On the 23rd of May, Richard went off to Krapina-Teplitz alone, and would not take me, as we had a chance of getting the house we wanted, and, in point of fact, I made the contract almost immediately, and gave notice to quit the old one. There is a curious law in Trieste that you must give notice, if you wish to quit a house, on the 24th of May, and on the 24th of August you must leave; so any stranger coming into Trieste on the last day mentioned, would see nothing but processions of carts and waggons covered with furniture and boxes, and it looks exactly as if a town was being deserted for a bombardment, or the moving of an army. The people, of course, who remain in their houses do not do this; it is the ones who change. I was resolved, for convenience' sake, to come to an agreement with my outgoing people to change at least a month before the time, to avoid the general confusion.
Just as Richard went off, an Arundell nephew of mine arrived in bad health. He was doing what a great many people do—embark at Liverpool on a Cunard, and do the round with the ship. You pay £40, you have two months' cruise, seeing the whole of the Mediterranean out and back, Trieste being the furthest port. The ship remained there a week.
Krapina-Teplitz did Richard no good—the waters were too strong—and he came back on the 11th of June. Mr. Aubertin arrived on a visit at the same time, and they had a great deal to discuss, both being students and translators of Camoens. The Squadron was reported the same afternoon, saluted at four p.m., and we went on board an hour after. It was two years since their last visit. It was very much a repetition of that of 1881; there were eleven or twelve ships, and they stayed thirteen days.
First came off the Austrian Admiral's ball—a magnificent affair in the illuminated garden, with singers from Vienna; then an equally fine ball on board the Monarch, my brother Jack Arundell's old ship. Our ball on the same plan as last year, but—once bit, twice shy—at the Jäger.
It is a palatial sort of residence, on the summit of a glorious wood, commanding a view of sea, town, mountains, and woods, and when illuminated with coloured lamps, Bengal lights, and electric light, was like the last scene of a pantomime. It contains a ball-room that would easily hold a thousand people, refreshment-room, large supper-rooms, a gallery for orchestra, and several cloak-rooms. There is a terrace all round it, and gardens. So we were not dependent on the weather, nor the police, nor the peasants, and the grounds were illuminated just the same for people to walk in, fireworks, etc. Our cordon of police this year behaved very well, and were under an Inspector. We all thoroughly enjoyed it, and the cotillon was a splendid fantasia, as it generally is in Austria. The next day, was my last fête for the animals, and at night the opera. The Captains of the ships gave a dinner to Richard and me at Opçina.
Then came the Emperor's dinner at Miramar, a dance on board the Inflexible. We had a splendid ball on board the Teméraire (Captain, now Admiral, Nicholson, who was an immense favourite with everybody), and on the 23rd they all left, to our great regret. Mr. Aubertin and Richard went to Zara, to Salona, and Spalato, and came back on the 4th of July, and then we went up to stay at the Jäger instead of Opçina, when, having deposited them there, I went back to change house.
For several days, long processions of carts were going up to the new house, and Blanche and I and the servants worked for a month, but on the 8th of July we were able to sleep in our new place, and it was fit for Richard to come into on the 16th of July, 1883. Our new residence was one of those old Palazzone which the Italians used to build in the good old time; but it so happens it was built by an English merchant, as in old days there were English merchant-princes here, but they have long since died out. It had a good entrance, so that you could drive your carriage into the hall; and a marble staircase took you into the interior, then a very mean staircase of stone took you up to the rooms; the large ones were magnificent in size, and there were twenty of all sorts. The air, the light, was delicious, and the views, had they been in England, would have had express trains to see them. One showed you the City and Adriatic at your feet; one looked out on the open sea, this being a wooded promontory; one on an arm of the sea, a little gulf that looked like a lake surrounded by mountains, dotted with churches, spires, and little villages; and the other looked into gardens and orchards, dotted with villas. A peasant's house close to ours (about which there had been some litigation) bore a squib painted on the lintel by a wag of that time—"Carta, canta, villan dorme" ("Sing, paper; the peasant sleeps"). We also had a very large garden, and campagna (orchard) below it, wherein one could take a very tidy walk, and it overlooked the gulf in which the Austrian fleet always anchors. This was a far better home for Richard (ailing), for getting up and down stairs, for sitting in the garden, and for air, being in the hot summers eight degrees cooler than the City. He unfortunately, however, would have no bedroom, except the biggest room in the house—so large that he could divide it into four parts, sleeping in one, dressing in another, writing in another, and breakfasting in another; but it looked direct to the north, it received the full force of the Bora, it never saw the sun, and though in winter it was thoroughly well warmed, everything got damp there, arms rusted, and so forth, and it was not until we had been there for four years that I was able to persuade him to change his abode to the best room in the house, the second largest on the other side of the house, which looked to the south and the west. I always feel that his malady would not have made such rapid progress if he would have listened to that arrangement at first.
HOUSE WHERE BURTON DIED.