"The meeting of the London Anthropological Society held last night was
devoted to the account by Captain Burton of his recent extraordinary
discoveries in Istria, and was certainly the most interesting and
crowded meeting which has taken place since the palmy days of Dr. Hunt
and the great Negro question.
"Captain Burton, as most of our readers know, was sent last year by
the late Liberal Government to a Consulate at Trieste, and there were
many who thought that the lack of interest which the public generally
feels in this extremely dull town would induce the gallant Captain
to lead a quieter scientific life than he had hitherto followed at
Brazil or Damascus. But he has devoted the first holiday he had to
the excavation of a new series of prehistoric antiquities. The very
existence of the Istrian _castellieri_ was a secret to England.
The well-known authority on rude stone monuments, James Fergusson,
wrote to Captain Burton that nothing was known of the _castellieri_,
and that a description was interesting and important, as showing
they are or are not connected with the prehistoric monuments of
Sardinia, or the Giants' Towers of Malta, or the Balearic Isles.
The Mediterranean Islands contain many stray antiquities of whose
origin we know nothing, and we must wait till congeners are found
for us on the continent of Europe. As all schoolboys know, at the
northern extremity of the Adriatic Gulf there lies a little triangle
of land. This is Istria. Its position must have rendered it in
early times a fit habitation, for uncivilized man would naturally
prefer it to the cold and sterile Austrian provinces north-east and
east of it. The neighbourhood of the sea supplies it with abundant
winter rains. The peninsula was doubtless inhabited in early ages,
and local students still trace in the modern Veneto-Italian speech
remnants of the old Illyrian Istri, or Histri, whose dialect has been
vaguely connected with Etruscan, Nubian, Illyrian, Keltic, Greek,
and Phœnician. Various barbarous tribes occupied it, and successive
revolutions and incursions of many ancient populations have left
their traces on the manners, customs, and language of the people.
Overrun by the barbarians, subject to a succession of conquerors,
annexed by Venice, colonized by Slavs, Istria has been copiously
written about. Captain Burton gave an enormous series of references
to the past history of the bibliography of Istria, which reflected
the greatest possible glory on the natives of a small province
of Austria, who have worked up their own country's history to an
extent which English antiquaries can scarcely rival. But the pith of
Captain Burton's paper was, of course, the minute description of the
_castellieri_ themselves. These were hill forts of which a perfect
military disposition was effected, so that on all occasions two points
were always in sight for convenience of signalling. The experienced
eye can always detect at a distance the traces of an earthen ring or
ellipse formed by levelling the summit and the gradual rises of the
roads, or rather camps, which are, as a rule, comparatively free from
trees and thickets. A nearer inspection shows a scatter of pottery,
whose rude sandy paste contrasts sharply with the finished produce
of the Roman kilns, and the more homogeneous materials of modern
times. The contours of these _castellieri_ are distinguished by a
definite deposit of black ash from the surface soil of 'red' Istria
around them. As a rule, the _castellieri_ occupied the summits of the
detached conical hills and mounds which appear to have been shaped
and turned by glacial action. Some Istrian towns have been built
upon these prehistoric sites. Viewed from below, they appear to be
perched upon the summits of inaccessible stone walls. A crow's nest,
with a stick driven through it, is the only object they suggest from
afar, and they wear a peculiarly ghastly look, like the phantom of
settlements when seen through the mists of a dark evening. They can
scarcely be called villages, but rather towns in miniature. The whole
peninsula was at one time studded over with these villages, and Fate
has treated them with her usual caprice. Some have been carried off
bodily, especially those lying near the lines of modern road. Others
are in process of disappearance, being found useful for villages, and
on the heights for the rude huts of the shepherd and the goatherd.
But where situation, which determines such 'eternal cities of the
world' as Damascus, was favourable, the _castellieri_, as at Pisino,
became successively castles, hamlets, and towns, with the fairest
prospects of being promoted to the honour of cityhood. On the other
hand, Muggia-Vecchia, on the Bay of Trieste, has in turn been a castle
and a church tower, and now it is a ruin. Captain Burton gave a minute
description of fifteen _castellieri_ in the territory of Albona. The
Cunzi hillock was the chief of these. It is a dwarf, 'lumpy chine,'
about a mile long, disposed north-north-east to south-south-west, with
lowlands on all sides. The crest of the cone has evidently been cut
away in one or more places, leaving part of the original earth-slope
to form the parapet base. Upon this foundation were planted large
blocks of limestone, sometimes of two cubic yards, in tolerably
regular order, invariably without mortar, and never of cut or worked
blocks, the _tout_ forming a rough architecture of the style commonly
called Cyclopean. The inner thickness of the parapet was apparently
fitted with smaller stones, and the thickness varied from eighteen to
thirty-one feet. The inner scarp was steep and clear of rubbish. The
_enceinte_, where probably were kept the cattle and goats belonging to
the villagers, was mostly grass-grown. In another of the _castellieri_
were found some interesting specimens of stone weapons. All were of
the polished category popularly called 'neolithic.' Captain Burton has
not found, through any of his researches in Istria, any of the ruder
and older type. Most were composed of stone usual in the country.
These tools and weapons seem to have travelled as far as Couries.
Captain Burton gave a minute description of Trieste, in which the
opera-house is old and unclean, fit only for a pauper country town,
and the water supply is a disgrace to a civilized community. Here a
sterile politic occupies the talent and energy which should be devoted
to progress, and an inveterate party feeling prevails. Upon every
conceivable proposal there are, and there must be, Vandals of opposite
opinions, and the unfortunate city does not know which way to turn.
It is a relief to revert to the _castellieri_. It is not difficult,
with the aid of old experience and a little imagination, to restore
the ancient savage condition of the settlement. The traveller, and
especially the African traveller, has the advantage of having lived
in prehistoric times. The villages were probably of wood and thatch,
and the huts were of the conical or beehived shape of the lower races,
rather than of the squares and parallelograms which mark a step in
civilization. The walls were from six to seven feet high, allowing
the war-men to use their stones and arrows, and a clear space, where
the youths kept guard with axe, spear, and club, separated the huts
from the _enceinte_. The gateways were closed by fascines. As the
territory of Albona contains at least twenty _castellieri_, the
population of the district of Eastern Istria would not number less
than ten thousand souls. The inhabitants supported themselves by some
form of agriculture. Deer, bears, and wolves were rare. Hares, foxes,
badgers, and martens were as common as they continue to be. The live
stock was penned between the outer and the inner walls. A total want
of water supply shows that the days of sieges had not dawned, and
that the simple act of taking refuge within the _enceinte_ determined
the retreat of the attacking party. The inhabitants were probably
cannibals, and their morality was like that of all savage races. The
women were not wholly ignorant of spinning. There was no attempt
at partitions to the huts, but the polygamist savages turned their
progeny out of doors as soon as possible. The fish were shot with
arrows, and the hook and line were unknown.
"So ended Captain Burton's interesting paper, which, read _in extenso_
by Dr. Carter Blake, produced an animated discussion. Specimens of the
tiles from the _castellieri_ were exhibited on the table, and produced
much examination. The President of the Anthropological Society (Dr.
R. S. Charnock, F.S.A.) said with regard to the name Istria, it was
stated that Colchians having sailed up the Ister, or Danube, passed
from that river to the Adriatic, and that they named Istria from the
Ister. But, as Spon observes, if the Colchians proceeded from the
Ister to the Adriatic, they must have carried their vessels on their
shoulders, inasmuch as there is no water communication between the
Ister and the Adriatic. Something of this sort is mentioned by Pliny,
who seems to have led Spon to make this ludicrous observation. Great
gratification appeared to be felt by the members of the Society, that
Captain Burton, while he assigned the _castellieri_ to a pre-Roman
age, did not identify them with any special race or period. In fact,
the caution with which he described all his facts led observers to
regard the present as one of the most important contributions to
prehistoric literature which has been ever published.
