Chapter XI: Decline in Our Well-Being (2)

"But what may possibly interest many almost as much as the stories and notes, is the almost sad preface in which the Editor tells the tale of his toils. In 1852 he began this translation at Aden. His friend Dr. Steinhaüser, to whose memory it is dedicated, was to undertake the prose, while Burton accepted the metrical portion of the book as his share of the task. But Steinhaüser died, 'and after the fashion of Anglo-Indians his valuable manuscripts left at Aden were dispersed,' and very little of his labour reached his colleague. But fitfully the work progressed amid a host of obstructions. In deadly Consulships in West Africa and Brazil, in livelier ones in Damascus and Trieste, the business went on, just as it had gone on less systematically in Somali-land and Central Africa. And, toilsome though the task unquestionably was, it was lightened by the pleasant memories it recalled. Many a time and oft, after the day's journey was over, he had gathered the Arabs around him, and read or recited these tales to them, until the tears trickled down their cheeks, and they rolled on the sand in uncontrollable delight. 'Nor was it only in Arabia that the immortal "Nights" did me such notable service. I found the wildlings of Somali-land equally amenable to their discipline; no one was deaf to the charm, and the two women cooks of my caravan on its way to Harar were incontinently dubbed by my men "Shehrazade" and "Deenarzade."' Yet as his labour approached the period when it ought to appear in print, prudent friends hinted at the danger he ran of injuring his professional advancement. 'Literary labours, unpopular with the vulgar and half-educated, are not likely to help a man up the ladder of promotion. But common sense suggested to me that, professionally speaking, I was not a success, and at the same time that I had no cause to be ashamed of my failure. Philister can pardon anything but superiority. The prizes of competitive service are monopolized by certain "pets" of the _médiocratie_ and prime favourites of that jealous and potent majority, the mediocrities, who know "no nonsense about merit." It is hard for an outsider to realize how perfect is the monopoly of commonplace, and to comprehend how fatal a stumbling-stone that man sets in the way of his own advancement who dares to think for himself, or who knows more or does more than the mob of gentlemen-employés who know very little, and who do even less.' This is bitter, but not more severe than the way Captain Burton has been treated by his Country, if not by his Countrymen, deserves. It is simply disgraceful that a man of his great achievements and colossal learning should have been neglected by successive Governments when pretenders and 'mediocrities' were being honoured and rewarded for doing little or nothing. After the death of Major Morrice--such has been our encouragement of Arabic knowledge--there was not an English official in the Suakin camp capable of speaking Arabic. Not one understood native customs. 'Moslems,' writes Burton, 'are not to be ruled by raw youths who should be at school and college instead of holding positions of trust and emolument. He who would deal with them successfully must be, firstly, honest and truthful, and, secondly, familiar with and favourably inclined to their manners and customs, if not to their law and religion.' In 'Alf Laylah wa Laylah' the means of obtaining this knowledge lies."

_St. James's Gazette_, September 12th.

"One of the most important translations to which a great English scholar has ever devoted himself is now in the press. For three decades Captain Burton has been more or less engaged on his translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' the latest of the many versions of that extraordinary story which has been made into English, the only one at all worthy of a great original."

_Home News_, September 18th.

"Captain Burton has begun to issue the volumes of his subscription translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' and its fortunate possessors will now be able to realize the full flavour of Oriental feeling. They will now have the great storehouse of Eastern folklore opened to them, and Captain Burton's minute acquaintance with Eastern life makes his comments invaluable. In this respect, as well as in the freeness of the translation, the version will be distinguished from its many predecessors. Captain Burton's preface, it may be observed, bears traces of soreness at official neglect. Indeed, it seems curious that his services could not have been utilized in the Soudan, when the want of competent Arabic scholars was so severely felt."

ORIGINAL VERSE.

I have never read, nor do I intend to read, at his own request, and to be true to my promise to him, my husband's "Arabian Nights." But I have read the reviews, some with pride and some with pain, while all the private letters of congratulation have been a great source of gratification to me; and I have gathered all together, _pro_ and _con_, which form an interesting book.

