CHAPTER XIII.

WE LEAVE ENGLAND.

1887.

1887 opened with fearful weather, fog and snow. On the 5th of January we left London for good, and went to the Pavilion Hotel, Folkestone, where Richard could see his own relations, who had several large receptions for us, and were glad to leave the fog behind us about twelve miles away from London.

On the 12th we were very shocked and sad at getting a telegram announcing Lord Iddesleigh's death. The last thing this kind and noble-hearted man did, was to send down a basket of game, because Richard was not well. The following day, on a foggy, rainy, raw, and breezy day, we crossed for Paris, where we generally lodged at Meurice's. Here Richard enjoyed the society of our friend Professor Zotenberg, and was delighted with the library, the Bibliothèque Nationale, where he found the Arabic original of "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp;" and we saw a great deal of Mr. Zotenberg. He is a friend I hope I shall keep all my life. Here I found dear Anna Kingsford exceedingly ill; she had been in bed ten weeks with inflammation of the lungs. She cheered up a little at seeing Richard and me, but we never saw her after, for she shortly died.

On the 20th of January Richard was not very well, and Dr. George Bird appeared opportunely. He was not at all pleased with the health of either of us, and especially of Richard, and he prescribed. We left the next day for Cannes, which we reached in eighteen and a half hours, greeting each other on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day in the train. Here we had to drive about and look for rooms, and were at last glad to get into the Hôtel Windsor, as we were rather done up.

[Sidenote: _Cannes and Society_.]

We thought Cannes very pretty, and so is most of the Riviera, and we could understand English people, who leave their truly abominable climate with never a bit of sun, rejoicing in it; but to people like us, who lived in every kind of climate, its faults were more apparent than its virtues. You have sun and blue sea and sky, cactus, small palms, oranges and figs, magnolias and olives, spring flowers and balmy air, but this is on the agreeable days. English people, we remarked, go and sit with beaming faces on benches fronting the sea, with the warm sun right in their faces, and a bitter biting wind driving against their backs and injuring their lungs, just as much as if the sun was not there, while the smells of drains, especially in the principal street, were something atrocious.

His journal goes as follows:--

"We had now nothing more to do in England. The weather had been frightful for three weeks, so we took rail to Folkestone, and left fog and rain behind us twelve miles from London. After a short visit to my sister, we crossed the Channel and arrived in Paris, where I wanted to translate the tales 'Zayn al Asnàn,' and 'Aladdin,' lately discovered in the original Arabic by my kind and obliging friend, Hermann Zotenberg, Keeper of the Oriental Manuscripts. The artificial heating of the fine reading-saloon was too much for my heavy cold, and I was obliged to satisfy myself with having the MSS. copied and sent after me. My condition became worse at Paris, and Dr. Bird said we should go south without further delay. Here we parted with my wife's friend and colleague in philanthropy, Dr. Anna Kingsford, M.D. She was in the last stage of consumption, suffering from mind and soul, distressed at the signs and sounds connected with vivisection. Her sensitive organization braved these horrors in order to serve and succour, but both she and my wife could not help feeling that their efforts were in vain. We took the so-called _train de luxe_, which proved terrible for shakiness. We arrived at Cannes on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day, and after weary searching for lodgings, were glad to find comfortable rooms at the Hôtel Windsor. The Riviera was beautiful with the bluest skies and sea, sunshine, crisp breeze, and flowers; the greenest vegetation, always excepting the hideous eucalyptus, everywhere clad in rags and tatters like the savages in their native land. The settlement contains, in round numbers, six hundred and fifty villas, large and small. The Society was the gayest of the gay, ranging from Crown Princes of the oldest, to American millionaires of the newest. Cannes is a syren that lures to destruction, especially to the unseasoned patient from the north; the bar-pressure is enormous; the gneiss and schiste and porphyry rocks suggest subterranean heat, and nerves suffer accordingly. Behind the warm sunshine is a raw breeze, and many of the visitors show that look of _misère physiologique_, reminding one of Madeira. One meets with friends without number,[1] and what with breakfasts, lunches, five-o'clock teas, dinners, balls, and suppers, not to speak of picnics and excursions, time is thoroughly taken up, but, as a place for invalids, it appeared to us one of the most dangerous. The Rue d'Antibes, or High Street, is at once a sewer and a bath of biting cold air; the strong sea-breeze setting in on the fair esplanade before noon chills to the bone, and a walk in the shade from the burning sun is too severe a change for most constitutions. A great drawback is the vile drainage, and also the want of a large pump-room or salon--not a café or a club--where the World can meet. There, during the few rainy weeks, when the south-eastern or the south-western winds blow, the absence of _promenoirs_ in the hotels is a serious inconvenience."

We called immediately upon our old friend Dr. Frank, and he and Lady Agnes Frank introduced us to all the Society there, and we were very gay indeed. Richard had the honour of dining twice with the Prince of Wales. We went to Lady Murray's fancy dress ball given in honour of the Prince, where Richard appeared for the last time as a Bedawin Arab, and I as Marie Stuart; and Mr. and Mrs. Walker also invited us to a garden-party to meet their Royal Highnesses. We had the honour of being invited to breakfast by their Imperial Highnesses the Prince Leopold and Princess of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. She was the Infanta of Portugal. We were presented to the Archduke Mecklenburg-Schwerin, and Richard was invited to dine with him; and we were sent for by the Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden; and of literary people we met Sir Theodore and Lady Martin, and Miss Dempster, the author of "Blue Roses," and an immense quantity of charming people. We had a delightful breakfast with Monsieur and Madame Outrey, and with Mrs. Ince-Anderton, at the Californie, and met M. Lematte, a great painter from Algeria. On the 12th of February the Albany Memorial at Cannes was consecrated in the presence of the Prince of Wales. It seemed to be nothing but an incessant round of gaiety. I mention these things because it was our last little gleam of the gay world. We took an immense quantity of walks and drives, made excursions, but unfortunately Richard found one of Dr. Kellgren's men, Mr. Mohlin, and he _would_ go on working at the savage treatment with him, which I am almost convinced he had not the strength to bear. My belief is, though we did not know it, that he had a bad cold, brought on by the awful weather in England, which had given him a chill on the liver, whereas he was being treated for suppressed gout.

