Borrow was a splendid swimmer. {404a} In the course of one of his country walks with Robert Cooke (John Murray's partner), with whom he was on very friendly terms, "he suggested a bathe in the river along which they were walking. Mr Cooke told me that Borrow, having stripped, took a header into the water and disappeared. More than a minute had elapsed, and as there were no signs of his whereabouts, Mr Cooke was becoming alarmed, lest he had struck his head or been entangled in the weeds, when Borrow suddenly reappeared a considerable distance off, under the opposite bank of the stream, and called out 'What do you think of that?'" {404b}

Elizabeth Harvey, in telling the same story, says that on coming up he exclaimed: "There, if that had been written in one of my books, they would have said it was a lie, wouldn't they?"

The paragraph about Borrow's courage was printed in various newspapers throughout the country, amongst others in the Plymouth Mail under the heading of "Gallant Conduct of Mr G. Borrow," and was read by Borrow's Cornish kinsmen, who for years had heard nothing of Thomas Borrow. Apparently quite convinced that George was his son, they deputed Robert Taylor, a farmer of Penquite Farm (who had married Anne Borrow, granddaughter of Henry Borrow), to write to Borrow and invite him to visit Trethinnick. The letter was dated 10th October and directed to "George Borrow, Yarmouth." Borrow replied as follows:-

YARMOUTH, 14th Octr., 1853.

MY DEAR SIR,—I beg leave to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 10th inst. in which you inform me of the kind desire of my Cornish relatives to see me at Trethinnock (sic). Please to inform them that I shall be proud and happy to avail myself of their kindness and to make the acquaintance of "one and all" {405a} of them. My engagements will prevent my visiting them at present, but I will appear amongst them on the first opportunity. I am delighted to learn that there are still some living at Trethinnock who remember my honoured father, who had as true a Cornish heart as ever beat.

I am at present at Yarmouth, to which place I have brought my wife for the benefit of her health; but my residence is Oulton Hall, Lowestoft, Suffolk. With kind greetings to my Cornish kindred, in which my wife and my mother join,—I remain, my dear Sir, ever sincerely yours, -

GEORGE BORROW.

Borrow was not free to visit his kinsfolk until the following Christmas. First advising Robert Taylor of his intention, and receiving his approval and instructions for the journey, Borrow set out from Great Yarmouth on 23rd December. He spent the night at Plymouth. Next morning on finding the Liskeard coach full, he decided to walk. Leaving his carpet-bag to be sent on by the mail, and throwing over his arm the cloak that had seen many years of service, he set out upon his eighteen-mile tramp. He arrived at Liskeard in the afternoon, and was met by his cousin Henry Borrow and Robert Taylor, as well as by several local celebrities.

After tea Borrow, accompanied by Robert Taylor, rode to Penquite, four miles away. "Ride by night to Penquite, Borrow records in his Journal. House of stone and slate on side of a hill. Mrs Taylor. Hospitable reception. Christmas Eve. Log on fire." He found alive of his own generation, Henry, William, Thomas, Elizabeth (who lived to be 94 years of age) and Nicholas, the children of Henry Borrow, Captain Borrow's eldest brother. Also Anne, daughter of Henry, who married Robert Taylor, and their daughter, likewise named Anne, and William Henry, son of Nicholas.

In the Cornish Note Books there appears under the date of 3rd January the following entry: "Rain and snow. Rode with Mr Taylor to dine at Trethinnick. House dilapidated. A family party. Hospitable people." On first entering his father's old home tears had sprung to Borrow's eyes, and he was much affected. There was present at the dinner the vicar of St Cleer, the Rev. J. R. P. Berkeley, a pleasant Irish clergyman who, years later, was able to give to Dr Knapp an account of what took place. He noticed the "vast difference in appearance and manners between the simple yet shrewd Cornish farmers and the betravelled gentleman their kinsman;" yet for all this there were shades of resemblance—in a look, some turn of thought or tone of voice. George Borrow was not at his best that evening, Mr Berkeley relates of the dinner at Trethinnick:

"his feelings were too much excited. He was thinking of the time when his father's footsteps and his father's voice re-echoed in the room in which we were sitting. His eyes wandered from point to point, and at times, if I was not mistaken, a tear could be seen trembling in them. At length he could no longer control his feelings. He left the hall suddenly, and in a few moments, but for God's providential care, the career of George Borrow would have been ended. There was within a few feet of the house a low wall with a drop of some feet into a paved yard. He walked rapidly out, and, it being nearly dark, he stepped one side of the gate and fell over the wall. He did not mention the accident, although he bruised himself a good deal, and it was some days before I heard of it. His words to me that evening, when bidding me good-bye, were: 'Well, we have shared the old-fashioned hospitality of old-fashioned people in an old-fashioned house.'" {407a}

Borrow created something of a sensation in the neighbourhood. As a celebrity his autograph was much sought after; but he would gratify nobody. His hosts experienced many little surprises from their guest's strange ways. He would plunge into a moorland pool to fetch a bird that had fallen to his gun, or, round the family fireside, he would shout his ballads of the North, at one time alarming his audience by seizing a carving-knife and brandishing it about in the air to emphasize the passionate nature of his song. When a card- party proved too dull he slipped off and found his way into some slums, picking up all the disreputable characters he could find, working off his knowledge of cant on them, and getting out of them what he could. {407b}

On one occasion when dining at the house of a local celebrity he was suddenly missed from table during dessert.

"A search revealed him in a remote room surrounded by the children of the house, whom he was amusing by his stories and catechising in the subject of their studies and pursuits. He excused his absence by saying that he had been fascinated by the intelligence of the children, and had forgotten about the dinner." {407c}

His hatred of gentility led him into some actions that can only be characterised as childish. Even in Cornwall he was on the lookout for his fetish. On one occasion when dining with the ex-Mayor of Liskeard, he pulled out of his pocket and used instead of a handkerchief, a dirty old grease-stained rag with which he was wont to clean his gun. {408a} This was done as a protest against something or other that seemed to him to suggest mock refinement.

When at Wolsdon as the guest of the Pollards there arrived a lady and gentleman of the name of Hambly, according to the Note Books. In spite of this brief reference, Borrow immediately recognised a hated name. Never was one of the name good, he informed Mr Berkeley. He may even have been informed that they were descendants of the Headborough whom his father had knocked down. He showed his detestation for the name by being as rude as he could to those who bore it.

Borrow was as incapable of dissimulating his dislikes as he was of controlling his moods. Even during his short stay at Penquite he was on one occasion, at least, plunged into a deep melancholy, sitting before a huge fire entirely oblivious to the presence of others in the room. Mrs Berkeley, who, with the vicar himself, was a caller, thinking to produce some good effect upon the gloomy man, sat down at the piano and played some old Irish and Scottish airs. After a time Borrow began to listen, then he raised his head, and finally "he suddenly sprang to his feet, clapped his hands several times, danced about the room, and struck up some joyous melody. From that moment he was a different man." He told them "tales and side-splitting anecdotes," he joined the party at supper, and when the vicar and his wife rose to take their leave he pressed Mrs Berkeley's hands, and told her that her music had been as David's harp to his soul.

To the young man he met during this visit who informed him that he had left the Army as it was no place for a gentleman, Borrow replied that it was no place for a man who was not a gentleman, and that he was quite right in leaving it. To speak against the Army to Borrow was to speak against his honoured father.

How Borrow struck his Cornish kinsfolk is shown in a letter written by his hostess to a friend. "I must tell you," she writes, "a bit about our distinguished visitor." She gives one of the most valuable portraits of Borrow that exists. He was to her:

"A fine tall man of about six feet three, well-proportioned and not stout; able to walk five miles an hour successively; rather florid face without any hirsute appendages; hair white and soft; eyes and eyebrows dark; good nose and very nice mouth; well-shaped hands— altogether a person you would notice in a crowd. His character is not so easy to portray. The more I see of him the less I know of him. He is very enthusiastic and eccentric, very proud and unyielding. He says very little of himself, and one cannot ask him if inclined to . . . He is a marvel in himself. There is no one here to draw him out. He has an astonishing memory as to dates when great events have taken place, no matter in what part of the world. He seems to know everything." {409a}

Borrow was gratified at the welcome he received, and was much pleased with the neighbourhood and its people. "My relations are most excellent people," he wrote to his wife, "but I could not understand more than half they said." He was puzzled to know why the head of a family, which was reputed to be worth seventy thousand pounds, should live in a house which could not boast of a single grate—"nothing but open chimneys."

He remained at Penquite for upwards of a fortnight, at one time galloping over snowy hills and dales with Anne Taylor, Junr., "as gallant a girl as ever rode," at another, alert as ever for fragments of folk-lore or philology, jotting down the story of a pisky-child from the dictation of his cousin Elizabeth.

