XI. DECLINE IN OUR WELL-BEING
END OF 1883.
A change now came over our circumstances for the worse, and here we begin the last seven years of his life, three and a half years of long gout sicknesses, on and off, without any suspicion of danger, though much suffering, and three and a half years after that, when every moment was a fear. He began now to notice in his journals when he heard the first nightingale, when the first cuckoo note in spring, and for some time past he had noticed the first swallow, and the first flight of swallows, and then their departure, with increasing sadness. For these twenty-two years of our married life I had made, as I said, our morning tea at any time from three o'clock in the morning up to half-past five, and if I came home late from any party, I found it was not worth while to go to bed; but now he began to have it at six and 6.30. On the 16th Miss Bishop had to go.
We went up very much to Opçina, where Richard got better and could walk. Mrs. Learmouth and family came to Trieste for a while, and then Mr. Steigand came to stay with us, and our old friend and Governor, Baron Pino.
He notices the death of Captain Mayne Reid on the 31st of October.
[Sidenote: Richard's First Bad Attack of Gout.]
On the 31st of November Richard really got so bad he alarmed me, for he nearly fainted, and I got the master of the Opçina Inn (Daneu) to help me to bring him down to Trieste, and had rooms prepared on the other side of our house; and about four hours after, in his new warm room, he got perfectly well. It was a curious kind of gout, because he would seem to be in agonies of pain, and after trying no end of things, one would suddenly hit upon something quite simple that took it all away. He was well enough in a day or two to lunch on board the Bokhara, and also the P. and O. Gwalior. We got tired of consulting doctors, and we sent for the wife of the Schinder (the dog-slaughterer), who lived up in the forest of Prevald, and was reported to be a wise woman. She said that Richard had mandrone, or flying pains. The worst was, that as soon as he was a little bit better he would forget what he had suffered, and commit some little imprudence, like going out in the Bora; it was so hard for him to believe he ever could be an invalid.
We went out a great many drives, which did him more good than anything. Sometimes he would pay visits. We used to go to Miramar and sit out in the gardens.
I found the best way was to take him about a great deal to different places. I always contrived that he saw plenty of people, asking amusing people to dine or breakfast. I got then an attack of peritonitis that kept me in bed for a week; fortunately Richard and I were never ill at the same time, and I was up and able to attend him when he got his gout back again.
In the night of the 19th, the Admiralty (situated below our house) took fire, and the roof was burnt out.
We were able also to keep our St. Silvester with the Gutmansthals, but so many people had gone away, that it was not the same as the year before.
On the 6th of December, 1883, he puts the following notice in his journal in red ink:--
"To-day, eleven years ago, I came here; what a shame!!!"
He notices the death of Richard Doyle the 11th of December.
1884.
At this time we were far from being well off, and we were obliged to incur many expenses for Richard's illness; besides which, I hoped he would get change of air. It may be imagined, therefore, that when the news of the death of an aunt by marriage who did not care very much for me, and whom I very seldom saw, reached me that I received the intelligence that she had left me a legacy of £500 with pleasure. All the early part of the year we had a bad time of it. Richard had insisted on going back to the big room, and once he had put on a damp coat. I always think that foreign doctors do not understand English constitutions, which can never stand starving, and they do always starve you. He went on alternately better and worse.
In all these attacks I never left his room, day or night, and I frequently used to disobey orders as to diet. When he was free from pain he was immensely cheerful, and used to laugh like a schoolboy at his doctor, who would speak English for the sake of learning and practising it. "What him eat to-day?" "Pheasant, doctor!" He plunged his hands into his hair as if he were going to tear it all out. "What for you give him the wild?" (German, das wild, meaning game). One day after about six months he said, "You sall give him ten drops of rum in a tumbler of water for his dinner!" Peals of laughter came from the sick-bed. "Ach! das ist gut to hear him laugh like dat? Vat for he laugh?" I answered, "Because he gets a brandy-grog fit for a sailor every night, or he would have been a dead man long ago." More tearing of the hair and real displeasure. When he got over that illness he was a veritable skeleton; his legs were like two sticks of sealing-wax.
On the 4th of February Richard lost the use of his legs. After this he got better and better, and we were quite cheerful till the 14th of March. He had been moved on to a divan in the drawing-room, upon which we had made a bed, for change of air. He was so well that I thought I might take a walk in the garden, when a servant came flying after me to tell me that he was faint. I rushed up again, and found him very bad, and sent off for two doctors. They gave him twenty-five drops of digitalis three times at intervals of fifty minutes, and for two days and nights I never left his side. What the doctors had feared was a clot of blood arising to the heart, and I shall never forget the anguish of that time. What it really was, though we did not know it then, was flatulence round the heart, which would have been brought away by drinking boiling water; but after two days he was so well that we could wheel him about the house in a chair. The following day he had very bad attacks of the same, and then he seemed to get quite well. He again had one bad attack, and then all was well. From that he rallied wonderfully, and he began to walk.
On the 27th of March he was allowed to go out for a drive, but even that gave him a little fresh cold. He was allowed then to sit in the garden. I had a machine constructed to carry him up and down stairs, and a wheel-chair in the garden, so that he could drive about and get out and walk a few steps with the help of my arm and a stick, if he liked.
We had a present from home of good claret and good port. He was awfully fond of port, and when he got his first glass he said, "Ah! that puts life into a man." Mr. George Paget came, and Mr. and Mrs. Phipps from the Embassy in Vienna, and Mr. Fahie from Persia, and we took drives. Richard was able to tidy his books again. The doctor came for the last time (regularly) on the 8th of April. He then went through a course of sulphur baths in the house.
During this eight months' illness he had had a bad attack of pain, and I had a mattress by his bed, and if he slept, I slept; if he was awake, I was by him; but I had been thirty-six hours on duty, without taking my clothes off, trying to alleviate the pain by various things until he slept. I then threw myself on the mattress and slept a dead sleep, and, as he told me afterwards, he woke up with the pain and groaned, and heard a sleepy voice issuing from my mattress, saying, "Oh, offer it up, dear; offer it up." I was unconscious of all this, but when after some hours I really woke, I thought he was swearing very hard, but at last I distinguished, him saying exactly in the same tones as if he were swearing, "Offer it up, dear; offer it up." I asked him what he meant, and then he told me, and he said that he had laughed so much that it had quite done him good, and he often afterwards used this expression instead of rapping out an oath when the pain came.
All this time until the 4th of June, Richard was able to be wheeled out, and to walk and sit in the garden, and to take drives with me. He was very patient, very gentle, and very cheerful too; except when he was actually suffering, and we observed rigidly all the doctor's daily orders, whether sulphur baths or medicines, only reserving the right of plenty of plain wholesome food, and some claret, a very occasional glass of port, a nightly glass of grog, and the very essence of beef by simmering the meat in a jar put into a saucepan of boiling water, or squeezing the meat in a lemon squeezer, and plenty of Brand's strengthening things for invalids. I began to perceive that the drainage left much to be desired, and I was very troublesome to my poor dear landlord, who was a personal friend; but he always stoutly maintained that the smells were in my nose, and that he could not pull down the house to please me, and it was three years before I got what I wanted.
Richard notes with sorrow the death of Admiral Glyn on February 16th.
On the 1st of April, 1884, he began his "Arabian Nights" (Calcutta edition), taking it up from the material already collected with Dr. Steinhaüser thirty years before, and I volunteered to work the financial part of it. His journal shows him to be very sorry for the death of Trübner, of the great publishing house in Ludgate Hill, and also for Charles Reade, the novelist and dramatist, who was a good friend of ours, and who died on April 10th.
On the 15th of April, 1884, we had to call in an amanuensis to begin to copy the "Arabian Nights," as, what with attending Richard night and day, and doing all his correspondence and business, I got no time to copy.
[Sidenote: His Leave of Absence.]
In May he obtained leave of absence, but was too weak to leave for a little while after its arrival. An incident happened which it is perhaps silly to relate, but which is uncomfortable when you have sick and dying people in the house. One girl in the house had died of consumption, and my husband was lying ill. The day the girl died, all the bells in the house kept ringing without hands, and continued for about ten days, to our great discomfort, and there were blows on the doors, as if somebody was going round with a stick. We could see the bell-pulls moving, but no hands touching them. It caused the deceased girl's family great fear, and was very uncanny.
We were able to start on the 4th of June. We had a very trying journey to Graz, which is halfway to Vienna; the train was a regular buck-jumper. Richard was quite done up three or four hours before arriving. On getting out he could hardly stand, and his head was whirling. The Hôtel Daniele was only just across the road, and leaning on me he managed to get there; I left the baggage at the station till afterwards. We stayed the whole of the next day to rest him, but had a very miserable time of it, and then went on to Vienna, which he bore very well, for it was a quiet, agreeable journey, but he had had quite enough of it when we arrived at the Erzherzog Karl Hotel.
Colonel Primrose came, and we saw Sir Augustus and Lady Paget, and our friends the Pinos. Two days afterwards Richard began to feel quite different, and he enjoyed so much seeing Sir Augustus and Lady Paget. She is one of the most charming, the cleverest, and most sympathetic of women. We left Vienna on Tuesday, the 10th, by an early train, and he was able to bear a pleasant journey of nine hours to Maríenbad, although I must say that the only two objects of interest between Vienna and Maríenbad are Prince Schwarzenberg's castle and the storks sitting on their nests on the cottage roof-tops. We went to Klinger's Hotel, and here he rapidly progressed, and went through the cure. We found Miss Bishop here, which was a great pleasure. She took us in hand, and literally drove us out for long walks. Richard was delighted with the wild strawberries, myosotis, buttercups, and daisies, and enjoyed Maríenbad very much. I found the Society for Protection of Animals, founded in 1882, very flourishing, and gave the dog-prizes. When we went for the first time on the promenade to hear the band, he looked round for a minute, and said, "My God, what a lot of Jews! Why, the whole of Noah's Ark is turned out here!" And they really did look just like the little figures out of Noah's Ark. Mr. J. J. Aubertin now arrived, so that we were four in party. From here we visited Königswort, Prince Metternich's place. It was a very pleasant life, strolling about in the forests, reading together, and occasionally having a professor to read German to us, making occasional expeditions, such as to Podhorn and Tepl. There was a very pretty concert of eight Spanish students, paying their way with guitar and bandurria. They sang lovely little Spanish songs, and charmed everybody very much. We made one excursion to Eger to see the Schloss, and the small interesting collection, which details the whole tragedy of Wallenstein at the Rathhaus. In our absence two griefs happened at Trieste. One was the death, on the 8th of June, of a very peculiar little child, whom we had taken a great fancy to and a great interest in, but whose story would not come well into this book. She had foretold her own death on this day three months before, when in good health. The other was of a poor Irish lady, who had made an unfortunate marriage, and was bravely earning her living in Trieste by giving lessons. She got suddenly ill, and the doctor on visiting her, seeing that she had no means of comfortable nursing, advised she should accompany him to the hospital. She did, and she died almost immediately, and had to be buried within a few hours, and what hurt us more than all was that nobody knew it till it was over. Maríenbad never agreed with me, and I had to let Richard and Mr. Aubertin go over to Carlsbad without me, but they were only absent a day.
A very interesting and peculiar person we used always to meet every year, was a second Cuthbert Bede from Oxford, whose real name was Mr. Robert Laing.
On return after the cure, we went back for a few days to Vienna, and then left as if we were returning to Trieste, but descending at Pöltschach, from which is a pleasant drive to Roitsch-Sauerbrunn in Steiermark, where we did a nach-kur. This place is not at all well known. There is no town, but there are rows of houses for patients, bathing and drinking places, a good Kur-saal, a Catholic chapel, a good restaurant, a large garden and shady walks running between the two rows of buildings, where the band plays twice a day. It is surrounded by lovely woods and mountains, and a large level country to drive upon. It is very pleasant in summer. You never see any English there, but plenty of Austrians, Italians, Hungarians, Slavs, and Jews. We there had the pleasure of constantly seeing Monsignor Strossmayer, who is an ultra-Slav and a sort of Prince Archbishop, almost a small Pope in his own country. We saw a great deal also of the Baroness von Vay Wurmbrandt, the great spiritualist. Here we stayed till the 3rd of September, leading the pleasant idle life usual at that kind of bath. We found a bath-chair which accompanied us on all our walks; we drove out, made excursions, and read and wrote under the trees.
[Sidenote: We return to Trieste--Streams of Visitors.]
On the 3rd of September we left Sauerbrunn for Trieste, and went on the 4th to meet Lord Northbrook, with Sir Evelyn Baring, Lord Wolseley, Major Wardropp and Major Macdonald, Lord Airlie, Lord Charles Beresford, Colonel Swaine, and others. The Iris came in to fetch them. Mr. George Paget, Mr. Egerton, and Major Hoare also arrived, and lastly the Marchese and Marchesa di Guiccioli, best known to us through Byron, though that is not a source of pride to the family. Mr. and Mrs. Percival, Professor Sayce, and Mr. Myers, en route to Egypt, were the next visitors, and we enjoyed their week's stay very much. Arrived also Dr. MacDouall the author, Lady Baring, Artin Yakoob Pasha and his wife, Madame Nubar Pasha, and Mr. Rowett, a great merchant from Rangoon, married to a friend of ours, Miss Ritterbandt; then came Colonel Wynne, Lady Fitzgerald, Mr. Quirk, Mrs. Reginald Talbot, Miss Wortley, and the travellers, Mr. James and Mr. Lort-Philips, en route to Somali-land. So we had a lively time.
There were earthquakes all this month. The next sad thing was that Everard Primrose wrote to ask us to take his passage for Egypt, that he wanted to go to the Soudan; and he came down with Colonel Gerard, stayed a day and a night at Trieste, and we saw them off to join the Camel-corps in the Soudan on the 3rd of October. He promised on his return to stay a fortnight with us, as we had so often stayed with him. We never saw him again. He ought never to have gone; but his high spirit and breeding would not let him be a drawing-room soldier when there was service going on. A delicate man, and accustomed to luxury (especially such a life as that of military attaché at Vienna), left him no strength to throw off fever, under such hardships and disadvantages as were his lot, when it took hold of him. Again we went for a short visit to Monfalcone, Duino, and Aquilea.
Being the Consul's wife, I had a good many funny experiences, and met with all possible classes and characters. One of the annoyances of a Consul, and, if they are women, of his wife, is that everybody who is not strictly honest, and is fond of making delightful journeys abroad, of which he or she boast loudly when they go back, starts with just enough money to take them out of England. They then go to the first Consul, represent themselves in distress, and get him to pass them on to the next Consul; and they make quite a beautiful tour in this way. But the poor Consul hardly ever sees a penny of the money back, and after a little experience he begins to be harder, and small blame to him. My particular grievance was, that every girl who was too vivacious to stay at home, would always come abroad to look for work, as a governess, secretary, or companion. Some were regular swindlers, some were anything but nice, and some were poor inoffensive creatures who would not have embarked on the enterprise if they had known what they would have to go through; but seven out of nine were generally very odd.
After having seen all our friends off, we went up to Opçina, where I sent out thirty-four thousand circulars for the "Arabian Nights."
[Sidenote: Richard's Second Attack of Gout.]
Towards the end of December, Richard had a fresh breaking out of the gout; we found that rubbing him with cod-liver oil did him a lot of good. It was a sad Christmas, but he got better the day after Christmas Day; only, as he would walk about without much clothing, and would eat sucking pig, he went back to bed ill; so then we tried Mattei's remedies, and his electricity. On the 15th of December we lost a great friend in the Duchess of Somerset.
On St. Silvester night we were not able to keep our usual engagement. We had one glass of champagne together in his room, and the servants went through a very usual ceremony in Trieste of forming procession, and chevying the evil spirits with sticks and brooms out of the house down the stairs, and out of the street door, and inviting the good spirits and good luck to come and dwell with us.
Richard notices poor Sir Charles Sebright's death, aged seventy-seven, on the 10th of October.
One of Richard's great delights was the setter at Opçina (so often mentioned), named Fazán. He was so fond of us that on Saturday, as he was perfectly sure we should arrive about four, about two o'clock he would go to the wood stack, draw a great block of wood out with his teeth, and carry it to Daneu, the master of the inn, and, wagging his tail, would run and put it down before the stove, as much as to say, "Light the fire; they will be cold when they come up;" then he would fetch another bit, and come and sit before the gate at about half-past three to wait for our arrival, and he never left us, night or day, as long as he was there. During Richard's gout attacks it frequently occurs in his journals, "I feel too well to-day to be altogether right;" and next day, surely, he would have some attack of gout. It was so difficult for him to understand that he could not do what he did when he was twenty-five, and to get him to train down to what he could do, not what he used to do.
We now tried a new thing that seemed very good, and that is fusel oil, which is of the dregs of whisky; it is deadly poison to drink, but it acts splendidly on gouty limbs; and then we tried sulphur foot-baths.
1885.
All this January and part of February Richard was ill, and I began to implore him to throw up the Service, and to live where best suited him, even in a small way, as of course we should have been very, very poor, and at any rate, I said, "One winter may be an accident, but two winters is a caution; and you must never winter here again." He said, "No; I quite agree with you there; we will never winter here again; but I won't throw up the Service until I either get Marocco, or they let me retire on full pension." And I then said, "When we go home that is what we will try for, that you may retire now on full pension, which will only be six years before your time."
On the 17th of January he mourns Colonel Burnaby's death.
He was delighted in February with reading a German author, who began his book thus: "Der Geruch der rosen verpestet die Lüft und die verdammten Nachtigallen heulen die ganze Nacht."
We were now writing the index of the "Arabian Nights," I at dictation.
On Thursday, the 12th, I said to him, "Now mind, to-morrow is Friday, the 13th; it is our unlucky day, and we have got to be very careful."
[Sidenote: Gordon's Death.]
But when Friday, the 13th, came, we heard of poor Gordon's death, which had taken place Monday, January the 26th, and they had been keeping it from us. We both collapsed altogether, were ill all day, and profoundly melancholy. I remembered, too, that at the time that Gordon had been sent out, it was a toss up whether Richard or Gordon should go. Richard had just begun to break up (he was fifty-five), and I knew that if he was sent he would get up out of his sick bed to go, and think himself perfectly capable of undertaking the expedition; and I remember writing privately to the Foreign Office, to let them know how ill he was. Richard at that time expressed a hope that they would not send Gordon without five hundred soldiers to back him, and the neglect of this, whether from economy, or whether Gordon refused it, was the sole cause of the failure. Richard could talk of nothing else, and he fretted a great deal about it. In one of the illustrated papers there was a picture of Gordon lying deserted in the desert, his Bible in one hand, his revolver in the other, and the vultures sitting around. When Richard saw it he said with great emotion, "Take it away! I can't bear to look at it. I have had to feel that myself; I know what it is." But the more the news came in, the less he believed in Gordon's death, and he died believing that Gordon (disgusted at the cruel treatment of being abandoned to his fate) had escaped by the missing boat, and would come out Congo-wards, but that he would never let himself be rediscovered, nor reappear in England--and Gordon was quite the man to do it.
I quote this prematurely, because it concerns the present subject:--
"IS GORDON DEAD?
"Trieste, April 29, 1887.
"I have just received a note from the Rev. Mr. Robert W. Felkin, dated Edinburgh, April 2nd. Under the supposition that I am proceeding with an expedition to the Soudan in order to discover General Charles Gordon, he encloses me a note from a youth whom he educated in England for some years, and whom he has now placed at the American Mission School at Assiout. It dates from as far back as November 28, 1886.
"The following is the extract:--
"'There was a man came from Khartoum and said that he was one of General Gordon's soldiers; he came into class (school) and the master asked him many questions, and he said that General Gordon had a steamboat and went down to South, and there was a Turkish soldier whose face was like his, and they killed him and said it was General Gordon.
"'He said a great many things about Gordon's soldiers, that they were not able to use their guns because they were so weakened with hunger.
"'(Signed) SULAYMAN KABSUN.'
"I see with pleasure that Mr. Felkin never thought that the evidence proved Gordon's death, and conceives many ways to explain his escape.
"RICHARD F. BURTON."
London Figaro, September 26th, 1887.
"I am not surprised," says a correspondent, "to hear that Sir Richard Burton has from the first maintained that Gordon is not dead. He was Gordon's intimate friend, and, being of the same stamp, having lived the same kind of glorious life, and had the same experience of his country's neglect, is more likely to know than others what Gordon, in disgust at the treatment he received from the Government, could and might do. Moreover, as Sir Richard Burton says, no two of the several accounts of Gordon's death are alike. He is sure to have had a picked lot of attached followers, who, as well as one steamer, are missing."
A correspondent wrote: "A friend called in the other day to see Sir Richard Burton, and remarked, 'Why, Burton, if Gordon turns up, the Government will begin to believe in your knowledge. You will be a made man.' Burton replied with his usual quiet 'Ye--es,' stroking his chin thoughtfully; 'for God's sake, my dear fellow, don't say anything about it. The Foreign Office will only say what a damned beast I was to know it when they never even suspected it!'"
Spring comes very soon in Trieste, and we were able to sit and walk out a great deal in the garden. We now had a very nice telephone, which put us in comfortable communication with the whole of the City, and it was very useful, as we lived out of and above it.
On the 14th of April he notices the death of his enemy, Major-General Rigby of Zanzibar, and then poor Rogers Bey, regretted by us both, and then of Nachtigall the traveller.
[Sidenote: Colonel Primrose's Death.]
One morning in April I had a letter, a very cheerful one, from Everard Primrose, to say that he expected to be back in April, as he was very seedy; and that he would come and stay with us for a fortnight en route home. I was just preparing his room, and looking round to see if I could do anything to make it prettier, when a telegram was put into my hand announcing his death. Richard and I were both terribly cut up, and we did not go for a very long time to Vienna, for we had lost our best friend there, and it would have made it too melancholy. On the 9th of May he rejoices that Mr. Gerald Fitzgerald, Director of Public Accounts in Egypt, is made a K.C.M.G., as "he married the elder daughter of our dear friend Lord Houghton," adding, "Dear old fellow, how pleased he will be!" On the 11th of May he mourns Douglas Jerrold, and was touched at the account of Mr. Fred Fargus's death, better known as Hugh Conway.
