BORROW’S SPANISH CIRCLE
THERE are many interesting personalities that pass before us in Borrow’s
three separate narratives, as they may be considered, of his Spanish
experiences. We would fain know more concerning the two excellent
secretaries of the Bible Society—Samuel Brandram and Joseph Jowett. We
merely know that the former was rector of Beckenham and was one of the
Society’s secretaries until his death in 1850; that the latter was rector
of Silk Willoughby in Lincolnshire, and belonged to the same family as
Jowett of Balliol. But there are many quaint characters in Borrow’s own
narrative to whom we are introduced. There is Maria Diaz, for example,
his landlady in the house in the Calle de Santiago in Madrid, and her
husband, Juan Lopez, also assisted Borrow in his Bible distribution.
Very eloquent are Borrow’s tributes to the pair in the pages of _The
Bible in Spain_. “Honour to Maria Diaz, the quiet, dauntless, clever,
Castilian female! I were an ingrate not to speak well of her.” We get a
glimpse of Maria and her husband long years afterwards—a pensioner in a
Spanish almshouse revealing himself as the son of Borrow’s friends.
Eduardo Lopez was only eight years of age when Borrow was in Madrid, and
he really adds nothing to our knowledge. Then there were those two
incorrigible vagabonds—Antonio Buchini, his Greek servant with an Italian
name, and Benedict Mol, the Swiss of Lucerne, who turns up in all sorts
of improbable circumstances as the seeker of treasure in the Church of
St. James of Compostella—only a masterly imagination could have made him
so interesting. Concerning these there is nothing to supplement Borrow’s
own story. But we have attractive glimpses of Borrow in the frequently
quoted narrative of Colonel Napier, and this is so illuminating that I
venture to reproduce it at greater length than previous biographers have
done. Edward Elers Napier, who was born in 1808, was the son of one
Edward Elers of the Royal Navy. His widow married the famous Admiral Sir
Charles Napier, who adopted her four children by her first husband.
Edward Elers, the younger, or Edward Napier, as he came to be called, was
educated at Sandhurst and entered the army, serving for some years in
India. Later his regiment was ordered to Gibraltar, and it was thence
that he made several sporting excursions into Spain and Morocco. Later
he served in Egypt, and when, through ill-health, he retired in 1843 on
half-pay, he lived for some years in Portugal. In 1854 he returned to
the army and did good work in the Crimea, becoming a lieutenant-general
in 1864. He died in 1870. He wrote, in addition to these _Excursions_,
several other books, including _Scenes and Sports in Foreign Lands_. It
was during his military career at Gibraltar that he met George Borrow at
Seville, as the following extracts from his book testify. Borrow’s
pretension to have visited the East is characteristic—and amusing:—
1839. _Saturday_ 4_th_.—Out early, sketching at the Alcazar. After
breakfast it set in a day of rain, and I was reduced to wander about
the galleries overlooking the “patio.” Nothing so dreary and out of
character as a rainy day in Spain. Whilst occupied in moralising
over the dripping water-spouts, I observed a tall,
gentlemanly-looking man, dressed in a zamarra, leaning over the
balustrades, and apparently engaged in a similar manner with myself.
Community of thoughts and occupation generally tends to bring people
together. From the stranger’s complexion, which was fair, but with
brilliant black eyes, I concluded he was not a Spaniard; in short,
there was something so remarkable in his appearance that it was
difficult to say to what nation he might belong. He was tall, with a
commanding appearance; yet, though apparently in the flower of
manhood, his hair was so deeply tinged with the winter of either age
or sorrow as to be nearly snow-white. Under these circumstances, I
was rather puzzled as to what language I should address him in. At
last, putting a bold face on the matter, I approached him with a
“Bonjour, monsieur, quel triste temps!”
“Yes, sir,” replied he in the purest Parisian accent; “and it is very
unusual weather here at this time of the year.”