On 9th January Borrow left Penquite on a tour to Truro, Penzance, Mousehole, and Land's End, armed with the inevitable umbrella, grasped in the centre by the right hand, green, manifold and bulging, that so puzzled Mr Watts-Dunton and caused him on one occasion to ask Dr Hake, "Is he a genuine Child of the Open Air?" It was one of the first things to which Borrow's pedestrian friends had to accustom themselves. With this "damning thing . . . gigantic and green," Borrow set out upon his excursion, now examining some Celtic barrow, now enquiring his way or the name of a landmark, occasionally singing in that tremendous voice of his, "Look out, look out, Swayne Vonved!"

At Mousehole he called upon a relative, H. D. Burney (who was, it would seem, in charge of the Coast Guard Station), to whom he had a letter of introduction from Robert Taylor. Mr Burney entertained him with stories, showed him places and things of interest in the neighbourhood, and accompanied him on his visit to St Michael's Mount. Borrow returned to Penquite on the 25th with a considerable store of Cornish legends and Cornish words, and the knowledge that you can only see Cornwall or know anything about it by walking through it.

The next excursion was to the North Coast, Pentire Point, Tintagel, King Arthur's Castle, etc. On the 1st of February he left Penquite, and slept the night at Trethinnick. The next morning he set out on horseback accompanied by Nicholas Borrow.

To the vicar of St Cleer and his family, Borrow was a very welcome visitor. Mr Berkeley's eldest son, a boy of ten years of age, on being introduced to the distinguished caller, gazed at him for some moments and then without a word left the room and, going straight to his mother in another apartment cried, "Well, mother, that IS a man." Borrow was delighted when he heard of the child's enthusiasm. Mr Berkeley give a picture of his distinguished visitor far more prepossessing than many that exist. He was particularly struck, as was everybody, by the beauty of Borrow's hands, and their owner's vanity over them as the legacy of his Huguenot ancestors. Mr Berkeley found Borrow's countenance pleasing, betokening calm firmness, self-confidence and a mind under control, though capable of passion. He could on occasion prove a delightful talker, and he gave to the vicar's family a new maxim to implant upon their Christianity, the old prize-fighters receipt for a quiet life: "Learn to box, and keep a civil tongue in your head." He would often drop in at the vicarage in the evening, when he would

"sit in the centre of a group before the fire with his hands on his knees—his favourite position—pouring forth tales of the scenes he had witnessed in his wanderings. . . . Then he would suddenly spring from his seat and walk to and fro the room in silence; anon he would clap his hands and sing a Gypsy song, or perchance would chant forth a translation of some Viking poem; after which he would sit down again and chat about his father, whose memory he revered as he did his mother's; {411a} and finally he would recount some tale of suffering or sorrow with deep pathos—his voice being capable of expressing triumphant joy or the profoundest sadness."

It was Borrow's intention to write a book about his visit to Cornwall, and he even announced it at the end of The Romany Rye. He was delighted with the Duchy, and evidently gave his relatives to understand that it was his intention to use the contents of his Note Books as the nucleus of a book. "He will undoubtedly write a description of his visit," Mrs Taylor wrote to her friend. "I walked through the whole of Cornwall and saw everything," Borrow wrote to his wife after his return to London. "I kept a Journal of every day I was there, and it fills TWO pocket books."

Borrow left Cornwall the second week in February and was in London on the 10th, where he was to break his journey home in order to obtain some data at the British Museum for the Appendix of The Romany Rye. On 13th February he writes to his wife:-

"For three days I have been working hard at the Museum, I am at present at Mr Webster's, but not in the three guinea lodgings. I am in rooms above, for which I pay thirty shillings a week. I live as economically as I can; but when I am in London I am obliged to be at certain expense. I must be civil to certain friends who invite me out and show me every kindness. Please send me a five pound note by return of post."

His wife appears to have been anxious for his return home, and on the 17th he writes to her:-

"It is hardly worth while making me more melancholy than I am. Come home, come home! is the cry. And what are my prospects when I get home? though it is true that they are not much brighter here. I have nothing to look forward to. Honourable employments are being given to this and that trumpery fellow; while I, who am an honourable man, must be excluded from everything."

Of literature he expressed himself as tired, there was little or nothing to be got out of it, save by writing humbug, which he refused to do. "My spirits are very low," he continues, "and your letters make them worse. I shall probably return by the end of next week; but I shall want more money. I am sorry to spend money for it is our only friend, and God knows I use as little as possible, but I can't travel without it." {412b} A few days later there is another letter with farther reference to money, and protests that he is spending as little as possible. "Perhaps you had better send another note," he writes, "and I will bring it home unchanged, if I do not want any part of it. I have lived very economically as far as I am concerned personally; I have bought nothing, and have been working hard at the Museum." {413a}

These constant references to money seem to suggest either some difference between Borrow and his wife, or that he felt he was spending too much upon himself and was anticipating her thoughts by assuring her of how economically he was living. He had an unquestioned right to spend, for he had added considerable sums to the exchequer from the profits of his first two books.

Borrow returned to Yarmouth on 25th February. The Romany Rye was now rapidly nearing completion; but there was no encouragement to publish a new book. He worked at The Romany Rye, not because he saw profit in it, not because he was anxious to give another book to an uneager public; but because of the sting in its tail, because of the thunderbolt Appendix in which he paid off old scores against the critics and his personal enemies. The Romany Rye was to him a work of hate; it was a bomb disguised as a book, which he intended to throw into the camp of his foes. He was tired of literature, by which he meant that he was tired of producing his best for a public that neither wanted nor understood it. He forgot that the works of a great writer are sometimes printed in his own that they may be read in another generation.



CHAPTER XXVI: MARCH 1854-MAY 1856



During the months that followed Borrow's return to Great Yarmouth, the question of the coming summer holiday was discussed. From the first Borrow himself had been for Wales. He was eager to pursue his Celtic researches further north. "I should not wonder if he went into Wales before he returns," Mrs Robert Taylor had written to her friend during Borrow's stay in Cornwall. His wife and Henrietta had "a hankering after what is fashionable," and suggested Harrogate or Leamington. To which Borrow replied that there was nothing he "so much hated as fashionable life." He, however, gave way, the two women followed suit, as he had intended they should, and Wales was decided upon. For Borrow the literature of Wales had always exercised a great attraction. Her bards were as no other bards. Ab Gwilym was to him the superior of Chaucer, and Huw Morris "the greatest songster of the seventeenth century." It was, he confessed, a desire to put to practical use his knowledge of the Welsh tongue, "such as it was," that first gave him the idea of going to Wales.

The party left Great Yarmouth on 27th July 1854, spending one night at Peterborough and three at Chester. They reached Llangollen, which was to be their head-quarters, on 1st August. On 9th August Mrs George Borrow wrote to the old lady at Oulton, "We all much enjoy this wonderful and beautiful country. We are in a lovely quiet spot. Dear George goes out exploring the mountains, and when he finds remarkable views takes us of an evening to see them."

Borrow wanted to see Wales and get to know the people, and, above all, to speak with them in their own language, and on 27th August he started upon a walking tour to Bangor, where he was to meet his wife and Henrietta, who were to proceed thither by rail. It was during this excursion that he encountered the delightful Papist-Orange fiddler, whose fortunes and fingers fluctuated between "Croppies Get Up" and "Croppies Lie Down."

From Bangor Borrow explored the surrounding places of interest. He ascended Snowdon arm-in-arm with Henrietta, singing "at the stretch of my voice a celebrated Welsh stanza," the boy-guide following wonderingly behind. In spite of the fatigues of the climb, "the gallant girl" reached the summit and heard her stepfather declaim two stanzas of poetry in Welsh, to the grinning astonishment of a small group of English tourists and the great interest of a Welshman, who asked Borrow if he were a Breton.

There is no question that Borrow was genuinely attached to Henrietta. "I generally call her daughter," he writes, "and with good reason, seeing that she has always shown herself a daughter to me—that she has all kinds of good qualities, and several accomplishments, knowing something of conchology, more of botany, drawing capitally in the Dutch style," {415a} not to speak of her ability to play on the Spanish guitar. She was "the dear girl," or "the gallant girl," between whom and her stepfather existed a true spirit of comradeship. In 1844 she wrote to him, "And then that FUNNY look {415b} would come into your eyes and you would call me 'poor old Hen.'" He seemed incapable of laughing, and one intimate friend states that she "never saw him even smiling, but there was a twinkle in his eyes which told you that he was enjoying himself just the same." {416a}

About this time Mrs George Borrow wrote to old Mrs Borrow at Oulton Hall, saying that all was well with her son.

