WE LEAVE ENGLAND.
1887.
1887 opened with fearful weather, fog and snow. On the 5th of January
we left London for good, and went to the Pavilion Hotel, Folkestone,
where Richard could see his own relations, who had several large
receptions for us, and were glad to leave the fog behind us about
twelve miles away from London.
On the 12th we were very shocked and sad at getting a telegram
announcing Lord Iddesleigh's death. The last thing this kind and
noble-hearted man did, was to send down a basket of game, because
Richard was not well. The following day, on a foggy, rainy, raw,
and breezy day, we crossed for Paris, where we generally lodged at
Meurice's. Here Richard enjoyed the society of our friend Professor
Zotenberg, and was delighted with the library, the Bibliothèque
Nationale, where he found the Arabic original of "Aladdin and the
Wonderful Lamp;" and we saw a great deal of Mr. Zotenberg. He is
a friend I hope I shall keep all my life. Here I found dear Anna
Kingsford exceedingly ill; she had been in bed ten weeks with
inflammation of the lungs. She cheered up a little at seeing Richard
and me, but we never saw her after, for she shortly died.
On the 20th of January Richard was not very well, and Dr. George Bird
appeared opportunely. He was not at all pleased with the health of
either of us, and especially of Richard, and he prescribed. We left the
next day for Cannes, which we reached in eighteen and a half hours,
greeting each other on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day in
the train. Here we had to drive about and look for rooms, and were at
last glad to get into the Hôtel Windsor, as we were rather done up.
[Sidenote: _Cannes and Society_.]
We thought Cannes very pretty, and so is most of the Riviera, and we
could understand English people, who leave their truly abominable
climate with never a bit of sun, rejoicing in it; but to people like
us, who lived in every kind of climate, its faults were more apparent
than its virtues. You have sun and blue sea and sky, cactus, small
palms, oranges and figs, magnolias and olives, spring flowers and balmy
air, but this is on the agreeable days. English people, we remarked,
go and sit with beaming faces on benches fronting the sea, with the
warm sun right in their faces, and a bitter biting wind driving against
their backs and injuring their lungs, just as much as if the sun was
not there, while the smells of drains, especially in the principal
street, were something atrocious.
His journal goes as follows:--
"We had now nothing more to do in England. The weather had been
frightful for three weeks, so we took rail to Folkestone, and left fog
and rain behind us twelve miles from London. After a short visit to my
sister, we crossed the Channel and arrived in Paris, where I wanted to
translate the tales 'Zayn al Asnàn,' and 'Aladdin,' lately discovered
in the original Arabic by my kind and obliging friend, Hermann
Zotenberg, Keeper of the Oriental Manuscripts. The artificial heating
of the fine reading-saloon was too much for my heavy cold, and I was
obliged to satisfy myself with having the MSS. copied and sent after
me. My condition became worse at Paris, and Dr. Bird said we should
go south without further delay. Here we parted with my wife's friend
and colleague in philanthropy, Dr. Anna Kingsford, M.D. She was in the
last stage of consumption, suffering from mind and soul, distressed
at the signs and sounds connected with vivisection. Her sensitive
organization braved these horrors in order to serve and succour, but
both she and my wife could not help feeling that their efforts were
in vain. We took the so-called _train de luxe_, which proved terrible
for shakiness. We arrived at Cannes on the morning of our twenty-sixth
wedding-day, and after weary searching for lodgings, were glad to find
comfortable rooms at the Hôtel Windsor. The Riviera was beautiful
with the bluest skies and sea, sunshine, crisp breeze, and flowers;
the greenest vegetation, always excepting the hideous eucalyptus,
everywhere clad in rags and tatters like the savages in their native
land. The settlement contains, in round numbers, six hundred and
fifty villas, large and small. The Society was the gayest of the gay,
ranging from Crown Princes of the oldest, to American millionaires of
the newest. Cannes is a syren that lures to destruction, especially to
the unseasoned patient from the north; the bar-pressure is enormous;
the gneiss and schiste and porphyry rocks suggest subterranean
heat, and nerves suffer accordingly. Behind the warm sunshine is
a raw breeze, and many of the visitors show that look of _misère
physiologique_, reminding one of Madeira. One meets with friends
without number,[1] and what with breakfasts, lunches, five-o'clock
teas, dinners, balls, and suppers, not to speak of picnics and
excursions, time is thoroughly taken up, but, as a place for invalids,
it appeared to us one of the most dangerous. The Rue d'Antibes, or
High Street, is at once a sewer and a bath of biting cold air; the
strong sea-breeze setting in on the fair esplanade before noon chills
to the bone, and a walk in the shade from the burning sun is too
severe a change for most constitutions. A great drawback is the vile
drainage, and also the want of a large pump-room or salon--not a café
or a club--where the World can meet. There, during the few rainy
weeks, when the south-eastern or the south-western winds blow, the
absence of _promenoirs_ in the hotels is a serious inconvenience."
We called immediately upon our old friend Dr. Frank, and he and Lady
Agnes Frank introduced us to all the Society there, and we were very
gay indeed. Richard had the honour of dining twice with the Prince
of Wales. We went to Lady Murray's fancy dress ball given in honour
of the Prince, where Richard appeared for the last time as a Bedawin
Arab, and I as Marie Stuart; and Mr. and Mrs. Walker also invited us
to a garden-party to meet their Royal Highnesses. We had the honour
of being invited to breakfast by their Imperial Highnesses the Prince
Leopold and Princess of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. She was the Infanta
of Portugal. We were presented to the Archduke Mecklenburg-Schwerin,
and Richard was invited to dine with him; and we were sent for by
the Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden; and of literary people we met
Sir Theodore and Lady Martin, and Miss Dempster, the author of "Blue
Roses," and an immense quantity of charming people. We had a delightful
breakfast with Monsieur and Madame Outrey, and with Mrs. Ince-Anderton,
at the Californie, and met M. Lematte, a great painter from Algeria.
