Chapter VI: August 1814-January 1816

From the day of their departure a joint journal was kept by Shelley and Mary, which tells their subsequent adventures and vicissitudes with the utmost candour and _naivete_. A great deal of the earlier portion is written by Shelley, but after a time Mary becomes the principal 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 title _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 Shelley, "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 passage 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 shore, yet hour after hour passed, 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_ (Shelley).--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.

Godwin's diary for 28th July runs,

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

Mrs. Godwin, in fact, started in pursuit of the fugitives as soon as they were missed. Neither Shelley 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 Shelley 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, Shelley was not one to leave her behind "in slavery." Mrs. Godwin arrived at Calais by the very packet the fugitives had refused to wait for.

_Journal_ (Shelley).--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. Godwin. Jane spent the night with her mother.

_July 30._--Jane informs us that she is unable to withstand the pathos
of Mrs. Godwin's appeal. She appealed to the Municipality 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. Godwin and
informed her that she resolved to continue with us.

Mrs. Godwin 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 Godwin, but she evidently could not influence, far less rule her daughter. Shelley'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 assumed.

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 Shelley 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 ass to carry their portmanteau and one of them by turns.

_Journal, August 8_ (Mary).--Jane and Shelley go to the ass merchant;
we buy an ass. 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 ass following.[8]

_Journal_ (Mary).--We set out to Charenton in the evening, carrying
the ass, 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 ass 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 surpassed the one before, she cried, "I am glad we did not live
at Charenton, but let us live here."[9]

_August 9_ (Shelley).--We sell our ass 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. Shelley, having sprained his leg, was obliged to ride all day.

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

From Troyes Shelley 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 Shelley, 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 passing the night at
the village of Mort. We go out on the rocks, and Shelley and I read
part of _Mary_, a fiction. We return at dark, and, unable to enter the
beds, we pass 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 masses 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
pass delightful scenes of verdure surpassing imagination; here first
we see clear mountain streams. We pass 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
grass 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 accumulated clouds of dazzling white that arrange themselves on
the horizon in summer. This immensity staggers the imagination, and so
far surpasses all conception that it requires an effort of the
understanding to believe that they are indeed mountains. We arrive at
Neufchatel and sleep.

_Saturday, August 20._--We consult on our situation. There are no
letters at the _bureau de poste_; there cannot be for a week. Shelley
goes to the banker's, who promises an answer in two hours; at the
conclusion of the time he sends for Shelley, and, to our astonishment
and consolation, Shelley returns staggering under the weight of a
large canvas bag full of silver. Shelley 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." Shelley 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. Shelley and Jane talk concerning Jane's character. We
arrive before seven at Soleure. Shelley and Mary go to the
much-praised cathedral, and find it very modern and stupid.

_Monday, August 22._--Leave Soleure at half-past five; very cold
indeed, but we now again see the magnificent mountains of Le Valais.
Mary is not well, and all are tired of wheeled machines. Shelley is in
a jocosely horrible mood. We dine at Zoffingen, and sleep there two
hours. In our drive after dinner we see the mountains of St. Gothard,
etc. Change our plan of going over St. Gothard. Arrive tired to death;
find at the room of the inn a horrible spinet and a case of stuffed
birds. Sup at _table d'hote_.

_Tuesday, August 23._--We leave at four o'clock and arrive at Lucerne
about ten. After breakfast we hire a boat to take us down the lake.
Shelley and Mary go out to buy several needful things, and then we
embark. It is a most divine day; the farther we advance the more
magnificent are the shores of the lake--rock and pine forests covering
the feet of the immense mountains. We read part of L'Abbe Barruel's
_Histoire du Jacobinisme_. We land at Bessen, go to the wrong inn,
where a most comical scene ensues. We sleep at Brunnen. Before we
sleep, however, we look out of window.

_Wednesday, August 24._--We consult on our situation. We cannot
procure a house; we are in despair; the filth of the apartment is
terrible to Mary; she cannot bear it all the winter. We propose to
proceed to Fluelen, but the wind comes from Italy, and will not
permit. At last we find a lodging in an ugly house they call the
Chateau for one louis a month, which we take; it consists of two
rooms. Mary and Shelley walk to the shore of the lake and read the
description of the Siege of Jerusalem in Tacitus. We come home, look
out of window and go to bed.

_Thursday, August 25._--We read Abbe Barruel. Shelley and Jane make
purchases; we pack up our things and take possession of our house,
which we have engaged for six months. Receive a visit from the
_Medecin_ and the old Abbe, whom, it must be owned, we do not treat
with proper politeness. We arrange our apartment, and write part of
Shelley's romance.

