George Henry Borrow was born at East Dereham, Norfolk,
England, July 5, 1803. His father was an army captain, and
Borrow's boyhood was spent at military stations in various
parts of the kingdom. From his earliest youth he had a taste
for roving and fraternising with gipsies and other vagrants.
In 1819 he entered a solicitor's office at Norwich. After a
long spell of drudgery and literary effort, he went to London
in 1824, but left a year later, and for some time afterwards
his movements were obscure. For a period of about five years,
beginning 1835, he acted as the Bible Society's agent, selling
and distributing Bibles in Spain, and in 1842 he published
"The Bible in Spain." which appears in another volume of THE
WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS. (See TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE.)
"Lavengro," written in 1851, enhanced the fame which Borrow
had already secured by his earlier works. The book teems with
character sketches drawn from real life in quarters which few
could penetrate, and although they are often extremely
eccentric, they are never grotesque, and never strike the mind
with a sense of merely invented unreality. Here and there
occur illuminating outbursts of reflection in philosophic
accent which reveal in startling style the working of Borrow's
mind. The linguistic lore is phenomenal, as in all his books.
But though the wild, passionate scenes make the whole
narrative an indescribable phantasmagoria, the diction is
always free from turgidity, and from involved periods. Borrow
died at Oulton, Suffolk, on July 26, 1881. A mighty athlete,
an inveterate wanderer, a philological enthusiast, and a man
of large-hearted simplicity mingled with violent prejudices,
he was one of the most original and engaging personalities of
nineteenth century English literature.
_I.--The Scholar, the Gipsy, the Priest_
On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D------, a beautiful
little town in East Anglia, I first saw the light. My father, a
Cornishman, after serving many years in the Line, at last entered as
captain in a militia regiment. My mother, a strikingly handsome woman,
was of the Huguenot race. I was not the only child of my parents, for I
had a brother three years older than myself. He was a beautiful boy with
much greater mental ability than I possessed, and he, with the greatest
affection, indulged me in every possible way. Alas, his was an early and
a foreign grave!
I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life, being the son of a
soldier, who, unable to afford the support of two homes, was accompanied
by his family wherever he went. A lover of books and of retired corners,
I was as a child in the habit of fleeing from society. The first book
that fascinated me was one of Defoe's. But those early days were
stirring times, for England was then engaged in the struggle with
Napoleon.
I remember strange sights, such as the scenes at Norman Cross, a station
or prison where some six thousand French prisoners were immured. And
vividly impressed on my memory is my intercourse with an extraordinary
old man, a snake-catcher, who thrilled me with the recitals of his
experiences. He declared that the vipers had a king, a terrible
creature, which he had encountered, and from which he had managed to
escape. After telling me that strange story of the king of the vipers,
he gave me a viper which he had tamed, and had rendered harmless by
extracting its fangs. I fed it with milk, and frequently carried it
abroad with me in my walks.
One day on my rambles I entered a green lane I had never seen before.
Seeing an odd-looking low tent or booth, I advanced towards it. Beside
it were two light carts, and near by two or three lean ponies cropped
the grass. Suddenly the two inmates, a man and a woman, both wild and
forbidding figures, rushed out, alarmed at my presence, and commenced
abusing me as an intruder. They threatened to fling me into the pond
over the hedge.
I defied them to touch me, and, as I did so, made a motion well
understood by the viper that lay hid in my bosom. The reptile instantly
lifted its head and stared at my enemies with its glittering eyes. The
woman, in amazed terror, retreated to the tent, and the man stood like
one transfixed. Presently the two commenced talking to each other in
what to me sounded like French, and next, in a conciliating tone, they
offered me a peculiar sweetmeat, which I accepted. A peaceable
conversation ensued, during which they cordially invited me to join
their party and to become one of them.
The interview was rudely interrupted. Hoofs were heard, and the next
moment a man rode up and addressed words to the gipsies which produced a
startling effect. In a few minutes, from different directions, came
swarthy men and women. Hastily they harnessed the ponies and took down
the tent, and packed the carts, and in a remarkably brief space of time
the party rode off with the utmost speed.
