1816: the Grandest Tour

Germany: Chapter 5

Once they'd regained the road to Munich, George would brook very little time for delay. Normally this might have piqued Tobias, but the countryside they were passing had few large towns and apparently little of interest.

Within two days they had left Württemberg and entered the kingdom of Bavaria. Of all the smaller German states at the time, Bavaria was the most able to hold its own against the overweening empires of Prussia and Austria. A result of this seemed to be a greater pride and civic pageantry than the tourists had yet seen in Germany: the blue and white Bavarian colors flying in every town; roads, bridges and buildings in better repair; and a general sense of prosperity that had lacked in some of the more hamstrung, smaller states.

Tobias and Isaac noticed these features at least – poor George did not. As they closed in on the outskirts of Munich, his heart was nearly bursting with anticipation. It was only at brief moments that he was able to come out of his brooding trance. He tried to joke with Tobias, and listen to his friend reading from the German guidebooks, but it was useless. Only one thing would bring relief, and at last it seemed to approach.

They reached the river Isar and Franz turned north, following it a couple of miles until the towers and roofs of the great capital loomed all around them. Covered in a striking red on top, the great buildings of Munich looked to date from the Renaissance and after – as opposed to the many medieval towns they had seen to this point. An enticing mix of classical and Italianate forms predominated, and it was clear the city prided itself on art and sophistication. They passed the grand square of Marienplatz, dominated by its imposing Gothic New Town Hall, and George held the letter in his hand with the hotel address. It was the Hotel Karl Theodore in Karlsplatz, and as they rolled under the medieval gate leading to the square George stuck his head out the window and asked a passerby to point out the place. The stranger obliged, and rather than wait for the traffic ahead George got out and made the last few yards on foot. Seeing this, Tobias decided to follow his friend, thinking George probably hadn't considered how his lack of German might get him into difficulty.

Tobias noticed the hotel had a fine Rococo facade, but rather than admire it they bounded inside. George did his best to compose himself in the lobby, but still sounded quite hoarse as he gave his name to the concierge and inquired if the misses de Sotisse and Tilney were in. Luckily the man spoke French, and he asked George to wait a moment while he consulted the register. Carefully lifting the large folio pages as George drummed his fingers on the desk, the concierge ran down the entries and came to a stop.

"Ah, here I see it. Sir I regret to say that these women departed the hotel two days since."

Although hyperbole in words is possible, occasions exist when even this mode fails to convey the real weight of certain emotions. Suffice it to say that Tobias, in observing his unfortunate, romantic friend, was now witness to a whole series of them.

At first George showed disbelief, babbling that there must be a mistake. The man assured him this wasn't so, and George's temper rose to a point where he struck his open palm on the desk – a gesture quite uncharacteristic of his usual calm. He apologized, then in a more supplicating manner asked if by any chance he could see the register himself, hoping to glean some clue maybe, as to what prompted this disaster. The concierge regretted that this was not allowed, but taking a second look himself he discovered a small note: the departed women had left a letter.

The concierge turned around and thumbed through a cabinet, then at last produced a little envelope for his agitated customer. Tobias urged George to go read it so they could let the guests behind them through.

Walking away in a muddled trance, George turned the letter over and read his own name, but the writing was not in Susan's hand. Breaking the wax he opened the page and to his utter vexation saw that the letter was indeed not from his beloved, but from her French governess.