Thursday.
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
R.B.