Three years passed, during which I increased considerably in stature and
strength, and, let us hope, improved in mind. For at school I had learnt
the whole of Lilly's "Latin Grammar"; but I was very ignorant of
figures. Our regiment was moved to Edinburgh, where the castle was a
garrison for soldiers. In that city I and my brother were sent to the
high school. Here the scholars were constantly fighting, though no great
harm was done. I had seen deaths happen through fights at school in
England.
I became a daring cragsman, a character to which an English lad can
seldom aspire, for in England there are neither crags nor mountains. The
Scots are expert climbers, and I was now a Scot in most things,
particularly the language. The castle in which I dwelt stood on a craggy
rock, to scale which was my favourite diversion.
In the autumn of 1815, when the war with Napoleon was ended, we were
ordered to Ireland, where at school I read Latin and Greek with a nice
old clergyman, and of an evening studied French and Italian with a
banished priest, Italian being my favourite.
It was in a horse fair I came across Jasper Petulengro, a young gipsy of
whom I had caught sight in the gipsy camp I have already alluded to. He
was amazed to see me, and in the most effusively friendly way claimed me
as a "pal," calling me Sapengro, or "snake-master," in allusion, he
said, to the viper incident. He said he was also called Pharaoh, and was
the horse-master of the camp.
From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper. He taught me much
Romany, and introduced me to Tawno Chikno, the biggest man of the gipsy
nation, and to Mrs. Chikno. These stood to him as parents, for his own
were banished. I soon found that in the tents I had become acquainted
with a most interesting people. With their language I was fascinated,
though at first I had taken it for mere gibberish. My rapid progress
astonished and delighted Jasper. "We'll no longer call you Sapengro,
brother," said he, "but Lavengro, which in the language of the gorgios
meaneth word-master." And Jasper's wife actually proposed that I should
marry her sister.
The gipsies departed for England. I was now sixteen, and continued in
the house of my parents, passing my time chiefly in philological
pursuits. But it was high time that I should adopt some profession. My
father would gladly have seen me enter the Church, but feared I was too
erratic. So I was put to the law, but while remaining a novice at that
pursuit, I became a perfect master of the Welsh language. My father soon
began to feel that he had made a mistake in the choice of a profession
for me.
My elder brother, who had cultivated a great taste for painting, told me
one evening that father had given him £150 and his blessing, and that he
was going to London to improve himself in his art.
My father was taken ill with severe attacks of gout, and, in a touching
conversation, assured me that his end was approaching. Before that sad
event happened, my brother, whom he longed to see, arrived home. My
father died with the name of Christ on his lips. The brave old soldier,
during intervals between his attacks, had told me more of his life than
I had ever learned before, and I was amazed to find how much he knew and
had seen. He had talked with King George, and had known Wellington, and
was the friend of Townshend, who, when Wolfe fell, led the British
grenadiers against the shrinking regiments of Montcalm.
_II.--An Adventure with a Publisher_
One damp, misty March morning, I dismounted from the top of a coach in
the yard of a London inn. Delivering my scanty baggage to a porter, I
followed him to a lodging prepared for me by an acquaintance. It
consisted of a small room in which I was to sit, and a smaller one still
in which I was to sleep.
Having breakfasted comfortably by a good fire, I sallied forth and
easily found my way to the place I was in quest of, for it was scarcely
ten minutes' walk distant. I was cordially received by the big man to
whom some of my productions had been sent by a kind friend, and to whom
he had given me a letter of introduction, which was respectfully read.
But he informed me that he was selling his publishing business, and so
could not make use of my literary help. He gave me counsel, however,
especially advising me to write some evangelical tales, in the style of
the "Dairyman's Daughter." As I told him I had never heard of that work,
he said: "Then, sir, procure it by all means." Much more conversation
ensued, during which the publisher told me that he purposed continuing
to issue once a month his magazine, the "Oxford Review," and to this he
proposed that I should attempt to contribute. As I was going away he
invited me to dine with him on the ensuing Sunday.
