The Life of Sir Richard Burton Part 37

At Davos they found John Addington Symonds, and at Maloja Mr. Francis R. S. Wyllie, Mr. and Mrs. (Sir and Lady) Squire Bancroft, the Rev. Dr.

Welldon and Mr. and Mrs. (Sir and Lady) Henry Stanley. Mrs. Stanley, apparently at Lady Burton's suggestion, took a sheet of paper and wrote on it, "I promise to put aside all other literature, and, as soon as I return to Trieste, to write my autobiography." Then doubling the paper she asked for Burton's autograph; and her request having been complied with, she showed him what he had put his hand to. The rest of the company signed as witnesses.

For some days, though it was early autumn, the party was snow-bound, and Burton relieved the wearisomeness of the occasion by relating some of his adventures. Mrs. Bancroft told him many amusing stories as they walked together in a sheltered covered way.

"He had interested me so greatly," writes Lady Bancroft to me, [624]

"that I felt myself in his debt, and so tried by that means to make it up to him. He laughed heartily at them. Indeed, I never knew anyone who more enjoyed my stories. One morning early I played a practical joke upon him. He politely raised his hat and said: 'I will forgive you, dear friend, on one condition. Play the same trick on Stanley when he comes down and I will watch.' I agreed, and fortunately brought down my second bird. Both victims forgave me. One day I posed the Burtons, the Stanleys, Captain Mounteney Jephson (Stanley's friend and companion), with Salah (Stanley's black servant) for a photograph, which was taken by a young clergyman. I have the delightful result in my possession. I remember on a splendid morning, when the weather had mended and the sun was dancing over a neighbouring glacier, my husband saying to the black boy, 'Salah, isn't this a lovely day--don't you like to see the beautiful sun again?' 'No, sir,' was the answer, 'ice makes him cold.'

Both Stanley and Sir Richard interested me more than I can say; they were wonderful personalities, and those were, indeed, happy days."

Almost every day during the trip Sir Richard brought the Catullus to the table d'hote, and on 21st July he had finished his second copy. He then wrote in the margin, "Work incomplete, but as soon as I receive Mr.

Smithers' prose, I will fill in the words I now leave in stars, in order that we may not use the same expressions, and I will then make a third, fair and complete copy." [625] During this trip, too, Burton very kindly revised the first half of Dr. Baker's work The Model Republic. The second half was revised by John Addington Symonds after Burton's death.

Burton was back again at Trieste on 7th September. He and the magpie trunk were never again to make a journey together. The melancholy fate of the Catullus, which Burton had put aside in order that he might finish The Scented Garden, will be recorded in a later chapter.

171. The Golden a.s.s.

Another work that Burton left unfinished was a translation of The Golden a.s.s of Apuleius--a work known to Englishmen chiefly by Bohn's edition, [626] and the renderings of the episode of Cupid and Psyche by Adlington and Walter Pater (in Marius the Epicurean). The ma.n.u.script of Burton's translation is now in the possession of M. Charles Carrington, the Paris publisher, who is arranging for its completion by a competent hand. The portions due to Burton will, of course, be indicated. These consist of "The Author's Intent," about two pages small 4to; nearly all the story of Cupid and Psyche; and fragments of Books 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10 and 11.

[627]

On 30th September Burton wrote again to Mr. W. F. Kirby. "Your collaboration," he says, "has been most valuable to me. Your knowledge of Folk Lore is not only ample, it is collected and controlled by the habit of accuracy which Science gives and which I find in all your writings upon imaginative subjects.... Let me hope that new scenes will not cause you to forget old subjects, and remind you of the infinite important fact that I am a subscriber to the Kalevala."