On the 12th of February the Albany Memorial at Cannes was consecrated
in the presence of the Prince of Wales. It seemed to be nothing but
an incessant round of gaiety. I mention these things because it was
our last little gleam of the gay world. We took an immense quantity of
walks and drives, made excursions, but unfortunately Richard found one
of Dr. Kellgren's men, Mr. Mohlin, and he _would_ go on working at the
savage treatment with him, which I am almost convinced he had not the
strength to bear. My belief is, though we did not know it, that he had
a bad cold, brought on by the awful weather in England, which had given
him a chill on the liver, whereas he was being treated for suppressed
gout.
He began now to think about translating literally the "Pentamerone of
Basili." He spoke the Neapolitan dialect very fluently as a boy.
[Sidenote: _The Earthquakes--Riviera_.]
On the 23rd of February, 1887 (Ash Wednesday), he writes--
"Was a black-letter day for Europe in general, and for the Riviera in
particular. A little before six a.m. on the finest of mornings, with
the smoothest of seas, the still sleeping world was aroused by what
seemed to be the rumbling and shaking of a thousand express trains
hissing and rolling along, and in a few moments followed the shock,
making the hotel reel and wave. The duration was about one minute. My
wife said to me, 'Why, what sort of express train have they got on
to-day?' It broke on us, upheaving, and making the floor undulate, and
as it came I said, 'By Jove! that's a good earthquake.' She called out,
'All the people are rushing out in the garden undressed; shall we go
too?' I said, 'No, my girl; you and I have been in too many earthquakes
to show the white feather at our age.' 'All right,' she answered; and I
turned round and went to sleep again. She did her toilette as she had
intended, and went off to Mass and Communion for Ash Wednesday, as she
was obliged to do. It did less harm at Cannes than at Nice or Mentone.
It split a few walls, shook the soul out of one's body, and terrified
strangers out of their wits. One side of Cannes felt very little,
and the other side, upon which we were, caught the rebound from the
mountains, and we felt it very much, but neighbouring towns, especially
Nice, Mentone, and chief of all Diana Marino, suffered terribly.
Mentone seemed as if freshly bombarded, and Diana, where the focus was
supposed to be, showed a total wreck, with much loss of life. Savona
was much shaken, and the quake frightened Genoa and Rome, Avignon and
Marseilles. (Even in 1890 many ruins had not been repaired.) Seven
minutes after the first shock came another and a heavier shake, which
increased the panic, and a third explosion, between half-past eight and
nine, cleared out all the hotels.
"Scenes ludicrous and tragical were the rule. At first the hotel folks
began a mob's rush for the gardens, habited no matter how, into the
streets. An Italian count threw his clothes out of the window, flew
downstairs, and dressed under a tree. Ancient fashionable dames forgot
their wigs, and sat in night-gowns and shawls under the trees. An
Englishman ran out of his tub with his two sponges in either hand,
but all the rest of his belongings were forgotten. The pathetic side
was the women and children shrieking for their families, and fainting
and fits and arrested action of the heart caused some deaths. A host
of terror-stricken visitors crowded the railway stations, and, to the
great praise of the authorities, were sent away as fast as they could
fill the trains--hotel-keepers and railway authorities trusting--and
it is said they carried off thirty thousand visitors in one day. A
well-known capitalist hired a railway carriage at five hundred francs
a night to sleep in. Many of those departing in the trains were
absolutely in their night-gowns, and abandoned their baggage. It was
the beginning of several lasting illnesses. When my wife came in, she
went to take her coffee, during which there was another great shock.
She came in at once to me and begged me to get up, but I would not.
About nine o'clock there was another bad shock, and she again begged
me to get up. I thought I would by this time, for it was getting too
shaky, and if the house did come down I did not want to be buried
in the ruins, and to cause her to be so too; so I slowly got up and
dressed, during which operation she gave me the religious side of
the question. The priests had flocked to one church, and there were
seventeen hundred scared people, who had neglected their religion,
fighting to get into the confessionals. There was one (French) woman
who had flown into an Abbé's room, and flung herself upon his bed,
shrieking, 'Get up! get up, Father! I have not confessed for twenty
years.' The poor Abbé did get up, but a shock flung him against the
wall, and he fainted; but when he came to, he heard the woman's
confession. Now, if people know that it is necessary to go, what fools
they are to put it off till they are utterly irresponsible!"
Here are some rather incoherent lines on the margin of his journal--
1.
"Seven thousand years have fled, the primal day
Since, Lufifi, thou wast evangelized.
How didst thou fall? say, mooncalf, say.
Seven thousand years! and yet hast not had time
To think the thoughts that take an hour to rhyme?
2.
"Was it ambition lost thee Heaven? all
That makes an angel worse than human fool?
Or was it pride? But pride must have a fall,
Learns every schoolboy in each Sunday school.
Can such base passion rule abstract minds?"
"This influx continued for several days. My wife and I went about
our usual business, writing, calling, driving, and the principal
amusement was watching the trains fill up with terrified people,
some of them very scantily dressed, wrapped in a bed-curtain tied
up with a bell-rope. I enjoyed it as much as a schoolboy, for I
took notes and caricatured them in their light costumes. Although
there were only three severe shocks, the ground seemed to suffer
from a chronic trembling, that kept people in a continuous state of
nervous agitation, and a few sensitives declared they could perceive
distinct exhalations which made them sea-sick. We perceived it till
we got to Milan, which was off the line of earthquake--that was not
till twenty-five days after; and it was noticeable there that on the
20th of March all the clocks stopped at 12.40 owing to excess of
electricity.
"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales showed his accustomed coolness
in time of danger; he dressed leisurely before leaving his apartment.
As I said, my wife and I had had ample experience of earthquakes in
various quarters of the globe, and remained quiet till the upheavals
were over, and afterwards went to call upon our friends."
[Sidenote: _Richard becomes an Invalid_.]