This summer the English opened a lawn-tennis club, which was very amusing. Our Consular chaplain played lawn tennis like a boy of twenty.
[Sidenote: Leave to England.]
Richard having obtained "leave" (after a second attack of gout), and as I was the proud possessor of £500, we started gaily for London on the 19th of May, and went on board the Tarifa for Venice; it was a Cunarder. Here we saw a great number of friends, and met Lord Lytton at Lady Layard's. We were neither of us well, in different ways, and Richard was ordered to go by sea, and I by land; so, after a couple of days at Venice, I saw Richard off in the Tarifa for Liverpool, and I prepared to come over the Mont Cenis to London; but when I got back to the hotel, I found a telegram from a man I knew, one of what Richard used laughingly to call "my wife's pious pals," who said, "If you want to see a girl exorcised of the devil, come at once to Bologna." I went down to the station, only instead of taking my ticket for London, I, naturally, wild with curiosity, and knowing I had plenty of time, took it at once for Bologna.
I stayed there three days. I do not think I am quite at liberty to give an account of what I saw, in these criticizing times, but it was wonderfully interesting, and I had a thorough insight into mediæval Italy, which I renew whenever I get the chance, as it is more than interesting. After three days I went on thence to Milan to see the Certosa of Pavia, one of the most glorious architectural relics in Europe, and from there I went to Pusiano, a now hidden "sanctuary" that will one day become famous to all the world. Pusiano is a village of one street, on the borders of a beautiful little lake, with villages and churches on the opposite bank; it is situated in the Lake Country, and there one lives with the peasantry in primitive style. I stayed there three whole days; it is beautiful in summer, but a terrible snow desolation in winter. It is quite off the railway line, and one gets to it in a little country cart. When I got back to Milan I embarked for home by the St. Gothard, Bâle, to Paris. Paris was black with people in mourning for Victor Hugo. It was his funeral next day; soldiers lined the streets, artillery commanded the two ends of the streets to fire on the people if the red flag was raised. I had much difficulty in getting to the station, for besides being in a hurry to get home, I did not want to be shut up in Paris alone, if anything occurred. Arrived at Boulogne, the passenger-boat was gone, so I took the cargo-boat at one in the night, and arrived at 4.30 a.m. at Folkestone, where the custom-house kept me till about six, searching for dynamite in my baggage, and I arrived in town on the 2nd of June. Somehow I put my arm out, and had to go back to Hutton the bone-setter. Richard did not arrive till twelve days after me.
He was delighted when he got on board the Tarifa on the 19th. He then notices the death of Victor Hugo in Paris on May 23rd. He seemed to enjoy the journey thoroughly, and to have got quite rid of the gout the moment he left. He was always thoroughly happy on board a ship, and so sorry when the voyage was over. He never knew what sea-sickness was. He could eat enough for three on board, and when the ship was rolling right round in the water, he would balance himself, holding the ink-bottle in one hand, and writing with the other.
He used to go away by himself and make pilgrimages; I know of about ten he made to various places. Once, in 1875, he left town to go into the country for a week, and to my surprise I received a private letter from him from Paray le Monial, the place once so talked about in the papers as a pilgrimage-place of St. Mary Margaret Alacoque and the Sacred Heart.[1] He had gone there to make a pilgrimage all by himself, and brought me back some medals and rosaries. He used to go into every church. He made a pilgrimage on this voyage to St. Nicholas of Bari, and brought me a lot of curios. The ship's course went by way of Venice, Fiume, Bari, Naples, Palermo, and Malaga, where they found cholera, and then to Gib. and Lisbon. He arrived in high spirits on the 14th of June.
Here I may remark that he kept two sets of journals. The public set contained remarks on the weather, scraps out of newspapers, and "Varia" (notes of what he reads), the people he writes to, the people he receives letters from, and public news. In the private set, come notices on his and my health at one side, what he and I did, obituaries, his sentiments about things in concentrated notes, condemnations of things, and scraps of poetry on the circumstances here and there.
I must here notice making at this time acquaintance with three very interesting people. One was a gentleman who would not like to be named, the leader of a religious sect, who conceals his name under the soubriquet of the "Recorder," and who is the St. Paul of their belief in a second advent--he publishes a book called "The Mother, or the Woman clothed with the Sun;" and another was Dr. Anna Kingsford, who became my fast friend, and who used to let me work with her in regard to the protection of animals. She was tall, fair, delicate, soft, refined, exceedingly pretty, beautifully dressed, of the highest possible culture, combining the education and courage of both man and woman. I made her acquaintance at an Anti-vivisection meeting, with Lord Shaftesbury in the chair, and the Bishop of Oxford present, a very little while before Lord Shaftesbury's death. The third interesting person was Mr. George Lewis.
[Sidenote: Arabian Nights.]
Now, we had come to London partly for Richard's health, and partly to bring out the "Arabian Nights." The translating, writing, and correcting devolved upon him; the copying fell to a lady amanuensis; the financial part devolved upon me. It was said that there was no room for a new edition, but every previous edition was imperfect, and mostly taken from Professor Galland's French version, made a hundred and eighty years ago, and adapted for civilization. This in itself was an abridgment, and turns a most valuable ethnographical work into a collection of fairy tales. Mr. Torrens was the nearest to the original, but he only got as far as fifty tales. Mr. Lane, whose works are so popular, has only given us half the tales, and he substituted popular fairy tales. Mr. John Payne was excessively good, but he was limited to five hundred copies, and his profession forbade his being quite so daring as Richard.
Richard's object was not only to produce an absolutely literal translation, but to reproduce it in an absolutely Arabian manner. He preserved the strict divisions of the Nights, he kept to the long unbroken sentences in which the composer indulged. Being perfect master of both languages, he could imitate the rhythmic prose which is a characteristic of the Arabic. He furnished it only to scholars, and at a prohibitive price. He gave a most literal rendering of the Oriental phrases and figures. Richard called it the "Walling of the Horizon," the orientation being strictly preserved, instead of being Anglicized. The choicest phrases, the sacred preservation of them, speaks for itself. He kept the swing, the wave of Arab poetry, which one can only liken in its melancholy to the sound of an Æolian harp balanced on a tree-branch. He loved his work, and he was sorry when it was finished.
In many of the stories of other translators, he used to say, "the very point which enables you to understand the action is left out, because the translator was afraid of Mrs. Grundy. Arab ideas of morality are different from European, and if we are to understand the Arabs, and if the 'Nights' are to be of any value from an anthropological point of view, it can only be written as I have written it. I think it is such a disgrace that our Rulers should rule so many million Easterns, and be as ignorant of them as if they lived in a far-away planet; and it is to give them a chance of knowing what they are about, that I leave this legacy to the Government. I have not only preserved the spirit of the original, but the mechanique. The metrical portion has been very difficult, because Arab poetry is quite different to English. An Arab will turn out sentence after sentence before he comes to his rhyme.
"I don't care a button about being prosecuted, and if the matter comes to a fight, I will walk into court with my Bible and my Shakespeare and my Rabelais under my arm, and prove to them that, before they condemn me, they must cut half of them out, and not allow them to be circulated to the public."
Richard then found that it was a popular idea that "Ali Baba, and the Forty Thieves" and "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp" belonged to the "Arabian Nights," whereas they do not, and he found a collection of similar tales sufficient to produce six Supplemental volumes. At first I rather objected to his risking the "Arabian Nights," from a passage written by himself in his "First Footsteps in East Africa," page 36--
"When Arabs are present, I usually recite or read a tale from 'The Thousand and One Nights,' that wonderful work so often translated, so much turned over, and so little understood at home. The most familiar book in England, next to the Bible, it is one of the least known, the reason being that about one-fifth is utterly unfit for translation; and the most sanguine Orientalist would not dare to render literally more than three-quarters of the remainder, consequently the reader loses the contrast--the very essence of the book--between its brilliancy and dulness, its moral putrefaction and such pearls as--
'Cast the seed of good works on the least fit soil; Good is never wasted, however it may be laid out.'
And in a page or two after such divine sentiment, the ladies of Baghdad sit in the porter's lap, and indulge in a facetiousness which would have killed Pietro Aretino before his time." (This was written in 1855, thirty years before.)
But, on his explaining to me his new idea about its usefulness, its being so good for the Government, I was glad, and I helped him in every way I possibly could. It was also agreed, in order to secure him against piracy, and in order not to limit to a thousand people what the many should enjoy, that they should not lose this deep well of reading and knowledge, beside which the flood of modern fiction flows thin and shallow, that I should reproduce all my husband's original text, excluding only such words as were not possible to put on the drawing-room table. Mr. Justin Huntly McCarthy, jun., helped me a little, so that out of the 3215 original pages, I was able to copyright three thousand pages of my husband's original text, and only exclude two hundred and fifteen. Richard forbade me to read them till he blotted out with ink the worst words, and desired me to substitute, not English, but Arab Society words, which I did to his complete satisfaction. The language is so wonderful, the expression so graceful, the rendering of thought as well as words so accurate, the poetry so fresh and charming. Orientalists tell me that they learnt more Orientalism by these volumes than by years of hard study, and that it greatly facilitated their study of Arabic. He translated from the Calcutta edition, the Boulak, the Hindostani, and the Breslau. The Wortley Montagu manuscript was refused him by the Bodleian Library, even under the charge of Dr. Rost, but he got one in Paris.
Richard said that "a student of Arabic, who reads the 'Nights' with his version, will not only be competent to join in any conversation in Arabic, but to read the popular books and newspapers, and to write letters to his friends; he will also possess a répertoire of Arab manners and customs, beliefs and practices, which are not found in books. My endeavour was to give them the original text without detracting from its merits." This grand Arabian work I consider my husband's "Magnum Opus;" it is a masterpiece; it is the real thing, not the drawing-room tales which have been called the "Arabian Nights" for so long. The home student can realize what the Arab is, and understand those people, Egyptians, Syrians, and others, of whose "life behind the scenes" Britons know so very little.
I do not know whether to be amused or provoked because people are prejudiced against "Lady Burton's edition of the 'Arabian Nights,'" as a milk-and-water thing. I did not write nor translate it; it is Richard Burton's "Arabian Nights," with a coarse word or two cut out here and there, and a Society word introduced, but in nowise altering the text (when I say a Society word, I mean of course an Arab Society word, not an English one); and my name was only put upon it to copyright and protect my husband's from piracy.
We had no reason, in a financial point of view, to regret our venture. A publisher offered Richard £500 for it, but I said, "No, let me do it." It was seventeen months' hard work, but we found (no matter how) the means of printing and binding and circulating. We were our own printers and our own publishers, and we made between September, 1885, and November, 1888, sixteen thousand guineas, six thousand of which went towards publishing, and ten thousand into our own pockets; and it came just in time to give my husband the comforts and luxuries and freedom that gilded the five last years of his life. When he died there were four florins left, which I put in the poor-box.
WHAT ALL THE WORLD SAID.
Athenæum, February 6th, 1886.
"TO RICHARD F. BURTON.
" On his Translation of the 'Arabian Nights.'
"Westward the sun sinks, grave and glad; but far Eastward, with laughter and tempestuous tears, Cloud, rain, and splendour as of Orient spears, Keen as the sea's thrill toward a kindling star The sundawn breaks the barren twilight's bar And fires the mist and slays it. Years on years Vanish, but he that hearkens eastward hears Bright music from the world where shadows are.
"Where shadows are not shadows. Hand-in-hand A man's word bids them rise and smile and stand And triumph. All that glorious Orient glows Defiant of the dusk. Our twilight land Trembles; but all the heaven is all one rose, Whence laughing love dissolves her frosts and snows. ----"ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE."
Morning Advertiser, September 15th, 1885.
"As the holiday season draws to a close, the publishers' announcements of 'new books' fill column after column of the organs chosen from these special communiqués. But there is one work which is not entered in these lists, though for years scholars, and many people who are not scholars, have been looking for it with an eagerness which has left far behind the ordinary curiosity which is bestowed on the greatest of contributions to current literature. And to-day the chosen few who are in possession of the volume in question are examining it with an interest proportionate to the long toil which has been bestowed on its preparation. We refer to Captain Burton's translation of the 'Arabian Nights' Entertainments,' now entitled 'The Book of the thousand Nights and a Night,' of which the first tome has just been issued. There will be ten in all, so that it must be well on for two years before the entire series can be in the hands of those who have subscribed for it. For the book is not published. It is even questionable whether a copy will be in the British Museum or the Bodleian, unless those institutions have entered their names in advance. It is printed 'by the Kamashastra Society of Benares for private subscribers only,' and Captain Burton, in a circular sent with the first volume, earnestly begs that it will not be permitted to fall into the hands of any save scholars and students of Moslem manners. For years and years the 'Arabian Nights' have been a sort of nursery companion. But it is, perhaps, unnecessary to tell any one acquainted in the slightest degree with Oriental romances that the 'Alf Laylah wa Laylah' in its unabridged form is, despite the popularity which it enjoys as a 'child's book,' emphatically not for the entertainment of boys and girls. Hitherto, however, all of the editions have been imperfect and more or less colourless versions of the original. They have been prepared for the drawing-room, and even Mr. Payne inserted a Latin word here and there rather than search Captain Grose's 'Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue' for its equivalent. Captain Burton scorns any such namby-pambyism. In the Arabic a spade is usually called a spade, and in the latest English translation it is never designated an agricultural implement. Moreover, the endless footnotes which the editor appends, speak with much freedom of many things usually avoided as themes for conversation in polite society, though they throw a flood of light on hundreds of features of Oriental life on which, since travellers have been compelled to write for 'refined' audiences, the student has failed to be informed.
"Yet, admitting that the 'Nights' are often coarse and indelicate, and sometimes even gross, it is a mistake to suppose that they are demoralizing in the same way that a French novel of the Zola type is, or might be. Indeed, what we would call its impropriety is only a reflection of the naïve freedom with which talk is to this day carried on in the family circles of the East. They see no harm in what we should regard as indecency. So that when Captain Burton prefaces his unbowdlerized version with the Arab proverb, 'To the pure in heart all things are pure,' he presents perhaps the best defence he could against the attack which it is quite possible may be made on him for devoting many years of his life to what he terms 'a labour of love.' One hundred and eighty years have passed since Galland, the French Orientalist, published his version in twelve small volumes. But though even at that time it was not thought proper to issue a verbatim edition--so far as the accessible manuscripts permitted--the best scholars of the age did not hesitate to pronounce them forgeries. In brief, they were regarded in much the same light that Macpherson's 'translations' of 'Ossian's Poems' were at a later date. But the less critical world cared very little whether Antony Galland had invented them or merely translated them from some 'unknown Arab writer.' They eagerly read these wondrous stories. Europe was on fire with delight at anything so unconventional, so entirely undidactic, so completely without any religious, moral, or philosophical purpose, and which delineated the primitive manners and customs of the East. The fine gentlemen and gay ladies could talk about nothing else than 'jins' or genii, as they were called after the French fashion, viziers--or 'Wazirs,' as Captain Burton has it--caves of jewels, underground palaces, enchanters and kalendars, princes of black islands, and kings in disguise. The terrible justice of the Kazi, or Cadai, as he used to be called, and the equally fearful vengeance of the husband who is at last undeceived, were revelations to the easy-going, utterly corrupt Europe of the ancien régime. Edition after edition appeared, though in nearly every case these so-called fresh versions were little more than translations, more or less abridged, from Galland. Of late, however, several more or less complete editions have appeared. Among them may be mentioned those of Torrens, Lane, Payne. Torrens was, however, a poor Arabic scholar, and though Lane was a better one--if not quite so good as he afterwards became--he was, like his predecessors, in terror of offending propriety. Hence, though some simple folk supposed that his language was sufficiently plain, it only required the consultation of the Breslau, the Bulak, or the Calcutta edition of the original to be convinced to the contrary. Mr. Payne brought out a nine-volumed translation for the Villon Society. But it was printed solely for private subscribers, and though issued at seven guineas cannot now be procured under twenty-five or thirty when a copy accidentally comes into the market. Payne was, however, not much more than an amateur Arabist, and his practical acquaintance with Arabs and the East was simply nil. Captain Burton, it is unnecessary to remind any one, is in a very different case. Thirty-three years ago he went in the disguise of an Indian pilgrim to Mecca and Al-Medinah, and no one capable of giving the world the result of his experience has so minute, so exhaustive a knowledge of Arab and Oriental life generally. Hence the work now begun only a limited number of students can ever see, and it is simply priceless to any one who concerns himself as marking an era in the annals of Oriental translation.
"But what may possibly interest many almost as much as the stories and notes, is the almost sad preface in which the Editor tells the tale of his toils. In 1852 he began this translation at Aden. His friend Dr. Steinhaüser, to whose memory it is dedicated, was to undertake the prose, while Burton accepted the metrical portion of the book as his share of the task. But Steinhaüser died, 'and after the fashion of Anglo-Indians his valuable manuscripts left at Aden were dispersed,' and very little of his labour reached his colleague. But fitfully the work progressed amid a host of obstructions. In deadly Consulships in West Africa and Brazil, in livelier ones in Damascus and Trieste, the business went on, just as it had gone on less systematically in Somali-land and Central Africa. And, toilsome though the task unquestionably was, it was lightened by the pleasant memories it recalled. Many a time and oft, after the day's journey was over, he had gathered the Arabs around him, and read or recited these tales to them, until the tears trickled down their cheeks, and they rolled on the sand in uncontrollable delight. 'Nor was it only in Arabia that the immortal "Nights" did me such notable service. I found the wildlings of Somali-land equally amenable to their discipline; no one was deaf to the charm, and the two women cooks of my caravan on its way to Harar were incontinently dubbed by my men "Shehrazade" and "Deenarzade."' Yet as his labour approached the period when it ought to appear in print, prudent friends hinted at the danger he ran of injuring his professional advancement. 'Literary labours, unpopular with the vulgar and half-educated, are not likely to help a man up the ladder of promotion. But common sense suggested to me that, professionally speaking, I was not a success, and at the same time that I had no cause to be ashamed of my failure. Philister can pardon anything but superiority. The prizes of competitive service are monopolized by certain "pets" of the médiocratie and prime favourites of that jealous and potent majority, the mediocrities, who know "no nonsense about merit." It is hard for an outsider to realize how perfect is the monopoly of commonplace, and to comprehend how fatal a stumbling-stone that man sets in the way of his own advancement who dares to think for himself, or who knows more or does more than the mob of gentlemen-employés who know very little, and who do even less.' This is bitter, but not more severe than the way Captain Burton has been treated by his Country, if not by his Countrymen, deserves. It is simply disgraceful that a man of his great achievements and colossal learning should have been neglected by successive Governments when pretenders and 'mediocrities' were being honoured and rewarded for doing little or nothing. After the death of Major Morrice--such has been our encouragement of Arabic knowledge--there was not an English official in the Suakin camp capable of speaking Arabic. Not one understood native customs. 'Moslems,' writes Burton, 'are not to be ruled by raw youths who should be at school and college instead of holding positions of trust and emolument. He who would deal with them successfully must be, firstly, honest and truthful, and, secondly, familiar with and favourably inclined to their manners and customs, if not to their law and religion.' In 'Alf Laylah wa Laylah' the means of obtaining this knowledge lies."
St. James's Gazette, September 12th.
"One of the most important translations to which a great English scholar has ever devoted himself is now in the press. For three decades Captain Burton has been more or less engaged on his translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' the latest of the many versions of that extraordinary story which has been made into English, the only one at all worthy of a great original."
Home News, September 18th.
"Captain Burton has begun to issue the volumes of his subscription translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' and its fortunate possessors will now be able to realize the full flavour of Oriental feeling. They will now have the great storehouse of Eastern folklore opened to them, and Captain Burton's minute acquaintance with Eastern life makes his comments invaluable. In this respect, as well as in the freeness of the translation, the version will be distinguished from its many predecessors. Captain Burton's preface, it may be observed, bears traces of soreness at official neglect. Indeed, it seems curious that his services could not have been utilized in the Soudan, when the want of competent Arabic scholars was so severely felt."
ORIGINAL VERSE.
I have never read, nor do I intend to read, at his own request, and to be true to my promise to him, my husband's "Arabian Nights." But I have read the reviews, some with pride and some with pain, while all the private letters of congratulation have been a great source of gratification to me; and I have gathered all together, pro and con, which form an interesting book.
Out of a thousand picked scholars it is something to be able to assert that all the men whose good opinion is worth having, are loud in its praise. I think a man who gives years of study to a great work, purely with the motive that the rulers of his country may thoroughly understand the peoples they are governing by millions, and who gives that knowledge freely and unselfishly, and who while so doing runs the gauntlet of abuse from the vulgar, silly Philistine, who sees what the really pure and modest never see, deserves great commendation. To throw mud at him because the mediæval Arab lacks the varnish of our world of to-day, is as foolish as it would be not to look up because there are a few spots on the sun.
TO RICHARD FRANCIS BURTON. "The Thousand Nights and a Night."
Adown the welkin slant the snows and pile On sill and balcony; their feathery feet Trip o'er the landscape, and pursuing sleet, Earth's brow beglooming, robs the lift of smile: Lies in her mourning-shroud our Northern Isle, And bitter winds in battle o'er her meet; Her world is death-like, when, behold! we greet Light-gleams from morning-land cold grief to guile:
A light of golden mine and orient pearl, Vistas of fairy-land, where Beauty reigns And Valiance revels; cloudless moon, fierce sun, The wold, the palm-tree; cities; hosts; a whirl Of life in tents and palaces and fanes: The light that streams from "Thousand Nights and One." ----ISABEL BURTON. Tangier, Morocco, February 19.
"CAPTAIN BURTON'S 'ARABIAN NIGHTS.'
