror on 
 the occasion. 
 
 Well, we are now settled in comfortable lodgings, which Shelley 
 took for three louis a week, opposite the Royal Gardens — you no 
 doubt remember the situation. We have a full view of the bay 
 from our windoAvs ; so I think we are well ofif. As yet we have 
 seen nothing; but we shall soon make some excursions in the 
 environs. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 Mary W. Shelley.
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " PROJtIETHEUS UNBOUND:" THE " CENCI." 
 
 The early part of the year 1819 was spent by the 
 Shelley s at Naples, and was diversified by excursions 
 to Psestuinj Pompeii, Herculanemn, Vesuvius, Baias, 
 Lago d'Agnano, &c. ; but in March they returned to 
 Eome, where every day was occupied in explorations 
 and visits, in wanderings among the sublime ruins of 
 antiquity, and in meditations on the past. Then* hap- 
 piness, however, was soon interrupted by the death, in 
 the early summer, of their son William — at that time 
 their only surviving child. Shelley suffered the deepest 
 anguish from this event ; and the grief of Mrs. Shelley 
 was no less. The child was buried in the English 
 cemetery ; in allusion to which place, Shelley wrote : — 
 " 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 affec- 
 tions."
 
 110 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 Harping on the same mournful string, he thus ad- 
 dresses his dead child in verse : — 
 
 My lost William, tliou in whom 
 
 Some bright spirit lived, and did 
 That decaying robe consmne 
 
 Which its lustre faintly hid, 
 Here its ashes find a tomb ; 
 
 But beneath this pyramid 
 Thou art not. If a thing divine, 
 Like thee, can die, thy funeral shrine 
 Is thy mother's grief and mine. 
 
 In the spring of 1819, Shelley Avrote one of the 
 greatest of his works, the Prometheus Unbound. The 
 spot he selected for his study was that occupied by the 
 ruined baths of Caracalla — a maze of gigantic cham- 
 bers, open to the sky, and carpeted with verdure ; of 
 shattered towers, wreathed with a drapery of glorious 
 w^eeds and trailing ivy, with which the stonework has 
 become almost incorporated; of hea2:)ed masses of ma- 
 sonry, out of which spring groves of flowering shrubs ; 
 of broken arches, winding staircases, and hidden nooks 
 for solitary thought. Here he worked with wonderful 
 assiduity, and very soon completed the drama in three 
 acts : the fourth was added several mouths after, when 
 the poet was at Florence. All attentive readers of this 
 wonderful work will agree with Mrs. Shelley in think- 
 ing that the lucent atmosphere of Rome, the exquisite 
 vegetation of the surrounding Avastes, and the sublime 
 objects of art, whether of antiquity or of later times, 
 which met his eyes in every direction, helped the sensi-
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. Ill 
 
 tive imagination of Shelley to conceive those super- 
 human visions of loveliness and awful might which 
 tlu'ong the scenes of Prometheus Unbound. But only 
 liis own subtle, and ahnost instinctive, apprehension of 
 metaphysical analogies could have enabled him to en- 
 dow his ideal characters with a language proper to the 
 abstract ideas which they typify. This is the intui- 
 tion of genius, which not only can create an imaginary 
 world, but can govern it by laws in harmony with 
 themselves and with that which they control. The 
 personifications of Shelley's mythological drama are 
 not the vague idealisms of a young poet seeking for 
 effect ; they have a deep psychological meaning. The 
 poetry which they utter is like the language of beings 
 wakening, in the fresh dawn of the w^orld, to the 
 mystery of their own emotions and the miraculous 
 loveliness of the universe. We seem to behold the 
 elemental splendour of things disarrayed of that indif- 
 ference which springs from our superficial fiimiliarity, 
 and from the deadening effect of our conventional 
 existence. 
 
 The drama, though written in 1819, was not pub- 
 lished till 1820. 
 
 Several of Shelley's letters about this period have 
 reference to a project, which he set on foot, of a steam- 
 boat to ply between Marseilles and Leghorn : the con- 
 struction of this boat was to be managed by Mr. Reve- 
 ley, the son of Mrs. Gisborne by a former marriage, to 
 whom reference has already been made, and who was 
 an engineer. The pecuniary profit was to belong solely
 
 112 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 to Mr. Reveley ; but Shelley took a fervent interest in 
 the undertaking, for its own sake. It was not puerile 
 vanity, but the nobler feelino- of honest pride, that 
 made him enjoy the idea of being the first to introduce 
 steam navigation into the Gulf of Lyons, and to glory 
 in the consciousness of ]:)eing in this manner useful to 
 his fellow-creatures. Unfortunately, he was condemned 
 to experience a failure. The prospects and views of 
 his friends drew them to England, and the boat and 
 engine were abandoned. Shelley was deeply disap- 
 pointed ; yet it will be seen how generously he excul- 
 pates his friends to themselves, and relieves them from 
 the regret they might naturally feel at having thus 
 wasted his money and disappointed his desires. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 Rome, Monday, 
 My dear Mrs. Gisbortv'e, April 26ih, 1819. 
 
 We already begin to feel, or think we feel, the effects of 
 the Roman air, producing cold, depression, and even fever, to the 
 feeblest of our j)arty ; so we emigrate a month earlier than Ave 
 intended, and on the 7th of May leave this delightful city for the 
 Bay of Naples, intending, if possible, to settle for some months at 
 Castel del Mare. The physicians prognosticate good to Shelley 
 from a Neapolitan summer. He has been very unwell lately, and 
 is very far from well now ; but I hope that he is getting up 
 again. 
 
 Yesterday evening, I met at a conversazione the true model of 
 Biddy Fudge's lover — an Englishman with " the dear Corsair ex- 
 pression, half savage, half soft," with the beautiful mixture of 
 " Abelard and old Blucher," and his forehead " rather bald, but 
 so warlike," and his moustachios, on which the lamp shone with a 
 fine effect. '^Yhen I heard his name called Signer Colonello, I
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 113 
 
 could not restrain a smile, which nearly degenerated into laughter 
 ■when I thought we had Colonel CaUcot in Rome. Presently ho 
 began, in very good Italian, which, though Englishly pronounced, 
 [was] yet better spoken than any other Englishman that I have 
 heard, to give an account of his warlike feats, and how at Lisbon 
 he had put to flight thirty well-armed and well-mounted robbers 
 (he on foot), with two pistols that never missed their aim. There 
 can be but one such man in the world, as you will be convinced 
 Avhen I tell you that, while I was admiring his extraordinary 
 prowess, C whispered to me, "It is Colcnel F -h." 
 
 You asked me to tell you what I had heard of him at Venice. 
 Only one or two shabby tricks too long for a letter; and that an 
 officer who served in Spain, of the same regiment to which he 
 
 pretends to belong, vows that there was no Colonel F h there. 
 
 Report says that he is a parson, and Lord B.'s nickname for his 
 particular friend is the Reverend Colonel F h. 
 
 We have been very gay in Rome, as I dare say you have heard, 
 with the visit of the Emperor of Austria, who, they whisper, 
 wishes to take the Roman States into the keeping of the Holy 
 Roman Empire : this would be a fall (to say the least of it) from 
 nothingness to hell. There was a feast given at the Capitol. 
 The three palaces were joined by a gallerj', and the whole hung 
 with silk and illuminated in the most magnificent manner; and 
 the dying Gladiator, surrounded by his Apollos and Venuses, 
 shone forth very beautifully. There were very fine fireworks, 
 and a supper not at all in the Italian taste, for there Avas an 
 abundance which did honour to the old Cardinal who superin- 
 tended the/e^e. Every one was pleased, and the Romans in ecsta- 
 cies. I have not room to tell you how gracefully the old vener- 
 able Pope fiilfiUed the church ceremonies, or how surprised and 
 delighted we were with the lighting up of St. Peter's ; all that 
 must serve for gossip when we meet. When will that be ? We 
 saw nobody at Naples ; but we see a few people here. The Italian 
 character does not improve upon us. By the by, we have given 
 an introduction for you (which I do not think will be presented) 
 to a Roman lady, a painter and authoress, very old, very miserly, 
 and very mean — perhaps you know her. She says that she thinks 
 she remembers your name.
 
 114 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 I am in better health and spirits than when I last wrote, and 
 make no ceremony of writing without receiving answers. Shelley 
 
 and C desire best remembrances. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 M. W. Shelley. 
 
 The ardour of intellectual creation must at this time 
 have possessed Shelley to an extraordinary degree. 
 No sooner had he finished the first tlu-ee acts of 
 Prometheus Utibound, than he began the Cenci ; and, 
 as the former work was written during the spring, and 
 the date of the dedication of the latter is May 29th, the 
 composition of the tragedy must have been pushed 
 forward with great rapidity, though the work was not 
 completed till a month or two after the date indicated. 
 The dedication is to Leigh Hunt, and shows the high 
 regard which Shelley entertained for the friend who, 
 perhaps above all others, understood his nature and his 
 genius. The origin of the tragedy is to be fomid in 
 an old manuscript account of the story of the Cenci, 
 which a friend put into Shelley's hands while he was 
 at Rome, and of which a translation is published by 
 Mrs. Shelley in her edition of the poems. The poet's 
 interest in the mihappy victim, Beatrice, was increased 
 by seeing her portraits in the Colonna and Doria 
 Palaces (the former by Guido) ; and he at first wished 
 Mrs. Shelley to make the story the subject of a play 
 by herself, as he conceived that she possessed a dra- 
 matic faculty, and that he had none whatever, — for 
 the Prometheus Unbound is clearly not a drama in the 
 ordinary sense of the word, but a poem, taking the
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 115 
 
 form of action. He had already made one or two 
 attempts of a more strictly dramatic kind, but had 
 tlirowu them aside in disgust; nevertheless, he was 
 persuaded by Mrs. Shelley to undertake the tragedy of 
 the Cenci, and he frequently consulted her during its 
 progress (the only time he submitted to her judgment 
 any of his writings while they were being composed), 
 and talked over the arrangement of the scenes from 
 day to day. 
 
 While the work proceeded, the illness and death of 
 the little boy, William, took place — an affliction which 
 drove the broken-hearted parents to the neighbom'hood 
 of Leghorn, where they took a small house (Villa Val- 
 sovano), about half way between the city and Monte 
 Nero. " Our villa," says Mrs. Shelley, " was situated 
 in the midst of a j^odere : the peasants sang as they 
 worked beneath our window during the heats of a 
 very hot summer, 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." A small terrace, roofed and glazed, at 
 the top of the house, was converted by Shelley into 
 a study ; and here he could bask m the light and heat 
 of an Italian summer (never too intense for him), or 
 watch the processional march of the tempests over the 
 near ocean. The greater part of the Cenci was written 
 in this retreat. 
 
 Wishing to see his drama acted at Covent Garden, 
 
 I 2
 
 116 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 with Miss O'Neil as the heroine, Shelley wrote to a 
 friend in London (Mr. Peacock), requesting that he 
 would open negotiations with the manager. In address- 
 ing Mr. Peacock, he says of the newly-completed work, 
 that his " principal douht as to whether it would 
 succeed as an acting play hangs entirely" on the 
 frightful nature of the story; but he thinks that the 
 delicacy with which he has treated the facts will remove 
 any objection. It did not do so, however, for tlie 
 manager declined to accept the work, on the ground 
 anticipated by its author ; yet, at the same time, he 
 expressed his desire that the writer (whose name was 
 not mentioned to him*) would compose a play on some 
 other subject, adding that he would gladly produce it. 
 In the same letter, Shelley observes : — " I am exceed- 
 ingly 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 aud more real; and that there 
 is nothing but what the multitude are contented to 
 believe that they can understand, either in imagery, 
 opinion, or sentiment." With respect to Miss O'Neil 
 in the character of Beatrice, Shelley exclaims — '^ God 
 
 * The reason for this secrecy was a fear on tlie part of Shelley 
 that, if the play were produced as liis, his sister-in-law would hire 
 people to hoot it off th.e stage.
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 117 
 
 forbid that I should see her play it ! It would tear my 
 nerves to pieces." 
 
 In another letter the poet writes : — " I have been 
 cautious to avoid the introducing faults of youthful 
 comjiosition ; diffuseness, a profiision of inapplicable 
 imagery, vagueness, generality, and, as Hamlet says 
 * words, words.'" The play is, in truth, a wonderful 
 instance of mature judgment and self-control — the more 
 extraordinary when we reflect that the author was 
 barely seven-and-twenty when he wrote it, and that 
 the peculiar tendency of his genius was towards an 
 excessive affluence of imagination and fancy, and the 
 embodiment of thoughts the most evanescent and ini- 
 palpable in forms the most gorgeous and transcendent. 
 The Cenci occupies entirely different ground. Every- 
 w^here we feel the earth under our feet. The characters 
 are not personifications of abstract ideas, but are true 
 human beings, speaking, indeed, a language exalted 
 by passion, but, nevertheless, a language which has 
 its roots in natiu'e, and draws its sustenance from life. 
 Awful are those revelations of the monstrous heart of 
 the old man; tremendous in theii* hopeless agony and 
 desolation those stafro-erings of the mind of Beatrice on 
 the brink of madness ; angelical, in its serene redemp- 
 tion from transitory error, that spirit of resignation and 
 immortal love which rises, towards the close of the play, 
 out of the hell of the earlier parts, and finds its most 
 lovely expression in the final words. Never did poet 
 more exquisitely show the triumph of Good over Evil 
 than Shelley has done in that hushed and sacred endinn:.
 
 118 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 It is a voice out of the very depths of the suiFering 
 patience of Immaiiity. But, indeed, the play throughout 
 comes nearer to Shakspeare than any other writer has 
 approached since Shakspeare's time. 
 
 Strange to say, however, Shelley, though frequently 
 urged by his friends, would never again write in the 
 same manner, asserting that his natural tastes lay in a 
 totally different direction. 
 
 The first edition of the Coici was printed in Italy, 
 and sent to London for publication. It was received 
 with a degree of enthusiasm to wdiich no other work 
 of Shelley attained during his life; and in 1821 a 
 second edition was printed in England. In a letter to 
 Mr. Oilier, his publisher, dated " Leghorn, September 
 6th, 1819," Shelley alludes both to Prometheus Unbound 
 and to the Cenci. 
 
 From Shelley to Mr. Oilier. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I received your packet with Hunt's picture about a fortnight 
 ago ; and your letter with Nos. 1, 2, and 3 yesterday, but not 
 No. 4, which is probably lost or mislaid, through the extreme 
 irregularity of the Italian post. 
 
 The ill account you give of the success of my poetical attempts, 
 sufficiently accounts for your silence ; but I believe that the truth 
 is, I write less for the public than for myself. Considering that 
 perhaps the parcel will be another year on its voyage, I rather 
 wish, if this letter arrives in time, that you Avould send the 
 Qiuirterhjs article by the post, and the rest of the Revieio in the 
 parcel. Of course, it gives me a certain degree of pleasure to 
 know that any one likes my writings; but it is objection and 
 enmity alone that rouses my curiosity. My Prometheus, which has 
 been long finished, is now being transcribed, and will soon be
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 119 
 
 forwarded to yoii for publication. 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. I 
 shall also send you another work, calculated to produce a very 
 popular effect, and totally in a different style from anything I have 
 yet composed. This will be sent already printed. The Prometheus 
 you will be so good as to print as usual 
 
 In the Rosalind and Helen, I see there are some few errors, 
 which are so much the Avorse because they are errors in the sense. 
 If there should be any danger of a second edition, I will correct 
 them. 
 
 I have read your AltJiam, and Keats's poem, and Lamb's works. 
 For the second in this list, 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. In Altham you have 
 surprised and delighted me. It is a natural story, most unaf- 
 fectedly told ; and, what is more, told in a strain of very pure and 
 powerful English, which is a very rare merit. You seem to have 
 studied our language to some purpose ; but I suppose I ought to 
 have waited for Inesilla. 
 
 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 oppres- 
 sion of its destroyers. " Something must be done. "What, yet I 
 know not." * 
 
 In your parcel (which I pray you to send in some safe 
 manner, forwarding to me the bill of lading, &c., in a regular 
 mercantile way, so that my parcel may come in six weeks, 
 not twelve months) send uie Jones's Greek Grammar and some 
 sealing-wax. 
 
 * A quotation from the Cenci. — Ed.
 
 120 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 Whenever I publish, send copies of my books to the following 
 people from me : — 
 
 Mr. Hunt, Mr. Keats, 
 
 Mr. Godwin, Mr. Thomas Moore, 
 
 Mr. Hogg, Mr. Horace Smith, 
 
 Mr. Peacock, Lord Byron (at Murray's). 
 
 Yours, obliged and faithful, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley, 
 
 The reference to Keats in this letter is curious, con- 
 sidering the high admiration which Shelley afterwards 
 felt for his writings. But the truth is that Keats's first 
 volume (which is the book here alluded to) contained 
 a great deal of what was raw, youthful, and weak, 
 together with passages reflecting, as Shelley rightly 
 says, " the highest and the finest gleams of poetry " — 
 passages prophetic of the future achievements of the 
 young genius. 
 
 Another letter to Mr. Oilier contains further allusion 
 to the Cenci, and some scornful remarks on Quarterly 
 Revieiv slanders : — 
 
 Dear Sir, Florence, Oct. 15, 1819. 
 
 The droll remarks of the Quarterly, and Hunt's kind defence, 
 arrived as safe as such poison, and safer than such an antidote, 
 usually do. 
 
 I am on the point of sending to you 250 copies of a work 
 which I have printed in Italy ; which you will have to pay four 
 or five pounds duty upon, on my account. Hunt will tell you 
 the hind of thing it is, and in the course of the winter I shall send 
 directions for its publication, until the arrival of which directions, 
 1 request that you ivoidd have the kindness not to open the box, or, 
 if by necessity it is opened, to abstain from obsei'ving yourself or 
 vermiiting others to observe, what it contains/' I trust this con- 
 
 * The italics are Shelley's own, — Ed.
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 121 
 
 fidentlyto you, it being of consequence. Meanwhile, assure your- 
 self that this -work has no reference, direct or indirect, to politics, 
 or religion, or personal satire, and that this precaution is merely 
 literary. 
 
 The Prometheus^ a poem in my best style, whatever that may 
 amount to, will arrive with it, but in MS., which you can print 
 and publish in the season. It is the most perfect of my pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 Southey wrote the article in question, I am well aware. Ob- 
 serve the impudence of the man in speaking of himself. The only 
 remark worth notice in this piece is the assertion that I imitate 
 Wordsworth. It may as well be said that Lord Byron imitates 
 Wordsworth, or that Wordsworth imitates Lord Byron, both 
 being great poets, and deriving from the new springs of thought 
 and feeling, which the great events of our age have exposed to 
 view, a similar tone of sentiment, imagery, and expression. A 
 certain similarity all the best writers of any particular age inevit- 
 ably are marked with, from the spirit of that age acting on all. 
 This I had explained in my Preface, which the writer was too 
 disingenuous to advert to. As to the other trash, and particularly 
 that lame attack on my personal character, which was meant so 
 ill, and which I am not the man to feel, 'tis all nothing. I am 
 glad, with respect to that part of it which alludes to Hunt, that 
 it should so have happened that I dedicate, as you will see, a work 
 Avhich has all the capacities for being popular to that excellent 
 person. I was amused, too, with the finale ; it is like the end of 
 the first act of an opera, when that tremendous concordant discord 
 sets up from the orchestra, and everybody talks and sings at once. 
 It describes the result of my battle with their Omnipotent God ; 
 his pulling me under the sea by the hair of my head, like Pha- 
 raoh ; my calling out like the devil who was frame to the last ,• 
 swearing and cursing in all comic and horrid oaths, like a French 
 postilion on Mount Cenis ; entreating everybody to drown them- 
 selves ; pretending not to be drowned myself when I am drowned ; 
 and, lastly, being drowned.* 
 
 * Shelley's frequent allusions to his being drowned are very 
 singular. — Eu.
 
 122 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 You would do me a particular kindness if you would call on 
 Hunt, and ask him when my parcel went, the name of the ship, 
 and the name of the captain, and whether he has any bill of 
 lading, which, if he has, you would oblige me by sending, together 
 with the rest of the information, by return of post, addressed to 
 the Post Office, Florence. 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 From Shelley to Mr. Oilier. 
 
 Dear Sib, Florence, December loth, 1819. 
 
 Pray, give Mr. Procter my best thanks for his polite attention. 
 I read the article you enclosed with the pleasure which every one 
 feels, of course, when they are praised or defended ; though the 
 praise would have given me more pleasure if it had been less 
 excessive. I am glad, however, to see the Qtiarterli/ cut up, and 
 that by one of their own people. Poor Southey has enough to 
 endure. Do you know, I think the article in Blackwood could 
 not have been written by a favourer of Government and a reli- 
 gionist. I don't believe any such one could sincerely like my 
 writings. After all, is it not some friend in disguise, and don't you 
 know who wrote it ? 
 
 There is one very droll thing in the Quartei^ly. They say that 
 " my chariot-wheels are broken." Heaven forbid ! My chariot, 
 you may tell them, was built by one of the best makers in Bond 
 Street, and it has gone several thousand miles in perfect security. 
 What a comical thing it would be to make the following adver- 
 tisement ! — " A report having prevailed, in consequence of some 
 insinuations in the Quarterly Review, that Mr. Shelley's chariot- 
 wheels are broken, Mr. Charters, of Bond Street, begs to assure 
 the pubUc that they, after having carried him through Italy, 
 France, and Switzerland, still continue in excellent repair." 
 
 When the box comes, you may write a note to Mr. Peacock ; or 
 it would be better to call on him, and ask if my tragedy is accepted? 
 IS not, publish what you find in the box. I think it will succeed as 
 a publication. Let Promethem be printed without delay. You will
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 123 
 
 receive the additions, which Mrs. S. is now transcribing, in a few 
 days. It has already been read to many persons. My Prometheus 
 is the best thing I ever wrote. 
 
 Pray, what have you done with Pete^- Bell? Ask Mr. Hunt 
 for it, and for some other poems of a similar character I sent him 
 to give j-ou to publish. I think Peter not bad in his way ; but 
 perhaps no one will believe in anj'thing in the shape of a joke 
 from me. 
 
 Of course with my next box you will send me the Dramatic 
 Sketches* I have only seen the extracts in the Examiner. They 
 have some passages painfully beautiful. When I consider the 
 vivid energy to which the minds of men are awakened in this age 
 of ours, ought I not to congratulate myself that I am a contem- 
 porary with names which are great, or will be great, or ought to 
 be great ? 
 
 Have you seen my poem, Julian and Maddalo ? Suppose you 
 print that in the manner of Hunt's Hero and Leander ; for I mean 
 to "write three other poems, the scenes of which will be laid 
 at Kome, Florence, and Xaples, hut the subjects of wlaich will 
 be all drawn from dreadful or beautiful reahties, as that of 
 this was. 
 
 If I have health — hut I will neither boast nor promise. I am 
 preparing an octavo on reform — a commonplace kind of book — 
 which, now that I see the passion of party will postpone the great 
 struggle till another year, I shall not trouble myself to finish for 
 this season. I intend it to be an instructive and readable hook, 
 appealing from the passions to the reason of men. 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 It will be seen from the date of the last tsvo letters 
 that the Shelleys liacl removed from Leghorn to 
 Florence. They did so in the early part of October; 
 but, though Shelley was delighted with the latter city. 
 
 By Mr. Procter.— Ed.
 
 124 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 lie found that the air did not suit him, and early in the 
 following year he moved again. 
 
 The " Manchester work," to which Shelley alludes 
 in the letter of September 6th, was the slaughter, by 
 a body of mounted yeomanry, of several wretched men 
 and women who had attended a large reform meeting 
 in the open air at Peterloo, near the great cotton 
 metropolis. This horrible affair suggested to Shelle}' 
 his Masque of Anarchy, which he sent to Leigh Hunt 
 to be juiblished by him, if he thought fit, in the 
 Examiner. Leigh Hunt, however, did not insert it, 
 because he thought the pu])lic mind was hardly in a fit 
 state to receive a poem which was of a nature rather 
 to increase than to calm the excitement already existing 
 with respect to the massacre ; but he gave it to the 
 world in a small volume which appeared in the year 
 1832. In this poem, as in the Cenci, Shelley has 
 shown his capacity to speak directly to the heart ; yet 
 it is full of imagmation, also, and of exquisite musical 
 utterance. Several of his other minor poems written in 
 this same year were likewise prompted b}^ the political 
 state of England, which, at that time, under the profli- 
 gate rule of the Prince Regent and the reactionary 
 counsels of Lord Castlereagh, was flist becoming one 
 with the worst Continental tyrannies. Peter Bell the 
 Third was a satire on Wordsworth for deserting his 
 youthful advocacy of liberty. It Avas not published till 
 after Shelley's death. 
 
 The article in the Quarterhj Review contained a cri- 
 ticism on the Revolt of Islam. Shelley read it for the first
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 125 
 
 time at a public room in Florence, and laughed loudly 
 at its absurdity. Yet the calumnies it contained pro- 
 bably led to a dastardly attack on liini at the Post Office 
 by an Englishman, who, addressing him as an Atheist, 
 knocked him down, and ran off". Several efforts were 
 made by Shelley to discover and punish the cowardly 
 scoundrel ; but they failed. The poor fanatic effectually 
 shrouded himself in secrecy. 
 
 Writing to her friend, ]Mrs. Gisborne, from Flo- 
 rence, on the 5th of October, Mrs. Shelley reports 
 a witty remark by her husband which ought to be 
 preserved. " Shelley," she records, " Calderonized on 
 the late weather: he called it an epic of rain, with 
 an episode of frost, and a few similes concerning fine 
 weather." 
 
 Shelley was at this time greatly troubled by the 
 failure of his usual remittances fi-om England, owing to 
 some cause which he could not divine. In a letter to 
 ^Irs. Gisborne, dated October 14th, he says : — 
 
 About Henry and the steam-engine, I am in torture until tliis 
 money comes from London, though I am sure that it must and 
 will come ; unless, indeed, my banker has broke, and then it will 
 be my loss, not Henry's. A little delay will mend the matter. 
 T would then write instantly to London an efTectual letter, and 
 by return of post all would be set right. It would then be a 
 thing easily set straight ; but, if it were not, you know me too 
 well not to know that there is no personal suffering, or degrada- 
 tion, or toil, or anything that can be named, with which I do not 
 feel myself bound to support this enterprise of Henry. But all 
 this rhodomontade only shows how correct Mr. Bielby's advice 
 was, about the discipline necessary for my imagination. No doubt 
 that all will go on with mercantile and commonplace exactness,
 
 126 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 and that you will be spared the suffering, and I the -virtue, in- 
 cident to some untoward event. 
 
 A week later, he wrote as follows to Mrs. Gisborne 
 
 and her son : — 
 
 My dear Friends, Florpiice, Oct. list, 1819. 
 
 I send you a cheque for 111 sequins, 5 pauls, the produce of 
 
 fifty pounds, to go on with. It must be presented and indorsed 
 
 by Henry, to get the money. The 200Z. will arrive in a few days. 
 
 My sincerest congratulations to Mr. Gisborne on his arrival. 
 
 I write these lines in a stationer's close to the Post Office, and 
 
 in great haste, not to miss the post. 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 We next come to a letter of friendly reproof, ad- 
 dressed to Mr. Henry Reveley : — 
 
 My dear Henry, Oct. 28th, 1819. 
 
 In the first place, listen to a reproach : you ought to have 
 sent me an acknowledgment of my last billet. 
 
 Let you and I try if we cannot be as punctual and business-like 
 as the best of them. But no clipping and coining, if you please. 
 
 Kow take this that I say in a light just so serious as not to give 
 you pain. lu fact, my dear fellow, my motive for soliciting your 
 correspondence, and that flowing from your own mind, and 
 clothed in your ovm words, is, that you may begin to accustom to 
 discipline yourself in the only practice of life in which you appear 
 deficient. You know that you are writing to a person persuaded 
 of all the confidence and respect due to your powers in those 
 branches of science to Avhich you have addicted yourself; and you 
 will not permit a false shame with regard to the mere mechanical 
 arrangement of words to overbalance the advantage arising from 
 the free communication of ideas. Thus you will become day by 
 day more skilful in the management of that instrument of their 
 communication on which the attainment of a person's just rank in
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 127 
 
 society depends. Do not think me arrogant. There are subjects 
 
 of the highest importance, on which you are far better qualified to 
 
 instruct me, than I am qualified to instruct you on this subject. 
 * * ^ * * 
 
 Your very faithful friend, 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 Addressing the Gisbornes on the same day, Shelley 
 agam refers to the unsatisfactory state of his finances : — 
 
 Mt dear Friends, Florence, Oct. 28th, 1819. 
 
 I received this morning the strange and unexpected news 
 that my bill of 200/. has been returned to Mr. Webb protested. 
 Ultimately, this can be nothing but delay, as I have only drawn 
 from my banker's hands as much as to leave them still in posses- 
 sion of 80/. ; and this I positively know, and can prove by docu- 
 ments. By return of post (for I have not only written to my 
 banker, but to private friends) no doubt Henry will be enabled to 
 proceed. Let him, meanwhile, do all that can be done. 
 
 Meanwhile, to save time, could not money be obtained tempo- 
 rarily, at Livorno, from Mr. W or ]\Ir. G , or any of your 
 
 acquaintance, on my bills at three or six months, indorsed by Mr. 
 Gisborne and Henry, so that he may go on with his work ? If a 
 month is of consequence, think of this. 
 
 Be of good cheer. Madonna mia ; all will go well. The enclosed 
 is for Henry, and was written before this news, as he will see ; 
 but it does not, strange as it is, abate one atom of my cheer. 
 Accept, dear INIrs. G., my best regards. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 On November 13th, Shelley writes to Leigh Hunt: — 
 *' Yesterday morning, Mary brought me a little boy. 
 She suffered but two hours' pain, and is now so well 
 that it seems a wonder that she stays in bed. The babe 
 is also quite well, and has begun to suck. You may 
 imagine that this is a m-eat relief and a great comfort
 
 128 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 to me amongst all my misfortimes, past, present, and to 
 come. . . . Poor Mary begins (for the first time) 
 to look a little consoled ; for we have spent, as you may 
 imagine, a miserable five months." The same domestic 
 event is touched upon by Mrs. Shelley herself in a 
 letter to Mrs. Gisborne : — 
 
 My DEAR Mrs. G., December 1st, 1819. 
 
 The little boy is nearly tlirec times as big as when he was 
 born : he thrives well and cries little, and is now taking a right- 
 down, earnest sleep, with all his heart in liis shut eyes. 
 
 There are some ladies come to this house who knew Shelley's 
 family ; the younger one was entousiasmee to see him ; the elder 
 said that he was a very shocking man, but, finding that we became 
 the mode, she melted, and paid us a visit. She is a httle old 
 Welshwoman, without the slightest education. She has got an 
 Italian master, and has entered into the difficult part of the 
 language, the singulars and plurals — the Ws and the lo's, and is to 
 turn masculines into feminines, and feminines into masculines; 
 but she says she does not think she shall ever learn, for she can- 
 not help mixing Welsh with her Italian — and, besides, it spoils 
 her French. She speaks the sweetest French, as you may judge 
 by her telling her master, " Je ne peut lire aucune plus." 
 
 The younger lady was a ward of one of Shelley's uncles. She 
 is lively and unaffected. She sings well for an English debutante, 
 and, if she would learn the scales, Avould sing exceedingly well, for 
 she has a sweet voice. So there is a great deal of good company 
 
 for C , who is as busy as a bee amongst them all, serving as 
 
 an interpreter to their masters. She has a most excellent singing 
 master, and he now teaches several other young ladies who are 
 here. One who had had a very cross master in England, v/hen 
 told to sing sol, bvu'st into tears. The poor man was aghast. 
 " Xon capisco questo effetto." 
 
 I do not know why I write all this gossip to you. Pray, let us 
 hear of you, and the steamboat, and the felucca. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 i\r. W. SnrLLEY.
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 129 
 
 Writing to Mrs. Gisborne on December lotli, Mrs. 
 Shelley says : — 
 
 You see, my dear friend, by the receipt of your crowns, that 
 we have recovered lOOZ. of our money. There is still lOOl. in 
 jeopardy; but we must hope, and perhaps, by dint of giving it up 
 as lost, we may find it again. .... I have begun reading 
 with Shelley the Conquista de Mexico, by Solis. We have read 
 very little yet. I send you something to amuse you — the bane 
 and antidote. The bane from the Quarterly, the antidote from 
 BlachicoocV s Edinburgh Magazine, a publication as furious as the 
 Quarterly, but which takes up arms (singularly enough) in 
 Shelley's defence. We half think that it must be Walter Scott, 
 the only liberal man of that faction.* 
 
 Some days later, Mrs. Shelley again wrote to her 
 friend Mrs. Gisborne : — 
 
 My dear Mks. Gisborne, Florence, Dec. -ISth, 1819. 
 
 I am glad you are pleased with the Prometheus. The last 
 act, though very beautiful, is certainly the most mystic of the 
 four. I am glad also that Spenser pleases 3'ou, for he is a favourite 
 author of mine. In his days, I fancy, translations and plagiarisms 
 were not considered so disgraceful as they are now. You have 
 not all of him, and therefore perhaps you have not read the parts 
 that I particularly admire f — the snowy Florimel, Belphoebe and 
 her Squire lover (who are half meant for Queen EUzabeth and 
 Lord Essex). Britomart is only an imitation ; she is cold and 
 dull ; but the others, and the lovely Una, are his own creations, 
 and I own I like them better than Angelica, although, indeed, the 
 thought of her night scene with Medoro | came across me, and 
 made me pause as I wrote the opinion. But, perhaps, it is not in 
 
 * I believe this to be an error ; but Sir Walter did write an excel- 
 lent review of Frankenstein m Blackwood's Magazine, under the 
 impression that it was Shelley's work. — Ed. 
 
 f In the Faery Queene. — Ed. 
 
 ± See Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. — Ed.
 
 130 SKELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 pathos, but in simple description of beauty, tbat Spenser excels. 
 His description of the Island of Bliss is an exact translation of 
 Tasso's Garden of Armida ; yet how is it that I find a greater 
 simplicity and spirit in the translation than m the original ? Yet, 
 so it is. 
 
 I think of beginning to read again — study I cannot, for I have 
 no books, and I may not call simple reading study, for papa is 
 continually saying and writing, that to read one book without 
 others beside you, to which you may refer, is mere child's plaj- ; 
 but still I hope now to get on with Latin and Spanish. Do you 
 know that, if you could borrow for us Rousseau's Emile and 
 Voltaire's Essai sur VEsprit des Nations — either or both — you 
 would oblige us very much. 
 
