Mrs. Shelley by Lucy M. Rossetti

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Mary had the task of furnishing the ground floor of Byron's Lanfranchi
Palace for the Hunts, although Byron insisted on paying for it. Hunt,
meanwhile, was unable to proceed beyond Plymouth that winter, where
they were obliged to stay by stress of weather and Mrs. Hunt's
illness. Thus some months passed by, during which time Byron lost the
first ardour of the enterprise, and became very lukewarm. It must have
been when Mary had good reason to foresee this result that she wrote
to Hunt thus:--

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I know that S. has some idea of persuading you to come here. I am too
ill to write the reasonings, only let me entreat you let no
persuasions induce you to come; selfish feelings you may be sure do
not dictate me, but it would be complete madness to come. I wish I
could write more. I wish I were with you to assist you. I wish I could
break my chains and leave this dungeon. Adieu, I shall hear about yon
and Marianne's health from S.

Ever your M.

Shelley was forced to apply to Byron to help him with money to lend
Hunt, and Byron had ceased to care about the _Liberal_, the
projected magazine.

While staying near Byron the Shelleys came in for a large influx of
visitors, often much to Shelley's annoyance, and Mary wrote of their
wish, if Greece were liberated, of settling in one of the lovely
islands.

The middle of January brought one visitor to the Shelleys, who,
introduced by the Williams, became more than a passing figure in
Mary's life. In Edward John Trelawny she found a staunch friend ever
after. Trelawny, who had led a wild life from the time he left the
navy in mere boyhood, was a conspicuous character wherever known. With
small reverence for the orthodox creeds, he must have had some of the
traits of the ancient Vikings, before meeting Shelley; but from that
time he became his devoted admirer, or, as one has observed who knew
him, as Ahab at Elijah's feet, so Trelawny at Shelley's was ready to
humble himself for the first time; nor did he afterwards, to the end
of a long life, ever speak of him without veneration. Shelley's
exalted ideas touched a chord in the strong man's heart, and within a
few weeks of his death he rejoiced in hearing of a crowded assembly in
Glasgow, enthusiastic in hearing a lecture on Shelley, and asserted it
is the "spirit of poetry which needs spreading now; science is popular
to the exclusion of poetry as a regenerator."

The day after their first meeting with Trelawny, Mary notes in her
diary how Trelawny discussed with Williams and Shelley about building
a boat which they desired to have, and which Captain Roberts was to
build at Genoa without delay. A year later Mary added a note to this
entry, to the effect how she and Jane Williams then laughed at the way
their husbands decided without consulting them, though they agreed in
hating the boat. She adds: "How well I remember that night! How
short-sighted we are! And now that its anniversary is come and gone,
methinks I cannot be the wretch I too truly am." This winter, at Pisa,
Mary, with popular and strong men to protect her, was not neglected so
much as hitherto. She went to Mrs. Beauclerc's ball with Trelawny; but
she refers to a strange feeling of depression in the midst of a gay
assembly.

On February 8 Shelley started, with Williams, to seek for houses in
the neighbourhood of Spezzia; the idea being that the Shelleys, the
Williamses, Trelawny and Captain Roberts, Byron, Countess Guiccioli
and her brother, should all spend the summer there, although Mary
feared the party would be too large for unity. Only one suitable house
could be found; but Shelley was not to be stopped by such a trifle,
and the house must do for all.

In the early spring of this year, Mary wrote to Mrs. Hunt how she and
Mrs. Williams went violet-hunting, while the men went on longer
expeditions. The Shelleys and their surroundings must have kept the
English assembled in Pisa in a pleasing state of excitement. At one
time Mary caused a commotion by attending Dr. Nott's Sunday service,
which was held on the ground floor of her house. On one occasion he
preached against Atheism, and, having specially asked Mary to attend,
it was taken as a marked attack on Shelley, and it was considered that
Mary had taken part against her husband.

Mary wrote a pathetic letter to Mrs. Gisborne that she had only been
three times to church, and now longed to be in some sea-girt isle with
Shelley and her baby, but that Shelley was entangled with Byron and
could not get away. She was longing for the time by the sea when she
would have boats and horses.