"The meeting passed a hearty vote of thanks to Captain Burton, who is
now continuing his researches on the _castellieri_. The discussion
verged on analogous relics. Some remains have been found in Sussex
which gullible antiquaries might suppose to be analogous to the
Istrian _castellieri_. But the importance of the 'hill forts,' as some
ignorant speculators have called them, is about as much as that of the
mound which Scott's _Antiquary_ identified as a Roman prætorium. No
educated _savant_ in England believes in the hoax which was played off
on the Society of Antiquaries (vol. xlii. pt. i. p. 27) with regard
to the hill forts of Sussex, and the genuineness of the relics from
Cissbury is not now asserted. We cannot, therefore, in the present
state of science, say that the remains discovered by Captain Burton
are analogous with any other remains in any other part of Europe, and
we must rather look for their representatives in Asia and Africa."
One of our favourite drives was to Lipizza, the Emperor's stud. It
was established three hundred years ago. It is about two hours from
Trieste. You come to a kind of farm, where you may get something to
eat. You are then taken to the stables, where the Emperor keeps about
nine thoroughbred Arab stallions, and afterwards you are taken through
the park, where are herds of thoroughbred mares, chiefly Hungarians and
Croats, most of them with foals, perhaps two hundred including foals.
If anything is not perfect it is sold, and thus you see a very good
breed of horses, in Trieste, often drawing a cart. The pleasantest way
to make this trip for your own comfort is to take a luncheon basket for
yourself and nosebags with corn for your horses, as well as a small
tub or pail to draw water for them, as nothing will induce them--and
rightly--to let your horses come anywhere near the stud, or to drink
out of anything belonging to their horses, and two hours there and
two hours back is a long way for animals to go without drink or any
refreshment.
We had now, after six months, taken our first lodging in Trieste, and
we showed Charley Drake all our wonderful country around. Here we had a
visit from Schapira of famous memory. One of the charms near Trieste is
Aquilea, where there is a museum with all its antiquities; and there
was then, until a year or two ago, Doctor Gregorutti and his charming
wife and family, who had a far more choice collection than that of the
museum, of every sort of thing; but most interesting were his incised
gems. He was very anxious to sell his little collection for £4000,
which was very reasonable considering what he possessed; though we
tried hard we were not successful in obtaining purchasers, and he has
since died. There you could see country Italian life in a country-house.
There was another place, called San Bartolo, where people used to go
to sup by the sea on summer evenings, about half an hour's drive from
Trieste.
[Sidenote: _Duino_.]
Duino is also another romantic place where we frequently went and
passed some weeks. The castle and the village belong to the Princess
von Hohenlöhe, who is the _châtelaine_ of all the country round, and
lives there with her sons and daughters, who were good friends to us
all the time we were there. The castle is a romantic and ancient pile,
built on a rock overhanging the sea. The next promontory to that is
Miramar, and from Trieste we can see both, and especially from our last
home, which was also on a wooded promontory projecting into the sea.
There are beautiful excursions to be taken by steamer all round the Bay
of Trieste.
[Sidenote: _Venice--Good-bye to Charley Drake_.]
We crossed over to Venice to see Charley Drake off, when he was
obliged to leave us. The Governor's (Ceschi's) party took the whole of
the saloon. There were seventy-two first-class passengers, and only
twenty-two beds. We passed a delightful night on deck on the skylights,
and were awfully amused at the Governor and his wife coming up and
envying us, and saying, "You English always know how to get the best
places." "We like that," said Richard, "when you have taken the whole
of the saloon. It might have been blowing great guns, and seas washing
over the deck, and we should have had to sleep here all the same."
In those days, in Venice, a gondolier serenade by moonlight was rather
a romantic thing; you paid a hundred and twenty francs. There were
choice singers in one large gondola full of coloured lamps; the voices
were good. They sang Tasso and Dante, as well as popular songs, and
little by little some two hundred gondolas would follow. It was like
hunting a fox; you pursued the music gondola under the Rialto, and
then came the best singing. Now two gondolas come at once, and try who
can bawl the other down under the hotel windows, and sing all sorts of
things that one is dead tired of. Latterly it used to drive my husband
out of Venice.
Poor Charley Drake left on the 4th of July. We never saw him again; he
was dead the following year.
This summer (1874) we got very bad Asiatic cholera, which lasted some
three or four months. It killed sixteen daily, and many of them (in
fact, I believe most) were ill a very short time; some cases that I
know were dead in about half an hour, turning black. When its virulence
was going off, I was very bad for fifteen hours; but Richard treated
me, and we did not tell anybody what it was, as these things are not
advisable, or, at least, _were not_ in those days. At Venice they used
to put a _gendarme_ at the door, and, by way of stamping it out, nobody
was allowed either to come in or to go out. We had seen so much of it
in other countries that we knew quite well what to do if anything could
save us, and Richard did not then catch it at all.
This is one of the notes in my journal: "We all felt quite poisoned
to-day by a sudden hurricane of wind and dust, which set people howling
and running, blew the sea-baths to pieces, and upset the little
steamer." These are the sort of delightful surprises that the weather
gives one from time to time.
We always had plenty of visitors from England in spring and autumn.
At that time Lord Henry Percy, Lord Antrim, and Lord Lindsay came to
see us, and Mr. Henry Matthews, our late Home Secretary, Sir Charles
Sebright, and Mr. Peyton, popularly known as "Jack Peyton."
[Sidenote: _Excursions_.]
One interesting inland excursion was to Prevald, a day's drive. We
slept at a peasant's house, and supped on bread and butter, olives,
sardines, sausage, and cheese. Next day being Sunday, we went to
the village church; the Slav peasants were there in their costumes;
the sermon was in Slav, the church clean, and the peasants, though
untaught, sang in perfect harmony, with no false notes. Afterwards we
ascended the Nanos, a high mountain with snow on it. Prevald, a bright
little white Slav village, consists of one street, every house of which
is of different shape, with thatched or tiled roofs and wood. It owns
a long three-cornered square, a little white church with its pepperbox
steeple, its shady grassy graveyard, and wooded hills and mountains;
and this description would do for most of the villages. The Nanos
is like a big dome, backing the village, from the top of which is a
wonderful view.
From here we drove on through splendid mountain scenery to Vipach;
there is a village and a castle on a peak, containing a local Marquis
de Carabbas. The river rises from under a rock. We drove through a
wild, desolate part of the Karso; the heat was burning, the drive
jolting, and on the road Richard had a small attack of cholera.
This summer I unearthed my material, and wrote "Inner Life of Syria,"
which occupied me sixteen months; and we made excursions to Pinguete
and San Canziano, where there are also interesting caves on a minor
scale than Adelsberg, and where a river dives into the earth.
On the 21st of September there were public prayers and Communion in the
churches to stay the cholera; about five hundred went to Communion at a
time.
This year also we first had the opera _Aïda_. We always get our operas
in Trieste fresh from La Scala many years before England gets them.
[Sidenote: _Proselytizing_.]
Richard had always one good story to tell that delighted him. The
Consular Chaplain, the Rev. Robert O'Callaghan, and I were very good
friends. When I greeted him I told him I hoped he would not mind my not
belonging to his Church, and he said it need make no difference in our
friendship; and, on the other hand, I took care that the Consul's wife
being a Catholic should be no detriment to the Protestant Church, nor
the cause of the Protestant community lacking any assistance. After we
got intimate Richard declared that with a triumphant wave I said, "I
have got a convert from your Church." Now, proselytizing does not enter
into my occupations, but the fact is that one day my Italian Capuchin
confessor, a most holy man, told me that he had got a Protestant under
instruction, and he desired that I should be godmother at his reception
into the Church. I said, "Certainly, Father; but I think I should
like to have a look at him first." When I did look at him, and he had
retired, I said, "I think, Father, it is just possible that he may be a
convict on leave." "Oh, daughter," he said, with a very shocked look,
"he has a beautiful soul under that very rough exterior!" "Well," I
said, "Father, it is your business; you ought to know." Accordingly
the unprepossessing young man was "received," and I stood godmother.