On the 24th I got very uneasy about Richard. I saw him dipping his pen
anywhere except into the ink. When he tried to say something, he did
not find his words; when he walked, he knocked up against furniture.
He would not take any medicine, because we were to leave next day to
go over to Nice to inspect the ruins, from thence to Mentone ditto,
and then make our way straight back to Trieste; but I took him to Dr.
Frank, who was a very old friend of ours, and whose wife, Lady Agnes,
had made our visit to Cannes thoroughly happy. Dr. Frank examined
him, found him as sound as a bell, prescribed rest, and thought I was
nervous. On the 25th the same symptoms returned, and on the 26th,
though we had packed up, I absolutely refused to move; and Richard
said, "Do you know, I think that that earthquake must have shaken
me more than I was aware of." Now, it was not only the shocks of
earthquake, but that the earth for several weeks kept palpitating in a
manner very nauseating to sensitive people, and he was intensely so. He
forbade me to send for Dr. Frank, saying it would pass; but I disobeyed.
Dr. Frank, thinking I had got a "fad," did not hurry, but, passing by
on his rounds, thought he would look in and say good-bye. He stayed
with us half an hour, assured us that Richard was all right and as
sound as a bell, and was just feeling his pulse once more preparatory
to saying good-bye. While his pulse was being held, poor Richard had
one of the most awful fits of epileptiform convulsions (the only one he
ever had in all his life), an explosion of gout. It lasted about half
an hour, and I never saw anything so dreadful, though Dr. Frank assured
me he did not suffer, but seemed doubtful as to whether he would
recover. When Dr. Frank told me that he thought it doubtful he might
not recover, I was seized with a panic lest he might not have been
properly baptized, and asking Dr. Frank if I might do so, he said, "You
may do anything you like." I got some water, and knelt down and saying
some prayers, I baptized him. Soon the blackness disappeared, the limbs
relaxed, he opened his eyes, and said, "Hallo! there's the luncheon
bell; I want my luncheon." Dr. Frank said, "No, Burton, not to-day;
you have been a little faint." "Have I?" he said. "How funny! I never
felt anything." To make a long story short, that was the beginning of
his being a _real_ invalid. As soon as he was well enough to be spoken
to about his condition, I told him what I had done, and he looked up
with an amused smile, and he said, "Now that was very superfluous, if
you only knew;" and after a pause he said, "The world will be very much
surprised when I come to die," but he did not explain his meaning. I
did not know the full significance of it; I could only guess. There
were attending upon him, Dr. Frank who managed his case; Dr. Legg came
once, but Dr. Brandt and Dr. Grenfell-Baker (who was there for his
health) came every day and relieved guard, Dr. Brandt sleeping there at
night. I had a trained nurse, Sister Aurélie of the Bon Secours, Lisa
my maid, and myself always, so that he was well looked after.
Dr. Frank found that it was impossible for me to move without a
travelling doctor. Richard strenuously resisted it for several days,
saying "he should hate to have a stranger in the house; that we should
never be by ourselves; that we should have an outsider always spying
upon us, who would probably quarrel with us, or hate one or both of us,
and make mischief, and confide all our little domestic affairs to the
world in general; that a third was always in a nondescript position."
Now, this was a risk we had to run; but I argued that if we put by
£2000 of our "Arabian Nights" money and gave ourselves four years of
doctor (till 1891, unless he _previously_ got quite strong), that it
would tide him over the worst crisis of his life into a strong old
age, and that as soon as he was free from Government, and we settled
down at home, we should be in the land of doctors, and free to live
by ourselves again, and to do what he liked, which had already been
arranged for 1891. He then consented. I telegraphed to England, and Dr.
Ralph Leslie was sent to us. As soon as the case was handed over to
him, we commenced our Via Crucis to Trieste.
It was astonishing, in spite of malady, what wonderful cool nerve
Richard had in any accident or emergency.
[Sidenote: _His own Account of it_.]
This is his own account:--
"I was not fated to escape so easily. Just as we were packed up and
on the point of starting for Nice to see the ruins, and we were in
the act of saying good-bye to our old friend of twenty-four years,
Dr. Frank, I was suddenly struck down by an acute attack of cerebral
congestion, the result of suppressed gout. For a time I was ordered
to be kept absolutely quiet, confined to bed and sofa with a diet of
broth and bromide, milk and soda-water, and was carefully nursed. My
wife felt that though she had successfully nursed me through seven
long illnesses since our marriage, that this was a case beyond her
ken. Dr. Frank also explained to me that circumstances might arise
which would require an educated finger to feel the pulse, and to give
instant remedies, where all the tenderness and care of my wife's
nursing would be without avail. So, after strenuously opposing a
course which I felt would be a grievous burthen to our lives, and
be a most unpleasant change, I saw reason in it, and I allowed her
to telegraph to London for a physician who was on the look-out for
a travelling appointment, and was skilled in such matters, to take
temporary charge of my case. In contending on this subject, she said,
'How many valuable lives are lost by friends saying, "If you are
not better by to-morrow, we must send for the doctor;" or in the
night, "When it is light we will send for the doctor"! Remember poor
H----.' She was obstinate in her determination not to risk these
things, and resolved to lose no chance of passing me through my three
or four years' crisis into a sound old age. A man living in London,
surrounded by the ablest doctors in the world, may dispense with this
disagreeable luxury; not so, however, an exile in a foreign port town.
A foreign doctor, however clever, finds it difficult to treat an
Englishman, only because he has never understood or never studied a
Britisher. I think, if it had not been for my wife, I should have died
of inanition in my first two long attacks of gout, eight months in the
winter 1883 and 1884, and three months of 1885. From the two first
in Trieste I rose a perfect skeleton, which made me determine never
to spend another winter there, even if I had to leave the Service.
However, the Foreign Office, which has ignored me in every way else,
has been merciful about 'leave,' and I hope to be a free man in March,
and a Londoner in September, 1891.
