Transcribed from the 1912 John Murray edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org

                          [Picture: Book cover]

    [Picture: George Borrow from the picture in the possession of John
                                 Murray]





                               THE LIFE OF
                              GEORGE BORROW


                        COMPILED FROM UNPUBLISHED
                         OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS, HIS
                       WORKS, CORRESPONDENCE, ETC.

                            BY HERBERT JENKINS

                 WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN PHOTOGRAVURE, AND
                        TWELVE OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS

                                * * * * *

                                  LONDON
                    JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
                                   1912

                                * * * * *

                                    TO
                         JOHN MURRARY THE FOURTH

              IN GRATEFUL RECOLLECTION OF THE KEEN INTEREST
                HE HAS SHOWN IN THE WRITING OF THE LIFE OF
              A MAN WHOM HE WELL REMEMBERS AND MUCH ADMIRES
                         THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
                              BY THE AUTHOR

                                * * * * *




PREFACE


DURING the whole of Borrow’s manhood there was probably only one period
when he was unquestionably happy in his work and content with his
surroundings.  He may almost be said to have concentrated into the seven
years (1833–1840) that he was employed by the British and Foreign Bible
Society in Russia, Portugal and Spain, a lifetime’s energy and resource.
From an unknown hack-writer, who hawked about unsaleable translations of
Welsh and Danish bards, a travelling tinker and a vagabond Ulysses, he
became a person of considerable importance.  His name was acclaimed with
praise and enthusiasm at Bible meetings from one end of the country to
the other.  He developed an astonishing aptitude for affairs, a tireless
energy, and a diplomatic resourcefulness that aroused silent wonder in
those who had hitherto regarded him as a failure.  His illegal
imprisonment in Madrid nearly brought about a diplomatic rupture between
Great Britain and Spain, and later his missionary work in the Peninsula
was referred to by Sir Robert Peel in the House of Commons as an instance
of what could be achieved by courage and determination in the face of
great difficulties.

Those seven rich and productive years realised to the full the strange
talents and unsuspected abilities of George Borrow’s unique character.
He himself referred to the period spent in Spain as the “five happiest
years” of his life.  When, however, his life came to be written by Dr
Knapp, than whom no biographer has approved himself more loyal or
enthusiastic, it was found that the records of that period were not
accessible.  The letters that he had addressed to the Bible Society had
been mislaid.  These came to light shortly after the publication of Dr
Knapp’s work, and type-written copies were placed at my disposal by the
General Committee long before they were given to the public in volume
form.

A systematic search at the Public Record Office has revealed a wealth of
unpublished documents, including a lengthy letter from Borrow relating to
his imprisonment at Seville in 1839.  From other sources much valuable
information and many interesting anecdotes have been obtained, and
through the courtesy of their possessor a number of unpublished Borrow
letters are either printed in their entirety or are quoted from in this
volume.

My thanks are due in particular to the Committee of British and Foreign
Bible Society for placing at my disposal the copies of the Borrow
Letters, and also for permission to reproduce the interesting silhouette
of the Rev. Andrew Brandram, and to the Rev. T. H. Darlow, M.A. (Literary
Superintendent), whose uniform kindness and desire to assist me I find it
impossible adequately to acknowledge.  My thanks are also due to the Rt.
Hon. Sir Edward Grey, M.P., for permission to examine the despatches from
the British Embassy at Madrid at the Record Office, and the Registers of
Passports at the Foreign Office, and to Mr F. H. Bowring (son of Sir John
Bowring), Mr Wilfrid J. Bowring (who has placed at my disposal a number
of letters from Borrow to his grandfather), Mr R. W. Brant, Mr Ernest H.
Caddie, Mr William Canton, Mr S. D. Charles, an ardent Borrovian from
whom I have received much kindness and many valuable suggestions, Mr A.
I. Dasent, the editors of _The Athenæum_ and _The Bookman_, Mr Thomas
Hake, Mr D. B. Hill of Mattishall, Norfolk, Mr James Hooper, Mr W. F. T.
Jarrold (for permission to reproduce the hitherto unpublished portrait of
Borrow painted by his brother), Dr F. G. Kenyon, C.B., Mr F. A. Mumby, Mr
George Porter of Denbigh (for interesting particulars about Borrow’s
first visit to Wales), Mr Theodore Rossi, Mr Theodore Watts-Dunton, Mr
Thomas Vade-Walpole, who have all responded to my appeal for help with
great willingness.

To one friend, who elects to be nameless, I am deeply grateful for many
valuable suggestions and much help; but above all for the keen interest
he has taken in a work which he first encouraged me to write.  To her who
gave so plentifully of her leisure in transcribing documents at the
Record Office and in research work at the British Museum and elsewhere, I
am indebted beyond all possibility of acknowledgment.  To no one more
than to Mr John Murray are my acknowledgments due for his unfailing
kindness, patience and assistance.  It is no exaggeration to state that
but for his aid and encouragement this book could not have been written.

                                                          HERBERT JENKINS.

_January_, 1912.




CHAPTER I:
1678–MAY 1816


ON 28th July 1783 was held the annual fair at Menheniot, and for miles
round the country folk flocked into the little Cornish village to join in
the festivities.  Among the throng was a strong contingent of young men
from Liskeard, a town three miles distant, between whom and the youth of
Menheniot an ancient feud existed.  In days when the bruisers of England
were national heroes, and a fight was a fitting incident of a day’s
revelry, the very presence of their rivals was a sufficient challenge to
the chivalry of Menheniot, and a contest became inevitable.  Some
unrecorded incident was accepted by both parties as a sufficient cause
for battle, and the two factions were soon fighting furiously midst
collapsing stalls and tumbled merchandise.  Women shrieked and fainted,
men shouted and struck out grimly, whilst the stall-holders, in a frenzy
of grief and despair, wrung their hands helplessly as they saw their
goods being trampled to ruin beneath the feet of the contestants.

Slowly the men of Liskeard were borne back by their more numerous
opponents.  They wavered, and just as defeat seemed inevitable, there
arrived upon the scene a young man who, on seeing his townsmen in danger
of being beaten, placed himself at their head and charged down upon the
enemy, forcing them back by the impetuosity of his attack.

The new arrival was a man of fine physique, above the medium height and a
magnificent fighter, who, later in life, was to achieve something of
which a Mendoza or a Belcher might have been proud.  He fought strongly
and silently, inspiring his fellow townsmen by his example.  The new
leader had entirely turned the tide of battle, but just as the defeat of
the men of Menheniot seemed certain, a diversion was created by the
arrival of the local constables.  Now that their own villagers were on
the verge of disaster, there was no longer any reason why they should
remain in the background.  They made a determined effort to arrest the
leader of the Liskeard contingent, and were promptly knocked down by him.

At that moment Mr Edmund Hambley, a much-respected maltster and the
headborough of Liskeard, was attracted to the spot.  Seeing in the person
of the outrageous leader of the battle one of his own apprentices, he
stepped forward and threatened him with arrest.  Goaded to desperation by
the scornful attitude of the young man, the master-maltster laid hands
upon him, and instantly shared the fate of the constables.  With great
courage and determination the headborough rose to his feet and again
attempted to enforce his authority, but with no better result.  When he
picked himself up for a second time, it was to pass from the scene of his
humiliation and, incidentally, out of the life of the young man who had
defied his authority.

The young apprentice was Thomas Borrow (born December 1758), eighth and
posthumous child of John Borrow and of Mary his wife, of Trethinnick (the
House on the Hill), in the neighbouring parish of St Cleer, two and a
half miles north of Liskeard.  At the age of fifteen, Thomas had begun to
work upon his father’s farm.  At nineteen he was apprenticed to Edmund
Hambley, maltster, of Liskeard, who five years later, in his official
capacity as Constable of the Hundred of Liskeard, was to be publicly
defied and twice knocked down by his insubordinate apprentice.

A trifling affair in itself, this village fracas was to have a lasting
effect upon the career of Thomas Borrow.  He was given to understand by
his kinsmen that he need not look to them for sympathy or assistance in
his wrongdoing.  The Borrows of Trethinnick could trace back further than
the parish registers record (1678).  They were godly and law-abiding
people, who had stood for the king and lost blood and harvests in his
cause.  If a son of the house disgrace himself, the responsibility must
be his, not theirs.  In the opinion of his family, Thomas Borrow had, by
his vigorous conduct towards the headborough, who was also his master,
placed himself outside the radius of their sympathy.  At this period
Trethinnick, a farm of some fifty acres in extent, was in the hands of
Henry, Thomas’ eldest brother, who since his mother’s death, ten years
before, had assumed the responsibility of launching his youngest brother
upon the world.

Fearful of the result of his assault on the headborough, Thomas Borrow
left St Cleer with great suddenness, and for five months disappeared
entirely.  On 29th December he presented himself as a recruit before
Captain Morshead, {3} in command of a detachment of the Coldstream
Guards, at that time stationed in the duchy.

Thomas Borrow was no stranger to military training.  For five years he
had been in the Yeomanry Militia, which involved a short annual training.
In the regimental records he is credited with five years “former
service.”  He remained for eight years with the Coldstream Guards, most
of the time being passed in London barracks.  He had no money with which
to purchase a commission, and his rise was slow and deliberate.  At the
end of nine months he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and five
years later he became a sergeant.  In 1792 he was transferred as
Sergeant-Major to the First, or West Norfolk Regiment of Militia, whose
headquarters were at East Dereham in Norfolk.

It was just previous to this transfer that Sergeant Borrow had his famous
encounter in Hyde Park with Big Ben Bryan, the champion of England; he
“whose skin was brown and dusky as that of a toad.”  It was a combat in
which “even Wellington or Napoleon would have been heartily glad to cry
for quarter ere the lapse of five minutes, and even the Blacksmith Tartar
would, perhaps, have shrunk from the opponent with whom, after having had
a dispute with him,” Sergeant Borrow “engaged in single combat for one
hour, at the end of which time the champions shook hands and retired,
each having experienced quite enough of the other’s prowess.” {4a}

At East Dereham Thomas Borrow met Ann {4b} Perfrement, {4c} a strikingly
handsome girl of twenty, whose dark eyes first flashed upon him from over
the footlights.  It was, and still is, the custom for small touring
companies to engage their supernumeraries in the towns in which they were
playing.  The pretty daughter of Farmer Perfrement, whose farm lay about
one and a half miles out of East Dereham, was one of those who took
occasion to earn a few shillings for pin-money.  The Perfrements were of
Huguenot stock.  On the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, their
ancestors had fled from their native town of Caen and taken refuge in
East Anglia, there to enjoy the liberty of conscience denied them in
their beloved Normandy.  Thomas Borrow made the acquaintance of the young
probationer, and promptly settled any aspirations that she may have had
towards the stage by marrying her.  The wedding took place on 11th
February 1793 at East Dereham church, best known as the resting-place of
the poet Cowper, Ann being twenty-one and Thomas thirty-four years of
age.

For the next seven years Thomas and Ann Borrow moved about with the West
Norfolk Militia, which now marched off into Essex, a few months later
doubling back again into Norfolk.  Then it dived into Kent and for a time
hovered about the Cinque Ports, Thomas Borrow in the meantime being
promoted to the rank of quarter-master (27th May 1795).  It was not until
he had completed fourteen years of service that he received a commission.
On 27th February 1798 he became Adjutant in the same regiment, a
promotion that carried with it a captain’s rank.

Whilst at Sandgate Mrs Borrow became acquainted with John Murray, the son
of the founder of the publishing house from which, forty-four years
later, were to be published the books of her second son, then unborn.
The widow of John Murray the First had married in 1795 Lieutenant Henry
Paget of the West Norfolk Militia.  Years later (27th March 1843) George
Borrow wrote to John Murray, Junr., third of the line:

    “I am at present in Norwich with my mother, who has been ill, but is
    now, thank God, recovering fast.  She begs leave to send her kind
    remembrances to Mr Murray.  She knew him at Sandgate in Kent
    _forty-six_ years ago, when he came to see his mother, Mrs P[aget].
    She was also acquainted with his sister, Miss Jane Murray, {5} who
    used to ride on horseback with her on the Downs.  She says Captain
    [_sic_] Paget once cooked a dinner for Mrs P. and herself; and sat
    down to table with his cook’s apron on.  Is not this funny?  Does it
    not ‘beat the Union,’ as the Yankees say?”

The first child of the marriage was born in 1800, it is not known exactly
when or where.  This was John, “the brother some three years older than
myself,” whose beauty in infancy was so great “that people, especially
those of the poorer classes, would follow the nurse who carried him about
in order to look at and bless his lovely face,” {6a} with its rosy cheeks
and smiling, blue-eyed innocence.  On one occasion even, an attempt was
made to snatch him from the arms of his nurse as she was about to enter a
coach.  The parents became a prey to anxiety; for the child seems to have
possessed many endearing qualities as well as good looks.  He was quick
and clever, and when the time came for instruction, “he mastered his
letters in a few hours, and in a day or two could decipher the names of
people on the doors of houses and over the shop windows.” {6b}  His
cleverness increased as he grew up, and later he seems to have become, in
the mind of Captain Borrow at least, a standard by which to measure the
shortcomings of his younger son George, whom he never was able to
understand.

For the next three years, 1800–3, the regiment continued to hover about
the home counties.  The Peace of Amiens released many of the untried
warriors, who had enlisted “until the peace,” their adjutant having to
find new recruits to fill up the gaps.  War broke out again the following
year (18th May 1803), and the Great Terror assumed a phase so critical as
to subdue almost entirely all thought of party strife.  On 5th July Ann
Borrow gave birth to a second son, in the house of her father.  At the
time Captain Borrow was hunting for recruits in other parts of Norfolk,
in order to send them to Colchester, where the regiment was stationed.
In due course the child was christened George Henry {7a} at the church of
East Dereham, and, within a few weeks of his birth, he received his first
experience of the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life, by accompanying his
father, mother, and brother to Colchester to rejoin the regiment.  The
whole infancy of George Borrow was spent in the same trailing
restlessness.  Napoleon was alive and at large, and the West Norfolks
seemed doomed eternally to march and countermarch in the threatened area,
Sussex, Kent, Essex.

No efforts appear to have been made to steal the younger brother,
although “people were in the habit of standing still to look at me, ay,
more than at my brother.” {7b}  Unlike John in about everything that one
child could be unlike another, George was a gloomy, introspective
creature who considerably puzzled his parents.  He compares himself to “a
deep, dark lagoon, shaded by black pines, cypresses and yews,” {7c}
beside which he once paused to contemplate “a beautiful stream . . .
sparkling in the sunshine, and . . . tumbling merrily into cascades,”
{7d} which he likened to his brother.

Slow of comprehension, almost dull-witted, shy of society, sometimes
bursting into tears when spoken to, George became “a lover of nooks and
retired corners,” {7e} where he would sit for hours at a time a prey to
“a peculiar heaviness . . . and at times . . . a strange sensation of
fear, which occasionally amounted to horror,” {7f} for which there was no
apparent cause.  In time he grew to be as much disliked as his brother
was admired.  On one occasion an old Jew pedlar, attracted by the latent
intelligence in the smouldering eyes of the silent child, who ignored his
questions and continued tracing in the dust with his fingers curious
lines, pronounced him “a prophet’s child.”  This carried to the mother’s
heart a quiet comfort; and reawakened in her hope for the future of her
second son.

  [Picture: The birthplace of George Borrow, East Dereham.  Photo. H. T.
                           Cave, East Dereham]

The early childhood of George Borrow was spent in stirring times.
Without, there was the menace of Napoleon’s invasion; within, every
effort was being made to meet and repel it.  Dumouriez was preparing his
great scheme of defence; Captain Thomas Borrow was doing his utmost to
collect and drill men to help in carrying it into effect.  Sometimes the
family were in lodgings; but more frequently in barracks, for reasons of
economy.  Once, at least, they lived under canvas.

The strange and puzzling child continued to impress his parents in a
manner well-calculated to alarm them.  One day, with a cry of delight, he
seized a viper that, “like a line of golden light,” was moving across the
lane in which he was playing.  Whilst making no effort to harm the child,
who held and regarded it with awe and admiration, the reptile showed its
displeasure towards John, his brother, by hissing and raising its head as
if to strike.  This happened when George was between two and three years
of age.  At about the same period he ate largely of some poisonous
berries, which resulted in “strong convulsions,” lasting for several
hours.  He seems to have been a source of constant anxiety to his
parents, who were utterly unable to understand the strange and gloomy
child who had been vouchsafed to them by the inscrutable decree of
providence.

In the middle of the year 1809 the regiment returned from Essex to
Norfolk, marching first to Norwich and thence to other towns in the
county.  Captain Borrow and his family took up their quarters once more
at Dereham.  George was now six years old, acutely observant of the
things that interested him, but reluctant to proceed with studies which,
in his eyes, seemed to have nothing to recommend them.  Books possessed
no attraction for him, although he knew his alphabet and could even read
imperfectly.  The acquirement of book-learning he found a dull and
dolorous business, to which he was driven only by the threats or
entreaties of his parents, who showed some concern lest he should become
an “arrant dunce.”

The intelligence that the old Jew pedlar had discovered still lay
dormant, as if unwilling to manifest itself.  The boy loved best “to look
upon the heavens, and to bask in the rays of the sun, or to sit beneath
hedgerows and listen to the chirping of the birds, indulging the while in
musing and meditation.” {9a}  Meanwhile John was earning golden opinions
for the astonishing progress he continued to make at school,
unconsciously throwing into bolder relief the apparent dullness of his
younger brother.  George, however, was as active mentally as the elder.
The one was studying men, the other books.  George was absorbing
impressions of the things around him: of the quaint old Norfolk town, its
“clean but narrow streets branching out from thy modest market-place,
with thine old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable
thatch”; of that exquisite old gentlewoman Lady Fenn, {9b} as she passed
to and from her mansion upon some errand of bounty or of mercy, “leaning
on her gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a
respectful distance behind.” {9c}  On Sundays, from the black
leather-covered seat in the church-pew, he would contemplate with
large-eyed wonder the rector and James Philo his clerk, “as they read
their respective portions of the venerable liturgy,” sometimes being
lulled to sleep by the monotonous drone of their voices.

On fine Sundays there was the evening walk “with my mother and brother—a
quiet, sober walk, during which I would not break into a run, even to
chase a butterfly, or yet more a honey-bee, being fully convinced of the
dread importance of the day which God had hallowed.  And how glad I was
when I had got over the Sabbath day without having done anything to
profane it.  And how soundly I slept on the Sabbath night after the toil
of being very good throughout the day.” {10a}

During these early years there was being photographed upon the brain of
George Borrow a series of impressions which, to the end of his life,
remained as vivid as at the moment they were absorbed.  What appeared to
those around him as dull-witted stupidity was, in reality, mental
surfeit.  His mind was occupied with other things than books, things that
it eagerly took cognisance of, strove to understand and was never to
forget. {10b}  Hitherto he had taken “no pleasure in books . . . and bade
fair to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame into the
cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents.” {10c}  His mind was not
ready for them.  When the time came there was no question of dullness: he
proved an eager and earnest student.

One day an intimate friend of Mrs Borrow’s, who was also godmother to
John, brought with her a present of a book for each of the two boys, a
history of England for the elder and for the younger _Robinson Crusoe_.
Instantly George became absorbed.

“The true chord had now been touched . . . Weeks succeeded weeks, months
followed months, and the wondrous volume was my only study and principal
source of amusement.  For hours together I would sit poring over a page
till I had become acquainted with the import of every line.  My progress,
slow enough at first, became by degrees more rapid, till at last, under a
‘shoulder of mutton sail,’ I found myself cantering before a steady
breeze over an ocean of enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that
I cared not how long it might be ere it reached its termination.  And it
was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge.” {11a}

In the spring of 1810 the regiment was ordered to Norman Cross, in
Huntingdonshire, situated at the junction of the Peterborough and Great
North Roads.  At this spot the Government had caused to be erected in
1796 an extensive prison, covering forty acres of ground, in which to
confine some of the prisoners made during the Napoleonic wars.  There
were sixteen large buildings roofed with red tiles.  Each group of four
was surrounded by a palisade, whilst another palisade “lofty and of
prodigious strength” surrounded the whole.  At the time when the West
Norfolk Militia arrived there were some six thousand prisoners, who, with
their guards, constituted a considerable-sized township.  From time to
time fresh batches of captives arrived amid a storm of cheers and cries
of “Vive L’Empereur!”  These were the only incidents in the day’s
monotony, save when some prisoner strove to evade the hospitality of King
George, and was shot for his ingratitude.