"He is very regular in his morning and evening devotions, so that we all have abundant cause for thankfulness . . . As regards your dear son and his peace and comfort, you have reason to praise and bless God on his account . . . He is fully occupied. He keeps a DAILY Journal of all that goes on, so that he can make a most amusing book in a month, whenever he wishes to do so."

The first sentence is very puzzling, and would seem to suggest that Borrow's moods were somehow or other associated with outbursts against religion. "Be sure you BURN this, or do not leave it about," the old lady is admonished.

On the day following the ascent of Snowdon, Mrs Borrow and Henrietta returned to Llangollen by train, leaving Borrow free to pursue his wanderings. He eventually arrived at Llangollen on 6th September, by way of Carnarvon, Festiniog and Bala. After remaining another twenty days at Llangollen, he despatched his wife and stepdaughter home by rail. He then bought a small leather satchel, with a strap to sling it over his shoulder, packed in it a white linen shirt, a pair of worsted stockings, a razor and a prayer-book. Having had his boots resoled and his umbrella repaired, he left Llangollen for South Wales, upon an excursion which was to occupy three weeks. During the course of this expedition he was taken for many things, from a pork- jobber to Father Toban himself, as whom he pronounced "the best Latin blessing I could remember" over two or three dozen Irish reapers to their entire satisfaction. Eventually he arrived at Chepstow, having learned a great deal about wild Wales.

One of the excursions that Borrow made from Bangor was to Llanfair in search of Gronwy, the birthplace of Gronwy Owen. He found in the long, low house an old woman and five children, descendants of the poet, who stared at him wonderingly. To each he gave a trifle. Asking whether they could read, he was told that the eldest could read anything, whether Welsh or English. In Wild Wales he gives an account of the interview.

"'Can you write?' said I to the child [the eldest], a little stubby girl of about eight, with a broad flat red face and grey eyes, dressed in a chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and looking the image of notableness.

"The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off of me for a moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first made no answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, she at length answered in a soft voice, 'Medraf, I can.'

"'Then write your name in this book,' said I, taking out a pocket- book and a pencil, 'and write likewise that you are related to Gronwy Owen—and be sure you write in Welsh.'

"The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and placing the former on the table wrote as follows:-

"'Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen.' {417a}

"That is, 'Ellen Jones belonging, from afar off to Gronwy Owen.'" {417b}

Ellen Jones is now Ellen Thomas, and she well remembers Borrow coming along the lane, where she was playing with some other children, and asking for the house of Gronwy Owen. Later, when she entered the house, she found him talking to her grandmother, who was a little deaf as described in Wild Wales. Mrs Thomas' recollection of Borrow is that he had the appearance of possessing great strength. He had "bright eyes and shabby dress, more like a merchant than a gentleman, or like a man come to buy cattle [others made the same mistake]. But, dear me! he did speak FUNNY Welsh," she remarked to a student of Borrow who sought her out, he could not pronounce the 'll' [pronouncing the word "pell" as if it rhymed with tell, whereas it should be pronounced something like "pelth"], and his voice was very high; but perhaps that was because my grandmother was deaf." He had plenty of words, but bad pronunciation. William Thomas {418a} laughed many a time at him coming talking his funny Welsh to him, and said he was glad he knew a few words of Spanish to answer him with. Borrow was, apparently, unconscious of any imperfection in his pronunciation of the "ll". He has written: "'Had you much difficulty in acquiring the sound of the "ll"?' I think I hear the reader inquire. None whatever: the double l of the Welsh is by no means the terrible guttural which English people generally suppose it to be." {418b}

Mrs Thomas is now sixty-seven years of age (she was eleven and not eight at the time of Borrow's visit) and still preserves carefully wrapped up the book from which she read to the white-haired stranger. The episode was not thought much of at the time, except by the child, whom it much excited. {418c}

It was in all probability during this, his first tour in Wales, that Borrow was lost on Cader Idris, and spent the whole of one night in wandering over the mountain vainly seeking a path. The next morning he arrived at the inn utterly exhausted. It was quite in keeping with Borrow's nature to suppress from his book all mention of this unpleasant adventure. {419a}

The Welsh holiday was unquestionably a success. Borrow's mind had been diverted from critics and his lost popularity. He had forgotten that in official quarters he had been overlooked. He was in the land of Ab Gwilym and Gronwy Owen. "There never was such a place for poets," he wrote; "you meet a poet, or the birthplace of a poet, everywhere." {419b} He was delighted with the simplicity of the people, and in no way offended by their persistent suspicion of all things Saxon. At least they knew their own poets; and he could not help comparing the Welsh labouring man who knew Huw Morris, with his Suffolk brother who had never heard of Beowulf or Chaucer. He discoursed with many people about their bards, surprising them by his intimate knowledge of the poets and the poetry of Wales. He found enthusiasm "never scoffed at by the noble simple-minded genuine Welsh, whatever treatment it may receive from the coarse-hearted, sensual, selfish Saxon." {419c} Sometimes he was reminded "of the substantial yoemen of Cornwall, particularly . . . of my friends at Penquite." {419d} Wherever he went he experienced nothing but kindness and hospitality, and it delighted him to be taken for a Cumro, as was frequently the case.

What Borrow writes about his Welsh is rather contradictory. Sometimes he represents himself as taken for a Welshman, at others as a foreigner speaking Welsh. "Oh, what a blessing it is to be able to speak Welsh!" {420a} he exclaims. He acknowledged that he could read Welsh with far more ease than he could speak it. There is absolutely no posing or endeavour to depict himself a perfect Welsh scholar, whose accent could not be distinguished from that of a native. The literary results of the Welsh holiday were four Note Books written in pencil, from which Wild Wales was subsequently written. Borrow was in Wales for nearly sixteen weeks (1st Aug.—16th November), of which about a third was devoted to expeditions on foot.

In the annual consultations about holidays, Borrow's was always the dominating voice. For the year 1855 the Isle of Man was chosen, because it attracted him as a land of legend and quaint customs and speech. Accordingly during the early days of September Mrs Borrow and Henrietta were comfortably settled at Douglas, and Borrow began to make excursions to various parts of the island. He explored every corner of it, conversing with the people in Manx, collecting ballads and old, smoke-stained carvel {420b} (or carol) books, of which he was successful in securing two examples. He discovered that the island possessed a veritable literature in these carvels, which were circulated in manuscript form among the neighbours of the writers.

The old runic inscriptions that he found on the tombstones exercised a great fascination over Borrow. He would spend hours, or even days (on one occasion as much as a week), in deciphering one of them. Thirty years later he was remembered as an accurate, painstaking man. His evenings were frequently occupied in translating into English the Manx poem Illiam Dhoo, or Brown William. He discovered among the Manx traditions much about Finn Ma Coul, or M'Coyle, who appears in The Romany Rye as a notability of Ireland. He ascended Snaefell, sought out the daughter of George Killey, the Manx poet, and had much talk with her, she taking him for a Manxman. The people of the island he liked.

"In the whole world," he wrote in his 'Note Books,' "there is not a more honest, kindly race than the genuine Manx. Towards strangers they exert unbounded hospitality without the slightest idea of receiving any compensation, and they are, whether men or women, at any time willing to go two or three miles over mountain and bog to put strangers into the right road."

During his stay in the Isle of Man, news reached Borrow of the death of a kinsman, William, son of Samuel Borrow, his cousin, a cooper at Devonport. William Borrow had gone to America, where he had won a prize for a new and wonderful application of steam. His death is said to have occurred as the result of mental fatigue. In this Borrow saw cause for grave complaint against the wretched English Aristocracy that forced talent out of the country by denying it employment or honour, which were all for their "connections and lick- spittles."

The holiday in the Isle of Man had resulted in two quarto note books, aggregating ninety-six pages, closely written in pencil. Again Borrow planned to write a book, just as he had done on the occasion of the Cornish visit. Nothing, however, came of it. Among his papers was found the following draft of a suggested title-page:-

BAYR JAIRGEY AND GLION DOO THE RED PATH AND THE BLACK VALLEY WANDERINGS IN QUEST OF MANX LITERATURE

A curious feature of Mrs Borrow's correspondence is her friendly conspiracies, sometimes with John Murray, sometimes with Woodfall, the printer, asking them to send encouraging letters that shall hearten Borrow to greater efforts. On 26th November 1850 John Murray wrote to her: "I have determined on engraving [by W. Holl] Phillips' portrait {422a} . . . as a frontispiece to it [Lavengro]. I trust that this will not be disagreeable to you and the author—in fact I do it in confident expectation that it will meet with YOUR assent; I do not ask Mr Borrow's leave, remember."

It must be borne in mind that Mrs Borrow had been in London a few days previously, in order to deliver to John Murray the manuscript of Lavengro. Mrs Borrow's reply to this letter is significant. With regard to the engraving, she writes (28th November), "I LIKE THE IDEA OF IT, and when Mr Borrow remarked that he did not wish it (as we expected he would) I reminded him that HIS leave WAS not asked."