 Shelley has given up the idea of visiting Leghorn before the 
 finishing of the steamboat. He is rather better these last two or 
 three days, but he has suffered dreadfully lately from his side. 
 He seems a changed man. His numerous weaknesses and ailments 
 have left him, and settled all in his side alone, for he never, any 
 other winter, suffered such constant pain there.* It puts me in 
 mind of the mountain of ills in the Spectator^ where mankind 
 exchange ills one with the other : then they all take up their old 
 evils again as the most bearable. I do not know whether this is 
 Shelley's case. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 M. AY. Shelley. 
 
 * In another letter, Mrs. Shelley speaks of this pain having a 
 rheumatic character. — Ed.
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE poet's life AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 
 
 On the 26tli of Januaiy, 1820, the Shelleys removed to 
 Pisa. At that city they had friends, and could consuk 
 the celebrated physician Yacca on the suLject of the 
 poet's ailments, though they received from him no other 
 advice than to abstain from all medicine, and leave the 
 constitution to right itself. Vacca was as much puzzled 
 as the other medical men to assign any cause for 
 Shelley's painful symptoms ; but, whatever might have 
 l^een the nature of the complaint, the air of Pisa agreed 
 better with the patient than that of any other place, and 
 it was therefore determined on to remain there. Under 
 the best of circumstances, however, Shelley was never 
 entirely free fi'om pain and ill-health. 
 
 In walking, riding, and studying, some months 
 passed pleasantly away. When evening had set in, 
 SheUey, according to his usual custom, would read 
 aloud. A few weeks in the sprmg were spent at 
 Leghorn, in a villa lent to them by their friends the 
 Gisbornes, who were then absent in England. From 
 this house Shelley addressed his letter in verse to Mrs. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 Gisbornc — a composition of interwoven grace and liu- 
 moui', uttered in fi'ee and fluent heroic couplet, and 
 containing a lovely picture of tlie scenery and influences 
 by which the writer was surrounded : — 
 
 I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit 
 
 Built round dark caverns, even to the root 
 
 Of the living stems who feed them ; in whose bowers 
 
 There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers. 
 
 Beyond, the surface of the imsickled corn 
 
 Trembles not in the slumbering air, and, borne 
 
 In circles quaint and ever-changing dance. 
 
 Like winged stars the fire-flies flash and glance, 
 
 Pale in the open moonshine ; but each one 
 
 Under the dark trees seems a little sun, — 
 
 A meteor tamed, — a fix'd star gone astray 
 
 From the silver regions of the Milky TVay. 
 
 Afar, the Contadino's song is heard, 
 
 Rude, but made sweet by distance ; and a bird. 
 
 Which cannot be a nightingale, and yet 
 
 I know none else that sings so sweet as it 
 
 At this late hour ; — and then all is still. 
 
 The date of this poem is July 1st. While staying at 
 the same house, Shelley wrote his divine Ode to a Sky- 
 lark. The poem was suggested to him one evening by 
 the bird itself, whose song attracted his attention as he 
 was wandering with Mrs. Shelley among lanes shut in 
 by myrtle hedges, and spangled with the erratic glory 
 of the fire-flies. 
 
 Being alarmed for the safety of their only child, who 
 was afifected by the extreme heat of the summer, the 
 parents left Leghorn in August for the baths of San 
 Giuliano, which are situated four miles fi'om Pisa. The
 
 THE poet's life AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 133 
 
 water of the baths soothed the nervous irratibihty of 
 Shelley, and the time appears to have been very agree- 
 ably spent, the country being beautiful and the climate ^^ 
 brilliant. " During some of the hottest days of Au- 
 gust," we read in the notes to the poems, " Shelley 
 made a solitary journey on foot to the summit of Monte 
 San Pelegrino — a mountain of some height, on the top 
 of which there is a chapel, the object, during certain 
 days in the year, of many pilgrimages." The undue 
 exertion produced considerable lassitude and weakness 
 in Shelley after his return ; yet, in the three days 
 immediately succeeding, he produced that gorgeous 
 phantasy, the Witch of Atlas. He had conceived the 
 idea during his walk. 
 
 In Mrs. Shelley's Journal, mider date "August 25th," 
 is recorded : — " Shelley writes Ode to Naples ; begins 
 Swellfoot, the Tyrant — suggested by the grunting of the 
 pigs at the fair of San Giuliano, whilst he was reading 
 aloud his Ode to Liberty. ^^ He compared this mimusical 
 interruption to " the chorus of frogs in the satiric drama 
 of Aristophanes." The object of Shelley's burlesque 
 was to place in a ludicrous point of view the prosecution 
 of Queen Caroline, which was then going forward ; and 
 the pigs were made to serve as chorus. On being 
 finished, it was sent to England, where it was printed 
 and published anonymously ; but the Society for the 
 Suppression of Vice, conceiving, in their ultra-sensi- 
 tiveness, that its subject trenched too much on forbidden 
 ground, threatened to prosecute, and the work was con- 
 sequently withdrawn.
 
 134 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 Several other poems (though none of great length) 
 were written in the same year; among them, that deli- 
 cate dream, that romance of metaphysical subtlety, 
 \ finding its expression in the utmost aftiuence of fancy 
 * and imagination — the Sensitive Plant. 
 
 A siDoiilar circumstance brought to a termination the 
 stay of the Shelleys at San Giuliano. " At the foot of 
 our garden," writes Mrs. Shelley, " 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 rismg waters filled 
 the square of the baths, in the lower part of which our 
 house was situated. The canal overflowed in the gar- 
 den 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 tkie flame, which was reflected again in 
 the waters that filled the square." 
 
 Driven forth by this local deluge, Shelley and his 
 wife took up their abode for the winter at Pisa, where 
 the extreme mildness of the climate offered a great in- 
 ducement to them to stay. The di'eamy quiet of the 
 half-depo]3ulated old Republican city, moreover, de- 
 lighted Shelley ; and for the brief remainder of his Kfe
 
 THE poet's life AT PISA AND LEGHOKN. 135 
 
 he lived for the most part there. Painful exj)erience 
 had taught him and Mrs. Shelley, -when contemplating 
 their infant son, to dread the heat in the south of the 
 peninsula ; though, but for this fear, they would hare 
 continued to wander at will, being devoted lovers of 
 travelling. 
 
 The appearance of the poet at this time showed a 
 singular mixture of premature age and imusually pro- 
 longed youth. He walked with a stoop, and his hair 
 was sprinkled with grey: but, when Mr. Trelawny 
 w^as introduced to him some time afterwards, he found 
 him looking hke " a tall, thin striplmg." 
 
 Some letters addressed to Mr. Oilier during the year 
 1820 illustrate the progress of Shelley's intellectual 
 labours : — 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, Jan. 20th, 1820. 
 
 I send you the WitcJi of Atlas, a fanciful poem, -which, if its 
 merit be measured by the labour which it cost, is worth nothing ; 
 and the errata of Prometheus, which I ought to have sent long 
 since — a formidable list, as you \s\\\ see. 
 
 I have lately, and but lately, received [Mr. Gisborne's parcel, 
 with reviews, &c. I request you to convey to Mr. Procter my 
 thanks for the present of his works, as well as for the pleasure 
 which I received from the perusal, especially of the Dramatic 
 Sketches. 
 
 The revievrs of my Cenci (though some of them, and especially 
 that marked " John Scott," are written with great malignity) on 
 the whole give me as much encouragement as a person of my 
 habits of thinking is capable of receiving from such a source, 
 which is, inasmuch as they coincide with, and confirm, my own 
 decisions. My next attempt (if I should write more) will be a 
 drama, in the composition of which I shall attend to the advice of 
 my critics, to a certain degree. But I doubt whether I shall write
 
 136 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 more. I could be content either with the Hell or the Paradise of 
 poetry ; but the torments of its purgatory vex me, without ex- 
 citing my powers sufficiently to put an end to the vexation. 
 
 I have also to thank you for the present of one or two of your 
 publications. I am enchanted with your Literary Miscellavy, 
 although the last article it contains has excited my polemical 
 faculties so violently, that the moment I get rid of my ophthalmia, 
 I mean to set about an answer to it, which I will send to you, if 
 you please. It is very clever, but, I think, very false.* Who is 
 your commentator on the German Drama? He is a powerful 
 thinker, though I differ from him toto coelo about the Devils of 
 Dante and Milton. If you know him personally, pray ask him 
 from me what he means by receiving the spirit into me ; y and (if 
 really it is any good) how one is to get at it. I was immeasurably 
 amused by the quotation from Schlegel about the way in which 
 the popular faith is destroyed — first the Devil, then the Holy 
 Ghost, then God the Father. I had written a Lucianic essay to 
 prove the same thing. There are two beautiful stories, too, in 
 this Miscellany. It pleased me altogether hifinitely, I was also 
 much pleased with the Retrospective Review — that is, with all the 
 quotations from old books in it ; but it is very ill executed. 
 
 When the spirit moves you, write and give me an account of 
 the ill success of my verses. 
 
 ■\^Tio WTote the review in your publication of my Cenci? It 
 was written in a friendly spirit, and, if you know the author, I 
 ■wish you would tell him from me how much obliged I am to him 
 for this spirit, more gratifying to me than any literary laud. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 * The article (which was written by Mr. Peacock) was an Essay 
 on Poetry, which the writer regarded as a worn-out dehision of 
 barbarous times. — Ed. 
 
 f The writer was the late Archdeacon Hare, who, despite his 
 orthodoxy, was a great admirer of Shelley's genius. He contended 
 that Milton erred in making the Devil a majestical being, and hoped 
 that SheUcy would in time humble his soul, and " receive the spirit 
 into hiai." — En.
 
 y^ 
 
 THE POET'S LIEE AT PISA AND LEGHOEN. 137 
 
 De>2 Sir, Pisa., March 6tJi, 1820. 
 
 I do not hear that you have received Prometheus and the 
 Cenci; I therefore think it safest to tell you how and when to get 
 them if you have not yet done so. 
 
 Give the bill of lading Mr. Gisborne sent you to a broker in 
 the City, whom you employ to get the package, and to pny the 
 duty on the unbomid books. The ship sailed in the middle of 
 December, and will assuredly have arrived long before now. 
 
 Prometheus Uyiboujid, I must tell you, is my favourite poem ; 
 I charge you, therefore, specially to pet him and feed him Arith 
 fine ink and good paper. Cenci is written for the multitude, and 
 ought to sell well. I thuik, if I may judge by its merits, the 
 Prometheus cannot sell beyond twenty copies. I hear nothing 
 either from Hunt, or you, or any one. If you condescend to write 
 to me, mention something about Keats. 
 
 Allow me particularly to request you to send copies of whatever 
 I publish to Horace Smith. 
 
 Maybe you will see me in the summer; but in that case I 
 shall certainly return to this " Paradise of Exiles " * by the en- 
 suing winter. 
 
 If any of the Eeviews abuse me, cut them out and send them. 
 If they praise, you need not trouble yourself I feel ashamed if 
 I could believe that I should deserve the latter; the former, I 
 flatter myself, is no more than a just tribute. K Hunt prai.-es me, 
 send it, because that is of another character of thing. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Yom-s very truly, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, March 13th, 1820. 
 
 I am anxious to hear that you have received the parcel from 
 Leghorn, and to learn what you are doing with the Prometheus. 
 If it can be done without great difficulty, I should be very glad 
 that the revised sheets might be sent by the post to me at Leghorn. 
 
 * This is a phrase which he himself applies to Italy in Julian and 
 Maddalo. — Ed.
 
 138 SHELLEY MEMOKIALS. 
 
 It might be divided into four partitions, sending me four or five 
 sheets at once. 
 
 My friends here have great hopes that the Cenci will succeed as 
 a publication. It was refused at Drury Lane,* although expressly 
 written for theatrical exhibition, on a plea of the story being too 
 horrible. I believe it singularly fitted for the stage. 
 
 Let me request you to give me frequent notice of my literary 
 interests also. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your very obliged servant, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 I hope you are not implicated in the late plot.f Not having 
 heard from Hunt, I am afraid that he, at least, has something to 
 do with it. It is well known, since the time of Jaffler, that a 
 conspirator has no time to think about his friends. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, May UtJi, 1820. 
 
 I reply to your letter by return of post, to confirm what I 
 said in a former letter respecting a new edition of the Cenci, which 
 ought by all means to be instantly urged forward. 
 
 I sec by your account that I have been greatly mistaken in my 
 calculations of the profit of my writings. As to the trifle due to 
 me, it may as well remain in your hands. 
 
 As to the printing of the Prometheus, be it as you will. But, 
 in this case, I shall repose or trust in your care respecting the 
 correction of the press ; especially in the lyrical parts, where a 
 minute error would be of much consequence. Mr. Gisborne will 
 revise it ; he heard it recited, and will therefore more readily seize 
 any error. 
 
 If I had even intended to publish Julian and Maddalo with my 
 name, yet I would not print it with Prometheus. It would not 
 harmonize. It is an attempt in a different style, in which I am 
 not yet sure of myself — a sermo pedestris Avay of treating human 
 nature, quite opposed to the idealisms of that drama. If you prir^t 
 
 * This is apparently a slip of the pen for Covent Garden. — Ed. 
 t The Cato Street Conspiracy. — Ed.
 
 THE poet's life AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 139 
 
 Julian and Maddalo, I wish it to be printed in some unostentatious 
 form, accompanied with the fragment of Athanase, and exactly in 
 the manner in which I sent it ; and I particularly desire that my 
 name be not annexed to the first edition of it, in any case. 
 
 If Pefer Bell be j)rinted (you can best judge if it will sell or no, 
 and there would be no other reason for printing such a trifle), 
 attend, I pray you, particularly to completely concealing the 
 author; and for Emma read Betty, as the name of Peter's 
 sister. Emma, I recollect, is the real name of the sister of a 
 great poet who might be mistaken for Peter. I ought to say 
 that I send you poems in a few posts, to print at the end of 
 Prometheus, better fitted for that purpose than any in your pos- 
 session. 
 
 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. The Gisbornes wiU bring 
 me from you copies of whatever may be published when they 
 leave England. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 P. B. Sheixey. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, November \Otli, 1820. 
 
 Mr. Gisborne has sent me a copy of the Prometheus, which 
 is certainly most beautifully printed. It is to be regretted that 
 the errors of the press are so numerous, and in many respects so 
 destructive of the sense of a species of poetry which, I fear, even 
 without this disadvantage, very few wiU understand or like. I 
 shall send you the list of errata in a day or two. 
 
 I send some poems to be added to the pamphlet of Julian and 
 Maddalo. I think you have some other smaller poems belonging 
 to that collection, and I believe you know that I do not wish my 
 name to be printed on the title-page, though I have no objection 
 to my being known as the author, 
 
 I enclose also another poem, which I do not wish to be printed 
 with Julian and Maddalo, but at the end of the second edition of 
 the Cenci, or of any other of my writings to which my name is 
 affixed, if any other should at present have arrived at a second
 
 140 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 edition, which I do not expect. I have a purpose in this arrange- 
 ment, and have marked the poem I mean by a cross. 
 
 I can sympathise too feelingly in your brother's misfortune.* 
 It has been my hard fate also to watch the gradual death of a 
 beloved child, and to survive him. Present my respects to your 
 brother. 
 
 My friend Captain jMedwin is with me, and has shown me a 
 poem on Indian hunting, which he has sent you to publish. It is 
 certainly a very elegant and classical composition, and, even if it 
 does not belong to the highest style of poetry, I should be sur- 
 prised if it did not succeed. May I challenge your kindness to 
 do what you can for it ? 
 
 You will hear from me again in a post or two. The Julian 
 and Maddalo, and the accompanying poems, are all my saddest 
 verses raked up into one heap. I mean to mingle more smiles 
 with my tears in future. 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 In addressing lier friend Mrs. Gisborne, on the 24th 
 of March, 1820, Mrs. Shelley speaks of herself and her 
 husband as being "very busy translating Spinoza. I 
 write from his dictation," she adds; "and we get on. 
 By the by, I wish you would send me the volume of 
 the Encyclopedia that gives a system of shorthand, for 
 I want to learn one without delay." 
 
 Writing to the Gisbornes, on March 19th, Shelley 
 says : — " Tell us of the steamboat. This steamboat is 
 a sort of a symptote, which seems ever to approach and 
 never to arrive. But courage ! Horrible work this, 
 in England ! " (He is here again alluding to the Cato 
 Street Conspiracy, and to the disturbed state of things.) 
 
 * This letter was addressed to Mr. James Oilier, who was in part- 
 nership with his brother. The latter had just lost a daughter. — Ed.
 
 THE poet's life AT PISA AND LEGHOEN. 141 
 
 " Good and bad seem to have become inextricably 
 entangled in our unhappy coimtry." 
 
 On May 8th, the poet indulges (in again addressing- 
 Mrs. Gisborne) in a little playful raillery on the subject 
 of Mrs. Shelley's handwriting : — 
 
 I wonder what makes Mary think her letter worth the trouble of 
 opening — except, indeed, she conceives it to be a delight to de- 
 cipher a difficult scrawl. She might as weU have put, as I will — 
 
 " Mt dear Sir, 
 
 "???!!! 
 
 " Yours, &c." 
 
 Take care of yourselves, and do you not forget your nightlj^ 
 journal. The silent dews renew the grass without eflfort in the 
 night. I mean to write to you, but not to-day. All happiness 
 attend you, my dear friend ! As an excuse for mine and Mary's 
 incurable stupidit}^ I send a little thing about poets, which is itself 
 a kind of excuse for "Wordsworth. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Miss Curran. 
 
 My dear Miss Curran, Leghorn, June 20th, 1820. 
 
 It is a very long time since I heard from you, so that, if I did 
 not know your dislike to writing, I should be afraid that some- 
 thing had happened — and that you were very ill. My heart, 
 during all this time, was at Rome ; but I cannot conjecture when 
 I shall be really there. Still, a letter with the Roman postmark 
 would be a pleasant thing ; how much more welcome if from you ! 
 
 I am afraid you find great difficulties in executing our unhappy 
 commission. Shelley and I therefore are induced to entreat you 
 to have the kindness to order a plain stone to be erected, to mark 
 the spot, with merely his name and dates ("William Shelley, born 
 Jan. 24th, 1816 — June 7th, 1819). You would oblige us more 
 than I can express if you would take care that this should be done. 
 
 Our little Percy is a thriving, forward child; but after what 
 has happened I own it appears to me a failing cloud — all those 
 hopes that we so earnestly dwell uj)on. How do you like the
 
 142 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 Cenci ? It sells, you must know, of wliich I am very glad. If I 
 could hear of any one going to Kome, I would send you some 
 other books to amuse you, for we had a parcel from England the 
 other day; but we are entirely out of the world. It will give me 
 great pleasure to hear from you, to know when you leave Rome, 
 and how your pictures increase. Be sure I do not forget your 
 nice study and your kind hospitality. Your study how can I 
 forget when we have so valuable a specimen of it, that is dearer 
 to me than I can well say ? 
 
 Shelley desires his kindest remembrances. I would give a 
 very great deal to look upon the divine city from the Trinita di 
 Monti. Is not my heart there ? 
 
 From papa I have not heard a very long time. Affairs seem 
 going on there badly, but slower than a tortoise — I hope not so 
 surely towards their apparent end. 
 
 Farewell ! I entreat you to write. 
 
 Yours, with affection, 
 
 Mahy W. Shelley. 
 
 r.S. — I have heard your brother's life of your father much 
 praised. 
 
 From Keats to Shelley. 
 
 My dear Shelley, Hampstead, August lOth, 1820. 
 
 I am very much gratified that you, in a foreign country, and 
 with a mind almost overoccupied, should write to me in the strain 
 of the letter beside me. If I do not take advantage of your invi- 
 tation,* it will be prevented by a circumstance I have very much 
 at heart to prophesy. There is no doubt that an EngUsh wmter 
 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. JNIy nerves at present arc the worst part 
 of me, yet they feel soothed that, come Avhat 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,t Avhich I would willingly take the trouble to 
 
 * To go to Italy. — Ed. f Endymion. — Ed.
 
 THE poet's life AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 143 
 
 iinwrite, 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 poetr}' 
 and dramatic effect, which by many spirits now-a-days is con- 
 sidered 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 everj^ 
 rift of your subject Avith 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 extra- 
 ordinary 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 expecta- 
 tion 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* have been written above two years, and would 
 never have been published but for a 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. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Miss Curran. 
 
 Pisa, San Giuliano, August I7th, 
 My dear j\Iiss Curkan, [1820.] 
 
 I should have answered your letter before, but we have been 
 in the confusion of moving. "We are now settled in an agreeable 
 house at the baths of San Giuliano, about four miles from Pisa, 
 under the shadow of mountains, and Avith delightful scenery within 
 
 * This was his last publication. — Ed.
 
 144 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 a walk. We go on in onr old manner, ■with no change. I have 
 had many changes for the worse — one might be for the better — 
 but that is nearly impossible. Our child is -well and thriving, 
 which is a great comfort ; and the Italian stay gives Shelley health, 
 ■which is to him a rare and substantial enjoyment. 
 
 I did not receive the letter you mention to have ■written in 
 March, and you also have missed one of our letters, in ■which 
 Slicllcy ackno-wlcdged the receipt of the dra^wing you mention,* 
 and requested that the largest pjTamid might be erected, if they 
 would encase it with white marble for 25/. However, the Avhole 
 had better stand as I mentioned in my last ; for, without the most 
 vigorous inspection, great cheating would take place, and no 
 female could detect them. "When we visit Eome, we can do that 
 which we wish. Many thanks for your kindness, which has been 
 very great. 
 
 How enraged all our mighty rulers are at the quiet revolutions 
 which have taken place ; it is said that some one said to the Grand 
 Duke here, '■'■ Ma si chiedono une constituzione qui l'' '■'' Ebhcne la 
 daru siihito" Avas the reply ; but he is not his OAvn master, and 
 Austria would take care that that should not be the case. They 
 say, Austrian troops are coming here, and the Tuscan ones will be 
 sent to Germany. We take in Galignani, and would send them 
 to you if you liked. I do not know what the expense would be, 
 but I should think slight. 
 
 If you recommence painting, do not forget Beatrice. I wish 
 very much for a copy of that. You would obhge lis greatly by 
 making one. Pray, let me hear of your health. We do not know 
 when we shall be in Rome : circumstances must direct ; and they 
 dance about like will-o'-the-wisps, enticing and then deserting us. 
 We must take care not to be left in a bog. Adieu ! take care of 
 yourself. Believe me, with sincere wishes for your health and 
 kind remembrances, 
 
 Ever sincerely yours, 
 
 Makt W. Shelley. 
 
 P.S. — Who v.-as he Avith the long memory who remembered 
 seeing me? Somehow, people always remember mj- features; 
 
 * Of the child William.— Ed.
 
 THE poet's LIEE AT PISA AND LEGHOEN. 145 
 
 even those have detected my identity "wlio have not seen me since 
 I was a month old ; so I have hopes that, Avhen I go to heaven, I 
 shall easily be recognised by my old friends. 
 
 Do you know, we lose many letters ? — having spies (not 
 Government ones) about us in plenty. They made a desperate 
 push to do us a desperate mischief lately, but succeeded no further 
 than to blacken us amongst the English ; so, if you receive a fresh 
 batch (or green bag) of scandal against us, I assure you it will be 
 a lie. Poor souls ! we live innocently, as you well know ; if we 
 did not, ten to one we should not be so unfortunate. 
 
 In a letter dated September 4t]i, 1820, Horace Smith 
 communicates to Shelley his opinion of two of his 
 recent works : — 
 
 I got from Oilier last week a copy of the Promethens Unbound, 
 which is certainly a most original, grand, and occasionally sublime 
 Avork, evincing, in my opinion, a higher order of talent than any 
 of your previous productions ; and yet, contrary to your own esti- 
 mation, I must say I prefer the Cenci, because it contains a deep 
 and sustained human interest, of which we feel a want in the 
 other. Prometheus himself certainly touches us nearly ; but 
 we see very little of him after his liberation ; and, though I 
 have no doubt it will be more admired than anything you 
 have written, I question whether it will be so much read as the 
 Cenci. 
 
 Your letter, stating your sudden intention of going to Paris, 
 turned up the other day, with all the postmarks of the world upon 
 it, except, I believe, Jerusalem and Seringapatam. Did you en- 
 trust it to the "Wandering Jew ? 
 
 From Shelley to Mr. John Gishorne. 
 
 Dear Friend, Pisa, Oct. -Idth, 1820. 
 
 Can you tell me anything about Arabic grammars, dic- 
 tionaries, and manuscripts, and whether they are vendible at 
 Leghorn, and whether there are any native Arabs capable of 
 
 L
 
 146 SHELLEY MEMORLSXS. 
 
 teaching the language ? Do not give yourself any trouble about 
 the subject ; but if you could answer or discover an answer to 
 these questions without any pains, I should be very much obliged 
 to you. My kind regards to Mrs. G. and Henry. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 P. B. Shelley.
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 
 
 Eaelt in tlie year 1821, the Shelleys made the 
 acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the former of 
 whom was drowned with the poet. Mrs. Shelley says 
 of him that no man " ever existed more oentle, generous, 
 and fearless." Like his illustrious friend, he was a 
 great lover of boating, and the two were frequently 
 on the water together, before the day which proved 
 fatal to both. Shelley, indeed, enjoyed a good deal 
 of his favourite recreation during this year. The 
 shallow waters of the Arno, on which no ordinary vessel 
 can float, did not prove any obstacle to him : he con- 
 trived a boat " such as the huntsmen carry about with 
 them in the Maremma to cross the sluggish but deep 
 streams that intersect the forest — a boat of laths and 
 pitched canvas."* In this he frequently took little trips 
 on the Arno, though his Italian friends, seeing the 
 peril which he ran, used to remonstrate with him, and 
 to prophesy — with too much truth — that the amuse- 
 ment would lead to his death. On one occasion, when 
 
 * Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 ' SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 he had been with a friend down the Arno and round 
 the coast to Leghorn, he returned by the canal, when 
 the skiff got entangled amongst some weeds, and was 
 upset. The intense cold made Shelley faint ; but no 
 further harm was done. " Once," writes Mrs. Shelley, 
 " 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." 
 
 But the w^ater w^as far from engrossing Shelley's 
 thoughts at this time. The south of Europe had 
 awakened from its lethargy into a state of high political 
 excitement, and it seemed as if the age of libertj" 
 w^ere dawning in several places. Spain and Naples 
 had been revolutionized in the previous year; and 
 the northern and central parts of Italy now endea- 
 voured to follow the example. Several insurrectionary 
 movements were attended by temporar}^ success : 
 Tuscany alone, owing to the benevolent rule of its 
 prince, remained tranquil ; but, in the end, the patriots 
 were crushed beneath the weight of Austrian armies. 
 At the same period, however, a revolution began in a 
 country farther east, which was destined to result, to 
 a certain extent, in success, though Shelley did not live 
 lono- enoufrh to behold the issue. Greece declared itself 
 independent of Ottoman domination ; and these com- 
 bined attacks on the general foe filled Shelley with the 
 utmost enthusiasm. Several Greeks were at that time
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 149 
 
 at Pisa ; and amongst them was Prince Mavrocordato, 
 to whom Hellas is dedicated. On the 1st of April, 
 this gentleman called on the Shelleys, and told them 
 that his cousin. Prince Ipsilanti, had issued a procla- 
 mation (a copy of which he brought with him), and 
 that Greece thenceforward would be free. The 
 emotions of joy and hope kindled by this intelligence 
 in the mind of the poet produced the lyrical drama of 
 Hellas, of W'hich Shelley records, in his preface, that 
 it was " written at the suggestion of the events of the 
 moment, is a mere improvise, and derives its interest 
 (should it be found to possess any) solely from the 
 intense sympathy which the author feels wdth the cause 
 he would celebrate." Nevertheless, it contains passages 
 of great power, and lyrics of the utmost sweetness. 
 
 In the same year, Shelley wrote that piece of radiant 
 mysticism and rapturous melody, EpipsycMdion. The 
 subject of this poem — " the noble and unfortmiate 
 
 Lady Emilia V ," was the daughter of an Italian 
 
 count, and was shut up in a convent by her father until 
 such time as he could find for her a husband of whom 
 he approved. In this dreary prison Shelley saw her 
 and was struck by her amazing beauty, by the highly- 
 cultivated grace of her mind, and by the misery which 
 she suffered in being debarred from all sympathy. 
 She was subsequently married to a gentleman chosen 
 for her by her father ; and after pining in his society, 
 and in the marshy solitudes of the Maremma, for six 
 years, she left him, with the consent of her parent, 
 and died of consumption in a dilapidated old mansion
 
 150 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 at Florence. This occurred long after tlie death of 
 Shelley, who used frequently to visit her while she was 
 living in the convent, and to do his utmost to ameliorate 
 her wretched condition. In return, she was in the 
 habit of sending him bouquets of flowers ; and one of 
 these presents he thus acknowledged : — 
 
 Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me 
 
 Sweet basil and mignonette ? 
 Embleming love and health, which never yet 
 In the same wreath might be. 
 
 Alas ! and they are wet ! 
 Is it with thy kisses or thy tears ? 
 
 For never rain or dew 
 
 Such fragrance drew 
 From plant or flower. The very doubt endears 
 
 My sadness ever new, 
 The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed, for thee. 
 
 Another of Shelley's compositions belonging to the 
 year 1821 is his Adonais. This is a monody on the 
 death of Keats, who expired at Rome on the 24th of 
 February, 1821, of consumption. He was attended 
 in his last illness by his friend Mr. Severn, who devoted 
 himself to the dying man. They were alone, and were 
 overtaken by poverty ; and Mr. Severn (who was an 
 artist) not only watched by the bedside of the young 
 poet day and night, soothing him in the midst of his 
 frightful paroxysms of mental and bodily anguish, but 
 painted small pictures during his leisure moments, and, 
 salljang forth unobserved, sold them to procm-e the 
 necessary funds. Yet even this beautiful devotion 
 could not save Keats from death ; and he now lies in
 
 SHELLEY AND BYKON AT PISA. 151 
 
 the Protestant burial-ground, wliither tlie ashes of him 
 who has celebrated his genius in verse lasting as his 
 own were destined shortly to follow him. 
 
 Adonais abounds in passion and poetry ; in bursts 
 of eloquent grief; in profound glimpses into the divine 
 mystery of the universe and of the soul of man ; and of 
 keen, arrowy flashes of scorn directed against those 
 hirelings of party who endeavoured to crush the genius 
 of Keats, simply because he was known to be the friend 
 of men who dared to speak on behalf of freedom when 
 to do so was considered an eighth deadly sin. But 
 Shelley was mistaken in supposing that the death of 
 Keats was accelerated by the contemptible treatment 
 he had met with. He regarded such things with m- 
 difterence, and died from causes of a much deeper 
 kind. 
 
 Of the funeral of Keats, Shelley records in the 
 preface to Adonais, that he " was buried in the romantic 
 and lonely cemetery of the Protestants, under the 
 pyramid which is the tomb of Cestius, and the 
 massy walls and towers, now mouldering and deso- 
 late, 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." 
 
 On the 29th of November, 1821, Shelley wrote to 
 Mr. Severn, from Pisa, on the subject of the death 
 of Keats : —
 
 152 SHELLEY IIEMOEIALS. 
 
 Dear Sik, 
 
 I send you the elegy on poor Keats, and I wish it were 
 better Avorth vour 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 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 
 wUl be, a popular poet ; and the total neglect and obscurity in 
 which the astonishing remnants 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 acci- 
 dental 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 
 bis writings would find a single reader. But for these considera- 
 tions, it had been my mtention 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. 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 Witli respect to his Einpsychidion, and to one or two 
 other poems, Shelley thus writes to Mr. Oilier : — 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, Feb. 16th, 182L 
 
 I send you three poems — Ode to Naples, a sonnet, and a 
 longer piece, entitled Epipsychidion. The two former are my 
 own ; and you will be so obliging as to take the first opportimity 
 of publishing according to your own discretion. 
 
 The longer poem, I desire, should not be considered as my 
 own ; indeed, in a certain sense, it is a production of a portion of 
 me already dead ; and in this sense the advertisement is no fiction.* 
 
 * In Ills preface he speaks of the poem as having been written by 
 a person who " died at Florence, as lie was preparing for a voyage to 
 one of the wildest of the Sporades, which he had bought, and where
 
 SHELLEY AND BYEON AT PISA. 153 
 
 It is to be published simply for the esoteric few ; and I make its 
 author a secret, to avoid the malignity of those who turn sweet 
 food into poison ; transforming all they touch into the corruption 
 of their own natures. Mj ^vish with respect to it is, that it should 
 be printed immediately in the simplest form, and merely one 
 hundred copies : those who are capable of judging and feeling 
 rightly with respect to a composition of so abstruse a nature, cer- 
 tainly do not arrive at that number — among those, at least, who 
 would ever be excited to read an obscure and anonymous produc- 
 tion ; and it would give me no pleasure that the vulgar should 
 read it. If you have any bookselling reason against publishing 
 so small a number as a hundred, mereh', distribute copies among 
 those to whom you think the poetry would aiford any pleasure, and 
 send me, as soon as you can, a copy by the post. I have written 
 it so as to give very little trouble, I hope, to the printer, or to the 
 person who revises. I would be much obliged to you if you would 
 take this office on yourself. 
 
 Is there any expectation of a second edition of the Revolt of 
 Islam ? I have many corrections to make in it, and one part will 
 be wholly remodelled. I am employed in high and new designs 
 in verse ; but they are the labours of years, perhaps. 
 
 We expect here every day the news of a battle between the 
 armies of Austria and JSTaples. The latter have advanced upon 
 Rome ; and the first affair ^viU probably take place in the Eccle- 
 siastical States. You may imagine the expectation of all here. 
 
 Pray send me news of my intellectual children. For Prome- 
 theus^ I expect and desire no great sale. The Cenci ought to have 
 been popular. 
 
 I remain, dear Sir, 
 
 Your very obedient servant, 
 
 Pjekcy B. Shelley. 
 
 Some idea of tlie reception given to the Epipsyclddion 
 may be derived from a letter written by Shelley, in 
 
 It was his hope to have realized a scheme of life suited, perhaps, to 
 that happier and better world of wliich he is now an inhabitant, but 
 hardly practicable in this." The preface is signed " S." — Ed.
 
 154 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 the course of October, to Mr. Gisborne. He here 
 says : — 
 
 The Epipsychidion is a mystery ; as to real flesh and blood, 
 you know that I do not deal in those articles ; you might as well 
 go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton, as expect anything human 
 or earthly from me. I desired Oilier not to circulate this piece, 
 except to the awiroi, and even they, it seems, are inclined to 
 approximate me to the circle of a servant-girl and her sweetheart. 
 But I intend to write a Symposium of my own, to set all this 
 right. 
 
 From Shelley to Mr. Oilier. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, Feb. 22nd, 1821. 
 
