CHANGES.
Dr. Baker had a most unpleasant journey. Not having done it before, he
came with full confidence, without a greatcoat, without a brandy flask,
without food, and as soon as he arrived on the Karso, he found a _Bora_
that nearly upset his train. After fifteen hours of this, though the
house was well built with immensely thick walls, the _Bora_ sounded as
if it too was just going to be carried away, and two earthquakes were
not a pleasant greeting; but a warm welcome, a comfortable room, a good
supper and hot grog, soon restored him. It was quite winter, and there
was snow on the Risano. A number of friends and acquaintances, old and
new, flocked through Trieste, which somewhat enlivened the dull season.
Amongst others, Sir Cecil Domville, naval _attaché_; and an epoch was
made by a visit likewise from Dr. and Mrs. Schlieman, of Troy. Princess
Wrede also arrived at nine a.m. to take her coffee in a rush from Graz
to Trieste.
We were very sorry to lose Dr. Leslie, he was so genial and
good-humoured--one of the best-hearted men that ever lived. I may say
a man who would go twenty miles out of his way to do you a service,
and--great praise--he never said a word against anybody; above all, he
had a true reverence for Richard.
[Sidenote: _Programme of our Day_.]
Our days at Trieste, after Richard got ill, were passed in the
following way:--Instead of getting up, as we used to do, at any time
from three to half-past five, we rose at seven, had a breakfast of tea,
bread and butter, and fruit on a little table near a window, where he
used to feed the sparrows and other garden-birds on the window-sill,
so that an almond tree which brushed up to the window was covered
with them waiting, and, as he remarked, "they were quite imperious in
their manners if he did not attend to them at once." He then wrote
his journals--two sets, one private, which was kept in a drawer in my
room, and one public ephemeris of notes, quotations, remarks, news, and
weather memoranda; then he would fall to to his literature. At nine
o'clock the doctor would come in, and as I, being ill, could no longer
stoop to help with his bath and toilette, Dr. Leslie, and afterwards
Dr. Baker, superintended the bath and the electric foot-bath; but he
shaved himself and dressed himself. During the bath he would frequently
read out to them passages from what he was writing. The toilette
finished, he resumed his literature till half-past ten, when, if the
weather permitted, he would go out for a good walk with the doctor.
At twelve o'clock we had breakfast, which was really luncheon, after
which he smoked (always the tobacco of the country--those long, thin,
black cigars with a straw down the middle), and played with the kitten,
and talked. He was very cheerful and enjoyed his meals. He would then
lie on his bed with a book, and sleep perhaps for an hour, and then
get up and do more literature. A little after three, if it was winter,
he would go for another walk in the garden, or, if bad weather, into
the hall, or in the summer-time, at about five o'clock, for a good
long drive, or very often an excursion in the neighbourhood, and was
always accompanied by the doctor or me, or both of us. Tea was at four,
a sit-down tea, which was purposely made into a meal of all sorts
of fruits, cake, sweets, and jam, because it was the hour for our
intimates to pour in, and he enjoyed it. If any friends, English or
other, were passing through Trieste, they lunched and dined with us. He
liked company, and it did him a great deal of good; and he always used
to say "that he liked to see his fellow-creatures, at hotels and public
places, for instance, even if he did not want to mix with them;" but
generally all the nice men in the hotel collected round him, smoking
and listening to his conversation. After tea and talk and walk were
over, he went to his room and worked steadily till seven, or half-past,
when we had dinner.
He enjoyed his dinner, after which he sat in an armchair and smoked
and talked. Glorious talk and sweet musical voice that we shall never
hear again on earth--a perfect education to those who had the boon of
hearing him! Sometimes, if the nights were fine, we used to sit on
our verandah overlooking the sea and mountains, and watch the moon
and stars through a telescope planted there for the purpose. At nine
o'clock at night he retired; the doctor again helped him to undress,
and then left for the night; and I said night prayers with him, and we
talked awhile. He would ask me for a novel--he always said "he cooled
his head with a novel when the day's work was done"--and we went to
bed, he reading himself to sleep. Sometimes he did not sleep well and
was restless, and sometimes very well; but in all cases far better
than he had ever done before he was an invalid. We had an electric bell
between our beds, so that if he was restless it woke me.
On the 30th of October he mourns the death of Mr. Henry Levick, the
first European to take up his abode at Suez, where he lived forty-one
years. He pioneered the Mail Service through Egypt, assisted in
arranging the Overland route, often accompanying the mails across the
desert. He was the first English Consul at Suez, was packet-agent and
postmaster to her Majesty, and agent for the late Government of India.
The widow and numerous children have been left to starve for the last
six years. She is now head of the English Hospital for Trained Nurses
in Paris, 34, Rue de Prony Parc Monceau, and sadly in need of kindness
and patronage.
On the 31st of October we were inundated with anonymous letters, which
made us angry (I thought then that it was only a Triestine amusement,
but I found out, twenty-three months ago, that it was equally common in
England, and twice as coarse); the object then being to make us clear
out our house of everybody in it that we wanted.
On November 17th he deplores the death of Colonel Valentine Baker.
The Empress now arrived at Miramar for a little rest and seclusion.
[Sidenote: _Abbazia_.]
His journal continues:--
"On the 1st of December my wife and I, accompanied by Dr. Grenfell
Baker, returned to Abbazia to avoid the fearful _Boras_ of Trieste,
and to shelter in the supposed mild climate of the Austrian Riviera.
It is only a few hours' rail distant, but you must rise at four
a.m., though with a decent train it could be done in two hours. We
were, however, doomed to disappointment. On December 7th the snow
began and lasted two months; the earth was covered, and the pine and
bay trees, the local boast of the place, were so broken and bent
under its weight, that many of the undergrowths did not recover.
There are two sorts of _cur-orts_ (health resorts); the first is
when everything is planned out for the comfort and cheeriness of the
invalid, as in Switzerland and the Riviera, and the second one is when
ambition upstarts barely out of its swaddling clothes, unformed and
without a prospect of ever becoming better. Then they are expensive,
uncomfortable, and are merely traps laid by money-grubbers for unhappy
invalids, who ought never to go where they cannot rough it, but where
healthy people may manage to live in dullness and discomfort, and of
this category are Abbazia and Hammám R'irha in N. W. Africa.
