The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Life of Sir Richard Burton
by Thomas Wright
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Title: The Life of Sir Richard Burton
Author: Thomas Wright
Release Date: August, 2003 [Etext #4315]
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Life of Sir Richard Burton
by Thomas Wright
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This etext was scanned by JC Byers; proofread by Laura Shaffer.
THE LIFE OF SIR RICHARD BURTON
By THOMAS WRIGHT
Author of "The Life of Edward Fitzgerald," etc.
2 Volumes in 1
This Work is
Dedicated to
Sir Richard Burton's Kinsman
And Friend,
Major St. George Richard Burton,
The Black Watch.
Preface.
Fifteen years have elapsed since the death of Sir Richard Burton and
twelve since the appearance of the biography of Lady Burton.
A deeply pathetic interest attaches itself to that book.
Lady Burton was stricken down with an incurable disease. Death with
its icy breath hung over her as her pen flew along the paper,
and the questions constantly on her lips were "Shall I live to
complete my task? Shall I live to tell the world how great and
noble a man my husband was, and to refute the calumnies that his
enemies have so industriously circulated?" She did complete it in
a sense, for the work duly appeared; but no one recognised more
clearly than herself its numerous shortcomings. Indeed, it is
little better than a huge scrap-book filled with newspaper cuttings
and citations from Sir Richard's and other books, hurriedly selected
and even more hurriedly pieced together. It gives the impressions
of Lady Burton alone, for those of Sir Richard's friends are
ignored--so we see Burton from only one point of view. Amazing to
say, it does not contain a single original anecdote[FN#1]--though
perhaps, more amusing anecdotes could be told of Burton than of any
other modern Englishman. It will be my duty to rectify Lady
Burton's mistakes and mis-statements and to fill up the vast
hiatuses that she has left. Although it will be necessary to
subject her to criticism, I shall endeavour at the same time to
keep constantly in mind the queenliness and beauty of her character,
her almost unexampled devotion to her husband, and her anxiety that
everyone should think well of him. Her faults were all of the head.
Of the heart she had absolutely none.
As the Richard Burton whom I have to pourtray differs considerably
from Lady Burton's "Earthly God,"[FN#2] I have been very careful to
give chapter and verse for all my statements. The work has been
written on the same lines as my Life of Edward FitzGerald; that is
to say, without any aim except to arrive at the precise truth.
But although I have regarded it as no concern of mine whether any
particular fact tells for or against Sir Richard Burton, I do think
that when the reader rises from the last page he will feel that he
has been in the company not only of one of the greatest, noblest and
most fearless of Englishmen, but also of one who, without making
much profession of doing so, really loved his fellow-men, and who,
despite his inability to put himself in line with religionists,
fought steadily on the side of righteousness. We are aware that
there are in his books a few observations which call for vehement
and unqualified denunciation; but against them must be placed the
fundamental goodness of the man, to which all who knew him
intimately have testified. In not a few respects Sir Richard
Burton's character resembled Edward FitzGerald's. Burton, indeed,
hailed the adapter of Omar Khayyam as a "fellow Sufi."
Lady Burton, too, comes extremely well out of the fire of criticism.
The reader may object to her religious views, he may smile at her
weaknesses, he may lament her indiscretions, but he will recognise
that at bottom she was a God-fearing, noble-minded woman; and he
will, we think, find himself really in love with her almost before
knowing it.
The amount of absolutely new information in this work is very large.
Thus we are telling for the first time the history of Burton's
friendships with Mr. F. F. Arbuthnot, Mr. John Payne, and others;
and we are giving for the first time, too, a complete and accurate
history of the translation of The Arabian Nights, The Scented
Garden, and other works. Hundreds of new facts are recorded
respecting these and other absorbing topics, while the citations
from the unpublished letters of Burton and Lady Burton will, we are
sure, receive a welcome. We are able to give about fifty entirely
new anecdotes--many of them extremely piquant and amusing. We also
tell the touching story of Burton's brother Edward. In our accounts
of Burton's travels will be found a number of interesting facts and
some anecdotes not given in Burton's works.
The new material has been derived from many sources--but from ten in
particular.
(1) From two hundred unpublished letters of Sir Richard Burton
and Lady Burton.
(2) From interviews with Mrs. E. J. Burton[FN#3] and
Mr. F. Burton (Burton's cousins), Mr. John Payne, Mrs. Arbuthnot,
Mr. Watts-Dunton, Mr. W. F. Kirby, Mr. A. G. Ellis, Dr. Codrington,
Professor James F. Blumhardt, Mr. Henry R. Tedder (librarian and
secretary of The Athenaeum, Burton's club), Mrs. Baddeley (mother of
Burton's friend, St. Clair Baddeley), Madame Nicastro (sister of the
late Mr. Albert Letchford, illustrator of The Arabian Nights),
Dr. Grenfell Baker (Burton's medical attendant during the last three
years of his life), and many other ladies and gentlemen.
(3) From letters received from Major St. George Burton (to whom
I have the pleasure of dedicating this work), Lady Bancroft,
Mr. D. MacRitchie, Mr. E. S. Mostyn Pryce (representative of
Miss Stisted), Gunley Hall, Staffordshire, M. Charles Carrington,
of Paris, who sent me various notes, including an account of
Burton's unfinished translation of Apuleius's Golden Ass, the MS.
of which is in his possession, the Very Rev. J. P. Canon McCarthy,
of Ilkeston, for particulars of "The Shrine of our Lady of Dale,"
Mr. Segrave (son of Burton's "dear Louisa"), Mrs. Agg (Burton's
cousin), and Mr. P. P. Cautley (Burton's colleague at Trieste).
Nor must I omit reference to a kind letter received from
Mrs. Van Zeller, Lady Burton's only surviving sister.[FN#4]
(4) From the Burton collections in the Free Libraries of
Camberwell and Kensington.
(5) From unpublished manuscripts written by Burton's friends.
(6) From the church registers of Elstree. By examination of
these and other documents I have been able to correct many mistakes.
(7) From the manuscripts of F. F. Arbuthnot and the Oriental
scholar, Edward Rehatsek. These are now in the possession of the
Royal Asiatic Society.
(8) From Mr. Arbuthnot's typewritten and unpublished Life of
Balzac now in my possession. This contains many notes throwing
light on the Burton and Arbuthnot friendship.
(9) From the Genealogical Table of the Burtons of Shap,
very kindly sent me by Mr. E. S. Mostyn Pryce.
(10) From various persons interviewed during many journeys.
One of these journeys (June 1905) took me, of course, to the Tomb
of Mortlake, and I was gratified to find that, owing to the
watchfulness of the Arundell family, it is kept in perfect repair.
[FN#5]
Let me first speak of the unpublished letters. These were lent me
by Mr. John Payne (40 letters), Mr. W. F. Kirby (50 letters),
Major St. George Burton, Mrs. E. J. Burton, Mrs. Agg, Mr. Mostyn
Pryce, Dr. Tuckey, Mr. D. MacRitchie, and Mr. A. G. Ellis. Many of
the letters reveal Burton in quite a new light. His patriotism and
his courage were known of all men, but the womanly tenderness of his
nature and his intense love for his friends will come to many as a
surprise. His distress, for example, on hearing of the death
of Drake,[FN#6] is particularly affecting.
Of the friends of Sir Richard Burton who have been interviewed
I must mention first of all Mr. John Payne. But for Mr. Payne's
generous assistance, this work I must frankly admit, could not have
been written. He, and he alone, held the keys to whole chambers of
mystery. Mr. Payne was at first extremely reluctant to give me the
material required. Indeed, in his first letter of reply to my
request for information (7th August 1904) he declined positively
either to enter the lists against Burton, with whom, he said, he had
been on terms of intimate friendship, or to discuss the matter at
all. "As for what," he said, "it pleases the public to think
(save the mark!) of the relative merits of my own and Burton's
translations, I have long ceased to care a straw." But this led me
to write even more pressingly. I assured Mr. Payne that the public
had been unjust to him simply because nobody had hitherto set
himself the great task of comparing the two translations,
and because the true history of the case had never been laid before
them. I assured him that I yielded to nobody in admiration of
Sir Richard Burton--that is, on account of what he (Sir Richard)
did do, not on account of what he did not do; and I gave it as my
opinion that Mr. Payne owed it both to the public and to himself to
lay bare the whole story. After several letters and interviews I at
last induced him to give way; and I think the public will thank me
for my persistency.
My revelations, which form an astonishing story, will no doubt come
as a complete surprise to almost everybody. I can imagine them,
indeed, dropping like a bombshell into some circles; but they are
founded, not only upon conversations with Mr. Payne, but upon
Burton's own letters to Mr. Payne, all of which have been in my
hands, and careful study of the two translations. The public,
however, cannot possibly be more surprised than I myself was when
I compared the two translations page by page, I could scarcely
believe my own eyes; and only one conclusion was possible. Burton,
indeed, has taken from Payne at least three-quarters of the entire
work. He has transferred many hundreds of sentences and clauses
bodily. Sometimes we come upon a whole page with only a word or
two altered.[FN#7] In short, amazing to say, the public have given
Burton credit for a gift which he did not possess[FN#8]--that of
being a great translator. If the public are sorry, we are deeply
sorry, too, but we cannot help it. Burton's exalted position,
however, as ethnologist and anthropologist, is unassailable. He was
the greatest linguist and traveller that England ever produced.
And four thrones are surely enough for any man. I must mention that
Mr. Payne gave me an absolute free hand--nay, more than that, having
placed all the documents before me, he said--and this he repeated
again and again--"Wherever there is any doubt, give Burton the
benefit of it," and I have done so.
In dealing with the fight[FN#9] over The Arabian Nights I have
endeavoured to write in such a way as to give offence to nobody,
and for that reason have made a liberal use of asterisks. I am the
more desirous of saying this because no one is better aware than
myself of the services that some of Burton's most bitter opponents--
those ten or twelve men whom he contemptuously termed Laneites--
have rendered to literature and knowledge. In short, I regard the
battle as fought and won. I am merely writing history. No man at
the present day would dream of mentioning Lane in the same breath
with Payne and Burton. In restoring to Mr. Payne his own, I have
had no desire to detract from Burton. Indeed, it is impossible to
take from a man that which he never possessed. Burton was a very
great man, Mr. Payne is a very great man, but they differ as two
stars differ in glory. Burton is the magnificent man of action and
the anthropologist, Mr. Payne the brilliant poet and prose writer.
Mr. Payne did not go to Mecca or Tanganyika, Burton did not
translate The Arabian Nights,[FN#10] or write The Rime of
Redemption and Vigil and Vision. He did, however, produce the
annotations of The Arabian Nights, and a remarkable enough and
distinct work they form.
I recall with great pleasure an evening spent with Mr. Watts-Dunton
at The Pines, Putney. The conversation ran chiefly on the Gipsies,
[FN#11] upon whom Mr. Watts-Dunton is one of our best authorities,
and the various translations of The Arabian Nights. Both he and
Mr. A. C. Swinburne have testified to Burton's personal charm and
his marvellous powers. "He was a much valued and loved friend,"
wrote Mr. Swinburne to me[FN#12], "and I have of him none but the
most delightful recollections." Mr. Swinburne has kindly allowed me
to give in full his magnificent poem on "The Death of Richard
Burton." Dr. Grenfell Baker, whom I interviewed in London, had much
to tell me respecting Sir Richard's last three years; and he has
since very kindly helped me by letter.
The great object of this book is to tell the story of Burton's life,
to delineate as vividly as possible his remarkable character--
his magnetic personality, and to defend him alike from enemy and
friend. In writing it my difficulties have been two. First, Burton
himself was woefully inaccurate as an autobiographer, and we must
also add regretfully that we have occasionally found him colouring
history in order to suit his own ends.[FN#13] He would have put
his life to the touch rather than misrepresent if he thought any man
would suffer thereby; but he seems to have assumed that it did not
matter about keeping strictly to the truth if nobody was likely to
be injured. Secondly, Lady Burton, with haughty indifference to the
opinions of everyone else, always exhibited occurrences in the light
in which she herself desired to see them. This fact and the extreme
haste with which her book was written are sufficient to account for
most of its shortcomings. She relied entirely upon her own
imperfect recollections. Church registers and all such documents
were ignored. She begins with the misstatement that Burton was born
at Elstree, she makes scarcely any reference to his most intimate
friends and even spells their names wrongly.[FN#14] Her remarks on
the Kasidah are stultified by the most cursory glance at that poem;
while the whole of her account of the translating of The Arabian
Nights is at variance with Burton's own letters and conversations.
I am assured by several who knew Burton intimately that the
untrustworthiness of the latter part of Lady Burton's "Life" of her
husband is owing mainly to her over-anxiety to shield him from his
enemies. But I think she mistook the situation. I do not believe
Burton had any enemies to speak of at the time of his death.
If Lady Burton's treatment of her husband's unfinished works cannot
be defended, on the other hand I shall show that the loss as regards
The Scented Garden was chiefly a pecuniary one, and therefore almost
entirely her own. The publication of The Scented Garden would not--
it could not--have added to Burton's fame. However, the matter will
be fully discussed in its proper place.
It has generally been supposed that two other difficulties must
confront any conscientious biographer of Burton--the first being
Burton's choice of subjects, and the second the friction between
Lady Burton and the Stisteds. But as regards the first, surely we
are justified in assuming that Burton's studies were pursued purely
for historical and scientific purposes. He himself insisted in
season and out of season that his outlook was solely that of the
student, and my researches for the purposes of this work have
thoroughly convinced me that, however much we may deprecate some of
these studies, Burton himself was sincere enough in his pursuit of
them. His nature, strange as it may seem to some ears, was a cold
one[FN#15]; and at the time he was buried in the most forbidding
of his studies he was an old man racked with infirmities. Yet he
toiled from morning to night, year in year out, more like a navvy
than an English gentleman, with an income of (pounds)700 a year, and 10,000
"jingling, tingling, golden, minted quid," as R. L. Stevenson would
have said, in his pocket. In his hunger for the fame of an author,
he forgot to feed his body, and had to be constantly reminded of its
needs by his medical attendant and others. And then he would wolf
down his food, in order to get back quickly to his absorbing work.
The study had become a monomania with him.
I do not think there is a more pathetic story in the history of
literature than that which I have to tell of the last few weeks of
Burton's life. You are to see the old man, always ailing, sometimes
in acute pain--working twenty-five hours a day, as it were--in order
to get completed a work by which he supposed he was to live for
ever. In the same room sits the wife who dearly loves him, and whom
he dearly loves and trusts. A few days pass. He is gone.
She burns, page by page, the work at which he had toiled so long and
so patiently. And here comes the pathos of it--she was, in the
circumstances, justified in so doing. As regards Lady Burton and
the Stisteds, it was natural, perhaps, that between a staunch
Protestant family such as the Stisteds, and an uncompromising
Catholic like Lady Burton there should have been friction; but both
Lady Burton and Miss Stisted are dead. Each made, during Lady
Burton's lifetime, an honest attempt to think well of the other;
each wrote to the other many sweet, sincere, and womanly letters;
but success did not follow. Death, however, is a very loving
mother. She gently hushes her little ones to sleep; and, as they
drop off, the red spot on the cheek gradually fades away, and even
the tears on the pillow soon dry.
Although Miss Stisted's book has been a help to me I cannot endorse
her opinion that Burton's recall from Damascus was the result of
Lady Burton's indiscretions. Her books give some very interesting
reminiscences of Sir Richard's childhood and early manhood,[FN#15]
but practically it finishes with the Damascus episode. Her innocent
remarks on The Scented Garden must have made the anthropological
sides of Ashbee, Arbuthnot, and Burton's other old friends shake
with uncontrollable laughter. Unfortunately, she was as careless as
Lady Burton. Thus on page 48 she relates a story about Burton's
attempt to carry off a nun; but readers of Burton's book on Goa will
find that it had no connection with Burton whatever. It was a story
someone had told him.
In these pages Burton will be seen on his travels, among his
friends, among his books, fighting, writing, quarrelling, exploring,
joking, flying like a squib from place to place--a 19th century Lord
Peterborough, though with the world instead of a mere continent for
theatre. Even late in life, when his infirmities prevented larger
circuits, he careered about Europe in a Walpurgic style that makes
the mind giddy to dwell upon.
Of Burton's original works I have given brief summaries; but as a
writer he shines only in isolated passages. We go to him not for
style but for facts. Many of his books throw welcome light on
historical portions of the Bible.[FN#17]
Of those of his works which are erotic in the true sense of the word
I have given a sufficient account, and one with which I am convinced
even the most captious will not find fault.[FN#18] When necessity
has obliged me to touch upon the subject to which Sir Richard
devoted his last lustrum, I have been as brief as possible, and have
written in a way that only scholars could understand. In short I
have kept steadily in view the fact that this work is one which will
lie on drawing-room tables and be within the reach of everyone.
I have nowhere mentioned the subject by name, but I do not see how
I could possible have avoided all allusion to it. I have dwelt on
Burton's bravery, his tenderness, his probity, his marvellous
industry, his encyclopaedic learning--but the picture would not have
been a true one had I entirely over-passed the monomania of his last
days. Hamlet must be shown, if not at his maddest, at any rate mad,
or he would not be Hamlet at all.
As regards Burton's letters, I have ruthlessly struck out every
sentence that might give offence.[FN#19] While I have not
hesitated to expose Sir Richard's faults, I have endeavoured to
avoid laying too much stress upon them. I have tried, indeed,
to get an idea of the mountain not only by climbing its sides,
but also by viewing it from a distance. I trust that there will be
found nothing in this book to hurt the feelings of any living person
or indeed of any body of persons. I have certainly tried my utmost
to avoid causing pain, and if the reader will kindly bear in mind
that it is as much a Christian duty to avoid taking offence as to
avoid giving offence, we shall amble along pleasantly together to
the very last page. Out of consideration for Catholics I have
suppressed a number of passages; and if I have allowed Sir Richard
in one or two instances to make a lunge at their church, I trust
they will notice that I have permitted him the same licence with
regard to the Church of England and Exeter Hall. Finally,
my impartiality is proved by my allowing him to gird at the
poet Cowper.
Wherever possible, that is to say, when I could do it without
ambiguity I have also out of courtesy used the term Catholic instead
of Roman Catholic; and in order to meet what I believe to be the
wishes of Lady Burton's executors, I have omitted all mention of
certain events that occurred after Sir Richard's death.
The various works of Mr. W. H. Wilkins have been of great help to
me, and I cannot avoid paying a passing tribute to the excellent
opening passages[FN#20] of the Preface of his edition of Lady
Burton's Life of her husband.
The illustrations in this book are of exceptional interest.
They include the Burton family portraits, the originals of which
are in the possession of Mr. Mostyn Pryce and Mrs. Agg. During the
lifetime of Sir Richard and Lady Burton they were the property of
Lady and Miss Stisted; but, owing to her difference with these
ladies, Lady Burton was not able to use them in the life of her
husband; and Miss Stisted's own scheme did not include
illustrations. So they are now reproduced for the first time.
The most noticeable are the quaint picture of Burton, his brother
and sister as children, and the oil painting of Burton and Lady
Stisted made by Jacquand about 1851. Of great interest, too, is the
series of photographs taken at Trieste by Dr. Grenfell Baker;
while the portraits of Burton's friends, Mr. F. F. Arbuthnot,
Mr. John Payne, Major St. George Burton, Dr. Baker, Mr. W. F. Kirby,
Mr. A. G. Ellis, Professor J. F. Blumhardt, and others, will no
doubt be appreciated by the public.
The writing of this book has been a thorough pleasure to me,
not only on account of the infinite charm of the subject, but also
because everyone whom I have approached has treated me with studied
kindness. The representatives of Sir Richard Burton, of Lady Burton
(through Mr. W. H. Wilkins) and of Miss Stisted have not only helped
and permitted me to use the unpublished letters,[FN#21] but have
generously given me a free hand. I am deeply indebted to them,
and I can only trust that these pages will prove that their
confidence in my judgment has not been misplaced.
To everyone who has assisted me I tender my sincere thanks, and I
assure them that I shall never forget their abundant kindness.
Finally, in writing this work every possible care has been taken to
ensure accuracy[FN#22]; but that absolute perfection has been
attained is improbable. It is hoped, however,--to borrow the quaint
expression of the Persian poet Jami--"that the noble disposition of
the readers will induce them to pass over defects."[FN#23]
My grateful thanks are due to the following ladies and gentlemen for
various services.
Arbuthnot, Mrs. F. F., 43 South Street, Park Lane, London.
Ashbee, Mr. C. G., Woolstapler Hall, Chipping Cambden,
Gloucestershire.
Agg, Mrs. Hewletts, Cheltenham.
Baddeley, Mrs., Brighton.
Baker, Dr. Grenfell, 25, Southwick Street, Hyde Park, W.
Birch, Mrs. G. M., Lympstone Grange, South Devon.
Blumhardt, Prof. James F., British Museum.
Burton, Mrs. E. J., 31, Wilbury Road, Brighton.
Burton, Major St. George, The Black Watch.
Burton, Mr. Frederick, Brighton.
Cautley, Mr. P. P., 4, Via della Zonta, Trieste.
Clayton, Mr. Arthur, South View, Ropley, Hants.
Carrington, Mr. Charles, 13, Faubourg Montmartre, Paris.
Chatto, Mr. Andrew, Hillside, Elstree.
Codrington, Dr., Royal Asiatic Society, Albemarle Street.
Committee, The, of the Central Library, Camberwell.
Eales, Rev. A. R. T., The Rectory, Elstree, Herts.
Ellis, Mr. A. G., British Museum.
Editors, The, of the following newspapers: The Times, The Daily
Telegraph, The Standard, The Daily News, The Morning Post,
The Daily Chronicle, The Daily Mail, The Athenaeum, The Saturday
Review, The Academy, for inserting letters for me at different
times. These letters put me in touch with several of Burton's
old friends.
Gardiner, Mr. C. H., 4, Montpelier Crescent, Brighton.
George, Mr. William H., 2, Highfield Terrace, Bognor.
Hector, Mr. E., Bookseller, 103, John Bright Street, Birmingham.
Hutchinson & Co., Messrs, for the loan of the portrait of Khamoor.
Jones, Mr. Herbert, The Library, High Street, Kensington.
Josling, Mr. A., 36, Lyndhurst Grove, Camberwell.
Kirby, Mr. W. F., "Hilden," Sutton Court Road, Chiswick, London.
Letchford, Miss Daisy (now Madame Nicastro), Mezellina 178, Naples.
McCarthy, The Very Rev. P. J. Canon, Ilkeston, Derbyshire.
Mendelssohn, Mr. S., 21, Kensington Court Gardens, London, W.
Murray, Mr. T. Douglas, Pyt Cottage, Tisbury, Wilts.
MacRitchie, Mr. David, 4, Archibald Place, Edinburgh.
Newcombe, Mr. C. F., 16, Champion Park, Denmark Hill, London, S. E.
Nicastro, Madame.
Payne, Mr. John.
Pelham, Dr., President of Trinity College, Oxford.
Pryce, Mr. E. S. Mostyn, Gunley Hall, Chirbury, Shropshire.
Rankin-Lloyd, Mrs., Wilne House, Pembroke.
Royal Asiatic Society (for permission to examine the Arbuthnot and
Rehatsek manuscripts).
Roe, Rev. Henry, 12, Barnoon Terrace, St. Ives, Cornwall.
Sams, Rev. G. F., The Rectory, Emberton, Bucks.
Segrave, Mr. H., Seaview, Lyme Regis, Dorset.
Snowsill, Mr. W. G., Camberwell Central Library.
Spencer, Mr. W. T., Bookseller, 27, New Oxford Street, London, W. C.
Steingass, Mrs., 36, Lyndhurst Grove, Camberwell.
Tussaud, Mr. John, of "Madame Tussaud's."
Tedder, Mr., The Athenaeum.
Tuckey, Dr. Charles Lloyd, 88, Park Street, Grosvenor Square,
London.
Van Zeller, Mrs. (Lady Burton's sister).
Wilkins, Mr. W. H., 3, Queen Street, Mayfair, London, W.
Wood, Mr. W. Martin, Underwood, Oatlands Avenue, Weybridge.
Wyllie, Mr. Francis R. S., 6, Montpellier Villas, Brighton.
My wife, too, upon whom devolved the heavy task of transcribing,
must also be awarded her meed of praise.
The following is a fairly complete list of the various Books and
Magazine Articles that have been laid under contribution.
Arbuthnot, F. F., "Persian Portraits." 1887
"The Mysteries of Chronology."
"Life of Balzac (in Manuscript)."
"Baily's Monthly Magazine," April 1883.
Baddeley, St. Clair (See Richards, A. B.)
Burton, Lady. "Life of Sir Richard Burton," 2 vols. 1893.
Her Works. 5 vols.
Burton, Sir Richard. His Works. 60 vols.
"Edinburgh Review," July 1886. No. 335.
Hitchman, F., "Richard R. Burton," 2 vols. 1887.
Kama Shastra Society's Publications.
Magazine Articles by or relating to Burton. Too numerous
to mention.
Payne, Mr. John, The Book of "The Thousand Nights and One Night,"
9 vols., 1882-4, and "Omar Kheyyam."
"Perfumed Garden, The." Published in 1904 by Mr. Carrington,
of Paris.
Its Preface contains letters from several of the leading Arabists
of the day, including M. Fagnan and Professor Hartwig Derenbourg,
Membre de l'Institut.
Richards (A. B.), Wilson (A.), and Baddeley (St. C.), "Sketch of the
Career of Richard F. Burton," 1886.
Rehatsek (Edward), Translations.
Roe, Rev. Henry, "West African Scenes," "Fernando Po Mission."
Stisted, Miss Georgiana, "Reminiscences of Sir Richard Burton"--
"Temple Bar," July, 1891. Vol. 92.
"The True Life of Sir Richard Burton," 1896.
"Saturday Review," "Ultima Thule," 1876, Jan. 15 (p. 82).
"Zanzibar," 1872, February 17th (p. 222).
Wilkins, W. H., "The Romance of Isabel Lady Burton," 2 vols. 1897.
Also the various works by Sir Richard Burton that have been
edited by Mr. Wilkins.
Wilson, A. (See Richards, A. B.)
Thomas Wright.
Contents of Volume I
Chapter I
19th March 1821-October 1840
Childhood and Youth
1. Torquay and Elstree, 19th March 1821
2. Tours and Elstree
3. Death of Richard Baker, 16th September 1824
4. At School, Richmond, 1829
5. The Continent Again, 1829
Chapter II
October 1840-April 1842
Oxford
6. Trinity College, Oxford, October 1840
7. Expelled, April 1842
Chapter III
April 1842-20th February 1847
Sind
8. To Bombay, 18th June 1842
9. Baroda: The Bubu
10. Narachi: Love of Disguise
11. A Dangerous Mission, 1845
12. The Persian Beauty
13. A Simian Dictionary
14. Duality
Chapter IV
20th February 1847-1849
Under the Spell of Camoens
15. Goa and Camoens
16. Would you a Sufi be?
17. Letter to Sarah Burton, 14th November 1848
18. Allahdad
Chapter V
1849-3rd April 1853
Chiefly Boulogne
19. A Motto from Ariosto
20. Isabel Arundell and "My dear Louisa," 1851
21. F. F. Arbuthnot, 1853
Chapter VI
3rd April 1853-29th October 1854
Pilgrimage to Mecca
22. The Man wants to Wander
23. Haji Wali
24. The Pilgrim Ship, 6th July 1853
25. Medina
26. Mecca
27. Burton's Delight in Shocking
28. El Islam
Chapter VII
29th October 1854-22nd April 1855
To Harar
29. The Arabian Nights, October 1854
30. From Zeila to Harar, 27th November 1854
31. At Harar, 2nd January, 1855
32. From Harar to Berbera, 13th January 1855
33. The Fight at Berbera, 22nd April 1855
Chapter VIII
34. The Crimea
35. Engaged to Isabel Arundell, August 1856
Chapter IX
22nd April 1855-December 1856
The Unveiling of Isis
36. To Fuga, January 1857
37. Zanzibar to Tanganyika, 26th June 1857-26th May 1858
38. The Return Journey, 26th May, 1858-13th February 1859
Chapter X
21st May 1859-August 1861
Mormons and Marriage
39. We Rushed into Each Other's Arms, 22nd May 1860
40. Brigham Young
41. Marriage
42. At Lord Houghton's
Chapter XI
August 1861-29th November 1863
Fernando Po
43. African Gold
44. Anecdotes
45. Fans and Gorillas
46. The Anthropological Society, 6th January 1863
Chapter XII
29th November, 1863-10th November 1865
Gelele
47. Whydah and its Deity, 29th November 1863
48. The Amazons
49. "The Customs"
50. Death of Speke, 15th September 1864
Chapter XIII
October 1865-October 1869
2nd Consulate: Santos
51. To Santos
52. Aubertin: Death of Dr. Steinhauser, 27th July 1866
53. The Facetious Cannibals
54. Up the Sao Francisco
55. In Paraguay, August 1868-April 1869
Chapter XIV
1st October 1869-16th August 1871
"Emperor and Empress of Damascus"
56. Archbishop Manning and the Odd Fish
57. 3rd Consulate: Damascus
58. Jane Digby el Mezrab
59. To Tadmor
60. Palmer and Drake, 11th July 1870
61. Khamoor
62. The Shazlis
63. The Recall, 16th August 1871
Chapter XV
16th August 1871-4th June 1872
"The Blackness of Darkness"
64. With Sir H. Stisted at Norwood
65. Reduced to (pounds)15
66. An Orgie at Lady Alford's, 2nd November 1871
67. The Tichborne Trial
68. Khamoor at the Theatre, November 1871
Chapter XVI
4th June 1872-24th October 1872
In Iceland
69. In Edinburgh Again, 4th June, 1872
70. Wardour Castle, 5th July 1872
71. St. George and Frederick Burton
72. At the Athenaeum
73. Jane Digby again
74. His Book on Zanzibar
Chapter XVII
24th October 1872-12th May 1875
4th Consulate: Trieste
75. Burton at Trieste, 24th October 1872
76. At the Vienna Exhibition, 1873
77. A Visit from Drake, June 1873
78. Khamoor returns to Syria, 4th December 1874
Chapter XVIII
12th May 1875-18th June 1876
The Trip to India
79. Visit to England, 12th May 1875
80. "Tonic Bitters"
81. A Trip to India, December 1875-18th June 1876
82. Arbuthnot again; Rehatsek
83. In Sind
84. Golconda
Chapter XIX
18th June 1876-31st March 1877
Colonel Gordon
85. Ariosto
86. Death of Rashid Pasha, June 1876
87. Colonel Gordon
88. Jane Digby the Second
89. The Old Baronetcy, 18th January 1877
Chapter XX
31st March 1877-27th December 1879
Midian
90. The New Joseph, March 1877
91. More Advice to "Lazybones"
92. Haji Wali again
93. Graffiti
94. Letter to Sir Henry Gordon, 4th July 1878
95. Death of Maria Stisted, 12th November 1878
96. Burton's "Six Senses," 2nd December 1878
97. Still thinking of Midian
Chapter XXI
27th Devember 1879-August 1881
Camoens
98. The Lusiads
99. Ober Ammergan
100. Mrs. Burton's Advice to Novelists
101. The Kasidah
102. Lisa
Chapter XXII
August 1881-20th May 1882
John Payne
103. With Cameron at Venice, August 1881
104. John Payne, November 1881
105. To the Gold Coast, 25th November 1881-20th May 1882
Chapter XXIII
July 1883-November 1883
The Meeting of Burton and Payne
106. Mrs. Grundy begins to Roar, May 1882
107. The Search for Palmer, October 1882
Chapter XXIV
July 1883-November 1883
The Palazzone
108. Anecdotes of Burton
109. Burton and Mrs. Disraeli
110. "I am an Old English Catholic"
111. Burton begins his Translation, April 1884
112. The Battle over the Nights
113. Completion of Payne's Translation
Chapter XXV
The Kama Shastra Society
114. The Azure Apollo
115. The Kama Sutra
Chapter XXVI
"The Ananga Ranga"
1885
116. The Anana Ranga
117. The Beharistan
118. The Gulistan
119. The Nigaristan
120. The "1884" Letters to Payne
121. At Sauerbrunn, 12th August, 1884
122. Burton's Circulars
123. The Book of the Sword
124. The Lyrics of Camoens
125. More Letters to John Payne
126. Death of Gordon, January 1885
127. Mr. W. F. Kirby, 25th March 1885
Chapter XXVII
May 1885-5th February 1886
A Glance Through "The Arabian Nights"
128. Slaving at the Athenaeum
129. A Visit to Mr. Arbuthnot's
130. Dr. Steingass
131. Anecdotes
132. The Pentameron: Burton and Gladstone
133. A Brief Glance through the Nights
Chapter XXVIII
The Two Translations Compared
134. The Blacksmith who, etc.
135. Abu Al-Hasen and Abu Ja'afar the Leper
136. The Summing Up
Chapter XXIX
Burton's Notes
137. Burton's Notes
138. The Terminal Essay
139. Final Summing Up
140. Mr. Swinburne on Burton
Chapter XXX
21st November 1885-18th July 1888
K.C.M.G.
141. In Morocco, 21st November 1885
142. K.C.M.G.
143. Burton at 65
144. More Anecdotes
Chapter XXXI
Burton's Religion
145. Burton's Religion
146. Burton as a Writer
Chapter XXXII
Burton and Social Questions
147. The Population Question
148. New Projects
149. Mr. A. G. Ellis and Professor Blumhardt, June 1886-April 1887
150. Dr. Leslie and Dr. Baker, April 1887; Anecdotes
151. Three Months at Abbazia, December 1887-March 1888
Chapter XXXIII
18th July 1888-15th October 1888
The Last Visit to England: "Supplemental Nights"
152. Meeting with Mr. Swinburne and others
153. H. W. Ashbee
154. Bacon causes Sparks
155. The Gipsy Lore Society, August 1888
156. The Supplemental Nights, 1st December, 1886-1st August 1888
157. Comparison
Chapter XXXIV
"The Scented Garden." November 1888
158. Naizawi
159. Origin of The Scented Garden
160. Contents of The Scented Garden
161. Burton's Translation
Chapter XXXV
15th October 1888-21st July, 1890
Working at the Catullus and the "Scented Garden"
162. In Switzerlant, 15th October 1888
163. Mr. Letchford, August and September 1889
164. To Dr. Tuckey
165. To Mr. Kirby, 15th May 1889
166. Tunis and Algiers, 20th December 1889
167. Arbuthnot in Trieste, May 1890
Chapter XXXVI
"The Priapeia"
168. The Priapeia, 1890
169. Catullus and The Last Trip, 1st July-7th Sept
170. At Maloja
171. The Golden Ass
Chapter XXXVII
Death of Sir Richard Burton, 20th October 1890
172. Death
Chapter XXXVIII
20th October 1890-Devember 1890
The Fate of the "Scented Garden"
173. "Our Dead in Rare Instances Come Back"
174. Discrepancies in Lady Burton's Story
175. The Fate of the Catullus
176. Lisa Departs, November 1890
Chapter XXXVIX
January 1891-July 1891
Lady Burton in England
177. Lady Burton arrives in England
178. The Funeral at Mortlake
179. The Scented Garden Storm, June and July 1891
Chapter XL
June 1891-27th December 1893
O Tome, O Tomb
180. A Letter to Miss Stisted
181. The Writing of the "Life"
182. The Library Edition
Chapter XLI
22nd March, 1896
Death of Lady Burton
183. Lady Burton at Eastbourne
184. Death of Lady Burton, 22nd March 1896
185. Miss Sitsted's True Life
186. Mr. Wilkins's Work
187. Burton's Friends
Verses on the Death of Richard Burton, by Mr. A. C. Swinburne
Appendices
1. Bibliography of Richard Burton
2. List of Works included in the "Memorial Edition"
3. List of Biographies of Burton
4. Extracts relating to Burton from the Index to the Publications of
the Anthropological Institute
5. Bibliography of F. F. Arbuthnot
6. Bibliography of Dr. Steingass
7. Bibliography of John Payne
8. The Beharistan
9. The Nigaristan and other unpublished Works translated by Rehatsek
10. W. F. Kirby
11. Genealogical Table. The Burtons of Shap {not included}
Chapter I
19th March 1821-October 1840
Childhood and Youth
1. Torquay and Elstree.
Sir Richard Burton, the famous traveller, linguist,
and anthropologist--"the Arabian Knight"--"the last of the
demi-gods"--has been very generally regarded as the most picturesque
figure of his time, and one of the most heroic and illustrious men
that "this blessed plot ... this England," this mother of heroes
every produced.
The Burtons, a Westmoreland family [FN#24] who had settled in
Ireland, included among their members several men of eminence,
not only in the army, which had always powerfully attracted them,
but also in the navy and the church. [FN#25] For long there was a
baronetcy in the family, but it fell into abeyance about 1712,
and all attempts of the later Burtons to substantiate their claim
to it proved ineffectual. [FN#26]
Burton supposed himself to be descended from Louis XIV. La Belle
Montmorency, a beauty of the French court, had, it seems, a son,
of which she rather believed Louis to be the father. In any
circumstances she called the baby Louis Le Jeune, put him in a
basket of flowers and carried him to Ireland, where he became known
as Louis Drelincourt Young. Louis Young's grand-daughter married
the Rev. Edward Burton, Richard Burton's grandfather. Thus it is
possible that a runnel of the blood of "le grand monarque" tripped
through Burton's veins. But Burton is a Romany name, and as Richard
Burton had certain gipsy characteristics, some persons have credited
him with gipsy lineage. Certainly no man could have been more given
to wandering. Lastly, through his maternal grandmother, he was
descended from the famous Scotch marauder, Rob Roy.
Burton's parents were Lieutenant-Colonel Joseph Netterville Burton,
a tall, handsome man with sallow skin, dark hair, and coal-black
eyes, and Martha Beckwith, the accomplished but plain daughter of
Richard and Sarah Baker, of Barham House (now "Hillside" [FN#27]),
Elstree, Hertfordshire.
Richard Baker was an opulent country gentleman, and the most
important personage in the parish. Judging from the size of his pew
at church, "No. 19," he must also have been a man of eminent piety,
for it contained sixteen sittings. At all events he kept the parish
in admirable order, and, as churchwarden, discountenanced
unreasonable sleeping in church. Thanks to his patronage the choir
made marked progress, and eventually there was no louder in the
county. In 1813, we find him overseer with one George Olney.
He took a perfunctory [FN#28] interest in the village school (where,
by the by, Arthur Orton, the Tichborne claimant, received his
elaborate education), and was for a time "director." He led the
breezy life of a country gentleman. With his fat acres,
his thumping balance at the bank, his cellar of crusted wine,
and his horse that never refused a gate, this world seemed to him
a nether paradise. He required, he said, only one more boon to make
his happiness complete--namely, a grandson with unmistakably red
hair. A shrewd man of business, Mr. Baker tied up every farthing
of his daughter's fortune, (pounds)30,000; and this was well, for Burton's
father, a rather Quixotic gentleman, had but a child's notion of the
use of money. The Burtons resided at Torquay, and Colonel Burton
busied himself chiefly in making chemical experiments, of which he
was remarkably fond; but the other members of the household,
who generally went about holding their noses, appear not to have
sympathised with his studies and researches. He was very
superstitious--nothing, for instance, could induce him to reveal his
birthday; and he fretted continually because he was not permitted to
invest his wife's money and make a second fortune; which no doubt he
would very soon have done--for somebody else.
Richard Francis Burton was born at Torquay [FN#29] on 19th March
1821; and to the intemperate joy of the family his hair was a fierce
and fiery red. The news flew madly to Elstree. Old Mr. Baker could
scarcely contain himself, and vowed then and there to leave the
whole of his fortune to his considerate grandson. The baby,
of course, was promptly called Richard after Mr. Baker, with Francis
as an afterthought; and a little later the Burtons went to reside at
Barham House with the grandparents. Richard was baptised in the
parish church at Elstree, 2nd September 1821. In the entry his
father's abode is called "Bareham Wood," [FN#30] the name being
spelt various ways. Our illustration of the old church is taken
from an engraving made to commemorate the burial of William Weare
[FN#31] murdered by the notorious John Thurtell; an event that
occurred in 1823, when Burton was two years old.
There was another link between the Burtons and the Bakers,
for Joseph Netterville's youngest brother, Francis, military surgeon
in the 99th regiment, married Sarah Baker, Mr. Richard Baker's
eldest daughter. Dr. Burton [FN#32] who was in St. Helena at the
time of Napoleon's death lives in history as the man who "took a
bust of the dead emperor." [FN#33]
2. Tours and Elstree.
Being subject to asthma, Colonel Burton now left England and hired a
chateau called Beausejour situated on an eminence near Tours, where
there was an English colony. For several years the family
fluctuated between Tours and Elstree, and we hear of a great yellow
chariot which from time to time rolled into daylight. Richard's
hair gradually turned from its fiery and obtrusive red to jet black,
but the violent temper of which the former colour is supposed to be
indicative, and of which he had already many times given proofs,
signalised him to the end of life. In 1823 Mrs. Burton gave birth
to a daughter, Maria Katharine Elisa, who became the wife of General
Sir Henry Stisted; and on 3rd July 1824 to a son, Edward Joseph
Netterville, both of whom were baptized at Elstree. [FN#34]
While at Tours the children were under the care of their
Hertfordshire nurse, Mrs. Ling, a good, but obstinately English
soul who had been induced to cross the Channel only after strenuous
opposition.
3. Death of Richard Baker, 16th September 1824.
Richard Burton always preserved some faint recollections of his
grandfather. "The first thing I remember," he says, "was being
brought down after dinner at Barham House to eat white currants,
seated upon the knee of a tall man with yellow hair and blue eyes."
This would be in the summer of 1824. Mr. Baker, as we have seen,
had intended to leave the whole of his property--worth about half a
million--to his red-haired grandson; and an old will, made in 1812,
was to be cancelled. But Burton's mother had a half brother--
Richard Baker, junior--too whom she was extravagantly attached,
and, in order that this brother should not lose a fortune, she did
everything in her power to prevent Mr. Baker from carrying out his
purpose. Three years passed away, but at last Mr. Baker resolved to
be thwarted no longer, so he drove to his lawyer's. It was the 16th
of September 1824. He reached the door and leapt nimbly from his
carriage; but his foot had scarcely touched the ground before he
fell dead of heart disease. So the old will had to stand, and the
property, instead of going to Burton, was divided among the children
of Mr. Baker, Burton's mother taking merely her share. But for this
extraordinary good hap Richard Burton might have led the life of an
undistinguished country gentleman; ingloriously breaking his dogs,
training his horses and attending to the breed of stock.
The planting of a quincunx or the presentation of a pump to the
parish might have proved his solitary title to fame. Mr. Baker
was buried at Elstree church, where may be seen a tablet to him
with the following inscription:
"Sacred to the memory of Richard Baker, Esq., late of Barham
House in this parish, who departed this life on the 16th September
1824, aged 62 years." [FN#35]
Soon after the death of her husband, Mrs. Baker must have left
Elstree, [FN#36] for from 1827 to 1839, Barham House was occupied
by Viscount Northland. The Burtons continued to reside at Tours,
and all went well until cholera broke out. Old Mrs. Baker, hearing
the news, and accounting prevention better than cure, at once
hurried across the channel; nor did she breathe freely until she had
plugged every nose at Beausejour with the best Borneo camphor.
The apprehensive old lady, indeed, hovered round her grandchildren
all day like some guardian angel, resolutely determined that no
conceivable means should be spared to save them from the dreaded
epidemic; and it was not until she had seen them safely tucked in
their snowy, lavendered beds that her anxieties of the day really
ceased. One night, however, when she went, as was her custom,
to look at the sleeping children before retiring herself, she found,
to her horror, that they were not there. The whole household was
roused, and there was an agonising hue and cry; but, by and by,
the culprits were seen slinking softly in at the principal door.
It seems that they had climbed down from their room and had gone the
round with the death carts and torches, to help collect corpses;
and enquiry revealed that they had worked considerably harder than
the paid men. When the cholera scare passed off Mrs. Baker took to
learning French, and with such success that in less than six months
she was able to speak several words, though she could never get hold
of the correct pronunciation. Despite, however, her knowledge of
the language, the good lady did not take kindly to France, and she
often looked wistfully northwards, quoting as she did so her
favourite Cowper:
"England with all thy faults I love thee still."
She and Mrs. Ling, the old nurse, who pined for English beef and
beer, made some attempts to console each other, but with
inappreciable success, and finally the fellow-sufferers, their faces
now beaming with smiles, returned together to their England.
And not even Campbell's sailor lad was gladder to see again the
"dear cliffs of Dover."
Our charmingly quaint picture of Richard, his sister and brother,
in wondrous French costumes, is from an oil painting [FN#37] which
has not before been copied. Richard was first taught by a lame
Irishman named Clough, who kept a school at Tours; and by and by,
chiefly for the children's sake, Colonel Burton gave up Beausejour
and took a house in the Rue De L'Archeveche, the best street in the
town. The little Burtons next attended the academy of a Mr. John
Gilchrist, who grounded them in Latin and Greek. A kind-hearted
man, Mr. Gilchrist often gave his pupils little treats. Once,
for instance, he took them to see a woman guillotined. Richard and
Edward were, to use Richard's expression, "perfect devilets."
Nor was the sister an angelet. The boys lied, fought, beat their
maids, generally after running at their petticoats and upsetting
them, smashed windows, stole apple puffs; and their escapades and
Richard's ungovernable temper were the talk of the neighourhood.
Their father was at this time given to boar hunting in the
neighbouring forest, but as he generally damaged himself against
the trees and returned home on a stretcher, he ultimately abandoned
himself again to the equally useful but less perilous pursuit of
chemistry. If Colonel Burton's blowpipes and retorts and his
conduct in private usually kept Mrs. Burton on tenterhooks, she was
no less uneasy on his account when they went into society. He was
so apt to call things by their right names. Thus on one occasion
when the conversation ran upon a certain lady who was known to be
unfaithful to her husband, he inexpressibly shocked a sensitive
company by referring to her as "an adulteress." In this trait,
as in many others, his famous son closely resembled him.
A youthful Stoic, Burton, in times of suffering, invariably took
infinite pains to conceal his feelings. Thus all one day he was in
frightful agony with the toothache, but nobody knew anything about
it until next morning when his cheek was swollen to the size of a
peewit's egg. He tried, too, to smother every affectionate
instinct; but when under strong emotion was not always successful.
One day, throwing stones, he cut his sister's forehead. Forgetting
all his noble resolutions he flew to her, flung his arms round her,
kissed her again and again, and then burst into a fit of crying.
Mrs. Burton's way of dressing her children had the charm of
simplicity. She used to buy a piece of yellow nankin and make up
three suits as nearly as possible alike, except for size.
We looked, said Burton, "like three sticks of barley sugar," and the
little French boys who called after them in the streets thought so
too, until Richard had well punched all their heads, when their
opinions underwent a sudden change.
Another household incident that fixed itself in Burton's mind was
the loss of their "elegant and chivalrous French chef," who had
rebelled when ordered to boil a gigot. "Comment, madame,"
he replied to Mrs. Burton, "un--gigot!--cuit a l'eau, jamais!
Neverre!" And rather than spoil, as he conceived it, a good leg of
mutton he quitted her service. [FN#38] Like most boys, Burton was
fond of pets, and often spent hours trying to revive some bird or
small beast that had met with misfortune, a bias that affords a
curious illustration of the permanence of character. The boy of
nine once succeeded in resuscitating a favourite bullfinch which had
nearly drowned itself in a great water jug--and we shall find the
man of sixty-nine, on the very last day of his life, trying to
revive a half-drowned robin.
4. At School, Richmond, 1829.
In 1829 the Burtons returned to England and took a house in Maids of
Honour Row, Richmond, while Richard and Edward were sent to a
preparatory school at Richmond Green--a handsome building with a
paddock which enclosed some fine old elms--kept by a "burly savage,"
named the Rev. Charles Delafosse. Although the fees were high,
the school was badly conducted, and the boys were both ill-taught
and ill-fed. Richard employed himself out of school hours fighting
with the other boys, and had at one time thirty-two affairs of
honour to settle. "On the first occasion," he says, "I received
a blow in the eye, which I thought most unfair, and having got my
opponent down I proceeded to hammer his head against the ground,
using his ears by way of handles. My indignation knew no bounds
when I was pulled off by the bystanders, and told to let my enemy
stand up again. 'Stand up!' I cried, 'After all the trouble I've
had to get the fellow down.'" [FN#39]
Of the various countries he knew, Burton hated England most.
Would he ever, he asked see again his "Dear France." And then Fate,
who revels in irony, must needs set him to learn as a school task,
of all the poems in English, Goldsmith's Traveller! So the wretched
boy, cursing England in his heart, scowling and taking it out of
Goldsmith by daubing his pages with ink, sat mumbling:
"Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam
His first, best country ever is at home." [FN#40]
By and by, to Burton's extravagant joy--and he always intemperately
loved change--measles broke out in the school, the pupils were
dispersed, and Colonel Burton, tired of Richmond, resolved to make
again for the continent. As tutor for his boys he hired an ox-like
man "with a head the shape of a pear, smaller end uppermost"--
the Rev. H. R. Du Pre afterwards rector of Shellingford; and Maria
was put in charge of a peony-faced lady named Miss Ruxton. The boys
hurrahed vociferously when they left what they called wretched
little England; but subsequently Richard held that his having been
educated abroad was an incalculable loss to him. He said the more
English boys are, "even to the cut of their hair," the better their
chances in life. Moreover, that it is a real advantage to belong to
some parish. "It is a great thing when you have won a battle,
or explored Central Africa, to be welcomed home by some little
corner of the great world, which takes a pride in your exploits,
because they reflect honour on itself." [FN#41] An English
education might have brought Burton more wealth, but for the wild
and adventurous life before him no possible training could have been
better than the varied and desultory one he had. Nor could there
have been a more suitable preparation for the great linguist and
anthropologist. From babyhood he mixed with men of many nations.
5. The Continent Again.
At first the family settled at Blois, where Colonel and Mrs. Burton
gave themselves over to the excitement of dressing three or four
times a day; and, as there was nothing whatever the matter with
them, passed many hours in feeling each other's pulses, looking at
each other's tongues, and doctoring each other. Richard and Edward
devoted themselves to fending and swimming. If the three children
were wild in England they were double wild at Blois. Pear-headed
Mr. Du Pre stuck tenaciously to his work, but Miss Ruxton gave up in
despair and returned to England. At a dancing party the boys learnt
what it was to fall in love. Richard adored an extremely tall young
woman named Miss Donovan, "whose face was truly celestial--being so
far up" but she was unkind, and did not encourage him.
After a year at Blois, Colonel and Mrs. Burton, who had at last
succeeded in persuading themselves that they were really invalids,
resolved to go in search of a more genial climate. Out came the
cumbersome old yellow chariot again, and in this and a chaise drawn
by an ugly beast called Dobbin, the family, with Colonel Burton's
blowpipes, retorts and other "notions," as his son put it, proceeded
by easy stages to Marseilles, whence chariot, chaise, horse and
family were shipped to Leghorn, and a few days later they found
themselves at Pisa. The boys became proficient in Italian and
drawing, but it was not until middle life that Richard's writing
developed into that gossamer hand which so long distinguished it.
Both had a talent for music, but when "a thing like Paganini,
length without breadth" was introduced, and they were ordered to
learn the violin, Richard rebelled, flew into a towering rage and
broke his instrument on his master's head. Edward, however,
threw his whole soul into the work and became one of the finest
amateur violinists of his day. Edward, indeed, was the Greek of
the family, standing for music and song as well as for muscle.
He had the finely chiselled profile and the straight nose that
characterises the faces on Attic coins. Richard, though without
the Roman features, was more of the ancient Roman type of character:
severe, doggedly brave, utilitarian; and he was of considerably
larger mould than his brother. In July 1832, the family stayed at
Siena and later at Perugia, where they visited the tomb of Pietro
Aretino. At Florence, the boys, having induced their sister to lend
them her pocket money, laid it out in a case of pistols; while their
mother went in daily terror lest they should kill each other.
The worst they did, however, was to put a bullet through a very good
hat which belonged to Mr. Du Pre. When their mother begged them not
to read Lord Chesterfield's Letters to a Son, concerning the
morality of which she had doubts, they dutifully complied and
surrendered themselves piously, and without a murmur, to the chaste
pages of Paul de Kock. They did not, however, neglect the art
treasures of Florence; and at Rome, their next stopping-place,
they sauntered about with Baedeker's predecessor, "Mrs. Starke,"
and peered into earthly churches and flower-illumined ruins.
Later the family journeyed to Naples, where the boys continued their
studies under Mr. Du Pre. As a clergyman, this gentleman steadily
inculcated in his pupils the beautiful principles of the Christian
religion, and took a sincere and lively interest in their favourite
pastime of cock-fighting.
Colonel Burton continued his chemical studies, and in an evil hour
for the family, purchased a copy of the quaint text book by
S. Parkes: "A Chemical Catechism ... with copious notes ... to which
are added a Vocabulary and a Chapter of Amusing Experiments."
[FN#42] And very amusing they were when Colonel Burton made them.
Having studied the book closely, including the "poetry" with which
it is studded, he manufactured, at vast expense, a few cakes of a
nasty-looking and evil-smelling substance, which, he said, was soap,
and ought to be put on the market. Mrs. Burton intimated that he
might put it on the market or anywhere else as long as he did not
make any more. He next, by the aid of the same manual, prepared a
mixture which he called citric acid, though any other name would
have suited it equally well; and of this, as neither he nor anybody
else had any use for it, he daily produced large quantities.