Captain Borrow rejoined his regiment at Norman Cross, leaving his
family to follow a few days later.  At the time the country round
Peterborough was under water owing to the recent heavy rains, and at one
portion of the journey the whole party had to embark in a species of
punt, which was towed by horses “up to the knees in water, and, on coming
to blind pools and ‘greedy depths,’ were not unfrequently swimming.”
{11b}  But they were all old campaigners and accepted such adventures as
incidents of a soldier’s life.

At Norman Cross George made the acquaintance of an old snake-catcher and
herbalist, a circumstance which, insignificant in itself, was to exercise
a considerable influence over his whole life.  Frequently this curious
pair were to be seen tramping the countryside together; a tall, quaint
figure with fur cap and gaiters carrying a leathern bag of wriggling
venom, and an eager child with eyes that now burned with interest and
intelligence—and the talk of the two was the lore of the viper.  When the
snake-catcher passed out of the life of his young disciple, he left
behind him as a present a tame and fangless viper, which George often
carried with him on his walks.  It was this well-meaning and inoffensive
viper that turned aside the wrath of Gypsy Smith, {12a} and awakened in
his heart a superstitious awe and veneration for the child, the
_Sap-engro_, who might be a goblin, but who certainly would make a most
admirable “clergyman and God Almighty,” who read from a book that
contained the kind of prayers particularly to his taste—perhaps the
greatest encomium ever bestowed upon the immortal _Robinson Crusoe_.
Thus it came about that George Borrow was proclaimed brother to the
gypsy’s son Ambrose, {12b} who as Jasper Petulengro figures so largely in
_Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_, and is credited with that exquisitely
phrased pagan glorification of mere existence:

    “Life is sweet, brother . . . There’s night and day, brother, both
    sweet things; sun, moon and stars, brother, all sweet things; there’s
    likewise the wind on the heath.  Life is very sweet, brother; who
    would wish to die?” {13a}

The Borrows were nomads, permitted by God and the king to tarry not over
long in any one place.  In the following July (1811) the West Norfolks
proceeded to Colchester _via_ Norfolk, after fifteen months of prison
duty and straw-plait destroying. {13b}  Captain Borrow betook himself to
East Dereham again to seek for likely recruits.  In the meantime George
made his first acquaintance with that universal specific for success in
life, for correctness of conduct, for soundness of principles—Lilly’s
Latin Grammar, which to learn by heart was to acquire a virtue that
defied evil.  The good old pedagogue who advocated Lilly’s Latin Grammar
as a remedy for all ills, would have traced George Borrow’s eventual
success in life entirely to the fact that within three years of the date
that the solemn exhortation was pronounced the boy had learned Lilly by
heart, although without in the least degree comprehending him.

Early in 1812 the regiment turned its head north, and by slow degrees,
with occasional counter marchings, continued to progress towards
Edinburgh, which was reached thirteen months later (6th April 1813).
“With drums beating, colours flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons
behind,” {13c} the West Norfolk Militia wound its way up the hill to the
Castle, the adjutant’s family in a chaise forming part of the procession.
There in barracks the regiment might rest itself after long and weary
marches, and the two young sons of the adjutant be permitted to continue
their studies at the High School, without the probability that the morrow
would see them on the road to somewhere else.

Whilst at Edinburgh George met with his first experience of racial
feeling, which, under uncongenial conditions, develops into race-hatred.
He discovered that one English boy, when faced by a throng of young Scots
patriots, had best be silent as to the virtues of his own race.  He
joined in and enjoyed the fights between the “Auld and the New Toon,” and
incidentally acquired a Scots accent that somewhat alarmed his loyal
father, who had named him after the Hanoverian Georges.  Proving himself
a good fighter, he earned the praise of his Scots acquaintances, and a
general invitation to assist them in their “bickers” with “thae New Toon
blackguards.”

He loved to climb and clamber over the rocks, peeping into “all manner of
strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, where owls nestled and the weasel
brought forth her young.”  He would go out on all-day excursions,
enjoying the thrills of clambering up to what appeared to be inaccessible
ledges, until eventually he became an expert cragsman.  One day he came
upon David Haggart {14} sitting on the extreme verge of a precipice,
“thinking of Willie Wallace.”

For fifteen months the regiment remained at Edinburgh.  In the spring of
1814 the waning star of Napoleon had, to all appearances, set, and he was
on his way to his miniature kingdom, the Isle of Elba (28th April).
Europe commenced to disband its huge armies, Great Britain among the
rest.  On 21st June the West Norfolks received orders to proceed to
Norwich by ship _via_ Leith and Great Yarmouth.  The Government, relieved
of all apprehension of an invasion, had time to think of the personal
comfort of the country’s defenders.  With marked consideration, the
orders provided that those who wished might march instead of embarking on
the sea.  Accordingly Captain Borrow and his family chose the land route.
Arrived at Norwich, the regiment was formally disbanded amid great
festivity.  The officers, at the Maid’s Head, the queen of East Anglian
inns, and the men in the spacious market-place, drank to the king’s
health and peace.  The regiment was formally mustered out on 19th July.

The Borrows took up their quarters at the Crown and Angel in St Stephen’s
Street, a thoroughfare that connects the main roads from Ipswich and
Newmarket with the city.  George, now eleven years old, had an
opportunity of continuing his education at the Norwich Grammar School,
whilst his brother proceeded to study drawing and painting with a “little
dark man with brown coat . . . and top-boots, whose name will one day be
considered the chief ornament of the old town,” {15a} and whose works are
to “rank among the proudest pictures of England,”—the Norwich painter,
“Old Crome.” {15b}

Whilst the two boys were thus occupied, Louis XVIII. was endeavouring to
reorder his kingdom, and on a little island in the Mediterranean,
Napoleon was preparing a bombshell that was to shatter the peace of
Europe and send Captain Borrow hurrying hither and thither in search of
the men who, a few months before, had left the colours, convinced that a
generation of peace was before them.

On 1st March Napoleon was at Cannes; eighteen days later Louis XVIII.
fled from Paris.  Everywhere there were feverish preparations for war.
John Borrow threw aside pencil and brush and was gazetted ensign in his
father’s regiment (29th May).  Europe united against the unexpected and
astonishing danger.  By the time Captain Borrow had finished his task,
however, the crisis was past, Waterloo had been won and Napoleon was on
his way to St Helena.

By a happy inspiration it was decided to send the West Norfolks to
Ireland, where “disturbances were apprehended” and private stills
flourished.  On 31st August the regiment, some eight hundred strong,
sailed in two vessels from Harwich for Cork, the passage occupying eight
days.  The ship that carried the Borrows was old and crazy, constantly
missing stays and shipping seas, until it seemed that only by a miracle
she escaped “from being dashed upon the foreland.”

After a few days’ rest at Cork, the “city of contradictions,” where
wealth and filth jostled one another in the public highways and
“boisterous shouts of laughter were heard on every side,” the regiment
marched off in two divisions for Clonmel in Tipperary.  Walking beside
his father, who was in command of the second division, and holding on to
his stirrup-leather, George found a new country opening out before him.
On one occasion, as they were passing through a village of low huts,
“that seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children,” he went up to
an old beldam who sat spinning at the door of one of the hovels and asked
for some water.  She “appeared to consider for a moment, then tottering
into her hut, presently reappeared with a small pipkin of milk, which she
offered . . . with a trembling hand.”  When the lad tendered payment she
declined the money, and patted his face, murmuring some unintelligible
words.  Obviously there was nothing in the boy’s nature now that appeared
strange to simple-minded folk.  Probably the intercourse with other boys
at Edinburgh and Norwich had been beneficial in its effect.  Keenly
interested in everything around him, George fell to speculating as to
whether he could learn Irish and speak to the people in their own tongue.

At Clonmel the Borrows lodged with an Orangeman, who had run out of his
house as the Adjutant rode by at the head of his men, and proceeded to
welcome him with flowery volubility.  On the advice of his host Captain
Borrow sent George to a Protestant school, where he met the Irish boy
Murtagh, who figures so largely in _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_.
Murtagh settled any doubts that Borrow may have had as to his ability to
acquire Erse, by teaching it to him in exchange for a pack of cards.

On 23rd December 1815 Ensign John Thomas Borrow was promoted to the rank
of lieutenant, he being then in his sixteenth year.  In the following
January, after only a few months’ stay, the West Norfolks were moved on
to Templemore.  It was here that George learned to ride, and that without
a saddle, and had awakened in him that “passion for the equine race” that
never left him. {17}

The nine months spent in Ireland left an indelible mark upon Borrow’s
imagination.  In later life he repeatedly referred to his knowledge of
the country, its people, and their language.  In overcoming the
difficulties of Erse, he had opened up for himself a larger prospect than
was to be enjoyed by a traveller whose first word of greeting or enquiry
is uttered in a hated tongue.

On 11th May 1816 the West Norfolk Militia was back again at Norwich.
Peace was now finally restored to Europe, and every nation was far too
impoverished, both as regards men and money, to nourish any schemes of
aggression.  Napoleon was safe at St Helena, under the eye of that
instinctive gaoler, Sir Hudson Lowe.  The army had completed its work and
was being disbanded with all possible speed.  The turn of the West
Norfolk Militia came on 17th June, when they were formally mustered out
for the second time within two years.  Three years later their Adjutant
was retired upon full-pay—eight shillings a day.




CHAPTER II:
MAY 1816–MARCH 1824


FOR the first time since his marriage, Captain Borrow found himself at
liberty to settle down and educate his sons.  He had spent much of his
life in Norfolk, and he decided to remain there and make Norwich his
home.  It was a quiet and beautiful old-world city: healthy, picturesque,
ancient, and, above all, possessed of a Grammar School, where George
could try and gather together the stray threads of education that he had
acquired at various times and in various dialects.  It was an ideal city
for a warrior to take his rest in; but probably what counted most with
Captain Borrow was the Grammar School—more than the Norman Cathedral, the
grim old Castle that stands guardian-like upon its mound, the fact of its
being a garrison town, or even the traditions that surrounded the place.
He had two sons who must be appropriately sent out into the world, and
Norwich offered facilities for educating both.  He accordingly took a
small house in Willow Lane, to which access was obtained by a covered
passage then called King’s, but now Borrow’s Court.

During the most nomadic portion of his life, when, with discouraging
rapidity, he was moving from place to place, Captain Borrow never for one
moment seems to have forgotten his obligations as a father.  Whenever he
had been quartered in a town for a few months, he had sought out a school
to which to send John and George, notably at Huddersfield and Sheffield.
Had he known it, these precautions were unnecessary; for he had two sons
who were of what may be called the self-educating type: John, by virtue
of the quickness of his parts; George, on account of the strangeness of
his interests and his thirst for a knowledge of men and the tongues in
which they communicate to each other their ideas.  It would be impossible
for an unconventional linguist, such as George Borrow was by instinct, to
remain uneducated, and it was equally impossible to educate him.

Quite unaware of the trend of his younger son’s genius, Captain Borrow
obtained for him a free-scholarship at the Grammar School, then under the
headmastership of the Rev. Edward Valpy, B.D., whose principal claims to
fame are his severity, his having flogged the conqueror of the “Flaming
Tinman,” and his destruction of the School Records of Admission, which
dated back to the Sixteenth Century.  Among Borrow’s contemporaries at
the Grammar School were “Rajah” Brooke of Sarawak (for whose achievements
he in after life expressed a profound admiration), Sir Archdale Wilson of
Delhi, Colonel Charles Stoddart, Dr James Martineau, and Thomas Borrow
Burcham, the London Magistrate.

Borrow was now thirteen, and, it would appear, as determined as ever to
evade as much as possible academic learning.  He was “far from an
industrious boy, fond of idling, and discovered no symptoms by his
progress either in Latin or Greek of that philology, so prominent a
feature of his last work (_Lavengro_).” {20}  Borrow was an idler merely
because his work was uncongenial to him.  “Mere idleness is the most
disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are continually
making efforts to escape from it,” he wrote in later years concerning
this period.  He wanted an object in life, an occupation that would prove
not wholly uncongenial.  That he should dislike the routine of school
life was not unnatural; for he had lived quite free from those
conventional restraints to which other boys of his age had always been
accustomed.  Occupation of some sort he must have, if only to keep at a
distance that insistent melancholy that seems to have been for ever
hovering about him, and the tempter whispered “Languages.” {21a}  One day
chance led him to a bookstall whereon lay a polyglot dictionary, “which
pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of French, Italian, Low
Dutch, and English.”  He took the two first, and when he had gleaned from
the old volume all it had to teach him, he longed for a master.  Him he
found in the person of an old French _émigré_ priest, {21b} a study in
snuff-colour and drab with a frill of dubious whiteness, who attended to
the accents of a number of boarding-school young ladies.  The progress of
his pupil so much pleased the old priest that “after six months’ tuition,
the master would sometimes, on his occasional absences to teach in the
country, request his so forward pupil to attend for him his home
scholars.” {21c}  It was M. D’Eterville who uttered the second recorded
prophecy concerning George Borrow: “Vous serez un jour un grand
philologue, mon cher,” he remarked, and heard that his pupil nourished
aspirations towards other things than mere philology.

In the study of French, Spanish, and Italian, Borrow spent many hours
that other boys would have devoted to pleasure; yet he was by no means a
student only.  He found time to fish and to shoot, using a condemned,
honey-combed musket that bore the date of 1746.  His fishing was done in
the river Yare, which flowed through the estate of John Joseph Gurney,
the Quaker-banker of Earlham Hall, two miles out of Norwich.  It was here
that he was reproached by the voice, “clear and sonorous as a bell,” of
the banker himself; not for trespassing, but “for pulling all those fish
out of the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun.”

At Harford Bridge, some two miles along the Ipswich Road, lived “the
terrible Thurtell,” a patron and companion of “the bruisers of England,”
who taught Borrow to box, and who ultimately ended his own inglorious
career by being hanged (9th January 1824) for the murder of Mr Weare, and
incidentally figuring in De Quincey’s “On Murder Considered As One of the
Fine Arts.”  It was through “the king of flash-men” that Borrow saw his
first prize-fight at Eaton, near Norwich.

The passion for horses that came suddenly to Borrow with his first ride
upon the cob in Ireland had continued to grow.  He had an opportunity of
gratifying it at the Norwich Horse Fair, held each Easter under the
shadow of the Castle, and famous throughout the country. {22}  It was
here, in 1818, that Borrow encountered again Ambrose Petulengro, an event
that was to exercise a considerable influence upon his life.  Mr
Petulengro had become the head of his tribe, his father and mother having
been transported for passing bad money.  He was now a man, with a wife, a
child, and also a mother-in-law, who took a violent dislike to the tall,
fair-haired _gorgio_.  Borrow’s life was much broadened by his
intercourse with Mr Petulengro.  He was often at the gypsy encampment on
Mousehold, a heath just outside Norwich, where, under the tuition of his
host, he learned the Romany tongue with such rapidity as to astonish his
instructor and earn for him among the gypsies the name of “Lav-engro,”
word-fellow or word-master.  He also boxed with the godlike Tawno Chikno,
who in turn pronounced him worthy to bear the name “Cooro-mengro,”
fist-fellow or fist-master.  He frequently accompanied Mr Petulengro to
neighbouring fairs and markets, riding one of the gypsy’s horses.  At
other times the two would roam over the gorse-covered Mousehold,
discoursing largely about things Romany.

The departure of Mr Petulengro and his retinue from Norwich threw Borrow
back once more upon his linguistic studies, his fishing, his shooting,
and his smouldering discontent at the constraints of school life.  It was
probably an endeavour on Borrow’s part to make himself more like his
gypsy friends that prompted him to stain his face with walnut juice,
drawing from the Rev. Edward Valpy the question: “Borrow, are you
suffering from jaundice, or is it only dirt?”  The gypsies were not the
only vagabonds of Borrow’s acquaintance at this period.  There were the
Italian peripatetic vendors of weather-glasses, who had their
headquarters at Norwich.  In after years he met again more than one of
these merchants.  They were always glad to see him and revive old
memories of the Norwich days.

About this time he saved a boy from drowning in the Yare. {23}  It may be
this act with which he generously credits his brother John when he says—

    “I have known him dash from a steep bank into a stream in his full
    dress, and pull out a man who was drowning; yet there were twenty
    others bathing in the water, who might have saved him by putting out
    a hand, without inconvenience to themselves, which, however, they did
    not do, but stared with stupid surprise at the drowning one’s
    struggles.” {24}

From the first Borrow had shown a strong distaste for the humdrum routine
of school life.  In a thousand ways he was different from his fellows.
He had been accustomed to meet strange and, to him, deeply interesting
people.  Now he was bidden adopt a course of life against which his whole
nature rebelled.  It was impossible.  He missed the atmosphere of
vagabondage that had inspired and stimulated his early boyhood.

The crisis came at last.  There was only one way to avoid the awkward and
distasteful destiny that was being forced upon him.  He entered into a
conspiracy with three school-fellows, all younger than himself, to make a
dash for a life that should offer wider opportunities to their
adventurous natures.  The plan was to tramp to Great Yarmouth and there
excavate on the seashore caves for their habitation.  From these
headquarters they would make foraging expeditions, and live on what they
could extract from the surrounding country, either by force or by the
terror that they inspired.  One morning the four started on their
twenty-mile trudge to the sea; but, when only a few miles out, one of
their number became fearful and turned back.

Encouraged by their leader, the others continued on their way.  The
father of the other two boys appears to have got wind of the project and
posted after them in a chaise.  He came up with them at Acle, about
eleven miles from Norwich.  When they were first seen, Borrow was
striving to hearten his fellow buccaneers, who were tired and dispirited
after their long walk.  The three were unceremoniously bundled into the
chaise and returned to their homes and, subsequently, to the wrath of the
Rev. Edward Valpy. {25a}

The names of the three confederates were John Dalrymple (whose heart
failed him) and Theodosius and Francis Purland, sons of a Norwich
chemist.  The Purlands are credited with robbing “the paternal till,”
while Dalrymple confined himself to the less compromising duty of
“gathering horse-pistols and potatoes.”  If the boys robbed their
father’s till, why did they beg?  In the ballad entitled _The Wandering
Children and the Benevolent Gentleman_, Borrow depicts the “eldest child”
as begging for charity for these hungry children, who have had “no
breakfast, save the haws.”  This does not seem to suggest that the boys
were in the possession of money.  Again, it was the father of one of
their schoolfellows who was responsible for their capture, according to
Dr Knapp, by asking them to dinner whilst he despatched a messenger to
the Rev. Edward Valpy.  The story of Borrow’s being “horsed” on Dr
Martineau’s back is apocryphal.  Martineau himself denied it. {25b}

There is no record of how Captain Borrow received the news of his younger
son’s breach of discipline.  It probably reminded him that the boy was
now fifteen and it was time to think about his future.  The old soldier
was puzzled.  Not only had his second son shown a great partiality for
acquiring Continental tongues, but he had learned Irish, and Captain
Borrow seemed to think that by learning the language of Papists and
rebels, his son had sullied the family honour.  To his father’s way of
thinking, this accomplishment seemed to bar him from most things that
were at one and the same time honourable and desirable.

