1816: the Grandest Tour

Switzerland: Chapter 12

In the days that followed, everyone in the party did their best to think of a suitable premise for their ghost stories. But in the end, not everyone who took up Byron's challenge kept faith with it. Robert, for one, had to bow out because of his "damned difficulties" with spelling and penmanship. Mary, meanwhile, though enthusiastic in her wish to write, was tormented with a lack of ideas. She told the others at various times that she felt something on the edge of her mind, if only it would take proper form.

As everyone was gathered in the parlor one afternoon, George started to broach the subject with Byron of his party's continuing on their way. He'd had no missive from Susan yet saying when she'd arrive in Munich, but he felt the sooner they set out the better.

"Leaving already old boy?" said the Baron. "I wouldn't dream of it – you mustn't go!"

George was deeply flattered by this and consented, at Byron's insistence, to stay another week. If he'd only looked over at his valet's face he would have seen a deep cloud of mistrust written thereon, but alas he did not.

As usual, George was mainly concerned with the goings-on of his own social circle. But he was rather surprised when Hugh took him aside one afternoon, to tell him all about his trip to the glacier.

"Do you know," he said as they walked through the damp gardens, "that Mary Godwin is an extraordinary girl."

"I agree," said George, "but what makes you say it?"

"Well, naturally on the way to the glacier we all talked a good deal. And I suppose what struck me most was her defense of her mother's writings."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Mary seems to know every detail of the lady's life, despite that she died in childbirth. And she's read every word she wrote – I suppose to glean what she can from a lost mother. Rather sad when you think of it."

George could only raise his eyebrows. Such introspective talk was very unlike Hugh.

"Anyway, Mary Wollstonecraft's ideas about women as equal intellects to men – I would have scoffed at them, don't you know, before I met Miss Godwin! Her arguments are all the more persuasive since she makes them herself, so convincingly – a mere girl, not yet nineteen. I begin to wonder if there isn't more to ladies than needlework and feminine accomplishments."

"Mary argues her mother's points well," George said, "even to Shelley."

"Funny you should mention that," said Hugh. "The whole situation of their living together outside marriage – and with Claire into the bargain – in England I'd never have spoken to them. The scandal would override every other consideration. But here on the continent, the opinion of the bon ton and the parlor set just isn't the same obstacle. It's rather refreshing."

"Very true," said George, smiling for his own reasons.

"George, before I go any further I've got to admit something to you."

"Er, what's that?"

"My mother. Love her though I do, she is a stupid woman."

"That's a little harsh."

"No, perhaps not harsh enough," Hugh said. He maintained a dispassionate air, like he was diagnosing the ills of society rather than the woman who bore him into the world. "And though I think my father's a royal pillock on many accounts, I can't help but feel he's been justly bored by her company through their whole married life."

"Sorry to hear that..." was all George could think of to say.

"What I'm getting at is – is that all we can hope for? A life of stultifying doldrums that forces one to live at one's club or keep the odd mistress here and there, just to stave off the somnolent hours of a wife's society. Are there no respectable women to be found with an ounce of good gray matter?"