_THE SWORD HANGS_
(1885–1890)
Life is no holiday: therein
Are want and woe and sin,
Death with nameless fears; and over all
Our pitying tears must fall.
The hour draws near, howe’er delayed or late,
When, at the Eternal Gate,
We leave the words and works we call our own,
And lift void hands alone
For love to fill. Our nakedness of soul
Brings to that gate no toll:
Giftless we come to Him who all things gives;
And live because He lives.
WHITTIER.
In May, 1885, Isabel started with her husband for England. They
travelled together as far as Venice, and here, as often, they parted,
and went their separate ways. Burton was ordered to go by sea for his
health, and his wife arranged to proceed by land. She went round by
way of Bologna, and thence travelled _viâ_ Milan and Paris, and
arrived in London on June 2. Her husband joined her twelve days later.
They had two objects in coming to London at this time--one was to
consult physicians concerning Burton’s health, the other to make
arrangements concerning _The Arabian Nights_. The production of
this book may be described as a joint affair; for though the lion’s
share of the work of translating, writing, and correcting proofs
devolved upon Burton alone, the financial part of the work fell upon
his wife, and that it was a big thing no one who has had any experience
of writing or publishing would deny. There were several editions in the
field; but they were all abridged or “Bowdlerized” ones, adapted more
or less for “family and domestic reading.” Burton’s object in bringing
out this great work was not only to produce a literal translation,
but to reproduce it faithfully in the Arabian manner. He preserved
throughout the orientation of the verses and figures of speech instead
of Anglicising them. It is this, combined with his profound oriental
scholarship, his fine old-world style, and the richness, variety, and
quaintness of his vocabulary, which has given to his original edition
its unique value.
In Burton the immortal tales had at last found a translator who would
do them justice, and who was not afraid of prejudices of Anglo-Saxon
Puritanism. Burton’s view of this matter is sufficiently expressed in
the following speech: “I do not care a button about being prosecuted;
and if the matter comes to a fight, I will walk into court with my
Bible and my Shakspeare 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.”[34] He expressed
his views in this matter to his wife; and though at his wish she did
not read the original edition of _The Arabian Nights_, she set to
work to help him in every way that she could. In fact it may be truly
said that it was she who did all the difficult work of evading the
“vigilance” of certain persons, and of arranging for the publication of
this important book. In order that her husband’s original text might
be copyrighted, she herself brought out an expurgated edition, which
was called the “Household Edition.” By this means she was enabled to
copyright three thousand pages of her husband’s original text, and only
excluded two hundred and fifteen. She says, “Richard forbade me to read
these pages until 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.” Of course to bring out a work of this kind, and
to bear the whole burden of the labour and initial expense of it, was
no ordinary task, and it is to Isabel’s efforts and to her marvellous
business capacity that the credit of publishing the book is due. From
a financial point of view the Burtons had no reason to regret their
venture. At the beginning a publisher had offered Burton £500 for the
book; but Isabel said, “No, let me do it.” It was seventeen months’
hard work, and during that time they had to find the means for printing
and binding and circulating the volumes as they came out. The Burtons
were their own printers and their own publishers, and they made
between September, 1885, and November, 1888, sixteen thousand guineas,
six thousand of which went towards the expenses of publishing and ten
thousand guineas into their own pockets. Isabel writes, “It came just
in time to give my husband the comforts and luxuries and freedom which
gilded the last five years of his life. When he died there were four
florins left, which I put into the poor-box.”
They had a very pleasant season in London. They were mainly occupied
in preparing _The Arabian Nights_; but their labours over for
the day, they went out in society a great deal. Perhaps the most
noteworthy event at this time was that Isabel made a long speech at
St. James’s Hall at a meeting for the purpose of appealing to the Pope
for a Circular Letter on the subject of the protection of animals. The
meeting was in vain.
The first volume of _The Arabian Nights_ came out on December
12, 1885, and the sixteenth volume, the last of the Supplementals,
on November 13, 1888. Thus in a period of three years they produced
twenty-two volumes--namely, ten Originals, six Supplementals, and Lady
Burton’s six volumes of the Household Edition.