 Peacock's essay is at Florence at present. I have sent for 
 it, and will transmit to you my paper [on Poetry] as soon as it is 
 written, which will be in a very few days. Nevertheless, I should 
 be sorry that you delayed your magazine through any dependence 
 on me. I will not accept anything for this paper, as I had deter- 
 mined to write it, and promised it you, before I heard of your 
 liberal arrangements ; but perhaps in future, if I think I have 
 any thoughts worth publishing, I shall be glad to contribute to 
 your magazine on those terms. INIeanwhile, you are perfectly at 
 liberty to publish the Ode to Naples, the sonnet, or any short piece 
 you may have of mine. 
 
 I suppose Julian and Maddalo is published. If not, do not 
 add the Witch of Atlas to that peculiar piece of writing ; you 
 may put my name to the Witch of Atlas, as usual. The piece I 
 last sent you, I wish, as I think I told you, to be printed imme- 
 diately, and that anonymously. 1 should be very glad to receive 
 a feAV copies of it by the box, but I am un\villing that it should be 
 any longer dela3fed. 
 
 I doubt about Charles the First ; but, if I do write it, it shall 
 be the birth of severe and high feelings. You are very welcome 
 to it, on the tei'ms you mention, and, when once I see and feel that 
 I can write it, it is already written.* My thoughts aspire to a 
 
 * The play was never finished. — Ed.
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 155 
 
 production of a far higber character ; but tbe execution of it will 
 require some years. I write wbat I Avrite cbiefly to inquire, by 
 the reception Avbich my writings meet with, how far I am fit for 
 so great a task, or not. And I am afraid that your account v/ill 
 not present me with a very flattering result in this particular. 
 
 You may expect to hear from me Avithin a week, with the 
 answer to Peacock. I shall endeavour to treat the subject in its 
 elements, and unveil the inmost idol of the error. 
 
 If any Review of note abuses me excessively, or the contrary, 
 be so kind as to send it me by post. 
 
 If not too late, pray send me by the box the following 
 books : — The most copious and correct history of the discoveries 
 of Geology. If one publication does not appear to contain what 
 I require, send me two or three. A history of the late war in 
 Spain ; I think one has been written by Southey. Major Sovie- 
 body's account of the siege of Zaragoza ; it is a little pamphlet. 
 Burnet's History of his Own Times; and the Old English 
 Drama, 3 vols. 
 
 Excuse my horrible pens, ink, and paper. I can get no pen 
 that will mark; or, if you will not excuse them, send me out some 
 English ones. 
 
 I am delighted to hear of Procter's success, and hope that he 
 will proceed gathering laurels. Pray tell me how the Prometheus 
 Unbound was received. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your very obliged servant, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 Fo'om the Same to the Same. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, March 20th, 1821. 
 
 I send you the Defence of Poetry, Part I. It is tran- 
 scribed, I hope, legibly. 
 
 I have written nothing which I do not think necessary to the 
 subject. Of course, if any expressions should strike you as too 
 unpopular, I give you the power of omitting them ; but I trust 
 you A'^'ill, if possible, refrain from exercising it. In fact, I hope 
 that I have treated the question with that temper and spirit as to 
 silence cavil. I propose to add two other parts in two succeeding
 
 156 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 Miscellanies. It is to be understood that, although you may omit, 
 you do not alter or add. 
 Pray let me hear from you soon. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 P. B. S. 
 
 From Shelley to Mr. Oilier. 
 
 Dear Sir, P/sa, June 8tJi, 182L 
 
 You may announce for publication a poem entitled 
 Adonais. It is a lament on the death of poor Keats, with some 
 interposed stabs on the assassins of his peace and of his fame ; 
 and Avill 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. I shall send it 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 Prome- 
 theus. But, in case I send it printed, it will be merely that mis- 
 takes may be avoided ^ [so] that 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 inquired of some of the friends and relations of Keats respect- 
 ing 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 Quar- 
 terly Review excited the disease by which he perished. 
 
 I have received no answer to my last letter to you. Have 
 you received my contribution to your magazine ? 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Yours very sincerel}^ 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 From the Same to the Same. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, September 25th, 1821. 
 
 It will give me great pleasure if I can arrange the affair 
 of Mrs. SheUey's novel with you to her and your satisfaction. She 
 has a specific purpose in the sum which she instructed me to re-
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 157 
 
 quire ; and, although this purpose could not be answered without 
 ready money, yet I should find means to answer her wishes in that 
 point, if you could make it convenient to pay one-third at Christ- 
 mas, and give bills for the other two-thirds at twelve and eighteen 
 months. It would give me peculiar satisfaction that you, rather 
 than any other person, should be the publisher of this work; it 
 is the product of no slight labour, and, I flatter myself, of no 
 common talent. I doubt not it will give no less credit than it will 
 receive from your names. I trust you know me too well to believe 
 that my judgment deliberately given in testimony of the value of 
 any production is influenced by motives of interest or partiality. 
 
 The romance is called Castniccio, Prince of Lucca, and is 
 founded (not upon the novel of MacchiavelU under that name, 
 which substitutes a childish fiction for the far more romantic truth 
 of historj-, but) upon the actual story of his life. He was a per- 
 son who, from an exile and an adventurer, after having served in 
 the wars of England and Flanders in the reign of our Edward 
 the Second, returned to his native city, and, liberating it from its 
 tyrants, became himself its tyrant, and died in the full splendour 
 of his dominion, which he had extended over the half of Tuscany. 
 He was a little Napoleon, and, with a dukedom instead of an 
 empire for his theatre, brought upon the same all the passions and 
 the errors of his antitype. The chief interest of the romance 
 rests upon Euthanasia, his betrothed bride, whose love for him is 
 only equalled by her enthusiasm for the liberty of the republic of 
 Florence, which is in some sort her country, and for that of Italy, 
 to which Castruccio is a devoted enemy, being an ally of the party 
 of the Emperor. This character is a masterpiece ; and the key- 
 stone of the drama, which is built up with admirable art, is the 
 conflict between these passions and these principles. Euthanasia, 
 the last survivor of a noble house, is a feudal countess, and her 
 castle is the scene of the exhibition of the knightly manners of 
 the time. The character of Beatrice, the prophetess, can only be 
 done justice to in the very language of the author. I know 
 nothing in "Walter Scott's novels which at all approaches to the 
 beauty and the sublimity of this — creation, I may almost say, for 
 it is perfectly original ; and, although founded upon the ideas and 
 manners of the age "which is represented, is whoUy without a simi-
 
 158 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 litude in any fiction I ever read. Beatrice is in love with Cas- 
 truccio, and dies; for the romance, although interspersed with 
 much lighter matter, is deeply tragic, and the shades darken and 
 gather as the catastrophe approaches. All the manners, customs, 
 opinions, of the age are introduced ; the superstitions, the heresies, 
 and the religious persecutions are displayed ; the minutest circum- 
 stance of Italian manners in that age is not omitted ; and the 
 whole seems to me to constitute a living and a moving picture of 
 an age almost forgotten. The author visited the scenery which she 
 describes in person ; and one or t\vo of the inferior characters are 
 drawn from her own observation of the Italians, for the national 
 character shows itself still in certain instances under the same 
 forms as it wore in the tune of Dante.* The novel consists, as I 
 told 3'ou before, of three volumes, each at least equal to one of 
 the Tales of my Landlord^ and they will be very soon ready to be 
 sent. In case you should accept the present offer, I will make one 
 observation which I consider of essential importance. It ought 
 to be printed in half volumes at a time, and sent to the author for 
 her last corrections by the post. It may be printed on thin paper 
 like that of this letter, and the expense shall fall upon me. Lord 
 B3'ron has his works sent in this manner ; and no person, who has 
 either fame to lose or money to win, ought to publish in any other 
 manner. 
 
 By-the-bye, how do I stand with regard to these two great 
 objects of human pursuit ? I once sought something nobler and 
 better than either ; but I might as well have reached at the moon, 
 and now, finding that I have grasped the air, I should not be sorry 
 to know what substantial sum, especially of the former, is in your 
 hands on my account. The gods have made the reviewers the 
 
 * The book here alluded to was ultimately published under the 
 title of Valperga. Mrs. Shelley received 400/. for the copyright ; and 
 this sum was generously devoted to the relief of Godwin's pecuniary 
 ditficulties. In a letter to j\Irs. Gisbornc, dated June .30th, 1821, 
 Mrs. Shelley says that she first formed the concei)tion at Marlow ; 
 that this took a more definite shape at Naples ; that the work was 
 delayed several times ; and that it was " a child of mighty slow 
 groAvth." It was also, she says, a work of labour, as she had read 
 and consulted a great many bcoks. — Ed.
 
 SHELLEY AXD BYEON AT PISA. 159 
 
 almoners of this -worldly dross, and I think I must Avrite an ode to 
 flatter them to give me some ; if I would not that they put me off 
 ^Tith a bill on posterity, which when my ghost shall present, the 
 answer will be — ' no effects.' 
 
 Charles the First is conceived, but not born. Unless I am 
 sure of making something good, the play wiU not be written. 
 Pride, that ruined Satan, will kill C?iarles the First, for his mid- 
 wife would be only less than him whom thunder has made greater. I 
 am full of great plans ; and, if I should tell you them, I should 
 add to the list of these riddles. 
 
 I have not seen Mr. Procter's Mirandola. Send it me in the 
 box, and pray send me the box immediately. It is of the utmost 
 consequence ; and, as you are so obliging as to say you will not 
 neglect my commissions, pray send this without delay. I hope 
 it is sent, indeed, and that you have recollected to send me several 
 copies of Prometheus, the Revolt of Islam, and the Cenci, &c., as 
 I requested you. Is there any chance of a second edition of the 
 Revolt of Islam ? I could materially improve that poem on re- 
 vision. The Adonais, in spite of its mysticism, is the least imper- 
 fect 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 voliuue that contains Hyperion. 
 Pray give me notice against what time you want the second part 
 of my Defence of Poetry. I give you this Defence, and you may 
 do what you will with it. 
 
 Pray give me an immediate answer about the novel. 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your very obliged servant, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 I ought to tell you that the novel has not the smallest tincture 
 of any peculiar theories in politics or religion.
 
 160 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 Fi'om Shelley to Mr. Oilier. 
 
 Dear Sir, Pisa, Nov. lltJi, 182L 
 
 I send you the drama of Hellas, relying on your assur- 
 ance that you will be good enough to pay immediate attention 
 to my literary requests. What little interest this poem may ever 
 excite, depends upon its immediate publication; I entreat you, 
 therefore, to have the goodness to send the MS. instantly to a 
 printer, and the moment you get a proof despatch it to me by the 
 post. The -whole might be sent at once. Lord Byron has his 
 poem sent to him in this manner, and I cannot see that the 
 inferiority in the composition of a poem can affect the powers of 
 a printer in the matter of despatch, &c. If any passages should 
 alarm you in the notes, you are at liberty to suppress them ; the 
 poem contains nothing of a tendency to danger. 
 
 Do not forget my other questions. 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. 
 
 Within a few days I may have to write to you on a subject of 
 greater interest. jNIeanwhile, I rely on your kindness for carrying 
 my present request into immediate effect. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your very faithful servant, 
 
 Percy B. Shelley. 
 
 I need not impress on you the propriety of giving a speedj^ 
 answer to Mrs. S.'s proposal. Her volumes are now ready for the 
 press. The Ode to Napoleon to print at the end. 
 
 The calumnies heaped upon Shelley by his unscru- 
 pulous detractors often gave him great pain. In writing 
 to Mr. Oilier, on the lltli of June, 1821, lie says: — 
 " I hear that the abuse against me exceeds all bounds. 
 Pray, if you see any one article particularly outrageous, 
 send it me. As yet, I have laughed ; but woe to these 
 scoundrels if they should once make me lose my 
 temper ! I have discovered that my calumniator in the
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 161 
 
 Quarterly Revieio was the Rev. Mr. Milman. Priests 
 liave their privilege."* 
 
 Malicious reports seemed to track him wherever he 
 went; and one of these is the subject of some letters 
 which will be found below. Mrs. Shelley writes in her 
 joui'nal, mider date August 4th: — " Shelley is gone 
 to see Lord Byron at Ravenna. This is his [Shelley's] 
 birthday : seven years are now gone — what changes ! 
 We now appear tranquil : yai who knows what wind 
 
 but I will not prognosticate evil ; we have had 
 
 enough of it. When we arrived in Italy, I said, All is 
 well, if it were permanent. It was more passing than 
 iui Italian twilight. I now say the same : may it be a 
 Polar day ! — yet that, too, has an end." They had passed 
 a very pleasant summer, having both derived great enjoy- 
 ment from frequently going to see some friends living 
 at the village of Pugnano. They reached that place 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." f Yet, as Mrs. Shelley prog- 
 nosticated in her diary, their happiness was soon to be 
 dashed. Shelley writes from Ravenna on August 7th: — 
 
 * It is but fair to Mr. Milman to observe that his later writings 
 liave been distinguished by a much more liberal spirit. — Ed. 
 t Notes to the Poems. 
 
 M
 
 162 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 My dearest Mary, 
 
 I arrived last night at ten o'clock, and sat up talking 
 with Lord Byron until five o'clock this morning. I then went to 
 sleep, and now awake at eleven, and having despatched my break- 
 fast as quick as possible, mean to devote the interval until twelve, 
 
 when the post departs, to you 
 
 Lord Byron has told me of a circumstance that shocks me 
 exceedingly, because it exhibits a degree of desperate and wicked 
 malice for which I am at a loss to account. When I hear such 
 things, my patience and my philosophy are put to a severe proof, 
 whilst I refrain from seeking out some obscure hiding-place, where 
 the countenance of man may never meet me more. 
 
 Hi * * 55^ * 
 
 Imagine my despair of good ; imagine how it is possible that 
 one of so Aveak and sensitive a nature as mine can run further the 
 gauntlet through this hellish society of men. You should write to 
 the Hoppners a letter refuting the charge, in case you believe and 
 know, and can prove, that it is false ; stating the grounds and 
 proofs of your belief. I need not dictate what you should say ; 
 nor, I hope, inspire you with warmth to rebut a charge which you 
 only eflfectually ccm rebut. 
 
 To this letter, Mrs. Shelley thus replied : — 
 
 My dear Shelley, 
 
 Shocked beyond all measure as I was, I instantly wrote 
 the inclosed. If the task be not too dreadful, pray copy it for me. 
 I cannot. 
 
 Kead that part of your letter which contains the accusation. 
 I tried, but I could not write it. I think I could as soon have 
 died. I send also Elise's last letter : enclose it or not, as you think 
 best. 
 
 I wrote to you with far different feelings last night, beloved 
 friend. Our bark is indeed "tempest-tost;" but love me, as you 
 have ever done, and God preserve my child to me, and our enemies 
 shall not be too much for us. Consider well if Florence be a fit 
 residence for us. I love, I own, to face danger ; but I would not 
 be imprudent.
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 163 
 
 Pray get my letter to Mrs. H. copied, for a thousand reasons. 
 Adieu, dearest! Take care of yourself — all j^et is well. The 
 shock for me is over, and I now despise the slander ; but it must 
 not pass uncontradicted. I sincerely thank Lord Byron for his 
 kind unbelief. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 M. W. S. 
 
 Friday. 
 Do not think me imprudent in mentioning C.'s illness at 
 Naples. It is well to meet facts. They are as cunning as wicked. 
 I have read over my letter : it is written in ha'ste ; but it were as 
 well that the first burst of feeling should be expressed. No 
 letters. 
 
 From Shelley to Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 Thursday, Ravenna. 
 
 I have received your letter with that to Mrs. Iloppner. I do 
 not wonder, my dearest friend, that you should have been moved. 
 I was at first, but speedily regained the indifference which the 
 opinion of anything or anybody, except our own consciences, 
 amply merits, and day by day shall more receive from me. I 
 have not recopied, your letter — such a measure would destroy its 
 authenticit}' — but have given it to Lord Byron, who has engaged 
 to send it, with his own comments, to the Hoppners. 
 
 People do not hesitate, it seems, to make themselves panders 
 and accomplices to slander ; for the Hoppners had exacted from 
 Lord Byron that these accusations should be concealed from me. 
 Lord Byron is not a man to keep a secret, good or bad ; but, in 
 openly confessing that he has not done so, he must observe a cer- 
 tain delicacy, and therefore wished to send the letter himself; 
 and indeed this adds v/eight to your representations. 
 
 Have you seen the article in the Literary Gazette on me ? 
 They evidently allude to some story of this kind. However 
 ■cautious the Hoppners have been in preventing the calumniated 
 person from asserting his justification, you know too much of the 
 world not to be certain that this Avas the utmost limit of their 
 caution. So much for nothing. 
 
 31 2
 
 164 SHELLEY MEMOllIALS. 
 
 j\Iy greatest comfort -would be utterly to desert all human 
 society. I would retire with you and our children to a solitary 
 island in the sea ; would build a boat, and shut upon my retreat 
 the floodgates of the world. I would read no reviews, and talk 
 with no authors. If I dared trust my imagination, it would tell 
 me that there are one or two chosen companions, besides yourself, 
 whom I should desire. But to this I would not listen. Where 
 two or three are gathered together, the de'sdl is among them ; and 
 good, far more than evil, impulses — love, far more than hatred — 
 has been to me, except as you have been its object, the source of 
 all sorts of mischief. So, on this plan, I would be alone, and 
 would devote, either to oblivion or to future generations, the over- 
 flowings of a mind which, timely withdrawn from the contagion, 
 should be kept fit for no baser object. But this it does not appear 
 that we shall do. 
 
 The other side of the alternative (for a medium ought not to 
 be adopted) is to form for ourselves a society of our own class, as 
 much as possible, in intellect or in feelings ; and to connect our- 
 selves with the interests of that society. Our roots never struck 
 so deeply as at Pisa, and the transplanted tree flourishes not. 
 People who lead the lives which we led until last Avinter, are like 
 a family of "Wahabee Arabs pitching their tent in the middle of 
 London. "We must do one thing or the other ; for yourself — for 
 our child — for our existence. The calumnies, the sources of which 
 are probably deeper than we perceive, have ultimately for object 
 the depriving us of the means of security and subsistence. You 
 will easily perceive the gradations by which calumny proceeds to 
 pretext, pretext to persecution, and persecution to the ban of fire 
 and water. It is for this — and not because this or that fool, or the 
 whole court of fools, curse and rail — that calumny is worth refut- 
 ing or chastising. 
 
 But from tliese painful details let us jjass to otlier 
 subjects. 
 
 At one time during the year 1821, Shelley thought 
 of taking a farm situated amongst chesnut and pine- 
 Avoods on one of the hills near the Serchio — a position
 
 SHELLEY AXD BYROX AT PISA. 165 
 
 commanding a magnificent prospect. Anotlier fancy 
 was to settle still further in the maritime Apennines at 
 Massa. His greatest desire, however, was to spend 
 his summers on the shores of the sea ; and, having one 
 day made an excursion to Spezzia, he was so delighted 
 with the beautj of the Ijay, that he ultimately took a 
 house there. This was not until the following year; 
 for it was long before a suitable residence could be 
 found. The Villa Magni was the name of the house, 
 and it was the last which Shelley occupied. 
 
 He looked forward with great pleasure to seeing 
 Leigh Hunt in the autumn of 1821 ; but the gratifi- 
 cation was delayed till the following summer. The 
 joarnalist Avas to join Lord Byron in the production of a 
 quarterly magazine, to be called the Liberal, and Byron 
 wished Shelley to unite with them. This the latter 
 declined to do, because, according to Mrs. Shelley, he 
 did not like to appear desirous of acquiring readers 
 by associating his poetry with the writings of more 
 popular authors ; and also because that association might 
 have had the effect of shackling him in the expression 
 of his opinions. But he subsequently modified his 
 determination, to the extent of contributing a few of liis 
 productions, though he ahvays refused to be in any way 
 connected Avith the undertaking in a pecuniary point 
 of view. The first number did not appear till shortly 
 after his death. 
 
 On tlie 1st of November, Byron arri^-ed at Pisa, 
 where he established himself. Leigh LIunt did not 
 reach Italy till several months later. Shelley was now
 
 166 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 a good deal in the society of Bj^ron ; between whom 
 and himself, hawever, a perfect cordiality seemed never 
 to exist. The author of Childe Harold has confessed 
 in one of his letters that, much as he admired and 
 esteemed Shelley, the feeling did not amount to entire 
 friendship — an emotion which he could realize only 
 with regard to one of the companions of his child- 
 hood. And Shelley, in the presence of Byron, felt 
 somewhat oppressed by the weight of what he con- 
 ceived to be his Lordsliip's superior poetical powers ; 
 though on this point the world is rapidly reversing con- 
 temporary judgment. In writing to a friend, Shelley 
 speaks of Byron's genius reducing him to despair : an 
 excess of modesty to which, perhaps, may be attributed 
 the comparatively small number of his compositions at 
 this time. 
 
 On the 28th of March, Horace Smith, who had 
 kindly undertaken the management of Shelley's money 
 matters in London, addressed a letter to his friend^ 
 touching the sudden stoppage of his income : — 
 
 My dear Shelley, 
 
 I called to-day at Brookes and Co.'s for your money, as^ 
 iisual, and was not a little surprised to be told that they had re- 
 ceived notice not to advance anything viore on your account, as the 
 payments to them would in future he discontinued ; but they could 
 give me no information why this alteration had occurred, or 
 whether you were apprised of it. Perhaps you have been, though 
 you could hardly have failed to mention it to me. But I will call 
 again, and endeavour to get some solution of the apparent rays- 
 tery. Meantime, if you are in any straits, you had better draw on 
 me at the Stock Exchange for what you want. I would remit 
 you, but that, knowing you are not over-regular in matters of
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 167 
 
 business, you may, perhaps, have made new arrangements for 
 j-oiir money, and, through inadvertency, omitted to apprise 
 me. 
 
 Xow that Italy has become the scene of war, a letter from 
 you now and then, when you have any recent political news, 
 Avould not only be gratifying, but perhaps useful in the way of 
 business. The papers of to-day affirm that the Spanish Constitu- 
 tion has been proclaimed at Florence ; and, for my own part, I 
 have little doubt, that if the Austrians be defeated in the first 
 instance (which God grant !), the whole of Italy will be convulsed 
 and revolutionised. In this anxious suspense, I must await the 
 course of events, and hope to receive some communications from 
 you. 
 
 You ask in what periodical Avorks I write. Principally in 
 Baldwin's London Magazine^ under various signatures, but gene- 
 rally H. ; and also in the New Monthly, edited by Campbell, the 
 poet. Poor Scott ! what a melancholy termination ! and how per- 
 fectly unnecessary ! * Christie and the two seconds will surrender 
 and take they- trial at the Old Bailey Sessions next month. We 
 are raising a subscription for Scott's family. 
 
 You never said anything of Keats, who, I see, died at Rome 
 under lamentable circumstances, and whom all lovers of poetry 
 may regret as a young genius destined to do great things. I have 
 a sympathetic feeling for your ophthalmia, having myself lately 
 suffered from a complaint in the eyes, but am now nearly 
 recovered. 
 
 Xothing strikingly new in literature or in our domestic poUcy, 
 although the battle between the suffering agriculturists and the 
 fundholders is obviously approximating. They (the former) 
 already hope to abolish the malt-tax, on which our nominal sink- 
 ing fund mainly relies. Another bad year, and they must reduce 
 the interest, or replace the alarming defalcation of revenue by 
 new loans. It is all working together for good; for it is by 
 
 * Scott was the editor of the London Magazine, and was killed in 
 a duel with a Mr. Christie, arising: out of some strong remarks which 
 he (Scott) had made on the writers in Blackwood's Magazine. The 
 seconds were blamed for allowing another interchange of shots ; but 
 they were acquitted on their trial. — En.
 
 168 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 this explosion only that we can have the smallest chance of 
 Eeform. 
 
 If I learn anything further about the money, I shall write 
 you again shortly. Meantime, I am always. 
 Dear Shelley, 
 
 Yours most faithfully, 
 
 Horatio Smith. 
 
 In his zeul for liis fiieiid's cause, Horace Smith thus 
 addressed Sir Timothy Shelley on the subject of the 
 money : — 
 
 SiE, Fidham, April I3th, 182L 
 
 Though I have not the honour of your acquaintance, I 
 venture to hope that the circumstances which I am about to state 
 will plead my excuse for intruding mj'self upon your attention. 
 I feel pride in declaring myself the particular friend of Mr. Percy 
 Bysshe Shelley, for whom I have been in the habit of receiving 
 his quarterly income, and remitting it myself to* Italy, for the 
 purpose of saving brokerage and agency charges. Knowing my 
 intimacy with your son, Dr. Hume* applied to me last year, 
 stating that he was in arrear ; at which I expressed my surprise, 
 as I assured him that Mr. Shelley never drew more than 220l., 
 leaving the 301. regularly for his use. I mentioned his application 
 in more than one letter to Ital}-, and on the 14th of November 
 Avrote to Dr. Hume the following letter : — 
 
 [In this letter f I gave an extract of P. B. S.'s letter to me, 
 saying he had scrupulously and regularly left the 30Z. in the 
 banker's hands, and they had orders to pay it regularly ; express- 
 ing my own conviction that Dr. II. Avould get it on application.] 
 
 To this letter I never received any reply ; from Avhich I very 
 naturally concluded that the money was paid, and expressed this 
 
 * The custodian of Shelley's children by his first wife. — Ed. 
 
 t The part here enclosed in brackets was inserted in a copy of the 
 letter to Sir Timothy, afterwards sent by Horace Smith to his friend. 
 A copy, in full, of the letter to Dr. Hume was of course sent to the 
 baronet. — Ed.
 
 SHELLEY AXD BYRON AT I'lSA. 1G9 
 
 belief and conviction in my next communication to J\Ir. Shelley. 
 Thus the affair rested, till I called, on the 28th March last, -with 
 my usual order on Messrs. Brookes and Co. for 220/. ; by whom I 
 was informed that the payment of Mr. Shelley's income was 
 stopped — whether permanently or temporarily', they could not tell 
 me ; nor could they afford me any explanation Avhatever, none 
 having been given to them. This inexplicable occurrence was 
 made known by me to Mr. Shelley on the following day. 
 
 It was not until after a good deal of personal trouble and in- 
 quiry that I learned the real state of the case, and the institution 
 of legal proceedings ; and, having a thorough convection that Mr. 
 Shelley had left the money at the bankers, I believed it to be 
 paid. I called on Messrs. AVright and Co., and found, as I sus- 
 pected, that the money had all along been lijing in their hands to 
 the amount of Dr. Hume's claim within a trifle (which I presume 
 are postages or some petty charges, with which Mr. Shelley was 
 unacquainted), and that they had only been prevented paying it 
 at once by the want of a regular, formal cheque or order. You 
 Avill observe, he sa^-s, in his letter to me : — " I have regularly and 
 scrupulously left 30Z. from my income for Dr. Hume's draft ; " but 
 it is probable that, although he told the bankers he left it for 
 Dr. Hume, he omitted to lodge a regular credit for, his drafts — 
 an oversight for which his inexperience of business supplies a 
 sufficient explanation and excuse. Why this inquiry was not made 
 at the bankers before the institution of law proceedings ; why no 
 application was made to me to get the irregularity rectified, which 
 I woiild have pledged myself to have done ; why nothing was 
 said to him ; why 250Z. was finally impounded to pay 120/. — are 
 points of which I will not offer any solution. 
 
 I cannot find that Mr. Shelley has received from any quarter 
 the smallest intimation of these proceedings. He has been left in 
 a foreign country without the means of present subsistence, and 
 must have been exposed to the most distressing suspense and 
 anxiety from the sudden announcement of the cessation of his 
 income without a syllable of explanation. 
 
 To conduct so harsh and unmerited, and evincing such a total 
 disregard to his feelings, you, sir, I am sure, would never have 
 become a party, but from some great misapprehension of the real
 
 170 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 circumstances of the case. It is to remove this erroneous impres- 
 sion, and to prove to you, as I trust I have done effectually, that 
 Mr. Shelley has been guilty of nothing but a little ignorance of 
 the precise forms of bankers' business, that I have ventured to 
 trouble you with this long explanation. My sincere respect and 
 attachment to that gentleman would not allow me to be silent 
 when I thought him aggrieved ; and, in the hope that this feeling- 
 will plead my excuse for intruding upon your time, I beg to 
 subscribe myself respectfully, &c., &c., 
 
 H. Smith. 
 
 From Horace Smith to Shelley. 
 
 My dear Shelley, Fulham, April 17th, 1821. 
 
 I wrote you on the 3rd of this month, and I have been 
 engaged in warlike operations for you ever since. I have a long 
 story to tell. Determined to ferret out the mystery of this 
 Chancery suit, I went from one place to another making inquiries ; 
 and, as Dr. Hume made no reply to my first letter, I wrote him a 
 second, which, after an interval of several days, extorted the reply 
 of which I send you a copy. On the same day, when this came to 
 hand, I called on ]\Ir. Longdill, Avhora I understood to be yom- 
 friend, w^hen he at once confessed that he was a party to the pro- 
 ceedings against you, in order, as he said, to get Dr. Hume paid 
 whom he had himself recommended as custodian to the children.* 
 He did not seem to believe that the 301. had been left at Brookes's, 
 and I found had never written to you, as he asked where you 
 were. I went to the bankers' — back to him — was told by him 
 that the law charges were now all incurred, and that it was too 
 late to stay proceedings. From him I came home, chewing the 
 cud of indignation, and, on my arrival, Hume's letter was put into 
 my hand, whence I found that Sir Timothy was also made a 
 party, and observed the alacrity with which Mr. Whitton had 
 
 * It will be recollected that, at the time of Lord Eldon's decree, 
 Mr. Longdill was Shelley's legal adviser ; which renders his subse- 
 quent conduct very extraordinar}'. — Ed.
 
 SHELLEY AND BYEON AT PISA. 171 
 
 recommended Chancery applications, and the impounding of 250^. 
 to pay 1201. On a review of the whole affair, it did appear such 
 a cowardly cabal against an absent man — it evinced such an in- 
 sulting indifference to your feelings — it appeared so cruel that, 
 amid so many parties (some calUng themselves your friends), not 
 one could be found to gixe a hint to you or me — that, in a tower- 
 ing passion, I sat down and wrote to Dr. Hume, finding the utmost 
 difficulty to restrain my indignation within civil bounds. Read 
 this letter, and tell me whether I do not deserve credit for sub- 
 duing my feelings to such temperate language ? 
 
 Yesterday, I wrote to Sir Timothy, of which also you have 
 a copy, and in which no want of respect can be imputed to me. 
 This night, I have received the enclosed from Mr. Longdill, whose 
 conscience, I suppose, has directed some of my innuendoes to his 
 own bosom, and, with the usual self-betrayal of a man who feels 
 he has done wrong, he has recourse to vulgarity and abuse. 
 
 From Sir Timothy I do not expect any reply, and here, there- 
 fore, so far as I am concerned, the matter will probably end. My 
 bitter and uncontrollable scorn of all paltry underhand proceed- 
 ings may have led me to interfere unnecessarily or intemperately ; 
 but, as I thought it very likely that your conduct had been 
 blazoned to Sir Timothy in the blackest colours, I determined on 
 letting him know how the matter really stood. Perhaps it might 
 not be amiss if you were to write him a respectful, explanatory 
 letter. 
 
 You will observe that Mr. TVestbrooke is a party to the suit^ 
 and probably, as there can be no defence, it wiiR be decided against 
 you ; but I suppose they will make some arrangement for can- 
 celling the order in the event of the death of one or both of the 
 children. I suppose, also, you will have the pleasure of paying 
 the law charges of this application ; but, as I have cut myself 
 off from the honour of any commimication with the gentlemen 
 who have treated you with so much respect, I must receive 
 my next intelligence from you, which pray give me, soon as 
 you can. 
 
 As affairs seem all setthng in Italy, I resume my intention of 
 taking you by the hand. My wife has a daughter, and is doing 
 perfectly well. I expect we shall be ready to start in July or
 
 172 , SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 August. Will that be too hot, and would 3-0U preferably recom- 
 mend October? Let me hear from you fully, and believe me 
 always, 
 
 My dear Shelley, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 IIoKATio Smith. 
 
 From Horace Smith to Shelley. 
 
 Dear Shelley, London, April I9th, 1821. 
 
 I wrote you on the 17th inst., with a budget of letters 
 relative to this law-suit ; and annexed I hand you a copy of Sir 
 Timothy's reply, received yesterda}-. I am most glad that I wrote 
 to him, for it turns out that my conjecture that he was imac- 
 quainted with the affair is correct, and that the law proceedings 
 were literally coohed up by the lawyers. It appears a most scan- 
 dalous liberty in Mr. Whitton, not only to make your father a 
 party Avithout his privity, but actually to stop your money on his 
 own authority. I have this day Avritten a few lines to Sir Timothy, 
 stating that I had seen a letter at Wright's from Whitton, certainly 
 imphjing that he had communicated with Sir T. ; and I leave the 
 lawyer to get out of this dilemma as well as he can. Of Whitton 
 I know nothing ; but I seem to dislike him by instinct. Having 
 written you so many letters lately, I have nothing further to say 
 than to repeat the pleasant assurance that I shall this summer or 
 autumn take you by the hand, when we can talk over all these 
 matters. 
 
 I am, my dear Shelley, 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Horatio Smith. 
 
 From Sir Timothy Shelley to Horace Smith. 
 
 Sir, Bath, 17 th April, 1821. 
 
 Your letter of the 13th inst. I received this day. 'Tis 
 the first intimation I have had of the business you allude to, either 
 in law proceedings or otherwise, more than last year I did hear 
 the payment had been countermanded ; but, hearing nothing fur- 
 ther, I concluded it had been rectified.
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 173 
 
 I shall lay your letter before my solicitor, to be informed of 
 any circumstances that may have necessarily arisen that concern 
 my name as a party. 
 
 I have the honour to be, Sir, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 T. Shelley. 
 
 From Horace Smith to Shelley. 
 
 My DEAR Shelley, Paris, August SOiJi, 1821. 
 
 I wrote j'ou on the 10th, and have since had the pleasure 
 of receiving j^ours, by Mr. and ]Mrs. Gisborne, who made a very 
 short stay here, and left us a few days ago for England. 
 
 He handed me also your poem on Keats's death, which I like, 
 with the exception of the Cenci, better than anything you have 
 written, finding in it a great deal of fancy, feeling, and beautiful 
 language, with none of the metaphysical abstraction which is so 
 apt to puzzle the uninitiated in your productions. It reminded 
 ]ne of Li/cidas, more from the similarity of the subject than any- 
 thing in the mode of treatment. 
 
 Y'ou must expect a fresh stab from Southey whenever he has 
 an opportunity. Mrs. G. also left me a copy for Moore, who is 
 residing in the neighbourhood of Paris, though I have not seen 
 him. 
 