"At Abbazia you rise early, drink coffee, walk, breakfast at twelve
in the restaurant, siesta, walk or drive, dine at 7.30, and retire
to your bedroom. There is no public room or meeting-place, no
newspapers, except in a tiny room. There is charming society, the
Austrian and Hungarian cousinhood, some of which we enjoyed very
much; but it is a clique. The Jews and Americans _doré_ theirs. The
harmless and inoffensive people who go there for imaginary baths and
waters creep in to meals and out again and disappear. Hence a serious
occupation or a study is a necessity. I got Father Josef Janc, the
Catholic priest, to come and read German with me in the evenings, and
I had my literature--my two last volumes of supplemental 'Arabian
Nights;' my wife the same. We varied our time by driving to Castua,
Moschenizza, Ika, Sovrana, and to Fiume to see the Count and Countess
Hoyos and family and Mr. and Mrs. Whitehead (whose father gave us
an occasional field-day with the torpedos), and our colleague, the
English Consul Mr. Faber and his family. We walked, drove, lounged
about smoking in the grounds. The views are beautiful. The winds are
not boisterous, as at Trieste. Fiume is an hour away, and the boundary
between my jurisdiction and Faber's lies halfway--Abbazia being in my
jurisdiction. Fiume is as dull as ditchwater, with one fifth-class
hotel. Your room in the hotel at Abbazia may be comfortable, but
the food becomes worse and worse as the visitors increase, and the
sanitary arrangements, the bread and water, are fearfully bad.
"To give some idea of its primitive state in 1887-88, although I had
been Consul here for fifteen years, they refused to take my cheque,
because 'they did not know who "Coutts" was.' There is no _promenoir_,
no _wandelbahn_, no _kur-salon_, in fact no public rooms. There is a
fine large dining-room, where, unless you are an archduke, you may not
smoke for fear of spoiling the gilding; consequently you are driven
into a kind of _estaminet_, where at 8.30 you can cut the reek of
tobacco and food with a knife. A head director often visits Abbazia,
but he is never at home to strangers, knowing that they only seek
him to make complaints. The management is under an Austrian, not a
Swiss. The appointment is always given to an employé of the _Südbahn_,
which owns the place, and not to a _hôtelier_, therefore he naturally
does not know his work. And Austria in such matters is fifty years
behind Switzerland. The British grumbler (who has made Switzerland)
is still more almost unknown in the dual kingdom. The dullness of
life is almost incredible, and what gaieties there are--the Christmas
tree, the New Year's Day ball, the concert of Tyrolians, and the
gypsy band--as in all irregulated establishments, turned everything
topsy-turvy, and converted stagnation into utter misery."
We had a visit at Abbazia from the Dowager Lady Galway, and Richard
had an attack of gout when the snow came on, and on the 19th we had an
earthquake.
On the 14th he got another slight attack of gout in both feet. Gout
now became a trimestral attack, which the doctor considered to be
a safety-valve for the head and general health, provided it was a
healthy gout in the feet. The thermometer was at zero, and we had
almost perpetually such awful snow for two months, and the comforts
were so primitive, that we disliked it, and we wrote together a little
pamphlet on it.
On the 9th of January, 1888, we were made very unhappy by reading Lady
Marian Alford's death in the papers, which we felt very badly. She was
the kindest friend we had in London, and Richard said, "I believe by
the time we get back to London nearly all our old friends will be dead."
It is a custom here on Shrove Tuesday night to ring all the church
bells at eleven o'clock, to make the rich people leave off eating meat
preparatory to Ash Wednesday (Lent), and to give the poor time to eat
up the refuse before midnight.
Richard was gouty off and on all this snow-time. On the 18th the Crown
Prince, poor Prince Rudolf, came to the hotel and stayed forty-eight
hours; on the 21st we were further put in sorrow by the news of the
death, at the early age of forty-one, of dear Anna Kingsford. She was a
lady doctor, Anti-vivisectionist, advocate of vegetarianism, President
of the Theosophical Society, and founder of the Hermetic Society for
the study of religion and philosophy. Both Richard and I became very
nervous as the 26th came round, the anniversary of his fit, but it
passed off without any trouble.
On the 19th of February, 1888, he deplores the death of the Rev. George
Percy Badger, D.C.L., the eminent Oriental scholar, at seventy-three.
[Sidenote: _We return to Trieste_.]
On the 5th of March we bade adieu to all the charming friends we had
made there, and at four o'clock in the afternoon we drove to Mattuglie
to take the train for Trieste. The superintendent of the railway, our
friend Mr. Thomas, made a charming arrangement for us. From Mattuglie
to St. Peter's is only two or three hours, but St. Peter's, on an
elevation, is an ice-bound place in winter; there you have to stand
about for an hour or more in a miserable little station, waiting
for the night-mail for Trieste. I coaxed him into giving us a large
saloon with tables and beds most luxuriously fitted up, a carriage
behind for the servants, and a compartment behind for the baggage, so
that when we got into the train, Dr. Baker and I had nothing to do
but to put Richard to bed, and we congratulated ourselves warmly on
the arrangement, because, as we neared St. Peter's, the train passed
through walls of snow much higher than itself, down which a howling
wind came as through a funnel, whilst our saloon was perfectly warm.
When we got to St. Peter's we were detached and shunted, a nice hot
dinner was served to us in the carriage, and we got Richard into
Trieste without the slightest hurt.
We were now reading "Mohammed Benoni," the work of Mr. Pedicaris, of
Marocco.
On the 12th of March, 1888, he notices "the first swallows over the sea
at sunset."
Mr. Thayer wrote to the _Tribune_ from Trieste, under date of March 17--
"Lady Burton's expurgated edition of 'The Thousand Nights and One
Night' is now complete in six handsome volumes. The last of the copy
for Sir Richard's supplementary volumes of the 'Nights' will be sent
to England next week. His motto has been for forty years, 'Without
haste, without rest,' and as soon as the 'Nights' are ended, he will
begin in earnest, what must prove to be a work of remarkable interest,
his autobiography. His life, detailed by himself, if his conversation
affords the means of judging, must be as fascinating as a romance. Its
scenes range from the jungles of India to the tropical swamps of South
America, from the snows of Iceland to the mephitic moraines of Central
and Western Africa. Two years ago, his health was so broken that his
friends feared he might not be able even to complete the 'Nights,' and
we quite despaired of ever enjoying his autobiography; but now the
case is happily altered, for, though still far from well, through the
care and solicitude of his noble wife and his excellent physician, we
have every reason to hope that his enormous power of continuous mental
labour will carry him through the work."