While Mary was yearning for sympathy with her kind, or solitude with
Shelley, he for a time was wasting regrets that she did not sympathise
with or feel his poetry. It was the old story of the Skylark. While he
was seeking inspiration at some fresh source, Mary did not become
equally enthusiastic about the new idea. But most probably, in spite
of Trelawny's later notion and her own self-reproaches of not having
done all possible things to sympathise with Shelley, Mary's behaviour
was really the best calculated for his comfort. A man who did not like
regular meals and conventional habits in this respect, would not have
liked his wife to worry him constantly on the subject, and the plate
of cold meat and bread placed on a shelf, as his table was probably
covered with papers--which Trelawny found there forgotten, towards the
end of a "lost day" as Shelley called it--was not inappropriate for
one who forgot his meals and did not like being teased. Mary was not
of the nature to make, nor Shelley of the nature to require, a docile
slave; and during the time at Naples, for which Mary felt most regret,
Shelley wrote of her as "a dear friend with whom added years old
intercourse adds to my appreciation of its value, and who would have
more right than anyone to complain that she has not been able to
extinguish in me the very power of delineating sadness."

During this time the English visitors believed and manufactured all
kinds of stories about the eccentric English then at Pisa. Trelawny
had been murdered--Byron wounded--and Taaffe was guarded by bulldogs
in Byron's house! These rumours were laughed over by the people
concerned.

On one occasion Mrs. Shelley, with the Countess Guiccioli, witnessed
from their carriage the affair with the dragoon Masi, when he jostled
against Taaffe. Byron, Shelley, and Gamba pursued him; Shelley, coming
up with him first, was knocked down, but was rescued by Captain Hay.
The dragoon was finally wounded by one of Byron's servants, under the
idea that he had wounded Byron.

During this exciting time at Pisa, Claire was eating her heart at
Florence with longings and regrets for Allegra; and Mary and Shelley
were trying to calm her by letters, and growing themselves more and
more dissatisfied at Byron's treatment of the mother. There are
entries in Claire's diary as to her cough, and the last entry before
the day she left Florence for Pisa--April l3--is erased. Then there is
one of her ominous blanks from April till September.

While Claire travelled with Williams and his wife to Spezzia to look
for a house, news came from Bagnacavallo which verified her worst
fears. Typhus fever had ravaged the convent and district, and the
fragile blossom had succumbed. Shelley and Mary determined to keep
this "evil news," as Mary calls it, from Claire till she is away from
the neighbourhood of Byron. So, on her return from the unsuccessful
visit to Spezzia, they have to conceal their sorrow and their
feelings. Shelley, ever anxious for Claire's distress, persuaded her
to accompany Mary to Spezzia, saying they must take any house they
could get. Claire had thought of returning to Florence, but was
overruled by Shelley, who, as Mary wrote to Mrs. Gisborne, carried all
like a torrent before him and sent Mary and Claire with Trelawny to
Spezzia. Shelley followed with their furniture in boats; and so, on
April 26, they were hurried by Shelley, or fate, from misfortune to
misfortune, in taking Claire to a haven where she might be helped to
bear her sore trouble. Mary, with her companions, secured the only
available house--Casa Magui, at San Terenzio, near Lerici--in which it
was settled that they and the Williamses must find room and bring
their furniture. Difficulties of all kinds had to be overcome from the
dogana. The furniture arrived in boats, and they were told the dues
upon it would amount to three hundred pounds, but the harbour-master
kindly allowed it to be removed to the villa as to a depot till
further orders arrived. Then there were the difficulties of Mrs.
Williams, of whom Shelley wrote that she was pining for her saucepans.
Claire felt the necessity of returning to Florence, the space being so
small. This, however, was not to be thought of. Claire still had to
have the news of her child's death broken to her, and Mrs. Williams's
room had to be used for secret consultations. Claire, entering the
room and seeing the agitated silence on her approach, at once realised
the state of the case. She felt her Allegra was dead, and it only
devolved on Shelley to tell the sad tale of a fever-ravaged district,
and a fever-tossed child dying among the kind nuns, who are ever good
nurses. Claire's grief was intense; but all that she now wanted was a
sight of her child's coffin, a likeness of her, and a lock of her
golden hair (a portion of which last is now in the writer's
possession). The latter Shelley helped to obtain for her; but Claire
never after forgave him who had consigned her child to the convent in
the Romagna, nor allowed her another sight of her little one.

On May 21 Claire left for Florence, and Mary remained with her husband
and the Williamses at Casa Magni. These rapidly succeeding troubles,
together with Mary's being again in a delicate state of health, left
the circle in an unhinged and nervous state of apprehension. Shelley
saw visions of Allegra rising from the sea, clapping her hands and
smiling at him. Mrs. Williams saw Shelley on the balcony, and then he
was nowhere near, nor had he been there. Shelley ranged from wild
delight with the beauty around him, to such fits of despondency as
when he most culpably proposed to Mrs. Williams, while in a boat with
him and her babies, in the bay--"Now let us together solve the great
mystery." But she managed to get him to turn shorewards, and escaped
at the first opportunity from the boat.

