MARCH 1844–1848
IN March 1844 Borrow, unable longer to control the _Wanderlust_ within
him, gave up the struggle, and determined to make a journey to the East.
He was in London on the 20th, as Lady Eastlake (then Miss Elizabeth
Rigby) testifies in her Journal. “Borrow came in the evening,” she
writes: “now a fine man, but a most disagreeable one; a kind of character
that would be most dangerous in rebellious times—one that would suffer or
persecute to the utmost. His face is expressive of wrong-headed
determination.” {361}
He left London towards the end of April for Paris, from which he wrote to
John Murray, 1st May:—
“Vidocq wishes very much to have a copy of my _Gypsies of Spain_, and
likewise one of the Romany Gospels. On the other side you will find
an order on the Bible Society for the latter, and perhaps you will be
so kind as to let one of your people go to Earl Street to procure it.
You would oblige me by forwarding it to your agent in Paris, the
address is Monsr. Vidocq, Galerie Vivienne, No. 13 . . . V. is a
strange fellow, and amongst other things dabbles in literature. He
is meditating a work upon _Les Bohemiens_, about whom I see he knows
nothing at all. I have no doubt that the _Zincali_, were it to fall
into his hands, would be preciously gutted, and the best part of the
contents pirated. By the way, could you not persuade some of the
French publishers to cause it to be translated, in which event there
would be no fear. Such a work would be sure to sell. I wish Vidocq
to have a copy of the book, but I confess I have my suspicions; he is
so extraordinarily civil.”
From Paris he proceeded to Vienna, and thence into Hungary and
Transylvania, where he remained for some months. He is known to have
been “in the steppe of Debreczin,” {362a} to Koloszvar, through
Nagy-Szeben, or Hermannstadt, on his journey through Roumania to
Bucharest. He visited Wallachia “for the express purpose of discoursing
with the Gypsies, many of whom I found wandering about.” {362b}
So little is known of Borrow’s Eastern Journey that the following
account, given by an American, has a peculiar interest:—
“My companions, as we rode along, related some marvellous stories of
a certain English traveller who had been here [near Grosswardein] and
of his influence over the Gypsies. One of them said that he was
walking out with him one day, when they met a poor gypsy woman. The
Englishman addressed her in Hungarian, and she answered in the usual
disdainful way. He changed his language, however, and spoke a word
or two in an unknown tongue. The woman’s face lighted up in an
instant, and she replied in the most passionate, eager way, and after
some conversation dragged him away almost with her. After this the
English gentleman visited a number of their most private gatherings
and was received everywhere as one of them. He did more good among
them, all said, than all the laws over them, or the benevolent
efforts for them, of the last half century. They described his
appearance—his tall, lank, muscular form, and mentioned that he had
been much in Spain, and I saw that it must be that most ubiquitous of
travellers, Mr Borrow.” {362c}
This was the fame most congenial to Borrow’s strange nature. Dinners,
receptions, and the like caused him to despise those who found pleasure
in such “crazy admiration for what they called gentility.” It was his
foible, as much as “gentility nonsense” was theirs, to find pleasure in
the _rôle_ of the mysterious stranger, who by a word could change a
disdainful gypsy into a fawning, awe-stricken slave. Fame to satisfy
George Borrow must carry with it something of the greatness of Olympus.
A glimpse of Borrow during his Eastern tour is obtained from Mrs Borrow’s
letters to John Murray. After telling him that she possesses a privilege
which many wives do not (viz.), permission to open her Husband’s letters
during his absence, she proceeds:—
“The accounts from him are, I am thankful to say, very satisfactory.
It is extraordinary with what marks of kindness even Catholics of
distinction treat him when they know who he is, but it is clearly his
gift of tongues which causes him to meet with so many adventures,
several of which he has recorded of a most singular nature.” {363}
At Vienna Borrow had arranged to wait until he should receive a letter
from his wife, “being very anxious to know of his family,” as Mrs Borrow
informed John Murray (24th July).
“Thus far,” she continues, “thanks be to God, he has prospered in his
journey. Many and wonderful are the adventures he has met with,
which I hope at no distant period may be related to his friends.
Doctor Bowring was very kind in sending me flattering tidings of my
Husband.”
Borrow was at Constantinople on 17th Sept. when he drew on his letter of
credit. Leland tells an anecdote about Borrow at Constantinople; but it
must be remembered that it was written when he regarded Borrow with
anything but friendly feelings:—
“Sir Patrick Colquhoun told me that once when he was at
Constantinople, Mr Borrow came there, and gave it out that he was a
marvellous Oriental scholar. But there was great scepticism on this
subject at the Legation, and one day at the _table d’hôte_, where the
great writer and divers young diplomatists dined, two who were seated
on either side of Borrow began to talk Arabic, speaking to him, the
result being that he was obliged to confess that he not only did not
understand what they were saying, but did not even know what the
language was. Then he was tried in Modern Greek, with the same
result.” {364}
The story is obviously untrue. Had Borrow been ignorant of Arabic he
would not have risked writing to Dr Bowring (11th Sept. 1831; see _ante_,
page 85) expressing his enthusiasm for that language. Arabic had,
apparently, formed one of the subjects of his preliminary examination at
Earl Street. With regard to Modern Greek he confessed in a letter to Mr
Brandram (12th June 1839), “though I speak it very ill, I can make myself
understood.”