Again, on 30th October 1852, Mrs Borrow wrote to Robert Cooke asking that either he or John Murray would write to Borrow enquiring as to his health, and progress with The Romany Rye, and how long it would be before the manuscript were ready for the printer. "Of course," she adds, "all this is in perfect confidence to Mr Murray and yourself as you BOTH of you know my truly excellent Husband well enough to be aware how much he every now and then requires an impetus to cause the large wheel to move round at a quicker pace . . . Oblige me by committing this to the flames, and write to him just as you would have done, without hearing A WORD FROM ME." On yet another occasion when she and Borrow were both in London, she writes to Cooke asking that either he "or Mr Murray will give my Husband a look, if it be only for a few minutes . . . He seems rather low. Do, NOT let this note remain on your table," she concludes, "or MENTION it."

If Borrow were a problem to his wife and to his publisher, he presented equal difficulties to the country folk about Oulton. To one he was "a missionary out of work," to another "a man who kep' 'isself to 'isself"; but to none was he the tired lion weary of the chase. "His great delight . . . was to plunge into the darkening mere at eventide, his great head and heavy shoulders ruddy in the rays of the sun. Here he hissed and roared and spluttered, sometimes frightening the eel-catcher sailing home in the half-light, and remembering suddenly school legends of river-sprites and monsters of the deep." {423a}

In the spring following his return from the Isle of Man, Borrow made numerous excursions on foot through East Anglia. He seemed too restless to remain long in one place. During a tramp from Yarmouth to Ely by way of Cromer, Holt, Lynn and Wisbech, he called upon Anna Gurney. {423b} His reason for doing so was that she was one of the three celebrities of the world he desired to see. The other two were Daniel O'Connell {423c} and Lamplighter (the sire of Phosphorus), Lord Berners winner of the Derby. Two of the world's notabilities had slipped through his fingers by reason of their deaths, but he was determined that Anna Gurney, who lived at North Repps, should not evade him. He gave her notice of his intention to call, and found her ready to receive him.

"When, according to his account, {424a} he had been but a very short time in her presence, she wheeled her chair round and reached her hand to one of her bookshelves and took down an Arabic grammar, and put it into his hand, asking for explanation of some difficult point, which he tried to decipher; but meanwhile she talked to him continuously; when, said he, 'I could not study the Arabic grammar and listen to her at the same time, so I threw down the book and ran out of the room.'"

It is said that Borrow ran until he reached Old Tucker's Inn at Cromer, where he ate "five excellent sausages" and found calm. He then went on to Sheringham and related the incident to the Upchers.

These lonely walking tours soothed Borrow's restless mind. He had constant change of scene, and his thoughts were diverted by the adventures of the roadside. He encountered many and interesting people, on one occasion an old man who remembered the fight between Painter and Oliver; at another time he saw a carter beating his horse which had fallen down. "Give him a pint of ale, and I will pay for it," counselled Borrow. After the second pint the beast got up and proceeded, "pulling merrily . . . with the other horses."

Ale was Borrow's sovereign remedy for the world's ills and wrongs. It was by ale that he had been cured when the "Horrors" were upon him in the dingle. "Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true and proper drink of Englishmen," he exclaims after having heartened Jack Slingsby and his family. "He is not deserving of the name of Englishman," he continues, "who speaketh against ale, that is good ale." {425a} To John Murray (the Third) he wrote in his letter of sympathy on the death of his father: "Pray keep up your spirits, and that you may be able to do so, take long walks and drink plenty of Scotch ale with your dinner . . . God bless you."

He liked ale "with plenty of malt in it, and as little hop as well may be—ale at least two years old." {425b} The period of its maturity changed with his mood. In another place he gives nine or ten months as the ideal age. {425c} He was all for an Act of Parliament to force people to brew good ale. He not only drank good ale himself; but prescribed it as a universal elixir for man and beast. Hearing from

Elizabeth Harvey "of a lady who was attached to a gentleman," Borrow demanded bluntly, "Well, did he make her an offer?" "No," was the response. "Ah," Borrow replied with conviction, "if she had given him some good ale he would." {425d} He loved best old Burton, which, with '37 port, were his favourites; yet he would drink whatever ale the roadside-inn provided, as if to discipline his stomach. It has been said that he habitually drank "swipes," a thin cheap ale, because that was the drink of his gypsy friends; but Borrow's friendship certainly did not often involve him in anything so distasteful.



CHAPTER XXVII: THE ROMANY RYE. 1854-1859



Borrow was not a great correspondent, and he left behind him very few letters from distinguished men of his time. Among those few were several from Edward FitzGerald, whose character contrasted so strangely with that of the tempestuous Borrow. In 1856 FitzGerald wrote:-

31 GREAT PORTLAND STREET, LONDON, 27th October 1856.

My Dear Sir,—It is I who send you the new Turkish Dictionary [Redhouse's Turkish & English Dictionary] which ought to go by this Post; my reasons being that I bought it really only for the purpose of doing that little good to the spirited Publisher of the book (who thought when he began it that the [Crimean] War was to last), and I send it to you because I should be glad of your opinion, if you can give it. I am afraid that you will hardly condescend to USE it, for you abide in the old Meninsky; but if you WILL use it, I shall be very glad. I don't think I ever shall; and so what is to be done with it now it is bought?

I don't know what Kerrich told you of my being too LAZY to go over to Yarmouth to see you a year ago. No such thing as that. I simply had doubts as to whether you would not rather remain unlookt for. I know I enjoyed my evening with you a month ago. I wanted to ask you to read some of the Northern Ballads too; but you shut the book.

I must tell you. I am come up here on my way to Chichester to be married! to Miss Barton (of Quaker memory) and our united ages amount to 96!—a dangerous experiment on both sides. She at least brings a fine head and heart to the bargain—worthy of a better market. But it is to be, and I dare say you will honestly wish we may do well.

Keep the book as long as you will. It is useless to me. I shall be to be heard of through Geldeston Hall, Beccles. With compliments to Mrs Borrow, believe me,

Yours truly, EDWARD FITZGERALD.

P.S.—Donne is well, and wants to know about you.

A few months later FitzGerald wrote again:

ALBERT HOUSE, GORLESTON, 6th July 1857.

Dear Borrow,—Will you send me [The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam] by bearer. I only want to look at him, for that Frenchman {427a} has been misquoting him in a way that will make [Professor] E. Cowell [of Cambridge] answerable for another's blunder, which must not be. You shall have 'Omar back directly, or whenever you want him, and I should really like to make you a copy (taking my time) of the best Quatrains. I am now looking over the Calcutta MS. which has 500!— very many quite as good as those in the MS. you have; but very many in BOTH MSS. are well omitted.

I have been for a fortnight to Geldeston where Kerrich is not very well. I shall look for you one day in my Yarmouth rounds, and you know how entirely disengaged and glad to see you I am here. I have two fresh Nieces with me—and I find I gave you the WORST wine of two samples Diver sent me. I wish you would send word by bearer you are better—this one word written will be enough you see.

My old Parson Crabbe is bowing down under epileptic fits, or something like, and I believe his brave old white head will soon sink into the village Churchsward. Why, OUR time seems coming. Make way, Gentlemen!—Yours very truly,

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

What effect the sweet gentleness of FitzGerald's nature had upon that of Borrow is not known, for the replies have not been preserved. FitzGerald was a man capable of soothing the angriest and most discontented mind, and it is a misfortune that he saw so little of Borrow. In the early part of the following year (24th Jan. 1857) FitzGerald wrote to Professor E. B. Cowell of Cambridge:-

"I was with Borrow a week ago at Donne's, and also at Yarmouth three months ago: he is well, but not yet agreed with Murray. He read me a long Translation he had made from the Turkish: which I could not admire, and his Taste becomes stranger than ever." {428a}

From Wales Mrs George Borrow had written (Sept. 1854) to old Mrs Borrow: "He [Borrow] will, I expect at Christmas, publish his other work [The Romany Rye] together with his poetry in all the European languages." {428b} In November (1854) the manuscript of The Romany Rye was delivered to John Murray, who appears to have taken his time in reading it; for it was not until 23rd December that he expressed his views in the following letter. Even when the letter was written it was allowed to remain in John Murray's desk for five weeks, not being sent until 27th January:-

My Dear Borrow,—I have read with care the MS. of The Romany Rye and have pondered anxiously over it; and in what I am about to write I think I may fairly claim the privilege of a friend deeply interested in you personally, as well as in your reputation as author, and by no means insensible to the abilities displayed in your various works. It is my firm conviction then, that you will incur the certainty of failure and run the risque of injuring your literary fame by publishing the MS. as it stands. Very large omissions seem to me— and in this, Elwin, {429a} no mean judge, concurs—absolutely indispensable. That Lavengro would have profited by curtailment, I stated before its publication. The result has verified my anticipations, and in the present instance I feel compelled to make it the condition of publication. You can well imagine that it is not my INTEREST to shorten a book from two volumes to one unless there were really good cause.