"The Trieste apothecary can seldom make up English recipes, Either he
has not the needful drugs, or he needs four or five days to get them,
and he sells the worst quality at the highest prices. English drugs
are considered strong enough to kill.
[Sidenote: _Our Journey with Dr. Leslie_.]
"On the eleventh day from the attack, Dr. Ralph Leslie, of Toronto,
arrived. He visited all the doctors, took over the case, and stocked
his medicine chest. We were able to leave Cannes on the 9th of March.
We went to the Hôtel Victoria, Monte Carlo, because it was quieter
than those near the gaming-tables. Here we took drives, and I became
much better. We drove to Mentone to see the ruins, but we both got
seedy going along--a sort of stifling--and just as we drove into the
town there was another earthquake. Poor people were rushing into
the streets bringing out their mattresses, carriages flying in all
directions. We drove over the town and inspected everything, but
did not put up for fear of a repetition of Cannes, so we drove back
to Monte Carlo. Clouds gathered over Mentone. At midnight there was
another shock. We were both seedy about eighteen hours, and my wife
could feel the gases, I only the palpitation of the earth.
"On the 14th of March we drove over to Nice, and I was able to stand
an excursion of six hours, and felt almost perfectly well. I had loads
of visitors--Mr. Wickham, Mr. Myers (Professor Sayce's friend), and
Father Wolfe, S.J. We only went once to the gaming-tables, and thought
it very slow. My better half lost eighty-five francs in ten minutes.
We determined after several days to start from Monte Carlo to Genoa.
It was a big business for me, and we started by a 5.20 p.m. train.
The trains had to crawl past the towns for fear of shaking down the
buildings that remained, so that I was nine hours out, and as I had to
be carried from the train to my carriage, which had been telegraphed
for, another English family did me, and had got into it, and thereby
also got our rooms and our supper; and when we arrived, they had to
get us other rooms, and a bouillon for me, and we did not get to bed
till two, but next day we got very good rooms.
"On the 18th of March we saw the death in the papers (as no one knew
our whereabouts) of our poor uncle, Lord Gerard, and we were both very
sad and agitated.
"Our next great move was to Milan, where everything was ready for us.
At Milan there was still a great deal of electricity in the air, but
thank God we were off the line of earthquakes.
"After staying some time at Milan, we moved on to Venice, and the air
there, being of such a mild nature, immediately began to do me good. I
could go out in gondolas, and took a little walk in the Piazzetta, and
enjoyed it, and received visits from my friends, and on the 31st of
March I passed a nice day without pain; on that day I bought a little
Knight in armour. From Venice my wife telegraphed to our Vice-Consul,
Mr. P. P. Cautley, to change the whole of the house, putting me in the
rooms with the best climate, and reserving for ourselves a private
apartment of six rooms, divided from the rest of the house and in the
balmy corner.
"On the 5th of April I was able to write a little, and that day we
went on to Trieste.
"The details of our melancholy journey will, I fear, scarcely interest
any one but ourselves. It was a real Via Crucis, as I had to be
ambulanced the whole way, and, being very weak, we were twenty-eight
days accomplishing the twenty-eight hours of express train which lie
between Cannes and Trieste, which was only varied by minor earthquakes
till we reached Milan; at Genoa by the agitation of seeing Lord
Gerard's death in the newspaper, and my wife having a large blood-cyst
on her lip, which appeared soon after my fit, and which Dr. Leslie had
to cut out at Milan. It was indeed a road of anguish and labour, and
right thankful were we to find ourselves once more in our own home on
the 5th of April, after being out ten months.
"Our climate is one _sui generis_; it is a perpetual alternative of
the raw north-easter, called the _Bora_, and the muggy south-western,
called _Scirocco_. The former often causes the quays to be roped, in
order to prevent pedestrians being raised in the air and thrown into
the sea, and within the last eighteen years it has upset two mail
trains. Then there is the _Contraste_, when the two blow together, one
against another, making a buffer of the human body. The _Scirocco_
is a dry wind from the North African desert, and arrives at Trieste
saturated with water, but still containing the muggy oppressing
sensation so well known to travellers in Algiers, Tunis, and Marocco.
Moreover, the old town is undrained, the quay is built over nine
several sewers, some of large size, and it is said that the new town
of Trieste is built upon ninety-two feet of old sewage, consequently
the normal death-rate is at the lowest, thirty-five per thousand per
annum, nearly double the amount of London, and in more than one winter
it has ranged from seventy-five to eighty-five. Foreign residents here
remark that a process of acclimatization must take place whenever they
leave Trieste or return to it. However, on this occasion it did not
maltreat me; indeed, an improvement in my case began at Venice, and
continued when I reached my post."
We had some visits, and amongst other literary celebrities, Dr.
MacDowall, and Madame Emily de Laszouska, _née_ Gerard, Dr. Bohndorf,
and Dr. Oscar Lenz and wife, African travellers; General Buckle, Madame
Nubar, and Madame Artin Pasha. We used to sit a great deal in our
garden, or in the gardens of Miramar, where he wrote on the margin of
his tablets--
"F. G. HACKE'S NEW IDEA IN WORDS.
"'And is the sea alone? Even now
I hear faint mutterings.'
''Tis the waves' mysterious distant whisper,
Response of words like voice of the sea,
Communing with its kind.'
'It seems a murmur sweeping low,
And hurrying through the distant caves;
I hear again that smothered tone,
As if the sea were not alone.'"
We went as usual to Opçina, the Slav village of the Karso, to the
Jäger, to Duino to visit the Princesses Hohenlöhe, and received many
visitors of all nations, many of them exceedingly interesting.
[Sidenote: _Drains_.]
