1816: the Grandest Tour

Switzerland: Chapter 2

In the morning a note arrived from Villa Diodati. It was terse invitation to tea that afternoon with his Lordship. Signed 'J. W. Polidori,' it was so spare in words that none of the party could make out any tone, whether warm or frosty.

"Still, an invitation's an invitation," said Robert with a shrug. "Well done, chaps!"

At the appointed hour they rode over to Byron's villa in a flutter of nerves. George had met a few celebrated people in his life: a Duke or two, and other lords, in Edinburgh and London; Beau Brummell in Calais; and of course the King of France. But somehow this meeting felt different. Perhaps it was that those other notables were primarily famous from their birth, or position in society. Lord Byron, while a Baron in his own right, was the object of adulation at home and abroad because of his literary achievements. And in a way this seemed more important than mere lineage and connections. It was a fame entirely deserved, George thought – the fruit of study, action, and merit. In many circles of the reading public Lord Byron was held in as much awe as Napoleon himself. As they neared their destination, then, George fought in vain to stifle his restiveness. He was about to meet a Poet of Genius: the equal, perhaps, of Dryden, of Donne, approaching even Shakespeare.

The carriage pulled up in front of the villa and all four stepped out. The house was bigger than it had appeared through binoculars, and George rebuked himself again for such ungentlemanly prying. A butler emerged to usher them inside, and they stepped out of the gray afternoon into a high-ceilinged vestibule. There he and two footman took their hats and coats, and led the four gentlemen and their valets inward to a sitting room. Before any of them could get their bearings, the butler drew himself up and announced in a clear voice:

"Mr. Hugh de Mowbray, Mr. George Hamilton, Mr. Robert Gibbon, and Mr. Tobias Entwistle."

Before them was a spacious room, well-lit from the gray outside by tall windows to the garden. Sitting in the space were three men and two women. On the announcement of the visitors' names, all but one of the company stood up and came forward to greet them. George was standing in front because Hugh didn't like being the first to meet strangers. A young man approached George and firmly shook his hand. He had an earnest, youthful face, lightish brown hair, and looked to be about George's years.

"Percy Shelley," said the young man with a warm smile. "Delighted to meet you."

George said likewise, giving his own name and introducing his friends to Shelley and the others.

Percy took the hand of one of the women and she stepped forward. She couldn't have been more than twenty, and had a pleasant oval face with with large, inquisitive eyes, dark hair, and a thin mouth.

"May I present my companion, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin," said Shelley.

She smiled and gave a curtsy to George's and the others' bows.

"Her sister, Claire Clairmont," Shelley said, taking the other girl's hand.

Claire likewise curtsied and gave them a shy smile. Her age looked similar to Mary's, but George saw little family resemblance between them (he would later learn they were step-sisters). Claire had a rounder face than Mary's, fuller lips, and a shorter nose. Her light-brown hair also curled around her face in short ringlets.

"Also Lord Byron's personal physician, Dr. John William Polidori," said Shelley, indicating a thin, swarthy young man with a brooding expression, who was nevertheless handsome. Polidori's face remained impassive and he gave a short bow.

"And of course our good friend, 'LB,' as we call him," Shelley said with a laugh, turning to gesture behind him at the man on the settee, who hadn't risen to greet them.