Lavengro clearly has not been successful. Let us not then risque the chance of another failure, but try to avoid the rock upon which we then split. You have so great store of interesting matter in your mind and in your notes, that I cannot but feel it to be a pity that you should harp always upon one string, as it were. It seems to me that you have dwelt too long on English ground in this new work, and have resuscitated some characters of the former book (such as F. Ardry) whom your readers would have been better pleased to have left behind. Why should you not introduce us rather to those novel scenes of Moscovite and Hungarian life respecting which I have heard you drop so many stimulating allusions. Do not, I pray, take offence at what I have written. It is difficult and even painful for me to assume the office of critic, and this is one of the reasons why this note has lingered so long in my desk. Fortunately, in the advice I am tendering I am supported by others of better literary judgment than myself, and who have also deep regard for you. I will specify below some of the passages which I would point out for omission.— With best remembrances, I remain, my dear Borrow, Your faithful publisher and sincere friend,

JOHN MURRAY.

Suggestions for Omission.

The Hungarian in No. 6. The Jockey Story, terribly spun out, No. 7. Visit to the Church, too long. Interview with the Irishman, Do. Learning Chinese, too much repetition in this part of a very interesting chapter. The Postilion and Highwayman. Throughout the MS. condensation is indispensable. Many of the narratives are carried to a tedious length by details and repetition. The dialogue with Ursula, the song, etc., border on the indelicate. I like much Horncastle Fair, the Chinese scholar, except objection noted above. Grooming of the horse. January 27, 1855.

On 29th January, Mrs Borrow wrote to John Murray a letter that was inspired by Borrow himself. Dr Knapp discovered the original draft, some of which was in Borrow's own hand. It runs:-

Dear Mr Murray,—We have received your letters. In the first place I beg leave to say something on a very principal point. You talk about CONDITIONS of publishing. Mr Borrow has not the slightest wish to publish the book. The MS. was left with you because you wished to see it, and when left, you were particularly requested not to let it pass out of your own hands. But it seems you have shown it to various individuals whose opinions you repeat. What those opinions are worth may be gathered from the following fact.

The book is one of the most learned works ever written; yet in the summary of the opinions which you give, not one single allusion is made to the learning which pervades the book, no more than if it contained none at all. It is treated just as if all the philological and historical facts were mere inventions, and the book a common novel . . .

With regard to Lavengro it is necessary to observe that if ever a book experienced infamous and undeserved treatment it was that book. It was attacked in every form that envy and malice could suggest, on account of Mr Borrow's acquirements and the success of The Bible in Spain, and it was deserted by those whose duty it was, in some degree to have protected it. No attempt was ever made to refute the vile calumny that it was a book got up against the Popish agitation of '51. It was written years previous to that period—a fact of which none is better aware than the Publisher. Is that calumny to be still permitted to go unanswered?

If these suggestions are attended to, well and good; if not, Mr Borrow can bide his time. He is independent of the public and of everybody. Say no more on that Russian Subject. Mr Borrow has had quite enough of the press. If he wrote a book on Russia, it would be said to be like The Bible in Spain, or it would be said to be unlike The Bible in Spain, and would be blamed in either case. He has written a book in connection with England such as no other body could have written, and he now rests from his labours. He has found England an ungrateful country. It owes much to him, and he owes nothing to it. If he had been a low ignorant impostor, like a person he could name, he would have been employed and honoured.—I remain, Yours sincerely,

MARY BORROW.

On 5th April 1856 Mrs Borrow wrote again, requesting Murray to return the manuscript, but for what purpose she does not state. Two days later it was despatched by rail from Albemarle Street.

Some years before, Borrow had met Rev. Whitwell Elwin, Rector of Booton, somewhere about the time he (Elwin) came up to London to edit The Quarterly Review, viz., 1853. {431a} The first interview between the two men has been described as characteristic of both.

"Borrow was just then very sore with his slashing critics, and on someone mentioning that Elwin was a 'Quartering reviewer,' he said, 'Sir, I wish you a better employment.' Then hastily changing the subject, he called out, 'What party are you in the Church— Tractarian, Moderate, or Evangelical? I am happy to say, I am the old HIGH.' 'I am happy to say I am NOT,' was Elwin's emphatic reply. Borrow boasted of his proficiency in the Norfolk dialect, which he endeavoured to speak as broadly as possible. 'I told him,' said Elwin, 'that he had not cultivated it with his usual success.' As the conversation proceeded it became less disputatious, and the two ended by becoming so cordial that they promised to visit each other. Borrow fulfilled his promise in the following October, when he went to Booton, and was 'full of anecdote and reminiscence,' and delighted the rectory children by singing them songs in the gypsy tongue. Elwin during this visit urged him to try his hand at an article for the Review. 'Never,' he said, 'I have made a resolution never to have anything to do with such a blackguard trade.'" {432a}

Elwin became greatly interested in The Romany Rye. He endeavoured to influence its composition, and even wrote to Borrow begging him "to give his sequel to Lavengro more of an historical, and less of a romancing air." He was not happy about the book. He wrote to John Murray in March:-

"'It is not the statements themselves which provoke incredulity, but the melodramatic effect which he tries to impart to all his adventures.' Instead of 'roaring like a lion,' in reply, as Elwin had expected, he returned quite a 'lamb-like' note, which gave promise of a greater success for his new work than its precursor." {432b}

Borrow appears to have become tired of biding his time with regard to The Romany Rye, and on 27th Feb. 1857 he wrote to John Murray to say that "the work must go to press, and that unless the printing is forthwith commenced, I must come up to London and make arrangements myself. Time is passing away. It ought to have appeared many years ago. I can submit to no more delays." The work was accordingly proceeded with, and Elwin wrote a criticism of the work for The Quarterly Review from the proof-sheets:-

"When the review was almost finished, it was on the point of being altogether withdrawn, owing to a passage in Romany Rye which Elwin said was clearly meant to be a reflection on his friend Ford, 'to avenge the presumed refusal of the latter to praise Lavengro in The Quarterly Review.' 'I am very anxious,' he said, 'to get Borrow justice for rare merits which have been entirely overlooked, but if he persists in publishing an attack of this kind I shall, I fear, not be able to serve him.' The objectionable paragraphs had been written by Borrow under a misapprehension, and he cancelled them as soon as he was convinced of his error." {433a}

John Murray determined not to publish the book unless the offending passage were removed. He wrote to Borrow the following letter:-

8th April 1857.

My Dear Borrow,—When I have done anything towards you deserving of apology I will not hesitate to offer one. As it is, I have acted loyally towards you, and with a view to maintain your interests.

I agreed to publish your present work solely with the object of obliging you, and in a great degree at the strong recommendation of Cooke. I meant (as was my duty) to do my very best to promote its success. You on your side promised to listen to me in regard to any necessary omissions; and on the faith of this, I pointed out one omission, which I make the indispensable condition of my proceeding further with the book. I have asked nothing unfair nor unreasonable- -nay, a compliance with the request is essential for your own character as an author and a man.

You are the last man that I should ever expect to "frighten or bully"; and if a mild but firm remonstrance against an offensive passage in your book is interpreted by you into such an application, I submit that the grounds for the notion must exist nowhere but in your own imagination. The alternative offered to you is to omit or publish elsewhere. Nothing shall compel me to PUBLISH what you have written. Think calmly and dispassionately over this, and when you have decided let me know.

Yours very faithfully, JOHN MURRAY.

The reference that had so offended Murray and Elwin had, in all probability been interpolated in proof form, otherwise it would have been discovered either when Murray read the manuscript or Elwin the proofs. By return of post came the following reply from Borrow, then at Great Yarmouth:-

Dear Sir,—Yesterday I received your letter. You had better ask your cousin [Robert Cooke] to come down and talk about matters. AFTER Monday I shall be disengaged and shall be most happy to see him. And now I must tell you that you are exceedingly injudicious. You call a chapter heavy, and I, not wishing to appear unaccommodating, remove or alter two or three passages for which I do not particularly care, whereupon you make most unnecessary comments, obtruding your private judgment upon matters with which you have no business, and of which it is impossible that you should have a competent knowledge. If you disliked the passages you might have said so, but you had no right to say anything more. I believe that you not only meant no harm, but that your intentions were good; unfortunately, however, people with the best of intentions occasionally do a great deal of harm. In your language you are frequently in the highest degree injudicious; for example, in your last letter you talk of obliging me by publishing my work. Now is not that speaking very injudiciously? Surely you forget that I could return a most cutting answer were I disposed to do so.