On the 19th of March, 1888, his sixty-seventh birthday, Richard
finished his last volume of the supplemental "Nights" (the sixteenth
volume), but it did not come out till the 13th of November, 1888, and
during the intervening months he corrected proofs, and began writing
what he called "chow-chow"--odds and ends that he had been waiting to
finish up. We were exceedingly relieved, because he had always had such
a fear of not living to keep his engagements, and we had received money
for it.
On the 2nd of April we began a second "reviewers reviewed" on the
"Arabian Nights" critics (the first one was on the "Lusiads;" Richard
having been roughly handled, had raised our ire).
On the 7th of April we had to deplore the loss of our good kind friend,
R. Mackay Smith, of Edinburgh, and on the same date of Lady Margaret
Beaumont, another of our kindest friends.
On the 9th of April he was rather agitated about some lost papers. I
have spoken at length of a peculiarity he had of hiding things, and
latterly especially he could not remember where he put them. Then
he had to call me, and I was frequently several hours hunting for
them. I have a particular prayer that I always say when I cannot find
anything, and it has occasionally happened that the lost thing was
found immediately, so he used to call me in an agitated way, saying,
"Come here, I want that prayer directly; I have lost such and such."
On the 11th of May we had the pleasure of a visit from our old friend,
Frederick Foster Arbuthnot, of 18, Park Lane, who stayed with us some
days.
[Sidenote: _His Notes on his Swiss Summer_.]
Richard's journal runs as follows:--
"After four months of snow, alternating with the Scirocco, the damp,
depressing, and ozone-wanting gift of Northern Africa, we left Abbazia
on the 5th of March, 1888, disappointed in the hope of staying there
till the end of the month. The train which conveyed us passed through
walls of snow ten or twelve feet high on either side. Passing friends
made the stay in Trieste in spring very delightful, but unusual heat
set in on the 9th of May, and gave the signal for departure. In
consideration of the state of my health, the Foreign Office, though it
would not release me, was kind enough to let me judge of when I could
or could not stay at Trieste; in fact, an informal sick certificate.
As the summer was premature and I could not stay, I thought I might
as well go back to England and see my supplemental 'Nights' brought
out, so on May 16th we went to Venice, Milan--where we called, on the
20th, on the Emperor and Empress of Brazil (who had been most truly
kind to us during our four years' stay in their country; the Emperor
was then thought to be dying, so we did not see them, nor did we ever
see them again), and we arrived at Varese. Under Signor Marini and his
English wife this was an exceptional place, the centre of a charming
country, geographically a neutral ground between the uplands of Swiss
Ticino, pretty, pleasant, and picturesque, and the lowlands of the
Italian-Milanese flats, which are flat and admirably fertile.
"Varese is a charming place; a beautiful hotel with lovely grounds,
scenery, and splendid spring and autumn climate, and easily got at,
where we met many friends. Hence during the spring and autumn, it
attracted a host of English, who all, save a very few, took flight
in summer and winter; but the management soon changed, and what
became of the Hôtel Excelsior under the Italian committee I could
not say. I only know that the Marinis have opened an hotel, and are
doing very well, in Via Tritone, Rome. The interests of the place
were private theatricals in the evening, and the procession of Corpus
Christi in the picturesque little town. There was also much interest
in prehistoric villages and collections. The departure was not
comfortable to Lucerne. Most travellers would have returned to Milan,
and started direct by the St. Gothard Railway. We, wanting to see the
country, determined to drive to Chiasso, a horrid little frontier town
where we were to pick up the train, and where one wishes a glad adieu
to Italy.
"The drive from Varese to Chiasso on the 1st of June was delightful. A
beautiful country of deep-wooded hill and vale, abounding with acacia
and yellow broom, and peopled with cuckoos and hoopoes. We dined
at the buffet in the open. We were directed not to the buffet at
Chiasso, which is excellent in food and wine, and can supply bedrooms,
but to a wretched _soi-disant_ hotel, St. Michele, fit only for the
roughest of peasants, with the prices of milords. The wonderful
mountain scenery at St. Gothard, with its rich valley and snow peaks,
its long tunnel under the venerable well-known hospice, Mont St.
Bernard, and its marvellously engineered line, whose windings look on
paper like sundry pairs of spectacles, with its green hills, glaciers,
rockery, and waterfalls, and rushing river below in the depths, is too
familiar to the general public to bear description, but the glorious
mountain air, the kindly ways of the people, and the contrast of the
Swiss frontier custom-house with the horrors of Italy, left a most
grateful impression.
"On the evening of the 2nd of June we found rooms at the
Schweizer-hof, Herren Haüser, who have made this the model
establishment of Switzerland, and one may say of the world. I had
not seen Lucerne since 1840--when I was a boy, and my tutor took me
to drink the waters of Schinznach, _en route_ to Oxford--so to me
it was quite a new world. Herr Haüser could, however, show me the
remains of the three humble inns, belonging to that proto-historic
period since the Lake country has become the playground of Europe, and
art has assisted nature in making it like the transformation scene
of an opera--_un décor de théâtre_. Here everything is done for the
comfort and delectation of the travelling idler. Under the crispy air
and bluest of skies grand piles of hotel rise from the margin of the
blue lake, looking upon semicircles of forest and mountain crowned by
snow peaks, nestling villages and villas in groves of pink chestnut
blossom, steamers flying gaudy flags, which are illuminated at night
with coloured lamps. On the left a dwarf eminence is crowned by the
Cathedral, which contains a remarkable life-size crucifix and an _alto
relievo_ of the death of the Blessed Virgin.
"On the right towers the naked and jagged cone of the cloud-capped
mountain Piliatus, which has become Pilatus, has bred a host of grisly
legends which the gaunt rock and its lakelet on the summit have
suggested. Behind the town still runs the _enceinte_ of mediæval wall,
with its picturesque towers surmounted here and there by grotesque
figures. Lucerne is essentially a three-days' place. Next day there
was a procession of virgins in white and soldiers saluting, etc. The
first things you visit are the two quaint wooden bridges and paintings
of Holbein's 'Dance of Death.' Then you climb the Drei Linden hill for
a panorama of the place; you must ascend in the funicular railway the
Gat hill, and wander through the pine forests. You perhaps visit the
public library, which contains not books but musty fusty documents,
and you walk through the absurd museum, which does not even boast
of a catalogue. On the second day you take the steamer to Vitznau,
and ascend the Rigi by the far-famed railway. We always compare the
engines of these lift-railways to a huge praying mantis. The panorama
is worth seeing; the land lies below your feet in the shape of an
embossed map. Rigi Staffel has the best climate.
