Books: Notes to The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Mary W. Shelley >> Notes to The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuscany alone was perfectly tranquil. It was said that the Austrian
minister presented a list of sixty Carbonari to the Grand Duke, urging
their imprisonment; and the Grand Duke replied, 'I do not know whether
these sixty men are Carbonari, but I know, if I imprison them, I shall
directly have sixty thousand start up.' But, though the Tuscans had no
desire to disturb the paternal government beneath whose shelter they
slumbered, they regarded the progress of the various Italian revolutions
with intense interest, and hatred for the Austrian was warm in every
bosom. But they had slender hopes; they knew that the Neapolitans would
offer no fit resistance to the regular German troops, and that the
overthrow of the constitution in Naples would act as a decisive blow
against all struggles for liberty in Italy.
We have seen the rise and progress of reform. But the Holy Alliance was
alive and active in those days, and few could dream of the peaceful
triumph of liberty. It seemed then that the armed assertion of freedom
in the South of Europe was the only hope of the liberals, as, if it
prevailed, the nations of the north would imitate the example. Happily
the reverse has proved the fact. The countries accustomed to the
exercise of the privileges of freemen, to a limited extent, have
extended, and are extending, these limits. Freedom and knowledge have
now a chance of proceeding hand in hand; and, if it continue thus, we
may hope for the durability of both. Then, as I have said--in
1821--Shelley, as well as every other lover of liberty, looked upon the
struggles in Spain and Italy as decisive of the destinies of the world,
probably for centuries to come. The interest he took in the progress of
affairs was intense. When Genoa declared itself free, his hopes were at
their highest. Day after day he read the bulletins of the Austrian army,
and sought eagerly to gather tokens of its defeat. He heard of the
revolt of Genoa with emotions of transport. His whole heart and soul
were in the triumph of the cause. We were living at Pisa at that time;
and several well-informed Italians, at the head of whom we may place the
celebrated Vacca, were accustomed to seek for sympathy in their hopes
from Shelley: they did not find such for the despair they too generally
experienced, founded on contempt for their southern countrymen.
While the fate of the progress of the Austrian armies then invading
Naples was yet in suspense, the news of another revolution filled him
with exultation. We had formed the acquaintance at Pisa of several
Constantinopolitan Greeks, of the family of Prince Caradja, formerly
Hospodar of Wallachia; who, hearing that the bowstring, the accustomed
finale of his viceroyalty, was on the road to him, escaped with his
treasures, and took up his abode in Tuscany. Among these was the
gentleman to whom the drama of "Hellas" is dedicated. Prince
Mavrocordato was warmed by those aspirations for the independence of his
country which filled the hearts of many of his countrymen. He often
intimated the possibility of an insurrection in Greece; but we had no
idea of its being so near at hand, when, on the 1st of April 1821, he
called on Shelley, bringing the proclamation of his cousin, Prince
Ypsilanti, and, radiant with exultation and delight, declared that
henceforth Greece would be free.
Shelley had hymned the dawn of liberty in Spain and Naples, in two odes
dictated by the warmest enthusiasm; he felt himself naturally impelled
to decorate with poetry the uprise of the descendants of that people
whose works he regarded with deep admiration, and to adopt the
vaticinatory character in prophesying their success. "Hellas" was
written in a moment of enthusiasm. It is curious to remark how well he
overcomes the difficulty of forming a drama out of such scant materials.
His prophecies, indeed, came true in their general, not their
particular, purport. He did not foresee the death of Lord Londonderry,
which was to be the epoch of a change in English politics, particularly
as regarded foreign affairs; nor that the navy of his country would
fight for instead of against the Greeks, and by the battle of Navarino
secure their enfranchisement from the Turks. Almost against reason, as
it appeared to him, he resolved to believe that Greece would prove
triumphant; and in this spirit, auguring ultimate good, yet grieving
over the vicissitudes to be endured in the interval, he composed his
drama.
"Hellas" was among the last of his compositions, and is among the most
beautiful. The choruses are singularly imaginative, and melodious in
their versification. There are some stanzas that beautifully exemplify
Shelley's peculiar style; as, for instance, the assertion of the
intellectual empire which must be for ever the inheritance of the
country of Homer, Sophocles, and Plato:--
'But Greece and her foundations are
Built below the tide of war,
Based on the crystalline sea
Of thought and its eternity.'
