TRIESTE--HIS FOURTH AND LAST CONSULATE.
We meet by accident in Venice and go to Trieste--Richard
as a "Celebrity at Home"--Articles by Alfred Bates
Richards--Cicci--A wild race--Opçina--Trieste life--And
environs--Rome and the Tiber--Vienna--The Imperial
family--Fiume--_Castellieri_--Duino--Venice--Good-bye
to Charley Drake--Excursions--Proselytizing--Richard is
very ill--Charley Drake's death--Travelling for his
health--The Nile on the _tapis_ again--My Arab girl goes
home to be married--Gordon--Winwood Reade's
death--K.C.B.--Meeting Mr. Gladstone--Incidents of London
life--Excursions--More London life--Leave England.
CHAPTER II.
INDIA.
Jeddah--Bazars of Jeddah--Experiences on a crowded
pilgrim-ship--Bombay--Sind--Travelling in Sind--Richard's
remarks on changes in Indian army--The Indian army--And
Sind--The Muhárram--Richard's old Persian
_moonshee_--Mátherán--Karla Caves.
CHAPTER III.
THE DECCAN.
Hyderabad in the Deccan--Elephant riding--Ostrich
race--Hospitality--Eastern hospitality at
Hyderabad--Golconda--The famous Koh-i-noor--Regret
at leaving the Deccan--Towers of Silence--Sects--The
Hindu _Smáshán_--The Pinjrapole--Bhendi
Bazar--Máhábáleshwar--Goa and West India--Life
there--What to see--The Inquisition--Xavier's
death--The Inquisition perishes--Sea journey to
Suez--After a stay in Egypt, to Trieste.
CHAPTER IV.
A QUIET TIME AT TRIESTE.
Delightful Trieste life--Henri V. of
France--Bertoldstein--Midian--Akkas--Waiting and
working--I go out to join him--Richard's triumphant
return--We go home--The British Association for
Science--Society and amusement.
CHAPTER V.
SPIRITUALISM.
Spiritualism--A memorable meeting on the subject--Richard's
lecture--Some very amusing and instructive
speeches--Interesting discussions--And letters.
CHAPTER VI.
ON LEAVE IN LONDON.
A remarkable visit--On leave in London--We leave
London--I get a bad fall--The Austrian Scientific
Congress--A ghost story--Excursions--Richard sends
me home to a bone-setter--Richard meets with foul
play--Camoens--A little anecdote about a Capuchin--The
Passion Play--Ober-Ammergau--Celebrating a
Vice-Consul's jubilee--Monfalcone--Richard's metal and
colour.
CHAPTER VII.
ON SLAVERY.
Richard's three letters to Lord Granville--His
application to be made Slave-Commissioner--How to
deal with the slave scandal in Egypt.
CHAPTER VIII.
TRIESTE LIFE AGAIN.
Duino--Our Squadron--Our Squadron leaves--We go to
Veldes--We part company--I am sent to Maríenbad--The
Scientific Congress at Venice--Life and incidents of
Trieste--Gold in West Africa--Mining--African mines.
CHAPTER IX.
ANOTHER SHORT LEAVE TO LONDON.
London and back--The Great Trieste
Exhibition--_Émeute_ at Trieste--We lose an old
Vice-Consul--Lord Wolseley--Richard is sent to find
Palmer--Trieste life--Count Mattei's cure--Count
Mattei--We get the house we wanted--Scorpions--"Gup".
CHAPTER X.
MISCELLANEOUS TRAITS OF CHARACTER AND OPINIONS.
Miscellaneous traits of character and
opinions--Descriptions from other sources.
CHAPTER XI.
DECLINE IN OUR WELL-BEING.
Richard's first bad attack of gout--His leave of
absence--We return to Trieste--Streams of
visitors--Richard's second attack of gout--Gordon's
death--Colonel Primrose's death--Leave to
England--"Arabian Nights"--London again--Richard's
programme for Egypt--He asks for Tangier--Parts
with my father--Goes to Marocco--What the world
said--He waits for me at Tangier.
CHAPTER XII.
RICHARD ON HOME RULE AND THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION.
Diet for Ireland--Another postscript--Treatment of
Catholics and loyalty--We winter in Marocco--Richard
made a K.C.M.G.--A bad hurricane at sea--I have
another fall--Naples--The great Chinese move--We get
leave again to England--Oxford--His last appeal to
Government--What the world thought about
it--Chow-chow--His third bad attack of gout without
danger.
CHAPTER XIII.
WE LEAVE ENGLAND.
Cannes and Society--The earthquakes--Riviera--Richard
becomes an invalid--His own account of it--Our journey
with Dr. Leslie--Drains--The Queen's Jubilee--Richard's
speech--_Ally Sloper_--We think of a caravan--He gets much
better--We go for our summer trip--Some of our Royalties
come to Trieste--We lose Dr. Leslie, and Dr. Baker comes
to us.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHANGES.
Programme of our day--Abbazia--We return to Trieste--His
notes on his Swiss summer--Aigle--Our last visit to
England--Richard leaves it for ever--His advice about
Suákin--Discussing about Ludlow--Richard's remarks on
Lausanne.
CHAPTER XV.
AT MONTREUX.
M. Elisée Réclus--Our Swiss outing--Trieste
again--Maria-Zell--Austrian Lourdes--Semmering--Home
again--Malta--Tunis--Carthage--Constantine--Sétif--
Bouira--Algiers--Hammam R'irha--Things one would rather have
left unsaid--Marseilles--Hyères--Nice--Home--Our last
trip--Switzerland--Davos-Platz--Ragatz--St.
Moritz--Maloja--We descend into Italy homewards.
CHAPTER XVI.
WE RETURN HOME FOR THE LAST TIME.
Our last happy day--The sword falls--He is called
away--The sixty hours between death and funeral--The
funeral at Trieste--The dreadful time that
followed--Colonel Grant attacks Richard after his
death--I answer directly to the _Graphic_ in two
parts--My answer--The beloved remains are removed to
England--I leave Trieste and go to Liverpool--I fall
ill--The mausoleum tent complete--The funeral in
England at Mortlake--"It" confesses: too late.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE TWO CONTESTED POINTS BETWEEN A SMALL
SECTION OF ANTAGONISTS AND MYSELF.
My defence about the burnt MS.--To the _Echo_--And
to the _New Review_--Religion--I
take my leave--Good-bye.
APPENDICES.
A.--LIST OF CAPTAIN SIR RICHARD F. BURTON'S WORKS.
B.--NOTES ON "THE KASÎDAH."
C--BHUJANG AND THE COCK-FIGHT.
D.--VISIT TO THE VILLAGE OF MEER IBRAHIM
KHAN TALPUR, A BELOCH CHIEF.
E.--POLITICS.
F.--LETTERS BEARING ON THE JEDDAH MASSACRE,
AND CHOLERA--HIS WARNING TO THE GOVERNMENT,
WHICH CALLED DOWN A REPRIMAND ON HIM.
G.--DESCRIPTION OF AFRICAN CHARACTER--THE
RAW MATERIAL IN 1856-59.
H.--REPORT AFTER GOING TO SEARCH FOR PALMER.
I.--OPINIONS OF THE PRESS AND OF SCHOLARS ON THE "ARABIAN
NIGHTS."
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
DANEU'S INN, OPÇINA, IN THE KARSO.
AKKAS.
SIR RICHARD BURTON, 1879.
_By Madame Gutmansthal de Benvenuti, Trieste._
STAVE OF MUSIC.
SIR RICHARD BURTON IN 1880.
HOUSE AT TRIESTE, WHERE BURTON DIED.
A CORNER OF THE BURTONS' DRAWING-ROOM AT TRIESTE.
RICHARD BURTON IN HIS BEDROOM AT TRIESTE.
THE BURTONS' SMOKING DIVAN, TRIESTE.
