MARCH 1854–MAY 1856
DURING the months that followed Borrow’s return to Great Yarmouth, the
question of the coming summer holiday was discussed. From the first
Borrow himself had been for Wales. He was eager to pursue his Celtic
researches further north. “I should not wonder if he went into Wales
before he returns,” Mrs Robert Taylor had written to her friend during
Borrow’s stay in Cornwall. His wife and Henrietta had “a hankering after
what is fashionable,” and suggested Harrogate or Leamington. To which
Borrow replied that there was nothing he “so much hated as fashionable
life.” He, however, gave way, the two women followed suit, as he had
intended they should, and Wales was decided upon. For Borrow the
literature of Wales had always exercised a great attraction. Her bards
were as no other bards. Ab Gwilym was to him the superior of Chaucer,
and Huw Morris “the greatest songster of the seventeenth century.” It
was, he confessed, a desire to put to practical use his knowledge of the
Welsh tongue, “such as it was,” that first gave him the idea of going to
Wales.
The party left Great Yarmouth on 27th July 1854, spending one night at
Peterborough and three at Chester. They reached Llangollen, which was to
be their head-quarters, on 1st August. On 9th August Mrs George Borrow
wrote to the old lady at Oulton, “We all much enjoy this wonderful and
beautiful country. We are in a lovely quiet spot. Dear George goes out
exploring the mountains, and when he finds remarkable views takes us of
an evening to see them.”
Borrow wanted to see Wales and get to know the people, and, above all, to
speak with them in their own language, and on 27th August he started upon
a walking tour to Bangor, where he was to meet his wife and Henrietta,
who were to proceed thither by rail. It was during this excursion that
he encountered the delightful Papist-Orange fiddler, whose fortunes and
fingers fluctuated between “Croppies Get Up” and “Croppies Lie Down.”
From Bangor Borrow explored the surrounding places of interest. He
ascended Snowdon arm-in-arm with Henrietta, singing “at the stretch of my
voice a celebrated Welsh stanza,” the boy-guide following wonderingly
behind. In spite of the fatigues of the climb, “the gallant girl”
reached the summit and heard her stepfather declaim two stanzas of poetry
in Welsh, to the grinning astonishment of a small group of English
tourists and the great interest of a Welshman, who asked Borrow if he
were _a Breton_.
There is no question that Borrow was genuinely attached to Henrietta. “I
generally call her daughter,” he writes, “and with good reason, seeing
that she has always shown herself a daughter to me—that she has all kinds
of good qualities, and several accomplishments, knowing something of
conchology, more of botany, drawing capitally in the Dutch style,” {415a}
not to speak of her ability to play on the Spanish guitar. She was “the
dear girl,” or “the gallant girl,” between whom and her stepfather
existed a true spirit of comradeship. In 1844 she wrote to him, “And
then that _funny_ look {415b} would come into your eyes and you would
call me ‘poor old Hen.’” He seemed incapable of laughing, and one
intimate friend states that she “never saw him even smiling, but there
was a twinkle in his eyes which told you that he was enjoying himself
just the same.” {416}
About this time Mrs George Borrow wrote to old Mrs Borrow at Oulton Hall,
saying that all was well with her son.
“He is very regular in his morning and evening devotions, so that we
all have abundant cause for thankfulness . . . As regards your dear
son and his peace and comfort, you have reason to praise and bless
God on his account . . . He is fully occupied. He keeps a _daily_
Journal of all that goes on, so that he can make a most amusing book
in a month, whenever he wishes to do so.”
The first sentence is very puzzling, and would seem to suggest that
Borrow’s moods were somehow or other associated with outbursts against
religion. “Be sure you _burn_ this, or do not leave it about,” the old
lady is admonished.
On the day following the ascent of Snowdon, Mrs Borrow and Henrietta
returned to Llangollen by train, leaving Borrow free to pursue his
wanderings. He eventually arrived at Llangollen on 6th September, by way
of Carnarvon, Festiniog and Bala. After remaining another twenty days at
Llangollen, he despatched his wife and stepdaughter home by rail. He
then bought a small leather satchel, with a strap to sling it over his
shoulder, packed in it a white linen shirt, a pair of worsted stockings,
a razor and a prayer-book. Having had his boots resoled and his umbrella
repaired, he left Llangollen for South Wales, upon an excursion which was
to occupy three weeks. During the course of this expedition he was taken
for many things, from a pork-jobber to Father Toban himself, as whom he
pronounced “the best Latin blessing I could remember” over two or three
dozen Irish reapers to their entire satisfaction. Eventually he arrived
at Chepstow, having learned a great deal about wild Wales.