He began now to think about translating literally the "Pentamerone of Basili." He spoke the Neapolitan dialect very fluently as a boy.

[Sidenote: _The Earthquakes--Riviera_.]

On the 23rd of February, 1887 (Ash Wednesday), he writes--

"Was a black-letter day for Europe in general, and for the Riviera in particular. A little before six a.m. on the finest of mornings, with the smoothest of seas, the still sleeping world was aroused by what seemed to be the rumbling and shaking of a thousand express trains hissing and rolling along, and in a few moments followed the shock, making the hotel reel and wave. The duration was about one minute. My wife said to me, 'Why, what sort of express train have they got on to-day?' It broke on us, upheaving, and making the floor undulate, and as it came I said, 'By Jove! that's a good earthquake.' She called out, 'All the people are rushing out in the garden undressed; shall we go too?' I said, 'No, my girl; you and I have been in too many earthquakes to show the white feather at our age.' 'All right,' she answered; and I turned round and went to sleep again. She did her toilette as she had intended, and went off to Mass and Communion for Ash Wednesday, as she was obliged to do. It did less harm at Cannes than at Nice or Mentone. It split a few walls, shook the soul out of one's body, and terrified strangers out of their wits. One side of Cannes felt very little, and the other side, upon which we were, caught the rebound from the mountains, and we felt it very much, but neighbouring towns, especially Nice, Mentone, and chief of all Diana Marino, suffered terribly. Mentone seemed as if freshly bombarded, and Diana, where the focus was supposed to be, showed a total wreck, with much loss of life. Savona was much shaken, and the quake frightened Genoa and Rome, Avignon and Marseilles. (Even in 1890 many ruins had not been repaired.) Seven minutes after the first shock came another and a heavier shake, which increased the panic, and a third explosion, between half-past eight and nine, cleared out all the hotels.

"Scenes ludicrous and tragical were the rule. At first the hotel folks began a mob's rush for the gardens, habited no matter how, into the streets. An Italian count threw his clothes out of the window, flew downstairs, and dressed under a tree. Ancient fashionable dames forgot their wigs, and sat in night-gowns and shawls under the trees. An Englishman ran out of his tub with his two sponges in either hand, but all the rest of his belongings were forgotten. The pathetic side was the women and children shrieking for their families, and fainting and fits and arrested action of the heart caused some deaths. A host of terror-stricken visitors crowded the railway stations, and, to the great praise of the authorities, were sent away as fast as they could fill the trains--hotel-keepers and railway authorities trusting--and it is said they carried off thirty thousand visitors in one day. A well-known capitalist hired a railway carriage at five hundred francs a night to sleep in. Many of those departing in the trains were absolutely in their night-gowns, and abandoned their baggage. It was the beginning of several lasting illnesses. When my wife came in, she went to take her coffee, during which there was another great shock. She came in at once to me and begged me to get up, but I would not. About nine o'clock there was another bad shock, and she again begged me to get up. I thought I would by this time, for it was getting too shaky, and if the house did come down I did not want to be buried in the ruins, and to cause her to be so too; so I slowly got up and dressed, during which operation she gave me the religious side of the question. The priests had flocked to one church, and there were seventeen hundred scared people, who had neglected their religion, fighting to get into the confessionals. There was one (French) woman who had flown into an Abbé's room, and flung herself upon his bed, shrieking, 'Get up! get up, Father! I have not confessed for twenty years.' The poor Abbé did get up, but a shock flung him against the wall, and he fainted; but when he came to, he heard the woman's confession. Now, if people know that it is necessary to go, what fools they are to put it off till they are utterly irresponsible!"

Here are some rather incoherent lines on the margin of his journal--

1. "Seven thousand years have fled, the primal day Since, Lufifi, thou wast evangelized. How didst thou fall? say, mooncalf, say. Seven thousand years! and yet hast not had time To think the thoughts that take an hour to rhyme?

2. "Was it ambition lost thee Heaven? all That makes an angel worse than human fool? Or was it pride? But pride must have a fall, Learns every schoolboy in each Sunday school. Can such base passion rule abstract minds?"

"This influx continued for several days. My wife and I went about our usual business, writing, calling, driving, and the principal amusement was watching the trains fill up with terrified people, some of them very scantily dressed, wrapped in a bed-curtain tied up with a bell-rope. I enjoyed it as much as a schoolboy, for I took notes and caricatured them in their light costumes. Although there were only three severe shocks, the ground seemed to suffer from a chronic trembling, that kept people in a continuous state of nervous agitation, and a few sensitives declared they could perceive distinct exhalations which made them sea-sick. We perceived it till we got to Milan, which was off the line of earthquake--that was not till twenty-five days after; and it was noticeable there that on the 20th of March all the clocks stopped at 12.40 owing to excess of electricity.

"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales showed his accustomed coolness in time of danger; he dressed leisurely before leaving his apartment. As I said, my wife and I had had ample experience of earthquakes in various quarters of the globe, and remained quiet till the upheavals were over, and afterwards went to call upon our friends."

[Sidenote: _Richard becomes an Invalid_.]

