Part 9 (2/2)

”I never knew you were in Venice this autumn, and, as it happened, it was fortunate I did not go to Trieste to see you, since you were away.

I grieve very much to hear of your bad health. It seems to me you do too much. The long list of occupations which you call 'repose' is enough to wear out any const.i.tution, even one which is so admirably knit as yours.

Don't be like the lady in Pope's satire, and 'die of nothing but a rage to live.' There is one part of your labours, however, for which I, with all the rest of the world, shall be thankful; and that is your new book.

I shall look for it with impatience, and feel sure of its success.

”I wish you were not going to Arabia; but I know how you understand and fulfil the part of wife to a knight-errantry of discovery. Be as prudent and sparing of yourself as you can.

”Yours ever, ”HENRY MATTHEWS.”

After they had been at Trieste two years, at the end of 1874 Burton proposed that his wife should go to England and transact some business for him, and bring out certain books which he had written. He would join her later on. Isabel was exceedingly unwilling to go; but ”whenever he put his foot down I had to do it, whether I would or no.” So she went, and arrived in London in December, after an uneventful journey.

Isabel found her work cut out for her in London. Her husband had given her several pages of directions, and she tried to carry them out as literally as possible. She had to see a number of publishers for one thing, and to work up an interest in a sulphur mine for another. She says: ”I got so wrapped up in my work at this time that sometimes I worked for thirteen hours, feeling my head whirling, and being quite alarmed. Then I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to eat all day.” She had also the proof-sheets to correct of her own book, which was going through the press. She was in London without her husband for four months, and during that time she had a great shock. A paragraph appeared in _The Scotsman_ announcing Burton's death, and speaking of her as his widow. She telegraphed to Trieste at once, and packed up. Just as she was starting she got a telegram from him saying, ”I am eating a very good dinner at _table d'hote_.”

Early in May Burton joined her on a lengthy leave of absence, and they did a great deal of visiting, and enjoyed themselves generally. Isabel's _Inner Life of Syria_ was published at this time, and she was very anxious about it. It had taken sixteen months to write. The evening of the day on which it made its appearance she went to a party, and the first person she saw whom she knew was a well-known editor, who greeted her with warm congratulations on her book. She says, ”It made me as happy as if somebody had given me a fortune.”

The favourable reception which was accorded to _The Inner Life of Syria_, which was largely devoted to a defence of her husband's action when Consul at Damascus, encouraged Isabel to proceed further on his behalf.

So she wrote to, or interviewed, every influential friend she knew, with a view of inducing the Government to make Burton K. C. B., and she prepared a paper setting forth his claims and labours in the public service, which was signed by thirty or forty of the most influential personages of the day. She also induced them to ask that Burton should either return to Damascus, or be promoted to Morocco, Cairo, Tunis, or Teheran. Unfortunately her efforts met with no success, though she renewed them again through another source three years later. In one sense, however, she succeeded; for though she could not convert the Government to her view, the press unanimously took up the cause for Burton, and complained that the Government did not give him his proper place in official life, and called him the ”neglected Englishman.” As for Burton himself, he took no part in this agitation, except to thank his friends and the press generally for their exertions on his behalf.

They went down to Oxford at Commemoration to visit Professor Jowett and others. At Oxford they met with an ovation. In London they pa.s.sed a very pleasant season, for private personages seemed anxious to make up for official neglect. Among other celebrated people whom they met was Mr. Gladstone, at Lord Houghton's. Of Burton's meeting with Mr.

Gladstone Isabel relates the following: ”Very late in the evening Mrs. Gladstone said to me, 'I don't know what it is; I cannot get Mr.

Gladstone away this evening'; and I said to her, 'I think I know what it is; he has got hold of my husband, Richard Burton, and they are both so interested in one another, and have so many points of interest to talk over that I hope you will not take him away.'”

The season over, Burton started on another trip to Iceland; and Isabel was left alone, during which time she paid some visits to the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Somerset at Bulstrode, always kind friends of hers, and to Madame von Bulow at Reigate. Madame von Bulow was the wife of the Danish Minister in London, and one of Isabel's most intimate friends-- a friends.h.i.+p which lasted all her life.

