The Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Volume I Part 12

f.a.n.n.y.

_Journal, Sat.u.r.day, August 10._--Write to f.a.n.n.y. Sh.e.l.ley writes to Charles. We then go to town to buy books and a watch for f.a.n.n.y. Read Curtius after my return; translate. In the evening Sh.e.l.ley and Lord Byron go out in the boat. Translate, and when they return go up to Diodati. Sh.e.l.ley reads Tacitus. A writ of arrest comes from Polidori, for having "ca.s.se ses lunettes et fait tomber son chapeau" of the apothecary who sells bad magnesia.

_Monday, August 12._--Write my story and translate. Sh.e.l.ley goes to the town, and afterwards goes out in the boat with Lord Byron. After dinner I go out a little in the boat, and then Sh.e.l.ley goes up to Diodati. I translate in the evening, and read _Le Vieux de la Montagne_, and write. Sh.e.l.ley, in coming down, is attacked by a dog, which delays him; we send up for him, and Lord Byron comes down; in the meantime Sh.e.l.ley returns.

_Wednesday, August 14._--Read _Le Vieux de la Montagne_; translate.

Sh.e.l.ley reads Tacitus, and goes out with Lord Byron before and after dinner. Lewis[21] comes to Diodati. Sh.e.l.ley goes up there, and Clare goes up to copy. Remain at home, and read _Le Vieux de la Montagne_.

_Friday, August 16._--Write, and read a little of Curtius; translate; read _Walther_ and some of _Rienzi_. Lord Byron goes with Lewis to Ferney. Sh.e.l.ley writes, and reads Tacitus.

_Sat.u.r.day, August 17._--Write, and finish _Walther_. In the evening I go out in the boat with Sh.e.l.ley, and he afterwards goes up to Diodati.

Began one of Madame de Genlis's novels. Sh.e.l.ley finishes Tacitus.

Polidori comes down. Little babe is not well.

_Sunday, August 18._--Talk with Sh.e.l.ley, and write; read Curtius.

Sh.e.l.ley reads Plutarch in Greek. Lord Byron comes down, and stays here an hour. I read a novel in the evening. Sh.e.l.ley goes up to Diodati, and Monk Lewis.

_Tuesday, August 20._--Read Curtius; write; read _Herman d'Unna_. Lord Byron comes down after dinner, and remains with us until dark. Sh.e.l.ley spends the rest of the evening at Diodati. He reads Plutarch.

_Wednesday, August 21._--Sh.e.l.ley and I talk about my story. Finish _Herman d'Unna_ and write. Sh.e.l.ley reads Milton. After dinner Lord Byron comes down, and Clare and Sh.e.l.ley go up to Diodati. Read _Rienzi_.

_Friday, August 23._--Sh.e.l.ley goes up to Diodati, and then in the boat with Lord Byron, who has heard bad news of Lady Byron, and is in bad spirits concerning it.... Letters arrive from Peac.o.c.k and Charles.

Sh.e.l.ley reads Milton.

_Sat.u.r.day, August 24._--Write. Sh.e.l.ley goes to Geneva. Read. Lord Byron and Sh.e.l.ley sit on the wall before dinner. After I talk with Sh.e.l.ley, and then Lord Byron comes down and spends an hour here.

Sh.e.l.ley and he go up together.

_Monday, August 26._--Hobhouse and Scroop Davis come to Diodati.

Sh.e.l.ley spends the evening there, and reads _Germania_. Several books arrive, among others Coleridge's _Christabel_, which Sh.e.l.ley reads aloud to me before going to bed.

_Wednesday, August 28._--Packing. Sh.e.l.ley goes to town. Work. Polidori comes down, and afterwards Lord Byron. After dinner we go upon the water; pack; and Sh.e.l.ley goes up to Diodati. Sh.e.l.ley reads _Histoire de la Revolution par Rabault_.

_Thursday, August 29._--We depart from Geneva at 9 in the morning.

They travelled to Havre _via_ Dijon, Auxerre, and Villeneuve; allowing only a few hours for visiting the palaces of Fontainebleau and Versailles, and the Cathedral of Rouen. From Havre they sailed to Portsmouth, where, for a short time, they separated. Sh.e.l.ley went to stay with Peac.o.c.k, who was living at Great Marlow, and had been looking about there for a house to suit his friends. Mary and Clare proceeded to Bath, where they were to spend the next few months.

_Journal, Tuesday, September 10._--Arrive at Bath about 2. Dine, and spend the evening in looking for lodgings. Read Mrs. Robinson's _Valcenga_.

_Wednesday, September 11._--Look for lodgings; take some, and settle ourselves. Read the first volume of _The Antiquary_, and work.