 About a fortnight ago, my wife became worse, and the wea- 
 ther setting in about the same time with an ttnusual intensity of 
 heat, so completely overcame her that I was obliged to have medi- 
 cal advice, and the physician (an Englishman settled here) dis- 
 suades me from taking her to a more southern latitude. Terrified 
 at the intensity of the heat here, where unfortunately it has been 
 of a very uncommon fierceness, she now dreads encountering the 
 sun of Italy ; and, in the face of these insuperable dissuasives, I 
 cannot of course proceed. The disappointment and vexation of 
 this sudden overthi-ow of all my long-cherished plans is not less 
 painful to me than the cause of it is distressing. I have also to 
 regret the trouble I have unnecessarily given you, and the disap- 
 pointment (for I have vanity enough to believe you will think it 
 such) to which I have exposed you. In the midst of these more
 
 174 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 serious annoyances, I have hardly time to attend to the petty 
 inconveniences to which we must be subjected by wintering here 
 without any of our clothes, books, or comforts, all of which have 
 been shipped to Leghorn. I think of taking a house at Versailles, 
 but at present I am quite unsettled in everything. When I have 
 arranged ray plans, I shall write to you again; till when, and 
 always, 
 
 I am, my dear Shelley, 
 
 Your very sincere and disappointed friend, 
 
 Horatio Smith. 
 
 Towards tlie close of December, Mrs. Shelley wrote 
 a letter to Mrs. Gisborne, in which she says : — 
 
 Since writing my last letter, we have heard of the departure 
 of Hunt,* and now anxiously await his arrival. He will be more 
 comfortable than he dreams of now ; for Lord Bj^ron has furnished 
 the plan terreno of his own house for him, so that (more lucky 
 than the rest of the economical English, who come here) he will 
 find clean and spacious apartments, with every comfort about him, 
 and a climate — such a climate ! We dine in a room without a fire, 
 with all the windows open ; a tramontano reigns, which renders 
 the sky clear, and the warm sun pours into our apartments. It is 
 cold at night, but as yet not uncomfortably so ; and it now verges 
 towards Christmas-day. I am busy in arranging Hunt's rooms, 
 since that task devolves upon me. 
 
 Lord Byron is now living very sociably, giving dinners to his 
 male acquaintance, and writing divinely. Perhaps by this time you 
 have seen Cain^ and will agree Avith us in thinking it his finest 
 production. Of some works one says — one has thought of such 
 things, though one could not have expressed them so well. It is 
 not thus with Cain. One has, perhaps, stood on the extreme 
 verge of such ideas, and from the midst of the darkness which had 
 surrounded us the voice of the poet now is heard, telling a won- 
 drous tale. 
 
 * Leigh Hunt and his family had indeed departed, but were driven 
 back by stress of weather ; so that their voyage was postponed for 
 some months. — Ed.
 
 SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 175 
 
 Our friends in Greece are getting on famously. All the Morea 
 is subdued, and much treasure was acquired with the capture of 
 Tripoliza. Some cruelties have ensued ; but the oppressor must 
 in the end bu}' tyranny with blood : such is the law of necessity. 
 The young Greek Prince you saw at our house is made the head 
 of the Provisional Government in Greece. He has sacrificed his 
 whole fortune to his country ; and, heart and soul, is bent upon her 
 cause. 
 
 You will be glad to hear that Shelley's health is much im- 
 proved this winter. He is not quite well, but he is much better. 
 The air of Pisa is so mild and delightful, and the exercise on. 
 horseback agrees with him particularly. Williams, also, is quite 
 recovered. We think that we may probably spend next summer 
 at La Spezzia — at least, I hope that we shall be near the sea. 
 
 The clock strikes twelve. I have taken to sit up rather late 
 this last month, and, when all the world is in bed or asleep, find a 
 little of that soUtude one cannot get in a town through the day. 
 Y^et daylight brings with it all the delights of a town residence, 
 and all the dehghts of friendly and social intercourse — few of 
 the pains ; for my horizon is so contracted that it shuts most 
 ^f those out. 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 Mart W. S.
 
 176 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 
 
 The end now rapidly approaches. We liave arrived 
 at the year which saw the close of Shelley's short life ; 
 but a few minor incidents remain to be recorded before 
 we stand in the presence of death. 
 
 The winter of 1822 was spent at Pisa. Shelley, 
 during part of the time, was engaged on the dramatic 
 fragment, Charles the First — a subject which he had 
 at one time proposed to Mrs. Shelley ; but, being dis- 
 satisfied vv'ith the progress he was making, he threw 
 aside the conception, and devoted his thoughts to a 
 mystical poem in the terza rima, called the Triumph of 
 Life — also left incomplete, and the last of his long 
 productions. He likewise, about the same time, made 
 several translations from Goethe, Calderon, Homer, &c., 
 Avith a view to their publication in the Liberal. 
 
 In the January of this year, or towards the end of 
 the previous December, Shelley became acquainted with 
 ]\Ir. Trelawny, who called on him at Pisa, and who, 
 in his recently published Recollections of the last Days 
 of Shelley and Byron, has given an interesting account 
 of his introduction. It Avas dusk when he arrived at
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 177 
 
 the poet's residence, and through the open door of the 
 room he observed a pair of glittering eyes. Mrs. 
 Williams, who lived in the same house, exclaimed, 
 '' Come in, Shelley ; it's only our friend Tre, just 
 arrived." Thus encouraged, the poet glided in, in some 
 confusion, but holding out both his hands cordially. 
 He was habited in a jacket, which he seemed to have 
 outgrown, and which added to his juvenile appearance. 
 A book was in his hand, which proved to be Calderon's 
 Magico Prodigioso ; and, being asked to read some 
 passages, he made an extempore rendering of several 
 parts with marvellous ease and rapidity, accompanying 
 his translation by a masterly analysis of the genius of 
 the author, and a lucid interpretation of the story. 
 Suddenly he disappeared ; and Mrs. Williams, in answer 
 to the astonishment of Mr. Trelawuy, said, " Oh ! he 
 comes and goes like a sjjirit ; no one knows when or 
 where." Shelley, however, had simply gone to fetch his 
 wife. Erom this time imtil the poet's death, Mr. Tre- 
 lawny was on intimate terms with him. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley's opinion of then' new friend may be 
 gathered fi'om an entry in her journal, under date 
 January 19th, 1822 :— 
 
 '• Trelawny is extravagant — partly natural, and 
 partly, perhaps, put on ; but it suits him well ; and, 
 if his abrupt, but not unpolished, manners be assumed, 
 they are nevertheless in unison with his Moorish 
 face (for he looks Oriental, though not Asiatic), his 
 dark hair, his Herculean form. And then there is an 
 air of extreme good-nature, which pervades his whole 
 
 N
 
 178 SHELLEY MEMOELiLS. 
 
 countenance, especially when he smiles, — which assures 
 me that his heart is good. He tells strange stories 
 of himself — horrific ones — so that they harrow one up ; 
 while with his emphatic, but unmodulated, voice, his 
 simple yet strong language, he portrays the most 
 frightful situations. Then, all these adventures took 
 place between the ages of thirteen and twenty. I 
 believe them now I see the man ; and, tired with the 
 e very-day sleepiness of human intercourse, I am glad 
 to meet with one who, among other valuable qualities, 
 has the rare merit of interesting my imagination." 
 
 And, in a letter addressed to Mrs. Gisborne on the 
 9th of February, Mrs. Shelley says : — " Trelawny [is] 
 a kind of half- Arab Englishman, whose life has been 
 as changeful as that of Anastasius, and who recounts 
 the adventures of his youth as eloquently and well as 
 the imagined Greek. He is clever : for his moral 
 qualities, I am yet in the dark. He is a strange web, 
 which I am endeavouring to unravel. I would fain 
 learn if generosity is united to impetuousness, nobility 
 of spirit to his assumption of singularity and inde- 
 pendence. He is six feet high ; raven black hair, which 
 curls thickly and shortly like a Moor's ; dark grey 
 expressive eyes ; overhanging brows ; upturned lips, 
 and a smile wdiicli expresses good-nature and kind- 
 heartedness. His voice is monotonous, yet emphatic ; 
 and his language, as he relates the events of his 
 life, energetic and simple. Whether the tale be one 
 of blood and horror, or of irresistible comedy, his 
 company is delightful, for he excites me to think.
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 179 
 
 and, if any evil share the intercourse, that time will 
 unveil." 
 
 It was not many months before the writer had a 
 terrible means of judging the sterling worth and kind- 
 ness of her new friend's character. 
 
 The fatal project of the boat was suggested by 
 Mr. Trelawny ^ery early in the year ; and, on the 
 15th of January, as recorded in Williams's journal, the 
 former o;entleman brouoht with him the model of an 
 American schooner, after which design it was proposed 
 that a crafb thirty feet long should be built. It appears, 
 however, that ultimately a design to which Williams 
 had taken a fancy Avas adopted. Mr. Trela^Amy at once 
 wrote to Captain Roberts (a nautical friend at Genoa) 
 to commence the work directly. Shelley and Williams 
 were to be the joint proprietors of this boat, which, 
 Avlien completed, was called the " Don Juan." On the 
 passage in Williams's diary recording the discussion 
 of the details of the project, Mrs. Shelley has TA-ritten 
 this note : — 
 
 " Thus, on that night — one of gaiety and thought- 
 lessness — Jane's* and my miserable destiny was decided. 
 We then said, laughing, to each other : ' Our husbands 
 decide without asking our consent, or having our con- 
 currence ; for, to tell you the truth, I hate this boat, 
 though I say nothing.' Said Jane, * So do I ; but 
 speaking would be useless, and only spoil their plea- 
 sure.' How well I remember that night ! How sliort- 
 
 * Mrs. Williams. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 sighted Ave are ! And now that its anniversary is come 
 and gone, methinks I cannot be the "wretch I too 
 truly am." 
 
 A mysterious intimation of the great calamity tliat 
 was fast approaching seems to have hung like a cloud 
 over the spirits of Mrs. Shelley at this time. She 
 records in her diary that, on the evening of February 
 7th, she went to a ball; and this gives rise to some 
 singular reflections. " During a long, long evening in 
 mixed society," she writes, " how often do one's sensa- 
 tions change ; and, swift as the west wind drives the 
 shadows of clouds across the sunny hills or the waving 
 corn, so swift do sentiments pass, painting, yet not 
 disfiguring, the serenity of the mind. It is then that 
 life seems to Aveigh itself, and hosts of memories and 
 imaginations, thrown into one scale, make the other 
 kick the beam. You remember what you have felt, 
 what you have dreamt ; yet you dwell on the shadowy 
 side, and lost hopes and death (such as you have seen 
 it) seem to cover all things Avith a funeral pall. The 
 time that was, is, and will be, presses upon yon, and, 
 standing the centre of a moving circle, you * slide 
 giddily as the Avorld reels.'* You look to Heaven, 
 and would demand of the everlasting stars, that the 
 thoughts and passions Avhich are your life may be as 
 ever-living as they. You would demand of the blue 
 Empyrean that your mind might be as clear as it, 
 and that the tears Avhicli gather in your eyes might 
 
 * Tliese words are from the Cenci. — Ed.
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 181 
 
 be the shower that would drain from its profoundest 
 depths the springs of weakness and sorrow. But — a 
 thousand swift, consuming lights supply the place of 
 the eternal ones of Heaven. The enthusiast suppresses 
 her tears, crushes her opening thoughts, and — all is 
 changed. Some word, some look, excites the lagging 
 blood; laughter dances in the eyes, and the spirits 
 rise proportionably high. 
 
 The Queen is all for revels ; her light heart, 
 Unladen from the heaviness of state, 
 Bestows itself upon delightfuluess. 
 
 " Sometimes I awaken from my visionary monotony, 
 and m}^ thoughts flow, until, as it is exquisite pain to 
 stop the flowing of the blood, so is it painful to check 
 expression, and make the overflowing mind return to 
 its usual channel. I feel a kind of tenderness to those, 
 whoever they may be (even though strangers), who 
 awaken this train, and toucli a chord so full of harmony 
 and thrilling music.'' 
 
 "When this was written, Shelley was away, in com- 
 pany with Williams, on a A'isit to Spezzia, where they 
 were seeldng for a house. They were absent about 
 four days, returning on the 11th of February. Under 
 that date, Mrs. Shelley writes in her journal : — 
 
 " What a mart this world is I Feelings, sentiments, 
 more invaluable than gold or precious stones, are the 
 coin ; and what is bought ? Contempt, discontent, and 
 disappointment: if, mdeed, the mind be not loaded with 
 drearier memories.
 
 182 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 " And what say the worldly to this ? Use Spartan 
 coin ; pay away iron and lead alone ; and store up 
 your precious metal. But, alas ! from nothing, nothing 
 comes ; or, as all things seem to degenerate, give lead, 
 and you will receive clay. The most contemptible 
 of all lives is when you live in the world, and none 
 of your passions or affections are called into action. I 
 am convinced I could not live thus ; and, as Sterne 
 says that in solitude he would worship a tree, — so, in 
 the world, I should attach myself to those who bore 
 the semblance of those qualities which I admire. But 
 it is not this that I want. Let me love the trees, the 
 skies, and the ocean, and that all-encompassing Spirit 
 of which I may soon become a part. Let me, in my 
 fellow-creature, love that which is, and not fix my 
 affection on a fair form endued with imaginary attri- 
 butes. Where goodness, kindness, and talent are, let 
 me love and admire them at their just rate, neither add- 
 ing nor diminishing; and, above all, let me fearlessly 
 descend into the remotest caverns of my own mind, 
 carry the torch of self-knowledge into its dimmest re- 
 cesses — but too happy if I dislodge any evil spirit, or 
 enshrine a new deity in some hitherto uninhabited nook." 
 
 An amusing anecdote is related by Mrs. Shelley in 
 a letter to Mrs. Gisborne, dated March 7th. " So," 
 she exclaims, " H. is shocked that, for good neighbour- 
 hood's sake, I visited the piano di sotto. Let him 
 reassure himself: instead of a weekly, it was only a 
 monthly, visit. Li fact, after going three times, I stayed 
 away. He preached against Atheism, and, they said.
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 183 
 
 against Shelley. As he invited me himself to come, 
 this appeared to me very impertinent: so I wrote to 
 him, to ask him whether he intended any personal 
 allusion. He denied the charge most entirely. This 
 affair, as you may guess, among the English at Pisa 
 made a great noise. Gossip here is of course out of all 
 bounds. Some people have given them something to 
 talk about. I have seen little of it all ; but that which 
 I have seen makes me long most eagerly for some 
 sea-girt isle where, with Shelley, my babe, my books 
 and horses, we might give the rest to the winds. 
 This we shall not have. For the present, Shelley is 
 entangled with Lord Bvron, who is in a terrible fright 
 lest he should desert him. We shall have boats, and 
 go somewhere on the sea-coast, where, I dare say, we 
 shall spend our time agreeably enough." 
 
 An exciting, and even perilous, event occurred to 
 Shelley about this time. Together with Lord Byron, 
 Trelawny, Count Gamba the younger, a Captain Hay, 
 and a Mr. Taaffe, he was riding home outside the gates 
 of Pisa^ on horseback, with the ladies following in a 
 carriage. Suddenly "a mounted dragoon" — to quote 
 the account given by Williams in his diary — "dashed 
 through their party, and touched Taaffe's horse as they 
 passed in an insolent and defying mamier. Lord Byron 
 put spurs to his horse, saymg that he should give some 
 account of such insolence. Shelley's horse, however, 
 was the fleetest, and, coming up to the dragoon, he 
 crossed and stopped him, till the party arrived ; but 
 thev had now reached the o-ate where a suard was
 
 184 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 stationed, and, finding himself so well supported, lie 
 drew his sav ord, and, after abusing them all as ' maladetti 
 Inglesi,^ began to cut and slash to the right and left 
 (and what signified it to him whether he had the blood 
 of all the English here ?), saying that he arrested them 
 all. * Do that if you can,' said Lord Byron, and dashed 
 tlu-ough the guard with young Count Gamba, and 
 reached home to bring arms for what he expected would 
 turn out a serious scuffle. The dragoon, finding the 
 rest of the party intended to force their way, made a 
 desperate cut at Shelley, who took off his cap, and, 
 warding the blow from the sharp part of the sabre, the 
 hilt struck his head and knocked him oflf his horse. 
 The fellow was repeating his cut at Shelley while down, 
 when Captain Hay parried it with a cane he had in his 
 hand ; but the sword cut it in two, and struck Captain 
 Hay's face across the nose. A violent scene now took 
 place, and the dragoon tried to get into the town and 
 escape, when Lord B. arrived, and, half drawing a 
 sword-stick to shoAv that he was armed, the fellow put 
 up his sword, and begged Lord Byron to do the same. 
 It was now dark, and, after walking a few paces with 
 Lord Byron, he put his horse into a galloj:), and endea- 
 voured to get ofi:'; but, on passing Lord Byron's house, 
 a servant had armed himself with a pitchfork, and 
 speared him as he passed. He fell from his horse, and 
 w^as carried to the hospital. 
 
 " Trelawny had finished his story * when Lord Byron 
 
 * The foregoing facts were related to Williams by Trelawny, who 
 was the first to arrive at Shelley's house. — Ed.
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 185 
 
 came in — the Countess fainting on his arm, Shelley sick 
 from the hlow. Lord Byron and the young Connt 
 foaming with rage, ]\Irs. Shelley looking philosophically 
 npon this interesting scene, and Jane and I wondering 
 Avhat the devil was to come next. Taaffe, after having 
 given his deposition at the police-ofHce, returned to us 
 with a long face, saying that the dragoon could not 
 live out the night. All now again sallied forth to be 
 the first to accuse, and, according to Italian policy, not 
 wait to be accused. 
 
 " 9 o'clock. — The report already in circulation about 
 Pisa is ' that a party of peasants, having risen in insur- 
 rection, made an attack upon the guard, headed by 
 some Englishmen ; and that the guard maintained 
 their ground manfidly against an awful number of 
 armed insurgents. One Englishman, wdiose name 
 was Trelawny, left dead at the gate, and Lord 
 Bj'ron mortally wounded,' Avho is now telling me the 
 tale, and Trelawny drinking brandy-and-water by his 
 side. 
 
 " 10 o'clocL — How the attack ought to have been 
 conducted is now agitating: all appear to me to be 
 wrong. 
 
 "11 d'clocJc. — Disperse to our separate homes. 
 
 " March 25th. — At seven this morning, an officer from 
 the police called here, demanding my name, country, 
 profession, and requesting to have an account of my 
 actions between the hours of six and eight yesterday 
 evening. My servants told him I was asleep, Imt that 
 they could inform him that I was engaged in a very
 
 186 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 bloody scene* between those hours. ' Then he must 
 come to the police-office.' ' Ask him,' said I, ' if I am 
 to bring the scene, with me, or the whole play as far 
 as I have written.' 
 
 " 12 o'clock. — Shelley conies. The womided di'agoon 
 much worse. Hear that the soldiers are confined to 
 their barracks, but they swear to be revenged on some 
 of us. A report is abroad that Taaffe is the assassin, 
 and is now confined in Lord B.'s house, guarded by 
 bull-dogs, &c., to avoid the police. This he himself 
 overheard wdiile walking do\\ai the Lung Arno. Shelley 
 and Trelawny think it necessary to go armed. A skate- 
 strap is therefore substituted for a pistol-belt, and my 
 pistols so slimg to Trelawny's waist. 
 
 " 2 o'clock. — Sallied forth. Very much stared and 
 pointed at. Called on Lord B. Heard that extreme 
 unction had been administered to the dragoon, whose 
 wound is considered mortal. A deposition is drawn up, 
 and sent, with all the signatures concerned, to the police. 
 The Grand Duke is expected to-night." 
 
 Notwithstanding the severity of his Avound, the di'agoon 
 recovered, and there is no account of the servant being 
 banished, as some writers have stated. But Lord Byron 
 shortly afterwards left Pisa, which he probably found 
 it necessary to do, in consequence of the fray. 
 
 Shelley exhibited great activity in this affair ; and on 
 another occasion, Avhen a man at Lucca had been con- 
 demned to be burnt alive for sacrilege, he proposed 
 
 * Williams here jocosely alludes to a play which he was writing at 
 the time. — Ed.
 
 THE BAY Of spezzia. 187 
 
 to Lord Byron and Captain Medwin that they should 
 at once arm, mount, and, setting off for the spot, 
 endeavour to rescue the man when brought out for 
 execution, and to carry him beyond the frontiers. 
 Pending this last resource, however, they got up, 
 together with other English residents, a petition to the 
 Grand Duke; and the sentence on the prisoner was 
 commuted to hard labour at the galleys. 
 
 In writing to Mr. Gisborne on the 10th of April, 
 Shelley makes some allusion to his study of Goethe's 
 Faust. He observes : — " I have been reading over and 
 over again Faust, and always with sensations which no 
 other composition excites. It deepens the gloom, and 
 augments the rapidity, of ideas, and would therefore 
 seem to me an unfit study for any person who is a prey 
 to the reproaches of memory and the delusions of an 
 imagination not to be restrained. And yet the pleasure 
 of sympathizing with emotions known only to few, 
 although they derive their sole charm from despair and 
 the scorn of the narrow good we can attain in our 
 present state, seems more than to ease the pain which 
 belongs to them. Perhaps all discontent with the less 
 (to use a Platonic sophism) supposes the sense of a 
 just claim to the greater, and that we admirers of 
 Faust arc on the right road to Paradise." i 
 
 The Shelleys and Williamses left Pisa on the 26th of 
 April for their new house, the Villa INIagni, situated in a 
 wild spot in the Bay of Spezzia, on the very border of 
 the sea, and under the shadow of a steep hill which rose 
 behind it. The proprietor of the estate was insane, and
 
 188 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 had at one time rooted up tlie olives on the hill-side, 
 and planted forest trees in their Y)laces. This, as Mrs. 
 Shelley records in her notes to the poems, gave the 
 pla,ntation an nnusuallj English appearance. Dark, 
 heavy-foliaged walnut and ilex trees, however, over- 
 hung the Avhite stone house behind : while in front 
 stretched the tideless Lay, shut in by jagged clitfs and 
 multiform rocks, with the near castle of Lerici to the 
 east, and Porto Venere far off to the west. The situa- 
 tion was so solitary that there was only one foot-path 
 over the beach, which trailed its uncertain course along 
 very rough ground towards Lerici. In the other direc- 
 tion, there was no path at all. 
 
 The weather in this rocky nook was often charac- 
 terized by a savage grandeur. The sirocco would come 
 raging along, bringing a wide dimness with it. Squalls 
 were of frequent occurrence, churning up the foam from 
 the blue waters of the bay ; the wind appeared seldom 
 to lull in that exposed situation ; and the sea roared 
 so incessantly that Mrs. Shelley sajs it almost seemed 
 as if they Avere on shipboard. But the sunshine often 
 broke out oA'cr the precipitous sht5res, the dark foliage, 
 and the Avavering ocean, kindling all ol)}ccts with the 
 lustre and glory of the Italian atmosphere; and the 
 sea would become quiet for a time. 
 
 Wild as were the elements and the spot, the natives 
 Avere wilder still. Their manners Averc ahnost savage, 
 with a mixture of the fierce rcA'clry of Bacchanals. 
 They frequently passed the night on the beach, sing- 
 ing rough, half-frantic songs, and dancing fantastically
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 189 
 
 among the waves that broke and tumbled on the shore. 
 All the cu'cumstances were of the most picturesque kind; 
 but some of the pains of isolation must also have been 
 felt by the English strangers. " We could get," writes 
 Mrs. Shelley, " no provisions nearer than Sarzana, at a 
 distance of three miles and a half off, with the torrent 
 of the jMagra 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 
 further from civilization and comfort ; but where the 
 sun shines the latter becomes an unnecessary luxury, 
 and we had enough society among ourselves. Yet I con- 
 fess housekeeping became rather a toilsome task, espe- 
 cially as I was suffering in my health, and could not 
 exert myself actively." 
 
 Mr. Trelawny says that the villa looked more like a 
 boat-house or a bathing-house than a place to live in. 
 The terrace, or ground-floor, was unpaved, and had 
 been used for the storing of boat gear, &c. ; and the 
 single story over it was divided into a saloon and four 
 small rooms, with one chimney for cooking. 
 
 The fatal boat arrived on the 12th of May. She was 
 brought round from Genoa by some English seamen, 
 who, according to the entry in Williams's Journal, spoke 
 highly of her performances. The writer adds : — '^ She 
 does indeed excite my surprise and admiration. Shellev 
 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, Ave have now a perfect plaything for the 
 summer." This last sentence sounds like a ghastlv
 
 190 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 dalliance with death. Mr. Trelawny did not think so 
 highly of the boat as Williams : and Captain Roberts, 
 the builder, had always protested against the model, but 
 to no effect, for the self-love of Williams blinded him 
 to the faults of his design. The sailors who navigated 
 her from Genoa to Spezzia reported to Mr. Trelawny, 
 according to that gentleman's account, " that they had 
 been out in a rough night, that she was a ticklish boat 
 to manage, but had sailed and worked well." They 
 cautioned Shelley and Williams on the necessity for 
 careful management, but seemed to think that, with 
 two good seamen, all would be right. Shelley, how- 
 ever, only retained an English lad about eighteen years 
 of age. 
 
 Shelley's delight was now perfect. He was sur- 
 rounded by friends whom he esteemed ; he was expect- 
 ing the arrival of another friend, for whom he enter- 
 tained an affectionate regard ; and he was enabled to 
 spend a large part of his time on his favourite element. 
 The weather became fine, and the whole party often 
 passed their evenings on the water. Shelley and Wil- 
 liams sailed frequently to Massa ; or, when the weather 
 was unfavourable, amused themselves by altering the 
 rigging, or by building a light boat of canvas and reeds, 
 in which they might be enabled to float in waters too 
 shallow for the " Don Juan." Thus aided, they ex- 
 plored a good deal of the coast of Italy. Shelley always 
 had writing materials on board the larger vessel ; and 
 much of the Triumph of Life was composed as the 
 poet glided down the pm'ple seas of southern Europe,
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 191 
 
 Avithin sight of noble objects of natural scenery, made 
 trebly glorious by the crowding memories of a splendid 
 history and the golden halo of poetical associations. 
 Sometimes, at night, when the sea was calm and the 
 moon free from clouds, Shelley w^ould go alone in his 
 little shallop to some of the caves that opened from the 
 rocky precipices on to the bay, and would sit weaving 
 his wild verses to the measured beating of the waves as 
 they crept up towards the shore. The stanza in which 
 he was writing (the terza rima) has a strange affinity, in 
 its endless and interlinked progression, w^ith the trooping 
 of the sea-waves towards the land ; and a fanciful ear 
 may please itself by hearing in the lines of the Triumph 
 of Life, as in an ocean shell, the distant murmuring of 
 the Bay of Spezzia. 
 
 The wildness of the objects by wdiich he was con- 
 stantly smTounded — the solemnity of the solitude ui 
 ■which he had voluntarily placed himself, broken occa- 
 sionally by the uproar of the half-civilized men and 
 women from the adjacent districts — the abrupt tran- 
 sitions of his life from sea to land, and from land to sea 
 — the frequent recui'rence of appalling storms, and the 
 lofty, but w^eird, abstractions of the poem he was com- 
 posing, — contributed to plunge the mind of Shelley into 
 a state of morbid excitement, the result of which wa& 
 a tendency to see visions. One night, loud cries were 
 heard issuing from the saloon. The Williamses rushed 
 out of their room in alarm ; Mrs. Shelley also endea- 
 Toured to reach the spot, but fainted at the door. 
 Entering the saloon, the Williamses found Shelley
 
 192 SHELLEY JIEMORIALS. 
 
 staring horribly into the air, and evidently in a trance. 
 They waked him, and he related that a figure wrapped 
 in a mantle came to his bedside, and beckoned him. 
 He must then have risen in his sleep ; for he followed 
 the imaginary figure into the saloon, when it lifted the 
 hood of its mantle, ejaculated, " Siete sodisfatto V^ * and 
 vanished. The dream is said to have been sup'fi'ested 
 by an incident occurring in a drama attributed to 
 Calderon. 
 
 Another vision appeared to Shelley on the evening of 
 May 6th, when he and Williams were walking together 
 on the terrace. The story is thus recorded by the latter 
 in his diary : — 
 
 "Fine. Some heavy drops of rain fell without a 
 cloud being visible. After tea, while walking with S. 
 on the terrace, and observing the eftect of moonshine 
 on the w^aters, he complained of being unusually 
 nervous, and, stopping short, he grasped me violently 
 by the arm, and stared stedfastly on the white surf 
 that broke upon the beach under our feet. Observino- 
 him sensibly affected, I demanded of him if he was in 
 pain; but he only answered by saying, * There it is 
 again ! there ! ' He recovered after some time, and 
 declared that he saw, as plainly as he then saw me, a 
 naked child [AUegra, who had recently died] rise from 
 the sea, and clasp its hands as if in joy, smiling at him. 
 This was a trance that it required some reasoning and 
 philosophy entirely to wake him from, so forcibly had 
 
 * " Are you satisfied? "
 
 THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 193 
 
 the vision operated on his mind. Onr conversation, 
 Avhich had been at first rather mehxncholy, led to this ; 
 and my confirming his sensations by confessing that I 
 ]iad felt the same, gave greater activity to his ever- 
 v/andering and Hvely imagination." 
 
 Thus passed the first half of the j^ear 1822. It was 
 one of the happiest periods of Shelley's life ; bnt it did 
 not produce much literary fruit. One of the poet's 
 most perfect small productions, however, must be re- 
 ferred to this date : — the address To a Lady with a 
 Guitar. In that exquisite trifle, Shelley pictiu'es him- 
 self as Ariel ; and, addressing the lady, he says : — 
 
 IsTow, alas ! the poor sprite is 
 Imprisoned, for some fault of his, 
 In a body like a grave : 
 From you he only dares to crave, 
 For his service and his sorrow, 
 A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 
 
 He little knew how soon the spirit was to be emancipated 
 from its " grave " by the Kberator, Death. 
 
 The very last verses written by Shelley took the 
 form of a little poem welcoming Leigh Hunt to Italy. 
 This has, unfortunately, been lost.
 
 19i SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII I. 
 
 SHELLEY'S DEATH AND OBSEQUIES. 
 
 Leigh Hunt arrived at Genoa on the 14tli of June, and 
 was heartily welcomed by Shelley, in a letter which he 
 wrote to him. But so desirous was the latter of seeing 
 his friend personally, that he determined to go in his boat 
 with Williams to Leghorn, where Hunt had speedily 
 proceeded, to arrange with Lord Byron the final preli- 
 minaries of the Liberal. Shelley at this time was in 
 high spirits ; Mrs. Shelley, on the contrary, was exceed- 
 ingly depressed (owing, no doubt, to ill health), and was 
 haunted by a profound presentiment of coming evil, 
 which had saddened her during the whole time she had 
 lived in the Bay of Spezzia. The weather was now 
 intensely hot, though the breeze which sprang up from 
 the sea at noon cooled the air for awhile, and set the 
 waters sparkling. A great drought had prevailed for 
 some time : prayers for rain were put up in the churches, 
 relics were pai"aded through the towns; and the uuusual 
 character of the weather seemed to betoken that any 
 change would be ushered in by a violent storm. Shelley, 
 however, was not the man to be deterred by such por- 
 tents from his contemplated journey; nor was his friend
 
 SHELLEY'S DEATH AND OBSEQUIES. 195 
 
 and companion, Williams. Tliey accordingly disre- 
 garded the warning wliicli Mr. Trelawny had given 
 them some months before, with respect to the difference 
 between the waters of the land-locked bay and those of 
 the open sea beyond. 
 
 On the first of July, they left the Villa Magni — never 
 to return. Mrs. Shelley was to have accompanied them, 
 but ill-health prevented her. They reached Leghorn 
 in safety, and Shelley proceeded with Leigh Hmit to 
 Pisa, where the two friends were accommodated with 
 a floor in Lord B}T:on's palace ; the furnishing of which, 
 however, was paid for by Shelley. Byron had by this 
 time been persuaded by Thomas Moore, and some of 
 his other friends in London, that the projected maga- 
 zine, about which he had been very anxious at first, 
 would be mjurious to his fame and interests; and 
 Shelley now fomid him so desirous of making any 
 possible retreat from his engagements, that, had he 
 not feared he might damage his friend's interests, he 
 would have quarrelled outright with the noble poet.* 
 He was very much out of spirits when he left; and 
 that was the last interview they ever had. 
 
 Shelley appeared to Leigh Hunt to be far less hope- 
 ful than in former days, though otherwise michanged. 
 The two spent a delightful afternoon together during the 
 brief stay of Shelley at Pisa, visiting the objects of note, 
 and more especially the cathedral. Here the noble 
 music of the organ deeply affected Shelley, who warmly 
 
 * See Trelawny's BecoUections of the Last Days of Shelley and 
 Byron, p. 109. 
 
 2
 
 196 . SPIELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 assented to a remark of Leigh Hunt, tliat a divine 
 religion might be found out, if charity were really made 
 the principle of it, instead of faith. 
 
 He left for Leghorn on the night of the same day. 
 His departure from that place seems to have been has- 
 tened by a gloomy letter which he received from ]\Irs. 
 Shelley, who was probably still trembling under that 
 " shadow of coming misery " which she describes as 
 moving her to agony, and as making her scarcely able 
 to let her husband go from her side on the expedition 
 which ultimately caused his death. For himself, he 
 disregarded these ghostly presentiments, and had recently 
 remarked that the only warning he had found infallible 
 was that, whenever he felt peculiarly joyous, he was 
 certain that some disaster was about to ensue. 
 
 On Monday, July 8tli, Shelley and Williams set sail 
 in the " Don Juan " for Lerici. Trelawny was to have 
 gone with them in Byron's vessel, the " Bolivar," but 
 was detained for want of some necessary legal permit. 
 They left about three r.M., when the Genoese mate of 
 the " Bolivar " observed to Mr. Trelawny that they 
 would soon have too much breeze. Black, ragged clouds 
 were by this time coming up from the south-west ; and 
 the mate, pointing to what he called " the smoke on the 
 water," observed that " the devil was brewing mischief." 
 The waves were speedily covered with a sea-fog, in 
 which Shelley's boat was hidden from the view of Mr. 
 Trelawny. It was intensely hot ; the atmosphere was 
 heavy and moveless to an o^ipressive degree, and a pro- 
 found stillness spread far over the ocean. By half-past
 
 SHELLEY'S DEATH AND OBSEQUIES. 197 
 
 six o'clock it was almost dark ; tlie sea looked solid and 
 lead-coloured ; an oil j scum was on the sm*face ; the 
 wind was beginning to wake, in short, panting gusts ; 
 and big drops of rain struck the water, rebounding as 
 they fell. '■' There was a commotion in the air," says 
 Mr. Trelawnj, Avho records these particulars, " made up 
 of many tlireatening sounds, coming upon us from the 
 sea." The vessels in the harbour were all in hurried 
 movement, and the tempest soon came crasliing and 
 glaring, in the fury of thunder, wind, rain, and light- 
 ning, over the port and the open waters. The storm 
 only lasted about twenty minutes, and during its progress 
 Captain Roberts watched Shelley's vessel with his glass 
 from the top of the Leghorn lighthouse. The yacht had 
 made Via Reo-o-io when the storm beo;an. '* When the 
 cloud passed onward," writes Mrs. Shelley, " Roberts 
 looked again, and saw every otiier vessel sailing on the 
 ocean, except the little schooner, which had vanished." 
 Mr. Trelawny thought for some time that his friends 
 Avould return to port ; but he waited for them in vain. 
 