From Naples the family moved to Sorrento, where S'or Riccardo and
S'or Edwardo, as the Italians called them, surrendered themselves
to the natural and legendary influences of the neighbourhood and to
reading. The promontory on which Sorrento stands is barren enough,
but southward rise pleasant cliffs viridescent with samphire, and
beyond them purple hills dotted with white spots of houses. At no
great distance, though hidden from view, stood the classic Paestum,
with its temple to Neptune; and nothing was easier than to imagine,
on his native sea as it were, the shell-borne ocean-god and old
Triton blowing his wreathed horn. Capri, the retreat of Tiberius,
was of easy access. Eastward swept a land of myrtle and lemon
orchards. While the elder Burton was immersed in the melodious
Parkes, who sang about "Oxygen, abandoning the mass," and changing
"into gas," his sons played the parts of Anacreon and Ovid, they
crowned their heads with garlands and drank wine like Anacreon,
not omitting the libation, and called to mind the Ovid of well-nigh
two thousand years previous, and his roses of Paestum. From poetry
they turned once more to pistols, again brought their mother's heart
to her mouth, and became generally ungovernable. A visit to a house
of poor reputation having been discovered, their father and
Mr. Du Pre set upon them with horsewhips, whereupon the graceless
but agile youths ran to a neighbouring house and swarmed to the top
of a stack of chimneys, whence partly by word and partly by
gesticulation they arranged terms of peace.
In 1836, the Burtons left for Pau in the South of France; and while
there Richard lost his heart to the daughter of a French baron.
Unfortunately, however, she had to go away to be married; and
Richard who loved her to desperation, wept bitterly, partly because
he was to lose her and partly because she didn't weep too. Edward
and the young lady's sister, who also understood each other, fared
no better, for Colonel Burton having got tired of Pau, the whole
family had to return to Italy. At Pisa "S'or Riccardo" and "S'or
Edwardo" again "cocked their hats and loved the ladies," Riccardo's
choice being a slim, soft, dark beauty named Caterina, Edwardo's her
sister Antonia. Proposals of marriage were made and accepted,
but adieux had soon to follow, for Colonel Burton now moved to
Lucca. All four lovers gave way to tears, and Richard was so wrung
with grief that he did not become engaged again for over a
fortnight. At Lucca the precious pair ruffled it with a number of
dissolute medical students, who taught them several quite original
wickednesses. They went, however, with their parents, into more
wholesome society; and were introduced to Louis Desanges, the battle
painter, Miss Helen Croly, daughter of the author of Salathiel,
and Miss Virginia Gabriel (daughter of General, generally called
Archangel Gabriel) the lady who afterwards attained fame as a
musical composer [FN#43] and became, as we have recently discovered,
one of the friends of Walter Pater. Says Burton "she showed her
savoir faire at the earliest age. At a ball given to the Prince,
all appeared in their finest dresses, and richest jewellery.
Miss Virginia was in white, with a single necklace of pink coral."
They danced till daybreak, when Miss Virginia "was like a rose among
faded dahlias and sunflowers."
Here, as everywhere, there was more pistol practice, and the boys
plumed themselves on having discovered a new vice--that of
opium-eating, while their father made the house unendurable by the
preparation of sulphuretted hydrogen and other highly-scented
compounds. It was recognised, however, that these chemical
experiments had at least the advantage of keeping Colonel Burton
employed, and consequently of allowing everybody a little breathing
time at each stopping-place. In the spring of 1840, Colonel Burton,
Mr. Du Pre and the lads set out for Schinznach, in Switzerland,
to drink the waters; and then the family returned to England in
order that Richard and Edward might have a university education.
Their father, although not quite certain as to their future,
thought they were most adapted for holy orders. Their deportment
was perfect, the ladies admired them, and their worst enemies, it
seems, had never accused them of being "unorthodox in their views."
Indeed, Mrs. Burton already pictured them mitred and croziered.
For a few weeks the budding bishops stayed with "Grandmama Baker,"
who with "Aunt Sarah" and "Aunt Georgiana," and Aunt Sarah's
daughters, Sarah and Elisa, was summering at Hampstead; and filled
up the time, which hung heavy on their hands, with gambling,
drinking and love-making.
Chapter II
October 1840-April 1842
Oxford
6. Trinity College, October 1840.
Edward was then placed under a clergyman at Cambridge--The Rev.
Mr. Havergal, whose name, to that gentleman's indignation,
the brothers turned into "a peculiar form of ridicule." [FN#44]
Richard was to go to Trinity College, Oxford. Neither, as we have
seen, had been suitably prepared for a University career. Richard,
who could speak fluently French, Italian, and modern Greek, did not
know the Apostles' Creed, and what was even more unusual in a
prospective clergyman, had never heard of the Thirty-nine Articles.
He was struck with the architecture of the colleges, and much
surprised at the meanness of the houses that surrounded them.
He heretically calls the Isis 'a mere moat,' the Cherwell 'a ditch.'
The brilliant dare-devil from Italy despised alike the raw,
limitary, reputable, priggish undergraduates and the dull,
snuffling, smug-looking, fussy dons. The torpor of academic
dulness, indeed, was as irksome to Burton at Oxford as it had been
to FitzGerald and Tennyson at Cambridge. After a little coaching
from Dr. Ogle and Dr. William Alexander Greenhill [FN#45], he in
October 1840, entered Trinity, where he has installed in "a couple
of frowsy dog-holes" overlooking the garden of old Dr. Jenkins,
the Master of Balliol.
"My reception at College," says Burton, "was not pleasant. I had
grown a splendid moustache, which was the envy of all the boys
abroad, and which all the advice of Drs. Ogle and Greenhill failed
to make me remove. I declined to be shaved until formal orders were
issued by the authorities of the college. For I had already formed
strong ideas upon the Shaven Age of England, when her history,
with some brilliant exceptions, such as Marlborough, Wellington and
Nelson, was at its meanest." An undergraduate who laughed at him
he challenged to fight a duel; and when he was reminded that Oxford
"men" like to visit freshmen's rooms and play practical jokes,
he stirred his fire, heated his poker red hot, and waited
impatiently for callers. "The college teaching for which one
was obliged to pay," says Burton, "was of the most worthless
description. Two hours a day were regularly wasted, and those who
read for honours were obliged to choose and pay a private coach."
Another grievance was the constant bell ringing, there being so many
churches and so many services both on week days and Sundays. Later,
however, he discovered that it is possible to study, even at Oxford,
if you plug your ears with cotton-wool soaked in glycerine.
He spent his first months, not in studying, but in rowing, fencing,
shooting the college rooks, and breaking the rules generally.
Many of his pranks were at the expense of Dr. Jenkins, for whose
sturdy common sense, however, he had sincere respect; and long
after, in his Vikram and the Vampire, in which he satirises the
tutors and gerund-grinders of Oxford, he paid him a compliment.
[FN#46]
Although he could not speak highly of the dons and undergraduates,
he was forced to admit that in one respect the University
out-distanced all other seats of learning. It produced a breed of
bull-terriers of renowned pedigree which for their "beautiful build"
were a joy to think about and a delirium to contemplate; and of one
of these pugnacious brutes he soon became the proud possessor.
That he got drunk himself and made his fellow collegians drunk he
mentions quite casually, just as he mentions his other preparations
for holy orders. If he walked out with his bull-terrier, it was
generally to Bagley Wood, where a pretty, dizened gipsy girl named
Selina told fortunes; and henceforward he took a keen interest in
Selina's race.
He spent most of his time, however, in the fencing saloons of an
Italian named Angelo and a Scotchman named Maclaren; and it was at
Maclaren's he first met Alfred Bates Richards, who became a life
friend. Richards, an undergraduate of Exeter, was a man of splendid
physique. A giant in height and strength, he defeated all
antagonists at boxing, but Burton mastered him with the foil and the
broad-sword. Richards, who, like Burton, became a voluminous author
[FN#47] wrote long after, "I am sure, though Burton was brilliant,
rather wild, and very popular, none of us foresaw his future
greatness."
Another Oxford friend of Burton's was Tom Hughes, author of Tom
Brown's Schooldays; the man who, in Burton's phrase, "taught boys
not to be ashamed of being called good," [FN#48] and he always
revered the memory of his tutor, the Rev. Thomas Short. [FN#49]
Burton naturally made enemies as well as friends, but the most
bitter was that imaginary person, Mrs. Grundy. This lady, whom he
always pictured as an exceedingly stout and square-looking body with
capacious skirts, and a look of austere piety, had, he tells us,
"just begun to reign" when he was at Oxford, although forty years
had elapsed since she first made her bow [FN#50], and set everybody
asking, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" Mrs. Grundy had a great deal
to say against Richard Burton, and, life through, he took a peculiar
delight in affronting her. The good soul disapproved of Burton's
"foreign ways" and his "expressed dislike to school and college
life," she disapproved of much that he did in his prime, and when
he came to translate The Arabian Nights she set up, and not without
justification, a scream that is heard even to this day and in the
remotest corners of the kingdom.
If Richard was miserable at Oxford, Edward was equally so at
Cambridge. After the polish and politeness of Italy, where they had
been "such tremendous dandies and ladies' men," the "boorishness and
shoppiness," of Oxford and Cambridge were well-nigh unendurable.
Seizing an early opportunity, Richard ran over to Cambridge to visit
his brother. "What is the matter, Edward," enquired Richard.
"Why so downcast?" "Oh, Dick," moaned Edward, "I have fallen among
epiciers. [FN#51]"
7. Expelled, April 1842.
The dull life at Oxford was varied by the occasional visit of a
mesmeric lecturer; and one youth caused peals of canorous laughter
by walking round in a pretended mesmeric sleep and kissing the
pretty daughters of the dons.
The only preacher Burton would listen to was Newman, then Vicar of
St. Mary's; of Pusey's interminable and prosy harangues he could not
bear even to think. Although unable to bend himself to the drudgery
of Oxford, Burton was already forming vast ambitions. He longed to
excel as a linguist, and particularly in Oriental languages.
Hence he began to teach himself Arabic; and got a little assistance
from the Spanish scholar Don Pascual de Gayangos. When he asked the
Regius Professor of Arabic to teach him, he was rebuffed with the
information that it was the duty of a professor to teach a class,
not an individual. He spent the vacation with his Grandmother Baker
in Great Cumberland Place, and he and his brother amused themselves
about town with other roisterers, chiefly in gambling. Returned to
Oxford he applied sedulously to the acquisition of foreign
languages. He says, "I got a simple grammar and vocabulary, marked
out the forms and words which I knew were absolutely necessary,
and learnt them by heart. ... I never worked more than a quarter
of an hour at a time, for after that the brain lost its freshness.
After learning some three hundred words, easily done in a week,
I stumbled through some easy book-work and underlined every word
that I wished to recollect. ... Having finished my volume, I then
carefully worked up the grammar minutiae, and I then chose some
other book whose subject most interested me. The neck of the
language was now broken, and progress was rapid. If I came across
a new sound, like the Arabic Ghayn, I trained my tongue to it by
repeating it so many thousand times a day. When I read,
I invariably read out loud, so that the ear might aid memory.
I was delighted with the most difficult characters, Chinese and
Cuneiform, because I felt that they impressed themselves more
strongly upon the eye than the eternal Roman letters." [FN#52]
Such remarks from the man who became the first linguist of his day
are well worth remembering. For pronouncing Latin words the "Roman
way" he was ridiculed, but he lived long enough to see this
pronunciation adopted in all our schools. The long vacation of 1841
was spent at Wiesbaden with his father and mother. Here again the
chief delights of Richard and his brother were gambling and fencing;
and when tired of Wiesbaden they wandered about the country,
visiting among other places Heidelberg and Mannheim. Once more
Richard importuned his father to let him leave Oxford and enter the
army, but Colonel Burton, who still considered his son peculiarly
fitted for the church, was not to be moved. Upon his return to
England, however, Burton resolved to take the matter into his own
hands. He laid his plans, and presently--in April 1842--
an opportunity offered.
The Oxford races of that year were being looked forward to with
exceptional interest because of the anticipated presence of a noted
steeplechaser named Oliver, but at the last moment the college
authorities forbade the undergraduates to attend them.
Burton, however, and some other lawless spirits resolved to go all
the same, and a tandem conveyed them from the rear of Worcester
College to the race meeting. Next morning the culprits were brought
before the college dignitaries; but the dons having lectured Burton,
he began lecturing them--concluding with the observation that young
men ought not to be treated like children. As a consequence,
while the other offenders were merely rusticated, Burton was
expelled. [FN#53] He made a ceremonious bow, and retired "stung
with a sense of injustice," though where the injustice comes in, it
is difficult to see. His departure from Oxford was characteristic.
He and Anderson of Oriel, one of the other offenders, hired a tandem
in which they placed their luggage, and then with "a cantering
leader and a high-trotting shaft horse" they rode through the High
Street, and so on to London, Burton artistically performing upon a
yard of tin trumpet, waving adieux to his friends and kissing his
hands to the shop girls. About the same time Edward, also for
insubordination, had to leave Cambridge. Thus Burton got his own
way, but he long afterwards told his sister, Lady Stisted, that
beneath all his bravado there lay a deep sense of regret that such
a course had been necessary.
Chapter III
April 1842-20th February 1847
Sind
8. To Bombay, 18th June 1842.
On his arrival in London, Burton, in order to have an hour or two
of peace, coolly told his people that he had been given an extra
vacation, "as a reward for winning a double first." Then occurred
a quite un-looked-for sequel. His father insisted on giving a
dinner in honour of the success, and Burton, unwillingly enough,
became the hero of the moment. At table, however, a remark from one
of the guests revealed the precise truth--with the result of an
unpleasant scene; but eventually it was deemed advisable to let
Burton have his own way and exchange the surplice for the sword.
The Indian Service having been selected, a commission was purchased
for (pounds)500, and Burton presently found himself Ensign to the 18th
Regiment, Bombay Native Infantry. Delirious with joy, he applied
himself vigorously to Hindustani under a dirty, smoky Scotch
linguist, named Duncan Forbes. While thus employed he made the
acquaintance of two persons who just them enjoyed a remarkable
reputation, namely John Varley [FN#54], the water colour painter and
occultist, and the Rev. Robert Montgomery. [FN#55] An artist of
undoubted genius, Varley usually got fair prices for his pictures,
but the expenses of a numerous family kept him miserably poor.
Then he took to "judicial astrology," and eventually made it a kind
of second profession. Curious to say, some of his predictions came
true, and thanks to this freak of fate he obtained more fame from
his horoscopes than from his canvasses. He "prognosticated," says
Burton, "that I was to become a great astrologer." Straightway
Burton buried himself in astrological and cabalistic books [FN#56],
studied the uncanny arts, and became learned in "dark spells and
devilish enginery," but his own prophecies generally proved to be
of the Moseilima type; that is to say, the opposite invariably
happened--a fatality that pursued him to the end of life. The Rev.
Robert Montgomery, with whom also he became acquainted, was the
fashionable preacher and author whom Macaulay cudgelled so
pitilessly in the Edinburgh Review. Burton's aunts, Sarah and
Georgiana, [FN#57] who went with the crowd to his chapel,
ranked the author of "Satan, a Poem," rather above Shakespeare,
and probably few men have received higher encomiums or a greater
number of wool-work slippers.
Having been sworn in at the East India House, Burton went down to
Greenwich, whence on 18th June, 1842, after being "duly wept over,"
he, in company with his beautifully built bull-terrier of renowned
pedigree, set sail for Bombay. He divided his time during the
voyage, which lasted four months, between studying Hindustani and
taking part in the quarrels of the crew. This was the year of the
murder of Sir William Macnaughten by the Afghans and the disastrous
retreat of the British from Cabul; consequently the first request of
the voyagers on reaching Bombay (28th October 1842) was for news
about Afghanistan. They learnt that the prestige of the British
arms had been restored by Pollack, and that the campaign was ended.
To Burton, who had counted on being sent to the front, this was a
burning disappointment. He found Bombay marvellously picturesque,
with its crowds of people from all parts of the world, but before
many days had passed he fell ill and had to be transferred to the
Sanitarium, where he made the acquaintance of an old Parsee priest
who assisted him in his Hindustani. Even in these early days we
find him collecting material of the kind that was to be utilised
in his Arabian Nights. He was struck, for example, with the fine
hedges of henna whose powerful and distinctive odour loaded the
atmosphere; and with the immense numbers of ravenous kites and
grey-headed crows that swooped down on dead and even dying animals.
9. Baroda. The Bubu.
After six weeks' rest, having received orders to join his regiment,
which was then stationed at Baroda, he engaged some Goanese servants
and made the voyage thither in a small vessel called a pattymar.
It took them four days to march from the Tankaria-Bunder mudbank,
where they landed, to Baroda; and Burton thus graphically describes
the scenery through which they passed. "The ground, rich black
earth ... was covered with vivid, leek-like, verdigris green.
The little villages, with their leafy huts, were surrounded and
protected by hedge milk bush, the colour of emeralds. A light veil,
as of Damascene silver, hung over each settlement, and the
magnificent trees were tipped by peacocks screaming their good-night
to the son." The sharp bark of the monkey mingled with the bray of
the conch. Arrived at Baroda, he lodged himself in a bungalow,
and spent his time alternately there with his books and on the drill
ground. He threw himself into his studies with an ardour scarcely
credible--devoting twelve hours a day to Hindustani, and outwearying
two munshis.
At that time it was quite the custom for the officers, married as
well as single, to form irregular unions with the Hindu women.
Every individual had his Bubu; consequently half-caste children were
not uncommon; but Burton was of opinion that this manner of life had
advantages as well as disadvantages. It connected, he says,
"the white stranger with the country and its people, gave him an
interest in their manners and customs, and taught him thoroughly
well their language." Like the rest, Burton had his Bubu. Still,
he was no voluptuary. Towering ambition, enthusiasm, and passion
for hard work trampled down all meaner instincts. Languages, not
amours, were his aspiration, and his mind ran on grammar books
rather than ghazels; though he confesses to having given whole days
and nights to the tender pages of Euclid. Indeed, he was of a cold
nature, and Plutarch's remark about Alexander applies equally to
him: "For though otherwise he was very hot and hasty, yet was he
hardly moved with lust or pleasure of the body." When the officers
were not on the drill ground or philandering with their dusky loves,
they amused themselves shooting the black buck, tigers, and the
countless birds with which the neighbourhood abounded. The dances
of the aphish-looking Nautch girls, dressed though they were in
magnificent brocades, gave Burton disgust rather than pleasure.
The Gaikwar, whose state processions were gorgeous to a wonder,
occasionally inaugurated spectacles like those of the old Roman
arena, and we hear of fights between various wild animals.
"Cocking" was universal, and Burton, who as a lad had patronised
this cruel sport, himself kept a fighter--"Bhujang"--of which he
speaks affectionately, as one might of an only child. The account
of the great fight between Bhujang and the fancy of a certain
Mr. Ahmed Khan, which took place one evening "after prayers,"
may be read by those who have a taste for such matters in Burton's
book Sind Revisited. [FN#58] When Bhujang died, Burton gave it
almost Christian burial near his bungalow, and the facetious
enquired whether the little mound was not "a baby's grave."
His hero was the eagle-faced little veteran and despot, Sir Charles
Napier, generally known from his Jewish look as "Fagin," and from
his irascibility as "The Devil's Brother," and after the war with
Sind, the chief event of which was the battle of Meeanee
(February 21st), where Sir Charles and Major Outram defeated
the Ameer, his admiration grew almost to worship; though he did not
actually see his hero till some months later. According to Punch
the news of the battle was transmitted to headquarters in one word:
"Peccavi." A quarrel then broke out between the great English
leaders, and Western India was divided into the two opposing camps
of Outramists and Napierists, Burton, of course, siding with the
latter. In April, Burton returned to Bombay to present himself for
examination in Hindustani, and having passed with honour [FN#59]
he returned to Baroda, where he experienced all the inconveniences
attendant on the south-west monsoon. The rain fell in cataracts.
Night and day he lay or sat in a wet skin; the air was alive with
ants and other winged horrors, which settled on both food and drink,
while the dust storms were so dense that candles had to be burned in
mid-day. However he applied himself vigorously to Gujarati [FN#60],
the language of the country, and also took lessons in Sanskrit.
"I soon," he says, "became as well acquainted as a stranger can with
the practice of Hinduism. I carefully read up Ward, Moor, and the
publications of the Asiatic Society ... and eventually my Hindu
teacher officially allowed me to wear the Brahminical thread."
He learnt some of the Hindu text books by heart, including the
Tota-kahani [FN#61], which gave him a taste for "parrot books,"
[FN#62] on which he became an authority; while the study of the
Baital-Pachisi led to his writing Vikram and the Vampire. [FN#63]
All this application caused his fellow officers to call him
"The White Nigger."
Although, in after years, Burton often made bitter attacks on
Christianity, and wrote most scathingly against the Roman Catholic
priesthood, and the cenobitic life of the monks, yet at times he had
certain sympathies with Roman Catholicism. Thus at Baroda, instead
of attending the services of the garrison chaplain, he sat under the
pleasant Goanese priest who preached to the camp servants; but he
did not call himself a Catholic. In August he visited Bombay to be
examined in Gujarati; and having passed with distinction, he once
more returned to Baroda--just in time to join in the farewell revels
of his regiment, which was ordered to Sind.
10. Karachi. Love of Disguise.
On board the Semiramis, in which the voyage was performed, he made
the acquaintance of Captain Scott, nephew of the novelist--
a handsome man "with yellow hair and beard," and friendship
followed. Both were fond of ancient history and romance,
and Burton, who could speak Italian fluently and had knowledge of
the canalization of the Po Valley, was able to render Scott,
whose business was the surveyal of Sind, the precise assistance
he just then required. Burton also formed a friendship with
Dr. John Steinhauser, afterwards surgeon at Aden. Then, too,
it was at Karachi that he first saw his hero, Sir Charles Napier.
Though his ferocious temper repelled some, and his Rabelaisisms and
kindred witticisms others, Sir Charles won the admiration and esteem
of almost all who knew him. It was from him, to some extent,
that Burton acquired the taste, afterwards so extraordinarily
developed for erotic, esoteric and other curious knowledge.
Napier intensely hated the East India Company, as the champions
of his detested rival, Major Outram, and customarily spoke of them
contemptuously as the "Twenty-four kings of Leadenhall Street,"
while Burton on his part felt little respect for the effete and
maundering body whose uniform he wore and whose pay he drew.
Karachi [FN#64], then not much better than a big village,
was surrounded by walls which were perforated with "nostril holes,"
for pouring boiling water through in times of siege. There were
narrow lanes, but no streets--the only open place being a miserable
bazaar; while owing to the absence of sewers the stench was at times
unendurable. Near the town was a great shallow artificial pond
which abounded in huge sleepy crocodiles, sacred animals which were
tended by a holy fakir, and one of Burton's amusements was to worry
these creatures with his bull terrier. Tired of that pastime,
he would muzzle a crocodile by means of a fowl fastened to a hook at
the end of a rope, and then jump on to its back and take a zig-zag
ride. [FN#65] The feat of his friend, Lieutenant Beresford, of the
86th, however, was more daring even than that. Here and there in
the pond were islets of rank grass, and one day noticing that the
crocodiles and islets made a line across the pond, he took a run and
hopped from one crocodile's back on to another or an islet until he
reached the opposite side, though many a pair of huge jaws snapped
angrily as he passed.
Burton presently found himself gazetted as Captain Scott's
assistant; and having learnt the use of the theodolite and the
spirit level, he went on December 10th (1844) with a surveying party
to Hyderbad [FN#66] and the Guni River. The work was trying, but he
varied it with hawking; and collected material for a work which he
published eight years later with the title of Falconry in the Valley
of the Indus. He then made the acquaintance of three natives,
all of whom assisted him in his linguistic studies, Mirza Ali
Akhbar [FN#67], Mirza Daud, and Mirza Mohammed Musayn. Helped by
the last he opened covertly at Karachi several shops with the
object, however, not of making profit, but of obtaining intimate
knowledge of the people and their secret customs. Then he put on
long hair and a venerable beard, stained his limbs with henna,
and called himself Abdullah of Bushire, a half-Arab. In this
disguise, with spear in hand and pistols in holsters, he travelled
the country with a little pack of nick-knacks. In order to display
his stock he boldly entered private houses, for he found that if the
master wanted to eject him, the mistress would be sure to oppose
such a measure.
All his life he loved to disguise himself. We shall see him later
as a Greek doctor, a Pathan Hakim, and an Arab shaykh. His shops
had plenty of customers, for he was in the habit of giving the
ladies, especially if they were pretty, "the heaviest possible
weight for their money," though sometimes he would charge too much
in order to induce them to chaffer with him. He learnt most,
however, from the garrulity of a decayed beauty named Khanum Jan,
who in her springtide had married a handsome tailor. Her husband
having lost the graces of his person, she generally alluded to him
affectionately as "that old hyena." This couple proved a Golconda
for information. Burton had not long studied these and other
persons before coming to the conclusion that the Eastern mind is
always in extremes, that it ignores what is meant by the "golden
mean," and that it delights to range in flights limited only by the
ne plus ultra of Nature herself. He picked up miscellaneous
information about magic, white and black, Yoga [FN#68],
local manners and customs such as circumcision, both female and
male, and other subjects, all of which he utilised when he came
to write his Notes and Terminal Essay to The Arabian Nights,
particularly the articles on Al Islam and woman. Then, too,
when at Bombay and other large towns he used to ransack the bazaars
for rare books and manuscripts, whether ancient or contemporaneous.
Still, the most valuable portion of his knowledge was acquired
orally.
11. A Dangerous Mission, 1845.
About this time it was reported to Sir Charles Napier that Karachi,
though a town of only 2,000 souls, supported no fewer than three
houses which were devoted to a particular and unspeakable vice
[FN#69] which is said to be common in the East. Sir Charles,
whose custom it was to worm out the truth respecting anything and
everything, at once looked round for someone willing to make
enquiries and to report upon the subject. Burton being then the
only British officer who could speak Sindi, the choice naturally
fell upon him, and he undertook the task, only, however, on the
express condition that his report should not be forwarded to the
Bombay Government, from whom supporters of Napier's policy "could
expect scant favour, mercy, or justice." Accompanied by his Munshi,
Mirza Mohammed Hosayn Shiraz, and disguised as a merchant, Burton
passed many evenings in the town, made the required visits,
and obtained the fullest details, which were duly dispatched to
Government House. But in 1847, when Napier quitted Sind "he left
in his office Burton's unfortunate official." "This," says Burton,
"found its way with sundry other reports to Bombay, and produced the
expected result. A friend in the secretariat informed me that my
summary dismissal had been formally proposed by one of Sir Charles
Napier's successors, but this excess of outraged modesty was not
allowed." [FN#70] A little later, however, Burton had to suffer
very severely for this unfortunate occurrence. Of course he heard
regularly from home. His father was still immersed in blow-pipes
and retorts, his mother still mildly protesting. His sister, who
had won to herself for her loveliness the name of "the Moss Rose,"
was married to General Sir Henry Stisted [FN#71], his brother Edward
was practising as an army doctor; his Grandmother Baker was dead.
[FN#72]
12. The Persian Beauty.
During one of his rambles he formed the acquaintance of a beautiful
olive, oval-faced Persian girl of high descent. We are told that
her "eyes were narcissi, her cheeks sweet basil," her personal
charms together with her siren voice and sweet disposition caused
him to fall in love with her; but he had scarcely learnt that his
passion was reciprocated before she died. We are told also that for
many years he could never think of her without pain; and that when,
some time after, he narrated the story to his sister he revealed
considerable emotion. Miss Stisted thought she could see references
to this episode in Burton's poem The Kasidah, portions of which were
written some three years later: "Mine eyes, my brain, my heart are
sad--sad is the very core of me." This may be so, but the birth of
a litter of pups, presented to him by his beloved bull terrier,
seems to have taken the edge off his grief; and his tribute to one
of these pups, which received the name of Bachhun, is really
affecting.
The "Acting Commissioner" of the time was General Jacob of the Sind
Horse, who wore a helmet of silver and a sabre-tache studded with
diamonds. This, however, was not from pride or love of display,
but because he held it policy in those who have to deal with Hindus
not to neglect show and splendour. "In the eyes of Orientals,"
he used to remark, and Burton endorsed the saying, "no man is great
unless he is also superbly dressed." As Jacob stuttered, one of his
correspondents thought his name was J. J. J. J. J. Jacob,
and terribly offended the testy General by writing it so. A brave
and self-confident, but rancorous old man, Jacob by his senseless
regulations brought the Indian army to the verge of ruin.
This peccadillo was passed over, but a more serious offence,
his inability to play whist, was remembered against him by his
brother officers right to the day of his death. [FN#73]
13. A Simian Dictionary.
When the Sikh war broke out Burton resigned his post under Scott
in order to take part in the campaign in the Punjab, but peace being
proclaimed a few weeks later, after the battle of Sobraon, Burton
had no opportunities of distinguishing himself. So he returned to
his studies, and now became ambitious to understand not only the
people but also the monkeys of India. Consequently he collected
some forty of them, made them live and eat after the manner of
humans; and studies them as they mowed and gibbered. He would then
talk to them and pronounce the sounds they made, until at last they
could conduct quite a conversation together. Burton never divulged
this talk, which, of course, may have been of a confidential nature,
but he compiled a Simian Dictionary, and thus to some extent
anticipated the work of Mr. R. L. Garner. Unfortunately the
dictionary was some years later destroyed by fire.
14. Duality.
We shall often notice in Burton's life what Burton himself called
his dual nature. In the tale of Janshah in The Arabian Nights we
read of a race of split men who separated longitudinally, each half
hopping about contentedly on its own account, and reuniting with its
fellow at pleasure. If Burton in a pre-existent state--and he half
believed in the Pre-existence of Souls--belonged to this race,
and one of his halves became accidentally united to one of the
halves of somebody else, the condition of affairs would be
explicable. In any circumstances, he was always insisting on his
duality. For example--a kind-hearted man, who detested cruelty to
animals, nevertheless he delighted, as we have seen, in the sport of
cocking; an ambitious man, who wore himself out with his studies yet
he neutralised all his efforts to rise by giving way to an
ungovernable temper. He would say just what he thought, and no man
could have exhibited less tact. Thus he managed to give offence,
and quite unnecessarily, to his superior officer, Colonel Henry
Corsellis, and they were henceforth at handgrips.
Among his favourite books was Jami's Beharistan. The only pity is
that he did not take the advice proffered in the Third Garden:
"If Alexander's realm you want, to work adroitly go,
Make friends more friendly still, and make a friend of every foe."
Other instances of opposing qualities will be noticed as this work
proceeds. Late in life, when he took to glasses, Burton used to say
"My duality is proved by my eyes alone. My right eye requires a
No. 50 convex lens, my left a No. 14." His assiduous application
to his studies now brought about an illness, and, having returned
to Bombay, he obtained two years' leave of absence to the salubrious
Neilgherries.
Chapter IV
20th February 1847-1849
Under the Spell of Camoens
Bibliography:
1. Grammar of the Jataki Dialect, 1849.
2. Remarks on Dr. Dorn's Chrestomathy of the Afghan Tongue, 1849.
3. Reports on Sind addressed to the Bombay Government.
4. Grammar of the Mooltanee Language.
15. Goa and Camoens.
He left Goa on 20th February 1847, taking as usual a pattymar,
his mind vibrant with thoughts of his great hero, the "Portingall"
Camoens, with whose noble epic all Western India, from Narsinga and
Diu to Calicut is intimately associated. Passages from Camoens were
frequently in his mouth, and in bitterest moments, in the times of
profoundest defection, he could always find relief in the pages of
him whom he reverently calls "my master." Later in life he could
see a parallel between the thorny and chequered career of Camoens
and his own. Each spent his early manhood on the West Coast of
India [FN#74], each did his country an incalculable service: Camoens
by enriching Portugal with The Lusiads, Burton by his travels and by
presenting to England vast stores of Oriental lore. Each received
insult and ill-treatment, Camoens by imprisonment at Goa, Burton by
the recall from Damascus. There was also a temperamental likeness
between the two men. The passion for travel, the love of poetry and
adventure, the daring, the patriotism of Camoens all find their
counterpart in his most painstaking English translator. Arrived at
Panjim, Burton obtained lodgings and then set out by moonlight in a
canoe for old Goa. The ruins of churches and monasteries fascinated
him, but he grieved to find the once populous and opulent capital of
Portuguese India absolutely a city of the dead. The historicity of
the tale of Julnar the Sea Born and her son King Badr [FN#75] seemed
established, Queen Lab and her forbidding escort might have appeared
at any moment. On all sides were bowing walls and tenantless
houses. Poisonous plants covered the site of the Viceregal Palace,
and monster bats hung by their heels at the corners of tombs.
Thoughts of Camoens continued to impinge on his mind, and in
imagination he saw his hero dungeoned and laid in iron writing his
Lusiads. A visit to the tomb of St. Francis Xavier also deeply
moved him. To pathos succeeded comedy. There was in Panjim an
institution called the Caza da Misericordia, where young ladies,
for the most part orphans, remained until they received suitable
offers of marriage The description of this place piqued Burton's
curiosity, and hearing that it was not unusual for persons to
propose themselves as suitors with a view to inspecting the
curiosities of the establishment, he and some companions repaired
to the Caza. Having seen the chapel and the other sights he
mentioned that he wanted a wife. A very inquisitive duenna
cross-examined him, and then he was allowed to interview one of the
young ladies through a grating, while several persons, who refused
to understand that they were not wanted, stood listening. Burton at
once perceived that it would be an exhausting ordeal to make love in
such circumstances, but he resolved to try, and a dialogue commenced
as follows:
"Should you like to be married, senorita?"
"Yes, very much, senor."
"And why, if you would satisfy my curiosity?"
"I don't know."
The rest of the conversation proved equally wooden and
unsatisfactory, and quotations from poets were also wasted.
"The maid, unused to flowers of eloquence,
Smiled at the words, but could not guess their sense."
Burton then informed the duenna that he thought he could get on
better if he were allowed to go on the other side of the grating,
and be left alone with the demure senorita. But at that the old
lady suddenly became majestic. She informed him that before he
could be admitted to so marked a privilege he would have to address
an official letter to the mesa or board explaining his intentions,
and requesting the desired permission. So Burton politely tendered
his thanks, "scraped the ground thrice," departed with gravity,
and in ten minutes forgot all about the belle behind the grille.
It was while at Panhim, that, dissatisfied with the versions of
Camoens by Strangford [FN#76], Mickle and others, Burton commenced
a translation of his own, but it did not reach the press for
thirty-three years. [FN#77]
We next find him at Panany, whence he proceeded to Ootacamund,
the sanitarium on the Neilgherries, where he devoted himself to
the acquisition of Telugu, Toda, Persian and Arabic, though often
interrupted by attacks of ophthalmia. While he was thus engaged,
Sir Charles Napier returned to England (1847) [FN#78] and Sind was
placed under the Bombay Government "at that time the very sink of
iniquity." [FN#79]
In September Burton visited Calicut--the city above all others
associated with Camoens, and here he had the pleasure of studying on
the spot the scenes connected with the momentous landing of Da Gama
as described in the seventh and most famous book of the Lusiads.
In imagination, like Da Gama and his brave "Portingalls," he greeted
the Moor Monzaida, interviewed the Zamorim, and circumvented the
sinister designs of the sordid Catual; while his followers
trafficked for strange webs and odoriferous gums. On his return
to Bombay, reached on October 15th, Burton offered himself for
examination in Persian, and gaining the first place, was presented
by the Court of Directors with a thousand rupees. In the meantime
his brother Edward, now more Greek-looking than ever, had risen to
be Surgeon-Major, and had proceeded to Ceylon, where he was
quartered with his regiment, the 37th.
16. "Would you a Sufi be?"
Upon his return to Sind, Burton at first applied himself sedulously
to Sindi, and then, having conceived the idea of visiting Mecca,
studied Moslem divinity, learnt much of the Koran by heart and made
himself a "proficient at prayer." It would be unjust to regard this
as mere acting. Truth to say, he was gradually becoming
disillusioned. He was finding out in youth, or rather in early
manhood, what it took Koheleth a lifetime to discover, namely,
that "all is vanity." This being the state of his mind it is not
surprising that he drifted into Sufism. He fasted, complied with
the rules and performed all the exercises conscientiously. The idea
of the height which he strove to attain, and the steps by which he
mounted towards it, may be fathered from the Sufic poet Jami.
Health, says Jami, is the best relish. A worshipper will never
realise the pure love of the Lord unless he despises the whole
world. Dalliance with women is a kind of mental derangement.
Days are like pages in the book of life. You must record upon them
only the best acts and memories.
"Would you a Sufi be, you must
Subdue your passions; banish lust
And anger; be of none afraid,
A hundred wounds take undismayed." [FN#80]
In time, by dint of plain living, high thinking, and stifling
generally the impulses of his nature, Burton became a Master Sufi,
and all his life he sympathised with, and to some extent practised
Sufism. Being prevented by the weakness of his eyes from continuing
his survey work, he made a number of reports of the country and its
people, which eventually drifted into print. Then came the stirring
news that another campaign was imminent in Mooltan, his heart leaped
with joy, and he begged to be allowed to accompany the force as
interpreter. As he had passed examinations in six native languages
and had studied others nobody was better qualified for the post or
seemed to be more likely to get it.
17. Letter to Sarah Burton, 14th Nov. 1848.
It was while his fate thus hung in the balance that he wrote to his
cousin Sarah [FN#81] daughter of Dr. Francis Burton, who had just
lost her mother. [FN#82] His letter, which is headed Karachi,
14th November 1848, runs as follows:--"My dear cousin, I lose no
time in replying to your note which conveyed to me the mournful
tidings of our mutual loss. The letter took me quite by surprise.
I was aware of my poor aunt's health having suffered, but never
imagined that it was her last illness. You may be certain that I
join with you in lamenting the event. Your mother had always been
one of my best relations and kindest friends; indeed she was the
only one with whom I kept up a constant correspondence during the
last six years. I have every reason to regret her loss; and you,
of course, much more. Your kind letter contained much matter of a
consolatory nature; it was a melancholy satisfaction to hear that my
excellent aunt's death-bed was such a peaceful one--a fit conclusion
to so good and useful a life as hers was. You, too, must derive no
small happiness from the reflection that both you and your sister
[FN#83] have always been dutiful daughters, and as such have
contributed so much towards your departed mother's felicity in
this life. In my father's last letter from Italy he alludes to the
sad event, but wishes me not to mention it to my mother, adding that
he has fears for her mind if it be abruptly alluded to.
"At the distance of some 1,500 [FN#84] miles all we can do is resign
ourselves to calamities, and I confess to you that judging from the
number of losses that our family has sustained during the last six
years I fear that when able to return home I shall find no place
capable of bearing that name. I hope, however, dear cousin,
that you or your sister will occasionally send me a line, informing
me of your plans and movements, as I shall never leave to take the
greatest interest in your proceedings. You may be certain that
I shall never neglect to answer your letters and shall always look
forward to them with the greatest pleasure. Stisted [FN#85] is not
yet out: his regiment is at Belgaum [FN#86], but I shall do my best
to see him as soon as possible. Edward [FN#87] is still in Ceylon
and the war [FN#88] has ceased there. I keep this letter open for
ten or twelve days longer, as that time will decide my fate.
A furious affair has broken out in Mooltan and the Punjaub and I
have applied to the General commanding to go up with him on his
personal staff. A few days more will decide the business--and I am
not a little anxious about it, for though still suffering a little
from my old complaint--ophthalmia--yet these opportunities are too
far between to be lost."
Unfortunately for Burton, his official respecting his investigations
at Karachi in 1845 was produced against him [FN#89], and he was
passed over [FN#90] in favour of a man who knew but one language
besides English. His theory that the most strenuous exertions lead
to the most conspicuous successes now thoroughly broke down, and the
scarlet and gold of his life, which had already become dulled,
gave place to the "blackness of darkness." It was in the midst of
this gloom and dejection that he wrote the postscript which he had
promised to his cousin Sarah. The date is 25th November, 1848.
He says, "I am not going up to the siege of Mooltan, as the General
with whom I had expected to be sent is recalled. Pray be kind
enough to send on the enclosed to my father. I was afraid to direct
it to him in Italy as it contains papers of some importance.
You are welcome to the perusal, if you think it worth the trouble.
I have also put in a short note for Aunt Georgiana. Kindly give my
best love to your sister, and believe me, my dear cousin, your most
affectionate R. Burton."
Chagrin and anger, combined with his old trouble, ophthalmia, had by
this time sapped Burton's strength, a serious illness followed,
and the world lost all interest for him.
18. Allahdad.
He returned to Bombay a complete wreck, with shrunken, tottering
frame, sunken eyes, and a voice that had lost its sonority. "It is
written," said his friends, "that your days are numbered, take our
advice and go home to die." They carried him to his ship,
"The Elisa," and as there seemed little hope of his reaching
England, he at once wrote a farewell letter to his mother. With him
as servant, however, he had brought away a morose but attentive and
good-hearted native named Allahdad, and thanks in part to Allahdad's
good nursing, and in part to the bland and health-giving breezes of
the ocean, he gradually regained his former health, strength,
and vitality. At the time he regarded these seven years spent in
Sind as simply seven years wasted, and certainly his rewards were
incommensurate with his exertions. Still, it was in Sind that the
future became written on his forehead; in Sind that he began to
collect that mass of amazing material which made possible his
edition of The Arabian Nights.
Chapter V
1849 to 3rd April, 1853
Chiefly Boulogne
Bibliography:
5. Goa and the Blue Mountains, 1851.
6. Scinde; or the Unhappy Valley, 2 vols., 1851.
7. Sindh, and the Races that Inhabit the Valley of the Indus, 1851.
8. Falconry in the Valley of the Indus, 1852.
9. Commencement with Dr. Steinhauser of The Arabian Nights, 1852.
10. A complete System of Bayonet Exercise, 1853.
19. A Motto from Ariosto.
When "The Elisa" approached Plymouth, with its "turfy hills, wooded
parks and pretty seats," Allahdad opened his eyes in wonderment.
"What manner of men must you English be," he said, "to leave such
a paradise and travel to such a pandemonium as ours without
compulsion?" On arriving in London, Burton called on his Aunt
Georgiana,[FN#91] flirted with his pretty cousins Sarah and Elisa,
attended to business of various kinds, and then, in company with
Allahdad, set out for Italy to see his father and mother, who were
still wandering aimlessly about Europe, and inhaling now the breath
of vineyard and garden and now the odours of the laboratory.
He found them, his sister, and her two little daughters, Georgiana
and Maria (Minnie) at Pisa, and the meeting was a very happy one.
Burton's deep affection for his parents, his sister and his brother,
is forced upon our notice at every turn; and later he came to regard
his nieces just as tenderly. Quoting Coleridge, he used to say:
"To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love I love indeed."[FN#92]
If Burton was thus drawn to those nearest of kin to him, so also his
warm heart welled with affection for his friends, and for those who
did him kindnesses. "If you value a man or his work," he said,
"don't conceal your feelings." The warmth of his affection for his
friends Drake, Arbuthnot, and others, will be noticed as this book
proceeds. On one occasion, after a spontaneous outburst of
appreciation, he said in palliation of his enthusiasm, "Pardon me,
but this is an asthenic age--and true-hearted men are rare."
Presently we find him revisiting some of his old haunts. In his
youth he had explored Italy almost from end to end; but the literary
associations of the various towns were their principal charm.
To him, Verona stood for Catullus, Brindisi for Virgil, Sorrento
for Tasso, Florence for "the all Etruscan three,"[FN#93] Dante,
Petrarch, and Boccaccio, Reggio and Ferrara for Ariosto. It was
from Ariosto, perhaps through Camoens, who adopted it, that he took
his life motto, "Honour, not honours"--
"'Tis honour, lovely lady, that calls me to the field,
And not a painted eagle upon a painted shield."[FN#94]
All the Burton servants obtained some knowledge of Italian, even
Allahdad being soon able to swear fluently in it, and his aptitude,
joined to a quarrelsome temper and an illogical prejudice against
all Italians, caused innumerable broils.
By and by the family returned to England and Miss Stisted thus
describes the progress: "One of the earliest pictures in my memory
is of a travelling carriage crossing snow-covered Alps. A carriage
containing my mother and uncle, sister and self, and English maid,
and a romantic but surly Asiatic named Allahdad. Richard Burton,
handsome, tall and broad-shouldered, was oftener outside the
carriage than in it, as the noise made by his two small nieces
rendered pedestrian exercise, even in the snow, an agreeable and
almost necessary variety." Now and then he gave them bits of snow
to taste, which they hoped might be sugar.[FN#95] On reaching
England he sent Allahdad back to Bombay.
Much of the year 1850 was spent at Leamington and Dover, and in
1851, Burton, accompanied by his brother Edward, crossed to
Boulogne, where he prepared for publication his books, Goa, Scinde,
Falconry in the Valley of the Indus, and Bayonet Exercise. Love of
a sort mingled with literature, for he continued various
flirtations, but without any thought of marriage; for he was still
only a lieutenant in the service of John Company, and his prospects
were not rosy. We said "love of a sort," and advisedly, for we
cannot bring ourselves to believe that Burton was ever frenziedly
in love with any woman. He was, to use his own expression,
no "hot amortist." Of his views on polygamy, to which he had
distinct leanings, we shall speak later. He said he required two,
and only two qualities in a woman, namely beauty and affection.
It was the Eastern idea. The Hindu Angelina might be vacuous, vain,
papilionaceous, silly, or even a mere doll, but if her hair hung
down "like the tail of a Tartary cow,"[FN#96] if her eyes were
"like the stones of unripe mangoes," and her nose resembled the beak
of a parrot, the Hindu Edwin was more than satisfied. Dr. Johnson's
"unidead girl" would have done as well as the blue-stocking
Tawaddud.[FN#97]
20. Isabel Arundell & "My Dear Louisa." 1851.
It was during Burton's stay at Boulogne that he saw the handsome
girl who ten years later became his wife--Isabel, daughter of
Mr. Henry Raymond Arundell. She was the eldest of a very large
family. Just twenty, fair, "with yards of golden hair," dark blue
eyes and a queenly manner, Isabel Arundell everywhere attracted
attention. No portrait, it was said, ever did justice to her
virginal beauty. "When she was in any company you could look at
no one else," the charm of her manner exceeded even the graces of
her person, but her education was defective, and she was amusingly
superstitious. She could be heard saying at every turn: "This is
a good omen; that a bad one; oh, shocking! the spoons are crossed;
By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes."
Though not themselves wealthy, the Arundells were of noble lineage,
and had rich and influential relations who prided themselves on
being "old English Catholics." Among Miss Arundell's ancestors was
Henry, 6th Lord Arundell of Wardour; her grandfather and the 9th
Lord were brothers; and her mother was sister to Lord Gerard.
Isabel Arundell and Burton could have conducted their first
conversation just as well had they been deaf and dumb. Strolling on
the ramparts he noticed a bevy of handsome girls, one of whom,
owing to her exceptional looks, particularly fired him, and having
managed to attract her attention, he chalked on a wall, "May I speak
to you," and left the piece of chalk at the end of the sentence.
She took it up and wrote under it, "No, mother will be angry."
She had, however, long pictured to herself an ideal husband, and on
seeing Burton, she exclaimed under her breath: "That is the man!"
She describes him as "five feet eleven inches in height, very broad,
thin and muscular, with very dark hair, black, clearly defined,
sagacious eyebrows, a brown, weather-beaten complexion, straight
Arab features, a determined-looking mouth and chin, nearly covered
by an enormous moustache; two large, black, flashing eyes, with long
lashes," and a "fierce, proud, melancholy expression."[FN#98] In the
words of one of his friends, he had the eye of an angel, the jaw of
a devil. Also staying at Boulogne was a young lady for whom Burton
entertained a sincere affection, and whom he would probably have
married but for the poorness of his outlook. "My dear
Louisa,"[FN#99] as he called her, was a relative of Miss Arundell,
and hearing what had occurred, she did Burton and Miss Arundell the
kindness of formally introducing them to each other, Miss Arundell
never tried to attract Burton's attention--we have her word for
that--but wherever he went she went too; and she never lost an
opportunity of accidentally crossing his path. She considered
sacred a sash which she wore when dancing with him, and she
remembered him specially in her prayers. Henceforward,
one devouring desire occupied her mind. She wished--and
praiseworthily--to be Burton's wife. To him, on the other hand,
she was but an ephemeral fancy--one of the hundred and fifty women--his
fair cousins in England and the softer and darker beauties of
France and Italy--to whom he had said tender nothings. Later,
when Miss Arundell saw him flirting with another girl, a certain
"Louise"[FN#100] (not to be confused with "my dear Louisa"),
she bridled up, coloured to her brow-locks, called "Louise" "fast"
and Louise's mother "vulgar." Naturally they would be.[FN#101]
With "myosotis eyes," peachy cheeks and auburn hair, rolling over
ivory shoulders[FN#102], "Louise" was progressing admirably, when,
unfortunately for her, there came in view a fleshy, vinous matron of
elephantine proportions, whom she addressed as "mother." The sight
of this caricature of the "Thing Divine," to use Burton's
expression, and the thought that to this the "Thing Divine" would
some day come, instantly quenched his fires, and when the mother
tried to bring him to a decision, by inquiring his intentions
regarding her daughter, he horrified her by replying: "Strictly
dishonourable, madam." "Englishmen," he reflected, "who are
restricted to one wife, cannot be too careful." Miss Arundell
was also jealous of "My dear Louisa," though unwarrantably, for
that lady presently became Mrs. Segrave; but she and Burton long
preserved for each other a reminiscitory attachment, and we shall
get several more glimpses of her as this book proceeds.[FN#103]
Isabel Arundell was herself somewhat cheered by the prophecy of a
gipsy of her acquaintance--one Hagar Burton--who with couched eyes
and solemn voice not only prognosticated darkly her whole career,
but persistently declared that the romance would end in marriage;
still, she fretted a good deal, and at last, as persons in love
sometimes do, became seriously indisposed. Without loss of time
her parents called in a skilful physician, who, with his experienced
eye, saw at once that it was indigestion, and prescribed
accordingly. Residing at Boulogne in 1851, was a French painter
named Francois Jacquand, who had obtained distinction by his
pictures of monks, and "a large historical tableau representing the
death chamber of the Duc d'Orleans." In an oil painting which he
made of Burton and his sister, and which is here reproduced for the
first time, Burton appears as a pallid young military man, heavily
moustached, with large brown eyes[FN#104]; and his worn and somewhat
melancholy face is a striking contrast to the bright and cheerful
looks of his comely sister. Our portraits of the Misses Stisted are
also from paintings by Jacquand. Burton's habit of concealing his
ailments which we noticed as a feature of his boyhood was as
conspicuous in later life. "On one occasion," says Miss Stisted,
"when seized with inflammation of the bladder, a fact he tried to
keep to himself, he continued to joke and laugh as much as usual,
and went on with his reading and writing as if little were the
matter. At last the agony became too atrocious, and he remarked
in a fit of absence 'If I don't get better before night, I shall
be an angel.' Questions followed, consternation reigned around,
and the doctor was instantly summoned."
21. Forster FitzGerald Arbuthnot 1853.
When Burton first became acquainted with Forster FitzGerald
Arbuthnot is uncertain; but by 1853, they were on terms of intimacy.
Burton was then 32, Arbuthnot 20. Of this enormously important fact
in Burton's life--his friendship with Arbuthnot--no previous writer
has said a single word, except Lady Burton, and she dismisses the
matter with a few careless sentences, though admitting that
Arbuthnot was her husband's most intimate friend. Of the strength
of the bond that united the two men, and the admiration felt by
Arbuthnot for Burton, she had little idea. F. F. Arbuthnot,
born in 1833, was second son of Sir Robert Keith Arbuthnot and Anne,
daughter of Field-Marshal Sir John Forster FitzGerald, G.C.B.
Educated at Haileybury, he entered in 1852 the Bombay Civil Service,
and rose subsequently to the important position of "collector."
A man of a quiet and amiable disposition, Arbuthnot never said an
unkind word either to or about anyone. The sweetness and serenity
of his manner were commented upon by all his friends; but like so
many of your quiet men, he had a determination--a steady heroism,
which made everything give way. Oppose Burton, and you would
instantly receive a blow aimed straight from the shoulder,
oppose Arbuthnot and you would be pushed quietly and amiably
aside--but pushed aside nevertheless. A great idea had early possessed
him. He wanted to see as much attention paid to the literatures of
India, Persia and Arabia as to those of ancient Greece and Rome.
All the famous books of the East, he said, should be translated into
English--even the erotic, and he insisted that if proper precautions
were taken so that none but scholars could obtain them, no possible
harm could ensue.[FN#105]
"England," he wrote long after (1887), "has greater interests in the
East than any other country in Europe, and ought to lead the way in
keeping the world informed on all subjects connected with Oriental
literature. Surely the time has not arrived for her to take a back
seat on that coach, and to let other nations do a work which she
ought to do herself."[FN#106] The expression "on that coach,"
by the by, was eminently characteristic of a man who plumed himself
on being a Jehu of Jehus. Hundreds of invaluable manuscripts
written by poets and sages, he said, require to be translated into
English, and the need of the day is an Oriental Translation Fund.
A man of means, Arbuthnot was sometime later to apply his money to
the cause he had at heart; and year in, year out, we shall find him
and Burton striking at the self-same anvil. Though there was a
considerable difference in their ages, and though thousands of miles
often separated them, their minds were ever united, and they went
down the stream of life together like two brothers.