Chapter x.x.xVII. Death of Sir Richard Burton

173. Death. 20th October 1890.

As we have seen, Burton had for some months shown signs of bodily decay; and he now daily grew weaker. His eyes, though still fierce and penetrating, were sunk into hollow cavities. His body was emaciated, his hands were thin to transparency, his voice was sometimes inarticulate, and he could hardly walk without support. Still, there seemed no immediate cause for anxiety, and, as will be seen from the following letter [628] (15th October 1890) to Mr. David MacRitchie, he was busy evolving new plans, including a visit to Greece, to be made in the company of Dr. Schliemann, [629] the archaeologist. "In the spring of next year (Inshallah!) there will be a total disruption of my Lares and Penates. I shall be 'retired for age,' and leave Trieste for ever with my mental eye upon a flat in London which can be locked up at a moment's notice when the renter wants to go abroad. Meanwhile we are off to Athens about mid-November. All luck to the [Gypsy] Society." On the same day he wrote to Mr. W. F. Kirby: "Excuse post-card. We have no secrets.

Please don't forget to keep me au courant of your movements in re Jan., &c. We shall not be in London before early September 1891, I imagine, but then it will be for good." Elsewhere he says, almost in the words of Ovid, "My earnest wish is somehow to depart from these regions." He was to depart, very soon, but in a manner little expected.

Sir Richard as we have noticed, would never say "Good-bye." It was always "Au revoir." One day in this October Miss Letchford went to see him with her little sister. It was tea-time, but Lady Burton was in another room with a visitor. Never had he appeared so bright or affectionate. He laughed and joked and teased the child and would not let them go for two hours. At last he shook hands and said, "Come and see me again very soon. I like you and your sister.---Good-bye, Daisy."

"I was so startled," comments Miss Letchford, "by that 'Good-bye' that a s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed over me. I felt at that moment that I should never see him again." Two days later Mr. Albert Letchford called on Sir Richard, who seemed fairly well, but he remarked "The good Switzerland did me ended this evening."

Dr. Baker, though himself just then a great sufferer from neuralgic headache, watched with anxious solicitude over his patient. On the last day of his life Sir Richard seemed better than usual, and all the household remarked his excellent spirits. It was Sunday October 29th.

After returning from ma.s.s and communion at eight in the morning Lady Burton found him engaged upon the last page of the twentieth chapter of The Scented Garden. [630] The work was therefore almost half done. She kissed him, and he said, "To-morrow I shall have finished this, and then I will begin our biography." She commented "What happiness that will be!" Her mind, however, was not quite at ease that morning, for a bird had pecked for the third time at a window that was never opened, and Sir Richard remarked "This is a sign of death."

The day was fine, and after breakfast Burton took his usual two hours'

walk with Dr. Baker. On the way out through the garden he noticed a robin drowning in the basin of a fountain. [631] At his request Dr.

Baker rescued it, and Burton, opening his coat and vest--for he never wore a waistcoat--warmed the bird at his breast, and then carried it to the house to be cared for by the porter. The incident carries us back to those old days at Tours, when, as a boy, he often laid himself out to revive unfortunate birds and small beasts. In the afternoon he wrote some letters and discussed gaily the proposed visit to Greece. They dined at half-past seven, and talked and laughed as usual, though Burton seemed tired. As usual, too, he shocked his wife by jesting about scapularies and other sacred things, but the conversation ran chiefly on General Booth's scheme for relieving the Submerged Tenth; and Burton, who entered into the subject with zest, observed: "When you and I get to England and are quite free we will give our spare time to that." [632]

In the course of the day Mrs. Victoria Maylor came in with the ma.n.u.script of The Scented Garden and the copy of it which she had made for the printers, [633] and from this we may deduce that Sir Richard intended to go to press at once with the first twenty chapters of the work. He may have intended to publish the twenty-first chapter later as a second volume. At half-past nine he retired to his bedroom. Lady Burton then repeated "the night prayers to him," and while she was speaking "a dog," to use her own words, "began that dreadful howl which the superst.i.tious regard as the harbinger of death."

After prayers, Burton asked for "chou-chou;" she game him a paper-covered copy in two volumes of the Martyrdom of Madeline [634] by Robert Buchanan, and he lay in bed reading it. At midnight he complained of pain in his foot, but said he believed it was only a return of the gout--the "healthy gout," which troubled him about every three months.

"Let me call Dr. Baker," said Lady Burton.