"A friend lately asked Captain Burton why he was bringing out his translation so soon after another and a most scholarly one. He answered, 'Orientalists are anxious to have the real Eastern work. I had received sundry letters saying--Let us know what the mediæval Arab was. If he was exalted and good, let us see it. If he was witty, let us hear it. If he was uncultivated and coarse, still let us have him to the very letter. We want once for all the real thing. We want a mediæval Arab, telling the tales and legends of his own country, and showing the world what he has remained whilst the West has progressed in culture and delicacy.--Now, I will do this by notes and a running commentary, enabling the student to read between the lines, and perfectly to understand much of what he would otherwise pass over without understanding. I am determined subscribers shall learn from my work what they cannot find in any other, and to make it a repertory of Eastern knowledge, by no means intended for the many-headed, but for the few who are not too wise to learn, or too omniscient to acquire knowledge. I regret more than I can say the coarseness of the Arabic, but I consider it not less my duty to translate it word for word. My Oriental renderings will make it quite different from all the other translations, and I shall leave nothing for any other man in the future to do.'"
R. F. B.
"PANTAGRUELISM OR PORNOGRAPHY?
"To the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette.
"Sir,--Your correspondent 'Sigma' has forgotten the considerable number of 'students' who will buy Captain Burton's translation as the only literal one, needing it to help them in what has become necessary to many--a masterly knowledge of Egyptian Arabic. The so-called 'Arabian Nights' are about the only written halfway house between the literary Arabic and the colloquial Arabic, both of which they need, and need introductions too. I venture to say that its largest use will be as a grown-up school-book, and that it is not coarser than the classics in which we soak all our boys' minds at school. The Arabic classics are not in Egyptian-Arabic, which varies much from Syrian and other branches of the language, and a thorough knowledge of the daily customs and family life of Egypt is a knowledge, however repulsive, to be conscientiously sought by all who are either administrators or philanthropists in Egypt.
"I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
"ANGLO-EGYPTIAN.
"September 14th."
Glasgow Times, 24th November, 1888.
(Anent the Bodleian refusal and the biography of his book.)
The Glasgow Times says, "But the chapter is something more than that. It is a remarkable addition to the history of the 'Quarrels of Authors.' Sir Richard Burton, as we have before indicated, is a good hater, and he smites his enemies hip and thigh. The enemies are rather numerous, and some of them, it must be admitted, were scarcely worth powder and shot, but the way in which the old fighting man and traveller (he still seems to retain all the energy characteristic of both) 'goes for' them is refreshing in the extreme. But though Sir Richard has a good many enemies, he has also a large number of friends, and if he is liberal and forcible in retort, he is lavish in acknowledgment of kindly words and of help however slight."
Sir Richard Burton says, "All this is utterly unfair. It allows the unfortunate public no chance of learning the truth. The narrator may be honest and honourable, but he dare not state the facts, nor has he the courage of his own opinions. If he did, 'Society' would turn upon him with the usual 'Oh no, we never mention him,' and his name never would be heard unless accompanied by a snarl or a sneer. The fact is, England's chronic disease is Religiosity in the few, and Hypocrisy in the many.
"RICHARD F. BURTON.
"Hôtel Meurice, Paris, July 17th, 1888."
"REPRINTS OF THE 'ARABIAN NIGHTS.'
"The Granville, Ramsgate, August 13th, 1888.
"I have given to the public, under my wife's superintendence and name, the pure unadulterated article. But the tastes of civilization ever incline to the worked-up, which has the advantage of art applied to nature. At Trieste we often offer our English friends a petit verre of real gin distilled from the juniper berry, and now unprocurable at home; and we enjoy the wry mouths made by those who are accustomed to Hollands and Old Tom.
"The main difficulty, however, is to erase the popular impression that the 'Nights' is a book for babies, a 'classic for children;' whereas its lofty morality, its fine character-painting, its artful development of the story, and its original snatches of rare poetry, fit it for the reading of men and women, and these, too, of no puerile or vulgar wit. In fact, its prime default is that it flies too high.
"RICHARD F BURTON."
A literary friend writes to Lady Burton: "The omissions are so deftly done, and the pruning so slight, that the book ought to be read in every English house, in every English-speaking land. The English alone is an education. If I wanted young folk to learn a good style, I would train them on the 'Nights.' I would give passages to the Board Schools."
[Sidenote: London again.]
As soon as Richard arrived, in June, 1885, he put himself under Dr. Foakes, in South Street, for gout. On the 29th of June there was a meeting at the University of London. Richard and Mr. James, the African traveller, spoke. On the 1st of July we went to the Hermetic Society, where Anna Kingsford lectured on "The Communion of Saints." We worked very hard at our "Arabian Nights," and all our time over and above we went into Society, were very gay, and enjoyed ourselves very much; we also went to see the Mikado several times, which we enjoyed extremely. We often went to the "Inventories," as we knew the Chief of the Electric light, Sir Francis Bolton, and we used to go up into his station, and see the lights turned off and on. Richard thought the trees and lights very pretty, and especially the electric lilies under the water, and the moon prettier still.
On the 21st of July we had a very merry family party for my father's eighty-sixth birthday. He made a speech, and after dinner sang a little song of which he was very fond. He had a lovely tenor voice even then--true and sweet. It was the last happy family meeting, for on the 25th, at nine o'clock in the morning, he had a paralytic stroke without any warning of ill health.
This year I made a long speech in St. James's Hall, concerning appealing to the Pope for a circular letter for the Protection of Animals (9th of July).
The following was not my speech, but my sentiments, which I mean to quote.
"I thought that his Holiness might be induced graciously to concede such an order for the benefit of mankind. The man who begins by so small a thing as kindness to the beast who is working by his side the livelong day, acquires habits of mildness with his wife and children. Having patience, he loses the habit of oaths and blasphemies. It is fury that makes men drink. From drink follows spending money, cards, and low company. If a man is kind to his beast he lets it rest on Sunday. That means that he is keeping the Sunday holy and free from servile work. That day's rest saves his health and prolongs his life, besides benefiting his soul. If a man is kind to his beast it lasts longer, and enables him to do more work, and earn more wages. Not only is he able to feed it better (its only reward), but he can keep his wife and family respectably. They rise in the world's esteem, and to a higher position. Hence kindness to animals is a small beginning of great things, and is not unworthy even of a Pope's patronage."
On the 3rd of July we went to Lady Hooker's garden-party at Kew, and there met, amongst others, the Gordons, who were so kind to us in the Brazilian mines. She died soon after.
On the 19th of July we lunched with Lord Houghton, and little thought we should not see him again. On the 11th of August we had the misfortune to lose him. Richard paid several visits to Oxford, but returned in time for Lord Houghton's funeral service at St. Margaret's, Westminster Abbey, on the 18th of August, and his sorrow for this good friend occupies a whole page of his journal. We also had the pleasure of seeing an old friend, Sir Edwin Arnold, one of the most delightful of Eastern poets, who gave me his "Light of Asia." Carlo Pellegrini came several times to lunch with us, in reality wishing to caricature Richard in Vanity Fair, which he did--but it was one of his few great failures.
The first volume of the "Arabian Nights" came out on the 12th of September, 1885, and the sixteenth volume, the last of the supplementals, on the 13th of November, 1888; thus in a period of three years we had produced twenty-two volumes--the ten originals, the six supplementals, and my six volumes, i.e. so-called mine. We paid several visits to Richard's sister and niece, Lady and Miss Stisted, at Norwood, and we went to Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot at Upper House, Guildford, where we met some very pleasant people; then we went to Wardour, to Lord Arundell's. About this time Mr. H. H. Johnson, Artist, Consul, African traveller, and universal favourite with everybody, was occupying his beautiful little flat in Victoria Street, and gave us some pleasant teas. We brought out our little translation from the Brazilian of "Iraçema" and "Manoel de Moraes, the Convert," at our own expense. The Punch and Vanity Fair caricatures came out on the 22nd, Thursday.
[Sidenote: Richard's Programme for Egypt.]
On the 28th of October we went down to Hatfield, where there was a large party in the house. On this occasion Lord Salisbury wanted privately to know what Richard's programme would be for Egypt, and he wrote out the following for him:--
"First and far away, annex Egypt and all its territory entirely; but if the Government does not decide on this bold stroke, at least have no half-measures.
"Secondly, if not annexation, recall Ismail, ex-Khedive, Arábi Pasha, and Mr. Wilfrid Blunt, and, if they take an oath of allegiance to your Government, make Ismail your English Viceroy, with a guard of honour only. Send Arábi as the Governor of Sudan, and Mr. Wilfrid Blunt to Darfur.
"Oblige the Sudanese to give up their arms, and abolish the useless expense of the Egyptian Army and Navy.
"Garrison with English troops Alexandria, Cairo, Suez, Ismailíyyeh, Port Said, Suákin, Masáwwah, one fortress at Perim, one at Rossier (the point between Suez and Akabah), and one fortress on the Akabah side.
"Put the bulk of the army (say five thousand men) in Khartum. Make Valentine Baker Military Governor of Khartum (it should, of course, have been Gordon, if he had not unfortunately been killed last January).
"Station one Man-of-War at each of the following posts:--Alexandria, Port Said, Suez, Suákin, Masáwwah; a gunboat at Perim, Rossier, Ismailíyyeh, and one close to Akabah; say two gunboats in the Suez Canal, and two in the Red Sea to look after the Slave-trade.
"Banish Ismail's sons for ten years; the only one of his family worth anything is Hossein, not Hassan. Hossein is too clever, Hassan is a fool, but Tewfik is the worst. If anything happens to Ismail, replace him by Hossein. Do not do things bit by bit, or the Egyptians and Sudanese will destroy them bit by bit.
"Collect all your material, and put the whole régime in action the same day.
"Forbid Slave-trade, and hang at the next tree or nearest yardarm all Slave-dealers caught red-handed after date of proclamation. All cases of treachery should be dealt with in the same summary way, whether Pasha or Fellah. Two hangings would suffice to stop the whole, and would be the true, short, and only merciful way to exterminate slavery.
"Teach Ismail and Arábi and Mr. Wilfrid Blunt what their conduct and that of every official in the country would have to be, and make them take their oath before appointing them.
"Exempt five years' taxes to the whole land, save a small nominal tax to keep up your right. Order your employés to make the natives understand that these five years are conceded that they may have time to recover and improve and prosper, but that after five years the taxes will again be put on.
"When you begin to take your taxes again, allow them to be collected by the natives, with only sufficient superintendence from your own men to avoid being cheated, but do not interfere as to the manner of it, as no European could ever extract a piastre from a Native.
"But spend the first five years' collection on the country. Help them to improve themselves; give them full religious liberty. Instil humanity to man and beast by preaching, example, and schools.
"Give them the freedom of Foreign Trade; foster National Industries; build yourselves harbours and docks and fortresses in the Mediterranean, the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, and especially lighthouses in the Red Sea.
"You should make roads and railways, encourage irrigation, form wells every six hours' march throughout the country, employ native labour.
"Form Sudanese troops (as in India), officered by English.
"Give waste lands to settlers (our Emigrants) intermarrying with natives. Provide them with looms, and encourage all manufacture, native and foreign.
"After seven years, give them a free press; they are not fit to have any press just now.
"The first five years you would have to spend your own money largely.
"The second five years spend their own upon these improvements.
"The third five years it would not only be self-paying, but give you large returns.
"This programme should be the 'labour of love' of your Governors and employés, besides their appointed duty.
"If England has still backbone enough to do this, in ten years' time you will not only possess a flourishing country, and your road to India, but the money you will have spent, as well as that which has been lost through the past three years' blundering and weakness, will come back to you a hundred-fold, and the Souls of all our best, bravest, and noblest men, who have been uselessly murdered, and who lie buried in the sands, will be at rest, and bless God that at last they have died for a holy end.
"I wish I were exhorting in favour of Syria, instead of Egypt; but I feel convinced that such a grand and startling policy would be so appreciated in England that the Government who had courage to do it might defy anything."
In the course of the preparation of the "Arabian Nights," we became acquainted with Dr. Steingass, who afterwards brought out a Persian and Arabic dictionary, and who I strongly recommend to anybody wanting honest Eastern literary assistance. He assisted in correcting the proofs.
On the 20th of June Richard deplores the death of Mr. Vaux, M.A., F.R.S. We made acquaintance with Mr. C. Heron Allen, who was then very much engaged on Palmistry. Richard notices seeing Schapira several times. We also had a visit from Mr. C. Doughty, the African traveller.
On the 27th of July he dined with the Gentlemen-at-Arms. For a while he took up Volapük, but that he did not stick to, as he did not believe it would be of any use.
On the 13th of September he notices the death of General Sir A. Horsford, an old friend.
On the 9th of October his friend Mr. Bernard Quaritch gave a large dinner in Richard's honour, with all the principal literati (masculine) to meet him, and it appears to have been very enjoyable. Richard made a speech, and read out the story of "Ali the Persian" from the "Nights." (We also had a very pleasant dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, where we met a great many charming people.)
[Sidenote: He asks for Tangier.]
On the 21st of October, 1885, he applied for Marocco, hearing that Sir John Drummond-Hay was about to retire, and it was the one thing he had stayed on in the service, in the hopes of getting. His letter was as follows:--
"MY LORD,
"Having been informed that Sir John Drummond-Hay proposes retiring from Marocco, I venture to think that your Lordship will consider that my knowledge of Arabic, and of the East, perhaps would make me a suitable successor to him. I need hardly remind you that, during a term of twenty-five years in the Consular Service, I have never received a single step of promotion, nor, indeed, have I ever applied for it.
"I am, etc.,
"RICHARD F BURTON."
This was backed up by about fifty of the best names in England, and it seemed as if it was as good as promised to him.
He notices calling on Colonel Kitchener, and remarked that he was rather like Charley Drake.
[Sidenote: Parts with my Father.]
On the 20th of November, 1885, he went round to pay his farewell visits, and lastly to my father. Now, although my father was paralyzed, and confined to his room, he was comparatively in no danger of death, and the doctors had assured me, that if we went away, and returned as we intended the following June, that they believed we should find my father alive, and no worse, if not better, than at present; but when Richard went to wish him good-bye, something seemed to come over them, and Richard knelt down and asked his blessing, and asked him to pray for him. My father put his hand upon his head with great emotion, and blessed him fervently, and Richard left the room with the tears running down his cheeks. My father died shortly after, and his last prayer was for Richard and for me--he never spoke after that.
[Sidenote: Goes to Marocco.]
On the 21st of November Richard started for Marocco in Forwood's steamer Mequinez, from St. Katherine's Wharf. I accompanied him on board. He was advised to go, and to leave me to bring out some volumes of the "Arabian Nights." I brought out up to No. 7, which were corrected ready for press, and joined him in January. He had for fellow-passengers the Perdicaris family of Tangier, and Mrs. Leared, wife of a former friend, Dr. Leared, Fakhri Bey, and others. It seems to have been squally. They were eight days getting to Gibraltar. At Gibraltar he saw Mr. Melford Campbell, who was full of the lost treasure in Vigo Bay. He thought he alone knew the secret of where the lost treasure was, and he was too jealous to combine with Richard in raising the means of finding it. Seeing that, Richard drew back, and whatever secret there was on his side, perished with him, as he died some time after. On the 30th Richard arrived at Tangier.
It was now the election-time, and my father, who was paralyzed, and who was a strong Conservative, went nearly out of his mind, because he could not go down to the polling-place and vote. He ordered himself to be dressed, and a brougham to be sent for, though the doctor said it would kill him, and I was only able to quiet him by assuring him that a statement would be received in his case; and I drew it up, and he signed it. A pious fiction, which served to prolong his life for a little bit. Then I paid visits to Garswood (the Gerards') and to Knowsley. During this time I was getting the four volumes of the "Nights" out, which I was left for. I was dreadfully spied upon by those who wished to get Richard into trouble about it, and once an unaccountable person came and took some rooms in the same lodgings with me after Richard left, but I settled with the landlord that either I should leave, or that person should not have the rooms; and of course he did not hesitate between the two, so I took the whole of his rooms for the remainder of my stay.
WHAT THE WORLD SAID ABOUT MAROCCO.
Pictorial World, March 13th.
"'We sincerely trust that the present Government will not fail, amidst other acts of justice and good works, to bestow some signal mark of her Majesty's favour upon Captain Richard Burton, one of the most remarkable men of the age, who has displayed an intellectual power and a bodily endurance through a series of adventures, explorations, and daring feats of travel, which have never been surpassed in variety and interest by any one man.' 'Twas thus that our contemporary, the Morning Advertiser, concluded a leader a few weeks ago on one whom it rightly called 'A Neglected Englishman.' The protest, however, has passed unnoticed by the powers that are. The gallant Captain still remains in the comparatively humble position of her Majesty's Consul at Trieste, while men whose claims upon their country cannot be compared to his are constantly receiving far more important appointments. Others wear the honours which he should have worn. Captain Speke's services in the East were duly recognized--Captain Burton's were not; yet Speke was Burton's lieutenant, and it was to the latter's guidance that the former owed not a little of his success. Burton discovered Lake Tanganyika, which he declared contained the Sources of the Nile; Burton it was who exposed the horrible massacre at Jeddah; Burton explored the Pacific coast, crossed the Andes, navigated the river San Francisco, gathering most valuable information, political, geographical, and scientific, on the way. The same intrepid traveller made that extraordinary pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina. Again, Burton originated the system of bayonet exercise which is now in use in the British army, and the same gentleman has given us some of the most interesting and instructive books of travel that were ever penned. And yet, forsooth, an obscure Consulate is considered a fitting reward for such services! Let Mr. Disraeli's administration look to it."
Manchester Courier, October 18th, 1889.
"The truth about Sir Richard Burton, whose versatility is only equalled by his thoroughness and solidity, is that he is far too able for the Foreign Office. That very superior department does not want able men; it wants persons of average--below rather than above--ability, who will prostrate themselves like a fire-worshipper to the rising orb of day, before 'the Office.' It hates like poison the clever Secretary or Consul who obtains praise or reputation in any other way than through Downing Street. Personally, I rather like Foreign Office clerks when they are off duty; but when they put on official 'side,' and array themselves in war-paint, especially when they commit themselves to foolscap paper with large margins, they always remind me of Thackeray's 'Ranville Ranville, Esq., of the Foreign Office, who was such an ass, and so respectable.'"
Society, October 28th, 1889.
"It has at least seemed good to those who are set in authority over us to do something for that accomplished, indefatigable, and patriotic Englishman, Sir Richard Burton. No man has in his way done more for the country than this intrepid traveller and humane man. Yet his reward hitherto has been simply that worthless title which is flung as a bone to a hungry dog, to those Court lackeys who assist in the establishment of Imperial institutes, or emerging from the digger and sheep-washing stage, amass a pile in Australia, and, returning to their native land, put a price on their loyalty or their party services. In honouring a man like Sir Richard Burton, the nation reflects honour upon itself."
Whitehall Review, July 15th.
"Sir Richard Burton, K.C.M.G., is at present in London, on one of those rare, brief visits which are the special delight of all who have the fortune to be acquainted with Al-Haji Abdullah. Friends and admirers of the famous pilgrim will hear with pleasure that Sir Richard is in excellent health, and that, with the indefatigable energy which is characteristic of this modern amalgamation of the wanderer and the scholar, of Odysseus and Aristotle, he is rapidly bringing to a conclusion his famous translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' and organizing the issue of a popular edition of the same, adapted for the lasses and lads of the Latin lyrist. Sir Richard is, however, we regret to say, one further victim of the administrative blunders of the existing--if it can now be called existing--Government. As every one knows, Sir Richard Burton is without a peer in his knowledge of the languages, manners, customs, habits, and thoughts of the great races of the East. He has been in places where but half a dozen Europeans have ever penetrated, he has perilled his life again and again in the pursuit of knowledge, he has amassed more stories of information on all things Oriental than probably a single scholar or any six scholars ever gained before, he has enriched literature with some of its most valued works on Eastern subjects. He is the very man to be employed in some of our great Eastern dependencies, but he has been kept in Trieste, where his special talents are of little avail, for long enough; and now, when he is especially desirous of obtaining the Marocco Legation, he is passed over, and the place given to an obscure official. It is simply a scandal.
"It is true that we are a stiff-necked, narrow-minded race. We require to have genius cried out from the house-tops before we would recognize it amongst us; and, as usual, such recognition comes too late, regretfully. 'You must teach us better things.'"
Evening Post, November 1st, 1888.
"Sir Richard Burton and Lady Burton were interviewed as they passed through Paris with regard to the news from Lille, announcing the death of Henry Stanley. Sir Richard said, 'I don't believe that Stanley is dead yet. It is just as I told you last August. When everybody thinks the time has come to pull out their handkerchiefs and weep over him, he will amaze us all by turning up safe and sound and smiling.'"
From the Bat.
"BURTON THE BEWILDERING.
"At long last, those who are high in office seem to have made up their minds that it was time to bestow some sign of official favour upon Captain Burton. None too soon, certainly. For more than a generation Captain Burton has been one of the most remarkable of living Englishmen. In a life that has already run pretty close to the span of the Psalmist, he has laboured with a fiery energy at work which no other living Englishmen could or would have accomplished. Thirty years ago all Europe, ay, all the civilized, and much of the uncivilized, world, was holding its breath in amazement at the record of the adventurous Briton, who had made his way, guided only by his genius and his stout heart, into the very core of Mohammedanism, into that sacred and secret city into which through all time only half a dozen men who were not the devotees of Islam were ever able to penetrate. There is something peculiarly fascinating in the story of that daring enterprise, of the lonely, gallant English gentleman converting himself with a skill more marvellous than enchantment into the Caboolee pilgrim and medicine man, and invading Meccah, inspired by the passion for strange knowledge, and supported only by his own strong will and unfailing courage. In the Oriental legend two angels always attend upon the body of a man. It is only stretching the Eastern fancy a little further to declare that Azreel, the Oriental angel of death, was Burton's closest companion during that eventful pilgrimage. 'A blunder, a hasty action, a misjudged word, and the wanderer's bones would have whitened the desert sand,' and the world would have been the poorer by one of the most brilliant books of travel ever written, by a whole library of other books, and by a whole history of deeds scarcely less daring. There is, indeed, a familiar, we may almost call it a famous story, to the effect that Burton, when within the walls of the sacred city, did perform a common action after the fashion of the Frank and not of the Moslem, that he saw a true believer watching him curiously, and that for fear of accidents he promptly 'went for' that true believer, and killed him on the spot, on the 'dead men tell no tales' principle. That anecdote has formed the text for scores of arguments. Men have wrangled fiercely over the question it suggests as to whether a traveller placed in such imminent and deadly peril was or was not justified in slaying the spectator of his mistake, on the chance that such spectator might betray him. The argument remains to afford food for contest, but the story on which it is founded has vanished into nothingness. For Captain Burton has assured the City and the world, in a note to one of the recent volumes of his 'Arabian Nights,' that the whole thing is fiction, a canard, a literary wild duck of the wildest.