The boy’s own inclinations pointed to the army; but Captain Borrow had
apparently seen too much of the army in war time, and the slowness of
promotion, to think of it as offering a career suitable to his son, now
that there was every prospect of a prolonged peace.  He thought of the
church as an alternative; but here again that fatal facility the boy had
shown in learning Erse seemed to stand out as a barrier.  “I have
observed the poor lad attentively and really I do not see what to make of
him,” Captain Borrow is said to have remarked.  What could be expected of
a lad who would forsake Greek for Irish, or Latin for the barbarous
tongue of homeless vagabonds?  Certainly not a good churchman.  At length
it became obvious to the distressed parents that there was only one
choice left them—the law.

About this period Borrow fell ill of some nameless and unclassified
disease, which defied the wisdom of physicians, who shook their heads
gravely by his bedside.  An old woman, however, cured him by a decoction
prepared from a bitter root.  The convalescence was slow and laborious;
for the boy’s nerves were shattered, and that deep, haunting melancholy,
which he first called the “Fear” and afterwards the “Horrors,” descended
upon him.

On the 30th of March 1819 Borrow was articled for five years to Simpson &
Rackham, solicitors, of Tuck’s Court, St Giles, Norwich. {26}  He
consequently left home to take up his abode at the house of the senior
partner in the Upper Close. {27a}  Mr William Simpson was a man of
considerable importance in the city; for besides being Treasurer of the
County, he was Chamberlain and Town Clerk, whilst his wife was famed for
her hospitality, in particular her expensive dinners.

With that unerring instinct of contrariety that never seemed to forsake
him, Borrow proceeded to learn, not law but Welsh.  When the eyes of
authority were on him he transcribed Blackstone, but when they were
turned away he read and translated the poems of Ab Gwilym.  He performed
his tasks “as well as could be expected in one who was occupied by so
many and busy thoughts of his own.”

At the end of Tuck’s Court was a house at which was employed a Welsh
groom, a queer fellow who soon attracted the notice of Simpson &
Rackham’s clerks, young gentlemen who were bent on “mis-spending the time
which was not legally their own.” {27b}  They would make audible remarks
about the unfortunate and inoffensive Welsh groom, calling out after him
“Taffy”—in short, rendering the poor fellow’s life a misery with their
jibes, until at last, almost distracted, he had come to the determination
either to give his master notice or to hang himself, that he might get
away from that “nest of parcupines.”  Borrow saw in the predicament of
the Welsh groom the hand of providence.  He made a compact with him, that
in exchange for lessons in Welsh, he, Borrow, should persuade his fellow
clerks to cease their annoyance.

From that time, each Sunday afternoon, the Welsh groom would go to
Captain Borrow’s house to instruct his son in Welsh pronunciation; for in
book Welsh Borrow was stronger than his preceptor.  Borrow had learned
the language of the bards “chiefly by going through Owen Pugh’s version
of ‘Paradise Lost’ twice” with the original by his side.  After which
“there was very little in Welsh poetry that I could not make out with a
little pondering.” {28a}  This had occupied some three years.  The
studies with the groom lasted for about twelve months, until he left
Norwich with his family. {28b}

Captain Borrow’s thoughts were frequently occupied with the future of his
younger son, a problem that had by no means been determined by signing
the articles that bound him to Simpson & Rackham.  The boy was frank and
honest and did not scruple to give expression to ideas of his own, and it
was these ideas that alarmed his father.  Once at the house of Mr
Simpson, and before the assembled guests, he told an archdeacon, worth
£7000 a year, that the classics were much overvalued, and compared Ab
Gwilym with Ovid, to the detriment of the Roman.  To Captain Borrow the
possession of ideas upon any subject by one so young was in itself a
thing to be deplored; but to venture an opinion contrary to that commonly
held by men of weight and substance was an unforgivable act of
insubordination.

The boy had been sent to Tuck’s Court to learn law, and instead he
persisted in acquiring languages, and such languages!  Welsh, Danish,
Arabic, Armenian, Saxon; for these were the tongues with which he
occupied himself.  None but a perfect mother such as Mrs Borrow could
have found excuses for a son who pursued such studies, and her husband
pointed out to her, it is “in the nature of women invariably to take the
part of the second born.”

In one of those curiously self-revelatory passages with which his
writings abound, Borrow tells how he continued to act as door-keeper long
after it had ceased to be part of his duty.  As a student of men and a
collector of strange characters, it was in keeping with his genius to do
so, although he himself was unable to explain why he took pleasure in the
task.  No one was admitted to the presence of the senior partner who did
not first pass the searching scrutiny of his articled clerk.  Those who
pleased him were admitted to Mr Simpson’s private room; to those who did
not he proved himself an almost insuperable obstacle.  Unfortunately
Borrow’s standards were those of the physiognomist rather than the
lawyer; he inverted the whole fabric of professional desirability by
admitting the goats and refusing the sheep.  He turned away a knight, or
a baronet, and admitted a poet, until at last the distressed old
gentleman in black, with the philanthropical head, his master, was forced
to expostulate and adjure his clerk to judge, not by faces but by
clothes, which in reality make the man.  Borrow bowed to the ruling of
“the prince of English solicitors,” revised his standards and continued
to act as keeper of the door.

Mr Simpson seems to have earned Borrow’s thorough regard, no small
achievement considering in how much he differed from his illustrious
articled-clerk in everything, not excepting humour, of which the
delightful, old-world gentleman seems to have had a generous share.  He
was doubtless puzzled to classify the strange being by whose
instrumentality a stream of undesirable people was admitted to his
presence, whilst distinguished clients were sternly and rigorously turned
away.  He probably smiled at the story of the old yeoman and his wife
who, in return for some civility shown to them by Borrow, presented him
with an old volume of Danish ballads, which inspired him to learn the
language, aided by a Danish Bible. {30a}  He was not only “the first
solicitor in East Anglia,” but “the prince of all English solicitors—for
he was a gentleman!” {30b}  In another place Borrow refers to him as “my
old master . . . who would have died sooner than broken his word.  God
bless him!” {30c}  And yet again as “my ancient master, the gentleman
solicitor of East Anglia.” {30d}

Borrow was always handsome in everything he did.  If he hated a man he
hated him, his kith and kin and all who bore his name.  His friendship
was similarly sweeping, and his regard for William Simpson prompted him
to write subsequently of the law as “a profession which abounds with
honourable men, and in which I believe there are fewer scamps than in any
other.  The most honourable men I have ever known have been lawyers; they
were men whose word was their bond, and who would have preferred ruin to
breaking it.” {31a}

Fortunately for Borrow there was at the Norwich Guildhall a valuable
library consisting of a large number of ancient folios written in many
languages.  “Amidst the dust and cobwebs of the Corporation Library” he
studied earnestly and, with a fine disregard for a librarian’s feelings,
annotated some of the volumes, his marginalia existing to this day.  One
of his favourite works was the _Danica Literatura Antiquissima_ of Olaus
Wormius, 1636, which inspired him with the idea of adopting the name
Olaus, his subsequent contributions to _The New Magazine_ being signed
George Olaus Borrow.

Whilst Borrow was striving to learn languages and avoid the law, {31b}
the question of his brother’s career was seriously occupying the mind of
their father.  Borrow loved and admired his brother.  There is sincerity
in all he writes concerning John, and there is something of nobility
about the way in which he tells of his father’s preference for him.
“Who,” he asks, “cannot excuse the honest pride of the old man—the stout
old man?” {31c}

The Peace had closed to John Borrow the army as a profession, and he had
devoted himself assiduously to his art.  Under Crome the elder he had
made considerable progress, and had exhibited a number of pictures at the
yearly exhibitions of the Norwich Society of Artists.  He continued to
study with Crome until the artist’s death (22nd April 1821), when a new
master had to be sought.  With his father’s blessing and £150 he
proceeded to London, where he remained for more than a year studying with
B. R. Haydon. {32a}  Later he went to Paris to copy Old Masters.

About this time Borrow had an opportunity of seeing many of “the bruisers
of England.”  In his veins flowed the blood of the man who had met Big
Ben Bryan and survived the encounter undefeated.  “Let no one sneer at
the bruisers of England,” Borrow wrote—“What were the gladiators of Rome,
or the bull-fighters of Spain, in its palmiest days, compared to
England’s bruisers?” {32b} he asks.  On 17th July 1820 Edward Painter of
Norwich was to meet Thomas Oliver of London for a purse of a hundred
guineas.  On the Saturday previous (the 15th) the Norwich hotels began to
fill with bruisers and their patrons, and men went their ways anxiously
polite to the stranger, lest he turn out to be some champion whom it were
dangerous to affront.  Thomas Cribb, the champion of England, had come to
see the fight, “Teucer Belcher, savage Shelton, . . . the terrible
Randall, . . . Bulldog Hudson, . . . fearless Scroggins, . . . Black
Richmond, . . . Tom of Bedford,” and a host of lesser lights of the
“Fancy.”

On the Monday, upwards of 20,000 men swept out of the old city towards
North Walsham, less than twenty miles distant, among them George Borrow,
striding along among the varied stream of men and vehicles (some 2000 in
number) to see the great fight, which was to end in the victory of the
local man and a terrible storm, as if heaven were thundering its anger
against a brutal spectacle.  The sportsmen were left to find their way to
shelter, Borrow and Mr Petulengro, whom he had encountered just after the
fight, with them, talking of dukkeripens (fortunes).

Some time during the year 1820, a Jew named Levy (the Mousha of
_Lavengro_), Borrow’s instructor in Hebrew, introduced him to William
Taylor, {33a} one of the most extraordinary men that Norwich ever
produced.  In the long-limbed young lawyer’s clerk, whose hair was
rapidly becoming grey, Taylor showed great interest, and, as an act of
friendship, undertook to teach him German.  He was gratified by the young
man’s astonishing progress, and much interested in his remarkable
personality.  As a result Borrow became a frequent visitor at 21 King
Street, Norwich, where Taylor lived and many strange men assembled.

It is doubtful if William Taylor ever found another pupil so apt, or a
disciple so enthusiastic among all the “harum-scarum young men” {33b}
that he was so fond of taking up and introducing “into the best society
the place afforded.” {33c}  He was much impressed by Borrow’s
extraordinary memory and power of concentration.  Speaking one day of the
different degrees of intelligence in men he said:—“I cannot give you a
better example to explain my meaning than my two pupils (there was
another named Cooke, who was said to be ‘a genius in his way’); what I
tell Borrow once he ever remembers; whilst to the fellow Cooke I have to
repeat the same thing twenty times, often without effect; and it is not
from want of memory either, but he will never be a linguist.” {33d}

To a correspondent Taylor wrote:—

    “A Norwich young man is construing with me Schiller’s _Wilhelm Tell_,
    with the view of translating it for the press.  His name is George
    Henry Borrow, and he has learnt German with extraordinary rapidity;
    indeed, he has the gift of tongues, and, though not yet eighteen,
    understands twelve languages—English, Welsh, Erse, Latin, Greek,
    Hebrew, German, Danish, French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese; he
    would like to get into the Office for Foreign Affairs, but does not
    know how.” {34a}

This was in 1821; two years later Borrow is said to have “translated with
fidelity and elegance from twenty different languages.” {34b}  In spite
of his later achievements in learning languages, it seems scarcely
credible that he acquired eight separate languages in two years, although
it must be remembered that with him the learning of a language was to be
able to read it after a rather laborious fashion.  Taylor, however, uses
the words “facility and elegance.”

                   [Picture: William Taylor of Norwich]

In the autobiographical notes that Borrow supplied to Mr John Longe in
1862 there appears the following passage:—

    “At the expiration of his clerkship he knew little of the law, but he
    was well versed in languages, being not only a good Greek and Latin
    scholar, but acquainted with French, Italian, Spanish, all the Celtic
    and Gothic dialects, and likewise with the peculiar language of the
    English Romany Chals or gypsies.”

At William Taylor’s table Borrow met “the most intellectual and talented
men of Norwich, as also those of note who visited the city.” {34c}
Taylor was much interested in young men, into whose minds he did not
hesitate to instil his own ideas, ideas that not only earned for him the
name of “Godless Billy,” but outraged his respectable fellow-citizens as
much as did his intemperate habits.  “His face was terribly bloated from
drink, and he had a look as if his intellect was almost as much decayed
as his body,” wrote a contemporary. {35a}  “Matters grew worse in his old
age,” says Harriet Martineau, “when his habits of intemperance kept him
out of the sight of ladies, and he got round him a set of ignorant and
conceited young men, who thought they could set the whole world right by
their destructive propensities.  One of his chief favourites was George
Borrow.” {35b}  Borrow has given the following convincing picture of
Taylor:

    “Methought I was in a small, comfortable room wainscotted with oak; I
    was seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were
    wine and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain
    suit of brown, with the hair combed back from the somewhat high
    forehead; he had a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked
    gravely and placidly, without saying a word; at length, after drawing
    at the pipe for some time rather vigorously, he removed it from his
    mouth, and emitting an accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a
    slow and measured tone: ‘As I was telling you just now, my good chap,
    I have always been an enemy of humbug.’” {35c}

William Taylor appears to have flattered “the harum-scarum young men”
with whom he surrounded himself by talking to them as if they were his
intellectual equals.  He encouraged them to form their own opinions, in
itself a thing scarcely likely to make him popular with either parents or
guardians, least of all with discipline-loving Captain Borrow, who
declined even to return the salute of his son’s friend on the public
highway.

Borrow now began to look to the future and speculate as to what his
present life would lead to.  His cogitations seem to have ended, almost
invariably, in a gloomy mist of pessimism and despair—in other words, an
attack of the “Horrors.”  If Mr Petulengro were encamped upon Mousehold,
the antidote lay near to hand in his friend’s pagan optimism; if, on the
other hand, the tents of Egypt were pitched on other soil, there was no
remedy, unless perhaps a prize-fight supplied the necessary stimulus to
divert his thoughts from their melancholy trend.

 [Picture: George Borrow (1821).  From a hitherto unpublished painting by
       John Borrow, now in the posession of W. F. T. Jarrold, Esq.]

Borrow met at the house of his tutor and friend, in July 1821, Dr Bowring
{36a} (afterwards Sir John) at a dinner given in his honour.  Bowring had
recently published _Specimen of Russian Poets_, in recognition of which
the Czar (Alexander I.) had presented him with a diamond ring.  He had a
considerable reputation as a linguist, which naturally attracted Borrow
to him.  Dr Bowring was told of Borrow’s accomplishments, and during the
evening took a seat beside him.  Borrow confessed to being “a little
frightened at first” of the distinguished man, whom he described as
having “a thin weaselly figure, a sallow complexion, a certain obliquity
of vision, and a large pair of spectacles.”  It would be dangerous to
accept entirely the account that Borrow gives of the meeting, {36b}
because when that was written he had come to hate and despise the man
whom he had begun by regarding with such awe.  Bowring appears to have
ventilated his views with some freedom, and to have had a rather serious
passage of arms with another guest whom he had rudely contradicted.  It
is very probable that Borrow’s dislike of Bowring prompted him to
exaggerate his account of what happened at Taylor’s house that evening.

Whilst Borrow was industriously occupied in collecting vagabonds and
imbibing the dangerous beliefs of William Taylor, there sat in an
easy-chair in the small front-parlour of the little house in Willow Lane,
in a faded regimental coat, a prematurely old man, whose frame still
showed signs of the magnificent physique of his vigorous manhood.
“Sometimes in prayer, sometimes in meditation, and sometimes in reading
the Scriptures,” with his dog beside him, Captain Thomas Borrow, now
sixty-five, was preparing for the end that he felt to be approaching.  He
frequently meditated upon what was to become of his younger son George,
who held his father in such awe as to feel ill at ease when alone with
him.

One day the inevitable interrogation took place.  “What do you propose to
do?” and the equally inevitable reply followed, “I really do not know
what I shall do.”  In the course of a somewhat lengthy cross-examination,
Captain Borrow discovered that his son knew the Armenian tongue, for
which he very cunningly strove to enlist his father’s interest by telling
him that in Armenia was Mount Ararat, whereon the ark rested.  Captain
Borrow also discovered that his son could not only shoe a horse, but also
make the shoes; but, what was most important, he found that George had
learned “very little” law.  When asked if he thought he could support
himself by Armenian or his “other acquirements,” the younger man was not
very hopeful, and horrified the old soldier by suggesting that if all
else failed there was always suicide.

The dying man was thus left to yearn for the return of his elder son, in
whom all his hopes lay centred.  John appears to have been by no means
dutiful to his parents in the matter of letters.  For six months he left
them unacquainted even with his address in Paris, where he was still
copying Old Masters in the Louvre.

After their talk the father and younger son seem to have come to a better
understanding.  George would frequently read aloud from the Bible, whilst
Captain Borrow would tell about his early life.  His son “had no idea
that he knew and had seen so much; my respect for him increased, and I
looked upon him almost with admiration.  His anecdotes were in general
highly curious; some of them related to people in the highest stations,
and to men whose names are closely connected with some of the brightest
glories of our native land.” {38}

At last John arrived, apparently a little disillusioned with the world;
but the coming of his favourite son produced no change for the better in
Captain Borrow’s health.  He was content and happy that God had granted
his wish.  There remained nothing now to do but “to bless my little
family and go.”  George learned “that it is possible to feel deeply and
yet make no outward sign.”

The end came on the morning of 28th February 1824.  It was by a strange
chance that the old man should die in the arms of his younger son, who
had run down on hearing his mother’s anguished screams.  Borrow has given
a dramatic account of his father’s last moments:—

    “At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was awakened
    from sleep by a cry which sounded from the room immediately below
    that in which I slept.  I knew the cry, it was the cry of my mother,
    and I also knew its import; yet I made no effort to rise, for I was
    for the moment paralysed.  Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay
    motionless—the stupidity of horror was upon me.  A third time, and it
    was then that, by a violent effort bursting the spell which appeared
    to bind me, I sprang from the bed and rushed downstairs.  My mother
    was running wildly about the room; she had awoke and found my father
    senseless in the bed by her side.  I essayed to raise him, and after
    a few efforts supported him in the bed in a sitting posture.  My
    brother now rushed in, and snatching a light that was burning, he
    held it to my father’s face.  ‘The surgeon, the surgeon!’ he cried;
    then dropping the light, he ran out of the room followed by my
    mother; I remained alone, supporting the senseless form of my father;
    the light had been extinguished by the fall, and an almost total
    darkness reigned in the room.  The form pressed heavily against my
    bosom—at last methought it moved.  Yes, I was right, there was a
    heaving of the breast, and then a gasping.  Were those words which I
    heard?  Yes, they were words, low and indistinct at first, and then
    audible.  The mind of the dying man was reverting to former scenes.
    I heard him mention names which I had often heard him mention before.
    It was an awful moment; I felt stupified, but I still contrived to
    support my dying father.  There was a pause, again my father spoke: I
    heard him speak of Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant,
    and then he uttered another name, which at one period of his life was
    much on his lips, the name of—but this is a solemn moment!  There was
    a deep gasp: I shook, and thought all was over; but I was mistaken—my
    father moved and revived for a moment; he supported himself in bed
    without my assistance.  I make no doubt that for a moment he was
    perfectly sensible, and it was then that, clasping his hands, he
    uttered another name clearly, distinctly—it was the name of Christ.
    With that name upon his lips, the brave old soldier sank back upon my
    bosom, and, with his hands still clasped, yielded up his soul.” {39}




CHAPTER III
APRIL 1824–MAY 1825


ON 2nd April 1824, George Borrow was cast upon the world of London by the
death of his father, “with an exterior shy and cold, under which lurk
much curiosity, especially with regard to what is wild and extraordinary,
a considerable quantity of energy and industry, and an unconquerable love
of independence.” {40a}

It had become necessary for him to earn his own livelihood.  Captain
Borrow’s pension had ceased with his death, and the old soldier’s savings
of a lifetime were barely sufficient to produce an income of a hundred
pounds a year for his widow.  The provision made in the will for his
younger son during his minority would operate only for about four months,
as he would be of age in the following July. {40b}  The clerkship with
Simpson & Rackham would expire at the end of March.  Borrow had outlined
his ambitions in a letter written on 20th January 1824, when he was ill
and wretched, to Roger Kerrison, then in London: “If ever my health mends
[this has reference to a very unpleasant complaint he had contracted],
and possibly it may by the time my clerkship is expired, I intend to live
in London, write plays, poetry, etc., abuse religion and get myself
prosecuted,” for he was tired of the “dull and gloomy town.”  It was
therefore with a feeling of relief that, on the evening of 1st April, he
took his seat on the top of the London coach, his hopes centred in a
small green box that he carried with him.  It contained his
stock-in-trade as an author: his beloved manuscripts, “closely written
over in a singular hand.”