In October, 1885, they went down to Hatfield on a visit to Lord and
Lady Salisbury. A week before this Burton, having heard that Sir John
Drummond Hay, Consul at Morocco, was about to retire, applied for
the post. It was the one thing that he had stayed on in the Consular
Service in the hope of obtaining. He wrote a letter to the Foreign
Secretary, which was backed up by about fifty of the best names in
England, whom his wife had canvassed; and indeed it seemed that the
post was as good as assured to him. In the third week in November
Burton started for Morocco in order to spy out the promised land, or
rather the land which he hoped would have been his. Isabel was left
behind to bring out some volumes of _The Arabian Nights_. She
brought them out up to the seventh volume, and then made ready to join
her husband at Gibraltar on his way to Tangiers in January. She says
_à propos_ of her labours in this respect: “I was dreadfully spied
upon by those who wished to get Richard into trouble about it, and once
an unaccountable person came and took rooms in some lodgings which I
took after Richard left, and I settled with the landlord that I should
leave or that person should not have the rooms, and of course he did
not have any hesitation between the two, and I took the whole of the
rooms during my stay.”
In January, 1886, just as she was leaving London, she received a
telegram from her husband saying that there was cholera at Gibraltar,
and she could get no quarantine there, and would not be allowed to
land. But she was not a woman to be stopped; so she at once telegraphed
to Sir John Ayde, who was then commanding Gibraltar, and asked if he
would allow a Government boat to take her off the P. & O. and put her
straight on the Morocco boat. He telegraphed back, “Yes,” whereat she
rejoiced greatly, as she wanted especially to reach her husband in time
for them to celebrate their Silver Wedding together. When she arrived
at Gibraltar, Burton, who was staying there, came off in a boat to meet
her, and they called together on Sir John Ayde to thank him for his
kindness. A few days later the news came to them that the Government
had at last recognized Burton’s public services. It came in the form of
a telegram addressed to “Sir Richard Burton.” Isabel says: “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.’” His wife said, “Oh no; I shall
open it if you don’t.” So it was opened. It was from Lord Salisbury,
conveying in the kindest terms that the Queen, at his recommendation,
had made him K.C.M.G. in reward for his services. He looked very
serious and quite uncomfortable, and said, “Oh, I shall not accept it.”
She said, “You had better accept it, Jemmy, because it is a certain
sign that they are going to give you the place--Tangiers, Morocco.”
There is only one thing to be said about this honour--it came too late.
Too late for him, because he had never at any time cared much for these
things. “Honour, not honours” was his motto; and now the recognition
of his services, which might have been a great encouragement ten or
fifteen years earlier, and have spurred him on to fresh efforts, found
him broken by sickness, and with life’s zest to a great extent gone.
Too late for her, because her only pleasure in these things was that
they reflected credit upon her husband; and if he did not appreciate
them, she did not care. Yet of course she was glad that at last there
had come some return for her unceasing efforts, and some admission,
though tardy, of the services which her husband had rendered. It was a
sign too that the prejudice against him in certain quarters was at last
lived down. She wrote to a friend[35]:
“You will have seen from the papers, and I know what pleasure it will
give you, that the Conservatives on going out made Dick Sir Richard
Burton, K.C.M.G.... The Queen’s recognition of Dick’s forty-four years
of service was sweetly done at last, sent for our Silver Wedding, and
she told a friend of mine that she was pleased to confer something that
would include both husband and wife.”
The Burtons crossed over to Morocco from Gibraltar in a flat-bottomed
cattle-tug, only fit for a river; and as the sea was exceedingly heavy,
and the machinery had stopped, the sailors said for want of oil, the
seas washed right over the boat, and the passage was prolonged from two
hours to five. They made many excursions round about Tangiers; but on
the whole they were disappointed with Morocco. They disliked Tangiers
itself, and the Consulate seemed to them a miserable little house after
their palazzo at Trieste. Lady Burton had expected to find Tangiers a
second Damascus; but in this she was sorely disappointed. She wrote to
a friend from there, “Trieste will seem like Paris after it. It has
none of the romance or barbaric splendour of Damascus. Nevertheless,”
she says, “I would willingly have lived there, and put out all my best
capabilities, if my husband could have got the place he wanted, and
for which I had employed every bit of interest on his side and mine to
obtain.” They received a great deal of hospitality in Tangiers, and
inspected the place and the natives thoroughly. Most of the people
looked forward to welcoming them.