Having obtained a Turkish passport, and after being presented to Abdûl
Medjîd, the Sultan, Borrow proceeded to Salonika and, crossing Thessaly
to Albania, visited Janina and Prevesa. He passed over to Corfù, and saw
Venice and Rome, returning to England by way of Marseilles, Paris and
Havre. He arrived in London on 16th November, after nearly seven months’
absence, to find his “home particularly dear to me . . . after my long
wanderings.”
It is curious that he should have left no record of this expedition; but
if he made notes he evidently destroyed them, as, with the exception of a
few letters, nothing was found among his papers relating to the Eastern
tour. There is evidence that he was occupied with his pen during this
journey, in the existence at the British Museum of his _Vocabulary of the
Gypsy Language as spoken in Hungary and Transylvania_, _compiled during
an intercourse of some months with the Gypsies in those parts in the
year_ 1844, _by George Borrow_. In all probability he prepared his
_Bohemian Grammar_ at the same time. {365a}
From the time that he became acquainted with Borrow, Richard Ford had
constituted himself the genius of _La Mezquita_ (the Mosque), as he
states the little octagonal Summer-house was called. He was for ever
urging in impulsive, polyglot letters that the curtain to be lifted.
“Publish your _whole_ adventures for the last twenty years,” he had
written. {365b} Ford saw that a man of Borrow’s nature must have had
astonishing adventures, and with _his_ pen would be able to tell them in
an astonishing manner.
As early as the summer of 1841 Borrow appears to have contemplated
writing his _Autobiography_. On the eve of the appearance of _The Bible
in Spain_ (17th Dec.) he wrote to John Murray: “I hope our book will be
successful; if so, I shall put another on the stocks. Capital subject:
early life; studies and adventures; some account of my father, William
Taylor, Whiter, Big Ben, etc. etc.”
The first draft of notes for _Lavengro_, _an Autobiography_, as the book
was originally advertised in the announcement, is extremely interesting.
It runs:—
“Reasons for studying languages: French, Italian, D’Eterville.
Southern tongues. Dante.
Walks. The Quaker’s Home, Mousehold. Petulengro.
The Gypsies.
The Office. Welsh. Lhuyd.
German. Levy. Billy Taylor.
Danish. Kœmpe Viser. Billy Taylor. Dinner.
Bowring.
Hebrew. The Jew.
Philosophy. Radicalism. Ranters.
Thurtell. Boxers. Petulengres.” {365c}
_Lavengro_ was planned in 1842 and the greater part written before the
end of the following year, although the work was not actually completed
until 1846. There are numerous references in Borrow’s letters of this
period to the book on which he was then engaged, and he invariably refers
to it as his _Life_. On 21st January 1843 he writes to John Murray,
Junr.: “I meditate shortly a return to Barbary in quest of the _Witch
Hamlet_, and my adventures in the land of wonders will serve capitally to
fill the thin volume of _My Life_, _a Drama_, By G. B.” Again and again
Borrow refers to _My Life_. Hasfeldt and Ford also wrote of it as the
“wonderful life” and “the _Biography_.”
In his letters to John Murray, Borrow not only refers to the book as his
_Life_, but from time to time gives crumbs of information concerning its
progress. The Secretary of the Bible Society has just lent him his
letters from Russia, “which will be of great assistance in the Life, as I
shall work them up as I did those relating to Spain. The first volume,”
he continues, “will be devoted to England entirely, and my pursuits and
adventures in early life.” He recognises that he must be careful of the
reputation that he has earned. His new book is to be original, as would
be seen when it at last appears; but he confesses that occasionally he
feels “tremendously lazy.” On another occasion (27th March 1843) he
writes to John Murray, Junr.: “I hope by the end of next year that I
shall have part of my life ready for the press in 3 vols.” Six months
later (2nd Oct. 1843) he writes to John Murray:—
“I wish I had another _Bible_ ready; but slow and sure is my maxim.
The book which I am at present about will consist, if I live to
finish it of a series of Rembrandt pictures interspersed here and
there with a Claude. I shall tell the world of my parentage, my
early thoughts and habits; how I became a sap-engro, or
viper-catcher; my wanderings with the regiment in England, Scotland
and Ireland . . . Then a great deal about Norwich, Billy Taylor,
Thurtell, etc.; how I took to study and became a lav-engro. What do
you think of this as a bill of fare for the _first_ Vol.? The second
will consist of my adventures in London as an author in the year ’23
(_sic_), adventures on the Big North Road in ’24 (_sic_),
Constantinople, etc. The third—but I shall tell you no more of my
secrets.”
In a letter to John Murray (25th Oct. 8843), the title is referred to as
_Lavengro_: _A Biography_. It is to be “full of grave fun and solemn
laughter like the _Bible_.” On 6th December he again writes:—
“I do not wish for my next book to be advertised yet; I have a
particular reason. The Americans are up to everything which affords
a prospect of gain, and I should not wonder that, provided I were to
announce my title, and the book did not appear forthwith, they would
write one for me and send forth their trash into the world under my
name. For my own part I am in no hurry,” he proceeds. “I am writing
to please myself, and am quite sure that if I can contrive to please
myself, I shall please the public also. Had I written a book less
popular than the _Bible_, I should be less cautious; but I know how
much is expected from me, and also know what a roar of exultation
would be raised by my enemies (and I have plenty) were I to produce
anything that was not first rate.”