THE VIEW FROM THE BURTONS' BEDROOM AND STUDY OVER THE SEA AT TRIESTE.
ARAB TENTS (TUNIS).
THE MAUSOLEUM AT MORTLAKE, WHERE SIR RICHARD BURTON IS LAID AT REST.
LADY BURTON.
THE LIFE OF SIR RICHARD BURTON.
CHAPTER I.
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.[1]
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, Jülichs 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. I enjoyed
the Rhine very much, but my perception for scenery had been a little
blunted by the magnificence of South America, and for antiquities
by ancient Syria. I thought the finest things in Frankfort were
Dannecker's Ariadne, belonging to Mr. Bethmann, a private collection
of pictures; and Huss before the Council of Constance, by Lessing; and
another of four priests at the throne of the Virgin, by Moretto; and I
thought how pretty the place must be in summer.
From here I went quietly on to Würzburg, and thence to Munich, where
I was enchanted with the Hôtel des Quatres Saisons. I enjoyed the
winding river, and the Forest of Spessart (the remnant of the great
primeval Hercynian Forest described by Cæsar and Tacitus), the Spessart
range of hills wooded to the top, the wild country with a few villages.
I thought the rail along the river-side ascending amongst the wooded
hills, crossing the stream of the Laufach, very beautiful, and the
entrance to Würzburg reminded me of Damascus and its minarets. Here
I called on the famous Dr. Döllinger. I went to see Steigenwald's
Bavarian glass, and the porcelain with the Old Masters painted on it,
ascended to the top of the Cathedral tower to see the view, and went
to every museum and picture-gallery in the place, and thought, as most
people do, I imagine, that the City was very pretty, but the Art was
very new.
I then went on quietly to Innsbrück. The scenery is magnificent along
the banks of the river Inn, through the Tyrolese mountains, capped
with snow, wooded, dotted with villages, and with cattle on the
mounds, and churches and chapels with delicate spires. I liked the
exhilarating air, and especially the valley of Zillerthal, and seeing
the fine Tyrolean peasants. The best thing to see at Innsbrück is
the Hof-Kirche, or Court Church. There are statues in bronze of all
the great Emperors of Austria, and one or two Empresses; they stand
in two lines down the church, all in armour and coats of mail. The
moment I went into the centre, between these imperial lines, I singled
out one of them, exclaiming, "There is a gentleman and a knight,
from the top of his head to the sole of his foot;" and I ran up to
see who he was. He was labelled, "King Arthur of England." All that
day we were crossing the Brenner Pass. The scenery is splendid, with
snowy peaks, wooded mountains, waterfalls, and rivers (the Eisach and
Adige), torrents and boulders, porphyry rocks, villages, fortresses,
convents and castles, churches and chapels with slender red or green
steeples. I arrived at Trent, where I found nothing to stay for; so
went on to Verona, Vicenza, Padua, and Venice, and landed at the Hôtel
Europa--which I had inhabited long ago, in 1858, when I was a girl,--in
time for _table d'hôte_. 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'hôte_ table. It was just the same, only less gay and brilliant--it
had lost the Austrians and Henri V.'s Court; and I was older, and all
the friends I knew were dispersed.
[Sidenote: _We meet by accident in Venice and go to Trieste_.]
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, 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._ Burton (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 _you_ 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 receiving 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 Hôtel 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'hôte_, 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 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.
[Sidenote: _Richard as a "Celebrity at Home."_]
As I said, we stayed the first six months at the hotel, and we disliked
the place very much, until we got thoroughly used to it; and, _when_ we
got used to it, I cannot give a better description of our lives than to
cut out from the _World_ the "Celebrity at Home, Captain R. F. Burton
at Trieste," 1877, with Alfred Bates Richards's comments on the same;
and that was the life we led from 1872 to 1882-83.
"CAPTAIN RICHARD F. BURTON AT TRIESTE.
"It is not given to every man to go to Trieste. The fact need not
cause universal regret, inasmuch as the chief Austrian port on the
Adriatic shares with Oriental towns the disagreeable character of
presenting a fair appearance from a distance, and afflicting the
traveller who has become for the time a denizen, with a painful
sense of disenchantment. Perhaps the first glimpse of Trieste owes
something to contrast, as it is obtained after passing through a
desolate stony wilderness called the Karso. As the train glides from
these inhospitable heights towards Trieste, the head of the Adriatic
presents a scene of unrivalled beauty. On the one side rise high,
rugged, wooded mountains, on a ledge of which the rails are laid;
on the other is a deep precipice, at whose base rolls the blue sea,
dotted with lateen sails, painted in every shade of colour, and
adorned with figures of saints and other popular devices. The white
town staring out of the corner covers a considerable space, and places
its villa-outposts high up the neighbouring hills, covered with
verdure to the water's edge.
"Trieste is a polyglot settlement of Austrians, Italians, Slavs, Jews,
and Greeks, of whom the two latter monopolize the commerce. It is a
City dear and unhealthy to live in, over-ventilated and ill-drained.
It might advantageously be called the City of Three Winds. One of
these, the _Bora_, blows the people almost into the sea with its fury,
rising suddenly, like a cyclone, and sweeping all before it; the
second is named the _Scirocco_, which blows the drainage back into the
town; and the third is the _Contraste_, formed by the two first-named
winds blowing at once against each other. Alternating atmospherically
between extremes of heat and cold, Trieste is, from a political point
of view, perpetually pushing the principles of independence to the
verge of disorder.
"Arrived at the railway station, there is no need to call a cab
and ask to be driven to the British Consul's, since, just opposite
the station and close to the sea, rises the tall block of building
in which the Consulate is situated. Somewhat puzzled to choose
between three entrances, the stranger proceeds to mount the long
series of steps lying beyond the particular portal to which he is
directed. There is a superstition, prevalent in the building and
in the neighbourhood, that there are but four stories, including
but one hundred and twenty steps. Whoso, after a protracted climb,
finally succeeds in reaching Captain Burton's landing, will entertain
considerable doubts as to the correctness of the estimate. A German
damsel opens the door, and inquires whether the visitor wants to see
the Gräfin or the Herr Consul.
"Captain and Mrs. Burton are well, if airily, lodged on a flat
composed of ten rooms, separated by a corridor adorned with a
picture of our Saviour, a statuette of St. Joseph with a lamp, and
a Madonna with another lamp burning before it.[2] Thus far the
belongings are all of the Cross; but no sooner are we landed in
the little drawing-rooms than signs of the Crescent appear. Small
but artistically arranged, the rooms, opening into one another,
are bright with Oriental hangings, with trays and dishes of gold
and silver, brass trays and goblets, chibouques with great amber
mouthpieces, and all kinds of Eastern treasures mingled with family
souvenirs. There is no carpet, but a Bedouin rug occupies the middle
of the floor, and vies in brilliancy of colour with Persian enamels
and bits of good old china. There are no sofas, but plenty of divans
covered with Damascus stuffs. Thus far the interior is as Mussulman
as the exterior is Christian; but a curious effect is produced among
the Oriental _mise en scène_ by the presence of a pianoforte and a
compact library of well-chosen books. There is, too, another library
here, greatly treasured by Mrs. Burton, to wit, a collection of
her husband's works in about fifty volumes. On the walls are many
interesting relics, models, and diplomas of honour, one of which is
especially prized by Captain Burton. It is the _brevet de pointe_
earned in France for swordsmanship. Near this hangs a picture of the
Damascus home of the Burtons, by Frederick Leighton.
"As the guest is inspecting this bright bit of colour, he will
be roused by the full strident tones of a voice skilled in many
languages, but never so full and hearty as when bidding a friend
welcome. The speaker, Richard Burton, is a living proof that intense
work, mental and physical, sojourn in torrid and frozen climes,
danger from dagger and from pestilence, 'age' a person of good sound
constitution far less than may be supposed. A Hertfordshire man, a
soldier and the son of a soldier, of mingled Scotch, Irish, and French
descent, his iron frame shows in its twelfth lustre no sign of decay.
