"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 Coruna; then they brought him back here again, and I do not know what has become of him since." {353a}

Borrow now became the lion of the hour. He was feted 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 soiree, "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." {354a}

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." {356a}

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. {357a} 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.

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 pounds, 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:-

"25th 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}



CHAPTER XXIII: 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." {361a}

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 role 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." {363a}

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'hote, 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." {364a}

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 Abdul Medjid, the Sultan, Borrow proceeded to Salonika and, crossing Thessaly to Albania, visited Janina and Prevesa. He passed over to Corfu, 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. Kaempe 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." {367a}

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 Espana, 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 pounds 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?" {372a}

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 Cales 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 18431 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." {375a}

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." {379a}

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."

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." {382a}

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?'" {386a}



CHAPTER XXIV: LAVENGRO—1843-1851



During all these years Lavengro had been making progress towards completion, irregular and spasmodic it would appear; but still each year brought it nearer to the printer. "I cannot get out of my old habits," Borrow wrote to Dawson Turner (15th January 1844), "I find I am writing the work . . . in precisely the same manner as The Bible in Spain, viz., on blank sheets of old account books, backs of letters, etc. In slovenliness of manuscript I almost rival Mahomet, who, it is said, wrote his Coran on mutton spade bones." "His [Borrow's] biography will be passing strange if he tells the WHOLE truth," Ford writes to a friend (27th February 1843). "He is now writing it by my advice. I go on . . . scribbling away, though with a palpitating heart," Borrow informs John Murray (5th February 1844), "and have already plenty of scenes and dialogues connected with my life, quite equal to anything in The Bible in Spain. The great difficulty, however, is to blend them all into a symmetrical whole." On 17th September 1846 he writes again to his publisher:

"I have of late been very lazy, and am become more addicted to sleep than usual, am seriously afraid of apoplexy. To rouse myself, I rode a little time ago to Newmarket. I felt all the better for it for a few days. I have at present a first rate trotting horse who affords me plenty of exercise. On my return from Newmarket, I rode him nineteen miles before breakfast."

Another cause of delay was the "shadows" that were constantly descending upon him. His determination to give only the best of which he was capable, is almost tragic in the light of later events. To his wife, he wrote from London (February 1847): "Saw M[urray] who is in a hurry for me to begin [the printing]. I will not be hurried though for anyone."

In the Quarterly Review, July 1848, under the heading of Mr Murray's List of New Works in Preparation, there appeared the first announcement of Lavengro, an Autobiography, by George Borrow, Author of The Bible in Spain, etc., 4 vols. post 8vo. This was repeated in October. During the next two months the book was advertised as Life; A Drama, in The Athenaeum and The Quarterly Review, and the first title-page (1849) was so printed. On 7th October John Murray wrote asking Borrow to send the manuscript to the printer. This was accordingly done, and about two-thirds of it composed. Then Borrow appears to have fallen ill. On 5th January 1849 John Murray wrote to Mrs Borrow:

"I trust Mr Borrow is now restored to health and tranquillity of mind, and that he will soon be able to resume his pen. I desire this on his own account and for the sake of poor Woodfall [the printer], who is of course inconvenienced by having his press arrested after the commencement of the printing."

Writing on 27th November 1849, John Murray refers to the work having been "first sent to press—now nearly eighteen months." This is clearly a mistake, as on 7th October 1848, thirteen and a half months previously, he asks Borrow to send the manuscript to the printer that he may begin the composition. John Murray was getting anxious and urges Borrow to complete the work, which a year ago had been offered to the booksellers at the annual trade-dinner.

"I know that you are fastidious, and that you desire to produce a work of distinguished excellence. I see the result of this labour in the sheets as they come from the press, and I think when it does appear it will make a sensation," wrote the tactful publisher. "Think not, my dear friend," replied Borrow, "that I am idle. I am finishing up the concluding part. I should be sorry to hurry the work towards the last. I dare say it will be ready by the middle of February." The correspondence grew more and more tense. Mrs Borrow wrote to the printer urging him to send to her husband, who has been overworked to the point of complaint, "one of your kind encouraging notes." Later Borrow went to Yarmouth, where sea-bathing produced a good effect upon his health; but still the manuscript was not sent to the despairing printer. "I do not, God knows! wish you to overtask yourself," wrote the unhappy Woodfall; "but after what you last said, I thought I might fully calculate on your taking up, without further delay, the fragmentary portions of your 1st and 2nd volumes and let us get them out of hand."

