Volume II., 1007 (lib. ix.-xv.), besides the register (appendix,

index, etc.). It is profusely illustrated by the author's hand with maps and plans, genealogies and coats of arms, scenery and castles, costumes and portraits; and, lastly, with representations of battles, sieges, hangings, roastings, and hurlings headlong from rocks. The tailpiece is a duello between a Christian man-at-arms and a 'turban'd Turk.' The plates are on metal, and remarkably good. A new edition of this notable old historic-topographical monograph is now being issued from Laibach (Labacus). 'Carniola antiqua et nova,' is happy in her 'Memoirs;' Valvásor has a rival in Johann Ludovicus Schönleben, whose folio appeared Labaci M.DC.LXXXI., Œmoniæ Labaci Conditæ, MM.DCCC.IV. Of the latter, however, only the Tomus Primus, ending about A.D. 1000, appeared: the Secundus was not printed, and the fate of the manuscript is unknown.

"Valvásor gives a view of Castle Weixelstein, 'Cherry-tree Rock,' which the Slavs call Novi Dvor (New Court). There is some change in the building since 1689. The square towers at the angles appear lower, from the body of the house having been raised. The _hof_, or hollow court to the south, has been surrounded by a second story; and the fine linden-tree in the centre is a stump, bearing a large flower-pot. The scene of the apparition is a low room with barred windows and single-arched ceiling, which is entered by the kitchen, the first door to the right of the main gate. The old families mentioned in the story have mostly disappeared. Enough of preliminary.

"The following is a literal translation of Valvásor's Old German:

"'_Veritable and Singular Account of an Apparition, and the Saving of a Soul, in Castle Weixelstein, in Krain._

"'At the castle above-named, strange noises (_rumor_) were heard during the night for several years; but the origin of the same was a subject of (vain) research and speculation. After a time a new servant-wench (_mensch_), engaged in the house, whose name was Ankha (i.e. _Anna_) Wnikhlaukha, had the courage, on hearing these mysterious sounds, to address the ghost in the following manner:--

"'The 15th of January, A.D. 1684.--Firstly, at night a noise arose in the servant-wenches' room, as though some one were walking about clad in iron armour and clanking chains. The women being sorely frightened, some stable-hands were brought to sleep with them. They were struck upon the head, and one was like to die of terror.

"'The 16th January.--In the evening, as the lights still burnt, a rapping was heard at the room door, but when they went to see what caused it, nothing was found. Presently those inside put out the lamps, and lay down to rest. Thereupon began a loud clatter; the two servant-wenches, Marinkha (Marian) Samanoukha and Miza (Mitza, Mary) Sayeschankha, were seized by the head, but they could distinguish no one near them.'

"The whole account is strictly 'spiritualistic.' Ankha is the chosen medium, and nothing is done till she appears on the scene. The ghost will hardly answer the officious and garrulous steward; and has apparently scant respect for the reverend men who were called in. One of the latter somewhat justified the ghost's disdain by telling a decided 'fib.' The steps by which the apparition changes from hot to cold, from weariness to energy, from dark to white robes, and from loud noises to mild, are decidedly artistic.

"'_On the 17th of January nothing happened._

"'On the 18th, the servant-wenches being in great fear, five others joined them. One, Hansche Juritschkno Suppan, put out the light when all lay down, locked the door, and endeavoured to sleep. Thereupon arose a dreadful noise. After it had ended, Ankha, by the advice of those present, thus bespake the ghost:

"'"All good spirits, praise the Lord."

"'(This is the recognized formula throughout Germany for addressing apparitions.)

"'The ghost answered, "I also; so help me God, and Our Blessed Lady, and the holy Saint Anthony of Padua!"

"'Anna resumed, "What wantest thou, O good spirit?"

"'The ghost replied, "I want thirty _Masses_." It added, "This castle was once mine," and it disappeared.

"'_On the 19th of January the ghost was present, but nothing unusual occurred._

"'_On the evening of the 20th,_ the servant-wenches being still affrighted, the steward (Schreiber), one Antoni Glanitschinigg, and the man Hansche, before mentioned, with six other persons, were in the chamber. When all lay down to rest, the steward locked the door and put out the lamp. The ghost at once came and violently dragged a chair backwards. Whereupon quoth Antoni: "I confess that I am a great sinner; nevertheless, I dare address thee, and ask thee, in God's name, what more dost thou want?"

"'To this question no answer was vouchsafed by the ghost, although the steward repeated it a second time and a third time. He then rose up and advanced towards the apparition, which was seen standing near the window, thinking to discover whether it was a true ghost, or some person playing a trick. It vanished, however, before he could lay hand upon it. The steward went out with one of the servant-wenches to fetch a light; and, whilst so doing, he heard the ghost speaking in the room he had left. When the lamp came nothing was found. Then all those present knelt down and prayed. After their devotions the light was extinguished, and the ghost reappeared, crying out, with weeping and wailing, "Ankha! Ankha! Ankha! help me." The wench asked, "How can I help thee, O good spirit?" Whereupon the ghost rejoined, "With thirty Masses, which must be said at the altar of St. Anthony, in the church of Jagnenz," which church is in the parish of Schäffenberg.'

"Jagnenz is a church in the valley of the Sapotka, a small stream which falls into the Save river, about half a mile west of Weixelstein. Schäffenberg is the hereditary castle of the well-known county of that name. Wrunikh is another little church, remarkably pretty, near Weixelstein. Apparently the ghost served to 'run' Jagnenz against all its rivals.

"'Hearing these words from the ghost, the steward again inquired, "O thou good spirit, would it not be better to get the Masses said sooner by dividing them, part at Jagnenz, the other at the altar of Saint Anthony in Wrunikh?" Whereto the ghost made an answer, "No! Ankha! Ankha! only at Jagnenz, and not at Wrunikh!" The steward continued, "As this ghost refuseth to answer me, do thou, Ankha, ask it what and why it suffers, etc." Then Ankha addressed it: "My good spirit! tell me wherefore dost thou suffer?" It replied, "For that I unrighteously used sixty gulden (florins); so I, a poor widow body, must endure this penalty." Ankha further said, "Who shall pay for these thirty Masses?" The ghost rejoined, "The noble master" (of the castle), and continued, "Ankha! Ankha! I am so weary, and dead-beat, and martyred, that I can hardly speak."

