Chapter xxiv
   July 1883-November 1883
   The Palazzone

108.  Anecdotes of Burton.

In 1883 the Burtons removed from their eyrie near the Railway Station and took up their abode in a palazzone[FN#378]—­“the Palazzo Gosleth”—­situated in a large garden, on the wooded promontory that divides the city from the Bay of Muggia.  It was one of the best houses in Trieste, and boasted an entrance so wide that one could have driven a carriage into the hall, a polished marble staircase and twenty large rooms commanding extensive and delightful views.  The garden, however, was the principal amenity.  Here, in fez and dressing-gown, Burton used to sit and write for hours with nothing to disturb him except the song of birds and the rustle of leaves.  In the Palazzo Gosleth he spent the last eight years of his life, and wrote most of his later works.

Perhaps this is the best place to introduce a sheaf of miscellaneous unpublished anecdotes which have been drawn together from various sources.  We are uncertain as to their dates, but all are authentic.  To the ladies Burton was generally charming, but sometimes he behaved execrably.  Once when he was returning alone to Trieste, a lady past her prime, being destined for the same place, asked whether she might accompany him.  Burton, who hated taking care of anyone, frowned and shook his head.  “There can be no scandal, Captain Burton,” pleaded the lady, “because I am old.”

“Madame,” replied Burton, “while fully appreciating your kindness, I must decline.  Had you been young and good-looking I would have considered the matter.”

109.  Burton and Mrs. Disraeli.

But Burton could be agreeable enough even to plain ladies when he wished.  In one of his books or pamphlets he had said “There is no difference except civilization between a very old woman and an ape.”  Some time after its publication, when he was the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Disraeli, Mrs. Disraeli, herself both elderly and very plain, laid a plan to disconcert him.  She seated herself close to a low mirror, in the hopes that Burton would presently join her.  He soon fell into the trap and was observed a few minutes later leaning over her and “doing the amiable.”

“Captain Burton,” said Mrs. Disraeli, with affected annoyance, and pointing to her reflection, “There must be an ape in the glass.  Do you not see it?”

Burton instantly recalled the remark in his book, but without exhibiting the least disconcertion, he replied, “Yaas, yaas, Madam, quite plainly; I see myself.”

It was altogether impossible for Burton to do anything or to be in anything without causing a commotion of some kind.  Generally it was his own fault, but sometimes the Fates were to blame.  Few scenes at that period could have been more disgraceful than those at the official receptions held in London by the Prime Minister.  Far too many persons were invited and numbers behaved more like untutored Zulus than civilised human beings.