APRIL 1841–MARCH 1844
DURING his wanderings in Portugal and Spain Borrow had carried out his
intention of keeping a journal, from which on several occasions he sent
transcriptions to Earl Street instead of recapitulating in his letters
the adventures that befell him. Many of his letters went astray, which
is not strange considering the state of the country. The letters and
reports that Borrow wrote to the Bible Society, which still exist, may be
roughly divided as follows:—
From his introduction until the end of the Russian 17.50
expedition
Used for _The Bible in Spain_ 30.00
Others written during the Spanish and Portuguese periods 52.50
and not used for _The Bible in Spain_
100.00
Thirty per cent, of the whole number of the letters was all that Borrow
used for _The Bible in Spain_. In addition he had his Journal, and from
these two sources he obtained all the material he required for the book
that was to electrify the religious reading-public and make famous its
writer.
Between Borrow and Ford a warm friendship had sprung up, and many letters
passed between them. Ford, who was busily engaged upon his Hand-Book,
sought Borrow’s advice upon a number of points, in particular about Gypsy
matters. There was something of the same atmosphere in his letters as in
those of John Hasfeldt: a frank, affectionate interest in Borrow and what
affected him that it was impossible to resent. “How I wish you had given
us more about yourself,” he wrote to Borrow _apropos_ of _The Zincali_,
“instead of the extracts from those blunder-headed old Spaniards, who
knew nothing about Gypsies! I shall give you . . . a hint to publish
your whole adventures for the last twenty years.” But Hayim Ben-Attar,
son of the miracle, had already brought lights, and _The Bible in Spain_
had been begun.
Ford’s counsel was invariably sound and sane. He advised _El Gitano_, as
he sometimes called Borrow, “to avoid Spanish historians and _poetry_
like Prussic acid; to stick to himself, his biography and queer
adventures,” {343} to all of which Borrow promised obedience. Ford wrote
to Borrow (Feb. 1841) suggesting that _The Bible in Spain_ should be what
it actually was. “I am delighted to hear,” he wrote, “that you meditate
giving us your travels in Spain. The more odd personal adventures the
better, and still more so if _dramatic_; that is, giving the exact
conversations.”
In June 1841 Borrow received from Earl Street the originals of his
letters to the Bible Society, and when he was eventually called upon to
return them he retained a number, either through carelessness or by
design. It was evidently understood that there should be no reference to
any contentious matters. Borrow set to work with the aid of his “Country
Amanuensis” to transcribe such portions of the correspondence as he
required. The work proceeded slowly.
“I still scribble occasionally for want of something better to do,”
he informs John Murray, Junr. (23rd Aug. 1841), and continues: “ . .
. A queer book will be this same _Bible in Spain_, containing all my
queer adventures in that queer country whilst engaged in distributing
the Gospel, but neither learning, nor disquisitions, fine writing, or
poetry. A book with such a title and of this description can
scarcely fail of success.”
Through a dreary summer and autumn he wrote on complaining that there was
“scarcely a gleam of sunshine.” Remote from the world “with not the
least idea of what is going on save in my immediate neighbourhood,” he
wrote merely to kill time. Such an existence was, to the last degree,
uncongenial to a man who for years had been accustomed to sunshine and a
life full of incident and adventure.
He grew restless and ill-content. He had been as free as the wind, with
occupation for brain and body. He was now, like Achilles, brooding in
his tent, and over his mind there fell a shadow of unrest. As early as
July 1841 he had thought of settling in Berlin and devoting himself to
study. Hasfeldt suggested Denmark, the land of the Sagas. Later in the
same year Africa had presented itself to Borrow as a possible retreat,
but Ford advised him against it as “the land from which few travellers
return,” and told him that he had much better go to Seville. Still later
Constantinople was considered and then the coast of Barbary. Into his
letters there crept a note of querulous complaint. John Hasfeldt
besought him to remember how much he had travelled and he would find that
he had wandered enough, and then he would accustom himself to rest.