Among the bundles of papers were:

  (i.)  The Ancient Songs of Denmark, heroic and romantic, translated by
  himself, with notes philological, critical and historical.

  (ii.)  The Songs of Ab Gwilym, the Welsh Bard, also translated by
  himself, with notes critical, philological and historical. {41}

  (iii.)  A romance in the German style.

In addition to his manuscripts, Borrow had some twenty or thirty pounds,
his testimonials, and a letter from William Taylor to Sir Richard
Phillips, the publisher, to whose _New Magazine_ he had already
contributed a number of translations of poems.  He had also printed in
_The Monthly Magazine_ and _The New Monthly Magazine_ translations of
verse from the German, Swedish, Dutch, Danish and Spanish, and an essay
on Danish ballad writing.

On the morning of 2nd April there arrived at 16 Milman Street, Bedford
Row, London, W.C.,

   “A lad who twenty tongues can talk,
   And sixty miles a day can walk;
   Drink at a draught a pint of rum,
   And then be neither sick nor dumb;
   Can tune a song and make a verse,
   And deeds of Northern kings rehearse;
   Who never will forsake his friend
   While he his bony fist can bend;
   And, though averse to broil and strife,
   Will fight a Dutchman with a knife;
   O that is just the lad for me,
   And such is honest six-foot-three.” {42a}

It was through the Kerrisons that Borrow went to 16 Milman Street, where
Roger was lodging.  His apartments seem to have been dismal enough,
consisting of “a small room, up two pair of stairs, in which I was to
sit, and another, still smaller, above it, in which I was to sleep.”
After the first feeling of loneliness had passed, dispelled largely by a
bright fire and breakfast, he sallied forth, the contents of the green
box under his arm, to present his letter of introduction to Sir Richard
Phillips, {42b} in whom centred his hopes of employment.

 [Picture: Sir Richard Phillips.  From the painting by James Saxon in the
                        National Portrait Gallery]

On arriving at the publisher’s house in Tavistock Square, he was
immediately shown into Sir Richard’s study, where he found “a tall, stout
man, about sixty, dressed in a loose morning gown,” and with him his
confidential clerk Bartlett (the Taggart of _Lavengro_).  Sir Richard was
at first enthusiastic and cordial, but when he learned from William
Taylor’s letter that Borrow had come up to earn his livelihood by
authorship, his manner underwent a marked change.  The bluff, hearty
expression gave place to “a sinister glance,” and Borrow found that
within that loose morning gown there was a second Sir Richard.

He learned two things—first, that Sir Richard Phillips had retired from
publishing and had reserved only _The Monthly Magazine_; {43} secondly,
that literature was a drug upon the market.  With airy
self-assertiveness, the ex-publisher dismissed the contents of the green
box that Borrow had brought with him, which had already aroused
considerable suspicion in the mind of the maid who had admitted him to
the publisher’s presence.

When he had thoroughly dashed the young author’s hopes of employment, Sir
Richard informed him of a new publication he had in preparation, _The
Universal Review_ [_The Oxford Review_ of _Lavengro_], which was to
support the son of the house and the wife he had married.  With a promise
that he should become a contributor to the new review, an earnest
exhortation to write a story in the style of _The Dairyman’s Daughter_,
and an invitation to dinner for the following Sunday, the first interview
between George Borrow and Sir Richard Phillips ended, and Borrow left the
great man’s presence to begin his exploration of London, first leaving
his manuscripts at Milman Street.  During the rest of the day he walked
“scarcely less than thirty miles about the big city.”  It was late when
he returned to his lodgings, thoroughly tired, but with a copy of _The
Dairyman’s Daughter_, for “a well-written tale in the style” of which Sir
Richard Phillips “could afford as much as ten pounds.”  The day had been
one of the most eventful in Borrow’s life.

On the following Sunday Borrow dined at Tavistock Square, and met Lady
Phillips, young Phillips and his bride.  He learned that Sir Richard was
a vegetarian of twenty years’ standing and a total abstainer, although
meat and wine were not banished from his table.  When publisher and
potential author were left alone, the son having soon followed the ladies
into the drawing-room, Borrow heard of Sir Richard’s amiable intentions
towards him.  He was to compile six volumes of the lives and trials of
criminals [the _Newgate Lives and Trials_ of _Lavengro_], each to contain
not less than a thousand pages. {44a}  For this work he was to receive
the munificent sum of fifty pounds, which was to cover all expenses
incurred in the purchase of books, papers and manuscripts necessary to
the compilation of the work.  This was only one of the employments that
the fertile brain of the publisher had schemed for him.  He was also to
make himself useful in connection with the forthcoming _Universal
Review_.  “Generally useful, sir—doing whatever is required of you”; for
it was not Sir Richard’s custom to allow young writers to select their
own subjects.

With impressive manner and ponderous diction, Sir Richard Phillips
unfolded his philanthropic designs regarding the young writer to whom his
words meant a career.  He did not end with the appointment of Borrow as
general utility writer upon _The Universal Review_; but proceeded to
astonish him with the announcement that to him, George Borrow,
understanding German in a manner that aroused the “strong admiration” of
William Taylor, was to be entrusted the translating into that tongue of
Sir Richard Phillips’ book of Philosophy. {44b}  If translations of
Goethe into English were a drug, Sir Richard Phillips’ _Proximate Causes_
was to prove that neither he nor his book would be a drug in Germany.
For this work the remuneration was to be determined by the success of the
translation, an arrangement sufficiently vague to ensure eventual
disagreement.

When Sir Richard had finished his account of what were his intentions
towards his guest, he gave him to understand that the interview was at an
end, at the same time intimating how seldom it was that he dealt so
generously with a young writer.  Borrow then rose from the table and
passed out of the house, leaving his host to muse, as was his custom on
Sunday afternoons, “on the magnificence of nature and the moral dignity
of man.”

For the next few weeks Borrow was occupied in searching in out-of-the-way
corners for criminal biography.  If he flagged, a visit from his
philosopher-publisher spurred him on to fresh effort.  He received a copy
of _Proximate Causes_, with an injunction that he should review it in
_The Universal Review_, as well as translate it into German.  He was
taken to and introduced to the working editor {45a} of the new
publication, which was only ostensibly under the control of young
Phillips.

In the provision that he should purchase at his own expense all the
necessary materials for _Celebrated Trials_, Borrow found a serious tax
upon his resources; but a harder thing to bear with patience and
good-humour were the frequent visits he received from Sir Richard
himself, who showed the keenest possible interest in the progress of the
compilation.  He had already caused a preliminary announcement to be made
{45b} to the effect that:

    “A Selection of the most remarkable Trials and Criminal Causes is
    printing, in five volumes. {46a}  It will include all famous cases,
    from that of Lord Cobham, in the reign of Henry the Fifth, to that of
    John Thurtell: and those connected with foreign as well as English
    jurisprudence.  Mr Borrow, the editor, has availed himself of all the
    resources of the English, German, French, and Italian languages; and
    his work, including from 150 to 200 {46b} of the most interesting
    cases on record, will appear in October next.” {46c}

Sir Richard’s visits to Milman Street were always accompanied by numerous
suggestions as to criminals whose claims to be included in this literary
chamber of horrors were in his, Sir Richard’s, opinion unquestionable.
The English character of the compilation was soon sacrificed in order to
admit notable malefactors of other nationalities, and the drain upon the
editor’s small capital became greater than ever.

The leisure that he allowed himself, Borrow spent in exploring the city,
or in the company of Francis Arden (Ardrey in _Lavengro_), whom he had
met by chance in the coffee-room of a hotel.  The two appear to have been
excellent friends, perhaps because of the dissimilarity of their natures.
“He was an Irishman,” Borrow explains, “I an Englishman; he fiery,
enthusiastic and opened-hearted; I neither fiery, enthusiastic, nor
open-hearted; he fond of pleasure and dissipation, I of study and
reflection.” {46d}

They went to the play together, to dog-fights, gaming-houses, in short
saw the sights of London.  The arrival of Francis Arden at 16 Milman
Street was a signal for books and manuscripts to be thrown aside in
favour either of some expedition or an hour or two’s conversation.
Borrow, however, soon tired of the pleasures of London, and devoted
himself almost entirely to work.  Although he saw less of Francis Arden
in consequence, they continued to be excellent friends.

After being some four weeks in London, Borrow received a surprise visit
(29th April) from his brother, whom he found waiting for him one morning
when he came down to breakfast.  John told him of his mother’s anxiety at
receiving only one letter from him since his departure, of her fits of
crying, of the grief of Captain Borrow’s dog at the loss of his master.
He also explained the reason for his being in London.  He had been
invited to paint the portrait of Robert Hawkes, an ex-mayor of Norwich,
for a fee of a hundred guineas.  Lacking confidence in his own ability,
he had declined the honour and suggested that Benjamin Haydon should be
approached.  At the request of a deputation of his fellow citizens, which
had waited upon him, he had undertaken to enter into negotiations with
Haydon.  He even undertook to come up to London at his own expense, that
he might see his old master and complete the bargain.  Borrow
subsequently accompanied his brother when calling upon Haydon, and was
enabled to give a thumbnail-sketch of the painter of the Heroic at work
that has been pronounced to be photographic in its faithfulness.

John returned to Norwich about a fortnight later accompanied by Haydon,
who was to become the guest of his sitter, {47} and George was left to
the compilation of _Celebrated Trials_.  Sir Richard Phillips appears to
have been a man as prolific of suggestion as he was destitute of tact.
He regarded his authors as the instruments of his own genius.  Their
business it was to carry out his ideas in a manner entirely congenial to
his colossal conceit.  His latest author he exposed “to incredible
mortification and ceaseless trouble from this same rage for
interference.”

The result of all this was an attack of the “Horrors.”  Towards the end
of May, Roger Kerrison received from Borrow a note saying that he
believed himself to be dying, and imploring him to “come to me
immediately.”  The direct outcome of this note was, not the death of
Borrow, but the departure from Milman Street of Roger Kerrison, lest he
should become involved in a tragedy connected with Borrow’s oft-repeated
threat of suicide.  Kerrison became “very uneasy and uncomfortable on his
account, so that I have found it utterly impossible to live any longer in
the same lodgings with him.” {48a}  Looked at dispassionately it seems
nothing short of an act of cowardice on Kerrison’s part to leave alone a
man such as Borrow, who might at any moment be assailed by one of those
periods of gloom from which suicide seemed the only outlet.  On the other
hand, from an anecdote told by C. G. Leland (“Hans Breitmann”), there
seems to be some excuse for Kerrison’s wish to live alone.  “I knew at
that time [about 1870],” he writes, {48b} “a Mr Kerrison, who had been as
a young man, probably in the Twenties, on intimate terms with Borrow.  He
told me that one night Borrow acted very wildly, whooping and
vociferating so as to cause the police to follow him, and after a long
run led them to the edge of the Thames, ‘and there they thought they had
him.’  But he plunged boldly into the water and swam in his clothes to
the opposite shore, and so escaped.”

A serious misfortune now befell Borrow in the premature death of _The
Universal Review_, which expired with the sixth number (March
1824—January 1825).  It is not known what was the rate of pay to young
and impecunious reviewers {49a} certainly not large, if it may be judged
by the amount agreed upon for _Celebrated Trials_.  Still, its end meant
that Borrow was now dependent upon what he received for his compilation,
and what he merited by his translation into German of _Proximate Causes_.

There appears to have been some difficulty about payment for Borrow’s
contributions to the now defunct review, which considerably widened the
breach that the _Trials_ had created.  Sir Richard became more exacting
and more than ever critical. {49b}  The end could not be far off.  Borrow
had come to London determined to be an author, and by no juggling with
facts could his present drudgery be considered as authorship.
Occasionally his mind reverted to the manuscripts in the green box, his
faith in which continued undiminished.  He made further efforts to get
his translations published, but everywhere the answer was the same, in
effect, “A drug, sir, a drug!”

At last he determined to approach John Murray (the Second), “Glorious
John, who lived at the western end of the town”; but he called many times
without being successful in seeing him.  Another seventeen years were to
elapse before he was to meet and be published by John Murray.

Yet another dispute arose between Borrow and Sir Richard Phillips.
Neither appeared to have realised the supreme folly of entrusting to a
young Englishman the translation into German of an English work.  A novel
would have presented almost insurmountable difficulties; but a work of
philosophy!  The whole project was absurd.  The diction of philosophy in
all languages is individual, just as it is in other branches of science,
and a very thorough knowledge of, and deep reading in both languages are
necessary to qualify a man to translate from a foreign tongue into his
own.  To expect an inexperienced youth to reverse the order seems to
suggest that Sir Richard Phillips must have been a publisher whose
enthusiasm was greater than his judgment.

One day when calling at Tavistock Square, Borrow found Sir Richard in a
fury of rage.  He had submitted the first chapter of the translation of
_Proximate Causes_ to some Germans, who found it utterly unintelligible.
This was only to be expected, as Borrow confesses that, when he found
himself unable to comprehend what was the meaning of the English text, he
had translated it _literally into German_!

The result of the interview was that Borrow, after what appears to be a
tactless, not to say impertinent, rejoinder, {50a} relapsed into silence
and finally left the house, ordered back to his compilation by Sir
Richard, as soon as he became sufficiently calm to appear coherent, and
Borrow walked away musing on the “difference in clever men.”

The discovery of the inadequacy of the German translation apparently
urged Borrow to hasten on with _Celebrated Trials_.  _The Universal
Review_ was dead, the German version of _Proximate Causes_ {50b} had
passed out of his hands.  It was desirable, therefore, that the remaining
undertaking should be completed as soon as possible, that the two might
part.  The last of the manuscript was delivered, the proofs passed for
press, and on 19th March the work appeared, the six volumes, running to
between three and four thousand pages, containing accounts of some four
hundred trials, including that of Borrow’s old friend Thurtell for the
murder of Mr Weare.

Borrow’s name did not appear.  He was “the editor,” and as such was
referred to in the preface contributed by Sir Richard himself.  Among
other things he tells of how, in some cases, “the Editor has compressed
into a score of pages the substance of an entire volume.”  Sir Richard
was a philosopher as well as a preface-writing publisher, and it was only
natural that he should speculate as to the effect upon his editor’s mind
of months spent in reading and editing such records of vice.  “It may be
expected,” he writes, “that the Editor should convey to his readers the
intellectual impressions which the execution of his task has produced on
his mind.  He confesses that they are mournful.”  Sir Richard was either
a master of irony, or a man of singular obtuseness.

One effect of this delving into criminal records had been to raise in
Borrow’s mind strange doubts about virtue and crime.  When a boy, he had
written an essay in which he strove to prove that crime and virtue were
mere terms, and that we were the creatures of necessity or circumstance.
These broodings in turn reawakened the theory that everything is a lie,
and that nothing really exists except in our imaginations.  The world was
“a maze of doubt.”  These indications of an overtaxed brain increased,
and eventually forced Borrow to leave London.  His work was thoroughly
uncongenial.  He disliked reviewing; he had failed in his endeavours to
render _Proximate Causes_ into intelligible German; and it had taken him
some time to overcome his dislike of the sordid stories of crime and
criminals that he had to read and edit.  He became gloomy and depressed,
and prone to compare the real conditions of authorship with those that
his imagination had conjured up.

The most important result of his labours in connection with _Celebrated
Trials_ was that upon his literary style.  There is a tremendous
significance in the following passage.  It tells of the transition of the
actual vagabond into the literary vagabond, with power to express in
words what proved so congenial to Borrow’s vagabond temperament:

    “Of all my occupations at this period I am free to confess I liked
    that of compiling the Newgate Lives and Trials [Celebrated Trials]
    the best; that is, after I had surmounted a kind of prejudice which I
    originally entertained.  The trials were entertaining enough; but the
    lives—how full were they of wild and racy adventures, and in what
    racy, genuine language were they told.  What struck me most with
    respect to these lives was the art which the writers, whoever they
    were, possessed of telling a plain story.  It is no easy thing to
    tell a story plainly and distinctly by mouth; but to tell one on
    paper is difficult indeed, so many snares lie in the way.  People are
    afraid to put down what is common on paper, they seek to embellish
    their narratives, as they think, by philosophic speculations and
    reflections; they are anxious to shine, and people who are anxious to
    shine can never tell a plain story.  ‘So I went with them to a music
    booth, where they made me almost drunk with gin, and began to talk
    their flash language, which I did not understand,’ {52a} says, or is
    made to say, Henry Simms, executed at Tyburn some seventy years
    before the time of which I am speaking.  I have always looked upon
    this sentence as a masterpiece of the narrative style, it is so
    concise and yet so clear.” {52b}

By the time the work was published and Borrow had been paid his fee, all
relations between editor and publisher had ceased, and there was “a poor
author, or rather philologist, upon the streets of London, possessed of
many tongues,” which he found “of no use in the world.” {52c}  A month
after the appearance of _Celebrated Trials_ (18th April), and a little
more than a year after his arrival in London, Borrow published a
translation of Klinger’s _Faustus_. {53a}  He himself gives no
particulars as to whether it was commissioned or no.  It may even have
been “the Romance in the German style” from the Green Box.  It is known
that he received payment for it by a bill at five or six months, {53b}
but there is no mention of the amount.  It would appear that the
translation had long been projected, for in _The Monthly Magazine_, July
1824, there appeared, in conjunction with the announcement of _Celebrated
Trials_, the following paragraph: “The editor of the preceding has ready
for the press, a Life of Faustus, his Death and Descent into Hell, which
will also appear the next winter.”

_Faustus_ did not meet with a very cordial reception.  _The Literary
Gazette_ (16th July 1825) characterised it as “another work to which no
respectable publisher ought to have allowed his name to be put.  The
political allusion and metaphysics, which may have made it popular among
a low class in Germany, do not sufficiently season its lewd scenes and
coarse descriptions for British palates.  We have occasionally
publications for the fireside,—these are only fit for the fire.”

Borrow had apparently been in some doubt about certain passages, for in a
note headed “The Translator to the Public,” he defends the work as moral
in its general teaching:

    “The publication of the present volume may at first sight appear to
    require some brief explanation from the Translator, inasmuch as the
    character of the incidents may justify such an expectation on the
    part of the reader.  It is, therefore, necessary to state that,
    although scenes of vice and crime are here exhibited, it is merely in
    the hope that they may serve as beacons, to guide the ignorant and
    unwary from the shoals on which they might otherwise be wrecked.  The
    work, when considered as a whole, is strictly moral.”

It must be confessed that Faustus does not err on the side of restraint.
Many of its scenes might appear “lewd . . . and coarse” to anyone who for
a moment allowed his mind to wander from the morality of “its general
teaching.”  The attacks upon the lax morals of the priesthood must have
proved particularly congenial to the translator.

The more Borrow read his translations of Ab Gwilym, the more convinced he
became of their merit and the profit they would bring to him who
published them.  The booksellers, however, with singular unanimity,
declined the risk of introducing to the English public either Welsh or
Danish ballads; and their translator became so shabby in consequence,
that he refrained from calling upon his friend Arden, for whom he had
always cherished a very real friendship.  He began to lose heart.  His
energy left him and with it went hope.  He was forced to review his
situation.  Authorship had obviously failed, and he found himself with no
reasonable prospect of employment.