 The night was somewhat tempestuous. At daybreak, 
 Mr. Trelawny inquired of the crews of the various 
 boats which had returned to harbour if they had seen 
 anything of the missing vessel. They said they had 
 not; though the Genoese mate of the "Bolivar" pointed 
 out, on board a fishing-boat, an English-made oar, 
 which he thought he recognised as belonging to the 
 " Don Juan." The crew protested it was not so ; for it 
 seems that in Italy the fact of rendering assistance to a 
 drowning stranger entails a long and rigorous quarantine
 
 198 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 at the next port, if the circumstance should be known 
 there. On the morning of the third day, INIr. Trelawny 
 rode over to Pisa, and told his fears to Lord Byron and 
 Leigh Hunt. The latter was literally tongue-tied with 
 horror; and the former was also greatly alarmed. Mr. 
 Trelawny then despatched the " Bolivar " to cruise 
 along the coast, sent a courier as far as Nice, and made 
 the most minute investigations himself. 
 
 Li the meanwhile, Mrs. Shelley and Mrs. Williams 
 remained in miserable suspense in their wild home on 
 the shores of the Bay of Spezzia. " The sea, by its 
 restless moaning," Avrites the former,* " seemed to desire 
 to inform us of what we would not learn." " If ever 
 Fate whispered of coming disaster," she remarks in her 
 notes to the poems of 1822, "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 thmgs led the mind to brood over strange thoughts, 
 and, lifting it from every-day 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 rest- 
 less and disquieted; and yet, strange to say, we were 
 not fearful of the most apparent danger." 
 
 At length, however, came the dreadful inference that 
 the voyagers had perished in the storm. It was nothing 
 more than an inference at first, though a strong one. 
 
 * Prefiice to the Posthumous Poems.
 
 SHELLEY'S DEATH AXD OBSEQUIES. 199 
 
 Mr. Trelawny was informed at Yia Reggio that a pmit, 
 a wator-keg, aiid some bottles, had been picked iip on 
 the beach. He recognised them as having belonged to 
 Shelley's boat ; but for some time the two miserable 
 Avonien at the Villa Magni clung to the desperate hope 
 that the '^Don Juan" might have been driven towards 
 Elba or Corsica, and that the three lives on board might 
 thus have been saved. Many days more passed in hor- 
 rible uncertainty ; and, on one of these, Mrs. Shelley, 
 animated by the strength of her terrors, proceeded to 
 Pisa (though she had not yet recovered from her illness), 
 and, rushing into Lord Byron's room with a face of 
 marble, passionately demanded where her husband was. 
 Of coui'se his Lordship was unable to give her any 
 information, and she refused to be calmed or comforted. 
 Byron afterwards informed Lady Blessington that he 
 never saw anything in dramatic tragedy to equal the 
 terror of Mrs. Shelley's appearance on that day. 
 
 The worst ultimately revealed itself, with a certainty 
 which left no further room for even the faintest hope. 
 Two bodies were found on the shore : one near Via 
 Beggio ; the other close to the tower of IMigliarino, at 
 the Bocca Lericcio. They lay about four miles apart. 
 ]NL'. Trelawny went to see both, and recognised the 
 first as the corpse of Shelley, and the second as that 
 of Williams. Williams was nearly undressed, having 
 e\adently made an attempt to swim. He had on 
 one of his boots, which Mr. Trelawny recognised by 
 comparing it with another belonging to the same owner. 
 Shelley had probably gone down at once, for he was
 
 200 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 unable to swim, and had always declared (according 
 to Mr. Trelawny) tliat, in case of wreck, he worJd 
 vanish instantly, and not imperil others in the endeavour 
 to save liim. His right hand was clasped in his breast, 
 and he appears to have been reading Keats's last volume 
 of poems at the time of the catastrophe ; as the book, 
 doubled back, was found thrust away, seemingly in 
 haste, into a side pocket. In another pocket was a 
 volume of Sophocles. The copy of Keats was lent by 
 Leigh Hunt, who told Shelley to keep it till he could 
 give it to him again with his own hands. As the lender 
 would receive it from no one else, it was burnt with 
 the body. 
 
 When the two corpses were discovered, fourteen 
 days had elapsed since the loss of the yacht. A third 
 week passed before the body of the young sailor, 
 Charles Vivian, was found on the shore, four miles from 
 the other two. It was a mere skeleton, and its identity 
 could only be inferred from the locality in which the 
 waves had thrown it. 
 
 Subsequently, the boat was discovered off Via Reggio. 
 She had gone down in hfteen fathoms water, but does 
 not appear to have capsized ; for "various things were 
 found in her exactly as they had been placed on starting. 
 Captain Roberts took })OSsession of the vessel, l>ut failed 
 in endeavouring to make her seaworthy. " Her shat- 
 tered planks now lie rotting," says Mrs. Shelley, wanting 
 in 1839, " on the shore of one of the Ionian islands on 
 which she was wrecked." 
 
 On a close examination. Captain Roberts found many
 
 SHELLEY'S DEATH AND OBSEQUIES. 201 
 
 of the timbers on the starboard quarter broken : the 
 two masts had been carried away, the bowsprit broken 
 oft', and the gunwale stove in; and the hull was half 
 full of blue clay. The probability seems to be that the 
 yacht was run down by a felucca during the squall. 
 
 Having identified the bodies of Williams and Shelley, 
 Mr. Trelawny proceeded to the Villa Llagni, in order 
 that he might communicate to the two widows the sad 
 intelligence that they must no longer cling to hope. 
 It will be seen in one of the ensuing letters, contained 
 in the next chapter, with what depth of feeling he dis- 
 charged this painful office. 
 
 According to Italian laws, everything cast by the 
 sea on to the shore must be burned, to prevent the 
 possible introduction of the plague. Through the in- 
 strumentality of Mr. Dawkins, our consul at Florence, 
 Mr. Trelawiiy was allowed to superintend the crema- 
 tion, and to convey the ashes, when all was over, to the 
 Avidows. He exerted himself with indefatigable zeal, 
 and at length got matters ready for the final ceremony. 
 A body of soldiers had been despatched to the Bocca 
 Lericcio (where the corpse of Williams had been tempo- 
 rarily buried in the sand), to see that the quarantine 
 regulations were not contravened. The remains lay 
 near the gnarled root of a pine-tree ; and, while the 
 soldiers collected fuel from a stunted pine-wood hard 
 by, and from the wrecks scattered along the coast, the 
 functionaries of the Health Office shovelled out the 
 sand, and laid bare the corpse — now " a shapeless mass 
 of bones and flesh," as Mr. Trelawny states in his 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 STAT" TEACHERS Crf ERE 
 
 ^. T. ADO. Oft c.C'i ■ : R'^'*
 
 202 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 account. On seeing the black silk handkerchief which 
 the dead man had worn round his neck, Lord Byron 
 (who was present, together with Leigh Hunt) observed 
 — " The entrails of a worm hold together longer than 
 the potter's clay of which man is made." The relics 
 were then cast into the furnace ; wliicli had been con- 
 structed, under the direction of Mr. Trelawny, of iron 
 bars and strong sheet-iron. " Don't repeat this ^\'ith 
 me," said Byron : " let my carcase rot where it falls." 
 Frankincense, salt, wine, and oil, were thrown on the 
 pyre ; a light was set to the materials ; and, after a few 
 hours' fierce burning, the remains were found to be 
 reduced to dark-coloiu'ed ashes and some fragments of 
 the larger bones. The relics were then screwed down 
 in a box, and placed in Byron's carriage. 
 
 This took place on the loth of August. On the 
 following day, the same ceremony was performed with 
 regard to the corpse of Shelley, which lay near Via 
 Reggio, and which, like that of Williams, had been 
 temporarily buried in the sand. Mr. Trelawny, Lord 
 Byron, and Leigh Hunt, were again present, and a 
 guard of soldiers, as on the former occasion, stood by. 
 The spot was wild, lonely, and inexpressibly grand. 
 In front, lay the broad, bright waters of the Mediter- 
 ranean, with the islands of Elba, Capraji, and Gorgona, 
 in view ; the white marble peaks of the Apennines 
 closed the prospect behind, cooling the intense glare 
 of the midday sun with the semblance of snow; and 
 all between stretched the sands (yellow against the blue 
 of the sea), and a wild, bare, uninhabited country.
 
 SHELLEY'S DEATH AND OBSEQUIES. 203 
 
 parched by the saline air, and exhibiting no other vege- 
 tation than a few stunted and bent tufts of underwood. 
 A row of high, square watch-towers stood along the 
 coast ; and above, in the hot stillness, soared a solitary 
 cui'lew, which occasionally circled close to the pile, 
 uttering its shrill scream, and defying all attempts to 
 drive it away. 
 
 The body was placed entire m the furnace, and 
 wine, frankincense, &c., as in the case of Williams, 
 were cast on to the p\Te. The flames, which were of 
 a rich golden hue, broad and towering, glistened and 
 quivered, and threw out, together with the sunlight, so 
 intense a heat that the atmosphere became tremulous 
 and wavy. Leigh Hunt witnessed the ceremony from 
 Lord Byron's carriage, occasionally drawing back when 
 he was too much overcome to allow his emotions to 
 be seen ; while Byron himself, finding his fortitude 
 unequal to the occasion, left before the conclusion of 
 the rites. 
 
 The ashes of Shelley were deposited in the Protestant 
 burial-ground at Rome, by the side of his son William, 
 and of his brother-poet, Keats. An inscription in Latin, 
 simply setting forth the facts, was written by Leigh 
 Hunt, and Mr. Trelawny added a few lines from Shak- 
 peare's Tempest (one of Shelley's favourite plays) : — 
 
 I^otliing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into somethmg rich and strange. 
 
 The same gentleman also planted eight cypresses round
 
 204 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 the spot, of which seven were flourishing in 1844, and 
 probably are still.'* A view of the place faces the title- 
 page of this volume. 
 
 And so 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 wdiich 
 could not be consumed by fire. 
 
 * The facts, on which the foregoing description of the burning of 
 the bodies is based, are derived from Captain Medwin's Conversations 
 of Lord Byron ; Mr. Trelawny's Becollections of the Last Days of 
 Shelley and Byron ; and Leigli Hunt's Autobiography.
 
 20^ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 
 
 A WIDOW at four-and-twenty years of age ; left in a 
 (ibreign land, with no certain income, and with a child 
 to support ; coldly regarded by her husband's family, 
 and possessed of no influential friends in England ; — 
 Mrs. Shelley now entered on a struggle which she has 
 described as " lonely" and " unsolaced," but which she 
 encountered in the true spirit of heroism, and lived 
 to see crowned with success and rewarded by happier 
 days. 
 
 The first emotions of horror at the death of her 
 husband gave place to grief of a calmer, but more in- 
 tense kind. It will be seen, in the ensuing letters, and 
 in the journal which follows them, how deep was the 
 agony which the young widowed heart endured ; how 
 abiding the sense of loss; how omnipresent the recol- 
 lection of him whose genius now became associated with 
 all sights and sounds of earth, sky, and ocean. Italy had 
 been the chosen land of Shelley; and his widow, though 
 meeting everywhere with some ghost of old companion- 
 ship, some memory of that which had vanished for 
 eA^er in this life, clung for a long while to the country
 
 206 SHELLEY JklEMOKIALS. 
 
 wliicli had witnessed lier greatest joy and her wildest 
 sorrow. She very speedily, however, left the Bay of 
 Spezzia, and took up her residence at Pisa. 
 
 But she was not without comforters in her grief. 
 Foremost among the letters she received from England 
 must be placed one from her father, who, on the 9th of 
 August, 1822, writes : — 
 
 My poor girl ! What do you mean to do with yourself? You 
 surely do not mean to stay in Italy ? How glad I should be to 
 be near you, and to endeavour by new expedients each day to 
 make up for your loss ! But you are the best judge. If Italy is a 
 country to which in these few years you are naturalized, and if 
 England is become duU and odious to you, then stay. 
 
 I should think, however, that now you have lost your closest 
 friend, your mind would naturally turn homewards, and [to] JO^xr 
 earliest friend. Is it not so ? Surely we might be a great support 
 to each other, imder the trials to which we are reserved. 'V^^lat 
 sio^nify a few outward adversities, if we find a friend at home ? 
 
 Above all, let me entreat you to keep up your courage. You 
 have many duties to perform ; you must now be the father, as well 
 as the mother ; and I trust you have energy of character enough 
 to enable you to perform your duties honourably and well. 
 Ever and ever most afiectionately yours, 
 
 W. Godwin. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Miss Curran. 
 
 Mt dear Miss Curkan, Pisa, July 2m, 1822. 
 
 You will have received my letter concerning the pictures, 
 and now I have another request to make. Your kindness to us 
 when we were both so unhappy* — your great kindness — makes me 
 do this without that feeling of unwillingness which I have in ask- 
 ing favours of any other person. Besides, you are unhappy, and 
 therefore can better sympathise with and console the miserable 
 
 * From the loss of their son William, at Rome. — Ed.
 
 MAEY SHELLEY. 207 
 
 You would greatly oblige me if you would get me from one of 
 those shops in the Piazza di Spagaa two mosaic stones, about as 
 large as a half-crown piece. On one I Vi^ish a heartsease to be 
 depicted ; they call these flowers in Italian Socera Imora^ or Viola 
 far f alia, Viola regolina, Viola renagola ; on the other (I think I 
 have seen such a one), a view of the tomb of Cestius. I remember 
 also that in one of your rooms there was a view of this place, and 
 the people of the house might part with it, or a modern artist 
 at Rome might make one for me, which would give me great 
 pleasure. The difficulty is to pay you for these things ; but as 
 soon (if you have the extreme kindness to flilfil my requests) as I 
 know what money you spend for me, I will take care it shall be 
 remitted to you without delay. 
 
 Will you indeed, my dear Miss Curran, do as I ask you ? 
 Alas ! these trifles (not the picture — that is no trifle) serve as a 
 kind of vent for those sentiments of personal affection and atten- 
 tions which are so cruelly crushed for ever. In a little poem of 
 his are these words: — "Pansies let my flowers be." Pansies are 
 heartsease ; and in another he says, that pansies mean memory. 
 So I would make myself a locket to wear in eternal memory, with 
 the representation of his flower, and with his hair; such things 
 must now do instead of words of love, and the dear habit of 
 seeing him daily. Pity me, then, and indulge me. 
 
 In my last letter I was so selfish, that I did not ask after your 
 welfare. Pray write to me. I must ever be grateful to j'ou for 
 your kindness to us in misfortune ; and how much more when, 
 through your talents and your goodness, I shall possess the only 
 likeness that is of my husband's earthly form. 
 
 ]\Iy little Percy is well — not so beautiful as William, though 
 there is some resemblance. 
 
 Yours ever truly, 
 
 IVIary W. Shellet. 
 
 From the Same to the Sam.e. 
 
 My dear Miss Curban, Pisa, August \Ath, 1822. 
 
 I have written two letters to you, requesting that favour 
 now nearer my heart than any other earthly thing — the picture of 
 my Shelley. Perhaps you have been at Gensano, and that delays
 
 20S SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 your reply ; perhaps you have altered j^our residence, and have not 
 received my letters. 
 
 I am well ; so is my boy. We leave Italy soon ; so I am par- 
 ticularly anxious to obtain this treasure, which I am sure you will 
 give me as soon as possible. I have no other likeness of him ; and, 
 in so utter desolation, how invaluable to me is your picture ! * 
 Will you not send it ? Will j'ou not answer me without delay ? 
 Your former kindness bids me hope everything. 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 M. W. Shelley. 
 
 From Mrs. Shellei/ to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 Pisa, September lOth, 1S22. 
 
 And so here I am ! I continue to exist ; to see one day succeed 
 the other ; to dread night, but more to dread morning, and hail 
 another cheerless day. My boy, too, is, alas ! no consolation. When 
 I think how he loved him — the plans he had for his education — his 
 sweet and childish voice strikes me to the heart. Why should he 
 live in this world of pain and anguish ? And if he went I should 
 go to, and we should all sleep in peace. 
 
 At times, I feel an energy within me to combat with my destiny 
 — but again I sink. I have but one hope, for which I live — to 
 render myself worthy to join him ; and such a feeling sustains me 
 during moments of enthusiasm; but darkness and misery soon 
 overwhelm the mind, when all near objects bring agony alone 
 with them. People used to call me lucky in my star : you see 
 now how true such a prophecy is ! 
 
 I was fortunate in having fearlessly placed my destiny in the 
 hands of one who — a superior being among men, a bright plane- 
 tary spirit enshrined in an earthly temple — raised me to the height 
 of happmess. So far am I now happj', that I woidd not change 
 my situation as his widow with that of the most prosperous woman 
 in the world ; and surely the time will at length come when I shall 
 be at peace, and my brain and heart be no longer alive with unut- 
 terable anguish. I can conceive but of one circumstance that could 
 
 " Of Shelley.- Ed.
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 209 
 
 afford me the semblance of content — that is, the being permitted to 
 live Avhere I am now, in the same house, in the same state, occupied 
 alone with ray child, in collecting his manuscripts, writing his life, 
 and thus to go easily to my grave. 
 
 But this must not be ! Even if circumstances did not compel me 
 to return to England, I would not stay another summer in Italj^ 
 with my child. I will at least do my best to render him well and 
 happy; and the idea that my circumstances may at all injure him 
 is the fiercest pang my mind endures. 
 
 I wrote you a long letter, containing a slight sketch of my suf- 
 ferings. I sent it, directed to Peacock, at the India House, because 
 accident led me to believe that you were no longer in London. I 
 said in that, that on that day (Aug. 15) they had gone to perform 
 the last offices for him ; however, I erred in this, for on that da}' 
 those of Edward * were alone fulfilled, and they returned on the 
 16th to celebrate Shelley's. I will say nothing of the ceremony, 
 since Trelawny has written an account of it, to be printed in the 
 forthcoming journal.j I will onl^^ say, that all except his heart 
 (which was inconsumable) was burnt, and that two days ago I 
 went to Leghorn, and beheld the small box that contained his 
 
 earthly dress. Those smiles — that form Great God ! no — he is 
 
 not there ; he is with me, about me — life of my life, and soul of 
 my soul ! If his divine spirit did not penetrate mine, I could not 
 survive to weep thus. 
 
 I will mention the fi'iends I have here, that you may form an 
 idea of our situation. JMrs. Williams and I live together. We 
 have one purse, and, joined in misery, we are for the present 
 joined in life. 
 
 The poor girl withers like a lily. She lives for her children ; 
 but it is a living death. Lord Byron has been very kind. But 
 the friend to whom we are eternally indebted is Trelawny. I 
 have, of course, mentioned him to you as one v.ho wishes to be 
 considered eccentric, but who was noble and generous at bottom. 
 I always thought so, even when no fact proved it ; and Shelley 
 agreed with me, as he always did — or, rather, I with him. We 
 heard people speak against him on account of his vagaries : we 
 
 * Captain Williams. — Ed, f The Liberal. — Ed, 
 
 P
 
 210 SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 
 
 said to one another, " Still we like him ; we believe him to he 
 good." Once, even, when a whim of his led him to treat me with 
 something like impertinence, I forgave him, and I have now been 
 well rewarded. In my outhne of events, you will see how, un- 
 asked, he returned with Jane and me from Leghorn to Lerici ; 
 how he stayed with us miserable creatures twelve daj's there, 
 endeavouring to keep up our spirits ; how he left us on Thursday, 
 and, finding our misfortune confirmed, then without rest returned 
 on Friday to us, and, again without rest, returned with us to Pisa 
 on Saturday. These were no common services. Since that, he 
 has gone through, by himself, all the annoyances of dancing 
 attendance on consuls and governors, for permission to fulfil the 
 last duties to those gone, and attending the ceremony himself. 
 All the disagreeable part, and all the fatigue, fell on him. As 
 Hunt said, 'He worked with the meanest, and felt with the best.' 
 He is generous to a distressing degree ; but, after all these benefits 
 to us, what I most thank him for is this : — When, on thatnight of 
 agony — that Friday night — he returned, to announce that hope 
 Avas dead for us; when he had told me that, his earthly frame 
 being found, his spirit was no longer to be my guide, protector 
 and companion in this dark world, — he did not attempt to console 
 me ; that would have been too cruelly useless ; but he launched 
 forth into, as it were, an overflowing and eloquent praise of my 
 divine Shellej^, till I was almost happj^ that I was thus unhappy, 
 to be fed by the praise of him, and to dwell on the eulogy that his 
 loss thus drew from his friend. 
 
 God knows what will become of me ! My life is now very 
 monotonous as to outward events ; yet how diversified by internal 
 feeling ! How often, in the intensity of grief, does one instant 
 seem to fill and embrace the universe ! As to the rest — the 
 mechanical spending of my time — of course I have a great deal to 
 do, preparing for my journey. I make no visits, except one, once 
 in about ten days, to Mrs. Mason. Trelawny resides chiefly at 
 Leghorn, since he is captain of Lord Byron's vessel, the " Bolivar." 
 He comes to see us about once a week, and Lord Byron visits us 
 about twice a week, accompanied by the Guiccioli ; but seeing 
 people is an annoyance which I am happy to be spared. Solitude 
 is my only help and resource. Accustomed, even when he was
 
 MAEY SHELLEY. 211 
 
 •with me, to spend much of my time alone, I can at those moments 
 forget myself, until some idea, which I think I would communicate 
 to him, occurs, and then the yawning and dark gulf again dis- 
 plays itself, unshaded by the rainbows which the imagination had 
 formed. Despair, energy, love, desponding and excessive afflic- 
 tion, are like clouds driven across my mind, one by one, until tears 
 blot the scene, and weariness of spirit consigns me to temporary 
 repose. 
 
 I shudder with horror when I look back upon what I have 
 suffered ; and when I think of the wild and miserable thoughts 
 that have possessed me, I say to myself: " Is it true that I ever 
 felt thus ? " And then I weep in pity for myself; yet each day 
 adds to the stock of sorrow, and death is the only end. I Avould 
 study, and I hope I shall. I would write, and, when I am settled, 
 I may. But were it not for the steady hope I entertain of joining 
 him, what a mockery would be this Avorld ! Without that hope, 
 I could not study or write ; for fame and usefulness (except as far 
 as regards my child) are nullities to me. Yet I shall be happy if 
 anything I ever produce may exalt and soften sorrow, as the 
 writings of the divinities of our race have mine. But how can I 
 aspire to that ? 
 
 The world will surely one day feel what it has lost, when this . 
 
 bright child of song deserted her. Is not Adonais his own elegy? f 
 
 And there does he truly depict the universal woe which should 
 overspread all good minds, since he has ceased to be their fellow- 
 labourer in this worldly scene. How lovely does he paint death 
 to be, and with what heartfelt sorrow does one repeat that line — 
 
 But I am chain 'd to time, and cannot thence depart ! 
 
 How long do you think I shall live ? As long as my mother ? 
 Then eleven long years must intervene. I am now on the eve of 
 completing my five-and-twentieth year. How drearily young for 
 one so lost as I ! How young in years for one who lives ages each r 
 day in sorrow ! Think you that those moments are counted in 
 my life as in other people's ? Ah, no ! The day before the sea 
 closed over mine own Shelley, he said to Marianne,* " K I die to- 
 
 * Mrs. Leigh Hunt.— Ed. 
 
 r 2
 
 212 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 morrow, I have lived to be older than my father. I am ninety 
 years of age." Thus also may I say. The eight years I passed 
 with him were spun out beyond the usual length of a man's life : 
 and what I have suffered since will write years on my brow, and 
 entrench them in my heart. Surely I am not long for this world. 
 Most sure should I be, were it not for my boy; but God grant that 
 I may live to make his early years happy ! 
 
 Well, adieu ! I have no events to Avrite about, and can, there- 
 fore, only scrawl about my feelings. This letter, indeed, is only 
 the sequel of mv last. In that I closed the history of all that can 
 interest me. That letter I wish you to send my father : the pre- 
 sent one, it is best not. 
 
 I suppose I shall see you in England some of these days ; but I 
 shall write to you again before I quit this place. Be as happy as 
 you can, and hope for better things in the nest world. By firm 
 hope you may attain your wishes. Again adieu ! 
 
 Atfectionately yours, 
 
 M. W. Shelley. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 Genoa, September 17 tJi, 1822. 
 I am here alone in Genoa ; quite, quite alone ! Jane has left 
 nie to proceed to England, and, except my sleeping child, I am 
 alone. Since you do not communicate with my father, you will 
 r)erhaps be surprised, after my last letter, that I do not come to 
 England. I have Avritten to him a long account of the arguments 
 of all my friends to dissuade me from that miserable journey ; 
 Jane will detail them to you ; and therefore I merely say now 
 that, having no business there, I am determined not to spend that 
 money, which will support me nearly a year here, in a journey, 
 the sole end of Avhich appears to me the necessity I should be 
 under, when arrived in London, of being a burthen to my father. 
 When my crowns are gone, if Sir T. refuses, I hope to be able to 
 support myself by my writings and mine own Shelley's MSS. At 
 least, during many long months, I shall have peace as to money 
 affairs ; and one evil the less is much to one v.hose existence is 
 suffering alone. Lord Byron has a house here, and will arrive
 
 MAIiY SHELLEY. 213 
 
 soon ; I liave taken a house for the Hunts and myself, outside one 
 of the gates. It is large and neat, with a podere attached. We 
 shall pay about eighty crowns between us ; so I hope that I shall 
 find tranquillity from care this winter — though that may be the 
 last of m}^ life so free. Yet I do not hope it, though I say so ; — 
 hope is a word that belongs not to my situation. He — my own 
 beloved — the exalted and divine Shelley, has left me alone in this 
 miserable world — this earth canopied by the eternal starry heaven, 
 where he is — where — oh, my God ! yes — where I shall one 
 day be ! 
 
 Jane quitted me this morning at four. After she left me, I 
 again went to rest, and thought of Pergnano, its halls, its cypresses, 
 the perfume of its mountains, and the gaiety of our life beneath 
 their shadow. Then I dozed awhile, and in my dream saw dear 
 Edward most visibly. He came, he said, to pass a few hours with 
 us, but could not stay long. Then I woke, and the day began. I 
 went out — took Hunt's house — but, as I walked, I felt that which 
 is with me the sign of imutterable grief. I am not given to tears ; 
 and, though my most miserable fate has often turned my eyes to 
 fountains, yet ofcener I suffer agonies iinassuaged by tears. But, 
 during these last sufferings, I have felt an oppression at my heart 
 I never felt before. It is not a palpitation, but a stringemento 
 which is quite convulsive, and, did I not struggle greath*, would 
 cause violent hysterics. Looking on the sea, or hearing its roar — 
 his dirge — it comes upon me ; but these are corporeal sufferings I 
 can get over. That which is insurmountable is the constant feel- 
 ing of despair that shadows me : I seem to walk on a narrow path 
 with fathomless precipices all around me ; yet where can I fall ? I 
 have alread}' fiillen, and all that comes of bad or good is a mere 
 mockery. 
 
 Those about me have no idea of Avhat I suffer ; none are suffi- 
 ciently interested in me to observe that, though my lips smile, my 
 eyes are blank, or to notice the desolate look that I cast upwards 
 towards the sky. Pardon, dear friend, this selfishness in writing 
 thus. There are moments when the heart must sfogare^ or be 
 suffocated ; and such a moment is this. When quite alone, my 
 babe sleeping, and dear Jane having just left me, it is with difh- 
 cult}^ I prevent myself from flying from mental misery by bodily
 
 214 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 exertion, when to rim into that vast grave (the sea), until I sink 
 to rest, would be a pleasure to me ; and, instead of this, I write, 
 and as I write I say, " Oh, God ! have pity on me ! " At least, I 
 will have pity on you. Good night ! I will finish this when people 
 are about me, and I am in a more cheerful mood. Good night ! 
 I will go look at the stars : they are eternal ; so is he — so am I. 
 
 You have not written to me since my misfortune. I under- 
 stand tills ; you first waited for a letter from me, and that letter 
 told you not to write. But answer this as soon as you receive it. 
 Talk to me of yourself, and also of my English affairs. I am 
 afraid that they will not go on very well in my absence; but it 
 would cost more to set them right than they are worth. I will, 
 however, let you know what I think my friends ought to do, that, 
 when you talk to Peacock, he may learn what I wish. A claim 
 should be made on the part of Shelley's executors for a mainte- 
 nance for my child and myself from Sir Timothy. Lord Byron 
 is ready to do this or any other service for me that his office of 
 executor demands from him. But I do not wish it to be done 
 separately by him, and I wait to hear from England before I ask 
 him to write to Whitton on the subject. Secondly, Oilier must 
 be asked for all MSS., and some plan be reflected on for the best 
 manner of republishing Shelley's works, as well as the writings 
 he has left. 
 
 Who will allow money to lanthe and Charles ? * 
 
 As for you, my dear friends, I do not see what you can do for 
 me, except to send me the originals or copies of Shelley's most in- 
 teresting letters to you. I hope soon to get into my house, where 
 writing, copying Shelley's MSS., walking, and being of some use 
 in the education of Marianne's children, will be ray occupations. 
 Where is that letter in verse Shelley once wrote to you ? Let me 
 have a copy of it. 
 
 Here is a long letter all about myself; but, though I cannot 
 write, I like to hear of others. 
 
 Adieu, dear friends ! 
 
 Your sincerely attached, 
 
 Mart W. Shelley. 
 
 * Shelley's children by his first wife. — Ed.
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 215 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 Albeno, near Genoa, 
 Mx DEAR Fkiend, Nov. 22nd, 1822. 
 
 No one ever writes to me. Each day, one like the other, 
 passes on, and, if I were where I would that I were, methinks I 
 could not be more forgotten. I cannot write myself, only to cast 
 the shadow of my misery on others. 
 
 What I have endured is not to be alleviated by time ; for 
 every new event and thought brings more clearly before me the 
 fearful change. My ideas, wanting their support, fall ; wanting 
 their mate, they pine ; and nothing the earth contains can alleviate 
 that. I see no one who did not know Him ; and thus I try to 
 patch up the links of a broken cbam. I see, consequently, only 
 the Hunts, Lord Byron, and Trelawny ; but, although Hunt knew 
 him, he did not know him lately, so my freshest impressions are 
 void for him. Lord Byron reminds me most of Shelley in a cer- 
 tain way, for I always saw them together ; and, when Lord Byron 
 speaks, I wait for Shelley's voice in answer as the natural result. 
 But this feeling must wear o£F; and there is so little resemblance 
 in their minds, that Lord Byron seldom speaks to me of him with- 
 out unwittingly wounding and torturing me. With Trelawny I 
 can talk, and do talk, for hours unreservedly of him ; but he is 
 about to leave us, and then I shall be thrown on my own mind, to 
 seek in its frightful depths for memories and eternal sorrow. 
 
 Pardon me, that I still write in this incoherent and unletter- 
 like manner ; but I strive in vain to do better. My last letter is 
 a proof of how I succeed ; for, when I curb myself to the relation 
 of facts alone, or determine so to curb myself, I put off writing 
 from day to day, endeavouring to catch the moment when I shall 
 feel less. But, the pen in my hand, the same spirit guides it, and 
 one only thought swells the torrent of Avords that is poured out. 
 Perhaps it would be better not to write at all ; but the weakness 
 of human nature is to seek for sympathy. I think but of one 
 thing — my past life. W^hile living (do I Uve now ?), I loved to 
 imagine futurity, and now I strive to do the same ; but I have 
 nothing desirable to imagine, save death ; and my fancy flags, or 
 sleeps, or wanders, when it endeavours to pursue other thoughts.
 
 216 SKELLEY IMEMOEIALS. 
 
 I imagine ra}^ child dead, and what I shonld do then. I feel that 
 my whole L'fe will be one misery ; it will be so — mark me ! 
 
 The Hunts are getting on well. IMariannc is not better, but 
 she is not vrorse. "We often see Trelawny of an evening. Hunt 
 likes him A-ery much ; and, for me, I feel so deep a gratitude to 
 him, that my heart is full but to name him. He supported us in 
 our miseries — nij'poor Jane and me. 'But for him, menials would 
 have performed the most sacred of offices ; and when I shake liis 
 hand, I feel to the depth of my soul that those hands collected 
 those ashes. Yes ; for I saw them burned and scorched from the 
 office. No fatigue — no sun, or nervous horrors — deterred him, as 
 one or the other of these causes deterred others. He stood on the 
 burning sand for many hours beside the pyre ; if he had been 
 permitted by the soldiers, he would have placed him there in his 
 arms. I never, never can forget this ; and now he talks of little 
 else save my Shelley and Edward. 
 
 I wish all MSS. to be sent, without any exception, and as soon 
 as possible. I have heard from Miss Curran. She is in Paris, and 
 my Shelley's picture is at Rome. Nothing, therefore, can be done 
 with regard to that; so pray let me have the MSS. without any 
 delay — and let me entreat you, as you love me, to Avait for nothing, 
 but, the A-ery moment the MSS. are obtained from Peacock, to 
 send them to me. This is of more consequence to me than you 
 think. 
 
 I Avish you Avould enter into an iinhrealiaUe engagement to me, 
 to Avrite to me once a month. Y'our letter may be the Avork of 
 several hours scattered OA-er the month ; but put a long letter 
 into the post for me the first of every month. I want some 
 object — some motiA^e, great or small. I should look forward to 
 3'our letter as a certain thing, and it would be something to ex- 
 pect. Never mind Avhat you Avrite about; let it be about his 
 friends — some facts : it Avould be a great solace to me ; indeed it 
 would. 
 
 Well, good night ! As usual, all arc in bed except me — my 
 restless thoughts homeless in this Avorld, if they do not steal to the 
 bedside of my sleeping babe ; and there 1 tremble. But I think 
 the ncAv soul tries to amalgamate itself with its stubborn shrine, 
 and, if it be too finely tempered, it cannot succeed. Something
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 217 
 
 earthly, though good, seems to announce the decision of nature. 
 vSo it is with Percy. The crisis was last summer — how I trembled 
 for him then ! — and now it is not reason, but habit, that makes me 
 shudder. 
 
 I hear that Peacock has given the Essay on Poetry to be pub- 
 lished in the Liberal^ and added that he had other MSS. Now, 
 I am convinced there is nothing perfect, and I wish all to be sent 
 to me without delay. 
 
 Adieu ! 
 
 AflFectionately yours, 
 
 Mary W. Shelley. 
 