Chapter VI
3rd April 1853 to 29th October 1854
Pilgrimage to Mecca
Bibliography:
11. The Kasidah (commenced).
12. El Islam (commenced).
22. The Man Wants to Wander.
Much of his time at Boulogne Burton devoted to fencing; and to his
instructor, M. Constantin, he paid glowing tributes. He thoroughly
mastered the art, defeated all antagonists, whether English or
French, earned his "brevet de pointe for the excellence of his
swordsmanship, and became a Maitre d' Armes." As horseman,
swordsman, and marksman, no soldier of his day surpassed him,
and very few equalled him. But of fencing, flirting and
book-writing, he soon got heartily tired. Like his putative
ancestors, the gipsies, he could never be happy long in one place.
He says, "The thoroughbred wanderer's idiosyncrasy, I presume to be
a composition of what phrenologists call inhabitiveness and locality
equally and largely developed. After a long and toilsome march,
weary of the way, he drops into the nearest place of rest to become
the most domestic of men. For a while he smokes the pipe of
permanence with an infinite zest, he delights in various siestas
during the day, relishing withal a long sleep at night; he enjoys
dining at a fixed dinner hour, and wonders at the demoralisation of
the mind which cannot find means of excitement in chit-chat or small
talk, in a novel or a newspaper. But soon the passive fit has
passed away; again a paroxysm on ennui coming on by slow degrees,
viator loses appetite, he walks bout his room all night, he yawns
at conversations, and a book acts upon his as a narcotic. The man
wants to wander, and he must do so, or he shall die."[FN#107]
23. Haji Wali, 1853.
As we have seen, Burton, even before he had left Sind, had burned to
visit Mecca. Four years had since elapsed, and his eyes still
turned towards "Allah's holy house." Having obtained another twelve
months' furlough, in order that he "might pursue his Arabic studies
in lands where the language is best learned," he formed the bold
plan of crossing Arabia from Mecca to the Persian Gulf. Ultimately,
however, he decided, in emulation of Burckhardt, the great traveler,
to visit Medina and Mecca in the disguise of a pilgrim, a feat that
only the most temerarious of men would have dared even to dream of.
He made every conceivable preparation, learning among other
usefulnesses how to forge horse shoes and to shoe a horse. To his
parents and Lady Stisted and her daughters, who were then residing
at Bath, he paid several visits, but when he last parted from them
with his usual "Adieu, sans adieu," it did not occur to them that
he was about to leave for good; for he could not--he never could--
muster up sufficient courage to say a final "Good-bye." Shortly
after his departure his mother found a letter addressed to her and
in his handwriting. It contained, besides an outline of his
dangerous plans, the instruction that, in case he should be killed,
his "small stock of valuables" was to be divided between her and
his sister.
Once more Burton had the keen pleasure of putting on disguise.
Richard F. Burton ceased to be, and a muscular and powerful Mirza
Abdullah, of Bushire, took his place. "I have always wished to
see," he explained to a friend, "what others have been content to
hear of." He wore long hair and Oriental costume, and his face and
limbs were stained with henna. Accompanied by Captain Henry
Grindlay of the Bengal Cavalry, he left London for Southampton,
3rd April 1853, and thence took steamer for Egypt, without ever a
thought of Isabel Arundell's blue eye or Rapunzel hair, and utterly
unconscious of the sighs he had evoked. At Alexandria he was the
guest of Mr. John Thurburn and his son-in-law, Mr. John
Larking[FN#108], at their residence "The Sycamores," but he slept in
an outhouse in order the better to delude the servants. He read the
Koran sedulously, howled his prayers with a local shaykh who
imparted to him the niceties of the faith, purified himself, made
an ostentatious display of piety, and gave out that he was a hakim
or doctor preparing to be a dervish. As he had some knowledge of
medicine, this role was an easy one, and his keen sense of humour
made the experience enjoyable enough. On the steamer that carried
him to Cairo, he fraternized with two of his fellow-passengers,
a Hindu named Khudabakhsh and an Alexandrian merchant named
Haji Wali. Haji Wali, whose connection with Burton lasted some
thirty years[FN#109], was a middle-aged man with a large round head
closely shaven, a bull neck, a thin red beard, handsome features
which beamed with benevolence, and a reputation for wiliness and
cupidity. Upon their arrival at Boulak, the port of Cairo.
Khudabakhsh, who lived there, invited Burton to stay with him.
Hindu-like, Khudabakhsh wanted his guest to sit, talk, smoke,
and sip sherbet all day. But this Burton could not endure.
Nothing, as he says, suits the English less than perpetual society,
"an utter want of solitude, when one cannot retire into one self an
instant without being asked some puerile questions by a companion,
or look into a book without a servant peering over one's shoulder."
At last, losing all patience, he left his host and went to a khan,
where he once more met Haji Wali. They smoked together the
forbidden weed hashish, and grew confidential. Following Haji
Wali's advice, Burton, having changed his dress, now posed as an
Afghan doctor, and by giving his patients plenty for their money and
by prescribing rough measures which acted beneficially upon their
imaginations, he gained a coveted reputation. He always commenced
his prescriptions piously with: "In the name of Allah,
the compassionate, the merciful, and blessings and peace be upon
our Lord the Apostle"; and Haji Wali vaunted him as "the very
phoenix of physicians." According to his wont, he never lost an
opportunity of learning the ways and customs of the various people
among whom he was thrown, or of foisting himself on any company in
which he thought he could increase his knowledge. His whole life
indeed was a preparation for "The Arabian Nights." Thus at Cairo
he had the good fortune to cure some Abyssinian slave-girls of
various complaints, including the "price-lowering habit of snoring,"
and in return he made the slave dealer take him about the town and
unfold the mysteries of his craft. He also visited the
resting-place of his hero, Burckhardt;[FN#110] indeed, in whatever
town he sojourned, he sought out the places associated with the
illustrious dead. It was now the Ramazan, and he observed it by
fasting, reading the Koran, and saying countless prayers with his
face turned devoutly to the Kiblah.[FN#111] He heartily rejoiced,
however, with the multitude when the dreary month was over, and he
describes[FN#112] amusingly the scenes on the first day following
it: "Most people," he says, "were in fresh suits of finery; and so
strong is personal vanity in the breast of Orientals ... that from
Cairo to Calcutta it would be difficult to find a sad heart under a
handsome coat. The men swaggered, the women minced their steps,
rolled their eyes, and were eternally arranging, and coquetting with
their head-veils." In the house of a friend he saw an Armenian
wedding. For servant he now took a cowardly and thievish lad named
Nur, and, subsequently, he made the acquaintance of a Meccan youth,
Mohammed, who was to become his companion throughout the pilgrimage.
Mohammed was 18, chocolate brown, short, obese, hypocritical,
cowardly, astute, selfish and affectionate. Burton not only
purchased the ordinary pilgrim garb, but he also took the precaution
to attach to his person "a star sapphire," the sight of which
inspired his companions with "an almost reverential awe," and even
led them to ascribe to him thaumaturgic power.[FN#113] His further
preparations for the sacred pilgrimage reads rather like a page out
of Charles Lever, for the rollicking Irishman was as much in
evidence as the holy devotee. They culminated in a drinking bout
with an Albanian captain, whom he left, so to speak, under the
table; and this having got noised abroad, Burton, with his
reputation for sanctity forfeited, found it expedient to set off at
once for Mecca. He sent the boy Nur on to Suez with his baggage and
followed him soon after on a camel through a "haggard land infested
with wild beasts and wilder men." At Suez he made the acquaintance
of some Medina and Mecca folk, who were to be his fellow-travellers;
including "Sa'ad the Demon," a negro who had two boxes of handsome
apparel for his three Medina wives and was resolved to "travel
free;" and Shaykh Hamid, a "lank Arab foul with sweat," who never
said his prayers because of the trouble of taking clean clothes out
of his box. "All these persons," says Burton, "lost no time in
opening the question of a loan. It was a lesson in Oriental
metaphysics to see their condition. They had a twelve days' voyage
and a four days' journey before them; boxes to carry, custom houses
to face, and stomachs to fill; yet the whole party could scarcely,
I believe, muster two dollars of ready money. Their boxes were full
of valuables, arms, clothes, pipes, slippers, sweetmeats, and other
'notions,' but nothing short of starvation would have induced them
to pledge the smallest article."[FN#114] Foreseeing the advantage
of their company, Burton sagaciously lent each of them a little
money at high interest, not for the sake of profit, but with a view
to becoming a Hatim Tai,[FN#115] by a "never mind" on settling day.
This piece of policy made "the Father of Moustaches," as they called
him, a person of importance among them. During the delay before
starting, he employed himself first in doctoring, and then in
flirting with a party of Egyptian women the most seductive of whom
was one Fattumah,[FN#116] a plump lady of thirty "fond of flattery
and possessing, like all her people, a voluble tongue." The refrain
of every conversation was "Marry me, O Fattumah! O daughter!
O female pilgrim." To which the lady would reply coquettishly,
"with a toss of the head and a flirting manipulation of her head
veil," "I am mated, O young man." Sometimes he imitated her
Egyptian accent and deprecated her country women, causing her to get
angry and bid him begone. Then, instead of "marry me, O Fattumah,"
he would say, "O old woman and decrepit, fit only to carry wood to
market." This would bring a torrent of angry words, but when they
met again all was forgotten and the flirtations of the day before
were repeated.
24. The Pilgrim Ship, 6th July 1853.
Burton and his party now embarked on the sambuk which was to take
them to Yambu, the port of Medina. As ninety-seven pilgrims were
crowded on a vessel constructed to carry only sixty, most
extraordinary scenes occurred. Thanks to the exertions of Sa'ad
the Demon, Burton and his friends secured places on the poop,
the most eligible part of the vessel. They would not be very
comfortable anywhere, Sa'ad explained, but "Allah makes all things
easy." Sa'ad himself, who was blessed with a doggedness that always
succeeds, managed to get his passage free by declaring himself an
able seaman. Disturbances soon commenced. The chief offenders were
some Maghrabis, "fine looking animals from the deserts about
Tripoli," the leader of whom, one Maula Ali, "a burly savage,"
struck Burton as ridiculously like his old Richmond schoolmaster,
the Rev. Charles Delafosse. These gentry tried to force their way
on to the poop, but Sa'ad distributed among his party a number of
ash staves six feet long, and thick as a man's wrist. "He shouted
to us," says Burton, "'Defend yourself if you don't wish to be the
meat of the Maghrabis!' and to the enemy 'Dogs and sons of dogs!
now shall you see what the children of the Arab are.' 'I am Omar of
Daghistan!' 'I am Abdullah the son of Joseph!' 'I am Sa'ad the
Demon![FN#117]' we exclaimed." And, Burton, with his turbulent
blood well stirred, found himself in the seventh heaven. "To do our
enemies justice," he continues, "they showed no sign of flinching;
they swarmed towards the poop like angry hornets, and encouraged
each other with cries of 'Allaho Akbar!' But we had a vantage
ground about four feet above them, and their short daggers could do
nothing against our terrible quarter staves. Presently a thought
struck me. A large earthen jar full of drinking water, in its heavy
frame of wood stood upon the edge of the poop. Seeing an
opportunity, I crept up to the jar and rolled it down upon the swarm
of assailants. Its fall caused a shriller shriek to rise above the
ordinary din, for heads, limbs and bodies were sorely bruised by the
weight, scratched by the broken potsherds, and wetted by the sudden
discharge.[FN#118] The Maghrabis then slunk off towards the end of
the vessel, and presently solicited peace."
The beauties of the sunrise baffled description. The vessel sailed
over a violet sea, and under a sky dappled with agate-coloured
clouds. At noon the heat was terrible and all colour melted away,
"with the canescence from above." The passengers were sympathetic
with one another, notwithstanding their recent factiousness,
and were especially kind to a poor little brown baby, which they
handed round and nursed by turns, but the heat, the filth, and the
stench of the ship defied description. At Mahar, one of the places
where they landed, Burton injured his foot with a poisonous thorn,
which made him lame for the rest of the pilgrimage. Presently the
welcome profile of Radhwa came in view, the mountain of which the
unfortunate Antar[FN#119] sang so plaintively:
"Did Radhwa strive to support my woes,
Radhwa itself would be crushed by the weight,"
and on July 17th, after twelve days of purgatory, Burton sprang on
shore at Yambu.
25. Medina.
He now dressed himself as an Arab, that is to say, he covered his
head with a red kerchief bordered with yellow, his body with a
cotton shirt and a camel's hair cloak, while a red sash, a spear
and a dagger completed the outfit. Then, having hired some camels,
he joined a caravan, consisting of several hundred men and beasts,
which was bound for Medina; but his injured foot still incommoded
him. Determined, however, to allow nobody to exceed him in piety,
he thrice a day or oftener pounded the sand with his forehead like
a true Mussulman.
While passing through one of the mountain gorges the pilgrims were
attacked by a number of predatory Bedouin, led by a ferocious chief
named Saad, who fired upon them from the rocks with deadly effect,
but, at last, after a journey of 130 miles, they reached Medina,
with the great sun-scorched Mount Ohod towering behind it--the holy
city where, according to repute, the coffin of Mohammed swung
between heaven and earth.[FN#120] Medina consisted of three parts,
a walled town, a large suburb, with ruinous defences, and a fort.
Minarets shot up above the numerous flat roofs, and above all
flashed the pride of the city, the green dome that covered the tomb
of Mohammed. Burton became the guest of the dilatory and dirty
Shaykh Hamid. The children of the household, he says, ran about in
a half nude state, but he never once set eyes upon the face of
woman, "unless the African slave girls be allowed the title.
Even these at first attempted to draw their ragged veils over their
sable charms." Having dressed themselves in white, Burton and Hamid
sallied out for the Prophet's Tomb, Burton riding on a donkey
because of his lameness. He found the approach to the Mosque choked
up by ignoble buildings, and declares that as a whole it had neither
beauty nor dignity. Upon entering, he was also disillusioned,
for its interior was both mean and tawdry. After various prayers
they visited first the "Hujrah," where they saw the tombs of
Mohammed, Abu Bakr, Omar and Fatimah; and afterwards El Rauzah,
the Garden situated between the Hujrah and the Prophet's Pulpit,
both very celebrated spots. Of the latter, Mohammed said: "Between
my house and my pulpit is a garden of the gardens of
paradise."[FN#121] After more prayers they wandered round to the
other sights, including the fine Gate of Salvation, the five
minarets, and the three celebrated pillars, called respectively,
Al-Mukhallak, the Pillar of Ayishah, and the Pillar of Repentance.
They then made their way to the Mosque of Kuba, some two miles out
of the town, and witnessed the entry into Medina of the great
caravan from Damascus, numbering 7,000 souls--grandees in gorgeous
litters of green and gold, huge white Syrian dromedaries, richly
caparisoned horses and mules, devout Hajis, sherbet sellers,
water carriers, and a multitude of camels, sheep and goats.[FN#122]
Lastly Burton and his friends pilgrimaged to the holy Mount Ohod
with its graves of "the martyrs;" and to the celebrated Al-Bakia,
or Saints' Cemetery, where lie ten thousand of the Prophet's
companions. On entering the latter they repeated the usual
salutation: "Peace be upon ye, O People of Al-Bakia," and then
sought out the principal tombs--namely those of the Caliph
Othman,[FN#123] "Our Lady Halimah,"[FN#124] the Infant
Ibrahim,[FN#125] and about fourteen of Mohammed's wives.[FN#126]
The cemetery swarmed with clamorous beggars, who squatted with dirty
cotton napkins spread on the ground before them for the reception of
coins. Some of the women promised to recite Fatihahs for the
donors, and the most audacious seized the visitors by their skirts.
Burton laid out three dollars in this way, but though the recipients
promised loudly to supplicate Allah in behalf of his lame foot,
it did not perceptibly benefit. Burton's companions hinted that he
might do worse than settle in Medina. "Why not," said one, "open a
shop somewhere near the Prophet's Mosque? There thou wilt eat bread
by thy skill, and thy soul will have the blessing of being on holy
ground." Burton, however, wanted to be going forward.
26. Mecca.
On 31st August, after praying "a two-bow prayer," he bade adieu to
Shaykh Hamid, and with Nur and the boy Mohammed, joined the caravan
bound for Mecca, the route taken being the celebrated road through
the arid Nejd made by Zubaydah, wife of Harun al Rashid. The events
of the journey were not remarkable, though Mohammed very nearly
killed himself by feeding too liberally on clarified butter and
dates mashed with flour. Sometimes Burton cheered the way and
delighted his companions by singing the song of Maysunah, the Arab
girl who longed to get back from the Caliph's palace to the black
tents of her tribe. Everybody got into good humour when he began:
"Oh take these purple robes away,
Give back my cloak of camel's hair,"
and they laughed till they fell on their backs when he came to the
line where the desert beauty calls her Royal husband a "fatted ass."
In truth, they needed something to cheer them, for the sky was
burnished brass, and their goats died like flies. Simoon and
sand-pillar threw down the camels, and loathsome vultures ready
for either beast or man hovered above or squabbled around them.
To crown their discomforts they were again attached by the Bedouin,
whom they dispersed only after a stubborn fight and with the loss of
several dromedaries. After passing the classic Wady Laymun, sung by
the Arab poet Labid[FN#127] in lines suggestive of Goldsmith's
Deserted Village, they very piously shaved their heads and donned
the conventional attire, namely two new cotton cloths with narrow
red stripes and fringes; and when the Holy City came in view,
the whole caravan raised the cry, "Mecca! Mecca! the Sanctuary!
O the Sanctuary! Labbayk! Labbayk!"[FN#128] the voices being not
infrequently broken by sobs.
On entering the gates, Burton and Nur crossed the famous hill Safa
and took up their abode with the lad Mohammed. Early next morning
they rose, bathed, and made their way with the crowd to the
Prophet's Mosque in order to worship at the huge bier-like erection
called the Kaaba, and the adjacent semi-circular Hatim's wall.
The famous Kaaba, which is in the middle of the great court-yard,
looked at a distance like an enormous cube, covered with a black
curtain, but its plan is really trapeziform. "There at last it
lay," cries Burton, "the bourn of my long and weary pilgrimage,
realising the plans and hopes of many and many a year,"--the Kaaba,
the place of answered prayer, above which in the heaven of heavens
Allah himself sits and draws his pen through people's sins.
"The mirage of fancy invested the huge catafalque and its gloomy
pall with peculiar charms." Of all the worshippers who clung
weeping to the curtain,[FN#129] or who pressed their beating hearts
to the sacred black stone built into the Kaaba, none, thought
Burton, felt for the moment a deeper emotion than he. But he had to
confess the humbling truth that while theirs was the high feeling of
religious enthusiasm, his was but the ecstasy of gratified pride.
Bare-headed and footed and in company with Mohammed, he first
proceeded to the holy well, Zem-Zem, said to be the same that was
shown by God to Hagar.[FN#130] They found the water extremely
unpleasant to the taste, and Burton noticed that nobody drank it
without making a wry face. It was impossible at first to get near
the Black Stone owing to the crush of pilgrims. However,
they occupied the time in various prayers, blessed the Prophet,
and kissed the finger tips of the right hand. They then made the
seven Ashwat or circuits, and from time to time raised their hands
to their ears, and exclaimed, "In the name of Allah and Allah is
omnipotent!" The circuits finished, and it was deemed advisable to
kiss the Black Stone. For some minutes Burton stood looking in
despair at the swarming crowd of Bedouin and other pilgrims that
besieged it. But Mohammed was equal to the occasion. Noticing that
most of those near the Stone were Persians, against whom the Arabs
have an antipathy, he interpolated his prayers with insults directed
against them--one of the mildest being "O hog and brother of a
hoggess." This having small effect he collected half-a-dozen
stalwart Meccans, "with whose assistance," says Burton, "by sheer
strength, we wedged our way into the thin and light-legged crowd.
...After reaching the stone, despite popular indignation testified
by impatient shouts, we monopolised the use of it for at least ten
minutes. While kissing it and rubbing hands and forehead upon it,
I narrowly observed it, and came away persuaded that it was an
aerolite." Burton and his friends next shouldered and fought their
way to the part of the Kaaba called Al Multazem, at which they asked
for themselves all that their souls most desired. Arrived again at
the well Zem-Zem, Burton had to take another nauseous draught and
was deluged with two skinfuls of the water dashed over his head.
This causes sins to fall from the spirit like dust. He also said
the customary prayers at the Makam Ibrahim or Praying Place of
Abraham[FN#131] and other shrines. At last, thoroughly worn out,
with scorched feet and a burning head, he worked his way out of the
Mosque, but he was supremely happy for he had now seen:
"Safa, Zem-Zem, Hatim's wall,
And holy Kaaba's night-black pall."[FN#132]
The next day he journeyed to the sacred Mount of Arafat, familiar to
readers of The Arabian Nights from the touching story of Abu Hasan
and Abu Ja'afar the Leper and[FN#133] he estimated that he was but
one of 50,000 pilgrims. The mountain was alive with people, and the
huge camp at its foot had booths, huts and bazaars stocked with all
manner of Eastern delicacies, and crowded with purchasers. Instead,
however, of listening to the sermons, Burton got flirting with a
Meccan girl with citrine skin and liquescent eyes.
On the third day, mounted on an ass, he made for Muna and took part
in the ceremony called Stoning the Devil. He was, however, but one
of a multitude, and, in order to get to the stoned pillar a good
deal of shouldering and fighting was necessary. Both Burton and the
boy Mohammed, however, gained their end, and like the rest of the
people, vigorously pelted the devil, saying as they did so, "In the
name of Allah--Allah is Almighty." To get out of the crowd was as
difficult as it had been to get in. Mohammed received a blow in the
face which brought the blood from his nose, and Burton was knocked
down; but by "the judicious use of the knife" he gradually worked
his way into the open again, and piously went once more to have his
head shaved and his nails cut, repeating prayers incessantly.
Soon after his return to Mecca, Mohammed ran up to him in intense
excitement. "Rise, Effendi," he cried, "dress and follow me;
the Kaaba is open." The pair then made their way thither with
alacrity, and, replies to the officials in charge being
satisfactory, Mohammed was authoritatively ordered to conduct Burton
round the building. They entered. It was a perilous moment;
and when Burton looked at the windowless walls and at the officials
at the door, and thought of the serried mass of excited fanatics
outside, he felt like a trapped rat. However safe a Christian might
have been at Mecca, nothing could have preserved him from the ready
knives of the faithful if detected in the Kaaba. The very idea was
pollution to a Moslem. "Nothing," says Burton, "is more simple than
the interior of this sacred building. The pavement is composed of
slabs of fine and various coloured marbles. The upper part of the
walls, together with the ceiling, are covered with handsome red
damask, flowered over with gold. The flat roof is upheld by three
cross beams, supported in the centre by three columns. Between the
columns ran bars of metal supporting many lamps said to be of gold."
The total expense was eight dollars, and when they got away, the boy
Mohammed said, "Wallah, Effendi! thou has escaped well! some men
have left their skins behind."
The fifty-five other wonders of the city having been visited,
Burton sent on Nur with his heavy boxed to Jeddah, the port of
Mecca, and he himself followed soon after with Mohammed. At Jeddah
he saw its one sight, the tomb of Eve, and then bade adieu to
Mohammed, who returned to Mecca. Having boarded the "Dwarka,"
an English ship, he descended to his cabin and after a while emerged
with all his colouring washed off and in the dress of an English
gentleman. Mirza Abdullah of Bushire, "Father of Moustaches,"
was once more Richard Francis Burton. This extraordinary exploit
made Burton's name a household word throughout the world, and turned
it into a synonym for daring; while his book, the Pigrimage to
Al-Madinah and Meccah, which appeared the following year, was read
everywhere with wonder and delight. Had he been worldly-wise he
would have proceeded straight to England, where, the lion of the
hour, he might have obtained a reward more substantial than mere
praise. But he did not show himself until the commotion caused by
his exploit had been half-forgotten, and we shall find him making
a similar mistake some years later, after his return from
Tanganyika.[FN#134]
It seems that Burton was known in the army as "Ruffian Dick"--not by
way of disparagement, but because of this demonic ferocity as a
fighter, and because he had "fought in single combat more enemies
than perhaps any other man of his time." One evening soon after his
return from Mecca, a party of officers, including a friend of
Burton's named Hawkins, were lounging outside Shepherd's Hotel at
Cairo. As they sat talking and smoking, there passed repeatedly in
front of them, an Arab, in his loose flowing robes, with head
proudly erect, and the peculiar swinging stride of those sons of the
desert. As he strode backwards and forwards he drew nearer and
nearer to the little knot of officers, till at last, as he swept by,
the flying folds of his burnous brushed against one of the officers.
"D---- that nigger's impudence!" said the officer; "if he does that
again, I'll kick him." To his surprise the dignified Arab suddenly
halted, wheeled round, and exclaimed, "Well, d---- it, Hawkins,
that's a fine way to welcome a fellow after two year's absence."
"It's Ruffian Dick!" cried the astonished officer.[FN#135]
Perhaps to this period must be assigned the bastinado incident.
Burton used to tell the tale[FN#136] as follows: "Once, in Egypt,
another man and I were out duck shooting, and we got separated.
When I next came in sight of the other man some Turkish soldiers had
tied him up and were preparing to administer the bastinado. As I
hurried to his assistance he said something to the Turks which I
could not catch, and pointed to me. Instantly they untied him and
pouncing upon me, tried to put me in his place, while my companion
took to his heels. As they were six to one, they succeeded, and I
had the very unpleasant experience of being bastinadoed. The first
dozen or two strokes I didn't mind much, but at about the ninetieth
the pain was too excruciating for description. When they had
finished with me I naturally enquired what it was all for. It seems
that my companion when firing at a duck had accidentally shot an
Egyptian woman, the wife of one of the soldiers. Upon my appearance
he had called out in Turkish to the soldiers: 'It was not I who
fired the shot, it was that other fellow,' pointing to me.
The blackguard has taken good care to keep out of my way ever
since."
27. Burton's Delight in Shocking.
The story of Burton's adventures having spread abroad, people now
took the trouble to invent many incidents that were untrue.
They circulated, for example, a grisly tale of a murder which he was
understood to have committed on a man who had penetrated his
disguise,[FN#137] and, the tale continuing to roll, the murder
became eventually two murders. Unfortunately, Burton was cursed
with a very foolish habit, and one that later did him considerable
harm. Like Lord Byron, he delighted to shock. His sister had often
reproved him for it after his return from India, but without
effecting a change. Kindly listeners hardly knew how to take him,
while the malicious made mischief. One day, in England, when,
in the presence of his sister and a lady friend, he had thought fit
to enlarge on a number of purely fictitious misdeeds, he was put to
some shame. His sister having in vain tried by signs to stop him,
the friend at last cut him short with: "Am I to admire you,
Mr. Burton?" And he accepted the reproof. Still, he never broke
himself of this dangerous habit; indeed, when the murder report
spread abroad he seems to have been rather gratified than not;
and he certainly took no trouble to refute the calumny.
On another occasion he boasted of his supposed descent from
Louis XIV. "I should have thought," exclaimed a listener, "that you
who have such good Irish blood in your veins would be glad to forget
your descent from a dishonourable union."
"Oh, no," replied Burton vehemently, "I would rather be the bastard
of a king than the son of an honest man."
Though this was at the time simply intended to shock, nevertheless
it illustrated in a sense his real views. He used to insist that
the offspring of illicit or unholy unions were in no way to be
pitied if they inherited, as if often the case, the culture or
splendid physique of the father and the comeliness of the mother;
and instanced King Solomon, Falconbridge, in whose "large
composition," could be read tokens of King Richard,[FN#138] and the
list of notables from Homer to "Pedro's son," as catalogued by
Camoens[FN#139] who said:
"The meed of valour Bastards aye have claimed
By arts or arms, or haply both conjoined."
The real persons to be pitied, he said, were the mentally or
physically weak, whatever their parentage.
28. El Islam.
Burton now commenced to write a work to be called El Islam, or the
History of Mohammedanism; which, however, he never finished.
It opens with an account of the rise of Christianity, his attitude
to which resembled that of Renan.[FN#140] Of Christ he says:
"He had given an impetus to the progress of mankind by systematizing
a religion of the highest moral loveliness, showing what an
imperfect race can and may become." He then dilates on St. Paul,
who with a daring hand "rent asunder the ties connecting
Christianity with Judaism." "He offered to the great family of man
a Church with a Diety at its head and a religion peculiarly of
principles. He left the moral code of Christianity untouched in its
loveliness. After the death of St. Paul," continues Burton,
"Christianity sank into a species of idolatry. The acme of
stupidity was attained by the Stylites, who conceived that mankind
had no nobler end than to live and die upon the capital of a column.
When things were at their worst Mohammed first appeared upon the
stage of life." The work was published in its unfinished state
after Burton's death.
With The Kasidah we shall deal in a later chapter, for though Burton
wrote a few couplets at this time, the poem did not take its present
shape till after the appearance of FitzGerald's adaptation of
The Rubaiyat Oman Khayyam.
Having spent a few weeks in Egypt, Burton returned to Bombay,
travelling in his Arab dress. Among those on board was an English
gentleman, Mr. James Grant Lumsden, senior member of the Council,
Bombay, who being struck by Burton's appearance, said to a friend,
"What a clever, intellectual face that Arab has!" Burton,
overhearing the remark, made some humorous comment in English,
and thus commenced a pleasant friendship.
Chapter VII
29th October 1854--9th February 1855
To Harar
Bibliography:
13. Pilgrimage to Al-Madimah and Meccah. 3 vols. 1855-1856.
29. At Aden. The Arabian Nights. Oct. 1854.
It was while staying at Bombay as Mr. Lumsden's guest that Burton,
already cloyed with civilization, conceived the idea of
journeying, via Zeila in Somaliland, to the forbidden and therefore
almost unknown city of Harar, and thence to Zanzibar.
His application to the Bombay Government for permission and
assistance having been received favourably, he at once set out for
Aden, where he stayed with his "old and dear friend," Dr. John
Steinhauser, who had been appointed civil surgeon there.
Steinhauser, a stolid man, whose face might have been carved out of
wood, was, like Burton, an enthusiastic student of The Arabian
Nights, and their conversation naturally drifted into this subject.
Both came to the conclusion that while the name of this wondrous
repertory of Moslem folk-lore was familiar to almost every English
child, no general reader could form any idea of its treasures.
Moreover, that the door would not open to any but Arabists.
But even at the present day, and notwithstanding the editions of
Payne and Burton, there are still persons who imagine that
The Arabian Nights is simply a book for the nursery. Familiar only
with some inferior rendering, they are absolutely ignorant of the
wealth of wisdom, humour, pathos and poetry to be found in its
pages.[FN#141] Writing in 1856, Burton says: "The most familiar
book in England, next to the Bible, it is one of the least known,
the reason being that about one-fifth is utterly unfit for
translation, and the most sanguine Orientalist would not dare to
render more than three-quarters of the remainder,[FN#142]
consequently the reader loses the contrast--the very essence of the
book--between its brilliancy and dulness, its moral putrefaction and
such pearls as:
'Cast the seed of good works on the least fit soil;
Good is never wasted, however it may be laid out.'
And in a page or two after such divine sentiment, the ladies of
Baghdad sit in the porter's lay, and indulge in a facetiousness
which would have killed Pietro Aretino before his time."[FN#143]
When the work entitled A Thousand Nights and a Night was commenced,
no man knows. There were Eastern collections with that title four
centuries ago, laboured by the bronzed fingers of Arab scribes;
but the framework and some of the tales must have existed prior even
to the Moslem conquest. It has been noticed that there are
resemblances between the story of Shahryar and that of Ahasuerus as
recorded in Esther. In both narratives the King is offended with
his Queen and chooses a new wife daily. Shahryar has recourse to
the scimitar, Ahasuerus consigns wife after wife to the seclusion of
his harem. Shahryar finds a model consort in Shahrazad, Ahasuerus
in Esther. Each queen saves a multitude from death, each king lies
awake half the night listening to stories.[FN#144] While many of
the stories in The Arabian Nights are ancient, some, as internal
evidence proves, are comparatively recent. Thus those of Kamar-al-
Zaman II. and Ma'aruf the Cobbler belong to the 16th century;
and no manuscript appears to be older than 1548. The most important
editions are the Calcutta, the Boulac[FN#145] and the Breslau,
all of which differ both in text and the order of the stories.
The Nights were first introduced into Europe by Antoine Galland,
whose French translation appeared between 1704 and 1717. Of the
Nights proper, Galland presented the public with about a quarter,
and he added ten tales[FN#146] from other Eastern manuscripts.
An anonymous English edition appeared within a few years.
The edition published in 1811 by Jonathan Scott is Galland with
omissions and additions, the new tales being from the Wortley
Montague MS. now in the Bodleian. In 1838, Henry Torrens began a
translation direct from the Arabic, of which, however, he completed
only one volume, and in 1838-40 appeared the translation direct from
the Arabic, of which, however, he completed only one volume, and in
1838-40 appeared the translation of Edward William Lane,[FN#147]
made direct from the Boulac edition. This work, which contains
about one third of the entire Arabian Nights, was a great step
forward, but unfortunately, Lane, who afterwards became an excellent
Arabic scholar, was but a poor writer, and having no gift of verse,
he rendered the poetical portions, that is to say, some ten thousand
lines "in the baldest and most prosaic of English."[FN#148]
So Burton and Steinhauser said to themselves, As the public have
never had more than one-third of the Nights, and that translated
indifferently, we will see what we can do. "We agreed," says
Burton, "to collaborate and produce a full, complete, unvarnished,
uncastrated, copy of the great original, my friend taking the prose
and I the metrical part; and we corresponded upon the subject for
years."[FN#149] They told each other that, having completed their
task, they would look out for a retreat as a preparation for
senility, some country cottage, perhaps, in the South of France,
where, remote from books, papers, pens, ink and telegrams,
they could spend their nights in bed and their days in hammocks.
Beyond planning the translation, however, nothing was done.
Steinhauser died fourteen years later (1866), and whatever notes
he made were dispersed, while Burton, even as late as 1883, had done
nothing beyond making a syllabus of the Boulac edition.[FN#150]
Still, the scheme was never for very long absent from his thoughts,
and during his wanderings in Somaliland, the Tanganyika country and
elsewhere, he often delighted the natives by reciting or reading
some of the tales. The history of Burton's translation of
The Arabian Nights is, as we shall subsequently show, curiously
analogous to that of The Kasidah.
30. From Zeila to Harar, 27th November 1854 to 2nd January 1855.
Burton now found that, as regards the projected expedition,
his plans would have to be modified, and he finally decided to
confine his explorations to "the great parched horn" of Somaliland.
His plan was now to visit Harar via Zeila, and then make for
Berbera, in order to join Lieutenant Speke, Herne and Stroyan,
who had been authorised to assist him and had arranged to await him
there. The presence at Berbera of Speke and his companions, would,
it was supposed, "produce a friendly feeling on the part of Somali,"
and facilitate Burton's egress from Harar, should he ever, as was by
no means certain, enter alive that dangerous and avoided city.
Sir James Outram, then Political Resident at Aden, called the
expedition a tempting of Providence, and tried hard to stop it,
but in vain. Burton left Aden for Zeila on October 29th, taking
with him a managing man called "The Hammal," a long, lean Aden
policeman, nicknamed "Long Gulad" and a suave but rascally Moslem
priest dubbed "The End of Time."[FN#151] They landed on October
31st, and found Zeila a town of white-washed houses and minaretted
mosques, surrounded by a low brown wall with round towers. Burton,
who called himself a Moslem merchant, spent three weeks buying
camels and mules and interviewing guides, while he kept up his
reputation for piety with the customary devotions. According to his
wont, he carefully studied the customs of the people. "One of the
peculiar charms," he says, of the Somali girls, is "a soft, low and
plaintive voice," and he notices that "in muscular strength and
endurance the women of the Somal are far superior to their lords."
The country teems with poets, who praise the persons of the belles
very much in the style of Canticles, declaring prettily,
for example, that their legs are as straight as the "Libi Tree,"
and that their hips swell out "like boiled rice." The marriage
ceremonies, he tells us, are conducted with feasting, music and
flogging. On first entering the nuptial hut the bridegroom draws
forth his horsewhip and inflicts chastisement upon his bride,
with the view of taming any lurking propensity to shrewishness.
As it is no uncommon event to take four wives at once, this
horsewhipping is naturally rather exhausting for the husband.
Burton considered polygamy to be indispensable in countries like
Somaliland, "where children are the principal wealth;" but he saw
less necessity for it "among highly civilised races where the sexes
are nearly equal, and where reproduction becomes a minor duty."
However, he would have been glad to see polygamy allowed even in
England, "if only to get rid of all the old maids," a class that he
regarded with unbounded pity. He longed "to see these poor,
cankered, angular ladies transformed into cheerful, amiable wives
with something really to live for." "Man," it was a favourite
saying with him, "is by nature polygamic, whereas woman, as a rule,
is monogamic, and polyandrous only when tired of her lover. The man
loves the woman, but the love of the woman is for the love of the
man." He also agreed with the 18th century Rev. Martin Madan,
author of Thelyphthora, a treatise on female ruin, who insisted that
polygamy would go far to remove one of the great reproaches of the
streets of London and other large cities. "Except in books,"
says Burton, "seduction in Mohammedan countries is almost unknown,
adultery difficult." That polygamy, however, is no panacea,
the following remarks will show. "Both sexes," he says, speaking of
the Somali, "are temperate from necessity." Drunkenness is unknown.
Still, the place is not Arcady. "After much wandering,"
he continues, "we are almost tempted to believe that morality is a
matter of geography;[FN#152] that nations and races have,
like individuals, a pet vice; and that by restraining one,
you only exasperate another. As a general rule Somali women prefer
flirtations with strangers, following the well-known Arabian
proverb, 'The new comer filleth the eye.'" Burton was thoroughly
at home in Zeila "with the melodious chant of the muezzin" and the
loudly intoned "Amin" and "Allaho Akbar" daily ringing in his ear.
He often went into the Mosque, and with a sword and a rosary before
him, read the "cow chapter"[FN#153] in a loud twanging voice.
Indeed, he had played the role of devout Mohammedan so long, that he
had almost become one. The people of Zeila tried to persuade him to
abandon his project. "If," said they, "you escape the desert hordes
it will only be to fall by the hands of the truculent Amir of
Harar." Nothing, however, could dash Burton's confidence in his
star, and like Dante, he applied to Fear no epithets but "vile"
and "base."
One Raghi, a petty Eesa chief, having been procured as protector of
the party, and other arrangements having been made, Burton on
November 27th (1854) set out for his destination by a circuitous
route. Raghi rode in front. Next, leading camels, walked two
enormously fat Somali women; while by the side of the camels rode
Burton's three attendants, the Hammal, Long Gulad, and "The End of
Time," "their frizzled wigs radiant with grease," and their robes
splendidly white with borders dazzlingly red. Burton brought up the
rear on a fine white mule with a gold fringed Arab pad and
wrapper-cloth, a double-barrelled gun across his lap, and in this
manner the little caravan pursued its sinuous course over the
desert. At halting places he told his company tales from
The Arabian Nights; they laughed immoderately at the adventures of
the little Hunchback; tears filled their eyes as they listened to
the sad fate of Azizah;[FN#154] and the two fat Somali women were
promptly dubbed Shahrazad and Dunyazad. Dunyazad had been as far as
Aden and was coquettish. Her little black eyes never met Burton's,
and frequently with affected confusion she turned her sable cheek
the clean contrary way. Attendant on the women was a Zeila lad,
who, being one-eyed, was pitilessly called "The Kalandar." At their
first halting place, Burton astonished the natives by shooting a
vulture on the wing. "Lo!" cried the women, "he bringeth down the
birds from heaven." On their way through an ochreish Goban,
or maritime plain, they passed huge hills made by white ants,
Gallas graves planted with aloe,[FN#155] and saw in the distance
troops of gazelles. They were now in the Isa country, "Traitorous
as an Isa" being a Zeila proverb. Though the people were robbers
and murderers, Burton, by tact, got on excellently with them,
and they good-naturedly offered him wives. At every settlement
the whole population flocked to see him, the female portion loudly
expressing their admiration for him. "Come girls, "they cried one
to another, "come and look at this white stranger." According to
Raghi, the fair face of a French lady who had recently landed at
Berbera, "made every man hate his wife, and every wife hate
herself." Once they were attacked by Bedouin, who, however,
on hearing the report of Burton's revolver, declared that they
were only in fun. Others who tried to stop them were shown the star
sapphire, and threatened with "sorcery, death, wild beasts,"
and other unpleasantnesses. At a place called Aububah, Raghi
relinquished the charge of the caravan to some men of the
Gudabirsi tribe, who led the way to the village of Wilensi, where
they were the guests of the household of a powerful chief called
Jirad Adan. Here Burton left Shahrazad, Dunyazad and the Kalandar,
and proceeded to Sagharrah, where he met and formed a friendship
with Jirad Adan. For several days he was prostrated by fever,
and some Harar men who looked in tried to obtain him as a prisoner.
The Jirad acted honourably, but he declined to escort Burton to
Harar. "No one," he said, "is safe in the Amir's clutches, and I
would as soon walk into a crocodile's mouth as set foot in the
city." "Nothing then remained," says Burton, "but payer
d'audace,[FN#156] and, throwing all forethought to the dogs, to rely
upon what has made many a small man great, the good star.
I addressed my companions in a set speech, advising a mount without
delay."[FN#157] The End of Time, having shown the white feather,
was left behind, but the rest courageously consented to accompany
their leader. "At 10 a.m. on the 2nd January," says Burton,
"all the villagers assembled, and recited the Fatihah, consoling us
with the information that we were dead men." The little company,
carrying their lives in their hands, then set forward, and presently
came in sight of Harar, "a dark speck upon a tawny sheet of
stubble." Arrived at the gate of the town, they accosted the
warder, sent their salaams to the Amir, and requested the honour
of audience.
31. At Harar.
They were conducted to the palace, a long, single-storied,
windowless barn of rough stone and reddish clay. Says Burton:
"I walked into a vast hall between two long rows of Galla spearmen,
between whose lines I had to pass. They were large, half-naked
savages, standing like statues with fierce, movable eyes, each one
holding, with its butt end on the ground, a huge spear, with a head
the size of a shovel. I purposely sauntered down them coolly with a
swagger, with my eyes fixed upon their dangerous-looking faces.
I had a six-shooter concealed in my waist-belt, and determined,
at the first show of excitement, to run up to the Amir, and put it
to his head, if it were necessary, to save my own life." The Amir
was an etiolated young man of twenty-four or twenty-five, plain and
thin-bearded, with a yellow complexion, wrinkled brows and
protruding eyes. He wore a flowing robe of crimson cloth,
edged with snowy fur, and a narrow white turban tightly twisted
round a tall, conical cap of red velvet. On being asked his errand,
Burton replied politely in Arabic that he had come from Aden in
order to bear the compliments of the governor, and to see the light
of his highness's countenance. On the whole, the Amir was gracious,
but for some days Burton and his party were in jeopardy, and when he
reflected that he was under the roof of a bigoted and sanguinary
prince, whose filthy dungeons resounded with the moans of heavily
ironed, half-starved prisoners; among a people who detested
foreigners; he, the only European who had ever passed over their
inhospitable threshold, naturally felt uncomfortable. The Amir,
it seems, had four principal wives, and an army of 200 men armed
chiefly with daggers. Burton describes the streets of Harar as
dirty narrow lanes heaped with garbage, and the houses as situated
at the bottom of courtyards, closed by gates of holcus stalks.
The town was proud of its learning and sanctity, and venerated the
memory of several very holy and verminous saints. Neither sex
possessed personal attractions, and the head-dresses of the women
seen from behind resembled a pawnbroker's sign, except that they
were blue instead of gilt. The people lived chiefly on holcus,
and a narcotic called "jat," made by pounding the tender twigs of a
tree of the same name. "It produced in them," says Burton,
"a manner of dreamy enjoyment, which exaggerated by time and
distance, may have given rise to that splendid myth the Lotos and
the Lotophagi.[FN#158] Their chief commodity was coffee, their
favourite drink an aphrodisiac made of honey dissolved in hot water,
and strained and fermented with the bark of a tree called kudidah."
Although unmolested, Burton had no wish to remain long at Harar,
and when on 13th January he and his party took their departure it
was with a distinct feeling of relief.
32. From Harar to Berbera. 13th Jan. 1855-5th Feb. 1855.
At Sagharrah they found again the pusillanimous "End of Time,"
and at Wilensi they were rejoined by Shahrazad, Dunyazad and the
one-eyed Kalandar. Persons who met Burton and his friends enquired
Irish-like if they were the party who had been put to death by the
Amir of Harar. Everyone, indeed, was amazed to see them not only
alive, but uninjured, and the Frank's temerity became the talk of
the desert. Burton now put the two women, the Kalandar, the camels,
and the baggage, under the care of a guide, and sent them to Zeila,
while he himself and the men made straight for Berbera.
The journey, which led them past Moga's tooth[FN#159] and Gogaysa,
was a terrible one, for the party suffered tortures from thirst,
and at one time it seemed as though all must perish. By good
fortune, however, they ultimately came upon some pools. Any fear
that might have haunted them, lest the water should be poisonous,
was soon dispelled, for it contained a vast number of tadpoles and
insects, and was therefore considered quite harmless and suitable
for drinking. For many hours they again plodded on beneath a brazen
sky. Again thirst assailed them; and, like Ishmael in the desert of
Zin, they were ready to cast themselves down and die. This time
they were saved by a bird, a katta or sand grouse, which they saw
making for some hills; and having followed it, they found, as they
had anticipated, a spring of water, at which they frenziedly slaked
their thirst. Many other difficulties and troubles confronted them
in their subsequent march, but at last they heard (delightful
sound!) the murmur of the distant sea. Every man was worn out,
with the exception of the Hammal, who, to Burton's delight, not only
talked, but sang and shouted. Finally they reached Berbera,
where they found Speke, Herne and Stroyan, and on 5th February,
Burton in company with the Hammal, Long Gulad, and The End of Time,
set sail for Aden, calling on their way at Siyaro and Anterad,
east of Berbera.
The first news Burton had on arriving there was of the death of his
mother, which had occurred 18th December 1854, at the time he lay
ill at Sagharrah. Always immersed in him, she used to say, when he
left her, "It seems as if the sun itself has disappeared." He,
on his part, often bore witness to the unselfishness and
blamelessness of her life, generally adding, "It is very pleasant
to be able to feel proud of one's parents."
33. The Fight at Berbera, 22nd April, 1855.
Unable to let well alone, Burton now wanted to make a new
expedition, this time to the Nile, via Berbera and Harar, and on a
larger and more imposing scale. On 7th April he was back again at
Berbera, taking with him Speke, Stroyan, Herne and 42 assistants,
and his first care was to establish an agency on the coast, so as to
have the protection of the English gunboat, the "Mahi," which had
brought them. Unfortunately, the Government drew off the gunboat,
and this had scarcely been done before Burton and his party were
attacked by 300 natives, who swarmed round them during the night,
and tried to entrap and entangle them by throwing down the tents.
A desperate hand-to-hand fight then ensued. Javelins hissed,
war-clubs crashed. The forty-two coloured auxiliaries promptly took
to their heels, leaving the four Englishmen to do as they could.
Stroyan fell early in the fight. Burton, who had nothing but a
sabre, fought like a demon; Speke, on his left near the entrance
of the tent, did deadly execution with a pair of revolvers; Herne on
his right emptied into the enemy a sixshooter, and then hammered it
with the butt end. Burton, while sabreing his way towards the sea,
was struck by a javelin, which pierced both cheeks, and struck out
four of his teeth. Speke received eleven wounds, from which,
however, he took no harm--a touching proof, comments Burton, of how
difficult it is to kill a man in sound health. Eventually the
survivors, stained with blood, and fearfully exhausted, but
carrying, nevertheless, the corpse of poor Stroyan, managed to
reach a friendly native craft, which straightway took them back
to Aden.[FN#160]
Chapter VIII
9th February 1855-October 1856
The Crimea
Bibliography:
14. First Footsteps in East Africa, 1856.
34. The Crimea.
Owing to his wounds Burton had to return to England, and, on his
first opportunity, he gave an account of his explorations before
the Royal Geographical Society. Little, however, was now talked of
except the Crimean War, which had commenced, it will be remembered
in March 1854. The Allies landed in the Crimea in September,
Inkermann was fought on the 5th of November, and then followed the
tedious siege of Sebastopol. Burton had not long been home before
he applied for and obtained leave to join the besieging army; and
his brother Edward also went out as surgeon, about the same time.
Emulous of the deeds of Napier and Outram, Burton now thought he saw
a career of military glory awaiting him. Soon after his arrival at
the seat of war he was appointed chief of the staff to General
Beatson, and in his "gorgeous uniform blazing with gold" he set
vigorously to work to re-organize and drill his contingent of
Bashi-Bazouks. He had great difficulties with Beatson, a brave,
but passionate and undiplomatic old warrior; but he succeeded
marvellously with his men, and his hope of winning fame rose higher
than ever. The war, however, was crawling to an end, and the troops
he had drilled so patiently had little to do beside look on.
At this conjuncture he thought he saw a road to success in the
relief of Kars, which had been persistently besieged by the
Russians. Elated at the prospect of taking part in a great military
feat, he hurried to Constantinople, obtained an interview with the
British Ambassador, Lord Stratford, and submitted a plan for
approval. To his amazement, Lord Stratford broke into a towering
passion, and called him "the most impudent man in the Bombay Army."
Later Burton understood in what way he had transgressed. As the war
was closing, it had been arranged by the Allies that Kars should be
allowed to fall as a peace offering to Russia.
Burton now began to suffer from the untrue tales that were told
about him, still he never troubled to disprove them. Some were
circulated by a fellow officer of his--an unmitigated scoundrel
whose life had been sullied by every species of vice; who not only
invented calumniating stories but inserted particulars that gave
them a verisimilitude. Two of this man's misdeeds may be mentioned.
First he robbed the Post Office at Alexandria, and later he
unblushingly unfolded to Lord Stanley of Alderley his plan of
marrying an heiress and of divorcing her some months later with a
view to keeping, under a Greek law, a large portion of her income.
He seemed so certain of being able to do it that Lord Stanley
consulted a lady friend, and the two together succeeded in
frustrating the infamous design. This sordid and callous rascal
tried hard to lead people to suppose that he and Burton were hand
and glove in various kinds of devilry, and a favourite phrase in his
mouth was "I and Burton are great scamps." Percy Smythe[FN#161]
then an official under Lord Stratford, commented on hearing the
saying: "No, that won't do, ---- is a real scamp, but Burton is only
wild." One story put abroad apparently by the same scoundrel is
still in circulation. We are told that Burton was once caught in a
Turkish harem, and allowed to escape only after suffering the usual
indescribable penalty. As this was the solitary story that really
annoyed Burton, we think it our duty to say that conclusive
documentary evidence exists proving that, whether or not he ever
broke into a harem, he most certainly underwent no deprivation.
Other slanders of an even more offensive nature got abroad.
Pious English mothers loathed Burton's name, and even men of the
world mentioned it apologetically. In time, it is true, he lived
all this down, still he was never--he is not now--generally regarded
as a saint worthy of canonization.
With the suspension of General Beatson--for the machinations of
enemies ultimately accomplished the old hero's fall--Burton's
connection with the Crimean army abruptly ceased. Having sent in
his resignation, he returned to England and arrived here just in
time to miss, to his disappointment, his brother Edward, who had
again left for Ceylon. Edward's after career was sad enough to draw
tears from adamant. During an elephant hunt a number of natives set
upon him and beat him brutally about the head. Brain trouble
ensued, and he returned home, but henceforth, though he attained
a green old age, he lived a life of utter silence. Except on one
solitary occasion he never after--and that is to say for forty
years--uttered a single word. Always resembling a Greek statue,
there was now added to him the characteristic of all statues,
rigid and solemn silence. From a man he had become aching marble.
To Burton, with his great, warm, affectionate heart, Edward's
affliction was an unceasing grief. In all his letters he enquires
tenderly after his "dear brother," and could truly say, with the
enemy of his boyhood, Oliver Goldsmith:
"Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee:
Still to my Brother turns."[FN#162]
Arrived in England, General Beatson promptly instituted civil
proceedings against his enemies; and Burton was in constant
expectation of being subpoenaed. He thoroughly sympathized with
Beatson, but he had no wish to be forced to remain in London, just
as he had no wish at any time in his life to be mewed up anywhere.
Consequently he disguised himself by wearing green spectacles and
tying a pillow over his stomach to simulate corpulence. To one
friend who met him, he made himself known. "Are you really Burton?"
inquired his friend. "I shall be," replied Burton, "but just now
I'm a Greek doctor." Burton's conscience, however, finally had the
mastery. He did attend the trial and he corroborated the statements
of his late chief. The verdict of the jury went against Beatson,
but it was generally felt that the old war dog had fully vindicated
his character.
35. Engaged to Isabel Arundell, August 1856.
In August, after a lapse of four years, Burton renewed acquaintance
with Isabel Arundell, who one day met him, quite by accident, in the
Botanical Gardens, and she kept meeting him there quite by accident
every day for a fortnight. He had carried his life in his hand to
Mecca and to Harar, he had kept at bay 200 Somalis, but like the man
in Camoens, he finally fell by "a pair of eyes."[FN#163] According
to Lady Burton,[FN#164] it was Burton who made the actual proposal;
and it is just possible.
"You won't chalk up 'Mother will be angry' now I hope," said Burton.
"Perhaps not," replied Miss Arundell, "but she will be all
the same."
Mrs. Arundell, indeed, like so many other English mothers,
was violently prejudiced against Burton. When her daughter broached
the subject she replied fiercely: "He is not an old English
Catholic, or even a Catholic, he has neither money nor prospects."
She might also have added that he was apt to respect mere men of
intellect more than men of wealth and rank, an un-English trait
which would be sure to militate against his advancement.
