The Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Volume I Part 27

_Thursday, February 7._--Read Homer, Tacitus, and _Emile_. Sh.e.l.ley and Edward depart for La Spezzia. Walk with Jane, and to the Opera with her in the evening. With E. Trelawny afterwards to Mrs. Beauclerc's ball. During a long, long evening in mixed society how often do one's sensations change, and, swiftly as the west wind drives the shadows of clouds across the sunny hill or the waving corn, so swift do sensations pa.s.s, painting--yet, oh! not disfiguring--the serenity of the mind. It is then that life seems to weigh itself, and hosts of memories and imaginations, thrown into one scale, make the other kick the beam. You remember what you have felt, what you have dreamt; yet you dwell on the shadowy side, and lost hopes and death, such as you have seen it, seem to cover all things with a funeral pall.

The time that was, is, and will be, presses upon you, and, standing the centre of a moving circle, you "slide giddily as the world reels."

You look to heaven, and would demand of the everlasting stars that the thoughts and pa.s.sions which are your life may be as ever-living as they. You would demand of the blue empyrean that your mind might be as clear as it, and that the tears which gather in your eyes might be the shower that would drain from its profoundest depths the springs of weakness and sorrow. But where are the stars? Where the blue empyrean?

A ceiling clouds that, and a thousand swift consuming lights supply the place of the eternal ones of heaven. The enthusiast suppresses her tears, crushes her opening thoughts, and.... But all is changed; some word, some look excite the lagging blood, laughter dances in the eyes, and the spirits rise proportionably high.

The Queen is all for revels, her light heart, Unladen from the heaviness of state, Bestows itself upon delightfulness.

_Friday, February 8._--Sometimes I awaken from my visionary monotony, and my thoughts flow until, as it is exquisite pain to stop the flowing of the blood, so is it painful to check expression and make the overflowing mind return to its usual channel. I feel a kind of tenderness to those, whoever they may be (even though strangers), who awaken the train and touch a chord so full of harmony and thrilling music, when I would tear the veil from this strange world, and pierce with eagle eyes beyond the sun; when every idea, strange and changeful, is another step in the ladder by which I would climb....

Read _Emile_. Jane dines with me, walk with her. E. Trelawny and Jane in the evening. Trelawny tells us a number of amusing stories of his early life. Read third canto of _L'Inferno_.

They say that Providence is shown by the extraction that may be ever made of good from evil, that we draw our virtues from our faults. So I am to thank G.o.d for making me weak. I might say, "Thy will be done,"

but I cannot applaud the permitter of self-degradation, though dignity and superior wisdom arise from its bitter and burning ashes.

_Sat.u.r.day, February 9._--Read _Emile_. Walk with Jane, and ride with T. Guiccioli. Dine with Jane. Taafe and T. Medwin call. I retire with E. Trelawny, who amuses me as usual by the endless variety of his adventures and conversation.

MARY TO MRS. GISBORNE.

PISA, _9th February 1822_.

MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE--Not having heard from you, I am anxious about my desk. It would have been a great convenience to me if I could have received it at the beginning of the winter, but now I should like it as soon as possible. I hope that it is out of Ollier's hands. I have before said what I would have done with it. If both desks can be sent without being opened, let them be sent; if not, give the small one back to Peac.o.c.k. Get a key made for the larger, and send it, I entreat you, by the very next vessel. This key will cost half a guinea, and Ollier will not give you the money, but give me credit for it, I entreat you. I pray now let me have the desk as soon as possible.

Sh.e.l.ley is now gone to Spezzia to get houses for our colony for the summer.