There is no episode in Borrow’s life that has so exercised the minds of
commentators and critics as his account of the book he terms in
_Lavengro_, _The Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell_, _the Great
Traveller_.  Some dismiss the whole story as apocryphal; others see in it
a grain of truth distorted into something of vital importance; whilst
there are a number of earnest Borrovians that accept the whole story as
it is written.  Dr Knapp has said that Joseph Sell “was not a book at
all, and the author of it never said that it was.”  This was obviously an
error, for the bookseller is credited with saying, “I think I shall
venture on sending your book to the press,” {55a} referring to it as a
“book” four times in nine lines.  Again, in another place, Borrow
describes how he rescued himself “from peculiarly miserable circumstances
by writing a book, an original book, within a week, even as Johnson is
said to have written his _Rasselas_ and Beckford his _Vathek_.” {55b}
This removes all question of the _Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell_
being included in a collection of short stories.  The title would not be
the same, the date is most probably wrongly given, as in the case of
Marshland Shales; but the general accuracy of the account as written
seems to be highly probable.  Many efforts have been made to trace the
story; but so far unsuccessfully.  It must be remembered that Borrow
loved to stretch the long arm of coincidence; but he loved more than
anything else a dramatic situation.  He was always on the look out for
effective “curtains.”

In favour of the story having been actually written, is the knowledge
that Borrow invented little or nothing.  Collateral evidence has shown
how little he deviated from actual happenings, although he did not
hesitate to revise dates or colour events.  The strongest evidence,
however, lies in the atmosphere of truth that pervades Chapters LV.–LVII.
of _Lavengro_.  They are convincing.  At one time or another during his
career, it would appear that Borrow wrote against time from grim
necessity; otherwise he must have been a master of invention, which
everything that is known about him clearly shows that he was not.

_Joseph Sell_ has disappeared, a most careful search of the Registers at
Stationers’ Hall can show no trace of that work, or any book that seems
to suggest it, and the contemporary literary papers render no assistance.

According to Borrow’s own account, one morning on getting up he found
that he had only half a crown in the world.  It was this circumstance,
coupled with the timely notice that he saw affixed to a bookseller’s
window to the effect that “A Novel or Tale is much wanted,” that
determined him to endeavour to emulate Dr Johnson and William Beckford.
He had tired of “the Great City,” and his thoughts turned instinctively
to the woods and the fields, where he could be free to meditate and muse
in solitude.

When he returned to Milman Street after seeing the bookseller’s
advertisement, he found that his resources had been still further reduced
to eighteen-pence.  He was too proud to write home for assistance, he had
broken with Sir Richard Phillips, and he had no reasonable expectation of
obtaining employment of any description; for his accomplishments found no
place in the catalogue of everyday wants.  He was a proper man with his
hands, and knew some score or more languages.  No matter how he regarded
the situation, the facts were obvious.  Between him and actual starvation
there was the inconsiderable sum of eighteen-pence and the bookseller’s
advertisement.  The gravity of the situation banished the cloud of
despondency that threatened to settle upon him, and also the doubts that
presented themselves as to whether he possessed the requisite ability to
produce what the bookseller required.  The all-important question was,
could he exist sufficiently long on eighteen-pence to complete a story?
Sir Richard Phillips had told him to live on bread and water.  He now did
so.

For a week he wrote ceaselessly at the _Life and Adventures of Joseph
Sell_, _the Great Traveller_.  He wrote with the feverish energy of a man
who sees the shadow of actual starvation cast across his manuscript.
When the tale was finished there remained the work of revision, and after
that, worst of all, fears lest the bookseller were already suited.

Fortune, however, was kind to him, and he was successful in extracting
for his story the sum of twenty pounds.  Borrow had not mixed among
gypsies for nothing.  He, a starving and unknown author, succeeded in
extracting from a bookseller twenty pounds for a story, twice the amount
offered by Sir Richard Phillips for a novel on the lines of _The
Dairyman’s Daughter_.  It was an achievement.

The first argument against the story, as related by Borrow, is that he
was not without resources at the time.  Why should he be so impoverished
a few weeks after receiving payment for _Celebrated Trials_? {57}  Above
all, why did he not realise upon Simpkin & Marshall’s bill for _Faustus_?
He would have experienced no difficulty in discounting a bill accepted by
such a firm.  It seems hardly conceivable that he should preserve this
piece of paper when he had only eighteen-pence in the world.  Everything
seems to point to the fact that in May 1825 Borrow was not in want of
money, and if he were not, why did he almost kill himself by writing the
_Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell_?  Again, at that period he had met
with no adventures such as might be included in the life of a “Great
Traveller,” and Borrow was not an inventive writer.  Later he possessed
plenty of material; for there can be no question that he roamed about the
world for a considerable portion of those seven mysterious years of his
life that came to be known as the “Veiled Period.”  His accuracy as to
actual occurrences has been so emphasised that this particular argument
holds considerable significance.

The strongest evidence against _Joseph Sell_ having been written in 1825,
however, lies in the fact that Greenwich Fair was held on 23rd May, and
not 12th May, as given by Dr Knapp.  By his error Dr Knapp makes Borrow
leave London a day before the Fair took place that he describes.  Borrow
must have left London on the day following Greenwich Fair (24th May).  If
he left later, then those things which tend to confirm his story of the
life in the Dingle do not fit in, as will be seen.  He certainly could
not have left before Greenwich Fair was held.

In one of his brother John’s letters, written at the end of 1829, there
is a significant passage, “Let me know how you sold your manuscript.”
{58}  What manuscript is it that is referred to?  There is no record of
George having sold a manuscript in the autumn of 1829.  The passage can
scarcely have reference to some article or translation; it seems to
suggest something of importance, an event in George’s life that his
brother is anxious to know more about.  If this be _Joseph Sell_, then it
explains where Borrow got the money from to go up to London at the end of
1829, when he entered into relations with Dr Bowring.  It is merely a
theory, it must be confessed; but there is certain evidence that seems to
support it.  In the first place, Borrow was a chronicler before all else.
He possessed an amazing memory and a great gift for turning his
experiences into literary material.  If he coloured facts, he appears to
have done so unconsciously, to judge from those portions of _The Bible in
Spain_ that were covered by letters to the Bible Society.  Not only are
the facts the same, but, with very slight changes, the words in which he
relates them.  He never hesitated to change a date if it served his
purpose, much as an artist will change the position of a tree in a
landscape to suit the exigencies of composition.  His five volumes of
autobiography bristle with coincidences so amazing that, if they were
actually true, he must have been the most remarkable genius on record for
attracting to himself strange adventures.  He met the sailor son of the
old Apple-Woman returning from his enforced exile; Murtagh tells him of
how the postilion frightened the Pope at Rome by his denunciation, a
story Borrow had already heard from the postilion himself; the Hungarian
at Horncastle narrates how an Armenian once silenced a Moldavian, the
same Moldavian whom Borrow had encountered in London; the postilion meets
the man in black again.  There are scores of such coincidences, which
must be accepted as dramatic embellishments.




CHAPTER IV
MAY–SEPTEMBER 1825


FOURTEEN months in London had shown Borrow how hard was the road of
authorship.  He confessed that he was not “formed by nature to be a
pallid indoor student.”  “The peculiar atmosphere of the big city” did
not agree with him, and this fact, together with the anxiety and hard
work of the past twelve months, caused him to flag, and his first thought
was how to recover his health.  He was disillusioned as to the busy
world, and the opportunities it offered to a young man fired with
ambition to make a stir in it.  He determined to leave London, which he
did towards the end of May, {60} first despatching his trunk “containing
a few clothes and books to the old town [Norwich].”  He struck out in a
south-westerly direction, musing on his achievements as an author, and
finding that in having preserved his independence and health, he had
“abundant cause to be grateful.”

Throughout his life Borrow was hypnotised by independence.  Like many
other proud natures, he carried his theory of independence to such an
extreme as to become a slave to it and render himself unsociable,
sometimes churlish.  It was this virtue carried to excess that drove
Borrow from London.  He must tell men what was in his mind, and his one
patron, Sir Richard Phillips, he had mortally offended in this manner.

Finding that he was unequal to much fatigue, after a few hours’ walking
he hailed a passing coach, which took him as far as Amesbury in
Wiltshire.  From here he walked to Stonehenge and on to Salisbury,
“inspecting the curiosities of the place,” and endeavouring by sleep and
good food to make up the wastage of the last few months.  The weather was
fine and his health and spirits rapidly improved as he tramped on, his
“daily journeys varying from twenty to twenty-five miles.”  He
encountered the mysterious stranger who “touched” against the evil eye.
F. H. Groome asserts, on the authority of W. B. Donne, that this was in
reality William Beckford.  Borrow must have met him at some other time
and place, as he had already left Fonthill in 1825.  It is, however,
interesting to recall that Borrow himself “touched” against the evil eye.
Mr Watts-Dunton has said:

    “There was nothing that Borrow strove against with more energy than
    the curious impulse, which he seems to have shared with Dr Johnson,
    to touch the objects along his path in order to save himself from the
    evil chance.  He never conquered the superstition.  In walking
    through Richmond Park he would step out of his way constantly to
    touch a tree, and he was offended if the friend he was with seemed to
    observe it.” {61a}

The chance meeting with Jack Slingsby (in fear of his life from the
Flaming Tinman, and bound by oath not to continue on the same beat) gave
Borrow the idea of buying out Slingsby, beat, plant, pony and all.  “A
tinker is his own master, a scholar is not,” {61b} he remarks, and then
proceeds to draw tears and moans from the dispirited Slingsby and his
family by a description of the joys of tinkering, “the happiest life
under heaven . . . pitching your tent under the pleasant hedge-row,
listening to the song of the feathered tribes, collecting all the leaky
kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and joining, earning your honest
bread by the wholesome sweat of your brow.” {62a}

By the expenditure of five pounds ten shillings, plus the cost of a
smock-frock and some provisions, George Borrow, linguist, editor and
translator, became a travelling tinker.  With his dauntless little pony,
Ambrol, he set out, a tinkering Ulysses, indifferent to what direction he
took, allowing the pony to go whither he felt inclined.  At first he
experienced some apprehension at passing the night with only a tent or
the stars as a roof.  Rain fell to mar the opening day of the adventure,
but the pony, with unerring instinct, led his new master to one of
Slingsby’s usual camping grounds.

In the morning Borrow fell to examining what it was beyond the pony and
cart that his five pounds ten shillings had purchased.  He found a tent,
a straw mattress and a blanket, “quite clean and nearly new.”  There were
also a frying-pan, a kettle, a teapot (broken in three pieces) and some
cups and saucers.  The stock-in-trade “consisted of various tools, an
iron ladle, a chafing-pan, and small bellows, sundry pans and kettles,
the latter being of tin, with the exception of one which was of copper,
all in a state of considerable dilapidation.”  The pans and kettles were
to be sold after being mended, for which purpose there was “a block of
tin, sheet-tin, and solder.”  But most precious of all his possessions
was “a small anvil and bellows of the kind which are used in forges, and
two hammers such as smiths use, one great, and the other small.” {62b}
Borrow had learned the blacksmith’s art when in Ireland, and the anvil,
bellows and smith’s hammers were to prove extremely useful.

A few days after pitching his tent, Borrow received from his old enemy
Mrs Herne, Mr Petulengro’s mother-in-law, a poisoned cake, which came
very near to ending his career.  He then encountered the Welsh preacher
(“the worthiest creature I ever knew”) and his wife, who were largely
instrumental in saving him from Mrs Herne’s poison.  Having remained with
his new friends for nine days, he accompanied them as far as the Welsh
border, where he confessed himself the translator of Ab Gwilym, giving as
an excuse for not accompanying them further that it was “neither fit nor
proper that I cross into Wales at this time, and in this manner.  When I
go into Wales, I should wish to go in a new suit of superfine black, with
hat and beaver, mounted on a powerful steed, black and glossy, like that
which bore Greduv to the fight of Catraeth.  I should wish, moreover,” he
continued, “to see the Welshmen assembled on the border ready to welcome
me with pipe and fiddle, and much whooping and shouting, and to attend me
to Wrexham, or even as far as Machynllaith, where I should wish to be
invited to a dinner at which all the bards should be present, and to be
seated at the right hand of the president, who, when the cloth was
removed, should arise, and amidst cries of silence, exclaim—‘Brethren and
Welshmen, allow me to propose the health of my most respectable friend
the translator of the odes of the great Ab Gwilym, the pride and glory of
Wales.’” {63a}

He returned with Mr Petulengro, who directed him to Mumber Lane (Mumper’s
Dingle), near Willenhall, in Staffordshire, “the little dingle by the
side of the great north road.”  Here Borrow encamped and shod little
Ambrol, who kicked him over as a reminder of his clumsiness.

He had refused an invitation from Mr Petulengro to become a Romany _chal_
and take a Romany bride, the granddaughter of his would-be murderess, who
“occasionally talked of” him.  He yearned for solitude and the country’s
quiet.  He told Mr Petulengro that he desired only some peaceful spot
where he might hold uninterrupted communion with his own thoughts, and
practise, if so inclined, either tinkering or the blacksmith’s art, and
he had been directed to Mumper’s Dingle, which was to become the setting
of the most romantic episode in his life.

In the dingle Borrow experienced one of his worst attacks of the
“Horrors”—the “Screaming Horrors.”  He raged like a madman, a prey to
some indefinable, intangible fear; clinging to his “little horse as if
for safety and protection.” {64a}  He had not recovered from the
prostrating effects of that night of tragedy when he was called upon to
fight Anselo Herne, “the Flaming Tinman,” who somehow or other seemed to
be part of the bargain he had made with Jack Slingsby, and encounter the
queen of road-girls, Isopel Berners.  The description of the fight has
been proclaimed the finest in our language, and by some the finest in the
world’s literature.

Isopel Berners is one of the great heroines of English Literature.  As
drawn by Borrow, with her strong arm, lion-like courage and tender
tearfulness, she is unique.  However true or false the account of her
relations with Borrow may be, she is drawn by him as a living woman.  He
was incapable of conceiving her from his imagination.  It may go
unquestioned that he actually met an Isopel Berners, {64b} but whether or
no his parting from her was as heart-rendingly tragic as he has depicted
it, is open to very grave question.

                 [Picture: Mumber Lane (Mumper’s Dingle)]

With this queen of the roads he seems to have been less reticent and more
himself than with any other of his vagabond acquaintance, not excepting
even Mr Petulengro.  To the handsome, tall girl with “the flaxen hair,
which hung down over her shoulders unconfined,” and the “determined but
open expression,” he showed a more amiable side of his character; yet he
seems to have treated her with no little cruelty.  He told her about
himself, how he “had tamed savage mares, wrestled with Satan, and had
dealings with ferocious publishers,” bringing tears to her eyes, and when
she grew too curious, he administered an antidote in the form of a few
Armenian numerals.  If his _Autobiography_ is to be credited, Isopel
loved him, and he was aware of it; but the knowledge did not hinder him
from torturing the poor girl by insisting that she should decline the
verb “to love” in Armenian.

Borrow’s attitude towards Isopel was curiously complex; he seemed to find
pleasure in playing upon her emotions.  At times he appeared as
deliberately brutal to her, as to the gypsy girl Ursula when he talked
with her beneath the hedge.  He forced from Isopel a passionate rebuke
that he sought only to vex and irritate “a poor ignorant girl . . . who
can scarcely read or write.”  He asked her to marry him, but not until he
had convinced her that he was mad.  How much she had become part of his
life in the dingle he did not seem to realise until after she had left
him.  Isopel Berners was a woman whose character was almost masculine in
its strength; but she was prepared to subdue her spirit to his, wished to
do so even.  With her strength, however, there was wisdom, and she left
Borrow and the dingle, sending him a letter of farewell that was
certainly not the composition of “a poor girl” who could “scarcely read
or write.”  The story itself is in all probability true; but the letter
rings false.  Isopel may have sent Borrow a letter of farewell, but not
the one that appears in _The Romany Rye_.

Among Borrow’s papers Dr Knapp discovered a fragment of manuscript in
which Mr Petulengro is shown deliberating upon the expediency of
emulating King Pharaoh in the number of his wives.  Mrs Petulengro
desires “a little pleasant company,” and urges her husband to take a
second spouse.  He proceeds:—

    “Now I am thinking that this here Bess of yours would be just the
    kind of person both for my wife and myself.  My wife wants something
    _gorgiko_, something genteel.  Now Bess is of blood gorgious; if you
    doubt it, look at her face, all full of _pawno ratter_, white blood,
    brother; and as for gentility, nobody can make exceptions to Bess’s
    gentility, seeing she was born in the workhouse of Melford the
    Short.”

Mr Petulengro sees in Bess another advantage.  If “the Flaming Tinman”
{66a} were to descend upon them, as he once did, with the offer to fight
the best of them for nothing, and Tawno Chikno were absent, who was to
fight him?  Mr Petulengro could not do so for less than five pounds; but
with Bess as a second wife the problem would be solved.  She would fight
“the Flaming Tinman.”

This proves nothing, one way or the other, and can scarcely be said to
“dispel any allusions,” as Dr Knapp suggests, or confirm the story of
Isopel.  Why did Borrow omit it from Lavengro?  Not from caprice surely.
It has been stated that those who know the gypsies can vouch for the fact
that no such suggestion could have been made by a gypsy woman.

It would appear that Isopel Berners existed, but the account of her given
by Borrow in Lavengro and The Romany Rye is in all probability coloured,
just as her stature was heightened by him.  If she were taller than he,
she must have appeared a giantess.  Borrow was an impressionist, and he
has probably succeeded far better in giving a faithful picture of Isopel
Berners than if he had been photographically accurate in his
measurements.

According to Borrow’s own account, he left Willenhall mounted upon a fine
horse, purchased with money lent to him by Mr Petulengro, a small valise
strapped to the saddle, and “some desire to meet with one of those
adventures which upon the roads of England are generally as plentiful as
blackberries.”  From this point, however, _The Romany Rye_ becomes
dangerous as autobiography. {66b}

For one thing, it was unlike Borrow to remain in debt, and it is
incredible that he should have ridden away upon a horse purchased with
another man’s money, without any set purpose in his mind.  Therefore the
story of his employment at the Swan Inn, Stafford, where he found his
postilion friend, and the subsequent adventures must be reluctantly
sacrificed.  They do not ring true, nor do they fit in with the rest of
the story.  That he experienced such adventures is highly probable; but
it is equally probable that he took some liberty with the dates.

Up to the point where he purchases the horse, Borrow’s story is
convincing; but from there onwards it seems to go to pieces, that is as
autobiography.  The arrival of Ardry (Arden) at the inn, {67a} _passing
through Stafford on his way to Warwick_ to be present at a dog and lion
fight that had already taken place (26th July), is in itself enough to
shake our confidence in the whole episode of the inn.  In _The Gypsies of
Spain_ Mr Petulengro is made to say:

    “I suppose you have not forgot how, fifteen years ago, when you made
    horseshoes in the little dingle by the side of the great north road,
    I lent you fifty cottors [guineas] to purchase the wonderful trotting
    cob of the innkeeper with the green Newmarket coat, which three days
    after you sold for two hundred.  Well, brother, if you had wanted the
    two hundred instead of the fifty, I could have lent them to you, and
    would have done so, for I knew you would not be long pazorrhus
    [indebted] to me.” {67b}

It seems more in accordance with Borrow’s character to repay the loan
within three days than to continue in Mr Petulengro’s debt for weeks, at
one time making no actual effort to realise upon the horse.  The question
as to whether Borrow received a hundred and fifty (as he himself states)
or two hundred pounds is immaterial.  It is quite likely that he sold the
horse before he left the dingle, and that the adventures he narrates may
be true in all else save the continued possession of his steed, that is,
with the exception of the Francis Ardry episode, the encounter with the
man in black, and the arrival at Horncastle during the fair.  If Borrow
left London on 24th May, and he could not have left earlier, as has been
shown, he must have visited the Fair (Tamworth) with Mr Petulengro on
26th July, and set out from Willenhall about 2nd August.