Miss Arundell bravely defended her lover, but without effect.
A few days later she again met her old gipsy crone Hagar Burton,
who repeated her sibylline declaration. As Miss Arundell never,
by any chance, talked about anything or anybody except Burton,
and as she paid liberally for consulting the Fates, this declaration
necessarily points to peculiar acumen on the part of the gipsy.
At one of their meetings Miss Arundell put round Burton's neck a
steel chain with a medal of the Virgin Mary and begged him to wear
it all his life. Possessing a very accommodating temperament in
matters that seemed to himself of no vital importance, he consented;
so it joined the star-sapphire and other amulets, holy and unholy,
which, for different purposes, he carried about the world.
That this medal had often acted as a preservative to Burton she was
in after life thoroughly convinced.
Chapter IX
The Unveiling of Isis
December 1856-21st May 1859
Bibliography:
15. Lake Regions of Equatorial Africa.
16. Vol. 33 of the Royal Geographical Society.
36. To Fuga. January to March 1857.
The fame of a soldier having been denied him, Burton now turned his
thoughts once more to exploration; and his eagerness for renown is
revealed conspicuously in some verses written about this time.
They commence:
"I wore thine image, Fame,
Within a heart well fit to be thy shrine!
Others a thousand boons may gain;
One wish was mine."
He hoped to obtain one of its smiles and then die. A glorious hand
seemed to beckon him to Africa. There he was to go and find his
destiny. The last stanza runs:
"Mine ear will hear no other sound,
No other thought my heart will know.
Is this a sin? Oh, pardon, Lord!
Thou mad'st me so."
He would obtain the fame of a great traveller; the earth should roll
up for him as a carpet. Happy indeed was Isabel Arundell when he
placed the verses in her hand, but melancholy to relate, he also
presented copies to his "dear Louisa," and several other dears.
He now read greedily all the great geographers, ancient and modern,
and all the other important books bearing on African exploration.
If he became an authority on Herodotus, Pliny, Ptolemy, Strabo,
and Pomponious Mela, he became equally an authority on Bruce,
Sonnini, Lacerda, the Pombeiros, Monteiro and Gamitto.
From Ptolemy downwards writers and travellers had prayed for the
unveiling of Isis, that is to say, the discovery of the sources of
the Nile; but for two thousand years every effort had proved
fruitless. Burning to immortalize himself by wresting from the
mysterious river its immemorial secret, Burton now planned an
expedition for that purpose. Thanks to the good offices of Lord
Clarendon, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, the Royal
Geographical Society promised him the necessary funds; while
Cardinal Wiseman, ever his sincere friend, gave him a passport to
all Catholic missionaries.[FN#165] To Burton, as we have seen,
partings were always distressing, and in order to avoid bidding
adieu to Miss Arundell he adopted his usual course, leaving a letter
which mentioned love and that he was gone.
He quitted England for Bombay in October 1856, and crossed to
Zanzibar in the Elphinstone sloop of war, Speke, who was to be his
companion in the expedition, sailing with him. Burton was in the
highest spirits. "One of the gladdest moments in human life," he
wrote, "is the departing upon a distant journey into unknown lands.
Shaking off with one effort the fetters of habit, the leaden weight
of routine, the slavery of civilisation,[FN#166] man feels once more
happy. The blood flows with the fast circulation of youth,
excitement gives a new vigour to the muscles and a sense of sudden
freedom adds an inch to the stature." Among the crew was a
midshipman, C. R. Low, who became a life-long friend of Burton.
Says Mr. Low, "We used to have bouts of single-stick in the pleasant
evening sin the poop, and many's the time he has blacked my arms and
legs with his weapons. ... Though a dangerous enemy, he was a warm
and constant friend."[FN#167] On reaching Zanzibar, Burton, finding
the season an unsuitable one for the commencement of his great
expedition, resolved to make what he called "a preliminary canter."
So he and Speke set out on a cruise northward in a crazy old Arab
"beden" with ragged sails and worm-eaten timbers. They carried with
them, however, a galvanised iron life-boat, "The Louisa," named
after Burton's old love, and so felt no fear.
They passed the Island of Pemba, and on the 22nd reached Mombasa,
which Burton was glad to visit on account of its associations with
Camoens, who wrote
So near that islet lay along the land,
Nought save a narrow channel stood atween;
And rose a city throned on the strand,
Which from the margent of the seas was seen;
Fair built with lordly buildings tall and grand
As from its offing showed all its sheen,
Here ruled a monarch for long years high famed,
Islet and city are Mombasa named.[FN#168]
Indeed he never missed an opportunity of seeing spots associated
with his beloved "Master." Then they turned southward and on
February 3rd reached Pangany, whence, in company with a facetious
fellow named Sudy Bombay, they set out on a canoe and foot journey
to Fuga, which they found to be "an unfenced heap of hay cock huts."
Though a forbidden city to strangers they managed to get admittance
by announcing themselves as "European wizards and Waganga of
peculiar power over the moon, the stars, the wind and the rain."
They found the sultan of the place, an old man named Kimwere, sick,
emaciated and leprous. He required, he said, an elixir which would
restore him to health, strength, and youth. This, however, despite
his very respectable knowledge of medicine, Burton was not able to
compound, so after staying two days he took his leave. "It made me
sad," says Burton, "to see the wistful, lingering look with which
the poor old king accompanied the word Kuahery! (Farewell!)" On the
return journey Speke shot a hippopotamus which he presented to the
natives, who promptly ate it. By the time Pangany was again reached
both travellers were in a high fever; but regarding it simply as a
seasoning, they felt gratified rather than not. When the Zanzibar
boat arrived Speke was well enough to walk to the shore, but Burton
"had to be supported like a bedridden old woman."
37. Zanzibar to Tanganyika, 26th June 1857 to 26th May 1858.
Burton left Zanzibar on his great expedition at the end of June,
carrying with him various letters of introduction from the Sultan of
Zanzibar, a diploma signed by the Shaykh El Islam of Mecca, and the
passport already mentioned of Cardinal Wiseman. To his
star-sapphire he added some little canvas bags containing horse
chestnuts which he carried about "against the Evil Eye, and as a
charm to ward off sickness."[FN#169] Beside Burton and Speke,
the party consisted of two Goa boys, two negro gun-carriers,
Sudy Bombay, and ten Zanzibar mercenaries. Dr. Steinhauser,
who had hoped to join them, was restrained by illness. "My desire,"
says Burton, "was to ascertain the limits of Tanganyika Lake,
to learn the ethnography of its tribes, and to determine the export
of the produce of the interior." He held the streams that fed
Tanganyika to be the ultimate sources of the Nile; and believed that
the glory of their discovery would be his. Fortune, however,
the most fickle of goddesses, thought fit to deprive him of this
ardently coveted boon.
The explorers landed at Wale Point on June 26th, and on July 14th
reached K'hutu. At Dug'humi Burton, despite his bags of chestnuts,
fell with marsh fever, and in his fits he imagined himself to be
"two persons who were inimical to each other," an idea very suitable
for a man nursing the "duality" theory. When he recovered, fresh
misfortunes followed, and finally all the riding asses died.
Burton, however, amid it all, managed to do one very humane action.
He headed a little expedition against a slave raider, and had the
satisfaction of restoring five poor creatures to their homes.
The tropical vegetation and the pleasant streams afforded delightful
vistas both by daylight and moonlight, but every mile the travellers
were saddened by the sight of clean-picked skeletons or swollen
corpses. Sometimes they met companies of haggard, heavy-gaited men
and women half blind with small-pox--the mothers carrying on their
backs infants as loathsome as themselves. Near every kraal stood
detached huts built for the diseased to die in. They passed from
this God-forsaken land to a district of springs welling with sweet
water, calabashes and tamarinds, and circlets of deep, dew-fed
verdure. The air was spicy, and zebras and antelopes browsed in the
distance. Then the scene again changed, and they were in a slimy,
malarious swamp. They were bitten by pismires an inch long, and by
the unmerciful tzetze fly. The mercenaries, who threatened to
desert, rendered no assistance, and the leader, one Said bin Salim,
actually refused to give Burton a piece of canvas to make a tent.
Sudy Bombay then made a memorable speech, "O Said," he said, "if you
are not ashamed of your master, be at least ashamed of his servant,"
a rebuke that had the effect of causing the man to surrender at once
the whole awning. At other times the star-sapphire which Burton
carried on his person proved a valuable auxiliary--and convinced
where words failed. But the mercenaries, mistaking Burton's
forbearance for weakness, became daily bolder and more insolent,
and they now only awaited a convenient opportunity to kill him.
One day as he was marching along, gun over shoulder and dagger in
hand, he became conscious that two of his men were unpleasantly
near, and after a while one of them, unaware that Burton understood
his language, urged the other to strike. Burton did not hesitate a
moment. Without looking round, he thrust back his dagger,
and stabbed the man dead on the spot.[FN#170] The other, who fell
on his knees and prayed for mercy, was spared. This, however, did
not cure his followers of their murderous instincts, and a little
later he discovered another plot. The prospective assassins having
piled a little wood where they intended to kindle a fire, went off
to search for more. While they were gone Burton made a hole under
the wood and buried a canister of gunpowder in it. On their return
the assassins lighted the fire, seated themselves comfortably round,
and presently there weren't any assassins. We tell these tales just
as Burton told them to his intimate friends. The first may have
been true, the second, we believe, simply illustrates his inveterate
habit of telling tales against himself with the desire to shock.
In any circumstances, his life was in constant peril; but he and the
majority of the party, after unexampled tortures from thirst,
arrived footsore and jaded in a veritable land of Goshen--Kazeh or
Unyanyembe, where they met some kindly Arab merchants.
"What a contrast," exclaims Burton, "between the open-handed
hospitality and the hearty good-will of this noble race--the Arabs--
and the niggardliness of the savage and selfish African. It was
heart of flesh after heart of stone." Burton found the Arabs of
Kazeh living comfortably and even sybaritically. They had large,
substantial houses, fine gardens, luxuries from the coast and
"troops of concubines and slaves." Burton gallantly gives the
ladies their due. "Among the fair of Yombo," he says, "there were
no fewer than three beauties--women who would be deemed beautiful in
any part of the world. Their faces were purely Grecian; they had
laughing eyes their figures were models for an artist with--
"Turgide, brune, e ritondette mamme."
like the 'bending statue' that delights the world. The dress--
a short kilt of calabash fibre--rather set off than concealed their
charms, and though destitute of petticoat they were wholly
unconscious of indecorum. These beautiful domestic animals
graciously smiled when in my best Kenyamwezi I did my devoir to
the sex; and the present of a little tobacco always secured for me
a seat in the undress circle."
Of the native races of West Africa Burton gave a graphic account
when he came to write the history of this expedition.[FN#171]
All, it seems, had certain customs in common. Every man drank
heavily, ate to repletion and gambled. They would hazard first
their property and then themselves. A negro would stake his aged
mother against a cow. As for morality, neither the word nor the
thing existed among them. Their idea of perfect bliss was total
intoxication. When ill, they applied to a medicine man, who having
received a fee used it for the purpose of getting drunk, but upon
his return to sobriety, he always, unless, of course, the patient
took upon himself to die, instead of waiting, attended
conscientiously to his duties. No self-respecting chief was ever
sober after mid-day. Women were fattened for marriage just as pigs
are fattened for market--beauty and obesity being interchangeable
terms. The wearisome proceedings in England necessary to a divorce,
observes Burton, are there unknown. You turn your wife out of
doors, and the thing is done.
The chief trouble at Kazeh, as elsewhere, arose from the green
scorpion, but there were also lizards and gargantuan spiders.
Vermin under an inch in length, such as fleas, ants, and mosquitoes,
were deemed unworthy of notice. The march soon began again,
but they had not proceeded many miles before Burton fell with
partial paralysis brought on my malaria; and Speke, whom Burton
always called "Jack," became partially blind. Thoughts of the elmy
fields and the bistre furrows of Elstree and the tasselled coppices
of Tours crowded Burton's brain; and he wrote:
"I hear the sound I used to hear,
The laugh of joy, the groan of pain,
The sounds of childhood sound again
Death must be near."
At last, on the 13th February they saw before them a long streak of
light. "Look, master, look," cried Burton's Arab guide, "behold the
great water!" They advanced a few yards, and then an enormous
expanse of blue burst into sight. There, in the lap of its
steel-coloured mountains, basking in the gorgeous tropical sunshine,
lay the great lake Tanganyika. The goal had been reached; by his
daring, shrewdness and resolution he had overcome all difficulties.
Like the soldiers in Tacitus, in victory he found all things--
health, vigour, abundance.
No wonder Burton felt a marvellous exultation of spirits when he
viewed this great expanse of waters. Here, he thought, are the
sources of that ancient river--the Nile. Now are fulfilled the
longing of two thousand years. I am the heir of the ages! Having
hired "a solid built Arab craft," the explorers made their way first
to Ujiji and then to Uvira, the northernmost point of the lake,
which they reached on April 26th. On their return voyage they were
caught in a terrible storm, from which they did not expect to be
saved, and while the wild tumbling waves threatened momentarily to
engulf them a couplet from his fragmentary Kasidah kept running in
Burton's mind:
"This collied night, these horrid waves, these gusts that sweep
the whirling deep;
What reck they of our evil plight, who on the shore securely
sleep?"[FN#172]
However, they came out of this peril, just as they had come out of
so many others. Burton also crossed the lake and landed in
Kazembe's country,[FN#173] in which he was intensely interested,
and some years later he translated into English the narratives of
Dr. Lacerda[FN#174] and other Portuguese travellers who had visited
its capital, Lunda, near Lake Moero.
38. The Return Journey, 26th May 1858 to 13th February 1859.
The explorers left Tanganyika for the return journey to Zanzibar on
May 26th. At Yombo, reached June 18th, Burton received a packet of
letters, which arrived from the coast, and from one he learnt of the
death of his father, which had occurred 8 months previous. Despite
his researches, Colonel Burton was not missed in the scientific
world, but his son sincerely mourned a kind-hearted and indulgent
parent. At Kazeh, Fortune, which had hitherto been so favourable,
now played Burton a paltry trick. Speke having expressed a wish to
visit the lake now called Victoria Nyanza, a sheet of water which
report declared to be larger than Tanganyika, Burton, for various
reasons, thought it wiser not to accompany him. So Speke went alone
and continued his march until he reached the lake, the dimensions of
which surpassed his most sanguine expectations. On his return to
Kazeh he at once declared that the Victoria Nyanza and its affluents
were the head waters of the Nile, and that consequently he had
discovered them. Isis (he assured Burton) was at last unveiled.
As a matter of fact he had no firmer ground for making that
statement than Burton had in giving the honour to Tanganyika,
and each clung tenaciously to his own theory. Speke, indeed, had a
very artistic eye. He not only, by guess, connected his lake with
the Nile, but placed on his map a very fine range of mountains which
had no existence--the Mountains of the Moon. However, the fact
remains that as regards the Nile his theory turned out to be the
correct one. The expedition went forward again, but his attitude
towards Burton henceforth changed. Hitherto they had been the best
of friends, and it was always "Dick" and "Jack," but now Speke
became querulous, and the mere mention of the Nile gave him offence.
Struck down with the disease called "Little Irons," he thought he
was being torn limb from limb by devils, giants, and lion-headed
demons, and he made both in his delirium and after his recovery all
kinds of wild charges against Burton, and interlarded his speech
with contumelious taunts--his chief grievance being Burton's refusal
to accept the Victoria Nyanza-Nile theory. But Burton made no
retort. On the contrary, he bore Speke's petulance with infinite
patience. Perhaps he remembered the couplet in his favourite
Beharistan:
"True friend is he who bears with all
His friend's unkindness, spite and gall."[FN#175]
There is no need for us to side either with Speke or Burton.
Both were splendid men, and their country is proud of them. Fevers,
hardships, toils, disappointments, ambition, explain everything, and
it is quite certain that each of the explorers inwardly recognised
the merit of the other. They reached Zanzibar again 4th March 1859.
Had Burton been worldly wise he would have at once returned home,
but he repeated the mistake made after the journey to Mecca and was
again to suffer from it.
Speke, on the other hand, who ever had an eye to the main chance,
sailed straight for England, where he arrived 9th May 1859. He at
once took a very unfair advantage of Burton "by calling at the Royal
Geographical Society and endeavouring to inaugurate a new
exploration" without his old chief. He was convinced, he said,
that the Victoria Nyanza was the source of the Nile, and he wished
to set the matter at rest once and for every by visiting its
northern shores. The Society joined with him Captain James A.
Grant[FN#176] and it was settled that this new expedition should
immediately be made. Speke also lectured vaingloriously at
Burlington House. When Burton arrived in London on May 21st it was
only to find all the ground cut from under him. While Speke,
the subordinate, had been welcomed like a king, he, Burton,
the chief of the expedition, had landed unnoticed. But the
bitterest pill was the news that Speke had been appointed to lead
the new expedition. And as if that was not enough, Captain Rigby,
Consul at Zanzibar, gave ear to and published the complaints of some
of Burton's dastardly native followers. Although Fortune cheated
Burton of having been the actual discoverer of the Source of the
Nile, it must never be forgotten that all the credit of having
inaugurated the expedition to Central Africa and of leading it
are his. Tanganyika--in the words of a recent writer, "is in a
very true sense the heart of Africa." If some day a powerful state
spring up on its shores, Burton will to all time be honoured as its
indomitable Columbus. In his journal he wrote proudly, but not
untruly: "I have built me a monument stronger than brass."
The territory is now German. Its future masters who shall name!
but whoever they may be, no difference can be made to Burton's
glory. Kingdoms may come and kingdoms may go, but the fame of
the truly great man speeds on for ever.
Chapter X
22nd January 1861-to August 1861
Mormons and Marriage
Bibliography:
17. The City of the Saints, 1861.
39. We rushed into each other's arms. 22nd May, 1860.
During Burton's absence Isabel Arundell tortured herself with
apprehensions and fears. Now and again a message from him reached
her, but there were huge deserts of silence. Then came the news of
Speke's return and lionization in London. She thus tells the story
of her re-union with Burton. "On May 22nd (1860), I chanced to call
upon a friend. I was told she had gone out, but would be in to tea,
and was asked to wait. In a few minutes another ring came to the
door, and another visitor was also asked to wait. A voice that
thrilled me through and through came up the stairs, saying, 'I want
Miss Arundell's address.' The door opened, I turned round,
and judge of my feelings when I beheld Richard! ..... We rushed into
each other's arms. .... We went down-stairs and Richard called a
cab, and he put me in and told the man to drive about anywhere.
He put his arm round my waist, and I put my head on his
shoulder."[FN#177] Burton had come back more like a mummy than
a man, with cadaverous face, brown-yellow skin hanging in bags,
his eyes protruding and his lips drawn away from this teeth--
the legacy of twenty-one attacks of fever.
When the question of their marriage was brought before her parents,
Mr. Arundell not only offered no impediment, but remarked: "I do not
know what it is about that man, I cannot get him out of my head.
I dream of him every night," but Mrs. Arundell still refused
consent. She reiterated her statement that whereas the Arundells
were staunch old English Catholics, Burton professed no religion at
all, and declared that his conversation and his books proclaimed him
an Agnostic. Nor is it surprising that she remained obdurate,
seeing that the popular imagination still continued to run riot over
his supposed enormities. The midnight hallucinations of De Quincey
seemed to be repeating themselves in a whole nation. He had
committed crimes worthy of the Borgias. He had done a deed which
the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. Miss Arundell boldly
defended him against her mother, though she admitted afterwards
that, circumstances considered, Mrs. Arundell's opposition was
certainly logical.
"As we cannot get your mother's consent," said Burton, "we had
better marry without it."
"No," replied Miss Arundell, "that will not do," nor could any
argument turn her.
"You and your mother have certainly one characteristic in common,"
was the comment. "You are as obstinate as mules."
Burton was not without means, for on the death of his father he
inherited some (pounds)16,000, but he threw his money about with the
recklessness of an Aladdin, and 16 million would have gone the same
way. It was all, however, or nearly all spent in the service of the
public. Every expedition he made, and every book he published left
him considerably the poorer. So eager for exploration was he that
before the public had the opportunity to read about one expedition,
he had started on another. So swiftly did he write, that before one
book had left the binders, another was on its way to the printers.
Systole, diastole, never ceasing--never even pausing. Miss Arundell
being inflexible, Burton resolved to let the matter remain nine
months in abeyance, and, inactivity being death to him, he then shot
off like a rocket to America. One day in April (1860) Miss Arundell
received a brief letter the tenor of which was as follows:--
"I am off to Salt Lake City, and shall be back in December.
Think well over our affair, and if your mind is then made up we will
marry."
Being the first intimation of his departure--for as usual there had
been no good-bye--the message gave her a terrible shock. Hope fled,
and a prostrating illness followed. The belief that he would be
killed pressed itself upon her and returned with inexplicable
insistence. She picked up a newspaper, and the first thing that met
her eye was a paragraph headed "Murder of Captain Burton."
The shock was terrible, but anxious enquiry revealed the murdered
man to be another Captain Burton, not her Richard.
40. Brigham Young. April 1860 to November 1860.
It was natural that, after seeing the Mecca of the Mohammedans,
Burton should turn to the Mecca of the Mormons, for he was always
attracted by the centres of the various faiths, moreover he wished
to learn the truth about a city and a religion that had previously
been described only by the biassed. One writer, for instance--
a lady--had vilified Mormonism because "some rude men in Salt Lake
City had walked over a bridge before her." It was scarcely the most
propitious moment to start on such a journey. The country was torn
with intestine contentions. The United States Government were
fighting the Indians, and the Mormons were busy stalking one another
with revolvers. Trifles of this kind, however, did not weigh with
Burton. After an uneventful voyage across the Atlantic, and a
conventional journey overland, he arrived at St. Joseph, popularly
St. Jo, on the Missouri. Here he clothed himself like a
backwoodsman, taking care, however, to put among this luggage a
silk hat and a frock coat in order to make an impression among the
saints. He left St. Jo on August 7th and at Alcali Lake saw the
curious spectacle of an Indian remove. The men were ill-looking,
and used vermilion where they ought to have put soap; the squaws and
papooses comported with them; but there was one pretty girl who had
"large, languishing eyes, and sleek black hair like the ears of a
King Charles Spaniel." The Indians followed Burton's waggon for
miles, now and then peering into it and crying "How! How!"
the normal salutation. His way then lay by darkling canons, rushing
streams and stupendous beetling cliffs fringed with pines.
Arrived at his destination, he had no difficulty, thanks to the good
offices of a fellow traveller, in mixing in the best Mormon Society.
He found himself in a Garden City. Every householder had from five
to ten acres in the suburbs, and one and a half close at home;
and the people seemed happy. He looked in vain, however, for the
spires of the Mormon temple which a previous writer had described
prettily as glittering in the sunlight. All he could find was
"a great hole in the ground," said to be the beginning of a
baptismal font, with a plain brick building, the Tabernacle, at a
little distance. After a service at the "Tabernacle" he was
introduced to Brigham Young, a farmer-like man of 45, who evinced
much interest in the Tanganyika journey and discussed stock,
agriculture and religion; but when Burton asked to be admitted as a
Mormon, Young replied, with a smile, "I think you've done that sort
of thing once before, Captain." So Burton was unable to add
Mormonism to his five or six other religions. Burton then told with
twinkling eyes a pitiful tale of how he, an unmarried man, had come
all the way to Salt Lake City, requiring a wife, but had found no
wives to be had, all the ladies having been snapped up by the
Saints. A little later the two men, who had taken a stroll
together, found themselves on an eminence which commanded a view
both of the Salt Lake city and the Great Salt Lake. Brigham Young
pointed out the various spots of interest, "That's Brother Dash's
house, that block just over there is occupied by Brother X's wives.
Elder Y's wives reside in the next block and Brother Z's wives in
that beyond it. My own wives live in that many-gabled house in
the middle."
Waving his right hand towards the vastness of the great Salt Lake,
Burton exclaimed, with gravity:
"Water, water, everywhere"
and then waving his left towards the city, he added, pathetically:
"But not a drop to drink."
Brigham Young, who loved a joke as dearly as he loved his seventeen
wives, burst out into hearty laughter. In his book, "The City of
the Saints," Burton assures us that polygamy was admirably suited
for the Mormons, and he gives the religious, physiological and
social motives for a plurality of wives then urged by that people.
Economy, he tells us, was one of them. "Servants are rare and
costly; it is cheaper and more comfortable to marry them.
Many converts are attracted by the prospect of becoming wives,
especially from places like Clifton, near Bristol, where there are
64 females to 36 males. The old maid is, as the ought to be,
an unknown entity."[FN#178]
Burton himself received at least one proposal of marriage there;
and the lady, being refused, spread the rumour that it was the other
way about. "Why," said Burton, "it's like
A certain Miss Baxter,
Who refused a man before he'd axed her."[FN#179]
As regards the country itself nothing struck him so much as its
analogy to Palestine. A small river runs from the Wahsatch
Mountains, corresponding to Lebanon, and flows into Lake Utah,
which represents Lake Tiberias, whence a river called the Jordan
flows past Salt Lake City into the Great Salt Lake, just as the
Palestine Jordan flows into the Dead Sea.
From Salt Lake City, Burton journeyed by coach and rail to San
Francisco, whence he returned home via Panama.
41. Marriage. 22nd January 1861.
He arrived in England at Christmas 1860, and Miss Arundell, although
her mother still frowned, now consented to the marriage. She was 30
years old, she said, and could no longer be treated as a child.
Ten years had elapsed since Burton, who was now 40, had first become
acquainted with her, and few courtships could have been more
chequered.
"I regret that I am bringing you no money," observed Miss Arundell.
"That is not a disadvantage as far as I am concerned," replied
Burton, "for heiresses always expect to lord it over their
lords."--"We will have no show," he continued, "for a grand marriage
ceremony is a barbarous and an indelicate exhibition." So the
wedding, which took place at the Bavarian Catholic Church,
Warwick Street, London, on 22nd January 1861, was all simplicity.
As they left the church Mrs. Burton called to mind Gipsy Hagar,
her couched eyes and her reiterated prophecy. The luncheon was
spread at the house of a medical friend, Dr. Bird, 49, Welbeck
Street, and in the midst of it Burton told some grisly tales of his
adventures in the Nedj and Somaliland, including an account of the
fight at Berbera.
"Now, Burton," interrupted Dr. Bird, "tell me how you feel when you
have killed a man." To which Burton replied promptly and with a sly
look, "Quite jolly, doctor! how do you?" After the luncheon Burton
and his wife walked down to their lodgings in Bury Street,
St. James's, where Mrs. Burton's boxes had been despatched in a
four-wheeler; and from Bury Street, Burton, as soon as he could pick
up a pen, wrote in his fine, delicate hand as follows to
Mr. Arundell:
"January 23 1861,[FN#180]
"Bury Street,
"St. James.
"My dear Father,
"I have committed a highway robbery by marrying your daughter
Isabel, at Warwick Street Church, and before the Registrar--
the details she is writing to her mother.
"It only remains to me to say that I have no ties or liaisons of any
sort, that the marriage is perfectly legal and respectable. I want
no money with Isabel: I can work, and it will be my care that Time
shall bring you nothing to regret.
"I am
"Yours sincerely,
"Richard F. Burton."
"There is one thing," said Burton to his wife, "I cannot do,
and that is, face congratulations, so, if you are agreeable, we will
pretend that we have been married some months." Such matters,
however, are not easy to conceal, and the news leaked out. "I am
surprised," said his cousin, Dr. Edward J. Burton, to him a few days
later, "to find that you are married." "I am myself even more
surprised than you," was the reply. "Isabel is a strong-willed
woman. She was determined to have her way and she's got it."
With Mr. Arundell, Burton speedily became a prime favourite, and his
attitude towards his daughter was Metastasio's:
"Yes, love him, love him,
He is deserving even of such infinite bliss;"
but Mrs. Arundell, poor lady, found it hard to conquer her
prejudice. Only a few weeks before her death she was heard to
exclaim, "Dick Burton is no relation of mine." Let us charitably
assume, however, that it was only in a moment of irritation.
Isabel Burton, though of larger build than most women, was still
a dream of beauty; and her joy in finding herself united to the man
she loved gave her a new radiance. Her beauty, however, was of a
rather coarse grain, and even those most attached to her remarked
in her a certain lack of refinement. She was a goddess at a
little distance.
Her admiration of her husband approached worship. She says, "I used
to like to sit and look at him; and to think 'You are mine,
and there is no man on earth the least like you.'" Their married
life was not without its jars, but a more devoted wife Burton could
not have found; and he, though certainly in his own fashion,
was sincerely and continuously attached to her. If the difference
in their religious opinions sometimes led to amusing skirmishes,
it was, on the other hand, never allowed to be a serious difficulty.
The religious question, however, often made unpleasantness between
Mrs. Burton and Lady Stisted and her daughters--who were staunch
Protestants of the Georgian and unyielding school. When the old
English Catholic and the old English Protestant met there were
generally sparks. The trouble originated partly from Mrs. Burton's
impulsiveness and want of tact. She could not help dragging in her
religion at all sorts of unseasonable times. She would introduce
into her conversation and letters remarks that a moment's reflection
would have told her could only nauseate her Protestant friends.
"The Blessed Virgin," or some holy saint or other was always
intruding on the text. Her head was lost in her heart. She was
once in terrible distress because she had mislaid some trifle that
had been touched by the Pope, though not in more distress, perhaps,
than her husband would have been had he lost his sapphire talisman,
and she was most careful to see that the lamps which she lighted
before the images of certain saints never went out. Burton himself
looked upon all this with amused complacency and observed that she
was a figure stayed somehow from the Middle Ages. If the mediaeval
Mrs. Burton liked to illuminate the day with lamps or camphorated
tapers, that, he said, was her business; adding that the light of
the sun was good enough for him. He objected at first to her going
to confession, but subsequently made no further reference to the
subject. Once, even, in a moment of weakness, he gave her five
pounds to have masses said for her dead brother; just as one might
give a child a penny to buy a top. He believed in God, and tried to
do what he thought right, fair and honourable, not for the sake of
reward, as he used to say, but simply because it was right, fair and
honourable. Occasionally he accompanied his wife to mass, and she
mentions that he always bowed his head at "Hallowed by Thy Name,"
which "shows," as Dr. Johnson would have commented, "that he had
good principles." Mrs. Burton generally called her husband "Dick,"
but frequently, especially in letters, he is "The Bird," a name
which he deserved, if only on account of his roving propensities.
Often, however, for no reason at all, she called him "Jimmy,"
and she was apt in her admiration of him and pride of possession,
to Dick and Jimmy it too lavishly among casual acquaintances.
Indeed, the tyranny of her heart over her head will force itself
upon our notice at every turn. It is pleasant to be able to state
that Mrs. Burton and Burton's "dear Louisa" (Mrs. Segrave) continued
to be the best of friends, and had many a hearty laugh over bygone
petty jealousies. One day, after calling on Mrs. Segrave, Burton
and his wife, who was dressed in unusual style, lunched with Dr. and
Mrs. E. J. Burton. "Isabel looks very smart to-day," observed
Mrs. E. J. Burton. "Yes," followed Burton, "she always wears her
best when we go to see my dear Louisa."
Burton took a pleasure in sitting up late. "Indeed," says one of
his friends, "he would talk all night in preference to going to bed,
and, in the Chaucerian style, he was a brilliant conversationalist,
and his laugh was like the rattle of a pebble across a frozen pond."
"No man of sense," Burton used to say, "rises, except in mid-summer,
before the world is brushed and broomed, aired and sunned." Later,
however, he changed his mind, and for the last twenty years of his
life he was a very early riser.
Among Burton's wedding gifts were two portraits--himself and his
wife--in one frame, the work of Louis Desanges, the battle painter
whose acquaintance he had made when a youth at Lucca. Burton
appears with Atlantean shoulders, strong mouth, penthouse eyebrows,
and a pair of enormous pendulous moustaches, which made him look
very like a Chinaman. Now was this an accident, for his admiration
of the Chinese was always intense. He regarded them as "the future
race of the East," just as he regarded the Slav as the future race
of Europe. Many years later he remarked of Gordon's troops, that
they had shown the might that was slumbering in a nation of three
hundred millions. China armed would be a colossus. Some day Russia
would meet China face to face--the splendid empire of Central Asia
the prize. The future might of Japan he did not foresee.
Says Lady Burton: "We had a glorious season, and took up our
position in Society. Lord Houghton (Monckton Milnes) was very much
attached to Richard, and he settled the question of our position by
asking his friend, Lord Palmerston, to give a party, and to let me
be the bride of the evening, and when I arrived Lord Palmerston gave
me his arm. ... Lady Russell presented me at Court 'on my
marriage.'"[FN#181]
Mrs. Burton's gaslight beauty made her the cynosure of all eyes.
42. At Lord Houghton's.
At Fryston, Lord Houghton's seat, the Burtons met Carlyle, Froude,
Mr. A. C. Swinburne, who had just published his first book,
The Queen Mother and Rosamund,[FN#182] and Vambery, the Hungarian
linguist and traveller. Born in Hungary, of poor Jewish parents,
Vambery had for years a fierce struggle with poverty. Having found
his way to Constantinople, he applied himself to the study of
Oriental languages, and at the time he visited Fryston he was
planning the most picturesque event of his life--namely, his journey
to Khiva, Bokhara and Samarcand, which in emulation of Burton he
accomplished in the disguise of a dervish.[FN#183] He told the
company some Hungarian tales and then Burton, seated cross-legged on
a cushion, recited portions of FitzGerald's adaptation of Omar
Khayyam,[FN#184] the merits of which he was one of the first to
recognise. Burton and Lord Houghton also met frequently in London,
and they corresponded regularly for many years.[FN#185] "Richard
and I," says Mrs. Burton, writing to Lord Houghton 12th August 1874,
"would have remained very much in the background if you had not
taken us by the hand and pulled us into notice." A friendship also
sprang up between Burton and Mr. Swinburne, and the Burtons were
often the guests of Mrs. Burton's uncle, Lord Gerard, who resided
at Garswood, near St. Helens, Lancashire.
Chapter XI
August 1861-November 1863
Fernando Po
Bibliography:
18. Wanderings in West Africa. 2 vols. 1863.
19. Prairie Traveller, by R. B. Marcy. Edited by Burton 1863.
20. Abeokuta and the Cameroons. 2 vols. 1863.
21. A Day among the Fans. 17th February 1863.
22. The Nile Basin, 1864.
43. African Gold.
As the result of his exceptional services to the public Burton had
hoped that he would obtain some substantial reward; and his wife
persistently used all the influence at her disposal to this end.
Everyone admitted his immense brain power, but those mysterious
rumours due to his enquiries concerning secret Eastern habits and
customs dogged him like some terrible demon. People refused to
recognise that he had pursued his studies in the interest of
learning and science. They said, absurdly enough, "A man who
studies vice must be vicious." His insubordination at various
times, his ungovernable temper, and his habit of saying out bluntly
precisely what he thought, also told against him. Then did
Mrs. Burton commence that great campaign which is her chief title to
fame--the defence of her husband. Though, as we have already shown,
a person of but superficial education; though, life through,
she never got more than a smattering of any one branch of knowledge;
nevertheless by dint of unremitting effort she eventually prevailed
upon the public to regard Burton with her own eyes. She wrote
letters to friends, to enemies, to the press. She wheedled,
she bullied, she threatened, she took a hundred other courses--
all with one purpose. She was very often woefully indiscreet,
but nobody can withhold admiration for her. Burton was scarcely a
model husband--he was too peremptory and inattentive for that--
but this self-sacrifice and hero worship naturally told on him,
and he became every year more deeply grateful to her. He laughed at
her foibles--he twitted her on her religion and her faulty English,
but he came to value the beauty of her disposition, and the goodness
of her heart even more highly than the graces of her person.
All, however, that his applications, her exertions, and the
exertions of her friends could obtain from the Foreign Secretary
(Lord Russell)[FN#186] was the Consulship of that white man's grave,
Fernando Po, with a salary of (pounds)700 a year. In other words he was
civilly shelved to a place where all his energies would be required
for keeping himself alive. "They want me to die," said Burton,
bitterly, "but I intend to live, just to spite the devils." It is
the old tale, England breeds great men, but grudges them
opportunities for the manifestation of their greatness.
The days that remained before his departure, Burton spent at various
Society gatherings, but the pleasures participated in by him and his
wife were neutralised by a great disaster, namely the loss of all
his Persian and Arabic manuscripts in a fire at Grindley's where
they had been stored. He certainly took his loss philosophically;
but he could never think of the event without a sigh.
Owing to the unwholesomeness of the climate of Fernando Po,
Mrs. Burton was, of course, unable to accompany him. They separated
at Liverpool, 24th August 1861. An embrace, "a heart wrench;"
and then a wave of the handkerchief, while "the Blackbird" African
steam ship fussed its way out of the Mersey, having on board the
British scape-goat sent away--"by the hand of a fit man"--
one "Captain English"--into the wilderness of Fernando Po.
"Unhappily," commented Burton, "I am not one of those independents
who can say ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute." The stoic,
however, after a fair fight, eventually vanquished the husband.
Still he did not forget his wife; and in his Wanderings in West
Africa, a record of this voyage, there is a very pretty compliment
to her which, however, only the initiated would recognise.
After speaking of the black-haired, black-eyed women of the South
of Europe, and giving them their due, he says, "but after a course
of such charms, one falls back with pleasure upon brown, yellow or
what is better than all, red-auburn locks and eyes of soft, limpid
blue." How the blue eyes of Mrs. Burton must have glistened when
she read those words; and we can imagine her taking one more look
in the glass to see if her hair really was red-auburn, as,
of course, it was.
Burton dedicated this work to the "True Friends" of the Dark
Continent, "not to the 'Philanthropist' or to Exeter Hall."[FN#187]
One of its objects was to give a trustworthy account of the negro
character and to point out the many mistakes that well-intentioned
Englishmen had made in dealing with it. To put it briefly, he says
that the negro[FN#188] is an inferior race, and that neither
education nor anything else can raise it to the level of the white.
After witnessing, at the Grand Bonny River, a horrid exhibition
called a Juju or sacrifice house, he wrote, "There is apparently in
this people [the negroes] a physical delight in cruelty to beast as
well as to man. The sight of suffering seems to bring them an
enjoyment without which the world is tame; probably the wholesale
murderers and torturers of history, from Phalaris and Nero
downwards, took an animal and sensual pleasure in the look of blood,
and in the inspection of mortal agonies. I can see no other
explanation of the phenomena which meet my eye in Africa. In almost
all the towns on the Oil Rivers, you see dead or dying animals in
some agonizing position."[FN#189]
Cowper had written:
"Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same;"
"which I deny," comments Burton, "affection, like love, is the fruit
of animalism refined by sentiment." He further declares that the
Black is in point of affection inferior to the brutes. "No humane
Englishman would sell his dog to a negro."[FN#190] The phrase
"God's image in ebony" lashed him to a fury.
Of his landing at Sierra Leone he gives the following
anecdote:[FN#191] "The next day was Sunday, and in the morning I had
a valise carried up to the house to which I had been invited.
When I offered the man sixpence, the ordinary fee, he demanded an
extra sixpence, 'for breaking the Sabbath.' I gave it readily,
and was pleased to find that the labours of our missionaries had
not been in vain." At Cape Coast Castle, he recalled the sad fate
of "L.E.L."[FN#192] and watched the women "panning the sand of the
shore for gold." He found that, in the hill region to the north,
gold digging was carried on to a considerable extent. "The pits,"
he says, "varying from two to three feet in diameter, and from
twelve to fifty feet deep, are often so near the roads that loss of
life has been the result. Shoring up being little known, the miners
are not infrequently buried alive. ... This Ophir, this California,
where every river is a Tmolus and a Pactolus, every hillock a
gold-field--does not contain a cradle, a puddling-machine, a quartz
crusher, a pound of mercury." That a land apparently so wealthy
should be entirely neglected by British capitalists caused Burton
infinite surprise, but he felt certain that it had a wonderful
future. His thoughts often reverted thither, and we shall find him
later in life taking part in an expedition sent out to report upon
certain of its gold fields.[FN#193]
By September 26th the "Blackbird" lay in Clarence Cove, Fernando Po;
and the first night he spent on shore, Burton, whose spirits fell,
wondered whether he was to find a grave there like that other great
African traveller, the Cornish Richard Lander.[FN#194]
44. Anecdotes.
Fernando Po,[FN#195] he tells us, is an island in which man finds it
hard to live and very easy to die. It has two aspects.
About Christmas time it is "in a state deeper than rest":
"A kind of sleepy Venus seemed Dudu."
But from May to November it is the rainy season. The rain comes
down "a sheet of solid water, and often there is lightning
accompanied by deafening peals of thunder." The capital,
Sta. Isabel, nee Clarence, did not prepossess him. Pallid men--
chiefly Spaniards--sat or lolled languidly in their verandahs,
or crawled about the baking-hot streets. Strangers fled the place
like a pestilence. Fortunately the Spanish colony were just
establishing a Sanitarium--Sta. Cecilia--400 metres above sea level;
consequently health was within reach of those who would take the
trouble to seek it; and Burton was not slow to make a sanitarium
of his own even higher up. To the genuine natives or Bubes he was
distinctly attracted. They lived in sheds without walls, and wore
nothing except a hat, which prevented the tree snakes from falling
on them. The impudence of the negroes, however, who would persist
in treating the white man not even as an equal, but as an inferior,
he found to be intolerable. Shortly after his arrival "a nigger
dandy" swaggered into the consulate, slapped him on the back in a
familiar manner, and said with a loud guffaw, "Shake hands, consul.
How d'ye do?" Burton looked steadily at the man for a few moments,
and then calling to his canoe-men said, "Hi, Kroo-boys, just throw
this nigger out of window, will you?" The boys, delighted with the
task, seized the black gentleman by his head and feet, and out of
the window he flew. As the scene was enacted on the ground floor
the fall was no great one, but it was remarked that henceforward the
niggers of Fernando Po were less condescending to the Consul.
When night fell and the fire-flies began to glitter in the orange
trees, Burton used to place on the table before him a bottle of
brandy, a box of cigars, and a bowl containing water and a
handkerchief and then write till he was weary;[FN#196] rising now
and again to wet his forehead with the handkerchief or to gaze
outside at the palm plumes, transmuted by the sheen of the moon into
lucent silver--upon a scene that would have baffled the pen even of
an Isaiah or a Virgil.
The captains of ships calling at Sta. Isabel were, it seems, in the
habit of discharging their cargoes swiftly and steaming off again
without losing a moment. As this caused both inconvenience and loss
to the merchants from its allowing insufficient time to read and
answer correspondence, they applied to Burton for remedy. After the
next ship had discharged, its captain walked into the Consulate and
exclaimed off-handedly, "Now, Consul, quick with my papers; I want
to be off." Burton looked up and replied unconcernedly: "I haven't
finished my letters." "Oh d----- your letters," cried the captain,
"I can't wait for them." "Stop a bit," cried Burton, "let's refer
to your contract," and he unfolded the paper. "According to this,
you have to stay here eighteen hours' daylight, in order to give the
merchants an opportunity of attending to their correspondence."
"Yes," followed the captain," but that rule has never been
enforced." "Are you going to stay?" enquired Burton. "No," replied
the captain, with an oath. "Very good," followed Burton. "Now I am
going straight to the governor's and I shall fire two guns. If you
go one minute before the prescribed time expires I shall send the
first shot right across your bows, and the second slap into you.
Good-day."[FN#197] The captain did not venture to test the threat;
and the merchants had henceforth no further trouble under his head.
45. Fans and Gorillas.
During his Consulship, Burton visited a number of interesting spots
on the adjoining African coasts, including Abeokuta[FN#198] and
Benin, but no place attracted him more than the Cameroon country;
and his work Two Trips to Gorilla Land[FN#199] is one of the
brightest and raciest of all his books. The Fan cannibals seem to
have specially fascinated him. "The Fan," he says "like all inner
African tribes, with whom fighting is our fox-hunting, live in a
chronic state of ten days' war. Battles are not bloody; after two
or three warriors have fallen their corpses are dragged away to be
devoured, their friends save themselves by flight, and the weaker
side secures peace by paying sheep and goats." Burton, who was
present at a solemn dance led by the king's eldest daughter,
Gondebiza, noticed that the men were tall and upright, the women
short and stout. On being addressed "Mbolane," he politely replied
"An," which in cannibal-land is considered good form. He could not,
however, bring himself to admire Gondebiza, though the Monsieur
Worth of Fanland had done his utmost for her. Still, she must have
looked really engaging in a thin pattern of tattoo, a gauze work of
oil and camwood, a dwarf pigeon tail of fan palm for an apron,
and copper bracelets and anklets. The much talked of gorilla Burton
found to be a less formidable creature than previous travellers had
reported. "The gorilla," he, says, in his matter-of-fact way, "is a
poor devil ape, not a hellish dream creature, half man, half beast."
Burton not only did not die at Fernando Po, he was not even ill.
Whenever langour and fever threatened he promptly winged his way to
his eyrie on the Pico de Sta. Isabel, where he made himself
comfortable and listened with complaisance to Lord Russell and
friends three thousand miles away fuming and gnashing their teeth.
46. The Anthropological Society, 6th Jan. 1863.
After an absence of a year and a half, Burton, as the result of his
wife's solicitation at the Foreign Office, obtained four months'
leave. He reached England in December 1862 and spent Christmas with
her at Wardour Castle, the seat of her kinsman, Lord Arundell.
His mind ran continually on the Gold Coast and its treasures.
"If you will make me Governor of the Gold Coast," he wrote to Lord
Russell, "I will send home a million a year," but in reply, Russell,
with eyes unbewitched[FN#200] observed caustically that gold was
getting too common. Burton's comment was an explosion that
terrorised everyone near him. He then amused himself by compiling
a pamphlet on West African proverbs, one of which, picked up in the
Yorubas country, ran, oddly enough: "Anger draweth arrows from the
quiver: good words draw kolas from the bag."
The principal event of this holiday was the foundation, with the
assistance of Dr. James Hunt, of the Anthropological Society of
London (6th January 1863). The number who met was eleven.
Says Burton, "Each had his own doubts and hopes and fears touching
the vitality of the new-born. Still, we knew that our case was
good. ... We all felt the weight of a great want. As a traveller
and a writer of travels I have found it impossible to publish those
questions of social economy and those physiological observations,
always interesting to our common humanity, and at times so
valuable." The Memoirs of the Anthropological Society,[FN#201]
met this difficulty. Burton was the first president, and in two
years the Society, which met at No. 4, St. Martin's Place, had 500
members. "These rooms," Burton afterwards commented, "now offer a
refuge to destitute truth. There any man, monogenist, polygenist,
eugenestic or dysgenestic, may state the truth as far as is in him."
The history of the Society may be summed up in a few words. In 1871
it united with the Enthnological Society and formed the
Anthropological Institute of Great Britain. In 1873 certain members
of the old society, including Burton, founded the London
Anthropological Society, and issued a periodical called
Anthropologia, of which Burton wrote in 1885, "My motive was to
supply travellers with an organ which would rescue their
observations from the outer darkness of manuscript and print their
curious information on social and sexual matters out of place in the
popular book intended for the Nipptisch, and indeed better kept from
public view. But hardly had we begun when 'Respectability,'
that whited sepulchre full of all uncleanness, rose up against us.
'Propriety' cried us down with her brazen, blatant voice, and the
weak-kneed brethren fell away.[FN#202] Yet the organ was much
wanted and is wanted still."[FN#203] Soon after the founding of the
Society Burton, accompanied by his wife, took a trip to Madeira and
then proceeded to Teneriffe, where they parted, he going on to
Fernando Po and she returning to England; but during the next few
years she made several journeys to Teneriffe, where, by arrangement,
they periodically met.
Chapter XII
29th November 1863 to 15th September 1865
Gelele
Bibliography:
23. A Mission to the King of Dahome. 2 vols., 1864.
24. Notes on Marcy's Prairie Traveller. Anthropological Review,
1864.
47. Whydah and its Deity. 29th November 1863.
In November 1863 the welcome intelligence reached Burton that the
British Government had appointed him commissioner and bearer of a
message to Gelele, King of Dahomey. He was to take presents from
Queen Victoria and to endeavour to induce Gelele to discontinue both
human sacrifices and the sale of slaves. Mrs. Burton sadly wanted
to accompany him. She thought that with a magic lantern and some
slides representing New Testament scenes she could convert Gelele
and his court from Fetishism to Catholicism.[FN#204] But Burton,
who was quite sure that he could get on better alone, objected that
her lantern would probably be regarded as a work of magic, and that
consequently both he and she would run the risk of being put to
death for witchcraft. So, very reluctantly, she abandoned the idea.
Burton left Fernando Po in the "Antelope" on 29th November 1863,
and, on account of the importance attached by savages to pageantry,
entered Whydah, the port of Dahomey, in some state. While waiting
for the royal permit to start up country he amused himself by
looking round the town. Its lions were the Great Market and the Boa
Temple. The latter was a small mud hut, with a thatched roof;
and of the 'boas,' which tuned out to be pythons, he counted seven,
each about five feet long. The most popular deity of Whydah,
however, was the Priapic Legba, a horrid mass of red clay moulded
into an imitation man with the abnormalities of the Roman deity.
"The figure," he tells us, "is squat, crouched, as it were, before
its own attributes, with arms longer than a gorilla's. The head is
of mud or wood rising conically to an almost pointed poll; a dab of
clay represents the nose; the mouth is a gash from ear to ear.
This deity almost fills a temple of dwarf thatch, open at the sides.
...Legba is of either sex, but rarely feminine.... In this point
Legba differs from the classical Pan and Priapus, but the idea
involved is the same. The Dahoman, like almost all semi-barbarians,
considers a numerous family the highest blessing." The peculiar
worship of Legba consisted of propitiating his or her
characteristics by unctions of palm oil, and near every native door
stood a clay Legba-pot of cooked maize and palm oil, which got eaten
by the turkey-buzzard or vulture. This loathsome fowl, perched upon
the topmost stick of a blasted calabash tree, struck Burton as the
most appropriate emblem of rotten and hopeless Dahomey.
48. The Amazons.
Gelele's permit having arrived, the mission lost no time in
proceeding northward. Burton was accompanied by Dr. Cruikshank
of the "Antelope," a coloured Wesleyan minister of Whydah, named
Bernisco, and a hundred servants. At every halting place the
natives capered before them and tabored a welcome, while at Kama,
where Gelele was staying, they not only played, but burst out with
an extemporaneous couplet in Burton's honour:
"Batunu[FN#205]he hath seen the world with its kings and caboceers,
He now cometh to Dahomey, and he shall see everything here."
Burton presently caught sight of Gelele's body-guard of 1,000 women--the
famous Amazons, who were armed with muskets, and habited in
tunics and white calottes. With great protruding lips, and no chin
to speak of, they were surely the ugliest women in the world.
Of their strength, however, there was no question, and Burton says
that all the women of Dahomey are physically superior to the men,
which accounts for the employment of so many of them as soldiers.
The Amazons were bound to celibacy, and they adhered to it so
scrupulously that when Burton arrived, there were only 150 under
confinement for breaking their vow. Gelele who was 45 years of age,
and six feet high, sat under the shade of a shed-gate, smoking a
pipe, with a throng of his wives squatted in a semi-circle round
him. All were ugly to a wonder, but they atoned for their
deplorable looks by their extreme devotion to, or rather adulation
of their master. When perspiration appeared upon the royal brow,
one of them at once removed it with the softest cloth, if his dress
was disarranged it was instantly adjusted, when he drank every lip
uttered an exclamation of blessing. Gelele, drowsy with incense,
received Burton kindly, and treated him during the whole of his stay
with hospitality. He also made some display of pageantry, though it
was but a tawdry show. At the capital, Abomey, "Batunu" was housed
with a salacious old "Afa-diviner"[FN#206] called Buko-no, who was
perpetually begging for aphrodisiacs.
49. "The Customs."
Upon Gelele's arrival at Abomey the presents from the Queen were
delivered; and on December 28th what was called "The Customs" began,
that is the slaughtering of criminals and persons captured in war.
Burton begged off some of the victims, and he declared that he would
turn back at once if any person was killed before his eyes.
He tells us, however, that in the case of the King of Dahomey,
human sacrifice is not attributable to cruelty. "It is a touching
instance of the King's filial piety, deplorably mistaken,
but perfectly sincere." The world to come is called by the Dahomans
"Deadland." It receives the 'nidon' or soul; but in "Deadland"
there are no rewards or punishments. Kings here are kings there,
the slave is a slave for ever and ever; and people occupy themselves
just the same as on earth. As the Dahoman sovereign is obliged to
enter Deadland, his pious successor takes care that the deceased
shall make this entrance in royal state, "accompanied by a ghostly
court of leopard wives, head wives, birthday wives, Afa wives,
eunuchs, singers, drummers, bards and soldiers." Consequently when
a king dies some 500 persons are put to death, their cries being
drowned by the clangour of drums and cymbals. This is called the
"Grand Customs." Every year, moreover, decorum exacts that the
firstfruits of war and all criminals should be sent as recruits to
swell the king's retinue. Hence the ordinary "Annual Customs,"
at which some 80 perish. Burton thus describes the horrors of the
approach to the "palace"--that is to say, a great thatched shed--
on the fifth day of the "Customs." "Four corpses, attired in their
criminal's shirts and night-caps, were sitting in pairs upon Gold
Coast stools, supported by a double-storied scaffold, about forty
feet high, of rough beams, two perpendiculars and as many connecting
horizontals. At a little distance on a similar erection, but made
for half the number, were two victims, one above the other.
