The Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Volume I Part 4

Life, which is to no one what he expects, had many clouds for them. Mary's life reached its zenith too suddenly, and with happiness came care in undue proportion. The future of intellectual expansion and creation which might have been hers was not to be fully realised, but perfections of character she might never have attained developed themselves as her nature was mellowed and moulded by time and by suffering.

Sh.e.l.ley's rupture with his first wife marks the end of his boyhood. Up to that time, thanks to his poetic temperament, his were the strong and simple, but pa.s.sing impulses and feelings of a child. "A being of large discourse" he a.s.suredly was, but not as yet "looking before and after."

Now he was to acquire the doubtful blessing of that faculty. Like Undine when she became endued with a soul, he gained an immeasurable good, while he lost a something that never returned.

Early in the morning of 28th July 1814 Mary G.o.dwin secretly left her father's house, accompanied by Jane Clairmont, and they started with Sh.e.l.ley in a post-chaise for Dover.

CHAPTER VI

AUGUST 1814-JANUARY 1816

From the day of their departure a joint journal was kept by Sh.e.l.ley and Mary, which tells their subsequent adventures and vicissitudes with the utmost candour and _navete_. A great deal of the earlier portion is written by Sh.e.l.ley, but after a time Mary becomes the princ.i.p.al diarist, and the latter part is almost entirely hers. Its account of their first wanderings in France and Switzerland was put into narrative form by her two or three years later, and published under the t.i.tle _Journal of a Six Weeks' Tour_. But the transparent simplicity of the journal is invaluable, and carries with it an absolute conviction which no studied account can emulate or improve upon. Considerable portions are, therefore, given in their entirety.

That 28th of July was a hotter day than had been known in England for many years. Between the sultry heat and exhaustion from the excitement and conflicting emotions of the last days, poor Mary was completely overcome.

"The heat made her faint," wrote Sh.e.l.ley, "it was necessary at every stage that she should repose. I was divided between anxiety for her health and terror lest our pursuers should arrive. I reproached myself with not allowing her sufficient time to rest, with conceiving any evil so great that the slightest portion of her comfort might be sacrificed to avoid it.

"At Dartford we took four horses, that we might outstrip pursuit. We arrived at Dover before four o'clock."

"On arriving at Dover," writes Mary,[7] "I was refreshed by a sea-bath. As we very much wished to cross the Channel with all possible speed, we would not wait for the packet of the following day (it being then about four in the afternoon), but hiring a small boat, resolved to make the pa.s.sage the same evening, the seamen promising us a voyage of two hours.

"The evening was most beautiful; there was but little wind, and the sails flapped in the flagging breeze; the moon rose, and night came on, and with the night a slow, heavy swell and a fresh breeze, which soon produced a sea so violent as to toss the boat very much. I was dreadfully sea-sick, and, as is usually my custom when thus affected, I slept during the greater part of the night, awaking only from time to time to ask where we were, and to receive the dismal answer each time, 'Not quite halfway.'

"The wind was violent and contrary; if we could not reach Calais the sailors proposed making for Boulogne. They promised only two hours'

sail from sh.o.r.e, yet hour after hour pa.s.sed, and we were still far distant, when the moon sunk in the red and stormy horizon and the fast-flashing lightning became pale in the breaking day.

"We were proceeding slowly against the wind, when suddenly a thunder squall struck the sail, and the waves rushed into the boat: even the sailors acknowledged that our situation was perilous; but they succeeded in reefing the sail; the wind was now changed, and we drove before the gale directly to Calais."

_Journal_ (Sh.e.l.ley).--Mary did not know our danger; she was resting between my knees, that were unable to support her; she did not speak or look, but I felt that she was there. I had time in that moment to reflect, and even to reason upon death; it was rather a thing of discomfort and disappointment than horror to me. We should never be separated, but in death we might not know and feel our union as now. I hope, but my hopes are not unmixed with fear for what may befall this inestimable spirit when we appear to die.

The morning broke, the lightning died away, the violence of the wind abated. We arrived at Calais, whilst Mary still slept; we drove upon the sands. Suddenly the broad sun rose over France.

G.o.dwin's diary for 28th July runs,

"_Five in the morning._ M. J. for Dover."

Mrs. G.o.dwin, in fact, started in pursuit of the fugitives as soon as they were missed. Neither Sh.e.l.ley nor Mary were the objects of her anxiety, but her own daughter. Jane Clairmont, who cared no more for her mother than she did for any one else, had guessed Mary's secret or insinuated herself into her confidence some time before the final _denouement_ of the love-affair. Wild and wayward, ready for anything in the shape of a romantic adventure, and longing for freedom from the restraints of home, she had sympathised with, and perhaps helped Sh.e.l.ley and Mary. She was in no wise anxious to be left to mope alone, nor to be exposed to cross-questioning she could ill have met. She claimed to escape with them as a return for her good offices, and whatever Mary may have thought or wished, Sh.e.l.ley was not one to leave her behind "in slavery." Mrs. G.o.dwin arrived at Calais by the very packet the fugitives had refused to wait for.