One of the excursions that Borrow made from Bangor was to Llanfair in
search of Gronwy, the birthplace of Gronwy Owen. He found in the long,
low house an old woman and five children, descendants of the poet, who
stared at him wonderingly. To each he gave a trifle. Asking whether
they could read, he was told that the eldest could read anything, whether
Welsh or English. In _Wild Wales_ he gives an account of the interview.
“‘Can you write?’ said I to the child [the eldest], a little stubby
girl of about eight, with a broad flat red face and grey eyes,
dressed in a chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and looking
the image of notableness.
“The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off of me for a
moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first made no
answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, she at
length answered in a soft voice, ‘Medraf, I can.’
“‘Then write your name in this book,’ said I, taking out a
pocket-book and a pencil, ‘and write likewise that you are related to
Gronwy Owen—and be sure you write in Welsh.’
“The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and
placing the former on the table wrote as follows:—
“‘Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen.’ {417a}
“That is, ‘Ellen Jones belonging, from afar off to Gronwy Owen.’”
{417b}
Ellen Jones is now Ellen Thomas, and she well remembers Borrow coming
along the lane, where she was playing with some other children, and
asking for the house of Gronwy Owen. Later, when she entered the house,
she found him talking to her grandmother, who was a little deaf as
described in _Wild Wales_. Mrs Thomas’ recollection of Borrow is that he
had the appearance of possessing great strength. He had “bright eyes and
shabby dress, more like a merchant than a gentleman, or like a man come
to buy cattle [others made the same mistake]. But, dear me! he did speak
_funny_ Welsh,” she remarked to a student of Borrow who sought her out,
“he could not pronounce the ‘ll’ [pronouncing the word “pell” as if it
rhymed with tell, whereas it should be pronounced something like
“pelth”], and his voice was very high; but perhaps that was because my
grandmother was deaf.” He had plenty of words, but bad pronunciation.
William Thomas {418a} laughed many a time at him coming talking his funny
Welsh to him, and said he was glad he knew a few words of Spanish to
answer him with. Borrow was, apparently, unconscious of any imperfection
in his pronunciation of the “ll”. He has written: “‘Had you much
difficulty in acquiring the sound of the “ll”?’ I think I hear the
reader inquire. None whatever: the double l of the Welsh is by no means
the terrible guttural which English people generally suppose it to be.”
{418b}
Mrs Thomas is now sixty-seven years of age (she was eleven and not eight
at the time of Borrow’s visit) and still preserves carefully wrapped up
the book from which she read to the white-haired stranger. The episode
was not thought much of at the time, except by the child, whom it much
excited. {418c}
It was in all probability during this, his first tour in Wales, that
Borrow was lost on Cader Idris, and spent the whole of one night in
wandering over the mountain vainly seeking a path. The next morning he
arrived at the inn utterly exhausted. It was quite in keeping with
Borrow’s nature to suppress from his book all mention of this unpleasant
adventure. {419a}
The Welsh holiday was unquestionably a success. Borrow’s mind had been
diverted from critics and his lost popularity. He had forgotten that in
official quarters he had been overlooked. He was in the land of Ab
Gwilym and Gronwy Owen. “There never was such a place for poets,” he
wrote; “you meet a poet, or the birthplace of a poet, everywhere.” {419b}
He was delighted with the simplicity of the people, and in no way
offended by their persistent suspicion of all things Saxon. At least
they knew their own poets; and he could not help comparing the Welsh
labouring man who knew Huw Morris, with his Suffolk brother who had never
heard of Beowulf or Chaucer. He discoursed with many people about their
bards, surprising them by his intimate knowledge of the poets and the
poetry of Wales. He found enthusiasm “never scoffed at by the noble
simple-minded genuine Welsh, whatever treatment it may receive from the
coarse-hearted, sensual, selfish Saxon.” {419c} Sometimes he was
reminded “of the substantial yoemen of Cornwall, particularly . . . of my
friends at Penquite.” {419d} Wherever he went he experienced nothing but
kindness and hospitality, and it delighted him to be taken for a Cumro,
as was frequently the case.