"'Then cried the steward, "My good spirit! when the thirty Masses shall have been said, come back and give us a sign that they have helped thee." The ghost rejoined, "Ankha, to thee I will give a sign upon thy head." Ankha replied, "God have mercy upon me, that must endure such fright and pain!" But the ghost thus comforted her: "Fear not, Ankha. The sign which I will show to thee shall not be visible upon thy head, nor shall it be painful." It added, "Ankha! Ankha! I pray thee, when thou enterest into any house, tell the inmates that one unjust kreutzer (farthing) eats up twenty just kreutzers." Then the ghost began to scratch the wench's cap, or coif; and she, in her terror, took to praying for help. The ghost comforted her, bade her feel no fear or anxiety, took leave (_sic_), and was seen no more that night.

"'_Late on the 21st of January_ the ghost reappeared, and made a terrible noise with a chair in presence of the lord of the castle, Sigmund Wilhelm Freiherr, (Baron) von Zetschekher, and of two ecclesiastics, Georg André Schlebnikh and Lorenz Tsichitsch. Several others, men and women, were present, and nothing took place till the candles were put out. Whereupon the said Schlebnikh began to exorcise the apparition, beginning with the usual formula, "All good spirits, praise the Lord." The ghost replied, "I also." It would not, however, answer any questions put by the ghostly man, but began to speak with Ankha, saying, "Ankha, help me!" She rejoined, "My dear good spirit, all that lies in my power will I do for thee; only tell me, my spirit, if the two Masses already said have in any way lessened thy pain." The ghost answered, "Yea, verily" (_freilich_). Ankha continued, "How many more Masses must thou still have?" and the reply was, "Thirty, less two." Then Ankha resumed, "Oh, my good spirit, tell me thy family name." Quoth the ghost, "My name is Gallenbergerinn." The wench further asked for a sign of salvation when all the thirty Masses should have been said; the ghost promised to do so, and disappeared.

"'_On the night of the 22nd of January,_ when the lights were put out, the ghost reappeared, passing through the shut and tied door. This was in presence of Wollf Engelbrecht, Baron Gallen, of the lord of the castle, and of three priests, namely, Georg Schiffrer, curate of Laagkh, Georg André Schlebnikh, and Lorenz. There were several others. This time the ghost did not make a frightful noise as before, the reason being that eight Masses had been said. So at least it appeared from its address, "Ankha, Ankha, I thank thee; I shall soon be released." The wench rejoined, "O my good spirit, dost thou feel any comfort after the eight Masses?" The apparition replied, "Yea, verily, my Ankha;" and, when asked how many were wanted, answered, "Twenty-two." As it had declared its family name, it was now prayed to disclose its Christian name, in order that the latter might be introduced into the Masses by the four reverends. It said, "My name is Mary Elizabeth Gallenbergerinn." Further it was asked whether, being a Gallenberg, the thirty Masses should be paid by the Lord of Gallenberg or by "Zetschkher" of Weixelstein. It ejaculated, "Zetschkher" (without giving the title); and added, "A thousand, thousand, and a thousand thanks to thee, dear Ankha." The latter said, "O my good spirit, tell me what wrong didst thou do with the sixty gulden, that we may make restoration to the rightful owner." The ghost replied, "Ankha, this must I tell thee in secret." The wench begged that the matter might be disclosed in public, so that men might believe it; but the ghost answered, "No, Ankha; in private." It then took leave and disappeared, promising to come back for three more evenings.

"'On the 23rd of January the lord of the castle, with three priests, prayed at the altar of Saint Anthony of Jagnenz, and five more Masses were said. They all lodged that night with Georg André, of Altenhoff, not far from the church. When the lamps were put out Ankha was placed sitting upon a chest, or box, between two ecclesiastics, Georg Schiffrer, of Laagkh, and André Navadnikh. Then after three raps, the ghost came in, and pulled the hair of one of these reverends. He stood up from the chest, whereupon it struck Ankha so violent a box on the ear (_ohrfeige_) that it sounded like a sharp clapping of hands, and could be heard over all the dwelling-place (_Läben_). Lights were brought, and showed the print of a left hand burnt in the coif on the right side of the wench's head; she was not hurt, but the cap remained heated for some time. Nothing else occurred that night.

"'On the evening of the 24th of January, after prayers by the priests, and the lamps being extinguished, the ghost rapped once and came in. As the wench again sat on the same chest between the priests, the curate of Laagkh felt his hair tugged, and he rose up. Ankha at the same time exclaimed, "Oh dear! oh dear! whose cold hand is that?" The priest, who was sitting near, said, "Don't be afraid, the hand is mine;" but this was not true. He wished to do away with her fright, and with the impression caused by the touch.

"'On the 25th of January, when all the required Masses had been said at the altar of Saint Anthony of Jagnenz, the Lord of Weixelstein and the priests engaged in the ceremony returned to pass the night at the castle, and to receive the thanksgiving of the Saved Soul. While they were supping the housemaid, carrying the children's food, was crossing the hall to the dining-room, when the ghost seized her arm. She started back, and saw behind her the form of a woman robed in white. As the family were retiring to rest, the lord of the castle ordered two of his dependents, Christop Wollf and Mathew Wreschek, to pass the night with the servant-wenches in the haunted room. As the lamps were put out the ghost entered and struck a loud rap upon the table, and said, "Ankha, now I am saved, and I am going to heaven." The wench rejoined, "O blessed soul, pray to Heaven for me, for the noble master, the noble mistress, and all the noble family, and for all those who helped thee to (attain) thine eternal salvation," whereto the ghost answered, "Amen, amen, amen." It then went towards Ankha, and privily told her the promised secret, strictly forbidding her to divulge it.

"'Finally, it should be noted that before all these events Ankha had confessed and communicated.'

"Trieste, September 8, 1879."

The walks in the woods were delightful, and when the picture was sufficiently advanced we went to Trieste to meet Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Evans. We also went with a large party to meet the Prince of Montenegro, who arrived at Trieste, who was one of the handsomest men I ever saw, of the dark mountaineer type. This September we had a great blow. Our favourite Governor, Baron Pino, was transferred to Linz, and he and his wife were so very popular that the whole town was in mental mourning. We all went to see them off, and it was a very heart-breaking scene. We all cried. I have seen such departures three times. One was for the Spanish Consuless Madame Zamitt, a lovely and popular woman, who a year or two later died of cancer in the tongue, and the third was my own departure (though I say it who should not), on the 27th of January, 1891.

Richard went for a little trip on the 29th of September to Fiume, and afterwards we went to Albona.

