On Bridges and Other Temptations – 227

Byron welcomes Claire back to the villa with teasing affection, masking envy beneath wit, and delivers a perfect epigram on walls and bridges.

My dear Claire,

So, the prodigal returns — perfumed with philosophy and flattered by economists. Adam Smith, of all men! Tell me, did he lecture you between the soup and the syllogisms, or was the discourse interrupted by your blushes? Never mind — you were radiant, they say, and if Franklin himself applauded, then history has conspired to make you immortal.

The villa feels colder without your mischief. Percy grows misty, Mary thoughtful, and even Molly seems to hum more softly — as if listening for echoes from that candlelit hall. You’ve brought something back with you, Claire, though I can’t quite name it. Perhaps a little more gravity in your laughter — or perhaps only the scent of reason mingled with wine.

As for their grand debate — walls and bridges, nations and nerves — I can tell you what politics never learns: A bridge is an act of courage; a wall is an admission of fear. One builds toward tomorrow, the other hides from it. There — I’ve said more sense in one sentence than Parliament manages in a year.

Now come home, little philosopher. The night grows long, and the fire awaits your laughter. I promise not to mention Mr. Smith… unless you do.

Ever yours (against my better judgment),
Byron