•» *

10001886381

THE LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF
NORTH CAROLINA

TVV?

4\vJ v«w^

e\Vj \ /

PRESENTED BY

*frs« Inglis Fletcher

B9738b

)

\ fi

(J I 1 || 1 X ( \ f\ \

l \ M M f \ | \ V ) / \ 1

This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS
ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE
CENTS a day thereafter. It is DUE on the
DAY indicated below:

SEP 2 5 1396

42ft

j9£

,y A

MAY 0 9 2006

i* ,

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2019 with funding from
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

https://archive.org/details/lifeofcaptainsir00burt_0

RICHARD BURTON IN HIS TENT IN AFRICA.

THE LIFE

SIR RICHARD F. BURTON,

K.C.M.G., F.R.G.S.

THE LIFE OF

CAPTAIN

(y 3-4 -i£>

& t

Sir RICHARD F. BURTON

K.CM.G. f F.R.G.S.

X.D

BY HIS WE

ISABEL BURTON

EDITED, WITH A PREFACE, BY

W. H. WILKINS

M.A.

AUTHOR! OF “THE ROMANCE OF ISABEL, LADY BURTON”

LONDON

DUCKWORTH & CO.

3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN

1898

ii Pi'eface to the New Edition.

it—for it is obvious that such a book could only be pub¬
lished after the writer’s death, when he had passed beyond
the reach of earthly praise or blame.

“ No man can write a man down except himself.” Burton
recognised this truth. And with a view to writing his own
life some day, he carefully kept almost every letter he
received, a copy of every important letter he ever wrote,
and all the papers and documents bearing directly or in¬
directly upon his career. He kept too his diaries and
journals, not as many keep them, with all the ugly things
left out, but faithfully and fully. We have the record of
his early years from his own pen, and this, though it does
not go far, at least does not err on the side of incomplete¬
ness. Once or twice he essayed to begin his own biography
—some fragments will be found in this volume—but pres¬
sure of literary and official work and other considerations
determined him to defer writing it until he had retired from
the Consular Service. Six months before the date of his
retirement he died, and so the book was never written.
Burton’s memory may have been the gainer (I do not think
so), but the world was undoubtedly the loser of a great
book, for he had told more than one of his intimate friends
that if ever he wrote the story of his life it would be the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And he
was a man of his word. He thought with St Jerome, “ If
an offence come out of the truth, better it is that the offence
come than that the truth be concealed.”

After his death the whole of his books, papers and docu¬
ments, together with his diaries and private journals, passed
into Lady Burton’s possession. He appointed her his sole
literary executor, and endowed her with complete discretion
as to the disposal of his papers. Lady Burton divided the
whole of these into two classes : first, his unpublished MSS. ;
and, secondly, the materials connected with his biography. Of
the first class it is not necessary to treat now ; she published
some during her lifetime, the remainder her sister has entrusted
to me to edit and prepare for publication.'* Of the second
she selected from his private papers and diaries such material

* One, “ The Jew, The Gypsy and El Islam,” was published May 1898.

Preface to the New Edition. iii

as she deemed right and advisable to be given to the world;
all the rest she burned, so that no human eye but her own
might look upon them, and when she had completed the
book before us she further destroyed all papers and docu¬
ments connected with the making of it. Thus it comes
about that this biography is the only authoritative biography
of Sir Richard Burton, and it is the only possible biography
which can make any pretence to completeness. As such it
must stand for all time. Other lives may be written of
him, but this book must remain as the only biography
based upon authentic documents prepared to some extent
by himself, and written from authoritative sources of infor¬
mation. What is not here is not in existence; for the
private journals and diaries which were full of the secret
thoughts and apologia of this rare genius have been com¬
mitted to the flames, and both he who wrote, and she who
alone read them, have passed into the Great Silence.

I have said that the only person who could have written
Burton’s life was Burton himself; but failing him there was
no one so worthy to undertake the task as his devoted wife,
whose love had encompassed him night and day for thirty
years, and who, after his death, guarded his good memory
and fair name against all the world. If Lady Burton
lacked some of the qualities of an ideal biographer, she
compensated for the want by the zeal and devotion which
inspired her in her task. She has given to the world
a human document indeed, a vivid word-portrait of the man
as she knew him , and none knew him in the latter part of
his life better than she, and none had acquired greater
opportunities for knowing all there was to be known about
him in the days before he had crossed her path.

Burton was forty years of age when he made his romantic
marriage with Isabel Arundell. His hot youth was over ;
the days of his most daring adventures and hair-breadth
escapes were gone as a tale that is told ; more than half his
life had passed, and that the wildest and most eventful.
After his marriage he settled down as well as he could into
official harness, not very quietly at the best of times, but
tame indeed compared with the Burton of Scinde, of Mecca,
of Harar, of Central Africa and Salt Lake City. It is not

Preface to the New Editio7t.

merely in the outward circumstances of his life that one may
trace the change in the man ; his wife’s great love influenced
him, elevated him, ennobled him; henceforth he did not live
only for himself. We can trace this subtle change in the
book before us ; it is not expressed, but we can read between
the lines. It may be that the side of his character he showed
to his wife, and on which she most loved to dwell, was not
the side the world knew best. It may even be that in
writing this book she so threw her soul into the work that
her own vivid and remarkable personality is engraved upon
it like a palimpsest, and her very self-abnegation produced
this unconscious result. I doubt if anv woman could do
justice to all aspects of Burton's character, for the psycho¬
logical difference between man and woman is as essential
as the physical; a woman's way of looking at things can
never be quite the same as a man’s, and Burton was of all
men intensely virile. But, even so, this book remains the
last crowning work of a devoted woman’s life, who loved her
husband with a love passing the love of woman.

Lady Burton wrote the whole of this compendious work
in eight months, three of which were spent in sorting the
material, and five in the actual writing. It was finished at
the end of March 1893, and the first edition was published
in the following May. These months, as indeed all of Lady
Burton’s life in England after her husband’s death, were
spent in arduous and unceasing work, which begun at 10.30
in the morning and lasted until 6.30 in the evening. Many
days she would work much later, far on into the night.
Generally in the morning she would do a certain amount of
work before breakfast, for the old habit of early rising clung
to her, and until her death she never broke herself off
the custom of waking at 5 o’clock in the morning. Thus
she was able to write this book in so short a time,
and when it is remembered that all the time she was
suffering acutely from a dire disease, which later proved
fatal, we can realize something of the magnitude of the
task. Lady Burton always said that she could never have
accomplished the work had it not been for other and higher
aid. She was an intensely religious woman, with a deep
sense of the spiritual nature of things ; every action of her

Preface to the New Edition . v

life was consecrated by prayer, and during the last years of
her life in England she seemed to live in communion with
the invisible. I once expressed to her my wonder that she
could have written the book in so short a time. She said,
with all the earnestness of conviction, that she could never
have done so alone ; often when in doubt as to how to
proceed she would seek help in prayer, and the help came ;
frequently when she wanted to look for a passage in one of
her husband’s books, or hunt up a reference, to find a missing
letter or paper, she sought guidance in the same way, and
the guidance came. No one could have convinced her that
she wrote the book alone. Be that as it may, she wrote un¬
doubtedly from the loftiest motives, and under the inspira¬
tion of a great and self-sacrificing love. It was her alabaster
box of spikenard, very precious, and when she had made
this last supreme offering to her husband’s memory she felt
that her life-work was done.

After the book was published Lady Burton’s health
gradually failed, and she died on the 25th of March 1896,
and was buried in the Arab tent at Mortlake, by the side of
him whom she loved so well. The story of her life I have
told elsewhere. I only allude to it here because it was so
fused with that of her husband one cannot mention one
without the other.

Five years have passed since the first publication of this
book, and already its object has been, to a great extent,
accomplished. Burton is more famous in death than in life.
It is generally recognised to-day that he was unfairly treated
by successive Governments, and often misunderstood by
the general public. Like another strange genius, Lord
Beaconsfield, the best years of his life were passed fighting
for recognition, and when recognition came it came too late.
Yet in Burton’s case this may not have been altogether the
fault of those in authority. Some men are born out of due
time: some are born too early, and some too late. Burton
was born too late. He belonged to the age of Drake,
Frobisher, and Raleigh. In the spacious days of Elizabeth
he would have found a field wide enough for his energies.
For the circumstances of his life, and the conventions of his
age, he was altogether too big a man. He chafed and

Preface to the New Edition,

fretted against them, and the very faults which hindered his
advancement would have counted to his credit three cen¬
turies before. Historians tell us that to appraise a man
correctly we must judge him by the standards of his time.
If that be so, then Burton’s case was one of the exceptions
which prove the rule, for, to judge him fairly, one must judge
him not by the standards of the nineteenth century, but by
those of the sixteenth.

It was in the hope that this book would tell the world
how great a man it had lost in him, and how much he had
been misunderstood and misjudged during his life, that
it was written. In the same hope this new edition is
brought forth. Would that it had been possible to publish
it intact. But it was found that the two bulky volumes
which formed the first edition could not possibly be com¬
pressed into one volume at a more popular price, and it was
Lady Burton’s wish that the book should be as widely known
as possible. Upon me, therefore, the task of revision has
devolved. I have endeavoured to carry it out by interfering
as little as possible with the original text. I have been
compelled to leave out the appendices, and two or three
chapters and portions of chapters on obsolete controversies
and subjects foreign to the narrative, essays in point of fact
on sundry questions, which would have been better included
in a separate volume. I have also deleted some press cut¬
tings and unimportant details not germane to the subject,
but that is all. The book remains to all practical purposes
as Lady Burton wrote it, a notable memorial to one of the
most picturesque and remarkable personalities of our era.

W. H. Wilkins.

November 1898.

FOREWORD.

In speaking of my husband, I shall not call him “Sir
Richard,” or “ Burton,” as many wives would; nor yet by the
pet name I used for him at home, which for some reason
which I cannot explain was “Jemmy nor yet what he was
generally called at home, and what his friends called him,
“ Dick ; ” but I will call him Richard in speaking of him, and
“ I ” where he speaks on his own account, as he does in his
private journals. I always thought and told him that he
destroyed much of the interest of his works by hardly ever
alluding to himself, and now that I mention it, people may
remark it, that in writing he seldom uses the pronoun /. I
have therefore drawn, not from his books, but from his private
journals. It was one of his asceticisms, an act of humility,
which the world passed by, and probably only thought one
of his eccentricities. In his works he would generally speak
of himself as the Ensign, the Traveller, the Explorer, the
Consul, and so on, so that I often think that people who
are not earnest readers never understood zvho it was that did
this, thought that, or saw the other. If I make him speak
plainly for himself, as he does in his private journals, but
never to the public, it will give twenty times the interest in
relating events; so I shall throughout let him speak for
himself where I can.

In early January, 1876, Richard and I were on our way
to India for a six months’ trip to visit the old haunts. We

Foreword.

• • •

Vlll

divided our intended journey into two lots. We cut India
down the middle, the long way on the map, from north to
south, and took the western side, leaving the eastern side for
a trip which was deferred, alas! for our old age and retire¬
ment. We utilized the voyage out (which occupied thirty-
three days in an Austrian Lloyd, used as a Haj, or pilgrim-
ship), and also the voyage back, in the part of the following
pages which refers to his early life, he dictating and I writing.

In 1887, when my husband was beginning to be a real
invalid, he lent some of these notes to Mr. Hitchman (who
asked leave to write his biography), Richard promising not
to tread upon his heels by his own Autobiography till he
should be free from service in 1891. It will not, I think,
do any harm to the reading public to reproduce it with
more detail, because only seven hundred people got Mr.
Hitchman’s, who did not by any means use the whole of
the material before he returned it, and what I give is the
original just as Richard dictated it, and it is more needful,
because it deals with a part of his life that was only known
to himself, to me only by dictation ; because everything that
he wrote of himself is infinitely precious, and because to leave
to the public a sketch of an early Richard Burton is desirable,
otherwise readers would be obliged to purchase Mr. Hitch-
man’s, as well as this work, in order to make a perfect whole.

I must take warning, however, that when Mr. Hitchman’s
book came out, part of the Press found this account of my
husband’s boyhood and youth charming, and another part
of the Press said that I was too candid, and did nothing to
gloss over the faults and foibles of the youthful Burtons ;
they doubted the accuracy of my information—I was in¬
formed that my style was too rough-and-ready, and of many
others of my shortcomings. In short, I was considered rather
as writing against my own husband, whilst both sides of the
Press in their reviews assumed that I wrote it; this charmed
Richard, and he would not let me refute. Not one word was
mine—it was only dictation, and peremptory dictation when
I objected to certain self-accusations. I beg leave to state
that I did not write one single word ; I could not, for I did
not know it—and all that the family objected to, or con-

Foreword.

sidered exaggerated, will not be repeated here. Before enter¬
ing on these pages, I must warn the reader not to expect
the goody-goody boy nor yet the precocious vicious youth
of 1893. It is the recital of a high-spirited lad of the old
school, full of animal spirits and manly notions, a lively sense
of fun and humour, reckless of the consequences of playing
tricks, but without a vestige of vice in the meaner or lower
forms—a lad, in short, who would be a gentleman and a man
of the world in his teens, and who, from his foreign travel,
had seen more of life than boys do brought up at home.

I do not begin this work—the last important work of my
life—without fear and trembling. If I can perform this sacred
duty—this labour of love—well,—I shall be glad indeed, but
I begin it with unfeigned humility. I have never needed any
one to point out to me that my husband was on a pedestal
far above me, or anybody else in the world. I have known
it from 1850 to 1893, from a young girl to an old widow, i.e.
for forty-three years. I feel that I cannot do justice to his
scientific life, that I may miss points in travel that would
have been more brilliantly treated by a clever man. My
only comfort is, that his travels and services are already
more or less known to the public, and that other books will
be written about them. But if I am so unfortunate as to
disappoint the public in this way, there is one thing that I
feel I am fit for, and that is to lift the veil as to the inner
man. He was misunderstood and unappreciated by the
world at large, during his life. No one ever thought of
looking for the real man beneath the cultivated mask that
generally hid all feelings and belief—but now the world is
beginning to know what it has lost. The old, old, sad story.

He shall tell his own tale till 1861, the first forty years,
annotated by me. Whilst dictating to me I sometimes
remarked, “Oh, do you think it would be well to write this?”
and the answer always was, “Yes! I do not see the use of
writing a biography at all, unless it is the exact truth, a very
photograph of the man or woman in question.” On this
principle he taught me to write quite openly in the uncon¬
ventional and personal style—being the only way to make
a biography interesting, which we now class as the Marie

Foreword ’

Bashkirtcheff style. As you will see, he always makes the
worst of himself, and offers no excuse. As a lad he does not
know what to do to show his manliness, and all that a boy
should, ought, and does think brave and honourable, be it wild
or not, all that he does.

What appals me is, that the task is one of such magnitude—-
the enormous quantity of his books and writings that I have
to look through, and, out of eighty or more publications, to
ascertain what has seen the light and what has not, because
it is impossible to carry the work of forty-eight years in one’s
head ; and, again, the immense quantity of subjects he has
studied and written upon, some in only a fragmentary state,
is wonderful. My wish would be to produce this life, speaking
only of him—and afterwards to reproduce everything he has
written that has not been published. I propose putting all
the heavier matter, such as pamphlets, essays, letters, corre¬
spondence, and the resume of his works—that is, what portion
shows his labours and works for the benefit of the human race —
into two after-volumes, to be called “ Labours and Wisdom
of Richard Burton.” After his biography I shall renew his
‘‘Arabian Nights” with his Forewords, Terminal Essay, and
Biography of the book in such form that it can be copy¬
righted—it is now protected by my copyright. His “ Ca¬
tullus” and “ Pentamerone ” are now more or less in the
Press, to be followed by degrees by all his unpublished works.
His hitherto published works I shall bring out as a Uniform
Library, so that not a word will be lost that he ever wrote
for the public. Fortunately, I have kept all his books classified
as he kept them himself, with a catalogue, and have separate
shelves ticketed and numbered; for example, “ Sword,”
“ Gypsy,” “ Pentamerone,” “ Camoens,” and so on.

If I were sure of life, I should have wished for six months
to look through and sort our papers and materials before
I began this work, because I have five rooms full. Our
books, about eight thousand, only got housed in March, 1892,
and they are sorted—but not the papers and correspon¬
dence ; but I fancy that the public would rather have a
spontaneous work sooner, than wait longer. If I live I shall
always go on with them. I have no leisure to think of style

Foreword.

or of polish, or to select the best language, the best English,
—no time to shine as an authoress. I must just think aloud,
so as not to keep the public waiting.

From the time of my husband’s becoming a real invalid—
February, 1887—whilst my constant thoughts reviewed the
dread To Come—the catastrophe of his death—and the
subsequent suffering, I have been totally incapable, except
writing his letters or attending to his business, of doing any
good literary work until July, 1892, a period of five years,
which was not improved by four attacks of influenza.

Richard was such a many-sided man, that he will have
appeared different to every set of people who knew him. He
was as a diamond with so many facets. The tender, the true,
the brilliant, the scientific,—and to those who deserved it, the
cynical, the hard, the severe. Loads of books will be written
about him, and every one will be different; and though perhaps
it is an unseemly boast, I venture to feel sure that mine will
be the truest one, for I have no interest to serve, no notoriety
to gain, belong to no party, have nothing to sway me.
except the desire to let the world understand what it once
possessed, what it has lost. With many it will mean 1 .
With me it means HIM.

When this biography is out, the public will, theoretically,
but not practically, know him as well as I can make them,
and all of his friends will be able after that to put forth
a work representing that particular facet of his character
which he turned on to them, or which they drew from him.
He was so great, so world-wide, he could turn a fresh facet
and sympathy on to each world. I always think that a man
is one character to his wife at his fireside corner, another man
to his own family, another man to her family, a fourth to a
mistress or an amourette—if he have one,—a fifth to his men
friends, a sixth to his boon companions, and a seventh to his
public, and so on ad infinitum ; but I think the wife, if they
are happy and love each other, gets the pearl out of the
seven oyster-shells.

I fear that this work will be too long. I cannot help it.
When I embarked on it I had no conception of the scope:
it was a labour of love. I thought I could fly over it; but

Xll

Foreword.

I have found that the more I worked, the more it grew, and
that the end receded from me like the mirage in the desert,
I only aim at giving a simple, true recital without comment,
and at fairness on all questions of whatever sort. I am very
personal, because I believe the public like it. I want to give
Richard as I knew him at home. I apologize in advance
to my readers if I am sometimes obliged to mention myself
oftener than they and I care about; but they will under¬
stand that our lives were so interwoven, so bound together,
that I should very often spoil a good story or an anecdote
or a dialogue were I to leave myself out. It would be an
affectation that would spoil my w 7 ork.

I am rather disheartened by being told by a literary friend
that the present British public likes its reading “ in sips.”
How can I give a life of seventy years, every moment of
which was employed in a remarkable way, “ in sips ” ? It is
impossible. Though I must not detail much from his books,
I want to convey to the public, at least, what they were about;
striking points of travel, his schemes, wise warnings, advice,
and plans for the benefit of England—then what about
“ sips ” ? It must not be dry, it must not be heavy, nor
tedious, nor voluminous ; so it shall be personal, full of traits
of character, sentiments and opinions, brightened with cheer¬
ful anecdotes, and the more serious part shall go into the
before-mentioned two volumes, the “ Labours and Wisdom
of Richard Burton.”

I am not putting in many letters, because he generally said
such personal things, that few would like them to be shown.
His business letters would not interest. To economize time
he used to get expressly made for him the smallest possible
pieces of paper, into which he used to cram the greatest
amount of news—telegram form. He only wrote much in
detail, if he had any literary business to transact.

One of my greatest difficulties, which I scarcely know how
to express, is, that which I think the most interesting, and
which most of my intimates think well worth exploring; it is
that of showing the dual man with, as it were, two natures in
one person, diametrically opposed to each other, of which he
was himself perfectly conscious. I had a party of literary

Foreword.

friends to dinner one night, and I put my manuscript on the
table before them after dinner, and I begged them each to take
a part and look over it. Feeling as I do that the general
public never understood him, and that his mantle after death
seemed to descend upon my shoulders, that everything I
say seems to be misunderstood, and that, in some few eyes,
I can do nothing right, I said at the end of the evening,
“ If I endeavour to explain, will it not be throwing pearls to
swine ? ” (not that I meant, dear readers, to compare you to
swine—it is but an expression of thought well understood).
And the answer was, “ Oh, Lady Burton, do give the world
the ins and outs of this remarkable and interesting character,
and let the swine take care of themselves.” “ If you leave
out by order ” (said one) “ religion and politics, the two
touchstones of the British public, you leave out the great
part of a man.” “ Mind you gloss over nothing to please
anybody ” (said a second). I think they are right—one set
of people see one side, and another see another side, and
neither of the two will comprehend (like St. Thomas) anything
that they have not seen and felt; or, to quote one of Richard’s
favourite mottoes from St. Augustine, “ Let them laugh at
me for speaking of things which they do not understand, and
I must pity them, whilst they laugh at me.” So I must
remain an unfortunate buffer amidst a cyclone of opinions.
I can only avoid controversies and opinions of my ozvn, and
quote his and his actions.

These words are forced from me, because I have received
my orders, if not exactly from the public, from a few of
the friends who profess to know him best. I am ordered to
describe Richard as a sort of Diderot (a disciple of Voltaire’s),
who wrote “ that the world would never be quiet till the last
king was strangled with the bowels of the last priest,”—
whereas there was no one whom Richard delighted more to
honour than a worthy King, or an honest straightforward
Priest.

There are people who are ready to stone me, if I will not
describe Richard as being absolutely without belief in any thing;
yet I really cannot oblige them, without being absolutely
untruthful. He was a spade-truth man, and he honestly

XIV

Foreword.

used to say that he examined every religion, and picked out
its pearl to practise it. He did not scoff at them, he was
perfectly sincere and honest in what he said, nor did he
change, but he grew. He always said , and innumerable people
could come forward, if they had the courage—I could name
some—to say that they have heard him declare, that at the
end of all things there were only two points to stand upon—-
NOTHING and CATHOLICISM ; and many could ' if they would,
come forward and say, that when they asked him what
religion he was, he answered Catholic.

He never was, what is called here and nozv in England,
an Agnostic ; he was a Master-Sufi, he practised Tasawwuf
or Sufi-ism, which combines the poetiy and prose of religion,
and is mystic. The Sufi is a profound student of the different
branches of language and metaphysics, is gifted with a musical
ear, indulges in luxuriant imagery and description. They
have a simple sense—a double entendre understood amongst
themselves—God in Nature,—Nature in God—a mystical
affection for a Higher Life, dead to excitement, hope, fear,
etc. He was fond of quoting Sayyid Mohammad Hosayn’s
motto, “ It is better to restore one dead heart to Eternal Life,
than Life to a thousand dead bodies.”

I have seen him receive gratuitous copies of an Agnostic
paper in England, and I remember one in particular—I do not
know who wrote it,—it was very long, and all the verses ended
with “ Curse God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” I can
see him now reading it—and stroking his long moustache, and
muttering, “ Poor devil! Vulgar beast! ” He was quite
satisfied, as his friends say, that we are not gifted with the
senses to understand the origin of the Mysteries by which we
are surrounded, and in this nobody agrees more thoroughly
than I do. He likewise said he believed there was a God,
but that he could not define Him ; neither can I, neither can
you, but / do not want to. Great minds tower above and see
into little ones, but the little minds never climb sufficiently
high to see into the Great Minds, and never did Lord
Beaconsfield say a truer thing, speaking of religion than when
he said, “ Sensible men never tellS As I want to make this
work both valuable and interesting, I am not going into the

Foreword.

unknown or the unknowable, only into what he knew—what I
know; therefore I shall freely quote his early training, his
politics, his Mohammedanism, his Sufiism, his Brahminical
thread, his Spiritualism, and all the religions which he
studied, and nobody can give me a sensible reason why 1
should leave out the Catholicism, except to point the Spanish
proverb, “ that no one pelts a tree, unless it has fruit on it,”
but were I to do so, the biography would be incomplete.

Let us suppose a person residing inside a house, and
another person looking at the house from the opposite side
of the street; you would not be unjust enough to expect the
person on the outside to describe minutely its inner chambers
and everything that was in it, because he would have to take
it on trust from the person who resided inside, but you
would take the report of the man living outside as to the
exterior of the house. That is exactly the same as my writing
my husband’s history. Do you want an edition of the inside
or an edition of the outside? If you do not want the truth,
if you order me to describe a Darwin, a Spencer, a John
Stuart Mill, I can do it; but it will not be the home-Richard,
the fireside-Richard whom I knew, the two perfectly distinct
Richards in one person ; it will be the man as he was at
lunch, at dinner, or when friends came in, or when he dined
out, or when he paid visits ; and if the world—or, let us say,
a small portion of the world,—is so unjust and silly as to
wish for untrue history, it must get somebody else to write
it. To me there are only two courses : I must either tell the
truth, and lay open the “ inner life ” of the man, by a faithful
photograph, or I must let it alone, and leave his friends to
misrepresent him, according to their lights.

It has been threatened to me that if I speak the truth
I am to reap the whirlwind, because others, who claim to
know my husband well, see him quite in a different light.
(I know many people intimately, but I am quite incompetent
to write their lives—I am only fit to do that for the man with
whom I lived night and day for thirty years ; there are three
other people who could each write a small section of his
life, and after those nobody ; I do not accept the so-called
general term “ friend.”) I shall be very happy indeed

XVI

Foreword.

to answer anybody who attacks me, who is brave enough to
put his or her name ; but during the two years I have been in
England I have hardly had anything but anonymous com¬
munications and paragraphs signed under the brave names of
“ Agnostic,” or “ One who knows,” so I have no man or woman
to deal with, but empty air, which is beneath my contempt.
This is a very old game, perhaps even more ancient than
“ Prophesy, O Christ, who it was that struck Thee! ” but it
is cowardly and un-English—that is, if England “ stands
where she did.” I would also remind you of the good old
Arab proverb, that “a thousand curses never tore a shirt.”

I would have you remember that I gain nothing by trying
to describe my husband as belonging to any particular
religion. If I would describe him as an English Agnostic—
the last new popular word—the small band of people who
call themselves his intimate friends, and who think to honour
him by injuring me, would be perfectly satisfied. I should
have all their sympathy, and my name would be at rest, both
in Society and in the Press. I have no interest to serve in
saying he was a Catholic more than anything else; I have
no bigotry on the question at all. If he did something
Catholic I shall say it, and if he did something Mohammedan
or Agnostic I shall equally say it.

It is also a curious fact, that the people who are most
vexed with me on this score, are men who, before their wives,
mothers, sisters, are good Protestants, and who go twice to the
Protestant church on Sundays, but who are quite scandalized
that my husband should be allowed a religion, and are furious
because I will not allow that Richard Burton was their
Captain. No, thank you! it is not good enough : he was
not, never was like any of you—nor can I see what it can
possibly be to you what faith, or no faith, Richard Burton
chose to die in, and why you threaten me if I speak the truth !
We only knew two things—the beautiful mysticism of the
East, which, until I lived here, I thought was Agnosticism,
and I find it is not; and calm, liberal-minded Roman
Catholicism. The difference between you and Richard is—
you, I mean, who admired my husband—that you are not
going anywhere,—according to your own creed you have

« •

Foreword .

XVII

nowhere to go to,—whilst he had a God and a continuation,
and said he would wait for me ; he is only gone a long-
journey, and presently I shall join him ; we shall take up
where we left off, and we shall be very much happier even
than we have been here.

Of the thousands that have written to me since his death,
everybody writes, “What a marvellous brain your husband
had! How modest about his learning and everything con¬
cerning himself! He was a man never understood by the
world.” It is no wonder he was not understood by the
World; his friends hindered it, and when one who knew
him thoroughly, offers to make him understood, it is resented.

The Press has recently circulated a paragraph saying that
“ I am not the fittest person to write my husband’s life.”
After I have finished these two volumes, it will interest me
very much to read those of the competent person, who will
be so kind as to step to the front,—with a name, please, not
anonymously,—and to learn all the things I do not know.

He, she, or it, will write what he said and wrote ; I write
what he thought and did ,.

ISABEL BURTON.

29 th May, 1893.

Note. —I must beg the reader to note, that a word often has several different
spellings, and my husband used to give them a turn all round. Indeed, I may
say that during the latter years of his life he adopted quite a different spelling,
which he judged to be correcter. In many cases it is caused by the English way
of spelling a thing, and the real native way of spelling the same. For English
Meeanee, native way Miani. The battle of Dabba (English) is spelt Dubba,
Dubbah, by the natives. Fulailee river (English) is spelt Phuleli (native). Mecca
and Medina have sometimes an h at the end of them. Karrachee is Karachi.
Sind is spelt Sind, Sindh, Scind, Scinde; and what the Anglo-Indians call
Bobagees are really Babarchis, and so on. I therefore beg that the spelling may
not be criticized. In quoting letters, I write as the author does, since I must not
change other people’s spelling.—I. B

CONSECRATION.

TO MY EARTHLY MASTER,

WHO IS WAITING FOR ME ON HEAVEN’S FRONTIERS.

Whilst waiting to rejoin you, I leave as a message to the World we
inhabited, the record of the Life into which both our lives were fused.
Would that I could write as well as I can love, and do you that justice,
that honour, which you deserve ! I will do my best, and then I will leave it
to more brilliant pens, whose wielders will feel less—and write better.

Meet me soon—I wait the signal 1

ISABEL BURTON.

CONTENTS

CHAP,

I. Genealogy and Family .

II. Birth and Childhood .

III. The Children are Brought to England

IV. Oxford . .

V. Going to India ......

VI. India .......

VII. Mecca .......

VIII. Harar—the Moslem Abyssinia . . . .

IX. The Crimea with Beatson’s Horse

X. Richard Loves Me .

XI. His Exploration of the Lake Regions, taking
Captain Speke as Second in Command

XII. The Real Start for Tanganyika in the Interior .

XIII. Our Reward—Success .

XIV. Richard and I Meet Again .

XV. In West Africa . .

XVI. Home . ......

XVII. Santos, Sao Paulo, Brazil—Richard’s Second Con¬
sulate . ......

XVIII. Damascus—his Third Consulate
XIX. Religion . ......

XX. Trieste—his Fourth and Last Consulate
XXL India .......

XXII. The Deccan ......

XXIII. A Quiet Time at Trieste .

XXIV. On Leave in London .

XXV. Trieste Life Again .

PAGE

44
64
6 7
96
11 3

140

146

148

170

188

214

230

240

246

289

349

374

385

392

398

407

417

Contents ,

nr v

CHAP. PACK

XXVI. Another Short Leave to London . . . 427

XXVII. Miscellaneous Traits of Character and Opinions . 434

XXVIII. Decline in our Well-being .... 449

XXIX. Our Last Appeal ...... 461

XXX. We Leave England ..... 470

XXXI. Changes . . ..... 4S7

XXXII. At Montreux . ..... 500

XXXIII. W t e Return Home for the Last Time . . . 526

XXXIV. The Two Contested Points between a Small

Section of Antagonists and Myself . . 544

ILLUSTRATIONS.

■ — o~ - -

Richard Burton in his Tent in Africa

» *

•

Frontispiece

Lunge and Cut in Carte (Inside)

* •

•

• \

PAGE

The Chief Officer of Richard’s Brigade of

Amazons

(sketched by himself)

• •

•

236

Crucifix from Dahome

• •

•

237

The Burtons’ House in SalahIyyah,

Damascus.

Sir

Frederick Leighton .

• •

•

300

SalahIyyah, Damascus in the Oasis—The Desert beyond.

Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake .

• •

•

304

The Burtons’ House at BludAn, in

Anti-Lf.banon.

Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake .

• •

•

312

Sir Richard Burton in 1879. By Madame Gutmansthal

Benvenuti (Trieste)

• •

408

Sir Richard Burton in 1880

• •

412

House at Trieste, where Burton died

•

432

Richard Burton in his Bedroom at Trieste

•

452

Arab Tents (Tunis) .

•

509

THE

LIFE OF SIR RICHARD BURTON.

CHAPTER I.

GENEALOGY AND FAMILY.

By himself. Copied from his private Journals .

“ He travels and expatriates ; as the bee
From flower to flower, so he from land to land,

The manners, customs, policy of all
Pay contributions to the store he gleans ;

He seeks intelligence from every clime,

And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return—a rich repast for me!"

Autobiographers generally begin too late.

Elderly gentlemen of eminence sit down to compose memories,
describe with fond minuteness babyhood, childhood, and boyhood,
and drop the pen before reaching adolescence.

Physiologists say that a man’s body changes totally every seven
years. However that may be, I am certain that the moral man
does, and I cannot imagine anything more trying than for a man
to meet himself as he was. Conceive his entering a room, and
finding a collection of himself at the several decades. First the
puking squalling baby one year old, then the pert unpleasant school¬
boy of ten, the collegian of twenty who, like Lothair, “knows every¬
thing and has nothing to learn.” The homme fait of thirty in the
full warmth and heyday of life, the reasonable man of forty, who
first recognizes his ignorance and knows his own mind, of fifty with
white teeth turned dark, and dark hair turned white, whose experience
is mostly disappointment with regrets for lost time and vanished
opportunities. Sixty when the man begins to die and mourns for

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

his past youth, at seventy when he ought to prepare for his long
journey and never does. And at all these ages he is seven different
beings not one of which he would wish to be again.

My father, Joseph Netterville Burton, was a lieutenant-colonel in
the 36th Regiment. He must have been born in the latter quarter
of the eighteenth century, but he had always a superstition about
mentioning his birthday, which gave rise to a family joke that he
was born in Leap Year. Although of very mixed blood, he was
more of a Roman in appearance than anything else, of moderate
height, dark hair, sallow skin, high nose, and piercing black eyes.
He was considered a very handsome man, especially in uniform, and
attracted attention even in the street. Even when past fifty he was
considered the best-looking man at the Baths of Lucca. As hand¬
some men generally do, he married a plain woman, and, “Just
like Provy,” the children favoured, as the saying is, the mother.

In mind he was a thorough Irishman. When he received a com¬
mission in the army it was on condition of so many of his tenants
accompanying him. Not a few of the younger sort volunteered to
enlist, but when they joined the regiment and found that the “young
master ” was all right, they at once ran away.

The only service that he saw was in Sicily, under Sir John Moore,
afterwards of Corunna, and there he fell in love with Italy. He was
a duellist, and shot one brother officer twice, nursing him tenderly
each time afterwards. When peace was concluded he came to
England and visited Ireland. As that did not suit him he returned
to his regiment in England. Then took place his marriage, which
was favoured by his mother-in-law and opposed by his father-in-law.
The latter, being a sharp old man of business, tied up every farthing
of his daughter’s property, ^30,000, and it was well that he did
so. My father, like too many of his cloth, developed a decided
taste for speculation. He was a highly moral man, who would have
hated the idea of rouge et noir, but he gambled on the Stock
Exchange, and when railways came out he bought shares. Happily
he could not touch his wife’s property, or it would speedily have
melted away; yet it was one of his grievances to the end of his life
that he could not use his wife’s money to make a gigantic fortune.
He was utterly reckless where others would be more prudent
Before his wedding tour, he passed through Windermere, and would
not call upon an aunt who was settled near the Lakes, for fear that
she might think he expected her property. She heard of it, and
left every farthing to some more dutiful nephew.

CHAPTER II.

BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD

I was born at 9.30 p.m., 19th March (Feast of St. Joseph in the
calendar), 1821, at Barham House, Herts, and suppose I was
baptized in due course at the parish church. My birth took place
in the same year as, but the day before, the grand event of George
IV. visiting the Opera for the first time after the Coronation, March
20th. I was the eldest of three children. The second was Maria
Catherine Eliza, who married Henry, afterwards General Sir Henry
Stisted, a very distinguished officer, who died, leaving only two
daughters, one of whom, Georgina Martha, survives. Third, Edward
Joseph Netterville, late Captain in the 37th Regiment, unmarried.

The first thing I remember, and it is always interesting to record
a child’s first memories, was being brought down after dinner at
Barham House to eat white currants, seated upon the knee of a tall
man with yellow hair and blue eyes; but whether the memory is
composed of a miniature of my grandfather, and whether the white
frock and blue sash with bows come from a miniature of myself and
not from life, I can never make up my mind.

Barham House was a country place bought by my grandfather,
Richard Baker, who determined to make me his heir because I had
red hair, an unusual thing in the Burton family. The hair soon
changed to black, which seems to justify the following remarks
by Alfred Bate Richards in a pamphlet he wrote. They are as
follows:—

“ Richard Burton’s talents for mixing with and assimilating natives
of all countries, but especially Oriental characters, and of becoming
as one of themselves without any one doubting or suspecting his
origin; his perfect knowledge of their languages, manners, customs,
habits, and religion; and last, but not least, his being gifted by
nature with an Arab head and face, favoured this his first enterprise ”

4 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

(the pilgrimage to Mecca). “One can learn from that versatile poet-
traveller, the excellent Thdophile Gautier, why Richard Burton is an
Arab in appearance ; and account for that incurable restlessness that
is unable to wrest from fortune a spot on earth wherein to repose
when weary of wandering like the desert sands.

“ ‘ There is a reason/ says Gautier, who had studied the Andalusian
and the Moor, ‘ for the fantasy of nature which causes an Arab to
be born in Paris, or a Greek in Auvergne; the mysterious voice of
blood which is silent for generations, or only utters a confused
murmur, speaks at rare intervals a more intelligible language. In
the general confusion race claims its own, and some forgotten
ancestor asserts his rights. Who knows what alien drops are
mingled with our blood ? The great migrations from the table-lands
of India, the descents of the Northern races, the Roman and Arab
invasions, have all left their marks. Instincts which seem bizarre
spring from these confused recollections, these hints of distant
country. The vague desire of this primitive Fatherland moves such
minds as retain the more vivid memories of the past. Hence the
wild unrest that wakens in certain spirits the need of flight, such as
the cranes and the swallows feel when kept in bondage—the
impulses that make a man leave his luxurious life to bury himself
in the Steppes, the Desert, the Pampas, the Sahara. He goes to
seek his brothers. It would be easy to point out the intellectual
Fatherland of our greatest minds. Lamartine, De Musset, and De
Vigny are English; Delacroix is an Anglo-Indian; Victor Hugo a
Spaniard ; Ingres belongs to the Italy of Florence and Rome.’

“ Richard Burton has also some peculiarities which oblige one to
suspect a drop of Oriental, perhaps gipsy, blood. By gipsy we
must understand the pure Eastern.”

My mother had a wild half-brother—Richard Baker, junior, a
barrister-at-law, who refused a judgeship in Australia, and died a
soap-boiler. To him she was madly attached, and delayed the
signing of my grandfather’s will as much as possible to the prejudice
of her own babe. My grandfather Baker drove in his carriage to see
Messrs. Dendy, his lawyers, with the object of signing the will, and
dropped dead, on getting out of the carriage, of ossification of the
heart; and, the document being unsigned, the property was
divided. It would now be worth half a million of money.

When I was sent out to India as a cadet, in 1842, I ran down to
see the old house for the last time, and started off in a sailing ship
round the Cape for Bombay, in a frame of mind to lead any forlorn
hope wherever it might be. Warren Hastings, Governor-General
of India, under similar circumstances threw himself under a tree,
and formed the fine resolution to come back and buy the old place;
but he belonged to the eighteenth century. The nineteenth is far
more cosmopolitan. I always acted upon the saying, Omne solum

Birth and Childhood.

forti patria, or, as I translated it, “ For every region is a strong
man’s home.”

Meantime my father had been obliged to go on half-pay by the
Duke of Wellington for having refused to appear as a witness against
Queen Caroline. He had been town mayor at Genoa when she
lived there, and her kindness to the officers had greatly prepossessed
them in her favour; so, when ordered by the War Office to turn
Judas, he flatly refused. A great loss to himself, as Lord William
Bentinck, Governor-General of India, was about to take him as aide-
camp, and to his family, as he lost all connection with the army,
and lived entirely abroad, and, eventually coming back, died with
his wife at Bath in 1857. However, he behaved like a gentleman,
nd none of his family ever murmured at the step, though I began
life s an East Indian cadet, and my brother in a marching regiment,
whilst our cousins were in the Guards and the Rifles and other crack
corps of the army.

The family went abroad when I was a few months old, and settled
at Tours, the charming capital of Touraine, which then contained
some two hundred English families (now reduced to a score or so),
attracted by the beauty of the place, the healthy climate, the economy
of living, the facilities of education, and the friendly feeling of the
French inhabitants, who, despite Waterloo, associated freely with the
strangers.

They had a chaplain, the Rev. Mr. Way (whose son afterwards
entered the Indian army; I met him in India, and he died young);
their schoolmaster was Mr. Clough, who bolted from his debts, and
then Mr, Gilchrist, who, like the Rev. Edward Irving, Carlisle’s
friend (whom the butcher once asked if he couldn’t assist him), caned
his pupils to the utmost. The celebrated Dr. Brettoneau took
charge of the invalids. They had their duellist, the Honourable
Martin Hawke, their hounds that hunted the Forest of Amboise, and
a select colony of Irishmen, Messrs. Hume and others, who added
immensely to the fun and frolic of the place.

At that period a host of these little colonies were scattered over
the Continent nearest England; in fact, an oasis of Anglo-Saxondom
in a desert of continentalism, somewhat like the society of English
country towns as it was in 1800, not as it is now, where society is
confined to the parson, dentist, surgeon, general practitioners, the
bankers, and the lawyers. And in those days it had this advantage,
that there were no snobs, and one seldom noticed the aigre discorde ,
the maladie chronique des menages bourgeoises. Knowing nothing of
Mrs. Grundy, the difference of the foreign colonies was that the
weight of English respectability appeared to be taken off them,

6 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

though their lives were respectable and respected. The Mrs. Gamps
and Mrs. Grundys were not so rampant. The English of these little
colonies were intensely patriotic, and cared comparatively little for
party politics. They stuck to their own Church because it was their
Church, and they knew as much about the Catholics at their very
door, as the average Englishman does of the Hindu. Moreover, they
honestly called themselves Protestants in those days, and the French
called themselves Catholics. There was no quibble about “ their
being Anglo-Catholics, and the others Roman-Catholics.” They sub¬
scribed liberally to the Church, and did not disdain to act as church¬
wardens. They kept a sharp look-out upon the parson, and one
of your Modern High Church Protestants or Puseyites or Ritualists
would have got the sack after the first sermon. They were intensely
national. Any Englishman in those days who refused to fight a duel
with a Frenchman was sent to Coventry, and bullied out of the
place. English girls who flirted with foreigners, were looked upon
very much as white women who permit the addresses of a nigger, are
looked upon by those English who have lived in black countries.
White women who do these things lose caste. Beausdjour, the
chateau taken by the family, was inhabited by the Mar^chale de
Menon in 1778, and eventually became the property of her homme
d'affaires, Monsieur Froguet. The dear old place stands on the
right bank of the Loire, halfway up the heights that bound the
stream, commanding a splendid view, and fronted by a French
garden and vineyards now uprooted. In 1875 I paid it a last visit,
and found a friend from Brazil, a Madame Izari^, widow of my friend
the French Consul of Bahia, who had come to die in the house of
his sister, Madame Froguet.

Tours was in those days (1820-30) the most mediaeval City in
France. The western half of the city, divided from the eastern by
the Rue Royale, contained a number of old turreted houses of free¬
stone, which might have belonged to the fifteenth century. There
also was the tomb of the Venerable St. Martin in a crypt, where
lamps are ever burning, and where the destroyed cathedral has not
yet been rebuilt. The eastern city contained the grand Cathedral of
St. Garden, with its domed towers, and the Arctdv£chd or Arch¬
bishop’s palace with beautiful gardens. Both are still kept in the
best order. In forty-five years the city has grown enormously. The
southern suburbs, where the Mall and Ramparts used to be, has
become Boulevarts Heurteloup and Bdranger; and 4< Places,” such
as that of the Palais de Justice, where cabbage gardens fenced with
paling and thorn hedges once showed a few pauper cottages
defended by the fortifications, are now Crescents and Kiosks for

Birth and Childhood.

loungers, houses with tall mansarde roofs, and the large railway
station that connects Tours with the outer world. The river, once
crossed by a single long stone bridge, has now two suspension
bridges and a railway bridge, and the river-holms, formerly strips of
sand, are now grown to double their size, covered with trees and
defended by stone dykes.

I remember passing over the river on foot when it was frozen, but
with the increased population that no longer happens. Still there
are vestiges of the old establishments. The Boule d’Or with its
Golden Ball, and the Pheasant Hotel, both in the Rue Royale, still
remain. You still read, “ Maison Piernadine recommended for is
elegance, is good taste, is new fashions of the first choice.” Madame
Fisterre, the maker of admirable apple-puffs, has disappeared and has
left no sign. This was, as may be supposed, one of my first childish
visits. We young ones enjoyed ourselves very much at the Chateau
de Beausejour, eating grapes in the garden, putting our Noah’s ark
animals under the box hedges, picking snail-shells and cowslips in
the lanes, playing with the dogs—three black pointers of splendid
breed, much admired by the Duke of Cumberland when he after¬
wards saw them in Richmond Park, named Juno, Jupiter, and
Ponto. Charlotte Ling, the old nurse, daughter of the lodge-keeper
at Barham House, could not stand the absence of beef and beer
and the presence of kickshaws and dandelion salad, and after Aunt
Georgina Baker had paid us a visit, she returned with her to Old
England. A favourite amusement of us children was swarming up
the tails of our father’s horses, three in number, and one—a horse
of Mecklenburg breed—was as tame as an Arab. The first story
Aunt Georgina used to tell of me was of my lying on my back in
a broiling sun, and exclaiming, “ How I love a bright burning sun ! ”
(Nature speaking in early years). Occasional drawbacks were
violent storms of thunder and lightning, when we children were
hustled out of our little cots under the roof, and taken to the
drawing-room, lest the lightning should strike us, and the daily
necessity of learning the alphabet and so forth, multiplication table,
and our prayers.

I was intended for that wretched being, the infant phenomenon,
and so began Latin at three and Greek at four. Things are better
now. Our father used to go out wild-boar hunting in the Foret
lTA mboise , where is the chateau in which Abd-el-Kadir was im¬
prisoned by the French Government from 1847 to 1852, when he
was set free by Napoleon III., at the entreaties of Lord London¬
derry. (It is said that his Majesty entered his prison in person and
set him free. Abd-el-Kadir, at Damascus, often expressed his obliga-

8 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

tions to the English, and warmly welcomed any English face. On
one occasion I took a near relation of Lord Londonderry’s to see
him, and he was quite overcome.) My father was periodically
brought home hurt by running against a tree. Sport was so much
in vogue then as to come between the parson and his sermon.

This pleasant life came to a close one day. We were three: I
was six, Maria four, and Edward three. One morning saw the
hateful school-books fastened with a little strap, and we boys and
our little bundle were conveyed in a small carriage to the town,
where we were introduced into a room with a number of English
and French boys, who were sitting opposite hacked and ink-spotted
desks, looking as demure as they could, though every now and then
they broke out into wicked grins and nudges. A lame Irish school¬
master (Clough) smiled most graciously at us as long as our father
was in the room, but was not half so pleasant when we were left
alone. We wondered “ what we were doing in that Galere espe¬
cially as we were sent there day after day, and presently we learnt the
dread truth that we were at school at the ripe ages of six and three.
Presently it was found that the house was at an inconvenient dis¬
tance from school, and the family transferred itself to the Rue de
l’Archeveche, a very nice house in the north-eastern corner of what
is still the best street in the town (Rue Royale being mostly com¬
mercial). It is close to the Place and the Archbishop’s palace,
which delighted us, with small deer feeding about the dwarf lawn.

Presently Mr. Clough ran away, leaving his sister to follow as
best she could, and we were transferred to the care of Mr. John
Gilchrist, a Scotch pedagogue of the old brutal school, who took an
especial delight in caning the boys, especially with a rattan or ferula
across the palm of the hand; but we were not long in discovering a
remedy, by splitting the end of the cane and inserting a bit of hair.
We took lessons in drawing, dancing, French, and music, in which
each child showed its individuality. Maria loved all four; Edward
took to French and music and hated drawing; I took to French and
drawing, and hated music and dancing. My brother and I took to
the study of Arms, by nature, as soon as we could walk, at first with
popguns and spring pistols and tin and wooden sabres, and I can
quite well remember longing to kill the porter at five years old,
because he laughed at our sabres de bois and pistolets de paille.

I was a boy of three ideas. Usually if a child is forbidden to eat
the sugar or to lap up the cream he simply either obeys or does the
contrary; but I used to place myself before the sugar and cream
and carefully study the question, “ Have I the courage not to touch
them ? ” When I was quite sure of myself that I had the courage

Birth and Childhood.

I instantly rewarded resolution by emptying one or both. More¬
over, like most boys of strong imagination and acute feeling, I was
a resolute and unblushing liar; I used to ridicule the idea of my
honour being any way attached to telling the truth, I considered it
an impertinence the being questioned, I never could understand
what moral turpitude there could be in a lie, unless it was told for
fear of the consequences of telling the truth, or one that would attach
blame to another person. That feeling continued for many a year,
and at last, as very often happens, as soon as I realized that a lie
was contemptible, it ran into quite the other extreme, a disagreeable
habit of scrupulously telling the truth whether it was timely or not.

The school was mostly manned by English boys, sprinkled with
French, and the mixture of the two formed an ungodly article, and
the Italian proverb—

“ Un Inglese Italianato
& un Diavolo incarnato ”

may be applied with quite as much truth to English boys brought
up in France. To succeed in English life, boys must be brought up
in a particular groove. First the preparatory school, then Eton and
Oxford, with an occasional excursion to France, Italy, and Germany,
to learn languages, not of Stratford-atte-Bowe, and to find out that
England is not the whole world. I never met any of my Tours
schoolfellows save one—Blayden Edward Hawke, who became a
Commander in the Navy, and died in 1877.

We boys became perfect devilets, and played every kind of trick
despite the rattan. Fighting the French gutter-boys with sticks and
stones, fists, and snowballs was a favourite amusement, and many a
donkey-lad went home with ensanguined nose, whilst occasionally
we got the worst of it from some big brother. The next favourite
game was playing truant, passing the day in utter happiness, fancying
ourselves Robinson Crusoes, and wandering about the strip of wood
(long since doomed to fuel) at the top of the Tranchee. Our father
and mother went much into the society of the place, which was gay
and pleasant, and we children were left more or less to the servants.
We boys beat all our bonnes, generally by running at their petticoats
and upsetting them. There was one particular case when a new
nurse arrived, a huge Norman girl, who at first imposed upon this
turbulent nursery by her breadth of shoulder and the general rigour
of her presence. One unlucky day we walked to the Faubourg at
the south-east of the town, the only part of old Tours now remaining;
the old women sat spinning and knitting at their cottage doors, and
remarked loud enough for us boys to hear, “ Ah 5a! ces petits

io The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

gamins ! Voila une honnete bonne qui ne leur laissera pas faire des
farces !” Whereupon Euphrosyne became as proud as a peacock,
and insisted upon a stricter discipline than we were used to. That
forest walk ended badly. A jerk of the arm on her part brought on
a general attack from the brood; the poor bonne measured her length
upon the ground, and we jumped upon her. The party returned,
she with red eyes, torn cap, and downcast looks, and we hooting
and jeering loudly, and calling the old women “Les Meres Pom-
ponnes,” who screamed predictions that we should come to the
guillotine.

Our father and mother had not much idea of managing their
children; it was like the old tale of the hen who hatched ducklings.
By way of a wholesome and moral lesson of self-command and self-
denial, our mother took us past Madame Fisterre’s windows, and
bade us look at all the good things in the window, during which we
fixed our ardent affections upon a tray of apple-puffs; then she said,
“Now, my dears, let us go away; it is so good for little children to
restrain themselves.” Upon this we three devilets turned flashing
eyes and burning cheeks upon our moralizing mother, broke the
windows with our fists, clawed out the tray of apple-puffs, and
bolted, leaving poor mother a sadder and a wiser woman, to pay the
damages of her lawless brood’s proceedings.

At last it became apparent that Tours was no longer a place for us
who were approaching the ticklish time of teens. All Anglo-French
boys generally were remarkable young ruffians, who, at ten years of
age, cocked their hats and loved the ladies. Instead of fighting and
fagging, they broke the fine old worked glass church windows, pur¬
loined their fathers’ guns to shoot at the monuments in the church¬
yards, and even the shops and bazaars were not safe from their
impudent raids. Political matters, too, began to look queer. The
revolution which hurled Charles X. from the throne, produced no
outrages in quiet Tours, beyond large gatherings of the people with
an immense amount of noise, especially of “ Vive la Chatte! ” (for
La Charte), the good comnieres turning round and asking one another
whom the Cat might be that the people wished it so long a life; but
when Casimir P&rier had passed through the town, and “ the three
glorious days of July ” had excited the multitude, things began to
look black, and cries of “ A has les Anglais ! ” were not uncommon.

After a long deliberation, the family resolved to leave Tours.
Travelling in those days, especially for a large family, was a severe
infliction. The old travelling carriages, which had grown shabby in
the coachhouse, had to be taken out and furbished up, and all the
queer receptacles, imperial, boot, sword-case, and plate-chest, to be

Birth and Childhood.

stuffed with miscellaneous luggage. After the usual sale by auction,
my father took his departure, perhaps mostly regretted by a little
knot of Italian exiles, whom he liked on account of his young years
spent in Sicily, and whose society not improbably suggested his
ultimate return to Italy. Then began the journey along the inter¬
minable avenues of the old French roads, lined with parallel rows of
poplars, which met at a vanishing point of the far distance. I found
exactly the same thing, when travelling through Lower Canada in
i860. Mighty dull work it was, whilst the French postilion in his
seven-league boots jogged along with his horses at the rate of five
miles an hour, never dreaming of increasing the rate, till he ap¬
proached some horridly paved town, when he cracked his whip, like
a succession of pistol shots, to the awe and delight of all the sabots.
Very slow hours they were, especially as the night wore on, and the
road, gleaming white between its two dark edges, looked of endless
length. And when at last the inn was reached, it proved very un¬
like the inn of the present day. A hard bargain had to be driven
with a rapacious landlady, who, if you objected to her charges,
openly roared at you with arms akimbo, “that if you were not rich
enough to travel, you ought to stay at home.” Then the beds had
to be inspected, the damp sheets to be aired, and the warming-pans
to be ordered, and, as dinner had always to be prepared after arrival,
it was not unusual to sit hungry for a couple of hours.

The fatigues of the journey seriously affected my mother’s health,
and she lost no time in falling very ill at Chartres. The family
passed through Paris, where the signs of fighting, bullets in the walls,
and burnt houses, had not been wholly obliterated, and were for¬
tunate enough to escape the cholera, which then for the first time
attacked Europe in its very worst form. The cold plunge into
English life was broken by loitering on the sands of Dieppe. A
wonderful old ramshackle place it was in those days, holding a kind
of intermediate place between the dulness of Calais and the liveliness
of “Boolone.” as the denizens called it. It wanted the fine hotels
and the £.tablissement , which grew up under the Second Empire, but
there was during the summer a pleasant, natural kind of life, living
almost exclusively upon the sands and dipping in the water, gallop¬
ing about on little ponies, and watching the queer costumes of the
bathers, and discussing the new-comers.

CHAPTER III.

THE CHILDREN ARE BROUGHT TO ENGLAND.

Landing in England was dolorous. The air of Brighton, full
of smoke and blacks, appeared to us unfit for breathing. The
cold grey seas made us shudder. In the town everything
appeared so small, so prim, so mean, the little one-familied
houses contrasting in such a melancholy way with the big
buildings of Tours and Paris. We revolted against the coarse and
half-cooked food, and, accustomed to the excellent Bordeaux of
France, we found port, sherry, and beer like strong medicine; the
bread, all crumb and no crust, appeared to be half baked, and milk
meant chalk and water. The large joints of meat made us think
of Robinson Crusoe, and the vegetables cuite d Veau, especially the
potatoes, which had never heard of “Maitre cP hotel” suggested the
roots of primitive man. Moreover, the national temper, fierce and
surly, was a curious contrast to the light-hearted French of middle
France. A continental lady of those days cautioned her son, who
was about to travel, against ridicule in France and the canaille in
England. The little children punched one another’s heads on the
sands, the beys punched one another’s heads in the streets, and in
those days a stand-up fight between men was not uncommon. Even
the women punched their children, and the whole lower-class society
seemed to be governed by the fist.

My father had determined to send his boys to Eton to prepare

for Oxford and Cambridge. In the mean time some blundering

friend had recommended him a preparatory school. This was kept

by the Rev. Charles Delafosse, who rejoiced in the title of Chaplain

to the Duke of Cumberland, a scion of royalty, who had, apparently,

very little to do with the Church. Accordingly, the family went to
12

The Children are brought to England. 13

Richmond, the only excitement of the journey being the rage of the
post-boys, when we boys on the box furtively poked their horses
with long sticks. After sundry attempts at housing themselves in
the tiny doll-rooms in the stuffy village, they at last found a house,
so called by courtesy, in “ Maids of Honour Row,” between the river
and the Green, a house with a strip of garden fronting it, which a
sparrow could hop across in thirty seconds. Opening upon the
same Green, stood that horror of horrors, the school, or the “ Estab¬
lishment,” as it would now be called. It consisted of a large block
of buildings (detached), lying between the Green and the Old Town,
which has long been converted into dwelling-houses. In those
days it had a kind of paling round a paddock, forming a long
parallelogram, which enclosed some fine old elm trees. One side
was occupied by the house, and the other by the schoobroom. In
the upper stories of the former, were the dormitories with their small
white beds, giving the idea of the Lilliput Hospital; a kind of out¬
house attached to the dwelling was the place where the boys fed at
two long tables stretching the whole length of the room. The only
decoration of the palings were names cut all over their inner surfaces
and rectangular nails at the top, acting as chevaux de frise. The
school-room was the usual scene of hacked and well-used benches
and ink-stained desks, everything looking as mean and uncomfortable
as possible.

This was the kind of Dotheboys Hall, to which, in those days,
gentlemen were contented to send their sons, paying a hundred
a year, besides “ perquisites ” (plunder): on the Continent the same
treatment would be had. for £,20.

The Rev. Charles was a bluff and portly man, with dark hair and
short whiskers, whose grand aquiline nose took a prodigious deal of
snuff, and was not over active with the rod; but he was no more fit
to be a schoolmaster than the Grand Cham of Tartary. He was,
however, rather a favourite with the boys, and it was shrewdly
whispered, that at times he returned from dining abroad half-seas
over. His thin-lipped wife took charge of the menage , and looked
severely after the provisions, and swayed with an iron sceptre the
maid-servants, who had charge of the smaller boys. The ushers
were the usual consequential lot of those days. There was the hand¬
some and dressy usher, a general favourite with the fair; the shabby
and mild usher, despised by even the smallest boy; and the un¬
fortunate French usher, whose life was a fair foretaste of Purgatory.

Instead of learning anything at this school, my brother and I
lost much of what we knew, especially in French, and the principal
acquisitions were, a certain facility of using our fists, and a general

14 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

development of ruffianism. I was in one perpetual scene of fights ;
at one time I had thirty-two affairs of honour to settle, the place of
meeting being the school-room, with the elder boys sitting in judg¬
ment. On the first occasion I received a blow in the eye, which I
thought most unfair, and having got my opponent down I proceeded
to hammer his head against the ground, using his ears by way of
handles. My indignation knew no bounds when I was pulled off by
the bystanders, and told to let my enemy stand up again. “ Stand
up ! ” I cried, “ after all the trouble I've had to get the fellow down.”
At last the fighting went on to such an extent, that I was beaten as
thin as a shotten herring, and the very servant-maids, when washing
me on Saturday night, used to say, “ Drat the child ! what has he
been doing ? he’s all black and blue.” Edward fought just as well
as I did, but he was younger and more peaceable. Maria says that I
was a thin, dark little boy, with small features and large black eyes,
and was extremely proud, sensitive, shy, nervous, and of a melan¬
choly, affectionate disposition. Such is the effect of a boys’ school
after a few months’ trial, when the boys learn to despise mother and
sisters, and to affect the rough as much as possible, and this is not
only in England, but everywhere where the boy first escapes from
petticoat government. He does not know what to do to show his
manliness. There is no stronger argument in favour of mixed
schools, up to a certain age , of boys and girls together.

At the little Richmond theatre we were taken to see Edmund
Kean, who lived in a cottage on the Green. He had gentle blood
in his veins, grandson (illegitimate) of George Savile, Marquis of
Halifax, and that accounted for his Italian, or rather un-John-Bull
appearance, and for his fiery power. I saw him in his famous
Richard III. role, and remember only what old Colley Grattan
described, “ Looks bloated with brandy, nose red, cheeks blotched,
and eyes blood-shot.” He was drinking himself to death. His
audience appeared not a little afraid of him; perhaps they had
heard of the Guernsey scene, where he stood at the footlights and
flashed out, “ Unmannered dogs ! stand ye where / command.”

Our parents very unwisely determined to correct all personal
vanity in their offspring by always dwelling upon our ugliness.
My nose was called cocked; it was a Cross which I had to carry, and
was a perpetual plague to me; and I was assured that the only
decent feature in my face was my teeth. Maria, on account of her
fresh complexion, was called Blousabella ; and even Edward, whose
features were perfect, and whom Frenchmen used to stop and stare
at in the streets, and call him “ Le petit Napoleon,” was told to
nauseousness that “ handsome is as handsome does.” In later life

r 5

The Children are brought to Engla7id.

we were dressed in a marvellous fashion; a piece of yellow nankin
would be bought to dress the whole family, like three sticks of
barley sugar. Such was the discipline of the day, and nothing could
be more ill-judged; it inflicted an amount of torment upon sensitive
children which certainly was not intended, but which had the very
worst effect.

If we children quarrelled, and turned up our noses at the food
in English hotels, what must have been our surprise at the food of
an English school? Breakfast at 8 a.m., consisting of very blue
milk and water, in chipped and broken-handled mugs of the same
colour. The boys were allowed tea from home, but it was a
perpetual battle to get a single drink of it. The substantiate were
a wedge of bread with a glazing of butter. The epicures used to
collect the glazing to the end of the slice in order to convert it into
a final bonne bouche. The dinner at one o’clock began with stickjaw
(pudding) and ended with meat, as at all second-rate schools. The
latter was as badly cooked as possible, black out and blue inside,
gristly and sinewy. The vegetables were potatoes, which could
serve for grapeshot, and the hateful carrot. Supper was a repetition
of breakfast, and, at an age when boys were making bone and
muscle, they went hungry to bed.

Occasionally the pocket-money and tips were clubbed, and a
“room” would go in for a midnight feed of a quartern loaf, ham,
polony, and saveloys, with a quantity of beer and wine, which
generally led to half a dozen fights. Saturday was a day to be feared
on account of its peculiar pie, which contained all the waifs and
strays of the week. On the Sunday there was an attempt at plum¬
pudding of a peculiarly pale and leaden hue, as if it had been
unjustly defrauded of its due allowance of plums. And this dull
routine lasted throughout the scholastic year. School hours were
from seven till nine, and ten to one, and three to five, without other
changes, save at the approach of the holidays, when a general burst
of singing, locally called “challenging,” took place. Very few were
the schoolfellows we met in after life. The ragged exceptions were
Guildford Onslow, the Claimant’s friend. Tuckey Baines, as he was
called on account of his exploits on Saturday pie, went into the
Bombay army, and was as disagreeable and ill-conditioned as when
he was a bully at school. He was locally celebrated for hanging the
wrong Mahommad, and for his cure for Sindee litigiousness, by
making complainant and defendant flog each other in turn. The
only schoolboy who did anything worthy, was Bobby Delafosse
(who . was appointed to the 26th Regiment, N.I.), who showed
immense pluck, and died fighting bravely in the Indian Mutiny.

16 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

I met him in Bombay shortly before I went off to the North-West
Provinces, but my remembrances of the school were so painful, that
I could not bear to recognize him. In fact, that part of life, which
most boys dwell upon with the greatest pleasure, and concerning
which, most autobiographers tell the longest stories—school and
college—was ever a nightmare to us. It was like the “ Blacking-
shop ” of Charles Dickens.

Before the year concluded, an attack of measles broke out in the
school, several of the boys died, and it was found necessary to dis¬
perse the survivors. We were not hard-hearted, but we were
delighted to get home. We worked successfully on the fears of
Aunt G., which was assisted by my cadaverous appearance, and it
was resolved to move us from school, to our infinite joy. My
father had also been thoroughly sick of “ Maids of Honour Row ”
and “ Richmond Green.” He was sighing for shooting and boar¬
hunting in the French forests, and he felt that he had done quite
enough for the education of the boys, which was turning out so
badly. He resolved to bring us up abroad, and picked up the
necessary assistance for educating us by tutor and governess. Miss
Ruxton, a stout red-faced girl, was thoroughly up in the three R’s,
and was intended to direct Maria’s education. Mr. Du Pr^, an
undergraduate at Exeter College, Oxford, son of the Rector of Berk-
hampstead, wanted to see life on the Continent, and was not un¬
willing to see it with a salary. He was an awkward-looking John
Bull article, with a narrow forehead, eyes close together, and thick
lips, which secured him a perpetual course of caricaturing. He
used to hit out hard whenever he found the caricatures, but only
added bitterness to them. Before he had been in the family a
week, I obliged him with a sketch of his tomb and the following
inscription :—

“ Stand, passenger ! hang down thy head and weep,

A young man from Exeter here doth sleep ;

If any one ask who that young man be,

’Tis the Devil’s dear friend and companion—Du Pre ”—

which was merely an echo of Shakespeare and John h Combe, but
it showed a fine sense of independence.

I really caught the measles at school, and was nursed by Grand-
namma Baker in Park Street. It was the only infantine malady that
[ ever had. The hooping-cough only attacked me on my return from
Harrar, when staying with my friend Dr. Steinhaiiser at Aden, in
1853. As soon as I was well enough to travel, the family embarked
at the Tower Wharf for Boulogne. We boys scandalized every one
on board. We shrieked, we whooped, we danced for joy. We

The Children are brought to England. 17

shook our fists at the white cliffs, and loudly hoped we should never
see them again. We hurrah’d for France, and hooted for England,
“ The Land on which the Sun ne’er sets—nor rises,” till the sailor
who was hoisting the Jack, looked upon us as a pair of little monsters.
In our delight at getting away from school and the stuffy little
island, we had no idea of the disadvantages which the new kind of
life would inflict on our future careers. We were too young to
know. A man who brings up his family abroad, and who lives there
for years, must expect to lose all the friends who could be useful to
him when he wishes to start them in life. The conditions of society
in England are so complicated, and so artificial, that those who
would make their way in the world, especially in public careers,
must be broken to it from their earliest day. The future soldiers
and statesmen must be prepared by Eton and Cambridge. The
more English they are, even to the cut of their hair, the better. In
consequence of being brought up abroad, we never thoroughly
understood English society, nor did society understand us. And,
lastly, it is a real advantage to belong to some parish. It is a great
thing, when you have won a battle, or explored Central Africa, to be
welcomed home by some little corner of the Great World, which
takes a pride in your exploits, because they reflect honour upon
itself. In the contrary condition you are a waif, a stray; you are a
blaze of light, without a focus. Nobody outside your own fireside
cares.

No man ever gets on in the world, or rises to the head of affairs,
unless he is a representative of his nation. Taking the marking
characters of the last few years—Palmerston, Thiers, Cavour, and
Bismarck—what were they but simply the types of their various
nationalities ? In point of intellect Cavour was a first-rate man,
Thiers second-rate, Palmerston third-rate, whilst Bismarck was
strength, Von Moltke brain. Their success in life was solely owing
to their representing the failings, as well as the merits of their several
nationalities. Thiers, for instance, was the most thoroughbred
possible epicier , and yet look at his success. And his death was
mourned even in England, and yet he was the bitterest enemy that
England ever had. His Chauvinism did more than the Crimean
War to abolish the prestige of England. Unhappily for his Chauvin¬
ism, it also thoroughly abolished France.

Mr. Du Pre, the tutor, and Miss Ruxton, the governess, had their
work cut out for them. They attempted to commence with a strict
discipline ; for instance, the family passing through Paris lodged at
the Hotel Windsor, and they determined to walk the youngsters out
school fashion. The consequence was that when the walk extended

18 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

to the boulevards, the young ones, on agreement, knowing Paris
well, suddenly ran away, and were home long before the unfortunate
strangers could find their way, and reported that their unlucky
tutor and governess had been run over by an omnibus. There was
immense excitement till the supposed victims walked in immensely
tired, having wandered over half Paris, not being able to find their
way. A scene followed, but the adversaries respected each other
more after that day.

The difficulty was now where to colonize. One of the peculiarities
of the little English colonies was the unwillingness of their denizens
to return to them when once they had left them. My father had
been very happy at Tours, and yet he religiously avoided it. He
passed through Orleans—a horrid hole, with as many smells as
Cologne—and tried to find a suitable country house near it, but in
vain; everything seemed to smell of goose and gutter. Then he
drifted on to Blois, in those days a kind of home of the British
stranger, and there he thought proper to call a halt. At last a house
was found on the high ground beyond the city, which, like Tours,
lies mainly on the left bank of the river, and where most of the
English colonists dwelt. There is no necessity of describing this
little bit of England in France, which was very like Tours. When
one describes one colony, one describes them all. The notables
were Sir Joseph Leeds, Colonel Burnes, and a sister of Sir Stamford
Raffles, who lived in the next-door villa, if such a term may be
applied to a country house in France in 1831. The only difference
from Tours was, there was no celebrated physician, no pack of hounds,
and no parson. Consequently service on Sundays had to be read
at home by the tutor, and the evening was distinguished by one of
Blair’s sermons. This was read out by us children, each taking a
turn. The discourse was from one of Blair’s old three volumes,
which appeared to have a soporific effect upon the audience. Soft
music was gradually heard proceeding from the nasal organs of
father and mother, tutor and governess; and then we children,
preserving the same tone of voice, entered into a conversation, and
discussed matters, until the time came to a close.

At Blois we were now entering upon our teens; our education
was beginning in real earnest. Poor Miss Ruxton soon found her
task absolutely impossible, and threw up the service. A school¬
room was instituted, where time was wasted upon Latin and Greek
for six or seven hours a day, besides which there was a French
master—one of those obsolete little old men, who called themselves
Professeurs-es-lettrcs , and the great triumph of whose life was that
he had read Herodotus in the original. The dancing-master was a

The Children are brought to England.

large and pompous oldster, of course an a?icien militaire , whose kit
and whose capers were by contrast peculiarly ridiculous, and who
quoted at least once every visit, “ Oh, Richard! oh, mon roi! ”
He taught, besides country dances, square and round, the Minuet
de la Cour, the Gavotte de Vestris, and a Danse Chinoise, which
consisted mainly in turning up thumbs and toes. The only favourite
amongst all those professors was the fencing-master, also an old
soldier, who had lost the thumb of his right hand in the wars, which
of course made him a gauche in loose fencing. We boys gave
ourselves up with ardour to this study, and passed most of our
leisure hours in exchanging thrusts. We soon learned not to
neglect the mask: I passed my foil down Edward’s throat, and
nearly destroyed his uvula, which caused me a good deal of sorrow.
The amusements consisted chiefly of dancing at evening parties, we
boys choosing the tallest girls, especially a very tall Miss Donovan.
A little fishing was to be had, my father being a great amateur.
There were long daily walks, swimming in summer, and brass
cannons, bought in the toy shops, were loaded to bursting.

The swimming was very easily taught; in the present day boys and
girls go to school and learn it like dancing. In our case Mr. Du Prd
supported us by a hand under the stomach, taught us how to use our
arms and legs, and to manage our breath, after which he withdrew his
hand and left us to float as we best could.

This life lasted for a year, till all were thoroughly tired of it. Our
father and mother were imperceptibly lapsing into the category of
professed invalids, like people who have no other business in life,
except to be sick, This was a class exceptionally common in the
unoccupied little English colonies that studded the country. It was
a far robuster institution than the Parisian invalid, whose object in
life was to appear maladive et souffrante. The British malade
consumed a considerable quantity of butcher’s meat, but although he
or she always saw death in the pot, they had not the moral courage
to refuse what disagreed with them. They tried every kind of drug
and nostrum known, and answered every advertisement, whether it
agreed with their complaint or not. Their table de nuit was covered
with bottles and gallipots. They dressed themselves three or four
times a day for the change of climate, and insensibly acquired a
horror of dining out, or passing the evening away from home. They
had a kind of rivalry with other invalids ; nothing offended them
more than to tell them that they were in strong health, and that if they
had been hard-worked professionals in England, they would have
been ill once a year, instead of once a month. Homoeopathy was a
great boon to them, and so was hydropathy. So was the grape-cure

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

and all the humbug invented by non-professionals, such as hunger-
cure and all that nonsense.

Our parents suffered from asthma, an honest and respectable
kind of complaint, which, if left to itself, allows you, like gout,
to last till your eightieth year, but treated systematically, and with
the aid of the doctor, is apt to wear you out. Our maternal
grandmamma Baker, who came over to Blois, compared them to two
buckets in a well. She was very wroth with my father, when,
remembering the days of his youth, he began to hug the idea of
returning to Italy and seeing the sun, and the general conclusion of
her philippics (“You’ll kill your wife, sir”) did not change his
resolution. She even insinuated that in the olden day there had
been a Sicilian young woman who received the Englishman’s pay, and
so distributed it as to keep off claims. So Grandmamma Baker was
sent off to her beloved England, “whose faults she still loved.”

The old yellow chariot was brought out of the dusty coach-house
once more, and furbished up, and, after farewell dinners and parties
all round, the family turned their back on Blois. The journey was
long, being broken by sundry attacks of asthma, and the posting
and style of travel were full of the usual discomforts. In crossing
over the Tarare a drunken postilion nearly threw one of the carriages
over the precipice, and in shooting the Pont de St. Esprit the
steamer nearly came to grief under one of the arches. We stayed
a short time in Lyons, in those days a perfect den of thieves.
From Avignon my tutor and I were driven to the Fountain of
Vaucluse, the charming blue well in the stony mountain, and the
memories of Petrarch and Laura were long remembered. The driver
insisted upon a full gallop, and the protests of the unfortunate
Englishman, who declared every quarter of an hour that he was the
father of a large family, were utterly disregarded.

The first view of Provence was something entirely new, and the
escape was hailed from the flat fields and the long poplar avenues of
Central France. Everything, even the most squalid villages, seemed
to fall into a picture. It was something like a sun that burst upon the
rocks. The olive trees laden with purple fruit were a delight after
the apples and pears, and the contrast between the brown rock and
the blue Mediterranean, was quite a new sensation. At Marseilles
we embarked for Leghorn, which was then, in Italy, very much what
Lyons was in France. It was the head-quarters of brigands. In¬
deed it was reported that a society existed, whose members were
pledged to stab their fellow-creatures, whenever they could do it
safely. And it was brought to light by the remorse of a son, who^
had killed his father by mistake. The Grand Duke of Tuscany*

The Children are brought to England. 21

with his weak benevolence, was averse to shedding blood, and the
worst that these wretches expected was to be dressed in the red or
the yellow of the Galeotti, and to sweep the streets and to bully the
passenger for bakshish. Another unpleasant development was the
quantity of vermin,—even the washerwoman’s head appeared to be
walking off her shoulders. Still there was a touch of Italian art
about the place, in the days before politics and polemics had
made Italian art, with the sole exception of sculpture, the basest
thing on the Continent: the rooms were large, high, and airy, the
frescoes on the ceiling were good, and the pictures had not been sold
to Englishmen, and replaced by badly coloured daubs, and cheap
prints of the illustrated paper type.

After a few days, finding Leghorn utterly unfit to inhabit, mv
father determined to transfer himself to Pisa. There, after the usual
delay, he found a lodging on the wrong side of the Arno—that is
to say, the side which does not catch the winter sun—in a huge
block of buildings opposite the then highest bridge. Dante’s old
“ Vituperio delle gante ” was then the dullest abode known to man,
except perhaps his sepulchre. The climate was detestable (Iceland
on the non-sunny, Madeira on the sunny side of the river), but the
doctors thought it good enough for their patients; consequently it
was the hospital of a few sick Britishers upon a large scale.

The discomforts of Pisa were considerable. The only fireplace
in those days was a kind of brazier, put in the middle of the room.
The servants were perfect savages, who had to be taught the very
elements of service, and often at the end of the third day a great
burly peasant would take leave, saying, “Non mi basta l’anima ! ”
My father started a fearful equipage in the shape of a four-wheeled
trap, buying for the same a hammer-headed brute of a horse which
at once obtained the name of “ Dobbin.” Dobbin was a perfect
demon steed, and caused incalculable misery, as every person was
supposed to steal his oats. One of us boys was sent down to
superintend his breakfast, dinner, and supper. On journeys it
was the same, and we would have been delighted to see Dobbin
hanged, drawn, and quartered. We tried riding him in private, but
the brute used to plant his forelegs and kick up and down like a
rocking-horse. The trap was another subject of intense misery.
The wheels were always supposed to be wanting greasing, and as
the natives would steal the grease, it was necessary that one of
us should always superintend the greasing. There is no greater
mistake than that of trying to make boys useful by making them
do servant’s work.

The work of education went on nimbly, if not merrily. To former

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

masters was added an Italian master, who was at once dubbed
“Signor No,” on account of the energy of his negation. The
French master unfortunately discovered that his three pupils had
poetic talents; the consequence was that we were set to write
versical descriptions, which we hated worse than Telemachus and
the Spectator.

And a new horror appeared in the shape of a violin master.
Edward took kindly to the infliction, worked very hard, and became
an amateur almost equal to a professional; was offered fair pay
as member of an orchestra in Italy, and kept it up after going into
the Army, till the calls of the Mess made it such a nuisance that
he gave it up; but took to it again later in life con amove. I always
hated my fiddle, and after six months it got me into a terrible scrape,
and brought the study to an untimely end. Our professor was
a thing like Paganini, length without breadth, nerves without flesh,
hung on wires, all hair and no brain, except for fiddling. The
creature, tortured to madness by a number of false notes, presently
addressed his pupil in his grandiloquent Tuscan manner, “ Gli altri
scolari sono bestie, ma voi siete un Arci-bestia.” The “ Arci ”
offended me horribly, and, in a fury of rage, I broke my violin upon
my master’s head; and then my father made the discovery that his
eldest son had no talent for music, and I was not allowed to learn
any more.

Amongst the English at Pisa we met with some Irish cousins,
whose names had been Conyngham, but they had, for a fortune,
very sensibly added “Jones” to it, and who, very foolishly, were
ashamed of it ever after. There was a boy, whose face looked as if
badly cut out of a half-boiled potato, dotted with freckles so as to
resemble a goose’s egg. There was a very pretty girl, who after¬
wards became Mrs. Seaton. The mother was an exceedingly hand¬
some woman of the Spanish type, and it was grand to see her
administering correction to “ bouldness.” They seemed principally
to travel in Italy for the purpose of wearing out old clothes, and
afterwards delighted in telling how many churches and palaces they
had “done” in Rome per diem. The cute Yankee always travels,
when he is quite unknown, in his best bib and tucker, reserving his
old clothes for his friends who appreciate him. Altogether the
C.J.’s were as fair specimens of Northern barbarians invading the
South, as have been seen since the days of Brennus.

The summer of ’32 was passed at Siena, where a large rambling
old house was found inside the walls. The venerable town, whose
hospitality was confined to an inscription over the city gate, was
perhaps one of the dullest places under heaven. No country in the

The Children are brought to England. 23

world shows less hospitality—even Italians amongst themselves—
than Italy, and in the case of strangers they have perhaps many
reasons to justify their churlishness.

Almost all the English at Siena were fugitives from justice, social
or criminal. One man walked off with his friend’s wife, another with
his purse. There was only one old English lady in the place who
was honourable, and that was a Mrs. Russell, who afterwards killed
herself with mineral waters. She lived in a pretty little quinta
outside the town, where moonlight nights were delightful, and where
the nightingales were louder than usual. Beyond this amusement
we had little to do, except at times to peep at the gate of Palone,
to study very hard, and to hide from the world our suits of nankin.
The weary summer drew to a close. The long-surviving chariot was
brought out, and then Dobbin, with the " cruelty van,” was made
ready for the march.

Travelling in vetturino was not without its charm. It much
resembled marching in India during the slow old days. It is true
you seldom progressed along more than five miles an hour, and
uphill at three. Moreover, the harness was perpetually breaking,
and at times a horse fell lame; but you saw the country thoroughly,
the vetturino knew the name of every house, and you went slowly
enough to impress everything upon your memory. The living
now was none of the best; food seemed to consist mostly of
omelettes and pigeons. The pigeons, it is said, used to desert the
dove-cotes every time they saw an English travelling-carriage
approaching. And the omelettes showed more hair in them than
eggs usually produce. The bread and wine, however, were good,
and adulteration was then unknown. The lodging was on a par
with the food, and insect powder was not invented or known. Still,
taking all in all, it is to be doubted whether we are more comfortable
in the Grand Hotel in these days when every hotel is grand, when
all mutton is pre sa/e, when all the beer is bitter, when all the sherry
is dry.

It was now resolved to pass the Holy Week at Rome, and the only
events of the journey, which went on as usual, were the breaking
down of Dobbin’s “ cruelty van ” in a village near Perugia, where the
tutor and boys were left behind to look after repairs. We long
remembered the peculiar evening which we passed there. The head
ostler had informed us that there was an opera, and that he was the
primo violino. We went to the big barn, that formed the theatre.
A kind of “ Passion play ” was being performed, with lengthy intervals
of music, and all the mysteries of the faith were submitted to the
eyes of the faithful. The only disenchanting detail was, that a dove

24 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

not being procurable, its place was supplied by a turkey-cock, and
the awful gabbling of the ill-behaved volatile caused much more
merriment than was decorous.

We, who had already examined Voltaire with great interest, were
delighted with the old Etruscan city of Perugia, and were allowed a
couple of hours’ “ leave ” to visit Pietro di Aretino’s tomb, and we
loitered by the Lake Thrasimene.

The march was short, and the family took a house on the north
side of the Arno, near the Boboli Gardens, in Florence. The City of
Flowers has always had a reputation beyond what it deserved.
Though too fair to be looked upon except upon holidays, it has
discomforts of its own. The cold, especially during the Tramontana
blowing from the Appenines, is that of Scotland. The heat during
the dog-days, when the stone pavements seem to be fit for baking,
reminds one of Cairo during a Khamsin , and the rains are at times
as heavy and persistent as in Central Africa. The Italians and the
English, even in those days, despite all the efforts of the amiable
Grand Duke, did not mix well.

Colonies go on as they begin, and the Anglo-Florentine flock
certainly has contained, contains, and ever will contain some very
black sheep. They were always being divided into cliques. They
were perpetually quarrelling. The parson had a terrible life. One
of the churchwardens was sure to be some bilious old Indian, and
a common character was to be a half-pay Indian officer who had
given laws, he said, to millions, who supported himself by gambling,
and induced all his cronies to drink hard, the whispered excuse
being, that he had shot a man in a duel somewhere. The old
ladies were very scandalous. There were perpetual little troubles,
like a rich and aged widow being robbed and deserted by her Italian
spouse, and resident old gentlemen, when worsted at cards, used to
quarrel and call one another liars. Amongst the number was a
certain old Dr. Harding who had a large family. His son was sent
into the army, and was dreadfully wounded under Sir Charles Napier
in Sind. He lived to be Major-General Francis Pirn Harding, C.B.,
and died in 1875.

Another remarkable family was that of old Colonel de Courcy.
He had some charming daughters, and I met his son John when
he was in the Turkish Contingent and I was Chief of the Staff of
Irregular Cavalry in the Crimea.

Still Florence was always Florence. The climate, when it was
fine, was magnificent. The views were grand, and the most charming
excursions lay within a few hours’ walk or drive. The English were
well treated, perhaps too well, by the local Government, and the

The Children are brought to England.

opportunities of studying Art were first-rate. Those wonderful
Loggie and the Pitti Palace contained more high Art than is to be
found in all London, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna put together, and
we soon managed to become walking catalogues. A heavy storm,
however, presently broke the serenity of the domestic atmosphere at
Siena.

We boys had been allowed to begin regular shooting with an
old single-barrelled Manton, a hard-hitter which had been changed
from flint to percussion. We practised gunnery in secret every
moment we could, and presently gave our tutor a specimen of our
proficiency. He had been instituting odious comparisons between
Edward’s length and that of his gun, and went so far as to say that
for sixpence he would allow a shot at fifty yards. On this being
accepted with the firm determination of peppering him, he thought
it better to substitute his hat, and he got away just in time to see it
riddled like a sieve. We then began to despise shooting with small
shot.

Our parents made a grand mistake about the shooting excursions,
especially the mother, who, frightened lest anything should occur,
used to get up quarrels to hav^ an excuse to forbid the shooting
parties, as punishment. It was soon found out and resented
accordingly.

We hoarded the weekly francs which each received, we borrowed
Maria’s savings, i.e. the poor girl was never allowed to keep it for
a day, and invested in what was then known as a “case of pistols.”
My father—who, when in Sicily with his regiment, had winged
a brother-officer, an Irishman, for saying something unpleasant, had
carefully and fondly nursed him, and shot him again as soon as ever
he recovered, crippling him for life—saw the turn that matters were
taking, and ordered the “ saw-handles ” to be ignominiously returned
to the shop. The shock was severe to the pun (f otior of we two
Don Quixotes.

I have a most pleasant remembrance of Maria Garcia, a charming
young girl, before she became wife and “ divine devil ” to the old
French merchant Morbihan. Both she and her sister (afterwards
Madame Viardot) were going through severe training under the
old Tartar of a father Garcia, who was, however, a splendid musician
and determined to see his girls succeed. They tell me she had
spites and rages and that manner of thing in after life, but I can
only remember her as worthy of Alfred de Musset’s charming stanza.

After a slow but most interesting drive we reached the Eternal
City, and, like all the world, were immensely impressed by the
entrance at the Porto del Popolo. The family secured apartments

26 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

in the Piazza di Spagna, which was then, as it is now, the capital of
English Rome. Everything in it was English, the librarian, the
grocer, and all the other little shops, and mighty little it has changed
during the third of a century. In 1873, when my wife and I stayed
there, the only points of difference observed were the presence of
Americans and the large gilded advertisements of the photographers.
The sleepy atmosphere was the same, and the same was the drowsy
old fountain.

At Rome sight-seeing was carried on with peculiar ardour. With
“ Mrs. Starke ” under the arm, for “ Murray ” and “ Baedeker ” were
not invented in those days, we young ones went from Vatican to the
Capitol, from church to palazzo, from ruin to ruin. We managed
to get introductions to the best studios, and made acquaintance with
all the shops which contained the best collections of coins, of cameos,
of model temples, in rosso-antico, and giallo-antico, and of all the
treasures of Roman Art, ancient and modern. We passed our days
in running about the town, and whenever we found an opportunity,
we made excursions into the country, even ascending Mount Soracte.
In those days Rome was not what it is now. It was the ghost of the
Imperial City, the mere shadow of the Mistress of the world. The
great Forum was a level expanse of ground, out of which the half-
buried ruins rose. The Coliseum had not changed for a century.
The Palatine hill had never dreamt of excavation. The greater part
of the space within the old walls, that represents the ancient City, was
a waste, what would in Africa be called bush, and it was believed
that turning up the ground caused fatal fevers. It had no preten¬
sions to be a Capital. It wanted fortifications ; the walls could be
breached with six-pounders. The Tiber was not regulated, and
periodically flooded the lower town. The Ghetto was a disgrace.
Nothing could be fouler than the Trastevere : and the Leonine City,
with the exception of St. Peter’s and the Vatican, was a piggery.

At Rome there was then very little society. People met when
doing the curiosities, and the principal amusements were conversa¬
ziones, when the only conspicuous object was some old Cardinal
sitting in red, enthroned upon a sofa. Good old Gregory XVI.
did not dislike foreigners, and was even intimate with a certain
number of heretics, but that could not disperse the sleepy atmo¬
sphere of the place, whilst the classes of society were what the
satirical French duchesse called, 1 une noblesse de Sacrament’—and
yet it was the season of the year. Then, as now, the wandering
world pressed to Rome to see ceremonies of the Holy Week, to
hear the music of the Sistine Chapel, to assist at the annual conver¬
sion of a Jew at St. John of Lateran, to walk gaping about at the

The Children are brought to England. 27

interior of St. Peter’s, and to enjoy the magnificent illuminations,
which were spoiled by a high wind, and a flood of rain.

It was necessary to leave Rome in time to reach Naples before
the hot season began, and return to summer quarters. In those
days the crossing of the Pontine Marshes was considered not a little
dangerous. Heavy breakfasts were eaten to avoid the possible effect
of malaria upon an empty stomach, and the condemned pistols were
ostentatiously loaded to terrify the banditti, who were mostly the
servants and hangers-on of the foul little inns.

The family halted a short while at Capua, then a quiet little
country town, equally thoughtless of the honours of the past, or the
fierce scenes that waited it in the future; many years afterwards my
friend Blakely of the Guns, and I, offered the Government of King
Francis, to go out to rifle the cannon, which was to defend them
against Garibaldi and his banditti. Unfortunately the offer came
too late. It would have been curious had a couple of Englishmen
managed, by shooting Garibaldi, to baffle the plans which Lord Pam.
had laid with so much astuteness and perseverance.

At Naples a house was found upon the Chiaja, and after trying it
for a fortnight, and finding it perfectly satisfactory and agreeing to
take it for the next season, the family went over to Sorrento. This,
in those days, was one of the most pleasant villegiature in Italy.
The three little villages that studded the long tongue of rock and
fertile soil, were separated from one another by long tracts of orchard
and olive ground, instead of being huddled together, as they are
now. They preserved all their rural simplicity, baited buffalo-calves
in the main squares, and had songs and sayings in order to enrage
one another. The villas scattered about the villages were large
rambling old shells of houses, and Aunt G. could not open her
eyes sufficiently wide when she saw what an Italian villa really was.
The bathing was delightful; break-neck paths led down the rocks to
little sheltered bays with the yellowest of sands, and the bluest of
waters, and old smugglers’ caves, which gave the coolest shelter after
long dips in the tepid seas. There was an immense variety of
excursion. At the root of the tongue arose the Mountain of St.
Angelo, where the snow harvest, lasting during summer, was one
perpetual merry-making. There were boating trips to Ischia, to
Procida, to romantic Capri, with its blue grotto and purple figs, to
decayed Salerno, the splendid ruin, and to the temples of Paestum,
more splendid still. The shooting was excellent during the quail
season; tall poles and immense nets formed a chevaux de frisc on
the hilltops, but the boys went to windwards, and shot the birds
before they were trapped in the nets, in the usual ignoble way. In

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

fact, nothing could be more pleasant than Sorrento in its old and
uncivilized days.

Amongst other classical fads, we boys determined to imitate
Anacreon and Horace. We crowned ourselves with myrtle and
roses, chose the prettiest part of the garden, and caroused upon the
best wine we could afford, out of cups, disdaining to use glasses.
Our father, aware of this proceeding, gave us three bottles of sherry,
upon the principle that the grocer opens to the young shopboy his
drawers of figs and raisins. But we easily guessed the meaning of
the kind present, and contented ourselves with drinking each half a
bottle a day, as long as it lasted, and then asked for more, to the
great disgust of the donor. We diligently practised pistol-shooting,
and delighted in cock-fighting, at which the tutor duly attended.
Of course the birds fought without steel, but it was a fine game-
breed, probably introduced of old by the Spaniards. It not a little
resembles the Derby game-cock, which has spread itself half over
South America.

There was naturally little variety in amusements. The few
English families lived in scattered villas. Old Mrs. Starke, Queen
of Sorrento, as she loved to be called, and the authoress of the
guide book, was the local “ lion/’ and she was sketched and carica¬
tured in every possible way in her old Meg Merrilies’ cloak. Game
to the last, she died on the road travelling. An Englishman, named
Sparkes, threw himself into one of the jagged volcanic ravines that
seam the tongue of Sorrento; but there is hardly a place in Italy,
high or low, where some Englishman has not suicided himself. A
painter, a Mr. Inskip, brought over an introduction, and was very
tipsy before dinner was half over. The Marsala wine supplied by
Iggulden & Co. would have floored Polyphemus. The want of
excitement out of doors, produced a correspondent increase of it
inside. We were getting too old to be manageable, and Mr. Du Pre
taking high grounds on one occasion, very nearly received a good
thrashing. My father being a man of active mind, and having nothing
in the world to do, began to be unpleasantly chemical; he bought
Parke’s “Catechism;” filled the house with abominations of all kinds,
made a hideous substance that he called soap, and prepared a
quantity of filth that he called citric acid, for which he spoiled
thousands of lemons. When his fit passed over it was succeeded
by one of chess, and the whole family were bitten by it. Every
spare hour, especially in the evening, was given to check and check¬
mating, and I soon learned to play one, and then two games, with
my eyes blindfolded. I had the sense, however, to give it up com¬
pletely, for my days were full of Philidor, and my dreams were of
gambits all night.

The Children are brought to England.

At Naples more was added to the work of education. Caraccioli,
the celebrated marine painter, was engaged to teach oil-painting;
but he was a funny fellow, and the hours which should have been
spent in exhausting palettes passed in pencil-caricaturing of every
possible friend and acquaintance. The celebrated Cavalli was the
fencing-master ; and in those days the Neapolitan school, which
has now almost died out, was in its last bloom. It was a thoroughly
business-like affair, and rejected all the elegancies of the French
school; and whenever there was a duel between a Neapolitan and
a Frenchman, the former was sure to win. We boys worked at it
heart and soul, and generally managed to give four hours a day to
it. I determined, even at that time, to produce a combination
between the Neapolitan and the French school, so as to supplement
the defects of the one by the merits of the other. A life of very
hard work did not allow me any leisure to carry out my plan; but
the man of perseverance stores up his resolves and waits for any
numbers of years till he sees the time to carry it out. The plan was
made in 1836, and was completed in 1880 (forty-four years).

My father spared no pains or expense in educating his children.
He had entered the army at a very early age. Volunteers were
called for in Ireland, and those who brought a certain number into
the field received commissions gratis. The old Grandmamma
Burton’s tenants’ sons volunteered by the dozen. They formed a
very fair company, and accompanied the young master to the wars ;
and when the young master got his commission, they all, with the
exception of one or two, levanted, bolted, and deserted. Thus my
father found himself an officer at the age of seventeen, when he
ought to have been at school; and recognizing the deficiencies of his
own education, he was determined that his children should complain
of nothing of the kind. He was equally determined they none of
them should enter the army; the consequence being that both the
sons became soldiers, and the only daughter married a soldier.
Some evil spirit, probably Mr. Du Pre, whispered that the best plan
for the boys would be to send them to Oxford, in order that they
might rise by literature, an idea which they both thoroughly detested.
However, in order to crush their pride, they were told that they
should enter “ Oxford College as sizars, poor gentlemen who are
supported by the alms of the others.” Our feelings may be imagined.
We determined to enlist, or go before the mast, or to turn Turks,
banditti, or pirates, rather than undergo such an indignity.

At last the house on the Chiaja was given up, and the family took
a house inside the City for a short time. The father was getting
tired and thinking of starting northwards. The change was afflicting.

30 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

The loss of the view of the Bay was a misfortune. The only amuse¬
ment was prospecting the streets, where the most extraordinary
scenes took place. It was impossible to forget a beastly English¬
man, as he stood eating a squirting orange surrounded by a string
of gutter-boys. The dexterity of the pickpockets, too, gave scenes
as amusing as a theatre.

The lazzaroni , too, were a perpetual amusement. We learned to
eat maccaroni like them, and so far mastered their dialect, that we
could exchange chaff by the hour. In 1869 I found them all at
Monte Video and Buenos Ayres, dressed in cacciatore and swearing
“ M’nnaccia l’anima tua; ” they were impressed with a conviction
that I was myself a lazzarone in luck. The shady side of the
picture was the cholera. It caused a fearful destruction, and the
newspapers owned to 1300 a day, which meant say 2300. The
much-abused King behaved like a gentleman. The people had
determined that the cholera was poison, and doubtless many made
use of the opportunity to get rid of husbands and wives and other
inconvenient relationships; but when the mob proceeded to murder
the doctors, and to gather in the market square with drawn knives,
declaring that the Government had poisoned the provisions, the
King himself drove up in a phaeton and jumped out of it entirely
alone, told them to put up their ridiculous weapons, and to show
him where the poisoned provisions were, and, seating himself upon
a bench, ate as much as his stomach would contain. Even the
lazzarone were not proof against this heroism, and viva’d and cheered
him to his heart’s content

My brother and I had seen too much of cholera to be afraid of it
We had passed through it in France, it had followed us to Siena
and Rome, and at Naples it only excited our curiosity. We per¬
suaded the Italian man-servant to assist us in a grand escapade. He
had procured us the necessary dress, and when the dead-carts passed
round in the dead of the night, we went the rounds with them as
some of the croquemorts. The visits to the pauper houses, where
the silence lay in the rooms, were anything but pleasant, and still less
the final disposal of the bodies. Outside Naples was a large plain,
pierced with pits, like the silos or underground granaries of Algeria
and North Africa. They were lined with stone, and the mouths
were covered with one big slab, just large enough to allow a corpse
to pass. Into these flesh-pots were thrown the unfortunate bodies
of the poor, after being stripped of the rags which acted as their
winding-sheets. Black and rigid, they were thrown down the aper¬
tures like so much rubbish, into the festering heap below, and the
decay caused a kind of lambent blue flame about the sides of the

The Children are brought to England. 31

pit, which lit up a mass of human corruption, worthy to be described
by Dante.

Our escapades, which were frequent, were wild for strictly brought
up Protestant English boys—they would be nothing now, when
boys do so much worse—but there were others that were less
excusable. Behind the Chiaja dwelt a multitude of syrens, who
were naturally looked upon as the most beautiful of their sex. One
lady in particular responded to the various telegraphic signs made
to her from the flat terrace of the house, and we boys determined to
pay her a visit. Arming ourselves with carving-knives, which we
stuffed behind our girdles, we made our way jauntily into the
house, introduced ourselves, and being abundant in pocket-money,
offered to stand treat, as the phrase is, for the whole neighbourhood.
The orgie was tremendous, and we were only too lucky to get
home unhurt, before morning, when the Italian servant let us in.
The result was a correspondence, consisting in equal parts of pure
love on our side and extreme debauchery on the syrens’. These
letters, unfortunately, were found by our mother during one of her
Sunday visitations to our chambers. A tremendous commotion
was the result. Our father and his dog, Mr. Du Fy 6 , proceeded to
condign punishment with the horsewhip; but we climbed up to the
tops of the chimneys, where the seniors could not follow us, and
refused to come down till the crime was condoned.

The family left Naples in the spring of 1836. The usual moun¬
tain of baggage was packed in the enormous boxes of the period,
and the Custom House officers never even opened them, rely¬
ing, as they said—and did in those good old days—upon the
word of an Englishman, that they contained nothing contraband.
How different from the United Italy, where even the dressing-
bag is rummaged to find a few cigars, or an ounce of coffee.
The voyage was full of discomforts. My mother, after a cam¬
paign of two or three years, had been persuaded to part with
her French maid Eulalie, an old and attached servant, who made
our hours bitter, and our faces yellow. The steamer of the day
was by no means a floating palace, especially the English coast¬
ing steamers, which infested the Mediterranean. The machinery
was noisy and offensive. The cabins were dog-holes, with a
pestiferous atmosphere, and the food consisted of greasy butter,
bread w r hich might be called dough, eggs with a perfume, rusty
bacon, milkless tea and coffee, that might be mistaken for each
other, waxy potatoes, graveolent greens cuite a Peau, stickjaw’ pud¬
ding, and cannibal haunches of meat, charred wuthout, and blue
within.

32 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

The only advantage was that the vessels were manned by English
crews, and in those days the British sailor was not a tailor, and he
showed his value when danger was greatest.

We steamed northwards in a good old way, puffing and panting,
pitching and rolling, and in due time made Marseille.

However agreeable Provence was, the change from Italians to
French was not pleasant. The subjects of Louis Philippe, the
Citizen-King, were rancorous against Englishmen, and whenever a
fellow wanted to get up a row he had only to cry out, “ These are
the miserab/es who poisoned Napoleon at St. Helena.” This
pleasant little scene occurred on board a coasting steamer, between
Marseille and Cette, when remonstrance was made with the cheat¬
ing steward, backed by the rascally captain. Cette was beginning
to be famous for the imitation wines composed by the ingenuity
of Monsieur Guizot, brother of the austere i?itrigant. He could
turn out any wine, from the cheapest Marsala to the choicest
Madeiran Bual.

But he did his counterfeiting honestly, as a little “ G ” was always
branded on the bottom of the cork, and Cette gave a good lesson
about ordering wines at hotels. The sensible traveller, when in a
strange place, always calls for the carte , and chooses the cheapest;
he knows by sad experience, by cramp and acidity of stomach, that
the dearest wines are often worse than the cheapest, and at best
that they are the same with different labels. The proprietor of the
hotel at Cette, had charged his dame de coynptoir with robbing the
till. She could not deny it, but she replied with a tu quoque: “ If
I robbed you I only returned tit for tat. You have been robbing
the public for the last quarter of a century, and only the other day
you brought a bottle of ordinaire and escamote' d it into sixteen kinds
of vins fin.” The landlord thought it better to drop the proceedings.
From Cette we travelled in hired carriages (as Dobbin and the
carriages had been sold at Naples) to Toulouse. We stayed at
Toulouse for a week, and I was so delighted with student life there,
that I asked my father’s leave to join them. But he was always
determined on the Fellowship at Oxford. Our parents periodically
fell ill with asthma, and we young ones availed ourselves of the
occasion, by wandering far and wide over the country. W T e delighted
in these journeys, for though the tutor was there, the books were in
the boxes. My chief remembrances of Toulouse were, finding the
mistress of the hotel correcting her teeth with table dhdte forks,
and being placed opposite the model Englishman of Alexandre
Dumas and Eugene Sue. The man’s face never faded from my

The Children are brought to England. 33

memory. Carroty hair, white and very smooth forehead, green
eyes, a purple-reddish lower face, whiskers that had a kind of
crimson tinge, and an enormous mouth worn open, so as to show
the protruding teeth.

In due time we reached Pau in the Pyrenees, the capital of the
Basses Pyrenees, and the old Bearnais. The little town on the
Gave de Pau was no summer place. The heats are intense, and all
who can, rush off to the Pyrenees, which are in sight, and distant
only forty miles. Our family followed suit, and went off to Bagnieres
de Bigorres, where we hired a nice house in the main Square. There
were few foreigners in the Bagnibres de Bigorres ; it was at that time
a thoroughly French watering-place. It was invaded by a mob of
Parisians of both sexes, the men dressed in fancy costumes intended
to be “ truly rural,” and capped with Basque bonnets, white or red.
The women were more wonderful still, especially when on horse¬
back; somehow or other the Frangaise never dons a riding-habit
without some solecism. Picnics were the order of the day, and they
were organized on a large scale, looking more like a squadron of
cavalry going out for exercise than a party of pleasure. We boys
obtained permission to accompany one of those caravans to the
Breche de Roland, a nick in the mountain top clearly visible from
the plains, and supposed to have been cut by the good sword
“ Joyeuse.”

Here we boys were mightily taken with, and tempted to accept
the offer made to us by, a merry party of contrabandistas , who were
smuggling to and fro chocolate, tobacco, and aguardienta (spirits).
Nothing could be jollier than such a life as these people lead. They
travelled au clair de la lune , armed to the teeth; when they arrived
at the hotels the mules were unloaded and turned out to grass, the
guitar, played a la Figaro , began to tinkle, and all the young women,
like “ the Buffalo girls,” came out to dance. Wine and spirits flowed
freely, the greatest good humour prevailed, and the festivities were
broken only sometimes by “ knifing or shooting.”

We also visited Tarbes, which even in those days was beginning
to acquire a reputation for “ le shport; ” it presently became one of
the centres of racing and hunting in France, for which the excellent
climate and the fine rolling country admirably adapted it. It was
no wonder that the young French horse beat the English at the
same age. In the Basque Pyrenees a colt two years old is as well
grown as a Newmarket weed at two and a half.

When the great heat was over, the family returned to Pau, where
they found a good house over the arcade in the Place Gramont.
Pau boasts of being the birthplace of Henry IV., Gaston de Foix,

34 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

and Bernadotte. Strangers go through the usual routine of visiting the
Castle, called after the Protestant-Catholic King, Henry IV.; driving
to Ortez, where Marshal Soult fought unjustifiably the last action of the
Peninsular War; and of wandering about the flat, moor-like landes ,
which not a little resemble those about Bordeaux. The society at Pau
was an improvement upon that of Naples. The most remarkable per¬
son was Captain (R.N.) Lord William Paget, who was living with his
mother-in-law (Baroness de Rothenberg), and his wife and children,
and enjoying himself as usual. Though even impecunious, he was the
best of boon companions, and a man generally loved. But he could
also make himself feared, and, as the phrase is, would stand no non¬
sense. He had a little affair with a man whom we will call Robinson,
and as they were going to the meeting-place he said to his second,
“What’s the fellow’s pet pursuit?” “Well! ” answered the other, “ I
don’t know—but, let me see—ah, I remember, a capital hand at waltz¬
ing.” “ Waltzing ! ” said Lord William, and hit him accurately on the
hip-bone, which spoilt his saltations for many a long month.

At Pau the education went on merrily. I was provided with a
French master of mathematics, whose greasy hair swept the collar of
the redingote buttoned up to the chin. He was a type of his order. He
introduced mathematics everywhere. He was a red republican of the
reddest, hating rank and wealth, and he held that Le Bon Dieu was
not proven, because he could not express Him by a mathematical for¬
mula, and he called his fellow-men Bon-Dieusistes. We were now grown
to lads, and began seriously to prepare for thrashing our tutor, and
diligently took lessons in boxing from the Irish groom of a Captain
Hutchinson, R.N. Whenever we could escape from study we passed
our hours in the barracks, fencing with the soldiers, and delighting
every piou-piou (recruit) by our powers of consuming the country spirit
(the white and unadulterated cognac). We also took seriously to
smoking, although, as usual with beginners in those days, we suffered
in the flesh. In the later generation, you find young children, even
girls, who, although their parents have never smoked, can finish off a
cigarette without the slightest inconvenience, even for the first time.

Smoking and drinking led us, as it naturally does, into trouble.
There was a Jamaica Irishman with a very dark skin and a very
loud brogue, called Thomas, who was passing the winter for the
benefit of his chest at Pau. He delighted in encouraging us for
mischief sake. One raw snowy day he gave us his strongest cigars,
and brewed us a bowl of potent steaming punch, which was soon
followed by another. Edward, not being very w r ell, was unusually
temperate, and so I, not liking to w r aste it, drank for two. A w r alk
was then maliciously proposed, and the cold air acted as usual as
stimulant to stimulant. Thomas began laughing aloud, Edward

The Children are brought to England. 35

plodded gloomily along, and I got into half a dozen scrimmages
with the country people. At last matters began to look serious, and
the too hospitable host took his two guests back to their home. I
managed to stagger upstairs; I was deadly pale, with staring eyes,
and compelled to use the depressed walk of a monkey, when I met
my mother. She was startled at my appearance, and as I pleaded
very sick she put me to bed. But other symptoms puzzled her. She
fetched my father, who came to the bedside, looked carefully for a
minute at his son and heir, and turned upon his heel, exclaiming,
u The beast’s in liquor.” The mother burst into a flood of tears,
and next morning presented me with a five-franc piece, making me
promise to be good for the future, and not to read Lord Chesterfield’s
“ Letters to his Son,” of which she had a dreadful horror. It need
hardly be said that the five francs soon melted away in laying in a
stock of what is popularly called “ a hair of the dog that bit.”

What we learnt last at Pau was the Bearnais dialect. It is a
charmingly naive dialect, mixture of French, Spanish, and Proven-
gale, and containing a quantity of pretty, pleasant songs. The
country folk were delighted when addressed in their own lingo. It
considerably assisted me in learning Provengale, the language of Le
Geysaber ; and I found it useful in the most out-of-the-way corners
of the world, even in Brazil. Nothing goes home to the heart of a
man so much as to speak to him in his own patois. Even a Lanca¬
shire lad can scarcely resist the language of <£ Tummas and Mary.”

At length the wheezy, windy, rainy, foggy, sleety, snowy winter
passed away, and the approach of the warm four months, warned
strangers to betake themselves to the hills. This time the chosen
place was Argeles. In those days it was a little village, composed
mainly of one street, not unlike mining Arrayal in Brazil, or a negro
village on the banks of the Gaboon. But the scenery around it was
beautiful. It lay upon a brawling stream, and the contrast of the
horizontal meadow-lands around it, with the backing of almost
vertical hills and peaks, thoroughly satisfied the eye.

We two brothers, abetted by our tutor, had fallen into the detest¬
able practice of keeping our hands in by shooting swifts and swallows,
of which barbarity we were afterwards heartily ashamed. Our first
lesson was from the peasants. On one occasion, having shot a
harmless bird that fell among the reapers, the latter charged us in
a body, and being armed with scythes and sickles, caused a precipi¬
tous retreat. In those days the swallow seemed to be a kind of
holy bird in the Bearnais, somewhat like the pigeons of Mecca and
Venice. I can only remember that this was the case with old
Assyrians and Aramaeans, who called the swift or devilling the
■destiny, or foretelling bird, because it heralded the spring.

36 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

As the mountain fog began to roll down upon the valley, our father
found that his poor chest required a warmer climate. This time we
travelled down the Grand Canal du Midi in a big public barge, which
resembled a Dutch trekschuyt. At first, passing through the locks
was a perpetual excitement, but this very soon palled. The
L’Estranges were also on board, and the French part of the company
were not particularly pleasant. They were mostly tourists returning
home, mixed with a fair proportion of commis-voyageurs , a class that
corresponds with, but does not resemble, our commercial traveller.
The French species seems to have but two objects in social life : first,
to glorify himself, and secondly, to glorify Paris.

Monsieur Victor Hugo has carried the latter mania to the very
verge of madness, and left to his countrymen an example almost as
bad as bad can be. The peculiarity of the commis-voyageur in those
days, was the queer thin varnish of politeness, which he thought it
due to himself to assume. He would help himself at breakfast or
dinner to the leg, wing, and part of the breast, and pass the dish to
his neighbour when it contained only a neck and a drumstick, with a
pleased smile and a ready bow, anxiously asking “ Madame, veut elle
de la volaille?” and he was frightfully unprogressive. He wished to
“ let sleeping dogs lie,” and hated to move quiet things. It almost
gave him an indigestion to speak of railways. He found the dili¬
gence and the canal boat quite fast enough for his purpose. And
in this to a certain extent he represented the Genius of the Nation.

With the excellent example of the Grand Canal du Midi before
them, the French have allowed half a century to pass before they even
realized the fact that their rivers give them most admirable oppor¬
tunities for inland navigation, and that by energy in spending money
they could have a water line leading up from Manches to Paris, and
down from Paris to the Mediterranean. In these days of piercing
isthmuses, they seem hardly to have thought of a canal that would
save the time and expense of running round Spain and Portugal,,
when it would be so easy to cut the neck that connects their country
with the Peninsula. The rest of the journey was eventless as usual.
The family took the steamer at Marseille, steamed down to Leghorn,
and drove up to Pisa. There they found a house on the south side 01
the Lung’ Arno, belonging to a widow of the name of Pini. It was
a dull and melancholy place enough, but it had the advantage of a
large garden that grew chiefly cabbages. It was something like a
return home; a number of old acquaintances were met, and few new
ones were made.

The studies were kept up with unremitting attention. I kept up
drawing, painting, and classics, and it was lucky for me that I did-

The Children are brought to England. 37

I have been able to make my own drawings, and to illustrate my own
books. It is only in this way that a correct idea of unfamiliar scenes
can be given. Travellers who bring home a few scrawls and put
them into the hands of a professional illustrator, have the pleasure of
seeing the illustrated paper style applied to the scenery and the
people of Central Africa and Central Asia and Europe. Even when
the drawings are carefully done by the traveller-artist, it is hard to
persuade the professional to preserve their peculiarities. For instance,
a sketch from Hyderabad, the inland capital of Sind, showed a number
of mast-like poles which induced the English artist to write out and
ask if there ought not to be yards and sails. In sending a sketch
home of a pilgrim in his proper costume, the portable Koffin worn
under the left arm narrowly escaped becoming a revolver. On the
chocolate-coloured cover of a book on Zanzibar, stands a negro in
gold, straddling like the Colossus of Rhodes. He was propped crane¬
like upon one leg, supporting himself with his spear, and applying,
African fashion, the sole of the other foot to the perpendicular calf.

But music did not get on so well. We all three had good speaking
voices, but we sang with a “voce digola” a throaty tone which was
terrible to hear. It is only in England that people sing without
voices. This may do very well when chirping a comic song, or half¬
speaking a ballad, but in nothing higher. I longed to sing, began
singing with all my might at Pau in the Pyrenees, and I kept it up
at Pisa, where Signor Romani (Mario’s old master) rather encouraged
me, instead of peremptorily or pathetically bidding me to hold my
tongue. I wasted time and money, and presently found out my
mistake and threw up music altogether. At stray times I took up
the flageolet, and other simple instruments, as though I had a kind
of instinctive feeling how useful music would be to me in later life.
And I never ceased to regret that I had not practised sufficiently,
to be able to write down music at hearing. Had I been able to do
so, I might have collected some two thousand motives from Europe,
Asia, Africa, and America, and have produced a musical note-book
which would have been useful to a Bellini, or Donizetti, or a
Boito.

We had now put away childish things; that is to say, we no longer
broke the windows across the river with slings, or engaged in free
fights with our coevals. But the climate of Italy is precocious, so,
as the Vicar of Wakefield has it, “ we cocked our hats and loved the
ladies.” And our poor father was once appalled by strange heads
being put out of the windows, in an unaccustomed street, and with
the words, “Oh! S’or Riccardo, Oh ! S’or Edoardo.”

Madame P-, the landlady, had three children. Sandro, the

38 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

son, was a tall, gawky youth, who wore a cacciatore or Italian shooting
jacket of cotton-leather, not unlike the English one made loose, with
the tails cut off. The two daughters were extremely handsome girls,
in very different styles. Signorina Caterina, the elder, was tall, slim,
and dark, with the palest possible complexion and regular features.
Signorina Antonia, the younger, could not boast of the same classical
lines, but the light brown hair, and the pink and white complexion,
made one forgive and forget every irregularity. Consequently I fell
in love with the elder, and Edward with the latter. Proposals of
marriage were made and accepted. The girls had heard that, in her
younger days, mamma had had half a dozen strings to her bow at the
same time, and they were perfectly ready to follow parental example.
But a serious obstacle occurred in the difficulty of getting the
ceremony performed. As in England there was a popular but
mistaken idea that a man could put a rope round his wife’s neck,
take her to market, and sell her like a quadruped, so there was, and
perhaps there is still, in Italy, a legend that any affianced couple
standing up together in front of the congregation during the eleva¬
tion of the Host, and declaring themselves man and wife, are very
much married. Many inquiries were made about this procedure, and
at one time it was seriously intended. But the result of questioning
was, that promessi sposi so acting, are at once imprisoned and punished
by being kept in separate cells, and therefore it became evident, that
the game was not worth the candle. This is like a Scotch marriage,
however—with the Italian would be binding in religion, and the
Scotch in law.

Edward and I made acquaintance with a lot of Italian medical
students, compared with whom, English men of the same category
were as babes, and they did us no particular good. At last the
winter at Pisa ended, badly—very badly. The hard studies of
the classics during the day, occasionally concluded with a revel at
night On one hopeless occasion a bottle of Jamaica gin happened
to fall into the wrong hands. The revellers rose at midnight, boiled
water, procured sugar and lemons, and sat down to a steaming soup
tureen full of punch. Possibly it was followed by a second, but the
result was that they sallied out into the streets, determined upon
what is called a “ spree.” Knockers did not exist, and Charleys did
not confine themselves to their sentry-boxes, and it was vain to ring
at bells, when every one was sound asleep. Evidently the choice of
amusements was limited, and mostly confined to hustling inoffensive
passers-by. But as one of these feats had been performed, and cries
for assistance had been uttered, up came the watch at the double,
and the revellers had nothing to do but to make tracks. My legs

The Children are brought to England. 39

were the longest, and I escaped; Edward was seized and led off, despite
his fists and heels, ignobly to the local violoti , or guard-house. One
may imagine my father’s disgust next morning, when he was cour¬
teously informed by the prison authorities that a giovinotto bearing his
name, had been lodged during the night at the public expense. The
father went off in a state of the stoniest severity to the guard-house,
and found the graceless one treating his companions in misfortune,
thieves and ruffians of every kind, to the contents of a pocket-flask
with which he had provided himself in case of need. This was the
last straw ; our father determined to transfer his head-quarters to the
Baths of Lucca, and then to prepare for breaking up the family. The
adieux of Caterina and Antonia were heartrending, and it was agreed
to correspond every week. The journey occupied a short time, and
a house was soon found in the upper village of Lucca.

In those days, the Lucchese baths were the only place in Italy
that could boast of a tolerably cool summer climate, and a few of
the comforts of life. Sorrento, Montenero, near Leghorn, and the
hills about Rome, were frequented by very few; they came under
the category of “ cheap and nasty.” Hence the Bagni collected what
was considered to be the distinguished society. It had its parson
from Pisa, even in the days before the travelling continental
clergyman was known, and this one migrated every year to the hills,
like the flight of swallows, and the beggars who desert the hot plains
and the stifling climate of the lowlands. There was generally at
least one English doctor who practised by the kindly sufferance of
the then Italian Government. The Duke of Lucca at times attended
the balls; he was married, but his gallant presence and knightly
manner committed terrible ravages in the hearts of susceptible
English girls.

The queen in ordinary was a Mrs. Colonel Stisted, as she called
herself, the “ same Miss Clotilda Clotworthy Crawley who was ” so
rudely treated by the wild Irish girl, Lady Morgan. I was also
obliged to settle an old score with her in after years in “ Sinde, or
the Unhappy Valley.” And so I wrote, “ She indeed had left her
mark in literature, not by her maudlin volume, ‘The Byeways of
Italy/ but by the abuse of her fellow authors.” She was “ the sea
goddess with tin ringlets and venerable limbs ” of the irrepressible
Mrs. Trollope. She also supplied Lever with one of the characters
which he etched in with his most corrosive acid. In one season
the Baths collected Lady Blessington, Count D’Orsay, the charming
Lady Walpole, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the poetess, whose
tight sacque of black silk gave us youngsters a series of caricatures.
There, too, was old Lady Osborne, full of Greek and Latin, who

40 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

married her daughter to Captain Bernal, afterwards Bernal Osborne.
Amongst the number was Mrs. Young, whose daughter became
Madame Matteucci, wife of the celebrated scientist and electrician of
Tuscany. She managed, curiously to say, to hold her own in her
new position. Finally, I remember Miss Virginia Gabrieli, daughter
of old General Gabrieli, commonly called the “Archangel Gabriel.”
Virginia Gabrieli, “ all white and fresh, and virginally plain,” after¬
wards made a name in the musical world, composed beautiful
ballads, published many pieces, and married, and died in St. George’s
Hospital by being thrown from a carriage, August 7, 1877. She
showed her savoir faire at the earliest age. At a ball given to the
Prince, all appeared in their finest dresses and richest jewellery. Miss
Virginia was in white, with a single necklace of pink coral. They
danced till daylight; and when the sun arose, Miss Virginia was
like a rose amongst faded dahlias and sunflowers.

There was a very nice fellow of the name of Wood, who had just
married a Miss Stisted, one of the nieces of the “ Queen of the
Baths,” with whom all the “ baths ” were in love. Another marking
young person was Miss Helen Crowley, a girl of the order “dashing,”
whose hair was the brightest auburn, and complexion the purest
white and red. Her father was the Rev. Dr. Crowley, whose Jewish
novel “Salathiel” made a small noise in the world.

It was evident that the Burton family was ripe for a break up.
Our father, like an Irishman, was perfectly happy as long as he was
the only man in the house, but the presence of younger males irri¬
tated him. His temper became permanently soured. He could
no longer use the rod, but he could make himself very unpleasant
with his tongue. “ Senti come me li rimangia quei poveri ragazzi! ”
(Hear how he is chawing-up those poor lads !) said the old Pisan-
Italian lady’s-maid, and I do think now that we were not pleasant
inmates of a household. We were in the “ Sturm und drang ” of the
teens. We had thoroughly mastered our tutor, threw our books
out of the window if he attempted to give a lesson in Greek or
Latin, and applied ourselves with ardour to Picault Le Brun, and
Paulde Kock, the “Promessi Sposi,” and the “ Disfida di Barletta.”
Instead of taking country walks, we jodelled all about the hillsides
under the direction of a Swiss scamp. We shot pistols in every
direction, and whenever a stray fencing-master passed, we persuaded
him to give us a few hours of “ point.” We made experiments of
everything imaginable, including swallowing and smoking opium.

The break-up took place about the middle of summer. It was
comparatively tame. Italians marvelled at the Spartan nature of
the British mother, who, after the habits of fifteen years, can so

The Children are brought to England. 41

easily part with her children at the cost of a lachrymose last embrace,
and watering her prandial beefsteak with tears. Amongst Italian
families, nothing is more common than for all the brothers and
sisters to swear that they will not marry if they are to be separated
from one another. And even now, in these subversive and pro¬
gressive days, what a curious contrast is the English and the Italian
household. Let me sketch one of the latter, a family belonging to
the old nobility, once lords of the land, and now simple proprietors
of a fair Estate. In a large garden, and a larger orchard of vines
and olives, stands a solid old house, as roomy as a barrack, but
without the slightest pretension of comfort or luxury. The old
Countess, a widow, has the whole of her progeny around her—two
or three stalwart sons, one married and the others partially so, and
a daughter who has not yet found a husband. The servants are old
family retainers. They consider themselves part and parcel of the
household; they are on the most familiar terms with the family,
although they would resent with the direst indignation the slightest
liberty on the part of outsiders. The day is one of extreme sim¬
plicity, and some might even deem it monotonous. Each individual
leaves his bed at the hour he or she pleases, and finds coffee, milk,
and small rolls in the dining-room. Smoking and dawdling pass
the hours till almost mid-day, when dejeuner a la fourchette, or rather
a young dinner, leads very naturally up to a siesta. In the afternoon
there is a little walking or driving, and even shooting in the case of
the most energetic. There is a supper after nightfall, and after that
dominoes or cards, or music, or conversazione, keep them awake for
half the night. The even tenor of their days is broken only by a
festival or a ball in the nearest town, or some pseudo Scientific
Congress in a City not wholly out of reach; and so things go on
from year to year, and all are happy because they look to nothing
else.

Our journey began in the early summer of 1840. My mother
and sister were left at the Baths of Lucca, and my father, with Mr.
Du Pr 6 , and Edward and I, set out for Switzerland. We again
travelled vetturino , and we lads cast longing eyes at the charming
country which we were destined not to see again for another ten
years. How melancholy we felt when on our way to the chill and
dolorous North ! At Schinznach I was left in charge of Mr. Du Pr£,
while my father and brother set out for England direct. These
Hapsburg baths in the Aargau had been chosen because the
abominable sulphur water, as odorous as that of Harrogate, was
held as sovereign in skin complaints, and I was suffering from
exanthemata, an eruption brought on by a sudden check of per-

42 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

spiration. These eruptions are very hard to cure, and they often
embitter a man’s life. The village consisted of a single Establish¬
ment, in which all nationalities met. Amongst them was an
unfortunate Frenchman, who had been attacked at Calcutta with
what appeared to be a leprous taint. He had tried half a dozen
places to no purpose, and he had determined to blow his brains out
if Schinznach failed him. The only advantage of the place was, its
being within easy distance of Schaffhausen and the falls of the
Rhine.

When the six weeks’ cure was over, I was hurried by my guardian
across France, and Southern England, to the rendezvous. The
Grandmother and the two aunts, finding Great Cumberland Place
too hot, had taken country quarters at Hampstead. Grandmamma
Baker received us lads with something like disappointment. She
would have been better contented had we been six feet high, bony
as Highland cattle, with freckled faces, and cheek-bones like horns.
Aunt Georgina Baker embraced and kissed her nephews with
effusion. She had not been long parted from us. Mrs. Frank
Burton, the other aunt, had not seen us for ten years, and of course
could not recognize us.

We found two very nice little girl-cousins, who assisted us to pass
the time. But the old dislike to our surroundings, returned with
redoubled violence. Everything appeared to us so small, so mean,
so ugly. The faces of the women were the only exception to the
general rule of hideousness. The houses were so unlike houses,
and more like the Nuremberg toys magnified. The outsides were
so prim, so priggish, so utterly unartistic. The little bits of garden
were mere slices, as if they had been sold by the inch. The interiors
were cut up into such wretched little rooms, more like ship-cabins
than what was called rooms in Italy. The drawing-rooms were
crowded with hideous little tables, that made it dangerous to pass
from one side to the other. The tables were heaped with nick-
nacks, that served neither for use or show. And there was a
desperate neatness and cleanness about everything that made us
remember the old story of the Stoic who spat in the face of the
master of the house because it was the most untidy place in the
dwelling.

Then came a second parting. Edward was to be placed under
the charge of the Rev. Mr. Havergal, rector of some country parish.
Later on, he wrote to say that “ Richard must not correspond with
his brother, as he had turned his name into a peculiar form of
ridicule.” He was in the musical line, and delighted in organ¬
playing. But Edward seemed to consider the whole affair a bore.

The Children are brought to Engla 7 id. 43

and was only too happy when he could escape from the harmonious
parsonage.

In the mean time l had been tried and found wanting. One of
my father’s sisters (Mrs. General D’Aguilar, as she called herself)
had returned from India, after an uninterrupted residence of a score
of years, with a large supply of children of both sexes. She had
settled herself temporarily at Cambridge, to superintend the education
of her eldest son, John Burton D’Aguilar, who was intended for the
Church, and who afterwards became a chaplain in the Bengal
Establishment. Amongst her many acquaintances was a certain
Professor Sholefield, a well-known Grecian. My father had rather
suspected that very little had been done in the house, in the way of
classical study, during the last two years. The Professor put me
through my paces in Virgil and Homer, and found me lamentably
deficient. I did not even know who Isis was ! worse still, it was
found out that I, who spoke French and Italian and their dialects
like a native, who had a considerable smattering of Bearnais,
Spanish, and Provengale, barely knew the Lord’s Prayer, broke
down in the Apostles’ Creed, and had never heard of the Thirty-
nine Articles —a terrible revelation 1

CHAPTER IV.

OXFORD.

As it was Long Vacation at Oxford, and I could not take rooms at
once in Trinity College, where my name had been put down, it was
necessary to place me somewhere out of mischief. At the inter¬
vention of friends, a certain Doctor Greenhill agreed to lodge and
coach me till the opening term. The said doctor had just married
a relation of Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, and he had taken his bride to
Paris, in order to show her the world and to indulge himself in a
little dissecting. Meanwhile I was placed pro tem. with another
medical don, Dr. Ogle, and I enjoyed myself in that house. The
father was a genial man, and he had nice sons and pretty daughters.
As soon as Dr. Greenhill returned to his house in High Street,
Oxford, I was taken up there by my father, and was duly consigned
to the new tutor. Mr. Du Pre vanished, and was never seen again.

The first sight of Oxford struck me with a sense of appal. “ O
Domus antiqua et religiosa,” cried Queen Elizabeth, in 1664, stand¬
ing opposite Pembroke College, which the Dons desecrated in 1875.
I could not imagine how such fine massive and picturesque old
buildings as the colleges could be mixed up with the mean little
houses that clustered around them, looking as if they were built
of cardboard. In after days, I remembered the feeling, when look¬
ing at the Temple of the Sun in Palmyra, surrounded by its Arab
huts, like swallows’ nests planted upon a palace wall. And every¬
thing, except the colleges, looked so mean.

The good old Mitre was, if not the only, at least the chief hostelry
of the place, and it had the outward and visible presence of a pot¬
house. The river with the classical name of Isis, was a mere moat,
and its influent, the Cherwell, w T as a ditch. The country around,
especially just after Switzerland, looked flat and monotonous in the
extreme. The skies were brown-grey, and, to an Italian nose, the

smell of the coal smoke was a perpetual abomination. Queer beings
44

walked the streets, dressed in aprons that hung behind, from their
shoulders, and caps consisting of a square, like that of a lancer’s
helmet, planted upon a semi-oval to contain the head. These
queer creatures were carefully shaved, except, perhaps, a diminutive
mutton-cutlet on each side of their face, and the most serious sort
were invariably dressed in vestibus nigris aut sub fuscis.

Moreover, an indescribable appearance of donnishness or incipient
donnishness pervaded the whole lot. The juniors looked like school¬
boys who aspired to be schoolmasters, and the seniors as if their
aspirations had been successful. I asked after the famous Grove of
Trinity, where Charles I. used to walk when tired of Christ Church
meadows, and which the wits called Daphne. It had long been
felled, and the ground was covered with buildings.

At last term opened, and I transferred myself from Dr. Greenhil]
to Trinity College.

Then my University life began, and readers must be prepared
not to be shocked at the recital of my college failures, which only
proves the truth of what I said before, that if a father means his
boy to succeed in an English career, he must put him to a preparatory
school, Eton or Oxford, educate him for his coming profession,
and not drag his family about the Continent, under governesses and
tutors, to learn fencing, languages, and become wild, and to belong
to nowhere in particular as to parish or county.

In the autumn term of 1840, at nineteen and a half, I began
residence in Trinity College, where my quarters were a pair of dog-
hoies, called rooms, overlooking the garden of the Master of Balliol.
My reception at College was not pleasant. I had grown a splendid
moustache, which was the envy cf all the boys abroad, and which all
the advice of Drs. Ogle and Greenhill failed to make me remove.
I declined to be shaved until formal orders were issued to the
authorities of the college. For I had already formed strong ideas
upon the Shaven age of England, when her history, with some
brilliant exceptions, such as Marlborough, Wellington, or Nelson,
was at its meanest.

As I passed through the entrance of the College, a couple of
brother collegians met me, and the taller one laughed in my face.
Accustomed to continental decorum, I handed him my card and
called him out. But the college lad, termed by courtesy an
Oxford man, had possibly read of duels, had probably never
touched a weapon, sword or pistol, and his astonishment at the
invitation exceeded all bounds. Explanations succeeded, and I
went my way sadly, and felt as if I had fallen amongst epiciei's.
The college porter had kindly warned me against tricks played by

46 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

the older hands, upon “ fresh young gentlemen,” and strongly advised
me to “ sport my oak,” or, in other words, to bar and lock my outer
door. With dignity deeply hurt, I left the entrance wide open, and
thrust a poker into the fire, determined to give all intruders the
warmest possible reception. This was part and parcel of that
unhappy education abroad. In English public schools, boys learn
first “to take,” and then “to give.” They begin by being tossed,
and then by tossing others in the blanket. Those were days when
practical jokes were in full force. Happily it is now extinct. Every
greenhorn coming to college or joining a regiment, was liable to the
roughest possible treatment, and it was only by submitting with the
utmost good humour, that he won the affection of his comrades, and
was looked upon as a gentleman. But the practice also had its
darker phase. It ruined many a prospect, and it lost many a life.
The most amusing specimen that I ever saw was that of a charming
youngster, who died soon after joining his Sepoy regiment. The
oldsters tried to drink him under the table at mess, and had notably
failed. About midnight, when he was enjoying his first sleep, he
suddenly awoke and found a ring of spectral figures dancing round
between his bed and the tent-walls. After a minute’s reflection, he
jumped up, seized a sheet, threw it over his shoulders, and joined
the dancers, saying, “ If this is the fashion I suppose I must do it
also.” The jokers, baffled a second time, could do nothing but knock
him down and run away.

The example of the larky Marquis of Waterford, seemed to
authorize all kinds of fantastic tricks. The legend was still fresh,
that he had painted the Dean of Christ Church’s door red, because
that formidable dignitary had objected to his wearing “pink” in
High Street. Another, and far more inexcusable prank, was his
sending all the accoucheurs in the town, to the house of a middle-
aged maiden lady, whose father, a don, had offended him. In the
colleges they did not fly at such high game, but they cruelly worried
everything in the shape of a freshman. One unfortunate youth, a
fellow who had brought with him a dozen of home-made wine, elder
and cowslip, was made shockingly tight by brandy being mixed with
his port, and was put to bed with all his bottles disposed on different
parts of his person. Another, of aesthetic tastes, prided himself upon
his china, and found it next morning all strewed in pieces about
his bed. A third, with carroty whiskers, had them daubed with
mustard, also while in a state of insensibility, and had to have them
fall, yellow, next morning under a barber’s hands.

I caused myself to be let down by a rope into the Master of
Balliol’s garden, plucked up some of the finest flowers by the roots,

Oxford. 47

and planted in their place great staring marigolds. The study of
the old gentleman’s countenance when he saw them next morning
was a joy for ever. Another prank was to shoot with an air-cane,
an article strictly forbidden in college, at a brand-new watering-pot,
upon which the old gentleman greatly prided himself, and the way
which the water spirted over his reverend gaiters, gave an ineffable
delight to the knot of mischievous undergraduates who were pro¬
specting him from behind the curtain. I, however, always had con¬
siderable respect for the sturdy common sense of old Dr. Jenkins,
and I made a kind of amends to him in “ Vikram and the Vam¬
pire,” where he is the only Pundit who objected to the tiger being
resurrectioned. Another neat use of the air-cane, was to shoot the
unhappy rooks, over the heads of the dons, as they played at bowls;
the grave and reverend signiors would take up the body, and gravely
debate what had caused the sudden death, when a warm stream of
blood, trickling into their shirts, explained it only too clearly. No
undergraduate in college could safely read his classics out loud after
ten o’clock p.m., or his “oak ” was broken with dumb-bells, and the
dirty oil lamp, that half lit the stairs, was thrown over him and his
books.

I made amends to a certain extent for my mischief by putting my
fellow-collegians to bed, and I always maintain that the Welshmen
were those who gave me the most trouble.

The Oxford day, considered with relation to the acquisition of
knowledge, was a “ fast ” pure and simple—it began in the morning
with Chapel, during which time most men got up their logic. We
then breakfasted either in our rooms, or in large parties, where
we consumed an immense quantity of ham, bacon, eggs, mutton
chops, and indigestible muffins. We then attended a couple of
lectures, and this was Time completely thrown away. We were
then free for the day, and every man passed his time as he best
pleased. I could not afford to keep horses, and always hated the
idea of riding hired hacks. My only amusements therefore were
walking, rowing, and the school-at-arms. My walks somehow or
other always ended at Bagley Wood, where a pretty gypsy girl
(Selina), dressed in silks and satins, sat in state to receive the
shillings and the homage of the undergraduates. I worked hard,
under a coach, at sculling and rowing; I was one of the oars in the
College Torpid, and a friend and I challenged the River in a two-
oar, but unfortunately both of us were rusticated before the race
came off.

My friend in misfortune belonged to an eminent ecclesiastical
family, and distinguished himself accordingly. Returning from

48 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Australia, he landed at Mauritius without a farthing. Most
men under the circumstances would have gone to the Governor,
told their names, and obtained a passage to England. But the
individual in question had far too much individuality to take so
commonplace a step. He wrote home to his family for money, and
meanwhile took off his coat, tucked up his sleeves, and worked like
a coolie on the wharf. When the cheque for his passage was sent,
he invited all his brother coolies to a spread of turtle, champagne,
and all the luxuries of the season, at the swell hotel of the place,
and left amidst the blessings of Shem and the curse of Japhet.
Another of my college companions—the son of a bishop, by-the-by—
made a cavalry regiment too hot to hold him, and took his passage
to the Cape of Good Hope in an emigrant ship. On the third day
he brought out a portable roulette table, which the captain sternly
ordered off the deck. But the ship was a slow sailer, she fell in
with calms about the Line, and the official rigour was relaxed. First
one began to play, and then another, and at last the ship became a
perfect “hell.” After a hundred narrow escapes, and ail manner
of risks by fire and water, and the fists and clubs of the enraged
losers, the distinguished youth landed at Cape Town with almost
^5000 in his pocket.

The great solace of my life was the fencing-room. When I first
entered Oxford, its only salle d'a?’mes was kept by old Angelo,
the grandson of the gallant old Italian, mentioned by Edgeworth,
but who knew about as much of fencing as a French collegian after
six months of salle d'armes. He was a priggish old party too, cele¬
brated for walking up to his pupils and for whispering stagely, after
a salute with the foil, “ This, sir, is not so much a School of Arms as
a School of Politeness .” Presently a rival appeared in the person of
Archibald Maclaren, who soon managed to make his mark. He
established an excellent saloon, and he gradually superseded all the
wretched gymnastic yard, which lay some half a mile out of the
town. He was determined to make his way ; he went over to Paris,
when he could, to work with the best masters, published his systems
of fencing and gymnastics, and he actually wrote a little book of
poetry, which he called “ Songs of the Sword.” He and I became
great friends, which friendship lasted for life. The only question
that ever arose between us was touching the advisability or non
advisability of eating sweet buns and drinking strong ale at the same
time. At the fencing-rooms I made acquaintance, which afterwards
became a life-long friendship, with Alfred Bates Richards. He was a
tall man, upwards of six feet high, broad in proportion, and very
muscular. I found it unadvisable to box with him, but could easily

Oxford. 49

master him with foil and broadsword. He was one of the few who
would take the trouble to learn. Mostly Englishmen go to a fencing
school, and, after six weeks’ lessons, clamour to be allowed to fence
loose, and very loose fencing it is, and is fated always to be. In
the same way, almost before they can fix their colours they want to
paint tableaux de genre , and they have hardly learnt their scales,
when they want to attempt bravura pieces. On the Continent men
work for months, and even years, before they think themselves in
sight of their journey’s end. A. B. Richards and I often met in
after life and became intimates. His erratic career is well known,
and he died at a comparatively early age, editor of the Morning
Advertiser. He had raised the tone of the Licensed Victuallers’
organ to such a high pitch that even Lord Beaconsfield congratu¬
lated him upon it

A. B. Richards was furious to see the treatment my services
received; he always stood up bravely for me—his fellow-collegian,
both with word and pen—in leaders too.

The time for “ Hall,” that is to say for college dinner, was five
p.m., and the scene was calculated to astonish a youngster brought
up on the Continent. The only respectable part of it was the
place itself, not a bad imitation of some old convent refectory.
The details were mean in the extreme, and made me long for the
meanest table d'hote. Along the bottom of the Hall, raised upon a
dwarf dais, ran the high table, intended for the use of fellows and
fellow-commoners. The other tables ran along the sides. Wine
was forbidden, malt liquor being the only drink. The food certainly
suited the heavy strong beers and ales brewed in the college. It
consisted chiefly of hunches of meat, cooked after Homeric or
Central African fashion, and very filling at the price. The vege¬
tables, as usual, were plain boiled, without the slightest aid to diges¬
tion. Yet the college cooks were great swells. They were paid as
much as an average clergyman, and put most of their sons into the
Church. In fact, the stomach had to do the whole work, whereas a
good French or Italian cook does half the work for it in his sauce¬
pans. This cannibal meal was succeeded by stodgy pudding, and
concluded with some form of cheese, Cheshire or double Gloucester,
which painfully reminded one of bees’-wax, and this was called
dinner. Very soon my foreign stomach began to revolt at such
treatment, and I found out a place in the town, where, when I could
escape Hall, I could make something of a dinner.

The moral of the scene offended all my prepossessions. The fellow-

50 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

commoners were simply men, who by paying double what the com¬
moners paid, secured double privileges. This distinction of castes
is odious, except in the case of a man of certain age, who would not
like to be placed in the society of young lads. But worse still was
the gold tuft, who walked the streets with a silk gown, and a
gorgeous tassel on his college cap. These were noblemen, the
offensive English equivalent for men of title. Generosus nascitur
nobilis jit . The Grandfathers of these noblemen may have been
pitmen or grocers, but the simple fact of having titles, entitled them
to most absurd distinctions. For instance, with a smattering of
letters, enough to enable a commoner to squeeze through an ordinary
examination, gold tuft took a first class, and it was even asserted
that many took their degrees by merely sending up their books.
They were allowed to live in London as much as they liked, and to
condescend to college at the rare times they pleased. Some Heads
of Colleges would not stoop to this degradation, especially Dean

Gaisford of Christ Church, who compelled Lord W-to leave it

and betake himself to Trinity; but the place was, with notable
exceptions, a hotbed of toadyism and flunkeyism. When Mr. (now
Sir Robert) Peel first appeared in the High Street, man, woman, and
child stood to look at him because he was the son of the Prime
Minister.

After dinner it was the custom to go to wine. These desserts
were another abomination. The table was spread with a vast variety
of fruits and sweetmeats, supplied at the very highest prices, and
often on tick, by the Oxford tradesmen,—model sharks. Some men
got their wine from London, others bought theirs in the town.
Claret was then hardly known, and port, sherry, and Madeira, all of
the strong military ditto type, were the only drinks. These wines
were given in turn by the undergraduates, and the meal upon meal
would have injured the digestion of a young shark. At last, about
this time, some unknown fellow, whose name deserved to be immor¬
talized, drew out a cigar and insisted on smoking it, despite the
disgust and uproar that the novelty created. But the fashion made
its way, and the effects were admirable. The cigar, and afterwards
the pipe, soon abolished the cloying dessert, and reduced the
consumption of the loaded wines to a minimum.

But the English were very peculiar about smoking. In the days
of Queen Anne it was so universal that dissident jurymen were locked
up without meat, drink, or tobacco. During the continental wars
it became un-English to smoke, and consequently men, and even
women, took snuff. And for years it was considered as disgraceful
to smoke a cigar out of doors as to have one’s boots blacked, or to

Oxford. 51

eat an orange at Hyde Park Corner. “ Good gracious ! you don’t
mean to say that you smoke in the streets ? ” said an East Indian
Director in after years, when he met me in Pall Mall with a cigar in
my mouth. Admiral Henry Murray, too, vainly endeavoured to
break through the prohibition by leading a little squad of smoking
friends through Kensington Gardens. Polite ladies turned away
their faces, and unpolite ladies muttered something about “ snobs.”
At last the Duke of Argyll spread his plaid under a tree in Hyde
Park, lighted a cutty pipe, and beckoned his friends to join him.
Within a month every one in London had a cigar in his mouth. A
pretty lesson to inculcate respect for popular prejudice !

After the dessert was finished, not a few men called for cognac,
whisky, and gin, and made merry for the rest of the evening. But
what else was there for them to do? Unlike a foreign University,
the theatre was discouraged; it was the meanest possible little
house, decent actors were ashamed to show themselves in it, and
an actress of the calibre of Mrs. Nesbitt appeared only every few
years. Opera, of course, there was none, and if there had been,
not one in a thousand would have understood the language, and
not one in a hundred would have appreciated the music. Occasion¬
ally there was a concert given by some wandering artists, with the
special permission of the college authorities, and a dreary two
hours’ work it was. Balls were unknown, whereby the marriageable
demoiselles of Oxford lost many an uncommon good chance. A
mesmeric lecturer occasionally came down there and caused some
fun. He called for subjects, and amongst the half-dozen that
presented themselves was one young gentleman who had far more
sense of humour than discretion. When thrown into a deep slumber,
he arose, with his eyes apparently fast closed, and, passing into the
circle of astonished spectators, began to distribute kisses right and
left. Some of these salutations fell upon the sacred cheeks of the
daughters of the Heads of Houses, and the tableau maybe imagined.

This dull, monotonous life was varied in my case by an occasional
dinner with families whose acquaintance I had made in the town.
At Dr. Greenhill’s I once met at dinner Dr. (afterwards Cardinal)
Newman and Dr. Arnold, I expected great things from their
conversation, but it was mostly confined to discussing the size of
he Apostles in the Cathedral of St. Peter’s in Rome, and both these
eminent men showed a very dim recollection of the subject. I took
a great fancy to Dr. Newman, and used to listen to his sermons,
when I would never give half an hour to any other preacher. There
was a peculiar gentleness in his manner, and the matter was always
suggestive. Dr. Newman was Vicar of St. Mary’s, at Oxford, and

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

used to preach, at times, University sermons; there was a stamp
and seal upon him, a solemn music and sweetness in his tone and
manner, which made him singularly attractive, yet there was no
change of inflexion in his voice; action he had none; his sermons
were always read, and his eyes were ever upon his book; his figure
was lean and stooping, and the tout ensemble was anything but
dignified or commanding, yet the delivery suited the matter of his
speech, and the combination suggested complete candour and
honesty; he said only what he believed, and he induced others to
believe with him. On the other hand, Dr. Pusey’s University ser
mons used to last for an hour and a half; they were filled with Latin
and Greek, dealt with abstruse subjects, and were delivered in the
dullest possible way, and seemed to me like a mauvais reve or night¬
mare.

At Dr. Greenhill’s, too, I met Don Pascual de Gayangos, the
Spanish Arabist. Already wearying of Greek and Latin, I had
attacked Arabic, and soon was well on in Erpinius’s Grammar;
but there was no one to teach me, so I began to teach myself, and
to write the Arabic letters from left to right, instead of from right to
left, i.e. the wrong way. Gayangos, when witnessing this proceeding,
burst out laughing, and showed me how to copy the alphabet. In
those days, learning Arabic at Oxford was not easy. There was a
Regius Professor, but he had other occupations than to profess. If
an unhappy undergraduate went up to him, and wanted to learn, he
was assured that it was the duty of a professor to teach a class, and
not an individual. All this was presently changed, but not before
it was high time. The Sundays used generally to be passed in
“ outings.” It was a pleasure to get away from Oxford, and to
breathe the air which was not at least half smoke.

Another disagreeable of Oxford was, the continuous noise of bells.
You could not make sure of five minutes without one giving tongue,
and in no part of the world, perhaps, is there a place where there is
such a perpetual tinkling of metal. The maddening jangle of bells
seems to have been the survival of two centuries ago. In 1698 Paul
Heutzner wrote : “ The English are vastly fond of great noises that
fill the air, such as the firing of cannon, drums, and the ringing of
bells, so that it is common for a number of them that have got a
‘ glass ’ in their heads, to go up into some belfry, and ring the bells
for hours together for the sake of exercise. ”

A favourite Sunday trip used to be to Abingdon, which, by the
wisdom of the dons in those days, was the railway station of Oxford.

Oxford.

L : ke most men of conservative tendency, who disliked to move quiet
things, who cultivated the status quo , because they could hardly be
better off, and might be worse off, and who feared nothing more
than innovations, because these might force on enquiring into
the disposal of the revenues and other delicate monetary questions,
t rey had fought against the line with such good will, that they
ha 1 left it nearly ten miles distant from the town. Their conduct
was by no means exceptional; thousands did the same. For
instance, Lord John Scott, determined to prevent the surveyor
passing through his estate, engaged a company of “ Nottingham
Lambs,” and literally strewed the floor of the porter’s lodge with broken
surveying instruments. Mrs. Partington cannot keep out the tide
with her rake, and the consequence was that Oxford was obliged to
build a branch line, and soon had to lament that she had lost the
advantage of the main line.

The Rev. Thomas Short was at that time doing Sunday duty at
Abingdon. He was not distinguished for ability as a college tutor,
but he was a gentlemanly and kind-hearted man ; he was careful not
to be too sharp-eyed when he met undergraduates at Abingdon.
They generally drove out in tandems, which the absurd regulations
of the place kept in fashion, by forbidding them. No one would
have driven them had they not possessed the merits of stolen fruit.
I, having carefully practised upon “ Dobbin ” in my earlier days, used
thoroughly to enjoy driving. In later years I met with my old tutor,
the Rev. Thomas Short, who lived to a great age, and died univer¬
sally respected and regretted by all who knew him.

At last the lagging autumnal term passed away, and I went up to
my grandmother and aunts in Great Cumberland Place. It was not
lively; a household full of women only, rarely is.

The style of Society was very promiscuous. The Rev. Mr.
Hutchins, the clergyman under whom the family “ sat ” in the
adjoining Quebec Chapel, introduced me to the eccentric Duke
of Brunswick, who used to laugh consumedly at my sallies of high
spirits. Lady Dinorben, with whom Mrs. Phayre still lived, gave
me an occasional invitation. The aunts’ near neighbours were
old General Sutherland of the Madras Army, whose son Alick I
afterwards met in the Neilgherry Hills. Mr. Lawyer Dendy was
still alive, and one of his sons shortly after followed me to India as a
Bombay civilian. Another pleasant acquaintance was Mrs. White,
wife of the colonel of the 3rd Dragoons, whose three stalwart sons
were preparing for India, and gave me the first idea of going there.

54 'The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

A man who dances, who dresses decently, and who is tolerably
well introduced, rarely wants invitations to balls in London, and I
found some occupation for my evenings.

But I sadly wanted a club, and in those days the institution was
not as common as it is now. At odd times I went to the theatres,
and amused myself with the humours of the little “Pic” and the
old Cocoa-Nut Tree. But hazard is a terrible game. It takes a
man years to learn it well, and by that time he has lost all the
luck with which he begins. I always disliked private play, although
I played a tolerable hand at whist, ecai‘te, and piquet, but I found
it almost as unpleasant to win from my friends as to lose to my
friends. On the other hand, I was unusually lucky at public
tables. I went upon a principle, not a theory, which has ruined
so many men. I noted as a rule that players are brave enough
when they lose, whereas they begin to fear when they win. My
plan, therefore, was to put a certain sum in my pocket and resolve
never to exceed it. If I lost it I stopped, one of the advantages of
public over private playing; but I did not lay down any limits to
winning when I was in luck; I boldly went ahead, and only stopped
when I found fortune turning the other way.

My grandmother’s house was hardly pleasant to a devoted smoker ;
I was put out on the leads, leading from the staircase, whenever I
required a weed. So I took lodgings in Maddox Street, and there
became as it were a “ man about town.” My brother Edward joined
me, and we had, as the Yankees say, “ A high old time.” It appeared
only too short, and presently came on the Spring Term, when I
returned to my frouzy rooms in Trinity College; and I had not
formed many friendships in Trinity itself. It had made a name for
fastness amongst the last generation of undergraduates, and now a
reaction had set in. They laughed at me, at my first lecture, because
I spoke in Roman Latin—real Latin—I did not know the English
pronunciation, only known in England. The only men of my own
college I met in after life, were Father Coleridge, S.J., and Edward
A. Freeman, of Somerleaze, the historian.

Mrs. Grundy had then just begun to reign, inaugurated by Douglas
Jerrold with “What will Mrs. Grundy say?” This ancient genitrix
highly disapproved of my foreign ways, and my expressed dislike to
school and college, over which I ought to have waxed sentimental,
tender, and aesthetic; it appeared to her little short of blasphemy.
I had a few friends at “ Exeter,” including Richards, and three at
Brasenose, then famous for drinking heavy beers and ales as Bonn
or Heidelberg, especially on Shrove Tuesday, when certain verses
chaffingly called the “ Carmen seculare ” used to be sung. But I

Oxford .

delighted in “Oriel,” which, both as regards fellows and under¬
graduates, was certainly the nicest college of my day. There I spent
the chief part of my time with Wilberforce, Foster, and a little knot,
amongst whom was Tom Hughes (afterwards Tom Brown). We boxed
regularly, and took lessons from Goodman, ex-pugilist and pedestrian,
and actual tailor, who came down to Oxford at times. We had great
fun with Burke—the fighting man—who on one occasion honoured
Oxford with his presence. The “ Deaf ’un,” as he was called, had a
face that had been hammered into the consistency of sole-leather,
and one evening, after being too copiously treated, he sat down in a
heavy armchair, and cried out, “Now, lads! half a crown a hit.”
We all tried our knuckles upon his countenance, and only hurt our
own knuckles.