I believe, however, that your intentions are good, and that you are disposed to be friendly.—Yours truly,

GEORGE BORROW.

The tone of this letter is strangely reminiscent of some of the Rev Andrew Brandram's admonitions to Borrow himself, during his association with the Bible Society. Borrow bowed to the wind, and the offending passage was deleted, and The Romany Rye eventually appeared on 30th April 1857, in an edition of a thousand copies. The public, or such part of it as had not forgotten Borrow, had been kept waiting six years to know what had happened on the morning after the storm. Lavengro had ended by the postilion concluding his story with "Young gentleman, I will now take a spell on your blanket—young lady, good-night," and presumably the three, Borrow, Isopel Berners and their guest had lain down to sleep, and a great quiet fell upon the dingle, and the moon and the stars shone down upon it, and the red glow from the charcoal in the brazier paled and died away.

The Romany Rye is a puzzling book. The latter portion, at least, seems to suggest "spiritual autobiography." It reveals the man, his atmosphere, his character, and nowhere better than among the jockeys at Horncastle. It gives a better and more convincing picture of Borrow than the most accurate list of dates and occurrences, all vouched for upon unimpeachable authority. It is impressionism applied to autobiography, which has always been considered as essentially a subject for photographic treatment. Borrow thought otherwise, with the result that many people decline to believe that his picture is a portrait, because there is a question as to the dates.

Among the reviews, which were on the whole unfriendly, was the remarkable notice in The Quarterly Review, by the Rev. Whitwell Elwin:- {435a}

"Nobody," he wrote, "sympathises with wounded vanity, and the world only laughs when a man angrily informs it that it does not rate him at his true value. The public to whom he appeals must, after all, be the judge of his pretensions. Their verdict at first is frequently wrong, but it is they themselves who must reverse it, and not the author who is upon his trial before them. The attacks of critics, if they are unjust, invariably yield to the same remedy. Though we do not think that Mr Borrow is a good counsel in his own cause, we are yet strongly of the opinion that Time in this case has some wrongs to repair, and that Lavengro has NOT obtained the fame which was its due. It contains passages which in their way are not surpassed by anything in English Literature."

The value of these prophetic words lies in the fine spirit of fatherly reproof in which the whole review was written. It is the work of a critic who regarded literature as a thing to be approached, both by author and reviewer, with grave and deliberate ceremony, not with enthusiasm or prejudice. From any other source the following words would not have possessed the significance they did, coming from a man of such sane ideas with the courage to express them:-

"Various portions of the history are known to be a faithful narrative of Mr Borrow's career, while we ourselves can testify, as to many other parts of his volumes, that nothing can excel the fidelity with which he has described both men and things. Far from his showing any tendency to exaggeration, such of his characters as we chance to have known, and they are not a few, are rather within the truth than beyond it. However picturesquely they may be drawn, the lines are invariably those of nature. Why under these circumstances he should envelop the question in mystery is more than we can divine. There can be no doubt that the larger part, and possibly the whole, of the work is a narrative of actual occurrences." {436a}

The Appendix itself, which had drawn from Elwin the grave declaration that "Mr Borrow is very angry with his critics," is a fine piece of rhetorical denunciation. It opens with the deliberate restraint of a man who feels the fury of his wrath surging up within him. It tells again the story of Lavengro, pointing morals as it goes. Then the studied calm is lost—Priestcraft, "Foreign Nonsense," "Gentility Nonsense," "Canting Nonsense," "Pseudo-Critics," "Pseudo-Radicals" he flogs and pillories mercilessly until, arriving at "The Old Radical," he throws off all restraint and lunges out wildly, mad with hate and despair. As a piece of literary folly, the Appendix to The Romany Rye has probably never been surpassed. It alienated from Borrow all but his personal friends, and it sealed his literary fate as far as his own generation was concerned. In short, he had burnt his boats.

Borrow had sent a copy of The Romany Rye to FitzGerald, which is referred to by him in a letter written from Gorleston to Professor Cowell (5th June 1857):-

"Within hail almost lives George Borrow who has lately published, and given me, two new Volumes of Lavengro called Romany Rye, with some excellent things, and some very bad (as I have made bold to write to him—how shall I face him!). You would not like the Book at all, I think." {437a}

Borrow was bitterly disappointed at the effect produced by The Romany Rye. On someone once saying that it was the finest piece of literary invective since Swift, he replied, "Yes, I meant it to be; and what do you think the effect was? No one took the least notice of it!" {437b}

The Romany Rye was not a success. The thousand copies lasted a year. When it appeared likely that a second edition would be required, Borrow wrote to John Murray urging him not to send the book to the press again until he "was quite sure the demand for it will at least defray all attendant expenses." He saw that whatever profits had resulted from the publication of the first edition, were in danger of being swallowed up in the preparation of a second. When this did eventually make its appearance in 1858, it was limited to 750 copies, which lasted until 1872.

Borrow's own attitude with regard to the work and his wisdom in publishing it is summed up in a letter to John Murray (17th Sept. 1857):-

"I was very anxious to bring it out," he writes; "and I bless God that I had the courage and perseverance to do so. It is of course unpalatable to many; for it scorns to foster delusion, to cry 'peace where there is no peace,' and denounces boldly the evils which are hurrying the country to destruction, and which have kindled God's anger against it, namely, the pride, insolence, cruelty, covetousness, and hypocrisy of its people, and above all the rage for gentility, which must be indulged in at the expense of every good and honourable feeling."

The writing of the Appendix had aroused in Borrow all his old enthusiasm, and he appears to have come to the determination to publish a number of works, including a veritable library of translations. At the end of The Romany Rye appeared a lengthy list of books in preparation. {438a}

In August 1857 Borrow paid a second visit to Wales, walking "upwards of four hundred miles." Starting from Laugharne in Carmarthenshire, he visited Tenby, Pembroke, Milford Haven, Haverford, St David's, Fishguard, Newport, Cardigan, Lampeter; passing into Brecknockshire, he eventually reached Mortimer's Cross in Hereford and thence to Shrewsbury. In October he was at Leighton, Donnington and Uppington, where he found traces of Gronwy Owen, the one-time curate and all- time poet.

Throughout his life Borrow had shown by every action and word written about her, the great love he bore his mother. When his wife wrote to her and he was too restless to do so himself, he would interpolate two or three lines to "My dear Mamma." She was always in his thoughts, and he never wavered in his love for her and devotion to her comfort; whilst she looked upon him as only a mother so good and so tender could look upon a son who had become her "only hope."

For many years of her life it had been ordained that this brave old lady should live alone. {439a} In the middle of August 1858 the news reached Borrow that his mother had been taken suddenly ill. She was in her eighty-seventh year, and at such an age all illnesses are dangerous. Borrow hastened to Oulton, and arrived just in time to be with her at the last.

Thus on 16th August 1858, of "pulmonary congestion," died Anne Borrow, who had followed her husband about with his regiment, and had reared and educated her two boys under circumstances of great disadvantage. She had lost one; but the other, her youngest born, whom she had so often shielded from his father's reproaches, had been spared to her, and she had seen him famous. Upon her grave in Oulton Churchyard the son caused to be inscribed the words, "She was a good wife and a good mother," than which no woman can ask more. {440a}

The death of his mother was a great shock to Borrow. "He felt the blow keenly," Mrs Borrow wrote to John Murray, "and I advised a tour in Scotland to recruit his health and spirits." Accordingly he went North early in October, leaving his wife and Henrietta at Great Yarmouth. He visited the Highlands, walking several hundred miles. Mull struck him as "a very wild country, perhaps the wildest in Europe." Many of its place-names reminded him strongly of the Isle of Man. At the end of November he finished up the tour at Lerwick in Shetland, where he bought presents for his "loved ones," having seen Greenock, Glasgow, Perth, Aberdeen, Inverness, Wick, Thurso among other places. His impressions were not altogether favourable to the Scotch. "A queerer country I never saw in all my life," he wrote later . . . "a queerer set of people than the Scotch you would scarcely see in a summer's day." {440b}

In the following year (1859) an excursion was made to Ireland by Borrow and his family. Making Dublin his headquarters, where he left his wife and Henrietta comfortably settled, he tramped to Connemara and the Giant's Causeway, the expedition being full of adventure and affording him "much pleasure," in spite of the fact that he was "frequently wet to the skin, and indifferently lodged."