On the 24th I got very uneasy about Richard. I saw him dipping his pen anywhere except into the ink. When he tried to say something, he did not find his words; when he walked, he knocked up against furniture. He would not take any medicine, because we were to leave next day to go over to Nice to inspect the ruins, from thence to Mentone ditto, and then make our way straight back to Trieste; but I took him to Dr. Frank, who was a very old friend of ours, and whose wife, Lady Agnes, had made our visit to Cannes thoroughly happy. Dr. Frank examined him, found him as sound as a bell, prescribed rest, and thought I was nervous. On the 25th the same symptoms returned, and on the 26th, though we had packed up, I absolutely refused to move; and Richard said, "Do you know, I think that that earthquake must have shaken me more than I was aware of." Now, it was not only the shocks of earthquake, but that the earth for several weeks kept palpitating in a manner very nauseating to sensitive people, and he was intensely so. He forbade me to send for Dr. Frank, saying it would pass; but I disobeyed.

Dr. Frank, thinking I had got a "fad," did not hurry, but, passing by on his rounds, thought he would look in and say good-bye. He stayed with us half an hour, assured us that Richard was all right and as sound as a bell, and was just feeling his pulse once more preparatory to saying good-bye. While his pulse was being held, poor Richard had one of the most awful fits of epileptiform convulsions (the only one he ever had in all his life), an explosion of gout. It lasted about half an hour, and I never saw anything so dreadful, though Dr. Frank assured me he did not suffer, but seemed doubtful as to whether he would recover. When Dr. Frank told me that he thought it doubtful he might not recover, I was seized with a panic lest he might not have been properly baptized, and asking Dr. Frank if I might do so, he said, "You may do anything you like." I got some water, and knelt down and saying some prayers, I baptized him. Soon the blackness disappeared, the limbs relaxed, he opened his eyes, and said, "Hallo! there's the luncheon bell; I want my luncheon." Dr. Frank said, "No, Burton, not to-day; you have been a little faint." "Have I?" he said. "How funny! I never felt anything." To make a long story short, that was the beginning of his being a _real_ invalid. As soon as he was well enough to be spoken to about his condition, I told him what I had done, and he looked up with an amused smile, and he said, "Now that was very superfluous, if you only knew;" and after a pause he said, "The world will be very much surprised when I come to die," but he did not explain his meaning. I did not know the full significance of it; I could only guess. There were attending upon him, Dr. Frank who managed his case; Dr. Legg came once, but Dr. Brandt and Dr. Grenfell-Baker (who was there for his health) came every day and relieved guard, Dr. Brandt sleeping there at night. I had a trained nurse, Sister Aurélie of the Bon Secours, Lisa my maid, and myself always, so that he was well looked after.

Dr. Frank found that it was impossible for me to move without a travelling doctor. Richard strenuously resisted it for several days, saying "he should hate to have a stranger in the house; that we should never be by ourselves; that we should have an outsider always spying upon us, who would probably quarrel with us, or hate one or both of us, and make mischief, and confide all our little domestic affairs to the world in general; that a third was always in a nondescript position." Now, this was a risk we had to run; but I argued that if we put by £2000 of our "Arabian Nights" money and gave ourselves four years of doctor (till 1891, unless he _previously_ got quite strong), that it would tide him over the worst crisis of his life into a strong old age, and that as soon as he was free from Government, and we settled down at home, we should be in the land of doctors, and free to live by ourselves again, and to do what he liked, which had already been arranged for 1891. He then consented. I telegraphed to England, and Dr. Ralph Leslie was sent to us. As soon as the case was handed over to him, we commenced our Via Crucis to Trieste.

It was astonishing, in spite of malady, what wonderful cool nerve Richard had in any accident or emergency.

[Sidenote: _His own Account of it_.]

This is his own account:--

"I was not fated to escape so easily. Just as we were packed up and on the point of starting for Nice to see the ruins, and we were in the act of saying good-bye to our old friend of twenty-four years, Dr. Frank, I was suddenly struck down by an acute attack of cerebral congestion, the result of suppressed gout. For a time I was ordered to be kept absolutely quiet, confined to bed and sofa with a diet of broth and bromide, milk and soda-water, and was carefully nursed. My wife felt that though she had successfully nursed me through seven long illnesses since our marriage, that this was a case beyond her ken. Dr. Frank also explained to me that circumstances might arise which would require an educated finger to feel the pulse, and to give instant remedies, where all the tenderness and care of my wife's nursing would be without avail. So, after strenuously opposing a course which I felt would be a grievous burthen to our lives, and be a most unpleasant change, I saw reason in it, and I allowed her to telegraph to London for a physician who was on the look-out for a travelling appointment, and was skilled in such matters, to take temporary charge of my case. In contending on this subject, she said, 'How many valuable lives are lost by friends saying, "If you are not better by to-morrow, we must send for the doctor;" or in the night, "When it is light we will send for the doctor"! Remember poor H----.' She was obstinate in her determination not to risk these things, and resolved to lose no chance of passing me through my three or four years' crisis into a sound old age. A man living in London, surrounded by the ablest doctors in the world, may dispense with this disagreeable luxury; not so, however, an exile in a foreign port town. A foreign doctor, however clever, finds it difficult to treat an Englishman, only because he has never understood or never studied a Britisher. I think, if it had not been for my wife, I should have died of inanition in my first two long attacks of gout, eight months in the winter 1883 and 1884, and three months of 1885. From the two first in Trieste I rose a perfect skeleton, which made me determine never to spend another winter there, even if I had to leave the Service. However, the Foreign Office, which has ignored me in every way else, has been merciful about 'leave,' and I hope to be a free man in March, and a Londoner in September, 1891.

