Mrs. Burton was as disgusted with Goa as she had been charmed with Dr. Da Cunha. She says, "Of all the God-forgotten, deserted holes, one thousand years behind the rest of creation, I have never seen anything equal it." They left India at the end of April, and were back again at Trieste on June 18th.
Chapter XIX. 18th June 1876-31st March 1877, Colonel Gordon
85. Ariosto.
Shortly after his return from India, Burton commenced a translation of the Orlando Furioso [296] of Ariosto, a poet, to whom, as we have seen, he had been drawn ever since those far-off days when with his father and the rest of the family he had meandered about Italy in the great yellow chariot. Reggio, the poet's birthplace, and Ferrara, where the Orlando Furioso was written and Ariosto died, were sacred spots to him; while the terrific madness of the hero, the loves of Ruggiero and Bradamante and the enchanted gardens with their Arabian Nights atmosphere, lapped him in bliss much as they had done in the old days. Only a small portion of this translation was ever finished, but he had it in mind all the rest of his life, and talked about it during his last visit to England.
86. Death of Rashid Pasha, 24th June 1876.
In June came the news of the murder of Rashid Pasha; and a thousand memories, sweet and bitter, thrilled the Burtons. Mrs. Burton recalled that "cool and aromatic housetop," the jewel-blue Chrysorrhoa, the saffron desert, and then it was "Oh, Rashid Pasha! Oh, Rashid Pasha!" Still she found it in her woman's heart to forgive the detested old enemy, now that he was gone, but Burton could not restrain a howl of triumph such as might have become some particularly vindictive Bible hero.
Writing on 24th June to his cousin, Dr. Edward John Burton, he says, "We returned here on the 18th inst., and the first thing I heard was the murder of my arch-enemy, Rashid Pasha. Serve the scoundrel right. He prevented my going to Constantinople and to Sana'a, in Arabia. I knew the murderous rascal too well to trust him. Maria wrote to me about poor Stisted's death. [297] A great loss for Maria and the chicks. I suppose you never see Bagshaw. [298] What news are there of him? Is Sarah (What's her name? Harrison?) [299] still to the fore. It is, I fear, useless to write anything about poor Edward [300] except to thank you most heartily for your disinterested kindness to him. I will not bother you about our journey, which was very pleasant and successful. You will see it all, including my proposals for renewed diamond digging, written in a book or books."