"Meccah, and the record of the pilgrimage thereto, would haw been venture enough and renown enough for an ordinary lifetime. It is merely an episode in the active and literary career of Captain Burton. Into the generation that has come and gone since the Sheikh Abdullah shook the dust of Meccah from off the soles of his sacrilegious feet, where has Burton not been and what has he not done? He has gone hither and thither 'like the wind's blast, never resting, homeless'--now to the Land of Midian, now to the Gold Coast for gold, now dwelling in Damascus, now in the dim and dangerous Cameroons, now in Trieste, and now in Marocco. With all this, as if possessed by a very demon of work, he has found time to store his brain with a most marvellous multiplicity of learning, and to write a very Alexandrian library of books on all manner of strange and widely differing subjects. Every one of his travels has been made the theme for a long, but never too long, record. He has translated the lengthy 'Lusiads' of Camoens with the same lightness of heart with which most men would sit down to scratch off a leading article. He has given the world that monument of fascinating knowledge on a fascinating subject, 'The Book of the Sword,' to which the erudition and research of a long lifetime might well appear to have been devoted. He has imported grotesque devil tales from Hindostan. He has written under the thin disguise of a Persian bard--a disguise as thin as that of Bodensted's 'Mirza Shaffy'--a wonderful poem which speculates upon the life of man in something of the spirit of Fitzgerald's 'Omar Khayyam.' He has translated, for the benefit of the curious and initiated few, a Hindoo work on 'Martial Relationships,' which is one of the eccentricities of literature. Now, in what would be called, were he any one else but Richard Burton, his old age, he is bringing out his great translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' one of the most valuable contributions that have ever been made to the literature of Oriental investigation.
"Was there ever a more bewildering man than this modern Admirable Crichton, who can speak more languages than Mezzofanti--it is a treat to hear him troll out some Persian love-ditty or Arabic desert-song in their guttural originals--who has been everywhere, who can fight with every weapon, who is something of a doctor, and something of a wizard, and something of a philosopher. The English Government, in whose service he has passed his life, has scarcely made the best use of him. He knows more about Eastern countries and Eastern peoples, and can speak more Eastern languages than probably any living man, and therefore a wise Administration planted him, during many recent years of Eastern complication, in which he might have rendered splendid service to the State, in an Italo-Austrian town, where the mouse-coloured cattle recall the Campagna, and neighbouring Miramar suggests the luckless lord of Mexico, and where Burton's special knowledge was well-nigh of no avail. He is happier now beneath the blue Marocco skies. There, with the white domes and the spreading palms of the East ever in his eyes, he can peacefully finish what is, perhaps, the greatest labour of his life--his version of those marvellous tales which have delighted the Orient for cycles, and which have profoundly influenced European thought and literature for nearly two centuries."
[Sidenote: He waits for me at Tangier.]
November 28th, in Marocco, Richard mourns the death of our good old friend, the Duke of Somerset. He settled down at the hotel close to the sea, called on every one, got out his work, and waited for me.
His journals do not show him to have been very taken with Marocco. Before he had been there two days, everybody ran to him with all their little political intrigues and private spites. There did not seem to be two people in the place who really liked or trusted one another. The principal house to go to for grandeur was, of course, Sir John Drummond-Hay's; but the only really enjoyable house was Perdicaris', who had a semi-European, semi-Oriental establishment, and the Oriental part was a dream. He painted very beautifully, was very talented, and his devotion to his wife was ideal. In December Richard found the air simply splendid. However, he was not long in Tangier before he began to feel gouty again.
[1] It is a curious thing that he never missed the chance of a pilgrimage to any holy shrine.
XII. RICHARD ON HOME RULE AND THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION
I think that these valuable letters written by Richard in 1886, a year before he became an invalid, are too precious not to be reproduced in this difficult crisis, regarding Home Rule, as they were written for the same crisis seven years ago. He had a most wonderful foresight, that seemed inspired, and could prophesy with almost a certainty for many years ahead. Although he was a Conservative in politics, he was fully convinced that this should be the programme, but carried out in a proper manner, with a rider.
"A 'DIET' FOR IRELAND.
"Tangier, Marocco, January 10th, 1886.
"Every province of Austro-Hungary (the Dual Empire which should and will be tripled to Austro-Hungaro-Slavonian) enjoys the greatest advisable amount of 'Home Rule' by means of its own Landstag or Diet. The little volumes, each in the local dialect, containing the rules and regulations for legislative procedure are broadcast over the country; and I would especially recommend those which concern the Diet of Istria and--a thing apart--the Diet of Trieste City to the many who are now waxing rabid with alarm at the idea of an Irish Parliament in the old house on College Green.
"In 1883 I undertook a detailed study of Diets in general, but first sickness and then a decidedly more interesting work intervened. Englishmen abroad will find such a task the reverse of unprofitable. A certain school of politicians, which aims mainly at destroying whatever is, and to whom an aristocrat Empire is a red rag to a rageous bull, have ignored the fact, still true as when the saying was first said, that if Austria did not exist she would have to be invented. Even they may be interested to learn that the tie by which she connects such a host of various nationalities--differing in speech, religion, manners, customs, and interests--is the local Diet, which satisfies the aspirations of every reasonable man to 'Home Rule.'
"The local Diet (Landstag) offers the immense advantage of submitting to the discussion of experts, provincial questions which, in the shape of Bills sent up to the much overworked Imperial Parliament (Reichstag), would be disposed of by a 'Massacre of the Innocents.' Otherwise the great assembly in Vienna, as in London, would be placed in a false position, which, 'like a wrong focus in photography, distorts every object.'
"The local Diet encourages decentralization; the growing evil of Europe being that of crowded Cities and over-populated Capitals, where wealth may prosper but where man decidedly decays; in fact, becomes non-viable. Hence Mandarin Tseng is reported to have said that the strength has gone out of England; and it surely will go when we have a greater majority of town population.
"The local Diet acts as a distributor to wealth; and we all know that questions of self-government rest mainly on the solid base of £ s. d. When absentee-landlords carry their money to, and never fail to spend the season in, the Metropolis, reserving their economy for home residence, local industries cannot but suffer. The provincial Diet meets, we will say, two months before the Imperial Parliament; and creates a kind of sub-season in the provincial Capital, which, like Dublin and Edinburgh, never forgets that she was once a real Capital. The deputies take their families with them, and part of the revenue and income drawn from the land is returned to the land.
"As with us, dire consequences were predicted for Magyar Home Rule in Pesth, and for Czech Home Rule in Prague, which would soon swamp the German element and eat up the landlords. Now there is a notable social resemblance between the Magyar and the Irish Kelt; nor will any one pretend that the animosity in the sister island against foreign rule is hotter in 1886 than was that of the Magyar against Austria in 1848-50. Yet the latter learned only moderation from Home Rule, and he is now a loyal subject. If, however, any especial defence for the landlord-class be temporarily necessary, this can be done by counting acres instead of noses, till increased national prosperity, and a sense of having had justice dealt to the people, shall allay the ill feeling.
"The local Diet has at times proved troublesome by intermeddling with Imperial questions; for instance in Croatia, which has produced a Slavonian Parnell--men both to be honoured for the energy and persistency with which they have claimed liberty for their fellow-countrymen. But these troubles are good in one point; far better an outburst in open air than in confinement, where the strength of the explosion is immensely increased. In normal times the limits of local authority are studiously kept, as they are exactly laid down, and every member knows his competency or incompetency to lay a measure before the House. A law officer of the Crown, appointed ad hoc, attends every meeting of the local Diet, and can veto debate upon questions beyond its legislative sphere.
"I believe that the study of these little volumes, treating upon the local Diets of Austria, will suggest to England not only a Parliament in Dublin, but a similar assembly in Edinburgh and in Carnarvon; furthermore, that if they prove useful and important, as they promise to do, England will presently be distributed into circuits or districts, each provided with its own Diet.
"RICHARD F BURTON."
Pall Mall Gazette, January 18th, 1886.
"Sir Richard Burton, that extraordinary scholar, who touches no subject that he does not illuminate, has written a letter on Home Rule too interesting to be lost to sight. His object is to point out that a solution of the Irish question is possibly to be found in the way each province of Austro-Hungary enjoys the greatest advisable amount of Home Rule by means of its own Landstag or Diet. To those 'who are now waxing rabid with alarm at the idea of an Irish Parliament in the old house on College Green,' he especially prescribes a study of the Diet of Austria and the Diet of Trieste. Sir Richard Burton enumerates three great advantages of the Diet system as it is there seen. First, provincial questions are submitted to the discussion of experts in the Landstag, whereas if they were simply poured into the overworked Reichstag, they would be slaughtered almost without a hearing. Second, the local Diet encourages decentralization, and the most evil effects of it, the tendency of the population to concentrate itself in the towns, and there decay. Third, the local Diet acts as a distributor of wealth; a kind of sub-season is created in the provincial capital, the deputies take their families there, and a proper part of the revenue from the land returns to it again. Sir Richard Burton's scheme is well worthy of further study, and this, he believes, will suggest a Parliament, not only in Dublin, but also in Edinburgh and in Carnarvon."
"A DIET FOR IRELAND.
"To the Editor of the Morning Post.
"Sir,--Would you kindly allow me space for a few lines by way of postscript to my note 'A Diet for Ireland,' printed in the Academy of January 16? Since that time 'a Diet' with a witness has been proposed, and hapless Hibernia has been offered the proud position of 'our latest colony.' But, if the 'Speak-house' in College Green be refused, what then? Will England have the pluck to fight for the integrity of her Empire, as did our Yankee cousins a quarter of a century ago? Or is she so blind, as not to see that civil war is threatened, that even civil war is better than disruption, ignominy, ruin, and that her success would be easy, certain, and decisive? Though no longer in the première jeunesse, I would willingly shoulder a musket in such a cause, and so, doubtless, would many myriads of my fellow-countrymen.
"Yours, etc.,
"RICHARD F BURTON.
"April 26, 1886."
[Sidenote: Another Postscript.]
"But," he afterwards wrote, "I should have put a rider on to the first letter, because it only touches the political, not the religious state of the question. Austrians and Hungarians are both more or less Catholic, whilst England and Ireland are bitter Protestant and bitter Catholic. It becomes no longer a political, but a religious question. There are plenty of good, honest, loyal Irish Catholics in Ireland, as well as good, loyal Protestants in the North of it. The loyalty of the English Catholic is well known; the mischief lies with the Fenian Priest, who prefers stepping into the political arena to confining himself to the more humble and obscure calling to which he is vowed, that of saying Mass, and administering the Sacraments to his fold. Woe be to him! And if the Pope is properly informed, it would take a wiser head than mine to know, why he does not excommunicate them. No honestly minded Catholic wants to see temporal power put into the hands of these Fenians, which might possibly lead back to the Inquisition. When they clamour for Home Rule, it is not Home Rule that they want, it is the education of their children. They say, 'We want to bring up our children as good Christians and good loyalists, but we do not want them brought up for us as Materialists and Socialists." In this I think they are right, but the education should be compulsory; and if they had the spirit of a louse, or any esprit de corps, and a civil tongue with decent behaviour, they would get it. For my own part, I see no hope of a rightful sentiment until they get a Man at the helm of the British Government. When I say a man, I understand somebody who does not care one fig for his place, and when he does right, it is for the Nation to take him or leave him as they like, and if there was such a man, they would accept despotism from his hands. If it were me, I should have my agents in Ireland, quietly separating the goats from the sheep. I should have my Men-of-War lying off in different places. In one single night the goats would be seized, priest or layman, and they would be conveyed far, far away to my Monastic jail, my Siberia, where they would be well treated, well taken care of, and allowed their Mass and their Sacraments; but the only ships that touched there would be provision ships, and it would be a 'lifer,' without any communication, by letter or otherwise, with the outer world; and any one aiding or abetting would be hung at the yardarm. Ireland would be quiet in a year; peace, happiness, and union restored.
"RICHARD F BURTON."
I heartily concur in every one of these sentiments. I think that although, in 1829, Catholics were emancipated, they have never been, during these sixty-four years, placed on an equality, even in England, with their Protestant fellow-creatures. This is not quite right. It shows itself more in unnecessary pin-pricks, than in any large circumstances. I will merely quote, as an example, one silly little thing that comes in my own radius. I have a little annuity from my father, and four times a year I am obliged to certify that I am alive. I was ill in bed and wanted the money. So I sent for my Catholic Priest, and asked him if he would sign it; he said certainly. In a few days I got it back from a Government annuity office, with the following remark, in red ink:--'We cannot take the signature of a Roman Catholic Priest: Act 10 Geo. IV. cap. 24, special section 24.' Now, is not this ridiculous? Canon Wenham is a gentleman and a man of the world, who has known me for forty years, but his word cannot be taken because he is a Catholic; so I had to wait until I was well enough to get up, and to go out (suffering inconvenience for the want of this money), to look for the Protestant clergyman, whom I did not then happen to know, and who, when he saw me, was obliged to say, 'Are you really Lady Burton?' 'Yes! I am really Lady Burton.' And his word is taken because he is a Protestant! Is it not nearly time that such utter rubbish, such absurd little insults should be repealed? They do not hurt educated, large-minded people--they make them laugh; but there are many classes that they would hurt, and thousands of such mosquito-stings make a big whole, and very likely do affect and _dis_affect a part of Her Majesty's subjects, who, if not baited, would be as loyal as the Sun. If Catholics like to take a back seat, they ought to be perfectly happy, and perhaps that is why they are so silent; but if that is not so, I am convinced that if they were all of one mind and one spirit, and if their grievances were represented in a dignified and reasonable manner, what they want with regard to the education of their children, would be conceded to them. And the Irish, who, with educated exceptions, probably do not realize what Home Rule and separation from England absolutely means--the uneducated, as likely as not, think it is something to eat--will never attain their project, by shooting English Agents and Landlords and hamstringing innocent animals, thereby proving how unfit they are to govern themselves, or to be invested with any power or authority.
[Sidenote: Treatment of Catholics and Loyalty.]
I should like to be allowed to requote a thing I have printed before in my life. I think that it is excessively wicked of those who have chosen to confound religion with politics, and to make it appear unpatriotic and un-English to honour our Divine Master in our own way, and it is doubly malignant to fasten such a stigma upon the Old Catholic aristocracy of England. Show me loyalty like unto ours. Who fought and bled and died? Who sacrificed their lands and wealth freely as our ancestors did in all times, out of loyalty to their King? It is convenient now to pander to vulgar prejudice, to taunt us with a slight and a sneer on the smallest pretext, or without one, in the hopes of ousting us from the Court and from the World. But wait a little; the World's life is not yet over, and if the throne, through weak policy, should ever totter--which may God avert from us!--we shall joyfully go, as one man, woman, and child, with our hearts and lives, and all we possess in our hands, as we did before, to offer it upon the altar of our loyalty. It is no use to discuss the matter now in times of peace; the hour, when it comes, will prove which is loyal and disloyal, which is patriotic and unpatriotic. We will show all these men, who to-day dare to talk of loyalty to us, whether "blue blood" and old faith, or Cotton and Cant, love the throne best. I ask nothing better than to prove it in the name of all the Old Catholics in England; and our Pope would be the first to bless us for our loyalty. No Pope has any temporal power in England, nor could wish or expect it. The Army would march to-morrow wherever the Queen ordered, and fight without asking a question, and two-thirds of it is Catholic.
The late Lord Gerard, who had the honour of being A.D.C. to the Queen, and who was the rigidest of all rigid Catholics, said, when the question was first raised, though he was an old man, "By ----! the man who tells me that I am not loyal, had better be a couple of stone heavier than I am!" We are still brought up with the old-fashioned loyalty, as if it were a part of our religion, and we are ready to do as we did before when our Sovereign needs us. We should almost as soon think of going into our church and tearing the cross down off the altar, as of showing any disrespect, presumption, disloyalty, or indifference to our Queen or her family, much less treachery. And in the name of all ancient Catholic England, I throw my glove down to those who accuse us of it, be they who they may. I do not pretend to know anything about our converts--I have been too long away--but my own people, we who have been Catholics from all time, "render to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and to God the things that are God's."
I once heard a story of a lieutenant in some regiment, who was honest, steady, and quiet, full of sterling qualities; but he was dull, reserved, religiously inclined, or less brilliant than his brother-officers. They laughed at him, and associated but little with him. He was well born, but poor, and without interest; so he remained without, in the cold shade, both as to promotion and the warmth and cheerfulness of friendship and society. But he never complained; he lived on and did his best.
Then at last came the Crimean War. A battery was to be taken; and the guns were so well pointed at this particular regiment, which was the storming party, that they were forced to give way. But, in hopes of rallying his own company, this young fellow passed all his brother-officers with a laugh. He flung his shako before him, and, sword in hand, rushed through a breach into the battery, followed by his handful. They never came out again. At the mess that night there was not a man but who wished he had better understood his brother-officer. They now remembered a thousand good qualities and incidents that ought to have endeared him to them, and they vainly tried to recall any little kindness that they had shown him. All felt ashamed of the contempt with which they had treated one in every respect their superior. Of that stuff we are made, and when the occasion comes we will prove it.
1886.
I was to have started, by Richard's orders, soon, but I got a telegram from him saying there was cholera, and that I could get no quarantine at Gibraltar, and should not be allowed to land. But I at once telegraphed to Sir John Adye, who was then commanding at Gibraltar, and asked if he would allow a Government boat to take me off the P. and O. and put me straight on the Marocco boat; and received a favourable answer, to my great relief. I wanted to get to Richard for our silver wedding.
At last the business for which I was left behind permitted me to start, and I wished my dear father good-bye, as my husband had done; but, though I left with a great misgiving, I entertained a strong hope that I should see him again--as the doctors assured me I should. I went down to Gravesend, and embarked on one of the floating palaces, the P. and O. Ballarat. The Bay was bad, and I was delighted with the pluck of my Italian maid Lisa, who had never been at sea before. Her eyes got bigger and bigger as she looked through the closed porthole, and she kept saying, "There is such a big one (wave); we must go down this time." She would hardly believe my laughing and saying, "Oh no, you won't! You will float like a duck over it in a minute--we always do that here." The amusing part was her scorn of the Triestines when she got back, when she used to say, "Sea! do you call that a sea? Why, the waves are no bigger than the river in England."
About four days from England the weather was delightful. We steamed into "Gib." at seven a.m. Richard came off in a boat, wearing a fez, and Captain Baker kindly came for me also with a Government launch, into which Richard changed. We called on Sir John Adye to thank him, and on a great many other friends, and we went to S. Rocca. We had a delightful dinner at Sir John Adye's, and met everybody.
I was very glad to arrive at Gibraltar, and to be with Richard, for in my opinion he did not look at all well, being very puffy in the face, and exceedingly low-spirited; but he got better and better, as he always did as soon as he was with me.[1]
[Sidenote: We winter in Marocco--Richard made a K.C.M.G.]
On the 5th of February, 1886, a very extraordinary thing happened--it was a telegram addressed "Sir Richard Burton." He tossed it over to me and said, "Some fellow is playing me a practical joke, or else it is not for me. I shall not open it, so you may as well ring the bell and give it back again." "Oh no!" I said; "I shall open it if you don't." So it was opened. It was from Lord Salisbury, conveying in the kindest terms that the Queen, at his recommendation, had made him K.C.M.G. in reward for his services. He looked very serious and quite uncomfortable, and said, "Oh! I shall not accept it." I said, "You had better accept it, Jemmy, because it is a certain sign that they are going to give you the place" (Tangier, Marocco).
On the 28th of January, having been co-founder and President of the Anthropological Institute, he was now made Vice-president, in consequence of being always absent abroad.
This is the account he gives of Tangier in his journal:--
"It is by no means a satisfactory place for an Englishman. The harbour town was in the same condition as Suez was during the first quarter of the nineteenth century; and it was ruled by seven diplomatic kinglets, whose main, if not sole, work or duty was for each and every one to frustrate any scheme of improvement, or proposal made by any colleague or rival ruler. The capabilities of the place were enormous, the country around was a luxuriant waste awaiting cultivation, and all manner of metals, noble and ignoble, abounded in the adjacent mountains--the maritime Atlas. The first necessity was a railroad connecting the seaboard with Fez, the capital; but even a telegraph wire to Gibraltar, although a concession was known to have been issued, had not been laid, apparently because the rate of progress would have been too rapid. The French were intriguing for a prolongation of the Algerine railways; the Spanish sought possession of one or two more ports, as a basis of operations. The Italians kept their keen eyes ever open for every chance. Even Portugal remembered his Camoens, and his predictions about this part of the world. The Germans were setting all by the ears, and we English confined ourselves to making the place a market for supplying Tommy Atkins with beef. The climate in winter is atrocious for one seeking dry desert air. More than once it has rained three days without intermission; once it has snowed. Tangier is but the root of a land-tongue projecting north between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, hence both east wind and west wind are equally disagreeable. It is a Sommer-Frisch for Gibraltar; briefly, it is a Desert within cannon-shot of Civilization."
We crossed over to Marocco in the Jebel Tarik, and a very curious journey it was. It was a flat-bottomed cattle tug, only fit for a river. The sea was exceedingly heavy. The machinery stopped, they said, for want of oil; seas washed right over, and she rolled right round in the water, so that it was a passage of five hours instead of two. It actually snowed--a thing that the natives had never seen within the memory of man, and quite alarmed them. The Sharífah called on me; she was the Englishwoman who married the Sheríf some years ago.