"The Trieste apothecary can seldom make up English recipes, Either he has not the needful drugs, or he needs four or five days to get them, and he sells the worst quality at the highest prices. English drugs are considered strong enough to kill.

[Sidenote: _Our Journey with Dr. Leslie_.]

"On the eleventh day from the attack, Dr. Ralph Leslie, of Toronto, arrived. He visited all the doctors, took over the case, and stocked his medicine chest. We were able to leave Cannes on the 9th of March. We went to the Hôtel Victoria, Monte Carlo, because it was quieter than those near the gaming-tables. Here we took drives, and I became much better. We drove to Mentone to see the ruins, but we both got seedy going along--a sort of stifling--and just as we drove into the town there was another earthquake. Poor people were rushing into the streets bringing out their mattresses, carriages flying in all directions. We drove over the town and inspected everything, but did not put up for fear of a repetition of Cannes, so we drove back to Monte Carlo. Clouds gathered over Mentone. At midnight there was another shock. We were both seedy about eighteen hours, and my wife could feel the gases, I only the palpitation of the earth.

"On the 14th of March we drove over to Nice, and I was able to stand an excursion of six hours, and felt almost perfectly well. I had loads of visitors--Mr. Wickham, Mr. Myers (Professor Sayce's friend), and Father Wolfe, S.J. We only went once to the gaming-tables, and thought it very slow. My better half lost eighty-five francs in ten minutes. We determined after several days to start from Monte Carlo to Genoa. It was a big business for me, and we started by a 5.20 p.m. train. The trains had to crawl past the towns for fear of shaking down the buildings that remained, so that I was nine hours out, and as I had to be carried from the train to my carriage, which had been telegraphed for, another English family did me, and had got into it, and thereby also got our rooms and our supper; and when we arrived, they had to get us other rooms, and a bouillon for me, and we did not get to bed till two, but next day we got very good rooms.

"On the 18th of March we saw the death in the papers (as no one knew our whereabouts) of our poor uncle, Lord Gerard, and we were both very sad and agitated.

"Our next great move was to Milan, where everything was ready for us. At Milan there was still a great deal of electricity in the air, but thank God we were off the line of earthquakes.

"After staying some time at Milan, we moved on to Venice, and the air there, being of such a mild nature, immediately began to do me good. I could go out in gondolas, and took a little walk in the Piazzetta, and enjoyed it, and received visits from my friends, and on the 31st of March I passed a nice day without pain; on that day I bought a little Knight in armour. From Venice my wife telegraphed to our Vice-Consul, Mr. P. P. Cautley, to change the whole of the house, putting me in the rooms with the best climate, and reserving for ourselves a private apartment of six rooms, divided from the rest of the house and in the balmy corner.

"On the 5th of April I was able to write a little, and that day we went on to Trieste.

"The details of our melancholy journey will, I fear, scarcely interest any one but ourselves. It was a real Via Crucis, as I had to be ambulanced the whole way, and, being very weak, we were twenty-eight days accomplishing the twenty-eight hours of express train which lie between Cannes and Trieste, which was only varied by minor earthquakes till we reached Milan; at Genoa by the agitation of seeing Lord Gerard's death in the newspaper, and my wife having a large blood-cyst on her lip, which appeared soon after my fit, and which Dr. Leslie had to cut out at Milan. It was indeed a road of anguish and labour, and right thankful were we to find ourselves once more in our own home on the 5th of April, after being out ten months.

"Our climate is one _sui generis_; it is a perpetual alternative of the raw north-easter, called the _Bora_, and the muggy south-western, called _Scirocco_. The former often causes the quays to be roped, in order to prevent pedestrians being raised in the air and thrown into the sea, and within the last eighteen years it has upset two mail trains. Then there is the _Contraste_, when the two blow together, one against another, making a buffer of the human body. The _Scirocco_ is a dry wind from the North African desert, and arrives at Trieste saturated with water, but still containing the muggy oppressing sensation so well known to travellers in Algiers, Tunis, and Marocco. Moreover, the old town is undrained, the quay is built over nine several sewers, some of large size, and it is said that the new town of Trieste is built upon ninety-two feet of old sewage, consequently the normal death-rate is at the lowest, thirty-five per thousand per annum, nearly double the amount of London, and in more than one winter it has ranged from seventy-five to eighty-five. Foreign residents here remark that a process of acclimatization must take place whenever they leave Trieste or return to it. However, on this occasion it did not maltreat me; indeed, an improvement in my case began at Venice, and continued when I reached my post."

We had some visits, and amongst other literary celebrities, Dr. MacDowall, and Madame Emily de Laszouska, _née_ Gerard, Dr. Bohndorf, and Dr. Oscar Lenz and wife, African travellers; General Buckle, Madame Nubar, and Madame Artin Pasha. We used to sit a great deal in our garden, or in the gardens of Miramar, where he wrote on the margin of his tablets--

"F. G. HACKE'S NEW IDEA IN WORDS.

"'And is the sea alone? Even now I hear faint mutterings.' ''Tis the waves' mysterious distant whisper, Response of words like voice of the sea, Communing with its kind.' 'It seems a murmur sweeping low, And hurrying through the distant caves; I hear again that smothered tone, As if the sea were not alone.'"

We went as usual to Opçina, the Slav village of the Karso, to the Jäger, to Duino to visit the Princesses Hohenlöhe, and received many visitors of all nations, many of them exceedingly interesting.

[Sidenote: _Drains_.]