“Does ‘monsieur’ intend to be any time at Seville?” asked I. He
replied in the affirmative. We were soon on a friendly footing, and
from his varied information I was both amused and instructed. Still
I became more than ever in the dark as to his nationality; I found he
could speak English as fluently as French. I tried him on the
Italian track; again he was perfectly at home. He had a Greek
servant, to whom he gave his orders in Romaïc. He conversed in good
Castilian with “mine host”; exchanged a German salutation with an
Austrian Baron, at the time an inmate of the fonda; and on mentioning
to him my morning visit to Triano, which led to some remarks on the
gypsies, and the probable place from whence they derived their
origin, he expressed his belief that it was from Moultan, and said
that, even to this day, they retained many Moultanee and Hindoostanee
expressions, such as “pánee” (water), “buree pánee” (the sea), etc.
He was rather startled when I replied “in Hindee,” but was delighted
on finding I was an Indian, and entered freely, and with depth and
acuteness, on the affairs of the East, most of which part of the
world he had visited.
In such varied discourse did the hours pass so swiftly away that we
were not a little surprised when Pépé, the “mozo” (and I verily
believe all Spanish waiters are called Pépé), announced the hour of
dinner; after which we took a long walk together on the banks of the
river. But, on our return, I was as much as ever in ignorance as to
who might be my new and pleasant acquaintance.
I took the first opportunity of questioning Antonio Baillie (Buchini)
on the subject, and his answer only tended to increase my curiosity.
He said that nobody knew what nation the “mysterious Unknown”
belonged to, nor what were his motives for travelling. In his
passport he went by the name of —, and as a British subject, but in
consequence of a suspicion being entertained that he was a Russian
spy, the police kept a sharp look-out over him. Spy or no spy, I
found him a very agreeable companion; and it was agreed that on the
following day we should visit together the ruins of Italica.
_May_ 5.—After breakfast, the “Unknown” and myself, mounting our
horses, proceeded on our expedition to the ruins of Italica.
Crossing the river, and proceeding through the populous suburb of
Triano, already mentioned, we went over the same extensive plain that
I had traversed in going to San Lucar, but keeping a little more to
the right a short ride brought us in sight of the Convent of San
Isidrio, surrounded by tall cypress and waving date-trees. This once
richly-endowed religious establishment is, together with the small
neighbouring village of Santi Ponci, I believe, the property of the
Duke of Medina Coeli, at whose expense the excavations are now
carried on at the latter place, which is the ancient site of the
Roman Italica.
We sat down on a fragment of the walls, and sadly recalling the
splendour of those times of yore, contrasted with the desolation
around us, the “Unknown” began to feel the vein of poetry creeping
through his inward soul, and gave vent to it by reciting, with great
emphasis and effect, and to the astonishment of the wondering
peasant, who must have thought him “loco,” the following well-known
and beautiful lines:—
“Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower, grown,
Matted and massed together, hillocks heap’d
On what were chambers, arch crush’d, column strown
In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescoes steep’d
In subterranean damps, where the owl peep’d,
Deeming it midnight; Temples, baths, or halls—
Pronounce who can: for all that Learning reap’d
From her research hath been, that these are walls.”
I had been too much taken up with the scene, the verses, and the
strange being who was repeating them with so much feeling, to notice
the approach of one who now formed the fourth person of our party.
This was a slight female figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whose
tattered garments, raven hair (which fell in matted elf-locks over
her naked shoulders), swarthy complexion, and flashing eyes,
proclaimed to be of the wandering tribe of “gitanos.” From an
intuitive sense of natural politeness she stood with crossed arms,
and a slight smile on her dark and handsome countenance, until my
companion had ceased, and then addressed us in the usual whining tone
of supplication, with “Caballeritos, una limosita! Dios se lo pagara
a ustedes!” (“Gentlemen, a little charity! God will repay it to
you!”) The gypsy girl was so pretty, and her voice so sweet, that I
involuntarily put my hand in my pocket.
“Stop!” said the “Unknown.” “Do you remember what I told you about
the Eastern origin of these people? You shall see I am correct.
Come here, my pretty child,” said he in Moultanee, “and tell me where
are the rest of your tribe?”