About a month after he was taken up as being the head of a gang of
house-breakers, when of course I jeered at my horrified _padre_, and
Mr. O'Callaghan had a tremendous crow over me. But shortly after
Richard and I were invited to be present officially at the reception
and baptizing in the Protestant church of two converted Jews, and we
attended, and there were great rejoicings, but it was not long before
they robbed the till and bolted, so I had the laugh back again. Richard
rejoiced very much over our mutual conversions, and used to like to
tell the story.
On the 28th of November there was a general return thanks in the
churches for the cessation of the cholera.
On the 27th of December Richard and I were summoned to visit her
Majesty Maria Theresa, ex-Queen of Spain, widow of old Don Carlos. We
were very graciously received. She gave me two books, a holy picture,
and the photographs of herself and her late husband.
Early in January, 1874, Maria Theresa Contessa de Montelin, ex-Queen
of Spain, again sent for me. She gave me a Prayer-book, and she
bequeathed to me all her pious works, begging of me to keep up and to
promote certain pious societies which she had either started or wished
to start. One was the Apostleship of Prayer, whose members were to
take an active Sister of Charity part, doing good works, corporal and
spiritual, in the town. I accepted the charge, and she died on the 17th
of January. The following day we went to condole with the departed
princess's _entourage_, and to pay our respects to the dead, who lay
in state. I may mention, _en passant_, under my hand, that the members
eventually increased to fifteen thousand, inscribed in a book; they
made me President, and, with the assistance of my Capuchins, we got it
into very good working order, dividing ourselves into bands in various
quarters of the City, and did a great deal of good. After my husband
died (after my sixteen years' work), there was a formal meeting in
their church for me to hand over my Presidency to my successor.
One of our amusements in Trieste was, that whenever a ship came in
with a captain we knew, he would invite us to dine, and we used to
taste English food and see English people, and invite the captain and
officers or any especially nice passengers back again.
Richard writes and foretells in his journal, 1873: "It is noticeable
that even in 1873 Fiume will ruin Trieste. This place has not long to
live."
[Sidenote: _Richard is very Ill_.]
In May, 1874, Richard and others made an expedition up the Schneeberg
Mountain, which is always covered with snow. He used to amuse himself
by buying any amount of clothes and greatcoats, which were hanging up
in rows, and he always went out lightly clad to harden himself, so he
started off with a little thin coat and thin shoes, and he did the
expedition; and when the others were housed and warm, he would do more
than anybody else, and sleep out in the snow. We had done that when
we were obliged (as, for instance, in Teneriffe), but this was not
obligatory; it was a very different climate. When he arrived back home
it was a dreadful day, and six o'clock in the morning, and three days
afterwards he was taken very ill quite suddenly; inflammation settled
in the groin, a tumour formed, and he suffered tortures.
The doctor told me that it was going to be a long illness, so I
telegraphed home for good port wine and all sorts of luxuries, and put
two beds on rollers, so as to be able easily to change him from one
to the other, and a couch for myself, so that I might sleep when he
slept. We had seventy-eight days and nights of it. The tumour had to be
cut out, and afterwards it was discovered that the surgeon had not gone
deep enough, and it had to be done again. The doctor and the surgeon
came twice a day, and they taught me to dress the wound. I was afraid
his life would ebb away, but I kept up his strength with good port
wine, egg-flips with brandy, cream and fresh eggs, Brand's essences,
and something every hour. His brain was so strong that the doctors had
very hard work to get him under chloroform--it took forty minutes, and
two bottles of chloroform; but when he did go off it was perfect, and
on coming to, he said, "Well, when is it going to begin?" "It is all
over long ago, Captain Burton," said the doctor; but in point of fact
I had to keep his attention engaged, as they were just clearing away
the blood and all traces of the operation. He was so brave, he smoked a
cigar and drank a soda-and-brandy an hour after the operation.
[Sidenote: _Charley Drake's Death_.]
It was a curious thing that poor Charley Drake, at the age of
twenty-eight, died in Jerusalem on the very day Richard was operated
upon. He had caught a severe fever in the malarious valley of the
Jordan, living under canvas, in heavy rains. He was only ill three
weeks, and had no idea of dying until seven hours before his death.
For the first two hours he wept bitterly, and, resigning himself,
he constantly said, "Tell my mother I die in the love of Jesus." He
_talked_ quite as agnostically as Richard did; but he was a good
Protestant at heart, and died a holy death. During the time he was
delirious he frequently said to Richard's servant, who remained with
him, "Habíb, pitch the tents on Mount Sion; there is such a beautiful
place." It was where we had often sat, we three together, and he had
said how he should like to be buried there. Richard unfortunately got
hold of the letter before I did, and he fell back in a faint with the
wound reopened. We had lost a true friend, perhaps a better than we
should ever see again, and we felt it bitterly. It was just a year
since he left us at Venice.
[Sidenote: _Travelling for his Health_.]
Richard began (though he progressed favourably) to get exceedingly
nervous; he thought he could never live to leave his room, and to fancy
that he could not swallow. I proposed to take him away, and the doctors
told me they would be only too glad if it were possible to move him.
It was the end of July, so I went up to the rural inn, Opçina, before
mentioned, took a ground-floor suite of rooms, ordered a carriage with
a bed in it, and an invalid chair for carrying up and down stairs; so
when he told me that he thought he should never get away, I told him
that he certainly would, for that I meant him to go on the morrow.
He said it was _impossible_, that he never could be conveyed below.
However, next morning the men came with the chair, the carriage was
at the door, and he said smiling, "Do you know, I am absolutely
sweating with funk." Fancy how ill that man of iron must have been,
who could travel where and as he had travelled, and yet dreaded going
down the stairs for an hour's journey in a carriage; but it was the
seventy-ninth day of endurance. I made the men put him gently in the
chair, and gave him a glass of port wine. We had a hundred and twenty
steps to go down, and I made them pause on every landing while I gave
him a stimulant, and then we put him gently in the carriage in a
recumbent position on a bed, and telling the man to walk his horses, I
sat by him and held his hand. After about a quarter of an hour he said,
"I am all right; tell him to drive on." We then drove on, and in an
hour reached the inn, where I had men waiting to lift him gently into
bed. He said, "I feel as if I had made a journey into Central Africa;
but I shall get well now."
In a couple of days he was breakfasting and basking out in the garden,
and in twelve days I took him on to Padua, where there was a celebrated
old doctor (Pinalli), whom I called in. He stayed an hour and a half,
and overhauled Richard thoroughly. He said he should go for five days
to Battaglia, and that nature and bicarbonate of soda would do the
rest. Then he looked round at me, who had been on duty night and day
two months and a half. He said, "As for you, you've got gastric fever,
and you will go to Recoaro for four weeks; and you will drink the
waters, which are purgative and iron, take the baths, and have complete
rest." We drove to Battaglia, which is about seven and a half miles
away; our traces broke, and we spent some time mending them with bits
of string; but I got him there and conveyed him to bed, and here he
bathed and took the waters, which are especially for gout.
We used to drive out every day to Monselice, which is a charming place,
or to Arqua, to stay by Petrarch's tomb and see his house. One wonders
how he left Rome and Venice to settle in such a wretched little place.