I also induced the _podestá_, the Mayor, and several of the authorities of the town to go round with me to become eye-witnesses of the cruelties and the places where people kept their animals, and the Mayor told me that, though he had been born and lived all his life in Trieste, he was quite unaware that it contained such holes and slums as I was able to show him.

We had the pleasure of being asked by one of our great friends, Baronne Emilio de Morpurgo, to meet the great painter from Paris, Monsieur d'Hébert, and I note a pleasant dinner with Monsieur and Madame Dorn, editor of the _Triester Zeitung_, to meet Faccio the _maestro_; and Signor Serravallo introduced to us Professor Giglioli, of Florence. Then we went on again to Opçina, and from there we got a letter from Uncle Gerard, to say that he and my aunt and cousins were coming to Venice for ten days, and that we were to go and join them; which summons we obeyed joyfully, and had a most happy time. After they left, we went off to Chioggia, the fishing village near Venice, and we had the pleasure of unearthing Mr. Jemmy Whistler and Dr. George Bird. Mr. Whistler was a great find for us.

Dr. George Bird had appointed to meet me in Venice on his way to India, as I was not well and wanted to see an English doctor (I had never got over my fall); but I forgot to ask him what hotel he would stay at, he forgot to tell me, and Venice is a place you might be months in, and never meet a person you wanted to see. Consequently, when I got there, I did not know how to meet him; so I went to the police, told them my difficulty, gave them his photograph, and told them he did not know a word of anything but English. The consequence was that the moment he arrived the police brought him straight off to me; all the way he kept wondering what law he had transgressed, and what they were going to do with him. When he saw me, he gave what _we_, his intimate friends, call one of his "smiles." He has a habit of roaring with laughter, so loud that the whole street stops and looks, and he then says gently, "Oh, excuse my smiling." He said, "Have you done this?" "Why," I said, "of course; how else could I get at you?" The police spoke a few words to me, and then, to his astonishment, I turned to him and said, "You travelled with a young lady; you parted with her at such a station; you came on alone, and you lost your luggage." "But how, in the name of goodness, do you know all this?" "Ah," I said mysteriously, "secret police!" We went off and immediately looked after the luggage, and recovered it before he had to go on board his Indian steamer, and I had my consultation.

[Sidenote: _Excursions_.]

It was now November, and very cold weather, with frequent _Boras_, but we nevertheless managed a quantity of excursions in search for _castellieri_ and inscriptions. One we took in a frightful _Bora_--I don't know how we did it. We had a little country cart about the size of a tea-cart, and two rattling good horses, and we drove for two hours, passing four villages and reaching San Daniell, a fortified village on a hill with an old castle under the big mountains. It was owned by a primitive learned old man of seventy-four, and active as a boy, a queer old housekeeper of a wife, sons who shoot, and daughters, and three old brothers, who played cards with him in the evening. It is a large landed property in the Karso, of no use because it is all stones; the castle is draughty, all the windows and doors are open and half unused; there is no idea of comfort. It has two heavy gateways for entrance, an old wall for defence, and a Roman inscription. We got a shelter with them, lunched in a primitive way in an old chimney in an inn with the villagers; then we got another country cart and had twenty minutes' more drive, and half an hour's rough climbing over stones to get at the object of our search, which was a Troglodyte cave fifty metres deep, the entrance in a side field, and said to have been inhabited by ancients. There we stood for forty minutes in a _Bora_ that made us hold on, taking squeezes of the inscriptions. Once finished, we tumbled back over the stones till we reached our cart, had twenty minutes' drive back, were glad to get near the fire and the chimney, and have some hot coffee. There was a struggling quarter-moon, and we drove back at a rattling pace to Opçina, encountering two snowstorms on our way. When we arrived, after eight hours out, we were frozen and had to be assisted out of the cart; there was a large china stove in the dining-room, and we sat down, one on each side of it, on the floor with our backs to it, and the landlord gave us some hot brandy-and-water with spice in it. We were a great many hours before we got any feeling at all, far less warm.

I have known a weak horse and man die on such a night on that road in the _Bora_. We had fearful weather that year, something like the present one (1892-3), but with our _Bora_ added on to it. We dined out one night in Trieste, and forbid our coachman to go on to the Quai, for fear of being blown into the sea; but he disobeyed us, and, to our horror, we saw by degrees our cab got nearer and nearer the edge. When it was about a yard or two from the edge, we opened the door and jumped out on the other side, and the man had to jump down and lead his horse into the back streets.

Richard now wrote a letter on the subject of the Indo-Mediterranean railway, and he objected to the route of his friend Captain Cameron; the object was to give the Indian mails seven days instead of three weeks for letters to reach. Richard stood out stoutly for a line which should start from Tyre in Syria, tap the very richest lands in Syria, pass Ba'albak, and the once glorious valley plain of the Orontes, reaching Aleppo.

During some part of this year (I cannot exactly say what day, as the letter bears only the date Thursday) Richard was invited to come to some place to meet the King of the Belgians, who had asked repeatedly for him, calling him "the Pioneer of all these African travels," and saying, "Where did you disappear to? nobody could find you;" which was just like Richard's extreme modesty, going out of the way when any honour or notice was going on.

I was very unhappy at Richard's determination to go once more to Egypt to try his luck about the mines; still, as there were such great hopes depending on it, and there was not enough money for both of us, he had to go and I had to stay. There was nothing for it but to go and see him off.

He desired me to give our usual Christmas-parties, so the poor children had their feast at one o'clock on one day, the servants inviting all their friends--had a supper and a dance; then I gave my English party, which we all enjoyed very much, and passed my usual San Silvester night (in English, seeing the old year out and the new year in) at Madame Gutmansthal's, which was a settled thing whenever they and we were in Trieste.

Whenever I was alone, I tried to introduce giving supper-parties only to my intimate women-friends in tea-gowns; but it did not succeed very well, as the husbands did not like not being asked.

On the 11th of January I gave a party to eighty-seven of our intimate Triestine friends. The English and foreigners never assimilated; they separated into different rooms, and they both spoilt each other's pleasure.

A very amusing practice, which lasted some time in the good Society of Trieste, was meeting to recite plays, French, German, and Italian, everybody taking a part, sitting round a table and each reading our part as if we were acting it. It was a very intellectual way of passing the evening, and it ended by supper. Each house took its turn. Then we used to have singing meetings on the same principle--sort of musical classes, where we went in for glees, choir music, and particular masters, such as Mendelssohn, Rubenstein, and so on.