We made delightful excursions both in Marocco and about Gibraltar. We saw a great deal of Sir John and Lady Drummond-Hay, who was a very sweet woman, and their charming daughter, Miss Alice Drummond-Hay. We thought the Embassy a miserable little house, after the Palazzone at Trieste. The streets were muddy and dirty, all uphill, all horribly stony, like Khaifa. I thought the people in Tangier itself, looked poor, miserable, dirty, diseased, and trodden down, and you must go out very far to find anything like a fine race. After Damascus, and all the other Eastern places I had seen, I thought it horrid, and was sorely disappointed--I had heard it so raved about; but I would willingly have lived there, and put out all my best capabilities, if my husband could have got the place that he wanted, and for which I had employed every bit of interest we had on his side or mine to obtain, but in vain. I sometimes now think that it was better so, and that he would not have lived so long, had he had it, for he was decidedly breaking up. The climate did not appear to be the one that suited him, and the anxiety and responsibilities of the post might have hurried on the catastrophe that happened in the following year, 1887. It was for the honour of the thing, and we saw for ourselves how uneasy a crown it would be.
He remarks in his journal--
"My wife and I left the foul harbour-town, the 'Home of Dulness,' and passed a pleasant week at the 'Rock,' enjoying the hospitable society of our fellow-countrymen. I failed in certain pour-parlers concerning the treasure-ship sunk in Vigo Bay. The officer who claimed to know the true position was unduly cautious, and the right was his, more than mine. I endeavoured, but again in vain, to excite some local interest in the ruins of Karteia, the Biblical Tarshish, famed for ships. A local antiquary had made a charming collection of statuettes, and other works of Greek art, by scraping the tumuli which line the two banks of the Guadarrangua, alias First River, and which now represent the magnificent docks described by Strabo. He could not but remark the utter inadequacy of the defences, so famed throughout the civilized world. Fifty years ago they might have been sufficient, but now they have fallen long behind the age, and could not defend themselves against a single ironclad. The fact is now generally recognized.
[Sidenote: A Bad Hurricane at Sea.]
"We embarked in ugly weather on board the Cunarder s.s. Saragossa; she was a staunch old craft, but heavily top-laden with timber and iron works for a dock at Puzzuoli: the beams lashed and clamped to the bulwarks, and the metal loosely stowed away below. A rapidly falling barometer, a wind changing to every quarter, and a fearfully stormy sky, warned us that a full gale was raging in the Gulf of Lyons; it should be called the 'Lion's Gulf.' The sailors explain this in their own way. As in the Suez sea-jinns have been jailed, so here evil spirits have been laid by the priests, who, however, cannot boast of success in preventing their doing terrible damage. Huge seas washed over the deck, the galley was swamped, and there was a whisper that the boats were being prepared. However, in thirty hours the squall blew itself out, and the Saragossa, with a nasty cant to starboard, steamed into the fine new port of Genoa, self-styled the Serpent. After two days' rest, the cargo being reorganized, the good ship resumed her way, and passing by Ischia, where the ruins of the earthquake were dreadful to look upon, landed us at Naples.
"The old saying, 'Vedi Napoli e poi morir,' has now assumed a new and fatal significance; bad drainage has bred typhus fever, which has made the Grand Hotels along the shore the homes of death. We had time to pay a visit to Pompeii, which since my time is utterly cockneyfied. In olden days you engaged a carriage and a guide, and passed in and out of the ruins just as you pleased. Now there are barriers and tolls, and taxes, licenced ciceroni, and Cockney inn crowded with ruffianly drivers. Inside the enceinte, prudishness reigned supreme, and wooden doors are closed in the face of all feminines, before certain frescoes. My wife found an object in a church in which she had for many years interested herself, Our Lady of the Rosary of Pompeii, a rich basilica erected on the site of a pagan temple.
[Sidenote: I have Another Fall.]
"At Naples, my wife, having had a bad fall through the washing away of the ladder between the upper and lower decks, had hurt herself terribly. She was already not well enough to risk any shaking, when, to my horror, I saw something which I took to be a large feather pillow roll lightly into the timbers below. I saw several people rush to pick it up, and, to my horror, found it was my wife. She seemed stunned for a minute, and then she was so frightened that I should be uneasy, that she just shook herself and said she was all right; but at Naples it was evident that she had damaged herself, so that when our time was up I made her continue her journey by land, whilst I, who thoroughly enjoyed the sea, rejoined the ship."
Whilst we were there, the Italian Minister came in in proper style in an Italian frigate, with eighteen guns salute from the ship, and the fortress answering. We received a great deal of hospitality in Tangier, which we enjoyed very much. The Grappler, Captain Cochrane, came over, and Colonel (now General) Buckle, commanding the Royal Artillery at Gibraltar. All good things come to an end, and the day came round to recross to Gib., but this time in a Trans-atlantique, and Captain Baker again kindly sent a Government launch to meet us, as it was very rough. We immediately called on Sir John and Lady Adye, Lord and Lady Gifford, and Colonel Buckle. We made acquaintance with a quantity of nice people, found Sir Allen Young there, and enjoyed a very charming week. On departure, Captain Baker kindly took us in his launch to our ship, the Cunard (for Mediterranean) Saragossa, Captain Tutt.
We did not like the cabin, nor the ship, nor the food; it was regularly roughing it for invalids. There was no doctor, a disobliging stewardess, no baths, very little water to wash with, one towel. No resort for bad weather; you had either to lie in your berth, or sit bolt upright in the saloon. No room to walk because of the cargo, as we were laden with iron and wood for a pier at Puzzuoli, near Naples; and besides the hold being full, the deck was also full, and it was even lashed to the sides. There was no ventilation below, because it was bad weather.
We had a first-rate captain and nice officers, and they and the boy-stewards did all they could to make us comfortable. As our cabin was over the screw, three gentlemen good-naturedly changed with us. Now, there was a new moon and an eclipse, and bad weather sprung up in the night. There was a tremendous nor'-wester in the Gulf of Lyons; the galley was swamped, heavy seas swept over us every minute, the iron cargo got loose in the hold and was rolling about, and we had an ugly slant to starboard--in fact, one's cabin was all uphill.
Richard was knocked down twice, and had a very heavy fall on head and forehead and shins. The coal-bunks caught fire, we shipped seas into the saloon, and it seemed at one time as if the boat on the port side would come into the saloon skylight. I shall never forget his kindness and tenderness to me in that gale.
If the cargo of timber lashed to the sides had behaved ill, it would have torn away the bulwarks, and bumped a hole in the ship. The captain was thirty hours on the bridge, and I never saw a man look so used-up as he did next day; and how relieved he was--and we all were--when we came into Genoa, looking in an awful plight! We knew that they would stay there a bit, and we bolted at once for the hotel. One never forgets the good bath and bed and the clean food that greets one on these occasions. Sailors always say that some priest, in exorcising a devil, has laid him in the Gulf of Lyons, and from that time forth I have believed it.
We had a delightful forty-eight hours at Genoa, excepting that I went to call on a very dear old friend, and found that she had died, and that I had never heard of it; and, to my great surprise, who should I see mooning about but Miss Alice Bird (Dr. Bird's sister, of 49, Welbeck Street, our great friends), and I carried her off at once to the hotel, and thence to the ship to see us depart, as we had to continue our journey. It was blowing very hard when we arrived at Leghorn. Richard had caught cold, so we did not go ashore, but amused ourselves with buying the pretty alabaster rubbish that peddlers bring on board. Half of the companion ladder between the upper and lower deck had been washed away, and I, being unaware of it, got a heavy fall amongst the timber and hurt myself.
[Sidenote: Naples.]
It was fearfully cold, blowing off bleak snow mountains. We were delighted with Vesuvius, throwing up flames, and streams of red lava pouring down her sides. We went at once to a hotel, and went over to Pompeii, which we enjoyed immensely. We found Lady Otway there, made acquaintance with all the Society, and saw everything in and about Naples. My fall had hurt me so much that Richard would not let me go on in the ship from Naples to Trieste.
He writes: "It was rather fun in Genoa. Because I wore my fez, everybody took me for part of the Carnival, and followed me."
Before we left, it being the King's birthday, there was a march past our hotel of all the soldiers and sailors. The sailors were good, but the rest sadly defective and slipshod. We went to Puzzuoli, from where the steamer sailed. The ship went to Palermo, Messina, Catania, came along the Dalmatian coast, and, after a very peaceful journey of a week, reached Trieste. I went by rail to Rome, and I do not wish for a worse train than that between Naples and Rome, nor more disagreeable railway officials than those I found at Naples.
As I arrived late, and did not count my change, I lost eighteen francs, and three of my boxes were kept back from Jack-in-office reasons. At Rome I waited in the station for three hours to get another train, and was delighted to get into an Austrian train with a good bed and a civil conductor. I arrived in Florence next morning, where I did some more mediæval Italy that day and part of the next, and in the evening got on to Bologna for the same object. I then arrived at Trieste, on the 20th of March, with a very unpleasant journey, and, as there was a cholera scare, met with a great deal of visiting of baggage and fumigation. I arrived at ten in the evening, and was accustomed to be met by a crowd of friends, and was surprised at finding that there was no one to meet me; but when I got into our house, three telegrams were handed to me that had not reached me. The first was, "Father very ill--can you come?" the second was, "Father died to-day;" the third, "Father buried to-day at Mortlake" (yesterday). I then understood that everybody knew it, and had kindly desisted on account of what would have been my grief had I known. It was a severe blow, and I felt it very much, for I had not expected it. I was thus in Trieste three days before Richard, and was able to go on board and receive him.
On the 25th, the English, headed by Mr. P. P. Cautley and Mr. Salvari, our first and second Vice-Consuls, presented us with a beautiful cup for our silver wedding.
Richard notes in his journal (as we at once paid a visit to Duino Opçina), "Andrino" (my little god-child, whom I saved in former years as a babe) "is dead, the setter Fazan is given away, Brownie the donkey is sold. I shall not now care so much to go to Opçina; all my amusements are taken away."
On the 10th of April he began his "Terminal Essay," and vol. viii. was sent home. We went to a very nice Assault of Arms; that was a thing we never neglected.
He writes--
"In May, my wife and I had a pleasant change, being invited by our colleague, Mr. Faber, H.B.M.'s Consul for Fiume, to visit his castle Schloss Sternstein, near Cilli, in Steiermark. We found a modern building, which had superseded the ancient feudal château, whence the old legend of a Styrian Romeo and Juliet has not wholly faded. We enjoyed the society of Mr. and Mrs. Faber, who are hospitality itself, and amused ourselves with their numerous and beautiful children; and last, but not least, the simple German life and perfect rest and liberty were exceedingly refreshing. My wife and I went to look at an old mill, with cottage attached, to see if we could make that our future cottage."
We stopped at Cilli on the way back, and thence to Trieste. We had constantly at home many people who came in to lunch and dinner, as it was our one time off work, and people knew it was our great pleasure and chose that hour for coming to see us. The family from Duino, the Princesses Hohenlöhe, and the Princess Taxis, whenever they came into town to do commissions, used to take their breakfast with us en route. A great part of the summer we used to sit under one particular shady lime tree, whose branches almost form a tent, and there were benches and tables arranged under it. We used to call it "our tree." Frequently, when we were in all the bustle of London, perhaps driving in the City to publishers, he would say, "Our tree is out beautifully now. Are you regretting it?" I would answer him, "No; my tree is wherever you are." And he would add, "That is awfully sweet of you." We were not always paying each other compliments. He used to pay them to some women, but I hardly ever got any, so that I treasured up the few; but what he did say, meant a great deal. When he used to go out to convivial parties of men, where the generality of ladies were not asked, and he would come back late in the small hours, he would tell me all about it, and then he would say, "But what a horrible desert it would be, if I had not got you to come back to!"
He here notices the death of Mr. White-Cooper, F.R.G.S., the eminent oculist, with whom and his wife (Lady Cooper) we were on the most friendly terms. He was now working at the ninth volume of the "Nights."
POLITICS.
[Sidenote: The Great Chinese Move.]
A man's politics and a man's religion are supposed to be two very prominent features in his character. I therefore give you a résumé of Richard's politics in the Appendices (E). Now, being in an official position, he never was able to express his opinions very freely, and what I give you, though they were actually written by me, and published by me in various books and pamphlets, were what I learnt from my husband, as I learnt everything that I know from him. To him I owe all the education that I have received. I consider that he made me, so to speak, and whatever little publicity or fame have been accorded to me by those who know me, I owe it entirely to him. In one part of his politics you will see that he strongly advocated an alliance with China; and I am sure that Mr. G. H---- will have no objection to my publishing the letters he wrote me in 1886, praising me for what I wrote, that I may give the honour where it is due, to Richard. Richard has been consulted over and over again by different Governments; he has given his knowledge and suggestions freely, and they have often been carried out, but have never in one single instance been publicly acknowledged in any way, and scarcely thanked for privately.
"December 6th, 1886.
"DEAR LADY BURTON,
"Of course you will recollect sending me a presentation copy of your work, 'Arabia, Egypt, and India,' with
'To G. H., a grateful souvenir from Isabel Burton,'
written on the title-page.... Well, I want you to send me another, as the other is out of my possession. Thus--
"In reading it I had been much struck with the chapter, 'A Peep into the Future of North-Western India,' and especially with the last forty-seven lines, as containing a proper solution of our difficulties with Russia.
"I took the liberty of marking pages 394 and 395, and sending the book to Lord Salisbury twelve to fifteen months ago, during his short administration before the present one, and I asked him, if what Mrs. Burton said was true, whether an arrangement with China would not free us in the future from all the bother with Russia--and, if he thought so, would he not do it at once? I received an answer. Now, in three or four weeks after I sent it, I saw in the papers that we had entered into an alliance, offensive and defensive, with China, in case of a war with Russia, and since then the collapse of Russia's pretensions, and our own power in future, to remain in the van of civilization as we list, without fear, are matters of history.
"It is surprising how plainly people see things when they are once pointed out. I believe you pointed it out at the right moment, and that I was a small instrument in the matter of getting it accomplished. And who shall say that a greater stroke of policy was ever accomplished? Its consequences are far-reaching indeed.
"My brother-in-law, Major ---- of the ---- Regiment, whose regiment is stationed in India, although he is home on furlough, considers it a masterpiece of strategy, looking at the position we were in. However, let that pass; it is not the only good you have done, and I'll be bound to say are doing, in the world now.
"Yours sincerely,
"G. H----.
"P.S.--How are the donkeys, horses, and the other animals you took under your protection in Trieste getting on? I often wonder. If you have time, please read pages 394 and 395 of your book, commencing, 'But our highest prospect,' etc."
* * * * *
"14th December, 1886.
"MY DEAR LADY BURTON,
"I am much pleased by receiving your note and hearing from you once again.
"I enclose a copy of the two pages to which I called Lord Salisbury's attention, and you will say yourself, looking at the words in the light of subsequent events--to say nothing of the present position--it is hard to say what influence these words have had on the present and future of the whole world.
"England's arm was paralyzed, and has been for some time, by the nightmare and bugbear of Russia. Bismarck, to clear himself and his own country, had been pointing Russia to India; but when this occurred, and it became clear that at last we had secured ourselves in India by this Chinese alliance, Russian bother at Afghanistan's frontier ceased. Germany hastened to offer thirty-five millions loan to China. France stopped her war and sent a deputation after the German with proposals for trade, and Russia at Merv, and France at Tonquin, were both paralyzed and powerless for harm. Burmah was taken and our future secured, and, what is more, England was again free to declare, as Lord Salisbury did at the last Mansion House banquet, that if any of England's interests are imperilled, her own right arm is quite powerful enough to right them at once, without assistance from any European Power.
"Without this arrangement with China dared he to have said so? No! However, whatever the facts are, one thing is certain, that what has happened is for the best.
"I hope you will get the pension.[2] If you think I could do anything towards it I will gladly try, so long as I am not doing any harm by interfering. I ought to say I sent the book to Mr. Gladstone two months before I sent it to Lord Salisbury, when Gladstone was in. He returned it. I suppose the reference to Gordon was too much for him. Of course he may have initiated what Lord Salisbury carried out with China.
"With kind regards, believe me
"Yours sincerely,
"G. H----."
* * * * *
"31st January, 1887.
"MY DEAR LADY BURTON,
"I enclose you a little scrap from to-day's paper about Germany and China. The jealousy shown all round by the different Powers since our agreement with the latter one, is clear proof what a great thing they think it is for us. One thing is certain, that those two pages of yours have done more to 'make history,' as it is called, than many wars could do, and without blood-shedding. The more I think of it, and the more I view the convulsion which must come very soon from all these armed men, the more I am satisfied that it is a grand thing for Lord Salisbury that, having India secure, he can now do as he feels he can best secure the future in accordance with the spirit of our old traditions.
"With kindest regards, believe me
"Yours sincerely,
"G. H----.
"P.S.--I conclude you received the Asiatic Review article in Paris by the Marquis Tseng. I sent it there to you."
* * * * *
"June 28th, 1887.
"MY DEAR LADY BURTON,
"I have not heard one word from you or any one else since the earthquake, and have often wondered what had become of you, and how you fared.
"What a time you had! much worse than any one would think who had not himself known and seen in others what a serious matter nervous suffering is.
"As to the Government, they might have given Sir Richard the pension. However, if it's not done when you return, I would stick to them for it. They can well afford it, for they are having a grand innings through this China business. Even the French papers say how cleverly Lord Salisbury has managed by playing off China against Russia.
"I am satisfied that will be the chief road in future to India, Japan, and China, re Liverpool to Halifax, Canadian Pacific to Vancouver, and steam over the Pacific.
"It will beat the Suez Canal; but Lord Salisbury has got quit of the Russian periodical scares, which was the great thing, and all through you.
"Give my kindest regards to your husband, and believe me always,
"Yours sincerely,
"G. H----."
The paragraph in my book above alluded to, was as follows:--
"But our highest prospect of happy deliverance from this terrible northern rival (Russia) is still to be noticed; and that so little attention has been paid to it by our writers, is not a little astonishing to the student. In Russia it must have caused a vast amount of anxious thought; and it readily explains the cautious system of her approaches, parallels, and encroachments in the East; her provisional system of indirect until ready for direct rule over her new conquests; her strategic lines of observation and demonstration; and her carefully disposed apparatus of supports, reserves, and bases of operations. Nolens volens, will-we nill-we, Russia must eventually absorb Kashgar; she must meet China face to face, and then her serious troubles begin.
"The dash of Tartar blood in Russian veins establishes a remote cousinhood with China. There is something of physical, and more of moral, likeness between the two peoples. Both are equally sturdy, hardy, frugal, energetic, persistent, aggressive, and brave in facing death. Both have a national speech, a peculiar alphabet, and, to go no further, a religion which distinguishes them from the rest of the world. Both are animated by the sturdy vigour of a newly awakened civilization. During the war of 1842 we facetiously said that it was rank murder to attack the Chinese troops with any missiles but oranges. Presently the Ever-Victorious Army led by Gordon, one of England's noblest and best neglected sons, showed the might that was slumbering in a nation of three hundred millions.
"And now China is preparing herself, with that slow but terrible steadfastness of purpose which distinguishes her, to exercise her influence upon the civilized world,--upon the other three-fourths which compose the sum of humanity. After a hundred checks and defeats she has utterly annihilated the intrusive Mohammedan schism which attempted to establish its independence in Yunnan. She will do the same in Kashgar, although the dilatoriness of her proceedings, unintelligible to the Western mind, tends to create a false feeling of security. She is building a fleet and rolling her own plates. Her army is being drilled by Europeans; the men are armed with Remingtons, and she has six manufactories for breech-loading rifles. Securely cautious of her coming strength, she declines all little wars with England and France, till another dozen years or so shall enable her to meet her enemies on terms which, forecasted in 1842, would have appeared the very madness of prophecy.
"Such is the nation which is fated to contend with Russia for the glorious empire of Central Asia. This is the power which our Press and its teachers have agreed to ignore. In the coming struggle we shall see the direct result of the Crimean War, and then, perhaps, we may reap the reward of sacrifices and losses which hitherto have added little to our honour or to our power."
[Sidenote: We get Leave again to England.]
He writes--
"On the 5th of June we left again for England, as I was obliged to consult a particular manuscript, which would supply two volumes of my supplemental 'Arabian Nights.' The route lay through Krain or Carniola, with its queer little capital Laibach."
We made a ten days' delightful journey to England. At Krainberg began the beautiful scenery, hills and dales, grey stone, sheets of snow, pines, wheat-fields and cattle below, clouds and rain above, with a burst of sunlight through, the river rushing by us, the peaks of the Triglav in the clouds, the railway three thousand feet high. We were both delighted and glad we came. Loads of Sunday people in costume filled the stations till we got on to Villach. There is nothing like the Austrian Tyrol for lovely scenery, which begins at Krainberg, becomes perfect at Tarvis, and declines at Lienz. The Drau is a nice river before it marries the Danube; it is brisk and full of life.
At Villach the scenery and the gorges of the Drau were dressed in rainbow suit, mist and sunshine together. Lienz was very charming; we took a very great fancy to it, and from hence went on to Toblach, which opens into the magnificent gorge of the Cortina d'Ampezzo, which leads to the Dolomites. This time we were not so stupid as to go to the big Hôtel Toblach, because we were ill-treated last time; so we came to the Gasthof Ampezzo, rough but comfortable, with good native cooking, and a beautiful view up the valley of Ampezzo, where we had Forellen (the mountain trout), good black cock, and excellent wine (Offner). Then we went on to Innsbrück. We had one of those Aussichtswagen at the end of the train, all of glass, so that you can see the view, which was delightful, crossing the Brenner. The Brenner was full of snow amphitheatres, deep gorges, firs in spring suits, and tower-shaped rocks. The heat was very great; there are seventeen tunnels on this crossing, some as long as four or five minutes. Dull old Innsbrück was reached at last, where one feels as if the clouds were resting on the top of one's head.
