“DEAREST MARY,—­I am this moment arrived at Lerici, where I am necessarily detained waiting the furniture, which left Pisa last night at midnight; and as the sea has been calm and the wind fair, may expect them every moment....  Now to business—­Is the Magni House taken? if not pray occupy yourself instantly in finishing the affair, even if you are obliged to go to Sarzana, and send a messenger to me to tell me of your success.  I, of course, cannot leave Lerici, to which place the boats (for we were obliged to take two) are directed.  But you can come over in the same boat that brings this letter, and return in the evening.

“I ought to say that I do not think there is accommodation for you all at this inn; and that even if there were, you would be better off at Spezia; but if the Magni House is taken, then there is no possible reason why you should not take a row over in the boat that will bring this, but don’t keep the men long.  I am anxious to hear from you on every account.—­Ever yours, S.”

Shelley’s fears as to the accommodation of Lerici were by no means without foundation.  Within the last two years a decent inn has been open there in the summer, but before that the primitive and not very clean hostelry in which, as I suppose, Shelley lodged, was all that awaited the traveller.[8] It was not for long, however, that Shelley was left in doubt about the house.  Villa Magni became his, and, after much trouble with the furniture, for the officials put the customs duty at L300 sterling, they were allowed to bring it ashore, the harbour-master agreeing to consider Villa Magni “as a sort of depot, until further leave came from the Genoese Government.”

It was here that, very soon after they had taken possession of the house, Claire learned from Shelley’s lips of the death of her child, and on 21st May set out for Florence.  A few evenings later, Shelley, walking with Williams on the terrace, and observing the effect of the moonshine on the water, grasped Williams, as he says, “violently by the arm and stared steadfastly on the white surf that broke upon the beach at our feet.  Observing him sensibly affected, I demanded of him if he were in pain; but he only answered by saying, ‘There it is again—­there!’ He recovered after some time, and declared that he saw, as plainly as he then saw me, a naked child (Allegra) rise from the sea and clap its hands as in joy, smiling at him.”  Was this a premonition of his own death, a hint, as it were, that in such a place one like Shelley might well hope for from the gods?  Certainly that shore was pagan enough.  Sometimes on moonlight nights, in the hot weather, the half savage natives of San Terenzo would dance among the waves, singing in chorus; while Mrs. Shelley tells us that the beauty of the woods made her “weep and shudder.”  So strong and vehement was her dread that she preferred to go out in the boat which she feared, rather than to walk among the paths and alleys of the trees hung with vines, or in the mysterious silence of the olives.