What Borrow writes about his Welsh is rather contradictory. Sometimes he
represents himself as taken for a Welshman, at others as a foreigner
speaking Welsh. “Oh, what a blessing it is to be able to speak Welsh!”
{420a} he exclaims. He acknowledged that he could read Welsh with far
more ease than he could speak it. There is absolutely no posing or
endeavour to depict himself a perfect Welsh scholar, whose accent could
not be distinguished from that of a native. The literary results of the
Welsh holiday were four Note Books written in pencil, from which _Wild
Wales_ was subsequently written. Borrow was in Wales for nearly sixteen
weeks (1st Aug.—16th November), of which about a third was devoted to
expeditions on foot.
In the annual consultations about holidays, Borrow’s was always the
dominating voice. For the year 1855 the Isle of Man was chosen, because
it attracted him as a land of legend and quaint customs and speech.
Accordingly during the early days of September Mrs Borrow and Henrietta
were comfortably settled at Douglas, and Borrow began to make excursions
to various parts of the island. He explored every corner of it,
conversing with the people in Manx, collecting ballads and old,
smoke-stained _carvel_ {420b} (or carol) books, of which he was
successful in securing two examples. He discovered that the island
possessed a veritable literature in these _carvels_, which were
circulated in manuscript form among the neighbours of the writers.
The old runic inscriptions that he found on the tombstones exercised a
great fascination over Borrow. He would spend hours, or even days (on
one occasion as much as a week), in deciphering one of them. Thirty
years later he was remembered as an accurate, painstaking man. His
evenings were frequently occupied in translating into English the Manx
poem _Illiam Dhoo_, or Brown William. He discovered among the Manx
traditions much about Finn Ma Coul, or M‘Coyle, who appears in _The
Romany Rye_ as a notability of Ireland. He ascended Snaefell, sought out
the daughter of George Killey, the Manx poet, and had much talk with her,
she taking him for a Manxman. The people of the island he liked.
“In the whole world,” he wrote in his ‘Note Books,’ “there is not a
more honest, kindly race than the genuine Manx. Towards strangers
they exert unbounded hospitality without the slightest idea of
receiving any compensation, and they are, whether men or women, at
any time willing to go two or three miles over mountain and bog to
put strangers into the right road.”
During his stay in the Isle of Man, news reached Borrow of the death of a
kinsman, William, son of Samuel Borrow, his cousin, a cooper at
Devonport. William Borrow had gone to America, where he had won a prize
for a new and wonderful application of steam. His death is said to have
occurred as the result of mental fatigue. In this Borrow saw cause for
grave complaint against the wretched English Aristocracy that forced
talent out of the country by denying it employment or honour, which were
all for their “connections and lick-spittles.”
The holiday in the Isle of Man had resulted in two quarto note books,
aggregating ninety-six pages, closely written in pencil. Again Borrow
planned to write a book, just as he had done on the occasion of the
Cornish visit. Nothing, however, came of it. Among his papers was found
the following draft of a suggested title-page:—
BAYR JAIRGEY
AND
GLION DOO
THE RED PATH AND THE BLACK VALLEY
WANDERINGS IN QUEST OF MANX LITERATURE
A curious feature of Mrs Borrow’s correspondence is her friendly
conspiracies, sometimes with John Murray, sometimes with Woodfall, the
printer, asking them to send encouraging letters that shall hearten
Borrow to greater efforts. On 26th November 1850 John Murray wrote to
her: “I have determined on engraving [by W. Holl] Phillips’ portrait
{422} . . . as a frontispiece to it [_Lavengro_]. I trust that this will
not be disagreeable to you and the author—in fact I do it in confident
expectation that it will meet with _your_ assent; I do not ask Mr
Borrow’s leave, remember.”
It must be borne in mind that Mrs Borrow had been in London a few days
previously, in order to deliver to John Murray the manuscript of
_Lavengro_. Mrs Borrow’s reply to this letter is significant. With
regard to the engraving, she writes (28th November), “_I like the idea of
it_, and when Mr Borrow remarked that he did not wish it (as we expected
he would) I reminded him that _his_ leave _was_ not asked.”