Balliol (it was chiefly supplied from Rugby) then held her head
uncommonly high. As all know, Dr. Arnold had made the fortune
of Rugby, and caused it to be recognized among public schools.
During his early government the Rugbyites had sent a cricket
challenge to Eton, and the Etonians had replied “ that they would
be most happy to send their scouts; ” but as scholarship at Eton
seemed to decline, so it rose in Rugby and Oxford. Scholarship
means £ s. d . At Balliol I made acquaintance with a few men,
whose names afterwards made a noise in the world. They all
belonged to a generation, collegically speaking, older than myself.
Coleridge (now Lord Coleridge) was still lingering there, but he had
taken his bachelor’s degree, and his brother, afterwards a Jesuit and
author of many works, was a scholar at Trinity. Ward of Balliol,
who also became a Catholic, was chiefly remarkable for his minute
knowledge of the circulating library novels of the Laura-Matilda type.
He suffered from insomnia, and before he could sleep, he was obliged
to get through a few volumes every night. Lake of Balliol, then a
young don, afterwards turned out a complete man of the world; and
there is no need to speak of Jowett, who had then just passed as
B.A., and was destined to be Master of Balliol.

Oxford between 1840 and 1842 was entering upon great changes.
The old style of “ fellow,” a kind of survival of the Benedictine
monks, was rapidly becoming extinct, and only one or two remained.
Men who lived surrounded by their books on vertical stands, were
capable of asking you if “ cats let loose in woods would turn to
tigers,” and tried to keep pace with the age by reading up the
Times of eight years past. But a great deal of reform was still
wanted. Popular idea about Oxford was, that the Classic groves
of Isis were hotbeds for classical Scholasticism , whilst Cambridge
succeeded better in Mathematics, but I soon found out that one would

56 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

learn more Greek and Latin in one year at Bonn and Heidelberg
than in three at Oxford. The college teaching, for which one was
obliged to pay, was of the most worthless description. Two hours
a day were regularly wasted, and those who read for honours were
obliged to choose and to pay for a private coach. Amongst the said
coaches were some droles , who taught in very peculiar ways, by
Rhymes, not always of the most delicate description. One cele¬
brated coach, after lecturing his blockheads upon the subject, we
will say, of Salmanizer, would say to them, “ Now, you fellows, you’ll
forget in a day everything that I’ve been teaching you for the last
hour. Whenever you hear this man’s name, just repeat to your¬
selves ***** an d you’ll remember all about it.”

The worst of such teaching was, that it had no order and no
system. Its philology was ridiculous, and it did nothing to work the
reasoning powers. Learning foreign languages, as a child learns
its own, is mostly a work of pure memory, which acquires, after
childhood, every artificial assistance possible. My system of learn¬
ing a language in two months was purely my own invention, and
thoroughly suited myself. I got a simple grammar and vocabulary,
marked out the forms and words which I knew were absolutely
necessary, and learnt them by heart by carrying them in my pocket
and looking over them at spare moments during the day. I never
worked more than a quarter of an hour at a time, for after that the
brain lost its freshness. After learning some three hundred words,
easily done in a week, I stumbled through some easy book-work
(one of the Gospels is the most come-atable), and underlined every
word that I wished to recollect, in order to read over my pencillings
at least once a day. Having finished my volume, I then carefully
worked up the grammar minutiae, and I then chose some other book
whose subject most interested me. The neck of the language was
now broken, and progress was rapid. If I came across a new
sound like the Arabic Ghayn, I trained my tongue to it by repeating
it so many thousand times a day. When I read, I invariably read
out loud, so that the ear might aid memory. I was delighted with
the most difficult characters, Chinese and Cuneiform, because I felt
that they impressed themselves more strongly upon the eye than the
eternal Roman letters. This, by-and-by, made me resolutely stand
aloof from the hundred schemes for transliterating Eastern languages,
such as Arabic, Sanscrit, Hebrew, and Syriac, into Latin letters, and
whenever I conversed with anybody in a language that I was learning,
I took the trouble to repeat their words inaudibly after them, and so
to learn the trick of pronunciation and emphasis.

Oxjord.

During this term I formally gave up my intention to read for a first
class. Aut primus aut nullus was ever my motto, and though many
second-class men have turned out better than many first-class men, I
did not care to begin life with a failure. I soon ascertained the fact
that men who may rely upon first classes are bred to it from their child¬
hood, even as horses and dogs are trained. They must not waste time
and memory upon foreign tongues. They must not dissipate their
powers of brain upon anything like general education. They may know
the -isms, but they must be utterly ignorant of the -ologies; but, above
all things, they must not indulge themselves with what is popularly
called “ The World.” They must confine themselves to one straight
line, a college curriculum, and even then they can never be certain of
success. At the very moment of gaining the prize their health may
break down, and compel them to give up work. I surprised Dr Green-
hill by my powers of memory when I learned Adam’s “ Antiquities” by
heart. But the doctor, who had not taken a class himself, threw cold
water on my ambition—perhaps the best thing he could do—and frankly
told me that, though I could take a first class, he could by no means
answer that I would. The fellows of Trinity were nice gentlemanly
men, but I by no means wished to become one of the number. My
father had set his heart upon both sons being provided for by the
Universities, and very often “when fathers propose, sons dispose.”

My disgust at the idea of University honours was perhaps not de¬
creased by my trying for the two scholarships, and failing to get them.

I attributed my non-success at University College (where I was
beaten by a man who turned a chorus of Aeschylus into doggerel
verse) chiefly to my having stirred the bile of my examiners with my
real (Roman) Latin. At times, too, the devil palpably entered into
me, and made me speak Greek Romaically by accent, and not by
quantity, even as they did and still do at Athens. I had learnt this
much from one of the Rhodo-Kanakis Greek merchants at Marseille,
so that I could converse in Latin and Greek as spoken as well as
ancient Latin and Greek.

Years after I was laughed at at Oxford, public opinion took a
turn, and Roman pronunciation of Latin was adopted in many of
the best schools. I was anxious to see them drop their absurd
mispronunciation of Greek, but all the authorities whom I consulted
on the subject, declared to me that schoolmasters had quite enough
to do with learning Italianized Latin, and could not be expected to
trouble themselves with learning Athenianized Greek.

At last the dreary time passed away, and a happy family meeting
was promised. My father brought my mother and sister from Pisa
to Wiesbaden in Germany, and we boys, as we were still called, were
invited over to spend the Long Vacation. We were also to escort

58 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Mrs. D’Aguilar, who with two of her daughters were determined to
see the Rhine. One of the girls was Emily, who died soon. The
other was Eliza, who married a clergyman of the name of Pope, and
whose son, Lieutenant Pope of the 24th Queen’s, died gallantly at
Isandula; though surrounded by numbers, he kept firing his revolver
and wounding his enemies, till he received a mortal wound by an
assegai in the breast. This was on January 22nd, 1879. I n the end
of 1875 he came to Folkestone, to take leave of my wife and me,
who were going out to India. We both liked him very much.

In those days travellers took the steamer from London Bridge,
dropped quietly down the Thames, and, gaining varied information
about the places on both sides of it, dined as usual on a boiled leg
of mutton and caper sauce, and roast ribs of beef with horse-radish,
and slept as best they could in the close boxes called berths or
on deck; if the steamer was in decent order, and there was not too
much head wind, they could be in the Scheldt next morning.

Our little party passed a day at Antwerp, which looked beautiful
from the river. The Cathedral tower and the tall roofs and tapering
spires of the churches around it made a matchless group. We visited
the fortifications, which have lately done such good work, and we
had an indigestion of Rubens, who appeared so gross and so fleshy
after the Italian school. Mrs. D’Aguilar was dreadfully scandalized,
when, coming suddenly into a room, she found her two nephews at
romps with a pretty little soubrette, whose short petticoats enabled
her to deliver the sharpest possible kicks, while she employed her
hands in vigorously defending her jolly red cheeks. The poor lady
threw up her hands and her eyes to heaven when she came suddenly
upon this little scene, and she was even more shocked when she
found that her escort had passed the Sunday evening in the theatre.

From Antwerp we travelled to Bruges, examined the belfry, heard
the chimes, and then went on to Cologne. A marvellous old
picturesque place it was, with its combination of old churches,
crumbling walls, gabled houses, and the narrowest and worst-paved
streets we had ever seen. The old Cathedral in those days was
not finished, and threatened never to be finished. Still there was
the grand solitary tower, with the mystical-looking old crane on the
top, and a regular garden growing out of the chinks and crannies of
the stonework. Coleridge’s saying about Cologne, was still em¬
phatically true in those days, and all travellers had recourse to
“ Jean Marie Farina Gegeniiber” What a change there is now, with
that hideous Gothic railway bridge, and its sham battlements, and
loopholes to defend nothing, with its hideous cast-iron turret over
the centre of the church, where the old architect had intended a

Oxford.

light stone lantern-tower, with the ridiculous terrace surrounding
the building, and with the hideous finials with which the modern*
German architects have disfigured the grand old building!

At Cologne we took the steamer and ran up the river. A far
more sensible proceeding than that of these days, when tourists take
the railway, and consequently can see only one side of the view.
The river craft was comfortable, the meals were plentiful, the
Pisporter was a sound and unadulterated wine, and married remark¬
ably well with Knaster tobacco, smoked in long pipes with painted
china bowls. The crowd, too, was good-tempered, and seemed to
enjoy its holiday. Bonn, somehow or other, always managed to
show at least one very pretty girl, with blue porcelain eyes and
gingerbread-coloured hair. Then came the Castle Crag of Drachen-
fels and the charming Siebengebirge, which in those days were not
spoiled by factory chimneys. We landed at Mainz, and from
there drove over to the old Fontes Mattiace, called in modern day
Wiesbaden.

It has been said that to enjoy the Rhine one must go to it from
England, not the other way from Switzerland; and travellers’
opinions are very much divided about it, some considering it ex¬
tremely grand, and others simply pretty. I was curious to see what
its effect upon me would be after visiting the four quarters of the
globe ; so, in May, 1872 ,1 dropped down the river from Basle to the
mouth. The southern and the northern two-thirds were unin¬
teresting, but I found the middle as pretty as ever, and, in fact, I
enjoyed the beautiful and interesting river more than when I had
seen it as a boy.

I found the middle, beginning at Bingen, charming. Bishop
Hatto’s Tower had become a cockneyfied affair, and the castles,
banks, and islands were disagreeably suggestive of Richmond Hill.
But Drachenfels, Nonnenswerth, and Rolandseck, were charming,
and I quite felt the truth of the saying, that this is one of the
paradises of Germany. At Diisseldorf the river became old and
ugly, and so continued till Rotterdam.

Wiesbaden in those days was intensely “ German and ordinary,”
as Horace Walpole says. It was a kind of Teutonic Margate, with
a chic of its own. In the days before railways, this was the case with
all these “ Baths,” where people either went to play, or to get rid of
what the Germans call eine sehr schone corpulenz , a corporation
acquired by stuffing food of three kinds, salt, sour, or greasy, during
nine or ten months of the year. It was impossible to mistake
princely Baden-Baden and its glorious Black Forest, for invalid
Kissingen or for Homberg, which combined mineral waters and

6 o

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

gambling tables. Wiesbaden was so far interesting that it showed
the pure and unadulterated summer life of middle-class Germans.
There you see in perfection the grave blue-green German eye.

Our family found a comfortable house at Wiesbaden, and the
German servants received the “ boys,” as we were still called, with
exclamations of “ Ach ! die schone schwarze kinder.” We paid
occasionally furtive visits to the Kursaal, and lost a few sovereigns
like men. But our chief amusement was the fencing-room. Here
we had found new style of play, with the schldger , a pointless rapier
with razor-like edges. It was a favourite student’s weapon, used to
settle all their affairs of honour, and they used it with the silly hang¬
ing guard. Some of them gave half an hour every day to working at
the post, a wooden pillar stuck up in the middle of the room and
bound with vertical ribbons of iron.

When we were tired of Wiesbaden, we amused ourselves with
wandering about the country. We visited the nearer watering-
places.

We then returned to Wiesbaden, and went over to Heidelberg,
which is so charmingly picturesque. Here we found a little colony
of English, and all fraternized at once.

We “boys” wanted to enter one of the so-called brigades, and
chose the Nassau, which was the fightingest of all. An Irish student,
who was one of the champions of the corps, and who had distinguished
himself by slitting more than one nose, called upon us, and, over
sundry schoppes of beer, declared that we could not be admitted with¬
out putting in an appearance at the Hirschgasse. This was a little
pot-house at the other side of the river, with a large room where
monomachies were fought. The appearance of the combatants was
very ridiculous. They had thick felt caps over their heads, whose
visors defended their eyes. Their necks were swathed in enormous
cravats, and their arms were both padded, and so were their bodies
from the waist downwards. There was nothing to hit but the face
and the chest. That, however, did not prevent disagreeable
accidents. Sometimes too heavy a cut went into the lungs, and at
other times took an effect upon either eye. But the grand thing was to
walk off with the tip of the adversary’s nose, by a dexterous upward
snick from the hanging guard. A terrible story was told of a duel
between a handsome man and an ugly man. Beauty had a lovely
nose, and Beast so managed that presently it was found on the
ground. Beauty made a rush for it, but Beast stamped it out of all
shape. There was a very little retreating in these affairs, for the
lines were chalked upon the ground. The seconds stood by, also
armed with swords and protected with masks, to see that there was

Oxford ’ 61

nothing like a sauhieb or unfair cut. A medical student was always
present, and when a cut went home, the affair was stopped to sew it
up. Sometimes, however, the artery shrank, and its patient was
marked with a cross, as it was necessary to open his cheek above and
below in order to tie it up.

A story is told of a doctor who attended a students’ duel, when the
mask fell, and one of them lost his nose. The doctor flew at it and
picked it up, and put it in his mouth to keep it warm, whipped out
his instruments, needle and thread, and so skilfully stitched on the
nose, and stopped it with plaster, that the edges united, and in a few
weeks the nose was as handsome and useful as ever.

We boys did not see the fun of this kind of thing, and when our
Irish friend told us what the ordeal was, we said that we were perfectly
ready to turn out with foils or rapiers, but that we could not stand
the paddings. Duels with the broadsword, and without protection,
were never fought except on desperate occasions. Our friend
promised to report it to the brigade, and the result was that some
time afterwards we were introduced to a student, who said that he
knew a little fencing, and should like to try a botte with us. We
smelt a rat, as the phrase is, and showed him only half of what we
could do. But apparently that was enough, for our conditions were
not accepted, and we were not admitted into the Nassau Brigade.

At Heidelberg I told my father that Oxford life did not in any
way suit me. I pleaded for permission to go into the Army, and, that
failing, to emigrate to Canada or Australia. He was inexorable. He
was always thinking of that fellowship. Edward, too, was deadly
tired of Dr. Havergal, and swore that he would rather be a “private”
than a fellow of Cambridge. However, he was sent nolens vole?is
to the University on the Cam, and there he very speedily came to
grief. It was remarked of him, before the end of the first term, that
he was never seen at Chapel. His tutor sent for him, and permitted
himself strong language on this delinquency. “ My dear sir,” was
the reply, “ no party of pleasure ever gets me out of bed before ten
o’clock, and do you really, really think that I am going to be in
Chapel at eight o’clock ?” u Are you joking, or is that your mature
decision ? ” said the tutor. “ My very ripest decision,” said Edward,
and consequently he was obliged to leave college without delay.

When the visit was over, and the autumnal term was beginning, I
left Germany and steamed down the Rhine. Everything that I saw
made me less likely to be pleased at the end of my journey. How¬
ever, there was no choice for it. I arrived in London, and found my
grandmother and aunts still at the seaside, in a house over the cliff
at Ramsgate. Ramsgate I rather liked. There were some very

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

handsome girls there, the Ladies P—t, and the place had a kind of
distant resemblance to Boulogne. The raffles at the libraries made
it a caricature of a German Bath. I wandered about the country;

I visited Margate, where the tone of society was perfectly marvellous,
and ran about the small adjacent bathing-places, like Broadstairs
and Herne Bay. This brought on the time when I was obliged to
return to Oxford.

I went there with no good will, and as my father had refused to
withdraw me from the University, I resolved to withdraw myself.

My course of action was one of boyish thoughtlessness. Reports
of wine-parties were spread everywhere, whispers concerning parodies
on venerable subjects, squibs appeared in the local papers-—in those
days an unpardonable offence—caricatures of Heads of Houses were
handed about, and certain improvisations were passed from mouth
to mouth. I had a curious power of improvising any number of
rhymes, without the slightest forethought; but the power, such as
it was, was perfectly useless to me, as it was accompanied with
occasional moments of nervousness, when I despaired, without the
slightest reason whatever, of finding the easiest rhyme. Probably
the professional Italian, who declaims a poem or a tragedy, labours
under the perfect conviction that nothing in the world can stop him.
And then it is so much easier to rhyme in Italian than in English;
so my efforts were mostly confined to epigrams and epitaphs, at
wines and supper-parties, and you may be sure that these brilliant
efforts did me no good.

This was the beginning of the end. My object was to be rusti¬
cated, not to be expelled. The former may happen in consequence
of the smallest irregularity, the latter implies ungentlemanly conduct.
I cast about in all directions for the safest line, when fortune put
the clue into my hands. A celebrated steeplechaser, Oliver the
Irishman, came down to Oxford, and I was determined to see him
ride. The collegiate authorities, with questionable wisdom, forbad
us all to be present at the races, and especially at what they called
“ the disgraceful scenes of ‘ race ordinaries.’ ” Moreover, in order
to make matters sure, they ordered all the undergraduates to be
present at the college lecture, at the hour when the race was to
be run.

A number of high-spirited youngsters of the different colleges
swore that they would not stand this nonsense, that it was infringing
the liberty of the subject, and that it was treating them like little
boys, which they did not deserve. Here, doubtless, they were right.
But, well foreseeing what would be the result, they acted according
to the common saying, “ In for a penny, in for a pound; ” so

Oxford. 63

the tandem was ordered to wait behind Worcester College, and
when they should have been attending a musty lecture in the tutor’s
room, they were flicking across the country at the rate of twelve
miles an hour. The steeplechase was a delight, and Oliver was very
amusing at the race ordinary, although he did not express much
admiration for the riding of what he called “The Oxford lads.”

Next morning there was eating of humble-pie. The various
culprits were summoned to the Green Room and made conscious of
the enormity of the offence. I secured the respect of the little knot
by arguing the point with the college dignitaries. I boldly asserted
that there was no moral turpitude at being present at a race. I
vindicated the honour and dignity of collegiate men by asserting
that tney should not be treated as children. I even dropped the
general axiom “ that trust begets trust,” and “ they who trust us
elevate us.” Now, this was too much of a good thing, to commit
a crime, and to declare it a virtuous action. Consequently, when
all were rusticated, I was singled out from the Hoi polloi , by an
especial recommendation not to return to Oxford from a Rus. Stung
by a sense of injustice, I declared at once that I would leave the
college, and expressed a vicious hope, that the caution-money
deposited by my father would be honestly returned to him. This
was the climax. There was a general rise of dignitaries, as if a
violent expulsion from the room was intended. I made them my
lowest and most courtly bow, Austrian fashion, which bends the
body nearly double, wished them all happiness for the future, and
retired from the scene. I did not see Oxford again till 1850, when,
like the prodigal son, I returned to Alma Mater with a half-reso¬
lution to finish my terms and take my bachelor degree.* But the
idea came too late. I had given myself up to Oriental studies, and
1 had begun to write books. Yet I was always glad, during my
occasional visits home, to call at my old college, have a chat with
the Reverend and Venerable Thomas Short, and to breakfast and
dine with the dons who had been bachelors or undergraduates at
the time of my departure.

The way in which I left Oxford was characteristic of the rest.
One of my rusticated friends, Anderson of Oriel, had proposed that
we should leave with a splurge—go up from the land with a soar.’
There was now no need for the furtive tandem behind Worcester
College. It was driven boldly up to the college doors. My bag
and baggage were stowed away in it, and with a cantering leader and
a high-trotting shaft-horse, which unfortunately went over the beds
of the best flowers, we started from the High Street by the Queen’s
Highway to London, I artistically performing upon a yard of tin
trumpet, waving adieu to my friends, and kissing my hand to the
pretty shop-girls.

CHAPTER V.

GOING TO INDIA.

Arriving in London, I was received by the family harem with
some little astonishment, for they already knew enough of “ terms ”
to be aware that the last was unfinished. I was quite determined tc
have two or three days in peace, so I thoroughly satisfied all the
exigencies of the position by declaring that I had been allowed an
extra vacation for taking a double-first with the very highest honours.
A grand dinner-party was given, quite the reverse of the fatted calf.
Unfortunately, amongst the guests was the Rev. Mr. Phillips, a
great friend of mine, who grinned at me, and indirectly ejaculated,
“ Rusticated, eh?” The aunts said nothing at the time, but they
made inquiries, the result of which was a tableau.

This Phillips was the brother of Major-General Sir B. T. Phillips,
who served long and well in the Bengal army, was rather a noted
figure as a young-old man in London, and died in Paris in 1880.

You will say that these are wild oats with a vengeance, but most
thus sow them, and it is better that they should sow them in early
youth. Nothing is more melancholy than to see a man suddenly
emancipated from family rule, and playing tricks when the heyday
is passed. Youth is like new wine that must be allowed to ferment
freely, or it will never become clear, strong, and well flavoured.

I was asked what I intended to do, and I replied simply that I
wished to go into the Army, but that I preferred the Indian service,
as it would show me more of the world, and give me a better chance
of active service. There was no great difficulty in getting a com¬
mission. The Directors were bound not to sell them, but every now
and then they would give a nomination to a friend, and my friend
did not throw away the chance. My conviction is that the
commission cost ^5°°-

It was arranged that I should sail in the spring, and meanwhile I
determined to have a jolly time.

Going to India . 65

Presently the day came when I was to be sworn in at the India
House. In those days the old building stood in Leadenhall Street,
and gave Thackeray a good opportunity of attacking it as the “ Hall
of Lead; ” a wonderful dull and smoky old place it was, with its
large and gorgeous porter outside, and its gloomy, stuffy old rooms
inside, an atmosphere which had actually produced “ The Essays of
Elia.” In those days it kept up a certain amount of respect for
itself. If an officer received a gift of a sword, he was conducted by
the tall porter to the general meeting of the Directors, and duly
spoken to and complimented in form; but as times waxed harder,
the poor twenty-four Kings of Leadenhall Street declined from Princes
into mere Shayhks. They actually sent a Sword of Honour to one of
their officers by a street messenger, and the donee returned it, saying,
he could not understand the manner of the gift; and so it went on
gradually declining and falling, till at last the old house was aban¬
doned and let for offices. The shadowy Directors flitted to the West
End, into a brand-new India House, which soon brought on their
Euthanasia.

My bringing-up caused me to be much scandalized by the sight of
my future comrades and brother officers, which I will presently
explain. The Afghan disaster was still fresh in public memory.
The aunts had been patriotic enough to burst into tears when they
heard of it; and certainly it was an affecting picture, the idea of
a single Englishman, Dr. Brydone, riding into Jellalabad, the only
one of thirteen thousand, he and his horse so broken as almost to
die at the gates.

Poor General Elphinstone, by-the-by, had been my father’s best
man at his marriage, and was as little fitted for such field service,
as Job was at his worst. Alexander Burns was the only headpiece
in the lot. He had had the moral courage to report how critical the
position was ; but he had not the moral courage to insist upon
his advice being taken, and, that failing, to return to his regiment as
a Captain.

MacNaghten was a mere Indian civilian. Like too many of
them, he had fallen into the dodging ways of the natives, and he
distinctly deserved his death. The words used by Akbar Khan,
by-the-by, when he shot him, were, “ Shuma mulk-e-md mf gfrid ”
(“ So you’re the fellow who’ve come to take our country ”).

But the result of the massacre was a demand for soldiers and
officers, especially Anglo-Indians. Some forty medical students were
sent out, and they naturally got the name of the “Forty Thieves.”
The excess of demand explained the curious appearance of the
embryo cadets when they met to be sworn in at the India House.

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

They looked like raw country lads, mostly dressed in home-made
clothes, and hair cut by the village barber, country boots, and no
gloves. So my friend, Colonel White’s son, who was entering the
service on the same day, and I looked at one another in blank
dismay. We had fallen amongst young Yahoos, and we looked
forward with terror to such society. I was originally intended for
Bengal, but, as has been seen, I had relations there. I was not
going to subject myself to surveillance by my uncle by marriage, an
old general of invalids. Moreover, one of my D’Aguilar cousins was
married to a judge in Calcutta. I was determined to have as much
liberty as possible, and therefore I chose Bombay. I was always of
opinion that a man proves his valour by doing what he likes ; there
is no merit in so doing when you have a fair fortune and independent
position, but for a man bound by professional ties, and too often
lacking means to carry out his wishes, it is a great success to
choose his own line and stick to it.

My only companion was a bull-terrier of the Oxford breed, more
bull than terrier. Its box-head and pink face had been scratched
all over during a succession of dog-fights and various tussles with
rats. It was beautifully built in the body, and the tail was as thin
as a little finger, showing all the vertebrae. The breed seems to
have become almost extinct, but I found it again at Oxford when
I went there in 1850. The little brute bore a fine litter of pups,
and died in Gujarat, as usual with every sign of old age, half-blind
eyes, and staggering limbs. The pups grew up magnificently. One,
which rejoiced in the name of Bachhun, received the best of edu¬
cations. He was entered necessarily on mice, rats, and Gilahris ,
or native squirrels, which bite and scratch like cats. He was so
thoroughly game, that he would sally out alone in the mornings, and
kill a jackal single-handed. He was the pride of the regiment, and
came as usual to a bad end. On one of my journeys, dressed as a
native, I had to leave him behind in charge of my friend Dr. Arnold,
surgeon of the regiment. Dr. Arnold also, when absent, confided him
to the care of a brother-medico, Dr. Pitman, who had strict opinions
on the subject of drugs. The wretch actually allowed the gallant
little dog to die of some simple disease, because he would not give
him a dose of medicine belonging to the Company.

CHAPTER VI.

INDIA.

When I landed at Bombay (October 28th, 1842), “Momba
Devi” town was a marvellous contrast with the “ Queen of Western
India,” as she thrones it in 1887 ; no City in Europe, except perhaps
Vienna, can show such a difference. The old Portuguese port-
village temp. Caroli Seacndi , with its silly fortifications and useless
esplanade, its narrow alleys and squares like places d’armes, had not
developed itself into “ Sasson-Town,” as we may call the olden, and
“Frere-Town” the modern moiety.

Under the patriarchal rule of the Court of Directors to the Hon.
East Indian Company, a form of torpidity much resembling the
paternal government of good Emperor Franz, no arrangements were
made for the reception of the queer animals called “ cadets.” They
landed and fell into the knowing hands of some rascals ; lodged at
a Persian tavern, the British Hotel, all uncleanliness at the highest
prices. I had a touch of “ seasoning sickness,” came under the
charge of “ Paddy Ryan,” Fort Surgeon and general favourite, and
was duly drafted into the Sanitary Bungalow—thatched hovels facing
Back Bay, whence ever arose a pestilential whiff of roast Hindu, and
opened the eyes of those who had read about the luxuries of the
East. Life was confined to a solitary ride (at dawn and dusk), a
dull monotonous day, and a night in some place of dissipation—to
put it mildly—such as the Bhendi bazar, whose attractions consisted
of dark young persons in gaudy dress, mock jewels, and hair japanned
with cocoa-nut oil, and whose especial diversions were an occasional
“row”—a barbarous manner of “ town and gown.” But a few days
of residence had taught me that India, at least Western India, offered
only two specialities for the Britisher; first Shikar or sport, and
secondly, opportunities of studying the people and their languages.
These were practically unlimited; I found that it took me some

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

years of hard study before I could walk into a bazar and distinguish
the several castes, and know something of them, their manners and
customs, religion and superstitions. I at once engaged a venerable
Parsee, Dosabhai Sohrabji, also a mubid , or priest, as his white cap
and coat showed, who had coached many generations of griffs , and
under his guidance dived deep into the “ Ethics of Hind ” (Akhlak-i-
Hindi) and other such text-books.

This was the year after the heir-apparent was born; when Nott,
Pollock, and Sale revenged the destruction of some 13,000 men by
the Afghans; when the Chinese War broke out; when Lord Ellen-
borough succeeded awkward Lord Auckland; and when Major-
General Sir Charles J. Napier, commanding at Poonah, was appointed
to Sind (August 25th, 1842), and when his subsequent unfriend,
Brevet-Major James Outram, was on furlough to England ; lastly, and
curious to say, most important of all to me, was the fact that “ Ensign
Burton ” was ranked and posted in the G. G. O. of October 15th, 1842,
to the 18th Regiment, Bombay N.I.

Nor was I less surprised by the boasting of my brother officers
(the Sepoys had thrashed the French in India and elsewhere, they
were the flower of the British army, and so forth)—fine specimen of
esprit de corps run mad, which was destined presently to change its
tone, after 1857. Meanwhile this loud brag covered an ugly truth.
We officers of the Indian army held her Majesty’s commission,
but the Company’s officers were looked upon by the Queen’s troops
as mere auxiliaries, locals without general rank, as it were black
policemen. Moreover the rules of the service did not allow us to
rise above a certain rank. What a contrast to the French private,
who carries a Marshal’s baton in his knapsack !

Captain Cleland introduced me to his sister, the wife of a field-
officer, and she to sundry of her friends, whose tone somewhat
surprised me. Here and there a reference was made to my
“immortal soul,” and I was overwhelmed with oral treatises upon
what was expected from a “ Christian in a heathen land.” And these
ladies “ talked shop,” at least, so it appeared to me, like non-com¬
missioned officers. After Shikar and the linguistics, the only
popular pursuit in India is (I should think always was) “ Society.”
But indigestible dinners are not pleasant in a Turkish bath ; dancing
is at a discount in a region of eternal dog-days; picnics are un¬
pleasant on the “ palm-tasselled strand of glowing Ind,” where
scorpions and cobras come uninvited; horse-racing, like Cicero’s
“ Mercaturi,” to be honoured, must be on a large scale; the Mess
tiffin is an abomination ruinous to digestion and health; the billiard-
table may pass an hour or so pleasantly enough, but it becomes a

India. 69

monotonous waste of time, and the evening bands, or meet at
“Scandal Point,” is open to the charge of a deadly dullness.

Visits become visitations, because that tyrant Madam Etiquette
commanded them about noon, despite risk of sunstroke, and “ the
ladies” insisted upon them without remorse of conscience. Needless
to say that in those days the Gym-hdnah was unknown, and that
the Indian world ignored lawn-tennis, even croquet.

Another point in Bombay Society at once struck me, and I after¬
wards found it in the Colonies and most highly developed in the
United States. At home men and women live under an incubus, a
perfect system of social despotism which is intended to make amends
for an unnatural political equality, amongst classes bom radically
unequal. Abroad, the weight is taken off their shoulders, and the
result of its removal is a peculiar rankness of growth. The pious
become fanatically one-idea’d, pharisaical, unchristian, monomaniacal.
The un-pious run to the other extreme, believe nothing, sneer at the
holies, “and look upon the mere Agnostic as a ‘slowcoach.’”
Eccentricity develops itself Bedlam-wards. One of my friends had a
mania and swore ‘ By my halidom.’ ” Another had an image of
Ganpati over his door, which he never passed without the prayer, “ Shri
ganeshaya Hamaha ” (“I bow to auspicious Janus”). A third, of
whom I heard, had studied Aristotle in Arabic, and when shown the
“ Novum Organon,” asked, indignantly, “ who the fellow might be that
talked such stuff.” And in matters of honesty the social idea was
somewhat lax; to sell a spavined horse to a friend was considered a
good joke, and to pass off plated wares for real silver was looked
upon as only a trifle too “smart.” The Press faithfully reflected
these nuances with a little extra violence and virulence of its own.
By-the-by, I must not forget making the acquaintance of a typical
Scot, Dr. Buist (afterwards Sir Charles Napier’s “ blatant beast of
the Bombay Times”). He wrote much (so badly that only one
clerk could read it) and washed little; and as age advanced he
married a young wife.

After a month or so at Bombay, chiefly spent in mugging “ Hindo-
stani,” and in providing myself with the necessaries of life—servants,
headed by Salvador Soares, a handsome Goanese; a horse, in the shape
of a dun-coloured Katty w£r nag; also a “ horsekeeper,” a dog, a tent,
and so forth—I received my marching orders and set out to “join”
my own corps. The simple way of travelling in those days before
steam and rail was by palanquin or pattymar. I have described the
latter article in “Goa,” and I may add that it had its advantages.
True it was a “ slow coach,” creeping on seventy or eighty miles a
day, and some days almost stationary; it had few comforts and no

70 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

luxuries. I began by actually missing “ pudding,” and have often
smiled at the remembrance of my stomach’s comical disappoint
ment. En revanche , the study of the little world within was most
valuable to the “ young Anglo-Indian,” and the slow devious course
allowed landing at places rarely visited by Europeans. During my
repeated trips I saw Diu, once so famous in Portuguese story, Holy
Dwarkd, guarded outside by sharks and filled with fierce and fanatic
mercenaries, and a dozen less interesting spots.

The end of this trip was Tankaria-Bunder, a small landing in the
Bay of Cambay, a most primitive locale to be called a port, where
a mud-bank, adapted for a mooring-stake, was about the only con¬
venience. It showed me, however, a fine specimen of the Ghora , or
bore, known to our Severn and other rivers—an exaggerated high
tide, when the water comes rushing up the shallows like a charge of
cavalry. Native carts were also to be procured at Tankaria-Bunder
for the three days’ short march to Baroda, and a mattress spread
below made the rude article comfortable enough for young limbs
and strong nerves.

Gujarat, the classical Gujarahtra, a land of the Gujar clan, which
remained the Syrastrena Regio of Arian, surprised me by its tranquil
beauty and its vast natural wealth. Green as a card-table, flat as a
prairie, it grew a marvellous growth of trees, which stunted our
English oaks and elm trees—

“ to ancient song unknown,

The noble sons of potent heat and flood ”—

and a succession of fields breaking the glades, of townlets and
villages walled by luxuriant barriers of caustic milk-bush (euphorbia),
teemed with sights and sounds and smells peculiarly Indian. The
sharp bark of Hanu the Monkey and the bray of the Sha?ikh or
conch near the bowery pagoda were surprises to the ear, and less
to the nose was the blue vapour which settled over the hamlets
morning and evening, a semi-transparent veil, the result of Gobar
smoke from “ cow-chips.” A stale trick upon travellers approaching
India by sea was to rub a little sandal oil upon the gunwale and
invite them to “ smell India,” yet many a time for miles off shore I
have noted that faint spicy odour, as if there were curry in the air,
which about the abodes of man seems to be crossed with an aroma
of drugs, as though proceeding from an apothecary’s store. Wondrous
peaceful and quiet lay those little Indian villages, outlaid by glorious
banyan and pipal trees, topes or clumps of giant figs which rain a
most grateful shade, and sometimes provided by the piety of some
long-departed Chief with a tank of cut stone, a baurd or draw-well
of fine masonry and large dimensions. But what “exercised” not

India.

a little my “ Griffin ” thoughts was to note the unpleasant difference
between villages under English rule and those belonging to “ His
Highness the Gaikwar ” or cowkeeper ; the penury of the former and
the prosperity of the latter. Mr. Boyd, the then Resident at the local
court, soon enlightened me upon the evils of our unelastic rule of
“ smart Collectors,” who cannot and dare not make any allowance
for deficient rainfall or injured crops, and it is better to have some¬
thing to lose, and to lose it even to the extent “ of being ousted of
possessions and disseized of freehold,” with the likely hope of gaining
it again, than to own nothing worth plundering.

The end of the march introduced me to my corps, the 18th
Regiment, Bombay Native Infantry, whose head-quarters were in
Gujarat, one wing being stationed at Mhow, on the Bengal
frontier.

The officer commanding, Captain James (C.V.), called upon me
at the Travellers’ bungalow, the rudimentary Inn which must satisfy
the stranger in India, suggesting the while such sad contrast, and
bore me off to his bungalow, formally presented me at Mess—then
reduced to eight members besides myself—and the Assistant-Surgeon
Arnott put me in the way of lodging myself. The regimental Mess,
with its large cool Hall and punkahs, its clean napery and bright
silver, its servants each standing behind his master’s chair, and the
cheroots and hookahs which appeared with the disappearance of the
“ table ’’-cloth, was a pleasant surprise, the first sight of comfortable
home-life I had seen since landing at Bombay. Not so the Sub¬
alterns’ bungalow, which gave the idea of a dog-hole at which British
Ponto would turn up his civilized nose. The business of the day was
mainly goose-step and studying the drill book, and listening to such
equivocal words of command as “ Tandelees ” (stand at ease) and
“ Fiz-bagnat ” (fix bayonets). Long practice with the sword, which I
had began seriously at the age of twelve, sometimes taking three
lessons a day, soon eased my difficulties, and led to the study of
native swordsmanship, whose grotesqueness and buffoonery can be
rivalled only by its insufficiency.*

The wrestling, however, was another matter, and not a few natives
in my Company had at first the advantage of me, and this induced a
trial of Indian training, which consisted mainly of washing down
balls of Gur (unrefined sugar) with bowls of hot milk hotly spiced.
The result was that in a week I was blind with bile. Another set
of lessons suggested by common sense, was instruction by a chabuh-

* Those curious upon the subject will consult my “ Book of the Sword,” vol. i.
p. 163. Remember, young swordsman, these people never give point and never
parry it.

72 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

sawar , or native jockey. All nations seem to despise one another's
riding, and none seem to know how much they have to learn. The
Indian style was the merit of holding the horse well in hand, making
him bound off at a touch of the heel, stopping him dead at a hand
gallop, and wheeling him round as on a pivot. The Hindu will
canter over a figure-of-eight, gradually diminishing the dimensions
till the animal leans over at an angle of 45 0 , and throwing himself
over the off side and hanging by the heel to the earth, will pick up
sword or pistol from the ground. Our lumbering chargers brought
us to notable grief more than once in the great Sikh War. And as I
was somewhat nervous about snakes, I took lessons of a “ Charmer,”
and could soon handle them with coolness.

The Bibi (white woman) was at that time rare in India; the result
was the triumph of the Bubu (coloured sister). I found every officer
in the corps more or less provided with one of these helpmates.

We boys naturally followed suit; but I had to suffer the protesta¬
tions of the Portuguese padre , who had taken upon himself the cure
and charge of my soul, and was like a hen who had hatched a
duckling. I had a fine opportunity of studying the pros and cons of
the Bubu system.

Pros : The “ walking dictionary ” is all but indispensable to the
Student, and she teaches him not only Hindostani grammar, but the
syntaxes of native Life. She keeps house for him, never allowing
him to save money, or, if possible, to waste it. She keeps the servants
in order. She has an infallible recipe to prevent maternity,
especially if her tenure of office depends on such compact. She
looks after him in sickness, and is one of the best of nurses, and,
as it is not good for man to live alone, she makes him a manner of
home.

The disadvantages are as manifest as the advantages. Presently,
as overland passages became cheaper and commoner, the Bibi won
and the Bubii lost ground. Even during my day, married men
began, doubtless at the instance of their wives, to look coldly
upon the half-married, thereby showing mighty little common sense.
For India was the classic land of Cicisbeism,where husbands are
occupied between ten a.m. and five p.m. at their offices and counting-
houses, leaving a fair field and much favour to the sub unattached,
and whose duty often keeps the man sweltering upon the plains, when
the wife is enjoying the somer-frisch upon “ the Hills.” Moreover,
the confirmed hypocrite and the respectable-ist, when in power,
established a kind of inquisitorial inquiry into the officer’s house,
and affixed a black mark to the name of the half-married. At last
the Bubu made her exit and left a void. The greatest danger in

India.

British India is the ever-growing gulf that yawns between the
governors and the governed; they lose touch of one another, and
such racial estrangement leads directly to racial hostility.

The day in Cantonment-way is lively. It began before sunrise
on the parade-ground, an open space, which any other people but
English would have converted into a stronghold. Followed, the
baths and the choti-hazri, or little breakfast, the munshi (language-
master), and literary matters till nine o’clock meal. The hours were
detestable, compared with the French system—the dejeuner d la
fourchette , which abolished the necessity of lunch ; but throughout the
Anglo-American world, even in the places worst adapted, “business’’
lays out the day. After breakfast, most men went to the billiard-
room ; some, but very few, preferred “ peacocking,” which meant
robing in white-grass clothes and riding under a roasting sun, as
near the meridian as possible, to call upon “regimental ladies,”
who were gruff as corporals when the function was neglected too
long. The dull and tedious afternoon again belonged to munshi ,
and ended with a constitutional ride, or a rare glance at the band ;
Mess about seven p.m., possibly a game of whist, and a stroll home
under the marvellous Gujarat skies, through a scene of perfect loveli¬
ness, a paradise bounded by the whity-black line.

There was little variety in such days. At times we rode to Baroda
City, which seemed like a Mansion, to which the Cantonment acted
as porter’s Lodge. “ Good Water ” (as the Sanskritists translate it)
was a walled City, lying on the north bank of the Vishwamitra river,
and containing some 150,000 souls, mostly hostile, who eyed us with
hateful eyes, and who seemed to have taught even their animals to
abhor us. The City is a m'elange of low huts and tall houses, gro¬
tesquely painted, with a shabby palace, and a Chaitk , or Bazar, where
four streets meet. At times H.M. the Gaikwar would show us
what was called sport—a fight between two elephants with cut tusks,
or a caged tiger and a buffalo—the last being generally the winner—
or a wrangle between two fierce stallions, which bit like camels.
The cock-fighting was, however, of a superior kind, the birds being
of first-class blood, and so well trained, that they never hesitated to
attack a stranger. An occasional picnic, for hunting, not society,
was a most pleasant treat. The native Prince would always lend us
his cheetahs or hunting leopards, or his elephants; the jungles inland
of the city swarmed with game, from a snipe to a tiger, and the
broad plains to the north were packs of fiilghai and the glorious black
buck. About twenty-eight miles due east, rises high above the sea of
verdure the picturesque hill known as Pavangarh, the Fort of Eolus,
and the centre of an old Civilization. Tanks and Jain temples were

74 Jfie Life of Sir Richard Burton.

scattered around it, and the ruins of Champem'r City cumbered the
base. In a more progressive society, this place, 2500 feet high, and
cooler by 18 0 to 20° F., would have become a kind of sanitarium.
But men, apparently, could not agree. When the Baroda races came
round, Major C. Crawley, commanding the 4th Bombay Rifles, used,
in consequence of some fancied slight, to openly ride out of canton¬
ment; and Brigadier Gibbons, the commander, did nothing fcr
society. But the crowning excitement of the season was the report
of Sir Charles Napier’s battle of Miani (February 21st), followed by
the affair of Dubba (March 25th), the “ tail of the Afghan War.” The
account seemed to act as an electric shock upon the English frame,
followed by a deep depression and a sense of mortal injury at the
hands of Fate in keeping us out of the fray.

At length, in April, 1843, I obtained two months’ leave of absence
to the Presidency, for the purpose of passing an examination in
Hindostani. The function was held at the Town Hall. Major-General
Vans-Kennedy presided, a queer old man as queerly dressed, who
had given his life to Orientalism, and who had printed some very
respectable studies of Hinduism. The examining mu ns hi, Mohammed
“ Muckld,” was no friend to me, because I was coached by a rival,
old Dosabhai, yet he could not prevent my distancing a field of
eleven. This happened on May 5th, and on May 12th I had laid in
a full supply of Gujarati books, and set out by the old road to rejoin.

If Baroda was dull and dreary during the dries, it was mortal
during the rains. I had been compelled to change my quarters for
a bigger bungalow, close to the bank of the nullah which bounded
the camp to the east and fed the Vishwamitra. It was an ill-omened
place; an English officer had been wounded in it, and the lintel still
bore the mark of a sabre which some native ruffian had left, intending
to split a serjeant’s head. Other quarters in the cantonment were
obliged to keep one ramosi , alias Paggi, a tracker, a temporarily re¬
formed thief who keeps off other thieves; my bungalow required two.
An ignoble position for a dominant race, this openly paying black¬
mail and compounding felony. The rule of the good Company was,
however, not a rule of honour, but of expediency, and the safety of
its officers was little regarded ; they were stabbed in their tents,
or cut down by dacoits, even when travelling on the highways of
Gujarat. Long and loudly the survivors hoped that some fine day
a bishop or a Director’s son would come to grief, and when this
happened at last the process was summarily stopped. Indeed, no¬
thing was easier to find than a remedy. A heavy fine was imposed
upon the district in which the outrage was committed. By such
means, Mohammed Ali of Egypt made the Suez Desert safer than

India.

a London street, and Sir Charles Napier pacified Sind, and made
deeds of violence unknown—by means not such as Earl Russell
virtually encouraged the robber-shepherds of Greece to plunder and
murder English travellers.

The monsoon,* as it is most incorrectly termed, completely
changes the tenor of Anglo-Indian life. It is ushered in by a display
of “ insect youth ” which would have astonished Egypt in the age of
the plagues, “flying bugs,” and so forth. At Mess every tumbler was
protected by a silver lid. And when the downfall begins it suggests
that the “ fountains of the great deep ” have been opened up. I
have seen tropical rains in many a region near the Line, but never
anything that rivals Gujarati. Without exaggeration, the steady
discharge of water buckets lasted literally, on one occasion, through
seven days and nights without intermission, and to reach Mess we
had to send our clothes on, and to wear a single waterproof, and to
gallop through water above, around, and below at full speed. This
third of the year was a terribly dull suicidal time, worse even than
the gloomy month of November. It amply accounted for the card-
table surface and the glorious tree-clump of the Gujarat—

“ The mighty growth of sun and torrent-rains.”

Working some twelve hours a day, and doing nothing but work,
I found myself ready in later August for a second trip to the
Presidency, and obtained leave from September ioth to October
30th (afterwards made to include November ioth) for proceeding to
Bombay, and being examined in the Guzerattee language.

This time I resolved to try another route, and, despite the warning
of abominable roads, to ride down coast via Baroch and Surat. I
had not been deceived; the deep and rich black soil, which is so
good for the growth of cotton, makes a mud truly terrible to travel¬
lers. Baroch, the Hindu Brighu-Khatia, or Field of Brighu, son of
Brahma, is generally made the modern successor of Ptolemy and
Arrian’s “ Barygaza,” but there are no classic remains to support
the identification of the spot, nor indeed did any one in the place
seem to care a fig about the matter. A truly Hindi! town of some
twelve thousand souls on the banks of the Nerbudda, it boasted of
only one sight, the Kabir-bar , which the English translated “ Big

* The word is a Portuguese “ corruption ” of mausim , in Arabia a season,
and per excellentiam the sailing season. Thence it was transferred to the dry
season, when the north-eastern trade-winds blow upon the Indian Ocean. But
popular use transferred the name to the south-western rainy winds, which last
from June to September.

On June 26th, 1843, “Ensign Burton” appeared in orders as “Regimental
Interpreter.”

j 6 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Banyan,” and which meant, “ Banyan-tree of (the famous ascetic and
poet, Das Kabir).” I remember only two of his lines—

“Maya mare na man mare, mar mar gaya sarir ”

(“ Illusion dies ; dies not the mind, though body die and die”)—

Mayd (illusion) being sensuous matter, and old Fakirs express the
idea of the modern Hylozoist, “ All things are thinks.” The old
tree is hardly worth a visit, although it may have sheltered five
thousand horsemen and inspired Milton, for which see the guide¬
books.

Surat (Surashtra = good region), long time the “ Gate of Meccah,”
where pilgrims embarked instead of at Bombay, shows nothing of
its olden splendour.

This was the nucleus of British power on the western coast
of India in the seventeenth century, and as early as May, 1609,
Captain Hawkins, of the Hector , obtained permission at Agra
here to found a factory for his half-piratical countrymen,
who are briefly described as “ Molossis suis ferociores.” They
soon managed to turn out the Portuguese, and they left a
Graveyard which is not devoid of some barbaric interest—Tom
Croyate of the Crudities, however, is absent from it. At Surat
I met Lieutenant Manson, R.A. He was going down to “go
up ” in Maharatta, and we agreed to take a pattymar to¬
gether. We cruised down the foul Tapti river—all Indian, like
West African, streams seem to be made of dirty water — and
were shown the abandoned sites of the Dutch garden and
French factory, Vaux’s Tomb, and Dormus Island. We escaped
an Elephcinta storm, one of those pleasant September visitations
which denote the break up of the “monsoon,” and which not
unfrequently bestrews the whole coast of Western India with
wreckage. This time I found lodging in the Town Barracks,
Bombay, and passed an examination in the Town Hall be¬
fore General Vans-Kennedy, with the normal success, being
placed first. The process consisted of reading from print (two
books), and handwriting, generally some “native letter,” and of
conversing and of writing an “ address ” or some paper of the
kind.

Returning Baroda-wards, whence my regiment was trans¬
ferred to our immense satisfaction to Sind, I assisted in the
farewell revelries, dinners and Naches , or native dances—the
most melancholy form in which Terpsichore ever manifested
herself.

By far the most agreeable and wholesome part of regimental life
in India is the march; the hours are reasonable, the work not too

India.

severe, and the results, in appetite and sleep, admirable. At Bombay
we encamped on the Esplanade, and on January ist, 1844, we
embarked for Karachi on board the H.E.I.C.’s steamer Semiramis ,
whose uneventful cruise is told in “Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley,”
chap. 1, “The Shippe of Helle.” Yet not wholly uneventual
to me.

On board of the Semiramis was Captain Walter Scott, Bombay
Engineers, who had lately been transferred from commanding in
Candeish to the superintendence of the Sind Canals, a department
newly organized by the old Conqueror of “ Young Egypt,” and our
chance meeting influenced my life for the next six years. I have
before described him. With short intervals I was one of his
assistants till 1849. We never had a diverging thought, much
less an unpleasant word; and when he died, at Berlin, in 1875, I
felt his loss as that of a near relation.

Karachi, which I have twice described, was in 1844 a mere stretch
of a Cantonment, and nothing if not military; the garrison consisting
of some five thousand men of all arms, European and native. The
discomfort of camp life in this Sahara,* which represented the Libyan
Desert, after Gujarat, the Nile Valley, was excessive, the dust-storms
were atrocious,f and the brackish water produced the most un¬
pleasant symptons. Parades of all kinds, regimental and brigade,
were the rule, and Sir Charles Napier was rarely absent from anything
on a large scale.

The Conqueror of Scinde was a noted and remarkable figure at
that time, and there is still a semi-heroic ring about the name. In
appearance he was ultra-Jewish, a wondrous contrast to his grand
brother, Sir William ; his countrymen called him Fagan, after Dickens,
and his subjects, Shaytan-a-Bhdi, Satan’s brother, from his masterful
spirit and reckless energy. There is an idealized portrait of him in
Mr. W. H. Bruce’s “Life” (London, Murray, 1885), but I much
prefer the caricature by Lieutenant Beresford, printed in my wife’s
volume, “ A.E.I.” Yet there was nothing mean in the Conqueror’s
diminutive form ; the hawk’s eye, and eagle’s beak, and powerful
chin would redeem any face from vulgarity.

Sir Charles, during his long years of Peninsular and European
service, cultivated the habit of jotting down all events in his diary,
with a naivete , a vivacity, and a fulness which echoed his spirit, and
which, with advancing years, degenerated into intemperance of
language and extravagance of statement. He was hard, as were
most men in those days, upon the great Company he termed the

* “ Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley,” 2 vols.; and “Sind Revisited,” 1877.

I Scinde,” chapter iv.

73 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

i: Twenty-four Kings of Leadenhall Street”—“ephemeral sove¬
reigns ; ” he quoted Lord Wellesley about the “ ignominious tyrants
of the East.”

In his sixtieth year he was appointed to the command of Poonah
(December 28th, 1841), and he was so lacking in the goods of this
world that a Bombay house refused to advance him ^500. He
began at once to study Hindostani, but it was too late; the
lesson induced irrisistible drowsiness, and the munshi was too
polite to awaken the aged scholar, who always said he would
give Rs. 10,000 to be able to address the Sepoys. On September
3rd, 1842, he set off to assume his new command in Upper and
Lower Sind, and he at once saw his opportunity. Major Outram
had blackened the faces of the Amirs, but he wanted to keep the
work of conquest for himself, and he did not relish its being done by
another. He, however, assisted Sir Charles Napier, and it was not
till his return to England in 1843 that he ranged himself on the side
of the Directors, whose hatred of the Conqueror grew with his
success, and two factions, Outramists and Napierists, divided the
little world of Western India.

The battles of Miani and Dubba were much criticized by military
experts, who found that the “butcher’s bill” did not justify the
magnificent periods of Sir William Napier. This noble old soldier’s
“Conquest of Scinde” was a work of fantaisie; the story was
admirably told, the picture was perfect, but the details were so
incorrect, that it became the subject of endless “chaff” even in
Government House, Karachi. The corrective was an official report
by Major (afterwards General) Waddington, B.O. Eng., which gave
the shady, rather than the sunlit side of the picture. And there is
still a third to be written. Neither of our authorities tell us, nor can
we expect a public document to do so, how the mulatto who had
charge of the Amir’s guns had been persuaded to fire high, and how
the Talpur traitor who commanded the cavalry, openly drew off his
men and showed the shameless example of flight. When the day
shall come to publish details concerning disbursement of “ Secret
service money in India,” the public will learn strange things. Mean¬
while those of us who have lived long enough to see how history is
written, can regard it as but little better than a poor romance.

However exaggerated, little Miani taught the world one lesson
which should not be forgotten—the sole plan to win a fight from
barbarians, be they Belochis, Kafirs, or Burmese. It is simplicity
itself; a sharp cannonade to shake the enemy, an advance in line or
'echelon as the ground demands, and a dash of cavalry to expedite
the runaways. And presently the victory led to organizing the

India.

“ Land Transport Corps” and the “Baggage Corps,” two prime
wants of the Indian army. Here Sir Charles Napier’s skill as an
inventor evolved order out of disorder, and efficiency from the most
cumbrous of abuses. The pacification of the new Province was
marvellously brought about by the enlightened despotism of the
Conqueror. Outram had predicted ten years of guerilla warfare
before peace could be restored ; Sir Charles made it safer than any
part of India within a year, and in 1844, when levelling down the
canals, I was loudly blessed by the peasants, who cried out, “ These
men are indeed worthy to govern us, as they work for our good.”

But Sir Charles Napier began India somewhat too late in life, and
had to pay the penalty. His mistakes were manifold, and some of
them miserable. When preparing for the “ Truhkee campaign,” he
proposed to content himself with a u Numero-cent” tent for a Com-
mander-in-Chief! When marching upon Multan, his idea was to
quarter the Sepoys in the villages, which would have been destroyed
at once; and it was some time before his Staff dared put it in this
light.

From over-deference to English opinion, he liberated all the
African slaves in Sind and turned them out to starve; it would have
been wiser to “free the womb,” and forbid importation. He never
could understand the “ Badli system,” where a rich native buys
a poor man to be hanged for him who committed the crime, and
terribly scandalized Captain Young, the civilian Judge Advocate-
General, by hanging the wrong man. Finding that the offended
husband in Sind was justified by public opinion for cutting down
his wife, he sent the unfortunate to the gallows, and the result was
a peculiar condition of society. On one occasion, the anonymas
of Hyderabad sent him a deputation to complain “ that the married
women were taking the bread out of their mouths.”

Sir Charles was a favourite among the juniors, in fact, amongst all
who did not thwart or oppose him. He delighted in Rabelaisian,
bon-mots, and the Conte grivois , as was the wont of field-officers in
his day; his comment upon a newspaper’s “ peace and plenty at
Karachi ” was long quoted.

After a month of discomfort at Karachi, rendered more uncom¬
fortable by the compulsory joining of six unfortunate Staff-officers
who lost their snug appointments in India,* we were moved to
Gharra—“ out of the frying-pan into the fire ”—a melancholy hole
some forty miles by road north of Head-quarters, and within hearing
of the evening gun. I have already described its horror, f Our

* “ Scinde,” vol. i. p. 252.

t Ibid., p. 89.

So The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

predecessors had not built the barracks or bungalows, and we found
only a parallelogram of rock and sand, girt by a tall dense hedge of
bright green milk-bush, and surrounded by a flat of stone and
gravel, near a filthy village whose timorous inhabitants shunned us
as walking pestilences.

This, with an occasional temperature of 125 0 F., was to be our
“ house ” for some years. As I had no money wherewith to build,
I was compelled to endure a hot season in a single-poled tent,
pitched outside the milk-bush hedge ; and after, to escape suffocation,
I was obliged to cover my table with a wet cloth and pass the hot
hours under it. However, energy was not wanting, and the regi¬
mental pandit proving a good school-master, I threw away Sindi for
Maratha; and in October, 1844, I was able to pass my examination
in Maratha at the Presidency, I coming first of half a dozen. About
this time Southern Bombay was agitated by a small mutiny in
Sawantwadi, and the papers contained a long service-correspondence
about Colonels Outram and Wallace, the capture of Amanghar, and
Lieutenant Brassy’s descent on Shiva Drug. I at once laid in a
store of Persian books, and began seriously to work at that richest
and most charming of Eastern languages.

On return to Karachi, I found myself, by the favour of my friend
Scott, gazetted as one of his four assistants in the Sind “ Survey,” with
especial reference to the Canal Department; my being able to read
and translate the valuable Italian works on hydro-dynamics being a
point in my favour. A few days taught me the use of compass,
theodolite, and spirit-level, and on December 10th, 1844, I was sent
with a surveying party and six camels to work at Fulayli (Phuleli)
and its continuation, the Guni river. The labour was not small;
after a frosty night using instruments in the sole of a canal where
the sun’s rays seemed to pour as through a funnel, was decidedly
trying to the constitution. However, I managed to pull through,
and my surveying books were honoured with official approbation.
During this winter I enjoyed some sport, especially hawking, and
collected material for “ Falconry in the Valley of the Indus.” * I
had begun the noble art as a boy at Blois, but the poor kestrel upon
which I tried my “ ’prentice hand ” had died soon, worn out like an
Eastern ascetic by the severities of training, especially in the fasting
line. Returning northwards, I found my Corps at Hyderabad, and

* It was brought out in 1852, by my friend John Van Voorst, of Paternoster
Row, who, after a long and honourable career, retired at the ripe age of eighty-
four to take well-merited rest. He has proved himself to me a phoenix amongst
publishers. “ Half profits are no profits to the author,” is the common saying, and
yet for the last thirty years I have continually received from him small sums
which represented my gains. Oh that all were so scrupulous !

India. 81

passing through the deserted Gharra, joined the Head-quarters of the
Survey at Karachi in April.

Here I made acquaintance with Mirza Ali Akhbar, who owed his
rank (Khan Bahadur) to his gallant conduct as Sir Charles Napier’s
munshi at Miani and Dubba, where he did his best to save as
many unfortunate Beloch braves as possible. He lived outside the
camp in a bungalow which he built for himself, and lodged a friend,
Mirza Ddud, a first-rate Persian scholar. My life became much
mixed up with these gentlemen, and my brother officers fell to
calling me the “White Nigger.” I had also invested in a Persian
munshi, Mirza Mohammad Musayn, of Shiraz; poor fellow, after
passing through the fires of Scinde unscathed, he returned to die of
cholera in his native land. With his assistance I opened on the sly
three shops at Karachi,* where cloth, tobacco, and other small
matters were sold exceedingly cheap to those who deserved them,
and where I laid in a stock of native experience, especially regarding
such matters as I have treated upon in my “ Terminal Essay ” to the
“ Thousand Nights and a Night,” f but I soon lost my munshi friends.
Mirza Ddud died of indigestion and patent pills at Karachi; I last
saw Mirza Ali Akhbar at Bombay, in 1876, and he deceased shortly
afterwards. He had been unjustly and cruelly treated. Despite the
high praises of Outram and Napier for the honesty and efficiency 01
Ali Akhbar,J the new commission had brought against the doomed
man a number of trumped-up charges, proving bribery and corrup¬
tion, and managed to effect his dismissal from the service. The
unfortunate Mirza, in the course of time, disproved them all, but the
only answer to his application for being reinstated was that what
had been done could not now be undone. I greatly regretted his
loss. He had promised me to write out from his Persian notes a
diary of his proceedings during the conquest of Scinde; he was more
“behind the curtain” than any man I knew, and the truths he
might have told would have been exceedingly valuable.

Kardchi was, for India, not a dull place in those days. Besides
our daily work of planning and mapping the surveys of the cold
season, and practising latitudes and longitudes till my right eye
became comparatively short-sighted, we organized a “ Survey Mess ”
in a bungalow belonging to the office “ Compound.” There were
six of us—Blagrave, Maclagan, Vanrenin, and afterwards Price and
Lambert—and local society pronounced us all mad, although I
cannot see that w*e were more whimsical than our neighbours. I

* “ Falconry in the Valley of the Indus,” pp. ioo, ioi.
t Vol. x. p. 205, et seqq.

X See, in vol. i. p. 53 of “ Sind Revisited,” Sir Charles’s outspoken opinion.

82 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

also built a bungalow, which got the title of the “ Inquisition/’ and
there I buried my favourite game-cock Bhujang (the dragon), who
had won me many a victory—people declared that it was the grave
of a small human. I saw much of Mirza Husayn, a brother of Agha
Khan Mahallati, a scion of the Isma’iliyah, or “ Old Man of the
Mountain,” who, having fled his country, Persia, after a rebellion,
ridiculous even in that land of eternal ridiculous rebellions, turned
condottiere , and with his troop of one hundred and thirty ruffians
took service with us and was placed to garrison Jarak (Jerruch).
Here the Belochis came down upon him, and killed or wounded
about a hundred of his troop, after which he passed on to Bombay
and enlightened the Presidency about his having conquered Scinde.
His brother, my acquaintance, also determined to attack Persia via
Makran, and managed so well that he found himself travelling to
Teheran, lashed to a gun carriage. The Lodge “Hope” kindly
made me an “ entered apprentice,” but I had read Carlisle, “ The
Atheistical Publisher,” and the whole affair appeared to me a
gigantic humbug, dating from the days of the Crusades, and as
Cardinal Newman expressed it, “meaning a goose club.” But I
think better of it now, as it still serves political purposes in the
East, and gives us a point against our French rivals and enemies.
As the “Scinde Association ” was formed, I was made honorary
secretary, and had no little correspondence with Mr. E. Blyth,
the curator of the Zoological Department, Calcutta. Sir Charles
Napier’s friends also determined to start a newspaper, in order to
answer the Enemy in the Gate, and reply to the “ base and sordid
Bombay faction,” headed by the “ Rampant Buist,” with a strong
backing of anonymous officials.

The Karrachee Advertiser presently appeared in the modest shape
of a lithographed sheet on Government foolscap, and, through Sir
William Napier, its most spicy articles had the honour of a reprint
in London. Of these, the best were “the letters of Omega,” by
my late friend Rathborne, then Collector at Hyderabad, and they
described the vices of the Sind Amirs in language the reverse of
ambiguous. I did not keep copies, nor, unfortunately, did the
clever and genial author.

This pleasant, careless life broke up in November, 1845, when
I started with my friend Scott for a long tour to the north of Sind.
We rode by the high-road through Gharra and Jarak to Kotri, the
station of the Sind flotilla, and then crossed to Hyderabad, where
I found my Corps flourishing. After a very jolly week, we resumed
our way up the right bank of the Indus and on the extreme western
frontier, where we found the Beloch herdsmen in their wildest

India .

state. About that time began to prevail the wildest reports about
the lost tribes of Israel (who were never lost), and with the aid of
Gesenius and Lynch I dressed up a very pretty grammar and
vocabulary, which proved to sundry scientists that the lost was
found at last. But my mentor would not allow the joke to appear
in print. On Christmas Day we entered “Sehwdn,” absurdly styled
“Alexander’s Camp.” Here again the spirit of mischief was too
strong for me. I buried a broken and hocussed jar of “ Athenceum
sauce,” red pottery with black Etruscan figures, right in the way of
an ardent amateur antiquary; and the results were comical. At
Larkhana we made acquaintance with “fighting FitzGerald,” who
commanded there, a magnificent figure, who could cut a donkey
in two; and who, although a man of property, preferred the
hardships of India to the pleasures of home. Fie had, however,
a mania of blowing himself up in a little steamer mainly of his
own construction, and after his last accident he was invalided
home to England, and died within sight of her shores.

At Larkhana the following letter was received :—

“Karachi, January 3, 1846.

“My dear Scott,

“The General says you may allow as many of your
assistants as you can spare to join their regiments, if going on
service, with the understanding that they must resign their appoint¬
ments and will not be reappointed, etc.

(Signed) ’‘John Napier.”

This, beyond bazar reports, was our first notice of the great Sikh
War, which added the Punjab to Anglo-India. This news made me
wild to go. A carpet-soldier was a horror to me, and I was
miserable that anything should take place in India without my
being in the thick of the fight. So, after a visit to Sahkar Shikar-
pur and the neighbourhood, I applied myself with all my might to
prepare for the Campaign. After sundry small surveyings and level¬
lings about Sahkar (Sukhur), I persuaded Scott, greatly against the
grain, to send in my resignation, and called upon General James
Simpson, who was supposed to be in his dotage, and was qualifying
for the Chief Command in the Crimea.

My application was refused. Happily for me, however, suddenly
appeared an order from Bengal to the purport that all we assistant-
surveyors must give sureties. This was enough for me. I wrote
officially, saying that no man would be bail for me, and was told
to be off to my corps; and on February 23rd, I marched with the
18th from Rohri.

84 The Life of Sir Richard Bur toil.

Needless to repeat the sad story of our disappointment.* * * § It was
a model army of thirteen thousand men, Europeans and natives, and
under “Old Charley” it would have walked into Multan as into a
mutton-pie. We had also heard that N£o Mall was wasting his two
millions of gold, and we were willing to save him the trouble.
Merrily we trudged through Sabzalcote and Khanpur, and we
entered Bahawalpur, where we found the heart-chilling order to
retire and to march home, and consequently we marched and re¬
turned to Rohri on April 2nd; and after a few days’ halt there,
tired and miserable, we marched south, vid Khayrpur, and, after
seventeen marches, reached the old regimental quarters in Moham¬
mad Khan Ka Tanda, on the Fulayli river, f

But our physical trials and mental disappointments had soured
our tempers, and domestic disturbances began. Our colonel was
one Henry Corsellis, the son of a Bencoolen civilian, and neither
his colour nor his temper were in his favour. The wars began in
a small matter.

I had been making doggrel rhymes on men’s names at Mess, and
knowing something of the commanding officer’s touchiness, passed
him over. Hereupon he took offence, and seeing well that I was
“ in for a row,” I said, “ Very well, Colonel, I will write your Epitaph,”
which was as follows—

“ Here lieth the body of Colonel Corsellis ;

The rest of the fellow, I fancy, in hell is.’

After which we went at it “ hammer and tongs.”

I shall say no more upon the subject; it is, perhaps, the part of
my life upon which my mind dwells with least satisfaction. In
addition to regimental troubles, there were not a few domestic dis¬
agreeables, especially complications, with a young person named
Nur Jan. To make matters worse, after a dreadful wet night my
mud bungalow came down upon me, wounding my foot.J The only
pleasant reminiscences of the time are the days spent in the quarters
of an old native friend § on the banks of the beautiful Phuleli,.
seated upon a felt rug, spread beneath a shadowy tamarind tree,
with beds of sweet-smelling i A ayhan (basil) around, and eyes looking
over the broad smooth stream and the gaily dressed groups gathered
at the frequent ferries. I need hardly say that these visits were
paid in native costume, and so correct was it, that I, on camel’s back,
frequently passed my Commanding Officer in the Gateway of Fort

* “ Scinde,” vol. ii. p. 258, etc.

t “Sind Revisited,” vol. i. p. 256, shows how I found rr.y old home in 1876.

j “ Scinde,” vol. i. p. 151.

§ “Falconry,” pp. 103-105.

India.

Hyderabad, without his recognizing me. I had also a host of good
friends, especially Dr. J. J. Steinhaiiser, who, in after years, was to
have accompanied me, but for an accident, to Lake Tanganyika, and
who afterwards became my collaborateur in the “Thousand Nights
and a Night.”

The hot season of 1846 was unusually sickly, and the white regi¬
ments at Karachi, notably the 78th Highlanders, suffered terribly.
Hyderabad was also threatened, but escaped better than she
deserved. In early July I went into “sick quarters,” and left my
regiment in early September, with a strong case. At Bombay my
friend Henry J. Carter assisted me, and enabled me to obtain two
years’ leave of absence to the Neilgherries.

My munshi , Mohammed Husayn, had sailed for Persia, and I at
once engaged an Arab “ coach.” This was one Haji Jauhur, a young
Abyssinian, who, with his wife, of the same breed, spoke a curious
Semitic dialect, and was useful in conversational matters. Accom¬
panied by my servants and horse, I engaged the usual pattymar , the
Daryd Prashad (“Joy of the Ocean”), and set sail for Goa on
February 20th, 1847. In three days’ trip we landed in the once
splendid capital, whose ruins I have described in “ Goa and the
Blue Mountains” (1851). Dorn Pestanha was the Governor-
General, Senhor Gomez Secretary to Government, and Major St.
Maurice chief aide-de-camp, and all treated me with uncommon
kindness. On my third visit to the place in 1876, all my old
friends and acquaintances had disappeared, whilst the other sur¬
roundings had not changed in the least degree.

From Goa to Punany was a trip of five days, and from the little
Malabar Port, a terrible dull ride cf ten days, halts and excursions
included, with the only excitement of being nearly drowned in a
torrent, placed me at Conoor, on the western edge of the “Blue
Mountains.” At Ootacamund, the capital of the sanitarium, I
found a friend, Lieutenant Dyett, who offered to share with me his
quarters. Poor fellow! he suffered sadly in the Multan campaign,
where most of the wounded came to grief, some said owing to the
salt in the silt, which made so many operations fatal; after three
amputations his arm was taken out of the socket. I have noted the
humours of “ Ooty ” in the book before mentioned, and I made
myself independent of society by beginning the study of Telugu
in addition to Arabic.

But the sudden change from dry Scinde to the damp cold moun¬
tains induced in me an attack of rheumatic ophthalmia, which began
at the end of May, 1847, and lasted nearly two years, and would not
be shaken off till I left India in March, 1849. In vain I tried diet

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

and dark rooms, change of place, blisters of sorts, and the whole
contents of the Pharmacopoeia ; it was a thorn in the flesh which
determined to make itself felt. At intervals I was able to work hard
and to visit the adjacent places, such as Kotagherry, the Orange
Valley, and St. Catherine’s Falls.* Meanwhile I wrote letters to the
Bombay Times , and studied Telugu and Toda as well as Persian and
Arabic, and worked at the ethnology of Hylobius the Hillman, whose
country showed mysterious remains of civilized life, gold mining
included.

“ Ooty ” may be a pleasant place, like a water-cure establishment
to an invalid in rude health ; but to me nothing could be duller or
more disagreeable, and my two years of sick leave was consequently
reduced to four months. On September ist, 1847, glad as a
partridge-shooter, I rode down the Ghat, and a dozen days later made
Calicut, the old capital of Camoens’ “ Jamorim,” the Samriry Rajah.
Here I was kindly received, and sent to visit old Calicut and other
sights, by Mr. Collector Conolly, whom a Madras civilianship could
not defend from Fate. A short time after my departure he was set
upon and barbarously murdered in his own verandah, by a band
of villain Afoplahs,\ a bastard race got by Arab sires on Hindu
dams. He was thus the third of the gallant brothers who came to
violent end.

This visit gave me a good opportunity of studying on the spot
the most remarkable scene of “ The Lusiads,” and it afterwards
served me in good stead. The Seaforth , Captain Biggs, carried
me to Bombay, after passing visits to Mangalore and Goa, in three
days of ugly monsoon weather. On October 15th I passed in Persian
at the Town Hall, coming out first of some thirty, with a compliment
from the examiners; and this was succeeded by something more
substantial, in the shape of an “honorarium” of Rs. 1000 from the
Court of Directors.

This bright side of the medal had its reverse. A friend, an Irish
medico, volunteered to prescribe for me, and strongly recommended
frictions of citric ointment (calomel in disguise) round the orbit
of the eye, and my perseverance in his prescription developed
ugly symptoms of mercurialism, which eventually drove me from
India.

My return to Scinde was in the s.s. Dwarka , the little vessel which,
in 1853, carried me from Jeddah to Suez, and which, in 1862,
foundered at the mouth of the Tapti or Surat river. She belonged
to the Steam Navigation Company, Bombay, and she had been

* “Goa,” etc., p. 355.

t See Ibid., p. 339.

India .

brought safely round the Cape by the skipper, a man named Tribe.
That “ climate ” had demoralized him. He set out from Karach
without even an able seaman who knew the Coast; the Captain and
his Mate were drunk and incapable the whole way. As we were
about to enter the dangerous port, my fellow-passengers insisted upon
my taking Command as Senior Officer, and I ordered the Dwarkas
head to be turned westward under the easiest steam, so that next
morning we landed safely.

My return to head-quarters of the Survey was a misfortune to my
comrades; my eyes forbade regular work, and my friends had to
bear my share of the burden. However, there were painless intervals
when I found myself able to work at Sindf under Munshi Nandu,
and at Arabic under Shaykh Hashim, a small half-Bedawin, who had
been imported by me from Bombay. Under him also I began the
systematic study of practical Moslem divinity, learned about a
quarter of the Koran by heart, and became a proficient at prayer.
It was always my desire to visit Meccah during the pilgrimage
season; written descriptions by hearsay of its rites and ceremonies
were common enough in all languages, European as well as native,
but none satisfied me, because none seemed practically to know
anything about the matter. So to this preparation I devoted all my
time and energy; not forgetting a sympathetic study of Sufi-ism, the
Gnosticism of Al-Islam, which would raise me high above the rank
of a mere Moslem. I conscientiously went through the chilld , or
quarantine of fasting and other exercises, which, by-the-by, proved
rather over-exciting to the brain. At times, when overstrung, I
relieved my nerves with a course of Sikh religion and literature :
the good old priest solemnly initiated me in presence of the swinging
Granth , or Nana Shah’s Scripture. As I had already been duly
invested by a strict Hindi! with the Janeo , or “ Brahminical thread,”
my experience of Eastern faiths became phenomenal, and I became
a Master-Sufi.

The spring of 1848, that most eventful year in Europe, brought
us two most exciting items of intelligence. The proclamation of the
French Republic reached us on April 8th, and on May 2nd came
the news of the murder of Anderson and his companion by Nio Mall
of Multan.

Richard wrote a little bit of autobiography about himself in 1852.
In case all may not have seen it, and many may not remember it, I
here insert it.

Richard Burton’s Little Autobiography.

“ The only scrap of autobiography we have from Richard Burton’s
pen,” said Alfred Richard Bates, “ was written very early in life, whilst

88 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

in India, and dates thirty years ago. It is so characteristic it deserves
to be perpetuated:—

tl In India two roads lead to preferment. The direct highway is
‘ service; *—getting a flesh wound, cutting down a few of the enemy,
and doing something eccentric, so that your name may creep into
a despatch. The other path, study of the languages, is a rugged
and tortuous one, still you have only to plod steadily along its
length, and, sooner or later, you must come to a ‘ staff appointment.’
Bien entendu , I suppose you to be destitute of or deficient in
Interest whose magic influence sets you down at once a heaven-
born Staff Officer, at the goal which others must toil to reach.

A dozen lessons from Professor Forbes and a native servant on
board the John Knox enabled me to land with eclat as a griff, and
to astonish the throng of palanquin bearers that jostled, pushed, and
pulled me at the pier head, with the vivacity and nervousness of my
phraseology. And I spent the first evening in company with one
Dosabhai Sohrabji, a white-bearded Parsee, who, in his quality of
language-master, had vernacularized the tongues of Hormuzd knows
how many generations of A.nglo-Indian subalterns.

“ The corps to which I was appointed was then in country quarters
at Baroda, in the land of Gujerat; the journey was a long one, the
difficulty of finding good instructors there was great, so was the
expense, moreover fevers abounded ; and, lastly, it was not so easy
to obtain leave of absence to visit the Presidency, where candidates
for the honours of language are examined. These were serious
obstacles to success ; they were surmounted, however, in six months,
at the end of which time I found myself in the novel position of
‘ passed interpreter in Hindostani.’

“ My success—for I had distanced a field of eleven—encouraged
me to a second attempt, and though I had to front all the difficulties
over again, in four months my name appeared in orders as qualified
to interpret in the Guzerattee tongue.

“ Meanwhile the Ameers of Sind had exchanged their palaces at
Haydardbad for other quarters not quite so comfortable at Hazaree-
bagh, and we were ordered up to the Indus for the pleasant purpose
of acting police there. Knowing the Conqueror’s chief want, a man
who could speak a word of his pet conquest’s vernacular dialect, I
had not been a week at Kardchee before I found a language-master
and a book. But the study was undertaken invitd minervd. We
were quartered in tents, dust-storms howled over us daily, drills and
brigade parades were never ending, and, as I was acting interpreter
to my regiment, courts-martial of dreary length occupied the best
part of my time. Besides, it was impossible to work in such an
atmosphere of discontent. The seniors abhorred the barren desolate
spot, with all its inglorious perils of fever, spleen, dysentery, and
congestion of the brain, the juniors grumbled in sympathy, and the
Staff officers, ordered up to rejoin the corps-—it was on field service
—complained bitterly of having to quit their comfortable appoint¬
ments in more favoured lands without even a campaign in prospect.
So when, a month or two after landing in the country, we were

India .

transferred from Kardchee to Gharra—purgatory to the other locale
—I threw aside Sindf for Maharattee, hoping, by dint of reiterated
examinations, to escape the place of torment as soon as possible.
It was very like studying Russian in an English country-town; how¬
ever, with the assistance of Molesworth’s excellent dictionary, and the
regimental pundit, or schoolmaster, I gained some knowledge of the
dialect, and proved myself duly qualified in it at Bombay. At the same
time a brother subaltern and I had jointly leased a Persian ?noo7i-
shee , one Mirza Mohammed Hosayn, of Shiraz. Poor fellow, after
passing through the fires of Sind unscathed, he returned to his delight¬
ful land for a few weeks, to die there !—and we laid the foundation
of a lengthened course of reading in that most elegant of Oriental
languages.

“ Now it is a known fact that a good Staff appointment has the
general effect of doing away with one’s bad opinion of any place
whatever. So when, by the kindness of a friend whose name his
modesty prevents my mentioning, the Governor of Sind was persuaded
to give me the temporary appointment of Assistant in the Survey,
I began to look with interest upon the desolation around me. The
country was a new one, so was its population, so was their language.
After reading all the works published upon the subject, I felt
convinced that none but Mr. Crow and Captain J. MacMurdo had
dipped beneath the superficies of things. My new duties compelled
me to spend the cold season in wandering over the districts,
levelling the beds of canals, and making preparatory sketches for
a grand survey. I was thrown so entirely amongst the people as to
depend upon them for society, and the ‘dignity/ not to mention
the increased allowances of a Staff officer, enabled me to collect a
fair stock of books, and to gather around me those who could make
them of any use. So, after the first year, when I had Persian at
my fingers’-ends, sufficient Arabic to read, write, and converse
fluently, and a superficial knowledge of that dialect of Punjaubee
which is spoken in the wilder parts of the province, I began the
systematic study of the Sindian people, their manners and their
tongue.

“ The first difficulty was to pass for an Oriental, and this was as
necessary as it was difficult. The European official in India seldom,
if ever, sees anything in its real light, so dense is the veil which the
fearfulness, the duplicity, the prejudice, and the superstitions of
the natives hang before his eyes. And the white man lives a life
so distinct from the black, that hundreds of the former serve through
what they call their ‘ term of exile ’ without once being present at
a circumcision feast, a wedding, or a funeral. More especially the
present generation, whom the habit and the means of taking
furloughs, the increased facility for enjoying ladies’ society, and, if
truth be spoken, a greater regard for appearances, if not a stricter
code of morality, estrange from their dusky fellow-subjects every day
more and more. After trying several characters, the easiest to be
assumed was, I found, that of a half-Arab, half-Iranian, such as may
be met with in thousands along the northern shore of the Persian

90 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Gulf. The Sindians would have detected in a moment the difference
between my articulation and their own, had I attempted to speak
their vernacular dialect, but they attributed the accent to my strange
country, as naturally as a home-bred Englishman would account for
the bad pronunciation of a foreigner calling himself partly Spanish,
partly Portuguese. Besides, I knew the countries along the Gulf by
heart from books, I had a fair knowledge of the Shiah form of
worship prevalent in Persia, and my poor moonshee was generally
at hand to support me in times of difficulty, so that the danger of
being detected—even by a * real Simon Pure ’—was a very incon¬
siderable one.

“With hair falling upon his shoulders, a long beard, face and
hands, arms and feet, stained with a thin coat of henna, Mirza
Abdullah of Bushire—your humble servant—set out upon many and
many a trip. He was a bazzaz , a vendor of fine linen, calicoes, and
muslins—such chapmen are sometimes admitted to display their
wares, even in the sacred harem, by ‘ fast’ and fashionable dames—
and he had a little pack of bijouterie and virtil reserved for
emergencies. It was only, however, when absolutely necessary that
he displayed his stock-in-trade; generally, he contented himself with
alluding to it on all possible occasions, boasting largely of his
traffic, and asking a thousand questions concerning the state of the
market. Thus he could walk into most men’s houses, quite without
ceremony; even if the master dreamed of kicking him out, the
mistress was sure to oppose such measure with might and main.
He secured numberless invitations, was proposed to by several
papas, and won, or had to think he won, a few hearts; for he came
as a rich man and he stayed with dignity, and he departed exacting
all the honours. When wending his ways he usually urged a return
of visit in the morning, but he was seldom to be found at the
caravanserai he specified—was Mirza Abdullah the Bushiri.

“ The timid villagers collected in crowds to see the rich merchant
in Oriental dress, riding spear in hand, and pistols in holsters,
towards the little encampment pitched near their settlements. But
regularly every evening on the line of march the Mirza issued from
his tent and wandered amongst them, collecting much information
and dealing out more concerning an ideal master—the Feringhee
supposed to be sitting in State amongst the moonshees , the Scribes,
the servants, the wheels, the chains, the telescopes, and the other
magical implements in which the camp abounded. When travelling,
the Mirza became this mysterious person’s factotum, and often had
he to answer the question how much his perquisites and illicit gains
amounted to in the course of the year.

“ When the Mirza arrived at a strange town, his first step was to
secure a house in or near the bazar, for the purpose of evening
conversazioni . Now and then he rented a shop, and furnished it
with clammy dates, viscid molasses, tobacco, ginger, rancid oil, and
strong-smelling sweetmeats; and wonderful tales Fame told about
these establishments. Yet somehow or other, though they were
more crowded than a first-rate milliner’s rooms in town, they throve

India .

9 1

not in a pecuniary point of view; the cause of which was, I believe,
that the polite Mirza was in the habit of giving the heaviest possible
weight for their money to all the ladies, particularly the pretty ones,
that honoured him by patronizing his concern.

“ Sometimes the Mirza passed the evening in a mosque listening
to the ragged students who, stretched at full length with their
stomachs on the dusty floor, and their arms supporting their heads,
mumbled out Arabic from the thumbed, soiled, and tattered pages
of theology upon which a dim oil light shed its scanty ray, or he sat
debating the niceties of faith with the long-bearded, shaven-pated,
blear-eyed, and stolid-faced genus loci , the Mullah . At other times,
when in merrier mood, he entered uninvited the first door whence
issued the sounds of music and the dance;—a clean turban and
a polite bow are the best 1 tickets for soup ’ the East knows. Or he
played chess with some native friend, or he consorted with the hemp-
drinkers and opium-eaters in the estaminets, or he visited the Mrs.
Gadabouts and Go-betweens who make matches amongst the Faith¬
ful, and gathered from them a precious budget of private history
and domestic scandal.

“ What scenes he saw ! what adventures he went through ! But
who would believe, even if he ventured to detail them ? *

“ The Mirza’s favourite school for study was the house of an elderly
matron on the banks of the Fulailee River, about a mile from the
Fort of HaydaraMd. Khanum Jan had been a beauty in her youth,
and the tender passion had been hard upon her—at least judging
from the fact that she had fled her home, her husband, and her native
town, Candahar, in company with Mohammed Bakhsh, a purblind
old tailor, the object of her warmest affections.

“‘Ah, he is a regular old hyaena now,’would the Joan exclaim
in her outlandish Persian, pointing to the venerable Darby as he sat
in the cool shade, nodding his head and winking his eyes over a
pair of pantaloons which took him a month to sew, ‘ but you should
have seen him fifteen years ago, what a wonderful youth he was !’

“The knowledge of one mind is that of a million—after a fashion.
I addressed myself particularly to that of ‘Darby;’ and many an
hour of tough thought it took me before I had mastered its truly
Oriental peculiarities, its regular irregularities of deduction, and its
strange monotonous one-idea’dness.

“ Khanum Jan’s house was a mud edifice, occupying one side of
a square formed by tall, thin, crumbling mud walls. The respectable
matron’s peculiar vanity was to lend a helping hand in all manner
of affawes du coeur. So it often happened that Mirza Abdullah was
turned out of the house to pass a few hours in the garden. There
he sat upon his felt rug spread beneath a shadowy tamarind, with
beds of sweet-smelling basil around him, his eyes roving over the
broad river that coursed rapidly between its wooded banks and the
groups gathered at the frequent ferries, whilst the soft strains of
mysterious, philosophical, transcendental Hafiz were sounded in his
ears by the other Mirza, his companion; Mohammed Hosayn—
peace be upon him !

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“Of all economical studies this course was the cheapest. For
tobacco daily, for frequent draughts of milk, for hemp occasionally,
for four months’ lectures from Mohammed Bakhsh, and for sundry
other little indulgences, the Mirza paid, it is calculated, the sum of
six shillings. When he left Haydaffibad, he gave a silver talisman
to the dame, and a cloth coat to her protector: long may they live
to wear them !

******

“Thus it was I formed my estimate of the native character. I
am as ready to reform it when a man of more extensive experience
and greater knowledge of the subject will kindly show me how far
it transgresses the well-established limits of moderation. As yet I
hold, by way of general rule, that the Eastern mind—I talk of the
nations known to me by personal experience—is always in extremes ;
that it ignores what is meant by ‘golden mean,’ and that it delights
to range in flights limited only by the ne plus ultra of Nature herself.
Under which conviction I am open to correction.

“ Richard F. Burton.”

During those first seven years in India, Richard passed in Hin-
dostani, Guzaratee, Persian, Maharattee, Sindhee, Punjaubee, Arabic,
Telugu, Pushtft (Afghan tongue), with Turkish and Armenian. In
1844 he went to Scinde with the 18th Native Infantry, and Colonel
Walter Scott put him on Sir Charles Napier’s staff, who soon found out
what he was worth, and turned his merits to account, but he accom¬
panied his regiment to Mooltan to attack the Sikhs. He became
much attached to his Chief; they quite understood each other, and
remained together for five years. Richard’s training was of the
uncommon sort, and glorious as it was, dangerous as it was, and
romantic as it will ever be to posterity, he did not get from dense
and narrow-minded Governments those rewards which men who risk
their lives deserve, and which would have been given to the man
who took care of “number one,” and who, with average stupidity,
worked on red-tape lines. He was sent out amongst the wild tribes
of the hills and plains to collect information for Sir Charles. He
did not go as a British officer or Commissioner, because he knew
he would see nothing but what the natives chose him to see; he
let down a curtain between himself and Civilization, and a tattered,
dirty-looking dervish would wander on foot, lodge in mosques,
where he was venerated as a saintly man, mix with the strangest
company, join the Beloch and the Brahui tribes (Indo-Scythians),
about whom there was nothing then known. Sometimes he ap¬
peared in the towns; as a merchant he opened a shop, sold stuffs
or sweatmeats in the bazaar. Sometimes he worked with the men
in native dress, “ Jats” and Camel men, at levelling canals.

When Richard was in India he at one time got rather tired of the
daily Mess, and living with men, and he thought he should like to

India .

learn the manners, customs, and habits of monkeys, so he collected
forty monkeys of all kinds of ages, races, species, and he lived with
them, and he used to call them by different offices. He had his
doctor, his chaplain, his secretary, his aide-de-camp, his agent, and
one tiny one, a very pretty, small, silky-looking monkey, he used to call
his wife, and put pearls in her ears. His great amusement was to
keep a kind of refectory for them, where they all sat down on chairs
at meals, and the servants waited on them, and each had its bowl
and plate, with the food and drinks proper for them. He sat at the
head of the table, and the pretty little monkey sat by him in a high
baby’s chair, with a little bar before it. He had a little whip on the
table, with which he used to keep them in order when they had bad
manners, which did sometimes occur, as they frequently used to get
jealous of the little monkey, and try to claw her. He did this for
the sake of doing what Mr. Garner is now doing, that of ascertaining
and studying the language of monkeys, so that he used regularly to
talk to them, and pronounce their sounds afterwards, till he and the
monkeys at last got quite to understand each other. He obtained
as many as sixty words, I think twenty more than Mr. Garner—that
is, leading words—and he wrote them down and formed a vocabu¬
lary, meaning to pursue his studies at some future time. Mr. Garner
has now the advantage of phonographs, and all sorts of appliances.
Had Richard been alive, he could have helped him greatly. Unfor¬
tunately his monkey vocabulary was burnt in Grindlay’s fire. He
also writes—but this was with his regiment—

“ Amongst other remarkable experiments made by me, a S^nyasi,
whom I knew, talked to me about their manner of burying themselves
alive. I said I would not believe it unless I saw it. The native there¬
fore told me that he would prove it, by letting me try it; but that he
should require three days for preparation, and hoped for a reward.
Accordingly for three days he made his preparations by swallowing
immense draughts of milk. I refused to put him in a coffin, or
to bury him in the earth, lest he should die ; but he lay down
in a hammock, rolled his tongue up in his throat, and appeared
to be dead. My brother officers and I then slung him up to the
ceiling by four large hooks and ropes, lying comfortably in the
hammock, and, to avoid trickery, one of us w r as always on guard
day and night, each taking two hours’ watch at a time. After
three weeks we began to get frightened, because if the man died
there would be such a scandal. So we lowered him down, and tried
to awake him. We opened his mouth and tried to unroll his tongue
into its natural position. He then, after some time, woke perfectly
well We gave him food, paid him a handsome reward, and he
went away quite delighted, offering to do it for three months, if it
pleased us.”

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Richard would be in a dozen different capacities on his travels,
but when he returned, he was rich with news and information for Sir
Charles, for he arrived at secrets quite out of the reach of the British
Army. He knew all that the natives knew, which was more than
British officers and surveyors did. General MacMurdo consulted
his journals and Survey books, which were highly praised by the
Surveyor-General. He was frequently in the presence of and
speaking before his own Colonel without his having the slightest
idea that it was Richard.

Sir Charles Napier liked decision; he hated a man who had not
an answer ready for him. For instance, a young man would go and
ask him for an appointment. Sir Charles would say, “ What do you
want ? ” The youth of firm mind would answer, “ An Adjutancy, Sir.”
“ All right,” said Sir Charles, and he probably got it. But “ Any¬
thing you please, Sir Charles,” would be sure to be contemptuously
dismissed. On returning from his native researches, Sir Charles
would ask Richard such questions as: “ Is it true that native
high-class landowners, who monopolize the fiefs about the heads
of the canals, neglect to clear out the tails, and allow Govern¬
ment ground and the peasants’ fields to lie barren for want of
water ? ”

“ Perfectly true, Sir.”

“ What would be my best course then ? ”

“ Simply to confiscate the whole or part of those estates,
Sir.”

“ H’m ! You don’t mince matters, Burton.”

He once asked Richard how many bricks there were in a newly
built bridge (an impossible question, such as are put to lads whom the
examiner intends to pluck). Richard, knowing his foible, answered,
“229,010, Sir Charles.” He turned away and smiled. Another
time he ordered a review on a grand scale to impress certain
Chiefs—

“ Lieutenant Burton, be pleased to inform these gentlemen that I
propose to form these men in line, then to break into Echelon by
the right, and to form square on the centre battalion,” and so on,
for about five minutes in military technical terms, for which there
were no equivalents in these men’s dialects.

“Yes, Sir,” said Richard, saluting.

Turning to the Chiefs, Richard said, “ Oh, Chiefs ! our Great Man
is going to show you the way we fight, and you must be attentive to
the rules.” He then touched his cap to Sir Charles.

“ Have you explained all ? ” he asked.

“ Everything, Sir,” answered Richard.

India.

“A most concentrated language that must be,” said Sir Charles,
riding off with his nose in the air.

After seven years of this kind of life, overwork, overstudy, combined
with the hot season, and the march up the Indus Valley, told on
Richard’s health, and at the end of the campaign he was attacked
by severe ophthalmia, the result of mental and physical fatigue, and
he was ordered to take a short rest. He utilized that leave in going
to Goa, and especially to Old Goa, where, as he said himself, he
made a pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Francis Xavier, and explored
the scenes of the Inquisition. At last news reached him that another
campaign was imminent in Mooltan, that Sir Charles Napier would
take command; Colonel Scott and a host of friends were ordered
up. He writes as follows :—

“ I applied in almost suppliant terms to accompany the force as
interpreter. I had passed examinations in six native languages, be¬
sides studying others, Multani included, and yet General Auchmuty’s
secretary wrote to me that this could not be, as he had chosen
for the post Lieutenant X. Y. Z., who had passed in Hindustani.

“This last misfortune broke my heart. I had been seven
years in India, working like a horse, volunteering for every bit of
service, and qualifying myself for all contingencies. Rheumatic
ophthalmia, which had almost left me when in hopes of marching
northward, came on with redoubled force, and no longer had I any
hope of curing it except by a change to Europe. Sick, sorry, and
almost in tears of rage, I bade adieu to my friends and comrades in
Sind. At Bombay there was no difficulty in passing the Medical
Board, and I embarked at Bombay for a passage round the Cape,
as the Austral winter was approaching, in a sixty-year-old teak-built
craft, the brig Eliza, Captain Cory.

“ My career in India had been in my eyes a failure, and by no
fault of my own; the dwarfish demon called ‘ Interest 5 had fought
against me, and as usual had won the fight.”

CHAPTER VII.

MECCA.

When Richard came home, he first ran down full of joy to visit all
his relations and friends. He then went to Oxford with half a mind
to take his degree. He was between twenty-eight and twenty-nine
years of age. In 1850 he went back to France, and devoted himself
to fencing. To this day “ the Burton une-deux ,” and notably the
manchette (the upward slash, disabling the swordarm, and saving
life in affairs of honour), earned him his brevet de point* for the

LUNGE AND CUT IN CARTE (INSIDE).

excellence of his swordsmanship, and he became a Maitre d'armes.
Indeed, as horseman, swordsman, and marksman, no soldier of his
day surpassed him, and very few equalled him. His family, that
is his father, mother and sister, with her two children—-her husband

Mecca.

being in India, and his brother Edward in the 37th Regiment
(Queen’s)—went to Boulogne, like all the rest of us, for change, quiet,
and economy, and there he joined them.

We did exactly the same, the object being to put me and my
sisters into the Sacre Cceur to learn French. Boulogne, in those
days, was a very different town to what it is now. It was “the
home of the stranger who had done something wrong.” The natives
were of the usual merchant, or rich bourgeoisie class; there was a
sprinkling of local ?ioblesse in the Haute-Ville ; the gem of the
natives in the lower class were the Poissardes, who hold themselves
entirely distinct from the town, are a cross between Spanish and
Flemish, and in those days were headed by a handsome “Queen”
called Caroline, long since dead. The English colony was very
large. The creme, who did not mix with the general “smart
people,” were the Seymours, Dundases, Chichesters, Jerninghams,
Bedingfelds, Cliffords, Molyneux-Seels, and ourselves. Maybe I
have forgotten many others.

The rest of the colony, instead of living like the colonies that
Richard describes at Tours, used to walk a great deal up and down
the Grand Rue, which was the fashionable lounge, the Rue de
l’ticu, the Quai, and the Pier. The men were handsome and smart,
and beautifully dressed, with generally an immense amount of white
shirt-front, as in the Park, and the girls were pretty and well
dressed. So were the young married women in those days. The
£tablissement was a sort of Casino, where everybody passed their
evening, except the crbme ; they had music, dancing, cards, old
ladies knitting, and refreshments, and it was the hotbed, like a club,
of all the gossip and flirtation, with an occasional roaring scandal.

The hardship of my life and that of my sisters, was, that our
mother would never let us set foot inside of it, which was naturally
the only thing we longed to do, so that we had terribly dull, slow
lives. Here Richard brought out his “Goa,” his two books on Scinde,
and his “Falconry,” and prepared a book that came out in 1853,
“ A Complete System of Bayonet Exercise,” of which, I regret to
say, the only copy I possessed has been lost with the manuscript
at David Bogue’s. People were now beginning to say that “ Burton
was an awfully clever young fellow, a man of great mark, in fact the
coming man.” Whilst I am speaking of that system of bayonet
exercise, I may say that it was, as all he did, undervalued at the
time , but still it has long been the one used by the Horseguards.
Colonel Sykes, who was Richard’s friend, sent for him, and sharply
rebuked him with printing a book that would do far more harm
than good.

gS The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

It was thought that bayonet exercise would make the men
unsteady in the ranks. The importance of bayonet exercise was
recognized everywhere except in England. Richard detected our
weak point in military system, and he knew that it would be the
British soldier’s forte when properly used Richard was not “in
the ring,” but when that was proved, his pamphlet was taken
down from the dusty pigeon-hole, and a few modifications—not
improvements—were added, so as to enable a just and enlightened
War Office, not to send him a word of thanks, a compliment, an
expression of official recognition, which was all his soul craved for,
but a huge letter from the Treasury, with a seal the size of a baby’s
fist, with a gracious permission to draw upon the Treasury for the
sum of one shilling.

Richard always appreciated humour. He went to the War Office
at once, was sent to half a dozen different rooms, and, to the intense
astonishment of all the clerks, after three-quarters of an hour’s very
hard work he drew his shilling, and instead of framing it, he gave it
to the first hungry beggar that he saw as soon as he came out of the
War Office.

“ Lord love yer, sir,” said the beggar.

“No, my man, I don’t exactly expect Him to do that. But I
dare say you want a drink ? ”

He did not lead the life that was led by the general colony at
Boulogne. He had a little set of men friends, knew some of the
French, had a great many flirtations, one very serious one. He
passed his days in literature and fencing : at home he was most
domestic; his devotion to his parents, especially to his sick mother,
was beautiful.

My sisters and I were kept at French all day, music and other
studies, but were frequently turned into the Ramparts, which would
give one a mile’s walk around, to do our reading; then we had a turn
down the Grande Rue, the Rue de l’Ecu, the Quai, and the Pier at
the fashionable hour, for a treat, or else we were taken a long country
walk, or a long row up the river Liane in the summer time, where
we occasionally saw a Guingette; but we were religiously marched
home at half-past eight to supper and bed, unless one of the creme
gave a dull tea-party.'

One day, when we were on the Ramparts, the vision of my
awakening brain came towards us. He was five feet eleven inches
in height, very broad, thin, and muscular;* he had very dark hair,

* He was so broad and muscular that he did not look more than five feet nine
—but he really was two inches taller, and the one complaint of his life was not to
be able to grow another inch to make six feet.

Mecca.

black, clearly defined, sagacious eyebrows, a brown weather-beaten
complexion, straight Arab features, a determined-looking mouth
and chin, nearly covered by an enormous black moustache. I have
since heard a clever friend say “ that he had the brow of a God, the
jaw of a Devil.” But the most remarkable part of his appearance
was, two large black flashing eyes with long lashes, that pierced
you through and through. He had a fierce, proud, melancholy
expression, and when he smiled, he smiled as though it hurt him,
and looked with impatient contempt at things generally. He was
dressed in a black, short, shaggy coat, and shouldered a short thick
stick as if he was on guard.

He looked at me as though he read me through and through in a
moment, and started a little. I was completely magnetized, and
when we had got a little distance away I turned to my sister, and
whispered to her, “That man will marry me” The next day he
was there again, and he followed us, and chalked up, “ May I
speak to you ? ” leaving the chalk on the wall, so I took up the chalk
and wrote back, “ No, mother will be angry ; ” and mother found it,—
and was angry ; and after that we were stricter prisoners than ever.
However, “ destiny is stronger than custom.” A mother and a pretty
daughter came to Boulogne, who happened to be a cousin of m;
father’s; they joined the majority in the Society sense, and one
day we were allowed to walk on the Ramparts with them. There I
met Richard, who—agony !—was flirting with the daughter; we were
formally introduced, and the name Burton made me start.

I did not try to attract his attention; but whenever he came
to the usual promenade I would invent any excuse that came,
to take another turn to watch him, if he was not looking. If
I could catch the sound of his deep voice, it seemed to me
so soft and sweet, that I remained spell-bound, as when I hear
gypsy-music. I never lost an opportunity of seeing him, when I
could not be seen, and as I used to turn red and pale, hot and
cold, dizzy and faint, sick and trembling, and my knees used to
nearly give way under me, my mother sent for the doctor, to
complain that my digestion was out of order, and that I got
migraines in the street, and he prescribed me a pill which I put in
the fire. All girls will sympathize with me. I was struck with the
shaft of Destiny, but I had no hopes (being nothing but an ugly
schoolgirl) of taking the wind out of the sails of the dashing
creature, with whom he was carrying on a very serious flirtation.

In early days Richard had got into a rather strong flirtation with a
very handsome and very fast girl, who had a vulgar, middle-class

IOO

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

sort of mother. One day he was rather alarmed at getting a polite
but somewhat imperious note from the mother, asking him to call
upon her. He obeyed, but he took with him his friend Dr. Stein-
haiiser, a charming man, who looked as if his face was carved out of
wood. After the preliminaries of a rather formal reception, in a
very prim-looking drawing-room, the lady began, looking severely at
him, “I sent for you, Captain Burton, because I think it my dooty
to ask what your intentions are with regard to my daughter ?”
Richard put on his most infantile face of perplexity as he said, “ Your

dooty, madam-” and, then, as if he was trying to recall things, and

after awhile suddenly seizing the facts of the case, he got up and
said, “Alas! madam, strictly dishonourable,” and shaking his head
as if he was going to burst into tears at his own iniquities, “ I regret
to say, strictly dishonourable;” and bowed himself out with Dr.
Steinhaiiser, who never moved a muscle of his face. Richard had
never done the young lady a scrap of harm, beyond talking to her
a little more than the others, because she was so “ awfully jolly,”
but the next time he met her he said, “ Look here, young woman,
if I talk to you, you must arrange that I do not have ‘ mamma’s
dooty ’ flung at my head any more.” “ The old fool! ” said the girl,
“ how like her !”

The only luxury I indulged in was a short but heartfelt prayer for
him every morning. I read all his books, and was seriously struck as
before by the name when I came to the Jats in Scinde—but this I
will explain later on. My cousin asked him to write something for
me, which I used to wear next to my heart. One night an exception
was made to our dull rule of life. My cousins gave a tea-party and
dance, and “ the great majority ” flocked in, and there was Richard like
a star amongst rushlights. That was a Night of nights; he waltzed
with me once, and spoke to me several times, and I kept my sash
where he put his arm round my waist to waltz, and my gloves. I
never wore them again. I did not know it then, but the “little
cherub who sits up aloft ” is not only occupied in taking care of poor
Jack, for I came in also for a share of it.

Mecca.

Whilst leading this sort of life, on a long furlough, Richard deter¬
mined to carry out a project he had long had in his head, to study
thoroughly the “ inner life of the Moslem.” He had long felt within
himself the qualifications, both mental and physical, which are
needed for the exploration of dangerous regions, impossible of
access, and of disguises difficult to sustain. His career as a dervish

Mecca .

IOI

in Scinde greatly helped him. His mind was both practical and
imaginative; he set himself to imagine and note down every con¬
tingency that might arise, and one by one he studied each separate
thing until he was master of it. As a small sample he apprenticed
himself to a blacksmith; he learned to make horseshoes and shoe
his horse.

To accomplish a journey to Mecca and Medinah quite safely
in those days (1853) was almost an impossibility, for the discovery
that he was not a Mussulman would have been avenged by a
hundred Khanjars. It meant living with his life in his hand, and
amongst the strangest and wildest companions, adopting their
unfamiliar manners, and living for perhaps nine months in the
hottest and most unhealthy climate, upon repulsive food, complete
and absolute isolation from all that makes life tolerable, from all
civilization, from all his natural habits—the brain at high tension,
never to depart from the role he had adopted.

He obtained a year’s leave on purpose, and left London as a
Persian, for, during the time, he had to assume and sustain several
Oriental characters. Captain Grindlay, who was in the secret,
travelled to Southampton and Alexandria as his English interpreter.
John Thurburn, who, curiously to say, was also the host of Burck-
hardt till he died, and was buried in Cairo, received Richard at
Alexandria. He and his son-in-law, John Larking, of the Firs, Lee,
Kent, were the only persons throughout the perilous expedition who
knew of his secret. He went to Cairo as a dervish, and he lived
there as a native, till (as he told me) he actually believed himself
to be what he represented himself to be, and then he felt he was
safe, and he practised on his own country-people the finding out
that he was unrecognizable. He had wished to cross the whole
length of Arabia, but the Russian War had caused disturbances,
which might have delayed him over his year’s leave.

In those days it was almost impossible to visit the Holy City as
one of the Faithful. First, therewas the pilgrim-ship to embark on ;
then there were long desert caravan marches, with their privations
and their dangers; then there was the holy shrine, the Ka’abah, to
be visited, and all the ceremonies to be gone through, like a Roman
Catholic Holy Week at Rome. Burckhardt, the Swiss traveller, did
get in, but he never could see the Ka’abah, and he confessed after¬
wards that he was so nervous that he was unable to take notes, and
unable to write or sketch for fear of being detected, whereas Richard
was sketching and writing in his white burnous the whole time he
was prostrating and kissing the holy Stone. He did not go in
mockery, but reverentially. He had brought his brain to believe

102

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

himself one of them. Europeans, converted Moslems, have of late
gone there, but they have been received with the utmost civility,
consistent with coldness, have been admitted to outward friendship,
but have been carefully kept out of what they most wished to know
and see, so that Richard was thus the only European who had beheld
the inner and religious life of the Moslems as one of themselves.

Amongst the various Oriental characters that Richard assumed, the
one that suited best was half-Arab, half-Iranian, such as throng the
northern shores of the Persian Gulf. With long hair falling on his
shoulders, long beard, face and hands, arms and legs browned and
stained with a thin coat of henna, Oriental dress, spear in hand, and
pistols in belt, Richard became Mirza Abdullah, el Bushiri. Here he
commenced his most adventurous and romantic life, explored from
North to South, from East to West, mixed with all sorts of people
and tribes without betraying himself in manners, customs, or speech,
when death must often have ensued, had he created either dislike or
suspicion.

I here give a slight sketch from his private notes, and for fuller
details refer the reader to his “ Pilgrimage to Mecca and El
Medinah,” 3 vols., with coloured illustrations, published in 1855,
and which made a great sensation. Although he has been the
author of some eighty books and pamphlets, I think that this
original edition of three volumes is the one that his name should live
by, and it will be the first of the Uniform Library with the Meccan
Press. The Uniform Library means a reproduction of all his hitherto
published works, and eventually his unpublished ones, so that the
world may lose nothing of what he has ever written.

As I have said, on the night of the 3rd of April, 1853, a Persian
Mirza, accompanied by an English interpreter, Captain Henry
Grindlay, of the Bengal Cavalry, left London for Southampton, and
embarked on the P. and O. steamer Bengal. The voyage was profit¬
able but tedious; Richard passed it in resuming his Oriental
character, with such success, that when he landed at Alexandria,
he was recognized and blessed as a true Moslem by the native
population.

John Thurburn and his son-in-law, John Larking, received him at
their villa on the Mahmudfyah Canal, but he was lodged in an outhouse,
the better to deceive the servants. Here he practised the Koran
and prayer, and all the ceremonies of the Faith, with a neighbouring
Shaykh. He also became a hakim , or doctor, and called himself
Shaykh Abdullah, preparing to be a dervish. The dervish is a
chartered vagabond; nobody asks why he comes, where he goes; he
may go on foot, or on horseback, or alone, or with a large retinue,

Mecca.

103

and he is as much respected without arms, as though he were armed
to the teeth. “ I only wanted,” he said, “a little knowledge of medicine,
which I had, moderate skill in magic, a studious reputation, and
enough to keep me from starving.” He provided himself with a few
necessaries for the journey.

When he had to leave Alexandria he wrote—

“ Not without a feeling of regret, I left my little room among
the white myrtle blossoms and the rosy oleander flowers with the
almond scent. I kissed with humble ostentation my good host’s
hand, in the presence of his servants. I bade adieu to my patients,
who now amounted to about fifty, shaking hands with all meekly, and
with religious equality of attention; and mounted in a ‘ trap ’
which looked like a cross between a wheelbarrow and a dog-cart,
drawn by a kicking, jibbing, and biting mule, I set out for the
steamer, the Little Asthmatic .”

“ The journey from Alexandria to Cairo lasted three days and
nights. We saw nothing but muddy water, dusty banks, sand, mist,
milky sky, glaring sun, breezes like the blasts of a furnace, and the
only variation was that the steamer grounded four or five times a day,
and I passed my time telling my beads with a huge rosary. I was a
deck passenger. The sun burnt us all day, and the night dews were
raw and thick. Our diet was bread and garlic, moistened with muddy
water from the canal. At Cairo I went to a caravanserai. Here I
became a Path^n. I was born in India of Afghan parents, who had
settled there, and I was educated at Rangoon, and sent out, as is
often the custom, to wander. I knew all the languages that I required
to pass me, Persian, Hindostani, and Arabic. It is customary at the
shop, on the camel, in the Mosque, to ask, ‘ What is thy name ?
Whence comest thou ? ’ and you must be prepared. I had to do the
fast of the Ramazan, which is far stricter than the Catholics’ Lent,
and in Cairo I studied the Moslem faith in every detail. I had great
difficulty in getting a passport without betraying myself, but the
chief of the Afghan college at the Azhar Mosque contrived it for
me. I hired a couple of camels, and put my Meccan boy and
baggage on one, and I took the other. I had an eighty-four mile
ride in midsummer, on a bad wooden saddle, on a bad dromedary,
across the Suez Desert.

“ Above, through a sky terrible in its stainless beauty, and the
splendours of a pitiless blinding glare, the simoom caresses you like
a lion with flaming breath. Around lie drifted sand-heaps, upon
which each puff of wind leaves its trace in solid waves, frayed rocks,
the very skeletons of mountains, and hard unbroken plains, over
which he who rides is spurred by the idea that the bursting of a
waterskin, or the pricking of a camel’s hoof, would be a certain
death of torture; a haggard land infested with wild beasts and
wilder men ; a region whose very fountains murmur the warnmg
words, ‘ Drink and away ! ’

“ In the desert, even more than upon the ocean, there is present

104 The Life of Sir Richard Bzirton.

Death, and this sense of danger, never absent, invests the scene of
travel with a peculiar interest.

“ Let the traveller who suspects exaggeration leave the Suez road,
and gallop northwards over the sands for an hour or two ; in the
drear silence, the solitude, and the fantastic desolation of the place,
he will feel what the desert may be. And then the oases, and little
lines of fertility—how soft and how beautiful!—even though the
Wady-el-Ward (‘the Vale of Flowers’) be the name of some stem
flat in which a handful of wild shrubs blossom, while struggling
through a cold season’s ephemeral existence.

“In such circumstances the mind is influenced through the body.
Though your mouth glows, and your skin is parched, yet you feel
no languor,—the effect of humid heat; your lungs are lightened, your
sight brightens, your memory recovers its tone, and your spirits
become exuberant. Your fancy and imagination are powerfully
aroused, and the wildness and sublimity of the scenes around you,
stir up all the energies of your soul, whether for exertion, danger,
or strife. Your morale improves ; you become frank and cordial,
hospitable and single-minded; the hypocritical politeness and the
slavery of Civilization are left behind you in the City. Your senses
are quickened ; they require no stimulants but air and exercise; in
the desert spirituous liquors excite only disgust.

“ There is a keen enjoyment in mere animal existence. The
sharp appetite disposes of the most indigestible food ; the sand is
softer than a bed of down, and the purity of the air suddenly puts
to flight a dire cohort of diseases.

“ Here Nature returns to Man, however unworthily he has treated
her, and, believe me, when once your tastes have conformed to the
tranquillity of such travel, you will suffer real pain in returning to
the turmoil of civilization. You will anticipate the bustle and the
confusion of artificial life, its luxuries and its false pleasures, with
repugnance. Depressed in spirits, you will for a time after your
return feel incapable of mental or bodily exertion. The air of Cities
will suffocate you, and the careworn and cadaverous countenances
of citizens will haunt you like a vision of judgment.

.“I was nearly undone by Mohammed, my Meccan boy, finding
my sextant amongst my clothes, and it was only by Umar Effendi
having read a letter of mine to Haji Wall that very morning on
Theology, that he was able to certify that I was thoroughly
orthodox.

“When I started my intention had been to cross the all but
unknown Arabian Peninsula, and to map it out, either from El
Medinah to Maskat, or from Mecca to Makallah on the Indian
Ocean. I wanted to open a market for horses between Arabia
and Central India, to go through the Ruba-el-Khali (‘ the Empty
Abode ’), the great wilderness on our maps, to learn the hydrography
of the Hejaz, and the ethnographical details of this race of Arabs
I should have been very much at sea without my sextant. I managed
to secrete a pocket compass.

“The journey would have been of fifteen or sixteen hundred miles,

Mecca,

105

and have occupied at least ten months longer than my leave. The
quarrelling of the tribes prevented my carrying it out. I had
arranged with the Beni Harb, the Bedawin tribe, to join them after
the Pilgrimage like a true Bedawin, but it meant all this above-
mentioned work; I found it useless to be killed in a petty tribe-
quarrel, perhaps, about a mare, and once I joined them it would
have been a point of honour to aid in all their quarrels and
raids.

“ At Suez we embarked on a Sambuk , an open boat of about fifty
tons. She had no means of reefing, no compass, no log, no sounding¬
line, no chart. Ninety-seven pilgrims (fifteen women and children)
came on deck. They were all barefoot, bare-headed, dirty, ferocious,
and armed. The distance was doubled by detours; it would have
been six hundred miles in a straight line. Even the hardened Arabs
and Africans suffered most severely. After twelve days of purga¬
tory, I sprang ashore at Yambu; and travelling a fortnight in this
pilgrim-boat gave me the fullest possible knowledge of the inner life
of El Islam. However, the heat of the sun, the heavy night dews,
and the constant washing of the waves over me, had so affected one
of my feet that I could hardly put it to the ground.

“ Yambu is the port of El Medinah, as Jeddah is that of Mecca.
The people are a good type, healthy, proud, and manly, and they
have considerable trade. Here I arranged for camels, and our
Caravan hired an escort of irregular cavalry—very necessary, for, as
the tribes were out, we had to fight every day. They did not want
to start till the tribes had finished fighting; but I was resolved,
and we went. Here I brought a shugdi/f, or litter, and seven days’
provisions for the journey, and here also I became an Arab, to
avoid paying the capitation tax, the Jizyat.

“ We eventually arrived at El Hamra, the ‘ Red Village,’ but in
a short while the Caravan arrived from Mecca, and in about four
hours we joined it and went on our way. That evening we were
attacked by Bedawi, and we had fighting pretty nearly the whole
way. We lost twelve men, camels, and other beasts of burden; the
Bedawi looted the baggage and ate the camels.

“One morning El Medinah was in sight. We were jaded and hungry;
and we gloried in the gardens and orchards about the town. I
was met at El Medinah by Shaykh Hamid, who received me into
his family as one of the faithful, and where I led a quiet, peaceful,
and pleasant life, during leisure hours ; but of course, the pilgrimage
being my object, I had a host of shrines to visit, ceremonies to
perform, and prayers to recite, besides the usual prayers five times
a day; for it must be remembered that El Medinah contains the
tomb of Mahommad.” (For description see Burton’s 4 Mecca and El
Medinah,’ 3 vols.)

“The Damascus Caravan was to start on the 27th Zu’l Ka’adah
(1 st. September). I had intended to stay at El Medinah till the last
moment, and to accompany the Kafilat el I'ayyarah , or the ‘ Flying
Caravan,’ which usually leaves on the 2nd Zu’l Hijjah, two days
after that of Damascus.

106 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“Suddenly arose the rumour that there would be no Tayyarah*
and that all pilgrims must proceed with the Damascus Caravan
or await the Rakb .f The Sherif Zayd, Sa’ad, the robbers’ only
friend, paid Sa’ad an unsuccessful visit. Sa’ad demanded back his
shaykhship, in return for a safe conduct through his country;
‘ otherwise,’ said he, ‘ I will cut the throat of every hen that
ventures into the passes.’

“ The Sherif Zayd returned to El Medinah on the 25th Zu’l Ka’adah
(30th August). Early on the morning of the next day, Shaykh
Hamid returned hurriedly from the bazar, exclaiming, ‘You must
make ready at once, Effendi! There will be no Tayycirah. All
Hajis start to-morrow. Allah will make it easy to you ! Have you
your water-skins in order ?. You are to travel down the Darb el
Sharki, where you will not see water for three days ! ’

“Poor Hamid looked horror-struck as he concluded this fearful
announcement, which filled me with joy. Burckhardt had visited
and described the Darb el Sultani, the ‘ High ’ or ‘ Royal Road ’
along the coast ; but no European had as yet travelled down by
Hariin el Rashid’s and the Lady Zubaydah’s celebrated route
through the Nejd Desert. And here was my chance !

“Whenever he was ineffably disgusted, I consoled him with singing
the celebrated song of Maysunah, the beautiful Bedawin wife of the
Caliph Muawiyah.” (Richard was immensely fond of this little song,
and the Bedawin screams with joy when he hears it.)

“ * Oh, take these purple robes away,

Give back my cloak of camel’s hair,

And bear me from this tow’ring pile
To where the black tents flap i’ the air.

The camel’s colt with falt’ring tread,

The dog that bays at all but me,

Delight me more than ambling mules,

Than every art of minstrelsy ;

And any cousin, poor but free,

Might take me, fatted ass, from thee.’ X

“The old man was delighted, clapped my shoulder, and exclaimed,
‘Verily, O Father of Moustachios, I will show thee the black Tents
of my Tribe this year.’

“So, after staying at Medinah about six weeks, I set out with the
Damascus Caravan down the Darb el Sharki, under the care of a
very venerable Bedawin, who nicknamed me ‘Abd Shuwarib,’ mean¬
ing, ‘ Father of Moustachios,’ mine being very large. I found myself
standing opposite the Egyptian gate of El Medinah, surrounded by
my friends—those friends of a day, who cross the phantasmagoria of
one’s life. There were affectionate embraces and parting mementoes.

* “The Tayydrah , or ‘Flying Caravan,’ is lightly laden, and travels by
forced marches.”

t “ The Rakb is a dromedary-caravan, in which each person carries only his
saddle-bags. It usually descends by the road called El Khabt, and makes Mecca
on the fifth day.”

X ‘By the term ‘fatted ass’ the intellectual lady alluded to her royal husband.”

Mecca .

107

The camels were mounted; I and the boy Mohammed in the litte r
or shugduf, and Shaykh Nur in his cot. The train of camels
with the Caravan wended its way slowly in a direction from north
to north-east, gradually changing to eastward. After an hour’s
travel, the Caravan halted to turn and take farewell of the Holy
City.

“ We dismounted to gaze at the venerable minarets and the
green dome which covers the tomb of the Prophet The heat
was dreadful, the climate dangerous, and the beasts died in
numbers. Fresh carcases strewed our way, and were covered with
foul vultures. The Caravan was most picturesque. We travelled
principally at night, but the camels had to perform the work
of goats, and step from block to block of basalt like moun¬
taineers, which being unnatural to them, they kept up a continual
piteous moan. The simoom and pillars of sand continually threw
them over.

“ Water is the great trouble of a Caravan journey, and the only
remedy is to be patient and not to talk. The first two hours
gives you the mastery, but if you drink you cannot stop. Forty-
seven miles before we reached Mecca, at El Zaribah, we had to
perform the ceremony of El Ihrai?i , meaning { to assume the
pilgrim garb.’ A barber shaved us, trimmed our moustachios;
we bathed and perfumed, and then we put on two new cotton
cloths, each six feet long by three and a half broad. It is

white, with narrow red stripes and fringe, and worn something as
you wear it in the baths. Our heads and feet, right shoulder and
arm, are exposed.

“We had another fight before we got to Mecca, and a

splendid camel in front of me was shot through the heart. Our
Sherff Zayd was an Arab Chieftain of the purest blood, and very
brave. He took two or three hundred men, and charged them.
However, they shot many of our dromedaries, and camels,
and boxes and baggage strewed the place; and when we were
gone the Bedawi would come back, loot the baggage, and eat
the camels. On Saturday, the 10th of September, at one

in the morning, there was great excitement in the Caravan,
and loud cries of * Mecca! Mecca! Oh, the Sanctuary, the

Sanctuary ! ’ All burst into loud praises, and many wept. We
reached it next morning, after ten days and nights from El
Medinah. I became the guest of the boy Mohammed, in the
house of his mother.

“ First I did the circumambulation at the Haram. Early next
morning I was admitted to the house of our Lord; and we went
to the holy well Zemzem, the holy water of Mecca, and then the
Ka’abah, in which is inserted the famous black stone, where they
say a prayer for the Unity of Allah. Then I performed the seven
circuits round the Ka’abah, called the Tawaf. I then managed to
have a way pushed for me through the immense crowd to kiss it.
While kissing it, and rubbing hands and forehead upon it, I narrowly

108 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

observed it, and came away persuaded that it is an aerolite. It
is curious that almost all agree upon one point, namely, that the
stone is volcanic. Ali Bey calls it mineralogically a ‘ block of
volcanic basalt, whose circumference is sprinkled with little crystals,
pointed and straw-like, with rhombs of tile-red felspath upon a dark
ground like velvet or charcoal, except one of its protuberances,
which is reddish.’ It is also described as ‘ a lava containing
several small extraneous particles of a whitish and of a. yellowish
substance.’

“All this time the pilgrims had scorched feet and burning heads,
as they were always uncovered. I was much impressed with the
strength and steadfastness of the Mohammedan religion. It was
so touching to see them; one of them was clinging to the curtain,
and sobbing as though his heart would break. * At night I and
Shaykh Nur and the boy Mohammed issued forth with the lantern
and praying-carpet.

“ The moon, now approaching the full, tipped the brow of Abu

* N.B.—I found in later years he had recently copied into this part of his
journal, from some paper, “The Meditations of a Hindu Prince and Sceptic,” by
the author of “ The Old Pindaree ”—

“ All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod,

Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God ?

Westward across the ocean, and Northward ayont the snow.

Do they all stand gazing, as ever? and what do the wisest know?

“ Here, in this mystical India, the deities hover and swarm,

Like the wild bees heard in the treetops, or the gusts of a gathering storm ;

In the air men hear their voices, their feet on the rocks are seen,

Yet we all say, ‘ Whence is the message ? and what may the wonders mean?’

“Shall I list to the word of the English, who came from the uttermost sea?

‘ The secret, hath it been told you ? and what is your message to me ? ’

It is nought but the wide-world story how the earth and the heavens began;
How the gods are glad and angry, and a Deity once a man.

“I had thought, ‘Perchance in the cities where the rulers of India dwell,

Whose orders flash from the far land, who girdle the earth with a spell,

They have fathomed the depths we float on, or measured the unknown main : ’
Sadly they turn from the venture, and say that the quest is vain.

“ Is life, then, a dream and delusion? and where shall the dreamer awake?

Is the world seen like shadows on water? and what if the mirror break?

Shall it pass, as a camp that is struck, as a tent that is gathered and gone,
From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone?

“ Is there nought in the heavens above, whence the hail and the levin are hurled,
But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world ?—

The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep
With the dirge, and the sounds of lamenting, and the voices of women who
weep.”

Mecca.

109

Kubdya, and lit up the spectacle with a more solemn light. In the
midst stood the huge bier-like erection—

‘ Black as the wings

Which some spirit of ill o’er a sepulchre flings ! ’

except where the moonbeams streaked it like jets of silver falling
upon the darkest marble. It formed the point of rest for the eye;
the little pagoda-like buildings and domes around it, with all their
gilding and framework, faded to the sight. One object, unique in
appearance, stood in view—the temple of the one Allah, the God
of Abraham, of Ishmael, and of their posterity. Sublime it was, and
expressing by all the eloquence of fancy the “grandeur of the one
idea which vitalized El Islam, and the strength and steadfastness of
its votaries.

“ One thing I remarked, and think worthy of notice, is that ever
since Noah’s dove, every religion seems to consider the pigeon a
sacred bird ; for example, every Mosque swarms with pigeons ; St.
Mark’s, at Venice, and the same exists in most Italian market¬
places ; the Hindoo pandits and the old Assyrian Empire also
have them; whilst Catholics make it the emblem of the Holy Ghost.

“ The day before I went to Arafat, I spent the night in the Mosque,
where I saw many strange sights. One was a negro possessed by
the devil. There, too, he prayed by the grave of Ishmael. After
this we set out for Arafat, where is the tomb of Adam. (I have
seen two since—one at Jerusalem, and one in the mountains behind
Damascus.)

“It was a very weary journey, and, with the sun raining fire on our
heads and feet, we suffered tortures. The camels threw themselves
on the ground, and I myself saw five men fall out and die. On
the Mount there were numerous consecrated shrines to see, and we
had to listen to an immensely long sermon. On the great festival
day we stoned the Devil, each man with seven stones washed in
seven waters, and we said, while throwing each stone, 4 In the name
of Allah—and Allah is Almighty—I do this in hatred of the Devil,
and to his shame.’ There is then an immense slaughter of victims
(five or six thousand), which slaughter, with the intense heat, swarms
of flies, and the whole space reeking with blood, produces the most
noisome vapours, and probably is the birthplace of that cholera
and small-pox which generally devastate the World after the Haj.
Noiv we were allowed to doff the pilgrim’s garb.

“ We all went to barbers’ booths, where we were shaved, had our
beards trimmed and our nails cut, saying prayers the while; and,
though we had no clothes, we might put our clothes over our heads,
and wear our slippers, which were a little protection from the heat.
We might then twirl our moustachios, stroke our beards, and return
to Mecca. At the last moment I was sent for. I thought, ‘Now
something is going to happen to me ; now I am suspected.’

“A crowd had gathered round the Ka’abah, and I had no wish to
stand bare-headed and bare-footed in the midday September sun.

I IO

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

At the cry of ‘ Open a path for the Haji who would enter the
House ! * the gazers made way. Two stout Meccans, who stood below
the door, raised me in their arms, whilst a third drew me from above
into the building. At the entrance I was accosted by several
officials, dark-looking Meccans, of whom the blackest and plainest
was a youth of the Benu Shaybah family, the true blood of the El
Hejaz. He held in his hand the huge silver-gilt padlock of the
Ka’abah, and presently, taking his seat upon a kind of wooden press
in the left corner of the hall, he officially inquired my name, nation,
and other particulars. The replies were satisfactory, and the boy
Mohammed was authoritatively ordered to conduct me round the
building, and to recite the prayers. I will not deny that, looking at
the windowless walls, the officials at the door, and a crowd of excited
fanatics below—

‘ And the place death, considering who I was,'

my feelings were of the trapped-rat description, acknowledged by the
immortal nephew of his uncle Perez. A blunder, a hasty action, a
misjudged word, a prayer or bow, not strictly the right shibboleth,
and my bones would have whitened the desert sand. This did not,
however, prevent my carefully observing the scene during our
long prayer, and making a rough plan with a pencil upon my white
ihram .

“ I returned home after this quite exhausted, performed an elaborate
toilet, washing with henna and warm water, to mitigate the pain the
sun had caused on my arms, shoulders, and breast, head and feet,
and put on my gayest clothes in honour of the festival. When the
moon rose, there was a second stoning, or lapidation, to be per¬
formed, and then we strolled round the coffee-houses. There was
also a little pilgrimage to undertake, which is in honour of Hagar
seeking water for her son Ishmael.

“ I now began to long to leave Mecca; I had done everything,
seen everything; the heat was simply unendurable, and the little
room where I could enjoy privacy for about six hours a day, and jot
my notes down, was a perfect little oven.*

“ I slowly wended my way with a Caravan to Jeddah, with donkeys
and Mohammed; I must say that the sight of the sea and the
British flag was a pleasant tonic. I went to the British Consulate,
but the Dragomans were not very civil to the unfortunate Afghan.

“ So I was left kicking my heels at the Great Man’s Gate for a long
time, and heard somebody say, ‘ Let the dirty nigger wait.’ Long
inured to patience, however, I did wait, and when the Consul
consented to see me, I presented him with a bit of paper, as if it
were a money order. On it was written, ‘ Don’t recognize me; I am

* I have only given the barest outlines of what took place, referring my readers
to the original, because, as there were between fifty and fifty-five mosques, besides
other places, and various interesting ceremonies to be performed in each one,
there would be no room for anything else; and the same may be said of
El Medinah.—I. B.

Mecca.

Dick Burton, but I am not safe yet. Give me some money’ (naming
the sum), ‘ which will be returned from London, and don’t take any
notice of me.’ He, however, frequently afterwards, when it was
dark, sent for me, and, once safe in his private rooms, showed me
abundance of hospitality. Necessity compelled me living with Shayk
Nur in a room (to myself), swept, sprinkled with water, and spread
with mats.

“ When I went out in gay attire, I was generally mistaken for the
Pasha of El Medinah. After about ten days’ suspense, an English
ship was sent by the Bombay Steam Navigation Company to convey
pilgrims from El Hejaz to India, so one day the Afghan disappeared
—was supposed to have departed with other dirty pilgrims, but in
reality, had got on board the Dwdrka * an English ship, with a first-
class passage; he had emerged from his cabin, after washing all his
colouring off, in the garb of an English gentleman ; experienced
the greatest kindness from the Commander and Officers, which
he much needed, being worn out with fatigue and the fatal fiery
heat, and felt the great relief to his mind and body from being
able to take his first complete rest in safety on board an English
ship; but was so changed that the Turkish pilgrims, who crowded
the deck, never recognized their late companion pilgrim.”

He ends his personal narrative of his sojourn in El Hejaz thus :—

“ I have been exposed to perils, and I have escaped from them;
I have traversed the sea, and have not succumbed under the severest
fatigues ; but they with fatal fiery heat have worn me out, and my
heart is moved with emotions of gratitude that I have been per¬
mitted to effect the objects I had in view.”

I can remember, at a reception at Lady Salisbury’s, the Persian
Ambassador and his suite following Richard about the whole
evening, and when I joked them about it, they said, “ It is such
an extraordinary thing to us, to see any foreigner, especially an
Englishman, speaking our language like ourselves. He might
have never been out of Teheran; he even knows all the slang
of the market-place as well as we do.” When he arrived in
Damascus, his record was perfectly clean with the Mohammedans,
and the only bitter, unreasoning prejudice was in the breast of

* On the Dwarka\ before he had time to go down to the cabin and change his
clothes, one of his English brother officers, who was on board the ship, gave him a sly
kick, and said, “ Get out of the way, you dirty nigger.” He often told me how he
longed to hit him, but did not dare to betray himself. He was also part of the
way in the Red Sea with my cousin William Strickland, a priest, and he used to
tease him by sitting opposite to him, reciting his Koran out loud, while William
was saying his breviary also out loud. At last one day Strickland got up, saying,
“Oh, my God, I can’t stand this much more,” and afterwards these two became
great friends.—I. B.

I 12

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Christian missionaries, and Christian Foreign Office employes, whose
friends wanted the post. Burton and Palgrave were quite two
different men, as silver and nickel. I know exactly the sort of
Arabic Palgrave spoke.

In the days that Richard went to Mecca, no converted Englishman
would have been received as now. As to his Arabic, Abd el Kadir
told me—and, mind, he was the highest cultivated and the most
religious Moslem in Damascus; the only Sufi, I believe—that there
were only two men in Damascus whose Arabic was worth listening
to; one was my husband, and the other was Shaykh Mijwal El
Mezrab, Lady Ellenborough’s Bedawin husband. We may remem¬
ber that at Jeddah his life was saved by being mistaken for the Pasha
of El Medinah, and when he went to the departure of the Haj at
Damascus, as he rode down the lines in frock-coat and fez, he was
accosted by more than one as the Pasha of the Haj; and when the
mistake was explained, and he told them who he was, they only
laughed and said, “ Why don’t you come along with us again to Mecca,
as you did before ? ” He was looked upon by all as a friend to the
Moslem. He never profaned the sanctuaries of Mecca and Medina,
and so far from being unpopular with the Moslems, he received
almost yearly an invitation to go back with the Haj, and no opposi¬
tion would have been made to him had he made another pilgrimage
to the jealously guarded Haramayn or the holy Cities of the Moslems.
Even / am always admitted to the Mosques with the women for his
sake.

There was no tinsel and gingerbread about anything Richard did;
it was always true and real.

CHAPTER VIII.

HARAR—THE MOSLEM ABYSSINIA.

Richard returned up the Red Sea to Egypt, and much enjoyed the
rest and safety for a short time, and then returned to Bombay, his
leave being up; but the wandering fever was still upon him, and as
the most difficult place for a white man to enter was Harar, in
Somali-land, Abyssinia, he determined that that should be his object.
It is inhabited by a very dangerous race to deal with, and no white
man had ever penetrated to Harar. The first white man who went
to Abyssinia was kept prisoner till he died. The East India Com¬
pany had long wished to explore it, because Berberah, the chief port
of Somali-land, is the safest and best harbour on the western side of
the Indian Ocean—far better than Aden. They went to work with
that strange mixture of caution and generosity with which they
treated those of their servants who stepped out of what Richard
calls their “ quarter-deck ” routine, that is, to let him go as a private
traveller, and the Government to give him no protection, but would
allow him to retain the same pay that he would enjoy whilst on
leave. Dr. Carter and others refused to do more than to coast
along in a cruiser.

Richard applied for Lieutenant Herne, of the ist Bombay
Fusileers, Lieutenant Stroyan, Indian Navy, and Lieutenant Speke,
46th Bengal Native Infantry. Herne was distinguished by his sur¬
veys, photography, and mechanics on the west coast of India, in
Scinde, and on the Punjaub rivers; Stroyan as amateur surveyor;
and Speke, collector of the Fauna of Tibet and the Himalayas and
sportsman. Assistant-Surgeon Ellerton Stocks, botanist, traveller,
and a first-rate man in all ways, died before the expedition started.

Jealousy, as usual, immediately rose up in opposition. First, Sir
James Outram, Political Resident at Aden, called it a tempting of

h ”3

114 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Providence, and Dr. Buist, the editor of the Bombay Times , was told
to run down the Somali Expedition, in which task he was assisted
by the unpopular chaplain. This was not very gratifying to four
high-spirited men; so, instead of using Berberah as a base of opera¬
tions, then westward to Harar, and then south-east to Zanzibar, the
Resident changed the whole scheme and made it fail. Herne was to
go to Berberah, where he was joined later by Stroyan. Speke was to
land in a small harbour called Bunder Guray, and to trace the water¬
shed of the Wady Nogal, to buy horses and camels, and collect red
earth with gold in it; but his little expedition failed through his
guide’s treachery. Herne and Stroyan succeeded. Richard reserved
for himself the post of danger. Harar was as difficult to enter as
Mecca. It is the southernmost masonry-built settlement in North
Equatorial Africa. He would go as an Arab merchant. Harar had
never been visited, has its own language, its own unique history and
traditions. The language was unwritten, but he wrote a grammar,
and a vocabulary in which the etymology is given, and there he had
enough savage anthropology to interest him.

He writes—

“ In the first place, Berberah is the true key of the Red Sea,
the centre of East African traffic, and the only safe place for ship¬
ping upon the Western Erythraean shore, from Suez to Guardafui,
backed by lands capable of cultivation, and by hills covered with
pine and other valuable trees, enjoying a comparatively temperate
climate, with a regular, though thin monsoon. This harbour has
been coveted by many a foreign conqueror. Circumstances have
thrown it into our arms, and if we refuse a chance, another and
a rival nation will not be so blind. [We have since given it away,
and kept the far inferior Aden.] We are bound to protect the lives
of subjects on this coast. In 1825 the crew of the Mary Ann brig
was treacherously murdered by the Somal. They continued in that
state, and if to-morrow a Peninsular and Oriental Company steamer
by any chance fell into their power, it would be the same history.
Harar, scarcely three hundred miles distance from Aden, is a
counterpart of the ill-famed Timbuctoo. A tradition exists that
with the entrance of the first Christian, Harar will fall. All
therefore who have attempted it were murdered. It was there¬
fore a point of honour with me to utilize my title of Haji, by entering
this City, visiting its Ruler, and returning in safety, after breaking the
Guardian’s spell.”

This exploration of Harar was one of Richard’s most splendid
and dangerous expeditions, and, for some reason or other, the
least known; the reason being, as I think, that his pilgrimage to
Mecca was still making a great noise, and that the Crimean War had

Harar — The Moslem Abyssinia. 115

cropped up, deadening the interest in all personal adventure. He
therefore thought himself fortunate in being able to persuade Lord
Elphinstone, Governor of Bombay, to patronize an expedition into
Somali-land.

He was away four months. The journey was useful; at least, it
has proved so to the Egyptians, to the English, and now to the
Italians. He sailed away, leaving Herne, Stroyan, and Speke, each
engaged on his respective work, and arrived at Zayla.

“My ship companions,” he writes, “ were the wildest of the wild, and
as we came into port Zayla a barque came up to give us the bad news.
Friendship between the Amir of Harar and the Governor of Zayla had
been broken ; the road through the Eesa Somal had been closed
by the murder of Masud, a favourite slave and adopted son of Shar-
markay ; all strangers had been expelled the City for some misconduct
by the Harar chief; moreover, small-pox was raging there with
such violence that the Galla peasantry would allow neither ingress nor
egress. The tide was out, and we waded a quarter of a mile amongst
giant crabs, who showed gristly claws, sharp coralline, and seaweed
so thick as to become almost like a mat. In the shallower parts the
sun was painfully hot even to my well-tried feet. I was taken
immediately to the Governor at Zayla, a fellow Haji, who gave me
hospitality.

“The well-known sounds of El Islam returned from memory.
Again the melodious chant of the muezzin —no evening bell can
compare with it for solemnity and beauty—and in the neighbouring
Mosque, the loudly intoned ‘Amin’ and ‘ Allaho Akbar,’ far superior
to any organ, rang in my ear. The evening gun of camp was repre¬
sented by the nakkarah, or kettle-drum, which sounded about seven
p.m. at the southern Gate; and at ten a second drumming warned
the paterfamilias that it was time for home, and thieves and lovers,
that it was the hour for bastinado. Nightfall was ushered in by the
song, the dance, and the marriage festival—here no permission is
required for ‘ native music in the lines ’—and muffled figures flitted
mysteriously through the dark alleys.

* * * * * *

“ After a peep through the open window, I fell asleep, feeling once
more at home.

“ I was too much of an Arab to weary of the endless preparations
for forming a caravan. I used to provide myself with a Koran
.and sit receiving visitors, and would occasionally go into the
Mosque, my servant carrying the prayer carpet, three hundred
pair of eyes staring at me, and after reciting the customary two-
bow prayer, in honour of the Mosque, I would place a sword and
rosary before me, and, taking the Koran, read the cow-chapter,
No. 18, in a loud and twanging voice. This is the character I
.adopted. You will bear in mind, if you please, that I am a Moslem
merchant, a character not to be confounded with the notable

116 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

individuals seen on ‘’Change.’ Mercator, in the East, is a compound
of tradesmen, divine, and T.G. Usually of gentle birth, he is
everywhere welcomed and respected; and he bears in his mind
and manner that, if Allah please, he may become Prime Minister
a month after he has sold you a yard of cloth. Commerce appears
to be an accident, not an essential, with him, yet he is by no means
deficient in acumen. He is a grave and reverend seignior, with
rosary in hand and Koran on lip; is generally a pilgrim; talks at
dreary length about Holy Places; writes a pretty hand ; has read
and can recite much poetry; is master of his religion ; demeans
himself with respectability; is perfect in all points of ceremony and
politeness, and feels equally at home whether Sultan or slave sit
upon his counter. He has a wife and children in his own country,
where he intends to spend the remnant of his days; but ‘ the world
is uncertain ’—‘ Fate descends, and man’s eyes seeth it not ’—‘ the
earth is a charnel-house; ’ briefly, his many old saws give him a
kind of theoretical consciousness that his bones may moulder in
other places but his fatherland.

“For half a generation we have been masters of Aden, filling
Southern Arabia with our calicos and rupees—what is the present
state of affairs there? We are dared by the Bedouins to come forth
from behind our stone walls and fight like men in the plain,—
British proteges are slaughtered within the range of our guns,—our
allies’ villages have been burned in sight of Aden,—our deserters are
welcomed and our fugitive felons protected,—our supplies are cut
off, and the garrison is reduced to extreme distress, at the word of
a half-naked bandit,—the miscreant Bhagi, who murdered Captain
Mylne in cold blood, still roams the hills unpunished,—gross insults
are the sole acknowledgements of our peaceful overtures,—the British
flag has been fired upon without return, our cruisers being ordered to
act only on the defensive,—and our forbearance to attack is univer¬
sally asserted and believed to arise from mere cowardice. Such is,
and such will be, the opinion and the character of the Arab !

“ I stayed here for twenty-six days, rising at dawn; then went tO'
the Terrace to perform my devotions, and make observation of my
neighbours ; breakfast at six, then coffee, pipe, and a nap ; then
receive visitors, who come by dozens with nothing to do or say..
When they were only Somal, I wrote Arabic, or extracted from some
useful book. When Arabs were there, I would recite tales from the
‘ Arabian Nights,’ to their great delight. At eleven, dinner, more
coffee and pipes; then the natives would go to sleep, and I wrote
my journals and studies. At about two p.m. more visitors would come,
and at sunset again to the Terrace, or walk to a mosque, where
games are going on, or stroll to a camp of Bedawi. The Gates
are locked at sunset, and the keys are carried to the Haji. It is not.
safe to be without the City later. Then comes supper.

“ After it we repair to the roof to enjoy the prospect of the far
Tajarrah Hills and the white moonbeams sleeping upon the nearer
sea. The evening star hangs like a diamond upon the still horizon ^
around the moon a pink zone of light mist, shading off into turquoise

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia. ny

blue and a delicate green-like chrysopraz, invests the heavens with a
peculiar charm. The scene is truly suggestive; behind us, purpling
in the night air and silvered by the radiance from above, lie the wolds
and mountains tenanted by the fiercest of savages, their shadowy
mysterious forms exciting vague alarms in the traveller’s breast.
Sweet as the harp of David, the night-breeze and the music of the
water comes up from the sea; but the ripple and the rustling sound
alternate with the hyaena’s laugh, and the jackal’s cry, and the wild
dog’s lengthened howl.

“ This journey, which occupied nearly four months, was to be
through a savage, treacherous, ferocious, and bloodthirsty people,
whose tribes were in a constant state of blood-feud. The party
consisted of nine, an abban or guide, three Arab matchlock men,
two women cooks, who were called Shehrazade and Deenarzade
after the ‘Arabian Nights,’ a fourth servant, and a Bedawin woman
to drive a donkey, which camels will follow and which is the custom.
We had four or five mules, saddled and bridled, and camels for
the baggage. Every one wept over us, and considered us dead
men. The abban objected to some routes on account of avoiding
tribes with which he had a blood-feud.”

This was, as I have said, far the most dangerous of Richard’s
explorations, quite as difficult as Mecca, and far more difficult than
anything Stanley has ever done, with his advantages of men, money,
and luxuries. The women seemed to be much hardier than the men ;
they carried the pipe and tobacco, led the camels, adjusted the
burdens, at the halt unloaded the cattle, disposed the baggage,
covered them with a mat tent, cooked the food, made tea and
coffee, and bivouacked outside the tent.

He writes—

“The air was fresh and clear; and the night breeze was
delicious after the stormy breath of day. The weary confinement
of walls made the weary expanse a luxury to the sight, whilst
the tumbling of the surf upon the near shore, and the music
of the jackal, predisposed to sweet sleep. We now felt that at
length the die was cast. Placing my pistols by my side, with
my rifle butt for a pillow, and its barrel as a bed-fellow, I
sought repose with none of the apprehension which even the most
stout-hearted traveller knows before the start. It is the difference
between fancy and reality, between anxiety and certainty; to men
gifted with any imaginative powers the anticipation must ever be
worse than the event. Thus it happens, that he who feels a thrill
of fear before engaging in a peril, exchanges it for a throb of exultation
when he finds himself hand to hand with the danger.”

The description of the journey is filled in his notes by being
hindered and almost captured by Bedawi, lamed with thorns, the

118 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

camels casting themselves down from fatigue, famishing from hunger,
and, worse, from thirst—the only water being sulphurous, which
affected both man and beast—and attacks from lions, sleep being dis¬
turbed by large ants, three-quarters of an inch long, with venomous
stings. Everywhere they went, everybody wept over them, as dead
men. He finds time, nevertheless, to remark, that at the height of
335ofeet he found a buttercup and heard a woodpecker tapping,
that reminded him of home. He describes a sham attack of twelve
Bedawi, who, when they saw what his revolver could do, said they
were only in fun.

At one of the kraals he gives an account of how, being surrounded
by Somals, they were boasting of their shooting, and of the skill with
which they used the shield, but they seemed not to understand the
proper use of the sword.

“ Thinking it was well to impress them with the superiority of
arms, I requested them to put up one of their shields as a mark.
They laughed very much, but would not comply. The Somal hate
a vulture, because it eats the dead and dying; so, seeing a large
brown bare-necked vulture at twenty paces distance, I shot it with
my revolver; then I loaded a gun with swan-shot, which they had
never seen, and, aiming at a bird that they considered far out of
gunshot distance, I knocked it over flying. Fresh screams followed
this marvellous feat, and they said, ‘ Lo! he bringeth down the
birds from heaven.’ Their Chief, putting his forefinger in his mouth,
praised Allah, and prayed to be defended from such a calamity;
and always after, when they saw me approach, they said, ‘ Here comes
the Shaykh who knows knowledge.’ I then gave a stick to the
best man; I provided myself in the same way, and allowed him to
cut at me as much as ever he liked, easily warding off the blows
with a parry. After repeated failures, and tiring himself enormously,
he received a sounding blow from me upon the least bony part of
his person. The crowd laughed long and loud, and the knight-at-
arms retired in confusion.

“ Every now and then we got into difficulties with the Bedawi, who
would not allow us to proceed, declaring the land was theirs. We
did not deny the claim, but I threatened sorcery, death, and wild
beasts, and foraging parties to their camels, children, and women.
It generally brought them to their senses. They would spit on us
for good luck, and let us depart. Once a Chief was smitten by
Shehrazade’s bulky charms, and wanted to carry her off. Once in
the evening we came upon the fresh trail of a large Habr Awal
cavalcade, which frightened my companions dreadfully. We were
only nine men and two women, to contend against two hundred
horsemen, and all, except the Hammal and Long Guled, would have
run away at the first charge. The worst of the ride was over rough
and stony road, the thorns tearing their feet and naked legs, and the
camels slipping over the rounded pebbles.

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia. 119

“ The joy of coming to a kraal was great, where the Chiefs of the
village appeared, bringing soft speech, sweet water, new milk, fat sheep
and goats, for a tobe of Cutch canvas. We passed a quiet, luxurious
clay of coffee and pipes, fresh cream and roasted mutton. After the
great heats and dangers from horsemen on the plain, we enjoyed the
cool breeze of the hills, cloudy skies, and the verdure of the glades
which refreshed our beasts. Here I shot a few hawks, and was
rewarded with loud exclamations of ‘ Allah preserve thy hand ! may
thy skill never fail thee before the foe.’ A woman ran away from my
steam kettle, thinking it was a weapon. They looked upon my
sunburnt skin with a favour they denied to the lime-white face.
The Somali Bedawi gradually affiliated me to their tribes.

“ At one village the people rushed out, exclaiming, ‘ Lo ! let us look
at the Kings ;* at others, ‘ Come and see the white man ; he is the
Governor of Zayla.’ My fairness (for, brown as I am, I am fair to
them) and the Arab dress made me sometimes the ruler of Aden,
the Chief of Zayla, the Haji’s son, a boy, an old woman, a man
painted white, a warrior in silver armour, a merchant, a pilgrim, a
head priest, Ahmed the Indian, a Turk, an Egyptian, a Frenchman,
a Banyan, a Sherff, and, lastly, a calamity sent down from heaven
to weary out the lives of the Somal. Every kraal had its own
conjecture.

“ On December 9th, I rode a little off my way to visit some ruins,
Darbfyah Kola, or Kola’s Fort, so called on account of its Galla
queen. There were once two cities, Aububah, and they fought like
the Kilkenny cats till both were eaten up. This was about three
hundred years ago, and the substantial ruins have fought a stern
fight with Time.

“ Remnants of houses cumber the soil, and the carefully built wells
are filled with rubbish. The palace was pointed out to me, with its
walls of stone and clay, intersected by layers of woodwork. The
Mosque is a large, roofless building, containing twelve square pillars
of rude masonry, and the mihrab , or prayer niche, is denoted by a
circular arch of tolerable construction. But the voice of the muezzin
is hushed for ever, and creepers now twine around the ruined fane.
The scene was still and dreary as the grave ; for a mile and a half in
length all was ruins—ruins—ruins.

“ Leaving this Dead City, we rode towards the south-west between
two rugged hills. Topping the ridge, we stood for a few minutes to
observe the view before us. Beneath our feet lay a long grassy
plain—the sight must have gladdened the hearts of our starving
mules—and for the first time in Africa horses appeared grazing free
amongst the bushes. A little further off lay the Aylonda Valley,
studded with graves and dark with verdure. Beyond it stretched
the Wady Harawwah, a long gloomy hollow in the general level.
The background was a bold sweep of blue hill, the second gradient
of the Harar line, and on its summit, closing the western horizon,
lay a golden streak, the Marar Prairie. Already I felt at the end of
my journey.

“ It was not an unusual thing in the dusk to see a large animal

120

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

following us with quick stealthy strides, and that I, sending a rifle
ball as correctly as I could in the direction, put to flight a large
lion.

