or Leigh Hunt's
"O, best of all the scattered spots that lie,"
to see what a fall was there, and yet neither Lamb's version nor Hunt's is satisfactory. His "Atys" pales before Cranstoun's, and his "Epithalamium," is almost unreadable; while the lines "On the death of Lesbia's Sparrow" naturally compel comparison with Byron's version. Nor will readers of the translations by Sir Theodore Martin or Robinson Ellis gain anything by turning to Burton.
On the other hand, we can well believe that his work, considered as a commentary on Catullus—for nearly all his loose notes have perished—would have been as valuable to us as, viewed in the same light, is his edition of Camoens. He had explored all the Catullus country. Verona, the poet's birthplace, "Sweet Sirmio," his home on the long narrow peninsula that cleaves Garda's "limpid lake," Brescia, "below the Cycnaean peak," [666] the "dimpling waters" of heavenly Como, and the estate of Caecilius; [667] all were familiar to him. He knew every spot visited by the poet in his famous voyage in the open pinnance [668] from Bithynia "through the angry Euxine," among the Cyclades, by "purple Zante," up the Adriatic, and thence by river and canal to 'Home, sweet home.' He was deep in every department of Catullian lore. He had taken enormous pains; he had given his nights and days to the work. The notes at the end of the printed volume are a mere drop compared with the ocean he left. However, the manuscript with its pencilled cobwebs, the voluminous "loose notes"—all—good and bad—went up the chimney.
Personally we have never expended a sigh over the loss of The Scented Garden, and we should not have minded one straw if Lady Burton had burnt also her typewritten travesty of the Catullus; but her destruction of Sir Richard's private journals and diaries was a deed that one finds it very hard to forgive. Just as Sir Richard's conversation was better than his books, so, we are told, his diaries were better than his conversation. Says Mr. W. H. Wilkins, [669] referring to Sir Richard, "He kept his diaries and journals, not as many keep them, with all the ugly things left out, but faithfully and fully," and again, "the private journals and diaries which were full of the secret thoughts and apologia of this rare genius have been committed to the flames." Dr. Baker, who was favoured with the sight of portions of these diaries, tells me that Sir Richard used to put in them not only an epitome of every important letter written or received by him, and of every conversation he had with persons of consequence; but also any remarks that struck him, uttered by no matter whom. [670]
176. Lisa Departs, November 1890.
Like Chico, like Khamoor, Lisa, the Baroness lady-companion, had through injudicious treatment grown well-nigh unendurable. While Burton was alive she still had some dim notion of her place, but after his death she broke the traces, and Lady Burton had, with deep regret, to part with her. They separated very good friends, however, for Lady Burton was generosity itself. By this time she had been pretty well cured of lady's maid and servant pets, at any rate we hear of no other.
Lady Burton was also distressed by an attack make in The Times upon the memory of her husband by Colonel Grant, who declared that Burton had treated both Speke and their native followers with inhumanity. Lady Burton replied with asperity—giving the facts much as we have given them in Chapter ix. Grant died 10th February 1892.