Miss Barrett writes to Browning October 1, 1845 almost as if nothing has changed between them. She continues to discuss poetry and poets:
"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."
She is discussing a book supposedly written by Browning's hero, Shelley. Apparently it is a real stinker which Miss Barrett found amusing for just that reason. Browning, in a years time, remembered this letter because he was impressed that she got up and walked across the room to check the date of Shelley's death.
"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
Ah, Victorian England. Ladies did not accept the offer of a cloak from a man. It was far to intimate an offering.
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."
Mr. George Barrett Hunter, the angry suitor, and his daughter Mary, makes their first appearance in the letters.
"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, E.B.B."
This letter seems even more formal than previous. There is no talk of anything personal here. Maybe we are wrong and nothing has changed between them.