 From Godwin to Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 !My dear Mary, Strand, Feb. 14th, 1823. 
 
 I have this moment received a copy of Sir Timothy 
 
 Shelley's letter to Lord Byron, dated February 6th, and which, 
 
 therefore, you will have seen long before this reaches you. You 
 
 will easily imagine how anxious I am to hear from you, and to 
 
 know the state of your feelings under this, which seems like the 
 
 last blow of fate. 
 
 I need not of course attempt to assist your judgment upon the 
 
 proposition of taking the child from you. I am sure your feelings 
 
 would never allow you to entertain such a proposition. 
 * * * * * 
 
 I requested you to let Lord Byron's letter to Sir Timothy 
 Shelley pass through my hands, and you did so ; but, to my great 
 mortification, it reached me scaled with his Lordship's arms, so 
 that I remain Avholly ignorant of its contents. If joii could send 
 me a copy, I should then be much better acquainted with your 
 present situation. 
 
 Your novel is now fully printed and ready for publication. I 
 have taken great liberties with it, and I fear your ajnour propre 
 will be proportionably shocked. I need not tell you that all the 
 merit of the book is exclusively your own. Beatrice is the jewel 
 of the book ; not but that I greatly admire Euthanasia, and I 
 think the characters of Pepi, Binda, and the witch, decisive 
 efforts of original genius. I am promised a character of the Avork
 
 218 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 in the Morning Chronicle and the Herald, and was in hopes to 
 have sent you the one or the other by this time. I also sent a 
 copy of the book to the Examiner, for the same purpose. 
 
 Tuesday, Feb. 18th. 
 
 Do not, I entreat you, be cast down about your worldly 
 circumstances. You certainly contain within yourself the means 
 of your subsistence. Your talents are truly extraordinary. 
 Frankenstein is universally known, and, though it can never be a 
 book for vulgar reading, is everyAvhere respected. It is the most 
 wonderful work to have been written at twenty years of age * 
 that I ever heard of. You are now five-and-twenty, and, most 
 fortunately, you have pursued a course of reading, and cultivated 
 your mind, in a manner the most admirably adapted to make you 
 a great and successful author. If you cannot be independent, 
 who should be ? 
 
 Your talents, as far as I can at present discern, are turned for 
 the writing of fictitiovis adventures. 
 
 If it shall ever happen to you to be placed in sudden and 
 urgent want of a small sum, I entreat you to let me know 
 immediately. "We must see what I can do. We must help one 
 another. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 William Godwin. 
 
 From Mrs. Shelley to Mrs. Gishorne. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Gisborne, Albaro, May ^rd, 1823. 
 
 Your letter was very pleasing to me, since it showed me 
 that it was not want of affection that caused your silence. Utter 
 solitude is delightful to me ; but in the midst of the waste, I am 
 much comforted when I hear the quiet voice of friendship telling 
 me that I am still loved by some one, and especially by those who 
 knew my Shellej^ and have been his companions. You say well 
 that it is an almost uusurmountable difficulty in expressing your 
 thoughts that causes you to be silent ; for, though occupation or 
 indolence may often prevent your exerting yourself, yet, Avhen 
 
 * Franhenstdn was written by Mrs. Shelley when she was only 
 eighteen, but not published until she was twenty. — Ed.
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 219 
 
 you do write, yours are the best letters I receive, especially as far 
 as clearness and information goes. 
 
 I had a letter to-day from Trelawny at Eome, concerning the 
 disposition of the earthly dress of my lost one. He is in the 
 Protestant burying-ground at that place, which is beside, and not 
 before, the tomb of Cestius. The old wall, with an ancient tower, 
 bounds it on one side, and beneath this tower (a weed-grown and 
 picturesque ruin) the excavation has been made. Trelawny has 
 sent me a drawing of it, and he thus writes : — " Placed apart, yet 
 in the centre, and the most conspicuous spot in the burying- 
 ground, I have just planted six young cypresses and four laurels, 
 in the front of the recess which you see in the drawing, and which 
 is caused by the projecting part of the old ruin. My own stone" 
 (Trelawny, you know, one of the best and most generous of 
 natures, is eccentric in his way), " a plain slab, till I can decide 
 upon some fitting inscription, is placed on the left hand. I have 
 likewise dug my grave, so that, when I die, there is only to lift 
 up the coverlit, and roll me into it. You may lie on the other 
 side, if you like. It is a lovely spot. The only inscription on 
 Shelley's stone, besides the Cor cordium of Hunt, are three lines 
 I have added from Shakspeare ; — 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 
 " This quotation, by its double meaning, alludes both to the 
 manner of his death and his genius ; and I think the element on 
 which his soul took wing, and the subtle essence of his being 
 mingled, may stiil retain him in some other shape. The water 
 may keep the dead, as the earth may, and fire and air. His 
 passionate fondness may have arisen from some SAVcet sympathy 
 in his nature ; thence the fascination which so forcibly attracted 
 him, without fear or caution, to trust an element which almost all 
 others hold in superstitious dread, and venture as cautiously on 
 as they would in a lair of lions." 
 
 This quotation is pleasing to me also, because, a year ago, 
 Trelawny came one afternoon in high spirits, with news concern- 
 ing the building of the boat, saying, " Oh ! we must all embark, all
 
 220 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 live aboard ; we -will all ' suffer a sea-change.' " And dearest 
 Shelley was delighted with the quotation, saying that he would 
 Iiave it for the motto of his boat. 
 
 Captain Roberts (Jane will tell you who he is) is just come 
 from Rome. lie confirms all that is said in this letter. Roberts 
 had bought the hulk of that miserable boat — new rigged her even 
 with higher masts than before. He has sailed with her at the 
 rate of eight knots an hour, and on such occasions tried various 
 experiments — hazardous ones — to discover how the catastrophe 
 that closed the scene for poor Jane and myself happened. It is 
 plain to every eye. She was run down from behind. On bringing 
 her up from fifteen fathom, all was in her — books, telescope, 
 ballast — lying on each side of the boat without any appearance of 
 shifting or confusion : the topsails furled, topmast lowered ; the 
 false stern (J. can explain) broken to pieces, and a great hole 
 knocked in the stern timbers. When she was brought to Leghorn, 
 every one went to see her, and the same exclamation was uttered 
 by all : " She was run down " — by that wretched fishing-boat 
 which owned that it had seen them. 
 
 I have written myself into a state of agitation. If I continued 
 my letter, it would only be to pour out the bitterness of my heart. 
 Oh, this spring is so beautiful ! The clear sky shines above the 
 calm murderer ; the trees are all in leaf, and a soft air is among 
 them ; the stars tell of other spheres where I pray to be ; for all 
 this beauty, while at times it elevates me, yet in strange words 
 tells me that he, the best and most beautiful, is gone. 
 
 " Oh, follow, follow ! " 
 
 And on each herb, from which Heaven's dew had fallen, 
 The like was stamp'd, as with a witherins? fire. 
 
 ***** * 
 
 And then, 
 Low, sweet, faint sounds, like the farewell of ghosts, 
 Were heard: " Oh, follow, follow, follow me! " * 
 
 1 will finish my letter Monday. f!od bless you ! Good 
 night ! T often see him — both him and Edward — in dreams ; 
 
 * Lines from Prometheus Unbound. — Ed.
 
 MAEY SHELLEY. 221 
 
 perhaps I shall to-night. At least, I shall not be in sleep as I 
 a:n now. The clinging present is so odious. 
 
 May Gth. 
 I finish my letter. You will soon see me in England. It is 
 not my own desire, or for my own advantage, that I go, but for 
 my boy's ; so I am fixed, and enjoy these blue skies, and the sight 
 of vines and olive groves, for the last time. I hope, indeed, to 
 return, if only for repose. The fear of the advancing season will 
 make me begin my journey as quickly as possible. I should in 
 any case have feared an Italian summer for my delicate child. 
 The climate of England will agree with him. Adieu, my dear 
 friend ! 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Mary W. Shelley. 
 
 From Godivin to Mrs. Shelley. 
 
 No. 195, Strand, May Qth, 1823. 
 
 It certainly is, my dear Mary, with great pleasure that I anti- 
 cipate that we shall once again meet. It is a long, long time now 
 since you have spent one night under my roof. Y'ou are grown a 
 woman, have been a wife, a mother, a widow. You have realized 
 talents whicli I but faintly and doubtfully anticipated. I am 
 grown an old man, and want a child of my own to smile on and 
 console me. 
 
 When you first set your foot in London, of course I expect 
 that it will be in this house ; but the bouse is smaller, one floor 
 less, than the house in Skinner-street : it will do well enough for 
 you to make shift with for a few days ; but it would not do for a 
 permanent residence. But I hope we shall at least have you near 
 us — witliin a call — how different from your being on the shores of 
 the Mediterranean ! 
 
 Y'our novel has sold five hundred copies — half the impression. 
 I ought to have written to you sooner. Your letter reached me 
 on the 18th ult. ; but I have been unusually surrounded with 
 perplexities. 
 
 Y'our affectionate father, 
 
 Wm. Godwin.
 
 222 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 Mrs. Shelley and lier child arrived in England 
 early in the autumn of 1823. After an absence in 
 Italy of nearly six years, the climate of this country 
 struck her with a painful sense of gloom and oppression ; 
 and she records in her journal her ardent desire to 
 return as soon as possible to the South. She mentions 
 that one word of the Italian language, heard by chance, 
 l)rings tears into her eyes ; though she describes Italy 
 as the murderess of those she loved, and of all her 
 happiness. 
 
 For some time after her arrival in London, ]\Trs. 
 Shelley resided with her father, who was now living in 
 the Strand ; but she subsequently removed to Kentish 
 Town, and then to Harrow, in order that she might be 
 near her son, who was being educated at the school there. 
 The expenses incidental to tuition tried her severely; 
 besides which, she contributed towards the support of 
 her aged father. But, with a noble energy of character 
 and entire self-devotion, she worked incessantly with 
 her pen, and met her liabilities by the fruits of her 
 literary industry. 
 
 The novels which she published after the death of 
 her husband were — Valperga, in 1823 ; The Last Man, 
 1824; PerUn Warheck, 1830; Lodore, 1835; and 
 FalJcner, 1837. She wrote all the Italian and Spanish 
 lives in Lardner's E^icyclopcsdia, with the exception of 
 Tasso and Galileo ; and she greatly regretted that the 
 former did not fall to her share. She also wrote two 
 volumes, under the title of Ramljles in Germamj and 
 Italy, giving an account of her travels with her son.
 
 MAEY SHELLEY. 223 
 
 liis tutor, and some other companions, in later years ; 
 contributed several short productions to the annuals; 
 and edited (1839-40) Shelley's poetical works, his letters, 
 and his prose \\T.'itings. 
 
 During the earlier days of her retm'n to England, 
 she had to fight hard against a sense of despondency, 
 which at times almost overcame her. On the 14th of 
 May, 1824, she writes in her journal: — 
 
 " Amidst all the depressing circumstances that weigh 
 upon me, none sinks deeper than the failure of my 
 intellectual powers. Nothing I write pleases me. 
 Whether I am just in this, or whether it is the want 
 of Shelley's encoirragement, I can hardly tell; but it 
 seems to me as if the lovely and sublime objects of 
 Nature had been my best inspirers, and, wanting these, 
 I am lost. Although so utterly miserable at Genoa, 
 3-et what reveries were mine as I looked on the aspect 
 of the ravine — the sunny deep and its boats — the pro- 
 montories clothed in purple light — the starry heavens — 
 the fireflies — the uprising of Spring ! Then I could 
 think ; and my imagination could invent and combine ; 
 and self became absorbed in the grandeur of the 
 universe I created. Now, my mind is a blank — a gulf 
 filled with formless mist. 'The Last Man!'* Yes, 
 I may well describe that solitary being's feelings : I feel 
 myself as the last relic of a beloved race, my com- 
 panions extinct before me. 
 
 " Mine own Shelley I what a horror you had of 
 
 She was at that time writing the novel so called.— Ed.
 
 224 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 returning to this miserable country ! To be here with- 
 out you^ is to be doubly exiled ; to be away from Italy, 
 is to lose you twice ! " 
 
 On the following day, she records the death of 
 Byron, news of which had just reached England. The 
 recollection of his association v/ith her husband, and 
 of his kindness to herself after her great calamity, 
 makes her exclaim : — " God grant I may die young ! 
 A new race is springing about me. At the age of 
 twenty-six, I am in the condition of an aged person. 
 All my old friends are gone : I have no wish to form 
 new : I cling to the few remaining ; but they slide 
 away, and my heart fails when I think by how few ties 
 I hold to the world." 
 
 Yet the sight of natural beauty could always soothe 
 her into temporary forgetfulness of grief, and at the 
 same time rouse her intellect into the activity of genius. 
 On the 8th June, 1824, she writes : — 
 
 " What a divine night it is ! A calm twilight per- 
 \ades the clear sky ; the lamp-like moon is hung out 
 in heaven, and the bright west retains the dye of 
 sunset. If such weather would continue, I should 
 again write : the lamp of thought is again illuminated 
 in my heart, and the fire descends from heaven that 
 kindles it. I feel my powers again ; and this is of 
 itself happiness. The eclipse of winter is passing from 
 my mind ; I shall again feel the enthusiastic glow of 
 composition — again, as I })0ur forth my soul upon 
 paper, feel the winged ideas arise, and enjoy the delight 
 of expressing them. Study and occupation will be a
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 225 
 
 pleasure, and not a task; and this I shall o^e to the 
 sight and companionship of trees and meadows, flowers 
 and sunshine." 
 
 Though in some measure secluded from the world, 
 Mrs. Shelley was remembered by her friends. Charles 
 Lamb, in the course of the year 1827, addressed to 
 her one of his grotesquely humorous and amusing 
 letters : — 
 
 Dear Mks. Silelley, Enfield, July 26th, 1827. 
 
 At the risk of throwing away some fine thoughts, I must 
 write to say how pleased we were with your very kind remem- 
 bering of us (who have unkindly run away from all our friends) 
 before you go. Perhaps you are gone, and then my tropes are 
 wasted. If any piece of better fortune has lighted upon you than 
 you expected, but less than we wish you, we are rejoiced. We are 
 here trying to like solitude, but have scarce enough to justify the 
 experiment. We get some, however. The six days are our Sab- 
 bath : the seventh — why. Cockneys will come for a little fresh air ; 
 and so 
 
 Eut by your month, or October at furthest, we hope to see 
 Islington ; I, like a giant refreshed with the leaving off of wine ; 
 and Mary pining for JVIr. Moxon's books and Mr. Moxon's society. 
 Then Ave shall meet. 
 
 I am busy with a farce in two acts, the incidents tragi-comic. 
 I can do the dialogue, commey for -/^ but the damn'd plot — I 
 believe I must om.it it altogether. The scenes come after one 
 another like geese, not marshalling like cranes, or a Hyde-park 
 review. The story is as simple as G. D.,f and the language plain 
 as his spouse. The characters are three women to one man ; 
 
 * French — comme ilfaut. 
 
 t Lamb here refers to an excellent, but single-minded, scholarly 
 friend of his, now dead— Mr. George Dyer, known as the author of 
 many erudite works. He was one of Lamb's stock subjects for 
 joking, and is introduced into tlic E!ia Essays. — Ed. 
 
 Q
 
 226 SHELLF.Y MEMORIALS. 
 
 •which is one more than laid hold on him in the Evangely. I 
 think that prophecy squinted towards my drama. 
 
 I want some Howard Paine to sketch a skeleton of artfully 
 succeeding; scenes through a whole play : as the courses are 
 arranged in a cookery-book. I to find wit, passion, sentiment, 
 character, and the like trifles. To lay in the dead colours ; I'd 
 Titianesque 'em up. To mark the channel in a cheek (smooth or 
 furrowed, yours or mine) ; and, where tears should course, I'd 
 draw the waters down. To say where a joke should come in, or a 
 pun be left out. To bring my persona on and off like a Beau 
 JSTash ; and I'd Frankenstein them there. To bring three together 
 on the stage at once ; they are so shy Avith me, that I can get no 
 more than two, and there they stand, till it is the time, without 
 being the season, to withdraw them. 
 
 I am teaching Emma Latin, to qualify her for a superior 
 governess-ship, which we see no prospect of her getting. 'Tis like 
 feeding a child with chopped hay from a spoon. Sisyphus his 
 labours were as nothing to it. 
 
 Actives and passives jostle in her nonsense, till a deponent 
 enters, like Chaos, more to embroil the fray. Her prepositions 
 are suppositions; her conjunctions copulative have no connection 
 in them ; her concords disagree ; her interjections' are pureh- 
 English, " Ah ! " and " Oh ! " with a yawn and a gape in the same 
 tongue ; and she herself is a lazy, blockheadly supine. As I say 
 to her, ass in prccsenti rarely makes a wise man in futuro. 
 
 But I dare saj- it was so with j^ou when you began Latin — 
 and a good while after. 
 
 Good-bye ! Mary's love. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 It was in 1833 that Mrs. Shelley first went to reside 
 at Harrow. She complains of living very solitarily 
 there, though she was cheered by seeing her son's 
 progress in his studies. All this while, she continued 
 to correspond with her old friend Mrs. Gisborne; and 
 in a letter to her, dated " Harrow, Jane 11th, 1835,'*
 
 MARY SHELLEY. 227 
 
 she gossips about her own estimate of her literarv 
 powers. She states that, -when she saw Kean on her 
 return to England, she greatly desired to write for the 
 stage, but that her father earnestly dissuaded her. 
 Nevertheless, she felt persuaded that she could have 
 written a good tragedy; but she adds that she could 
 not do so then, as her feelings were blighted, her 
 ambition gone, and her mind wrecked by loneliness. 
 
 '•' You speak of women's intellect,"' she continues : 
 '* we can scarcely do more than judge by ourselves. 
 I know that, however clever I may be, there is in me a 
 want of eagle-winged resolution, that appertains to mv 
 intellect as well as my moral character, and renders me 
 what I am — one of broken purposes, failing thoughts, 
 and a heart all wounds. jSIy mother had more energy 
 of character : still, she had not sufficient fire of imagi- 
 ]iation. In short, my belief is — whether there be sex 
 in souls or not — that the sex of our material mechanism 
 makes us quite different creatures ; better, though 
 weaker, but wanting in the higher grades of intellect. 
 I am almost sorry to send you this letter — it is so 
 querulous and sad; yet, if I write with any eflFusion, 
 the truth wUl creep out, and my life since you went 
 has been so strained by sorrows and disappointments, 
 I have no hope. In a few years, when I get over 
 my present feehngs, and live wholly in Percy, I shall be 
 happier." 
 
 William Godwin died in 1836 ; an event which, 
 though it could not have been much longer postponed, 
 as tlie philosopher had reached the age of eighty, was a 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 
 
 irreat grief to ]\Irs. Shelley^ who was tenderly attached 
 to lier father. 
 
 In the following year, her son went to Cambridge, 
 and in 1844, on the death of Sir Timothy Shelley, he 
 succeeded to the title. 
 
 But, at the same moment that happier and brighter 
 prospects seemed to open to her view, and when she 
 had made arrangements for writing the life of her 
 husband, symptoms of illness, of a threatening cha- 
 racter, showed themselves. From time to time they 
 appeared and subsided ; but gradually her old energy 
 went, and she died in London on the 21st of February, 
 1851, in the fifty-fourth year of her age. 
 
 Tlie following verses on her death appeared in the 
 Leader : — 
 
 LIXES OX THE DEATH OF MRS. SHELLEY. 
 
 Another, yet another, snatch'd away, 
 
 By Death's grasp, from among lis ! Yet one more 
 
 Of Heaven's anointed band, — a child of genius, — 
 
 A peeress, girt about Avitli magic powers, — 
 
 That could at will evoke from her Avild thought 
 
 Spirits unearthly, monster-shaped, to strike 
 
 Terror within us, and strange wonderment, — 
 
 Ptenewing, realizing, once again, 
 
 With daring fancy, on her thrilling page. 
 
 The fabled storj' of Prometheus old. 
 
 O gifted sister, lovely in thyself, 
 
 And claiming from the world the meed of love ! 
 
 How fondly art thou link'd within our breasts 
 
 With his dear memory whose name thou bear'st ; ^ 
 
 How doublv loved because entwined with him !
 
 MARY SPIELLEY. 229 
 
 Mourn her not, Earth ! her spirit, disenthralFiI, 
 No more shall droop in lonely widowhood ; 
 Its happy flight is wing'd to join again 
 In endless fellowship, 'mid brighter spheres. 
 The husband of her heart, — the bright -eyed child 
 Whom Fate tore from us in his early bloom, 
 The Poet of the Soul ! whose Orphic song, 
 Steep'd to its depths within the light divine 
 Of Nature's loveliness, and fraught all o'er 
 With struggling yearnings for the weal of man, 
 Descended on each sorrow-canker'd life 
 Like heaven's dews upon the sunburnt plain. 
 
 Mourn her not, Earth ! she is at rest with him, 
 The mighty minstrel of the impassion'd lay, — 
 The Poet-martyr of a creed too bright, 
 AVhose lofty hjannings were so oft attuned 
 Unto the music of her own pure name. 
 The theme and inspiration of his lyre. 
 
 Happy departed ones ! a brief farewell. 
 Till friend clasps friend upon the silent shore ! 
 
 E. W. L. 
 
 Edinburgh, February '24th, 1851.
 
 230 
 
 EXTRACTS 
 
 IKS. SHELLEY'S PEIVATE JOUEML. 
 
 £SoME quotations from this Journal have been made in 
 the preceding pages ; hut further extracts are here 
 appended, for the sake of the interest they possess.] 
 
 " October 2nd, 1822.~On the 8th of July I finished 
 my journaL This is a curious coincidence. The date 
 still remains — tlie fatal Stli — a monument to show that 
 all ended then. And I begin again ? Oh, never ! But 
 several motives induce me, when the day has gone down, 
 and all is silent around me, steeped in sleep, to pen, as 
 occasion wills, my reflections and feelings. First, 1 have 
 no friend. For eiglit years I communicated, with un- 
 limited freedom, with one whose genius, far transcending 
 mine, awakened and guided my thoughts. I conversed 
 with him ; rectified my errors of judgment ; obtained 
 new lights from him ; and my mind was satisfied. Now 
 I am alone — oh, how alone! Tiie stars may behold my 
 tears, and the winds drink my sighs ; but my thoughts
 
 EXTRACTS FROM MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL. 231 
 
 are a sealed treasure, which I can confide to none. But 
 can I express all I feel ? Can I give words to thoughts 
 and feelings that, as a tempest, hurry me along ? Is 
 this the sand that the ever-flowino; sea of thouo;ht would 
 impress indelibly ? Alas ! I am alone. No eye answers 
 mine ; my voice can with none assume its natural mo- 
 dulation. What a change ! O my beloved Shelley ! 
 how often during those happy days — happy, though 
 chequered — I thought how superiorly gifted I had been 
 in being united to one to whom I could unveil myself, 
 and who could understand me ! Well, then, I am now 
 reduced to these white pages, which I am to blot with 
 dark imagery. As I write, let me think what he would 
 have said if, speaking thus to him, he could have 
 answered me. Yes, m}' own heart, I would fain know 
 what you think of my desolate state ; what you think I 
 ought to do, what to think. I guess you would answer 
 thus : — ' Seek to know youi* own heart, and, learning 
 what it best loves, try to enjoy that.' Well, I cast my 
 eyes around, and, looking forward to the bounded pro- 
 spect in view, I ask myself what pleases me there ? My 
 child; — so many feelings arise when I think of him, that 
 I turn aside to think no more. Those I most loved arc 
 gone for ever; those who held the second nuik are 
 absent ; and among those near me as yet, I trust to the 
 disinterested kindness of one alone. Beneath all this, 
 my imagination ever flags. Literary labours, the im- 
 provement of my mind, and the enlargement of my 
 ideas, are the only occupations that elevate me from my 
 lethargy : all events seem to lead me to that one point.
 
 232 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 and the courses of destiny, having dra£:;ged me to that 
 single resting-phace, have left me. Father, mother, 
 friend, husband, children — all made, as it were, the team 
 that conducted me here ; and now all except you, my 
 poor boy fand you are necessary to the continuance of 
 my life), all are gone, and I am left to fulfil my task. 
 So be it ! 
 
 '• Octoher 5th. — Well, tliey are come;* and it is all 
 as 1 said. I awoke as from sleep, and thought how I 
 had vegetated these last days ; for feeling leaves little 
 trace on the memory if it be, like mine, unvaried. I 
 had felt for and with myself alone, and I awake now to 
 take a part in life. As far as others are concerned, my 
 sensations have been most painful. I must work hard 
 amidst the vexations that I perceive are preparing for 
 me — to preserve my peace and tranquillity of mind. I 
 must preserve some, if I am to live ; for, since I bear at 
 the bottom of my heart a fathomless well of bitter 
 waters, the worldngs of which my philosophy is ever at 
 work to repress, v*'hat will be my fate if the petty vexa- 
 tions of life are added to this sense of eternal and infinite 
 misery ? 
 
 " Oh, my child ! Avhat is your fate to be ? You alone 
 reach me; you are the only chain that links me to time; 
 but for you, I should be free. And yet I cannot be des- 
 tined to live long. Well, I shall commence my task, 
 commemorate the virtues of the only creature worth 
 
 * Leigh Hunt and his family. — Ed.
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 233 
 
 loving or living for, and then, maybe, I ma}- join liini. 
 Moonshine may be united to her planet, and wander no 
 more, a sad reflection of all she loved on earth. 
 
 " October 7th. — I have received my desk to-day, and 
 have been reading my letters to mine own Shelley 
 during his absences at jMarlow. What a scene to recur 
 to ! j\Iy "William, Clara, Allegra, are all tallced of. 
 They lived then, they breathed this air, and their voices 
 struck on my sense ; their feet trod the earth beside me, 
 and their hands were warm with blood and life when 
 clasped in mine. Where are they all ? This is too 
 great an agony to be written about. I may express 
 my despair, but my thoughts can find no words. 
 
 * # * * * 
 
 " I would endeavour to consider myself a feint con- 
 tinuation of his being, and, as fer as possible, the revela- 
 tion to the earth of what he was. Yet, to become this, 
 I must change much, and above all I must acquire that 
 knowledge, and drink at those fountains of wisdom and 
 virtue, from which he quenched his thirst. Hitherto I 
 have done nothing; yet I have not been discontented 
 with myself. I speak of the period of my residence 
 here. For, although unoccupied by those studies wdiich 
 I have marked out for myself, my mind has been so 
 active, that its activity, and not its indolence, has made 
 me neglectful. But now the society of others causes 
 this perpetual working of my ideas somewhat to pause ; 
 and I must take advantage of this to tm-n my mind 
 towards its immediate duties, and to detennine witli
 
 234 EXTRACTS i'ROM 
 
 firmness to commence the life I have planned. You will 
 be with me in all my studies, dearest love ! Your voice 
 will no longer applaud me, but in spirit you will visit 
 and encourage me : I know you will. What were I, if 
 I did not believe that you still exist ? It is not with you 
 as with another. I believe that we all live hereafter ; 
 but you, my only one, were a spirit caged, an elemental 
 being, enshrined in a frail image, now shattered. Do 
 they not all with one voice assert the same ? Trelawny, 
 Hunt, and many others. And so at last you quitted this 
 painful prison, and you are free, my Shelley ; wliile I, 
 your poor chosen one, am left to live as I may. 
 
 " What a strange life mine has been ! Love, youth, 
 fear, and fearlessness, led me early from the regular 
 routine of life, and I united myself to this being, who, 
 not one of us, though like to us, was pursued by num- 
 berless miseries and annoyances, in all which I shared. 
 And then I was the mother of beautiful children ; but 
 these stayed not by me. Still he was there; and though, 
 in truth, after my William's death, this world seemed 
 only a quicksand, sinking beneath my feet, yet beside 
 me was this bank of refuge — so tempest-worn and frail, 
 that methought its very weakness was strength, and, 
 since Nature had written destruction on its brow, so the 
 Power that rules human affairs had determined, in spite 
 of Nature, that it should endure. But that is gone. 
 His voice can no longer be heard ; the earth no longer 
 receives the shadow of his form ; annihilation has come 
 over the earthly appearance of the most gentle creature 
 that ever yet breathed this air ; and I am still here — still
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 235 
 
 thinking, existing, all but hoping. Well, I will close my 
 book : to-morrow I must begin this new life of mine. 
 
 " October 19i/t. — How painful all change becomes to 
 one who, entirely and despotically engrossed by then* 
 own feelings, leads as it were an internal life, quite 
 different from the outward and apparent one ! Whilst 
 my life continues its monotonous course within sterile 
 banks, an under-current disturbs the smooth face of the 
 waters, distorts all objects reflected in it, and the mind 
 is no longer a mirror in which outward events may 
 reflect themselves, but becomes itself the painter and 
 creator. If this perpetual activity has power to vary 
 with endless change the every-day occurrences of a 
 most monotonous life, it appears to be animated with 
 the spirit of tempest and hurricane when any real 
 occurrence diversifies the scene. Thus, to-night, a few 
 bars of a known air seemed to be as a wind to rouse 
 from its depths every deep-seated emotion of my mind. 
 1 would have given worlds to have sat, my eyes closed, 
 and listened to them for yeai-s. The restraint I was 
 under caused these feelings to vary wdth rapidity ; but 
 the words of the conversation, uninteresting as they 
 might be, seemed all to convey two senses to me, and, 
 touching a chord witliin me, to form a music of which 
 the speaker was little aware. I do not think that any 
 person's voice has the same power of awakening melan- 
 choly in me as Albe's.* I have been accustomed, when 
 hearing it, to listen and to speak little ; another voice, 
 * Lord Byron's.— Ed.
 
 236 EXTEACTS PROM 
 
 not mine, ever replied — a voice Avliose strings are 
 broken. When Albe ceases to speak, I expect to hear 
 that other voice, and, when I hear another instead, it 
 jars straiigely with every association. I have seen so 
 little of Al])c since our residence in Switzerland, and, 
 having seen him there every day, his voice — a peculiar 
 one — is engraved on my memory with other sounds and 
 objects from which it can never disunite itself. I have 
 heard Hunt in company and conversation with many, 
 when my own one was not there. Trelawny, perhaps, 
 is associated in my mind with Edward* more than with 
 Shelley. Even our older friends, Peacock and Hogg, 
 might talk together, or with others, and their voices 
 would suggest no change to w.q. But, since incapacity 
 and timidity always j^revented my mingling in the 
 nightly conversations of Diodati, they were, as it were, 
 entirely tete-a-tete between my Shelley and Albe ; and 
 thus, as I have said, when Albe speaks and Shelley does 
 not answer, it is as thunder without rain — the form of 
 the sun without heat or light — as any fomiliar object 
 might be, shorn of its best attributes ; and I listen with 
 an unspeakal)le melancholy that yet is not all pain. 
 
 " The above explains that which would otherwise be 
 an enigma — why Alb6, by his mere presence and voice, 
 has the power of exciting such deep and shifting emo- 
 tions within me. For my feelings have no analogy 
 either with my opinion of him, or the subject of his 
 conversation. With another I might talk, and not for 
 the moment think of Shelley — at least not think of him 
 * Williams.
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PEIVATE JOURNAL. 237 
 
 AA-itli the same vividness as if I were alone ; but, when 
 in company v.'itli Albe, I can never cease for a second to 
 have Shelley in my heart and brain, with a clearness 
 that mocks reality — interfering, even, by its force, with 
 the functions of life — until, if tears do not relieve me, 
 the hvsterical feelino-, analoo-ous to that which the 
 murmur of the sea gives me, presses painfully upon me. 
 " Well, for the first time for about a month, I have 
 been in company Avith Albe for two hours, and, coming 
 home, I write this, so necessary is it for me to express 
 in vrords the force of my feelings. Shelley, beloved I I 
 look at the stars and at all nature, and it speaks to me 
 of you in the clearest accents. Why cannot you answer 
 me, my own one? Is the instrument so utterly de- 
 stroyed ? I would endure ages of pain to hear one tone 
 of your voice strike on my ear ! 
 
 '• November lOth. — I have made my first probation in 
 writing, and it has done me much good, and I get more 
 calm; the stream begins to take to its new channel, inas- 
 much as to make me fear change. But people must 
 know little of me who tliink that, abstractedly, I am 
 content with my present mode of life. Activity of 
 spirit is my sphere. But we cannot be active of mind 
 without an object ; and I have none. I am allowed to 
 have some talent — that is sufHcient, methinks, to cause 
 my irreparable misery ; for, if one has genius, what a 
 delight it is to associate with a superior ! Mine own 
 Shelley ! the sun knows of none to be likened to you— 
 brave, wise, gentle, noble-hearted, full of learning, toler-
 
 238 EXTRACTS FEOM 
 
 ance, and love. Love ! Avhat a word for me to write I 
 Yet, my miserable heart, permit me yet to love — to see 
 him in beauty, to feel him in beauty, to be interpene- 
 trated by the sense of his excellence ; and thus to love, 
 singly, eternally, ardently, and not fruitlessly ; for I am 
 still his — still the chosen one of that blessed sj)irit — still 
 vowed to him for ever and ever ! 
 
 " Novemhe?' 1 1 th. — It is better to grieve than not to 
 grieve. Grief at least tells me that I was not always 
 what I am now. I was once selected for happiness : let 
 the memory of that abide by me. You pass by an old 
 ruined house in a desolate lane, and heed it not. But 
 if you hear that that house is haunted by a wild and 
 beautiful spirit, it acquires an interest and beauty of 
 its own. 
 
 " I shall be glad to be more alone ngain : one ought 
 to see no one, or many ; and, confined to one society, I 
 shall lose all energy except that which I possess from 
 my own resources ; and I must be alone for these to be 
 put in activity. 
 
 " A cold heart ! Have I a cold heart ? God knows ! 
 But none need envy the icy region this heart encircles ; 
 and at least the tears are hot which the emotions of this 
 cold heart forces me to shed. A cold heart ! Yes, it 
 would be cold enouo;h if all were as I wished it— cold, 
 or burning in that flame for whose sake I forgive this, 
 and would forgive every other imputation — that flame 
 in which your heart, beloved, lay unconsumed. My 
 heart is very full to-night !
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PRLVATE JOURNAL. 239 
 
 " I shall write his life, and thus occupy myself in the 
 only manner from which I can derive consolation. That 
 will be a task that may convey some balm. What 
 though I weep ? All is better than inaction and — not 
 forgetfulness — that never is — but an inactivity of 
 remembrance. 
 