_Arme blanche_ and more insidious fever have neither dimmed his eye
nor wasted his sinews.
"Standing about five feet eleven, his broad deep chest and square
shoulders reduce his apparent height very considerably, and the
illusion is intensified by hands and feet of Oriental smallness. The
Eastern, and indeed distinctly Arab, look of the man is made more
pronounced by prominent cheek-bones (across one of which is the scar
of a sabre-cut), by closely cropped black hair just tinged with grey,
and a pair of piercing black, gipsy-looking eyes. A short straight
nose, a determined mouth partly hidden by a black moustache, and a
deeply bronzed complexion, complete the remarkable physiognomy so
wonderfully rendered on canvas by Leighton only a couple of seasons
ago. It is not to be wondered at that this stern Arab face, and a
tongue marvellously rich in Oriental idiom and Mohammedan lore, should
have deceived the doctors learned in the Korán, among whom Richard
Burton risked his life during that memorable pilgrimage to Mecca and
Medinah, on which the slightest gesture or accent betraying the Frank
would have unsheathed a hundred _khanjars_.
"This celebrated journey, the result of an adventurous spirit worthy
of a descendant of Rob Roy Macgregor, has never been surpassed in
audacity or in perfect execution, and would suffice to immortalize
its hero if he had not, in addition, explored Harar and Somali-land,
organized a body of irregular cavalry in the Crimea, pushed
(accompanied by Speke) into Eastern Africa from Zanzibar, visited
the Mormons, explored the Cameroon Mountains, visited the King of
Dahomey, traversed the interior of Brazil, made a voyage to Iceland,
and last but not least, discovered and described the Land of Midian.
"Leading the way from the drawing-rooms or divans, he takes us
through bedrooms and dressing-rooms, furnished in Spartan simplicity
with little iron bedsteads covered with bearskins, and supplied
with reading-tables and lamps, beside which repose the Bible, the
Shakespeare, the Euclid and the Breviary, which go with Captain and
Mrs. Burton on all their wanderings. His gifted wife, one of the
Arundells of Wardour, is, as becomes a scion of an ancient Anglo-Saxon
and Norman Catholic house, strongly attached to the Church of Rome;
but religious opinion is never allowed to disturb the peace of
the Burton household, the head of which is laughingly accused of
Mohammedanism by his friends. The little rooms are completely lined
with rough deal shelves, containing, perhaps, eight thousand or more
volumes in every Western language, as well as in Arabic, Persian, and
Hindustani. Every odd corner is piled with weapons, guns, pistols,
boar-spears, swords of every shape and make, foils and masks,
chronometers, barometers, and all kinds of scientific instruments. One
cupboard is full of medicines necessary for Oriental expeditions or
for Mrs. Burton's Trieste poor, and on it is written, 'The Pharmacy.'
Idols are not wanting, for elephant-nosed Gunpati is there cheek by
jowl with Vishnu.
"The most remarkable objects in the rooms just alluded to are the
rough deal tables, which occupy most of the floor-space. They are
almost like kitchen or ironing tables. There may be eleven of them,
each covered with writing materials. At one of them sits Mrs.
Burton, in morning _négligé_, a grey _choga_--the long loose Indian
dressing-gown of soft camel's hair--topped by a smoking-cap of the
same material. She rises and greets her husband's old friend with the
cheeriest voice in the world. 'I see you are looking at our tables.
Every one does. Dick likes a separate table for every book, and when
he is tired of one he goes to another. There are no tables of any
size in Trieste, so I had these made as soon as I came. They are so
nice. We may upset the ink-bottle as often as we like without anybody
being put out of the way. These three little rooms are our "den,"
where we live, work, and receive our _intimes_, and we leave the doors
open that we may consult over our work. Look at our view!' From the
windows, looking landward, one may see an expanse of country extending
for thirty or forty miles, the hills covered with foliage, through
which peep trim villas, and beyond the hills higher mountains dotted
with villages, a bit of the wild Karso peering from above. On the
other side lies spread the Adriatic, with Miramar, poor Maximilian's
home and hobby, lying on a rock projecting into the blue water, and on
the opposite coast are the Carnian Alps capped with snow.
"'Why we live so high up,' explains Captain Burton, 'is easily
explained. To begin with, we are in good condition, and run up and
down the stairs like squirrels. We live on the fourth story because
there is no fifth. If I had a _campagna_ and gardens and servants,
horses and carriages, I should feel tied, weighted down, in fact.
With a flat, and two or three maidservants, one has only to lock the
door and go. It feels like "light marching order," as if we were
always ready for an expedition; and it is a comfortable place to
come back to. Look at our land-and-sea-scape: we have air, light,
and tranquillity; no dust, no noise, no street smells. Here my wife
receives something like seventy very intimate friends every Friday--an
exercise of hospitality to which I have no objection, save one, and
that is met by the height we live at. There is in every town a lot of
old women of both sexes, who sit for hours talking about the weather
and the _cancans_ of the place, and this contingent cannot face the
stairs.'
"In spite of all this, and perhaps because of it--for the famous
Oriental traveller, whose quarter of a hundred languages are hardly
needed for the entry of cargoes at a third-rate seaport, seems to
protest too much--one is impelled to ask what anybody can find to do
at Trieste, an inquiry simply answered by a 'Stay and see,' with a
slap on the shoulder to enforce the invitation. The _ménage Burton_
is conducted on the early-rising principle. About four or five
o'clock our hosts are astir, and already in their 'den,' drinking
tea made over a spirit-lamp, and eating bread and fruit, reading and
studying languages. By noon the morning's work is got over, including
the consumption of a cup of soup, the ablution without which no
true believer is happy, and the obligations of Frankish toilette.
Then comes a stroll to the fencing-school, kept by an excellent
broadswordsman, an old German trooper. For an hour Captain and Mrs.
Burton fence in the school, if the weather be cold; if it is warm,
they make for the water, and often swim for a couple of hours.
"Then comes a spell of work at the Consulate. 'I have my Consulate,'
the Chief explains, 'in the heart of the town. I don't want my
Jack-tar in my sanctum; and when he wants _me_, he has usually been
on the spree and got into trouble.' While the husband is engaged
in his official duties, the wife is abroad promoting a Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, a necessary institution in
Southern countries, where--on the purely gratuitous hypothesis that
the so-called lower animals have no souls--the uttermost brutality is
shown in the treatment of them. 'You see,' remarks our host, 'that my
wife and I are like an elder and younger brother living _en garçon_.
We divide the work. I take all the hard and scientific part, and make
her do all the rest. When we have worked all day, and said all we have
to say to each other, we want relaxation. To that end we have formed a
little "Mess," with fifteen friends at the _table d'hôte_ of the Hôtel
de la Ville, where we get a good dinner and a pint of the country
wine made on the hillside for a florin and a half. By this plan we
escape the bore of housekeeping, and are relieved from the curse of
domesticity, which we both hate. At dinner we hear the news, if any,
take our coffee, cigarettes, and _kirsch_ outside the hotel, then go
homewards to read ourselves to sleep; and to-morrow _da capo_.'
"To the remark that this existence, unless varied by journeys to
Midian and elsewhere, would be apt to kindle desires for fresher
woods and newer pastures, Captain Burton replies, 'The existence
you deprecate is varied by excursions. We know every stick and
stone for a hundred miles round, and all the pre-historic remains
of the country-side. Our Austrian Governor-General, Baron Pino de
Friedenthal, is a first-rate man, and often gives us a cruise in the
Government yacht. It is, as you say, an odd place for me to be in; but
recollect, it is not every place that would suit _me_' (1877).
* * * * *
"The man, who, with his wife, has made _this pied à terre_ in Trieste
is a man unlike anybody else--a very extraordinary man, who has toiled
every hour and minute for forty-four and a half years, distinguishing
himself in every possible way. He has done more than any other six
men in her Majesty's dominions, and is one of the best, noblest, and
truest that breathes.
