No More Learning

Strange that no fear of danger crossed our
minds! Living on the sea-shore, the ocean became as a plaything: as a
child may sport with a lighted stick, till a spark inflames a forest,
and spreads destruction over all, so did we fearlessly and blindly
tamper with danger, and make a game of the terrors of the ocean. Our
Italian neighbours, even, trusted themselves as far as Massa in the
skiff; and the running down the line of coast to Leghorn gave no more
notion of peril than a fair-weather inland navigation would have done
to those who had never seen the sea. Once, some months before, Trelawny
had raised a warning voice as to the difference of our calm bay and the
open sea beyond; but Shelley and his friend, with their one sailor-boy,
thought themselves a match for the storms of the Mediterranean, in a
boat which they looked upon as equal to all it was put to do.

On the 1st of July they left us. If ever shadow of future ill darkened
the present hour, such was over my mind when they went. During the
whole of our stay at Lerici, an intense presentiment of coming evil
brooded over my mind, and covered this beautiful place and genial
summer with the shadow of coming misery. I had vainly struggled with
these emotions--they seemed accounted for by my illness; but at this
hour of separation they recurred with renewed violence. I did not
anticipate danger for them, but a vague expectation of evil shook me to
agony, and I could scarcely bring myself to let them go. The day was
calm and clear; and, a fine breeze rising at twelve, they weighed for
Leghorn. They made the run of about fifty miles in seven hours and a
half. The "Bolivar" was in port; and, the regulations of the
Health-office not permitting them to go on shore after sunset, they
borrowed cushions from the larger vessel, and slept on board their
boat.

They spent a week at Pisa and Leghorn. The want of rain was severely
felt in the country. The weather continued sultry and fine.
I have
heard that Shelley all this time was in brilliant spirits. Not long
before, talking of presentiment, he had said the only one that he ever
found infallible was the certain advent of some evil fortune when he
felt peculiarly joyous. Yet, if ever fate whispered of coming disaster,
such inaudible but not unfelt prognostics hovered around us. The beauty
of the place seemed unearthly in its excess: the distance we were at
from all signs of civilization, the sea at our feet, its murmurs or its
roaring for ever in our ears,--all these things led the mind to brood
over strange thoughts, and, lifting it from everyday life, caused it to
be familiar with the unreal. A sort of spell surrounded us; and each
day, as the voyagers did not return, we grew restless and disquieted,
and yet, strange to say, we were not fearful of the most apparent
danger.

The spell snapped; it was all over; an interval of agonizing doubt--of
days passed in miserable journeys to gain tidings, of hopes that took
firmer root even as they were more baseless--was changed to the
certainty of the death that eclipsed all happiness for the survivors
for evermore.

There was something in our fate peculiarly harrowing. The remains of
those we lost were cast on shore; but, by the quarantine-laws of the
coast, we were not permitted to have possession of them--the law with
respect to everything cast on land by the sea being that such should be
burned, to prevent the possibility of any remnant bringing the plague
into Italy; and no representation could alter the law. At length,
through the kind and unwearied exertions of Mr. Dawkins, our Charge
d'Affaires at Florence, we gained permission to receive the ashes after
the bodies were consumed. Nothing could equal the zeal of Trelawny in
carrying our wishes into effect. He was indefatigable in his exertions,
and full of forethought and sagacity in his arrangements. It was a
fearful task; he stood before us at last, his hands scorched and
blistered by the flames of the funeral-pyre, and by touching the burnt
relics as he placed them in the receptacles prepared for the purpose.
And there, in compass of that small case, was gathered all that
remained on earth of him whose genius and virtue were a crown of glory
to the world--whose love had been the source of happiness, peace, and
good,--to be buried with him!

The concluding stanzas of the "Adonais" pointed out where the remains
ought to be deposited; in addition to which our beloved child lay
buried in the cemetery at Rome. Thither Shelley's ashes were conveyed;
and they rest beneath one of the antique weed-grown towers that recur
at intervals in the circuit of the massy ancient wall of Rome.