1816: the Grandest Tour

Italy: Chapter 1

At Goethe's urging, they stayed one further day in Weimar. The magnificent library of Duchess Anna Amalia was enough to briefly drive off their unease. Its classical symmetry, abundant light, and gorgeous layering of shelves and books and art would have transported even the dullest of onlookers. Yet after departing the place all three young visitors felt worry swirl back into their hearts.

The weather was no help. Summer was drawing to a close, and like most of Europe that year they felt utterly cheated of its warmth. What's more, the weather boded tremendous ill for next year's harvest. George hoped his father was arranging enough grain storage with his tenant farmers. Heading south, they still held out hope of finding a decent stretch of weather somewhere along the way. But hundreds of miles lay between them and Italy.

They set out on a cold and dewy morning near the end of August. As the carriage wheels began their familiar rattle over the road, George had to return to the strange matter of Dr. Boxborough. What did they know for certain? He had left them suddenly in Paris, of urgent and secret necessity – that much was certain. And what had he meant by closing each letter with the symbol of this brotherhood, the 'Cognoscenti'? Was it simply out of old habit, or had he meant for them to find out its meaning? Well, they had done so now – after a fashion. George had so many questions about the mysterious society that he could hardly bear it. Try as they might to ignore the impulse, he and Tobias had scoured the Duchess's library for hidden owl decorations, or any clues to their burning questions – but to no avail. The young gentlemen simply had to content themselves with recounting each detail in turn, piecing together what they could, and leaving the rest to fate.

After discussing it thoroughly, they decided it would be all right to let Isaac in on the mystery. For a servant he was surprisingly educated – enough that George often felt embarrassed at his prior assumptions – and both young men were simply desperate for another confidant.

Like them, Isaac had never heard of the Cognoscenti. Unlike them, however, he seemed much quicker to approve of its aims and achievements. George, despite his instincts for reform, often felt uneasy when confronted with the idea of revolution, even in the abstract of art. He suspected that, despite his sympathies, in any revolution he and his land-holding family would likely be first in line for confiscation, exile, or even the scaffold.

On these very grounds Isaac defended the supposed goals of the Cognoscenti. If society is to avoid bloodshed and still move towards equality, he told them, how better than to urge this through the power of ideas? George and Tobias were not quite convinced. They still felt the brotherhood's secrecy and obscure factions did not bode well. Who was to say a breakaway sect could not start advocating violence and tar the whole movement with this brush? Indeed, perhaps that was the reason behind Boxborough's rough treatment by the police in Paris. Isaac conceded that was certainly a risk.

They took the same route south to Munich by which they had come north. Having seen most of the towns already, they now made faster progress by stopping only to sleep. Just before Nuremberg George mused about stopping in Erlangen to see Karl Sand again, but he thought better of it. Such ghosts were best left in the past. He wished Karl well of course, but something in the fanatic zeal behind that young man's eyes made him uneasy.

In just under two weeks they reached the Bavarian border with Austria. Based on what Goethe had said, this seemed as ominous a country as any they'd yet come upon.

"Talk nothing of politics in the Hapsburg lands," the old poet warned them. "It is a different country entirely. Here in the north, besides a few Jews, we have almost nothing but Germans. But living under Emperor Francis are Germans, Jews, Poles, Hungarians, Slavonic peoples, Italians, and Dalmatians, to name a few. Ruling them all, with an iron hand, is the German minority from Austria proper. It's an uneasy position at the best of times, and rebellion lurks ever just below the surface. Thus the Emperor and his minister, Prince Metternich, are vigilant against dissenters to the point of mania. I've heard from diplomats that Francis even spies on his own brothers. So if you carry one precept with you through his lands, let it be this: someone is always listening."