And again, that philosophical truth felicitously imaged forth--
'Revenge and Wrong bring forth their kind,
The foul cubs like their parents are,
Their den is in the guilty mind,
And Conscience feeds them with despair.'
The conclusion of the last chorus is among the most beautiful of his
lyrics. The imagery is distinct and majestic; the prophecy, such as
poets love to dwell upon, the Regeneration of Mankind--and that
regeneration reflecting back splendour on the foregone time, from which
it inherits so much of intellectual wealth, and memory of past virtuous
deeds, as must render the possession of happiness and peace of tenfold
value.
NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
The remainder of Shelley's Poems will be arranged in the order in which
they were written. Of course, mistakes will occur in placing some of the
shorter ones; for, as I have said, many of these were thrown aside, and
I never saw them till I had the misery of looking over his writings
after the hand that traced them was dust; and some were in the hands of
others, and I never saw them till now. The subjects of the poems are
often to me an unerring guide; but on other occasions I can only guess,
by finding them in the pages of the same manuscript book that contains
poems with the date of whose composition I am fully conversant. In the
present arrangement all his poetical translations will be placed
together at the end.
The loss of his early papers prevents my being able to give any of the
poetry of his boyhood. Of the few I give as "Early Poems", the greater
part were published with "Alastor"; some of them were written
previously, some at the same period. The poem beginning 'Oh, there are
spirits in the air' was addressed in idea to Coleridge, whom he never
knew; and at whose character he could only guess imperfectly, through
his writings, and accounts he heard of him from some who knew him well.
He regarded his change of opinions as rather an act of will than
conviction, and believed that in his inner heart he would be haunted by
what Shelley considered the better and holier aspirations of his youth.
The summer evening that suggested to him the poem written in the
churchyard of Lechlade occurred during his voyage up the Thames in 1815.
He had been advised by a physician to live as much as possible in the
open air; and a fortnight of a bright warm July was spent in tracing the
Thames to its source. He never spent a season more tranquilly than the
summer of 1815. He had just recovered from a severe pulmonary attack;
the weather was warm and pleasant. He lived near Windsor Forest; and his
life was spent under its shades or on the water, meditating subjects for
verse. Hitherto, he had chiefly aimed at extending his political
doctrines, and attempted so to do by appeals in prose essays to the
people, exhorting them to claim their rights; but he had now begun to
feel that the time for action was not ripe in England, and that the pen
was the only instrument wherewith to prepare the way for better things.
In the scanty journals kept during those years I find a record of the
books that Shelley read during several years. During the years of 1814
and 1815 the list is extensive. It includes, in Greek, Homer, Hesiod,
Theocritus, the histories of Thucydides and Herodotus, and Diogenes
Laertius. In Latin, Petronius, Suetonius, some of the works of Cicero, a
large proportion of those of Seneca and Livy. In English, Milton's
poems, Wordsworth's "Excursion", Southey's "Madoc" and "Thalaba", Locke
"On the Human Understanding", Bacon's "Novum Organum". In Italian,
Ariosto, Tasso, and Alfieri. In French, the "Reveries d'un Solitaire" of
Rousseau. To these may be added several modern books of travel. He read
few novels.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
Shelley wrote little during this year. The poem entitled "The Sunset"
was written in the spring of the year, while still residing at
Bishopsgate. He spent the summer on the shores of the Lake of Geneva.
The "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" was conceived during his voyage round
the lake with Lord Byron. He occupied himself during this voyage by
reading the "Nouvelle Heloise" for the first time. The reading it on the
very spot where the scenes are laid added to the interest; and he was at
once surprised and charmed by the passionate eloquence and earnest
enthralling interest that pervade this work. There was something in the
character of Saint-Preux, in his abnegation of self, and in the worship
he paid to Love, that coincided with Shelley's own disposition; and,
though differing in many of the views and shocked by others, yet the
effect of the whole was fascinating and delightful.
"Mont Blanc" was inspired by a view of that mountain and its surrounding
peaks and valleys, as he lingered on the Bridge of Arve on his way
through the Valley of Chamouni. Shelley makes the following mention of
this poem in his publication of the "History of a Six Weeks' Tour, and
Letters from Switzerland": 'The poem entitled "Mont Blanc" is written by
the author of the two letters from Chamouni and Vevai. It was composed
under the immediate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited
by the objects which it attempts to describe; and, as an undisciplined
overflowing of the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to
imitate the untamable wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which
those feelings sprang.'