He died in a very stuck-up wooden chair, in a little hole about the
size of a cupboard. It is frescoed everywhere. The good priest (as his
tomb was being repaired) gave me a nail out of his coffin, and a bit of
its wood, to keep as a treasure. The priest at Monselice has an amateur
collection of curios of every sort; a brave, gentlemanly old man, and
very much taken with Richard. From here we went to Mont' Ortoni and
to Abano, other baths of the same nature. Thence to Monte Rua to see
a monastery of Benedictines, where there is an exquisite view of the
Italian plains; and one can see Padua, Vicenza, Venice, and the sea in
the distance.
We always drove, and where we could not drive I had Richard carried on
a chair on two poles everywhere, and I remember so well his saying,
"I have always been afraid of being paralyzed, but I do not care in
the least now, because I see that I could go about just the same." We
returned to Battaglia, and went to a theatre in the evening that was
just like a hole in some stables, and everything was to match. It was
done, and well done, by the _dilettanti_ of Padua (Torquato Tasso).
We then went on to Vicenza. The hotel was rather like Noah's Ark, but
it was not uncomfortable. It was now much cooler weather. We arrived
at Palezetta, Montecchio, Cornedo with its four churches, and then we
drove up a mountain ascent to Recoaro.
The cure here is chiefly a sitz-bath of Fonte Reggia water once a day,
from one to three litres of Acqua Amára (bitter water) to drink per
diem, a douche for the eyes twice, a douche for the back once, and
cold compress at night. We had a charming drive to Valdagno; there are
caves, mines, and petroleum there. Other excursions are Monte Guiliane,
Fonte Vegri, Fonte Aqua di Capitello, Forano, Rovegliano, where there
is a miraculous Virgin, Val d'Agno, Castagnara, Peserico, Spaccata,
L'Aura, and Nogara; but the grandest of all is to the peak called the
Spitz. We went all these excursions in country carts or on donkeys,
for Richard was getting quite strong, and the country is exceedingly
beautiful and mountainous. From the Spitz there is a magnificent view
of the whole country, but we were eleven hours out.
For those who want to go to Recoaro from the main line between Milan
and Venice, Tavernelle is the proper place. It is three hours' drive
from Tavernelle to Recoaro. On our return to Vicenza we went to see
Monte Berice. At Verona we stayed to see the amphitheatre, the church
of Zanone, the tombs of the Scaligers, the gardens of the Conte
Giusti, the Duomo, the tomb of Romeo and Juliet, the museum, Roland
the Brave's statue, the Palazzo dei Consiglii, the Arco dei Borsari.
We began early to explore Vicenza, the Palazzo della Ragione by
Pallagio, the great architect of Vicenza, the Palazzo Prefettizio, the
Cathedral, and the church of the Corona (where is the best Baptism in
Jordan I have ever seen), by Giovanni Bellini. There are two styles of
architecture--Venetian semi-Gothic, the Pallagio school, classical. We
visited the house of Pigafetta, as well as the house of Pallagio; this
gem, which has been most beautiful, is now neglected and forgotten. He
was a great navigator, and was one of the companions of Magellan. So
much for posthumous fame. The Theatre Olimpico is one of the oldest
and most interesting specimens of Pallagio. Here the Academicians used
to act the old Greek and Latin plays about 1580. We stopped at Padua
to see the doctor again, who found us both perfectly well; got on to
Venice and back to Trieste in a shocking bad steamer.
[Sidenote: _The Nile on the Tapis again_.]
Meantime the following letter about the Nile appeared from Mr. Findlay
(_Athenæum_, March 21, 1874, No. 2421):--
"THE SOURCE OF THE NILE.
"Dulwich Wood, March 18, 1874.
"It is somewhat remarkable that each accession to our knowledge of
Lake Tanganyika has added to the difficulties of the Nile problem; for
while oral testimony almost universally points towards its connection
with that great river, yet the two occasions on which its northern end
was examined would seem, at first sight, to negative such a solution.
There are many other evidences in favour of its having a northern
outlet, in addition to those which have been well adduced by Mr. Mott,
in the _Athenæum_ of March 14th, and those in my letter which you
inserted in the _Athenæum_ of February 28th.
"Mr. Stanley's account of the puny and insignificant streamlet which
he was told was the Rusizi river, shows that it cannot be taken to
have any weight whatever on the solution of the great enigma. The
journey he describes has overturned the basis of Captain Speke's
theory of the existence of lunar mountains. He does not say one
word about the existence of the eleven _great_ rivers which Captain
Speke was told fell into the northern head of Tanganyika, therefrom
inferring that they rose in an extensive and lofty mountain chain
which entirely separated the Tanganyika lake from the Nile basin.
"Captain Speke, in his account of the share he took in the
Burton-Speke expedition,[3] gives a most explicit account of an
_outward_ flow at the north end of the lake, from the statement of
Sheikh Hamed, a respectable Arab merchant, one of a class whose
trustworthy testimony was proved by the way in which Captain Burton
was enabled to lay down on their map the outlines of rivers and
countries they could not visit in their expedition of 1856-58. Sheikh
Hamed, after an accurate description of Lake Tanganyika and the rivers
which flow into it, says, 'On a visit to the northern end, _I saw
one_ which was very much larger than either of these (the Marungu and
the Malagarázi), and which I am certain _flowed out_ of the lake; for
although I did not venture on it ... I went so near its outlet that I
could see and feel the _outward drift_ of the water.' This is in exact
accordance with the observations of Dr. Livingstone and Mr. Stanley,
quoted heretofore.
"The late venerable Mr. Macqueen published, in 1845,[4] a very
circumstantial account of another Arab, Lief ben Saied's visit to the
great African lake, of course unknown at that time to Europeans. He
says, 'It is well known by all the people there that the river which
goes through Egypt takes its origin and source from the lake.'
"These extracts, with many others, have been frequently quoted before
in the discussion of the most ancient geographic problem yet left
to us, and I will not extend them by any reference to many mediæval
speculations, based on the evidently correct and much misunderstood
geography of Ptolemy, and but to only one of comparatively modern
times, the first announcement from authentic information. It is that
given by Pigafetta, among many wild speculations of his own, from the
authority of Duarte (or Odoardo) Lopez, in his 'Relatione del Reaine
di Congo,' published in 1591. He states that 'there are two lakes, ...
situated north and south of each other, in almost a direct line, and
about four hundred miles asunder. Some persons in these countries are
of opinion that the Nile, after leaving the first lake, hides itself
underground, but afterwards rises again.... The Nile truly has its
origin in this first lake, which is in 12° south latitude, ... and it
runs four hundred miles due north, and enters another very large lake,
which is called by the natives a sea, because it is two hundred and
twenty miles in extent, and it lies under the equator.'[5] I will not
now extend these quotations, but the last-named author, as has been
pointed out by Mr. R. H. Major, has indicated the connection between
the two lakes on his map as 'Lagoa,' a lagoon or shallow, coinciding
exactly with Sir Samuel Baker's information.
"I trust that the expeditions now on foot in Africa will settle this
great controversy, and secure for England and the Royal Geographical
Society the honour of finally closing the canon of ancient geography,
and completing the grand discoveries commenced by Captain Burton
in 1857, which has been denied to the greatest explorer that ever
existed, Dr. Livingstone.
"But there is one aspect of the geographic solution which may be
thought by many not so desirable as the simple fact of the final
determination of a grand geographic problem. It may be demonstrated
that Lake Tanganyika and its southern extension, the beautiful Lake
Liemba, first seen by Dr. Livingstone, and its tributaries, reaching
to the cold highlands where that great man's earthly career ended, all
belong to the basin of the Nile. If it be the determination of the
Khedive that Egypt and the Nile basin shall be conterminous, there
may be something to deplore on the missionary object of the great
traveller's life. The Mohammedan influence, which has been so forcibly
dwelt on of late by Sir Samuel Baker, may, in these distant regions,
become paramount, and the telegrams of to-day tell us that by great
efforts the navigation of the Nile has been opened up to Gondokoro,
so that it behoves Europe to make strenuous exertions to prevent the
great efforts she has made to open Africa to Western civilization from
being turned to her detriment.