The manuscript of _The Bible in Spain_ was completed early in January
(1842) and despatched to John Murray, who sent it to Richard Ford. From
the “reader’s report” it is to be gathered that in addition to the
manuscript Borrow sent also the letters that he had borrowed from the
Bible Society. Ford refers to the story of the man stung to death by
vipers {344} “in the letter of the 16th August 1837,” and advises that
“Mr Borrow should introduce it into his narrative.” He further
recommends him “to go carefully over the whole of his Letters, as it is
very probable that other points of interest which they contain may have
been omitted in the narrative. Some of the most interesting letters
relate to journies not given in the MS.”
The work when it reached Ford was apparently in a very rough state. In
addition to many mistakes in spelling and grammar, a number of words were
left blank. In a vast number of instances short sentences were run
together. Mrs Borrow does not appear to have been a very successful
amanuensis at this period. Perhaps the most interesting indication of
how much the manuscript, as first submitted, differed from the published
work is shown by one of Ford’s criticisms:—
“In the narrative there are at present two breaks—one from about
March 1836 to June 1837 [Chapters XIII.–XX.],—and the other from
November 1837 to July 1839 [Chapters XXXVI.–XLIX.]”
This represents a third of the book as finally printed. Ford objected to
the sudden ending; but Borrow made no alteration in this respect. There
were a number of other suggestions of lesser importance in this admirable
piece of technical criticism. Ford disliked Borrow’s striving to create
an air of mystery as “taking an unwarrantable liberty with the reader”;
he suggested a map and a short biographical sketch of the author, and
especially the nature of his connection with the Bible Society. Finally
he gives it as his opinion that it is neither necessary nor advisable to
insert any of his letters to the Bible Society, either in the body of the
book or as an Appendix.
“The Dialogues are amongst the best parts of the book,” Ford wrote;
“but in several of them the tone of the speakers, of those especially
who are in humble life, is too correct and elevated, and therefore
out of character. This takes away from their effect. I think it
would be very advisable that Mr Borrow should go over them with
reference to this point, simplifying a few of the turns of expression
and introducing a few contractions—_don’ts_, _can’ts_, etc. This
would improve them greatly.”
This criticism applies to all Borrow’s books, in particular to the
passages dealing with the Gypsies, who, in spite of their love of
high-sounding words, which they frequently misuse, do not speak with the
academic precision of Borrow’s works any more than do peers or princes or
even pedagogues. Borrow met Ford’s criticism with the assurance that
“the lower classes in Spain are generally elevated in their style and
scarcely ever descend to vulgarity.”
Borrow’s first impulse appears to have been to disregard the suggestion
that the two breaks should be filled in. On 13th Jan. he wrote to John
Murray, Junr.:
“I have received the MS. and likewise your kind letter . . . Pray
thank the Gentleman who perused the MS. in my name for his
suggestions, which I will attend to. [By this it is clear that
Borrow was not told that Ford was ‘the Gentleman.’] I find that the
MS. was full of trifling mistakes, the fault of my amanuensis; but I
am going through it, and within three days shall have made all the
necessary corrections.”
No man, of however sanguine a temperament, could seriously contemplate
the mere transcription of some eighty thousand words, in addition to the
correction of twice that amount of manuscript, within three days. Nine
days later Borrow wrote again to John Murray, Junr. “We are losing time;
I have corrected seven hundred _consecutive_ pages of MS., and the
remaining two hundred will be ready in a fortnight.” That he had taken
so long was due to the fact that the greater part of the preceding week
had been occupied with other and more exciting matters than correcting
manuscript.
“During the last week,” he continues, “I have been chiefly engaged in
horse-breaking. A most magnificent animal has found his way to this
neighbourhood—a half-bred Arabian—he is at present in the hands of a
low horse-dealer; he can be bought for eight pounds, but no person
will have him; it is said that he kills everybody who mounts him. I
have been _charming_ him, and have so far succeeded that at present
he does not fling me more than once in five minutes. What a
contemptible trade is the Author’s compared to that of the jockey.”