This was an eventful year, and less time was given to study than usual.
In the list of his reading I find, in Greek, Theocritus, the
"Prometheus" of Aeschylus, several of Plutarch's "Lives", and the works
of Lucian. In Latin, Lucretius, Pliny's "Letters", the "Annals" and
"Germany" of Tacitus. In French, the "History of the French Revolution"
by Lacretelle. He read for the first time, this year, Montaigne's
"Essays", and regarded them ever after as one of the most delightful and
instructive books in the world. The list is scanty in English works:
Locke's "Essay", "Political Justice", and Coleridge's "Lay Sermon", form
nearly the whole. It was his frequent habit to read aloud to me in the
evening; in this way we read, this year, the New Testament, "Paradise
Lost", Spenser's "Faery Queen", and "Don Quixote".
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1817, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
The very illness that oppressed, and the aspect of death which had
approached so near Shelley, appear to have kindled to yet keener life
the Spirit of Poetry in his heart. The restless thoughts kept awake by
pain clothed themselves in verse. Much was composed during this year.
The "Revolt of Islam", written and printed, was a great
effort--"Rosalind and Helen" was begun--and the fragments and poems I
can trace to the same period show how full of passion and reflection
were his solitary hours.
In addition to such poems as have an intelligible aim and shape, many a
stray idea and transitory emotion found imperfect and abrupt expression,
and then again lost themselves in silence. As he never wandered without
a book and without implements of writing, I find many such, in his
manuscript books, that scarcely bear record; while some of them, broken
and vague as they are, will appear valuable to those who love Shelley's
mind, and desire to trace its workings.
He projected also translating the "Hymns" of Homer; his version of
several of the shorter ones remains, as well as that to Mercury already
published in the "Posthumous Poems". His readings this year were chiefly
Greek. Besides the "Hymns" of Homer and the "Iliad", he read the dramas
of Aeschylus and Sophocles, the "Symposium" of Plato, and Arrian's
"Historia Indica". In Latin, Apuleius alone is named. In English, the
Bible was his constant study; he read a great portion of it aloud in the
evening. Among these evening readings I find also mentioned the "Faerie
Queen"; and other modern works, the production of his contemporaries,
Coleridge, Wordsworth, Moore and Byron.
His life was now spent more in thought than action--he had lost the
eager spirit which believed it could achieve what it projected for the
benefit of mankind. And yet in the converse of daily life Shelley was
far from being a melancholy man. He was eloquent when philosophy or
politics or taste were the subjects of conversation. He was playful; and
indulged in the wild spirit that mocked itself and others--not in
bitterness, but in sport. The author of "Nightmare Abbey" seized on some
points of his character and some habits of his life when he painted
Scythrop. He was not addicted to 'port or madeira,' but in youth he had
read of 'Illuminati and Eleutherarchs,' and believed that he possessed
the power of operating an immediate change in the minds of men and the
state of society. These wild dreams had faded; sorrow and adversity had
struck home; but he struggled with despondency as he did with physical
pain. There are few who remember him sailing paper boats, and watching
the navigation of his tiny craft with eagerness--or repeating with wild
energy "The Ancient Mariner", and Southey's "Old Woman of Berkeley"; but
those who do will recollect that it was in such, and in the creations of
his own fancy when that was most daring and ideal, that he sheltered
himself from the storms and disappointments, the pain and sorrow, that
beset his life.
No words can express the anguish he felt when his elder children were
torn from him. In his first resentment against the Chancellor, on the
passing of the decree, he had written a curse, in which there breathes,
besides haughty indignation, all the tenderness of a father's love,
which could imagine and fondly dwell upon its loss and the consequences.