"On the third day you are in local honour bound to hire a two-horse
carriage, and to drive about the environs to see the scenery; and
then you must railway up to Pilatus. We all differed in our estimate
of the lake. I could not admire it. As a piece of water, it is cut
into various sections by projecting points, and reminded me of some
large river of the upper Mississippi. My wife, on the contrary, was
enchanted with the Lucerne end of it, and found a great delight
in lazing up and down in the steamers. With Dr. Baker everything
Swiss is sacred; it is his Eden, and must not be touched by hand
profane. Lucerne must, however, be seen during the season; at other
times it is like the inside of a theatre at early morning. We went
back to it in March, 1889, and saw it at its worst, when deep snow
covered the ground, and the roads were slushy and uncared for, when
the streets were deserted, when the people showed homely faces, and
their ugly German did not sound so unmusical. The local aristocracy
of hotel-keepers and shop-keepers seemed hurt by the presence of
strangers, and applying for entrance to a public building was looked
upon almost as a grievance. The moral was, avoid Lucerne when not in
gala dress.
"We left on the 9th of June, and remarked the meanness of the station;
and at the first sight, which subsequent experience confirmed, the
Swiss railways generally, for accommodation and convenience, have
not kept pace with the hotels and all their other luxuries. The
Anglo-Americans especially are full of gibes at the crawling trains.
Arrived at Berne, we found the Berne station (Swiss capital) the worst
of any metropolis in Europe, an Inferno in the hot, and a well in
the cold season; a cave of the winds, at all times damp, draughty,
and dangerous. It reminded us of York a quarter of a century ago. We
returned from Berne to Ouchy through a charming country of vineyards,
orchards, and smiling fields. Thirty years ago my wife was here as
a girl with a married brother and sister, when it was the smallest
of places, and a little inn, which then stood on the borders of the
lake, was the best accommodation. Now the large Beau Rivage, with its
fine grounds, ought to attract many travellers, but it is said not to
pay its expenses, the reason probably being that it is managed by a
company.
[Sidenote: _Aigle_.]
"Reserving Lausanne for future inspection, we went on to Aigle,
passing through mountains, and skirting the south-east horn of the
lake. This favourite summering-place showed itself at its worst. The
rains were unceasing, and the muddiness of the roads made driving and
walking equally unpleasant. Despite the weather, we managed, however,
a few of the nearest trips. We drove up the valley of the Rhone,
went to Bex, Trocadero, Villar, Bouvret, Diableret, and by rail to
Montreux. We walked up to the Roman tower, at the St. Triphon-Ollon
quarries, famed for its black marble, and inspected the Gorge de
Trient, which twenty years ago was not a show place, and has now
become a wonder, and yet no wonder; for it is a most impressive sight,
with narrow-planked bridges, lining the steep sides of a perpendicular
cliff six hundred feet high, with two hundred and forty feet of
boiling, swirling torrent rushing beneath you, and it is a fifteen
minutes' walk through this more or less dark place to the roaring
waterfalls. My wife thought it a grand sight, and was very much
impressed, and said she felt so small, and that she would not go in
there by herself for anything. I must say I thought but little of it,
but it is a dreadful place for nervous people, and a dizzy one for the
bilious. There were Americans photographing, and guides firing pistols
to show the echo. The annual receipts from visitors is eight thousand
francs.
"We visited the Augustinian monastery of St. Maurice, which will be
alluded to later on. The weather, instead of behaving better, became
worse, and as the house suddenly filled with people, it by no means
improved the service or the _cuisine_. After a month's stay, we
determined to take sudden leave, and on the 12th of July departed to
Geneva. A delightful change of climate--for here summer had set in. We
put up at the Continental, and I enjoyed breakfasting with Professor
Karl Vogt. But I could not stand a fearful automatic grind-organ, the
size of an average clothes-press, which raised its abominable voice
immediately after dinner, and never ceased till it had run down.
This was explained by the Continental being an American institution,
and after all the grind-organ, like the street band, is kept up by
the suffrages of the majority. We will speak again of Geneva on our
return."
I must remark about Aigle that there is besides the village a large
hotel situated in a valley surrounded by mountains, and where the Dent
du Midi was so clear that it seems as if you could touch it. It was a
very amusing place, and we met a number of very nice people; we stayed
a month because Dr. Baker's mother and very charming sister came there
to meet him. Here we were reading "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and Richard
was perfectly delighted with it, and afterwards we had a contrast in
Rénan's "Apôtres."
I need not say that wherever we were, and Switzerland was no exception
to the rule, that every excursion that was possible to make was made,
and everything that could be seen was seen--it did not matter if it was
mushroom-growing, cigarette-making, or Swiss milk condensed. We not
only stayed at our head-quarters, but we knew the country pretty well
all round.
One of the most delightful excursions was driving up the Valley of the
Rhône to St. Maurice. We used to get a capital little breakfast and a
good bottle of Dole du Valais at a hotel pension, kept by a Dalmatian
at Aigle. We had a very nice _Curé_ at Aigle, the Abbé Stercky, who
became a friend of Richard's.
Richard enjoyed all these things very much. Part of the time, however,
it rained, and then he used to get melancholy and ill. On the 12th of
July we had had enough of it, and went to Geneva, where his delight
was to go and take a huge middle-day dinner with the old Professor
Karl Vogt and his numerous family, without either the doctor or me. The
Professor was a very jovial person, and his jolly fat laugh used to
sound all over house and garden, and the dinner lasted from at least
twelve till four. They were simple and kind-hearted people, and they
thoroughly appreciated Richard.
[Sidenote: _Our Last Visit to England_.]
On the 15th we left for Paris, and had a very shaky journey, but it did
not hurt him. Our great friend Professor Zotenberg met him, and dined
with us. On the 18th we left Paris for Folkestone, where we stopped one
day to see his sister Lady Stisted and her daughter, and the following
day, the 19th of July, 1888, we arrived at the St. James's Hotel in
London. We had not been in London for two years, and we had naturally
an immense quantity of people to see and business to transact. About
ten days after, Richard got very ill, and kept us in a great fright;
but it lasted a very short time, as he was at his club next day.
One could imagine what a delight it was to him to return to the club.