"While not on active service or on sick leave, he has been serving his
country, humanity, science, and civilization in other ways, by opening
up lands hitherto unknown, and trying to do good wherever he went.
He was the pioneer for all other living African travellers. He first
attempted to open up the Sources of the Nile. He 'opened the oyster
for the rest to take the pearl'--his Lake Tanganyika is the head basin
of the Nile.
"He has made several great expeditions under the Royal Geographical
Society and the Foreign Office, most of them at the risk of his life.
His languages, knowledge, and experience upon every subject, or any
single act of his life, of which he has concentrated so many into
forty-four and a half years, would have raised any other man to the
top of the ladder of honour and fortune.
"We may sum up his career by their principal heads.
"Nineteen years in the Bombay Army, the first ten in active service,
principally in the Sindh Survey on Sir Charles Napier's staff. In the
Crimea, Chief of the Staff to General Beatson, and the chief organizer
of the Irregular Cavalry.
"Several remarkable and dangerous expeditions in unknown lands. He is
the discoverer and opener of the Lake Regions of Central Africa, and
perhaps the Senior Explorer of England.
"He has been nearly twenty-six years in the Consular service in the
four quarters of the globe (always in bad climates--Africa, Asia,
South America, and Europe), doing good service everywhere. It would be
impossible to enumerate _all_ that Captain Burton has done in the last
forty-four years; but we cannot pass over his knowledge of twenty-nine
languages, European and Oriental--not counting dialects--and now that
Mezzofante is dead, we may call him the Senior Linguist. Nor can we
omit the fact that he has written about fifty standard works, a list
of which will appear at the end of this Memoir. (See Appendix A.)
"He is a man incapable of an untruth or of truckling to what finds
favour. His wife tells us in her 'Inner Life of Syria' that 'humbug
stands abashed before him,' that he lives sixty years before his
time, and that, 'born of Low Church and bigoted parents, as soon as
he could reason he began to cast off prejudice and follow a natural
law.' Grace aiding the reason of man--upright, honourable, manly, and
gentlemanly, but _professing_ no direct form of belief, except in one
Almighty Being, God--the belief that says, 'I do that because it is
_right_--not for hell nor heaven, nor for religion, but because it is
right--a natural law of Divine grace, which such men unconsciously
ignore as Divine intelligence: yet such it is.'
"Perhaps this is the secret of our finding so distinguished a soldier,
Government envoy, Foreign Office commissioner, author, linguist,
benefactor to science, explorer, discoverer, and organizer of benefits
to his country and mankind at large, standing before the world on a
pedestal as a plain unadorned hero, sitting by his distant fireside
in a strange land, bearing England's neglect, and seeing men who
have not done a tithe of his service reaping the credit and reward
of his deeds--nay, of the very ideas and words that he has spoken
and written. For years he has thought, studied, and written, and in
all the four quarters of the globe has been a credit to his country.
For years he has braved hunger, thirst, heat, and cold, wild beasts,
savage tribes; has fought and suffered, carrying his life in his
hand, for England's honour and credit, and his country's praise and
approbation, and done it nobly and successfully. But, like many of the
greatest heroes that have ever lived, his country will deny him the
meed of success whilst he lives, and erect marble statues and write
odes to his memory when he can no longer see and hear them--when God,
who knows all, will be his reward."
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _Articles by Alfred Bates Richards_.]
"Burton's lamented college friend, Alfred Bates Richards, the author
of this biography, also wrote two leading articles expressing his
opinions in the following outspoken and manly words, and, if I quote
them here, it is not by way of advertising any claim Burton may have,
or of intoning any grumble against any Government, for to the best of
my belief the Burtons have taken up a line of their own. I quote them
merely to show the estimation in which I believe him to be held by the
whole Press of England, since every article is more or less written in
the same tone, with scarcely a dissentient pen, and I have selected
these as two of the best specimens:--
"'The best men in this world, in point of those qualities which are of
service to mankind, are seldom gifted with powers of self-assertion
in regard to personal claims, rewards, and emoluments. Pioneers,
originators, and inventors are frequently shunted and pushed aside by
those who manage, by means of arts and subtleties (utterly unknown
to men of true genius and greatness of character), to reap benefits
and honours to which they are not in the slightest degree entitled.
Sometimes a reaction sets in and the truth is discovered--when it is
too late. There is no country which neglects real merit so frequently
and so absolutely as England--none which so liberally bestows its
bounties upon second and third rate men, and sometimes absolute
pretenders. The most daring explorer cannot find his way up official
back-stairs; the most heroic soldier cannot take a _salon_ or a
_bureau_ by storm. There are lucky as well as persevering individuals
who succeed in the most marvellous way in obtaining far more than
their deserts. We have heard of a certain foreigner, now dead, who
held a lucrative position for many years in this country, that he
so pestered and followed up the late Lord Brougham that he at last
obtained the post he sought by simple force of boredom and annoyance.
Some men think they ought not to be put in the position of postulants;
but that recognition of their services should be spontaneous on the
part of the authorities. They are too proud to ask for that which
they consider it is patent they have so eminently deserved, that it
is a violation of common decency to withhold it; and so they 'eat
their hearts' in silence, and accept neglect with dignity, if not
indifference.
"'We do not intend to apply these remarks strictly to the occasion
which has suggested them. If we did not state this, we should possibly
injure the cause which we are anxious to maintain. We have watched the
career of an individual for some thirty-five years with interest and
admiration, and we frankly own that we now think it time to express
our opinion upon the neglect with which the object of that interest
and admiration has been treated. We alone are responsible for the
manner in which we record our sentiments. Captain Richard Burton, now
her Majesty's Consul at Trieste, is, in our judgment, the foremost
traveller of the age. We shall not compare his services or exploits
with those of any of the distinguished men who have occupied a more or
less prominent position, and whose services have been recognized by
the nation.
"'He has been upwards of thirty years actively engaged in enterprises,
many of them of the most hazardous description. We pass over his
career in the Bombay army for nearly twenty years, during which time
he acquired that wonderful knowledge of Eastern languages, which is
probably unequalled by any living linguist. We shall not give even
the catalogue of his varied and interesting works, which have been
of equal service to philology and geography. His system of Bayonet
Exercise, published in 1855, is, we may observe, _en passant_, the
one now in use in the British army. He suffered the fate of too many
of his brother officers of the Indian army when it was reduced, on
changing hands, and when he was left without pension or pay.
"'He was emphatically the first great African pioneer of recent
times. It is not our intention to speak disparagingly of the late
Captain Speke--far from it; but it should be remembered that Speke
was Burton's lieutenant, chosen by him to accompany him in his Nile
researches, and that when Burton was stricken down by illness that
threatened to prove fatal, Speke pushed on a little way ahead, and
reaped nearly the whole credit of the discovery. Lake Tanganyika was
Burton's discovery, and it was his original theory that it contained
the Sources of the Nile. Never was man more cruelly robbed by fate of
his just reward. Could Speke have arrived where he did without even
the requisite knowledge of languages, manners of the people, etc.,
save under Burton's guidance? Burton's pilgrimage to Mecca and Medinah
was one of the most extraordinary on record.