Almost the day after we arrived, Dr. Leslie inquired what smell it was
that pervaded the house. We told him we did not know; we had often
complained, but that we had never been able to have redress. So now
he insisted on our having something done, or else our giving up the
house, and that at once. The house suited us exactly, and we felt it
would be dreadful to have to leave it, as we had an accumulation of
fifteen years' household gods. But on our telling our resolution to
our proprietors, they allowed a thorough investigation to be made, and
we discovered two very serious drains, with old flues communicating
with them directly to our apartment, and these were at once cleared
out and built up, so that there were no more smells, and the house was
comfortable after; but I often thought since, that we owed our escape
from typhoid to our frequent travels.
[Sidenote: _The Queen's Jubilee_.]
On the 19th, 20th, 21st, and 22nd of June we made grand gala for the
Jubilee. An address was drawn up and sent to her Majesty. The first
day was devoted to service in the Protestant Church, which we attended
officially; on the second we had a banquet and ball at the Jäger.
Richard took the chair at dinner. He was brought down to dinner by his
doctor, where he made a most loyal and original speech, which I insert;
immediately after dinner he was taken upstairs again. It was the
only occasion on which he would ever consent to wear his order of St.
Michael and St. George.
"HER MAJESTY'S JUBILEE AT TRIESTE.
"The British subjects residing at Trieste have sent an address to
her Majesty, signed by the whole colony, bound in dark red velvet,
surmounted by the word 'TRIESTE' in gold letters.
"They collected a considerable amount amongst themselves, part of the
Women's fund to go to the Queen's General Fund, and the rest to a
local charity for distressed English.
"On the morning of the 20th there was divine service in the Protestant
Church, which commenced with 'God save the Queen.' There was scarcely
a dry eye in the church. Many of those present had not been home for
thirty years or more.
"In the evening a grand banquet of seventy-five covers was presided
over by Captain Sir Richard and Lady Burton, the vice-president being
the Rev. Mr. Thorndike, the Consular Chaplain. All the members of the
Consulate, Mr. P. P. Cautley, British Vice-Consul (now acting because
of Sir Richard's recent illness), and Mr. Nicolas Salvari, assisting.
"The magnificent hall of the Jäger was adorned with flags, flowers,
and lights; the centre-piece being the Queen's portrait, peeping out
of a forest of laurels. Maestro Piccoli's band played during the
banquet.
"Sir Richard Burton (who wore for the first time his decoration of St.
Michael and St. George), although in very feeble health, rose to give
the toast of the evening, and made a speech which caused every heart
to dilate with pride and loyalty. He said--
[Sidenote: _Richard's Speech_.]
"'We are about to drink the health of the greatest Lady in the land!
To-night is a great night for us, and a proud one! All the world is
assembled to-night throughout the globe to do honour to one Woman, the
only woman in history who for fifty years' glorious reign, as Wife, as
Mother, as Sovereign, as Widow, as Mother of her people, has been a
shining light in each of these capacities to the whole world!
"'This woman is our Queen! (Cheering.)
"'An English man or woman says with emotion, "MY Queen!"
Why? Because she is enthroned in our hearts, she is enthroned on our
domestic hearths, as if she belonged to each one of us separately
and singly. When we say "OUR Queen!" we say it with pride,
for we feel that we clasp hands all round the world, from England to
our independent American cousins, to Canada, to India, to Australia,
to New Zealand, more than half the globe being English-speaking
peoples--ONE great Nation held together by ONE great
Woman! (Cheers.)
"'An English man or woman may be individually mean and little; but
they can never be so as a Nation. A man is mostly what his mother
makes him. Show me a man noble, brave, loyal, strong, and true, and I
can form a pretty good idea of the mother who bred him! (Hear, hear.)
"'We are singularly fortunate in the women of our Royal Family. Look
at our Nation's idol, the Princess of Wales! That lady has been the
pivot of greatness and attraction for over twenty-four years, with
every eye fixed upon her; yet none have ever heard her say one word,
none have ever seen her do, aught but what befitted a Queen! And
what perhaps _all_ do not know is, that although she may have been
in public all day, perhaps tired, perhaps suffering, perhaps obliged
to be in Society a greater part of the night, she never once omitted
(so long as her children were little) to go into her nursery every
evening at a certain hour to hear them say their prayers at her knee,
lest those little prayers should ever become a mockery--just as any
homely mother amongst _us_ would do, if she had good sound sense and a
womanly heart. (Hear, hear.)
"'With such women as these, we may confidently look forward to a long
line of great kings, and feel that England's future strength and
greatness, despite wars, despite political troubles, will endure to
all time! (Cheers.)
"'Let nothing mar our conviviality to-night. Many of us may not see
for years such a reunion in Trieste, some of us--_never_; but we shall
be able, in future time, to close our eyes, and see in fancy dreams,
all these kindly, beaming faces around us.
"'Let us unite in affectionate loyalty and reverence, in thankfulness,
for the peace, prosperity, and advancement in civilization and
humanity, which our Queen's fifty years' unique reign has brought to
us and to the whole world.
"'May God's choicest blessings crown her good works! May she be
spared for many long, happy, peaceful, and prosperous years to her
loyal, devoted people! May her mantle descend upon her children and
her children's children! And may the loving confidence between her
Majesty and all English-speaking peoples, throughout the world, ever
strengthen and endure to all time!
"'Now let Trieste hear for once, with one heart and one voice, a true
British cheer!
"'HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN!'
"This toast was drunk with an enthusiasm equal to the demand, so that
the hall and woods rang again with 'Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!' and cries
of 'The Queen!' 'The Queen!' which lasted several minutes.
"Sir Richard then rose once more, and gave 'The Emperor and the
Empress of Austria, whose guests we are! the Lord of the Land we live
in!'
"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike made two charming speeches, the first in
proposing the health of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and all
the Royal Family, which was received with enthusiasm; the second in
proposing the health of President Cleveland of the United States (the
American Consul-General, Mr. Gilbert, and his predecessor, Mr. Thayer,
being the only strangers invited). The respective national anthems
were played after each of these four toasts.