Almost the day after we arrived, Dr. Leslie inquired what smell it was that pervaded the house. We told him we did not know; we had often complained, but that we had never been able to have redress. So now he insisted on our having something done, or else our giving up the house, and that at once. The house suited us exactly, and we felt it would be dreadful to have to leave it, as we had an accumulation of fifteen years' household gods. But on our telling our resolution to our proprietors, they allowed a thorough investigation to be made, and we discovered two very serious drains, with old flues communicating with them directly to our apartment, and these were at once cleared out and built up, so that there were no more smells, and the house was comfortable after; but I often thought since, that we owed our escape from typhoid to our frequent travels.

[Sidenote: _The Queen's Jubilee_.]

On the 19th, 20th, 21st, and 22nd of June we made grand gala for the Jubilee. An address was drawn up and sent to her Majesty. The first day was devoted to service in the Protestant Church, which we attended officially; on the second we had a banquet and ball at the Jäger. Richard took the chair at dinner. He was brought down to dinner by his doctor, where he made a most loyal and original speech, which I insert; immediately after dinner he was taken upstairs again. It was the only occasion on which he would ever consent to wear his order of St. Michael and St. George.

"HER MAJESTY'S JUBILEE AT TRIESTE.

"The British subjects residing at Trieste have sent an address to her Majesty, signed by the whole colony, bound in dark red velvet, surmounted by the word 'TRIESTE' in gold letters.

"They collected a considerable amount amongst themselves, part of the Women's fund to go to the Queen's General Fund, and the rest to a local charity for distressed English.

"On the morning of the 20th there was divine service in the Protestant Church, which commenced with 'God save the Queen.' There was scarcely a dry eye in the church. Many of those present had not been home for thirty years or more.

"In the evening a grand banquet of seventy-five covers was presided over by Captain Sir Richard and Lady Burton, the vice-president being the Rev. Mr. Thorndike, the Consular Chaplain. All the members of the Consulate, Mr. P. P. Cautley, British Vice-Consul (now acting because of Sir Richard's recent illness), and Mr. Nicolas Salvari, assisting.

"The magnificent hall of the Jäger was adorned with flags, flowers, and lights; the centre-piece being the Queen's portrait, peeping out of a forest of laurels. Maestro Piccoli's band played during the banquet.

"Sir Richard Burton (who wore for the first time his decoration of St. Michael and St. George), although in very feeble health, rose to give the toast of the evening, and made a speech which caused every heart to dilate with pride and loyalty. He said--

[Sidenote: _Richard's Speech_.]

"'We are about to drink the health of the greatest Lady in the land! To-night is a great night for us, and a proud one! All the world is assembled to-night throughout the globe to do honour to one Woman, the only woman in history who for fifty years' glorious reign, as Wife, as Mother, as Sovereign, as Widow, as Mother of her people, has been a shining light in each of these capacities to the whole world!

"'This woman is our Queen! (Cheering.)

"'An English man or woman says with emotion, "MY Queen!" Why? Because she is enthroned in our hearts, she is enthroned on our domestic hearths, as if she belonged to each one of us separately and singly. When we say "OUR Queen!" we say it with pride, for we feel that we clasp hands all round the world, from England to our independent American cousins, to Canada, to India, to Australia, to New Zealand, more than half the globe being English-speaking peoples--ONE great Nation held together by ONE great Woman! (Cheers.)

"'An English man or woman may be individually mean and little; but they can never be so as a Nation. A man is mostly what his mother makes him. Show me a man noble, brave, loyal, strong, and true, and I can form a pretty good idea of the mother who bred him! (Hear, hear.)

"'We are singularly fortunate in the women of our Royal Family. Look at our Nation's idol, the Princess of Wales! That lady has been the pivot of greatness and attraction for over twenty-four years, with every eye fixed upon her; yet none have ever heard her say one word, none have ever seen her do, aught but what befitted a Queen! And what perhaps _all_ do not know is, that although she may have been in public all day, perhaps tired, perhaps suffering, perhaps obliged to be in Society a greater part of the night, she never once omitted (so long as her children were little) to go into her nursery every evening at a certain hour to hear them say their prayers at her knee, lest those little prayers should ever become a mockery--just as any homely mother amongst _us_ would do, if she had good sound sense and a womanly heart. (Hear, hear.)

"'With such women as these, we may confidently look forward to a long line of great kings, and feel that England's future strength and greatness, despite wars, despite political troubles, will endure to all time! (Cheers.)

"'Let nothing mar our conviviality to-night. Many of us may not see for years such a reunion in Trieste, some of us--_never_; but we shall be able, in future time, to close our eyes, and see in fancy dreams, all these kindly, beaming faces around us.

"'Let us unite in affectionate loyalty and reverence, in thankfulness, for the peace, prosperity, and advancement in civilization and humanity, which our Queen's fifty years' unique reign has brought to us and to the whole world.

"'May God's choicest blessings crown her good works! May she be spared for many long, happy, peaceful, and prosperous years to her loyal, devoted people! May her mantle descend upon her children and her children's children! And may the loving confidence between her Majesty and all English-speaking peoples, throughout the world, ever strengthen and endure to all time!

"'Now let Trieste hear for once, with one heart and one voice, a true British cheer!

"'HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN!'

"This toast was drunk with an enthusiasm equal to the demand, so that the hall and woods rang again with 'Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!' and cries of 'The Queen!' 'The Queen!' which lasted several minutes.

"Sir Richard then rose once more, and gave 'The Emperor and the Empress of Austria, whose guests we are! the Lord of the Land we live in!'

"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike made two charming speeches, the first in proposing the health of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and all the Royal Family, which was received with enthusiasm; the second in proposing the health of President Cleveland of the United States (the American Consul-General, Mr. Gilbert, and his predecessor, Mr. Thayer, being the only strangers invited). The respective national anthems were played after each of these four toasts.

