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CANCELLED FRAGMENTS OF JULIAN AND MADDALO.

‘What think you the dead are?’ ‘Why, dust and clay,
What should they be?’ ”Tis the last hour of day.
Look on the west, how beautiful it is 620
Vaulted with radiant vapours! The deep bliss
Of that unutterable light has made
The edges of that cloud … fade
Into a hue, like some harmonious thought,
Wasting itself on that which it had wrought, 625
Till it dies … and … between
The light hues of the tender, pure, serene,
And infinite tranquillity of heaven.
Ay, beautiful! but when not…’
…
‘Perhaps the only comfort which remains 630
Is the unheeded clanking of my chains,
The which I make, and call it melody.’

NOTES:
45 may Hunt manuscript; can 1824.
99 a one Hunt manuscript; an one 1824.
105 sunk Hunt manuscript; sank 1824.
108 ever Hunt manuscript; even 1824.
119 in Hunt manuscript; from 1824.
124 a Hunt manuscript; an 1824.
171 That Hunt manuscript; Which 1824.
175 mind Hunt manuscript; minds 1824.
179 know 1824; see Hunt manuscript.
188 those Hunt manuscript; the 1824.
191 their Hunt manuscript; this 1824.
218 Moons, etc., Hunt manuscript;
The line is wanting in editions 1824 and 1839.
237 far Hunt manuscript; but 1824.
270 nor Hunt manuscript; and 1824.
292 cold Hunt manuscript; and 1824.
318 least Hunt manuscript; last 1824.
323 sweet Hunt manuscript; fresh 1824.
356 have Hunt manuscript; hath 1824.
361 in this keen Hunt manuscript; under this 1824.
362 cry Hunt manuscript; eye 1824.
372 on Hunt manuscript; in 1824.
388 greet Hunt manuscript; meet 1824.
390 your Hunt manuscript; thy 1824.
417 his Hunt manuscript; its 1824.
446 glance Hunt manuscript; glass 1824.
447 with Hunt manuscript; near 1824.
467 lip Hunt manuscript; life 1824.
483 this Hunt manuscript; that 1824.
493 I would Hunt manuscript; I’d 1824.
510 despair Hunt manuscript; my care 1839.
511 leant] See Editor’s Note.
518 were Hunt manuscript; was 1839.
525 his Hunt manuscript; it 1824.
530 on Hunt manuscript; in 1824.
537 were now Hunt manuscript; now were 1824.
588 regrets Hunt manuscript; regret 1824.
569 but Hunt manuscript;
wanting in editions 1824 and 1839.
574 his 1824; this [?] Hunt manuscript.

NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY

From the Baths of Lucca, in 1818, Shelley visited Venice; and, circumstances rendering it eligible that we should remain a few weeks in the neighbourhood of that city, he accepted the offer of Lord Byron, who lent him the use of a villa he rented near Este; and he sent for his family from Lucca to join him.

I Capuccini was a villa built on the site of a Capuchin convent, demolished when the French suppressed religious houses; it was situated on the very overhanging brow of a low hill at the foot of a range of higher ones. The house was cheerful and pleasant; a vine-trellised walk, a pergola, as it is called in Italian, led from the hall-door to a summer-house at the end of the garden, which Shelley made his study, and in which he began the “Prometheus”; and here also, as he mentions in a letter, he wrote “Julian and Maddalo”. A slight ravine, with a road in its depth, divided the garden from the hill, on which stood the ruins of the ancient castle of Este, whose dark massive wall gave forth an echo, and from whose ruined crevices owls and bats flitted forth at night, as the crescent moon sunk behind the black and heavy battlements. We looked from the garden over the wide plain of Lombardy, bounded to the west by the far Apennines, while to the east the horizon was lost in misty distance. After the picturesque but limited view of mountain, ravine, and chestnut-wood, at the Baths of Lucca, there was something infinitely gratifying to the eye in the wide range of prospect commanded by our new abode.

Our first misfortune, of the kind from which we soon suffered even more severely, happened here. Our little girl, an infant in whose small features I fancied that I traced great resemblance to her father, showed symptoms of suffering from the heat of the climate. Teething increased her illness and danger. We were at Este, and when we became alarmed, hastened to Venice for the best advice. When we arrived at Fusina, we found that we had forgotten our passport, and the soldiers on duty attempted to prevent our crossing the laguna; but they could not resist Shelley’s impetuosity at such a moment. We had scarcely arrived at Venice before life fled from the little sufferer, and we returned to Este to weep her loss.

After a few weeks spent in this retreat, which was interspersed by visits to Venice, we proceeded southward.