"'In the expedition to Somali-land, as well as that to the Lake
regions of Central Africa, Speke was second in command. In the former,
both were severely wounded, and cut their way out of surrounding
numbers of natives with singular dash and gallantry, one of the
party--Lieutenant Stroyan--being killed. Nor should the wonderful
expedition, undertaken alone, to the walled town of Harar, where no
European had even been known to penetrate before, be forgotten. On
this occasion Captain Burton actually added a grammar and vocabulary
of a language to the stores of the philologists. His journey and work
on California and the Mormon country preceded that of Mr. Hepworth
Dixon. He explored the West Coast of Africa from Bathurst, on the
Gambia, to St. Paulo de Loanda in Angola, and the Congo River,
visiting the Fans. But his visit to Dahomey was still more important,
as he exposed the customs of that blood-stained kingdom, and gave
information valuable to humanity as well as to civilization and
science. This alone ought to have obtained for him some high honorary
distinction; but he got nothing beyond a private expression of
satisfaction from the Government then in power. During his four years'
Consulship in Brazil his work was simply Herculean. He navigated the
river San Francisco fifteen hundred miles in a canoe, visited the
gold and diamond mines, crossed the Andes, and explored the Pacific
Coast, affording a vast fund of information, political, geographical,
and scientific, to the Foreign Office. Next we find him Consul at
Damascus, where he did good work in raising English influence and
credit. Here he narrowly escaped assassination, receiving a severe
wound. He explored Syria, Palestine, and the Holy Land, protected
the Christian population from a massacre, and was recalled by the
effete Liberal Government because he was too good a man, Damascus
being reduced to a Vice-Consulate in accordance with their policy of
effacement. He is now shelved at Trieste, but has still managed to
embellish his stay here by some valuable antiquarian discoveries.
"'If a Consulate is thought a sufficient reward for such a man and
such services, we have no more to say. If he has been fairly treated
in reference to his Nile explorations, we have no knowledge of the
affair--which we narrowly watched at the time--no discernment, and
no true sense of justice. When the war with Ashanti broke out, we
expressed our opinion that Captain Burton should have been attached
to the expedition. During the Crimean War he showed his powers of
organization under General Beatson, whose Chief of the Staff he was,
in training four thousand irregular cavalry, fit, when he left them,
to do anything and go anywhere. In short, he has done enough for
half a dozen men, and to merit half a dozen K.C.B.'s. We sincerely
trust that the present Government will not fail, amidst other acts of
justice and good works, to bestow some signal mark of her Majesty's
favour upon Captain Richard Burton, one of the most remarkable men
of the age, who has displayed an intellectual power and a bodily
endurance through a series of adventures, explorations, and daring
feats of travel, which have never been surpassed in variety and
interest by any one man, and whose further neglectful treatment,
should it take place, will be a future source of indignant regret to
the people of England.'
* * * * *
"The following article appeared when Burton wrote his 'Nile Basin.' I
quote that part of it which refers to Burton, and expunge that which
does not regard my immediate subject:--
"'About a quarter of a century ago Richard Burton, who had gained
only a reputation for eccentricity at Oxford, left that University
for India and entered the Bombay army. There he devoted his spare
time to the acquisition of Oriental languages, science, and falconry,
in company with the Chiefs of Sind, and, amongst other things, wrote
works on the language, manners, and sports of that country. We cannot
trace his career, but it is well known that he has become one of the
greatest linguists of the age, gifted with the rare if not unique
capacity of passing for a native in various Oriental countries. In
addition to this, he is a good classical scholar, an accomplished
swordsman, and a crack shot. His "Pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina" was
a wonderful record of successful daring and wonderful impersonation of
Oriental character.
"'As an Afghan, and under the name of Mirza Abdullah, he left
Southampton on his mission, after undergoing circumcision, and during
the voyage on board the P. and O. steamer was only known to be a
European to the captain and attaché of the Turkish Embassy returning
to Constantinople. His pilgrimage was successful, and he is the only
European ever known to have performed it. Perhaps, however, the story
of the most remarkable of his performances is contained in his 'First
Footsteps in Eastern Africa,' telling how, alone and unaccompanied,
during the latter stages, even by his attendants, he penetrated the
hitherto almost fabulous walled city of Harar, hobnobbed with its
ferocious and exclusive Sultan, and bestowed on philologists a grammar
of a new language. The description of his lying down to sleep the
first night in that walled city of barbaric strangers, ignorant of the
reception he might receive at the Sultan's levée in the morning, is
well worth perusal.
"'Then came the episode which first gave the name of Speke to the
world--the expedition in the country of the Somali, on the coast of
the Red Sea, when the cords of the tent of Burton, Speke, Herne,
and the hapless Stroyan were cut by a band of a hundred and fifty
armed Somali during the night, after the desertion of their Eastern
followers. The escape of Burton was characteristic of the man.
Snatching up an Eastern sabre, the first weapon he could grasp, he
cut his way by sheer swordsmanship through the crowd, escaping with a
javelin thrust through both cheeks. Speke, after receiving seventeen
wounds, was captured, and also subsequently escaped, and Stroyan
was killed. At this time Burton had taken Speke under his especial
patronage, and made him lieutenant of his expeditions. Subsequently
came the search after the Sources of the Nile, in which both Burton
and Speke figured; next, Burton's expedition to Utah; his Consulship
at Fernando Po, and the exploration of the Cameroon Mountains;
and, finally, his world-famed mission to the blood-stained Court of
Dahomey. Such is Captain Richard Burton, and such his work, briefly
and imperfectly described.
"'It is known, at least to the geographical world, that between
Burton and his _quondam_ lieutenant, Speke, a feud existed after the
latter had proclaimed himself the discoverer of the Sources of the
Nile. The outline of the story is this. On the exploring expedition
under Burton's command he was seized with a violent and apparently
fatal illness which compelled him to pause on the path of discovery
at an advanced point. Speke went on, and, returning first to England,
succeeded in getting the ear of the Geographical Society and the
Foreign Office, and organized another expedition independently of
Burton. On his return from this he proclaimed at once to the world
that he had solved the great mystery, and the news was received with
universal congratulation and belief. In the race for fame--if '_honor
est à Nilo_' be deemed, as it must be, the common motto of our daring
travellers--Burton, shaken to the backbone by fever, disgusted,
desponding, and left behind, both in the spirit and the flesh, was,
in racing parlance, 'nowhere.' He had the sense to retire from the
contest during the first burst of excitement, and let judgment go by
default. He went to visit the Mormons, and thence, by an ascending
scale in respect to the objects of his search, to leave a card or
two in the forest residences of the Gorillas. In the mean time Speke
became one of the lions of the day, and ignored the services of his
able Chief and Pioneer. To him the good fortune, the honour, the
success--to Burton, nothing. The very name and existence of the
latter were, as far as possible, ignored. Yet he had commenced all,
organized all, arranged all, and discovered Tanganyika. His Oriental
acquirements and experiences had paved the way to at least within
the last few stages of the discovery of the Nyanza. This is a matter
to be regretted. Much more to be regretted was the sad and singular
catastrophe of Captain Speke's untimely death. On that very day a
great passage, not of Arms, but of intellect and knowledge, was fixed
to take place. Burton had challenged Speke to a discussion before a
select public tribunal. The subject was the Nile, its sources, and
Speke's claim to their discovery.
"'On the fatal afternoon of the 16th of September, 1864, when Speke
perished, Burton had met him at 1.30 p.m. in the rooms of Section
E of the Bath Association. Their meeting was silent and ominous.
Speke, who, as we are informed, had been suffering for some time
from nervousness and depression of spirits, probably arising from
the trials to his health in an Eastern climate, left the room to
go out shooting, and never returned alive! Much cause had Richard
Burton to lament that untimely end. His lips were, to a great extent,
immediately sealed. Humanity, feeling, and decency--nay, imperious
necessity--demanded this. What he has written is argumentative and
moderate. He speaks of his deceased rival with commendation for those
good qualities which he allows him to have possessed. Burton is as
dignified in his style as if he were a true Oriental. Unhappily,
Speke is now no more, but Burton has maintained throughout a
chivalrous tone towards his deceased adversary.'"
CICCI.
[Sidenote: _Cicci--A Wild Race_.]
There is a very peculiar and wild race of men who in Trieste are called
Cicci; they are Wallachians of the old Danube, and they dress in the
Danubian dress, and live in Inner Istria. They are wild people, and
have their own breed of wild dogs, which are of a very savage nature.