The girl looked astounded, replied in the same tongue, but in broken
language; when, taking him by the arm, she said, in Spanish: “Come,
caballero; come to one who will be able to answer you;” and she led
the way down amongst the ruins towards one of the dens formerly
occupied by the wild beasts, and disclosed to us a set of beings
scarcely less savage. The sombre walls of this gloomy abode were
illumined by a fire, the smoke from which escaped through a deep
fissure in the massy roof; whilst the flickering flames threw a
blood-red glare on the bronzed features of a group of children, of
two men, and a decrepit old hag; who appeared busily engaged in some
culinary preparations.
On our entrance, the scowling glance of the males of the party, and a
quick motion of the hand towards the folds of the “faja,” caused in
_me_, at least, anything but a comfortable sensation; but their
hostile intentions, if ever entertained, were immediately removed by
a wave of the hand from our conductress, who, leading my companion
towards the sibyl, whispered something in her ear. The old crone
appeared incredulous. The “Unknown” uttered one word; but that word
had the effect of magic; she prostrated herself at his feet, and in
an instant, from an object of suspicion he became one of worship to
the whole family, to whom, on taking leave, he made a handsome
present, and departed with their united blessings, to the
astonishment of myself, and what looked very like terror in our
Spanish guide.
I was, as the phrase goes, dying with curiosity, and, as soon as we
mounted our horses, exclaimed, “Where, in the name of goodness, did
you pick up your acquaintance and the language of these extraordinary
people?” “Some years ago, in Moultan,” he replied. “And by what
means do you possess such apparent influence over them?” But the
“Unknown” had already said more than he perhaps wished on the
subject. He drily replied that he had more than once owed his life
to gipsies, and had reason to know them well; but this was said in a
tone which precluded all further queries on my part. The subject was
never again broached, and we returned in silence to the fonda. . . .
_May_ 7_th_.—Pouring with rain all day, during which I was mostly in
the society of the “Unknown.” This is a most extraordinary
character, and the more I see of him the more I am puzzled. He
appears acquainted with everybody and everything, but apparently
unknown to every one himself. Though his figure bespeaks youth—and
by his own account his age does not exceed thirty—yet the snows of
eighty winters could not have whitened his locks more completely than
they are. But in his dark and searching eye there is an almost
supernatural penetration and lustre, which, were I inclined to
superstition, might induce me to set down its possessor as a second
Melmoth; and in that character he often appears to me during the
troubled rest I sometimes obtain through the medium of the great
soother, “laudanum.”
The next most interesting figure in the Borrow gallery of this period is
Don Luis de Usóz y Rio, who was a good friend to Borrow during the whole
of his sojourn in Spain. It was he who translated Borrow’s appeal to the
Spanish Prime Minister to be permitted to distribute Scio’s New
Testament. He watched over Borrow with brotherly solicitude, and wrote
him more than one excellent letter, of which the two following from my
Borrow Papers, the last written at the close of the Spanish period, are
the most interesting:
TO MR. GEORGE BORROW
(_Translated from the Spanish_)
PIAZZA DI SPAGNA 47, ROME, 7 _April_, 1838.
DEAR FRIEND,—I received your letter, and thank you for the same. I
know the works under the name of “Boz,” about which you write, and
also the _Memoirs of the Pickwick Club_, and although they seemed to
me good, I have failed to appreciate properly their qualities,
because much of the dramatic style and dialogue in the same are very
difficult for those who know English merely from books. I made here
a better acquaintance than that of Mezzofanti (who knows nothing),
namely, that of Prof. Michel-Angelo Lanci, already well known on
account of his work, _La sacra scrittura illustrata con monumenti
fenico-assiri ed egiziani_, etc., etc. (The Scriptures, illustrated
with Phœnician-Assyrian and Egyptian monuments), which I am reading
at present, and find very profound and interesting, and more
particularly very original. He has written and presented me a book,
_Esposizione dei versetti del Giobbe intorno al cavallo_ (Explanation
of verses of Job about a horse), and in these and other works he
proves himself to be a great philologist and Oriental scholar. I
meet him almost daily, and I assure you that he seems to me to know
everything he treats thoroughly, and not like Gayangos or Calderon,
etc., etc. His philosophic works have created a great stir here, and
they do not please much the friars here; but as here they are not
like the police barbarians there, they do not forbid it, as they
cannot. Lanci is well known in Russia and in Germany, and when I
bring his works there, and you are there and have not read them, you
will read them and judge for yourself.
