1816: the Grandest Tour

Switzerland: Chapter 1

Although he hadn't owned it to Dr. Trowers and family, George had read near as many Byron poems as the smitten Beatrice and Flora. In Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, the poet's first work to ignite the public, George had found a voice in tune with the highest feeling for beauty – whether tragic, heroic, or even satire. He'd felt a strong kinship with this voice instantly, an almost brotherly affection as for an experienced elder sibling. Byron's descriptions of traveling through Europe – its peoples, places, and history – had fired George's imagination like nothing else. They'd even stirred him to his own attempts at verse. These he had shown to very few as yet, being unsure of their merit.

For their parts Hugh and Tobias (though not Robert) had also taken a curious look through some of the poet's more famous work. Indeed, 'Byromania' was almost impossible to avoid among the gentlemen's social set. It was a strange irony that the gentry, along with the elite 'ton' of London society, had banished this writer from their midst yet were his most voracious reading public. And banished for what? This was something George had never fully understood. He'd heard gossip, much like that of the Trowers ladies, about an imprudent affair with Lady Caroline Lamb – everyone knew about that. It was she who'd christened Byron 'Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know.' She'd even gone so far as to write a whole novel, Glenarvon, as a roman-a-clef to discredit him. There were also rumors about Byron and his half-sister Augusta Leigh. It was the scandalous nature of these which may have forced the poet to quit his country early that year. Despite such troubles, he kept up a continuous stream of poetical works, satisfying his readership from abroad.

After a last day in Lyon, then, the party set off eastward for the Swiss border. The first night they baited at Amberieu-en-Bugey, a quiet town in the forested plain north of the Rhone river. It wasn't until they passed Nantua the next day that the country began to change. Hills rose around them on either side, growing larger with every mile. The carriage proceeded through narrow valleys, along high cliffs, and past quaint riverside towns.

They crossed the Rhone on a 'flying-bridge,' the simple engineering of which charmed the practical-minded Tobias.

"It's ingenious," he said, looking over the side as they floated over the river.

They had ridden the carriage, horses and all, onto a long raft-like platform which was fenced on its left and right sides. The raft was attached to a long, thick, hempen rope that spanned the whole river and kept it from floating off course. A rudder was underneath the raft, which a navigator operated. By dextrous steering of the rudder, the man used the force of the river current to push the raft to the opposite side. The crossing was fairly slow, but it allowed everyone to get out, stretch their legs, and enjoy the singular feeling of placidly sailing over the water with no effort at all on their part.

The crossing finished, it was only another few hours to Geneva. They approached from the southwest, with the Jura mountains to their left, and stopped at the border to present their passports. The process was far easier than at Calais. The guards gave only a cursory glance at the carriage and bags, and they regained their progress in a matter of minutes.

It was growing dark as they reached the city, so they couldn't get much of a look at their surroundings. On Mrs. Trowers' recommendation they first tried the Hotel d'Angleterre, which true to its name was the best-known haunt of British visitors. Luckily the hotel had rooms available – perhaps on account of the weather's dreariness.

As they were signing in Tobias had a look at the guestbook.

"It's him!" he exclaimed. "Take a look, he stayed here earlier in the month."

The other three crowded around behind Tobias and peered at the entry under his finger. 'G. G. Byron' was indeed written there in a hurried scrawl.