CHAPTER XII.

Shelley's residence at Naples-Dejected state of his mind -Poetry of this period-His correspondence-His return to Rome-The Baths of Caracalla-Shelley's description of Rome-He continues "Prometheus Unbound"-Commences "The Cenci"-The poet's mode of life at Rome.

SOON after his arrival at Naples, Shelley fixed his abode for the winter in a delightful spot, separated only from the magnificent bay by the royal gardens. It commanded an extensive view over the blue waters and romantic coast scenery towards the mountainous island of Capri, which stands out at the opposite horn of the bay; and from his garden he could see Vesuvius, vomiting forth thick volumes of smoke by

day and fire by night, which sometimes illumined or cast its dark shadow over the sea.

Here, with the exception of an excursion to Vesuvius, to Pompeii, and one or two other of the remarkable places that lie in the vicinity of Naples, he lived with his wife and family in utter solitude, which truly "is often not the nurse of cheerfulness."

His painful secret preyed upon his health, and he became rapidly worse, while constant and poignant physical suffering exhausted his frame; "and though," says Mrs. Shelley, "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," she adds, "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 enjoy, 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." ""*

The verses which Mrs. Shelley here alludes to seem to be the "Invocation to Misery," the "Lines Written in Dejection near Naples," the sonnet commencing,

"Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call life;"

and, perhaps, that sweet little effusion, "On a Faded Violet," and the "Song of Tasso," in which latter poem he seems to give utterance to his own feelings, no less than Tasso's, when he says

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"I loved!-alas! our life is love!

But when we cease to breathe and move,

I do suppose love ceases too!

I thought, but not as now I do."

These poems must have been written under feelings of the greatest depression; and there

* Editorial notes to Shelley's Works.

can scarcely be found anything more sad, or more beautiful than the fragment to Misery, and the "Stanzas Written in Dejection, near Naples." The first is the low, gloomy wail from the abode of despair, which threatens with darkness the mind that trembles on its brink; the second is the sweet, sad utterance of a heart subdued by an all-conquering melancholy.

In these the poet seems to have found relief from the cankering sorrow that lay gnawing at heart; sorrow which he otherwise concealed for fear of wounding his wife.

In Shelley's correspondence of this period, which is remarkably free from the tone exhibited in his poetry of the same period, he has described, in his usual rich and glowing language, the places he visited while at Naples.

The varied character of the surrounding scenery, the rugged and sublime grandeur of Vesuvius, or the stately ruins of Pompeii, are presented in all the vivid hues which give reality to the scenes he describes. This correspondence is, indeed, not only interesting as a record of the poet himself, but highly valuable as specimens of English art in epistolary compositions.

Having passed the winter at Naples, according to his original plan, he returned to Rome early in March (1819), and again fixed his abode. amidst the ruins of the ancient capital of the world.

Here he enjoyed some short surcease from sorrow; and a combination of circumstances seems materially to have improved his health.

During his former brief stay in this city, the Coliseum and the Forum had been his favourite haunts; and, near the latter, he had now taken up his residence. Every lover of Shelley's writings must have read with delight his beautiful description of the Coliseum in the fragment bearing its name; but the equally gigantic ruin. of the Baths of Caracalla now became his principal attraction, filling him, as it did, with enthusiastic admiration; nor is his description of this less graphic or brilliant.

This ruin consists of six enormous chambers, above 200 feet in height, each enclosing a vast area like that of a field. There are, in addition, a number of towers and labyrinthine recesses, hidden and woven over by the wild growth of weeds and ivy.