It will be a large one, too large, I am afraid, for unity; yet I hope not. There will be Lord Byron, who will have a large and beautiful boat built on purpose by some English navy officers at Genoa. There will be the Countess Guiccioli and her brother; the Williams', whom you know; Trelawny, a kind of half-Arab Englishman, whose life has been as changeful as that of Anastasius, and who recounts the adventures as eloquently and as well as the imagined Greek. He is clever; for his moral qualities I am yet in the dark; he is a strange web which I am endeavouring to unravel. I would fain learn if generosity is united to impetuousness, probity of spirit to his a.s.sumption of singularity and independence. He is 6 feet high, raven black hair, which curls thickly and shortly, like a Moor's, dark gray expressive eyes, overhanging brows, upturned lips, and a smile which expresses good nature and kindheartedness. His shoulders are high, like an Oriental's, his voice is monotonous, yet emphatic, and his language, as he relates the events of his life, energetic and simple, whether the tale be one of blood and horror, or of irresistible comedy. His company is delightful, for he excites me to think, and if any evil shade the intercourse, that time will unveil--the sun will rise or night darken all. There will be, besides, a Captain Roberts, whom I do not know, a very rough subject, I fancy,--a famous angler, etc. We are to have a small boat, and now that those first divine spring days are come (you know them well), the sky clear, the sun hot, the hedges budding, we sitting without a fire and the windows open, I begin to long for the sparkling waves, the olive-coloured hills and vine-shaded pergolas of Spezzia. However, it would be madness to go yet. Yet as _ceppo_ was bad, we hope for a good _pasqua_, and if April prove fine, we shall fly with the swallows. The Opera here has been detestable. The English Sinclair is the _primo tenore_, and acquits himself excellently, but the Italians, after the first, have enviously selected such operas as give him little or nothing to do. We have English here, and some English b.a.l.l.s and parties, to which I (_mirabile dictu_) go sometimes. We have Taafe, who bores us out of our senses when he comes, telling a young lady that her eyes shed flowers--why therefore should he send her any? I have sent my novel to Papa. I long to hear some news of it, as, with an author's vanity, I want to see it in print, and hear the praises of my friends. I should like, as I said when you went away, a copy of _Matilda_. It might come out with the desk. I hope as the town fills to hear better news of your plans, we long to hear from you. What does Henry do? How many times has he been in love?--Ever yours,

M. W. S.

Sh.e.l.ley would like to see the review of the _Prometheus_ in the _Quarterly_.

_Thursday, February 14._--Read Homer and _Anastasius_. Walk with the Williams' in the evening.... "Nothing of us but what must suffer a sea-change."

This entry marks the day to which Mary referred in a letter written more than a year later, where she says--

A year ago Trelawny came one afternoon in high spirits with news concerning the building of the boat, saying, "Oh! we must all embark, all live aboard; we will all 'suffer a sea-change.'" And dearest Sh.e.l.ley was delighted with the quotation, saying that he would have it for the motto for his boat.

Little did they think, in their lightness of spirit, that in another year the motto of the boat would serve for the inscription on Sh.e.l.ley's tomb.

_Journal, Monday, February 18._--Read Homer. Walk with the Williams'.

Jane, Trelawny, and Medwin in the evening.[46]

_Monday, February 25._--What a mart this world is? Feelings, sentiments,--more invaluable than gold or precious stones is the coin, and what is bought? Contempt, discontent, and disappointment, unless, indeed, the mind be loaded with drearier memories. And what say the worldly to this? Use Spartan coin, pay away iron and lead alone, and store up your precious metal. But alas! from nothing, nothing comes, or, as all things seem to degenerate, give lead and you will receive clay,--the most contemptible of all lives is where you live in the world, and none of your pa.s.sions or affections are brought into action. I am convinced I could not live thus, and as Sterne says that in solitude he would worship a tree, so in the world I should attach myself to those who bore the semblance of those qualities which I admire. But it is not this that I want; let me love the trees, the skies, and the ocean, and that all-encompa.s.sing spirit of which I may soon become a part,--let me in my fellow-creature love that which is, and not fix my affection on a fair form endued with imaginary attributes; where goodness, kindness, and talent are, let me love and admire them at their just rate, neither adorning nor 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 recesses; but too happy if I dislodge any evil spirit, or enshrine a new deity in some hitherto uninhabited nook.