“ The nearer I got to Harar, the more I was stopped by parties
of Gallas, and some went on to report evil of me, and many threats
were uttered. The ‘End of Time’ in the last march turned tail.
‘ Dost thou believe me to be a coward, O Pilgrim ? ’ ‘ Of a truth

I do,’ I answered. Nothing abashed, and with joy at his heart,
he hammered his mule with his heel, and rode off, saying, ‘What
hath man but a single life, and he who throweth it away, what is
he but a fool ? ’ ”

He gives a good account of elephant-hunting, but they did not
get near any. The water was in some places so hard it raised
lumps like nettle-stings, and they had to butter themselves. At one
place the inhabitants flocked out to stare at them. He fired his
rifle by way of salute over the head of the prettiest girl. The people,
delighted, exclaimed, “ Mod ! Mod! honour to thee ! ” and he
replied with shouts of “ Kulliban ! may Heaven aid thee ! ”

“ When there is any danger a Somali watchman sings and addresses
himself in dialogue, with different voices, to persuade thieves that
several men are watching. Ours was a spectacle of wildness as he
sat before the blazing fire. The ‘ End of Time ’ conceived the
jocose idea of crowning me King of the country, with loud cries of
‘ Buh ! Buh! Buh ! ’ while showering leaves from a gum tree and
water from a prayer-bottle over my head, and then with all solemnity
bound on my turban. I was hindered and threatened in no end
of places, and my companions threatened to desert me, saying,

‘ They will spoil that white skin of thine at Harar.’ Still I pushed
on. The Guda Birsi Bedawi number ten thousand spears.

“ One night we came upon a sheet of bright blaze, a fire threaten¬
ing the whole prairie.

“ At last came the sign of leaving the Desert. The scene lifted,
and we came to the second step of the Ethiopian highlands. In
the midst of the valley beneath ran a serpentine of shining waters,
the gladdest spectacle we had yet witnessed. Further in front,
masses of hill rose abruptly from shady valleys, encircled on the
far horizon by a straight blue line of ground resembling a distant sea.
Behind us glared the desert. We had now reached the outskirts of
civilization, where man, abandoning his flocks and herds, settles,
cultivates, and attends to the comforts of life.

“ We saw fields, with lanes between, the daisy, the thistle, and
the sweet-briar, settled villages, surrounded by strong abatis of
thorns, which stud the hills everywhere, clumps of trees, to which
the beehives are hung, and yellow crops of holcus, or grain. The
Harvest-Home-song sounded pleasant to my ears, and, contrast¬
ing with the silent desert, the hum of man’s habitation was music.

I 2 I

Harar■—The Moslem Abyssinia.

They flocked out to gaze upon us, unarmed, and welcomed us.
We bathed in the waters, on whose banks were a multitude of
huge Mantidse, pink and tender green. I now had ample time to
see the manners and customs of the settled Somali, as I was con¬
ducted to the cottage of the Gerad’s pretty wife, and learned the
home, and the day, and the food. They spoke Harari, Somali, Galla,
Arabic, and dialects. My kettle seems to have created surprise
everywhere.

“ Here the last preparations were made for entering this dread¬
ful City. All my people, and my camels, and most of my goods,
had to be left here for the return journey, and it was the duty
of this Chief (Gerad) to accompany me. I happened to hear
one of them say, ‘ Of what use is his gun ? Before he could
fetch fire I should put this arrow through him.’ I wheeled round,
and discharged a barrel over their heads, which threw them into
convulsions of terror. The man I had now to depend upon was
Adan bin Kaushan, a strong wiry Bedawin. He was tricky, ambitious,
greedy of gain, fickle, restless, and treacherous, a cunning idiot,
always so difficult to deal with. His sister was married to the father
of the Amir of Harar, but he said, ‘ He would as soon walk into a
crocodile’s mouth as go into the walls of Harar.’ He received a
sword, a Koran, a turban, an Arab waistcoat of gaudy satin, about
seventy tobes, and a similar proportion of indigo-dyed stuff—he
privily complained to me that the Hammal had given him but
twelve cloths. A list of his wants will best explain the man. He
begged me to bring him from Berberah a silver-hilted sword and
some soap, one thousand dollars, two sets of silver bracelets, twenty
guns with powder and shot, snuff, a scarlet cloth coat embroidered
with gold, some poison that would not fail, and any other little
article of luxury which might be supposed to suit him. In return he
was to present me with horses, mules, slaves, ivory, and other
valuables : he forgot, however, to do so before he departed.

“ Whilst we were discussing the project, and getting on satisfactorily,
five strangers well mounted rode in. Two were citizens, and three
were Habr Awal Bedawi, high in the Amir’s confidence ; they had
been sent to settle blood-money with Adan. They then told him that
I, the Arab, was not one who bought and sold, but a spy; that I and
my party should be sent prisoners to Harar. Adan would not give
us up, falsely promising to present our salaams to the Amir. When
they were gone he told me how afraid he was, and that it was
impossible for him to conduct me to the City. I then relied upon
what has made many a small man Great, my good star and audacity.

“ Driven to bay, I wrote an English letter from the Political Agent
at Aden, to the Amir of Harar, intending to deliver it in person ; it
was 4 neck or nothing.’ I only took what was necessary, Sherwa
the son of Adan, the Bedawi Actidon and Mad Said, and left every¬
thing behind me, excepting some presents for the Amir, a change of
clothes, an Arab book or two, a few biscuits, ammunition, and a little
tobacco. I passed through a lovely country, was stopiped by the
Gallas, and by the Habr Awal Bedawi, who offered, if we could

122

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

wait till sunrise, to take us into the City ; so I returned a polite
answer, leading them to expect that I should wait till eight a.m. for
them. 1 left my journals, sketches, and books in charge of Adan.

“ The journey was hard, and I encountered a Harar Grandee,
mounted upon a handsomely comparisoned mule, and attended by
servants. He was very courteous, and, seeing me thirsty, ordered
me a cup of water. Finally arriving, at the crest of a hill, stood
the City—the end of my present travel—a long, sombre line,
strikingly contrasting with the white-washed towns of the East. The
spectacle, materially speaking, was a disappointment; nothing con¬
spicuous appeared but two grey minarets of rude shape ; many would
have grudged exposing three lives to win so paltry a prize. But
of all that have attempted it, none ever succeeded in entering that
pile of stones; the thoroughbred traveller will understand my exulta¬
tion, although my two companions exchanged glances of wonder.
Stopping while my companions bathed, I retired to the wayside and
sketched the town. We arrived at three p.m., and advancing to the
gate, Mad Said accosted a warder whom he knew, sent our salaams
to the Amir, saying we came from Aden, and requested the honour
of audience. The Habr Awal collected round me inside the town,
and scowling, inquired why we had not apprised them of our inten¬
tion of entering the City; but it was ‘ war to the knife,’ and I did
not deign to answer.

Ten Days at Harar—the Most Exciting Trial of all.

“We were kept waiting half an hour, and were told by the warder
to pass the threshold. Long Guled gave his animal to the two
Bedawi, every one advising my attendants to escape with the
beasts, as we were going to be killed, on the road to this African
St. James. We were ordered to run, but we leisurely led our
mules in spite of the guide’s wrath, entered the gate, and strolled
down the yard, which was full of Gallas with spears, and the
waiting gave me an opportunity to inspect the place. I walked into
a vast hall, a hundred feet long, between two long rows of Galla
spearmen, between w r hose lines I had to pass. They were large
half-naked savages, standing like statues, with fierce movable eyes,
each one holding, with its butt end on the ground, a huge spear, with
a head the size of a shovel. I purposely sauntered down them
coolly with a swagger, with my eyes fixed upon their dangerous-look¬
ing faces. I had a six-shooter concealed in my waist-belt, and
determined, at the first show of excitement, to run up to the Amir,
and put it to his head, if it were necessary, to save my own life.

“The Amir was like a little Indian Rajah, an etiolated youth about
twenty-four or twenty-five years old, plain, thin bearded, with a
yellow complexion, wrinkled brows, and protruding eyes. His dress
was a flowing robe of crimson cloth, edged with snowy fur, and a
narrow white turban tightly twisted round a tall conical cap of red
velvet, like the old Turkish headgear of our painters. His throne

123

Harar — The Moslem Abyssinia.

was a common Indian hurst, or raised cot, about five feet long, with
back and sides supported by a dwarf railing; being an invalid, he
rested his elbow upon a pillow, under which appeared the hilt of a
Cutch sabre. Ranged in double line, perpendicular to the Amir,
stood the ‘ Court,’ his cousins and nearest relations, with right arms
bared after the fashion of Abyssinia.

“I entered this second avenue of Galla spearsmen with a loud
‘ Peace be upon ye! ’ to which H.H. replying graciously, and
extending a hand, bony and yellow as a kite’s claw, snapped his
thumb and middle finger. Two chamberlains stepping forward,
held my forearms, and assisted me to bend low over the fingers,
which, however, I did not kiss, being naturally averse to performing
that operation upon any but a woman’s hand. My two servants
then took their turn : in this case, after the back was saluted, the
palm was presented for a repetition.* These preliminaries con¬
cluded, we were led to, and seated upon a mat in front of the Amir,
who directed towards us a frowning brow and an inquisitive eye.

“ I made some inquiries about the Amir’s health : he shook his
head captiously, and inquired our errand. I drew from my pocket
my own letter : it was carried by a chamberlain, with hands veiled
in his tohe , to the Amir, who, after a brief glance, laid it upon the
couch, and demanded further explanation. I then represented in
Arabic that we had come from Aden, bearing the compliments of
our Dciulah, or Governor, and that we had entered Harar to see the
light of H.H.’s countenance : this information concluded with a little
speech describing the changes of Political Agents in Arabia, and
alluding to the friendship formerly existing between the English and
the deceased Chief Abubakr.

“The Amir smiled graciously.

“This smile, I must own, was a relief. We had been prepared for
the worst, and the aspect of affairs in the Palace was by no means
reassuring.

“ Whispering to his Treasurer, a little ugly man with a baldly shaven
head, coarse features, pug nose, angry eyes, and stubbly beard, the
Amir made a sign for us to retire. The bais'e main was repeated, and
we backed out of the audience-shed in high favour. According to
grandiloquent Bruce, ‘ the Court of London and that of Abyssinia
are, in their principles, one; ’ the loiterers in the Harar palace-yard,
who had before regarded us with cut-throat looks, now smiled as
though they loved us. Marshalled by the guard, we issued from the
precincts, and, after walking a hundred yards, entered the Amir’s
second palace, which we were told to consider our home. There we
found the Bedawi, who, scarcely believing that we had escaped
alive, grinned in the joy of their hearts, and we were at once provided
from the Chiefs kitchen with a dish of shabta , holcus cakes soaked in
sour milk, and thickly powdered with red pepper, the salt of this
inland region.

* In Abyssinia, according to the Lord of Geesh, this
liarity and confidence.

is a mark of royal fami-

124 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

“ When we had eaten, the Treasurer reappeared, bearing the Amir’s
command that we should call upon his Wazir, the Gerad Mohammad.
We found a venerable old man, whose benevolent countenance
belied the reports current about him in Somali-land. Half rising,
although his wrinkled brow showed suffering, he seated me by his
side upon the carpeted masonry-bench, where lay the implements
of his craft—reeds, inkstands, and whitewashed boards for paper—
politely welcomed me, and, gravely stroking his cotton-coloured
beard, desired to know my object in good Arabic.

“ I replied almost in the words used to the Amir, adding, however,
some details, how in the old day one Madar Farfh had been charged
by the late Sultan Abubakr with a present to the Governor of Aden,
and that it was the wish of our people to re-establish friendly
relations and commercial intercourse with Harar.

“ ‘ Khayr Inshallah ! it is well, if Allah please! * ejaculated the
Gerad. I then bent over his hand, and took leave.

“ Returning, we inquired anxiously of the Treasurer about my
servants’ arms, which had not been returned, and were assured that
they had been placed in the safest of storehouses, the Palace. I
then sent a common six-barrelled revolver as a present to the Amir,
explaining its use to the bearer, and we prepared to make ourselves
as comfortable as possible. The interior of our new house was
a clean room, with plain walls, and a floor of tamped earth; opposite
the entrance were two broad steps of masonry, raised about two
feet, and a yard above the ground, and covered with hard matting.
I contrived to make upon the higher ledge a bed with the cushions
which my companions used as shabracques , and after seeing the
mules fed and tethered, lay down to rest, worn out by fatigue and
profoundly impressed with the poesie of our position. I was under
the roof of a bigoted prince whose least word was death; amongst
a people who detest foreigners; the only European that had ever
passed over their inhospitable threshold ; and, more than that, I was
the fated instrument of their future downfall .”

He gives a very detailed account of the City of Harar, its inhabi¬
tants, and all he saw during his ten days there, for which I refer
people to “ First Footsteps in East Africa,” one large volume,
1856. He says—

“ The explorer must frequently rest satisfied with descrying from
his Pisgah, the knowledge which another more fortunate is destined
to acquire. Inside Harar, I was so closely watched, that it was
impossible to put pen to paper. It was only when I got back to
Wilensi that I hastily collected the grammatical forms, and a
vocabulary which proves that the language is not Arabic; that it
has an affinity with the Amharic. Harar has its own tongue, unin¬
telligible to any save the citizens. Its little population of eight
thousand souls is a distinct race. A common proverb is, ‘ Hard as
the heart of Harar.’ They are extremely bigoted, especially against

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia.

125

Christians, and are fond of a religious war, or jehad , with the Gallas.
They hold foreigners in hate and contempt, and divide them into
two classes, Arabs and Somal.

The Somals say that the State dungeon is beneath the palace,
and that he who once enters it lives with unkempt beard and
untrimmed nails till the day when death sets him free. There is
nothing more terrible; the captive is heavily ironed, lies in a filthy
dungeon, and receives no food, except what he can obtain from
his own family, or buy or beg from his guards. The Amir has
bad health; I considered him consumptive. It is something in
my favour that, as soon as I departed, he wrote to the acting
Political Resident at Aden, earnestly begging to be supplied with
a Frank physician, and offering protection to any European who
might be persuaded to visit his dominions. His rule was severe,
if not just, and it has all the prestige of secrecy. Even the Gerad
Mohammad, even the Queen Dowager, are threatened with fetters
if they offer uncalled-for advice. His principal occupation is spying
his many stalwart cousins, indulging in vain fears of the English
and the Turks, amassing treasure by commerce and cheating.

“The Amir Ahmed is alive to the fact that some State should
hedge in a Prince. Neither weapons nor rosaries are allowed in
his presence; a chamberlain’s robe acts as spittoon; whenever
anything is given to or taken from him his hand must be kissed ;
even on horseback two attendants fan him with the hems of their
garments. Except when engaged on the Haronic visits, which he,
like his father, pays to the streets and byways at night, he is always
surrounded by a strong body-guard. He rides to Mosque escorted
by a dozen horsemen, and a score of footmen with guns and whips
precede him ; by his side walks an officer, shading him with a huge
and heavily fringed red-satin umbrella—from India to Abyssinia the
sign of princely dignity. Even at his prayers, two or three chosen
matchlockmen stand over him with lighted fusees. When he rides
forth in public, he is escorted by a party of fifty men; the running
footmen crack their whips and shout, ‘ Let! Let! ’ (Go ! go !), and
the citizens avoid stripes by retreating into the nearest house, or
running into another street.

“ Immediately on our arrival we were called upon by all sorts of
Arabs; they were very civil to me at first, but when the Amir
ceased to send for me, just as at civilized Courts, they prudently
cut me. The moment the Amir sent for me, my Habr Awal
enemies, seeing the tide of fortune setting in my favour, changed
their tactics, and proposed themselves as my escort to return to
Berberah, which I politely refused. They did me all the harm they
could, but my good star triumphed. After one day’s rest, I was
summoned to wait upon the Gerad Mohammad, who was Prime
Minister. Sword in hand, and, followed by my two attendants, I
walked to the Palace, and found him surrounded by six counsellors;
they were eating/#/, which has somewhat the effect of hashish.

He sat me by his right hand on the dais, where I ate/#/, being,
fortunately, used to these things, and fingered the rosary. Then

126 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

followed prayer, and then a theological discussion, in which, fortu¬
nately, I was able to distinguish myself. My theology won general
approbation and kind glances from the elders. In a very short
time I was sent for by the Amir, and this time was allowed to
approach the outer door with covered feet. I entered as cere¬
moniously as before, and the prince motioned me to sit near the
Gerad, on a Persian rug to the right of the throne; my attendants
on humble mats at a greater distance. After sundry inquiries of
what was going on at Aden, the Resident’s letter was suddenly pro¬
duced by the Amir, who bade me explain its contents, and wished
to know if it was my intention to buy and sell at Harar. I replied,
‘ We are neither buyers nor sellers ; we have become your guests to
pay our respects to the Amir, who may Allah preserve, and that
the friendship between the two Powers may endure.’ The Amir was
pleased, and I therefore ventured to hope that the Prince would
soon permit me to return, as the air of Harar was too dry for me,
and that we were in danger of small-pox, then raging in the town,
and through the Gerad, the Amir said, ‘The reply will be vouchsafed,’
and the interview was over.

“ I sent my salaam to one of the Ulema, Shaykh Jdmi; he accepted
the excuse of health and came to see me. He was remarkably well
read in the religious sciences, and a great man at Mecca, with much
influence with the Sultan, and employed on political Missions amongst
the Chiefs. He started with the intention of winning the Crown of
Glory by murdering the British Resident at Aden, but he was so
struck with the order of justice of our rule, he offered El Islam
to that officer, who received it so urbanely, that the simple Eastern,
ins:ead of cutting the Kaffir’s throat, began to pray fervently for his
conversion. We were kindly looked upon by a sick and decrepid
eunuch, named Sultdn. I used to spend my evenings preaching to
the Gatlas.

The Gerad Mohammad was now worked upon by the Habr
Awal, my enemies, to make inquiries about me, and one of the
Ayyal Gedfd clan came up and reported that three brothers * had
landed in the Somal country, that two of them were anxiously
waiting at Berberah the return of the fourth from Harar, and that,
though dressed like Moslems, they were really English spies in
Government employ, and orders were issued for cutting off Caravans.
We, however, were summoned to the Gerad’s, where, fortunately for
me, I found him suffering badly from bronchitis. I saw my chance.
I related to him all its symptoms, and told him that if I could only
get down to Aden, I could send him all the right remedies, with
directions. He clung to the hope of escaping his sufferings, and
begged me to lose no time. Presently the Amir sent for him, and
in a few minutes I was sent for alone. A long conversation ensued
about the state of Aden, of Zayla, of Berberah, and of Stamboul.
The Chief put a variety of questions about Arabia, and every object
there ; the answer was that the necessity of commerce, confined us

tf “Speke, Herne, and Stroyan.”

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia. 127

to the gloomy rock Aden. He used some obliging expressions about
desiring our friendship, and having considerable respect for a people
who built, he understood, large ships. I took the opportunity of
praising Harar in cautious phrase, and especially of regretting that
its coffee was not better known amongst the Franks. The small
wizen-faced man smiled, as Moslems say, the smile of Umar; * seeing
his brow relax for the first time, I told him that, being now restored
to health, we requested his commands for Aden. He signified con¬
sent with a nod, and the Gerad, with many compliments, gave me
a letter addressed to the Political Resident, and requested me to
take charge of a mule as a present I then arose, recited a short
prayer, the gist of which was that the Amir’s days and reign might
be long in the land, and that the faces of his foes might be blackened
here and hereafter, bent over his hand, and retired. Returning to
the Gerad’s levee-hut, I saw by the countenances of my two atten¬
dants that they were not a little anxious about the interview, and
comforted them with the whispered word, ‘ Achha ! ’ (all right!)

“ Presently appeared the Gerad, accompanied by two men, who
brought my servants’ arms, and the revolver which I had sent to
the prince. This was a contretemps. It was clearly impossible
to take back the present; besides which, I suspected some finesse
to discover my feelings towards him. The other course would ensure
delay. I told the Gerad that the weapon was intended especially to
preserve the Amir’s life, and, for further effect, snapped caps in rapid
succession, to the infinite terror of the august company. The Minister
returned to his Master, and soon brought back the information that,
after a day or two, another mule should be given to me. With
suitable acknowledgments we arose, blessed the Gerad, bade adieu
to the assembly, and departed joyful; the Hammal, in his glee,
speaking broken English, even in the Amir’s courtyard.

“ Shaykh Jami was rendered joyful by the news he told me when
I arrived; he had been informed that in the Town was a man who
had brought down the birds from heaven, and the citizens had
been thrown into a great excitement by my probable intentions.
One of the principal Ulema, and a distinguished Haji, had been
dreaming dreams in my favour, and sent their salaams. My long
residence in the East had made me grateful to the learned, whose
influence over the people, when unbiased by bigotry, is for the good.
On January nth, I was sent for by the Gerad, and given the second
mule ; he begged me not to forget his remedies as soon as I reached
Aden, and I told him that I would start on the morrow. I scarcely
had got in, when there were heavy showers and thunder. When I
got up to mount early on Friday morning, of course a mule had
strayed; then Shaykh Jami would not go till Monday. Now, as
I had been absent from my goods and chattels a whole fortnight,
as the people at Harar are immensely fickle, as you never know the
moment that the Amir may change his mind, for all African Cities
are prisons on a large scale—you enter by your own will, but you

* “ Because it was reported that he had never smiled but once.”

128 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

leave by another’s—I longed to start; however, the storms warned
me to be patient, and I deferred my departure till next morning.

“Long before dawn on Saturday, January 13th, the mules were
saddled, bridled, and charged with our scanty luggage. After a
hasty breakfast we shook hands with old Sultdn, the eunuch,
mounted and pricked through the desert streets. Suddenly my
weakness and sickness left me—so potent a drug is joy—and, as
we passed the Gates, loudly salaaming to the warders, who were
crouching over the fire inside, a weight of care and anxiety fell
from me like a cloak of lead.

“Yet I had time, on the top of my mule, for musing upon how
melancholy a thing is Success. Whilst failure inspirits a man,
attainment reads the sad prosy lesson that all our glories

‘ Are shadows, not substantial things.’

Truly said the sayer, ‘Disappointment is the salt of life’—a salutary
bitter which strengthens the mind for fresh exertion, and gives a
double value to the prize.

“This shade of melancholy soon passed away. We made in a
direct line for Kondura. At one p.m. we safely threaded the Gallas’
pass, and about an hour afterwards we exclaimed, ‘ Alhamdulillah,’
at the sight of Sagharrah and the distant Marar Prairie. Entering
the village, we discharged our firearms. The men gave cordial
poignees de mains —some danced with joy to see us return alive; they
had heard of our being imprisoned, bastinadoed, slaughtered; they
swore that the Gerad was raising an army to rescue or revenge us—
in fact, had we been their kinsmen, more excitement could not have
been displayed. Lastly, in true humility, crept forward the “ End of
Time,” who, as he kissed my hand, was upon the point of tears.

“ A pleasant evening was spent in recounting our perils, as
travellers will do, and complimenting one another upon the power
of our star.

“ At eight next morning we rode to Wilensi, and as we approached,
all the villagers and wayfarers inquired if we were the party that had
been put to death by the Amir of Harar.

“ Loud congratulations and shouts of joy awaited our arrival.
The Kalendar was in a paroxysm of delight; both Shehrazade and
Deenarzade were affected with giggling and what might be blushing.
We reviewed our property and found that the One-eyed had been a
faithful steward, so faithful indeed that he had wellnigh starved
the two women. Presently appeared the Gerad and his sons,
bringing with them my books ; the former was at once invested
with a gaudy Abyssinian tobe of many colours, in which he sallied
forth from the cottage the admired of all admirers. The pretty
wife, Sudfyah, and the good Khayrah were made happy by sundry
gifts of huge Birmingham ear-rings, brooches and bracelets, scissors,
needles, and thread. The evening as usual ended in a feast.

“We were obliged to halt a week at Wilensi to feed, for both
man and beast to lay in a stock of strength for the long desert

129

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia.

march before us, to buy onions, tobacco, spices, wooden platters,
and a sort of bread called karanji. Here I made my grammar and
vocabulary of the Harari tongue, under the supervision of Mad Said
and Ali the poet, a Somali educated at Harar, who knew Arabic,
Somali, Galla, and Harar languages.

On January 21st I wanted to start, but Shaykh Jami appeared
with all the incurables of the country. Nobody can form an idea
of the difficulties that an Eastern will put in your way when you
want to start, and unfortunately in nine cases out of ten the ruses
they have resort to, do prevent your starting. Now, in this case,
I decided that talismans were the best and safest medicines in
these mountains. The Shaykh doubted them, but when I exhibited
my diploma as a Master-Sufi, a new light broke in upon him and
his attendants. £ Verily he hath declared himself this day!’ whis¬
pered each to his neighbour, sorely mystified. Shaykh Jami carefully
inspected the document, raised it reverently to his forehead, muttered
prayers, and owned himself my pupil.

Now, however, all my followers had got some reason why they
could not go, so I sauntered out alone, attended only by the
Hammal, and, in spite of the Chief summoning me to halt, I took
an abrupt leave and went off, and entered the Marar Prairie with
pleasure. The truants joined us later on, and we met a party
whose Chief, a Somali, expressed astonishment at our escaping from
Harar, told us that the Berberi were incensed with us for leaving
the direct road, advised us to push on that night, to ’ware the bush,
whence the Midjans would use their poisoned arrows. The Berberi
had offered a hundred cows for our person dead or alive. Then
my party sat down to debate; they palavered for three hours. They
said that the camels could not walk, that the cold of the prairies
was death to man, till darkness came on. Experience had taught
me that it was waste of time to debate overnight about dangers
to be faced next day, so I ate my dates, drank my milk, and lay
down to enjoy sweet sleep in the tranquil silence of the desert.
Although I did not know it till after my return from Berberah,
Gerad Adan was my greatest danger. If his plotting had succeeded
it would have cost him dear, but would also have proved fatal to me.
The 23rd of January passed in the same manner, and the explana¬
tion I had with my men was, that on the morrow at dawn I would
cross the Marar Prairie by myself; and we started at dawn on the
24th, giving a wide berth to the Berberis, whose camp-fires were quite
visible at a distance. As we were about to enter the lands of the
Habr Awal, our enemies, a week would elapse before we could get
protection. We had resolved to reach the coast within the fortnight,
instead of which a month’s march was in prospect. Suddenly Beuh
appeared, and I proposed to him that he should escort the Caravans
to Zayla, and that I and the two others who had accompanied me to
Harar would mount our mules, only carrying arms and provisions for
four days. I pushed through the land of our enemies the Habr Awal.
In the land we were to traverse every man’s spear would be against
us, so I chose the desert roads, and carefully avoided all the kraals.

130 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

It was with serious apprehension that I pocketed all my remaining
provisions—five biscuits, a few limes, a few lumps of sugar. Any
accident to our mules, any delay would starve us; we were traversing
a desert where no one would sell us meat or milk, and only one
water-bottle in the whole party.

We rode thirty-five miles over awful tracks. Our toil was
rendered doubly dreadful by the Eastern traveller’s dread—the
demon of Thirst rode like Care behind us—for twenty-four hours
we did not taste water, the sun parched our brains, the mirage
mocked us at every turn, and the effect was a species of monomania.
As I jogged along with eyes closed against the fiery air, no image
unconnected with the want suggested itself. Water ever lay before
me, water lying deep in the shady well, water in streams bubbling
icy from the rock, water in pellucid lakes inviting me to plunge and
revel in their treasures. Now an Indian cloud was showering upon
me fluid more precious than molten pearl, then an invisible hand
offered a bowl for which the mortal part would gladly have
bartered years of life. Then—drear contrast!—I opened my eyes
to a heat-reeking plain, and a sky of that eternal metallic blue so
lovely to painter and poet, so blank and death-like to us, whose
yaXov was tempest, rain-storm, and the huge purple nimbus. I
tried to talk—it was in vain ; to sing—in vain; vainly to think;
every idea was bound up in one subject—water.*

“As a rule, twelve hours without water in the desert during hot
weather kill a man. We had another frightful journey to the next
water. I never suffered severely from thirst but on this expedition ;
probably it was in consequence of being at the time but in weak
health so soon after Mecca. A few more hours and the little party
would have been food for the desert beasts. We were saved by
a bird. When we had been thirty-six hours without water we
could go no further, and we were prepared to die the worst of all
deaths. The short twilight of the tropics was drawing in, I looked
up and saw a katta, or sand-grouse, with its pigeon-like flight,
making for the nearer hills. These birds must drink at least once
a day, and generally towards evening, when they are safe to carry
water in their bills to their young. I cried out, ‘ See, the katta /
the katta ! ’ All revived at once, took heart, and followed the bird,
which suddenly plunged down about a hundred yards away, showing
us a charming spring, a little shaft of water, about two feet in
diameter, in a margin of green. We jumped from our saddles, and
men and beasts plunged their heads into the water and drank till
they could drink no more. I have never since shot a katta.

“ With unspeakable delight, after another thirty hours, we saw in
the distance a patch of lively green: our animals scented the blessing
from afar, they raised their drooping ears, and started with us at

* I often thought Grant Allen, in the third volume of “The Devil’s Die,”
drew his account of the journey of Mohammed Ali and Ivan Royle from Eagle
City through the desert to Carthage on the edge of the desert from Richard’s
journey from Harar; it is so like it—but he told me he did not.—I. B.

Harar — The Moslem Abyssinia. 131

a canter, till, turning a corner, we suddenly sighted sundry little
wells. To spring from the saddle, to race with our mules, who now
feared not the crumbling sides of the pits, to throw ourselves into
the muddy pools, to drink a long slow draught, and to dash the
water over our burning faces, took less time to do than to recount.
A calmer inspection showed a necessity for caution; the surface was
alive with tadpoles and insects : prudence, however, had little power
at that time—we drank, and drank, and then drank again. As our
mules had fallen with avidity upon the grass. I proposed to pass
a few hours near the wells. My companions, however, pleading the
old fear of lions, led the way before dark to a deserted kraal upon a
neighbouring hill. We had marched this time about thirty hour,
eastward , and had entered a safe country belonging to the Bahgobas
our guide’s clan.

“There is nothing so dreadful as crossing a country full of blocks
and boulders piled upon one another in rugged steps, and it was
such a ravine, the Spliigen of Somali-land, that we had to dismount.
To a laden camel it is almost impossible; the best-fed horses, mules,
or asses, having to perform the work of goats instead of their own,
are worn out by it after a few hours; and this was what I and my
party had to do, and often the boulders were covered with thorns
two inches long, tipped with wooden points as sharp as a needle.
After three days of hard travelling in this way we saw the face
of man—some shepherds, who fled at our approach. We then
followed an undulating growth of parched grass, shaping our
course for Jebel Almis, to sailors the chief landmark of this coast,
and for a certain thin blue stripe on the far horizon,—the sea,—
upon which we gazed with gladdened eyes. That night we
arrived at a kraal, unsaddled, and began to make ourselves com¬
fortable, w'hen we found we had fallen upon the Ayyal Shirdon,
our bitterest^ enemies. They asked, ‘What tribe be ye?’ I boldly
answered, ‘ Of Habr Gerhagis.’ Thereupon ensued a war of words;
they rudely insisted on knowing what had taken us to Harar,
when a warrior armed with two spears came forward, recognized
the ‘ End of Time,’ and they retired but spoke of fighting. So
we made ready with our weapons and bade them come on; but
while they were considering, we saddled our mules and rode off*.
We stopped at three villages, and the Hammal failed to obtain even
a drop of water from his relations. It was most distressful, as men
and beasts were faint from thirst, so I determined to push forward
for water that night. Many times the animals stopped,—a mute hint
that they could go no further;—but / pushed on, and the rest had
learned to follow without a word. The moon arose, and still we
tottered on. About midnight—delightful sound !—the murmur of
the distant sea. Revived by the music, we pushed on more cheerily.
At three in the morning we found some holes which supplied us
with bitter water, truly delicious after fifteen hours’ thirst. Repeated
draughts of this element, and coarse stubbly grass, saved us and our
mules. Rain came on, but we slept like the dead. At six, we
resumed our march, going slowly along the seacoast, and at noon

132 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

we were able to sit on the sands and bathe in the sea. Our beasts
could hardly move, and slippery mud added to their troubles.
At three p.m. we again got a patch of grass, and halted the animals
to feed; and a mile further some wells, where we again rested them,
watered them, finished our last mouthful of food, and prepared for
a long night march.

“We managed to pass all our enemies in the dark, and they cursed
the star that had enabled us to slip unhurt through their hands.

I was obliged to call a halt within four miles of Berberah; the
animals could not move, neither could the men, except the Hammal
and I, and they all fell fast asleep on the stones. As soon as we could
go on, a long dark line appeared upon the sandy horizon, the sil¬
houettes of shipping showing against sea and sky. A cry of joy burst
from every mouth. ‘ Cheer, boys, cheer ! our toils here touch their
end.’ The ‘End of Time’ still whispered anxiously lest enemies
might arise; we wound slowly and cautiously round the southern
portion of the sleeping town, through bone-heaps, and jackals tearing
their unsavoury prey, straight into the quarter of the Ayyal Gedid,
our protectors. Anxiously I inquired if my comrades had left
Berberah, and heard with delight that they were there. It was two
o’clock in the morning, and we had marched forty miles.

“ I dismounted at the huts where my comrades were living. A
glad welcome, a dish of rice, and a glass of strong waters made
amends for past privations and fatigue. The servants and the
wretched mules were duly provided for, and I fell asleep, conscious
of having performed a feat which, like a certain ride to York, will
live in local annals for many and many a year.

u Great fatigue is seldom followed by long sleep. Soon after
sunrise I woke, hearing loud voices, seeing masses of black faces, and
tawny wigs. The Berberah people, who had been informed of our
five-day ride, swore that the thing was impossible, that we had never,
could never have been near Harar, but were astonished when they
found it was true. I then proceeded to inspect my attendants and
cattle. The former were delighted, having acquitted themselves of
their trust; the poor mules were by no means so easily restored.
Their backs were cut to the bone by the saddle, their heads drooped
sadly, their hams showed dread marks of the spear-point. I directed
them to be washed in the sea, to be dressed with cold-water bandages,
and copiously fed. Through a broad gap, called Duss Malablay,
appear in fine weather the granite walls of Wagar and Gulays,
5700 feet above the level of the sea. Lieutenant Herne found
it would make an admirable sanitarium. The emporium of Eastern
Africa has a salubrious climate, abundance of sweet water, a mild
monsoon, a fine open country, an excellent harbour, a highly pro¬
ductive soil, is the meeting-place of commerce, has few rivals, and
for half the money wasted on Aden, might have been covered with
houses, gardens, and trees. My companions and I, after a day’s
rest, made some excursions. We had a few difficulties about our
Abans , or protectors. We did not choose to be dictated to, so there
was a general council of the elders. It took place upon the shore,.

*33

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia.

each Chief forming a semicircle with his followers, all squatting on
the sand, with shield and spear planted upright in the ground. I
entered the circle sword in hand, and sat down in their midst.
After much murmuring had gone on the Chief asked, in a loud
voice, ‘Who is thy protector?’ The reply was, * Burhale Nuh,’
followed by an Arabic speech as long as an average sermon, and then,
shouldering my blade, I left the circle abruptly. It was a success ;
they held a peace conference, and the olive waved over the braves
of Berberah. On the 5th of February, 1855, I left my comrades pro
te?n ., and went on board El Kasai , or the Reed, the ill-omened
name of our cranky craft, and took with me the Hammal, Long
Guled, and the ‘ End of Time,’ who were in danger, and rejoiced at
leaving Berberah with sound skins. I met with opposition at land¬
ing. I could not risk a quarrel so near Berberah, and was returning
to moralize on the fate of Burckhardt—after a successful pilgrimage
refused admittance to Aaron’s tomb at Sinai—when a Bedawin ran
to tell us that we might wander where we pleased.

“ The captain of the Reed drew off a great deal further than I
ordered, and when I went down to go on board, the vessel was a
mere speck upon the sea horizon. He managed to cast anchor at
last, after driving his crazy craft through a bad sea. I stood on the
shore making signs for a canoe, but he did not choose to see me till
about one p.m. As soon as I found myself on quarter-deck—

“ ‘ Dawwir el farman ! ” (Shift the yard !) I shouted, with a voice
of thunder.

“ The answer was a general hubbub. ‘ He surely will not sail in a
sea like this ? ’ asked the trembling captain of my companions.

“ ‘ He will!’ sententiously quoth the Hammal, with a Burleigh nod.

“ ‘ It blows wind,’ remonstrated the rais.

“ ‘ And if it blew fire ? ’ asked the Hammal, with the air goguenard ,
meaning that from the calamity of Frankish obstinacy there was no
refuge.

“ A kind of death-wail rose, during which, to hide untimely
laughter, I retreated to a large drawer in the stern of the vessel,
called a cabin. There my ears could distinguish the loud entreaties
of the crew, vainly urging my attendants to propose a day’s delay.
Then one of the garrison, accompanied by the Captain, who shook
as with fever, resolved to act forlorn hope, and bring a feu a!e?ifer of
phrases to bear upon the Frank’s hard brain. Scarcely, however, had
the head of the sentence been delivered, before he was playfully
upraised by his bushy hair and a handle somewhat more substantial,
carried out of the cabin, and thrown, like a bag of biscuit, on the
deck.

“ The case was hopeless. All strangers plunged into the sea—-the
popular way of landing in East Africa—the anchor was weighed,
the ton of sail shaken out, and the Reed began to dip and rise in
the yeasty sea laboriously, as an alderman dancing a polka.

“ For the first time in my life I had the satisfaction of seeing the
Somal unable to eat—unable to eat mutton !! In sea-sickness and
needless terror, the Captain, crew, and passengers abandoned to us

134 The Life of Sir Richard Burton,

all the baked sheep, which we three, not being believers in the Evil
Eye, ate from head to trotters with especial pleasure. That night
the waves broke over us. The ‘ End of Time * occupied himself in
roaring certain orisons which are reputed to calm stormy seas ; he
desisted only when Long Guled pointed out that a wilder gust seemed
to follow, as in derision, each more emphatic period. The Captain, a
noted reprobate, renowned on shore for his knowledge of erotic verse
and admiration of the fair sex, prayed with fervour; he was joined
by several of the crew, who apparently found the charm of novelty
in the edifying exercise. About midnight a sultan el bahr , or sea-
King—a species of whale—appeared close to our counter; and
as these animals are famous for upsetting vessels in waggish¬
ness, the sight elicited a yell of terror, and a chorus of religious
exclamations.

“ On the morning of Friday, the 9th of February, 1855, we hove
in sight of Jebel Shamsan, the loftiest peak on the Aden crater.
And ere evening fell, I had the pleasure of seeing the faces of
friends and comrades once more.

“ If I had ‘ let well alone/ I should have done well; but I
wanted to make a new expedition Nile-wards, via Harar, on a
larger and more imposing scale. For that I went back to Aden.
On April 7th, 1855, I returned successful. Lieutenant King,
Indian Navy, commanded the gunboat Main , and entered the
harbour of Berberah with us on board. I was in command
of a party of forty-two men, armed, and we established an agency,
and selected the site of our camp in a place where we could have
the protection of the gunboat; but the Commander of the schooner
had orders to relieve another ship, and so could not remain and
superintend the departure of the Expedition. It was the time after
the Fair, and one might say that Berberah was empty, and that there
was scarcely any one but ourselves. Our tents were pitched in one
line—Stroyan’s to the right, Herne and myself in the middle, and
Speke on the left. The baggage was placed between our tents, the
camels were in front, the horses and mules behind us. Two sentries
all night w r ere regularly relieved and visited by ourselves. We were
very well received, and they listened with respectful attention to a
letter, in which the Political Resident at Aden enjoined them to
treat us with consideration and hospitality. We had purchased
fifty-six camels ; Ogadayn Caravan was anxious for our escort. If
we had departed then, perhaps all would have been well; but we
expected instruments and other necessaries by the mid-April mail
from Europe. Three days afterwards, a craft from Aden came in
with a dozen Somals, who wanted to accompany us, and fortunately
I feasted the Commander and the crew, which caused them to remain.
We little knew that our lives hung upon a thread, and that had the
vessel departed, as she would otherwise have done, the night before
the attack, nothing could have saved us. Between two and three
a.m. of April 19th, there was a cry that the enemy was upon us,
three hundred and fifty strong. Hearing a rush of men, like a

135

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia.

stormy wind, I sprang up, and called for my sabre, and sent
Herne to ascertain the force of the foray. Armed with a ‘ Colt,’ he
went to the rear and left of the camp, the direction of danger,
collecting some of the guards—others having already disappeared—
and fired two shots into the assailants. Then finding himself alone,
he turned hastily towards the tent; in so doing, he was tripped up by
the ropes, and, as he arose, a Somali appeared in the act of striking
at him with a club. Herne fired, floored the man, and, rejoining me,
declared that the enemy was in great force and the guard nowhere.
Meanwhile, I had aroused Stroyan and Speke, who were sleeping in
the extreme right and left tents. The former, it is presumed, arose
to defend himself, but, as the sequel shows, we never saw him alive.
Speke, awakened by the report of firearms, but supposing it to be the
normal false alarm—a warning to plunderers—remained where he
was; presently, hearing clubs rattling upon his tent, and feet shuffling
around, he ran to my rowtie, which we prepared to defend as long
as possible.

“ The enemy swarmed like hornets, with shouts and screams, intend¬
ing to terrify, and proving that overwhelming odds were against us.
It was by no means easy to avoid in the shades of night the jobbing
of javelins, and the long, heavy daggers thrown at our legs from
under and through the opening of the tent. We three remained
together ; Herne knelt by my right, on my left was Speke guarding
the entrance, I stood in the centre, having nothing but a sabre.
The revolvers were used by my companions with deadly effect;
unfortunately there was but one pair. When the fire was exhausted,
Herne went to search for his powder-horn, and, that failing, to find
some spears usually tied to the tent-pole. Whilst thus engaged,
he saw a man breaking into the rear of our rowtie, and came back
to inform me of the circumstance.

“ At this time, about five minutes after the beginning of the affray,
the tent had been almost beaten down—an Arab custom, with which
we were all familiar—and had we been entangled in its folds, like
mice in a trap, we should have been speared with unpleasant facility.
I gave the word for escape, and sallied out, closely followed by
Herne, with Speke in the rear. The prospect was not agreeable.
About twenty men were kneeling and crouching at the tent entrance,
whilst many dusky figures stood further off, or ran about shouting
the war-cry, or with shouts and blows drove away our camels.
Among the enemy were many of our friends and attendants; the
coast being open to them, they naturally ran away, firing a few
useless shots, and receiving a modicum of flesh-wounds.

“After breaking through the mob at the tent entrance, imagining
that I saw the form of Stroyan lying upon the sand, I cut my
way with my sabre towards it amongst dozens of Somal, whose
war-clubs worked without mercy, whilst the Balyuz, who was
violently pushing me out of the fray, rendered the strokes of my
sabre uncertain. This individual was cool and collected. Though
incapacitated by a sore right thumb from using the spear, he did not
shun danger, and passed unhurt through the midst of the enemy.

136 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

His efforts, however, only illustrated the venerable adage, ‘Defend
me from my friends/ I mistook him in the dark and turned to
cut him down; he cried out in alarm. The well-known voice
stopped me, and that instant’s hesitation allowed a spearman
to step forward, and leave his javelin in my mouth, and retire
before he could be punished. Escaping as by a miracle, I sought
some support. Many of our Somal and servants lurking in the
darkness offered to advance, but ‘ tailed off’ to a man as we
approached the foe. Presently the Balyuz reappeared, and led me
towards the place where he believed my three comrades had taken
refuge. I followed him, sending the only man that showed presence
of mind, one Golab of the Yusuf tribe, to bring back the Aynterad
craft from the Spit into the centre of the harbour. Again losing
the Balyuz in the darkness, I spent the interval before dawn wander¬
ing in search of my comrades, and lying down when overpowered
with faintness and pain. As the day broke, with my remaining
strength I reached the head of the creek, was carried into the vessel,
and persuaded the crew to arm themselves and visit the scene of
our disasters.

“ Meanwhile, Herne, who had closely followed me, fell back,
using the butt-end of his discharged six-shooter upon the hard
heads around him. In so doing he came upon a dozen men, who,
though they loudly vociferated, ‘ Kill the Franks who are killing
the Somal! ’ allowed him to pass uninjured.

“ He then sought his comrades in the empty huts of the town, and
at early dawn was joined by the Balyuz, who was similarly employed.
When day broke, he also sent a negro to stop the native craft, which
was apparently sailing out of the harbour, and in due time he came
on board. With the exception of sundry stiff blows with the war-
club, Herne had the fortune to escape unhurt.

“ On the other hand, Speke’s escape was in every way wonder¬
ful. Sallying from the tent, he levelled his ‘ Dean and Adams ’
close to an assailant’s breast. The pistol refused to revolve. A
sharp blow of a war-club upon the chest felled our comrade, who
was in the rear and unseen. When he fell, two or three men sprang
upon him, pinioned his hands behind, felt him for concealed
weapons—an operation to which he submitted in some alarm—
and led him towards the rear, as he supposed, to be slaughtered.
There, Speke, who could scarcely breathe from the pain of the
blow, asked a captor to tie his hands before instead of behind, and
begged a drop of water to relieve his excruciating thirst. The
savage defended him against a number of the Somal who came up
threatening and brandishing their spears. He brought a cloth for
the wounded man to lie upon, and lost no time in procuring a
draught of water.

“ Speke remained upon the ground till dawn. During the
interval he witnessed the war-dance of the savages—a scene
striking in the extreme; the tallest and largest warriors marching
with the deepest and most solemn tones, the song of thanksgiving.
At a little distance the grey uncertain light disclosed four or five

Harar—The Moslem Abyssinia. 137

men lying desperately hurt, whilst their kinsmen kneaded their
limbs, pouring water upon their wounds, and placing lumps of dates
in their stiffening hands.* As day broke, the division of plunder
caused angry passions to rise. The dead and dying were abandoned.
One party made a rush upon the cattle, and with shouts and yells
drove them off towards the wilds. Some loaded themselves with
goods; others fought over pieces of cloth, which they tore with hand
and dagger; whilst the disappointed, vociferating with rage, struck
at one another and brandished their spears. More than once during
these scenes a panic seized them; they moved off in a body to
some distance; and there is little doubt that, had our guard struck
one blow, we might still have won the day.

“ Speke’s captor went to seek his own portion of the spoil, when
a Somal came up and asked in Hindostani what business the Frank
had in their country, and added that he would kill him if a
Christian, but spare the life of a brother Moslem. The wounded
man replied that he was going to Zanzibar, that he was still a
Nazarene, and therefore that the work had better be done at once.
The savage laughed, and passed on. He was succeeded by a
second, who, equally compassionate, whirled a sword round his
head, twice pretending to strike, but returning to the plunder without
doing damage. Presently came another manner of assailant.
Speke, who had extricated his hands, caught the spear levelled at
his breast, but received at the same moment a blow which, para¬
lyzing his arm, caused him to lose his hold. In defending his
heart from a succession of thrusts, he received severe wounds on
the back of his hand, his right shoulder, and his left thigh. Pausing
a little, the wretch crossed to the other side, and suddenly passed
his spear clean through the right leg of the wounded man. The
latter, ‘ smelling death/ then leapt up, and, taking advantage of
his assailant’s terror, rushed headlong towards the sea. Looking
behind, he avoided the javelin hurled at his back, and had the good
fortune to run, without further accident, the gauntlet of a score of
missiles. When pursuit was discontinued, he sat down, faint from
loss of blood, upon a sandhill. Recovering strength by a few
minutes’ rest, he staggered on to the town, where some old women
directed him to us. Then, pursuing his way, he fell in with the
party sent to seek him, and by their aid reached the craft, having
walked and run at least three miles, after receiving eleven wounds,
two of which had pierced his thighs. A touching lesson how difficult
it is to kill a man in sound health! f My difficulty was, with my
comrades’ aid, to extract the javelin which transfixed my jaws. It
destroyed my palate and four good back teeth, and left wounds on
my two cheeks.

* “ The Somal place dates in the hands of the fallen to ascertain the extent of
injury. He that cannot eat that delicacy is justly decided to be in articulo

t “In less than a month after receiving such injuries, Speke was on his way to
England. He never felt the least inconvenience from the woands, which closed
up like indiarubber.”

138 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“When we three survivors had reached the craft, Yusuf, the
Captain, armed his men with muskets and spears, landed them near
the camp, and ascertained that the enemy, expecting a fresh attack,
had fled, carrying away our cloth, tobacco, swords, and other
weapons. The corpse of Stroyan was then brought on board. Our
lamented comrade was already stark and cold. A spear had traversed
his heart, another had pierced his abdomen, and a frightful gash,
apparently of a sword, had opened the upper part of his forehead.
The body had been bruised with war-clubs, and the thighs showed
marks of violence after death. This was the severest affliction that
befell us. We had lived together like brothers. Stroyan was a
universal favourite, and his sterling qualities of manly courage,
physical endurance, and steady perseverance had augured for him
a bright career, thus prematurely cut off. Truly melancholy to
us was the contrast between the evening when he sat with us full
of life and spirits, and the morning when we saw amongst us a livid
corpse.

“ We had hoped to preserve the remains of our friend for interment
at Aden. But so rapid were the effects of exposure that we were
compelled most reluctantly, on the morning of the 20th of April, to
commit them to the deep, Herne reading the Funeral Service.

“Then, with heavy hearts, we set sail for the near Arabian shore,
and, after a tedious two days, carried our friends the news of the
unexpected disaster.

“ Richard F. Burton.”

When Speke wrote the manuscript of this affair, and in Blackwood ’
and also in his book on the “ Sources of the Nile,” he said that he was
the Head of the Expedition; he had given the order for the night,
it was before him the spies were brought, he was the first to turn out,
and no one but he had the courage to defend himself. It is hardly
worth while to contradict it. It is obvious that this expedition
could only be commanded by a man who knew Arabic and some of
the other languages, of which he was perfectly ignorant.

So the results of this Expedition, to sum up in short, were, that
they barely escaped being caught like mice in a trap, by having their
tents thrown down upon them, the four fought bravely against three
hundred and fifty Bedawi, poor Stroyan was killed, Herne was
untouched, Richard and Speke were desperately wounded, though
they all cut their way gallantly through the enemy. Poor Speke had
eleven wounds, and Richard, with a lance transfixing his jaws, which
carried away four back teeth and part of his palate, wandered up
and down the coast suffering from his wounds, fever, hunger, and
thirst consequent on the wounds; but they met, they carried off the
dead body of their comrade, and were taken on board the native dhow
or boat, which the fortunate accident of Richard’s hospitality had
retained there just half an hour, long enough to save them, and the

139

Harar—The Moslem Abyssi?iia.

natives sacked their property. They were so badly wounded, he had
to return to England, and here his wounds soon healed and he
picked up health. He rendered an account of his explorations
before the Royal Geographical Society.* After a month’s rest, he
obtained leave to volunteer for the Crimea. Here I would rather
give his own original manuscript word for word, because it is so
fresh, and, in a few pages, gives a better insight into outspoken
truth than many other large volumes.

* He began to prepare his public account of Harar in “First Footsteps in
East Africa,” one large volume, which, however, did not see the light till 1856.
It might have been called “ Harar,” to distinguish it from the trial trip previous
to the Great Lake Expedition.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CRIMEA WITH BEATSON’S HORSE

After the disastrous skirmish with the Somali at Berberah, it
is no wonder that I returned to England on sick certificate,
wounded and sorely discomfited. The Crimean War seemed
to me some opportunity of recovering my spirits, and as soon
as my health permitted, I applied myself to the ungrateful
task of volunteering. London then was in the liveliest state of
excitement about the Crimean bungles, and the ladies pitilessly
cut every officer who shirked his duty. So I read my paper
about Harar before the Royal Geographical Society, and had
the pleasure of being assured by an ancient gentleman, who
had never smelt Africa, that when approaching the town Harar
I had crossed a large and rapid river. It was in vain for me
to reject this information. Everyone seemed to think he must
be right.

Having obtained a few letters of introduction, and remember¬
ing that I had served under General James Simpson, at Sakhar,
in Sind, I farewelled my friends, and my next step was to hurry
through France, and to embark at Marseille on board one of the
Messageries Imperiales, bound for Constantinople.

It was a spring voyage on summer seas, and in due time
we stared at the Golden Horn, and lodged ourselves at Missiri’s
Hotel.

At Stamboul, I met Fred Wingfield, who was bound to Balaclava,
as assistant under the unfortunate Mr Commissary-General Filder,
and had to congratulate myself upon my good fortune. We steamed
together over the inhospitable Euxine, which showed me the reason
for its sombre name.

The waters are in parts abnormally sweet, and they appear veiled

The Crimea with Beatsons Horse. 141

in a dark vapour. Utterly unknown the blues, amethyst and
turquoise, of that sea of beauty, the Mediterranean; the same
is the case with the smaller Palus Meotis—Azoff. After the
normal three days we sighted the Tauric Chersonese, the land
of the Cimmerians and Scythians, the colony of the Greek, the
conquest of Janghiz and the Khans of Turkey, and finally
annexed by Russia after the wars, in which Charles XII. had
taught the Slav to fight. We then made Balaclava (Balik-liwa,
“ Fish town ”), with its dwarf fjord, dug out of dove-coloured lime¬
stones, and forming a little port stuffed to repletion with every
manner of craft.

I passed a week with Wingfield and other friends, in and about
Balaclava, in frequent visits to the front and camp. A favourite
excursion from the latter was to the Monastery of St. George, classic
ground where Iphigenia was saved from sacrifice. There was a
noble view from this place, a foreground of goodly garden, a deep
ravine clad with glorious trees, a system of cliffs and needles studding
a sandy beach, and a lovely stretch of sparkling sea. No wonder
that it had been chosen by a hermit, whose little hut of unhewn
blocks lay hard by ; he was a man upwards of sixty apparently,
unknown to any one, and was fed by the black-robed monks. At
Kadikeui also I made the acquaintance of good Mrs. Seacole,
Jamaican by origin, who did so much for the comfort of invalids,
and whom we afterwards met with lively pleasure at Panama.

The British cavalry officers in the Crimea were still violently
excited by reports that Lord Cardigan was about returning to
command; and I heard more than one say, “We will not serve
under him.” And after a long experience of different opinions on
the spot, I came to the following conclusion:—The unhappy charge
of the “Six Hundred ” was directly caused by my old friend, Captain
Nolan of the 15th Hussars. An admirable officer and swordsman,
bred in the gallant Austrian Cavalry of that day, he held, and
advocated through life, the theory that mounted troops were an
overmatch for infantry, and wanted only good leading to break
squares and so forth. He was burning also to see the Lights
outrival the Heavies, who, under General Scarlett, had charged down
upon Russians said to be four times their number. Lord Lucan
received an order to take a Russian 12-gun battery on the Cause¬
way Heights, from General Liprandi, and he sent a verbal message
by Nolan (General Airey’s aide-de-camp) to his brother-in-law,
Lord Cardigan, there being bad blood between the two.

142 The Life of Sir Richard Burton ,.

Nolan, who was no friend to the hero of the Black Bottle,
delivered the order disagreeably, and when Lord Cardigan showed
some hesitation, roughly cut short the colloquy with, “ You have
your commands, my Lord,” and prepared, as is the custom, to join
in the charge. Hardly did it begin, than he was struck by a shot
in the breast, and, as he did not fall at once, some asked Lord
Cardigan where he was, and the reply came, “ I saw him go off
howling to the rear.” During the fatal charge Lord Cardigan lost
his head, and had that mome?it depeur to which the best soldiers are
at times subject. He had been a fire-eater with the “ Saw-handles,”
and the world expected too much of him ; again, a man of ordinary
pluck, he was placed in extraordinary circumstances, and how few
there are who are born physically fearless. I can count those
known to me on the fingers of my right hand. Believing that his
force was literally mown down, he forgot his duty as a Commanding
Officer, and instead of rallying the fugitives, he thought only of
sauve qui pent . Galloping wildly to the rear, he rushed up to
many a spectator, amongst others to my old Commander, General
Beatson, nervously exclaiming, “You saw me at the guns?” and
almost without awaiting a reply, rode on. Presently returning to
England, he had not the sound sense and good taste to keep himself
in the background; but received a kind of “ovation,” as they call it,
the ladies trying to secure hairs from his charger’s tail by way of
keepsake. Of course he never showed his face in the Crimea again.
The tale of this ill-fated and unprofessional charge has now changed
complexion. It is held up as a beau fait cCarmes, despite the best
bit of military criticism that ever fell from soldier’s lips : “ dest beau ,
mais ce riest pas la guerre ,” the words of General Bosquet, who saved
the poor remnants of the Lights.

At head-quarters I called upon the Commander-in-Chief, General
Simpson, whom years before I had found in charge of Sakhar,
Upper Sind, held by all as wellnigh superannuated. He was
supposed to be one of Lever’s heroes, the gigantic Englishman
who, during the occupation of Paris, broke the jaw of the duelling
French officer, and spat down his throat. But age had told upon
him, mentally as well as bodily, and he became a mere plaything in
the hands of the French, especially of General P&issier, the typical
Algerian officer, who well knew when to browbeat and when to
cajole. “Jimmy Simpson,” as the poor old incapable was called,
could do nothing for me, so I wrote officially at once to General
Beatson, whom I had met at Boulogne, volunteering for the Irregular
Cavalry then known as “ Beatson’s Horse,” and I was delighted
when my name appeared in orders. Returning to Constantinople

The Crimea with Beat sons Horse .

I called upon the Embassy, then in summer quarters at Therapia,
where they had spent an anxious time. The gallant Vukados,
Russianized in Boutakoff, a Greek, who, in the nineteenth century,
belonged to the heroic days of Thermopylae and Marathon, and who
was actually cheered by his enemies, with the little merchant-brig
the Wladimir , alias Arciduca Giovcnini , had shown himself a master-
breaker-of-blockades, and might readily have taken into his head to
pay the Ambassador a visit.

I looked forward to a welcome and found one; a man who had
married my aunt, Robert Bagshaw, of Dovercourt, M.P., and
quondam Calcutta merchant, who had saved from impending bank¬
ruptcy the house of Alexander and Co., to which Lady Stratford
belonged.

Nothing quainter than the contrast between that highly respectable
middle-class British peer and the extreme wildness of his sur¬
roundings. There were but two exceptions to the general rule of
eccentricity—one, Lord Napier andEttrick with his charming wife, and
the other, Odo (popularly called “ O don’t! ”) Russell, who died as
Lord Ampthill, Ambassador to Berlin. It was, by-the-by, no bad idea
to appoint this high-bred and average talented English gentleman
to the Court of Prince Bismarck, who disliked and despised nothing
more thoroughly than the pert little political, the “ Foreign Office
pet ” of modern days.

After seeing all that was to be seen at Therapia and Constantinople,
I embarked on an Austrian Lloyd steamer, and ran down to the
Dardanelles, then the head-quarters of the Bashi-Bazouks. The
little town shared in the factitious importance of Gallipoli, and
other places more or less useful during the war; it had two Pashas,
Civil and Military, with a large body of Nizam or Regulars, whilst
the hillsides to the north were dotted with the white tents of the
Irregulars. General Beatson had secured fair quarters near the
old windmills, and there had established himself with his wife and
daughters. I at once recognized my old Boulogne friend, although
slightly disguised by uniform. He looked like a man of fifty-five,
with bluff face and burly figure, and probably grey hair became him
better than black. He always rode English chargers of good blood,
and altogether his presence was highly effective.

There had been much silly laughing at Constantinople, especially
amongst the grinning idiot tribe, about his gold coat, which was
said to stand upright by force of embroidery. But here he was
perfectly right, and his critics perfectly wrong. He had learnt
by many years’ service to recognize the importance of show and
splendour when dealing with Easterns. And no one had criticised

144 716 * Life of Sir Richard Burton .

the splendid Skinner or General Jacob of the Sind Horse, for wearing
a silver helmet and a diamond-studded sabretache. General Beatson
had served thirty-five years in the Bengal army, and was one of the
few amongst his contemporaries who had campaigned in Europe
during the long peace which followed the long war. In his subaltern
days he had volunteered into the Spanish Legion, under the Com¬
mander, General Sir de Lacy Evans. After some hard fighting there,
and seeing not a few adventures, he had returned to India. When
the Crimean War broke out he went to Head-quarters at once, and,
for the mere fun of the thing, joined in the Heavy Cavalry charge.

In October, 1854, the Duke of Newcastle, then Minister of War,
addressed him officially, directing him to organize a Corps of Bashi-
Bazouks, not exceeding in number four thousand, who were to be
independent of the Turkish Contingent, consisting of twenty-five
thousand Regulars under General Vivian.

General Beatson wisely determined that his four thousand sabres
should be wholly unconnected with the twenty-five thousand men
of the Turkish Contingent. He wished to raise them in Syria, Asia
Minor, Bulgaria, and other places, regiment them according to their
nationalities, and to officer them, like Sepoy regiments, with English¬
men and Subalterns of their own races.

The idea was excellent, but it was badly carried out, mainly by
default of the War Office, which had overmuch to do and could
not be at the trouble of sending out officers. So the men, whose
camps looked soldier-like enough, were left lying on the hillsides,
and Satan found a very fair amount of work for them. This was,
however, chiefly confined to duelling, and other such pastimes.

The exaggerated mutinies were mere sky-larking. After a few
days’ grumbling, a knot of “ Rotten Heads ” would mount their nags
with immense noise and clatter, and, loudly proclaiming that they
could stand the dulness of life no longer, would ride away, hoping
only to be soon caught. But the worst was, I could see no business
doing; there were no morning roll-calls or evening parades, no drilling
or disciplining of men, and the General contented himself with riding
twice a day through the camp, and listening to many grievances.
However, as soon as I was made “ Chief of the Staff,” I persuaded
him that this was not the thing, and induced him to establish all
three, and to add thereto a riding school for sundry officers of
infantry who were not very firm in the saddle, and also to open a.
School of Arms for the benefit of all (the last thing a British officer
learns is, to use his “ silly sword ”); and the consequence was, that
we soon had a fine body of well-trained sabres, ready to do anything
or to go anywhere.

The Crimea with Beat son s Horse.

145

I now thought that I saw my way to a grand success, and my
failure was proportionally absurd. This was nothing less than the
relief of Kars, which was doomed to fall by famine, to the Russians.

It was reported that General Williams, who, with the Hungarian
General Metz, was taking a prominent part in the defence, addressed
upwards of eighty officials to Lord Stratford without receiving a
single reply; in fact, as Mr. Skene’s book shows, the great man
only turned them into ridicule. However, the “ Eltchi ” feared
ultimate consequences, and wrote to Lieut.-General (afterwards Sir)
Robert J. Hussey-Vivian, to consult him concerning despatching on
secret errand the Turkish Contingent, consisting, as it may be
remembered, of twenty-five thousand Nizam or Regulars, com¬
manded by a sufficiency of British officers.

The answer was that ?io carriage could be procured. Vivian,
who was a natural son of Lord Vivian’s, had seen some active
service in his youth, but he was best known as an Adjutant-General
of the Madras army, a man redolent of pipe-clay and red tape, and
servilely subject to the Ambassador. So I felt that the game was in
my hands, and proceeded in glorious elation of spirits to submit my
project for the relief of Kars to his Excellency. We had already 2640
sabres in perfect readiness to march, and I could have procured any
quantities of carriage. The scene which resulted passes description.
He shouted at me in a rage, “You are the most impudent man
in the Bombay Army, Sir ! ” But I knew him, and understood him
like Alison, and did not mind. It ended with, “ Of course you’ll
dine with us to-day ? ”

* ******

It was not until some months afterwards that I learnt what my
unhappy plan proposed to do. Kars was doomed to fall as a make¬
weight for the capture of half of Sebastopol, and a Captain of Bashi-
Bazouks (myself) had madly attempted to arrest the course of haute
politique .

CHAPTER X.

RICHARD LOVES ME.

Aye free, aff-hand your story tell.

When wi’ a bosom crony ;

But still keep something to yoursel*

Ye scarcely tell to ony.”

Burns.

As soon as Richard was well home from the Crimea, and had
attended Beatson’s trial, he began to turn his attention to the “Un¬
veiling of Isis,” in other words, “ Discovering the sources of the Nile,
the Lake Regions of Central Africa,” on which his heart had long
been set, and he passed most of his time in London working it up.

One summer day, in August, 1856, thirty-seven years ago, we had
not gone out of town, and I was walking in the Botanical Gardens
with my sister, Blanche Pigott, and a friend, and Richard was there,
walking with the gorgeous creature of Boulogne—then married. We
immediately stopped and shook hands, and asked each other a
thousand questions of the four intervening years, and all the old
Boulogne memories and feelings which had lain dormant, but not
extinct, returned to me. He asked me before I left if I came very
often to the Botanical Gardens, and I said, “ Oh yes, we always
come and read and study here from eleven to one, because it is
so much nicer than staying in the hot rooms at this season.”
“ That is quite right,” he said. “ What are you studying ? ” I
had that day with me an old friend, Disraeli’s “ Tancred,” the book
of my heart and tastes, which he explained to me. We were there
about an hour, and when I had to leave, as I moved off, I heard
him say to his companion, “ Do you know that your cousin has
grown charming ? I would not have believed that the little schoolgirl
of Boulogne would have become such a sweet girl; ” and I heard
her say, “ Ugh ! ” with a tone of disgust.

Next day, when we got there, he was also there—alone—composing
poetry to show to Monckton-Milnes on some pet subject, and he came
forward, saying laughingly, “You won’t chalk up ‘Mother will be
angry ’ now, will you, as you did when you were a little girl ? ” Again
we walked and talked. This went on for a fortnight—I trod on air.

146 1

T j

Richard loves me .

147

At the end of a fortnight he asked me “if I could dream of
doing anything so sickly as to give up Civilization, and if he could
obtain the Consulate at Damascus, to go and live there.” He said,
“ Don’t give me an answer now, because it will mean a very serious
step for you—no less than giving up your people, and all that you
are used to, and living the sort of life that Lady Hester Stanhope
led. I see the capabilities in you, but you must think it over.” I
was so long silent from emotion—it was just as if the moon had
tumbled down and said, “ I thought you cried for me, so I came ”—
that he thought I was thinking worldly thoughts, and said, “ Forgive
me ! I ought not to have asked so much.” At last I found my voice,
and said, “I don’t want to ‘think it over’—I have been ‘thinking
it over ’ for six years, ever since I first saw you at Boulogne on the
Ramparts. I have prayed for you every day, morning and night. I
have followed all your career minutely. I have read every word you
ever wrote, and I would rather have a crust and a tent wi\hyou than
be Queen of all the world. And so I say now, Yes ! Yes ! YES ! ” I
will pass over the next few minutes. Then he said, “ Your people
will not give you to me.” I answered, “ I know that, but I belong
to myself—I give myself away.” “ That is all right,” he answered ;
“ be firm, and so shall I.”

After that he came and visited a little at our house as an acquaint¬
ance, having been introduced at Boulogne, and he fascinated,
amused, and pleasantly shocked my mother, but completely magne¬
tized my father and all my brothers and sisters. My father used
to say, “ I don’t know what it is about that man, but I can’t get
him out of my head, I dream about him every night”

Cardinal Wiseman and Richard had become friends in early days.
Languages had brought them together, and the Cardinal now fur¬
nished him with a special passport, recommending him to all the
Catholic Missions in wild places all over the World.

That last afternoon I had placed round his neck a medal of
the Blessed Virgin upon a steel chain, which we Catholics com¬
monly call “ the miraculous medal.” He promised me he would
wear it throughout his journey, and show it me on his return. I had
offered it to him on a gold chain, but he had said, “ Take away
the gold chain; they will cut my throat for it out there.” He did
show it me round his neck when he came back; he wore it all his
life, and it is buried with him.

What made my position more painful was, that he knew that I
should not be allowed to receive any letters from him, and therefore
it was not safe to write often, and then only to say what others might
read. He left to me, at my request, the task of breaking the fact of
my engagement to my people, when, where, and how I pleased, as it
would be impossible to marry me until he came back.

CHAPTER XI.

HIS EXPLORATION OF THE LAKE REGIONS, TAKING CAPTAIN SPEKE

AS SECOND IN COMMAND.

My Foreword.

It was the Royal Geographical Society which induced Lord
Clarendon, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, to supply Richard
with funds for an exploration of the then utterly unknown Lake
Regions of Central Africa. In October, 1856, he set out for
Bombay, applied lor Captain Speke, and landed at Zanzibar on
December 19th, 1856. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, her Majesty’s
Consul at Zanzibar, was very good to them ; they made a tentative
expedition from January 5th to March 6th, 1857, about the Mombas
regions. They got a bad coast fever, and returned to Zanzibar.
They then set out again into the far interior, into which only one
European, Monsieur Maizan, a French naval officer, had attempted
to penetrate; he was cruelly murdered at the outset of his journey.

It was the first successful attempt to penetrate that country, and
laid the foundation for others. It was the base on which all subse-
I quent journeys were founded; Livingstone, Cameron, Speke and
Grant, Sir S. Baker, and Stanley carried it out Where Richard
found the rudest barbarians, Church missions have been established,
and commerce, and now a railway is proposed to connect the coast
with the Lake Regions. This expedition brought neither honour
nor profit to Richard ; but the world is not likely to forget it; the
future will be more generous and juster than the past or present.
During these African explorations, Richard was attacked by fever
twenty-one times, by temporary paralysis and partial blindness. On
his return he brought out “ The Lake Regions of Equatorial Africa,”
2 vols., i860, and the Royal Geographical Society devoted the
whole of their thirty-third volume to its recital (Clowes and Son).
Richard’s book was translated into French by Madame H. Loreau,
and republished in New York by Fakir, 1861. It will shortly be
added to the Uniform Library in preparation. In May, 1859, the

149

Exploration of the Lake Regions.

moment he returned to England, he immediately proposed another
Expedition, which, however, the Royal Geographical Society gave to
his disloyal companion, who completely and wilfully spoiled the first
Expedition as far as lay in his power.

Zanzibar ; and Two Months in East Africa.

(From his own notes.)

Preliminary Canter.

“ Of the gladdest moments, methinks, in human life, is the depart¬
ing upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with
one effort the fetters of habit, the leaden weight of routine, the
cloak of carking care, and the slavery of Civilization, Man feels once
more happy. The blood flows with the fast circulation of youth,
excitement gives a new vigour to the muscles, and a sense of sudden
freedom adds an inch to the stature. Afresh dawns the morn of life,
again the bright world is beautiful to the eye, and the glorious face of
Nature gladdens the soul. A journey, in fact, appeals to Imagination,
to Memory, to Hope—the sister Graces of our moral being.

“ The shrill screaming of the boatswain’s whistle, and sundry
shouts of, ‘Stand by yer booms!’ ‘All ready, for’ard?’ ‘Now
make sail ! ’ sounded in mine ears with a sweet significance.

Zanzibar.

“ Our captain decided, from the absence of Friday flags on the
Consular Staffs, that some great man had gone to his long home.
The Elphinstone , however, would not have the trouble of casting
loose her guns for nothing; with H.H. the Sayyid of Zanzibar’s
ensign—a plain red—at the fore, and the Union at the main, she cast
anchor in Front Bay, about half a mile from shore, and fired a salute
of twenty-one. A gay bunting thereupon flew up to every truck, and
the brass cannon of the Victoria roared a response of twenty-two.
We had arrived on the fortieth, or the last day of mourning.

“ When ‘ chivalry ’ was explained to the late ruler, Said of Zanzibar
3(1856), as enlightened a prince as Arabia ever produced, and sur¬
rounded by intrigue, he was shrewd enough to remark ‘ that only
the siflah (low fellows) interfere between husband and wife.’

“ Peace to his soul! he was a model of Arab princes, a firm
friend to the English nation, and a great admirer of the ‘ Malikat el
Aazameh,’ our most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.

“ The unworthy merchants of Zanzibar, American and European,
did their best to secure for us the fate of M. Maizan, both on this
and on a subsequent occasion, by spreading all manner of reports
amongst the Banyans, Arabs, and Sawahilis.

“ Considering the unfitness of the season, we were strongly advised
to defer exploration of the interior until we had learned something of
the coast, and for that purpose we set out at once, for a two or three
months’ cruise.

150 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“ If we, travellers in transit, had reason to be proud of our country¬
man’s influence at Zanzibar, the European and American merchants
should be truly thankful for it. Appointed in 1840 H.B.M.’s
Consul and H.E.I. Co.’s agent at the court of H.H. Sayyid Said,
and directed to make this island his Head-quarters, Colonel Hamerton
found that for nine years not a British cruiser had visited it, and
that report declared us to be no longer Masters of the Indian seas.
Slavery was rampant. Wretches were thrown overboard, when sick,
to prevent paying duty ; and the sea-beach before the town, as well
as the plantations, presented horrible spectacles of dogs devouring
human flesh. The Consul’s representations were accepted by Sayyid
Said; sundry floggings and confiscation of property instilled into
slave-owners the semblance of humanity. The insolence of the
negro was as summarily dealt with. The Arabs had persuaded
the Sawahilis and blacks that a white man is a being below con¬
tempt, and the ‘ poor African ’ carries out the theory. Only
seventeen years have elapsed since an American Trader-Consul, in
consular cocked hat and sword, was horsed upon a slave’s back, and
solemnly ‘ bakered ’ in his own consular house, under his own con¬
sular flag. A Sawahili would at any time enter the merchant’s
bureau, dispose his sandalled feet upon the table, call for a cognac,
and if refused, draw his dagger. Negro fishermen would anchor
their craft close to a window, and, clinging to the mast, enjoy the
novel spectacle of Kafirs feeding.

“ Now an Englishman here is even more civilly treated than at
one of our Presidencies. This change is the work of Colonel
Hamerton, who, in the strenuous and unremitting discharge of his
duties, has lost youth, strength, and health. The iron constitution
of this valuable public servant—I have quoted merely a specimen of
his worth—has been undermined by the terrible fever, and at fifty
his head bears the ‘ blossoms of the grave,’ as though it had seen its
seventieth summer.

“ The reader asks, What induced us to take a guide apparently so
little fit for rough-and-ready work ? In the first place, the presence
of Said bin Salim el Lamki was a pledge of respectability. And
lastly, a bright exception to the rule of his unconscientious race, he
appears truthful, honest, and honourable. I have never yet had
reason to suspect him of a low action. ‘ Verily,’ was the reply,
‘ whoso benefiteth the beneficent becometh his Lord; but the vile
well-treated turneth and rendeth thee.’ I almost hope that he may
not deceive us in the end.

“ The traveller in Eastern Africa must ever be prepared for three
distinct departures—the little start, the great start, and the start.

“ On the 10th of January we ran through the paradise of verdant
banks and plateaus, forming the approach to Pemba,* and halted a
day to admire the Emerald Isle of these Eastern seas. In a.d. 1698
the bold buccaneer, Captain Kidd, buried there his blood-stained

* The distance between Bombay and Zanzibar is two thousand five hundred
miles.

Exploration of the Lake Regions. 151

hoards of precious stones and metal, the plunder of India and the
further Orient. The people of Pemba have found pots full of gold
lumps, probably moulded from buttons that the pirate might wear
his wealth.

“ On the heights of Chhaga, an image or statue of a long-haired
woman, seated in a chair and holding a child, is reported to remain.
Iconolatry being here unknown, the savages must have derived them
from some more civilized race—Catholic missionaries.

“ The Mazrui, a noble Arab tribe, placed themselves under
British protection in their rebellion against the late Sayyid. They
were permitted to fly our flag—a favour for which, when danger
disappeared, they proved themselves ungrateful; and a Mr. Reece
was placed at Mombas to watch its interests. The travellers lamented
that we abandoned Mombas: had England retained it, the whole
interior would now be open to us. But such is the history of
Britain the Great: hard won by blood and gold, her conquests are
parted with for a song.

“ The very Hindus required a lesson in civility. With the Wali y
or Governor, Khalfan bin Ali, an Omani Arab of noble family, we
were on the best of terms. But the manifest animus of the public
made us feel light-hearted, when, our inquiries concluded, we bade
adieu to Mombas.

“ The people of Eastern Intertropical Africa are divided by their
occupations into three orders. First is the fierce pastoral nomad,
the Galla and Masai, the Somal and the Kafir, who lives upon the
produce of his cattle, the chase, and foray. Secondly rank the
semi-pastoral, as the Wakamba, who, though without fixed abodes,
make their women cultivate the ground. And the last degree of
civilization, agriculture, is peculiar to the Wam'ka, the Wasumbira,
and the various tribes living between the coast and the interior lakes.

“The Wanika, or Desert race, is composed of a Negritic base,
now intimately mixed with Semitic blood.

“ When that enlightened Arab statesman, H.E. Ali bin Nasir,
H.H. the Imaum of Muscat’s Envoy Extraordinary to H.B.
Majesty, was Governor of Mombas, he took advantage of a scarcity
to feed the starving Wam'ka from the public granaries. He was
careful, however, to secure as pledges of repayment, the wives and
children of his debtors, and he lost no time in selling off the whole
number. Such a feat was probably little suspected by our country¬
men, when, to honour enlightened beneficence, they welcomed the
Statesman with all the triumphs of Exeter Hall, presented him with
costly specimens of Government, and sent him from Aden to
Zanzibar in the H.E.I. Co.’s brig of war Tigris. This Oriental votary
of free trade came to a merited end. Recognized by the enraged
savages, he saw his sons expire in torments ; he was terribly mutilated
during life, and was put to death with all the refinements of cruelty.

“ A report, prevalent in Mombas—even a Sawahili sometimes
speaks the truth—and the march of an armed party from the town
which denoted belief in their own words, induced my companion s
and myself to hasten up once more to the Rabai Hills, expecting to

152 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

find the mission-house invested by savages. The danger had been
exaggerated, but the inmates were strongly advised to take temporary
shelter in the town. Left Kisulodiny on the 22nd of January, 1857.
Some nights afterwards, fires were observed upon the neighbouring
hills, and Wanfka scouts returned with a report that the Masai were
in rapid advance. The wise few fled at once to the baza , or hidden
and barricaded stronghold, which these people prepare for extreme
danger. The foolish many said, ‘ To-morrow morning we will drive
our flocks and herds to safety.’ But ere that morning dawned upon
the world, a dense mass of wild spearmen, sweeping with shout and
yell, and clashing arms, by the mission-house, which they either
saw not or they feared to enter, dashed upon the scattered villages
in the vale below, and left the ground strewed with the corpses of
hapless fugitives. When driving off their cattle, the Masai, rallying,
fell upon them, drove them away in ignominious flight, and slew
twenty-five of their number.

“ Jack* and I landed at Wisin, and found the shore crowded with
a mob of unarmed gazers, who did not even return our salaams : we
resolved in future to keep such greetings for those who deserved
them. Abd-el-Karim led us to his house, seated us in chairs upon
a terrace, and mixed a cooling drink in a vase not usually devoted
to such purpose. There is no game on the island, or on the main.
In the evening we quitted the squalid settlement without a single
regret.

“ Our nakhoda again showed symptoms of trickery; he had
been allowed to ship cargo from Mombas to Wasin, and, Irish-like,
he thereupon founded a right to ship cargo from Wasin to Tanga.
Unable to disabuse his mind by mild proceedings, I threatened to
cut the cable.

“ At last, having threaded the bdb, or narrow rock-bound passage
which separates the bluff headland of Tanga Island from Ras Rashid
on the main, we glided into the bay, and anchored in three fathoms
of water, opposite, and about half a mile from, the town.

“ Tanga Bay extends six miles deep by five in breadth. The
entrance is partially barred by a coralline bank, the ancient site of
the Arab settlement.

“We landed on the morning of the 27th of January, and were
met upon the sea-shore, in absence of the Arab Governor, by the
Diwans or Sawahili Headmen, the Jemadar and his Belochies, the
Collector of customs, Mizan Sahib, a daft old Indian, and other
dignitaries. They conducted us to the hut formerly tenanted by
M. Erhardt; brought coffee, fruit, and milk; and, in fine, treated
us with peculiar civility. Here Sheddad built his City of brass, and
encrusted the hill-top with a silver dome that shines with various
and surpassing colours.

“ The mountain recedes as the traveller advances, and the higher
he ascends the higher rises the summit. At last blood bursts from
the nostrils, the fingers bend backwards, and the most adventurous

* Jack was Speke’s Christian name.

Exploration of the Lake Regions. 153

is fain to stop. Amongst this Herodotian tissue of fact and fable,
ran one fine thread of truth : all testified to the intense cold.

“They promised readily, however, to escort me to one of the
ancient Cities of the coast.

“ Setting out at eight a.m. with a small party of spearmen, I walked
four or five miles south of Tanga, on the Tangata road, over
a country strewed with the bodies of huge millepedes, and dry as
Arabian sand.

“ I assumed an Arab dress—a turban of portentous circumference,
and a long henna-dyed shirt—and, accompanied by Said bin Salim,
I went to inspect the scene.

“The wild people, YVashenzy, YVasembira, Wadigo, and Was^geju,
armed as usual, stalking about, whilst their women, each with baby
on back, carried heavy loads of saleable stuff, or sat |opposite their
property, or chaffered and gesticulated upon knotty questions of
bargain.

“ The heat of the ground made my barefooted companions run
forward to the shade, from time to time, like the dogs in Tibet.
Sundry excursions delayed us six days at Tanga.

“ Five hours of lazy sailing ran us into Tangata, an open road
between Tanga and Pangany. FI ere we delayed a day to inspect
some ruins, where we had been promised Persian inscriptions and
other wonders.

“We spent the remainder of the day and night at Tangata,
fanned by the north-east breeze, and cradled by the rocking send of
the Indian Ocean.

“At five a.m. on the 3rd of February we hoisted sail, and slipped
down with the tepid morning breeze to Pangany, sighting Maziny
Island, its outpost, after three hours’ run. Soon after arrival I sent Said
bin Salim, in all his bravery, on shore with the Sayyid of Zanzibar’s
circular letter to the Wall or Governor, to the Jemadar , to the
Collector of customs, and the different Diwans. All this preparation
for a mere trifle ! We were received with high honour. The Diwans
danced an ancient military dance before us with the pomp and cir¬
cumstance of drawn swords, whilst bare-headed slave-girls, with hair
a la Brutus , sang and flapped their skirts over the ground, with
an affectedly modest and downcast demeanour. After half an hour’s
endurance, we were led into the upper-storied house of the Wali
Meriko, a freedman of the late Sayyid Said, and spent the evening
in a committee of ways and means.

“ African villages are full of bleared misery by day, and animated
filth by night, and of hunting adventures and hair-breadth escapes,
lacking the interest of catastrophe.

“We arose early in the morning after arrival at Pangany, and
repaired to the terrace for the better enjoyment of the view.

“ If it had half-a-dozen white kiosks, minarets, and latticed summer¬
houses, it would almost rival that gem of creation, the Bosphorus.

“ The settlement is surrounded by a thorny jungle, which at tmies
harbours a host of leopards. One of these beasts lately scaled the
high terrace of our house, and seized upon a slave-girl. Her

[54 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

master, the burly black Wali, who was sleeping by her side, gallantly
caught up his sword, ran into the house, and bolted the door,
heedless of the miserable cry, ‘ B’ana, help me ! ’ The wretch was
carried to the jungle and devoured. The river is equally full of
alligators, and whilst we were at Pangany a boy disappeared.

“ Of course the two tribes, Wasumbara and Wazegura, are deadly
foes. Moreover, about a year ago, a violent intestine feud broke
out amongst the Wazegura, who, at the time of our visit, were
burning and murdering, kidnapping, and slave-selling in all
directions.

“ The timid townsmen had also circulated a report that we were
bound for Chhaga and Kilimanjaro: the Masai were ‘ out,’ the rains
were setting in, and they saw with us no armed escort. They
resolved therefore not to accompany us.

“ With abundance of money—say not less than £5000 per annum
—an exploring party can trace its own line, pay the exactions of
all Chiefs; it can study whatever is requisite; handle sextants in
presence of negroes, who would cut every throat for one inch of
brass; and, by travelling in comfort, can secure a very fair chance
of return. Even from Mombas or from Pangany, with an escort of
one hundred matchlock-men, we might have marched through the
Masai plunderers to Chhaga and Kilimanjaro. But pay, porterage,
and provisions for such a party would have amounted to at least £100
per week; a month and a half would have absorbed our means.
Thus it was, gentle reader, that we were compelled to rest contented
with a visit on foot to Fuga, for we had only one thousand pounds.

“ Presently the plot thickened. Muigni Khatib, son of Sultan
Kimwere, a black of most unprepossessing physiognomy, with a
4 villanous trick of the eye, and a foolish hanging of the nether lip,’
a prognathous jaw, garnished with cat-like moustaches and cobweb
beard, a sour frown, and abundant surliness by way of dignity,
dressed like an Arab, and raised by El Islam above his fellows, sent
a message directing us to place in his hands what we intended for
his father. This Chief was travelling to Zanzibar in fear and
trembling. He had tried to establish at his village, Kirore, a
Romulian asylum for runaway slaves, and, having partially succeeded,
he dreaded the consequences. The Beloch Jemadar strongly urged
us privily to cause his detention at the islands, a precaution some¬
what too Oriental for our tastes. We refused, however, the muigni's
demand in his own tone. Following their Prince, the dancing
Diwans claimed a fee for permission to reside; as they worded it,

4 el adah ’ —the habit; based upon an ancient present from Colonel
Hamerton; and were in manifest process of establishing a local
custom which, in Africa, becomes law to remotest posterity. We
flatly objected, showed our letters, and in the angriest of moods
threatened reference to Zanzibar. Briefly, all began to beg bakh¬
shish ; but I cannot remember any one obtaining it.

“Weary of these importunities, we resolved to visit Chogway, a
Beloch outpost, and thence, aided by the Jemadar who had preceded
us from Pangany, to push for the capital village of Usumbara. We

i55

Exploration of the Lake Regions.

made preparations secretly, dismissed the ‘ Riami,’ rejected the
Diwa/is who wished to accompany us as spies, left Said bin Salim and
one Portuguese to watch our property in the house of Meriko, the
Governor, who had accompanied his muigni to Zanzibar, and, under
pretext of a short shooting excursion, hired a long canoe with four
men, loaded it with the luggage required for a fortnight, and started
with the tide at eleven a.m. on the 6th of January, 1857.

“ First we grounded; then we were taken aback; then a puff of
wind drove us forward with railway speed; then we grounded again.

“ And now, while writing amid the soughing blasts, the rain, and
the darkened air of a south-western monsoon, I remember with
yearning the bright and beautiful spectacle of those African rivers,
whose loveliness, like that of the dead, seems enhanced by proximity
to decay. We had changed the agreeable and graceful sandstone
scenery, on the sea-board, for a view novel and most characteristic.
The hippopotamus now raised his head from the waters, snorted,
gazed upon us, and sank into his native depths. Alligators, terrified
by the splash of oars, waddled down with their horrid claws, dinting
the slimy bank, and lay like yellow logs, measuring us with small,
malignant, green eyes, deep set under warty brows. Monkeys
rustled the tall trees. Below, jungle—men and woman—

‘ So withered, so wild in their attire,

That look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ earth,

And yet are on’t.’

And all around reigned the eternal African silence, deep and
saddening, broken only by the curlew’s scream, or by the breeze
rustling the tree-tops, whispering among the matted foliage, and
swooning upon the tepid bosom of the wave.

“ We sat under a tree till midnight, unsatiated with the charm of
the hour. The moon rained molten silver over the dark foliage of
the wild palms, the stars were as golden lamps suspended in the
limpid air, and Venus glittered diamond-like upon the front of the
firmament. The fireflies now sparkled simultaneously over the
earth; then, as if by concerted impulse, their glow vanished in the
glooms of the ground. At our feet lay the black creek ; in the jungle
beasts roared fitfully ; and the night wind mingled melancholy sounds
with the swelling murmuring of the stream.

“The tide flowing about midnight, we resumed our way. The
river then became a sable streak between lofty rows of trees. The
hippopotamus snorted close to our stern, and the crew begged me to
fire, for the purpose of frightening ‘Sultan Momba’—a pernicious
rogue. At times we heard the splashing of the beasts as they
scrambled over the shoals ; at others, they struggled with loud grunts
up the miry banks. Then again all was quiet. After a protracted
interval of silence, the near voice of a man startled us in the deep
drear stillness of the night, as though it had been some ghostly
sound. At two a.m., reaching a clear tract on the river side—the
Ghaut or landing-place of Chogway—we made fast the canoe, looked
to our weapons, and, covering our faces against the heavy, clammy

156 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

dev?, lay down to snatch an hour’s sleep. The total distance rowed
was about 13*5 miles.

“ Fifty stout fellows, with an ambitious leader and a little money,
might soon conquer the whole country, and establish there an
absolute monarchy.

‘‘These Beloch mercenaries merit some notice. They were
preferred, as being somewhat disciplinable, by the late Sayyid Said,
to his futile blacks and his unruly and self-willed Oman Arabs. He
entertained from one thousand to fifteen hundred men, and scattered
them over the country in charge of the forts. The others hate them
—divisions even amongst his own children was the ruler’s policy—
and nickname them ‘ Kurara Kurara.’ The Jemadar and the
Governor are rarely on speaking terms. Calling themselves Belochies,
they are mostly from the regions about Kech and Bampur. They
are mixed up with a rabble rout of Afghans and Arabs, Indians and
Sudies, and they speak half a dozen different languages. Many of
these gentry have left their country for their country’s good. A body
of convicts, however, fights well. The Mekrani are first-rate behind
walls; and if paid, drilled, and officered, they would make as
‘ varmint ’ light-bobs as Arnauts. They have a knightly fondness
for arms. A ‘ young barrel and an old blade * are their delight.
All use the matchlock, and many are skilful with sword and shield.

“ Having communicated our project to the Jemadar of Chogway,
he promised, for a consideration, all aid; told us that we should
start the next day; and, curious to relate, kept his word.

“A start was effected at five p.m., every slave complaining of
his load, snatching up the lightest, and hurrying on regardless of
what was left behind. This nuisance endured till summarily stopped
by an outward application easily divined. The evening belling of
deer and the clock-clock of partridge struck our ears. In the open
places were the lesses of elephants, and footprints retained by the
last year’s mud. These animals descend to the plains during the
monsoon, and in summer retire to the cool hills. The Belochies
shoot, the wild people kill them with poisoned arrows. More than
once during our wanderings we found the grave-like trap-pits, called
in India, ogi.

“Tusks weighing 100 lbs. each are common, those of 175 lbs. are
not rare, and I have heard of a pair whose joint weight was 560 lbs.

“At Makam Sayyid Sulayman—a half-cleared ring in the thorny
jungle—we passed the night in a small babel of Belochies. One
recited his Koran; another prayed; a third told funny stories ;
whilst a fourth trolled lays of love and war, long ago made familiar
to my ear upon the rugged Asian hills. This was varied by slapping
lank mosquitoes that flocked to the camp-fires; by rising to get rid
of huge black pismires, whose bite burned like a red-hot needle;
and by challenging two parties of savages, who, armed with bows
and arrows, passed amongst us.

“Tongway is the first offset of the mountain-terrace composing
the land of Usumbara. It rises abruptly from the plain, lies north¬
west o£ and nine miles, as the crow flies, distant from, Chogway.

Exploration of the Lake Regions. 157

The summit, about two thousand feet above the sea-level, is clothed
with jungle, through which, seeking compass-sights, we cut a way with
our swords.

“ The climate appeared delicious—even in the full blaze of an
African and tropical summer; and whilst the hill was green, the
land around was baked like bread-crust.

“ The escort felt happy at Tongway, twice a day devouring our
rice— an unknown luxury; and they were at infinite pains to defer
the evil hour.

“ Petty pilferers to the backbone, they steal, like magpies, by
instinct. On the march they lag behind, and, not being professional
porters, they are restive as camels when receiving their load. One
of these youths, happening to be brother-in-law—after a fashion—to
the Jemadar , requires incessant supervision to prevent him burdening
the others with his own share. The guide, Muigni Wazira, is a huge
broad-shouldered Sawahili, with a coal-black skin; his high, massive,
and regular features look as if carved in ebony, and he frowns like a
demon in the ‘Arabian Nights.’

“A prayerless Sherif, he thoroughly despises the Makapry or
Infidels; he has a hot temper, and, when provoked, roars like a wild
beast. He began by refusing his load, but yielded, when it was
gently placed upon his heavy shoulder, with a significant gesture in
case of recusance.

“ Rahewat, the Mekrani, calls himself a Beloch, and wears the
title of Shah-Sawar, or the Rider-king. He is the chelebi , the
dandy and tiger of our party. A ‘ good-looking brown man,’ about
twenty-five years old, with a certain girlishness and affectation of
tournure and manner, which bode no good, the Rider-king deals in
the externals of respectability ; he washes and prays with pompous
regularity, combs his long hair and beard, trains his bushy moustache
to touch his eyes, and binds a huge turban. Having somewhat high
ideas of discipline, he began with stabbing a slave-boy by way of a
lesson.

“ The Rider-king, pleading soldier, positively refuses to carry
anything but his matchlock, and a private stock of dates, which he
keeps ungenerously to himself. He boasts of prowess in vert and
venison: we never saw him hit the mark, but we missed some
powder and ball.

“ The gem of the party is Sudy Mubhrak, who has taken to
himself the cognomen of ‘ Bombay.’ His sooty skin, and teeth
pointed like those of the reptilia, denote his Mhiav origin. He is
one of those rare ‘ Sudies ’ that delight the passengers in an Indian
steamer. Bombay, sold in early youth, carried to Cutch by some
Banyan, and there emancipated, looks fondly back upon the home
of his adoption, and sighs for the day when a few dollars will enable
him to return. He has ineffable contempt for all ‘ jungly niggers/
His head is a triumph of phrenology. He works on principle, and
works like a horse, openly declaring that not love of us, but
attachment to his stomach, make him industrious. He had
enlisted under the Jei?iadar of Chogway. We thought, however, so

) 53 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

highly of his qualifications, that persuasion and paying his debts
induced him, after a little coquetting, to take leave of soldiering and
follow our fortunes. Sudy Bombay will be our head gun-carrier, if
he survives his present fever, and, I doubt not, will prove himself a
rascal in the end.

“ During the first night all Bombay’s efforts were required to
prevent a sauve qui peut.

“ On the ioth of February, after a night of desert silence, we arose
betimes, and applied ourselves to the work of porterage. Our
luggage again suffered reduction. It was, however, past six a.m.
when, forming Indian file, we began to descend the thorn-clad goat-
track which spans the north-east spur of Mount Tongway. Over¬
head floated a filmy canopy of sea-green verdure, pierced by myriads
of sunbeams, whilst the azure effulgence above, purified as with fire,
from mist and vapour set the picture in a frame of gold and ultra-
marine. Painful splendours ! The men began to drop off. None
but Hamdan had brought a calabash. Shaaban clamoured for water.
Wazira and the four slave-boys retired to some puddle, a discovery
which they wisely kept to themselves, leaving the rest of the party
to throw themselves under a tree and bush upon the hot ground.

“ As the sun sank westward, Wazira joined us with a mouthful of
lies, and the straggling line advanced. Our purblind guide once
more lagged in the rear, yielding the lead to old Shaaban. This
worthy, whose five wits were absorbed in visions of drink, strode
blunderingly ahead, over the Wazira Hills and far away. Jack,
keeping him in sight, and I in rear of both, missed the road.
Shortly after sunset we three reached a narrow fiumara , where stood,
delightful sight! some puddles bright with chickweed, and black
with the mire below. We quenched our thirst, and bathed our
swollen feet, and patted, and felt, and handled the water as though
we loved it. But even this charming occupation had an end.
Evidently we had lost our way. Our shots and shouts remained
unanswered. It would have been folly to thread the thorny jungle
by the dubious light of a young moon. We therefore kindled a fire,
looked at our arms, lay down upon a soft sandy place, and certain
that Shaaban would be watchful as a vestal virgin, were soon lulled
to sleep by the music of the night breeze, and by the frogs chanting
their ancient querele upon the miry margins of the pools. That
day’s work had been little more than five leagues. But—

‘ These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
Draw out the miles.’

“ Our guide secured, as extra porters, five wild men, habited in
primitive attire. Their only garment was a kilt of dried and split
rushes or grass. All had bows and poisoned arrows, except one, who
boasted a miserable musket and literally a powder-horn, the vast
spoils of a cow. The wretches were lean as wintry wolves, and not
less ravenous. We fed them with rice and ghee. Of course they
asked for more, till their stomachs, before like shrunken bladders,
stood out in the shape of little round bumps from the hoop-work of

159

Exploration of the Lake Regions .

ribs. We had neglected to take their arms. After feeding, they
arose, and with small beady eyes, twinkling with glee, bade us
farewell. Though starving they would not work. A few hours
afterwards, however, they found a hippopotamus in the open, killed
it with their arrows, and soon left nothing but a heap of bones and a
broad stain of blood upon the ground.

“ Arrived at Kohoday, the elders, as we landed, wrung our hands
with rollicking greetings, and those immoderate explosive laughings
which render the African family to all appearance so £ jolly ’ a race.

u We were shown, on the mountain-pass of Usumbara, the watch-
fire which is never extinguished ; and the Mzegura chief, when
supplying us with a bullock, poked his thumb back towards the
hills and said, with a roar of laughter, that already we had become
the King’s guests. Our Beloch guard applauded this kindred soul,
patted him upon the shoulder, and declared that, with a score
of men of war like themselves, he might soon become lord of
all the mountains.

“ Our parting was pathetic. He swore he loved us, and promised,
on our return, the boat to conduct us down the river; but when we
appeared with empty hands, he told the truth, namely, that it is a
succession of falls and rapids.

“ At five p.m., passing two bridges, we entered Msiky Mguru, a
Wazegura village distant twelve miles from Kohoday. It is a cluster
of hay-cock huts, touching one another, built upon an island formed
by divers rapid and roaring branches of the river. The headman
was sick, but we found a hospitable reception. We spent our nights
with ants and other little murderers of sleep which shall be nameless.
Our hosts expressed great alarm about the Masai. It was justified
by the sequel. Scarcely had we left the country when a plundering
party of wild spearmen attacked two neighbouring villages, slaughter¬
ing the hapless cultivators, and, with pillage and pollage, drove off
the cows in triumph.

“After an hour’s march we skirted a village, where the people
peremptorily ordered us to halt. We attributed this annoyance to
Wazira, who was forthwith visited with a general wigging. But the
impending rain sharpened our tempers; we laughed in the faces
of our angry expostulators, and, bidding them stop us if they could,
pursued our road.

“ Presently ascending a hill, and turning abruptly to the north-east,
we found ourselves opposite, and about ten miles distant from, a tall
azure curtain, the mountains of Fuga. Water stood in black pools,
and around it waved luxuriant sugar-canes. In a few minutes
every mouth in the party was tearing and chewing at a long pole.
This cane is of the edible kind. The officinal varieties are too
luscious, cloying, and bilious to be sucked with impunity by civilized
men. After walking that day sixteen miles, at about four p.m. a violent
storm of thunder, lightning, and raw south-west wind, which caused
the thermometer to fall many degrees, and the slaves to shudder and
whimper, drove us back into the bandany y or palaver-house of a large

160 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

village. The place swarmed with flies and mosquitoes. We lighted
fires to keep off fevers.

“Sunday, the 15th of February, dawned with one of those steady
little cataclysms, which, to be seen advantageously, must be seen
near the Line. At eleven a.m., weary of the steaming banda?iy , our
men loaded, and in a lucid interval set out towards the Fuga Hills,*
to which we walked for economy sake. As we approached them,
the rain shrank to a spitting, gradually ceased, and was replaced by
that reeking, fetid, sepulchral heat which travellers in the tropics
know and fear. The slippery way had wearied our slaves, though
aided by three porters hired that morning; and the sun, struggling
through vapour, was still hot enough to overpower the whole party.

“ Issuing from the dripping canopy, we followed a steep goat-
track, fording a crystal burn, and having reached the midway, sat
down to enjoy the rarefied air, and to use the compass and spyglass.
The view before us was extensive, if not beautiful. Under our feet
the mountains fell in rugged folds, clothed with plantain fields, wild
mulberries, custard-apples, and stately trees, whose lustrous green
glittered against the ochreous ground. The sarsaparilla vine hung
in clusters from the supporting limbs of the tamarind, the toddy
palm raised its fantastic arms over the dwarf coco, and bitter oranges
mingled pleasant scent with herbs not unlike mint and sage. Below,
half veiled by rank streams, lay the yellow Nika or Wazegura
wilderness, traversed by a serpentine of trees denoting the course of
the Mkomafi affluent. Far beyond we could see the well-wooded
line of the Lufu river, and from it to the walls of the southern and
western horizon stretched a uniform purple plain.

“ The three fresh porters positively refused to rise unless a certain
number of cloths were sent forward to propitiate the magnates of
Fuga. This was easily traced to Wazira, who received a hint that
such trifling might be dangerous. He had been lecturing us all that
morning upon the serious nature of our undertaking. Sultan Kimwere
was a potent monarch, not a Momba. His Ministers and councillors
would, unless well paid, avert from us their countenances. We must
enter with a discharge of musketry to awe the people, and by all
means do as we are bid. The Belochies smiled contempt, and,
pulling up the porters, loaded them, deaf to remonstrance.

“ Resuming our march after a short halt, we climbed rather than
walked, with hearts beating from such unusual exercise, up the deep
zigzag of a torrent. Villages then began to appear perched like
eyries upon the hilltops, and the people gathered to watch our
approach. At four p.m. we found ourselves upon the summit of a
ridge. The Belochies begged us to taste the water of a spring hard
by. It was icy cold, with a perceptible chalybeate flavour, sparkled
in the cup, and had dyed its head with rust.

“ The giant flanks of Mukumbara bound the view. We stood
about four thousand feet above the sea-level, distant thirty-seven
miles from the coast, and seventy-four or seventy-five along the

* One of the places forbidden to strangers.

Exploration of the Lake Regions. 161

winding river. There is a short cut from Kohoday across the
mountains; but the route was then waterless, and the heat would
have disabled our Belochies.

“ After another three-mile walk along the hill flanks, we turned a
corner and suddenly sighted, upon the opposite summit of a grassy
cone, an unfenced heap of hay-cock huts—Fuga. This being one of
the Cities where ingress is now forbidden to strangers, we were led
by Wazira through timid crowds that shrank back as we approached,
round and below the cone, to four tattered huts, which superstition
assigns as the ‘travellers’ bungalow.’ Even the son and heir of
great Kimwere must abide here till the lucky hour admits him to
the presence and the Imperial City. The cold rain and sharp rarefied
air rendering any shelter acceptable, we cleared the huts of sheep
and goats, housed our valuables, and sent Sudy Bombay to the
Sultan, requesting the honour of an interview.

“ Before dark appeared three bareheaded mdue, or ‘ Ministers,’
who in long palaver declared that council must squat upon two
knotty points —Primo, Why and wherefore we had entered the
country vicL the hostile Wazegura ? Secu?ido , What time might be
appointed by his Majesty’s mganga, or medicine-man, for the
ceremony ? Sharp-witted Hamdan at once declared us to be
European wizards, and waganga of peculiar power over the moon
and stars, the wind and rain. Away ran the Ministers to report the
wonder.

“ The mganga , who is called by the Arabs tabib , or doctor, and
by us priest, physician, divine, magician, and medicine-man, com¬
bines, as these translations show, priestly with medical functions.

“At six p.m. the Ministers ran back and summoned us to the
‘ Palace. 5 They led the way through rain and mist to a clump of
the usual huts, half hidden by trees, and overspreading a little
eminence opposite to and below Fuga.

“Sultan Kimwere half rose from his cot as we entered, and
motioned us to sit upon dwarf stools before him. He was an old,
old man, emaciated by sickness. His head was shaved, his face
beardless, and wrinkled like a grandam’s; his eyes were red, his
jaws disfurnished, and his hands and feet were stained with leprous
spots. Our errand was inquired and we were welcomed to Fuga.
As none could read the Sayyid of Zanzibar’s letter, I was obliged to
act secretary. The centagenarian had heard of our scrutinizing
stars, stones, and trees. He directed us at once to compound a
draught which would restore him to health, strength, and youth. I
replied that our drugs had been left at Pangany. He signified that
we might wander about the hills and seek the plants required.
After half an hour’s conversation, Hamdan being interpreter, we
were dismissed with a renewal of welcome.

“ On our return to the hovels, the present was forwarded to the
Sultan with the usual ceremony. We found awaiting us a fine
bullock, a basketful of sima —young Indian corn pounded and
boiled to a thick hard paste—and balls of unripe bananas, peeled
and mashed up with sour milk. Our Belochies instantly addressed

162 The Life of Sir Rickard Burton.

themselves to the making of beef, which they ate with such a will
that unpleasant symptoms presently declared themselves in camp.
We had covered that day ten miles—equal, perhaps, to thirty in a
temperate climate and a decent road. The angry blast, the groaning
trees, and the lashing rain, heard from within a warm hut, affected
us pleasurably, and I would not have exchanged it for the music of
Verdi. We slept the sweet sleep of travellers.

“The African Traveller, in this section of the nineteenth century,
is an animal overworked. Formerly, the reading public was satisfied
with dry details of mere discovery; was delighted with a few lati¬
tudes and longitudes. Of late, in this, as in other pursuits, the
standard has been raised. Whilst marching so many miles per diem ,
and watching a certain number of hours per noctem , the traveller,
who is in fact his own general, adjutant, quarter-master, and execu¬
tive, is expected to survey and observe—to record meteorology,
hygrometry, and hypsometry—to shoot and stuff birds and beasts,
to collect geological specimens, to gather political and commercial
information, to advance the infant study ethnology, to keep accounts,
to sketch, to indite a copious legible journal, to collect grammar
and vocabularies, and frequently to forward long reports which shall
prevent the Royal Geographical Society napping through evening
meetings. It is right, I own, to establish a high standard which
insures some work being done; but explorations should be dis¬
tinguished from railway journeys, and a broad line drawn between
the feasible and the impossible. The unconscionable physicist now
deems it his right to complain, because the explorer has not used
his theodolite in the temple of Mecca, and introduced his sympie-
someter within the walls of Harar. An ardent gentlemen once re¬
quested me to collect beetles, and another sent me excellent recipes
for preserving ticks.

“These African explorations are small campaigns, in which the
traveller, unaided by discipline, is beset by all the troubles, hard¬
ships, and perils of savage war. He must devote himself to feeding,
drilling, and directing his men to the use of arms and the conduct
of a Caravan, rather than the study of infusoria and barometers.
The sight of an instrument convinces barbarians that the stranger is
bringing down the sun, stopping rain, causing death, and bewitching
the land for ages. Amidst utter savagery such operations are some¬
times possible; amongst the semi-civilized they end badly. The
climate also robs man of energy as well as health. He cannot, if he
would, collect ticks and beetles. The simplest geodesical labours,
as these pages will prove, are unadvisable. Jack has twice suffered
from taking an altitude. Why is not a party of physicists sent out
to swallow the dose prescribed by them to their army of martyrs ?

“ The rainy monsoon had set in at Fuga. Heavy clouds rolled up
from the south-west, and during our two days and nights upon the
hills the weather was a succession of drip, drizzle, and drench. In
vain we looked for a star; even the sun could not disperse the thick
raw vapours that rose from the steamy earth. We did not dare to
linger upon the mountains. Our Belochies were not clad to resist

Exploration of the Lake Regions. 163

the temperature—here 12 0 lower than on the coast; the rain would
make the lowlands a hotbed of sickness, and we daily expected the
inevitable ‘ seasoning-fever.’ In the dry monsoon this route might
be made practicable to Chhaga and Kilimanjaro. With an escort of
a hundred musketeers, and at an expense of £600, the invalid who
desires to avail himself of this ‘ sanitarium,’ as it is now called by
the Indian papers, may, if perfectly sound in wind, limb, and diges-
t on, reach the snowy region, if it exist, after ten mountain-marches,
which will not occupy more than a month.

“ The head-quarter village of Usumbara is Fuga, a heap of some
five hundred huts, containing, I was told, three thousand souls. It
is defenceless, and composed of the circular abodes common from
Harar to Timbuctoo.

“On Monday, the 16th of February, we took leave of, and were
duly dismissed by, Sultan Kimwere. The old man, however, was
mortified that our rambles had not produced a plant of sovereign
virtue against the last evil of life. He had long expected a white
mganga , and now two had visited him, to depart without even a
trial ! I felt sad to see the wistful lingering look with which he
accompanied ‘ Kuahery ! ’ (farewell!) But his case was far beyond
my skill.

“ None of Sultan Kimwere’s men dared to face the terrible
Wazegura.

“We descended the hills in a Scotch mist and drizzle, veiling
every object from view. It deepened into a large-dropped shower
upon the foetid lowlands. That night we slept at Pasunga; the next
at Msiky Mguru; and the third, after marching seventeen miles—our
greatest distance—at Kohoday.

“Our Belochies declared the rate of marching excessive; and
Hamdan, who personified ‘ Master Shoetie, the great traveller,’
averred that he had twice visited the Lakes, but had never seen such
hardships in his dreams.

“With some toil, however, we coaxed him into courage, and joined
on the way a small party bound for Pangany. At one p.m. we
halted to bathe and drink, as it would be some time before we
should again sight the winding stream. During the storm of thunder
and lightning which ensued, I observed that our savage companions,
like the Thracians of old Herodotus, and the Bheels and coolies of
modern India, shot their iron-tipped arrows in the air.

“About four p.m. we found ourselves opposite Kizanga, a large
Wazegura village on the right bank of the river. From Kizanga
we followed the river by a vile footpath. The air was dank and
oppressive; the clouds seemed to settle upon the earth, and the
decayed vegetation exhaled a feverish foetor. As we advanced, the
roar of the swollen stream told of rapids, whilst an occasional
glimpse through its green veil showed a reefous surface, flecked
with white froth. Heavy nimbi purpled the western skies, and we
began to inquire of Wazira whether a vifjge was at hand.

“ About sunset, after marching fifteen miles, we suddenly saw tall
-cocos—in these lands the ‘ traveller’s joy ’—waving their feathery

164 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

heads against the blue eastern firmament. Presently, crossing a
branch of the river by a long bridge, we entered an island settlement
of Wazegura. This village, being upon the confines of civilization,
and excited by wars and rumours of wars, suggested treachery to
experienced travellers. Jack and I fired our revolvers into trees,
and carefully reloaded them for the public benefit. The sensation
was such that we seized the opportunity of offering money for rice
and ghee. No provision, however, was procurable. Our escort
went to bed supperless; Hamdan cursing this Safar khais —
Anglic rotten journey. Murad Ali had remained at Msiky Mguru
to purchase a slave without our knowledge. A novice in such
matters, he neglected to tie the man’s thumb, and had the exquisite
misery to see, in the evening after the sale, his dollars bolting at
a pace that baffled pursuit. We then placed our weapons handy,
and were soon lulled to sleep, despite smoke, wet beds, and other
plagues, by the blustering wind and the continuous pattering of
rain.

“At sunrise on Friday, the 20th of February, we were aroused by
the guide; and, after various delays, found ourselves on the road
about seven a.m. This day was the reflection of the last march.
At nine a.m. we stood upon a distant eminence to admire the falls
of the Pangany river. Here the stream, emerging from a dense
dark growth of tropical forest, hurls itself in three huge sheets,
fringed with flashing foam, down a rugged wall of brown rock.
Halfway the fall is broken by a ledge, whence a second leap pre¬
cipitates the waters into the mist-veiled basin of stone below.
These cascades must be grand during the monsoon, when the river,
forming a single horseshoe, acquires a volume and a momentum
sufficient to clear the step which divides the shrunken stream. Of
all natural objects, the cataract most requires that first element of
sublimity—size. Yet, as it was, this fall, with the white spray and
bright mist, set off by black jungle, and a framework of slaty rain-
cloud, formed a picture sufficiently effective to surprise us.

“ As we journeyed onwards the heat became intense. The nimbi
hugged the mountain tops. There it was winter; but the sun, whose
beams shot slingingly through translucent air, parched the summer
plains. At ten a.m. our Belochies, clean worn out by famine and
fatigue, threw themselves upon the bank of a broad and deep ravine,
in whose sedgy bed a little water still lingered. Half an hour’s rest,
a cocoa-nut each, a pipe, and, above all things, the spes finis, restored
their vigour. We resumed our march over a rolling waste of green,
enlivened by occasional glimpses of the river, whose very aspect
cooled the gazer. Villages became frequent as we advanced, far
distancing our Belochies. At three p.m., after marching fourteen
miles, we sighted the snake-fence and the pent-houses of friendly
Chogway.

“The Jemadar and his garrison received us with all the honours
of travel, and admired our speedy return from Fuga. As at Harar,
a visitor can never calculate upon a prompt dismissal. We were
too strong for force, but Sultan Kimwere has detained Arab and

Exploration of the Lake Regions . 165

other strangers for a fortnight before his mganga fixed a fit time
for audience. Moreover, these walking journeys are dangerous in
one point: the least accident disables a party, and accidents will
happen to the best-regulated expedition.

“ Our feet were cut by boots and shoes, and we had lost ‘ leather ’
by chafing and sunburns. A few days’ rest removed these incon¬
veniences. Our first visit was paid to Pangany, where Said bin
Salim, who had watched his charge with the fidelity of a shepherd’s
dog, received us with joyous demonstrations. After spending a day
upon the coast, we returned, provided with munitions de bouche and
other necessaries, to Chogway, and settled old scores with our
escort. Then, as the vessel in which we were to cruise southward
was not expected from Zanzibar till the 1st of March, and we had
a week to spare, it was resolved to try a fall with Behemoth.*

“ Captain Owen’s officers, when ascending streams, saw their
boats torn by Behemoth’s hard tusks; and in the Pangany, one
1 Sultan Momba,’ a tyrant thus dubbed by the Belochies in honour
of their friend the Kohoday chief, delighted to upset canoes, and
was once guilty of breaking a man’s leg.

“ Behold us now, O brother in St. Hubert, dropping down the
stream in a monoxyle, some forty feet long, at early dawn, when
wild beasts are tamest.

“As we approach the herds, whose crests, flanked with small
pointed ears, dot the mirrory surface, our boatmen indulge in such
vituperations as ‘ Mana marira ! ’ (O big belly !) and ‘ Hanamkia ! ’
(O tasteless one!) In angry curiosity the brutes raise their heads,
and expose their arched necks, shiny with trickling rills. Jack, a
man of speculative turn, experiments upon the nearest optics with
two barrels of grape and B shot. The eyes, however, are oblique;
the charge scatters, and the brute, unhurt, slips down like a seal.
This will make the herd wary. Vexed by the poor result of our
trial, we pole up the rippling and swirling surface, that proves the
enemy to be swimming under water towards the further end of the
pool. After a weary time he must rise and breathe. As the smooth
water undulates, swells, and breaches a way for the large black head,
eight ounces of lead fly in the right direction. There is a splash,
a struggle; the surface foams, and Behemoth, with mouth bleeding
like a gutter-spout, rears, and plunges above the stream. Wounded
near the cerebellum, he cannot swim straight. At last a coup de
grace speeds through the air; the brute sinks, gore dyes the surface
purple, and bright bubbles seethe up from the bottom. Hippo is
dead. We wait patiently for his reappearance, but he appears not.
At length, by peculiar good luck, Bombay’s sharp eye detects an
object some hundred yards down stream. We make for it, and find
our “bag” brought up in a shallow by a spit of sand, and already in
process of being ogled by a large fish-hawk. The hawk suffers the
penalty of impudence. We tow our defunct to the bank, and de¬
liver it to certain savages, whose mouths water with the prospect of

* Hippopotamus.

166 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

hippopotamus beef. At sundown they will bring to us the tusks
and head picked clean, as a whistle is said to be.

“ The herd will no longer rise; they fear this hulking craft; we
must try some ‘artful dodge.' Jack, accompanied by Bombay, who
strips to paddle in token of hot work expected, enters into a small
canoe, ties fast his shooting-tackle in case of an upset, and, whilst I
occupy one end of the house, makes for the other. Whenever a
head appears an inch above water, a heavy bullet ‘ puds ’ into or
near it; crimson patches adorn the stream ; some die and disappear,
others plunge in crippled state, and others, disabled from diving by
holes drilled through their noses, splash and scurry about with
curious snorts, caused by breath passing through their wounds. At
last Jack ventures upon another experiment. An infant hippo,
with an imprudence pardonable at his years, uprears his crest; off
flies the crown of the kid’s head. The bereaved mother rises for a
moment, viciously regards Jack, who is meekly loading, snorts a
parent’s curse, and dives as the cap is being adjusted. Presently a
bump, a shock, and a heave send the little canoe’s bows high in
the air. Bombay, describing a small parabola in frog-shape, lands
beyond the enraged brute’s back. Jack steadies himself in the
stern, and as the assailant, with broad dorsum hunched up and
hogged like an angry cat, advances for another bout, he rises, and
sends a bullet through her side. Bombay scrambles in, and, nothing
daunted, paddles towards the quarry, of which nothing is visible but
a long waving line of gore. With a harpoon we might have secured
her; now she will feed the alligators or the savages.

“ The Belochies still take great interest in the sport, as Easterns
will when they see work being done. They force the boatmen to
obey us. Jack lands with the black woodmen, carrying both
‘ smashers.’ He gropes painfully through mangrove thicket, where
parasitical oysters wound the legs with their sharp edges, and the
shaking bog admits a man to his knees. After a time, reaching a
clear spot, he takes up position behind a bush impending the
deepest water, and signals me to drive up the herd. In pursuit of
them I see a hole bursting in the stream, and a huge black head
rises with a snort and a spirt. ‘ Momba! Momba! ’ shout the
Belochies, yet the old rogue disdains flight. A cone from the Colt
strikes him full in front of the ear; his brain is pierced ; he rises
high, falls with a crash upon the wave, and all that flesh ‘ cannot
keep in a little life.’ Momba has for ever disappeared from the
home of hippopotamus; never shall he break nigger’s leg again.
Meanwhile the herd, who, rubbing their backs against the great
canoe, had retired to the other end of the pool, hearing an unusual
noise, rise, as is their wont, to gratify a silly curiosity. Jack has
two splendid standing shots, and the splashing and circling in the
stream below tell the accuracy of the aim.

“We soon learned the lesson that these cold-blooded animals
may be killed with a pistol-ball if hit in brain or heart; otherwise
they carry away as much lead as elephants. At about ten a.m. we
had slain six, besides wounding I know not how many of the

Exploration of the Lake Regions . 167

animals. They might be netted, but the operation would not pay
in a pecuniary sense; the ivory of small teeth, under four pounds
each, is worth little. Being perpetually pop-gunned by the Belo-
chies, they are exceedingly shy, and after an excess of bullying they
shift quarters. We returned but once to this sport, finding the
massacre monotonous, and such cynegetics about as exciting as
partridge-shooting.

“ On Thursday, the 26th of February, we left ‘the bazar.’ Jack
walked to Pangany, making a route survey, whilst I accompanied
the Jemadar and his tail in our large canoe.

“ For two days after returning to the coast we abstained from
exercise. On the third we walked out several miles, in the hottest
of suns, to explore a cavern, of which the natives, who came upon it
when clearing out a well, had circulated the most exaggerated
accounts. Jack already complained of his last night’s labour—an
hour with the sextant upon damp sand in the chilly dew. This walk
finished the work. On entering the house we found the Portuguese
lad, who had accompanied us to Fuga, in a high fever. Jack was
prostrated a few hours afterwards, and next day I followed their
example.

“As a rule, the traveller in these lands should avoid exposure
and fatigue beyond a certain point, to the very best of his ability.
You might as well practise sitting upon a coal-fire as inuring yourself

(which green men have attempted) to the climate. Dr. B-, a

Polish divine, who had taken to travelling at the end of a sedentary
life, would learn to walk bareheaded in the Zanzibar sun; the result
was a sunstroke. Others have paced barefooted upon an exposed
terrace, with little consequence but ulceration and temporary lame¬
ness. The most successful in resisting the climate are they who
tempt it least, and the best training for a long hungry march is
repose, with good living. Man has then stamina to work upon; he
may exist, like the camel, upon his own fat. Those who fine them¬
selves down by exercise and abstinence before the march, commit
the error of beginning where they ought to end.

“ Our attacks commenced with general languor and heaviness, a
lassitude in the limbs, a weight in the head, nausea, a frigid sensa¬
tion creeping up the extremities, and dull pains in the shoulders.
Then came a mild, cold fit, succeeded by a splitting headache,
flushed face, full veins, vomiting, and an inability to stand upright.
Like ‘General Tazo’ of Madagascar, this fever is a malignant
bilious-remittent. The eyes become hot, heavy, and painful when
turned upwards; the skin is dry and burning, the pulse full and
frequent, and the tongue furred ; appetite is wholly wanting (for a
whole week I ate nothing), but a perpetual craving thirst afflicts the
patient, and nothing that he drinks will remain upon his stomach.
During the day extreme weakness causes anxiety and depression ;
the. nights are worse, for by want of sleep the restlessness is aggra¬
vated. Delirium is common in the nervous and bilious tempera¬
ment, and if the lancet be used, certain death ensues; the action of
the heart cannot be restored. The exacerbations are slightly but

168 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

distinctly marked (in my own case they recurred regularly between
two and three a.m. and p.m.), and the intervals are closely watched
for administering quinine, after due preparation. This drug, how¬
ever, has killed many, especially Frenchmen, who, by overdosing
at a wrong time, died of apoplexy.

“Whilst the Persians were at Zanzibar they besieged Colonel
Hamerton’s door, begging him to administer Warburg’s drops, which
are said to have a wonderful effect in malignant chronic cases.
When the disease intends to end fatally, the symptoms are aggra¬
vated ; the mind wanders, the body loses all power, and after perhaps
an apparent improvement, stupor, insensibility, and death ensue.
On the other hand, if yielding to treatment, the fever, about the
seventh day, presents marked signs of abatement; the tongue is
clearer, pain leaves the head and eyes, the face is no longer flushed,
nausea ceases, and a faint appetite returns. The recovery, however,
is always slow and dubious. Relapses are feared, especially at the
full and change of the moon ; they frequently assume the milder in¬
termittent type, and in some Indians have recurred regularly through
the year. In no case, however, does the apparent severity of the
fever justify the dejection and debility of the convalescence. For
six weeks recovery is imperfect; the liver acts with unusual energy,
the stomach is liable to severe indigestion, the body is lean, and
the strength wellnigh prostrated. At such times change of air is the
best of restoratives; removal, even to a ship in the harbour, or to
the neighbouring house, has been found more beneficial than all
the tonics and the preventatives in the Pharmacopoeia.

“ In men of strong nervous diathesis the fever leaves slight conse¬
quences, in the shape of white hair, boils, or bad toothaches.
Others suffer severely from its secondaries, which are either visceral
or cerebral. Some lose memory, others virility, others the use of
a limb ; many become deaf or dim-sighted; and not a few, tormented
by hepatitis, dysentery, constipation, and similar disease, never
completely recover health.

“ Captain Owen’s survey of the Mombas Mission, and of our
numerous cruisers, proves that no European can undergo exposure
and fatigue, which promote the overflow of bile, without undergoing
the ‘ seasoning.’ It has, however, one advantage—those who pass
the ordeal are acclimatized; even with a year’s absence in Europe,
they return to the tropics with little danger. The traveller is always
advised to undergo his seasoning upon the coast before marching
into the interior; but after recovery he must await a second attack,
otherwise he will expend in preparation the strength and bottom
required for the execution of his journey. Of our party the Portu¬
guese boy came in for his turn at Zanzibar. The other has ever
since had light relapses; and as a proof that the negro enjoys no
immunity, Seedy* Bombay is at this moment (June 8th) suffering
severely.

“ The Banyans intended great civility; they would sit with us

* He was originally Sudy, but afterwards they dubbed him Seedy.—I. B.

Exploration of the Lake Regions . 169

for hours, asking, like Orientals, the silliest of questions, and think¬
ing withal that they were ‘ doing the agreeable repose was out of
the question. During the day, flies and gnats added another sting
to the mortifications of fever. At night, rats nibbled at our feet,
mosquitoes sang their song of triumph, and a torturing thirst made
the terrible sleeplessness yet more terrible. Our minds were
morbidly fixed upon one point, the arrival of our vessel; we had
no other occupation but to rise and gaze, and exchange regrets as
a sail hove in sight, drew near, and passed by. We knew that there
would be no failure on the part of our thoughtful friend, who had
written to promise us a battela on the 1st of March, which did not
make Pangany till the evening of the 5 th of March.

“ After sundry bitter disappointments, we had actually hired
a Banyan’s boat that had newly arrived, when the expected craft
ran into the river. Not a moment was to be lost. Said bin Salim,
who had been a kind nurse, superintended the embarkation of our
property. Jack, less severely treated, was able to walk to the shore;
but I—alas for manliness!—was obliged to be supported like a
bedridden old woman. The worst part of the process was the
presence of a crowd. The Arabs were civil, and bade a kindly
farewell. The Sawahili, however, audibly contrasted the present
with the past, and drew dedecorous conclusions from the change
which a few days had worked in the man who bore a twenty-four
pound gun, my pet four-ounce.

“ All thoughts of cruising along the southern coast were at an end.
Colonel Hamerton had warned us not to despise bilious-remittents;
and evidently we should not have been justified in neglecting his
caution to return, whenever seized by sickness. With the dawn of
Friday, the 6th of March, we ordered the men to up sail; we stood
over for Zanzibar with a fine fresh breeze, and early in the afternoon
we found ourselves once more within the pale of Eastern civilization.
Deogratias / our excellent friend at once sent us to bed, whence,
gentle reader, we have the honour to make the reverential salaam.”

CHAPTER XII.

THE REAL START FOR TANGANYIKA IN THE INTERIOR.

“ When we left Zanzibar the Sultan of Zanzibar and the Sawahil and
his sons came on board with three letters of introduction. One was
to Mu^a Mzuri, the Indian doyen of the merchants settled at Unya-
mwezi; secondly, a letter to the Arabs there resident, and thirdly, one
to all his subjects who were travelling in the interior. I carried, in
an etui round my neck, the diploma of the Shaykh El Islam of
Mecca, and a passport from Cardinal Wiseman to all the Catholic
missionaries. His Highness the Sultan Said of Muscat had died on
his way from Arabia to Zanzibar. The party, besides Jack and I,
were two Goanese boys, two negro gun-carriers, the Seedy Mubarak
Mombai (Bombay), his brother, and eight Beloch mercenaries
appointed by the Sultan. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, her Majesty’s
Consul at Zanzibar, a friend of mine, gave me all particulars and
recommendations, and enlisted in my favour the Sayyid Sulayman
bin Hamid bin Said (the noble Omani, ‘ who never forgets the
name of his Grandsire ’), landed us upon the coast, and super¬
intended our departure, attended by Mr. Frost, the apothecary
attached to the Consulate.

“ My desire was to ascertain the limits of the Sea of Ujiji, Tanga¬
nyika, or Unyamwezi Lake, to learn the ethnography of its tribes, and
determine the export of the produce of the interior. The Foreign
Office granted jjiooo, and the Court of Directors allowed me
two years’ leave of absence to command the Expedition. Consul
Hamerton warned us against Kilwa, where any one attempting to
open the interior ran the danger of being murdered.

“We landed at Wale Point, about eighty-four miles distant from
the little town of Bagamoyo. We wanted to engage one hundred
and seventy porters, but we could only get thirty-six, and thirty
animals were found, which were all dead in six months, so we had
to leave part of our things behind, greater part of the ammunition,
and our iron boat. The Hindoos were faithful to their promise to
forward everything, but, great mistake, received one hundred and fifty
dollars for the hire of twenty-two men to start in ten days; we went
on, obliged to trust, but we did not get them for eleven months.
We paid various visits to the hippopotamus haunts, and had our

The Real Start for Tanganyika. 1 71

boat uplifted from the water upon the points of two tusks, which
made corresponding holes in the bottom. My escort were under
the impression that nothing less than one hundred guards, one
hundred and fifty guns, and several cannon would enable them to
fight a way through the perils of the interior. We were warned
that for three days we must pass through savages, who sat on the
trees, and discharged poisoned arrows into the air with extraordinary
dexterity (meaning the Amazons) ; that they must avoid trees (which
was not easy in a land all forest) ; that the Wazaramo had sent six
several letters forbidding the white man to enter their country, and
that they buried their provisions in the jungle, that travellers might
starve ; that one rhinoceros kills two hundred men; that armies of
elephants attack camps by night; that the craven hyaena is more
dangerous than a Bengal tiger.

“We owed all our intrigues to a rascal named Ramji, who had his
own commerce in view, and often to our Ras Kaplan , or Caravan
leader, Said bin Salim, who did not wear well. The varnish soon
melted, and showed him as great a liar and thief as his men. At
times it is good to appear a dupe, to allow people to think and to
say that you are a muff, chronicling a vow that they shall change
places with you before the end of the game. I confided to Mr.
Frost two manuscripts addressed through the Foreign Office, one
to Mr. John Blackwood of Edinburgh, the other to Mr. Norton
Shaw, of the Royal Geographical Society. Blackwood’s arrived
safe, Norton Shaw’s in six years.* I took a melancholy leave
of my warm-hearted friend, Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton, who had
death written on his features. He looked forward to death with
a feeling of delight, the result of his Roman Catholic religious
convictions, and, in spite of my entreaties, he would remain near
the coast till he heard of our safe transit through the lands of the
dangerous Wazaramo. This courage was indeed sublime, an ex¬
ample not often met with. After this affecting farewell we landed
at Kaold. I insisted that Ladha, the Collector of customs, and
Ramji, his clerk, should insert in the estimate the sum required to
purchase a boat upon the Sea of Ujiji. Being a Hindoo, he thought
I was ignorant of Cutchee, so the following conversation took place:—

“ Ladha. Will he ever reach it ?

“ Ramji. Of course not. What is he that he should pass through
Ugogo? (a province about halfway).

* Some ot these things disappeared in a very singular manner, and one was very
curiously fated. It was missed here, and came home to me in six years. Later
on, in 1863, it again disappeared for six years. It was stolen at Fernando Po in
1863 ; it was marked by somebody on a bit of parchment, “ Burton’s Original
Manuscript Diary, Africa, 1857.” Colonel Maude, the Queen’s Equerry, saw it
outside an old book-shop, was attracted by the label on the Letts’s Diary. He
bought it for a few shillings, called on Lord Derby, and left it in the hall, forgetting
it. Lord Derby, coming down, saw the book, recognized my handwriting, wrote
to Colonel Maude for permission to restore the private diary to its rightful owner.
We happened to be in town. He kindly called and gave it back to us, so that
journal twice disappeared for six years, but had to come home. Who shall say
there is no destiny in this ?

\J2 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“So I remarked at once that I did intend to cross Ugogo, and also
the Sea of Ujiji, that I did know Cutchee, and that I was even able
to distinguish between the debits and the credits of his voluminous
sheets. The worst loss that I had was that my old and valued
friend, Dr. Steinhaiiser, civil surgeon at Aden, sound scholar, good
naturalist, skilful practitioner, with rare personal qualities, which
would have been inestimable, was ill and could not come. His
Highness the late Sayyid Said, that great ally of the English nation,
had made most public-spirited offers to his friend, Lieut.-Colonel
Hamerton, for many years. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton’s extra¬
ordinary personal qualities enabled him to perform anything but
impossibilities amongst the Arabs, and he was dying. Finally, as
Indian experience taught me, I was entering the ‘ unknown land ’ at
the fatal season when the shrinking of the waters after the wet
monsoon would render it a hotbed of malaria, but I was tied by
scanty means and a limited ‘ leave ;' it was neck or nothing, and I
determined to risk it. All the serving men in Zanzibar Island and
the East African coast are serviles. There is no word to express a
higher domestic. There was no remedy, so that I paid them
wages, and treated them as if they were free men. I had no power
to prevent my followers purchasing slaves, because they would say,

‘ VVe are allowed by our law to do so; ’ all I could do was to see
that their slaves were well fed and not injured; but I informed all
the wild people that Englishmen were pledged against slavery, and
I always refused all slaves offered as presents.

“ In eighteen days we accomplished (despite sickness and every
manner of difficulty) a march of one hundred and eighteen indirect
statute miles, and entered K’hutu, the safe rendezvous of foreign
merchants, on the 14th of July. On the 15th we entered Kiruru,
where I found a cottage, and enjoyed for the first time an atmo¬
sphere of sweet, warm smoke.” (In all Richard’s wilder travels in
damp places, he laid such a stress upon “sweet, warm smoke.”)
“Jack (that is, Speke), in spite of my endeavours, would remain in
the reeking miry tent, and laid the foundations of the fever which
threatened his life in the mountains of Usagara.

“ As soon as we reached Dut’humi, where we were detained nearly
a week, the malaria brought on attacks of marsh fever. In my case
it lasted twenty days.” (In all Richard’s fever fits, and for hours
afterwards, both now and always, he had a queer conviction of
divided identity, never ceasing to be two persons, who generally
thwarted and opposed each other, and also that he was able to
fly.) “Jack suffered still more; he had a fainting-fit which strongly
resembled a sunstroke, and it seemed to affect him more or less
throughout our journey. Our sufferings were increased by the losses
of our animals, and we had to walk, often for many miles,
through sun, rain, mud, and miasmatic putridities. The asses
shy, stumble, rear, run away, fight, plunge and pirouette when
mounted; they hog and buck till they burst their girths; they love
to get into holes and hollows; they rush about like pigs when the
wind blows; they bolt under tree-shade when the sun shines; so they

The Real Start for Tanganyika . 173

have to be led, and if the least thing happens the slave drops the
halter and runs away.

“ The Zanzibar riding-asses were too delicate and died ; we were
then reduced to the half-reclaimed beast of Wamyamwezi. As to
the baggage animals, they were constantly thrown, and the Beloch
only grumbled, sat down, and stared. They stole the ropes and
cords; they never were pounded for the night, nobody counted
them, and we were too ill to look after it. We were wretched ;
each morning dawned with a fresh load of care and trouble, and
every evening we knew that another miserable morrow was to dawn,
but I never relinquished the determination to risk everything,
myself included, rather than to return unsuccessful. At Dut’humi,
two Chiefs fought, and the strongest kidnapped five of his weaker
neighbour subjects. I could not stand by and see iniquity done
without an attempt, so I headed a little Expedition against the
strong, and I had the satisfaction of restoring the rescued, the five
unhappy stolen wretches, to their hearths and homes, and two
decrepit old women, that had been rescued from slavery, thanked
me with tears of joy” (Richard lightly calls this “an easy good
deed ” done), “ after which I was able, though with swimming head
and trembling hands, to prepare a report for the Geographical
Society.

“ On the 24th of July we were able to move on under the oppressive
rain-sun. From Central K’hutu to the base of the Usagara Mountains
there were nothing but filthy heaps of the rudest hovels, built in
holes of the jungle. Their miserable inhabitants, whose frames are
lean with constant intoxication, and whose limbs are distorted by
ulcerous sores, attest the hostility of Nature to Mankind.

“Arrived at Zungomero, we waited a fortnight for the twenty-two
promised porters. It was a hotbed of pestilence, where we nearly
found wet graves. Our only lodging was the closed eaves of a hut;
the roof was a sieve, the walls all chinks, and the floor a sheet of
mud. The Beloch had no energy to build a shed, and became almost
mutinous because we did not build it for them.

“ Our life here was the acme of discomfort; we had pelting showers,
followed by fiery sunshine, which extracted steam from the grass,
bush, and trees. My Goanese boys got a mild form of ‘ yellow
Jack,’ and I was obliged to take them into my hut, already populated
with pigeons, rats, flies, mosquitoes, bugs, and fleas. We were weary’
of waiting for the porters and baggage, so we prepared our papers,
and sent them down by a confidential slave to the coast. Jack and
I left Zungomero on the 7th of August. We were so weak, we could
hardly sit our asses, but we were determined to get to the nearest
ascent of the Usagara Mountains, a march of five hours, and
succeeded in rising three hundred feet from the plain, ascending its
first gradient.

“This is the frontier of the second region, or Ghauts. There
was no vestige of buildings, nor sight nor sound of Man. There
was a wondrous change of climate at this place, called Mzizi
Maogo; strength and health returned as if by magic, even the

174 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Goanese shook off their mild ‘ yellow Jack.’ Truly delicious was
the escape from the nebulous skies, the fog-driving gusts, the pelting
rain, the clammy mists veiling a gross growth of foetor, the damp raw
cold rising as it were from the earth, and the alternations of fiery
and oppressive heat; in fact, from the cruel climate of the river
valley, to the pure sweet mountain air, alternately soft and balmy,
cool and reviving, and to the aspect of clear blue skies, which lent
their tints to highland ridges well wooded with various greens.

“ Dull mangrove, dismal jungle, and monotonous grass were
supplanted by tall solitary trees, amongst which the lofty tama¬
rind rose conspicuously graceful, and a card-table-like swamp,
cut by a network of streams, nullahs, and stagnant pools, gave way
to dry healthy slopes, with short steep pitches and gently shelving
hills. The beams of the large sun of the Equator—and nowhere
have I seen the Rulers of Night and Day so large—danced gaily upon
blocks and pebbles of red, yellow, and dazzling snowy quartz, and
the bright sea-breeze waved the summits of the trees, from which
depended graceful llianas and wood-apples large as melons, whilst
creepers, like vine tendrils, rising from large bulbs of brown-grey
wood, clung closely to their stalwart trunks. Monkeys played at
hide-and-seek, chattering behind the bolls, as the iguana, with its
painted scale-armour, issued forth to bask upon the sunny bank;
white-breasted ravens cawed when disturbed from their perching
places, doves cooed on the well-clothed boughs, and hawks soared
high in the transparent sky. The field-cricket chirped like the
Italian cicala in the shady bush, and everywhere, from air, from
earth, from the hill-slopes above, and from the marshes below,
the hum, the buzz, and the loud continuous voice of insect life,
through the length of the day, spoke out its natural joy. Our gypsy
encampment lay

* By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.*

By night, the soothing murmurs of the stream at the hill’s base
rose mingled with the faint rustling of the breeze, which at times,
broken by the scream of the night-heron, the bellow of the bull¬
frog in his swamp home, the cynhyaena’s whimper, and the fox’s
whining bark, sounded through the silence most musical, most
melancholy. Instead of the cold night rain, and the soughing of
the blast, the view disclosed a peaceful scene, the moonbeams lying
like sheets of snow upon the ruddy highlands, and the stars hanging
like lamps of gold from the dome of infinite blue. I never wearied
with contemplating the scene, for, contrasting with the splendours
around me, still stretched in sight the ‘ Slough of Despond,’
unhappy Zungomero, lead-coloured above, mud-coloured below,
wind-swept, fog-veiled, and deluged by clouds that dared not ap¬
proach these Delectable Mountains.

“ All along our way we were saddened by the sight of clean-picked
skeletons, and here and there the swollen corpses of porters who
had perished in this place by starvation. A single large body which

175

The Real Start for Tanganyika.

passed us but yesterday had lost fifty of their number by small-pox,
and the sight of their deceased comrades made a terrible impression.
Men staggering on, blinded by disease, mothers carrying on their
backs infants as loathsome as themselves. The poor wretches would
not leave the path, as every step in their state of failing strength was
precious. He who once fell would never rise again. No village
would admit a corpse into its precincts, no friend or relation would
return for them, and they would lie till their agony was ended by
the raven, the vulture, and the fox. Near every kraal were detached
huts set apart for those seized with the fell disease. Several of our
party caught the infection, and must have thrown themselves into
some jungle, for when they were missed we came back to look and
there was no sign of them. The further we went on, the more
numerous were the corpses. Our Moslems passed them with averted
faces, and with the low ‘ La haul! ’ of disgust, and a decrepit old
porter gazed and wept for himself. At the foot of the ‘ Goma Pass ’
we found the outlying huts for the small-pox, and an old kraal,
where we made comfortable for the night. All around peeped the
little beehive villages of the Wakaguru and the Wakwivi.

“ When we arrived at Rufuta I found that nearly all our instru¬
ments had been spoilt or broken, the barometer had come to grief,
no aneroid had been sent from Bombay, and we had chiefly to get
on with two bath thermometers. Zonhwe was the turning-point of
the expedition’s difficulties. The 17th of August, as we went on,
the path fell easily westwards down a long grassy jungly incline,
cut by several water-courses. At noon I lay down fainting in the
sandy bed of the Muhama nullah, meaning the ‘ Palmetto ’ or ‘ Fan-
palm,’ and keeping Wazira and Mabruki with me, I begged Jack to
go on, and send me back a hammock from the halting-place. The
men, who were partly mutinous and deserting, suddenly came out
well; they reappeared, led me to a place where stagnant water was
found, and showed abundant penitence. At three o’clock, as Jack
did not send the hammock, I remounted and passed through another
‘ Slough of Despond ’ like Zungomero, and found two little villages,
and on a hillside my caravan halted, which had been attacked by
a swarm of wild bees. At Muhama we halted three days, and
forded the Makata, and pursuing our march next day, I witnessed
a curious contrast in this strange African nature, which is ever in
extremes, and where extremes ever meet, where grace and beauty
are seldom seen without a sudden change to a hideous grotesqueness.

“ A splendid view charmed me in the morning. Above lay a sky
of purest azure, flaked with fleecy opal-tinted vapours floating high
in the empyrean, and catching the first roseate smiles of the unrisen
sun. Long lines, one bluer than the other, broken by castellated
crags and towers of the most picturesque form, girdled the far
horizon; the nearer heights were of a purplish-brown, and snowy
mists hung like glaciers about their folds. The plain was a park in
autumn, burnt tawny by the sun or patched with a darker hue where
the people were firing the grass—a party was at work merrily, as if
preparing for an English harvest home—to start the animals, to

176 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

promote the growth of a young crop, and, such is the popular belief,
to attract rain. Calabashes, palmyras, tamarinds, and clumps of
evergreen trees, were scattered over the scene, each stretching its
lordly form over subject circlets of deep dew-fed verdure. Here
the dove cooed loudly, and the guinea-fowl rang its wild cry, whilst
the peewit chattered in the open stubble, and a little martin, the
prettiest of its kind, contrasted by its nimble dartings along the
ground, with the vulture wheeling slowly through the upper air.
The most graceful of animals, the zebra and the antelope, browsed
in the distance ; now they stood to gaze upon the long line of
porters, then, after leisurely pacing, with retrospective glances, in
an opposite direction, they halted motionless for a moment, faced
about once more to satiate curiosity, and lastly, terrified by their own
fancy, they bounded in ricochets over the plain.

44 About noon the fair scene vanished as if by enchantment. We
suddenly turned northwards into a tangled mass of tall foetid reeds, rank
jungle, and forest. One constantly feels, in malarious places, suddenly
poisoned as if by miasma; a shudder runs through the frame and a
cold perspiration, like a prelude for a fainting fit, breaks from the
brow. We came upon the deserted—once flourishing—village of
Wasagara, called Mbumi. The huts were torn and half burnt, the
ground strewed with nets and drums, pestles and mortars, cots and
fragments of rude furniture; the sacking seemed to be about ten
days old. Two wretched villagers were lurking in the jungle, not
daring to revisit the wreck of their own homes. The demon of
Slavery reigns over a solitude of his own creation ; can it be, that
by some inexplicable law, where Nature has done her best for the
happiness of Mankind, Man, doomed to misery, must work out his
own unhappiness ?

44 Next day our path was slippery as mud, and man and beast
were rendered wild by the cruel stings of a small red ant and a
huge black pismire. They are large headed; they cannot spring,
but show great quickness in fastening themselves to the foot
or ankle as it brushes over them. The pismire is a horse-ant,
about an inch in length, whose bulldog head and powerful man¬
dibles enable it to destroy rats and mice, lizards and snakes; its
bite burns like a pinch of a red-hot needle. When it sets to work,
twisting itself round, it may be pulled in two without relaxing its
hold. As the people stopped to drink they were seized by these
dreadful creatures, and suddenly began to dance and shout like
madmen, pulling off their clothes, and frantically snatching at their
lower limbs. In the evening it was like a savage opera scene. One
would recite his Koran, another pray; a third told funny stories;
a fourth trolled out in a minor key lays of love and war that were
familiar to me upon the Scindian hills. This was varied by slapping
away the black mosquitoes, ridding ourselves of ants, and challenging
small parties of savages who passed us from time to time with bows
and arrows.

44 Now we also began to suffer severely from the tzetze fly, which is
the true Glossina morsitans. It extended from Usagara westward as

177

The Real Start for Tanganyika.

far as the Central Lakes. It has more persistency of purpose than
an Egyptian fly; when beaten off, it will return half a dozen times to
the charge. It cannot be killed except by a smart blow, and its
long sharp proboscis draws blood through a canvas hammock. The
sting is like an English horse-fly and leaves a lasting trace. This
land is eminently fitted for breeding cattle and for agriculture,
which, without animals, cannot be greatly extended. Why this
plague should have been placed here, unless to exercise human
ingenuity, I cannot imagine. Perhaps some day it will be extermi¬
nated by the introduction of some insectiferous bird, which will
be the greatest benefactor that Central Africa ever knew. The
brown ant has cellular hills of about three feet high, whereas in
Somali-land they become dwarf ruins of round towers. When we
reached Rumuma the climate was new to us, after the incessant
rains of the Maritime Valley, and the fogs and mists of the Rufuta
range; but it was in extremes—the thermometer under the in¬
fluence of dewy gusts sank in the tent to 48° F., a killing tempe¬
rature in these latitudes to half-naked and houseless men. During
the day it showed 90° F.; the sun was fiery, and a furious south wind
coursed through skies purer and bluer than I had ever seen in
Greece or Italy.

“When we were ill our followers often mutinied, and would do
nothing, but stole and lost our goods, and would not work. Some¬
times, though they carried the water, they would refuse us any.
Jack was as ill as I was. We reached Rubeho, the third and
westernmost range of the Usagara Mountains, and here we were
welcomed with joy, and given milk and butter and honey, a real
treat. Here we were in danger of being attacked by the Wahumba.
Next day a Caravan arrived, under the command of four Arab
merchants, of which Isa bin Hijji was most kind, and did us good
service. I was always at home when I got amongst Arabs. They
always treat me practically as one of themselves. They gave us
useful information for crossing the Rubeho range, and superintended
our arrangements. When they went away I charged them not to
spread reports of our illness. I saw them depart with regret. It
had really been a relief to hear once more the voice of civility
and sympathy.

“ Our greatest labour was before us. Trembling with ague,
with swimming heads, ears deafened by weakness, and limbs
that would hardly support us, we contemplated with dogged
despair the perpendicular scramble over the mountains and the
ladders of root and boulder, up which we and our starving, droop¬
ing asses had to climb. Jack was so weak that he had three
supporters; I, having stronger nerves, managed with one. We
passed wall-like sheets of rock, long steeps of loose white soil and
rolling stones. Every now and then we were compelled to lie
down by cough and thirst and fatigue; and when so compelled, fires
suddenly appeared on the neighbouring hills. The War-cry rang loud
from hill to hill, and Indian files of archers and spearmen, streaming
like lines of black ants, appeared in all directions down the paths.

178 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

It was the Wahumba, who, waiting for the Caravans to depart, were
going down to fall fiercely on the scattered villages in the lowlands,
kill the people, and to drive off the cattle, and plunder the villages
of Inenge. Our followers prepared to desert us, but, strange to say,
the Wahumba did not touch us. By resting every few yards, and
clinging to our supporters, we reached the summit of this terrible
path after six hours, and we sat down amongst aromatic flowers and
bright shrubs, to recover strength and breath. Jack was almost in
a state of coma, and could hardly answer. The view disclosed a
retrospect of severe hardships past and gone.

“ We eventually arrived, after more walking, at a place called the
Great Rubeho, where several settlements appeared, and where poor
Jack was seized with a fever fit and dangerous delirium ; he became
so violent that I had to remove his weapons, and, to judge from
certain symptoms, the attack had a permanent cerebral effect. Death
appeared stamped upon his features, and yet our followers clamoured
to advance, because it was cold. This lasted two nights, when he
was restored and came to himself, and proposed to advance. I had
a hammock rigged up for him, and the whole Caravan broke ground.
We went on ascending till we reached the top of the third and
westermost range of the Usagdra Mountains, raised 5700 feet above
sea level, and we begin to traverse Ugogi, which is the halfway
district between the Coast and Unyanyembe, and stands 2760 feet
above sea level, and the climate of Ugogi pleases by its elasticity
and its dry healthy warmth.

“The African traveller’s fitness for the task of Exploration depends
more upon his faculty of chafing under delays and kicking against
the pricks than upon his power of displaying the patience of a
Griselda or a Job. Another Caravan of coast Arabs arrived. They
brought news from the sea-board, and, wondrous good fortune, the
portmanteau containing books, which a porter, profiting by the con¬
fusion when they were attacked by bees, had deposited in the long
grass at the place where I directed the slaves to look for it. Some
half-caste Arabs had gone forward and spread evil reports of us.
They said we had each one eye and four arms ; we were full of
magic; we caused rain to fall in advance, and left droughts in our
rear ; we cooked water-melons, and threw away the seeds, thus
generating small-pox; we heated and hardened milk, thus breeding
a murrain amongst cattle ; our wire, cloth, and beads caused a
variety of misfortunes ; we were Kings of the Sea, and therefore
white-skinned and straight-haired, as are all men who live in salt
water, and next year we would seize their land.

“ As far as our followers were concerned, there was not a soul to
stand by Jack and me except ourselves. Had anything happened
we must have perished. We should have been as safe with six as
with sixty guns, but six hundred stout fellows, well armed, might march
through the length and breadth of Central Africa.” (Richard said
when the Government sent Gordon to Khartoum they failed because
they sent him alone. Had they sent him with five hundred soldiers
there would have been no war.) “ And now a word to sportsmen in

179

The Real Start for Tanganyika .

this part of Africa. Let no future travellers make my mistake. I
expected great things without realizing a single hope. In the more
populous parts the woodman’s axe and the hunter’s arrows have
melted away game. Even where large tracks of jungle abound with
water and forage, the nctes of a bird rarely strike the ear, and
during the day’s march not a single large animal will be seen. In
places such as the park-lands of Dut’humi, the jungles and forests
of Ugogi and Mgunda Mk’hali, the barrens of Usukuma, and the
tangled thickets of Ujiji, there is abundance of noble game—lions,
leopards, elephants, rhinoceroses, wild cattle, giraffes, gnus, zebras,
quaggas, and ostriches; but the regions are so dangerous that a
sportsman cannot linger. There is miasma, malaria, want of food,
rarely water, no camels, and every porter would desert, whilst the
extraordinary expense of provision and of carriage would be the
work of a very rich man. As for us, we could only shoot on halting
days at rare periods, and there is nothing left but the hippopotamus
and the crocodile of the seacoast.

“On the 8th of October we fell in with a homeward-bound
Caravan headed by Abdullah bin Nasib, who was very, very kind to
us. He kindly halted a day that we might send home a mail, and
gave me one of his riding animals, and would take nothing for it
except a little medicine. We left K’hok’ho, a foul strip of crowded
jungle, where we were stung throughout the fiery day by the tzetze
fly, swarms of bees, and pertinacious gadflies, where an army of
large poisonous ants drove us out of the tent by the wounds which
they inflicted between the fingers and other tender parts of the
body, till kettles of boiling water persuaded them to abandon us.
These ant-fiends made the thin-skinned asses mad with torture. In
this ill-omened spot my ass Seringe, the sole survivor of the riding
animals brought from Zanzibar, was so torn by a hysena that it died
of its wounds, and fifteen of my porters deserted, so that I thought
that it was no use continuing my weary efforts and anxiety about
baggage.

