Chapter XXXVII Death of Sir Richard Burton

173.  Death. 20th October 1890.

As we have seen, Burton had for some months shown signs of bodily decay; and he now daily grew weaker.  His eyes, though still fierce and penetrating, were sunk into hollow cavities.  His body was emaciated, his hands were thin to transparency, his voice was sometimes inarticulate, and he could hardly walk without support.  Still, there seemed no immediate cause for anxiety, and, as will be seen from the following letter[FN#628] (15th October 1890) to Mr. David MacRitchie, he was busy evolving new plans, including a visit to Greece, to be made in the company of Dr. Schliemann,[FN#629] the archaeologist.  “In the spring of next year (Inshallah!) there will be a total disruption of my Lares and Penates.  I shall be ‘retired for age,’ and leave Trieste for ever with my mental eye upon a flat in London which can be locked up at a moment’s notice when the renter wants to go abroad.  Meanwhile we are off to Athens about mid-November.  All luck to the [Gypsy] Society.”  On the same day he wrote to Mr. W. F. Kirby:  “Excuse post-card.  We have no secrets.  Please don’t forget to keep me au courant of your movements in re Jan., &c.  We shall not be in London before early September 1891, I imagine, but then it will be for good.”  Elsewhere he says, almost in the words of Ovid, “My earnest wish is somehow to depart from these regions.”  He was to depart, very soon, but in a manner little expected.

Sir Richard as we have noticed, would never say “Good-bye.”  It was always “Au revoir.”  One day in this October Miss Letchford went to see him with her little sister.  It was tea-time, but Lady Burton was in another room with a visitor.  Never had he appeared so bright or affectionate.  He laughed and joked and teased the child and would not let them go for two hours.  At last he shook hands and said, “Come and see me again very soon.  I like you and your sister.—–­Good-bye, Daisy.”  “I was so startled,” comments Miss Letchford, “by that ‘Good-bye’ that a shiver passed over me.  I felt at that moment that I should never see him again.”  Two days later Mr. Albert Letchford called on Sir Richard, who seemed fairly well, but he remarked “The good Switzerland did me ended this evening.”

Dr. Baker, though himself just then a great sufferer from neuralgic headache, watched with anxious solicitude over his patient.  On the last day of his life Sir Richard seemed better than usual, and all the household remarked his excellent spirits.  It was Sunday October 29th.  After returning from mass and communion at eight in the morning Lady Burton found him engaged upon the last page of the twentieth chapter of The Scented Garden.[FN#630] The work was therefore almost half done.  She kissed him, and he said, “To-morrow I shall have finished this, and then I will begin our biography.”  She commented “What happiness that will be!” Her mind, however, was not quite at ease that morning, for a bird had pecked for the third time at a window that was never opened, and Sir Richard remarked “This is a sign of death.”