The Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Volume I Part 29

Is the Magni House taken? if not, pray occupy yourself instantly in finis.h.i.+ng the affair, even if you are obliged to go to Sarzana, and send a messenger to me to tell me of your success. I, of course, cannot leave Lerici, to which port the boats (for we were obliged to take two) are directed. But _you_ can come over in the same boat that brings you this letter, and return in the evening. I hear that Trelawny is still with you. Tell Clare that, as I must probably in a few days return to Pisa for the affair of the lawsuit, I have brought her box with me, thinking she might be in want of some of its contents.

I ought to say that I do not think there is accommodation for you all at this inn; and that, even if there were, you would be better off at Spezzia; but if the Magni House is taken, then there is no possible reason why you should not take a row over in the boat that will bring this; but do not keep the men long. I am anxious to hear from you on every account.--Ever yours,

S.

Mary's answer was that she had concluded for Casa Magni, but that no other house was to be had in all that neighbourhood. It was in a neglected condition, and not very roomy or convenient; but, such as it was, it had to accommodate the Williams', as well as the Sh.e.l.leys, and Clare.

Considerable difficulty was experienced by Sh.e.l.ley in obtaining leave for the landing of the furniture; this obstacle got over, they at last took possession.

EDWARD WILLIAMS' JOURNAL.

_Wednesday, May 1._--Cloudy, with rain. Came to Casa Magni after breakfast, the Sh.e.l.leys having contrived to give us rooms. Without them, heaven knows what we should have done. Employed all day putting the things away. All comfortably settled by 4. Pa.s.sed the evening in talking over our folly and our troubles.

The worst trouble, however, was still impending. Finding how crowded and uncomfortable they were likely to be, Clare, after a day or two, decided that it was best for herself and for every one that she should return to Florence, and announced her intention accordingly. Compelled by the circ.u.mstances, Sh.e.l.ley then disclosed to her the true state of the case.

Her grief was excessive, but was, after the first, succeeded by a calmness unusual in her and surprising to her friends; a reaction from the fever of suspense and torment in which she had lived for weeks past, and which were even a harder strain on her powers of endurance than the truth, grievous though that was, putting an end to all hope as well as to all fear. For the present she remained at the Villa Magni.

The ground floor of this habitation was appropriated, as is often done in Italy, for stowing the implements and produce of the land, as rent is paid in kind there. In the autumn you find casks of wine, jars of oil, tools, wood, occasionally carts, and, near the sea, boats and fis.h.i.+ng-nets. Over this floor were a large saloon and four bedrooms (which had once been whitewashed), and nothing more; there was an out-building for cooking, and a place for the servants to eat and sleep in. The Williams had one room, and Sh.e.l.ley and his wife occupied two more, facing each other.[47]

Facing the sea, and almost over it, a verandah or open terrace ran the whole length of the building; it was over the projecting ground floor, and level with the inhabited story.

The surrounding scenery was magnificent, but wild to the last degree, and there was something unearthly in the perpetual moaning and howling of winds and waves. Poor Mary now began to feel the ill effects of her enforced over-exertions. She became very unwell, suffering from utter prostration of strength and from hysterical affections. Rest, quiet, and freedom from worry were essential to her condition, but none of these could she have, nor even sleep at night. The absence of comfort and privacy, added to the great difficulty of housekeeping, and the melancholy with which Clare's misfortune had infected the whole party, were all very unfavourable to her.

After staying for three weeks, Clare returned for a short visit to Florence. Sh.e.l.ley's letters to her during her absence afford occasional glimpses, from which it is easy to infer more, into the state of affairs at Casa Magni. Mrs. Williams was "by no means acquiescent in the present system of things." The plan of having all possessions in common does not work well in the kitchen; the respective servants of the two families were always quarrelling and taking each other's things. Jane, who was a good housekeeper, had the defects of her qualities, and "pined for her own house and saucepans." "It is a pity," remarks Sh.e.l.ley, "that any one so pretty and amiable should be so selfish." Not that these matters troubled him much. Such little "squalls" gave way to calm, "in accustomed vicissitude" (to use his own words); and Mrs. Williams had far too much tact to dwell on domestic worries to him. His own nerves were for a time shaken and unstrung, but he recovered, and, after the first, was unusually well. He was in love with the wild, beautiful place, and with the life at sea; for to his boat he escaped whenever any little breezes ruffled the surface of domestic life so that its mirror no longer reflected his own unwontedly bright spirits. At first he and Williams had only the small flat-bottomed boat in which they had navigated the Arno and Serchio, but in a fortnight there arrived the little schooner which Captain Roberts had built for Sh.e.l.ley at Genoa, and then their content was perfect.

For Mary no such escape from care and discomfort was open; she was too weak to go about much, and it is no wonder that, after the Williams'

installation, she merely chronicles, "The rest of May a blank."