On their departure they went to Genoa, which they reached after a rough
voyage, and thence they proceeded by easy stages to Trieste. Lady
Burton arrived home alone at ten o’clock in the evening; and as she
was accustomed to be met by a crowd of friends on her return, she was
surprised to find no one to meet her. When she got to the house, their
absence was explained. Three telegrams were handed to her. The first
was, “Father very ill; can you come?”; the second was, “Father died
to-day”; the third, “Father buried to-day at Mortlake.” As her friends
were unaware of her address the telegrams had not been forwarded, and
they had kept away, so as not to intrude on her grief. The blow was not
altogether unexpected, for Mr. Arundell had been ill for some time; but
it was none the less severe, for she had always been devotedly attached
to her father, and his house had been made a rallying-point for them
when they were wont to return home.
They remained at Trieste three months, during which time the English
colony presented them with a silver cup and congratulations on their
hardly earned honours. Then, as Burton had to consult a particular
manuscript which would supply two volumes of his “Supplemental”
_Arabian Nights_, they left again for England. On their return
to London they took up their work where they had left it a few
months before. In July they had the mortification of finding that
Lord Rosebery had given away the coveted post of Morocco, which had
been as good as promised to them by Lord Salisbury, to some one else.
It was during their few months’ absence from England that the change
of Government had taken place, and Lord Salisbury’s brief-lived
Administration of 1886 had yielded place to a Liberal Government. Such
are the vicissitudes of official life. Had Lord Salisbury been in
office, Sir Richard would probably have got Morocco. It was perhaps
all for the best that he did not get the post, although it was a sore
disappointment to them at the time. Even Lady Burton came to take
this view. She writes: “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.... It was for the honour of the thing, and
we saw for ourselves how uneasy a crown it would be.”
Perhaps there was another reason too, for when Lady Burton remonstrated
a Minister wrote to her in friendly chaff: “We don’t want to annex
Morocco, and we know that you two would be Emperor and Empress in about
six months.” This was an evident allusion to the part which they had
played during their brief reign at Damascus. At Trieste there was no
room for the eagles to soar; their wings were clipped.
Seeing that the last hope was over, and the one post which Sir Richard
Burton had coveted as the crown of his career was denied to him, his
wife set to work to induce the Government to allow him to retire on his
pension four years before his time. She had good grounds for making
this request, for his health was breaking, and this last disappointment
about Morocco seemed to have broken him even more. When he told her
that it was given to another man, he said, “There is no room for me
now, and I do not want anything; but I have worked forty-four years for
nothing. I am breaking up, and I want to go free.” So she at once set
to work to draw up what she called “The Last Appeal,” enumerating the
services which her husband had rendered to his country, and canvassing
her friends to obtain the pension. The petition was backed as usual
by forty-seven or fifty big names, who actively exerted themselves
in the matter. It was refused, notwithstanding that public feeling
and the press seemed unanimously in favour of its being granted. The
ground on which it was refused, apparently, was that it was contrary to
precedent, and that it was not usual; but then the case was altogether
an unusual one, and Sir Richard Burton was altogether an unusual man.
Even supposing that there had been a difficulty about giving him the
full Consular pension, it would have been easy for the Government,
if they had been so minded, to have made up to him the sum--only a
few hundred pounds a year--from the Civil List, on the ground of his
literary and linguistic labours and services. It should be added that
this petition was refused both by Liberal and Conservative Governments,
for Lord Salisbury’s second Administration came into office before
the Burtons left England. But there was this difference: whereas Lord
Rosebery reprimanded Burton for his frequent absence from his post,
Lord Salisbury was very indulgent in the matter of leave. He recognized
that Burton’s was an exceptional case, and gave him exceptional
privileges.
[Illustration: LADY BURTON IN 1887.]