Time after time he insists upon his determination to publish nothing that
is not “as good as the last.” “I shall go on with my _Life_,” he writes,
to Ford (9th Feb. 1844), “but slowly and lazily. What I write, however,
is _good_. I feel it is good, strange and wild as it is.” {367}
From 24th–27th Jan. 1844 that “most astonishing fellow” Richard Ford
visited Borrow at Oulton, urging again in person, most likely, the
lifting of the veil that obscured those seven mysterious years. Ford has
himself described this visit to Borrow in a letter written from Oulton
Hall.
“I am here on a visit to _El Gitano_;” he writes, “two ‘rum’ coves,
in a queer country . . . we defy the elements, and chat over _las
cosas de España_, and he tells me portions of his life, more strange
even than his book. We scamper by day over the country in a sort of
gig, which reminds me of Mr Weare on his trip with Mr THURTELL
[Borrow’s old preceptor]; ‘Sidi Habismilk’ is in the stable and a
Zamarra [sheepskin coat] now before me, writing as I am in a sort of
summer-house called _La Mezquita_, in which _El Gitano_ concocts his
lucubrations, and _paints_ his pictures, for his object is to colour
up and poetise his adventures.”
By this last sentence Ford showed how thoroughly he understood Borrow’s
literary methods. A fortnight later Borrow writes to Ford:—
“You can’t think how I miss you and our chats by the fireside. The
wine, now I am alone, has lost its flavour, and the cigars make me
ill. I am frequently in my valley of the shadows, and had I not my
summer jaunt [the Eastern Tour] to look forward to, I am afraid it
would be all up with your friend and _Batushka_.”
The Eastern Tour considerably interfered with the writing of _Lavengro_.
There was a seven months’ break; but Borrow settled down to work on it
again, still determined to take his time and produce a book that should
be better than _The Bible in Spain_.
Ford’s _Hand-Book for Travellers in Spain and Readers at Home_ appeared
in 1845, a work that had cost its author upwards of sixteen years of
labour. In a letter to Borrow he characterised it as “a _rum_ book and
has queer stuff in it, although much expurgated for the sake of Spain.”
Ford was very anxious that Borrow should keep the promise that he had
given two years previously to review the _Hand-Book_ when it appeared.
“You will do it _magnificently_. ‘Thou art the man,’” Ford had written
with the greatest enthusiasm. On 2nd June an article of thirty-seven
folio pages was despatched by Borrow to John Murray for _The Quarterly
Review_, with the following from Mrs Borrow:—
“With regard to the article, it must not be received as a specimen of
what Mr Borrow would have produced had he been well, but he
considered his promise to Mr Ford sacred—and it is only to be wished
that it had been written under more favourable circumstances.”
Borrow was ill at the time, having been “very unwell for the last
month,” as Mrs Borrow explains, “and particularly so lately.
Shivering fits have been succeeded by burning fever, till his
strength was much reduced; and he at present remains in a low, and
weak state, and what is worse, we are by no means sure that the
disease is subdued.”
Ford saw in Borrow “a crack reviewer.” “ . . . You have,” he assured him
in 1843, “only to write a _long letter_, having read the book carefully
and thought over the subject.” Ford also wrote to Borrow (26th Oct.
1843): “I have written several letters to Murray recommending them to
_bag_ you forthwith, unless they are demented.” There was no doubt in
his, Ford’s, mind as to the acceptance of Borrow’s article.
“If insanity does not rule the _Q. R._ camp, they will embrace the
offer with open arms in their present Erebus state of dullness,” he
tells Borrow, then, with a burst of confidence continues, “But,
barring politics, I confidentially tell you that the _Ed_[_inburgh_]
_Rev._ does business in a more liberal and more business-like manner
than the _Q_[_uarterly_] _Rev._ I am always dunning this into
Murray’s head. More flies are caught with honey than vinegar. Soft
sawder, especially if plenty of _gold_ goes into the composition,
cements a party and keeps earnest pens together. I grieve, for my
heart is entirely with the _Q. R._, its views and objects.”
The article turned out to be, not a review of the _Hand-Book_, but a
bitter attack on Spain and her rulers. The second part was to some
extent germane to the subject, but it appears to have been more concerned
with Borrow’s view of Spain and things Spanish than with Ford’s book.
Lockhart saw that it would not do. In a letter to John Murray he
explains very clearly and very justly the objections to using the article
as it stood.
“I am very sorry,” he writes (13th June), “after Borrow has so kindly
exerted himself during illness, that I must return his paper. I read
the MS. with much pleasure; but clever and brilliant as he is sure
always to be, it was very evident that he had not done such an
article as Ford’s merits required; and I therefore intended to adopt
Mr Borrow’s lively diatribe, but interweave with his matter and add
to it, such observations and extracts as might, I thought, complete
the paper in a _review sense_.
“But it appears that Mr B. won’t allow anybody to tamper with his
paper; therefore here it is. It will be highly ornamental as it
stands to any _Magazine_, and I have no doubt either _Blackwood_ or
_Fraser_ or _Colburn_ will be [only] too happy to insert it next
month, if applied to now.