"The healths of Sir Richard and Lady Burton were then enthusiastically
drank, and as by this time Sir Richard was very fatigued, Lady Burton
rose and returned thanks. Mr. Thayer then recited some of his own
poetry in England's praise, very prettily done, showing the difference
between the time of Queen Elizabeth and that of Queen Victoria.
"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike's health was then drank, and that of Mr.
Cautley, Acting-Consul.
"The banquet was followed by songs executed by Miss Agnes Thorndike,
who has a magnificent voice. 'God save the Queen' was sung with true
devotion by the seventy-five English; then followed the ball, which
was kept up with great spirit, and which was concluded with 'Sir Roger
de Coverley' just before dawn.
"On the night of the 21st the British Consulate, Sir Richard Burton's
private house, and the dwellings of most of the British residents,
were brilliantly illuminated. Telegrams, letters, and cards of
congratulation continued to pour in from all quarters. Mr. and Mrs.
Craig had an evening _fête_ with illuminated garden for forty English
children on the 22nd, and this terminated the three days' festivities
at Trieste.
"June 23rd, 1887."
Richard loved our house, and was always lamenting that we could not put
it on wheels, and take it about with us wherever we went, because for
Richard there were really a great many drawbacks in Trieste.
One of our amusements was to buy a lot of caged birds in the market,
and taking them up to our rooms and letting them fly. It was such a
pleasure to see them darting into the air with a thrill of joy; and if
they were in any ways maimed, there was an almond tree just outside our
window, and touching it, on which they used to hop until they recovered
themselves.
He used now to take long walks with the doctor, and when he was tired
he used to get a lift in a passing cart. Once, when we were up at
Opçina, Daneu's poor little boy, only six years of age, broke his leg,
which upset us all the more because he was so brave. He never cried,
even during the setting.
[Sidenote: _Ally Sloper_.]
In early 1887 I received a diploma from _Ally Sloper_ for _having
translated the "Arabian Nights_," and wrote him the following letter:--
"St. James's Hotel, Piccadilly, W.
"January 2nd, 1887.
"DEAR FRIEND ALLY SLOPER,
"I was quite overcome to find that you had elected me a member of
the Sloperies. I felt that I had really 'awoke and found myself
famous,' and that my poor husband, who had spent thirty-two years in
translating and perfecting the 'Arabian Nights,' wasn't in it at all.
I did not feel _at all_ like the bellows to the organ, or the fly
on the wheel. Everybody says that since I have received the diploma
I give myself such dreadful airs that nobody can live with me. When
I have calmed down again, and grown used to my new honours, I will
strive always to deserve the good opinion and confidence of the
Sloperies, by emulating all that is best and noblest in the world, and
doing the most useful work I can find for my remaining years.
"Yours always truly,
"ISABEL BURTON, F.O.S."
Then Richard received a diploma, and sent the following:--
"Cannes, February 23rd, 1887.
"DEAR OLD MAN,
"Excuse the familiarity of the address. You know that we have been
friends for years, and I know that you have often done me a good turn.
But really this last honour is overwhelming to a man who has some
sense of shame remaining. 'F.O.S.!' I must try to 'live up' to that.
"Ever yours sincerely,
"R. F BURTON, F.O.S."
[Sidenote: _We think of a Caravan_.]
Finding Richard of such a restless disposition since his gouty attack,
and that he only seemed to be well when moving, I wanted to substitute
a kind of wandering about, as if in tents; and I thought that I might
manage this by having a caravan built like the gypsy caravans--a larger
for us, and a smaller for our suite, which would have been Lisa, a
cook, a general servant, and a man to look after the eight white
bullocks that I proposed to buy in the Roman Campagna. I thought that
all the fine weather we could be perpetually on the move through the
lovely scenery of Istria and Steiermark. The life would have suited us.
Dr. Leslie heartily entered into my plan, but somehow it fell through.
A little incident happened (summer, 1887), trifling of its kind, but
it made us sorry, as we were both fond of animals. A swallow built its
nest in my study, and I had a pane of glass cut out of the window to
enable it to come in and out. The five eggs were already laid and in
process of hatching, when one of the birds died. It fell down dead,
and the other bird kept trying to lift the dead body from the ground
to the nest, but it was too heavy. We buried the dead swallow in our
garden, and put up a little wooden epitaph; but the poor bereaved
surviving swallow sat on the edge of the nest all the summer, looking
at the eggs, until it flew away with the general departure of the
swallows. When it had gone, we blew and strung the eggs, and hung them
in the chapel. We preserved this nest sacredly, in the hopes others
would come, and I hope it is there still. It made Richard a little
superstitious, which superstition was verified.
We now prepared for our summer holiday. It began to be most dreadfully
hot, and there were two cases of suspected cholera. One day arrived the
two Princesses Hohenlöhe, Princess Taxis, and Prince Palavacini, and
the Comte de Brazza to tea. These impromptu visits did Richard a great
deal of good.
All this time we were treating him with electricity, and sponging in
the morning and evening, and he seemed to get on wonderfully.
In June, Richard had two slight attacks--one a shaking of the legs,
and one a staggering in the garden. These would have been, probably,
fits if he had not been taken such immense care of. The chief thing
he suffered from (it had been coming on for four years, had now
declared itself in an aggravated form, and which there is no doubt
finally killed him) was flatulent gases round the heart, which it
was very difficult to get rid of, which assumed all the appearance
of heart-complaint, and which caused the last struggle with life. I
see so many people suffering from this nowadays, who do not know what
it is, that it is good to mention it. He had one little room close
to his bedroom, whose only light came from stained-glass doors. This
was fitted up as an Oriental smoking-room, with divans, and well lit
up with many Oriental lamps, was exceedingly pretty, and safe from
draughts. Here every morning was put his full-length bath, which he
could take, aided by the doctor and me, without fear of catching cold;
and when he was dried and wrapped up, he would lie on the divan, and
smoke and think out his day's manuscript, or receive a friend.