A real Cicci dog costs what is for Trieste a good sum of money, if he
is of pure breed; he is secured as a house-guard, and has to be tied
up except at night, and, in a general way, only the person who feeds
him is able to go near him. These Cicci do not live in Trieste; they
live up in the Karso, or Karst, in a remote spot, in their own separate
wild villages, where they have the bare necessities of life, and their
occupation is charcoal-burning. Richard determined he would become
acquainted with this unruly and isolated race, and he made his way
to their villages alone, and stayed with them for five days, leading
naturally a perfectly comfortless life, sleeping on the floor, and
eating their black bread and olives. They were very pleased with him,
and very civil to him; but when he came back no man in Trieste would
believe that he had done it, till accidentally they saw a party of
Cicci coming down to sell their charcoal, and rushing up and claiming
him as an old friend. He never could resist seeing a curious and, so
to speak, Ishmaelitic race, _i.e._ severed away from the whole world,
without going to live with it, and learn it.
OPÇINA.
The first thing Richard always did when he arrived in a new place,
was to look for a sanitarium to which he might go for change in case
of being seedy. There is a Slav village, one hour from and twelve
hundred feet above Trieste, called Opçina. You can drive up on a good
road by zigzag wooded ways in an hour, or you may climb also in an
hour by five other different rugged paths up the cliff. Once arrived
at the top, Trieste, the Adriatic, and all the separate points of
land, with their villages, churches, towers, villas, and objects of
interest, lies before you like a raised map. There are ranges of wooded
hills, cliffs dotted with churches and villages, which seem to cling
to them. Sometimes banks of clouds cover the whole scene, and you can
imagine yourself isolated at the north pole, the white, woolly clouds
representing the snow and ice. You see nothing below you, but in the
distance you see the Carnian Alps topped with snow. The house you
inhabit is Daneu's old-fashioned rural country inn, on the edge of the
declivity, and is a sort of outpost to the village of Opçina; and its
terrace commands all this lovely view--the finest in the world. The
back of the inn has shrubberies and fields, and a view of the Karso,
backed by mountains. The air is splendid. We used to take the most
delightful walks when up here, or make excursions in little country
carts called _gripizzas_.
It is exceedingly pretty on festival days. Every house in the village,
from the big house, the school, and Daneu's inn, to the smallest shed,
hangs out its gayest drapery from the windows, and is decorated with
flowers and flags. The poorest have at least a jug of large white
lilies. All the villages around pour in--the Slav peasant men, in their
big boots and knickerbocker-trousers, slouch hat, brown velveteen
jacket, one ear-ring, and one flower jauntily cocked behind the ear.
Women with straight features, tow-coloured hair, and blue eyes, dress
very like a glorified Sister of Charity, only of all the colours of the
rainbow, and a white head-dress deep with lace. In short, fine linen,
fine lace, white head-dress, embroidered bodice, stout shoes, and
ribbons round waist and down the petticoat of all different colours,
one shorter than the other, and the last a big sash, over a final
petticoat, opening behind like an all-round apron, a kerchief over the
shoulders, real massive gold ornaments, and flowers form the costume.
The dresses are most expensive, of all colours, but nothing in bad
taste.
On procession days the whole village would turn out, perhaps six
priests holding a canopy over the Blessed Sacrament, the villagers with
banners, flambeaux, and bells, and every one a lighted candle and a
bunch of flowers; they would walk through the village and fields and
lanes. There were three altars erected out of doors, before which they
would stop and recite the Gospels, and then to the church for High
Mass and solemn benediction; fine voices rose in hymns, taking first,
second, third, and fourths, nature taught, far better than many an
oratorio. On one occasion I remember a little ragged urchin, two feet
high, with bare feet, one little white garment, a straw hat with a
hundred holes and rents in it, and his little bit of flower, kneeling
near the altar. Educated visitors from Trieste would come in, but not
even salute or kneel, _to show their superiority_; and this is the way
that Faith gets stamped out of the world. The peasants, when the _fête_
is over, steal the flowers to dry, and they burn them in a storm for
protection, which is rather a pretty, though superstitious, idea.
Here we took rooms, and put in them all in which they were deficient;
and our delight was to come up alone, without servants, from Saturday
to Monday, and get away from everything, wait upon ourselves more or
less, and keep some literary work here. We sometimes stayed a fortnight
or six weeks if we had a great work on hand.
[Illustration: DANEU'S INN, OPÇINA, IN THE KARSO.]
[Sidenote: _Trieste Life_.]
The Trieste life was, of course, varied by many journeys and
excursions; 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. The thing that astonished us most at first was
the _Bora_, the north-easterly wind, which sweeps down the mountains,
at a moment's notice. There are only two places in the world that have
it--Trieste and the Caucasus. Its force is so great, that it blows
people into the sea; it occasionally blows over a train; or a cab and
horse into the sea. When there is a bad _Bora_, ropes are put up; if
any house is exposed to the full fury of it, a new-comer would suppose
that the house would also be carried away. It makes all new buildings
tremble and rock; in fact, I have been told that if one tried to
describe it in England, one would not be understood.
A blizzard is the nearest thing to it, but that is short and sharp,
whereas the _Bora_ always lasts three days, and I have known it, in
1890, to last forty days, more or less severe. The _Borino_ is the
little _Bora;_ the white _Bora_ is still bearable, but the black _Bora_
is frightening, especially when it has "_ciappá_," as the dialect goes,
_i.e._ "gripped," or "taken hold." At first Richard got thrown down by
it, and was badly cut. In my strongest days, I could never breast a
hill with the _Bora_ facing me. I used to have to turn round, sit down,
and be blown back again. Shocks of earthquake were very common affairs.
They made one feel sick and uncomfortable; but they did not shake the
houses down, only made the pictures dangle towards the middle of the
room, and the cupboards nod and move. They were always the tag-end of
the great earthquakes at Agram, in Croatia, which is a hundred miles
away on a direct line.
The chief thing that spoils Trieste is politics. The City is composed
of Italians, Austrians, and Slavs, which three languages are spoken.
Greeks and Jews monopolize the trade. The few foreigners are the
Consular corps; the English are the engineers of Austrian-Lloyd
steamers, with a very small sprinkling of merchants, and might number
three hundred all told, including British protections. When we went
there, an Austrian would hardly give his hand to an Italian in a dance.
An Italian would not sing in the concert where an Austrian sang. If
an Austrian gave a ball, the Italian threw a bomb into it; and the
Imperial family were always received with a chorus of bombs--bombs on
the railway, bombs in the gardens, bombs in the sausages; in fact, it
was not at such times pleasant. The Slavs also form a decided party.
With Richard's usual good sense, he at once desired me to form a
neutral house--a neutral _salon_--where politics and religion should
never be mentioned, and where all would meet on neutral ground; and
this was done the whole time of our Triestine career.
Here we made the acquaintance of the Count and Countess di
Ferraris-Occhieppo, their son and two daughters. They were at this time
charming children. He was in the Austrian service. They were of noble
family, but not rich, and she had the romantic idea of bringing her
daughters up to a musical profession, of travelling all over the world
for the purpose of seeing and studying, and leading an interesting
life, paying their way with concerts and entertainments as they went.
She nobly succeeded in her mission, and must be rewarded by looking
down upon her two clever daughters carrying out her idea in perfection.
The little boy--he must be a man, and possibly an officer now--used to
rebel against the constant drill; but I dare say, though I have lost
sight of him for the present, that he is very glad of it now.
[Sidenote: _Trieste Environs_.]
Venice was our happy hunting-ground. Whenever we were a little bit
tired of Trieste, we had only to run over there, and I know nothing so
resting. If you have been living at too high pressure, you order your
gondola, closing the door, lie down in the middle of it, put your head
on a cushion, tell them to row you anywhere, and doze and dream until
you come round.
