Bibliography:
1. Grammar of the Jataki Dialect, 1849. 2. Remarks on Dr. Dorn's
Chrestomathy of the Afghan Tongue, 1849. 3. Reports on Sind addressed to
the Bombay Government. 4. Grammar of the Mooltanee Language.
15. Goa and Camoens.
He left Goa on 20th February 1847, taking as usual a pattymar, his mind
vibrant with thoughts of his great hero, the "Portingall" Camoens, with
whose noble epic all Western India, from Narsinga and Diu to Calicut
is intimately associated. Passages from Camoens were frequently in his
mouth, and in bitterest moments, in the times of profoundest defection,
he could always find relief in the pages of him whom he reverently calls
"my master." Later in life he could see a parallel between the thorny
and chequered career of Camoens and his own. Each spent his early
manhood on the West Coast of India [74], each did his country an
incalculable service: Camoens by enriching Portugal with The Lusiads,
Burton by his travels and by presenting to England vast stores of
Oriental lore. Each received insult and ill-treatment, Camoens by
imprisonment at Goa, Burton by the recall from Damascus. There was also
a temperamental likeness between the two men. The passion for travel,
the love of poetry and adventure, the daring, the patriotism of Camoens
all find their counterpart in his most painstaking English translator.
Arrived at Panjim, Burton obtained lodgings and then set out by
moonlight in a canoe for old Goa. The ruins of churches and monasteries
fascinated him, but he grieved to find the once populous and opulent
capital of Portuguese India absolutely a city of the dead. The
historicity of the tale of Julnar the Sea Born and her son King Badr
[75] seemed established, Queen Lab and her forbidding escort might have
appeared at any moment. On all sides were bowing walls and tenantless
houses. Poisonous plants covered the site of the Viceregal Palace, and
monster bats hung by their heels at the corners of tombs. Thoughts of
Camoens continued to impinge on his mind, and in imagination he saw his
hero dungeoned and laid in iron writing his Lusiads. A visit to the tomb
of St. Francis Xavier also deeply moved him. To pathos succeeded comedy.
There was in Panjim an institution called the Caza da Misericordia,
where young ladies, for the most part orphans, remained until they
received suitable offers of marriage The description of this place
piqued Burton's curiosity, and hearing that it was not unusual for
persons to propose themselves as suitors with a view to inspecting the
curiosities of the establishment, he and some companions repaired to the
Caza. Having seen the chapel and the other sights he mentioned that he
wanted a wife. A very inquisitive duenna cross-examined him, and then
he was allowed to interview one of the young ladies through a grating,
while several persons, who refused to understand that they were not
wanted, stood listening. Burton at once perceived that it would be an
exhausting ordeal to make love in such circumstances, but he resolved to
try, and a dialogue commenced as follows:
"Should you like to be married, senorita?"
"Yes, very much, senor."
"And why, if you would satisfy my curiosity?"
"I don't know."
The rest of the conversation proved equally wooden and unsatisfactory,
and quotations from poets were also wasted.
"The maid, unused to flowers of eloquence,
Smiled at the words, but could not guess their sense."
Burton then informed the duenna that he thought he could get on better
if he were allowed to go on the other side of the grating, and be left
alone with the demure senorita. But at that the old lady suddenly became
majestic. She informed him that before he could be admitted to so marked
a privilege he would have to address an official letter to the mesa or
board explaining his intentions, and requesting the desired permission.
So Burton politely tendered his thanks, "scraped the ground thrice,"
departed with gravity, and in ten minutes forgot all about the belle
behind the grille. It was while at Panhim, that, dissatisfied with
the versions of Camoens by Strangford [76], Mickle and others, Burton
commenced a translation of his own, but it did not reach the press for
thirty-three years. [77]
We next find him at Panany, whence he proceeded to Ootacamund, the
sanitarium on the Neilgherries, where he devoted himself to the
acquisition of Telugu, Toda, Persian and Arabic, though often
interrupted by attacks of ophthalmia. While he was thus engaged, Sir
Charles Napier returned to England (1847) [78] and Sind was placed under
the Bombay Government "at that time the very sink of iniquity." [79]
In September Burton visited Calicut--the city above all others
associated with Camoens, and here he had the pleasure of studying on
the spot the scenes connected with the momentous landing of Da Gama
as described in the seventh and most famous book of the Lusiads. In
imagination, like Da Gama and his brave "Portingalls," he greeted the
Moor Monzaida, interviewed the Zamorim, and circumvented the sinister
designs of the sordid Catual; while his followers trafficked for strange
webs and odoriferous gums. On his return to Bombay, reached on October
15th, Burton offered himself for examination in Persian, and gaining
the first place, was presented by the Court of Directors with a thousand
rupees. In the meantime his brother Edward, now more Greek-looking than
ever, had risen to be Surgeon-Major, and had proceeded to Ceylon, where
he was quartered with his regiment, the 37th.
16. "Would you a Sufi be?"
Upon his return to Sind, Burton at first applied himself sedulously to
Sindi, and then, having conceived the idea of visiting Mecca, studied
Moslem divinity, learnt much of the Koran by heart and made himself
a "proficient at prayer." It would be unjust to regard this as mere
acting. Truth to say, he was gradually becoming disillusioned. He was
finding out in youth, or rather in early manhood, what it took Koheleth
a lifetime to discover, namely, that "all is vanity." This being the
state of his mind it is not surprising that he drifted into Sufism.