He used to like to be dropped there at about half-past eleven, or
twelve. He would lunch there, take a siesta after, and read and write
and see his men-friends, and then either Dr. Baker or I used to call
for him at six. It was the only free time he had from our surveillance,
the whole three years and a half of his illness, and it was an immense
relief to him. I do not mean to say that he could not be alone in his
room as much as ever he liked, but we never let him walk or drive out
by himself, lest a return of the attack should occur, and he would have
no assistance, and we always carried restoratives in our pockets.
Here we had the pleasure of seeing our friend H. H. Johnston, Consul
in West Africa and artist, one of the most charming and sympathetic of
men. St. James's was too noisy, although Richard thought the situation
quite perfect. His central point of the world was Apsley House, and he
despised everything between that and the desert. Dr. Baker now went for
a holiday, and Dr. Leslie came back to us.
However, Richard took it into his head that as Ramsgate has such a
reputation for air, we would go and try it; so on the 3rd of August
we went to the Granville, where we stopped for a week, taking drives
to Margate, to St. Peter's, and Westgate, to see Admiral Beamish,
or to Deal, Sandgate, where we tried to see Mr. Clarke Russell, and
Broadstairs, in each of which we found friends or cousins. We did not
think much of the Granville Hotel, having been thoroughly spoiled
by the best hotels abroad; but our great amusement was that, having
lived so much away from home, we knew nothing about Bank Holiday, and
found ourselves landed in a hundred and fifty thousand of the people
for four days, and Richard's delight was to go and sit on the sands
and watch them--the Salvation Army, the niggers, the performers with
ventriloquist-heads stuck on poles; but we were immensely edified, for
although here and there there was a little rough play, there was not a
single case of drunkenness. After a week the air proved too strong for
Richard, and we went back, this time to the Langham Hotel.
Here we had a most pleasant time, for, in spite of its being August,
old friends and relatives came and lunched and dined with us every day,
which cheered Richard up immensely; and our friend F. F. Arbuthnot
joined us, and passed a week in the hotel, and amongst others were
Mr. John Payne, Du Chaillu, Mr. Henry Irving, Swinburne, Mr. Theodore
Watts, and others. Dr. Baker came back eventually, and we went off to
Oxford, where Richard delighted in driving round to all the Colleges,
and where we met numbers of old friends--Mr. Arthur Evans and his wife,
Mr. Chandler, Professor Sayce, etc. From there we went to the Queen's
Hotel, Norwood, to be near Richard's sister and niece for a fortnight,
and enjoy the Crystal Palace.
A Norwood treat was having a clairvoyante down from London, who
pronounced on our health. She told Richard that he was bad in the
head, eyes, down the back of neck, stomach, feet, and legs; that I had
cancer; that I had healing powers, powerful light from heaven, a red
cross above me, a large protection and light from above, with troops
of friends and patrons. The cancer prophecy made Richard unhappy, till
he saw how little I believed in it. The drives were to Dulwich and to
Croydon, to see Commander Cameron and his wife. One particular treat
we had was going to Colonel Goureaud's, who gave us a field-day with
the Eddison phonograph, which we had seen in its infancy in 1878 in
Dublin. Richard thought that it opened a wonderful future in science.
He offered to do the _muezzin's_ call to prayer, "Allahu Akbar," into a
phonograph; somehow it was not done. What a treasure it would be now!
After a fortnight we went back to the Langham, which we liked
thoroughly. We saw our last of Lawrence Oliphant about the 1st of
September. In London Dr. Baker had several consultations for Richard
with Dr. Mortimer Granville, who took infinite pains with him, and
gave him a long and careful examination. Dr. Mortimer Granville said
he was as sound as a bell, barring the gout. And that day, the 23rd of
September, he insisted on going to the club by himself, and he did so
several times whilst he remained in London. It was a relief to him to
feel that he could do something of former times.
It would seem as if we were always changing our abode; and so it was.
His magnetism was so immense, his brain travelled so fast, absorbed
so quickly, that he sucked dry all his surroundings, whether place,
scenery, people, or facts, before the rest of us had settled down to
realize whether we liked a place or not. When he arrived at this stage
everything was flat to him, and he would anxiously say, "Do you think
I shall live to get out of this, and to see another place?" And I used
regularly to say, "Of course you will. Let us go to-day, if you feel
like that;" and that would quiet him so far that he would say, "Oh
no; say next Monday or Tuesday;" and then we went. During the latter
days of his life, this restlessness became absolutely part of his
complaint, and we used to seem to be moving on every week. One of his
peculiarities was that he never would remain one moment in the hotel
behind me. We used to plan to divide our work. I did all the courier's
work, and the doctor took care of my husband. I used to go down to the
stations or the steamers, with Lisa, a full hour before time, to take
the tickets, weigh the baggage, procure a compartment for our party
alone, telegraph forward for carriage, for rooms, and meals, so that
his journey might go on oiled wheels, and Dr. Baker was to follow with
him to save fatigue, getting him in five minutes before the start. We
never could manage this; he would not let me go away one single instant
before him, but used to jump into the same carriage.
The chief things Richard notes on this visit were as follows:--
"But on the 15th we left Geneva for Paris--when Zotenberg dined with
us (at Folkestone I saw my sister)--and London, which we reached on
the 20th of July, after nearly two years' absence, and lodged at
the St. James's Hotel, Piccadilly. Literary work awaited us both,
and I was again obliged to run the risk and dangers of the Bodleian
at Oxford; but this time I had my wife and Dr. Baker with me, and I
escaped all the evil results.
"During the time we were in London we had luncheons and dinners every
day for our friends. It is no use giving a long list of names, but
most of them were the most interesting people in London. We were also
asked out immensely into Society, and in the daytime we accepted; but
we made a rule now, on account of my health, never to accept a dinner
or evening invitation, because I was obliged to dine at 7.30 and go to
bed at 9.30, and my wife would not leave me. Amongst others, we had
the pleasure at Lady Henry Gordon Lennox's of meeting Mr. Villiers, a
brilliant relic of the old school, and my wife was fortunate enough to
be taken in to lunch by him.
"On the 21st of August we went down to Bromley Holwood to see Lord and
Lady Derby; they showed us Pitt's old house, the oak under which Pitt
organized the abolition of slavery, Pitt's writing table, and a doll
which the Queen gave to Lady Derby when she was Lady Mary West."
He writes on the 22nd of September:--
"To-day my wife was sent for to the Austro-Hungarian Embassy to
receive from Count Lützow a very beautiful portrait of the Empress
of Austria, in approval of her life and works. This has made me very
proud and her very happy."
