_EARLY YEARS AT TRIESTE_
(1872–1875)
Turn thee from grief nor care a jot,
Commit thy needs to fate and lot,
Enjoy the present passing well,
And let the past be clean forgot.
For what so haply seemeth worse
Shall work thy weal as Allah wot;
Allah shall do whate’er he will,
And in his will oppose him not.
ALF LAYLAH WA LAYLAH
(_Burton’s “Arabian Nights”_).
Isabel soon began to like Trieste; the place grew upon her, and later
she always spoke of it as “my beloved Trieste.” She has left on record
in her journal her early impressions:
* * * * *
“Trieste is a town of threes. It has three quarters: the oldest, Citta
Vecchia, is filthy and antiquated in the extreme. It has three winds:
the _bora_, the winter wind, cold, dry, highly electrical, very
exciting, and so violent that sometimes the quays are roped, and some
of the walls have iron rails let in, to prevent people being blown into
the sea; the _sirocco_, the summer wind, straight from Africa,
wet, warm, and debilitating; and the _contraste_, which means the
two blowing at once and against each other, with all the disadvantages
of both. It has three races: Italians, Austrians, and Slavs. They are
all ready to cut each other’s throats, especially the Italians and
the Austrians; and the result is that Trieste, wealthy though she is,
wants all modern improvements, simply because the two rival parties
act like the two bundles of hay in the fable, and between them the ass
starves. North of Ponte Rosso is Germania, or the Austrian colony,
composed of the authorities, the _employés_, and a few wealthy
merchants, who have a crazy idea of Germanizing their little world, an
impossible dream, for there are twelve thousand Italians in Trieste,
who speak a sort of corrupted Venetian. One thousand of these are
very rich, the others very poor. However, whether rich or poor, the
_Italianissimi_ hate their Austrian rulers like poison; and in
this hatred they are joined by the mass of the wealthy Israelites, who
divide the commerce with the Greeks. The wealthy _Italianissimi_
subscribe handsomely to every Italian charity and movement, and
periodically and anonymously memorialize the King of Italy. The
poor take a delight in throwing large squibs, called by courtesy
‘torpedoes,’ amongst the unpatriotic petticoats who dare to throng the
Austrian balls; for though Trieste is Austrian nominally, it is Italian
at heart. The feud between the Italians and the Austrians goes to spoil
society in Trieste; they will not intermingle. The Slavs also form a
distinct party.
“I found these discordant elements a little difficult to harmonize at
first. But Richard desired me to form a neutral house, as at Damascus,
where politics and religion should never be mentioned, and where all
might meet on a common ground. I did so, with the result that we had
friends in all camps. There was an abundance of society of all kinds:
Austrian, Italian, and what Ouida has called the _haute Juiverie_.
We were in touch with them all, and they were all good-natured and
amiable. Society in Trieste did not care whether you were rich or poor,
whether you received or did not receive; it only asked you to be nice,
and it opened its arms to you. I dare say my visiting list, private and
consular, comprised three hundred families; but we had our own little
_clique intime_, which was quite charming, and included some sixty
or seventy persons.
“We women had what Richard used to call ‘hen parties’ (_Kaffee
gesellschaft_), which is really five o’clock tea, where we would
dance together, play, sing, recite, and have refreshments; but a man,
except the master of the house, was never seen at these gatherings.
_En revanche_, we had plenty of evening entertainments for both
sexes.
“Some curious little local customs still lingered at Trieste. One of
them was, when two friends or relations met in society, after embracing
affectionately, they were wont to drop one another an elaborate
curtsey. The visiting hours were from twelve till two, an impossible
time; and men were expected to call in white cravats, kid gloves and
evening dress. When I first came to Trieste, I was often invited _en
intime_ to afternoon tea, and was told to come ‘just as you are, my
dear.’ I took the invitation literally of course; and when I arrived,
I used to find the other ladies _décolletées_, and blazing with
diamonds. I remember feeling very awkward at appearing in an ordinary
costume, but my hostess said to me, ‘You know, my dear, we are so fond
of our jewels; it gives us pleasure to dress even for one another; but
do not do it if it bores you.’ However, later I always took care to do
it, on the principle that when one is at Rome one should do as Rome
does. Apart from these little social peculiarities Trieste was the most
hospitable and open-hearted town, and people entertained there, if they
entertained at all, on a lavish scale and right royally.