Out of a thousand picked scholars it is something to be able to assert that all the men whose good opinion is worth having, are loud in its praise. I think a man who gives years of study to a great work, purely with the motive that the rulers of his country may thoroughly understand the peoples they are governing by millions, and who gives that knowledge freely and unselfishly, and who while so doing runs the gauntlet of abuse from the vulgar, silly Philistine, who sees what the _really_ pure and modest never see, deserves great commendation. To throw mud at him because the mediæval Arab lacks the varnish of _our_ world of to-day, is as foolish as it would be not to look up because there are a few spots on the sun.

TO RICHARD FRANCIS BURTON.
"_The Thousand Nights and a Night._"

Adown the welkin slant the snows and pile
On sill and balcony; their feathery feet
Trip o'er the landscape, and pursuing sleet,
Earth's brow beglooming, robs the lift of smile:
Lies in her mourning-shroud our Northern Isle,
And bitter winds in battle o'er her meet;
Her world is death-like, when, behold! we greet
Light-gleams from morning-land cold grief to guile:

A light of golden mine and orient pearl,
Vistas of fairy-land, where Beauty reigns
And Valiance revels; cloudless moon, fierce sun,
The wold, the palm-tree; cities; hosts; a whirl
Of life in tents and palaces and fanes:
The light that streams from "Thousand Nights and One."
----ISABEL BURTON.
Tangier, Morocco, February 19.

"CAPTAIN BURTON'S 'ARABIAN NIGHTS.'

"A friend lately asked Captain Burton why he was bringing out his translation so soon after another and a most scholarly one. He answered, 'Orientalists are anxious to have the real Eastern work. I had received sundry letters saying--Let us know what the mediæval Arab was. If he was exalted and good, let us see it. If he was witty, let us hear it. If he was uncultivated and coarse, still let us have him to the very letter. We want once for all the real thing. We want a mediæval Arab, telling the tales and legends of his own country, and showing the world what he has remained whilst the West has progressed in culture and delicacy.--Now, I will do this by notes and a running commentary, enabling the student to read between the lines, and perfectly to understand much of what he would otherwise pass over without understanding. I am determined subscribers shall learn from my work what they cannot find in any other, and to make it a repertory of Eastern knowledge, by no means intended for the many-headed, but for the few who are not too wise to learn, or too omniscient to acquire knowledge. I regret more than I can say the coarseness of the Arabic, but I consider it not less my duty to translate it word for word. My Oriental renderings will make it quite different from all the other translations, and I shall leave nothing for any other man in the future to do.'"

R. F. B.

"PANTAGRUELISM OR PORNOGRAPHY?

"To the Editor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_.

"Sir,--Your correspondent 'Sigma' has forgotten the considerable number of 'students' who will buy Captain Burton's translation as the only literal one, needing it to help them in what has become necessary to many--a masterly knowledge of Egyptian Arabic. The so-called 'Arabian Nights' are about the only written halfway house between the literary Arabic and the colloquial Arabic, both of which they need, and need introductions too. I venture to say that its largest use will be as a grown-up school-book, and that it is not coarser than the classics in which we soak all our boys' minds at school. The Arabic classics are not in Egyptian-Arabic, which varies much from Syrian and other branches of the language, and a thorough knowledge of the daily customs and family life of Egypt is a knowledge, however repulsive, to be conscientiously sought by all who are either administrators or philanthropists in Egypt.

"I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

"ANGLO-EGYPTIAN.

"September 14th."

_Glasgow Times_, 24th November, 1888.

(Anent the Bodleian refusal and the biography of his book.)

The _Glasgow Times_ says, "But the chapter is something more than that. It is a remarkable addition to the history of the 'Quarrels of Authors.' Sir Richard Burton, as we have before indicated, is a good hater, and he smites his enemies hip and thigh. The enemies are rather numerous, and some of them, it must be admitted, were scarcely worth powder and shot, but the way in which the old fighting man and traveller (he still seems to retain all the energy characteristic of both) 'goes for' them is refreshing in the extreme. But though Sir Richard has a good many enemies, he has also a large number of friends, and if he is liberal and forcible in retort, he is lavish in acknowledgment of kindly words and of help however slight."