In October we went down to Newmarket, to see my cousins Lord and Lady
Gerard, where we met some very pleasant people, and where Richard was
very much interested going to the training ground, and saw hundreds of
racehorses taking their gallops, and Captain Machell and Colonel Oliver
Montagu explained everything to us.
[Sidenote: _Richard leaves it for ever_.]
On the 15th of October, 1888, Richard left London. Little did we think
he would never return to it more alive. We stayed at Folkestone ten
days to be near his sister and niece, and had some charming country
drives. We crossed on the 26th of October--his last sight of Old
England. Two years later he was gone.
We stayed at Boulogne. He was very fond of it; it agreed with him,
and he liked to go over all the old haunts where we had met as
young people, and his old fencing school too. He writes: "My old
fencing-master Constantin is eighty, with a young bright eye." On the
29th of October, 1888, we went to Paris, also for the last time, and
here at breakfast and dinner we generally had Professor Zotenberg (who
gave us an always-remembered breakfast at the Lion d'Or), or Professor
Houdas, or Mr. Barnard of the _New York Herald_--all who knew things
that were interesting to him. We went on from there to Geneva by the
_train de luxe_ to the Hôtel Nationale, which was as nice as could
be. On the 19th of November, after dinner, the chandelier fell on the
dinner-table, the gas rushed out, and waiters went to fetch a lamp.
This happened to us two winters running. Geneva is a charming place in
winter, and agreed well with Richard, who was again enabled to enjoy
his days with Karl Vogt. We got to know very pleasant society and had
delightful drives--one to Ferney (château of Voltaire) and the Voirons.
After he left England in 1888, his health got ever so much better, and
I had confident hopes that he would last for many years. Here Richard
made his last public lecture. The Geneva Geographical Society asked him
to speak, and he had a regular ovation. At first he was very nervous
and tired, but he wound up as he went on, and, like our Society, at
the end he was asked to sit down, and everybody who felt inclined got
up and asked him questions, which he answered. The meeting was very
cordial. There are some very distinguished men in Geneva, and all the
best Society, when you have pierced the outer crust, tends to serious
life, study, and acquiring information. On the 1st of December we
went on to Vevey, where we found Madame Nubar Pasha. Monsieur Albert
de Montêt, a member of one of the great families--a young man, but
learned--came frequently to breakfast. We stopped at the Hôtel du Lac
on the Lake, but it was too damp, so we went up to Mooser's, which
was delightful. Here I was asked to lecture at the house of the great
family of the place--the De Couvreurs, and it was just a repetition of
the one at the Geographical Society in Geneva.
[Sidenote: _His Advice about Suákin_.]
From here Richard wrote:
"THE POSITION AT SUÁKIN.
"To the Editor of the _Times_.
"Sir,--The decisive defeat of the dervish invader unsieges Suákin,
but the chronic difficulties of our false position are by no means
diminished. We cannot evacuate the unhealthy, wretched slave port,
because it would immediately be occupied by rivals or enemies, and
our unwritten compact with the Egyptian Government binds us to retain
it. But occupation under the existing circumstances means simply a
protracted state of petty warfare, and troubles will recur at regular
intervals, until one party or the other will prefer to give way.
"The grievance of the Soudanese tribes is most reasonable. They have a
racial and inherited hate and dread of the Egyptian and of the Turk,
and they will never rest until they rid 'Blackland' of them. I found
the same feeling prevalent throughout the Somali country, and at
Harar, where my greatest danger was of being mistaken for an Osmanli.
"To make the game worth the candle, we must clear Suákin of its
Egyptian clique, and re-embark the last Egyptian soldier _en route_
for the Nile Valley. I would not expose British troops to the
abominable climate of the Red Sea littoral; but I think that, after
the fighting is fought, the Indian sepoy could resist the exile till
such time as we can make peace with the tribes, raise, arm, and
discipline a native Soudanese contingent, and settle the country on
the firm basis of commerce and friendly intercourse. And note that the
sepoy is more feared in Egypt than the British soldier; the latter has
a scornful dislike to shed black blood, whereas the former shows no
such weakness.
"I see that the 'basest of kingdoms'--for such Egypt has become once
more--officially objects to the return of Mr. Wylde, and that our
authorities have, as usual, admitted the preposterous demand. Mr.
Wylde has committed the unpardonable sin of publishing two volumes of
home-truths. He has shown up the wild Suákin clique; he has accounted
for our military failures; he has unsparingly denounced the jobbery
and corruption which disgrace our petty district wars. He is loved
neither by civil administrators nor by military incapables, and he is
the _bête noir_ of railroad contractors and others of the same genus.
But he has shown us the way out of our difficulties--that is, if we
choose to adopt the results of his long and extensive experience.
But the Soudan question is becoming, like its Eastern kinsfolk, easy
enough to be settled, whenever settlement shall become necessary; and,
meanwhile, it is a permanent malady most profitable to the faculty.
Without it what would become of the diplomatists and the host of
little nationalities and individuals who delight to fish in troubled
waters, and who would starve in the calm of peace and quiet?
"To my countrymen I would say, 'Englishmen, at least be humane. The
Soudanese tribes never had any quarrel with you. They knew you only
as the folk who came among them to shoot big game. They entertained
you hospitably, and they freely lent themselves to all your fads. With
indescribable levity you attacked these gallant and noble Negroids,
who were doing battle for liberty, for their hearths and homes, and
for freedom from the Egyptian tax-gatherer and from the Turkish
despoiler. You threw yourselves, unlike your forefathers, who dearly
loved fair play, on the strongest side, and you aided in oppressing
the weak by a most unholy war. You have cast an indelible blot upon
the fair fame of England. With your breech-loading rifles and Gatling
guns you attacked these gallant races; but Allah sometimes defends
the right, and you have had more than once to flee before men armed
with a miserable spear and a bit of limp leather by way of a shield.
Your errors were those of ignorance. Do not persist in them now that
you have learnt the truth. After dispersing the dervishes, seize the
earliest opportunity of showing your magnanimity, and come to terms
with the gallant enemy, upon the express condition that no Egyptian
official, civil or military, shall ever pollute the land with his
presence. And if this step fail (but it will not fail) to restore
peace, you will at least have offered the best atonement for the
bloody misdeeds of the past.
"In advocating this treatment of the Suákin affairs, I presume that
the public is no longer blinded about our occupation of Egypt. We
entered the country for a purpose which, as all experts know, was
perfectly Utopian. We shall not teach the Moslems of the Nile Valley
our civilization, nor shall we Christianize even the Christian Copts.