“I gave Jack my good donkey, because he was worse than
I was, and I took one of the poor ones, and found that I must
either walk or leave valuable things behind. Trembling with weak¬
ness, I set out to march the length of the Mdiburu jungle. The
memory of that march is not pleasant. The burning sun and the
fiery reflected heat arising from the parched ground—here a rough,
thorny, and waterless jungle, where the jessamine flowered and the
frankincense was used for fuel; there a grassy plain of black and
sun-cracked earth—compelled me to lie down every half-hour. The
water-gourds were soon drained by my attendant Beloch; and the
sons of Ramji, who, after reaching the resting-place, had returned
with ample stores for their comrades, hid their vessels on my
approach. Sarmalla, a donkey-driver, the model of a surly negro,
whose crumpled brow, tightened eyes, and thick lips, which shot out
on the least occasion of excitement, showed what was going on
within his head, openly refused me the use of his gourd, and—thirst
is even less to be trifled with than hunger—found ample reason to

180 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

repent himself of the proceeding. Near the end of the jungle I
came upon a party of the Beloch, who, having seized upon a porter
belonging to a large Caravan of Wanyamwezi that had passed us on
that march, were persuading him, half by promises and half by
threats, to carry their sleeping mats and their empty gourds.

“Towards the end of that long march I saw with pleasure the
kindly face of Seedy Bombay, who was returning to me in hot haste,,
leading an ass and carrying a few scones and hard-boiled eggs.
Mounting, I resumed my way, and presently arrived at the confines
of Mdaburu, where, under a huge calabash, stood our tent, amidst
a kraal of grass boothies, surrounded by a heaped-up ridge of
thorns.

“ We left Ugogi and pursued our way to ‘ Mgunda Mk'hali,’ a
very wild part, and at last got to Jiwella Mkoa, the halfway house.
We were cheered by the sight of the red fires glaring in the kraal,
but Jack’s ass, perhaps frightened by some wild beast which we did
not see, reared high in the air, bucked like a deer, broke his girths,
and threw Jack, who was sick and weak, heavily upon the hard earth.
Our people had become so selfish that they always attended to
themselves first, and Said bin Salim, the leader, actually refused to
give us a piece of canvas to make a tent. Bombay made a memo¬
rable speech : ‘ If you are not ashamed of your Master, O Said, be
at least ashamed of his servant,’ which had such an effect that he
sent the whole awning, and refused the half which I sent back to
him.

“ The three Tribes of this part are the Wagogo (the Wamasai), the
Wahumba, and the Wakwafi, who are remarkable for their strength
and intelligence, and for their obstinate and untamable characters.
They only sell their fellow tribesmen when convicted of magic, or
from absolute distress, and many of them would rather die under the
stick than work. The Wagogo are thieves ; they would rob during
the day, are importunate beggars, and specify their long lists of
wants without stint or shame. An Arab merchant once went out to
the Wahumba to buy asses. He set out from Tura in Eastern
Unyamwezi, and traversing the country of the wild Wataturu,
arrived on the eighth day at the frontier district, I’ramba, where
there is a river which separates the tribes. He was received with
civility, but none have ever since followed his example.

“As we neared Unyanyembe the porters became more restive
under their light loads, their dignity was hurt by shouldering a pack,
and day after day, till I felt weary of life, they left their burdens upon
the ground. At Rubuga I was visited by an Arab merchant, who
explained something which had puzzled me. Whenever an advance
beyond Unyanyembe was spoken of, Said bin Salim’s countenance
fell. The merchant asked me if I thought the Caravan was strong
enough to bear the dangers of the road between that and Ujiji, and
I replied that I did, but even if I did not, I should go on. The
perpetual risk of loss, discourages the traveller in these lands. In a
moment papers which have cost him months of toil may be scattered
to the winds. Collectors should never make them on the march

The Real Start for Tanganyika. 181

upwards , but on their leisurely return. My field and sketch-books
were entrusted to an Arab merchant who preceded me to Zanzibar.
Jack sent down maps, papers, and instruments, and I my vocabu¬
laries, ephemeris, and drawing-books, which ran no danger, except
from Hamerton’s successor, who seemed careless.

“ The hundred and thirty-fourth day from leaving the coast, after
marching over six hundred miles, we prepared to enter Kazeh. I was
met by Arabs who gave me the Moslem salutation, and courteously
accompanied me. I was to have gone to the te?nbe kindly placed at my
disposal by Isa bin Hijji and the Arabs met at Ineng^, but by mistake
we were taken to that of Musa Mzuri, an Indian merchant, for whom
I bore an introductory letter, graciously given by H.H. the Sayyid
Majjid of Zanzibar. Here I dismissed the porters, who separated to
their homes. What a contrast between the open-handed hospitality
and the hearty good will of this truly noble race (Arabs), and the
niggardliness of the savage and selfish African ! It was heart of flesh
after heart of stone. They warehoused my goods, disposed of my
extra stores, and made all arrangements for my down march on
return. During two long halts at Kazeh, Snay bin Amir never
failed to pass the evening with me, and, as he thoroughly knew
the country all around, I derived immense information from his
instructive and varied conversation.

“Here were the times when Jack was at such a disadvantage
from want of language; he could join in none of these things, and
this made him, I think, a little sour, and partly why he wished
to have an expedition of his own. Snay bin Amir was familiar with
the language, the religion, the manners, and the ethnology of all the
tribes. He was of a quixotic appearance, high featured, tall, gaunt,
and large limbed. He was well read, had a wonderful memory, fine
perceptions, and passing power of language. He was the stuff of
which I could make a friend, brave as all his race, prudent, ready to
perish for honour, and as honest as he was honourable. At Unya-
nyembe the merchants expect some delay, because the porters, whether
hired at the coast or at Tanganyika, here disperse, and a fresh gang
has to be collected. When Snay bin Amir and Musa Mzuri, the
Indian, settled at Kazeh, it was only a desert; they built houses,
sunk wells, and converted it into a populous place. The Arabs here
live comfortably and even splendidly. The houses are single-storied,
but large, substantial, and capable of defence. They have splendid
gardens ; they receive regular supplies of merchandise, comforts, and
luxuries from the coast; they are surrounded by troops of concubines
and slaves, whom they train to divers crafts and callings. The rich
have riding asses from Zanzibar, and the poorest keep flocks and
herds. When a stranger appears he receives hishmat Fil gharib ,
or ‘ the guest welcome.’ He is provided with lodgings, and introduced
by the host to the rest of the society at a general banquet. A draw¬
back to their happiness is the failure of constitution. A man who
escapes illness for a couple of months boasts, and, as in Egypt, no one
enjoys robust health. The residents are very moderate in their
appetites, and eat only light dishes that they may escape fever.

182 The Life of Sir Richard Burton,

“ From Unyanyembe there are twenty marches to Ujiji upon the
Tanganyika, seldom accomplished under twenty-five days. The two
greatest places are, first, Msene; the second is the Malagarazi river;
but now I bade adieu for a time to the march, the camp, and the
bivouac, and was comfortably housed close to my new friend, Shakyh
Snay bin Amir. You are all familiar with the Arab Kafilah and its
hosts of litters, horses, camels, mules, and asses; but the porter-
journeys in East Africa have, till this year of my arrival, escaped the
penman’s pen. There are three kind of Caravans. These are the
Wanyamwezi, the Wasawahili free men, and lastly that of the Arabs.
That of the Arabs is splendid, and next to the Persian, he is the most
luxurious traveller in the East. A veteran of the way, he knows the
effects of protracted hardship and scarcity upon a wayfarer’s health ;
but the European traveller does not enjoy it, because it marches by
instinct rather than reason. It dawdles, it hurries, it lingers, losing
time twice. It is fatal to observation, and nothing will induce them
to enable an Explorer to strike into an unbeaten path, or to progress
a few miles out of the main road. Malignant epidemics attack
Caravans, and make you repent joining them. For the rest, the
porters, one and all, want to eat, drink, sleep, carry the lightest
load or none at all; for the slightest service they want double
pay; they lose your mules and your baggage; they steal what
they can; they desert when they can; they run away when
there is the slightest danger. When it is safe, they are mutinous
and insolent, because you are dependent on them. If you come
to a comfortable place, you cannot dislodge them; if you come
to a dangerous place, they will not give the necessary time for food
or sleep, or resting the animals. Everything is done to get as much
out of you as possible, to do as little as they can for it; gain and self
are almost their only thoughts. Bombay proved more or less an
exception. During our journey from start to finish, there was not
one, from Said bin Salim, the leader, to the very porter, except
Bombay and the two Goanese Catholics, who did not attempt to
desert.

“ About five p.m. the camp was fairly roused, and a little low chatting
commences. The porters overnight have promised to start early,
and to make a long wholesome march; but, ‘ uncertain, coy, and
hard to please,’ the cold morning makes them unlike the men of the
warm evening, and so one of them will have fever. In every
Caravan there is some lazy lout and unmanageable fellow whose sole
delight is to give trouble. If no march be in prospect, they sit
obstinately before the fire, warming their hands and feet, and casting
quizzical looks at their fuming and fidgety employer. If all be
unanimous it is vain to tempt them; even soft sawder is but ‘ throw¬
ing comfits to cows,’ and we return to our tent. If, however, there
be a division, a little active stimulating will cause a march. They
hug the fire till driven from it, when they unstack the loads piled
before our tents and pour out of camp or village. Jack and I,
when able, mount our asses; we walk when we can, but when
unable for either we are borne in hammocks. The heat of the

The Real Start for Tanganyika. 183

ground, against which the horniest sole never becomes proof, tries
the feet like polished leather boots on a quarter-deck in the dog-days
near the Line. Sometimes, when in good humour, they are very
sportive. When two bodies meet, that commanded by an Arab claims
the road. When friendly caravans meet, the two kirangozis sidle
up with a stage pace, a stride and a stand, and, with sidelong looks,
prance till they arrive within distance; then suddenly and simul¬
taneously ‘ ducking,’ like boys ‘ giving a back,’ they come to
loggerheads and exchange a butt violently as fighting rams. Their
example is followed by all with a rush and a crush, which might be
mistaken for the beginning of a fight; but it ends, if there be no
bad blood, in shouts of laughter.

“ When a Unyamwezi guide is leader of a Caravan the kirangozi
deliberately raises his plain blood-red flag, and they all follow him.
If any man dares to go before him, or into any but his own place,
an arrow is extracted from his quiver to substantiate his identity at
the end of the march.

“ The Wamrima willingly admit strangers into their villages, and
the Wazaramo would do the same, but they are constantly at feud
with the Wanyamwezi, and therefore it is dangerous hospitality.
My Goanese boys, being 4 Christians,’ that is to say, Roman
Catholics, consider themselves semi-European, and they will not
feed with the heathenry, so there are four different messes in the
Camp. The dance generally assumes, as the excitement increases,
the frantic semblance of a ring of Egyptian dervishes. The per¬
formance often closes with a grand promenade, all the dancers being
jammed in a rushing mass, a galop in female, with features of satyrs,
and gestures resembling aught but human. Sometimes they compose
songs in honour of me. I understand them, and the singers know
that I do. They sing about the Muzungu Mbaya, ‘ the wicked
white man;’ to have called me a ‘good white man’ would mean
that one was a natural, an innocent, who would be plucked and
flayed without flinching; moreover, despite my wickedness, it was
always to me that they came for justice and redress if any one bullied
or ill-treated them.

“ The Caravan scene at night is often very impressive. The
dull red fires flickering and forming a circle of ruddy light in the
depths of the black forest, flaming against the tall trunks, and
defining the foliage of the nearer trees, illuminate lurid groups
of savage men, in every variety of shape and posture. Above,
the dark purple sky, studded with golden points, domes the
earth with bounds narrowed by the gloom of night. And, behold,
in the western horizon, a resplendent crescent, with a dim, ash-
coloured globe in its arms, and crowned by Hesperus, sparkling
like a diamond, sinks through the vast space in all the glory and
gorgeousness of Eternal Nature’s sublimest works. From such a
night, methinks, the Byzantine man took his device, the crescent
and the star.

“At Kdzeh, as in Ugogi and everywhere else, the lodgings are a
menagerie of hens, pigeons, rats, scorpions, earwigs (the scorpions

184 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

are spiteful), and in Ugogi there is a green scorpion from four to
five inches long, which inflicts a torturing wound. Here they say
that it dies after inflicting five consecutive stings, and kills itself if
a bit of stick be applied to the middle of its back. House crickets
and cockroaches are plentiful, as well as lizards, and frightful spiders
weave their webs. One does not count ticks, flies of sorts, bugs,
fleas, mosquitoes, and small ants, and the fatal bug of Miana, which
vary in size, after suction, from almost invisible dimensions to three-
quarters of an inch. The bite does not poison, but the irritation
causes sad consequences. Huts have to be sprinkled with boiling
water to do away with some of these nuisances.

“ It is customary for Caravans proceeding to the Tanganyika to
remain for six weeks or two months at Unyanyembe for repose and
recovery from the labours they are supposed to have endured, to
enjoy the pleasures of f civilized society,’ to accept the hospitality
offered by the Arabs. All our party, except Jack and I, con¬
sidered Unyanyembi the end of the exploration, but to us it merely
meant a second point of departure easier than the first, because we
hai gained experience. We had, thowever, a cause of delay. Jack
had become strong, but all the res got ill. Valentine, my Goanese
boy, was insensible for three days and nights from bilious fever,
and when he recovered Gaetano got it and was unconscious. Then
followed the bull-headed slave, Mabruki, and lastly Bombay, while
the rest of the following, who had led a very irregular life, began to
pay the penalty of excess. They brought us a mganga , or witch,
who doctored us. However, we got distressing weakness, liver
derangement, burning palms, tingling soles, aching eyes, and alter¬
nate chills of heat and cold, and we delayed till the 1st of December,
during which we learnt a lot of necessary things.

“ My good Snay bin Amir sent into the country for plantains and
tamarinds, and brewed a quantity of beer and plantain wine. He
lent me valuable assistance concerning the country and language,
and we were able, through him, to learn all about the Nyanza or
Northern Lake, and the maps forwarded from K£zeh to the Royal
Geographical Society will establish this fact, as they were subse¬
quently determined, after actual exploration, by Jack. Snay bin
Amir took charge of all the letters and papers for home, and his
energy enabled me afterwards to receive the much-needed reserve
of supplies in the nick of time.

“On the 15th we went on to Yombo, where I remarked three
beauties who would be deemed beautiful in any part of the world.
Their faces were purely Grecian, they had laughing eyes, their figures
were models for an artist, like the bending statue that delights the
world, cast in bronze. These beautiful domestic animals smiled
graciously when, in my best Kinyamwezi, I did my devoir to the sex,
and a little tobacco always secured for me a seat in the ‘ undress
circle.’

“ On the 22nd of December Jack came back, and we left on the
23rd of December, and marched to the district of Eastern Wilyankuru;
and there we again separated, and I went on alone to Muinyi

The Real Start for Tanganyika. 185

Chandi, and my people were very troublesome. Said bin Salim,
believing that my days were numbered, passed me on the last march
without a word. The sun was hot, and he and his party were
hastening to shade, and left me with only two men to carry the
hammock in a dangerous jungle, where shortly afterwards an Arab
merchant was murdered. On Christmas Day I mounted my ass,
passed through the western third of the Wilyankuru district, and was
hospitably received by one Salim bin Said, surnamed Simba the
Lion, who received me with the greatest hospitality. He was a
large, middle-aged man, with simple and kindly manners, and an
honesty of looks and words which rendered his presence extremely
prepossessing.

“ The favourite dish in this country is the pillaw , or pilaff here
called pulao; and here I want to digress. For the past century,
which concluded with reducing India to the rank of a British
province, the proud invader has eaten her rice after a fashion which
has secured for him the contempt of the East. He deliberately
boils it, and after drawing off the nutritious starch, or gluten, called
conjee , which forms the perquisite of the Portuguese or his pariah
cook, he is fain to fill himself with that which has become little
more nutritious than the prodigal’s husks. Great, indeed, is the
invader’s ignorance upon that point. Peace be to the manes of
Lord Macaulay, but listen to and wonder at his eloquent words:

‘ The Sepoys came to Clive, not to complain of their scanty fare,
but to propose that all the grain should be given to the Europeans,
who required more nourishment than the natives of Asia. The
thin gruel, they said, which was strained away from the rice, would
suffice for themselves. History contains no more touching instance
of military fidelity, or of the influence of a commanding mind.’
Indians never fail to drink the conjee. The Arab, on the other
hand, mingles with his rice a sufficiency of ghee to prevent the
extraction of the ‘ thin gruel,’ and thus makes the grain as palatable
and as nutritious as Nature intended it to be—and dotted over with
morsels of fowl, so boiled that they shredded like yarn under the
teeth.

“ Shaykh Masud boasted of his intimacy with the Sultan Msimbira,
wffiose subjects had plundered our portmanteau, and offered, on
return to Unyanyambe, his personal services in ransoming it. I
accepted with joy, but it afterwards proved that he nearly left his
skin in the undertaking. The climate of Kfrfra, where I arrived on
the 27 th of December, is called by the Arabs a medicine, and I
spent a delicious night in the cool Barzah after the unhealthy air of
Kazeh. Three marches more brought me to Msene, where I was
led to the temhe of one Saadullah, a low-caste Msawahili, and there
I found Jack, looking very poorly. We were received with great
pomp and circumstance; the noise was terrific, and Gaetano, Jack’s
boy, was so excited by the scene that he fell down in an epileptic
fit, which fits returned repeatedly.

“On the 10th of January we left, and arrived at Mb’hali, and
passed through dense jungle, and eventually came to Sorora and

186 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Kajjanjeri, and here we were freshly ill from miasma. About three
in the afternoon I was forced to lay aside my writing by an unusual
sensation of nervous irritability, which was followed by a general
shudder as in the cold paroxysm of fevers. Presently my extremities
began to weigh, and began to burn as though exposed to a glowing
fire, and my jack-boots became too tight and heavy to wear. At
sunset the attack reached its height. I saw yawning wide to
receive me—

* Those dark gates across the wild
That no man knows.*

My body was palsied, powerless, motionless; the limbs appeared to
wither and die; the feet had lost all sensation, except a throbbing
and a tingling as if pricked by needle points, the arms refused to be
directed by will, and to the hands the touch of cloth and stone was
the same. Gradually the attack spread upwards till it seemed to
compress my ribs, and stopped short there. This at a distance of
two months of any medical aid, and with the principal labour of the
expedition still in prospect! If one of us was lost, I said to myself,
the other might survive to carry home the results of the exploration,
which I had undertaken with the resolve either to do or die. I had
done my best, and now nothing appeared to remain for me but to
die as well.

“ It was partial paralysis, brought on by malaria, well known in
India. I tried the usual remedies without effect, and the duration
of the attack presently revealed what it was. The contraction of
the muscles, which were tightened like ligatures above and below
the knees, and those X-urayovvara , a pathological symptom which
the old Greek loves to specify, prevented me from walking to any
distance for nearly a year; the numbness of the hands and feet
disappeared more slowly, but the Fundi predicted that I should be
able to move in ten days, and on the ioth I again mounted my ass.
At Usagozi, Jack, whose blood had been impoverished, and whose
system had been reduced by many fevers, now began to suffer from
inflammation of the eyes, which produced an almost total blindness,
rendering every object enclouded by a misty veil. Goanese Valentine
suffered the same on the same day, and subsequently, at Ujiji, was
tormented by inflammatory ophthalmia. I suffered in a minor degree.
On the 3rd of February we debouched from a jungle upon the river
plain; the swift brown stream, there fifty yards broad, was swirling
through the tall wet grasses of its banks on our right hand, hard by
our track. Upon the off-side, a herd of elephants in Indian file
broke through the reed fence in front of them.

“ The Malagarhzi, corrupted by speculative geographers to Mdji-
gidgi—the uneuphonious terminology of the ‘Mombas Mission Map*
—to ‘ Magrassie,’ and to ‘ Magozi,’ has been wrongly represented to
issue from the Sea of Ujiji. According to all travellers in these
regions, it rises in the mountains of Urundi, at no great distance
from the Kitangure, or river of Karagwah; but whilst the latter,
springing from the upper counterslope, feeds the Nyanza, or

The Real Start for Tanganyika. 187

Northern Lake, the Malagarazi, rising in the lower slope of the
equatorial range, trends to the south-east, till it becomes entangled
in the decline of the Great Central African Depression—the hydro-
graphical basin first indicated in his address of 1852 by Sir Rode¬
rick I. Murchison, president of the Royal Geographical Society of
London.* Thence it sweeps round the southern base of Urundi,
and, deflected westwards, it disembogues itself into the Tanganyika.
Its mouth is in the land of Ukaranga, and the long promontory
behind which it discharges its waters is distinctly visible from
Kawele, the head-quarters of Caravans in Ujiji. The Malagarazi
is not navigable; as in primary and transition countries generally,
the bed is broken by rapids. Beyond the ferry the slope becomes
more pronounced, branch and channel islets of sand and verdure
divide the stream, and as every village near the banks appears to
possess one or more canoes, it is probably unfordable. The main
obstacle to crossing it on foot, over the broken and shallower parts
near the rock-bars, would be the number and the daring of the
crocodiles.

“The mukunguru of Unyamwezi is the severest seasoning-fever
in this part of Africa; it is a bilious-remittent lasting three days,
which reduces the patient to nothing, and often followed by a long
attack of tertian type. The consequences are severe and lasting,
even in men of the strongest nervous diathesis; burning and painful
eyes, hot palms and soles, a recurrence of shivering and flushing
fits, extremities alternately icy cold, then painfully hot and swollen,
indigestion, sleeplessness, cutaneous eruptions, fever sores, languor,
dejection, all resulting from torpidity of liver, from inordinate secre¬
tion of bile, and shows the poison in the system. Sometimes the
fever works speedily; some become at once delirious, and die on
the first or second day.

“ From Tura to Unyamwezi the Caravans make seven marches of
sixty geographical miles. The races requiring notice in this region
are two—Wakimbu and the Wanyamwezi.”

CHAPTER XIII.

OUR REWARD—SUCCESS.

“At length we sight the Lake Tanganyika, or the ‘Sea of Ujiji.
The route before us lay through a howling wilderness laid waste by
the fierce Watuta. Mpete, on the right bank of the Malagarazi
river, is very malarious, and the mosquitoes are dreadful. We
bivouacked under a shady tree, within sight of the ferry. The
passage of this river is considered dangerous on account of attacks
of the tribes. At one place I could only obtain a few corn cobs,
and I left the meat, with messages, for the rear. In the passages
of the river our goods and chattels were thoroughly sopped. After
a while, from a hillside we saw, long after noon, the other part of
our Caravan, halted by fatigue, upon a slope beyond a weary swamp;
a violent storm was brewing, and the sky was black, and we were
anxious and sorry about them.

“On the 13th February, after about an hour’s march, I saw the
Fundi running forward, and changing the direction of the Caravan,
and I followed him to know why he had taken this responsibility
upon himself. We breasted a steep stony hill, sparsely clad with
thorny trees, which killed Jack’s riding ass. Our fagged beasts
refused to proceed. ‘ What is that streak of light which lies below?’
said I to Bombay. ‘ I am of opinion,’ said Bombay, ‘ that that is
the water you are in search of.’ I gazed in dismay; the remains of
my blindness, the veil of trees, a broad ray of sunshine illuminating
but one reach of the lake, had shrunk its fair proportions. I began
to lament my folly in having risked life and lost health for so poor
a prize, to curse Arab exaggeration, and to propose an immediate
return to explore the Nyanza, or Northern Lake.

“Advancing a few yards, the whole scene suddenly burst upon
my view, filling me with admiration, wonder, and delight. Nothing
in sooth could be more picturesque than this first view of Tan¬
ganyika Lake, as it lay in the lap of the mountains, basking in
the gorgeous tropical sunshine. There were precipitous hills, a
narrow strip of emerald green, a ribbon of glistening yellow sand,
sedgy rushes, cut by the breaking wavelets, an expanse of light,
soft blue water foam thirty to thirty-five miles wide, sprinkled

Our Reward — Success .

18 9

by crisp tiny crescents of snowy foam, with a background of high
broken wall of steel-coloured mountain flecked and capped with
pearly mist, sharply pencilled against the azure sky, yawning chasms
of plum-colour falling towards dwarf hills, which apparently dip
their feet in the wave. One could see villages, cultivated lands,
fishermen’s canoes on the water, and a profuse lavishness and
magnificence of Nature and vegetation. The smiling shores of
this vast crevasse appeared doubly beautiful to me after the silent
and spectral mangrove-creeks on the East African sea-board, and the
melancholy monotonous experience of desert and jungle scenery,
tawny rock and sun-parched plain, or rank herbage and flats of black
mire. Truly it was a revel for Soul and Sight! Forgetting toils,
dangers, and the doubtfulness of return, I felt willing to endure
double what I had endured ; and all the party seemed to join with
me in joy. Poor purblind Jack found nothing to grumble at, except
the ‘ mist and glare before his eyes.’ Said bin Salim looked exult¬
ing —he had procured for me this pleasure ; the monoculous Jemadar
grinned his congratulations, and even the surly Beloch made civil
salaams.

As soon as we were bivouacked, I proceeded to get a solid-
built Arab craft, capable of containing thirty or thirty-five men,
belonging to an absent merchant. It was the second largest on the
lake, and being too large for paddling, the crew rowed, and at eight
next morning we began coasting along the eastern shore of the lake
in a north-westerly direction, towards the Kawele district. The
picturesque and varied forms of the mountains rising above and
dipping into the lake were clad in purplish blue, set off by the rosy
tints of the morning, and so we reached the great Ujiji. A few
scattered huts in the humblest beehive shape represent the Port
town. This fifth region includes the alluvial valley of the Malagarazi
river, which subtends the lowest spires of the highlands of Karagwah
and Urundi, the western prolongation of the chain which has obtained,
probably from African tradition, the name of ‘ Lunar Mountains.’

“ At Ujiji terminates, after twelve stages, the transit of the fifth
region. The traveller has now accomplished a hundred stages, which
with necessary rests, but not including detentions and long halts,
should occupy a hundred and fifty days. The distance, on account
of the sinuosities of the road, numbers nine hundred and fifty statute
miles, which occupied us seven and a half months on account of our
disadvantages and illnesses. Arab Caravans seldom arrive at the
Tanganyika, for the same reasons, under six months, but the lightly
laden and the fortunate may get to Unyamyembe in two and a half,
and to the Tanganyika in four months. It is evident that the African
authorities (this was written thirty-five years ago) have hitherto
confounded the Nyanza, the Tanganyika, and the Nyassa Lakes.
Ujiji was first visited in 1840 by the Arabs, and after that they
penetrated to Unyamwesi. They found it conveniently situated as
a central point from whence their factors and slaves could navigate
the waters, and collect slaves and ivory from the tribes upon its banks,
but the climate proved unhealthy, the people dangerous, and the

190 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

coasting voyages ended in disaster. Ujiji never rose to the rank of
Unyamyembe, or Msene. Now, from May to September, flying
Caravans touch here, and return to Unyamyembe so soon as they
have loaded their porters. The principal tribes are the Wajiji, the
Wavfnza, the Wakardnga, the Watiita, the Wabuha, and the Wahha;
but the fiercest races in the whole land, and also the darkest, are the
Wazarimo, the Wajiji, and the Wataturu. The Lakists are almost
an amphibious race, are excellent divers, strong swimmers and fisher¬
men, and vigorous eaters of fish, and in the water they indulge in
gambols like sportive water-fowls, whether skimming in their hollow
logs, or swimming.

“ It is a great mistake not to go as a Trader. It explains the
Traveller’s motives, which are always suspected to be bad ones. Thus
the Explorer can push forward into unknown countries, will be civilly
received and lightly fined, because the host expects to see him or
his friends again: to go without any motive only induces suspicion,
and he is opposed in every way. Nobody believes him to be so
stupid as to go through such danger and discomfort for exploring or
science, which they simply do not understand.

“ The cold damp climate, the over-rich and fat fish diet, and the
abundance of vegetables, which made us commit excesses, at first
disagreed with us. I lay for a fortnight upon the earth, too blind to
read or write, too weak to ride, too ill to converse. Jack was almost
as groggy upon his legs as I was, suffering from a painful ophthalmia,
and a curious contortion of the face, which made him chew sideways,
like an animal that chews the cud. Valentine was the same. Jack
and Valentine were always ill of the same things, and on the same
days, showing that certain climates affected certain temperaments
and not others. Gaetano ate too much and brought on a fever. I was
determined to explore the northern extremity of the lake, whence,
every one said, issued a large river flowing northwards, so I tried to
hire the only dhow or sailing craft, and provision it for a month’s
cruise, and at last Jack went to look after it, and I was twenty-seven
days alone.

“ I spent my time chiefly in eating, drinking, smoking, dozing.
At two or three in the morning I lay anxiously expecting the grey
light to creep through the door-chinks; then came the cawing of
crows, and the crowing of the village cocks. When the golden rays
began to stream over the red earth, torpid Valentine brought me
rice-flour boiled in water with cold milk. Then came the slavey with
a leafy branch to sweep the floor and to slay the huge wasps. This
done, he lit the fire, the excessive damp requiring it, and sitting over
it, he bathed his face and hands—luxurious dog!—in the pungent
smoke. Then came visits from Said bin Salim and the Jemadar
(our two headmen), who sat and stared at me, were disappointed
to see no fresh symptoms of approaching dissolution, told me so with
their eyes and faces, and went away; and I lay like a log upon my
cot, smoking, dreaming of things past, visioning things present , and
indulging myself in a few lines of reading and writing.

“ As evening approached, I made an attempt to sit under the

Our Reward — Success.

191

broad eaves of the tembe, and to enjoy the delicious spectacle of
this virgin Nature, and the reveries to which it gave birth—

* A pleasing land of drowsihed it was,

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye,

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass
For ever flushing round a summer sky.’

“ It reminded me of the loveliest glimpses of the Mediterranean ;
there were the same ‘ laughing tides/ pellucid sheets of dark blue
water, borrowing their tints from the vinous shores beyond ; the same
purple light of youth upon the cheek of the earlier evening; the same
bright sunsets, with their radiant vistas of crimson and gold opening
like the portals of a world beyond the skies; the same short-lived
grace and loveliness of the twilight; and, as night closed over the
earth, the same cool flood of transparent moonbeams, pouring on the
tufty heights and bathing their sides with the whiteness of virgin
snow.

“At seven p.m., as the last flush faded from the Occident, the lamp
—a wick in a broken pot full of palm oil—was brought in. A dreary,
dismal day you will exclaim, a day that—

‘ lasts out a night in Russia,

When nights are longest there.’

“On the 29th of March the rattling of matchlocks announced
Jack’s return. He was moist, mildewed, and wet to the bone, and
all his things were in a similar state ; his guns grained with rust, his
fireproof powder-magazine full of rain, and, worse than that, he had
not been able to gain anything but a promise that, after three months ,
the dhow should be let to us for five hundred dollars. The very
dhow that had been promised to me whenever I chose to send for
it! The faces of my following were indeed a study.

“ I then set to work to help Jack with his diaries, which afterwards
appeared in Blackwood , September, 1859, when I was immensely sur¬
prised to find, amongst many other things, a vast horseshoe of lofty
mountains that Jack placed, in a map attached to the paper, near the
very heart of Sir R. Murchison’s Depression. I had seen the moun¬
tains growing upon paper under Jack’s hand, from a thin ridge of hills
fringing the Tanganyika until they grew to the size given in Black¬
wood, and Jack gravely printed in the largest capitals, ‘This moun¬
tain range I consider to be the true Mountains of the Moon; * thus
men do geography, and thus discovery is stultified. The poor fellow
had got a beetle in his ear, which began like a rabbit at a hole to
dig violently at the tympanum, and maddened him. Neither
tobacco, salt, n >r oil could be found; he tried melted butter, and all
fading, he applied the point of a penknife to its back, and wounded
his ear so badiy that inflammation set in and affected his facial
glands, till he could not open his mouth, and had to feed on suction.
Six or seven months after, the beetle came away in the wax. At last
I got hold of Kannena the Chief, and after great difficulty and
enormous extortion, I promised him a rich reward if he kept his

192 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

word ; for I was resolved at all costs, even if we were reduced to
actual want, to visit the mysterious stream. I threw over his
shoulders a six-foot length of scarlet broadcloth, which made him
tremble with joy, and all the people concerned in my getting the
dhow received a great deal more than its worth. I secured two large
canoes and fifty-five men.

“ On the nth of April, at four in the morning, I slept comfortably
on the crest of a sand-wave, and under a mackintosh escaped the
pitiless storm, so as to be ready to start lest they should repent, and
at 7.20 on the 12th of April, 1858, my canoe, bearing for the first
time on those dark waters—

* The flag that braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze,’

stood out of Bangwe Bay, and, followed by Jack’s canoe, we made for
the cloudy and storm-vexed north. The best escort to a European
capable of communicating with and commanding them, would be a
small party of Arabs, fresh from Hazramaut, untaught in the ways
and tongues of Africa. They would save money to the explorer,
and also his life. There were great rejoicings at our arrival at
Uvira, the ne plus iiltra, the northernmost station to which mer¬
chants have as yet been admitted. Opposite still, rose in a high
broken line the mountains of the inhospitable Urundi, apparently
prolonged beyond the northern extremity of the waters. Some say
the voyage is of two days, some say six hours; the breadth of the
Tanganyika here is between seven and eight miles.

“ Now my hopes were rudely dashed to the ground. The stalwart
sons of the Sultan Maruta, the noblest type of Negroid seen near the
lake, visited me. They told me they had been there, and that the
Rusizi enters into and does not flow out of the Tanganyika. I felt
sick at heart. Bombay declared that Jack had misunderstood, and
his (Bombay’s) informer now owned that he had never been beyond
Uvira, and never intended to do so. We stopped there nine days,
and there I got such a severe ulceration of the tongue that I could
not articulate. An African traveller may be arrested at the very
bourne of his journey, on the very threshold of his success, by a
single stage, as effectually as if all the waves of the Atlantic or the
sands of Arabia lay between him and it. Now Maruta and his
young giants claimed their blackmail, and also Kannena, and I had
to pay up. Slaves are cheaper here than in the market of Ujiji.
Gales began to threaten, and the crews, fearing wind and water,
insisted on putting out to sea on the 6th of May.

“ We touched at various stages and anchored at Mzimu, our
former halting-place, where the crew swarmed up a ladder of rock,
and returned with pots of palm oil. We left again at sunset; the
waves began to rise, the wind also, and rain in torrents, and it was
a doubt whether the cockleshell craft could live through the short
chopping sea in heavy weather. The crew was frightened, but held
on gallantly, and Bombay, a noted Agnostic in fine weather, spent
the length of that wild night in reminiscences of prayer. I sheltered

Our Reward — Success.

193

myself under my then best friend, my mackintosh, and thought of
the couplet—

‘This collied night, these horrid waves, these gusts that sweep the whirling deep ;
What reck they of our evil plight, who on the shore securely sleep ? *

Fortunately the rain beat down the wind and sea, or nothing could
have saved us. The next morning Mabruki rushed into the tent,
thrust my sword into my hands, said the Warundi were upon us,
and that the crews were rushing to their boats and pushing them off.
Knowing that they would leave us stranded in case of danger, we
hurried in without delay; but presently no enemy appeared, and
Kannena, the Chief, persuaded them to re-land, and demand satis¬
faction of a drunken Chief who had badly wounded a man, and then
there was a general firing and drawing of daggers. The crew
immediately confiscated the three goats that were for our return,
cut their throats, and spitted the meat upon their spears. Thus
the lamb died and the wolf dined; the innocent suffered, the plun¬
derer was joyed; the strong showed his strength, the weak his
weakness—as usual. I saw the sufferer’s wounds washed, forbade
his friends to knead and wrench him as they were doing, and gave
him a purgative which did him good. On the second day he was
able to rise. This did not prevent the report at home that I had
killed the man.

“On the nth of May we paddled round to Wafanya Bay, to
Makimoni, a little grassy inlet, where our canoes were defended
from the heavy surf. On the 12th we went to Kyasanga, and the
next night we spent in Bangwe Bay. We were too proud to sneak
home in the dark; we deserved the Victoria Cross, we were heroes,
braves of braves; we wanted to be looked at by the fair, to be
howled at by the valiant.

“On the 13th of May we appeared at the entrance of Kawele,
and had a triumphal entrance ; the people of the whole country-side
collected to welcome us, and pressed waist-deep into the water.
Jack and I were repeatedly * called for,’ but true merit is always
modest; it aspires to 4 Honour, not honours.’* We regained the
old tembe , were salaamed to by everybody, and felt like a ‘return
home.’ We had expended upwards of a month boating about the
Tanganyika Lake. All the way down, we were like baited bears,
mobbed every moment; they seemed to devour us; in an ecstasy of
curiosity they shifted from Jack to me, and back again, like the
well-known ass between the bundles of hay. Our health palpably
improved. Jack was still deaf, but cured of his blindness; the
ulcerated mouth, which had compelled me to live on milk for
seventeen days, returned to its usual state, my strength increased,
my feet were still swollen, but my hands lost their numbness, and I
could again read and write. I attribute the change from the days

* This was Richard’s favourite and self-composed motto, and Chinese Gordon
quoted it in every letter he wrote him to the last day of his life, with a word of
congratulation as to its happy choice.—I. B,

194 77 ^ Life of Sir Richard Burton .

and nights spent in the canoe, and upon the mud of the lake.
Mind also acted upon matter; the object of my Mission was now
effected, and I threw off the burden of grinding care, with which
the imminent prospect of a failure had before sorely laden me.”

Although Richard did not get the meed of success in England, and
it has taken the world thirty-four years to realize the grandeur of
that Exploration, he was the Pioneer (without money, without food,
without men or proper escort, without the bare necessaries of life,
to dare and do, in spite of every obstacle, and every crushing thing,
bodily and mentally) who opened up that country. It is to him
that later followers, that Grant and Speke, and Baker and Stanley,
Cameron, and all the other men that have ever followed, owe it,
that he opened the oyster-shell for them, and they went in to take
the pearl. I do not want to detract from any other traveller’s merits,
for they are all brave and great, but I will say that if Richard
Burton had had Mr. Stanley’s money, escort, luxuries, porterage, and
white comrades, backed by influence, there would not have been
one single white spot on the whole map of the great Continent of
Africa that would not have been filled up. Owing to shameful
intrigues (which prospered none of the doers, but injured him, the
man who did all this), he got very few words of praise, and that
from a few, yet the World owes it to him now that there are Missions
and Schools and Churches, and Commerce, and peaceful Settle¬
ments, and that anybody can go there. To him you owe ‘‘Tanga¬
nyika in a Bath-Chair;” but Speke got the cheering of the gallery
and the pit, and Stanley inherited them. And here I insert the
innocent joy-bells of his own heart, as I found them scribbled on
the edge of his private journal, and anybody thinking of what he
had done and what he had passed through, can warmly enter into
his feelings of self-gratulation, so modestly hidden—

“ I have built me a monument stronger than brass,

And higher than the Pyramids’ regal site ;

Nor the bitterness shown, nor the impotent wind,

Nor the years’ long line, nor the ages’ flight

Shall e’en lay low 1

“ Not all shall I perish ; much of me

Shall vanquish the grave, and be living still
When Mr. Macaulay’s Zealanders view
The ivied ruin on Tower Hill,

And men shall know

M That when Isis hung, in the youth of Time,

Her veil mysterious over the land,

And defied mankind and men’s puny will,

All that lay in the shadow, my daring hand

Was first to show.

Our Reward — Success .

195

64 Then rejoice thee, superb in the triumph of mind,

And the Delphian bay-leaf, O sweet Muse, bind

Around my brow ! ”

“ The rainy monsoon broke up after our return to Kawele. The
climate became truly enjoyable, but it did not prevent the strange
inexplicable melancholy which accompanies all travellers in tropical
countries. Nature is beautiful in all that meets the eye; all is soft
that affects the senses ; but she is a syren whose pleasures pall, and
one sighs for the rare simplicity of the desert. I never felt this
sadness in Egypt and Arabia; I was never without it in India and
Zanzibar. We got not one single word from the agents who were
to forward our things, and Want began to stare us in the face. We
had to engage porters for the hammocks, to feed seventy-five
mouths, to fee several Sultans, and to incur the heavy expenses of
two hundred and sixty miles’ march back to Unyanyembe, so I had
to supplement with my own little patrimony. One thousand pounds
does not go very far, when it has to be divided amongst a couple
of hundred greedy savages in two and a half years. On the 22nd of
May musket-shots announced arrivals, and after a dead silence of
eleven months arrived a Caravan with boxes, bales, porters, slaves,
and a parcel of papers and letters from Europe, India, and Zanzibar.
Here we first knew of the Indian Mutiny. This good fortune
happened at a crisis when it was really wanted, but as my agent
could find no porters for the packages, he had kept back some,
and what he had sent me, were the worst. They would take us to
Unyamyembe, but were wholly inadequate for exploring the southern
end of the Tanganyika, far less for returning to Zanzibar, via the
Nyassa Lake and Kilwa, as I hoped to do.

“At the time I write, the Tanganyika, though situated in the
unexplored centre of intertropical Africa, and until 1858 unvisited by
any European, has a traditionary history of its own, extending over
three centuries. The Tanganyika, 250 miles in length, occupies
the centre of the length of the African continent. The general
formation suggests the idea of a volcanic depression, while the
Nyanza is a vast reservoir formed by the drainage of the mountains.
The lay is almost due north and south, and the form a long oval
widening at the centre, and contracting at the extremities; the breadth
varies from thirty to thirty-five miles, the circumference about 550
miles, and the superficial area covers about 5000 square miles. By
the thermometers we had with us, the altitude was 850 feet above
sea-level, and about 2000 feet below the Nyanza or Northern Lake,
with high hill ranges between the lakes, which precluded a possibility
of a connection between the waters. The parallel of the northern
extremity of the Tanganyika nearly corresponds with the southern
creek of the Nyanza, and they are separated by an arc of the
meridian of about three hundred and forty-three miles. The waters
of the Nyanza are superior to those of Tanganyika. The Tanganyika
has a clear soft blue, like the ultramarine of the Mediterranean, with
the light and milky tints of tropical seas. I believe that the Tanga-

ig 6 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

nyika receives and absorbs the whole river system, the network of
streams, nullahs, and torrents of that portion of the Central African
Depression, whose watershed converges towards the great reservoir.
I think that the Tanganyika, like the Dead Sea, as a reservoir,
supplies with humidity the winds which have parted with their
moisture in the barren and arid regions of the south, and maintains
its general level by the exact balance of supply and evaporation, and
I think it possible that the saline particles deposited in its waters may
be wanting in some constituent, which renders them evident to the
taste; hence the freshness.

“ According to the Wajiji, from their country to the Marungii river,
which enters the lake at the south , there are twelve stages, number¬
ing one hundred and twenty stations, but at most of them provisions
are not procurable, and there are sixteen tribes and districts. The
people of Usige, no?'th of the Tanganyika, say that six rivers fall into
the Tanganyika from the east , and westernmost is the Rusizi, and that
it is an influent.

“ The Chief Kazembe is like a viceroy of the country lying south¬
west of the Tanganyika, and was first visited by Dr. Lacerda,
Governor of the Rios de Sena, in 1798-99. He died, and his
party remained nine months in the country, without recording the
name and position of this African capital. A second expedition
went in 1831, and the present Chief was the grandson of Dr.
Lacerda’s Kazembe. He is a very great personage in these parts,
and many Arabs are said to be living with him in high esteem.
Marungii, though dangerous, was visited by a party of Arab
merchants in 1842, who assisted Simd in an expedition against a
rival. He compelled the merchants to remain with him; they had
found means of sending letters to their friends, they are unable to
leave the country, but they are living in high favour with the
Kazembe who enriched them. Of course there are people who
doubt their good fortune. I collect my details from a mass of Arab
oral geography.

“ The 26th of May, 1858, was the day appointed for our departure
en route for Unyamyembe. Kannena had been drunk for a fortnight,
and was attacked by the Watuta, and fled. I heard of him no more.
He showed no pity for the homeless stranger—may the World show
none to him ! I shall long remember my last sunrise look at Tanga¬
nyika, enhanced by the reflection that I might never again behold it.
Masses of brown purple clouds covered the sunrise. The mists,
luminously fringed with Tyrian purple, were cut by filmy rays, and
the internal living fire shot forth broad beams like the spokes of a
huge aerial wheel, rolling a flood of gold over the light blue waters of
the lake, and a soft breeze, the breath of morn, awoke the waters
into life.

“ The followers were very tiresome, mutinous, and inconsequent
in their anxiety to escape from Kannena and the fighting Watuta.
So, desiring the headman to precede me with a headstrong gang to
the first stage, and to send back men to carry my hammock and
remove a few loose loads, I breakfasted, and waited alone till the after-

Cur Reward — Success.

197

noon in tie empty and deserted tetnbe; but no one came back, and the
utter misery depicted in the countenance of the Beloch induced me
to mount my manchil , and to set out carried by only two men. As
the shades of evening closed around us we reached the ferry of the
Ruche river, and we found no camp. The mosquitoes were like
wasps, and the hippopotamus bellowed, snorted, and grunted; the
roars of the crocodiles made the party miserable, as the porters
waded through water waist-deep, and crept across plains of mud,
mire, and sea-ooze. As it was too dark and dangerous to continue
the march, and that, had I permitted, they would have wandered
through the outer gloom, without fixed purpose, till permanently
bogged, I called a halt, and we snatched, under a resplendent moon
and a dev/ that soaked through the blankets, a few hours of sleep.
We were destitute of tobacco and food, and when the dawn broke,
I awoke and found myself alone; they had all fled and left me.
About two p.m., some of them came back to fetch me; but they
were so impertinent, ordering me to endure the midday heat and
labour, that I turned them out, and told them to send back their
master, Said bin Salim, in the evening or the next morning. Ac¬
cordingly, the next morning, the 28th of May, at nine o’clock,
appeared Said, the Jemadar, and a full gang of bearers. He was
impertinent too, but I soon silenced him, and then we advanced till
evening : for having tricked me he lost two days. Later on, a porter
placed his burden upon the ground and levanted, and being cognac
and vinegar, it was deeply regretted. Then the Unyamwczi guide
(because his newly purchased slave-girl had become footsore and
was unable to advance) cut off her head, lest out of his evil should
come good to another. The bull-headed Mabruki bought a little
slave of six years old. He trotted manfully alongside the porters,
bore his burden of hide bed and water gourd upon his tiny shoulders.
At first Mabruki was like a girl with a new doll, but when the
novelty wore off, the poor little devil was so savagely beaten that
I had to take him under my own protection. All these disagree¬
ables I was obliged to smooth down, because a traveller who
cannot utilize the raw material that comes to his hand, will make
but little progress. Their dread of the Wavinza increased as they
again approached the Malagarizi ferry. Here there are magnificent
spectacles of conflagration.

“ A sheet of flame, beginning with the size of a spark, overspreads
the hillside, advancing on the wings of the wind with the roaring
rushing sound of many hosts where the grass lay thick, shooting
huge forky tongues high into the dark air, where tall trees, the
patriarchs of the forest, yielded their lives to the blast, smouldering
and darkening, as if about to be quenched, where the rock afforded
scanty fuel, then flickering, blazing up and soaring again till, topping
the brow of the hill, the sheet became a thin line of fire, and gradu¬
ally vanished from the view, leaving its reflection upon the canopy
of lurid smoke studded with sparks and bits of live braise, which
marked its descent on the other side of the buttress.

“ We were treated with cruel extortion at the crossing of the

198 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Malagarazi, but the armies of ants, and an earthquake at 11.15 a.m.
on the 4th of June, which induced us to consent, was considered a
bad omen by my party. They took seven hours to transport us,
and at four p.m. we found ourselves, with hearts relieved of a heavy
load, once more at Ugogi, on the left bank of the river. Fortunately
I arrived just in time to prevent Jack from buying a little pig for
which he was in treaty, otherwise we should have lost our good
name amongst the Moslem population. On the 8th of June we
emerged from the inhospitable Uvinza into neutral ground, where
we were pronounced * out of danger.’ The next day, when in the
meridian of Usagozi, we were admitted for the first time to the
comforts of a village. /

“On the 17th of June, in spite of desertions, we came to Irora^
the village of Salim bin Salih, who received us very hospitably. Here
we saw the blue hills of Unyanyembe, our destination. Next day we
got to Yombo, where we met some of our things coming up by the
coast, sent by the Consul of France—the French do things smartly
—and a second packet of letters. Every one had lost some friend
or relation near and dear to him. My father had died on the 6th
of last September, afrer a six weeks’ illness, at Bath, and was buried
on the 10th, and I only knew it on the 18th of June—the following
year. Such tidings are severely felt by the wanderer who, living
long behind the world, is unable to mark its gradual changes, lulls
(by dwelling upon the past) apprehension into a belief that his home
has known no loss, and who expectsag ain to meet each old familiar
face ready to smile upon his return, as it was to weep at his departure.

“ We collected porters at Yombo, passed Zimbili, the village of
our former miseries, and re-entered Kazeh, where we were warmly
welcomed by our hospitable Snay bin Amir, who had prepared his
house and everything grateful to starving travellers. Our return
from Ujiji to Unyanyembe had been accomplished in twenty-two
stations, two hundred and sixty-five miles. After a day’s repose, all the
Arab merchants called upon me, and I had the satisfaction of finding
that my last order on Zanzibar for four hundred dollars’ worth of
cloth and beads had arrived, and I also recovered the lost table and
chair which the slaves had abandoned.

“ During the first week following the march, we all paid the penalty
of the toilsome trudge through a perilous jungly country in the
deadly season of the year, when the waters are drying up under a
fiery sun, and a violent vent de bise from the east pours through the
tepid air like cold water into a warm bath. I again got swelling and
numbness of the extremities; Jack was a martyr to deafness and dim¬
ness of sight, which prevented him from reading, writing, and observ¬
ing correctly; the Goanese were down with fever, severe rheu¬
matism, and liver pains; Valentine got tertian type, and was so
long insensible that I resolved to try the tinctura Warburgii. Oh,
Doctor Warburg! true apothecary ! we all owe you a humble tribute
of gratitude ; let no traveller be without you. The result was mira¬
culous ; the paroxysms did not return, the painful sickness at once
ceased ; from a death-like lethargy, sweet childish sleep again visited

Our Reward — Success .

199

nis aching eyes; chief boon of all, the corroding thirst gave way to
appetite, followed by digestion. We all progressed towards conva¬
lescence, and in my case, stronger than any physical relief, was the
moral effect of Success and the cessation of ghastly doubts and fears,
and the terrible wear and tear of mind. I felt the proud conscious¬
ness of having done my best, under conditions, from beginning to
end, the worst and most unpromising, and that whatever future evils
Fate might have in store for me, it could not rob me of the meed
won by the hardships and sufferings of the past.

“ I had not given up the project of returning to the seaboard vid
Kilwa. As has already been mentioned, the merchants had detailed
to me, during my first halt here, their discovery of a large lake,
lying about sixteen marches to the north; and, from their descriptions
and bearings, Jack laid down the water in a hand-map, and forwarded
it to the Royal Geographical Society. All agreed in claiming for it
superiority of size over the Tanganyika, and I saw that, if we could
prove this, much would be cleared up. Jack was in a much fitter state
of health to go. There was no need for two of us going, and I was
afraid to leave him behind at Kdzeh. It is very difficult to associate
with Arabs as one of themselves. Jack was an Anglo-Indian, with¬
out any knowledge of Eastern manners and customs and religion,
and of any Oriental language beyond broken Hindostanee. Now,
Anglo-Indians, as everybody knows, often take offence without
reason ; they expect civility as their due , they treat all skins a shade
darker than their own as ‘ niggers,’ and Arabs are, or can be, the
most courteous gentlemen, and exceedingly punctilious.*

“Jack did not afterwards represent this fairlyin Blackwood , October,
1859. He said I‘was most unfortunately quite done up, and most
graciously consented to wait with the Arabs and recruit my health ; *
but in July, 1858, writing on the spot, he wrote, ‘ To diminish the
disappointment caused by the shortcoming of our cloth, and in not
seeing the whole of the Sea of Ujiji, I have proposed to take a flying
trip to the unknown lake, while Captain Burton prepares for our
return homewards.’ Said bin Salim did all he could to thwart the
project, and Jack threatened him with the forfeiture of his reward
after he returned to Zanzibar. Indeed, he told him it was already
forfeited. He said ‘ he should certainly recommend the Government
not to pay the gratuity , which the Consul had promised on condition
that he worked entirely for our satisfaction , in assisting the expeditio?i
to carry out the arranged plansl How Jack reconciled himself to
misrepresent my conduct about the payment on reaching home, will
never be understood.

* The Arabs always gave Richard the most courteous and cordial reception,
treating him practically as one of themselves. They could not be expected to think
so much of Speke, because he did not know their language or their religion, and
he always treated them as an Anglo-Indian treats a nigger. He was burning to
escape from Kazeh, and the society of an utterly idle man to one incessantly
occupied is always a drawback, and Richard, whose stronger constitution had
enabled him to bear up at first with greater success, was gradually but surely
succumbing to the awful African climate.—I. B.

200 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

“ Our followers were to receive certain pay in any case , which they
did receive, and a reward in case they behaved well; our asses,
thirty-six in number, all died or were lost; our porters ran away ;
our goods were left behind and stolen ; specimens of the fine
poultry of Unyamwezi, intended to be naturalized in England, were
bumped to death in the cases; our black escort were so unmanage¬
able as to require dismissal; the weakness of our party invited
attacks, and our wretched Beloch deserted us in the jungle, and
throughout were the cause of an infinity of trouble. Jack agreed
with me thoroughly, that it would be an act of weakness to pay the
reward of ill-conduct; instead of putting it down to generosity, they
would have put it down to fear, and they would have played the
devil with every future traveller; yet he used this afterwards as a
means to procure the Command of the next Expedition for himself,
and pointed it at me as a disgrace.

“ By dint of severe exertion, Jack was able to leave Kdzeh on the
ioth of July. These northern kingdoms were Kardgwah, Uganda,
and Unyoro. The Mkama , or Sultan, of Kardgwah was Armanika,
son of Ndagara, who was a very great man. He is an absolute
Ruler, and governs without squeamishness. He receives the traveller
with courtesy, he demands no blackmail, but you are valued accord¬
ing to your gifts. A European would be received with great kind¬
ness, but only a rich man could support the dignity of the white
face. Corpulence is a beauty. Girls are fattened to a vast bulk
by drenches of curds and cream, thickened with flour, and are beaten
when they refuse, and they grow an enormous size.

“ From the Kitangure river, fifteen stations conduct the traveller to
Kibuga, the capital of Uganda, the residence of its powerful despot,
Suna. The Chief of Uganda has but two wants, with which he troubles
his visitors. One is a medicine against Death, the other a charm
to avert thunderbolts, and immense wealth would reward the man
who would give him either of these two things. The army of Uganda
numbers three hundred thousand men ; each brings an egg to muster,
and thus something like a reckoning of the people is made. Each
soldier carries one spear, two assegais, a long dagger, and a shield ;
bows and swords are unknown. The women and children accom¬
pany, carrying spare weapons, provisions, and water. They fight to
the sound of drums, which are beaten with sticks like ours; should
this performance cease, all fly the field.

“ Suna, when last visited by the Arabs, was a red man, of about
forty-five, tall, robust, powerful of limb, with a right kingly presence,
a warrior carriage, and a fierce and formidable aspect. He always
carried his spear, and wore a long piece of bark-cloth from neck to
ground; he makes over to his women the rich clothes presented by
the Arabs. He has a variety of names, all expressing something
terrible, bitter, and mighty. He used to shock the Arabs by his
natural, unaffected impiety. He boasted to them that he was the
God of earth, as their Allah was the Lord of heaven. He mur¬
mured loudly against the abuse of lightning, and claimed from his
subjects divine honours, such as the facile Romans yielded to their

Our Reward — Success .

201

Emperors. His sons, numbering more than a hundred, were con¬
fined in dungeons; the heir elect was dragged from his chains to
fill a throne, and the cadets linger through their dreadful lives till
death releases them. His female children were kept under the
most rigid surveillance within the palace; but he had one favourite
daughter, named Nasurii, whose society was so necessary to him, that
he allowed her to appear with him in public.

“ Suna encouraged, by gifts and attentions, the Arab merchants to
trade in his capital, but the distance has prevented more than half a
dozen caravans from reaching him ; yet all loudly praised his courtesy
and hospitality. My friend Snay Bin Amir paid him a visit in 1852.
He was received in the audience hall, outside which were two
thousand guards, armed only with staves. He was allowed to retain
his weapons. He saluted the Chief, who motioned his guest to sit in
front of him. Two spears were close to his hand. He has a large
and favourite dog, resembling an Arab greyhound. The dog was,
and is always, by his side. The ministers and the women were also
present, but placed so that they could only see the visitor’s back.
He was eager of news. When the despot rose, all dispersed. At
the second visit, Snay presented his blackmail, and it was intimated
to the ‘ King’s Stranger ’ that he might lay hands upon whatever
he pleased, animate or inanimate \ but Snay was too wise to avail
himself of this privilege. There were four interviews, in which Suna
inquired much about the Europeans, and was anxious for a close
alliance with the Sultan of Zanzibar. He treated Snay very gene¬
rously ; but Snay, when he could without offence, respectfully de¬
clined things. Like all African Chiefs, the despot considered these
visits as personal honours paid to himself. It would depend, how¬
ever, upon his ingenuity and good fortune whether a traveller would
be allowed to explore further, and perhaps the best way would
have been to buy or to build boats upon the nearest western shore,
with Suna’s permission. During Jack’s absence, I collected speci¬
mens of the multitudinous dialects. Kisawahili, or coast language,
into which the great South African family here divides itself, is the
most useful, because most generally known, and, once mastered, it
renders the rest easy. With the aid of the slaves, I collected about
five hundred words in the three principal dialects upon this line of
road—the Kisawahili, the Kizaramo, which included the Kik’hutu,
and the Kinyamwezi. It was very difficult, for they always used to
answer me, ‘ Verily in the coast tongue, words never take root, nor
do they ever bear branches.’ The rest of my time was devoted to
preparation for journeying, and absolute work—tailoring, sail-making,
umbrella-mending, etc.

“ On the 14th of July the last Arab Caravan left Unyanyembe, under
the command of Sayf bin Said el Wardi. He offered to convey letters
and anything else, and I forwarded the useless surveying instruments,
manuscripts, maps, field and sketch books, and reports to the Royal
Geographical Society. This excitement over, I began to weary ol
Kizeh.

202

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Differences begin between Speke and Richard.

“ Already I was preparing to organize a little expedition to K’hokoro
and the southern provinces, when unexpectedly—in these lands a
few cries and gun-shots are the only credible precursors of a Caravan
—on the morning of the 25 th of August reappeared Jack.

“At length Jack had been successful. His ‘flying trip’ had led
him to the northern water, and he had found its dimensions sur¬
passing our most sanguine expectations. We had scarcely, however,
breakfasted before he announced to me the startling fact that ‘he
had discovered the sources of the White Nile.’ It was an inspiration
perhaps. The moment he sighted the Nyanza, he felt at once no
doubt but that the ‘ lake at his feet gave birth to that interesting
river, which has been the subject of so much speculation and the
object of so many explorers.’ The fortunate discoverer’s conviction
was strong. His reasons were weak, were of the category alluded
to by the damsel Lucetta, when justifying her penchant in favour of
the ‘ lovely gentleman,’ Sir Proteus—

‘ I have no other but a woman’s reason—

I think him so because I think him so ; ’

and probably his Sources of the Nile grew in his mind as his
Mountains of the Moon had grown under his hand.

“ His main argument in favour of the lake representing the great
reservoir of the White Nile was that the ‘principal men’ at the
southern extremity ignored the extent northward. ‘ On my inquiring
about the lake’s length,’ said Jack, ‘ the man (the greatest traveller in
the place) faced to the north, and began nodding his head to it. At
the same time he kept throwing forward his right hand, and making
repeated snaps of his fingers, endeavouring to indicate something
immeasurable ; and added that nobody knew, but he thought it
probably extended to the end of the world.’ Strongly impressed
by this valuable statistical information, Jack therefore placed the
northern limit about 4 0 to 5 0 N. lat., whereas the Egyptian Expedition
sent by the late Mohammed Ali Pacha, about twenty years ago, to
explore the coy Sources, reached 3 0 22' N. lat. The expedition
therefore ought to have sailed fifty miles upon the Nyanza Lake.
On the contrary, from information derived on the spot, that
expedition placed the fountains at one month’s journey—three
hundred to three hundred and fifty miles—to the south-east, or
upon the northern counterslope of Mount Kenia.

“ Whilst marching to the coast, Jack—he tells us—was assured
by a ‘ respectable Sawahili merchant that when engaged in traffic,
some years previously, to the northward of the Line and the west¬
ward of this lake, he had heard it commonly reported that large
vessels frequented the northern extremity of these waters, in which
the officers engaged in navigating them used sextants and kept a log,
precisely similar to what is found in vessels on the ocean. Query,
Could this be in allusion to the expedition sent by Mohammed Ali
up the Nile in former years ? ’ (. Proceedings of the Royal Geographical

Our Reward — Success.

203

Society , May 9, 1859). Clearly, if Abdullah bin Nasib, the Msawahili
alluded to, had reported these words, he merely erred. The
Egyptian Expedition, as has been shown, not only did not find,
they never even heard of a lake. But not being present at the
conversation, besides the geographical difficulties which any scientific
geographer could see at a glance, I am tempted to assign further
explanation. Jack, wholly ignorant of Arabic, was obliged to
depend upon ‘ Bombay.’ Bombay misunderstood Jack’s bad Hin-
dostani. He then mistranslated the words in Kisawahili to the best
African, who, in his turn, passed it on in a still wilder dialect to the
noble savages who were under cross-examination. My experience is
that words in journeys to and fro are liable to the severest accidents
and have often bad consequences, and now I felt that an influent
of the Nyanza was described as an ejfluent, and the real original
and only genuine White Nile would remain thus described for
years to our shame, and it is easy to see how the blunder originated.

“ The Arabic bahr and the Kisawahili bahari are equally applicable,
in vulgar parlance, to a river or sea, a lake or river. Traditions
concerning a Western sea—the to them now unknown Atlantic—
over which the white men voyage, are familiar to many East Africans;
I have heard at Harar precisely the same report concerning the log
and sextants. Either, then, Abdullah bin Nasib confounded, or
Jack’s ‘ interrupter ’ caused him to confound, the Atlantic and the
lake. In the maps forwarded from Kdzeh by Jack, the river Kivira
was, after ample inquiry, made a western influent of the Nyanza
Lake. In the map appended to the paper in • Blackwood , before
alluded to, it has become an ejflue 7 it , and the only minute concerning
so very important a modification is, ‘This river (although I must
confess at first I did not think so) is the Nile itself.’

“ Beyond the assertion, therefore, that no man had visited the
north, and the appearance of ‘sextants’ and ‘logs’ upon the
waters, there is not a shade of proof pro. Far graver considerations
lie on the con side ; the reports of the Egyptian Expedition, and the
dates of the several inundations which—as will presently appear—
alone suffice to disprove the possibility of the Nyanza causing the
flood of the Nile. It is doubtless a satisfactory thing to disclose
to an admiring public of ‘ Statesmen, Churchmen, Missionaries,
Merchants, and more particularly Geographers,’ the ‘ solution of
a problem, which it had been the first geographical desideratum of
many thousand years to ascertain, and the ambition of the first
Monarchs in the World to unravel’ (. Blackwood's Magazine,
October, 1859). But how many times since the days of a certain
Claudius Ptolemaeius, surnamed Pelusiota, have not the fountains
of the White Nile been discovered and re-discovered after this
fashion ?

“ What tended at the time to make me the more sceptical, was the
substantial incorrectness of the geographical and other details
brought back by Jack. This was natural enough. The first thing
reported to me was ‘ the falsehood of the Arabs at Kazeh, who
had calumniated the good Sultan Muhayya, and had praised

204 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

the bad Sultan Machunda:’ subsequent inquiries proved their
rigid correctness. Jack’s principal informant was one Mansur
bin Salim, a half-caste Arab, who had been flogged out of Kazeh,
by his compatriots; he pronounced Muhayya to be a ‘ very excel¬
lent and obliging person,’ and of course he was believed. I
then heard a detailed account ‘of how the Caravan of Salim bin
Rashid had been attacked, beaten, captured, and detained at
Ukerewe, by its Sultan Machunda.’ The Arabs received the
intelligence with a smile of ridicule, and in a few days Salim bin
Rashid appeared in person to disprove the report. These are
but two cases of many . And what knowledge of Asiatic customs
can be expected from the writer of the following lines?—‘The
Arabs at Unyanyembe had advised my donning their habit for
the trip in order to attract less attention; a vain precaution, which
I believe they suggested more to gratify their own vanity in seeing
an Englishman lower hi?nself to their position (?), than for any
benefit that I might receive by doing so ’ ( Blackzvood , loco cit.).
This galamatias of the Arabs! the haughtiest and the most clannish
of all Oriental peoples.

“Jack changed his manners to me from this date. His differ¬
ence of opinion was allowed to alter companionship. After a
few days it became evident to me that not a word could be uttered
upon the subject of the lake, the Nile, and his trouvaille gener¬
ally without offence. By a tacit agreement it was, therefore,
avoided, and I should never have resumed it, had Jack not stulti¬
fied the results of my expedition by putting forth a claim which
no geographer can admit, and which is at the same time so weak
and flimsy, that no geographer has yet taken the trouble to con¬
tradict it.

“Now, for the first time, although I had pursued my journey
under great provocations from time to time, I never realized
what an injury I had done the Expedition publicly, as well as
myself, by not travelling alone, or with Arab companions, or at
least with a less crooked-minded, cantankerous Englishman. He
is energetic, he is courageous and persevering. He distinguished
himself in the Punjaub Campaign. I first found him in Aden
with a three years’ furlough. Elis heart was set on spending two
years of his leave in collecting animals north of the Line in
Africa. He never thought in any way of the Nile, and he was
astonished at my views, which he deemed impracticable. He
had no qualifications for the excursion that he proposed to him¬
self, except that of being a good sportsman. He was ignorant
of the native races in Africa, he had brought with him about
^400 worth of cheap and useless guns and revolvers, swords
and cutlery, beads and cloth, which the Africans would have
rejected with disdain. He did not know any of the manners
and customs of the East; he did not know any language except
a little Anglo-Hindostani; he did not even know the names of

Our Reward — Success .

205

the Coast Towns. I saw him engage, as protectors or Abbans,
any Somali donkey-boys who could speak a little English. I
saw that he was going to lose his money and his ‘ leave ’ and his
life. Why should I have cared ? I do not know; but as ‘ virtue
is really its own reward/ I did so, and have got a slap in the
face, which I suppose I deserve. I first took him to Somali¬
land ; then I applied officially for him, and thus saved his fur¬
lough and his money by putting him on full service. You
would now think, to see his conduct, that the case was reversed
—that he had taken me, not I him; whereas I can confidently
say that, except his shooting and his rags of Anglo-Hindostani,
I have taught him everything he knows. He had suffered in
purse and person at Berberah, and though he does not know
French or Arabic, though he is not a man of science, nor an
acute astronomical observer, I thought it only just to offer him
the opportunity of accompanying me as second in command
into Africa. He quite understood that it was in a subordinate
capacity, as we should have to travel amongst Arabs, Belochs,
and Africans, whose language he did not know. The Court of
Directors refused me, but I obtained it by an application to the
Local Authorities at Bombay. He knew by experience in Somali¬
land what travelling with ?ne meant, and yet he was only too glad
to come.

“ I have also done more than Jack in the cause. The Royal
Geographical Society only allowed us ^1000, and sooner than fail
I have sacrificed a part of the little patrimony I inherited, and
my reward is, that I and my expenditure, and the cause for which I
nave sacrificed everything, are made ridiculous.”

Our Return.

“ At Kazeh, to my great disappointment, it was settled, in a full
Arab conclave, that we must return to the coast by the path with
which we were painfully familiar. It was only the state of our
finances which prevented us, whilst at Ujiji, from navigating the
Tanganyika southwards and arriving, after a journey of three months,
at Kilwa. That and ‘ leave ’ prevented us from going to Karigwah
and Uganda. The rains, which rendered travelling impossible, set
in about September; our two years’ leave of absence were drawing
to a close, and we were afraid to risk it, but we meant to return
and do these things, tracing the course of the Rufiji river (Rwaha)
and visiting the coast between the Usagdra Mountains and Kilwa, an
unknown line.

206 The Life of Sir Richard Burton

“ Musa Mzuri returned with great pomp to Kazeh; he is
between forty-five and fifty, tall, gaunt, with delicate extremities,
and the regular handsome features of a high-caste Indian
Moslem. He is sad and staid, wears a snowy skull-cap, and
well-fitting sandals. His abode is a village in size, with lofty
gates, spacious courts, full of slaves and hangers-on, a great con¬
trast to the humility of the Semite tenements. His son knew
a little English, but he had learnt no Hindostani from his
father, who, though expatriated for thirty-five years, spoke his
mother tongue purely and well. Musa was a man of quiet,
unaffected manner, dashed with a little Indian reserve. One
Salim bin Rashid, while collecting ivory to the eastward of the
Nyanza Lake, had recovered a Msawahili porter, who, having
fallen sick on the road, had been left by a Caravan amongst
the wildest of the East African tribes, the Wahuma (the
Wamasai). From this man, who spent two years amongst these
plunderers and their rivals in villany, the Warudi, I gained
most valuable information. I also was called upon by Amayr
bin Said el Shaksi, a strong-framed, stout-hearted Arab, who,
when his vessel foundered in the Tanganyika, swam for his
life, and lived for five months on roots and grasses, until
restored to Ujiji by an Arab canoe. He spent many hours a
day with me—he gave me immense information; and Hilal bin
Nasur, a well-born Harisi returned from K’hokoro, also gave me
most valuable facts.

“ It is needless to say that, with all our economy and care,
we arrived at the coast destitute. The hospitable Snay bin
Amir came personally, although only a convalescent, to super¬
intend our departure, provided us with his own slaves and a
charming Arab breakfast; he spent the whole of that day with
us, and followed us out of the compound through a white-
hot sun and a chilling wind; nay, he did more—he followed
us to our next station with Musa, and he helped us to put
the finishing touches to the journals. I thanked these kind-
hearted men for their many good deeds and services, and
promised to report to H.H. the Sayyid Majid the hospitable
reception of his subjects generally, and of Snay and Musa
in particular. In the evening we took a most affecting fare¬
well. On the 4th of October, insufficiency of porterage com¬
pelled me to send back men for articles left by them at
several of the villages, and we at last reached Hanga, our
former quarters. Desertions were rife, and so were quarrels,
in which I was always begged to take an active part, but ex¬
perience amongst the Bashi-Bazouks in the Dardanelles taught
me better.

Our Reward — Success.

207

Little Irons.

“At Hanga, Jack had been chilled on the march from the cruel
easterly wind, and at the second march he had ague. At Hanga
we were lodged in a foul cowhouse full of vermin, and exposed to
the fury of the gales. He had a deaf ear, an inflamed eye, and a
swollen face, but worst of all was a mysterious pain, which shifted—
he could not say whether it was liver or spleen. It began with a
burning sensation as by a branding iron above the right breast, and
then extended to the heart with sharp twinges. It then ranged
round the spleen, attacked the upper part of the right lung, and
finally settled in the liver.

“ On the 10th of October, at dawn, he woke with a horrible dream
of tigers, leopards, and other beasts, harnessed with a network of
iron hooks, dragging him, like the rush of a whirlwind, over the
ground. He sat up on the side of his bed, forcibly clasping both
sides with his hands. Half stupefied by pain, he called to Bombay ’
who had formerly suffered from this kichyomachyoma , ‘the little
irons,’ who put him in the position a man must lie in, who gets this
attack. The next spasm was less severe, but he began to wander.
In twenty-four hours, supported by two men, he staggered towards
the tent to a chair; but the spasms returning, he was assisted back
into the house, where he had a third fit of epileptic description, like
hydrophobia. Again he was haunted by crowds of devils, giants,
lion-headed demons, who were wrenching with superhuman force,
and stripping the sinews and tendons of his legs down to his ankles.
With limbs racked by cramps, features drawn and ghastly, frame
fixed and rigid, eyes glazed and glassy, he began to bark with a
peculiar chopping motion of the mouth and tongue, with lips pro¬
truding, the effect of difficulty of breathing, which so altered his
appearance that he was not recognizable, and terrified all beholders.
When the third and severest spasm had passed away, and he could
speak, he called for pen and paper, and wrote an incoherent letter
of farewell to his family. That was the crisis. I never left him, taking
all possible precautions, never letting him move without my assist¬
ance, and always having a resting-place prepared for him ; but for
some weeks he had to sleep in a half sitting-up position, pillow-
propped, and he could not lie upon his side. Although the pains
were mitigated, they did not entirely cease; this he expressed by
saying, “ Dick, the knives are sheathed ! ’

“ During Jack’s delirium he let out all his little grievances of fancied
wrongs, of which I had not had even the remotest idea. He was
vexed that his diary (which I had edited so carefully, and put into
the Appendix of ‘ First Footsteps in Eastern Africa ’) had not been
printed as he wrote it—geographical blunders and all; also because
he had not been paid for it, I having lost money over the book

208 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

myself. He asked me to send his collections to the Calcutta
Museum of Natural History; now he was hurt because I had done
so. He was awfully grieved because in the thick of the fight at
Berberah, three years before, I had said to him, ‘ Don’t step back,
or they will think we are running.’ I cannot tell how many more
things I had unconsciously done, and I crowned it by not accepting
immediately his loud assertion that he had discovered the Sources
of the Nile; and I never should have known that he was pondering
these things in his heart, if he had not raved them out in delirium.
I only noticed that his alacrity had vanished; that he was never
contented with any arrangement; that he left all the management to
me, and that then he complained that he had never been consulted;
that he quarrelled with our followers, and got himself insulted; and,
previously to our journey, having been unaccustomed to sickness, he
neither could endure it himself, nor feel for it in others. He took
pleasure in saying unkind, unpleasant things, and said he could not
take an interest in any exploration if he did not command it.

“These illnesses are the effects of fever, and a mysterious mani¬
festation of miasma in certain latitudes; for in some tracts we were
perfectly well, in other tracts we were mortally sick, and the changes
were instantaneous. Cultivation and Civilization will probably wear
these effects out, by planting, clearing jungle, and so on.

“ I immediately sent an express back to Snay bin Amir, for the
proper treatment, and found that they powdered myrrh with yolk of
egg and flour of muug for poultices. I saw that, in default of physic,
change of air was the only thing for him, and I had a hammock
rigged up for him, and by good fortune an unloaded Caravan was
passing down to the coast. We got hold of thirteen unloaded
porters, who for a large sum consented to carry us to Rubuga, else
we should have been left to die in the wilderness. Bombay had
long since returned to his former attitude, that of a respectful and
most ready servant. He had on one trip broken my elephant gun,
killed my riding-ass, and lost his bridle, and did all sorts of irrational
things, but for all that he was a most valuable servant, for his
unwearied activity, his undeviating honesty, and his kindness of
heart. Said bin Salim had long forfeited my confidence by his
carelessness and extravagance, and the disappearance of the outfit
committed to him at Ujiji—in favour of one of his friends, as I after¬
wards learned—rendered him unfit for stewardship. The others
praised each other openly and without reserve, and if an evil tale
ever reached my ear, it was against innocent Bombay, its object
being to ruin him in my estimation.

As I knew we should be short of water, I prepared by pack¬
ing a box with empty bottles, which we could fill at the best
springs, and by the result of that after-wisdom which some have
termed ‘fool’s wit,’ I commenced the down march happy as a
bourgeois or a trapper in the Pays Sauvage. Before entering
the ‘ Fiery Field ’ the hammock-bearers became so exorbitant
that I drew on my jackboots and mounted an ass, and Jack
had so far convalesced that he wanted to ride too. He had still,

Our Reward — Success.

209

however, harassing heartache, nausea, and other bilious symptoms,
when exposed to the burning sun; but when he got to K’hok’ho in
Ugogi, sleep and appetite came, he could carry a heavy rifle, and
do damage amongst the antelope and guineafowl. Now all began
to wax civil, even to servility, grumbling ceased, smiles mantled
every countenance, and even the most troublesome rascal was to be
seen meekly sweeping out our tents with a bunch of thorns. We
made seven marches between Hanga and Tura, where we arrived
on the 28th of October, and halted six days to procure food. My
own party were 10; Said bin Salim’s, 12; the Beloch, 38; Ramji’s
party, 24; the porters, 68—in all 152 souls. We plunged manfully
into the ‘ Fiery Field,’ and after seven marches in seven days, we
bivouacked at Jiwe la Mkoa, and on the 12th of November, after
two days’ march, came into the fertile red plain of Mdaduru, in the
transit of Ugogi. After that, where I had been taught to expect
danger, it reduced itself to large disappearances of cloth and beads.
Gul Mabommed was our Missionary, but he was just like the
European old lady, who believes that on such subjects all the world
must think with her. I have long been suspected of telling lies,
when describing the worship of a god with four arms, and the
goddesses with two heads. The transit of Ugogi occupied three
weeks. At Kanyenye we were joined by a large down-Caravan of
Wanyamwezi, who, amongst other news, told us that our former line
through Usagira was closed through the fighting of the tribes.

“ On the 6th of December we arrived at our old ground in
the Ugogi Dhun, and met another Caravan, which presently drew
forth a packet of letters and papers. This post brought me
rather an amusing official wigging. Firstly, there was a note from
Captain Rigby, my friend Hamerton’s successor at Zanzibar.
Secondly, the following letter :—

“ 3, Savile Row.

“ ‘ Dear Burton,

“ { Go ahead ! Vogel and MacGuire dead—murdered. Write

often.

“ ‘ Yours truly,

“ 4 Norton Shaw.’

“ The ‘ wig ’ was this. I had paid the Government the compliment
of sending it, through the Royal Geographical Society, an account of
political affairs in the Red Sea, saying I feared trouble at Jeddah,
which I had had from my usual private information from the
interior, being fearful that there would be troubles at Jeddah; and
the only thanks I got was a letter, stating ‘that my want of
discretion and due regard for the authorities to whom 1 am subor¬
dinate, has been regarded with displeasure by the Government.’
They are cold and crusty to reward a little word of wisdom from their
babes and sucklings; but what was so comically sad was this :—
The official wig was dated the 1st of July, 1857. Posts are slow in

210

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Africa, so that by the same post I got a newspaper with an account
of the massacre of nearly all the Christians at Jeddah on the Red
Sea, expressing great fears that the Arab population of Suez also
might be excited to commit similar outrages. This took place on the
30th of June, 1858, exactly eleven months after I had warned the
Government.

“ We loaded on the 7th of December, and commenced the
passage of the Usagara Mountains by the Kiringaw^na line. This
is the southern route, separated from the northern by an interval
of forty-three miles. It contains settlements like Maroro and
Kisanga. It is nineteen short stages; provisions are procurable,
water plentiful, and plenty of grass, as long as you can pass the
Warori tribe. Mosquitoes are plentiful. The owners of the land
have a chronic horror of the Warori, and on sighting our peaceful
Caravan they raised the war-cry, and were only quieted on knowing
that we were much more frightened than they were. We had wild
weather, we stayed at Maroro for food ; at Kiperepeta there were
gangs of four hundred touters, with their muskets, waiting the
arrival of Caravans.

“ On Christmas Day, 1858, at dawn, we toiled along the Kikoboga
river, which we forded four times. Jack and I had a fat capon
instead of roast beef, and a mess of ground nuts sweetened with
sugar-cane, which did duty for plum-pudding. The contrast of
what was, with what might be, now however suggested pleasurable
sensations. We might now see Christmas Day of 1859, whereas on
Christmas Day, 1857, we saw no chance of that of 1858. Fourteen
marches took us from the foot of Usagdra Mountains to Central
Zungomero, traversing the districts of Eastern Mbwiga, Marundwe,
and Kirengwe. It is a road hideous and grotesque: no animals,
flocks, or poultry; the villages look like birds’ nests torn from the
trees; the people slink away—they are all armed with bows and
poisoned arrows. At Zungomero, the village on the left bank of the
Mgeta, which we had occupied on the outer march, was razed to the
ground. I here offered a liberal reward to get to Kilwa. However,
I did not succeed, and there was some intrigue about the pay after¬
wards, which I never understood, which was annoying to me ; but
such events are common on the slave-paths in Eastern Africa. Of
the seven gangs of porters engaged on this journey, only one , an
unusually small portion, left me without being fully satisfied, , and that
one fully deserved to be disappointed.

“ On the 14th of January, 1859, we received Mr. Apothecary Frost’s
letters, drugs, and medical comforts, for which we had written to
him July, 1857. After crossing the Mgeta, we sat down patiently
on a bank, in spite of the ants, to await the arrival of a Caravan to
complete our gang, but the new medical comforts enabled us to
have ether-sherbet and ether-lemonade, and it did not hurt us.
Ori the 17th of January a Caravan came, which I had been longing
to meet. The Arab Chiefs Sulayman bin Rashid ei Riami and
Mohammed bin Gharib, who called upon me without delay, gave me
most interesting information. To the south, from Uhehe to Ubena,

Our Reward — Success.

21 I

was a continuous chain of highlands pouring affluents across the
road into the Rwaha river, and water was only procurable in the
beds of the nullahs and fiumaras. If this chain be of any con¬
siderable length, it may represent the water-parting between the
Tanganyika and Nyassa Lakes, and thus divide by another and a
southerly lateral band the great Depression of Central Africa.

“ The 2 ist of January we left Zungomero, and made Konduchi on
the 3rd of February in twelve marches. The mud was almost
throat-deep near Dut’humi, and we had a weary trudge of thick
slabby mire up to the knees. In places, after toiling under a sickly
sun, we crept under the tunnels of thick jungle-growth veiling the
streams, the dank foetid cold of which caused a deadly sensation of
faintness, which was only relieved by a glass of ether-sherbet or a
pipe of the strongest tobacco. By degrees it was found necessary
to abandon the greater part of the remaining outfit and luggage.
The 27 th of January saw us pass safely by the village where M.
Maizan was murdered.

“ On the 28th there was a report that we were to be attacked at a
certain place, and Said bin Salim came to tell me that the road was
cut off, and that I must delay till an escort could be summoned
from the coast. I knew quite well that it was only an intrigue, but
I feared that real obstacles might be placed in our way by the wily
little man, and as soon as bakshish was mentioned, four naked
varlets appeared in a quarter of an hour as escort.

“ On the 30th of January the men screamed with delight at the
sight of the mango tree, and all their old familiar fruits.

/“ On the 2nd of February, 1859, Jack and I caught sight of the sea.

/ We lifted our caps, and gave ‘ three times three and one more.’ The
3rd of February saw us passing through the poles decorated with
skulls—a sort of negro Temple Bar—at the entrance of Konduchi;
they now grin in the London Royal College of Surgeons.

“ Our entrance was immense. The war-men danced, shot, shouted;
the boys crowded ; the women lulliloo’d with all their might; and a
general procession conducted us to the hut, swept, cleaned, and
garnished for us, by the principal Banyan of the Head-quarter village,
and there the crowd stared and laughed until they could stare and
laugh no more. A boat transferred most of our following to their
homes, and they kissed my hand and departed, weeping bitterly
with the agony of parting. I sent a note to the Consul at Zanzibar,
asking for a coasting craft to explore the Delta and the unknown
course of the Rufiji river. I liberally rewarded Zaw^da, who had
attended to Jack in his illness. We were detained at Konduchi for
six days, from the 3rd to the 10th of February.

“On the 9th of February the craft arrived at Konduchi from
Zanzibar, and we rolled down the coast with a fair, fresh breeze
towards Kilwa, the Quiloa of De Gama and of Camoens. We lost
all our crew by cholera, and we were unable to visit the course ot
the great Rufiji river, a counterpart of the Zambesi in the south,
and a water-road which appears destined to become the highway of
nations into Eastern Equatorial Africa. The deluge of rain and

2 12

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

floods showed me that the travelling season was at an end. I turned
the head of the craft northwards, and on the 4th of March, 1859,
we landed once more on the island of Zanzibar. Sick and wayworn,

I entered the house in sad memory of my old friend, which I was
fated to regret still more. The excitement of travel was succeeded
by an utter depression of mind and body; even the labour of
talking was too great. The little State was in the height of confusion,
in a state of Civil war; the eldest brother of the Sultan was preparing
a hostile visit to his youngest brother, the Sultan Sayyid Majid of
Zanzibar. After a fortnight of excitement and suspense, a gunboat
was sent to the elder brother to persuade him to return. His High¬
ness Sayyid Majid had honoured me with an expression of his
desire that I should remain until the expected hostilities might be
brought to a close. I did so willingly, in gratitude to a Prince to
whose good will my success was mainly indebted, but the Consulate
was no longer bearable to me. I was too conversant with local
politics, too well aware of what was going on, to be a pleasant com¬
panion to its new tenant. I was unwilling to go, because so much
remained to be done. I wanted to wait for fresh leave of absence
and additional funds, but the evident anxiety of Consul Rigby to
get rid of me, and Jack’s nervous impatience to go on, made me
abandon my intentions. Said bin Salim called often at the Con¬
sulate, but Captain Rigby agreed with me that he had been more
than sufficiently rewarded, and the same with the others. Jack also
was of the same opinion, but it suited Jack, with his secret prospects
or intentions of returning without me, to change his mind afterwards,
and he was evidently able to get Captain Rigby to do the same.
There can be little doubt that Jack’s intention of returning on the
second Expedition, on the lines of the one which he had done so
much to spoil, had a great deal to do with his action on this
occasion. When H.M.S. Furious , carrying Lord Elgin and Mr.
Laurence Oliphant, his secretary, arrived at Aden, passage was
offered to both of us. I could not start, being too ill. But he
went, and the words Jack said to me, and I to him, were as
follows :—‘ I shall hurry up, Jack, as soon as I can,’ and the last
words Jack ever spoke to me on earth were, ‘ Good-bye , old fellow ;
you may be quite sure I shall not go up to the Royal Geographical
Society until you come to the fore and we appear together. Make your
mind quite easy about thatl

“ With grateful heart I bid adieu to the Sultan, whose kindness and
personal courtesy will long dwell in my memory, and who expressed
a hope to see me again, and offered me one of his ships of war to
take me home. However, a clipper-built barque, the Dragon of
Salem , Captain Macfarlane, was about to sail with the south-west
monsoon for Aden. Captain Rigby did not accompany us on board,
a mark of civility usual in the East, but Bombay’s honest face turned
up and seemed peculiarly attractive.

“ On the 22nd of March, 1859, the clove shrubs and coco trees of
Zanzibar faded from my eyes, and after crossing and recrossing
three times the tedious Line, we found ourselves anchored, on the

Our Reward — Success.

21 3

16th of April, near the ill-omened black walls of the Aden crater.
The crisis of my African sufferings had taken place at the Tanga¬
nyika ; the fever, however, still clung to me.

“ I left the Aden coal-hole of the East on the 20th of April, 1859,
and in due time greeted with becoming heartiness my native shores.

“The very day after he returned to England, May 9th, 1859, Jack
called at the Royal Geographical Society and set on foot the scheme
of a new exploration. He lectured in Burlington House, and when
I reached London on May 21st I found the ground completely cut
from under my feet. Sir Roderick Murchison had given Jack the
leadership of a new Expedition; my own long-cherished plan of
entering Africa through Somali-land, landing at the Arab town
Mombas, was dismissed as unworthy of notice. Jack published
two articles in Blackwood's Magazine, assumed the whole credit to
himself, illustrated a wonderful account of his own adventures and
discoveries, with a chart where invention is not in it. He said he
did all the astronomical work, and had taught me the geography of
the country through which we travelled, which made me laugh.
Jack, who literally owed everything to me, habitually wrote and
spoke of me to mutual friends in a most disagreeable manner.
Many people who professed to be friendly to me said it would be
more dignified to say nothing, but I knew how unwise it is to let
public sentence pass by default, and how delay may cause everlast¬
ing evil, so I wrote the most temperate vindication of my position.”

CHAPTER XIV.

RICHARD AND I MEET AGAIN.

“ For life, with all its yields of joy and woe
And hope and fear,

Is just our chance o’ the prize of learning love—

How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.”

Robert Browning.

“ Dying is easy ; keep thou steadfast.

The greater part, to live and to endure.”

Mrs. Hamilton King, The Disciples .

“ When Calumny’s foul dart thy soul oppresses,

Think’st thou the venomed shaft could poison me ?

No ! the world’s scorn, still more than its caresses,

Shall bind me closer, O my love, to thee.

“ Should the days darken, and severe affliction
Close whelming o’er us like a stormy sea,

Love shall transform them into benedictions
Binding me closer, O my love, to thee.”

“When truth or virtue an affront endures,

The affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours;

Mine as a friend to every worthy mind,

And mine as man who feels for all mankind.”

Pope.

Just as I was getting into despair, and thinking whether I should
go and be a Sister of Charity (May, 1859), as the appearance of
Speke alone in London was giving me the keenest anxiety, and as
I heard that Richard was staying on in Zanzibar, in the hopes of
being allowed to return into Africa, I was very sore.* 4

* “ Aussitot qu’un malheur nous arrive il se recontre toujours un ami prSt X venir
nous le dire et a nous fouiller le coeur avec un poignard en nous faisant admirer le
manche.”— Balzac. This friend I had, but—

“There are no tricks in plain and simple Faith .”—Julius Ccesar, iv. ii.

I received only four lines in the well-known hand by post from Zanzibar—no
letter.

To Isabel.

“ That brow which rose before my sight.

As on the palmers’ holy shrine ;

Those eyes—my life was in their light;

Those lips my sacramental wine ;

That voice whose flow was wont to seem
The music of an exile’s dream.”

I knew then it was all right.

215

Richard and / meet again.

On May 22nd, 1859, I chanced to call upon a friend. I was told
she was gone out, but would be in to tea, and was asked if I would
wait. I said, “ Yes;” and in about five minutes another ring came
to the door, and another visitor was also asked to wait. The door
was opened, and I turned round, expecting to see my friend. Judge
of my feelings when I beheld Richard. For an instant we both
stood dazed, and I cannot attempt to describe the joy that followed
He had landed the day before, and came to London, and now he
had come to call on this friend to know where I was living, where
to find me. No one will wonder if I say that we forgot all about
her and tea, and that we went downstairs and got into a cab, and
took a long drive.

I felt like one stunned ; I only knew that he put me in and told
the cabman to drive. I felt like a person coming to after a fainting
fit or in a dream. It was acute pain, and for the first half-hour I
found no relief. I would have given worlds for tears or breath;
neither came, but it was absolute content, which I fancy people must
feel the first few moments after the soul is quit of the body. The first
thing that happened was, that we mutually drew each other’s pictures
out from our respective pockets at the same moment, which, as we
had not expected to meet, showed how carefully they had been
kept.

After that, we met constantly, and he called upon my parents. I
now put our marriage seriously before them, but without success as
regards my mother.

I shall never forget Richard as he was then ; he had had twenty-one
attacks of fever, had been partially paralyzed and partially blind ;
he was a mere skeleton, with brown yellow skin hanging in bags, his
eyes protruding, and his lips drawn away from his teeth. I used to
give him my arm about the Botanical Gardens for fresh air, and
sometimes convey him almost fainting to our house, or friends’
houses, who allowed and encouraged our meeting, in a cab.

The Government and the Royal Geographical Society looked
coldly on him; the Indian army brought him under the reduction;
he was almost penniless, and he had only a few friends to greet him.
Speke was the hero of the hour, the Stanley of 1859-1864. This
was one of the martyrdoms of that uncrowned King’s life, and I think
but that for me he would have died.

He told me that all the time he had been away the greatest con¬
solation he had had was my fortnightly journals, in letter form, to
him, accompanied by all newspaper scraps and public and private
information, and accounts of books, such as I knew would interest
him, so that when he did get a mail, which was only in a huge batch

216 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

now and then, he was as well posted up as if he were living in
London.

He never abused Speke, as a mean man would have done; he
used to say, “Jack is one of the bravest fellows in the world; if
he has a fault it is overweening vanity, and being so easily flattered;
in good hands he would be the best of men. Let him alone; he
will be very sorry some day, though that won’t mend my case.” It
is interesting now to mark in their letters how they descend from
“Dear Jack,” and “Dear Dick,” to “Dear Burton,” and “Dear
Speke,” until they become “ Sir! ” But I must relate in Speke’s
favour that the injury once done to his friend, and the glory won
for himself, he was not happy with it.

Speke and I had a mutual friend, a lady well known in Society
as Kitty Dormer (Countess Dormer)—she would be ninety-four
were she now living. She was one of the fashionable beauties of
George IV.’s time, and was engaged to my father when they were
young.

About a hundred years or more ago, a John Hanning Speke had
married one of the Arundells of Wardour, and Lord Arundell always
considered the Spekes as sort of neighbours and distant connec¬
tions, so through this lady’s auspices, Speke and I met, and also
exchanged many messages; and we nearly succeeded in reconciling
Richard and Speke, and would have done so, but for the anti¬
influences around him. He said to me, “ I am so sorry, and I don’t
know how it all came about. Dick was so kind to me; nursed me
like a woman, taught me such a lot, and I used to be so fond of
him; but it would be too difficult for me to go back now.” And
upon that last sentence he always remained and acted.

Richard was looking so lank and thin. He was sadly altered; his
youth, health, spirits, and beauty were all gone for the time. He
fully justified his fevers, his paralysis and blindness, and any amount
of anxiety, peril, hardship, and privation in unhealthy latitudes.
Never did I feel the strength of my love as then. He returned
poorer, and dispirited by official rows and every species of annoyance;
but he was still, had he been ever so unsuccessful, and had every
man’s hand against him, my earthly god and king, and I could have
knelt at his feet and worshipped him. I used to feel so proud of
him; I used to like to sit and look at him, and to think, “ You are
mine, and there is no man on earth the least like you.”

At one time, when he was at his worst, I found the following in his
journal—-

Richard and I meet again .

217

“ I hear the sounds I used to hear,

The laugh of joy, the groan of pain ;

The sounds of childhood sound again.

Death must be near !

“ Mine eye reviveth like mine ear ;

As painted scenes pass o’er the stage,

I see my life from youth to age.

Ah, Death is near 1

“ The music of some starry sphere,

A low, melodious strain of song,

Like to the wind-harp sweeps along.

Yes, Death is near!

“ A lovely sprite of smiling cheer,

Sits by my side in form of light;

Sits on my left a darker sprite.

Sure, Death is near !

“ The meed for ever deemed so dear,

Repose upon the breast of Fame ;

(I did but half), while lives my name.

Come then. Death, near !

“ Where now thy sting ? Where now thy fear ?
Where now, fell power, the victory ?

I have the mastery over thee.

Draw, Death, draw near ! ”

I felt bitterly not having the privilege of staying with Richard
and nursing him, and he was very anxious that our marriage
should take place; so I wrote a long letter to my mother,
who was still violently opposing me, and who was absent on
some visits.

The only answer to this letter was an awful long and solemn
sermon, telling me “that Richard was not a Christian, and had
no money.” I do not defend my letter to my mother; I only
plead that I was fighting for my whole future life, and my natural
destiny ; that I had waited for five years; and that I saw that I
had to force my mother’s hand, or lose all that made life worth
living for. Richard used to say that my mother and I were both
gifted with “ the noble firmness of the mule.”

Richard now brought out the “ Lake Regions of Equatorial
Africa” (2 vols., i860), and the Royal Geographical Society dedi¬
cated the whole of Vol. XXXIII. to the same subject (Clowes and
Sons,, i860). My mother still remained obstinate, and Richard
thought we should have to take the law into our own hands. I
could not bear the thoughts of going against my mother.

2 I 8

The Life of Sir Richard Btirton

One day in April, i860, I was walking out with two friends,
and a tightening of the heart came over me that I had known
before. I went home and said to my sister, “ I am not going to
see Richard for some time.” She said, “ Why, you will see him
to-morrow.” “No, I shall not,” I said; “I don’t know what
is the matter.” A tap came at the door, and a note with the
well-known writing was put into my hand. I knew my fate, and
with deep-drawn breath I opened it. He had left—could not
bear the pain of saying good-bye; would be absent for nine
months, on a journey to see Salt Lake City. He would then
come back, and see whether I had made up my mind to choose
between him or my mother, to marry me if I would; and if I had
not the courage to risk it, he would go back to India, and from
thence to other explorations, and return no more. I was to take
nine months to think about it.

I was for a long time in bed, and delirious. For six weeks I was
doctored for influenza, mumps, sore throat, fever, delirium, and
everything that I had not got, when in reality I w r as only heartsick,
struggling for what I wanted, a last hard struggle with the suspense
of my future before me, and nothing and nobody to help me. I
felt it would be my breaking up if circumstances continued adverse,
but I determined to struggle patiently, and suffer bravely to the end.

At this juncture, as I was going to marry a poor man, and also
to fit myself for Expeditions, I went, for change of air, to a farm¬
house, where I learnt every imaginable thing that I might possibly
want, so that if we had no servants, or if servants were sick or
mutinous, we should be perfectly independent.

On my return I saw the murder of a Captain Burton in the paper,
and even my mother pitied me, and took me to the mail office,
where a clerk, after numberless inquiries, gave us a paper. My life
seemed to hang on a thread till he answered, and then my face
beamed so that the poor man was quite startled. It was a Captain
Burton, murdered by his crew. I could scarcely feel sorry—how
selfish we are !—and yet he too, doubtless, had some one to love him.

Richard, meantime, had gone all over the United States, and
made a wonderful lot of friends ; had gone to Salt Lake City to see
Brigham Young, where he stayed with the Mormons and their Prophet
for six weeks at great Salt Lake City, visiting California, where he
went all over the gold-diggings, and learnt practically to use both
pick and pan. He asked Brigham Young if he would admit him
as a Mormon, but Brigham Young shook his head, and said, “No,
Captain, I think you have done that sort of thing once before.”
Richard laughed, and told him he was perfectly right.

219

Richard and I meet again.

About this time there was a meeting at the Royal Geographical
Society, Lord Ashburton (President) in the chair. The Chairman
said that a letter would be read from Captain Burton, by the Secre¬
tary. It would be a matter of pleasure to all present to know
that Captain Burton was in good health. Dr. Shaw then read the
following characteristic letter, which had been addressed to him
by that officer :—

“ Salt Lake City, Deserat, Utah Territory, September 7.

“ My dear Shaw,

“You’ll see my whereabouts by the envelope; I reached
this place about a week ago, and am living in the odour of sanctity,
—a pretty strong one it is too,—apostles, prophets, et hoc genus
omne . In about another week I expect to start for Carson Valley
and San Francisco. The road is full of Indians and other scoun¬
drels, but I’ve had my hair cropped so short that my scalp is not
worth having. I hope to be in San Francisco in October, and in
England somewhere in November next. Can you put my where¬
abouts in some paper or other, and thus save me the bother of
writing to all my friends? Mind, I’m travelling for my health,
which has suffered in Africa, enjoying the pure air of the prairies,,
and expecting to return in a state of renovation and perfectly ready
to leave a card on Muata Yanoo, or any other tyrant of that kind.

“ Meanwhile, ever yours,

“R. F. Burton.”

Richard travelled about twenty-five thousand miles, and then he
turned his head homewards. He wrote the “ City of the Saints,”
1 vol., on the Mormons, and he brought it out in 1861. It was
reprinted by Messrs. Harper of New York, and extensively reviewed,
especially by the Tour du Monde.

It was Christmas, i860, that I went to stop with my relatives, Sir
Clifford and Lady Constable (his first wife, nee Chichester), at
Burton Constable,—the father and mother of the present baronet.
There was a large party in the house, and we were singing; some
one propped up the music with the Times which had just arrived,
and the first announcement that caught my eye was that “ Captain
R. F. Burton had arrived from America.”

I was unable, except by great resolution, to continue what I was
doing. I soon retired to my room, and sat up all night, packing,
and conjecturing how I should get away,—all my numerous plans
tending to a “ bolt ” next morning,—should I get an affectionate
letter from him. I received two ; one had been opened and read
by somebody else, and one, as it afterwards turned out, had been
burked at home before forwarding. It was not an easy matter. I

220

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

was in a large country-house in Yorkshire, with about twenty-
five friends and relatives, amongst whom was one brother, and I
had heaps of luggage. We were blocked up with snow and
nine miles from the station, and (contra miglior noler voter mat
pugna) I had heard of his arrival only early in the evening, and
twelve hours later I had managed to get a telegram ordering me
to London, under the impression that it was of the most vital
importance.

What a triumph it is to a woman’s heart, when she has patiently
and courageously worked, and prayed, and suffered, and the moment
is realized that was the goal of her ambition 1

As soon as we met, and had had our talk, he said, “ I have
waited for five years. The three first were inevitable on ac¬
count of my journey to Africa, but the last two were not. Our
lives are being spoiled by the unjust prejudices of your mother,
and it is for you to consider whether you have not already
done your duty in sacrificing two of the best years of your
life out of respect to her. If once you really let me go, mind,
I shall never come back, because I shall know that you have
not got the strength of character which my wife must have.
Now, you must make up your mind to choose between your
mother and me. If you choose me, we marry, and I stay; if
not, I go back to India and on other Explorations, and I return
no more. Is your answer ready ? ” I said, “ Quite. I marry you
this day three weeks, let who will say nay.”

When we fixed the date of our marriage, I wanted to be
married on Wednesday, the 23rd, because it was the Espousals
of Our Lady and St. Joseph, but he would not, because
Wednesday, the 23rd, and Friday, the 18th, were our unlucky
days; so we were married on the Vigil, Tuesday, the 22nd of
January.

We pictured to ourselves much domestic happiness, with youth,
health, courage, and talent to win honour, name, and position. We
had the same tastes, and perfect confidence in each other. No one
turns away from real happiness without some very strong temptation
or delusion. I went straight to my father and mother, and told
them what had occurred. My father said, “1 consent with all my
heart, if your mother consents,” and my mother said, “Never!”
I said, “Very well, then, mother! I cannot sacrifice our two lives
to a mere whim, and you ought not to expect it, so I am going to
marry him, whether you will or no.” I asked all my brothers and
sisters, and they said they would receive him with delight. My
mother offered me a marriage with my father and brothers present.

22 1

Richard and I meet again.

my mother and sisters not. I felt that that was a slight upon him .
a slight upon his family, and a slur upon me, which I did not
deserve, and I refused it. I went to Cardinal Wiseman, and I told
him the whole case as it stood, and he asked me if my mind was
absolutely made up, and I said, “ Absolutely.” Then he said,
Leave the matter to me.” He requested Richard to call upon
him, and asked him if he would give him three promises in writing—

1. That I should be allowed the free practice of my religion.

2. That if we had any children they should be brought up
Catholics.

3. That we should be married in the Catholic Church.

Which three promises Richard readily signed. He also amused
the Cardinal, as the family afterwards learnt, by saying sharply,
“ Practise her religion indeed ! I should rather think she shall. A
man without a religion may be excused, but a woman without a
religion is not the woman for me.” The Cardinal then sent for me,
promised me his protection, said he would himself procure a special
dispensation from Rome, and that he would perform the ceremony
himself. He then saw my father, who told him how bitter my
mother was about it; that she was threatened with paralysis; that we
had to consider her in every possible way, that she might receive no
shocks, no agitation, but that all the rest quite consented to the
marriage. A big family council was then held, and it was agreed
far better for Richard and me, and for every one, to make all propei
arrangements to be married, and to be attended by friends , and for
me to go away on a visit to some friends, that they might not come
to the wedding, nor participate in it, in order not to have a quarrel
with my mother; that they would break it to her at a suitable time,
and that the secret of their knowing it, should be kept up as long
as mother lived. “ Mind,” said my father, “ you must never bring
a misunderstanding between mother and me, nor between her and
her children.”

I passed that three weeks preparing very solemnly and earnestly
for my marriage day, but yet something differently to what many
expectant brides do. I made a very solemn religious preparation,
receiving the Sacraments. Gowns, presents, and wedding pageants
had no part in it, had no place. Richard arranged with my own
lawyer and my own priest that everything should be conducted in
a strictly legal and strictly religious way, and the whole programme
of the affair was prepared. A very solemn day to me was the eve of
my marriage. The following day I was supposed to be going to
pass a few weeks with a friend in the country.

At nine o’clock on Tuesday, the 22nd of January, 1861, my cab

222 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

was at the door with my box on it. I had to go and wish my
father and mother good-bye before leaving. I went downstairs with
a beating heart, after I had knelt in my own room, and said
a fervent prayer that they might bless me, and if they did, I
would take it as a sign. I was so nervous, I could scarcely stand.
When I went in, mother kissed me and said, “ Good-bye, child, God
bless you.” I went to my father’s bedside, and knelt down and said
good-bye. “ God bless you, my darling,” he said, and put his hand
out of the bed and laid it on my head. I was too much overcome
to speak, and one or two tears ran down my cheeks, and I remember
as I passed down I kissed the door outside.

I then ran downstairs and quickly got into my cab, and drove
to a friend’s house (Dr. and Miss Bird, now of 49, Welbeck Street),
where I changed my clothes—not wedding clothes (clothes which
most brides of to-day would probably laugh at)—a fawn-coloured
dress, a black-lace cloak, and a white bonnet—and they and I drove
off to the Bavarian Catholic Church, Warwick Street, London.
When assembled we were altogether a party of eight. The Registrar
was there for legality, as is customary. Richard was waiting on the
doorstep for me, and as we went in he took holy water, and made
a very large sign of the Cross. The church doors were wide open,
and full of people, and many were there who knew us. As the 10.30
Mass was about to begin, we were called into the Sacristy, and we
then found that the Cardinal in the night had been seized with
an acute attack of the illness which carried him off four years later,
and had deputed Dr. Hearne, his Vicar-general, to be his proxy.

After the ceremony was over, and the names signed, we went back
to the house of our friend Dr. Bird and his sister Alice, who have
always been our best friends, where we had our wedding breakfast.

During the time we were breakfasting, Dr. Bird began to chaff
him about the things that were sometimes said of him, and which
were not true. “Now, Burton, tell me; how do you feel when
you have killed a man ? ” Dr. Bird (being a physician) had given
himself away without knowing it Richard looked up quizzically,
and drawled out, “ Oh, quite jolly ! How do you?”

We then went to Richard’s bachelor lodgings, where he had a
bedroom, dressing-room, and sitting-room, and we had very few
pounds to bless ourselves with, but were as happy as it is given
to any mortals out of heaven to be. The fact is that the only
clandestine thing about it, and that was quite contrary to my desire,
was that my poor mother, with her health and her religious scruples,
was kept in the dark, but I must thank God that, though paralysis
came on two years later, it was not I that caused it.

223

Richard and I meet again.

My husband wrote to my father on the following day a beautiful
and characteristic letter, in case he should wish to give it to my
mother. For the first few days of our marriage, Richard used to
be so worried at being stared at as a bridegroom, that he always
used to say that we had been married a couple of years ; but that
sort of annoyance soon wore off, and then he became rather proud
of being a married man. To say that I was happy would be to say
nothing; a repose came over me that I had never known. I felt
that it was for Eternity, an immortal repose, and I was in a bewilder¬
ment of wonder at the goodness of God, who had almost worked
miracles for me.

During this time my brothers visited us, keeping us up in all that
was going on. Some weeks later, two dear old aunts, Mrs. Strick-
land-Standish and Monica, Lady Gerard, who lived at Portobello
House, Mortlake, nearly opposite to where I live now, and where I
had frequently passed several weeks every year (for they made a sort
of family focus), got to hear that I was seen going into a bachelor
lodging, and bowled up to London to tell my mother. She wrote
in an agony to my father, who was visiting in the country, “ that a
dreadful misfortune had happened in the family; that I been seen
going into a bachelor lodging in London, and could not be at the
country house where I was supposed to be.” My father telegraphed
back to her, “ She is married to Dick Burton, and thank God for
it; ” and he wrote to her, enclosing the letter just mentioned, and
desired her to send one of my brothers for us, who knew where to
find us, and to mind and receive us properly. We were then sent
for home. My mother behaved like a true lady and a true Christian.
She kissed us both, and blessed us. I shall never forget how shy I
felt going home, but I went in very calmly, I kissed them all round,
and they received Richard in the nicest way, and then mother em¬
barrassed us very much by asking our pardon for flying in the face
of God, and opposing what she now knew to be His will. My
husband was very much touched. It was not long before she
approved of the marriage more than anybody, and as she grew to
know him, she loved him as much as her own sons. And this is
the way we came to be married.

In short, mother never could forgive herself, and was always
alluding to it either personally or by letter. It always was the same
burthen of song—“that she exposed me to such a risk, that my rela¬
tions might have abandoned me, that Society might not have received
me, that I might have been forbidden to put my name down for the
Drawing-room, when I had done nothing wrong; ” and she said, “ All
through me, and God had destined it, but I could not see it. I never

224 Life of Sir Richard Burton.

thought you would have the courage to take the law in your own
hands; ” and I used to answer her, “ Mother, if you had all cast me
out, if Society had tabooed me, if I had been forbidden to go to
Court, it would not have kept me from it—I could not have helped
myself—I am quite content with my future crust and tent, and I
would not exchange places with the Queen; so do not harass
yourself.”

However, by the goodness of God, and the justness and kindness
of a few great people, none of these catastrophes did happen.
We used to entreat of her not to say anything more about it, but
even on her deathbed she persisted in doing so. I shall never forget
that first night when we went home; I went up to my room and
changed my things, and ate my dinner humbly and silently. We
were a very large family and were all afraid to speak, and as
Richard was so very clever, the family stood rather in awe of him;
so there was a silence and restraint upon us ; but the children were
allowed to come down to dessert for a treat, and, with the intuition
that children have, they knew that he wanted them, and that they
could do what they liked with him. One was a little enfant
terrible , and very fond of copying our midshipmen brothers’ slang.
They crowded round my mother with their little doll-tumblers
waiting for some wine. He was so constrained that he forgot to
pass the wine at dessert as it came round to him, when a small voice
piped out from the end of the long table, “ I say, old bottle-stopper
—pass the wine! ” He burst out laughing, and that broke the
ice, and we all fell to laughing and talking. Mother punished the
child by giving him no wine, but Richard looked up and said so
sweetly, “ Oh, Mother , not on my first night at home /” that her
heart went out to him.

We had seven months of uninterrupted bliss. Through the kind¬
ness of Lord John Russell, Richard obtained the Consulship of Fer¬
nando Po, in the Bight of Biafra, West Coast of Africa, with a coast
line of six or seven hundred miles for his jurisdiction, a deadly
climate, and a year. He was too glad to get his foot on the

first rung of the ladder, so, though it was called the “ Foreign Office
Grave,” he cheerfully accepted it. It was not quite so cheerful for
me, because it was a climate of certain death to white women, and
he would not allow me to go out in an unlimited way.

We had a glorious season, and took up our position in Society.
He introduced me to all the people he knew, and I introduced him to
all the people that I knew. Lord Houghton (Monckton-Milnes), the
father of the present Lord Houghton, was very much attached to
Richard, and he settled the question of our position by asking his

225

Richard and I meet again .

friend Lord Palmerston to give a party, and to let me be the bride
of the evening; and when I arrived, Lord Palmerston gave me his
arm, and he introduced Richard and me to all the people we had
not previously known, and my relatives clustered around us as well.

I was allowed to put my name down for a Drawing-room. And
Lady Russell, now the Dowager, presented me at Court “ on my
marriage.”

Shortly after this, happened Grindlay’s fire, where we lost all we
possessed in the world, except the few boxes we had with us.
The worst was that all his books, and his own poetry, which was
beautiful, especially one poem, called “ The Curse of Vishnu,” and
priceless Persian and Arabic manuscripts, that he had picked up in
various out-of-the-way places, and a room full of costumes of every
nation, were burnt. He smiled, and said in a philosophical sort of
way, “ Well, it is a great bore, but I dare say that the world will be
none the worse for some of those manuscripts having been burnt ”
(a prophetic speech, as I now think of it). When he went down to
ask for some compensation, he found that Grindlay was insured, but
that he was not—not, he said, that any money could repay him for
the loss of the things. As he always saw the comic side of a tragedy
as well as the pathetic, “the funniest thing was the clerk asking me
if I had lost any plate or jewellery, and on my saying, ‘ No,’ the change
in his face from sympathy to the utter surprise that I could care so
much for any other kind of loss, was amusing.”

In 1861, when the Indian army changed hands, Richard suffered,
and, as Mr. Hitchman remarked, “ his enemies may be congratulated
upon their mingled malice and meanness.” He just gave the official
animus a chance. It was a common thing in times of peace for
Indian officers to be allowed to take appointments and remain on the
cadre of their regiment, temporarily or otherwise. Richard, in remon¬
strance, would not quote names for fear of injuring other men, but
any man who knew Egypt could score off half a dozen. His know¬
ledge of the East, and of so many Eastern languages, would have
been of incalculable service in Egypt, upon the Red Sea, in
Marocco, Persia, in any parts of the East, and yet he, who in any
other land would have been rewarded with at least a K.C.B. and
a handsome pension, was glad to get his foot on the lowest rung
of the ladder of the Consular service, called the “ Foreign Office
Grave,” the Consulate of Fernando Po, and we could not think
enough of, talk enough of, or be grateful enough to Lord John
Russell, who gave it him ; yet the acceptance of this miserable post
was made an excuse to strike his name off the Indian army list, and
the rule, which had been allowed to lapse in a score of cases, was

226 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

revived for Richard’s injury under circumstances of discourtesy so
great, that it would be hard to believe the affront unintentional.
He received no notice whatever, and he only realized, on seeing his
successor gazetted, that his military career was actually ended, and
his past life become like a blank sheet of paper. It would have
been stretching no point to have granted this appointment, and to
have been retained in the army on half-pay, but it was refused; they
swept out his whole nineteen years’ service as if they had never
been, without a vestige of pay or pension.

All his services in Sind had been forgotten, all his Explorations
were wiped out, and at the age of forty he found himself at home,
with the rank of Captain, no pay, no pension, plenty of fame, a newly
married wife, and a small Consulate in the most pestilential climate,
with Ljoo a year. In vain he asked to go to Fernando Po
temporarily till wanted for active service. He wrote—

“It will be an act of injustice on the part of the Bombay Govern¬
ment to solicit my removal on account of my having risked health
and life in my country’s service.

“ They are about to treat me as a man who has been idling
away my time and shirking duty; whereas I can show that every
hour has been employed for my country’s benefit, in study, writings,
languages, and explorations. Are my wounds and fevers, and
perpetual risk of health and life, not to speak of personal losses,
to go for nothing ?

“ The Bombay Government does not take into consideration one
iota of my service, but casts the whole into oblivion. I consider
the Bombay Government to be unjustly prejudiced against me on
account of the private piques of a certain half-dozen individuals.
Will the Bombay Government put all its charges against me in black
and white, and thus allow me a fair opportunity of clearing myself
of my supposed delinquencies ? Other men—I will merely quote
Colonel Greathed and Lieut.-Colonel Norman—are permitted to
take service in England, and yet to retain their military service
in India.

“ In the time of the Court of Directors, an officer might be serving
the Foreign Office and India too, as in the case of Lieut.-Colonel
Hamerton, late Consul at Zanzibar; but since the amalgamation,
the officers of her Majesty’s Indian Army hope that they may take
any appointment in any part of the world, as a small recompense
for their losses ; i.e. supercession and inability to sell their com¬
missions, after having paid for steps.”

At first he wanted to try me, so he pretended he did not like my
going to Confession, and I used to say, “ Well, my religion teaches

227

Richard and I meet again.

me that my first duty is to obey you,” and I did not bother to go;
so he at once took off this restraint, and used to send me to Mass,
and remind me of fish-days. It astonished me, the wonderful way
he knew our doctrine, and frequently explained things to me
that I did not know myself. He always wore his medal. I was
very much surprised, shortly after we were married, at my husband
giving me ^5. Whilst he had been away one of my brothers had
met with a sudden death; his horse had fallen on him and crushed
him in a moment. He said, “ Take this and have Masses said with
it for your poor brother.” I only thought then what generosity and
what good taste it was. He was always delighted with the society
of priests—not so much foreign priests, as English ones—especially
if he got hold of a highly educated, broad theologian of a Jesuit:
but in all cases he was most courteous to any of them, and protected
them and their Missions whenever he was in a position to do so.
Once he went with me to a midnight Mass, and he cried all the
time. I could not understand it, and he said he could not explain
it himself. I had no idea then that he had ever been once received
into our Church in India. He always bowed his head at “ Hallowed
be Thy Name,” and he did that to the day of his death.

We passed delightful days at country houses, notably at Lord
Houghton’s (Fryston), where, at his house in the country, and his
house in Brook Street, and at Lord Strangford’s house in Great
Cumberland Place, we met all that was worth meeting of rank
and fashion, beauty and wit, and especially all the most talented
people in the world. I can shut my eyes and mentally look round
his (Lord Houghton’s) large round table even now , which usually
held twenty-five guests. I can see Buckle, and Carlyle, and all the
Kingsleys, and Swinburne, and Froude, and all the great men that
were, and many that are, for the last thirty-two years, and remember
a great deal of the conversation. But I am not here to describe
them, but to give a description of Richard Burton. I can remember
the Due d’Aumale cheek by jowl with Louis Blanc. The present
Lord Crewe, and his two sisters, Lady Fitzgerald and the
Hon. Mrs. Henniker, were babes in the nursery. I can remember
the good old times in the country, at Fryston, where breakfast
was at different little round tables, so people came down when
they liked, and sat at one or another, and he would stroll from
one table to another, with a book in his hand. Swinburne was
then a boy, and had just brought out his “ Queen Mother Rosa¬
mund,” and Lord Houghton brought it up to us, saying, “ I bring
you this little book, because the author is coming here this evening,
so that you may not quote him as an absurdity to himself.” I can

228 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

remember Vambdry telling us Hungarian tales, and I can remember
Richard cross-legged on a cushion, reciting and reading “ Omar el
Khayydm” alternately in Persian and English, and chanting the
call to prayer, “ Allahhu Akbar.”

My Society recollections, my happy days, are all of the plea¬
santest and most interesting. The evil day came far too soon; this
was a large oasis of seven months in my life, and even if I had had
no other it would have been worth living for. We went down to
Worthing to my family, where we passed a very happy time, and he
here gave me a proof of affection which I shall never forget. He
had gone to see his cousin, Samuel Burton, at Brighton, and had
promised to be back by the last train, but he did not make his
appearance. I was in a dreadful state of mind lest anything should
have happened to him. He arrived about one in the morning, pale
and worn out. He had gone to sleep in the train, and had been
carried some twenty miles away from Worthing. He could get no
kind of conveyance, being in the night; so, inquiring in what
direction Worthing lay, and settling the matter by a pocket com¬
pass, he started across country, and between a walk and a sort of
long trot, from nine to one, he reached me, instead of waiting,
as another man would have done, till the next morning for a train
back.

I shall never forget when the time came to part, and I was to go to
Liverpool to see him off, for he would not allow me to accompany
him till he had seen what Fernando Po was like. It was in August,
1861, when we went down to Liverpool, and we were very sad,
because he was not going to a Consulate where we could hope to
remain together as a home. It was a deadly climate, and we were
always going to be climate-dodging. I was to go out, not now, but
later, and then, perhaps, not to land, and to return and ply up and
down between Madeira and Teneriffe and London, and I, knowing he
had Africa at his back, was in a constant agitation for fear of his doing
more of these Explorations into unknown lands. There were about
eighteen men (West African merchants), and everybody took him
away from me, and he had made me promise that if I was allowed
to go on board and see him off, that I would not cry and unman
him. It was blowing hard and raining; there was one man who was
inconsiderate enough to accompany and stick to us the whole time,
so that we could not exchange a word (how I hated him !). I went
down below and unpacked his things and settled his cabin, and
saw to the arrangement of his luggage. My whole life and soul
was in that good-bye, and I found myself on board the tug, which
flew faster and faster from the steamer. I saw a white handkerchief

Richard and I meet again, 229

go up to his face. I then drove to a spot where I could see the
steamer till she became a dot.

“ Fresh as the first beam
Glittering on a sail,

Which brings our friends up
From the under world ;

Sad as the last, which reddens over one,

That sinks with all we love below the verge.”

Here I give Richard’s description of going out, read later—

“ A heart-wTench—and all is over. Unhappily I am not one of
those independents who can say, Ce riest que le premier pas qui cotite,

“Then comes the first nightfall on board outward-bound, the
saddest time that the veteran wanderer knows. Saadi the Persian,
one of the best travellers,—he studied books for thirty years, did
thirty of wanderjahre, and for thirty wrote and lived in retirement—
has thus alluded to the depressing influence of what I suppose may
philosophically be explained by an absence of Light-stimulus or
Od-force—

* So yearns at eve’s soft tide the heart,

Which the wide wolds and waters part
From all dear scenes to which the soul
Turns, as the lodestone seeks its pole.’

“ We cut short the day by creeping to our berths, without even a
* nightcap,’ and we do our best to forget ourselves, and everything
about us.”

CHAPTER XV.

IN WEST AFRICA.

“Oh, when wilt thou return, my love?

For as the moments glide,

They leave me wishing still for thee,

My husband, by my side ;

And ever at the evening hour
My hopes more fondly burn,

And still they linger on that word,

‘Oh, when wilt thou return ? ’ ”

To a Husband during a Long Absence.

Richard left me plenty of occupation during this awfully long
absence of sixteen months. Firstly, all kinds of official fights about
India, and then for a gunboat and other privileges for Fernando
Po. I lived with my father, mother, and family, and then I had a
great deal to do for his book, “ The City of the Saints,” and every
letter brought its own work and commissions, people to see and
to write to, and things to be done for him, so that I was never idle
for a minute. I began to feel, what I have always felt since, that he
was the glorious, stately ship in full sail, commanding all attention
and admiration; and sometimes, if the wind drops, she still sails
gallantly, and no one sees the humble little steam-tug hidden at the
other side, with her strong heart and faithful arms working forth, and
glorying in her proud and stately ship.

I think a true woman, who is married to her proper mate, recog¬
nizes the fully performed mission, whether prosperous or not, and
that no one can ever take his place for her , as an interpreter of that
which is betwixt her and her Creator, to her as the shadow of God’s
protection here on earth.

In winter he made me go to Paris with the Napoleon ring and
sketch, mentioned in the little story called “ The Last Hours of
Napoleon; ” and, through want of experience and proper friends
and protection, my little mission of courtesy failed. The failure drew
down upon me some annoyances, which appeared very disagreeable
and important to me at the time ; they are not worth mentioning,

* 3 °

In West Africa. 231

nor, indeed, had I been older and more experienced, should I have
thought them worth fretting about.

The rest of the time of those dreary sixteen months was wearing
to a degree, and diversified by ten weeks of diphtheria and its results.
One day I betook myself to the Foreign Office, and I cried my heart
out to Mr. (afterwards Sir) Henry Layard. He seemed very sorry
for me, and he asked me to wait awhile whilst he went upstairs; and,
when he came back, he told me that he had got four months’ leave
home for my husband, and had ordered the despatch to be sent off
that very afternoon. I could have thrown my arms round his neck
and kissed him, but I did not; he might have been rather surprised.
I had to go and sit out in the Green Park till the excitement wore
off; it was more to me than if he had given me a large fortune.

At last the happy day came to go and meet Richard at Liverpool,
and I shall never forget the joy of our meeting. It was December,
1863, and we had some happy weeks in England—a pleasant Christ¬
mas with my people at Wardour, and at Lord Gerard’s at Garswood,
where the family parties mustered strong, and at Fryston (Lord
Houghton’s), and several other country-houses; and he brought out
two books—“Wanderings in West Africa” (2 vols., 1863), also
“ Abeokuta and the Cameroons ” (2 vols., 1863), which he dedi¬
cated to me, with a lovely inscription and motto, of which I am
very proud. And then came round the time again to leave. But
I told him I could not possibly go on living as I was living; it was
too miserable, one’s husband in a place where one was not allowed
to go, and I living with my mother like a girl—I was neither wife, nor
maid, nor widow; so he took me with him. Excepting yachting, it
was my first experience of real sea-going.

The African steamships were established in January, 1852, by the
late Mr. MacGregor Laird, who was the second pioneer of the Niger
Exploration, and an enthusiastic improver of Africa. These steamers
were seven in number, and went once a month ; four of them were of
978 tons. They went out to the West Coast, Fernando Po being
their furthest station save one, and the whole round from England
and back again caused them to visit twenty-two ports, and cover
ten thousand nautical miles at eight knots an hour; but they were
built for cargo, not for passengers. There was no doctor, no bath ;
the conveniences were difficult, and the stewardess only went as
far as Madeira, the first port. We sometimes had seven or eight
human beings stuffed into a cabin, which had four berths. I speak
of 1861-2-3-4; it may be all changed since then. We now started in
the worst circumstances. It was the big storm of January, 1863, one
of the worst that has ever been known. My mother, who was a very

232 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

bad sailor, insisted on coming on board to see us off. It was terribly
rough, and an ironclad just shaved us going out, as we lay to in the
river. There were even wrecks in the Mersey. Our Captain frankly said
that he had an accident every January, but he would almost rather
sink than have a mark put against his name for not going out on his
right day. Mother behaved most pluckily. She went back in the
tug, and she just reached Uncle Gerard’s, which was three-quarters of
an hour from Liverpool, got up to her bedroom, took up the poker
to poke the fire, which fell out of her hand—she had the strength to
crawl to the bell—and when they came up she was on the floor in
that attack of paralysis with which she had been so long threatened,
and to stave off which, we had hid my marriage from her just two
years before.

Long before we had got past the Skerries, we were in serious
trouble, and the passengers implored the Captain to alter his course,
and take refuge in some harbour ; but he explained to them that it
would be awfully dangerous to turn the ship’s head round, as the
going round might sink her. I had forgotten in my ignorance to
secure a berth, and the Captain gallantly gave up his own cabin to
me, till Madeira. It was just on the break of the poop, and every
wave broke over that before it reached the saloon. The ship
appeared quite unmanageable; she bucked and plunged without
stopping. There were seven feet of water in the hold, and all
hands and available passengers were called on to man the pumps.
The under berths were full of water, the bird-cages and kittens and
parcels were all floating about, most of the women were screaming,
many of the men-passengers were drunk, the lights went out, the
furniture came unshipped and rolled about at its own sweet wilL
The cook was thrown on the galley fire, so there could be
nothing to eat Fortunately the sea put the fire out. It was very
difficult for men to get along the deck.

A rich lady gave the stewardess ^5 to hold her hand all night,
so the rest of us poorer ones had to do without consolation. One
most painful scene occurred. There were seven women, mission¬
aries’ wives, going out either with or to join their husbands. One,
a poor child of sixteen, just married, missed her husband, and she
called out in the dark for him. A naval officer who was going out
to join his ship, and was tipsy the whole way, called out, “ Oh, he
has tumbled overboard, and is hanging on outside; you will never
see him any more.” The poor child believed it, and fell down in
an epileptic fit, to which she remained subject as long as I ever
heard of her. Her husband and mine were working at the pumps.
I crawled to my bunk in the Captain’s cabin, sick and terrified.

In West Africa. 233

and I thought that the terrible seas breaking against its side were
loosening the nails, and that the sea would come in and wash me
out. I was far away from any help and quite alone, and I hung on
to the door, calling, “ Carpenter! carpenter! ” He came to my
assistance, but a huge wave covered us; it carried him overboard
and left me—he was never seen again. We lost two men that night.

As I lay there trembling, and terribly sea-sick, something tumbled
against my door, and rolled in and sank down on the floor. It was
the tipsy naval officer. I could not rise, I could not shut the door,
I could not lug him out, so I lay there. When Richard had
finished his work, he crawled along the decks till he got to the cabin,
where the sea had swamped through the open door pretty con¬
siderably. “Hullo! what’s that?” he said. I managed faintly to
ejaculate, “The tipsy naval officer.” He picked him up by the
scruff of his neck, and, regardless of consequences, he propelled
him, with a good kick behind, all down the deck, and shut the
door. He said, “ The Captain says we can’t live more than two
hours in such a sea as this.” At first I was frightened that I should
die, but now I was only frightened that I shouldn’t, and I uttered
feebly, “ Oh, thank God it will be over so soon.” I shall never
forget how angry he was with me, because I was not frightened, and
gave me quite a sermon. We were like that mostly three days and
nights, and then it got better, and I saw the steward passing with
some boiled mutton and caper sauce, and called out, “ Oh, stop and
give me some.” He cut me some slices, and I ate them like a
starved dog. I got up and dressed and went on deck, and have
never been sea-sick since to speak of. I do not speak of Richard,
because he never was sea-sick in his life; he never knew what it was;
and I believe if it had not been for spilling the ink, he would have
been writing his manuscripts, even if the ship had been going round
like a squirrel’s cage, as he always did all his life, no matter what the
weather, and ate and slept enough for three.

The temperature changed by magic. There was a tropical calm
at night; the usual rough north-easterly breeze of the outside sub¬
sided into a luxurious, sensual calm, with occasional puffs of soft,
exciting westerly zephyrs, or viento de las mugeres , formed by the
land wind of the night. We arrived in thirteen days at Madeira,
having been longer than usual on account of the three days’ storm.
We could smell the land strong of clover hay long before we reached
it. I shall never forget my astonishment and delight when I looked
out of the port-hole one morning and found myself at Madeira.
We had left a frightful English winter, we had suffered much on
the sea journey: here was summer—luxuriant and varied foliage,

234 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

warmth and splendour, the profusion and magnificence of the tropics,
a bright blue sky and sun, a deep blue sea, mountains, hills covered
with vines, white villas covered with glorious creepers, and picturesque
churches and convents. Here we passed a most delightful six weeks,
and here I wrote my first book on Madeira and Teneriffe; but my
husband would not let me print it, because he did not think it was
up to the mark. He thought I must study and copy many more years
before I tried authorship. And he was right, both in this and not
letting me share with him the climate of West Africa. But I thought
both very hard at the time.

The time came when he had to go back to his post, but I was
not allowed to sleep at Fernando Po. I thought it dreadfully hard,
and cried and begged, but he was immovable; and he was right.
So I turned back again with a heavy heart, and had a passage
back, if not quite as bad, very nearly as bad, via Teneriffe and
Madeira. Being alone, I had gone into the ladies’ cabin—a very
small hole with four berths, and what is called by courtesy a sofa;
but there were eight of us packed in it. It was pitch dark; the port¬
hole being closed on account of the weather, the effluvia was dis¬
gusting. I got on a dressing-gown, and crawled out to a stack of
arms, which I fondly embraced, to keep myself from rolling over¬
board, where I was found by one of the officers, who ran off to the
Captain; he found there was an empty deck cabin, which they
immediately put me into, and in a few hours, having got rid
of the noxious vapours, I quite recovered; I again passed a long
and dreary time, during which he kept me either with my parents
well at work, or at sea coming out and going back, with visits to
Madeira and Teneriffe. I had one very anxious time, inasmuch as
he was sent as her Majesty’s Commissioner to the King of Dahomfc r
in those days by no means a safe or easy thing.

DahomL

“ Beautiful feet are those that go
On kindly ministry to and fro—

Down lowliest ways if God wills so,

“ Beautiful life is that whose span
Is spent in duty to God and man,

Forgetting ‘ self’ in all that it can.

“ Beautiful calm when the course is run,

Beautiful twilight at set of sun—

Beautiful death with a life well done.”

Richard, being British Consul for Fernando Po, went to visit
Agbome, the capital of the kingdom of Dahomb. Lord Russell, hear¬
ing of this, gave him instructions to proceed as her Majesty’s Con*.

235

In West Africa.

missioner, on a friendly mission to King Gelele, to impress upon the
King the importance the British Government attached to the cessa¬
tion of the slave-trade, and to endeavour by every possible means to
induce him to cease to continue the Dahoman customs. Now the
Dahoman customs, as all know, meant the cutting of the throats
of prisoners of war, and, in old days, making a little lake of blood
on which to sail a boat. Not only this, cruelty was the rule of every
day. Throats cuts, to send a message to the king’s father in the
other world; women cut open alive in a state of pregnancy to see
what it was like ; animals tied up in every sort of horrible position.
He writes—

“ There is apparently in this people a physical delight in cruelty
to beasts as well as to men. The sight of suffering seems to bring
them enjoyment, without which the world is tame. Probably the
wholesale murderers and torturers of history, from Phalaris and Nero
downwards, took an animal and sensual pleasure—all the passions
are sisters—in the look of blood, and in the inspection of mortal
agonies. I can see no other explanation of the phenomena which
meets my eye in Africa. In almost all the towns on the Oil Rivers,
you see dead or dying animals fastened in some agonizing position.
Poultry is most common, because cheapest—eggs and milk are juju
to slaves here—they are tied by the legs, head downwards, or lashed
round the body to a stake or a tree, where they remain till they fall
in fragments. If a man be unwell he hangs a live chicken round his
throat, expecting that its pain will abstract from his sufferings.
Goats are lashed head downwards tightly to wooden pillars, and are
allowed to die a lingering death. Even the harmless tortoise cannot
escape impalement. Blood seems to be the favourite ornament for
a man’s face, as pattern-painting with some dark colour, like indigo,
is the proper decoration for a woman. At funerals, numbers of
goats and poultry are sacrificed for the benefit of the deceased, and
the corpse is sprinkled with the warm blood. The headless trunks
are laid upon the body, and if the fowls flap their wings, which they
will do for some seconds after decapitation, it is a good omen for the
dead man.

“ When male prisoners of war are taken they are brought home for
sacrifice and food, whilst their infants and children are sometimes
supported by the middle, from poles planted in the canoe. The
priest decapitates the men—for ordinary executions each Chief has
his own headsman—and no one doubts that the bodies are eaten.
Mr. Smith and Dr. Hutchinson both aver that they witnessed actual
cases. The former declares that, when old Pepple, father of the
present King, took captive King Amakree, of New Calabar, he gave
a large feast to the European slave-traders on the river. All was on
a grand scale. But the reader might perhaps find some difficulty in
guessing the name of the dish placed before his Majesty at the head
of the table. It was the bloody heart of the King of Calabar, just

236 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

as it had been torn from the body. He took it in his hand and
devoured it with the greatest apparent gusto, remarking, ‘This is
the way I serve my enemies ! ’

“ Shortly after my first visit, five prisoners of war were

brought in from the eastern country. I saw in the juju -house
their skulls, which were suspiciously white and clean, as if
boiled, and not a white man doubted that they had been

eaten. The fact is, that they cannot afford to reject any kind

of provisions.”

Richard was the bearer of presents from Her Majesty to the
King—one forty-feet circular crimson silk damask tent, with pole
complete ; a richly embossed silver pipe with amber mouth¬
piece ; two richly embossed silver belts, with lion and crane
in raised relief; two silver waiters; one coat of mail and

gauntlets.

With regard to his Mission, the King said that if he renounced
the customs of his forefathers his people would kill him; that
the slaves represented his fortune, but if the Queen would
allow him ^50,000 a year, that he would be able to do with¬
out it. With regard to the tent, it was exceedingly handsome,

but it was too small to sit under in that climate, and the only

thing he cared for was the gingerbread lion on the top of the
pole. He liked his old red-clay and wooden-stem pipe better
than the silver one ; he liked the silver waiters very much,
but he thought they were too small to use as shields ; he could
not get his hand into the gauntlet; the coat of mail he hung

up and made into a target; and then he explained that the

only thing he really did want, and would be much obliged
to her Majesty for, was a carriage and horses, and a white
woman !

He made my husband a Brigadier-General of his Amazons,
and I was madly jealous from afar; for I imagined lovely women
in flowing robes, armed, and riding thoroughbred Arabs. The
King gave him a string of green beads, which was a kind of Dahoman
“ Garter,” a necklace of human bones for his favourite squaw, and
a silver chain and Cross with a Chameleon on it. We traced in
it the presence of former missionaries, who doubtless found that
their crucifixes were thought to be a delightful invention for the
King to crucify men, and therefore they replaced it by the chame¬
leon. I have lost my paper on it, and am afraid to quote Greek
without it. The King sent return presents to Her Majesty; they
consisted of native pipes and tobacco for Her Majesty’s smoking,
and loin-cloths for Her Majesty to change while travelling, and

TIIE CHIEF OFFICER OF RICHARD’S BRIGADE OF AMAZONS

Sketched by himself.

In West Africa . 237

an umbrella to be held over Her Majesty’s head whilst drinking.
The presents arrived one day whilst I was at the Foreign Office,
but as there had been a murder at Fernando Po, and Richard
had been ordered to send home the clothes of the murdered man,
on opening the box they were supposed to be these latter articles,

CRUCIFIX.

and were put on one side. I was told they looked quite dirty
enough to be that.

The journey occupied three months, during the whole of which
time the King made much of him, but holding his life in his
hand, and any spiteful moment might have ended it. He told

238

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

me when he came back, that he had seen enough horrid sights
to turn a man’s brain; and he said, “ I used to have to be
perfectly calm and dignified whilst seeing these things, or
they would have had a contempt for me; but I frequently
used to send to the King to say, that if such or such hap¬
pened again, I should be obliged to leave his Court, as my
Government did not countenance such proceedings, which
always had the desired effect.” On his return, he received no
acknowledgment whatever of his services, but Earl Russell wrote
me a kind little note, in which he said, “Tell Captain Burton
that he has performed his Mission to my utmost and entire
satisfaction.”

The Bight of Biafra, on the West Coast of Africa, extends from
Fernando Po to Bathurst, about six hundred miles of coast, and that
was Richard’s jurisdiction. The lawless conduct of the rum-cor¬
rupted natives gave him a good deal of trouble. The traders and
the merchants of the coast are called “ palm-oil lambs,” and they
used to call Richard their “shepherd” (supercargoes and skippers
are also called “palm-oil ruffians” and “coast-lambs”). I believe
he managed them very amicably, and, in spite of business and the
dangerous climate, he was supported by all the better class of
European agents and supercargoes. He pursued his explorations
with ardour. He knew the whole coast from Bathurst (Gambia)
to St. Paulo de Loanda (Angola). He marched up to Abeokuta, he
ascended the Cameroon Mountains, the wonderful extinct volcano
described by Hanno the Carthagenian and Ptolemy’s “ Theon
Ochema.” He wanted the English Government to establish a
sanitarium there for the West Coast, and a convict-station for gar¬
rotters, the last new crime of that day, and to be allowed to use them
to construct roads, and in cultivating cotton and chocolate. He
told Lord Russell that he would be responsible for them, and should
never chain them or lock them up, because, as long as they remained
within a certain extent of ring-fence, they would be well and hearty,
and the moment they went outside it, they would die without any¬
body looking after them. The British Government was too tender
over their darling human brutes, the cruel, ferocious, and murderous
criminals, though the climate was considered quite good enough for
Richard and other honourable and active British subjects. He then
told Earl Russell that if he would make him Governor of the
“ Gold Coast,” he could send home annually one million pounds
sterling; but Lord Russell answered him, “ that gold was becoming
too common.”

He then visited the cannibal Mpangwe, the Fans of Du Chaillu,

In West Africa . 239

whose accuracy he had always stood up for when the world had
doubted him, and now he was able to confirm it. He then went to
Benin City, which was mostly unknown to the Europeans. Belzoni
was born in Padua in 1778. During the last eight years of his life
he was an African explorer; and he died in Africa, at Benin, in
1823, and he was buried at Gwato, at the foot of a very large tree;
guns were fired, and a carpenter from one of the ships put up a
tablet to his memory. It is suspected that he was poisoned for the
sake of plunder. It was said that some native had inherited his
papers. Richard offered fzo for them, but without avail. Belzoni’s
tree is of a fine spreading growth, which bears a poison apple, and
whose boughs droop nearly to the ground. It is a pretty and
romantic spot. He writes, “I made an attempt at digging, in
order that I might take home his bones and, if possible, his papers,
but I was obliged to content myself with sketching his tree, and
sending home a handful of wild-flowers to Padua. He died, some
say, on the 26th of November, and some say the 3rd of December,
1820.” It is remarkable the tender feeling that Richard had for
Travellers’ graves abroad; indeed, any English graves abroad, but
especially Travellers or Englishmen. The number of graves that we
have sought out, and put in a state of repair and furnished with
tombstones and flowers, you would hardly believe—Lady Hester
Stanhope’s in Syria, Jules Jaquemont’s in Bombay, a French
traveller, and many, many others. It showed the feeling that he had
about a traveller coming home to lay his bones to rest in his own
land, and the respect he had for their resting-place. It makes me
all the more thankful that I was able to bring him home to the
place he chose himself, and that our friends enabled me to put up
such a monument to him.

He brought out, in Fraser's Magazine , several letters in February,
March, and April, 1863, previous to his “ Wanderings.” He ascended
the Elephant Mountain, and when he came home he lectured upon
that before the Geographical Society.

He visited the line of lagoons between Lagos and the Volta river.
He explored the Yellahlah rapids of the Congo river, and while
engaged in all this he collected 2859 proverbs in different African
tongues.

CHAPTER XVI.

HOME.

At last the time came round for a second leave, and we had a
second joyous meeting at Liverpool—this time to part no more as
previously. It was on the 28th of August, soon after his landing,
1864, that we chose our burial-place in the Mortlake Cemetery.
We had been for that purpose to one of the big cemeteries—I think
it was Kensal Green—and we had seen with discomfort that there
was so much damp, and looking into an open grave we saw it was
full of water; so he looked round rather woeful, and instead of
saying it was melancholy, as most men would have done, and as /
thought , he espied a tomb on which the instruments of the Passion
were represented, amongst them the cock of St. Peter. So he said,
41 1 don’t think we had better be too near that cock, he will always
be crowing and waking us up.” We were on a visit to my aunts at
Mortlake, who had bought Portobello House, close to the station,
nearly opposite to where I live now, had been settled there for
some years, and where we had had many large family reunions.
We walked into the burial-ground where numbers of my people are
buried, and he said, “We will have it here; it is like a nice little
family hotel;” and he again confirmed the idea in 1882, when we
came down to visit my mother’s grave.

Whilst Richard had been on the West Coast of Africa, Speke
and Grant had been on their Expedition, and returned and had a
grand ovation. The labours of the first Expedition had rendered
the road easy for the second . 44 The line had been opened,” Richard

wrote, “ by me to Englishmen; they had only to tread in my steps.”
In the closing days of December, 1863, Speke made a speech at
Taunton, which for vain-gloriousness and bad taste was unequalled.
He referred to Richard as 44 Bigg,”asserted “that in 1857 he (Speke)
had hit the Nile on the head, but that now (1863) he had driven it
into the Mediterranean.” It is not much to be wondered at if the

240

Home.

241

following epigram on one of Richard's visiting cards was left on the
table of the Royal Geographical Society—

“ Two loves the Row of Savile haunt,

Who both by nature big be ;

The fool is Colonel (Barren) Grant,

The rogue is General Rigby.”

The first great event was the British Association Meeting at
Bath, September, 1864. Laurence Oliphant conveyed to Richard
that Speke had said that “if Burton appeared on the platform at
Bath ” (which was, as it were, Speke’s native town) “ he would kick
him.” I remember Richard’s answer—“ Well, that settles it! By
God, he shall kick me; ” and so to Bath we went. There was
to be no speaking on Africa the first day, but the next day was
fixed for the “ great discussion between Burton and Speke.” The
first day we went on the platform close to Speke. He looked at
Richard, and at me, and we at him. I shall never forget his face.
It was full of sorrow, of yearning, and perplexity. Then he seemed
to turn to stone. After a while he began to fidget a great deal, and
exclaimed half aloud, “Oh, I cannot stand this any longer.” He
got up to go out. The man nearest him said, “ Shall you want your
chair again, Sir ? May I have it ? Shall you come back ? ” and he
answered, “ I hope not,” and left the Hall. The next day a large
crowd was assembled for this famous discussion. All the distin¬
guished people were with the Council; Richard alone was excluded ,
and stood on the platform, we two alone, he with his notes in his
hand. There was a delay of about twenty-five minutes, and then the
Council and speakers filed in and announced the terrible accident
out shooting that had befallen poor Speke shortly after his leaving
the Hall the day before. Richard sank into a chair, and I saw by the
workings of his face the terrible emotion he was controlling, and the
shock he had received. When called upon to speak, in a voice that
trembled, he spoke of other things and as briefly as he could. When
we got home he wept long and bitterly, and I was for many a day
trying to comfort him.

Richard at this time wrote, secretly, a little “ squib ” of one
hundred and twenty-one pages, called “ Stone Talk,” being some of
the marvellous sayings of a petral portion of Fleet Street, London, to
one Dr. Polyglot, Ph.D., by Frank Baker, D.O.N., 1865. He kept it
quite secret from me, and one day brought it out of his pocket on a

242 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

railway journey, as if he had bought it from a stall, and gave it to
me to read. I was delighted with it, kept reading him out passages
from it, with peals of laughter. Fortunately we were alone, and
I kept saying to him, “Jemmy, I wish you would not go about
talking as you do; I am sure this man has been associating with
you at the club, picked up all your ideas and written this book,
and won’t he just catch it! ” At last, after going on like that for
a considerable time, the amused expression of his face flashed an
idea into my brain, and I said, “ You wrote it yourself, Jemmy, and
nobody else;” and he said, “I did.” When I showed it to Lord
Houghton, he told me that he was afraid that it would do Richard
a great deal of harm with the “ powers that were,” and advised me
to buy them up, which I did. He took the nom de plume of
“Frank Baker” from his second name Francis and his mother’s
name Baker.

It has been thrown in my teeth, since his death, that he would
have married twice before he married me, and as he was between
thirty-nine and forty at the time of our marriage, it is very natural
that it should be so. I sometimes take comfort in reading passages
from “ Stone Talk ” anent former loves — I do not know who
they are.

This year, 1864, Richard edited and annotated Marcy’s “Prairie
Traveller ” for the Anthropological Review.

This year we became very intimate with Winwood Reade. We
went over to Ireland, where we spent a delightful two months.
We took an Irish car, and drove by degrees over all the most
interesting and prettiest parts of Ireland, at the rate of so many
miles a day, stopping where it was most interesting. I had an
Irish maid with me, whose chief delight was to see Richard and
me clinging on to the car as it flew round the corners, while she
sat as cool and calm as possible, with her hands in her muff.
“Ye devil,” Richard said to her, “I believe you were born on
a car; I will pay you out for laughing at me.” Some days after¬
wards, she dropped her muff. There was a great deal of snow
on the ground, so Richard said to her very kindly, “ Don’t get
down, Kiernan; I will get your muff for you.” He stopped the
car, got down, pretended to be very busy with his boot, but in
reality he was filling her muff with snow. When he gave it back
to her she gave a little screech. “Ah,” he said, with glistening
eyes, “ you’ll laugh at me for clinging on the car like a monkey on
a scraper again.”

We were asked to numbers of country-houses on the way—to the
Bellews’, Gormanstons’, and Lord Drogheda’s; and we had the

Home.

243

pleasure of making acquaintance with Lady Rachel Butler and
Lord James, who were very kind to us. Dublin was immensely
hospitable, and at that time very gay. One of our interesting
events was making acquaintance with Mr. Lentaigne, the great
convict philanthropist. His mania was to reform his convicts, and
make his friends take them for service, if nobody else would. He
was the man to whom Lord Carlisle said, “Why, Lentaigne, you
will wake up some morning, and find you are the only spoon in
the house.” He took us to see the prisons and the reformatories,
and he implored of me to take out with me a convict woman of
about thirty-four, who had been fifteen years in prison. I said,
“ Well, Mr. Lentaigne, what did she do ? ” “ Poor girl! the sweetest
creature—she murdered her baby when she was sixteen.” “ Well,”
I answered, “ I would do anything to oblige you, but I dare say I
shall often be quite alone with her, and at thirty-four she might like
larger game.”

Richard was veritably, though born of prosaic parents, a child
of romance. He had English, Irish, Scotch, and French blood in
his veins, and, it has often been suggested (though never proved),
a drop of Oriental or gypsy blood from some far-off ancestor. His
Scottish, North England, and Border blood came out in all posts of
trust and responsibility, in steadiness and coolness in the hour of
danger, in uprightness and integrity, and the honour of a gentleman.
Of Irish blood he showed nothing excepting fight, but the two
foreign strains were strong. From Arab or gypsy he got his fluency
of languages, his wild and daring spirit, his Agnosticism, his melan¬
choly pathos, his mysticism, his superstition (I am superstitious
enough, God knows, but he was far more so), his divination, his
magician-like foresight into events, his insight, or reading men
through like a pane of glass, his restless wandering, his poetry.
From a very strong strain of Bourbon blood (Richard showed
“ race ” from the top of his head to the sole of his feet) which the
Burtons inherit—that is, my Burtons—he got his fencing, knowledge
of arms, his ready wit and repartee, his boyish gaiety of character as
alternately opposed to his melancholy, and, lastly, but not least, his
Catholicism as opposed to the mysticism of the East, which is not
in the least like the Agnosticism of the West. But it was not a
fixed thing like my Catholicism ; it ran silently threaded through
his life, alternately with his mysticism, like the refrain of an opera.

He was proud of his Scottish and North England blood, he
liked his Rob Roy descent, and also his Bourbon blood, and he
used to laugh heartily when, sometimes, I was half-vexed at some¬
thing and used to chaff him by saying, “You dirty Frenchman!”

244 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Richard was a regular gamin; his keen sense of humour, his
ready wit, were always present. He adored shocking dense people
and seeing their funny faces and stolid belief, and never cared about
what harm it would do him in a worldly sense. I have frequently
sat at the dinner-table of such people, praying him by signs not to
go on, but he was in a very ecstasy of glee; he said it was so funny
always to be believed when you were chaffing, and so curious never
to be believed when you were telling the truth. He had a sort of
schoolboy bravado about these things that in his high spirits lasted
him all the seventy years of his life.

But especially strong were the melancholy, tender, sad hours of
the man, full of sensitiveness to pathos in all he said, or did, or
wrote. The one paid too much for the other, if I may so express it.

Talking of the Bourbon blood and his gaminerie, during this
visit to Ireland we were in Dublin, where we had the pleasure of
knowing Sir Bernard and Lady Burke, and Richard and he were
talking in his study over his genealogy and this Louis XIV. descent.
He said, “ I want this to be made quite clear.” Sir Bernard
said, “ I wonder, Captain Burton, that you, who have such good
Northern and Scottish blood in your veins, and are connected
with so many of the best families, should trouble about what can
only be a morganatic descent at best.” I can see him now, carelessly
leaning against the bookcase with his hands in his pockets, with his
amused face on, looking at the earnest countenance of Sir Bernard
and saying, “Why! I would rather be the bastard of a King, than
the son of an honest man,” and his hearty laugh at the shocked
expression and “ Oh / Captain Burton,” which he had been
waiting for.