“The population of Trieste was very interesting, though a strange
medley. To the east of the town the Wallachian _cici_, or
charcoal-dealers, wore the dress of the old Danubian homes whence
they came. Then there was the Friulano, with his velvet jacket and
green corduroys (the most estimable race in Trieste). He was often a
roaster of chestnuts at the corners of the street, and his wife was
the best _balie_ (wet nurse). She was often more bravely attired than
her mistress. The Slav market-women were also very interesting. I
loved to go down and talk with them in the market-place. They drove
in from neighbouring villages with their produce for sale in a kind
of drosky, the _carretella_ as it was called, with its single pony
harnessed to the near side of the pole. Some of the girls, especially
those of Servola, were quite beautiful, with a Greek profile, and a
general delicacy of form and colour which one would hardly expect to
find amongst the peasantry. But their eyes were colourless; and their
blonde hair was like tow--it lacked the golden ray. The dresses were
picturesque: a white triangular head-kerchief, with embroidered ends
hanging down the back; a bodice either of white flannel picked out with
splashes of colour, or of a black glazed and plaited stuff; a skirt of
lively hue, edged with a broad belt of even livelier green, blue, pink,
or yellow; white stockings; and short, stout shoes. The ornaments on
high days and holidays were gold necklaces and crosses, a profusion
of rings and pendants. This of course was the _contadina_, or peasant
girl. Opposed to her was the _sartorella_, or little tailoress, which
may be said to be synonymous with the French _grisette_. I always
called Trieste _Il Paradiso delle Sartorelle_, because the _sartorella_
was a prominent figure in Trieste, and Fortune’s favourite. She was
wont to fill the streets and promenades, especially on _festa_ days,
dressed _à quatre épingles_, powdered and rouged and _coiffée_ as for a
ball, and with or without a veil. She was often pretty, and generally
had a good figure; but she did not always look ‘nice’; and her manners,
to put it mildly, were very _dégagées_. There were four thousand of
these girls in Trieste, and they filled the lower-class balls and
theatres. There was a _sartorella_ in every house, off and on. For
example, a family in Trieste always had a dress to make or a petticoat,
and the _sartorella_ came for a florin a day and her food, and she
worked for twelve hours, leaving off work at six, when she began her
‘evening out.’ I am fain to add the _sartorella_ was often a sort of
whited sepulchre. She was gorgeously clad without, but as a rule had
not a rag, not even a chemise, underneath, unless she were ‘in luck.’
‘In luck,’ I grieve to say, meant that every boy, youth, and man in
Trieste, beginning at twelve and up to twenty-five and twenty-eight,
had an _affaire_ with a _sartorella_; and I may safely assert, without
being malicious, that she was not wont to give her heart--if we may
call it so--gratis. She was rather a nuisance in a house; though after
I had been in Trieste a little while I discovered that she was an
indispensable nuisance, because there was always some mending or sewing
to be done. She generally turned the servants’ heads by telling them
that she was going to be married to a real _graf_ (count) as soon as he
was independent of his parents--a sort of King Cophetua and the Beggar
Maid over again, I suppose.
“Trieste was a beautiful place, especially the view round our bay. The
hills were covered with woodland and verdure; the deep blue Adriatic
was in the foreground, dotted with lateen sails; and the town filled
the valley and straggled up the slopes. The sky was softly blue on a
balmy day; the bees and birds, the hum of insects, the flowers and
fresh air, and the pretty, animated peasants, combined to form a
picture which made one feel glad to live.