It was not until towards the end of February that the corrected
manuscript of the first volume of _The Bible in Spain_ reached Albemarle
Street. Later and better counsels had apparently prevailed, and Borrow
had become reconciled to filling up the breaks.
Borrow had other occupations than preparing his manuscript for the
printer’s hands. He was ill and overwrought, and small things became
magnified out of all proportion to their actual importance. There had
been a dispute between Borrow’s dog and that of the rector of Oulton, the
Rev. E. P. Denniss, and as the place was small, the dogs met frequently
and renewed their feud. Finally the masters of the animals became
involved, and an interchange of frigid notes ensued. It appears that
Borrow threatened to appeal to the Law and to the Bishop of the Diocese,
and further seems to have suggested that in the interests of peace, the
rector might do away with his own dog. The tone of the correspondence
may be gathered from the following notes:—{347}
“Mr Denniss begs to acknowledge Mr Borrow’s note, and is sorry to
hear that his dog and Mr Borrow’s have again fallen out. Mr Denniss
learns from his servant that Mr D’s dog was no more in fault than Mr
B’s, which latter is of a very quarrelsome and savage disposition, as
Mr Denniss can himself testify, as well as many other people. Mr
Denniss regrets that these two animals cannot agree when they meet,
but he must decline acceding to Mr Borrow’s somewhat arbitrary
demand, conceiving he has as much right to retain a favourite, and in
reality very harmless, animal, as Mr Borrow has to keep a dog which
has once bitten Mr Denniss himself, and oftentimes attacked him and
his family. Mr Borrow is at perfect liberty to take any measure he
may deem advisable, either before the magistrates or the Bishop of
the Diocese, as Mr Denniss is quite prepared to meet them.”
“OULTON RECTORY, 22_nd_ _April_ 1842.”
Borrow’s reply (in the rough draft found among his papers after his
death) ran:
“Mr Borrow has received Mr Denniss’ answer to his note. With respect
to Mr Denniss’ recrimination on the quarrelsome disposition of his
harmless house-dog, Mr Borrow declines to say anything further. No
one knows better than Mr Denniss the value of his own assertions . .
. Circumstances over which Mr Borrow has at present no control will
occasionally bring him and his family under the same roof with Mr
Denniss; that roof, however, is the roof of the House of God, and the
prayers of the Church of England are wholesome from whatever mouth
they may proceed.”
Borrow’s most partisan admirer could not excuse the outrage to all
decency contained in the last paragraph of his note, if indeed it were
ever sent, in any other way than to plead the writer’s ill-health.
It had been arranged that _The Bible in Spain_ should make its appearance
in May. In July Borrow wrote showing some impatience and urging greater
expedition.
“What are your intentions with respect to the _Bible in Spain_?” he
enquires of John Murray. “I am a frank man, and frankness never
offends me. Has anybody put you out of conceit with the book? . . .
Tell me frankly and I will drink your health in Romany. Or would the
appearance of the _Bible_ on the first of October interfere with the
avatar, first or second, of some very wonderful lion or Divinity, to
whom George Borrow, who is _neither_, must of course give place? Be
frank with me, my dear Sir, and I will drink your health in Romany
and Madeira.”
He goes on to offer to release John Murray from his “share in the
agreement” and complete the book himself remitting to the printer “the
necessary money for the purchase of paper.”
To Ford, who had acted as a sort of godfather to _The Bible in Spain_, it
was “a rum, very rum, mixture of gypsyism, Judaism, and missionary
adventure,” as he informed John Murray. He read it “with great delight,”
and its publisher may “depend upon it that the book will sell, which,
after all, is the rub.” He liked the sincerity, the style, the effect of
incident piling on incident. It reminded him of _Gil Blas_ with a touch
of Bunyan. Borrow is “such a _trump_ . . . as full of meat as an egg,
and a fresh-laid one.” All this he tells John Murray, and concludes with
the assurance, “Borrow will lay you golden eggs, and hatch them after the
ways of Egypt; put salt on his tail and secure him in your coop, and
beware how any poacher coaxes him with ‘raisins’ or reasons out of the
Albemarle preserve.” {349}
Ford was never tired of applying new adjectives to Borrow and his work.