We shall remain among them upon sufferance. We shall even be welcome,
after a fashion, to the Fellah so long as we half tax him, and abate
the nuisance of the Pasha and the Bey and the Greek village usurer.
But this means that we must continue there for an indefinite time. The
embarkation of the last British soldier will be followed by horrors
far surpassing the worst 'plagues of Egypt' in the olden days.
"I am, sir, yours faithfully,
"RICHARD F BURTON.
"(Vevey,) December 21st, 1888."
Extract from a cutting.
"We have had enough of these sickening massacres. Sir Richard Burton,
who knows the Egyptian to the bone, and who is a second Gordon in his
knowledge of the Soudan and its people, has declared that it is folly
to expect Fellah troops, officered by Europeans, to fight against any
Mahdi. He foresaw the present disaster when he wrote that nothing that
Sir Evelyn Wood or Baker Pacha might do 'could prevail against Fellah
superstition.'"
On Christmas Eve, 1888, we amused ourselves with putting our stockings
outside the door, like the children, for Santa Claus, and we all filled
each other's with little presents; but the two greatest amusements were
that my contribution to my husband's stocking was only a birch-rod,
_i.e._ a _bonbonnière_ made exactly like a birch-rod, the goodies being
in the handle. He was delighted with this, and I found it amongst his
treasures after his death. The other was that (of course) we all filled
Lisa's stocking to repletion, and she got some very pretty things. So
she said, "Oh, I like this game! I never saw it before; I shall put
my stocking out every night." She thought they would always come. On
Christmas Day we had _egg-nogg_ with the Montgomerys, our ex-American
Consul of Trieste.
"RICHARD'S NOTES FROM VEVEY.
"Montreux, January 10th, 1889.
"I noticed, like all tourists, two inscriptions, public and modern,
and was informed by my hospitable Veveysan friends that both are based
upon erroneous 'Factology.'
"No. 1, placed behind the Halle aux Blés, to the north of the Place du
Marché, runs:--
'Ici
Jean Jacques Rousseau logea en 1732.'
"No. 2, which has more interest for Englishmen, runs thus:--
"'Ici habitait
Edmund Ludlow,
Lieut.-Général, Membre du Parlement Anglais,
Défenseur des Libertés de son Pays.
L'illustre Proscrit avait fait placer
cette Inscription sur la Porte de sa Demeure,
"omne solum forti patria quia patris."
Energiquement protégé par les Autorités
et accueilli avec sympathie par les habitants
de Vevey, Edmund Ludlow a vécu
dans cette ville de 1662 à 1693,
année de sa mort.'
[Sidenote: _Discussing about Ludlow_.]
"The place pointed out to me is No. 49, Rue du Lac, occupied by
the Imprimérie Loertscher et Fils, which still prints the famous
_Messager Noiteux_, an almanack dating from 1707. The alley setting
off to the north, and called 'Ruelle des Anciens Fossés de la Ville,'
shows that the exiles were then lodged outside the town, and consequently
a strict guard was necessary for their safety. Lausanne
failing in this matter, Mr. John Lisle, M.P., another of the gallant
band, was there shot in the back by a hired assassin.
"Ludlow returned to England in 1689, before the accession of Charles
II., risked his life for nearly two years, and finally hurried back
to Vevey in 1690, or three years before his death (aged seventy-two).
Possibly he may then have lodged at the place noted by the epigraph.
There is a local legend known to all--even to the guide-books--that
early in the present century an English couple introduced themselves
as 'Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow' to M. Grenier, who had bought the house
from M. Cottier, the successor of M. Dubois. While the lady remained
pleasantly chatting with the ancient proprietor, the gentleman
slipped out of the room and carried off the wooden tablet bearing the
epigraph, 'Omne solum,' etc.
"Vevey behaved with characteristic hospitality and the true Switzer's
love of liberty in protecting the 'regicides' against the bravos of
Savoy, paid with English gold by the Merry (and most unchivalrous)
Monarch. She should take more pride in this one heroic action
than in having harboured a host of royalties and quasi-royalties--the
Empress Maria Federowna, the Kings of Bavaria, Wurtemburg,
and the Netherlands, Princes Alexander and George of Prussia,
Princess de Lignitz, the Grand-Duchess Anne of Russia, and many
a minor star. She also, at the instance of Mistress Ludlow, gave to
her guests their last homes under her most honoured roof--the
church of St. Martin (built in A.D. 1498). The five rest side by side
in the northern aisle--Andrew Boughton and John Phelps (clerks
to the Court, who read out the death-sentence), Gawler, Love, and
Ludlow. The latter has a memorial tablet on the northern wall over
his grave, surmounted by a most un-Puritan crest--a lion rampant--and
(therein) he 'winged his way to the eternal mansions.' Phelps
has also a brand-new slab of black marble facing eastwards, set up
by two Anglo-American kinsmen of the same name. Broughton,
who 'slept in the Lord,' was placed under the aisle-pavement, and
all the other gravestones are hidden by a boarding which we hope
to see removed as soon as the fine old pile, whose massive masonry
is splitting, and whose western portal and huge belfry with turreted
angles are palpably sloping northwards, shall have found certain
funds for repairs now necessary. The view from the church terrace
is inimitable. Here no art can equal nature, and it is a sufficient
illustration of Mendelssohn's dictum (Lady Wallace, p. 96), 'The
Swiss can paint no beautiful scenery, precisely because they have it
the whole day before their eyes.'
"R. F. BURTON.
"P.S.--In reading Ludlow's memoirs we must beware of his truly
British cacography--_e.g. Baron de Chatteler_ (for Chattelard, vol. iii.
p. 153), _Tunno_ (for Thonon, in Chablais, p. 157), and _Ouches_ (for
Ouchy, port of Lausanne, p. 158).
"_Correction_ (which he notes in journal).--Several correspondents
have written to point out some manifest errors of date in Sir R. F.
Burton's 'Notes from Vevey,' in the _Academy_ of last week. In the
Ludlow inscription, the date of his arrival at Vevey should clearly
be '1662,' and not 1642; and the passage, 'Ludlow returned to
England in 1689, before the accession of Charles II.,' should apparently
run--'Ludlow returned to England in 1688, before the
accession of William and Mary.'"
"NOTES FROM LAUSANNE.
"Lausanne, February 24th, 1889.
