"See my one piece of available paper for the minute!
Ought I to write on or wait? No, I will tell Ba at once how I love her for
giving me this one more letter with its delights. 'Finchley'—I know very
well—not that I ever saw the streets, and palaces, and cathedral, with these
eyes .. but in Quarles’ Emblems, my childhood’s pet book, I well remember that
an aspiring Soul,—(a squat little woman-figure with a loose gown, hair in a
coil, and bare feet)—is seated on the world, a 'terrestrial ball,'—which, that
you may clearly perceive it to be our world, is somewhat parsimoniously
scattered over with cities and towns—and one, the evident capital of the
universe and Babylon’s despair for size,—occupying as it does a tract quite
equal to all Europe’s due share on the hemisphere, .. is marked 'Finchley'–
Here Browning inserts a bit of a sketch of what might be a ball with buildings, or not. As an artist he would make a fine poet.
"Do you recognize? Yet,
if you will have it only the pretty pretty village with the fields you describe
so perfectly, I accept the sweetness and give up the glory, and your Finchley is
mine for ever, you dearest—whom I see in the house, and in the carriage .. but
how is it you escaped the rain, Ba? Oh, it did not rain till later, now I think
a little. Those are indeed strange circumstances .. and the 'independent
ministry' at the end, seems hard to account for .. or, why hard? Well,
this is not hard to feel and know, that it is perfect joy to hear
you propose such travels and adventures– Greece with you, Egypt with
you! Will you please and tell me .. (not now, but whenever your
conscience prompts you on the recurrence of that notable objection, if Miss
Campbell’s desireableness is to recur) .. what other woman in the whole
world and Finchley, would propose to go to Egypt instead of Belgravia? Do our
tastes coincide or no?– This is putting all on the lowest possible ground ..
setting love aside even, to Miss Mitford’s heart’s fullest content; if I were to
choose among women, without love to give or take, and only for other
advantages, do you think any advantage would compete with this single
one,—“She will feel happy in travelling with you to a distance”. Love alters the
scale, overbalances everything—at the beginning I fancied you would not leave
England, you know. But it singularly affects my imagination, such a life with
you,—led for the world, I hope, all the more effectually for being not
led in the world– If their ways are not to be ours, all is better at a
distance, and so—I have put this down as, surely, one palpable,
unmistakeable advantage even you must confess I shall gain in
marrying you—(I may only love Ba’s eyes and mouth in a sort of fearful secresy
so far as words go .. she stops all speech on that subject!)"
The fact is that she wants to travel to Greece and Egypt but the possibility is perhaps a bit of a dream. Everyday he is coming up with another reason why they are perfect for each other. I wonder what prohibition she has put on his flirting words. He begins to teaze her a bit for a change. Next he turns to Mr. Boyd:
"Yes indeed, Ba, I always felt that 'Cyprus wine' poem
fill my heart with unutterable desires to you. There is so much of you in it.
Observe, I do no foolish injustice in criticisms .. I quite understand a charm
beside the charm the world can see– Some of your pansies are entirely
beautiful in themselves .. I can set them before the visitors of a Flower-show
and bid all pronounce on them—others, beside their beauty, come to me as
this dear one, in a letter, with a story of the plucking, with a
sense of the fingers that held it– Bless you, ever dearest, dear beyond
words,—you have given me already in this year and a half the entirest faith, and
purest kindness my heart can comprehend– Do lovers 'abuse the beloved object'–
'try to shake off their chains' &c. &c? Mine is not love then! No one
minute nor moment of your life with me could have been other than it was without
seeming less dear, less perfect in my memory—and for all, God reward you.
Tomorrow, Thursday! and tonight I will warily speak of
not having seen you.
Your own—"
I have been picking on Browning for his silly letters for the last few days as he attempts to put his thoughts on paper, but I won't teaze him today. His mind simply jumped from subject to subject today rather than twisting in on itself as it usually does. So, he will travel to Wimpole Street tomorrow and be happy for a few hours, unless Papa Barrett or Mr. Kenyon show up to ruin his day.
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