Letters continued to pass to and fro, but the balance of manuscript was not forthcoming until November 1850, when Mrs Borrow herself took it to London. Another trade-dinner was at hand, and John Murray had written to Mrs Borrow, "If I cannot show the book then—I must throw it up." To Mrs Borrow this meant tragedy. The poor woman was distracted, and from time to time she begs for encouraging letters. In response to one of these appeals, John Murray wrote with rare insight into Borrow's character, and knowledge of what is most likely to please him: "There are passages in your book equal to De Foe."

The preface when eventually submitted to John Murray disturbed him somewhat. "It is quaint," he writes to Mrs Borrow, "but so is everything that Mr Borrow writes." He goes on to suggest that the latter portion looks too much as if it had been got up in the interests of "Papal aggression," and he calls attention to the oft- repeated "Damnation cry". There appears to have been some modification, a few "Damnation Cries" omitted, the last sheet passed for press, and on 7th February 1851 Lavengro was published in an edition of three thousand copies, which lasted for twenty-one years.

The appearance of Lavengro was indeed sensational: but not quite in the way its publisher had anticipated. Almost without exception the verdict was unfavourable. The book was attacked vigorously. The keynote of the critics was disappointment. Some reviews were purely critical, others personal and abusive, but nearly all were disapproving. "Great is our disappointment" said the Athenaeum. "We are disappointed," echoed Blackwood. Among the few friendly notices was that of Dr Hake, in which he prophesied that "Lavengro's roots will strike deep into the soil of English letters." Even Ford wrote (8th March):

"I frankly own that I am somewhat disappointed with the very LITTLE you have told us about YOURSELF. I was in hopes to have a full, true, and particular account of your marvellously varied and interesting biography. I do hope that some day you will give it to us."

In this chorus of dispraise Borrow saw a conspiracy. "If ever a book experienced infamous and undeserved treatment," he wrote, {390a} "it was that book. I was attacked in every form that envy and malice could suggest." In The Romany Rye he has done full justice to the subject, exhibiting the critics with blood and foam streaming from their jaws. In the original draft of the Advertisement to the same work he expresses himself as "proud of a book which has had the honour of being rancorously abused and execrated by every unmanly scoundrel, every sycophantic lacquey, and EVERY POLITICAL AND RELIGIOUS RENEGADE in Britain." A few years previously, Borrow had written to John Murray, "I have always myself. If you wish to please the public leave the matter [the revision of The Zincali] to me." {391a} From this it is evident that Borrow was unprepared for anything but commendation from critics and readers.

Dr Bowring had some time previously requested the editor of The Edinburgh Review to allow him to review Lavengro; but no notice ever appeared. In all probability he realised the impossibility of writing about a book in which he and his family appeared in such an unpleasant light. It is unlikely that he asked for the book in order to prevent a review appearing in The Edinburgh, as has been suggested.

In the Preface, Lavengro is described as a dream; yet there can be not a vestage of doubt that Borrow's original intention had been to acknowledge it as an autobiography. This work is a kind of biography in the Robinson Crusoe style, he had written in 1844. This he contradicted in the Appendix to The Romany Rye; yet in his manuscript autobiography {391b} (13th Oct. 1862) he says: "In 1851 he published Lavengro, a work in which he gives an account of his early life." Why had Borrow changed his mind?

When Lavengro was begun, as a result of Ford's persistent appeals, Borrow was on the crest of the wave of success. He saw himself the literary hero of the hour. The Bible in Spain was selling in its thousands. The press had proclaimed it a masterpiece. He had seen himself a great man. The writer of a great book, however, does not occupy a position so kinglike in its loneliness as does gentleman a gypsy, round whom flock the gitanos to kiss his hand and garments as if he were a god or a hero. The literary and social worlds that The Bible in Spain opened to Borrow were not to be awed by his mystery, or, disciplined into abject hero-worship by one of those steady penetrating gazes, which cowed jockeys and alguacils. They claimed intellectual kinship and equality, the very things that Borrow had no intention of conceding them. He would have tolerated their "gentility nonsense" if they would have acknowledged his paramountcy. He found that to be a social or a literary lion was to be a tame lion, and he was too big for that. His conception of genius was that it had its moods, and mediocrity must suffer them.