Sir Richard Burton says, "All this is utterly unfair. It allows the unfortunate public no chance of learning the truth. The narrator may be honest and honourable, but he dare not state the facts, nor has he the courage of his own opinions. If he did, 'Society' would turn upon him with the usual 'Oh no, we never mention him,' and his name never would be heard unless accompanied by a snarl or a sneer. The fact is, England's chronic disease is Religiosity in the few, and Hypocrisy in the many.

"RICHARD F. BURTON.

"Hôtel Meurice, Paris, July 17th, 1888."

"REPRINTS OF THE 'ARABIAN NIGHTS.'

"The Granville, Ramsgate, August 13th, 1888.

"I have given to the public, under my wife's superintendence and name, the pure unadulterated article. But the tastes of civilization ever incline to the worked-up, which has the advantage of art applied to nature. At Trieste we often offer our English friends a _petit verre_ of real gin distilled from the juniper berry, and now unprocurable at home; and we enjoy the wry mouths made by those who are accustomed to Hollands and Old Tom.

"The main difficulty, however, is to erase the popular impression that the 'Nights' is a book for babies, a 'classic for children;' whereas its lofty morality, its fine character-painting, its artful development of the story, and its original snatches of rare poetry, fit it for the reading of men and women, and these, too, of no puerile or vulgar wit. In fact, its prime default is that it flies too high.

"RICHARD F BURTON."

A literary friend writes to Lady Burton: "The omissions are so deftly done, and the _pruning so slight_, that the book ought to be read in every English house, in every English-speaking land. The English alone is an education. If I wanted young folk to learn a good style, I would train them on the 'Nights.' I would give passages to the Board Schools."

[Sidenote: _London again_.]

As soon as Richard arrived, in June, 1885, he put himself under Dr. Foakes, in South Street, for gout. On the 29th of June there was a meeting at the University of London. Richard and Mr. James, the African traveller, spoke. On the 1st of July we went to the Hermetic Society, where Anna Kingsford lectured on "The Communion of Saints." We worked very hard at our "Arabian Nights," and all our time over and above we went into Society, were very gay, and enjoyed ourselves very much; we also went to see the _Mikado_ several times, which we enjoyed extremely. We often went to the "Inventories," as we knew the Chief of the Electric light, Sir Francis Bolton, and we used to go up into his station, and see the lights turned off and on. Richard thought the trees and lights very pretty, and especially the electric lilies under the water, and the moon prettier still.

On the 21st of July we had a very merry family party for my father's eighty-sixth birthday. He made a speech, and after dinner sang a little song of which he was very fond. He had a lovely tenor voice even then--true and sweet. It was the last happy family meeting, for on the 25th, at nine o'clock in the morning, he had a paralytic stroke without any warning of ill health.

This year I made a long speech in St. James's Hall, concerning appealing to the Pope for a circular letter for the Protection of Animals (9th of July).

The following was not my speech, but my sentiments, which I mean to quote.

"I thought that his Holiness might be induced graciously to concede such an order for the benefit of mankind. The man who begins by so small a thing as kindness to the beast who is working by his side the livelong day, acquires habits of mildness with his wife and children. Having patience, he loses the habit of oaths and blasphemies. It is fury that makes men drink. From drink follows spending money, cards, and low company. If a man is kind to his beast he lets it rest on Sunday. That means that he is keeping the Sunday holy and free from servile work. That day's rest saves his health and prolongs his life, besides benefiting his soul. If a man is kind to his beast it lasts longer, and enables him to do more work, and earn more wages. Not only is he able to feed it better (its only reward), but he can keep his wife and family respectably. They rise in the world's esteem, and to a higher position. Hence kindness to animals is a small beginning of great things, and is not unworthy even of a Pope's patronage."

On the 3rd of July we went to Lady Hooker's garden-party at Kew, and there met, amongst others, the Gordons, who were so kind to us in the Brazilian mines. She died soon after.