He was “an extraordinary fellow,” “this wild missionary,” “a queer chap.”
Borrow, on the other hand, cherished a sincere regard for the man who had
shown such enthusiasm for his work. To John Murray, Junr., he wrote (4th
April 1843): “Pray remember me to Ford, who is no humbug and is one of
the few beings that I care something about.”
Throughout his correspondence with Borrow, Richard Ford showed a judgment
and an appreciation of what the public would be likely to welcome that
stamped him as a publishers’ “reader” by instinct. Such advice as he
gave to Borrow in the following letter set up a standard of what a book,
such as Borrow had it in his power to write, actually should be. It
unquestionably influenced Borrow:—
10_th_ _June_ 1842.
“My advice again and again is to avoid all fine writing, all
descriptions of mere scenery and trivial events. What the world
wants are racy, real, genuine scenes, and the more out of the way the
better. Poetry is utterly to be avoided. If Apollo were to come
down from Heaven, John Murray would not take his best manuscript as a
gift. Stick to yourself, to what you have seen, and the people you
have mixed with. The more you give us of odd Jewish people the
better . . . Avoid words, stick to deeds. Never think of how you
express yourself; for good matter must tell, and no fine writing will
make bad matter good. Don’t be afraid that what you may not think
good will not be thought so by others. It often happens just the
reverse . . . New facts seen in new and strange countries will please
everybody; but old scenery, even Cintra, will not. We know all about
that, and want something that we do not know . . . The grand thing is
to be bold and to avoid the common track of the silver paper, silver
fork, blue-stocking. Give us adventure, wild adventure, journals,
thirty language book, sorcery, Jews, Gentiles, rambles, and the
interior of Spanish prisons—the way you get in, the way you get out.
No author has yet given us a Spanish prison. Enter into the
iniquities, the fees, the slang, etc. It will be a little à la
Thurtell, but you see the people like to have it so. Avoid rant and
cant. Dialogues always tell; they are dramatic and give an air of
reality.”
_The Bible in Spain_ was published 10th December, and one of the first
copies that reached him was inscribed by the author to “Ann Borrow. With
her son’s best love, 13th Decr. 1842.”
From the critics there was praise and scarcely anything but praise. It
was received as a work bearing the unmistakable stamp of genius.
Lockhart himself reviewed it in _The Quarterly Review_, confessing the
shame he felt at not having reviewed _The Zincali_. “Very good—very
clever—very neatly done. Only one fault to find—too laudatory,” was
Borrow’s comment upon this notice.
And through the clamour and din of it all, old Mrs Borrow wrote to her
daughter-in-law telling her of the call of an old friend, whom she had
not seen for twenty-eight years, and who had come to talk with her of the
fame of her son, “the most remarkable man that Dereham ever produced.
Capt. Girling is a man of few words, but when he _do_ speak it is to some
purpose.” Ford wrote also (he was always writing impulsive, boyish
letters) telling how Borrow’s name would “fill the trump of fame,” and
that “Murray is in high bone” about the book. Hasfeldt wrote, too,
saying that he saw his “friend ‘tall George,’ wandering over the
mountains until I ached in every joint with the vividness of his
descriptions.”
In all this chorus of praise there was the complaint of the _Dublin
Review_ that “Borrow was a missionary sent out by a gang of conspirators
against Christianity.” Borrow’s comment upon this notice was that “It is
easier to call names and misquote passages in a dirty Review than to
write _The Bible in Spain_.”