He fasted, complied with the rules and performed all the exercises
conscientiously. The idea of the height which he strove to attain, and
the steps by which he mounted towards it, may be fathered from the Sufic
poet Jami. Health, says Jami, is the best relish. A worshipper will
never realise the pure love of the Lord unless he despises the whole
world. Dalliance with women is a kind of mental derangement. Days are
like pages in the book of life. You must record upon them only the best
acts and memories.
"Would you a Sufi be, you must
Subdue your passions; banish lust
And anger; be of none afraid,
A hundred wounds take undismayed." [80]
In time, by dint of plain living, high thinking, and stifling generally
the impulses of his nature, Burton became a Master Sufi, and all his
life he sympathised with, and to some extent practised Sufism. Being
prevented by the weakness of his eyes from continuing his survey
work, he made a number of reports of the country and its people, which
eventually drifted into print. Then came the stirring news that another
campaign was imminent in Mooltan, his heart leaped with joy, and he
begged to be allowed to accompany the force as interpreter. As he had
passed examinations in six native languages and had studied others
nobody was better qualified for the post or seemed to be more likely to
get it.
17. Letter to Sarah Burton, 14th Nov. 1848.
It was while his fate thus hung in the balance that he wrote to his
cousin Sarah [81] daughter of Dr. Francis Burton, who had just lost her
mother. [82] His letter, which is headed Karachi, 14th November 1848,
runs as follows:--"My dear cousin, I lose no time in replying to your
note which conveyed to me the mournful tidings of our mutual loss. The
letter took me quite by surprise. I was aware of my poor aunt's health
having suffered, but never imagined that it was her last illness. You
may be certain that I join with you in lamenting the event. Your mother
had always been one of my best relations and kindest friends; indeed she
was the only one with whom I kept up a constant correspondence during
the last six years. I have every reason to regret her loss; and you,
of course, much more. Your kind letter contained much matter of a
consolatory nature; it was a melancholy satisfaction to hear that my
excellent aunt's death-bed was such a peaceful one--a fit conclusion to
so good and useful a life as hers was. You, too, must derive no small
happiness from the reflection that both you and your sister [83] have
always been dutiful daughters, and as such have contributed so much
towards your departed mother's felicity in this life. In my father's
last letter from Italy he alludes to the sad event, but wishes me not to
mention it to my mother, adding that he has fears for her mind if it be
abruptly alluded to.
"At the distance of some 1,500 [84] miles all we can do is resign
ourselves to calamities, and I confess to you that judging from the
number of losses that our family has sustained during the last six years
I fear that when able to return home I shall find no place capable of
bearing that name. I hope, however, dear cousin, that you or your
sister will occasionally send me a line, informing me of your plans and
movements, as I shall never leave to take the greatest interest in your
proceedings. You may be certain that I shall never neglect to answer
your letters and shall always look forward to them with the greatest
pleasure. Stisted [85] is not yet out: his regiment is at Belgaum [86],
but I shall do my best to see him as soon as possible. Edward [87] is
still in Ceylon and the war [88] has ceased there. I keep this letter
open for ten or twelve days longer, as that time will decide my fate.
A furious affair has broken out in Mooltan and the Punjaub and I have
applied to the General commanding to go up with him on his personal
staff. A few days more will decide the business--and I am not a little
anxious about it, for though still suffering a little from my old
complaint--ophthalmia--yet these opportunities are too far between to be
lost."
Unfortunately for Burton, his official respecting his investigations at
Karachi in 1845 was produced against him [89], and he was passed over
[90] in favour of a man who knew but one language besides English. His
theory that the most strenuous exertions lead to the most conspicuous
successes now thoroughly broke down, and the scarlet and gold of his
life, which had already become dulled, gave place to the "blackness of
darkness." It was in the midst of this gloom and dejection that he wrote
the postscript which he had promised to his cousin Sarah. The date
is 25th November, 1848. He says, "I am not going up to the siege of
Mooltan, as the General with whom I had expected to be sent is recalled.
Pray be kind enough to send on the enclosed to my father. I was afraid
to direct it to him in Italy as it contains papers of some importance.
You are welcome to the perusal, if you think it worth the trouble. I
have also put in a short note for Aunt Georgiana. Kindly give my
best love to your sister, and believe me, my dear cousin, your most
affectionate R. Burton."
Chagrin and anger, combined with his old trouble, ophthalmia, had by
this time sapped Burton's strength, a serious illness followed, and the
world lost all interest for him.
18. Allahdad.
He returned to Bombay a complete wreck, with shrunken, tottering frame,
sunken eyes, and a voice that had lost its sonority. "It is written,"
said his friends, "that your days are numbered, take our advice and go
home to die." They carried him to his ship, "The Elisa," and as there
seemed little hope of his reaching England, he at once wrote a farewell
letter to his mother. With him as servant, however, he had brought
away a morose but attentive and good-hearted native named Allahdad, and
thanks in part to Allahdad's good nursing, and in part to the bland and
health-giving breezes of the ocean, he gradually regained his former
health, strength, and vitality. At the time he regarded these seven
years spent in Sind as simply seven years wasted, and certainly his
rewards were incommensurate with his exertions. Still, it was in Sind
that the future became written on his forehead; in Sind that he began to
collect that mass of amazing material which made possible his edition of
The Arabian Nights.