Chapter VIII: May 1815-September 1816 (2)

_Tuesday, July 23_ (Chamounix).--In the morning, after breakfast, we
mount our mules to see the source of the Arveiron. When we had gone
about three parts of the way, we descended and continued our route on
foot, over loose stones, many of which were an enormous size. We came
to the source, which lies (like a stage) surrounded on the three sides
by mountains and glaciers. We sat on a rock, which formed the fourth,
gazing on the scene before us. An immense glacier was on our left,
which continually rolled stones to its foot. It is very dangerous to
be directly under this. Our guide told us a story of two Hollanders
who went, without any guide, into a cavern of the glacier, and fired a
pistol there, which drew down a large piece on them. We see several
avalanches, some very small, others of great magnitude, which roared
and smoked, overwhelming everything as it passed along, and
precipitating great pieces of ice into the valley below. This glacier
is increasing every day a foot, closing up the valley. We drink some
water of the Arveiron and return. After dinner think it will rain, and
Shelley goes alone to the glacier of Boison. I stay at home. Read
several tales of Voltaire. In the evening I copy Shelley's letter to
Peacock.

_Wednesday, July 24._--To-day is rainy; therefore we cannot go to Col
de Balme. About 10 the weather appears clearing up. Shelley and I
begin our journey to Montanvert. Nothing can be more desolate than the
ascent of this mountain; the trees in many places having been torn
away by avalanches, and some half leaning over others, intermingled
with stones, present the appearance of vast and dreadful desolation.
It began to rain almost as soon as we left our inn. When we had
mounted considerably we turned to look on the scene. A dense white
mist covered the vale, and tops of scattered pines peeping above were
the only objects that presented themselves. The rain continued in
torrents. We were wetted to the skin; so that, when we had ascended
halfway, we resolved to turn back. As we descended, Shelley went
before, and, tripping up, fell upon his knee. This added to the
weakness occasioned by a blow on his ascent; he fainted, and was for
some minutes incapacitated from continuing his route.

We arrived wet to the skin. I read _Nouvelles Nouvelles_, and write my
story. Shelley writes part of letter.

* * * * *

_Saturday, July 27._--It is a most beautiful day, without a cloud. We
set off at 12. The day is hot, yet there is a fine breeze. We pass by
the Great Waterfall, which presents an aspect of singular beauty. The
wind carries it away from the rock, and on towards the north, and the
fine spray into which it is entirely dissolved passes before the
mountain like a mist.

The other cascade has very little water, and is consequently not so
beautiful as before. The evening of the day is calm and beautiful.
Evening is the only time I enjoy travelling. The horses went fast, and
the plain opened before us. We saw Jura and the Lake like old friends.
I longed to see my pretty babe. At 9, after much inquiring and
stupidity, we find the road, and alight at Diodati. We converse with
Lord Byron till 12, and then go down to Chapuis, kiss our babe, and go
to bed.

Circumstances had modified Shelley's previous intention of remaining permanently abroad, and the end of August found him moving homeward.

The following extracts from Mary's diary give a sketch of their life during the few weeks preceding their return to England.

_Sunday, July 28_ (Montalegre).--I read Voltaire's _Romans_. Shelley
reads Lucretius, and talks with Clare. After dinner he goes out in the
boat with Lord Byron, and we all go up to Diodati in the evening. This
is the second anniversary since Shelley's and my union.

_Monday, July 29._--Write; read Voltaire and Quintus Curtius. A rainy
day, with thunder and lightning. Shelley finishes Lucretius, and reads
Pliny's _Letters_.

_Tuesday, July 30._--Read Quintus Curtius. Shelley read Pliny's
_Letters_. After dinner we go up to Diodati, and stay the evening.

_Thursday, August 1._--Make a balloon for Shelley, after which he goes
up to Diodati, to dine and spend the evening. Read twelve pages of
Curtius. Write, and read the _Reveries of Rousseau_. Shelley reads
Pliny's _Letters_.