Borrow had inherited from his mother some property at Mattishall Burgh, one and a half miles from his birth-place, consisting of some land, a thatched house and outbuildings, now demolished. This was let to a small-holder named Henry Hill. Borrow thought very highly of his tenant, and for hours together would tramp up and down beside him as he ploughed the land, asking questions, and hearing always something new from the amazing stores of nature knowledge that Henry Hill had acquired. This Norfolk worthy appears to have been possessed of a genius for many things. He was well versed in herbal lore, a self-taught 'cellist, playing each Sunday in the Congregational Chapel at Mattishall, and an equally self-taught watch-repairer; but his chief claim to fame was as a bee-keeper, local tradition crediting him with being the first man to keep bees under glass. He would solemnly state that his bees, whom he looked upon as friends, talked to him. On Sundays the country folk for miles round would walk over to Mattishall Burgh to see old Henry Hill's bees, and hear him expound their lore. It was perforce Sunday, there was no other day for the Norfolk farm-labourer of that generation, who seemed always to live on the verge of starvation. Borrow himself expressed regret to Henry Hill that it had not been possible to add the education of the academy to that of the land. He saw that the combination would have produced an even more remarkable man.

In Norfolk all strangers are regarded with suspicion. Lifelong friendships are not contracted in a day. The East Anglian is shrewd, and requires to know something about those whom he admits to the sacred inner circle of his friendship. Borrow was well-known in the Mattishall district, and was looked upon with more than usual suspicion. He was unquestionably a strange man, in speech, in appearance, in habits. He could and would knock down any who offended him; but, worst of all, he was the intimate of gypsies, sat by their fires, spoke in their tongue. The population round about was entirely an agricultural one, and all united in hating the gypsies as their greatest enemies, because of their depredations. Add to this the fact that Borrow was a frequenter of public-houses, of which there were SEVEN in the village, and was wont to boast that you could get at the true man only after he had been mellowed into speech by good English ale. Then he would open his heart and unburden his mind of all the accumulated knowledge that he possessed, and add something to the epic of the soil. Borrow's overbearing manner made people shy of him. On one occasion he told John, the son and successor of Henry Hill, that he ought to be responsible for the debt of his half-brother; the debt, it may be mentioned, was to Borrow.

There is no better illustration of the suspicion with which Borrow was regarded locally, than an incident that occurred during one of his visits to Mattishall. He called upon John Hill at Church Farm to collect his rent. The evening was spent very agreeably. Borrow recited some of his ballads, quoted Scripture and languages, and sang a song. He was particularly interested on account of Mrs Hill being from London, where she knew many of his haunts. He remained the whole evening with the family and partook of their meal; but was allowed to go to one of the seven public-houses for a bed, although there were spare bedrooms in the house that he might have occupied. Such was the suspicion that Borrow's habits created in the minds of his fellow East Anglians. {442a}



CHAPTER XXVIII: JULY 1859-JANUARY 1869



After his second tour in Wales, Borrow had submitted to John Murray the manuscript of his translation of The Sleeping Bard, which in 1830 had so alarmed the little Welsh bookseller of Smithfield. "I really want something to do," Borrow wrote, "and seeing the work passing through the press might amuse me." Murray, however, could not see his way to accept the offer, and the manuscript was returned. Borrow decided to publish the book at his own expense, and accordingly commissioned a Yarmouth man to print him 250 copies, upon the title- page of which John Murray permitted his name to appear.

In the note in which he tells of the Welsh bookseller's doubts and fears, Borrow goes on to assure his readers that there is no harm in the book.

"It is true," he says, "that the Author is any thing but mincing in his expressions and descriptions, but there is nothing in the Sleeping Bard which can give offence to any but the over fastidious. There is a great deal of squeamish nonsense in the world; let us hope however that there is not so much as there was. Indeed can we doubt that such folly is on the decline, when we find Albemarle Street in '60, willing to publish a harmless but plain speaking book which Smithfield shrank from in '30."

The edition was very speedily exhausted, largely on account of an article entitled, The Welsh and Their Literature, written years before, that Borrow adapted as a review of the book, and published anonymously in The Quarterly Review (Jan. 1861). The Sleeping Bard was not reprinted.

The next event of importance in Borrow's life was his removal to London with Mrs Borrow and Henrietta. Towards the end of the Irish holiday (4th Nov. 1859), Mrs Borrow had written to John Murray: "If all be well in the Spring, I shall wish to look around, and select a pleasant, healthy residence within from three to ten miles of London." Borrow may have felt more at liberty to make the change now that his mother was dead, although whilst she was at Oulton he was as little company for her at Great Yarmouth as he would have been in London. Whatever led them to the decision to take up their residence in London, Borrow and his wife left Great Yarmouth at the end of June, and immediately proceeded to look about them for a suitable house. Their choice eventually fell upon number 22 Hereford Square, Brompton, which had the misfortune to be only a few doors from number 26, where lived Frances Power Cobbe. The rent was 65 pounds per annum. The Borrows entered upon their tenancy at the Michaelmas quarter, and were joined by Henrietta, who had remained behind at Great Yarmouth during the house-hunting.

Miss Cobbe has given in her Autobiography a very unlovely picture of George Borrow during the period of his residence in Hereford Square. No woman, except his relatives and dependants, will tolerate egoism in a man. Borrow was an egoist. If not permitted to lead the conversation, he frequently wrapped himself in a gloomy silence and waited for an opportunity to discomfit the usurper of the place he seemed to consider his own. Among his papers were found after his death a large number of letters from poor men whom Borrow had assisted. His friend the Rev. Francis Cunningham once wrote to him a letter protesting against his assisting Nonconformist schools. He gave to Church and Chapel alike. This disproves misanthropy, and leaves egoism as the only explanation of his occasional lapses into bitterness or rudeness. When in happy vein, however, "his conversation . . . was unlike that of any other man; whether he told a long story or only commented on some ordinary topic, he was always quaint, often humorous." {445a}

Miss Cobbe would not humour an egoist, because constitutionally women, especially clever women, dislike them, unless they wish to marry them. When she heard it said, as it very frequently was said, that Borrow was a gypsy by blood, she caustically remarked that if he were not he "OUGHT to have been." Miss Cobbe had living with her a Miss Lloyd who, "amused by his quaint stories and his (real or sham) enthusiasm for Wales, . . . cultivated his acquaintance. I," continued Miss Cobbe frankly, "never liked him, thinking him more or less of a hypocrite." {445b}

On one occasion Borrow had accepted an invitation from Miss Cobbe to meet some friends, but subsequently withdrew his acceptance "on finding that Dr Martineau was to be of the party . . . nor did he ever after attend our little assemblies without first ascertaining that Dr Martineau would not be present!" This she explained by the assertion that Dr Martineau had "horsed" Borrow when he was punished for running away from school at Norwich. It appeared "irresistibly comic" to her mind.

There is an amusing account given by Miss Cobbe of how she worsted Borrow, which is certainly extremely flattering to her accomplishments. Once when talking with him she happened to say

"something about the imperfect education of women, and he said it was RIGHT they should be ignorant, and that no man could endure a clever wife. I laughed at him openly," she continues, "and told him some men knew better. What did he think of the Brownings? 'Oh, he had heard the name; he did not know anything of them. Since Scott, he read no modern writer; Scott WAS GREATER THAN HOMER! What he liked were curious, old, erudite books about mediaeval and northern things.' I said I knew little of such literature, and preferred the writers of our own age, but indeed I was no great student at all. Thereupon he evidently wanted to astonish me; and, talking of Ireland, said, 'Ah, yes; a most curious, mixed race. First there were the Firbolgs,—the old enchanters, who raised mists.' . . . 'Don't you think, Mr Borrow,' I asked, 'it was the Tuatha-de-Danaan who did that? Keatinge expressly says that they conquered the Firbolgs by that means.' (Mr B. somewhat out of countenance), 'Oh! Aye! Keatinge is THE authority; a most extraordinary writer.' 'Well, I should call him the Geoffrey of Monmouth of Ireland.' (Mr B. changing the VENUE), 'I delight in Norse-stories; they are far grander than the Greek. There is the story of Olaf the Saint of Norway. Can anything be grander? What a noble character!' 'But,' I said, 'what do YOU think of his putting all those poor Druids on the Skerry of Shrieks, and leaving them to be drowned by the tide?' (Thereupon Mr B. looked at me askant out of his gipsy eyes, as if he thought me an example of the evils of female education!) 'Well! Well! I forgot about the Skerry of Shrieks. Then there is the story of Beowulf the Saxon going out to sea in his burning ship to die.' 'Oh, Mr Borrow! that isn't a Saxon story at all. It is in the Heimskringla! It is told of Hakon of Norway.' Then, I asked him about the gipsies and their language, and if they were certainly Aryans? He didn't know (or pretended not to know) what Aryans were; and altogether displayed a miraculous mixture of odd knowledge and more odd ignorance. Whether the latter were real or assumed I know not!" {446a}

These were some of the neighbourly little pleasantries indulged in by Miss Cobbe, regarding a man who was a frequent guest at her house.