Borrow would rush precipitately from the house where he was a guest; he would be unpardonably rude to some inoffensive and well-meaning woman who thought to please him by admiring his books; he would magnify a fight between their respective dogs into a deadly feud between himself and the rector of his parish: thus he made enemies by the dozen and, incidentally, earned for himself an extremely unenviable reputation. A hero with a lovable nature is twice a hero, because he is possessed of those qualities that commend themselves to the greater number. Wellington could never be a serious rival in a nation's heart to dear, weak, sensitive, noble Nelson, who lived for praise and frankly owned to it.

Borrow's lovable qualities were never permitted to show themselves in public, they were kept for the dingle, the fireside, or the inn- parlour. That he had a sweeter side to his nature there can be no doubt, and those who saw it were his wife, his step-daughter, and his friends, in particular those who, like Mr Watts-Dunton and Mr A. Egmont Hake, have striven for years to emphasise the more attractive part of his strange nature.

Borrow's attitude towards literature in itself was not calculated to gain friends for him. He was uncompromisingly and caustically severe upon some of the literary idols of his day, men who have survived that terrible handicap, contemporary recognition and appreciation.

He was not a deep reader, hardly a reader at all in the accepted meaning of the word. He frankly confessed that books were to him of secondary importance to man as a subject for study. In his criticisms of literature, he was apt to confuse the man with his works. His hatred of Scott is notorious; it was not the artist he so cordially disliked, but the politician; he admitted that Scott "wrote splendid novels about the Stuarts." {393a} He hailed him as "greater than Homer;" {393b} but the House of Stuart he held in utter detestation, and when writing or speaking of Scott he forgot to make a rather necessary distinction. He wrote:

"He admires his talents both as a prose writer and a poet; as a poet especially. {393c} . . . As a prose writer he admires him less, it is true, but his admiration for him in that capacity is very high, and he only laments that he prostituted his talents to the cause of the Stuarts and gentility . . . in conclusion, he will say, in order to show the opinion which he entertains of the power of Scott as a writer, that he did for the spectre of the wretched Pretender what all the kings of Europe could not do for his body—placed it on the throne of these realms." {393d}

In later years Borrow paid a graceful tribute to Scott's memory. When at Kelso, in spite of the rain and mist, he "trudged away to Dryburgh to pay my respects to the tomb of Walter Scott, a man with whose principles I have no sympathy, but for whose genius I have always entertained the most intense admiration." {393e} It was just the same with Byron, "for whose writings I really entertained considerable admiration, though I had no particular esteem for the man himself." {393f}

With Wordsworth it was different, and it was his cordial dislike of his poetry that prompted Borrow to introduce into The Romany Rye that ineffectual episode of the man who was sent to sleep by reading him. Tennyson he dismissed as a writer of "duncie books."

For Dickens he had an enthusiastic admiration as "a second Fielding, a young writer who . . . has evinced such talent, such humour, variety and profound knowledge of character, that he charms his readers, at least those who have the capacity to comprehend him." {394a} He was delighted with The Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist.

His reading was anything but thorough, in fact he occasionally showed a remarkable ignorance of contemporary writers. Mr A. Egmont Hake tells how:

"His conversation would sometimes turn on modern literature, with which his acquaintance was very slight. He seemed to avoid reading the products of modern thought lest his own strong opinions should undergo dilution. We were once talking of Keats whose fame had been constantly increasing, but of whose poetry Borrow's knowledge was of a shadowy kind, when suddenly he put a stop to the conversation by ludicrously asking, in his strong voice, 'Have they not been trying to resuscitate him?'" {394b}

By the time that Lavengro appeared, Borrow was estranged from his generation. The years that intervened between the success of The Bible in Spain and the publication of Lavengro had been spent by him in war; he had come to hate his contemporaries with a wholesome, vigorous hatred. He would give them his book; but they should have it as a stray cur has a bone—thrown at them. Above all, they should not for a moment be allowed to think that it contained an intimate account of the life of the supreme hater who had written it. When there had been sympathy between them, Borrow was prepared to allow his public to peer into the sacred recesses of his early life. Now that there was none, he denied that Lavengro was more than "a dream", forgetting that he had so often written of it as an autobiography, had even seen it advertised as such, and insisted that it was fiction.