[Sidenote: _Richard sends me Home to a Bone-setter_.]

I began to get ill again (I had never recovered my fall of nine months ago), and the doctors advised me to see a bone-setter. I wrote and told Richard, and he ordered me off by telegram; so I started on the 17th of February to meet a woman-friend who remained in Vienna, of whom more later. At last I went on to Linz to see our old friends Baron and Baroness Pino, where I had a delightful visit, and in a few days had been introduced to all the great Austrian Society there; went on to Paris, and reached London on the 1st of March. I was nearly three months under clever Dr. Maclagan, the father of salicin. I went as advised to Hutton, the bone-setter, who found something wrong with my ankle and my back and my arm, in consequence of the fall, and set me straight, and what he did to my back lasted me for a long time in the way of pain. I went through a long course of vapour-baths and shampooing. My chief pleasure was a spontaneous visit from dear old Martin Tupper, since dead, who gave me a copy of his "Proverbial Philosophy."

I also had several interesting visits from Gordon, who happened to be in London at this time. I remember on the 15th of April, 1880, he asked me if I knew the origin of the "Union Jack," and he sat down on my hearth-rug before the fire, cross-legged, with a bit of paper and a pair of scissors, and he made me three or four Union Jacks, of which I pasted one into my journal of that day; and I never saw him again--that is thirteen years ago. The flag foundation was azure; on the top of that comes St. George's cross _gules_, then St. Andrew's cross _saltire blanc_, St. Patrick's cross _saltire gules_.

[Sidenote: _Richard meets with Foul Play_.]

Since Richard's last visit, great changes had taken place in Egypt, for Ismail Pasha had abdicated, who believed in and needed these mines; and Tewfik Pasha had succeeded, and Tewfik did not consider himself bound by anything his father had done; and if the English Government gave a man a chance, it certainly would not have been given to Richard Burton. Hence he got no further than Egypt, and ate his heart out in impotent rage and disgust at his bad luck. On the 2nd or 3rd of May, as he was returning home from dining rather late in Alexandria, he was attacked by nine men, and hit over the head from behind with some sharp instrument. He fell to the ground, and on coming to, staggered to the hotel, and was all covered with blood. He turned round and struck out at them, as his knuckles were all raw. It was supposed to be foul play with a motive, as the only thing they stole was his "divining rod" for gold which he carried about his person, and the signet ring off his finger, but left his watch and chain and purse. He kept it a profound secret in order that it should be no hindrance to his going back to work the mines in Midian; but he came home in May, and never let me know that he was hurt until I came up to him. I was ill in London; the woman friend whom I had left at Vienna, now came over to London to bring me back, but stayed in London, and did not accompany me back at all. I quote this letter prematurely because it regards the subject of Midian.

"GOLD IN WESTERN ARABIA.

"Rohitsch-Sauerbrunn, August 5th, 1887.

"After an unconscionable delay, the following letter was received by me, dated Jeddah (Red Sea), from Mr. A. Levick, son of my old friend the ex-postmaster of Suez, whose name is known to a host of travellers. It will be shown that, even without action on the part of Europeans, the cause of discovery is thriving, and the public will presently ask why, in our present condition, when there is almost a famine of gold, England pays no attention to these new fields.

"'From inquiries I have made at Jeddah, I learn on good authority that gold quartz has been found in great quantities at Táif (the famous summering-place among the highlands to the east of Mecca), or rather on the mountain range between that place and Mecca. The person who gave me this information at the time of the discovery went to Constantinople and sundry other capitals, but the results obtained were not very encouraging. I was also told that Mr. Moel Betts (of the defunct company, Betts, Wylde, and Co.) has at Suez specimens of this quartz, which he took away with him from Jeddah when he went north. All this information is trustworthy, and you may thoroughly rely on its being correct, as I got it from a man in whom I can confide. An old Oriental traveller like yourself can understand how hard it always is to arrive at the truth in a place like this. However I am assured that the Government engineer of this district (Jeddah), a certain Sádik Bey, can also give me valuable details regarding the specimens found and the results obtained. Meanwhile you can confidently rely on the details which I have so far managed to obtain. I should also add that the person who so kindly gave me the news has further promised that he will do his utmost to provide me with specimens when he goes to Mecca. I have seen Mr. Consul Jago, and asked him if he could help me with anything. I shall be very glad to learn from you that the gold mines of Midian are likely to be coming on again, and I should think this a most favourable time to bring forward your most wonderful discoveries near Al-Muwaylah.'

"So far Mr. Levick. I am not astonished to hear that the results of the gold quartz were 'unsatisfactory.' These opinions were probably picked up from the surface, or broken off from some outcrop. But the fact of their being found is all-important; and the outcome of the work would be very different were it carried out by a scientific engineer, or, better still, by a practical miner from the gold diggings. I have heard now of auriferous discoveries extending from between the mountains of Northern Midian, along the line of the West Arabian Gháts, until they meet the volcanic region about Aden. They have been reported to me from behind Yambu, and Mecca, Mocha, and Hodaydah; and I have a thorough conviction that some day they will be found exceedingly valuable.

"RICHARD F. BURTON."

When Richard was leaving Egypt for good, Mr. Cookson, the brother of our Consul at Alexandria, Sir Charles Cookson, between whom and Richard there existed a great friendship, wrote his "Good-bye" in the following terms, which pleased Richard beyond everything:--

"Farewell to thee, Richard; we bid thee adieu. May Plutus and Crœsus their treasures lay bare; May their storehouse on earth be revealed unto you, So that wealth may be added to merits so rare!

"May nuggets as big as the hat on your head Be strewn in your path as you journey at will; And veins of rich gold 'neath the ground as you tread Lie hidden perdu, to be won by your skill.

"And when thou hast made a fabulous haul, And flooded the market with shares, On thy virtuous life may a blessing befall, To gild thy declining years."

Some time after this, some thoughtless youngsters played a practical joke on Mr. Cookson, and pretended to him that it came from Richard, who, on learning it a long time afterwards, felt sorely hurt and mortified that his old friend should have been left in error, and thought him capable of such a thing.

To my horror, I had found Richard with a secretly broken head, raw knuckles, and gout in his feet, but he soon got round under my care, and then I took him off to Opçina. He was afraid of meningitis, as they had wounded him just in the _nuque_. The doctor put him under a course of salicin, and at last he had an attack of healthy gout in the feet, which did him good. I got the best doctor, but he knew less about it than we did. Nubar Pasha came over about this time, and came up and stayed with us, and that did him good. He was soon able to breakfast down in the garden. He now began to walk about freely, and to take long drives, even to climb hills.