[Illustration: THE BURTONS' SMOKING-DIVAN, TRIESTE. _A Photograph by
Dr. Baker._]
On the 26th of June we lost Madame Luisa Serravallo-Minelli, the nice
girl who used to study the Akkas with him, and who had long since
married Mr. Minelli.
During the whole of his illness, one of the kindest visitors to us
was the Archduke Ludwig Salvator, who lived opposite us at the other
side of Muggia Bay, constantly paid him a visit, and always sent his
magnificent publications to him; for the Archduke is not only an
author, but a first-rate artist, and illustrates his own books.
[Sidenote: _He gets much better--We go for our Summer Trip_.]
Richard writes--
"As a rule, the climate of Trieste has no spring; winter modified
continues till the summer suddenly sets in; and in this July, 1887,
the heat was abnormal. So on the 15th we set off to find summer
quarters. 'We' meant my wife and I, Dr. Leslie, and Lisa, my wife's
maid, who occupied a very peculiar position. The father was an Italian
of Verona, had seceded to Austria, and when Austria left that part
of Italy he came to live near Trieste. He had house and servants,
carriages and horses, but he sacrificed everything for the 'cause.'
The Italians would have none of him, the Austrians did not want him,
and between two stools he came to the ground. He was either a baron
in Verona, or Austria made him a baron for services. This title, of
course, extended to the whole family; but the pension was only £60
a year, and they lived an hour from Trieste like peasants, and in
a peasant's cottage. The sons found employment, and the daughters
remained at home, but Lisa, being a girl of spirit, wanted to see
something of the world, and she attached herself to my wife, retaining
her title as Baroness.
"We stayed a day or two at Adelsberg. It is a delightful place, but
there is something so peculiarly electrical about it, it never agreed
with either of us. We also found the world-famous caves were spoiled
by the electric light, and we who had known the weird and subterranean
state, deeply regretted the old wax candles. We again left for
Laibach, the capital of Carniola, in whose lowlands once a large lake
(already mentioned) was full of _pfahlbauten_ (pile villages), and
where the enormous number of prehistoric relics were lately found.
"The next stage was by the Great Southern Railway to Pöltschach, and
thence a beautiful drive to Rohitsch-Sauerbrunn, an hour and a half
in the interior; but the great heat thoroughly tired me out, and I
had a fortnight of bad health. A little sketch of Sauerbrunn may
not be unacceptable, as an Englishman rarely finds his way to the
place.[2] A small _bad-ort_, or bathing-place, has been laid out in
the valley of the little stream, surrounded on all sides by densely
wooded hills. On one side is the long line of buildings containing
the Kursaal, the restaurant, and the baths where red-hot masses of
iron are cooled in water by way of forming a chalybeate. Opposite is
a row of buildings to contain visitors, and between the two, headed
by a little Catholic church, are flower-gardens, with a band-stand,
where lawn-tennis is not yet known. Two little temples covered the
sources. A long _promenoir_ contains shops, prolonging the public
buildings to the east, and a scatter of village finishes the sketch.
The visitors who fill the place during June, July, and August are from
all the provinces of Austria, principally Hungarians, Croats, and
Bohemians, with a few Triestines, some from Fiume, a few Roumanians,
Turks, Greeks, and many Jews. The life, as may be imagined, is simple
enough. They rise before the sun, walk about drinking the waters, and
flock to the restaurant for rolls and _café au lait_. Then comes the
bath, after which they sit under the trees, reading, writing, working,
talking, smoking, and playing cards and dominoes until twelve. Then
back to the restaurant for a _déjeuner à la fourchette_, which is
really a dinner. The cooking was tolerable, the wines too, and the
price half that of Maríenbad. After dinner comes _siesta_, in the
afternoon strolling, more water-drinking, and listening to the band,
the more active taking a walk to the top of the hills, or a drive
up the carriageable roads. Then more water-drinking, and, lastly, a
light supper between six and eight; and, unless there was a dance or a
concert or a conjurer in the Kursaal, all were in bed soon after nine.
At ten the place was as silent as the grave. The morrow was _da capo_.
"If not gay, it was peaceful and exceedingly restful to the tired
brains, especially to the Herr Professor, who could only afford one
month of utter _dolce far niente_ after eleven of hard drudgery. The
visitors vary from six to twelve thousand. The nicest drives are
Rohitsch, to Pöltschach, and Marein, Graf Atems Schloss, Kostránitz,
and Maríen Kirche. At Stoinschegg, a short walk, is a distiller of
_sligovic_, which is the spirit-drink of the country, and he produces
all sorts of liqueurs, of which prunes are the basis. Here we met our
old friend Mr. Thayer, of Trieste. We hired a bath-chair and two men,
so that we could walk, and when I was tired I could get in and rest
and be drawn about, and so could my wife alternately.
"The peacefulness of this sort of life was broken by only four
occurrences worth noticing. One was two violent thunderstorms,
preceded by a sudden fall of hail as large as eggs. My wife and I,
though four yards from shelter, were hard hit before reaching it.
It broke all the tiled roofs like an earthquake or a bombardment.
You could see into the interiors through the rags and tatters. It
destroyed the crops, and the roads were strewed with large branches of
trees. People came from all parts with broken heads; and the peasants
brought in lumps of jagged ice that had fallen on the mountains,
which, even after they had been melted by their hands and pockets for
an hour, weighed ten deccas, or five ounces. The smooth ones were like
goose's eggs, and the children played at ball with them for several
hours. The first was on the 23rd of July, and after the people had
rebuilt their roofs and premises it occurred again on the 14th of
August, and did the same amount of damage. We had never seen anything
like it, and when my wife, by my directions, wrote it to the English
papers, the public disbelieved it, and said 'that the Burtons had been
seeing wonderful things and telling wonderful tales.' It is a very
curious, and not altogether unpleasant sensation, that of not being
believed when you are speaking the truth. I have had great difficulty
in training my wife to enjoy it, and frequently, for her instruction,
have told a true story to a party of people and have been jeered at,
or people have looked askance at me; and immediately after I have told
them a most fantastic lie to punish them, they have gaped, and said,
'How wonderful! how interesting!'