_Friday, August 2._--I go to the town with Shelley, to buy a telescope
for his birthday present. In the evening Lord Byron and he go out in
the boat, and, after their return, Shelley and Clare go up to
Diodati; I do not, for Lord Byron did not seem to wish it. Shelley
returns with a letter from Longdill, which requires his return to
England. This puts us in bad spirits. I read _Reveries_ and _Adele et
Theodore de Madame de Genlis_, and Shelley reads Pliny's _Letters_.

_Saturday, August 3._--Finish the first volume of _Adele_, and write.
After dinner write to Fanny, and go up to Diodati, where I read the
_Life of Madame du Deffand_. We come down early and talk of our plans.
Shelley reads Pliny's _Letters_, and writes letters.

_Sunday, August 4._--Shelley's birthday. Write; read _Tableau de
famille_. Go out with Shelley in the boat, and read to him the fourth
book of Virgil. After dinner we go up to Diodati, but return soon. I
read Curtius with Shelley, and finish the first volume, after which we
go out in the boat to set up the balloon, but there is too much wind;
we set it up from the land, but it takes fire as soon as it is up. I
finish the _Reveries of Rousseau_. Shelley reads and finishes Pliny's
_Letters_, and begins the _Panegyric of Trajan_.

_Wednesday, August 7._--Write, and read ten pages of Curtius. Lord
Byron and Shelley go out in the boat. I translate in the evening, and
afterwards go up to Diodati. Shelley reads Tacitus.

_Friday, August 9._--Write and translate; finish _Adele_, and read a
little Curtius. Shelley goes out in the boat with Lord Byron in the
morning and in the evening, and reads Tacitus. About 3 o'clock we go
up to Diodati. We receive a long letter from Fanny.

FANNY TO MARY.

LONDON, _29th July 1816_.

MY DEAR MARY--I have just received yours, which gave me great
pleasure, though not quite so satisfactory a one as I could have
wished. I plead guilty to the charge of having written in some degree
in an ill humour; but if you knew how I am harassed by a variety of
trying circumstances, I am sure you would feel for me. Besides other
plagues, I was oppressed with the most violent cold in my head when I
last wrote you that I ever had in my life. I will now, however,
endeavour to give as much information from England as I am capable of
giving, mixed up with as little spleen as possible. I have received
Jane's letter, which was a very dear and a very sweet one, and I
should have answered it but for the dreadful state of mind I generally
labour under, and which I in vain endeavour to get rid of. From your
and Jane's description of the weather in Switzerland, it has produced
more mischief abroad than here. Our rain has been as constant as
yours, for it rains every day, but it has not been accompanied by
violent storms. All accounts from the country say that the corn has
not yet suffered, but that it is yet perfectly green; but I fear that
the sun will not come this year to ripen it. As yet we have had fires
almost constantly, and have just got a few strawberries. You ask for
particulars of the state of England. I do not understand the causes
for the distress which I see, and hear dreadful accounts of, every
day; but I know that they really exist. Papa, I believe, does not
think much, or does not inquire, on these subjects, for I never can
get him to give me any information. From Mr. Booth I got the clearest
account, which has been confirmed by others since. He says that it is
the "Peace" that has brought all this calamity upon us; that during
the war the whole Continent were employed in fighting and defending
their country from the incursions of foreign armies; that England
alone was free to manufacture in peace; that our manufactories, in
consequence, employed several millions, and at higher wages, than were
wanted for our own consumption. Now peace is come, foreign ports are
shut, and millions of our fellow-creatures left to starve. He also
says that we have no need to manufacture for ourselves--that we have
enough of the various articles of our manufacture to last for seven
years--and that the going on is only increasing the evil. They say
that in the counties of Staffordshire and Shropshire there are 26,000
men out of employment, and without the means of getting any. A few
weeks since there were several parties of colliers, who came as far as
St. Albans and Oxford, dragging coals in immense waggons, without
horses, to the Prince Regent at Carlton House; one of these waggons
was said to be conducted by a hundred colliers. The Ministers,
however, thought proper, when these men had got to the distance from
London of St. Albans, to send Magistrates to them, who paid them
handsomely for their coals, and gave them money besides, telling them
that coming to London would only create disturbance and riot, without
relieving their misery; they therefore turned back, and the coals were
given away to the poor people of the neighbourhood where they were
met. This may give you some idea of the misery suffered. At Glasgow,
the state of wretchedness is worse than anywhere else. Houses that
formerly employed two or three hundred men now only employ three or
four individuals. There have been riots of a very serious nature in
the inland counties, arising from the same causes. This, joined to
this melancholy season, has given us all very serious alarm, and
helped to make me write so dismally. They talk of a change of
Ministers; but this can effect no good; it is a change of the whole
system of things that is wanted. Mr. Owen, however, tells us to cheer
up, for that in two years we shall feel the good effect of his plans;
he is quite certain that they will succeed. I have no doubt that he
will do a great deal of good; but how he can expect to make the rich
give up their possessions, and live in a state of equality, is too
romantic to be believed. I wish I could send you his Address to the
People of New Lanark, on the 1st of January 1816, on the opening of
the Institution for the Formation of Character. He dedicates it "To
those who have no private ends to accomplish, who are honestly in
search of truth for the purpose of ameliorating the condition of
society, and who have the firmness to follow the truth, wherever it
may lead, without being turned aside from the pursuit by the
_prepossessions or prejudices of any part of mankind_."