[Illustration: TRIESTE]
“The charm of Trieste is that one can live exactly as one pleases.
Richard and I drew out a line for ourselves when we first went to
Trieste, and we always kept to it as closely as we could. We rose
at 3 or 4 a.m. in summer, and at 5 a.m. in winter. He read, wrote, and
studied all day out of consular hours, and took occasional trips for
his health; and I learned Italian, German, and singing, and attended
to my other duties. We took our daily exercise in the shape of an
hour’s swimming in the sea, or fencing at the school, according to the
weather. What with reading, writing, looking after the poor, working
for the Church or for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals, my day was all too short.
“The prettiest thing in Trieste was the swimming school. It was
moored out at the entrance to the harbour. We used to reach it in a
boat, and get hold of Tonina, the old woman who provided us with the
_camerino_, or little stall to undress in, and who would grin
from ear to ear at our chaff and the thought of her _bakshísh_.
The women’s costumes were short trousers, with bodice or belt of blue
serge or white alpaca trimmed with red. We plunged into the great
_vasca_, or basin, an acre of sea, bottomless, but enclosed on
all sides with a loaded net, to keep out the sharks. There were twelve
soldiers to teach beginners. They used to begin with a pole and rope,
like a fishing-rod and line, and at the end of the rope was a broad
belt, which went round the waist of the beginner, and you heard the
incessant ‘Eins, zwei, drei’ of the drill. Next they would lead the
beginners round the edge of the basin with a rope, like pet dogs. But
we adepts in swimming plunged in head first from a sort of trapeze, or
from the roofs of the dressing-rooms, making a somersault on the way.
The swimmers did the prettiest tricks in the water. Young married women
met in the middle to shake hands and hold long conversations. Scores of
young girls used to romp about, ducking each other under and climbing
on each other’s backs for support, and children of three or four used
to swim about like white-bait, in and out, among us all. One stout old
lady used to sit lazily in the water, like a blubber fish, knitting,
occasionally moving her feet. We used to call her ‘the buoy,’ and hold
on to her when we were tired.”
* * * * *
It was the custom of Isabel and her husband, whenever they went to a
new place, to look out for a sort of sanatorium, to which they might
repair when they wanted a change or were seedy or out of sorts. Thus,
when Burton was sent to Santos, they chose São Paulo; when they were
at Damascus, they pitched on Bludán; and as soon as they arrived at
Trieste, they lighted upon Opçina. Opçina was a Slav village high above
Trieste, and about an hour’s drive from it. This height showed Trieste
and the Adriatic spread out like a map below, with hill and valley and
dale waning faintly blue in the distance, and far away the Carnian Alps
topped with snow. There was an old inn called Daneu’s, close to an
obelisk. They took partly furnished rooms, and brought up some of their
own furniture to make up deficiencies and give the place a homelike
air. It was their wont to come up to Opçina from Saturday to Monday,
and get away from Trieste and worries. They always kept some literary
work on hand there; and sometimes, if they were in the mood for it,
they would stay at Opçina for six weeks on end. The climate was very
bracing.
Isabel always looked back on these few first years at Trieste as
pleasant ones. After the storm and stress of Damascus, and the anxiety
and depression consequent upon their recall, she found Trieste a
veritable “restful harbour.” They varied their life by many journeys
and excursions. Their happy hunting-ground was Venice. Whenever they
could they would cross over there, order a gondola, and float lazily
about the canals. She says of this time: “We lived absolutely the jolly
life of two bachelors, as it might be an elder or a younger brother.
When we wanted to go away, we just turned the key and left.”
It was not until they had been at Trieste six months that they settled
down in a house, or rather in a flat at the top of a large building
close to the sea. They began their housekeeping with very modest ideas;
in fact, they had only six rooms. But Burton and his wife were fond of
enlarging their boundaries, and in course of time these six rooms grew
until they ran round the whole of the large block of the building. Here
they lived for ten years, and then they moved to the most beautiful
house in Trieste, a palazzo a little way out of the town.