Miramar, the sea-palace of poor Emperor Maximilian of Mexico, was a
great resource to Trieste people, being an hour's drive from Trieste,
built on a rock-promontory out to sea, and backed by beautiful grounds
and woods of his own designs. Most people know--but some may not--the
touching little history of the Emperor of Austria's brother, married to
Princess Charlotte of Belgium, who lived in this palace. They built and
made this home themselves, and they lived in a little cottage close by
whilst they were so engaged. The lower rooms, occupied by the Archduke
himself, were built and arranged exactly like the Admiral's quarters of
his ship. The grounds are most romantic and fanciful, full of covered
terraces, shady walks, secluded places for reading, the ruins of a very
old chapel, Italian gardens, and so on.
They were perfectly adored in Trieste, and he was worshipped by the
Navy. Nothing could be happier than their lives. In an evil hour the
Imperial Crown of Mexico was offered to him under the protection of
Louis Napoleon. The Emperor of Austria approved of it, but Maximilian
long hung back. Finally Princess Charlotte, who was ambitious, urged
him to accept; he did so, and they departed. There is a picture in
Miramar showing their departure in the ship's gig, and crowds from
Trieste to see them off, of which most are real portraits. That was
their last happy day. Everybody knows how ill that Imperial Mexican
crown succeeded, Maximilian's unhappy death, Empress Charlotte's
coming over to claim the promised protection of Napoleon, and how the
not getting it affected her brain. At one time they took her to Miramar
to see if it would cure her, but it only made her worse. The Emperor
keeps up his brother's place exactly as if he was living there, and,
with exquisite taste and benevolence, throws it open to the people who
loved him so much.
Monsieur and Madame Léon Favre, brother to Jules Favre, were our French
Consul and Consuless General, and their house was the rendezvous for
Spiritualism, where we had frequent _séances_.
One of their guests at these _séances_ had a very curious faculty.
He would sit opposite you, his eyes would glaze, and your face and
features changed in his sight, and he saw all the evil in you and all
the good, just as if you were a pane of glass. When this fit passed
off, his face, and yours also, resumed its natural expression, but he
knew you perfectly well, better than if you had told him all your life.
I was fortunate enough to please him. He sent for me on his death-bed,
but I was away, and did not know it till after; but a year or two after
his death, one of his disciples swam up to me in the sea and said that
the deceased wanted me to translate and bring out his writings on
religion, which were inspired. I have, however, up to the present never
had the time nor the money to do so.
Richard sent the following, thinking it might be useful:--
"To the Editor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_.
"PRECAUTION IN FIGHTING THE ASHANTEES.
"Sir,--During the last Franco-Prussian War several of my friends
escaped severe wounds by wearing in action a strip of hard leather
with a rib or angle to the fore. It must be large enough to cover
heart, lungs, and stomach-pit, and it should be sewn inside the blouse
or tunic; of course the looser the better. Such a defence will be
especially valuable for those who must often expose themselves in
'the bush' to Anglo-Ashanti trade-guns, loaded with pebbles and bits
of iron. The sabre is hardly likely to play any part in the present
campaign, or I should recommend my system of curb-chains worn across
the cap, along the shoulders, and down the arms and legs.
"I am, sir, your obedient,
"RICHARD F. BURTON.
"November 25th, 1873."
[Sidenote: _Rome and the Tiber_.]
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 deal 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.
Religiously speaking, what I enjoyed most was the Ara Cœli, 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. We also much enjoyed the Catacombs
and the Baths of Caracalla; but it was a wet and miserable day that we
went to the Baths, and the smells in this last place from the little
interstices of the pavement were awful. We dined at some cousins' who
had gone with us, and their little bulldog, which had had its nose
close to the ground all day, went mad, and died that night, and we
found them next day in shocking grief. I got Roman fever. Richard had
written the following letter to the _Tablet_ in October, 1872:--
"THE OVERFLOW OF THE TIBER.
"To the Editor of the _Tablet_.
"Sir,--The very able review in the _Times_ supplement (Oct. 21) of
Signor Raffaelle Pareto's report to the Minister of Agriculture,
encourages me to address you upon a subject so deeply interesting to
the Catholic world, indeed to the whole world, as Rome is.
"That eminent engineer, Mr. Thomas Page (acting engineer of the Thames
Tunnel, under Brunel, and the engineer of Westminster Bridge), whose
works in England are known to all, has been for some time engaged
in a plan for preventing the inundations of the Tiber, and for the
_assainissement_ of the Campagna di Roma, undertakings more urgently
required every year. He purposes gigantic measures, but measures of no
difficulty, and the sooner they are begun and the more promptly they
are erected, the more satisfactory will be their results and the more
economical their execution.
"Your space will hardly allow me to enter into details concerning
his scheme, whose broadest outlines are as follows: Provide a new
channel for the Tiber, which, during floods, shall conduct all its
waters in a free and uninterrupted course. For the sake of crossing,
the line must be governed by the levels of the valley through which it
runs. It may be constructed at the junction of the Teverone with the
Tiber, be carried along the line of the Fossa della Maranella, and,
passing through the higher ground in the line of the second milestone
on the Via Tusculana da Roma, it would enter the depression of the
Fiume Alarone, and finally anastomose with the old bed near the Ponto
della Moletta, about a kilometre and a quarter outside the Porta San
Paolo. Mr. Page would continue his new channel so as to cut off the
reach of the Prati di S. Paolo, passing to the west of the celebrated
Basilica, so called, and, by an embankment with gates and sluices at
the sharp bend near the Porta della Puzzolana, he would convert the
old channel into the Port of Rome. At the embouchure of the Teverone
he would throw a similar embankment; and thus the Tiber, cleansed of
all mud and deposits, would become an ornamental stream, or rather
lake whose banks, about three miles long, would be the most pleasant
of promenades. I need hardly remark that this insulation of Rome, and
this replacement by drainage and irrigation of the fatal Campagna
atmosphere, would amazingly increase the value of the land, and make
the profits of its sale pay for the expenses of the works.
"The _Times_ review of Signor Pareto's labours has sketched for
the benefit of the general reader all the interesting features of
pasturage and tillage in the large towns known as the Agro Romano.
Mr. Page's plan would give the opportunity and the means of training
the Campagna into one of the most productive and salubrious districts
in Italy. With an extent of 311,550 hectares of valuable land, with a
new channel for drainage, and with improved means of irrigation, the
suburban district of Rome will soon become worthy of her greatness,
past and present.
"I only hope that Mr. Page will soon be permitted to publish in detail
this sketch, whose outlines you have allowed me to make public. The
Holy City, I need hardly say, is not so much the capital of Italy as
the capital of Europe, and consequently the capital of the world.
"I am, sir, yours truly,
"RICHARD F. BURTON, F.R.G.S.
"Southampton, October 24th, 1872."
The Tiber business after this was brought out as a brand-new-idea by
another man in 1874, so I had to write the following:--
"THE TIBER.
"To the Editor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_.
"Sir,--I venture to draw your attention to the fact that as early
as October, 1872, my husband, Captain Burton, proposed the very
same measures for relieving the Tiber and for draining the Campagna
which are now being taken up by General Garibaldi. Also the paper by
Captain Burton, 'Notes on Rome,' published by _Macmillan's Magazine_
in 1873, concluded as follows: 'At the present moment Anglo-Italian
companies are out of favour in England and in Italy. It would be an
invidious task to explain the reason and to register the complaints on
both sides. But there should be no difficulty in raising a "City of
Rome Improvements Company," directed by a board which would combine
southern thrift with northern energy and capital, a combination
hitherto found wanting. Nor do I think that the Municipality of Rome,
in whose hands lies acceptance or refusal, would object to the influx
of foreign funds, especially if the management were in part confided
to their own countrymen--to persons of name and position.'
