very thankful for this supposed panacea, for when in pain, Burton, never a placid creature, had tremendous outbursts of anger.  One of these scenes, which occurred at an hotel, is thus described by a witness.  “The dinner had been ordered at six.  At half-past the hour it was not ready.  The waiter was summoned.  He made excuse.  “Mille tonnerres!  Ventrebleu!” roared Burton with a volley of unutterable language which he only could translate.  The waiter literally flew before the storm, looking back at the witness with “Mais, mon Dieu, l’Anglais!” The dinner quickly arrived, and with the soup, Burton recovered his equanimity, though inveighing against all waiters, and the Triestine in particular."[FN#517]

Another anecdote of this period reveals Burton doing a little smuggling.  One day, we are told, Lady Burton invited the consular chaplain to accompany her to the quay.  Stopping her cab just in front of the Custom House, she induced her companion to talk to the Custom house officer while she herself went on board a vessel to see about a case of wine for her husband.  Presently a porter came with the case and some loose bottles, the later being placed by the chaplain’s orders in the bottom of the carriage.  No sooner had this been done than Lady Burton followed, and stepping into the cab bade the coachman drive off.  Up to this moment the chaplain had kept watch, smoking a cigar, at the window of the carriage.  The officer seeing a case being placed in the carriage was about to make inquiry just as the coachman whipped up the horse.  Lady Burton smilingly saluted the officer from the window and thus allayed his suspicions.  He returned her nod with a military salute, and was soon invisible.  The speed, however, was too much for the loose bottles, and the duty was paid in kind, as the wine flowed freely at the bottom of the cab, while Burton pretended to rate his wife for exposing him to the charge of smuggling and damaging the reputation of the chaplain.[FN#518]

At Trieste Burton was always popular.  The people appreciated his genius and sympathised with his grievances, and he could truly say of them in the words of his prototype, Ovid: 

   “They wish, good souls, to keep me, yet I know
    They wish me gone, because I want to go."[FN#519]

Not that he pleased everyone.  Far from it, and hereby hangs a delectable anecdote.  Some Englishman at Trieste, who took umbrage on account of the colossal muddle Burton made with his accounts and the frequency of his absence, wrote to the Foreign Office something to this effect.  “As Sir Richard Burton is nearly always away from his post and the Vice-Consul has to do the greater portion of the work, why on earth don’t you get rid of Sir Richard and let the Vice-Consul take his place?  I wonder the Foreign Office can put up with him at all.”

To which came the following graceful reply.  “Dear Sir,—­We look upon the consulship of Trieste as a gift to Sir Richard Burton for his services to the nation, and we must decline to interfere with him in any way."[FN#520]