 "And you, mj OAvn boy! I am about to begin a 
 task which, if you live, will be an invaluable treasure 
 to you in after times. I must collect my materials, and 
 then, in the commemoration of the divine virtues of 
 your father, I shall fulfil the only act of pleasure there 
 remains for me, and be ready to follow you, if you 
 leave me, my task being fulfilled. I have lived : 
 rapture, exultation, content — all the varied changes of 
 enjoyment — have been mine. It is all gone ; l)ut still, 
 the airy paintings of what it has gone through float by, 
 and distance shall not dim them. If I were alone, I had 
 already begun what I have determined to do ; but I 
 must have patience, and for those events my memory is 
 brass, my thoughts a never-tired engraver. France — 
 Poverty — A few days of solitude, and some uneasiness 
 — A tranquil residence in a beautiful spot — Switzerland 
 ^Bath — Marlow— Milan — The Baths of Lucerne — 
 Este — Venice — Rome — Naples — Rome and miser v — 
 Leghorn— Florence— Pisa— Solitude— The Williamses 
 — The Baths— Pisa : these are the heads of chapters, 
 and each containing a tale romantic beyond romance- 
 
 " I no longer enjoy, but I love ! Death cannot deprive 
 me of that living spark which feeds on all given it, and 
 which is now triumphant in sorrow. I love, and shall
 
 240 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 onjoy happiness ao'ain : I do not douht that — but 
 Avhcn ? 
 
 " December o\st. — So, this year has come to an end ! 
 Shelley, beloved ! the year has a new name from any 
 thou kncwest. When spring arrives, leaves you never 
 saw will shadow the ground, and flowers you never be- 
 lield will star it ; the grass will be of another growth, 
 and the birds sing a new song ; the aged earth dates 
 Avith a new number. 
 
 " I trust in a hereafter — I have ever done so. I know 
 that that shall be mine — even with thee, glorious spirit! 
 Avho surely lookest on, pitiest, and lovest thy Mary. 
 
 " I love thee, my only one ; I love nature ; and I 
 trust that I love all that is good in my fellow-creatures. 
 But how changed I am ! Last year, having you, I 
 sought for the affection of others, and loved them even 
 A\-hen unjust and cold ; but now my heai't is truly iced. 
 If they treat me well, I am grateful. Yes, when that is, 
 I call thee to witness in how warm a gush my blood 
 flows to my heart, and tears to my eyes. But I am a 
 lonely, imloved thing, serious and absorbed. None care 
 to read my sorrow. 
 
 " Sometimes I thought that fortune had relented 
 towards us — that your health would have improved, and 
 that fame and joy would have been yours ; for, when 
 wpll, you extracted from nature alone an endless delight. 
 The various threads of our existence seemed to be draw- 
 ing to one point, and there to assume a cheerful hue. i 
 
 " Again, I think that your gentle spirit was too much
 
 MES. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 241 
 
 wounded by tlie sharpnesses of this world; that your 
 disease was incurable; and that, in a happy time, you 
 l^ecame the partaker of cloudless day, ceaseless hours, 
 and infinite love. 
 
 " Thy name is added to the list which makes the earth 
 bold in her age and proud of what has been. Time, 
 Avith unwearied but slow feet, guides her to that goal 
 that thou hast reached ; and I, her unhappy child, am 
 advanced still nearer the liour vrhen my earthly dress 
 shall repose near thine, beneath the tomb of Cestius. 
 
 •' Fehruary 2nd, 1823.— On the 21st of January, those 
 rites were Mfilled. Shelley ! my own beloved ! You 
 rest beneath the blue sky of Rome ; in that, at least, I 
 am satisfied. 
 
 " What matters it that they cannot find the graA'e of 
 my William ? That spot is sanctified by the presence of 
 his pure earthh' vesture, and that is sufficient — at least, 
 it must be. I am too truly miserable to dwell on what 
 at another time might have made me unhappy. He is 
 beneath the tomb of Cestius. I see the spot. 
 
 '^Fehruary ?yrd. — A storm has come across me; a 
 slight circumstance has disturbed the deceitful calm of 
 which I boasted. I thought I heard my Shelley call me 
 — not my Shelley in heaven, — but my Shelley, my 
 companion in my daily tasks. I was reading ; I heard 
 a voice say, ' Mary ! ' 'It is Shelley,' I thought : the 
 revulsion was of agony. Never more 
 
 " But I have better hopes and other feelings. Yoiu' 
 
 K
 
 242 EXTRACTS FKOM 
 
 earthly shrine is shattered, but your spirit ever hovers 
 over me, or awaits me when I shall be worthy to join it. 
 To that spirit which, when imprisoned here, yet showed, 
 by its exalted nature, its superior derivation * 
 
 *' Fehruary 2-i:th. — Evils throng around me, my be- 
 loved, and I have indeed lost all in losing thee. Were 
 it not for my child, this would rather be a soothing re- 
 flection, and, if starvation were ray fate, I should fulfil 
 that fate without a sigh. But our child demands all my 
 care now that you have left us. I must be all to him : 
 the father, death has deprived him of; the relations, the 
 bad world permits him not to have. What is yet in 
 store for me ? Am I to close the eyes of our boy, and 
 then join you ? 
 
 " The last Aveeks have been spent in quiet. Study 
 could not give repose to, but somewhat regulated, my 
 thoughts. I said : ' I lead an innocent life, and it may 
 become a useful one. I have talent, I will improve that 
 talent ; and if, while meditating on the wisdom of ages, 
 and storing my mind with all that has been recorded of 
 it, any new light bursts upon me, or any discovery 
 occurs that may be useful to my fellows, then the balm 
 of utility may be added to innocence.' 
 
 " What is it that moves up and down in my soul, and 
 makes me feel as if my intellect could master all but my 
 fate ? I fear it is only youthful ardom* — the yet un- 
 tamed spirit which, wholly withdrawn from the hopes, 
 
 * This sentence, like that at the end of the preceding paragraph, 
 appears to have been left incomplete. — Ed.
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 243 
 
 and almost from the affections, of life, indulges itself in 
 the onlj walk free to it, and, mental exertion being all 
 my thought except regret, would make me place my 
 hopes in that. I am indeed become a recluse in thought 
 and act ; and my mind, turned heavenward, w^ould, but 
 for my only tie, lose all commune with what is around 
 me. If I be proud, yet it is with humility that I am 
 so. I am not vain. My heart shakes with its sup- 
 pressed emotions, and I flag beneath the thoughts that 
 possess me. 
 
 " Each day, as I have taken my solitary walk, I have 
 felt myself exalted with the idea of occupation, improve- 
 ment, knowledge, and peace. Looking back to my past 
 life . as a delicious dream, I steeled myself as well as I 
 could ao-ainst such severe regrets as should overthrow 
 my calmness. Once or twice, pausing in my walk, I 
 have exclaimed in despair' — ' Is it even so ? ' Yet, for 
 the most part resigned, I was occupied by reflection — on 
 those ideas you, my beloved, planted in my mind — and 
 meditated on our nature, our source, and our destination. 
 To-day, melancholy would invade me, and I thought the 
 peace I enjoyed was transient. Then that letter came to 
 place its seal on my prognostications.* Yet it was not 
 the refusal, or the insult heaped upon me, that stung me 
 to tears. It was their bitter words about our boy. Why, 
 I live only to keep him from their hands. How dared 
 
 *• Mrs. Shelley here alludes to a letter from Sir Timothy to Lord 
 Byron (who had written to him on behalf of his son's widow), in 
 which the baronet undertook to support his infant grandson, if the 
 mother would part with him. — Ed. 
 
 B 2
 
 244 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 they dream that I held him not far more i:)recIous than 
 
 all, save the hope of again seeing you, my lost one. But 
 
 for his smiles, where should I now be ? 
 
 " Stars, that shine miclouded, ye cannot tell me what 
 
 will be ! Yet can I tell you a part. I may have mis- 
 givings, weaknesses, and momentary lapses into un- 
 worthy despondency; but — save in devotion towards my 
 boy — fortune has emptied her quiver, and to all her 
 future shafts I oppose courage, hopelessness of aught on 
 tills side, with a firm trust in what is be^'ond the grave. 
 "Visit me in my dreams to-night, my beloved Shelley! 
 kind, loving, excellent as thou wert ! and the event of 
 this day shall be forgotten. 
 
 "March l^tli. — As I have mitil now recurred to this 
 book to discharge into it the overflowings of a mind too 
 full of the bitterest waters of life, so will I to-night, that 
 I am calm, put down some of my milder reveries; that, 
 when I tm-n it over, I may not only find a record of the 
 most painful thoughts that ever filled a human heart 
 even to distraction. 
 
 " I am beginning seriously to educate myself ; and in 
 another place I have marked the scope of this somewhat 
 tardy education, intellectually considered. In a moral 
 point of view, this education is of some years' standing, 
 and it only now takes the form of seeking its food in 
 books. I have long accustomed myself to the study of 
 my own heart, and have sought and found in its recesses 
 that which cannot embody itself in words — hardly in 
 feelings. I have found strength in the conception of its
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 245 
 
 faculties; much native force in the understanding of 
 them; and what appears to me not a contemptible pene- 
 tration in the subtle divisions of good and evil. But I 
 have found less strength of self-support, of resistance to 
 what is vvdgarly called temptation ; yet I think also that 
 I have found true humility (for surely no one can be 
 less presumptuous than I), an ardent love for the immu- 
 table laws of right, much native goodness of emotion, 
 and purit}' of thought. 
 
 " Enough, if every day I gain a profomider laiow- 
 ledge of my defects, and a more certain method of 
 turning them to a good direction. 
 
 " Study has become to me more necessary than the 
 air I breathe. In the questioning and searching turn it 
 gives to my thoughts, I find some relief to wild reverie ; 
 in the self-satisfaction I feel in commanding myself, I 
 find present solace ; in the hope that thence arises, that 
 I may become more worthy of my Shelley, I find a con- 
 solation that even makes me less wretched in my most 
 wretched moments. 
 
 ''March SOth. — I have now finished })art of the 
 Odyssey. I mark this. I cannot write. Day after day 
 I suffer the most tremendous agitation. I cannot write, 
 or read, or think. Whether it be the anxiety for letters 
 that shakes a frame not so strong as hitherto — Avhether 
 it be my annoyances here — whether it be my regrets, 
 my sorrow, and despair, or all these — I know not ; but 
 I am a wreck. 
 
 "3/a?/ o\st. — The lanes are filled with fireflies ; tliey
 
 246 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 dart between tlie tninks of the trees, and people the 
 land with earth-stars. I walked among them to-night, 
 and descended towards the sea. I passed by the ruined 
 church, and stood on the platform tliat overlooks the 
 beach. The black rocks were stretched out among the 
 blue waters, which dashed with no impetuous motion 
 against them. The dark boats, with their white sails, 
 glided gently over its surface, and the star-enlightened 
 promontories closed in the bay : below, amid the crags, 
 I heard the monotonous, but harmonious, voices of the 
 fishermen. 
 
 " How beautiful these shores, and this sea ! Such is 
 the scene — such the waves within which my beloved 
 vanished fi*om mortality ! 
 
 " The time is drawing near when I must quit this 
 comitry. It is true that, in the situation I now am, Italy 
 is but the corpse of the enchantress that she was. Be- 
 sides, if I had stayed here, the state of things would have 
 been different. The idea of our child's advantage alone 
 enables me to keep fixed in my resolution to return to 
 England. It is best for liim — and I go. 
 
 " Four years ago, we lost our darling William ; four 
 years ago, in excessive agony, I called for death to free 
 me from all I felt that I should suffer here. I continue 
 to live, and tliou art gone. I leave Italy, and the few 
 that still remain to me. That, I regret less ; for our 
 intercourse is [so] much chequered with all of dross 
 that this earth so delights to blend with kindness and 
 sympathy, that I long for solitude, with the exercise of 
 such affections as still remain to me. A^vay, I shall be
 
 MKS. SHELLEY'S PKIVATE JOURNAL. 247 
 
 conscious that these friends love me, and none can then 
 
 gainsay the pure attachment which chiefly clings to 
 
 them, because they knew and loved you — because I 
 
 knew them when with you, and I cannot think of them 
 
 without feeling your spu'it beside me. 
 
 " I camiot grieve for you, beloved Shelley ; I grieve 
 
 for thy friends — for the world — for thy child — most for 
 
 myself, enthroned in thy love, growing wiser and better 
 
 beneath thy gentle influence, taught by you the highest 
 
 philosojDhy — your pupil, fi'iend, lover, wife, mother of 
 
 your children ! The glory of the dream is gone. I am 
 
 a cloud from which the light of sunset has j)assed. 
 
 Give me patience in the present struggle. Meum cor- 
 
 dium cor ! Good night ! 
 
 I would give 
 All that I am to be as thou now art ; 
 But I am chain'd to time, and cannot thence depart.* 
 
 " Octoher2\st, 1838. — I have been so often abused by 
 jDretended friends for my lukewarmness in * the good 
 cause,' that, though I disdain to answer them, I shall 
 put down here a few thoughts on this subject. I am 
 much of a self-examiner. Vanity is not my fault, I 
 think : if it is, it is uncomfortable vanity, for I have 
 none that teaches me to be satisfied with myself ; far 
 otherwise, — and, if I use the word disdain, it is that I 
 think my qualities (such as they are) not appreciated, 
 from unworthy causes. 
 
 * Adonais. — Ed.
 
 248 EXTKACTS FROM 
 
 " In the first place, with regard to ' the good cause' — 
 the cause of the advancement of freedom and know- 
 ledge, of the rights of Avomen, &c. — I am not a person 
 of opinions. 1 have said elsewhere that human beings 
 differ greatly in this. Some liave a passion for reform- 
 ing the world; others do not cling to particular opinio)is. 
 That my parents and Shelley were of the former class, 
 makes me respect it. I respect such when joined to 
 real disinterestedness, toleration, and a clear under- 
 standing. My accusers, after such as these, appear to 
 me mere drivellers. For myself, I earnestly desire the 
 good and enlightenment of my fellow-creatures, and 
 see all, in the present course, tending to the same, 
 and rejoice ; but I am not for violent extremes, wdiich 
 only bring on an injurious reaction. I have never 
 written a word in disfavour of liberalism : that I have 
 not supported it openly in writing, arises from the 
 following causes, as far as I know : — 
 
 " That I have not argumentative powers : I see things 
 pretty clearly, but cannot demonstrate them. Besides, 
 I feel the counter arguments too strongly. I do not feel 
 that I could say aught to support the cause efficiently ; 
 besides that, on some topics (especially with regard to 
 my own sex), I am far from making up my mind. 
 I believe w'e are sent here to educate oui'selves, and 
 that self-denial, and disappointment, and self-control, 
 are a part of our education; that it is not by taking 
 away all restraining law that our improvement is to be 
 achieved ; and, though many things need great amend- 
 ment, I can by no means go so far as my friends would
 
 MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 249 
 
 have me. When I feel tliat I can say what will benefit 
 my fellow-creatures, I will speak : not before. 
 
 " Then, I recoil from the vulgar abuse of the inimical 
 press ; I do more than recoil : proud and sensitive, I act 
 on the defensive — an inglorious position. 
 
 " To hang back, as I do, brings a penalty. I was 
 nursed and fed with a love of glory. To be some- 
 thing great and good was the precept given me by 
 my father : Shelley reiterated it. Alone and poor, 
 I could only be something by joining a party ; and 
 there was much in me — the woman's love of looking 
 up, and being guided, and being willing to do anything 
 if any one supported and brought me forward — which 
 would have made me a good partisan. But Shelley 
 died, and I was alone. My father, from age and 
 domestic circumstances, could not ' me faire valoirJ' 
 !My total friendlessness, my horror of pushing, and 
 inability to put myself forward unless led, cherished, 
 and supported, — all this has smik me in a state of lone- 
 liness no other human being ever before, I believe, 
 endured — except Robinson Crusoe. How many tears 
 and spasms of anguish this solitude has cost me, lies 
 buried in my memory. 
 
 " If I had ra^■ed and ranted about what I did not 
 understand ; had I adopted a set of opinions, and propa- 
 gated them with enthusiasm; had I been careless of 
 attack, and eager for notoriety : then the party to Avhich 
 I belonged had gathered round me, and I had not been 
 alone. 
 
 " It has been the fashion with these same friends tu
 
 250 EXTRACTS FROM 
 
 accuse me of woiidliness. There, indeed, in my own 
 lieart and conscience, I take a high ground. I may 
 distrust my own judgment too much — be too indolent 
 and too timid ; but in conduct I am above merited 
 blame. 
 
 " I hke society ; I believe all persons who have any 
 talent (who are in good health) do. The soil that 
 gives forth nothing, may lie ever fallow ; but that 
 which produces — however humble its product — needs 
 cultivation, change of harvest, refreshing dews, and 
 ripening sun. Books do much ; but the living inter- 
 course is the vital heat. Debarred fi'om that, how have 
 I pined and died ! 
 
 " My early friends chose the position of enemies. 
 When I first discovered that a trusted friend had acted 
 falsely by me, I was nearly destroyed. My health was 
 shaken. I remember thinking, with a burst of agonizing 
 tears, that I should prefer a bed of torture to the 
 unutterable anguish a friend's falsehood engendered. 
 There is no resentment ; but the world can never be 
 to me what it was before. Trust, and confidence, and 
 the heart's sincere devotion, are gone. 
 
 " I sought at that time to make acquaintances— to 
 divert my mind from this anguish. I got entangled 
 in various ways through my ready sympathy and too 
 eager heart ; but I never crouched to society — never 
 sought it unworthily. If I have never written to vin- 
 dicate the Rights of Women, I have ever befriended 
 women when oppressed. At every risk, I have be- 
 friended and supported victims to the social system ;
 
 MES. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 251 
 
 but I make no boast, for in truth it is simple justice I 
 perform ; and so I am still reviled for being worldly. 
 
 " God grant, a liaj)pier and a better day is near ! 
 Percy — my all-in-all, — will, I trust, by his excellent 
 understanding, his clear, bright, sincere spirit and aflfec- 
 tionate heart, repay me for sad long years of desolation. 
 His career may lead me into the thick of life, or only 
 gild a quiet home. I am content with either, and, as 
 I grow older, I grow more fearless for myself — I become 
 firmer in my opinions. The experienced, the suffering, 
 the thoughtful, may at last speak uiu-ebuked. If it 
 be the will of God that I live, I may ally my name 
 yet to ' the good cause ' — though I do not expect to 
 please my accusers. 
 
 " Thus have I put do\\Ti my thoughts. I may have 
 deceived myself; I may be in the wrong : I try to 
 examine myself; and such as I have written appears 
 to me the exact truth. 
 
 " Enough of this ! The great work of life goes on. 
 Death draws near. To be better after death than in 
 hfe, is one's hope and endeavour — to be so through 
 self-schooling. If I write the above, it is that those 
 who love me may hereafter know that I am not aU 
 to blame, nor merit the heavy accusations cast on me 
 for not putting myself forward. I cannot do that ; it 
 is against my nature. As well cast me from a precipice, 
 and rail at me for not flying."
 
 ESSAY ON CHEISTIANITY. 
 
 BY SHELLEY. 
 
 NOW FIRST PRINTED.
 
 The reader will observe some unfinished sentences in the course 
 of this essay ; but it has been thought advisable to print it exactly 
 as it was found, with the exception of a few conjectural words 
 inserted between brackets. — Ed.
 
 ESSAY ON CHKISTIANITY. 
 
 The Being who has mfluenced in the most memorable 
 manner the opinions and the fortmies of the hmiian 
 species, is Jesus Christ. At this day, his name is con- 
 nected with the devotional feelings of two hundred 
 millions of the race of man. The institutions of the 
 most civilized portion of the globe derive their authority 
 from the sanction of his doctrines ; he is the hero, the 
 God, of our popular religion. His extraordinary genius, 
 the wide and rapid eflPect of his unexampled doctrines, 
 his mvincible gentleness and benignity, the devoted love 
 borne to him by his adherents, suggested a persuasion 
 to them that he was something divine. The super- 
 natm-al events which the liistorians of this wonderful 
 man subsequently asserted to have been connected with 
 every gradation of his career, estabhshed the opinion. 
 
 His death is said to have been accompanied by an 
 accmnulation of tremendous prodigies. Utter dark- 
 ness fell upon the earth, blottmg the noonday sun; 
 dead bodies, arising from their graves, walked tlu'ough 
 the public streets, and an earthquake shook the 
 astonished citv, renduig the rocks of the smTound-
 
 256 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 ing mountains. The pliilosoplier may attribute the 
 application of these events to the death of a reformer, 
 or the events themselves to a visitation of that universal 
 
 Pan who 
 
 ***** 
 
 The thoughts Avhich the word "God" suggests to the 
 human mind are susceptible of as many variations as 
 human minds themselves. The Stoic, the Piatonist, 
 and the Epicurean, the Polytheist, the Dualist, and the 
 Trinitarian, differ infinitely in their conceptions of its 
 meaning. They agree only in considering it the most 
 awful and most venerable of names, as a common term 
 devised to express all of mystery, or majesty, or power, 
 Avhich the invisible world contains. And not only has 
 every sect distinct conceptions of the application of this 
 }iame, but scarcely tv/o individuals of the same sect, 
 who exercise in any degree the freedom of their judg- 
 ment, or yield themselves with any candour of feeling 
 to the influences of the visible world, find perfect coin- 
 cidence of opinion to exist between them. It is [inter- 
 esting] to inquire in what acceptation Jesus Christ 
 employed this term. 
 
 We may conceive his mind to have been predisposed 
 on this subject to adopt the opinions of his countrymen. 
 Every human l)eing is indebted for a multitude of his 
 sentiments to the relin;ion of his earlv years. Jesus 
 Christ probably [studied] the historians of his country 
 with the ardour of a s])irit seeking after truth. They 
 were undoubtedly the companions of his childish years, 
 the food and nutriment and materials of his youthful
 
 ESSAY OX CHRISTIANITY. 257 
 
 meditations. The sublime dramatic poem entitled Joh 
 had familiarized his imao-ination with the boldest imagery- 
 afforded by the human mind and the material world. 
 Ecclesiastes had diffused a seriousness and solemnity- 
 over the frame of his spirit, glowing with youthful hope, 
 and [had] made audible to his listening heart 
 
 The still, sad music of humanity, 
 
 Not harsh or grating, but of ample power 
 
 To chasten and subdue. 
 
 He had contemplated this name as having been pro- 
 fanely perverted to the sanctioning of the most enormous 
 and abominable crimes. We can distinctly trace, in the 
 tissue of his doctrines, the persuasion that God is some 
 universal Being, differing from man and the mind of 
 man. According to Jesus Christ, 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 and moon and stars. He is neither 
 the Proteus nor the Pan of the material world. But 
 the word God, according to the acceptation of Jesus 
 Christ, unites all the attrilmtcs which these denomina- 
 tions contain, and is the [interpoint] and overruling 
 Spirit of all the energy and wisdom included within the 
 circle of existing things. It is important to observe 
 that the author of the Christian system had a concep- 
 tion widely differing from the gross imaginations of the 
 vulgar relatively to the ruling Power of the universe. 
 
 3
 
 258 ESSAY OX CHRISTI^VNITY. 
 
 He everywhere represents this Power as something 
 mysteriously and illimitably pervading the frame of 
 things. Nor do his doctrines practically assume any 
 proposition which they theoretically deny. They do 
 not represent God as a limitless and inconceivable 
 mystery ; affirming, at the same time, his existence as a 
 
 Being subject to passion and capable 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
 God." Blessed are those who have preserved internal 
 sanctity of soul ; who are conscious of no secret deceit ; 
 who are the same in act as they are in desire ; who con- 
 ceal no thought, no tendencies of thought, from their 
 own conscience ; who are faithful and sincere witnesses, 
 before the tribunal of their own judgments, of all that 
 passes within their mind. Such as these shall see God. 
 What! after death, shall their awakened eyes behold 
 the King of Heaven ? Shall they stand in awe before 
 the golden tlu'one on which He sits, and gaze upon the 
 venerable countenance of the paternal Monarch? Is 
 this the reward of the virtuous and the pure ? These 
 are the idle dreams of the visionary, or the pernicious 
 representations of impostors, who have fabricated from 
 the very materials of wisdom a cloak for their own 
 dwarfish or imbecile conceptions. 
 
 Jesus Christ has said no more than the most excellent 
 philosophers have felt and expressed — that vu-tue is its 
 own reward. It is true that such an expression as he 
 has used was prompted by the energy of genius, and 
 was the overflowing enthusiasm of a poet; but it is not r
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 259 
 
 tlie less literally true [because] clearly repugnant to the 
 mistaken conceptions of the multitude. God, it has 
 heen asserted, was contemplated by Jesus Christ as 
 every poet and every philosopher must have contem- 
 plated that mysterious principle. He considered that ' 
 venerable word to express the overruling Spii'it of the 
 collective energy of the moral and material world. He / 
 affirms, therefore, no more than that a simple, sincere 
 mind is the indispensable requisite of true science and 
 true happiness. He affirms that a being of pure and 
 gentle habits will not fail, in every thought, in every 
 object of every thought, to be aware of benignant visitings \j/^ -J" 
 from the invisible energies by which he is surrounded. i\/*" * 
 
 Whosoever is free from the contamination of luxury 
 and licence, may go forth to the fields and to the woods, / 
 inhaling joyous renovation from the breath of Spring, ^ < V 
 or catching from the odours and sounds of Autumn 
 some diviner mood of sweetest sadness, wliich improves 
 the softened heart. Whosoever is no deceiver or Y ^ 
 destroyer of liis fellow-men — no liar, no flatterer, no ^ jU^ 
 mm'derer — may walk among his species, deriving, from ^ ^> 
 the communion with all which they contain of beautiful I ' ' f 
 or of majestic, some intercourse with the Universal 
 God. Whosoever has maintained with his own heart 
 the strictest correspondence of confidence, who dai-es 
 to examine and to estimate every imagination which 
 suggests itself to his mind — whosoever is that which he '*' /iJ) ■> 
 designs to become, and only aspires to that which the 
 divinity of his own nature shall consider and approve — 
 he has already seen God. 
 
 S 2
 
 260 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 We live and move and think ; but we are not the 
 creators of our own ono;in and existence. We are not 
 the arbiters of every motion of our own complicated 
 nature ; we are not the masters of our own imaginations 
 and moods of mental bcinr;'. There is a Power by 
 which we are surrounded, like the atmosphere in which 
 some motionless lyre is suspended, which visits with 
 its breath our silent chords at will. 
 
 Our most imperial and stupendous qualities — those 
 on which the majesty and the power of humanity is 
 erected — are, relatively to the inferior portion of its 
 mechanism, active and imperial ; but they are the 
 passive slaves of some higher and more omnipotent 
 Power. This Power is God ; and those who have seen 
 God have, in the period of their purer and more 
 perfect nature, been harmonized by their own will to so 
 exquisite [a] consentaneity of power as to give forth 
 divinest melodv, when the breath of universal beino- 
 sweeps over their frame. That those who are pure in 
 heart shall see God, and that virtue is its own reward, 
 may be considered as equivalent assertions. The former 
 of these propositions is a metaphorical repetition of the 
 latter. The advocates of literal interpretation have been 
 the most efficacious enemies of those doctrines whose 
 nature they profess to venerate. Thucydides, in parti- 
 cular, affords a number of instances calculated 
 
 ***** 
 Tacitus says, that the Jews held God to be something 
 eternal and supreme, neither subject to change nor to 
 decay; therefore, they permit no statues in their cities
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 261 
 
 or tlieir temples. The universal Being can only be 
 described or defined by negatives v,^hich deny his sub- 
 jection to the laws of all inferior existences. Where in- 
 definiteness ends, idolatry and anthropomorphism begin. 
 God is, as Lucan has expressed, 
 
 Quocunque videf, qiiodcimque moveris, 
 Et coelura et virtus. 
 
 The doctrine of what some ilmatics have termed '' a 
 pecidiar Providence " — that is, of some power beyond 
 and superior to that "which ordinarily guides the opera- 
 tions of the Universe, interfering to punish the vicious 
 and reward the virtuous — is explicitly denied by Jesus 
 Christ. The absurd and execrable doctrine of vengeance, 
 in all its shapes, seems to have been contemplated by 
 this great moralist with the profoundest disapprobation ; 
 nor would he permit the most venerable of names to bo 
 perverted into a sanction for the meanest and most 
 contemptible propensities incident to the nature of man. 
 " Love your enemies, bless those wdio curse you, that 
 ye may be the sons of your Heavenly Father, who 
 makes the sun to shine on the good and on 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 forbear- 
 ance and compassion! They have represented him 
 asserting that the Omnipotent God — that merciful and 
 benignant Power who scatters equally upon the beautiful
 
 262 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 earth all the elements of security and happiness — whose 
 influences are distributed to all whose natures admit 
 of a participation in them — who sends to the weak and 
 vicious creatures of his will all the benefits which they 
 are capable of sharing — that this God has devised a 
 scheme whereby the body shall live after its aptparent 
 dissolution, and be rendered capable of indefinite torture. 
 He is said to have compared the agonies which the 
 vicious shall then endure to the excruciations of a living 
 body bound among the flames, and being consumed 
 sinew by sinew, and bone by bone. 
 
 And this is to be done, not because it is supposed (and 
 the supposition would be sufficiently detestable) that the 
 moral nature of the sufferer would be improved by his 
 tortures — it is done because it is just to be done. My 
 neighbour, or my servant, or my child, has done me an 
 injuiy, and it is just that he should suffer an injury in 
 return. Such is the doctrine which Jesus Christ sum- 
 moned his whole resources of persuasion to oppose. 
 " Love your enemy, bless those who curse you : " such, 
 he says, is the practice of God, and such must ye imitate 
 if ye would be the children of God. 
 
 Jesus Christ would hardly have cited, as an example 
 of all that is gentle and beneficent and compassionate, a 
 Bemg wlio shall deliberately scheme to inflict on a large 
 portion of the human race tortiu'es indescribably intense 
 and indefinitely protracted : who shall inflict them, too, 
 without any mistake as to the true nature of pain — 
 without any view to future good — merely because it is 
 just.
 
 ESSAY ON CHIIISTIANITY. 263 
 
 This, and no other, is justice : — to consider, under 
 all the 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. The distinction 
 between justice and mercy was first imagined in the 
 courts of tyrants. Mankind receive every relaxation 
 of their tyranny as a circumstance of grace or 
 favour. 
 
 Such was the clemency of Julius Caesar, who, having 
 achieved by a series of treachery and bloodshed the ruin 
 of the liberties of his country, receives the fame of 
 mercy because, possessing the power to slay the noblest 
 men of Rome, he restrained his sanguinary soul, arro- 
 satino- to himself as a merit an abstinence from actions 
 which if he had committed, he would only have added 
 one other atrocity to his deeds. His assassins under- 
 stood justice better. They saw the most virtuous and 
 civilized community of mankind under the insolent do- 
 minion of one wicked man ; and they murdered him. 
 They desti'oyed the usurper of the liberties of their 
 countrymen, not because they hated him, not because 
 they would revenge the wrongs which they had sus- 
 tained (Brutus, it is said, was his most fimiliar friend ; 
 most of the conspirators were habituated to domestic in- 
 tercourse with the man whom they destroyed): it was in 
 affection, inextinguishable love for all that is venerable 
 and dear to the human heart, in the names of Country, 
 Liberty, and Virtue ; it was in a serious and solemn and 
 reluctant mood, that these holy patriots murdered their
 
 264 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 father and tlieii- friend. They would have spared his 
 violent death, if he could have deposited the rights which 
 he had assumed. His own selfish and narrow nature 
 necessitated the sacrifices they made. They required 
 that he should change all those habits which debauchery 
 and bloodshed had twined around the fibres of his in- 
 most frame of thought ; that he should participate with 
 them and with his country those privileges which, having 
 corrupted by assuming to himself, he would no longer 
 value. They would have sacrificed their lives if they 
 could have made him worthy of the sacrifice. Such are 
 the feelings which Jesus Christ asserts to belong to the 
 ruling Power of the world. He desireth not the death 
 ■of a sinner : he makes the sun to shine upon the just 
 and unjust. 
 
 The nature of a narrow and malevolent spirit is so 
 essentially incompatible with happiness as to render it 
 inaccessible to the influences of the benignant God. All 
 that his own perverse propensities Avill permit him to 
 receive, that God abundantly pours forth upon him. If 
 there is the slightest overbalance of happiness, whicli 
 can be allotted to the most atrocious offender, consis- 
 tently with the natvire of tilings, that is rigidly made 
 his portion by the ever-watchful Power of God. In 
 every case, the human mind enjoys the utmost pleasure 
 ■^vliich it is capable of enjoying. God is represented by 
 Jesus Christ as the Power from which, and through 
 which, the streams of all that is excellent and delightful 
 ilow ; the Power Avhich models, as they pass, all the 
 elements of this mixed universe to the purest and most
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 2Ga 
 
 perfect shape whicli it belongs to their nature to assume. 
 Jesus Christ attributes to this Power the faculty of Will. 
 How far such a doctrine, in its ordinary sense, may be 
 philosophically true, or how far Jesus Christ inten- 
 tionally availed himself of a metaphor easily understood, 
 is foreign to the subject to consider. This much is cer- 
 tain, that Jesus Christ represents God as the fountain of 
 all goodness, the eternal enemy of pain and evil, the uni- 
 form and unchanging motive of the salutary operations 
 of the material world. The supposition that this cause 
 is excited to action by some principle analogous to the 
 human will, adds w^eiglit to the persuasion that it is 
 foreio-n to its beneficent nature to inflict the slightest 
 pain. According to Jesus Christ, and according to the 
 indisputable facts of the case, some evil spirit has domi- 
 nion in this imperfect world. But there will come a 
 time when the human mind shall be visited exclusively 
 by the influences of the benignant Power. Men shall 
 die, and their bodies shall rot under the ground ; all the 
 oro;ans throuo;h which their knowledo;e and their feel- 
 ings have flowed, or in which they have originated, shall 
 assume other forms, and become ministrant to purposes 
 the most foreign from their former tendencies. There 
 is a time when we shall neither be heard or be seen by 
 the multitude of beings like ourselves by whom we have 
 been so long surrounded. They shall go to graves ; 
 where then ? 
 
 It appears that we moulder to a heap of senseless 
 dust ; to a few worms, that arise and perish, like our- 
 selves. Jesus Christ asserts that these appearances are
 
 266 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 fallacious, and that a gloomy and cold imagination alone 
 suggests the conception that thought can cease to be. 
 Another and a more extensive state of being, rather than 
 the complete extinction of being, will follow from that 
 mysterious change which we call Death. There shall 
 be no misery, no pain, no fear. The empire of evil 
 spirits extends not beyond the boundaries of the grave. 
 The unobscured irradiations from the fountain-fire of all 
 goodness shall reveal all that is mysterious and unintel- 
 ligible, until the mutual communications of knowledge 
 and of happiness throughout all thinking natures consti- 
 tute a harmony of good that ever varies and never ends. 
 