A second edition of _The Bible in Spain_ was issued in January, to which
the author contributed a preface, “very funny, but wild,” he assured John
Murray, Junr., and he promised “yet another preface for the third
edition, should one be called for.” The third edition appeared in March,
the fourth in June, and the fifth in July. When the Fourth Edition was
nearing completion Borrow wrote to Murray: “Would it be as well to write
a preface to this _fourth_ edition with a tirade or two against the Pope,
and allusions to the Great North Road?” To which Murray replied, “With
due submission to you as author, I would suggest that you should not
abuse the Pope in the new preface.”
In the flush of his success Borrow could afford to laugh at the few
cavilling critics.
“Let them call me a nonentity if they will,” he wrote to John Murray,
Junr. (13th March). “I believe that some of those, who say I am a
phantom, would alter their tone provided they were to ask me to a
good dinner; bottles emptied and fowls devoured are not exactly the
feats of a phantom. No! I partake more of the nature of a Brownie
or Robin Goodfellow, goblins, ’tis true, but full of merriment and
fun, and fond of good eating and drinking.”
America echoed back the praise and bought the book in thousands.
Publishers issued editions in Philadelphia and New York; but Borrow did
not participate in the profits, as there was then no copyright protection
for English books in the United States of America. The _Athenæum_
reported (27th May 1843) that 30,000 copies had been sold in America. “I
really never heard of anything so infamous,” wrote Borrow to his wife.
The only thing that America gave him was praise and (in common with other
countries) a place in its biographical dictionaries and encyclopædias.
_The Bible in Spain_ was translated into French and German and
subsequently (abridged) into Russian.
What appeared to please Borrow most was Sir Robert Peel’s reference to
him in the House of Commons, although he regretted the scanty report of
the speech given in the newspapers. Replying to Dr Bowring’s (at that
time Borrow’s friend) motion “for copies of the correspondence of the
British Government with the Porte on the subject of the Bishop of
Jerusalem,” Sir Robert remarked: “If Mr Borrow had been deterred by
trifling obstacles, the circulation of the Bible in Spain would never
have been advanced to the extent which it had happily attained. If he
had not persevered he would not have been the agent of so much
enlightment.” {352}
There were many things that contributed to the instantaneous success of
_The Bible in Spain_. Apart from the vivid picture that it gave of the
indomitable courage and iron determination of a man commanding success,
its literary qualities, and enthralling interest, its greatest commercial
asset lay in its appeal to the Religious Public. Never, perhaps, had
they been invited to read such a book, because never had the Bible been
distributed by so amazing a missionary as George Borrow. _Gil Blas_ with
a touch of Bunyan, as Ford delightfully phrased it, and not too much
Bunyan. Thieves, murderers, gypsies, bandits, prisons, wars—all knit
together by the missionary work of a man who was _persona grata_ with
every lawless ruffian he encountered, and yet a sower of the seed. The
Religious Public did not pause to ponder over the strangeness of the
situation. They had fallen among thieves, and with breathless eagerness
were prepared to enjoy to the full the novel experience.
Here was a religious book full of the most exquisite material thrills
without a suggestion of a spiritual moral. Criminals were encountered,
their deeds rehearsed and the customary sermon upon the evils arising
from wickedness absent. It was a stimulating drink to unaccustomed
palates. _The Bible in Spain_ sold in its thousands.
The accuracy of the book has never been questioned; if it had, Borrow’s
letters to the Bible Society would immediately settle any doubt that
might arise. If there be one incident in the work that appears invented,
it is the story of Benedict Moll, the treasure-hunter; yet even that is
authentic. In the following letter, dated 22nd June 1839, Rey Roméro,
the bookseller of Santiago, refers to the unfortunate Benedict Moll:—
“The German of the _Treasure_,” he writes, “came here last year
bearing letters from the Government for the purpose of discovering
it. But, a few days after his arrival, they threw him into prison;
from thence he wrote me, making himself known as the one you
introduced to me; wherefore my son went to see him in prison. He
told my son that you also had been arrested, but I could not credit
it. A short time after, they took him off to Coruña; then they
brought him back here again, and I do not know what has become of him
since.” {353}
Borrow now became the lion of the hour. He was fêted and feasted in
London, and everybody wanted to meet the wonderful white-haired author of
_The Bible in Spain_. One day he is breakfasting with the Prussian
Ambassador, “with princes and members of Parliament, I was the star of
the morning,” he writes to his wife. “I thought to myself ‘what a
difference!’” Later he was present at a grand _soirée_, “and the people
came in throngs to be introduced to me. To-night,” he continues, “I am
going to the Bishop of Norwich, to-morrow to another place, and so on.”