Between these substantial structures was a gallows of thin posts,
some thirty feet tall, with a single victim hanging by the heels
head downwards." Hard by were two others dangling side by side.
The corpses were nude and the vultures were preying upon them, and
squabbling over their hideous repast. All this was grisly enough,
but there was no preventing it. Then came the Court revels.
The king danced in public, and at his request, Burton and
Dr. Cruikshank also favoured the company. Bernisco, when called
upon, produced a concertina and played "O, let us be joyful, when
we meet to part no more." The idea, however, of getting to any
place where he would never be separated from Gelele, his brutish
court, his corpses and his vultures severely tried Burton's gravity.
Gelele, who was preparing for an unprovoked attack upon Abeokuta,
the capital of the neighbouring state of Lagos, now made some
grandiose and rhapsodical war speeches and spoke vauntingly of the
deeds that he and his warriors meant to perform, while every now and
then the younger bloods, eager to flesh their spears, burst out
with:
"When we go to war we must slay men,
And so must Abeokuta be destroyed."
The leave-taking between Gelele and "Batunu" was affecting. Burton
presented his host with a few not very valuable presents, and Gelele
in return pressed upon his guest a cheap counterpane and a slave boy
who promptly absconded.
Whydah was reached again on 18th February 1864, and within a week
came news that Gelele, puffed up with confidence and vainglory,
had set out for Abeokuta, and was harrying that district. He and
his Amazons, however, being thoroughly defeated before the walls of
the town, had to return home in what to any other power would have
been utter disgrace. They manage things differently, however,
in Dahomey, for Gelele during his retreat purchased a number of
slaves, and re-entered his capital a triumphing conqueror. Burton
considered Gelele, despite his butcherings and vapourings, as,
on the whole, quite a phoenix for an African. Indeed, some months
after his mission, in conversations with Froude, the historian,
he became even warm when speaking of the lenity, benevolence and
enlightenment of this excellent king. Froude naturally enquired
why, if the king was so benevolent, he did not alter the murderous
"Customs." Burton looked up with astonishment. "Alter the
Customs!" he said, "Would you have the Archbishop of Canterbury
alter the Liturgy!"
To a friend who observed that the customs of Dahomey were very
shocking, Burton replied: "Not more so than those of England."
"But you admit yourself that eighty persons are sacrificed every
year."
"True, and the number of deaths in England caused by the crinoline
alone numbers 72."[FN#207]
50. Death of Speke, 15th September 1864.
In August 1864 Burton again obtained a few months' leave, and before
the end of the month he arrived at Liverpool. It will be remembered
that after the Burton and Speke Expedition of 1860 Speke was to go
out to Africa again in company with Captain J. Grant.
The expedition not only explored the western and northern shores of
the Victoria Nyanza, but followed for some distance the river
proceeding northwards from it, which they held, and as we now know,
correctly, to be the main stream of the Nile. Burton, however,
was still of the opinion that the honour of being the head waters of
that river belonged to Tanganyika and its affluents. The subject
excited considerable public interest and it was arranged that at the
approaching Bath meeting of the British Association, Speke and
Burton should hold a public disputation upon the great question.
Speke's attitude towards Burton in respect to their various
discoveries had all along been incapable of defence, while Burton
throughout had exhibited noble magnanimity. For example, he had
written on 27th June 1863 from the Bonny River to Staff-Commander
C. George, "Please let me hear all details about Captain Speke's
discovery. He has performed a magnificent feat and now rises at
once to the first rank amongst the explorers of the day."[FN#208]
Though estranged, the two travellers still occasionally
communicated, addressing each other, however, not as "Dear Dick"
and "Dear Jack" as aforetime--using, indeed, not "Dear" at all,
but the icy "Sir." Seeing that on public occasions Speke still
continued to talk vaingloriously and to do all in his power to
belittle the work of his old chief, Burton was naturally incensed,
and the disputation promised to be a stormy one. The great day
arrived, and no melodramatic author could have contrived a more
startling, a more shocking denouement. Burton, notes in hand,
stood on the platform, facing the great audience, his brain heavy
with arguments and bursting with sesquipedalian and sledge-hammer
words to pulverize his exasperating opponent. Mrs. Burton, who had
dressed with unusual care, occupied a seat on the platform.
"From the time I went in to the time I came out," says one who was
present, "I could do nothing but admire her. I was dazed by her
beauty." The Council and other speakers filed in. The audience
waited expectant. To Burton's surprise Speke was not there.
Silence having been obtained, the President advanced and made the
thrilling announcement that Speke was dead. He had accidentally
shot himself that very morning when out rabbiting.
Burton sank into a chair, and the workings of his face revealed the
terrible emotion he was controlling and the shock he had received.
When he got home he wept like a child. At this point the grotesque
trenches on the tragic. On recovering his calmness, Burton
expressed his opinion, and afterwards circulated it, that Speke had
committed suicide in order to avoid "the exposure of his
misstatements in regard to the Nile sources." In other words,
that Speke had destroyed himself lest arguments, subsequently proved
to be fundamentally correct, should be refuted. But it was
eminently characteristic of Burton to make statements which rested
upon insufficient evidence, and we shall notice it over and over
again in his career. That was one of the glorious man's most
noticeable failings. It would here, perhaps, be well to make a
brief reference to the expeditions that settled once and for ever
the questions about Tanganyika and the Nile. In March 1870,
Henry M. Stanley set out from Bagamoro in search of Livingstone,
whom he found at Ujiji. They spent the early months of 1872
together exploring the north end of Tanganyika, and proved
conclusively that the lake had no connection with the Nile basin.
In March 1873, Lieutenant Verney Lovett Cameron, who was appointed
to the command of an expedition to relieve Livingstone, arrived at
Unyanyembe, where he met Livingstone's followers bearing their
master's remains to the coast. Cameron then proceeded to Ujiji,
explored Tanganyika and satisfied himself that this lake was
connected with the Congo system. He then continued his way across
the continent and came out at Banguelo, after a journey which had
occupied two years and eight months, Stanley, who, in 1874, made his
famous journey from Bagamoro via Victoria Nyanza to Tanganyika and
then followed the Congo from Nyangwe, on the Lualaba, to the sea,
verified Cameron's conjecture.
At the end of the year 1864 the Burtons made the acquaintance of the
African traveller Winwood Reade; and we next hear of a visit to
Ireland, which included a day at Tuam, where "the name of Burton was
big," on account of the Rector and the Bishop,[FN#209] Burton's
grandfather and uncle.
Chapter XIII
September 1865-October 1869
Santos: Burton's Second Consulate
Bibliography:
25. Speech before the Anthropological Society. 4th April 1865.
26. Wit and Wisdom from West Africa. 1865.
27. Pictorial Pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina.
28. Psychic Facts, by Francis Baker (Burton). 1865.
29. Notes ... connected with the Dahoman. 1865.
30. On an Hermaphrodite. 1866.
31. Exploration of the Highland of the Brazil. 2 vols. 1869.
51. To Santos.
Owing mainly to Mrs. Burton's solicitation, Burton was now
transferred from Fernando Po to Santos, in Brazil, so it was no
longer necessary for him and his wife to live apart. He wrote
altogether upon his West African adventures, the enormous number of
9 volumes! namely: Wanderings in West Africa (2 vols.), Abeokuta and
the Cameroons (2 vols.), A Mission to the King of Dahome (2 vols.),
Wit and Wisdom from West Africa (1 vol.), Two Trips to Gorilla Land
and the Cataracts of the Congo (2 vols.). Remorselessly condensed,
these nine might, with artistry, have made a book worthy to live.
But Burton's prolixity is his reader's despair. He was devoid of
the faintest idea of proportion. Consequently at the present day
his books are regarded as mere quarries. He dedicated his Abeokuta
"To my best friend," my wife, with a Latin verse which has been
rendered:
"Oh, I could live with thee in the wild wood
Where human foot hath never worn a way;
With thee, my city, and my solitude,
Light of my night, sweet rest from cares by day."
In her own copy Mrs. Burton wrote close to the lines, "Thank you,
sweet love!"[FN#210]
Burton and his wife now set out for Lisbon, where they saw a bull-
fight, because Burton said people "ought to see everything once,"
though this did not prevent them from going to several other bull-
fights. Mrs. Burton was not at all afraid of the bulls, but when
some cockroaches invaded her apartment she got on a chair and
screamed, though even then they did not go away. More than that,
numbers of other cockroaches came to see what was the matter;
and they never left off coming. After "a delightful two months"
at Lisbon, Burton set out for Brazil, while his wife returned to
England "to pay and pack." She rejoined him some weeks later at Rio
Janeiro, and they reached Santos on 9th October 1865. They found it
a plashy, swampy place, prolific in mangroves and true ferns,
with here and there a cultivated patch. Settlers, however, became
attached to it. Sandflies and mosquitoes abounded, and the former
used to make Burton "come out all over lumps." Of the other vermin,
including multitudinous snakes, and hairy spiders the size of toy
terriers they took no particular notice. The amenities of the place
were wonderful orchids, brilliantly coloured parrots and gigantic
butterflies with great prismy wings. The Burtons kept a number of
slaves, whom, however, they paid "as if they were free men,"
and Mrs. Burton erected a chapel for them--her oratory--where the
Bishop "gave her leave to have mass and the sacraments." Her chief
convert, and he wanted converting very badly, was an inhuman,
pusillanimous coal-black dwarf, 35 years of age, called
Chico,[FN#211] who became her right-hand man. Just as she had made
him to all appearance a good sound Catholic she caught him roasting
alive her favourite cat before the kitchen fire. This was the
result partly of innate diablery and partly of her having spoilt
him, but wherever she went Mrs. Burton managed to get a servant
companion whom her lack of judgment made an intolerable burden
to her. Chico was only the first of a series. Mrs. Burton also
looked well after the temporal needs of the neighbourhood, but if
she was always the Lady Bountiful, she was rarely the Lady
Judicious.
52. Aubertin. Death of Steinhauser, 27th July 1866.
The Burtons resided sometimes at Santos and sometimes at Sao Paulo,
eight miles inland. These towns were just then being connected by
railway; and one of the superintendents, Mr. John James Aubertin,
who resided at Sao Paulo, became Burton's principal friend there.
Aubertin was generally known as the "Father of Cotton," because
during the days of the cotton famine, he had laboured indefatigably
and with success to promote the cultivation of the shrub in those
parts. Like Burton, Aubertin loved Camoens, and the two friends
delighted to walk together in the butterfly-haunted forests and talk
about the "beloved master," while each communicated to the other his
intention of translating The Lusiads into English. Thirteen years,
however, were to elapse before the appearance of Aubertin's
translation[FN#212] and Burton's did not see print till 1880.
In 1866 Burton received a staggering blow in the loss of his old
friend Dr. Steinhauser, who died suddenly of heart disease, during a
holiday in Switzerland, 27th July 1866. It was Steinhauser, it will
be remembered, with whom he had planned the translation of
The Arabian Nights, a subject upon which they frequently
corresponded.[FN#213]
53. The Facetious Cannibals.
Wherever Burton was stationed he invariably interested himself in
the local archaeological and historical associations. Thus at
Santos he explored the enormous kitchen middens of the aboriginal
Indians; but the chief attraction was the site of a Portuguese
fort, marked by a stone heap, where a gunner, one Hans Stade,
was carried off by the cannibals and all but eaten. Burton used to
visit the place by boat, and the narrative written by Hans Stade so
fascinated him that he induced a Santos friend, Albert Tootal,
to translate it into English. The translation was finished in 1869,
and five years later Burton wrote for it an introduction and some
valuable notes and sent it to press. Though Burton scarcely shines
as an original writer, he had a keen eye for what was good in
others, and he here showed for the first time that remarkable gift
for annotating which stood him in such stead when he came to handle
The Arabian Nights.
Hans Stade's story is so amusing that if we did not know it to be
fact we should imagine it the work of some Portuguese W. S. Gilbert.
Never were more grisly scenes or more captivating and facetious
cannibals. When they told Stade that he was to be eaten,
they added, in order to cheer him, that he was to be washed down
with a really pleasant drink called kawi. The king's son then tied
Stade's legs together in three places. "I was made," says the
wretched man, "to hop with jointed feet through the huts; at this
they laughed and said 'Here comes our meat hopping along,'"
Death seemed imminent. They did Stade, however, no injury beside
shaving off his eyebrows, though the younger savages, when hungry,
often looked wistfully at him and rubbed their midriffs. The other
prisoners were, one by one, killed and eaten, but the cannibals took
their meals in a way that showed indifferent breeding. Even the
king had no table manners whatever, but walked about gnawing a meaty
bone. He was good-natured, however, and offered a bit to Stade,
who not only declined, but uttered some words of reproof. Though
surprised, the king was not angry; he took another bite and observed
critically, with his mouth full, "It tastes good!"
Life proceeds slowly, whether at Santos or Sao Paulo, almost the
only excitement being the appearance of companies of friendly
Indians. They used to walk in single file, and on passing Burton's
house would throw out their arms as if the whole file were pulled by
a string. Burton did not confine himself to Santos, however.
He wandered all over maritime Brazil, and at Rio he lectured before
the king[FN#214] and was several times invited to be present at
banquets and other splendid gatherings. On the occasion of one of
these notable functions, which was to be followed by a dinner,
one room of the palace was set apart for the ministers to wait in
and another for the consuls. The Burtons were told not to go into
the consular room, but into the ministers' room. When, however,
they got to the door the officials refused to let them pass.
"This is the ministers' room," they said, "You cannot come here."
"Well, where am I to go?" enquired Burton.
Mrs. Burton stood fuming with indignation at the sight of the stream
of nonentities who passed in without question, but Burton cried,
"Wait a moment, my darling. I've come to see the Emperor, and see
the Emperor I will."
So he sent in his card and a message.
"What!" cried the Emperor, "a man like Burton excluded. Bring him
to me at once." So Burton and his wife were conducted to the
Emperor and Empress, to whom Burton talked so interestingly,
that they forgot all about the dinner. Meanwhile flunkeys kept
moving in and out, anxiety on their faces--the princes, ambassadors
and other folk were waiting, dinner was waiting; and the high
functionaries and dinner were kept waiting for half an hour. "Well,
I've had my revenge," said Burton to his wife when the interview was
over. "Only think of those starving brutes downstairs; but I'm
sorry on your account I behaved as I did, for it will go against all
your future 'at homes.'" At dinner the Emperor and the Empress were
most attentive to the Burtons and the Empress gave Mrs. Burton a
beautiful diamond bracelet.[FN#215]
Among Burton's admirers was a Rio gentleman named Cox, who had a
mansion near the city. One day Mr. Cox arranged a grand dinner
party and invited all his friends to meet the famous traveller.
Burton arrived early, but presently disappeared. By and by the
other guests streamed in, and after amusing themselves for a little
while about the grounds they began to enquire for Burton. But no
Burton was to be seen. At last someone happened to look up the
highest tree in the compound and there was the guest of the day high
among the branches squatting like a monkey. He had got up there,
he said, to have a little peace, and to keep on with the book he was
writing about Brazil. He came down, however, when the lunch bell
rang, for though he grumbled at all other noises, he maintained
that, somehow that sound always had a peculiar sweetness.
Wit and humour, wherever found, never failed to please Burton, and a
remark which he heard in a Brazilian police court and uttered by the
presiding magistrate, who, was one of his friends, particularly
tickled him:
"Who is this man?" demanded the magistrate, in reference to a
dissipated-looking prisoner.
"Un Inglez bebado" (a drunken Englishman), replied the constable.
"A drunken Englishman," followed the magistrate, "What a pleonasm!"
A little later Burton and his wife went down a mine which ran three
quarters of a mile into the earth. "The negret Chico," says Burton,
"gave one glance at the deep, dark pit, wrung his hands and fled the
Tophet, crying that nothing in the wide, wide world would make him
enter such an Inferno. He had lately been taught that he is a
responsible being, with an 'immortal soul,' and he was beginning to
believe it in a rough, theoretical way: this certainly did not look
like a place 'where the good niggers go.'" However, if Chico turned
coward Burton and his wife did not hesitate. But they had moments
of fearful suspense as they sank slowly down into the black abysm.
The snap of a single link in the long chain would have meant
instantaneous death; and a link had snapped but a few days previous,
with fatal results. Arrived at the bottom they found themselves in
a vast cave lighted with a few lamps--the walls black as night or
reflecting slender rays from the polished watery surface.
Distinctly Dantesque was the gulf between the huge mountain sides
which threatened every moment to fall. One heard the click and thud
of hammers, the wild chants of the borers, the slush of water.
Being like gnomes and kobolds glided hither and thither--half naked
figures muffled up by the mist. Here dark bodies, gleaming with
beaded heat drops, hung in what seemed frightful positions;
"they swung like Leotard from place to place." Others swarmed up
loose ropes like Troglodytes. It was a situation in which "thoughts
were many and where words were few."
Burton and his wife were not sorry when they found themselves above
ground again and in the sweet light of day.
54. Down the Sao Francisco.
The next event was a canoe journey which Burton made alone down the
river Sao Francisco from its source to the falls of Paulo Affonso--
and then on to the sea, a distance of 1500 miles--an astounding feat
even for him. During these adventures a stanza in his own
unpublished version of Camoens constantly cheered him:
"Amid such scenes with danger fraught and pain
Serving the fiery spirit more to flame,
Who woos bright honour, he shall ever win
A true nobility, a deathless fame:
Not they who love to lean, unjustly vain,
Upon the ancestral trunk's departed claim;
Nor they reclining on the gilded beds
Where Moscow's zebeline downy softness spreads."[FN#216]
Indeed he still continued, at all times of doubt and despondency, to
turn to this beloved poet; and always found something to encourage.
55. In Paraguay. August 15th to September 15th 1868. April 4th to
April 18th 1869.
The year before his arrival in Santos a terrible war had broken out
between Brazil, Uruguay and Argentina on the one side and Paraguay
on the other; the Paraguayan dictator Lopez II. had been defeated in
many battles and Paraguay so long, thanks to the Jesuits and
Dr. Francia, a thriving country, was gradually being reduced
to ruin. Tired of Santos, which was out of the world and led to
nothing, Burton in July 1868 sent in his resignation. Mrs. Burton
at once proceeded to England, but before following her, Burton at
the request of the Foreign Office, travelled through various parts
of South America in order to report the state of the war.
He visited Paraguay twice, and after the second journey made his way
across the continent to Arica in Peru, whence he took ship to London
via the Straits of Magellan.[FN#217] During part of the voyage he
had as fellow traveller Arthur Orton, the Tichborne claimant.
As both had spent their early boyhood at Elstree they could had they
so wished have compared notes, but we may be sure Mr. Orton
preserved on that subject a discreet silence. The war terminated in
March 1870, after the death of Lopez II. at the battle of Aquidaban.
Four-fifths of the population of Paraguay had perished by sword
or famine.
Chapter XIV
October 1869-16th August 1871
"Emperor and Empress of Damascus."
Bibliography:
32. Vikram and the Vampire.
33. Letters from the Battlefields of Paraguay. 1870.
34. Proverba Communia Syriaca. 1871.
35. The Jew. Written 1871, published 1898.
56. Archbishop Manning and the Odd Fish.
Mrs. Burton had carried with her to England several books written
by her husband in Brazil, and upon her arrival she occupied herself
first in arranging for their publication, and secondly in trying to
form a company to work some Brazilian mines for which Burton had
obtained a concession. The books were The Highlands of Brazil
(2 vols. 1869), The Lands of the Cazembe (1873) and Iracema,
or Honey Lips, a translation from the Brazilian (1886).
We hear no more of the mines, but she was able to send her husband
"the excellent news of his appointment to the Consulate of
Damascus." He heard of it first, however, not from her letter,
but casually in a cafe at Lima, just as he was preparing to return
home. On arriving in England almost his first business was to
patent a pistol which he had invented especially for the use of
travellers, and then he and Mrs. Burton gave themselves the pleasure
of calling on old friends and going into society. To this date
should, perhaps, be assigned the story[FN#218] of Archbishop,
afterwards Cardinal Manning, and the Odd Fish. Burton had just
presented to the Zoological Gardens a curious fish which lived out
of water, and took but little nourishment. He had often presented
different creatures to the Zoo, though nobody had ever thanked him,
but this gift created some commotion, and "Captain Burton's Odd
Fish" became the talk of London.
In the midst of its popularity Burton one day found himself seated
at a grand dinner next to his good friend the long, lean and
abstemious Archbishop Manning. But much as Burton liked Manning,
he could never bear to be near him at meal times. Manning always
would eat little and talk much; so Burton, who was a magnificent
trencherman, suffered serious inconvenience, and the present
occasion proved no exception. It was in vain that Burton urged the
Archbishop to mortify himself by eating his dinner. After a while
Mrs. Burton, who sat on the other side of the Archbishop, remarked
"Richard must take you to the Zoo and show you his famous fish."
"I'll certainly go," said Manning, turning to Burton, "I am really
curious to see it." "Then my Lord," followed Burton, "there will be
a pair of odd fish. You know, you neither eat nor drink, and that's
the peculiarity of the other fish."
As usual when in England, Burton spoke at several public meetings,
and Mrs. Burton, of whose appearance he continued to be justifiably
proud, generally accompanied him on the platform. Before speaking
he always ate sparingly, saying "No" to almost everything. On one
of such evenings he was the guest of Dr. Burton, and by chance,
hot curry, his favourite dish, was placed on the table. "Now this
is real wickedness, cousin," he exclaimed, "to have hot curry when
I can't eat it." When dinner was nearly over somebody came in with
a basket of damask roses. "Ask for two of them," whispered Burton
to his wife. She did, and appeared with them in her bosom on the
platform, "And oh," added my informer, "how handsome she looked!"
Having visited Uriconium, the English Pompeii, the Burtons made for
Vichy, where they met Mr. Swinburne, (Sir) Frederick Leighton and
Mrs. Sartoris. His companions on this journey, as on so many
others, were two books--one being the anodynous Camoens, the other
a volume consisting of the Bible, Shakespeare and Euclid bound
together, which looked, with its three large clasps, like a
congested Church Service. Mrs. Burton then returned to England
"to pay and pack," while Burton, "being ignorant" as they say in
the Nights, "of what lurked for him in the secret purpose of God,"
proceeded to Damascus, with two bull-terriers, descendants,
no doubt, of the Oxford beauty.
57. 3rd Consulate, Damascus.
Mrs. Burton followed in December, with her entire fortune--a modest
(pounds)300 in gold, and life promised to be all labdanum. Disliking the
houses in Damascus itself, the Burtons took one in the suburb
El Salahiyyah; and here for two years they lived among white domes
and tapering minarets, palms and apricot trees. Midmost the court,
with its orange and lemon trees, fell all day the cool waters of a
fountain. The principal apartments were the reception room,
furnished with rich Eastern webs, and a large dining room, while a
terrace forming part of the upper storey served as "a pleasant
housetop in the cool evenings." The garden, with its roses,
jessamine, vines, citron, orange and lemon trees, extended to that
ancient river, the jewel-blue Chyrsorrhoa. There was excellent
stabling, and Mrs. Burton kept horses, donkeys, a camel, turkeys,
bull-terriers, street dogs, ducks, leopards, lambs, pigeons, goats,
and, to use Burton's favourite expression, "other notions." They
required much patient training, but the result was satisfactory,
for when most of them had eaten one another they became a really
harmonious family.
If Mrs. Burton went abroad to the bazaar or elsewhere she was
accompanied by four Kawwasses in full dress of scarlet and gold,
and on her reception day these gorgeous attendants kept guard.
Her visitors sat on the divans cross-legged or not according to
their nation, smoked, drank sherbet and coffee, and ate sweetmeats.
For Ra'shid Pasha, the Wali or Governor-General of Syria, both
Burton and his wife conceived from the first a pronounced antipathy.
He was fat and indolent, with pin-point eyes, wore furs, walked on
his toes, purred and looked like "a well-fed cat." It did not,
however, occur to them just then that he was to be their evil
genius.
"Call him Ra'shid, with the accent on the first syllable," Burton
was always careful to say when speaking of this fiendish monster,
"and do not confound him with (Haroun al) Rashi'd, accent on the
second syllable--'the orthodox,' the 'treader in the right
path.'"[FN#219]
58. Jane Digby el Mezrab.
At an early date Burton formed a friendship with the Algerine hero
and exile Abd el Kadir, a dark, kingly-looking man who always
appeared in snow white and carried superbly-jewelled arms;
while Mrs. Burton, who had a genius for associating herself with
undesirable persons, took to her bosom the notorious and polyandrous
Jane Digby el Mezrab.[FN#220] This lady had been the wife first of
Lord Ellenborough, who divorced her, secondly of Prince
Schwartzenberg, and afterwards of about six other gentlemen.
Finally, having used up Europe, she made her way to Syria, where she
married a "dirty little black"[FN#221] Bedawin shaykh. Mrs. Burton,
with her innocent, impulsive, flamboyant mind, not only grappled
Jane Digby with hoops of steel, but stigmatised all the charges
against her as wilful and malicious. Burton, however, mistrusted
the lady from the first. Says Mrs. Burton of her new friend,
"She was a most beautiful woman, though sixty-one, tall, commanding,
and queen-like. She was grande dame jusqu' au bout des doights,
as much as if she had just left the salons of London and Paris,
refined in manner, nor did she ever utter a word you could wish
unsaid. She spoke nine languages perfectly, and could read and
write in them. She lived half the year in Damascus and half with
her husband in his Bedawin tents, she like any other Bedawin woman,
but honoured and respected as the queen of her tribe, wearing one
blue garment, her beautiful hair in two long plaits down to the
ground, milking the camels, serving her husband, preparing his food,
sitting on the floor and washing his feet, giving him his coffee;
and while he ate she stood and waited on him: and glorying in it.
She looked splendid in Oriental dress. She was my most intimate
friend, and she dictated to me the whole of her biography."[FN#222]
Both ladies were inveterate smokers, and they, Burton, and Abd el
Kadir spent many evenings on the terrace of the house with their
narghilehs. Burton and his wife never forgot these delightsome
causeries. Swiftly, indeed, flew the happy hours when they
"Nighted and dayed in Damascus town."[FN#223]
59. To Tadmor.
Burton had scarcely got settled in Damascus before he expressed his
intention of visiting the historic Tadmor in the desert. It was an
eight days' journey, and the position of the two wells on the way
was kept a secret by Jane Digby's tribe, who levied blackmail on all
visitors to the famous ruins. The charge was the monstrous one of
(pounds)250; but Burton--at all times a sworn foe to cupidity--resolved to
go without paying. Says Mrs. Burton, "Jane Digby was in a very
anxious state when she heard this announcement, as she knew it was
a death blow to a great source of revenue to the tribe. .. She did
all she could to dissuade us, she wept over our loss, and she told
us that we should never come back." Finally the subtle lady dried
her crocodile eyes and offered her "dear friends" the escort of one
of her Bedawin, that they might steer clear of the raiders and be
conducted more quickly to water, "if it existed." Burton motioned
to his wife to accept the escort, and Jane left the house with
ill-concealed satisfaction. The Bedawi[FN#224] in due time arrived,
but not before he had been secretly instructed by Jane to lead the
Burtons into ambush whence they could be pounced upon by the tribe
and kept prisoners till ransomed. That, however, was no more than
Burton had anticipated; consequently as soon as the expedition was
well on the road he deprived the Bedawi of his mare and
accoutrements, and retained both as hostages until Damascus should
be reached again. Appropriately enough this occurred on April the
First.[FN#225] Success rewarded his acuteness, for naturally the
wells were found, and the travellers having watered their camels
finished the journey with comfort. Says Mrs. Burton, "I shall never
forget the imposing sight of Tadmor. There is nothing so deceiving
as distance in the desert. ... A distant ruin stands out of the sea
of sand, the atmosphere is so clear that you think you will reach it
in half an hour; you ride all day and you never seem to get any
nearer to it." Arrived at Tadmor they found it to consist of a few
orchards, the imposing ruins, and a number of wretched huts
"plastered like wasps' nests within them." Of the chief ruin,
the Temple of the Sun, one hundred columns were still standing and
Burton, who set his men to make excavations, found some statues,
including one of Zenobia. The party reached Damascus again after an
absence of about a month. The Bedawi's mare was returned; and Jane
Digby had the pleasure of re-union with her dear Mrs. Burton,
whom she kissed effusively.
Both Burton and his wife mingled freely with the people of Damascus,
and Burton, who was constantly storing up knowledge against his
great edition of The Arabian Nights, often frequented the Arabic
library.[FN#226] Their favourite walk was to the top of an adjacent
eminence, whence they could look down on Damascus, which lay in the
light of the setting sun, "like a pearl." Then there were
excursions to distant villages of traditionary interest, including
Jobar, where Elijah is reputed to have hidden, and to have anointed
Hazael.[FN#227] "The Bird," indeed, as ever, was continually on the
wing, nor was Mrs. Burton less active. She visited, for example,
several of the harems in the city, including that of Abd el Kadir.
"He had five wives," she says, "one of them was very pretty.
I asked them how they could bear to live together and pet each
other's children. I told them that in England, if a woman thought
her husband had another wife or mistress, she would be ready to kill
her. They all laughed heartily at me, and seemed to think it a
great joke."[FN#228] She also took part in various social and
religious functions, and was present more than once at a
circumcision--at which, she tells us, the victim, as Westerns must
regard him, was always seated on richest tapestry resembling a bride
throne, while his cries were drowned by the crash of cymbals.
Burton's note-books, indeed, owed no mean debt to her zealous
co-operation.
60. Palmer and Drake. 11th July 1870.
The Burtons spent their summer in a diminutive Christian village
called B'ludan, on the Anti-Lebanon, at the head of the Vale of
Zebedani, Burton having chosen it as his sanitarium. A beautiful
stream with waterfalls bubbled through their gardens, which
commanded magnificent views of the Lebanon country. As at Santos,
Mrs. Burton continued her role of Lady Bountiful, and she spent many
hours making up powders and pills. Although in reality nobody was
one jot the better or the worse for taking them, the rumour
circulated that they were invariably fatal. Consequently her
reputation as a doctor spread far and wide. One evening a peasant
woman who was dying sent a piteous request for aid, and Mrs. Burton,
who hurried to the spot, satisfied the poor soul by the
administration of some useless but harmless dose. Next morning
the woman's son appeared. He thanked Mrs. Burton warmly for her
attentions, said it was his duty to report that his mother was dead,
and begged for a little more of the efficacious white powder,
as he had a bedridden grandmother of whom he was also anxious
to be relieved.
One piping hot morning[FN#229] when walking in his garden Burton
noticed a gipsy tent outside, and on approaching it found two
sun-burnt Englishmen, a powerful, amiable-looking giant, and a
smaller man with a long beard and silky hair. The giant turned out
to be Charles Tyrwhitt Drake and the medium-sized man Edward Henry
Palmer, both of whom were engaged in survey work. Drake, aged 24,
was the draughtsman and naturalist; Palmer,[FN#230] just upon 30,
but already one of the first linguists of the day,
the archaeologist. Palmer, like Burton, had leanings towards
occultism; crystal gazing, philosopher's stone hunting.
After making a mess with chemicals, he would gaze intently at it,
and say excitedly: "I wonder what will happen"--an expression that
was always expected of him on such and all other exciting occasions.
A quadruple friendship ensued, and the Burtons, Drake and Palmer
made several archaeological expeditions together. To Palmer's
poetical eyes all the Lebanon region was enchanted ground. Here the
lovely Shulamite of the lovelier Scripture lyric fed her flocks by
the shepherd's tents. Hither came Solomon, first disguised as a
shepherd, to win her love, and afterwards in his royal litter
perfumed with myrrh and frankincense to take her to his Cedar House.
This, too, was the country of Adonis. In Lebanon the wild boar
slew him, and yonder, flowing towards "holy Byblus," were
"the sacred waters where the women of the ancient mysteries came to
mingle their tears."[FN#231] Of this primitive and picturesque but
wanton worship they were reminded frequently both by relic and place
name. To Palmer, viewing them in the light of the past, the Cedars
of Lebanon were a poem, but to Burton--a curious mixture of the
romantic and the prosaic--with his invariable habit of underrating
famous objects, they were "a wretched collection of scraggy
Christmas trees." "I thought," said Burton, "when I came here that
Syria and Palestine would be so worn out that my occupation as an
explorer was clean gone." He found, however, that such was not the
case--all previous travellers having kept to the beaten tracks;
Jaydur, for example, the classical Ituraea, was represented on the
maps by "a virgin white patch." Burton found it teeming with
interest. There was hardly a mile without a ruin--broken pillars,
inscribed slabs, monoliths, tombs. A little later he travelled as
far northward as Hamah[FN#232] in order to copy the uncouth
characters on the famous stones, and Drake discovered an altar
adorned with figures of Astarte and Baal.[FN#233] Everywhere
throughout Palestine he had to deplore the absence of trees.
"Oh that Brigham Young were here!" he used to say, "to plant
a million. The sky would then no longer be brass, or the face
of the country a quarry." Thanks to his researches, Burton has made
his name historical in the Holy Land, for his book Unexplored
Syria--written though it be in a distressingly slipshod style--throws,
from almost every page, interesting light on the Bible. "Study of
the Holy Land," he said, "has the force of a fifth Gospel, not only
because it completes and harmonises, but also because it makes
intelligible the other four. Oh, when shall we have a reasonable
version of Hebrew Holy Writ which will retain the original names
of words either untranslatable or to be translated only by guess
work!"[FN#234] One of their adventures--with a shaykh named
Salameh--reads like a tale out of The Arabian Nights. Having led
them by devious paths into an uninhabited wild, Salameh announced that,
unless they made it worth his wile to do otherwise, he intended to
leave them there to perish, and it took twenty-five pounds to
satisfy the rogue's cupidity. Palmer, however, was of opinion that
an offence of this kind ought by no means to be passed over, so on
reaching Jerusalem he complained to the Turkish governor and asked
that the man might receive punishment. "I know the man," said the
Pasha, "he is a scoundrel, and you shall see an example of the
strength and equity of the Sultan's rule;" and of course, Palmer,
in his perpetual phrase, wondered what would happen. After their
return to Damascus the three friends had occasion to call on Rashid
Pasha. "Do you think," said the Wali, with his twitching moustache
and curious, sleek, unctuous smile, "do you think you would know
your friend again?" He then clapped his hands and a soldier brought
in a sack containing four human heads, one of which had belonged to
the unfortunate Salameh. "Are you satisfied?" enquired
the Wali.[FN#235]
61. Khamoor.
Having been separated from "that little beast of a Brazilian"--
the cat-torturing Chico--Mrs. Burton felt that she must have another
confidential servant companion. Male dwarfs being so unsatisfactory
she now decided to try a full-sized human being, and of the other
sex. At Miss Ellen Wilson's Protestant Mission in Anti-Lebanon
she saw just her ideal--a lissom, good-looking Syrian maid,
named Khamoor, or "The Moon." Chico the Second (or shall we say
Chica[FN#236] the First.) had black plaits of hair confined by a
coloured handkerchief, large, dark, reflulgent eyes, pouting lips,
white teeth, of which she was very proud, "a temperament which was
all sunshine and lightning in ten minutes," and a habit of
discharging, quite unexpectedly, a "volley of fearful oaths."
She was seventeen--"just the time of life when a girl requires
careful guiding." So Mrs. Burton, or "Ya Sitti," as Khamoor called
her, promptly set about this careful guiding--that is to say she
fussed and petted Khamoor till the girl lost all knowledge of her
place and became an intolerable burden. Under Mrs. Burton's
direction she learnt to wear stays[FN#237] though this took a good
deal of learning; and also to slap men's faces and scream when they
tried to kiss her. By dint of practice she in time managed this
also to perfection. Indeed, she gave up, one by one, all her
heathenish ways, except swearing, and so became a well-conducted
young lady, and almost English. Mrs. Burton was nothing if not a
woman with a mission, and henceforward two cardinal ideas swayed her
namely, first to inveigle the heathen into stays, and secondly,
to induce them to turn Catholics. Her efforts at conversion were
more or less successful, but the other propaganda had, to her real
sorrow, only barren results.
In March 1871, Charles Tyrwhitt Drake, who had spent some months in
England, arrived again in Damascus, and the Burtons begged him to be
their permanent guest. Henceforth Mrs. Burton, Burton and Drake
were inseparable companions, and they explored together "almost
every known part of Syria." Mrs. Burton used to take charge of the
camp "and visited the harems to note things hidden from mankind,"
Drake sketched and collected botanical and geological specimens,
while Burton's studies were mainly anthropological and
archaeological. They first proceeded to Jerusalem, where they spent
Holy Week, and after visiting Hebron, the Dead Sea, and other
historical spots, they returned by way of Nazareth. But here they
met with trouble. Early in his consulate, it seems, Burton had
protested against some arbitrary proceedings on the part of the
Greek Bishop of Nazareth, and thus made enemies among the Greeks.
Unhappily, when the travellers appeared this ill-feeling led a posse
of Nazarenes to make an attack on Burton's servants; and Burton and
Drake, who ran half dressed out of their tents to see what was the
matter, were received with a shower of stones, and cries of "Kill
them!" Burton stood perfectly calm, though the stones hit him right
and left, and Drake also displayed cool bravery. Mrs. Burton then
hastened up with "two six shot revolvers," but Burton, having waved
her back--snatched a pistol from the belt of one of his servants and
fired it into the air, with the object of summoning his armed
companions, whereupon the Greeks, though they numbered at least a
hundred and fifty, promptly took to their heels. Out of this
occurrence, which Burton would have passed over, his enemies, as we
shall see, subsequently made considerable capital. The party then
proceeded to the Sea of Galilee, whence they galloped across "their
own desert" home. During these travels Burton and Drake made some
valuable discoveries and saw many extraordinary peoples, though none
more extraordinary than the lazy and filthy Troglodytes of the
Hauran,[FN#238] who shared the pre-historic caves with their cows
and sheep, and fed on mallows just as their forefathers are
represented as having done in the vivid thirtieth chapter of
Job,[FN#239] and in the pages of Agatharchides.[FN#240]
62. The Shazlis.
Mrs. Burton now heard news that fired her with joy. A sect of the
Mohammedans called Shazlis used to assemble in the house of one of
their number of Moslem prayer, reading and discussion. One day they
became conscious of a mysterious presence among them. They heard
and saw things incommunicably strange, and a sacred rapture diffused
itself among them. Their religion had long ceased to give them
satisfaction, and they looked anxiously round in search of a better.
One night when they were overcome by sleep there appeared to each a
venerable man with a long white beard, who said sweetly, "Let those
who want the truth follow me," and forthwith they resolved to search
the earth until they found the original of the vision. But they had
not to go far. One of them chancing to enter a monastery in
Damascus noticed a Spanish priest named Fray Emanuel Forner.
Hurrying back to his comrades he cried "I have seen the oldster of
the dreams." On being earnestly requested to give direction,
Forner became troubled, and with a view to obtaining advice,
hurried to Burton. Both Burton and his wife listened to the tale
with breathless interest. Mrs. Burton naturally wanted to sweep
the whole sect straightway into the Roman Church, and it is said
that she offered to be sponsor herself to 2,000 of them. In any
circumstances, she distributed large numbers of crucifixes and
rosaries. Burton, who regarded nine-tenths of the doctrines of her
church as a tangle of error, was nevertheless much struck with the
story. He had long been seeking for a perfect religion, and he
wondered whether these people had not found it. Here in this city
of Damascus, where Our Lord had appeared to St. Paul, a similar
apparition had again been seen--this time by a company of earnest
seekers after truth. He determined to investigate. So disguised
as a Shazli, he attended their meetings and listened while Forner
imparted the principal dogmas of the Catholic faith. His common
sense soon told him that the so-called miraculous sights were merely
hallucinations, the outcome of heated and hysterical imagination.
He sympathised with the Shazlis in that like himself they were
seekers after truth, and there, as far as he was concerned,
the matter would have ended had the scenes been in any other
country. But in Syria religious freedom was unknown, and the cruel
Wali Rashid Pasha was only too delighted to have an opportunity to
use his power. He crushed where he could not controvert. Twelve of
the leading Shazlis--the martyrs, as they were called--were seized
and imprisoned. Forner died suddenly; as some think, by poison.
This threw Burton, who hated oppression in all its forms, into a
towering rage, and he straightway flung the whole of his weight into
the cause of the Shazlis. Persecution gave them holiness. He wrote
to Lord Granville that there were at least twenty-five thousand
Christians longing secretly for baptism, and he suggested methods by
which they might be protected. He also recommended the Government
to press upon the Porte many other reforms. Both Burton and his
wife henceforward openly protected the Shazlis, and in fact made
themselves, to use the words of a member of the English Government,
"Emperor and Empress of Damascus."
That Rashid Pasha and his crawling myrmidons were rascals of the
first water and that the Shazlis were infamously treated is very
evident. It is also clear that Burton was more just than
diplomatic. We cannot, however, agree with those who lay all the
blame on Mrs. Burton. We may not sympathise with her religious
views, but, of course, she had the same right to endeavour to extend
her own church as the Protestants at Beyrout, who periodically sent
enthusiastic agents to Damascus, had to extend theirs.
The Shazli trouble alone, however, would not have shaken seriously
Burton's position; and whatever others may have thought, it is
certain Burton himself never at any time in his life considered that
in this matter any particular blame attached to his wife.
But unfortunately the Shazli trouble was only one of a series.
Besides embroiling himself with the truculent Rashid Pasha and his
underlings, Burton contrived to give offence to four other bodies
of men. In June, 1870, Mr. Mentor Mott, the kind and
charitable[FN#241] superintendent of the British Syrian School
at Beyrout, went to Damascus to proselytize, and acted, in Burton's
opinion, with some indiscretion. Deeming Damascus just then to be
not in a temper for proselytising, Burton reprimanded him, and thus
offended the Protestant missionaries and Mr. Jackson Eldridge,
the Consul-General at Beyrout. In Burton's opinion, but for
Mrs. Mott the storm would have gradually subsided. That lady,
however, took the matter more to heart than her husband, and was
henceforth Burton's implacable enemy. Then arose a difficulty with
the Druzes, who had ill-treated some English missionaries. As they
were Turkish subjects the person to act was Rashid Pasha, but Burton
and he being at daggers drawn, Burton attempted to fine the Druzes
himself. He was reminded, however, that his power was limitary,
and that he would not be allowed to exceed it. To the trouble with
the Greeks we have already referred. But his chief enemies were the
Jews, or rather the Jewish money-lenders, who used to go to the
distressed villages, offer money, keep all the papers, and allow
their victims nothing to show. Interest had to be paid over and
over again. Compound interest was added, and when payment was
impossible the defaulters were cast into prison. Burton's
predecessor had been content to let matters alone, but Burton's
blood boiled when he thought of these enormities. Still, when the
money-lenders came to him and stated their case, he made for a time
an honest attempt to double; but ultimately his indignation got the
better of his diplomacy, and with an oath that made the windows
rattle, he roared, "Do you think I am going to be bum-bailiff to a
parcel of blood-suckers!" And yet these gentlemen had sometimes,
in their moderation, charged as little as sixty per cent.
Henceforward Burton looked evil upon the whole Jewish race,
and resolved to write a book embodying his researches respecting
them and his Anti-Semite opinions. For the purpose of it he made
minute enquiries concerning the death of one Padre Tommaso, whom the
Jews were suspected of having murdered in 1840. These enquiries
naturally have his foes further umbrage, and they in return angrily
discharge their venom at him. In his book The Jew, published after
his death,[FN#242] he lashes the whole people. He seems in its
pages to be constantly running up and down with a whip and saying:
"I'll teach you to be 'an Ebrew Jew,' I will." His credulity and
prejudice are beyond belief. He accepts every malicious and
rancorous tale told against the Jews, and records as historical
facts even such problematical stories as the murder of Hugh of
Lincoln. Thus he managed to exasperate representatives of almost
every class. But perhaps it was his championship of the Shazlis
that made the most mischief. Says Lady Burton, "It broke his
career, it shattered his life, it embittered him towards religion."
Complaints and garbled stories reached London from all sides,
and Burton was communicated with. He defended himself manfully,
and showed that in every question he had been on the side of
righteousness and equity, that he had simply fought systematically
against cruelty, oppression and nefariousness. He could not and
would not temporize. An idea of the corruption prevalent at
Damascus may be fathered from the fact that on one occasion (pounds)10,000
was promised him if he would "give an opinion which would have
swayed a public transaction." Says Lady Burton, "My husband let the
man finish, and then he said, 'If you were a gentleman of my own
standing, and an Englishman, I would just pitch you out of the
window; but as you are not, you may pick up your (pounds)10,000 and walk
down the stairs.'"[FN#243]
63. The Recall. 16th August 1871.
Accusations, many of them composed of the bluest gall; and manly
letters of defence from Burton now flew almost daily from Damascus
to England. The Wali, the Jews and others all had their various
grievances. As it happened, the British Government wanted,
just then, above all things, peace and quiet. If Burton could have
managed to jog along in almost any way with the Wali, the Druzes,
the Greeks, the Jews and the other factors in Syria, there would
have been no trouble. As to whether Burton was right or wrong in
these disputes, the Government seems not to have cared a straw or
to have given a moment's thought. Here, they said, is a man who
somehow has managed to stir up a wasp's nest, and who may embroil us
with Turkey. This condition of affairs must cease. Presently came
the crash. On August 16th just as Burton and Tyrwhitt Drake were
setting out for a ride at B'ludan, a messenger appeared and handed
Burton a note. He was superseded. The blow was a terrible one, and
for a moment he was completely unmanned. He hastened to Damascus in
the forlorn hope that there was a mistake. But it was quite true,
the consulship had been given to another.
To his wife he sent the message, "I am superseded. Pay, pack,
and follow at convenience." Then he started for Beirut, where she
joined him. "After all my service," wrote Burton in his journal,
"ignominiously dismissed at fifty years of age." One cry only kept
springing from Mrs. Burton's lips, "Oh, Rashid Pasha! Oh, Rashid
Pasha!"
At Damascus Burton had certainly proved himself a man of
incorruptible integrity. Even his enemies acknowledged his probity.
But this availed nothing. Only two years had elapsed since he had
landed in Syria, flushed with high premonitions; now he retired a
broken man, shipwrecked in hope and fortune. When he looked back on
his beloved Damascus--"O, Damascus, pearl of the East"--it was with
the emotion evinced by the last of the Moors bidding adieu to
Granada, and it only added to his exasperation when he imagined the
exultation of the hated Jews, and the sardonic grin on the sly,
puffy, sleek face of Rashid Pasha.
Just before Mrs. Burton left B'ludan an incident occurred which
brings her character into high relief. A dying Arab boy was brought
to her to be treated for rheumatic fever. She says, "I saw that
death was near. ... 'Would you like to see Allah?' I said, taking
hold of his cold hand. ... I parted his thick, matted hair,
and kneeling, I baptised him from the flask of water I always
carried at my side. 'What is that?' asked his grandmother after
a minute's silence. 'It is a blessing,' I answered, 'and may do
him good!'"[FN#244] The scene has certain points in common with
that enacted many years after in Burton's death chamber. Having
finished all her "sad preparations at B'ludan," Mrs. Burton "bade
adieu to the Anti-Lebanon with a heavy heart, and for the last time,
choking with emotion, rode down the mountain and through the Plain
of Zebedani, with a very large train of followers."--"I had a
sorrowful ride," says she, "into Damascus. Just outside the city
gates I met the Wali, driving in state, with all his suite.
He looked radiant, and saluted me with much empressement. I did not
return his salute."[FN#245]
It is satisfactory to know that Rashid Pasha's triumph was
short-lived. Within a month of Burton's departure he was recalled
by the Porte and disgraced. Not only so but every measure which
Burton had recommended during his consulship was ordered to be
carried out, and "The reform was so thorough and complete, that Her
Majesty's Ambassador at Constantinople was directed officially to
compliment the Porte upon its newly initiated line of progress."
But nobody thanked, or even though of Burton. On the occasion of
his departure Burton received shoals of letters from prominent men
of "every creed, race and tongue," manifesting sorrow and wishing
him God-speed. Delightful, indeed, was the prologue of that from
Abd El Kadir: "Allah," it ran, "favour the days of your far-famed
learning, and prosper the excellence of your writing. O wader of
the seas of knowledge, O cistern of learning of our globe, exalted
above his age, whose exaltation is above the mountains of increase
and our rising place, opener by his books of night and day,
traveller by ship and foot and horse, one whom none can equal in
travel." The letter itself was couched in a few simple, heartfelt
words, and terminated with "It is our personal friendship to you
which dictates this letter." "You have departed," wrote a Druze
shaykh, "leaving us the sweet perfume of charity and noble conduct
in befriending the poor and supporting the weak and oppressed,
and your name is large on account of what God has put into
your nature."
Some of the authorities at home gave out that one of the reasons for
Burton's recall was that his life was in danger from the bullets of
his enemies, but Burton commented drily: "I have been shot at,
at different times, by at least forty men who fortunately could not
shoot straight. Once more would not have mattered much."
Chapter XV
16th August 1871-4th June 1872
"The Blackness of Darkness"
64. With Sir H. Stisted at Norwood. August 1871.
Arrived in England Burton went straight to his sister's at Norwood.
His dejection was abysmal. Says Miss Stisted, "Strong, brave man
though he was, the shock of his sudden recall told upon him cruelly.
Not even during his last years, when his health had all but given
way, was he so depressed. Sleep being impossible, he used to sit
up, sometimes alone, sometimes with Sir H. Stisted, until the small
hours of the morning, smoking incessantly. Tragedy was dashed with
comedy; one night a terrible uproar arose. The dining-room windows
had been left open, the candles alight, and the pug asleep under the
table forgotten. A policeman, seeing the windows unclosed, knocked
incessantly at the street door, the pug awoke and barked himself
hoarse, and everyone clattered out of his or her bedroom to
ascertain the cause of the disturbance. My uncle had quite
forgotten that in quiet English households servants retire to rest
before 3 a.m."[FN#246] Subsequently Lady Stisted and her daughters
resided at Folkestone, and thenceforth they were "the Folky Folk."
Burton also took an early opportunity to visit his brother,
and tried to lead him into conversation; but nothing could break
that Telamonian silence.
65. Reduced to (pounds)15.
Mrs. Burton, who had returned to Damascus "to pay and pack,"
now arrived in England, bringing with her very imprudently her
Syrian maid Khamoor. The (pounds)16,000 left by Burton's father, the (pounds)300
Mrs. Burton took out with her, and the Damascus (pounds)1,200 a year,
all had been spent. Indeed, Mrs. Burton possessed no more than the
few pounds she carried about her person. In these circumstances
prudence would have suggested leaving such a cipher as Khamoor in
Syria, but that seems not to have occurred to her. It is probable,
however, that the spendthrift was not she but her husband, for when
she came to be a widow she not only proved herself an astute
business woman, but accumulated wealth. On reaching London she
found Burton "in one room in a very small hotel." His pride had not
allowed him to make any defence of himself; and it was at this
juncture that Mrs. Burton showed her grit. She went to work with
all her soul, and for three months she bombarded with letters both
the Foreign Office and outside men of influence. She was not
discreet, but her pertinacity is beyond praise. Upon trying to
learn the real reason of his recall, she was told only a portion of
the truth. Commenting on one of the charges, namely that Burton
"was influenced by his Catholic wife against the Jews," she said,
"I am proud to say that I have never in my life tried to influence
my husband to do anything wrong, and I am prouder still to say that
if I had tried I should not have succeeded."
For ten months the Burtons had to endure "great poverty and official
neglect," during which they were reduced to their last (pounds)15. Having
been invited by Mrs. Burton's uncle, Lord Gerard,
to Garswood,[FN#247] they went thither by train. Says Mrs. Burton,
"We were alone in a railway compartment, when one of the fifteen
sovereigns rolled out of my pursed, and slid between the boards of
the carriage and the door, reducing us to (pounds)14. I sat on the floor
and cried, and he sat by me with is arm round my waist trying to
comfort me."[FN#248] The poet, as Keats tells us, "pours out a balm
upon the world," and in this, his darkest hour, Burton found relief,
as he had so often found it, in the pages of his beloved Camoens.
Gradually his spirits revived, and he began to revolve new schemes.
Indeed, he was never the man to sit long in gloom or to wait
listlessly for the movement of fortune's wheel. He preferred to
seize it and turn it to his purpose.
66. An Orgie at Lady Alford's. 2nd November 1871.
If the Burtons lacked money, on the other hand they had wealthy
relations with whom they were able to stay just as long as they
pleased; and, despite their thorny cares, they threw themselves
heartily into the vortex of society. Among their friends was Lady
Marion Alford, a woman of taste, talent and culture. The first
authority of the day on art needlework, she used to expound her
ideas on the looms of the world from those of Circe to those of
Mrs. Wheeler of New York. At one of Lady Alford's parties in her
house at Princes Gate, October 1871, the Prince of Wales and the
Duke of Edinburgh being present, Burton appeared dressed as a Syrian
shaykh, and Mrs. Burton as a Moslem lady of Damascus. Burton was
supposed not to understand English, and Mrs. Burton gave out that
she had brought him over to introduce him to English society.
She thus described the occurrence in an unpublished letter to
Miss Stisted.[FN#249]
"Our orgie was great fun. The Bird and I wore Arab dresses. I went
in the dress of an Arab lady of Damascus, but as myself, accompanied
by Khamoor in her village dress and introducing Hadji Abdullah,
a Moslem shaykh of Damascus. We then spoke only Arabic to each
other, and the Bird broken French to the company present. We were
twenty-eight at supper. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of
Edinburgh were there. We let them into the joke, and they much
enjoyed it, but all the rest were quite taken in half the evening.