Mary was not without her prophetic periods--a deep melancholy settled
on her amid the lovely scenery. Generally at home with mountain and
water, she now only felt oppressed by their proximity. Shelley was at
work on the _Triumph of Life_, one of his grandest poems; but
Mary was always apprehensive except when with her husband, least so
when lying in a boat with her head on his knees. If Shelley were
absent, she feared for Percy, her son, so that, in spite of the oasis
of peace and rest and beauty around them, she was weak and nervous;
and Shelley, for fear of hurting her, had to conceal such matters as
might trouble her, especially the again critical state of the affairs
of her father, who was in want of four hundred pounds to compound with
his creditors. These alarms for Mary's health and tranquillity of
mind, and the consequent necessity of keeping any trying subject from
her, may have induced Shelley in writing to Claire to adopt a
confidential tone not otherwise advisable.

While at Casa Magni, the fatal boat which had been discussed on the
first evening Trelawny spent with the Shelleys, arrived. The "perfect
plaything for the summer" had been built against the advice of
Trelawny, by a Genoese ship-builder, after a model obtained by
Lieutenant Williams from one of the royal dockyards in England.
Originally it was intended to call it the _Don Juan_, but recent
circumstances had caused a break in the intimacy of Shelley with
Byron, and Shelley felt that this would be eternal. He, therefore, no
longer wished any name to remind him of Byron, and gave the
name _Ariel_, proposed by Trelawny, to the small craft. With
considerable difficulty the name _Don Juan_ was taken from the
sail, where Byron had manoeuvred to have it painted.

Towards the end of May, Mary was seriously suffering; the difficulties
of housekeeping for the Williamses as well as themselves were no
trifle. Provisions had to be fetched from a distance of over three
miles. Shelley writes to Claire, hoping she will be able to find them
a man-cook. As Mary was somewhat better when Shelley wrote, he feared
he should have to speak to her about Godwin's affairs, but put off the
evil day.

On June 6 we find Shelley setting out with Williams in the
_Ariel_ to meet Claire on her way from Florence to Casa Magni. A
calm having delayed them till the evening, they were too late to meet
Claire, who travelled on by land for Via Reggio. Shelley and Williams,
returning by sea, arrived home a short time before her. Their return
and her arrival were none too soon; for, on the 8th or 9th, Mary fell
dangerously ill, as she wrote in August to Mrs. Gisborne: "I was so
ill that for seven hours I lay nearly lifeless--kept from fainting by
brandy, vinegar, eau-de-cologne, &c. At length ice was brought to our
solitude; it came before the doctor, so Claire and Jane were afraid of
using it; but Shelley over-ruled them, and, by an unsparing
application of it, I was restored. They all thought, and so did I at
one time, that I was about to die."

Shelley, equal to the occasion, felt the strain on his nerves
afterwards, and a week after his wife was out of danger he alarmed her
greatly, as she relates: "While yet unable to walk, I was confined to
my bed. In the middle of the night I was awoke by hearing him scream,
and come rushing into my room; I was sure that he was asleep, and
tried to waken him by calling on him; but he continued to scream,
which inspired me with such a panic that I jumped out of bed and ran
across the hall to Mrs. Williams's room, where I fell through
weakness, though I was so frightened that I got up again immediately.
She let me in, and Williams went to Shelley who had been wakened by my
getting out of bed. He said that he had not been asleep, and that it
was a vision that he saw that had frightened him. But as he declared
that he had not screamed, it was certainly a dream, and no waking
vision." And so the lovely summer months passed by with all these
varying emotions, with thoughts soaring to the highest pinnacles of
imagination as in the _Triumph of Life_, and with the enjoyment
of the high ideals of others, as in reading the Spanish dramas: music
also gave enchantment when Jane Williams played her guitar. With the
intense beauty of the scenery, and the wildness of the natives who
used sometimes to dance all night on the sands in front of their
house; the emotions of life seemed compressed into this time, spent in
what would be considered by many great dulness, in the company of
Trelawny and the Williamses. And now an event, long hoped for,
arrived, for the Hunts were in the harbour of Genoa, and Shelley was
to meet them at Leghorn, as Hunt's letter, which reached them on June
19, had been delayed too long to allow of Shelley joining them at
Genoa. On July I intelligence came of the Hunts' departure from Genoa;
and at noon a breeze rising from the west decided the desirability of
at once starting for Leghorn. Shelley, with Captain Roberts who had
joined him at Lerici, arrived by nine in the evening, after the
officers of health had left their office. The voyagers were thus
unable to land that evening, but spent the time alongside of Byron's
yacht, the _Bolivar_, from which they received coverings for the
night.