They remained in London until the end of the year, and on January 4,
1887, they left England for Cannes, where they spent a few pleasant
weeks, rejoicing in the sun and blue sea and sky. They enjoyed a good
deal of society at Cannes, where they met the Prince of Wales and many
friends. On Ash Wednesday occurred the earthquake which made such a
commotion on the Riviera at that time, and of which Sir Richard Burton
gave the following account:
“A little before 6 a.m., on the finest of mornings, with the smoothest
of seas, the still sleeping world was aroused by a rumbling and shaking
as of a thousand express trains hissing and rolling along, and in a
few minutes followed a 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 to us, upheaving
and making the earth undulate, and as it came I said, ‘By Jove! that
is a good earthquake.’ She called out, ‘All the people are rushing
out into 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.” The result of the earthquake was a great and
sudden exodus from Cannes, and indeed from all the Riviera. Visitors
fled in panic, but Sir Richard and Lady Burton went about their usual
business, and were amused at seeing the terrified people rush off to
the railway-station, and the queer garments in which they were clad.
Shortly after Lady Burton was terribly frightened from another cause.
Her husband had an epileptic fit, and it was some time before she and
the doctors could bring him round again. Henceforth it became necessary
for them to have always with them a resident doctor. They both of them
disliked the idea of having a stranger spying about them very much;
but it was inevitable, for the epilepsy was a new development, and
as Burton says, “My wife felt, though she had successfully nursed me
through seven long illnesses since our marriage, that this was a case
beyond her ken.” So Dr. Ralph Leslie was telegraphed for, and came out
from England to Cannes, where he joined them. Then commenced what they
called their _Via Crucis_ to Trieste. Lady Burton thus describes
her troubles at that time:
“On February 23 we were shaken to a jelly by the earthquakes--three
strong shocks and three weeks of palpitating earth in the Riviera.
On February 26 my poor darling Dick had an epileptic fit, or, more
properly speaking, an epileptiform convulsion, which lasted about half
an hour, and endangered his life. I had six doctors and two nurses, and
we watched and tended him for fifteen days; and I telegraphed for an
English doctor to England by express, who came, and lives and travels
with us, as Richard insisted on coming to Trieste, not to England, and
will return with us. It took us, _after his arrival_, twenty-eight
days to accomplish the twenty-eight hours of express between Cannes
and Trieste in toil, anguish, and anxiety. We arrived April 5 at home
in rest and comfort. He has been making daily progress to health. He
is now out walking with his doctor. We had a consultation a few days
ago. He will always require _great care and watching_ all his
life--diet and internal health; must not climb, as his heart is weak,
nor take Turkish baths, nor overwork; and he may so live fifteen years,
but he may die any moment of heart disease. And I need not say that I
shall never have a really happy, peaceful moment again. In the midst of
this my uncle,[36] who was like my father to me, was found dead in his
bed. Then I have had a bad lip and money losses, and altogether a bad
time of it.”[37]
At Trieste Burton led the life of a confirmed invalid, and his wife
attended him with unfailing devotion, which was in no way abated by
the presence of the resident doctor--“a disagreeable luxury,” as she
called him. They used to sit a good deal under their favourite linden
tree in the garden and receive visitors. Burton’s love for his wife,
always deep, though never demonstrative, seems to have shown itself
more at this time; and in the few remaining years he came to lean on
her more and more, making her his _confidante_ in all things. In
June they celebrated the Jubilee of Queen Victoria, and, owing to her
husband’s illness, nearly all the arrangements fell upon Lady Burton.
It was she who drew up the address which was sent to Her Majesty, and
she also prepared the speech to deliver in case her husband was too
unwell to attend the public dinner in celebration of the event. As Lady
Burton has been accused of being such a bigoted Roman Catholic, it is
only fair to mention that on this auspicious occasion she accompanied
her husband to the official service in the Anglican Church. Her loyalty
to her Queen was unswerving. She was not required to make the speech,
as Burton was well enough to be carried down to the dinner, where he
delivered the oration. It was the only occasion on which he ever wore
his Order of St. Michael and St. George. The effort was so great that
he had to be carried upstairs again the moment his speech was over.
