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manners.

Rome, which you had better keep for some leisure day. I received yours, and one of Hunt's, yesterday.-So, you know the Boinvilles ? I could not help considering Mrs. Boinville, when I knew her, as the most admirable specimen of a human being I had ever seen. Nothing earthly ever appeared to be more perfect than her character and It is improbable that I shall ever meet again the person whom I so much esteemed, and still admire. I wish, however, that when you see her, you would tell her that I have not forgotten her, nor any of the amiable circle once assembled round her; and that I desire such remembrances to her as an exile and a Pariah may be permitted to address to an acknowledged member of the community of mankind. I hear they dined at your lodgings. But no mention of A1 and his wifewhere were they? Cornelia 2, though so young when I saw her, gave indications of her mother's excellences; and, certainly less fascinating, is, I doubt not, equally amiable, and more sincere. It was hardly possible for

a person of the extreme subtlety and delicacy of Mrs. Boinville's understanding and affections, to be quite sincere and constant.

I am all anxiety about your I. H. affair. 3 There are few

"

1 Professor Dowden says that A and his wife' (if not Mr. and Mrs. Turner) probably were Mrs. Boinville's son Alfred and his wife. He married, in 1818, Harriet, daughter of the Vegetarian Dr. Lambe," whose book on cancer is quoted in the notes to Queen Mab." Towards the close of his life Shelley wrote to Mrs. Boinville, then living at Sidmouth with her daughter, Cornelia Turner, and expressed a wish to come within sight of the smoke of her cottage chimney. Mrs. Boinville, who had been pained by the opinions set forth in some of Shelley's published writings, declined to receive him as a visitor at that time, and afterwards deeply regretted her decision, by which she had thrown away this last opportunity of seeing a friend to whom she had been so dear, and who had remembered so gratefully her former affection."-" Life of Shelley," Vol. I, 379.

2 Cornelia Turner, Mrs. Boinville's daughter.

3 Peacock was a candidate for a position, to which he was afterwards appointed, in the East India House.

who will feel more hearty satisfaction at your success, in this or any other enterprise, than I shall. Pray let me have the earliest intelligence.

When shall I return to England? The Pythia has ascended the tripod, but she replies not. Our present plans—and I know not what can induce us to alter them— lead us back to Naples in a month or six weeks, where it is almost decided that we should remain until the commencement of 1820. You may imagine, when we receive such letters as yours and Hunt's, what this resolution costs us-but these are not our only communications from England. My health is materially better. My spirits, not the most brilliant in the world; but that we attribute to our solitary situation, and, though happy, how should I be lively? We see something of Italian society indeed. The Romans please me much, especially the women, who, though totally devoid of every kind of information, or culture of the imagination, or affections, or understandingand, in this respect, a kind of gentle savage-yet contrive to be interesting. Their extreme innocence and naïveté, the freedom and gentleness of their manners; the total absence of affectation, makes an intercourse with them very like an intercourse with uncorrupted children, whom they resemble in loveliness as well as simplicity. I have seen two women in society here of the highest beauty; their brows and lips, and the moulding of the face modelled with sculptural exactness, and the dark luxuriance of their hair floating over their fine complexions ; and the lips-you must hear the commonplaces which escape from them, before they cease to be dangerous. The only inferior part are the eyes, which, though good and gentle, want the mazy depth of colour behind colour, with which the intellectual women of England and Germany entangle the heart in soul-inwoven labyrinths.

This is holy-week, and Rome is quite full. The Emperor of Austria is here, and Maria Louisa is coming. On their journey through the other cities of Italy, she was greeted

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"The Emblem of Italy "

687

with loud acclamations, and vivas of Napoleon. Idiots and slaves! Like the frogs in the fable, because they are discontented with the log, they call upon the stork, who devours them. Great festas, and magnificent funzioni here—we cannot get tickets to all. There are five thousand strangers in Rome, and only room for five hundred, at the celebration of the famous Miserere, in the Sixtine chapel, the only thing I regret we shall not be present at. After all, Rome is eternal; and were all that is extinguished, that which has been, the ruins and the sculptures, would remain, and Raffael and Guido be alone regretted.