One of the amusing things, and interesting as well, was going
to Gerald’s Cross by rail, and when we arrived, there was only one
car. There was another gentleman and ourselves, and as we had
telegraphed for the car, it was ours. Still we did not like to leave
him without anything. So we asked him if we could give him a lift.
He asked us where we were going, and we told him. So he said,
“Well, you pass my house, so I shall be grateful.” As we drove
along for about half an hour between Gerald’s Cross and Cashel,
he told us that he was Bianconi, the first inventor of outside Irish
cars, that his house was called Longfield, and the whole of his most
interesting history. His house was a nice little residence in a
garden with a lawn and trees in front, and he insisted upon taking
us into it, and giving us afternoon tea, after which we drove on.

We visited Tuam, which we both thought a dreadful place ; but
the name of Burton was big there, on account of the Bishop

Home.

245

and the Dean, Richard’s grandfather and uncle, and hundreds of
the poor crowded round us for bakshish (presents). Richard had
still some old aunts there, who came to dine with us, his grand¬
father’s daughters. They had a large tract of land here, but
Richard’s father had made it over to the aunts, and I was very glad
of it, as I should have been very sorry to have had to stop there.
We were delighted with the fishing population of Lough Corrib, a
cross between Spanish and Irish, who have nothing in common with
the town; they are called Claddhah, pronounced Clather. We
stopped long at the Armagh Cathedral, looking for Drelincourt
tombs, of which there are plenty belonging to Richard’s people.
From Drogheda we went to see the Halls of Tara, the site of the
Palace of the Kings, the Stone of Destiny, and then to the site of
the Battle of the Boyne, afterwards to Maynooth College, where
the boys cheered Richard. Then we proceeded to Blarney and
kissed the stone; near Cork to see Captain and Mrs. Lane Fox,
now General and Mrs. Pitt-Rivers; and also to Killarney, and
thought it very pretty but very small. We enjoyed much hos¬
pitality at the Castle during our stay. During all our car-driving
our little horse used to have a middle-of-the-day feed, with a pint
of whisky and water, and she came in at the end of the time in
better condition, and looking in every way better, and twice as frisky
as when she started.

On the 17th of May the Polytechnic in London opened with an
account of Richard’s travels in Mecca, and a dissolving view of
Richard’s picture in uniform. It was arranged by Mr. Pepper
of “ Pepper’s Ghost,” and a quantity of little green pamphlets with
the lecture were sold at the door. On the 22nd of May we dined
with George Augustus Sala, previous to his going to Algiers, and
also with poor Blakeley of the Guns, in his and Mrs. Blakeley’s
pretty little home; he died so sadly afterwards.

Richard was now transferred to Santos, Sao Paulo, Brazil.

CHAPTER XVII.

SANTOS, SAO PAULO, BRAZIL—RICHARD’S SECOND CONSULATE.

“ My native land’s the land of Palms,

The Sabia sings there.

In this drear land no song-birds* notes
With our sweet birds compare.

“More radiant stars bestrew our skies,

More flowers bedeck our fields,

A fuller life teems in our woods,

More love our Plome-life yields.

“ My wakeful thoughts—alone—at night
Full of sweet memories are,

Of mine own land,—the land of Palms,

Where sings the Sabia.

“ My land has sweetest fruits and flowers,

Such sweets I find not here.

Alone—at night—in wakeful hours
More pleasures find I there,

Mine own dear land,—the land of Palms,

Where sings the Sabia.

“ God, in His mercy, grant I may
To that dear land return,

Ere the sweet flowers and fruits decay,

Which here, alas ! I mourn ;

That once again, before I die,

I may the Palm-Trees see,

And hear again the Sabia
Sing its sweet melody.’*

Daniel Fox {translated from the Brazilian
of the poet Antonio Gonsalves Dias).

During this stay at home we had represented to Lord Russell how
miserable our lives were, being always separated by the climate of
Fernando Po, and he very kindly transferred us to Santos, in the
Brazils, where I could go. So Richard agreed that I should go out
with him to Portugal for a trip; that he should go on to Rio de
Janeiro; that I should return to London to wind up our affairs, and

246

Richard’s Seco?id Consulate.

247

then join him at Santos ; and we set sail in May. I now began to
learn Portuguese. We had very bad weather, and on the fourth day
we arrived at Lisbon, and went to the Braganza Hotel.

Here was a totally new experience for me. Our bedroom was a
large white-washed place ; there were three holes in the wall, one at
the bedside bristling with horns, and these were cockroaches some
three inches long. The drawing-room was gorgeous with yellow
satin, and the magnificent yellow curtains were sprinkled with these
crawling things \ the consequence was that I used to stand on a
chair and scream. This annoyed Richard very much. “A nice
sort of traveller and companion you are going to make,” he said.
“ I suppose you think you look very pretty and interesting, standing
on that chair and howling at those innocent creatures.” This hurt
me so much that, without descending from the chair, I stopped
screaming and made a meditation, like St. Simon Stylites on his
pillar, and it was, “ that if I was going to live in a country always
in contact with these and worse things, though I had a perfect
horror of anything black and crawling, it would never do to go on
like that.” So I got down, fetched a basin of water and a slipper,
and in two hours, by the watch, I had knocked ninety-seven of them
into it. It cured me. From that day I had no more fear of vermin
and reptiles, which is just as well in a country where nature is over-
luxuriant. A little while after we changed our rooms, we were
succeeded by the late Lord and Lady Lytton, and, to my infinite
delight, I heard the same screams coming from the same rooms a
little while after. “ There! ” I said in triumph, “ you see, I am
not the only woman who does not like cockroaches.”

Here he insisted on taking me to a bull-fight, because he said
I ought to see everything once. But there is a great difference
between a Spanish and a Portuguese bull-fight. In Portugal the
bull’s horns are knobbed ; he does not gore horses nor dogs—
he tosses men softly, and if I do not mind that, it is because the
men go in for it willingly, are paid for it, and are bred to
it as a profession from father to son for endless generations. The
only torment the bull has to endure is the darts thrown into the
fat part of his neck. If he fights well, they are taken out after¬
wards and his wounds dressed with oil, and he is turned out loose
to fight another day. If he won’t fight, he is killed for beef; so you
get all the science and the play without the disgusting cruelty. At
first I crouched down with my hands over my face, but I gradually
peeped through first one finger and then another, until I saw the
whole of it; but it awed me so much that I was almost afraid to
come out of our box, for fear we should meet a bull on the stairs.

248 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

We then went to Cintra, and to Mafra. Richard found an old
mosque in Cintra, and we saw Mr. Cooke’s beautiful house.* For
people who have not been to Lisbon, I may say that Belem Church
is, I think, quite the most beautiful thing in the world. It is one of
the noted dreams in marble. From Lisbon we went on to Corregado,
to SerQal and Caldas, to see Alcobago, where there is a most beautiful
monastery. In the days of rebellion and persecution, the days of
Don Miguel, somewhere in the early thirties, the monks had to clear
out, and my father took one of them, whose name was Antonio
Barboza de Lima, to be our tutor and chaplain, when we were
children (and he is now buried at Mortlake); so Richard and I took
an extra interest in the details. We then went to Batalha, where
there is another beautiful monastery, to Pombal, to Leiria, and to
Coimbra. This seat of learning is one of the prettiest, dirtiest,
and slowest places imaginable, and we soon made our way to
Oporto, and went to Braga to see the Whit-Sunday fete , from thence
to Malozinhos. This northern part of Portugal is ever so much more
beautiful than Lisbon. The more you get into Douro, and the
nearer you are to Spain, the larger and handsomer become the
people.

However, our time was short, and, after a delightful two months’
Portuguese exploration, we had to get back to Lisbon, where
we saw another bull-fight, and Richard embarked for Brazil. I
promised him to go back by the very next steamer that sailed.
As I used to keep my word very literally , a few hours after his
departure, a very tiny steamer came in, much worse than the West
African boats ; but I thought myself obliged to go, and we started
at 9.20 in the evening, in spite of north-easterly gales, and had a
bad time of it in the Bay of Biscay, she being only 428 tons. The
route was from London to Lisbon, Gibraltar, Mazagan, Mogador,
Canary Islands, coast of Spain, Morocco, and Portugal. On board,
besides myself, having made the same mistake, was Dona Maria Rita
Tenorio y Moscoso, who afterwards married the Portuguese Minister
in London, Count Lavradio. We were in a tremendous fog oft
Beachy Head, went aground somewhere near Erith in the fog, and
were very glad to land on the eighth day, having roughed it pro¬
digiously. I note nothing important except some very interesting
experiments at Mr. William Crookes’s, both chemically and spiritual¬
istically.

By end of August, ue. in a month, my work was accomplished, and
I may as well now say, that whenever we were going to leave England

* One of the lions of Cintra.

Richard's Second Constilate. 249

for any length of time, he used mostly to like to start at once in
light marching order, go forward and prospect the place, and leave
me behind to settle up our affairs, pay and pack, bringing up the
heavy baggage in the rear. It saved time, as double work got done
in the space; so, having completed all, I embarked from Southampton
in one of the Royal mails. Heavy squalls and thunder and lightning
began next day, and at Lisbon the thermometer was 8o° in the
cabin. We passed Santa Cruz, off Teneriffe, having a good view
of the Peak. We got to St. Vincent in ten days, quite the most
wretched hole in the world—only barren rocks, and the heat was like
a dead wall. We had very charming people on board, mostly all
foreigners, except Mr. and Mrs. Wodehouse, and Mr. Conyngham.
Neptune came on board on the night of the 24th, we crossed the
Line on the 25th, and the ceremonies of “crossing the Line” were
gone through, the tubbing and shaving, the greasy pole and running
in sacks, and a hair was drawn across the field-glasses, through
which you were requested to look at the “Line.” The perhaps
most striking thing to a new-comer going opt, is losing the Great
Bear and the Northern Star, and all that one is accustomed to, and
exchanging them for the Southern Cross and others.

We arrived at Pernambuco on the 27 th, and there I found all the
letters that I had written to my husband since we parted, accumu¬
lated in the post-office, consequently I did not know what he would
think had become of me. Here we had a very rough sea and boiling
surf. I passed the evening miserably, thinking about the letters;
though everything was looking very beautiful, and the band was
playing tunes and everybody waltzing, I sat by the wheel and had a
good “ boo-hoo” in the moonlight. On the 30th we reached Bahia,
and went ashore and lunched with Mrs. Baines, and visited Mr.
Charles Williams. The women wanted to sell me small black babies
in the market for two shillings. We sailed the same day, and had
heavy weather. I rose at five, just before we went into the harbour
at Rio. It is about the most glorious sight that a human being can
behold, at sunrise and at sunset, the mountains being of most fantastic
shapes, and the colours that of an opal. Richard said it beats all
the scenery he had ever seen in his life—even the Bosphorus. He
came on board at half-past eight in the morning, and we bad a joyful
meeting, and I handed him all the letters which, by some strange
mischance, had accumulated at Pernambuco during our month’s
separation.

We stayed at the Estrangeiros Hotel, where there was quiet,
fresh ’air, beautiful scenery, and several disadvantages, including
cockroaches and mosquitoes. We enjoyed a great deal of hospitality,

250 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

both Naval and Diplomatic, and had several excursions and picnics.
All nations have a “ Flagship ” and other ships in the harbour ; there
is a great deal of gaiety and esprit de corps amongst the Diplomatic
and Consular service. Amongst others here was Mr. Gerald Perry,
our Minister, Sir Edward and Lady Thornton, Chevalier Bunsen,
the son of the great Bunsen, with whom we used to have learned
discussions very often in the evening on “ Geist ” and other scientific
subjects, and German metaphysics generally. Mrs. Elliot, the wife
of Admiral Elliot, the Admiral of the Station, was a very kind friend
to me, on this my first debut into this kind of life. We had our first
dinner-party at our hotel, and after all the formal people had gone,
Richard and the young ones proposed a moonlight walk. We went
down to the Botanical Gardens, and tried to get in, but the gates
were locked—tall iron gates—and nothing would do but that, as we
could not get in, we should scramble over them. It was quite con¬
trary to law, but we had a nice walk about the gardens. There was
either no watch-dog, or the guard being unaccustomed to such
daring, was not on the look-out; but there were too many snakes
about, and particularly the coral snake, of which nobody has any
idea in England, because its colours fade as soon as it is put in
Spirits ; so we all came back and climbed over the gate again, and
got back without any danger.

But we had come out of hot rooms, and it was dewy and damp,
so next day I had my first fever. It consisted of sickness and
vomiting, colic, dizziness, faintness, shivering, heat and cold, delirium,
thirst, disgust of food. The treatment was calomel, castor oil, hot
baths, blankets, emetics, ice, starvation, and thirty grains of quinine.
It did not last long, but my being delirious alarmed Richard very
much, and he mesmerized me.

In Rio one generally takes a native steamer, which is not
very comfortable, to go to Santos, one hundred and twenty miles
south of Rio. As soon as I was able to move, Captain Napier
took us on board H.M.S. Triton for Santos. It was very rough.
The captain had given up his quarters to me; the stern ports were
not closed, and at night a tremendous sea came in, and swept our
cots. It continued very squally, and we anchored at Ilha Grande ;
next day the men practised gunnery and small-arms, and Captain
Napier made me practise with a revolver. It was fifty-eight miles from
Rio to Ilha Grande, a pretty mountainous island, which surrounds a
lovely bay, with a few huts on it. We then proceeded seventy-eight
miles further to St. Sebastian, which is a grand copy of the Straits of
Messina (Scylla and Charybdis), and spoils your after-view of what
people who have seen nothing bigger, think so wonderful. You

Richard's Second Consulate.

251

steam through an arm of the sea, appearing like a gigantic river,
surrounded by mountains (whose verdure casts a green shade upon
the water), dotted with houses, small towns, and gardens. The chief
town is St. Sebastian, which is very populous. The water is calm ;
there is a delicious sea-breeze. When Richard went ashore they
saluted him with the usual number of guns, and Brazilian local
“swells” came off to visit us.

Santos, Brazil, his Second Consulate.

We awoke next morning, the 9th of October, 1865, off the Large.
About eleven we were at the mouth, whence one steams about
nine miles up a serpentine river, and at one o’clock anchored
opposite Santos. We saluted, and the Consular corps came off to
see us. We stayed on board that night, and we left the ship at
half-past seven next day, loitering about Santos.

Santos was only a mangrove swamp, and in most respects
exactly like the West Coast of Africa, the road slushy and deep.
Tree-ferns, African mangrove, brown water full of tannin, patches
of green light and green dark, in rare clearings here and there
houses and fields near town, much water, and good rice. The sand
runs up to the mangrove jungle; there is good fishing, and deer in
the forests. The heavy sea sometimes washes into the gardens,
spoils the flowers, and throws up whale-bones in all directions. At
the time of our arrival, the railway from Santos to Sao Paulo, about
eighty miles into the interior, was only just beginning, and a large
staff of Englishmen were engaged upon it. Mr. J. J. Aubertin, now,
since his freedom, poet, author, and traveller, was then superintendent
of it. Richard had been here, and inspected the place before my
arrival, although he had met me at Rio, and he had arranged, as
there were two places equally requiring the presence of a Consul (Sao
Paulo on the top of the Serra, and Santos on the coast), that we
should live at both places, riding up and down as occasion required,
thus keeping our health; and Mr. Glennie, the Vice-Consul—who
had gone to Santos as a boy, had been there over forty years, had
married there, was perfectly devoted to it, and the only hardship he
would have known would have been to live out of it—could remain
there. His one ambition of life was to be Consul of Santos, and
when we left, some years after, and his nomination was just going
out to him, he died—as Richard used to say, “so like Provy.”

We therefore, that same day, went in trollies to Mugis, where we
lunched. Richard and Captain Napier had started on foot, and
soon after Mr. Aubertin and thirteen others joined us. We were

252 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

twenty-one people. Dr. and Mrs. Hood lived at the foot of the
Serra, and they gave us a big tea-dinner. Mrs. Hood, the widow,
with her now large grown-up family, strange to say, is now my near
neighbour in Mortlake. Next day, what with mules, walking, riding,
and occasional trollies, we got at the top of the Serra. There was a
huge chasm over which the rail would have to pass on a bridge, with
an almost bottomless drop. There were only planks across it; but,
as I was on in front, supposing that was what we had got to cross,
I walked right across it, about some two hundred yards. When I
got to the other side, I turned round to speak, but nobody answered
me, and facing round I saw the whole company standing on the
other side, not daring to breathe, and my husband looking ghastly;
so I turned round and was going to walk back again, when they
motioned me off by signs, and all began to file round another way
on terra firma. It was fortunate that I had such a good head, and
did not know my danger.

The train line up the Serra is a very steep incline, one in nine,
and is managed by a chain with a stationary engine at the top,
a train being hooked on at each end of the rope. On one side
was a mountain wall, and the other side a bottomless abyss, but the
whole thing was quite beautiful through virgin forest. At this time
it was not far advanced enough, and we rode up on mules. At the top
a locomotive was kept to take us into Sao Paulo, which reminded us
of Bergamo, in Italy, where we all dined at the little French inn.
The next day we took a trip to what was then the end of the line,
twelve miles beyond Sao Paulo, but at this time these trips were
part mules, part trollies, part walking ones. We came back to
dinner; there were speeches, and we wished the “Tritons” good¬
bye. Richard went down with them to set up his Consulate, and
I remained to look for a house, and set up our first real home.
After twelve or thirteen days, I went down to Santos by the diligence,
by bad roads, but with a lovely panorama. The diligence takes
one as far as Cubatao, where a little steamer plies for a couple of
hours, first up a fine stream, between banks of tangled magnificence
in the vegetation line, then an arm of the sea, or rather lagoons.
The journey occupies seven carriage and two boat hours.

The worst of Santos, besides the steaming heat enclosed within
and at the bottom of the hills, arising from the mangrove swamps,
was the sand-flies and the mosquitoes. Richard was quite impervious
to all other vermin, but the sand-flies used to make him come out
all over bumps. For the rest, he used to say that he liked to have me
near him—it was just like having “ catch ’em alive ” for flies, as every¬
thing came and bit me, and I was not fit to be seen, and spared him.

Richard's Second Consulate .

253

The fact is, I had fresh English blood, and it was rather a treat
to them. The nicest thing was to drive out to the Barra. Captain
Richard Hare, R.N., then came in, and we made a large party to
stay there. The Barra was our fashionable bathing-place; the sea
rolled right in to the strip of sand between it and the mangrove
swamps, on the edge of which were (at that time) a few huts, with
windows and doors opening on to the sand. In some there were
no windows; they only closed by a wooden shutter.

After staying there for some time with Richard, I went up to
Sao Paulo again, because I was getting feverish ; it was wet and
windy, and it took me eleven hours and a half. On going up,
I engaged a very curious little fellow in our service, who deserves
a few lines. Chico was thirty-five years of age; he was about
four feet high, but perfectly well proportioned, as black as a coal,
brimming full of intelligence, and could put his hand to anything.
He had just been emancipated. He remained with us the whole
time we were in Brazil, and became my right-hand man—more of
him anon.

At last I found an old convent, No. 72, Rua do Carmo, which
opened on the street in its front, and ran a long way back behind on
an eminence, which commanded a view of almost boundless horizon
into the country, and was exceedingly healthy. I immediately took
it, cleaned it, painted and whitewashed it, and furnished it, and
engaged slaves, paying their masters so much, and so much to them,
as if they were free men. They were all Catholics, and I made a
little chapel for them.

The slaves in Brazil, as a rule, formed, as it were, part of the
family, and in ninety-five houses out of a hundred they were
kindly treated and happy, but the remaining five out of the
hundred were brutal; but, however, in all cases, the poor creatures
were told, or, if not told, were allowed to believe, that they had
no souls, and nothing to look forward to. I, on the contrary,
taught them, and had regular lecture and catechism for them, that
not only had they souls, but that, although they were condemned by
class and colour and custom to be slaves upon earth, just as it was
in the Bible, that once dead, they, and we, would stand equal before
God. The priest used to come to my little Oratory, where I had the
Bishop’s leave to have Mass and the Sacraments, and we all received
Communion together. They were very happy, the house went
upon oiled wheels, and I never had occasion to dismiss a servant
the whole time I was there. The differences were chiefly amongst
themselves. Richard having settled his Consulate at Santos, and
I having prepared our home in Sao Paulo, he came up and joined

254 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

me, and for the first time since our marriage we were absolutely
settled in a home of our own.

Up the country in Brazil, people always get one or two things in
their first few years. You either break out all over boils, so that you
cannot put a pin’s point between them, and if you have a weak place,
they come there in clusters, and you can neither sit nor stand, kneel
or lie, and you are an object of misery for some months; but if you
have strength, and can pull through it, you bloom out with stronger
health than ever after that. This happened to me. I had to be
slung up. A friend gave me a barrel of porter, and it was alter¬
nately “ faint ” and a “glass of porter,” which revived me for a few
minutes, and then more faint and more porter, ad infinitum. By the
time the barrel of porter was finished, I was convalescent, and when
any new ones attempted to break out, a friend gave me two things
to try—and I tell it for the sake of those who may follow me ; it was
to draw a ring of caustic round one, and a ring of laudanum round
the other. The caustic ones did not answer, but the ring of laudanum
made them disappear, and I got splendid health, which lasted at
least seventeen years. Now, people who do not get the boils are
bound to get one or more of the complicated diseases of the country,
and that is just what happened to Richard. We had no doctors up
there, that I am aware of.

On the 17th of January, 1866, we had an awful storm, worse than
any known for twenty-five years; there was an awful blackness, the
lightning was red, the wind drove in the windows, the hail was jagged
pieces of ice one inch in diameter, sharp and long, and made round
holes like a bullet, there was a network of flashes, rain from all
quarters—a regular cyclone. It drove through the room fronting
north, which was like a ship’s cabin in a gale. We saw the cathedral
struck, the cross knocked off, tiles blown away; the hotel room was
like a shower-bath, with a continuous stream of rain. Several houses
were struck, some of the doors split, and the streets quite flooded;
people were frightened, and lighted candles, and brought out the
Madonna. There were sharp rattlings like earthquake ; it blew a clock
against the walls away; the people all met as after a revolution in
Paris. The windows were everywhere broken, and the water looked
black. It was quite local, and did not touch the shipping. In
the town four were killed and five wounded. The next day was
very hot.

Santos is six thousand miles away from Europe, and we only got
letters once a month.

Richard’s study was the most important feature in the house. It
was a long room, running out on an eminence forty feet long, with a

Richard's Second Consulate.

good terrace at the end of it, on which we had a telescope, and
every convenience for astronomy and observations; and perhaps
the other most striking part of the house was a large room, which
occupied the whole centre of the house, and opened on the stairs.
This was dining-room, receiving-room, and everything. Directly below
that was a similar place, that was more like stables than room. It
was my refuge for the needy and homeless after dark ; they were fed
and housed, and turned out in early morning.

On the 27th of July he notes in his journal: “ Dream that a bad
tooth fell out, followed by five or six big drops of blood ; noted the day,
and found that my poor friend Steinhaiiser had died of heart disease
quite suddenly in Switzerland that day.” On the 14th of August, 1866,
the first through-train went from Santos to Jundiahy. There was
a fete in consequence, and the company had the bad taste only to
omit the Consul and his wife from the invitations to all the English.
On the 22 nd of August Richard went to stop with the priests of the
seminary (Capuchins), which he often did, in their chacara ,, or country-
house, where he studied astronomy with Fray Joao, and metaphysics,
physics, and algebra, with Pbre Germain. Here he was engaged in
writing “ Vikram and the Vampire,” and he got a concession for the
lead mines of Iporanga, in Sao Paulo. On the 21st of December
we went down to Rio for our Christmas, which we spent at Petro-
polis. On the 12th of November some one put a stone on the railway
to throw the train off, and on the 19th it was said that a part of
the rails was pulled up.

In Santos and Sao Paulo we remained from 1865 to 1869, and
I may say that his career here was equally active and useful, both
on the coast and in the interior. We thoroughly explored our own
province, Sao Paulo, which is larger than France. (I do not bore
you with two pages of Brazilian names of places, because very few
would know where they were, unless they had lived there and had
worked in wild places, which is not likely.) We spent a good time
at the gold mines and diamond diggings of Minas Geraes. He
canoed down the river of San Francisco, fifteen hundred miles. He
went to the Argentine Republic of the Pata-Parank; he went to
Paraguay for the purpose of reporting the state of the Paraguayan War
to the Foreign Office. He crossed the Pampas and the Andes to
Chili and Peru, amongst the dangerous Indians, whilst on sick leave
for an illness which brought him almost to death’s door. He visited
the Pacific coast to inspect the scenes of the earthquake at Arica,
returning by the Straits of Magellan, Buenos Ayres, and Rio de
Janeiro.

Letters from Richard to Fraser's Magazine appeared in three

256 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

numbers, headed, “ From London to Rio de Janeiro.” He like¬
wise wrote three books—“ The Highlands of Brazil,” 2 vols., which
I edited and brought out in 1869; “ Vikram and the Vampire,”
one vol. of Hindu tales brought out in 1870; “Paraguay,” 1 vol.,
brought out in 1870. He interested himself immensely in the coffee
and cotton produce, Mr. Aubertin being at that time the “father
of cotton” in Brazil, but his chief interest lay in the mining and
mineral productions of the country. As I have said, he obtained
the concession for the lead mines of Iporanga, and Sir Edward
Thornton was very angry with him—took it in the sense of Consuls
trading, and reported him home. Fortunately, we had the large
mind of Lord Stanley (Lord Derby) at the head of the Foreign
Office, and he, knowing how caged and misplaced Richard was at
such a Consulate, thought he might at least be allowed that little
bit of amusement, and sent back a despatch that he did not think
that being interested in mineral production could be exactly classed
under the head of trading.

Amongst other things, Richard discovered something remarkable.
On one of our Expeditions we were stopping at a shanty close to a river,
and seeing something glistening, he walked up the bed of the river,
which was not deep, and scooped up some of the sand and put it in a
jar. On washing it we found that it looked very like rubies. We sent it
home to Mr. Crookes, F.R.S., the great chemical savant, and he wrote
back, “If you get any more, bigger than this, throw up the Consulate
and stick to the rubies.” Now, Richard told me that this was only the
dust washed down, and that the great stones must lie further up the
head of the river. The shanty belonged to an old woman with a right
for a good stretch up the river, and she would have joyfully sold it
for ^50. When I implored Richard almost on my knees to buy it>
he would not, saying it would be quite wrong to defraud that poor
woman out of her place, when she did not know that rubies were
there; that if she did know, she would ask him an exorbitant sum ;
and, what was more, that no one could live there for three days
without getting Brazilian fever, so that we should end by being like
the dog in the fable, with the bit of cheese and the shadow in the
water, and drop the reality for a shadow.

Life in Brazil, if in Rio, was very gay; life at Sao Paulo was
very like a farmhouse life, with cordiality and sociability with the
other farmhouses, and some of the good Brazilian society was very
charming. The Brazilians are to the Portuguese what the Americans
are to us. The Portuguese is heavy; the Brazilian is light, active,
nervous, spirituel. Their parties are much enlivened by music and
dance. They have several native dances, which are danced at the

RicharcCs Second Consulate . 257

balls—one especial one, which is called the carangueijo, which is
very active, very amusing, and very significant. The gentlemen
and ladies dance it as furiously as the common people, as the
Hungarians do the czardas. The Music consists of the modinha ,
which answers to our ballad, and is generally mournful ; the lundu,
which is mostly comic, and almost always in the minor key; and the
recitativo , which consists of playing a flowing melodious accompani¬
ment, and in a voice pitched and attuned to that, reciting a
story of love or war or anything, often improvised at the moment.
The negroes have their balls in the Plaza, or Square, and they will
dance furiously for three consecutive days and nights to the same
tune. It is amusing to watch for about an hour out of a window.
The negro girls come out decolletbe in pink or blue cotton —those are
the swells—the others dress like natives.

What is so beautiful is Nature, the luxuriance of vegetable and
animal life. Everything is so large—the palms, the cacti, and all the
things which here are treasured as plants and bushes, are there fine
trees. I have seen arums of which one leaf would be six feet long and
five broad, behind which a big man could easily hide himself. The
virgin forests are unspeakably beautiful, with their wild tangle of
creeper and parasite. Orchids, of which (during the rage that lasted
in England for them) one single one would have sold for ^60, here
grow wild—one only had to go out with a knife and grub them up from
the trees or rocks ; we sent boxes home to our friends. The fir of
the country is the araucaria; the gum copaiba is eighty feet high.
Flights of gaudy-coloured parrots and all sorts of beautiful coloured
birds are on the trees; butterflies, some of which measure ten
inches from one wing-tip to the other, when spread, float about the
air like large sheets of paper—scarlet, peacock blue, emerald green,
cream, white—in fact, every colour; and coming in and out of your
room, are little humming-birds the size of a large bee, looking like
an emerald or a ruby flitting about, and if you have the sense not
to offer to touch them, and put a little wet sugar in a saucer, they
will stay there for days; but if you try to catch them, they break
their hearts and die. The tints of Brazil are always the tints of the
opal in fine weather. The heat is awful, like the damp heat of a
conservatory ; I flourished in it.

En revanche, Brazil has no history save three hundred years, which
relates its discovery and its gradual transfer from Indian natives to
the first Portuguese settlers. The Jesuits erected all the buildings
on the best sites, made roads, and cultivated ; but the Indians are not
exterminated—they are only driven inwards—and about ten days
from our home our nearest Indians were the Botacudos. You may

258 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

see them in the Crystal Palace with their under-lip distended by a
bit of wood. The nearest to us were friendly ones, and they would
come down to Sao Paulo on rare occasions. They walk in Indian
file, and when they passed our house, or any other friendly house,
they threw their arms out towards the house—as if the whole file
were pulled by a string—till they had gone by it; and that is their
mode of friendly salute. When the railway was opened, they came
down out of curiosity to see it. They looked upon the engine as
a sort of malignant beetle, but at last they got less frightened, and
all clambered upon it; but when it was time to start, and the
driver gave the preliminary whistle, they sprang off like mad, and
ran for their lives, nor could they be persuaded to mount again.

Another drawback was the reptiles and vermin. There is a large
mosquito that fastens its prongs into your hand. I have seen a man
let it suck, and then cut half its tail off, and it has gone on sucking
and the blood running through—the mosquito being not in the least
aware of its loss. Then there is a little grey, almost invisible, mos¬
quito that makes no noise. In Trieste they call them papataci (papa-
hold-your-tongue). There is the jigger, that gets into your flesh,
generally under your toe-nail or under the sole of your foot, and the
first time you are aware that there is anything the matter is by your
limping, and you then discover that there is a something about the
size of a pea in your foot. You send for a negress, who picks at
your foot for a few minutes with a common pin—they won’t use a
needle or any other instrument, because if they did the bag would
break, and the eggs would get into your blood—and presently, with
a little hurting, she triumphantly holds it up at the end of the pin,
puts on a soothing ointment, and you are all right at once. A man
thought he should like to take a jigger home to show an English
doctor, but it was six weeks from home, and his foot was cut off
before he got there.

Another nuisance is the carapato. It is everywhere, but chiefly
inhabits the coffee plantations. There are three sorts, which only
vary in size and colour. It is a cross between a tick and a small
crab; the biggest would be the size of a little finger-nail. If you
ride through a coffee plantation you come out covered with them.
I have more than once taken off my riding habit and found my
jacket nailed to the skin from the outside; to pull them is to tear
your flesh and produce a festering wound. You have to get into a
hot bath, in which you put one or two bottles of cacha$a, the spirit
of the country, and that clears off most of them ; and if any obstinate
ones remain, you have to light a cigarette, and apply the hot end
to their tails till they wriggle their own head and shoulders out from

Richard's Second Consulate .

259

under your skin. Cockroaches you don’t count, but you must
always look in your sleeves, and dress, and boots, for large horned
beetles or spiders or other horrors.

Poor W. H. Bates (the naturalist of the Royal Geographical
Society), who was a great friend of ours, was laughed at because he
spoke of spiders as big as a toy-terrier ; but it is perfectly true—there
are such spiders, though they are not seen in towns, only out in the
forest, and they are the size of a good-sized crab. The body is
hairy, and when they are angry they kick up and throw their hairs
on you, which are poisonous. I was going to hit one, and a native
drew me back and made me run away, for, he said, “ it can spring at
you, and it is instantaneous death.” Richard and I did not go so
far as to believe this, unless your blood is in a very bad state, but
we did believe in its making people ill for several days. A priest
was once going to say Mass, and he took his vestment down from
the wall where it was hung up, and put it on, when he suddenly felt
something hard in the centre of his back. He called to the servers
and asked them to remove his vestment gently, without touching his
back, telling them there was something inside. They did so, and it
was one of these big spiders; when it was removed he fainted.

The people eat a large black ant, an inch and a half long. They
bite off the fat body, which has to them a pleasant acid, and throw
the head and legs away. Another use they make of them is to dress
them up like dolls and sell them. The copun , or white ants, build
nests like milestones. The people here believe in a sort of house-
that-Jack-built as regards animal feeding. They believe that toads
eat ants, that snakes eat toads, that owls eat snakes, also the geese,
and that is why they are cheap.

Snakes are eyerywhere—in your garden, in your basement, in your
rafters ; and there is every description of them, from the boa-
constrictor in the wilder parts, to the smallest. It is a common
thing to hear the rattlesnake in the grass, and to scamper quickly.
Those who kill them cut out the rattle and give it you for good
luck. I have one now. At night, when you walk out you go with
a lantern at the end of a stick, for the snake called jararaquassu lies
curled up at night on the road, looking exactly like a heap of dust,
and you would certainly put your foot on it; it bites your ankle, and
they say that you live about ten minutes.

These things, which sound so wonderful in England, become so
common to us who live and travel in Brazil, out of towns and off
beaten tracks, that we get quite accustomed to them, as everyday
parts of our lives, as you do to showers in April and dying flies in
^September; so that I should not know now that they had ever hap-

260 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

pened if I had not written them down at the time. No one who
means to write, should ever trust to memory, because scene after
scene fades like a dissolving view and is never caught again, whilst
others rise to replace them.

The storms were another thing to be somewhat dreaded. For
our three summer months, which are December, January, and
February (whilst the Thames is frozen over in London), we, maybe,
have 115 0 in the shade, and you see a semicircle of clouds beating up.
As our house was on a kind of promontory running out, not to sea,
but to grassy plain, we used to have to make “ all taut ” as if we
were on board a ship, because when it did come it was like a cyclone,
lasting two or three hours, and then clearing off, leaving everything
bright and beautiful, the earth and air barely refreshed; but while
it lasted the thunder and lightning were close to you. I have
frequently thought that if there was one more clap my head would
split—it deafened one. The windows were generally broken, there
were balls of fire flying through the air—blue, red, yellow ; and on
one occasion, on a pitch-black night, perceiving a light from an
opposite angle in my husband's room, I thought the house was on
fire. The door was locked for the night. I ran down the corridor,
unlocked the door, and, going in, found that the lightning had
broken a window and had set on fire one of my husband’s large
rolling atlases on canvas, which hung from the walls. I ran back
and called him, and it made him very uncomfortable. He thought
that one of these lightning balls of fire must have done it, but there
was no aerolite or anything to show. There was no fireplace in the
room, not even a box of matches.

At nine p.m. on the 20th of October, a meteor fell with a loud
sound, and lit up the City of Sao Paulo. Martinico Prado and some
others were standing near it, and he fell insensible. It fell on the
hill near Sao Bemte; blue flame was seen in our house at the same
moment. It was intensely cold, but bright, beautiful weather.

We bought horses—one that had something of the mustang in it,
called Hawa, which always carried me, and Penha, a smaller one
from Campos for Richard. When we drove, it was in an American
buckboard, seat for two, with huge wheels, and a little place to hold
a box, with a pair of wild mules that used to pull one’s arm off.
When Richard did not ride with me, Chico used to take the second
horse.

Chico and I never had but one quarrel, and I will give it as
an illustration. When I first arrived, Richard used always to laugh
at me, because I was so miserable at the way the cruel people treat
the blacks—just in the same way that I, and so many others, feel

Richard's Second Cons7tlate.

261

about the treatment of animals—and he kept saying, “ Oh, wait a bit,
till you have lived with negroes a little; you philanthropic people
always have to give in.” Well, about six weeks after I got Chico, 1
heard a tremendous noise, and shrieks of agony proceeding from the
kitchen, and rushing in the direction I found Chico roasting my
favourite cat at the fire. I made one spring at his wool, and brought
him to the ground. Richard, who had also rushed out at the noise,
saw me, and clapped his hands, saying, “ Brava ! brava ! I knew it
would happen, but I did not think it would be quite so soon.” I
could only blubber out, “Oh, Jemmy, the little beast has roasted
my cat.” He then punished him himself, and Chico was a good boy
evermore. In begging for forgiveness, he told us that their fathers
and mothers always instructed them, that when Christ was thirsty,
if He asked a little dog for water, the dog would go and fetch it for
Him, but if He asked a cat for water, that it gave Him something in
a cup, which I cannot mention in polite society; and that all the
little negroes were taught to be cruel to cats, and that he had done
atrocious things to cats, but he would never do so any more.

A very amusing thing was that this little monkey used to imitate
his master in everything. If Richard bought a suit of clothes, he used
immediately to take it to the tailor and get it exactly copied in
small, and his evening suit especially. To go to a ball he was the
exact copy of his master—white shirt, white tie, little dress suit, little
gibus* and all. We used to make him come and show himself to us

c> '

when he was dressed, to amuse us. Then, unlike his master, he
started a toilette-table with mirror, perfumes, and scents, and his
pillow was all edged with deep lace. Each of the best families had
one of these intelligent negroes; they used to give supper-parties,
and then stand up and make speeches, just like us. Mr. Aubertin’s
used to talk about the railway shares, and the value of cotton, and
the coffee produce ; another, belonging to a reverend gentleman,
used to stand up and speak of the “ benighted state of the souls of
the black man and the brother; ” but our Chico used to declaim
on “ the Negro’s place in Nature,” as he had heard Richard do in
his lectures, and talk of the progress that they had made from the
original ape (Darwinism), and how they might eventually hope to rise
into a white man.

Portuguese studies got on very well, and the more I knew of it, the
more I enjoyed myself; but it made me quite forget the Spanish I
had learnt during my stay at Teneriffe, and whilst Richard occupied
Fernando Po. Richard had always known Portuguese from his
Goanese Padre in India. You cannot speak Spanish, Portuguese,
and Italian at the same time; they are so alike, and yet so different

262 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Portuguese is the most Latin, and the most difficult of the lot, and
has much more literature to reward you with than Spanish ; but
Spanish is the grandest and the most beautiful, albeit with less
literature. Still it once happened to me to be in company with a
priest, an Italian, and a Spaniard, and we agreed to talk for an
hour in each of the four languages. The priest took Latin, the
Italian and the Spaniard each their own, and I Portuguese, and we
could understand and answer each other, but we could not speak
the other three languages. Italians come out to Brazil and can only
speak Italian, not a word of Portuguese; they then come to a crisis,
when they can speak neither; they then convalesce in Portuguese,
speak it perfectly and remain with it—they forget their Italian. I
speak of colonists.

We had two very charming picnic-places. One was the Tropic of
Capricorn, just five miles from Sao Paulo ; your insurances suffer all
the difference, whether you are on this side or that. A boy who was
about to pass his examination for the army, who supported a poor
widow mother, and consequently was extremely anxious about
passing, and with no interest, was destined to be plucked ; so the
arrogant and ignorant examiner asked the timid, humble boy, “ Plow
far is it from the city of Sao Paulo to the tropical line of Capricorn.”
The boy, radiant answered, “ Between four and five miles, sir.” “ Go
down, sir, you are plucked ; it is twenty miles.” It was the last
question. The boy grew red and white, and turned despairingly to
go; suddenly he remembered his mother, turned round, and said
nervously, “ Please, sir, of course you ought to know better than me,
but I lived there five years, sir, and I had to walk it twice a week,
to go home from school to mother’s house on the Line, from Saturday
to Monday.” Chorus of laughter at the examiner, and the poor boy
passed. (I have already quoted this in my “A.E.I.”) Another charm¬
ing place to picnic, in the mountains, was Nossa Senhora do O.

We occasionally had big dinners, when all the English of Santos
and Sao Paulo assembled to do honour to some railway swell going
home. We had for a time some fortnightly balls, at a good-sized
hall at the corner of the Plaza, called the Concordia, and we had
one curious case of sporadic yellow fever from there. Mrs. Ralston,
the young wife of a very nice man (indeed a charming couple), came
out of the ball-room with me at five o’clock one morning. I had
only to run across fifty yards to my house ; they had about twenty
minutes to walk home, and she was well wrapped up with shawls.
She suddenly drooped her head on her husband’s shoulder, saying
she felt very queer, and he had to support her home. Almost
directly he had laid her on her own bed, she turned round and

Richard's Second Consulate. 263

said, “ Oh, is this death ? ” and died. Next morning, my maid ran
in and without any preface said, “ Mrs. Ralston’s dead.” “Oh,
nonsense,” I said; “I saw her seven hours ago;” and, thinking
perhaps it was possible she might be ill, and require some woman-
neighbour, I hastily threw on my things, and ran down to her house.
The street door opened on to the principal sitting-room, and was
unlocked, and to my horror the house was deserted and still, and
something was lying covered up on the sofa. I drew back the sheet,
and there was my young friend, dead. I knelt down and said a few
prayers, and then, feeling rather faint, I stooped to kiss her forehead
before covering her up again. The husband and child and servants
had all been removed to another house; as I stooped to kiss her a
dreadful effluvia knocked me back again, and I perceived that she
was covered with large black spots. I fled and ran home again, and
told Richard. He looked very grave, and rang the bell, and ordered
the horses to the door. He fetched me a large glass of brandy, and
made me drink it, with some bread. He said, “ It does not matter ;
I have got to have a long ride to-day on business, and you have got
to go with me.” We rode about ten miles at a great pace, till I was
in a good perspiration. When I got back he gave me a teaspoonful
of Warburg drops. He kept me employed all day, and at night he
took me to the little theatre, and then he told me that he had done
that to save my life, without which I probably should have caught it,
if I had not perspired, and partly from sympathy.

One thing I always regret in writing, is that I could recite so
many amusing and interesting things that would immensely please
a very large portion of English people; but England is so very queer,
and I am become convinced it is not the same England that I used
to know, that I do not like to venture them. They are not in the
least risky, only amusing and adventurous, but being very honest
and straightforward, would be sure to tread upon somebody’s corns;
blame or sneers would be sure to crop up from some quarter or
another, and make me regret it. Richard was very fond of quoting
the following lines to me over our writing —

“ They eat and drink and scheme and plod ;

They go to church on Sunday,

And many are afraid of God,

And more of Mrs. Grundy.”

We had one very curious character at Sao Paulo. It was the
Marchesa de Santos. She was a beauty and a favourite in the time
of the present Emperor’s father, and led a very brilliant and stormy
life. She got finally banished by his Empress (they say) to Santos,
with a pension for life, and she lived in a small house a few doors

264 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

from me. I used to see a great deal of her. She was quite grande
dame, most sympathetic, most entertaining, full of stories of Rio
and the Court, and the Imperial people, and the doings of that time.
She had been obliged to adopt up-country habits, and the last time
I saw her, she received me en intime in her own kitchen, where she
sat on the floor, smoking, not a cigarette, but a pipe. She had beauti¬
ful black eyes, full of sympathy, and intelligence, and knowledge.
She was a great bit of interest to me in that out-of-the-way place.

The Seminary was the most palatial building in that part, and
was just beyond the town. It was inhabited by Capuchins, French
and Italians from Savoy and Piedmont. One of the monks was a
tall, magnificent, and very powerful man, an ex-cavalry officer, Count
Somebody, whose name I forget, then Fray G-.

Before he arrived, there was a bully in the town, rather of a free-
thinking class, so he used to go and swagger up and down before
the Seminary and call out, “Come out, you miserable petticoated
monks! come out and have a free fight! For God or the devil! ”

When Fray G-arrived, he heard of this, and it so happened he had

had an English friend, when he was with his regiment, who had taught
him the use of his fists. He found that his brother monks were
dreadfully distressed at this unseemly challenge, so he said, “The next
time he comes, don’t open the gate, but let the porter call me.” So
the next time the bully appeared, it was so arranged that the gate was

opened by Fray G-(the usual crowd had collected in the road to

see the fun), who looked at him laughingly and said, “ Surely, brother,
we wiil fight you for God or the devil, if you please. Let us get well
into the open, and the public will see fair play.” So saying, the friar
tucked up his sleeves and gown, and told his adversary to “ come
on,” which he did, and he was immediately knocked into a cocked
hat. “ Come, get up,” said the friar. “No lying there and whimper¬
ing ; the devil won’t win that way.” The man stood three rounds, at
the end of which he whimpered and holloaed for mercy, and amidst
the jeers and bravos of a large crowd, the “village cock” retired, a
mass of jelly and pulp, to his own dunghill, and was never seen more
within half a mile of the Seminary. Richard rejoiced in it, and used
to say, “ What is that bull-priest doing in that gallret” Richard used
to stay a great deal with them, for they were the best-educated men
in the province, and knew everything. He said he could always
learn something from them.

During the time of the Paraguayan War provisions were very
scarce. If muleteers came down to the town, they and their mules
were seized for the war. They tried sending their women down with
the mules, but then the mules and provisions were seized; the

Richard's Second Consulate . 265

consequence was that the towns were more or less in a state of famine.
Chico and I used to sally forth, with paniers and ropes to our saddles,
and forage about, and I found that by riding about ten miles out, I
came to large flocks of geese and other poultry, and I also ascertained
that as the geese were supposed to feed upon snakes, nobody ate
them; they were chiefly kept for ornament, and so were cheap.
So the first day I came back with both our horses laden with geese,
and as I passed through the town the squawking was immense,
and most of the Grundy, respectable English tried to avoid me,
which made me take an especial pleasure in riding up to them and
inquiring after their wives and families, and entering into a con¬
versation, which I, perhaps, should not have otherwise done. When
I got up to our house, Richard, hearing the noise, came out on to
the balcony, and seeing what was the matter, he threw back his
head and laughed, and shook his fist, and he said, “Oh, you
delightful blackguard, how like you ! ” I turned the geese into our
poultry-yard and fed them well, and from that, I issued forth to all
the country round about, twice a week, and brought in various
stocks of other provisions.

Mr. Aubertin, who was the Head of the railway, and whose
chacara was about a quarter of an hour from us, had opportunities
of getting up drinks and having a very tidy cellar, so I used to
send down a neighbourly note—“ Dear Mr. Aubertin, bring up
the drink—I have got the food; dinner seven o’clock.” Thus we
contrived between us, to feed very well during the whole of the war,
while provisions were scarce. Once we managed to give a ball; it was
very amusing, and it was kept up till sunrise. We had a delightful
American there, who was very witty, and used to keep us all alive,
though in after years, for some unknown reason, he blew his brains
out. I still recall some of his bon mots . I once asked him whether
he did not think that a gentleman of our acquaintance was very con¬
ceited this morning. “ Conceited, ma’am ? ” he said. “Why, God
Almighty’s waistcoat would not fit him.” On another occasion, there
was a rather pronounced flirtation going on, and I asked him if he
did not think it would be a case. “ A case, ma’am ? Why, she nestles
up to him like a chicken to a hot brick.” He was constantly saying
these things that one never forgot.

I think I may say in our own favour, that in this, as well as in all
our subsequent Consulates, we never allowed any scandal to be
told to us, or uncharitable talk, and we always forbid discussions on
religion and politics, which served us in good stead in all our career.
Indeed, in this particular place, there was a little bit of scandal, and
we had seventeen calls on one Monday morning, but every one

266

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

went away without daring to deliver themselves of their intended
tale. “ What is the meaning of this ? ” said Richard to me. I said,
“ It means that there is some scandal afloat, and nobody dares tell
it to us.” But a few days afterwards we saw it in the papers. One
day a gentleman called upon us, and a few minutes later a lady
came, of whom he was rather fond. After a while the lady got up
and went down the street, and about five minutes after the jealous
husband arrived on the scene, and saw the gentleman sitting there
—his supposed rival. Without saying “ How do you do ?” he turned
on me and said, “ Have you seen my wife?” “ Yes,” I said; “I saw
her go down the street a few minutes ago.” The lover had turned
very pale. Richard looked hard at me over the top of his newspaper,
and the man had hardly got down the stairs in pursuit of his wife,
when my Irish maid poked her face through the door and said,
“ Well, after that, ye’d swear a hole through a tin p-hot.” Now, what
on earth would have been the use of making a row and a scandal,
and setting on the husband to ill-treat his wife ? He did not say,
“ Has my wife been here ? ”—he said, “ Have you seen her ? ”
Rousseau says, “ Mensonge plein d’honnetete, de fidelite, de generosite,
tandis que la verite n’eut etd qu’une perfidie; ” and without some
feeling of this kind—not a lie, but a harmless throwing one’s self into
the breach to save another’s reputation, not one’s own, nor from base
fear—the milk of human kindness would turn into cream of tartar.

I do not think that a list of the aboriginal tribes of Brazil at
the time of its discovery (one hundred discovered by Cabral in 1500)
would amuse my readers, or fit in with my subject, but they were
mostly destroyed or driven inwards in three hundred and sixty-seven
years.

There is an intervening race called the Caboclas ; they are the
progeny of the Indians and Portuguese settlers. They are a very hand¬
some race, much addicted to superstition and fortune-telling, and the
only thing I can remember was learning from them to tell fortunes
by the cards, which I afterwards perfected amongst the Moghdribehs
in Syria; but it is a practice which, though it interested my husband
enormously, and I constantly told them for him, I have long since
given up as wicked. For those who tell them ill, it is foolery; for
those who tell them well, it is better let alone.

I am not going to give a description of Brazil, because by so doing
I should take away from the subject of the book, which is solely
Richard Burton, and if I mention incidents, or myself, it is only
because I or they are woven up with his life, and cannot well be
separated from it, each one showing how he behaved, or what he did.
or thought on any particular occasion.

Richard's Second Consulate. 267

The 14th of February was the opening day of the railway, as far as
Jundiahy, and this time we were invited and had a very gay time.

Here, in Sao Paulo, Richard worked hard at Camoens, and we both
worked together at our translations—“ Iragema, or Honey-lips,” and
“ Manuel de Moraes, the Convert,” and the “ Uruguay,” all from
great Brazilian authors; but we found, although we printed the two
first, that they were not well received in England, because they were
translations, and I could write a page or two upon the amount of
literature and education we lose by boycotting that of other countries.

In spring of 1867 there was fighting in the streets for a couple of
nights, about the election time.

The staple food of the people of the country, which takes the place
of what the potato would be to the Irish, is a savoury mess of small
brown beans, called fejao; a very coarse flour, called farmha ,
which looks like a dish of shaved horse-radish, is usually sprinkled
over the beans, and then it is called a fejoada. It is delicious, and I
should have been quite content to, and often did, dine on it.
Another favourite dish is a scone of fnilho , the full-grown Indian
corn, made hot and buttered. The only way to eat it, is to take it
up in your two hands and gnaw it up and down like a bone, which
is rather disagreeable, because it covers you with butter. A pepper¬
pot is also a usual thing, and is kept up a perpetuite ; it comes on
the table in its native earthenware pot, and everybody takes a little
bit at the end to digest dinner, in lieu of cheese. Of course
Europeans have their own dishes besides.

The greatest difficulty that I found was, that I was obliged to have
five relays of every meal. First of all, Richard and I sat down, and
our guests, if we had any ; after we left the table, succeeded my Irish
maid, who had become Donna Maria, and an Irish brother that she
had imported, who was very like the “ Mulligan ” in “ Perkinses’ ball,”
and for whom I was fortunate enough to get a good berth on the
railway at ^£200 a year, through the kindness of Mr. Daniel Fox and
Mr. Aubertin, and he rose to in course of time, traded, but

unfortunately died after some years. After these the food was
removed to some other room, where the German servants dined,
because they would not sit down with the blacks. When they had
finished the emancipated slaves sat down, who would not sit down
with the slaves ; these being too near their own kind, they obliged
them to stand or to sit on the floor in the corners, where they gave
them the leavings. But do not let anybody imagine that the slaves
suffered, because when they had been about three months with me,
from having had a little rice at their old masters’, they would
sometimes clamour for ducks and chickens, not being content with

268 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

the good meat and bread and everything else that they got in
plenty.

At Rio we met with a very funny and interesting man—a
certain Dr. Gunning, with a kind good wife. They lived in a pretty
cottage somewhere along the rail up in the forests, and we went to
spend a day or two with them. He was a tall gaunt Scotchman,
with a good deal of character, and some very curious ideas. He
used to do what some people did wkh horses in Trieste. He used
to buy up diseased and useless negroes, treat them well, feed them
up, cure them, and then make them work for him; so he got their
labour in return for his outlay and his kindness and trouble, and he
left in his desk their papers of manumission. Unfortunately, one
day in a soft moment he told them so, so the next night they shot
him; but as his skull was a good hard one it only gave him a wound,
and after that he went on some different tack with them.

He had a curious way of treating snake-bites, of which many thou¬
sands die during the year. He told us this himself. He said, “ When I
am called to attend a negro for a snake-bite, I cauterize the wound,
and tie a ligature, and then I give him an awful thrashing, and," he said,
“that counteracts the torpor or sleep, produces perspiration, and
stimulates the action of the heart; and then I give him spirits or
milk in large quantities.” However, we all liked him very much. One
of the nicest things at Rio was the bathing in the sea. We used to go
out of a little gate at the bottom of the garden, and walk along the
beach till we came to some circular rocks which acted as bathing-
machines, where we could undress, get into the sea and bathe, and
come back. In my time there were no bathing-machines in Brazil,
only sometimes it was very rough and very deep, and one had to be
on the look-out. One day I put my maid to sit upon my clothes,
and thought I would swim out to a log of wood, lying apparently
about a hundred yards off, when to my horror I saw it move.
I swam back for my life, where I found my maid in deadly terror;
and, looking, we saw it was a shark, and a good big one too.

One thing that made staying at Rio so very pleasant was the
great kindness of the Emperor and Empress to us. The Emperor
delighted in scientific men, and the Empress liked good Catholics,
so that we were frequently sent for—Richard alone to the Emperor,
and I alone to the Empress, or both together. Richard gave two
lectures at which all the Imperial family attended. The Imperial
family consisted of the Emperor and Empress, the Imperial Princess
Isabel, heir to the throne, her husband the Count d’Eu, and the
Duke and Duchess de Saxe. These last, however, were less known,
less cordial, and less popular in Rio. I can remember on one

Richard's Second Consulate . 269

occasion, when we were sent for to an audience, at which were
present the Emperor and Empress, the Princess Isabel and her
husband, her Majesty’s little dog came in and sat on the rug in
the centre of the circle, and sat up begging. They all burst out
laughing very heartily. The Emperor was a tall, handsome, fair
man, with blue eyes, and brimful of kindness and learning. The
Empress was not handsome, but she was the kindest and best of
Empresses—very devout, dressed very plainly, but was most imperial
in her manners and carriage. The Princess also had the manner
of her rank, and was soft and sweet The Princess Isabel used to
give balls every Monday fortnight during the season, to which all
persons entitled to go to Court were invited. One night, at one of
Princess Isabel’s balls, the Emperor walked up to Richard and said,
“ How is it, Captain Burton, that you are not dancing ?” “ I never

dance, your Majesty—that is, not often ; but the last time I did so, it
was with the King of Dahome, to the music of cutting off heads—in
pantomime, of course.” The Emperor laughed, and he said, “ The
best of it was, Sir, that the authorities at home were in an awful rage
with me, as her Majesty’s Commissioner, for dancing with him; but
I should like to have seen them refuse his dusky Majesty, when, at a
single moment of impatience or irritability, he had only got to give
a sign, to have fifty spears run into one, or to be instantly impaled.”

It was very pretty to see the Princess and her husband go
down to the door, the street door, and receive and kiss the hands
of the Emperor and Empress. They circulated freely amongst us,
and talked to us. The Empress would draw her chair over to me
or to any other lady that she had a fancy to talk to, and sit down
and chat as affably as any other great lady without ever abating one
little bit of her Imperial dignity.

I remember one night Richard and I were giving a large dinner
to nearly all the Diplomatic corps at the hotel, after the reception
at the palace. At the latter there was a room for the Ministers to
wait in, and a room for the Consuls. We were, of course, put
into the Consular room. Presently a messenger came and took us
into the Ministers’ room. This rather offended official etiquette,
and they said, “ Oh, you must not come here; you must go into the
Consuls’ room.” “But,” we said, “we have just been fetched out of
the Consuls’ room and put in here, so we do not know what to do.”
There was an immense long wait, and several times a messenger
came to let in somebody else, and we all stood up in our places,
expecting the Emperor. After a long time, when everybody was
getting very impatient, a messenger arrived, and said, “ This way.”
They all flocked to the door, and we hung back, thinking we must

270 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

not have audience with the Ministers. Then the messenger said, “ No,
no ! not for you, gentlemen, but Captain and Mrs. Burton.” The
poor humble people were exalted; their Majesties had sent for us to
their private drawing-rooms, and gave us a long sitting-down audience.
As we were driving home, Richard said, “ I am afraid all the other
fellows will be awfully angry ; ” and the fact of the matter is, that
though we waited dinner for a long time, there were a great many
empty chairs that night, which disappointed us sorely; but they
were all right next morning.

Whenever we were sickly we used to go down to the Barra, near
Santos, which I described before as our fashionable watering-place,
where somebody generally lent us a hut. We used to sit in the
water and let it roll over us, and walk about without our shoes and
stockings (there was not a soul to see us). We took to making
collections of butterflies, reptiles, snakes, and ferns, of which
there are some four thousand specimens; the orchids we used to
send home. I can recollect on some occasions, being down there
alone, and being asked to dinner about a mile and a half along the
sands from my hut, I used to put my dress and my shoes and
stockings up in a parcel, and mounting barefooted, with waterproof
on, ride the small pony lent to me; sometimes I used to have to get
down and lead him through the streams that were rushing to the sea,
to which he had a dislike; so we used to wade through, and then I
would get up and ride him on to the next one, and when we reached
the hospitable door I was conducted into a room to put on my shoes
and stockings and my dinner dress. However, we were not decollete ,
nor did we wear flowers or diamonds on that lonely coast.

Whenever we went down to Rio, it always meant a great deal ot
gaiety with the Diplomats and the Squadron, and receptions at the
palace. It was especially gay in Sir Edward and Lady Thornton’s
reign, and I think we all look back to that time as a happy and a
very pleasant and lively one.

One of the great charms of Rio, was our little club, numbering
about twenty-five intimates, all belonging either to the Diplomatic
corps or the Navy. We used to give each other some very nice
dinner-parties, and ours was by necessity at the hotel; we mostly
dined together at one house or the other every night. Then,
besides the frequent palace entertainments, was the Alcazar, where
there was a charming French troupe, of which the star was Mdlle.
Aimee, and we used to have all Offenbach’s music and operas.

One time we went up to Robeio and to Uba, the end of the
railway, and I was given a treat to go on the engine and drive it,
with the engine-driver by me.

Richard's Second Consulate.

271

On the 12th of June we started on a delightful Expedition. We
sailed in a steam launch across the Bay of Rio, which is like a
beautiful broad lake studded with islands and boulder rocks and
bordered by mountains. Two hours brings you to a rickety wharf,
where a little railway, running for eleven miles through a mangrove
flat, lands you at the foot of the mountains. Here a carriage waits
for you, drawn by four mules, and you commence a zigzag ascent for
two hours up these most regal mountains, and arrive at a table-land
some distance from the summit, where the small white settlement
called Petropolis lies. It is a German town with Swiss valleys,
pretty views, rides, and drives. The Cascadinha leads down a wind¬
ing path, or a steep wooded mountain, and as you reach its depths,
facing you from opposite, comes the body of water frothing and
bounding over the boulders. From the top of the Serra there
is a lovely panorama of Rio and its bay, seen as from an inverted
arch of mountains. The little settlement of Petropolis possesses a
theatre, a Catholic church, the Emperor’s palace, and two small
hotels; the Court of Ministers and the Diplomats have snuggeries
here, and form a pleasant society. The climate is fine and cold when
it does not rain, and the scattered houses are like Italian cascine.

Here we took coach, which is very much after the fashion
of the old diligence, and we drove to Juizdafora. These coaches
are drawn by perfectly wild mules; they stand straight on their hind
legs. While the passengers are getting in, the coachman is already
mounted with reins and whip, and two or three men hang on to
each mule. When all is ready the driver shouts “ Larga ! ” The men
fall back and the mules rush on at full gallop, swaying the coach
from side to side. After three months, when the mules are trained
and tamed down, they are pronounced no longer fit for their work,
and are sold for carriage-driving.* My pleasant recollection of
Juizdafora is of lying all day on the grass under the orange trees,
and picking about nine different species overhead, just within reach
of my arms. I have never tasted oranges equal, before or since.
We then started for Barbagena, which terminated the coach journey.
After this there was no means of getting along except on horseback.
We had to discard our boxes and leave them under the care of a
trustworthy person, and to make up a pack that we could carry
behind us on our saddles, such as a change of linen, tooth-brush, a
cake of soap, and a comb. We then mounted and rode twenty

* In travelling, the mules are mostly difficult to treat, and one never passes
their noses or their heels without care. I have seen a fine mule spring like a goat
on the, top of a piano case in the yard, to avoid being saddled. I never before
understood the French expression, Michantc comme une dne rouge.

272 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

miles to Barrozo, a small village with a ranch. We rose at three
next morning, and rode twenty-four miles further, and so on, and so
on, till we reached San Joao d’El Rey, where we saw the Mines.
We then went on to S. Josd. Our next place was Cerandahy to
Lagos Dourado; here we met a party of English engineers.

On the 24th—a great feast, St. John Baptist—they were laying
the foundation for a new railway, and we enjoyed the fun very much.
We then, after breakfasting by a brook with the engineers, rode on
to an awful place called Camapuao. Here we found the stables better
than the house, and we slept by the side of the mules and horses.
At one of these shelters that we asked to sleep at, the accommodation
was fearful, but the reception was kind and cordial There was
not much to eat In the middle of the night I woke, and could
hear loud hoarse whisperings through the thin partition wall; it
sounded like the man and his wife disputing. At length I heard the
man say distinctly, “ Don’t bother me any more ; it will be quite easy
to kill them both, and I mean to do it.” My hair stood on an end,
as the saying is, and I softly got up and walked on tiptoe over to
Richard, touched him, and said in a whisper, “ Hush ! don’t speak ;
I have something to tell you.” I told him exactly what I had heard.
He said, “ You will make less noise than I; go softly to that table and
take our weapons, hand me mine, and creep into bed with yours. We
will sit and watch the door. If it opens, I’ll let fly at the door; and if
a second comes in, then you fire.” However, nothing came, though
we lay awake till daylight, with our pistols cocked. Next morning
they brought us for our breakfast a couple of nice roast chickens,
and he said, “ My wife and I had a regular quarrel in the night; we
had only these two hens, and she did not want to kill them, but
we had nothing else, and I was determined that you should have
them both.” So we said to him, “You shall not lose anything by it.”
Nor did they, for we paid four times the value; but we were glad
when he went out of the room, that we might laugh.

Next day we rode on to Sassuhy, to Congonhas do Campo, about
twenty-two miles. We saw the church of Congonhas and the seven
stations of the Cross. We left at midday, and riding through a
difficult country, arrived at Teixeiros. Next day was a very hard
day. We started at half-past three in the morning; at half-past ten
we breakfasted under a tree by the river. We crossed different
rivers about twelve times, wading our horses through. We passed
through virgin forests, and up and down scarped rocky mountains
till dark, and arrived at Corche d’Agua, a miserable place, where there
were no beds or food. We started again before dawn, rode about twelve
miles in the dark, passed two villages, and about nine a.m. arrived at

Richard's Second Consulate.

273

Morro Velho, our destination, where we were most kindly received
by Mr. and Mrs. Gordon and family (Superintendent of all the
Mines), and soon had bath and breakfast, and our animals quartered
in good stables under the care of the host’s English groom.

Here we stayed with our kind host for five and a half weeks,
making excursions, and seeing most interesting things concerning
the Mines. The Establishment consisted of the Superintendent and
his family, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, two sons, and two daughters, and
twenty-five officers (English); under them, about three thousand
negroes (slaves), who work the mines* On Sunday we went to their
church, saw their hospital and the stables, which contained some
sixty horses, and we saw an Indian dance.

Here there was much of interest—the muster of the slaves, and
pay-day on Saturday. We saw baptisms, and marriages, and burials.
We went to see the quicksilver washed in the amalgamation house,
and Mr. William Crookes’s amalgamation; but this last did not
succeed.

We started again after we were rested, passing through interesting
mining places, sleeping the night at a friendly fazenda; next day we
rode on to S. Jose de Morra Grande, Barro, Brumado, Santa Barabara,
and Cates Atlas. There we slept. Next morning we rode to Agua,
Queule, Fonseca, Morreia, and Affeixonada; from thence to Benito
Rodriguez, then Comargo, then S. Anna, and then Marianna.
Here we slept, went to church, visited the Bishop, the Seminary,
the Sisters of Charity, hospitals, orphanage, and schools, and rode
to Passagem, where we slept. Next day we went down the Passagem
mines (gold), forty-five fathoms down, and in another place thirty-two
fathoms, and saw the stamps ; and then we went and did the same
at the S. Anna mines. This day we were so near Mr. Treloar’s
house, that we gave away ail our provisions, saying, “ By breakfast¬
time to-morrow we shall be in a English house.” Imagine our horror,
on arriving, to find that poor Mrs. Treloar had died the evening
before, and that her poor husband was in such a state that it was
impossible for him to receive us. He thanked God for Richard’s
coming, because there was no church, no clergyman, and no
burial-ground, and an English Consul performing the burial service
is valid; so the sorrowful ceremony was performed, winding up the
hill-top, where she was buried, and I was left in charge of all his
negroes. They had prepared something for us to eat, for which I
had given them five milreis , about ten shillings. They all squabbled
so violently over this, as to draw their knives, and to begin to stab
each other; so, with that ascendency which whites generally have
over blacks, I ordered them all to come into my presence and to

274 714 * Life of Sir Richard Burton.

put their knives down near me, and I asked them if they were not
ashamed, when their poor mistress was being carried up the hill to
her last burial-place, to behave in so unseemly a fashion, and, order¬
ing them all down upon their knees, I took out my Prayer-book and
read the burial service too; and I read it over and over again, until
the party came back from the grave.

We then started immediately for Ouro Preto. Here Richard
went up the Itacalumi, and I visited the two martyrs of Ouro Preto,
the house of Gonzaga. We then slept and dined, and had cham¬
pagne, and we went to tea at Mr. and Mrs. Spiers’, who had a party.
Next day we rode on to Casa Branca, S. Vicente, to Rio das Pedras,
where we joined some American emigrants. Afterwards we had a
very weary and hard ride to Corele d’Agua, our old sleeping-place,
where we took a cup of coffee and rode to S. Antonio. We had a
pelting rain, and we breakfasted at a troupeiro's ranch; thence to
S. Rita, and from thence to Morro Velho, six leagues away, arriving
like wet dogs.

On the 24th of July we went down the big mine at Morro Velho.
Now, this was a great event; few men visitors had been down, and
no woman. I forget the positive depth of it, but am under the
impression now that it was three-quarters of a mile straight down
into the bowels of the earth, including the last thirty-five fathoms
to the depths. We were dressed in miners’ dresses, with the usual
candle in our caps, and we got into a basket like a caldron hang¬
ing to the end of a long chain, and then we began to descend.
It seemed an eternity, going down, down, and down, and of all the
things we ever have done, it seemed to me that it was the one that
required the most pluck, so dark, so cold, and slimy it looked, and
yet suffocating, and if anything happened, you felt that ne’er an arm
or leg would ever be found ; it realized more than any amount of
sermons could do “ the bottomless pit.” The chain had broken a
little while before, and we had seen the poor smashed negroes brought
up, and it did break the next day, but our time was not yet come. I
have got the broken link of that chain now; Mr. Gordon gave it to
me, and it is my one relic of those days. After an apparently inter¬
minable time we began to see lights below, at a great distance, as
you see a seaport town from a mountain as you come down at
night, and by-and-by we began to hear voices, and finally we touched
ground, and were heartily received by those who had previously
gone down to take care of us, including Mr. Gordon himself They
gave us a hearty cheer. We were shown all over the mine, and ali
its workings, and I must say I think Dante must have seen a similar
place wherewith to make his Inferno.

Richard's Second Consulate.

275

There were the large dark halls with vaults and domes; they
were covered with negroes, each with a candle stuck in his black
head, hammering in time to some tune to which they were all
singing. It would have been a wonderful picture for a painter.
How often all my life I have regretted not to have been an
artist, instead of musical! The negroes are healthy and well
doing; they only work eight hours a day, and have over-pay
for anything extra. The mulattoes were the most surly-looking

ones. After having seen everything we ascended again, and if

I may say so, I think the ascent was worse than the going
down, and nobody knows, until they have tried that sort of dark¬
ness, what daylight and sunlight and fresh air mean. After long
mounting, you see at last one star sparkling in the distance like
an eye, which appears miles off, and that is the mouth of the
shaft.

In the evening there was a concert and a ball amongst our¬
selves. On the 27 th Richard lectured ; there were some private
theatricals in which I took a part, and forgetting the drop behind

the open-air theatre when I backed off, I fell. I sprained my

ankle so badly that my leg was all black, and I could not move.
Now, the worst of it was that we were going to canoe down the
San Francisco river, to come out at the falls of Paulo Affonso,
issuing at Bahfa, and back to Rio by steamer; but it was im¬
possible to take a woman who could not walk. We could embark
at Sahara, a short distance from where we were, and as Richard’s
time was very short, and he could not take a lame woman, he had
to start without me, and I went in the litter to see him embark in
the boat Elisa .

As soon as I got well, Mr Gordon, who was an exceedingly
liberal, large-minded man, recognized that having three thousand
Catholic negroes under him, manned by twenty-five English Pro¬
testant officers, is was quite possible that in a religious sense,
things might be made more comfortable to them, and he asked
me, as an educated English Catholic, to go the rounds of Church
and Hospital, and find out if there was anything that could
improve their condition. Having been for some time in Brazil,
and seeing the wants of the negroes, I thought I could put
my finger on the right spot at once. There was one particular
ward in the hospital where incurables were put, and a black
cross over their beds told them Dante’s old words, “ Lasciate
ogni speranza, voi ch’ entrate” (“Leave every hope (outside),
all ye who enter (here)”). I dismissed the attendant, for fear
they should be afraid to answer, walked round the wards and sat

276

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

by them, and I will take one case as a specimen of the whole.
She was dying of diseases which need not be named here. I said
to her—

“ Has your case been given over by the doctor ? ”

“ Alas ! yes,” she said ; “ I have only got to wait.”

“ Should you like to live ? ”

“Yes, of course I should.”

“ Has the priest been to hear your confession ? Have you sent
for him ? ”

“ Oh no; I should not dare do that.”

“ Why not ? What is he for ? ”

“ Oh, lady, we must not ask, and he doesn’t come to us in this
ward, only to those who go to church.”

“ Do you mean to tell me that none of you in this ward get the
last Sacraments ?

“ Oh no; we should be so ashamed to see his Reverence.”

“Why, you are not ashamed to see the doctor? What is
the difference between the doctor and the priest, except that
one is for your body and one is for your soul? You say you
are afraid of the priest; will you not be more ashamed of
God, whose servant he is ? ” That seemed to strike them; so,
wishing them good-bye, I trotted off to the Padre. No matter
his name, but he appeared to take things very easy when I
told him. He said he “ could not administer the Sacraments,
because he had not a pyx nor any of the vessels to convey them
in.”

“ Well,” I said, “ Father, I have been commissioned by the
Superintendent to examine into these things, and to report to
him what is done and what ought to be done, and he is going
to see it carried out; so will you oblige me by going to hear
all those confessions, now at once , and taking the holy ingredients
in a wine-glass, and administering Viaticum and Extreme Unction,
and say a few consoling words to them, and let us see the
results? You know that you can break these glasses into little
atoms, and you can burn the remnants in one of the furnaces,
or keep them for that purpose until I send up the proper things
from Rio.”

Well, this was done, and, to cut a long story short, that woman
was back to work in a fortnight; and when Mr Gordon saw the
immense advantage produced by relief of mind, and the considera¬
tion of their feelings, and the action of the brain upon the body,
he made it an institution, and commissioned me to send up all the
necessary things from Rio.

Richard's Second Consulate. 277

As soon as I was well enough for a long ride, Mr. Gordon sup¬
plied me with horses—one for me, one for Chico, and one for our
small baggage—a sail and a few poles to make a tent in the day,
a gypsy-kettle on three prongs, a bag of maize for the horses, and
rice and other things for ourselves, and taking an affectionate leave
of the whole company there, and especially my kind host and
family, whom we have always remembered with the sincerest affec¬
tion, and sadness too, for poor Mrs. Gordon died eventually from a
horrible shock (her youngest and favourite son was caught in the
machinery in an instant and ground to death—a subject too sad
to dwell upon), I commenced my long ride home—a very pleasant
ride.

1 rose at dawn; we made some tea in our kettle. Replenishing
our sack of provisions at every village, and having fed, watered,
and groomed the horses, we rode until it was too hot. We put
up our bit of sail and rested during the heat, and then we
rode on till nightfall; after this we fed again, looked after the
horses and picketed them. Some of the country, and especially
the forests, were lovely. Whenever we came to a village or a
ranch, we and our animals got housed; and when we did not,
which was rare, we camped out, for it was very warm. We
never met with a single scrap of danger the whole way, nor a
rude word; for defence we had only a penknife, our toasting-
fork, and an old pistol that would not go off. I had given my
weapons to Richard, whose journey was longer and more dangerous
than mine.

We arrived in Rio about the fifteenth day. I had never enjoyed
anything more ; but as I had been out for three months without
any change of clothes, I was a very curious object to look at, to
say nothing of my face and hands being the colour of mahogany.
I had been told before getting in that the Estrangeiros, where
I had left my maid and baggage, was full, so I waited till night,
and then went straight to the next best hotel in the town. The
landlord naturally did not recognize me, and he pointed to a
little place on the other side of the street, where sailors’ wives
went, and he said, “ I think that will be about your place, my
good woman, not here.” “Well,” I said, “I think I am coming
in here all the same.” So, wondering, he took me upstairs and
showed me his rooms; but I was so mighty particular, that it
was not till I got to his best rooms that I stopped and said,
“This-will do. Be kind enough to send up this letter for me to
the Estrangeiros.”

Presently down came my maid, who was a great swell, with my

278 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

boxes. After a bath and dressing, I rang the bell and ordered some
supper. He came up himself, as I was such an object of curiosity.
When he saw me again he said, “ Did that woman come to take the
apartments for you, madam ? I do beg your pardon; I am afraid I
was rather rude to her.” “ Well,” I said, “ I am that woman myself;
but you need not apologize, because I saw myself in the glass, and I
don’t wonder at it.” He nearly tumbled down, and when I had ex¬
plained my adverse circumstances to him, begged my pardon till I was
quite tired of hearing it. I went up to Santos for some time; and when
I thought Richard could arrive, I went down to Rio to meet him, and
used to go on board every steamer that came in from Bahia in the
hopes of his being there. At this time came out to Rio Mr. Wilfrid
Blunt and his sister Alice. I went on board ship after ship to meet
Richard, but as he never came, I got at last very anxious and miser¬
able, and only used to make a fool of myself by crying when I did
not find him. He had been gone over four months. At last the
first steamer that I did not go to meet, he arrived in, and was quite
angry to find that I was not on board to meet him. He had had
a very jolly journey, canoeing down the river to the “falls of the
Paulo Affonso,” and sleeping at different ranches on the banks of
the river. It was something like fifteen hundred miles, coming out
eventually at Bah fa, where he had a great friend, an old gentleman
popularly known as “Charley Williams,” who gave him hosp : tality
till he embarked, or could catch a steamer to Rio. We then went
down to Santos together.

As Richard was canoeing down the San Francisco river, he found
a lot of stones called Pingua d’Agua; they are formed by congealed
rain in the rocks; they get fossilized, and if polished have the glitter
of diamonds. Richard met an Englishman, who told him that he
had come over with all he had in the world, ^1500, and expended
it in diamonds, of which he fondly believed he had got about
^£30,000 worth, and was going home with them. So Richard told
him that he had just come from the diamond mines, and that he
should immensely like to see them. When he showed them to him,
Richard’s face fell, and he said, “ What is the matter ? ” “ Well,”

he said, “ I hardly like to tell you, but I am afraid you have been
done. Some one has passed off these Pingua d’Agua upon you for
diamonds, and I am afraid you have exchanged L 1 5 °° for thirty
shillings’ worth.” So the man said, “ Oh, you must be a fool! ”
“Well,” said Richard, “if it isn’t that I am so sorry for you, I
should say ‘ serve you right,’ because I really do happen to know.”

About the 17th of April, 1868, Richard, who had been looking
queer and seedy for six weeks, but persisting all the time that he was

Richard's Second Consulate. 279

perfectly well, felt feverish and agueish, and went to bed. I gave him
calomel and castor oil, and then every sort of thing that I could
think of. He got worse and worse, and I was in despair, for there
were no doctors; but at last, after some days, a doctor did arrive
from Rio, and I sent for him at once, and he passed the night
in the house. Of course it was purely Brazilian treatment for a
Brazilian disease, and nothing we knew touched it. He had six
cuppings, with thirty-six glasses and twelve leeches, tartar emetic,
and all sorts of other things, and there was something to be given
or rubbed every half-hour, of which a very large ingredient was
orange tea. The doctor came twice a day, and the number of
remedies was wonderful, every half-hour, and I never left him day
or night. They blistered him terribly.

When Richard thought he was dying, he sent me for Fray Joao,
with whom he had been learning astronomy; but Fray Joao was
gone on an expedition up country for two months, and he would
not have anybody else for the Sacraments; but he accepted the
Scapular, which all Catholics will understand, and to others it is
not needful to explain, and he wore it to the day of his death.
One night he gave me a terrible fright; he asked me to give him
twenty drops of chlorodyne. I objected, but he was so imperative
about it that I thought he had been ordered it; fortunately, I only
gave him fifteen. He found i£ too strong, and, also fortunately,
he spat it out, and asked me to mix him another of ten, which he
drank. He soon frightened me by feeling sick and faint, and I
gave him lukewarm water to make him bring it up, and sent for the
doctor, who was very frightened about him. He was insensible
an hour. He gave ether pills, applied mustard to the calves of the
legs and inside the thighs, and then Richard had a calm and good
sleep all night, and from that got a great deal better. He was
able to go into his study after a month, and took his first drive five
weeks after he was taken ill, and at the end of seven weeks I was
able to take him down to the Barra, where Mr. Ford had kindly
lent us his bungalow, where Richard could sit on the sands and let
the sea roll over him, and here he got much better. I may now tell
a horrid little story, as it illustrates Richard’s power of mesmerizng.

Richard was a great mesmerizer, a thing which everybody who
knew him will understand.* He always preferred women, and
especially of the blue-eyed, yellow-haired type. I need not say
that he began with me as soon as we married; but I did not like it,

* Captain Gambier tells me that he used to mesmerize him when he was a
child, and tell him to go up to some room in the dark, and fetch him some
particular article or book which he only thought of.

280 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

and used to resist it, but after a while I consented. At first it was
a little difficult, but when once he had complete control, no passes
or contact were necessary; he used simply to say, “ Sleep,” and I did.
He could also do this at a distance, but with more difficulty if water
were between us, and if he tried to mesmerize anybody else and I
was anywhere in the neighbourhood, I absorbed it, and they took
nothing. I used to grow at last to be afraid to be in the same room
with a mesmerizer, as I used to experience the greatest discomfort,
and I knew if there was one in the room, the same as some people
know if there is a cat in the room; but I could resist them , though
I could not resist Richard. He used to mesmerize me freely, but he
never allowed any one else, nor did I, to mesmerize me. Once
mesmerized, he had only to say, “ Talk,” and I used to tell everything
I knew, only I used to implore of him to forbid me to tell him other
people’s secrets, and as a matter of honour he did, but all my own
used to come out freely; only he never took a mean advantage of
what he learnt in that way, and he used laughingly to tell every¬
body, “ It is the only way to get a woman to tell you the truth.” I
have often told him things that I would much rather keep to
myself.

In the particular instance that I am about to recount, he had
mesmerized me to consult about an expedition that he was going
to take, as he had previous to his illness meant to start, and I had
said to him, “ Don’t start, because you are going to have a very bad
illness, and you will want me and your home comforts ; ” so he now
re-mesmerized me to know what he should do, and I said to him,
“ Don’t take the man that you are going to take with you, because
he is a scoundrel; don’t buy the things that you are going to buy
for the expedition, because you will never use them. You will go
a long journey south for your health.” I then said to him, “Look !
what a curious procession is passing our door, a long procession of
people in white, and headed by Maria and Julia” *—who were our
old cook and her daughter, aged about seventeen—“ they are all in
white, with flowers on their heads. What can it mean ? ” I raved
all night about this procession, till Richard got up and shut the
shutters, and closed the door, which opened out on to the sands,
the night being very hot. The next day this procession made an
impression on him, and for curiosity’s sake he sent up a mounted
messenger to Sao Paulo to know if anything had occurred, or if
there was any news. We had brought no servants with us, had left
my maid and everybody behind.

* We were then at the Barra.

Richard's Second Consulate .

281

Now, on a former occasion, about three months back, he had
mesmerized me, and I had had this very cook called to me, and
I had said to her, “ Maria, go to confession and communion, then
send to a lawyer and make your will. You have got a little cottage,
and you have saved ^150; you have a few boxes of clothes and things.
Leave everything to Little Peter ”—her son aged six—“ and don’t
trouble about Julia.” When I came to, she told me the extraordinary
things I had been saying to her, and how frightened she was; but
she said, “ I will do all that you have told me, only I can’t leave
Julia without anything;” and I said to her, “I am not conscious of
having said anything; but in that case, you had better say that
whatever you leave to Julia goes to Peter at her death.” Well, this
was the news that we got by the mounted messenger : The old cook
had died that day in an apoplectic fit, and before the maid had time
to call or send for the daughter, she walked in, looking very ill, and
sat upon the sofa, rocking and moaning, and she said, “ I have come
from my mistress to die here. I feel so very ill, I will not leave you.’
From all she told the maid, and the strange way she was going on,
the maid inferred that the girl was in a particular kind of trouble,
and it would be impossible to keep her there, and she begged of her
to let her fetch a carriage and conduct her back to her mistress,
where at least if she was ill she could be taken care of, and seeing
her in such a state, she was afraid to inform her that her mother
was lying dead. One of the slaves fetched a carriage, and they put
her into it, and were conducting her home, but she was so bad on
the road they had to lift her out, and take her into a little venda
(a place where they sell wine), and run to fetch a priest, who was
just in time to give her the last Sacraments, when she expired. The
blood oozed from her eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and from all the pores
of her skin. She died very shortly and was buried, and the smell
was so bad in the venda that the walls had to be scraped and re¬
whitewashed, although she was only there a few hours. It was
afterwards proved that she and the black cook at her mistress’s were
both in love with the same man, and as she had announced her
intention of visiting my house, the cook had given her a cup of
coffee before she set out, and had said, “ Go ! you will never come
back.” The body was exhumed. It was supposed she had received
in the coffee a Brazilian poison, mixed with powdered glass, made
of some herbs of which the negroes have the secret. Little
Peter would have now become practically, though not theoretically,
a Brazilian slave, and his little property would have been absorbed;
but by the will made at the Consulate, he was under the protection
of the Consul. His education was undertaken, and he was sole

282 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

inheritor of the cottage, ^£150, and the boxes of clothes and other
property.

At Santos we had a regatta, a separate boat for each nation, about
nine or ten in all. The English blustered awfully, and the Americans
also—talked a great deal about “ Bull’s Run,” and so forth. All
the other people sat very quiet, expecting to be beaten; the con¬
sequence was the Portuguese won, and the English came in last, and
we sent up and hauled our flag down. The sea was very rough,
and surrounded our bungalow ; we walked through bare-legged, and
went into Santos, and then went back again, and eventually to Sao
Paulo, partly on an engine, and partly walking—butterfly-catching.

When we got back to Sao Paulo, Richard told me that he could
not stand it any longer; it had given him that illness, it was far away
from the world, it was no advancement, it led to nothing. He was
quite right. I felt very sorry, because up to the present it was the
only home I had ever really had quietly with him, and we had had it
for three years ; but I soon sold up everything, and we came down to
Santos, and embarked on the 24th of July, 1868. Here he applied
for leave, as the doctors advised him not to go to England at once,
but to go down south to Buenos Ayres for a trip, and he asked me
to go to England and see if I could not induce them to give him
another post. I saw Richard off down south, and taking an affec¬
tionate leave of all kind friends, embarked for England.

Our Separate Journeys.

Richard had a splendid journey to the Argentine Republic and the
rivers Plata-Parana and Paraguay, for the purpose of reporting the
state of the Paraguayan War to the Foreign Office. He crossed
the Pampos and the Andes to Chili and Peru amongst the bad
Indians. He went to the Pacific Coast to inspect the scene of the
earthquake at Arica, returning by the Straits of Magellan, Buenos
Ayres, and Rio to London.

During his delightful trip, which completely recovered his health,
he fell in with the Tichborne Claimant, and travelled with him for a
week, and never having seen the real man, and as he appeared very
gentlemanly, and when he gambled, lost his money and won it
without any emotion, he concluded that he was the real thing until
he came home. He acquired all the history of the ins and outs of
the war, and later produced his book on Paraguay—“ Letters from
the Battle-Fields of Paraguay,” which did not see the light till 1870.

1 had, as usual, all my work cut out for me. First I was to try
and work the Iporanga mines in London, whole mountains of lead

Richard's Second Consulate . 283

and quicksilver, also gold and copper (twenty-eight square miles). I
was to bring out his “ Highlands of Brazil,” the “ Journey of Lacerda,”
and a second edition of “ Mecca,” “ Uruguay,” “ Iracema,” and
“ Manoel de Moraes.”

I also had a small adventure on the way home at Bahia. I went
ashore with a friend from the ship to dine with “ Charley Williams,”
my husband’s friend. He was very fond of keeping a menagerie;
besides having his garden stocked with wild beasts, his hall contained
cages of snakes, amongst them two rattlesnakes. After we had
dined in his chdcara , he insisted on showing me his snakes, and he
quietly took one up (out of its cage) near its head. He was used to doing
this, but whether he was agitated or what I cannot say, but the snake
slipped through his hand, and bit him on the wrist. The friend had
bolted upstairs the moment the cage was opened ; Mr. Williams just
had time to dash it back into the cage and lock it, and staggered
against the wall.

Richard had always taught me how to be ready on such emer¬
gencies travelling up the country, but the only thing in the hall was
a box of wooden lucifer-matches, so I struck them one after another,
and kept cramming them into the mark on his wrist made by the
snake till I had made a regular little hole. I tied my handker¬
chief tightly above it, called out loudly for the servants, told them
what had happened, and to go and get a bottle of whisky. By
degrees I got the whole bottle down his throat, and then my friend
and I and the negroes kept walking him up and down for about
three hours. We then allowed him to go to bed, and next morning
he was no worse for what had happened. I think the bite must have
been very feeble not to have done more harm—probably the snake
had only time to graze the skin; anyway, the dear old man was so
pleased, he brought me home a riding-whip of solid silver up to the
lash, which I keep now as a memento.

We had a bad sea and strong trade winds most of the way ; the ship
was horribly lively off Finisterre, and the hatches down. We found
it bitterly cold in August, and on the 1st of September my family met
me at Southampton. They were then all puffing and panting and
fanning themselves on account of the “tropical weather,” as they
called it, and I found it so bitterly cold, I had to have several
blankets and a big fire, showing the difference of the climates.
There was great amusement when my sisters came on board. I took
them to my cabin, which was considered the best in the ship. The
Captain was showing it off, when one of them, who had never been
at sea in her life, turned round to me and said, “Now, Isabel, do
you really mean to say that you have lived in that housemaid’s closet

284

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

for a month, and slept on that shelf?” The Captain laughed,
“ Really, ladies,” he said, “this is considered a very swell ship, and
everybody fights for that cabin.”

I did my work well, carrying out everything according to Richard's
directions, and Lord Derby, then Lord Stanley, whose sound sense
and great judgment knew exactly the man to suit the post, and the
post to suit the man, gave him the long-coveted Consulship of
Damascus, and was brave enough not to heed the jealousy and spite
which did its best to prevent his being allowed to take the post. The
Missionaries raised up their heads on the one side, and the people
who wanted it for their friends, did all they could to persuade Lord
Stanley that it would displease the Moslems, because he had been
to Mecca. Richard was delighted when he got the intelligence of
his transfer from Brazil to Damascus. He heard it casually in a
cafe at Lima, where he was congratulated, having missed most of his
letters. He hastened back at once, and he wrote and guaranteed
to Lord Stanley that all would be well with the Moslems, as it had
ever been from the starting of his career in 1842 up to the present
time, 1868—a period of twenty-six years; consequently the appoint¬
ment was signed, with a thousand a year. Richard’s prospects were
on the rise, and it was hinted that if he succeeded there he might
eventually get Marocco, Teheran, and finish up at Constantinople.
In fact, we were on the zenith of our career. I had one very pleasant
dinner at Mr. Froude’s to meet Giffard Palgrave, Mr. Ruskin, and
Carlyle. I brought out Richard’s “ Highlands of Brazil ” for Christ¬
mas. I was not successful with the mines, and I found no market
for the Brazilian translations, though I published two of them.

This year, before Richard arrived, I had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Sir Samuel and Lady Baker; I was very much fasci¬
nated by the latter, and thought her very pretty. Next day I lunched
with them. I also saw a good deal of the Petherwicks, and amongst
others on his return we dined more than once with my husband’s old
Egyptian friend, John Larking, at his place, “The Firs,” Lea, Kent.
At last the time came round when I got a telegram to say that the
Douro , Royal Mail, would be at Southampton, with Richard on board;
so I went down to Southampton, and at four o’clock in the morning,
when Richard looked over the side, I was the first person he saw, and
when the plank was thrown across, I was the first to go on board. As
far as clothes went, he was pretty nearly in the same condition that I
was in, when I arrived from the mines; but for all that, as soon as he
had had bath and breakfast, we drove to Netley Abbey, and went to
the flower show; then came up to town, and drove to a haberdasher,
tailor, and hatter, that he might be fit to dine with my people, who

Richard's Second Consulate.

285

had a party and an enthusiastic reception for him. He went straight
to the Foreign Office next day to report himself, and call on Lord
Stanley and Lord Clarendon, who had succeeded to the Foreign Office,
and went a round of publishers, mappers, and commissions. That
night we had to go to the Admiralty party, and from thence to the
Foreign Office party, and the next night, at the Literary Fund, Richard
made a speech. He dined with Sir Roderick Murchison, and he went
to the Royal Geographical Society Meeting, found it slow, and was not
satisfied with his reception ; he also went to the Levee. We then went
down to Shrewsbury, to stay with Mr. Henry Wace, a bachelor lawyer
and a faithful friend, and drove to Uriconium, the Pompeii of Shrews¬
bury, and then to Haughmond ruins, formerly a Cistercian monastery.
Amongst other pleasant things was a lunch-party at Bernal Osborne’s,
and delightful dinners at Shirley Brookes’. At last we crossed to
France, visited our old haunts where we met as boy and girl.
Boulogne, however, was very much changed since our days. She
was then “a girl of the period”; she was now “vieille and devote .”
From here he sent me back, as usual, to “pay, pack, and follow.”
He was going to Vichy, to take a month’s course of the waters, after
which he would drop down to Brindisi and go to Damascus. Soon
after Richard had started to Vichy, I began to get unhappy, and
wanted to join him, and I did not see why I could not have the month
there with him and make up double-quick time after; so I just started
off with Mr. J. J. Aubertin (of Brazil memory, whose many works have
made him well known, and whose charming “Wanderings and Won-
derings” is attracting the literary world now), who was also going
there to join him. As soon as I arrived at Vichy, Richard, with
Swinburne, came to the station to meet me, and we were joined by
Sir Frederick Leighton, and later on, Mrs. Sartoris.

They were very happy days. We made excursions in the day, and
in the evenings the conversation, I need not say, was brilliant; every¬
body contributed something that made him or her valuable. Swin¬
burne recited poetry, Mrs. Sartoris sang to us. All will remember
her exquisite contralto voice, and she sang en intime without accom¬
paniment. We went to the Chateau Bourbonnais at Bussy, and then
to Ardoisiere cascade and cave, and lovely walks to Malavaux, where
there is a chalet at the foot of the mountain and a steep ascent. Here
is the ruin of a convent of Templars, who are said to have committed
atrocities, who blew up a chateau containing their only neighbours
with gunpowder. There were no roads this way, and they were Lords
of the soil. There is a cemetery in the distance, and close to us the
Devil’s Well, said to have no bottom, and also the Blessed Virgin’s
Well. Whilst we were at the top, the harvest moon arose ; there was
a glorious scene of beautiful lights and shadows.

286 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

From St. Armand there is a splendid view of Vichy, and also for
forty-four leagues, if it is clear enough to see around ; and the drives
are lovely through the mountains and ravines. There was another
splendid view from the Montagne Vert. We went to St. Germain
des Fosses, and drove all over Clermont, where we visited the
Cathedral, all the Churches, Museums, and springs, and bought some
of the wonderful petrifactions.* We then made our way to Langdac,
from whence we drove thirty-six miles through a most interesting
country to Puy. The descent to Puy is very beautiful, it is a
curious and striking-looking town; mountains of rock, like huge
combs, rise out of its heart. On the top of one of these is a huge
statue of the Blessed Virgin, sixteen metres high, cast in iron from
the metal cannons of Sebastopol, and we got up into its head to
look out of the eyes. When we were in the head we were nearly
five hundred feet high from the plain. The Child’s head holds three
people. The Cathedral has a miraculous black Virgin, and St.
Michael has his church too. All these great heights mean climbing
five hundred feet, and then ascending two or three hundred steps.
On another cone stands an old church. There are basaltic masses
just like organ-pipes. We drove to the old Castle and Fortress of
Polignac, and to the basaltic rocks, and then we went to see the
Museum of Puy. We made our way by the train to Lyons. The
country was beautiful, with mountains, gorges, rivers, and old ruined
castles, which spoke of feudal times; but two hours before reaching
Lyons it is as bad as the black country in Lancashire. Here Swin¬
burne left us for Paris. Richard and I went to Fourvibres to make
a pilgrimage, f We went to the Cathedral, and the great shrine of
Notre Dame de Fourvibres. From here Lyons spreads out under
your feet like a map; on a clear day you may see Mont Blanc.
We visited the source of the Rhone and Saone, and then went on
to Culoz; thence to Aix les Bains, where we went to look at the
Roman ruins. We changed trains at S. Michel for “ Fell’s Com¬
pany ” across the Mont Cenis (the railway not being made in those
days as it is now). Mr. Bayless, the superintendent, and his secre¬
tary met us, and took us on the engine, and showed us everything.
The scenery was splendid all day; the rise began from S. Michel
to Lanslebourg, which is four thousand four hundred feet high. The
ascent was most amusing ; we whisked about in the most frolicsome
way, close to frightful gorges and over ravines. From inside, you

* Faubourg St. Alyre, “la Fontaine petrifiante ” (like Matlock), issues from
volcanic tufa on granite. Carbonic acid dissolves calcareous matter.

f There were three things Richard could never resist—a pilgrimage to a holy
shrine, mining, and talking with and enjoying gypsies’ society.

Richard's Second Consulate. 287

could sometimes hear little hysterical squeaks, or people taken
worse, as the curves were very sharp and the pace good. Lansle-
bourg is a group of old broken-down chalets, and two broken-
down chapels, grouped in a corner. It has a new chapel now.
A mountain-torrent sweeps through the village, and the new rail¬
way runs by it. Magnificent piles of mountains rose on all sides;
the lower range are pine-covered, the higher by snow and glaciers
—the snow and fresh mountain air are most exhilarating. I can
remember passing this place ten years before, in March, with a
carriage and eleven mules, and, owing to the snow, we were
five days and nights travelling from Venice to Geneva. It was
then a savage country; now every available spot is cultivated in
little patches. We had a charming evening at the inn, and dined
on fresh mountain trout. The descent next day was marvellous.
How little Napoleon I. thought, when he was making a road,
that he was only the pioneer for an English railway, thereby
making their labour and expense only half of what it would have
been ! We went from here to Susa and Turin, and from Turin
we drove up the Collina, and got a splendid view of the City and
of Mount Rosa before going to bed. Here I saw Richard off to
Damascus; he was to catch the P. and O. at Brindisi. My train
Londonwards left a few hours after, and I did not stop till I
reached Paris.

I worked in earnest during my few weeks in England, to be
able to join him the quicker. First, I had to go down to Stratford,
to the Essex flats, to see the tube-wells worked, as Richard was
anxious to be able to produce water, if possible, wherever we
stopped in the desert. I had many publishers and mappers to
see. Not knowing exactly what Damascus was like, I invested in
a pony-carriage, and Uncle Gerard gave me a very handsome old
family chariot, which was out of fashion in England, and must
originally have cost at least three hundred guineas. Lord Houghton
made a great many jokes about our driving in our chariot drawn
by camels. I very prudently left it in England until I saw what
sort of place it was, but took out the pony-carriage. There was only
one road in the country, of seventy-two miles, so I sold it, and was
actually lucky enough to find a willing customer, who kept it as
a curio. I took lessons about taking off wheels and patent axles,
and oiling them and putting them together again, and taking my
own guns and pistols also to pieces, cleaning and putting them
together again. The time passed in buying things to stock the
house with. Richard did not receive any of my letters, just as at
Pernambuco, so I had to telegraph to him.

288 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

At last the day came round when everything was bought and paid
for, and packed and sent off, and I was at liberty to start; and the
same night that my arrangements were complete, I left my mother’s
house for Dover. It was blowing a hurricane, waves mountain high,
and a black night, and my brother and sisters, who accompanied
me, decided that I must not go on board. I have told that story in
my “ Inner Life of Syria.” Next morning, however, we picked up
the poor passengers, who had crossed the night before, and had
come to grief. At Paris I found that two of my nine boxes were
missing; one contained all my ship comforts, and the other f 300
in gold—my little all. I had already taken my passage at Marseilles,
and I had to choose between losing my money and losing my
passage. I went to the station-master, registered my tale, omitting
all about the money, told him where to forward the baggage,'*
travelled on, and was just in time to catch the P. and O. Tatijore
before she steamed out, and I immediately, on arrival at Alexandria,
took my passage on board the first steamer for Beyrout, which was
a Russian, the Ceres, which passes or touches at Port Said and J affa
and Kaifa, the ancient Helba of the tribe of Aser, St. Jeanne d’Acre,
and then I arrived at Beyrout.

* They both arrived five months later, and, strange to say, intact.

CHAPTER XVIII

DAMASCUS—HIS THIRD CONSULATE.

There was no husband to meet me, and I felt very indignant,
just as had happened at Rio last year to him. (Here I met Madame
de Persigny.) I at once started for Damascus by road, in a private
carriage, and drove for seven hours, putting up at Shtorra, where
I was obliged to sleep. Next day I drove on and on, and reached
Damascus at sunset; went straight to the inn, which by courtesy was
called a hotel, known as Demetri’s. It had taken me fifteen days
and nights without stopping from London to Damascus. After an
hour Richard came in, and I was glad that I had waited for nothing
but necessity, as I found him looking very old and ilL He had
arrived, and had had a most cordial reception, but he had been dis¬
pirited by not getting a single one of my letters, which all arrived in
a heap afterwards. He had gone down over and over again to meet
me, and I had not appeared, and now the steamer that I had come
in, was the only one he did not go down to meet, so that when he
came in from his walk, it was a pleasant surprise to him to find me
ensconced comfortably in his room; and I found the enclosed
scribbled on the corner of his journal, anent my non-arrival—

“’Twas born, thou whisperest,born in heaven,

And heavenly births may never die ;

While truth is pure of leasing’s leaven,

I hear and I believe then—I!

Heaven-born, thy love is born to be
An heir of immortality.

“ And yet I hear a small voice say,

But yesterday ’twas not begot;

It lives its insect-life to-day,

To-morrow death shall be its lot.

Peace, son of lies ! cease, Satan, cease
To mumble timeworn lies like these ! ”

A few persons who disliked the appointment, and certain mis¬
sionaries who feared that he was anti-missionary, and have since

T 289

290 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

handsomely acknowledged their mistake, took measures to work
upon Lord Clarendon on the plea that he was too fond of Moham¬
medans, that he had performed a pilgrimage to Mecca, and that
their fanaticism would lead to troubles and dangers. On becoming
aware that he had lived in the East, and with Moslems, for many
years after his pilgrimage, Lord Clarendon, with that good taste
and justice which always characterized him, refused to change his
appointment until that fanaticism was proved. He had the pleasure
of reporting to him a particularly friendly reception.

He wrote before he left London—

“I now renew in writing the verbal statement, in which I assured
your lordship that neither the authorities nor the people of Damascus
will show for me any but a friendly feeling ; that, in fact, they will
receive me as did the Egyptians and the people of Zanzibar for years
after my pilgrimage to Mecca. But, as designing persons may have
attempted to complicate the situation, I once more undertake to act
with unusual prudence, and under all circumstances to hold myself,
and myself only, answerable for the consequences.”

Though he had not received his barat (exequatui) and firman till
October 27th, he exchanged friendly unofficial visits with his Ex¬
cellency the Wali (Governor-General) of Syria. Then he was
honoured with the visits of all the prelates of the Oriental Churches,
as well as by a great number of the most learned and influential
Moslems, and of the principal Christians. Amongst them were his
Highness the Amir Abd el Kadir, his Excellency the Bishop of the
Greek Orthodox Church, the Syrian Orthodox and the Syrian Catholic
Bishops, the Archimandrite Jebara of the Russian Orthodox Church,
the Shaykh el Ulemd (Abdullah Effendi el H£labi), the Shaykh el
Molawfyyeh of Koniah, Ali Pasha el Aazam, and Antun Effendi
Shami; Said Effendi Ustuwdneh, President of the Criminal Court of
Damascus and its dependencies; Mohammed Effendi el Minnini,
Vice-President of the Criminal Court of Appeal; the Mufti Mahmud
Effendi Hamzeh; Shaykh Mohammed Effendi el Hdlabi, member of
the Lower Court, and several others.

All these dignitaries evinced much pleasure and satisfaction at his
being appointed H.M.’s Consul in their City. Some of them, indeed,
earnestly requested him to interest the English public in forming a
company for making railways through Syria, that being the sole means
of bringing about the civilization of the country.

In conclusion, notwithstanding Abdullah Effendi, the Chief of the
Ulemd, being the most learned, influential, and Orthodox Moslem,
and though it is not consistent with his principles to call upon any

Damascus—His Third Consulate . 291

Christian before being visited, he did so; and, after an interview of
fifty minutes, departed with a promise to renew the visit.

Owing to the great quantity of fountains and tanks about the house,
neuralgia had set in, and Richard had not been getting any sleep ;
so the following day we cast about for a better sort of living-place,
and a quarter ot an hour away, through the gardens of Damascus,
higher up than Damascus, and just under and on the north of Jebel
Kaysun, the Camomile Mountain, in what is called a wild and law¬
less Kurdish village, we found a house that suited us,* and we took
it, and moved into it next day, starting with a small quantity of
furniture, but soon made it very comfortable. After all said and
done, although some of the houses in Damascus were very grand
and very romantic, they were all damp ; cold in winter; suffocating,
from being closed in, in summer. If there is an epidemic, it is like
being hived. If there is an emeute , you are like a mouse in a trap.
If there is a fire at night, you are safely locked within the town
gates. Ours was a freer and wilder life; you could mount your
horse, and be out in the desert in ten minutes, or in Damascus
either.

Mr. and Lady Adelaide Law arrived in Damascus, and I took her
to Lady Ellenborough and to Abd el Kadir. It was her father,
Lord Londonderry, whose diplomacy with Louis Napoleon delivered
this great hero from imprisonment in the Chateau d’Amboise, and
he received her with effusion. Later on came Lord Stafford
(present Duke of Sutherland), Mr. Crawley, and Mr. Barty Mitford.

We were soon installed, and bought horses, and I began to study
Arabic. The first thing Richard determined to do was to go to
Tadmor. This journey was an awfully difficult thing in those days,
though I am not aware whether it is now. First of all, six thousand
francs used to be charged by the El Mezrab, who were the tribe who
escorted for that journey. It was the tribe of Lady Ellenborough
and her Bedawin husband, and she was more Bedawin than the
Bedawi. There was no water, that is, only two wells the whole way,
and only known to them. The difficulties and dangers were great;
they travelled by night and hid by day. You may say that camels
were about ten days on the road, and horses about eight days.
The late Lady Ellenborough was the third of a small knot of
ladies, of whom I had hoped to make the fifth—Lady Mary Wortley

* “We were living at the foot of the eastern spur of the Anti-Libanus, upon
whose south-eastern slopes lies the large northern suburb of Damascus, El Sala-
hiyyah (* of the Saints ’), facetiously changed on account of its Kurdish popula¬
tion into El Talaln'yyah (‘ of the Sinners ’). Our friend Bedr Beg was its Chief.”
—R. F. B.

292 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Montagu, Lady Hester Stanhope, Lady Ellenborough, and the
Princesse de la Tour d’Auvergne.

Lady Ellenborough was married to a Bedawin, brother to the
Chief, and second in command of the tribe of El Mezrab, a
small branch of the great Anazeh tribe. She aided the tribe in
concealing the wells and levying blackmail on Europeans who
wished to visit Palmyra, which brought in considerable sums to
the tribe, whose demand was six thousand francs a head (^240).
Richard was determined to go, and we had not the money to throw
away; he asked me whether I would be willing to risk it, and I said ?
what I always did, “ Whither thou goest, I will go.” Lady Ellen¬
borough was in a very anxious state when she heard this announce¬
ment, as she knew it was the death-blow to a great source of revenue
to the tribe. She was very intimate with us, and distantly connected
by marriage with my family, and she would have favoured us, if she
could have done it without abolishing the whole system. She did
all she could to dissuade us; she wept over our loss, and she told us
that we should never come back—indeed, everybody advised us to
make our wills; finally, she offered us the escort of one of her
Mezrabs, that we might steer clear of the Bedawi raids, and be con¬
ducted quicker to water, if it existed. Richard made me a sign
to accept the escort, and we did.

From our earliest married days, one of his peculiarities (used
rather, I suspect, for training me to observe him, and to understand
his wants) would be that he would not tell me directly to do a thing,
but I used to find in a book I was reading, or some drawer that I
opened every day, or in his own room, marked by a weight, a few
words of what he wanted, conveying no direct order, and yet I knew
that it was one. I grew quite accustomed to this, and used regularly
to visit the places where I was likely to find them, and if I missed
there was a sort of “Go seek ” expression on his face, that told me
that I had not hunted properly, and I knew (by another expression)
when I had succeeded. I used to call these “ African spoors.” ' We
could almost talk before outsiders in this way, without speaking a
word out loud.

On the same principle, he used to teach me to swim without my
arms, and afterwards to swim without my legs, using either one or
the other, but not both, in case of falling out of a feteamer and being
entangled.

I mention this, because we always talked before people without
their perceiving it, and he told me in this way exactly what to say
to her; but we provided ourselves with seventeen camels, laden
with water, in case of accident. We had each two horses, and

Damascus—His Third Consulate . 293

everything necessary for tenting out, and were armed to the teeth.
We had a very picturesque breakfast, affectionate farewells—the
Mushir and the whole cavalcade to see us out of the town. We
cleared Damascus and its environs by a three hours’ march; then
Richard, according to his custom, called a halt, and we camped
out and picketed, because, he said, it would be so easy to send
back for anything, if aught were missing.

We eventually reached Da’as Agha, the Chief of Jerud, who has a
hundred and fifty fighting men. These little villages in the middle
of a desert are sometimes very acceptable for the renewal of pro¬
visions. This Jerud was a large one, and was surrounded with salt
and gypsum. After this there was only one more village, Atneh,
till the Great Karryatayn, in the heart of the desert. Here we
were told of some underground curiosities, and we stopped to dig,
and discovered an old catacomb. The women only wear one
garment; they are covered with coins, and bits of stone made into
necklaces and charms against the evil eye. Aftor this we had a long
desert ride, and were caught in a dust-storm. A dust-storm is no
joke; you may lie down and perhaps make your horse lie, and cover
yourself up with rugs, but if it is a bad storm, like a snowstorm,
you may be buried. Richard advised our galloping through it,
laying the reins on the horses’ necks, and letting them go where they
would, for, he said, they would know a great deal more than we
should ; so, covering our faces up in our kuftyyehs —for, as far as heads
and shoulders went, we dressed like natives—we gave our horses
their heads, and they went at a rattling pace, and about three hours
took us out of the storm. Richard and I were alone; all the rest
lagged behind. When the horses once got out of the storm (they
seemed to understand all about it—one was desert bred and took
the lead), they relapsed into a walk till they got cool. We then
went by the compass in the direction we meant to take, and were
joined eventually by our followers.

We now had to sleep in our clothes, revolvers and guns at our
sides, and make our men take turn to watch, in case of an attack
from a ghazu , or Bedawi raid, and we took off the camels’ bells. A
ghazu may pass you in the night, and if you are quite silent, and a
foal does not whinny, nor a dog bark, you are all right; but those
are the two things you have to dread. I ought to have said that,
though we accepted the escort, we were not hoodwinked. I kept
taking stock of our Mezrab between Damascus and our first halt,
and I thought he had an uncanny and amused look; so I rode up to
Richard, and told him, in a language that was not understood, what
I thought. Richard gave a grim smile, as Ouida says, “ under his

294 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

moustache,” and said, “Yes, I have thought all that out too. Mo¬
hammed Agha, come here.”

Whatever Richard told Mohammed to do, he did it thoroughly. If
he wanted a culprit that had run away, he would say, “ Bring me So-
and-so, Mohammed.” “ Eywallah ! ya Sidi Beg” (Yes, by Allah, my
Lord Beg); and he would go off, saying, “ If he were in hell I would
have him out.” Once he brought a man kicking and struggling
under his arm, and put him down before Richard, saying, “ There
he is, your Excellency.”

This faithful Afghan had served him in India, and he had acci¬
dentally found him in Damascus, and made him his chief kawwds .
He now rode up. Richard gave him a few orders in Afghani, which
no one else understood. He saluted and retired. When we got
about three hours away from Damascus in the open desert, the
Bedawin had his mare and his arms taken from him, and was
mounted on a baggage mule. Every kindness was shown to him,
and he enjoyed every comfort that we had, but two mounted guard
over him day and night, and he was thus powerless. We knew
quite well that the Bedawin, on his thoroughbred mare, would have
curveted off in circles, pretending to look for wells, when in reality he
would have fetched the tribe down upon us, and we should have been
captured; orders would have been given to respect and treat us
well, and then we should have to be ransomed, and this would
have proved the impossibility of visiting Palmyra without a Bedawi
escort at six thousand francs a head, and the Foreign Office would
have smartly reproved, and perhaps recalled, their Consul for running
such a risk. We stuck our Mezrab up for a show, to prove that we
had a Bedawin escort, whenever Bedawi raids were near, but he was
not allowed to move or to make a sign. Da’as joined us with ten
of his men, and whenever there was the smallest occasion for joy
or self-congratulation, they used to do a Jeiid. When I say the men
are riding Jerid, I mean that they are galloping about violently,
firing from horseback at full speed, yelling, hanging over in their
stirrups with their bridles in their mouth, playing with and quiver¬
ing their long feathered lances in the air, throwing them and catch¬
ing them again at full gallop, picking things from the ground that
they have thrown there, firing pistols, throwing themselves under the
horses" bellies and firing under them at full gallop, yelling and
shouting their war-cry, as Buffalo Bill’s cowboys do, only far more
picturesque figures, with their many-coloured dresses, and better
mounted on their beautiful mares. The wildness of the whole
spectacle is very refreshing; but you have to be a good rider your¬
self, as the horses simply go wild.

Damascus—His Third Consulate .

295

On one occasion we saw a large body, apparently of mounted
Bedawi. We waved and whistled our stragglers in, and drew up in
line; the others did the same. We fully expected a charge. By this
time I had transformed myself into a boy (Richard’s son)—found
it more convenient for riding long distances, and for running away.
It sounds indecent, but all Arab clothes are so baggy and draping
that it little matters whether you are dressed as a man or woman.
So he let me ride out with two other horsemen from -the ranks
forward (it would have been undignified for him to do so, being in
command of the party); they did the same, and this is what it proved
to be—the Shaykh and his fighting men on the part of a distant
village, and a priest on the part of the Archbishop of Karryatayn,
with invitations. All the men embraced, my hand was kissed, and
we were escorted back in great triumph, riding Jerid as before. We
rode to the village of the Shaykh, and we sent on others with our
letters to Omar Beg, the Brigadier at that time commanding troops
at Karryatayn, because they expected a revolt of the tribes.

We eventually arrived at Karryatayn. We were treated with great
hospitality by Omar Beg, and when we left he accompanied us a
little way with an immense cavalcade, which was very picturesque
and pretty. We saw a mirage that day in the desert, and were very
tired, and had to sleep with our arms, without undressing. We then
had a somewhat dangerous defile to pass through mountains, where
we found a well. I had invented a capital way of watering the
beasts. Man can always draw water, but nobody thinks of the
horses, and in a cup or tin pot you cannot get enough water for
them. I had bags made of skins, exactly like a huge tobacco-pouch
with ropes, and whenever we came to inaccessible water these were
lowered until every animal had drank its fill. At each of these
places, Jerud, Atneh, and Karryatayn, several who had been longing
to go to Tadmor wanted to join us, secure of protection, of food
for themselves, and corn for their animals without paying a farthing
for it. We increased to a hundred and sixty persons, and some
had one and some two animals. I had one man with me as my own
servant, a Syrian Christian, who gave us a great deal of trouble.
He was very clever, and the best dancer; but the second or third
day after a hard day’s ride, the horses were dead beat, and instead
of taking his horse and watering and feeding it, and putting it in
shelter as I desired, he drew his sword and cut its throat, in hopes
of being allowed to ride my second horse, so I ordered him off
to the baggage in the rear. No Moslem would have done such
a thing. I never liked him after. We could not turn the man out
to die in the desert, but the day that we got back to Damascus, my

296 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

husband sent him to prison, for that and thefts in the houses where
we stayed.

We met with another ghazti before we arrived, but we imposed
on them by calling a halt, planting the flag, showing our Bedawin,
and ordering breakfast to be spread. We then improvised a tir
by planting a lance in the sand at a good distance, with a pumpkin
at the top, or an orange, and showed them how far our rifles would
carry, and the ghazu being mounted on mares, not camels, we were
not attacked. A few of ours curveted about, preparatory to bolting,
but my husband called out to the men to form into line, and then
he shouted, “ The first man who leaves this line, I’ll shoot him in the
back as he rides away.” That made them settle down.

The first sight of Palmyra makes you think it is a regiment of
cavalry drawn out in single line on the horizon; it was the most
imposing sight I ever looked upon, though I have seen plenty of
other ruins. It is so gigantic, so extensive, so bare, so desolate, rising
out of, and partially buried in a sea of sand. There is something that
almost takes your breath away about this splendid City of the Dead.
When you are alone and gazing in silence upon her solitary grandeur,
you feel as if you were wandering in some unforgotten world, and re¬
spect and wonder bid you hush like a child amidst the tombs of a
long-closed and forgotten churchyard. This was the Tadmor built
by Solomon, as a safe halt for the treasures of India and Persia
passing through the desert (2 Paralipomenon or Chronicles viii. 4),
“ And he built Tadmor in the wilderness, and all the store cities,
which he built in Hamar.” Read also 3 Kings or 1 King ix. 18.

I shall never forget the imposing sight of Tadmor. There is
nothing so deceiving as distance in the desert. At sea you may
calculate it, but in the desert you never can. A distant ruin stands
out of the sea of sand, the atmosphere is so clear that you think you
will reach it in half an hour; you ride all day and you never seem to
get any nearer to it, just as if it receded in proportion as you
advanced. We camped outside, close to the great colonnade. We
had five tents, our free-lances ten, the rest of the party theirs, and
the animals close by. There were four sulphurous streams; we kept
one to drink, and one to bathe, and two for the animals. There is
a height of rock on which is a castle; the mountain-top was cruised
all around with an infinity of labour to form a drawbridge and moat.
The ascent is exceedingly steep. On two sides is a fine range of
mountains, on the other two a desert of sand, stretching far away
like a yellow sea. The ruins and a small oasis caused by the
foundation lie at our feet. It is possible that Tadmor once spread
over all the irrigated part of the plain. A few orchards, and the

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 297

splendid ruins, and a handful of wretched people have huts
plastered like wasps’ nests within them. The whole City must have
been composed of parallel streets, and similar streets crossing them,
some formed by immense columns, and stretching far over the
plains, and cornered by temples and castles. The Temple of the Sun
was carved from great blocks of rock from the mountains; has some
fine cornices, some still perfect. In one direction there is a falling
wall on the slant, as if it was arrested in falling. It has a square court
of seven hundred and forty feet each side, encompassed by a wall
seventy feet high. The central door is thirty-two feet high and
sixteen wide. The temple still has one hundred columns standing.
The few people who live there are disgusting and ophthalmic.

The tombs are a great interest—tall square towers with a handsome
frontage. Inside are four stories. The ceilings are beautiful; the
entrances are lined with Corinthian columns and busts. There are
tiers to the very top for bodies. One contained one hundred bodies.
One bore a 102 b.c. date, one Anno Domini 2—evidently a very swell
family, and all speaking of sad ruined grandeur. The ruins are
enormous and extensive, and simply splendid. I cannot describe
the sensation of being in a great City of the Dead, and thinking ever
all the story of Zenobia and her capture, especially by moonlight.
The simoom blew our tents nearly down part of the time. Richard
discovered caves, and he spent several days excavating. We found
human curios, human bones, and skulls with hair on them, which
we brought home. There is a sulphurous river, bright as crystal,
and tepid with the properties of Vichy. Water issues from a
cavernous hole in the mountain, and streams through Palmyra. A
separate spring, of the same quality, bubbles up in the sand near
it. The Damascenes send for Vichy water; why don’t they get it
from here ? We also found some Greek statues; one of Zenobia,
life size. Some of our men were taken with wahteb , a disease
peculiar to Syria, and hereditary—a sort of convulsions or hysteria.
They generally get a firstborn to tread up and down the back, but
I brought them to quicker with doses of hot brandy and water.
We returned by a different route part of the way. There is a well-
known river and outwork six hours’ ride away from Palmyra, called
Selamfyyah, and bearing east-south-east of the Mount of Hamah.
Here begins a high rolling ground called El Alah, which we come
to later on. We had very bad weather, and our tents were nearly
carried away at night We had a wild-boar hunt on the way. We
fell in with fifty Bedawi; they were not strong enough to attack us,
but we had to stick to our baggage. Our usual day in the desert
(in which we lived off and on) was as follows :—

298 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

The usual travelling day is that those who had anything to do
rose two hours before starting, but those who had not got into their
saddles at dawn. Being, as one may say, head sais, or groom, I saw
the horses groomed, fed, watered, and saddled. Our dragomans *
attended to striking the tents and the baggage. We started at dawn,
and rode until the sun was unbearable; we then halted for one or
two hours. The animals were ungirthed, fed, and watered, and we
had our food and smoke, and perhaps a short sleep; after which we
mounted, and rode till near sunset. We then halted for the night.
The tents were pitched. If we were near an inhabited place Richard
sat in state on his divan and received the Chiefs with narghlleh
and sherbet; I saluted, and walked off with the horses. I had drilled
my people so well that they were all drawn up in line; at one
word of command, off with the bridles, and on with the head-
stalls ; at another word the saddles off, the perspiring backs rubbed
with a handful of raki , to prevent galls, and the horse-cloths thrown
on. They were then led about to cool for a quarter of an hour,
then ridden down to water, if there was any, or watered out of the
skins if there were not, and their nose-bags put on with tibn —straw
chopped up as fine as mincemeat, the hay of this country—then
picketed in a ring, heels out, heads in, hobbled fore and aft, and grooms
in the middle.

I would then go back to my husband, and sit on the divan at a re¬
spectful distance and in respectful attitude, speak little, and be invited
to have a sherbet or narghileh. I then saluted, and went to see the
horses groomed for the night, and get their suppers; then I returned
to my husband’s tent, supper and bed, and to-morrow da capo. The
baggage animals, with provisions and water, are directed to a given
place so many hours in advance by the compass. One man of our
riding-party slings on the saddle-bags, containing something to eat
and drink ; another hangs a water-melon or two to his saddle, another
the skins to draw water for the horses, and another or two, nose-bags
with corn. We ride on till about eleven, and dismount at the most
convenient place, and water as we go along, if there is any. The
horses’ girths are slackened, their bridles changed for halters; they
drink, if possible, and their nose-bags are filled with one measure
of barley. We eat, smoke, and sleep for one hour or two; we then
ride on again till we reach our tents.

We are supposed to find them pitched, mattresses and blankets
spread, mules and donkeys free and rolling to refresh themselves,
baggage stacked, the gypsy-pot over a good fire, and perhaps a

* If any one wants dragomans, let them give preference above all to Melhero
Wardi, of Beyrout, and consult his brother Antun.

Damascus—His Third Consulate . 299

glass of lemonade or a cup of coffee ready for us. It does some¬
times happen that we miss our camp, that we have the ground for
bed, the saddle for pillow, and the water-melon for supper. Richard
used to take all the notes, sketches, observations, and maps, and
gather all the information. The sketches and maps were Charles
Drake’s business, when with us. I acted as secretary and aide-de-
camp, and had the care of the stable and any sick or wounded men;
I could also help him with the sextant, and with some of his
scientific instruments.

A short day’s riding would be eight hours, a very long one would
be thirteen, and we generally stayed at any place of interest till
it was exhausted. In this way we saw all Syria, Palestine, and
the Holy Land off the beaten tracks, and through the deserts, the
Haur^n and wild places included. I do not like to say too much
about it, because my two volumes of “ Inner Life of Syria,” which
were published in 1875, and “ Unexplored Syria,” written by Richard,
Charley Drake, and me (2 vols., 1872), have mostly told everything.
These will be republished in the Uniform Library.

Camping out is the most charming thing in the world, and its
scenes will always live in my memory. It is a very picturesque
life, although hard, but one gets so used to it, as quite to dislike a
house. I can never forget some of those lovely nights in the desert,
as after supper we all sat round in circles ; the mules, donkeys,
camels, horses, and mares picketed about, screaming, kicking, and
holloaing; the stacked loads, the big fires, the black tents, the
Turkish soldiers, the picturesque figures in every garb, and wild and
fierce-looking men in wonderful costumes lying here and there,
singing and dancing barbarous dances (especially the sword-dance);
or stories told, or Richard reciting the “ Arabian Nights,” or poor
Palmer chanting Arab poetry, or Charley Drake practising magic to
astonish the Moghiribehs, though neither of these two were with
us then. A glorious moon lights our tripod and kettle; the jackals
howl and chatter as they sniff the savoury bones, and if you can
remain breathless, it is the prettiest thing to see them gambol in the
moonlight, jumping over one another’s backs, but if one, smelling
food, runs round your tent when all are asleep, the shadow on the
white canvas is so large that it frightens you. A distant pack coming
along sounds like the war-cry of the Bedawi booming down upon
you; their yell is unearthly as it sweeps by you, passes, and dies
away in the distance. I used to love the sound, because it told me
I was in camp, by far the most delightful form of existence when
the weather is not too cruel.

Madame Omar Beg’s two pets were a hyaena, which received me

300 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

at the gate, and a lynx that lay upon the divan. The first put its
fore-paws on my shoulders and smelt my cheek, and did “pouf”
(like a bellows blowing in your face) to frighten me; and the other
sprang at me and mewed and lashed its tail. For sheer fright I
stood stock still and they did nothing to me, and amused Madame
Omar immensely when she came in.

Camel-riding is very pleasant, if it is a delul with a long trot, but
a slow walk is horribly tedious, a baggage animal is bone-breaking,
and a gallop would be utter annihilation. A shugduf or takhtarawdn
shakes you till you are sore. The nicest mount is horse or mare—
mare safer; but Richard did a very wise thing—he chose rahwans.
They run an American trot, and there is no more fatigue in riding
them than sitting in an armchair. You have only to sit still and let
them go, and they cover enormous spaces in the day; so he used
to arrive perfectly fresh when we were all tired out. I possessed
a couple of stallions. I was headstrong and foolish, and I would ride
them, because I hated the rahwans ’ paces; so I took a great deal
more out of myself than I need have done, as they generally danced
for a couple of hours before they settled down to their work.
However much you may love the desert and camp life, when you
have had your fill of it, I cannot tell how refreshing it is to see the
first belt of green, like something dark lining the horizon, and to
long to reach it. When you enter by degrees under the trees, the
orchards, the gardens of Damascus, you smell the water from afar,
and you hear its gurgling long before you come to the rills and
fountains; you scent and then see the fruit—the limes, figs, citron,
water-melon; you feel a madness to jump into the water, to eat your
fill of fruit, to go to sleep under the delicious shade.

Such is entering Damascus. You forget the bitter wind, the scorch¬
ing sun, the blistering sand; you wonder if it is true that you are
going to have a bath, to change your clothes, to sleep in a real bed,
without having to watch against Bedawi, or if your brain is hurt by
the sun, or if your blinded eyes are seeing a mirage. Your tired,
drooping horse tells you it is true; he pricks his ears, he wants to
break out into a mild trot; done up as he is, he stops to drink at every
rill, and, with a low whinny of joy, gathers a mouthful of grass at
every crop. You who have never travelled in the desert do not know
what water means. I have seen forty Bedawi race to a hole in a
rock where as much rainwater had gathered as would fill a hand-
basin, fling themselves off their horses, bend and put their lips to
it, and then courteously make way for each other. You will see
people in the East sitting, in what would appear to you a placid
idiotcy of delight, by a little trickling stream not a foot wide, with

THE BURTONS’ HOUSE IN SALAMIYYAH, DAMASCUS.
By Sir Frederick Leighton.

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 301

a nargJnleh , and calling it kayf , which means doles far niente, or “ sweet
do-nothing/’

Our House.

“ Though old as history itself, thou art fresh as the breath of Spring, blooming
as thine own rosebud, as fragrant as thine own orange flower, O Damascus,
Pearl of the East 1 ”

Our house in Damascus overhung the road and opposite gardens,
with projecting lattice windows, was bounded on the right by a
Mosque, on the left by a Hammdm (Turkish bath), and front and
back by gardens. On the other side of the road, among the apricot
orchards, I had a capital stable for twelve horses, with a good room
for saises (grooms), and a small garden with the river running
through it. As soon as you got out of our village there was a bit
of desert sand, and a background of tall yellow-coloured mountain,
called Jebel Kaysun, or the Camomile Mountain, and that was what
our village smelt of. When you entered our house, you came into
a square courtyard, coarsely painted in broad stripes of red, white,
and blue. All around were orange, lemon, and jessamine trees, a
fountain playing in the middle, opposite the liwan , a raised room
with one side taken out of it, open on to the court, spread with
carpets and divans, and the niches filled with plants. Here, on hot
days, one receives and offers coffee, lemonade, sherbet, chibouques,
narghilehs , and cigarettes. On one side is a dining-room, on the
other a cool sitting-room; all the rest is for servants and offices.
Upstairs, six rooms run round two sides of the courtyard ; a long
terrace occupies the other two sides, joining and opening into the
room at either end. There is a cool house-top with plants, to spread
mats and divans, to sit amongst the flowers under the trees and
by the Mosque-minaret, to look either towards our mountain, or over
Damascus and the gardens, and inhale the desert-air from the other
side of Damascus.

We also made a beautiful arbour in the garden opposite, which
contained chiefly roses and jessamine. By lifting up the overladen
vines and citrons, and branches of the lemon and orange trees, and
supporting them on a frame-work, so that no sun could penetrate
their luxuriance; we had a divan made under them for the cool
summer evenings near the rushing river, and many happy hours of
kayf we passed there. The Mosque next door to us, seemed to
be built round and clung to a huge vine tree, which spread up and
down all over it and its terrace, and the Muezzifts Minaret and my
study window were cheek by jowl. The village was charming—

302 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

domes and minarets peeping out of trees, bubbling streams, the music
of the water-wheel.

Whenever we were in Eastern life, whether in Syria or elsewhere, we
always made a point of being thoroughly English, and European in our
Consulate; but, when not obligatory, we used to live a great deal with
the natives, and as the natives, for the purpose of experience. We wore
European dress in Damascus and Beyrout, and we wore native dress up
the country or in the desert. It was as easy for me to wear men’s dress
as my own, because it was all drapery, and does not in the least show the
figure. There is nothing but the face to tell by, and if you tuck up your
kufiyyah you show only half a face, or only the eyes. Thus we would eat
what they ate. If I went to stay with a harem, I always went in my own
clothes; but if I went to the bazar, I frequently used to dress like a
Moslemah with my face covered,and sit in the shops in the bazar, and
let my Arab maid do all the talking lest I might be suspected, that I
might hear all the gossip, and enter something into their lives. And
the women frequently took me into the mosques in the same way,
knowing who I was. We attended every sort of ceremony, whether it
was a circumcision, or a wedding, or a funeral, or a dervishes’ dance,
or anything that was going on, or any religious ceremony—my husband
to the Cafes and the Mosques, the evening story-tellers haunts; I to
the charm shops, where the khosis (fortune-tellers) hang out and
administer love philters, or, in short, every sort of thing, and mix with
all classes, religions, and races and tongues. The small rides and
excursions round Damascus are innumerable and beautiful; they lead
through garden and orchard with bubbling water, under the shady fig
and vine, pomegranate and walnut. You emerge on the soft yellow
sand, and you throw off your superfluous strength, by galloping
as hard as you will. There is no one to check your spirits ; the
breath of the desert is liberty. It was very pleasant for us, as we
used to get acquainted with all the Shaykhs and people for two or
three days’ ride all round Damascus, and if we felt dull—which,
by the way, we never did—we could run out and pay them a visit,
such as Shaykh Sali’s camp, passing El Bassuleh to Hijaneh.
Lakes are marked on the maps a day’s journey from Damascus.
There are four lakes supposed to receive the Abana and Pharphar,
but they are generally dry, the rivers evaporating or disappearing
in the sand. You ride across the Ghutah plain, the Merj, and
Abbs (the plains of Damascus) into the Wady el Ajam. It is also
pleasant to ride down to the coast, seventy-two miles, and take
a steamer going to Tyre, Sidon, and other coast places.

Richard’s day, as I said, was divided into reading, writing, study¬
ing, and attending to his official work. There was one kind of duty

Damascus—His Third Consulate .

303

within the town, another without the town, to scour mountain and
desert, to ride hard, and to know everything that is going on in the
country, and personally , not through dragomans only. His talents
were particularly Eastern, and of a political and diplomatic kind; his
knowledge of Eastern character was as perfect as his languages. He
was as much needed out of the town as in it, and very often when they
thought he was far away, he was amongst them, and they wondered
how he knew things. I interested myself in all his pursuits, and I
was a most fortunate woman that he allowed me to be his companion,
his secretary, and his aide-de-camp. I looked after our house,
servants, stables, and animals. I did a little gardening. I helped my
husband, read and wrote, studied Arabic, received and returned visits,
saw and learnt Damascus through, till I knew it like my own pocket,
looked after the poor and sick of my village and its environs. Some¬
times I galloped over the plains, and sat in the Bedawi tents, some¬
time went up all the mountains. Summer times I smoked narghilehs
by the waterside in a neighbour’s garden. Sometimes I went to pass
two or three days with a harem. Our lives were wild, romantic,
and solemn. After sunset the only sounds were the last call to
prayer on the Minaret top, the howling of the wild dogs, the cries of
the jackals in the burial-ground outside the village, the bubbling of
the fountains, the hootings of the owls in the garden, the soughing of
the wind through the mountain gorges, and the noise of the water¬
wheel in a neighbour’s orchard. There was often a free fight in the
road below, to steal a mare, or to kill. We have often gone down to
take some poor wretch in, and bind up his sabre-cuts.

I used to have a large reception every Friday, and not only of the
Europeans, but the Authorities as well as the natives of every tongue,
race, and creed, who used to assemble in our Divan for ?iarghtlehs ,
sherbet, and coffee. It used to begin at sunrise, and go on till
sunset How I look back to those romantic days when the assembled
party, being afraid to remain in our quarters after the sun was down,
used to file down through the orchards and gardens to the safe
shelter of the Damascus gates at sunset, and the mattresses and
cushions of the divans were spread on the housetop, backed by the
romantic Jebel Kaysun, with a bit of desert sand between it and us,
and on all the other three sides a view over Damascus, and its sur¬
rounding oasis, and the desert beyond !

Then the supper was prepared on the roof, and there remained
with us the two most interesting and remarkable characters of
Damascus, the two who never knew what fear meant—the famous
Abd el Kadir and Lady Ellenborough, known there as the “ Hon.
Jane Digby el Mezrab.” Abd el Kadir was a dark, handsome,

304 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

thoroughbred-looking man, with dignified bearing and cool self-
possession. He dressed in snowy white, both turban and burnous.
Not a single ornament except his jewelled arms, which were
splendid. If you saw him on horseback you would single him
out from a million; he had the seat of a gentleman and a soldier.
He was’ every inch a Sultan. His mind was as beautiful as
his face. He spoke the perfection of Arabic, he was a true
Moslem, and he and Richard were both Master-Sufi. All readers
will know his history. He was the fourth son of the Algerine
Marabout Abd el Kadir Mahi ed Din, and was born in 1807. You
all remember his hopeless struggles for the independence of Algeria,
his capture, his imprisonment in France from 1847 to 1852—a
treacherous act, and a tarnish to the French Government. Lord
Londonderry earnestly entreated Louis Napoleon to set him free,
which he did, going to the prison himself to let him out, and treating
him with the greatest honour. He pensioned him and sent him to
Damascus, where he was surrounded by five hundred faithful Algerines.
He divided his time into prayer, study, business, and very little
sleep. He loved the English, but he was loyal to Louis Napoleon.
When the massacre in i860 took place, he used to sleep at his
own door, lest any poor Christian wretch should knock and petition
to be saved from slaughter, and for fear his Algerines, being Moslems,
should turn a deaf ear; and he saved many, sending guards down to
the convents of women, and to his friends.

Our other friend was the Hon. Jane Digby, of the family of Lord
Digby, married to Lord Ellenborough, and divorced. She made
her home in Damascus, and eventually married a Bedawin Shaykh
(Mijwal el Mezrab), the tribe of Mezrab being a branch of the great
Anazeh. She was a most beautiful woman, though at the time I
write she was sixty-one, tall, commanding, and queen-like. She was
grande dame au bout des doigts , as much as if she had just left the
salons of London and Paris, refined in manner and voice, nor did
she ever utter a word you could wish unsaid. My husband said she
was out and out the cleverest woman he ever met; there was
nothing she could not do. She spoke nine languages perfectly, and
could read and write in them. She painted, sculptured, was musical.
Her letters were splendid ; and if on business, there was never a
word too much, nor a word too little. She had had a most romantic,
adventurous life, and she was now, one might say, Lady Hester
Stanhope’s successor. She lived half the year in a romantic house
she had built for herself in Damascus, and half her life she and her
husband lived in his Bedawi tents, she like any other Bedawin
woman, but honoured and respected as the queen of her tribe,

SAEAHIYYAH, DAMASCUS IN THE OASIS. THE DESERT BEYOND

By Charles Tynvhitt-Drake.

Damascus—His Third Consulate . 305

wearing one blue garment, her beautiful hair in two long plaits
down to the ground, milking the camels, serving her husband, pre¬
paring his food, giving him water to wash his hands and face, sitting
on the floor and washing his feet, giving him his coffee, his sherbet,
his narghilehs, and while he ate she stood and waited on him, and
glorying in it; and when in Damascus they led semi-European lives.
She looked splendid in Oriental dress, and if you saw her as a
Moslem woman in the bazar you would have said she was not more
than thirty-four years of age. She was my most intimate friend,
and she dictated to me the whole of her biography, beginning 15th
March, 1871, and ending July 7th.

After I left a report came home that she was dead. I answered
some unpleasant remarks in the Press about her, throwing a halo
over her memory, in which I stated that I being the possessor of
the biography, no one had a right to say anything about her except
myself. She reappeared again, having only been detained in the
desert by the fighting of the tribes. Her relatives attacked her for
having given me the biography, and she, under pressure, denied it
in print through one of the missionaries, and then wrote and asked
me to give it back to her; but I replied that she should have had
it with the greatest pleasure, only having “ given me the lie ” in
print, I was obliged for my own sake to keep it, and she eventually
died. I have got it now, but I shall never publish it.*

Richard and Children.

Richard’s love for children was quite extraordinary. If there was a
child in the room, even a baby in arms, no one could get a word out
of him ; but you would find him on the floor, romping with them, and
they were never afraid of him. I do not think there could possibly
be a better illustration than the very admirable and striking account
given by Salih, who was one of the missionaries in Damascus:—

“ Burton at Damascus .

“ My first sight of Captain Burton revealed not only the man in
his complex character, but supplied the key to the perplexing vicissi¬
tudes of his extraordinary career.

“ On his arrival in Damascus, Burton called at my house. My
study adjoined the drawing-room, into which he was shown by a
native servant. I heard him command the Arab to fetch me in
harsh, peremptory tones, which were meant to be obeyed. 1 he
servant, not thinking that I was in the study, went to seek me else¬
where. I advanced, in noiseless Damascus slippers, to the drawing¬
room door, and I came upon a scene never to be forgotten.

“At one side of the room stood my curly-headed, rosy-cheeked little
boy of five, on the other side stood Burton. The two were staring at
each other. Neither was aware of my presence. Burton had twisted

* The MSS. has now been destroyed.—W. H. W.

306 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

his face into the most fiendish-like aspect. His eyes rolled, exposing
the whites in an alarming manner. The features were drawn to one
side, so as to make the gashes on his jaw and brow appear more
ghastly. The two cheeks were blown out, and Burton, raising a
pocket-handkerchief to his left cheek, struck his right with the flat
of his right hand, thus producing an explosion, and making the
pocket-handkerchief fly to the left as if he had shot it through his
two cheeks.

“The explosion was followed by a suppressed howl, something
between the bark of a hyaena and a jackal. All the time Burton
glared on the little fellow with the fiery eyes of a basilisk, and the
child stood riveted to the floor as if spell-bound and fascinated,
like a creature about to be devoured. Suddenly a very wonderful
thing happened. The little boy, with a wild shout of delight, sprang
into the monster’s arms, and the black beard was instantly mingled
with the fair curls, and Burton was planting kisses all over the flaxen
pate. The whole pantomime was gone through as quick as light¬
ning, and Burton, disentangling himself, caught sight of my Arab
returning without me, and, instead of waiting for an explanation,
hurled at him a volley of exasperating epithets, culled from the rich
stores of spicy and stinging words which garnish Arabic literature.
Burton had revealed himself to me fully before he saw me. The
child’s clear, keen instinct did not mislead it. The big, rough
monster had a big child’s heart behind the hideous grimaces. The
child’s unerring instinct was drawn by affinity to the child’s heart
in the man.”

Syria.

Each year in January we rode out with the Meccan Caravan, or
Haj, as far as Ramsah, the third station, and one year returned to
Damascus via Izra (the Edhra of the Handbook) and the celebrated
Haurdn valley plain, inspecting the chief settlements and making
acquaintance with the principal Shaykhs. Richard writes—

“ I had business at Hums (Emesa), generally written Homs, and
Hamdh (Hamath Epiphaneia), on the northern borders of the con¬
sular district of Damascus. From there I examined and sent home
native facsimiles of the four unique basaltic stones, whose characters,
raised in cameo, apparently represent a system of local hieroglyphics
peculiar to this part of Syria, and form the connecting link between
picture-writing and the true syllabarium. A friend was kind enough
to give me some valuable papers, amongst them two maps noting
the most important of the three hundred and sixty villages, which
he had traced himself by aid of native information. These stud the
plain known as El ’Alah; the same number of villages are allotted to
the Lejd. This plain is a high rolling ground beginning at Sela-
mfyyah, the well-known ruin and outwork of Palmyra, six hours’ ride
from, and bearing east-south-east of the Mound of Hamdh. It ex¬
tends five days’ journey to the north, and from east to west two or

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 307

three days’. Some call it the ‘ Great Syrian Desert: ’ but the Seleu-
cidae here kept their immense studs of elephants and horses. The
whole is virgin ground, as are also the eastern slopes of the Jebel
Kalbfyyah, on the left bank of the Orontes, and of the country
extending from the parallel of Hums to that of Selarmyyah. In the
first five hours we had examined five ruins; and the basaltic build¬
ings are exactly those of the Giant Cities of Bashan. We returned
to Damascus by Jebel el Hulah; saw the fine crusading castle called
Hush el Akrad, the plain of the Nahr el Kaffir, the Eleutherus river.
Our hardships were considerable; the country was under water, and
the rushing torrents and deep ditches caused long detours. We had
heavy and continuous rains, furious blasts, snow and sleet like
Norway. One of the followers sickened and died, and we were all
frostbitten. In all my trips and peregrinations, I had business to
do as well as pleasure.

“ Throughout Syria, when the basaltic soil runs to any depth, the
earth is loose and treacherous, fatiguing to traverse in summer, and
impassable in winter. In some places the water is sulphurous or
brackish, but in most places without any unpleasant taste; it is
strongly diuretic.”

Unexplored Syria.

Taken from Richard’s journals of excursions to the Libanus with
Charley Drake and me, and once with Drake alone, the Tulul el
Safa, the Anti-Libanus, the Northern Libanus, and the ’Alah. We
collected eighty-one original Greek inscriptions in the Haurin
mountain, and in the ’Alah, a collection of Alpine plants from the
Libanus, shells, and geological specimens. Charley Drake did the
plans and sketches and maps, Richard and I the writing.

Richard wrote—

“ The fact was we had long been tantalized by the sight of
the forbidden Tulul el Safd, or Hillocks of the Safa Pyramids,
looking at the distance like baby finger-tops, dotting the eastern
horizon within sight of our housetop, and, thinning out northwards,
prolonged the lumpy blue wall of the Jebel Duruz Hauffin, which
appears to reflect the opposite line of the Anti-Libanus. Many also
were the vague and marvellous reports which had reached our ears
concerning a cave called by the few who knew it Umm Nfran, the
mother of fires. The difficulty and danger of visiting these places
arose in my time simply from the relations of the Waifs government
with the hill tribes of Bedawin, who, mixed up with the Druzes, infest
the Trachonic countries. The hill tribes proper are AgayHt, the
Hasan, the Shurafat, the Azamat, and the Masd’id. The Saffi is
tenanted by the Shitayi, the Ghiyds, and the Anjad, whilst the Lejd
belongs to the Sulut, as clients of the Druzes. These are nine hordes
intermarried, who combine together in the warfare of the tribes.
They are the liege descendants of the refractory robbers of the
Trachonitis, who, to revenge the death of their Captain Naub, rose
up against the garrison of three thousand Idumaeans stationed in
their country by Herod, son of Antipater. Their prowess as
plunderers is still famous.

308 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“ To the scandal of every honest man, they are allowed to scour
the plains, carry off the flocks, and harry the flocks and herds of the
peasantry. They served as ready implements of revenge against all
those disaffected to or disliked by the petty autocrat [Rashid Pasha]
who then disgraced the land by his rule. They are small and slightly
made, with oval face, bright brown eyes, and restless roving look of
the civilized pickpocket. The features high and well formed, the skin
a clear olive yellow. They wear long love-locks of raven-wings’ tint,
well buttered. Their dress scanty and irregular. The action, like
the eyes, is wild and startled; the voice is a sort of bark. When
attacked, they put the women, children, and cattle in the rear, form
a rude line, carefully guard against being out-flanked, and advance
file-firing with great regularity. They attack strangers, and they
have no sense of hospitality, and for this reason it was not really
safe to ride alone three hours beyond the Eastern gate of Damascus.
The Sub£’a, therefore, made the plain of Damascus a battle-field,
and the Wuld Ali levied black-mail in Coele-Syria.

“ Dust was thrown in the eyes of the civilized world whilst the
Wali employed hordes of banditti to plunder its own hapless subjects,
whilst the satellites had the audacity to publish, ‘ Le ddsert est
cultive, les Bedouins sont soumis, et le brigandage aneanti.’ So it
came to pass that all the broken-down Gassanian convents had
never to our knowledge been visited by any European traveller. Mr.
Porter was told that a hundred horsemen would not attempt a
journey to El Diyura. We received no damage, and nighted in
the old temple of Ba’al, called Harr^n el ’Awamid. However, the
Ghiyas found us out, advanced in a steady line, treated us to a
shower of bullets, severely wounding in the leg our gallant com¬
panion and friend, Bedr Beg. As we were well mounted and armed,
and the riding ground good, we could have brought down as many
of them as we pleased, for we were all armed with six-shooters, and
eight shot rifles, but, as we wanted to avoid a blood-feud, we did not
return fire. After Rashid Pasha was gone, the mystery of their
attacking us was cleared up.

“ These convents are in an excellent state of preservation. What
we have to complain of is that the spirit of clique too often succeeds
in ignoring the real explorer, the true inventor, the most learned
writer, and the best artist. The honour is denied to the right man.
Party is successful against principle. The Pharisee, with his aggres¬
sive, vigorous, narrow-minded nature, with his hard thin character,
all angles and stings, with his starch inflexible opinions upon
religion, politics, science, literature, and art, with his broad assurance
that his ways are the only right ways, rules with a rod of iron the
large herd of humanity, headed by Messrs. Feeblemind and Ready-
to-halt. We find in our national life, when the Battle of the Creeds,
or rather of ‘Non-Credo’ versus ‘Credo/ has been offered and
accepted; when every railway station is hung with texts and strewed
with tracts for the benefit of that British-public-cherished idol the
working-class; when the South Kensington Museum offers pro¬
fessional instruction in science and art for women before they

Damascus—His Third Consulate.

309

become mothers, suggesting that creation by law may be as reason¬
able as creation by miracle ; when Secularism draws the sword against
Denominationalism; briefly, when those who ‘believe’ and those
who do not, can hardly keep hands off one another in a melee, it
suggests a foretaste of the mystical Armageddon.”

Richard and Charley Drake sketched and fixed the positions of
some fifty ruins which are fated to disappear from the face of the
earth. They took squeezes of from twenty to twenty-five Greek
inscriptions, of which six or seven have dates, and explored the
Harrah, or ‘ Hot-Country,’ the pure white blank in the best maps,
and took hydrographic charts, as they found that the guide-books
and the maps teemed with mistakes.

“I thought,” he said, “when I came here that Syria and Palestine
would be so worn out that my occupation as an explorer was clean
gone, but I soon found that although certain lines had been well
trodden, that scarcely ever a traveller, and no tourists , have ever
ridden ten miles off the usual ways. No one knows how many
patches of unvisited and unvisitable country lie within a couple of
days’ ride of great cities and towns, such as Aleppo and Damascus,
Hums, and Hamdh.

“ Where the maps show a virgin white patch in the heart of Jaydur,
the classical Itursea, students suppose that the land has been
examined, and has been found to contain nothing of interest. The
reverse is absolutely the case. Finally, as will presently appear,
there are valid reasons for that same, for the unexplored spots are
either too difficult or too dangerous for the multitude to under¬
take. To visit carefully even the beaten tracks in the Holy Land
occupies six months, and none except a resident can afford leisure
or secure health for more, and the reason that these places have
escaped European inspection is, that they do not afford provisions,
or forage, or water ; they are deadly with malarious fever, they are
infested by the Bedawi. They do not often detain you for ransom,
nor mutilate you ; but they will spear you. They will not kill you
in cold blood ; that is only done for a Thar , which is the blood-
feud between tribes. Still, under these mitigated circumstances,
travellers may know that their escorts will turn tail, and will hardly
care to expose themselves, their attendants, and baggage to a charge
of Bedawin cavalry. Indeed, the running away of the escort is the
traveller’s safeguard. If the tribe could seize all, it knows that dead
men are dumb, but it knows that the fugitives have recognized
them, and that before evening the tale will be known through all
the land.

“ There is no reverence in this ancient place for antiquity. Syria
would ivillingly change from ancient and Oriental to modern and
European. The ruins of the ’Alah are pulled to pieces to build houses
for Hamdh. The classical buildings of Saccsea are torn down and

310 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

made into rude hovels for the Druzes, who fled from the Anti-
Libanus and Hermon. Syria, north of Palestine, is an old country,
geographically and technologically and other ways, but it is absolutely
new. A land of the past, it has a future as promising as that of
Mexico or the Argentine Republic. The first railway that spans it
will restore the poor old lethargic region to rich and vigorous life.

‘ Lazare, veni foras ! ’—it will raise this Lazarus of Eastern provinces,
this Niobe of nations, from a neglected grave. There is literally no
limit that can be laid down to the mother-wit , the ambition , the
intellectual capabilities of its sons. They are the most gifted race
that 1 have as yet ever seen , and when the curse shall have left the
cou?itry—?iot the bane of superstition , but the bane and plague-spot
of bad rule—it will agai?i rise to a position not unworthy of the days
when it gave to the world a poetry and a system of religion still un¬
forgotten by our highest civilization.

“My object was to become acquainted with the Hauran and its
Druzes, to see the Umm-Niran Cave, called the ‘fire cave,’of which
one hears such extraordinary legends, and the Tulul el Safa, which is
the volcanic region, east of the Damascus swamps.

“ The South Pacific Coast, and Mediterranean Palestine, are two
pendants in the world, only the East is on a much smaller scale.
The lakes and rivers, plains and valleys, cities and settlements, storms
and earthquakes, in fact, all the geographical, physical, and the
meteorological, as well as the social features of the two regions, show
a remarkable general likeness with a difference of proportion.

“ The world is weary of the past. In these regions there is hardly
a mile without a ruin, hardly a ruin that is not interesting, and in
some places, mile after mile and square mile after square mile of ruin
show a luxuriance of ruin. There is not a large ruin in the country
which does not prove, upon examination, to be the composition of
ruins more ancient still. The mere surface of the antiquarian mine
has only been scratched; it will be long years before the country
can be considered explored, before even Jerusalem can be called
‘ recovered/ and the task must be undertaken by Societies, not by
individuals.