_Friday, August 26._--Write the romance till three o'clock. Propose
crossing Mount St. Gothard. Determine at last to return to England;
only wait to set off till the washerwoman brings home our linen. The
little Frenchman arrives with tubs and plums and scissors and salt.
The linen is not dry; we are compelled to wait until to-morrow. We
engage a boat to take us to Lucerne at six the following morning.

_Saturday, August 27._--We depart at seven; it rains violently till
just the end of our voyage. We conjecture the astonishment of the good
people at Brunnen. We arrive at Lucerne, dine, then write a part of
the romance, and read _Shakespeare_. Interrupted by Jane's horrors;
pack up. We have engaged a boat for Basle.

_Sunday, August 28._--Depart at six o'clock. The river is exceedingly
beautiful; the waves break on the rocks, and the descents are steep
and rapid. It rained the whole day. We stopped at Mettingen to dine,
and there surveyed at our ease the horrid and slimy faces of our
companions in voyage; our only wish was to absolutely annihilate such
uncleanly animals, to which we might have addressed the boatman's
speech to Pope: "'Twere easier for God to make entirely new men than
attempt to purify such monsters as these." After a voyage in the rain,
rendered disagreeable only by the presence of these loathsome
"creepers," we arrive, Shelley much exhausted, at Dettingen, our
resting-place for the night.

It never seems to have occurred to them before arriving in Switzerland that they had no money wherewith to carry out their further plans, that it was more difficult to obtain it abroad than at home, and that the remainder of their little store would hardly suffice to take them back to England. No sooner thought, however, than done. They gave themselves no rest after their long and arduous journey, but started straight back via the Rhine, arriving in Rotterdam on 8th September with only twenty ecus remaining, having been "horribly cheated." "Make arrangements, and talk of many things, past, present, and to come."

_Journal, Friday, September 9._--We have arranged with a captain to
take us to England--three guineas a-piece; at three o'clock we sail,
and in the evening arrive at Marsluys, where a bad wind obliges us to
stay.

_Saturday, September 10._--We remain at Marsluys, Mary begins _Hate_,
and gives Shelley the greater pleasure. Shelley writes part of his
romance. Sleep at Marsluys. Wind contrary.

_Sunday, September 11._--The wind becomes more favourable. We hear
that we are to sail. Mary writes more of her _Hate_. We depart, cross
the bar; the sea is horribly tempestuous, and Mary is nearly sick, nor
is Shelley much better. There is an easterly gale in the night which
almost kills us, whilst it carries us nearer our journey's end.

_Monday, September 12._--It is calm; we remain on deck nearly the
whole day. Mary recovers from her sickness. We dispute with one man
upon the slave trade.

The wanderers arrived at last at Gravesend, not only penniless, but unable even to pay their passage money, or to discharge the hackney coach in which they drove about from place to place in search of assistance. At the time of Shelley's sudden flight, the deeds by which part of his income was transferred to Harriet were still in preparation only, and he had, without thinking of the consequences of his act, written from Switzerland to his bankers, directing them to honour her calls for money, as far as his account allowed of it. She must have availed herself so well of this permission that now he found he could only obtain the sum he wanted by applying for it to her.

The relations between Shelley and Harriet, must, at first, have seemed to Mary as incomprehensible as they still do to readers of the _Journal_. Their interviews, necessarily very frequent in the next few months, were, on the whole, quite friendly. Shelley was kind and perfectly ingenuous and sincere; Harriet was sometimes "civil" and good tempered, sometimes cross and provoking. But on neither side was there any pretence of deep pain, of wounded pride or bitter constraint.

_Journal, Tuesday, September 13._--We arrive at Gravesend, and with
great difficulty prevail on the captain to trust us. We go by boat to
London; take a coach; call on Hookham. T. H. not at home. C. treats us
very ill. Call at Voisey's. Henry goes to Harriet. Shelley calls on
her, whilst poor Mary and Jane are left in the coach for two whole
hours. Our debt is discharged. Shelley gets clothes for himself. Go to
Strafford Hotel, dine, and go to bed.

_Wednesday, September 14._--Talk and read the newspaper. Shelley calls
on Harriet, who is certainly a very odd creature; he writes several
letters; calls on Hookham, and brings home Wordsworth's _Excursion_,
of which we read a part, much disappointed. He is a slave. Shelley
engages lodgings, to which we remove in the evening.

Shelley now lost no time in putting himself in communication with Skinner Street, and on the first day after they settled in their new lodgings he addressed a letter to Godwin.