{354}
Borrow had been much touched by the news of the death of Allan Cunningham
(1785–1842).
“Only think, poor Allan Cunningham dead!” he wrote to John Murray,
Junr. (25th Nov. 1842). “A young man—only fifty-eight—strong and
tall as a giant; might have lived to a hundred and one, but he
bothered himself about the affairs of this world far too much. That
statue shop was his bane; took to book making likewise, in a word too
fond of Mammon—awful death—no preparation—came literally upon him
like a thief in the dark. Am thinking of writing a short life of
him; old friend—twenty years’ standing, knew a good deal about him;
_Traditional Tales_ his best work . . .
“Pray send Dr Bowring a copy of Bible. Lives No. 1, Queen Square,
Westminster, another old friend. Send one to Ford—capital fellow.
Respects to Mr M. God bless you. Feel quite melancholy, Ever
yours.”
In these Jinglelike periods Borrow pays tribute to the man who praised
his Romantic Ballads and contributed a prefatory poem. He returned to
the subject ten days later in another letter to John Murray, Junr. “I
can’t get poor Allan out of my head,” he wrote. “When I come up I intend
to go and see his wife. What a woman!”
Fame did not dispel from Borrow’s mind the old restlessness, the desire
for action. He was still unwell, worried at the sight of “Popery . . .
springing up in every direction . . . _There’s no peace in this world_.”
{355a} A cold contracted by his wife distressed him to the point of
complaining that “there is little but trouble in this world; I am nearly
tired of it.” {355b} Exercise failed to benefit him. He was suffering
from languor and nervousness. And through it all that Spartan woman who
had committed the gravest of matrimonial errors, that of marrying a
genius, soothed and comforted the sick lion, tired even of victory.
Small things troubled him and honours awakened in him no enthusiasm. The
_Times_ in reviewing _The Bible in Spain_ had inferred that he was not a
member of the Church of England, {355c} and the statement “must be
contradicted.” The Royal Institution was prepared to confer an honour
upon him, and he could not make up his mind whether or not to accept it.
“What would the Institute expect me to write?” he enquires of John
Murray, Junr., 25th Feb. 1843. “(I have exhausted Spain and the
Gypsies.) Would an essay on the Welsh language and literature suit,
with an account of the Celtic tongues? Or would something about the
ancient North and its literature be more acceptable? . . . Had it
been the Royal Academy, I should have consented at once, and do
hereby empower you to accept in my name any offer which may be made
from that quarter. I should very much like to become an Academician,
the thing would just suit me, more especially as ‘they do not want
_clever_ men, but _safe_ men.’ Now I am safe enough, ask the Bible
Society, whose secrets I have kept so much to their satisfaction,
that they have just accepted at my hands an English Gypsy Gospel
_gratis_.” {356}
He declined an invitation to join the Ethnological Society.
“Who are they?” he enquires in the same letter. “At present I am in
great demand. A Bishop has just requested me to visit him. The
worst of these Bishops is that they are all skinflints, saving for
their families; their _cuisine_ is bad and their Port-wine execrable,
and as for their cigars—. . . ”
Borrow strove to quiet his spirit by touring about Norfolk, “putting up
at dead of night in country towns and small villages.” He returned to
Oulton at the end of a fortnight, having tired himself and knocked up his
horse. Even the news that a new edition of _The Bible in Spain_ was
required could not awaken in him any enthusiasm. He was glad the book
had sold, as he knew it would, and he would like a rough estimate of the
profits. A few days later he writes to John Murray, Junr., with
reference to a new edition of _The Zincali_, saying that he finds “that
there is far more connection between the first and second volumes than he
had imagined,” and begging that the reprint may be the same as the first.