Innsbrück has a good hotel (Europa), but ridiculously dear. Here we found some old Trieste friends, Baron and Baroness von Puthon, née Comtesse de Bombelles; so we decided to pass a whole day at Innsbrück, and to go on to Bâle the following day. Here in the Cathedral are the bronze antique statues of the Imperialties of Austria from earliest times, which I have before mentioned. We left the next day, and went through the Arlberg tunnel, running through a most picturesque country. The carriages are high and good, the ventilation excellent. Landeck is the last station before entering the tunnel--it occupies eighteen minutes by the express--and Arlberg is the station at which you come out. The tunnel is lighted by a lamp at every mile. In going through the Arlberg Richard remarked that the ground was rotten, and later on this was more than confirmed. Feldkirch is the last Austrian, and Bocks is the first Swiss station. The road is pretty, but not equal to the other passes. The train then runs all along the lakes until Zurich, after which the country is very common till Bâle. The Euler is an old-fashioned but good hotel close to the Bâle station. We now went in for a nineteen hours' journey by express from Bâle to Boulogne and Folkestone--baggage is visited on the frontier at Delle. The train had wagon-lits, but it shook and lurched as if the carriages were very badly coupled. We stayed at Folkestone, as usual, to see Richard's sister and niece, and found the local Exhibition going on.
In London we simply resumed our work of a few months before. Richard attended the levée on the 25th. He notices some pleasant dinners that were given to us by Mr. Christie, and the poet Mr. St. Clair Baddeley at Albert Mansions, at Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft's, where we met the Oscar Wyldes, and lots of other pleasant people.
My so-called edition of the "Arabian Nights" was now being brought out. It was a very melancholy time for me, my father being dead, and we were, as is usual, dividing the property, packing up, and breaking up the old home, which had been our refuge on all the holidays of our married life.
[Sidenote: Oxford.]
He wrote--
"Arrived in London, we had to realize the blow that had befallen us. The good old father, Henry Raymond Arundell, had quietly passed away, little short of eighty-seven, and we met to dine and drink a silent toast to his memory on his eighty-seventh birthday; the home, which had been the family point de réunion since 1861, was now to be given up. This house was the link that held the family together, and once separated, people hardly ever reunite upon the same terms. All will understand how painful are such final breakings-up. On returning home, nothing so saddens the heart of the exile as the many empty chairs round the table. After a few visits to country houses, we found ourselves compelled to make sundry trips to Oxford. I had already memorialized the vice-chancellor and the curators of the Bodleian Library for the loan of the Wortley Montagu manuscripts of the 'Arabian Nights.' Not a private loan, but a temporary transference to the India Office under the charge of that excellent librarian, Dr. R. Rost. This led to the usual long delays, and finally, on November 1st, came a distinct refusal, which was the more offensive because a loan had been lately made to another applicant, an Anglo-Indian coloured subject. The visits were essentially unpleasant. The Bodleian is the model of what a reading library should not be, and the contrast of its treasures with their mean and miserable surroundings is a scandal. In autumn the University must be closed at three p.m., lights not being allowed; the student must transfer himself to its Succursale, the Ratcliffe, which as a salle de lecture is even worse. The 'Rotunda' is damp in the wet season, stuffy during the summer heats, and the cave of Eolus in windy weather. Few students except the youngest and strongest can endure its changeable nerve-depressing atmosphere. Nor did Oxford show well in point of climate; the air is malarious, and the resolute neglect of sanitation is a serious obstacle to students at this so-called Seat of Learning. Moreover, the ancient University had now become a mere collection of finishing schools, or rather a huge board for the examination of big boys and girls.
"The old Alma Mater had always been to me a durissima noverca. Although the late Mr. Chandler, of Pembroke College, had stoutly opposed all lending of Bodleian books and manuscripts, he thoroughly sympathized with me, and he said to my wife, 'Who could have foreseen, when opposing all loans and laying down laws to limit the facilities of students, that directly afterwards Richard Burton would turn up and want an Arabic manuscript, a manuscript, moreover, which no man in the University can read, although it boasts of two Arabic professors?'
"It was in vain to seek for a copyist at Oxford, and those who offered themselves in London I found by no means satisfactory. At last my wife hit upon the bright idea of photographing the pages required, and imparted her idea to Mr. Chandler, and Chandler thought it was a most valuable hint to the University. He not only carried it out, but he insisted on bearing all the expenses himself, despite my earnest wish to do so. The University should be grateful for this solution of the question. Books are now no longer lent, but photographs can always be obtained."
[Sidenote: His Last Appeal to Government.]
On the 1st of July we went to a party at Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Wylde's, and there Richard met a man with whom he used to play chess thirty-five years ago. Richard arrived at playing three games blindfold; but after he left the Army he gave it up, because he wanted his brain for other things. I have already said that Richard, after his recall from Damascus, never tried but for four things. He wanted to be made a K.C.B. in 1875, and I exerted myself very much, in writing to all the Ministers and getting it backed up by all our big friends (some fifty), and again in 1878; but it was refused. He wanted to be Commissioner for the Slave Trade in 1880. He then asked for Marocco in 1885, which we considered was as good as promised; and on the 2nd of July, 1886, we had the mortification of finding that Lord Rosebery had given it away to Mr. (afterwards Sir) William Kirby-Green. Richard said on hearing it, in his usual generous way, "Next to getting it one's self, the best thing is to know that a friend and a good man has got it;" but when he came home and told me, he said, "There is no rise for me now, and I don't want anything; but I have worked forty-four years for nothing. I am breaking up, and I want to go free." So this year (1886) we occupied ourselves in entreating the Ministry to allow him to retire on his pension four years before his time. It was backed up by the usual forty-seven or fifty big names, and it was not pretence in any of the three cases; they did write, but it was refused. One Minister, in friendly chaff, wrote and said, "We don't want to annex Marocco, and we know that you two would be Emperor and Empress in about six months."
THE LAST APPEAL.
"23, Dorset Street, Portman Square, London, W.,
"October, 1886.
"I have represented to Lord Salisbury and to the Minister for Foreign Affairs, Lord Iddesleigh, that after passing fourteen years and a half in an unwholesome post, I find that the climate of Trieste, as a constant residence, undermines my health, and incapacitates me from work; also that I have not had the promotion which would encourage me to hope, nor do I see a prospect of any post which I could accept with profit to the public and pleasure to myself. I have therefore come to the determination, after forty-four years and a half in the public service (nineteen years in the Indian Army, and in the Consular Service twenty-five years and a half, which counts as thirty years, on account of eight to nine years in officially dangerous climates), to request that I may retire, at the age of sixty-five, on full pension, but to retain my post until such arrangement be made. I represented that if there were a difficulty from the Treasury, to make up full Consular pension, perhaps their lordships might recommend my services to the Civil List, on the ground of literary and linguistic labours and services. I do not wish to be so tedious as to quote all my services, but I venture to note a few of the facts which would seem to suggest my claims to some unusual consideration on the part of her Majesty's Government, and which I venture to say will obtain the approval of the public at large. I am about to ask you whether you will give me the great benefit of your support and good word on this occasion with Lord Salisbury, and my Chief, Lord Iddesleigh, who will have the decision of my case.
"I am,
"RICHARD F BURTON."
Here is the modest list, which does not contain half of what he did during his life of seventy years--
"SERVICES.
"(1) Served nineteen years in the Bombay Army, nearly ten years on active service, chiefly on the staff of Sir Charles Napier, on the Sind Survey, at the close of the Afghan War, 1842-49. In 1861 was compelled to leave, without pay or pension, by Sir Charles Wood, for accepting the Consulship of Fernando Po.
"(2) Served in the Crimea as Chief of the Staff of Bashi-Bazouk (Irregular Cavalry), and was chiefly instrumental in organizing it.
"(3) Was the author of the Bayonet exercise now used at the Horseguards.
"(4) Have made several difficult and dangerous expeditions or explorations in unknown parts; notably, the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medinah, and afterwards to Harar, now opened up to Europeans, and the discovery and opening up of the Lake Regions of Central Africa, and the sources of the Nile, a country now well known to trade, to missionaries, and schoolmasters.
"(5) Have been twenty-five years and a half in the Consular Service, eight to nine years in official bad climates.
"(6) Was sent in 1864, as H.M.'s Commissioner, to the King of Dahomé, and resided with him for three months.
"(7) Was recalled at a moment's notice from Damascus, under a misrepresentation, and suffered heavy pecuniary losses thereby. My conduct was at last formally approved by the Government, but no compensation was given.
"(8) Was sent in 1882 in quest of the unfortunate Professor Palmer and his companions, who were murdered by the Bedawi.
"(9) Have learnt twenty-nine languages, passed official examinations in eight Eastern languages, notably Arabic, Persian, and Hindostani.
"(10) Have published over forty-six works, several of which, like 'Mecca,' and the 'Exploration of Harar,' are now standard."
* * * * *
"23, Dorset Street, Portman Square, London, W.,
"October, 1886.
"I have now written to Lord Salisbury, that since the Treasury declines to concede to me full pay before full time of service, and that the £300 a year to which I think I am entitled by regulation, were I to resign the service, is hardly an equivalent of forty-five years' hard work in anything but wholesome climates, to beg of him to favour me by placing my name upon the Civil List for a pension of £300 a year.
"There are precedents for such a privilege, but I would not quote names unless called upon to do so. I have told his Lordship that I have had several kind letters from all quarters, expressing their conviction of the reasonable nature of my request, and professing themselves willing to strengthen his hands by their support, in the hopes that such a favour may be conceded, the general idea being that mine is an exceptional case. I have ventured to assure his Lordship that I have every reason to hope that (this being no political question) the Press on both sides will be in favour of this act of grace, should it meet with his approval.
"I suggested that if there be any difficulty about my drawing Consular pension and Literary pension, that the Literary pension might be put in my wife's name, she being also an authoress and my coadjutor.
"I now beg to thank you for your kind expressions on my behalf, and to ask you whether you will crown them by writing to Lord Salisbury in such terms as will win this petition for me.
"I am,
"RICHARD F BURTON."
WHAT THE WORLD THOUGHT ABOUT IT.
(Press cuttings from many papers.)
"Richard Burton, four years before his death, wrote to the Government that the climate of Trieste was killing him, and begged that he might, after forty-five years of public service (nineteen in the Indian Army, and twenty-six in the Consular Service, always in bad climates), be allowed, at the age of sixty-six, to retire on full pension. He said if there were any difficulty from the Treasury to make up full Consular pension, that perhaps his services might be recommended to the Civil List, so as to make up £600 a year; and that if that could not be granted, that the latter might be put in his wife's name, she being an authoress, and his coadjutor in all his services.
"He said he would not be so tedious as to quote all his services, but would venture to lay a few facts before their lordships which might earn some consideration. That this being no political question, he was sure the public and the press would endorse it heartily as an exceptional case.
"Over forty-seven of the greatest names in the kingdom supported this petition, as well as the press on both sides, but it was refused."
PENSION.
Court and Society Review.
"The many friends of Sir Richard Burton are endeavouring to obtain for him permission to retire from the Consular Service with his pension a few years before the usual time, and, considering the services rendered by the veteran explorer to his country and to the world at large, and the ludicrous inadequacy of the rewards meted out to him, there is nothing very extravagant in such a request. How great his claims to generous treatment really are is a matter of which most people are probably but ill informed. Thus, within the last few weeks it has been stated in a score of newspapers that Sir Richard Burton was 'the author of the system of bayonet exercise in use in the British army.' Quite true. But how is it that no one has added the trifling fact that Sir Richard Burton's reward for that work was a severe official 'wigging,' and, when the necessity for a system of bayonet exercise could no longer be concealed, permission to draw upon the Treasury for the munificent sum of one shilling?
"In 1861, again, Sir Richard Burton was treated with egregious injustice. He had dared to hint in the days of John Company that the Court of Directors had been guilty of neglect of duties, and the truth of his view was proved by the fact that, had his counsel been followed, the massacre of Christians at Jeddah in 1851 would never have occurred. This was quite enough. He had been in the right, and his official superiors in the wrong. A black mark was, therefore, put against his name; and when the Indian Army passed, three years afterwards, from the Company to the Crown, the grudge was paid off. He being then on half-pay, had been appointed by Lord Russell Consul at Fernando Po. There are scores of instances of officers being allowed to take civil appointments whilst still upon the cadre of the Staff Corps in India. But the opportunity was too tempting. Burton had offended the 'big-wigs,' and, without the chance of appeal, his nineteen years of service were wiped out, and he was left without pay or pension. Even the Whigs of a quarter of a century ago recognized the injustice with which he had been treated, and so, after his famous expedition to Dahomé, he was appointed Consul at Damascus. There, unfortunately, he was found to be in the way. He would not sit by and watch threatened massacres or injustice to the Christian population, and so, at the request of Rashid Pasha, was removed by Lord Granville, who, as Lady Burton says, with some bitterness, 'is always complaisant and polite to foreigners.' A few months later Lord Granville found out his mistake, and made such reparation as he could by appointing Sir Richard Burton Consul at Trieste, where he has since remained, in the enjoyment of the colossal income of £600 a year, less official outgoings.
"It is surely not too much to ask that a man who has been thus treated--who has served his country for forty-four years, and always under the most arduous conditions--should be allowed to pass the evening of his days in retirement in the enjoyment of the very modest pittance to which his latter official services entitle him. He has sown, and others have reaped; and there can surely be no impropriety in allowing the very small boon which his friends ask for him. If he had associated himself with the South Kensington ring in 1851, he would have received his knighthood a dozen years ago, and there would have been no necessity for his friends to be troubling themselves now about his pension."
The Bat, December 7th.
"I do most sincerely trust that Sir Richard Burton's friends will be successful in obtaining for him an adequate retiring allowance from his post at Trieste. Wherever modern deeds of daring are known, there is the name of Burton held in honour; and even in these days of exploration and travel, I stand amazed opposite a shelf containing the record of Burton's travels. In literature and scholarship he is not less distinguished than in geography; and yet he has been left to languish, year after year, in a place like Trieste, which is precisely one of those places which would suit the intellect and capacity of the average Foreign Office hack. After forty-five years of most eminent public service Sir Richard wants to come home to live in peace, and the question is whether he is to have a proper pension to enable him to do so. He is within four years of completing the term which would entitle him to a retiring allowance, for he has been in the Consular Service only since 1861."
Cutting from Truth, October 7th, 1886.
"There is a rumour that Sir Richard Burton wants to retire and take his pension, but that after forty-five years' service (nineteen military and nearly twenty-six consular) the pension is so small that he is driven to choose between losing his health in the pestilential drainage of Trieste, or retiring on something less than the necessaries of life. He might receive a pension for soldierly services, one for consular and diplomatic, and one for literary and linguistic services. This is not a political question, and it is one of those exceptional cases in which the country would willingly see the rigour of departmental law suspended, and a fair pension granted."
[Sidenote: Chow-chow.]
In August we went up to the Exhibition at Edinburgh to see our dear old friend Mr. Mackay Smith, to whom we wished good-bye on the 26th of August, and we never saw him again; and Mr. David Herbert, also a friend of Richard's.
From thence we went to Glasgow to see Mr. and Mrs. Crawford, Mr. Clouston, who was contributing some notes to the "Arabian Nights," Mr. Gibbs, and Mr. David Main, publisher, bookseller, and poet.
From Glasgow we went to stay with Mr. Alexander Baird at Urie, Stonehaven, where we met a very pleasant party: amongst others Sir Samuel and Lady Baker. We returned to Edinburgh, thence to London.
In Edinburgh we looked after publishers and "Swords."
On the 18th of September Mr. H. Irving gave us a very agreeable supper at the Continental Hotel, and Mr. Arbuthnot a pleasant dinner at Richmond. Mr. George Paget was with us. We sauntered on the bridge and watched the boats.
Richard notices a lunch at "dear old Larking's, aged eighty-five," who sheltered him when going to Mecca; and that we had a very pleasant dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Labouchere at Twickenham, and Richard dined with the "Odd Volumes;" also a delightful lunch with G. A. Sala, and one pleasant party at the Dowager Lady Stanley's of Alderley.
We saw a good deal of Count Téleki, who was starting on his African travels, and we had a pleasant lunch with Mrs. (now Lady) Jeune.
On return we went to Wardour, where there had been a great storm; some big oaks had been torn up in the pheasant copse near the Castle, a shepherd's hut had been lifted up and dashed to pieces, and a ploughshare had been blown along. We came in for an amusing village dance. Thence we went to Bournemouth for two days, where we met a good number of friends, dining with Sir Richard and Lady Glyn; then to Eastbourne to see an old friend of my girlhood, the Comtesse de Noailles, where we met Captain Jephson, who afterwards went with Mr. Stanley to Africa.
Lord Iddesleigh was now our Chief at the Foreign Office, and both he and Lady Iddesleigh were extremely kind to us, and we had a delightful dinner at their house.
My father's dear old home was quite empty, and before the keys were given up, Richard and I went all over it on the 18th of September, and took a solemn leave of it. On the 27th of September Richard had his last (independent) jolly night with his men-friends. He dined at Boodle's to meet Prince Salms, and then he went to Mr. Deutsch's, and he came home at half-past one, having had a very agreeable evening, but it was for the last time in that kind of way. We had a dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Ashbee's to say good-bye to Count Téleki before going to Africa, and I gave him a talisman.
On the 6th of October we went to hear Mr. Heron Allen's lecture on palmistry at the Vestry Hall, Hampstead.
[Sidenote: His Third Bad Attack of Gout without Danger.]
Richard had been having little attacks of gout off and on--bad one day, and better and well within two days--and had been plying up and down between Oxford and London. On the 19th of October I had a cab at the door to take me to Liverpool Street to go on a visit to my convent in Essex, but most fortunately, before I stepped into it, a telegram was put into my hands, saying, "Gout in both feet; come directly;" so I started for Oxford there and then, arriving in one hour and a half after I received the telegram. I found him quite helpless, not being able to put either foot to the ground, and very feverish and restless. It was a misty, muggy day, and there was thunder and lightning, and buckets of rain all that day and night till twelve o'clock the following day. The morning after my arrival I ambulanced him up to town, everything being prearranged by telegraph, and Dr. Foakes, his gout doctor, to meet us at our lodgings.
This was his third bad attack of gout since 1883--eight months, three months--and this time he was in bed several weeks. All his friends used to come and sit with him; amongst others, I remember Lord Stanley of Alderley, Mr. James Cotton of the Academy, St Clair Baddeley, Mr. Arbuthnot, Miss Bird, J. H. McCarthy, junior, Mr. Anderson the author, African traveller, and discoverer of the third movement of the Earth, used to come and amuse him.
On the 10th of November, 1886, the first volume of my "Nights" came out.
After nearly six weeks' confinement to the house, Richard thought that he should like to try Dr. Kellgren, of Eaton Square, who went in for shampooing, and gives a kind of athletic treatment for these complaints, and I went down to Eaton Square first to see what it was like. On the 29th of November he came, and it was a very curious experience. He arrived with a young lady called Miss Alice, who is his right hand. They first treated me for quite a different malady, and my yells amused Richard very much, because he did not know that it was not a joke. He was afraid to let anybody come into the room, for fear that they should shake his foot, and he was presently being driven round the room like a wild beast. This was kept up for several days, and there is no doubt that, awful as it seemed, he was able to go down to Dr. Kellgren's in Eaton Square in a brougham with me, with restoratives in the carriage, on that day week, and he got gradually better. We were able to drive to Putney and lunch with Swinburne and Mr. Watts.
This is his own account of it--
"Three short visits to Oxford and one long one in a single month were sufficient to bring on a disabling attack of gout--my third attack of gout, which threatened to last. It was made as pleasant to me as it could be, by the kindness and attention and sympathy of such men as Professors Chandler, Sayce, and many other kind friends; and, helpless in both feet, 20th of October, I was ambulanced up to London by my wife, men to carry me from bed to train at each end, and bed in train. I went through my first treatment by Dr. Foakes, the rhubarb and magnesia man, but though the drugs formed a good prophylactic, they failed to subdue a sharp attack. After six weeks of bed, I determined upon a neck-or-nothing treatment, and sent my wife to fetch me Dr. Kellgren, the celebrated Swede, concerning whom there is such a variety of opinions in London. The treatment is simply horrible; the gouty limb, which can hardly bear the noise of a person passing over the carpet, is shampooed and twisted and pumped up and down till the patient is in absolute agony, and as soon as he is able to stand upon it he is driven round the room like a wild beast. There seems to be some danger in the practice; the lithic acid expelled from the joint is absorbed into the circulation, and in the protean malady no one can tell when or where the mischief may break out--in stomach, brain, or heart. However, the treatment was for the moment most successful, and after a week I was able to crawl downstairs, limp into a cab, and visit Mr. Kellgren's establishment, No. 1, Eaton Square.[3]
"The improvement continued, and we determined to pass our Christmas at Garswood with our uncle, the late Lord Gerard. He had always been both to me and to my wife a kind and generous friend, and a second father. It was her second home, and it was with heartfelt sorrow that we saw him fast declining, and felt sadly sure that we should not see him again; and so it proved, for after much difficulty he was persuaded to go up to town and take the best medical advice, but two days after was found dead in his bed. He belonged to that old school of good and gallant English gentlemen, which in its time made the name of Englishmen a word of honour throughout the civilized world. We took the opportunity of going over to Knowsley, which is a mere drive, where we found a large party, and we then returned to London, and were invited to Hatfield, where we also found a large Christmas party. On the 1st of November we said good-bye to Lady Marian Alford, who was declining in health, and we had a fear that we should not see her any more."
Richard notices on the 11th of November the death of our old friend the Dublin philanthropist, Sir John Lentaigne, and on the 8th of December he writes feelingly about the death of Lady Orford at Florence.
The day before we left London for good (January 4th, 1887), we saw and said good-bye to "Ouida" for the last time, and on the 5th he notices the death of Sir Francis Bolton.
[1] It might be remarked, "Why did he ever leave me behind?" Sometimes it was a press of double business, requiring two people in different places, but mostly it was lack of money. If there was enough for one, he went; when there was enough for two, we both went.--I. B.
