"Captain Burton.
"To the Editor of Vanity Fair.
"Dear Vanity,—It was very kind and nice of you to have noticed us in your paper, but, if I may make an observation, I should like to have had the rose without the thorn. The article is likely to make the public think that Captain Burton is living on the fat of the land at public expense, and doing nothing to earn it. I do not want any one to put the 'evil eye' upon the poor hard-earned little £600 a year—well earned by forty years' hard toil in the public service. It is true that Government has sometimes, but not often, spared him for a few months at a time to do larger works, which have been for more general public benefit and wider extended good; but all the journeys quoted in Vanity have been undertaken between his various posts, when he has been out of employment, or during the usually allowed leave that other men spend in Pall Mall. On all the occasions when he has had 'leave' as above, he has gone voluntarily on half-pay those few months. If any one grudges us our pittance, and will inquire in Africa, Brazil, Damascus, or Trieste, they will find that at no time, of those or any other months, has a single detail of Consular work been omitted, or neglected, or performed by incompetent or ordinary subordinates, whilst every penny of public money was nervously accounted for. They will learn that we have ever given double of what we have received; that every one of our four Consulates has been a credit to the Government; that the English of our district have always been proud of their Consul and Consulate; that foreigners are always on most friendly terms with them, and the authorities intimately so. If this be so, will not what you call an 'Amateur Consul' do quite as well as the other sort, whatever that may be? You are, however, my dear Vanity, mistaken on another point. The higher the post and the more important the duties, the greater is the ambition to discharge them nobly. How much more keenly would one feel as an Eastern diplomat, for instance, than settling a dispute between the cook and the mate of a merchant vessel, or signing passports? Your 'Series' writer must have dipped his pen in vinegar and gall when he wrote about the 'much-prized posts.'
"I am, my dear Vanity, yours obediently,
"Isabel Burton.
"Hôtel Klinger, Maríenbad, Bohemia,
"September 1st, 1882."
The Dowager Lady Galway and Count and Countess della Sala, also General Francis, arrived at Trieste for the Exhibition, which was a very great pleasure to us. The Emperor and Empress and the Prince and Princess now announced their intention of doing good to the Exhibition by coming to visit it; there was a grand reception prepared, bands of music, the houses decorated, the ships dressed, flags and triumphal arches, salutes of artillery, and shouts of "Eviva!" girls in white, and flowers to strew, and at night illuminations. The first evening there was a grand theatre night with the ballet "Excelsior," and the applause when the Imperial party entered was deafening, and lasted fully a quarter of an hour. Next day was the Exhibition. The Baron Morpurgo had prepared a splendid fête on board the Berenice. The City was illuminated, so was the ship, and all the cream of Trieste was present. Every moment the Emperor and Empress were expected, and we all fell into our places in lines, through which they were to pass; several times they were announced, and several times did we retire and sit down again.
At last the Imperial boat actually arrived, and went several times round the Berenice and steamed away again. The disappointment and mortification of the truly loyal givers of the fête may easily be imagined; but it was perhaps as well, if the stories current next day had only a shadow of truth in them. It was commonly talked about afterwards that, unknown to the givers of the fête, the vessel had been observed to be much lower in the water than she ought to be, through somebody having taken out some plug that ought to have been in it, which caused a very gradual sinking. It was suspected that amongst the workmen one had been bought, just as in Nihilist cases, and that the moment the Imperial party had set foot in the ship, that they, and of course all of us, were to be blown into the air by a dynamite clock, and the Chief of Police had begged—perhaps had had some intimation that there was something uncanny somewhere—the Imperial family not to sup on board. True or untrue, these were the stories on the morrow. Anyway, none of the authorities dared go to bed, or hardly breathe, as long as the Imperial family remained in the neighbourhood. It appeared there were bombs across the railway, bombs in the Exhibition, bombs in the boats, and bombs in the sausages; at least, that was the state of feeling in Trieste during those three days, and I should think the Imperial family must have been immensely glad when they saw the last of the town, and got out of the Irredentista country. The next day was the Arsenal inspection, a launch, and a boat serenade at night to Miramar. On the 20th they went, arrived in safety, and everybody breathed again.
On the 18th of September, Richard began his great book on the Sword. It is a very large work, entitled the "Book of the Sword"—the first part of three by R. F. Burton, maître d'armes, which appeared in 1884. The first part brought the sword, the prehistoric weapon, up to the Middle Ages. The second would have been the mediæval sword, and the third would have brought all the modern schools up to date, with illustrations.
At this time Richard took it into his head to interfere with my department—the maid-servants—and he sent away my cook and got one of his own. He said to me (quite with a knowing nod of the head), "The ne plus ultra of Trieste;" so the first morning, when cooking our twelve o'clock meal, she asked for a bottle of wine. I should have refused it to my own cook, but I had to give it her, and when she drank that, she had another. She then hit the kitchenmaid over the head with the saucepan, and, being a very powerful woman, she threw the housemaid into the scaffa (sink). Hearing screams, I ran into the kitchen, and then she went for me, but instead of throwing me out of the window, she threw her arms round my neck and said I was an angel. "All the same," I said, "I think you must go, and I should like to settle up with you at once." I went and asked Richard humbly if the "ne plus ultra" was to be kept; and he said, "Certainly not—the brute!" and he came and turned her out there and then, and sent her wages after her. So I said very quietly and seriously, "Now, Jemmy, I have got to cook the breakfast myself; won't you go out and find me another cook?" "No," said he, laughing; "I think I have had quite enough of that."
In October we had a great loss in our dear old friend and Vice-Consul, Mr. Brock, which Richard and I both felt very much. He had that mania which all old Englishmen serving abroad get, that they must go and die, and "leave their bones in dear old England," which they remember as it was thirty, forty, or fifty years ago; it is a madness they always repent when it is too late, as they are never rich enough to do what they invariably want, which is to put themselves back, and reinstate themselves in the climate, in the life, which suited them and the friends who had surrounded them. I know my own husband would have enjoyed enormously coming over here and settling down, being independent in private life, but he would not have been able to stand it more than a year without travels. I only can, because I am so near him, and so near death, it is not worth while to change.
Mr. Brock and his family left on the 8th of October, and his place was taken by Mr. P. P. Cautley. He and his wife have both been dead for some time, leaving many daughters; but during the whole of his remaining years he wrote constantly, "Give me news of Trieste. I only care for my friends of Trieste; I am a stranger in my own land. One has no business to return; one is an intrusion. One's place has long ago been filled up; one's relations have forgotten one; one is no longer a member of the family."
On the 24th arrived Lord Wolseley in the Iris, Admiral Seymour. We received him and saw him to the station, collected the English, had a little procession of bouquets and a few British cheers to see him off, and then we got our friends of the Iris to breakfast with us in the Hungarian part of the Exhibition.