In round numbers it may be calculated that the sum total of Hunt's indebtedness, exclusive of the yearly bequest of £120 paid by Shelley's son, was about £2,500, a very large sum in the light of Shelley's limited resources and other obligations. But it was as ungrudgingly given as it was graciously received. Between the two men there was no distinction of _meum_ and _tuum_. More remarkable still, Mary Shelley gave as willingly as her husband. If one is inclined to marvel at such an unusual state of affairs, it must be recalled that both men were under the spell of William Godwin's theories of community of property. Shelley gave as his duty and Hunt received as his due. That the effort involved much deprivation and distress of mind on the part of the giver mars the justice of acceptance by the recipient, retrieved only in part by the belief that Hunt probably did not know the full extent of Shelley's sacrifice, and the knowledge that the former would gladly have endured as much if the conditions had been reversed. The element of self-sacrifice and delicacy on the part of Shelley in concealing it, in after years only added to the beauty of the gift in Hunt's eyes, and even at the time he cannot be accused of indifference.[249] Jeaffreson makes the absurd suggestion that Shelley gave the money as a bribe to the editor of a powerful and flourishing literary journal.[250] He thinks dodging creditors was a strong bond of mutual interest between the two men. There is evidence that Hunt was in difficulty at the time and that Shelley left a surgeon's bill unpaid,[251] but there is no proof extant of deliberate mutual protection. On the contrary, it is most unlikely.
The Hunts sailed from England in November, 1821, and reached Leghorn nearly nine months after first setting out on a voyage which, in its delays and dangers, Byron compared to the "periplus of Hanno the Carthaginian, and with much the same speed";[252] Peacock to that of Ulysses.[253] Of Shelley's suggestion to make the trip by sea, Hunt wrote: "if he had recommended a balloon, I should have been inclined to try it."[254] Hogg, with his characteristic humour, remarked that a journey by land would have taken equally long, since Hunt would have stopped to gather all the daisies by the wayside from Paris to Pisa. Both men looked forward to many years together[255] and Shelley, in his letter of welcome, wrote that wind and waves parted them no more,[256] an assertion which now sounds like a knell of doom. From Leghorn Shelley conveyed the party to Pisa and installed them in the lower floor of Byron's dwelling, the Lanfranchi Palace.[257] To Shelley fell the difficult task of keeping Lord Byron in heart for the new undertaking and of reviving Hunt's drooping spirits. Hunt's funds were all gone and in their place was a debt of sixty crowns. The next few days were full of grave anxiety and foreboding for the future, broken only by a delightful Sunday spent in seeing the Cathedral and the Tower. Of this day Hunt wrote: "Good God! what a day was that, compared with all that have followed it! I had my friend with me, arm-in-arm, after a separation of years: he was looking better than I had ever seen him--we talked of a thousand things--we anticipated a thousand pleasures."[258] Then came the fatal Monday with its shipwreck of many hopes--in its tragic sequel too well known to need repetition here. Hunt's last services to his friend were his assistance rendered at the cremation and his contribution of the now famous Latin epitaph "_cor cordium_."[259]