Wishing you well, and always at your service, I remain, always yours,
LUIS DE USOZ Y RIO.
* * * * *
TO MR. GEORGE BORROW
(_Translated from the Spanish_)
NAPLES, 28 _August_, 1839.
DEAR FRIEND,—I received your letter of the 28 July written from
Sevilla, and I am waiting for that which you promise me from Tangier.
I am glad that you liked Sevilla, and I am still more glad of the
successful shipment of the beloved book. In distributing it, you are
rendering the greatest service that generous foreigners (I mean
Englishmen) can render to the real freedom and enlightenment in
Spain, and any Spaniard who is at heart a gentleman must be grateful
for this service to the Society and to its agent. In my opinion, if
Spain had maintained the customs, character, and opinions that it had
three centuries ago, it ought to have maintained also unity in
religious opinions: but that at present the circumstances have
changed, and the moral character and the advancement of my
unfortunate country would not lose anything in its purification and
progress by (the grant of) religious liberty.
You are saying that I acted very light-mindedly in judging Mezzofanti
without speaking to him. You know that the other time when I was in
Italy I had dealings and spoke with him, and that I said to you that
he had a great facility for speaking languages, but that otherwise he
was no good. Because I have seen him several times in the Papal
chapels with a certain air of an ass and certain grimaces of a
blockhead that cannot happen to a man of talent. I am told,
moreover, that he is a spy, and that for that reason he was given the
hat. I know, moreover, that he has not written anything at all. For
that reason I do not wish to take the trouble of seeing him.
As regards Lanci, I am not saying anything except that I am waiting
until you have read his work without passion, and that if my books
have arrived at Madrid, you can ask my brother in Santiago.
You are judging of him and of Pahlin in the way you reproach me with
judging Mezzofanti; I thank you, and I wish for the dedication
Gabricote; and I also wish for your return to Madrid, so that in
going to Toledo you would get a copy of Aristophanes with the order
that will be given to you by my brother, who has got it.
If for the Gabricote or other work you require my clumsy pen, write
to Florence and send me a rough copy of what is to be done, in
English or in Spanish, and I will supply the finished work. From
Florence I intend to go to London, and I should be obliged if you
would give me letters and instructions that would be of use to me in
literary matters, but you must know that my want of knowledge of
_speaking_ English makes it necessary that the Englishmen who speak
to me should know Spanish, French, or Italian.
As regards robberies, of which you accuse Southern people, from the
literatures of the North, do you think that the robberies committed
by the Northerners from the Southern literature would be left behind?
Erunt vitia donec homines.—Always yours,
ELEUTHEROS.
Yet another acquaintance of these Spanish days was Baron Taylor—Isidore
Justin Séverin Taylor, to give him his full name—who had a career of
wandering achievement, with Government pay, that must have appealed to
Borrow. Although his father was an Englishman he became a naturalised
Frenchman, and he was for a time in the service of the French Government
as Director of the Théâtre Français, when he had no little share in the
production of the dramas of Victor Hugo and Dumas. Later he was
instrumental in bringing the Luxor obelisk from Egypt to Paris. He wrote
books upon his travels in Spain, Portugal and Morocco. He wandered all
over Europe in search of art treasures for the French Government, and may
very well have met Borrow again and again. Borrow tells us that he had
met Taylor in France, in Russia, and in Ireland, before he met him in
Andalusia, collecting pictures for the French Government. Borrow’s
description of their meetings is inimitable:—
Whenever he descries me, whether in the street or the desert, the
brilliant hall or amongst Bedouin _haimas_, at Novogorod or Stambul,
he flings up his arms and exclaims, “_O ciel_! I have again the
felicity of seeing my cherished and most respectable Borrow.”
