He never
boasted, never hinted that he had done, or could do, anything
different from other men; and, in spite of the mystery, one
felt that he was transparently honest and sincere. He was
always the same, always true to himself; but then, that
'self' was a something PER SE, which could not be
categorically classed - precedent for guidance was lacking.
There is little doubt Burton had gipsy blood in his veins;
there was something Oriental in his temperament, and even in
his skin.
One summer's day I found him reading the paper in the
Athenaeum. He was dressed in a complete suit of white -
white trousers, a white linen coat, and a very shabby old
white hat. People would have stared at him anywhere.
'Hullo, Burton!' I exclaimed, touching his linen coat, 'Do
you find it so hot - DEJA?'
Said he: 'I don't want to be mistaken for other people.'
'There's not much fear of that, even without your clothes,' I
replied.
Such an impromptu answer as his would, from any other, have
implied vanity. Yet no man could have been less vain, or
more free from affectation. It probably concealed regret at
finding himself conspicuous.
After dinner at the Birds' one evening we fell to talking of
garrotters. About this time the police reports were full of
cases of garrotting. The victim was seized from behind, one
man gagged or burked him, while another picked his pocket.
'What should you do, Burton?' the Doctor asked, 'if they
tried to garrotte you?'
'I'm quite ready for 'em,' was the answer; and turning up his
sleeve he partially pulled out a dagger, and shoved it back
again.
We tried to make him tell us what became of the Arab boy who
accompanied him to Mecca, and whose suspicions threatened
Burton's betrayal, and, of consequence, his life. I don't
think anyone was present except us two, both of whom he well
knew to be quite shock-proof, but he held his tongue.
'You would have been perfectly justified in saving your own
life at any cost. You would hardly have broken the sixth
commandment by doing so in this case,' I suggested.
'No,' said he gravely, 'and as I had broken all the ten
before, it wouldn't have so much mattered.'
The Doctor roared. It should, however, be stated that Burton
took no less delight in his host's boyish simplicity, than
the other in what he deemed his guest's superb candour.
'Come, tell us,' said Bird, 'how many men have you killed?'
'How many have you, Doctor?' was the answer.
Richard Burton was probably the most extraordinary linguist
of his day. Lady Burton mentions, I think, in his Life, the
number of languages and dialects her husband knew. That
Mahometans should seek instruction from him in the Koran,
speaks of itself for his astonishing mastery of the greatest
linguistic difficulties.
