_R.B. to E.B.B._
Thursday.
[Post-mark, October 2, 1845.]
Well, let us hope against hope in the sad matter of the novel--yet,
yet,--it _is_ by Shelley, if you will have the truth--as I happen to
_know_--proof _last_ being that Leigh Hunt told me he unearthed it in
Shelley's own library at Marlow once, to the writer's horror and
shame--'He snatched it out of my hands'--said H. Yet I thrust it into
yours ... so much for the subtle fence of friends who reach your heart
by a side-thrust, as I told you on Tuesday, after the enemy has fallen
back breathless and baffled. As for the date, that Stockdale was a
notorious pirate and raker-up of rash publications ... and, do you
know, I suspect the _title-page_ is all that boasts such novelty,--see
if the _book_, the inside leaves, be not older evidently!--a common
trick of the 'trade' to this day. The history of this and 'Justrozzi,'
as it is spelt,--the other novel,--may be read in Medwin's
'Conversations'--and, as I have been told, in Lady Ch. Bury's
'Reminiscences' or whatever she calls them ... the 'Guistrozzi' was
_certainly_ 'written in concert with'--somebody or other ... for I
confess the whole story grows monstrous and even the froth of wine
strings itself in bright bubbles,--ah, but this was the scum of the
fermenting vat, do you see? I am happy to say I forget the novel
entirely, or almost--and only keep the exact impression which you have
gained ... through me! 'The fair cross of gold _he dashed on the
floor_'--(_that_ is my pet-line ... because the 'chill dew' of a place
not commonly supposed to favour humidity is a plagiarism from Lewis's
'Monk,' it now flashes on me! Yes, Lewis, too, puts the phrase into
intense italics.) And now, please read a chorus in the 'Prometheus
Unbound' or a scene from the 'Cenci'--and join company with Shelley
again!
--From 'chill dew' I come to the _cloak_--you are quite right--and I
give up that fancy. Will you, then, take one more precaution when
_all_ proper safe-guards have been adopted; and, when _everything_ is
sure, contrive some one sureness besides, against cold or wind or
sea-air; and say '_this_--for the cloak which is not here, and to help
the heart's wish which is,'--so I shall be there _palpably_. Will you
do this? Tell me you will, to-morrow--and tell me all good news.
My Mother suffers still.... I hope she is no worse--but a little
better--certainly better. I am better too, in my unimportant way.
Now I will write you the verses ... some easy ones out of a paper-full
meant to go between poem and poem in my next number, and break the
shock of collision.
Let me kiss your hand--dearest! My heart and life--all is yours, and
forever--God make you happy as I am through you--Bless you