The first excursion that he made was to a _foiba_. This means one of the great pot-holes in the Karso, some of which are a hundred, two hundred, five hundred, or two thousand feet deep. Some of the most brutal amongst the peasant Slavs have the habit of throwing their animals down, when they want to get rid of them, and it was said that a dog was thrown down there, and we thought we could hear its moans, so we started off with a large party with endless ropes and grappling irons. He sounded the depths, and at last we seemed to get hold of something, at which all the men pulled and hoisted up a tree. This frightened all the owls who had taken refuge in this hole, and they flew out, and then we found that what we thought was the moaning of the dog was the hooting of these owls. Then our fencing-master, Herr Reich, came up to us frequently, and we had numberless drives over the Karso.

"IT."

"If all the harm that women have done Were put in a bundle and rolled into one, The earth could not hold it, the sky not enfold it, It could not be lighted nor warmed by the sun! Such masses of evil would puzzle the devil And keep him in fuel while Time's wheels run."

We had once to pass through a very uncanny trial, which may be said to have lasted from 1877 to the end of 1880, and somewhat (though in a less degree) to 1883. We suddenly began to be inundated with anonymous letters; then our private papers and writings would disappear; a great fuss of finding them was made, and when all fuss and hope of recovery was over, they would reappear. There was always some mystery hanging about, and once we found on the floor a copy-book with some very good imitations of my handwriting, or what my handwriting _would_ be if I tried to disguise it a little backwards, and some very bad and easily recognizable attempts at my husband's very peculiar hand. The anonymous letters generally tried to set us against each other, if possible, and I was always finding love-letters thrust into his pockets, whenever I cleaned or brushed his clothes, which I generally did when he was ill, in order not to have the servants in the room. Fortunately we told each other everything, and he used to carry his letters to me, and I mine to him, but we could make nothing of it.

At last he said, in 1879 (when he was going away to Midian), "You must be _quite sure_ not to make yourself uncomfortable about any of this sort of thing, and to tell me everything that occurs; because I am _sure_ this is an intrigue, and a woman's intrigue, which has something to do with money. When we were poor everybody left us in peace, but ever since 1877 nothing has been talked about but the enormous riches that I am _going_ to make in these mines, and you have been offering parures of turquoise to all your friends in my name. So somebody is working to try and separate us. You keep your 'weather eye' open, and believe nothing, nor shall I, and you will see that one day or another it is bound to ooze out." It did ooze out--after it did not matter.

Ever after these annoyances began, whenever we were going to make the smallest remark which might be unlucky, we always used to say, "Hush! '_IT_' will hear you;" and then we used to laugh. This became so habitual with us, that everybody else thought we were alluding to Providence, or evil spirits, or such like; but we were really alluding to our uncanny, fleshly evil genius, who, though we did not know it, was nestling close to us and heard it all. It was, therefore, with a doubly heavy heart that I saw him depart on his third and last journey for Midian, and was thankful when it was over.

[Sidenote: _Camoens_.]

Richard and I now went to Opçina a great deal alone, and we were working together at his Camoens, beginning at the two volumes of the "Lusiads."

In early 1880, he brought out a little bit of the first canto of the "Lusiads," and the episode of "Ignez de Castro," his favourite bit, as samples. I can never remember to have had a more peaceful and happy time with Richard than in Opçina, where we led a Darby and Joan life, and principally 1879, 1880, 1881, and part of 1882. We did all the six volumes of Camoens, he translating, I helping him and correcting. I wrote the little sonnet for him, my preface, and the Glossary, and his "Reviewers Reviewed."

"TO MY MASTER CAMOENS. "(_Tu se' lo mio maestro, è lo mio autore._)

"Great Pilgrim-poet of the Sea and Land; Thou life-long sport of Fortune's ficklest will; Doomed to all human and inhuman ill, Despite thy lover-heart, thy hero-hand; Enrollèd by the pen what marvellous band Of god-like Forms thy golden pages fill; Love, Honour, Justice, Valour, Glory thrill The Soul, obedient to thy strong command: Amid the Prophets highest sits the Bard, At once Revealer of the Heaven and Earth, To Heaven the guide, of Earth the noblest guard; And, 'mid the Poets, thine the peerless worth, Whose glorious song, thy Genius' sole reward, Bids all the Ages, Camoens, bless thy birth!" ----ISABEL BURTON.

He was quite upset about the Glossary. When he had used archaic words, which belonged to Chaucer and Spencer, he said, "Do you mean to say that they won't understand me?" When I produced my glossary of three hundred and fourteen words, he said, "You are never going to insult the English public with that?" I said, "But, indeed, I am; and I know very well that you have not fifteen readers that will know them without, but they will pretend they do, and be very much offended, whilst internally they will thank their God that they have got it, and are able to look grand on the strength of it." But he curtailed it, and in this he was encouraged by our old friend Bernard Quaritch.

Camoens is splendidly and literally translated. No one was so well fitted as Richard to bring out this epic and heroic life. He divided his work into six heads: Biographical, Bibliographical, Historical and Chronological, Geographical, and Annotative--it was the result of a daily act of devotion of more than twenty years, from a man of _this_ age, who has taken the hero of a _former_ age for his model, his master, as Dante did Virgil; and between whose two fates--master and disciple--exists a strange similarity. The two volumes of "Life and Commentary" show a profundity of learning and intelligence which would be quite enough to make the name of any other man, if he had never written anything else, but though Camoens has not taken hold of the public yet, he will. Richard lived to do six volumes; he would have done four more had he lived. His little letter of dedication to Swinburne, in vol. i of the "Lyrics," is a masterpiece.

"To

"The Prince of the Lyric Poets of his day,

"ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

"MY DEAR SWINBURNE,

"Accept the unequal exchange--my brass for your gold. Your 'Poems and Ballads' began to teach the Philister what might there is in the music of language, and what the marvel of lyric inspiration, far subtler and more ethereal than mere poetry, means to the mind of man.

"Without more ado, allow me to excuse this 'transaction' by a something which comes from the East--

"'A poor man, passing by one day when his King travelled, brought him a little water with both hands, saying, "Drink, my lord, for the heat is great." He accepted it gladly from him, not looking to the small quality of that service, but only to the good will with which it was offered.'

"Believe me ever,

"Your old friend and fellow-traveller,

"RICHARD F. BURTON.