Again, on 30th October 1852, Mrs Borrow wrote to Robert Cooke asking that
either he or John Murray would write to Borrow enquiring as to his
health, and progress with _The Romany Rye_, and how long it would be
before the manuscript were ready for the printer. “Of course,” she adds,
“all this is in perfect confidence to Mr Murray and yourself as you
_both_ of you know my truly excellent Husband well enough to be aware how
much he every now and then requires an impetus to cause the large wheel
to move round at a quicker pace . . . Oblige me by committing this to the
flames, and write to him just as you would have done, without hearing _a
word from me_.” On yet another occasion when she and Borrow were both in
London, she writes to Cooke asking that either he “or Mr Murray will give
my Husband a look, if it be only for a few minutes . . . He seems rather
low. Do, _not_ let this note remain on your table,” she concludes, “or
_mention_ it.”
If Borrow were a problem to his wife and to his publisher, he presented
equal difficulties to the country folk about Oulton. To one he was “a
missionary out of work,” to another “a man who kep’ ’isself to ’isself”;
but to none was he the tired lion weary of the chase. “His great delight
. . . was to plunge into the darkening mere at eventide, his great head
and heavy shoulders ruddy in the rays of the sun. Here he hissed and
roared and spluttered, sometimes frightening the eel-catcher sailing home
in the half-light, and remembering suddenly school legends of
river-sprites and monsters of the deep.” {423a}
In the spring following his return from the Isle of Man, Borrow made
numerous excursions on foot through East Anglia. He seemed too restless
to remain long in one place. During a tramp from Yarmouth to Ely by way
of Cromer, Holt, Lynn and Wisbech, he called upon Anna Gurney. {423b}
His reason for doing so was that she was one of the three celebrities of
the world he desired to see. The other two were Daniel O’Connell {423c}
and Lamplighter (the sire of Phosphorus), Lord Berners winner of the
Derby. Two of the world’s notabilities had slipped through his fingers
by reason of their deaths, but he was determined that Anna Gurney, who
lived at North Repps, should not evade him. He gave her notice of his
intention to call, and found her ready to receive him.
“When, according to his account, {424} he had been but a very short
time in her presence, she wheeled her chair round and reached her
hand to one of her bookshelves and took down an Arabic grammar, and
put it into his hand, asking for explanation of some difficult point,
which he tried to decipher; but meanwhile she talked to him
continuously; when, said he, ‘I could not study the Arabic grammar
and listen to her at the same time, so I threw down the book and ran
out of the room.’”
It is said that Borrow ran until he reached Old Tucker’s Inn at Cromer,
where he ate “five excellent sausages” and found calm. He then went on
to Sheringham and related the incident to the Upchers.
These lonely walking tours soothed Borrow’s restless mind. He had
constant change of scene, and his thoughts were diverted by the
adventures of the roadside. He encountered many and interesting people,
on one occasion an old man who remembered the fight between Painter and
Oliver; at another time he saw a carter beating his horse which had
fallen down. “Give him a pint of ale, and I will pay for it,” counselled
Borrow. After the second pint the beast got up and proceeded, “pulling
merrily . . . with the other horses.”
Ale was Borrow’s sovereign remedy for the world’s ills and wrongs. It
was by ale that he had been cured when the “Horrors” were upon him in the
dingle. “Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true
and proper drink of Englishmen,” he exclaims after having heartened Jack
Slingsby and his family. “He is not deserving of the name of
Englishman,” he continues, “who speaketh against ale, that is good ale.”
{425a} To John Murray (the Third) he wrote in his letter of sympathy on
the death of his father: “Pray keep up your spirits, and that you may be
able to do so, take long walks and drink plenty of Scotch ale with your
dinner . . . God bless you.”
He liked ale “with plenty of malt in it, and as little hop as well may
be—ale at least two years old.” {425b} The period of its maturity
changed with his mood. In another place he gives nine or ten months as
the ideal age. {425c} He was all for an Act of Parliament to force
people to brew good ale. He not only drank good ale himself; but
prescribed it as a universal elixir for man and beast. Hearing from
Elizabeth Harvey “of a lady who was attached to a gentleman,” Borrow
demanded bluntly, “Well, did he make her an offer?” “No,” was the
response. “Ah,” Borrow replied with conviction, “if she had given him
some good ale he would.” {425d}
He loved best old Burton, which, with ’37 port, were his favourites; yet
he would drink whatever ale the roadside-inn provided, as if to
discipline his stomach. It has been said that he habitually drank
“swipes,” a thin cheap ale, because that was the drink of his gypsy
friends; but Borrow’s friendship certainly did not often involve him in
anything so distasteful.