Part 18 (2/2)
”A little before 6 a.m., on the finest of mornings, with the smoothest of seas, the still sleeping world was aroused by a rumbling and shaking as of a thousand express trains hissing and rolling along, and in a few minutes followed a shock, making the hotel reel and wave. The duration was about one minute. My wife said to me, 'Why, what sort of express train have they got on to-day?' It broke on to us, upheaving and making the earth undulate, and as it came I said, 'By Jove! that is a good earthquake.' She called out, 'All the people are rus.h.i.+ng out into the garden undressed shall we go too?' I said, 'No, my girl; you and I have been in too many earthquakes to show the white feather at our age.'
'All right,' she answered; and I turned round and went to sleep again.”
The result of the earthquake was a great and sudden exodus from Cannes, and indeed from all the Riviera. Visitors fled in panic, but Sir Richard and Lady Burton went about their usual business, and were amused at seeing the terrified people rush off to the railway-station, and the queer garments in which they were clad. Shortly after Lady Burton was terribly frightened from another cause. Her husband had an epileptic fit, and it was some time before she and the doctors could bring him round again. Henceforth it became necessary for them to have always with them a resident doctor. They both of them disliked the idea of having a stranger spying about them very much; but it was inevitable, for the epilepsy was a new development, and as Burton says, ”My wife felt, though she had successfully nursed me through seven long illnesses since our marriage, that this was a case beyond her ken.” So Dr. Ralph Leslie was telegraphed for, and came out from England to Cannes, where he joined them. Then commenced what they called their _Via Crucis_ to Trieste. Lady Burton thus describes her troubles at that time:
”On February 23 we were shaken to a jelly by the earthquakes--three strong shocks and three weeks of palpitating earth in the Riviera. On February 26 my poor darling d.i.c.k had an epileptic fit, or, more properly speaking, an epileptiform convulsion, which had lasted about half an hour, and endangered his life. I had six doctors and two nurses, and we watched and tended him for fifteen days; and I telegraphed for an English doctor to England by express, who came, and lives and travels with us, as Richard insisted on coming to Trieste, not to England, and will return with us. It took us, _after his arrival_, twenty- eight days to accomplish the twenty-eight hours of express between Cannes and Trieste in toil, anguish, and anxiety. We arrived April 5 at home in rest and comfort. He has been making daily progress to health. He is now out walking with his doctor. We had a consultation a few days ago. He will always require _great care and watching_ all his life--diet and internal health; must not climb, as his heart is weak, nor take Turkish baths, nor overwork; and he may so live fifteen years, but he may die any moment of heart disease. And I need not say that I shall never have a really happy, peaceful moment again. In the midst of this my uncle,[3] who was like my father to me, was found dead in his bed. Then I have had a bad lip and money losses, and altogether a bad time of it.”[4]
At Trieste Burton led the life of a confirmed invalid, and his wife attended him with unfailing devotion, which was in no way abated by the presence of the resident doctor ”a disagreeable luxury,” as she called him. They used to sit a good deal under their favourite linden tree in the garden and receive visitors. Burton's love for his wife, always deep, though never demonstrative, seems to have shown itself more at this time; and in the few remaining years he came to lean on her more and more, making her his _confidante_ in all things. In June they celebrated the Jubilee of Queen Victoria, and owing to her husband's illness, nearly all the arrangements fell upon Lady Burton. It was she who drew up the address which was sent to Her Majesty, and she also prepared the speech to deliver in case her husband was too unwell to attend the public dinner in celebration of the event. As Lady Burton has been accused of being such a bigoted Roman Catholic, it is only fair to mention that on this auspicious occasion she accompanied her husband to the official service in the Anglican Church. Her loyalty to her Queen was unswerving. She was not required to make the speech, as Burton was well enough to be carried down to the dinner, and he delivered the oration. It was the only occasion on which he ever wore his Order of St. Michael and St. George. The effort was so great that he had to be carried upstairs again the moment his speech was over.
The rest of 1887 was chiefly taken up by a dreary record of failing health. The Burtons went away for a summer holiday as usual, and during their absence from Trieste many English Royalties arrived there with the squadron; but they were unable to receive them. On their return Dr.
Leslie had to leave them, and his place was supplied by another doctor.
It became more than ever necessary that a medical man should be in attendance, for Lady Burton seemed to suffer in sympathy with her husband, and as he got worse she became worse too. She writes about this time: ”I am unable to take anything which might be called a walk.
Driving was sometimes very painful to him, and it would not have been safe to let him go alone.” It was one of her sorest trials that she could not minister to her husband as formerly; but disease had laid its hand on her too. Their life at Trieste at this time was naturally uneventful. Instead of getting up, as they used to do, and beginning their labours in the small hours of the morning, the Burtons now rose at seven, and did as much literary work as they could until nine, when the doctor would come in. At twelve o'clock they had breakfast, and after that the time was devoted either to more literary work or recreation.
At four they would receive any friends who came to see them. At half- past seven they dined no longer at the hotel as formerly, but at home; and at nine o'clock they retired to rest. It was about this time that Sir Richard finished the last volume of his ”Supplemental” _Arabian Nights_. The weather was so bad at Trieste, and his health so uncertain, that the Foreign Office again gave him leave.