_Journal_ (Sh.e.l.ley).--In the evening Captain Davidson came and told us that a fat lady had arrived who said I had run away with her daughter; it was Mrs. G.o.dwin. Jane spent the night with her mother.

_July 30._--Jane informs us that she is unable to withstand the pathos of Mrs. G.o.dwin's appeal. She appealed to the Munic.i.p.ality of Paris, to past slavery and to future freedom. I counselled her to take at least half an hour for consideration. She returned to Mrs. G.o.dwin and informed her that she resolved to continue with us.

Mrs. G.o.dwin departed without answering a word.

It is difficult to understand how this mother had so little authority over her own girl of sixteen. She might rule G.o.dwin, but she evidently could not influence, far less rule her daughter. Sh.e.l.ley's influence, as far as it was exerted at all, was used in favour of Jane's remaining with them, and he paid dearly in after years for the heavy responsibility he now a.s.sumed.

The travellers proceeded to Paris, where they were obliged to remain longer than they intended, finding themselves so absolutely without money, nothing having been prearranged in their sudden flight, that Sh.e.l.ley had to sell his watch and chain for eight napoleons. Funds were at last procured through Tavernier, a French man of business, and they were free to put into execution the plan they had resolved upon, namely, to _walk_ through France, buying an a.s.s to carry their portmanteau and one of them by turns.

_Journal, August 8_ (Mary).--Jane and Sh.e.l.ley go to the a.s.s merchant; we buy an a.s.s. The day spent in preparation for departure.

Their landlady tried to dissuade them from their design.

She represented to us that a large army had been recently disbanded, that the soldiers and officers wandered idle about the country, and that _les dames seroient certainement enlevees_. But we were proof against her arguments, and, packing up a few necessaries, leaving the rest to go by the diligence, we departed in a _fiacre_ from the door of the hotel, our little a.s.s following.[8]

_Journal_ (Mary).--We set out to Charenton in the evening, carrying the a.s.s, who was weak and unfit for labour, like the Miller and his Son.

We dismissed the coach at the barrier. It was dusk, and the a.s.s seemed totally unable to bear one of us, appearing to sink under the portmanteau, though it was small and light. We were, however, merry enough, and thought the leagues short. We arrived at Charenton about ten. Charenton is prettily situated in a valley, through which the Seine flows, winding among banks variegated with trees. On looking at this scene C... (Jane) exclaimed, "Oh! this is beautiful enough; let us live here." This was her exclamation on every new scene, and as each surpa.s.sed the one before, she cried, "I am glad we did not live at Charenton, but let us live here."[9]

_August 9_ (Sh.e.l.ley).--We sell our a.s.s and purchase a mule, in which we much resemble him who never made a bargain but always lost half.

The day is most beautiful.

(Mary).--About nine o'clock we departed; we were clad in black silk. I rode on the mule, which carried also our portmanteau. S. and C. (Jane) followed, bringing a small basket of provisions. At about one we arrived at Gros-Bois, where, under the shade of trees, we ate our bread and fruit, and drank our wine, thinking of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

_Thursday, August 11_ (Mary).--From Provins we came to Nogent. The town was entirely desolated by the Cossacks; the houses were reduced to heaps of white ruins, and the bridge was destroyed. Proceeding on our way we left the great road and arrived at St. Aubin, a beautiful little village situated among trees. This village was also completely destroyed. The inhabitants told us the Cossacks had not left one cow in the village. Notwithstanding the entreaties of the people, who eagerly desired us to stay all night, we continued our route to Trois Maisons, three long leagues farther, on an unfrequented road, and which in many places was hardly perceptible from the surrounding waste....

As night approached our fears increased that we should not be able to distinguish the road, and Mary expressed these fears in a very complaining tone. We arrived at Trois Maisons at nine o'clock. Jane went up to the first cottage to ask our way, but was only answered by unmeaning laughter. We, however, discovered a kind of an _auberge_, where, having in some degree satisfied our hunger by milk and sour bread, we retired to a wretched apartment to bed. But first let me observe that we discovered that the inhabitants were not in the habit of washing themselves, either when they rose or went to bed.

_Friday, August 12._--We did not set out from here till eleven o'clock, and travelled a long league under the very eye of a burning sun. Sh.e.l.ley, having sprained his leg, was obliged to ride all day.

_Sat.u.r.day, August 13_ (Troyes).--We are disgusted with the excessive dirt of our habitation. Sh.e.l.ley goes to inquire about conveyances. He sells the mule for forty francs and the saddle for sixteen francs. In all our bargains for a.s.s, saddle, and mule we lose more than fifteen napoleons. Money we can but little spare now. Jane and Sh.e.l.ley seek for a conveyance to Neufchatel.