"The healths of Sir Richard and Lady Burton were then enthusiastically drank, and as by this time Sir Richard was very fatigued, Lady Burton rose and returned thanks. Mr. Thayer then recited some of his own poetry in England's praise, very prettily done, showing the difference between the time of Queen Elizabeth and that of Queen Victoria.

"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike's health was then drank, and that of Mr. Cautley, Acting-Consul.

"The banquet was followed by songs executed by Miss Agnes Thorndike, who has a magnificent voice. 'God save the Queen' was sung with true devotion by the seventy-five English; then followed the ball, which was kept up with great spirit, and which was concluded with 'Sir Roger de Coverley' just before dawn.

"On the night of the 21st the British Consulate, Sir Richard Burton's private house, and the dwellings of most of the British residents, were brilliantly illuminated. Telegrams, letters, and cards of congratulation continued to pour in from all quarters. Mr. and Mrs. Craig had an evening _fête_ with illuminated garden for forty English children on the 22nd, and this terminated the three days' festivities at Trieste.

"June 23rd, 1887."

Richard loved our house, and was always lamenting that we could not put it on wheels, and take it about with us wherever we went, because for Richard there were really a great many drawbacks in Trieste.

One of our amusements was to buy a lot of caged birds in the market, and taking them up to our rooms and letting them fly. It was such a pleasure to see them darting into the air with a thrill of joy; and if they were in any ways maimed, there was an almond tree just outside our window, and touching it, on which they used to hop until they recovered themselves.

He used now to take long walks with the doctor, and when he was tired he used to get a lift in a passing cart. Once, when we were up at Opçina, Daneu's poor little boy, only six years of age, broke his leg, which upset us all the more because he was so brave. He never cried, even during the setting.

[Sidenote: _Ally Sloper_.]

In early 1887 I received a diploma from _Ally Sloper_ for _having translated the "Arabian Nights_," and wrote him the following letter:--

"St. James's Hotel, Piccadilly, W.

"January 2nd, 1887.

"DEAR FRIEND ALLY SLOPER,

"I was quite overcome to find that you had elected me a member of the Sloperies. I felt that I had really 'awoke and found myself famous,' and that my poor husband, who had spent thirty-two years in translating and perfecting the 'Arabian Nights,' wasn't in it at all. I did not feel _at all_ like the bellows to the organ, or the fly on the wheel. Everybody says that since I have received the diploma I give myself such dreadful airs that nobody can live with me. When I have calmed down again, and grown used to my new honours, I will strive always to deserve the good opinion and confidence of the Sloperies, by emulating all that is best and noblest in the world, and doing the most useful work I can find for my remaining years.

"Yours always truly,

"ISABEL BURTON, F.O.S."

Then Richard received a diploma, and sent the following:--

"Cannes, February 23rd, 1887.

"DEAR OLD MAN,

"Excuse the familiarity of the address. You know that we have been friends for years, and I know that you have often done me a good turn. But really this last honour is overwhelming to a man who has some sense of shame remaining. 'F.O.S.!' I must try to 'live up' to that.

"Ever yours sincerely,

"R. F BURTON, F.O.S."

[Sidenote: _We think of a Caravan_.]

Finding Richard of such a restless disposition since his gouty attack, and that he only seemed to be well when moving, I wanted to substitute a kind of wandering about, as if in tents; and I thought that I might manage this by having a caravan built like the gypsy caravans--a larger for us, and a smaller for our suite, which would have been Lisa, a cook, a general servant, and a man to look after the eight white bullocks that I proposed to buy in the Roman Campagna. I thought that all the fine weather we could be perpetually on the move through the lovely scenery of Istria and Steiermark. The life would have suited us. Dr. Leslie heartily entered into my plan, but somehow it fell through.

A little incident happened (summer, 1887), trifling of its kind, but it made us sorry, as we were both fond of animals. A swallow built its nest in my study, and I had a pane of glass cut out of the window to enable it to come in and out. The five eggs were already laid and in process of hatching, when one of the birds died. It fell down dead, and the other bird kept trying to lift the dead body from the ground to the nest, but it was too heavy. We buried the dead swallow in our garden, and put up a little wooden epitaph; but the poor bereaved surviving swallow sat on the edge of the nest all the summer, looking at the eggs, until it flew away with the general departure of the swallows. When it had gone, we blew and strung the eggs, and hung them in the chapel. We preserved this nest sacredly, in the hopes others would come, and I hope it is there still. It made Richard a little superstitious, which superstition was verified.

We now prepared for our summer holiday. It began to be most dreadfully hot, and there were two cases of suspected cholera. One day arrived the two Princesses Hohenlöhe, Princess Taxis, and Prince Palavacini, and the Comte de Brazza to tea. These impromptu visits did Richard a great deal of good.

All this time we were treating him with electricity, and sponging in the morning and evening, and he seemed to get on wonderfully.

In June, Richard had two slight attacks--one a shaking of the legs, and one a staggering in the garden. These would have been, probably, fits if he had not been taken such immense care of. The chief thing he suffered from (it had been coming on for four years, had now declared itself in an aggravated form, and which there is no doubt finally killed him) was flatulent gases round the heart, which it was very difficult to get rid of, which assumed all the appearance of heart-complaint, and which caused the last struggle with life. I see so many people suffering from this nowadays, who do not know what it is, that it is good to mention it. He had one little room close to his bedroom, whose only light came from stained-glass doors. This was fitted up as an Oriental smoking-room, with divans, and well lit up with many Oriental lamps, was exceedingly pretty, and safe from draughts. Here every morning was put his full-length bath, which he could take, aided by the doctor and me, without fear of catching cold; and when he was dried and wrapped up, he would lie on the divan, and smoke and think out his day's manuscript, or receive a friend.