“Mr Borrow would not have liked that, when his _Bible in Spain_ came
out, we should have printed a brilliant essay by Ford on some point
of Spanish interest, but including hardly anything calculated to make
the public feel that a new author of high consequence had made his
appearance among us—one bearing the name, not of Richard Ford, but of
George Borrow.”
Lockhart was right and Borrow was wrong. There is no room for
equivocation. Borrow should have sunk his pride in favour of his
friendship for Ford, who had, even if occasionally a little tedious in
his epistolary enthusiasm, always been a loyal friend; but Borrow was ill
and excuses must be made for him. Lockhart wrote also to Ford describing
Borrow’s paper as “just another capital chapter of his _Bible in Spain_,”
which he had read with delight, but there was “hardly a word of _review_,
and no extract giving the least notion of the peculiar merits and style
especially, of the _Hand-Book_.” “He is unwell,” continued Lockhart, “I
should be very sorry to bother him more at present; and, moreover, from
the little he has said of your _style_, I am forced to infer that a
_review_ of your book by him would never be what I could feel authorised
to publish in the _Q. R._” The letter concludes with a word of
condolence that the _Hand-Book_ will have to be committed to other hands.
Ford realised the difficulty of the situation in which he was placed, and
strove to wriggle out of it by telling Borrow that his wife had said all
along that
“‘Borrow can’t write anything dull enough for your set; I wonder how
I ever married one of them,’—I hope and trust you will not cancel the
paper, for we can’t afford to lose a scrap of your queer sparkle and
‘thousand bright daughters circumvolving.’ I have recommended its
insertion in _Blackwood_, _Fraser_, or some of those clever
Magazines, who will be overjoyed to get such a hand as yours, and I
will bet any man £5 that your paper will be the most popular of all
they print.”
It is evident that Ford was genuinely distressed, and in his anxiety to
be loyal to his friend rather overdid it. His letter has an air of
patronage that the writer certainly never intended. The outstanding
feature is its absolute selflessness. Ford never seems to think of
himself, or that Borrow might have made a concession to their friendship.
Happy Ford! The unfortunate episode estranged Borrow from Ford. Letters
between them became less and less frequent and finally ceased altogether,
although Borrow did not forget to send to his old friend a copy of
_Lavengro_ when it appeared.
Worries seemed to rain down upon Borrow’s head about this time. Samuel
Morton Peto (afterwards Sir Samuel) had decided to enrich Lowestoft by
improving the harbour and building a railway to Reedham, about half-way
between Yarmouth and Norwich. He was authorised by Parliament and duly
constructed his line, which not even Borrow’s anger could prevent from
passing through the Oulton Estate, between the Hall and the Cottage.
Borrow could not fight an Act of Parliament, which forced him to cross a
railway bridge on his way to church; but he never forgave the man who had
contrived it, or his millions. His first thought had been to fly before
the invader. All quiet would be gone from the place. “Sell and be off,”
advised Ford; “I hope you will make the railway pay dear for its
whistle,” quietly observed John Murray. At first Borrow was inclined to
take Ford’s advice and settle abroad; but subsequently relinquished the
idea.
He was not, however, the man quietly to sit down before what he conceived
to be an unjustifiable outrage to his right to be quiet. He never
forgave railways, although forced sometimes to make use of them. Samuel
Morton Peto became to him the embodiment of evil, and as “Mr Flamson
flaming in his coach with a million” he is immortalised in _The Romany
Rye_.
It is said that Sir Samuel boasted that he had made more than the price
he had paid for Borrow’s land out of the gravel he had taken from off it.
On one occasion, after he had bought Somerleyton Hall, happening to meet
Borrow, he remarked that he never called upon him, and Borrow remembering
the boast replied, “I call on you! Do you think I don’t read my
Shakespeare? Do you think I don’t know all about those highwaymen
Bardolph and Peto?” {372}
The neighbourhood of Oulton appears to have been infested with thieves,
and poachers found admirable “cover” in the surrounding plantations, or
small woods. On several occasions Borrow himself had been attacked at
night on the highway between Lowestoft and Oulton. Once he had even been
shot at and nearly overpowered. John Murray (the Second) on hearing of
one of these assaults had written (1841) artfully enquiring, “Were your
wood thieves Gypsies, and have the _Calés_ got notice of your publication
[_The Zincali_]?”
Borrow had written to John Murray, Junr. (10th May 1842):—
“I have been dreadfully unwell since I last heard from you—a regular
nervous attack. At present I have a bad cough, caught by getting up
at night in pursuit of poachers and thieves. A horrible
neighbourhood this—not a magistrate dares do his duty.” On 18th
September 1843 he again wrote to John Murray: “One of the Magistrates
in this district is just dead. Present my compliments to Mr
Gladstone and tell him that the _The Bible in Spain_ would have no
objection to become ‘a great unpaid!’”