From Troyes Sh.e.l.ley wrote to Harriet, expressing his anxiety for her welfare, and urging her in her own interests to come out to Switzerland, where he, who would always remain her best and most disinterested friend, would procure for her some sweet retreat among the mountains. He tells her some details of their adventures in the simplest manner imaginable; never, apparently, doubting for a moment but that they would interest her as much as they did him. Harriet, it is needless to say, did not come. Had she done so, she would not have found Sh.e.l.ley, for, as the sequel shows, he was back in London almost as soon as she could have got to Switzerland.

_Journal, August 14_ (Mary).--At four in the morning we depart from Troyes, and proceed in the new vehicle to Vandeuvres. The village remains still ruined by the war. We rest at Vandeuvres two hours, but walk in a wood belonging to a neighbouring chateau, and sleep under its shade. The moss was so soft; the murmur of the wind in the leaves was sweeter than aeolian music; we forgot that we were in France or in the world for a time.

_August 17._--The _voiturier_ insists upon our pa.s.sing the night at the village of Mort. We go out on the rocks, and Sh.e.l.ley and I read part of _Mary_, a fiction. We return at dark, and, unable to enter the beds, we pa.s.s a few comfortless hours by the kitchen fireside.

_Thursday, August 18._--We leave Mort at four. After some hours of tedious travelling, through a most beautiful country, we arrive at Noe. From the summit of one of the hills we see the whole expanse of the valley filled with a white, undulating mist, over which the piny hills pierced like islands. The sun had just risen, and a ray of the red light lay on the waves of this fluctuating vapour. To the west, opposite the sun, it seemed driven by the light against the rock in immense ma.s.ses of foaming cloud until it becomes lost in the distance, mixing its tints with the fleecy sky. At Noe, whilst our postillion waited, we walked into the forest of pines; it was a scene of enchantment, where every sound and sight contributed to charm.

Our mossy seat in the deepest recesses of the wood was enclosed from the world by an impenetrable veil. On our return the postillion had departed without us; he left word that he expected to meet us on the road. We proceeded there upon foot to Maison Neuve, an _auberge_ a league distant. At Maison Neuve he had left a message importing that he should proceed to Pontarlier, six leagues distant, and that unless he found us there he should return. We despatched a boy on horseback for him; he promised to wait for us at the next village; we walked two leagues in the expectation of finding him there. The evening was most beautiful; the horned moon hung in the light of sunset that threw a glow of unusual depth of redness above the piny mountains and the dark deep valleys which they included. At Savrine we found, according to our expectation, that M. le Voiturier had pursued his journey with the utmost speed. We engaged a _voiture_ for Pontarlier. Jane very unable to walk. The moon becomes yellow and hangs close to the woody horizon.

It is dark before we arrive at Pontarlier. The postillion tells many lies. We sleep, for the first time in France, in a clean bed.

_Friday, August 19._--We pursue our journey towards Neufchatel. We pa.s.s delightful scenes of verdure surpa.s.sing imagination; here first we see clear mountain streams. We pa.s.s the barrier between France and Switzerland, and, after descending nearly a league, between lofty rocks covered with pines and interspersed with green glades, where the gra.s.s is short and soft and beautifully verdant, we arrive at St.

Sulpice. The mule is very lame; we determined to engage another horse for the remainder of the way. Our _voiturier_ had determined to leave us, and had taken measures to that effect. The mountains after St.

Sulpice become loftier and more beautiful. Two leagues from Neufchatel we see the Alps; hill after hill is seen extending its craggy outline before the other, and far behind all, towering above every feature of the scene, the snowy Alps; they are 100 miles distant; they look like those acc.u.mulated clouds of dazzling white that arrange themselves on the horizon in summer. This immensity staggers the imagination, and so far surpa.s.ses all conception that it requires an effort of the understanding to believe that they are indeed mountains. We arrive at Neufchatel and sleep.

_Sat.u.r.day, August 20._--We consult on our situation. There are no letters at the _bureau de poste_; there cannot be for a week. Sh.e.l.ley goes to the banker's, who promises an answer in two hours; at the conclusion of the time he sends for Sh.e.l.ley, and, to our astonishment and consolation, Sh.e.l.ley returns staggering under the weight of a large canvas bag full of silver. Sh.e.l.ley alone looks grave on the occasion, for he alone clearly apprehends that francs and ecus and louis d'or are like the white and flying cloud of noon, that is gone before one can say "Jack Robinson." Sh.e.l.ley goes to secure a place in the diligence; they are all taken. He meets there with a Swiss who speaks English; this man is imbued with the spirit of true politeness.

He endeavours to perform real services, and seems to regard the mere ceremonies of the affair as things of very little value. He makes a bargain with a _voiturier_ to take us to Lucerne for eighteen ecus.

We arrange to depart at four the next morning. Our Swiss friend appoints to meet us there.

_Sunday, August 21._--Go from Neufchatel at six; our Swiss accompanies us a little way out of town. There is a mist to-day, so we cannot see the Alps; the drive, however, is interesting, especially in the latter part of the day. Sh.e.l.ley and Jane talk concerning Jane's character. We arrive before seven at Soleure. Sh.e.l.ley and Mary go to the much-praised cathedral, and find it very modern and stupid.