"A. G. FINDLAY."
We now took very much to our life up in the Karso, walking up without
servants, and staying part of the week, and taking immense long drives
or immense long walks over the country, searching for inscriptions
and _castellieri_, and of the former we generally took squeezes. When
we first began this we were occasionally invited out shooting by the
family proprietors of the inn; but we never saw anything, after miles
of walking over stony country, but an occasional hare, and for our
parts, as we were not hungry, we used to fire everywhere excepting at
them, and they generally got off. But one day as we were going along we
asked, "What are we going to shoot to-day?" and so they said, "Foxes."
So we looked very grave, and we said, "But don't you know that it is
against the English religion to shoot a fox?" And they said, "No, is
it?" and we said, "Yes, we must turn back;" and so they agreed to
sacrifice the day's shooting if we would go out with them, and Richard
chaffed them, pretending that he thought that Adam and Eve had been
turned out of Paradise for shooting a fox. (We had just seen it in
_Punch_, where two little children had just been wondering why Adam and
Eve were turned out of Paradise, and the boy, the son of a sporting
parson, said, "Perhaps he shot a fox!")
On Sunday, the 15th of November, we lost some friends. Captain Nevill
and his wife, _née_ Lever, sailed for India, having had an offer to
command the Nizam's troops in Hyderabad (Deccan), where they have
now been eighteen years, and have risen to a great position there. I
had now (November 20th) finished writing my "Inner Life of Syria," 2
vols., which occupied me sixteen months, and on Christmas Eve handed my
manuscripts over to the publisher. It came round to end of 1874.
This month Richard went to have some teeth out by gas, but the gas did
not have any effect on him at all. Believing that they were playing a
trick, and that there was no gas in it, it was tried on me, and I went
off directly.
[Sidenote: _My Arab Girl goes Home to be married_.]
Richard now proposed a thing which disconcerted me considerably, and
that was to send me to England to transact some business for him,
and to bring out books, and I was to start with several pages of
directions, and he would join me later on. I had only been two years in
Trieste, and it made me exceedingly miserable; but whenever he put his
foot down, I had to do it, whether I would or no. I was getting very
unhappy about my poor little Arab maid; she had been very much petted
and spoiled; she was getting quite beyond my orders, and would only do
what she fancied. It was not easy to marry her in Europe, so that I
felt her life would be thrown away. I therefore wrote to her father,
to tell him that we proposed to send her home under the charge of the
captain and the stewardess of the first ship direct to Beyrout, and
that he should meet her, and that he should try and marry her to some
of her own people if possible. I told her she had often reproached me
with not being able to give her a holiday; that England had disagreed
with her so much before, I was afraid to take her back, and that she
had better profit of my visit to England to go and see her parents.
She liked very much the idea of going to show all her fine clothes
and pretty things, and a good sum of money I had saved for her, and
she started off with nine boxes full, and a purse full of gold, and
before long I heard to my great relief that she had married one of her
own people, and was settled down in the Buká'a. It was nevertheless a
great wrench to part with her, and we always keep up our affection and
correspond in broken Arabic and broken English.
On the 4th of December I put her on board, and I left on the 8th, and
never stopped till I reached Paris, and next day went on to Boulogne,
arriving in London on the 12th. At Dijon a little Frenchman, hearing
me speak German to my maid, accused me of insulting his sister and
throwing down her shawl, collected a crowd, had my little dog taken
from me and put into the dog-box, although I had taken a ticket to
hold it on my knees. I vainly explained that I had never seen either
the sister or the shawl, so that I could not have insulted them; and
I was very meek, because I was alone. When he found out I was an
Englishwoman, he almost cried with vexation for what he had done. In
England I was to study up the Iceland sulphur mine affair with Mr.
L----, and then to see an immense lot of publishers for Richard. My
work was pretty well cut out for me, and I got so wrapped up in it,
that sometimes I worked for thirteen hours a day, and would forget to
eat. They would come and put a tray by my side with something on it,
and I can remember once, after working for thirteen hours, feeling my
head whirling, and being quite alarmed, and then I suddenly remembered
that I had forgotten to eat anything all day, which I at once did, and
recovered.
During the two years we had been at Trieste Richard had occupied
himself with writing the "Lands of the Cazembe,"[6] and a small
pamphlet of supplementary papers for the Royal Geographical Society,
1873; the "Captivity of Hans Stadt," for the Hakluyt, 1874; articles
on "Rome" (two papers, _Macmillan's Magazine_, 1874-5); the poem of
"Uruguay," which has never been published; and "Volcanic Eruptions
of Iceland" for the Royal Society of Edinburgh; the "Castellieri
of Istria," Anthropological Society, 1874; a "New System of Sword
Exercise," a manual, 1875; "Ultima Thule;" "A Summer in Iceland" (2
vols., 1875), which though written had not appeared; "Gorilla Land;
or, the Cataracts of the Congo" (2 vols., 1875). Also we had been to
Bologna for the express purpose of exploring all the Etruscan remains,
and he had produced two volumes of "Etruscan Bologna;" "The Long Wall
of Salona, and the Ruined Cities of Pharia and Gelsa di Lesina,"
a pamphlet, Anthropological Society, 1875; "The Port of Trieste,
Ancient and Modern" (_Journal of the Society of Arts_, October 29th
and November 5th, 1875): and Gerber's "Province of Minas Geraes,"
translated and annotated by him for the Royal Geographical Society;
and a fresh paper for the Anthropological on "Human Remains and other
Articles from Iceland." So that my charge was the bringing out of
three books, and the "Manual of Sword Exercise." This last, when he
arrived, he took himself to his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge,
who desired him to show him several of the positions of defence he most
liked, and a system of _manchette_, with which he appeared particularly
pleased, and Richard returned enchanted with his interview. Richard
criticizes the English system of broadsword, which, he says, is the
worst in the world. With this pamphlet he has done, for broadsword
exercise, what a score of years ago he did for bayonet exercise, and he
was confident that the Horse Guards will eventually adopt it. The last
revised English edition, by MacLaren, at that time dated half a century
before. A thousand writers have been at this subject for three hundred
and fifty years, and yet Richard found lots of new things to say about
it.
[Sidenote: _Gordon_.]
One of our most intimate friends was General Charles Gordon--"Chinese
Gordon" of Khartoum sad memory. The likeness between these two men,
Richard Burton and Charles Gordon, was immense. The two men stood out
in this nineteenth century as a sort of pendant, and the sad fate of
both is equal, as far as Government goes. One abandoned and forgotten
in the desert, the other in a small foreign seaport; both men equally
honoured by their country, and standing on pedestals that will never be
thrown down--uncrowned kings both. This difference there was between
them--Charles Gordon spoke out all that Richard laboured to conceal.
He used to come and sit on our hearthrug before the fire in the long
winter evenings, and it was very pleasant to hear them talk. Gordon had
the habit of saying, "There are only two men in the world who could do
such or such a thing; I am one, and you are the other." After he became
Governor of the Soudan, he wrote to my husband as follows:--
"You and I are the only two men fit to govern the Soudan; if one dies,
the other will be left. I will keep the Soudan, you take Darfur; and I
will give you £5000 a year if you will throw up Trieste."
Richard wrote back:--
"MY DEAR GORDON,
"You and I are too much alike. I could not serve under you, nor you
under me. I do not look upon the Soudan as a lasting thing. I have
nothing to depend upon but my salary, and I have a wife, and you have
not."
I have got all Gordon's and his correspondence, and I will give
specimens in the coming work, which I shall call "The Labours and
Wisdom of Richard Burton," as in this book there is no room to dilate
upon his works for his country, nor to quote letters. The subject is so
extensive that it would never be read in one work.