[2] Richard's retiring pension--full pension for his four last years.
[3] N.B.--I could often wish that that treatment had never taken place. I cannot help connecting subsequent misfortunes with it.--I. B.
XIII. WE LEAVE ENGLAND
1887.
1887 opened with fearful weather, fog and snow. On the 5th of January we left London for good, and went to the Pavilion Hotel, Folkestone, where Richard could see his own relations, who had several large receptions for us, and were glad to leave the fog behind us about twelve miles away from London.
On the 12th we were very shocked and sad at getting a telegram announcing Lord Iddesleigh's death. The last thing this kind and noble-hearted man did, was to send down a basket of game, because Richard was not well. The following day, on a foggy, rainy, raw, and breezy day, we crossed for Paris, where we generally lodged at Meurice's. Here Richard enjoyed the society of our friend Professor Zotenberg, and was delighted with the library, the Bibliothèque Nationale, where he found the Arabic original of "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp;" and we saw a great deal of Mr. Zotenberg. He is a friend I hope I shall keep all my life. Here I found dear Anna Kingsford exceedingly ill; she had been in bed ten weeks with inflammation of the lungs. She cheered up a little at seeing Richard and me, but we never saw her after, for she shortly died.
On the 20th of January Richard was not very well, and Dr. George Bird appeared opportunely. He was not at all pleased with the health of either of us, and especially of Richard, and he prescribed. We left the next day for Cannes, which we reached in eighteen and a half hours, greeting each other on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day in the train. Here we had to drive about and look for rooms, and were at last glad to get into the Hôtel Windsor, as we were rather done up.
[Sidenote: Cannes and Society.]
We thought Cannes very pretty, and so is most of the Riviera, and we could understand English people, who leave their truly abominable climate with never a bit of sun, rejoicing in it; but to people like us, who lived in every kind of climate, its faults were more apparent than its virtues. You have sun and blue sea and sky, cactus, small palms, oranges and figs, magnolias and olives, spring flowers and balmy air, but this is on the agreeable days. English people, we remarked, go and sit with beaming faces on benches fronting the sea, with the warm sun right in their faces, and a bitter biting wind driving against their backs and injuring their lungs, just as much as if the sun was not there, while the smells of drains, especially in the principal street, were something atrocious.
His journal goes as follows:--
"We had now nothing more to do in England. The weather had been frightful for three weeks, so we took rail to Folkestone, and left fog and rain behind us twelve miles from London. After a short visit to my sister, we crossed the Channel and arrived in Paris, where I wanted to translate the tales 'Zayn al Asnàn,' and 'Aladdin,' lately discovered in the original Arabic by my kind and obliging friend, Hermann Zotenberg, Keeper of the Oriental Manuscripts. The artificial heating of the fine reading-saloon was too much for my heavy cold, and I was obliged to satisfy myself with having the MSS. copied and sent after me. My condition became worse at Paris, and Dr. Bird said we should go south without further delay. Here we parted with my wife's friend and colleague in philanthropy, Dr. Anna Kingsford, M.D. She was in the last stage of consumption, suffering from mind and soul, distressed at the signs and sounds connected with vivisection. Her sensitive organization braved these horrors in order to serve and succour, but both she and my wife could not help feeling that their efforts were in vain. We took the so-called train de luxe, which proved terrible for shakiness. We arrived at Cannes on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day, and after weary searching for lodgings, were glad to find comfortable rooms at the Hôtel Windsor. The Riviera was beautiful with the bluest skies and sea, sunshine, crisp breeze, and flowers; the greenest vegetation, always excepting the hideous eucalyptus, everywhere clad in rags and tatters like the savages in their native land. The settlement contains, in round numbers, six hundred and fifty villas, large and small. The Society was the gayest of the gay, ranging from Crown Princes of the oldest, to American millionaires of the newest. Cannes is a syren that lures to destruction, especially to the unseasoned patient from the north; the bar-pressure is enormous; the gneiss and schiste and porphyry rocks suggest subterranean heat, and nerves suffer accordingly. Behind the warm sunshine is a raw breeze, and many of the visitors show that look of misère physiologique, reminding one of Madeira. One meets with friends without number,[1] and what with breakfasts, lunches, five-o'clock teas, dinners, balls, and suppers, not to speak of picnics and excursions, time is thoroughly taken up, but, as a place for invalids, it appeared to us one of the most dangerous. The Rue d'Antibes, or High Street, is at once a sewer and a bath of biting cold air; the strong sea-breeze setting in on the fair esplanade before noon chills to the bone, and a walk in the shade from the burning sun is too severe a change for most constitutions. A great drawback is the vile drainage, and also the want of a large pump-room or salon--not a café or a club--where the World can meet. There, during the few rainy weeks, when the south-eastern or the south-western winds blow, the absence of promenoirs in the hotels is a serious inconvenience."
We called immediately upon our old friend Dr. Frank, and he and Lady Agnes Frank introduced us to all the Society there, and we were very gay indeed. Richard had the honour of dining twice with the Prince of Wales. We went to Lady Murray's fancy dress ball given in honour of the Prince, where Richard appeared for the last time as a Bedawin Arab, and I as Marie Stuart; and Mr. and Mrs. Walker also invited us to a garden-party to meet their Royal Highnesses. We had the honour of being invited to breakfast by their Imperial Highnesses the Prince Leopold and Princess of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. She was the Infanta of Portugal. We were presented to the Archduke Mecklenburg-Schwerin, and Richard was invited to dine with him; and we were sent for by the Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden; and of literary people we met Sir Theodore and Lady Martin, and Miss Dempster, the author of "Blue Roses," and an immense quantity of charming people. We had a delightful breakfast with Monsieur and Madame Outrey, and with Mrs. Ince-Anderton, at the Californie, and met M. Lematte, a great painter from Algeria. On the 12th of February the Albany Memorial at Cannes was consecrated in the presence of the Prince of Wales. It seemed to be nothing but an incessant round of gaiety. I mention these things because it was our last little gleam of the gay world. We took an immense quantity of walks and drives, made excursions, but unfortunately Richard found one of Dr. Kellgren's men, Mr. Mohlin, and he would go on working at the savage treatment with him, which I am almost convinced he had not the strength to bear. My belief is, though we did not know it, that he had a bad cold, brought on by the awful weather in England, which had given him a chill on the liver, whereas he was being treated for suppressed gout.
He began now to think about translating literally the "Pentamerone of Basili." He spoke the Neapolitan dialect very fluently as a boy.
[Sidenote: The Earthquakes--Riviera.]
On the 23rd of February, 1887 (Ash Wednesday), he writes--
"Was a black-letter day for Europe in general, and for the Riviera in particular. A little before six a.m. on the finest of mornings, with the smoothest of seas, the still sleeping world was aroused by what seemed to be the rumbling and shaking of a thousand express trains hissing and rolling along, and in a few moments followed the shock, making the hotel reel and wave. The duration was about one minute. My wife said to me, 'Why, what sort of express train have they got on to-day?' It broke on us, upheaving, and making the floor undulate, and as it came I said, 'By Jove! that's a good earthquake.' She called out, 'All the people are rushing out in the garden undressed; shall we go too?' I said, 'No, my girl; you and I have been in too many earthquakes to show the white feather at our age.' 'All right,' she answered; and I turned round and went to sleep again. She did her toilette as she had intended, and went off to Mass and Communion for Ash Wednesday, as she was obliged to do. It did less harm at Cannes than at Nice or Mentone. It split a few walls, shook the soul out of one's body, and terrified strangers out of their wits. One side of Cannes felt very little, and the other side, upon which we were, caught the rebound from the mountains, and we felt it very much, but neighbouring towns, especially Nice, Mentone, and chief of all Diana Marino, suffered terribly. Mentone seemed as if freshly bombarded, and Diana, where the focus was supposed to be, showed a total wreck, with much loss of life. Savona was much shaken, and the quake frightened Genoa and Rome, Avignon and Marseilles. (Even in 1890 many ruins had not been repaired.) Seven minutes after the first shock came another and a heavier shake, which increased the panic, and a third explosion, between half-past eight and nine, cleared out all the hotels.
"Scenes ludicrous and tragical were the rule. At first the hotel folks began a mob's rush for the gardens, habited no matter how, into the streets. An Italian count threw his clothes out of the window, flew downstairs, and dressed under a tree. Ancient fashionable dames forgot their wigs, and sat in night-gowns and shawls under the trees. An Englishman ran out of his tub with his two sponges in either hand, but all the rest of his belongings were forgotten. The pathetic side was the women and children shrieking for their families, and fainting and fits and arrested action of the heart caused some deaths. A host of terror-stricken visitors crowded the railway stations, and, to the great praise of the authorities, were sent away as fast as they could fill the trains--hotel-keepers and railway authorities trusting--and it is said they carried off thirty thousand visitors in one day. A well-known capitalist hired a railway carriage at five hundred francs a night to sleep in. Many of those departing in the trains were absolutely in their night-gowns, and abandoned their baggage. It was the beginning of several lasting illnesses. When my wife came in, she went to take her coffee, during which there was another great shock. She came in at once to me and begged me to get up, but I would not. About nine o'clock there was another bad shock, and she again begged me to get up. I thought I would by this time, for it was getting too shaky, and if the house did come down I did not want to be buried in the ruins, and to cause her to be so too; so I slowly got up and dressed, during which operation she gave me the religious side of the question. The priests had flocked to one church, and there were seventeen hundred scared people, who had neglected their religion, fighting to get into the confessionals. There was one (French) woman who had flown into an Abbé's room, and flung herself upon his bed, shrieking, 'Get up! get up, Father! I have not confessed for twenty years.' The poor Abbé did get up, but a shock flung him against the wall, and he fainted; but when he came to, he heard the woman's confession. Now, if people know that it is necessary to go, what fools they are to put it off till they are utterly irresponsible!"
Here are some rather incoherent lines on the margin of his journal--
1. "Seven thousand years have fled, the primal day Since, Lufifi, thou wast evangelized. How didst thou fall? say, mooncalf, say. Seven thousand years! and yet hast not had time To think the thoughts that take an hour to rhyme?
2. "Was it ambition lost thee Heaven? all That makes an angel worse than human fool? Or was it pride? But pride must have a fall, Learns every schoolboy in each Sunday school. Can such base passion rule abstract minds?"
"This influx continued for several days. My wife and I went about our usual business, writing, calling, driving, and the principal amusement was watching the trains fill up with terrified people, some of them very scantily dressed, wrapped in a bed-curtain tied up with a bell-rope. I enjoyed it as much as a schoolboy, for I took notes and caricatured them in their light costumes. Although there were only three severe shocks, the ground seemed to suffer from a chronic trembling, that kept people in a continuous state of nervous agitation, and a few sensitives declared they could perceive distinct exhalations which made them sea-sick. We perceived it till we got to Milan, which was off the line of earthquake--that was not till twenty-five days after; and it was noticeable there that on the 20th of March all the clocks stopped at 12.40 owing to excess of electricity.
"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales showed his accustomed coolness in time of danger; he dressed leisurely before leaving his apartment. As I said, my wife and I had had ample experience of earthquakes in various quarters of the globe, and remained quiet till the upheavals were over, and afterwards went to call upon our friends."
[Sidenote: Richard becomes an Invalid.]
On the 24th I got very uneasy about Richard. I saw him dipping his pen anywhere except into the ink. When he tried to say something, he did not find his words; when he walked, he knocked up against furniture. He would not take any medicine, because we were to leave next day to go over to Nice to inspect the ruins, from thence to Mentone ditto, and then make our way straight back to Trieste; but I took him to Dr. Frank, who was a very old friend of ours, and whose wife, Lady Agnes, had made our visit to Cannes thoroughly happy. Dr. Frank examined him, found him as sound as a bell, prescribed rest, and thought I was nervous. On the 25th the same symptoms returned, and on the 26th, though we had packed up, I absolutely refused to move; and Richard said, "Do you know, I think that that earthquake must have shaken me more than I was aware of." Now, it was not only the shocks of earthquake, but that the earth for several weeks kept palpitating in a manner very nauseating to sensitive people, and he was intensely so. He forbade me to send for Dr. Frank, saying it would pass; but I disobeyed.
Dr. Frank, thinking I had got a "fad," did not hurry, but, passing by on his rounds, thought he would look in and say good-bye. He stayed with us half an hour, assured us that Richard was all right and as sound as a bell, and was just feeling his pulse once more preparatory to saying good-bye. While his pulse was being held, poor Richard had one of the most awful fits of epileptiform convulsions (the only one he ever had in all his life), an explosion of gout. It lasted about half an hour, and I never saw anything so dreadful, though Dr. Frank assured me he did not suffer, but seemed doubtful as to whether he would recover. When Dr. Frank told me that he thought it doubtful he might not recover, I was seized with a panic lest he might not have been properly baptized, and asking Dr. Frank if I might do so, he said, "You may do anything you like." I got some water, and knelt down and saying some prayers, I baptized him. Soon the blackness disappeared, the limbs relaxed, he opened his eyes, and said, "Hallo! there's the luncheon bell; I want my luncheon." Dr. Frank said, "No, Burton, not to-day; you have been a little faint." "Have I?" he said. "How funny! I never felt anything." To make a long story short, that was the beginning of his being a real invalid. As soon as he was well enough to be spoken to about his condition, I told him what I had done, and he looked up with an amused smile, and he said, "Now that was very superfluous, if you only knew;" and after a pause he said, "The world will be very much surprised when I come to die," but he did not explain his meaning. I did not know the full significance of it; I could only guess. There were attending upon him, Dr. Frank who managed his case; Dr. Legg came once, but Dr. Brandt and Dr. Grenfell-Baker (who was there for his health) came every day and relieved guard, Dr. Brandt sleeping there at night. I had a trained nurse, Sister Aurélie of the Bon Secours, Lisa my maid, and myself always, so that he was well looked after.
Dr. Frank found that it was impossible for me to move without a travelling doctor. Richard strenuously resisted it for several days, saying "he should hate to have a stranger in the house; that we should never be by ourselves; that we should have an outsider always spying upon us, who would probably quarrel with us, or hate one or both of us, and make mischief, and confide all our little domestic affairs to the world in general; that a third was always in a nondescript position." Now, this was a risk we had to run; but I argued that if we put by £2000 of our "Arabian Nights" money and gave ourselves four years of doctor (till 1891, unless he previously got quite strong), that it would tide him over the worst crisis of his life into a strong old age, and that as soon as he was free from Government, and we settled down at home, we should be in the land of doctors, and free to live by ourselves again, and to do what he liked, which had already been arranged for 1891. He then consented. I telegraphed to England, and Dr. Ralph Leslie was sent to us. As soon as the case was handed over to him, we commenced our Via Crucis to Trieste.
It was astonishing, in spite of malady, what wonderful cool nerve Richard had in any accident or emergency.
[Sidenote: His own Account of it.]
This is his own account:--
"I was not fated to escape so easily. Just as we were packed up and on the point of starting for Nice to see the ruins, and we were in the act of saying good-bye to our old friend of twenty-four years, Dr. Frank, I was suddenly struck down by an acute attack of cerebral congestion, the result of suppressed gout. For a time I was ordered to be kept absolutely quiet, confined to bed and sofa with a diet of broth and bromide, milk and soda-water, and was carefully nursed. My wife felt that though she had successfully nursed me through seven long illnesses since our marriage, that this was a case beyond her ken. Dr. Frank also explained to me that circumstances might arise which would require an educated finger to feel the pulse, and to give instant remedies, where all the tenderness and care of my wife's nursing would be without avail. So, after strenuously opposing a course which I felt would be a grievous burthen to our lives, and be a most unpleasant change, I saw reason in it, and I allowed her to telegraph to London for a physician who was on the look-out for a travelling appointment, and was skilled in such matters, to take temporary charge of my case. In contending on this subject, she said, 'How many valuable lives are lost by friends saying, "If you are not better by to-morrow, we must send for the doctor;" or in the night, "When it is light we will send for the doctor"! Remember poor H----.' She was obstinate in her determination not to risk these things, and resolved to lose no chance of passing me through my three or four years' crisis into a sound old age. A man living in London, surrounded by the ablest doctors in the world, may dispense with this disagreeable luxury; not so, however, an exile in a foreign port town. A foreign doctor, however clever, finds it difficult to treat an Englishman, only because he has never understood or never studied a Britisher. I think, if it had not been for my wife, I should have died of inanition in my first two long attacks of gout, eight months in the winter 1883 and 1884, and three months of 1885. From the two first in Trieste I rose a perfect skeleton, which made me determine never to spend another winter there, even if I had to leave the Service. However, the Foreign Office, which has ignored me in every way else, has been merciful about 'leave,' and I hope to be a free man in March, and a Londoner in September, 1891.
"The Trieste apothecary can seldom make up English recipes, Either he has not the needful drugs, or he needs four or five days to get them, and he sells the worst quality at the highest prices. English drugs are considered strong enough to kill.
[Sidenote: Our Journey with Dr. Leslie.]
"On the eleventh day from the attack, Dr. Ralph Leslie, of Toronto, arrived. He visited all the doctors, took over the case, and stocked his medicine chest. We were able to leave Cannes on the 9th of March. We went to the Hôtel Victoria, Monte Carlo, because it was quieter than those near the gaming-tables. Here we took drives, and I became much better. We drove to Mentone to see the ruins, but we both got seedy going along--a sort of stifling--and just as we drove into the town there was another earthquake. Poor people were rushing into the streets bringing out their mattresses, carriages flying in all directions. We drove over the town and inspected everything, but did not put up for fear of a repetition of Cannes, so we drove back to Monte Carlo. Clouds gathered over Mentone. At midnight there was another shock. We were both seedy about eighteen hours, and my wife could feel the gases, I only the palpitation of the earth.
"On the 14th of March we drove over to Nice, and I was able to stand an excursion of six hours, and felt almost perfectly well. I had loads of visitors--Mr. Wickham, Mr. Myers (Professor Sayce's friend), and Father Wolfe, S.J. We only went once to the gaming-tables, and thought it very slow. My better half lost eighty-five francs in ten minutes. We determined after several days to start from Monte Carlo to Genoa. It was a big business for me, and we started by a 5.20 p.m. train. The trains had to crawl past the towns for fear of shaking down the buildings that remained, so that I was nine hours out, and as I had to be carried from the train to my carriage, which had been telegraphed for, another English family did me, and had got into it, and thereby also got our rooms and our supper; and when we arrived, they had to get us other rooms, and a bouillon for me, and we did not get to bed till two, but next day we got very good rooms.
"On the 18th of March we saw the death in the papers (as no one knew our whereabouts) of our poor uncle, Lord Gerard, and we were both very sad and agitated.
"Our next great move was to Milan, where everything was ready for us. At Milan there was still a great deal of electricity in the air, but thank God we were off the line of earthquakes.
"After staying some time at Milan, we moved on to Venice, and the air there, being of such a mild nature, immediately began to do me good. I could go out in gondolas, and took a little walk in the Piazzetta, and enjoyed it, and received visits from my friends, and on the 31st of March I passed a nice day without pain; on that day I bought a little Knight in armour. From Venice my wife telegraphed to our Vice-Consul, Mr. P. P. Cautley, to change the whole of the house, putting me in the rooms with the best climate, and reserving for ourselves a private apartment of six rooms, divided from the rest of the house and in the balmy corner.
"On the 5th of April I was able to write a little, and that day we went on to Trieste.
"The details of our melancholy journey will, I fear, scarcely interest any one but ourselves. It was a real Via Crucis, as I had to be ambulanced the whole way, and, being very weak, we were twenty-eight days accomplishing the twenty-eight hours of express train which lie between Cannes and Trieste, which was only varied by minor earthquakes till we reached Milan; at Genoa by the agitation of seeing Lord Gerard's death in the newspaper, and my wife having a large blood-cyst on her lip, which appeared soon after my fit, and which Dr. Leslie had to cut out at Milan. It was indeed a road of anguish and labour, and right thankful were we to find ourselves once more in our own home on the 5th of April, after being out ten months.
"Our climate is one sui generis; it is a perpetual alternative of the raw north-easter, called the Bora, and the muggy south-western, called Scirocco. The former often causes the quays to be roped, in order to prevent pedestrians being raised in the air and thrown into the sea, and within the last eighteen years it has upset two mail trains. Then there is the Contraste, when the two blow together, one against another, making a buffer of the human body. The Scirocco is a dry wind from the North African desert, and arrives at Trieste saturated with water, but still containing the muggy oppressing sensation so well known to travellers in Algiers, Tunis, and Marocco. Moreover, the old town is undrained, the quay is built over nine several sewers, some of large size, and it is said that the new town of Trieste is built upon ninety-two feet of old sewage, consequently the normal death-rate is at the lowest, thirty-five per thousand per annum, nearly double the amount of London, and in more than one winter it has ranged from seventy-five to eighty-five. Foreign residents here remark that a process of acclimatization must take place whenever they leave Trieste or return to it. However, on this occasion it did not maltreat me; indeed, an improvement in my case began at Venice, and continued when I reached my post."
We had some visits, and amongst other literary celebrities, Dr. MacDowall, and Madame Emily de Laszouska, née Gerard, Dr. Bohndorf, and Dr. Oscar Lenz and wife, African travellers; General Buckle, Madame Nubar, and Madame Artin Pasha. We used to sit a great deal in our garden, or in the gardens of Miramar, where he wrote on the margin of his tablets--
"F. G. HACKE'S NEW IDEA IN WORDS.
"'And is the sea alone? Even now I hear faint mutterings.' ''Tis the waves' mysterious distant whisper, Response of words like voice of the sea, Communing with its kind.' 'It seems a murmur sweeping low, And hurrying through the distant caves; I hear again that smothered tone, As if the sea were not alone.'"
We went as usual to Opçina, the Slav village of the Karso, to the Jäger, to Duino to visit the Princesses Hohenlöhe, and received many visitors of all nations, many of them exceedingly interesting.
[Sidenote: Drains.]