This dedication will give you some idea of what sort of an Address it
is. This Address was delivered on a Sunday evening, in a place set
apart for the purposes of religion, and brought hundreds of persons
from the regular clergymen to hear his profane Address,--against all
religions, governments, and all sorts of aristocracy,--which, he says,
was received with the greatest attention and highly approved. The
outline of his plan is this: "That no human being shall work more than
two or three hours every day; that they shall be all equal; that no
one shall dress but after the plainest and simplest manner; that they
be allowed to follow any religion, as they please; and that their
[studies] shall be Mechanics and Chemistry." I hate and am sick at
heart at the misery I see my fellow-beings suffering, but I own I
should not like to live to see the extinction of all genius, talent,
and elevated generous feeling in Great Britain, which I conceive to be
the natural consequence of Mr. Owen's plan. I am not either wise
enough, philosophical enough, nor historian enough, to say what will
make man plain and simple in manners and mode of life, and at the same
time a poet, a painter, and a philosopher; but this I know, that I had
rather live with the Genevese, as you and Jane describe, than live in
London, with the most brilliant beings that exist, in its present
state of vice and misery. So much for Mr. Owen, who is, indeed, a very
great and good man. He told me the other day that he wished our Mother
were living, as he had never before met with a person who thought so
exactly as he did, or who would have so warmly and zealously entered
into his plans. Indeed, there is nothing very promising in a return to
England at least for some time to come, for it is better to witness
misery in a foreign country than one's own, unless you have the means
of relieving it. I wish I could send you the books you ask for. I
should have sent them, if Longdill had not said he was not
sending--that he expected Shelley in England. I shall send again
immediately, and will then send you _Christabel_ and the "Poet's"
_Poems_. Were I not a dependent being in every sense of the word, but
most particularly in money, I would send you other things, which
perhaps you would be glad of. I am much more interested in Lord Byron
since I have read all his poems. When you left England I had only read
_Childe Harold_ and his smaller poems. The pleasure he has excited in
me, and gratitude I owe him for having cheered several gloomy hours,
makes me wish for a more finished portrait, both of his _mind_ and
_countenance_. From _Childe Harold_ I gained a very ill impression of
him, because I conceived it was _himself_,--notwithstanding the pains
he took to tell us it was an imaginary being. The _Giaour_, _Lara_,
and the _Corsair_ make me justly style him a poet. Do in your next
oblige me by telling me the minutest particulars of him, for it is
from the _small things_ that you learn most of character. Is his face
as fine as in your portrait of him, or is it more like the other
portrait of him? Tell me also if he has a pleasing voice, for that has
a great charm with me. Does he come into your house in a careless,
friendly, dropping-in manner? I wish to know, though not from idle
curiosity, whether he was capable of acting in the manner that the
London scandal-mongers say he did? You must by this time know if he is
a profligate in principle--a man who, like Curran, gives himself
unbounded liberty in all sorts of profligacy. I cannot think, from his
writings, that he can be such a _detestable being_. Do answer me these
questions, for where I love the poet I should like to respect the man.
Shelley's boat excursion with him must have been very delightful. I
think Lord Byron never writes so well as when he writes descriptions
of water scenes; for instance, the beginning of the _Giaour_. There is
a fine expressive line in _Childe Harold_: "Blow, swiftly blow, thou
keen compelling gale," etc. There could have been no difference of
sentiment in this divine excursion; they were both poets, equally
alive to the charms of nature and the eloquent writing of Rousseau. I
long very much to read the poem the "Poet" has written on the spot
where Julie was drowned. When will they come to England? Say that you
have a friend who has few pleasures, and is very impatient to read the
poems written at Geneva. If they are not to be published, may I see
them in manuscript? I am angry with Shelley for not writing himself.
It is impossible to tell the good that POETS do their
fellow-creatures, at least those that can feel. Whilst I read I am a
poet. I am inspired with good feelings--feelings that create perhaps
a more permanent good in me than all the everyday preachments in the
world; it counteracts the dross which one gives on the everyday
concerns of life, and tells us there is something yet in the world to
aspire to--something by which succeeding ages may be made happy and
perhaps better. If Shelley cannot accomplish any other good, he can
this divine one. Laugh at me, but do not be angry with me, for taking
up your time with my nonsense. I have sent again to Longdill, and he
has returned the same answer as before. I can [not], therefore, send
you _Christabel_. Lamb says it ought never to have been published;
that no one understands it; and _Kubla Khan_ (which is the poem he
made in his sleep) is nonsense. Coleridge is living at Highgate; he is
living with an apothecary, to whom he pays L5 a week for board,
lodging, and medical advice. The apothecary is to take care that he
does not take either opium or spirituous liquors. Coleridge, however,
was tempted, and wrote to a chemist he knew in London to send a bottle
of laudanum to Mr. Murray's in Albemarle Street, to be enclosed in a
parcel of books to him; his landlord, however, felt the parcel
outside, and discovered the fatal bottle. Mr. Morgan told me the other
day that Coleridge improved in health under the care of the
apothecary, and was writing fast a continuation of _Christabel_.