I had the pleasure during this visit to London of making acquaintance
with Miss Emily Faithful, and renewing acquaintance with Mrs. Pender
Cudlip (Annie Thomas). Miss Faithful took me to Middleton Hall,
Islington, where she was going to take the chair on Women's Rights.
I need not say that I did not get much time for amusement, between
Richard's proof-sheets and mine, K.C.B. letters, sulphur and saltpetre
mines--except in the evening, when I went out a great deal.
On the 1st of March, 1875, there was a paragraph in the _Scotsman_,
speaking of Richard's death, and of me as a widow, which gave me a
few very unhappy hours. I telegraphed to Trieste at once, packed and
prepared money to start; but I got a telegram as soon as a return could
be, saying, "I am eating a very good dinner at _table d'hôte_."
[Sidenote: _Winwood Reade's Death_.]
During all the month of April I was very sad about Winwood Reade, who
was living, or rather dying, alone in a wretched little room at the top
of a house. I used to go and see him every day and try and cheer him,
and take him anything I fancied he could touch. I asked him if money
could be of any use to him, but he told me he had quite enough to last
him for the time he had to live. What distressed me the most of all,
was the state he was dying in, which to me was dreadful, because he
said he had no belief, and it seemed true. Of course it was useless--it
was no business of mine; but I could not help doing my best during the
last fortnight of his life to induce him to believe in God, and to be
sorry before he died. Three or four days before he died, Mr. and Mrs.
Sandwith, who were very old friends of his, removed him to their place,
"The Old House, Wimbledon," where he passed away quietly on the 24th of
April, 1875. He had caught a cold sitting up at night to write his last
book, and had accomplished it in six weeks, but the cold settled on his
chest. R.I.P.
On the 5th of May I went to the Drawing-room, and on the 12th of May
Richard arrived himself, and we did a great deal of visiting and a
great deal of Society in the evening.
This year Richard established his "Divans." They were to be every other
Sunday--only men. They were to drop in after dinner, or opera, or club.
We were ready at half-past nine. We had mild refreshments, brandies and
sodas, various drinks, smoking and talk, and he made me preside, but he
would not allow me to invite other women; he said it would spoil the
Divan character of the thing. Our first was on the 23rd of May.
This year, 1875, Richard took it into his head to make his fortune by
producing a Bitter, the secret of which he had learnt in the East; it
was to be put into a pretty bottle, and to have his picture on it. We
took a great deal of trouble about it; it was to be called "Captain
Burton's Tonic Bitters." It was compounded by a Swedish physician in
1565. He had been hospitably received in a Franciscan monastery, and
having nothing to reward them with, before his death, he gave it as a
token of gratitude to the Prior. It was extensively used by the monks
as a restorative and nervous stimulant during three centuries, and
the prescription was given to Richard by his Franciscan friend Padre
Francesco. One tablespoonful was to be given in a glass of water or
sherry, or diluted cognac. I have got the recipe now. Many people
have made a fortune with less, but we were not knowing money-makers.
It was supposed to digest and stimulate, and completely took away the
consequences of drinking overnight. I am now starting it again with the
same chemist with whom we intended to drive it in 1875.
One night in May (my book "Inner Life of Syria" had come out in the
morning, and being my first independent publication I went to bed
quite ill with fright and the agony of a novice, thinking that all the
world now knew what I was thinking about everything)--it so happened
that I had to go to a party that night whether I liked it or not, but
when I saw a famous Editor standing at the top of the stairs I nearly
turned round and bolted out of the house, till I saw a kindly smile
breaking out all over his face, and his two hands extended to me, and
heard warm congratulations on having written "such a book," which made
me as happy as if somebody had just given me a fortune. This month
Richard went to the Levée.
[Sidenote: _K.C.B._]
Backed by about thirty of his most influential friends and names that
carry weight, I did all I could to get Richard made a K.C.B., but it
fell through. Lord Clarendon had told me in 1869 that he thought me
very unreasonable, and that if he had one to give away, there were
many people that he would rather give it to than Richard. I told him I
thought that no one had earned it half so well, and that it was awfully
unkind; but this is the paper that I circulated through Sir Roderick
Murchison in 1869, now in 1875, and again through another source in
1878. I was backed by any amount of influence each time. Also I got
them to ask that he should either return to Damascus or be moved to
Marocco or Cairo, Tunis or Teheran.
"June 24, 1869.
"DEAR SIR RODERICK MURCHISON,
"I have already spoken to you and personally petitioned that you
should ask that my husband, Captain Burton, may be made a K.C.B. You
desired that I should furnish you with reasons for making such a
petition. I do this with pleasure, and they are as follows:--
"He has been in active service of one kind or another--in each
distinguishing himself--for twenty-seven years. Any one of these
services would have ensured most men some high reward, but he remains,
at forty-eight years of age, a simple Consul in her Majesty's service,
without so much as a decoration or an honour of any kind.
"It will be objected that a military K.C.B. cannot be made.
"To this I have to reply, that Captain Burton was nineteen years in
the Bombay army--the first ten years in active service, serving five
of those years in the Scinde Survey on Sir Charles Napier's staff.
He joined his regiment when marching upon Mooltan to attack the
Sikhs, and only returned home when compelled by a severe attack of
ophthalmia--the result of mental and physical over-fatigue.
"In 1853 he published a system of bayonet exercise--which is actually
the one adopted at present by the Horse Guards--which was acknowledged
by an order on the Treasury for the sum of one shilling.
"In the Crimea he was Chief of the Staff to General Beatson, and was
the chief organizer of the Irregular Cavalry, and at the moment of
their disbanding had four thousand sabres in perfect training, ready
to do anything and go anywhere.
"In 1861 he came under the reduction when the Indian army changed
hands, and his whole nineteen years were swept out as if they had
never been, without a vestige of pay or pension. For all this a K.C.B.
would be a compensation.
"During the times he was not in active military service he was serving
his country, humanity, science, and civilization in other ways, by
opening up lands hitherto unknown, and trying to do good wherever he
went.
"Baker and Grant have been rewarded for _one_ expedition; Speke
_would_ have been had he lived; Livingstone _will be_ when he returns;
and Captain Burton only is left out in the cold. It is forgotten that
he was the first to lead the way--that he, so to speak, opened the
oyster, while Baker, Speke, and Grant appear to have taken the pearl;
yet every news we get from Livingstone proves that Captain Burton's
original theory was the right one, and that _his_ Lake Tanganyika is
the true head source of the Nile, for which all the others have been
decorated. Again, it must be remembered that each of these men have
made _one_ expedition, and got a large reward, whilst Captain Burton
has made several, most of which were at the risk of his life; for
instance--
"1. Mecca and Medinah.
"2. Somali-land, East Africa (badly wounded, and lost all his
effects). Speke second in command.
"3. The Lake Regions of Central Africa (Speke again second in
command). The first attempt to discover the Sources of the Nile.
Three years absent, twenty-one fevers, temporary paralysis, and total
blindness.
"4. California and the Mormon Country.
"For eight years and a half Captain Burton has been in the Consular
Service--
"Firstly.--On the West Coast of Africa, which he thoroughly explored,
from Bathurst, on the Gambia, down to S. Paulo de Loanda, in Angola,
and the Congo river, visiting the cannibal Fans, and discovering many
unknown places.
"This included a dangerous mission of three months' visit to the King
of Dahomè, where he was sent by the Foreign Office as Commissioner.
"Lastly.--Four years in Brazil, where he has been equally active and
useful, both on the coast and the interior, having thoroughly explored
his own province, which is larger than France; the Gold and Diamond
Mines of Minas Geraes; canoed down the great river S. Francisco,
fifteen hundred miles; visited the Argentine Republic, the river La
Plata and Paraguay, for the purpose of reporting the state of the war
to the Foreign Office; crossed the Andes, amongst the bad Indians, and
visited all the Pacific Coast; and this during sick leave.