"Desterro, Trieste,

"September 25th, 1884."

* * * * *

"The Pines, Putney Hill, S.W.,

"November 7th, 1884.

"MY DEAR BURTON,

"Your dedication makes me very proud, and the kindness of its terms gives me still a heartier pleasure than that of mere pride in your friendship. Thanks to you both, and notably to Frances H----" [me] "for her letter, or rather your joint one of the 10th, which has now been followed by the arrival of the two volumes. They are yet more interesting (naturally) to me than their precursors....

"The learning and research of your work are in many points beyond all praise of mine, but not more notable than the strength and skill that wield them. I am hungrily anticipating the 'Arabian Nights.' You both know how we look forward to our next meeting with you, when you _shall_ not run away so soon as you did last time.

"Both of yours always,

"A. C. SWINBURNE."

* * * * *

"The Pines, Putney Hill, S.W.,

"April 13th, 1881.

"MY DEAR MRS. BURTON,

"I am horribly ashamed to find that my letter of thanks to you on the arrival of the 'Lusiads,' which I quite thought had been at once written and despatched (this is the real honest truth, and not a lying after-thought to excuse myself), never went or existed at all, but remained in the limbo of good intentions. I cannot tell how, for I distinctly remember the very words I meant to send, and thought I had sent, of congratulations to Burton on having in that translation, as I think, matched Byron on his own chosen ground as a translator, and beaten him at his own weapon. The version of Pulci's 'Morgante,' on which Byron prided himself so greatly as being, in his own words, the best translation that ever was or will be made, is an infinitely less important, and I should think less difficult attempt on exactly the same lines of work, and certainly, to say the least, not more successful, as far as one can judge, without knowledge of Camoens in the original language.

"With best remembrances to both of you.

"Ever faithfully yours,

"A. C. SWINBURNE."

I prefer the "Lusiads," but the Portuguese think that if Camoens had never written the "Lusiads," his sonnets would have immortalized him, and prefer his to Petrarch's.

Besides this, we used to fence a great deal during those years. We set up a _tir au pistolet_, and used to practise every morning after breakfast. When snow was deep we drove in a sledge. We attended the school feast annually, and sometimes we had village serenades. At Opçina, on the Eve of St. John's, the peasants light fires all over the country, and the superstition is that you must see eleven fires burning at the same time in order to have a lucky year. When we went up there, we lived absolutely alone, without any servants, and we used to take long walks and drives.

"GERALD MASSEY TO RICHARD F. BURTON.

"'_Englished by Richard Burton._' And well done, As it was well worth doing; for this is one Of those old Poets, who are always new, That share eternity with all that's true, And of their own abounding spirit do give Substance to Earth's dead Shadows; and make men live Who in action merely did but flit and pass; Now fixed for ever in thought's reflecting-glass. This is the Poet of weary wanderers In perilous lands; and wide-sea Voyagers, And climbers fall'n and broken on the stairs. A man of men; a master of affairs, Whose own life-story is, in touching truth, Poem more potent than all feignèd truth. His Epic trails a story in the wake Of _Gama, Raleigh, Frobisher,_ and _Drake_. The poem of Discovery! sacred to Discoverers, and their deeds of derring-do, Is fitly rendered in The Traveller's land, By one of the foremost of the fearless band." ----GERALD MASSEY.

"BURTON'S CAMOENS.

(A cutting from the Press.)

"In his wanderings afar from the world's highway, he made Camoens his companion, and discovered a peculiar sympathy of mind between himself and the noble Portuguese--an affinity which Mrs. Burton seems inclined to trace even in the fortunes of the two men (_absit omen!_)."

* * * * *

The _Daily Telegraph_, February 21, 1881.

"'Camoens,' he says, 'is the perfection of a traveller's study. A wayfarer and a voyager from his youth; a soldier, somewhat turbulent withal, wounded and blamed for his wounds; a doughty sword and yet doughtier pen; a type of the chivalrous age; a patriot of the purest water, so jealous of his country's good fame, that nothing would satisfy him but to see the world bow before her perfections; a genius, the first and foremost of his day, who died in the direst poverty and distress.' These are good titles to admiration in any case, and we cannot wonder that a great English traveller, himself too a poet, should have been captivated all these long years by the charms of that beautiful Portuguese tongue, and those noble and stirring sentiments which stand enshrined in Camoens' deathless pages. If it be true that Chapman's 'Iliad' is a great work because of the intense love and admiration which its author had for the blind old bard of Greece, then certainly Captain Burton's labour, which has taken up twenty years of a much-occupied life, ought, for the same reason, to be able to stand the test of time, inasmuch as it is the fruit of genuine and heartfelt devotion on the part of the translator to the author and his poetic masterpiece."

* * * * *

The _Daily Telegraph_, February 21, 1881.

"'My master, Camoens,' Captain Burton calls him, and goes on to pay his tribute of gratitude for the real solace which the much-loved volume has been to him in many wanderings. 'On board raft and canoe, sailing vessel and steamer, on the camel and the mule, under the tent and the jungle tree, on the fire-peak and the snow-peak,' writes the accomplished 'Hadji,' 'Camoens has been my companion, my consoler, my friend;' and we may remark that a study of Camoens, who is an ideal patriot, as well as a constant lover, whose fair one was snatched away by death at the age of twenty, would be useful in the present day as an antidote to schools of thought which banish both patriotism and romance, as far as they can, into the region of forbidden sentiments. Indeed, so intensely patriotic is the bard, that in the opening of his epic he bids Achilles, Alexander, and all other ancient warriors and travellers, cease to 'vaunt long voyages made in bygone day,' as if the 'better bravery' of the Lusitanian explorers fairly threw into the shade all attempts in the same line which had been made before. This may be going a little too far, but, at all events, it is a fault in the right direction, which deserved better treatment than King Ferdinand's annual dole of five golden sovereigns."

[Sidenote: _A Little Anecdote about a Capuchin_.]

