June, 1819. CHAP. VI. of the comedy of the journey. But when, as the carriage entered. Nov. 1818- Naples, a youth was seen flying before a man armed with a knife, and when he actually fell in the street assassinated before the eyes of the travellers, the good priest, now past the dangers of the road with a whole skin, received the incident in a merry mood, and made untimely mockery of Shelley's horror and indignation. "I never felt," says Shelley, "such an inclination to beat any one." Of the country and its inhabitants he had noticed little, except that the wild beauty of the one and the barbarous ferocity of the others increased as they drove to the south. A lodging was found which faced the royal gardens, and the blue waters of the bay, for ever changing, yet for ever the same; and on the evening of December 1, Mary, very weary after a long day's journey, was welcomed to her new abode. The climate was delicious, like that of an English spring, though lacking its spirit of hope and arrowy summons of delight. With windows open, and without a fire, they could sit indoors and read, or could saunter outside among statues and myrtle and orange groves in the gardens, or ride abroad to visit the sights of the city, or, if they should please, enjoy from a boat the glories of the bay. In Madame de Staël's "Corinne" Shelley found a romantic handbook to Naples and its environs; through Livy he kept himself in close relation with the history of antiquity; his guide and master in the study of ancient art was Winckelmann. Among many memorable days, three stood out conspicuous for wonder and delight-December 8, when Baiæ was visited; December 16, when the adventurous wanderers ascended Vesuvius; and December 22, when they stood among the silent theatres and temples of Pompeii. Of these days Shelley has left a memorial in the letters addressed to Peacock-letters in which delicate observation is so united with exquisite pleasure, that words seem to have grown as translucent and as tremulously alive as the veil of air upon the hills, or as crystal waters pierced by sunlight and revealing enchanted CHAP. VI. depths to one who gazes down. The delightful day of the Nov. 1818June, 1819. visit to Baiæ did not close until night had fallen. "After seeing these things," writes Shelley, "we returned by moonlight to Naples in our boat. What colours there were in the sky, what radiance in the evening star, and how the moon. was encompassed by a light unknown in our regions!" In the glaciers of Montanvert Shelley had seen overpowering greatness conjoined with radiant beauty. The waterfall of Terni had seemed the spectacle of all on which his eyes had gazed deserving to be placed next in grandeur to the glaciers. But when he had ascended Vesuvius, the waterfall sank into the third place. From Resina Shelley and Mary rode as far as was possible on mule-back; Claire was carried in a chaiseà-porteur, her lazzaroni bearers being hardly better than savages. While they were still among the streams and cataracts of lava, the sun sank between Capreæ and Ischia; the glow of the volcanic fires increased; and the travellers descended by torchlight, their wild guides and bearers showing picturesque in the shifting flare and shadow, as they plunged through dust and cinders, shouting to one another, or suddenly raising a chorus to some wild fragment of national melody. The exertion and excitement overstrained Shelley's strength, and he arrived at the hermitage of San Salvador in a state of intense bodily suffering. At Pompeii, Shelley found himself face to face with the lost life of ancient Greece. It was a warm and radiant day; and here was a whole city which in its days of joy and beauty had not shut men out from the light of nature, but had brought humanity into the perpetual presence of what is most glorious and most free in the visible world. The Greeks who lived here "lived in harmony with nature; and the interstices of their incomparable columns were portals, as it were, to admit the spirit of beauty, which animates this glorious universe to visit those whom it inspired." The noble prospect June, 1819. CHAP. VI. around was not shut out, and, "unlike the inhabitants of the Nov. 1818- Cimmerian ravines of modern cities, the ancient Pompeians could contemplate the clouds and the lamps of heaven; could see the moon rise high behind Vesuvius, and the sun set in a sea, tremulous with an atmosphere of golden vapour, between Inarime and Misenum." But of all things the tombs placed along the consular road were to Shelley the most impressive. "The wild woods surround them on either side; and along the broad stones of the paved road which divides them, you hear the late leaves of autumn shiver and rustle in the stream of the inconstant wind, as it were, like the steps of ghosts." Even in presence of death, the inspirations of external nature had been felt, and these kept men sweet-tempered and sane. Alas, for those changes that conducted Athens to its ruin! and alas, for the Christian religion which put the finishing stroke to the graceful superstition of the Greeks! So Shelley sighs over the decline and fall of that civilization which had nourished spirits such as Sophocles and Plato.