On the 26th of June we lost Madame Luisa Serravallo-Minelli, the nice girl who used to study the Akkas with him, and who had long since married Mr. Minelli.

During the whole of his illness, one of the kindest visitors to us was the Archduke Ludwig Salvator, who lived opposite us at the other side of Muggia Bay, constantly paid him a visit, and always sent his magnificent publications to him; for the Archduke is not only an author, but a first-rate artist, and illustrates his own books.

[Sidenote: _He gets much better--We go for our Summer Trip_.]

Richard writes--

"As a rule, the climate of Trieste has no spring; winter modified continues till the summer suddenly sets in; and in this July, 1887, the heat was abnormal. So on the 15th we set off to find summer quarters. 'We' meant my wife and I, Dr. Leslie, and Lisa, my wife's maid, who occupied a very peculiar position. The father was an Italian of Verona, had seceded to Austria, and when Austria left that part of Italy he came to live near Trieste. He had house and servants, carriages and horses, but he sacrificed everything for the 'cause.' The Italians would have none of him, the Austrians did not want him, and between two stools he came to the ground. He was either a baron in Verona, or Austria made him a baron for services. This title, of course, extended to the whole family; but the pension was only £60 a year, and they lived an hour from Trieste like peasants, and in a peasant's cottage. The sons found employment, and the daughters remained at home, but Lisa, being a girl of spirit, wanted to see something of the world, and she attached herself to my wife, retaining her title as Baroness.

"We stayed a day or two at Adelsberg. It is a delightful place, but there is something so peculiarly electrical about it, it never agreed with either of us. We also found the world-famous caves were spoiled by the electric light, and we who had known the weird and subterranean state, deeply regretted the old wax candles. We again left for Laibach, the capital of Carniola, in whose lowlands once a large lake (already mentioned) was full of _pfahlbauten_ (pile villages), and where the enormous number of prehistoric relics were lately found.

"The next stage was by the Great Southern Railway to Pöltschach, and thence a beautiful drive to Rohitsch-Sauerbrunn, an hour and a half in the interior; but the great heat thoroughly tired me out, and I had a fortnight of bad health. A little sketch of Sauerbrunn may not be unacceptable, as an Englishman rarely finds his way to the place.[2] A small _bad-ort_, or bathing-place, has been laid out in the valley of the little stream, surrounded on all sides by densely wooded hills. On one side is the long line of buildings containing the Kursaal, the restaurant, and the baths where red-hot masses of iron are cooled in water by way of forming a chalybeate. Opposite is a row of buildings to contain visitors, and between the two, headed by a little Catholic church, are flower-gardens, with a band-stand, where lawn-tennis is not yet known. Two little temples covered the sources. A long _promenoir_ contains shops, prolonging the public buildings to the east, and a scatter of village finishes the sketch. The visitors who fill the place during June, July, and August are from all the provinces of Austria, principally Hungarians, Croats, and Bohemians, with a few Triestines, some from Fiume, a few Roumanians, Turks, Greeks, and many Jews. The life, as may be imagined, is simple enough. They rise before the sun, walk about drinking the waters, and flock to the restaurant for rolls and _café au lait_. Then comes the bath, after which they sit under the trees, reading, writing, working, talking, smoking, and playing cards and dominoes until twelve. Then back to the restaurant for a _déjeuner à la fourchette_, which is really a dinner. The cooking was tolerable, the wines too, and the price half that of Maríenbad. After dinner comes _siesta_, in the afternoon strolling, more water-drinking, and listening to the band, the more active taking a walk to the top of the hills, or a drive up the carriageable roads. Then more water-drinking, and, lastly, a light supper between six and eight; and, unless there was a dance or a concert or a conjurer in the Kursaal, all were in bed soon after nine. At ten the place was as silent as the grave. The morrow was _da capo_.

"If not gay, it was peaceful and exceedingly restful to the tired brains, especially to the Herr Professor, who could only afford one month of utter _dolce far niente_ after eleven of hard drudgery. The visitors vary from six to twelve thousand. The nicest drives are Rohitsch, to Pöltschach, and Marein, Graf Atems Schloss, Kostránitz, and Maríen Kirche. At Stoinschegg, a short walk, is a distiller of _sligovic_, which is the spirit-drink of the country, and he produces all sorts of liqueurs, of which prunes are the basis. Here we met our old friend Mr. Thayer, of Trieste. We hired a bath-chair and two men, so that we could walk, and when I was tired I could get in and rest and be drawn about, and so could my wife alternately.

"The peacefulness of this sort of life was broken by only four occurrences worth noticing. One was two violent thunderstorms, preceded by a sudden fall of hail as large as eggs. My wife and I, though four yards from shelter, were hard hit before reaching it. It broke all the tiled roofs like an earthquake or a bombardment. You could see into the interiors through the rags and tatters. It destroyed the crops, and the roads were strewed with large branches of trees. People came from all parts with broken heads; and the peasants brought in lumps of jagged ice that had fallen on the mountains, which, even after they had been melted by their hands and pockets for an hour, weighed ten deccas, or five ounces. The smooth ones were like goose's eggs, and the children played at ball with them for several hours. The first was on the 23rd of July, and after the people had rebuilt their roofs and premises it occurred again on the 14th of August, and did the same amount of damage. We had never seen anything like it, and when my wife, by my directions, wrote it to the English papers, the public disbelieved it, and said 'that the Burtons had been seeing wonderful things and telling wonderful tales.' It is a very curious, and not altogether unpleasant sensation, that of not being believed when you are speaking the truth. I have had great difficulty in training my wife to enjoy it, and frequently, for her instruction, have told a true story to a party of people and have been jeered at, or people have looked askance at me; and immediately after I have told them a most fantastic lie to punish them, they have gaped, and said, 'How wonderful! how interesting!'