On Sunday I was punctual to my appointment with the publisher. I found
that for twenty years he had taken no animal food and no wine. After
some talk he requested me to compile six volumes of Newgate lives and
trials, of a thousand pages each, the remuneration to be £50 at the
completion of the work. I was also to make myself generally useful to
the "Review," and, furthermore, to translate into German a book of
philosophy which he had written. Then he dismissed me, saying that,
though he never went to church, he spent much of every Sunday afternoon
alone, musing on the magnificence of Nature and the moral dignity of
man.
I compiled the "Chronicles of Newgate," reviewed books for the "Review,"
and occasionally tried my best to translate into German portions of the
publisher's philosophy. But the "Review" did not prove a successful
speculation, and with its decease its corps of writers broke up. I was
paid, not in cash, but in bills, one payable at twelve, the other at
eighteen months after date. It was a long time before I could turn these
bills to any account. At last I found a person willing to cash them at a
discount of only thirty per cent.
By the month of October I had accomplished about two-thirds of the
compilation of the Newgate lives, and had also made some progress with
the German translation. But about this time I had begun to see very
clearly that it was impossible that our connection would be of long
duration; yet, in the event of my leaving the big man, what had I to
offer another publisher? I returned to my labour, finished the German
translation, got paid in the usual style, and left that employer.
_III.--The Spirit of Stonehenge_
One morning I discovered that my whole worldly wealth was reduced to a
single half-crown, and throughout that day I walked about in
considerable distress of mind. By a most singular chance I again came
across my friend Petulengro in a fair into which I happened to wander
when walking by the side of the river beyond London. My gipsy friend was
seated with several men, carousing beside a small cask. He sprang up,
greeting me cordially, and we chatted in Romany as we walked about
together. Questioning me closely, he soon discovered that by that time I
had only eighteen pence in my pocket.
Said Jasper: "I, too, have been in the big city; but I have not been
writing books. I have fought in the ring. I have fifty pounds in my
pocket, and I have much more in the world. Brother, there is
considerable difference between us." But he could not prevail on me to
accept or to borrow money, for I said that if I could not earn, I would
starve. "Come and stay with us," said he. "Our tents and horses are on
the other side of yonder wooded hill. We shall all be glad of your
company, especially myself and my wife, Pakomovna."
I declined the kind invitation and walked on. Returning to the great
city, I suddenly found myself outside the shop of a publisher to whom I
had vainly applied some time before, in the hope of selling some of my
writings. As I looked listlessly at the window, I observed a paper
affixed to the glass, on which was written in a fair round hand, "A
Novel or Tale is much wanted." I at once resolved to go to work to
produce what was thus solicited. But what should the tale be about?
After cogitating at my lodging, with bread and water before me, I
concluded that I would write an entirely fictitious narrative called
"The Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, the Great Traveller." This
Joseph Sell was an imaginary personage who had come into my head.
I seized pen and paper, but soon gave up the task of outlining the
story, for the scenes flitted in bewildering fashion before my
imagination. Yet, before morning, as I lay long awake, I had sketched
the whole work on the tablets of my mind. Next day I partook of bread
and water, and before night had completed pages of Joseph Sell, and
added pages in varying quantity day by day, until my enterprise was
finished.
"To-morrow for the bookseller! Oh, me!" I exclaimed, as I lay down to
rest.
On arriving at the shop, I saw to my delight that the paper was still in
the window. As I entered, a ladylike woman of about thirty came from the
back parlour to ask my business. After my explanation, she requested me,
as her husband was out, to leave the MS. with her, and to call again the
next day at eleven. At that hour I duly appeared, and was greeted with a
cordial reception. "I think your book will do," said the bookseller.
After some negotiation, I was paid £20 on the spot, and departed with a
light heart. Reader, amidst life's difficulties, should you ever be
tempted to despair, call to mind these experiences of Lavengro. There
are few positions, however difficult, from which dogged resolution and
perseverance will not liberate you.