"The second event was meeting with Monseigneur Strossmayer, the great
Slav Archbishop, whose head-quarters are at Diakovar, where he has
erected a palace and a guest-house. He is a little king in his own
country, but is sometimes looked coldly upon by Austria, on account
of his leaning towards Russia and Panslavism. He is a man of simple,
affectionate, and patriarchal manners, and out of his Cabinet shows
nothing of the politician or diplomatist; there is no doubt that he
is one of the leading men of that part of the world in the present
century. He was very kind to us. He took an especial affection for me,
and visited me every day, when I was unable to leave my room.
"The third event was the reading of Dr. Salusbury's treatment by
drinking nearly boiling water, which seemed to act like magic. I had
been suffering from frequent pain and faintness, and I feared that I
had something the matter with my heart.
"On August 29th, I saw my wife drinking some hot water, and asked
her to give me some of it. No sooner had I got the cup than I
exclaimed almost involuntarily, 'Oh, what a comfort!' I continued
that treatment, and from that day faintness and trouble of the heart
changed their character, and were no longer a terror to me. My
strength increased, so that I could soon comfortably take long walks.
Would that we had thought of it and tried it in 1884, in my first
attack of gout!
[Sidenote: _Some of our Royalties come to Trieste_.]
"The fourth event was the arrival of the English Squadron, on
September 9th, at Trieste, with the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh,
Prince George of Wales, the Marquis of Lorne, and Prince Louis of
Battenberg. We wanted to return to Trieste and do more than our
usual duty on the occasion, and contribute to the festivities in
honour of the Royalties bringing the town of Trieste and the fleet
into harmonious relation. This had been our pleasant duty for many
years past, and now, on this, the grandest occasion of all, we were
condemned to be absent. The doctor sternly forbade anything of the
kind; he would not guarantee my life for half a day if I had to put
on uniform, go on board, and be present at official receptions. The
authorities kept telegraphing for my wife, but she would not leave
me for an hour, so we both wrote our explanations and excuses to the
royal secretaries, and through them offered our house to her Imperial
Highness, who graciously accepted it, if need arose. I ordered our
home to be put in suitable order, a _major domo_ to be sent for from
Vienna, the flag to be hoisted, a cold buffet always to be laid, the
house to be illuminated every night, and was only disappointed on
return to find that no Royalty, not even any of the officers, had
honoured us by using the house.
"The Governor of Steiermark, Graf Gundaker Würmbrandt and the Gräfin,
came over to see us, and also the Fabers."
On the 5th of September occurred the first of a series of a stopping of
our horses, which happened three times during these years. We drove
to look for the Chapel of Loretto. On the way back it was quite light
in the afternoon; the horses, which were going a good pace, suddenly
stopped still, backed, trembled, and sweated all over, and snorted and
sobbed from their hearts. Nothing would induce them to go on, though
the coachman flogged them. We all had to get out, and there was nothing
to be seen to frighten them. I went to their heads, and patted and
soothed them, while Dr. Leslie took care of Richard. They then bounded
on for thirty yards or so, and we followed on foot and got in, and they
went quite well. The coachman said he had driven for twenty years, and
he had often read of these things, but he had never seen them.
We were now reading Mr. Stanley's book on Africa under the trees at
Sauerbrunn.
On the 25th Richard bewails the death of Gozzadini, archæologist of
Bologna.
"I strongly advise future visitors," he writes, "to leave Sauerbrunn
the first week in September, as the rain and cold sets in, and the
place becomes as deserted and melancholy as a ball-room after a ball.
We did not want to return home, in spite of the Triestine proverb--
'Prima pioggia d'Agosto
Rinfresca mar e bosco.'
We left Sauerbrunn on September 18th, and we broke our journey by a
three days' visit to Abbazia, near Fiume, called in the high-falutin
style, the 'Austrian Riviera.' We went with the object of choosing our
rooms for the winter, and we one and all fell ill in consequence of
the horrible drains in the main courtyard of the Stephanie Hotel; but
we decided, and decided wrongly, that the evil would be abated during
the winter season.
"We had now a visit at Trieste from Mr. Gibbs, of Egypt and Vienna,
Mr. Ellis and Mr. Krause from Vienna.
"On our return home Dr. Leslie had an offer of what seemed a very
good post, a yachting tour to India and China with a great man,
and he wanted very much to accept it, for our present way of life
was necessarily rather tame to a strong young man, accustomed to
expeditions, who would have been just the thing for us in our old
travelling days, but he must have found it hard to subdue himself to
our changed conditions."
[Sidenote: _We lose Dr Leslie, and Dr. Baker comes to us_.]
Richard clamoured hard not to have any more doctors; he felt that we
might do without, but I was now thoroughly broken down myself. I was
unable to take anything that might be _called a walk_. Driving was
sometimes very painful to me, and it would not have been safe to let
him go alone. I could not be the same use that I had always hitherto
been, though I could keep him company in the house, and be his
secretary and nurse him, but I frequently turned faint and required
assistance. I could not stoop to give him his bath, or shampoo him, and
we were too far from the town to get an immediate doctor in emergency,
so I begged him to bear with it a little bit longer, as he had done for
the past seven months. I heard that Dr. Grenfell-Baker, who had been
so kind to us at Cannes, was in bad health, that his health had driven
him from London practice, and that he was looking for a travelling
appointment, and I begged to be allowed to write and ask him to accept
ours. I obtained permission, and he relieved Dr. Leslie on October
15th, 1887.
[1] I notice he was introduced to one lady whom he describes in his
journal as "a charming kangaroo;" and it was so apt, so clever, as his
comparisons always were.--I. B.
[2] Sauerbrunn has been already mentioned, but I want to give his
description of it.