At one time, while the question was still pending, the Chancellor had
said some words that seemed to intimate that Shelley should not be
permitted the care of any of his children, and for a moment he feared
that our infant son would be torn from us. He did not hesitate to
resolve, if such were menaced, to abandon country, fortune, everything,
and to escape with his child; and I find some unfinished stanzas
addressed to this son, whom afterwards we lost at Rome, written under
the idea that we might suddenly be forced to cross the sea, so to
preserve him. This poem, as well as the one previously quoted, were not
written to exhibit the pangs of distress to the public; they were the
spontaneous outbursts of a man who brooded over his wrongs and woes, and
was impelled to shed the grace of his genius over the uncontrollable
emotions of his heart. I ought to observe that the fourth verse of this
effusion is introduced in "Rosalind and Helen". When afterwards this
child died at Rome, he wrote, a propos of the English burying-ground in
that city: 'This spot is the repository of a sacred loss, of which the
yearnings of a parent's heart are now prophetic; he is rendered immortal
by love, as his memory is by death. My beloved child lies buried here. I
envy death the body far less than the oppressors the minds of those whom
they have torn from me. The one can only kill the body, the other
crushes the affections.'
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
We often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to Italy. This
was not Shelley's case. The aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, its
majestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the
noble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of art
was full enjoyment and wonder. He had not studied pictures or statues
before; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the
rules of schools, but to those of Nature and truth. The first entrance
to Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far
surpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples and its
environs added to the impression he received of the transcendent and
glorious beauty of Italy.
Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of
"Marenghi" and "The Woodman and the Nightingale", which he afterwards
threw aside. At this time, Shelley suffered greatly in health. He put
himself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, and
made him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. Constant
and poignant physical suffering exhausted him; and though he preserved
the appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed our wanderings
in the environs of Naples, and our excursions on its sunny sea, yet many
hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became
gloomy,--and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which he hid
from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural bursts of
discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakable regret and
gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one been more alive
to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe them, such
would not have existed. And yet, enjoying as he appeared to do every
sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to imagine that any
melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the constant pain to
which he was a martyr.
We lived in utter solitude. And such is often not the nurse of
cheerfulness; for then, at least with those who have been exposed to
adversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently; while the
society of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us to
forget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others,
which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. Shelley never liked
society in numbers,--it harassed and wearied him; but neither did he
like loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself against
memory and reflection in a book. But, with one or two whom he loved, he
gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation
expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argument
arose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest, in
supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while
listening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudice been
raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would have
sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to revere!
How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have since
regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worth while
he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or envy
from declaring their sense of it. But no man was ever more
enthusiastically loved--more looked up to, as one superior to his
fellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew
him well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate his
superiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while
admitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who were
acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his
generosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vast
superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood--his
sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory.
All these as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he
lived, and are now silent in the tomb:
'Ahi orbo mondo ingrato!
Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco;
Che quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco.'
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1819, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
Shelley loved the People; and respected them as often more virtuous, as
always more suffering, and therefore more deserving of sympathy, than
the great. He believed that a clash between the two classes of society
was inevitable, and he eagerly ranged himself on the people's side. He
had an idea of publishing a series of poems adapted expressly to
commemorate their circumstances and wrongs. He wrote a few; but, in
those days of prosecution for libel, they could not be printed. They are
not among the best of his productions, a writer being always shackled
when he endeavours to write down to the comprehension of those who could
not understand or feel a highly imaginative style; but they show his
earnestness, and with what heart-felt compassion he went home to the
direct point of injury--that oppression is detestable as being the
parent of starvation, nakedness, and ignorance. Besides these
outpourings of compassion and indignation, he had meant to adorn the
cause he loved with loftier poetry of glory and triumph: such is the
scope of the "Ode to the Assertors of Liberty". He sketched also a new
version of our national anthem, as addressed to Liberty.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelley
passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on its
ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also by the
project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to ply
between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of money.
This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly
disappointed when it was thrown aside.
There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his
health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we
left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some
friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as
to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man,
could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he
enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave
his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the
highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice.
Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence at Pisa
agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we
remained.
In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house
of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a
beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose
myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the
carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of his
poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house, which
was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who was an
engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her younger
days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming from her
frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love of
knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness
of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a favourite friend of
my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and
cordial friendship was established between us.
Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At
the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the
Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking
its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is
below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was
speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in
the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in
the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open
the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet. It
was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the cattle
from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was kept up
to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the animals
showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which was
reflected again in the waters that filled the Square.
We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. The
extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude was
enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance cast
us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its very
peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not distant
sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful
excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter climate, on
account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us with terror.
We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards; often, indeed,
entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy, but still
delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I believe we should
have wandered over the world, both being passionately fond of
travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable necessities,
is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at the time,
although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over
our destiny.