“It would take nearly a month to refashion the book,” he continues, “and
I believe a month’s mental labour at the present time would do me up.”
The weather in particular affected, him. For years he had been
accustomed to sun-warmed Spain, and the gloom and greyness of England
depressed him.
“Strange weather this,” he had written to John Murray (31st Dec.
1842)—“very unwholesome I believe both for man and beast. Several
people dead and great mortality amongst the cattle. Am intolerably
well myself, but get but little rest—disagreeable dreams—digestion
not quite so good as I could wish—been on the water system—won’t
do—have left it off, and am now taking lessons in singing.”
Many men have earned the reputation of madness for less eccentric actions
than taking lessons in singing as a cure for indigestion, after the
failure of the water cure.
Although he was receiving complimentary letters from all quarters and
from people he had never even heard of, he seemed acutely unhappy.
“I did wrong,” he writes to his wife from London (29th May 1843),
“not to bring you when I came, for without you I cannot get on at
all. Left to myself, a gloom comes upon me which I cannot describe.
I will endeavour to be home on Thursday, as I wish so much to be with
you, without whom there is no joy for me nor rest. You tell me to
ask for _situations_, etc. I am not at all suited for them. My
place seems to be in our own dear cottage, where, with your help, I
hope to prepare for a better world . . . I dare say I shall be home
on Thursday, perhaps earlier, if I am unwell; for the poor bird when
in trouble has no one to fly to but his mate.” And a few days later:
“I wish I had not left home. Take care of yourself. Kiss poor Hen.”
During his stay in London, Borrow sat to Henry Wyndham Phillips, R.A.,
for his portrait. {357} On 21st June John Murray wrote: “I have seen
your portrait. Phillips is going to saw off a bit of the panel, which
will give you your proper and characteristic height. Next year you will
doubtless cut a great figure in the Exhibition. It is the best thing
young Phillips has done.” The painting was exhibited at the Royal
Academy in 1844 as “George Borrow, Esq., author of _The Bible in Spain_,”
and is now in the possession of Mr John Murray.
There is a story told in connection with the painting of this portrait.
Borrow was a bad sitter, and visibly chafed at remaining indoors doing
nothing. To overcome this restlessness the painter had recourse to a
clever stratagem. He enquired of his sitter if Persian were really a
fine language, as he had heard; Borrow assured him that it was, and at
Phillips’ request, started declaiming at the top of his voice, his eyes
flashing with enthusiasm. When he ceased, the wily painter mentioned
other tongues, Turkish, Armenian, etc., in each instance with the same
result, and the painting of the portrait became an easy matter.
On 23rd June John Murray (the Second) died, at the age of sixty-five, and
was succeeded by his son. “Poor old Murray!” Ford wrote to Borrow, “We
shall never see his like again. He . . . was a fine fellow in every
respect.” In another letter he refers to him as “that Prince of
Bibliophiles, poor, dear, old Murray.” Borrow’s own relations with John
Murray had always been most cordial. On one occasion, when writing to
his son, he says: “I shall be most happy to see you and still more your
father, whose jokes do one good. I wish all the world were as gay as
he.” Then without a break, he goes on to deplore the fact that “a
gentleman drowned himself last week on my property. I wish he had gone
somewhere else.” Such was George Borrow.
[Picture: John Murray the Third. From a photograph by Maull and Fox]
For some time past Borrow’s thoughts had been directed towards obtaining
a Government post abroad. The sentence, “You tell me to ask for
situations, etc.,” in a letter to his wife had reference to this
ambition. He had previously (21st June 1841) written to Lord Clarendon
suggesting for himself a consulship; but the reply had not been
encouraging. It was “quite hopeless to expect a consulship from Lord
Palmerston, the applicants were too many and the appointments too few.”
Borrow recognised the stagnation of his present life.