One of their first expeditions was to Loretto. Thence they went to
Rome, where they made the acquaintance of the English Ambassador to
the Austrian Court and his wife, Sir Augustus and Lady Paget, with
whom they remained great friends all the time they were at Trieste.
Isabel also met Cardinal Howard, who was a cousin of hers. He was
one of her favourite partners in the palmy days of Almack’s, when he
was an officer in the Guards and she was a girl. Now the whirligig
of time had transformed him into a cardinal and her into the wife of
the British Consul at Trieste. As a devout Catholic Isabel delighted
in Rome and its churches, though the places which she most enjoyed
visiting were the Catacombs and the Baths of Caracalla. At Rome she
got blood-poisoning and fever, which she took on with her to Florence,
where they stayed for some little time. At Florence they saw a good
deal of Ouida, whom they had known for some years. From Florence they
went to Venice, crossed over to Trieste just to change their baggage,
and then proceeded to Vienna. There was a great Exhibition going on at
Vienna, and Burton went as the reporter to some newspaper. They were
at Vienna three weeks, and were delighted with everything Viennese
except the prices at the hotel, which were stupendous. They enjoyed
themselves greatly, and were well received in what is perhaps the
most exclusive society in Europe. Among other things they went to
Court. Isabel attended as an Austrian countess, and took place and
precedence accordingly, for the name Arundell of Wardour is inscribed
in the Austrian official lists of the Counts of the Empire. There was
a difficulty raised about Burton, because consuls are not admissible
at the Court of Vienna. Isabel was not a woman to go to places where
her husband was not admitted, and she insisted upon having the matter
brought before the notice of the Emperor, though the British Embassy
clearly told her the thing was impossible--Burton could not be
admitted. When the Emperor heard of the difficulty through the Court
officials, he at once solved it by saying that Burton might attend as
an officer of the English army. The incident is a trifling one, but
it is one more illustration of the untiring devotion of Isabel to her
husband, and her sleepless vigilance that nothing should be done which
would seem to cast a slur upon his position.[16]
When the Burtons returned to Trieste, Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake, who had
been with them much at Damascus, and had accompanied them on their tour
in the Holy Land and many other journeys in the Syrian Desert, arrived.
The visit of their friend and fellow-traveller seemed to revive their
old love of exploration as far as the limits of Trieste would admit,
and among other excursions they went to see a great _fête_ at
the Adelsberg Caves. These caves were stalactite caverns and grottoes
not far from Trieste, and on the day of the _fête_ they were
lighted by a million candles. One of the caverns was a large hall like
a domed ball-room, and Austrian bands and musicians repaired thither,
and the peasants flocked down from the surrounding villages in their
costumes, and made high revelry. Burton maintained that these caves
were the eighth wonder of the world, but the description of them
here would occupy too much space. Suffice it to say, in the words of
Isabel, “When God Almighty had finished making the earth, He threw all
the superfluous rocks together there.” From these caves they went to
Fiume, and explored the Colosseum there, which, though not so famous as
that of Rome, almost rivals it in its ruins and its interest. Another
excursion was to Lipizza, the Emperor of Austria’s stud farm. It was
about two hours from Trieste, and the stables and park were full of
herds of thorough-bred mares, chiefly Hungarians and Croats. Lipizza
was always a favourite drive of the Burtons.
“Charley’s” visit revived many memories of Damascus, and he was the
bearer of news from many friends there. He seemed to bring with him
“a breath from the desert,” and they were loath to let him go. They
accompanied him to Venice, where he took his leave of them; and they
never saw him again. He died the following year at Jerusalem, at the
age of twenty-eight. He was buried in the English burial-ground on
Mount Zion, the place where they had all three sat and talked together
and picked flowers one afternoon three years before. It was largely at
his suggestion that Isabel determined to write her _Inner Life of
Syria_, and she unearthed her note-books and began to write the book
soon after he left. He was a great friend, almost a son to them, and
they both felt his loss bitterly.