“ Of history, of picturesque legend, of theology and mythology, of
art and literature, as of archaeology, of palaeography, of palaeo-
geography, of numismatology, and all the other ’ologies and ’ographies,
they have absolutely no visible end. If the New World be bald and
tame, the Syrian old world is, to those who know it well , perhaps a
little too fiery and exciting, paling with its fierce tints and angry
flush the fair vision which a country has a right to contemplate in
the days to be. There is a disease here called ‘ Holy Land on the
Brain/ which makes patients babble of hanging gardens and par¬
terres of flowers. The ‘ green sickness ’ attacks tourists from Europe
and North America, especially where the sun is scarce. It attacks
the Protestant with greater violence than the Catholic (the Catholic
from long meditation is prepared for it). The Protestant fit is excited
and emotional, spasmodic and hysterical, ending in a long rhapsody
about himself, his childhood, and his mother. It spares the Levan-

Damascus—His Third Consulate . 311

tine, as ‘yellow Jack ’ does the negro. His brain is too well packed
with the wretched intrigues and petty interest of material life to have
any room for excitement at * the first glimpse of Emmanuel’s Land.’
The sufferer will perhaps hire a house at Siloam, and pass his even¬
ings in howling from the roof, at the torpid little town of Jebus,
‘Woe! woe to thee, Jerusalem!’ Men fail to shaking hands with
one another, and exchange congratulations for the all-sufficient reason
that the view before them ‘ embraces the plain of Esdraelon.’

“ A long a?id happy life should be still before it. The ruined heaps
shew us what has been ; the appliances of civilization , provided with
railways and tramways , will offer the happiest blending of the ancient
and the modern worlds . It will become another Egypt , with the
advantages of a superior climate , and far nobler races of men. Time
was when I dreamt of the Libanus as my future pied d terre. When
weary with warfare and wander, one could repose in peace and com
fortable ease. I thought of pitching a tent for life on Mount
Lebanon, whose raid and tobacco are of the best, whose Vino Toro
is compared with the best, whose winter climate is like an English
summer, whose views are lovely, a place at the same time near and
far from society—it was riant in the extreme;* but in the state of
Syria in my time, the physical mountain had no shade, the moral
mountain no privacy, the village life would have been dreary and
monotonous, broken only by a storm, an earthquake, a murder, a
massacre. Such is the rule of the Wali in this unfortunate time,
when drought and famine, despotism and misrule, maddens its un¬
fortunate inhabitants.

“ We now determined the forms and bearings of the Cedar Block,
the true apex of the Libanus. We then went to the unknown and
dangerous region called Tulul el Safi, the Hillocks of the Safi
district, a mass of volcanic cones lying east of the Damascus swamps
called lakes. Then we explored the northern Anti-Libanus, a
region which is innocent of tourists and traveller, and appears
a blank of mountains upon the best maps. Of my fellow-traveller
Charley Drake I can only say that every one knows his public
worth. At the end of my time here came three tedious months of
battling unsupported, against all that falsehood and treachery could
devise; the presence of this true-hearted Englishman, staunch to the
backbone, inflexible in the cause of right, and equally disdainful of
threats and promises, was our greatest comfort: I can only speak
of him with enthusiasm. Our journey to the northern slopes of
Lebanon, and the ’AMh or the highland of Syria, is an absolute
gain to geography, as the road lay through a region marked on
our maps ‘ Great Syrian Desert,’ and the basaltic remains in the
extensive and once populous plain lying north-east and south-east
of Hamah have been visited, sketched, and portrayed for the first
time. We found lignite, true coal, bituminous schists and limestone,
the finest bitumen or asphalt, mineral springs of all sorts, and
ores of all kinds, and plants and rhubarb. And then the duty of a

312 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Consular officer in Syria is to scour the country, and see matters
with his own eyes, and personally to investigate the cases which are
brought before him at head-quarters, where everything except the
truth appears.

“ After our visit to Ba’albak and the northern Libanus, we * did ’ the
southern parts of the mountain, the home of the Druzes as opposed
to that of the Maronites; then we ascended Hermon, then we had
our gallop to the Waters of Merom, that hideous expanse of fetid
mire and putrefying papyrus. We paid a visit to the only Bedawin
Amir in this region, the Amir Hasan el Fa’iir of the Bend Fadl
tribe, and then we visited most of the romantic and hospitable
Druze villages which cling to the southern and eastern folds of
Hermon.”

We used to spend all the summers in the Anti-Lebanon. Bluddn
is a little Christian village, Greek orthodox, which clings to the
Eastern flank of the mountain overlooking the Zebeddni valley,
which is well known to travellers, because it leads from Damascus
to Ba’albak. In it we found the official sources of the Barada,
the river of Damascus, but its real source is a pool just behind
our quarters, fed in winter by the torrent of Jebel el Shakff.
The Bludan block is a few miles north of the site of Abila, the
highest summit of Anti-Lebanon, and is fronted on the west by
Jebel el Shakff, or “ Mountain of Cliffs,” with gaps and gorges.
Bluddn lies twenty-seven miles to the north-west across country, away
from Damascus.

Ours was a large claret-case-shaped house of stone; the centre
was a large barn-like limestone hall with a deep covered verandah;
a wild waste of garden extends all round the house, a bare ridge
of mountain behind; a beautiful stream with two small waterfalls
rushes through the garden. It is five thousand feet high—an
eagle’s nest, commanding an unrivalled view. The air was perfect,
only hot at three p.m. for an hour or two, and blankets at night.
There was stabling for eight horses; no windows, only wooden
shutters to close at night. We see five or six ranges of moun¬
tains, one backing the other, of which the last looks down upon
the Hauran. We can see Jebel Sannin, which does not measure
nine thousand feet above sea-level, monarch of the Lebanon, and on
the left, Hermon, king of the Anti-Lebanon. The Greek villages
cling like wasps’ nests to our mountain, and Zebeddni, on the plain
beneath, contains thirty-five thousand Mohammedans.

The utter solitude, the wildness of the life, the absence of
luxe , and no society, the being thoroughly alone with Nature and
one’s own thoughts, was all too refreshing; we led half-Eastern lives
and half-farmhouse life. We made our own bread, we bought

THE BURTONS’ HOUSE AT BLUDAN, IN ANTI-LEBANON.
By Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake.

Damascus—His Third Co 7 isulate. 313

butter and milk from the Bedawi, we bought sheep or kids from
passing flocks. We woke at dawn, and after a cup of tea, we
used to take the dogs, and have long walks over the mountains with
our guns.

The game were bears (very scarce), gazelles, wolves, wild boars,
and a small leopard called nirnr, but for these we had to go far, and
watch in silence before dawn. But Richard had opinions about sport;
he only wanted to kill a beast that would kill us if we did not
kill it, and the smaller game, partridges, quails, woodcocks, hares,
and wild duck, we never shot unless we were hungry, and we would
not have the gazelles hunted. He had the greatest contempt for the
Hurlingham matches, and the battue slaughters in English parks,
where, instead of honestly walking for your game, and bringing it
home to eat, the young men of to-day have a gentle stroll to eat
p&te de foie gras, drink champagne, and the keeper hands them a
gun with a pheasant almost tied to the end of it to blow to pieces.
And what Richard thought about sport I heartily agreed with.
The hot part of the day was spent in reading, writing, and
studying x\rabic. He sent home from Bludan, during 1870,
“Vikram and the Vampire” (Hindu tales), “Paraguay,” and “ Pro-
verbia Communia Syriaca ” (Royal Asiatic Society, 1871)—three
works he had been long preparing.

His three literary necessities were Shakespeare, the Bible, and
Euclid, and they were bound up together, with three large clasps,
like a breviary, and went everywhere. His method of language¬
learning he has described in his autobiography. He taught me this
way. He made me learn ten new words a day by heart. “ When
a native speaks, then say the words after him to get his accent.
Don’t be English—that is, shy or self-conscious—if you know five
words, air them wherever you can; next day you will know ten, and
so on till you can speak. Don’t be like the Irishman who would
not go into the water until he could swim. Then take a very easy
childish book, in the colloquial language of the day. and translate it
word for word underneath the original, and you will be surprised
how soon you find yourself unconsciously talking.”

At twelve we had our first meal; in the afternoon native Shaykhs,
or English from Beyrout or Damascus, came to visit us, or rare tourists
would crawl up to see what sort of people we were, and how we lived.
They all used to say, “ Well, it is glorious, but the thing is to get here.”
We set up a tir (shooting-place) in the garden, and used to practise
pistol or rifle shooting, or fence, or put on the cavesson , and lunge
the horses if they had had no exercise. When the sun became cooler,
all the poor within sixteen miles round would come to be doctored;

3 i4 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

the hungry, the thirsty, the ragged, the sick and sorry, filled our
garden, and Richard used to settle grievances, and they all got money
or clothing, food or medicine, and sympathy. Before dinner we
used to assemble in the garden to eat a few mouthfuls of leban
salad and drink a liqueur glass of raki, which was quite necessary
to give us sufficient appetite. Divans were then spread on the
housetop, and we used to watch the moon lighting up Hermon,
whilst we smoked the after-dinner narghileh. The horses were
picketed out all these summer nights, and the saises slept with them.
The last thing was to have night prayers, and then to go the rounds
to see that everything was right, turn out the dogs on guard, and
then to bed.

The mails came once a fortnight, and Richard would ride
into Damascus and see that all was well. Sometimes we used
to give a picnic to some of our Moslem neighbours, and we
would gallop out in the plain, and stay in the black tents of the
Arabs. I used to have to ride down to the Moslem village Zebedffiii
every Sunday for church. The path was steep, and covered with
rolling stones, so that the horses used mostly to slide down, and it
occupied about an hour and a half. The most curious part was
that the Shaykhs and chief Moslems always accompanied me to
Mass. The thing that astonished the Shaykhs the most, was the
small acolytes being able to read and sing in Latin, and they
constantly exclaimed, “ Mashalldh ! ”

We were much grieved about this time to hear the sad news of
poor Lord Clarendon’s death. Few amongst us that have not some
happy recollection of that kind, true heart. He belonged to a
breed of gentlemen that with one or two exceptions may be said
to have died out. R.I.P. At this juncture Mr. E. H. Palmer and
Charley Drake had come back from Sinai and the Tih Desert, and
came to stay with us.

We wandered about for a long time together. On a long day we
might easily zigzag forty or fifty miles, and thirty or thirty-six on
a short day. We never rode straight to a place, and always rode
two horses, as there is so much to be seen on both sides of a
direct way.

Ba’albak is far more beautiful, though much smaller than Tadmor,
and can be seen without any danger. Tadmor is more romantic,
picturesque, more startling, and there is the attraction of the danger,
and being in the absolute desert. Londoners and Parisians would
consider Ba’albak in the desert, but we from Damascus do not.
This was the holy place of the old Phoenicians, and I do not know a
finer sight, from a distant height, when Ba’aibak is lit up by the setting

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 3 1 5

sun. The fertile plain of the BukTa, with its black Turcoman tents
and camels, lies in the distance. There is a big stone still lying there,
which would weigh eleven thousand tons. The Hajar el Hablah, or
pregnant stone, is a huge unfinished block. Our measurements were
seventy feet long, fourteen feet two inches high, and thirteen feet
eleven inches broad. The extraordinary sight makes you exclaim,
“ Something must have frightened them before they had time to
carry it off.”

Riding about, you come to the Turcomans’ tents, who have
wandered about Syria since the days of the Crusaders, and have
preserved, like their neighbours the Nuwar (gypsies), their ancestral
language and customs. We then went to live for a short while with
the Maronites, two hundred thousand people, under the rule of their
Patriarch, and we camped for some time under the cedars of Lebanon.
There are only nine of these large and ancient trees left; the four
largest are in the form of a cross, and three smaller. There are
555 trees (newer than these nine), all told, and they are 7368 feet
above sea-level. While stopping with his “ Beatitude the Maronite
Primate of Antioch, and of all the East,” whom his flock calls “ our
Patriarch, our Pope, and our Sultan,” we saw for once the simplicity
and sincerity of the Apostolic ages.

B’sherri, Jezzfn, and Sad£d produce a manly, independent race of
Christians, fond of horses and arms, with whom I am not ashamed
to own community of faith. In all my life I have never seen worse
riding than the Kasraw^n ; it consists of nothing but debris of rock,
fields, valleys, and mountains, all of the largest jagged stones. Our
horses had to do the work of goats, and jump from one bit of rock
to another, and it lasted over twelve hours at once. We lost our camp,
but after seeing our exhausted horses groomed, fed, watered, and
tethered in a warm spot, we were glad to eat a water-melon, and
sleep on our saddle-cloths in the open. The next day was just as
bad until we reached Affka, but the scenery was glorious. We had
three days of this awful riding, which the Syrians call “ Darb
el Jehannum,” the “road of hell.” We visited Mr. Palgrave’s old
quarters, a monastery of fifty or sixty Jesuits, where Mr. Palgrave
was a Jesuit for seventeen years. Here we all got fever.

Upon the 26th of August, Richard received at night, by a mounted
messenger, the two following letters from Mr. Wright, Chief Mis¬
sionary at Damascus (No. 2), and from Mr. Nasif Meshaka, Chief
Dragoman of the British Consulate (No. 1). I give them as they
were written:—

316

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

No. i.

“ Dear Sir,

“ The Christians in Damascus are in great alarm; most of
them have left for Safdnayah, and others are about to leave for else¬
where. Their alarm was occasioned from the following facts: signs
of crosses were made in the streets in the same way which preceded
the massacre of i860. On the 23rd instant a certain Mohammed
Rashid, a Government inspector (teftish), being in disguise, caught
a young Jew, twelve years old, in the service of Solomon Donemberg,
a British-protected subject, making signs of crosses in a cabinet of
a mosque at Suk el Jedfd. Yesterday another young Jew, in the
service of Marco, a French Jew, was caught also. Both of these
two boys were taken to the Government; being under age, they
were at once released by order of Mejlis Tamiz Hukuk. It is
believed that the Moslems are the authors of these signs, either
directly or indirectly, to stop the Government from taking the Redi'f
(militia), which is managed in a very oppressive manner, that is,
leaving many families without males to support them. Such kinds
of Redi'f prefer rather to be hanged than seeing their harfms without
support or any one to maintain them in their absence. A certain
Nicolas Ghartous, a Protestant from Ain Sh£ra, reported to me
yesterday that while waiting on Mr. Anhouri, near the barracks of
the Christian quarter, being dressed like a Druze, three soldiers of
the same barracks came to him and said, i Yakfk el ’ijl,’ a technical
term used by the Druzes, meaning, 1 Are you ready for another
outbreak?’ Ghartous replied, ‘We are at your disposal.’ The
soldiers replied, 1 Prepare yourself, and we will reap our enemies
from here to the Bab Sharki ’ (the Christian quarter), and thus they
departed. Hatem Ghanem, a Catholic member in the Haur£n,
came here to recover some money due to him by Atta Zello of the
Meydan Aghas. While claiming the money he was beaten, and his
religion and Cross were cursed by his debtor, who was put in prison
at the request of the Catholic Patriarchate. Twenty to thirty Redffs
of the Meyddn ran away to the LejTa, to take refuge there. The
Redffs will be collected next Saturday, the 27th instant, some say
at the Castle of Damascus, others at Khabboon and Mezzeh. The
report is current that on that day there will be no work in town, and
that there will be an outbreak. Although Ibraham Pasha, the new
Governor, arrived on the 23rd instant, he will not undertake his
duties till the return of the Wali. The Governor, as well as some
Frenchmen, through M. Roustan, who is now at Jerusalem, intend
to propose to the Wali to leave Holo Pasha to continue occupying
his present function under the present circumstances. The Mushir
left on the 19th instant. The Wali is absent The Muffetish ,
whom you know his inefficiency, is the Acting Governor-General.
Consuls are absent (that is, the French and English). The presence
of the high functionaries, and especially the Consuls, is a great
comfort to the Christians in general.”

Damascus—His Third Consulate.

3 T 7

No. 2.

“ Dear Sir,

“ I have just got in from Rasheiya, and before I sat down
several Christians and one Moslem came in to ask if I knew what
was coming. They seemed to be very much afraid; but, except
that people don’t act logically, I see no reason for fear. The fear,
however, does seem very great. I know nothing. Any English of
us here should be ready at the worst to fight our corner. Many
thanks for your prompt action in our affairs. It is something to
have

* One firm, strong man in a blatant land,

Who can act and who dare not lie.’

“W. W.”

It appeared that one of those eruptions of ill-feeling, which are
periodically an epidemic in Damascus, resulting from so many
religions, tongues, and races, was about to simmer into full boil
between Moslem and Christian. The outsiders are fond of stirring
up both, for they reap all the benefit. It appeared that a slaughter-
day was fixed for the 27th of August, 1870; all the Chief Authorities,
by an accidental combination of affairs, were absent as well as the
Consuls. Wednesday is the Moslem’s unlucky day, and also, I
believe, the 23rd; it is thought it will be the day of the end of the
world. There would be nobody to interfere, and nobody to be
made responsible. It was the night of the 26th when he got these
letters. Richard ordered the horses to be saddled, the weapons to
be cleaned. In ten minutes he told me what his plans and arrange¬
ments were. He said, “ We have never before been in a Damascus
riot, but if it takes place it will be like the famous affair of i860.
I shall not take you into Damascus, because I intend to protect
Damascus, and you must protect Bludan and Zebedd,ni. I shall
take half the men, and I shall leave you half. You shall go down
into the plain with me to-night, and we shall shake hands like two
brothers and part; tears or any display of affection will tell the secret
to our men.”

So it was done, and at six o’clock the next morning he walked into
the mejlis (council chamber). He was on good terms with them all,
so he told them frankly what was going on, and said, “ Which of
you is to be hanged if this is not prevented ? It will cost you Syria,
and unless you take measures at once, I shall telegraph to Constan¬
tinople.” This had the desired effect. “ What,” they asked, “ would
you have us to do?” He said, “I want you to post a guard of
soldiers in every street; order a patrol all night I will go the rounds

31 3 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

with Holo Pasha. Let the soldiers be harangued in the barracks,
and told that on the slightest sign of mutiny the offenders will be
sent to the Danube (their Cayenne). Issue an order that no Jew or
Christian shall leave the house till all is quiet.” All these measures
were taken by ten o’clock a.m., and continued for three days. Not
a drop of blood was shed, and the frightened Christians who had
fled to the mountains began to come back. There is no doubt that
my husband saved Damascus from a very unpleasant episode. Mr. L.
Wright, Mr. Scott, and the other missionaries, his own dragomans, and
a few staunch souls who remained quietly with him, appreciated his
conduct, and he received many thanks from those on the spot. The
diligence was so much in request (nearly all the Christians and
Europeans had tried to leave) that a friend of mine could not get
a seat for three weeks; yet these people, so soon as they sighted the
Mediterranean, were brave and blatant. “ Oh! we were not at all
frightened; there was no danger whatever ! ” Mr. Eldridge, who
had lived for ten years safely on the coast, and had never ventured
up to Damascus in his life, a civilian whose dislike to the smell of
powder was notorious, wrote me a pleasantly chaffing letter, hoping
I had recovered my fever and fright, and giving Richard instructions
how to behave in time of danger. When Richard had gone I climbed
back to our eyrie, which commanded the country, and collected
every available weapon and all the ammunition. The house was
square, looking every way. I put a certain number of men on each
side with a gun each, a revolver, and bowie-knife. I put two on
the roof with a pair of elephant guns carrying four-ounce balls, and
took the terrace myself. I planted the Union Jack on the flag-staff
at the top of the house, turned our bull-terriers into the garden,
locked up a little Syrian maid, Khamoor (the Moon), who was very
pretty (Richard used to say her eyes were of the owlified largeness of
the book of beauty), in the safest room, and my English maid, who was
as brave as a man, was to supply us with provisions. I knew that
I could rely upon our own men, so I filled all the empty soda-water
bottles full of gunpowder, and laid fusees ready to stick in and light,
and throw amongst the crowd. I then rode down to the American
mission—the only other people near—to tell them if there was the
slightest movement to come up and shelter with me; and then into
the village of Blud^n, to tell the Christians there to come and camp in
our garden; and lastly to Zebedani, where there were a few Christians
living amongst the thirty-five thousand Moslems, and I sent them up at
once, because there would be no time for them to reach me if danger
came suddenly. The others were close by. I then rode down to the
Moslem Shaykhs, and asked them what they thought. They told me

Damascus — His Tim'd Consulate.

3 T 9

there would be a fight. “ One half of our village will fight with you
and yours, the other half will destroy the Christians here and at
Bludan. They will hesitate to attack yow house, but if matters are
so bad as that, they shall pass over our dead bodies, and those of
all our house, before they reach you.” And every night they came up
and picketed round the garden till my husband came back.

This lasted three days, and all subsided without accident. At this
time also there was a tremendous row between a Moslem and a
Christian woman ; he tore the woman’s ear down, smashed her black
and blue, bruised her, and took all her gold ornaments from her. The
case of Hassan Beg, on whose account my husband was reported, by
the British Syrian School missionaries, to be recalled on account
of my co?iduct , happened a whole year before my husband’s recall.
After this, when we rode desert-wards, the tribes used in the evening
to dance especially for Richard. The men formed a squad like
soldiers; they plant the right foot in time to tom-tom music, with
a heavy tread, and an exclamation like that used by our street-
menders when the crowbar comes down with a thud upon the
stones. When they are numerous it sounds like the advance of an
army, and they would burst out into song, of which the literal trans¬
lation would be—

“ Mashallah ! Mashallah ! At last we have seen a man !

Behold our Consul in our Shaykh !

Who dare to say ‘ Good morning ’ to us (save Allah) when he rules ?

Look at him, look at the Sitt !

They ride the Arab horses !

They fly before the wind !

They fire the big guns !

They fight with the sword !

Let us follow them all over the earth ! ”

(Chorus) “ Let us follow, let us follow,” etc., etc.

We were very fond of animals, and especially of wild ones.
Holo Pasha had given us a panther cub trapped in the desert to
show his appreciation of what Richard had done. We brought him
up like a cat. He grew to be a splendid beast, and never did any of
us harm, but he frightened the other animals a little sometimes.
We kept him very well fed, in order that he might never attack them.
Our cat was very frightened of him, and the only animals that he was
frightened of were the bull-dogs. He used to sleep by our bedside.
He had bold bad black eyes, that seemed to say, “ Be afraid of me.”
He used to hunt me round the garden, playing hide-and-seek with
me as a cat does a mouse. When he bit too hard, I used to box
his ears, when he was instantly good. But he grew up and was
large. There was a certain baker that the bull-terriers used to bite,
and the panther, who also saw in him what we did not, worried

320 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

him. At last the peasantry, who were frightened of him, gave him
poison in meat. He withered away, and nothing we could do did
him any good, and one day, when I went to look round the stables,
he put his paw up to me. I sat down on the ground, and took him
in my arms like a child. He put his head on my shoulder, and his
paws round my waist, and he died in about half an hour. Richard
and I were terribly grieved.

There are charming rides across the Anti-Lebanon through a moun¬
tain defile to Ain el Bardi, where we found black tents and flocks
feeding by the water. There is very much to be seen in the plain of
El Buka’a, beginning at Mejdel. Anjar is a little village on a hillock
standing alone; on its top is a small gem of a temple built by Herod
Agrippa in honour of Augustus, with a very graceful broken column ;
below it are the ruins of Herod’s Palace, and a twenty minutes’
further ride in the plain lie the ruins of Chalcis. From the temple
above named we could see the greater part of the Bukd’a, walled
in at either side by the Lebanon and the Anti-Lebanon, and dotted
with seventy-two villages. Anjar is bisected by the Litani river,
falsely called the Leontes. Having feasted our eyes, we rode on to
the square ruins of Chalcis in the plain, and to Neby Za’ur to see
the tomb, and we carried off skulls and bones. We crossed the
plain, ascended the Lebanon, and when near its summit turned to
our left across a mountain called Jebel Bariik, in the territory of El
Akkiib.

A favourite ride was into the Druze country, beginning at Bariik,
a stronghold in a wild glen. They are a fine, tall, strong, and manly
race, who can ride and fight and shoot, and are fit to be our allies.
There is no cant about them; they are honest and plain-spoken, and
do not know intriguing, lying, stealing, or spying. A Druze house has
huge black rafters in the ceiling, and straight tall columns down the
middle; there is a private room for council. The women have one
blue garment, and one white veil showing one eye. They are chaste,
and good wives and mothers. They have clean, comfortable homes,
and give a warm welcome, and we rested here for some time. People
often say, “ What is the real religion of the Druzes? ” No one ever
knew who was not a Druze ; they conform to the national religion,
the Moslem. In speaking to you or me, they would appear to have
a particular leaning to our respective faiths. They have a secret
creed of their own, which, although women are admitted to the
council chamber, is as mysterious as Freemasonry. Some Modems
pretend that they worship Eblis, and some Christians say the bull-
calf El Ijl.

On our road we came to another stronghold, like an ancient

Damascus—His Third Consulate .

321

convent, where lives Melhem Beg Ahmad, a Druze chief, a dare¬
devil-fine-old-man, who, when he mounts, takes his bridle in his
teeth, puts his musket to his shoulder, and charges down a mountain
that an English horse would have to be led down. He lives in great
style; he threw his cap in the air, drank to our health a thousand
times, and his sons waited on us at dinner. Muktara hangs on a
declivity in a splendid ravine in wild mountains in the territory of
Esh Shuf. The house we were going to is like a large Italian
cascine, nestled amidst olive groves, that are, so to speak, the
plumage of the heights. It is the Syrian palace of the Jumblatts,
the focus and centre of the Lebanon Druzes. Here reside this
princely family, headed then by a Chieftainess, the “ Sitt Jumblatt.”

Long before we sighted Muktara, wild horsemen, in the rich Druze
dress, came careering down, jeriding on beautiful horses, with guns
and lances, the sons and retainers of the house heading them. They
were splendidly mounted, and one of the sons had a black mare, so
simply perfect I infringed the tenth commandment. We descended
into a deep defile, and rose up again on the opposite side, the whole
of which was lined with horsemen and footmen to salute us, and
the women trilled out their joy-cry. Ascending the other side was
literally like going up stairs cut in the rock ; it was a regular fastness.
We rode our horses up the flight of stairs into the court. We re¬
ceived the most cordial and gracious hospitality from the Sift, who
had all the well-bred ease of a European grande dame. Water and
scented soap was brought in carved brass ewers and basins to wash
our hands, incense was waved before us, we were sprinkled with rose¬
water, whilst an embroidered gold canopy was held over us. Coffee,
sherbet, and sweets were served. The next morning the palace was
filled with grey-bearded and turbaned scribes, with their long brass
inkstands, and the Sitt explained to Richard that her affairs were
entirely neglected at Beyrout, and asked him to do something for
her. He explained that it was a great embarrassment to him, as he
was subordinate to Mr. Eldridge, but that, whatever she chose to
write, he would make a point of going himself to present her wishes
to Mr. Eldridge. Richard notes in his journal that day among
others, “ Eldridge does nothing, and is very proud of what he does.
Consular office awfully careless; sick of dyspepsia; nothing to do
body and mind.”

We sat down to a midday meal equivalent to a dinner, and
then went to the Jerid ground, where the sons and their fighting
men displayed their grace and skill. The stables are solid, and
like tunnels with light let in, containing sixty horses, all showing
blood, and some quite thoroughbred. At nightfall there was a big

322 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

dinner, to which all the retainers flocked in ; there was dancing and
war-songs between the Druzes of the Lebanon and the Druzes of the
Haurdn, ranged on either side of the banqueting hall; they performed
a pantomime, they sang, and recited tales of love and war far into
the night.

An amusing thing was, that after the Siit had dined with us, I
found her shortly after sitting cross-legged on the floor of the kitchen,
devouring a second dinner. I said, “ Ya Sitti, I thought you had
eaten your dinner with us ; what are you doing ? ” She laughed,
and said, “ My dear child, you don’t suppose for an instant that I
got a bit into my mouth with those knives and forks ; I was only
doing pantomime for the honour of the house. Now I am getting my
real dinner with my fingers ! ” We were accompanied out with the
same honours as those with which we were ushered in. How sorry we
were to leave ! Our friendship always lasted. We used to begin, “ My
dearest sister,” and she used to say all those sweet things which only
Easterns can say, such as—“ My eyes sought for you many days till
my head ached; when will you come to repose them, that I may not
see your empty place ? ”

We went on to Deir el Khammar to the palace of Bayt el Din
(B’teddin), where Franco Pasha (the best governor the Lebanon has
ever known) lived, and was restoring this ruined castle of the late
terrible Amir Beshir ShelHb, from whence the view is splendid. He
had about five hundred soldiers, and was doing enormous good. He
had a band, a school, was planting pine trees and wheat, teaching
carpet-making, tailoring, shoemaking, making roads, teaching religion
and loyalty to God, to the Sultan, with liberality and civilization. He
produced an electric shock upon us by the invisible band playing
“ God save the Queen.” We sprang to our feet, and in that wild
place it made me cry. In this region we met the only real prince in
Syria, the Emir Mulhem Rustam. We had an immense quantity of
deputations of Druze Shaykhs ; those of the Hauran were something
like bears, with huge white turbans, green coat, massive swords,
some in red, and all exceedingly wild-looking. We then went to
Ali Beg of Jumblatt, at Baderhan. We passed innumerable Druze
villages, until we came to Jezzm, one of the three manly Christian
villages. Usuf Beg, their Chief, was a delightful Shaykh.

Sometimes these breakfasts on the march were very amusing, where
there were a mixture of races and religion. You would see forty
intrigues round a dish of rice. At Rasheya there was no water ; here
we were on Druze ground again. From this we went to the top
of Mount Hermon, i.e. it has three tops, and we put a kaku of stones
on the highest for a remembrance. The view is immense. We

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 323

found a cave and saw a hare. When we got to the bottom, there
was hardly a shoe or a rag left amongst us. Here we met some very
charming Druze chiefs, and went with them to Hasbeya, because
Richard was convinced that the sources of the Jordan were not as
they are given in books; and he was perfectly right. There is a
slanting rock with some figs growing out of it, and oleanders growing
in luxurious clumps in the sand all around, and out of this rock
rushes a stream, which we traced to the Jordan. Near is a mine of
bitumen.

From thence to Kefayr, another Druze village, after which we
rode to Banias. Of course, there are loads of things to see all
the way—caves or temples, or what not; but, then, all those can
be got in books. The sources are supposed to be here, at Banias,
and are made much of; and all visitors go to the fountain of
Jordan, the cave of Pan, the temple of Herod and Augustus,
with the three niches. The water trickles from beneath under
the stones, separating into eight or nine streams, but they are
not the real source.

We had a large escort to-day. Ali Beg Ahmadi and his cavalry,
Shaykh Ahmad, and many others, came to escort us, and we had
a delicious gallop over the plain of Ghyam, which is part of the Ard
el Huleh, through which runs the Jordan, and another portion of
the same is called the Abbs. We came to Arab tents, and drank
milk with the Bedawi; we found many of them down with fever,
and stopped to doctor them with Warburg’s drops. We had to ride
all day, and at last through marshy, rushy places under a burning
sun, without a breath of air.

This valley of the Jordan, if drained and planted, would be
immensely rich, but it teemed now with luxurious rankness, fever,
and death. We pitched our tents under a large tree, divided from
the lake by papyrus swamps; a most unwholesome spot, where we
were punished by every sort of insect and crawling thing in creation;
and we all got headache and sore throat at once.

The Bahret el Huleh, or the Waters of Merom in Josh. xi. 5-7,
anciently called Lake Semachonitis, is a small blue triangular lake,
the first and highest of the three basins of the Jordan. We had all
our escort with us; we had scarcely any food; there was none for
the horses. We had to turn them all loose to forage for themselves,
except the stallions, and they had to be led. It was a hideous
expanse of foetid mire and putrefying papyrus. We had a frightful
night, a stifling heat, a very blizzard of wind, rain, thunder, and
lightning, and we were camped under the only tree in the plain.
It was black dark; the ground was bad-smelling black mud; we

324 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

passed the dark hours in holding our tent-pole against the wind, and
digging trenches outside to let the water off. There were no dry
clothes to be had, and the various vermin would not let one rest
We were like that for three days; so we piled up the trunks and
sat at the top of them, and read “Lothair,” by Disraeli, which
we had brought with us. The description of the great houses of
England read so funnily sitting in this black mud in the centre of
desolation, surrounded by feverish swamps.

In spite of the difficulties of moving in such weather, Richard
and I were agreed that if we stayed there any longer, we should
all perhaps get in such a state as not to be able to move at all;
so we saddled our horses, and ordering our followers and escort
to strike tents, pack, load, and follow, we mounted and waded our
horses through the water, scrambled over stones and slippery rocks,
and in and out mud and slush for two hours, often sinking deep, till
we reached the mountain roots and began to ascend

After some hours' climbing we arrived at the seventy-two tents of
the Shaykh Hadi Abd Allah; he instantly gave us hospitality, barley
for our horses and food for ourselves. They were all yellow and sickly,
and, even at this height, dying like sheep of fever from the miasma
arising out of the plain that we had been in for three days. They
had lost many children, and double sorrow when sons. One boy was
dying as we entered. Our tents came up to us late that day with
all our belongings. Our animals and people were fed. We stayed
with the tribe long enough to doctor them all round, and to leave
remedies and directions; and I baptized the incurables and the
dying children.

Then came down the Amir Hasan el Fd’ur of the Benu Fadl,
or Fazli tribe. He heard of our being in the neighbourhood,
and took us off to his camp on the summit of a mountain called
Jebel Haush, a day’s ride away, where we found his three hundred
tents. The whole tribe turned out to meet us, mounted and
couching their lances, and jerfded the whole way back. The recep¬
tion tent was fifty feet long, and each divan was twenty-five feet
long. The retainers cleared a space for our camp, corn was
brought, horses picketed; an excellent dinner on a large scale in
the big tent was cooked, lambs and kids roasted whole, stuffed with
pistachios and rice, bowls of leban , unleavened bread, honey, and
camels’-milk butter, bowls of clear sparkling water. I love to think
now of those dark, fierce men, in their gaudy flowing costumes,
lying about in different attitudes, the moon lighting up the scene;
the lurid glare of the fire on their faces, the divans and pipes,
narghilehs and coffee, their wild and mournful songs, their war-

Damascus—His Third Consulate, 325

dances, their story-telling; and on that particular night, and on all
these sort of nights, my husband would recite to them one or another
tale out of the “ Arabian Nights ”—those tales which he has now
translated literally for the London world; and I have seen the
gravest and most reverend Shaykhs rolling on the ground and scream¬
ing with delight, in spite of their Oriental gravity, and they seemed
as if they could never let my husband go again.

I can remember that night, when he and I went to our tent and
lay down on our respective rugs, he called me over, for he was
stung by a scorpion, but when I struck a match there was nothing
but a speck of blood, as though from a black ant; so we lay down
again, and he called out, ‘‘Quick, quick! I know it is a scorpion.”
I ran over and struck another light, and plunged my hand into the
shirt by the throat, and the scorpion caught my finger. I drew it out
and shook it off, and killed it; but it did not sting me, being, I
supposed, exhausted. I rubbed some strong smelling-salts into the
wounds, and, seeing he was pale, ran off to the provision-basket and
got a bottle of raki , and made him drink it, to keep the poison
from the heart, and he woke in the morning quite well.

I now discovered that though they were treating us with this
splendid hospitality, that behind the scenes they were also dying
in their tents of fever, although they were in the purest air; so here
we again stayed to doctor, and nurse, and baptize, and leave direc¬
tions and remedies.

We then went on to most of the romantic and hospitable Druze
villages which cling to the southern and eastern folds of Hermon—
Mejdel Esh Shems to Birket er Ram, or Lake Phiala,* a little round
lake which we found interesting enough to come back to afterwards.
Mejdel is on a declivity of a mountain defile—their favourite posi¬
tion—a Druze stronghold, very fighting and turbulent, where we were
received and treated like relations. Then we got to Beyt-Jenn, where
we had a mixed Druze and Christian place. We came in for a very
interesting Druze wedding at Arneh, at the foot of Hermon, just
above which rise the sources of the Awaj, which waters El Kunay-
terah. We then went to a Druze village called Rimeh, to look for
a stone with an inscription, which we found in a stable, and then
to the Bukk£sim, which is the Druze frontier. Here our Druze
cavalcade took an affecting leave of us. As we rode away I could
see them for three-quarters of an hour standing on a high rock to
watch us out of sight, one or two of them with their faces buried
in their mares’ necks.

* The cave near Affka forms the Orontes, the Jura sends forth the Barada of
Damascus, and Lake Phiala Josephus makes the highest water of the Jordan.

326

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

The Wuld Ali.

Our escort of free-lances one day, as we were riding to some of
our usual environs, soon perceived that we were making for the
desert, towards the direction where the dreaded Mohammed Dukhi
was known to camp, and they began the well-known dodges of
making their horses curvet and prance and wheel in circles as if they
had become unmanageable, and every round became so much larger
that they gradually dropped out of sight. Presently some cast a
shoe, or another had broken a girth, and stopped to rectify it. The
fact is, Richard had been determined to make friends with the Wuld
Ali tribe, of which Mohammed Dukhi is the Chief, and rules five
thousand lances. At last we found ourselves alone, so we rode on
all that day, slept by our horses at night in a ruined khan , and got in
sight of the Wuld Ali encampment late next day. Richard said to
me, “Now mind, when they see us two horsemen, they will come
galloping across the sand in a body with their lances couched ; if
we were to turn and run, they would spear us; but if we sit our
horses, facing them like statues on parade, just as the Life Guards
sit in their sentry-boxes at the Horse Guards at home, they will take
us in with great applause, and our horses will stand it, because they
are used to desert manners.”

I said “ All right,” as I always did when he gave me an order,
and I was glad he put me up to it, for, sure enough, when they saw
our two dusky figures galloping from a distance across the sand
towards them, the whole tribe charged with their lances couched,
and we reined in and stood stock still, facing the charge ; but as
soon as they got within a few yards, they seemed by instinct to
recognize the man they were charging. They lowered their lances,
opened their ranks to enclose us, and with one cry of “Ak-hu
Sebbah!” (Brother of the Lion), jumped off their horses, kissed our
hands, galloped in with us jeriding, and held our stirrups to alight.
I need not say that we were treated with all the true hospitality
of real Bedawi life, and we remained several days with them. My
husband’s object was to make peace between the Wuld Ali and the
Mezrabs. We visited the lakes which are near them, and they were
all dried up except a bit of water in the sand about the size of a
small duck-pond. “What, then,” said Richard, “becomes of the
Bdrada and the Awaj, the so-called ancient Abana and Pharphar?”
They have been partly drawn off, and partly evaporated before
reaching their basements at ’Utaybah and Hijdnah, where we then

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 327

The Arabic of Damascus, especially the Christian Arabic, Richard
found so grating to the ears after the pure speech of the Bedawi—
and that of the Nejd and El Hejaz.

Richard writes an account of a trip—

“ A little later on Charley Drake and I again started to revisit the
Tulul el Safa, and our first eight days was over the old ground.
This trip added considerably to our scanty geographical knowledge
of these regions off the tracks. In one week we collected some
hundred and twenty inscriptions, and three lengthy copies of Greek
hexameters and pentameters from the Burj, a mortuary tower at
Shakkah, a ruin long since identified as the Saccsea of Ptolemy.
We went to the top of Tell Shayhdn, whose height is 3750 feet,
which showed us that the Lejd, the Argob of the Hebrews and
the western Trachon of the Greeks and Romans, is the gift of
Tell Shayhan. It is a lava bed, a stone torrent poured out by
the lateral crater over the ruddy yellow clay and the limestone
floor of the Hauran valley, high raised by the ruins of repeated
eruptions, broken up by the action of blow-holes, and cracked and
crevassed by contraction when cooling, by earthquakes, and the
weathering of ages. * The features are remarkable. It is composed
of black basalt, which must have issued from the pores of the earth
in a liquid state, and flowed out until the plain was almost covered.
Before cooling its surface was agitated by some powerful agency, and
it was afterwards shattered and rent by internal convulsions and
vibrations’ (Porter). Two whole days were spent at Kanawdt, the
ancient Canatha, a city of Og.

“ There are now hundreds of Druzes, and we may remark for the
first time ‘ the beauty of Bashan,’ the well-wooded and watered
country. We then went along the Jebel Kulayb and visited the
noble remains of Sfa, where we met with three Palmyrene in¬
scriptions, showing that the Palmyra of Ptolemy extended to the
south-west far beyond the limits assigned to it. We then got
to Sahwat el Balat, where lives my influential friend, Shaykh Ali
el Plindwf, a Druze Akkdl of the highest rank; and here they
gathered to meet me and palaver. We crossed the immense rough
and rugged lava beds which gloom the land. Jebel el Kulayb was
bright with vetch, red poppy, yellow poppy, mistletoe with ruddy
berries, hawthorn boughs, and the vivid green of the maple and the
sumach, the dark foliage of the ilex oak scrub, and the wild white
honeysuckle. There was cultivation ; the busy Druze peasantry at
work, the women in white and blue. The aneroid showed 5785 feet,
the hygrometer stood at o°, the air was colder than on the heights
of Hermon in June, and the western horizon was obscured by the
thickest of wool packs. Here we made two important observations.
The apparently confused scatter of volcanic cratered hill and

328 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

hillock fell into an organized trend of 356° to 176°, or nearly north-
south. The same will be noticed in the Safe, and in its out-layers
the Tulul el Safe, which lie hard upon a meridian; thus the third or
easternmost great range, separating the Mediterranean from the
Euphrates desert, does not run parallel with its neighbours, the
Anti-Libanus and Libanus, which are disposed, roughly speaking,
north-east 38°, and south-west 218°.

“ The second point of importance is that El Kulayb is not the apex
of the Jebel Duriiz Haurdn, though it appears to be so. To the
east appeared a broken range, whose several heights, beginning from
the north, were named to us. Tell Ijaynah, bearing 38°, back by the
Umm Hauran hill, bearing 94 0 ; the Tell of Akriba (Wetz Stein),
bearing 112 0 30'; Tell Rubdh, bearing 119 0 ; and Tell Jafnah,
bearing 127 0 30'. We believed that Tell Ijaynah was 6080 English
feet high, and we thought that Jebel Duruz must be greatly changed
since it was described by travellers and tourists.

“ Here the land, until the last hundred and fifty years, was wholly
in the hands of the Bedawi, especially of the Wuld Ali, and the nine
hill tribes already named. At last the Druzes, whom poverty and
oppression drove away from their original home, the Wady Taym
and the slopes of Libanus and Hermon, settled here. In Rashid
Pasha’s reign seventeen mountain villages have been repeopled, and
in 1886 some eight hundred families fled to this safe retreat; nor can
we wonder at the exodus, because of half the settlements of the Jaydur
district, the ancient Ituraea, eleven out of twenty-four have been
within twelve months ruined by the usurer and the tax-gatherer, and
at one time a hundred and twenty Druze families went in one
flight from their native mountains to the Hauran.

“ They found here a cool, healthy, but harsh climate, a sufficiency
of water, ready-made houses, ruins of cut stone, land awaiting culti¬
vation, pasture for their flocks and herds, and, above all things, a
rude independence under the patriarchal rule of their own chiefs. In
short, the only peaceful, prosperous districts of Syria are those where
home rule exists, and there is scarcely any interference by the
authorities. It is a short-sighted and miserable management which
drives an industrious peasantry from its hearths and homes to
distant settlements where defence is more easy than offence.

“ This system keeps the population of the whole province to a
million and a half, which in the days of Strabo and Josephus
supported its ten millions and more. The European politician is
not sorry to see the brave and sturdy Druze thrown out as a line
of forts to keep the Arab wolf from the doors of the Damascene,
but the antiquary sighs for the statues and architectural ornaments
broken up, the inscribed stones used for building rude domiciles,
the most valuable remnants of antiquity white-washed as lintels,
or plastered over in the unclean interiors. The next generation
of travellers will see no more ‘mansions of Basham’

“ At Shakkah (Saccsea) there are still extensive ruins and
fine specimens of Haufenic architecture, especially the house ot
Shaykh Hasan Brahfm with its coped windows and its sunken court

Damascus — His Third Consulate. 329

Here we were received by the Druze Chief, Kabaldn el Kala’^ni, who
behaved very badly to us, and when we tried to go, refused to let us
unless we paid him forty napoleons for ten horsemen. We laughed
in his face, told him to stop us if he dared, and sent for our horses.
However, as we were going into a fighting country, I sent back all
the people who would have been in the way.

“ The Druzes had been quarrelling amongst themselves; fifteen
men had been killed, and many wounded. We had to doctor three;
one had a shoulder-blade pierced clean through. We were joined
nolens volens by ten free-lances, and escorted as far as Bir Kasam,
their particular boundary. Finally, it appears that our visit to the
’AHh district, lying east of Hamah, has brought to light the existence
of an architecture which, though identical with that of the Hauran,
cannot in any way be connected with that of Og. Although only
separated by seventy miles from the southern basaltic region, the
northern has also its true Bashan architecture, its Cyclopean walls,
its private houses, low, massive, and simple in style, with stone roofs
and doors, and huge gates, conspicuous for simplicity, massiveness,
and rude strength. Moab has the same, only limestone is used
instead of basalt.

“ Duma Ruzaymah is occupied by three great houses, and the
Junaynah hamlet is the last inhabited village of this side towards
the desert. We now got to the Wady Jahjah, thence to El Harrah,
‘the Hot or Burnt Land,’ and to the Kr£’a, which we crossed in
fifty-five minutes, and got into or entered the Naka, a?id were
surprised to see a messenger mounted on a dromedary, going at a great
pace , and evidently shunning us. We had descended 3780 feet; the
passage occupied two hours.

“We then ascended into the Hazir, and from the top we had our
first fair view of the Safd,* a volcanic block, with its seven main
summits. They stood conspicuously out of the Harrah, or ‘ Hot
Country.’ In the far distance glittered the sunlit horizon of the
Euphrates Desert, a mysterious tract, never yet crossed by European
foot. We eventually arrived at the stony, black Wa’ar, a distorted
and devilish land, and we then got to a waterless part, where our
horses were already thirsty, and into the Ghadir, where we had been
promised water, and it was bone dry. After long riding, we came
to a ruined village, El Hubbayri'yyah, where we found yellow water
forming a green slime. It was again the kattas which led me to the
water, as in Somali-land. Here we spent an enjoyable fifty minutes
at the water, refreshing ourselves and beasts; it lies 3290 feet above
sea-level. We presently fell into the Saut on return; it was good
travelling, and we saw old footmarks of sheep, goats, and shod
horses.

“ The only sign, as we turned out of the Saut and swept down from
the Lohf, that human foot had ever trod this inhospitable wild, was
here and there a goat-fold, with a place for the shepherd on a corn-

• “ This is a term used at Damascus to the northern offsets; these are the
southern.”

330 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

manding spot, or more probably a Bedawin sentinel or scout (you
often see a solitary tribesman perched on a hilltop). The road was
simply a goat-track, over the domes of cast-iron ovens, in endless
succession. It was a truly maniac ride. At the Rajm el Shalshal
we again saw traces of our friend on the dromedary. That day at
4.20 p.m. we were surprised by our advanced party springing
suddenly from the mares, and hearing the welcome words, ‘Umm
Nirin !’ (the mother of fire). Late as it was, we rejoiced, because a
night march over such a country would have been awful. The cave
is as dry as the land of Scinde, and in the summer sunshine the
hand could not rest upon the heated surface, but after rain there is
a drainage from the fronting basin into the cave. We crawled into
it and entered a second tunnel, and after two hundred feet we came
to the water, a ditch-like channel, four feet wide. The line then bent
to the right from north-north-east to the north-east. Here, by plunging
our heads below water and raising them further on, we found an oval¬
shaped chamber, still traversed by the water. We could not, however,
reach the end, as shortly the rock ceiling and the water met. The
supply was sweet, the atmosphere close and damp, the roof an arid
fiery waste of blackest lava. The basalt ceiling of the cave sweated
and dripped, which could not have been caused only by simple
evaporation. The water began by a few inches till it reached mid¬
thigh. The length was a total of three hundred and forty feet; the
altitude was 2745 feet.

“ A water scorpion was the only living thing in the cave.
This curious tunnel reservoir is evidently natural. There are
legends about a clansman going in with black hair, and coming
out after the third day with white hair, and one of our lads declared
he had taken an hour to reach the water; but we, on all fours,
took three minutes. We set out again next day for the great
red cinder-heap, known as Umm el Ma’azah, where we halted for
observation, and then fell into the trodden way which leads from the
Ghutah section of the Damascus plain to the Rubbah valley.

“ We had long and weary desert rides, seeing everything to the
Bir Kasam. Bedawi never commit the imprudence of lingering
near the well after they have watered their beasts, because that is
the way to draw a ghazt't, or raid, down upon you.

“Now I have every reason to be thankful that I did not bring my
wife on this journey, as she was not very well. In this country fever
and dysentery seize upon you with short notice, and pass away again,
and she, though in no danger, was not in a state for hard riding at the
time. At Bir Kasam, a Druze greybeard, on a rahwan , rode up to the
well, and took the opportunity of making me a sign : pretending to
question him, as to the name of a mountain on the horizon, I led
him away, and he cautiously pulled out of his pocket a medicine
bottle, which he handed to me, from my wife. I then knew there
was something up, and I thanked him, giving him some money, and
asked him if he had anything to say. He said, 1 If I may advise
you, get rid of all your party. They want to go to Damascus or
Dhumayr; announce that you are going to neither, and they will

Damascus — His Third Consulate. 331

probably forsake you, as this is not a safe spot. I shall ride on, till
out of sight, and then turn round and ride back to Damascus,
by slow degrees, sleeping and eating on the road. You and your
friend ride into Jebel Ddkwah; but first read the directions about
the medicine.’

“ I uncorked the bottle, saw my wife’s warning in writing,
and carefully put them in my pocket not to leave a ‘ spoor.’ I
then paid him still more handsomely, and told him to go back to
my wife, and tell her it was ‘ all right,’ and not to fear. As evening
fell, they asked us what our intentions were. We said we were not
going either to Damascus or Dhumayr, and, as our messenger had
prophesied, they all disappeared in the night, to our great relief.
As soon as the last man had disappeared, we went into the
Dakwah Mountain (hid our horses in a cave), from the cone of which
you command a view of the whole country, and after a few hours
we saw a hundred horsemen and two hundred dromedary riders
beating the country, looking for some one in the plains. At last
they turned in another direction, towards some distant villages, and
when we were consoled by not seeing a living thing, we descended
from our perch, galloped twenty miles to Dhumayr, where we were well
received by faithful Druzes, whose Chief was Rashid el Bostajf. We
were just in time. The Governor-General had mustered his bravos ;
they missed us at Umm Niran, at the Bir Kasam, and again upon
the direct road to Dhumayr, having been put out by our detour to
Dakwah. They were just a few hours too late everywhere; so, to
revenge themselves, they plundered, in the sight of six hundred
Turkish soldiers, the village of Suwdydah, belonging to my dragoman
Azar, whose life they threatened, and also Abbadah and Haradn el
Awanfd. So we rode into Damascus, escaping by peculiar good
fortune a hundred horsemen and two hundred dromedary riders,
sent on purpose to murder me. I was never more flattered in my
life, than to think that it would take three hundred men to kill me.
The felon act, however, failed.”

Rashid Pasha’s Intrigue with the Druzes—My Account from

Damascus.

“ I wish each man’s forehead were a magic lantern of his inner self.”

About this time the Druzes wrote and asked Richard to come to
the Hauran. He wished to copy Greek inscriptions and explore
volcanoes. He was not aware that the Wall had a political move
in the Hauran, which he did not wish him to see. Mr. Eldridge
knew it, and encouraged him to go, as his leave would be short.
Richard knew that if he went to one man’s house, he must go to
everybody, therefore he asked them all to meet him at the house of the
principal Shaykh. When the Walt was told by Richard that he was
going, his face fell, but he suddenly changed, and said, “ Go soon,

332 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

or there will be no water.” Mr. Eldridge, who never left Beyrout,
and had at that time never seen Damascus, had talked a great deal
about going there ; so Richard wrote and asked him to go with him,
but to that there was no answer. It was providential that I was
weak with fever and dysentery, and could not ride, so that I was left
at home. As soon as he was gone the Walt wrote to me, and
accused my husband “ of having made a political meeting with the
Druze Chiefs in the Haurdn, thereby doing great harm to the
Turkish Government.” Knowing that Richard had done nothing of
the kind, I told him so, but I saw there was a new intrigue on. The
Walt had only let my husband go in order to be able to accuse him
of meddling, and by Mr. Eldridge’s not answering I suspected he
knew it too. An old Druze from the Hauran came to our house,
said he had seen my husband, and began to praise him. I said,
“Why, what is he doing? ” He replied, “ Mdshallah ! we never saw a
Consul like him. He can do in one day what the Wali~Pasha could
not do in five years. We had a quarrel with the Bedawi, and we
carried off all their goats and sheep, and the Government was going
to attack us. Our Chiefs, when they saw the Consul (Allah be
praised !), told him the difficulty, and asked him what we ought to do.
He told us we ought to give back the goats and sheep to the Bedawi,
and to make up our quarrel, and submit to the Government, for
that the war will do us great harm. The Shaykhs have consented,
and now we shall be at peace. Mashallah! there is nobody like
him! ” I now began to wonder if the Wall had intended a little
campaign against the Druzes, and if my husband had spoilt it by
counselling submission. If he had intended to reduce the Druzes
of the Eastern Mountains, and if a campaign took place in Jebel
Durtiz Haurdn, the inhabitants would have been joined by the
fighting men of the Lebanon, Anti-Lebanon, and Hermon. The
country is eminently fitted for defence, and the Druzes, though
badly armed, are brave, and animated by the memories of past
victories. In short, the same disgraceful defeat of the Turkish
Government would have taken place as that which occurred in 1874,
and which caused the Wali, Mustafa Beg, and nine high officials to
be dismissed.

The Wali then employed somebody—who I need not name—to
inform him what day my husband was coming back. On being
questioned about it, my suspicions were aroused; I immediately gave
the wrong date (it was God’s own blessing that I had for once been
unable to go with him). I got the faithful old Druze to start at once,
with a pretended bottle of medicine. I wrote, in a cipher that my
husband and I composed and understood together, the whole history

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 333

of the case, and I tied it round the cork of the bottle, covering it with
leather and a bit of oil-skin, and sent my messenger straight out to
meet him. It was just in time. He noticed with his keen desert
instincts the fresh spoor of one solitary dromedary; the rider was
bound like them from Shakkah to the north-east (where the Bedawi
encamped), not for exploration, but with a message. He divined the
ill-omened foot-prints which he saw twice in different localities, and
so soon as the medicine bottle reached him, with what Ouida would
call “ a quiet low laugh under his moustache/’ he altered his course,
and from a concealed shelter in the rocks was able to watch the pro¬
gress of a hundred horsemen and two hundred Redifs —dromedary
riders, two in each saddle—beating the country and looking for some
one. Now, these were not real Bedawi, but the jackals who call them¬
selves Bedawi, who surround the Cities, and are to be hired like bravos
for any dirty work. They went off on a false scent, and he arrived
home all right. Now, the day of his arrival I had been obliged, more
or less officially, to attend a ceremony, where the Wall and Authorities
and the Consuls would be present with their wives. I was deter¬
mined to go, and to put on a perfectly calm exterior, though I felt
very heart-sick, and a well-known Greek in the Walt's pay said to
me, with a meaning, unpleasant smile, “ I fancy there will be
important news for you in a short while.” I felt very faint inside,
but I said coolly, “Oh, will there? Well, I suppose I shall get it
when it comes.” Almost immediately afterwards, Richard’s Afghan
walked in, and saluting said, “ The Consul has returned and wants
you.” The faces of the Wall and his Greek were a study. I saluted
them all, went out, jumped on my horse, and rode back. Had the
Redifs fallen in with Richard, the verdict would have been, “ Fallen
a prey to his wild and wandering habits in the desert.” The Wall
then forged a letter from Richard to the Druzes, and forwarded it
through Mr. Eldridge to the Foreign Office. Here it is:—

Real Copy (translated) to the
Shaykhs of the renowned
Druze Mountain.

“After the usual compliments we want
to inform you that this time the wish to
visit you has moved us, and to take
the direction of your country.

“For which reason we will leave
Damascus on the Wednesday, and
sleep at Hijaneh ; the second day at
Lahtah, and the third at Kanawat.

We therefore hope that you will
meet us in the above-mentioned place,
that we may see you.”

False Copy (translated) and sent
to England.

“Traduction d’une lettre addressee
par le Consul Britannique, en date du
22 Mai, 1871 (3 Jui),aux Cheikhs Druzes
Hauran.

“ * Apres les compliments d’usage,^
ndempresse de vous informer que, anime
du desir de m' entretenir avec vojis, je
quitterai Damas mercredi pour vous
rejoindre , et que j’arriverai ce jour
meme a Hedjan, et le lendemain k
Lahita, et le troisi&me k Finvate. Je
nourris l’espoir que vous ne manquerez

334

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

This is a simple general return visit
to the visits of the Druzes, not to waste
time in going to each man’s house, nor
to make jealousies by singling out some
and neglecting others.

pas tous de venir me recontrer, au dit
village de Finvate, afin de prendre part
a cette ent revue' ”

This adds all the words that are
dashed, to give it a semblance of a
secret political meaning.

Richard and I and Charley Drake made another pleasant journey
exploring the Anti-Libanus. Everybody thinks, even professional
geographers, if you speak of the Anti-Libanus, that you are going
over trodden ground, filling up details upon the broad outlines
traced by other people; but it is very far from being the case. Now
the best maps only show a long conventional caterpillar, flanked by
acidulated drops, and seamed with a cobweb of drainage. They
never name a valley north-east of Zebedini, nor a summit, except
Jebel el Halfmah, which is not its name. The northern half of the
Anti-Lebanon is arid and barren, the southern is very fertile, and it
is far superior to the Lebanon. Weird, savage, like parts of Moab,
the colouring is richer, forms more picturesque, contrasts of shape
and hue are sharper, and the growth is more like thin forest.
“ That ravines of singular wildness and grandeur furrow the whole
mountain side, looking in many places like huge rents,” is true of
Anti-Lebanon, but not of Lebanon. The views are superior; it is
richer and more remarkable.

Some of our followers will not forget some of our day’s work, for
we ascend successively every height, taking angles, laying down
altitudes, and building up kakus to serve for a theodolite survey.
Charley Drake mapped and sketched whilst we wrote.

The Convent of Nabi Baruh is ruinous in the extreme, but it gave
us the idea of being the most ancient which we had seen throughout
Syria and Palestine. The reception in these wild places is always
the same, if they are not Christians, who—why, it is impossible to
say—generally receive one badly, except of course the Maronites
in their stronghold, and more especially the splendid Christians of
Jezzfn, Sadad, and B’sherri, who are marked exceptions to the
generality of Christians, and who are equal, if not better than
the rest.

All the Chiefs and notables meet the stranger at a distance beyond
the houses. As the two parties meet, he reins in his horse and touches
hands, snatching away his with a jerk if they attempt to kiss it,
reproachfully ejaculating “ Astaghfir ’Ullah ! ” (I beg pardon of Allah,
i.e. God forbid that such a thing should happen). If you permit it
they kiss your hand, and ridicule you in their minds as a fool, who
delights in such homage as a priest, whose right it is. Guided by
the Shaykhs, each in a strict precedence as at a London dinner-party.

Damascus—-His Third Consulate.

335

he rides leisurely, not hastening the pace, lest he cause his host to
run; he dismounts at the door, and the Chiefs and notables rush to
hold his horse, his stirrup, and his back under the shoulders. He
must be sure to ride into the courtyard, no matter how broken be
the gate threshold, nor how slippery the pavement, or up the steps, or
they will suspect him of not knowing how to ride. He is led to the
salamlik , but he will not enter till the women who have been sprinkling
the floor have made themselves scarce. He sits down, doubling his
legs a little if he cannot cross them, whilst the others form a semi¬
circle upon humbler rugs before him. Each salaams, and is salaamed
to, as he takes his place, squatting ceremoniously on his shins, till
his visitor says, “ Khuz r^hatak ” (Take your ease), suggesting a more
pleasant posture. If he fails to do this they will watch an oppor¬
tunity to change seat, but if disposed to be impertinent they will
stretch out their shanks and require a reproof. Water pipes, sherbet,
lemonade, and coffee are brought, after which the Shaykh will retire
and beg you to repose.

A breakfast is served about noon of cheese, soured milk, grape
syrup, raw green onions, boiled rice, wheaten scones, and eggs
fried in clarified butter. It is vulgar for the stranger to produce
his own wine and cold meat from the saddle-bags. At sunset meat
is served. A whole kid is a prime sign of honour. During
meals one of the family stands up, holding a metal pot full of drink¬
ing water. Pipes and coffee conclude. The correct thing is to
compel the Shaykh and the Chiefs to eat with you; the followers
and retainers will eat afterwards, the trays being removed to another
part. At night there will be a samrah , or palaver, in which the
state of the country in general, and the village in particular, is
discussed, grievances are quoted, the usurer and creditor complained
of, the Government and Governor abused. Local legends are
told, and the traveller can gain any amount of information if he can
speak the language. They press him to stay next day, and his
excuses are received with a respectful and regretful unwillingness.

Before leaving next morning he will find out privately what he has
cost them, he will find out that his animals have been well fed, and
he will manage to slip it and something more into the hands of one
of the women or children. Before the departure the women of the
family will offer excuses for their poor fare, saying, “ La tawik-
hiznd” (Don’t be offended with us), and he will hasten with many
“ Astaghftr ’Ullahs” to express his supreme satisfaction. He mounts
as ceremoniously as he dismounted, preceded by his escort, but
every now and then he reins in, dismissing them—“ Arja’u ya
Mashiikh ” (Return, O Shaykhs). They persist in walking to the

336 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

last house, and often much farther; they again try to kiss his hand,
which he pulls away as before, and the visit ends. The visited then
retire and debate what has caused the visit, and what will be the
best way to utilize it.

We divided and visited every section of the northernmost line of
Anti-Libanus from the Halfmat el Kabfi, 8257 feet above sea-level.
We enjoyed an extensive and picturesque view far superior to any¬
thing seen in the Libanus, especially southwards. From here we
might write a chapter on what we could see. The weather being clear,
we could even see the long-balled chine of the Cedar Block of the
Libanus, and its large spots of snow, which glowed like amethysts
in evening light. We could see the apex of the Libanus, which
falls into the Jurd of Tripoli. We could see the Jebel el Huleh,
which defines the haunts of the mysterious Nusayri; the glance
falls upon the Orontes Lake, upon the rich cultivation of Hums and
Hamdh, one of the gardens of Syria upon the ridge of SaHmiyyah,
that outpost of ancient Tadmor, and upon the unknown Steppe el
Huleh, and the Bedawi-haunted tracts which sweep up to the
Jebel el Abyaz, whilst the castle of Aleppo bounds the septentrional
horizon. The end of this day was a remarkable one. “ It was the
only occasion,” said Richard, “ during my travels in Syria and Pales¬
tine that I felt thoroughly tired. My rahwdn ,, though a Kurd nag,
trembled with weakness, and my wife jogged along sobbing in her
saddle, and if it had not been for the advice of Charley Drake we
should have spent the night on the mountain-side; but we did arrive.
Habib had built a glowing fire, beds were spread, tea was brewed,
and presently a whole roast kid appeared, and restored us all in the
best of humours ; and our horses, after plenty to eat and drink, and
being well rubbed down, lay down. We had had fifteen hours very
hard work, not counting the before and after the march.”

We next determined to prospect the third part of the east-
west section of Anti-Libanus, including the Ba’albak crest, and
then to ride up the Coele-Syrian valley so as to fill in the bear¬
ings of the western wady mouths. We had forage for our beasts,
water the whole way, and we were excited by the account of in¬
scriptions and ruins. The Wady el Biydras was splendid in
scenery, and though our road was horrible, we congratulated
each other in not missing it, and we descended into the Wady
Atnayn.

We carried out all our prospected journey, gathering infor¬
mation, inscriptions, and ruins everywhere, till we reached
Yabrud, where the Shaykhs gave us a picnic, to show us the
Arz el Jauzah.

Damascus—His Third Consulate.

337

There is a temple known as Kasr Namrud; the water flows through
a conduit of masonry, and is said to pass into a large underground
cistern below, round the ample stone troughs and scattered frag¬
ments of columns. All through Syria Nimrod represents the Devil,
and ’Antar the Julius Caesar of Western Europe. The picnic, under
the shade of this venerable building, passed off happily enough.
The kababs of kid, secured instantly after sudden death, were
excellent; the sour milk and the goat’s cheese were perfection; and
the Zahlah wine had only one fault—there was only half a bottle,
and we could have drank a demijohn. We were very much struck
by the similarity of plan which connects the heathen temple with
the Christian church. It was late in the afternoon when we shook
hands with our good host. It is pleasant to think upon happy
partings—we never saw them again.

On our way home we passed ruins, arched caves, and sarcophagi,
whilst a wall displays a large rude crucifix. We were received later
at Talffta with all honours by the Shaykh el Balad Mahfiiz, whose
pauper homes had been destroyed and the rest threatened by the
villainous usurers under British protection, and next day we rode into
Damascus. During this excursion, we had seen in a range of moun¬
tains, supposed to be impracticable, four temples, of which three had
been hitherto unvisited; we had prepared for the map of Syria the
names of five great mountains ; we had traced out the principal
gorges, all before absolutely unknown to geography; we had deter¬
mined the disputed altitudes of the Anti-Libanus, and we proved
that it is much more worthy of inspection than the much-vaunted
Libanus.

Unofficially speaking of official things, we had rather a lively
time, in an unpleasant sense, during these summer months. I
always say “ we,” because I enter so much into my husband’s pur¬
suits, and am so very proud of being allowed to help him, that
I sometimes forget that I am only as the bellows-blower to the
organist. However, I do not think that anybody will owe me a
grudge for it.

No. i.

The first shadow upon our happy life was in 1870-71. An
amateur missionary, residing at Beyrout, came up to Damascus,
visited the prisons, and distruted tracts to the Mohammedans.
It was the intention of the Governor to collect these prints, and

338 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

to make a bonfire of them in the market-place. Damascus was
in a bad temper for such proselytizing. It was an excitable year,
and it was necessary to put a stop to proceedings which, though
well meant, could not fail to endanger the safety of the Christian
population. The tract-distributor was a kind, humane, sincere,
and charitable man, and we were both very sorry that he had to
be cautioned. He had an enthusiasm in his religious views which
made him dangerous outside a Christian town. At Beyrout he
was well known, but at Damascus he was not, and the people
would have resented his standing on bales in the street haranguing
the Turks against Mohammed. I believe this gentleman would
have gloried in martyrdom; but some of us, not so good as he is,
did not aspire to it. His entourage , also, was not so humble or so
kind as himself.

Richard was obliged to give the caution, to do his duty to his
large district, thereby incurring at Beyrout most un-Christian
hatreds, unscrupulously gratified. Richard, with the high, chivalrous
sense of honour which guided all his actions, redoubled his un¬
ceasing endeavours to promote the interest and business of these
persons, amidst the hailstorm of petty spites and insults—which
justice and greatness of mind on his part they themselves were
obliged eventually to acknowledge, however reluctantly. We were
decidedly destined to stumble upon unfortunate circumstances.
Since that, a gentleman told off to convert the Jews in one of
Richard’s jurisdictions, insisted on getting a ladder and a hammer,
and demolishing a large statue of St. Joseph in a public place of
a Catholic country, because he said it was “ a graven image.” Why
are the English so careless in their choice? and why have other
foreign Consuls no desagremens on this head ?

Richard writes—

No. 2.

“The Druzes applied early in 1870 for an English school. They
are our allies, and we were on friendly terms with them. As two
missionaries wished to travel amongst them, I gave them the
necessary introductions. They were cordially received and hospitably
entertained by the Shaykhs, but on their road home they were
treacherously followed by two mauvais sujets and attacked; they
were thrown off their horses, their lives were threatened, and their
property was plundered.

“ Such a breach of hospitality and violation of good faith required
prompt notice : firstly, to secure safety to future travellers; and,
secondly, to maintain the good feelings which have ever subsisted
between the Druzes and the English. To pass over such an act

Damascus—His Third Consulate.

339

of treachery would be courting their contempt. I at once
demanded that the offenders might be punished by the Druze chiefs
themselves, and twenty napoleons, the worth of the stolen goods,
were claimed by me for the missionaries. The Druzes went down
to Beyrout to try to pit Consulate-General against Consulate, and
refused to pay the claim. I then applied for their punishment
to the Turkish authorities, knowing that the Druzes would at once
accede to my first demand—a proceeding approved of by her
Majesty’s Ambassador at Constantinople. After three months the
Shaykh el Akkal, head religious chief, brought down the offenders,
who were recognized by the missionaries. They confessed their
guilt, and the Shaykh, who was staying as a guest in our house,
assured me [Richard] that I was perfectly right in acting as I had
done, and that every Druze was heartily ashamed of the conduct of
these two men.”

No. 3.

“In June, 1870, I prepared a despatch for our Ambassador at
Constantinople, on the system of defrauding the poor and of
‘running’ villages by the Damascus Jewish money-lenders.

“ I will now try to explain how these matters stood.

“ In former days, when not a few Europeans were open to certain
arrangements which made them take the highest interest in the
business transactions of their clients, a radically bad system, happily
now almost extinct, was introduced into Syria. The European
subject, or protege , instead of engaging in honest commerce, was
thus encouraged to seek inordinate and usurious profits by sales
of the Government and by loans to the villagers. In such cases
he, of course, relied entirely upon the protection of a foreign Power,
on account of the sums to be expended in feeing native functionaries
before repayment could be expected. Thus the Consuls became,
as it were, huissiers , or bailiffs, whose principal duties were to collect
the bad debts of those who had foreign passports.

“ Damascus contained a total of forty-eight adult males protected
by H.B.M.’s Consulate, and of these there were a triumvirate of
Shylocks. Most of them are Jews who were admitted to, or whose
fathers acquired, a foreign nationality, given with the benevolent
object of saving them from Moslem cruelty and oppression in days
gone by. These proteges have extended what was granted for the
preservation of their lives, liberties, and property, to transactions
which rest entirely for success upon British protection. The case
of No. 1, whom we will call Judas, is a fair example. He has few
dealings in the city, the licit field of action. But since the death
of his highly respectable father, in 1854, he had been allowing bills
signed by the ignorant peasantry of the province to accumulate at
simple and compound interest, till the liabilities of the villagers have

become greater than the value of the whole village. A-, for

instance, on the eastern skirt of Mount Hermon, owed him 106,000

340 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

piastres, which were originally 42,000. He claims 5000 purses

from the B-family, upon a total debt of 242,000^ piastres, in

1857. We have not yet passed through a single settlement where
his debtors did not complain loudly of his proceedings; and to
A-may be added C-,-, and D-el X-, a strong¬

hold of the Druzes. Some villages have been partly depopulated
by his vexations, and the injury done to the Druzes by thus driving
them from the Anti-Lebanon to the Hauran, may presently be
severely visited upon the Ottoman authorities.

“ The British protege is compelled every year, in his quality of shitbasi
(farmer of revenue), to summon the village Shaykhs and peasantry,
to imprison them, and to leave them lying in jail till he can squeeze
from them as much as possible, and to injure them by quartering
hawali , or policemen, who plunder whatever they can. He long occu¬
pied the whole attention, though it had other and more important
duties, of the Village Commission ( Kumision Mahasibat el Kura ),
established in a.h. 1280(1863). For about a year a special com¬
mission ( Kumision Makhsus ) had at that time, 1870, been sitting
on his case, whose intricacies, complicated by his unwillingness to
settle anything, wearied out all the members. At different times
he quarrelled with every person in the Court—from the defterdar ,
who is its President, to the Consular Dragomans, who composed it.
Even felony was freely imputed to him by various persons. He
was accused of bribing the Government khatibs (secretaries) to
introduce into documents sentences of doubtful import, upon which
he can found claims for increased and exorbitant interest, of adding
lines to receipts and other instruments after they have been signed,
and of using false seals, made at home by his own servants. One
of the latter publicly denounced him, but was, as usual, paid to
keep silence. He is reported again and again to have refused, in
order that the peasants might remain upon his books, the ready
moneys offered to him for the final settlement of village liabilities.
His good management had baffled all efforts at detection, whilst
every one was morally certain that the charges were founded on
fact. He corrupts, or attempts to corrupt, all those with whom he
has dealings.

“ I wanted to inform them that British protection extends to pre¬
serving their persons and property from all injustice and violence,
but that it would not assist them to recover debts from the Ottoman
Government, or from the villages of the province, and that it would
not abet them in imprisoning or in distraining the latter. To such
general rule, of course, exceptions would be admissible, at the dis¬
cretion of the officer in charge of H.B.M.’s Consulate ; in cases, for
instance, when just and honest claims might be rejected, or their
payment unduly delayed. The sole inconvenience which would
arise to such creditors from their altered positions would be the
necessity of feeing the Serai more heavily; and even they openly
communicated with the local authorities, reserving the Consulate
as a forlorn hope. The change might possibly have directed their
attention to a more legitimate commercial career. Such a measure

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 341

would have been exceedingly popular throughout the country, and
would have relieved us from the suspicion of interested motives—a
suspicion which must exist where honesty and honour, in an English
understanding of these words, are almost unknown; and from the
odium which attaches to the official instruments of oppression.
Finally, the corruption of Damascus rendered me the more jealous
of the good name of the Consulate, and the more desirous of personal
immunity from certain reports which, at different times, have been
spread about othe?‘s in office. I therefore posted on the door of
H.M.’s Consulate, Damascus, the following notice : —

“ ‘ Her Britannic Majesty’s Consul hereby warns British subjects
and proteges that he will not assist them to recover debts from the
Government or from the people of Syria, unless the debts are such
as between British subjects could be recovered through H.M.’s Con¬
sular Courts. Before purchasing the claims, public or private, of
an Ottoman subject—and especially where Government paper is in
question—the protege should, if official interference be likely to be
required, at once report the whole transaction to this Consulate.
British subjects and protected persons are hereby duly warned that
protection extends to life, liberty, and property, in cases where these
are threatened by violence or by injustice; but that it will not
interfere in speculations which, if undertaken by Syrian subjects of
the Porte, could not be expected to prove remunerative. British
subjects and protected persons must not expect the official inter¬
ference of the Consulate in cases where they prefer (as of late has
often happened at Damascus) to urge their claims upon the local
authorities without referring to this Consulate, and altogether ignor¬
ing the jurisdiction of H.B.M.’s Consul. Finally, H.B.M.’s Consul
feels himself bound to protest strongly against the system adopted
by British subjects and protected persons at Damascus, who
habitually induce the Ottoman authorities to imprison peasants
and pauper debtors, either for simple debt, or upon charges which
have not been previously produced for examination at this Consu¬
late. The prisons will be visited once a week. An official applica¬
tion will be made for the delivery of all such persons.

(Signed) “ ‘ R. F. Burton,

“ ‘ H.B.M.’s Consul, Damascus.

Damascus, June 20th, 1870.”*

I have already related how, on August 26th, Richard received a
letter from the Rev. W. Wright, and likewise one from the Chief
Consular Dragoman, Mr. Nasif Meshaka, which induced him to
ride at once to Damascus (from Bludan, the summer quarter); how
he found that half the Christians had fled, and everything was ripe
for a new massacre; how he sought the authorities, and informed
them of their danger; induced them to have night patrols, to put
guards in the streets, to prevent Jews or Christians leaving their
houses, and to take all measures needful to convince the conspirators

342 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

that they would not find every one sleeping as they did in i860.
The Wali and all the Chief responsible Authorities were absent. The
excitement subsided under the measures recommended by him, and
in three days all was quiet, and the Christians returned to their homes.

I affirm that, living in safety upon the sea-coast, no man can
be a judge of the other side of the Lebanon, nor, if he does not
know some Eastern language, can he be a judge of Orientals and
their proceedings. Certain Jewish usurers had been accused of
exciting these massacres, because their lives were perfectly safe, and
they profited of the horrors to buy up property at a nominal price.
It was brought to Richard’s notice that two Jewish boys, servants to
British-protected subjects, were giving the well-understood signal by
drawing crosses on the walls. Its meaning to him was clear. He
promptly investigated it, and took away the British protection of
the masters temporarily, merely reproving the boys, who had acted
under orders. He did not take upon himself to punish them.
Certain ill-advised Israelitish money-lenders fancied it was a good
opportunity to overthrow him, and with him his plan of seeing fair
proceedings on the part of the British proteges; so they reported to
Sir Moses Montefiore and Sir Francis Goldsmid that he had tortured
the boys. His proceedings were once more proved just. The
correspondence on the subject was marvellously interesting, but
being official I cannot use it.

“The Jews,” he writes, “from all times held a certain position in
Syria, on account of their being the financiers of the country; and
even in pre-Egyptian days Haim Farhi was able to degrade and ruin
Abdullah Pasha, of St Jean d’Acre. In the time of Ibrahim Pasha,
about forty-four years ago,* when the first Consuls went there, a few
were taken under British protection, and this increased their influence.
Then came the well-known history of the murder of Padre Tomaso.
After this had blown over, all the richest people of the community
tried to become British-protected subjects, or proteges of some
foreign Consulate. In the time of Mr. Consul (Richard) Wood,
(1840), they were humble enough. In the massacre of i860 they
enriched themselves greatly, and men possessing ^3000 rose
suddenly to ^30,000. Then they had at their backs in England
Sir Moses Montefiore, Sir F. Goldsmid, and the Rothschilds f and
others, who doubtlessT do not know the true state of the Jewish
usurers in this part of the world. The British Consul became the
Jews’ bailiff, and when we went to Syria we found them rough-riding
all the land. I speak only of the few money-lenders. When I
arrived in 1869, Shylock No. 1 came to me, and patting me

* Now sixty-four years in 1893.

t Now, in 1893, the Sassoons, the Oppenheims, and Bischofheims.

Damascus—His Third Co?isulate.

343

patronizingly on the back, told me he had three hundred cases
for me, relative to collecting ^60,000 of debts. I replied, ‘ I
think, sir, you had better hire and pay a Consul for yourself alone;
I was not sent here as a bailiff, to tap the peasant on the shoulder
in such cases as yours.’ He then threatened me with the British
Government. I replied, 1 It is by far the best thing you can do ;
I have no power to alter a plain line of duty.’ Shylock then tried
my wife’s influence, but she replied that she was never allowed to
interfere in business matters. Then Sir Francis Goldsmid, to our
great surprise, wrote to Head-quarters—a rather unusual measure—-
as follows: ‘ I hear that the lady to whom Captain Burton is
married is believed to be a bigoted Roman Catholic, and to be
likely to influence him against the Jews.’ In spite of ‘ woman’s
rights ’ she was not allowed the privilege of answering Sir Francis
Goldsmid officially; but I hope to convince him, even after years,
that he was misinformed.”

“ One man alone had ruined and sucked dry forty-one villages.
He used to go to a distressed village and offer them money, keep
all the papers, and allow 7 them nothing to show; adding interest
and compound interest, which the poor wretches could not under¬
stand. Then he gave them no receipts for money received, so as
to be paid over and over again. The uneducated peasants had
nothing to show against the clever Jew 7 at the Diwan, till body
and soul, wives and children, village, flocks, and land, became
his property and slaves for the sake of the small sum originally
borrowed. These men, who a few years ago were not worth much,
are now rolling in wealth. We found villages in ruins, and houses
empty, because the men were cast into jail, the children starving,
and women weeping at our feet; because these things were done in
the name of England, by the powerful arm of the British Consulate.”

My husband once actually found an old man of ninety, who had
endured all the horrors of the Damascus jail during the whole of
a biting winter, for owing one of these men a napoleon (sixteen
shillings). He set him free, and ever after visited the prisons once
a week, to see whether the British-protected subjects had immured
pauper Christians and Moslems on their ow r n responsibility. One of
the usurers told him to beware, for that he knew a Royal Highness
of England, and that he could have any Consular officer recalled at
his pleasure ; and my husband replied that he and his clique could
know very little of English Royalty if they thought that it would
protect such traffic as theirs. The result of this was that they put
their heads together, and certain letters were sent to the Chief
Rabbi of London, Sir Francis Goldsmid, and Sir Moses Montefiore.

344 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

They sent telegrams and petitions, purporting to be from “ all the
Jews in Damascus.” We believe, however, that “ all the Jews in
Damascus ” knew nothing whatever about the step. Richard said,
“ They are mostly a body of respectable men—hard-working, in¬
offensive, and of commercial integrity, with a fair sprinkling of pious,
charitable, and innocent people.” These despatches, backed by
letters from the influential persons who received them, were duly
forwarded to the Foreign Office. The correspondence was sent in
full to Richard to answer, which he did at great length, and to the
satisfaction of his Chiefs, who found that he could not have acted
otherwise.

Richard wrote: “I am ready to defend their lives, liberty, and
property, but I will not assist them in ruining villages, and in im¬
prisoning destitute debtors upon trumped-up charges. I would
willingly deserve the praise of every section of the Jewish community
of Damascus, but in certain cases it is incompatible with my sense
of justice and my conscience.” They bragged so much in the
bazars about getting Richard recalled, that a number of sympathizing
letters were showered upon us.

I quote the following verbatim

“ Dear Mrs. Burton,

“We desire to express to you the great satisfaction which
Captain Burton’s presence as British Consul in Damascus has
given us, both in our individual capacities and in our character of
missionaries to Syria.

“ Since his arrival here we have had every opportunity of judging
of Captain Burton’s official conduct, and we beg to express our
approval of it.

“ The first public act that came under our notice was the removing
of dishonest officials, and the replacing them by honest ones. This
proceeding gave unmixed pleasure to every one to whom the
credit of the English name was a matter of concern. His subsequent
conduct has restored the prestige of the English Consulate, and we
no longer hear it said that English officials, removed from the
checks of English public opinion, are as corrupt in Turkey as
the Turks themselves. As missionaries we frankly admit that we
had been led to view Captain Burton’s appointment with alarm ; but
we now congratulate ourselves on having abstained, either directly or
indirectly, endeavouring to oppose his coming.

“ Carefully following our own habitual policy of asking no consular
interference between the Turkish Government and its subjects, we
stand upon our right as Englishmen to preach and teach so long
as we violate no law of the land, and we claim for our converts the
liberty of conscience secured to them by treaty. In the main¬
tenance of this one right we have been firmly upheld by Captain
Burton.

Damascus—His Third Consulate .

345

“ A few months ago, when our schools were illegally and arbitrarily
closed by the Turkish officials, he came to our aid, and the injustice
was at once put a stop to. His visit to the several village schools
under our charge proved to the native mind the Consul's interest
in the moral education of the country, which it is the object of
those schools to promote, and impressed upon the minds of local
magistrates the propriety of letting them alone.

“ Within the last few days we had occasion to apply to Captain
Burton regarding our cemetery, which had been broken open, and
it was an agreeable surprise to us when, after two days, a police-officer
came to assure us that the damage had been repaid by the Pasha’s
orders, and search was being made for the depredator.

“ Above all, in view of any possible massacre of Christians in this
city—the all but inevitable consequence of a war between Turkey
and any Christian Power—we regard as an element of safety the
presence among us of a firm, strong man like Captain Burton, as
representing the English interests.

“When, not long ago, a panic seized the city, and a massacre
seemed imminent, Captain Burton immediately came down from his
summer quarters, and by his presence largely contributed to restore
tranquillity. All the other important Consuls fled from Damascus,
and thus increased the panic.

“ We earnestly hope that Captain Burton will not suffer himself
to be annoyed by the enmity he is sure to provoke for all who wish
to make the English name a cover for wrongs and injustice, or
think that a British subject or pi'oteg'e should be supported, whatever
be the nature of his case.

With kindest respects, we are, dear Mrs. Burton, yours very truly,
“(Signed) James Orr Scott, M.A., Irish Pres¬
byterian Mission.

“Wm. Wright, B.A., Missionary of the
Irish Presbyterian Church.

" P.S.—By-the-by, on one occasion one of the most important Jews
of Damascus, when conversing with me [Wm. Wright] and the Rev.
John Crawford, American missionary, said that Captain Burton was
unfit for the British Consulate in Damascus; and the reason he
gave was that, being an upright man, he transacted his business by
fair means instead of by foul.

“Damascus, November 28th, 1870.”

To conclude: the effect of their conduct in Damascus will fall
upon their own heads, and upon their children. Do not purposely
misunderstand me, O Israel! Remember, I do not speak of you
disparagingly as a nation, or as a faith. As such I love and admire
you; but I pick out your usurers from among you, as the goats

346 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

from the sheep. You are ancient in birth and religion ; you are
sometimes handsome, always clever, and in many things you far
outstrip us Christians in the race of life. Your sins and your
faults are, and have been, equally remarkable from all time. Many
of you, in Damascus especially, are as foolish and stiff-necked as
in the days of old. When the time comes, and it will come, the
trampled worm will turn. The Moslem will rise not really against
the Christian—he will only be the excuse—but against you. Your
quarter will be the one to be burnt down; your people to be exter¬
minated, and all your innocent tribe will suffer for the few guilty.

We at last determined to thoroughly do Palestine and the Holy
Land, and we went down in an awfully rough sea, in a very tiny and
dirty little Egyptian steamer, as far as Jaffa. There were great doubts
as to whether we could land, but at last boats were put out, and we
got in on the top of a truly alarming surf, shooting through a narrow
hole in the rocks just wide enough to admit the boat. The plain
of Sharon was looking beautiful—meadows of grass land, wild flowers,
cultivation, and orange groves all along our forty-mile ride.

With Richard it was a constant matter for thought whether the sites
and the tombs were the correct ones; and the sword of Godfrey de
Bouillon and the Crusaders’ arms, also those of the Knight Templars,
were always of immense interest to him. We visited all the Patriarchs,
and principally Monseigneur Valerga, a man of brilliant education, with
the savoir faire of the diplomat or courtier, blended with religion.
We went through all the ceremonies of all the numerous religions
during the Holy Week, the Mohammedan as well as the fourteen
Christian sects, and Jewish, of which not the least touching thing is
the wailing of the Jews outside the wall of the Temple on Fridays,
and the Greek fire on Holy Saturday. A Jewish friend took us in
for the Passover. We visited all the country of St. John, Bethlehem,
Hebron, where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Rebecca, and Leah
are buried; to Mar Saba, where is the Convent of Penitent
Monks, in a most wonderful ravine. From there we got down to the
Dead Sea, and swam in it, and saw fish. It receives daily seven
million tons of water, and has no outlet; but its evaporation forms the
desert of salt, called the Ghor, all round its southern shore, which
fact Richard compares with Tanganyika. From there we went into
Moab ; we visited Moses’ Tomb on the return journey. At Bethdbara
we bathed, and brought home bottles of the water of the Jordan;
thence we went to Jericho, but we took care to visit every spot
where tradition and folklore says our Saviour touched at, off the
tracks besides. We encamped on the supposed sites of Sodom and
Gomorrah, and so on to Bethel, and Hai, the most ancient site in

Damascus—His Third Consulate. 34 7

Palestine, the camping-ground of Abraham, where he and Lot parted
and divided their flocks ; and we gradually made our way to Nablus,
which is the boundary between the Damascus and Jerusalem Consular
jurisdictions. We ascended Mount Ebal and Mount Gerfzim, and
stayed with the Samaritans, who then numbered a hundred and
thirty-five. We then went to Samaria, and through the plain of
Esdraelon; and we camped at ancient Engannin, where Christ cured
the ten lepers. From thence to Scythopolis into the Ghor, and to
as many sites of the towns of the Decapolis as we could realize. We
went to Naim, and Endor, and Tabor, and Nazareth—at Nazareth
we were stoned (a little political manoeuvre); thence to Cana. About
Nazareth Richard wrote in his private journal—

“ I rode down the country by the vile Kunayterah road to Tiberias,
where the Jews protected by our Government were complaining that
the Walt had taken from them and had sold to the Greek Bishop
Nifon, at Nazareth, a cemetery and synagogue, which for the last
four hundred years had belonged to their faith, and to visit a few
men who held British passports, which ought to have been annually
changed, but had through carelessness not been renewed since 1850.
For these acts, I was destined to the same honour as my Master,
namely, being stoned out of Nazareth; and because I did good to
the Jews, they also betrayed me to the Authorities, and asked for
my recall. ,,

We went up the Mountain of Precipitation to Hattin, and ascended
to Tiberias, the second and the middle sea which feeds the Jordan,
and we visited the site of the eight towns so much frequented by
our Saviour. From thence we went to Safed, which is a very
fanatical Jewish Holy City, from which we could see the Jauten
and the Haur&n stretching right away into the Arabian desert of the
ancient kingdom of Bdshan; and from here we again made our way
to the plain of Huleh, which we remember of old, and the Waters of
Merom, where we camped before under difficulties, and so nearly
got a bad fever. This time it was black from a recent prairie fire.
The best amusement on these occasions is to laugh at one another’s
miserable, unrecognizable faces, all swollen with bites and stings, like
the face one sees in a spoon. After a lot of other places, we got
back to Birket er Ram or Lake Phiala, which I remember saying a
while ago we determined to revisit. Richard found something that
excited his attention about it, so we emptied the water out of all
our goat-skins, blew them up with air, strapped them to our camp
table, made a raft, and used the tent-poles for oars. It is supposed
to have no bottom, is six hundred yards broad, and about nine
hundred wide. We sounded with the lead, and the deepest part

34-8 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

proved to be seventeen feet and a half. It has a weed bottom and
leeches below, no shells; but the air began to whistle out of the skins,
and Richard and Charley Drake only just got back in time to save
themselves a swim.

Whilst at Jerusalem and its environs Richard did two very graceful
things. He saw a monk conducting a party of Catholics, who wanted
to say prayers in the Sepulchre itself at three o’clock on Good
Friday. It was invaded by the usual class of tourists. The
monk shrunk back with his people, and the particular time for
these prayers was slipping away. Richard stepped forward, and,
touching his cap, said, “What is the matter, Father?” He said,
“ The Sepulchre is full of tourists, who are not Catholics. We have
no right to turn them out, and we don’t like to push in and begin
our devotions.” Richard said, “ Leave that to me.” He went in
and explained to them, and they came out. Richard then passed
the monk and his party in, and he stood guard himself outside the
whole time they performed their devotion, and would not let any
one pass. These little acts used to win him the heart of everybody.

Another day we were riding in rather a desert place about a mile
from a small village; we met a solitary priest and his acolyte. I was
about to ride up to speak to him, when he gave me the sign—I mean
the sign the priest gives you when he is secretly carrying the Blessed
Sacrament. I told it to Richard, who ordered his men to draw up
in two lines for the priest to pass through and salute. He jumped
down from his own horse, and offered it to the priest, asking to
accompany him. The priest declined it, but he blessed him as he
passed. I always thought of this afterwards in Austria, when I saw
the large picture in the Palace at Innsbruck, of Rudolph the Second
of Hapsburg doing the same thing.

At Jerusalem we explored the Mdgharat el Kotn; these are
enormous quarries, also called the Royal Caverns. The entrance
looks like a hole in the wall outside the town, not far from the Gate
of Damascus. Creeping in, you find yourself in endless caves and
galleries unexplored. We used to use magnesium fusees, and take
plenty of ropes to have a clue.

CHAPTER XIX

RELIGION.

“ Men don’t believe in a devil now, as their fathers used to do ;

They’ve forced the door of the broadest creed to let his Majesty through.
There isn’t a print of his cloven foot, or a fiery dart from his bow,

To be found in earth or air to-day, for the world has voted it so.

“ But who is mixing the fatal draught that palsies heart and brain,

And loads the bier of each passing year with ten hundred thousand slain ?
Who blights the bloom of the land to-day with the fiery breath of hell ?

If the devil isn’t, and never was, won’t somebody rise and tell?

“ Who dogs the steps of the toiling saint, and digs the pits for his feet?

Who sows the tares on the fields of time, wherever God sows His wheat ?
The devil is voted not to be, and of course the thing is true ;

But who is doing the kind of work that the devil alone should do?

“ We are told that he does not go about as a roaring lion now;

But whom shall we hold responsible for the everlasting row

To be heard in home, in Church and State, to the earth’s remotest bound,

If the devil, by a unanimous vote, is nowhere to be found?

“ Won’t somebody step to the front forthwith, and make his bow and show
How the frauds and crimes of a single day spring up ? We want to know.
The devil was fairly voted out, and of course the devil’s gone ;

But simple people would like to ktiow who carries his business on.”

Alfred J. Hough, in the Jamestown (Ah. Y.) Journal 1

It must not be supposed that Richard was the least insincere,
because he tried religions all round. He wanted to get at the
highest, the nearest to God, the nearest to other worlds, and in that
respect he was like Cardinal Newman. He always spoke the truth,
and if he changed every other day, he would have said so. Every
time he was disappointed with a religion he fell back on mysticism.
It was the soul wandering through space, like the dove out of the ark,
and seeking a place whereupon to rest. In each religion he found
something good, and much that disappointed him; then he took the
good out of that religion, and went away. He was sincere with the

345

350 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Mohammedans, and found more in that religion than in most. He
hoped much from spiritualism, and studied it well; but he could
make nothing of it as a religion. It never seemed to bring him
any nearer; but he believed in it as in the light of a future
frontier of science. His Agnosticism, which in his case is a mis¬
applied word, was of a much higher cast; it was the mysticism
of the East. It was the tired soul or brain that said, “ Oh, my
God, I have studied all things, and I am still no nearer the point
of closer connection with Thee, whom my soul longs for and aims
at I know nothing; I can touch nothing. Faith is a gift from
Thee; give it to me! ” He became impressed with one fact
here in Syria, as he had done at Baroda in his youth, and that
is that Catholicism is the highest order of Spiritualism, having no
connection with jugglery, or table-turning, or spirit-rapping; that
we cannot call it up at our pleasure, nor pay for it; but that,
when something does happen, it is absolutely real , only we are not
allowed to speak of it, except amongst ourselves, and then with
bated breath. Richard, however, had opportunity enough of seeing
all this for himself in Syria, in Damascus, where some very ex¬
traordinary things were going on, that were, without a doubt,
genuine.

** Demand of lilies wherefore they are white,

Extort her crimson secret from the rose.”

William Watson.

Brave as a lion, gentle as a maid,

He never evil word to any said ;

Never for self, but always strong for right,

He was a very perfect gentle knight.”

During the time we were at Damascus, there was a “ mystery ”
going on in the lower quarter, called the Mayddn—the tail of
Damascus, which runs out towards the desert—amongst a certain sect
of the Mohammedans, called the Shadilis, or Shazlis. They used to
assemble at nights together at the house of one of them for Moslem
prayer and reading and discussion, when they became conscious of
a presence amongst them that was not theirs. They used to hear
things and see things which they did not understand, and this went
on for two or three months before they came to an understanding.
I let my husband tell the story in his own words, and you will all
understand later on how it found its way into my “ Inner Life of
Syria.”

Fray Emanuel Forner, who figures largely in this history, was
a friend Richard used to study with. He confided his troubles
relative to these people to us. He asked us whether, as Richard

35 1

Religion.

had more influence with the Moslems than any one else, he could
be induced to protect them. Richard felt that it was going beyond
the boundary of his Consular prerogative to interfere in a matter
which concerned the national religion; he therefore answered him
that his position obliged him to abstain from interfering in so
interesting a matter, although he could do so in cases where the
Protestant schools or missions formally claimed protection against
the violation of the treaties and concessions of the Hatti-Sherif.
He added that the Spanish Consul was the proper person for him
to apply to, being his Consul, and that it was his duty likewise
to restrict me from any active part which might compromise the
Consulate.

But this interested him enormously. He thought he saw his way
in it to the highest kind of religion, and he followed it up unofficially.
Disguised as a Shdzli, and unknown to any mortal except me, he
used to mix with them, and pass much of his time in the Mayddn
of Damascus with them ; and he saw what he saw ; and when, as in
reading this account you will see, Fray Forner was the guide who
was pointed out to them by that spiritual Presence, Richard stuck
to him, and with him used to study the Shdzlis and their history.
This gave him an enormous interest in Damascus, but it was his
ruin ; and the curious Spiritualism, if you like to term it so, that
was developing there was almost like a “ new advent,” and though
he did not then mean it, he ended by sacrificing his worldly career
entirely to it.

It was not for a whole year after the event of my disagreement
with the Shaykh’s son at Zebeddni (which missionaries of the British
Syrian schools have since reported as the cause of my husband’s
recall, after which the same Shaykh had become one of my most
faithful followers, but which had nothing to do with my husband’s
misfortunes), that twelve of the most favoured of these Shdzlis had
been seized, transported in chains, and partially martyred. Fray
Forner died curiously, and Richard came and told me all this, with
a great deal more than I had known, or than has, or ever will be
published, about the Shdzlis, and he was filled with remorse that
he had not taken up their case and protected them.

He had written up their case. He said, “ If I should write to
Lord Granville, and tell him that there are at least twenty-five
thousand of secret Christians longing for baptism, and if I were
to say, as I know I can, that I can arrange it with the Moslems to
give them to nie, and not to touch them because they are mine;
supposing I were to buy a tract of land and give it to them, and
build a village, and that I took no taxes from them in repay-

352 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

ment, they could settle there unmolested, and supposing that 1
should request the Patriarch Valerga of Jerusalem to come and
baptize them, would you be afraid to stand godmother for them with
me on guard ? ” and I replied that “ I would be only too proud to
do it.” It was then settled that these letters should be written
and sent.

Lord Granville communicated with the Patriarch Valerga,
who at once sent openly and clumsily to the Turkish Authorities
at Damascus to know the truth, thereby starting an evil; and,
even so, four hundred were found who were willing for martyr¬
dom, but the Patriarch was evidently in no hurry for martyr¬
dom. The affair, instead of being confided to Richard, was
hopelessly mismanaged, and his recall followed within the
month; and Richard said, “ This is suffering persecution for
justice’ sake; no more of this , till I am clear of a just and
enlightened Governmeiit.” It broke his career, it shattered his
life, it embittered him on religion; he got neither Teheran,
nor Marocco, nor Constantinople. I may be wrong, but I
have always imagined that he thought that Christ would stand by
him, and see him through his troubles, but he did not like to speak
of it.

Richard never asked a single word at the Foreign Office—
he was too proud; and he let me do it in a Blue Book of
our own. My friends in the Foreign Office, of whom I had
about thirteen, gave me each a different reason for the recall;
but when I got an audience with Lord Granville, I got the
true one. Syria and Christianity lost one of England’s greatest
men, who was ruined, and her descent in prosperity and happi¬
ness commenced; and I never heard that the Government,
or the Foreign Office, or the Service, or the British name in the
East, was any better for it. I humbly venture to think the
contrary.

Lord Granville, like many another easy-going, pleasant diplomat
(to please God knows who), ruined the life of the best man under
his rule with the stroke of his pen. That did put the whole of
Syria in a blaze of revolt and indignation, and it required the
utmost prudence not to put a match to it. It is a pitiful tale, and
was a revolting sight to see seven jackals trying to rend an insulted
and martyred lion.

One fine day a bombshell fell in the midst of our happy life. It
was not only the insult of the whole thing, it was the ungentlemanly

Religion. 353

way in which it was carried out from Beyrout. This was our position
and the way it was done:—

We were surrounded by hundreds who seemed to be dependent
upon us ; by villages which, under our care, consular or maternal,
seemed to be thriving, prosperous, peaceful, and secure; by friends
we had made everywhere. Our lives, plans, and interests were
arranged for years; we were settled down and established as securely,
we thought, as any of you in your own houses at home. Our
entourage was a large one—dragomans, kawwdses , servants; our stud,
various pets, and flowers; our home, and our “ household gods; ” our
poor for thirty miles around us. And so surrounded, our only wish was
to stay, perhaps for life, and do our duty both to God and our neigh¬
bour; and we were succeeding, as I mean to prove. You, through
whose evil working the blow struck us on this day, examine your
hearts, and ask yourselves why you did this thing, because God, who
protects those who serve Him, will allow this cruel deed to follow
you, and recoil upon you some day, when you least expect it. It
was useless to mislead the Authorities and the public at home, by
laying the blame upon the Moslems. Richard always has been a
very good friend to the Moslems, and the Moslems have always liked
him; but in this instance, local and individual weakness, spite and
jealousy, overthrew him.

The horses were saddled at the door, in the Anti-Lebanon, and we
were going for a ride, when a ragged messenger on foot stopped to
drink at the spring, and advanced towards me with a note. I saw it
was for Richard, and took it into the house for him. It was from
the Vice-Consul of Beyrout, informing him that, by the orders of his
Consul-General, he had arrived the previous day (15th of August),
and had taken charge of the Damascus Consulate. The Vice-
Consul was in no way to blame.*

Richard’s journal says—

“August 16th. —All ready to start—rode in.

“August 18 th. —Left Damascus for ever; started at three a.m. in
the dark, with a big lantern ; all my men crying; alone in coupe of
diligence, thanks to the pigs. Excitement of seeing all for the last
time. All seemed sorry; a few groans. The sight of Bludan moun¬
tains in the distance at sunrise, where I have left my wife. Ever
agai?i ? Felt soft. Dismissal ignominious, at the age of fifty, with¬
out a month’s notice, or wages, or character.

* Lord Granville, complaisant to the great and unmindful of the little officials,
soon found an excuse to recall him. When he did recall him, he did so without
the trial usually allowed to accused people to prove their guilt or innocence, or to
defend themselves, and from that date began the ruin of Damascus and the visible
and speedy decline of Syria.—I. B.

354 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

“The Turkish Government has boasted that it would choose its
own time, when Moslems may become Christians if they wish. The
time has now come.”

Richard and Charley Tyrwhitt-Drake were in the saddle in five
minutes, and galloped into town without drawing rein. He would
not let me accompany him. A mounted messenger returned on the
19th with these few written words, “Don’t be frightened; I am
recalled. Pay, pack, and follow at convenience.” I was not
frightened, but I do not like to remember what I thought or felt.

I could not rest on the night of the 19th; I thought I heard some
one call me three successive times. I jumped up in the middle of a
dark night, saddled my horse, and, though everybody said I was mad,
and wanted to put me to bed, I rode a journey of nine hours across
country, by the compass, as if I were riding for a doctor, over rocks and
through swamps, making for the diligence halfway house. Three or
four of my people were frightened, and followed me. At last I came
in sight of Shtora, the diligence-station. The half-hour had expired;
the travellers had eaten and taken their places, and it was just about
to start; but God was good to me. Just as the coachman was about
to raise his whip, he turned his head to the part of the country from
whence I was coming, hot, torn, and covered with dust and mud
from head to foot; but he knew me. I held up both my arms, as
they do to stop a train. He saw the signal, waited, and took me
in, and told the ostler to lead my dead-beat horse to the stables.*

I reached Beyrout twenty-four hours before the steamer sailed.
When Richard had once received his recall, he never looked behind
him, nor packed up anything, but went straight away. It is his rule
to be ready in ten minutes to go anywhere. He was now a private
individual in misfortune. I passed him in the diligence, walking
alone in the town, and looking so sad and serious. Not even a
kawwds was sent to attend on him, to see him out with a show of
honour and respect. It was a real emblem of the sick lion. But
/ was there (thank God) in my place, and he was so surprised and
glad when he saw me! I was well rewarded for my hard ride, for
when he saw me his whole face was illuminated, and he said, “Thank
you, bon sang ne peut mentirP We had twenty-four hours to take
counsel and comfort together.

Everybody called upon us, and everybody regretted. The French
Consul-General made us almost take up our abode with him for
those twenty-four hours—our own Consul-General cut us. At four
o’clock I went on board with my husband, and on return I found his

* Men who know the ground will know what that ride means over slippery
boulders and black swamps in the dai'k.—I. B.

355

Religion.

faithful servant Habib, who had also followed him, and arrived just
ten minutes too late—only in time to see him steam out; he had
flung himself down on the quay in a passionate flood of tears.

Any Consul, in any part of the Eastern world, with one drop of
gentlemanly feeling, would have gone to meet his comrade in dis¬
tress, and sent a couple of kawwdses to walk before and behind
him. Mr. Eldridge’s action was as big a thing as if he had posted
handbills all over Beyrout to announce to the world that no notice
was to be taken of him. The disgrace was to himself, not to Richard.

The only notice Richard took of this tragedy in his life is one
sentence in his journal: “After all my service, ignominiously dis¬
missed, at fifty years of age ”—and at whose instance, do you think ?
(i) A Pasha so corrupt that his own Government was obliged to
recall him a month later, threaten him with chains, and throw him
into a fortress, and his brains were blown out a short while after
by a man he had oppressed. (2) His own Consul-General, whose
memory is only known to his once immediate acquaintances by the
careful registering of his barometers, and the amount of beer which
helped that arduous task, and who exactly suited the Foreign Office
by confining himself to so narrow a circle. He was fearfully jealous
of his superioi subordinate, and asked for his removal through Mr.
Kennedy, who was not commissioned for that business. Mr. Eldridge
said afterwards, “ If Burton had only have walked in my way, he
would have lived and died here.” Thirdly, an aggressive school¬
mistress, who altered, or allowed to be altered, some words in a letter
he wrote her, changing “ mining ” into “missionary/’ to be shown
at Exeter Hall. Fourthly, fifthly, and sixthly, three unscrupulous
Jewish usurers. Seventhly, an elastic Greek Bishop, who began a
crusade against the Protestants of Nazareth, and prevented them
from cultivating their land, and who had snatched away a synagogue
and cemetery from British-protected Jews.

When we were in camp there, he caused his people, who were
about a hundred and fifty a gainst six, to pick a quarrel with our
people, and they stoned us. “Stoning” in the East means a hail¬
storm the size of melons, which positively seems to darken the air.
As an old soldier accustomed to fire, Richard stood perfectly calm,
collected, and self-contained, though the stones hit him right and left,
and almost broke his sword-arm ; he never lost his temper, and never
fired, but was simply marking the ringleaders to take them. I ran out
to give him his two six-shot revolvers, but when I got within stones’
reach, he made a sign to me not to embarrass his movements; so I
kept near enough to drag him out if he were wounded, putting his

356 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

revolvers in my belt. When three of his servants were badly hurt, and
one lay for dead on the ground, he drew a pistol from a man’s belt,
and fired a shot in the air. That was my signal. I flew round to the
other camps, and called all the English and Americans with their
guns. When they saw a reinforcement of ten armed English and
Americans running down upon them, the cowardly crew turned
and fled. This was followed by a proch-vcrbal between Richard and
the Bishop, which Richard won.

I was left to pack, pay, and follow; so I took the night diligence
back, and had, in spite of the August weather, a cold, hard seven
hours over the Lebanon, for I had brought nothing with me; my
clothes were dry and stiff, and I was very tired. On the road I
passed our honorary dragoman, Hanna Misk. I called out to him,
but I had no official position now, so he turned his head the other
way, and passed me by. I sent a peasant after him, but he shook
his head and rode on. “There,” I said, “goes the man who has
lived with us, travelled with us, and shared everything we had, and
for whose rights concerning a village my husband has always con¬
tended, because his claims were just.” The law of “Le Roi est
mort, vive le Roi!” extends, I suppose, everywhere; but probably
the king’s widow always feels it. I wonder how old one has to
grow before learning the common rules of life, instead of allowing
every shock the world gives one to disturb one, as if one were newly
born ? It is innate in cool natures, and never learnt by the others,
who take useless “ headers ” against the dead wall of circumstances,
until they grow old and cold and selfish. Disraeli told us that “ no
affections and a great brain form the men that command the world ;
that no affections and a little brain make petty villains; ” but a great
brain and a great heart he has no description for. Here he stops
short; but I can tell him those are the men for whom there is no
place. The nineteenth century will have none of them.

Richard was a general favourite, but he was too powerful to suit
the Turkish Wali, or Governor-General, who for once found a man
he could not corrupt. To give some idea of how incorruptible, he
was once offered ^10,000 on the table, which the man in question
brought with him, to give an opinion which would have swayed a
public transaction, which would have been no very great harm, but
yet it would not have been quite “ square ” for such a man as
Richard, and a promise of ^10,000 when the thing was done—
u for,” said the man, “ I can get plenty of money when I like, and
this will pay me well.” My husband let him finish, and then he
said, “ If you were a gentleman of my own standing, and an.

Religion. 357

Englishman, I would just pitch you out of the window; but as
you are not, you may pick up your £ 10,000 and you may walk
down the stairs. But don’t come here again, because if the thing is
right, I shall do it without your paying me; and if it is not, there is
not enough money in the world to buy me.’’ He then called me,
and he told me about it, and said, “This man’s harem will be offer¬
ing you diamonds; mind you don’t take them.” “There is not the
slightest chance,” I said; “I don’t want them.” Now, it is a perfect
fact that, although I am a woman, jewellery is no temptation to me;
I therefore take no credit to myself that I have refused enough to
enable me to wear as many as any woman in London; but when
they brought me horses, it was quite another sensation, and I had
to screw up my courage hard—and bolt.

It is perfectly true that Richard is the only man not born a Moslem
and an Oriental who, having performed the Hajj to Mecca and
Medinah, could live with the Moslems in perfect friendship after.
They considered him a persona grata —something more civilized
than the common run of Franks; they called him Haji Abdullah,
and treated him as one of themselves. During Richard’s time in
Syria he raised the English name, which was going down rapidly,
to its old prestige in the time of Sir Richard Wood and Lord Strath-
nairn, and the old days of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe. He explored
all the unknown parts of Syria, Palestine, Holy Land, Hauran, the
’Alah and Nejd; he stood between the poor peasantry and the
usurers; he advanced and protected the just claims of British sub¬
jects. When a massacre appeared imminent he kept the peace.
The fanatical persecution of the Christians was stopped; he stood
between them and his friends the Mohammedans; he said, “ They
are mine, and you must not touch them; ” he saved innumerable
villages from slavery. In fact, he was just the man whom Rashid
Pasha, the corrupt Turkish Governor-General, could not stand; he
was an avenging angel in his way. His own Consul-General was
jealous of him. The Beyrout missionaries, or rather the British Syrian
schools missionaries—for we were friends with several Beyrout
missionaries, notably Dr. Thomson and Dr. Bliss—poisoned Exeter
Hall against him, although they got more help from him than from
any one, simply because neither he nor I were, what I believe the tech¬
nical term is, “practical Protestants.” The three foremost Jews set
Sir Moses Montefiore and the illustrious Jewish families of London
against him, because he could not stand by and see the poor plun¬
dered twice and thrice over, never getting a receipt for their money,
never being allowed a paper to show what they had paid, till (when
England is paying millions to suppress Slave-trade in various parts

358 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

of the world) she was unconsciously abetting it, and aiding it, and
protecting it, all over the Syrian villages, by the power of com¬
plaisant Consuls. The Greek Bishop abetted our being stoned at
Nazareth, because he had advanced and protected the Protestant
missionaries’ just claim in his jurisdiction. These seven hornets were
sufficient to kill and break the heart of St. Michael the archangel.
They say three hornets kill a man, and six will kill a horse.

I must now return, and finish my own Eastern career, more for
the sake of showing the goodness of the Syrian heart, than for any
other interest. I am bound, though late, to bear testimony to them.

After seeing Richard off, I had a cold eight hours’ drive over
the Lebanon, arrived at the khan at Shtora, found my horse in
excellent condition, and slept for a few hours. Early in the morning
I rode to see Miss Wilson, who kindly insisted on my remain¬
ing a day with her. Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake, a kaww&s , and servants
and horses, met me here, and escorted me back to Blud£n;
but we lost our way in the mountains, and had an eleven hours’
hard scramble. I was ill, tired, and harassed, and was thankful to
find my friend Mrs. Rattray, who came over to keep me company.
She was as much troubled as I was myself. I do not care who
says to the contrary, but the world in general is a good place; for,
although a few bad people make everything and everybody as
miserable as they can—permitted, I infer, by an all-wise Providence,
like mosquitoes, snakes, and scorpions, to prevent our becoming too
attached to this life, and ceasing to work for the other, where they
cannot enter—the general rule is good, and whoever is in trouble,
as I have said, will always meet with kindness, comfort, and sympathy,
from some quarter or other.

I had every right to expect, in a land where official position is
everything, where love and respect accompanies power and Govern¬
ment influence, where women are of but small account, that I should
be, morally speaking, trampled underfoot. I do not know how to
describe with sufficient gratitude, affection, and pleasure the treat¬
ment I met with throughout Syria. The news spread like wild-fire.
All the surrounding villages poured in. The house and the garden
were always full of people—my poor, of course, but others too.
Moslems flung themselves on the ground, shedding bitter tears, and
tearing their beards, with a passionate grief for the man “ whose
life ” they were reported to wish to take. The incessant demon¬
strations of sorrow were most harassing, the poor crying out, “ Who
will take care of us now ? ” The Moslems : “ What have we done

359

Religion .

that your Diwan (Government) has done this thing to us ? They
sent us a man who made us so happy and prosperous, and protected
us, and we were so thankful; and why now have they taken him
from us ? What have we done ? Were we not good and thankful,
and quiet ? What can we do ? Send some of us to go over to your
land, and kneel at the feet of your Queen.” This went on for days,
and I received, from nearly all the country round, little deputations
of Shaykhs, bearing letters of affection, or condolence, or grief, or
praise. These sad days filled me with one gnawing thought —“ How
shall I tear the East out of my heart by the roots, and adapt myself
to the bustling, struggling, everyday life of Europe ? ”

I broke up our establishment, packed up my husband’s books,
and sent them to England, settled all our affairs, had all that was
to accompany me transferred to Damascus, and parted with the
mountain servants. Two pets—the donkey that had lost a foot,
and a dog that was too ill to recover—had to be shot and buried in
the garden.

When all these sad preparations were finished, I bade adieu to
the Anti-Lebanon with a heavy heart, and for the last time, choking
with emotion, I rode down the mountain, and through the plain of
Zebed^ni, with a very large train of followers. I found it hard to
leave the spot where I had hoped to leave my mortal coil.

I had a sorrowful ride into Damascus, and I met the Wall driving
in State, with all his suite. He looked radiant, and saluted me. I
did not return his salute, and he told his Staff that he was afraid I
would shoot him. Somebody did that a little later on. He looked
less radiant when the news of his own recall reached him a few days
later, with a special telegram, that if he delayed more than twenty-
four hours, he was to be sent in chains. He fought hard to stay,
and I do not wonder, for he had a splendid position, and had bought
lands and built a palace, which he never lived in; and he had to
give up all his ill-gotten goods, lands, and palace, squeezed out of
the peasantry.

At Damascus I had to go through the same sad scenes, upon a
much larger scale than I had gone through at Bludan. All our kind
friends, native and European, came to stay about me to the last

I saw that Richard’s few enemies were very anxious for me to go,
and that all the rest were equally anxious to detain me as a kind of
pledge for his return. I reflected that it would be right that I should
coolly and quietly perform every single work I had to undertake—to
sell everything, to pay all debts, and arrange every liability of any
kind incurred by my husband, to pack and despatch to England our
personal effects, to make innumerable friendly adieux, to make a

360 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

provision or find a happy home for every single being—man or beast
—that had been dependent upon us. This was rendered slow and
difficult, as the Government left us pro tem . without a farthing.
A servant generally gets a month’s notice with wages and a character,
but without any defence we were annihilated as if by dynamite. At
last I made our case known to Uncle Gerard, who telegraphed
to the Imperial Ottoman Bank, “ to let his niece have any money that
she wanted.” Before I left I went and dressed our little chapel with
all the pious things in my possession.

On the day of the sale I could not bear to stay near the house, so
I went up to Arba’in, or “the Forty Martyrs,” above our house, on
Jebel Kaysun, about fifteen hundred feet high, and I gazed on my
dear Salahfyyeh below, in its sea of green, and my pearl-like
Damascus, and the desert sand, and watched the sunset on the
mountains for the last time. I also met some Mogharibehs, who
came up to pray there, and who prognosticated all sorts of good
fortune to me.

In one sense I was glad, because I was a kind of hostage, giving
the lie to his enemies. If there had been anything wrong, I should
assuredly have paid the forfeit. I had no anxiety, for though I
had magnificent offers—two from Moslems to shoot certain official
enemies, as they passed in their carriage, from behind a rock, and
another from a Jew to put some poison in their coffee—I slept in
perfect security, amongst my Moslem and Kurdish friends, with my
windows and doors open, in that Kurdish village, Salahfyyeh.
Between us and the City was a quarter of an hour’s ride through
orchards that were wild and lawless—at least, in my time, no one
would come there from sunset to sunrise, and timid people, not even
in the day, without a guard. We had the house on a three years
lease, and my bedroom window and the Muezzi?is Minaret were
on a level, and almost joined, so that we could talk to each other.
I used to join him in the “call to prayer,” and he used to try not
to laugh. I never missed a pin ; I never had anything but blessings.
All my work took me some time, but I resolved, whatever the
wrench would cost me, I would set out the moment it was finished.
My husband being gone, I had no business, no place there; I knew
it would be better taste to leave.

We all began to perceive that the demonstrations were begin
ning to be of an excitable nature • the Moslems assembling in
cliques at night, a hundred here and a hundred there, to discuss
the strange matter. They were having prayers in the mosques for
Richard, and making promises of each giving so much to the poor
if they obtained their wish. They continually poured up to

Religion . 361

Salahiyyeh with tears and letters, begging him to return, and I felt
that my presence and distress only excited them the more. I left
more quickly because I was informed that my presence was exciting
the people, who lived in hopes of his return, and his non-appearance
was causing an irritability that might break out into open mutiny
and cause another massacre. They were beginning with the usual
signs of meeting in clusters in the streets, in discussing the affair in
the mosques, in the bazaars, in the cafes , and putting up public
prayers for his return.

As half the City wanted to accompany me on the road, and I was
afraid that a demonstration might result, I thought I should be wise
to slip away quietly. My two best friends, Abd el Kadir and the
Hon. Jane Digby el Mezrab (Lady Ellenborough), were with me
till the last, and, accompanied by Charley Drake and our two most
faithful dragomans, who had never deserted me and put themselves
and all they possessed at my disposal, Hanna Asar and Mr. Awadys,
I left Damascus an hour before dawn, sending word to all my friends
that parting was too painful to me.

“ Linger not out the hours of separation’s clay
Till for sheer grief my soul to ruin fall a prey.” *

I felt life’s interest die out of me as I jogged along for weary miles,
wishing mental good-byes to every stick and stone. I had been
sickening for some days with fever. I had determined not to be ill
at Damascus, and so detained. Pluck kept me up, but having
braved the fatal 13 th, and set out upon it, I was not destined to
reach Beyrout.

When I reached that part of the Lebanon looking down upon the
sea, near Khan el Karayyeh, my fever had increased to such an
extent that I became delirious, and had to be set down on the road¬
side, where I moaned with pain and could not proceed. Half an
hour from the road was the village of my little Syrian maid. I was
carried to her father’s house, and lay there for ten days very ill, and
was nursed by her and by my English maid. Many kind friends,
English and native, came to see me from Beyrout and from the
villages round about.

Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake took our house, part of the furniture, the
faithful Habfb, and the sais, my two horses, which I could not bear
to sell into stranger hands, the dogs, and the Persian cat, “Tuss,”
who, however, ran away the day after I left, and has never been seen
or heard of since. All the other servants and animals were well
provided for in other ways. I was offered £15 for my white donkey,

• Charles T, Pickering, “ The Last Singers of Bukhara.”

362 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

but I could not bear to sell him, so I left him also with Mr.
Tyrwhitt-Drake, and he eventually found a good home with our
successor, Mr. Green (afterwards Sir W. Kirby Green), and died.
The bull-terriers also died natural deaths with Mr. Drake. It was a
great relief to know that the former would never become a market
donkey, nor the latter pariahs, nor be beaten, stoned, and ill-used. I
was obliged to sell Richard’s rahw&n, and I sent it to the purchaser,
the Vice-Consul who succeeded, from the village where I was ill. He
came to pay me a visit. Although the poor horse had only been
there one night, this gentleman told me he had no trouble in finding
the house, for as soon as the rahw&n got near the turn leading off
the diligence road, he started off at full gallop, and never stopped
till he reached the door, nor would he go anywhere else.

I went down to Beyrout as soon as I was well enough to move,
and, assisted by Mr. Watkins of the Imperial Ottoman Bank, Mr.
Drake, and Mr. Zal Zal, embarked in the Russian ship Ceres , the
same that had brought me formerly from Alexandria to Beyrout.
As we were about to steam out, an English Vice-Consul in the
Levant gaily waved his hand to me, and said laughingly, “ Good-bye,
Mrs. Barton. I have been sixteen years in the service, and I know
twenty scoundrels in it who are never molested; but I never saw a
Consul ‘ recalled ’ except for something disgraceful, and certainly
never for an Eastern Pasha. You’ll find it’s all right; they would
hardly do such a thing to such a man as Burton.” We were a
fortnight at sea, detained by fogs and two collisions.

On reaching London I found Richard in one room in a very small
hotel. He had made no defence—had treated the whole thing de
haut en has, so I applied myself for three months to putting his case
clearly before the Foreign Office in his own name. I went to the
Foreign Office, where I had thirteen friends, and knew most of its
Masters, and I asked them to tell me frankly what was the reason of
his recall.

Firstly, I was told it had been represented that he was in danger
from~~ffie Mohammedans. That was too easily disproved by fifty-
eight lexers from every creed, nation, and tongue of the thirty-six
in Syria, from Bedawi tribes, Druzes, Moslems of all categories,
from the Ulemd, from Abd el Kadir; and, like proverbs, this homely
correspondence sprung from the heart illustrated the native character
better than books, and was a fair specimen of local Oriental scholar¬
ship. What the Press and the Public thought about it in various
nations was the same—in forty-eight articles chiefly from the English
Press and the Levant, and five leaders. All that England has ever done
to him of neglect and slight has never touched him in any man’s

Religion . 363

mind. He was the brightest gem in his country’s crown, and his
country did not deserve him. I went the rounds of my friends
repeatedly in the Foreign Office, and insisted on having a reason
for the recall.

When the Mohammedan question was disposed of, it was found
that it was because “ Burton had written a letter to convoke
the Druzes to a political meeting in the Hauran.” I asked if I
might have a copy of that letter, and, having kept the original
copy, I was able to put them side by side in the report, showing it
was forged by Rashid Pasha. He was then accused of opposing
missionary work, because he had written advising a schoolmistress,
in the kindest spirit, to try and prevent her husband entering into
mining speculations : as there was so much cheating going on, he was
afraid he would drop several thousand pounds. “ Mining ” was so?ne-
how changed to “ missionary ; ” but that fact was disposed of by the
regretful and indignant letters at his recall from all the other
missionaries. He was accused of being influenced against the Jews
because he protected the poor villagers from paying their debts twice
and thrice over to the usurers, who took their money and refused
receipts, leaving nothing to show. Amongst the letters one Jew wrote
home that Captain Burton “was influenced by his Catholic wife against
the Jews.” I am proud to say that I have never in my life tried to
influence my husband to do anything wrong, and I am prouder
still to say that if I had tried I should not have succeeded, and
should have only lost his respect. The Jews have never had a
better friend than me. I distinctly divide the usurers from the Jews,
just as I divide the good, honest, loyal half of the Irish Catholic
nation from the Fenians and the moonlighters, who are mostly
Irish living in England and America, and who go over for the
purpose of fomenting disturbance. I have suppressed many a thing
that civilized and idealized Jews would be ashamed to have known
of their lower and fanatical brethren in the East and elsewhere.
He was accused by the Greek bishop of firing into “harmless
Greeks at play,” because he fired a shot in the air to call assistance
when we were being stoned to death.

Mr. Eldridge, who was quite a Russian at heart, went on the
plan of never compromising himself by writing an official order to
Richard; he never wrote him anything but private notes. Richard
said he could not use private notes in official life as proofs. I
thought this very wrong. I saw a plan in this mode of action,
so I used to keep them in a portfolio till wanted, so that when I
put the case together I was able to state the facts very correctly.
I have got several packets of that Blue Book now, if anybody

364 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

wants to see one. It ended by Richard getting the nearest thing
to an apology that one could expect out of a Government office,
and an offer of several small posts, which he indignantly refused.
In his journal I find he was offered Par£, but would not take it—
“ Too small a berth for me after Damascus.”

Shortly after, Mr. L- offered him, that if he would go to

Iceland to inspect some sulphur mines, he would pay his passage
there and back, and his expenses, and if he found he could con¬
scientiously give a good report of the sulphur mines, that he would
give him ^2000. He went, and as we were at a very low ebb, and

as Mr. L- did not pay for me, I was left with my father and

mother, which was a very fortunate circumstance, because my
mother died shortly after. I may put in a parenthesis that, though
Richard was able conscientiously to give a splendid report of the

mines, Mr. L-did not pay him the ^2000. The trip resulted

in a book called “ Ultima Thule : a Summer in Iceland” * (2 vols.),
which was not published till 1875, and his “Zanzibar City, Island,
and Coast” (2 vols., 1872); and he wrote a lecture for the Society
of Antiquaries, a “ History of Stones and Bones from the Haur£n,”
and “ Human Remains and other Articles from Iceland.” We had
ten months of great poverty and official neglect (but great kindness
from Society), during which we were reduced to our last ^15, and after
that we had nothing to do but to sit on our boxes in the street, for
we had nothing, not a prospect of anything; but we let nobody
know that. He remarked one day when we were out on business—

“ Lunch, one shilling,

Soup not filling.”

And I noticed afterwards, in his journal, that he had longed for some
oysters, and looked at them long; but he says, “They were three
shillings a dozen—awful, forbidden luxury ! ”

At last my uncle, Lord Gerard, asked us up to Garswood, and we
debated if we had a right to accept it or not. I begged him to do
so, as I thought it might bring us good luck. We were alone in a
railway compartment, when one of the ^15 rolled out of my
purse, and slid between the boards of the carriage and the door,
reducing us to ^14. I sat on the floor and cried, and he sat down
by me with his arm round my waist, trying to comfort me. Uncle
Gerard kept us one month, paid our fare up and down, and, without
knowing that we wanted anything, gave me ^25, and from that

* It Is a valuable book, chiefly for its philosophical transactions, antiquarian
proceedings, and philological miscellanies, and the mineral resources of the island.
—I. B.

Religion. 365

time one little help or another came to keep us alive without our
asking for anything. We sold some of our writings, and it was
discovered that some back pay was due to Richard.

During this ten months at home, we saw a great deal of Win-
wood Reade, whom all know by his travels in Africa, his many
literary works, of which the cleverest, but the most harmful, was
the “ Martyrdom of Man,” of which he presented Richard with a
copy, which was carefully treasured till about six months before
Richard’s death. He told us the following account of a ghost
story :—

There was a place in Africa or in India (I forget at this distance
of time), where there was a haunted bungalow, and Winwood
Reade was longing to see a ghost, as he was very sceptical about
the existence of such things. In this particular bungalow there was
a room on the ground floor, with folding doors of glass that opened
to the ground, leading out into the compound. Every night at
twelve o’clock these glass doors (being locked) slowly opened
outwards, and the ghosts of three surgeons who had died of cholera
appeared in their winding-sheets. Winwood Reade engaged the
bungalow for the night, it being quite empty, but he could not
induce anybody, for love or money, to go with him. At last he
tempted a black boy, by large promises of money, to pass one night
there, and the boy said if he might sleep on the roof he would, but
nothing would induce him to go inside the house. So they started
forth, and Winwood took with him a good novel, his gun, his
watch, and plenty of brandy and water, and towards eleven o’clock
made himself very comfortable on some cushions in a corner of the
room in full view of the window. As his watch pointed to twelve,
the doors slowly opened, he seized his gun, and in a moment the
three white figures appeared. I said, breathless with excitement,
“ And what did you do, Winwood ? ” He smiled and hesitated,
and said, “To tell the honest truth, I dropped my gun and fainted,
and when I came to I got out of the house as quick as I could,
called the boy, went away, and never went back.” He was such a
brave man he could afford to own this.

Richard writes at this time in his journal, “ I called on some old
friends, and as I came out of the house I heard the servants whisper,
* Why, Captain Burton looks like an old gypsy.” This was after his
recall.

We had one very pleasant evening at Lady Marian Alford’s. She
had been building her house at Prince’s Gate, and Miss Hosmer
had • sculptured her fountain; it was the opening night. Lady
Marian wanted to prepare a little surprise for her friends, so she

366 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

made Richard dress as a Bedawin Shaykh, and Khamoor (my Arab
girl) and me as Moslem women of Damascus. I was supposed to
have brought this Shaykh over to introduce him into a little English
society. He spoke Arabic to Khamoor and me, and broken English
with a few words of French to the rest of the party. It was a
delightful little party, and we enjoyed it very much, and—though
they all knew him—nobody recognized Richard, which was very
amusing; but presently the Prince of Wales and the Duke of
Edinburgh were announced, and Lady Marian had to go out to
prepare them for this little joke, which amused them immensely, and
so it gradually had to ooze out. There was a delightful supper,
three tables each of eight. Khamoor in her Eastern dress came in
with coffee on a tray on her head, and presented it kneeling to the
Prince and the Duke, and to the others standing. Everything that
Lady Marian Alford did was so graceful.

I see that Richard notices in his journal a correspondence between
himself and the Rev. Herbert Vaughan, D.D. (our present Cardinal),
which I imagine was about the Shazlis. And he also notices that
his name is again left out of Sir Roderick Murchison’s address, and
asks, “ Why ? Old Murchison hates me.”

Again speaking of Sir R. Murchison, Richard writes, “He was
anxious to pay due honour to our modern travellers, to Livingstone
and Gordon, Speke and Grant. He has done me the honour of
not honouring me.” Later on : “ Received a card from him to go
and see him.”

We also went to Ashridge, Lord Brownlow’s, on a visit to Lady
Marian Alford, which visit we enjoyed immensely, where we met
Lord Beaconsfield and numbers of other delightful people.

He also notices in his journal: “Had the satisfaction of hearing
of Rashid Pasha’s disgrace and removal. Wonder if he wishes he
had not crossed swords with me.”

This year was the Tichborne trial, and Richard was subpoenaed
by him, but his evidence did more good to the family. Amongst
other things the Claimant said to Richard, “ That he had met me in
Rio de Janeiro, and that I had recognized him as a long-lost cousin;
but, on fixing the dates, it was proved that I had sailed from Rio for
London a week before the Claimant arrived there.” We had one
very lively meeting at the Royal Geographical Society. He
writes—

“ Rassam stood up about a native message to Livingstone. Colonel
Rigby contradicted, and said there were no Abyssinians in Zan¬
zibar. They began to contradict me, so I made it very lively, for

Religion . 367

I was angry, and proved my point, showing that my opponents
had spoken falsely. My wife laughed, because I moved from
one side of the table to the other unconsciously, with the stick
that points to the maps in my hand, and she said that the audience
on the benches looked as if a tiger was going to spring in amongst
them, or that I was going to use the stick like a spear upon my
adversary, who stood up from the benches.* To make the scene
more lively, my wife’s brothers and sisters were struggling in the
corner to hold down their father, an old man, who had never been
used to public speaking, and who slowly rose up in speechless
indignation at hearing me accused of making a misstatement, and
was going to address a long oration to the public about his son-in-law
Richard Burton. As he was slow and very prolix he would never
have sat down again, and God only knows what he would have said ;
they held on to his coat-tails, and were preparing, in event of failure,
some to dive under the benches, and some to bolt out of the nearest
door.”

We went a great deal into Society those ten montns, and we saw
much of the two best literary houses of the day, where one always
met la haute Boheme , the most interesting Society in London, mixed
with the best of everything, and those were Lord Houghton’s and
Lord Strangford’s.

About this time we went to visit Mr.-, our then publisher, at

his country-house, where he showed us all that was comfortable and
luxurious, with ten horses in the stable—everything else to match.
He gave us a large literary dinner, at which Lord Houghton, with his
quiet chuckle, called out across the table, “ I say, Burton, don’t you
feel as if we were drinking out of poor authors’ skulls ? ” Upon which
Richard laughed, and tapped his own head for an answer.

Richard was very anxious that Alexandretta should be the chief
port in Syria, into whose lap the railway would pour the wealth of
the province, for it is the only good port the country possesses on
the eastern coast of the Mediterranean. Alexandretta, if freed from
its stagnant marshes, would be magnificent; the railway should go to
Damascus, Jerusalem, and Aleppo.

With regard to Sir Roderick Murchison, his journal again con¬
tained the following, speaking of one of his books :—

“ Since these pages went to print Sir R. I. Murchison has passed
away, full of years and of honours. I had not the melancholy satis¬
faction of seeing for the last time our revered Chief, one of whose
latest actions was to oppose my reading a paper about the so-called
Victoria Nyanza before the Royal Geographical Society ; whilst

* I never saw Richard so angry in my life; his lips puffed out with rage.—I. B.

368 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

another was to erase my name from the list of the Nile explorers
when revising his own biography. But peace be to his manes ! I
respect the silence of a newly made grave.”

We went, for the first time in our lives, and the last, to a great
banquet at the Mansion House, which amused us very much. When¬
ever we wanted to make any remarks at dinner-time we made them
in Arabic, thinking that probably no one would understand us.
Curiously, the people who sat next to us turned round, and said in
Arabic, “Yes, you are perfectly right; we were just thinking the
same thing; ” and Richard said, “ We spoke Arabic thinking nobody
would understand us; ” and they said, “ It is most probable that out
of all this huge crowd we are the only four people who happen to
speak Arabic, and happen to sit together.”

Another very interesting visit we paid was to the Surrey County
Lunatic Asylum, Wandsworth Common, where the doctor, who was
a friend of my husband’s, invited us to spend the day and dine with
him, and he showed us over everything; but I know that I, for
one, felt awfully glad when we left it; some of the faces that I saw
there I can see now if I shut my eyes and think.

In 1872, we were on a visit at Knowsley, the Earl of Derby’s,
and we planted there a cedar of Lebanon, which we had brought;
and we went over the alkali works at St. Helen’s, very interesting
to Richard, who did not know so much of the “ Black Country ”
as we did. We then went to Uncle Gerard’s, where we met the
Muriettas (now Marchesa de Santurce), and many other pleasant
people. Here we went down some coal-pits (265 fathoms) for further
information, and we planted more cedars of Lebanon and a bit of
Abraham’s oak, which we brought from Mamre, some distance from
Hebron.

That year my mother got very ill, and we all assembled in town
to be with her. She had been paralyzed for nine years, and, never¬
theless, had been strong, active, and cheerful, and enabled in some
fashion to enjoy life. Her strong brain kept her alive.

At this time the public, answering an appeal of mine in the Tablet ,
describing the poverty and destitution of the Syrian Inland Churches,
sent me wherewith to furnish six of them, which has never been
forgotten out there.

In 1872, poor General Beatson died at New Swindon. Richard
sent thirty-two species of plants from the summit of the Libanus
to the British Museum ; and this year he got the news from Syria
that he had gained his cause about the stoning at Nazareth. The

Religion. 369

Greek Bishop had brought an action against him before the Tribunal,
and Richard won it with honour.

He wrote and lectured on the “Stones and Bones of the Haurin,”
March, 1872, and “Human Remains in Iceland” in late 1872.

I attended the Tichborne trial, and saw Sir John Coleridge
examine my cousin, Katty Radcliffe. Richard whispered to me,
“ The next thing plaintiff will do, will be to call himself Lord
Aberdeen.” I came home from there, and found the other brother,
Father Coleridge, S.J., giving my mother Communion. At this
time, too, we attended all the learned societies, where Richard
generally made speeches. We also went down to the Duke and
Duchess of Somerset’s, where we met Lady Ulrica Thynne, the
Brinsley Sheridans, and afterwards, at their house, brilliant and
fascinating Mrs. Norton.

Charles Reade, the well-known author, who was a great friend of
ours, gave us a delightful dinner and pleasant evening, asking a
great many actors and actresses to meet us. Sir Frederick Leighton
began to paint Richard on the 26th of April, and it was very
amusing. Richard was so anxious that he should paint his necktie
and his pin, and kept saying to him every now and then, “ Don't
make me ugly, don’t, there’s a good fellow ; ” and Sir Frederick kept
chaffing him about his vanity, and appealing to me to know if he
was not making him pretty enough. That is the picture that Sir
Frederick has now, and is going to leave to the nation ; and both
Richard and I always retained the pleasantest memory of the
many happy hours we passed in his studio. Richard was examined
on the Consular Committee, and made them all laugh. He com¬
plained that the salary of Santos had been very inadequate to his
position ; he had been obliged to use his own little capital to supple¬
ment. He was asked how his predecessor (a baronet) had managed,
and he answered, “ By living in one room over a shop, and washing
his own stockings.” Richard attended the Levde on May 13th.

We went to a Foreign Office party, where Musurus Pasha ex¬
plained to Richard why he was obliged to go against him, by the
order of the Turkish Government about Syria, and Richard said to
him, “Well, Pasha, I did not know that you had; but I can tell
you that, though I never practically wish evil to my enemies, they all
come to grief, and you are bound to have a bit of bad luck on my
account.” The next day Musurus Pasha fell down and broke his
arm. It is an absolute fact that everybody who did my husband an
injury had some bad luck.

Richard tried to get Teheran, which was one of the places that

370 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

he longed for and was vacant, and we knew that three names were
sent up to her Majesty for approval; but we also knew, sub rosa ,
that Mr. (afterwards Sir Ronald) Thompson, a personal friend in their
youth of Mr. and Mrs. (afterwards Lord and Lady) Hammond, of the
Foreign Office, was to get it.

I brought out “Unexplored Syria” (2 vols.), in which Richard
and I and Charley Drake collaborated, on the 21st of June, 1872,
while Richard was in Iceland.

Richard sailed on the 4th of June from Leith for Iceland. The
5th of June was one of my most unhappy days. I got up early, and
passed the day with my mother. She received Communion at a quarter
to one ; at 9.30 p.m. she asked to see everybody. We said prayers

to her, but did not think her in any danger. At eleven some

instinct made me refuse to go home to my lodging. We were
summoned suddenly. I ran in and took her in my arms ; she turned
her head round upon my shoulder, looked at me, breathed a little
sigh, and died like a child at a quarter to twelve p.m. All the week
she lay in state, the room dressed like a chapel, with flowers and

candles, and we, her children, passed all day by her, and had all

our religious services in her room. (Richard notes in his journal,
“ Poor mother died about midnight, June 5th.”)

On the 12th of June, attended by all the people she liked best,
we buried her at Mortlake.

At last, Lord Granville wrote to me, and asked me if I thought
Richard would accept Trieste, Charles Lever having died; and he
also advised me to urge him to take it, because they were not likely
to have anything better vacant for some time. And I was able to
send Richard’s acceptance of Trieste to Lord Granville on July 15th.
We knew that after a post of ^1000 a year, with work that was
really diplomatic, and with a promise ahead of Marocco, Teheran,
and Constantinople before him, that a commercial town on £600 a
year, and office allowance, meant that his career was practically

broken ; but Richard and I could not afford to starve, and he said he
would stick on as long as there was ever a hope of getting Marocco.

Finally we were taken into some sort of favour again. Lord Gran¬
ville had not understood Richard’s letter about wanting to have the
Shazlis baptized, and feared that it might result in a Jehad, or
religious war, if the baptisms had taken place. Richard told him
“ he knew it would not .” He knew he could carry it through ; he was
not a man to risk such a matter. His plan was to buy a tract of
land, to give these people the means of building themselves cottages,
choose their own Shaykh, their own Priest, and make for themselves

37i

Religion.

a little Church. The village was to belong to him , and he would have
put it under the protection of his friends amongst the Moham¬
medans. He would have taken no taxes from them, and no
presents or provisions, as other people do, and the consequence is
they would have been now a flourishing colony. That was the real
cause of the recall; and, as I have said before, Richard said, “ That
is suffering persecution for justice’ sake with a vengeance; but we
won’t have anything more to do with this subject until I am free
from an enlightened and just-minded Government in March, 1891.”

On the 26th of August I was going a round of country-house visits
in Richard’s absence, and arriving at ten o’clock at night at Uncle
Gerard’s, met the sad news that our youngest and favourite brother,
the flower of our flock, Jack Arundell, commanding the Bittern , had
died of rheumatic fever between the West Coast of Africa and Ascen¬
sion, where he is buried—that is to say, he did not die of rheumatic
fever, but it was a question of sleep saving him. A very slight dose
of opiate had been administered to him to ensure this boon. He had
never mentioned the peculiarity in our family of being very sensitive
to opiates ; he went to sleep and never woke again, to the grief and
distress of all on board. He was only thirty-one years of age, was
bright and good-looking ; he was a dashing officer, with his heart in
his profession, and a fine career was before him. He had not had
time to hear of our mother’s death before he joined her. It was a
terrible blow to us.

Richard arrived on the 8th of June in Iceland, embarked for
return on 1st of August, and arrived in England from Iceland at
eleven at night on the 14th of September.

On the 5th of October, 1872, the day was fixed for Richard to
have a tumour cut out of his shoulder or back. He had got it from a
blow from a single-stick, when he was off guard and his back was
turned. It was an unfair blow, only the man did it in fun; anyway,
he said so. He had had it for a long time, and it had frequently
opened and discharged of itself, but now it was getting troublesome.
Dr. Bird, of 49, Welbeck Street, performed the operation. It was two
inches in diameter, and from first to last occupied about twelve
minutes. I assisted Dr. Bird. He sat astride on a chair, smoking a
cigar and talking all the time, and in the afternoon he insisted on
going down to Brighton. He did not wish me to go with him, but
I accompanied him to the station. I always liked to wait on him, so
I got him his ticket, had his baggage put in, and took him a place in
a coupe whilst he went off to buy his book and paper, and then I
called the guard. I said, “ Guard, my husband is going down to

372 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Brighton. I wish you would just look after him, he is not very well; ”
and I gave him half a crown. Presently an old man of eighty hobbled
by on crutches, “ Is that him, ma’am?” “No,” I said. Next a consump¬
tive boy came by, “ Is this him, ma’am ? ” “No,” I said ; “ not yet.”
Many passed, and of all those who he thought looked as though
they wanted taking care of, he asked the same question, and he got
the same answer. Presently Richard came swaggering along, as if
the whole station belonged to him—all fencers know the peculiar
walk a soldier has who is given much to fencing and broadsword
—and I whispered to the guard, “ There he is,” and I stood by the
carriage till the train went, and I heard him whisper to a comrade,
“ She would never ask me to take care of such a chap as that, unless
he was a raving lunatic. I’ll take devilish good care I don’t go near
him ; he would probably pitch me out of the carriage.”

After this we had a large family party at Wardour Castle, which
we enjoyed immensely.

A Greek priest from Syria came to see us, and we took him to a
spiritualistic seance. He was dreadfully frightened, and said his
prayers out loud all the time.

On his way up to Iceland he went to see Holyrood in Edinburgh,
and, visiting Queen Mary’s room, exclaimed, “No wonder she
sighed for France.” He went to the Levee held there by Lord
Airlie (the present Earl’s father).

***** Hr *

Whilst here, we saw the Oriental papers every fortnight, and all
the accounts we read of our old home were of “ Arab raids, of insults
to Europeans, of miserable, starving people, of sects killing one
another in open day, of policemen firing recklessly into a crowd to
wing a flying prisoner, and a general fusilade in the streets; of sacked
villages, and plundered travellers.” We read of Salahfyyeh spoken
of as a “suburb of Damascus, which enjoys an unenviable repu¬
tation ; ” of innocent Salahfyyeh men being shot down by mistake
for criminals, “ because the people of Salahfyyeh are such confirmed
ruffians, that they are sure to be either just going to do mischief or
just returning from it.” That is the place where for two or more years
we slept with open doors and windows, and I freely walked about
alone throughout the twenty-four hours, even when my husband was
absent, and left with Moslem servants.

*******

Having lifted any possible cloud which may have hung over the
real history of Richard’s removal from his Eastern post—the only
suitable one he ever held—it is unnecessary for me to enter into
any further explanation of the causes of the base detractions from

373

Religion.

which he has suffered. His case is not altogether a new one in the
human history, and the true explanation—the only real explanation—
of it, which can face the light of day, has been admirably expressed
in the lines written by the most brilliant statesman the Foreign Office
ever sent to the East—the “great Eltchi,” whom I and all lovers of
the Orient speak of with admiration, respect, and pride—Lord Strat¬
ford de Redcliffe—and which are applicable to Richard in every
sense, except that, so far from ever “spurning the gaping crowd,”
he always sacrificed himself for the poor, the ignorant, and the
oppressed.

£< Nay, shines there one with brilliant parts endowed,

Whose inborn vigour spurns the gaping crowd ?

For him the trench is dug, the toils are laid,

For him dull malice whets the secret blade.

One fears a master fatal to his ease,

Or worse, a rival born his age to please ;

This dreads a champion for the cause he hates,

That fain would crush what shames his broad estates.

Leagued by their instincts, each to each is sworn ;

High on their shields the simpering fool is borne.” *

* From Lord Stratford de Redclifife’s “ Shadows of the Past.”

CHAPTER XX.

TRIESTE— HIS FOURTH AND LAST CONSULATE.

On the 24th of October, 1872, Richard left England for Trieste, to
pass, though we little thought it then, the last eighteen years of his
life. He was recommended to go to Trieste by sea, which always
did him so much good. He was to go on and look for a house,
hire servants, etc.; and I was to lay in the usual stock of everything
a Consul could want, and follow as soon as might be by land. We
all went down to Southampton to see him off, but, as the gale and
fog were awful, they were only able to steam out and anchor in the
Yarmouth Roads.

On the 18th of November I went down to Folkestone to cross, en
route to Trieste, and ran through straight to Brussels, where I slept,
and next day got to Cologne.

Of course, I stopped and looked at the Cathedral, and went to
Johann M. Farina’s (4, Jiilichs Platz), and the Museum, top of Cathedral
for view, stained glass, and all that; and then I sauntered on to Bonn,
Coblenz, Bingen, Castel, Mayence, until I got to Frankfort.

From here I went quietly on to Wurzburg, and thence to Munich,
where I was enchanted with the Hotel des Quatres Saisons. I
enjoyed the winding river, and the Forest of Spessart (the remnant
of the great primeval Hercynian Forest described by Caesar and
Tacitus), the Spessart range of hills wooded to the top, the wild
country with a few villages.

I arrived at Trent, where I found nothing to stay for; so went on
to Verona, Vicenza, Padua, and Venice, and landed at the Hotel
Europa—which I had inhabited long ago, in 1858, when I was a
girl,—in time for table d’hdte. It was fourteen years since I had
seen Venice, and it was like a dream to come back again. It was
all to a hair as I left it, even, I believe, to the artificial flowers on
the table d’hote table. It was just the same, only less gay and
brilliant—it had lost the Austrians and Flenri V.’s Court; and I
was older, and all the friends I knew were dispersed.

My first action was to send telegram and letter to Trieste (which
was only six hours away), to announce my arrival, then the next day
to gondola all over Venice, and to visit all old haunts. Towards
late afternoon I thought it would be only civil to call on my Consul,
374

Trieste — His Fourth and Last Consulate. 37 5

Sir William Perry. Lucky that I did so. After greeting me kindly,
he said something about “ Captain Burton.” I said, “Oh, he is at
Trieste; I am just going to join him.” “ No; he has just left me.”
Seeing that he was rather old, and seemed a little deaf and short¬
sighted, I thought he did not understand, so I explained for the
third time that “I was Mrs. Barton (not Captain Burton), just
arrived from London, on my way to join my husband at Trieste.”
“ I know all that,” he said, rather impatiently; “ you had better
come with me in my gondola. I am going to the ‘ Morocco ’ now—the
ship that will sail for Trieste.” I said, “ Certainly ; ” and, very much
puzzled, got into the gondola, chatted gaily, and went on board.
As soon as I got down into the saloon, lo, and behold, there was
my husband, quietly seated at the table, writing. “ Hallo ! ” he said,
“ what the devil are doing here ? ” So I said, “ Ditto ; ” and we sat
down and began to explain, Sir William looking intensely amused.

I had thought when Richard left me on the 24th October,
that he had sailed straight for Trieste, and he thought I had also
started by land straight for Trieste; so we had gone on writing
and telegraphing to each other at Trieste, neither of us ever receiv¬
ing anything, and Mr. Brock, our dear old Vice-Consul, who had
been there for about forty years, thought what a funny couple he
was going to have to deal with, who kept writing and telegraphing
to each other, evidently knowing nothing of each other’s movements.
Stories never lose anything in the recital, and consequently this one
grew thusly : “ That the Burtons had been wandering separately
all over Europe, amusing themselves, without knowing where each
other were; that they had met quite by accident in the Piazza at
Venice, shaking hands with each other like a pair of brothers who
had met but yesterday, and then walked off to their hotel, sat down
to their writing, as if nothing was the matter.”

The ship was detained for cargo and enabled us to stay several
days in Venice, amusing ourselves, and on the 6th of December,
1872, we crossed over to Trieste in the Cunard s.s. Morocco , Captain
Ferguson, steaming out at 8 a.m., and getting to Trieste at 5.15
p.m. There came on board Mr. Brock, our Vice-Consul, and Mr.
O’Callaghan, our Consular Chaplain. It was remarked “ that Captain
and Mrs. Burton (the new Consul) took up their quarters at the Hotel
de la Ville, he walking along with his game-cock under his arm, and
she with her bull-terrier,” and it was thought that we must be very
funny. We dined at table d'hote , and we did not like the place at all.

When Richard left England I had entrusted him with the care
of two boxes containing all my best clothes, and part of my jewellery,
wherewith to open my Trieste campaign. He contrived to lose them

376 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

on the road (value about ^130), so when I arrived I had nothing
to wear. We wrote and complained, but the Peninsular and Oriental
would give us no redress; and when the boxes-did arrive they were
empty, but had been so cleverly robbed that we had to get the
canvas covers off, before we perceived that they had been opened
by running the pin out of the hinges at the back. I never recovered
anything. The Peninsular laid the blame on Lloyd’s, and Lloyd’s on
the Peninsular, and Richard said, “ Of course I believe them both.”

We stayed for the first six months in the hotel. The chief
Israelitish family, our local Rothschilds, Chief Banker, and afterwards
Director of Austrian-Lloyd’s, Baron Morpurgo, called upon us, and
opened their house to us; and this introduced us to all that was the
best of Trieste, and everybody called. This family have always
deserved to be placed on a pedestal for their princely hospitality,
their enormous charities, and their innate nobleness of nature. They
made Trieste what it was, and every one was glad to be asked to
their house. We made our debut at the marriage of Mr. and Mrs.
Arthur Sassoon. She was the belle of our little society; he was a
British subject; and Richard, being his Consul, had to be sort of
“ best man.” It was very interesting. I had not got used at that
time to telegraphs, and when I saw innumerable telegrams flying
about at the breakfast, I innocently asked if there was any great
political crisis. They laughed, and they said, “Oh no; we only
telegraphed to Madame Froufrou, to tell her how much Louise’s
dress was admired, and she telegraphs back her pleasure at hearing
it,” and so forth. I think in those days telegrams caused more
surprise in England than they did abroad. I shall never forget
the rage of my family the first time I came home from Trieste, who
were thrown into violent palpitations at a telegram from me, which
was only to ask them to send me a big goose for Michaelmas.

The Trieste life was, of course, varied by many journeys and ex¬
cursions ; but we lived absolutely the jolly life of two bachelors, as it
might be an elder and a younger brother. When we wanted to go, we
just turned the key and left. We began our house with six rooms, and
were intensely happy; but after some years I became ambitious, and
I stupidly went on spreading our domain until I ran round the large
block of building, and had got twenty-seven rooms. The joke in
Trieste was that I should eventually build a bridge across to the next
house, and run round that; but as soon as I had just got everything to
perfection, in 1883, Richard took a dislike to it, and we went off to
the most beautiful house in Trieste, where he eventually died, 1890.