I had long determined to leave London, as my health had become much
impaired. My preparations were soon made, and I set out to travel on
foot. In about two hours I had cleared the great city, and was in a
broad and excellent road, leading I knew not whither. In the evening,
feeling weary, I thought of putting up at an inn, but was induced to
take a seat in a coach, paying sixteen shillings for the fare. At dawn
of day I was roused from a broken slumber and bidden to alight, and
found myself close to a moorland. Walking on and on, I at length reached
a circle of colossal stones.
The spirit of Stonehenge was upon me. As I reclined under the great
transverse stone, in the middle of the gateway of giants, I heard the
tinkling of bells, and presently a large flock of sheep came browsing
along, and several entered the circle. Soon a man also came up. In a
friendly talk, the young shepherd told me that the people of the plain
believed that thousands of men had brought the stones from Ireland, to
make a temple in which to worship God.
"But," said I, "our forefathers slaughtered the men who raised the
stones, and left not one stone on another."
"Yes, they did," said the shepherd, looking aloft at the great
transverse stone.
"And it is well that they did," answered I, "for whenever that stone,
which English hands never raised, is by English hands thrown down, woe
to the English race. Spare it, English. Hengist spared it."
We parted, and I wandered off to Salisbury, the city of the spire. There
I stayed two days, spending my time as best I could, and then walked
forth for several days, during which nothing happened worthy of notice,
but the weather was brilliant, and my health had greatly improved.
Coming one day to a small countryside cottage, I saw scrawled over the
door, "Good beer sold here." Being overcome with thirst, I went in to
taste the beverage. Along the wall opposite where I sat in the
well-sanded kitchen was the most disconsolate family I had ever seen,
consisting of a tinker, his wife, a pretty-looking woman, who had
evidently been crying, and a ragged boy and girl. I treated them to a
large measure of beer, and in a few minutes the tinker was telling me
his history. That conversation ended very curiously, for I purchased for
five pounds ten shillings the man's whole equipment. It included his
stock-in-trade, and his pony and cart. Of the landlady I purchased
sundry provisions, and also a waggoner's frock, gave the horse a little
feed of corn, and departed.
_IV.--The Flaming Tinman_
At three hours past noon I thus started to travel as a tinker. I was
absolutely indifferent as to the direction of my journey. Coming to no
hostelry, I pitched my little tent after nightfall in a waste land
amongst some bushes, and kindled a fire in a convenient spot with sticks
which I gathered. For a few days I practiced my new craft by trying to
mend two kettles and a frying-pan, remaining in my little camp. Few folk
passed by. But soon some exciting incidents happened. My quarters were
one morning suddenly invaded by a young Romany girl, who advanced
towards me, after closely scanning me, singing a gipsy song:
The Romany chi
And the Romany chal
Shall jaw tasaulor
To drab the bawlor,
And dook the gry
Of the farming rye.
A very pretty song, thought I, falling hard to work again on my kettle;
a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good. Let them look to
their cattle.
"All alone here, brother?" said a voice close to me, in sharp, but not
disagreeable tones.
A talk ensued, in which the girl discovered that I knew how to speak
Romany, and it ended in my presenting her with the kettle.
"Parraco tute--that is, I thank you, brother. The rikkeni kekaubi is now
mine. O, rare, I thank you kindly, brother!"
Presently she came towards me, stared me full in the face, saying to
herself, "Grey, tall, and talks Romany!" In her countenance there was an
expression I had not seen before, which struck me as being composed of
fear, curiosity, and deepest hate. It was only momentary, and was
succeeded by one smiling, frank, and open. "Good-bye, tall brother,"
said she, and she departed, singing the same song.
On the evening of the next day, after I had been with my pony and cart
strolling through several villages, and had succeeded in collecting
several kettles which I was to mend, I returned to my little camp, lit
my fire, and ate my frugal meal. Then, after looking for some time at
the stars, I entered my tent, lay down on my pallet, and went to sleep.