* Shelley had come to Naples without introductions to either. English or Italians; and the common Neapolitans seemed to him so sullen and stupid, that it was impossible to hold agreeable intercourse with them. He suffered greatly in health, and the English physician, who treated him for disease of the liver, applying caustic to his side, caused him much discomfort and afforded him no relief. "We lived in utter solitude," says Mrs. Shelley," and such is not often the nurse of cheerfulness." The excitement of his delight in excursions hither and thither was followed by a corresponding reaction of spirits. The * Reminiscences of this day at Pompeii appear in the "Ode to Naples," written towards the close of August, 1820: "I stood within the city disinterred; And heard the autumnal leaves, like light footfalls "La Montagna," the mountain, is the name of Vesuvius for the inhabitants of June, 1819. statues of the museum afforded him infinite pleasure, but the CHAP.VI. bodily fatigue of standing for hours in the galleries exhausted Nov. 1818him. "I have," he says, "depression enough of spirits and not good health, though I believe the warm air of Naples does me good." The thought of his children, alienated from their father by a decree of the Court of Chancery, was often in his mind. "We have reports here of a change in the English ministry," he wrote to Peacock (January 26, 1819); “to what does it amount? For, besides my national interest in it, I am on the watch to vindicate my most sacred rights, invaded by the chancery court." Domestic affairs had not gone quite smoothly for Mrs. Shelley since they left Este. Paolo Foggi, the Italian servant, who, it was supposed at first, would cheat his master within reasonable limits, had proved himself to be an unqualified rascal. His robberies had far exceeded the bounds; and worse, he had corrupted and betrayed the Swiss nurse, Elise. At first, while it seemed that he was making honourable advances to her, Mrs. Shelley had opposed their union. Now she insisted that at least the ceremony of marriage should be celebrated. At the church of the British envoy Elise was 'made an honest woman," and she and her husband (who cherished a bitter feeling of revenge against Shelley) took their departure for Rome. Some events which occurred at Naples in December, 1818, exposed Shelley's reputation to the risk of malignant slander, and this fact Paolo in after-days knew how to turn to account. "The rascal Paolo," wrote Shelley, in the summer of 1820, to Mr. and Mrs. Gisborne, "has been taking advantage of my situation at Naples in December, 1818, to attempt to extort money by threatening to charge me with the most horrible crimes." The threatening letters were placed by Shelley in the hands of a lawyer, and Paolo for a time was crushed. We cannot doubt that the dangerous rascal's lying story was akin to that which he repeated afterwards to the Hoppners-that Miss Clairmont had given birth to a child, of which Shelley June, 1819. CHAP.VI. was the father, and that Shelley, whether with or without Nov. 1818- Claire's consent, had sent it to a foundling hospital. What circumstances lent any countenance to this malicious accusation we cannot tell. But we know that at Naples, in the midsummer of 1820, there died a little girl in whom Shelley was deeply interested, and who was to some extent placed under his charge or wardship. From Leghorn, on June 30, 1820, he wrote to Mr. and Mrs. Gisborne, who were acquainted with the facts: "My poor Neapolitan, I hear, has a severe fever of dentition. I suppose she will die and leave another memory to those which already torture me. I am waiting the next post with anxiety, but without much hope." And on July 2, “ I have later news of my Neapolitan. I have taken every possible precaution for her, and hope that they will succeed. She is to come as soon as she recovers." And a little later, in an undated letter to the same correspondents, "My Neapolitan charge is dead. It seems as if the destruction that is consuming me were as an atmosphere which wrapt and infected everything connected with me." Is it fanciful to connect these passages which speak of Shelley's Neapolitan charge, with the strange story related by Medwin of the unfortunate and infatuated lady-young, married, and of noble connections-who had declared her love to Shelley on the eve of his departure for the Continent in 1816, and whom he had gently but firmly repulsed. At Naples, says Medwin, Shelley "became the innocent actor in a tragedy more extraordinary than any to be found in the pages of romance." The unhappy lady had arrived at Naples on the very day of Shelley's arrival. There they met, and there, as Shelley declared to Medwin, she died. From Mr. Rossetti we learn that Miss Clairmont asserted that she was acquainted with the lady's name, and had even seen her at Naples. Can it be that she requested Shelley on her death-bed to act as * Memoir of Shelley prefixed to "Shelley Papers" (1833). In his "Life of Shelley" (1847), Medwin tells the story in detail as related to him by Shelley. |