You ask me if Mr. Booth mentioned Isabel's having received a letter
from you. He never mentioned your name to me, nor I to him; but he
told Mamma that you had written a letter to her from Calais. He is
gone back, and promises to bring Isabel next year. He has given us a
volume of his _poetry_--_true, genuine poetry_--not such as
Coleridge's or Wordsworth's, but Miss Seward's and Dr. Darwin's--

Dying swains to sighing Delias.

You ask about old friends; we have none, and see none. Poor Marshal is
in a bad way; we see very little of him. Mrs. Kenny is going
immediately to live near Orleans, which is better for her than living
in London, afraid of her creditors. The Lambs have been spending a
month in the neighbourhood of Clifton and Bristol; they were highly
delighted with Clifton. Sheridan is dead. Papa was very much grieved
at his death. William and he went to his funeral. He was buried in the
Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey, attended by all the high people.
Papa has visited his grave many times since. I am too young to
remember his speeches in Parliament. I never admired his style of
play-writing. I cannot, therefore, sympathise in the elegant tributes
to his memory which have been paid by all parties. Those things which
I have heard from all parties of his drunkenness I cannot admire. We
have had one great pleasure since your departure, in viewing a fine
collection of the Italian masters at the British Institution. Two of
the Cartoons are there. Paul preaching at Athens is the finest picture
I ever beheld.... I am going again to see this Exhibition next week,
before it closes, when I shall be better able to tell you which I most
admire of Raphael, Titian, Leonardo da Vinci, Domenichino, Claude, S.
Rosa, Poussin, Murillo, etc., and all of which cannot be too much
examined. I only wish I could have gone many times. Charles's letter
has not yet arrived. Do give me every account of him when you next
hear from him. I think it is of great consequence the mode of life he
now pursues, as it will most likely decide his future good or ill
doing. You ask what I mean by "plans with Mr. Blood?" I meant a
residence in Ireland. However, I will not plague you with them till I
understand them myself. My Aunt Everina will be in London next week,
when my future fate will be decided. I shall then give you a full and
clear account of what my unhappy life is to be spent in, etc. I left
it to the end of my letter to call your attention most seriously to
what I said in my last letter respecting Papa's affairs. They have now
a much more serious and threatening aspect than when I last wrote to
you. You perhaps think that Papa has gained a large sum by his novel
engagement, which is not the case. He could make no other engagement
with Constable than that they should share the profits equally between
them, which, if the novel is successful, is an advantageous bargain.
Papa, however, prevailed upon him to advance L200, to be deducted
hereafter out of the part he is to receive; and if two volumes of the
novel are not forthcoming on the 1st of January 1817, Constable has a
promissory note to come upon papa for the L200. This L200 I told you
was appropriated to Davidson and Hamilton, who had lent him L200 on
