1816: the Grandest Tour

France: Chapter 21

Back in his room at the Prince de Galles, George felt too agitated to sleep. The day after tomorrow they would leave Paris, with only their wits as guide, riding at a steady trot into the unknown heart of Europe. For a moment it all seemed overwhelming. But thinking of his hopes with Susan, and the interest of all the great cities they would visit, he began to recover his spirits.

He sat down at his writing table and began two letters. The first he addressed to his father. In it he explained the strange predicament of Dr. Boxborough's unforeseen flight from Paris, but emphasized their firm resolution to carry on, citing his own good sense as well as that of Tobias and even Robert's man Blackford. He declared, stretching the truth a little, that they had already plotted out their whole course to Rome, with every stop on the way accounted for through their excellent and well-informed guidebooks. He finished the letter with a promise to write from their first stop outside of Paris. Dotting the last line he felt an unmistakable confidence rising from the mere act of giving form to these optimistic thoughts. It would all turn out in the end.

The next letter he took more time over, for it was to Susan. He recounted the same events, but with the added assurance that everything was well and nothing would prevent him from their rendezvous and marriage in Rome. He fondly urged her to write him in Lyon, which was their next major destination. He had, in fact, received no letters from Susan since her first reply, though he had written faithfully himself every week. Of course he knew she had likely begun her journey south through the towns of the Rhineland, so would not be in the position to write back even if she had received them. He only hoped, if this was so, that her Dutch hosts would be kind enough to forward his letter to wherever she was. To make sure of this he included the request on the obverse of the paper.

Letting out a sigh, he sealed each letter with wax and got up to make ready for bed. But a stray thought occurred to him, and he sat down to dash off another quick note. This was to the artist Géricault, who had kindly agreed to correspond with him. He kept his missive brief, saying only that they were about to depart Paris for Lyon – the birthplace of two Roman emperors, if he remembered his history. He would keep a notebook of any visual ideas that inspired him, and also study his Plutarch and other ancients for worthy matter. With a modest commendation he closed the letter and laid it with the others. In a moment the candle was out, and George fast on his way to the stationary travel of sleep.

The next morning Hugh appeared at breakfast, straight from parts unknown and trying with all his might to seem calm and unruffled. He might have pulled this off but for one unhappy detail. This was his left eye, which was swollen into as great a black-and-purple bruise as any of his friends – even prizefight-loving Robert – had ever seen.

"Blimey Hugh!" said the latter. "Where'd you get that shiner? I hope you gave 'em two of your best for me! Ha! Ha!"

The other two asked after him in their own fashion, but he brushed off all solicitude and gruffly dug into his eggs and sausage. After consuming a generous portion of both, his mood seemed to improve. He drained his coffee and brought the cup down with an authoritative 'plunk,' then gazed at each of his companions with a look of stoic heroism.

"Well, lads," he began, "all that really happened was this:"

The other three lowered their utensils and leaned forward.

"I was simply enjoying the company of two or three young ladies – the quality sort, not that riffraff you were eyeing up, Robert – when into the room come a bloody half-dozen hoodlums bent on shaking me down for every last penny. Naturally I wasn't standing for that, but before I could get away one of them caught me a dandy blow here, as you can see."

George and the others nodded in silence. The story was so vague and ludicrous not even Robert could bring himself to poke holes in it.

"Do you think we should – go to the police?" said George, "Or have you already been?"