On the 19th of July we lunched with Lord Houghton, and little thought we should not see him again. On the 11th of August we had the misfortune to lose him. Richard paid several visits to Oxford, but returned in time for Lord Houghton's funeral service at St. Margaret's, Westminster Abbey, on the 18th of August, and his sorrow for this good friend occupies a whole page of his journal. We also had the pleasure of seeing an old friend, Sir Edwin Arnold, one of the most delightful of Eastern poets, who gave me his "Light of Asia." Carlo Pellegrini came several times to lunch with us, in reality wishing to caricature Richard in _Vanity Fair_, which he did--but it was one of his few great failures.

The first volume of the "Arabian Nights" came out on the 12th of September, 1885, and the sixteenth volume, the last of the supplementals, on the 13th of November, 1888; thus in a period of three years we had produced twenty-two volumes--the ten originals, the six supplementals, and my six volumes, _i.e._ so-called mine. We paid several visits to Richard's sister and niece, Lady and Miss Stisted, at Norwood, and we went to Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot at Upper House, Guildford, where we met some very pleasant people; then we went to Wardour, to Lord Arundell's. About this time Mr. H. H. Johnson, Artist, Consul, African traveller, and universal favourite with everybody, was occupying his beautiful little flat in Victoria Street, and gave us some pleasant teas. We brought out our little translation from the Brazilian of "Iraçema" and "Manoel de Moraes, the Convert," at our own expense. The _Punch_ and _Vanity Fair_ caricatures came out on the 22nd, Thursday.

[Sidenote: _Richard's Programme for Egypt_.]

On the 28th of October we went down to Hatfield, where there was a large party in the house. On this occasion Lord Salisbury wanted privately to know what Richard's programme would be for Egypt, and he wrote out the following for him:--

"First and far away, annex Egypt and all its territory entirely; but if the Government does not decide on this bold stroke, at least have no half-measures.

"Secondly, if not annexation, recall Ismail, ex-Khedive, Arábi Pasha, and Mr. Wilfrid Blunt, and, if _they take an oath of allegiance_ to your Government, make Ismail your English Viceroy, with a guard of honour only. Send Arábi as the Governor of Sudan, and Mr. Wilfrid Blunt to Darfur.

"Oblige the Sudanese to give up their arms, and abolish the useless expense of the Egyptian Army and Navy.

"Garrison with English troops Alexandria, Cairo, Suez, Ismailíyyeh, Port Said, Suákin, Masáwwah, one fortress at Perim, one at Rossier (the point between Suez and Akabah), and one fortress on the Akabah side.

"Put the bulk of the army (say five thousand men) in Khartum. Make Valentine Baker Military Governor of Khartum (it should, of course, have been Gordon, if he had not unfortunately been killed last January).

"Station one Man-of-War at each of the following posts:--Alexandria, Port Said, Suez, Suákin, Masáwwah; a gunboat at Perim, Rossier, Ismailíyyeh, and one close to Akabah; say two gunboats in the Suez Canal, and two in the Red Sea to look after the Slave-trade.

"Banish Ismail's sons for ten years; the only one of his family worth anything is Hossein, not Hassan. Hossein is too clever, Hassan is a fool, but Tewfik is the worst. If anything happens to Ismail, replace him by Hossein. Do not do things bit by bit, or the Egyptians and Sudanese will destroy them bit by bit.

"Collect all your material, and put the whole _régime_ in action the same day.

"Forbid Slave-trade, and hang at the next tree or nearest yardarm all Slave-dealers caught red-handed after date of proclamation. All cases of treachery should be dealt with in the same summary way, whether Pasha or Fellah. Two hangings would suffice to stop the whole, and would be the true, short, and only merciful way to exterminate slavery.

"Teach Ismail and Arábi and Mr. Wilfrid Blunt what their conduct and that of every official in the country would have to be, and make them _take their oath_ before appointing them.

"Exempt five years' taxes to the whole land, save a small nominal tax to keep up your right. Order your employés to make the natives understand that these five years are conceded that they may have time to recover and improve and prosper, but that after five years the taxes will again be put on.

"When you begin to take your taxes again, allow them to be collected by the natives, with only sufficient superintendence from your own men to avoid being cheated, but do not interfere as to the _manner_ of it, as no European could ever extract a piastre from a Native.

"But spend the first five years' collection on the country. Help them to improve themselves; give them full religious liberty. Instil humanity to man and beast by preaching, example, and schools.

