The Life of Captain Sir Richard F. Burton, volume 2 (of 2): By His Wife, Isabel BurtonBurton, Isabel, Lady
History
The Life of Captain Sir Richard F. Burton, volume 2 (of 2): By His Wife, Isabel Burton
Burton, Isabel, Lady
Burton, Richard Francis, Sir, 1821-1890; Explorers -- Great Britain -- Biography; Scholars -- Great Britain -- Biography
We were able also to keep our St. Silvester with the Gutmansthals, but
so many people had gone away, that it was not the same as the year
before.
On the 6th of December, 1883, he puts the following notice in his
journal in red ink:--
"To-day, eleven years ago, I came here; what a shame!!!"
He notices the death of Richard Doyle the 11th of December.
1884.
At this time we were far from being well off, and we were obliged to
incur many expenses for Richard's illness; besides which, I hoped he
would get change of air. It may be imagined, therefore, that when the
news of the death of an aunt by marriage who did not care very much
for me, and whom I very seldom saw, reached me that I received the
intelligence that she had left me a legacy of £500 with pleasure.
All the early part of the year we had a bad time of it. Richard had
insisted on going back to the big room, and once he had put on a damp
coat. I always think that foreign doctors do not understand English
constitutions, which can never stand starving, and they do always
starve you. He went on alternately better and worse.
In all these attacks I never left his room, day or night, and I
frequently used to disobey orders as to diet. When he was free from
pain he was immensely cheerful, and used to laugh like a schoolboy at
his doctor, who _would_ speak English for the sake of learning and
practising it. "What him eat to-day?" "Pheasant, doctor!" He plunged
his hands into his hair as if he were going to tear it all out. "What
for you give him the wild?" (German, _das wild_, meaning game). One
day after about six months he said, "You sall give him ten drops of
rum in a tumbler of water for his dinner!" Peals of laughter came from
the sick-bed. "Ach! das ist gut to hear him laugh like dat? Vat for he
laugh?" I answered, "Because he gets a brandy-grog fit for a sailor
every night, or he would have been a dead man long ago." More tearing
of the hair and real displeasure. When he got over that illness he was
a veritable skeleton; his legs were like two sticks of sealing-wax.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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