Even Lord Lyons and many of our old friends. The house was perfect
and the fountain part[FN#250] quite like Damascus. After supper we
made Turkish coffee and narghilihis, and Khamoor handed them to the
Princes on her knees, the tray on her head in Eastern fashion.
They were delighted and spoke to her very kindly. They talked for
long to Richard, and afterwards to me, and asked when we were going
back to Syria before Lord Granville's brother." This letter,
like most of Mrs. Burton's letters to Miss Stisted, is signed "Z,"
short for "Zoo."
In February (1872) Mrs. Burton's mother, who had for years been
paralysed, grew rapidly worse. Says Mrs. Burton, writing to
Miss Stisted (29th February), "My time is divided between her and
Richard's concerns. She did rally a little and I took advantage of
it to go one to one dinner and to the Thanksgiving Day[FN#251] which
we saw to perfection, and enjoyed enormously; and last night to a
very large gathering at Lady Margaret Beaumont's. .. Everybody was
there and it gave me an opportunity of saying 'How d'ye do?' to the
world after my return from Syria. .. I am working tooth and nail at
the Bird's[FN#252] case, and have got our ambassador (Elliott) to
see me at twelve next Saturday." At this time everyone was talking
about Livingstone, the story of the meeting of him and Stanley being
still fresh in men's minds. It was thought that another expedition
ought to be sent out with Burton to lead, and a grand luncheon was
got up for the express purpose of bring Burton and a certain great
personage together. When the soup was being served, the great
personage, turning to Burton, said: "You are the man to go out
to Livingstone. Come, consent, and I will contribute (pounds)500 to
the expedition."
Mrs. Burton, who sat next to her husband, looked up with beaming
eyes, and her heart beat with joy. The object of the luncheon had
been achieved, and Fortune was again bestowing her smiles; but as
ill luck would have it, Burton happened just then to be in one of
his contrary moods. He went on spooning up his soup, and, without
troubling to turn his head, said, "I'll save your Royal Highness
that expense."
Poor Mrs. Burton almost fainted. The Livingstone expedition was
subsequently undertaken by Cameron.
67. The Tichborne Trial.
Another event of this period was the Tichborne trial, but though
Burton was subpoenaed by the claimant, his evidence really assisted
the other side.
"I understand," began his interlocutor, "that you are the Central
African traveller."
"I have been to Africa," modestly replied Burton.
"Weren't you badly wounded?"[FN#253]
"Yes, in the back, running away."
His identity being established, Burton gave his evidence without
further word fence. "When I went out to Brazil," he said, "I took a
present from Lady Tichborne for her son, but being unable to find
him,[FN#254] I sent the present back. When returning from America,
I met the claimant, and I recognise him simply as the man I met.
That is all." Burton, like others, always took it for granted that
the claimant obtained most of his information respecting the
Tichbornes from Bogle, the black man, who had been in the service
of the family.
68. Khamoor at the Theatre.
In some unpublished letters of Mrs. Burton, written about this time,
we get additional references to Khamoor, and several of them are
amusing. Says Mrs. Burton in one of them,[FN#255] "Khamoor was
charming at the theatre. I cried at something touching, and she,
not knowing why, flung herself upon my neck and howled. She nearly
died with joy on seeing the clown, and said, 'Oh, isn't this
delightful. What a lovely life!' She was awfully shocked at the
women dancing with 'naked legs,' and at all the rustic swains and
girls embracing each other."
In January 1872, the Burtons were at Knowsley,[FN#256] the Earl of
Derby's, whence Mrs. Burton wrote an affectionate letter to
Miss Stisted. She says,[FN#257] "I hope you are taking care of
yourself. Good people are scarce, and I don't want to lose my
little pet." Later, Burton visited Lady Stisted at Edinburgh,
and about that time met a Mr. Lock, who was in need of a trusty
emissary to report on some sulphur mines in Iceland, for which he
had a concession. The two came to terms, and it was decided that
Burton should start in May. He spent the intervening time at
Lord Gerard's,[FN#258] and thence Mrs. Burton wrote to
Miss Stisted[FN#259] saying why she did not accompany Burton
in his visit to his relatives. She says, "I hope you all understand
that no animosity keeps me from Edinburgh. I should have been quite
pleased to go if Richard had been willing, but I think he still
fancies that Maria (Lady Stisted) would rather not see me, and I am
quite for each one doing as he or she likes. .. The Bird sends his
fond love and a chirrup."
Chapter XVI
4th June 1872-24th October 1872
In Iceland
Bibliography:
36. Zanzibar: City, Island and Coast. 2 vols., 1872.
37. Unexplored Syria. 2 vols., 1872.
38. On Human Remains, etc., from Iceland, 1872.
69. In Edinburgh Again, 4th June 1872.
In May, Burton was back again in Edinburgh, preparing for the
Iceland journey. He took many walks down Princes Street and up
Arthur's Seat with Lady Stisted and his nieces, and "he was
flattered," says Miss Stisted, "by the kindness and hospitality
with which he was received. The 93rd Highlanders, stationed at the
Castle, entertained in genuine Highland fashion; and at our house he
met most of the leading Scotch families who happened to be lingering
in the northern capital." Lord Airlie, the High Commissioner, held
brilliant receptions at Holyrood. There were gay scenes--women in
their smartest gowns, men wearing their medals and ribands.
General Sir H. Stisted was there in his red collar and cross and
star of the Bath. Burton "looked almost conspicuous in unadorned
simplicity." On 4th June[FN#260] Burton left for Iceland.
The parting from his friends was, as usual, very hard. Says Miss
Stisted, "His hands turned cold, his eyes filled with tears."
Sir W. H. Stisted accompanied him to Granton, whence, with new hopes
and aspirations, he set sail. Spectacularly, Iceland--Ultima
Thule--as he calls it--was a disappointment to him. "The giddy, rapid
rivers," were narrow brooks, Hecla seemed but "half the height of
Hermon," the Great Geyser was invisible until you were almost on the
top of it. Its voice of thunder was a mere hiccough. Burton,
the precise antithesis of old Sir John de Mandeville, was perhaps
the only traveller who never told "travellers' tales." Indeed,
he looked upon Sir John as a disgrace to the cloth; though he
sometimes comforted himself with the reflection that most likely
that very imaginative knight never existed. But he thoroughly
enjoyed these Icelandic experiences, for, to use one of his own
phrases, the power of the hills was upon him. With Mr. Lock he
visited the concession, and on his way passed through a village
where there was a fair, and where he had a very narrow escape.
A little more, we are told, and a hideous, snuffy, old Icelandic
woman would have kissed him. In respect to the survey, the mass of
workable material was enormous. There was no lack of sulphur,
and the speculation promised to be a remunerative one. Eventually,
however, it was found that the obstacles were insuperable, and the
scheme had to be abandoned. However, the trip had completed the
cure commenced by Camoens, and at the end of it everybody said
"he looked at least fifteen years younger."
Burton had scarcely left Granton for Iceland before Mrs. Arundell
died, and the letters which Mrs. Burton wrote at this time throw an
interesting light on the relations between her and Burton's family.
To Miss Stisted she says (June 14th), "My darling child. My dear
mother died in my arms at midnight on Wednesday 5th. It was like
a child going to sleep, most happy, but quite unexpected by us,
who thought, though sinking, she would last till August or October.
I need not tell you, who know the love that existed between her and
me, that my loss is bitter and irreparable, and will last for life.
May you never know it! I have written pages full of family detail
to darling Nana, and I intended to enclose it to you to read
en route, but I thought perhaps our religious views and observances
might seem absurd to the others, and I felt ashamed to do so.
You know when so holy a woman as dear mother dies, we do not admit
of any melancholy or sorrow except for ourselves Your dear little
letter was truly welcome with its kind and comforting messages.
I am glad that our darling [Burton] was spared all the sorrow we
have gone through, and yet sorry he did not see the beauty and
happiness of her holy death. .. She called for Richard twice before
her death. Do write again and often, dear child. Tell me something
about the Iceland visits. ... Your loving Zooey."
What with the unsatisfactory condition of their affairs, and the
death of her mother, Mrs. Burton was sadly troubled; but the long
lane was now to have a turning. One day, while she was kneeling
with wet cheeks before her mother's coffin, and praying that the
sombrous overhanging cloud might pass away, a letter arrived from
Lord Granville offering her husband the Consulate of Trieste[FN#261]
with a salary of (pounds)700 a year. This was a great fall after Damascus,
but in her own words, "better than nothing," and she at once
communicated with her husband, who was still in Iceland.
70. Wardour Castle, 5th July 1872.
She then made a round of country house visits, including one to
Wardour Castle.[FN#262] In an unpublished letter to Miss Stisted,
she says: "My pet, I came here on Tuesday... I have never cried nor
slept since mother died (a month to-morrow) I go up again on Monday
for final pack-up--to my convent ten days--....then back to town
in hopes of Nana in August, about the 7th. Then we shall go to
Spain, and to Trieste, our new appointment, if he [Burton] will take
it, as all our friends and relations wish, if only as a stop-gap for
the present. Arundell has done an awfully kind thing. There is a
large Austrian honour in the family with some privileges, and he has
desired me to assume all the family honours on arriving, and given
me copies of the Patent, with all the old signatures and attested by
himself. This is to present to the Herald's College at Vienna.
He had desired my cards to be printed Mrs. Richard Burton, nee
Countess Isabel Arundell of Wardour of the most sacred Roman Empire.
This would give us an almost royal position at Vienna or any part of
Austria, and with Nana's own importance and fame we shall (barring
salary) cut out the Ambassador. She wants a quiet year to learn
German and finish old writings. ... I should like the tour round the
world enormously, but I don't see where the money is to come from. ..
This is such a glorious old place. .. The woods and parks are
splendid, and the old ruin of the castle defended by Lady Blanche
is the most interesting thing possible. Half the other great places
I go to are mushroom greatness, but this is the real old thing of
Druid remains and the old baronial castle of knights in armour and
fair Saxon-looking women, and with heavy portcullises to enter by,
and dungeons and subterranean passages, etc. There is a statue of
our Saviour over the door, and in Cromwell's siege a cannon ball
made a hole in the wall just behind it and never took off its head.
...Your loving Zoo."
A few days later Mrs. Burton received a letter from her husband,
who expressed his willingness to accept Trieste. He arrived at
Edinburgh again on September 5th, and his presence was the signal
for a grand dinner, at which all the notables of the neighbourhood,
including many people of title, were present. But, unfortunately,
Burton was in one of his disagreeable moods, and by the time dinner
was half over, he found that he had contradicted with acerbity every
person within earshot. While, however, he was thus playing the
motiveless ogre, his brother-in-law, Sir Henry Stisted, at the other
end of the table, was doing his utmost to render himself agreeable,
and by the extraordinary means of rolling out anecdote after
anecdote that told against the Scotch character. The Mackenzies,
the Murrays, the MacDonalds, the McQueens, looked black as thunder,
and Stisted's amiability gave even more offence than Burton's
ill-temper. Noticing that something was amiss opposite him,
Burton stopped his own talk to listen. Then Stisted's innocence
and the ludicrousness of the whole scene dawned upon him, and
leaning back in his chair he roared with uncontrollable laughter.
When he met his wife again one of her first questions was about this
dinner, at which she had hoped her husband would dazzle and delight
the whole company, and which she supposed might lead to his
promotion. He then told her the whole story, not omitting his
ill-humour. She listened with dismay, and then burst into tears.
"Come," he commented, "I wasn't so bad as Stisted, anyhow."
71. St. George and Frederick Burton.
Upon his return to London, Burton renewed his acquaintance with his
cousins Dr. and Mrs. Edward John Burton. He and Dr. Burton, whom he
thought fit to call after a character in The Arabian Nights,
"Abu Mohammed Lazybones,"[FN#263] had long known each other,
but Dr. Burton had also for some time resided in distant lands.
The notes that brought about the meeting--and they could not be
briefer--now lie before me. They run:
"Athanaeum Club,
"Sept. 20 '72
"My dear Cousin,
"When and where can I see you? Yours truly,
"R. F. Burton."
"Junior United Service Club.
"My dear Richard,
"Any day at 4 p.m.
"Yours ever,
"E. J. Burton."
A few days later, Burton dined with Edward John, and made the
acquaintance of his young cousins, St. George and Frederick.
Of St. George, a dark-haired lad, who was particularly clever and
had a humorous vein, Burton from the first thought highly.
One day, happening to turn over some of the leaves of the boy's
exercise book, he stumbled upon the following lines:
"The map of Africa was dark as night,
God said, 'Let Burton live,' and there was light."
He laughed heartily and thanked his little cousin for the
compliment, while the couplet became a stock quotation in the
family. Later, when St. George went to a French school, he was
very proud to find that the boys were conversant not only with the
exploits of his famous uncle, but also with the history of the
Dr. Francis Burton who had made Napoleon's death mask.
Frederick Burton was a plump, shy, fair-haired little fellow,
and Burton, who loved to tease, did not spare his rotundity.
In one of Frederick's copy-books could be read, in large hand,
"Life is short."
"I," commented Burton, "find life very long."
Subsequently he advised his cousin to go to the River Plate.
"Well," he would ask, when he entered the house, "has Frederick
started for the River Plate yet? I see a good opening there."
As Dr. Burton was born in the house of his father's brother,
the Bishop of Killala, Burton used to affect jealousy. "Hang it
all, Edward," he would say, "You were born in a bishop's palace."
Apparently it was about this time that the terrible silence of
Burton's brother was for a moment broken. Every human device had
been tried to lead him to conversation, and hitherto in vain.
It seems that some years previous, and before Edward's illness,
Dr. E. J. Burton had lent his cousin a small sum of money, which was
duly repaid. One day Dr. Burton chose to assume the contrary,
and coming upon Edward suddenly he cried:
"Edward, you might just as well have paid me that money I lent you
at Margate. I call it shabby, now."
Edward raised his head and fixing his eyes on Dr. Burton said,
with great effort, and solemnly, "Cousin, I did pay you, you must
remember that I gave you a cheque."
Thrilled with joy, Dr. Burton attempted to extend the conversation,
but all in vain, and to his dying day Edward Burton never uttered
another word.
72. At the Athenaeum.
Of all the spots in London, none was so dear to Burton as his club,
The Athenaeum. When in England, he practically lived there, and its
massive portico, its classic frieze, and the helmeted statue of
Minerva were always imaged on his heart. He wrote a number of his
books there, and he loved to write his letters on its notepaper
stamped with the little oval enclosing Minerva's head. He used to
make his way to the Athenaeum early in the day[FN#264] and go
straight to the library. Having seated himself at the round table
he would work with coralline industry, and without a single break
until six or seven in the evening. It was a standing joke against
him in Dr. Burton's family that when at the club he was never at
home to anybody except a certain Mrs. Giacometti Prodgers.
This lady was of Austrian birth, and, according to rumour, there was
a flavour of romance about her marriage. It was said that while the
laws of certain countries regarded her as married, those of other
countries insisted that she was still single. However, married or
not, she concentrated all her spleen on cab-drivers, and was
continually hauling some luckless driver or other before the London
magistrates. Having a profound respect for Burton's judgment,
she often went to him about these cab disputes, and, oddly enough,
though nobody else could get at him, he was always at the service
of Mrs. Prodgers, and good-naturedly gave her the benefit of his
wisdom.[FN#265] To the London magistrates the good lady was a
perpetual terror, and Frederick Burton, a diligent newspaper reader,
took a pleasure in following her experiences. "St. George,"
he would call across the breakfast table, "Mrs. Giacometti Prodgers
again: She's had another cab-man up."
One evening, says a London contributor to the New York
Tribune[FN#266] referring to this period, "there was a smoking party
given by a well-known Londoner. I went in late, and on my way
upstairs, stumbled against a man sitting on the stairs, with a book
and pencil in his hands, absorbed in his reading, and the notes he
was making. It was Burton. When I spoke to him he woke up as if
from a dream with the dazed air of one not quite sure where he is.
I asked him what he was reading. It proved to be Camoens, and he
told me he was translating the Portuguese poet. It seemed an odd
place for such work, and I said as much. "Oh," answered Burton,
"I can read anywhere or write anywhere. And I always carry Camoens
about with me. You see, he is a little book, and I have done most
of my translating in these odd moments, or, as you say, in this odd
fashion." And he added, with a kind of cynical grin on his face,
'You will find plenty of dull people in the rooms above.' He had
been bored and this was his refuge."
73. Jane Digby Again.
Report now arrived that Jane Digby was dead; and paragraphs
derogatory to her character appeared in the press. Mrs. Burton not
only answered them, but endeavoured to throw a halo over her
friend's memory. She said also that as she, Mrs. Burton, had Jane
Digby's biography, nobody else had any right to make remarks.
Comically enough, news then came that Jane was still alive.
She had been detained in the desert by the fighting of the tribes.
Says Mrs. Burton, "her relatives attacked her for having given me
the biography, and she, under pressure, denied it in print, and then
wrote and asked me to give it back to her; but I replied that she
should have had it with the greatest pleasure, only she having
'given me the lie' in print, I was obliged for my own sake to keep
it, and she eventually died." This very considerate act of Jane's
saved all further trouble.
74. His Book on Zanzibar.
On his expedition with Speke to Tanganyika, Burton had already
written four volumes,[FN#267] and it was now to be the subject of
another work, Zanzibar, which is chiefly a description of the town
and island from which the expedition started. The origin of the
book was as follows. With him on his way home from Africa he had
brought among other MSS. a bundle of notes relating both to his
"preliminary canter" and to Zanzibar, and the adventures of these
notes were almost as remarkable as those of the Little Hunchback.
On the West Coast of Africa the bundle was "annexed" by a skipper.
The skipper having died, the manuscripts fell into the hands of his
widow, who sold them to a bookseller, who exposed them for sale.
An English artillery officer bought them, and, in his turn,
lost them. Finally they were picked up in the hall of a Cabinet
Minister, who forwarded them to Burton. The work contains an
enormous mass of geographical, anthropological and other
information, and describes the town so truthfully that nobody,
except under compulsion, would ever dream of going there.
The climate, it seems, is bad for men, worse for women. "Why,"
he asks, "should Englishmen poison or stab their wives when a few
months at Zanzibar would do the business more quietly and
effectually?" The expense of getting them over there may be one
objection. But whoever goes to Zanzibar, teetotallers, we are
told, should keep away. There it is drink or die. Burton
introduces many obsolete words, makes attacks on various persons,
and says fearlessly just what he thinks; but the work has both the
Burtonian faults. It is far too long, and it teems with
uninteresting statistics.
There also left the press this year (1871) a work in two volumes
entitled Unexplored Syria, by Burton and Tyrwhitt Drake.[FN#268]
It describes the archaeological discoveries made by the authors
during their sojourn in Syria, and includes an article on Syrian
Proverbs (Proverba Communia Syriaca) which had appeared the year
before in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. Some of the
sayings have English analogues, thus:
"He who wants nah
Mustn't say ah;"
"nah" being wealth or honour; "ah," the expression of fear or
doubt.[FN#269]
At one of the meetings of the Royal Geographical Society, at which
Burton had been billed to speak, there were present among the
audience his wife, Mr. Arundell, and several other members of the
family. Considerable hostility was shown towards Burton;
and Colonel Rigby[FN#270] and others flatly contradicted some of
his statements respecting Zanzibar. Then Burton flew into a temper
such as only he could fly into. His eyes flashed, his lips
protruded with rage, and he brandished the long map pointer so
wildly that the front bench became alarmed for their safety.
Old Mr. Arundell, indignant at hearing his son-in-law abused, then
tried to struggle on to the platform, while his sons and daughters,
horrified at the prospect, hung like bull-dogs to his coat tails.
Says Burton, "the old man, who had never been used to public
speaking, was going to address a long oration to the public about
his son-in-law, Richard Burton. As he was slow and very prolix,
he would never have sat down again, and God only knows what he would
have said." The combined efforts of the Arundell family however,
prevented so terrible a denouement, Burton easily proved his
enemies' statements to be erroneous, and the order was eventually
restored.
Chapter XVII
24th October 1872-12th May 1875
Trieste
Bibliography:
39. Medinah and Meccah. 3 vols. in one, 1873.
40. Minas Geraes. 7th January 1873. J. A. I.
41. The Lands of the Cazembe. 1873.
42. The Captivity of Hans Stadt, 1874.
43. Articles on Rome. Macmillan's Mag. 1874-5.
44. The Castellieri of Istria.
45. Gerber's Province of Minas Geraes.
46. New System of Sword Exercise.
47. Ultima Thule, or a Summer in Iceland. 2 vols. 1875.
48. Two Trips to Gorilla Land. 2 vols. 1875.
49. The Inner Life of Syria. 2 vols., 1875, by Mrs. Burton.
50. The Long Wall of Salona.
75. Burton at Trieste, 24th October 1872.
Burton left England for Trieste 24th October 1872,[FN#271] but the
popular belief that he entered the town with a fighting cock under
his arm and a bull-terrier at his heels lacks foundation. He was
fifty-one, the age of the banished Ovid, to whom he often compared
himself, and though the independent and haughty Burton bears no
resemblance to the sycophantic and lachrymose yet seductive Sulmoan,
nevertheless his letters from Trieste are a sort of Tristia--or as
the flippant would put it--Triestia. Indeed, he read and re-read
with an almost morbid interest both the Tristia and the
Ex Ponto.[FN#272] Ovid's images seemed applicable to himself.
"I, too," he said, "am a neglected book gnawed by the moth,"
"a stream dammed up with mud," "a Phalaris, clapped, for nothing in
particular, into the belly of a brazen bull." Like Ovid, too,
he could and did pronounce his invective against the Ibis, the cause
of all his troubles, that is to say, Rashid Pasha, whose very name
was as gall and wormwood. His fate, indeed, was a hard one.
The first linguist of his day, for he spoke twenty-eight languages
and dialects, he found himself relegated to a third-rate port,
where his attainments were absolutely valueless to anybody.
The greatest of travellers, the most indefatigable of
anthropologists, the man who understood the East as no other
Englishman had understood it--was set to do work that could in those
days have been accomplished with ease by any raw and untravelled
government official possessed of a smattering of German and Italian.
But the truth is, Burton's brilliant requirements were really a
hindrance to him. The morbid distrust of genius which has ever been
incidental to ordinary Government officialism, was at that time
particularly prevalent. The only fault to be found with Burton's
conduct at Damascus, was that, instead of serving his own interest,
he had attempted to serve the interests of his country and humanity.
By trimming, temporizing, shutting his eyes to enormities,
and touching bribes, he might have retained his post, or have been
passed on to Constantinople.
When time after time he saw incompetent men advanced to positions of
importance, his anger was unrestrainable, "Why," he asked bitterly,
"are the Egyptian donkey-boys so favourable to the English?"
Answer, "Because we hire more asses than any other nation."
Trieste is a white splash between high wooded mountains and a dark
precipice rising from a sea intense as the blue of the gentian.
The population was about 140,000, mostly Italian speaking.
Nominally they were Catholics, and of genuine Catholics there might
have been 20,000, chiefly women. "Trieste," said Burton, "is a town
of threes--three quarters, three races (Italian, Slav and Austrian),
and three winds (Sirocco, Bora, and Contraste)." One brilliant man
of letters had been connected with the town, namely Marie-Henry
Beyle, better known by his pen name, Stendhal,[FN#273] who, while he
was French Counul here, pumice polished and prepared for the press
his masterpiece, La Chartreuse de Parme, which he had written at
Padua in 1830. To the minor luminary, Charles Lever, we have
already alluded. Such was the town in which the British Hercules
was set to card wool. The Burtons occupied ten rooms at the top of
a block of buildings situated near the railway station.
The corridor was adorned with a picture of our Saviour, and
statuettes of St. Joseph and the Madonna with votive lights burning
before them. This, in Burton's facetious phrase, was "Mrs. Burton's
joss house;" and occasionally, when they had differences,
he threatened "to throw her joss house out of the window."
Burton in a rage, indeed, was the signal for the dispersal of
everybody. Furniture fell, knick-knacks flew from the table,
and like Jupiter he tumbled gods on gods. If, however, he and his
wife did not always symphonize, still, on the whole, they continued
to work together amicably, for Mrs. Burton took considerable pains
to accommodate herself to the peculiarities of her husband's
temperament, and both were blessed with that invaluable oil for
troubled waters--the gift of humour. "Laughter," Burton used to
say, and he had "a curious feline laugh," "animates the brain and
stimulates the lungs." To his wife's assumption of the possession
of knowledge, of being a linguist, of being the intellectual equal
of every living person, saving himself, he had no objection; and the
pertinacity with which she sustained this role imposed sometimes
even on him. He got to think that she was really a genius in a way,
and saw merit even in the verbiage and rhodomontade of her books.
But whatever Isabel Burton's faults, they are all drowned and
forgotten in her devotion to her husband. It was more than love--
it was unreasoning worship. "You and Mrs. Burton seem to jog along
pretty well together," said a friend. "Yes," followed Burton, "I am
a spoilt twin, and she is the missing fragment."
Burton, of course, never really took to Trieste, his Tomi,
as he called it. He was too apt to contrast it with Damascus:
the wind-swept Istrian hills with the zephyr-ruffled Lebanon,
the dull red plains of the Austrian sea-board with the saffron of
the desert, the pre-historic castellieri or hill-forts, in which,
nevertheless, he took some pleasure, with the columned glories of
Baalbak and Palmyra. "Did you like Damascus?" somebody once
carelessly asked Mrs. Burton.
"Like it!" she exclaimed, quivering with emotion, "My eyes fill,
and my heart throbs even at the thought of it."
Indeed, they always looked back with wistful, melancholy regret upon
the two intercalary years of happiness by the crystalline
Chrysorrhoa, and Mrs. Burton could never forget that last sad ride
through the beloved Plain of Zebedani. Among those who visited the
Burtons at Trieste, was Alfred Bates Richards. After describing
Mrs. Burton's sanctuary, he says: "Thus far, the belongings are all
of the cross, but no sooner are we landed in the little
drawing-rooms than signs of the crescent appear. These rooms,
opening one into another, are bright with Oriental hangings, with
trays and dishes of gold and burnished silver, fantastic goblets,
chibouques with great amber mouth-pieces, and Eastern treasure made
of odorous woods." Burton liked to know that everything about him
was hand-made. "It is so much better," he used to say, than the
"poor, dull work of machinery." In one of the book-cases was Mrs.
Burton's set of her husband's works, some fifty volumes.[FN#274]
Mr. Richards thus describes Burton himself, "Standing about five
feet eleven, his broad, deep chest and square shoulders reduce his
apparent height very considerably, and the illusion is intensified
by hands and feet of Oriental smallness. The Eastern and distinctly
Arab look of the man is made more pronounced by prominent
cheek-bones (across one of which is the scar of a javelin cut),
by closely-cropped black hair, just tinged with grey, and a pair of
piercing, black, gipsy-looking eyes." Out of doors, in summer,
Burton wore a spotlessly white suit, a tie-pin shaped like a sword,
a pair of fashionable, sharply-pointed shoes, and the shabbiest old
white beaver hat that he could lay his hands upon. On his finger
glittered a gold ring, engraved with the word "Tanganyika."[FN#275]
In appearance, indeed, he was a compound of the dandy,
the swash-buckler and the literary man. He led Mr. Richards through
the house. Every odd corner displayed weapons--guns, pistols,
boar-spears, swords of every shape and make. On one cupboard was
written "The Pharmacy." It contained the innocuous medicines for
Mrs. Burton's poor--for she still continued to manufacture those
pills and drenches that had given her a reputation in the Holy Land.
"Why," asked Richards, "do you live in a flat and so high up?"
"To begin with," was the reply, "we are in good condition, and run
up and down the stairs like squirrels. If I had a great
establishment, I should feel tied and weighed down. With a flat and
two or three servants one has only to lock the door and go out."
The most noticeable objects in the rooms were eleven rough deal
tables, each covered with writing materials.[FN#276] At one sat
Mrs. Burton in morning neglige, a grey choga--the long, loose Indian
dressing-gown of soft camel's hair--topped by a smoking cap of the
same material. She observed, "I see you are looking at our tables.
Dick likes a separate table for each book, and when he is tired of
one he goes to another." He never, it seems, wrote more than eleven
books at a time, unless stout pamphlets come under that category.
Their life was a peaceful one, except on Fridays, when Mrs. Burton
received seventy bosom and particular friends, and talked to them at
the top of her voice in faulty German, Italian, which she spoke
fluently, or slangy English.[FN#277] In the insipid conversation of
this "magpie sanhedrin," "these hen parties," as he called them,
Burton did not join, but went on with his work as if no one was
present. Indeed, far from complaining, he remarked philosophically
that if the rooms had been lower down probably 140 visitors instead
of 70 would have looked in. The Burtons usually rose at 4 or 5,
and after tea, bread and fruit, gave their morning to study.
At noon they drank a cup of soup, fenced, and went for a swim in
the sea. Burton then took up a heavy iron stick with a silver
knob[FN#278] and walked to the Consulate, which was situated in the
heart of the town, while Mrs. Burton, with her pockets bulging with
medicines, and a flask of water ready for baptism emergencies
hanging to her girdle, busied herself with charitable work,
including the promotion of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals. They generally dined at the table d'hote of the Hotel
de la Ville, and dined well, for, as Burton says used to "Only fools
and young ladies care nothing for the carte."[FN#279] Having
finished their coffee, cigarettes, and kirsch, outside the hotel,
they went home to bed, where, conscious of a good day's work done,
they took their rest merrily. Sometimes they interrupted the
routine with excursions into the surrounding country, of which they
both knew every stock and stone, pre-historic or modern.
Of business ability, Burton had never possessed one iota, and his
private affairs were constantly mis-managed. As at Fernando Po,
Santos and Damascus, he promptly looked out for a sanitarium,
his choice finally resting upon a loftily-situated village
called Opcina.
Reviewing Burton's career, Mr. Alfred Bates Richards says: "He has
done more than any other six men, and is one of the best, noblest
and truest that breathes. While not on active service or on sick
leave he has been serving his country, humanity, science, and
civilisation in other ways, by opening up lands hitherto unknown,
and trying to do good wherever he went. He was the pioneer for all
other living African travellers."
If Trieste was not an ideal post for him, still it had the patent
advantage of being practically a sinecure. He and his wife seem to
have been able to get away almost at any time. They sometimes
travelled together, but often went in different directions, and as
Burton was as restless as a hyena, he never stayed in any one place
many hours. Occasionally they met unexpectedly. Upon one of these
meetings in a Swiss hotel, Burton burst out affectionately with,
"And what the devil brought you here?" To which she replied,
promptly but sweetly, "Ditto, brother." For study, Burton had
almost unlimited time, and nothing came amiss to him. He lost
himself in old sacramentaries, Oriental manuscripts, works on the
prehistoric remains of Istria, Camoens, Catullus, The Arabian
Nights, Boccaccio. His knowledge was encyclopaedic.
76. At the Vienna Exhibition, 1873.
Early in 1873 the Burtons visited Vienna chiefly in order to see the
great Exhibition. The beauty of the buildings excited their
constant admiration, but the dearness of everything at the hotels
made Burton use forcible language. On one occasion he demanded--
he never asked for anything--a beefsteak, and a waiter hurried up
with an absurdly small piece of meat on a plate. Picking it up with
the fork he examined it critically, and then said, quite amiably for
him, "Yaas, yaas,[FN#280] that's it, bring me some." Next he
required coffee. The coffee arrived in what might have been either
a cup or a thimble. "What's this?" demanded Burton. The waiter
said it was coffee for one. "Then," roared Burton, with several
expletives, "bring me coffee for twenty." Their bill at this hotel
came to (pounds)163 for the three weeks.
77. A Visit from Drake, June 1873.
On their return from Vienna, they had the pleasure of meeting again
Lady Marion Alford, Aubertin, and that "true-hearted Englishman,
staunch to the backbone," Charles Tyrwhitt Drake, who "brought with
him a breath from the desert and stayed several weeks." The three
friends went to a fete held in the stalactite caverns of Adelsberg,
from which Burton, who called them the eighth wonder of the world,
always assumed that Dante got his ideas of the Inferno. Lighted by
a million candles, and crowded with peasants in their picturesque
costumes, which made wondrous arabesques of moving shadows,
the caves presented a weird and unearthly appearance, which the
music and dancing subsequently intensified. Shortly afterwards
Drake left for Palestine. In May (1874), Burton was struck down
by a sudden pain, which proved to arise from a tumour. An operation
was necessary, and all was going on well when a letter brought the
sad news of Drake's death. He had succumbed, at Jerusalem,
to typhoid fever, at the early age of twenty-eight.[FN#281]
Burton took the news so heavily, that, at Mrs. Burton says,[FN#282]
it "caused the wound to open afresh; he loved Drake like a brother,
and few know what a tender heart Richard has." To use
Dr. Baker's[FN#283] phrase, he had "the heart of a beautiful woman."
78. Khamoor returns to Syria, 4th December 1874.
In the meantime Mrs. Burton was reaping the fruits of her
injudicious treatment of Khamoor. Thoroughly spoilt, the girl now
gave herself ridiculous airs, put herself on a level with her
mistress, and would do nothing she was told. As there was no other
remedy, Mrs. Burton resolved philanthropically to send her back to
Syria, "in order that she might get married and settled in life."
So Khamoor was put on board a ship going to Beyrout, with nine boxes
of clothes and a purse of gold. "It was to me," says Mrs. Burton,
"a great wrench." Khamoor's father met her, the nine boxes, and the
purse of gold at Beyrout, and by and by came to the news that she
was married and settled down in the Buka'a. Such was the end of
Chico the Second.
Chapter XVIII
12th May 1875-18th June 1876
The Trip to India
Bibliography:
51. The Port of Trieste.
52. The Gypsy. Written in 1875.
53. Etruscan Bologna. 1876.
54. New System of Sword Exercise for Infantry. 1876.
79. Visit to England, 12th May 1875.
On 8th December 1874, Burton sent his wife to England to arrange
for the publication of various of his works, and in May 1875, having
obtained leave, he followed her, arriving in London on the 12th.
He took with him "a ton or so of books" in an enormous trunk painted
one half black the other white--"the magpie chest" which henceforth
always accompanied him on his travels. At the various stations in
England there were lively scenes, the company demanding for luggage
excess, and Burton vigorously protesting but finally paying.
He then took the value out by reeling off a spirited address to the
railway clerk, punctuated with expletives in twenty odd African or
Asiatic languages, on the meanness of the clerk's employers.
80. Tonic Bitters.
Always suffering from impecuniosity, the Burtons were perpetually
revolving schemes for increasing their income. One was to put on
the market a patent pick-me-up, good also for the liver, to be
called, "Captain Burton's Tonic Bitters," the recipe of which had
been "acquired from a Franciscan monk." "Its object," observed
Burton facetiously, to a friend, "is to make John Bull eat more beef
and drink more beer." Mrs. Burton imagined naively that if it were
put into a pretty bottle the demand would exceed the supply.
They had hopes, too, for the Camoens, which had taken many years of
close application and was now approaching completion. Still, it was
argued that a Translation of Camoens, however well done, could not
hope for the success of a well-advertised liver tonic, seeing that
while most people have a liver, it is only here and there one who
has a taste for Camoens. The tonic was placed on the market,
but the scheme, like so many others, proved a fiasco. Nobody seemed
to want to be picked up, and the indifference of a Christian nation
to the state of its liver, was to Burton extremely painful.
So he abandoned philanthropy, and took to lecturing before the
Anthropological and other societies, dining out, and calling on old
friends. One Sunday he visited the Zoo; but when he asked for a
glass of beer at the refreshment bar, the girl declined to serve him
because he was "not a bona-fide traveller!"
In 1875, Burton's portrait, painted by the late Lord Leighton,
was exhibited in the Academy; and on July 6th of the same year,
Burton started off on a second trip to Iceland, which occupied him
six weeks, but he and his wife did not meet again till October 6th.
On December 4th (1875) they left London for the Continent.
The morning was black as midnight. Over the thick snow hung
a dense, murky fog, while "a dull red gleam just rendered the
darkness visible."
"It looks," said Burton, "as if London were in mourning for some
great national crime."
To which Mrs. Burton replied, "Let us try to think, darling,
that our country wears mourning for our departure into exile."
On reaching Boulogne they sought out some of their old
acquaintances, including M. Constantin, Burton's fencing master.
After a brief stay in Paris, they proceeded to Trieste, ate their
Christmas dinner, and then set out for India, partly for pleasure
and partly for the purpose of collecting information about the
abandoned diamond mines of Golconda.
81. A Trip to India, December 1875, 18th June 1876.
The Suez Canal, which had been finished some five years previous,
gave them much pleasure, and it was like living life over again to
see the camels, the Bedawin in cloak and kuffiyyah, the women in
blue garments, and to smell the pure air of the desert. On reaching
Yambu, Burton enquired whether Sa'ad the robber chief, who had
attacked the caravan in the journey to Mecca days, still lived;
and was told that the dog long since made his last foray,
and was now safe in Jehannum.[FN#284] They landed at Jiddah,
where Burton was well received, although everyone knew the story
of his journey to Mecca, and on rejoining their ship they found on
board eight hundred pilgrims of a score of nationalities. Then a
storm came on. The pilgrims howled with fright, and during the
voyage twenty-three died of privation, vermin, hunger and thirst.
Says Mrs. Burton:[FN#285] "They won't ask, but if they see a kind
face they speak with their eyes as an animal does." At Aden Burton
enquired after his old Harar companions. Shahrazad was still in
Aden, the coquettish Dunyazad in Somaliland, the Kalandar had been
murdered by the Isa tribe, and The End of Time had "died a natural
death"--that is to say, somebody had struck a spear into
him.[FN#286] Bombay was reached on February 2nd.
82. Arbuthnot Again. Rehatsek.
The first person Burton called on was his old friend, Forster
FitzGerald Arbuthnot, who now occupied there the important position
of "Collector." Arbuthnot, like other people, had got older,
but his character had not changed a tittle. Business-like and
shrewd, yet he continued to be kindly, and would go out of his way
to do a philanthropic action, and without fuss of parade. A friend
describes him as "a man of the world, but quite untainted by it."
He used to spend the winter in Bombay, and the summer in his
charming bungalow at Bandora. In a previous chapter we referred to
him as a Jehu. He now had a private coach and team--rather a wonder
in that part of the world, and drove it himself. Of his skill with
the ribbons he was always proud, and no man could have known more
about horses. Some of the fruits of his experience may be seen in
an article[FN#287] which he contributed to Baily's Magazine
(April 1883) in which he ranks driving with such accomplishments
as drawing, painting and music. His interest in the languages and
literatures of the East was as keen as ever, but though he had
already collected material for several books he does not seem to
have published anything prior to 1881. He took his friends out
everywhere in his four-in-hand, and they saw to advantage some of
the sights of Burton's younger days. With the bungalow Mrs. Burton
was in raptures. On the eve of the Tabut feast, she tells us,
the Duke of Sutherland (formerly Lord Stafford) joined the party;
and a number of boys dressed like tigers came and performed some
native dancing with gestures of fighting and clawing one another,
"which," she adds oddly, "was exceedingly graceful."
The principal event of this visit, however, was Burton's
introduction to that extraordinary and Diogenes-like scholar,
Edward Rehatsek. Lady Burton does not even mention Rehatsek's name,
and cyclopaedias are silent concerning him; yet he was one of the
most remarkable men of his time, and henceforward Burton was in
constant communication with him. Born on 3rd July 1819, at Illack,
in Austria, Edward Rehatsek was educated at Buda Pesth, and in 1847
proceeded to Bombay, where he settled down as Professor of Latin and
mathematics at Wilson College. He retired from his professorship
in 1871, and settled in a reed-built native house, not so very much
bigger than his prototype's tub, at Khetwadi. Though he had amassed
money he kept no servants, but went every morning to the bazaar,
and purchased his provisions, which he cooked with his own hand.
He lived frugally, and his dress was mean and threadbare,
nevertheless, this strange, austere, unpretentious man was one of
the greatest linguists of his time. Not only could he speak most
of the languages of the East, including Arabic and Persian, but he
wrote good idiomatic English. To his translations, and his
connection with the Kama Shastra Society, we shall refer later.
He was visited in his humble home only by his principal friend,
Mr. Arbuthnot, and a few others, including Hari Madhay Parangpe,
editor of Native Opinion, to which he was a contributor.
The conversation of Rehatsek, Burton, and Arbuthnot ran chiefly
on Arbuthnot's scheme for the revival of the Royal Asiatic
Translation fund, and the translation of the more important
Eastern works into English; but some years were to elapse before
it took shape.
On February 4th, Burton wrote to his cousin, St. George Burton--
addressing his letter, as he was continually on the move,
from Trieste. He says:
"My Dear Cousin,
"You need not call me 'Captain Burton.' I am very sorry that you
missed Woolwich--and can only say, don't miss the Line. I don't
think much of Holy Orders, however, chacun a son gout. Many thanks
for the details about the will. Assist your mother in drawing up
a list of the persons who are heirs, should the girl die without
a will.[FN#288] Let 'the party' wash his hands as often as he
pleases--cleanliness is next to godliness. As the heir to a
baronetcy[FN#289] you would be worth ten times more than heir to an
Esquireship--in snobby England. Write to me whenever you think that
I can be of any service and let me be
"Yr. aff. cousin,
"R. F. Burton."
83. In Sind.
From Bombay, the Burtons journeyed to Karachi, which had grown from
3,000 to 45,000[FN#290] and could now boast fine streets and noble
houses. Here Burton regaled his eyes with the sights familiar to
his youth; the walks he had taken with his bull-terrier, the tank or
pond where he used to charioteer the "ghastly" crocodile,[FN#291]
the spot where he had met the beautiful Persian, and the shops which
had once been his own; while he recalled the old familiar figures
of hook-nosed Sir Charles Napier, yellow-bearded Captain Scott,
and gorgeously-accoutred General J-J-J-J-J-J-Jacob. His most
amusing experience was with a Beloch chief, one Ibrahim Khan,
on whom he called and whom he subsequently entertained at dinner
spread in a tent.[FN#292] The guests, Sind fashion, prepared for
the meal by getting drunk. He thoroughly enjoyed it, however, and,
except that he made impressions with his thumb in the salt, upset
his food on the tablecloth, and scratched his head with the
corkscrew, behaved with noticeable propriety. Having transferred
from the table to his pocket a wine-glass and some other little
articles that took his fancy, he told his stock stories, including
the account of his valour at the battle of Meeanee, where at
imminent risk of his life, he ran away. Tea he had never before
tasted, and on sampling a cup, he made a wry face. This, however,
was because it was too strong, for having diluted it with an equal
quantity of brandy, he drank it with relish.
After a visit to the battlefield of Meeanee[FN#293] the Burtons
returned to Bombay in time for the feast of Muharram, and saw the
Moslem miracle play representing the martyrdom and death of Hassan
and Hossein, the sons of Ali. Then Mirza Ali Akbar, Burton's old
munshi, called on them. As his visiting card had been printed Mirza
Ally Akbar, Burton enquired insultingly whether his old friend
claimed kin with Ally Sloper. In explanation the Mirza said that
the English were accustomed to spell his name so, and as he did not
in the least mind what he was called, he had fallen in with
the alteration.
84. Golconda.
On February 21st the Burtons left Bombay and journeyed by way of
Poona to Hyderabad, where they were hospitably entreated by Major
Nevill, the Commander-in-Chief of the Nizam's troops, and Sir Salar
Jung, the Prime Minister. They rode through the town on elephants,
saw the Nizam's palace, which was "a mile long and covered with
delicate tracery," an ostrich race, an assault-at-arms, and fights
between cocks and other creatures. At "Hyderabad," says
Mrs. Burton, "they fight every kind of animal." "A nautch,"
which Sir Salah gave in their honour, Mrs. Burton found tame,
for the girls did nothing but eat sweetmeats and occasionally
run forward and twirl round for a moment with a half-bold,
semi-conscious look.[FN#294]
Then followed the visit to Golconda and its tombs of wax-like Jaypur
marble, with their arabesqued cupolas and lacery in stone.
Here Burton accumulated a good deal of miscellaneous information
about diamond mining, and came to the conclusion that the industry
in India generally, and especially in Golconda, had been prematurely
abandoned; and endeavoured by means of letters to the press and in
other ways to enlist the sympathies of the British capitalists.
But everything that he wrote on the subject, as on kindred subjects,
has a distinctly quixotic ring, and we fear he would not have been a
very substantial pillar for the British capitalist to lean against.
He was always, in such matters, the theorist rather than the
practical man--in other words, the true son of his own father.
The Burtons then returned to Bombay, which they reached in time to
take part in the celebrations in honour of the Prince of Wales,
who had just finished his Indian tour. Honouring the Guebres--
the grand old Guebres, as he used to call them--and their modern
representatives, the Parsees, Burton paid a visit to the Parsee
"burying place"--the high tower where the dead are left to be picked
by vultures, and then he and his wife left for Goa, where they
enjoyed the hospitality and company of Dr. Gerson Da Cunha,[FN#295]
the Camoens student and enthusiast.
Mrs. Burton was as disgusted with Goa as she had been charmed with
Dr. Da Cunha. She says, "Of all the God-forgotten, deserted holes,
one thousand years behind the rest of creation, I have never seen
anything equal it." They left India at the end of April, and were
back again at Trieste on June 18th.
Chapter XIX
18th June 1876-31st March 1877
Colonel Gordon
85. Ariosto.
Shortly after his return from India, Burton commenced a translation
of the Orlando Furioso[FN#296] of Ariosto, a poet, to whom, as we
have seen, he had been drawn ever since those far-off days when with
his father and the rest of the family he had meandered about Italy
in the great yellow chariot. Reggio, the poet's birthplace,
and Ferrara, where the Orlando Furioso was written and Ariosto died,
were sacred spots to him; while the terrific madness of the hero,
the loves of Ruggiero and Bradamante and the enchanted gardens with
their Arabian Nights atmosphere, lapped him in bliss much as they
had done in the old days. Only a small portion of this translation
was ever finished, but he had it in mind all the rest of his life,
and talked about it during his last visit to England.
86. Death of Rashid Pasha, 24th June 1876.
In June came the news of the murder of Rashid Pasha; and a thousand
memories, sweet and bitter, thrilled the Burtons. Mrs. Burton
recalled that "cool and aromatic housetop," the jewel-blue
Chrysorrhoa, the saffron desert, and then it was "Oh, Rashid Pasha!
Oh, Rashid Pasha!" Still she found it in her woman's heart to
forgive the detested old enemy, now that he was gone, but Burton
could not restrain a howl of triumph such as might have become some
particularly vindictive Bible hero.
Writing on 24th June to his cousin, Dr. Edward John Burton, he says,
"We returned here on the 18th inst., and the first thing I heard was
the murder of my arch-enemy, Rashid Pasha. Serve the scoundrel
right. He prevented my going to Constantinople and to Sana'a,
in Arabia. I knew the murderous rascal too well to trust him.
Maria wrote to me about poor Stisted's death.[FN#297] A great loss
for Maria and the chicks. I suppose you never see Bagshaw.[FN#298]
What news are there of him? Is Sarah (What's her name?
Harrison?)[FN#299] still to the fore. It is, I fear, useless to
write anything about poor Edward[FN#300] except to thank you most
heartily for your disinterested kindness to him. I will not bother
you about our journey, which was very pleasant and successful.
You will see it all, including my proposals for renewed diamond
digging, written in a book or books."
"United best love to my cousin and the cousinkins."
Burton made frequent enquiries after Edward, "Many thanks,"
he writes on a post card, "for the news of my dear brother," and all
his letters contain tender and warm-hearted references to him.
87. Colonel Gordon 1877.
In July 1875, Burton heard from Colonel (afterwards General) Gordon,
who wanted some information about the country south of the Victoria
Nyanza; and the friendship which then commenced between these
brilliant men was terminated only by death. In every letter Gordon
quoted Burton's motto, "Honour, not honours," and in one he
congratulated his friend on its happy choice. For several years
Gordon had been occupied under the auspices of the Khedive,
in continuing the work of administering the Soudan, which had been
begun by Sir Samuel Baker. He had established posts along the Nile,
placed steamers on the Albert Nyanza, and he nursed the hope of
being able to put an end to the horrid slave trade. In January
1877, he was appointed by the Khedive Governor of the entire Soudan.
There were to be three governors under him, and he wrote to Burton
offering him the governor-generalship of Darfur, with (pounds)1,600 a year.
Said Gordon, "You will soon have the telegraph in your capital,
El Fasher. ... You will do a mint of good, and benefit those poor
people. ... Now is the time for you to make your indelible mark in
the world and in these countries."[FN#301]
Had such an offer arrived eight years earlier, Burton might have
accepted it, but he was fifty-seven, and his post at Trieste,
though not an agreeable one, was a "lasting thing," which the
governor-generalship of Darfur seemed unlikely to be. So the offer
was declined. Gordon's next letter (27th June 1877) contains a
passage that brings the man before us in very vivid colours.
"I dare say," he observed, "you wonder how I can get on without an
interpreter and not knowing Arabic. I do not believe in man's free
will; and therefore believe all things are from God and
pre-ordained. Such being the case, the judgments or decisions
I give are fixed to be thus or thus, whether I have exactly hit off
all the circumstances or not. This is my raft, and on it I manage
to float along, thanks to God, more or less successfully."[FN#302]
On another occasion Gordon wrote, "It is a delightful thing to be a
fatalist"--meaning, commented Burton, "that the Divine direction and
pre-ordination of all things saved him so much trouble of
forethought and afterthought. In this tenet he was not only a
Calvinist but also a Moslem."[FN#303]
88. Jane Digby the Second.
The patent Pick-me-up having failed, and the Burtons being still in
need of money, other schemes were revolved, all more or less
chimerical. Lastly, Burton wondered whether it would be possible to
launch an expedition to Midian with a view to searching for gold.
In ancient times gold and other metals had been found there in
abundance, and remains of the old furnaces still dotted the country.
Forty cities had lived by the mines, and would, Burton averred,
still be living by them but for the devastating wars that had for
centuries spread ruin and destruction. He, reasoned, indeed,
much as Balzac had done about the mines of Sardinia as worked by the
Romans, and from no better premises; but several of his schemes had
a distinctly Balzacian aroma,[FN#304] as his friend Arbuthnot,
who was writing a life of Balzac, might have told him. Burton
himself, however, had no misgivings. His friend, Haji Wali,
had indicated, it seems, in the old days, the precise spot where
the wealth lay, and apparently nothing remained to be done except
to go and fetch it.
Haji Wali had some excellent points. He was hospitable and
good-natured, but he was also, as Burton very well knew, cunning
and untrustworthy. The more, however, Burton revolved the scheme in
his mind, the more feasible it seemed. That he could persuade the
Khedive to support him he felt sure; that he would swell to bursting
the Egyptian coffers and become a millionaire himself was also taken
for granted, and he said half in earnest, half in jest, that the
only title he ever coveted was Duke of Midian. There were very
eager ears listening to all this castle building. At Trieste,
Mrs. Burton had taken to her bosom another Jane Digby--a creature
with soft eyes, "bought blushes and set smiles." One would have
thought that former experiences would have made her cautious.
But it was not so. Mrs. Burton though deplorably tactless, was
innocence itself, and she accepted others at their own valuation.
Jane Digby the Second, who went in and out of the Burton's house as
if she belonged to it, was in reality one of the most abandoned
women in Trieste. She was married, but had also, as it transpired,
an acknowledged lover.
Like women of that class she was extravagant beyond belief,
and consequently always in difficulties. Hearing the everlasting
talk about Midian and its supposed gold, the depraved woman[FN#305]
made up her mind to try to detach Burton's affections from his wife
and to draw them to herself. To accomplish this she relied not only
on the attractions of her person, but also on glozing speeches and
other feminine artifices. Having easy access to the house she
purloined private letters, papers and other writings, and after all
hope of recovery was over, she would put them back. She slipped
love letters, purporting to be from other women, into Burton's
pockets; and whenever Mrs. Burton brushed his coat or dried his
clothes she was sure to come upon them. Mrs. Burton also received
pseudonymous letters.
But whatever Mrs. Burton's faults, she, as we have seen,
passionately loved, trusted and even worshipped her husband;
and whatever Burton's faults, he thoroughly appreciated her
devotion. They were quite sufficient for each other, and the
idea of anyone trying to come between them seemed ludicrous.
Consequently Mrs. Burton carried her letters to her husband and
he brought his to her. Amazing to say, neither of them suspected
the culprit, though Burton thought it must be some woman's intrigue,
and that need of money was the cause of it.
The real truth of it did not come out till after Burton's death,
and then the unhappy woman, who was near her end, made Lady Burton
a full confession, adding, "I took a wicked pleasure in your perfect
trust in me."
89. The Old Baronetcy. 18th January 1877.
Repeated enquiry now took place respecting the old baronetcy in the
Burton family, and Mrs. Burton in particular made unceasing efforts,
both in the columns of Notes and Queries and elsewhere, in order to
obtain the missing links. Several of Burton's letters at this
period relate to the subject. To Mrs. E. J. Burton, 18th January
1877, he writes: "My dear cousin, I write to you in despair:
That 'party,' your husband, puts me off with a post-card to this
effect, 'Have seen W-----ll, no chance for outsiders,' and does not
tell me a word more. I wish you would write all you know about it.
Another matter. Had the old man left me his money or any chance
of it, I should have applied for permission to take up the old
baronetcy. But now I shall not. Your husband is the baronet and he
can if he likes assume the "Sir" at once. Why the devil doesn't he?
