_E.B.B. to R.B._
Wednesday.
[Post-mark, October 1, 1845.]
I have read to the last line of your 'Rosicrucian'; and my scepticism
grew and grew through Hume's process of doubtful doubts, and at last
rose to the full stature of incredulity ... for I never could believe
Shelley capable of such a book (call it a book!), not even with a
flood of boarding-school idiocy dashed in by way of dilution.
Altogether it roused me to deny myself so far as to look at the date
of the book, and to get up and travel to the other end of the room to
confront it with other dates in the 'Letters from Abroad' ... (I, who
never think of a date except the 'A.D.,' and am inclined every now and
then to write _that_ down as 1548 ...) well! and on comparing these
dates in these two volumes before my eyes, I find that your
Rosicrucian was 'printed for Stockdale' in _1822_, and that Shelley
_died in the July of the same year_!!--There, is a vindicating fact
for you! And unless the 'Rosicrucian' went into more editions than
one, and dates here from a later one, ... which is not ascertainable
from this fragment of a titlepage, ... the innocence of the great poet
stands proved--now doesn't it? For nobody will say that he published
such a book in the last year of his life, in the maturity of his
genius, and that Godwin's daughter helped him in it! That 'dripping
dew' from the skeleton is the only living word in the book!--which
really amused me notwithstanding, from the intense absurdity of the
whole composition ... descriptions ... sentiments ... and morals.
Judge yourself if I had not better say 'No' about the cloak! I would
take it if you wished such a kindness to me--and although you might
find it very useful to yourself ... or to your mother or sister ...
still if you _wished_ me to take it I should like to have it, and the
mantle of the prophet might bring me down something of his spirit! but
do you remember ... do you consider ... how many talkers there are in
this house, and what would be talked--or that it is not worth while to
provoke it all? And Papa, knowing it, would not like it--and
altogether it is far better, believe me, that you should keep your own
cloak, and I, the thought of the kindness you meditated in respect to
it. I have heard nothing more--nothing.
I was asked the other day by a very young friend of mine ... the
daughter of an older friend who once followed you up-stairs in this
house ... Mr. Hunter, an Independent minister ... for 'Mr. Browning's
autograph.' She wants it for a collection ... for her album--and so,
will you write out a verse or two on one side of note paper ... not as
you write for the printers ... and let me keep my promise and send it
to her? I forgot to ask you before. Or one verse will do ... anything
will do ... and don't let me be bringing you into vexation. It need
not be of MS. rarity.
You are not better ... really ... I fear. And your mother's being ill
affects you more than you like to admit, I fear besides. Will you,
when you write, say how _both_ are ... nothing extenuating, you know.
May God bless you, my dearest friend.
Ever yours,