Williams' diary partly fills this blank; and it is so graphic in its exceeding simplicity that, though it has been printed before, portions may well be included here.

EXTRACTS FROM WILLIAMS' DIARY.

_Thursday, May 2._--Cloudy, with intervals of rain. Went out with Sh.e.l.ley in the boat--fish on the rocks--bad sport. Went in the evening after some wild ducks--saw nothing but sublime scenery, to which the grandeur of a storm greatly contributed.

_Friday, May 3._--Fine. The captain of the port despatched a vessel for Sh.e.l.ley's boat. Went to Lerici with S., being obliged to market there; the servant having returned from Sarzana without being able to procure anything.

_Sunday, May 5._--Fine. Kept awake the whole night by a heavy swell, which made a noise on the beach like the discharge of heavy artillery.

Tried with Sh.e.l.ley to launch the small flat-bottomed boat through the surf; we succeeded in pus.h.i.+ng it through, but s.h.i.+pped a sea on attempting to land. Walk to Lerici along the beach, by a winding path on the mountain's side. Delightful evening,--the scenery most sublime.

_Monday, May 6._--Fine. Some heavy drops of rain fell to-day, without a cloud being visible. Made a sketch of the western side of the bay.

Read a little. Walked with Jane up the mountain.

After tea walking with Sh.e.l.ley on the terrace, and observing the effect of moons.h.i.+ne on the waters, he complained of being unusually nervous, and stopping short, he grasped me violently by the arm, and stared steadfastly on the white surf that broke upon the beach under our feet. Observing him sensibly affected, I demanded of him if he were 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 (Allegra) rise from the sea, and clap its hands as in joy, smiling at him. This was a trance that it required some reasoning and philosophy entirely to awaken him from, so forcibly had the vision operated on his mind. Our conversation, which had been at first rather melancholy, led to this; and my confirming his sensations, by confessing that I had felt the same, gave greater activity to his ever-wandering and lively imagination.

_Sunday, May 12._--Cloudy and threatening weather. Wrote during the morning. Mr. Maglian called after dinner, and, while walking with him on the terrace, we discovered a strange sail coming round the point of Porto Venere, which proved at length to be Sh.e.l.ley's boat. She had left Genoa on Thursday, but had been driven back by prevailing bad winds, a Mr. Heslop and two English seamen brought her round, and they speak most highly of her performances. She does, indeed, excite my surprise and admiration. Sh.e.l.ley 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, we have now a perfect plaything for the summer.

_Monday, May 13._--Rain during night in torrents--a heavy gale of wind from S.W., and a surf running heavier than ever; at 4 gale unabated, violent squalls....

... In the evening an electric arch forming in the clouds announces a heavy thunderstorm, if the wind lulls. Distant thunder--gale increases--a circle of foam surrounds the bay--dark, evening, and tempestuous, with flashes of lightning at intervals, which give us no hope of better weather. The learned in these things say, that it generally lasts three days when once it commences as this has done. We all feel as if we were on board s.h.i.+p--and the roaring of the sea brings this idea to us even in our beds.

_Wednesday, May 15._--Fine and fresh breeze in puffs from the land.

Jane and Mary consent to take a sail. Run down to Porto Venere and beat back at 1 o'clock. The boat sailed like a witch. After the late gale, the water is covered with purple nautili, or as the sailors call them, Portuguese men-of-war. After dinner Jane accompanied us to the point of the Magra; and the boat beat back in wonderful style.

_Wednesday, May 22._--Fine, after a threatening night. After breakfast Sh.e.l.ley and I amused ourselves with trying to make a boat of canvas and reeds, as light and as small as possible. She is to be 8-1/2 feet long, and 4-1/2 broad....

_Wednesday, June 12._--Launched the little boat, which answered our wishes and expectations. She is 86 lbs. English weight, and stows easily on board. Sailed in the evening, but were becalmed in the offing, and left there with a long ground swell, which made Jane little better than dead. Hoisted out our little boat and brought her on sh.o.r.e. Her landing attended by the whole village.

_Thursday, June 13._--Fine. At 9 saw a vessel between the straits of Porto Venere, like a man-of-war brig. She proved to be the _Bolivar_, with Roberts and Trelawny on board, who are taking her round to Livorno. On meeting them we were saluted by six guns. Sailed together to try the vessels--in speed no chance with her, but I think we keep as good a wind. She is the most beautiful craft I ever saw, and will do more for her size. She costs Lord Byron 750 clear off and ready for sea, with provisions and conveniences of every kind.

In the midst of this happy life one anxiety there was, however, which pursued Sh.e.l.ley everywhere; and neither on sh.o.r.e nor at sea could he escape from it,--that of G.o.dwin's imminent ruin.