The next morning news arrived from Byron's villa, which already began
to verify Mary's forebodings in her letter to Hunt, and proved the
clear-sightedness of her forecast. Disturbances having taken place at
his house at Monte Nero, Count Gamba and his family were banished by
the Government from Tuscany, and there were rumours that Byron might
be leaving immediately for America or Switzerland. This was indeed
trying news for Shelley to have to break to the Hunts on their first
meeting in the hotel at Leghorn, where, after four years, the two
friends again met. The encounter was most touching, as remembered
years later by Thornton Hunt. Shelley had plenty of work on hand for a
few days; he procured Vacca, the physician, for Mrs. Hunt; and had to
sustain his friend during his anxiety as to his wife's health and the
uncertainty as to Byron's conduct. Shelley would not think of leaving
him till he had seen him comfortably installed in the Lanfranchi
Palace, in the rooms which Mary had prepared for him at Byron's
request. The still more difficult task of fixing Byron to some promise
of assistance with regard to the _Liberal_ was likewise carried
out; and after one or two days of dejection, during which Shelley
wrote to Mrs. Williams on July 4 to relieve his own despondency, and
to his wife to relieve hers, as her depression of spirits required
more cheering than adding to, he wrote:--"How are you, my best Mary?
Write especially how is your health and how your spirits are, and
whether you are not more reconciled to staying at Lerici, at least
during the summer. You have no idea how I am hurried and occupied. I
have not a moment's leisure, but will write by the next post."

Soon after writing these letters, Shelley found with exultation that
his work was done. As usual, he had carried ail before him, and
secured Byron's "Vision of Judgment" for the first number of the
_Liberal_, and by July 7 he was able to show his friends the
ever-delightful sights of Pisa. Thus one day of rest and pleasure
remained to Shelley after doing his utmost to assist his friend Hunt.
To the last Shelley was faithful to his aim--that of doing all he
could for others. His interviews with Byron had secured a return of
the friendly feeling which nought but death was henceforth to sever,
and the two great names, which nothing can divide, are linked by the
unbreakable chain of genius--genius, the fire of the universe, which
at times may flicker low, but which, bursting into flame here and
there, illumines the dark recesses of the soul of the universe--genius
which has made the world we know, which, never absent, though dormant,
has changed the stone to the flower, the flower to animal, and,
gaining ever in degree through the various stages of life, is the
divine attribute, the will, the idea. Genius manifest in the greatest
and best of humanity, shown indeed, as the Word of God, or as he who
holds the mirror up to nature, or by the great power which in colour
or monotone can display the love and agony of a dying Christ; by the
loving poet, who can soar beyond his age to uphold an unselfish aim of
perfection to the world; by all those who, throwing off their mortal
attributes at times, can live the true life free from the too
absorbing pleasures of the flesh, which can only he enjoyed by
dividing.

But now Shelley's mortal battle was nearly over; he who had not let
his talent or myriad talents lie dormant was to rest, his work of life
was nearly done. Not that the good is ever ended; verily, through
thousands of generations, through eternity, it endures; while the
bad--perhaps not useless--is the chaff which is dispersed, and which
has no result unless to hurry on the divine will. Our life is double.
Shelley's atoms were to return to their primal elements. The unknown
atoms or attributes of them were undoubtedly to carry on their work;
he had added to the eternal intellect.

The last facts of Shelley's life are related by Trelawny and by Mrs.
Shelley. On the morning of July 8, having finished his arrangements
for the Hunts and spent one day in showing the noble sights of Pisa,
Shelley, after making purchases for their house and obtaining money
from his banker, accompanied by Trelawny during the forenoon, was
ready by noon to embark on the _Ariel_ with Edward Williams and
the sailor-boy, Charles Vivian. Captain Roberts was not without
apprehensions as to the weather, and urged Shelley to delay his
departure for a day; but Williams was anxious to rejoin his wife, and
Shelley not in a humour to frustrate his wishes. Trelawny, who desired
to accompany them in the _Bolivar_ into the offing, was prevented,
not having obtained his health order, and so could only reluctantly
remain behind and watch his friends' small craft through a ship's glass.