When Lavengro was published Borrow was an unhappy and disappointed man. He had found what many other travellers have found when they come home, that in the wilds he had left his taste and toleration for conventional life and ideas. The life in the Peninsula had been thoroughly congenial to a man of Borrow's temperament: hardships, dangers, imprisonments,—they were his common food. He who had defied the whole power of Spain, found himself powerless to prevent his Rector from keeping a dog, or a railway line from being cut through his own estate and his peace of mind disturbed by the rumble of trains and the shriek of locomotive-whistles. He had beaten the Flaming Tinman and Count Ofalia, but Samuel Morton Peto had vanquished and put him to flight by virtue of an Act of Parliament, in all probability without being conscious of having achieved a signal victory. Borrow's life had been built up upon a wrong hypothesis: he strove to adapt, not himself to the Universe; but the Universe to himself.

It is easy to see that a man with this attitude of mind would regard as sheer vindictiveness the adverse criticism of a book that he had written with such care, and so earnest an endeavour to maintain if not improve upon the standard created in a former work. It never for a moment struck him that the men who had once hailed him "great", should now admonish him as a result of the honest exercise of their critical faculties. No; there was conspiracy against him, and he tortured himself into a pitiable state of wrath and melancholy. A later generation has been less harsh in its judgment. The controversial parts of Lavengro have become less controversial and the magnificent parts have become more magnificent, and it has taken its place as a star of the second magnitude.

The question of what is actual autobiography and what is so coloured as to become practically fiction, must always be a matter of opinion. The early portion seems convincing, even the first meeting with the gypsies in the lane at Norman Cross. It has been asked by an eminent gypsy scholar how Borrow knew the meaning of the word "sap", or why he addressed the gypsy woman as "my mother". When the Gypsy refers to the "Sap there", the child replies, "what, the snake"? The employment of the other phrase is obviously an inadvertent use of knowledge he gained later.

In writing to Mrs George Borrow (24th March 1851) to tell her that W. B. Donne had been unable to obtain Lavengro for The Edinburgh Review as it had been bespoken a year previously by Dr Bowring, Dr Hake adds that Donne had written "putting the editor in possession of his view of Lavengro, as regards verisimilitude, vouching for the Daguerreotype-like fidelity of the picture in the first volume, etc., etc., in order to prevent him from being TAKEN IN BY a spiteful article." This passage is very significant as being written by one of Borrow's most intimate friends, with the sure knowledge that its contents would reach him. It leaves no room for doubt that, although Borrow denied publicly the autobiographical nature of Lavengro, in his own circle it was freely admitted and referred to as a life.

"What is an autobiography?" Borrow once asked Mr Theodore Watts- Dunton (who had called his attention to several bold coincidences in Lavengro). "Is it the mere record of the incidents of a man's life? or is it a picture of the man himself—his character, his soul?" {396a} Mr Watts-Dunton confirms Borrow's letters when he says "That he [Borrow] sat down to write his own life in Lavengro I know. He had no idea then of departing from the strict line of fact."

At times Borrow seemed to find his pictures flat, and heightened the colour in places, as a painter might heighten the tone of a drapery, a roof or some other object, not because the individual spot required it, but rather because the general effect he was aiming at rendered it necessary. He did this just as an actor rouges his face, darkens his eyebrows and round his eyes, that he may appear to his audience a living man and not an animated corpse.

Borrow was drawing himself, striving to be as faithful to the original as Boswell to Johnson. Incidents! what were they? the straw with which the bricks of personality are made. A comparison of Lavengro with Borrow's letters to the Bible Society is instructive; it is the same Borrow that appears in both, with the sole difference that in the Letters he is less mysterious, less in the limelight than in Lavengro.

Mr Watts-Dunton, with inspiration, has asked whether or not Lavengro and The Romany Rye form a spiritual autobiography; and if they do, whether that autobiography does or does not surpass every other for absolute truth of spiritual representation. Borrow certainly did colour his narrative in places. Who could write the story of his early life with absolute accuracy? without dwelling on and elaborating certain episodes, perhaps even adjusting them somewhat? That would not necessarily prove them untrue.

There are, unquestionably, inconsistencies in Lavengro and The Romany Rye -they are admitted, they have been pointed out. There are many inaccuracies, it must be confessed; but because a man makes a mistake in the date of his birth or even the year, it does not prove that he was not born at all. Borrow was for ever making the most inaccurate statements about his age.