"The _Academy_ of February 2 contains two corrections of my 'Notes
from Vevey,' one error being typographical, and the other an _infelix
culpa_, the result of inordinate carelessness. As your correspondent
remarks, 1642 should be 1662; and I find, by inspection, the date
so recorded upon Ludlow's tablet. The second passage should be
read, 'Ludlow returned to England about mid 1689, shortly after the
accession of William and Mary.' Your correspondent proposes, 'Ludlow
returned to England in 1688;' but the following official letter,
kindly furnished by M. Albert de Montêt, shows this also to be an
error. The General's report of his intended journey, addressed to
their Excellencies the Seigneurs de Berne, with its queer French,
quaintly Anglicized and Roundheaded, may perhaps interest some of your
readers.
"'Lettre de Ludlow au Conseil de Vevey, du 2 Juin, 1689,
"Manuaux de la Ville, L.," p. 103.
"'Mes très honnorés Seigneurs! Le Seigneur qui m'a pourveu
(_sic_), avec plusieurs autres de mes compagnons en mes souffrances
et exil pour la parolle et le témoignage de Jésus, d'un asile très
favorable: en nous conduisant par la colonne de feu sous votre bénin
et equitable government, m'appelant aujourd'huy pour faire un tour
dans mon pays d'Etat pour y faire mon possible pour fortifier les
mains de notre Gédéon, qui est miraculeusement suscité pour nous
retirer de la maison de servitude et démolir l'autel de Baal contre
ceux qui prennent la querelle pour luy (soi?) et choisissent plustôt
de se mettre soubs l'arbre de l'Espine que soubs l'équitable domination
du roy de la justice et du prince de paix. Ayant par la grande bonté
de Dieu depuis plusieurs années, entre autres providences signalées
et spéciales, amplement et pleinement expérimenté les effets de la
très gracieuse réception à notre première arrivée en cette ville, qu'il
vous a plu de nous signiffier par feu M. le Banderent De Montet de
votre part, comme membre du même corps avec yous auquel Christ
et (est?) le chef, je me trouve obligé devant que je parte pour
l'Angleterre, ignorant les choses qui m'y doivent arriver, de vous en
témoigner ma très humble recognoissance vous suppliant de l'accepter
jusqu'à ce que l'occasion se présente pour le manifester plus réelement,
vous asseurant que je ne manqueray pass de s'en (m'en?)
préveloir pour vous faire voir à tous en général et à chacun en
particulier que je seray tenu ma vie comme obligé d'estre, Très
honnorés Seigneurs Votre très humble, très fidelle et très obéissant
serviteur.
"'(Signed) EDM. LUDLOWE (_sic_).'
[Sidenote: _Richard's Remarks on Lausanne_.]
"To an Englishman at Lausanne, Gibbon is still the prime subject
of local interest. I had also been assured that many imprinted
autographs remain in private hands, despite the mass of correspondence
published in the 'Life and Letters,' pp. 178-356, by Mr. W. J.
Day, London, F. Warne (undated). But I repeat that the traveller
must as often discover what there is not as determine what there is.
"An introduction to M. William de Charrière de Sévery (the
grandson of M. Wilhelm de Sévery, Gibbon's familiar and legatee)
convinced me that rumour had exaggerated. He has a few notes,
a single bundle, mostly private, if not confidential; and the same is
the case with Mdme. Grenier-Bourgeois. The 'relics' are most
interesting. We were shown the favourite writing-paper, letter-sized,
gilt-edged, and rough, fit only for the goose-quill, of which a few
ink-stained specimens are preserved; the cards, playing and others,
upon which notes to intimates were generally written in a schoolboy
hand, stiff and tall; a long list of linen for bedding, etc., proving
business habits; and the last will and testament (October 1, 1791),
covering three pages foolscap-sized--of the latter Mr. Day (p. 176)
prints an abstract. The cellar still contains a few bottles of the
'Malmsey-Madeira' which Gibbon sent for in 1789 (p. 123), and
which he had probably to thank for a frightful attack of gout. We
were favoured with a sight of the portraits: one the usual Kit-cat in
pastels--Lausanne then containing sundry famous pastellistes--a
cameo-bust on wedgwood (much idealized), and an _aquarelle_ of
'The Historian' (hideous exceedingly), sitting before the façade of
his house at Lausanne, afterwards removed to make way for the
Hôtel Gibbon. This, by the way, is a fraud, boasting that its
garden contains the identical chestnut tree under which the last
lines of a twenty-years' work were written. Unfortunately, the oft-quoted
passage describing that event (p. 103) assigns it to 'a
summer-house in my garden,' near a _berceau_, or covered walk of
acacias; all of which have long disappeared to make way for the Rue
du Midi. Upon the strength of this being 'Gibbon Castle,' we are
somewhat overcharged and underfed; and we are convinced that
Lausanne wants an establishment, like the admirable 'National' of
Geneva, half-way between the City and Ouchy, her port, and not far
from 'Christ Church' Square.
"Voltaire is so forgotten by the general world at Lausanne, that
even an educational professor ignored his 'philosophical' exile in
Switzerland. He left Vaud after a dispute with the ecclesiastical
authorities. Yet there are still three places that belong to him:
Monrepos, a villa to the north-east, where tradition says the _première_
of 'Zaire' was acted; Maison Gaulis, in the Grand Chêne Street;
and Maison Mont-Riond (Round Hill) Dapples (Gibbon's 'D'Apples').
The latter rises east of the historic hillock, crowned with two trees,
described in every guide-book. The house, whilom infamous for
damp, was drained dry by the Funicular Railway, and is now let to
Dr. Niven, whom we last met at Matharan (Bombay). The chief
room in the two-storied block is traditionally the theatre. A few
yards to the north-west there is also the half of a cottage under an
inordinate tile roof, capping clay walls with wooden beams, three
stories high at the Lake front. _La Casquette_, as the artists call their
favourite, is, or rather was, a kind of snuggery, whereto Voltaire
retired for study in solitude; and yet it is mistermed by sundry of
the folk _Laboratoire de Rousseau_. It is now occupied by a gardener,
whose family of twelve, despite overcrowding and bad air, shows
signs of exceptional health and strength. I only hope that the
Municipality will buy it and rail it round, and preserve it as a relic.
"RICHARD F BURTON.
"N.B. to all who 'undigest'--Avoid any but distilled water at
Lausanne, Vevey, Montreux, and throughout the limestone regions
of Switzerland."