About this time Maria Theresa, Contessa de Montelin, ex-Queen of Spain,
when she was on her death-bed, sent for Isabel, and charged her to
keep up, maintain, and promote certain pious societies which she had
started in Trieste. One of these was “The Apostleship of Prayer,” whose
members, women, were to be active in doing good works, corporally
and spiritually, in Trieste. This guild was one of two good works to
which Isabel chiefly devoted herself during her life at Trieste. The
other was a branch of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals and the care of animals generally, a subject always very near
her heart. “The Apostleship of Prayer,” the legacy of the ex-Queen
of Spain, so grew under Isabel’s hand that the members increased to
fifteen thousand. They elected her president, and she soon got the
guild into thorough working order, dividing the members into bands in
various quarters of the city of Trieste.
There is not much to relate concerning Isabel’s life at Trieste for the
first few years. It was uneventful and fairly happy: it would have been
quite happy, were it not for the regret of Damascus, where they were
then hoping to return, and the desire for a wider sphere of action.
Both she and her husband managed to keep in touch with the world in
a wonderful way, and did not let themselves drop out of sight or out
of mind. One of the reliefs to the monotony of their existence was
that, whenever an English ship came into port with a captain whom they
knew, they would dine on board and have the delight of seeing English
people, and they generally invited the captain and officers and the
best passengers back again. The Burtons had a good many visitors from
England, most of them well-known personages, who, when they stopped at
Trieste, a favourite resting-place for birds of passage, always made a
point of calling upon them. Among others was Lord Llandaff, then Mr.
Henry Matthews, who had many things in common with Isabel. Owing to
their lives being cast on different lines, they only saw one another at
intervals, but they always entertained a feeling of mutual friendship.
From the many letters he wrote to her I am permitted to publish this
one:
“TEMPLE, _December 28, 1875_.
“DEAR MRS. BURTON,
“Of course I have not forgotten you. I never forget. Was it
last week, or sixteen years ago, that you were standing in this
room with the chequered sunlight shining through the Venetian
blind upon you, as you discoursed about Heaven and Grace and an
attorney in the City who was not one of the elect?
“I never knew you were in Venice this autumn, and, as it
happened, it was fortunate I did not go to Trieste to see
you, since you were away. I grieve very much to hear of your
bad health. It seems to me you do too much. The long list of
occupations which you call ‘repose’ is enough to wear out any
constitution, even one which is so admirably knit as yours.
Don’t be like the lady in Pope’s satire, and ‘die of nothing but
a rage to live.’ There is one part of your labours, however, for
which I, with all the rest of the world, shall be thankful; and
that is your new book. I shall look for it with impatience, and
feel sure of its success.
“I wish you were not going to Arabia; but I know how you
understand and fulfil the part of wife to a knight-errant of
discovery. Be as prudent and sparing of yourself as you can.
“Yours ever,
“HENRY MATTHEWS.”
After they had been at Trieste two years, at the end of 1874 Burton
proposed that his wife should go to England and transact some business
for him, and bring out certain books which he had written. He would
join her later on. Isabel was exceedingly unwilling to go; but
“whenever he put his foot down I had to do it, whether I would or no.”
So she went, and arrived in London in December, after an uneventful
journey.
Isabel found her work cut out for her in London. Her husband had given
her several pages of directions, and she tried to carry them out as
literally as possible. She had to see a number of publishers for one
thing, and to work up an interest in a sulphur mine for another. She
says: “I got so wrapped up in my work at this time that sometimes
I worked for thirteen hours a day, and would forget to eat. I can
remember once, after working for thirteen hours, feeling my head
whirling, and being quite alarmed. Then I suddenly remembered that I
had forgotten to eat all day.” She had also the proof-sheets to correct
of her own book, which was going through the press. She was in London
without her husband for four months, and during that time she had a
great shock. A paragraph appeared in _The Scotsman_ announcing
Burton’s death, and speaking of her as his widow. She telegraphed to
Trieste at once, and packed up. Just as she was starting she got a
telegram from him saying, “I am eating a very good dinner at _table
d’hôte_.”