It has been pointed out by that distinguished scholar and
gentleman-gypsy, Mr John Sampson, {68} that as the Horse Fair at
Horncastle was held 12th–21st August, if Borrow took the horse there it
could not have been in the manner described in _The Romany Rye_, where he
is shown as spending some considerable time at the inn, if we may judge
by the handsome cheque (£10) offered to him by the landlord as a bonus on
account of his services.  Then there was the accident and the consequent
lying-up at the house of the man who knew Chinese, but could not tell
what o’clock it was.  To confirm Borrow’s itinerary all this must have
been crowded into less than three weeks, fully a third of which Borrow
spent in recovering from his fall.  This would mean that for less than a
fortnight’s work, the innkeeper offered him ten pounds as a gratuity, in
addition to the bargain he had made, which included the horse’s keep.

Mr Sampson has supported his itinerary with several very important pieces
of evidence.  Borrow states in _Lavengro_ that “a young moon gave a
feeble light” as he mounted the coach that was to take him to Amesbury.
The moon was in its first quarter on 24th May.  There actually was a
great thunderstorm in the Willenhall district about the time that Borrow
describes (18th July).  It is Mr Sampson also who has identified the fair
to which Borrow went with the gypsies as that held at Tamworth on 26th
July.

Whatever else Borrow may have been doing immediately after leaving the
dingle, he appears to have been much occupied in speculating as to the
future.  Was he not “sadly misspending his time?”  He was forced to the
conclusion that he had done nothing else throughout his life but misspend
his time.  He was ambitious.  He chafed at his narrow life.  “Oh! what a
vast deal may be done with intellect, courage, riches, accompanied by the
desire of doing something great and good!” {69a} he exclaims, and his
thoughts turned instinctively to the career of his old school-fellow,
Rajah Brooke of Sarawak. {69b}  He was now, by his own confession, “a
moody man, bearing on my face, as I well knew, the marks of my strivings
and my strugglings, of what I had learnt and unlearnt.” {69c}  He
recognised the possibilities that lay in every man, only awaiting the
hour when they should be called forth.  He believed implicitly in the
power of the will. {69d}  He possessed ambition and a fine workable
theory of how success was to be obtained; but he lacked initiative.  He
expected fortune to wait for him on the high-road, just as he knew
adventures awaited him.  He would not go “across the country,” to use a
phrase of the time common to postilions.  He was too independent, perhaps
too sensitive of being patronised, to seek employment.  That he cared
“for nothing in this world but old words and strange stories,” was an
error into which his friend Mr Petulengro might well fall.  The
mightiness of the man’s pride could be covered only by a cloak of assumed
indifference.  He must be independent of the world, not only in material
things, but in those intangible qualities of the spirit.  It was this
that lost him Isopel Berners, whose love he awakened by a strong right
arm and quenched with an Armenian noun.  Again, his independence stood in
the way of his happiness.  A man is a king, he seemed to think, and the
attribute of kings is their splendid isolation, their godlike solitude.
If his Ego were lonely and crying out for sympathy, Borrow thought it a
moment for solitude, in which to discipline his insurgent spirit.  The
“Horrors” were the result of this self-repression.  When they became
unbearable, his spirit broke down, the yearning for sympathy and
affection overmastered him, and he stumbled to his little horse in the
desolate dingle, and found comfort in the faithful creature’s whinny of
sympathy and its affectionate licking of his hand.  The strong man clung
to his dumb brute friend as a protection against the unknown horror—the
screaming horror that had gripped him.

One quality Borrow possessed in common with many other men of strange and
taciturn personality.  He could always make friends when he chose.
Ostlers, scholars, farmers, gypsies; it mattered not one jot to him what,
or who they were.  He could earn their respect and obtain their
good-will, if he wished to do so.  He demanded of men that they should
have done things, or be capable of doing things.  They must know
everything there was to be known about some one thing; and the ostler,
than whom none could groom a horse better, was worthy of being ranked
with the best man in the land.  He demanded of every man that he should
justify his existence, and was logical in his attitude, save in the
insignificant particular that he applied the same rule to himself only in
theory.

He was shrewd and a good judge of character, provided it were Protestant
character, and could hold his own with a Jew or a Gypsy.  He was fully
justified in his boast of being able to take “precious good care of”
himself, and “drive a precious hard bargain”; yet these qualities were
not to find a market until he was thirty years of age.

Sometime during the autumn (1825) Borrow returned to Norwich, where he
busied himself with literary affairs, among other things writing to the
publishers of _Faustus_ about the bill that was shortly to fall due.  The
fact of the book having been destroyed at both the Norwich libraries,
gave him the idea that he might make some profit by selling copies of the
suppressed volume.  Hence his offer to Simpkin & Marshall to take copies
in lieu of money.




CHAPTER V
SEPTEMBER 1825–DECEMBER 1832


FROM the autumn of 1825 until the winter of 1832, when he obtained an
introduction to the British & Foreign Bible Society, only fragmentary
details of Borrow’s life exist.  He decided to keep sacred to himself the
“Veiled Period,” as it came to be called.  In all probability it was a
time of great hardship and mortification, and he wished it to be thought
that the whole period was devoted to “a grand philological expedition,”
or expeditions.  There is no doubt that some portion of the mysterious
epoch was so spent, but not all.  Many of the adventures ascribed to
characters in _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_ were, most probably,
Borrow’s own experiences during that period of mystery and misfortune.
Time after time he was implored to “lift up a corner of the curtain”; but
he remained obdurate, and the seven years are in his life what the New
Orleans days were in that of Walt Whitman.

Soon after his return to Norwich, Borrow seems to have turned his
attention to the manuscripts in the green box.  In the days of happy
augury, before he had quarrelled with Sir Richard Phillips, there had
appeared in _The Monthly Magazine_ the two following paragraphs:—

    “We have heard and seen much of the legends and popular superstitions
    of the North, but, in truth, all the exhibitions of these subjects
    which have hitherto appeared in England have been translations from
    the German.  Mr Olaus Borrow, who is familiar with the Northern
    Languages, proposes, however, to present these curious reliques of
    romantic antiquity directly from the Danish and Swedish, and two
    elegant volumes of them now printing will appear in September.  They
    are highly interesting in themselves, but more so as the basis of
    most of the popular superstitions of England, when they were
    introduced during the incursions and dominion of the Danes and
    Norwegians.”  (1st September 1824.)

    “We have to acknowledge the favour of a beautiful collection of
    Danish songs and ballads, of which a specimen will be seen among the
    poetical articles of the present month.  One, or more, of these very
    interesting translations will appear in each succeeding number.”
    (1st December 1824.)

It seems to have been Borrow’s plan to run his ballads serially through
_The Monthly Magazine_ and then to publish them in book-form.  His
initial contribution to _The Monthly Magazine_ had appeared in October
1823.  The first of the articles, entitled “Danish Traditions and
Superstitions,” appeared August 1824, and continued, with the omission of
one or two months, until December 1825, there being in all nine articles;
but there was only one instalment of “Danish Songs and Ballads.” {73}

Borrow was determined that these ballads, at least, should be published,
and he set to work to prepare them for the press.  Allan Cunningham, with
whom Borrow was acquainted, contributed, at his request, a metrical
dedication.  The volume appeared on 10th May, in an edition of five
hundred copies at ten shillings and sixpence each.  It appears that some
two hundred copies were subscribed for, thus ensuring the cost of
production.  The balance, or a large proportion of it, was consigned to
John Taylor, the London publisher, who printed a new title-page and sold
them at seven shillings each, probably the trade price for a half-guinea
book.

Cunningham wrote to Borrow advising him to send out freely copies for
review, and with each a note saying that it was the translator’s ultimate
intention to publish an English version of the whole _Kiæmpe Viser_ with
notes; also to “scatter a few judiciously among literary men.”  It is
doubtful if this sage counsel were acted upon; for there is no record of
any review or announcement of the work.  This in itself was not
altogether a misfortune; for Borrow did not prove himself an inspired
translator of verse.  Apart from the two hundred copies sold to
subscribers, the book was still-born.

After the publication of _Romantic Ballads_, Borrow appears to have
returned to London, not to his old lodging at Milman Street, possibly on
account of the associations, but to 26 Bryanston Street, Portman Square,
from which address he wrote to Benjamin Haydon the following note:—{74}

    DEAR SIR,—

    I should feel extremely obliged if you would allow me to sit to you
    as soon as possible.  I am going to the South of France in little
    better than a fortnight, and I would sooner lose a thousand pounds
    than not have the honour of appearing in the picture.

                               Yours sincerely,

                                                            GEORGE BORROW.

In his account of how he first became acquainted with Haydon, Borrow
shows himself as anything but desirous of appearing in a picture.  When
John tells of the artist’s wish to include him as one of the characters
in a painting upon which he is engaged, Borrow replies: “I have no wish
to appear on canvas.”  It is probable that in some way or other Haydon
offended his sitter, who, regretting his acquiescence, antedated the
episode and depicted himself as refusing the invitation.  Such a liberty
with fact and date would be quite in accordance with Borrow’s
autobiographical methods.

Borrow wrote in _Lavengro_, “I have been a wanderer the greater part of
my life; indeed I remember only two periods, and these by no means
lengthy, when I was, strictly speaking, stationary.” {75a}  One of the
“two periods” was obviously the eight years spent at Norwich, 1816–24,
the other is probably the years spent at Oulton.  Thus the “Veiled
Period” may be assumed to have been one of wandering.  The seven years
are gloomy and mysterious, but not utterly dark.  There is a hint here, a
suggestion there—a letter or a paragraph, that gives in a vague way some
idea of what Borrow was doing, and where.  It seems comparatively safe to
assume that after the publication of _Romantic Ballads_ he plunged into a
life of roving and vagabondage, which, in all probability, was brought to
an abrupt termination by either the loss or the exhaustion of his money.
Anything beyond this is pure conjecture. {75b}

After he became associated with the British & Foreign Bible Society, his
movements are easily accounted for; but all we have to guide us as to
what countries he had seen before 1833 is an occasional hint.  He
casually admits having been in Italy, {75c} at Bayonne, {75d} Paris,
{75e} Madrid, {75f} the south of France. {75g}  “I have visited most of
the principal capitals of the world,” he writes in 1843; and again in the
same year, “I have heard the ballad of Alonzo Guzman chanted in Danish,
by a hind in the wilds of Jutland.” {76a}  “I have lived in different
parts of the world, much amongst the Hebrew race, and I am well
acquainted with their words and phraseology,” {76b} he writes; and on
another occasion: “I have seen gypsies of various lands, Russian,
Hungarian, and Turkish; and I have also seen the legitimate children of
most countries of the world.” {76c}  An even more significant admission
is that made when Colonel Elers Napier, whom Borrow met in Seville in
1839, enquired where he had obtained his knowledge of Moultanee.  “Some
years ago, in Moultan,” was the reply; then, as if regretting that he had
confessed so much, showed by his manner that he intended to divulge
nothing more. {76d}

“Once, during my own wanderings in Italy,” Borrow writes, “I rested at
nightfall by the side of a kiln, the air being piercingly cold; it was
about four leagues from Genoa.” {76e}  Again, “Once in the south of
France, when I was weary, hungry, and penniless, I observed one of these
last patterans {76f} [a cross marked in the dust], and following the
direction pointed out, arrived at the resting-place of ‘certain
Bohemians,’ by whom I was received with kindness and hospitality, on the
faith of no other word of recommendation than patteran.” {76g}  In a
letter of introduction to the Rev. E. Whitely, of Oporto, the Rev. Andrew
Brandram, of the Bible Society, wrote in 1835: “With Portugal he [Borrow]
is already acquainted, and speaks the language.”  This statement is
significant, for only during the “Veiled Period” could Borrow have
visited Portugal.

It may be argued that Borrow was merely posing as a great traveller, but
the foregoing remarks are too casual, too much in the nature of asides,
to be the utterances of a poseur.  A man seeking to impress himself upon
the world as a great traveller would probably have been a little more
definite.

The only really reliable information as to Borrow’s movements after his
arrival in London is contained in the note to Haydon.  In all probability
he went to Paris, where possibly he met Vidocq, the master-rogue turned
detective. {77a}  It has been suggested by Dr Knapp that he went to
Paris, and thence on foot to Bayonne and Madrid, after which he tramped
to Pamplona, where he gets into trouble, is imprisoned, and is released
on condition that he leave the country; he proceeds towards Marseilles
and Genoa, where he takes ship and is landed safely in London.  The data,
however, upon which this itinerary is constructed are too frail to be
convincing.  There is every probability that he roamed about the
Continent and met with adventures—he was a man to whom adventures
gravitated quite naturally—but the fact of his saying that he had been
imprisoned on three occasions, and there being only two instances on
record at the time, cannot in itself be considered as conclusive evidence
of his having been arrested at Pamplona. {77b}

In the spring of 1827 Borrow was unquestionably at Norwich, for he saw
the famous trotting stallion Marshland Shales on the Castle Hill (12th
April), and did for that grand horse “what I would neither do for earl or
baron, doffed my hat.” {78}  Borrow apparently remained with his mother
for some months, to judge from certain entries (29th September to 19th
November) in his hand that appear in her account books.

In December 1829 he was back again in London at 77 Great Russell Street,
W.C.  He was as usual eager to obtain some sort of work.  He wrote to
“the Committee of the Honourable and Praiseworthy Association, known by
the name of the Highland Society . . . a body animate with patriotism,
which, guided by philosophy, produces the noblest results, and many of
whose members stand amongst the very eminent in the various departments
of knowledge.”

The project itself was that of translating into English “the best and
most approved poetry of the Ancient and Modern Scoto-Gaelic Bards, with
such notes on the usages and superstitions therein alluded to, as will
enable the English reader to form a clear and correct idea of the
originals.”  In the course of a rather ornate letter, Borrow offers
himself as the translator and compiler of such a work as he suggests,
avowing his willingness to accept whatsoever remuneration might be
thought adequate compensation for his expenditure of time.  Furthermore,
he undertakes to complete the work within a period of two years.

On 7th December he wrote to Dr Bowring, recently returned from Denmark:—

    “Lest I should intrude upon you when you are busy, I write to enquire
    when you will be unoccupied.  I wish to show you my translation of
    The Death of Balder, Ewald’s most celebrated production, which, if
    you approve of, you will perhaps render me some assistance in
    bringing forth, for I don’t know many publishers.  I think this will
    be a proper time to introduce it to the British public, as your
    account of Danish literature will doubtless cause a sensation.” {79}

On 29th December he wrote again:—

    “When I had last the pleasure of being at yours, you mentioned that
    we might at some future period unite our strength in composing a kind
    of Danish Anthology.  Suppose we bring forward at once the first
    volume of the Danish Anthology, which should contain the heroic
    supernatural songs of the _K_[_iæmpe_] _V_[_iser_].”

It was suggested that there should be four volumes in all, and the first,
with an introduction that Borrow expressed himself as not ashamed of, was
ready and “might appear instanter, with no further trouble to yourself
than writing, if you should think fit, a page or two of introductory
matter.”  Dr Bowring replied by return of post that he thought that no
more than two volumes could be ventured on, and Borrow acquiesced,
writing: “The sooner the work is advertised the better, _for I am
terribly afraid of being forestalled in the Kiæmpe Viser by some of those
Scotch blackguards_, who affect to translate from all languages, of which
they are fully as ignorant as Lockhart is of Spanish.”

Borrow was full of enthusiasm for the project, and repeated that the
first volume was ready, adding: “If we unite our strength in the second,
I think we can produce something worthy of fame, for we shall have plenty
of matter to employ talent upon.”  A later letter, which was written from
7 Museum Street (8th January), told how he had “been obliged to decamp
from Russell St. for the cogent reason of an execution having been sent
into the house, and I thought myself happy in escaping with my things.”

He drew up a prospectus, endeavouring “to assume a Danish style,” which
he submitted to his collaborator, begging him to “alter . . . whatever
false logic has crept into it, find a remedy for its incoherencies, and
render it fit for its intended purpose.  I have had for the two last days
a rising headache which has almost prevented me doing anything.”

It would appear that Dr Bowring did not altogether approve of the “Danish
style,” for on 14th January Borrow wrote, “I approve of the prospectus in
every respect; it is business-like, and there is nothing flashy in it.  I
do not wish to suggest one alteration . . .  When you see the foreign
Editor,” he continues, “I should feel much obliged if you would speak to
him about my reviewing Tegner, and enquire whether a _good_ article on
Welsh poetry would be received.  I have the advantage of not being a
Welshman.  I would speak the truth, and would give translations of some
of the best Welsh poetry; and I really believe that my translations would
not be the worst that have been made from the Welsh tongue.”

The prospectus, which appeared in several publications ran as follows:—

    “Dr Bowring and Mr George Borrow are about to publish, dedicated to
    the King of Denmark, by His Majesy’s permission, THE SONGS OF
    SCANDINAVIA, in 2 vols. 8vo, containing a Selection of the most
    interesting of the Historical and Romantic Ballads of North-Western
    Europe, with Specimens of the Danish and Norwegian Poets down to the
    present day.

    Price to Subscribers, £1, 1s.—to Non-Subscribers £1, 5s.

    The First Volume will be devoted to Ancient Popular Poetry; the
    Second will give the choicest productions of the Modern School,
    beginning with Tullin.” {81}

_The Songs of Scandinavia_ now became to Borrow what the _Celebrated
Trials_ had been four years previously, a source of constant toil.  On
one occasion he writes to Dr Bowring telling him that he has just
translated an ode “as I breakfasted.”  What Borrow lived on at this
period it is impossible to say.  It may be assumed that Mrs Borrow did
not keep him, for, apart from the slender proportions of the income of
the mother, the unconquerable independence of the son must be considered;
and Borrow loved his mother too tenderly to allow her to deprive herself
of luxuries even to keep him.  He borrowed money from her at various
times; but he subsequently faithfully repaid her.  Even John was puzzled.
“You never tell me what you are doing,” he writes to his brother at the
end of 1832; “you can’t be living on nothing.”

Borrow appears to have kept Dr Bowring well occupied with suggestions as
to how that good-natured man might assist him.  Although he is to see him
on the morrow, he writes on the evening of 21st May regarding another
idea that has just struck him:

    “As at present no doubt seems to be entertained of Prince Leopold’s
    accepting the sovereignty of Greece, would you have any objection to
    write to him concerning me?  I should be very happy to go to Greece
    in his service.  I do not wish to go in a civil or domestic capacity,
    and I have, moreover, no doubt that all such situations have been
    long since filled up; I wish to go in a military one, for which I am
    qualified by birth and early habits.  You might inform the Prince
    that I have been for years on the Commander-in-Chiefs list for a
    commission, but that I have not had sufficient interest to procure an
    appointment.  One of my reasons for wishing to reside in Greece is,
    that the mines of Eastern literature would be accessible to me.  I
    should soon become an adept in Turkish, and would weave and transmit
    to you such an anthology as would gladden your very heart.  As for
    the _Songs of Scandinavia_, all the ballads would be ready before
    departure, and as I should have books, I would in a few months send
    you translations of the modern Lyric Poetry.  I hope this letter will
    not displease you.  I do not write it from _flightiness_, but from
    thoughtfulness.  I am uneasy to find myself at four and twenty
    drifting on the sea of the world, and likely to continue so.”

On 22nd May Dr Bowring introduced Borrow to Dr Grundtvig, the Danish
poet, who required some transcriptions done.  On 7th June, Borrow wrote
to Dr Bowring:

    “I have looked over Mr Gruntvig’s (_sic_) manuscript.  It is a very
    long affair, and the language is Norman Saxon.  £40 would not be an
    extravagant price for a transcript, and so they told him at the
    Museum.  However, as I am doing nothing particular at present, and as
    I might learn something from transcribing it, I would do it for £20.
    He will call on you to-morrow morning, and then, if you please, you
    may recommend me.  The character closely resembles the ancient Irish,
    so I think you can answer for my competency.”