CHAPTER IX

SEPTEMBER 1816-FEBRUARY 1817

Trouble had, for some time past, been gathering in heavy clouds. G.o.dwin's affairs were in worse plight than ever, and the Sh.e.l.leys, go where they might, were never suffered to forget them. f.a.n.n.y const.i.tuted herself his special pleader, and made it evident that she found it hard to believe Sh.e.l.ley could not, if he chose, get more money than he did for Mary's father. Her long letters, bearing witness in every line to her great natural intelligence and sensibility, excite the deepest pity for her, and not a little, it must be added, for those to whom they were addressed. The poor girl's life was, indeed, a hard one, and of all her trials perhaps the most insurmountable was that inherited melancholy of the Wollstonecraft temperament which permitted her no illusions, no moments, even, of respite from care in unreasoning gaiety such as are incidental to most young and healthy natures. Nor, although she won every one's respect and most people's liking, had she the inborn gift of inspiring devotion or arousing enthusiasm. She was one of those who give all and take nothing.

The people she loved all cared for others more than they did for her, or cared only for themselves. Full of warmth and affection and ideal aspirations; sympathetically responsive to every poem, every work of art appealing to imagination, she was condemned by her temperament and the surroundings of her life to idealise nothing, and to look at all objects as they presented themselves to her, in the light of the very commonest day.

Less pressing than G.o.dwin, but still another disturbing cause, was Charles Clairmont, who was travelling abroad in search, partly of health, partly of occupation; had found the former, but not the latter, and, of course, looked to Sh.e.l.ley as the magician who was to realise all his plans for him. Of his discursive letters, which are immensely long, in a style of florid eloquence, only a few specimen extracts can find room here. One, received by Sh.e.l.ley and Mary at Geneva, openly confesses that, though it was a year since he had left England, he had abstained, as yet, from writing to Skinner Street, being as unsettled as ever, and having had nothing to speak of but his pleasures;--having in short been going on "just like a b.u.t.terfly,--though still as a b.u.t.terfly of the best intentions." He proceeds to describe the country, his manner of living there, his health,--he details his symptoms, and sets forth at length the various projects he might entertain, and the marvellous cheapness of one and all of them, if only he could afford to have any projects at all. He enumerates items of expenditure connected with one of his schemes, and concludes thus--

I lay this proposal before you, without knowing anything of your finances, which, I fear, cannot be in too flourishing a situation. You will, I trust, consider of the thing, and treat it as frankly as it has been offered. I know you too well not to know you would do for me all in your power. Have the goodness to write to me as instantly as possible.

And Sh.e.l.ley did write,--so says the journal.

Last not least, there was Clare. At what point of all this time did her secret become known to Sh.e.l.ley and Mary? No doc.u.ment as yet has seen the light which informs us of this. Perhaps some day it may. Unfortunately for biographers and for readers of biography, Mary's journal is almost devoid of personal gossip, or indeed of personalities of any kind. Her diary is a record of outward facts, and, occasionally, of intellectual impressions; no intimate history and no one else's affairs are confided to it. No change of tone is perceptible anywhere. All that can be a.s.serted is that they knew nothing of it when they went to Geneva. In the absence of absolute proof to the contrary it is impossible to believe that they were not aware of it when they came back. Clare was an expecting mother. For four months they had all been in daily intercourse with Byron, who never was or could be reticent, and who was not restrained either by delicacy or consideration for others from saying what he chose. But when and how the whole affair was divulged and what its effect was on Sh.e.l.ley and Mary remains a mystery. From this time, however, Clare resumed her place as a member of their household. It cannot have been a matter of satisfaction to Mary: domestic life was more congenial without Clare's presence than with it, but now that there was a true reason for her taking shelter with them, Mary's native n.o.bility of heart was equal to the occasion, and she gave help, support, and confidence, ungrudgingly and without stint. Never in her journal, and only once in her letters does any expression of discontent appear. They settled down together in their lodgings at Bath, but on the 19th of September Mary set out to join Sh.e.l.ley at Marlow for a few days, leaving Clara in charge of little w.i.l.l.y and the Swiss nurse Elise. On the 25th both were back at Bath, where they resumed their quiet, regular way of life, resting and reading. But this apparent peace was not to be long unbroken. Letters from f.a.n.n.y followed each other in quick succession, breathing nothing but painful, perpetual anxiety.

f.a.n.n.y TO MARY.