"Give them the freedom of Foreign Trade; foster National Industries; build yourselves harbours and docks and fortresses in the Mediterranean, the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, and especially lighthouses in the Red Sea.

"You should make roads and railways, encourage irrigation, form wells every six hours' march throughout the country, employ native labour.

"Form Sudanese troops (as in India), officered by English.

"Give waste lands to settlers (our Emigrants) intermarrying with natives. Provide them with looms, and encourage all manufacture, native and foreign.

"After seven years, give them a free press; they are not fit to have _any_ press just now.

"The first five years you would have to spend your own money largely.

"The second five years spend _their_ own upon these improvements.

"The third five years it would not only be self-paying, but give you large returns.

"This programme should be the 'labour of love' of your Governors and employés, besides their appointed duty.

"If England has still backbone enough to do this, in ten years' time you will not only possess a flourishing country, and your road to India, but the money you will have spent, as well as that which has been lost through the past three years' blundering and weakness, will come back to you a hundred-fold, and the Souls of all our best, bravest, and noblest men, who have been uselessly murdered, and who lie buried in the sands, will be at rest, and bless God that _at last_ they have died for a holy end.

"I wish I were exhorting in favour of Syria, instead of Egypt; but I feel convinced that such a grand and startling policy would be so appreciated in England that the Government who had courage to do it might defy anything."

In the course of the preparation of the "Arabian Nights," we became acquainted with Dr. Steingass, who afterwards brought out a Persian and Arabic dictionary, and who I strongly recommend to anybody wanting honest Eastern literary assistance. He assisted in correcting the proofs.

On the 20th of June Richard deplores the death of Mr. Vaux, M.A., F.R.S. We made acquaintance with Mr. C. Heron Allen, who was then very much engaged on Palmistry. Richard notices seeing Schapira several times. We also had a visit from Mr. C. Doughty, the African traveller.

On the 27th of July he dined with the Gentlemen-at-Arms. For a while he took up Volapük, but that he did not stick to, as he did not believe it would be of any use.

On the 13th of September he notices the death of General Sir A. Horsford, an old friend.

On the 9th of October his friend Mr. Bernard Quaritch gave a large dinner in Richard's honour, with all the principal _literati_ (masculine) to meet him, and it appears to have been very enjoyable. Richard made a speech, and read out the story of "Ali the Persian" from the "Nights." (We also had a very pleasant dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, where we met a great many charming people.)

[Sidenote: _He asks for Tangier_.]

On the 21st of October, 1885, he applied for Marocco, hearing that Sir John Drummond-Hay was about to retire, and it was the one thing he had stayed on in the service, in the hopes of getting. His letter was as follows:--

"MY LORD,

"Having been informed that Sir John Drummond-Hay proposes retiring from Marocco, I venture to think that your Lordship will consider that my knowledge of Arabic, and of the East, perhaps would make me a suitable successor to him. I need hardly remind you that, during a term of twenty-five years in the Consular Service, I have never received a single step of promotion, nor, indeed, have I ever applied for it.

"I am, etc.,

"RICHARD F BURTON."

This was backed up by about fifty of the best names in England, and it seemed as if it was as good as promised to him.

He notices calling on Colonel Kitchener, and remarked that he was rather like Charley Drake.

[Sidenote: _Parts with my Father_.]

On the 20th of November, 1885, he went round to pay his farewell visits, and lastly to my father. Now, although my father was paralyzed, and confined to his room, he was comparatively in no danger of death, and the doctors had assured me, that if we went away, and returned as we intended the following June, that they believed we should find my father alive, and no worse, if not better, than at present; but when Richard went to wish him good-bye, something seemed to come over them, and Richard knelt down and asked his blessing, and asked him to pray for him. My father put his hand upon his head with great emotion, and blessed him fervently, and Richard left the room with the tears running down his cheeks. My father died shortly after, and his last prayer was for Richard and for me--he never spoke after that.

[Sidenote: _Goes to Marocco_.]