Gladstone is said greatly to have admired _The Bible in Spain_, even to
the extent of writing to John Murray counselling him to have amended a
passage that he considered ill-advised. Gladstone’s letter was sent on
to Borrow, and he acknowledges its receipt (6th November 1843) in the
following terms:—
“Many thanks for the perusal of Mr Gladstone’s letter. I esteem it a
high honour that so distinguished a man should take sufficient
interest in a work of mine as to suggest any thing in emendation. I
can have no possible objection to modify the passage alluded to. It
contains some strong language, particularly the sentence about the
scarlet Lady, which it would be perhaps as well to omit.”
The offending passage was that in which Borrow says, when describing the
interior of the Mosque at Tangier: “I looked around for the abominable
thing, and found it not; no scarlet strumpet with a crown of false gold
sat nursing an ugly changeling in a niche.” In later editions the words
“no scarlet strumpet,” etc., were changed to “the besetting sin of the
pseudo-Christian Church did not stare me in the face in every corner.”
The amendment was little likely to please a Churchman of Gladstone’s
calibre, or procure for the writer the magistracy he coveted, even if it
had been made less grudgingly. “We must not make any further alterations
here,” Borrow wrote to Murray a few days later, “otherwise the whole
soliloquy, which is full of vigor and poetry, and moreover of _truth_,
would be entirely spoiled. As it is, I cannot help feeling that [it] is
considerably damaged.” There seems very little doubt that this passage
was referred to in the letter that John Murray encloses in his of 10th
July 1843 {374} with this reference: “(The writer of the enclosed note is
a worthy canon of St Paul’s, and has evidently seen only the 1st
edition).” Borrow replied:—
“Pray present my best respects to the Canon of St Paul’s and tell him
from me that he is a _burro_, which meaneth Jackass, and that I wish
he would mind his own business, which he might easily do by attending
a little more to the accommodation of the public in his ugly
Cathedral.”
Borrow appears to have set his mind on becoming a magistrate. He had
written to Lockhart (November 1843) enquiring how he had best proceed to
obtain such an appointment. Lockhart was not able to give him any very
definite information, his knowledge of such things, as he confessed,
“being Scotch.” For the time being the matter was allowed to drop, to be
revived in 1847 by a direct application from Borrow to Lord Clarendon to
support his application with the Lord Chancellor. His claims were based
upon (1) his being a large landed-proprietor in the district (Mrs Borrow
had become the owner of the Oulton Hall Estate during the previous year);
(2) the fact that the neighbourhood was over-run with thieves and
undesirable characters; (3) that there was no magistrate residing in the
district. Lord Clarendon promised his good offices, but suggested that
as all such appointments were made through the Lord-Lieutenant of the
County, the Earl of Stradbroke had better be acquainted with what was
taking place. This was done through the Hon. Wm. Rufus Rous, Lord
Stradbroke’s brother, whose interest was obtained by some of Borrow’s
friends.
After a delay of two months, Lord Stradbroke wrote to Lord Clarendon that
he was quite satisfied with “the number and efficiency of the
Magistrates” and also with the way in which the Petty Sessions were
attended. He could hear of no complaint, and when the time came to
increase the number of J.P.’s, he would be pleased to add Borrow’s name
to the list, provided he were advised to do so by “those gentlemen
residing in the neighbourhood, who, living on terms of intimacy with them
[the Magistrates], will be able to maintain that union of good feeling
which . . . exists in all our benches of Petty Sessions.”
Borrow would have made a good magistrate, provided the offender were not
a gypsy. He would have caused the wrong-doer more fear the instrument of
the law rather than the law itself, and some of his sentences might
possibly have been as summary as those of Judge Lynch.
“It was a fine thing,” writes a contemporary, “to see the great man
tackle a tramp. Then he scented the battle from afar, bearing down
on the enemy with a quivering nostril. If the nomad happened to be a
gypsy he was courteously addressed. But were he a mere native
tatterdemalion, inclined to be truculent, Borrow’s coat was off in a
moment, and the challenge to decide there and then who was the better
man flung forth. I have never seen such challenges accepted, for
Borrow was robust and towering.” {375}
It is not strange that Borrow’s application failed; for he never refused
leave to the gypsies to camp upon his land, and would sometimes join them
beside their campfires. Once he took a guest with him after dinner to
where the gypsies were encamped. They received Borrow with every mark of
respect. Presently he “began to intone to them a song, written by him in
Romany, which recounted all their tricks and evil deeds. The gypsies
soon became excited; then they began to kick their property about, such
as barrels and tin cans; then the men began to fight and the women to
part them; an uproar of shouts and recriminations set in, and the quarrel
became so serious that it was thought prudent to quit the scene.” {376a}
“In nothing can the character of a people be read with greater certainty
and exactness than in its songs,” {376b} Borrow had written. {376c}
These disappointments tended to embitter Borrow, who saw in them only a
conspiracy against him. There is little doubt that Lord Stradbroke’s
enquiries had revealed some curious gossip concerning the Master of
Oulton Hall, possibly the dispute with his rector over the inability of
their respective dogs to live in harmony; perhaps even the would-be
magistrate’s predilection for the society of gypsies, and his profound
admiration for “the Fancy” had reached the Lord-Lieutenant’s ears.
The unfortunate and somewhat mysterious dispute with Dr Bowring was
another anxiety that Borrow had to face. He had once remarked, “It’s
very odd, Bowring, that you and I have never had a quarrel.” {376d} In
the summer of 1842 he and Bowring seem to have been on excellent terms.