He and his wife came by a roundabout route to England, and saw many old friends. On October 15 they went down to Folkestone, where they stayed a few days with his relatives. They crossed on October 26 to Boulogne. It was Sir Richard's last visit to England; he never saw his country again.
At Boulogne they visited once more the old haunts where they had met for the first time years ago, and renewed acquaintance with the scenes of their vanished youth. It is worthy of notice how often husband and wife went to Boulogne together during their married life. It seemed as though the place was endeared to them by the recollection that it was here that they had first come together. From Boulogne they went to Switzerland, where they pa.s.sed Christmas. When they were at Montreux they celebrated their wedding day (January 22), and the people in the hotel overwhelmed them with presents and flowers and pretty speeches.
Lady Burton says, ”I got quite choky, and Richard ran away and locked himself up.” A rather ludicrous incident occurred here. They were expecting a visit from the famous Elisee Reclus. Lady Burton prepared herself to receive him with honour, and she had beforehand been warned of his little peculiarities. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and some one was announced whose name she did not catch. She greeted the new-comer with effusion, saying, ”Dear Monsieur Reclus, I am so delighted to make your acquaintance; such a pleasure to know such a distinguished man.” Her greeting was acknowledged with equal effusion by her visitor, who then proceeded to pull a key out of his pocket, and went up to the clock. Lady Burton was somewhat surprised, but she put it down to a great man's peculiarity; so she went on talking to him, and explaining the pleasure which it would give Sir Richard to make his acquaintance, when the door was opened again,and the servant announced, ”Monsieur Reclus.” The man she had been talking to was the clockwinder.
From Montreux they toured about Switzerland for some few weeks, and in March they returned again to Trieste, where they remained off and on until November.
During the summer Burton's health, fortified by continual change of air and scene, improved a good deal. The Foreign Office was most indulgent in the amount of liberty which it gave to him. Lord Salisbury was now at the head of affairs; and though the Government did not see their way to allowing Burton to retire on full pension, they granted him what was almost the same thing--frequent and extended leaves; and it must be remembered too the time of his Consular service was now fast drawing to a close. Lady Burton always said that, next to Lord Derby, Lord and Lady Salisbury were their best friends. About this time Lady Salisbury wrote to her:
”HATFIELD HOUSE, HATFIELD, HERTS, July 21, 1880.
”MY DEAR LADY BURTON,
”I am very glad to hear so good an account of you and Sir Richard. We are here as busy as usual at this time of year. We have had great doings for the Shah, who is still in this country. He dined and slept here one night about a fortnight ago, and we had a garden-party for him next day.
He behaved very well, and gives me the idea of being an able man; though whether he will think England a stronger friend than Russia remains to be seen. I sometimes fear he will carry away a greater idea of our riches and luxury than of our strength, but _qui vivra, verra_.
”We are now up to our lips in a royal marriage. It is to take place next Sat.u.r.day, and will I dare say be a very pretty sight. The young lady[5]
is very happy by all accounts, and looks quite radiant. Politics are pretty quiet, and there are as few mistakes made as you can expect in the fourth year of a government. I think we are rather losing in London, but are gaining in other places. On the whole all things are very quiet.
With kind regards to Sir Richard,
”Believe me, ”Yours very sincerely, ”G. SALISBURY.”
In November the Burtons started, _via_ Brindisi, for Malta, where they pa.s.sed a pleasant month, met many friends, and enjoyed themselves very much. From Malta they went to Tunis, and renewed their acquaintance with the Bedawin and the Arab tents. It was their last glimpse of the desert life which they loved so well. Among other places they visited the ruins of Carthage, and made as many excursions into the interior as it was possible, considering the state of Sir Richard's health. From Tunis they went by train to Algiers, starting on the journey at 5.15 on a cold January morning. When they reached Algiers, they were delighted with it at first; but they soon tired. Even an expedition to the baths of Hammam R'irha did not reconcile them to the place, and they left it early in March, going by boat to Ma.r.s.eilles, and then travelling homewards by way of the Riviera to Genoa, and thence to Venice. They crossed to Trieste the following day, having been absent more than four months.
They remained at Trieste until July 1, when they started for their last summer trip. The heat in Trieste during July and August is almost insupportable. They went to Innsbruck, Zurich, Davos Platz, Regatz, and other places. They were counting the months to the day when Burton would complete his term in the Consular Service, and would be permitted to retire on his pension. From Zurich Lady Burton wrote to a friend[6]:
”We go back (D.V.) September 1 or thereabouts, stay three months, and then winter in Greece and Constantinople. In March d.i.c.k's service is ended, and between that and August we pack up, settle our affairs, and come home for good. In one sense I am glad, because he yearns for a little flat in London; we shall be in the land of good advice and nourishment; and, G.o.d willing, I shall have brought him home safe and sound after thirty years' perils and dangers by health and land and sea.
On the other hand, it is a wrench to give up my nice home. I have the whole of the second and top floor now, and I have made it so pretty, and I love Trieste and the life of my friends. I don't know how I shall concentrate myself and my belongings into a vulgar little flat--on small means. If you see any flat likely to suit us, let me know.”
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