On the 21st of November Richard started for Marocco in Forwood's steamer _Mequinez_, from St. Katherine's Wharf. I accompanied him on board. He was advised to go, and to leave me to bring out some volumes of the "Arabian Nights." I brought out up to No. 7, which were corrected ready for press, and joined him in January. He had for fellow-passengers the Perdicaris family of Tangier, and Mrs. Leared, wife of a former friend, Dr. Leared, Fakhri Bey, and others. It seems to have been squally. They were eight days getting to Gibraltar. At Gibraltar he saw Mr. Melford Campbell, who was full of the lost treasure in Vigo Bay. He thought he alone knew the secret of where the lost treasure was, and he was too jealous to combine with Richard in raising the means of finding it. Seeing that, Richard drew back, and whatever secret there was on his side, perished with him, as he died some time after. On the 30th Richard arrived at Tangier.

It was now the election-time, and my father, who was paralyzed, and who was a strong Conservative, went nearly out of his mind, because he could not go down to the polling-place and vote. He ordered himself to be dressed, and a brougham to be sent for, though the doctor said it would kill him, and I was only able to quiet him by assuring him that a _statement_ would be received in _his_ case; and I drew it up, and he signed it. A pious fiction, which served to prolong his life for a little bit. Then I paid visits to Garswood (the Gerards') and to Knowsley. During this time I was getting the four volumes of the "Nights" out, which I was left for. I was dreadfully spied upon by those who wished to get Richard into trouble about it, and once an unaccountable person came and took some rooms in the same lodgings with me after Richard left, but I settled with the landlord that either I should leave, or that person should not have the rooms; and of course he did not hesitate between the two, so I took the whole of his rooms for the remainder of my stay.

WHAT THE WORLD SAID ABOUT MAROCCO.

_Pictorial World_, March 13th.

"'We sincerely trust that the present Government will not fail, amidst other acts of justice and good works, to bestow some signal mark of her Majesty's favour upon Captain Richard Burton, one of the most remarkable men of the age, who has displayed an intellectual power and a bodily endurance through a series of adventures, explorations, and daring feats of travel, which have never been surpassed in variety and interest by any one man.' 'Twas thus that our contemporary, the _Morning Advertiser_, concluded a leader a few weeks ago on one whom it rightly called 'A Neglected Englishman.' The protest, however, has passed unnoticed by the powers that are. The gallant Captain still remains in the comparatively humble position of her Majesty's Consul at Trieste, while men whose claims upon their country cannot be compared to his are constantly receiving far more important appointments. Others wear the honours which he should have worn. Captain Speke's services in the East were duly recognized--Captain Burton's were not; yet Speke was Burton's lieutenant, and it was to the latter's guidance that the former owed not a little of his success. Burton discovered Lake Tanganyika, which he declared contained the Sources of the Nile; Burton it was who exposed the horrible massacre at Jeddah; Burton explored the Pacific coast, crossed the Andes, navigated the river San Francisco, gathering most valuable information, political, geographical, and scientific, on the way. The same intrepid traveller made that extraordinary pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina. Again, Burton originated the system of bayonet exercise which is now in use in the British army, and the same gentleman has given us some of the most interesting and instructive books of travel that were ever penned. And yet, forsooth, an obscure Consulate is considered a fitting reward for such services! Let Mr. Disraeli's administration look to it."

_Manchester Courier_, October 18th, 1889.

"The truth about Sir Richard Burton, whose versatility is only equalled by his thoroughness and solidity, is that he is far too able for the Foreign Office. That very superior department does not want able men; it wants persons of average--below rather than above--ability, who will prostrate themselves like a fire-worshipper to the rising orb of day, before 'the Office.' It hates like poison the clever Secretary or Consul who obtains praise or reputation in any other way than through Downing Street. Personally, I rather like Foreign Office clerks when they are off duty; but when they put on official 'side,' and array themselves in war-paint, especially when they commit themselves to foolscap paper with large margins, they always remind me of Thackeray's 'Ranville Ranville, Esq., of the Foreign Office, who was such an ass, and so respectable.'"

_Society_, October 28th, 1889.