When Burton returned from Iceland, he went off to Vichy for a cure, and rejoined his wife in London in the autumn; and they went out a great deal, chiefly in scientific, literary, and artistic circles. This year was in some respects one of the pleasantest of Isabel's life. Her book had come out, and was a great success; she had been _feted_ by all her friends and relations; and though her efforts to obtain promotion for her husband had not met with the success which they deserved, yet the kind encouragement which she received from influential friends, who, though not members of the Government, were yet near the rose, made her hope that better days were soon to come.

In December Burton, finding that he had still six months' leave, asked his wife where she would like to go best. She answered, ”India.” It had long been her desire to go there with her husband, and get him to show her all the familiar spots which he had described to her as having visited or lived at during his nineteen years' service in India. Burton was delighted with the idea. So they got a map, cut India down the middle lengthways from Cashmere to Cape Comorin, and planned out how much they could manage to see on the western side, intending to leave the eastern side for another time, as the season was already too far advanced for them to be able to see the whole of India.

NOTES:

1. Lady Burton thus describes her visit to the Austrian Court:

”I was very much dazzled by the Court. I thought everything was beautifully done, so arranged as to give every one pleasure, and somehow it was the graciousness that was in itself a welcome. I shall never forget the first night that I saw the Empress--a vision of beauty, clothed in silver, crowned with water-lilies, with large rows of diamonds and emeralds round her small head and her beautiful hair, and descending all down her dress in festoons.

The throne-room is immense, with marble columns down each side-- all the men arranged on one side and all the women on the other, and the new presentations with their amba.s.sadors and emba.s.sadresses nearest the throne. When the Emperor and Empress came in, they walked up the middle, the Empress curtseying most gracefully and smiling a general gracious greeting. They then ascended the throne, and presently the Empress turned to our side. The presentations first took place, and she spoke to each one in her own language, and on her own particular subject. I was quite entranced with her beauty, her cleverness, and her conversation.

She pa.s.sed down the ladies' side, and then came up that of the men, the Emperor doing exactly the same as she had done. He also spoke to us. Then some few of us whose families the Empress knew about were asked to sit down, and refreshments were handed to us--the present Georgina Lady Dudley sitting by the Empress.

It was a thing never to be forgotten to have seen those two beautiful women sitting side by side. The Empress Frederick of Germany--Crown Princess she was then--was also there, and sent for some of us on another day, which was in many ways another memorable event, and her husband also came in.”(_Life of Sir Richard Burton_, by Isabel his wife, vol. ii., pp. 24, 25).

CHAPTER XXI.[1] THE JOURNEY TO BOMBAY. (1875-1876).

As we meet and touch each day The many travellers on the way, Let every such brief contact be A glorious helpful ministry-- The contact of the soil and seed, Each giving to the other's need, Each helping on the other's best, And blessing each, as well as blest.

On December 4, 1875, we left London for Trieste, _en route_ for India.

It was not a cheerful day for saying good-bye to Old England and dear friends. There was a fog as black as midnight, thick snow was lying about the streets, and a dull red gloom only rendered the darkness visible and horrible. The great city was wrapped in the sullen splendours of a London fog. ”It looks,” said Richard, ”as if the city were in mourning for some great national crime.” ”No,” I said, ”rather let us think that our fatherland wears mourning for our departure into exile once more.” I felt as if I could never rise and face the day that morning. However, we _had_ to go, so there was nothing to do but put our shoulders to the wheel. We lunched with my father and family by lamplight at one o'clock in the day. We prolonged the ”festive” meal as much as we could, and then set out, a large family party, by the 4.45 train to Folkestone. We all had supper together at Folkestone, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. The next day my relations wished me good-bye--always a hard word to say.

One parting in particular wrung my heart: I little thought then I should meet no more my brother Rudolph, the last of my four dear brothers, all of whom died young by untoward accidents. It was strange I was always bidding good-bye to them every three or four years. One ought to have been steeled to parting by now. Nevertheless every time the wrench was as keen as ever.

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