At this time there were a hundred schemes seething through Borrow’s eager
brain.  Hearing that “an order has been issued for the making a
transcript of the celebrated Anglo-Saxon Codex of Exeter, for the use of
the British Museum,” he applied to some unknown correspondent for his
interest and help to obtain the appointment as transcriber.  The work,
however, was carried out by a Museum official.

Another project appears to have been to obtain a post at the British
Museum.  On 9th March 1830 he had written to Dr Bowring:

    “I have thought over the Museum matter, which we were talking about
    last night, and it appears to me that it would be the very thing for
    me, provided that it could be accomplished.  I should feel obliged if
    you would deliberate upon the best mode of proceeding, so that when I
    see you again I may have the benefit of your advice.”

In reply Dr Bowring commended the scheme, and promised to assist “by
every sort of counsel and exertion.  But it would injure you,” he
proceeds, “if I were to take the initiative.  [The Gibraltar house of
Bowring & Murdock had recently failed.]  Quietly make yourself master of
that department of the Museum.  We must then think of how best to get at
the Council.  If by any management they can be induced to ask my opinion,
I will give you a character which shall take you to the top of Hecla
itself.  You have claims, strong ones, and I should rejoice to see you
_niched_ in the British Museum.”

Again failure!  Disappointment seemed to be dogging Borrow’s footsteps at
this period.  For years past he had been seeking some sort of occupation,
into which he could throw all that energy and determination of character
that he possessed.  He was earnest and able, and he knew that he only
required an opportunity of showing to the world what manner of man he
was.  He seemed doomed to meet everywhere with discouragement; for no one
wanted him, just as no one wanted his translations of the glorious Ab
Gwilym.  He appeared before the world as a failure, which probably
troubled him very little; but there was another aspect of the case that
was in his eyes, “the most heartbreaking of everything, the strange, the
disadvantageous light in which I am aware that I must frequently have
appeared to those whom I most love and honour.” {83}

On 14th September he wrote to Dr Bowring:

    “I am going to Norwich for some short time, as I am very unwell and
    hope that cold bathing in October and November may prove of service
    to me.  My complaints are, I believe, the offspring of ennui and
    unsettled prospects.  I have thoughts of attempting to get into the
    French service, as I should like prodigiously to serve under Clausel
    in the next Bedouin campaign.  I shall leave London next Sunday and
    will call some evening to take my leave; I cannot come in the
    morning, as early rising kills me.”

A year later he writes again to Dr Bowring, who once more has been
exerting himself on his friend’s behalf:

                                                    “WILLOW LANE, NORWICH,
                                                  11_th_ _September_ 1831.

    MY DEAR SIR,—

    I return you my most sincere thanks for your kind letter of the 2nd
    inst., and though you have not been successful in your application to
    the Belgian authorities in my behalf, I know full well that you did
    your utmost, and am only sorry that at my instigation you attempted
    an impossibility.

    The Belgians seem either not to know or not to care for the opinion
    of the great Cyrus who gives this advice to his captains.  ‘Take no
    heed from what countries ye fill up your ranks, but seek recruits as
    ye do horses, not those particularly who are of your own country, but
    those of merit.’  The Belgians will only have such recruits as are
    born in Belgium, and when we consider the heroic manner in which the
    native Belgian army defended the person of their new sovereign in the
    last conflict with the Dutch, can we blame them for their
    determination?  It is rather singular, however, that resolved as they
    are to be served only by themselves they should have sent for 5000
    Frenchmen to clear their country of a handful of Hollanders, who have
    generally been considered the most unwarlike people in Europe, but
    who, if they had fair play given them, would long ere this time have
    replanted the Orange flag on the towers of Brussels, and made the
    Belgians what they deserve to be, hewers of wood and drawers of
    water.

    And now, my dear Sir, allow me to reply to a very important part of
    your letter; you ask me whether I wish to purchase a commission in
    the British service, because in that case you would speak to the
    Secretary at War about me.  I must inform you therefore that my name
    has been for several years upon the list for the purchase of a
    commission, and I have never yet had sufficient interest to procure
    an appointment.  If I can do nothing better I shall be very glad to
    purchase; but I will pause two or three months before I call upon you
    to fulfil your kind promise.  It is believed that the Militia will be
    embodied in order to be sent to that unhappy country Ireland, and
    provided I can obtain a commission in one of them, and they are kept
    in service, it would be better than spending £500 about one in the
    line.  I am acquainted with the Colonels of the two Norfolk
    regiments, and I daresay that neither of them would have any
    objection to receive me.  If they are not embodied I will most
    certainly apply to you, and you may say when you recommend me that
    being well grounded in Arabic, and having some talent for languages,
    I might be an acquisition to a corps in one of our Eastern Colonies.
    I flatter myself that I could do a great deal in the East provided I
    could once get there, either in a civil or military capacity; there
    is much talk at present about translating European books into the two
    great languages, the Arabic and Persian; now I believe that with my
    enthusiasm for these tongues I could, if resident in the East, become
    in a year or two better acquainted with them than any European has
    been yet, and more capable of executing such a task.  Bear this in
    mind, and if before you hear from me again you should have any
    opportunity to recommend me as a proper person to fill any civil
    situation in those countries or to attend any expedition thither, I
    pray you to lay hold of it, and no conduct of mine shall ever give
    you reason to repent it.

    I remain,

                                 My Dear Sir,
                   Your most obliged and obedient Servant,

                                                            GEORGE BORROW.

    _P.S._—Present my best remembrances to Mrs B. and to Edgar, and tell
    them that they will both be starved.  There is now a report in the
    street that twelve corn-stacks are blazing within twenty miles of
    this place.  I have lately been wandering about Norfolk, and I am
    sorry to say that the minds of the peasantry are in a horrible state
    of excitement; I have repeatedly heard men and women in the
    harvest-field swear that not a grain of the corn they were cutting
    should be eaten, and that they would as lieve be hanged as live.  I
    am afraid all this will end in a famine and a rustic war.”

It was pride that prompted Borrow to ask Dr Bowring to stay his hand for
the moment about a commission.  There was no reasonable possibility of
his being able to raise £500.  Even if his mother had possessed it, which
she did not, he would not have drained her resources of so large an
amount.  His subsequent attitude towards the Belgians was characteristic
of him.  To his acutely sensitive perceptions, failure to obtain an
appointment he sought was a rebuff, and his whole nature rose up against
what, at the moment, appeared to be an intolerable slight.

Nothing came of the project of collaboration between Bowring and Borrow
beyond an article on Danish and Norwegian literature that appeared in
_The Foreign Quarterly Review_ (June 1830), in which Borrow supplied
translations of the sixteen poems illustrating Bowring’s text.  In all
probability the response to the prospectus was deemed inadequate, and
Bowring did not wish to face a certain financial loss.

From Borrow’s own letters there is no question that Dr Bowring was acting
towards him in a most friendly manner, and really endeavouring to assist
him to obtain some sort of employment.  It may be, as has been said, and
as seems extremely probable, that Bowring used his “facility in acquiring
and translating tongues deliberately as a ladder to an administrative
post abroad,” {86a} but if Borrow “put a wrong construction upon his
sympathy” and was led into “a veritable _cul-de-sac_ of literature,”
{86b} it was no fault of Bowring’s.

Borrow’s relations with Dr Bowring continued to be most cordial for many
years, as his letters show.  “Pray excuse me for troubling you with these
lines,” he writes years later; “I write to you, as usual, for assistance
in my projects, convinced that you will withhold none which it may be in
your power to afford, more especially when by so doing you will perhaps
be promoting the happiness of our fellow-creatures.”  This is very
significant as indicating the nature of the relations between the two
men.

Borrow was to experience yet another disappointment.  A Welsh bookseller,
living in the neighbourhood of Smithfield, commissioned him to translate
into English Elis Wyn’s _The Sleeping Bard_, a book printed originally in
1703.  The bookseller foresaw for the volume a large sale, not only in
England but in Wales; but “on the eve of committing it to the press,
however, the Cambrian-Briton felt his small heart give way within him.
‘Were I to print it,’ said he, ‘I should be ruined; the terrible
descriptions of vice and torment would frighten the genteel part of the
English public out of its wits, and I should to a certainty be prosecuted
by Sir James Scarlett . . . Myn Diawl!  I had no idea, till I had read
him in English, that Elis Wyn had been such a terrible fellow.’” {87a}

With this Borrow had to be content and retire from the presence of the
little bookseller, who told him he was “much obliged . . . for the
trouble you have given yourself on my account,” {87b} and his bundle of
manuscript, containing nearly three thousand lines, the work probably of
some months, was to be put aside for thirty years before eventually
appearing in a limited edition.

It cannot be determined with exactness when Borrow relinquished the
unequal struggle against adverse circumstances in London.  He had met
with sufficient discouragement to dishearten him from further effort.
Perhaps his greatest misfortune was his disinclination to make friends
with anybody save vagabonds.  He could attract and earn the friendship of
an apple-woman, thimble-riggers, tramps, thieves, gypsies, in short with
any vagrant he chose to speak to; but his hatred of gentility was a great
and grave obstacle in the way of his material advancement.  His brother
John seemed to recognise this; for in 1831 he wrote, “I am convinced that
_your want of success in life_ is more owing to your being unlike other
people than to any other cause.”

It would appear that, finding nothing to do in London, Borrow once more
became a wanderer.  He was in London in March; but on 27th, 28th, and
29th July 1830 he was unquestionably in Paris.  Writing about the
Revolution of La Granja (August 1836) and of the energy, courage and
activity of the war correspondents, he says:

    “I saw them [the war correspondents] during the three days at Paris,
    mingled with _canaille_ and _gamins_ behind the barriers, whilst the
    _mitraille_ was flying in all directions, and the desperate
    cuirassiers were dashing their fierce horses against these seemingly
    feeble bulwarks.  There stood they, dotting down their observations
    in their pocket-books as unconcernedly as if reporting the
    proceedings of a reform meeting in Covent Garden or Finsbury Square.”
    {88a}

This can have reference only to the “Three Glorious Days” of Revolution,
27th to 29th July 1830, during which Charles X. lost, and Louis-Philippe
gained, a throne.  He returned to Norwich sometime during the autumn of
1830. {88b}  In November he was entering upon his epistolary duel with
the Army Pay Office in connection with John’s half-pay as a lieutenant in
the West Norfolk Militia.

In 1826 John had gone to Mexico, then looked upon as a land of promise
for young Englishmen, who might expect to find fortunes in its silver
mines.  Allday, brother of Roger Kerrison, was there, and John Borrow
determined to join him.  Obtaining a year’s leave of absence from his
colonel, together with permission to apply for an extension, he entered
the service of the Real del Monte Company, receiving a salary of three
hundred pounds a year.  He arranged that his mother should have his
half-pay, and it was in connection with this that George entered upon a
correspondence with the Army Pay Office that was to extend over a period
of fifteen months.

Originally John had arranged for the amounts to be remitted to Mexico,
and he sent them back again to his mother.  This involved heavy losses in
connection with the bills of exchange, and wishing to avoid this tax,
John sent to his brother an official copy of a Mexican Power of Attorney,
which George strove to persuade the Army Pay Office was the original.

Tact was unfortunately not one of George Borrow’s acquirements at this
period, and in this correspondence he adopted an attitude that must have
seriously prejudiced his case.  “I am a solicitor myself, Sir,” he
states, and proceeds to threaten to bring the matter before Parliament.
He writes to the Solicitor of the Treasury “as a member of the same
honourable profession to which I was myself bred up,” and demands whether
he has not law, etc., on his side.  The outcome of the correspondence was
that the disembodied allowance was refused on the plea “that Lieutenant
Borrow having been absent without Leave from the Training of the West
Norfolk Militia has, under the provisions of the 12th Section of the
Militia Pay and Clothing Act, forfeited his Allowance.”  In consequence,
payment was made only for the amount due from 25th June 1829 to 24th
December 1830.  The whole tone of Borrow’s letters was unfortunate for
the cause he pleaded.  He wrote to the Secretary of State for War as he
might have written to the little Welsh bookseller with “the small heart.”
He was indignant at what he conceived to be an injustice, and was unable
to dissemble his anger.

George had thought of joining his brother, but had not received any very
marked encouragement to do so.  John despised Mexican methods.  On one
occasion he writes apropos of George’s suggestion of the army, “If you
can raise the pewter, come out here rather than that, and _rob_.”  One
sage thing at least John is to be credited with, when he wrote to his
brother, “Do not enter the army; it is a bad spec.”  It would have been
for George Borrow.

Among the papers left at Borrow’s death was a fragment of a political
article in dispraise of the Radicals.  The editorial “We” suggests that
Borrow might possibly have been engaged in political journalism.  The
statement made by him that he “frequently spoke up for Wellington” {90}
may or may not have had reference to contributions to the press.  The
fragment itself proves nothing.  Many would-be journalists write
“leaders” that never see the case-room.

It is useless to speculate further regarding the period that Borrow
himself elected to veil from the eyes, not only of his contemporaries,
but those of another generation.  Men who have overcome adverse
conditions and achieved fame are not as a rule averse from publishing, or
at least allowing to be known, the difficulties that they had to contend
with.  Borrow was in no sense of the word an ordinary man.  He
unquestionably suffered acutely during the years of failure, when it
seemed likely that his life was to be wasted, barren of anything else
save the acquirement of a score or more languages; keys that could open
literary storehouses that nobody wanted to explore, to the very existence
of which, in fact, the public was frigidly indifferent.

“Poor George . . .  I wish he was making money . . . He works hard and
remains poor,” is the comment of his brother John, written in the autumn
of 1830.  To no small degree Borrow was responsible for his own failure,
or perhaps it would be more just to say that he had been denied many of
the attributes that make for success.  His independence was aggressive,
and it offended people.  Even with the Welsh Preacher and his wife he
refused to unbend.

“‘What a disposition!’” Winifred had exclaimed, holding up her hands;
“‘and this is pride, genuine pride—that feeling which the world agrees to
call so noble.  Oh, how mean a thing is pride! never before did I see all
the meanness of what is called pride!’” {91a}

This pride, magnificent as the loneliness of kings, and about as
unproductive of a sympathetic view of life, always constituted a barrier
in the way of Borrow’s success.  There were innumerable other obstacles:
his choice of friends, his fierce denunciatory hatred of gentility,
together with humbug, which he always seemed to confuse with it, the
attacks of the “Horrors,” his grave bearing, which no laugh ever
disturbed, and, above all, his uncompromising hostility to the things
that the world chose to consider excellent.  The world in return could
make nothing of a man who was a mass of moods and sensibilities, strange
tastes and pursuits.  It is not remarkable that he should fail to make
the stir that he had hoped to make.

With the unerring instinct of a hypersensitive nature, he knew his merit,
his honesty, his capacity—knew that he possessed one thing that
eventually commands success, which “through life has ever been of
incalculable utility to me, and has not unfrequently supplied the place
of friends, money, and many other things of almost equal importance—iron
perseverance, without which all the advantages of time and circumstance
are of very little avail in any undertaking.” {91b}  It was this dogged
determination that was to carry him through the most critical period of
his life, enable him to earn the approval of those in whose interests he
worked, and eventually achieve fame and an unassailable place in English
literature.




CHAPTER VI
JANUARY–JULY 1833


IT is not a little curious that no one should have thought of putting
Borrow’s undoubted gifts as a linguist to some practical use.  He himself
had frequently cast his eyes in the direction of a political appointment
abroad.  It remained, however, for the Rev. Francis Cunningham, {92}
vicar of Lowestoft, in Suffolk, to see in this young man against whom the
curse of Babel was inoperative, a sword that, in the hands of the British
and Foreign Bible Society, might be wielded with considerable effect
against the heathen.

Borrow appears to have become acquainted with the Rev. Francis Cunningham
through the Skeppers of Oulton Hall, near Lowestoft, of whom it is
necessary to give some account.  Edmund Skepper had married Anne Breame
of Beetley, who, on the death of her father, came into £9000.  She and
her husband purchased the Oulton Hall estate, upon which Anne Skepper
seems to have been given a five per cent. mortgage.  There were two
children of the marriage, Breame (born 1794) and Mary (born 1796).  The
boy inherited the estate, and the girl the mortgage, worth about £450 per
annum.  Mary married Henry Clarke, a lieutenant in the Navy (26th July
1817), who within eight months died of consumption.  Two months later Mrs
Clarke gave birth to a daughter, who was christened Henrietta Mary.  Mrs
Clarke became acquainted with the Cunninghams while they were at
Pakefield, and there is every reason to believe that she was instrumental
in introducing Borrow to Cunningham.  It is most probable that they met
during Borrow’s visit at Oulton Hall in November 1832.

The Rev. Francis Cunningham appears to have been impressed by Borrow’s
talent for languages, and fully alive to his value to an institution such
as the Bible Society, of which he, Cunningham, was an active member.  He
accordingly addressed {93a} to the secretary, the Rev. Andrew Brandram,
the following letter:

                                                       LOWESTOFT VICARAGE,
                                                       27_th_ _Dec._ 1832.

    MY DEAR FRIEND,—

    A young farmer in this neighbourhood has introduced me to-day to a
    person of whom I have long heard, who appears to me to promise so
    much that I am induced to offer him to you as a successor of Platt
    and Greenfield. {93b}  He is a person without University education,
    but who has read the Bible in thirteen languages.  He is independent
    in circumstances, of no very defined denomination of Christians, but
    I think of certain Christian principle.  I shall make more enquiry
    about him and see him again.  Next week I propose to meet him in
    London, and I could wish that you should see him, and, if you please,
    take him under your charge for a few days.  He is of the middle order
    in Society, and a very produceable person.

    I intend to be in town on Tuesday morning to go to the Socy. P. C. K.
    On Wednesday is Dr Wilson’s meeting at Islington.  He may be in town
    on Monday evening, and will attend to any appointment.

    Will you write me word by return of post, and believe me ever

    Most truly and affectionately yours,

                                                            F. CUNNINGHAM.

The recommendation was well-timed, for the Bible Society at that
particular moment required such a man as Borrow for a Manchu-Tartar
project it had in view.  In 1821 the Bible Society had commissioned
Stepán Vasiliévitch Lipovzoff, {94a} of St Petersburg, to translate the
New Testament into Manchu, the court and diplomatic language of China.  A
year later, an edition of 550 copies of the First Gospel was printed from
type specially cast for the undertaking.  A hundred copies were
despatched to headquarters in London, and the remainder, together with
the type, placed with the Society’s bankers at St Petersburg, {94b} until
the time should arrive for the distribution of the books.

Three years after (1824), the overflowing Neva flooded the cellars in
which the books were stored, causing their irretrievable ruin, and doing
serious damage to the type.  This misfortune appeared temporarily to
discourage the authorities at home, although Mr Lipovzoff was permitted
to proceed with the work of translation, which he completed in two years
from the date of the inundation.

In 1832 the Rev. Wm. Swann, of the London Missionary Society, discovered
in the famous library of Baron Schilling de Canstadt at St Petersburg the
manuscript of a Manchu translation of “the principal part of the Old
Testament,” and two books of the New.  The discovery was considered to be
so important that Mr Swann decided to delay his departure for his post in
Siberia and make a transcription, which he did.  The Manchu translation
was the work of Father Puerot, “originally a Jesuit emissary at Pekin
[who] passed the latter years of his life in the service of the Russian
Mission in the capacity of physician.” {95}

The immediate outcome of Mr Cunningham’s letter was an interview between
Borrow and the Bible Society’s officials.  With characteristic energy and
determination, Borrow trudged up to London, covering the 112 miles on
foot in 27.5 hours.  His expenses by the way amounted to
fivepence-halfpenny for the purchase of a roll, two apples, a pint of ale
and a glass of milk.  On reaching London he proceeded direct to the Bible
Society’s offices in Earl Street, in spite of the early hour, and there
awaited the arrival of the Rev. Andrew Brandram (Secretary), and the Rev.
Joseph Jowett (Literary Superintendent).