"It has at least seemed good to those who are set in authority over us to do something for that accomplished, indefatigable, and patriotic Englishman, Sir Richard Burton. No man has in his way done more for the country than this intrepid traveller and humane man. Yet his reward hitherto has been simply that worthless title which is flung as a bone to a hungry dog, to those Court lackeys who assist in the establishment of Imperial institutes, or emerging from the digger and sheep-washing stage, amass a pile in Australia, and, returning to their native land, put a price on their loyalty or their party services. In honouring a man like Sir Richard Burton, the nation reflects honour upon itself."

_Whitehall Review_, July 15th.

"Sir Richard Burton, K.C.M.G., is at present in London, on one of those rare, brief visits which are the special delight of all who have the fortune to be acquainted with Al-Haji Abdullah. Friends and admirers of the famous pilgrim will hear with pleasure that Sir Richard is in excellent health, and that, with the indefatigable energy which is characteristic of this modern amalgamation of the wanderer and the scholar, of Odysseus and Aristotle, he is rapidly bringing to a conclusion his famous translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' and organizing the issue of a popular edition of the same, adapted for the lasses and lads of the Latin lyrist. Sir Richard is, however, we regret to say, one further victim of the administrative blunders of the existing--if it can now be called existing--Government. As every one knows, Sir Richard Burton is without a peer in his knowledge of the languages, manners, customs, habits, and thoughts of the great races of the East. He has been in places where but half a dozen Europeans have ever penetrated, he has perilled his life again and again in the pursuit of knowledge, he has amassed more stories of information on all things Oriental than probably a single scholar or any six scholars ever gained before, he has enriched literature with some of its most valued works on Eastern subjects. He is the very man to be employed in some of our great Eastern dependencies, but he has been kept in Trieste, where his special talents are of little avail, for long enough; and now, when he is especially desirous of obtaining the Marocco Legation, he is passed over, and the place given to an obscure official. It is simply a scandal.

"It is true that we are a stiff-necked, narrow-minded race. We require to have genius cried out from the house-tops before we would recognize it amongst us; and, as usual, such recognition comes too late, regretfully. 'You must teach us better things.'"

_Evening Post_, November 1st, 1888.

"Sir Richard Burton and Lady Burton were interviewed as they passed through Paris with regard to the news from Lille, announcing the death of Henry Stanley. Sir Richard said, 'I don't believe that Stanley is dead yet. It is just as I told you last August. When everybody thinks the time has come to pull out their handkerchiefs and weep over him, he will amaze us all by turning up safe and sound and smiling.'"

From the _Bat_.

"BURTON THE BEWILDERING.

"At long last, those who are high in office seem to have made up their minds that it was time to bestow some sign of official favour upon Captain Burton. None too soon, certainly. For more than a generation Captain Burton has been one of the most remarkable of living Englishmen. In a life that has already run pretty close to the span of the Psalmist, he has laboured with a fiery energy at work which no other living Englishmen could or would have accomplished. Thirty years ago all Europe, ay, all the civilized, and much of the uncivilized, world, was holding its breath in amazement at the record of the adventurous Briton, who had made his way, guided only by his genius and his stout heart, into the very core of Mohammedanism, into that sacred and secret city into which through all time only half a dozen men who were not the devotees of Islam were ever able to penetrate. There is something peculiarly fascinating in the story of that daring enterprise, of the lonely, gallant English gentleman converting himself with a skill more marvellous than enchantment into the Caboolee pilgrim and medicine man, and invading Meccah, inspired by the passion for strange knowledge, and supported only by his own strong will and unfailing courage. In the Oriental legend two angels always attend upon the body of a man. It is only stretching the Eastern fancy a little further to declare that Azreel, the Oriental angel of death, was Burton's closest companion during that eventful pilgrimage. 'A blunder, a hasty action, a misjudged word, and the wanderer's bones would have whitened the desert sand,' and the world would have been the poorer by one of the most brilliant books of travel ever written, by a whole library of other books, and by a whole history of deeds scarcely less daring. There is, indeed, a familiar, we may almost call it a famous story, to the effect that Burton, when within the walls of the sacred city, did perform a common action after the fashion of the Frank and not of the Moslem, that he saw a true believer watching him curiously, and that for fear of accidents he promptly 'went for' that true believer, and killed him on the spot, on the 'dead men tell no tales' principle. That anecdote has formed the text for scores of arguments. Men have wrangled fiercely over the question it suggests as to whether a traveller placed in such imminent and deadly peril was or was not justified in slaying the spectator of his mistake, on the chance that such spectator might betray him. The argument remains to afford food for contest, but the story on which it is founded has vanished into nothingness. For Captain Burton has assured the City and the world, in a note to one of the recent volumes of his 'Arabian Nights,' that the whole thing is fiction, a canard, a literary wild duck of the wildest.