Of course I advise him to go through the usual process, which will
cost, in the case of a baronetcy, very few pounds. Neither he nor
you may care for it, but think of the advantage it will be to your
children. Don't blink the fact that the British public are such
snobs that a baronet, even in the matrimonial market, is always
worth (pounds)50,000, and it is one of the oldest baronetcies in the
kingdom. Do take my advice and get it for your eldest son
[St. George Burton]. As I said before, your husband might assume
it even without leave, but he had better get 'the Duke' to
sanction it. And don't fail to push the man, who won't even claim
what is his right. Que diable! Am I the only article named Burton
that has an ounce of energy in his whole composition."
Chapter XX
31st March 1877 to 27th December 1879
Midian
Bibliography:
55. Sind Revisited. 1877.
56. The Gold Mines of Midian. 1878.
57. A.E.I. (Arabia, Egypt, India) by Isabel Burton. 1879.
58. Ogham Runes. 1879.
59. The Land of Midian Revisited. 2 vols., 1879.
90. "The New Joseph." 31st March 1877-21st April 1877. 19th October
1877-20th April 1878.
Burton now felt that the time was ripe to broach his views
concerning the golden Chersonese to the Khedive (Ismail), and having
easily obtained leave from the home authorities, he proceeded
straight to Cairo. The Khedive, impressed with his representations
and enthusiasm, promptly consented to supply funds, and "the New
Joseph," as Burton was now called, began preparations for the
expedition that was to make both Egypt and himself rich beyond
computation. Then followed a conversation with Haji Wali,
whom age--he was 77--"had only made a little fatter and a little
greedier," and the specious old trickster promised to accompany
the expedition. As usual Burton began with a preliminary canter,
visiting Moilah, Aynunah Bay, Makna and Jebel Hassani, where he
sketched, made plans, and collected metalliferous specimens.
He returned to Egypt with native stories of ruined towns evidencing
a formerly dense population, turquoise mines and rocks veined with
gold. The Khedive in idea saw himself a second Croesus. These were
the quarries, he held, whence Solomon derived the gold for the walls
of the house of his God, his drinking vessels and his lion throne,
but Colonel Gordon, when afterwards told of his scheme, smiled
incredulously. As the hot season necessitated a delay of six
months, Burton returned to Trieste, where life seemed hum-drum
enough after so many excitement, and spangled visions. He spent the
time writing a book The Gold Mines of Midian and the Ruined
Midianite Cities, and the sluggish months having at last crawled by,
he again left Trieste for Cairo.
91. More Advice to "Lazybones." 8th May 1877.
In a letter to Mrs. E. J. Burton, headed "At Sea, 8th May 1877,"
he again touches on the old baronetcy. "Next Saturday I expect
to be at Trieste, whence this letter will start. The Times has
probably told you the story of my last adventure, and this will
probably have explained to you why yours of March 8th has remained
so long unanswered. That document informed me that 'Lazybones'
was going to make himself useful. I hope he has done so. If not,
he can learn all about his grandfather from papers published by the
late Admiral Burton, and I do not think that Miss Eruli would object
to letting him have copies. Of course, don't speak about the
baronetcy. That failing, all he has to do is to put the matter
(after making an agreement) into the hands of a professional man,
who will visit Shap (Westmoreland) and Galway, and who will find no
difficulty in establishing direct descent. Please write to me
again. I shall be heard of in Trieste for some time. Many thanks
to the boys, and salute 'Lazybones' according to his merits."
In due time Burton arrived at Cairo, and the curious expedition set
forth for wild, mysterious Midian. He himself knew nothing of
engineering, but he had the services of a practical engineer--
one M. Marie; and some artists, and a number of Egyptian officers
and Soudanese soldiers accompanied the expedition. The party
included neither metallurgist nor practical prospector[FN#306]
but Burton carried a divining rod, and seems really to have believed
that it would be a help. The expenses, it was ascertained,
would amount to one thousand nine hundred and seventy-one pounds
twelve shillings and sixpence--no very extravagant sum for
purchasing all the wealth of Ophir.
92. Haji Wali Again.
At Zagazig they were joined by the venerable wag and trickster,
Haji Wali, and having reached Suez they embarked on the gunboat,
the "Mukhbir," for Moilah, which they reached on December 19th.
Burton landed with studied ceremony, his invariable plan when in the
midst of savage or semi-civilised people. The gunboat saluted,
the fort answered with a rattle and patter of musketry. All the
notables drew up in line on the shore. To the left stood the
civilians in tulip-coloured garb, next were the garrison, a dozen
Bashi-Bazouks armed with matchlocks, then came Burton's quarry men;
and lastly the escort--twenty-five men--held the place of honour on
the right; and as Burton passed he was received with loud hurrahs.
His first business was to hire three shaykhs and 106 camels and
dromedaries with their drivers. The party was inclined to be
disorderly, but Burton, with his usual skill in managing men,
soon proved who was master.
Nothing if not authoritative, he always spoke in the commanding
voice of a man who brooks no denial, and, as he showed plainly that
acts would follow words, there was thenceforward but trifling
trouble. He himself was in ecstasies. The Power of the Hills was
upon him.
93. Graffiti.
The exploration was divided into three journeys, and between each
and the next, the expedition rested at Moilah. The first or
northward had scarcely begun, indeed, they had not no further than
Sharma, before Haji Wali found it convenient to be troubled with
indigestion in so violent a form as to oblige him to return home,
which he straightway did with great alacrity. His object in
accompanying the expedition even thus far is not clear, but he
evidently got some payment, and that the expedition was a hopeless
one he must have known from the first. The old rogue lived till
3rd August 1883, but Burton never again met him.
Even in Midian, Burton was dogged by Ovid, for when he looked round
at the haggard, treeless expanse he could but exclaim, quoting the
Ex Ponto,
"Rara neque haec felix in apertis eminet arvis
Arbor, et in terra est altera forma maris."
["Dry land! nay call it, destitute of tree,
Rather the blank, illimitable sea."][FN#307]
The expedition then made for Maghair Shu'ayb, the Madiama of Ptolemy
and the old capital of the land. Here they spent a "silly
fortnight, searching for gold," which refused to answer even to
the diving rod. They saw catacombs--the Tombs of the Kings--some of
which were scrawled with graffiti, laboured perhaps by some idle
Nabathaean boy in the time of Christ. They found remains of
furnaces, picked up some coins, and saw undoubted evidences of
ancient opulence. That was all. Thence they made for Makna,
passing on their way a catacombed hill called "the Praying Place
of Jethro," and a shallow basin of clay known as Moses' Well.
From Makna, where they found their gunboat waiting for them,
they then cruised to El Akabah, the ancient Eziongeber, in whose
waters had ridden the ships of Solomon laden with the merchandise
of India and Sheba. They reached Moilah again on February 13th.
The second journey, which took them due East as far as the arid
Hisma, lasted from February 17th to March 8th. Burton considered
the third journey the most important, but as they found nothing of
any consequence it is difficult to understand why. First they
steamed to El Wijh, in the "Sinnar," which had taken the place of
the Mukhbir, and then marched inland to the ancient mines of Abul
Maru. But Burton now saw the futility of attempting to proceed
further. On April 10th they were back again at El Wijh, on the
18th at Moilah and on the 20th at Suez.
In the meantime, Mrs. Burton had left Trieste, in order to join her
husband. She stayed a week at Cairo, where she met General Gordon,
who listened smilingly to her anticipations respecting the result of
the expedition, and then she went on to Suez. Writing to her
nieces, the Misses Stisted, 23rd March 1878, she said: "I have taken
a room looking across the Red Sea and desert towards Midian,
and hope at last to finish my own book [A.E.I., Arabia, Egypt and
India]. What on earth Paul is doing with Richard's Midian[FN#308]
God only knows. I have written and telegraphed till I am black in
the face, and telegrams cost 2s. 6d. a word." At last on 20th
April, while Mrs. Burton was in church, a slip of paper was put
into her hand: "The 'Sinnar' is in sight."
Determined that the Khedive should have something for his money,
Burton and his company had, to use Mrs. Burton's expression,
"returned triumphantly," with twenty-five tons of minerals and
numerous objects of archaeological interest. The yield of the
argentiferous and cupriferous ores, proved, alas! to be but poor.
They went in search of gold, and found graffiti! But was Burton
really disappointed? Hardly. In reading about every one of his
expeditions in anticipation of mineral wealth, the thought forces
itself upon us that it was adventure rather than gold, sulphur,
diamonds and silver that he really wanted. And of the lack of that
he never had reason to complain.
An exhibition of the specimens, both mineralogical and
archaeological, was held at the Hippodrome, and all Cairo flocked to
see "La Collection," as the announcement expressed it, "rapportee
par le Capitaine Burton."[FN#309] The Khedive opened the exhibition
in person, and walked round to look at the graffiti, the maps, the
sketches of ruins and the twenty-five tons of rock, as nobody had
more right; and Burton and M. Marie the engineer accompanied him.
"Are you sure," enquired the Khedive, pointing to some of the rocks,
"that this and this contain gold?"
"Midian," replied M. Marie, blandly, "is a fine mining country."
And that information was all the return his Highness got for his
little outlay of one thousand nine hundred and seventy one pounds
twelve shillings and sixpence.
94. Letter to Sir Henry Gordon, 4th July 1878.
Returned to Trieste, Burton once more settled down to his old
dull life. The most interesting letter of this period that has come
to our hands is one written to Sir Henry Gordon,[FN#310] brother of
Colonel, afterwards General Gordon.
It runs: "Dear Sir, I am truly grateful to you for your kind note of
June 30th and for the obliging expressions which it contains.
Your highly distinguished brother, who met my wife at Suez, has also
written me a long and interesting account of Harar. As you may
imagine, the subject concerns me very nearly, and the more so as I
have yet hopes of revisiting that part of Africa. It is not a
little curious that although I have been in communication with
Colonel Gordon for years, we have never yet managed to meet.
Last spring the event seemed inevitable, and yet when I reached
Suez, he had steamed south. However, he writes to me regularly,
scolding me a little at times, but that is no matter. I hope to be
luckier next winter. I expect to leave Trieste in a few
days[FN#311] and to make Liverpool via long sea. Both Mrs. Burton
and I want a medicine of rest and roast beef as opposed to rosbif.
Nothing would please me more than to meet you and talk over your
brother's plans. My direction is Athenaeum Club, and Woolwich is
not so difficult to explore as Harar was. Are we likely to meet at
the British Association?"
95. Death of Maria Stisted, 12th November 1878.
Burton and his wife reached London on July 27th (1878). Presently
we hear of them in Ireland, where they are the guests of Lord Talbot
of Malahide, and later he lectured at various places on "Midian" and
"Ogham Runes." Again Gordon tried to draw him to Africa, this time
with the offer of (pounds)5,000 a year, but the answer was the same as
before. Then came a great blow to Burton--the death of his beloved
niece--"Minnie"--Maria Stisted. Mrs. Burton, who was staying at
Brighton, wrote to Miss Georgiana Stisted a most kind, sympathetic
and beautiful letter--a letter, however, which reveals her
indiscreetness more clearly, perhaps, than any other that we have
seen. Though writing a letter of condolence--the sincerity of which
is beyond doubt--she must needs insert remarks which a moment's
consideration would have told her were bound to give offence--
remarks of the kind that had already, indeed, made a gulf between
her and Burton's relations.
She says: "My poor darling Georgy, I do not know how to write or
what to say to you in such poignant grief. I think this is the most
terrible blow that could have happened to Maria (Lady Stisted)
and you. I do not grieve for Minnie, because, as I told Dick in my
letter, her pure soul has known nothing but religion and music,
and is certainly in its own proper place among the angels, but I do
grieve for you with all my heart. ... It is no use to talk to you
about 'Time healing the wound,' or 'resigning oneself to what is
inevitable,' but I have so long studied the ways of God, that I know
He has taken the angel of your house as He always does, that this is
a crisis in your lives, there is some change about to take place,
and some work or new thing you have to do in which Minnie was not
to be. I can only pray for you with all my heart, as I did at
communion this morning." So far, so good, but then comes: "and have
masses said to create another gem upon Minnie's crown."
Yet Mrs. Burton knew that she was writing to staunch Protestants
whom such a remark would make positively to writhe. Still, in spite
of her indiscretions, no human being with a heart can help loving
her. She then goes on: "Please know and feel that though the world
looks dark, you have always a staunch friend in me. Dick feels
Minnie's death fearfully. He telegraphed to me and writes every day
about it. I don't think he is in a state of health to bear many
shocks just now, he is so frightfully nervous. He so little
expected it, he always thought it was only one of the little
ailments of girls, and Maria (Lady Stisted) was over anxious; so it
has come like a sledge-hammer upon him. I feel what a poor letter
this is, but my heart is full, and I do not know how to express
myself. Your attached and sympathising Aunt Zoo."
Burton was just then engaged upon his work The Land of Midian
Revisited, and he dedicated it to the memory of his "much loved
niece."
96. Burton's "Six Senses."
On 2nd December 1878, Burton lectured at 38, Great Russell Street
before the British National Association of Spiritualists--taking as
his subject, "Spiritualism in Foreign Lands." His ideas on
Spiritualism had been roughly outlined some time previous in a
letter to The Times.[FN#312] He said that the experience of twenty
years had convinced him: (1) that perception is possible without the
ordinary channels of the senses, and (2) that he had been in the
presence of some force or power which he could not understand.
Yet he did not believe that any spirits were subject to our calls
and caprices, or that the dead could be communicated with at all.
He concluded, "I must be contented to be at best a spiritualist
without the spirits." The letter excited interest. The press
commented on it, and street boys shouted to one another, "Take care
what you're doing! You haven't got Captain Burton's six senses."
At Great Russell Street, Burton commenced by defending materialism.
He could not see with Guizot that the pursuit of psychology is as
elevating as that of materialism is degrading. What right,
he asked, had the theologian to limit the power of the Creator.
"Is not the highest honour His who from the worst can draw the
best?"[FN#313] He then quoted his letter to The Times, and declared
that he still held the same opinions. The fact that thunder is in
the air, and the presence of a cat may be known even though one
cannot see, hear, taste, smell or feel thunder or the cat.
He called this force--this sixth sense--zoo-electricity. He then
gave an account of spiritualism, thaumaturgy, and wizardry,
as practised in the East, concluding with a reference to his Vikram
and the Vampire. "There," said he, "I have related under a
facetious form of narrative many of the so-called supernaturalisms
and preternaturalisms familiar to the Hindus."[FN#314] These studies
will show the terrible 'training,' the ascetic tortures, whereby men
either lose their senses, or attain the highest powers of magic,
that is, of commanding nature by mastering the force, whatever it
may be, here called zoo-electric, which conquers and controls every
modification of matter.[FN#315] His lecture concluded with an
account of a Moorish necromancer, which reminds us of the Maghrabi
incident in "the Story of Judar." When Burton sat down, Mrs. Burton
asked to be allowed to speak. Indeed, she never hesitated to speak
upon any subject under the sun, whether she did not understand it,
as was almost invariably the case, or whether she did; and she
always spoke agreeably.[FN#316] She pointed out to the
spiritualists that they had no grounds to suppose that her husband
was one of their number, and stated her belief that the theory of
zoo-electricity would suit both spiritualists and non-spiritualists.
Then, as a matter of course, she deftly introduced the "one Holy
Catholic and Apostolic Church" to which it was her "glory to
belong," and which this theory of Burton's "did not exactly offend."
As regards the yogis and the necromancers she insisted that her
husband had expressed no belief, but simply recounted what is
practised in the East, and she concluded with the remark, "Captain
Burton is certainly not a spiritualist." Some good-humoured
comments by various speakers terminated the proceedings. It is
quite certain, however, that Burton was more of a spiritualist than
Mrs. Burton would allow, and of Mrs. Burton herself in this
connection, we shall later have a curious story to tell.[FN#317]
During the rest of her holiday Mrs. Burton's thoughts ran chiefly on
philanthropic work, and she arranged gatherings at country houses in
support of the society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
These were well attended and some enthusiasm was shown, except when
there happened to be a meet of the fox hounds in the district,
or when rabbit coursing was going on.
97. Still thinking of Midian. April-December 1879.
The Burtons remained in London until after the publication of
Mrs. Burton's book "A.E.I.," [FN#318] and then Burton set out alone
on a tour through Germany. Mrs. Burton, who was to meet him at
Trieste, left London 27th April; and then followed a chapter of
accidents. First she fell with influenza, and next, at Paris,
when descending the stairs, which had been waxed, she "took one
header from the top to the bottom," and so damaged herself that she
had to be removed in a coupe lit.[FN#319] She reached Trieste after
"an agonizing sixty hours" and was seriously ill for several weeks.
All the while, Burton, whose purse, like that of one of his
favourite poets, Catullus, was "full of cobwebs," had been turning
his thoughts to Midian again. He still asseverated that it was a
land of gold, and he believed that if he could get to Egypt the rest
would be easy. Says Mrs. Burton, writing to Miss Stisted,
12th December 1879: "Darling Dick started on Friday 5th, a week ago,
in high spirits. My position is singular, no child, no relative,
and all new servants." She then speaks of her Christmas book,
which had just gone to the publishers. She says, "It is for boys
from 12 to 16, culled from ten volumes: Dick's three books on Sind,
his Goa, Falconry, Vikram, Bayonet and Sword Exercise, and my
A.E.I." and she was in hopes it would revive her husband's earliest
works, which by that time were forgotten. The fate of this work was
a melancholy one, for the publisher to whom the manuscript was
entrusted went bankrupt, and no more was every heard of it.[FN#320]
Burton's hope that he would be able to lead another expedition to
Midian was not realised. Ismail was no longer Khedive, and Tewfik,
his successor, who regarded the idea as chimerical, declined to be
bound by any promise of his father's. His Excellency Yacoub Artin
Pasha[FN#321] and others of Burton's Egyptian friends expressed
sympathy and tried to expedite matters, but nothing could be done.
To make matters worse, Burton when passing through Alexandria was
attacked by thieves, who hit him on the head from behind.
He defended himself stoutly, and got away, covered however,
with bruises and blood.
Chapter XXI
27th December 1879-August 1881
Camoens
Bibliography
60. Camoens, 6 vols. 1 and 2, the Lusiads. 1880. 3 and 4, Life of
Camoens and Commentary. 1882. 5 and 6, The Lyrics. 1884.
61. The Kasidah. 1880.
62. Visit to Lissa and Pelagoza. 1880.
63. A Glance at the Passion Play. 1881.
64. How to deal with the Slave Trade in Egypt. 1881.
65. Thermae of Montfalcone. 1881.
98. The Lusiads.
Burton had brought with him to Egypt his translation of The Lusiads,
which had been commenced as early as 1847, and at which, as we have
seen, he had, from that time onward, intermittently laboured.
At Cairo he gave his work the finishing touches, and on his return
to Trieste in May it was ready for the press. There have been many
English translators of Camoens, from Fanshawe, the first, to Burton
and Aubertin; and Burton likens them to the Simoniacal Popes in
Dante's Malebolge-pit--each one struggling to trample down his elder
brother.[FN#322] Burton's work, which appeared in 1882,
was presently followed by two other volumes consisting of a Life
of Camoens and a Commentary on The Lusiads, but his version of
The Lyrics did not appear till 1884.
Regarded as a faithful rendering, the book was a success, for
Burton had drunk The Lusiads till he was super-saturated with it.
Alone among the translators, he had visited every spot alluded to in
the poem, and his geographical and other studies had enabled him to
elucidate many passages that had baffled his predecessors. Then,
too, he had the assistance of Aubertin, Da Cunha and other able
Portuguese scholars and Camoens enthusiasts. Regarded, however,
as poetry, the book was a failure, and for the simple reason that
Burton was not a poet. Like his Kasidah, it contains noble lines,
but on every page we are reminded of the translator's defective ear,
annoyed by the unnecessary use of obsolete words, and disappointed
by his lack of what Poe called "ethericity." The following stanza,
which expresses ideas that Burton heartily endorsed, may be regarded
as a fair sample of the whole:
"Elegant Phormion's philosophick store
see how the practised Hannibal derided
when lectured he with wealth of bellick lore
and on big words and books himself he prided.
Senhor! the soldier's discipline is more
than men may learn by mother-fancy guided;
Not musing, dreaming, reading what they write;
'tis seeing, doing, fighting; teach to fight."[FN#323]
The first six lines contain nothing remarkable, still, they are
workmanlike and pleasant to read; but the two concluding lines are
atrocious, and almost every stanza has similar blemishes. A little
more labour, even without much poetic skill, could easily have
produced a better result. But Burton was a Hannibal, not a
Phormion, and no man can be both. He is happiest, perhaps, in the
stanzas containing the legend of St. Thomas,[FN#324] or Thome,
as he calls him,
"the Missioner sanctified
Who thrust his finger in Lord Jesu's side."
According to Camoens, while Thorme was preaching to the potent Hindu
city Meleapor, in Narsinga land[FN#325] a huge forest tree floated
down the Ganges, but all the king's elephants and all the king's men
were incompetent to haul it ashore.
"Now was that lumber of such vasty size,
no jot it moves, however hard they bear;
when lo! th' Apostle of Christ's verities
wastes in the business less of toil and care:
His trailing waistcord to the tree he ties,
raises and sans an effort hales it where
A sumptuous Temple he would rear sublime,
a fit example for all future time."
This excites the jealousy and hatred of the Brahmins, for
"There be no hatred fell and fere, and curst
As by false virtue for true virtue nurst."
The chief Brahmin then kills his own son, and tries to saddle the
crime on Thome, who promptly restores the dead youth to life again
and "names the father as the man who slew." Ultimately, Thome,
who is unable to circumvent the further machinations of his enemies,
is pierced to the heart by a spear; and the apostle in glory is
thus apostrophised:
"Wept Gange and Indus, true Thome! thy fate,
wept thee whatever lands thy foot had trod;
yet weep thee more the souls in blissful state
thou led'st to don the robes of Holy Rood.
But angels waiting at the Paradise-gate
meet thee with smiling faces, hymning God.
We pray thee, pray that still vouchsafe thy Lord
unto thy Lusians His good aid afford."
In a stanza presented as a footnote and described as "not in
Camoens," Burton gives vent to his own disappointments, and expends
a sigh for the fate of his old friend and enemy, John Hanning Speke.
As regards himself, had he not, despite his services to his country,
been relegated to a third-rate seaport, where his twenty-nine
languages were quite useless, except for fulminating against the
government! The fate of poor Speke had been still more lamentable:
"And see you twain from Britain's foggy shore
set forth to span dark Africk's jungle-plain;
thy furthest fount, O Nilus! they explore,
and where Zaire springs to seek the Main,
The Veil of Isis hides thy land no more,
whose secrets open to the world are lain.
They deem, vain fools! to win fair Honour's prize:
This exiled lives, and that untimely dies."
Burton, however, still nursed the fallacious hope that his merits
would in time be recognised, that perhaps he would be re-instated
in Damascus or appointed to Ispahan or Constantinople.
99. At Ober Ammergau, August 1880.
In August (1880) the Burtons paid a visit to Ober Ammergau, which
was just then attracting all eyes on account of its Passion Play.
Burton's object in going was "the wish to compare, haply to trace
some affinity between, this survival of the Christian 'Mystery' and
the living scenes of El Islam at Mecca," while Mrs. Burton's object
may be gauged by the following prayer which she wrote previous to
their departure from Trieste: "O Sweet Jesu. .. Grant that I,
all unworthy though I be, may so witness this holy memorial of thy
sacrificial love, Thy glorious victory over death and hell, that I
may be drawn nearer to Thee and hold Thee in everlasting
remembrance. Let the representation of Thy bitter sufferings on
the cross renew my love for Thee, strengthen my faith, and ennoble
my life, and not mine only, but all who witness it." Then follows
a prayer for the players.
Burton found no affinity between the scenes at Ober Ammergau and
those at Mecca, and he was glad to get away from "a pandemonium of
noise and confusion," while Mrs. Burton, who was told to mind her
own business by a carter with whom she remonstrated for cruelly
treating a horse, discovered that even Ober Ammergau was not all
holiness. Both Burton and his wife recorded their impressions in
print, but though his volume[FN#326] appeared in 1881, hers[FN#327]
was not published till 1900.
100. Mrs. Burton's Advice to Novelists. 4th September 1880.
The following letter from Mrs. Burton to Miss Stisted, who had just
written a novel, A Fireside King,[FN#328] gives welcome glimpses of
the Burtons and touches on matters that are interesting in the light
of subsequent events. "My dearest Georgie, On leaving you I came on
to Trieste, arriving 29th May, and found Dick just attacked by a
virulent gout. We went up to the mountains directly without waiting
even to unpack my things or rest, and as thirty-one days did not
relieve him, I took him to Monfalcone for mud baths, where we passed
three weeks, and that did him good. We then returned home to change
our baggage and start for Ober Ammergau, which I thought glorious,
so impressive, simple, natural. Dick rather criticises it.
However, we are back. ... I read your book through on the journey
to England. Of course I recognised your father, Minnie,[FN#329]
and many others, but you should never let your heroine die so
miserably, because the reader goes away with a void in his heart,
and you must never put all your repugnances in the first volume,
for you choke off your reader. ... You don't mind my telling the
truth, do you, because I hope you will write another, and if you
like you may stand in the first class of novelists and make money
and do good too, but put your beasts a little further in towards
the end of the first volume. I read all the reviews that fell in my
way, but though some were spiteful that need not discourage ...
Believe me, dearest G., your affectionate Zookins."
Miss Stisted's novel was her first and last, but she did write
another book some considerable time later, which, however, would not
have won Mrs. Burton's approval.[FN#330]
101. The Kasidah, 1880.
This year, Burton, emulous of fame as an original poet, published
The Kasidah of Haji Abdu El-Yezdi, A Lay of the Higher Law,
which treats of the great questions of Life, Death and Immortality,
and has certain resemblances to that brilliant poem which is the
actual father of it, Edward FitzGerald's rendering of The Rubaiyat
of Oman Khayyam. Lady Burton tells us that The Kasidah was written
about 1853, or six years before the appearance of FitzGerald's poem.
Nothing, however, is more certain than that, with the exception of a
few verses, it was written after FitzGerald's poem. The veriest
tyro in literature, by comparing the two productions, would easily
understand their relationship.[FN#331] The facts are these. About
1853, Burton, in a time of dejection, caused by the injustice done
him in India, planned a poem of this nature, wrote a few stanzas,
and then put it by and forgot all about it. FitzGerald's version
of Omar Khayyam appeared in 1859, and Burton no sooner read than he
burned to rival it. So he drew from the pigeon-hole what he called
his Lay, furbished up the few old verses, made a number of new ones,
reconstructed the whole, and lo, The Kasidah! Burton calls it a
translation of a poem by a certain Haji Abdu. There may have been a
Haji Abdu who supplied thoughts, and even verses, but the production
is really a collection of ideas gathered from all quarters.
Confucius, Longfellow, Plato, the FitzGeraldian Oman Khayyam,
Aristotle, Pope, Das Kabir and the Pulambal are drawn upon;
the world is placed under tribute from Pekin to the Salt Lake City.
A more careless "borrower" to use Emerson's expression, never lifted
poetry. Some of his lines are transferred bodily, and without
acknowledgment, from Hafiz;[FN#332] and, no doubt, if anybody were
to take the trouble to investigate, it would be found that many
other lines are not original. It is really not very much to
anyone's credit to play the John Ferriar to so careless a Sterne.
He doesn't steal the material for his brooms, he steals the brooms
ready-made. Later, as we shall see, he "borrowed" with a
ruthlessness that was surpassed only by Alexandre Dumas. Let us
say, then, that The Kasidah is tesselated work done in Burton's
usual way, and not very coherently, with a liberal sprinkling of
obsolete works. At first it positively swarmed with them, but
subsequently, by the advice of a friend, a considerable number such
as "wox" and "pight" was removed. If the marquetry of The Kasidah
compares but feebly with the compendious splendours of FitzGerald's
quatrains; and if the poem[FN#333] has undoubted wastes of sand,
nevertheless, the diligent may here and there pick up amber. But it
is only fair to bear in mind that the Lay is less a poem than an
enchiridion, a sort of Emersonian guide to the conduct of life
rather than an exquisitely-presented summary of the thoughts of an
Eastern pessimist. FitzGerald's poem is an unbroken lament.
Burton, a more robust soul than the Woodbridge eremite, also has his
misgivings. He passes in review the great religious teachers,
and systems and comes to the conclusion that men make gods and Gods
after their own likeness and that conscience is a geographical
accident; but if, like FitzGerald, he is puzzled when he ponders the
great questions of life and afterlife, he finds comfort in the fact
that probity and charity are their own reward, that we have no need
to be anxious about the future, seeing that, in the words of Pope,
"He can't be wrong, whose life is in the right." He insists that
self-cultivation, with due regard for others, is the sole and
sufficient object of human life, and he regards the affections and
the "divine gift of Pity" as man's highest enjoyments. As in
FitzGerald's poem there is talk of the False Dawn or Wolf's Tail,
"Thee and Me," Pot and Potter, and here and there are couplets which
are simply FitzGerald's quatrains paraphrased[FN#334]--as,
for example, the one in which Heaven and Hell are declared to be
mere tools of "the Wily Fetisheer."[FN#335] Like Omar Khayyam,
Haji Abdu loses patience with the "dizzied faiths" and their
disputatious exponents; like Omar Khayyam too, Haji Abdu is
not averse from Jamshid's bowl, but he is far less vinous than
the old Persian.
Two of the couplets flash with auroral splendour, and of all the
vast amount of metrical work that Burton accomplished, these are the
only lines that can be pronounced imperishable. Once only--and only
momentarily--did the seraph of the sanctuary touch his lips with the
live coal.
"Do what thy manhood bids thee do, from none but self expect
applause;
He noblest lives and noblest dies who makes and keeps his
self-made laws."
and
"All other life is living death, a world where none but
phantoms dwell
A breath, a wind, a sound, a voice, a tinkling of the
camel-bell."
We are also bidden to be noble, genuine and charitable.
"To seek the true, to glad the heart, such is of life the Higher
Law."
Neglecting the four really brilliant lines, the principal attraction
of The Kasidah is its redolence of the saffron, immeasurable desert.
We snuff at every turn its invigorating air; and the tinkle of the
camel's bell is its sole and perpetual music.
At first Burton made some attempt to create the impression that
there was actually a Haji Abdu, and that the verses were merely a
translation. Indeed, he quotes him, at the end of his Supplemental
Nights, vol. ii., and elsewhere, as an independent author. Later,
however, the mask which deceived nobody was removed. Not only was
The Kasidah written in emulation of FitzGerald's Omar, but Burton
made no secret that such was the case. To further this end
Mr. Schutz Wilson, who had done so much for the Rubaiyat,
was approached by one of Burton's friends; and the following letter
written to Burton after the interview will be read with some
amusement. "Dear Richard," it runs, "'Wox' made me shudder! If you
give more specimens do be good and be sparing of the 'pights,'
'ceres' and 'woxes.' I showed the Lay to Schutz Wilson. He seemed
absorbed in the idea of Omar, and said 'Oh! I am the cause of its
going through five editions.' I told him this was even more
striking than Omar, but he didn't seem able to take in the new idea!
When you want people's minds they are always thinking of something
else."[FN#336] Although the critics as a body fell foul of
The Kasidah, still there were not wanting appreciators, and its four
great lines have often been quoted.
102. Lisa.
By this time Mrs. Burton had provided herself with another Chico.
Chico the Third (or Chica the Second) was a tall and lank,
but well-built Italian girl, daughter of a baron. Lisa had
Khamoor's ungovernable temper, but to the Burtons she at first
exhibited the faithfulness of a dog. Her father lived formerly at
Verona, but in the war of 1866, having sided with Austria,[FN#337]
he fell upon evil days; and retired to Trieste on a trifling
pension. Mrs. Burton and Lisa had not been long acquainted before
Lisa became a member of the Burton household as a kind of lady's
maid, although she retained her title of Baroness, and Mrs. Burton
at once set about Anglicising her new friend, though her attempt,
as in Khamoor's case, was only partially successful. For instance,
Lisa, would never wear a hat, "for fear of losing caste." She was
willing, however, to hang out her stocking on Christmas eve; and on
finding it full next morning said, "Oh, I like this game. Shall we
play it every night!" Just however, as a petted Khamoor had made a
spoilt Khamoor; so a petted Lisa very soon made a spoilt Lisa.
With Mrs. Burton, her Jane Digbys, her Chicos, and her servants,
Burton rarely interfered, and when he did interfere, it was only to
make matters worse; for his judgment was weaker even than hers.
On one occasion, however, he took upon himself to dismiss the cook
and to introduce another of his own finding. On being requested to
prepare the dinner the new acquisition set about it by drinking two
bottles of wine, knocking down the housemaid, and beating the
kitchenmaid with the saucepan. Burton, who flew to their rescue,
thought he must be in Somali-land once more.
Chapter XXII
August 1881-May 1882
John Payne
103. With Cameron at Venice, August 1881.
Burton had for several years been acquainted with the African
traveller V. Lovett Cameron,[FN#338] and in August 1881 they met
accidentally at Venice. A geographical conference was being held in
the city and representatives from all nations were assembled;
but, naturally, the first geographer of the day, Captain Burton,
was not invited either to speak or even to be present. On the
morning of the conference, Burton, Mrs. Burton and Cameron gave
themselves the treat of going over to the Lido for bathing and
breakfast; and being in puckish mood, the two men, notwithstanding
the great crowd of pleasure seekers, took off their shoes and
stockings, turned up their trousers, and made sand castles.
"Look, nurse," bawled Burton to his wife, "see what Cammy and I
have done!" "If you please, nursey," whined Cameron, "Dick's
snatched away my spade." At that moment Lord Aberdeen, President
of the Royal Geographical Society, and a party of grave antiquaries
and geographers, mostly run to nose, spectacles, and forehead,
arrived on the scene; with the result of infinite laughter,
in which Burton and Cameron joined heartily; and henceforward
Mrs. Burton answered to no name but "Nursey." Burton, however,
was justly indignant on account of his not having been invited to
the conference, and his revenge took the shape of a pungent squib
which he wrote on his card and left in the Congress Room. Next day,
while Burton and Cameron were strolling in front of St. Mark's,
a Portuguese gentleman came up and saluted them. To Burton's
delight it was his old friend Da Cunha, the Camoens enthusiast;
and then ensued a long argument, conducted in Portuguese, concerning
Burton's rendering of one of Camoens' sonnets, Burton in the end
convincing his friend of its correctness. Having parted from
Da Cunha, they ran against an Egyptian officer who had just visited
Mecca and brought back a series of photographs. The conversation
this time was conducted in Arabic, and Burton explained to the
Egyptian the meaning of much of the ritual of the pilgrimage.
"As a cicerone," says Cameron, "Burton was invaluable.
His inexhaustible stock of historical and legendary lore furnished
him with something to relate about even the meanest and commonest
buildings."[FN#339] There were trips about the green canals in
a long black gondola on the day and night of the regatta, when the
Grand Canal and St. Mark's were illuminated, all of which Burton
enjoyed thoroughly, for round him had gathered the elite of Venice,
and his brilliant personality, as usual, dazzled and dominated all
who listened to him.
104. John Payne, November 1881.
We now come to that absorbing period of Burton's life which is
connected principally with The Arabian Nights. Amazing as the
statement may seem, we feel ourselves compelled to say at once,
though regretfully, that Burton's own account of the history of the
translation, given in his Translator's Foreword to the Arabian
Nights, and Lady Burton's account, given in her life of her husband,
do not tally with the facts as revealed in his letters. In matters
relating to his own history Burton often spoke with amazing
recklessness,[FN#340] and perhaps he considered he was justified in
stating that his translation of The Arabian Nights was well advanced
by November 1881, seeing that it had for thirty years intermittently
occupied his thoughts. As regards Lady Burton, no doubt, of some of
the facts presently to be given, she was unaware. But she was one
who easily deceived herself. Whatever she wished, she was apt to
believe. The actual facts compiled from existing documentary
evidence--including Burton's own letters--will now be revealed for
the first time; and it will be found, as is generally the case,
that the unembroidered truth is more interesting than the romance.
The story is strangely paralleled by that of the writing of
The Kasidah; or in other words it recalls traits that were eminently
characteristic of Burton. As early as 1854, as we have seen,
Burton and Steinhauser had planned a translation of The Arabian
Nights, Steinhauser was to furnish the prose, Burton the poetry.
They corresponded on the subject, but made only trifling progress.
Steinhauser died in 1866, his manuscripts were scattered, and Burton
never heard of them again. Absolutely nothing more was done,
for Burton was occupied with other matters--travelling all over the
world and writing piles of voluminous books on other subjects.
Still, he had hoards of Eastern manuscripts, and notes of his own on
Eastern manners and customs, which had for years been accumulating
and an even greater mass of curious information had been stored in
his brain. Again and again he had promised himself to proceed,
but something every time hindered.
In November 1881, Burton, who was then at Trieste, noticed a
paragraph in The Athenaeum[FN#341] to the effect that Mr. John
Payne, the well-known author of The Masque of Shadows and of a
famous rendering of The Poems of Francois Villon, was about to issue
a Translation of The Book of the Thousand Nights and one Nights.
Burton, who was an enthusiastic admirer of the Villon and who,
moreover, had not relinquished his own scheme, though it had lain so
long quiescent, wrote at once to The Athenaeum a letter which
appeared on 26th November 1881. He said: "Many years ago,
in collaboration with my old and lamented friend,
Dr. F. Steinhauser, of the Bombay Army, I began to translate
the whole[FN#342] of The Thousand Nights and a Night. The book,
mutilated in Europe to a collection of fairy tales, and miscalled
the Arabian Nights, is unique as a study of anthropology. It is a
marvellous picture of Oriental life; its shiftings are those of the
kaleidoscope. Its alternation of pathos and bathos--of the boldest
poetry (the diction of Job) with the baldest prose (the Egyptian of
to-day) and finally, its contrast of the highest and purest morality
with the orgies of Apuleius and Petronius Arbiter, take away the
reader's breath. I determined to render every word with the
literalism of Urquhart's Rabelais, and to save the publisher trouble
by printing my translation at Brussels.
"Not non omnia possumus. Although a host of friends has been eager
to subscribe, my work is still unfinished, nor could it be finished
without a year's hard labour. I rejoice, therefore, to see that
Mr. John Payne, under the Villon Society, has addressed himself to
a realistic translation without 'abridgments or suppressions.'
I have only to wish him success, and to express a hope that he is
resolved verbum reddere verbo, without deference to any prejudice
which would prevent his being perfectly truthful to the original.
I want to see that the book has fair play; and if it is not treated
as it deserves, I shall still have to print my own version.[FN#343]
'Villon,' however, makes me hope for the best."
In this letter Burton oddly enough speaks of his own work as
"still unfinished." This was quite true, seeing that it was not
even begun, unless two or three pages which he once showed to
Mr. Watts-Dunton,[FN#344] and the pigeon-holing of notes be regarded
as a commencement. Still, the announcement of Mr. Payne's edition--
the first volume of which was actually in the press--must have
caused him a pang; and the sincere good wishes for his rival's
success testify to the nobility, unselfishness and magnanimity
of his character.
Mr. Payne, supposing from his letter that Burton had made
considerable progress with his translation, wrote on November 28th
to Burton, and, using the words Tantus labor non sit cassus,
suggested collaboration. Thus commenced one of the most interesting
friendships in the annals of literature. Before relating the story,
however, it will be helpful to set down some particulars of the
career of Mr. Payne. John Payne was born in 1842 of a Devonshire
family, descended from that breezy old sea-dog, Sir John Hawkins.
Mr. Payne, indeed, resembles Hawkins in appearance. He is an
Elizabethan transferred bodily into the 19th and 20th centuries,
his ruff lost in transit. Yet he not infrequently has a ruff even--
a live one, for it is no uncommon event to see his favourite Angora
leap on to his shoulders and coil himself half round his master's
neck, looking not unlike a lady's boa--and its name, Parthenopaeus,
is long enough even for that. For years Mr. Payne followed the law,
and with success, but his heart was with the Muses and the odorous
East. From a boy he had loved and studied the old English, Scotch
and Welsh writers, with the result that all his productions have a
mediaeval aroma. The Faerie Queene, Chaucer and his successors--the
Scottish poets of the 15th and 16th Centuries, The Morte d'Arthur,
the authorised version of the Bible and North's Plutarch have always
lain at his elbow. Then, too, with Dante, Shakespeare and Heine's
poems he is supersaturated; but the authorised version of the Bible
has had more influence on him than any other book, and he has so
loved and studied it from boyhood that he had assimilated its
processes and learned the secrets of the interior mechanism of its
style. It is not surprising that his first publication should have
been a book of poetry. The merits of The Masque of Shadows and
other Poems were acknowledged on all sides. It was seen that the
art of ballad writing--which Goethe calls the most difficult of
arts--was not, as some averred, a forgotten one. The Masque of
Shadows itself is melodious and vivid from the first line to the
end, but the captain jewel is the necromantic and thrilling Rime of
Redemption--the story of a woman who erred and of a man who prayed
and wrestled with God in prayer for her, and ultimately wrung her
salvation by self-sacrifice from Divine Justice. Here and there are
passages that we could have wished modified, but surely such a
terrific fantasy was never before penned! It is as harrowing as
The Ancient Mariner, and appeals to one more forcibly than
Coleridge's "Rime," because it seems actual truth. Other volumes,
containing impassioned ballads, lyrics, narrative poems and sonnets,
came from Mr. Payne's pen. His poems have the rush and bound of a
Scotch waterfall. This is explained by the fact that they are
written in moments of physical and mental exaltation. Only a mind
in a quasi-delirious state, to be likened to that of the pythoness
on the tripod, could have evolved the Rime of Redemption[FN#345]
or Thorgerda[FN#346]. No subject comes amiss to him. His chemic
power turns everything to gold. "He sees everything,"
as Mr. Watts-Dunton once said to the writer--"through the gauze
of poetry." His love for beautiful words and phrases leads him
to express his thoughts in the choicest language. He puts his
costliest wine in myrrhine vases; he builds his temple with the
lordliest cedars. Mr. Payne does not write for the multitude,
but few poets of the day have a more devoted band of admirers.
Some readers will express a preference for The Building of the
Dream,[FN#347] others for Lautrec[FN#348] or Salvestra[FN#349],
and others for the dazzling and mellifluous Prelude to Hafiz.
Mr. A. C. Swinburne eulogised the "exquisite and clear cut
Intaglios."[FN#350] D. G. Rossetti revelled in the Sonnets;
Theodore de Banville, "roi des rimes," in the Songs of Life and
Death, whose beauties blend like the tints in jewels.[FN#351]
Mr. Payne first took up the work of a translator in 1878,
his earliest achievement in the new province being his admirable
rendering of Villon, in which he gives the music of the thief poet,
and all his humour, and this reminds us that Mr. Payne, unlike most
poets, is a skilled musician. Of his life, indeed, music, in its
most advanced and audacious manifestations had always been as much
an essential a part as literature, hence the wonderful melodic
effects of the more remarkable of his poems. Already an excellent
Arabic scholar, he had as early as 1875 resolved upon a translation
of The Arabian Nights, and he commenced the task in earnest on
5th February 1877. He worked with exhausting sedulity and expended
upon it all the gifts in his power, with the result that his work
has taken its places as a classic. The price was nine guineas.
Imagining that the demand for so expensive a work would not be
large, Mr. Payne, unfortunately, limited himself to the publication
of only 500 copies. The demand exceeded 2,000, so 1,500 persons
were disappointed.
It was at this moment that Mr. Payne became acquainted with Burton.
Mr. Payne admired Burton as a traveller, an explorer, and a
linguist, and recognised the fact that no man had a more intimate
knowledge of the manners and customs of the East; and Burton on his
part paid high tribute to Mr. Payne's gifts as a translator and
a poet.[FN#352]
105. To the Gold Coast, 25th November 1881-20th May 1882.
When Mr. Payne's letter reached Trieste, Burton had just started
off, with Commander Verney Lovett Cameron, on an expedition to the
Gold Coast. In his Fernando Po period he had, as we have seen,
been deeply interested in the gold digging and gold washing
industries,[FN#353] had himself, indeed, to use his own words,
"discovered several gold mines on that coast." For years his mind
had turned wistfully towards those regions, and at last, early in
1881, he was able to enter into an arrangement with a private
speculator concerning the supposed mines. He and Cameron were to
have all their expenses paid, and certain shares upon the
formulation of the company. The travellers left Trieste on November
18th, being accompanied as far as Fiume by Mrs. Burton and Lisa,
who on the 25th returned to Trieste; and on December 17th they
reached Lisbon, whither Mr. Payne's letter followed them. Burton,
who replied cordially, said "In April, at the latest, I hope to have
the pleasure of shaking hands with you in London, and then we will
talk over the 1,000 Nights and a Night. At present it is useless
to say anything more than this--I shall be most happy to collaborate
with you. .... Do you know the Rev. G. Percy Badger (of the
Dictionary)? If not, you should make his acquaintance, as he is
familiar with the Persian and to a certain extent with the Egyptian
terms of the Nights. He is very obliging and ready to assist
Arabists[FN#354] ..... I am an immense admirer of your Villon."
Writing to Burton early in the year Payne observed that as his first
volume was in type, apparently it should at once go to press,
but that he would be pleased to submit subsequent volumes to Burton.
Terms were also suggested.
Burton's reply, addressed Axim, Gold Coast, and received by
Mr. Payne, 20th March, 1882, runs as follows: "I received your
welcome letter by the steamer of yesterday, and to-morrow morning my
companion Cameron and I again proceed to the 'bush.' Of course you
must go to press at once. I deeply regret it, but on arriving in
England my time will be so completely taken up by the Gold Coast
that I shall not have a moment's leisure. It would be a useless
expense to keep up the type. Your terms about the royalty,"
he said, "are more than liberal. I cannot accept them, however,
except for value received, and it remains to be seen what time is at
my disposal. I am working out a scheme for Chinese immigration to
the West African coast, and this may take me next winter to China.
I can only say that I shall be most happy to render you any
assistance in my power; at the same time I must warn you that I am a
rolling stone. If I cannot find time you must apply in the matter
of the introductory essay to the Rev. Percy Badger, Professor
Robertson Smith (Glasgow) and Professor Palmer (Trinity, Cambridge).
I have booked your private address and have now only to reciprocate
your good wishes."
On April 18th Mrs. Burton and Lisa set out for England in order to
rejoin Burton--Lisa, as usual, without any headgear--a condition of
affairs which in every church they entered caused friction with the
officials. When this began Mrs. Burton would explain the position;
and the officials, when they came to find that nothing they could
say or do make the slightest difference to Lisa, invariably
expressed themselves satisfied with the explanation.
Burton and Cameron reached Liverpool on May 20th, and were able to
report both "that there was plenty of gold, and that the mines could
easily be worked." The expedition, however, was unproductive of all
anticipated results and no profit accrued to Burton. Indeed it was
Iceland and Midian over again. "I ought," he says in one of his
letters to Payne, "to go down to history as the man who rediscovered
one Gold Country and rehabilitated a second, and yet lost heavily by
the discoveries."[FN#355]
Chapter XXIII
20th May 1882-July 1883
The Meeting of Burton and Payne
Bibliography
66. Lord Beaconsfield.
67. To the Gold Coast for Gold. 2 vols. 1883.
68. Stone Implements from the Gold Coast. Burton and Cameron.
106. Mrs. Grundy begins to roar. May 1882.
In May 1882, Burton called on Mr. Payne, and the matter of
The Arabian Nights was fully discussed. It then transpired that
Burton's project was still entirely in nubibus. He told Mr. Payne
that he had no manuscript of any kind beyond "a sheet or two of
notes,"[FN#356] and it was afterwards gathered from his words that
these notes were a mere syllabus of the contents of the Boulac
edition of the Nights--the only one of the four printed texts
(Calcutta, Macnaghten, Boulac and Breslau) used and combined by
Mr. Payne with which Burton was then acquainted.[FN#357]
Mr. Payne's first volume was completely in type and had for some
weeks been held over for Burton's return to England. Of the
remaining volumes three were ready for press, and the rest only
awaited fair copying. Burton's thoughts, however, were then
completely occupied with the Gold Coast, consequently the whole
project of collaboration fell through. Mr. Payne's first volume
duly appeared; and as the result of further conversations it was
arranged that Burton should read Mr. Payne's subsequent proofs,
though he declined to accept any remuneration unless it should turn
out that his assistance was necessary. In June, Mr. Payne submitted
the first proofs of Vol. ii. to Burton. Meantime the literalism of
Mr. Payne's translation had created extraordinary stir, and Burton
wrote thus forcefully on the matter (June 3rd): "Please send me a
lot of advertisements.[FN#358] I can place a multitude of copies.
Mrs. Grundy is beginning to roar; already I hear the voice of her.
And I know her to be an arrant w---- and tell her so, and don't care
a ----- for her."
The event at Trieste that summer was the opening of a Grand
International Exhibition--the hobby of the Governor of the town--
Baron de Pretis, and Burton thus refers to it in a letter written to
Mr. Payne, 5th August (1882). "We arrived here just in time for the
opening of the Exhibition, August 1st. Everything went off well,
but next evening an Orsini shell was thrown which killed one and
wounded five, including my friend Dr. Dorn, Editor of the Triester
Zeitung. The object, of course, was to injure the Exhibition,
and the effect will be ruinous. I expect more to come and dare not
leave my post. So while my wife goes to Marienbad, I must content
myself with the Baths at Monfalcone,[FN#359] distant only one hour
by rail" In the next letter (August 14th) Burton refers to a
proposed special quarto (large paper) edition of Mr. Payne's Nights,
the scheme for which, however, fell through. "I am delighted with
the idea," he says, "for though not a bibliophile in practice
((pounds) s. d. preventing) I am entirely in theory." There is also an
amusing reference to a clergyman who after giving his name for a
copy withdrew it. Says Burton, "If the Rev. A. miss this
opportunity of grace he can blame only himself. It is very sad but
not to be helped. ... And now good luck to the venture." Later he
observes, "The fair sex appears wild to get at the Nights.[FN#360]
I have received notes from two upon the nice subject, with no end of
complaints about stern parients, brothers and brothers-in-law."
In September Burton asks for the loan of Payne's copy of the
Calcutta Edition (Macnaghten) and enquires after Vol. i. He says
"What news of Vol. i.? I am very anxious to see it, and so are many
female correspondents. I look forward with great pleasure to
the work."
It was now understood that an attack was to be made on Payne's
volume in the press. Says Burton, September 29th (1882). "Perhaps
it will be best to let -------[FN#361] sing his song. -------- has
no end of enemies, and I can stir up a small wasp's nest without
once appearing in the matter. The best answer will be showing up a
few of Lane's mistakes, but this must be done with the greatest
care, so that no hole can be picked in the critique.[FN#362]
I enclose three sonnets, a specimen of my next volume of Camoens,
and should much like any suggestions from you. They are line for
line and mostly word for word. But that is nothing; the question
is, are they readable English? They'll be printed at my own
expense, so they will ruin nobody. Switzerland has set you up and
don't let the solicitor's office pull you down."
On October 2nd he says: "Glad to hear of a new edition of Lane:
it will draw attention to the subject. I must see what can be done
with reviewers. Saturday and I are at drawn daggers, and --------
of ------ is such a stiff young she-prig that I hardly know what to
do about him. However, I shall begin work at once by writing and
collecting the vulnerable points of the clique. ----- is a very
much hated man, and there will be no difficulty." On the 8th,
in reference to the opposing "clique," Burton writes: "In my own
case I should encourage a row with this bete noire; but I can
readily understand your having reasons for wishing to keep it
quiet." Naturally, considering the tactics that were being employed
against them, the Villon Society, which published Mr. Payne's works,
had no wish to draw the attention of the authorities to the moral
question. Indeed, of the possible action of the authorities,
as instigated by the clique, the Society stood in some fear.
Burton goes on: "I shall write to-day to T----- to know how ---- is
best hit. T----- hates me--so do most people. Meanwhile, you must
(either yourself or by proxy) get a list of Lane's laches. I regret
to say my copy of his Modern Egyptians has been lost or stolen,
and with it are gone the lists of his errata I had drawn up many
years ago. Of course I don't know Arabic, but who does? One may
know a part of it, a corner of the field, but all! Bah! Many
thanks for the notes on the three sonnets [Camoens]. Most hearty
thanks for the trouble you have taken. The remarks are those of a
scholar and a translator."
Later, Burton sent Payne other Camoens sonnets to look over.
Writing on 29th October 1882, he says, "Many thanks for the sonnet.
Your version is right good, but it is yourself, not me. In such a
matter each man expresses his own individuality. I shall follow
your advice about the quatrains and tercets. No. 19 is one of the
darkest on account of its extreme simplicity. I shall trouble you
again."
The first proofs (pp. 1-144) of Vol. ii. were read by Burton in
October 1882, and returned by him October 21st. In his letter to
Mr. Payne of that date he says, "It will only be prudent to prepare
for an attack. I am perfectly ready to justify a complete
translation of the book. And if I am obliged to say what I think
about Lane's Edition there will be hard hitting. Of course I wish
to leave his bones in peace, but --- may make that impossible.
Curious to see three editions of the 1,000 Nights advertised at the
same time, not to speak of the bastard.[FN#363] I return you nine
sheets [of proofs] by parcels post registered. You have done your
work very well, and my part is confined to a very small amount of
scribble which you will rub out at discretion."
Subsequently Burton observed that Mr. Payne required no assistance
of any kind; and therefore he re-refused to accept remuneration for
reading the proofs. Naturally, they differed, as Arabists all do,
upon certain points, but on all subjects save two Burton allowed
that Mr. Payne's opinion was as good as his own.
The first concerned the jingles in the prose portions of the Nights,
such as "The trees are growing and the waters flowing and Allah all
good bestowing." Burton wanted them to be preserved, but to this
Mr. Payne could not consent, and he gives the reasons in his
Terminal Essay. The second exception was the treatment of the
passages referring to a particular subject; and this indicates to us
clearly the difference in the ideas and aims of the two men.