Early in May Burton joined her on a lengthy leave of absence, and
they did a great deal of visiting, and enjoyed themselves generally.
Isabel’s _Inner Life of Syria_ was published at this time, and she
was very anxious about it. It had taken sixteen months to write. The
evening of the day on which it made its appearance she went to a party,
and the first person she saw whom she knew was a well-known editor, who
greeted her with warm congratulations on her book. She says, “It made
me as happy as if somebody had given me a fortune.”
[Illustration:
[_From the portrait by the late Lord Leighton._
_Richard F. Burton_]
The favourable reception which was accorded to _The Inner Life of
Syria_, which was largely devoted to a defence of her husband’s
action when Consul at Damascus, encouraged Isabel to proceed further
on his behalf. So she wrote to, or interviewed, every influential
friend she knew, with a view of inducing the Government to make
Burton K.C.B., and she prepared a paper setting forth his claims and
labours in the public service, which was signed by thirty or forty of
the most influential personages of the day. She also induced them to
ask that Burton should either return to Damascus, or be promoted to
Morocco, Cairo, Tunis, or Teheran. Unfortunately her efforts met with
no success, though she renewed them again through another source three
years later. In one sense, however, she succeeded; for though she could
not convert the Government to her view, the press unanimously took up
the cause of Burton, and complained that the Government did not give
him his proper place in official life, and called him the “neglected
Englishman.” As for Burton himself, he took no part in this agitation,
except to thank his friends and the press generally for their exertions
on his behalf.
They went down to Oxford at Commemoration to visit Professor Jowett
and others. At Oxford they met with an ovation. In London they passed
a very pleasant season, for private personages seemed anxious to make
up for official neglect. This year Frederick Leighton’s famous picture
of Burton was exhibited in the Royal Academy. Among other celebrated
people whom they met was Mr. Gladstone, at Lord Houghton’s. Of Burton’s
meeting with Mr. Gladstone Isabel relates the following: “Very late
in the evening Mrs. Gladstone said to me, ‘I don’t know what it is;
I cannot get Mr. Gladstone away this evening’; and I said to her, ‘I
think I know what it is; he has got hold of my husband, Richard Burton,
and they are both so interested in one another, and have so many points
of interest to talk over, that I hope you will not take him away.’”
The season over, Burton started on another trip to Iceland; and Isabel
was left alone, during which time she paid some visits to the Duke and
Duchess of Somerset at Bulstrode, always kind friends of hers, and
to Madame von Bülow at Reigate. Madame von Bülow was the wife of the
Danish Minister in London, and one of Isabel’s most intimate friends--a
friendship which lasted all her life.
When Burton returned from Iceland, he went off to Vichy for a cure, and
rejoined his wife in London in the autumn; and they went out a great
deal, chiefly in scientific, literary, and artistic circles. This year
was in some respects one of the pleasantest of Isabel’s life. Her book
had come out, and was a great success; she had been _fêted_ by all
her friends and relations; and though her efforts to obtain promotion
for her husband had not met with the success which they deserved, yet
the kind encouragement which she received from influential friends,
who, though not members of the Government, were yet near the rose, made
her hope that better days were soon to come.
In December Burton, finding that he had still six months’ leave, asked
his wife where she would like to go best. She answered, “India.” It
had long been her desire to go there with her husband, and get him to
show her all the familiar spots which he had described to her as having
visited or lived at during his nineteen years’ service in India. Burton
was delighted with the idea. So they got a map, cut India down the
middle lengthways from Cashmere to Cape Comorin, and planned out how
much they could manage to see on the western side, intending to leave
the eastern side for another time, as the season was already too far
advanced for them to be able to see the whole of India.