"His has indeed been a fantastic fate!" writes Mr Theodore Watts- Dunton. "When the shortcomings of any illustrious man save Borrow are under discussion, 'les defauts de ses qualites' is the criticism- -wise as charitable—which they evoke. Yes, each one is allowed to have his angularities save Borrow. Each one is allowed to show his own pet unpleasant facets of character now and then—allowed to show them as inevitable foils to the pleasant ones—save Borrow. HIS weaknesses no one ever condones. During his lifetime his faults were for ever chafing and irritating his acquaintances, and now that he and they are dead, these faults of his seem to be chafing and irritating people of another generation. A fantastic fate, I say, for him who was so interesting to some of us!" {447a}

On occasion Borrow could be inexcusably rude, as he was to a member of the Russian Embassy who one day called at Hereford Square for a copy of Targum for the Czar, when he told him that his Imperial master could fetch it himself. Again, no one can defend him for affronting the "very distinguished scholar" with whom he happened to disagree, by thundering out, "Sir, you're a fool!" Such lapses are deplorable; but why should we view them in a different light from those of Dr Johnson?

What would have been regarded in another distinguished man as a pleasant vein of humour was in Borrow's case looked upon as evidence of his unveracity. A contemporary tells how, on one occasion, he went with him into "a tavern" for a pint of ale, when Borrow pointed out

"a yokel at the far end of the apartment. The foolish bumpkin was slumbering. Borrow in a stage whisper, gravely assured me that the man was a murderer, and confided to me with all the emphasis of honest conviction the scene and details of his crime. Subsequently I ascertained that the elaborate incidents and fine touches of local colour were but the coruscations of a too vivid imagination, and that the villain of the ale-house on the common was as innocent as the author of The Romany Rye." {447b}

If Borrow had been called upon to explain this little pleasantry he would in all probability have replied in the words of Mr Petulengro, that he had told his acquaintance "things . . . which are not exactly true, simply to make a fool of you, brother."

It is strange how those among his contemporaries who disliked him, denied Borrow the indulgence that is almost invariably accorded to genius. Those who were not for him were bitterly against him. In their eyes he was either outrageously uncivil or insultingly rude. Dr Hake, although a close friend, saw Borrow's dominant weakness, his love of the outward evidences of fame. Dr Hake's impartiality gives greater weight to his testimony when he tells of Borrow's first meeting with Dr Robert Latham, the ethnologist, philologist and grammarian. Latham much wanted to meet Borrow, and promised Dr Hake to be on his best behaviour. He was accordingly invited to dinner with Borrow. Latham as usual began to show off his knowledge. He became aggressive, and finally very excited; but throughout the meal Borrow showed the utmost patience and courtesy, much to his host's relief. When he subsequently encountered Latham in the street he always stopped "to say a kind word, seeing his forlorn condition."

Dr Hake had settled at Coombe End, Roehampton, and now that the Borrows were in London, the two families renewed their old friendship. Borrow would walk over to Coombe End, and on arriving at the gate would call out, "Are you alone?" If there were other callers he would pass by, if not he would enter and frequently persuade Dr Hake, and perhaps his sons, to accompany him for a walk.

"There was something not easily forgotten," writes Mr A. Egmont Hake, "in the manner in which he would unexpectedly come to our gates, singing some gypsy song, and as suddenly depart." {448a} They had many pleasant tramps together, mostly in Richmond Park, where Borrow appeared to know every tree and showed himself very learned in deer. He was

"always saying something in his loud, self-asserting voice; sometimes stopping suddenly, drawing his huge stature erect, and changing the keen and haughty expression of his face into the rapt and half fatuous look of the oracle, he would without preface recite some long fragment from Welsh or Scandinavian bards, his hands hanging from his chest and flapping in symphony. Then he would push on again, and as suddenly stop, arrested by the beautiful scenery, and exclaim, 'Ah! this is England, as the Pretender said when he again looked on his fatherland.' Then on reaching any town, he would be sure to spy out some lurking gypsy, whom no one but himself would have known from a common horse-dealer. A conversation in Romany would ensue, a shilling would change hands, two fingers would be pointed at the gypsy, and the interview would be at an end." {449a}

One day he asked Dr Hake's youngest boy if he knew how to fight a man bigger than himself, and on being told that he didn't, advised him to "accept his challenge, and tell him to take off his coat, and while he was doing it knock him down and then run for your life." {449b}

Once Borrow arrived at Dr Hake's house to find another caller in the person of Mr Theodore Watts-Dunton, and they "went through a pleasant trio, in which Borrow, as was his wont, took the first fiddle . . . Borrow made himself agreeable to Watts [-Dunton], recited a fairy tale in the best style to him, and liked him." Borrow did not recognise in Mr Watts-Dunton the young man whom he had seen bathing on the beach at Great Yarmouth, pleased to be near his hero, but too much afraid to venture to address him. Writing of this meeting at Coombe End, Mr Watts-Dunton says: "There is however no doubt that Borrow would have run away from me had I been associated in his mind with the literary calling. But at that time I had written nothing at all save poems, and a prose story or two of a romantic kind." Borrow hated the literary man, he was at war with the whole genus.

Mr Watts-Dunton confesses that he made great efforts to enlist Borrow's interest. He touched on Bamfylde Moore Carew, beer, bruisers, philology, "gentility nonsense," the "trumpery great"; but without success. Borrow was obviously suspicious of him. Then with inspiration he happened to mention what proved to be a magic name.

"I tried other subjects in the same direction," Mr Watts-Dunton continues, "but with small success, till in a lucky moment I bethought myself of Ambrose Gwinett, . . . the man who, after having been hanged and gibbeted for murdering a traveller with whom he had shared a double-bedded room at a seaside inn, revived in the night, escaped from the gibbet-irons, went to sea as a common sailor, and afterwards met on a British man-of-war the very man he had been hanged for murdering. The truth was that Gwinett's supposed victim, having been attacked on the night in question by a violent bleeding of the nose, had risen and left the house for a few minutes' walk in the sea-breeze, when the press-gang captured him and bore him off to sea, where he had been in service ever since. The story is true, and the pamphlet, Borrow afterwards told me (I know not on what authority), was written by Goldsmith from Gwinett's dictation for a platter of cow-heel.

"To the bewilderment of Dr Hake, I introduced the subject of Ambrose Gwinett in the same manner as I might have introduced the story of 'Achilles' wrath,' and appealed to Dr Hake (who, of course, had never heard of the book or the man) as to whether a certain incident in the pamphlet had gained or lost by the dramatist who, at one of the minor theatres, had many years ago dramatized the story. Borrow was caught at last. 'What?' said he, 'you know that pamphlet about Ambrose Gwinett?' 'Know it?' said I, in a hurt tone, as though he had asked me if I knew 'Macbeth'; 'of course I know Ambrose Gwinett, Mr Borrow, don't you?' 'And you know the play?' said he. 'Of course I do, Mr Borrow,' I said, in a tone that was now a little angry at such an insinuation of crass ignorance. 'Why,' said he, 'it's years and years since it was acted; I never was much of a theatre man, but I did go to see THAT.' 'Well I should rather think you DID, Mr Borrow,' said I. 'But,' said he, staring hard at me, 'you—you were not born!' 'And I was not born,' said I, 'when the "Agamemnon" was produced, and yet one reads the "Agamemnon," Mr Borrow. I have read the drama of "Ambrose Gwinett." I have it bound in morocco, with some more of Douglas Jerrold's early transpontine plays, and some AEschylean dramas by Mr Fitzball. I will lend it to you, Mr Borrow, if you like.' He was completely conquered, 'Hake!' he cried, in a loud voice, regardless of my presence, 'Hake! your friend knows everything.' Then he murmured to himself. 'Wonderful man! Knows Ambrose Gwinett!'

"It is such delightful reminiscences as these that will cause me to have as long as I live a very warm place in my heart for the memory of George Borrow." {451a}

After this, intercourse proved easy. At Borrow's suggestion they walked to the Bald-Faced Stag, in Kingston Vale, to inspect Jerry Abershaw's sword. This famous old hostelry was a favourite haunt of Borrow's, where he would often rest during his walk and drink "a cup of ale" (which he would call "swipes," and make a wry face as he swallowed) and talk of the daring deeds of Jerry the highwayman.

Many people have testified to the pleasure of being in the company of the whimsical, eccentric, humbug-hating Borrow.

"He was a choice companion on a walk," writes Mr A. Egmont Hake, "whether across country or in the slums of Houndsditch. His enthusiasm for nature was peculiar; he could draw more poetry from a wide-spreading marsh with its straggling rushes than from the most beautiful scenery, and would stand and look at it with rapture." {451b}