his _Caleb Williams_ last year; so that you perceive he has as yet
gained nothing on his novel, and all depends upon his future
exertions. He has been very unwell and very uneasy in his mind for the
last week, unable to write; and it was not till this day I discovered
the cause, which has given me great uneasiness. You seem to have
forgotten Kingdon's L300 to be paid at the end of June. He has had a
great deal of plague and uneasiness about it, and has at last been
obliged to give Kingdon his promissory note for L300, payable on
demand, so that every hour is not safe. Kingdon is no friend, and the
money Government money, and it cannot be expected he will show Papa
any mercy. I dread the effect on his health. He cannot sleep at night,
and is indeed very unwell. This he concealed from Mamma and myself
until this day. Taylor of Norwich has also come upon him again; he
says, owing to the distress of the country, he must have the money for
his children; but I do not fear him like Kingdon. Shelley said in his
letter, some weeks ago, that the L300 should come the end of June.
Papa, therefore, acted upon that promise. From your last letter I
perceive you think I colour my statements. I assure you I am most
anxious, when I mention these unfortunate affairs, to speak the truth,
and nothing but the truth, as it is. I think it my duty to tell you
the real state of the case, for I know you deceive yourself about
things. If Papa could go on with his novel in good spirits, I think it
would perhaps be his very best. He said the other day that he was
writing upon a subject no one had ever written upon before, and that
it would require great exertion to make it what he wished. Give my
love to Jane; thank her for her letter. I will write to her next week,
though I consider this long tiresome one as addressed to you all.
Give my love also to Shelley; tell him, if he goes any more
excursions, nothing will give me more pleasure than a description of
them. Tell him I like your [____][20] tour best, though I should like
to visit _Venice_ and _Naples_. Kiss dear William for me; I sometimes
consider him as my child, and look forward to the time of my old age
and his manhood. Do you dip him in the lake? I am much afraid you will
find this letter much too long; if it affords you any pleasure, oblige
me by a long one in return, but write small, for Mamma complains of
the postage of a double letter. I pay the full postage of all the
letters I send, and you know I have not a _sous_ of my own. Mamma is
much better, though not without rheumatism. William is better than he
ever was in his life. I am not well; my mind always keeps my body in a
fever; but never mind me. Do entreat J. to attend to her eyes. Adieu,
my dear Sister. Let me entreat you to consider seriously all that I
have said concerning your Father.--Yours, very affectionately,

FANNY.

_Journal, Saturday, August 10._--Write to Fanny. Shelley writes to
Charles. We then go to town to buy books and a watch for Fanny. Read
Curtius after my return; translate. In the evening Shelley and Lord
Byron go out in the boat. Translate, and when they return go up to
Diodati. Shelley reads Tacitus. A writ of arrest comes from Polidori,
for having "casse ses lunettes et fait tomber son chapeau" of the
apothecary who sells bad magnesia.

