Part 4 (1/2)
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 wors.h.i.+pper 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 pa.s.sions; banish l.u.s.t And anger; be of none afraid, A hundred wounds take undismayed.” [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 pa.s.sed examinations in six native languages and had studied others n.o.body 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 [81] daughter of Dr. Francis Burton, who had just lost her mother. [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 [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 [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 [85] is not yet out: his regiment is at Belgaum [86], but I shall do my best to see him as soon as possible. Edward [87] is still in Ceylon and the war [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 [89], and he was pa.s.sed over [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 s.h.i.+p, ”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 ma.s.s 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, [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.” [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 a.s.sociations of the various towns were their princ.i.p.al charm. To him, Verona stood for Catullus, Brindisi for Virgil, Sorrento for Ta.s.so, Florence for ”the all Etruscan three,” [93]