In the main Lavengro would appear to be autobiographical up to the period of Borrow's coming to London. After this he begins to indulge somewhat in the dramatic. The meeting with the pickpocket as a thimble-rigger at Greenwich might pass muster were it not for the rencontre with the apple-woman's son near Salisbury. The Dingle episode may be accepted, for Mr John Sampson has verified even the famous thunder-storm by means of the local press. Isopel Berners is not so easy to settle; yet the picture of her is so convincing, and Borrow was unable to do more than colour his narrative, that she too must have existed.

The failure of Lavengro is easily accounted for. Borrow wrote of vagabonds and vagabondage; it did not mitigate his offence in the eyes of the critics or the public that he wrote well about them. His crime lay in his subject. To Borrow, a man must be ready and able to knock another man down if necessity arise. When nearing sixty he lamented his childless state and said very mournfully: "I shall soon not be able to knock a man down, and I have no son to do it for me." {398a} He glorified the bruisers of England, in the face of horrified public opinion. England had become ashamed of its bruisers long before Lavengro was written, and this flaunting in its face of creatures that it considered too low to be mentioned, gave mortal offence. That in Lavengro was the best descriptions of a fight in the language, only made the matter worse. Borrow's was an age of gentility and refinement, and he outraged it, first by glorifying vagabondage, secondly by decrying and sneering at gentility.

"Qui n' a pas l'esprit de son age, De son age a tout le malheur."

And Borrow proved Voltaire's words.

It is not difficult to understand that an age in which prize-fighting is anathema should not tolerate a book glorifying the ring; but it is strange that Borrow's simple paganism and nature-worship should not have aroused sympathetic recognition. Poetry is ageless, and such passages as the description of the sunrise over Stonehenge should have found some, at least, to welcome them, even when found in juxtaposition with bruisers and gypsies.

Borrow loved to mystify, but in Lavengro he had overreached himself. "Are you really in existence?" wrote one correspondent who was unknown to Borrow, "for I also have occasionally doubted whether things exist, as you describe your own feelings in former days."

John Murray wrote (8th Nov. 1851):-

"I was reminded of you the other day by an enquiry after Lavengro and its author, made by the Right Honourable John Wilson Croker. Knowing how fastidious and severe a critic he is, I was particularly glad to find him expressing a favourable opinion of it; and thinking well of it his curiosity was piqued about you. Like all the rest of the world, he is mystified by it. He knew not whether to regard it as truth or fiction. How can you remedy this defect? I call it a defect, because it really impedes your popularity. People say of a chapter or of a character: 'This is very wonderful, IF TRUE; but if fiction it is pointless.'—Will your new volumes explain this and dissolve the mystery? If so, pray make haste and get on with them. I hope you have employed the summer in giving them the finishing touches."

"There are," says a distinguished critic, {399a} "passages in Lavengro which are unsurpassed in the prose literature of England— unsurpassed, I mean, for mere perfection of style—for blending of strength and graphic power with limpidity and music of flow." Borrow's own generation would have laughed at such a value being put upon anything in Lavengro.

Another thing against the books success was its style. It lacked what has been described as the poetic ecstacy or sentimental verdure of the age. Trope, imagery, mawkishness, were all absent, for Borrow had gone back to his masters, at whose head stood the glorious Defoe. Borrow's style was as individual as the man himself. By a curious contradiction, the tendency is to overlook literary lapses in the very man towards whom so little latitude was allowed in other directions. Many Borrovians have groaned in anguish over his misuse of that wretched word "Individual." A distinguished man of letters {400a} has written:- "I would as lief read a chapter of The Bible in Spain as I would Gil Blas; nay, I positively would give the preference to Senor Giorgio." Another critic, and a severe one, has written:-

"It is not as philologist, or traveller, or wild missionary, or folk- lorist, or antiquary, that Borrow lives and will live. It is as the master of splendid, strong, simple English, the prose Morland of a vanished road-side life, the realist who, Defoe-like, could make fiction seem truer than fact. To have written the finest fight in the whole world's literature, the fight with the Flaming Tinman, is surely something of an achievement." {400b}

It is Borrow's personality that looms out from his pages. His mastery over the imagination of his reader, his subtle instinct of how to throw his own magnetism over everything he relates, although he may be standing aside as regards the actual events with which he is dealing, is worthy of Defoe himself. It is this magnetism that carries his readers safely over the difficult places, where, but for the author's grip upon them, they would give up in despair; it is this magnetism that prompts them to pass by only with a slight shudder, such references as the feathered tribe, fast in the arms of Morpheus, and, above all, those terrible puns that crop up from time to time. There is always the strong, masterful man behind the words who, like a great general, can turn a reverse to his own advantage.