"Meccah, and the record of the pilgrimage thereto, would haw been venture enough and renown enough for an ordinary lifetime. It is merely an episode in the active and literary career of Captain Burton. Into the generation that has come and gone since the Sheikh Abdullah shook the dust of Meccah from off the soles of his sacrilegious feet, where has Burton not been and what has he not done? He has gone hither and thither 'like the wind's blast, never resting, homeless'--now to the Land of Midian, now to the Gold Coast for gold, now dwelling in Damascus, now in the dim and dangerous Cameroons, now in Trieste, and now in Marocco. With all this, as if possessed by a very demon of work, he has found time to store his brain with a most marvellous multiplicity of learning, and to write a very Alexandrian library of books on all manner of strange and widely differing subjects. Every one of his travels has been made the theme for a long, but never too long, record. He has translated the lengthy 'Lusiads' of Camoens with the same lightness of heart with which most men would sit down to scratch off a leading article. He has given the world that monument of fascinating knowledge on a fascinating subject, 'The Book of the Sword,' to which the erudition and research of a long lifetime might well appear to have been devoted. He has imported grotesque devil tales from Hindostan. He has written under the thin disguise of a Persian bard--a disguise as thin as that of Bodensted's 'Mirza Shaffy'--a wonderful poem which speculates upon the life of man in something of the spirit of Fitzgerald's 'Omar Khayyam.' He has translated, for the benefit of the curious and initiated few, a Hindoo work on 'Martial Relationships,' which is one of the eccentricities of literature. Now, in what would be called, were he any one else but Richard Burton, his old age, he is bringing out his great translation of the 'Arabian Nights,' one of the most valuable contributions that have ever been made to the literature of Oriental investigation.

"Was there ever a more bewildering man than this modern Admirable Crichton, who can speak more languages than Mezzofanti--it is a treat to hear him troll out some Persian love-ditty or Arabic desert-song in their guttural originals--who has been everywhere, who can fight with every weapon, who is something of a doctor, and something of a wizard, and something of a philosopher. The English Government, in whose service he has passed his life, has scarcely made the best use of him. He knows more about Eastern countries and Eastern peoples, and can speak more Eastern languages than probably any living man, and therefore a wise Administration planted him, during many recent years of Eastern complication, in which he might have rendered splendid service to the State, in an Italo-Austrian town, where the mouse-coloured cattle recall the Campagna, and neighbouring Miramar suggests the luckless lord of Mexico, and where Burton's special knowledge was well-nigh of no avail. He is happier now beneath the blue Marocco skies. There, with the white domes and the spreading palms of the East ever in his eyes, he can peacefully finish what is, perhaps, the greatest labour of his life--his version of those marvellous tales which have delighted the Orient for cycles, and which have profoundly influenced European thought and literature for nearly two centuries."

[Sidenote: _He waits for me at Tangier_.]

November 28th, in Marocco, Richard mourns the death of our good old friend, the Duke of Somerset. He settled down at the hotel close to the sea, called on every one, got out his work, and waited for me.

His journals do not show him to have been very taken with Marocco. Before he had been there two days, everybody ran to him with all their little political intrigues and private spites. There did not seem to be two people in the place who really liked or trusted one another. The principal house to go to for grandeur was, of course, Sir John Drummond-Hay's; but the only really enjoyable house was Perdicaris', who had a semi-European, semi-Oriental establishment, and the Oriental part was a dream. He painted very beautifully, was very talented, and his devotion to his wife was ideal. In December Richard found the air simply splendid. However, he was not long in Tangier before he began to feel gouty again.

[1] It is a curious thing that he never missed the chance of a pilgrimage to any holy shrine.