 This is Heaven, when pain and evil cease, and when 
 the Benignant Principle, untrammelled and uncontrolled, 
 visits in the fulness of its power the universal firame of 
 things. Human life, with all its unreal ills and transitory 
 hopes, is as a dream, which departs before the dawn, 
 leaving no trace of its evanescent hues. All that it 
 contains of pure or of divine visits the passive mind in 
 some serenest mood. MosL holy are the feelings through 
 which our fellow beings are rendered dear and [vene- 
 rable] to the heart. The remembrance of their sweet- 
 ness, and the completion of the hopes which they 
 [excite], constitute, when we awaken from the sleep of 
 hfe, the fulfilment of the prophecies of its most majestic 
 and beautiful visions. 
 
 We die, says Jesus Christ; and, when we awaken 
 from the languor of disease, the glories and the happi- 
 ness of Paradise are around us. All evil and pain have 
 ceased for ever. Our happiness also corresponds with.
 
 ESSAY ON CHEISTIANITY. 267 
 
 and is adapted to, tlie nature of what is most excellent 
 in our being. We see God, and we see that he is good. 
 How delightful a picture, even if it be not true ! How 
 magnificent is the conception which this bold theory 
 suggests to the contemplation, even if it be no more 
 than the imagination of some sublimest and most holy 
 poet, who, impressed with the loveliness and majesty of 
 his own natm-e, is impatient and discontented with the 
 narrow limits which this imperfect life and the dark 
 grave have assigned for ever as his melancholy portion. 
 It is not to be believed that Hell, or punishment, was the 
 conception of this daring mind. It is not to be believed 
 that the most prominent group of this picture, w^hich is 
 framed so heart-moving and lovely — the accomplishment 
 of all human hope, the extinction of all morbid fear and 
 anguish — would consist of millions of sensitive beings 
 enduring, in every variety of torture which Omniscient 
 vengeance could invent, immortal agony. 
 
 Jesus Christ opposed with earnest eloquence the panic 
 fears and hateful superstitions which have enslaved 
 mankind for ages. Nations had risen against nations, 
 employing the subtlest devices of mechanism and mind 
 to waste, and excruciate, and overthrow. The great com- 
 munity of mankind had been subdivided into ten thou- 
 sand communities, each organized for the ruin of the 
 other. Wheel within wheel, the vast machine was in- 
 stinct with the restless spirit of desolation. Pain had 
 been inflicted; therefore, pain should be inflicted in return. 
 Kataliation of injuries is the only remedy which can be 
 appUed to violence, because it teaches the injurer the
 
 268 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 true nature of his own conduct, and operates as a warn- 
 ing against its repetition. ISTor must the same measure 
 of calamity be returned as was received. If a man 
 borrows a certain sum from me, he is bound to repay 
 tliat sum. Shall no more be required of the enemy 
 who destroys my reputation, or ravages my fields ? It 
 is just that he should suffer ten times the loss which he 
 has inflicted, that the legitimate consequences of his 
 deed may never be obliterated from his remembrance, 
 and that others may clearly discern and feel the danger 
 ol invading the peace of human society. Such reason- 
 ings, and the impetuous feelings arising from them, have 
 armed nation against nation, family against family, man 
 against man. 
 
 An Athenian soldier, in the Ionian army which had 
 assembled for the purpose of vindicating the liberty 
 of the Asiatic Greeks, accidentally set fire to Sardis. 
 The city, being composed of combustible materials, was 
 burned to the ground. The Persians believed that this 
 circumstance of aggression made it their duty to retaliate 
 on Athens. They assembled successive expeditions on 
 the most extensive scale. Every nation of the East 
 was united to ruin the Grecian States. Athens was 
 burned to the ground, the whole territory laid waste, 
 and every living thing which it contained [destroyed]. 
 After suffering and inflicting incalculable mischiefs, they 
 desisted from their purpose only when they became 
 impotent to effect it. The desire of revenge for the 
 aggression of Persia outlived, among the Greeks, that 
 love of liberty which had been their most glorious dis-
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 269 
 
 tinction among tlie nations of mankind ; and Alexander 
 became the instrument of its completion. The mischiefs 
 attendant on this consummation of fruitless ruin are 
 too manifold and too tremendous to be related. If all 
 the thought which had been expended on the con- 
 struction of engines of agony and death — the modes of 
 aggression and defence, the raising of armies, and the 
 acquirement of those arts of tyranny and falsehood 
 without which mixed multitudes could neither be led 
 nor governed — had been employed to promote the true 
 welfare and extend the real empire of man, hov/ different 
 would have been the present situation of human society ! 
 how different the state of knowledge in physical and 
 moral science, upon which the power and happiness 
 of mankind essentially depend ! What nation has the 
 example of the desolation of Attica by IMardonius and 
 Xerxes, or the extinction of the Persian empire by 
 Alexander of Macedon, restrained from outrage ? Was 
 not the pretext of this latter system of spoliation derived 
 immediately from the former ? Had revenge in this 
 instance any other effect than to increase, instead of 
 diminishing, the mass of malice and evil already exist- 
 ing in the world ? 
 
 The emptiness and folly of retaliation are apparent 
 from every example which can be brought forward. 
 Not only Jesus Christ, but the most eminent professors 
 of every sect of philosophy, haA'e reasoned against this 
 futile superstition. Legislation is, in one point of view, 
 to be considered as an attempt to provide against the 
 excesses of this deplorable mistake. It professes to
 
 270 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 assign the penalty of all private injuries, and denies to 
 individuals the right of vindicating their proper cause. 
 This end is certainly not attained without some accom- 
 modation to the propensities which it desires to destroy. 
 Still, it recognises no principle but the production of 
 the greatest eventual good with the least immediate 
 injury; and regards the torture, or the death, of any 
 human being as unjust, of whatever mischief he may 
 have been the author, so that the result shall not more 
 than compensate for the immediate pain. 
 
 Mankind, transmitting from generation to generation 
 the legacy of accumulated vengeances, and pursuing 
 with the feelings of duty the misery of their fellow- 
 beings, have not failed to attribute to the Universal 
 Cause a character analogous with their own. The 
 image of this invisible, mysterious Being is more or 
 less excellent and perfect — resembles more or less its 
 original — in proportion to the perfection of the mind 
 on which it is impressed. Thus, that nation which has 
 arrived at the highest step in the scale of moral pro- 
 gression will believe most purely in that God, the 
 knowledge of whose real attributes is considered as 
 the firmest basis of the true religion. The reason of 
 the belief of each individual, also, will be so far regulated 
 by his conceptions of what is good. Thus, the con- 
 ceptions which any nation or individual entertains of 
 the God of its popular worship may be inferred from 
 their own actions and opinions, which are the subjects 
 ■of their approbation among their fellow-men. Jesus 
 Christ instructed his disciples to be perfect, as their
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 271 
 
 Father in Heaven is perfect, declaring at the same time 
 his belief that human perfection requires the refraining 
 from revenge and retribution in any of its various 
 shaj)es. 
 
 The perfection of the human and the divine, character 
 is thus asserted to be the same. Man, by resembling 
 God, fulfils most accurately the tendencies of his nature ; 
 and God comprehends within himself all that constitutes 
 human perfection. Thus, God is a model through 
 which the excellence of man is to be estimated, whilst 
 the abstract perfection of the human character is the type 
 of the actual perfection of the divine. It is not to be 
 believed that a person of such comprehensive views as 
 Jesus Christ coidd have fallen into so manifest a contra- 
 diction as to assert that men would be tortured after death 
 by that Being whose character is held up as a model to 
 human kind, because he is incapable of malevolence and 
 revenge. All the arguments which have been brought 
 forward to justify retribution fail, when retribution is 
 destined neither to operate as an example to other agents, 
 nor to the oflPender himself. How feeble such reasoning!: 
 is to be considered, has been already shown; but it is 
 the character of an evil Daemon to consign the beings 
 whom he has endowed with sensation to unprofitable 
 anguish. The peculiar circumstances attendant on the 
 conception of God casting sinners to burn in Hell for 
 ever, combine to render that conception the most perfect 
 specimen of the greatest imaginable crime. Jesus 
 Christ represented God as the principle of all good, the 
 source of all happiness, the wise and benevolent Creator
 
 272 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 and Preserver of all living tilings. But tlie interpreters 
 of his doctrines have confounded the good and the evil 
 principle. They observed the emanations of their 
 universal natures to be inextricably entangled in the 
 world, ai\d, trembling before the power of the cause 
 of all tilings, addressed to it such flattery as is acceptable 
 to the ministers of human t}Tanny, attributing love 
 and wisdom to those energies which they felt to be 
 exerted indifferently for the purposes of benefit and 
 calamity. 
 
 Jesus Christ expressly asserts that distinction between 
 the good and evil principle which it has been the 
 practice of all theologians to confound. How far his 
 doctrines, or their interpretation, may be true, it would 
 scarcely have been Avorth while to inquire, if the one 
 did not afford an example and an incentive to the 
 attainment of true virtue, wliilst the other holds out a 
 sanction and apology for every species of mean and 
 cruel vice. 
 
 It cannot be precisely ascertained in what degree 
 Jesus Christ accommodated his doctrines to the opinions 
 of his auditors ; or in what degree he really said all 
 that he is related to have said. He has left no Avritten 
 record of himself, and we are compelled to judge from 
 the imperfect and obscure information which his bio- 
 graphers (persons certainly of very imdisciplined and 
 undiscriminating minds) have transmitted to posterity. 
 These writers (our only guides) impute sentiments to 
 Jesus Christ which flatly contradict each other. They 
 represent him as narrow, superstitious, and exquisitely
 
 ESSAY OX CHRISTIAXITY. 273 
 
 vindictive and malicious. They insert, in the midst 
 of a strain of impassioned eloquence or sagest exhor- 
 tation, a sentiment only remarkable for its naked and 
 drivelling folly. But it is not difficult to distinguish 
 the inventions by which these historians have filled up 
 the interstices of tradition, or corrupted the simplicity 
 of truth, from the real character of their rude amaze- 
 ment. They have left sufficiently clear indications of 
 the genuine character of Jesus Christ to rescue it for 
 ever from the imputations cast upon it by their io-no- 
 rance and fanaticism. We discover that he is the 
 enemy of oppression and of falsehood ; that he is the 
 advocate of equal justice ; that he is neither disposed 
 to sanction bloodshed nor deceit, under -whatsoever 
 pretences their practice may be vindicated. We dis- 
 cover that he was a man of meek and majestic 
 demeanour, calm in danger; of natural and simple 
 thought and habits ; beloved to adoration by his adhe- 
 rents ; unmoved, solemn, and severe. 
 
 It is utterly incredible that this man said, that if you 
 hate your enemy, you would find it to your accoimt to 
 return him good for evil, since, by such a temporary 
 oblivion of vengeance, you would heap coals of fire on 
 his head. Where such contradictions occur, a favour- 
 able construction is warranted by the general innocence 
 of manners and comprehensiveness of views which he 
 is represented to possess. The rule of criticism to be 
 adopted in judging of the life, actions, and words of a 
 man w^ho has acted any conspicuous part in the revolu- 
 tions of the world, should not be narrow. We ought to 
 
 T
 
 274 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 form a general image of liis character and of his doc- 
 trines, and refer to this whole the distinct portions of 
 actions and speech by which they are diversified. It 
 is not liere asserted that no contradictions are to be ad- 
 mitted to have taken place in the system of Jesus Christ, 
 between doctrines promulgated in different states of 
 feeling or information, or even such as are implied in the 
 enunciation of a scheme of thought, various and obscure 
 through its immensity and depth. It is not asserted 
 that no degree of human indignation ever hurried him, 
 beyond the limits which his calmer mood had placed, to 
 disapprobation against vice and folly. Those deviations 
 from the history of his life are alone to be vindicated, 
 which represent his own essential character in contra- 
 diction with itself. 
 
 Every human mind has what Bacon calls its " idola 
 specus " — peculiar images wliich reside in the inner cave 
 of thought. These constitute the essential and distinc- 
 tive character of every human being ; to which every 
 action and every word have intimate relation ; and by 
 which, in depicting a character, the genuineness and 
 meanina; of these words and actions are to be deter- 
 mined. Every fanatic or enemy of virtue is not at 
 liberty to misrepresent the greatest geniuses and most 
 heroic defenders of all that is valuable in this mortal 
 world. History, to gain any credit, must contain some 
 truth, and that truth shall thus be made a sufficient in- 
 dication of prejudice and deceit. 
 
 With respect to the miracles which these biographers 
 have related, I have already declined to enter into any
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 275 
 
 discussion on their nature or their existence. The sup- 
 position of their falsehood or their truth would modify 
 in no degree the hues of the picture which is attempted 
 to be delineated. To judge truly of the moral and phi- 
 losophical character of Socrates, it is not necessary to 
 determine the question of the familiar Spirit which [it] 
 is supposed that he believed to attend on him. The 
 power of the human mind, relatively to intercourse with 
 or dominion over the invisible world, is doubtless an in- 
 teresting theme of discussion ; but the connection of the 
 instance of Jesus Christ with the established religion of 
 the country in which I write, renders it dangerous ta 
 subject oneself to the imputation of introducing new 
 Gods or abolishing old ones ; nor is the duty of nuitual 
 forbearance sufficiently understood to render it certain 
 that the metaphysician and the moralist, even though he 
 carefully sacrifice a cock to Esculapius, may not receive 
 something analogous to the bowl of hemlock for the 
 reward of his labours. Much, however, of what his 
 [Christ's] biographers have asserted is not to be rejected 
 merely because inferences inconsistent with the general 
 spirit of his system are to be adduced from its admission. 
 Jesus Christ did what every other reformer who has 
 produced any considerable effect upon the world has 
 done. He accommodated his doctrines to the preposses- 
 sions of those whom he addressed. He used a language 
 for this view sufficiently familiar to our comprehensions. 
 He said, — However new or strange my doctrines may 
 appear to you, they are in fact only the restoration and 
 re-establishment of those original institutions and ancient 
 
 T 2
 
 276 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 customs of your own law and religion. The constitu- 
 tions of your faith and policy, although perfect in their 
 origin, have become corrupt and altered, and have fallen 
 into decay. I profess to restore them to their pristine 
 authority and splendour. " Think not that I am come 
 to destroy the Law and the Prophets. I am come not 
 to destroy, but to fulfil. Till heaven and earth pass 
 away, one jot or one tittle shall in nowise pass away 
 from the Law, till all be fulfilled." Thus, like a skilful 
 orator (see Cicero, De Oratore), he secures the preju- 
 dices of his auditors, and induces them, by his profes- 
 sions of sympathy with their feelings, to enter with a 
 willing mind into the exposition of his own. The art 
 of persuasion differs from that of reasoning; and it is 
 of no small moment, to the success even of a true cause, 
 that the judges who are to determine on its merits should 
 be free from those national and religious predilections 
 which render the multitude both deaf and blind. 
 
 Let not this practice be considered as an unworthy 
 artifice. It were best for the cause of reason that man- 
 kind should acknowledge no authority but its own ; but 
 it is useful, to a certain extent, that they should not con- 
 sider those institutions which they have been habituated 
 to reverence as opposing an obstacle to its admission. 
 All reformers have been compelled to practise this mis- 
 representation of their own true feelings and opinions. 
 It is deeply to be lamented that a word should ever issue 
 from human lips which contains the minutest alloy of 
 dissimulation, or simulation, or hypocrisy, or exaggera-*' 
 tion, or anythiiig but the precise and rigid image wliich
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 277 
 
 is present to the mind, and which ought to dictate the 
 expression. But the practice of utter sincerity towards 
 other men would avail to no good end, if they were in- 
 capable of practising it towards their own minds. In 
 fact, truth cannot he communicated until it is perceived. 
 The interests, therefore, of truth require that an orator 
 .should, as far as possible, produce in his hearers that 
 state of mind on which alone his exhortations could 
 fairly be contemplated and examined. 
 
 Having produced this favourable disposition of mind, 
 Jesus Christ proceeds to qualify, and finally to abrogate, 
 the system of the Jewish law. He descants upon its in- 
 sufficiency as a code of moral conduct, which it professed 
 to be, and absolutely selects the law of retaliation as an 
 instance of the absurdity and immorality of its institu- 
 tions. The conclusion of the speech is in a strain of the 
 most daring and most impassioned speculation. He 
 seems emboldened by the success of his exculpation to 
 the multitude, to declare in public the utmost singularity 
 of his faith. He tramples upon all received opinions, on 
 all the cherished luxuries and superstitions of mankind. 
 He bids them cast aside the claims of custom and blind 
 faith by which they have been encompassed from the 
 very cradle of their being, and receive the imitator and 
 minister of the Universal God. 
 
 Equality of Mankind. 
 
 " The spu'it of the Lord is upon me, because he hath 
 chosen me to preach the gospel to the poor : He hath 
 sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach dehverancfr
 
 278 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 to the captives and recovery of sight to the bh'nd, and 
 to set at liberty them that are bruised." (Luke, ch. iv., 
 ver. 18.) This is an enunciation of all that Plato and 
 Diogenes have speculated upon the equality of mankind. 
 They saw that the great majority of the human species 
 were reduced to the situation of squalid ignorance and 
 moral imbecility, for the purpose of purveying for the 
 luxury of a few, and contributing to the satisfaction of 
 their thirst for power. Too mean-spirited and too feeble 
 in resolve to attempt the conquest of their own evil 
 passions and of the difficulties of the material world, 
 men soiight dominion over their fellow-men, as an easy 
 method to gain that apparent majesty and power which 
 the instinct of their nature requires. Plato wrote the 
 scheme of a republic, in which law should watch over 
 the equal distribution of the external instruments of 
 unequal power — honours, property, &c. Diogenes de- 
 vised a nobler and a more worthy system of opposition 
 to the system of the slave and tyrant. He said : " It 
 is in the power of each individual to level the inequality 
 which is the topic of the complaint of mankind. Let 
 him be aware of his own worth, and the station which 
 he occupies in the scale of moral beings. Diamonds 
 and gold, palaces and sceptres, derive their value from 
 the opinion of mankind. The only sumptuary law 
 which can be imposed on the use and fabrication of 
 these instruments of mischief and deceit, these symbols 
 of successful injustice, is the law of opinion. Every 
 man possesses the power, in this respect, to legislate for 
 himself. Let him be well aware of his own worth and
 
 KSSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 279 
 
 moral dignity. Lcit, liini yield in meek reveronce to any 
 wiser or worthier than lie, so loiifj^ as he accords no 
 veiieralioii to the sjjkuidoiii- ol' his :ii)|>;ii"el, tlic luxury 
 of his food, the multitude of his flatterers and slaves. 
 It is because, mnnkiiid, ye value and seek the empty 
 l):i<j;eantry of weallii and social power, that ye are 
 enslaved to ils j^ossessious. Decrease your physical 
 wants ; learn to live, .so far as nourishment and shelter 
 ar(> concerned, like the beast of the forest and tlic birds 
 of the air; ye will need not to couij)laiu, that oilier indi- 
 viduals ol" your species ;ire surrounded l>y the diseases 
 of luxury ami the \ ices of subserviency and opi)ression." 
 With all those who are truly wise, there will bo an 
 entire community, not only of thoughts and leelings, 
 but also of external possessions. Insomuch, therefore, 
 as ye live [wisely], ye may enjoy the comnninity of 
 whatsoever bi'iieiits arise from tlu' inventions of civilized 
 life. Tliey are of value only for purposes of mental 
 |)()\ver; Ihev are of x.due (inly as they ari' (•iqtaltie of 
 bcinii,' sli'ircd ;nid iipplieil (o the eonunon advantat>;e of 
 j>hiIos(»|ih\' ; and il' tiu're be no love ainon<;' men, what- 
 ever institulioiis they may frame must be subservient to 
 the s:nne purpose — to the continuance of inecpiality. if 
 ihei'c be no l()\e aniono; men, it is best that he who sees 
 through the hoilowui'ss o\' their [>rolessions should fly 
 from their sot-iely, and sullice to his own soul. in 
 wisdom, JKMvill thus lose nothin<j;; in j)o\ver, lie will gain 
 eviM'Nlhing. In proportion to the love existing among 
 men, so will be the community of })ro[)erty and power. 
 Among true and real friends, all is common; and, were
 
 280 ESSAY ON CimiSTIANITY. 
 
 ignorance and envy and superstition banished from the 
 world, all mankind would be friends. The only perfect 
 and genuine republic is that which comprehends every 
 living being. Those distinctions which have been arti- 
 ficially set up, of nations, societies, families, and religions, 
 are only general names, expressing the abhorrence and 
 contempt with which men blindly consider their fellow- 
 men. 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 this city, this woman, and this nation, it is 
 incumbent on me to do all the benefit in my pov/er. 
 To what do these distinctions point, but to an evident 
 denial of the duty which humanity imposes on you, of 
 doing every possible good to every individual, under 
 whatever denomination he may be comprehended, to 
 whom you have the power of doing it ? 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. 
 Once make the feelings of confidence and of aftection 
 universal, and the distinctions of property and power 
 will vanish ; nor arc they to be abolished witliout sub- 
 stituting something equivalent in mischief to them, until 
 all mankind shall acknowledge an entire community of 
 rights. 
 
 But, as the shades of night arc dispelled by the faintest 
 glimmerings of dawn, so shall the minutest progress of 
 the benevolent feelings disperse, in some degree, the 
 gloom of tyranny, and [curb the] ministers of mutual 
 suspicion and abhorrence. Your physical wants are few.
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 281 
 
 whilst those of your mind and heart cannot bo numbered 
 or described, from their multitude and complication. To 
 secure the gratification of the former, you have made 
 yourselves the bond-slaves of each other. 
 
 They have cultivated these meaner wants to so great 
 an excess as to judge nothing so valuable or desirable 
 [as] what relates to their gratification. Hence has arisen 
 a system of passions which loses sight of the end they 
 were originally awakened to attain. Fame, power, and 
 gold, are loved for their own sakes — are worshipped with 
 a blind, habitual idolatry. The pageantry of empire, 
 and the fame of irresistible might, are contemplated by 
 the possessor with unmeaning complacency, without a 
 retrospect to the properties which first made him con- 
 sider them of value. It is from the cuUivation of the 
 most contemptible properties of human nature that dis- 
 cord and torpor and indifference, by which the moral 
 universe is disordered, essentially depend. So long as 
 these are the ties by which human society is connected, 
 let it not be admitted that they are fragile. 
 
 Before man can be free, and equal, and truly wise, he 
 must cast aside the chains of habit and superstition ; he 
 must strip sensuality of its pomp, and selfishness of its 
 excuses, and contemplate actions and objects as they 
 really are. He will discover the wisdom of universal 
 love ; he will feel the meanness and the injustice of 
 sacrificing the reason and the liberty of his fellow-men 
 to the indulgence of his physical appetites, and becom- 
 ing a party to their degradation by the consummation 
 of his own.
 
 282 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Such, with those differences only incidental to the age 
 and state of society in which they were promulgated, 
 appear to have been the doctrines of Jesus Christ. It 
 is not too much to assert that they have been the doc- 
 trines of every just and compassionate mind that ever 
 speculated on the social nature of man. The dogma of 
 the equality of mankind has been advocated, with various 
 success, in different ages of the world. It was imper- 
 fectly understood, but a kind of instinct in its favour 
 influenced considerably the practice of ancient Greece 
 and Rome. Attempts to establish usages fomided on 
 tliis dogma have been made m modern Europe, in several 
 instances, since the revival of literature and the arts. 
 Rousseau has vindicated this opinion with all the elo- 
 quence of sincere and earnest faith ; and is, perhaps, the 
 philosopher among the moderns who, in the structure of 
 his feelings and understanding, resembles most nearly 
 the mysterious sage of Judea. It is impossible to read 
 those passionate words in which Jesus Christ upbraids 
 the pusillanimity and sensuality of mankind, without 
 being strongly reminded of the more connected and 
 systematic enthusiasm of Rousseau. " No man," says 
 Jesus Christ, " can serve two masters. Take, therefore, 
 no thought for to-morrow, for the morrow shall take 
 thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day 
 is the evil thereof." If we would profit by the wisdom 
 of a sublime and poetical mind, we must beware of the 
 vulgar error of interpreting literally every expression it 
 employs. Nothing can well be more remote from truth 
 than the literal and strict construction of such expres-
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 283 
 
 sions as Jesus Christ delivers, or than [to imagine that] 
 it were best for man that he should abandon all liis 
 acquirements in physical and intellectual science, and 
 depend on the spontaneous productions of nature for 
 his subsistence. Nothing is more obviously false than 
 that the remedy for the mequality among men consists 
 in their return to the condition of savages and beasts. 
 Philosophy will never be understood if we approach the 
 study of its mysteries with so narrow and illiberal con- 
 ceptions of its universality. Rousseau certainly did not 
 mean to persuade the immense population of his country 
 to abandon all the arts of life, destroy their habitations 
 and their temples, and become the inhabitants of the 
 woods. He addressed the most enlightened of his com- 
 patriots, and endeavoured to persuade them to set the 
 example of a pure and simple life, by placing in the 
 strongest point of view his conceptions of the calamitous 
 and diseased aspect which, overgrown as it is with the 
 vices of sensuality and selfishness, is exhibited by civi- 
 lized society. Nor can it be believed that Jesus Christ 
 endeavoured to prevail on the inhabitants of Jerusalem 
 neither to till their fields, nor to frame a shelter against 
 the sk}^, nor to provide food for the morrow. He simply 
 exposes, with the passionate rhetoric of enthusiastic love 
 towards all human beings, the miseries and mischiefs of 
 that system which makes all things subservient to the 
 subsistence of the material frame of man. He warns 
 them that no man can serve two masters — God and 
 Mammon ; that it is impossible at once to be high- 
 minded and just and wise, and to comply with the
 
 284 ESSAY ON CHEISTIANITY. 
 
 accustomed forms of human society, seek power, wealth, 
 or empire, either from the idolatry of habit, or as the 
 direct instruments of sensual gratification. He instructs 
 them that clothing and food and shelter are not, as they 
 suppose, tlic true end of human life, but onl\' certain 
 means, to be valued in proportion to their subserviency 
 to that end. These means it is right of every human 
 being to possess, and that in the same degree. In this 
 respect, the fowls of the air and the lilies of the field 
 are examples for the imitation of mankind. They are 
 clothed and fed by the Universal God. Permit, there- 
 fore, the Spirit of this benignant Principle to visit your 
 intellectual frame, or, in other words, become just and 
 pure. When you understand the degree of attention 
 which the requisitions of your physical nature demand, 
 you will perceive how little labour suffices for their satis- 
 faction. Your Heavenly Father knoweth you have need 
 of these things. The universal Harmony, or Reason, 
 which makes your passive frame of thought its dwelling, 
 in proportion to the purity and majesty of its nature will 
 instruct you, if ye are willing to attain that exalted con- 
 dition, in what manner to possess all the objects neces- 
 sary for your material subsistence. All men are [im- 
 pelled] to become thus pure and happ}'. All men are 
 called to participate in the community of Natm^e's gifts. 
 The man who has fewest bodily wants approaches nearest 
 to the Divine Nature. Satisfy these wants at the cheapest 
 rate, and expend the remaining energies of your nature 
 in the attainment of virtue and knowledge. The mighty 
 frame of the wonderful and level v world is the food of
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 285 
 
 your contemplation, and living beings wlio resemble 
 your own nature, and are bound to you by similarity 
 of sensations, are destined to be the nutriment of your 
 affection ; united, they are the consummation of the 
 widest hopes your mind can contain. Ye can expend 
 thus no labour on mechanism consecrated to luxury and 
 pride. How abundant Avill not be yom' progress in all 
 that truly ennobles and extends human nature ! By ren- 
 dering yourselves thus worthy, ye will l)c as free in your 
 imaginations as the swift and many-coloured fowls of the 
 air, and as beautiful in pure simplicity as the lilies of the 
 field. In proportion as mankind becomes wise — yes, in 
 exact proportion to that wisdom — should be the extinction 
 of the unequal system under which they now subsist. 
 Government is, in fact, the mere badge of their depra- 
 vity. They are so little aware of the inestimable benefits 
 of mutual love as to indulge, without thought, and 
 almost without motive, in the worst excesses of selfish- 
 ness and malice. Hence, without graduating human 
 society into a scale of empire and subjection, its very 
 existence has become impossible. It is necessary that 
 universal benevolence should supersede the regulations 
 of precedent and prescription, before these regulations 
 can safely be abolished. Meanwhile, their very subsist- 
 ence depends on the system of injustice and Aiolence 
 which they have been devised to palHate. They suppose 
 men endowed with the power of deliberating and deter- 
 mining for their equals; whilst these men, as frail and as 
 ignorant as the multitude v/hom they rule, possess, as a 
 practical consequence of this power, the right which they
 
 286 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 of necessity exercise to prevent (together with their own) 
 the pliysical and moral and intellectual nature of all 
 mankind. 
 
 It is the object of wisdom to equalize the distinctions 
 on which this power depends, by exhibiting in their 
 proper worthlessness the objects, a contention concerning 
 which renders its existence a necessary evil. The evil, 
 in fact, is virtually abolished wherever justice is practised ; 
 audit is abolished in precise proportion to the prevalence 
 of true virtue. 
 
 The whole frame of human things is infected by an 
 insidious poison. Hence it is that man is blind in his 
 tmderstanding, corrupt in his moral sense, and diseased 
 in his physical fiinctions. The wisest and most sublime 
 of the ancient poets saw this truth, and embodied their 
 conception of its value in retrospect to the earliest ages 
 of mankind. They represented equality as the reign 
 of Saturn, and tanght that mankind had gradually 
 degenerated from the virtue which enabled them to 
 enjoy or maintain this happy state. Their doctrine 
 was philosophically false. Later and more correct 
 observations have instructed us that uncivilized man is 
 the most pernicious and miserable of beings, and that 
 the violence and injustice, which are the genuine indi- 
 cations of real inequality, obtain in the society of these 
 beings without palliation. Their imaginations of a 
 happier state of human society were referred, in truth, 
 to the Saturnian period ; they ministered, indeed, to 
 thoughts of despondency and sorrow. But they were 
 the children of airy hope — the prophets and parents of
 
 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 287 
 
 man's futurity. Man was once as a wild beast ; lie lias 
 become a moralist, a metaphysician, a poet, and an 
 astronomer. Lucretius or Virgil miplit have referred 
 the comparison to themselves ; and, as a proof of the 
 progress of the nature of man, challenged a comparison 
 with the cannibals of Scythia.* The experience of the 
 ages which have intervened between the present j^eriod 
 and that in which Jesus Christ taught, tends to prove 
 his doctrine, and to illustrate theirs. There is more 
 equality because there is more justice, and there is 
 more justice because there is more universal know- 
 ledge. 
 
 To the accomplishment of such mighty hopes were 
 the views of Jesus Christ extended ; such did he 
 believe to be the tendency of his doctrines — the aboli- 
 tion of artificial distinctions among mankind, so far as 
 the love which it becomes all human beings to bear 
 towards each other, and the knowledge of truth from 
 which that love will never fail to be produced, avail 
 to their destruction. A young man came to Jesus 
 Christ, struck by the miraculous dignity and simplicity 
 of his character, and attracted by the words of power 
 which he uttered. He demanded to be considered as 
 one of the followers of his creed. " Sell all that thou 
 hast," replied the philosopher ; " give it to the poor, 
 and follow me." But the young man had large posses- 
 sions, and he went away sorrowing. 
 
 The system of equality was attempted, after Jesus 
 
 * Jesus Christ foresaw what the poets retrospectively imagined.
 
 28S ESSAY ON CHRISTIAXITy. 
 
 Christ's death, to be carried into effect bv his followers. 
 *' They that believed had all things in common ; they 
 sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to 
 all men, as every man had need ; and they continued 
 daily with one accord in the temple, and, breaking bread 
 from house to house, did cat their meat M^th gladness 
 and singleness of heart." (Acts, eh. ii.) 
 
 The practical application of the doctrines of strict 
 justice to a state of society established in its contempt, 
 was such as might have been expected. After the 
 transitory glow of enthusiasm had faded from the minds 
 of men, precedent and habit resumed their empire ; they 
 broke like a universal deluge on one shrinking and 
 solitary island. IMen to whom birth had allotted ample 
 possession, looked with complacency on sumptuous apart- 
 ments and luxurious food, and those ceremonials of 
 delusive majesty which surround the throne of power 
 and the court of wealth. Men from whom these things 
 Avere withheld by their condition, began again to gaze 
 with stupid envy on pernicious splendour ; and, by 
 desiring the false greatness of another's state, to sacrifice 
 the intrinsic dignity of their own. The demagogues 
 of the infant republic of the Christian sect, attaining, 
 through eloquence or artifice, to influence amongst its 
 members, first violated (under the pretence of watching 
 over their integrity) the institutions established for the 
 common and equal benefit of all. These demagogues 
 artfully silenced the voice of the moral sense among 
 them by engaging them to attend, not so much to the 
 cultivation of a virtuous and happy life in this mortal
 
 ESSAY ON CHEISTIANITY. 289 
 
 scene, as to the attainment of a fortunate condition after 
 deatli ; not so much to the consideration of tliose means 
 by which the state of man is adorned and improved, 
 as an inquiry into the secrets of the connexion between 
 God and the world — things which, they well knew, 
 were not to be explained, or even to be conceived. 
 The system of equality which they established neces- 
 sarily fell to the ground, because it is a system that 
 must result from, rather than precede, the moral im- 
 provement of human kind. It was a circumstance of 
 no moment that the first adherents of the system of 
 Jesus Christ cast their property into a common stock. 
 The same degree of real community of property could 
 have subsisted without this formality, which served only 
 to extend a temptation of dishonesty to the treasurers 
 of so considerable a patrimony. Every man, in pro- 
 portion to his \irtue, considers himself, with respect 
 to tlie great community of mankind, as the steward 
 and guardian of their interests in the property which 
 he chances to possess. Every man, in proportion to 
 his wisdom, sees the manner in which it is his duty to 
 employ the resources which the consent of mankind has 
 intrusted to his discretion. Such is the [annihilation] 
 of the unjust inequality of powers and conditions exist- 
 ing in the world ; and so gradually and inevitably is the 
 progress of equality accommodated to the progress of 
 wisdom and of virtue among mankind. 
 
 Meanwhile, some benefit has not failed to flow from 
 the imperfect attempts which have been made to erect 
 a system of equal rights to property and power upon 
 
 u
 
 290 ESSAY ON CHEISTIANITY. 
 
 the basis of arbitrary institutions. They have undoubt- 
 edly, in every case, from the instability of their fgrma- 
 tion, failed. Still, they constitute a record of those 
 epochs at which a true sense of justice suggested itself 
 to the understandings of men, so that they consented to 
 forego all the cherished delights of luxury, all the 
 habitual gratifications arising out of the possession or 
 the expectation of power, all the superstitions with 
 which the accumulated authority of ages had made 
 them dear and venerable. They are so many trophies 
 erected in the enemy's land, to mark the limits of the 
 victorious progress of truth and justice. 
 
 Jesus Christ did not fail to advert to the 
 
 [the rest is wanting.] 
 
 THE END. 
 
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