The rest of 1887 was chiefly taken up by a dreary record of failing
health. The Burtons went away for a summer holiday as usual, and during
their absence from Trieste many English Royalties arrived there with
the squadron; but they were unable to receive them. On their return
Dr. Leslie had to leave them, and his place was supplied by another
doctor. It became more than ever necessary that a medical man should
be in attendance, for Lady Burton seemed to suffer in sympathy with
her husband, and as he got worse she became worse too. She writes
about this time: “I am unable to take anything which might be called
a walk. Driving was sometimes very painful to him, and it would not
have been safe to let him go alone.” It was one of her sorest trials
that she could not minister to her husband as formerly; but disease
had laid its hand on her too. Their life at Trieste at this time was
naturally uneventful. Instead of getting up, as they used to do,
and beginning their labours in the small hours of the morning, the
Burtons now rose at seven, and did as much literary work as they could
until nine, when the doctor would come in. At twelve o’clock they had
breakfast, and after that the time was devoted either to more literary
work or recreation. At four they would receive any friends who came
to see them. At half-past seven they dined, no longer at the hotel
as formerly, but at home; and at nine o’clock they retired to rest.
It was about this time that Sir Richard finished the last volume of
his “Supplemental” _Arabian Nights_. The weather was so bad at
Trieste, and his health so uncertain, that the Foreign Office again
gave him leave.
He and his wife came by a roundabout route to England, and saw many old
friends. On October 15 they went down to Folkestone, where they stayed
a few days with his relatives. They crossed on October 26 to Boulogne.
It was Sir Richard’s last visit to England; he never saw his country
again.
At Boulogne they visited once more the old haunts where they had met
for the first time years ago, and renewed acquaintance with the scenes
of their vanished youth. It is worthy of notice how often husband and
wife went to Boulogne together during their married life. It seemed as
though the place was endeared to them by the recollection that it was
here that they had first come together. From Boulogne they went to
Switzerland, where they passed Christmas. When they were at Montreux
they celebrated their wedding day (January 22), and the people in the
hotel overwhelmed them with presents and flowers and pretty speeches.
Lady Burton says, “I got quite choky, and Richard ran away and locked
himself up.” A rather ludicrous incident occurred here. They were
expecting a visit from the famous Elisée Reclus. Lady Burton prepared
herself to receive him with honour, and she had beforehand been warned
of his little peculiarities. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and
some one was announced whose name she did not catch. She greeted
the new-comer with effusion, saying, “Dear Monsieur Réclus, I am so
delighted to make your acquaintance; such a pleasure to know such a
distinguished man.” Her greeting was acknowledged with equal effusion
by her visitor, who then proceeded to pull a key out of his pocket,
and went up to the clock. Lady Burton was somewhat surprised, but she
put it down to a great man’s peculiarity; so she went on talking to
him, and explaining the pleasure which it would give Sir Richard to
make his acquaintance, when the door was opened again, and the servant
announced, “Monsieur Réclus.” The man she had been talking to was the
clock-winder.
From Montreux they toured about Switzerland for some few weeks, and in
March they returned again to Trieste, where they remained off and on
until November.
During the summer Burton’s health, fortified by continual change
of air and scene, improved a good deal. The Foreign Office was most
indulgent in the amount of liberty which it gave to him. Lord Salisbury
was now at the head of affairs; and though the Government did not see
their way to allowing Burton to retire on full pension, they granted
him what was almost the same thing--frequent and extended leaves; and
it must be remembered too the time of his Consular service was now fast
drawing to a close. Lady Burton always said that, next to Lord Derby,
Lord and Lady Salisbury were their best friends. About this time Lady
Salisbury wrote to her:
“HATFIELD HOUSE, HATFIELD, HERTS, _July 21, 1889_.
“MY DEAR LADY BURTON,
“I am very glad to hear so good an account of you and Sir
Richard. We are here as busy as usual at this time of year.
We have had great doings for the Shah, who is still in this
country. He dined and slept here one night about a fortnight
ago, and we had a garden-party for him next day. He behaved very
well, and gives me the idea of being an able man; though whether
he will think England a stronger friend than Russia remains to
be seen. I sometimes fear he will carry away a greater idea of
our riches and luxury than of our strength, but _qui vivra,
verra_.