"It would be idle and useless to enumerate all that Captain Burton has
done in these twenty-seven years, but still there is no need to pass
over his thorough knowledge of twenty-five languages, and the fact
that he has written almost thirty standard works.
"He is now transferred to Damascus, where his friendship with
Mohammedans and knowledge of Arabic and Turkish will put him in
intimate relations with Arab tribes.
"Inasmuch as certain designing persons, who are known to us, covet
the Consulship to which he is appointed, and are not very scrupulous
in their means of trying to bring about their wishes by making
disagreeable complications for him, it would be a great help to
Captain Burton to leave England with the prestige of having received
some mark of approval from his country for his past services, and as
Sir Samuel Baker is already knighted and made a C.B. for his _one_
expedition, Captain Burton would like to have something higher for his
_many_ services, and in the shape of a military distinction for his
past unacknowledged military services, that is, a K.C.B.
"I am sure you will consider that, having done almost more than any
other six men living, this distinction is fairly earned, and you will,
I am certain, as his old friend and one of his earliest patrons,
endeavour to obtain it for him.
"I am, dear Sir Roderick, yours most truly,
"ISABEL BURTON.
"Hewlett's Hotel, 36, Manchester Street, W., London."
In 1878 I added--
"He explored all the unknown parts of Syria, Palestine, and the
Holy Land. He saved the poor peasantry of his jurisdiction from the
usurers; advanced the just claims of British subjects. He kept the
peace when a massacre seemed imminent, and opposed the fanatical
persecution directed against the Christians. Damascus was reduced to
a Vice-Consulate, and Captain Burton was therefore recalled, and with
'leave' proceeded to explore Iceland.
"Fourthly.--On his return he found himself appointed to Trieste, where
he has explored and described prehistoric ruins unknown to the world,
and pronounced to be the most interesting on the continent of Europe.
He has also added several new literary works to his writings, and
other languages in addition to those before mentioned.
"Captain Burton deeply feels this want of appreciation of his
services, for it is not only a neglect, it amounts to an imputation
upon his career. He is now not only the first opener of the Lake
Regions of Central Africa, but the senior African traveller in
England. Most men who have done even average duty, military and civil,
during thirty-two years, are acknowledged by some form of honour.
To what, then, can the public at home and abroad attribute the cold
shade thrown over exploits which are known and appreciated throughout
Europe? The various geographical societies of the Continent have, it
is true, made him an honorary Fellow. But the foreign Governments--for
instance, the Italian, which bestowed gold medals and other honours
upon Captain Speke and the Rev. Mr. Badger--cannot be expected to
lead the way in honouring a man whose services are ignored by his
own rulers. He hopes that he may be recommended to her Majesty and
her Majesty's Government, for honours no less than those received by
Sir Samuel Baker, and which would have been conferred upon the other
heroic travellers had they lived to receive them. In one word, he asks
to be made a K.C.B."
When the press unanimously took up the cause of his K.C.B.-ship, and
complained that the Government did not give him his proper place in
official life, he wrote the following:--
"The Press are calling me 'the neglected Englishman,' and I want to
express to them the feelings of pride and gratitude with which I have
seen the exertions of my brethren of the Press to procure for me a
tardy justice. The public is a fountain of honour which amply suffices
all my aspirations; _it is the more honourable as it will not allow
a long career to be ignored for reasons of catechism or creed_. With
a general voice so loud and so unanimous in my favour, I can amply
console myself for the absence of what the world calls 'honours,'
which I have long done passing well without; nor should I repine at
a fate which I share with England's most memorable men, and most
honourable, to go no further than Gordon and Thackeray. It certainly
is a sad sight to see perfectly private considerations and petty bias
prevail against the claims of public service, and let us only hope for
better things in future days."
It has been an oft-told tale, but it is a true one, that Richard went
to the Zoological Gardens one Sunday, and he asked for a glass of beer.
The girl was going to give it him, when she changed her mind, and then
she said, "Now, are you really a _bonâ-fide_ traveller?" "Well," he
said, "I think I am." Then she thought he was taking her in, and she
would not give it him. The others laughed and told her who he was;
still she would not let him have it.
This year we had some expeditions down the Thames. My brothers and
sisters had a boat, and we used to go down to Oxford, sleeping at
little inns on the river-side at night, and cooking our food on the
banks at lunch-time.
Richard and I went down to Oxford to see Professors Vaux, Jowett,
Thomas Short, and McLaren, and, as he was fond of doing, to revisit
the colleges--his own Trinity, and Magdalen and Oriel--and to go
on the river. I note in our journals of this year, 1875, that we
often breakfasted twice and lunched twice, that is to say, to fulfil
invitations, and one night we had thirteen invitations, and made a bet
that we would do them all, beginning by a dinner-party; and we won it
by passing the night in the streets, and only staying a quarter of an
hour everywhere.
Richard was lounging at a supper-room door of a ball one night, when an
impertinent young "masher" walked up to him and said, "Aw--are you one
of the waitahs?" So Richard smiled and pulled his long moustache, and
said with a quiet drawl, "No--are you? For you look a damned sight more
like a waiter than I do, and I was in hopes you were, because I might
have got something to drink."[7]
Richard's picture, by Sir Frederick Leighton, was exhibited in the
Academy of 1875.
[Sidenote: _Meeting Mr. Gladstone--Incidents of London Life_.]
On the 10th of June we had the pleasure of being asked to meet Mr.
Gladstone at Lord Houghton's. Very late in the evening Mrs. Gladstone
said to me, "I don't know what it is, but I can't get Mr. Gladstone
away this evening." And I said to her, "I think I know what it is;
he has got hold of my husband, Richard Burton, and they are both so
interested one with the other, and have so many points of interest to
talk over, that I venture to hope that you will not take him away."
Richard lectured at the Numismatic, the Royal Geographical, the
Anthropological, and several other societies, and we were invited to
attend on the Sultan of Zanzibar at the Duchess of Sutherland's, mother
of the present Duke, and his Crystal Palace party. The members of
the Urban Club gave Richard a dinner and welcome on the 15th of June
at St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell. We also had a very pleasant dinner
at Mr. Edmund Yates', where we met Wilkie Collins and others, and
had some very pleasant literary parties at the Brinsley Sheridans',
and Mr. Dicey's. At Lady Derby's we were presented to the Queen of
Holland. Her Majesty took a great deal of notice of Richard and me at
Lady Salisbury's, and at Lady Egerton of Tatton's, and also at Lady
Holland's, and expressed a wish to have his last book, which I had the
pleasure of leaving with her secretary.
There was a great Licensed Victuallers' dinner at which two thousand
were present, Alfred Bates Richards, who was editor of their paper, the
_Morning Advertiser_, and Richard's great friend, being the President.
Richard was a guest, and was asked to make a speech.
Richard had, amongst others, a very remarkable friend; his popular
name was "Bob Campbell;" numbers of men knew him well. He was very
gentlemanly, very clever, poor, proud, eccentric. He knew Paris as
well as London. Richard and he had a very sincere friendship for each
other. He lived in an attic, and the second room was a kitchen. He
once took it into his head that it was very silly to have to go to the
expense of a coffin and not to utilize it during his life, so he went
and had himself measured for one, and ordered quite a nice oak and
brass, and a plate with his name and everything usual on it, leaving
a space for the date, only he had it fitted up inside with crossway
shelves, so as to utilize it for keeping cold meat, or bottles, or
any other sort of thing. He then told the undertaker to send it on a
hearse covered up in the usual way, mutes and all. When it arrived, the
landlord ran up in a dreadful state and said, "Sir, what is to be done?
there are two mutes at the door with handkerchiefs up to their eyes,
and they say the coffin is for one Mr. Robert Campbell. I told them you
were not dead, but they say there is no mistake; it is for here, and
they won't go away." So Bob Campbell, who had previously arranged the
whole scene with the men, went down and told them to bring the coffin
up, and put his own handkerchief up to his eyes, saying, "This is a
very melancholy occasion indeed; pray bring the coffin upstairs." So it
was brought up and set like a little cupboard against the wall, and he
gave the mutes something to drink and paid them, and they went away,
but the landlord could not get over it at all.