"The second event was meeting with Monseigneur Strossmayer, the great Slav Archbishop, whose head-quarters are at Diakovar, where he has erected a palace and a guest-house. He is a little king in his own country, but is sometimes looked coldly upon by Austria, on account of his leaning towards Russia and Panslavism. He is a man of simple, affectionate, and patriarchal manners, and out of his Cabinet shows nothing of the politician or diplomatist; there is no doubt that he is one of the leading men of that part of the world in the present century. He was very kind to us. He took an especial affection for me, and visited me every day, when I was unable to leave my room.

"The third event was the reading of Dr. Salusbury's treatment by drinking nearly boiling water, which seemed to act like magic. I had been suffering from frequent pain and faintness, and I feared that I had something the matter with my heart.

"On August 29th, I saw my wife drinking some hot water, and asked her to give me some of it. No sooner had I got the cup than I exclaimed almost involuntarily, 'Oh, what a comfort!' I continued that treatment, and from that day faintness and trouble of the heart changed their character, and were no longer a terror to me. My strength increased, so that I could soon comfortably take long walks. Would that we had thought of it and tried it in 1884, in my first attack of gout!

[Sidenote: _Some of our Royalties come to Trieste_.]

"The fourth event was the arrival of the English Squadron, on September 9th, at Trieste, with the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, Prince George of Wales, the Marquis of Lorne, and Prince Louis of Battenberg. We wanted to return to Trieste and do more than our usual duty on the occasion, and contribute to the festivities in honour of the Royalties bringing the town of Trieste and the fleet into harmonious relation. This had been our pleasant duty for many years past, and now, on this, the grandest occasion of all, we were condemned to be absent. The doctor sternly forbade anything of the kind; he would not guarantee my life for half a day if I had to put on uniform, go on board, and be present at official receptions. The authorities kept telegraphing for my wife, but she would not leave me for an hour, so we both wrote our explanations and excuses to the royal secretaries, and through them offered our house to her Imperial Highness, who graciously accepted it, if need arose. I ordered our home to be put in suitable order, a _major domo_ to be sent for from Vienna, the flag to be hoisted, a cold buffet always to be laid, the house to be illuminated every night, and was only disappointed on return to find that no Royalty, not even any of the officers, had honoured us by using the house.

"The Governor of Steiermark, Graf Gundaker Würmbrandt and the Gräfin, came over to see us, and also the Fabers."

On the 5th of September occurred the first of a series of a stopping of our horses, which happened three times during these years. We drove to look for the Chapel of Loretto. On the way back it was quite light in the afternoon; the horses, which were going a good pace, suddenly stopped still, backed, trembled, and sweated all over, and snorted and sobbed from their hearts. Nothing would induce them to go on, though the coachman flogged them. We all had to get out, and there was nothing to be seen to frighten them. I went to their heads, and patted and soothed them, while Dr. Leslie took care of Richard. They then bounded on for thirty yards or so, and we followed on foot and got in, and they went quite well. The coachman said he had driven for twenty years, and he had often read of these things, but he had never seen them.

We were now reading Mr. Stanley's book on Africa under the trees at Sauerbrunn.

On the 25th Richard bewails the death of Gozzadini, archæologist of Bologna.

"I strongly advise future visitors," he writes, "to leave Sauerbrunn the first week in September, as the rain and cold sets in, and the place becomes as deserted and melancholy as a ball-room after a ball. We did not want to return home, in spite of the Triestine proverb--

'Prima pioggia d'Agosto Rinfresca mar e bosco.'

We left Sauerbrunn on September 18th, and we broke our journey by a three days' visit to Abbazia, near Fiume, called in the high-falutin style, the 'Austrian Riviera.' We went with the object of choosing our rooms for the winter, and we one and all fell ill in consequence of the horrible drains in the main courtyard of the Stephanie Hotel; but we decided, and decided wrongly, that the evil would be abated during the winter season.

"We had now a visit at Trieste from Mr. Gibbs, of Egypt and Vienna, Mr. Ellis and Mr. Krause from Vienna.

"On our return home Dr. Leslie had an offer of what seemed a very good post, a yachting tour to India and China with a great man, and he wanted very much to accept it, for our present way of life was necessarily rather tame to a strong young man, accustomed to expeditions, who would have been just the thing for us in our old travelling days, but he must have found it hard to subdue himself to our changed conditions."

[Sidenote: _We lose Dr Leslie, and Dr. Baker comes to us_.]

Richard clamoured hard not to have any more doctors; he felt that we might do without, but I was now thoroughly broken down myself. I was unable to take anything that might be _called a walk_. Driving was sometimes very painful to me, and it would not have been safe to let him go alone. I could not be the same use that I had always hitherto been, though I could keep him company in the house, and be his secretary and nurse him, but I frequently turned faint and required assistance. I could not stoop to give him his bath, or shampoo him, and we were too far from the town to get an immediate doctor in emergency, so I begged him to bear with it a little bit longer, as he had done for the past seven months. I heard that Dr. Grenfell-Baker, who had been so kind to us at Cannes, was in bad health, that his health had driven him from London practice, and that he was looking for a travelling appointment, and I begged to be allowed to write and ask him to accept ours. I obtained permission, and he relieved Dr. Leslie on October 15th, 1887.

[1] I notice he was introduced to one lady whom he describes in his journal as "a charming kangaroo;" and it was so apt, so clever, as his comparisons always were.--I. B.

[2] Sauerbrunn has been already mentioned, but I want to give his description of it.