There are subjects

society depends. Do not think me arrogant. of the highest importance, on which you are far better qualified to instruct me, than I am qualified to instruct you on this subject.

Addressing the Gisbornes on the same day, Shelley again refers to the unsatisfactory state of his finances:MY DEAR FRIENDS,

Florence, Oct. 28th, 1819.

I received this morning the strange and unexpected news that my bill of 2007. has been returned to Mr. Webb protested. Ultimately, this can be nothing but delay, as I have only drawn from my banker's hands as much as to leave them still in possession of 807.; and this I positively know, and can prove by documents. By return of post (for I have not only written to my banker, but to private friends) no doubt Henry will be enabled to proceed. Let him, meanwhile, do all that can be done.

Meanwhile, to save time, could not money be obtained temporarily, at Livorno, from Mr. W– or Mr. G, or any of your acquaintance, on my bills at three or six months, indorsed by Mr. Gisborne and Henry, so that he may go on with his work? If a month is of consequence, think of this.

Be of good cheer, Madonna mia; all will go well. The enclosed is for Henry, and was written before this news, as he will see; but it does not, strange as it is, abate one atom of my cheer. Accept, dear Mrs. G., my best regards.

66

Yours faithfully,

P. B. S.

:

On November 13th, Shelley writes to Leigh Hunt:Yesterday morning, Mary brought me a little boy. She suffered but two hours' pain, and is now so well that it seems a wonder that she stays in bed. The babe is also quite well, and has begun to suck. You may imagine that this is a great relief and a great comfort

come.

to me amongst all my misfortunes, past, present, and to Poor Mary begins (for the first time) to look a little consoled; for we have spent, as you may imagine, a miserable five months." The same domestic event is touched upon by Mrs. Shelley herself in a letter to Mrs. Gisborne:

MY DEAR MRS. G.,

December 1st, 1819.

The little boy is nearly three times as big as when he was born: he thrives well and cries little, and is now taking a rightdown, earnest sleep, with all his heart in his shut eyes.

There are some ladies come to this house who knew Shelley's family; the younger one was entousiasmée to see him; the elder said that he was a very shocking man, but, finding that we became the mode, she melted, and paid us a visit. She is a little old Welshwoman, without the slightest education. She has got an Italian master, and has entered into the difficult part of the language, the singulars and plurals-the it's and the lo's, and is to turn masculines into feminines, and feminines into masculines; but she says she does not think she shall ever learn, for she cannot help mixing Welsh with her Italian-and, besides, it spoils her French. She speaks the sweetest French, as you may judge by her telling her master, "Je ne peut lire aucune plus."

The younger lady was a ward of one of Shelley's uncles. She is lively and unaffected. She sings well for an English débutante, and, if she would learn the scales, would sing exceedingly well, for she has a sweet voice. So there is a great deal of good company for C, who is as busy as a bee amongst them all, serving as an interpreter to their masters. She has a most excellent singing master, and he now teaches several other young ladies who are here. One who had had a very cross master in England, when told to sing sol, burst into tears. The poor man was aghast. "Non capisco questo effetto."

I do not know why I write all this gossip to you. Pray, let us hear of you, and the steamboat, and the felucca.

Affectionately yours,

M. W. SHELLEY.

Writing to Mrs. Gisborne on December 15th, Mrs. Shelley says:

You see, my dear friend, by the receipt of your crowns, that we have recovered 1007. of our money. There is still 1007. in jeopardy; but we must hope, and perhaps, by dint of giving it up as lost, we may find it again. I have begun reading

with Shelley the Conquista de Mexico, by Solis. We have read very little yet. I send you something to amuse you the bane and antidote. The bane from the Quarterly, the antidote from Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, a publication as furious as the Quarterly, but which takes up arms (singularly enough) in Shelley's defence. We half think that it must be Walter Scott, the only liberal man of that faction.*

Some days later, Mrs. Shelley again wrote to her friend Mrs. Gisborne:

MY DEAR MRS. GISBORNE,

Florence, Dec. 28th, 1819.

I am glad you are pleased with the Prometheus. The last act, though very beautiful, is certainly the most mystic of the four. I am glad also that Spenser pleases you, for he is a favourite author of mine. In his days, I fancy, translations and plagiarisms were not considered so disgraceful as they are now. You have not all of him, and therefore perhaps you have not read the parts that I particularly admire †-the snowy Florimel, Belphœbe and her Squire lover (who are half meant for Queen Elizabeth and Lord Essex). Britomart is only an imitation; she is cold and dull; but the others, and the lovely Una, are his own creations, and I own I like them better than Angelica, although, indeed, the thought of her night scene with Medoro came across me, and made me pause as I wrote the opinion. But, perhaps, it is not in

* I believe this to be an error; but Sir Walter did write an excellent review of Frankenstein in Blackwood's Magazine, under the impression that it was Shelley's work.-ED.

† In the Faery Queene.-ED.

See Ariosto's Orlando Furioso.-ED.

K

pathos, but in simple description of beauty, that Spenser excels. His description of the Island of Bliss is an exact translation of Tasso's Garden of Armida; yet how is it that I find a greater simplicity and spirit in the translation than in the original? Yet, so it is.

I think of beginning to read again-study I cannot, for I have no books, and I may not call simple reading study, for papa is continually saying and writing, that to read one book without others beside you, to which you may refer, is mere child's play; but still I hope now to get on with Latin and Spanish. Do you know that, if you could borrow for us Rousseau's Emile and Voltaire's Essai sur l'Esprit des Nations-either or both-you would oblige us very much.

Shelley has given up the idea of visiting Leghorn before the finishing of the steamboat. He is rather better these last two or three days, but he has suffered dreadfully lately from his side. He seems a changed man. His numerous weaknesses and ailments have left him, and settled all in his side alone, for he never, any other winter, suffered such constant pain there.* It puts me in mind of the mountain of ills in the Spectator, where mankind exchange ills one with the other: then they all take up their old evils again as the most bearable. I do not know whether this is Shelley's case.

Affectionately yours,

M. W. SHELLEY.

* In another letter, Mrs. Shelley speaks of this pain having a rheumatic character.-ED.

131

CHAPTER X.

THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN.

On the 26th of January, 1820, the Shelleys removed to Pisa. At that city they had friends, and could consult the celebrated physician Vaccà on the subject of the poet's ailments, though they received from him no other advice than to abstain from all medicine, and leave the constitution to right itself. Vaccà was as much puzzled as the other medical men to assign any cause for Shelley's painful symptoms; but, whatever might have been the nature of the complaint, the air of Pisa agreed better with the patient than that of any other place, and it was therefore determined on to remain there. Under the best of circumstances, however, Shelley was never entirely free from pain and ill-health.

In walking, riding, and studying, some months passed pleasantly away. When evening had set in, Shelley, according to his usual custom, would read aloud. A few weeks in the spring were spent at Leghorn, in a villa lent to them by their friends the Gisbornes, who were then absent in England. From this house Shelley addressed his letter in verse to Mrs.