Read _Wrongs of Women_ and Homer. Clare departs. Walk with Jane and ride with T. Guiccioli. T. G. dines with us.

_Thursday, February 28._--Take leave of the Argyropolis. Walk with Sh.e.l.ley. Ride with T. Guiccioli. Read letters. Spend the evening at the Williams'. Trelawny there.

_Friday, March 1._--An emba.s.sy. Walk. My first Greek lesson. Walk with Edward. In the evening work.

_Sunday, March 3._--A note to, and a visit from, Dr. Nott. Go to church. Walk. The Williams' and Trelawny to dinner.

Mary's experiments in the way of church-going, so new a thing in her experience, and so little in accordance with Sh.e.l.ley's habits of thought and action, excited some surprise and comment. Hogg, Sh.e.l.ley's early friend, who heard of it from Mrs. Gisborne, now in England, was especially shocked. In a letter to Mary, Mrs. Gisborne remarked, "Your friend Hogg is _molto scandalizzato_ to hear of your weekly visits to the _piano di sotto_" (the services were held on the ground floor of the Tre Palazzi).

The same letter asks for news of Emilia Viviani. Mrs. Gisborne had heard that she was married, and feared she had been sacrificed to a man whom she describes as "that insipid, sickening Italian mortal, Danieli the lawyer."

She proceeds to say--

We invited Varley one evening to meet Hogg, who was curious to see a man really believing in astrology in the nineteenth century. Varley, as usual, was not sparing of his predictions. We talked of Sh.e.l.ley without mentioning his name; Varley was curious, and being informed by Hogg of his exact age, but describing his person as short and corpulent, and himself as a _bon vivant_, Varley amused us with the following remarks: "Your friend suffered from ill-fortune in May or June 1815. Vexatious affairs on the 2d and 14th of June, or perhaps latter end of May 1820. The following year, disturbance about a lady.

Again, last April, at 10 at night, or at noon, disturbance about a bouncing stout lady, and others. At six years of age, noticed by ladies and gentlemen for learning. In July 1799, beginning of charges made against him. In September 1800, at noon, or dusk, very violent charges. Sc.r.a.pe at fourteen years of age. Eternal warfare against parents and public opinion, and a great blow-up every seven years till death," etc. etc. _Is all this true?_

Not a little amused, Mary answered her friend as follows--

PISA, _7th March 1822_.

MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE--I am very sorry that you have so much trouble with my commissions, and vainly, too! _ma che vuole?_ Ollier will not give you the money, and we are, to tell you the truth, too poor at present to send you a cheque upon our banker; two or three circ.u.mstances having caused

That climax of all human ills, The inflammation of our weekly bills.

But far more than that, we have not touched a quattrino of our Christmas quarter, since debts in England and other calls swallowed it entirely up. For the present, therefore, we must dispense with those things I asked you for. As for the desk, we received last post from Ollier (without a line) the bill of lading that he talks of, and, _si Dio vuole_, we shall receive it safe; the vessel in which they were shipped is not yet arrived. The worst of keeping on with Ollier (though it is the best, I believe, after all) is that you will never be able to make anything of his accounts, until you can compare the number of copies in hand with his account of their sale. As for my novel, I shipped it off long ago to my father, telling him to make the best of it; and by the way in which he answered my letter, I fancy he thinks he can make something of it. This is much better than Ollier, for I should never have got a penny from him; and, moreover, he is a very bad bookseller to publish with--_ma basta poi_, with all these _seccaturas_.