_26th September 1816._

MY DEAR MARY--I received your letter last Sat.u.r.day, which rejoiced my heart. I cannot help envying your calm, contented disposition, and the calm philosophical habits of life which pursue you, or rather which you pursue everywhere. I allude to your description of the manner in which you pa.s.s your days at Bath, when most women would hardly have recovered from the fatigues of such a journey as you had been taking. I am delighted to hear such pleasing accounts of your William; I should like to see him, dear fellow; the change of air does him infinite good, no doubt. I am very glad you have got Jane a pianoforte; if anything can do her good and restore her to industry, it is music. I think I gave her all the music here; however, I will look again for what I can find. I am angry with Sh.e.l.ley for not giving me an account of his health. All that I saw of him gave me great uneasiness about him, and as I see him but seldom, I am much more alarmed perhaps than you, who are constantly with him. I hope that it is only the London air which does not agree with him, and that he is now much better; however, it would have been kind to have said so.

Aunt Everina and Mrs. Bishop left London two days ago. It pained me very much to find that they have entirely lost their little income from Primrose Street, which is very hard upon them at their age. Did Sh.e.l.ley tell you a singular story about Mrs. B. having received an annuity which will make up in part for her loss?

Poor Papa is going on with his novel, though I am sure it is very fatiguing to him, though he will not allow it; he is not able to study as much as formerly without injuring himself; this, joined to the plagues of his affairs, which he fears will never be closed, make me very anxious for him. The name of his novel is _Mandeville, or a Tale of the Seventeenth Century_. I think, however, you had better not mention the name to any one, as he wishes it not to be announced at present. Tell Sh.e.l.ley, as soon as he knows certainly about Longdill, to write, that he may be eased on that score, for it is a great weight on his spirits at present. Mr. Owen is come to town to prepare for the meeting of Parliament. There never was so devoted a being as he is; and it certainly must end in his doing a great deal of good, though not the good he talks of.

Have you heard from Charles? He has never given us a single line. I am afraid he is doing very ill, and has the conscience not to write a parcel of lies. Beg the favour of Sh.e.l.ley, to copy for me his poem on the scenes at the foot of Mont Blanc, and tell him or remind him of a letter which you said he had written on these scenes; you cannot think what a treasure they would be to me; remember you promised them to me when you returned to England. Have you heard from Lord Byron since he visited those sublime scenes? I have had great pleasure since I saw Sh.e.l.ley in going over a fine gallery of pictures of the Old Masters at Dulwich. There was a St. Sebastian by Guido, the finest picture I ever saw; there were also the finest specimens of Murillo, the great Spanish painter, to be found in England, and two very fine t.i.tians.

But the works of art are not to be compared to the works of nature, and I am never satisfied. It is only poets that are eternal benefactors of their fellow-creatures, and the real ones never fail of giving us the highest degree of pleasure we are capable of; they are, in my opinion, nature and art united, and as such never fading.

Do write to me immediately, and tell me you have got a house, and answer those questions I asked you at the beginning of this letter.

Give my love to Sh.e.l.ley, and kiss William for me. Your affectionate Sister,

f.a.n.n.y.

When Sh.e.l.ley sold to his father the reversion of a part of his inheritance, he had promised to G.o.dwin a sum of 300, which he had hoped to save from the money thus obtained. Owing to certain conditions attached to the transaction by Sir Timothy Sh.e.l.ley, this proved to be impossible.

The utmost Sh.e.l.ley could do, and that only by leaving himself almost without resources, was to send something over 200; a bitter disappointment to G.o.dwin, who had given a bill for the full amount.

Sh.e.l.ley had perhaps been led by his hopes, and his desire to serve G.o.dwin, to speak in too sanguine a tone as to his prospect of obtaining the money, and the letter announcing his failure came, f.a.n.n.y wrote, "like a thunderclap." In her disappointment she taxed Sh.e.l.ley with want of frankness, and Sh.e.l.ley and Mary both with an apparent wish to avoid the subject of G.o.dwin's affairs.

"You know," she writes, "the peculiar temperature of Papa's mind (if I may so express myself); you know he cannot write when pecuniary circ.u.mstances overwhelm him; you know that it is of the utmost consequence, for _his own_ and the _world's sake_ that he should finish his novel; and is it not your and Sh.e.l.ley's duty to consider these things, and to endeavour to prevent, as far as lies in your power, giving him unnecessary pain and anxiety?"

To the Sh.e.l.leys, who had strained every nerve to obtain this money, unmindful of the insulting manner in which such a.s.sistance was demanded and received by G.o.dwin, these appeals to their sense of duty must have been exasperating. Nor were matters mended by hearing of sundry scandalous reports abroad concerning themselves--reports sedulously gathered by Mrs.

G.o.dwin, and of which f.a.n.n.y thought it her duty to inform them, so as to put them on their guard. They, on their part, were indignant, especially with Mrs. G.o.dwin, who had evidently, they surmised, gone out of her way to collect this false information, and had helped rather than hindered its circulation; and they expressed themselves to this effect. f.a.n.n.y stoutly defended her stepmother against these attacks.