The last and most distinguished of Borrow’s colleagues while in Spain was
George Villiers, fourth Earl of Clarendon, whom we judge to have been in
private life one of the most lovable men of his epoch. George Villiers
was born in London in 1800, and was the grandson of the first Earl,
Thomas Villiers, who received his title when holding office in Lord
North’s administration, but is best known from his association in
diplomacy with Frederick the Great. His grandson was born, as it were,
into diplomacy, and at twenty years of age was an _attaché_ to the
British Embassy in St. Petersburg. Later he was associated with Sir John
Bowring in negotiating a commercial treaty with France. In August, 1833,
he was sent as British Minister—“envoy extraordinary” he was called—to
Madrid, and he had been two years in that seething-pot of Spanish
affairs, with Christinos and Carlists at one another’s throats, when
Borrow arrived in the Peninsula. His influence was the greater with a
succession of Spanish Prime Ministers in that in 1838 he had been largely
instrumental in negotiating the quadruple alliance between England,
France, Spain, and Portugal. In March, 1839—exactly a year before Borrow
took his departure—he resigned his position at Madrid, having then for
some months exchanged the title of Sir George Villiers for that of Earl
of Clarendon through the death of his uncle; Borrow thereafter having to
launch his various complaints and grievances at his successor,
Mr.—afterwards Sir George—Jerningham, who, it has been noted, had his
home in Norfolk, at Costessey, four miles from Norwich. Villiers
returned to England with a great reputation, although his Spanish policy
was attacked in the House of Lords. In that same year, 1839, he joined
Lord Melbourne’s administration as Lord Privy Seal, O’Connell at the time
declaring that he ought to be made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, so
sympathetic was he towards concession and conciliation in that then
feverishly excited country. This office actually came to him in 1847,
and he was Lord-Lieutenant through that dark period of Ireland’s history,
including the Famine, the Young Ireland rebellion, and the Smith O’Brien
rising. He pleased no one in Ireland. No English statesman could ever
have done so under such ideals of government as England would have
tolerated then, and for long years afterwards. The Whigs defended him,
the Tories abused him, in their respective organs. He left Ireland in
1852 and was more than once mentioned as possible Prime Minister in the
ensuing years. He was Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in Lord
Aberdeen’s administration during the Crimean War, and he held the same
office under Lord Palmerston, again under Lord John Russell in 1865, and
under Mr. Gladstone in 1868. He might easily have become Prime Minister.
Greville in his _Diary_ writes of Prince Albert’s desire that he should
succeed Lord John Russell, but Clarendon said that no power on earth
would make him take that position. He said he could not speak, and had
not had parliamentary experience enough. He died in 1870, leaving a
reputation as a skilful diplomatist and a disinterested politician, if
not that of a great statesman. He had twice refused the
Governor-Generalship of India, and three times a marquisate.
Sir George Villiers seems to have been very courteous to Borrow during
the whole of the time they were together in Spain. It would have been
easy for him to have been quite otherwise. Borrow’s Bible mission
synchronised with a very delicate diplomatic mission of his own, and in a
measure clashed with it. The government of Spain was at the time
fighting the ultra-clericals. Physical and moral strife were rife in the
land. Neither Royalists nor Carlists could be expected to sympathise
with Borrow’s schemes, which were fundamentally to attack their Church.
But Villiers was at all times friendly, and, as far as he could be,
helpful. Borrow seems to have had ready access to him, and he answered
his many letters. He gave Borrow an opportunity of an interview with the
formidable Prime Minister Mendizábal, and he interviewed another minister
and persuaded him to permit Borrow to print and circulate his Bibles. He
intervened successfully to release Borrow from his Madrid prison. But
Villiers could not have had any sympathy with Borrow other than as a
British subject to be protected on the Roman citizen principle. We do
not suppose that when _The Bible in Spain_ appeared he was one of those
who were captivated by its extraordinary qualities. When Borrow crossed
his path in later life he received no special consideration, such as
would be given very promptly in our day by a Cabinet minister to a man of
letters of like distinction. We find him on one occasion writing to the
ex-minister, now Lord Clarendon, asking his help for a consulship.
Clarendon replied kindly enough, but sheltered himself behind the
statement that the Prime Minister was overwhelmed with applications for
patronage. Yet Clarendon, who held many high offices in the following
years, might have helped if he had cared to do so. Some years later—in
1847—there was further correspondence when Borrow desired to become a
Magistrate of Suffolk. Here again Clarendon wrote three courteous
letters, and appears to have done his best in an unenthusiastic way. But
nothing came of it all.