In the Square of St. Peter's there are about three hundred fettered criminals at work, hoeing out the weeds that grow between the stones of the pavement. Their legs are heavily ironed, and some are chained two by two. They sit in long rows, hoeing out the weeds, dressed in particoloured clothes. Near them sit or saunter groups of soldiers, armed with loaded muskets. The iron discord of those innumerable chains clanks up into the sonorous air, and produces, contrasted with the musical dashing of the fountains, and the deep azure beauty of the sky, and the magnificence of the architecture around, a conflict of sensations allied to madness. It is the emblem of Italy -moral degradation contrasted with the glory of nature and the arts.

We see no English society here; it is not probable that we would if we desired it, and I am certain that we should find it unsupportable. The manners of the rich English are wholly unsupportable, and they assume pretensions which they would not venture upon in their own country. I am yet ignorant of the event of Hobhouse's election. I saw the last numbers were-Lamb, 4200; and Hobhouse, 3900-14th day. There is little hope. That mischievous Cobbett has divided and weakened the interests of the popular party, so that the factions that prey upon our country have been able to coalesce to its exclusion. The Newtons you have not seen. I am curious to know

what kind of a girl Octavia becomes; she promised well. Tell H― his Melpomene is in the Vatican, and that her attitude and drapery surpass, if possible, the graces of her countenance.

My "Prometheus Unbound" is just finished, and in a month or two I shall send it. It is a drama, with characters and mechanism of a kind yet unattempted; and I think the execution is better than any of my former attempts. By-the-bye, have you seen Ollier? I never hear from him, and am ignorant whether some verses I sent him from Naples, entitled, I think, “Lines on the Euganean hills," have reached him in safety or not. As to the Reviews, I suppose there is nothing but abuse; and this is not hearty or sincere enough to amuse me. As to the poem now printing, 1 I lay no stress on it one way or the other. The concluding lines are natural.

I believe, my dear Peacock, that you wish us to come back to England. How is it possible? Health, competence, tranquillity-all these Italy permits, and England takes away. I am regarded by all who know or hear of me, except, I think, on the whole, five individuals, as a rare prodigy of crime and pollution, whose look even might infect. This is a large computation, and I don't think I could mention more than three. Such is the spirit of the English abroad as well as at home.

Few compensate, indeed, for all the rest, and if I were alone I should laugh; or if I were rich enough to do all things, which I shall never be. Pity me for my absence from those social enjoyments which England might afford me, and which I know so well how to appreciate. Still I shall return some fine morning, out of pure weakness of heart.

1

My dear Peacock, most faithfully yours,

P. B. SHELLEY.

Rosalind and Helen, /a Modern Eclogue, / with / other Poems:/ By/Percy Bysshe Shelley. London : / Printed for C. and J. Ollier,/ Vere Street, Bond Street. / 1819," published in the spring of this year,

A combination of circumstances, which Mary will explain to you, leads us back to Naples in June, or rather the end of May, where we shall remain until the ensuing winter. 1 We shall take a house at Portici or Castel a Mare, until late in the autumn.

The object of this letter is to ask you to spend this period with us. There is no society which we have regretted or desired so much as yours, and in our solitude the benefit of your concession would be greater than I can express. What is a sail to Naples? It is the season of tranquil weather and prosperous winds. If I knew the magic that lay in any given form of words, I would employ them to persuade; but I fear that all I can say is, as you know with truth, we desire that you would comee-we wish

to see you. You came to see Mary at Lucca, directly I had departed to Venice. It is not our custom, when we can help it, any more than it is yours, to divide our pleasures.

What shall I say to entice you? We shall have a piano, and some books, and-little else, besides ourselves. But

1 In Mary Shelley's letter from Rome, April 26, 1819, to Mrs. Gisborne, she speaks of their intention of leaving for Naples on May 7, as Shelley's health was being affected by the Roman air, and the physicians had "prognosticated" beneficial results for him from a Neapolitan summer. On May 7 we read that Shelley's old acquaintance, Miss Curran, then at Rome, had begun to paint that familiar portrait of him, which is now in the National Portrait Gallery. Their departure was therefore postponed until June 7, but on that day their little boy Willy died of a fever. Mrs. Shelley's grief and melancholy at the loss of her only surviving child no doubt made them think of their friends the Gisbornes at Leghorn, for which place they departed on June 10.

Vol. ii-14-(2285)