In his style perhaps, after all, lay the secret of Borrow's unsuccess. He was writing for another generation; speaking in a voice too strong to be heard other than as a strange noise by those near to him. It may be urged that The Bible in Spain disproves these conclusions; but The Bible in Spain was a peculiar book. It was a chronicle of Christian enterprise served up with sauce picaresque. It pleased and astonished everyone, especially those who had grown a little weary of godly missioners. It had the advantage of being spontaneous, having been largely written on the spot, whereas Lavengro and The Romany Rye were worked on and laboured at for years. Above all, it had the inestimable virtue of being known to be True. To the imaginative intellectual, Truth or Fiction are matters of small importance, he judges by Art; but to the general public of limited intellectual capacity, Truth is appreciated out of all proportion to its artistic importance. If Borrow had published The Bible in Spain after the failure of Lavengro, it would in all probability have been as successful as it was appearing before.



CHAPTER XXV: SEPTEMBER 1849-FEBRUARY 1854



One of the finest traits in Borrow's character was his devotion to his mother. He was always thoughtful for her comfort, even when fighting that almost hopeless battle in Russia, and later in the midst of bandits and bloody patriots in Spain. She was now, in 1849, an old woman, too feeble to live alone, and it was decided to transfer her to Oulton. An addition to the Hall was constructed for her accommodation, and she was to be given an attendant-companion in the person of the daughter of a local farmer.

For thirty-three years she had lived in the little house in Willow Lane; yet it was not she, but Borrow, who felt the parting from old associations. "I wish," she writes to her daughter-in-law on 16th September 1849, "my dear George would not have such fancies about the old house; it is a mercy it has not fallen on my head before this." The old lady was anxious to get away. It would not be safe, she thought, for her to be shut up alone, as the old woman who had looked after her could, for some reason or other, do so no longer. She urges her daughter-in-law to represent this to Borrow.

"There is a low, noisy set close to me," she continues. "I shall not die one day sooner, or live one day longer. If I stop here and die on a sudden, half the things might be lost or stolen, therefore it seems as if the Lord would provide me a SAFER HOME. I have made up my mind to the change and only pray that I may be able to get through the trouble."

It would appear that the move, which took place at the end of September, was brought about by the old lady's appeals and insistence, and that Borrow himself was not anxious for it. He felt a sentimental attachment to the old place, which for so many years had been a home to him.

In 1853 Borrow removed to Great Yarmouth. During the summer of that year, Dr Hake had peremptorily ordered Mrs George Borrow not to spend the ensuing winter and spring at Oulton, and the move was made in August. The change was found to be beneficial to Mrs Borrow and agreeable to all, and for the next seven years (Aug. 1853-June 1860) Borrow's headquarters were to be at Great Yarmouth, where he and his family occupied various lodgings.

Shortly before leaving Oulton, Borrow had received the following interesting letter from FitzGerald:-

BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, 22nd July 1853.

MY DEAR SIR,—I take the liberty of sending you a book [Six Dramas from Calderon], of which the title-page and advertisement will sufficiently explain the import. I am afraid that I shall in general be set down at once as an impudent fellow in making so free with a Great Man; but, as usual, I shall feel least fear before a man like yourself, who both do fine things in your own language and are deep read in those of others. I mean, that whether you like or not what I send you, you will do so from knowledge and in the candour which knowledge brings.

I had even a mind to ask you to look at these plays before they were printed, relying on our common friend Donne for a mediator; but I know how wearisome all MS. inspection is; and, after all, the whole affair was not worth giving you such a trouble. You must pardon all this, and believe me,—Yours very faithfully,

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

Soon after his arrival by the sea, Borrow performed an act of bravery of which The Bury Post (17th Sept. 1852) gave the following account, most likely written by Dr Hake:-

"INTREPIDITY.—Yarmouth jetty presented an extra-ordinary and thrilling spectacle on Thursday, the 8th inst., about one o'clock. The sea raged frantically, and a ship's boat, endeavouring to land for water, was upset, and the men were engulfed in a wave some thirty feet high, and struggling with it in vain. The moment was an awful one, when George Borrow, the well-known author of Lavengro, and The Bible in Spain, dashed into the surf and saved one life, and through his instrumentality the others were saved. We ourselves have known this brave and gifted man for years, and, daring as was this deed we have known him more than once to risk his life for others. We are happy to add that he has sustained no material injury."