"No," replied Sir Richard, "don't disturb him poor fellow, he has been in frightful pain with his head; and has at last got a little sleep."

At four, however, Lady Burton paid no heed to her husband's remonstrances, but called up Dr. Baker, who, however, saw no cause for alarm, and after administering some medicine he returned to bed. Half an hour later Burton complained that there was no air, and Lady Burton, again thoroughly alarmed, rose to call in Dr. Baker once more.

Although Burton was then dying, he said, "Poor chap, don't disturb him."

But Lady Burton instantly summoned Dr. Baker, who on entering p.r.o.nounced the situation grave. Lady Burton at once roused the servants and sent in all directions for a priest; while, a.s.sisted by Dr. Baker and Lisa, she "tried every remedy and restorative," but in vain.

"Oh, Puss," cried Burton, "chloroform--ether--quick!"

"My darling," replied Lady Burton in anguish. "Dr. Baker says it would kill you. He is doing everything possible."

His breathing then became laboured, and after a brief struggle for air he cried, "I am dying, I am dead." Lady Burton held him in her arms, but he got heavier, and presently became insensible. Dr Baker applied an electric battery to the heart, and Lady Burton kneeling at the bedside, and holding her husband's hand, prayed her "heart out to G.o.d to keep his soul there (though he might be dead in appearance) till the priest arrived." But it was in vain. The priest, a Slavonian, named Pietro Martelani, came in about half-past six. We may regret what followed, but no one would judge harshly the actions of an agonised woman. Pity for human suffering must drown all other feelings. The priest looked at the dead but warm body and asked whether there was still any life. That the heart and pulsed had ceased to beat, Lady Burton herself afterwards admitted to her relations, but deceiving herself with the belief that life still continued in the brain, she cried: "He is alive, but I beseech you, lose not a moment, for the soul is pa.s.sing away."

"If," said the Priest, "he is a Protestant, he cannot receive the Holy Sacrament in this way."

Lady Burton having declared that her husband "had abjured the heresy and belonged to the Catholic Church," the priest at once administered "the last comforts."

It was certainly a kind of consolation to the poor lady to feel that her husband had not departed unhouselled; but it is equally evident that her mind had given way, for the scenes that presently followed can be explained only on this a.s.sumption. [635]

Dr. Baker at once sent a brief note to Mr. Letchford. Singularly enough the night before--that is the terrible Sunday night--Miss Daisy Letchford experienced "a strange instance of telepathy." "My brother,"

she says, "had gone out, and I waited alone for him. Suddenly I fancied I heard footsteps in the pa.s.sage and stopping at the door of the room where I was reading. I felt drops of cold sweat on my forehead. I was afraid, yet I knew that no one was about at that time of the night. The door opened slowly, and I felt the impression of some one looking at me.

I dared not raise my eyes. The footsteps seemed to approach. In a fit of fear I looked up and saw Sir Richard standing before me. He started, waved his hand and disappeared. Early in the morning came a ring at the bell. I jumped out of bed and burst into tears as I said, 'This is to tell us that Sir Richard is dead.' At that moment the maid brought in the letter for my brother from Dr. Baker. I ran with it into his room.

'Albert, Albert,' I cried, 'Sir Richard is dead.' He opened the letter.

It was only too true."

The same morning, Mr. P. P. Cautley, the Vice Consul, was called up to the house.

The undertaker, who was already there, asked in Mr. Cautley's presence to what religion Sir Richard belonged.

Turning to Mr. Cautley, Lady Burton asked: "What religion shall I say?"

"Tell him Sir Richard's true religion," replied Mr. Cautley. [636]

She then said, "Catholic."

"But!" interjected Mr. Cautley.

"YES," followed Lady Burton, "he was a Catholic."

Lady Burton still nursed the hope that Sir Richard was not quite dead.

There was life in the brain, she persisted in saying. Would he revive?

"For forty-eight hours," she tells us, "she knelt watching him." She could not shed a tear. Then she "had the ulnar nerve opened and strong electricity applied to make sure of his death."