Borrow wrote asking for the return of the papers and manuscripts that had
remained in Bowring’s hands since 1829, when the _Songs of Scandinavia_
was projected, as Borrow hoped to bring out during the ensuing year a
volume entitled _Songs of Denmark_. The cordiality of the letter may
best be judged by the fact that in it he announces his intention of
having a copy of the forthcoming _Bible in Spain_ sent “to my oldest, I
may say my _only_ friend.”
In 1847 Bowring wrote to Borrow enquiring as to the Russian route through
Kiakhta, and asking if he could put him in the way of obtaining the
information for the use of a Parliamentary Committee then enquiring into
England’s commercial relations with China. Borrow’s reply is apparently
no longer in existence; but it drew from Bowring another letter raising a
question as to whether “‘two hundred merchants are allowed to visit Pekin
every three years.’ Are you certain this is in practice now? Have you
ever been to Kiakhta?” It would appear from Bowring’s “if summoned, your
expenses must be paid by the public,” that Borrow had suggested giving
evidence before the Committee, hence Bowring’s question as to whether
Borrow could speak from personal knowledge of Kiakhta.
Borrow’s claim against Bowring is that after promising to use all his
influence to get him appointed Consul at Canton, he obtained the post for
himself, passing off as his own the Manchu-Tartar New Testament that
Borrow had edited in St Petersburg. There is absolutely no other
evidence than that contained in Borrow’s Appendix to _The Romany Rye_.
There is very little doubt that Bowring was a man who had no hesitation
in seizing everything that presented itself and turning it, as far as
possible, to his own uses. In this he was doing what most successful men
have done and will continue to do. He had been kind to Borrow, and had
helped him as far as lay in his power. He no doubt obtained all the
information he could from Borrow, as he would have done from anyone else;
but he never withheld his help. It has been suggested that he really did
mention Borrow as a candidate for the Consulship and later, when in
financial straits and finding that Borrow had no chance of obtaining it,
accepted Lord Palmerston’s offer of the post for himself. It is,
however, idle to speculate what actually happened. What resulted was
that Bowring as the “Old Radical” took premier place in the
Appendix-inferno that closed _The Romany Rye_. {378a}
Fate seemed to conspire to cause Borrow chagrin. Early in 1847 it came
to his knowledge that there were in existence some valuable Codices in
certain churches and convents in the Levant. In particular there was
said to be an original of the Greek New Testament, supposed to date from
the fourth century, which had been presented to the convent on Mount
Sinai by the Emperor Justinian. Borrow received information of the
existence of the treasure, and also a hint that with a little address,
some of these priceless manuscripts might be secured to the British
Nation. It was even suggested that application might be made to the
Government by the Trustees of the British Museum. {378b} Borrow’s reply
to this was an intimation that if requested to do so he would willingly
undertake the mission. Nothing, however, came of the project, and the
remainder of the manuscript of the Greek Testament (part of it had been
acquired in 1843 by Tischendorf) was presented by the monks to Alexander
II. and it is now in the Imperial Library at St Petersburg.
The information as to the existence of the manuscripts, it is alleged,
was given to the Museum Trustees by the Hon. Robert Curzon, who had
travelled much in Egypt and the Holy Land. It was certainly no fault of
his that the mission was not sent out, and Borrow’s subsequent antagonism
to him and his family is difficult to understand and impossible to
explain.
Borrow had achieved literary success: before the year 1847 _The Zincali_
was in its Fourth Edition (nearly 10,000 copies having been printed) and
_The Bible in Spain_ had reached its Eighth Edition (nearly 20,000 copies
having been printed). He was an unqualified success; yet he had been far
happier when distributing Testaments in Spain. The greyness and inaction
of domestic life, even when relieved by occasional excursions with Sidi
Habismilk and the Son of the Miracle, were irksome to his temperament,
ever eager for occupation and change of scene. He was like a war-horse
champing his bit during times of peace.
“Why did you send me down six copies [of _The Zincali_]?” he bursts
out in a letter to John Murray (29th Jan. 1846). “Whom should I send
them to? Do you think I have six friends in the world? Two I have
presented to my wife and daughter (in law). I shall return three to
you by the first opportunity.”
In 1847, through the Harveys, he became acquainted with Dr Thomas Gordon
Hake, who was in practice at Brighton 1832–37 and at Bury St Edmunds
1839–53, and who was also a poet. The two families visited each other,
and Dr Hake has left behind him some interesting stories about, and
valuable impressions of, Borrow. Dr Hake shows clearly that he did not
allow his friendship to influence his judgment when in his _Memoirs_ he
described Borrow as
“one of those whose mental powers are strong, and whose bodily frame
is yet stronger—a conjunction of forces often detrimental to a
literary career, in an age of intellectual predominance. His temper
was good and bad; his pride was humility; his humility was pride; his
vanity in being negative, was one of the most positive kind. He was
reticent and candid, measured in speech, with an emphasis that made
trifles significant.” {379}
This rather laboured series of paradoxes quite fails to give a convincing
impression of the man. A much better idea of Borrow is to be found in a
letter (1847) by a fellow-guest at a breakfast given by the Prussian
Ambassador. He writes that there was present
“the amusing author of _The Bible in Spain_, a man who is remarkable
for his extraordinary powers as a linguist, and for the originality
of his character, not to speak of the wonderful adventures he
narrates, and the ease and facility with which he tells them. He
kept us laughing a good part of breakfast time by the oddity of his
remarks, as well as the positiveness of his assertions, often rather
startling, and like his books partaking of the marvellous.” {380a}
Abandoning paradox, Dr Hake is more successful in his description of
Borrow’s person.