Mistakes were noted, the ship's mate of the _Bolivar_ remarking
they ought to have started at daybreak instead of after one o'clock;
that they were too near shore; that there would soon be a land breeze;
the gaff top-sail was foolish in a boat with no deck and no sailor on
board; and then, pointing to the southwest, "Look at those black lines
and dirty rags hanging on them out of the sky; look at the smoke on
the water; the devil is brewing mischief."

The approaching storm was watched also by Captain Roberts from the
light-house, whence he saw the topsail taken in; then the vessel
freighted with such precious life was seen no more in the mist of the
storm. For a time the sea seemed solidified and appeared as of lead,
with an oily scum; the wind did not ruffle it. Then sounds of thunder,
wind, and rain filled the air; these lasted with fury for twenty
minutes; then a lull, and anxious looks among the boats which had
rushed into the harbour for Shelley's hark. No glass could find it on
the horizon. Trelawny landed at eight o'clock; inquiries were useless.
An oar was seen on a fishing boat: it might be English--it might be
Shelley's; but this was denied. Nothing to do but wait, till the third
day, when he returned to Pisa to tell his fears to Hunt and Byron, who
could only listen with quivering lips and speak with faltering voice.

While these friends were agitated between hope and fear, the time was
passing wearily at San Terenzio. Jane Williams received a letter from
her husband on that day (written on Saturday from Leghorn), where he
was waiting for Shelley. It stated that if they did not return on
Monday, he certainly would be back at the latest on Thursday in a
felucca by himself if necessary. The fatal Monday passed amid storm
and rain, and no idea was entertained by Mrs. Shelley or Mrs. Williams
that their husbands had started in such weather as they experienced.
Mary, who had then scarcely recovered from her dangerous illness, and
was unable to join Claire and Jane Williams in their evening walks,
could only pace up and down in the verandah and feel oppressed by the
very beauty which surrounded her. So till Wednesday these days of
storm and oppression and undefined fears passed; then, some feluccas
arriving from Leghorn, they were informed that their husbands had left
on Monday; but that could not be believed. Thursday came and passed,
_the_ Thursday which should be the latest for Williams's arrival.
The wind had been fair, but midnight arrived, and still Mary and Jane
were alone; then sad hope gave place to fearful anxiety preceding
despair; but Friday was letter day--wait for that--and no boat could
leave. Noon of Friday and letters came, but _to_, not _from_
Shelley. Hunt wrote to him: "Pray write to tell us how you got home,
for they say that you had bad weather after you sailed on Monday, and
we are anxious." Mary read so far when the paper fell from her hands
and she trembled all over. Jane read it, and said, "It is all over."
Mary replied, "No, my dear Jane, it is not all over; but this suspense
is dreadful. Come with me; we will go to _Leghorn_; we will post,
to be swift and learn our fate."

Thus, as Mary Shelley herself describes, they crossed to Lerici,
despair in their hearts, two poor, wild, aghast creatures driving,
"like Matilda," towards the sea to know if they were to be for ever
doomed to misery. The idea of seeing Hunt for the first time after
four years, to ask "Where is he?" nearly drove Mary into convulsions.
On knocking at the door of the Casa Lanfranchi they found Lord Byron
was in Pisa and. Hunt being in bed, their interview was to be with
Byron, only to hear, "They knew nothing. He had left Pisa on Sunday;
on Monday he had sailed. There had been bad weather Monday afternoon;
more they knew not." Mary, who had risen from, a bed of sickness for
the journey, and had travelled all day, had now at midnight to proceed
to Leghorn in search of Trelawny; for what rest could there be with
such a terrible doubt hanging over their lives? They could not
despair, for that would have been death; they had to pass through
longer hours and days of anguish to subdue their souls to bear the
inevitable.

They reached Leghorn, and were driven to the wrong inn. Nothing to do
but wait till the morning--but wait dressed till six o'clock--when
they proceeded to other inns and found Captain Roberts. His face
showed that the worst was true. They only heard how their husbands had
set out. Still hope was not dead; might not their husbands be at
Corsica or Elba? It was said they had been seen in the Gulf. They
resolved to return; but now not alone, for Trelawny accompanied them.
Agony succeeded agony; the water they crossed told Mary it was his
grave.

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