Of artistry, of what FitzGerald calls "sinking and reducing,"
Burton had no notion. "If anything is in any redaction of the
original, in it should go," he said. "Never mind how shocking it
may be to modern and western minds. If I sin, I sin in good
company--in the company of the authors of the Authorised Version of
the Bible, who did not hesitate to render literatim certain passages
which persons aiming simply at artistic effect would certainly have
omitted."
Payne on the other hand was inclined to minimise these passages as
much as possible. Though determined that his translation should be
a complete one, yet he entirely omitted coarsenesses whenever he
could find excuse to do so--that is to say, when they did not appear
in all the texts. If no such excuse existed he clothed the idea in
skilful language.[FN#364] Nothing is omitted; but it is of course
within the resources of literary art to say anything without real
offence. Burton, who had no aptitude for the task; who, moreover,
had other aims, constantly disagreed with Payne upon this point.
Thus, writing 12th May 1883, he says: "You are drawing it very mild.
Has there been any unpleasantness about plain speaking? Poor Abu
Nuwas[FN#365] is (as it were) castrated. I should say 'Be bold or
audace,' &c., only you know better than I do how far you can go and
cannot go. I should simply translate every word."
"What I meant by literalism," he says, 1st October 1883, "is
literally translating each noun (in the long lists which so often
occur) in its turn, so that the student can use the translation."
This formed no part of Mr. Payne's scheme, in fact was directly
opposed to the spirit of his work, which was to make the
translation, while quite faithful to the original, a monument
of noble English prose and verse.
"I hold the Nights," continues Burton, the best of class books,
and when a man knows it, he can get on with Arabs everywhere.
He thus comments on Payne's Vol. iv., some of the tales of which,
translate them as you will, cannot be other than shocking.
"Unfortunately it is these offences (which come so naturally in
Greece and Persia, and which belong strictly to their fervid age)
that give the book much of its ethnological value. I don't know if
I ever mentioned to you a paper (unpublished) of mine showing the
geographical limits of the evil.[FN#366] I shall publish it some
day and surprise the world.[FN#367] I don't live in England, and I
don't care an asterisk for Public Opinion.[FN#368] I would rather
tread on Mrs. Grundy's pet corn than not, she may howl on her
*** *** to her heart's content." On August 24th (1883) Burton says,
"Please keep up in Vol. v. this literality in which you began.
My test is that every Arab word should have its equivalent English.
...Pity we can't manage to end every volume with a tidbit!
Would it be dishonest to transfer a tale from one night or nights
to another or others? I fancy not, as this is done in various
editions. A glorious ending for Vol. iv. Would have been The Three
Wishes or the Night of Power[FN#369] and The Cabinet with Five
Shelves."[FN#370]
107. The Search for Palmer, October 1882.
Burton was now to make what proved to be his last expedition.
All the year Egypt had been ablaze with the rebellion of Arabi
Pasha. Alexandria was bombarded by the English on July 11th,
Arabi suffered defeat at Tell-el-Kebir three months later.
On the commencement of the rebellion the British Government sent out
Burton's old friend Professor Palmer to the Sinaitic peninsula with
a view to winning the tribes in that part of the British side,
and so preventing the destruction of the Suez Canal. The expedition
was atrociously planned, and the fatal mistake was also made of
providing it with (pounds)3,000 in gold. Palmer landed at Jaffa at the end
of June, and then set out via Gaza across the "Short Desert,"
for Suez, where he was joined by Captain Gill and Lieutenant
Charrington. In fancy one hears him as he enters on his perilous
journey asking himself that question, which was so absurdly frequent
in his lips, "I wonder what will happen?"
It is customary for travellers, before entering the Arabian wastes,
to hire a Ghafir, that is, a guide and protector. Palmer, instead
of securing a powerful chief, as the case required, selected a man
of small account named Matr Nassar, and this petty shaykh and his
nephew were the expedition's only defence.
The doomed party left Suez on August 8th. On the 10th at midnight
they were attacked by the Bedawin. "Palmer expostulated with his
assassins; but all his sympathetic facility, his appeals to Arab
honour and superstition, his threats, his denunciations, and the
gift of eloquence which had so often prevailed with the wild men,
were unheeded." As vainly, Matr Nassar[FN#371] covered his proteges
with his aba[FN#372] thus making them part of his own family.
On the evening of August 11th the captives were led to the high bank
of the Wady Sudr, where it received another and smaller fiumara yet
unnamed, and bidden to prepare for death. Boldly facing his
enemies, Palmer cursed them[FN#373] in Biblical language, and in the
name of the Lord. But while the words were in his mouth, a bullet
struck him and he fell. His companions also fell in cold blood,
and the bodies of all three were thrown down the height[FN#374]--
a piteous denouement--and one that has features in common with the
tragic death scene of another heroic character of this drama--
General Gordon.
The English Government still believed and hoped that Palmer has
escaped; and on October 17th it sent a telegram to Burton bidding
him go and assist in the search for his old friend.
Like the war horse in the Bible, the veteran traveller shouted
"Aha!" and he shot across the Mediterranean like a projectile from a
cannon. But he had no sooner reached Suez than he heard--his usual
luck--that Sir Charles Warren, with 200 picked men, was scouring the
peninsula, and that consequently his own services would not be
required. In six weeks he was back again at Trieste and so ended
Viator's[FN#375] last expedition. The remains of Palmer and his two
companions were discovered by Sir Charles and sent to England to be
interred in St. Paul's Cathedral. To Palmer's merits as a man
Burton paid glowing tributes; and he praised, too, Palmer's works,
especially The Life of Harun Al Raschid and the translations of
Hafiz,[FN#376] Zoheir and the Koran. Of the last Mr. Stanley
Lane-Poole says finely: It "has the true desert ring in it; ..
the translator has carried us among the Bedawin tents, and breathed
into us the strong air of the desert, till we fancy we can hear the
rich voice of the Blessed Prophet himself as he spoke to the
pilgrims on Akabah."
In his letter to Payne of 23rd December 1882, Burton adumbrates a
visit eastward. "After January," he says, "I shall run to the Greek
Islands, and pick up my forgotten modern Greek." He was unable,
however, to carry out his plans in their entirety. On January 15th
he thanks Payne for the loan of the "Uncastrated Villon,"[FN#377]
and the Calcutta and Breslau editions of the Nights, and says
"Your two vols. of Breslau and last proofs reached me yesterday.
I had written to old Quaritch for a loan of the Breslau edition.
He very sensibly replied by ignoring the loan and sending me a list
of his prices. So then the thing dropped. What is the use of
paying (pounds)3 odd for a work that would be perfectly useless to me. ...
But he waxes cannier every year."
Chapter XXIV
July 1883-November 1883
The Palazzone
108. Anecdotes of Burton.
In 1883 the Burtons removed from their eyrie near the Railway
Station and took up their abode in a palazzone[FN#378]--"the Palazzo
Gosleth"--situated in a large garden, on the wooded promontory that
divides the city from the Bay of Muggia. It was one of the best
houses in Trieste, and boasted an entrance so wide that one could
have driven a carriage into the hall, a polished marble staircase
and twenty large rooms commanding extensive and delightful views.
The garden, however, was the principal amenity. Here, in fez and
dressing-gown, Burton used to sit and write for hours with nothing
to disturb him except the song of birds and the rustle of leaves.
In the Palazzo Gosleth he spent the last eight years of his life,
and wrote most of his later works.
Perhaps this is the best place to introduce a sheaf of miscellaneous
unpublished anecdotes which have been drawn together from various
sources. We are uncertain as to their dates, but all are authentic.
To the ladies Burton was generally charming, but sometimes he
behaved execrably. Once when he was returning alone to Trieste,
a lady past her prime, being destined for the same place, asked
whether she might accompany him. Burton, who hated taking care of
anyone, frowned and shook his head. "There can be no scandal,
Captain Burton," pleaded the lady, "because I am old."
"Madame," replied Burton, "while fully appreciating your kindness,
I must decline. Had you been young and good-looking I would have
considered the matter."
109. Burton and Mrs. Disraeli.
But Burton could be agreeable enough even to plain ladies when he
wished. In one of his books or pamphlets he had said "There is no
difference except civilization between a very old woman and an ape."
Some time after its publication, when he was the guest of Mr. and
Mrs. Disraeli, Mrs. Disraeli, herself both elderly and very plain,
laid a plan to disconcert him. She seated herself close to a low
mirror, in the hopes that Burton would presently join her. He soon
fell into the trap and was observed a few minutes later leaning over
her and "doing the amiable."
"Captain Burton," said Mrs. Disraeli, with affected annoyance,
and pointing to her reflection, "There must be an ape in the glass.
Do you not see it?"
Burton instantly recalled the remark in his book, but without
exhibiting the least disconcertion, he replied, "Yaas, yaas, Madam,
quite plainly; I see myself."
It was altogether impossible for Burton to do anything or to be in
anything without causing a commotion of some kind. Generally it was
his own fault, but sometimes the Fates were to blame. Few scenes at
that period could have been more disgraceful than those at the
official receptions held in London by the Prime Minister. Far too
many persons were invited and numbers behaved more like untutored
Zulus than civilised human beings.
"Now darling," said Mrs. Burton to her husband, just before one of
these functions, "You are to be amiable, remember, and not lose your
temper." Burton readily promised compliance, but that day,
unfortunately, the crush on the staircase was particular
disgraceful. Apparently Burton, his wife on arm, was pushed on to
the train of a lady in front of him, but whatever he was doing the
crush had rendered him helpless.
"Oh dear!" cried the lady, "this horrid man is choking me."
"It's that blackguard of a Burton!" followed the lady's husband.
Burton's eyes flashed and his lips went livid, "I'll have you out
for this," he cried, "and if you won't fight I'll thrash you like
a dog."
"That's how you keep your promise," said Mrs. Burton to him,
when they got home. "You don't get half a dozen steps up the
staircase before you have a row with someone." Then he burst out
with his "pebble on ice" laughter.
For Burton to overhear remarks uncomplimentary to himself was no
uncommon occurrence, but he rarely troubled to notice them. Now and
again, however, as the previous anecdote shows, he broke his rule.
Once at a public gathering a lady said, loudly, to a companion,
"There is that infamous Captain Burton, I should like to know that
he was down with some lingering and incurable illness."
Burton turned round, and fixing his eyes upon her, said with
gravity: "Madame, I have never in all my life done anything so
wicked as to express so shocking a wish as that."
The next anecdote shows how dangerous Burton could be to those who
offended him. When the Sultan of Zanzibar was paying a visit to
England, Burton and the Rev. Percy Badger were singled out to act as
interpreters. But Burton had quarrelled with Badger about something
or other; so when they approached the Sultan, Burton began
addressing him, not in Arabic, but in the Zanzibar patois.
The Sultan, after some conversation, turned to Badger, who,
poor man, not being conversant with the patois, could only stand
still in the dunce's cap which Burton, as it were, had clapped on
him and look extremely foolish; while the bystanders nodded to each
other and said, "Look at that fellow. He can't say two words.
He's a fraud." Burton revelled in Badger's discomfiture; but a
little later the two men were on good terms again; and when Badger
died he was, of course, Burton's "late lamented friend."
Another of Burton's aversions was "any old woman made up to look
very young." "Good gracious," he said, one day to a painted lady
of that category. "You haven't changed since I saw you forty years
ago. You're like the British flag that has braved a thousand years
of the battle and the breeze." But the lady heaped coals of fire on
his head.
"Oh, Captain Burton," she cried, "how could you, with that musical--
that lovely voice of yours--make such very unpleasant remarks."
110. "I am an Old English Catholic."
In England, whatever objections Protestants may make to Roman
Catholic services, they admit that everything is done decently and
in order. The laxity, however, in the Italian churches is, or was
until recently, beyond belief, and every traveller brought home some
queer tale. Mrs. Burton, who prided herself on being "an old
English Catholic," was frequently distressed by these
irregularities, and she never hesitated to reprove the offending
priests. One day a priest who had called at Burton's house was
requested to conduct a brief service in Mrs. Burton's private
chapel. But the way in which he went through the various ceremonies
so displeased Mrs. Burton that she called out to him, "Stop! stop!
pardon me, I am an old English Catholic--and therefore particular.
You are not doing it right--Stand aside, please, and let me show
you." So the astonished priest stood aside, and Mrs. Burton went
through all the gesticulations, genuflexions, etcetera, in the most
approved style. Burton, who was standing by, regarded the scene
with suppressed amusement. When all was over, he touched the priest
on the shoulder and said gravely and slowly, pointing to
Mrs. Burton: "Do you know who this is? It is my wife. And you know
she will some day die--We all must die--And she will be judged--
we must all be judged--and there's a very long and black list
against her. But when the sentence is being pronounced she will
jump up and say: 'Stop! stop! please pardon my interruption, but I
am an old English Catholic.'"
To one house, the hostess of which was one of the most fashionable
women in London, Burton, no matter how much pressed, had never been
prevailed upon to go. He disliked the lady and that was enough.
"Here's an invitation for all of us to Lady ----'s," said
Mrs. Burton to him one day in honied tones. "Now, Dick, darling,
this time you must go just for Lisa's sake. It's a shame she should
lose so excellent a chance of going into good society. Other people
go, why shouldn't we? Eh, darling?"
"What won't people do," growled Burton, "for the sake of a dinner!"
Eventually, however, after an explosion, and he'd be asterisked if
he would, and might the lady herself be asterisked, etcetera,
etcetera, etcetera, "Dick Darling" was coaxed over, and he,
Mrs. Burton and Lisa at the appointed time sallied forth in all
the glory of war paint, and in due course were ushered into the
detested house.
As he approached the hostess she looked steadily at him through her
lorgnon, and then, turning to a companion, said with a drawl: "Isn't
it horrid, my dear! Every Dick, Tom and Harry's here to-night."
"That's what comes of being amiable," said Burton to his wife,
when they got home again--and he'd be asterisked, and might
everybody else be asterisked, if he'd enter that asterisked house
again. Then the humour of it all appealed to him; and his anger
dissolved into the usual hearty laughter.
One very marked feature of Burton's character was that, like his
father, he always endeavoured to do and say what he thought was
right, quite regardless of appearances and consequences. And we may
give one anecdote to illustrate our meaning.
On one occasion[FN#379] he and another Englishman who was known by
Burton to have degraded himself unspeakably, were the guests at a
country house. "Allow me, Captain Burton," said the host,
"to introduce you to the other principal guest of the evening,
Mr. ----" Looking Mr. ---- in the face, Burton said: "When I am in
Persia I am a Persian, when in India a Hindu, but when in England I
am an English gentleman," and then he turned his back on Mr. ----
and left him. As Mr. ----'s record was not at the time generally
known, those who were present at the scene merely shrugged their
shoulders and said: "Only another of Burton's eccentricities."
A few months, later, however, Mr. ---'s record received publicity,
and Burton's conduct and words were understood.
One of Burton's lady relations being about to marry a gentleman who
was not only needy but also brainless, somebody asked him what he
thought of the bridegroom-elect.
"Not much," replied Burton, drily, "he has no furniture inside
or out."
To "old maids" Burton was almost invariably cruel. He found
something in them that roused all the most devilish rancours in his
nature; and he used to tell them tales till the poor ladies did not
know where to tuck their heads. When reproved afterwards by
Mrs. Burton, he would say: "Yaas, yaas, no doubt; but they shouldn't
be old maids; besides, it's no good telling the truth, for nobody
ever believes you." He did, however, once refer complimentarily to
a maiden lady--a certain Saint Apollonia who leaped into a fire
prepared for her by the heathen Alexandrians. He called her
"This admirable old maid." Her chief virtue in his eyes, however,
seems to have been not her fidelity to her principles, but the fact
that she got rid of herself, and so made one old maid fewer.
"What shall we do with our old maids?" he would ask, and then answer
the question himself--"Oh, enlist them. With a little training they
would make first-rate soldiers." He was also prejudiced against
saints, and said of one, "I presume she was so called because of the
enormity of her crimes."
Although Mrs. Burton often reproved her husband for his barbed and
irritating remarks, her own tongue had, incontestibly, a very
beautiful edge on it. Witness her reply to Mrs. X., who declared
that when she met Burton she was inexpressibly shocked by his
Chaucerian conversation and Canopic wit.
"I can quite believe," commented Mrs. Burton, sweetly, "that on
occasions when no lady was present Richard's conversation might have
been startling."
How tasteful is this anecdote, as they say in The Nights, "and how
enjoyable and delectable."
111. Burton begins his Translation, April 1884.
As we have already observed, Mr. Payne's 500 copies of the Thousand
Nights and a Night were promptly snapped up by the public and 1,500
persons had to endure disappointment. "You should at once," urged
Burton, "bring out a new edition." "I have pledged myself," replied
Mr. Payne, "not to reproduce the book in an unexpurgated form."
"Then," said Burton, "Let me publish a new edition in my own name
and account to you for the profits--it seems a pity to lose these
1,500 subscribers." This was a most generous and kind-hearted, but,
from a literary point of view, immoral proposition; and Mr. Payne at
once rejected it, declaring that he could not be a party to a breach
of faith with the subscribers in any shape or form. Mr. Payne's
virtue was, pecuniarily and otherwise, its punishment. Still,
he has had the pleasure of a clear conscience. Burton, however,
being, as always, short of money, felt deeply for these 1,500
disappointed subscribers, who were holding out their nine-guinea
cheques in vain; and he then said "Should you object to my making
an entirely new translation?" To which, of course, Mr. Payne
replied that he could have no objection whatever. Burton then set
to work in earnest. This was in April, 1884. As we pointed out in
Chapter xxii., Lady Burton's account of the inception and progress
of the work and Burton's own story in the Translator's Foreword
(which precedes his first volume) bristle with misstatements and
inaccuracies. He evidently wished it to be thought that his work
was well under weigh long before he had heard of Mr. Payne's
undertaking, for he says, "At length in the spring of 1879 the
tedious process of copying began and the book commenced to take
finished form." Yet he told Mr. Payne in 1881 that beyond notes and
a syllabus of titles nothing had been done; and in 1883 he says in a
letter, "I find my translation is a mere summary," that is to say,
of the Boulac edition, which was the only one familiar to him till
he met Mr. Payne. He admits having made ample use of the three
principal versions that preceded his, namely, those of Jonathan
Scott, Lane and Payne, "the whole being blended by a callida
junctura into a homogeneous mass." But as a matter of fact his
obligations to Scott and Lane, both of whom left much of the Nights
untranslated, and whose versions of it were extremely clumsy and
incorrect, were infinitesimal; whereas, as we shall presently prove,
practically the whole of Burton is founded on the whole of Payne.
We trust, however, that it will continually be borne in mind that
the warm friendship which existed between Burton and Payne was never
for a moment interrupted. Each did the other services in different
ways, and each for different reasons respected and honoured the
other. In a letter to Mr. Payne of 12th August, 1884, Burton gave
an idea of his plan. He says "I am going in for notes where they
did not suit your scheme and shall make the book a perfect
repertoire of Eastern knowledge in its most esoteric form." A paper
on these subjects which Burton offered to the British Association
was, we need scarcely say, courteously declined.
Writing to Payne on September 9th (1884) he says, "As you have been
chary of notes my version must by way of raison d'etre (amongst
others) abound in esoteric lore, such as female circumcision and
excision, etc. I answer all my friends that reading it will be a
liberal education, and assure them that with such a repertory of
esotericism at their finger ends they will know all the
Scibile[FN#380] requisite to salvation. My conviction is that all
the women in England will read it and half the men will cut me."
112. The Battle over the Nights.
Although, as we have seen, Burton's service to Mr. Payne's
translation was almost too slight to be mentioned, Burton was to
Mr. Payne in another way a tower of strength. Professional spite,
jealousy and other causes had ranged against his Nights whole
platoons of men of more or less weight. Jealousy, folly and
ignorance made common cause against the new translation--the most
formidable coterie being the group of influential men who for
various reasons made it their business to cry up the commonplace
translation of E. W. Lane, published in 1840, and subsequently
reprinted--a translation which bears to Payne's the relation of a
glow-worm to the meridian sun. The clique at first prepared to make
a professional attack on the work, but the appearance of Volume i.
proved it to be from a literary, artistic and philological point of
view quite unassailable. This tactic having failed, some of these
gentlemen, in their meanness, and we fear we must add, malevolence,
then tried to stir up the authorities to take action against
Mr. Payne on the ground of public morality.[FN#381] Burton had long
been spoiling for a fight--and now was his opportunity. In season
and out of season he defended Payne. He fell upon the Lane-ites
like Samson upon the Philistines. He gloried in the hurly-burly.
He wallowed, as it were, in blood. Fortunately, too, at that time
he had friends in the Government--straightforward, commonsense men--
who were above all pettinesses. Lord Houghton, F. F. Arbuthnot, and
others, also ranged themselves on the same side and hit out
manfully.
Before starting on the Palmer expedition, Burton, in a letter of
October 29th, had written to Mr. Payne: "The more I read your
translation the more I like it. You have no need to fear the Lane
clique; that is to say, you can give them as good as they can give
you. I am quite ready to justify the moral point. Of course we
must not attack Lane till he is made the cheval de bataille against
us. But peace and quiet are not in my way, and if they want a
fight, they can have it." The battle was hot while it lasted,
but it was soon over. The Lane-ites were cowed and gradually
subsided into silence. Mr. Payne took the matter more coolly than
Burton, but he, too, struck out when occasion required.
For example, among the enemy was a certain reverend Professor of
Semitic languages, who held advanced opinions on religious matters.
He had fought a good fight, had suffered persecution on that
account, and is honoured accordingly. "It is usual," observed
Burton, "with the weak, after being persecuted to become
persecutors."[FN#382] Mr. ----- had the folly to put it about that
Payne's translation was made not direct from the Arabic but from
German translations. How he came to make so amazing a statement,
seeing that at the time no important German translation of the
Nights existed,[FN#383] it is difficult to say; but Mr. Payne sent
him the following words from the Nights, written in the Arabic
character: "I and thou and the slanderer, there shall be for us an
awful day and a place of standing up to judgment."[FN#384]
After this Mr. ----- sheathed his sword and the Villon Society heard
no more of him.
113. Completion of Mr. Payne's Translation.
Mr. Payne's first volume appeared as we have seen in 1882. The last
left the press in 1884. The work was dedicated to Burton,
who writes, "I cannot but feel proud that he has honoured me with
the dedication of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and one Night.'
...He succeeds admirably in the most difficult passages, and he
often hits upon choice and special terms and the exact vernacular
equivalent of the foreign word so happily and so picturesquely that
all future translators must perforce use the same expression under
pain of falling far short."
Having finished the Nights, Mr. Payne commenced the translation of
other Eastern stories--which he published under the title of Tales
from the Arabic.[FN#385]
Chapter XXV
1883 to May 1885
The Kama Shastra Society
Bibliography:
69. Publications of the Kama Shastra Society.
Author. Translator.
1. The Kama Sutra. 1883 Vatsyayana. Bhagvanlal Indraji.
2. The Ananga Ranga. 1885 Kullianmull. "
3. The Arabian Nights. 1885-1886. " Burton.
4. The Scented Garden
("My old version"). 1886. Nafzawi. Burton and others.
5. The Beharistan. 1887. Jami. Rehatsek.
6. The Gulistan 1888. Sadi. "
or Rose Garden.
Works still in Manuscript.
Author. Translator
7. The Nigaristan Jawini. Rehatsek.
8. The Observances of the Zenanah "
9. Etiquette of eating and Drinking "
(A Persian Essay).
10. Physiognomies (A Persian MS.) Al-R'azy "
11. Anecdotes from the Nuzhat al Yaman. "
(Persian).
12. The Merzuban Namah. (Persian).
13. Extracts from Al Mostatraf. (Arabic). "
14. Extracts from Siraj-ul-moluk. (Arabic). "
15. Extracts from Tuhfat al akhwan us Safa.* "
* For further particulars respecting these works see Appendix.
114. The Azure Apollo.
If Payne's translation had been met by the wind, Burton anticipated
that his own, with its blunt faithfulness to the original and its
erotic notes, would be met by whirlwind. Considering the temper of
the public[FN#386] at the time he thought it not improbable that an
action would be brought against him, and in fancy he perceived
himself standing at bay with the Authorised Version of the Bible in
one hand as a shield, and Urquhart's Rabelais in the other as
a missile.
But though a man of amazing courage, Burton was not one to
jeopardise himself unnecessarily. He was quite willing to take any
reasonable precautions. So he discussed the matter with his friend
F. F. Arbuthnot, who had recently returned from India,
married,[FN#387] and settled at a charming place, Upper House Court,
near Guildford. Mr. Arbuthnot, who, as we have seen, had for years
given his whole soul to Eastern literature, had already published a
group of Hindu stories[FN#388] and was projecting manuals of
Persian[FN#389] and Arabic[FN#390] literature and a series of
translations of famous Eastern works, some of which were purely
erotic. He now suggested that this series and Burton's Arabian
Nights should be published nominally by a society to which might be
given the appropriate name, "The Kama Shastra"--that is the
cupid-gospel--Society, Kama being the Hindu god of love. This deity
is generally represented as a beautiful youth riding on an
emerald-plumaged lorry or parrot. In his hand he holds a bow of
flowers and five arrows--the five senses; and dancing girls attend
him. His favourite resort is the country round Agra, where
Krishna[FN#391] the azure Hindu Apollo,
"Tunes harps immortal, and to strains divine
Dances by moonlight with the Gopia nine."[FN#392]
The books were to be translated by Rehatsek and a Hindu pundit named
Bhagvanlal Indraji, Burton and Arbuthnot were to revise and
annotate, and Arbuthnot was to find the money. Burton fell in with
the idea, as did certain other members of Arbuthnot's circle,
who had always been keenly interested in Orientalism, and so was
formed the famous Kama Shastra Society. That none of the
particulars relating to the history of the Society has before been
made public, is explained by the fact that Burton and Arbuthnot,
conversant with the temper of the public, took pains to shroud their
proceedings in mystery. It cannot, however, be too strongly
insisted upon that Arbuthnot's standpoint, like Burton's, was solely
for the student. "He wished," he said, "to remove the scales from
the eyes of Englishmen who are interested in Oriental literature."
These erotic books in one form or another are in the hands of
200,000,000 of Orientals. Surely, argued Arbuthnot, a few genuine
English students--a few, grave, bald-headed, spectacled, happily
married old gentlemen--may read them without injury.[FN#393]
The modern student seeks his treasure everywhere, and cares not
into what midden he may probe so long as he finds it. No writer on
18th century French History, for example, would nowadays make half
apologies, as Carlyle did, for having read Casanova. Indeed,
he would lay himself open to censure unless he admitted having
studied it carefully. Still, every genuine and right-minded student
regards it as a duty to keep books such as these, which are unsuited
for the general public, under lock and key--just as the medical man
treats his books of plates and other reference volumes. Then again
it is entirely a mistake to suppose that the works issued or
contemplated by the Kama Shastra Society were all of them erotic.
Two out of the six actually done: The Beharistan and The Gulistan,
and the whole of the nine still in manuscript, might, after a snip
or two with the scissors, be read aloud in almost any company.
We have the first hint of the Kama Shastra Society in a letter to
Payne, 5th August 1882. "I hope," says Burton, "you will not forget
my friend, F. F. Arbuthnot, and benefit him by your advice about
publishing when he applies to you for it. He has undertaken a
peculiar branch of literature--the Hindu Erotic, which promises
well." On Dec. 23th he writes: "My friend Arbuthnot writes to me
that he purposes calling upon you. He has founded a society
consisting of himself and myself." After further reference to the
idea he adds, "I hope that you will enjoy it." A few days later
Mr. Arbuthnot called on Mr. Payne. Mr. Payne did not "enjoy"
the unfolding of the Kama Shastra scheme, he took no interest in it
whatever; but, of course, he gave the information required as to
cost of production; and both then and subsequently assisted in other
matters of business. Moreover, to Mr. Arbuthnot himself, as a man
of great personal charm, Mr. Payne became sincerely attached, and a
friendship resulted that was severed only by death.
The arrangement about financing the books did not, of course,
apply to The Arabian Nights. That was Burton's own affair; for its
success was supposed to be assured from the first. Of the books
other than The Arabian Nights published by the Kama Shastra
Society--each of which purported, facetiously, to be printed at
Behares, the name which Burton chose to give to Stoke Newington,
we shall now give a brief account.
Several, we said, are erotic. But it should be clearly understood
what is here meant by the term. The plays of Wycherley and other
Caroline dramatists are erotic in a bad sense. We admit their
literary qualities, but we cannot hide from ourselves the fact that
they were written by libertines and that an attempt is made to
render vice attractive. The injured husband, for example,
is invariably ridiculed, the adulterer glorified. The Hindu books,
on the other hand, were written by professedly religious men whose
aim was "not to encourage chambering and wantonness, but simply and
in all sincerity to prevent the separation of husband and wife"--
not to make them a married couple look afield, but "to lead them to
love each other more by understanding each other better." Vatsyayan
and Kullianmull,[FN#394] indeed, though they poetized the pleasures
of the flesh, would have been horrified could they have read the
plays of Wycherley and Etheridge. The erotic books that Arbuthnot
wished to be translated were the following--all by Hindu poets more
or less famous:--
The Kama Sutra (Book of Love) by Vatsyayana.
Ananga Ranga (Stage of Love) by Kullianmull.
Ratirahasya (Secrets of Love) by Kukkoka.
Panchasakya (The Five Arrows) by Jyotirisha.
Smara Pradipa (Light of Love) by Gunakara.
Ratimanjari (Garland of Love) by Jayadeva.
Rasmanjari (Sprout of Love) by Bhanudatta.
Of these seven books two only were issued, namely the Kama Sutra and
the Ananga Ranga or Lila Shastra. The precise share that
Burton[FN#395] had in them will never be known. It is sufficient
to say that he had a share in both, and the second, according to
the title page, was "translated from the Sanskrit and annotated by
A. F. F. and B. F. R.," that is F. F. Arbuthnot and Richard Francis
Bacon--the initials being purposely reversed.
115. The Kama Sutra.
When commencing upon The Kama Sutra, Indraji--for he was the actual
translator--found his copy, which had been procured in Bombay, to be
defective, so he wrote to Benares, Calcutta and Jeypoor for copies
of the manuscripts preserved in the Sanskrit libraries of those
places. These having been obtained and compared with each other,
a revised copy of the entire work was compiled and from this Indraji
made his translation. "This work," he says, "is not to be used
merely as an instrument for satisfying our desires. A person
acquainted with the true principles of this science, who preserved
his Dharma (virtue or religious merit), his Artha (worldly wealth)
and his Kama (pleasure, or sensual gratification), and who has
regard to the customs of the people, is sure to obtain the mastery
over his senses. In short, an intelligent and knowing person,
attending to Dharma, and Artha and also to Kama, without becoming
the slave of his passions, will obtain success in everything that he
may do." According to Vatsyayana, Kama should be taught just as is
taught--say, hygiene or political economy. "A man practising
Dharma, Artha and Kama enjoys happiness both in this world and in
the world to come." It must not be supposed that the work is
entirely erotic. There are also directions for one's conduct at
religious festivals, especially that in honour of Saraswati,[FN#396]
picnics, drinking parties and other social gatherings. Still, the
erotic preponderates. The work is mainly a handbook on Love.
One is informed respecting what women are or are not worthy
of affection. There are full instructions respecting kissing,
an art which is not so easy to learn as some persons think. Still,
a man who could not kiss properly after reading the Kama Sutra would
be a dullard indeed. Some of the remarks are quaint enough.
Thus we are told that "nothing tends to increase love so much as
the effects of marking with the nails[FN#397] and biting."
Some girls when asked in marriage are slow to make up their minds.
With that situation there are, it seems, several ways of dealing.
The simplest is the following: "When the girl goes to a garden,
or to some village in the neigbourhood, the man should, with his
friends, fall on her guards, and having killed them, or frightened
them away, forcibly carry her off." Sometime it is the man who is
shy. In such cases the girl "should bring him to her house under
the pretence of seeing the fights of quails, cocks and rams,
of hearing the maina (a kind of starling) talk .... she should also
amuse him for a long time by telling him such stories and doing such
things as he may take most delight in."
For Edwin and Angelina when they get married there is also much
wholesome instruction. "The wife, whether she be a woman of noble
family or a virgin widow re-married,[FN#398] should lead a chaste
life." "When the man sets out on a journey she should make him
swear that he will return quickly.[FN#399] ... When the man does
return home she should worship the God Kama." Ladies will be
interested to learn that there are twenty-seven artifices by which a
woman can get money out of a man. One is "Praising his intelligence
to his face." Then there are useful directions for the personal
adornment of both sexes. "If the bone of a peacock or of a hyena
be covered with gold and tied to the right hand, it makes a man
lovely in the eyes of other people."
Of the essential portions of the book it is sufficient to say that
they are similar to those of the other avowedly erotic Eastern
works, the contents of the principal of which have been touched upon
by Burton in the Terminal Essay to his Arabian Nights and in some of
his notes. Finally we are told that the Kama Sutra was composed for
the benefit of the world by Vatsyayana, while leading the life of a
religious student, and wholly engaged in the contemplation of the
Deity. At the same time, the teaching of this holy man amounts to
very much the same as that of Maupassant, which is, to use Tolstoy's
words, "that life consists in pleasures of which woman with her love
is the chief, and in the double, again reflected delight of
depicting this love and exciting it in others."[FN#400]
The work lets a flood of light on Hindu manners and customs;
and it must be borne in mind that the translation was issued
privately at a high price and intended only for "curious students."
In the Preface, Burton and Arbuthnot observe that after a perusal of
the Hindoo work the reader will understand the subject upon which it
treats, "At all events from a materialistic, realistic and practical
point of view. If all science is founded more or less on a stratum
of facts, there can be no harm in making known to mankind generally
certain matters intimately connected with their private, domestic
and social life. Alas! complete ignorance of them has unfortunately
wrecked many a man and many a woman, while a little knowledge of a
subject generally ignored by the masses would have enabled numbers
of people to understand many things which they believed to be quite
incomprehensible, or which were not thought worthy of their
consideration."
Writing to Payne, 15th January, 1883, Burton says, "Has Arbuthnot
sent you his Vatsyayana?[FN#401] He and I and the Printer have
started a Hindu Kama Shastra (Ars Amoris Society). It will make the
Brit(ish) Pub(lis) stare. Please encourage him." Later Arbuthnot,
in reply to a question put to him by a friend, said that the Society
consisted practically of himself, Sir Richard Burton and the late
Lord Houghton.[FN#402]
Chapter XXVI
The Ananga Ranga or Lila Shastra
Bibliography:
70. The Book of the Sword. 1884.
116. The Ananga Ranga.[FN#403]
The title page of the second book, the Ananga Ranga, which was
issued in 1885, was as follows:
ANANGA RANGA
(Stage of the Bodiless One)
or
THE HINDU ART OF LOVE
(Ars Amoris Indica)
Translated from the Sanskrit
and annotated
by
A. F. F. and B. F. R.
Cosmopoli MDCCCLXXXV, for the Kama Shastra Society of London and
Benares, and for private circulation only.
Dedicated to that small portion of the British Public which takes
enlightened interest in studying the manners and customs of the
olden East.
We are told that this book was written about 1450 by the arch-poet
Kalyana Mull,[FN#404] that lithographed copies have been printed by
hundreds of thousands, that the book is in the hands of almost every
one "throughout the nearer East," and also that it is
"an ethnological treasure, which tells us as much of Hindu human
nature as The Thousand Nights and a Night of Arab manners and
customs in the cinquecento." In India the book is known as the
Kama Shastra or Lila Shastra, the Scripture of Play or Amorous
Sport. The author says quaintly, "It is true that no joy in the
world of mortals can compare with that derived from the knowledge of
the Creator. Second, however, and subordinate only to his are
the satisfaction and pleasure arising from the possession of a
beautiful woman."
"From the days of Sotades and Ovid," says the writer of the Preface,
who is certainly Burton, "to our own time, Western authors have
treated the subject either jocularly or with a tendency to hymn the
joys of immorality, and the gospel of debauchery. The Indian author
has taken the opposite view, and it is impossible not to admire the
delicacy with which he has handled an exceedingly difficult theme.
....Feeling convinced that monogamy is a happier state than
polygamy, he would save the married couple from the monotony and
satiety which follow possession, by varying their pleasures in every
conceivable way and by supplying them with the means of being
psychically pure and physically pleasant to each other."
There is a reference to this work in Burton's Vikram and the
Vampire, where we read:[FN#405] "As regards the neutral state,
that poet was not happy in his ideas who sang,
'Whene'er indifference appears, or scorn,
Then, man, despair! then, hapless lover, mourn!'
for a man versed in the Lila Shastra can soon turn a woman's
indifference into hate, which I have shown is as easily permuted
to love."
This curious book concludes: "May this treatise, Ananga Ranga,
be beloved of man and woman, as long as the Holy River Ganges,
springeth from Shiva with his wife Gauri on his left side;
as long as Lakshmi loveth Vishnu; as long as Brahma is engaged in
the study of the Vedas, and as long as the earth, the moon and the
sun endure."
The Kama Shastra Society also issued a translation of the first
twenty chapters of The Scented Garden.[FN#406] In reality it was a
translation of the French version of Liseux, but it was imperfect
and had only a few notes. It has been repeatedly denied that Burton
had anything to do with it. All we can say is that in a letter to
Mr. A. G. Ellis of 8th May 1887, he distinctly calls it "my old
version,"[FN#407] and he must mean that well-known edition of 1886,
because all the other impressions are like it, except in respect to
the title page.
117. The Beharistan, 1887.
The Society now determined to issue unexpurgated editions of the
three following great Persian classics:
The Gulistan or Rose Garden, by Sadi (A.D. 1258).
The Nigaristan or Picture Gallery, by Jawini (A.D. 1334).
The Beharistan or Abode of Spring, by Jami (A.D. 1487).
The first to appear was The Beharistan in 1887. Jami, the author,
is best known in England on account of his melodious poems Salaman
and Absal, so exquisitely rendered by Edward FitzGerald, and
Ysuf and Zuleika (Joseph and Potiphar's Wife), familiar
to Englishmen mainly through Miss Costello's fragrant
adaptation.[FN#408] To quote from the Introduction of the
translation of The Beharistan, which is written in Arbuthnot's bald
and hesitating style, "there is in this work very little indeed to
be objected to. A few remarks or stories scattered here and there
would have to be omitted in an edition printed for public use or for
public sale. But on the whole the author breathes the noblest and
purest sentiments, and illustrates his meanings by the most
pleasing, respectable, and apposite tales, along with numerous
extracts from the Koran." The work consists of stories and verses--
two or three of which will be found in our Appendix--pleasantly
intermingled; but as Rehatsek, the translator, made no attempt to
give the verses rhythmical form, only an inadequate idea is conveyed
of the beauty of the original. It would require an Edward
FitzGerald or a John Payne to do justice to Jami's jewelled verses.
118. The Gulistan, 1888.
The Gulistan of Sadi,[FN#409] which was the next book issued,
is best known in England from the translations by James Ross (1823)
and Edward B. Eastwick (1852). Sadi's aim was to make "a garden of
roses whose leaves the rude hand of the blast of Autumn could not
affect."[FN#410] "The very brambles and rubbish of this book," says
an ancient enthusiastic admirer, "are of the nature of ambergris."
Men treasured the scraps of Sadi's writing "as if they were gold
leaf," and The Gulistan has attained a popularity in the East "which
has never been reached in this Western world." The school-boy lisps
his first lessons in it, the pundit quotes it, and hosts of its
sayings have become proverbial. From end to end the "unity,
the unapproachable majesty, the omnipotence, the long-suffering
and the goodness of God" are nobly set forth--the burden of every
chapter being:
"The world, my brother! will abide with none,
By the world's Maker let thy heart be won."
119. The Nigaristan.
The third of the great trio, Jawini's Nigaristan, did not reach the
press owing to Arbuthnot's death. The manuscript, however,
in Rehatsek's hand-writing, is still in the possession of the Royal
Asiatic Society, 22, Albermarle Street, and we trust to see it some
day suitably edited and published. Arbuthnot, who contributes the
preface, points out that it contains 534 stories in prose and verse,
and that it abounds "in pure and noble sentiments, such as are to be
found scattered throughout the Sacred Books of the East, the Old and
New Testaments and the Koran." A few citations from it will be
found in our Appendix.
120. Letters to Payne, 19th January 1884.
On January 19th, Burton, after asking for the remaining volumes of
Mr. Payne's Nights, says "A friend here is reading them solemnly and
with huge delight: he would be much disappointed to break off
perforce half way. When do you think the 9 vols. will be finished?
Marvellous weather here. I am suffering from only one thing, a want
to be in Upper Egypt. And, of course, they won't employ me. I have
the reputation of 'independent,' a manner of 'Oh! no, we never
mention it, sir,' in the official catalogue, and the one
unpardonable Chinese Gordon has been sacked for being 'eccentric,'
which Society abominates. England is now ruled by irresponsible
clerks, mostly snobs. My misfortunes in life began with not being
a Frenchman. I hope to be in London next Spring, and to have a talk
with you about my translation of the 1001."
All the early months of 1884, Burton was seriously ill, but in April
he began to mend. He writes to Payne on the 17th: "I am just
beginning to write a little and to hobble about (with a stick).
A hard time since January 30th! Let me congratulate you on being
at Vol. ix. Your translation is excellent and I am glad to see in
Academy that you are working at Persian tales.[FN#411] Which are
they? In my youth I read many of them. Now that your 1001 are so
nearly finished I am working at my translation." He then asks what
arrangements Mr. Payne made with the publishers and the cost of the
printing. "All I want," he says, on April 27th, "is a guide in
dealing with that dragon the publisher;" and in later letters he
thanks Mr. Payne for answering his questions. On June 20th (1884)
writing from Marienbad he says, "I should much like to know what you
are doing with the three supplemental volumes, and I hope that each
will refer readers to the source whence you borrow it. This will be
a great aid to the students. The more I examine your translation
the better I like it. Mine will never be so popular because I stick
so much to the text.[FN#412] No arrangements yet make about it,
and MS. will not be all ready till end of January. We (my wife and
I) have enjoyed our ten days at Marienbad muchly, but the weather
has as yet prevented bathing; a raw wester with wind and rain.
Bad for poor people who can afford only the 21 days de rigueur.
Cuthbert Bede (Rev. Edward Bradley) is here and my friend
J. J. Aubertin is coming."
121. At Sauerbrunn, 12th August 1884.
The next letter to Payne, written from Sauerbrunn, in Austria,
is dated 12th August 1884. After enquiring concerning
"the supererogatory three vols." he says, "We left Marienbad last of
last month, and came to this place (a very pretty little spa utterly
clear of Britishers), where we shall stay till the end of the month
and then again for Trieste to make plans for the winter. Will you
kindly let me have the remaining volumes, and when you have a spare
quarter of an hour I want a little assistance from you. When you
sent me your Breslau you pencilled in each volume the places from
which you had taken matter for translation (How wretchedly that
Breslau is edited!) I want these notes scribbled out by way of
saving time. Of course I shall have to read over the whole series;
but meanwhile will content myself with your references. Have you
the Arabian Nights published in Turkish by Mr. Clermont Ganneau?
You will want it for the supererogatory. If you can't get it I have
it somewhere, and will look for it on return to Trieste. Have you a
copy of Trebutien? Cotton, of Academy has just sent me Clouston's
Book of Sindibad[FN#413] for review. I thought it was our old
friend the sailor, but find out my mistake. You will have no
objection to my naming (in my review) your style in the 1001 as
that he should have taken for a model."
He writes again on September 9th (1884): "On return here I found
Vol. ix., with the dedication which delighted me hugely. I did not
notice your fine work in reviewing the Clouston treatise. I had not
your express permission. Living so far from the world I am obliged
to be very careful in these matters: one never knows what harm one
may be doing unawares. Of course I shall speak of your translation
in my preface, as it deserves to be spoken of. Nothing would give
me greater pleasure than to look over your proofs; in fact, I should
be sorry not to do so. I have not yet found Ganneau's Nights,
but I hope to do so. My Turkish Edition was burnt many years ago
in a fire at Grindlay's; but you will easily find a copy. I suppose
you read Turkish;[FN#414] and if you do not you will in three
months; the literary style is a mass of Persian and Arabic.
You must find out which is the best Turkish Edition. My copy had
evidently been translated from a MS. very unlike the Calcutta and
Bulak. ... I have told Quartich to send you a cop of Camoens
(Lyrics), which will be out in a few days."
122. Burton's Circulars, September 1884.
By September 1884 the first volumes of Burton's Arabian Nights were
almost ready for print, and Burton asked himself how many copies
would suffice the public. He was aware that 1,500 persons were
disappointed of being able to obtain copies of Mr. Payne's Edition,
but it did not necessarily follow that all these 1,500 would
subscribe to his. Finally he decided upon 1,000, and he had
three circulars printed respecting the work.
The first began "Captain Burton, having neither agent nor publisher
for his forthcoming Arabian Nights, requests that all subscribers
will kindly send their names to him personally (Captain Burton,
Trieste, Austria), when they will be entered in a book kept for the
purpose." It was then mentioned that there would be ten volumes at
a guinea apiece,[FN#415] each to be paid for on delivery, that 1,000
copies would be printed, and that no cheaper edition would be
issued. The second dealt with the advantages of the work to
students of Arabic. The third consisted of an article welcoming the
work from The Daily Tribune, New York, written by G. W. S(malley).
Burton posted about 20,000 of these circulars at an expense of some
(pounds)80, but received only 300 favourable replies. Lady Burton,
in dismay, then wrote to Mr. Payne begging for advice.
Several letters passed between them, and Mr. Payne sent her the
names of the subscribers to his own book and lists of other likely
persons. A second shower of circulars effected the desired purpose.
Indeed it did far more, for the number of favourable replies
ultimately rose to 2,000. But as we have seen, Burton had
restricted himself to the issue of 1,000. So he found that he had
made precisely the same mistake as Mr. Payne. However, it could not
be remedied.
123. The Book of the Sword.
This year was published Burton's The Book of the Sword, which he
dedicated, appropriately, to the memory of his old friend Alfred
Bates Richards, who had died in 1876. It is a history of the sword
in all times and countries down to the Middle Ages,[FN#416] with
numerous illustrations, the interest being mainly archaeological.
Of "The Queen of Weapons" he ever spoke glowingly. "The best of
calisthenics," he says, "this energetic educator teaches the man
to carry himself like a soldier. A compendium of gymnastics,
it increases strength and activity, dexterity, and rapidity of
movement. The foil is still the best training tool for the
consensus of eye and hand, for the judgment of distance and
opportunity, and, in fact, for the practice of combat. And thus
swordsmanship engenders moral confidence and self-reliance, while it
stimulates a habit of resource."
124. The Lyrics of Camoens, 1884.
This same year, too, he published his translation of the Lyrics of
Camoens, in which, as will have been judged from the letters
already quoted, he had been assisted by Mr. John Payne, who was
also a Portuguese scholar and a lover of Camoens. "The learning and
research of your work," wrote Mr. A. C. Swinburne, in reference to
Burton's six Camoens volumes, "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."
125. More Letters to Payne, 1st October 1884.
On October 1st 1884, Burton wrote to thank Mr. Payne for a splendid
and complete set (specially bound) of his edition of the Nights.
He says, "I am delighted with it, especially with the
dedication.[FN#417] ... To my horror Quaritch sent me a loose vol.
of his last catalogue with a notice beginning, 'The only absolutely
true translation of the [Arabian Nights], &c.' My wife telegraphed
to him and followed with a letter ordering it not to be printed.
All in vain. I notice this only to let you know that the
impertinence is wholly against my will. Life in Trieste is not
propitious to work as in the Baths; yet I get on tolerably.
Egypt is becoming a comedy." Then follows the amazing remark:
"I expect to see Gordon (who is doubtless hand in hand with
the Mahdi) sent down to offer to guide Wolseley up to Khartum."
126. Death of Gordon, January 1885.
Burton little dreamt that the days of the heroic Englishman were
numbered. Sent by the English Government to the Soudan, Gordon had
been at Khartum hardly a month before it was invested by the Mahdi.
The relief expedition arrived just two days too late. Gordon was
slain! This was in January 1885. The shock to Burton was
comparable only to that which he received by the death of Speke.
In one of the illustrated papers there was a picture of Gordon lying
in the desert with vultures hovering around. "Take it away!"
said Burton. "I can't bear to look at it. I have had to feel like
that myself."
127. W. F. Kirby,[FN#418] 25th March 1885.
Shortly after the announcement of his edition of the Nights,
Burton received a letter from Mr. W. F. Kirby,[FN#418] better known
as an entomologist, who had devoted much study to European editions
of that work, a subject of which Burton knew but little. Mr. Kirby
offered to supply a bibliographical essay which could be used as an
appendix. Burton replied cordially, and this was the beginning of a
very pleasant friendship. Mr. Kirby frequently corresponded with
Burton, and they often met at Mr. Kirby's house, the Natural History
Museum, South Kensington, or the British Museum. Says Mr. Kirby:
"At the British Museum, Burton seemed more inclined to talk than to
work. I thought him weak in German[FN#419] and when I once asked
him to help me with a Russian book, he was unable to do so."
Thus even a Burton has his limitations. "He told me," continues
Mr. Kirby, "that he once sat between Sir Henry Rawlinson and a man
who had been Ambassador at St. Petersburg, and he spoke to one in
Persian, and the other in Russian, but neither of them could
understand him. I have never, however, been able to make up my mind
whether the point of the story told against him or against
them.[FN#420] Although Burton was a student of occult science,
I could never lead him to talk about crystals or kindred subjects;
and this gave me the idea that he was perhaps pledged to secrecy.
Still, he related his experiences freely in print." Oddly, enough,
Burton used to call Mr. Kirby "Mr. Rigby," and he never could break
himself of the habit. "Apparently," says Mr. Kirby, "he associated
my name with that of his old opponent, Colonel, afterwards
Major-General Rigby,[FN#421] Consul at Zanzibar." In a letter of
25th March 1885, Burton asks Mr. Kirby to draw up "a full account of
the known MSS. and most important European editions, both those
which are copies of Galland and (especially) those which are not.
It will be printed in my terminal essay with due acknowledgment of
authorship."[FN#422] On April 8th (1885) he says, "I don't think my
readers will want an exhaustive bibliography, but they will expect
me to supply information which Mr. Payne did not deem necessary to
do in his excellent Terminal Essay. By the by, I shall totally
disagree with him about Harun al Rashid and the Barmecides,[FN#423]
who were pestilent heretics and gave rise to the terrible religious
trouble of the subsequent reigns. A tabular arrangement of the
principal tales will be exceedingly useful."
Chapter XXVII
May 1885-5th February 1886
A Glance through "The Arabian Nights"
Bibliography:
71. The Thousand Nights and a Night. 1st Vol. 12th September 1885.
10th Vol. 12th July 1886.
72. Il Pentamerone. (Translated--not published till 1893).
73. Iracema or Honey Lips; and Manoel de Moraes the Convert.
Translated from the Brazilian. 1886.
128. Slaving at the Athenaeum, May 1885.
In May 1885, Burton obtained leave of absence, and on arriving
in England he made various arrangements about the printing of
The Arabian Nights and continued the work of translation. When in
London he occupied rooms at the St. James's Hotel (now the Berkeley)
in Piccadilly. He used to say that the St. James's Hotel was the
best place in the world in which to do literary work, and that the
finest place in the whole world was the corner of Piccadilly.
Still, he spent most of his time, as usual, at the Athenaeum.
Mr. H. R. Tedder, the Secretary, and an intimate friend of Burton's,
tells me that "He would work at the round table in the library for
hours and hours--with nothing for refreshment except a cup of coffee
and a box of snuff, which always stood at his side;" and that he was
rarely without a heavy stick with a whistle at one end and a spike
at the other--the spike being to keep away dogs when he was
travelling in hot countries. This was one of the many little
inventions of his own. Mr. Tedder describes him as a man of great
and subtle intellect and very urbane. "He had an athletic
appearance and a military carriage, and yet more the look of a
literary man than of a soldier." In summer as usual he wore white
clothes, the shabby old beaver, and the tie-pin shaped like a sword.
Mr. Tedder summed him up as "as a compound of a Benedictine monk,
a Crusader and a Buccaneer."
The Hon. Henry J. Coke, looking in at the Athenaeum library one day,
and noticing the "white trousers, white linen coat and a very shabby
old white beaver hat," exclaimed, "Hullo Burton, do you find it
so very hot?"
"I don't want," said Burton, "to be mistaken for anyone else."
"There's not much fear of that, without your clothes,"
followed Coke.[FN#424]
During this holiday Burton visited most of his old friends,
and often ran down to Norwood to see his sister and her daughter,
while everyone remarked his brightness and buoyancy. "It was
delightful," says Miss Stisted, "to see how happy he was over the
success of his venture." He had already resolved to issue six
additional volumes, to be called Supplemental Nights. He would then
take sixteen thousand pounds. He calculated printing and sundries
as costing four thousand, and that the remainder would be net
profit. As a matter of fact the expenses arose to (pounds)6,000,
making the net profit (pounds)10,000[FN#425] Burton had wooed fortune
in many ways, by hard study in India, by pioneering in Africa,
by diplomacy at Court, by gold-searching in Midian and at Axim,
by patent medicining. Finally he had found it in his inkstand;
but as his favourite Jami says, it requires only a twist of the pen
to transmute duvat into dulat[FN#426]--inkstand into fortune.
Except when his father died, Burt 
The Life of Sir Richard Burton / Wright, Thomas, 1859-1936