“His figure was tall,” he tells us, “and his bearing very noble; he
had a finely moulded head, and thick white hair—white from his youth;
his brown eyes were soft, yet piercing; his nose somewhat of the
‘semitic’ type, which gave his face the cast of the young Memnon.
His mouth had a generous curve; and his features, for beauty and true
power, were such as can have no parallel in our portrait gallery.”
{380b}
When not occupied in writing, Borrow would walk about the estate with his
animals, between whom and their master a perfect understanding existed.
Sidi Habismilk would come to a whistle and would follow him about, and
his two dogs and cat would do the same. When he went for a walk the dogs
and cat would set out with him; but the cat would turn back after
accompanying him for about a quarter of a mile. {381a}
The two young undergraduates who drove in a gig from Cambridge to Oulton
to pay their respects to Borrow (_circa_ 1846) described him as employed
“in training some young horses to follow him about like dogs and come
at the call of his whistle. As my two friends {381b} were talking
with him, Borrow sounded his whistle in a paddock near the house,
which, if I remember rightly, was surrounded by a low wall.
Immediately two beautiful horses came bounding over the fence and
trotted up to their master. One put his nose into Borrow’s
outstretched hand and the other kept snuffing at his pockets in
expectation of the usual bribe for confidence and good behaviour.”
Borrow’s love of animals was almost feminine. The screams of a hare
pursued by greyhounds would spoil his appetite for dinner, and he
confessed himself as “silly enough to feel disgust and horror at the
squeals of a rat in the fangs of a terrier.” {381c} When a favourite cat
was so ill that it crawled away to die in solitude, Borrow went in search
of it and, discovering the poor creature in the garden-hedge, carried it
back into the house, laid it in a comfortable place and watched over it
until it died. His care of the much persecuted “Church of England cat”
at Llangollen {381d} is another instance of his tender-heartedness with
regard to animals.
Borrow had ample evidence that he was still a celebrity. “He was much
courted . . . by his neighbours and by visitors to the sea-side,” Dr Hake
relates; but unfortunately he allowed himself to become a prey to moods
at rather inappropriate moments. As a lion, Borrow accompanied Dr Hake
to some in the great houses of the neighbourhood. On one occasion they
went to dine at Hardwick Hall, the residence of Sir Thomas and Lady
Cullum. The last-named subsequently became a firm friend of Borrow’s
during many years.
“The party consisted of Lord Bristol; Lady Augusta Seymour, his
daughter; Lord and Lady Arthur Hervey; Sir Fitzroy Kelly; Mr
Thackeray, and ourselves. At that date, Thackeray had made money by
lectures on _The Satirists_, and was in good swing; but he never
could realise the independent feelings of those who happen to be born
to fortune—a thing which a man of genius should be able to do with
ease. He told Lady Cullum, which she repeated to me, that no one
could conceive how it mortified him to be making a provision for his
daughters by delivering lectures; and I thought she rather
sympathised with him in this degradation. He approached Borrow, who,
however, received him very dryly. As a last attempt to get up a
conversation with him, he said, ‘Have you read my Snob Papers in
_Punch_?’”
“‘In _Punch_?’ asked Borrow. ‘It is a periodical I never look at!’
“It was a very fine dinner. The plates at dessert were of gold; they
once belonged to the Emperor of the French, and were marked with his
“N” and his Eagle.
“Thackeray, as if under the impression that the party was invited to
look at him, thought it necessary to make a figure, and absorb
attention during the dessert, by telling stories and more than half
acting them; the aristocratic party listening, but appearing little
amused. Borrow knew better how to behave in good company, and kept
quiet; though, doubtless he felt his mane.” {382}
There were other moments when Borrow caused acute embarrassment by his
rudeness. Once his hostess, a simple unpretending woman desirous only of
pleasing her distinguished guest, said, “Oh, Mr Borrow, I have read your
books with so much pleasure!” “Pray, what books do you mean, madam? Do
you mean my account books?” was the ungracious retort. He then rose from
the table, fretting and fuming and walked up and down the dining-room
among the servants “during the whole of the dinner, and afterwards
wandered about the rooms and passage, till the carriage could be ordered
for our return home.” {383a} The reason for this unpardonable behaviour
appears to have been ill-judged loyalty to a friend. His host was a
well-known Suffolk banker who, having advanced a large sum of money to a
friend of Borrow’s, the heir to a considerable estate, who was in
temporary difficulties, then “struck the docket” in order to secure
payment. Borrow confided to another friend that he yearned “to cane the
banker.” His loyalty to his friend excuses his wrath; it was his
judgment that was at fault. He should undoubtedly have caned the banker,
in preference to going to his house as a guest and revenging his friend
upon the gentle and amiable woman who could not be held responsible for
her husband’s business transgressions.