Poor dear Hunt, you will have heard by this time of the disastrous conclusion of his third embarkment; he is to try a third time in April, and if he does not succeed then, we must say that the sea is _un vero precipizio_, and let him try land. By the bye, why not consult Varley on the result? I have tried the _Sors Homeri_ and the _Sors Virgilii_; the first says (I will write this Greek better, but I thought that Mr. Gisborne could read the Romaic writing, and I now quite forget what it was)--

[Greek: elomen, teios moi adelpheon allos epephnen.

hos d'opot' Iasioni euplokamos Demeter.

Dourateon megan hippon, hoth' heiato pantes aristoi.]

Which first seems to say that he will come, though his brother may be prosecuted for a libel. Of the second, I can make neither head nor tail; and the third is as oracularly obscure as one could wish, for who these great people are who sat in a wooden horse, _chi lo sa_?

Virgil, except the first line, which is unfavourable, is as enigmatical as Homer--

Fulgores nunc horrificos, sonitumque, metumque Tum leves calamos, et rasae hastilia virgae Connexosque angues, ipsamque in pectore divae.

But to speak of predictions or anteductions, some of Varley's are curious enough: "Ill-fortune in May or June 1815." No; it was then that he arranged his income; there was no ill except health, _al solito_, at that time. The particular days of the 2d and 14th of June 1820 were not ill, but the whole time was disastrous. It was then we were alarmed by Paolo's attack and disturbance. About a lady in the winter of last year, enough, G.o.d knows! Nothing particular about a fat bouncing lady at 10 at night: and indeed things got more quiet in April. In July 1799 Sh.e.l.ley was only seven years of age. "A great blow-up every seven years." Sh.e.l.ley is not at home; when he returns I will ask him what happened when he was fourteen. In his twenty-second year we made our _scappatura_; at twenty-eight and twenty-nine, a good deal of discomfort on a certain point, but it hardly amounted to a blow-up. Pray ask Varley also about me.

So Hogg is shocked that, for good neighbourhood's sake, I visited the _piano di sotto_; let him rea.s.sure himself, since instead of a weekly, it was only a monthly visit; in fact, after going three times I stayed away until I heard he was going away. He preached against atheism, and, they said, against Sh.e.l.ley. As he invited me himself to come, this appeared to me very impertinent; so I wrote to him, to ask him whether he intended any personal allusion, but he denied the charge most entirely. This affair, as you may guess, among the English at Pisa made a great noise; the gossip here is of course out of all bounds, and some people have given them something to talk about. I have seen little of it all; but that which I have seen makes me long most eagerly for some sea-girt isle, where with Sh.e.l.ley, my babe, and books and horses, we may give the rest to the winds; this we shall not have for the present. Sh.e.l.ley is entangled with Lord Byron, who is in a terrible fright lest he should desert him. We shall have boats, and go somewhere on the sea-coast, where, I daresay, we shall spend our time agreeably enough, for I like the Williams' exceedingly, though there my list begins and ends.

Emilia married Biondi; we hear that she leads him and his mother (to use a vulgarism) a devil of a life. The conclusion of our friendship (_a la Italiana_) puts me in mind of a nursery rhyme, which runs thus--

As I was going down Cranbourne lane, Cranbourne lane was dirty, And there I met a pretty maid, Who dropt to me a curtsey;

I gave her cakes, I gave her wine, I gave her sugar-candy, But oh! the little naughty girl, She asked me for some brandy.

Now turn "Cranbourne Lane" into Pisan acquaintances, which I am sure are dirty enough, and "brandy" into that wherewithal to buy brandy (and that no small sum _per_), and you have the whole story of Sh.e.l.ley's Italian Platonics. We now know, indeed, few of those whom we knew last year. Pacchiani is at Prato; Mavrocordato in Greece; the Argyropolis in Florence; and so the world slides. Taafe is still here--the b.u.t.t of Lord Byron's quizzing, and the poet laureate of Pisa. On the occasion of a young lady's birthday he wrote--

Eyes that shed a thousand flowers!

Why should flowers be sent to you?

Sweetest flowers of heavenly bowers, Love and friendship, are what are due.