⁂
He himself had need of a similar loftiness of soul, to rise above the women’s quarrels which distracted his household. Mary grew more and more short-tempered. Godwin overwhelmed her with requests for money, to which Shelley had decided no longer to reply. He had already given her father nearly five thousand pounds without any results and had gained, at this high price, a chastened wisdom and a painful knowledge of Godwin’s ugly soul. As the bitter reproaches which the Philosopher now showered on Mary turned her milk, Shelley informed him that for the future he would intercept and suppress all letters likely to upset her: “Mary has not, nor ought she to have, the disposal of money. If she had, poor thing, she would give it all to you. Such a father—I mean a man of such high genius—can be at no loss to find subjects on which to address such a daughter. . . . I need not tell you that the neglecting entirely to write to your daughter from the moment that nothing could be gained by it, would admit of but one interpretation.”
Mary, worried about her father, Claire, worried about her child, got terribly on each other’s nerves, and their common admiration for the only man of the household was far more an obstacle to a good understanding than a help. Mary did all she knew to make Claire perceive she was unwanted, and once more Claire as before had to recognize it. An old lady of the English colony found her a place as governess in Florence, Shelley took her thither, and left her in the family of Professor Bojti.
He wrote her long and loving letters, but though these were quite innocent he did not show them to Mary, and he asked Claire not to mention them when she wrote to her sister, although such a want of frankness was little to his taste. His early conception of love had been of a unity of ideas and actions so perfect that any explanation was quite uncalled for between lovers. But life had taught him that perfection is not to be had, and something short of it must be accepted. There are certain persons for whom pure Truth is a poison. Mary could not take it except in very diluted doses.
CHAPTER XXX
A SCANDALOUS LETTER
On the 16th September, 1820, R. B. Hoppner wrote from Venice to Lord Byron:
“My dear Lord,
“. . . You are surprised, and with reason, at the change of my opinion respecting Shiloh; it certainly is not that which I once entertained of him; but if I disclose to you my fearful secret, I trust, for his unfortunate wife’s sake, if not out of regard to Mrs. Hoppner and me, that you will not let the Shelleys know that we are acquainted with it. This request you will find so reasonable that I am sure you will comply with it, and I therefore proceed to divulge to you what indeed on Allegra’s account it is necessary that you should know, as it will fortify you in the good resolution you have already taken never to trust her again to her mother’s care.
“You must know then that at the time the Shelleys were here Claire was with child by Shelley: you may remember to have heard that she was constantly unwell, and under the care of a Physician, and I am uncharitable enough to believe that the quantity of medicine she then took was not for the mere purpose of restoring her health. I perceive too why she preferred remaining alone at Este, notwithstanding her fear of ghosts and robbers, to being here with the Shelleys.
“Be this as it may, they proceeded from here to Naples, where one night Shelley was called up to see Claire who was very ill. His wife, naturally, thought it very strange that he should be sent for; but although she was not aware of the nature of the connection between them she had had sufficient proof of Shelley’s indifference, and of Claire’s hatred for her: besides as Shelley desired her to remain quiet she did not dare to interfere.