Two more days passed without momentous incidents, but on the third
evening the girl reappeared, bringing me two cakes, one of which she
offered to eat herself, if I would eat the other. They were the gift to
me of her grandmother, as a token of friendship. Incautiously I ate a
portion to please the maiden. She eagerly watched as I did so. But I
paid dearly indeed for my simplicity. I was in a short time seized with
the most painful sensations, and was speedily prostrate in helpless
agonies.
While I was in this alarming condition the grandmother appeared, and
began to taunt me with the utmost malignity. She was Mrs. Herne, "the
hairy one," who had conceived inveterate spite against me at the time
when Petulengro had proposed that I should marry his wife's sister. This
poison had been administered to inflict on me the vengeance she had not
ceased to meditate.
My life was in real peril, but I was fortunately delivered by a timely
and providential interposition. The malignant old gipsy woman and her
granddaughter were scared as they watched my sufferings by hearing the
sound of travellers approaching. Two wayfarers came along, one of whom
happened to be a kind and skillful doctor. He saved my life by drastic
remedies.
The next that I heard of Mrs. Herne was, as Petulengro told me when we
again met, that she had hanged herself, the girl finding her suspended
from a tree. That announcement was accompanied by an unexpected
challenge from my friend Jasper to fight him. He declared that as she
was his relative, and I had been the cause of her destruction, there was
no escape from the necessity of fighting. My plea that there was no
inclination on my part for such a combat was of no avail. Accordingly we
fought for half an hour, when suddenly Petulengro exclaimed: "Brother,
there is much blood on your face; I think enough has been done in the
affair of the old woman."
So the struggle ended, and my Romany friend once more pressed me to join
his tribe in their camp and in their life. I declined the offer, for I
had resolved to practice yet another calling, the trade of a blacksmith.
I could do so, for amongst the stock-in-trade I had purchased from the
tinker was a small forge, with an anvil and hammers.
It has always struck me that there is something poetical about a forge.
I believe that the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, would
afford material for a highly poetical treatise. But a rude stop was put
to my dream. One morning, a brutal-looking ruffian, whom I had met
before and recognised as a character known as the Flaming Tinman,
appeared on the scene, accusing me with fearful oaths of trespassing on
his ground. After volleys of abuse, he attacked me, and a fearful fight
ensued, in which he was not the victor, for in one of his terrific
lunges he slipped, and a blow which I was aiming happened to strike him
behind the ear. He fell senseless. Two women were with him, one, a
vulgar, coarse creature, his wife; the other a tall, fine young woman,
who travelled with them for company, doing business of her own with a
donkey and cart, selling merchandise.
While I was bringing water from a spring in order to seek to revive the
Flaming Tinman, his wife and the young woman violently quarrelled, for
the latter took my part vehemently. When at length my enemy recovered
sufficiently to look about him, and then to stand up, I found that his
wife had put an open knife in his hand. But his intention could not be
carried out, for his right hand was injured in the fight, and was for
the time useless, as he quickly realised.
The couple presently departed, cursing me and the young woman, who
remained behind in the little camp, and, as I was in an exhausted state,
offered to make tea by the camp fire. While we were taking the repast,
she told me the story of her life. Her name was Isopel Berners, and
though she believed that she had come of a good stock, she was born in a
workhouse. When old enough, she had entered the service of a kind widow,
who travelled with small merchandise. After the death of her mistress,
Isopel carried on the same avocation. Being friendless, and falling in
with the Flaming Tinman and his wife, she had associated with them, yet
acknowledged that she had found them to be bad people.
Time passed on. Isopel and I lived still in the dingle, occupying our
separate tents. She went to and fro on her business, and I went on short
excursions. Her company, when she happened to be in camp, was very
entertaining, for she had wandered in all parts of England and Wales.
For recreation, I taught her a great deal of Armenian, much of which was
like the gipsy tongue. She had a kind heart, and was an upright
character. She often asked me questions about America, for she had an
idea she would like to go there. But as I had never crossed the sea to
that country, I could only tell her what I had heard about it.
* * * * *