Our first thought as soon as we were settled in Trieste was to
scour every part of the country on foot, and we often used to lose
our way, and on the 1st of January, 1873, we were out from 10 a.m.
till 7.50 p.m. in this manner.

Trieste — His Fourth and Last Consulate. 377

When we had been there a little while, Richard took it into
his head to make a pilgrimage to Loretto, and from there we
went on to Rome, seeing twenty-six towns on our way. Here we
made acquaintance with our Ambassador, Sir Augustus, and
clever, beautiful, charming Lady Paget; also we saw much of
Cardinal Howard (who was a connection of mine, and was one of
my favourite dancing partners when he was in the Life Guards,
and I was a girl), and Mgr. Stonor, Archbishop of Trebizond,
between whom and Lady Ashburton we had a delightful time in
Rome.

Richard, who had passed a good de-al of time here in his
boyhood, liked visiting the old places and showing them to me.
It would take three months of high pressure and six quiet
months to see everything in Rome; but during our short stay,
under his guidance, I saw and enjoyed all the principal and best
things, and he amused himself with writing long articles on
Rome, which came out in Macmillan's Magazine , 1874-5. Re¬
ligiously speaking, what I enjoyed most was the Ara Coeli, the
church built on the site of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus
(I wish I knew all the things that have taken place on that
site). The other place was the Scala Santa. His Holiness
Pius IX., unfortunately for me, went to bed ill the day before I
arrived, and got up well the day after I left, so that I did not see
him.

I got Roman fever and took it on to Assisi, Perugia, Cortona, and
to Lake Thrasimene, which is lovely, and to Florence. How flat
and ugly is Roman country, the valley of the Tiber, and the Sabine
Hills, but after an hour and a half express it becomes beautiful. In
Florence we had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of “ Ouida ”
and Lady Orford, who was the Queen of Florence. Thence we
went on to Pistojia and Bologna, thence to Venice, and, after a
while, back to Trieste in a night of terrible gales.

We only stayed here just to change baggage, as Richard was
engaged as reporter to a newspaper for the Great Exhibition of
Vienna. I will only say en passant that the journey from Trieste
to Vienna by express (fifteen hours) is stupendously lovely for
the first six hours, and likewise all round Graz, halfway to Vienna;
and the passage over the Semmering is a dream, at any rate for
the first and second time. We were three weeks at Vienna.
The Exhibition was very fine; the buildings were beautiful; there
were royalties from every Court in the world, so that the mob
could feast their eyes on them thirty at a time—not that a foreign
mob ever stares rudely at royalties.

378 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

We had a very gay time. Whilst we were there we went to the
Viennese Court. There was a great difficulty about Richard, be¬
cause Consuls are not admissible at the Vienna Court; but upon the
Emperor being told this, he said, “ Fancy being obliged to exclude such
a man as Burton because he is a Consul! Has he no other profession?”
And they said, “Yes, your Majesty; he has been in the Army.” So
he said, “Oh, tell him to come as a military man, and not as a Consul.”

In May, 1874, Richard and others made an expedition up the
Schneeberg Mountain, which is always covered with snow. Fie
used to amuse himself by buying any amount of clothes and great¬
coats, which were hanging up in rows, and he always went out
lightly clad to harden himself, so he started off with a little thin
coat and thin shoes, and he did the expedition; and when the
others were housed and warm, he would do more than anybody
else, and sleep out in the snow. We had done that when we were
obliged (as, for instance, in Teneriffe), but this was not obligatory;
it was a very different climate. When he arrived back home it
was a dreadful day, and six o’clock in the morning, and three days
afterwards he was taken very ill quite suddenly; inflammation settled
in the groin, a tumour formed, and he suffered tortures.

The doctor told me that it was going to be a long illness, so I
telegraphed home for good port wine and all sorts of luxuries, and
put two beds on rollers, so as to be able easily to change him from
one to the other, and a couch for myself, so that I might sleep when
he slept. We had seventy-eight days and nights of it. The tumour
had to be cut out, and afterwards it was discovered that the surgeon
had not gone deep enough, and it had to be done again. The
doctor and the surgeon came twice a day, and they taught me to
dress the wound. I was afraid his life would ebb away, but I kept
up his strength with good port wine, egg-flips with brandy, cream
and fresh eggs, Brand’s essences, and something every hour. His
brain was so strong that the doctors had very hard work to get him
under chloroform—it took forty minutes, and two bottles of chloro¬
form ; but when he did go off it was perfect, and on coming to, he
said, “Well, when is it going to begin?” “ It is all over long ago,
Captain Burton,” said the doctor; but in point of fact I had to
keep his attention engaged, as they were just clearing away the
blood and all traces of the operation.

Richard began (though he progressed favourably) to get exceed¬
ingly nervous; he thought he could never live to leave his room, and
to fancy that he could not swallow. I proposed to take him away,
and the doctors told me they would be only too glad if it were
possible to move him. It was the end of July, so I went up to the

Trieste—His Fourth and Last Consulate. 379

rural inn, Op^ina, before mentioned, took a ground-floor suite of
rooms, ordered a carriage with a bed in it, and an invalid chair for
carrying up and down stairs; so when he told me that he thought he
should never get away, I told him that he certainly would, for that I
meant him to go on the morrow. He said it was impossible , that he
never could be conveyed below. However, next morning the men
came with the chair, the carriage was at the door, and he said smiling,
“ Do you know, I am absolutely sweating with funk.” Fancy how
ill that man of iron must have been, who could travel where and as
he had travelled, and yet dreaded going down the stairs for an hour's
journey in a carriage ; but it was the seventy-ninth day of endurance.
I made the men put him gently in the chair, and gave him a glass of
port wine. We had a hundred and twenty steps to go down, and I
made them pause on every landing while I gave him a stimulant,
and then we put him gently in the carriage in a recumbent position
on a bed, and telling the man to walk his horses, I sat by him and
held his hand. After about a quarter of an hour he said, “ I am all
right; tell him to drive on.” We then drove on, and in an hour
reached the inn, where I had men waiting to lift him gently into
bed. He said, “ I feel as if I had made a journey into Central
Africa; but I shall get well now.”

In a couple of days he was breakfasting and basking out in
the garden, and in twelve days I took him on to Padua, where
there was a celebrated old doctor (Pinalli), whom I called in. He
stayed an hour and a half, and overhauled Richard thoroughly.
He said he should go for five days to Battaglia, and that nature and
bicarbonate of soda would do the rest. Then he looked round at
me, who had been on duty night and day two months and a half.
He said, “As for you, you've got gastric fever, and you will go to
Recoaro for four weeks; and you will drink the waters, which are
purgative and iron, take the baths, and have complete rest.” We
drove to Battaglia, which is about seven and a half miles away;
our traces broke, and we spent some time mending them with bits
of string; but I got him there and conveyed him to bed, and here
he bathed and took the waters, which are especially for gout.

We stopped at Padua to see the doctor again, who found us both
perfectly well; got on to Venice and back to Trieste in a shocking
bad steamer.

We now took very much to our life up in the Karso, walking up
without servants, and staying part of the week, and taking immense
long drives or immense long walks over the country, searching
for inscriptions and castellieri\ and of the former we generally took
squeezes. When we first began this we were occasionally invited out

The Life of Sir Rickard Burton.

380

shooting by the family proprietors of the inn ; but we never saw any¬
thing, after miles of walking over stony country, but an occasional
hare, and for our parts, as we were not hungry, we used to fire every¬
where excepting at them, and they generally got off. But one day as
we were going along we asked, “What are we going to shoot to-day ? ”
and so they said, “ Foxes.” So we looked very grave, and we said,
“ But don’t you know that it is against the English religion to shoot
a fox?” And they said, “No, is it?” and we said, “Yes, we must
turn back; ” and so they agreed to sacrifice the day’s shooting if we
would go out with them, and Richard chaffed them, pretending that
he thought that Adam and Eve had been turned out of Paradise for
shooting a fox. (We had just seen it in Punch , where two little
children had just been wondering why Adam and Eve were turned
out of Paradise, and the boy, the son of a sporting parson, said,
“ Perhaps he shot a fox ! ”)

On Sunday, the 15th of November, we lost some friends. Captain
Nevill and his wife, nee Lever, sailed for India, having had an offer
to command the Nizam’s troops in Hyderabad (Deccan), where they
have now been eighteen years, and have risen to a great position
there. I had now (November 20th) finished writing my “ Inner
Life of Syria,” 2 vols., which occupied me sixteen months, and on
Christmas Eve handed my manuscripts over to the publisher. It
came round to end of 1874.

This month Richard went to have some teeth out by gas, but the
gas did not have any effect on him at all. Believing that they were
playing a trick, and that there was no gas in it, it was tried on me,
and I went off directly.

Richard now proposed a thing which disconcerted me consider¬
ably, and that was to send me to England to transact some business
for him, and to bring out books, and I was to start with several
pages of directions, and he would join me later on. I had only been
two years in Trieste, and it made me exceedingly miserable; but
whenever he put his foot down, I had to do it, whether I would
or no.

I left on the 8th, and never stopped till I reached Paris, and next
day went on to Boulogne, arriving in London on the 12th.

In England I was to study up the Iceland sulphur mine affair

with Mr. L-, and then to see an immense lot of publishers for

Richard.

During the two years we had been at Trieste Richard had
occupied himself with writing the “ Lands of the Cazembe,” * and

* “ Lacerda’s Journey to Cazembe in 1798,” Richard translated and annotated,
and “ The Journey of the Pombeiros,” by P. J. Baptista and Amaro Jaso, “ Across

Trieste—His Fourth and Last Consulate . 381

a small pamphlet of supplementary papers for the Royal Geographical
Society, 1873; the “ Captivity of Hans Stadt,” for the Hakluyt,
1874; articles on “Rome” (two papers, Macmillaris Magazine ,
1874-5); the poem of “ Uruguay,” which has never been published ;
and “ Volcanic Eruptions of Iceland ” for the Royal Society of
Edinburgh; the “ Castellieri of Istria,” Anthropological Society,
1874; a “ New System of Sword Exercise,” a manual, 1875 ; “ Ultima
Thule;” “A Summer in Iceland” (2 vols., 1875), which though
written had not appeared; “ Gorilla Land; or, the Cataracts of the
Congo ” (2 vols., 1875). Also we had been to Bologna for the express
purpose of exploring all the Etruscan remains, and he had produced
two volumes of “ Etruscan Bologna;” “ The Long Wall of Salona,
and the Ruined Cities of Pharia and Gelsa di Lesina,” a pamphlet,
Anthropological Society, 1875; “The Port of Trieste, Ancient and
Modern ” ( Journal of the Society of Arts, October 29th and November
5th, 1875); and Gerber’s “ Province of Minas Geraes,” translated and
annotated by him for the Royal Geographical Society; and a fresh
paper for the Anthropological on “ Human Remains and other
Articles from Iceland.” So that my charge was the bringing out of
three books, and the “ Manual of Sword Exercise.” This last, when
he arrived, he took himself to his Royal Highness the Duke of
Cambridge, who desired him to show him several of the positions of
defence he most liked, and a system of vianchette , with which he
appeared particularly pleased, and Richard returned enchanted with
his interview. Richard criticizes the English system of broadsword,
which, he says, is the worst in the world. With this pamphlet he
has done, for broadsword exercise, what a score of years ago he did
for bayonet exercise, and he was confident that the Horse Guards will
eventually adopt it. The last revised English edition, by MacLaren,
at that time dated half a century before. A thousand writers have
been at this subject for three hundred and fifty years, and yet Richard
found lots of new things to say about it.

One of our most intimate friends was General Charles Gordon—
“ Chinese Gordon ” of Khartoum sad memory. The likeness between
these two men, Richard Burton and Charles Gordon, was immense.
The tw'o men stood out in this nineteenth century as a sort of pendant,
and the sad fate of both is equal, as far as Government goes.
One abandoned and forgotten in the desert, the other in a small
foreign seaport; both men equally honoured by their country, and
standing on pedestals that will never be thrown down—uncrowned

Africa from Angola to Tette on the Zambesi,” translated by B. A. Beadle, and
a resume of the “Journey of MM. Monteiro and Gamitto,” by Dr. C. T. Beke,
published by the R.G.S. (London, John Murray, 1873).

382 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

kings both. This difference there was between them—Charles
Gordon spoke out all that Richard laboured to conceal. He used to
come and sit on our hearthrug before the fire in the long winter even¬
ings, and it was very pleasant to hear them talk. Gordon had the
habit of saying, “ There are only two men in the world who could do
such or such a thing; I am one, and you are the other.” After he
became Governor of the Soudan, he wrote to my husband as follows:—

“ You and I are the only two men fit to govern the Soudan ; if one
dies, the other will be left. I will keep the Soudan, you take Darfur;
and I will give you ^5000 a year if you will throw up Trieste.”

Richard wrote back :—

“ My Dear Gordon,

“ You and I are too much alike. I could not serve under
you, nor you under me. I do not look upon the Soudan as a lasting
thing. I have nothing to depend upon but my salary, and I have a
wife, and you have not.”

On the 1 st of March, 1875, there was a paragraph in the Scotsman ,
speaking of Richard’s death, and of me as a widow, which gave me
a few very unhappy hours. I telegraphed to Trieste at once, packed
and prepared money to start; but I got a telegram as soon as a return
could be, saying, “ I am eating a very good dinner at table d'hote .”

On the 5th of May I went to the Drawing-room, and on the 12th
of May Richard arrived himself, and we did a great deal of visiting
and a great deal of Society in the evening.

This year Richard established his “ Divans.” They were to be
every other Sunday—only men. They were to drop in after dinner,
or opera, or club. We were ready at half-past nine. We had mild
refreshments, brandies and sodas, various drinks, smoking and talk,
and he made me preside, but he would not allow me to invite other
women ; he said it would spoil the Divan character of the thing.
Our first was on the 23rd of May.

Backed by about thirty of his most influential friends and names
that carry weight, I did all I could to get Richard made a K.C.B., but
it fell through. Lord Clarendon had told me in 1869 that he thought
me very unreasonable, and that if he had one to give away, there
were many people that he would rather give it to than Richard. I
told him I thought that no one had earned it half so well, and that it
was awfully unkind; but this is the paper that I circulated through Sir
Roderick Murchison in 1869, now in 1875, and again through
another source in 1878. I was backed by any amount of influence
each time. Also I got them to ask that he should either return to
Damascus or be moved to Marocco or Cairo, Tunis or Teheran.

Trieste—His Fourth and Last Consulate. 383

When the press unanimously took up the cause of his K.C.B.-
ship, and complained that the Government did not give him his
proper place in official life, he wrote the following :—

“The Press are calling me ‘the neglected Englishman,’ and I
want to express to them the feelings of pride and gratitude with
which I have seen the exertions of my brethren of the Press to
procure for me a tardy justice. The public is a fountain of honour
which amply suffices all my aspirations; it is the more honourable as
it will not allow a long career to be ignored for reasons of catechism
or creed. With a general voice so loud and so unanimous in my
favour, I can amply console myself for the absence of what the
world calls ‘ honours,’ which I have long done passing well without;
nor should I repine at a fate which I share with England’s most
memorable men, and most honourable, to go no further than
Gordon and Thackeray. It certainly is a sad sight to see perfectly
private considerations and petty bias prevail against the claims
of public service, and let us only hope for better things in future
days.”

It has been an oft-told tale, but it is a true one, that Richard
went to the Zoological Gardens one Sunday, and he asked for
a glass of beer. The girl was going to give it him, when she
changed her mind, and then she said, “ Now, are you really a
bona-fide traveller?” “Well,” he said, “I think I am.” Then she
thought he was taking her in, and she would not give it him.
The others laughed and told her who he was; still she would not
let him have it.

Richard lectured at the Numismatic, the Royal Geographical, the
Anthropological, and several other societies, and we were invited
to attend on the Sultan of Zanzibar at the Duchess of Sutherland’s,
mother of the present Duke, and his Crystal Palace party. The
members of the Urban Club gave Richard a dinner and welcome
on the 15th of June at St. John’s Gate, Clerkenwell. We also had
a very pleasant dinner at Mr. Edmund Yates’, where we met Wilkie
Collins and others, and had some very pleasant literary parties at
the Brinsley Sheridans’, and Mr Dicey’s. At Lady Derby’s we
were presented to the Queen of Holland. Her Majesty took a
great deal of notice of Richard and me at Lady Salisbury’s, and at
Lady Egerton of Tatton’s, and also at Lady Holland’s, and ex¬
pressed a wish to have his last book, which I had the pleasure of
leaving with her secretary.

384 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

On the 4th of December Richard notes a never-to-be-forgotten day
—so dark, foggy, deep snow, and a red, lurid light. All the gas and
candles had to be lit at nine o’clock in the morning. London was
like a Dante’s snow hell; the squares were like a Christmas tree. It
was as dark as if some great national crime was being committed.
A large family party accompanied us to the Pavilion at Folkestone
to see us off, and there Carlo Pellegrini joined us. He was staying
there for his health, and painting a little. Andrew Wilson, of the
“ Abode of Snow,” also joined us, and travelled with us for a week.
The snow was eight feet deep. We were joined by several surround¬
ing relations, living at short distances from there. The Dover train
stuck in the snow from six till twelve at night. The boat did not
cross; the night train did not come in. It was blowing great guns
at sea. On the 7th it was something better, and two sledges took us
to the station. We landed with great difficulty on the French side.
We always lingered at Boulogne whenever we got there. We used
to go and see Constantin (Richard’s old fencing-master), all the old
haunts, the Ramparts where we first met. Caroline, the Queen of
the Poissardes, who received us cl bras ouverts , talked of old times
when we were young people, and reminded me of a promise which
was then very unlikely, that if ever I should go to Jerusalem I should
bring her a rosary, and I was now able to fulfil it. We went on to
Paris. We did not care for Rossi’s Hainlet, after Mr. Henry Irving’s
in London and Salvini’s in Italy. I never can see any smartness
in a Paris theatre; the scenery is so bad, the dresses so flashy
and tinsel, no appliances for effect. I suppose in old days it was
different, as so many people raved about it. The acting and the
wit I can appreciate. We left Paris on the 16th, to my great delight
—I believe I am the only woman who hates Paris—and dined next
night at Turin with Cristoforo Negri and family, the head of the
Geographical Society of Italy, and Signor Cora and wife, the editor
of the most influential paper; and then we went on to Milan, where
we always begin to consider ourselves at home on our own ground.

We arrived in Venice on a dark, sad, silent night, when the plash
of the gondola has a sad music of its own. We got to our home
at Trieste on Christmas eve, and having accepted a Christmas
dinner, gave all the servants leave to go out and see their friends;
but Richard got seedy on Christmas Day and he went to bed.
I had nothing in the house but bread and olives, and ate my
Christmas dinner by his bed. How happy we were ! What would
I give for bread and olives now, and to sit by him again!

CHAPTER XXI.

INDIA.

We embarked at once for India. Baron D’Alber, my husband’s
best friend, the local Minister of Finance in Trieste, and the Captain
of the Port, came in the Government boat to take us to the Austrian-
Lloyd’s Calypso , Captain Bogojevich. H.R.H. the Duke of Wurtem-
burg, who was our Commander-in-Chief, so distinguished in the
Bosnian campaign ; Baron Pascotini, a kind, clever, philanthropic old
gentleman of eighty-four, and all the great people, came to see us off,
to do honour to Richard. How touched we were at so much kindness!
We steamed down the Adriatic with a fresh breeze. The day after,
Richard began to dictate to me the biography which forms the
beginning of this book. We read the life of Moore and the “ Veiled
Prophet of Khorass^n,” called by Moore Mokanna, whose real name
was Hassan-Sabah, or Hassan es Sayyah. When we got to Zante it
blew very hard. Our chairs were lashed on deck, and we read daily
“ Lalla Rookh,” the “ Light of the Haram,” and Smollett’s “ Adven¬
tures of Roderick Random ” and “ Memoirs of a Lady of Quality.”
At Port Sdid, which is a sort of an Egyptian Wapping, we ran over
the sands to see an Arab village. We met a lot of old friends,
Consul and Mrs. Perceval, Mr. Buckley, F.O., Colonel Stoker,
Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Cave, and the grand old Baron de Lesseps,
and Salih Beg, Mr. Royal, Mr. Webster, Mr. Fowler, and other
gentlemen at dinner at the Consulate. We much enjoyed the Canal,
seeing once more an Eastern sunrise over the desert, but it made
us sad contrasting our old days with our present. We had a glorious
moonlight, blue sky, clear green water, cool balmy air, golden sands
to the very horizon, troops of Bedawi camels and goats. It is a
wild and dangerous track.

We had the north-east monsoon dead against us the whole way
after going out of the Canal, which made the ship pretty lively. In
the Red Sea there is much to be seen for those who know the coasts,
and my husband pointed out the far-off sites of his old Meccan

386 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

journey, and the land of Midian and Akabeh, which would be a future
journey. On the thirteenth day we serpentined through twenty miles
of mostly hidden reefs and slabs to Jeddah, the Port of Mecca,
which can only be done in broad daylight, one ship at a time, and
no lighthouses. We collided with an English ironclad ship, which
did us considerable damage, so we had to remain some time, before
we were repaired, and our pilgrims continued to arrive from Mecca,
as we were a pilgrim-ship about to carry eight or nine hundred to
Bombay.

To the far east we had a gladdening glimpse of the desert, the wild
waterless wilderness of Sur on the Asiatic side, which looks like snow
under the moonlight. I have not enjoyed myself so much with
Nature for four and a half years as now, once more smelling the
desert air and the usual Eastern scenes.

Richard and I went to the khan, where he lived as one of these
very pilgrims in 1853, and stood under the Minaret he sketched in
his book, to hear the “ call to prayer.”

I was very pleased to see that all regarded him with great favour,
and though the whole story was known, the Governor and every¬
body else called upon him and were extremely civil. Nearly every
day we rode out Meccawards; it had a great attraction for Richard.
The great hospitality shown us, the unbounded kindness of our own
countrymen, the courteousness of the Turkish Authorities, and the
civility of the fanatical Jeddawis will never be forgotten. We left
in a Sambuk in furious southerly squalls to join our ship, anchored
at least six miles away. This is the large, flat native boat, with big
sail that can go close to the wind without upsetting. We found eight
hundred pilgrims on board, packed like herrings.

Arrived in Bombay, Richard took me to see all the scenes described
in the beginning of this book in the early part of his life, and he
said, “ It is a curious thing, that although I hated them when I was
obliged to live here, now that I am not obliged I can look back
upon these scenes with a certain amount of affection and interest,
although I would not live here again for anything. The old recol¬
lection makes me sad and melancholy.” We were under very
happy auspices there, because Mr. Frederick Foster Arbuthnot, who
now lives at 18, Park Lane, had been a friend of Richard’s for
many, many years, and mine too; he was " Collector ” at Bombay,
and occupied a great position, so that he used to take us out every¬
where in his four-in-hand or in his boats, and we saw everything
all over Bombay and its environs, which, though familiar to Richard,
was entirely new to me, and we were also introduced to all the
Society.

India .

Sind.

Now the Sind expedition came off. First, Bassein Ddmdn, Surat,
the first English factory in India, with the tombs of Vaux and Tom
Coryat; then Diu, a Head and Fort, Ja’afardbid, the ruins of Soma-
n£th, the home of the famous Gates; the Dwirika Pagoda, Kachh
(Cutch), Mandavi, and the Indus mouths. We called upon the
village Chiefs ; we chatted with the villagers ; we learnt much about
the country, and we taught the country something about ourselves.
Gujarat was the next place—Kdthiaw^r and Junagarh, better known
as Gfrnar. And then to Manhora, where the British arms first showed
the vaunting Sindi and the blustering Beloch what the British lion
can do when disposed to be carnivorous, and thence to Karachi
town. There we visited every part of the Unhappy Valley, and
particularly the Belochis of the hills (with whom Richard had so
much to do when under Sir Walter Scott). He writes indignantly
about the way Mirza Ali Akbar Kahn Bahadur was treated by the
Government, being removed from the service, and his pension
refused in 1847—it is said to annoy Sir Charles Napier, Richard’s
Chief.

Everywhere he goes (as he recounts in “Sind Revisited,” which he
wrote from our journal on return) he visits the old scenes of his former
life, saluting them, letting the changes sink into his mind, and taking
an everlasting farewell of them. He was very apt to do this in places
where he had lived. He notices the ruin of the Indian army—the
great difference between his time and now. He said, “ Were I a
woman, I would have sat down and had a good cry.” There was only
one of his joyous crew still breathing. The buildings had grown magni¬
ficent, but everything else had changed for the worse; the old hospi¬
tality was gone; there was no more jollity, no more larking boys;
everything so painfully respectable, and so degenerated. He went to
visit the old alligator tanks, where they used to go and worry them with
their bull-terriers, and the boys used to jump on them and ride them.
“No such skylarking now,” he remarked. Then he waxes sentimental
at the place where he had a serious flirtation with a Persian girl.
There is the shop where he used to write with phosphorus on the
wall. He had three shops in Karachi, where he appeared in different
disguises, and was considered a saint when he was so disguised and
appeared in such or such a character. Then we went back to Baroda,
where he was quartered so long, and to see the Goanese church,
to which he transferred himself in 1843, an d t0 Gharra, where he
had to live so miserably.

3 88

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

We go to Sundan, to Jarak, to the Phuleli river, where he
spent some time in his early days with a moonshee , and make a
pilgrimage to the Indus river, and eventually to Hyderabad (Sind)
and to Kotri the Fort, where, as he says, for the sake of “auld
lang syne,” he visits every place to right and left on his way, even
the Agency and the old road. He says the changes take away his
breath.

We go on from Hyderabad to Sakhar and Shikarpur, but
first he recognizes the old artillery lines, the billiard-room, and
John Jacob’s house built on a graveyard, and then goes to the
Tombs of the Kings at Kalhora and Talpur, which are very
like those of Golconda (Jaypur marble, which the Rajput artists
seem to handle like wax). The flutings of the open work
are delicate in the extreme, and the general effect is a lacery
of stone. We then visit New Hyderabad, and he is surprised
at all the new buildings. He is very much distressed at the
state of the Army; the Beloch element has gone out, and the
Pathan, or Afghan, is taking its place. The men are no longer
what they were, and the military authorities have only to thank
their own folly.

He dives into the Eastern mind, and shows you that the
moment you begin to intrigue with an Oriental, he has you on
his own ground, he beats you with your own weapons, and that
the only way that you have the Oriental at your mercy is by
being perfectly straightforward and honest. He shows you what
value they set on good manners. Then we visit the field of
Meanee. He describes the brisk way that Sir Charles Napier
fought—a fierce me lie, no quarter asked or given. He said
the way to fight an Indian battle is to shake the enemy’s
line with a hot fire of artillery, charge home with infantry, and
when a slight hesitation begins, to throw all your cavalry at the
opposing ranks, and the battle is ended. Such was the battle
of Meanee, when our 2800 thrashed 22,000 men. He greatly
blames the yielding up of Afghanistan. Then we go to Husri,
where, in old days, he surveyed and amused himself with cock-
fighting—the scene of the death of “ Bhujang,” his favourite cock
—and from thence to Sudderan Column, from whence he visited
Mir Ibrahim Khan Talpur’s village; and then he goes on to the
“ Jats” country (the Gypsies), with whom he affiliated himself, and
where he worked with the camel-men, levelling canals in the old
days. Then we go on to Badha and Unarpur, Lakffi, and Sibt,
wells in the desert, and here he translated the tale of Biri and
Isa (Jesus).

India .

3 8 9

Leaving Unarpur, we pass out of the Unhappy Valley into
Sindia Felix, beginning at Gopang, Majhand, Sann, and Amiri, and
here in 1876 rails have been laid and trollies were working. Thence
we go to Lakkf, where he composed the poem on the “ Legends of
the Lakkf Hills,” and then to Sehwan. The road was a precipitous
corniche , very narrow, with camels marching in Indian file. Sehwan
is an important military and religious place, commanding the passage
of the Indus, but intensely hot, with deleterious and deadly climate.
This was the place where Richard in old days buried an old
Athenaeum sauce-pot, which he had painted like an Etruscan vase.
He treated it with fire and acid, smashed it, and buried it in the
ground, and took in a lot of antiquaries, who never forgave him;
and when he was travelling in the land of the Turanian Brahuis, he
drew up a grammar and a vocabulary, with barbaric terminations,
and the Presidency rang for nine days with the wondrous discovery.
That was in his boyhood, and he writes, “ I now repent me in sack¬
cloth and ashes, and my trembling hand indites ‘ Mea culpa , mea
maxima culpal ”

We then go along the Aral stream for two days to Lake Man-
char, and visit the Kirthar Mountains, with their two sanitaria,
Char Yarn and the Danna Towers. Then to Larkana, an Eastern
influent of the Indus—eight stages. Larkana is the centre of
Sindia Felix. We go to Sakhar, to Bakar, and lastly to Rohri, and
then make our way to Shikarpur across a kind of desert, south of
the Bolan Pass, and which is the main entrepot of the Khorasan and
Central Asian caravan trade with Sind and Western India, where, as
usual, he visited everything and found the usual changes.

Then we came to Hyderabad, and he discusses the Indus Valley
Railway. He finds it silly that the Government continued to march
its troops between Karachi and Kotri in ten days, including a single
halt, rather than take the rail for four or five hours; expensive
economy, he remarks, as the baggage camels cost far more than a
few additional cars.

He says that we have improved the climate of the Indus Valley;
we have learned to subdue its wildness by the increased comforts
of a more civilized life. Many abuses of the olden time have
disappeared; formerly, it was a feat to live five years in Indus-land,
but now you find men who have weathered their twenty years.

We then went up to Matheran, the most easily got at hill-
station, or sanitarium, passing through the villages Byculla, Chin-
choogly, Parell, Dadur, Sion, Coorla, Bhandoop, Tannah, and
Derwa. Tannah is a big village, an unhealthy-looking place, with
two crumbling forts in the river. Long, long ago there were five

390 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

thousand velvet weavers here. They also used to cure large quantities
of bacon. In the thirteenth century four friars went to dispute with
the Moslem Kadi, and told him Mohammed was in hell with his
father the Devil, on which he executed them with such tortures that
his own King banished him, and the Portuguese took signal revenge.
Our third halt was Kalyan junction. This poor village port was, in
a . d . 200, the far-famed Kallienapolis, which shipped dry goods and
precious woods to the outer west. We are also now on classic
ground, near the northern extremity of the Shurparaka, or winnow¬
shaped region, the Greek Limyrica, where some have placed Ophir
of Solomon. The Konkan lowland is like the Arabian desert, tawny,
not with sand, but black patched with fire. Here we turn down
towards Madras, joining the Calcutta Railway, and pass Budapoor.
We catch the Deccan hot winds, and alight at Narel, a little Maharatta
village at the eastern base of Matheran, which will be noted after¬
wards as the birthplace of the infamous Nana Sahib.

Here we mount ponies. We had to climb up four plateaux, and
we arrived at the Alexandra Hotel, Mdtherdn, a very comfortable
bungalow.

I think I said to leave Mitherdn one has to get back to Narel. The
railway makes a tour like a V. We came down one side, and we go
up the other to Lanauli. On our road down from Mdtheran we
passed a procession of Bnnjaris for about two miles. This wild tribe
intermarry only amongst themselves, and have their own laws. They
are a strong race ; men, women, and children are good looking. They
grow their own corn, have their own bullocks, spin their own sacks,
and have huge dogs for guard. They dress picturesquely, and are
very defiant. The women carry the babies in a basket on their heads.
They have been described, as have also the Nats, as being one with
the Gypsies, to whom they bear some resemblance; but it is a mistake.
My husband made up his mind on this point whilst he was working
with the camel-men, and lived with the “ Jats ” in India, in his early
days. He said the Romany are an Indine people from the great
valley of the Indus.

We passed another overhanging rock covered with monkeys, some
as big as a man, and some of a small species; they do not associate
or intermarry. There are two Maharatta forts in this part of the
world, on the way to Lanauli, called Rao Machi, the scene of one
of our great fights in 1846. The conductor on our brake had been a
soldier fighting in it, and gave my husband, who was at that time on
Sir Charles Napier’s staff in Sind, a spirited account of it.

With the English mistaken notion of clemency, that always scotches
its snake, but is too generous or holds it too much in contempt to

India.

391

kill it, and lets it run about to sting ad libitum, instead of being hanged
Bajee Rao was pensioned with 80,000 rupees a year, and retired to
Bithoor on the Ganges, where he rewarded British clemency by
adopting a child born in the village of Narel, at the foot of Matheran,
who lived to be the infamous Nana Sahib, the same that afterwards
tortured and killed so many of our people.

To get to Poonah the way is through the Indrauni River valley,
through the station of Kurkulla, Tulligaum, Chinchwud, and Kirkee,
a large European military station and very pretty. We eventually
reached Poonah, the scene of all the Peshwa intrigues against the
English, and our great battles with the Maharattas. Their dynasty
lasted over seventy years, but Bajee Rio and his successors might
always have been there, if they had not quarrelled with the English.
This was in Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone’s time, with whom at that
time was Grant Duff, the historian. The great names connected with
that period and business were Sir Arthur Wellesley (Wellington),General
Sir Harry Smith, Lieut.-Colonel Burr, Captains Ford and Staunton,
General Pritzler, Sir Thomas Munro, and Colonel Prother. We went
to Parbati, the Maharattas’ chief palace and stronghold, from which
the last Peshwa, Bajee Rao, who sat on the rocky brow, saw his troops
defeated by the English on the plain, fled on horseback down the
other side, and was hunted about the country for months, till he gave
himself up to Sir John Malcolm.

There are three pagodas in Bajee Rdo’s palace, dedicated to
Vishnu, Shiva, and Wittoba, and one small temple particularly to
Kalee or Bhowanee, wife of Shiva, and patroness of the Thugs.
Being sunset, the wild, mournful, bizarre sound of tomtom, kettle,
cymbal, and reed suddenly struck up. We shut our eyes, and fancied
ourselves in camp again in the desert, wild sword-dances being per¬
formed by the Arabs.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE DECCAN.

“ His fine wit'

Makes such a wound the knife is lost in it;

A strain too learned for a shallow age,

Too wise for selfish bigots. Let his page,

Which charms the chosen spirits of the time,

Fold itself up for a serener clime
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation.”

Shelley.

Now came the journey that pleased us most of all; it was as new to
Richard as it was to me—to Hyderabad in the Deccan. We passed
Soonee, Oroolee, Kheirgaum, Patus, Dhond, Deeksal, Bheegwan,
Poomulwaree, Schwoor, Keim, Barsee - Road, Marheh, Unger,
Mohol, Packney, Sholapoor, Haodgee, Kurrubgaum, Doodneh,
Goodoor, Goolburga, and then Shdhabdd. I give the names of the
stations because it shows a reader on the map, or reminds one who
knows India, what country we passed through.

Here we changed the Great Indian Peninsular for the Nizam’s
State Railway. After this we passed through Wadi Junction, and seven
stations more—Chitapore, Seram, Hepore, Tandur, Dharur, Illam-
pallee, Pattapore, Singampallee, into Hyderabad. Shdhabdd, a large
and very pretty station, was our last before entering the Nizam’s
territory and railway. The change impressed us in favour of the
Nizam’s government Ours looked so poor and taxed, the Nizam’s
comfortable and prosperous, and so we thought throughout all the
parts of India we visited. In English Society people say, “ Nonsense !
India poor? Why, it was never richer ! ”

The cream of all was going to Golconda—a most interesting place,
which in 1876 no European had ever been permitted to enter, and
as Sir Salar Jung and the Nizam himself had never done so, we
could not ask or hope for such a favour. We supposed that this
great event happened when the Nizam came of age.

We dismounted and remained there for a long time, inspecting
everything outside the walls. The prevailing style of the Golconda
tomb is a dome standing upon a square; the cupola of a steeple is
of the orange shape, and is arabesqued. The finials are of silver;

39 a

The Deccan .

393

they are single-storied and double-storied; some have floriated
crenelles like spear-heads, and balustraded balconies. The lower
portions are arcades of pointed arches, resting on a terrace of cut
stone, ascended by four flights of steps. The colours are white,
picked out with green ; each has its little mosque flanked by minarets.
We were very sorry when it was time to leave the Tombs of the
Kings. It is a high and healthy site ; the wind is strong and cold.
A sanitarium would do well there, and we wished that picnickers from
the European services would have the grace to erect a travellers’
bungalow, and cease to desecrate poor Thana Shah’s tomb.

The tombs are the prettiest toys in the world; the material is the
waxlike Jaypur marble. They look as if carved in ivory, some
Giant’s Dieppe, ready to be placed under a glass case; the fretted
and open work is lovely lacery in stone, and the sharp shadows of
the dark green trees set off their snowy whiteness.

Golconda is the first and the most famous of the six independent
Moslem kingdoms, which, in a.d. 1399, rose on the extinction of the
Toghlak Delhi dynasty, and it survived till 1688, when Aurungzeb
brought all India under one sceptre. In it is the state prison in
which the sons of the Nizam used to be confined. We found all
the works which we had read upon it very unsatisfying, but we read
the “French in India” (London, Longmans, 1868) with pleasure
and profit. The four white domes denote the Tombs of the Kings,
are visible from most parts of Hyderabad, and form the main body
of a line here scattered, there grouped, which begins immediately
beyond the faubourgs, and runs up the left side of the river valley.

Our last recollections of Hyderabad are brilliant. Sir Salar Jung
gave a magnificent evening fete , which was like a scene in the
“ Arabian Nights.” One of the large courts of the palace is a quad¬
rangle, the centre of which is occupied by a huge basin of water as
big as a small lake full of fountains. The salhmliks all open out
into it with flights of marble stairs. The starlight was above us,
and a blaze of wax lights and chandeliers lit up every hall, and
coloured lamps and flowers spangled the whole centre. The
company consisted of the Nizam’s Court and Ministers, and about
thirty-six picked Europeans. It began by a Nach ; then a beautiful
dinner of about fifty-six covers was served in the principal salamlik
by retainers in wild picturesque costumes. The band played; we
afterwards walked about and conversed, and were presented with
attar of roses. We were very sorry to be obliged to leave before
we could accept an invitation from the Nizam’s 3rd Lancers to
witness their Holee Tamasha in their lines at Assuf Nagur, which

394 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

answers very much to our Carnival, but the day after this we were
bound to go to Secunderabad, a prosperous European station with
three regiments, which, however, is not the least interesting.

Goa.

As soon as we arrived in Bombay we caught the “ British Indian
steamer” going down south, coasting along. They are middle-
sized steamers, beautifully clean, good table, excellent wine, airy
cabins, great civility, and fairly steady ships—which they have need
to be in such a sea as is often on. The fares are extravagantly
dear—^£io for a thirty-six hours’ passage; but there is no oppo¬
sition.

Richard had always such ready, sparkling wit, and it was never
offensive nor hurtful. One day, as we were on board a ship, going
to a rather uncivilized place, a Catholic Archbishop, and a Bishop
with a Catholic party, stepped on board. My husband whispered,
“ Introduce me.” I did so, and they became very friendly, and
sat down to chat. The Archbishop was a very clever man, but
no match for Richard. My husband began to chaff, and said,
“My wife is the Jesuit of the family.” “What a capital thing
for you! ” answered the Archbishop. Presently some apes were
jumping about the rigging, so the Archbishop looked up and said
playfully, “ Well, Captain Burton, there are some of your ancestors.”
Richard was delighted; he pulled his moustache quietly, looking
very amused and a little shy and apologetic, and said with that cool
drawl of his, “ Well, my lord, I at least have made a little progress,
but—what about your lordship, who is descended from the angels?”
The Archbishop roared; he was delighted with the retort, and
treasures it up as a good story till this day.

Arrived opposite Goa, we were cast adrift in the open sea, as is
usual, on account of an unbuoyed and doubtful shoal, and we had
eight miles to row before we could reach Goa. You may imagine
what that means in a storm. The mail agents must do this, mon¬
soon weather as well, once a fortnight all the year through, and the
return ships are in the dead of the night, besides living in a foetid
hole, where they get none of the comforts of life, and never see a soul.

The Portuguese manage to make every place look like Lisbon;
actually the features of the country grow the same. There is the
same abrupt entrance to the sea between mountainous cliffs, up a
broad winding river or sea arm, with wooded rising banks, with the
same white town perched on its banks, a perfect Santos in Brazil,
which is 24 0 south of the Equator. We rowed a mile and a half of
open sea, five miles of bay, and one and a half of winding river,,
to a little stone pier landing at Panjim (New Goa).

The Deccan.

395

In Panjim are the barest necessaries of life ; there is no inn,
no travellers 7 bungalow, no tents, and you must sleep in your
filthy open boat and have fever. Kind-hearted Samaritans (Mr.
and Mrs. Major) gave us their only small spare room and spare
single bed. I had, luckily, one of those large straw Pondicherry
reclining chairs and a rug, so we took the bed in turns, night
about, the other in the chair. It is the worst climate we were
ever in, and we know pretty bad ones.

Richard had to revisit old scenes, and I had my work to do
amongst the old Portuguese manuscripts at Old Goa. This must
have been once a very extensive City, and you are deluded by its
magnificent appearance, until you find yourself wandering in utter
desolation in a City of the Dead, amongst Churches and old
Monasteries; the very rustling of the trees, the murmur of the waves,
sounded like a dirge for the departed grandeur of the City. The
Church and House of the Bom Jesus belonged to the Society of
Jesus, was dedicated to Xavier, and given to the Jesuits in 1584,
till they were expelled in 1761, when it was given to the Lazarists.
The Jesuits were the first to pioneer civilization to all lands, to choose
healthy sites, to build tanks, to teach the people, and how badly
they have been rewarded! Here the new Governors are invested,
and here they are buried if they die during the term of office.

The body of St. Francis Xavier is in a magnificently carved silver
sarcophagus placed on a splendid base of black marble. On the
sarcophagus are beautifully cast alto-relievi, representing the various
acts of his life and death, all surmounted by a gold and silver top.
The actual body of the saint is inside, in a gold shell, and is shown
to the people once in a century on the 3rd of December. The last
time was in 1878; the body was found in its normal state of fresh¬
ness. There is a real old portrait of him in oils outside his chapel,
done in 1552. A print found in rags in a convent dusthole is
so like it, that I put it together, brought it home, and had it
copied.

We used always to leave our vehicle here, and have the pony
taken out and fed, watered, and rested, whilst we scrambled all the
day over the hills, looking at the different remnants of Churches and
Monasteries.

At last the time came round for us to leave Goa. The steamers
are due once a fortnight, but this one was long past her time. At
last we had a telegram to say, “ The steamer would pass Goa at
midnight.” We started in a large open boat in the evening with
Mr. Major, his secretary, four men to row and one to steer. We
rowed down the river in the evening, and then across the bay for

396 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

three hours against wind and tide to open sea, bow on to heavy
rollers, and at last reached the mouth of the bay, where is the fort.
We remained bobbing about in the sea, in the trough of the big
waves, for a considerable time. A violent storm of rain, thunder,
and lightning came on, and Mr. Major proposed we should put
back to the fort, at the entrance of the bay, and take shelter under
some arches, which we did. Then we went to sleep, leaving the
secretary and the boatwala to watch for the steamer.

At 1.30 I was awoke by the sound of a gun booming across the water.
I sprang up and roused the others; but the storm was so heavy we
could see no lights, and returned to sleep. We ought to have gone
off when the gun fired; the ship had been laying to for us for three-
quarters of an hour. If the ship went without us, we should have
lost our passage to Europe, we should have been caught in the
monsoon, we should have had to return another fortnight to Goa, of
which we were heartily tired, and knew by heart, only to renew the
same a fortnight hence. We were soon under way again, and by-
and-by saw the lights of the steamer about three miles off. Know¬
ing the independence of these captains, the monopoly, and the
futility of complaints, and seeing that my husband and Mr. Major
slept, I began to be very disagreeable with the boat-hook. I got the
secretary to stand in the bows and wave a lamp on a pole. I urged
the boatwdlas with perpetual promises of bakshish. Everybody else
was leaving it to Kismet. Our kind host had been holloaing at the
boativalas the whole evening because the boat was dirty, and making
them bale out the horrid-smelling bilge water, and now we wanted
him, he was sound asleep and as good as gold. “ Can’t you shout ? **
I cried to him; “ they might hear you. You can shout loud enough
when nobody wants you to.” At last, after an hour’s anxiety, we
reached the ship, and heavy seas kept washing us away from the ladder.
No one had the energy to hold on to the rope, or to take the boat¬
hook to keep us to her, so at last I did it myself; my husband roar¬
ing with laughter at their supineness, and at me making myself so
disagreeably officious and energetic. An English sailor threw me a
rope. “ Thanks,” I said, as I took advantage of an enormous wave
to spring on to the ladder. “ I am the only man in the boat
to-night.” All came on board with us, and we had a parting
stirrup-cup, and said farewell, and often after, our good host and his
wife used to write to me, and call me the “ only man in the boat.”

We had been six months in India, and had made the most of it,
and the day of departure came round. We were glad and sorry—
glad to leave the intolerable heat, to escape the coming monsoon;
sorry to leave the ever-increasing interest and the daily accumulating
friends.

The Deccan.

397

After a very pleasant time, albeit very rough weather, Richard
and I left the ship at Suez, and were soon surrounded by a little
band of Richard’s old friends of Mecca days.

After stopping some time at Cairo, Alexandria, and Ramleh, we
embarked for Trieste on another Lloyd’s, which carried Jamrach and
his menagerie. During our stay in Cairo, we saw a great deal of poor
Marquis de Compiegne (afterwards shot in a duel), Dr Schweinfiirtb,
and Marietta Bey and the Bulak Museum ; poor John Wallis, legal
Consul, once editor of the Tablet; Baron de Kremer, our old Austrian
colleague at Damascus, afterwards Minister of Finance at Vienna
(now dead). We found the voyage very cold, even in July, after
India. We first went to Candia, passing Gavdo, Cape Spaltra, the
two islands Cerigotto and Cerigo.

We glide by Cape Matapan on the Greek coast. We passed
Cabrera and Sapienza. We leave the lighthouse on Strophades to
the left, and reach Zante, which is a lovely island, with a large
picturesque town, and where mareschino is made. We run between
Cephalonia and Ithaca (of Ulysses); then we change the Greek coast
for Acarnania, and pass Santa Maura, or Leucadia, with “ Sappho’s
Leap.” We changed then to the Albanian coast, gloriously green to
the water’s edge, with cliff and cave, with the Cimariote hills, and
its wild people and their lawless legends behind them. We passed
two islands, Anti Paxo and Paxo, to Corfu. After we leave Corfu,
we coast along Albania, passing Capo Linguetta and Isole Sasseno ;
then we changed to the Dalmatian coast, to Bocca di Cattaro and
Ragusa, afterwards the islands of Lagosta and Cazza; then Lissa,
where two great battles were fought, one 13th of March, 1811, and the
other 20th of July, 1866. Then we passed the islands of Spalmadore,
Lesina, Incoronati, and Grossa; then Punta Biancha, and the island
of Sansego. Here we changed to Istria, and are upon our own
ground, beginning with Punta di Promontore and Pola, our great
Austrian naval station, with its Coliseum and interesting ruins.
Then Rovigno and Parenzo, harbour towns on the coast. At Punto
Salvore we enter our own “ Gulf of Trieste,” passing Pirano, which
we can see from our own windows, and finally Trieste.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A QUIET TIME AT TRIESTE.

On our return from India, Richard produced “ Sind Revisited ”
(2 vols., 1877) and “Etruscan Bologna” (1 vol.), which had been
some time in preparation, but had not found a publisher.

After this, Richard and I pursued a quiet, literary life, and I
studied very hard. We began to translate Ariosto. It was summer,
so we swam a great deal, and then we went up to the village inn at
Op^na, of which I have already spoken. And we took a great
interest in the Slav school-children—about two hundred and twenty
boys and girls. We used to amuse ourselves with going in the
evening to look at a Sagra (the peasants’ dances at one or other
of the villages in the Karso), where they dance, and sing, and drink,
and play games.

An amusing little incident happened in connection with my learn¬
ing Italian. I wanted very much to go through the Italian classics
with a professor. My professor was a Tuscan, a gentleman, a
Christian, and a celebrated Dantesque scholar, but a priest who had
unhappily fallen away from his vocation. He gained great fame and
applause amongst litterati for his declamations of Dante. I used to
read beforehand the canto for the night, in Bohn’s English translation \
then he would declaim it to me in Italian, acting it unconsciously
all the while ; then I used to read it aloud in Italian, to catch his
pronunciation, and as I read he stopped me and explained every
shade of Dante’s thoughts and meaning. When he came to that
part where the souls in hell are crying out and scratching themselves,
he also kept crying out and scratching himself. It was evening, as he
had only that time to spare. Richard had gone to bed, and I had
left the door open between us. All of a sudden he called out loudly,

“ What the devil is that noise—what is the matter ? ” “ Oh,” I said

398

A Quiet Time at Trieste .

399

in English, “it is only Rossi acting the damned souls in hell
for me.” Peals of laughter came from the bed. The master
naturally asked what was the matter, and he was so shy after
that, that it spoilt my lessons. I could never get him to act any
more, as he had been doing it quite unconsciously. Richard was
also very fond of a good opera, and we often went if there was
a new piece.

We went a trip to Fiume and Agram, and to Gorizia, two

hours’ express from Trieste in the Karso, as I wanted to make

a “spiritual retreat” at the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, but under
a Dalmatian Jesuit. Gorizia is a pretty, striking, picturesque
cathedral town. It covers a hill, some hillocks, and a part of
a fertile plateau in the heart of the Carniola Mountains, sur¬
rounded by ranges of wooded Istrian mountains, which are
also encircled by a higher snow-capped range (the Carniola
range). It is small, cheerful, primitive, with salubrious air,
especially good for nerves and chest complaints; it is com¬
posed entirely of Churches, Monasteries, and Convents, church
dignitaries, and all sorts of ecclesiastics and nuns—a Prince Arch¬
bishop being the Chief—and a few pious old ladies—a resident
local aristocracy.

The river Isonzo, the boundary between Austria and Italy,
glides through the valley, making the sea green with its out¬
flow, sometimes as far as Duino. It is a magnificent scene in

the sunset, when it lights up the snow, bathing it in purple,
red, and gold, till the whole panorama seems on fire. There
is a great pilgrimage place called Monte-Santo on a grizly
top, with church and monastery, where Richard and I have
often been together. This Deaf and Dumb Institution is a
large Convent with a garden. It has a little chapel dedi¬
cated to the Sacred Heart, seven sisters of Notre Dame, a
padre who is Director, a second priest, and a professor who
is an aspirant for the priesthood, a number of servants, and
a hundred and fifty children, deaf and dumb boys and girls.
Everything is done by signs; the prayers, the studies, the ser¬
mon ; even plays are acted in signs. The education is reading,
writing, arithmetic, catechism, plain work, fancy work, draw¬
ing, illustrating church work ; the boys help in the garden, and
the padre keeps fish, rabbits, and bees. They call him “ papa.”
He is quite devoted to his bees, and being a highly educated
man, Richard used to pass a great deal of time with him and
the bees.

400

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Midian.

In his old Arab days, wandering about with his Koran, forty
years ago, Richard came upon a gold land in that part of Arabia
belonging to Egypt. He was a romantic youth, with a chivalrous
contempt for filthy lucre, and only thought of “ winning his spurs;”
so, setting a mark upon the place, he turned away and passed on.
After twenty-five years, seeing Egypt distressed for gold, he asked
for “ leave,” and he went back to Cairo, and imparted his secret to
the Khedive. Uncle Gerard furnished him with the means of going.
His Highness equipped an Expedition in a few days, and sent him
there to rediscover the land (end of 1876). He has given an account
of that trip in the “Gold Mines of Midian” and the “Ruined
Midianite Cities,” 1878.

The Khedive engaged him to come back the following winter,
1877, with a view to learning every item concerning this rich old
country, and applied to the Foreign Office for the loan of him
for the winter, which being granted, he set out in October, 1877,
in command of a new Expedition, on a much larger scale, and
was out seven months in the desert of Arabia, doing hard work.
He discovered a region of gold and silver, zinc, antimony, sulphur,
tin, copper, porphyry, turquoise, agate, lead, and six or seven com¬
moner metals, extending some hundreds of miles either way, and
pearls on the coast, a Roman temple, and thirty-two mining Cities.
The Expedition mapped and planned and sketched the whole
country, and brought back abundance of the various metals for
assay or analysis. The ancients had only worked forty feet, whereas
with our appliances we might have gone down twelve hundred.

The Khedive was charmed; he made splendid contracts with
my husband, so that, with the commonest luck, not only Egypt
would have become rich, but my husband would have been a
millionaire in a very few years, and he used to say jokingly that
he would be Duke of Midian , the only title he had ever wished for.
To our great misfortune Ismail Khedive abdicated just as the third
Expedition was about to come off, in 1878-9. The new Khedive,
Tewfik, did not consider himself bound by any act of his father’s;
the English Government (it is hardly worth while to remark) was not
likely to give Richard a chance of anything good, and instead of
being able to carry out the enterprise, he lost all the money which
we had advanced and partly borrowed for paying expenses which we
were sure would be refunded. His second interesting work on this
expedition was the “Land of Midian Revisited” (2 vols., 1879).

401

A Quiet Time at Trieste.

Midian means the district which in the Bible covers the peninsula
of Sinai, and the country east of the Gulf of Akabah, east of the
river Jordan, into which the Midianites fled before the Three
Hundred, and comprises that great desert south and east of the
Euphrates, through which the modern Midianites, who are the
present Bedawi, with their cattle and black tents still wander.
Their manners and customs are just the same, only guns have
taken the place of the bow, coffee and tobacco have been brought
in ; a sort of veneer of Mohammedan doctrine is added to the ancient
patriarchal faith, still keeping its own traditions.

Richard’s Midian was an utterly unknown country along the east
coast of the Gulf of Akabah, one of the two narrow inlets in which
the Red Sea ends. When I say unknown, it has been practically
unvisited and its shores unexplored until now. There is abundant
evidence of a former population and a cultivated period; there are
ruins of large towns, of solid masonry, roads cut in the rock, aqueducts
five miles long ; remains of massive fortresses with artificial reser¬
voirs, all the signs of a busy and a prosperous period, when fleets
with richly laden cargoes came to and fro. The rocks are full of
mineral wealth—gold, silver, tin, antimony, and many other rich
things, just as in the gold districts elsewhere. The sands of the
streams yield gold, and the ancient mining works lie destroyed round
every town, heaps of ashes close to the mineral furnaces. There
are mines of turquoises. This hoard of possible wealth would have
set up Ismail Khedive and Egypt for ever, if she could only have
worked it. Richard began to be called in fun the “ New Pharoah’s
New Joseph.”

Richard went first to Moilah, thence to Aynunah Bay. Every
ruined town had its mining works, dams for washing of sand and
crushed rock, and gold-washing vessels. Then they went to Makna,
written “ Mugua ” in the maps, the Capital of the land, as far as Jebel
Hassani, and he found it much like ancient California. These gold
and precious stones producing parts of Arabia were closed up four
thousand years ago, and present the appearance of having been
suddenly left, in consequence of earthquake or some great volcanic
evolution. They found a black sand containing a very clear oxide
of tin, and a large stone engraved with antique inscriptions, which
they copied.

On the 19th we went on board the Espero , the Khedive having
summoned him to Egypt, where the work of organization went on,
and they landed at Tur (where he had landed in 1853), and went
to Arafat, and to El Muwaylah and Sherma, to Jebel el Abyaz, and
innumerable other places.

402 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

I got very good news shortly about the Expedition, which put me
in good spirits.

On the second Expedition it was arranged that as soon as I
had corrected the last proof of his “ Midian,” I should make my
way out to Cairo and Suez, and get the Khedive to send me
on. I had been restless with impatience to start ever since he
had been gone, and I was on board an Austrian-Lloyd’s as soon
as the last proof was out of my hand and I was free. About
seventy of my friends came to see me off, and as it was heavy
weather, the passengers were all very sick, and I had the ship
pretty well to myself. At Corfu we had full moon and the water
like oil, but on steaming out there was a rough sea, and deluges
of rain and darkness all through the Ionian Islands, which did
not better itself till we had passed Gozo. Landing at Alex¬
andria, I immediately found my letters and instructions, which
did not please me much, as “ I was not to attempt to join unless
I could do so in proper order it remained to be seen what
“ proper order” meant. I always wonder when people sleep
in Alexandria, for the whole night long there is a perfect pan¬
demonium of dogs, carriages, cracking of whips, and pleasure-
parties.

I went off at once to Cairo, and I had the pleasure of seeing
a great deal of our Consul-General, Mr. and Mrs. Vivian. I
also had the worry of learning that the last Sambuk (or open
boat) had gone the day before. Not that I could have gone
in her, because that would decidedly not have been “going
properly,” but I should have sent loads of things by it. I did
not want to stop for the gaieties of Cairo; I wanted to get as
near as I could to the opposite side of the water, and watch my
chance of gone. So I made my way up to Zagazfg, and visited
poor Mrs. Clark, who w r as just as unhappy as myself because
her husband was gone with mine as secretary. I do not know
that we did each other very much good. At Suez lived the Levick
family (he was the Postmaster-General, and did good service to
the State for something like forty-seven years, though his widow
and children are now left to starve), and they were awfully kind
to me.

At last I was informed that a ship was going to be sent out,
and that I was to have the offer of going in her, though it was
intimated to me privately that the Khedive and the Governor,
Said Bey, were very much in hopes that I should refuse. It
was an Egyptian man-of-war, the Senaar , that was to anchor off
the coast till the expedition emerged from the desert, and to

A Quiet Time at Trieste.

403

bring them back. The Captain received me with all honour. All
hands were piped on deck, and a guard and everything provided
for me. They were most courteous, said that they would like
to take me, and would do everything in their power to make me
comfortable, but I saw at once that the accommodation was of
too public a nature; in short, that it would be impossible for
any woman to embark without her husband on an Egyptian man-of-
war. It would lower her in their eyes, and hurt his dignity. Besides
turning them out of their only quarters, when my husband came to
embark the men of his Staff, I should be excessively in the way;
so, thanking them exceedingly for their courteousness, I returned
to the town, to the immense relief of all concerned, took some small
rooms at the Suez Hotel, and started my literary work. To have
crossed the Red Sea in an open Sambuk , with head winds blow¬
ing, and then to fight my way across the desert alone upon a
camel, would have been dangerous to me and infra dig. for my
husband’s position; and the Khedive was just in that critical state
that I could not have asked him to organize a second Expedition,
to send me out with no definite object, save my own pleasure,
although I am sure that he would have done it in former prosperous
years.

During my stay in Suez a remarkable event occurred, of dumb
madness in dogs. It was an epidemic in the air, as dogs
separately confined and well cared for died just the same. I
lost two of Richard’s. The pariahs had it very bad. I have
seen them running into the sea to drown themselves, and out
of three thousand, there were only about forty left. At last, on
the 20th of April, 1878, whilst I was in the church during the
“Office” for Holy Saturday, a messenger from the Governor put
a slip of paper into my hand—“ The Senaar is in sight, the Emetic
will await you later on to meet the ship.” I found Richard look¬
ing ill and tired. Before the ship had been anchored half an
hour, every soul had deserted, and he was left in sole charge,
and could not come off till the following morning. The Khedive
sent a special train for him and the Expedition, which left at
eight in the morning. Halfway, at Zagazfg, a beautiful dinner
had been prepared for us by Monsieur Camille Vetter, a French
cotton - merchant from Ettlingen, the Grand Duchy of Baden,
Germany. We dined in an arbour, and there was a profusion
of champagne and delicacies galore. Our train caught fire four
times, and we had to get out and pour buckets of sand over it,
there being no water.

An Englishman who happened to be at Suez wrote to the Ho?ne

404 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

News, June ist, 1878 : “ I had occasion to be at Suez on the return
of Haji Abdullah (Dick Burton) from Midian last month, and I
noted the sensation his arrival created. His name is as well known
amongst the natives in Egypt as if he had passed all his days amongst
them. Pashas and other great personages from Europe are con¬
tinually passing to and fro almost unheeded. How different was
the case when it became known that Haji Abdullah was leaving for
Cairo ! The platform was crowded with Europeans and natives. The
rumour had got abroad that * that wonderful man ’ was at Suez on
his return from the exploring trip to Midian.”

Richard was received with great distinction by the Khedive; it
was a sort of triumphal entry. The Khedive wished for an exhibi¬
tion of the minerals, which he opened in person, Richard and
Mr. Frederick Smart attending him, and I attended a good deal upon
the harem. We had three weeks of that sort of work, and writing
reports in French and English, made excursions to the Pyramids,
and received a great deal of hospitality from our friends, Mr.
Frederick Smart, the Michells, General Purday, the Romaines, the
Bairds, the Barings, Abate Bey, Artin Yakoob Pasha, the Tennants,
the Vivians, the Lesseps, Barrot Bey, General and Mrs. Stone, the
Kremers, and very pleasant were the dinners by moonlight on the
Bairds’ dahabeeyah , enhanced by the stillness, the view, the distant
singing. The Khedive made a contract that Richard should have
the concession of the discoveries, or to have five per cent, upon the
whole gross profits.

We left on the 10th of May for Alexandria, dined out at Ramleh,
and left on the 12th in the “ Austria ” Captain Rossol. We were
eighty-five passengers in a small steamer, so we were not very
comfortable; but we were very merry, and we had with us Mr.
Frederick Smart, Safvet Pasha, Mohammed Bey, Baronne de
Saurmk, Jiee Comtesse de Hatzfeldt, Lord Talbot de Malahide and
his daughter Frances, and General Stranz. At Corfd we saw Sir
Charles Sebright, and dined all together at St. George’s Hotel.
We had one man ill with typhus, who was shut away for fear the
passengers should know, and I got awfully scolded for going in to
nurse him, and as two sharks followed under our bows, they made
an unpleasant impression. When we arrived at nine o’clock at
night, as we steamed in, our faithful friends, the Governor, Baron
Pino, and his wife, rowed up to the side of the vessel, and sent a
man to tell Captain and Mrs. Burton to come to their boat directly;
and they took us away in less than two minutes, fearing the steamer
would be sent in quarantine, and afterwards our belongings followed
as. The man died two days after landing in his own home,

A Quiet Time at Trieste .

405

but no harm resulted to any one. An untoward and melancholy
incident also occurred. A poor lady was coming to Austria to see
which of the baths would make her a little more blood, as she was
anaemic. The exertion of landing from the ship to the hotel caused
her to faint; a young doctor was called in, who, mistaking her case,
bled her, taking out the little drop she had, and she died that night.

We now went up to Op^ina to rest. Richard was detained at his
post on account of the then expected war, but was released in a
few weeks and allowed to come to London to arrange matters for
the further working of Midian. We embarked on the 6th of July
in a Cunard steamer which occupies from twenty-one to twenty-six
days from Trieste to Liverpool, going first to Venice. On the way
we read Dellon’s “ Inquisition ” in Portuguese. We touched at
Brindisi; went through the Straits of Messina to Palermo, where we
found it very, very hot. We landed, and went to see everything
worth seeing, not forgetting the Capuchins, who have large under¬
ground crypts, where the dead monks are not buried, but tied up,
as if drying. It is very curious, but rather gruesome. I went to
visit a relation there, who had been one of the members. The
Capuchins gave me a huge blue pottery jar, with a tap, which the
priests used to wash their fingers after Mass, and for which I had
taken an immense fancy; it bears the Franciscan arms. Richard
had gout very badly a great part of the way, but not gout in the
exaggerated sense of later years. We landed again at Gibraltar,
and had bad weather across the Bay, and all the way home, reaching
London on the 27th of July, 1878.

On the 12th of August we left by the night mail for Dublin, where
we joined the British Association for Science, which opened on
the 14th. We were asked to spend the time at Malahide with Lord
Talbot and his family, and a delightful time we had, meeting old
friends, and making many charming acquaintances—Lord and Lady
Gough, and Dr. Lloyd, Provost of Trinity, a charming, venerable,
and distinguished man. The Duchess of Marlborough, who was then
reigning, was very kind to us. We met again our old friend, the
philanthropist Lentaigne, and Mr. Spottiswoode. The excursionists
came over to see Malahide Castle, and Lord Talbot and Richard
dined at the Lord Mayor’s to meet the Lord Lieutenant. Richard’s
lecture (Section E, Geographical) came off on the 19th, and his first
lecture at the Anthropological (on Midian) took place next day,
the Vice-Regal party being present, and we then went back to make
tea for the “ Association.” At his third lecture (on Midian, Anthro¬
pological), the Vice-Royalties were also present, and there was a
great party that evening.

406 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

All during our present stay in London we were on a visit to my
father. We saw a good deal of Society—luncheon-parties and dinner¬
parties several times a week. We had a great treat in visits to Mr.
Frank Dillon’s Damascus room (his studio) at n, Durham Villas,
Campden Hill, which we always left with regret. About this time
Mr. Alfred Levick, son of the Postmaster-General of Suez, came home
dreadfully ill, and went into the University Hospital, and in gratitude
for past kindnesses from his father, we were very assiduous in attend¬
ing on him all the time of his illness. We went up to Lancashire in
October to stay with Uncle Gerard, and to Knowsley, where Lady
Derby had a large house-party. At Garswood, amongst other
visitors, came Sir Julius Benedict. From Garswood we went to
some more cousins at Carlton Towers, Yorkshire, where Lord
Beaumont gave a large house-warming, and thence to Lord
Houghton’s at Frystone—all these houses had big parties—and then
back to London. We then went to Hatfield to Lady Salisbury’s,
where we had the pleasure of being again in the same house with
Lord Beaconsfield, and the present Lord Rowton, his secretary.
A very nice second cousin of mine (Everard Primrose) was staying
there, and an amusing little event occurred. He was (to those who
did not know him) a cold, serious, rather prim young man, and
very punctilious. He suddenly one evening felt en train , went out
of the room, and disordering his tie and pulling one arm out of
his coat, and a hat on the back of his head, he came into the room
with an assumed stagger, and sang “The Marseillaise” furiously,just
like a tipsy Frenchman at the barricades. Lord Beaconsfield was
delighted. I think it was the only time I ever saw him laugh down¬
right heartily. When it was over, Colonel Primrose went out
of the room and came back quite quiet, and looking as if he had
done nothing. He often said afterwards to me at Vienna (and
various places abroad), when there was a very stiff party at an
Embassy or Foreign party, “I wish to gracious I could do the
‘ Marseillaise ’ now, but those things are obliged to come by inspira¬
tion.” A pity such a man should have perished, in that useless
fight in the Soudan, of fever.

Then I went to Brighton (where we saw a good deal of Mr. and
Mrs. Sasson) for the purpose of helping at a bazaar on behalf of
humanity to animals. Richard brought out his second Indian book
called “ The Land of India Revisited.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

ON LEAVE IN LONDON.

All this time—the end of 1878, early 1879—the minerals were being
assayed. Richard had not packed his own minerals ; there were cases
for France, and cases for England. Frenchmen had the selection
of them, and Richard’s cases did not give such good results as were
expected. We could not understand it, but he knew that the
mineral was in the ground, and he determined on the following
Expedition to choose and send his own specimens, and prove a very
different tale.

On the 21st of February my book, “A.E.I.,” came out. My
publisher, Mr. Mullan, was so pleased with it that he gave a large
party in its honour. We were seventeen invited. Mr. Mullan,
being an Irishman, ordered that everything on the table should be
an Irish dish. A pyramid of my books was in the middle of the
table, one to be given to each guest, which was a very pretty thought.
The notables were my husband, Lord Houghton, Mr. Irving, and
Arthur Sketchley. There were a great many short, friendly speeches
made; the gaieties began at eleven and terminated at five. We had
a very pleasant dinner at General and Mrs. Paget’s, and a visit
from Mr. Joyner, C.E., our old friend from Poonah, and from the
Montalbas, whom we had known in Venice. We came in also for
three of Lady Salisbury’s Foreign Office parties, one at Lady Derby’s
and several parties at Lady Margaret Beaumont’s.

On the 27th I went to the Drawing-room. We resumed writing
and reading part of Richard’s memoirs. He also commenced writ¬
ing letters to the papers as Mirza Ali of London to his brother,
Mirza Hasan of Shiraz, describing what he saw in England; but,
to his disappointment, they did not take. He also wrote and pub¬
lished “A Visit to Lissa and Pelagosa;” “Sosivizha, the Bandit of
Dalmatia,” translated from the Slav; two papers on Midian, “Stones
and Bones from Egypt and Midian ; ” “ Flints from Egypt; ” Reports
on two Expeditions to Midian; “ The Itineraries of the Second
Khedivial Expedition; ” “ Report upon the Minerals of Midian.”

407

408 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Richard now, intending to make a little tour, and to meet me
at Trieste in two or three weeks, went to Hamburg, to Berlin,
and to Leipzig to see Tauchnitz, and to Dresden. I packed up
and started on my journey Triestewards. As I was about to get
into the cab at my father’s door a beggar woman asked me for
charity, and I gave her a shilling, and she said, “God bless you,
and may you reach your home without an accident!” These
words made an impression on me afterwards. I slept in Boulogne
that night, and went on to Paris the following day. The day after,
the 30th of April, I ordered a voiture de place , and was going out
to do a variety of visits and commissions. They had been waxing
the stairs till they were as slippery as ice. I had heels to my boots,
and I took one long slide from the top of the stairs to the bottom,
with my leg doubled under me, striking my head and my back on
every stair. When I arrived at the bottom I was unconscious,
picked up, and taken back to bed. When I came to I said, “ I have
no time to lose. Don’t send the carriage away; I must get my work
done and go on; ” but, when I attempted to get out of bed, I fell on
the floor and fainted again. A doctor was fetched, I was undressed,
my boot and stocking had to be cut away ; the whole of my leg was
as black as ink, and so swollen that at first the doctor thought it
was broken. However, it proved to be only a bad sprain and a
twisted ankle.

Instead of stopping there six weeks, as the doctor said I must,
I had myself bound up and conveyed to the Gare de Lyons on
the fourth day, where, with a wagon-lit , I arrived at Turin in
twenty-four hours. There I had to be conveyed to the hotel,
being too bad to go on ; but next day I insisted on being packed
up again, and having another coupe-lit in the train to Mestre. I
suffered immensely from the heat, for the first time since leaving
England. At Mestre I had to wait four hours in the wretched
station, sitting on a chair with my leg hanging down, which gave me
intense pain, and then to embark in the Post-Zug , a slow train, where
there were no coup'e-lits to be had, arriving at half-past eight in the
morning, where I found Richard waiting to receive me on the plat¬
form, and I was carried home and put into my own bed. In spite
of pain I was as charmed as ever with the run down from Nabresina
to dear old Trieste.

I cannot say how thankful I was to be safe and sound in my own
home at Trieste with Richard, and how sweet were the welcomes,
and the flowers, and the friends’ visits. I was a very long time
before I could leave my bed. It was found that I had injured
my back and my ankle very badly, and I went through a long

SIR RICHARD BURTON IN 1 879.

By Madame Gutmansthal de Benvenuti {Trieste).

On Leave in London.

409

course of shampooing and soap baths, but I never got permanently
quite well. Strong health and nerves I had hitherto looked upon
as a sort of right of nature, and supposed everybody had them,
and had never felt grateful for them as a blessing; but I began
to learn what suffering was from this date. Richard took me up to
Op^ina for a great part of the summer, and used to invite large
parties of friends up to dinner. We used to dine out in the lit-up
gardens in the evening, overlooking the sea, which was very plea¬
sant; and often itinerant Hungarian gypsy bands would come in
and play. This summer we had the usual annual fete for the cause
of humanity, and speeches and giving of prizes.

From Opgina we went to Sessana, a village about half an hour’s
drive in the interior, which is very good for the nerves, and from
there back to Adelsberg, and thence to Laibach. There was a
scientific Congress (like our British Association) at the Redouten
Sala, and lectures on the Pfalbauten, tumuli, etc., a public dinner, a
country excursion, and then a concert and supper, which exhausted
me considerably, and these things went on for two or three days.

We visited the Pfalbauten, the excavated villages built upon piles
in a peat country, and all the treasures excavated therefrom. Richard
was received with great honour, surrounded by all the Austrian
scientists. The Pfalbauten, or Pine villages, yielded excavations,
which illustrated the whole age of Horn that preceded the age of
Stone, and weapons made of Uchatius metal, which is wrongly called
bronze-steel. It is compressed bronze and easily cuts metal. This
settles the old dispute of how the Egyptians did such work with
copper and bronze.

Richard then took me on to Graz, where we saw a good deal of
Brugsch Bey. Then we went to Baden, near Vienna, where I had
twenty-one days’ bathing and drinking, which we varied with excur¬
sions to Vienna, sometimes to breakfast with Colonel Everard
Primrose, to see people, and to hunt up swords in the Museum
for Richard’s “ Sword ” book. We went to Professor Benedict,
nerve specialist, where Richard had his back electrified for lumbago.
Mr. Egerton and Everard Primrose accompanied us to a place we
were very fond of making an excursion to, Voslau, and then back to
Baden with us.

On the 31st of May I find in Richard’s journal, “ Poor Tommy
Short dead, ninety years old; ” he was his master at Oxford. After
Richard’s death I found one of the Rev. Thomas Short’s cards kept
amongst his treasures.

4io

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

I was very unhappy at Richard's determination to go once more
to Egypt to try his luck about the mines; still, as there were such
great hopes depending on it, and there was not enough money for
both of us, he had to go and I had to stay. There was nothing for
it but to go and see him off.

I began to get ill again (I had never recovered my fall of nine
months ago), and the doctors advised me to see a bone-setter. I
wrote and told Richard, and he ordered me off by telegram ; so
I started on the 17 th of February to meet a woman-friend who re¬
mained in Vienna, of whom more later. At last I went on to Linz
to see our old friends Baron and Baroness Pino, where I had a
delightful visit, and in a few days had been introduced to all the great
Austrian Society there; went on to Paris, and reached London on the
1st of March. I was nearly three months under clever Dr. Maclagan,
the father of salicin. I went as advised to Hutton, the bone-setter,
who found something wrong with my ankle and my back and my
arm, in consequence of the fall, and set me straight, and what he did
to my back lasted me for a long time in the way of pain. I w r ent
through a long course of vapour-baths and shampooing. My chief
pleasure was a spontaneous visit from dear old Martin Tupper, since
dead, who gave me a copy of his “ Proverbial Philosophy.”

I also had several interesting visits from Gordon, who happened
to be in London at this time. I remember on the 15th of April,
1880, he asked me if I knew the origin of the u Union Jack,” and
he sat down on my hearth-rug before the fire, cross-legged, with a
bit of paper and a pair of scissors, and he made me three or four
Union Jacks, of which I pasted one into my journal of that day; and
I never saw him again—that is thirteen years ago. The flag founda¬
tion was azure; on the top of that comes St. George’s cross gules ,
then St. Andrew’s cross saltire blanc , St. Patrick’s cross saltire gules.

Since Richard’s last visit, great changes had taken place in Egypt,
for Ismail Pasha had abdicated, who believed in and needed these
mines; and Tewfik Pasha had succeeded, and Tewfik did not
consider himself bound by anything his father had done; and if
the English Government gave a man a chance, it certainly would
not have been given to Richard Burton. Hence he got no further
than Egypt, and ate his heart out in impotent rage and disgust at
his bad luck. On the 2nd or 3rd of May, as he was returning home
from dining rather late in Alexandria, he was attacked by nine men,
and hit over the head from behind with some sharp instrument.
He fell to the ground, and on coming to, staggered to the hotel,

On Leave in London .

4 11

and was all covered with blood. He turned round and struck out
at them, as his knuckles were all raw. It was supposed to be foul
play with a motive, as the only thing they stole was his “ divining
rod 55 for gold which he carried about his person, and the signet
ring off his finger, but left his watch and chain and purse. He
kept it a profound secret in order that it should be no hindrance
to his going back to work the mines in Midian; but he came
home in May, and never let me know that he was hurt until
I came up to him. I was ill in London; the woman friend
whom I had left at Vienna now came over to London to bring
me back, but stayed in London, and did not accompany me back
at all.

When Richard was leaving Egypt for good, Mr. Cookson, the
brother of our Consul at Alexandria, Sir Charles Cookson, between
whom and Richard there existed a great friendship, wrote his
“ Good-bye ” in the following terms, which pleased Richard beyond
everything:—

“ Farewell to thee, Richard ; we bid thee adieu.

May Plutus and Croesus their treasures lay bare;

May their storehouse on earth be revealed unto you,

So that wealth may be added to merits so rare !

“ May nuggets as big as the hat on your head
Be strewn in your path as you journey at will ;

And veins of rich gold ’neath the ground as you tread
Lie hidden perdu, to be won by your skill.

“ And when thou hast made a fabulous haul,

And flooded the market with shares,

On thy virtuous life may a blessing befall,

To gild thy declining years.”

Some time after this, some thoughtless youngsters played a
practical joke on Mr. Cookson, and pretended to him that it came
from Richard, who, on learning it a long time afterwards, felt sorely
hurt and mortified that his old friend should have been left in error,
and thought him capable of such a thing.

To my horror, I had found Richard with a secretly broken
head, raw knuckles, and gout in his feet, but he soon got
round under my care, and then I took him off to Op^ina.
He was afraid of meningitis, as they had wounded him just in
the nuque. The doctor put him under a course of salicin, and
at last he had an attack of healthy gout in the feet, which did
him good.

412 The Life of Sir Rickard Burton.

Richard and I now went to Opgina, a great deal alone, and we were
working together at his Camoens, beginning at the two volumes of
the “ Lusiads.”

In early 1880, he brought out a little bit of the first canto of the
“ Lusiads,” and the episode of “ Ignez de Castro,” his favourite bit,
as samples. 'I can never remember to have had a more peaceful and
happy time with Richard than in Opgina, where we led a Darby and
Joan life, and principally 1879, 1880, 1881, and part of 1882. We
did all the six volumes of Camoens, he translating, I helping him
and correcting.

Camoens is splendidly and literally translated. No one was
so well fitted as Richard to bring out this epic and heroic life.
He divided his work into six heads : Biographical, Biblio¬
graphical, Historical and Chronological, Geographical, and Anno-
tative—it was the result of a daily act of devotion of more than
twenty years, from a man of this age, who has taken the hero of a
former age for his model, his master, as Dante did Virgil ; and
between those two fates—master and disciple—exists a strange
similarity.

I prefer the “ Lusiads,” but the Portuguese think that if Camoens
had never written the “Lusiads,” his sonnets would have immor¬
talized him, and prefer his to Petrarch’s.

Besides this, we used to fence a great deal during those years.
We set up a Hr au pistolet, and used to practise every morning
after breakfast. When snow was deep we drove in a sledge. We
attended the school feast annually, and sometimes we had village
serenades. At Opgina, on the Eve of St. John’s, the peasants
light fires all over the country, and the superstition is that
you must see eleven fires burning at the same time in order to
have a lucky year. When we went up there, we lived absolutely
alone, without any servants, and we used to take long walks and
drives.

One day, as we sat at our twelve o’clock breakfast at
Opgina, on a very hot day, a poor barefooted Capuchin came
in, looking hot, jaded, dusty, and travel-stained. He sat down
in another part of the restaurant at a table, and humbly
asked for a glass of water. We were waiting for our break¬
fast, and I slipped out of the room and said to the land¬
lord, “ Every time you bring us up a dish, put a third portion,
with bread and vegetables, and in due course sweets and cheese,
before the poor Capuchin who has just come in, and a bottle
of the same wine you give us, and tell him to pray for the
donors.” I slipped back into my place, and I saw Richard kept

in 1880

1 ■ I

On Leave in London.

4i3

staring at him, when he was not looking, with an amused smile, and
finally he turned round to me and whispered, “There, just look!
You say that those fellows starve, and I declare to you that he has
eaten, mouthful for mouthful, everything we have eaten, and a good
bottle of wine like ours.” So I laughed and I said, “Yes; but with
your money ! ” “ Oh, you blackguard ! am I paying for his dinner ? ”
“ Yes,” I said, “you are; and he is going to pray for us.” He was
far from being vexed; he was too kind, and he enjoyed the joke very
much. I said to him, “That man has been catering all over Istria
for provisions for the convent, and the rule at table is that they eat
whatever you put on their plates, but they must not ask. Seeing the
state he is in, you would not like to have seen him go away with a
glass of water.” “ No,” he said, “ that I should not; I am glad you
did it.”

We now determined, and fortunately, to see the Passion Play at
Ober-Ammergau. I say fortunately, because we could scarcely have
done it in 1890, just before his death; the fatigue would have
been too great for him. We had a delightful trip from Venice to
Padua, to Vicenza, and thence to Verona. There the country is
simply lovely, and the train begins to mount to Ala, which is the
frontier of Italy and the Austrian Tyrol. It seems like getting out
of a picturesque desert—so far are the Italians behind Austrian
civilization. You pass Trento, and reach Botzen, which is really
only nine hours and fifty-eight minutes’ actual train from Venice
if you do not stop on the road. From Botzen to Munich is
nine hours and twenty-three minutes’ delightful journey, breakfast¬
ing at Franzensfeste. You are examined at Kufstein, the frontier be¬
tween the Austrian Tyrol and Bavaria. The scenery of the Brenner
is simply glorious, and Brenner-Bad is a delightful little place
to stay at. Munich is certainly a lovely city; its buildings are
magnificent, but its art is very, very new. We saw everything in the
City inside and out, and enjoyed the society of General and Mrs.
Staunton, our Consul, and certainly we must own that the Hotel des
Quatres Saisons is the most delightful and comfortable in the world.

The next station for Ober-Ammergau is two hours and a half to
Miirnau, where you go to the Pantelbraii Hotel. There is beautiful
mountain scenery, and the hurry-scurry to get to Ober-Ammergau is
quite like the Derby Day, with every sort of vehicle and horses. The
village is otherwise peaceful, a rural inn, with a nice family contain¬
ing at least one pretty girl, and the wine is very good, especially
Zeller I. and Schwarzer Herr-Gott; the beds and the food are
excellent. Being Sunday we went to Mass, and noticed a very
curious picture in the church. A head was peeping out of the

414 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

ground as if the body were buried in it; near it was a book with
“ Lehren ” inscribed upon it; also near were dice, a money-bag, a
serpent, and smoke. A new-comer advances towards the head; but
his guardian angel is remonstrating with him, as if he were saying
to him, “ Let him be—it is none of your business,” and a Madonna
appears in the skies. After breakfast we started for Ober-Ammergau.
The scenery was magnificent, the Ettalberg very steep, and two
extra horses were obliged to be put on. Richard liked walking, and
with only me in the carriage, they appeared to be almost crawling
on their stomachs. Halfway was a rural inn, where the peasants
were playing, dancing, and drinking beer. In four hours from
leaving Miirnau we were deposited at a pretty cottage, where rooms
were let by a Frau Hauser.

I understand that a great many improvements exist now; but at
that time we had two whitewashed little rooms, no sheets, one spoon,
one glass, no table, and a pint of water in a pie-dish ; but our
windows looked out on the church, which is surmounted by a spire
and a plain iron cross, and the Kofel, a sugar-loaf peak, which
seems to guard the mountain gorge.

We wandered about the village, and picked up some food as we
could at a small eating-house called the “ Stern,” for Frau Hauser
did not undertake to board us. We were up at dawn. At Ober-
Ammergau the day begins with Mass and Communion. The play
begins at eight in the morning, and lasts eight hours (eighteen acts),
with an hour and a half interval for food and rest. The play over,
Richard and I both sat down at once, and described minutely Ober-
Ammergau, the Play, and our impressions. I think, perhaps, that
there have been so many descriptions, that it would be a pity to load
this book with them. We both sent them to the same man, and
Richard was anxious that they should be produced together, under
the heading, “ Ober-Ammergau, as seen by Four Eyes.” He wrote
the cynical and I the religious side, but as the man who printed
them was too poor to produce the two, he published Richard’s;
but I will now bring them out together in the “ Uniform Library ”
of my husband’s works, just as he wished it.

Suffice it to say, that the simplicity of a theatre in the open air
was most realistic, and made one think of the old early Latin and
Greek plays, and the miracle-plays of early Christianity. The men
acted beautifully; the women were cold or shy, and therefore unin¬
teresting. I can only say that I thanked God for having been allowed
to see it, and as we sat together Richard watched me closely to see
what affected me, and I did the same with him. What affected him
immensely—and he owned it—was Christ on the Cross. He said,

On Leave in London .

4i5

“ I never could have imagined Christ on the Cross without seeing it;
it made me feel very queer.” Now, as to me, what broke my heart
was the repentances of the sinners, and I am not ashamed to say that
I sobbed bitterly—not Magdalen’s, for she was too cold, but Peter’s,
when Christ came forth with the Cross, after he had denied Him and
Christ looked at him. The penitent thief on the Cross, and Judas’s
despair, I shall never forget all my life. With all Richard’s cynicism,
he was right glad to have seen it.

We went to visit the Pfarrer , or priest, the only really paramount
influence in Ober-Ammergau. We saw Josef Maier, who acted the
Christ, and with his permission went to inspect the scenes behind
the theatre, where they were practising fastening to the Cross, and,
under strict secrecy, we saw how it was done.

On the 25th was the fete of St. Louis, when they celebrate the
foundation of Bavaria, then seven hundred years before. On return
to Munich we dined at the Embassy. We met in Munich the
Dowager Lady Stanley and Mrs. John Stanley (now Lady Jeune),
and found to our great annoyance that we had just missed Lord
Houghton, who had been staying in the same hotel with us and we
had never known it. We then went to Innsbruck, where we saw
everything in and about, and on to Toblach, from whence three hours’
drive takes you into the Dolomites into lovely scenery, beginning
at Cortina di Ampezzo. Here we found actual winter weather,
though it was only the 30th of August. From this we went on
to Villach, a delightful place, where it was very difficult to get
rooms; but we got some beds at a Braiierei, Here we saw, as
usual, everything in and about, and then we went by the glorious
new road Tarvis and Pont’ Ebba (not so very long open), with
scenery unrivalled, and reached Udine, where we were on the main
line for our own home. Here we stayed to visit the tomb of Fra
Oderico, a Franciscan monk, who went to China and wrote a book
three centuries ago—a very holy man—and then we went home to
Trieste to receive our old friends Mr. Aubertin, Sir Charles Sebright,
the Dowager Lady Stanley of Alderley, with Mrs. John Stanley, who
stayed a couple of days en route for Corfu. The Dowager Lady
Stanley was one of Richard’s oldest and best friends, and she has
proved herself one to me since his death. I cannot say how much
we enjoyed their visit.

On the 15th of September the Pandora came in with Mr. W. H.
Smith and his family, and we took excursions together, showed
them all the lions in a couple of days, and dined on board with
them. We had visits also from Abbate Bey and Brugsch Bey
from Egypt. Baron Marco Morpurgo, the director of Lloyd’s, used

416 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

♦

sometimes to give us a charming supper-party on board one of the
Lloyd’s vessels anchored in the harbour. A great friend and
admirer of Richard’s, and my now true friend, Miss E. H. Bishop,
who resides, like myself, in a little cottage near Redbridge, Hants,
came to stay with us.

On the 9th of November, 1880, we had an earthquake at 7.30 in
the evening, which demolished half Agram, injured Graz, and shook
us terribly. Richard and I were writing, and our table ran away, and
it made us feel very uncomfortable. Graeffe saw three earthquake
waves come in and out.

Richard had quite a grande passion for silver. He declared that
everybody had some particular metal which influenced them, and also
colour. His metal was silver, and silver applied to his pains cured
him ; he would put florins on his eyes if they ached from over reading
or study; he would apply them to his pains where he had gout; and
after he got the “ Arabian Nights ” earnings, everything he bought was
silver. A heavy six-guinea knob of silver to a huge stick, his toilette
box, his pencil-case, his snuff-box, his roll to put his pens and
pencils in, everything was silver. His theory was that every man
has some metal which affects his illness, and, after frequent trials,
found his. So we used to bind silver florins round his feet and
legs when he had gout, and though it did not cure him, it always
relieved him. He had the same theory about colours, and his was
the royal cramoisie, or blood-red, which soothed him. We continued
our work, and we used to take drives, such as to Villa Vicentina,
and to Aquileja, ancient Aquila, to the museum and church, and
up the Campanile Tower.

CHAPTER XXV.

TRIESTE LIFE AGAIN.

1881.

Early this year two sad things happened, which interested Richard
very much—the death of Carlyle, 5th of February, with all the
different opinions expressed at the time; the disappearance of the
Rev. Benjamin Speke; and a third was the annexation of Tunis
through the medium of our former colleague at Damascus, Monsieur
Roustan.

On the 19th of April Lord Beaconsfield died, and our journals
were full of him for several pages. Richard wrote a “ Sketch,”
which made twelve pages of print, which will appear in “Labours
and Wisdom.” My journal is four pages of lament. As a girl
of fifteen, his “ Tancred ” formed all my ardent desires of an
Eastern career, and was my first gate to Eastern knowledge and
occult science. As a Statesman I put him on a pedestal as my
political Chief and model. He had that peculiar prescience and
foresight belonging to his Semitic blood. I think a certain period
of things passed away with him. He was one of the last relics of
England’s greatness. Just as the Duke of Wellington died before
the Crimean War, so Lord Beaconsfield foreshadowed England’s
temporary decline, or fusion into another state of things, and this
feeling helped his decay. Anyway, one great man is gone.

We were very fond of going to the fairs, especially where the
Hungarian Gypsies congregated. They used to sing, dance, tell
fortunes, and Richard talked Romany with them.

We determined this year to take our gout baths from Duino, and
not from Monfalcone; it is a forty minutes’ drive from Duino to
Monfalcone, and the baths are exactly halfway between.

418 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

We went for a day or two to Trieste to meet Lord Bath, and we
came in for a scientific excursion by ship, with two hundred people,
to Sipar, to Salona, and Pirano, where there was a band and dancing
and lunch.

About this time, on April 30th, died Gessi Pasha at Suez; he
was Gordon’s right-hand man.

We had charming walks to hunt for castellieri We walked
to Slivno, to Ronchi; drove to Atila’s Palace, and got some
curios from the ruins. We drove out also to see some new caves,
and once we all drove together to see a Sagra, or village dance, at
Monfalcone, and going in we sat in the carriage to hear the band.

We then went on to Gorizia—already described—where we dined
with Mr. Frederick Smart and his mother, a most beautiful, sweet,
and venerable Italian lady, his sister, Mrs. Fehr, and Mr. and Mrs.
Baird. Richard afterwards went to study bees with Father Pauletic,
of the Deaf and Dumb Institute.

We were very sorry to leave Duino and our friends ; but all
pleasant things come to an end, and we had to go down to Trieste
to prepare to receive our own Squadron.

On the 1st of July H.M.S. Iris, the civant courier of the Squadron,
arrived. The Squadron itself arrived on the 7 th. Richard and
I went on board an hour later, to every ship—there were eleven all
told—to invite the Captains and officers to a night fete-champetre
and ball at Opgina, as we wanted, as early as possible in the begin¬
ning of their visit, to put them on cordial terms with our friends in
the City.

We issued eight hundred invitations to the Captains and officers
of our Squadron, the Captains and officers of the Austrian Navy and
other Men-of-war anchored there, the Colonels and officers of the
Austrian regiments stationed there, the Governor and family and
Staff, all the Austrian authorities, the Consular corps, the chief
English and Americans, the private friends, who numbered about
a hundred and fifty of the cream of Trieste, the Press, Austrian-
Lloyd’s, and the Police.

We created a kind of Vauxhall in the grounds surrounding the
Inn at Opgina. In a large field at the back of the Inn we had eight
tables fifty feet long; a hut for tea, coffee, and refreshments, one of
barrels of wine and beer, to be drawn off and served at the tables,
a large wooden ball-room, three tents for toilettes, or for resting,
and seats and benches all round, raised like an amphitheatre, for
those who wanted to watch. These were adorned with five hundred

419

Trieste Life Again .

and fifty large bouquets of flowers, several thousand coloured lamps,
and two hundred flags of all nations. There were four entrances,
each with transparencies exhibiting illuminated sentences, such as
“ Welcome ! ” “ Ave ! ” “ Austria and England ” crossed. The Eng¬
lish Admiral and the Austrian Commander-in-Chief each lent us their
bands. We had no end of fireworks,, and Catherine wheels, and
Bengal lights. Austrian-Lloyd’s lent us forty stewards; the Chief of
Police lent us a cordon of police to keep the ground. Every omni¬
bus and carriage in the place was engaged to bring up such guests
as had not their own private carriages, and I chose twelve aide-de¬
camps to help me to make the affair go off; in short, we looked
forward to having a regular good time.

Everything was in high gala, and the first waltz had begun, when
the weather, which had been as dry as a bone all the summer till
that moment, suddenly opened out; and it did not rain, but it
poured in buckets, with tremendous thunder and lightning. It just
lasted two hours, putting out all our lamps, damping our fireworks,
reducing our transparencies to pulp; there was a regular sauve qui
peut to the inn. The police went for the drinking-booth, and were
soon incapable; the mob broke in ; they seized all the best things to
eat and drink, they jumped on the plates and dishes and broke
them. Richard looked up to the sky and ejaculated, “ So like
Provy! ” I cried with rage and mortification for a few minutes,
and then, rallying round, Richard and I got a party of young men
to the rescue, who went and cleared the grounds, already over ankle-
deep in mud; they rescued all that was left of food and drink. I
got another party to clear away the furniture of the lower part of
the Inn, set the two bands to work in different parts, and my
friends to dancing, whilst my aide-de-camps and I rigged up several
supper-rooms. I had forty waiters from Lloyd’s, but half of them
had followed the example of the police. Our friends, quite uncon¬
scious of the havoc behind the scenes, danced right merrily the
whole night, and supped, and were good-natured enough to enjoy
themselves thoroughly with the greatest good humour; and the
party did not break up until five.

I went out into the back scenes, where I found that my own
things were being sold at the bar of the inn, to our own Squadron’s
bandsmen, at a big price. I soon put a stop to that, and obliged
the vendors to restore them their money, and gave them their
suppers and wine. It was a pandemonium. The natives were all
too far gone to know me, so that I could hardly get any order
obeyed; they were breaking bottles of wine, two together, like
•clashing cymbals. The tipsy coachmen were dancing with the

420 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

tipsy villagers, and every now and then they jumped on a dish,
or destroyed property in other ways. It was not encouraging, but
it was useless to struggle against the inevitable, so I only saw that
the Squadron bandsmen got all they wanted without paying for it.
(Such is the wild animal when it can do what it likes without
restraint.)

Meanwhile we managed to do a lot of fireworks, and everything
went off beautifully. After all our guests were departed, Everard
Primrose and Mr. Welby, the well-known popular attache , finding
their coachman helplessly drunk, put him inside the carriage, and
got on the box and drove themselves down; and the very last thing
of all was seeing our staggering, hiccoughing policemen into omni¬
buses to go down to Trieste. Thus ended our first fete for the
Squadron. The damage the natives did us was immense, as we
borrowed all our plates and dishes from a Company, and any one
can imagine what that would be, to give a sit-down supper to eight
hundred people.

The Emperor, who always honours the English fleet—the only
one he notices—ordered entertainments to be given, one at the
castle at Miramar, and the other by the Austrian Admiral; so
on the nth came off the dinner at Miramar, and on the 13th
the Austrian Admiral’s dinner. Then the English Admiral gave us
a dinner, and then a ball was given by H.M.S. Alexandra , where
the officers kindly asked me to help them to receive the Trieste
guests. On the 14th we had “ teas ” on board the Invincible and the
Alexandra , and Admiral Beauchamp Seymour’s (now Lord Alcester)
dinner; the 15th, a tea-party on board the Falcon , and a ball on the
Superb. On the 16th we organized a monster picnic to the Caves of
Adelsberg, which were illuminated expressly. On the 17th Baron Mor-
purgo gave a banquet with music, and then followed our dinner to the
Captains of the Men-of-war. The fleet departed on the 18th, and we
went round to say good-bye. Baron Marco Morpurgo kindly gave us a
steamer to see the fleet off; he provided refreshments and music, and
we asked our best friends to join. The flagship Alexandra moved
first, the ships forming two lines behind her. We steamed in our
little vessel alongside the flagship, at a proper distance, till we
escorted them out of our Gulf for about a couple of hours; then,
shooting ahead, we stopped our engines, dipped our flag thrice,
cheered, and turned back, cheering every ship as we passed. They
all played “ Auld Lang Syne ” and “ Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good¬
bye.” It was the prettiest sight in the world on a summer evening
in the Gulf of Trieste, to see that “going out,” and we were awfully
sorry to lose them.

421

Trieste Life Again.

On the 8th of August we started for a new trip, and went
vid Laibach to Veldes, via Radmannsdorf. Veldes consists of
a lake, with a few houses around, chiefly people’s villas, and a
very comfortable inn (Mallner’s). It is a lovely spot, but rather
shut in. This place has its little romance. We rowed about two
hours in a boat to a small island in the middle of the lake.

We then went on to Tarvis and St. Michele, and from thence to
Salzburg; it was a seventeen hours’ journey with many changes of
train. Salzburg is a beautiful place, and its Hotel Europa one of
the dearest and best I ever was in. We had come up to a Scientific
Congress, and passed our time with Count Wiirmbrandt, the Gover¬
nor of Istria, Count Bombelles, in attendance on Prince Rudolf,
Prince Windisgratz, Professor Milliner, Abbate Gliibich, the African
travellers Holub and Nachtigall, all scientific men. We had an
expedition to the salt mines, and went to the bottom of the mines,
and the museum, which is lovely and of great interest. Then we
went to Lend, where we took a four-horse carriage, and had a mag¬
nificent three-hours’ drive up the Salz Kammergut, reaching Gastein
at five o’clock, one of the most beautiful places in Austria, and were
enchanted with the scenery, the air, and the waterfall. Richard and
I used to sit out and read and look at the view all day. Then we
took train to Steinach-Irding, to visit Mr. Zech, the proprietor of
Shepherd’s Hotel, Cairo. He was a good and jolly old man, with a
nice gentlemanly son, a Parisian wife, and some married daughters.
Other members of the family also arrived, and presently came a little
officer who had lost his way. We were heartily welcomed ; it was a
Liberty Hall, comfortable, hospitable, and you were expected to ask
for everything you wanted. We then started for Ischl. The whole
Court was here; it was a very pretty place, situated between two
rivers, with beautiful air and a very fashionable promenade, and we
were very gay. There were illuminations and fireworks for Prince
Rudolf’s birthday, and a very amusing little German theatre.

Here, at Ischl, Richard and I parted company. I was ordered to
go to Marfenbad; Richard returned to Steinach-Irding, to Steyr,
and back to Steinach, and from there to Vienna.

I here made acquaintance with Madame Olga di Novikoff, who
certainly kept me from feeling dull, for she was capital company—
most amusing, and was to me a new and interesting study of the
sort of life that one reads so much of, but in England rarely meets.

On the 7th of September I was so ill that I did not know how to
get tQ Vienna, but I had myself put into a coupe to myself, with
room to lie down, and I never stirred off it during the eleven hours
and forty minutes vid Pilsen and Budweis to Vienna, when at the

422 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

station Richard awaited me with the information that he had got a
dinner-party to meet me, and so I had to dress and receive. We
had after this one delightful dinner and evening with Baron Pino
and his wife at Hietzing, and next day we went down to Trieste.
We just changed baggage and went to Venice for the great Geo¬
graphical Congress, which was opened on the 15th. The illumina¬
tions at Venice were something to remember all one’s life, every
bit of tracery of the buildings, and especially that of St. Marco,
being picked out with little lamps, and the artistic part of it was to
throw the electric light only on the Basilica. I never in my life saw,
and never shall again see, anything to equal it. Lady Layard gave
a party to all the English and Americans, and the chief of the
Venetian Society. Captain Vernon Lovett-Cameron, R.N., V.C.,
was staying with us, and we collected around us all the pleasantest
people there at our breakfasts and dinners. The regatta was also a
never-to-be-forgotten sight. The King and Queen were there. All
the gondolas represented some country; there were the old Venetian
gondoliers, there were Esquimaux, there were troubadours—you
could not imagine a country or character that was not represented;
and every gondola that assumed no character was dressed in gala
array, and their men in gondolier uniform and sash. Ours was
covered with pale blue velvet. Another day was the opening of the
gardens of St. Giobbe by the Royalties. Here, amongst other friends,
we met Mr. Labouchere, General de Horsey, who was a very dear
friend of Richard’s, General Fielding, and many others. There was
a night serenade on the water with every boat illuminated, which
was also a grand sight.

Captain Cameron was wild with spirits, and we had many amusing
episodes and one especial sort of picnic day at the Lido, where,
just as Lord Aberdare and some of the primmest people of the
Congress were coming, Richard and he insisted on taking off their
shoes and stockings and digging mud-pies, like two naughty little
boys, and they kept calling out to me, “ Look, nurse, we have
made such a beautiful pie,” and “ Please tell Dick not to touch
my spade.” I could not speak to the people for laughing, especially
as some of them looked so grave. However, Richard was exceed¬
ingly angry, as he had a good right to be. Here was a Geographical
Congress just outside the City of which he was Consul, and, as if
it had been done on purpose to let him down before foreigners,
he was not only not asked to be the representative from Austria,
but not even asked to meet his fellow-geographers, not even asked
to take any part in it, not even asked to speak at it; so he held
himself entirely aloof from them, as far as Congress was concerned,

423

Trieste Life Again.

and he left his card in the Congress-room with the following squib,
as spoken by the British representatives from London to Venice:—

“ We’re Saville Row’s selected few,

Let all the rest be damned ;

The pit is good enough for you,

We won’t have boxes crammed.”

On the 24th we all broke up and went back to Trieste. Captain
Cameron then came to us at Trieste, and Colonel Gould, and
Abbate Gliibich.

On the 18th of November Richard, who had all this while been
arranging the journey with Captain Cameron, had been employed
by a private speculator to go out to the West Coast of Africa,
especially to the Guinea Coast, and to report on certain mines
there, which Richard had discovered in 1861-64 (when he was
Consul for that coast, and was wandering about, discovering and
publishing his discoveries), if he could conscientiously give a good
one. He was to have all his expenses paid, a large sum for his
report, and shares in the mines; so on the 18th of November we
embarked at two o’clock in the day.

We left the quay at four, hung on to a buoy outside the breakwater
till midnight, and then left by the Demerara steamship (Cunard),
Captain Jones, from Trieste to Venice. At six a.m. we anchored
in a rolling sea, with a heavy fog a couple of miles outside the Lido,
but at twelve it lifted sufficiently to let us see the entrance to Mala-
mocco, and we got in. It was so raw, damp, and thick, and cold to
the bones, that everybody was ill, and we took rooms at the
Britannia so long as the ship should stay. We then had a splendid
passage to Fiume, where we had a very pleasant time with old
friends for nearly a week. On the 25th we had just finished writing
up the biography, when they came to tell me that the ship had to
sail that day, which caused me a good deal of sorrow, as I was to be
left at Fiume; my expenses were not paid, and we personally had not
enough money for two, so Richard was to go on to the Guinea Coast
alone. I watched the ship till it was out of sight, and felt very
lonely.

1882.

This year I fretted dreadfully at Richard’s absence, and not being
allowed to join him, and made myself quite ill. I worked at my
usual occupations for the poor, and preventing cruelty to animals,
studying and writing, and carrying out all the numerous directions
contained in his letters.

424 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

It was now discovered by Professor Liebman that I had the germs
of an internal complaint of which I am suffering at present, possibly
resulting from my fall downstairs in Paris in 1879. I had noticed
all this year that I had been getting weaker and weaker in the
fencing-school, and sometimes used to turn faint, and Reich (my
fencing-master) used to say, " Why, what is the matter with you ?
Your arms are getting so limp in using the broadsword.” I did not
know, but I could not keep up for long at a time. I think I went
no more after that.

Nigh six months had passed, and it was now time for me to go
and meet Richard at Liverpool, so I left the 18th of April, spending
a few happy days in Vienna, thence to Paris and Boulogne, where I
found a howling tempest. Two houses had been destroyed, a steamer
was signalling distress, and the Hotel Imperial Pavilion had to open
its back door to let me in, the gale being too strong in front. I had
brought a Trieste girl with me as maid, whose class or race did not
admit of the wearing of hat or bonnet. They wanted to turn me
out of the church at Boulogne, because the girl was bareheaded, and
I had to explain that nothing would induce her to wear one for fear
of losing caste. I got off in a very bad sea two days later, and to
London on the 3rd of May.

On the 15 th I went up to Liverpool. Richard and Captain
Cameron arrived in the African mail Loanda on the 20th, and
there was a great dinner that night, given by the Liverpudlians to
welcome them back. It was a great success, and they were all very
merry. On the 22nd we came up to London, but no sooner did we
arrive there, than Richard was taken quite ill and had to go to
bed. He was to have lectured at the Society of Arts, but he could
not, which was an awful disappointment to them and to us; but he
soon got well under home care, and he lectured on the 31st at the
Anthropological.

He notices in his journal the death of the poet and artist, Gabriel
Rossetti, on the 10th of April, and Darwin’s death on the 19th. We
were immediately occupied in bringing out “ To the Gold Coast for
Gold” (2 vols.), where he gives an account of the different places
to which he and Captain Cameron went, the chief place being
Axim, on the Guinea coast. There were two obstacles which
were deemed fatal to success. One was Ashantee obstruction,
and the other was the expense of transporting machinery and
working still labour in a wild country, a lack of hands, and the
climate ; but they were only bugbears. “ He knew nothing to equal

425

Trieste Life Again.

it as to wealth, either in California or in Brazil. Gold dust was
panned by native women from the sands of the seashore, gold
spangles glittered after showers in the streets of Axim; their wash¬
ings weighed from half an ounce to four ounces per ton. The gold
is there, and it is our fault if it stays there. We have in our hands
the best of workmen—the tireless machine, the steam navvy, and
the quartz stamp; and those called ‘ Long Tom ’ and i Broad
Tom * would do more work in a day than a whole gang of negroes.”

He says that in the last century the Gold Coast exported to Europe
three and a half millions of sterling gold, but the abolition of slavery
and manumissions brought it down to ^126,000 value. A few years
ago England’s annual supply was ^25,000,000, and was then (1882)
^18,000,000. England wants gold, and he says that the Gold Coast
can supply it to any amount that England may want. There was
a threatened action a while ago about the way the moneys were
supplied for the carrying out of these mines, called the Guinea
Coast Trial. My husband was not employed to take charge, or to
work there, and nearly all who were sent out (with one or two
notable exceptions) thought more of feathering their own nests,
even for a couple of years, than of the public good; hence the thing
failed, but will live again.

My husband was passionately fond of mining for the sake of
developing the resources of any country in which he travelled and
made discoveries. I was always sorry when he got on the mine
track, because he always ended in one way. Shady people, partially
or wholly dishonest, would praise up his knowledge to the skies.
They would sometimes go so far as to send him to the spot, to
draw up a report of such or such a mine; with written (legal)
agreements contracting to pay him perhaps ^2000 or more for his
report, his expenses paid, and shares in the mine. As soon as they
got his report, they would ask him to come home, and send some
one else to run the mine down. Nevertheless they made their own
money out of it I always trembled, but I always helped him all I
could whenever any of these grand money plans were on hand,
because it interested him ; and I keep and leave to my heirs all the
correspondence and agreements concerning them, as well as other
matters of business.

He did his work in his simple, gentlemanly, scientific way, fully
knowing the worth of the mine, but nothing about business. Then,
as soon as they had got all his secrets and information from him,
they would send their own agent, who in one case pretended that
he could not find the spot, purposely avoiding to take the guide
Richard had commissioned for the purpose. But the chief speculator

426 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

did find them, and sell them too, although Richard never got a penny
for his trouble. He never knew how to get himself paid without
going to law, which they knew was undesirable for a Consul, and, so
far from getting anything, very often he was largely out of pocket.
He was very much out of pocket about the Guinea Coast Mines, and,
had the trial threatened by Mr. Johns come off, I should have asked
to have been subpoenaed, as my husband was dead, and I should
have produced all the papers and his depositions written before
his death, and asked to be refunded his losses. In the Khedivial
Mines of Midian he dropped much money in expenses, which
Ismail Khedive was to have paid him back, but never did. How¬
ever, this last only resulted from the accident of abdication, and
not with intent to hurt him. The others were men that he ought
never to have pitted himself against; that is, pitted the straight¬
forward, unsuspecting ignorance of a gentleman against men who
have been bred for generations to know how much percentage they
can get out of the fraction of a farthing.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ANOTHER SHORT LEAVE TO LONDON.

1882.

Richard went to Paris on the 15th of July, 1882, and I followed him
on the 22nd, taking my niece Blanche Pigott with me, and joined
Richard and Captain Cameron. We saw a great deal of the traveller
De Brazza and his brother, and on the 26th we bid good-bye to
Cameron, and we three left for Turin, where our niece, who was for
the first time in Italy, enjoyed the scene of the Piazza and Castle by
moonlight, and a drive up to the Superga. The next day we arrived
in Venice. There is always something amusing to people who have
seen everything themselves, in taking a fresh young girl about, as
long as she is fresh. She was just out of her convent, and Richard
and I, having no children, thought it rather fun having a daughter.
We arrived on the last day of July.

Next day, on the 1st of August, there was the opening of a Grand
International Exhibition at Trieste. The City was illuminated at
night almost as brilliantly as Venice had been for the Congress, and
Trieste illuminated makes a grand effect with its rising mountain
background. The Archduke Charles Louis was there to open it,
and the Emperor and Empress, Prince Rudolf, and Princess
Stephanie came later on. This had been a hobby of our (then)
Governor’s (Baron de Pretis) for a very long time, and for months
and months endless workmen had been erecting magnificent build¬
ings at the edge of the sea—I should say for a mile in length—all
along the fashionable drive called St. Andrea. This great day was
devoted to officialdom, and receptions, and bands, and at night
Baron Morpurgo had one of his boats out, and supper on board,
for his friends to see the illuminations.

On the 18th of September, Richard began his Great book on
the Sword. It is a very large work, entitled the “Book of the
Sword”—the first part of three by R. F. Burton, maitre d'armes ,
which appeared in 1884. The first part brought the sword, the
prehistoric weapon, up to the Middle Ages. The second would
have been the mediaeval sword, and the third would have brought
all the modern schools up to date, with illustrations.

437

428 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

On the 27 th of October, I got a regular blow through a telegram
ordering Richard off to look after Palmer, who was missing at
Ghazzeh.

The telegram ran as follows :—

“October 27th, 1882, 4.40 p.m.

“ H.M.’s Government wish to avail themselves of your knowledge
of Bedouins and the Sinai country, to assist in search for Professor
Palmer. There is a chance of his being still alive, though bodies
of his companions, Charrington and Gill, have been found Proceed
at once to Ghazzeh; place yourself in communication with Consul
Moore, who has gone from Jerusalem to institute inquiry.”

Richard answered—

“ Ready to start by first steamer. Will draw ^100. Want gun¬
boat from Alexandria to Ghazzeh or Sinai. Letter follows.”

As all the world knows, Palmer, Charrington, and Gill went into
the desert to buy camels for the English army and to bribe the
Bedawi. Palmer had other secret service besides; that was, to cut
the telegraph wire between Kantara and El Arish, and it was through
the telegraph wire not being cut that foul play was suspected.
Palmer was such a good Arabist, and was in such friendly relations
with all the people, that there seemed not the slightest danger. He
had brotherhood with all the Bedawi, like Richard, but they carried
^3000 (some say ^20,000) with them; the Bedawi surrounded them,
and they were, the newspapers said, given a choice of being shot or
jumping over a precipice. It is said Charrington and Gill elected
to be shot, and Palmer, covering his eyes, jumped over the precipice.
The men (with whom both Richard and Palmer had brotherhood)
who did this, belonged to the Huwaytat and Dubur, Terabin and
Hasabli. There was Salem el Sheikh ibn Salameh and twenty-
three other men implicated in it, besides the Shaykh. To Richard,
who knew the Bedawi, it was a puzzle; certainly they were slain,
but he felt there was always something we shall never know : it was
not Bedawi ways.

Richard started by the first steamer, and proceeded according to
orders. I remember the last thing I said to him was, “ Mind, if
they are really dead, don’t be put like a ferret into a hole to bring
out the dead bodies ” (for I remembered how economical England
is, and that, whatever other men have had, Richard had never been
given either money or men for any exploit); “ that won’t be worth
while.” He said, “ If they are dead, no ; but if there is a chance of
saving dear old Palmer, I will go anywhere and do anything.” On
the road he met Gordon. Meantime Sir Charles Warren was scour-

Another Short Leave to Lo 7 idon. 429

ing the country, well supported with money, and with two hundred
picked men, and by the time Richard got there, he may be said to
have nearly completed the task.

He describes Ghazzeh as a miserable, God-forgotten hole.

The trial of Arabi was going on, and Egypt was in great excite¬
ment in consequence. Richard was only absent six weeks and a half,
returning in December. He wrote an account of all he had seen
there, and the story of Palmer, and the state of Egypt, and he sent
it to a magazine at once, which sent it back. He sent it round to
many places, and I cannot remember now whether he ever got it
printed, but certainly too late to have the fresh interest it ought to
have had.

It is curious to remember now , how frequently he used to send
the most important articles, of vital use to the World, to the Press,
and get them sent back with compliments and thanks, to say they
would not suit such a paper or such a magazine, and how he
frequently went from one publisher to another with his most in¬
valuable books. It was one of the things that used to make us both
boil with rage, and noiv there has been a storm throughout the whole
Press Universe for twenty-two months because I burnt a book which
was the least valuable, nay, the only book he ever wrote that was not
valuable to the world. Such are the waves and whims of public
opinion.

It was the last journey he ever took that might be called an
Expedition, and even that was not what it was meant to be, since he
found another man (Sir Charles Warren) in the field, who did not
want to be much interfered with. I was awfully glad to get him
back again so soon, I need not say.

On the 6th of December we had an earthquake in the night and a
tremulousness all day, and earthquakes all the month. We were
walking on the Karso above ; the sky was clear, and all of a sudden
my niece said to me, “Oh, look up, there is a star walking into the
moon ! ” “ Glorious ! ” I answered. “We are looking at the Transit
of Venus, which crowds of scientists have gone to the end of the
world to see.” We then went down to meet Richard, who returned
at seven o’clock in the morning of the 10th, and all went happily
up to Op^ina. This day we had dreadful storms ; the lightning
fell in the town three times, and the telegraphs could not work.

1883.

Early in the year Richard had a slight attack of gout, and a
visit from Professor Leitner King’s College, London. He worked
now at his Sword book, and, as well as I can remember, his book
on the Jews.

430 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Richard now took an immense dislike to our house in Trieste,
where we had been over ten years. The fact is, I had increased it
in my ambition to twenty-seven rooms, and just as I had made it
perfection, he wanted to leave it. Certainly Providence directed,
for shortly after that, the drainage got so very bad there as to be
incurable, and after he got really ill, and his heart weak, it would
have been impossible for him to mount the hundred and twenty
steps, four stories high, to go in and out. We ransacked the whole
of Trieste, but there was only one house that suited us in any way,
and there was not the least likelihood of our being able to get it, as
it was occupied; but, curiously to say, six months later we did get
it, and got housed in it the following July.

We then had a trip down the Dalmatian coast in an Austrian-
Lloyd’s, to Sebenico, Zara, and Spalato. On this day five of Palmer’s
murderers were hanged in the presence of thirty-five Bedawi chiefs.
Richard could never understand why they only hanged five in¬
stead of twenty-four, the number of those concerned, and why the
Governor of El Arish was not hanged too. We went on to Castel-
nuovo, and to Cattaro, and then back. It was only for a few days,
but it did Richard a world of good. We then had a visit from
Major Borrowes, and Richard went for a trip to San Daniele, to
Wippacn, to Heidenschaft, and Plani, and came back. We spent
our birthdays, 19th and 20th of March, in Op^ina, and received a
telegram with twelve friends’ names attached to it.

On the 23rd of May, Richard went off to Krapina-Teplitz alone,
and would not take me, as we had a chance of getting the house we
wanted, and, in point of fact, I made the contract almost immediately,
and gave notice to quit the old one. There is a curious law in
Trieste that you must give notice, if you wish to quit a house, on the
24th of May, and on the 24th of August you must leave; so any
stranger coming into Trieste on the last day mentioned, would see
nothing but processions of carts and waggons covered with furniture
and boxes, and it looks exactly as if a town was being deserted for
a bombardment, or the moving of an army. The people, of course,
who remain in their houses do not do this; it is the ones who
change. I was resolved, for convenience’ sake, to come to an
agreement with my outgoing people to change at least a month
before the time, to avoid the general confusion.

Krapina-Teplitz did Richard no good—the waters were too strong
—and he came back on the 1 ith of June. Mr. Aubertin arrived on a
visit at the same time, and they had a great deal to discuss, both
being students and translators of Camoens. The Squadron was
reported the same afternoon, saluted at four p.m., and we went on
board an hour after. It was two years since their last visit. It was

Another Short Leave to London . 431

very much a repetition of that of 1881; there were eleven or twelve
ships, and they stayed thirteen days.

First came off the Austrian Admiral’s ball—a magnificent affair in
the illuminated garden, with singers from Vienna; then an equally
fine ball on board the Monarch, my brother Jack ArundelPs old ship.
Our ball on the same plan as last year, but—once bit, twice shy—at
the Jager.

It is a palatial sort of residence, on the summit of a glo ious wood,
commanding a view of sea, town, mountains, and woods, and when
illuminated with coloured lamps, Bengal lights, and electric light,
was like the last scene of a pantomime. It contains a ball-room that
would easily hold a thousand people, refreshment-room, large supper-
rooms, a gallery for orchestra, and several cloak-rooms. There is
a terrace all round it, and gardens. So we were not dependent
on the weather, nor the police, nor the peasants, and the grounds
were illuminated just the same for people to walk in, fireworks, etc.
Our cordon of police this year behaved very well, and were under
an Inspector. We all thoroughly enjoyed it, and the cotillon was a
splendid fantasia, as it generally is in Austria. The next day, was
my last fete for the animals, and at night the opera. The Captains
of the ships gave a dinner to Richard and me at Opgina.

Then came the Emperor’s dinner at Miramar, a dance on board
the Inflexible . We had a splendid ball on board the Temeraire
(Captain, now Admiral, Nicholson, who was an immense favourite
with everybody), and on the 23rd they all left, to our great regret.
Mr. Aubertin and Richard went to Zara, to Salona, and Spalato,
and came back on the 4th of July, and then we went up to stay at
the Jager instead of Opgina, when, having deposited them there, I
went back to change house.

For several days, long processions of carts were going up to the
new house, and Blanche and 1 and the servants worked for a month,
but on the 8th of July we were able to sleep in our new place, and it
was fit for Richard to come into on the 16th of July, 1883. Our new
residence was one of those old Palazzone which the Italians used
to build in the good old time ; but it so happens it was built by an
English merchant, as in old days there were English merchant-
princes here, but they have long since died out. It had a good
entrance, so that you could drive your carriage into the hall; and
a marble staircase took you into the interior, then a very mean
staircase of stone took you up to the rooms; the large ones were
magnificent in size, and there were twenty of all sorts. The air, the
light, was delicious, and the views, had they been in England, would
have had express trains to see them. One showed you the City

43 2 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

and Adriatic at your feet; one looked out on the open sea, this
being a wooded promontory ; one on an arm of the sea, a little gulf
that looked like a lake surrounded by mountains, dotted with
churches, spires, and little villages; and the other looked into
gardens and orchards, dotted with villas. A peasant’s house close
to ours (about which there had been some litigation) bore a squib
painted on the lintel by a wag of that time—“ Carta, canta, villan
dorme” (“ Sing, paper; the peasant sleeps”). We also had a very large
garden, and campagna (orchard) below it, wherein one could take a very
tidy walk, and it overlooked the gulf in which the Austrian fleet always
anchors. This was a far better home for Richard (ailing), for getting
up and down stairs, for sitting in the garden, and for air, being in
the hot summers eight degrees cooler than the City. He unfortu¬
nately, however, would have no bedroom, except the biggest room

in the house—so large that he could divide it into four parts, sleep¬
ing in one, dressing in another, writing in another, and breakfasting
in another; but it looked direct to the north, it received the full
force of the Bora , it never saw the sun, and though in winter it was
thoroughly well warmed, everything got damp there, arms rusted,
and so forth, and it was not until we had been there for four years
that I was able to persuade him to change his abode to the best
room in the house, the second largest on the other side of the house,
which looked to the south and the west. I always feel that his
malady would not have made such rapid progress if he would have
listened to that arrangement at first.

We swam and bathed all the summer; but Richard and I found
for the first time that it did not agree with us, and that our long
swimming days were over. I was playing with a little puppy in
early August which bit me in play, and drew blood, but in a couple
of days I woke with headache and very sick, and shooting pains all

Another Short Leave to London .

433

up the arm, and we thought I had got hydrophobia. The arm was
swelled, scarlet, very painful, and I felt light-headed. I sent for
a doctor, who examined the bite, and found I had been bitten by a
scorpion, of which our new house was full, just in the same place
that the tooth of the dog had broken the skin. He rubbed in
laudanum. I had several doses of bromide of potassium, and got all
right. I was stung three times after that, which produced the same
effect; but we soon exterminated the scorpions.

We used to read and write a great deal in the garden, and very
often used to spend the greater part of the day there.

We went over to Monfalcone to get rid of Richard’s flying gout,
and Miss H. E. Bishop again came to stay with us, and we had a
charming time at Dr. Gregorutti’s villa and museum, and afterwards
at Aquileja close by. Miss Bishop and I were delighted ; but we
had to hang back a little, because there was an old gentleman
staying at Aquileja who did not know Richard, and he was teaching
him very elementary science and ancient history in the museum, as
if he were a little boy of five; and Richard was such an awfully kind
man, and had such a respect for age, that he listened with as much
gravity and respect as if he really were five ; but he did not dare to
turn round and look at us. We then had a visit from Mrs. Moore,
the Consul’s wife from Jerusalem. We went in to Trieste to receive
Sir E. Malet; and then we made a little pilgrimage to Henri V.’s
tomb at Gorizia, and the monks gave me a bit of wood off the coffin
of Charles V. Richard got much better, we returned home, and
Lord Campbell arrived.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MISCELLANEOUS TRAITS OF CHARACTER AND OPINIONS.

I am afraid all this “gup,” as Richard would call it, will be con¬
sidered rather light and frivolous about places so well known, but I
want to give every word my husband has said about his life, and
where I think he has forgotten anything, I like to put it in after¬
wards. I am afraid of its reading in a jerky style, for a friend, who
one day sat in a corner when we were collaborating on one of his
big tables, wrote the following specimen of us as we were beginning
our work ;—

“Burtons—Husband and Wife.

“He. Bless (sic) you, I say hold your tongue! Who w r ants your
opinion ?

“ She (in a smaller voice). Oh, it is all very well, but you know
you are like an iron machine, and I do all the wit and sparkle.*

“ He. Oh, I dare say—the sparkle of a superannuated glow-worm.
(Then both roared with laughter, and writing is suspended for several
minutes.)

“ She. Now then, go on, old iron-works, and have the first say.”

(This is really the way most of our works, when collaborating, have
been written.)

But I have a greater object than this. I want to prove to the world,
that, though he was far from the sphere suited to his immense talent
and services, which he had richly earned from the Governments that
threw him away, his life was as happy as it could be made under the
circumstances. It was not the being chained to a hard barren rock,
as is generally represented. If the Governments had shown their
appreciation of his services, had placed him where he ought to have

* This was a little bit of “ chaff,” because he was so afraid of saying too much
about himself, that he often made it heavy with knowledge and science, and
suppressed what was interesting as to his own share in the matter quoted.—I. B.
434

435

Traits of Character and Opinions .

been placed, I believe I may say he would not have had a sorrow in
the world. It is true that the climate was bad—all our climates
were—but once gout had laid hold of him, it pursued him in every
climate, good and bad, and he suffered much. Indeed, it was one of
our pet jokes that we were so inured to bad climates that we were
generally ill in good ones.

I do not forgive the Governments for this, and less the Conservative,
for which he worked so hard; but they were merciful about “ leaved
He did not owe to them a penny of the money that enabled him to
do what he liked, go where he would, have what he liked, and have
the best of loving care, both wifely and medical, all his last years
He had to give half his pay to his Vice-Consul when absent, and so
it suited all round, but it galled him to have to ask for leave, and if
they could make no better use of him, they should at least have let
him go on full pay in 1886, when he had served them forty-four years,
and felt his breaking-up coming on. The only comfort I find in the
blow dealt him, about not getting Marocco, is, that I fear shortly
after he would have become unequal for the post, and I know that
quite latterly he was not able for more than he did.

He only made four attempts to better his official life after his
career was broken by recall from Damascus, and they were at the
latter end of his life. One was to be made a K.C.B., in 1878 ;
the second in 1880, to be appointed Commissioner for the Slave-
trade in the Red Sea—that was ten years before his death ; one
to succeed Sir John Drummond-Hay in Marocco, 1885—when that
was refused him, in his heart he threw up the Service, though
necessity kept him on; and in 1886 his last appeal was to be allowed
to retire on his full pension.

There seems to have been all along, during my husband’s life, an
impression that he was always craving for Government honours, and
complaining of neglect. This is absolutely untrue. He was too
proud, too manly, too philosophic. He was profoundly silent on the
subject. It was I who did it, I who asked, I who made interest,
and left no stone unturned to get him advanced to his proper deserts,
not from a mean vanity, nor selfish ambition, but because I saw
all these long years, with deep pain, what all the world knows and
acknowledges now , his true merits and great work; the true hero,
abandoned and forgotten, so surely as Gordon was, silently eating
his heart out by a foreign fireside, with a craving for England and
his fellow-men as strong as Byron’s. I alone am to blame, if blame
there is; and in those days the Press backed me. What harm would
it have done the Service, or the Foreign Office, to have given him
his last four crippled years, with his pension ? This reproach has

436 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

been thrown in our teeth by successful people who ought to have
had better taste.

As I said before, a man presents different characters to his wife,
to his family, to her family, to his lover, to his men-friends, to
his boon-companions, to the public. Now I have often, in the early
days of my married life, watched with great interest and astonishment
things that in after life I became quite used to. My husband, whose
character naturally quite expanded with me in the privacy of our
domestic life, became quite another man the moment anybody else
entered the room. He was very natural with my immediate family,
my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and one or two of
my uncles, so that they would describe him very much in the same
terms that I do. With his own family he was, again, quite a different
man, so that they saw him in another light. With the few friends—
and you could count them on the fingers of one hand—with whom
he chose to be really intimate, he expanded to a certain amount;
to all those he really liked he was a first-rate and staunch friend.
With his boon-companions he was the centre of attraction. He
would sit in the middle of them, and by his gaiety, brilliant con¬
versation, and sound knowledge, fascinate the whole room, but to
the world in general he seemed to wear a mask. He would throw
out his quills like a porcupine, and somebody remarked they
seemed to become harder every year.

When we were staying with my father, of whom he was particu¬
larly fond, he would always sit by him at meals. My father kept
very open house, and intimates used to flock in at meal-times.
Sometimes, when he would be in a full flow of spirits and gaiety,
some outsider would walk in. He would stop suddenly, and his face
become like a mask, and my father at first used to ask me, “ What
is the matter ? Is Dick offended ? Doesn’t he like So-and-so ? ”
and I said, u Oh no ; that is his usual habit when a stranger comes
in, and he will be like that until he knows him; and if he does not
like him he will be always like that to him, and if he is nice he
will thaw.” He seemed to have a horror of any one seeing the
inside of him, and if he was caught saying or doing anything good,
he would actually blush, and hide it as if he had been caught com¬
mitting a crime.

In married life we quite agreed about most things, and one was
that complete liberty took off all the galling chain, popularly
attributed by men to the monotony, dreary respectability, and con¬
ventionality of the usual British home circle, which frightens so
many men from entering into matrimony, and which forms the anti¬
dote to the cosiness, companionship, and security of home, to two

437

Traits of Character and Opinions.

people who understand each other; consequently, whenever he
showed a tendency to wander, and to go without me, though I was
overjoyed when I was told I might go, I never restricted him. I
provided every imaginable comfort for him; I transacted all his
business at home, so that he might feel that he had left his second
self, that nothing would go amiss when he was away. When he
returned, he got a warm and joyous welcome, and was asked no
questions. He told me w T hat he liked, at his own sweet will, and I
knew that he always returned to me with pleasure. He smoked
where he liked, he brought whoever he liked into the house, his
friends were always welcome, and he knew he need never be ashamed
or afraid to ask anybody in to lunch or dinner; in short, his home was
his ow r n, and it was comfortable. On my part, I never wanted to go
away from him for an hour; but when he sent me, as he often did,
on various business for him, I went. But I am glad to think, now
that he has gone, that after my business was terminated, no amount
of pleasure or engagements, or a need to rest, ever held me back
one hour when I might have been with him. I was always on
board, or in the train, two hours after the work, whatever it was,
was done, but I am equally sure that if I had said to him, “Jemmy,
I am hipped, or I am bored, or I want a change,” he would have told
me to pack up my things and to go off for a week or a fortnight to
Paris or London, or anywhere else I liked.

Richard was a most moral and refined man at home in his
domestic life. He was not only the best husband that ever lived,
but the pleasantest man to live with, and the easiest. He was too
large-minded for all the usual small worries and Grundified con¬
ventions that form the cab-shafts of domestic life in civilization. He
was a man with whom it was possible to combine, to keep up all the
little refinements of the honeymoon, which tends to preserve affec¬
tion and respect, and a halo of romance, which we kept up for thirty
years, which is to civilized European life, just what putting one’s self
on a lower rank than one’s husband in Moslem life is in the East
—it preserves respect to both man and woman; whilst anything
immoral, or cruel, or dishonest called forth his anger and severity.

He was a man who, if he had not practised great self-control,
could have had a very violent temper; but he had it so completely
under him, that I have very seldom seen him in a rage, except, as I say,
at anything cruel or unjust, ungentlemanly or immoral. With regard
to domestic temper, it is a consolation to me to say that we never
had a quarrel in our lives, nor even cross words, although occasion¬
ally women-friends worked hard to that effect. I always hold it as a
rule that it is the most ungenerous thing a woman can be guilty of

438 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

to “ nag ” a man, because, if he is a gentleman, he is at an utter dis¬
advantage—he can’t strike her. I have often seen women nagging at
their husbands till I have wondered why they did not knock them
down and jump upon them. When we married, I made a promise to
myself that I would never do this, and if I ever saw him a little put
out about anything, and felt myself getting irritable, I used to go out
of the room on some excuse till it had passed, and then come back,
and by that time we would begin to chaff about it, and it was all
gone. I remember once slamming the door when I went out, and I
heard him roaring with laughter.

He never had any mean jealousy, as a little man would have had.
If I got any praise he was glad, and when he knew that I had
striven my heart out in somebody’s service, or for some good, and
that I got slighted, as I often did, or a still worse return, he used to
be furious, and I always used to have to pretend that I liked it to
keep him quiet. In some few cases, let us say in the service of the
poor, or in the protection of animals, I was more frequently seen
than he was, and some ignorant person would say, “ Look, my dear,
that is the kind lady’s husband ; ” and he used to roar with laughing,
and say, “ What a capital joke for me to be known only as ‘ Lady
B.’s husband ’! ” Then we used to laugh, and I used to pretend to
be delighted with my importance.

I am glad to say there was only one will in the house, and that was
his. He was master and mistress both, but, like all great men, he
gave carte blanche for all little things; but if he once put his foot
down, and had he chosen to say black was white, white I knew it had
to be. I like that. I was only too lucky to have met my master; I
hate a house where the woman is at the helm. Then, like all great
men, he was open to reason, and if, after having agreed to his views,
I said later on, “I am going to do what you wish, but, before it is too
late, what would you think of such a plan ? ” he would reflect a
moment, and if my idea was really good, he would at once say.
“Why, of course, I never thought of it; do what you say.” But if
his way was best, he would say, “No, I have decided.”

His kindness of heart, and consideration for other people’s
feelings, nobody will ever know. In public life, and with his
dependents, he was severe, but very just. He was always touched
by any show of confidence and trust, and I must say he met it
everywhere. He was adored by servants, by children, by animals,
and by all people under him—soldiers, sailors, and tribes. When
any British subjects were put into prison, and he ascertained that
it was unjust or harsh (for instance, as the old man of ninety
imprisoned a whole winter at Damascus, deep snow on the

Traits of Character and Opinions. 439

ground, in a narrow cell with scarce bread and water enough to
keep him alive, for owing a Jew sixteen shillings which he could
not pay, and these things are numerous), he used to go down once
a week to the prisons, and let them out on his own responsibility,
and let their accusers fight him instead of them. Hence, often
complaints to the Home Government against him from the rich and
powerful. Once a British sailor in Trieste was put in prison for
some drunken lark; he had good-naturedly treated a native soldier
to a drink, and when Jack had had enough, the native stole his
watch. Jack, naturally, immediately knocked him down and took it
from him, so he was locked up. The next day Richard got a very
dirty-looking note, on which was written outside, “The Council.”
The seal was Jack’s dirty thumb. Inside was—

“ Burtin,

“ i ham hin trobel, kum and let me haout.

“Tim Trouncer.”

Richard was delighted, and immediately went off and got the sailor
out, and got the authorities to put the native soldier in his place. I
simply give this as an illustration of the manner in which he was
trusted and loved.

His mode of study was as follows :—

In early life he studied everything till he had passed in it,
whether it was medicine, law, theology, or any other branch. In after
life he kept his knowledge on a steady platform, studying up all
things together to a certain point at so much a day, “ raising the
platform ” (as he called it) equally. He never passed a day without
reading up something in one of his twenty-nine languages; hence he
spoke them all without difficulty, never mixing them. He then read
a good deal, and took notes, and cut any useful and interesting
paragraphs from about ten English and four local papers. He used
to examine into the meaning and the etymology of words as he
went on, with all their bearings and different spellings; he never read
hurriedly, passing anything over. He wrote for a certain time in the
day at several different tables—-a table to each work. He kept him¬
self up in all the passing events of the day, wrote his journal, copied
anything that struck him, and at night he always “ cooled his head ”
with a novel. If he were sick he would go to bed for several days
—went on the starvation system, banished all business from his mind,
and had piles of novels on chairs by his bed. One day he would get
up quite well and go to work again. The most remarkable thing
about him was, that every man who spoke to him found, that his
one specialty was Richard’s specialty. It seemed as if there was

44 ° The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

nothing that he did not know; and as for hidden things, he seemed
to guess them by intuition as if he were a magician.

People will wonder if I tell them of a quality quite unsuspected
on the exterior. The older he grew, the greater dislike he had for
women who went wrong. He was always civil to them, especially
in his own house, but there was a coldness in his manner to
them, in contrast to people who were innocent, and he seemed to
detect them by instinct. He used to tell me that he inherited
this from his father, who in his old age was exactly the same, and
if any lady known to have affaires gallantes was coming, that he
used to turn round to his mother and say, “ Mind, Martha! I
won’t have that adulteress put by me.” He was also very indignant
if any lady was insulted. He especially disliked a man who boasted
of favours received, or let one know in any way about it—he
always said such a one was no Englishman; and when he heard
that any woman had lost her reputation through being simply kind
to anybody, he took her part. He said, “Those are not even the
men who ‘ kiss and tell,’ but the men who ‘ tell and have noi
kissed.’ A man when he really has any affair with a woman, if he is
a man, is deadly silent about it.” In his journals he has mapped
and classified his men into three sorts as regarding their conduct
with women:—

“ i. The English gentleman who kisses and does not tell.

“ 2. The snob who kisses and tells, or if he does not actually tell,
he insinuates with a smile and a gesture.

“ 3. Is the lying coward who tells and does not kiss, has never
been allowed the chance of kissing, who has a snub to avenge, or
who blackmails for money; who forge their own love-letters, and
read them not only to their friends, but at cafds and clubs.

“ The two last classes were more or less unknown in England till
the introduction of so much foreign blood and foreign contact. It
never would have occurred to the pure-blooded Englishman. Un¬
fortunately, when men debase themselves by asking ladies for money
(there is always something generous in a woman to a man—not to
her own sex), they pity them, and are kind to them, and give it to
them, instead of doing what they ought to do—ringing the bell
and having the man turned out of the house. I have seen more
innocent women lose a spotless reputation by those acts of kind¬
ness, than others by an illicit love with an English gentleman.
When I see a man trying to prove that a woman drinks, or that
she is out of her mind, or hysterical, or a liar, if he tells it to
me once I may forget it, but if he tells it to me twice I know
that that man has got something serious to hide, and that that
woman knows his secret. If the man is effeminate, or deformed,
or vain, morbid, or craving for notice and sympathy, be sure it is

Traits of Character and Opinions. 441

his own state he describes, and not the woman he runs down, who
has snubbed him and know r s what he wants to hide.”

Of critics and reviewers he wrote as follows :—

“ They no longer review books; when they are incompetent
they review the author, and if the author’s politics and religion
do not happen to agree with the office of that paper, it admits
scurrilous and personal paragraphs on the authors themselves,
bringing up a sort of dossier of the author, which would be con¬
sidered even disgraceful in a trial in a criminal court. Thirty years
ago this would never have been allowed. This may amuse the writer,
it may excite the reader, but I protest against it. Nothing can be
less profitable to an author or a reader than a long tirade of peevish,
petulant, personal comment, and unanswerable sneer. This is only
used by people who can shelter themselves under an anonymous
signature, or a Critique manque , and is quite the mark of a pretender
in literature and critical art, and which seldom disfigures the style
of a true or able critic.”

Much as he disliked unjust or coarse criticism, he delighted in
playful bits of chaff like the following from the writer of the
feuilleton in the Queen, the lady’s newspaper and Court chronicle.
He had simply written to the Morning Post a little chaff, telling
truly what he had seen at a private Davenport seance .

“ Oh, R. F. B. ! Oh, R. F. B. !

How can you such a ninny be ?

Why peril a good name and fame
By playing into tricksters’ game ?

Why, when all other dodges fail,

Apply your aid to prop a tale

Not half so true as ‘ Gammer Gurton,’

With such a name as R. F. Burton t ”

“ Gaiety,” in speaking of Echo , said—

“ The Echo is just a bit wild,

Its par is indeed a hard hitter;

In fact, it is not drawn mild,

It is a matter of Burton and bitter.”

Anent the “ Arabian Nights,” a young girl says—

“ What did he say to you, dear aunt ?

That’s what I want to know.

What did he say to you, dear aunt ?

That man at Waterloo !

“ An Arabian old man, a Nights old man,

As Burton, as Burton can be;

Will you ask my papa to tell my mamma
The exact words and tell them to me ? ”

44 2 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

There was another capital chaff on his “ Lusiads,” but I cannot
find it.

With regard to flowers, he would go out and bring one little wild
flower and put it in a glass of water on his table—sometimes a single
leaf. If anybody gave him a bouquet, or brought hothouse or garden
flowers and put them under his nose, he would turn away with
disgust; and people will no doubt laugh when I tell them that it
was a peculiar form of asceticism which ran like a thread (one
amongst many) through his life. He learnt singing, but he found his
own voice so disagreeable in song he would not go on with it, whilst
his speaking voice never had its equal—so soft and deep and
attractive, that every one would stop to listen as if it were a sweet-
toned bell.

In music he had the finest ear, so that a false note was an
agony to him; and he could fully appreciate all Eastern music and
gypsy music that would sound tuneless to an English ear, and only
loved the minor key. He would go to an opera to hear a new
prima donna, but he could not abide amateur music, and at evenings
at home, if anybody proposed a little music, and a girl got up and
nervously warbled a ballad about banks and butterflies, he used to
put his hand to his stomach and walk out of the room. He did not
allow me to cultivate much music, but if I sang melancholy music in
a minor key, in a soft low voice, he would throw open the door even
while he was at work.

He was intensely simple in his tastes. I used to busy myseit
greatly, Martha-like, about making his room extremely comfortable;
but the moment I put anything pretty in it, it used to be put in the
passage. He liked large plain deal tables, about six feet long and
three or four feet broad, with no table-cloth. He would tie a red
bandanna on the leg for a penwiper. He liked hard wooden
writing-chairs, and to have a great many of these tables—one for
each separate work; a small iron bedstead, with iron wove mattress,
no sheets, but plenty of English white soft warm blankets. He
would have no night-light; but would never have blinds nor shutters
drawn, that he might see daylight as soon as possible, and the last
of the twilight. His bookshelves were all of plain deal, and each
category upon which he was working, was kept separate. He would
not have his books and papers touched, and preferred dust and
cobwebs to their being moved. His three private rooms contained
only books, swords, pistols, and guns, scientific instruments, a
few medicines, and plenty of clothes. He loved his old clothes.
He would order rows of greatcoats and ulsters, and then go out in
a little thin coat to keep himself hardy.

443

Traits of Character and Opinions.

He had a great love for boots, and sometimes had as many as
a hundred pairs in the house. I used to implore to be allowed to
give his old hats away to the cabmen, and he only laughed im¬
mensely at my getting so ashamed of them; but he always had loads
of new clothes, and wore the old ones for preference. There was
one rather amusing story about a fencing-shoe. He lost one, and
he went and asked his bootmaker if he would make him another.
He said, “ No ; he would make him a pair.” He took this shoe all
over the world, and every bootmaker he saw he asked him to make
the odd shoe; but nobody ever would. At last we found out that
there is a superstition amongst bootmakers that if they make one
boot they die. He tried it for eighteen years and never succeeded,
and I have the odd shoe now in remembrance.

He never would keep two of anything. If he had two things of
a sort he gave one away, and if he became attached to any particular
thing he would give it away—another asceticism—nor would he
indulge in any perfume except good eau de Cologne.

With regard to food, he was very fond of what some people would
call common things ; but no man understood better how to order a
dinner, or what to order, and how to enjoy it, especially in Paris.
He used to say that French cooking and English materials and a
good cellar ought to keep any man alive for a hundred years; but
when he could not get these luxuries he preferred, not the demi-
semi sort of table with sham entrees , but whatever food of the
country the natives ate. For instance, in West Africa on the
coast, everything was turtle, which abounds. In Brazil it was
fejao and far inha, which fejoada was brown beans, covered with
a very savoury sauce, and coarse flour (the two mixed up together
are delicious); and also a kind of hot-pot, which was kept
continually going. In Damascus and all Eastern places it would
be kous-kous, of which he never tired, and kabdbs; and in Trieste,
risotto (a savoury rice dish with lumps of meat thrown about in
it), polenta (yellow meal made something like a pudding with
little birds in it), ravioli (Genoese paste), and so on.

But, in fact, in each place that we went to, he used native dishes,
native wine, and native smoke, cigars or otherwise, because, as he
argued, they were adapted to the climate. So when we came to a
pretentious hotel, and he asked for common things—let us say the
little black olives—the proprietor would say, “ Oh dear, no, Sir; we
don’t keep such common things as that; ” and he used to say,
“ Then send out sharp and get them.” He loved bdcald (dried
codfish) and saiierkraut , but they have both such a horrid smell
that I bargained to have them on Saturday, the day after my

444 Life of Sir Richard Burton.

reception day (Friday). One thing he could not bear, and that
was honey. As some people know that there is a cat in a room,
he also could not sit in the room with honey, and knew even if it
was kept in the most secret drawer or cupboard. Sometimes after
a dinner or lunch I have said to him, u What made you look so
uncomfortable ? ” And he would say, “ There was honey in the
room, and I thought they would think I was mad if I asked to have
it removed ; but I felt quite faint.”

His great treat of all was a sucking-pig, three weeks old, roasted
well with the crackle, stuffing, and apple-sauce; and this was always
ordered on our wedding-day and on his birthday.

With regard to what he drank, from the time of Richard’s attacks
of gout, he stuck steadily to three ounces a day of whisky-and-water
during the twenty-four hours. His favourite wine was port—he
used to call it the “ prince of wines ; ” but he was not allowed it
during the last three years and a half. Champagne he cared but
little for. I was so sorry that he could not add, being no longei
living, his testimony to Dr. Broadbent, when the discussion was on
in the papers about drink in 1891; but I can do it for him now, and
confirm it too. In all bad climates—West Africa, India, and else¬
where—when an epidemic such as cholera or yellow fever comes
on, the first men to die are the water-drinkers, and when the first
virulence has polished them off, it clears off the drunkards, and the
only persons left living are the moderate drinkers. This is a positive
fact, and anybody who gainsays it, has had no practical experience
in very bad climates.

Our days used to be passed as follows :—

Of course, I am not speaking now of the last three and a half
years that he was sick and I broken down. In his days of health
and strength he suffered from insomnia, and he could not get more
than two or three hours’ sleep. For the first twenty-two years of my
married life, I made our early tea at any time from three to half-past
five, according to the seasons (and if I happened to go to a ball I
did not find it worth while to go to bed); we had tea, bread and butter,
and fruit. Now, if it was a home day, we would set to work first on our
journals, then on the correspondence, and then to our literature. I
did the greater part of his correspondence by dictation or directions,
and then copied for him or wrote with him and for him. At eleven
or twelve, according to the seasons, we had a regular dejeuner (lunch),
answering to the continental fashion. He would then go to the
Consulate or we went for a long walk, or I would do visits or
shopping, or look after the Societies of which I was President—it
might be for the poor or the animals. If it were summer, we would

445

Traits of Character and Opinions.

take an hour’s swim; if it were winter, an hour at the fencing school.
In our declining days, in the summer time, we had an hour’s siesta
before beginning new work. At four o’clock a sit-down tea of bread
and butter and fruit and jam, at which most of our intimates and
our Staff would flock in; and then we would return to our literature
till evening dinner, either in garden or house. After dinner we
smoked and read, went to bed about ten, and read ourselves to
sleep.

Sometimes we were invited out, or invited friends, and this was
varied by long excursions, riding, driving, walking, or boating. We
generally knew every stick and stone for fifty miles round the place
we lived in, and, of course, larger travels or camp life varied again
from this. Camp life for me would begin two hours before dawn,
when I would see the horses watered, fed, groomed, and saddled,
and somebody else the striking of the tents, the packing and loading
of the baggage animals. At dawn we started, and we rode until the
sun was impossibly hot. We then called a halt, got shade if we could,
loosened the girths, watered our beasts and ourselves if possible,
fed them and ourselves if we could, and in all cases rested. After
about a couple of hours we went on again till sunset. We then
bivouacked for the night. If we were amongst any tribes, his diwan
was spread, chibouks and lemonade were prepared, and he sat in state
and received chiefs or notables. I used to walk off with the horses,
and went through the whole detail again of changing saddle and
bridle for clothing and halter, cooling, watering, feeding, clothing,
picketing, and then back to the tent to join the party in a humble
and unostentatious manner as would become a young man, if I were
posing as suck —say a son or a dependant.

Once the visits were over we had supper, and to bed, and to¬
morrow da capo.

During our last three and a half years we were both broken down,
though I am still alive to tell the tale, and we had to forget what we
used to do, and train down to what we could do; but I look back
with comfort and pride on the reflection that during our thirty years
of married life we never lost a minute, and that it was all occupied
in trying to “soar,” and not to “drop.” The word always in his
mouth was “ work, work, work,” and his motto always, “ Excelsior ! ”

He had another peculiarity on which he rather prided himself.
In his latter years about most things he was excessively open—in
fact, I used to be rather surprised and sometimes worried at the way
in which he talked quite openly of his plans before utter strangers,
and corresponded freely about literature with people he had never
seen, and I often think that he came to a great deal of harm that

446 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

way, that untrue people were apt to trade upon it; and, on the other
hand, on the things he really felt most, he prided himself on his
secrecy, and was very fond of hiding things. I used to tell him he
was a regular magpie, because in the end he hid them so well that
he used to have to come and call me to try and find them.

He used to trust me with the whole of the money, and I rendered
him a monthly account, and it amused him immensely to pretend
to people that I never allowed him any money, but sent him out
with half a crown. Sometimes, when he made a small literary
profit, he would hide it away, and it used invariably to get stolen.
Once he put away ;£i8 after this fashion, and our cook in our
absence let some boy-friend of hers come in to play with the
weapons; the boy poked his nose into all the drawers and found it,
and stole it, and after that he did not hide any more.

He never knew how much he had, if he had debts or anything.
I managed all that, and used to show him once a month a total of
what was spent and what there was to go on with. He liked money
for what it would bring, but he was very generous; he never gave it
a thought, and he spent it as fast as he got it. He gave freely.
He was born to be rich, and he liked to be thought rich. His
own motto which he composed for himself was, “ Honour, not
Honours;” and his chaff motto for young ladies’ albums, and which
he would never explain to them, was as follows:—

“ Shdwir hunna wa Khdlif hunna.”

“ Consult them ( fern .) and (do contrary) to them.”

It is very curious the ignorance with which he was occasionally
met. An educated man from Vienna asked him one day if he had
ever been to Africa, and an educated Englishwoman, after living
nearly eighteen years with him in Trieste, asked him the same
question, and was not aware that he had ever written a book. I
think that gives people some idea of his modesty.

He had a great objection personally to cremation, although he
thought it a clean and healthy thing; but he said with his usual joke
at a serious thing, “ I do not want to burn before I have got to; ”
and secondly, “ When a fellow has been quartered for seven years
or more close to a Hindu s?ndshan , or burning-ground, it reminds
him so painfully of the unpleasant smell of roast Hindi!” (which
pervaded his quarters when he was a struggling ensign or lieutenant).
He used to carry a stick, which it was a pain to lift, to exercise the
muscles of his arms; his Damascus pipe held a quarter of a pound
of tobacco; his elephant-guns, with which he used to trot about
Africa, of twenty-four pounds, which carried a four-ounce ball, I can
only just lift; and, on the other hand, and later on in life, he would

Traits of Character and Opinions . 447

buy such diminutive things that they were almost more fit for a
doll’s house than for a man.

His handwriting, as everybody knows, was so small as to be
almost invisible, and he used jokingly to say that the printers struck
work when one of his manuscripts went in. They used to make
hideous mistakes, and he used to abuse them in what he jokingly
called “ langwidge ” all down the margins, and one day a firm sent
up a foreman to say that the men declined to go on if they were
abused in that manner. I was sent to interview the man, and we
both laughed so much we could hardly speak, but he said he would
go back and try to pacify them. Richard used always to say that
a wee writing, as if done with a pin, betokened a big, strong man ; a
bold, dashing hand, as if written with the poker, was always a tiny,
golden-haired, baby-faced woman.

Sometimes, when people annoyed Richard in little ways, I would
say, “ Never mind; why do you take notice of such little things ? ”
and he invariably answered, “ I am like an elephant’s trunk; I can
pick up a needle and root up a tree.”

In his latter days, though his eyes were as soft and as brilliant
and youthful as they could be, he only required spectacles just at
the very end to read his own writing or small print, and the oculist
found that he had two quite different eyes, which had been com¬
plained of in Madame Gutmansthal’s picture, showing what a true
artist she was. The right required No. 50 convex, and the left eye
14 convex. He turned to me and said, “ I always told you that
I was a dual man, and I believe that that particular mania when
I am delirious is perfectly correct.”