* * * * *

_Monday, August 12._--Write my story and translate. Shelley goes to
the town, and afterwards goes out in the boat with Lord Byron. After
dinner I go out a little in the boat, and then Shelley goes up to
Diodati. I translate in the evening, and read _Le Vieux de la
Montagne_, and write. Shelley, in coming down, is attacked by a dog,
which delays him; we send up for him, and Lord Byron comes down; in
the meantime Shelley returns.

_Wednesday, August 14._--Read _Le Vieux de la Montagne_; translate.
Shelley reads Tacitus, and goes out with Lord Byron before and after
dinner. Lewis[21] comes to Diodati. Shelley goes up there, and Clare
goes up to copy. Remain at home, and read _Le Vieux de la Montagne_.

* * * * *

_Friday, August 16._--Write, and read a little of Curtius; translate;
read _Walther_ and some of _Rienzi_. Lord Byron goes with Lewis to
Ferney. Shelley writes, and reads Tacitus.

_Saturday, August 17._--Write, and finish _Walther_. In the evening I
go out in the boat with Shelley, and he afterwards goes up to Diodati.
Began one of Madame de Genlis's novels. Shelley finishes Tacitus.
Polidori comes down. Little babe is not well.

_Sunday, August 18._--Talk with Shelley, and write; read Curtius.
Shelley reads Plutarch in Greek. Lord Byron comes down, and stays here
an hour. I read a novel in the evening. Shelley goes up to Diodati,
and Monk Lewis.

* * * * *

_Tuesday, August 20._--Read Curtius; write; read _Herman d'Unna_. Lord
Byron comes down after dinner, and remains with us until dark. Shelley
spends the rest of the evening at Diodati. He reads Plutarch.

_Wednesday, August 21._--Shelley and I talk about my story. Finish
_Herman d'Unna_ and write. Shelley reads Milton. After dinner Lord
Byron comes down, and Clare and Shelley go up to Diodati. Read
_Rienzi_.

_Friday, August 23._--Shelley goes up to Diodati, and then in the boat
with Lord Byron, who has heard bad news of Lady Byron, and is in bad
spirits concerning it.... Letters arrive from Peacock and Charles.
Shelley reads Milton.

_Saturday, August 24._--Write. Shelley goes to Geneva. Read. Lord
Byron and Shelley sit on the wall before dinner. After I talk with
Shelley, and then Lord Byron comes down and spends an hour here.
Shelley and he go up together.

* * * * *

_Monday, August 26._--Hobhouse and Scroop Davis come to Diodati.
Shelley spends the evening there, and reads _Germania_. Several books
arrive, among others Coleridge's _Christabel_, which Shelley reads
aloud to me before going to bed.

* * * * *

_Wednesday, August 28._--Packing. Shelley goes to town. Work. Polidori
comes down, and afterwards Lord Byron. After dinner we go upon the
water; pack; and Shelley goes up to Diodati. Shelley reads _Histoire
de la Revolution par Rabault_.

_Thursday, August 29._--We depart from Geneva at 9 in the morning.

They travelled to Havre _via_ Dijon, Auxerre, and Villeneuve; allowing only a few hours for visiting the palaces of Fontainebleau and Versailles, and the Cathedral of Rouen. From Havre they sailed to Portsmouth, where, for a short time, they separated. Shelley went to stay with Peacock, who was living at Great Marlow, and had been looking about there for a house to suit his friends. Mary and Clare proceeded to Bath, where they were to spend the next few months.

_Journal, Tuesday, September 10._--Arrive at Bath about 2. Dine, and
spend the evening in looking for lodgings. Read Mrs. Robinson's
_Valcenga_.

_Wednesday, September 11._--Look for lodgings; take some, and settle
ourselves. Read the first volume of _The Antiquary_, and work.