One day, as we sat at our twelve o'clock breakfast at Opçina, on a very hot day, a poor barefooted Capuchin came in, looking hot, jaded, dusty, and travel-stained. He sat down in another part of the restaurant at a table, and humbly asked for a glass of water. We were waiting for our breakfast, and I slipped out of the room and said to the landlord, "Every time you bring us up a dish, put a third portion, with bread and vegetables, and in due course sweets and cheese, before the poor Capuchin who has just come in, and a bottle of the same wine you give us, and tell him to pray for the donors." I slipped back into my place, and I saw Richard kept staring at him, when he was not looking, with an amused smile, and finally he turned round to me and whispered, "There, just look! You say that those fellows starve, and I declare to you that he has eaten, mouthful for mouthful, everything _we_ have eaten, and a good bottle of wine like ours." So I laughed and I said, "Yes; but with _your_ money!" "Oh, you blackguard! am I paying for _his_ dinner?" "Yes," I said, "you are; and he is going to pray for _us_." He was far from being vexed; he was too kind, and he enjoyed the joke very much. I said to him, "That man has been catering all over Istria for provisions for the convent, and the rule at table is that they eat whatever you put on their plates, but they must not ask. Seeing the state he is in, you would not like to have seen him go away with a glass of water." "No," he said, "that I should not; I am glad you did it."

[Sidenote: _The Passion Play--Ober-Ammergau_.]

We now determined, and fortunately, to see the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau. I say fortunately, because we could scarcely have done it in 1890, just before his death; the fatigue would have been too great for him. We had a delightful trip from Venice to Padua, to Vicenza, and thence to Verona. There the country is simply lovely, and the train begins to mount to Ala, which is the frontier of Italy and the Austrian Tyrol. It seems like getting out of a picturesque desert--so far are the Italians behind Austrian civilization. You pass Trento, and reach Botzen, which is really only nine hours and fifty-eight minutes' actual train from Venice if you do not stop on the road. From Botzen to Munich is nine hours and twenty-three minutes' delightful journey, breakfasting at Franzensfeste. You are examined at Kufstein, the frontier between the Austrian Tyrol and Bavaria. The scenery of the Brenner is simply glorious, and Brenner-Bad is a delightful little place to stay at. Munich is certainly a lovely city; its buildings are magnificent, but its art is very, very new. We saw everything in the City inside and out, and enjoyed the society of General and Mrs. Staunton, our Consul, and certainly we must own that the Hôtel des Quatres Saisons is the most delightful and comfortable in the world.

The next station for Ober-Ammergau is two hours and a half to Mürnau, where you go to the Pantelbraü Hotel. There is beautiful mountain scenery, and the hurry-scurry to get to Ober-Ammergau is quite like the Derby Day, with every sort of vehicle and horses. The village is otherwise peaceful, a rural inn, with a nice family containing at least one pretty girl, and the wine is very good, especially Zeller I. and Schwarzer Herr-Gott; the beds and the food are excellent. Being Sunday we went to Mass, and noticed a very curious picture in the church. A head was peeping out of the ground as if the body were buried in it; near it was a book with "Lehren" inscribed upon it; also near were dice, a money-bag, a serpent, and smoke. A new-comer advances towards the head; but his guardian angel is remonstrating with him, as if he were saying to him, "Let him be--it is none of _your_ business," and a Madonna appears in the skies. After breakfast we started for Ober-Ammergau. The scenery was magnificent, the Ettalberg very steep, and two extra horses were obliged to be put on. Richard liked walking, and with only me in the carriage, they appeared to be almost crawling on their stomachs. Halfway was a rural inn, where the peasants were playing, dancing, and drinking beer. In four hours from leaving Mürnau we were deposited at a pretty cottage, where rooms were let by a Frau Haüser.

I understand that a great many improvements exist now; but at that time we had two whitewashed little rooms, no sheets, one spoon, one glass, no table, and a pint of water in a pie-dish; but our windows looked out on the church, which is surmounted by a spire and a plain iron cross, and the Kofel, a sugar-loaf peak, which seems to guard the mountain gorge.

We wandered about the village, and picked up some food as we could at a small eating-house called the "Stern," for Frau Haüser did not undertake to board us. We were up at dawn. At Ober-Ammergau the day begins with Mass and Communion. The play begins at eight in the morning, and lasts eight hours (eighteen acts), with an hour and a half interval for food and rest. The play over, Richard and I both sat down at once, and described minutely Ober-Ammergau, the Play, and our impressions. I think, perhaps, that there have been so many descriptions, that it would be a pity to load this book with them. We both sent them to the same man, and Richard was anxious that they should be produced together, under the heading, "Ober-Ammergau, as seen by Four Eyes." He wrote the cynical and I the religious side, but as the man who printed them was too poor to produce the two, he published Richard's; but I will now bring them out together in the "Uniform Library" of my husband's works, just as he wished it.

Suffice it to say, that the simplicity of a theatre in the open air was most realistic, and made one think of the old early Latin and Greek plays, and the miracle-plays of early Christianity. The men acted beautifully; the women were cold or shy, and therefore uninteresting. I can only say that I thanked God for having been allowed to see it, and as we sat together Richard watched me closely to see what affected me, and I did the same with him. What affected him immensely--and he owned it--was Christ on the Cross. He said, "I never could have _imagined_ Christ on the Cross without _seeing_ it; it made me feel very queer." Now, as to _me_, what broke my heart was the repentances of the sinners, and I am not ashamed to say that I sobbed bitterly--not Magdalen's, for she was too cold, but Peter's, when Christ came forth with the Cross, after he had denied Him and Christ looked at him. The penitent thief on the Cross, and Judas's despair, I shall never forget all my life. With all Richard's cynicism, he was right glad to have seen it.

We went to visit the _Pfarrer_, or priest, the only really paramount influence in Ober-Ammergau. We saw Josef Maier, who acted the Christ, and with his permission went to inspect the scenes behind the theatre, where they were practising fastening to the Cross, and, under strict secrecy, we saw how it was done.

On the 25th was the _fête_ of St. Louis, when they celebrate the foundation of Bavaria, _then_ seven hundred years before. On return to Munich we dined at the Embassy. We met in Munich the Dowager Lady Stanley and Mrs. John Stanley (now Lady Jeune), and found to our great annoyance that we had just missed Lord Houghton, who had been staying in the same hotel with us and we had never known it. We then went to Innsbrück, where we saw everything in and about, and on to Toblach, from whence three hours' drive takes you into the Dolomites into lovely scenery, beginning at Cortina di Ampezzo. Here we found actual winter weather, though it was only the 30th of August. From this we went on to Villach, a delightful place, where it was very difficult to get rooms; but we got some beds at a _Braüerei_. Here we saw, as usual, everything in and about, and then we went by the glorious new road Tarvis and Pont' Ebba (not so very long open), with scenery unrivalled, and reached Udine, where we were on the main line for our own home. Here we stayed to visit the tomb of Fra Oderico, a Franciscan monk, who went to China and wrote a book three centuries ago--a very holy man--and then we went home to Trieste to receive our old friends Mr. Aubertin, Sir Charles Sebright, the Dowager Lady Stanley of Alderley, with Mrs. John Stanley, who stayed a couple of days _en route_ for Corfu. The Dowager Lady Stanley was one of Richard's oldest and best friends, and she has proved herself one to me since his death. I cannot say how much we enjoyed their visit.