The first of the letters which follow had reached Mary while still at Pisa. The next letter, and that of Mrs. G.o.dwin were, at Sh.e.l.ley's request, intercepted by Mrs. Mason and sent to him. He could not and would not show them to Mary, and wrote at last to Mrs. G.o.dwin, to try and put a stop to them.

G.o.dWIN TO MARY.

SKINNER STREET, _19th April 1822_.

MY DEAREST MARY--The die, so far as I am concerned, seems now to be cast, and all that remains is that I should entreat you to forget that you have a father in existence. Why should your prime of youthful vigour be tarnished and made wretched by what relates to me? I have lived to the full age of man in as much comfort as can reasonably be expected to fall to the lot of a human being. What signifies what becomes of the few wretched years that remain?

For the same reason, I think I ought for the future to drop writing to you. It is impossible that my letters can give you anything but unmingled pain. A few weeks more, and the formalities which still restrain the successful claimant will be over, and my prospects of tranquillity must, as I believe, be eternally closed.--Farewell,

WILLIAM G.o.dWIN.

G.o.dWIN TO MARY.

SKINNER STREET, _3d May 1822_.

DEAR MARY--I wrote to you a fortnight ago, and professed my intention of not writing again. I certainly will not write when the result shall be to give pure, unmitigated pain. It is the questionable shape of what I have to communicate that still thrusts the pen into my hand.

This day we are compelled, by summary process, to leave the house we live in, and to hide our heads in whatever alley will receive us. If we can compound with our creditor, and he seems not unwilling to accept 400 (I have talked with him on the subject), we may emerge again. Our business, if freed from this intolerable burthen, is more than ever worth keeping.

But all this would, perhaps, have failed in inducing me to resume the pen, but for _one extraordinary accident_. Wednesday, 1st May, was the day when the last legal step was taken against me; and Wednesday morning, a few hours before this catastrophe, Willats, the man who, three or four years before, lent Sh.e.l.ley 2000 at two for one, called on me to ask whether Sh.e.l.ley wanted any more money on the same terms.

What does this mean? In the contemplation of such a coincidence, I could almost grow superst.i.tious. But, alas! I fear--I fear--I am a drowning man, catching at a straw.--Ever most affectionately, your father,

WILLIAM G.o.dWIN.

Please to direct your letters, till you hear further, to the care of Mr. Monro, No. 60 Skinner Street.

MRS. MASON TO Sh.e.l.lEY.

_May 1822._

I send you in return for G.o.dwin's letter one still worse, because I think it has more the appearance of truth. I was desired to convey it to Mary, but that I should not think right. At the same time, I don't well know how you can conceal all this affair from her; they really seem to want a.s.sistance at present, for their being turned out of the house is a serious evil. I rejoice in your good health, to which I have no doubt the boat and the Williams' much contribute, and wish there may be no prospect of its being disturbed.

Mary ought to know what is said of the novel, and how can she know that without all the rest? You will contrive what is best. In the part of the letter which I do send, she (Mrs. G.o.dwin) adds, that at this moment Mr. G.o.dwin does not offer the novel to any bookseller, lest his actual situation might make it be supposed that it would be sold cheap. Mrs. G.o.dwin also wishes to correspond directly with Mrs.

Sh.e.l.ley, but this I shall not permit; she says G.o.dwin's health is much the worse for all this affair.

I was astonished at seeing Clare walk in on Tuesday evening, and I have not a spare bed now in the house, the children having outgrown theirs, and been obliged to occupy that which I had formerly; she proposed going to an inn, but preferred sleeping on a sofa, where I made her as comfortable as I could, which is but little so; however, she is satisfied. I rejoice to see that she has not suffered so much as you expected, and understand now her former feelings better than at first. When there is nothing to hope or fear, it is natural to be calm. I wish she had some determined project, but her plans seem as unsettled as ever, and she does not see half the reasons for separating herself from your society that really exist. I regret to perceive her great repugnance to Paris, which I believe to be the place best adapted to her. If she had but the temptation of good letters of introduction!--but I have no means of obtaining them for her--she intends, I believe, to go to Florence to-morrow, and to return to your habitation in a week, but talks of not staying the whole summer. I regret the loss of Mary's good health and spirits, but hope it is only the consequence of her present situation, and, therefore, merely temporary, but I dread Clare's being in the same house for a month or two, and wish the Williams' were half a mile from you. I must write a few lines to Mary, but will say nothing of having heard from Mrs. G.o.dwin; you will tell her what you think right, but you know my opinion, that things which cannot be concealed are better told at once. I should suppose a bankruptcy would be best, but the G.o.dwins do not seem to think so. If all the world valued obscure tranquillity as much as I do, it would be a happier, though possibly much duller, world than it is, but the loss of wealth is quite an epidemic disease in England, and it disturbs their rest more than the[48] ... I should have a thousand things to say, but that I have a thousand other things to do, and you give me hope of conversing with you before long.--Ever yours very sincerely,