This same Bob Campbell gave delightful little literary suppers, to
which we used to go. He used to put on a white-paper cap and white
apron, and disappear to do the cooking himself. He used to make a most
beautiful _bouille-a-baisse_, which he would bring in, in a valuable
large china bowl, and ladle it out to us, and it was so good we wanted
nothing else for supper. Then he would mix his "cup" or his punch (in
another exquisite china bowl), and ladle it out with china cups. He
used to say, "Now, you must fancy yourself in the Quartier Latin in
Paris;" and they tell me it was just like the description. We went
twice that summer to him, and the company was so amusing that we stayed
till six, and came in with the milk. One morning we had breakfast with
Sir Frederick Leighton, and we had our last Sunday's Divan. We went
to the Princess of Wales's Chiswick party, and the same night Richard
started off for another trip to Iceland.
[Sidenote: _Excursions_.]
I was now left alone for a few weeks, and as I had twenty-two
country-house invitations, I made a sort of flying rush around, staying
about twenty-four hours at each. Amongst others, I went to see the Duke
and Duchess of Somerset at Bulstrode, Lady Tichborne, now Mrs. Wickham,
and Madame von Bülow at Reigate, then wife, now widow of the then
Danish Minister, with whom I formed a friendship which lasts till now,
and I hope will always last.
Richard was not gone more than six weeks, and then he returned with an
attack of lumbago, followed by gout.
He went off again as soon as he got better. He went by ship to Rouen.
He wished to go to Tours to revisit the old home of his childhood, and
from thence to Vichy to do some good to the gout, and from there to
make a pilgrimage, all by himself, to Paray le Monial, from whence he
brought me beads and medals, and arrived in London on October 6th.
[Sidenote: _More London Life_.]
This autumn we had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Mr. Henry
Irving, and we saw a great deal of him, and were very constant visitors
at _Macbeth_, which was just out.
I notice some of the most pleasant dinners at the latter part of our
stay in England were one at Mr. Dicey's, at George Augustus Sala's, Mr.
Whyte-Cooper's, in Berkeley Square, where we met Professor (the late
Sir Richard) Owen, and Mr. Frank Buckland, and other delightful people.
There was a meeting at the Geographical, where also were Sir Samuel
Baker and Colonel Grant. Richard and I gave a little supper afterwards,
at which I remember, amongst others, were Mr. Henry Irving, Mr. Val
Bromley the handsome artist, the before-named Bob Campbell, Swinburne,
Mr. Theodore Watts, and Sir Frederick Leighton. Early in this year I
had a visit from Laurence Oliphant, and we had a long conversation
about his spiritual views and the part he had taken in Richard's
affairs, for which he was sorry.
[Sidenote: _Leave England_.]
On the 4th of December Richard notes a never-to-be-forgotten day--so
dark, foggy, deep snow, and a red, lurid light. All the gas and candles
had to be lit at nine o'clock in the morning. London was like a Dante's
snow hell; the squares were like a Christmas tree. It was as dark as
if some great national crime was being committed. A large family party
accompanied us to the Pavilion at Folkestone to see us off, and there
Carlo Pellegrini joined us. He was staying there for his health, and
painting a little. Andrew Wilson, of the "Abode of Snow," also joined
us, and travelled with us for a week. The snow was eight feet deep. We
were joined by several surrounding relations, living at short distances
from there. The Dover train stuck in the snow from six till twelve at
night. The boat did not cross; the night train did not come in. It was
blowing great guns at sea. On the 7th it was something better, and two
sledges took us to the station. We landed with great difficulty on the
French side. We always lingered at Boulogne whenever we got there. We
used to go and see Constantin (Richard's old fencing-master), all the
old haunts, the Ramparts where we first met. Caroline, the Queen of the
Poissardes, who received us _à bras ouverts_, talked of old times when
we were young people, and reminded me of a promise which was _then_
very unlikely, that if ever I should go to Jerusalem I should bring her
a rosary, and I was now able to fulfil it. We went on to Paris. We did
not care for Rossi's _Hamlet_, after Mr. Henry Irving's in London and
Salvini's in Italy. I never can see any smartness in a Paris theatre;
the scenery is so bad, the dresses so flashy and tinsel, no appliances
for effect. I suppose in old days it was different, as so many people
raved about it. The acting and the wit I can appreciate. We left Paris
on the 16th, to my great delight--I believe I am the only woman who
hates Paris--and dined next night at Turin with Cristoforo Negri and
family, the head of the Geographical Society of Italy, and Signor Cora
and wife, the editor of the most influential paper; and then we went on
to Milan, where we always begin to consider ourselves at home on our
own ground.
Mr. Kelly, who was then Consul, always made our stay pleasant as
long as he was there, and we had delightful purely Milanese dinners
together at the Rebecchino. I never pass Milan, and for those who do
not know Milan well, I may say that I advise them never to go through
without seeing Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper" in the refectory of
Nostra Signora delle Grazie; then in the Brera, Raphael's "Marriage
of the Virgin," with the rejected suitor breaking his rod; the tower
of Azoni Visconti, where Jain Maria Visconti was murdered; Saint
Gothardo, beautiful Lombard architecture, the façade of the Hospital
in terra cotta, so beautifully carved, and the cloistered court; then
San Bernardino dei Morti, a curious little church whose whole interior
is made of bones and skulls. Every one should go up to the top of
Milan Cathedral, which is a garden of spires and pinnacles and statues
like lace-work, and of faces of which no two are alike. The view is
glorious, and the mountains of Lecco are capped with snow and rosy in
the sun.
We arrived in Venice on a dark, sad, silent night, when the plash of
the gondola has a sad music of its own. At this time the Montalbas--the
whole family are clever, and Clara, whose Venetian paintings are so
celebrated, is the best known--were in Venice. These two girls hired
a kitchen in their early days, turned it into a studio, and thus gave
birth to their now famous works. We got to our home at Trieste on
Christmas Eve, and having accepted a Christmas dinner, gave all the
servants leave to go out and see their friends; but Richard got seedy
on Christmas Day and he went to bed. I had nothing in the house but
bread and olives, and ate my Christmas dinner by his bed. How happy we
were! What would I give for bread and olives now, and to sit by him
again!
[1] To go by sea from England to Trieste occupies from twenty-one to
twenty-six days. To go by rail, if you never stop, was in those days a
matter of sixty-three hours.
[2] N.B.--This was changed in 1883. They lived for the last eight years
in a _palazzonè_ in a large garden, on a wooded eminence standing out
to sea, and had four such splendid views on each side, that they said
that "if they were in England there would be express trains to see
them."--I. B.
[3] _Blackwood's Magazine_, September, 1859, p. 352.
[4] "See _Journal of the Royal Geographical Society_, vol. xv. pp.
361-374."
[5] "Pigafetta, edition 1591, p. 80."
[6] "Lacerda's Journey to Cazembe in 1798," Richard translated and
annotated, and "The Journey of the Pombeiros," by P. J. Baptista and
Amaro Jaso, "Across Africa from Angola to Tette on the Zambesi,"
translated by B. A. Beadle, and a _résumé_ of the "Journey of MM.
Monteiro and Gamitto," by Dr. C. T. Beke, published by the R.G.S.
(London, John Murray, 1873).
[7] A good pendant to this is Mr. Gilbert, to whom an aggressive masher
said, "Aw--call me a four--wheelah." "Call you a four-wheelah? Of
course, I will call you a 'four-wheelah' if you wish. I would call you
'a hansom' if _I could_."