On the 15th of September the _Pandora_ came in with Mr. W. H. Smith and his family, and we took excursions together, showed them all the lions in a couple of days, and dined on board with them. We had visits also from Abbate Bey and Brugsch Bey from Egypt. Baron Marco Morpurgo, the director of Lloyd's, used sometimes to give us a charming supper-party on board one of the Lloyd's vessels anchored in the harbour. A great friend and admirer of Richard's, and my now true friend, Miss E. H. Bishop, who resides, like myself, in a little cottage near Redbridge, Hants, came to stay with us.

On the 9th of November, 1880, we had an earthquake at 7.30 in the evening, which demolished half Agram, injured Graz, and shook us terribly. Richard and I were writing, and our table ran away, and it made us feel very uncomfortable. Graeffe saw three earthquake waves come in and out.

[Sidenote: _Celebrating a Vice-Consul's Jubilee_.]

On the 11th we had a great pleasure in celebrating our dear old Vice-Consul Mr. Brock's fiftieth year at Trieste. He was so loved and respected, that everybody wished to contribute some little proof, and Mrs. Craig, the wife of Mr. George Craig, a merchant of Trieste, our principal English lady, and I, received the demonstrations of their good will, which were even more pronounced amongst the old Triestine families than amongst the English, who were less wealthy, though not less well disposed towards him; and on the 11th of September Mrs. Craig and I were able to put a purse of £170 into his hands. The dear old man was so much affected that I was afraid he would have a fit. He could not sign a Consular report for two hours after.

On the 10th of December my publisher, poor Mr. Mullan, died, and my boys' books were returned to me, to begin afresh with another publisher, which was, unhappily, Mr. Bogue. On the 15th, Richard lectured at the English Engineers' Club, which was very well attended, much applauded, and was noticed largely in the foreign Press, in most gratifying terms, speaking of him as dear and respected for his learning, merits, and philanthropy, and I had my third _fête_ for humanity to animals.

[Sidenote: _Monfalcone_.]

We went to the baths of Monfalcone, supposed to be excellent for gout and rheumatism, heading round the gulf to the shore opposite Trieste, and I must say they did Richard a great deal of good, though it was slow.

"THE BATHS OF MONFALCONE.

"To the Editor of the _Medical Times and Gazette_.

"SIR,

"Will you allow me to make known to you a bathing-place which is never recommended in England by medical men, because it is so little known? Two hours' drive from Trieste, one by rail, two hours' drive from old classical Aquileja, close to the river Isonzo, and almost on the borders of Austria and Italy, a townlet of four thousand inhabitants lies seething in the plain, under a burning July sun. You may perhaps see it on the map, half an hour's distance from the sea, at the very head of the Adriatic. In 1433 it existed, and the baths in those days were thirty feet long and twelve broad. They have been perpetually bettered and destroyed from that period until a year ago; and I am not going to enter into any interesting or tedious details, but take them up at 1879, when the property was bought by a personal friend of ours, a gentleman of Trieste, named Dr. Rabl, D.C.L. He has put the baths in perfect condition and working order, and he will go on improving and bettering according as a more numerous and a better class of visitors are attracted here. At present there are a hundred and fifty bathers, but of the most uninteresting description--just the people 'you don't want to meet,' as _Judy_ says. There are rows of rooms for the mud-baths, and opposite corresponding rooms for the water-baths, and a large basin for those who like to swim or bathe in company. There are douches, and we are going to have vapour-baths. The same arrangements exist on the men's side of the establishment as on that for the women. The work of pumping up the water and collecting the mud by machinery is carried out with a sufficient staff of servants in attendance. The mud and the water in their natural state show 34° Réaumur. The water is beautifully clear, is mixed with sea-water, and contains lots of things, of which the principal are sulphate of soda. The baths are very powerful, and are resorted to for all bone pains--rheumatism, gout, neuralgia, lumbago, sciatica. The treatment ranges from twelve to eighteen baths; and in three years 1315 cures have been effected. The doctor is beginning to hang up the crutches the people leave behind, as they do _ex votos_ in a church. His name is Tamburlini; he is well informed and very efficient. We naturally take an interest in the works, as it is in our Consular district, and it might draw some nice English visitors here in summer-time. The baths are open from May to September. As I write now it is 83° F. in the rooms; going out is not possible (except to sit under the trees) from, say, 9 a.m. till 6 or 7 p.m.

"I am, etc.,

"ISABEL BURTON.

"Monfalcone, July 10th."

("We have much pleasure in publishing the above letter from the enterprising wife of the still more adventurous 'Hadji.' It seems the fate of well-known travellers and men of science to be relegated to parts unknown, to wear out their days in what is supposed to be rest. If we remember aright, Charles Lever was banished to the dulness of Trieste. They sent Palgrave to Guiana, and James Hannay to Barcelona. We are glad to see that Mrs. Burton, at all events, continues to keep up those active spirits which so often and so well bestead her.--Ed. _Med. Times and Gaz._")

[Sidenote: _Richard's Metal and Colour_.]

Richard had quite a _grande passion_ for silver. He declared that everybody had some particular metal which influenced them, and also colour. His metal was silver, and silver applied to his pains cured him; he would put florins on his eyes if they ached from over reading or study; he would apply them to his pains where he had gout; and after he got the "'Arabian Nights" earnings, everything he bought was silver. A heavy six-guinea knob of silver to a huge stick, his toilette box, his pencil-case, his snuff-box, his roll to put his pens and pencils in, everything was silver. His theory was that every man has some metal which affects his illness, and, after frequent trials, found his. So we used to bind silver florins round his feet and legs when he had gout, and though it did not cure him, it always relieved him. He had the same theory about colours, and his was the royal cramoisie, or blood-red, which soothed him. We continued our work, and we used to take drives, such as to Villa Vicentina, and to Aquileja, ancient Aquila, to the museum and church, and up the Campanile Tower.

[1] Richard used always to say that, psychologically speaking, he was convinced that he was a spoiled twin, and that I was the broken or missing fragment.