Unfortunate remarks seemed to have a habit of bursting from Borrow’s
lips. When Dr Bowring introduced to him his son, Mr F. J. Bowring, and
with pardonable pride added that he had just become a Fellow of Trinity,
Borrow remarked, “Ah! Fellows of Trinity always marry their bed-makers.”
Agnes Strickland was another victim. Being desirous of meeting him and,
in spite of Borrow’s unwillingness, achieving her object, she expressed
in rapturous terms her admiration of his works, and concluded by asking
permission to send him a copy of _The Queens of England_, to which he
ungraciously replied, “For God’s sake, don’t, madam; I should not know
where to put them or what to do with them.” “What a damned fool that
woman is!” he remarked to W. B. Donne, who was standing by. {383b}
There is a world of meaning in a paragraph from one of John Murray’s (the
Second) letters (21st June 1843) to Borrow in which he enquires, “Did you
receive a note from Mme. Simpkinson which I forwarded ten days ago? I
have not seen her since your abrupt departure from her house.”
It is rather regrettable that the one side of Borrow’s character has to
be so emphasised. He could be just and gracious, even to the point of
sternly rebuking one who represented his own religious convictions and
supporting a dissenter. After a Bible Society’s meeting at Mutford
Bridge (the nearest village to Oulton Hall), the speakers repaired to the
Hall to supper. One of the guests, an independent minister, became
involved in a heated argument with a Church of England clergyman, who
reproached him for holding Calvinistic views. The nonconformist replied
that the clergy of the Established Church were equally liable to attack
on the same ground, because the Articles of their Church were
Calvinistic, and to these they had all sworn assent. The reply was that
the words were not necessarily to be taken in their literal sense. At
this Borrow interposed, attacking the clergyman in a most vigorous
fashion for his sophistry, and finally reducing him to silence. The
Independent minister afterwards confessed that he had never heard “one
man give another such a dressing down as on that occasion.” {384a}
Borrow was capable of very deep feeling, which is nowhere better shown
than in his retort to Richard Latham whom he met at Dr Hake’s table.
Well warmed by the generous wine, Latham stated that he should never do
anything so low as dine with his publisher. “You do not dine with John
Murray, I presume?” he added. “Indeed I do,” Borrow responded with deep
emotion. “He is a most kind friend. When I have had sickness in the
house he has been unfailing in his goodness towards me. There is no man
I more value.” {384b}
Borrow was a frequent visitor to the Hakes at Bury St Edmunds. W. B.
Donne gives a glimpse to him in a letter to Bernard Barton (12th Sept.
1848).
“We have had a great man here—and I have been walking with him and
aiding him to eat salmon and mutton and drink port—George Borrow—and
what is more we fell in with some gypsies and I heard his speech of
Egypt, which sounded wondrously like a medley of broken Spanish and
dog Latin. Borrow’s face lighted by the red turf fire of the tent
was worth looking at. He is ashy-white now—but twenty years ago,
when his hair was like a raven’s wing, he must have been hard to
discriminate from a born Bohemian. Borrow is best on the tramp: if
you can walk 4.5 miles per hour, as I can with ease and do by choice,
and can walk 15 of them at a stretch—which I can compass also—then he
will talk Iliads of adventures even better than his printed ones. He
cannot abide those Amateur Pedestrians who saunter, and in his chair
he is given to groan and be contradictory. But on Newmarket-heath,
in Rougham Woods he is at home, and specially when he meets with a
thorough vagabond like your present correspondent.” {385a}
The present Mr John Murray recollects Borrow very clearly as
“tall, broad, muscular, with very heavy shoulders” and of course the
white hair. “He was,” continues Mr Murray, “a figure which no one
who has seen it is likely to forget. I never remember to have seen
him dressed in anything but black broad cloth, and white cotton socks
were generally distinctly visible above his low shoes. I think that
with Borrow the desire to attract attention to himself, to inspire a
feeling of awe and mystery, must have been a ruling passion.”
Borrow was frequently the guest of his publisher at Albemarle Street, in
times well within the memory of Mr Murray, who relates how on one
occasion
“Borrow was at a dinner-party in company with Whewell {385b} [who by
the way it has been said was the original of the Flaming Tinman,
although there is very little to support the statement except the
fact that Dr Whewell was a proper man with his hands] both of them
powerful men, and both of them, if report be true, having more than a
superficial knowledge of the art of self-defence. A controversy
began, and waxed so warm that Mrs Whewell, believing a personal
encounter to be imminent, fainted, and had to be carried out of the
room. Once when Borrow was dining with my father he disappeared into
a small back room after dinner, and could not be found. At last he
was discovered by a lady member of the family, stretched on a sofa
and groaning. On being spoken to and asked to join the other guests,
he suddenly said: Go away! go away! I am not fit company for
respectable people. There was no apparent cause for this strange
conduct, unless it were due to one of those unaccountable fits to
which men of genius (and this description will be allowed him by
many) are often subject.
“On another occasion, when dining with my father at Wimbledon, he was
regaled with a ‘haggis,’ a dish which was new to him, and of which he
partook to an extent which would have astonished many a hardy
Scotsman. One summers day, several years later, he again came to
dinner, and having come on foot, entered the house by a garden door,
his first words—without any previous greetings—were: ‘Is there a
haggis to-day?’” {386}