He was a man dearly loved by all Eastern races, by children and
servants, and animals; he never made a mistake about character,
and often when I have been quite delighted with people he has
warned me against them, and forbidden me to have anything to do
with them. I have never known him wrong in his estimate.

He had a wonderful prescience of things and events, even of those
things of which he knew the least. I might quote a little common
instance of so trite a thing as the “Argentines.” I had some money
in Argentines—not much, only a few hundreds—and one day without
any rhyme or reason he ordered me to take them out. I thought to
myself that if a first-rate lawyer and a first-rate broker put them in,
that it must be right, and that Richard, being anything but a business
man, could not possibly know anything about it, so I did not write
the letter. Six months later he gave me a call; I went into his
room.. “ Did you ever write that letter that I desired you to write,
taking your money out of the Argentines?” “No, Jemmy,” I said;

448 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“you know you know nothing about business, and it is a good
percentage.” He said very sternly, “Go and bring your pen and
paper directly, and sit down here, and write it before me, and I will
post it myself.” He dictated to me a most imperative letter to my
lawyer, desiring him to withdraw the money the moment he received
the letter, without stopping to write back any questions. It was
done, and my lawyer wrote me back a very aggrieved letter at my
want of confidence in the judgment of his broker, and bitterly com¬
plained that I had lost ^14. I gave it to Richard, who was delighted.
A fortnight later the smash came. To show how kind-hearted he is,
he called me and said laughingly, “I forbid you to write and taunt
your lawyer; I know it is an awful temptation.” He was so ex¬
tremely punctiliously conscientious in his conduct to other people,
so full of kindnesses and consideration for the feelings and
peculiarities of other people.

I know that he is appreciated already, but not yet understood.
His nobility of nature and chivalry belonged to the Knights of the
Middle Ages. His science, erudition, and broad views belong to
sixty years hence; his misfortune was not belonging to his Time,
and hence the many failures during his life.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

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 Op^ina, 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.

On the 31st of November Richard really got so bad he alarmed
me, for he nearly fainted, and I got the master of the Opgina 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 tne

2 F 449

450 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 peri¬
tonitis 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 ! ! 1 ”

He notices the death of Richard Doyle the nth 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 alter¬
nately 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

45i

Decline in our Well-being.

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 sail 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.

452 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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, with¬
out 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 per¬
ceive 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” (Cal¬
cutta edition), taking it up from the material already collected with
Dr. Steinhaiiser 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 Triibner, 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.

RICHARD BURTON IN IIIS BEDROOM AT TRIESTE.

Here he began his “ si rat/an Nightsist April 1884. In this room he died on 20 th October 1890.

By A Ibert Letchford.

Decline in our Well-being . 453

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 Hotel Daniele was only just across the road, and lean¬
ing 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 Marienbad, although I must say that the only two
objects of interest between Vienna and Marienbad are Prince Schwar-
zenberg’s castle and the storks sitting on their nests on the cottage
roof-tops. We went to Klinger’s Hotel, and here he rapidly pro¬
gressed, 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 straw¬
berries, myosotis, buttercups, and daisies, and enjoyed Marienbad
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 Konigswort,

454 Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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. 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.

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
Poltschach, 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 con¬
stantly 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.

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 attache 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.

455

Decline in our Well-being.

After having seen all our friends off, we went up to Opgina, where
I sent out thirty-four thousand circulars for the “ Arabian Nights.”

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.

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 acci¬
dent, 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.”

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 i$th ; it is our unlucky day, and we have got to be very
careful.”

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

456 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 redis¬
covered, nor reappear in England—and Gordon was quite the man
to do 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.

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! ”

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.

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 hun¬
dred 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

Dcrime in our Well-being. 457

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 FEolian 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 under¬
stand the Arabs, and if the 1 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 mccha?iique.
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 Supple¬
mental volumes. At first I rather objected to his risking the
“Arabian Nights,” from a passage written by himself in his “First
Footsteps in East Airica,” page 36—

458 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

“ 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
jn 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 lan¬
guage is so wonderful, the expression so graceful, the rendering of
thought as well as words so accurate, the poetry so fresh and charm¬
ing. 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 conversa¬
tion in Arabic, but to read the popular books and newspapers, and
to write letters to his friends; he will also possess a repertoire of
Arab manners and customs, beliefs and practices, which are not

459

Decline in our Well-being.

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.

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.

Athenaeum , 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.”

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.

The first volume of the “ Arabian Nights ” came out on the 12th
of September, 1885, and the sixteenth volume, the last of the
supplemental, on the 13th of November, 1887; thus in a period
of three years we had produced twenty-two volumes — the ten
originals, the six supplemental, and my six volumes, i.e. so-called
mine.

460 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

On the 21 st 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 Lord-
ship 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.

On the 21st of November Richard started for Marocco in For-
wood’s steamer Mequinez , from St. Katherine’s Wharf. I accom¬
panied 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.

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. How¬
ever, he was not long in Tangier before he began to feel gouty again.

CHAPTER XXIX.

OUR LAST APPEAL.

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

< 461

462 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

face, and exceedingly low-spirited; but he got better and better, as
he always did as soon as he was with me.*

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, con¬
veying 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 diplo¬
matic 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 sup¬
plying 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.”

* 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.

Our Last Appeal. 463

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 Sharifah called
on me; she was the Englishwoman who married the Sherif 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 Dul-
ness/ and passed a pleasant week at the 4 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

464 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

now they have fallen long behind the age, and could not defend
themselves against a single ironclad. The fact is now generally
recognized.

“We embarked in ugly weather on board the Cunarder s.s. Sara¬
gossa ; 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 1 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 pre¬
pared. 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 pass¬
ing 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 encemte ,
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
self, Our Lady of the Rosary of Pompeii, a rich basilica erected on
the site of a pagan temple.

“ 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

Our Last Appeal . 465

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, command¬
ing 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 im¬
mediately 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 dis¬
obliging 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 tom 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

466 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

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.

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.

A great part of the summer we used to sit under one par¬
ticular 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! ”

“ 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.’ ”

467

Our Last Appeal.

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 Com¬
missioner 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 Rose¬
bery 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

468 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 Euro¬
peans, 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
Dahonffi, 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 examina¬
tions 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 L 3 °° a Y ear t0 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

Our Last Appeal . 469

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 politi¬
cal 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.

“ 1 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.”

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.

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.

CHAPTER XXX.

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 Pro¬
fessor Zotenberg, and was delighted with the library, the Bibliotheque
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 Hotel Windsor, as we
were rather done up.

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

We leave England. 471

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 Asnkn,’ 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 organi¬
zation 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 Hotel 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
millionaries of the newest. Cannes is a syren that lures to destruc¬
tion, 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 mislre physiologique , reminding one of Madeira. One
meets with friends without number,* and what with breakfasts,

* I notice he was introduced to one lady whom he describes in his journal as “ a
charming kangaroo j ” and it was so apt, so clever, as his comparisons always
were.—I. B.

472 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

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 cafe 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 High¬
nesses. We had the honour of being invited to breakfast by their
Imperial Highnesses the Prince Leopold and Princess of Hohen-
zollern-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 “ Pentame-
rone of Basili.” He spoke the Neapolitan dialect very fluently as
a boy.

We leave England . 473

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 earth¬
quake.’ 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, espe¬
cially Nice, Mentone, and chief of all Diana Marino, suffered terribly.
Mentone seemed as if freshly bombarded, and Diana, where the
locus 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 lolks
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

474 77 ^ Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 Abbe’s room,
and flung herself upon his bed, shrieking, ‘ Get up ! get up, Father!
I have not confessed for twenty years.’ The poor Abb£ 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—

“ 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 amuse¬
ment 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 agita¬
tion, 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.”

475

We leave England.

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 some¬
thing, 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 prepara¬
tory 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 3 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.

476 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 Aur&ie 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 Govern¬
ment, 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.

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 circum¬
stances 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 strenu¬
ously 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, 4 How many valuable lives are lost by

477

We Leave England.

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 deter¬

mination 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.

“ 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 Hotel 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 palpi¬
tation 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

478 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 comer.

“ 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,

479

We leave England.

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. Mac-
Dowall, and Madame Emily de Laszouska, nee 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 Opqina, the Slav village of the Karso, to
the Jager, to Duino to visit the Princesses Hohenlohe, and received
many visitors of all nations, many of them exceedingly interesting.

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 inves¬
tigation 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.

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
vie attended officially; on the second we had a banquet and ball at
the Jager. Richard took the chair at dinner. He was brought down
to dinner by his doctor, where he made a most loyal and original
speech; immediately after dinner he was taken upstairs again. It

480 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

was the only occasion on which he would ever consent to wear his
order of St. Michael and St. George.

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 let¬
ting 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 Op9ina, 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.

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 Leave England\ 481

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 pre¬
served this nest sacredly, in the hopes others would come, and I hope
it is there still. It made Richard a little superstitious, which super¬
stition 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 Hohenlohe, Princess Taxis, and
Prince Palavacini, and the Comte de Brazza to tea. These im¬
promptu 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, pro¬
bably, fits if he had not been taken suck 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.

482 The Life of Sir Richard Burton,

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 15 th 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 fbo a year, and they lived an hour from Trieste
like peasants, and in a peasant’s cottage. The sons found employ¬
ment, 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 Poltschach,
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.* 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 prot?ie?ioir 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

* Sauerbrunn has been already mentioned, but I want to give his descrip¬
tion of it.

We leave England. 483

imagined, is simple enough. They rise before the sun, walk about
drinking the waters, and flock to the restaurant for rolls and cafe 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 dejeuner
d la fourchette , which is really a dinner. The cooking was tolerable,
the wines too, and the price half that of Marfenbad. 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 nietite after eleven of hard drudgery. The
visitors vary from six to twelve thousand. The nicest drives are
Pvohitsch, to Poltschach, and Marein, Graf Atems Schloss, Kos-
tranitz, and Marfen 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 fan-

484 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

tastic lie to punish them, they have gaped, and said, * How wonder¬
ful ! 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!

“ The fourth event was the arrival of the English Squadron, on Sep¬
tember 9th, at Trieste, with the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh,
Prince George of Wales, the Marquis of Lome, 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 har¬
monious relation. This had been our pleasant duty for many years
past, and now, on this, the grandest occasion of all, we were con¬
demned 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 disap¬
pointed 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 Wiirmbrandt and
the Grafin, 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

We leave England. 485

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 coach¬
man 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, archaeologist
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.”

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

486 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

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 appoint¬
ment, and I begged to be allowed to write and ask him to accept
ours. I obtained permission, and he relieved Dr. Leslie on October
15 th, 1887.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHANGES.

Dr. Baker had a most unpleasant journey. Not having done it
before, he came with full confidence, without a greatcoat, without
a brandy flask, without food, and as soon as he arrived on the
Karso, he found a Bora that nearly upset his train. After fifteen
hours of this, though the house was well built with immensely thick
walls, the Bora sounded as if it too was just going to be carried away,
and two earthquakes were not a pleasant greeting; but a warm wel¬
come, a comfortable room, a good supper and hot grog, soon restored
him. It was quite winter, and there was snow on the Risano. A
number of friends and acquaintances, old and new, flocked through
Trieste, which somewhat enlivened the dull season. Amongst others,
Sir Cecil Domville, naval attach'e; and an epoch was made by a visit
likewise from Dr. and Mrs. Schlieman, of Troy. Princess Wrede also
arrived at nine a.m. to take her coffee in a rush from Graz to Trieste.

We were very sorry to lose Dr. Leslie, he was so genial and
good-humoured—one of the best-hearted men that ever lived. I
may say a man who would go twenty miles out of his way to do
you a service, and—great praise—he never said a word against
anybody ; above all, he had a true reverence for Richard.

Our days at Trieste, after Richard got ill, were passed in the
following way :—Instead of getting up, as we used to do, at any
time from three to half-past five, we rose at seven, had a breakfast
of tea, bread and butter, and fruit on a little table near a window,
where he used to feed the sparrows and other garden-birds on the
window-sill, so that an almond tree which brushed up to the window
was covered with them waiting, and, as he remarked, “ they were
quite imperious in their manners if he did not attend to them at
once.” He then wrote his journals—two sets, one private, which
was kept in a drawer in my room, and one public ephemeris of

notes, quotations, remarks, news, and weather memoranda; then

487

488 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

he would fall to to his literature. At nine o’clock the doctor would
come in, and as I, being ill, could no longer stoop to help with his
bath and toilette, Dr. Leslie, and afterwards Dr. Baker, superintended
the bath and the electric foot-bath; but he shaved himself and
dressed himself. During the bath he would frequently read out
to them passages from what he was writing. The toilette finished,
he resumed his literature till half-past ten, when, if the weather
permitted, he would go out for a good walk with the doctor.

At twelve o’clock we had breakfast, which was really luncheon, after
which he smoked (always the tobacco of the country—those long,
thin, black cigars with a straw down the middle), and played with
the kitten, and talked. He was very cheerful and enjoyed his meals.
He would then lie on his bed with a book, and sleep perhaps for
an hour, and then get up and do more literature. A little after
three, if it was winter, he would go for another walk in the garden,
or, if bad weather, into the hall, or in the summer-time, at about
five o’clock, for a good long drive, or very often an excursion in
the neighbourhood, and was always accompanied by the doctor or
me, or both of us. Tea was at four, a sit-down tea, which was
purposely made into a meal of all sorts of fruits, cake, sweets, and
jam, because it was the hour for our intimates to pour in, and he
enjoyed it. If any friends, English or other, were passing through
Trieste, they lunched and dined with us. He liked company, and
it did him a great deal of good; and he always used to say “ that
he liked to see his fellow-creatures, at hotels and public places, for
instance, even if he did not want to mix with them ; ” but generally
all the nice men in the hotel collected round him, smoking and
listening to his conversation. After tea and talk and walk were
over, he went to his room and worked steadily till seven, or half¬
past, when we had dinner.

He enjoyed his dinner, after which he sat in an armchair and
smoked and talked. Glorious talk and sweet musical voice that
we shall never hear again on earth—a perfect education to those
who had the boon of hearing him ! Sometimes, if the nights
were fine, we used to sit on our verandah overlooking the sea and
mountains, and watch the moon and stars through a telescope
planted there for the purpose. At nine o’clock at night he retired,
the doctor again helped him to undress, and then left for the night;
and I said night prayers with him, and we talked awhile. He
would ask me for a novel—he always said " he cooled his head
with a novel when the day’s work was done ”—and we went to bed,
he reading himself to sleep. Sometimes he did not sleep well and
was restless, and sometimes very well; but in all cases far better

Changes . 489

than he had ever done before he was an invalid. We had an
electric bell between our beds, so that if he was restless it woke me.

On the 30th of October he mourns the death of Mr. Henry
Levick, the first European to take up his abode at Suez, where
he lived forty-one years. He pioneered the Mail Service through
Egypt, assisted in arranging the Overland route, often accompanying
the mails across the desert. He was the first English Consul at
Suez, was packet-agent and postmaster to her Majesty, and agent
for the late Government of India. The widow and numerous
children have been left to starve for the last six years. She is now
head of the English Hospital for Trained Nurses in Paris, 34, Rue
de Prony Parc Monceau, and sadly in need of kindness and
patronage.

On the 31st of October we were inundated with anonymous
letters, which made us angry (I thought then that it was only a
Triestine amusement, but I found out, twenty-three months ago, that
it was equally common in England, and twice as coarse); the
object then being to make us clear out our house of everybody in
it that we wanted.

On November 17th he deplores the death of Colonel Valentine
Baker.

The Empress now arrived at Miramar for a little rest and seclusion

His journal continues :—

“ On the 1 st of December my wife and I, accompanied by Dr.
Grenfell Baker, returned to Abbazia to avoid the fearful Boras of
Trieste, and to shelter in the supposed mild climate of the Austrian
Riviera. It is only a few hours’ rail distant, but you must rise at
four a.m., though with a decent train it could be done in two hours.
We were, however, doomed to disappointment. On December 7th
the snow began and lasted two months; the earth was covered, and
the pine and bay trees, the local boast of the place, were so broken
and bent under its weight, that many of the undergrowths did not
recover. There are two sorts of cur-orts (health resorts); the first is
when everything is planned out for the comfort and cheeriness of
the invalid, as in Switzerland and the Riviera, and the second one
is when ambition upstarts barely out of its swaddling clothes, un¬
formed and without a prospect of ever becoming better. Then they
are expensive, uncomfortable, and are merely traps laid by money-
grubbers for unhappy invalids, who ought never to go where they
cannot rough it, but where healthy people may manage to live in
dullness and discomfort, and of this category are Abbazia and
Hammam R’irha in N. W. Africa.

“ At Abbazia you rise early, drink coffee, walk, breakfast at twelve
in the restaurant, siesta, walk or drive, dine at 7.30, and retire to
your bedroom. There is no public room or meeting-place, no news-

490 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

papers, except in a tiny room. There is charming society, the
Austrian and Hungarian cousinhood, some of which we enjoyed very
much; but it is a clique. The Jews and Americans dore theirs. The
harmless and inoffensive people who go there for imaginary baths
and waters creep in to meals and out again and disappear. Hence
a serious occupation or a study is a necessity. I got Father Josef
Jane, the Catholic priest, to come and read German with me in the
evenings, and I had my literature—my two last volumes of supple¬
mental ‘ Arabian Nights ; ’ my wife the same. We varied our time
by driving to Castua, Moschenizza, Ika, Sovrana, and to Fiume to
see the Count and Countess Hoyos and family and Mr. and Mrs.
Whitehead (whose father gave us an occasional field-day with the
torpedos), and our colleague, the English Consul Mr. Faber and
his family. We walked, drove, lounged about smoking in the
grounds. The views are beautiful. The winds are not boisterous,
as at Trieste. Fiume is an hour away, and the boundary between
my jurisdiction and Faber’s lies halfway—Abbazia being in my juris¬
diction. Fiume is as dull as ditchwater, with one fifth-class hotel.
Your room in the hotel at Abbazia may be comfortable, but the food
becomes worse and worse as the visitors increase, and the sanitary
arrangements, the bread and water, are fearfully bad.

“To give some idea of its primitive state in 1887-88, although
I had been Consul here for fifteen years, they refused to take my
cheque, because ‘ they did not know who “ Coutts ” was.’ There
is no p?'omenoir , no wandelbahn , no kur-salon , in fact no public
rooms. There is a fine large dining-room, where, unless you are an
archduke, you may not smoke for fear of spoiling the gilding; conse¬
quently you are driven into a kind of estciminet , where at 8.30 you
can cut the reek of tobacco and food with a knife. A head director
often visits Abbazia, but he is never at home to strangers, knowing
that they only seek him to make complaints. The management is
under an Austrian, not a Swiss. The appointment is always given
to an employe of the Siidbahn , which owns the place, and not to
a hotelier , therefore he naturally does not know his work. And
Austria in such matters is fifty years behind Switzerland. The
British grumbler (who has made Switzerland) is still more almost
unknown in the dual kingdom. The dullness of life is almost
incredible, and what gaieties there are—the Christmas tree, the New
Year’s Day ball, the concert of Tyrolians, and the gypsy band—as
in all irregulated establishments, turned everything topsy-turvy, and
converted stagnation into utter misery.”

We had a visit at Abbazia from the Dowager Lady Galway, and
Richard had an attack of gout when the snow came on, and on the
19th we had an earthquake.

On the 14th he got another slight attack of gout in both feet.
Gout now became a trimestral attack, which the doctor considered
to be a safety-valve for the head and general health, provided it was

Changes. 491

a healthy gout m the feet. Richard was gouty off and on all this
snow-time. On the 18th the Crown Prince, poor Prince Rudolph,
came to the hotel and stayed forty-eight hours ; on the 21st we were
further put in sorrow by the news of the death, at the early age of
forty-one, of dear Anna Kingsford.

On the 5th of March we bade adieu to all the charming friends
we had made there, and at four o’clock in the afternoon we drove to
Mattuglie to take the train for Trieste. The superintendent of the
railway, our friend Mr. Thomas, made a charming arrangement for
us. From Mattuglie to St. Peter’s is only two or three hours, but St.
Peter’s, on an elevation, is an ice-bound place in winter; there you
have to stand about for an hour or more in a miserable little station,
waiting for the night-mail for Trieste. I coaxed him into giving us
a large saloon with tables and beds most luxuriously fitted up, a
carriage behind for the servants, and a compartment behind for the
baggage, so that when we got into the train, Dr. Baker and I had
nothing to do but to put Richard to bed, and we congratulated
ourselves warmly on the arrangement, because, as we neared St.
Peter’s, the train passed through walls of snow much higher than
itself, down which a howling wind came as through a funnel, whilst
our saloon was perfectly warm. When we got to St. Peter’s we were
detached and shunted, a nice hot dinner was served to us in the
carriage, and we got Richard into Trieste without the slightest hurt.

On the 19th of March, 1888, his sixty-seventh birthday, Richard
finished his last volume of the supplemental “Nights” (the sixteenth
volume), but it did not come out till the 13th of November, 1888,
and during the intervening months he corrected proofs, and began
writing what he called “ chow-chow ”—odds and ends that he had
been waiting to finish up. We were exceedingly relieved, because he
had always had such a fear of not living to keep his engagements,
and we had received money for it.

On the 2nd of April we began a second “reviewers reviewed” on
the “Arabian Nights” critics (the first one was on the “Lusiads;”
Richard having been roughly handled, had raised our ire).

On the 7 th of April we had to deplore the loss of our good kind
friend, R. Mackay Smith, of Edinburgh, and on the same date of
Lady Margaret Beaumont, another of our kindest friends.

On the 9th of April he was rather agitated about some lost papers.
I have spoken at length of a peculiarity he had of hiding things, and
latterly especially he could not remember where he put them. Then
he had to call me, and I was frequently several hours hunting for
them. I have a particular prayer that I always say when I cannot
find anything, and it has occasionally happened that the lost thing

49 2 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

was found immediately, so he used to call me in an agitated way,
saying, “ Come here, I want that prayer directly; I have lost such
and such.” On the nth of May we had the pleasure of a visit from
our old friend, Frederick Foster Arbuthnot, of 18, Park Lane, who
stayed with us some days.

Richard’s journal runs as follows :—

“ After four months of snow, alternating with the Scirocco, the
damp, depressing, and ozone-wanting gift of Northern Africa, we
left Abbazia on the 5th of March, 1888, disappointed in the hope
of staying there till the end of the month. The train which con¬
veyed us passed through walls of snow ten or twelve feet high on
either side. Passing friends made the stay in Trieste in spring very
delightful, but unusual heat set in on the 9th of May, and gave the
signal for departure. In consideration of the state of my health, the
Foreign Office, though it would not release me, was kind enough to
let me judge of when I could or could not stay at Trieste; in fact, an
informal sick certificate. As the summer was premature and I could
not stay, I thought I might as well go back to England and see my
supplemental ‘Nights’ brought out, so on May 16th we went to
Venice, Milan—where we called, on the 20th, on the Emperor and
Empress of Brazil (who had been most truly kind to us during our
four years’ stay in their country; the Emperor was then thought to
be dying, so we did not see them, nor did we ever see them again),
and we arrived at Varese. Under Signor Marini and his English
wife this was an exceptional place, the centre of a charming country,
geographically a neutral ground between the uplands of Swiss Ticino,
pretty, pleasant, and picturesque, and the lowlands of the Italian
Milanese flats, which are flat and admirably fertile.

“ Varese is a charming place; a beautiful hotel with lovely grounds,
scenery, and splendid spring and autumn climate, and easily got at,
where we met many friends. Hence during the spring and autumn
it attracted a host of English, who all, save a very few, took flight
in summer and winter; but the management soon changed, and
what became of the Hotel Excelsior under the Italian committee
I could not say. I only know that the Marinis have opened an hotel,
and are doing very well, in Via Tritone, Rome. The interests of the
place were private theatricals in the evening, and the procession of
Corpus Christi in the picturesque little town. There was also much
interest in prehistoric villages and collections. The departure was
not comfortable to Lucerne. Most travellers would have returned
to Milan, and started direct by the St. Gothard Railway. We, wanting
to see the country, determined to drive to Chiasso, a horrid little
frontier town where we were to pick up the train, and where one
wishes a glad adieu to Italy.

“The drive from Varese to Chiasso on the 1st of June was
delightful. A beautiful country of deep-wooded hill and vale, abound¬
ing with acacia and yellow broom, and peopled with cuckoos and
hoopoes. We dined at the buffet in the open. We were directed

493

Changes .

not to the buffet at Chiasso, which is excellent in food and wine,
and can supply bedrooms, but to a wretched soi-disant hotel, St.
Michele, fit only for the roughest of peasants, with the prices ol
milords. The wonderful mountain scenery at St. Gothard, with its
rich valley and snow peaks, its long tunnel under the venerable well-
known hospice, Mont St. Bernard, and its marvellously engineered
line, whose windings look on paper like sundry pairs of spectacles,
with its green hills, glaciers, rockery, and waterfalls, and rushing
river below in the depths, is too familiar to the general public to
bear description, but the glorious mountain air, the kindly ways of
the people, and the contrast of the Swiss frontier custom-house
with the horrors of Italy, left a most grateful impression.

“ On the evening of the 2nd of June we found rooms at the
Schweizer-hof, Herren Hauser, who have made this the model estab¬
lishment of Switzerland, and one may say of the world. I had not
seen Lucerne since 1840—when I was a boy, and my tutor took me
to drink the waters of Schinznach, en route to Oxford—so to me it
was quite a new world. Herr Hauser could, however, show me the
remains of the three humble inns, belonging to that proto-historic
period since the Lake country has become the playground of Europe,
and art has assisted nature in making it like the transformation
scene of an opera —un dlcor de theatre. Here everything is done
for the comfort and delectation of the travelling idler. Under the
crispy air and bluest of skies grand piles of hotel rise from the
margin of the blue lake, looking upon semicircles of forest and
mountain crowned by snow peaks, nestling villages and villas in
groves of pink chestnut blossom, steamers flying gaudy flags, which
are illuminated at night with coloured lamps. On the left a dwarf
eminence is crowned by the Cathedral, which contains a remarkable
life-size crucifix and an alto relievo of the death of the Blessed
Virgin.

“On the right towers the naked and jagged cone of the cloud-
capped mountain Piliatus, which has become Pilatus, has bred a
host of grisly legends which the gaunt rock and its lakelet on the
summit have suggested. Behind the town still runs the enceinte of
mediaeval wall, with its picturesque towers surmounted here and
there by grotesque figures. Lucerne is essentially a three-days’ place.
Next day there was a procession of virgins in white and soldiers
saluting, etc. The first things you visit are the two quaint wooden
bridges and paintings of Holbein’s ‘ Dance of Death.’ Then you
climb the Drei Linden hill for a panorama of the place; you must
ascend in the funicular railway the Gat hill, and wander through the
pine forests. You perhaps visit the public library, which contains
not books but musty fusty documents, and you walk through the
absurd museum, which does not even boast of a catalogue. On the
second day you take the steamer to Vitznau, and ascend the Rigi by
the far-famed railway. We always compare the engines of these lift-
railways to a huge praying mantis. The panorama is worth
seeing; the land lies below your feet in the shape of an embossed
map. Rigi Staffel has the best climate.

494 Life of Sir Richard Burton .

“ On the third day you are in local honour bound to hire a two-horse
carriage, and to drive about the environs to see the scenery; and
then you must railway up to Pilatus. We all differed in our estimate
of the lake. I could not admire it. As a piece of water, it is cut
into various sections by projecting points, and reminded me of some
large river of the upper Mississippi. My wife, on the contrary, was
enchanted with the Lucerne end of it, and found a great delight in
lazing up and down in the steamers. With Dr. Baker everything
Swiss is sacred; it is his Eden, and must not be touched by hand
profane. Lucerne must, however, be seen during the season; at
other times it is like the inside of a theatre at early morning. We
went back to it in March, 1889, and saw it at its worst, when deep
snow covered the ground, and the roads were slushy and uncared for,
when the streets were deserted, when the people showed homely faces,
and their ugly German did not sound so unmusical. The local
aristocracy of hotel-keepers and shop-keepers seemed hurt by the
presence of strangers, and applying for entrance to a public building
was looked upon almost as a grievance. The moral was, avoid
Lucerne when not in gala dress.

“ We left on the 9th of June, and remarked the meanness of the
station; and at the first sight, which subsequent experience con¬
firmed, the Swiss railways generally, for accommodation and con¬
venience, have not kept pace with the hotels and all their other
luxuries. The Anglo-Americans especially are full of gibes at the
crawling trains. Arrived at Berne, we found the Berne station
(Swiss capital) the worst of any metropolis in Europe, an Inferno
in the hot, and a well in the cold season; a cave of the winds, at
all times damp, draughty, and dangerous. It reminded us of York a
quarter of a century ago. We returned from Berne to Ouchy through
a charming country of vineyards, orchards, and smiling fields. Thirty
years ago my wife was here as a girl with a married brother and
sister, when it was the smallest of places, and a little inn, which then
stood on the borders of the lake, was the best accommodation. Now
the large Beau Rivage, with its fine grounds, ought to attract many
travellers, but it is said not to pay its expenses, the reason probably
being that it is managed by a company.

“ Reserving Lausanne for future inspection, we went on to Aigle,
passing through mountains, and skirting the south-east horn of the
lake. This favourite summering-place showed itself at its worst,
The rains were unceasing, and the muddiness of the roads made
driving and walking equally unpleasant. Despite the weather, we
managed, however, a few of the nearest trips. We drove up the
valley of the Rhone, went to Bex, Trocadero, Villar, Bouvret,
Diableret, and by rail to Montreux. We walked up to the Roman
tower, at the St Triphon-Ollon quarries, famed for its black marble,
and inspected the Gorge de Trient, which twenty years ago was not
a show place, and has now become a wonder, and yet no wonder;
for it is a most impressive sight, with narrow-planked bridges, lining
the steep sides of a perpendicular cliff six hundred feet high, with
two hundred and forty feet of boiling, swirling torrent rushing

Changes . 495

beneath you, and it is a fifteen minutes’ walk through this more
or less dark place to the roaring waterfalls. My wife thought
it a grand sight, and was very much impressed, and said she felt
so small, and that she would not go in there by herself for anything.
I must say I thought but little of it, but it is a dreadful place for
nervous people, and a dizzy one for the bilious. There were
Americans photographing, and guides firing pistols to show the echo.
The annual receipts from visitors is eight thousand francs.

“ We visited the Augustinian monastery of St. Maurice, which will be
alluded to later on. The weather, instead of behaving better, became
worse, and as the house suddenly filled with people, it by no means
improved the service or the cuisme. After a month’s stay, we deter¬
mined to take sudden leave, and on the 12th of July departed to
Geneva. A delightful change of climate—for here summer had set
in. We put up at the Continental, and I enjoyed breakfasting with
Professor Karl Vogt. But I could not stand a fearful automatic grind-
organ, the size of an average clothes-press, which raised its abominable
voice immediately after dinner, and never ceased till it had run down.
This was explained by the Continental being an American institution,
and after all the grind-organ, like the street band, is kept up by the
suffrages of the majority. We will speak again of Geneva on our
return.”

I must remark about Aigle that there is besides the village a large
hotel situated in a valley surrounded by mountains, and where the
Dent du Midi was so clear that it seems as if you could touch it.
It was a very amusing place, and we met a number of very nice
people; w 7 e stayed a month because Dr. Baker’s mother and very
charming sister came there to meet him. Here we were reading
“Little Lord Fauntleroy,” and Richard was perfectly delighted with
it, and afterwards we had a contrast in Renan’s “ Apotres.”

I need not say that wherever w T e were, and Switzerland was no
exception to the rule, that every excursion that was possible to make
was made, and everything that could be seen was seen—it did not
matter if it was mushroom-growing, cigarette-making, or Swiss milk
condensed. We not only stayed at our head-quarters, but we knew
the country pretty well all round.

One of the most delightful excursions was driving up the Valley of
the Rhone to St. Maurice. We used to get a capital little breakfast
and a good bottle of Dole du Valais at a hotel pension, kept by a
Dalmatian at Aigle. We had a very nice Cure at Aigle, the Abbe
Stercky, who became a friend of Richard’s.

Richard enjoyed all these things very much. Part of the time,
however, it rained, and then he used to get melancholy and ill. On
the 12th of July w r e had had enough of it, and went to Geneva,
where his delight was to go and take a huge middle-day dinner with

496 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

the old Professor Karl Vogt and his numerous family, without
either the doctor or me. The Professor was a very jovial person,
and his jolly fat laugh used to sound all over house and garden,
and the dinner lasted from at least twelve till four. They were
simple and kind-hearted people, and they thoroughly appreciated
Richard.

On the 15th we left for Paris, and had a very shaky journey, but
it did not hurt him. Our great friend Professor Zotenberg met
him, and dined with us. On the 18th we left Paris for Folkestone,
where we stopped one day to see his sister Lady Stisted and her
daughter, and the following day, the 19th of July, 1888, we arrived
at the St. James’s Hotel in London. We had not been in London
for two years, and we had naturally an immense quantity of people
to see and business to transact. About ten days after, Richard got
very ill, and kept us in a great fright; but it lasted a very short
time, as he was at his club next day.

One could imagine what a delight it was to him to return to the
club. He used to like to be dropped there at about half-past eleven
or twelve. He would lunch there, take a siesta after, and read
and write and see his men-friends, and then either Dr. Baker or I
used to call for him at six. It was the only free time he had from
our surveillance, the whole three years and a half of his illness, and
it was an immense relief to him. I do not mean to say that he
could not be alone in his room as much as ever he liked, but we
never let him walk or drive out by himself, lest a return of the
attack should occur, and he would have no assistance, and we always
carried restoratives in our pockets.

Here we had the pleasure of seeing our friend H. H. Johnston,
Consul in West Africa and artist, one of the most charming and
sympathetic of men. St. James’s was too noisy, although Richard
thought the situation quite perfect. His central point of the world
was Apsley House, and he despised everything between that and
the desert. Dr. Baker now went for a holiday, and Dr. Leslie came
back to us.

However, Richard took it into his head that as Ramsgate has
such a reputation for air, we would go and try it; so on the 3rd
of August we went to the Granville, where we stopped for a week,
taking drives to Margate, to St. Peter’s, and Westgate, to see
Admiral Beamish, or to Deal, Sandgate, where we tried to see Mr.
Clarke Russell, and Broadstairs, in each of which we found friends
or cousins. We did not think much of the Granville Hotel, having
been thoroughly spoiled by the best hotels abroad; but our great
amusement was that, having lived so much away from home, we

Changes. 497

knew nothing about Bank Holiday, and found ourselves landed in a
hundred and fifty thousand of the people for four days, and Richard’s
delight was to go and sit on the sands and watch them—the Salva¬
tion Army, the niggers, the performers with ventriloquist-heads
stuck on poles ; but we were immensely edified, for although here
and there there was a little rough play, there was not a single case
of drunkenness. After a week the air proved too strong for Richard,
and we went back, this time to the Langham Hotel.

Here we had a most pleasant time, for, in spite of its being August,
old friends and relatives came and lunched and dined with us every
day, which cheered Richard up immensely; and our friend F. F.
Arbuthnot joined us, and passed a week in the hotel, and amongst
others were Mr. John Payne, Du Chaillu, Mr. Henry Irving,
Swinburne, Mr. Theodore Watts, and others. Dr. Baker came back
eventually, and we went off to Oxford, where Richard delighted
in driving round to all the Colleges, and where we met numbers of
old friends—Mr. Arthur Evans and his wife, Mr. Chandler, Professor
Sayce, etc. From there we went to the Queen’s Hotel, Norwood,
to be near Richard’s sister and niece for a fortnight, and enjoy the
Crystal Palace.

A Norwood treat was having a clairvoyante down from London,
who pronounced on our health. She told Richard that he was
bad in the head, eyes, down the back of neck, stomach, feet, and
legs; that I had cancer; that I had healing powers, powerful
light from heaven, a red cross above me, a large protection and
light from above, with troops of friends and patrons. The cancer
prophecy made Richard unhappy, till he saw how little I believed
in it. The drives were to Dulwich and to Croydon, to see Com¬
mander Cameron and his wife. One particular treat we had was
going to Colonel Goureaud’s, who gave us a field-day with the
Eddison phonograph, which we had seen in its infancy in 1878 in
Dublin. Richard thought that it opened a wonderful future in
science. He offered to do the muezzirts call to prayer, “ Allahu
Akbar,” into a phonograph ; somehow it was not done. What a
treasure it would be now !

After a fortnight we went back to the Langham, which we liked
thoroughly. We saw our last of Lawrence Oliphant about the 1st
of September. In London Dr. Baker had several consultations for
Richard with Dr. Mortimer Granville, who took infinite pains with
him, and gave him a long and careful examination. Dr. Mortimer
Granville said he was as sound as a bell, barring the gout. And
that day, the 23rd of September, he insisted on going to the club by
himself, and he did so several times whilst he remained in London.

498 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

It was a relief to him to feel that he could do something of former
times.

It would seem as if we were always changing our abode ; and
so it was. His magnetism was so immense, his brain travelled so
fast, absorbed so quickly, that he sucked dry all his surroundings,
whether place, scenery, people, or facts, before the rest of us had
settled down to realize whether we liked a place or not. When
he arrived at this stage everything was flat to him, and he would
anxiously say, “ Do you think I shall live to get out of this, and to
see another place ? ” And I used regularly to say, “ Of course you
will. Let us go to-day, if you feel like that; ” and that would quiet
him so far that he would say, “ Oh no ; say next Monday or Tuesday; ”
and then we went. During the latter days of his life, this restless¬
ness became absolutely part of his complaint, and we used to seem
to be moving on every week. One of his peculiarities was that he
never would remain one moment in the hotel behind me. W e used
to plan to divide our work. I did all the courier’s work, and the
doctor took care of my husband. I used to go down to the stations
or the steamers, with Lisa, a full hour before time, to take the tickets,
weigh the baggage, procure a compartment for our party alone,
telegraph forward for carriage, for rooms, and meals, so that his
journey might go on oiled wheels, and Dr. Baker was to follow with
him to save fatigue, getting him in five minutes before the start.
We never could manage this; he would not let me go away one
single instant before him, but used to jump into the same carriage.

The chief things Richard notes on this visit were as follows

“But on the 15th we left Geneva for Paris—when Zotenberg
dined with us (at Folkestone I saw my sister)—and London, which
we reached on the 20th of July, after nearly two years’ absence,
and lodged at the St. James’s Hotel, Piccadilly. Literary work
awaited us both, and I was again obliged to run the risk and dangers
of the Bodleian at Oxford; but this time I had my wife and Dr.
Baker with me, and I escaped all the evil results.

“ During the time we were in London we had luncheons and
dinners every day for our friends. It is no use giving a long list of
names, but most of them were the most interesting people in London.
We were also asked out immensely into Society, and in the daytime
we accepted; but we made a rule now, on account of my health,
never to accept a dinner or evening invitation, because I was obliged
to dine at 7.30 and go to bed at 9.30, and my wife would not leave
me. Amongst others, we had the pleasure at Lady Henry Gordon
Lennox’s of meeting Mr. Villiers, a brilliant relic of the old school,
and my wife was fortunate enough to be taken in to lunch by him.

“ On the 21 st of August we went down to Bromley Holwood to
see Lord and Lady Derby; they showed us Pitt’s old house, the oak

499

Changes .

under which Pitt organized the abolition of slavery, Pitt’s writing-
table, and a doll which the Queen gave to Lady Derby when she was
Lady Mary West.”

He writes on the 22nd of September :—

“ To-day my wife was sent for to the Austro-Hungarian Embassy
to receive from Count Liitzow a very beautiful portrait of the
Empress of Austria, in approval of her life and works. This has
made me very proud and her very happy.”

In October we went down to Newmarket, to see my cousins Lord
and Lady Gerard, where we met some very pleasant people, and
where Richard was very much interested going to the training ground,
and saw hundreds of racehorses taking their gallops, and Captain
Machell and Colonel Oliver Montagu explained everything to us.

On the 15th of October, 1888, Richard left London. Little did we
think he would never return to it more alive. We stayed at Folke¬
stone ten days to be near his sister and niece, and had some charming
country drives. We crossed on the 26th of October—his last sight
of Old England. Two years later he was gone.

We stayed at Boulogne. He was very fond of it; it agreed with him,
and he liked to go over all the old haunts where we had met as young
people, and his old fencing school too. He writes : “ My old fencing-
master Constantin is eighty, with a young bright eye.” On the 29th
of October, 1888, we went to Paris, also for the last time, and here
at breakfast and dinner we generally had Professor Zotenberg (who
gave us an always-remembered breakfast at the Lion d’Or), or Pro¬
fessor Houdas, or Mr. Barnard of the New York Herald —all who
knew things that were interesting to him. We went on from there
to Geneva by the train de luxe to the Hotel Nationale, which was
as nice as could be. On the 19th of November, after dinner, the
chandelier fell on the dinner-table, the gas rushed out, and waiters
went to fetch a lamp. This happened to us two winters running.
Geneva is a charming place in winter, and agreed well with Richard,
who was again enabled to enjoy his days with Karl Vogt. We got
to know very pleasant society and had delightful drives—one to
Ferney (chateau of Voltaire) and the Voirons. After he left England
in 1888, his health got ever so much better, and I had confident
hopes that he would last for many years. Here Richard made his
last public lecture. The Geneva Geographical Society asked him to
speak, and he had a regular ovation.

CHAPTER XXXII.

AT MONTREUX.

On the 2nd of January, 1889, we moved ourselves to the Hotel
des Alpes at Montreux. The journey is only an hour. It was
bitterly cold, but the temperature rose fourteen degrees on the way.
Here we had a delightful time, excursioning to the Chateau de
Chillon, to Hotel Biron, to Villeneuve, les Avants, three thousand
feet high, Mont-Fleurie, Glion, etc. But our favourite place seemed
to be St. Maurice, where we had several delightful days in the
valley of the Rhone, but one particularly to be remembered. Abbe
Stercky went with us. He is one of the monks, was Curd of Aigle,
and Richard liked him. The little inn is cosy, with its good Dalma¬
tian proprietor, who kept a cheerful room, a blazing wood fire, a
capital good breakfast, and a good bottle of Dole de Valais. We
passed a good deal of time in the monastery.

It is the oldest Augustinian monastery in the world, and having
Abbd Stercky with us, we saw all the treasures-—gold, silver, gems,
and onyx treasures from Charlemagne and St. Louis of France •
they, and also manuscripts and old books, were shown to us by a
gentlemanly and polished monk, Pere Bourbord, otherwise they are
generally shown by a surly monk, who does not let you see anything.
There were a number of very charming people stopping at the hotel,
which was crowded for the winter. We all fraternized, and we had
extensive afternoon receptions and tea-fights, and in the evenings we
all used to contribute something to the amusements—who could sing,
sang; who could recite, recited ; who could tell stories of foreign lands,
did so, and also ghost-stories; and there was music and dancing
and acting galore, also theatricals and a musical drill beautifully
performed. It was a charming hotel, with every accommodation,
plenty of places for smoking, and Richard used to enjoy it thoroughly,
parties of men flocking around him.

On the 22nd, our wedding-day, everybody was so good to us;

500

At Montreux.

501

there were presents and flowers, and little speeches. I got quite
choky, and Richard ran away and locked himself up.

When Richard had had enough of Montreux, we moved on to
Lausanne. We drove about immensely, sometimes to Ouchy, and
a very interesting excursion was going to see Voltaire’s house, Mont
Morion, occupied by Dr. and Mrs. Niven, whom we knew at
Matharan, in India.

On the 25th we went off to Berne to see Mr. and Mrs. Scott, our
Minister. It was looking very picturesque and beautiful; the Hotel
Belle Vue comfortable, with lovely views. It was very cold, covered
with snow, and the air dry and crisp; in fact, everything was a “ Snow
Hell.” The weather did not hurt Richard ; he completely changed.
Since Richard had been ill, he was quite a different man to what he
had been previously in tastes and feelings. Whereas before he was
always cold, and would have fires in the height of summer, now in
the bitterest weather a fire in his room made him sick. He would
now eat sweet things and drink milk, which in his stronger days he
could not look at. He slept, instead of whole nights of insomnia,
though often not as well as one could wish. He liked the world and
company, whereas before he had shunned the general run of society,
and in many other ways was quite different.

At Berne he saw a unique Swiss sword. Swords were looked for
at every place, so we went straight to an antiquarian, who showed
us some iron blades, metal scabbards, and arabesque spear-heads.

It was now that we returned, 1st of March, 1889, to Lucerne,
which was another “ Snow Hell.” We went to the Hotel Nationale,
the only place open, had lovely rooms and good fires, but the rest of
it deserved all Richard said of it a while ago.

On the 4th we rose early, quite well, and made all ready to go, and
having an hour to wait, sat down to enjoy the fire, when all of a
sudden I got an aching in every bone, a bad rash came out, and
faint, cold down the spine, hot and cold, nausea; could do nothing
but rock and groan, and groaned and rocked the whole eight hours
to Milan.

On the 10th we went down to Venice, to the Hotel Victoria,
where we were put in big, damp, dark rooms like catacombs; and
on the 12th arrived at Trieste, where I was very weak for a long
time.

Though I little contemplated the great catastrophe and break-up
of my life in 1890, but with a view to leaving Trieste in July,
1891, I began to wish to collect all possible reminiscences of the
home I loved so well. One of the visitors to our Trieste home
wrote me: “ I think of you so very often, and your lovely home on

502 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

the shores of the Adriatic, with its rich treasures of mind and heart.
It stands out before me like a lighthouse on the sea of life, pointing
onwards, upwards, to a higher, nobler state of existence, to which
I shall try to reach.” These words, which have been differently
expressed to me in many different languages, and in this particular
case coming from one “who had almost,” she says, “lost faith m
God,” inspire me with great gratitude to God, and make me wish to
perpetuate it in oil-painting reminiscences, that it may become part
of our lives in our future more prosaic London home.

I now selected from among other artists Mr. Albert Letchford,
a young painter of great talent, who had studied in Paris and
painted in Egypt, and who began to paint for me, on the ioth of
May, the four views from our windows, nine of our favourite
“ interiors ” of rooms, including Richard studying in his bedroom.
After that he painted my husband for the Stanley Exhibition, and
one life-size, fencing, which I now exhibit in the Grosvenor Gallery.

At this time there occurred the strikes in Austrian-Lloyd’s which
agitated the country very much, and we expected a revolution, which
did not happen. We had also a visit from Count T^leki, who had
made his splendid African journey, which was most interesting. On
the 12th of May we had a delightful sea-trip to Parenzo with friends
(Baron Marco Morpurgo, the then great banker and Director of
Lloyd’s, and his wife, the best friends Richard and I ever had in
Trieste). The object was to visit the old Cathedral of Parenzo, a
complicated mixture of most ancient Byzantine, Roman, Grecian,
and Venetian. It has three depths of old floors quite distinct. We
went over to Duino to stay with the Princess Hohenlohe and
Princess Taxis, a two hours’ drive from Trieste, which was our
favourite visit in the neighbourhood. We had the pleasure of
receiving Count von Wiirmbrandt, the Governor of Styria, Baron
Spaun, and Admiral Sterneck; this was followed by festivities for the
Archduke Otto and the Archduchess, and Archduke Leopold. On
that occasion Richard was allowed to go out in the evening to the
Morpurgos’ fete.

Sometimes our drives were varied by delightful little sea-trips.

On the 13th of June, going up to Opgina, our horses enacted the
same scene as that which happened at Sauerbrunn in 1887. On the
29th of June we were very sorry to lose our nicest English neigh¬
bours and friends, Mr. and Mrs. Craig. In June also Richard felt
sadly the death of Professor Chandler.

On the 1 st of July, 1889, we went back to Adelsburg, where the
air was cold, and it was delightful to have no mosquitoes. General
Buckle accompanied us on this excursion. On the 2nd we had

At Montreux .

503

frightful storms, the lightning striking seven or eight times just
about the house. The Caves by this time were quite spoiled by
the electric light. We were able to save a poor dog that had
been shot into an abyss by some cruel people, and Richard moralizes
in his journal, “ What had that dog done to be saved ? It was ten
thousand chances to one, against any one caring for his cries, and
getting him out of that abyss by lowering men with ropes, which
seemed impossible.” *

We had a delightful drive to Planina. As usual, in spite of all
evidences of a most healthy place, we got very sick, and so we went
on, on the 8th to Graz, a delightful central place in Austria, the
paradise of poor aristocracy, and retired military and naval “swells.”
From here we went over to Tobelbad, where we found some very
dear Austrian friends; but Tobelbad is in a hole, and we found it
so unhealthy, that we were glad to get to the top of a hill to breathe,
and drove back to Graz. A Baron von Ponte Reno, one of our
young friends, just about to be married, died a few days later. Here
we had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of Professor Schuhardt;
it was so hot we could not breathe. After a great many excursions
we went on to Miirziischlag, which is the station at the bottom of the
Semmering, on the Siidbahn line in Austria. It was a curious season.
The heat, or reports of cholera, had driven every soul out of the
towns to the mountains, and one could not get a bed for love nor
money, and so the Erzherzog Johann Hotel was what the Austrians,
with their delicacy and kindness, called Sehr Primitif, which meant
“devoid of all the necessaries of life;” but the air was delicious.
We looked everywhere, at Spital two hours away, and up and down
the Semmering, at all the hotels, first the station, then Stephanie
Gast-Haus, then Johann, and Panhaus the highest, then the Siidbahn’s
Semmering, and two dependencies, one of which we liked the best.
We reposed on a turf full of ants, and got back to the station to
Miirziischlag.

I immediately took a carriage, and drove up to Lambach Hotel, on
an eminence above the town. It was delightfully situated, only it was
full. Splendid air, beautiful views, only all the rooms were occupied
except one; so I put Richard and Dr. Baker into that, and Lisa and
I went down to a sort of outhouse, where we had a little room
leading out of the carriage stable, which was bounded on one side by

* In the same way, a house near us had a large monkey in a little room with
bars just above ground, and the boys used to poke at him with sticks, and shy
pebbles at him. I would go over to him with fruit and cake, and Richard used to
say to him, “ What crime did you commit in some other world, Jocko, that you
are caged for now, and tormented, and going through your purgatory ? ” And he
would walk off muttering, “ I wonder what he did—I wonder what he did?”

504 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

the pigs, another side by the wash-house, and so on; but even these
discomforts, and some of them were very ludicrous, had their com¬
pensations. Baron Kremer (and his wife), one time Finance
Minister at Vienna and homme de lettres , and Sir Arthur and
Lady Nicholson were in the hotel. From here we made an excur¬
sion to Reichenau. On the 31st we went to Neuberg, and visited
the old Cistercian Monastery and Cathedral, and the Emperor’s shoot¬
ing-box. It is a romantic little wayside inn, with a running stream
and a mill-wheel. On the 2nd we had a delightful journey from
Neuberg, past Frein and Fohenwerk, to Maria-Zell, which is the
Lourdes of Austria.

Maria-Zell is placed on a mountain-side—not in a valley, as
Murray has it—and the Church and Monastery are on an elevated
plateau in its midst. It is 2900 feet high by the aneroid. The air
is delicious, the climate is dry; there is a feeling of elevation, of
being able to breathe, and of looking on an equality with the moun¬
tain-tops on all sides—where the clouds, storms, and winds would
meet in bad weather. It is an eight hours’ drive—and even a difficult
and dangerous drive—from any town. You must not want society ;
you must not fret your heart out after your letters, nor expect to
find books or papers; your resources must be within yourself, and
whatever you want you may bring with you. You may even bring
your tub. There are no doctors; but there is an apothecary’s shop,
which I suspect must be a gift of the Emperor to the pilgrims, as
it is a miniature copy of the Hof-Apotheke at Vienna. The town
itself is not a town, and not a village ; but, if I may say so, a religious
market town. Here we found the sword of Ludwig the Great, first
King of Hungary. This is the Lourdes of Austria, and the Cathedral
and Monastery are everything. The shops and the houses and the
forty-six inns of various degrees are to serve it.

We lodged in the best, close to the church, the Goldenen Lowen,
kept by a very dear old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, of
seventy and seventy-five years of age, who have known much better
days, and are patronized by the Austro-Hungarian aristocracy, as
they once owned the Erzherzog Karl Hotel in Vienna ; but they lost
^40,000 in the krach at the Vienna Exhibition, and came here.
They are most attentive and kind, and treated us with the old
chivalrous politeness of bygone days. Everything was the pink of
cleanliness ; she knew so well what one wanted, and how to make
one comfortable. The holy shops run in a horseshoe circle round
the Cathedral, where you buy all kinds of religious bric-a-brac, and
get it blessed. The Church is very large, and would take too long
to describe; there is a special inner sanctuary for the celebrated

At Montreux.

505

Madonna and Child, whose history is long. Our great amusement
was watching the processions of pilgrims, which interests you very
much for a time; there were endless streams flowing from every
part of Austria, and many of them would begin at the bottom
step, and go all round the church on their knees—a most exhausting
process.

It is a charming place, and we stayed here a fortnight It seemed
to be the only place where one could get beds. We had delightful
drives to Erlach, Grimau, and Sigismund’s Chapel. At first Richard
was not very well, which made one anxious, but afterwards it
passed off. There is a Calvary to ascend, and a spring for sore eyes.
But I do not describe Maria-Zell at length, because the descriptions
at Lourdes must fully explain it; only that, ours being in the wilds,
the processions and the people were of a far more picturesque
nature, and that of Lourdes is well regulated, everything being cut
and dried for the pilgrims.

At last we heard there was room on the Semmering, so we left
Maria-Zell at eight a.m. There are no trains; the roads are like
footpaths over rugged mountains, with precipices here and there.
In four hours we reached Frein, where we found food, and Richard
slept for two hours; then we had two hours’ more driving, and
reached Neuberg. But our former picturesque little post-hotel was
full, Lady Nicholson and her children occupying a great part of it,
so we got primitive accommodation at a little public-house, where,
however, we were consoled by Lady Nicholson’s coming over to
dine with us ; and of the beds, the less I say the better. To get at
the promised accommodation at the Semmering, we had to pass two
pleasant hours at Miirziischlag station, where we had a capital
breakfast, and again met the Baron von Kremer, who accompanied
us to the Semmering on his way to Vienna. We never saw him again.
He died shortly after, and left a desolate wife.

We found this place delightful, a dependance of the Siidbahn Hotel,
Semmering, with glorious views, delicious air, very fair food, and,
above all, quiet; full of Austrians, Hungarians, and Jews. Here we
got a startling letter from the Foreign Office to Richard, wanting to
know why he had had so much leave, although they had told him
to take it. It agitated him, and hurt him. Our delightful drives
here were to Maria-Schiitze, another smaller pilgrimage place, like
Maria-Zell, but with only a small village, one shop and one inn.
Snow fell upon the Schneeberg — this was always a signal for
Richard not being very well; but these little attacks of gout came
and passed quickly. He did not get on well here, so we made up
our minds to leave on the twelfth day. The fact is, the Foreign

506 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

Office letter had worried him, and made him anxious to get back to
Trieste; so we went up to Vienna.

Sir Augustus and Lady Paget were absent, but the secretaries,
Mr. Phipps, Lord Royston, and Mr. Maude, dined with us, where
we soon had a nice little society round us, and of literary people,
Dr. and Madame de Griez, Mr. Brinsley Richards and his wife,
Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Lavino of the Daily Telegraph , and, last but not
least, Major and Mrs. Keith Fraser. We drove to Karlenberg, and
that evening Richard broke out with gout. Dr. Baker telegraphed
to England for some particular medicines, and they arrived by
immediate post; but we were not allowed by law T to have them, for
the protection of the native chemist, so we had them sent back to
Trieste. Disheartened, we determined to leave; but first we visited
the tomb of Prince Rudolf. Many were passing down into the
vaulted chamber where the sarcophagus lies. It was very, very
cold and dark, and it made us so melancholy to think what he had
thrown away in one moment.

The next evening we left by the night express, and arrived at
Trieste at ten next morning. How nice it is to arrive at home !

On the 8th of September he deplores the death of Wilkie Collins;
and on Friday, the 13th, the death of George Elliott Ranken, and
Lady Holland, at seventy-eight.

Here Richard got well very quick. Mr. Joyner, C.E., from
Poonah, India, paid us a visit, whom we had not seen for thirteen
years. He was not in the least changed. We had a fearful storm,
of rain, hail, thunder, lightning, and wind, which smashed twelve
of our windows. H.M.S. Scout came in, Captain Conybeare, Lieu¬
tenants Torlesse and Carr ; and we had the pleasure of receiving
some of the officers for a few days. It always did Richard so much
good seeing his countrymen from home. He had to have a small
operation performed on the 7 th of October, after which we went up
to the mountains for quiet and rest. The Scout steamed out on the
10th, and we waved a flag from the roof, which they could see with
glasses. We all got rheumatism, and went down again shortly. On
the 22nd of October Richard had to be worried with another
second small operation. I told the operator to be as gentle as
he could, as Richard was in a very nervous state, and he would
hardly believe me, he looked so well and strong; but he told me
afterwards that he found out that it was so. Dr. Baker found him
a very clever man, and what he had to do, was done as painlessly
and as quickly as possible; and Richard was well enough to enter¬
tain our dear friend Alexander Thayer, ex-Consul-General of the
United States (who dined with us regularly once a week), on his

At Montreux.

507

seventy-second birthday, which occurred the same evening, a few
hours after the operation. We had several friends, who each had
their day to either breakfast or dine with us. It was a custom always
kept up.

On the 25th of October he got a second curious official letter from
the Foreign Office about not giving his Vice-Consul sufficient money.
(He was giving him ^£350 a year, and the Embassy would have sent
down anybody for that.) He was very angry, and reduced it in
consequence. A third time the Foreign Office worried Richard
with writing that he had been in England, which he had not, and
was again angry. In fact, there seemed to be a dead set against
him during August and October, 1889.

On the 15 th of November we embarked for Brindisi in the Austrian-
Lloyd Ettore . ' Crowds of friends came to see us off, with flowers.
She was a long, narrow ship, powerful screw, and very much lumbered
up; but there was no Austrian-Lloyd’s on which we should not have
found ourselves at home. There was a heavy ground swell later on,
and a good wind. A moorhen was blown on board, and I kept her
till the ship was close to the marshes. We landed the next night at
Brindisi, after thirty-one hours’ passage, and heavy gales came on,
and we had to stay there several days for our steamer on to Malta.

We got off on the 24th in the P. and O. Rosetta , had a beautiful
passage, arriving at Malta next day, after a twenty-nine hours’
passage. I was glad to find that Richard was never the worse for
the sea. We were afraid lest the shaking might affect his head, but
providentially the whole of that winter, unlike the last sea voyage,
we were only five hours in heavy weather.

Richard knew Malta well, but neither Dr. Baker nor I had ever
seen it. We went to the Royal Hotel, “ Cini’s,” where we remained
twenty-three days.

We had been intending to go on Thursday, the 12th of
December, and I here got a slight return of the sickness that I
had in Lucerne last year, but nothing like so heavy, and Richard
also had a little gout. There was only a ship once a w r eek to
take us to Tunis, so Richard was anxious to go all weathers,
the sailing-time eleven o’clock. That morning the gales were
dreadful, the sea mountains high; he called out to me, “ It
is fine enough to go.” “ Very well,” I said, with an internal
quake, feeling so ill. Presently a message was sent up from
the office to say that the weather was as bad as could be. There
was a little hesitation on his part; still preparations went on.
About an hour later came a second message from the agents, “ The
steamer had broken her moorings and had gone aground; no

508 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

passengers were going, the hurricane was bad; should we mind
transferring our tickets?” Richard looked out, and saw the sea
was mountains high, wind howling, the rain like buckets. I shall
never forget the joy with which I bolted into bed to nurse my
sickness.

On Friday, the 13th of December, he deplores the death of Robert
Browning.

Having taken leave of all our kind friends, we embarked on the
19th of December on the good ship St. Augustine, a French trans-
atlantique. The going out was exceedingly interesting, and very
rough. Malta seems to collect round it a regular swirl of bad
weather, wind, rain, mist, steam, fog-clouds, and heavy swell round
her like a mantle, but you have to stand out to sea to perceive
it. Richard and I planted ourselves against a mast, to get the last
view of Malta, but our feet were so frequently up in the air, and the
stern of the boat hiding all view, that after a while we had to give
it up. It gives you the impression of a huge sand-coloured rock
rising out of the sea, and being covered with houses of the same
colour. It might be a huge ivory toy carved for a museum. You
are impressed by the immense ramparts, bastions, and guns every¬
where; by the deep moats—one 950 yards long, 55 deep, and 30
wide—and its drawbridges. You feel its immense strength, its
English solidity, the difficulty an enemy would have to take it. If
you are an exile, your heart is cheered by the sight of the dozen
men-of-war in harbour, and the five or six regiments, and the heights
covered with the red-coats of our own nation. The natives have a
superstition that Malta is like a large mushroom in the sea, and the
waves perpetually beating against the stem will one day break it,
and Malta will sink. We had a nineteen hours’ run to Tunis, and
the sea slowed down after five or six hours.

We had a merry dinner with the French officers, and a quiet night.
The cabins were unendurable as to size—beds four feet nothing
and very hard, no sitting or lounging places. If we had had very
bad weather, I am afraid we should have suffered very much.
The next day we were also fortunate, for, arriving at Tunis—land¬
ing at Tunis is not a delight—ships lie out half a mile distant,
and in heavy weather I should think it would be very difficult; a
steam-launch comes off and takes you and your little traps and puts
you down in a shed, then goes off once or twice more for big
baggage and goods ; then you go to the custom-house to be examined.
Here we hire two carriages and put all our baggage, great and
small, in it, and tell them to drive it into Tunis. Then proceed
ourselves to the little station, and wait one hour for a train, and

At Montreux.

509

a half-hour does the eight miles into Tunis station; then you
go in a ’bus to the Grand Hotel. Never go to the Grand Hotel,
only fit for commercial travellers, but go to the Grand Hotel de
Paris—nice rooms, quiet, civil people, reasonable prices. Thus it
took five hours from the time of casting anchor to getting housed.
I think we enjoyed Tunis the most of all, as it was decidedly the most
Oriental.

On December 27th Richard deplores the death of our friend Baron
Von Kremer, one of Austria’s best Oriental scholars, which reached
him on the 1st of January.

ARAB TENTS (TUNIS).

Richard got another slight attack of gout, and was a little shaky
about the legs, but it soon passed. As soon as Richard improved,
we saw everything that was to be seen, made excursions, and passed
much time in the bazars. We did not think, however, that Tunis
was either as grand or as wild as Damascus, although the French
having possessed it for so short a time, it is not quite spoiled as is
Algiers.

There are some little Sisters of the Poor, who have a large house a
mile out of town over dreadful roads. They are of all nations; there
was one American and one English nun. There is the best view

5 io The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

of the town and surrounding country, which pleased Richard very
much. They keep sixty-five old men and women, mostly incurables.
We often went there.

One of our most favourite excursions was to Marsa, to our Consul-
General and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Drummond-Hay, son of old Sir
John Hay of Marocco. You drive through Napoleonic endless straight
roads, through brackish swamps for miles and miles, till you come
to the aqueduct and ruins of old Carthage. Large masonry works
are still standing; the stones and mortar are very poor. The villa
where they live was Sir Richard Wood’s; it is semi-Moorish, semi-
European, and stands just beyond the ruins. They were just be¬
ginning it, and have now made it perfectly beautiful. They are
charming people; he quiet and reserved, she affectionate, clever, and
lively.

We found here some genial people—Commandant Coyne, a
French Arabist; Mr. Seton-Karr, author and traveller; Mr. and Mrs.
Pitner, the Austrian Consul-General; and Count Bathyani. We had
delightful drives, and Dr. Baker photographed Bedawi in their tents.
We often went to Dar el Bey; and the Kasbah, the former palace, has
beautiful Moorish rooms, but they are dark and melancholy. The
bazars are very nice, but, excepting one or two shops, are not a
patch upon Damascus. Our favourite drives were generally round
the Arab and the Jewish quarters. We had drives also to Belvedere,
where is the military hospital, Ariana, Bardo, and Mamlff.

Here we were reading “Salammbo,” and Mr. Broadiey’s two
excellent volumes on “Tunis and its Conquest.”

The most interesting thing was to pass through the Jewish and
Mohammedan quarters, so narrow, such types, such smells and
sights. Lisa and I used to go to the harems and learn to make
Arab dishes. We were also cheered by the arrival of Mr. Terence
Bourke, brother of Lord Mayo, who has a delightful Moorish
house in the Mohammedan quarter, where he gave us much hospi¬
tality. We had charming Arab breakfasts with him. Poor Lisa got
the influenza. Influenza was not so much known then—it was only
talked of at a distance.

Carthage.

Carthage must be divided into two parts—i. Commercial; 2.
Military. The cisterns are Roman, not Punic. There are two
roads from Marsa to Carthage. The upper, which we went, a mere
track and dangerous, leads to Sidi bin Sa’id, an old church exca¬
vated, and the chapel of St. Louis; the lower road is the highway
to Goletta. On a bit of ascent to the left, on the Goletta coast, is

At Montreux.

5 11

the palace of Cardinal Lavigdrie. Cardinal Lavigerie was trying to
make a small Rome at old Carthage; his new Cathedral was of Maltese
build—another al Mellahah, surrounded by gardens, with inscriptions
on the walls: some five hundred are not yet published. Statues
and fragments and everything were plastered on or about the walls,
the columns below; a large building underground, temple of Ashman,
has very fine masonry. The chapel of St. Louis is small and cir¬
cular, stands alone, and has one high altar. It contains the tomb
of Count de Lesseps, Baron Ferdinand de Lesseps’ father, with a
big inscription. In the great hall, where you are received, there
are numbers of modern pictures; there is a splendid view of the
sea, and Cape Bon and Tunis.

The flat below is a mine of antiquities. Old Carthage port,
now the quarantine, is much like a natural dock, the entrance silted
up. Indeed, it is a beautiful panorama. The museum begins
with Italian art, with Bible subjects on one side. On the opposite
wall—Pagan subjects—there is a fine collection. Three skeletons
are disposed as if in the tomb, and six or seven pots at the head
—fatucz on the light side—and pots at feet sometimes. There
are Pagan and Christian mosaics. All the land belongs to the
Cardinal, who was the Pope of Carthage. No foreigner could ex¬
cavate anywhere. There is a huge convent. The monks are all
in white, with a big rosary and fez, and are called “Les Peres
blancs de la Mission Africaine.” There is a convent of Carmelite
nuns close by. Carthage runs all along Tania, where mosaics
are found. The old sea-walls of the port are behind the present
Goletta.

The Fathers were delightful, and showed us everything. The
Cardinal, who we were dying to see, was absent. The Cathedral
will be very nice when it has toned down; it was at present too
gaudy.

There is a big stone near Tunis, very long and slanting; ladies
who wish to be pregnant slide down it, so it is worn quite smooth.
We made as many excursions into the interior as it was possible,
considering the state of Richard’s health, but the most difficult thing
was how to get from Tunis to Algiers, which, considering the accom¬
modation, was a frightful dilemma. The little coast-steamers are
wretched; the weather was very cold, the sea was exceedingly rough,
and the possibility of landing, when you do arrive at a port,
is always extremely uncertain, on account of the heavy rollers.
Hence, should the heavy sea have affected Richard’s head by the
shaking, we should have had no redress. There was no possible
stopping-place for any one by train, who from health motives ought

512 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

not to rough it. There is, indeed, Souk el Arba, after six hours’
train, where there is a tramps’ hut (but nothing to eat), at about half¬
past ten in the day—twenty-four hours to wait for next day’s train.
There is Ghardimau at 11.45 (the frontier where they visit baggage).
There is Souk-Ahras at 2.13, where the country becomes wild and
bold. People in health may stop here for the next day’s train, but
we determined that none of this would do, especially as the carriages
are made for hardy Arabs, and not for luxury.

Now, through the immense kindness of the railway director, M. Koely,
I was fortunate enough to secure a saloon, with two benches mattressed
and cushioned, where, with railway rugs, four could lie feet to feet,
a small but clean toilette, and a curtained terrace, where we put all
our little baggage, and Africano, our good dragoman. We left our
hotel, and conveyed Richard to the train at 8.30 p.m. overnight,
and established ourselves on board our train, because it started at
5.15 in the morning (and a cold January morning), and our hot
coffee was brought to us inside by the kindness of the same director.
We had all our meals in the train, as we were provided with an
ample basket of food, drink, smoke, and books. Richard enjoyed
the terrace and watching the country; the air was most exhilarating,
and he felt quite well. We should not perhaps have thought so
much of the scenery in Austria, but still it was very beautiful. Then
it must be remembered that Tunis has only had the advantage, or
disadvantage, of eight years of civilization. The difficulties of
engineering must have been great, but the train was very well
driven, prudently on bad places, and always true to time.

At Duvivier we were shunted from the Bona to the Kroubs
train. It began to get dark. We dined on board, and had a
bottle of champagne we had brought with us, and got fearfully
tired about eight o’clock in the evening, and lay down. At 8.20
we were shifted from the Kroubs train to the Constantine train,
where we arrived at 12.15 the niglat, having been out twenty-
eight hours and running nineteen; but Richard was the strongest
of us all, and none the worse. We drove to the Hotel du Louvre,
and were glad to tumble into bed. We would willingly have
stayed here a long time; the hotel was not so bad as its entrance
makes you think. It was the healthiest and the most interesting
town we had seen. We had to celebrate here our twenty-ninth,
and, alas! our last, wedding-day. We passed it in inspecting
our surroundings. It is of a peculiar gorgy character, and must
have been impregnable in old days. The Devil’s Bridge and hot
springs are most picturesque. The Arab tents are made of straw,
thatch, and dirty rags, and look as if all the rubbish of the world

At Montreux .

513

were heaped upon them. The Arabs in this part of the world are
big, magnificent-looking men, who make everybody else look small,
with white burnous, and have beautiful white teeth. The French
very sensibly swagger about, and the troops make a great fanfare of
trumpets. The people here are cruel to their donkeys, who seem
born to carry loads of stone upon their backs.

The difficulty now was how to get on from Constantine, which was
only halfway to Algiers ; for though I did all my best, there were races
going on at Biskrah. There was but one saloon, and it was taking the
directors down ; so as we could only go by the common train, we knew
that Richard could not bear anything but a short journey, which
would be at first about an eight hours’ run to Setif. The country was
a large continuous undulation, and although quite flat in appearance ,
we rose gradually from 2000 to 3500 feet above sea-level, with distant
mountains. There were plenty of Bedawi tents and flocks, and two
or three buildings shortly after leaving Constantine that looked like
a palace in a plain, on a little eminence bare of trees or garden, and
two square, large, ugly houses. The Spahis are very picturesque
with their many-coloured garments and red cloaks, and have, as well
as the Kabyles, beautiful teeth. At Setif we found the Hotel de la
France comfortable, with fair food. The town is not much to look at,
the usual undulating country with good soil, and we passed an agree¬
able day, chiefly in the market, which was full of picturesque Berbers,
who had also some curious things to buy.

The next day (after forty-eight hours’ rest) we did another six
hours to Bouira, which is a very picturesque part of the country,
especially going thrcugh the Gates or Gorges. The little Hotel de la
Poste is no better than a small public-house, but the food was fit for
Paris; we always said that that cook must have committed some
crime, to go and hide himself in such an awful hole as that. The
next day we had a very pleasant journey of eight hours to Algiers.
The entry at night reminded us so much of Trieste. From the
station to the Hotel St. George’s, Mustafa Superieure, was an immense
long way, but delightful when one got there.

Algiers is an ideal place to look at; at first Richard was delighted
with it, and thought he would end his days there, but in about three
weeks he began to change his mind, and said nothing would induce
him to have “our cottage” there. For myself, I thought it was the
dampest, most neuralgic place I ever was in; but it is very beautiful,
superior to Trieste in beauty, the town more elevated, and looking
like ivory, as Eastern towns do, but yet like Trieste ; and the country
green, and picturesque with palms. Here we found delightful
society—Sir Lambert and Lady Playfair, Count Bathyani, Mrs. Camp-

514 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

bell Praed, the Marquise de Beaufort, Lady Clementina and Mr.
Mitford, Lord Carbery, Mrs. and Miss Newton, the Rev. Colin
Campbell, Colonel Preston, and a very nice and clever Miss Florence
Shakespeare Owens, and many other charming people. Here for
the second time a huge glass chandelier fell, nearly cutting the table
in two just as we had left our places.

On the 16th of February we started for one of the greatest hum¬
bugs in the world, the baths at Hammam R’irha, passing Blidah,
where there is a wonderful gorge, and archaeological remains. There
is a wretched little station called Bou Medfa, where a tumbledown
little ’bus, only good enough for luggage, awaits passengers; but
fortunately we got a caliche , two good horses, and a pleasant Jehu,
and we had a long drive through cold, raw, snowy air (in February).
At first we had a glorious day, splendid weather, and a beautiful
view for distance. We stayed here a week, during which it did
nothing afterwards but pour with rain, and a walk put you almost
knee-deep in thick red clay. We visited the gurbi or hut of Sulei¬
man, the Arab guardian of the hotel, and sat with his wife. We
should not call him an Arab or a Bedawin at Damascus, but in all
these kind of places they generally have these protectors, even at
Alexandria, but not in Syria. It would have puzzled any one to live
in that gurbi , except people used to living in very small tents.

Richard got gouty here, and we were glad to return to Algiers at
the end of the week; but we did not go back to the same sort of
life, of which there are two. One life is to live up at Mustafa
Superieure and take care of your health, and the other is to live in
town and see something of native life. You cannot do both, because
getting up and down from Mustafa to town occupies all day; so we
now went to the Hotel de la Regence, where we stayed a fortnight
in order to see something of Algiers. Here we read “Mosallam,”
by Laurence Oliphant, which explains so much of his life.

We went all over the City, seeing the most interesting things
—the Cardinal’s Moorish Palace, the Cardinal’s Cathedral, the
Museum, where is shown poor Geronimo’s body. He lived in 1540,
was taken prisoner and baptized, but his relations caught him again,
and kept him as a Mohammedan till he was twenty-five; then
he returned to Oran, where he renewed his Christianity, but he was
caught again by a Moorish corsair and brought to Algiers, where he
was ordered again to become a Mohammedan; and as he would not,
he was sentenced to be thrown alive into a mould, with his feet and
hands tied with cords, and the block of concrete containing his
body was built into an angle of the fort. In 1853 it was destroyed,
and on the 27th of December the skeleton was found enclosed in

At Montreux.

5 J 5

the block. The bones were carefully removed, and interred with
great pomp in the Cathedral, built on the site of the Mosque of
Hassan. Liquid plaster of Paris was run into the mould left by his
body; they thus obtained a perfect model, even of his features, the
cords which bound him, and the texture of his clothing, and this
you see in the museum. We wandered about the Mosques and
about the bazars to buy curios, and although Algiers is now only a
French town on Arab foundations, the Arab part of the town, that
remains untouched, was as interesting as anything we had ever seen.
Take, for instance, the Mosque or Zaouia of Sidi Abd er Rahman
Eth-Thalebi, which contains his tomb and its surroundings; there are
numbers of tombs around him, and the usual drapery, lamps, banners,
and ostrich eggs. Take the Arab town with its close, dark, steep
streets, and its dark holes and shops, the ways of which are like
climbing a wall of steps. One is ascended by 497 steps; they are
mostly alleys just wide enough to pass through, and is a labyrinth
in which you might easily lose yourself. The Kasbah , or Citadel, is
also well worth a visit We made as many excursions as was possible
in the interior, considering the state of Richard’s health, and when
he was not well enough for a walk or a drive, he received African
Professors. Some of our party went to see one of the fanatical
religious meetings of the Assaouwiyeh, the religious confraternity of
Sidi Mohammed bin Aissa, which take place sometimes in the native
quarter. I have seen many of these sort of things, but never carried
to the extent that I am told they are carried here, where they
mutilate themselves, and sometimes a sheep is thrown amongst them
which they devour alive. I could not sleep that night for knowing
it was going on, but our party comforted me by telling me next
day that nothing of the sort had taken place.

We now took our departure from Algiers.

Richard said that one of his great pleasures in leaving North
Africa, and especially Algiers, was the intense cruelty to animals.
It was no pleasure to walk or drive, and some people felt it so much,
that they walked by back ways, and only looked forward to giving
up their villas altogether, since there was no one to stop it. The
Rev. Colin Campbell and I did what we could all the time we were
there.

At last the day came for leaving. The day before the sea had
been frightful, and, though it was fine this day, we had the heavy
swell of yesterday’s storm. It was a capital boat, the only good
steamer on this coast, all new appliances, electric light, corky in the
water like our Irish boats (the Due de Braganza). Mrs. Campbell
Praed, who had been with us all along, accompanied us to Marseilles,
and it was delightful to have her society.

516 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

We enjoyed our passage exceedingly on the 7th of March, the
only fine day amongst a series of gales. In the evening Richard
and Dr. Baker went into the smoking-cabin, and there a young
man, a travelled passenger, was holding forth to the others with
regard to African travellers, and Richard Burton in particular,
having no idea that the said Richard Burton was part of his
audience. It became exceedingly amusing when he began to
relate the tale of “how Richard Burton had murdered two men
on his Meccan journey, because they had suspected him of being
a Frank and a Christian.” Richard then said quietly to him,
“What traveller did you say did this deed?” “Oh, Burton, the
famous Mecca-man!” “Have you seen him?” “Oh yes, of
course I have.” “ Well, then,” said Richard, “ I am that man, and
I assure you that I never did this deed; that I had no cause to, for
I never was suspected. I have been told that such a tale was rife
about me, but I thought it was a joke, and it has never come face
to face with me as a serious thing till to-night. There were two
Englishmen travelling about the desert at this time; they were put
into a great difficulty, and I believe they had to do it in self-defence,
and in consequence of this misfortune, their travels never appeared
before the public; but it did not happen to me.” This reminds me
of dining out one night long before ; it was a very large dinner-party,
in London, and the gentleman opposite to me bent forward and said,
“I heard you talking a great deal about the East; did you ever
chance to meet Burton the traveller ?” I saw his agitated neighbour
nudging him, so I laughed, and said, “Rather ! I have the honour
of being his wife.” On another occasion—it was at the British
Association for Science in 1878—we were stopping with Lord Talbot
of Malahide; it was a show place, and the Association came over in
the afternoon, and were being lionized about. Richard had given a
lecture the day before in Dublin, and a little crowd were collected
around us. Suddenly a middle-aged lady, not knowing who I was,
walked up to me, by way of saying something pleasant, and said,
" I did not think much of the lecture of Burton the traveller, did
you ? ” Richard and I were ready to split, but I was so sorry for her,
that I said cheerfully, “ Oh yes ! I liked it very much indeed; but,
you know, it was a very abstruse subject, and one which people in
general are not likely to understand.” (It was on the Ogham-Runes,
the tree-language of ancient Ireland, as compared with El Mushajjar,
the tree-language of ancient Arabs.) Meantime her friends, who
had been tugging at her mantle in agonies, had got her off, and then
we had a good laugh.

The following day it darkened, and looked rainy and cloudy, and

At Montreux.

5i7

the sea inkier as we approached the Gulf of Lyons. The approach
by sea to Chateau d’lf and the Isle d’Hybres, with their little rocky
islands, the solitary lighthouse, and Notre Dame de la Garde tower¬
ing the town on a white rocky eminence, was exceedingly pretty and
effective. You cannot have a prettier drive than going by La Plage,
and the lovely Corniche road to Notre Dame de la Garde, and
returning by the Prado. The City is magnificent; it lies in a basin
surrounded by hills, and fringed with pine-woods of every family of
the race, stunted and tall, blown into weird shapes by the wind, dotted
with country villas and fine buildings, and all this is ring-fenced by
immense bare limestone rock.

The digue , or breakwater, is built in a triangular shape so as to
throw off the canalization. You enter a series of new docks, the old
port running to the bottom of the finest street, perhaps the finest in
the world—Rue Cannebiere and Noailles.

After staying here one day, we went on to Toulon, and on to the
Hotel Continental at Hyhres, which we thought delightful. We had
a delicious drive to Carquerain, and down to the sea. Between
this and Nice we met Admiral Seymour of the Iris , and travelled in
the same train, and went on to the Isles Britanniques at Nice. The
French Squadron was in; their manoeuvres were very pretty, and
they looked “ fit.” The Bataille des Fleurs was going on. Sir Richard
Wood and Mrs. Campbell Praed came to breakfast, and he took us
to see all the fun. He was looking very well and fresh. We were
exceedingly pleased to meet him, as he was the one Consul held in
honour before Richard Burton at Damascus. After one whole day
there, we took the train for Genoa, and we had lather an unpleasant
journey, as Richard was a little ailing, and could not enjoy the motions
of the Italian train curving round the coast. One must admit that
the district of the Riviera is beautiful, the English type (after you
pass Monte Carlo, Mentone, Bordighera, and San Remo) changing
to poor picturesque Italy, when it becomes defiled by its vulgar,
petty officialdom. We hated Genoa from our sad remembrance in
1887, so, instead of going to our old hotel, we went to the Hotel de
!a Ville on the Port, and disliked it very much, and felt that we had
left civilization. We wandered about, and went to the beautiful
Campo Santo and bought things; and next day went on to Milan,
where we also changed our hotel, and went to the Cavour, which we
liked exceedingly. Next day we got on to Venice, to the Grand
Hotel, but we only stayed one day, as Richard was suffering from
hotel food, and so we reached home on his birthday, the 19th of
March (his last birthday, sixty-ninth), having been out rather more
than four months.

518 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

Our Last Trip.

On the ist of July we went for our summer trip, as July and
August in Trieste are almost insupportable. We went first to
Gorizia before described. The next day we made the usual interest¬
ing pilgrimage of Monte-Santo on a peak, which is a small Maria-
Zell, the local Lourdss, which occupies about six hours to go and see
everything and return. We dined out of doors in the evening at
Gorizia, and next morning went on to Tarvis. It was a long day,
and Richard was very tired. Tarvis is very beautiful, but we could
not enjoy it, because we were none of us well; so we only stopped
for a day or two, and then we went on to Villach and to Lienz,
where we had always been longing to stay.

The Post Hotel is a charming, comfortable, old-fashioned inn.
There we used to sit out under the eaves, feed the pigeons, make the
boys scramble for pennies, and buy things from passing pedlars, and
Richard decided, that though it is an old village, it is not “ dry rot,”
and that the mountain airwas beautiful. We had an uncomfortable train
to Franzensfeste, but there we got a delightful aussichts-wagen to run
over the Brenner, which, though it was our fourth time, we enjoyed
immensely. The Tyrol Hof in Innsbruck where we stopped was
good, but very dear. There we met Mrs. Crawford, the widow of
the M.P. who had been kind to us years ago. We were just in time
to catch our old friends the Von Puthons, who were transferred to
Linz. There was a delightful zither-player in the evening. No one
knows what sounds, what soft passionate music, can be got out of
those instruments till one hears them in their native land. Here
people should buy rough but picturesque parures of black garnets,
which is a specialty.

From Innsbriick we made a four hours’ run to Feldkirch over
the Arlberg, which was really dangerous, as Richard had before
foretold. There had been landslips, and some places were planked
over so that you could see the precipices under the carriage,
the train going very slow. There were several bad places, and one
unpleasant bridge. The next train to ours could not come over.
I heard a gentleman, who I was told was one of the engineers
of the line, say in German to some other gentlemen, “We
thought it would last for ever when we put it up, but now I would
not let my own family cross in spring after the rains.” We stopped
to see my nephew Bertie Pigott, who was in college here. The
Jesuits have a large college, which is the principal thing in the
town, very much on the same principle as that of Sliema Malta,
and have their playground, athletic exercises, museum, library,

At Montreux .

5*9

good church, etc. In the Cathedral there is an Holbein’s altar
to see.

We left after two days, and arrived at Zurich in time for the great
Schiefs-Statte fete , or Federal Rifle Association, which takes place every
other year. It dates from the sixteenth century, assumed its present
rifle form in 1830, and consequently was the first known to Europe.
It used to be the great political event that drew all the Cantons
together. It is the focus which cements that simplicity, equality,
and independence which go to make up the sturdy Swiss character,
and is the secret of the union which makes their strength. It
always takes place in a different town, and numbers 220,000 members
out of two millions and a quarter—more than the regular army.
This year it was at Frauenfeld, and the great people assembled at
the Hotel Baur au Lac where we were staying. One hundred and
fifty Minnesingers were singing their national songs on the lawn,
some hidden in boats on the canal by the side. There was a
sort of illumination, and fireworks, not only on shore, but on the
lake, which you might have mistaken for Venice.

The next day we were all away to Frauenfeld. Seven thousand
pounds are given in prizes. The number of people on the ground,
besides shooters, was 40,000. There was a huge wooden marquee
for dining 6000 people, and 3000 sat down at a time. Every Swiss
is ambitious to be a good marksman, and it is thought to be a dis¬
grace to be a bad shot. The Roman Catholic priest gave us
hospitality. He had passed the last sixteen years of his life in
making an exquisite collection of enamels on copper, silver, and
gold—religious subjects, selected with great care and judgment.
Two-thirds are early seventeenth century, and he wanted to sell them.

Mr. Angst, the English Consul, is a very great man, and it was
a fine thing to be a friend of his in Switzerland. He and his wife
showed us a great deal of hospitality, and we passed many pleasant
days enjoying his collection of curios, swords, and china, which
are all Swiss, for he is a patriot A delightful excursion is by
boat to Rapperswyl, calling at fifteen or sixteen stations down the
lake on the left. There is a little hotel Der See, one of eight
fronting the little quay. We had a delightful breakfast, after which
we re-embarked and came up on the other bank. Next day there
was a great Consular dinner, which lasted from twelve to six, at which
Richard and Dr. Baker attended. Here we met a very nice Mr.
and Mrs. Chippendale. We had a charming excursion to Uetliberg,
and another to Einsiedeln up in the mountains; it is the Swiss
Lourdes. The scenery was lovely, the air beautiful. We had a
good dinner of blue mountain trout at the Pfau. We went all over

520 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

the Cathedral, and the circle of pious shops, and drank from the
fountain of fourteen spouts. We bought pious things, and the
monks came in at three o’clock and sang the “ Ave Maria.” Our
return was on a beautiful summer evening; the lake glowed in
colours, there was a gentle mist and a full moon, but we arrived
very, very tired.

During this Swiss trip, Richard always brought Catullus to
table d'hote, and whenever he was bored he used to pull it out and
write his notes upon his Latin copy.

I did all I could to persuade him to go from Zurich to Bale, from
Bale to England, to leave the Service and to stay in England till
he was thoroughly rested and well; then we would go back and pick
up our things, or let them be sent after us; but he would not hear
of it. I tried this twice during this Swiss journey when we were half¬
way, for I saw that the frequent attacks of indigestion and nervous¬
ness and gases round the heart were on the increase, and it did not
seem that any climate, or any staying still, nor yet travelling, improved
them. Still he persevered in saying that he would keep on till next
March, when he would be free, and be home the following September.

During the last six months of his life (to show how tired he was
getting of everything), he used frequently to say to me, “ Do you
know, I am in a very bad way; I have got to hate everybody except
you and myself, and it frightens me, because I know perfectly well
that next year I shall get to hate you, and the year after that I shall
get to hate myself, and then I don’t know what will become of me.
We are always wandering, and the places that delight you I say to
myself, ‘ Dry rot,’ and the next place I say, ‘ Dry rotter,’ and the
third place I say, ‘ Dry rottest,’ and then da capo."

About the 20th of July Richard had a small attack of gout which
passed away, and again slightly at Davos.

We went on to Ragatz, Mr. Angst accompanying us. The Quel-
lenhof Hotel is as big as a village, but it was too full to be comfort¬
able. Lady Taunton and Lady Elizabeth Grey were there, and we
met them in several places—two interesting sisters with lovely silver
hair. Here you drive to the waterfall and Meienfeld, and to Pfafers-
bad, where there is a quelle and gorge like that of Trient, the same
swirling river under you, darkness, weirdness, the same tiny planks
to walk along next to the rocky wall, and the mountains meeting
overhead. Another drive is to Wartenstein, and Pfafers village,
where an old Convent is turned into a large Lunatic Asylum.

Wartenstein is a chalet-restaurant which holds about thirty visitors,
and there is a lovely view. We left Ragatz when we had seen every¬
thing, and went on a new line of railway only opened a fortnight before,

At Montreux .

52i

up to Davos-Platz, six thousand feet high. The scenery is always
nice and sometimes grand. We were lodged in a fine large hotel,
the Belvedere, which was not finished. The centre of the scene is a
plateau swamp in the middle. The roots of the surrounding hills are
covered with hotels, villas, and pines, and above them again are high
mountains with snowy peaks and fine air. In winter it is dry and
covered with snow; it is the great consumption focus, and people say
it is full of germs. Here we met five people we knew, amongst them
Father Graham, a priest from London. We had come here on pur¬
pose to make acquaintance with Mr. John Addington Symonds, but
he was gone away, and he only came back on the evening before our
departure, and we saw him for about an hour, which was better than
nothing.

We had a delightful drive from Davos to Maloja, with a comfort¬
able landau, two good steady grey horses, and a nice coachman; it
was a truly delicious day, which I shall always remember amongst
my mental treasures. We ascended the Fluela Pass through
gorgeous scenery, starting at ten o’clock. In an hour and a half we
stopped to give bread to the horses, and then in another hour and a
half we came to the highest point, 6700 feet, where we were in deep
snow; a lake was covered with ice, and two Mount St. Bernard dogs
greeted us. Here we baited the horses with bread and wine, and
lunched from our basket. The Schwarzhorn, 13,000 feet high, was
to our right; there were glaciers and chamois, gorges and grand
ravines. When we started again we descended to Siis, a large
village, where we rested, had tea, and baited our horses for a couple
of hours, and then we drove on two hours more to Quoz. I think
Quoz one of the prettiest places I ever saw, and should like to have
stayed there longer. It is a beautiful, romantic, Romansch village;
the scenery is lovely, the hotel is civilized. We put up there for the
night, starting at ten o’clock the next morning, and arrived at
Samaden, where we were very badly treated by the landlord, who
made us pay sixty-six francs for three-quarters of an hour’s
entertainment.

Three-quarters of an hour further we arrived at St. Moritz-
Kulm, stopped our carriage, got out for a moment, and in opening
the door ran up against Canon Wenham, of Mortlake, who is our
spiritual pastor where I now live, and whom I had known for at
least thirty-five years. He was very glad to see Richard, and we
frequently met during our stay in Switzerland. Canon Wenham has
since told me that when he first saw Richard at St. Moritz, that he
kept saying to himself, “ I wonder w r hether you or I will be the first to
go ? ” Richard died two months after that, and ten months later he

522 The Life of Sir Richard Burton,

performed his funeral service at Mortlake. The baths and the village
are below in the valley. We soon started again for Maloja, but
did not get in till 4.30, owing to an accident For the third time
our horses suddenly behaved queerly ; they were steady, plodding
brutes, but one sprang over a low stone wall, leaving the carriage on
the other side, and the other stood trembling, sweating, and sobbing
as if it was going to have a fit. It was a narrow road with a sharp
precipice into the lake, and very little would have sent us rolling
into it. We were some time extricating ourselves. We all got out,
and the horses were unharnessed and taken into a neighbouring
field, where they recovered themselves. I was dreadfully frightened,
but Richard was quite cool. On all these three occasions the coach¬
man and Lisa and I thought that the horses saw something we did
not see, but Richard and the doctor opined that there was some
natural cause, such as a snake crossing the path. The gypsies
passed, and stopped and helped us.

Maloja hotel is a luxurious palace at the head of the lake, looking
down the lake on one side, and on the other down into Italy. It is
the last of the Engadine plateaux, has glorious scenery and air, snow
mountains, and blue sky and lake. We found here Mr. and Mrs.
Stanley, accompanied by their faithful Captain Jephson, and Mr.
Stanley’s black boy Saleh, Dean Carington, Mr. Oscar Browning, and
Mr. Welldon (Headmaster of Harrow), Sir John and Lady Hawkins,
the Duchess of Leinster, Lady Mabel Fitzgerald, and Lord Elcho,
Mrs. Main (lately Mrs. Fred Burnaby), Miss Emily Blair Oliphant,
Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft and son, Lord Dunraven, and other pleasant
people.

There were all sorts of amusements—a large ball-room, beautiful
band, theatricals, concerts, alpining, fishing, and kodaking, picnics,
glee-singing by a chorus of workmen, who sang at the church in the
morning-—everything that could be desired, but our chief amusement
was driving. We used to go over to St. Moritz Kulm, where we met
Mr. Strickland, who edited the St. Moritz news, and Father Wenham.

At Maloja Richard talked to me a great deal about the possibilities
of what might happen in case of his death—“ Not,” he said, “ that
I am thinking of dying ; ” and I told him that I thought he should
leave literary executors. I mentioned four people who I thought
would expect to have a “ finger in the pie,” so to speak, in case of
his death, but he absolutely declined to let anybody but myself search
into his papers, and desired me to see to it if any necessity arose.
He said, “No one has helped me but you during thirty—I may say
thirty-five—years ; who is likely to know so well now ? Besides,
I know that you will do everything for me, body and soul—that

At Montreux .

523

you would wish done for yourself.” A little while after this he
called me into his room and said, “ I may very likely live for years,
but I should like to leave three papers, which I am now going to
sign in your presence.” The first concerned religion, the second his
private papers and manuscripts, and the third his money and mining
affairs, and I have carried them all out to the very letter from the
day he died till now.

The lake was very grand in a storm, black, green, and yellow,
with lowering black clouds, enveloping mountain and lake, lit up by
dark red lightning. We had great fun in being photographed by the
Rev. Mr. Stewart, who was here with two charming sisters, Mr.
and Mrs. Stanley, Richard and myself, and Saleh the black boy, and
Mrs. Bancroft placed us. Mrs. Bancroft made us all laugh just as
we were going to be taken, by seizing up a long broom-handle and
poising it as a lance, saying, “ Won’t you have me as Tippoo Tib ? ”
Mrs. Stanley did a very amusing thing ; she got a piece of paper, and
turning part of it down, said to my husband, “ Will you give me your
autograph, Sir Richard?” which he readily did, in English and
Arabic. She then turned up the back of the paper, on which she had
written, “ I promise to put aside all other literature, and as soon as
I return to Trieste, to write my own autobiography.” So we all signed
underneath him, and since I have had it framed.

On the 31st of August he deplores the death of his friend, General
Studholm Hodgson.

The two or three last days of August the snow was so dreadful
that we only longed to get down into Italy, and on the 1st of Sep¬
tember, wishing good-bye to our friends, we started at two o’clock,
and had a delightful drive of three hours and a quarter through the
snow down the mountains. The snow was so bad that it was
doubtful whether we could manage it, but we did without accident.
We passed several picturesque places, amongst others Castasegna,
where I got out of the carriage, while they were refreshing the horses,
to look at the tombs in the little church, and walking up to one, I
saw on it “Richard Vaughan Simpson, died in 1834, aged 23.” I
said a prayer for him—perhaps I was the first countrywoman that
had passed and done so. As we passed the frontier we were lightly
examined, and we got into Italian picturesqueness, passing one or
two fine waterfalls. Chiavenna looked most picturesque in the
distance, as we descended to the good little Hotel Conradi. There
was a blue shade over the snow mountains as the sun was setting.

The next day we left Conradi’s to get to Como. The train was
an hour late; we had to go in the third-class with forty-eight people,
and the boat was late too. The lake was looking lovely, with its

524 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

villages, especially Gravedona, Varenna, and Bellagio, which reminded
us of Madeira. We were about seven hours doing twenty miles.
We had delightful drives through the trees above the Villa Lervelloni
to the ruined castle which overlooks Como with all its three arms of
the lake, and listened to the bees and the birds, smelled the forest,
and were glad we were alive. We also went to Como itself. In
the evening we met Sir Frederick Napier Broome, late Governor of
Western Australia. We were now reading Sinnett’s “ Karma.” We
left Bellagio early, a couple of days later, and went down the other
side of the lake (Lago di Lecco) on a very pleasant morning.
You take a branch railway, and join the main line (Milan to Venice)
at Rovato for Venice. We went to the Grand Hotel, but soon left,
as the gondola music used to drive Richard wild. There is one man,
if he still exists, who sings as if he would burst, like the cicala.

On the 7th of September we left for Trieste, sauntering down the
Gran Canale in gondola the last thing. We had a comfortable journey,
and were glad to get home that evening after ten weeks out, which
we had thoroughly enjoyed, except on the occasions when Richard
was suffering. But how sorrowful it would have been, could we
but have foreseen that it was the last journey we should ever take
together in this life ! If we could but look forward, we should not
be able to bear it.

Home for the Last Few Weeks.

The few following weeks at Trieste we continued to write together
in the evening, he being engaged all day with his “Scented Garden,”
his “ Catullus,” “ Ausonius,” “ Apuleius, or the Golden Ass,” and
other things, as he had been since his last Supplemental came out
(November 13th, 1888) ; and in early morning we used to take a
list of all the manuscripts published and unpublished, their destina¬
tions when packed for England, and sorting the correspondence into
years ; and Dr. Baker took a great many photographs, as he had
done all this year in the garden, of us and the views and friends,
which I am having formed into two lamp-shades on gelatine.

These last few weeks Richard kept saying to me, “When the
swallows form a dado round the house, when they are crowding on
the windows, in thousands, preparatory to flight, call me; ” and he
would watch them long and sadly. Strange to say, after his death
seven of them took up their abode at his window, and only departed
in December. They are building again at “ our cottage ” at Mortlake.
It seems as if he were watching.

On the nth of September he deplores in his journal the death of
Sir William Hardman, of the Moi-ning Post.

At Montreux .

525

On the 20th of September, a month before he died, in his diary
he writes, “ I feel too well,” and another paragraph, “ The house
covered with swallows;” and then he says that night, “ Sat on
balcony—perfect evening, perfect day.” He was then taking papaine
for his gout.

On the 27th we had gentle earthquakes late at night, but which
were prolonged till dawn.

In October he complains of liver and biliousness in his journal,,
but remarks that his cure was working well.

On the 15th of October we paid together our official visit to the
Governor and his wife, and we had friends to breakfast at the Hotel
de la Ville, where he was very gay. He was not very well in the
evening, but nothing particular, and a glass of hot brandy and water
seemed to set him quite right. I had begun partly to dismantle the
house, and to put away things to make it easier for packing on
return, in order to hurry matters when we came back, previous to
leaving for good. We were going to start on the 15th of November
for Greece and Constantinople, and we were already sorting out
what we would take, having our saddlery looked to, and writing
letters to the Ministers of these countries to ask their advice on
certain points, and getting letters of introduction.

On the 18th of October, Dr. Baker photographed us in the garden.
Richard was always better when he first got home, and then got
tired of it after. When he first arrived, 8th of September, he only
weighed 70 kilos, but by the 2nd of October he had increased to
72*5 kilos.

On the 18th of October he was a little inclined to gout, and com¬
plained that he had no pleasure in walking.

On the 19th (the day before he died) he complains of a little
lumbago.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

WE RETURN HOME FOR THE LAST TIME.

“ Oh, call it by some better name,

For Friendship is too cold ;

And Love is now a worldly flame,

Whose shrine is made of gold ;

And Passion, like the sun at noon,

Who burns up all he sees

Alike, as warm, will set as soon— v

Oh, call it by none of these.

“ Imagine something purer far,

More free from stain of clay,

Than Friendship, Love, and Passion are,

Yet human still as they.

And if thy lips, for love like this,

No mortal word can frame,

Go, ask of angels what it is,

And call it by that name ! ”

The good air in Switzerland, and especially Maloja, had set Richard
up completely. We returned on the 7th of September, little think¬
ing he had but six weeks to live.

The day before he died, though he was unusually well and cheer¬
ful, he said, “ I am beginning to lose the good I got in Switzerland,
and to feel the corroding climate of Trieste again. I count the
hours till the 15th of November.”

This was the day that we were to have sailed for Greece, but,
alas ! for human foresight, human misery, it was the day of the third
and the last great Church ceremonial or dirge for the repose of his
soul. Some circumstances that were unavoidable, not important
but irritating, for the past few months had annoyed him, and he was
always saying, “ What a blessing it would be, and that he could
hardly wait for the moment, when we two would be settled quietly
in England together again, and independent of the Government,
and of all the world besides ! ” And it will always comfort me to
remember that during spring and summer, after our return from
Algiers, I begged of him to throw up the Service, and instead of

526

We Return Home for the Last Time. 527

going any farther on small travels, to let us at once set to, pack up
and return to England for good, and to defer Greece and Constanti¬
nople till we had settled ourselves in England. Also that during
our Swiss tour, when we got to Zurich in August, and were so near
Bale, I said, “ We are halfway to England ; let us go on, let the
things go; we will send back a trusty person to bring them on; ” but
he said, “ No, he should like to brave it out till the end.” Little
did we think that—

“ The cast-off shape that, years since, we called ‘ I ’

Shall sudden into nothingness
Let out that something rare which could conceive
A Universe and its God.” *

We had occasion sometimes to go into the English Protestant
burial-ground at Trieste—poor Charles Lever lies buried there, and by
him is a cold, melancholy corner which at that particular time seemed
to be a sort of rubbish corner of stray papers and old tin pots. He
shuddered at it, and said, as he had often said before, “ If I die here,
don’t bury me there. They will insist on it; will you be strong and
tight against it?” I said, “ Yes ; I think I shall be strong enough
to fight against that for your sake ! Where would you like to be
buried ? ” He said, “ I think I should like you to take my body
out to sea in a boat, and throw me into the water ; I don’t like the
ground, nor a vault, nor cremation.” And I said, “ Oh, I could not
do that; won’t anything else do? ” “ Yes,” he said; “ I should like

us both to lie in a tent side by side.”

He was very fond of kittens, and always had one on his shoulder.
When he lay dead, his kitten would not leave him, and fought and
spat to be allowed to remain. Three days before he died, he told
me that a bird had been tapping at his window all the morning,
saying, “ That is a bad omen, you know ? ” I said I could not
agree with him, because he had the habit of feeding the birds of the
garden on his window-sill at seven every morning. He replied,
“ Ah, it was not that window, but another.” And I found afterwards
this little verse scribbled on the margin of his journal—

“ Swallow, pilgrim swallow,

Beautiful bird with purple plume,

That, sitting upon my window-sill,

Repeating each morn at the dawn of day
That mournful ditty so wild and shrill,—

Swallow, lovely swallow, what would’st thou say,

On my casement-sill at the break of day ? ”

The day before his death (Sunday afternoon), the 19th of October,
the last walk he ever took, he saw a little robin drowning in a tank

* From “John Halifax.”

528 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

in the garden. Crowds of birds were sitting around it on the trees,
watching it drown, and doing nothing for it. He got Dr. Baker
to get it out, and warmed it in his own hands, and put it in his fur
coat, and made a fuss till it was quite restored, then put it in a cage
to be kept and tended till well enough to fly away again.

The last night, the chief talk at dinner was about General Booth's
article—the first that came out in the Pall Mall Budget —of “ How to
relieve the Millions.” He took the greatest possible interest in
it, because (as he said) they could get at people that no clergy¬
man of any Church could get at, and it sounded such a sensible plan.
He said to me, “ When you and I get to London, and are quite free
and settled, we will give all our spare time to that.” This is the man
who is supposed to have killed and crushed everything as he went
about in triumph over the world.

In point of fact, the “Richard Burton” described by part of the
press, notably by the Saturday Review —the Richard Burton quoted
by a great portion of the people who professed to know him so well,
and really hardly knew him at all, never existed—was a man I never
knew and never saw.

To the last breath, there was never a saner, or a sounder, or a
truer judgment in any man who walked this earth. He saw and
knew all the recesses of men's minds and actions.

All those six weeks I was very uneasy to hear him talking more
than ever agnostically at the table, and to our surroundings, and to
witness the conflict going on within himself in the privacy of our
own rooms, because I had been warned by people who have ex¬
perience in these matters, that it would be the case the nearer he was
to death; and yet his health seemed so well. It never struck me
that death could be so near. He said once to me, after an unusual
burst at tea, which had made me sad, “ Do I hurt you when I talk like
that? ” And I smiled, and said rather sadly, “ Well, yes ; it always
appears to me like speaking against our very best friend.” He got
a little pale, and said, “ Well, I promise you that, after I am free
from the Government and from our present surroundings, I won’t
talk like that any more.” And I said, “ How I long for that time to
come ! ” And he answered, “ So do I.”

I realized the following quotation about prayer :—

“ The time may be delayed, the manner may be unexpected, but
the answer is sure to come. Not- a tear of sacred sorrow, not a
breath of holy desire poured out in prayer to God, will ever be lost;
but in God’s own time and way it will be wafted back again, in
clouds of mercy, and fall in showers of blessings on you, and those
for whom you pray.”

We Return Home for the Last Time. 529

The nightingales were very beautiful in our garden at Trieste, and
after dinner, it being unusually fine weather in September and October,
we used to sit out on our verandah smoking, taking our coffee,
looking at the beautiful moonlit sea and mountains, and the moon
and stars through a large telescope that stood there for the purpose.
And one day I found the following on the margin of his journal

“THE NIGHTINGALE.

* * * Sweet minstrel of the younger year,

Small Orpheus of the woody hill,

Say why far more delight my soul
That artless note, that untaught trill,

Than all that tuneful art can find
To charm the senses of mankind ? *

“ ‘ Listen ! ’ the Nightingale replied.

* The notes which thus thy feelings move
By perfect Nature were supplied,

To praise the Lord and sing of love.

Hath Art ne’er taught mankind to sing
High praises of a meaner thing ? ’ ”

The End.

Let me recall the last happy day of my life. It was Sunday, the
19th of October, 1890. I went out to Communion and Mass at
eight o’clock, came back and kissed my husband at his writing. He
was engaged on the last page of the “ Scented Garden,” which had
occupied him seriously only six actual months, not thirty years, as
the Press said. He said to me, “ To-morrow I shall have finished
this, and I promise you that I will never write another book on this
subject. I will take to our biography.” And I said, “ What a happi¬
ness that will be ! ” He took his usual walk of nearly two hours in
the morning, breakfasting well. People came to tea; he had another
walk in the garden, when the robin incident occurred.

“ How oft we’ve wandered by the stream,

Or in the garden’s bound,

Our hands and hearts together join’d ;

Pure happiness have found !

But now we linger there no more,

Beside the woods or burn,

And all that I can utter now
Is, ‘ When wilt thou return ? ’ ”

That afternoon we sat together writing an immense number of letters,
which, when we had finished, I put on the hall table to be posted on
Monday morning. Each letter breathed of life and hope and happi¬
ness, for we were making our preparations for a delightful voyage
to Greece and Constantinople, which was to last from the 15th of

530 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

November to the 15th of March. We were to return to Trieste from
the 15th of March till the 1st of July. He would be a free man on the
19th of March, and those three months and a half we were to pack
up, make our preparations, wind up all our affairs, send our heavy
baggage to England, and, bidding adieu to Trieste, we were to pass
July and August in Switzerland, arrive in England in September,
1891, look for a little flat and a little cottage, unpack and settle our¬
selves to live in England.

We had now been back in Trieste six weeks from Maloja, in the
Engadine, and during those six weeks my husband did several things,
with a difference that would have struck me, except for his improved
health and spirits. How we should break our hearts could we see
ahead, and yet how one regrets not seeing !

“ What part has death or has time in him
Who rode life’s lists as a God might ride ? n

Swinburne.

During this time, in spite of his having his Agnostic-talking
tendencies worse upon him than ever, at table and in company, in
privacy he used to lock our outer doors for a short while twice daily
and pray. Our six rooms ran round in a square, cut off from the rest
of the house, and as his bedroom and mine were corner rooms, I
had, quite accidentally, a large full-length mirror in my corner, that
gave me command of three rooms, including the chapel, so that
though he was alone I could see him. And I did not alter it, lest
he might have a seizure of any sort. In the chapel was a large
crucifix, and he would at times come in, and remain before it for half
an hour together, and go away with moist, sad eyes, and sometimes
look over the books or papers.

The only difference remarkable on this particular Sunday, 19th of
October, was, that whereas my husband was dreadfully punctual, and
with military precision as the clock struck we had to be in our
places at the table, at half past seven he seemed to dawdle about
the room, putting things away. He said to me, “ You had better go
in to table ; ” and I answered, “ No, darling, I will wait for you and
we went in together. He dined well, but sparingly ; he laughed,
talked, and joked. We discussed our future plans and preparations,
and he desired me on the morrow to write to Sir Edmund Monson,
and several other letters, to forward the preparations. We talked
of our future life in London, and so on. About half-past nine he
got up and went to his bedroom, accompanied by the doctor and
myself, and we assisted him at his toilette. I then said the night
prayers to him, and whilst I was saying them, a dog began that
dreadful howl which the superstitious say denotes a death. It

We Return Home for the Last Time. 531

disturbed me so dreadfully, that I got up from the prayers, went
out of the room, and called the porter to go out and see what was
the matter with the dog. I then returned, and finished the prayers,
after which he asked me for a novel. I gave him Robert Buchanan’s
“ Martyrdom of Madeline.” I kissed him, and got into bed, and he
was reading in bed.

“ I hear a voice you cannot hear,

Which says I must not stay;

I see a hand you cannot see,

Which beckons me away.”

Thos. Tickell.

“ Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me !

And may there be no moaning of the bar
When I put out to sea.

“ But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

44 Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark !

And may there be no sadness of farewell
When I embark.

“For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and place
The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.”

Tennyson.

At twelve o’clock midnight he began to grow uneasy. I asked him
what ailed him, and he said, “ I have a gouty pain in my foot.
When did I have my last attack ? ” I referred to our journals, and
found it was three months previously that he had had a real gout,
and I said, “ You know that the doctor considers it a safety-valve that
you should have a healthy gout in your feet every three months for
your head, and your general health. Your last attack was three
months ago at Zurich, and your next will be due next January. He
was then quite content, and though he moaned and was restless, he
tried to sleep, and I sat by him magnetizing the foot locally, as I
had the habit of doing to soothe the pain, and it gave him so much
relief that he dozed a little, and said, “ I dreamt I saw our little flat
in London, and it had quite a nice large room in it.” Betweenwhiles
he laughed and talked and spoke of our future plans, and even
joked.

At four o’clock he got more uneasy, and I said I should go for the

53 2 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

doctor. He said, “ Oh no, don’t disturb him; he cannot do anything.
And I answered, “What is the use of keeping a doctor if he is not to
be called when you are suffering ? ” The doctor was there in a few
moments, felt his heart and pulse, found him in perfect order—that
the gout was healthy. He gave him some medicine, and went back to
bed. About half-past four he complained that there was no air. I
flew back for the doctor, who came and found him in danger. I went
at once, called up all the servants, sent in five directions for a priest,
according to the directions I had received, hoping to get one, and the
doctor, and I and Lisa under the doctor’s orders, tried every remedy
and restorative, but in vain.

What harasses my memory, what I cannot bear to think of, what
wakes me with horror every morning from four till seven, when
I get up, is that for a minute or two he kept on crying, “ Oh, Puss,
chloroform—ether—or I am a dead man ! ” My God ! I would
have given him the blood out of my veins, if it would have saved
him, but I had to answer, “ My darling, the doctor says it will kill
you; he is doing all he knows.” I was holding him in my arms,
when he got heavier and heavier, and more insensible, and we laid him
on the bed. The doctor said he was quite insensible, and assured
me he did not suffer. I trust not; I believe it was a clot of blood
to the heart.

My one endeavour was to be useful to the doctor, and not impede
his actions by my own feelings. The doctor applied the electric
battery to the heart, and kept it there till seven o’clock, and I knelt
down at his left side, holding his hand and pulse, and prayed my
heart out to God to keep his soul there (though he might be dead
in appearance) till the priest arrived. I should say that he was
insensible in thirty minutes from the time he said there was
no air.

It was a country Slav priest, lately promoted to be our parish
priest, who came. He called me aside, and told me that he could
not give Extreme Unction to my husband, because he had not
declared himself, but I besought him not to lose a moment in giving
the Sacrament, for the soul was passing away, and that I had the
means of satisfying him. He looked at us all three, and asked if
he was dead, and we all said no. God was good, for had he had to
go back for the holy materials it would have been too late, but he
had them in his pocket, and he immediately administered Extreme
Unction—“Sivivis,”or “Si es capax ”—“If thou art alive”—and
said the prayers for the dying and the departing soul. The doctor
still kept the battery to the heart all the time, and I still held the left
hand with my finger on the pulse. By the clasp of the hand, and a.

533

We return Home for the last time.

little trickle of blood running under the finger, I judged there was a
little life until seven, and then I knew that, unless that happened
which had happened to me,* that I was alone and desolate for
ever.

I sat all day by Richard, watching him, and praying and expecting
him also to come to. I thought the mouth and left eye moved, but
the doctor told me it was imagination. But what was no imagination,
was that the brain lived after the heart and pulse were gone ; f that on
lifting up the eyelids, the eyes were as bright and intelligent as in life,
with the brilliancy of a man who saw something unexpected and
wonderful and happy ; and that light remained in them till near
sunset, and I believe that soul went forth with the setting sun,
though it had set for me for ever . I was so convinced of his happi¬
ness, that I lifted up my heart to God in a fervent thanksgiving
him, and I knelt down with my broken heart and said my “ Fiat
voluntas tua,” and when I rose up I said, “ Let the world rain fire
and brimstone on me now.” It has !

The Protestant clergyman, a most charming gentleman, earnest in
his profession, and a staunch friend, soon came in. I asked him if
he would like to do anything, but he said, “ No, there was nothing
to be done.” But he himself knelt down and said a very beautiful
prayer.

I can never forget what Austria in general, and Trieste in par¬
ticular, did in Richard’s honour, nor could I ever say enough of the
kindness, delicacy, courteousness, affection, and esteem shown to me,
his desolate widow. I asked for ?iothing, for I felt how difficult was
the question. I only asked that he might not be put in the ground,
but into some chapelle ardente , from whence I might take him
home as soon as I could arrange to leave. To my great content¬
ment and lasting gratitude, I found that the Bishop had conceded
to him all the greatest ceremonies of the Church, and the authorities
a gorgeous military funeral, such as is only accorded to Royalty—

* This is what happened to me. In my younger days I had malignant typhus. I
appeared to die. I was attended by two very clever doctors, who were with me at
my supposed death, which they certified, and I was laid out. My mother’s grief
was so violent that my father judged it expedient to send for her confessor to give
her some consolation. He happened to be the famous large-minded clever Jesuit
and theologian, old Father Randal Lythegoe. He consoled my mother for some
time, then he knelt down and prayed for me, and then he got up and put on his
stole. “What are you going to do, Father?” said my mother. “I am going to give
her Extreme Unction,” he said. “ But you can’t; she has been dead several hours.”
“I don’t care about that,” he said. “I am going to risk it.” He did so, and
about two hours after he was gone I opened my eyes, and gradually came to.
t His journals show that he believed in this too.

534 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

an honour never before accorded to a foreigner. One half-English¬
man came and made some objections on behalf of a small section of
English, and claimed him for the much-abhorred place in the little
English Protestant cemetery, and said that they would not come
to the Funeral or the Church if it was to be Catholic. But Dr.
Baker gallantly took our part, and told this person in very plain
terms what he thought about it, and that they had better stay away,
so that I never even heard of the annoyance till it was over.

The coffin was covered with the Union Jack and his sword; his
insignia and medals were borne on a cushion, and a second hearse
was hid in garlands and flowers. The Consular corps for the first
time suspended their rule, and in full uniform surrounded and walked
on each side of the hearse as pall-bearers. At their own special
request, a company representing the crew of a large English ship,
which had just arrived in port, made a conspicuous part of the
cortege. I came next, but I was too stunned to notice details; but
they tell me that no funeral has been equal to it in the memory of
any one living, not even Maria Theresa’s, ex-Queen of Spain, in
1873. It was not, as in England, a case of six or eight hundred
attending; there are one hundred and fifty thousand in Trieste, and
every one who could drive or walk, from the highest authorities to
the poorest, turned out. The Governor with his Staff, the principal
Military and Naval officers, Civil Authorities and Consular corps,
were all in uniform, and every flag in the town and harbour was at
half-mast.

If I were to live to be a hundred years old, to my dying day there
will be photographed on my mind, the sun setting red in the sea over
the burial-ground; the short, beautiful oration of his friend Attilio
Hortis, who was commissioned by the local Government to speak,
but whose voice was broken. The orphanage children then sang,
with sweet tremulous voices, the hymn “ Dies ira, dies ilia,” and sobs
were heard all around. I alone was tearless; I felt turned to stone.
The coffin was placed in a small chapel in the burial-ground, where
I remained behind the rest.

“Ellati Zaujuha ma’aha b’tadir el Kamar b’asbiha.”

(“ The woman who has her husband with her {i.e. at her back) can turn the moon
with her finger.”)

“ El Maraa min ghayr Zaujuha mislaha tayaran maksus el Jenahh.”

(“The woman without her husband is like a bird with one wing.”)

I can never forget—but all unhappy widows will understand me
—my horrible return to my empty shell, the house, leaving him
in the burial-ground, which but sixty-three hours before had been
a beautiful and much-loved home. Two days later the guardian

We Return Home for the Last Time. 535

of the cemetery had his own bedroom draped, adorned, and conse¬
crated as a chapelle ardente, and the coffin was conveyed there, the
other chapel being too public. It was always decorated with lights
and flowers, and I had free access to go and pray by him, and I was
allowed to keep him there for the three months I was preparing to
leave Trieste. Everything possible was done in consideration of my
feelings, everything possible was spared me, and when an Austrian
official proceeding was necessary, it was done with the delicacy and
nobility which is the stamp of that country.

On the Thursday after his death, a eulogy of Richard was delivered
in the Diet of Trieste by Dr. Cambon, who praised him as “an in¬
trepid explorer, a gallant soldier, an honour to the town of Trieste,
which is especially indebted to him for his researches into the history
of the province of Istria.” The House adjourned as a mark of respect
for the deceased hero.

I do not like to think of those first three weeks, so full of the
depth of woe. It is impossible for me to tell how kind every one
was, how all Trieste combined with goodness and tenderness and
attention that nothing might hurt. Meanwhile the press was full of
him . How I wish he could have known—but he did know and see
—all the appreciation and the regret for him, as shown by notices
in the press, of which I have books full, the flowers, the telegrams,
the cards, the letters, and calls, all showing how truly he really was
appreciated, except by the handful who could have made his life
happy by Success. The City had three great funeral requiems with
Mass sung, and all the obsequies. One took place at the Capuchins,
one at the parish church, one at the Orphanage of St. Joseph.

I now ascertained, through friends who spoke to the Dean, what
the intentions were about Westminster Abbey, and the Dean re¬
plied that it would be impossible to bury any more people at the
Abbey; nor can I say that I was very sorry. Neither did St. Paul’s
offer. I saved our dignity by taking the initiative, following a line
of our own, and refused before I was asked. It might have pleased
a few people, but I know he would not have cared about it, neither
did I. In these churches a showman would have occasionally earned
a sixpence by pointing out a cold dark slab to trippers, and saying,
“There lies Burton, Speke, Livingstone,” etc., etc., and many others,
some of whom were not fit to tie the latchet of his shoe—his name
in a common list of theirs.

He and I had our peculiar ideas, and I was determined, if I could,
to carry them out. He hated darkness so much that he never would
have the blind down, lest he might lose a glimpse of light from
twilight to dawn. He has got the very thing he wanted, only of

536 The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

stone and marble instead of canvas—to be buried in a tent above
ground; to have sun, and light, and air, trees, birds, and flowers;
and he has love, tears, prayers, and companionship even in the
grave. His tent is the only one in the world, and it is by far the
most beautiful, most romantic, most undeathlike resting-place in
the wide world.

Finding my purse would be too slender to carry it out, and as
friends started subscriptions for me,* I secured my ground, made my
design, and set sculptors at work in the cemetery in which, for the
last forty years, most of my people have been buried, and which he
himself had chosen.

My desire was to embody the beautiful idea found in the tombs
of Lydia and Lycia, and which is enshrined in the Taj Mahal at
Agra. The early tomb-builders had doubtless some connection with
Nomads, and embodied the conception that the home in death should
be like that of the home on earth. For this reason I feel, the public
have not quite understood the beauty of my mausoleum-tent. I
wished to embody the poetry contained in my husband’s “ Kasi'dah,”
with the religion he wished to die in. I have sent to the desert for
strings of camel-bells, which will hang across the tent, and like an
Hiolian harp when the wind blows, the tinkle of the camel-bells may
still sound near him. I have asked Major J. B. Keith, in his “ Mono¬
graph on Indian Architecture,” which will include tentage and tombs,
to explain my meaning in his “ Great Tents of Antiquity ” better
than I have done myself.

I lost all at once; my beautiful home had been my pride—it
had to be given up. The money, except a little patrimony, died
with my husband. I had to say good-bye to all the friends I
had loved for eighteen years. Lisa, my confidential maid upon
whom I entirely depended, to whom I owed all my personal
comfort, who managed everything for me, and who alone knew
all my belongings, I had to part with, for reasons which I do
not wish to mention here. We had always had what was play¬
fully called a very large “staff” in our house in my husband’s
life. The Master being dead-—if I had been a sensible woman—I
should have cleared my house out directly after the funeral; but I
was too absorbed with the horrors of my now desolate position, and
I had neither sense nor heart enough to make any changes. From
this arose complications, misunderstandings, and heart-burnings
enough to make life still more unbearable. We all know what one

* I received j£688, and I owe this handsome contribution to the exertions of
Baroness Paul de Ralli, of Trieste, to Sir Polydore Keyser, and Mrs. Roland
Ward, who started and collected it.

We Return Home for the Last Time . 537

bad bit of yeast does to a loaf of bread. I shut myself up entirely
alone in my husband’s rooms for sixteen days, sorting and classify¬
ing his manuscripts, packing and arranging his books, and carrying
out all his last wishes and written instructions. What a terrible
time it was I passed in the midst of these relics, shutting myself
away in solitude, and rejecting all offers of assistance, as I could not
bear any one to witness what I had to go through, and also there
were many private papers which I knew nobody ought to see but
myself, and much that he particularly desired me to burn if anything
happened to him.

There were old servants to be placed out, many people depen¬
dent on us, institutions of which I was President to be wound up,
debts to be paid, old friends to say good-bye to. My husband’s and
my personal effects, his library and manuscripts, were packed in two
hundred and four cases. Having been eighteen years at Trieste, I felt
there would be a meanness in selling, so I furnished the orphanage,
and a few rooms for Lisa, and gave away everything where I thought
it would be most useful or most valued; and this, with constant visits
to my beloved in the chapelle ardente , which was half an hour’s
drive away, occupied fourteen weeks, though I got up at six and
worked till ten p.m. I never rested, and it was a life of torture.
I used to wake at four, the hour he was taken ill, and go through
all the horrors of his three hours’ illness until seven. I prayed for
supernatural strength of soul and body, and it was really given to me.

On the 20th of January, 1891, I had to go to the Sant’ Anna
Cemetery to see the beloved remains prepared, and conveyed on
board the Cunard steamer Palmyra at the New Port. The remains
had been placed in a leaden shell, with a glass over the face ; this was
again closed in a very handsome coffin of steel and gilt. On this
day it was put into a plain white deal case, two inches thick, dove¬
tailed, and secured with iron clamps and screws, and painted in
black—“ To the Rev. Canon Wenham, Catholic Church, Mortlake,
S.W., Surrey, England.” The case was filled with sawdust, in which,
according to Austrian law, a bottle of carbolic acid was poured,
which has rather stained the coffin. (I cannot think who could have
started the irreverent report in the press that it was a piano-case.)
Accompanied by the Vice-Consul, Mr. Cautley, I proceeded to the
steamer, and saw the precious case lowered, and put into a dry and
secured place. Poor good Louis Marcovich, the guardian of the
cemetery, would not take one single penny of the present that I had
prepared for him, for giving up his bedroom for three months. He
only said, clasping my hand, “ Don’t send it me, because I shall only
send it back again. I have got a nice consecrated room to die in ; ”

538 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

which he did, poor fellow, about a year later. May God reward
him for his good work!

The last night came, and twenty of my friends came up to spend
the last evening with me. My work was only finished about two
hours before I had to start, and I walked round and round to every
room, recalling all my life in that happy home and all the sad events
that had lately taken place. I gazed at all those beautiful views for
the last time—at the tablet over the place where my husband’s death¬
bed stood, recalling his death; another tablet in the chapel where
the Masses had been said; and I looked around with parting eyes. I
went into every nook and cranny of the garden, and under our dear
linden tree, where my husband and I had so often sat (a little branch
of which I have now framed in my room) ; my servants following
me about, crying bitterly, and saying, “ Oh, my dear mistress, we shall
never have your husband’s and your like again ; we shall never have
such another house as this.” Then came carriages full of our friends
to take me away, and the dreadful wrench made me cry all the way
down to the station. There I found all that was worth of Society,
and Authorities, and the children of our Orphanage, and our Poor,
and all our private friends, bearing flowers. It was an awful trial
not to make an exhibition of myself, and I was glad when the train
steamed out; but for a whole hour ascending the beautiful road close
to the sea and Miramar and Trieste, I never took my misty eyes off
Trieste, and our home where I had been so happy for eighteen years,
and which I shall never see again.

My first care on arriving in England was to go and see Richard’s
sister and niece, and acquaint them with all the circumstances and
my intentions. I arrived in London on the 7th of February, 1891,
and having no home, went to the Langham for a few days to look
about for a lodging. At the Langham my three sisters were
waiting for me.

On the 9th I immediately went to Messrs. Dyke, 49, Highgate
Road, to inspect the monument, and to give orders respecting
everything, and found, to my great distress, that, owing to the severity
of the weather, it would be difficult to say when we could get the
remainder of the Forest of Dean stone. On the 10th I went
to Mortlake, chose my ground and had it pegged out, made arrange¬
ments with Canon Wenham, and on the nth my sister, Mrs. Gerald
Fitzgerald, and I went to Liverpool. I cannot say how ill I felt,
and as soon as I arrived at Liverpool I had to go to bed. Friends
began to arrive from different parts of England. Lord and Lady
Derby, my best and kindest friends, had been so kind as to have
everything seen to for me at Liverpool, and the Captain and the

We Return Home for the Last Time. 539

officers of the ships, the authorities of the dockyard, and the London
and North-Western Company outvied each other in civility and
courteous attention in the arrangements that were made for us.

The Palmyra (after a journey as smooth as a lake) arrived on
the 12th of February, 1891, at midnight, and we were told to be
on board at nine next morning. Carriages for my party, and a
small hearse, were ready to convey us to the ship. We went on
board, and were courteously received by the Captain, and the case
containing the coffin was brought up and placed on a small bridge.
I forgot the people when I saw my beloved case, and I ran forward
to kiss it Canon Waterton said a few prayers. The Captain,
officers, and men knew my husband, and many of the dockyard
men were Catholics. They all bowed their heads, the Catholics
answered the prayers, and there were audible sobs all round. The
case was conveyed to the hearse, and we proceeded to the station,
where it was immediately put into a separate compartment next to
the two saloons reserved for me and my party.

When we arrived at Euston we found a duplicate of these con¬
veyances waiting to take us and the body to Mortlake. We un¬
packed the case, but Canon Wenham, who had gone out, kept us
an hour and three-quarters. The evening was cold and damp, and
by torchlight, with a prayer, we conveyed him to rest in the crypt
under the altar of the church. I remained some time praying there,
and then we all dispersed, my sister and myself going back to the
Langham. The reaction, after all I had gone through, set in ; there
was no more call upon my courage. I was safe in England and
amongst my own people; there was nothing more to be done for
Richard till the funeral.

“ Poor hacl been my life’s best efforts,

Now I waste no thought or breath j
For the prayer of those who suffer
Has the strength of love and death.”

My courage broke, and I took to my bed that night, the 13th of
February, and nolens volens I was obliged to stay at the Langham,
being too weak either to find or to be transferred to a lodging. I
passed from the 13th of February till the 30th of April between
bed and armchair, and latterly was taken down in the lift occa¬
sionally to dinner or lunch. Every one was most kind to me, and
my sisters spoilt me, and came daily to lunch or dine. I cannot
describe the horror of the seventy-six days, enhanced by the fog,
which, after sunlight and air, was like being buried alive. T he sense
of desolation and loneliness and the longing for him was cruel, and
it became—

“ The custom of the day,

And the haunting of the night.”

540

The Life of Sir Richard Burton .

My altered circumstances, and the looking into and facing my
future, had also to be borne. From my sick bed I dictated answers
to some two thousand letters, mostly of sympathy, writing out
different business cases, and preparing for the funeral. Meantime
the Queen had, in consideration of my husband’s services, to my
great gratitude and surprise, allowed me a pension of ^150 a
year.*

I would not have asked for anything for myself, but I thought
that the British nation would take a pride in helping me to raise
the characteristic monument so long wished for, to a man they so
honoured, and who had devoted his life to the nation’s interest in so
many ways as he had done; and more so as I had over a thousand
cuttings from newspapers and hundreds of letters saying that
the nation wished his memory to be honoured by a testimonial.
Nor was I disappointed, as, during the eight months, from his
death to his final burial at Mortlake, I was helped by f 66 S
towards it. f

On the 30th of April I was well enough to be transferred to a
lodging, where my sister and I lived together; for the Langham was
getting too gay, too full for me, nor could I afford it. Here I had
privacy, quiet, and cheapness.

The funeral was finally fixed for Monday, the 15th of June, at
eleven o’clock, and the final completions were only ended two hours
before the ceremony began.

I had taken lodgings at Mortlake. The tent is sculptured in dark
Forest of Dean stone and white Carrara marble. It is an Arab
tent, twelve feet by twelve and eighteen feet high, surmounted by a
gilt star of nine points. Over the flap door of the tent is a white
marble crucifix. The fringe is composed of gilt cressets and stars.
The flap door of the tent supports an open book of white marble, on
which are inscribed Richard’s name and the dates of his birth and
decease. A blank page is left for “ Isabel, his wife.” I Underneath
is a ribbon with the words, “This monument is erected to his memory
by his loving countrymen.” Below, on a white marble tablet, is
a beautiful sonnet written in a passion of grief by Justin Huntley
McCarthy:—

* I owed my pension to several of our old friends ; notably the Dowager Lady
Stanley of Alderley, the Royal Geographical and other learned Societies.

f I mention this because I had an anonymous letter sent me which taunted me
with touting for subscriptions for it.—I. B.

X [This was filled up March 1896.— W. H. W.]

We Return Home for the Last Time . 541

“RICHARD BURTON.

“ Farewell, dear friend, dear hero ! The great life
Is ended, the great perils, the great joys ;

And he to whom adventures were as toys,

Who seemed to bear a charm ’gainst spear or knife
Or bullet, now lies silent from all strife
Out yonder where the Austrian eagles poise
On Istrian hills. But England, at the noise
Of that dread fall, weeps with the hero’s wi'e.

Oh, last and noblest of the Errant Knights,

The English soldier and the Arab Sheik !

Oh, singer of the East who loved so well
The deathless wonder of the ‘ Arabian Nights,’

Who touched Camoens’ lute and still would seek
Ever new deeds until the end ! farewell! ”

It is planted round with trees and flowers, and has a background
of linden trees. It is, I think, the most beautiful little burial-ground
in England, especially in summer time. In fact, it is so covered
with flowers and embedded in trees as to look almost foreign, by
its pretty little church and presbytery.

The interior is nearly all marble; the floor, of white and black
marble, covers a base of Portland cement (concrete), so that no
damp can arise from the ground. The coffin of steel and gilt lies
above ground on three marble trestles, with three trestles on the
opposite side for me. At the foot of the coffin is a marble altar
and tabernacle with candles and flowers, a wfindow of coloured glass,
with Richard’s monogram, and the whole adorned with seven hang¬
ing and various other Oriental lamps.

Many people who come into the ground ask “why the canvas
cover is not taken off,” and are quite astonished when they touch
the stone. People were invited ge?ierally , but special invitations
were issued to the senders of wreaths, telegrams, cards, letters,
subscriptions, visits, editors of friendly newspapers, applications,
private friends, and those who had interested themselves in my
future. Eight hundred and fifty-two invitations were issued. Four
hundred were down with influenza, but eight hundred people came
all the same.

The ceremony began at eleven, lasting an hour and a half,
giving time to a visitor to enter the mausoleum and get back to
the station, which was a few yards from the church, for the one
o’clock train back to London, the authorities being duly warned
of the number of invited. The Church was very simply decorated
with a fleur-de-lys carpet, the trestles were covered by a cramoisie
velvet pall, being Richard’s favourite colour, and the coffin was
laid at the top of it, and covered with wreaths sent by friends, my
little bunch of forget-me-nots lying where the face would be. It was
surrounded by tall silver candlesticks with wax candles. I occupied

542 The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

a prie-dieu by his side; to my right were the women—on the left
hand the men—mourners, headed by Captain St. George Burton
of the Black Watch, his chief male relation, and both sides were
composed of his and my relations, and his oldest friends. The pro¬
cession filed out exactly at ii.io, the acolytes bearing flambeaux.
The short requiem Mass of Casciolini was the one sung, by a London
professional choir. Monsignor Stanley sang the Mass, assisted by
several priests who had been personal friends of my husband. Then
followed the Burial Service with its three absolutions, the priest
walking round the coffin perfuming it with incense, and sprinkling
it with holy water, and Canon Wenham, who performed this service
in Latin, said in English, with a smile and a voice full of emotion,
“ Enter now into Paradise.” The men then lifted the coffin, and
a wreath was given to one of the lady mourners to carry, I taking
my own little bunch of forget-me-nots, and following the coffin
closely. Flanked a little lower down by the women and men
mourners, and followed by all the assembled friends, the procession
wound through the small but beautiful cemetery of St. Mary Magda¬
len’s, Mortlake, to what seemed a veritable canvas tent pegged down
amongst palm-trees, and he, who died eight months ago, was laid
in his final resting-place. I begged that there might be no sermon
or oration. When the coffin was deposited, the choir sang the
Benedictus, and if there was any choice throughout the touching
and impressive ceremony, perhaps this was the most impressive and
the softest.

During the Benedictus the priest made a sign to me to go inside
the mausoleum. I knelt and kissed the coffin, and put my forget-
me-nots on it, and then I got behind the door. The other chief
mourners passed into the tent, knelt, and deposited their wreaths and
flowers. After the Benedictus, Canon Wenham, feeling that there
were so many Protestants, said some English prayers; but his voice
broke with emotion, and he had a difficulty in finishing them. When
all was over, St. George Burton gave me his arm and conducted
me to Canon Wenham’s house, that I might not embarrass the public,
who would like freely to enter the mausoleum and examine it. As
I passed through the burial-ground, many friends shook hands with
me, but I was so dazed I could not see them.

We Return Home for the Last Time . 543

SIR RICHARD BURTON, KNIGHT.

Born 1821. Died 1890.

“ He resteth now. His noble part is d ne,

And Britain mourns another true-born son.

His was the work that crowned with lasting fame
The hallowed mem’ry of a gallant name.

He gave the world the mysteries of men ;

He travelled lands unknown to history’s pen,

And braved the savage in his distant den.

America and Asia’s hills and plains—

Through Afric’s darkest forest light he gains.

The tree of knowledge bloomed for.-him its flow’rs
Where grandest Nature showed her mighty pow’rs ;

And Heaven was his in all his lonely hours.

Oh ! name him as he sleeps through longest night
A learned gentleman—a gallant Knight.”

W. J. Nowers Brett.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE TWO CONTESTED POINTS BETWEEN A SMALL SECTION OF

ANTAGONISTS AND MYSELF.

There are three people in the world who might possibly be able
to write sections of his life. Most of his intimate friends are dead,
but there are still a few left. One would describe him as a Deist,
one as an Agnostic, and one as an Atheist and Freethinker, but
I can only describe the Richard that I knew, not the Richard that
they knew. I, his wife, who lived with him day and night for thirty
years, believed him to be half-Sufi, half-Catholic, or I prefer to say
(as nearer the truth) alternately Sufi and Catholic, because I did not
in the least count all his wild talk at table or in Society, nor what he
wrote; I minded only what he thought and what he did, and this is
why I cannot truthfully join in the general opinion. He was like
the Druzes, who adopt the national religion for peace’ sake ; but they
have their own private religion all the same. I can distinctly re¬
member a speech which he made in London—I believe it was in
1865, I think at the Anthropological—in which he said, “My reli¬
gious opinions are of no importance to anybody but myself; 710 one
knows what my religious views are. I object to confessions, and
I will not confess. My standpoint is, and I hope ever will be, * The
Truth ’ as far as it is in me, but known only to myself.” This was
a public statement, and Tnight silence those who jabber upon things
of which they ar_ entirely ignorant.

How beautiful and how sad a mentor is friendship ! A noble
character must contain three qualities to contend with this one great
element of our lives—a sincere, staunch, loyal heart, philosophy, and
discernment. The World is a kind, pleasant place to live in, what¬
ever cynics may say. Be in trouble, and you must wonder at the
innumerable kind hearts who will call and write, and offer every
544

The Two Contested Points.

545

assistance and consolation in their power. This will not prevent
your nearest and dearest relative from snubbing you if you want
anything; nor that friend to whom you clung with all your soul, as
to a rock, failing you just at the crisis of your life when you most
counted upon his support. Then you must call in your philosophy.
Again, if a cloud comes over you, how many will disappear, and
reappear again as soon as the world has decided in your favour, to
join in the applause. Do not blame the weaklings, but your own
discernment; they do not want to hurt you, but they hold them¬
selves ready to go on the popular side, whichever way it turns. And
why should they not ? It is not because they dislike you, but
because they fear others more than they love you. In sensitive
youth these facts make our misery; but we should learn to rejoice
in our riper years when a weak, uncertain friend falls away. Carry
the true gold about your own strong heart, and shake off the dross,
which is but the superfluous ballast which clogs and impedes the
ship’s free sailing.

Now, I ask, who is unjust enough, inhuman enough, to grudge me
this last consolation? From 1842 to 1890, for forty-eight years, he
was before the public; he had a strong band of friends, a strong
band of admirers; but the world at large, and notably England,
never understood him because he was so above his time, and the
arger part did not know how to appr eciate him. Who from 1856 to
1859 kept him so supplied with daily written journals of news, of
daily cuttings from the newspapers, that when he returned, people
said to him, “ How come you so well informed of all that has been
passing, just as if you had never been away, and you living beyond
the pale of civilization?” “Ah, how?” he said. By many mails
he never received a line from any one but me. Who cheered him
on in danger, toil, and heart-breaking sickness ? Who, when he came
back from Tanganyika (Africa) in 1859, coldly looked upon by the
Government, bullied by the India House, rejected by the Geogra¬
phical Society, almost tabooed by Society on account of the machina¬
tions of Captain Speke, so that he scarcely had ten friends to say
good-morning to him,—who sought his side to comfort him ? I did !
Then we married. Who for thirty years daily attended to his
comforts, watched his going out and coming in, had his slippers,
dressing-gown, and pipe ready for him every evening, sat sick at
heart if he was an hour late, watched all night and till morning if
he did not come back? Who copied and worked for and with him?
Who fought for thirty years to raise his official position all she could,
and wept bitter tears over his being neglected ? I did. My only
complaint is, that I believe he would have got infinitely more, if he

2 M

546

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

had asked for things himself, and not perpetually stuck me forward;
but he was too modest, and I had to obey orders. Who rode or
walked at his side through hunger, thirst, cold, and burning heat,
with hardships and privations and danger, in all his travels ? Who
nursed him through seven long illnesses, before his last illness, some
lasting two or three months, and never left his bed-head day or
night, and did everything for him ? I did! Why, I was wife, and
mother, and comrade, and secretary, and aide-de-camp, and agent to
him; and I was proud, happy, and glad to do it all, and never tired
day or night for thirty years. I would rather have had a crust and a
tent with him, than be a Queen elsewhere. At the moment of his
death I had done all I could for the body, and then I tried to
follow his soul. I am following the soul, and I shall reach it before
long. There we shall nevermore part. Agnostics ! “ Burnt manu¬
script ” readers! where were you all then ? Hail-fellow-well-met,
when the world went well; running away when it pursed up its
stupid lips. And do any of you pretend or wish to take him
away from me in death ? Oh, for shame, for shame ! Let him rest
where he wanted to rest, and be silent, or do not boast of your
“ free country ” where a man may not even be buried where he will;
where he may not speak his mind, and tell the truth. Be ashamed
that History may have to say, that the only honour that England
accorded to Richard Burton, having failed to do him justice in this
life, was to bespatter his wife with mud after he was dead, and could
not defend her.

Do not be so hard and prosaic as to suppose that our Dead
cannot, in rare instances, come back and tell us how it is with them.

“ He lives and moves, he is not dead,

He does not alter nor grow strange,

His love is still around me shed,

Untouched by time, or chance, or change;

And when he walks beside me, then
As shadows seem all living men.”

Mary Macleod.

He said always, “ I am gone—pay, pack, and follow.”

Reader ! I have paid, I have packed, I have suffered. I am
waiting to join his Caravan. I am waiting for a welcome sound—

“The tinkling of his camel-bell.”

“THE SELF-EXILED.”

“ * Now, open the gate, and let her in,

And fling it wide,

For she hath been cleansed from stain of sin/

St. Peter cried.

And the angels were all silent.

Two Contested Points.

547

“ ‘ Though I am cleansed from stain of sin,*
She answered low,

‘ I came not hither to enter in.

Nor may I go.’

And the angels were all silent.

* * * * *

“ * But I may not enter there,’ she said,

‘ For I must go

Across the gulf, where the guilty dead
Lie in their woe.’

And the angels were all silent.

“ ‘ If I enter heaven, I may not speak
My soul’s desire,

For them that are lying distraught and weak
In flaming fire.’

And the angels were all silent.

“ St. Peter he turned the keys about,

And answered grim:

* Can you love the Lord, and abide without
Afar from Him ? ’

And the angels were all silent.

“ ‘ Should I be nearer Christ,’ she said
‘ By pitying less

The sinful living, or woeful dead,

In their helplessness ? ’

And the angels were all silent.

“ ‘ Should I be liker Christ, were I
To love no more

The loved, who in their anguish lie
Outside the door?’

And the angels were all silent.

* * * # *

“ ‘ Did He not hang on the cursed tree.

And bear its shame,

And clasp to His heart, for love of me,

My guilt and blame ? ’

And the angels were all silent.

“ ‘ Should I be liker, nearer Him,

Forgetting this,

Singing all day with the Seraphim,

In selfish bliss?’

And the angels were all silent.

“The Lord Himself stood by the gate
And heard her speak
Those tender words compassionate.

Gentle and meek.

And the angels were all silent.

“ Now, pity is the touch of God
In human hearts,

And from that way He ever trod
He ne’er departs.

And the angels were all silent.

548

The Life of Sir Richard Burton.

{i And He said, ‘ Now will I go with you,

Dear child of Love ;

I am weary of all this glory, too,

In heaven above.’

And the angels were all silent.

** * We will go and seek and save the lost,

If they will hear.

They who are worst but need Me most;

And all are dear.’

And the angels were all silent.”

Walter C. Smith, Hilda among the Broken Gods .

TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

Messrs Duckworth & Co.'s

New Books.

THE TATLER.

Edited with Introduction and Notes by George A. Aitken,
author of “The Life of Richard Steele,” etc. Four
volumes, small demy 8vo, with engraved frontispieces,
bound in buckram, dull gold top, 7s. 6d. per vol., not
sold separately.

{See Special Prospectus.)

Extract from the Editor’s Preface.

“The original numbers of The Tatter were re-issued in two forms in
1710-11 ; one edition, in octavo, being published by subscription, while
the other, in duodecimo, was for the general public. The present
edition has been printed from a copy of the latter issue, which, as
recorded on the title-page, was ‘ revised and corrected by the Author ’;
but I have had by my side, for constant reference, a complete set
of the folio sheets, containing the ‘ Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff ’
in the form in which they were first presented to the world. Scrupulous
accuracy in the text has been aimed at, but the eccentricities of spelling
—which were the printer’s, not the author’s—have not been preserved,
and the punctuation has occasionally been corrected.

“The first and the most valuable of the annotated editions of The
Tatter was published by John Nichols and others in 1786, with notes
by Bishop Percy, Dr John Calder, and Dr Pearce; and though these
notes are often irrelevant and out of date, they contain an immense
amount of information, and have been freely made use of by subsequent
editors. I have endeavoured to preserve what is of value in the older
editions, and to supplement it, as concisely as possible, by such further
information as appeared desirable. The eighteenth century diaries and
letters published of late years have in many cases enabled me to
throw light on passages which have hitherto been obscure, and some¬
times useful illustrations have been found in the contemporary news¬
papers and periodicals.”

Messrs Duckworth & Co!s New Books.

MODERN PLAYS.

Edited by R. Brimley Johnson and N. Erichsen.

It is the aim of this series to represent, as widely as possible, the
activity of the modern drama—not confined to stage performance—in
England and throughout the continent of Europe. It so happens that,
though translations seem to be more in demand every day, the greater
number of the Continental dramatists are at present little known in this
country. Among them will be found predecessors and followers of
Ibsen or Maeterlinck; as well as others who reflect more independently
the genius of their own country.

Love's Comedy , which marks a transition from the early romantic to
the later social plays, is the only important work of Ibsen’s not yet
translated into English. The name of Strindberg, whose position in
Sweden may be compared to that of Ibsen in Norway, will be almost
new to the English public. Villiers’ La Rtvolte is a striking forecast
of The Doll's House. Verhaeren is already known here as one of the
foremost of Belgian writers, who, like Maeterlinck, uses the French
tongue; and Brieux is among the most attractive of the younger native
French dramatists. Ostrovsky’s The Storm , painting “The Dark
World,” is generally recognised as the characteristic Russian drama.
The Convert , by Stepniak, will be specially interesting as its author’s
only dramatic attempt.

The work of translation has been entrusted to English writers specially
conversant with the literatures represented, who, in many cases, are
already associated in the public mind with the authors they are here
interpreting. Every play will be translated in extenso , and, if in verse,
as nearly as possible in the original metres. The volumes will contain
brief introductions, bibliographical and explanatory rather than critical,
and such annotations as may be necessary.

The volumes will be printed in pott quarto, and they will cost, as a
rule, 2s. 6d. net. or 3s. 6d. net. each.

Messrs Duckworth & Co's New Books.

EARLY VOLUMES.

EMILE VERHAEREN

“Les Aubes.” —Arthur Symons.

OSTROVSKY

“The Storm.” —Constance Garnett.
HENRIK IBSEN

‘ ‘ Love’s Comedy ” (Kjcerlighedens Komedie).

MAURICE MAETERLINCK

“ Interieur.” —William Archer.

“ La Mort de Tintagiles.” \ . 0

& t V —Alfred Sutro.
“ Alladine et Palomides.” J

VILLIERS DE LTSLE ADAM

“La Revoke.”'!

. „ V —Theresa Barclay.

“ L Evasion.” J

SERGIUS STEPNIAIC

“The Convert.”— Constance Garnett.

AUGUST STRINDBERG

“ The Father ” ( Fadren ).—N. Erichsen.

BRIEUX

“ Les Bienfaiteurs.”— Lucas Malet.

PIENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

“ On a Single Card.”— E. L. Voynich.

Arrangements are also in progress with representative dramatists of
Germany, Spain, Italy, and other countries. Further translations have
been promised by Dr Garnett, Messrs Walter Leaf Justin Huntly
MacCarthy, G. A. Greene, &c.

Messrs Duckworth & Cots New Books.

KNAPP, ARTHUR MAY.

FEUDAL AND MODERN JAPAN, by Arthur May
Knapp. 2 vols., with 24 photogravure illustrations of
Japanese life, landscape and architecture. Small fcap.
8vo, J-bound, white cloth, blue sides, gilt top. 8s. net.

The work of one who has frequently visited, and for a long time resided in Japan,
thus enjoying peculiar advantages for observation and comment.

The scope of the book includes a study of the history, religion, language, art, life,
and habits of the Japanese.

Though written in a thoroughly appreciative spirit, it avoids the indiscriminating
praise which has characterised so many works on Japan ; and while covering ground
which has become somewhat familiar, it presents many fresh points of view, and fur¬
nishes much information heretofore inaccessible to the ordinary reader.

ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL.

THE BLESSED DAMOZEL, by Dante Gabriel
Rossetti. With an Introduction by Wm. Michael Ros¬
setti, a reproduction in Photogravure of D. G. Rossetti’s
crayon study for the head of the Blessed Damozel, and
decorative designs and cover by W. B. Macdougall.
Fcap. 4to, J-bound, art vellum, gilt top. 5s. net. (See

Special Prospectus.)

The poem given here is as it originally appeared in The Germ , and consequently the
version is one hitherto practically inaccessible. Mr W. M. Rossetti’s Introduction deals
fully with the history of its composition and the changes through which it subsequently
went.

Illustrated London News. —“A fine bit of decorative art and an excellent sample of
modern format. The frontispiece is very beautiful. Mr Macdougall’s designs are rich.”

The Sketch. —“ It is really beautifully illustrated. The book is a veritable art
treasure.”

Speaker. —“ This artistic and singularly interesting volume.”

Birmingham Gazette. —“ Every page contains a broad framework of beautiful design,
in which the artist manifests his power in glorious sweeping lines and delicate tracery.
A treasure to be appreciated. The noble poem is nobly decked out in every respect.”

Manchester Courier. —“ The decorative designs are at once original, harmonious and
beautiful. A work which will be welcomed alike for its high literary value, and for the
high artistic standard to which it attains.”

Wt >■** V IK. < 3 ^*'\

'uXv~~ "

^ lv «it*~ ^ " , - J

v%t

Cc (

/> > W

v . . • ' , r (?
t L ^\r-\J U. Vf If'? IA, '-> ^

1 • * J

>/wHl

1 * - ———

far

< \i

JL K

-< 1

—i

i I L

Qv>0: *

’P*

n A

r w

/,< / i^t(AA/\A ' m

rX/ . f l

.=■'

(yU- ^ ^ ^

v a ^

. t<? &•

: :

' : L\ I I cJrv*'

, ^ "% £;

o~ s TPr^ ^ "'' '

* > ‘^t) ,11 <)&*'*',

%*£L>-*\*y >>r ^

r.*"\S'*X ’.- , .?,. ^ "' U '>' £

rs,, rvV l> . <

0 1,1 '

£K

(QaW-^

(• |

£?; h«~ k fs&ppijp -< r

■• -■■: = -:;h: r '. >.

■ /

<- v -\

\ • ?:. ■; r-V • **> -1*

■■“V V : -£ •:. ISs^&IHE

K;;

■ l $%& ¥M

!:S:? i, 1 , « ^ ,4 d- r [■’<

^h!|vk, - :?: : ;:!■:■ ■Sr/'-' 1 :-: :;: ' ••:. . - -u:’

.V,£;. :

■-h::

p^^pi-b : : :

rvTflml’fWU r-'tVv-; it" ’.. .

1 PIP

lii#

■ • ' :

! tRKMWSrSlSilU^wi:. -f

plllilSf

wraSfiSPlgsi

A; ::::i, : ;': :: '. y - ' ; i:yi

■■ ■■:' ;:s|:

jg£h?S

r'f I'rrrs *!i

:Jf|

SKefflSSR