Almost the day after we arrived, Dr. Leslie inquired what smell it was that pervaded the house. We told him we did not know; we had often complained, but that we had never been able to have redress. So now he insisted on our having something done, or else our giving up the house, and that at once. The house suited us exactly, and we felt it would be dreadful to have to leave it, as we had an accumulation of fifteen years' household gods. But on our telling our resolution to our proprietors, they allowed a thorough investigation to be made, and we discovered two very serious drains, with old flues communicating with them directly to our apartment, and these were at once cleared out and built up, so that there were no more smells, and the house was comfortable after; but I often thought since, that we owed our escape from typhoid to our frequent travels.
[Sidenote: The Queen's Jubilee.]
On the 19th, 20th, 21st, and 22nd of June we made grand gala for the Jubilee. An address was drawn up and sent to her Majesty. The first day was devoted to service in the Protestant Church, which we attended officially; on the second we had a banquet and ball at the Jäger. Richard took the chair at dinner. He was brought down to dinner by his doctor, where he made a most loyal and original speech, which I insert; immediately after dinner he was taken upstairs again. It was the only occasion on which he would ever consent to wear his order of St. Michael and St. George.
"HER MAJESTY'S JUBILEE AT TRIESTE.
"The British subjects residing at Trieste have sent an address to her Majesty, signed by the whole colony, bound in dark red velvet, surmounted by the word 'TRIESTE' in gold letters.
"They collected a considerable amount amongst themselves, part of the Women's fund to go to the Queen's General Fund, and the rest to a local charity for distressed English.
"On the morning of the 20th there was divine service in the Protestant Church, which commenced with 'God save the Queen.' There was scarcely a dry eye in the church. Many of those present had not been home for thirty years or more.
"In the evening a grand banquet of seventy-five covers was presided over by Captain Sir Richard and Lady Burton, the vice-president being the Rev. Mr. Thorndike, the Consular Chaplain. All the members of the Consulate, Mr. P. P. Cautley, British Vice-Consul (now acting because of Sir Richard's recent illness), and Mr. Nicolas Salvari, assisting.
"The magnificent hall of the Jäger was adorned with flags, flowers, and lights; the centre-piece being the Queen's portrait, peeping out of a forest of laurels. Maestro Piccoli's band played during the banquet.
"Sir Richard Burton (who wore for the first time his decoration of St. Michael and St. George), although in very feeble health, rose to give the toast of the evening, and made a speech which caused every heart to dilate with pride and loyalty. He said--
[Sidenote: Richard's Speech.]
"'We are about to drink the health of the greatest Lady in the land! To-night is a great night for us, and a proud one! All the world is assembled to-night throughout the globe to do honour to one Woman, the only woman in history who for fifty years' glorious reign, as Wife, as Mother, as Sovereign, as Widow, as Mother of her people, has been a shining light in each of these capacities to the whole world!
"'This woman is our Queen! (Cheering.)
"'An English man or woman says with emotion, "MY Queen!" Why? Because she is enthroned in our hearts, she is enthroned on our domestic hearths, as if she belonged to each one of us separately and singly. When we say "OUR Queen!" we say it with pride, for we feel that we clasp hands all round the world, from England to our independent American cousins, to Canada, to India, to Australia, to New Zealand, more than half the globe being English-speaking peoples--ONE great Nation held together by ONE great Woman! (Cheers.)
"'An English man or woman may be individually mean and little; but they can never be so as a Nation. A man is mostly what his mother makes him. Show me a man noble, brave, loyal, strong, and true, and I can form a pretty good idea of the mother who bred him! (Hear, hear.)
"'We are singularly fortunate in the women of our Royal Family. Look at our Nation's idol, the Princess of Wales! That lady has been the pivot of greatness and attraction for over twenty-four years, with every eye fixed upon her; yet none have ever heard her say one word, none have ever seen her do, aught but what befitted a Queen! And what perhaps all do not know is, that although she may have been in public all day, perhaps tired, perhaps suffering, perhaps obliged to be in Society a greater part of the night, she never once omitted (so long as her children were little) to go into her nursery every evening at a certain hour to hear them say their prayers at her knee, lest those little prayers should ever become a mockery--just as any homely mother amongst us would do, if she had good sound sense and a womanly heart. (Hear, hear.)
"'With such women as these, we may confidently look forward to a long line of great kings, and feel that England's future strength and greatness, despite wars, despite political troubles, will endure to all time! (Cheers.)
"'Let nothing mar our conviviality to-night. Many of us may not see for years such a reunion in Trieste, some of us--never; but we shall be able, in future time, to close our eyes, and see in fancy dreams, all these kindly, beaming faces around us.
"'Let us unite in affectionate loyalty and reverence, in thankfulness, for the peace, prosperity, and advancement in civilization and humanity, which our Queen's fifty years' unique reign has brought to us and to the whole world.
"'May God's choicest blessings crown her good works! May she be spared for many long, happy, peaceful, and prosperous years to her loyal, devoted people! May her mantle descend upon her children and her children's children! And may the loving confidence between her Majesty and all English-speaking peoples, throughout the world, ever strengthen and endure to all time!
"'Now let Trieste hear for once, with one heart and one voice, a true British cheer!
"'HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN!'
"This toast was drunk with an enthusiasm equal to the demand, so that the hall and woods rang again with 'Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!' and cries of 'The Queen!' 'The Queen!' which lasted several minutes.
"Sir Richard then rose once more, and gave 'The Emperor and the Empress of Austria, whose guests we are! the Lord of the Land we live in!'
"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike made two charming speeches, the first in proposing the health of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and all the Royal Family, which was received with enthusiasm; the second in proposing the health of President Cleveland of the United States (the American Consul-General, Mr. Gilbert, and his predecessor, Mr. Thayer, being the only strangers invited). The respective national anthems were played after each of these four toasts.
"The healths of Sir Richard and Lady Burton were then enthusiastically drank, and as by this time Sir Richard was very fatigued, Lady Burton rose and returned thanks. Mr. Thayer then recited some of his own poetry in England's praise, very prettily done, showing the difference between the time of Queen Elizabeth and that of Queen Victoria.
"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike's health was then drank, and that of Mr. Cautley, Acting-Consul.
"The banquet was followed by songs executed by Miss Agnes Thorndike, who has a magnificent voice. 'God save the Queen' was sung with true devotion by the seventy-five English; then followed the ball, which was kept up with great spirit, and which was concluded with 'Sir Roger de Coverley' just before dawn.
"On the night of the 21st the British Consulate, Sir Richard Burton's private house, and the dwellings of most of the British residents, were brilliantly illuminated. Telegrams, letters, and cards of congratulation continued to pour in from all quarters. Mr. and Mrs. Craig had an evening fête with illuminated garden for forty English children on the 22nd, and this terminated the three days' festivities at Trieste.
"June 23rd, 1887."
Richard loved our house, and was always lamenting that we could not put it on wheels, and take it about with us wherever we went, because for Richard there were really a great many drawbacks in Trieste.
One of our amusements was to buy a lot of caged birds in the market, and taking them up to our rooms and letting them fly. It was such a pleasure to see them darting into the air with a thrill of joy; and if they were in any ways maimed, there was an almond tree just outside our window, and touching it, on which they used to hop until they recovered themselves.
He used now to take long walks with the doctor, and when he was tired he used to get a lift in a passing cart. Once, when we were up at Opçina, Daneu's poor little boy, only six years of age, broke his leg, which upset us all the more because he was so brave. He never cried, even during the setting.
[Sidenote: Ally Sloper.]
In early 1887 I received a diploma from Ally Sloper for having translated the "Arabian Nights," and wrote him the following letter:--
"St. James's Hotel, Piccadilly, W.
"January 2nd, 1887.
"DEAR FRIEND ALLY SLOPER,
"I was quite overcome to find that you had elected me a member of the Sloperies. I felt that I had really 'awoke and found myself famous,' and that my poor husband, who had spent thirty-two years in translating and perfecting the 'Arabian Nights,' wasn't in it at all. I did not feel at all like the bellows to the organ, or the fly on the wheel. Everybody says that since I have received the diploma I give myself such dreadful airs that nobody can live with me. When I have calmed down again, and grown used to my new honours, I will strive always to deserve the good opinion and confidence of the Sloperies, by emulating all that is best and noblest in the world, and doing the most useful work I can find for my remaining years.
"Yours always truly,
"ISABEL BURTON, F.O.S."
Then Richard received a diploma, and sent the following:--
"Cannes, February 23rd, 1887.
"DEAR OLD MAN,
"Excuse the familiarity of the address. You know that we have been friends for years, and I know that you have often done me a good turn. But really this last honour is overwhelming to a man who has some sense of shame remaining. 'F.O.S.!' I must try to 'live up' to that.
"Ever yours sincerely,
"R. F BURTON, F.O.S."
[Sidenote: We think of a Caravan.]
Finding Richard of such a restless disposition since his gouty attack, and that he only seemed to be well when moving, I wanted to substitute a kind of wandering about, as if in tents; and I thought that I might manage this by having a caravan built like the gypsy caravans--a larger for us, and a smaller for our suite, which would have been Lisa, a cook, a general servant, and a man to look after the eight white bullocks that I proposed to buy in the Roman Campagna. I thought that all the fine weather we could be perpetually on the move through the lovely scenery of Istria and Steiermark. The life would have suited us. Dr. Leslie heartily entered into my plan, but somehow it fell through.
A little incident happened (summer, 1887), trifling of its kind, but it made us sorry, as we were both fond of animals. A swallow built its nest in my study, and I had a pane of glass cut out of the window to enable it to come in and out. The five eggs were already laid and in process of hatching, when one of the birds died. It fell down dead, and the other bird kept trying to lift the dead body from the ground to the nest, but it was too heavy. We buried the dead swallow in our garden, and put up a little wooden epitaph; but the poor bereaved surviving swallow sat on the edge of the nest all the summer, looking at the eggs, until it flew away with the general departure of the swallows. When it had gone, we blew and strung the eggs, and hung them in the chapel. We preserved this nest sacredly, in the hopes others would come, and I hope it is there still. It made Richard a little superstitious, which superstition was verified.
We now prepared for our summer holiday. It began to be most dreadfully hot, and there were two cases of suspected cholera. One day arrived the two Princesses Hohenlöhe, Princess Taxis, and Prince Palavacini, and the Comte de Brazza to tea. These impromptu visits did Richard a great deal of good.
All this time we were treating him with electricity, and sponging in the morning and evening, and he seemed to get on wonderfully.
In June, Richard had two slight attacks--one a shaking of the legs, and one a staggering in the garden. These would have been, probably, fits if he had not been taken such immense care of. The chief thing he suffered from (it had been coming on for four years, had now declared itself in an aggravated form, and which there is no doubt finally killed him) was flatulent gases round the heart, which it was very difficult to get rid of, which assumed all the appearance of heart-complaint, and which caused the last struggle with life. I see so many people suffering from this nowadays, who do not know what it is, that it is good to mention it. He had one little room close to his bedroom, whose only light came from stained-glass doors. This was fitted up as an Oriental smoking-room, with divans, and well lit up with many Oriental lamps, was exceedingly pretty, and safe from draughts. Here every morning was put his full-length bath, which he could take, aided by the doctor and me, without fear of catching cold; and when he was dried and wrapped up, he would lie on the divan, and smoke and think out his day's manuscript, or receive a friend.
On the 26th of June we lost Madame Luisa Serravallo-Minelli, the nice girl who used to study the Akkas with him, and who had long since married Mr. Minelli.
During the whole of his illness, one of the kindest visitors to us was the Archduke Ludwig Salvator, who lived opposite us at the other side of Muggia Bay, constantly paid him a visit, and always sent his magnificent publications to him; for the Archduke is not only an author, but a first-rate artist, and illustrates his own books.
[Sidenote: He gets much better--We go for our Summer Trip.]
Richard writes--
"As a rule, the climate of Trieste has no spring; winter modified continues till the summer suddenly sets in; and in this July, 1887, the heat was abnormal. So on the 15th we set off to find summer quarters. 'We' meant my wife and I, Dr. Leslie, and Lisa, my wife's maid, who occupied a very peculiar position. The father was an Italian of Verona, had seceded to Austria, and when Austria left that part of Italy he came to live near Trieste. He had house and servants, carriages and horses, but he sacrificed everything for the 'cause.' The Italians would have none of him, the Austrians did not want him, and between two stools he came to the ground. He was either a baron in Verona, or Austria made him a baron for services. This title, of course, extended to the whole family; but the pension was only £60 a year, and they lived an hour from Trieste like peasants, and in a peasant's cottage. The sons found employment, and the daughters remained at home, but Lisa, being a girl of spirit, wanted to see something of the world, and she attached herself to my wife, retaining her title as Baroness.
"We stayed a day or two at Adelsberg. It is a delightful place, but there is something so peculiarly electrical about it, it never agreed with either of us. We also found the world-famous caves were spoiled by the electric light, and we who had known the weird and subterranean state, deeply regretted the old wax candles. We again left for Laibach, the capital of Carniola, in whose lowlands once a large lake (already mentioned) was full of pfahlbauten (pile villages), and where the enormous number of prehistoric relics were lately found.
"The next stage was by the Great Southern Railway to Pöltschach, and thence a beautiful drive to Rohitsch-Sauerbrunn, an hour and a half in the interior; but the great heat thoroughly tired me out, and I had a fortnight of bad health. A little sketch of Sauerbrunn may not be unacceptable, as an Englishman rarely finds his way to the place.[2] A small bad-ort, or bathing-place, has been laid out in the valley of the little stream, surrounded on all sides by densely wooded hills. On one side is the long line of buildings containing the Kursaal, the restaurant, and the baths where red-hot masses of iron are cooled in water by way of forming a chalybeate. Opposite is a row of buildings to contain visitors, and between the two, headed by a little Catholic church, are flower-gardens, with a band-stand, where lawn-tennis is not yet known. Two little temples covered the sources. A long promenoir contains shops, prolonging the public buildings to the east, and a scatter of village finishes the sketch. The visitors who fill the place during June, July, and August are from all the provinces of Austria, principally Hungarians, Croats, and Bohemians, with a few Triestines, some from Fiume, a few Roumanians, Turks, Greeks, and many Jews. The life, as may be imagined, is simple enough. They rise before the sun, walk about drinking the waters, and flock to the restaurant for rolls and café au lait. Then comes the bath, after which they sit under the trees, reading, writing, working, talking, smoking, and playing cards and dominoes until twelve. Then back to the restaurant for a déjeuner à la fourchette, which is really a dinner. The cooking was tolerable, the wines too, and the price half that of Maríenbad. After dinner comes siesta, in the afternoon strolling, more water-drinking, and listening to the band, the more active taking a walk to the top of the hills, or a drive up the carriageable roads. Then more water-drinking, and, lastly, a light supper between six and eight; and, unless there was a dance or a concert or a conjurer in the Kursaal, all were in bed soon after nine. At ten the place was as silent as the grave. The morrow was da capo.
"If not gay, it was peaceful and exceedingly restful to the tired brains, especially to the Herr Professor, who could only afford one month of utter dolce far niente after eleven of hard drudgery. The visitors vary from six to twelve thousand. The nicest drives are Rohitsch, to Pöltschach, and Marein, Graf Atems Schloss, Kostránitz, and Maríen Kirche. At Stoinschegg, a short walk, is a distiller of sligovic, which is the spirit-drink of the country, and he produces all sorts of liqueurs, of which prunes are the basis. Here we met our old friend Mr. Thayer, of Trieste. We hired a bath-chair and two men, so that we could walk, and when I was tired I could get in and rest and be drawn about, and so could my wife alternately.
"The peacefulness of this sort of life was broken by only four occurrences worth noticing. One was two violent thunderstorms, preceded by a sudden fall of hail as large as eggs. My wife and I, though four yards from shelter, were hard hit before reaching it. It broke all the tiled roofs like an earthquake or a bombardment. You could see into the interiors through the rags and tatters. It destroyed the crops, and the roads were strewed with large branches of trees. People came from all parts with broken heads; and the peasants brought in lumps of jagged ice that had fallen on the mountains, which, even after they had been melted by their hands and pockets for an hour, weighed ten deccas, or five ounces. The smooth ones were like goose's eggs, and the children played at ball with them for several hours. The first was on the 23rd of July, and after the people had rebuilt their roofs and premises it occurred again on the 14th of August, and did the same amount of damage. We had never seen anything like it, and when my wife, by my directions, wrote it to the English papers, the public disbelieved it, and said 'that the Burtons had been seeing wonderful things and telling wonderful tales.' It is a very curious, and not altogether unpleasant sensation, that of not being believed when you are speaking the truth. I have had great difficulty in training my wife to enjoy it, and frequently, for her instruction, have told a true story to a party of people and have been jeered at, or people have looked askance at me; and immediately after I have told them a most fantastic lie to punish them, they have gaped, and said, 'How wonderful! how interesting!'
"The second event was meeting with Monseigneur Strossmayer, the great Slav Archbishop, whose head-quarters are at Diakovar, where he has erected a palace and a guest-house. He is a little king in his own country, but is sometimes looked coldly upon by Austria, on account of his leaning towards Russia and Panslavism. He is a man of simple, affectionate, and patriarchal manners, and out of his Cabinet shows nothing of the politician or diplomatist; there is no doubt that he is one of the leading men of that part of the world in the present century. He was very kind to us. He took an especial affection for me, and visited me every day, when I was unable to leave my room.
"The third event was the reading of Dr. Salusbury's treatment by drinking nearly boiling water, which seemed to act like magic. I had been suffering from frequent pain and faintness, and I feared that I had something the matter with my heart.
"On August 29th, I saw my wife drinking some hot water, and asked her to give me some of it. No sooner had I got the cup than I exclaimed almost involuntarily, 'Oh, what a comfort!' I continued that treatment, and from that day faintness and trouble of the heart changed their character, and were no longer a terror to me. My strength increased, so that I could soon comfortably take long walks. Would that we had thought of it and tried it in 1884, in my first attack of gout!
[Sidenote: Some of our Royalties come to Trieste.]
"The fourth event was the arrival of the English Squadron, on September 9th, at Trieste, with the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, Prince George of Wales, the Marquis of Lorne, and Prince Louis of Battenberg. We wanted to return to Trieste and do more than our usual duty on the occasion, and contribute to the festivities in honour of the Royalties bringing the town of Trieste and the fleet into harmonious relation. This had been our pleasant duty for many years past, and now, on this, the grandest occasion of all, we were condemned to be absent. The doctor sternly forbade anything of the kind; he would not guarantee my life for half a day if I had to put on uniform, go on board, and be present at official receptions. The authorities kept telegraphing for my wife, but she would not leave me for an hour, so we both wrote our explanations and excuses to the royal secretaries, and through them offered our house to her Imperial Highness, who graciously accepted it, if need arose. I ordered our home to be put in suitable order, a major domo to be sent for from Vienna, the flag to be hoisted, a cold buffet always to be laid, the house to be illuminated every night, and was only disappointed on return to find that no Royalty, not even any of the officers, had honoured us by using the house.
"The Governor of Steiermark, Graf Gundaker Würmbrandt and the Gräfin, came over to see us, and also the Fabers."
On the 5th of September occurred the first of a series of a stopping of our horses, which happened three times during these years. We drove to look for the Chapel of Loretto. On the way back it was quite light in the afternoon; the horses, which were going a good pace, suddenly stopped still, backed, trembled, and sweated all over, and snorted and sobbed from their hearts. Nothing would induce them to go on, though the coachman flogged them. We all had to get out, and there was nothing to be seen to frighten them. I went to their heads, and patted and soothed them, while Dr. Leslie took care of Richard. They then bounded on for thirty yards or so, and we followed on foot and got in, and they went quite well. The coachman said he had driven for twenty years, and he had often read of these things, but he had never seen them.
We were now reading Mr. Stanley's book on Africa under the trees at Sauerbrunn.
On the 25th Richard bewails the death of Gozzadini, archæologist of Bologna.
"I strongly advise future visitors," he writes, "to leave Sauerbrunn the first week in September, as the rain and cold sets in, and the place becomes as deserted and melancholy as a ball-room after a ball. We did not want to return home, in spite of the Triestine proverb--
'Prima pioggia d'Agosto Rinfresca mar e bosco.'
We left Sauerbrunn on September 18th, and we broke our journey by a three days' visit to Abbazia, near Fiume, called in the high-falutin style, the 'Austrian Riviera.' We went with the object of choosing our rooms for the winter, and we one and all fell ill in consequence of the horrible drains in the main courtyard of the Stephanie Hotel; but we decided, and decided wrongly, that the evil would be abated during the winter season.
"We had now a visit at Trieste from Mr. Gibbs, of Egypt and Vienna, Mr. Ellis and Mr. Krause from Vienna.
"On our return home Dr. Leslie had an offer of what seemed a very good post, a yachting tour to India and China with a great man, and he wanted very much to accept it, for our present way of life was necessarily rather tame to a strong young man, accustomed to expeditions, who would have been just the thing for us in our old travelling days, but he must have found it hard to subdue himself to our changed conditions."
[Sidenote: We lose Dr Leslie, and Dr. Baker comes to us.]
Richard clamoured hard not to have any more doctors; he felt that we might do without, but I was now thoroughly broken down myself. I was unable to take anything that might be called a walk. Driving was sometimes very painful to me, and it would not have been safe to let him go alone. I could not be the same use that I had always hitherto been, though I could keep him company in the house, and be his secretary and nurse him, but I frequently turned faint and required assistance. I could not stoop to give him his bath, or shampoo him, and we were too far from the town to get an immediate doctor in emergency, so I begged him to bear with it a little bit longer, as he had done for the past seven months. I heard that Dr. Grenfell-Baker, who had been so kind to us at Cannes, was in bad health, that his health had driven him from London practice, and that he was looking for a travelling appointment, and I begged to be allowed to write and ask him to accept ours. I obtained permission, and he relieved Dr. Leslie on October 15th, 1887.
[1] I notice he was introduced to one lady whom he describes in his journal as "a charming kangaroo;" and it was so apt, so clever, as his comparisons always were.--I. B.
[2] Sauerbrunn has been already mentioned, but I want to give his description of it.