“I wish the Government would give me some command in Ireland which
would call forth my energies,” he wrote to John Murray (25th Oct.
1843). “If there be an outbreak there I shall apply to them at once,
for my heart is with them in the present matter: I hope they will be
firm, and they have nothing to fear; I am sure that the English
nation will back them, for the insolence and ingratitude of the
Irish, and the cowardice of their humbug chief, have caused universal
disgust.” Later he wrote, also to John Murray, with reference to
that “trumpery fellow O’Connell . . . I wish I were acquainted with
Sir Robert Peel. I could give him many a useful hint with respect to
Ireland and the Irish. I know both tolerably well. Whenever there’s
a row I intend to go over with Sidi Habismilk and put myself at the
head of a body of volunteers.”
He had previously written “the old Duke [Wellington] will at last give
salt eel to that cowardly, bawling vagabond O’Connell.” Borrow detested
O’Connell as a “Dublin bully . . . a humbug, without courage or one
particle of manly feeling.” Again (17th June) he had written: “Horrible
news from Ireland. I wish sincerely the blackguards would break out at
once; they will never be quiet until they have got a sound licking, and
the sooner the better.”
The finer side of Borrow’s character was shown in his eagerness to obtain
employment. There is a touch of pathos in the sight of this knight,
armed and ready to fight anything for anybody, wasting his strength and
his talents in feuds with his neighbours.
In the profits on the old and the preparation of new editions of _The
Bible in Spain_, Borrow took a keen interest. The money he was making
enabled him to assist his wife in disembarrassing her estate. “I begin
to take considerable pleasure in making money,” he wrote to his
publisher, “which I hope is a good sign; for what is life unless we take
pleasure in something?” Again he enquires, “Why does not the public call
for another edition of them [_The Gypsies of Spain_]. You see what an
unconscionable rascal I am becoming.” During his lifetime Borrow
received from the firm of Murray, £3437, 19s., most of which was on
account of _The Bible in Spain_ and, consequently, was paid to him during
the first years of his association with Albemarle Street.
Caroline Fox gives an interesting picture of Borrow at this period as he
appeared to her:—
“25_th_ _Oct._ 1843.
“Catherine Gurney gave us a note to George Borrow, so on him we
called,—a tall, ungainly, uncouth man, with great physical strength,
a quick penetrating eye, a confident manner, and a disagreeable tone
and pronunciation. He was sitting on one side of the fire, and his
old mother on the other. His spirits always sink in wet weather, and
to-day was very rainy, but he was courteous and not displeased to be
a little lionised, for his delicacy is not of the most susceptible.
He talked about Spain and the Spaniards; the lowest classes of whom,
he says, are the only ones worth investigating, the upper and middle
class being (with exceptions, of course) mean, selfish, and proud
beyond description. They care little for Roman Catholicism, and bear
faint allegiance to the Pope. They generally lead profligate lives,
until they lose all energy and then become slavishly superstitious.
He said a curious thing of the Esquimaux, namely, that their language
is a most complex and highly artificial one, calculated to express
the most delicate metaphysical subtleties, yet they have no
literature, nor are there any traces of their ever having had one—a
most curious anomaly; hence he simply argues that you can ill judge
of a people by their language.” {360a}
One of the strangest things about Borrow’s personality was that it almost
invariably struck women unfavourably. That he himself was not
indifferent to women is shown by the impression made upon him by the
black eyes of one of the Misses Mills of Saxham Hall, where he was taken
to dinner by Dr Hake, who states that “long afterwards, his inquiries
after the black eyes were unfailing.” {360b} He was also very kind and
considerate to women. “He was very polite and gentlemanly in ladies’
society, and we all liked him,” wrote one woman friend {360c} who
frequently accompanied him on his walks. She has described him as
walking along “singing to himself or quite silent, quite forgetting me
until he came to a high hill, when he would turn round, seize my hand,
and drag me up. Then he would sit down and enjoy the prospect.” {360d}