1816: the Grandest Tour

Germany: Chapter 12

The road north was no warmer than it had been weeks ago. They were already into August, but the three travelers had become so inured to this lack of summer that now they hardly remarked on it. Even the brightest of halcyon landscapes would not have cheered them after Dittmar's tragic death. Yet the somber and cold surroundings they passed could not but add to the melancholy.

To underscore the human cost of this miserable weather, they passed by several columns of desperate, starving peasants. Failing harvests had pushed many districts into famine and now thousands were on the road, hopelessly seeking relief in the nearest towns.

If George was already in a dark frame of mind from events in Erlangen, the pitiful sight of these families push him near to despair. Great poverty was certainly a blight on both Scotland and England, but growing up aloof from it on his father's estates had rendered him somewhat oblivious. The armies of beggars he saw across Europe, however, was something he couldn't simply ignore. Who batted an eye for these women and children? Every nation they had passed through declared itself a Christian state, yet most had hordes of paupers and slums in every city. The countryside was likely even worse. Would they rise up someday like the French peasants and workers had? Though he knew his father would berate him for such a thought, part of George wished they would. Surely the vast world held enough riches for every family.

George willed himself to think of other things. His habits being what they were, this led inevitably to Susan. But after their near miss in Munich, so devastating at the time, what cheer did even this subject hold? He knew the meeting was only postponed. Yet in a troubling way it felt like his whole plan for life had been thrown into doubt. Had she lost interest in him after such a long absence? Surely it was impossible.

And what of this Goethe? George now wished he'd read more of his work than the Sorrows of Young Werther. It had been a crucial novel during his school days: a young man's portrait in which he couldn't help but see parts of himself. But he was well aware Goethe was a writer of immense stature: for plays, novels, poems, and even works on science and philosophy. This last intrigued him. He'd often heard of Goethe spoken of as the 'Sage of Weimar,' a 'philosopher,' even some sort of oracular figure of his time. He'd stood on the ridge at the Battle of Valmy, after all, seeing the vaunted Prussian regulars routed by an untried mob of French revolutionaries. He said after the battle, "Here and today, a new epoch has begun." George felt silly to even presume to the question, yet he wondered: could the great philosopher shed some light on his own dilemmas?

Drifting between sleep, his thoughts, books, and talk with Tobias, George wiled away the miles northward. After a few days they came to the outskirts of the little duchy's capital. Entering the town they were struck by its cleanliness, gay colors, and orderly, pleasant appearance. Emerging from the damp and depressing journey almost anything would have seemed cheerful, of course. Nevertheless they had no trouble finding a good, respectable inn with beds of a welcome and unlooked-for comfort. Falling asleep in quick succession both George and Tobias reflected how lucky they were, to so change scenery at the cost of a mere few days on the road.

Securing an audience with the great Goethe, it turned out, was hardly the labor they had feared. On the strength of Madame de Staël's letter alone they received a prompt invitation to tea the following day.

The night before their visit found George and Tobias in a snug room with a slanted roof lying on parallel beds. Their accommodation at this hotel obliged them to share a room, while Isaac and Florian the driver shared another.

"What do you think he'll be like?" said Tobias, "Goethe I mean."

"Haven't the foggiest," George answered. "When did you last read Werther?"