"These last sentences were the very gist of the whole of the 'Notes on
Rome,' but, unhappily, _Macmillan's_, being an uncommercial magazine,
thought proper to omit them, with that unfortunate instinct which
taboos one's best bits, and crushes down one's originality until one's
work is cut out exactly on the regulation pattern of former writers.
This makes author's work in England rather disheartening; for, as in
this case, one man sows and another reaps; one invents and originates,
and another gets the whole benefit and credit of the idea.
"Captain Burton has had all his plans for the benefit of Rome laid
down ever since 1872.
"Yours obediently,
"ISABEL BURTON.
"March 17th, 1874."
We took my fever 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.
[Sidenote: _Vienna_.]
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. But the Exhibition was
spoilt by one or two things. Firstly, the hotels made everything so
dear that few people could afford to go there. It is told of Richard,
that while travelling on a steamboat he seated himself at the table and
called for a beefsteak. The waiter furnished him with a small strip
of that article. Taking it upon his fork, and turning it over and
examining it with one of his peculiar looks, he coolly remarked, "Yes,
that's it. Bring me some."
As a pendant to that, it was during the Viennese Exhibition when
supplies at the hotels were charged enormous prices, and all portions
were most homœopathic. A waiter brought Richard a cup of coffee,
not Turkish coffee, but a doll's cup with the chestnut water which
Europeans presume to _call_ coffee. "What is that?" asked Richard,
looking at it curiously, with his head on one side. "Coffee for one,
sir." "Oh! is it indeed?" inspecting it still more curiously. "H'm!
bring me coffee for ten!" "Yes, sir," said the waiter, looking as if he
thought it a capital joke, and presently returned with a common-sized
cup of coffee.
People waited until the end, hoping things would get cheaper, and by
that time the great "Krach," or money failures, had come, followed
by the cholera, so that Vienna was huge sums to the bad, instead of
gaining. We had a very gay time. Whilst we were there we went to the
Viennese Court. There was a great difficulty about Richard, because
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."
[Sidenote: _The Imperial Family_.]
It was three weeks of incessant Society and gaiety. I do not know
when I have met so many delightful people. I was very much dazzled
by the Court; I thought everything so beautifully done, so arranged
to give every one pleasure, and somehow it was a graciousness that
was in itself a welcome. I shall never forget the first night that I
saw the Empress, a vision of beauty clothed in silver, crowned with
water-lilies, with large roses of diamonds and emeralds round her
small head, in her beautiful hair, and descending all down her dress
in festoons. The throne-room is immense, with marble columns down each
side. All the men are ranged on one side, all the women on the other,
and the new presentations, with their Ambassadors and Ambassadresses,
nearest the throne. When the Empress and Emperor come in they walk
up the middle, the Emperor bowing, and the Empress curtsying most
gracefully and smiling a general gracious greeting. They then ascended
the throne, and presently she turned to our side. The presentations
first took place, and she spoke to each one in their own language and
on their own particular subject. I was quite entranced with her beauty,
her cleverness, and her conversation. She passed down the ladies' side,
and then came up that of the men, the Emperor doing exactly the same as
she had done. He also spoke to us. Then some few of us, whose families
the Empress knew about, were asked to sit down, and refreshments were
handed round, the present Dowager Lady Dudley sitting by her. It is
a thing never to be forgotten to have seen these two beautiful women
sitting side by side. The Empress Frederick of Germany was also there,
and sent for some of us on another day, which was, in many ways,
another memorable event, and the Crown Prince, as he was then, also
came in.
It is not to be wondered at that the Austrians are so loyal and wrapped
up in their Imperial family. Everything they do is so gracious, and the
Emperor enters so keenly into all the events that occur to his people.
He is such a thoroughly good man. If they called him their "father," as
the Russians do their Czar, it would not be wondered at. At the time
that I write of, and for many, many years later, poor Prince Rudolph
was literally adored by the people; he had such a charming way of
speaking to them. I remember when he came to Trieste from Vienna in
early days, an old woman of the people knew he would arrive cold and
uncomfortable after fifteen hours' express, and she prepared a nice
cup of coffee and hot milk, and rolls and butter, and the moment the
train came in she ran up to the carriage with her tray and offered it
him, and he received it with such hearty good will and thanks that she
was quite overcome, and he put forty florins on her tray. He did many
unknown acts of good to the people during his short life, and one could
so well understand the enthusiasm felt by the people--not much danger
of a republic _there_. It does not matter where you go in Austria; you
might be looking at the oldest church, or the most antique ruin, and
your guide will say to you, "On that particular spot stood our Emperor
ten years ago;" "Last August the Empress admired that view;" "Prince
Rudolph went up those stairs when he was a child;" "He sat on that
chair, and we never allow anybody to touch it;" and so on.
To return to the dearness of the hotels which choked strangers off:
our humble bill--and we had had nothing but absolute necessaries--was
£163 for three weeks. The landlord having assured us that it would be
very small, and as the Embassy had taken the rooms for us at fifteen
florins a day, we did not think it was good taste to make a fuss
about it, so we paid it; and on examining it we found the rooms were
charged twenty-five florins a day; single cups of tea in one's bedroom,
ten and sixpence apiece; a carriage to convey and set one down at the
Exhibition, and to pick one up in the evening back to the hotel, £5 a
day for the first few days, and so on. I heard one of the Rothschilds
making an awful to-do about £100 for a month, but I thought we, far
smaller fry, were much worse off. These things were bruited about,
and very few people dared to come. I was taken to one of the great
dressmakers' establishments, and what they showed me for £30 I am sure
my maid would not have worn, and it was only when they began to show me
things from £70 to £90 that they were good enough for me. In England
one would have paid £15 or £20 for these last-named dresses.
Charley Drake now arrived on a visit to us, and we went up to see
the great Government _fête_ at the Adelsberg Caves. On that one day
the Government lights this ninth wonder of the world with a million
candles. The remarkable stalactite caverns and grottoes are of the most
curious and fantastic shapes, and about seven miles of them are open;
then the torrent that rushes into them plunges underground, and comes
up again in another part of the Karso, that wild and desolate stony
tract of land above Trieste, which is about seventy-five miles each
way, and contains some seventy-two Slav villages. It is a mysterious,
unnatural, weird land, full of pot-holes, varying from two hundred
to two thousand feet deep, abounding in _castellieri_--prehistoric
ruins--waters that disappear and reappear, that bound into the earth at
one spot and rush out again some miles distant; and this is supposed to
be the safeguard of Trieste against disastrous earthquakes.
[Sidenote: _Fiume_.]
Books might be written about it; but the passing stranger in a train
would only say, that when God Almighty had finished making the earth,
He had thrown all the superfluous rocks there. Then in these mysterious
and wonderful caverns there is a large hall like a domed ball-room,
formed by nature, and here Austrian bands play at one of the Whitsun
_fêtes_, and the peasants flock down from all parts in their costumes.
It is a thing to be seen once in one's life. Richard nearly lost his
life here (not on this occasion) by insisting on swimming down the
stream, which is ice cold, and wanting to let himself be carried under
the mountains to see where he would come out. It was a foolhardy thing,
and fortunately he was so cramped before he neared the hole where the
water disappears, that he had to be pulled out. I need not say that I
was not there, or he would never have been allowed to go in. However,
he discovered fish without eyes, which he sent to the Zoological
Gardens. From here we drove on to Fiume, about an eight-hour drive--ten
with a rest--where we were kindly received by Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
_née_ Lever. From their house we visited all the neighbourhood, little
thinking that fifteen years later we should come back to Abbazia for
Richard's health, and we had the pleasure of making acquaintance with
Mr. Whitehead and family of torpedo fame. We then went to Pola, the
great naval station, the Spithead of the Austrians. The general world
may not know that it has a Colosseum almost, if not quite, as good as
that at Rome, with temples, ancient gates, and any amount of ruins.
"CAPTAIN BURTON'S DISCOVERIES IN ISTRIA.
"(Anthropological Report.)
"Tizu, February 18, 1874.