To this period belong the following unpublished anecdotes.  Of Burton’s interest in Ancient Etruria and especially in the archaeological discoveries at Bologna[FN#547] we have already spoken.  Once when he and Dr. Baker were visiting Bologna they took a long walk outside the town and quite lost their bearings.  Noticing a working man seated on the roadside, Burton asked him in French the way back.  In reply the man “only made a stupid noise in his throat.”  Burton next tried him with the Bolognese[FN#548] dialect, upon which the man blurted out, “Je don’t know savez.”  Sir Richard then spoke in English, and the man finding there was no further necessity for Parisian, explained in his own tongue that he was an English sailor who had somehow got stranded in that part.

To Burton’s delight in shocking people we have already alluded.  Nor did age sober him.  He would tell to open-mouthed hearers stories of his hair-breadth escapes, and how some native plotted against his life.  “Another moment,” he would say, “and I should have been a dead man, but I was too quick for my gentleman.  I turned round with my sword and sliced him up like a lemon.”  Dr. Baker, who had heard many tales about the Austrians and duelling, was exercised in his mind as to what ought to be done if he were “called out.”  “Now,” said Burton, “this is one of the things in life worthy of remembrance.  Never attack a man, but if he attacks you, kill him.”  Sometimes the crusted tale about the Arab murder would come up again.  “Is it true, Sir Richard,” a young curate once innocently inquired, “that you shot a man near Mecca?” “Sir,” replied Burton, tossing his head haughtily, “I’m proud to say that I have committed every sin in the Decalogue.”

In after years Dr. Baker was often asked for reminiscences of Burton.  “Can you remember any of his sayings?” enquired one interlocutor.  “Yes,” replied Dr. Baker.  “He once said, ’Priests, politicians and publishers will find the gate of Heaven extremely narrow.’” “I’m sorry for that,” followed the interlocutor, “for I’ve just been elected M.P. for the ——­ Division of Yorkshire.”

For Mrs. Lynn Linton, the novelist, whom he described as a “sweet, womanly woman,” Burton had a sincere regard, but he used to say that though she was an angel in the drawing-room, she was a raging, blood-thirsty tigress on the platform.  One day, while Sir Richard, Mrs. Linton and Dr. Baker were chatting together, a lady to whom Mrs. Linton was a stranger joined the group and said “Sir Richard, why don’t you leave off writing those heavy books on Bologna and other archaeological subjects, and do something lighter?  Couldn’t you write some trash—­novels, I mean?” Sir Richard look sideways at Mrs. Linton, and kept his countenance as well as he could.  On another occasion when Sir Richard, Lady Burton, Dr. Baker and an aged Cambridge Professor were chatting together, Burton unconsciously glided into Latin—­in which he asked the professor a question.  The old man began a laboured reply in the same language—­and then, stopping suddenly, said, “If you don’t mind, Sir Richard, we’ll continue the conversation in English.”