1816: the Grandest Tour

George Hamilton to Sir James Hamilton, MP

George Hamilton to Sir James Hamilton, MP

My dear father,

I write you on the Eve of our Departure to Dover, with Gratitude I can hardly express. You've listened to my Fancies of a European Tour since I was still down at Bushby Hall. But to see this Dream now so close to Fruition near overwhelms me! I suppose I'll only believe it once we embark for Calais – until then I wait in the fondest Expectation.

For so long this expedition seemed unattainable, as much as Tantalus reaching up to the grapes in Hades. My graduation from Cambridge two years ago, coinciding as it did with Bonaparte's fall, seemed such a stroke of luck. But then for our preparations to be so dashed by his return in the Hundred Days – it was as grim a trick of fate as ever I'd faced (or Europe either, perhaps). Now, however, all is peace in France and the whole Continent, and at last we set out.

I feel my travelling companions and I will be eminently suited to the journey together. We combine interest in all the great fields of study, and each one has knowledge enough to compensate for what the others lack. I must own this particularly true in Tobias's case. I believe my French is tolerable enough, but he also has German, Italian, Latin, Greek, and Ancient Sanscrit (though this last may be of less use!). We do stand rather in awe of his accomplishment in the tongues. Moreover, he is a very level-headed and sober sort of fellow, and thus we've given him charge of our purse.

As for Hugh, I hope you've forgiven him his insensitive remarks at our table over Christmas. He knows his father the Baronet, Sir Willard de Mowbray, is your oldest friend, and I'm sure he had no wish to intrude their private quarrels upon your hearing, small as they must assuredly be. What Hugh lacks in delicacy he more than makes up for in his honour, wit, and sterling condescension.

The last of our Tetrad, of course, is good old Robin Gibbon. Robert has reformed a great deal since his rustication from Cambridge some years back. I do admit that in his day he was reputed an exceedingly riotous buck, plucking exams and wenches in equal measure. As one of his occasional intimates I must own that even the rumours could not always keep pace with his activity at the mess table of Dee College, or the race track, or the card table... But in all seriousness I assure you, and especially, through your good intercession, mama, that he is tip-to-toe a changed man. Exposure to the artistic wonders of Rome and Greece will certainly add to his late improvement.

And what, then, is to be our full itinerary? I know you have heard me summarise it on other occasions, but I'll give the current precis here for your reference. Upon landing at Calais and clearing French customs we will head south to Paris, perhaps stopping at Amiens or Rouen as time allows. We'll spend at least a month in Paris as there is so much to see. With Metternich's exactions at the Congress of Vienna, of course, the late Imperial Capital is said to be somewhat denuded of its former trophies. But what of that I say! We who have leisure, funds, and passion enough will seek the treasures of Italy in their rightful homes. While in Paris we'll make rendezvous with your "Bear-leader" of choice, Dr. Boxborough. With him now acting as our guide, we'll travel south through France to Lyons, which I read has its own fine share of Roman remains.

Having read myself of the wild beauty in the Swiss Alps with their towering glaciers, we may decide to detour via Lake Geneva in quest of these, and perhaps further east to some of the larger Switzer towns. From there, ever south, we'll pass down to Provence, with its ruins of the Popish exile in Avignon, and on to Nice and the mild Cote d'Azur.

Through the gentler southern passes of the Alps we'll press east to Genoa, our first Italian city, in the fair kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia. From here on perhaps there are too many famous towns to list, suffice it to say that of Milan, Venice, Florence, Naples, and the mistress of all, Rome, none shall escape our travelling homage. The conclusion to our Italian tour presents the one great uncertain point of the whole enterprize. The question will be of Greece: whether to go, how far to go, and for how long. You know enough of my education, father, not to doubt my utter partizan-feeling for as long a Greek sojourn as can be. But even my dear longings will pale against the logic of safety and hazard if we are to attempt this additional travel. The politicks of Turkish rule there may present too many challenges – or haply they may not. Bref: we'll wait and see. Even if this object fails, though, I'll spare no energy to retrace the lives of noble statesmen and philosophers found in my beloved Plutarch.

That I should have such a long-standing hunger for travel can hardly surprize you. After so many hearings of great-grandfather Charles's famed Grand Tour, some seventy years since, I've committed near every one of his destinations and exploits to memory. What a different continent it was then! The great majority of states suffocating in the grip of absolutist princes; the ubiquitous tyranny of the Roman Church; the words 'nation' and 'liberty' scarce yet known to the minds of men. A veritable desert of slavery it must have seemed to Voltaire and the few others who dared dream of a better world.

So many times I've pored over the sketches and picture-albums and diaries grandfather Charles left, I feel I almost remember the journey as my own. But of course your own tour, though not as long as grandfather's, was perhaps fuller of incident and import, cut short as it was by the French Revolution in its noble, Republican phase. You cannot but see, then, that I merely follow in an established family tradition. And as the second born after dear Edward, who is now so engaged with county affairs while you are at Parliament, I am freer to pursue such a fancy to its full.

I do not know as yet how long in months this tour will prove to be. Suffice it that we shall be abroad no less than a year, and likely no more than two. Thus I will close by commending myself to my most cherished mother, to Edward, Julia, Catherine, and young Charles, and to each of our family and close acquaintance that I want space to write. The lack of their society, and of everyone's, will be enough to lure me back to these Sceptered shores before too long. Et finalement a vous, mon cher père, au revoir! I shall write you from Calais.

Your most dutiful and affectionate son,

George Hamilton