“We are now up to our lips in a royal marriage. It is to take
place next Saturday, and will I dare say be a very pretty
sight. The young lady[38] is very happy by all accounts, and
looks quite radiant. Politics are pretty quiet, and there are
as few mistakes made as you can expect in the fourth year of
a Government. I think we are rather losing in London, but are
gaining in other places. On the whole all things are very quiet.
With kind regards to Sir Richard,
“Believe me,
“Yours very sincerely,
“G. SALISBURY.”
In November the Burtons started, _viâ_ Brindisi, for Malta, where they
passed a pleasant month, met many friends, and enjoyed themselves very
much. From Malta they went to Tunis, and renewed their acquaintance
with the Bedawin and the Arab tents. It was their last glimpse of the
desert life which they loved so well. Among other places they visited
the ruins of Carthage, and made as many excursions into the interior as
it was possible, considering the state of Sir Richard’s health. From
Tunis they went by train to Algiers, starting on the journey at 5.15 on
a cold January morning. When they reached Algiers, they were delighted
with it at first; but they soon tired. Even an expedition to the baths
of Hammám R’irha did not reconcile them to the place, and they left
it early in March, going by boat to Marseilles, and then travelling
homewards by way of the Riviera to Genoa, and thence to Venice. They
crossed to Trieste the following day, having been absent more than four
months.
[Illustration: A NATIVE LADY, TUNIS.]
They remained at Trieste until July 1, when they started for their
last summer trip. The heat in Trieste during July and August is almost
insupportable. They went to Innsbruck, Zurich, Davos Platz, Regatz,
and other places. They were counting the months to the day when Burton
would complete his term in the Consular Service, and would be permitted
to retire on his pension. From Zurich Lady Burton wrote to a friend[39]:
“We go back (D.V.) September 1 or thereabouts, stay three months, and
then winter in Greece and Constantinople. In March Dick’s service is
ended, and between that and August we pack up, settle our affairs,
and come home for good. In one sense I am glad, because he yearns for
a little flat in London; we shall be in the land of good advice and
nourishment; and, God willing, I shall have brought him home safe and
sound after thirty years’ perils and dangers by health and land and
sea. On the other hand, it is a wrench to give up my nice home. I
have the whole of the second and top floor now, and I have made it so
pretty, and I love Trieste and the life of my friends. I don’t know
how I shall concentrate myself and my belongings into a vulgar little
flat--on small means. If you see any flat likely to suit us, let me
know.”
It was during this time in Switzerland that Burton made his wife his
literary executrix. He called her into his room one day, and dictated
to her a list of private papers which he wished to be burned in the
event of his death, and gave her three signed documents, one of which
ran as follows:
“In the event of my death, I bequeath especially to my wife,
Isabel Burton, every book, paper, or manuscript, to be
overhauled and examined by her only, and to be dealt with
entirely at her own discretion, and in the manner she thinks
best, having been my sole helper for thirty years.
(Signed) “RICHARD F. BURTON.”
On September 7 they returned to Trieste together for the last time.
They were both very much better for the good air in Switzerland, and
settled down again to their quiet literary life, full of occupations
for the present and plans for the future. Lady Burton was especially
busy during these six weeks in helping her husband to sort and arrange
his manuscripts and papers, and he worked as usual at three or four
books at a time, especially his _Scented Garden_, which was now
nearing completion.
I should like to interpolate here a beautiful and characteristic
letter Lady Burton wrote, on October 10, to a friend, Madame de
Gutmansthal-Benvenuti, who had just lost her husband:
“You need no letter from me to tell you how my heart is grieving for
you, and with you, in this greatest trial woman can ever know--the
trial before which my own head is ever bowed down, and my heart
shrinking from in terror. And it has fallen on you, my best and dearest
friend. But you have such consolations. He was a religious man, and
died with the Sacraments, and you are sure of a happy meeting, just
as if he had gone on a journey to wait for you; but _more surely to
meet_ than if he had gone on an earthly journey. You have your dear
children to live for, and that must now be your _only_ thought,
and taking care of your health for that purpose. All of us, who love
you, are thinking of you and praying for you.”
Ten days later the trial she so much dreaded had come upon her. And
here for a space Lady Burton will speak in her own words.