The story of Borrow’s arrival at Earl Street was subsequently told, by
one of the secretaries at a provincial meeting in connection with the
Bible Society.  The Rev. Wentworth Webster writes:

    “I was little more than a boy when I first heard George Borrow spoken
    of at the annual dinner given by a connection of my family to the
    deputation of the British and Foreign Bible Society in a country town
    near London . . . I can distinctly recall one of the secretaries
    telling of his first meeting with Borrow, whom he found waiting at
    the offices of the Society one morning;—how puzzled he was by his
    appearance; how, after he had read his letter of introduction, he
    wished to while away the time until a brother secretary should
    arrive, and did not want to say anything to commit himself to such a
    strange applicant; so he began by politely hoping that Borrow had
    slept well.  ‘I am not aware that I fell asleep on the road,’ was the
    reply; I have walked from Norwich to London.’” {96a}

It would appear that this conference took place on Friday, 4th January;
for on that day there is an entry in the records of the Society of the
loan to George Borrow of several books from the Society’s library.  On
this and subsequent occasions, Borrow was examined as to his
capabilities, the result appearing to be quite satisfactory.  To judge
from the books lent to Borrow, one of the subjects would seem to have
been Arabic.

Borrow appeared before the Committee on 14th January, with the result
that they seemed to be “quite satisfied with me and my philological
capabilities,” which they judged of from the report given by the
Secretary and his colleague.  A more material sign of approval was found
in the undertaking to defray “the expenses of my journey to and from
London, and also of my residence in that city, in the most handsome
manner.” {96b}  That is to say, the Committee voted him the sum of ten
pounds.

Borrow had been formally asked if he were prepared to learn Manchu
sufficiently well to edit, or translate, into that language such portions
of the Scriptures as the Society might decide to issue, provided means of
acquiring the language were put within his reach, and employment should
follow as soon as he showed himself proficient.  To this Borrow had
willingly agreed.  At this period, the idea appears to have been to
execute the work in London.

Shortly after appearing before the Committee Borrow returned to Norwich,
this time by coach, with several books in the Manchu-Tartar dialect,
including the Gospel of St Matthew and Amyot’s Manchu-French Dictionary.
His instructions were to learn the language and come up for examination
in six months’ time.  Possibly the time limit was suggested by Borrow
himself, for he had said that he believed he could master any tongue in a
few months.

After two or three weeks of incessant study of a language that Amyot says
“one may acquire in five or six years,” Borrow, who, it should be
remembered, possessed no grammar of the tongue, wrote to Mr Jowett:

    “It is, then, your opinion that, from the lack of anything in the
    form of Grammar, I have scarcely made any progress towards the
    attainment of Manchu: {97} perhaps you will not be perfectly
    miserable at being informed that you were never more mistaken in your
    life.  I can already, with the assistance of Amyot, translate Manchu
    with no great difficulty, and am perfectly qualified to write a
    critique on the version of St Matthew’s Gospel, which I brought with
    me into the country . . . I will now conclude by beseeching you to
    send me, as soon as possible, _whatever can serve to enlighten me in
    respect to Manchu Grammar_, for, had I a Grammar, I should in a
    month’s time be able to send a Manchu translation of _Jonah_.”

The racy style of Borrow’s letters must have been something of a
revelation to the Bible Society’s officers, who seem to have shown great
tact and consideration in dealing with their self-confident correspondent
There is something magnificent in the letters that Borrow wrote about
this period; their directness and virility, their courage and
determination suggest, not a man who up to the thirtieth year of his age
has been a conspicuous failure, as the world gauges failure; but one who
had grown confident through many victories and is merely proceeding from
one success to another.

Whilst in London, Borrow had discussed with Mr Brandram “the Gypsies and
the profound darkness as to religion and morality that envolved them.”
{98}  The Secretary told him of the Southampton Committee for the
Amelioration of the Condition of the Gypsies that had recently been
formed by the Rev. James Crabbe for the express purpose of enlightening
and spreading the Gospel among the Romanys.  Furthermore, Mr Brandram, on
hearing of Borrow’s interest in, and knowledge of, the gypsies, had
requested him immediately on his return to Norwich to draw up a
vocabulary of Mr Petulengro’s language, during such time as he might have
free from his other studies.  Borrow showed himself, as usual, prolific
of suggestions, all of which involved him in additional labour.  He
enquired through Mr Jowett if Mr Brandram would write about him to the
Southampton Committee.  He wished to translate into the gypsy tongue the
Gospel of St John, “which I could easily do,” he tells Mr Jowett, “with
the assistance of one or two of the old people, but then they must be
paid, for the gypsies are more mercenary than the Jews.”

He also informed Mr Jowett that he had a brother in Mexico, subsequently
assuring him that he had no doubt of John’s willingness to assist the
Society in “flinging the rays of scriptural light o’er that most
benighted and miserable region.”  He sent to his brother, at Mr Jowett’s
request, first a sheet, and afterwards a complete copy, of the Gospel of
St Luke translated into Nahuatl, the prevailing dialect of the Mexican
Indians, by Mariano Paz y Sanchez. {99a}

In addition to learning Manchu, Borrow is credited with correcting and
passing for press the Nahuatl version of St. Luke. {99b}  The Bible
Society’s records, however, point to the fact that this work was carried
through by John Hattersley, who later was to come up with Borrow for
examination in Manchu.  In the light of this, the following passage from
one of John’s letters is puzzling in the extreme:—“I have just received
your letter of the 16th of February, together with your translation of St
Luke.  I am glad you have got the job, but I must say that the Bible
Society are just throwing away their time.”

He goes on to explain how many dialects there are in Mexico.  “The job”
can only refer to the Mexican translation, as, at that period, Borrow was
merely studying Manchu.  He had received no appointment from the Society.
It may have happened that Borrow expressed a wish to look through the
proofs and that a set was sent to him for this purpose; but there seems
no doubt that the actual official responsibility for the work rested with
Hattersley.  A very important point in support of this view is that there
is no record of Borrow being paid anything in connection with this
Mexican translation, beyond the amount of fifteen shillings and
fivepence, which he had expended in postage on the advance sheet and
complete copy sent to John.  To judge from the subsequent financial
arrangements between the Society and its agent, it is very improbable
that he was given work to do without payment.

After seven weeks’ study Borrow wrote again to Mr Jowett:

    “I am advancing at full gallop, and . . . able to translate with
    pleasure and facility the specimens of the best authors who have
    written in the language contained in the compilation of the Klaproth.
    But I confess that the want of a Grammar has been, particularly in
    the beginning of my course, a great clog to my speed, and I have
    little doubt that had I been furnished with one I should have
    attained my present knowledge of Manchu in half the time.  I was
    determined, however, not to be discouraged, and, not having a hatchet
    at hand to cut down the tree with, to attack it with my knife; and I
    would advise every one to make the most of the tools which happen to
    be in his possession until he can procure better ones, and it is not
    improbable that by the time the good tools arrive he will find he has
    not much need of them, having almost accomplished his work.” {100a}

There is a hint of the difficulties he was experiencing in his confession
that tools would still be of service to him, in particular “this same
tripartite Grammar which Mr Brandram is hunting for, my ideas respecting
Manchu construction being still very vague and wandering.” {100b}  There
is also a request for “the original grammatical work of Amyot, printed in
the _Memoires_.” {100c}

Borrow had been studying Manchu for seven weeks when, feeling that his
glowing report of the progress he was making might be regarded as “a
piece of exaggeration and vain boasting,” he enclosed a specimen
translation from Manchu into English.  This he accompanied with an
assurance that, if required, he could at that moment edit any book
printed in the Manchu dialect.  About this period Mr Jowett and his
colleagues passed from one sensation to another.  The calm confidence of
this astonishing man was more than justified by his performance.  His
attitude towards life was strange to Earl Street.

Nineteen weeks from the date of commencing his study of Manchu, Borrow
wrote again to Mr Jowett with unmistakable triumph: “I have mastered
Manchu, and I should feel obliged by your informing the Committee of the
fact, and also my excellent friend Mr Brandram.”  He proceeds to indicate
some of the many difficulties with which he has had to contend, the
absolute difference of Manchu from all the other languages that he has
studied, with the single exception of Turkish; the number of its
idiomatic phrases, which must of necessity be learnt off by heart; the
little assistance he has had in the nature of books.  Finally he
acknowledges “the assistance of God,” and asks “to be regularly employed,
for though I am not in want, my affairs are not in a very flourishing
condition.”

The response to this letter was an invitation to proceed to London to
undergo an examination.  His competitor was John Hattersley, upon whom,
in the event of Borrow’s failure, would in all probability have devolved
the duty of assisting Mr Lipovzoff.  A Manchu hymn, a pæan to the great
Fûtsa, was the test.  Each candidate prepared a translation, which was
handed to the examiners, who in turn were to report to the Sub-Committee.
Borrow returned to Norwich to await the result.  This was most probably
towards the end of June. {101}

Mr Jowett wrote encouragingly to Borrow of his prospects of obtaining the
coveted appointment.  In acknowledgment of this letter, Borrow dashed off
a reply, magnificent in its confidence and manly sincerity.  It was a
defiance to the fate that had so long dogged his footsteps.

    “What you have written has given me great pleasure,” he wrote, “as it
    holds out hope that I may be employed usefully to the Deity, to man,
    and myself.  I shall be very happy to visit St Petersburg and to
    become the coadjutor of Lipovzoff, {102} and to avail myself of his
    acquirements in what you very happily designate a most singular
    language, towards obtaining a still greater proficiency in it.  I
    flatter myself that I am for one or two reasons tolerably well
    adapted for the contemplated expedition, for besides a competent
    knowledge of French and German, I possess some acquaintance with
    Russian, being able to read without much difficulty any printed
    Russian book, and I have little doubt that after a few months
    intercourse with the natives, I should be able to speak it fluently.
    It would ill become me to bargain like a Jew or a Gypsy as to terms;
    all I wish to say on that point is, that I have nothing of my own,
    having been too long dependent on an excellent mother, who is not
    herself in very easy circumstances.”

Whilst still waiting for the confirmation by the General Committee of the
Sub-Committee’s resolution, which was favourable to Borrow, Mr Jowett
wrote to him (5th July), telling him how good were his prospects; but
warning him not to be too confident of success.  The Sub-Committee had
recommended that Borrow’s services should be engaged that he might go to
St Petersburg and assist Mr Lipovzoff in editing St Luke and the Acts and
any other portions of the New Testament that it was thought desirable to
publish in Manchu.  Should the Russian Government refuse to permit the
work to be proceeded with, Borrow was to occupy himself in assisting the
Rev. Wm. Swan to transcribe and collate the manuscript of the Old
Testament in Manchu that had recently come to light.  At the same time,
he was to seize every opportunity that presented itself of perfecting
himself in Manchu.  For this he was to receive a salary of two hundred
pounds a year to cover all expenses, save those of the journey to and
from St Petersburg, for which the Society was to be responsible.  Borrow
was advised to think carefully over the proposal, and, if it should prove
attractive to him, to hold himself in readiness to start as soon as the
General Committee should approve of the recommendation that was to be
placed before it.  In conclusion, Mr Jowett proceeded to administer a
gentle rebuke to the confident pride with which the candidate indited his
letters.  Only a quotation can show the tact with which the admonition
was conveyed.

“Excuse me,” wrote the Literary Superintendent, “if as a clergyman, and
your senior in years though not in talent, I venture, with the kindest of
motives, to throw out a hint which may not be without its use.  I am sure
you will not be offended if I suggest that there is occasionally a tone
of confidence in speaking of yourself, which has alarmed some of the
excellent members of our Committee.  It may have been this feeling, more
than once displayed before, which prepared one or two of them to stumble
at an expression in your letter of yesterday, in which, till pointed out,
I confess I was not struck with anything objectionable, but at which,
nevertheless, a humble Christian might not unreasonably take umbrage.  It
is where you speak of the prospect of becoming ‘useful to the Deity, to
man, and to yourself.’  Doubtless you meant the prospect of glorifying
God.”

Borrow had yet to learn the idiom of Earl Street, which he showed himself
most anxious to acquire.  He clearly recognised that the Bible Society
required different treatment from the Army Pay Office, or the Solicitor
of the Treasury.  It was accustomed to humility in those it employed, and
a trust in a higher power, and Borrow’s self-confident letters alarmed
the members of the Committee.  How thoroughly Borrow appreciated what was
required is shown in a letter that he wrote to his mother from Russia,
when anticipating the return of his brother.  “Should John return home,”
he warns her, “by no means let him go near the Bible Society, for he
would not do for them.”

Borrow’s reply to the Literary Superintendent’s kindly worded admonition
was entirely satisfactory and “in harmony with the rule laid down by
Christ himself.”  It was something of a triumph, too, for Mr Jowett to
rebuke a man of such sensitiveness as Borrow, without goading him to an
impatient retort.

The meeting of the General Committee that was to decide upon Borrow’s
future was held on 22nd July, and on the following day Mr Jowett informed
him that the recommendation of the Sub-Committee had been adopted and
confirmed, at the same time requesting him to be at Earl Street on the
morning of Friday, 26th July, that he might set out for St Petersburg the
following Tuesday.  On 25th July Borrow took the night coach to London.
On the 29th he appeared before the Editorial Sub-Committee and heard read
the resolution of his appointment, and drafts of letters recommending him
to the Rev. Wm. Swan and Dr I. J. Schmidt, a correspondent of the
Society’s in St Petersburg and a member of the Russian Board of Censors.
Finally, there was impressed upon him “the necessity of confining himself
closely to the one object of his mission, carefully abstaining from
mingling himself with political or ecclesiastical affairs during his
residence in Russia.  Mr Borrow assured them of his full determination
religiously to comply with this admonition, and to use every prudent
method for enlarging his acquaintance with the Manchu language.” {104}

The salary was to date from the day he embarked, and on account of
expenses to St Petersburg he drew the sum of £37.  The actual amount he
expended was £27, 7s. 6d., according to the account he submitted, which
was dated 2nd October 1834.  It is to be feared that Borrow was not very
punctual in rendering his accounts, as Mr Brandram wrote to him (18th
October 1837):—“I know you are no accountant, but do not forget that
there are some who are.  My memory was jogged upon this subject the other
day, and I was expected to say to you that a letter of figures would be
acceptable.”

It is not unnatural that those who remembered Borrow as one of William
Taylor’s “harum-scarum” young men, who at one time intended to “abuse
religion and get prosecuted,” should find in his appointment as an agent
of the British and Foreign Bible Society a subject for derisive mirth.
Harriet Martineau’s voice was heard well above the rest.  “When this
polyglott gentleman appeared before the public as a devout agent of the
Bible Society in foreign parts,” she wrote, “there was one burst of
laughter from all who remembered the old Norwich days.” {105}  Like
hundreds of other men, Borrow had, in youth, been led to somewhat hasty
and ill-considered conclusions; but this in itself does not seem to be
sufficiently strong reason why he should not change his views.  Many
young men pass through an aggressively irreligious phase without
suffering much harm.  Harriet Martineau was rather too precipitate in
assuming that what a man believes, or disbelieves, at twenty, he holds to
at thirty; such a view negatives the reformer.  Perhaps the chief cause
of the change in Borrow’s views was that he had touched the depths of
failure.  Here was an opening that promised much.  He was a diplomatist
when it suited his purpose, and if the old poison were not quite gone out
of his system, he would hide his wounds, or allow the secretaries to
bandage them with mild reproof.

Very different from the attitude of Harriet Martineau was that of John
Venning, an English merchant resident at Norwich and recently returned
from St Petersburg, where his charity and probity had placed him in high
favour with the Emperor and the Goverment officials.  Mr Venning gave
Borrow letters of introduction to a number of influential personages at
St Petersburg, including Prince Alexander Galitzin and Baron Schilling de
Canstadt.  Dr Bowring obtained a letter from Lord Palmerston to someone
whose name is not known.  There were letters of introduction from other
hands, so that when he was ready to sail Borrow found himself “loaded
with letters of recommendation to some of the first people in Russia.  Mr
Venning’s packet has arrived with letters to several of the Princes, so
that I shall be protected if I am seized as a spy; for the Emperor is
particularly cautious as to the foreigners whom he admits.  It costs £2,
7s. 6d. merely for permission to go to Russia, which alone is enough to
deter most people.” {106}

Before leaving England, Borrow paid into his mother’s account at her bank
the sum of seventeen pounds, an amount that she had advanced to him
either during his unproductive years, or on account of his expenses in
connection with the expedition to St Petersburg.




CHAPTER VII
AUGUST 1833–JANUARY 1834


ON 19th/31st July 1833 Borrow set out on a journey that was to some
extent to realise his ambitions.  He was to be trusted and encouraged
and, what was most important of all, praised for what he accomplished;
for Borrow’s was a nature that responded best to the praise and entire
confidence of those for whom he worked.

Travelling second class for reasons of economy, he landed at Hamburg at
seven in the morning of the fourth day, after having experienced “a
disagreeable passage of three days, in which I suffered much from
sea-sickness.” {107a}  Exhausted by these days of suffering and want of
sleep, the heat of the sun brought on “a transient fit of delirium,”
{107b} in other words, an attack of the “Horrors.”  Two fellow-passengers
(Jews), with whom he had become acquainted, conveyed him to a comfortable
hotel, where he was visited by a physician, who administered forty drops
of laudanum, caused his head to be swathed in wet towels, ordered him to
bed, and charged a fee of seven shillings.  The result was that by the
evening he had quite recovered.

One of Borrow’s first duties was to write a lengthy letter to Mr Jowett,
telling him of his movements, describing the city, the service at a
church he attended, the lax morality of the Hamburgers in permitting
rope-dancers in the park, and the opening of dancing-saloons, “most
infamous places,” on the Lord’s day.  “England, with all her faults,” he
proceeds, “has still some regard to decency, and will not tolerate such a
shameless display of vice on so sacred a season, when a decent
cheerfulness is the freest form in which the mind or countenance ought to
invest themselves.”  In conclusion, he announced his intention of leaving
for Lübeck on the sixth, {108a} and he would be on the Baltic two days
later en route for St Petersburg.  “My next letter, provided it pleases
the Almighty to vouchsafe me a happy arrival, will be from the Russian
capital.”  By “a fervent request that you will not forget me in your
prayers,” he demonstrated that Mr Jowett’s hint had not been forgotten.

The distance between Hamburg and Lübeck is only about thirty miles, yet
it occupied Borrow thirteen hours, so abominable was the road, which “was
paved at intervals with huge masses of unhewn rock, and over this
pavement the carriage was very prudently driven at a snail’s pace; for,
had anything approaching speed been attempted, the entire demolition of
the wheels in a few minutes must have been the necessary result.  No
sooner had we quitted this terrible pavement than we sank to our
axle-trees in sand, mud, and water; for, to render the journey perfectly
delectable, the rain fell in torrents and ceaselessly.” {108b}  The state
of the road Borrow attributed to the ill-nature of the King of Denmark,
for immediately on leaving his dominions it improved into an excellent
carriageway.

On 28th July/9th August Borrow took steamer from Travemünde, and three
days later landed at St Petersburg.  His first duty was to call upon Mr
Swan, whom he found “one of the most amiable and interesting characters”
he had ever met.  The arrival of a coadjutor caused Mr Swan considerable
relief, as he had suffered in health in consequence of his uninterrupted
labours in transcribing the Manchu manuscript.

Borrow was enthusiastic in his admiration of the capital of “our dear and
glorious Russia.”  St Petersburg he considered “the finest city in the
world” {109} other European capitals were unworthy of comparison.  The
enormous palaces, the long, straight streets, the grandeur of the public
buildings, the noble Neva that flows majestically through “this Queen of
the cities,” the three miles long Nevsky Prospect, paved with wood; all
aroused in him enthusiasm and admiration.  “In a word,” he wrote to his
mother, “I can do little else but look and wonder.”  All that he had read
and heard of the capital of All the Russias had failed to prepare him for
this scene of splendour.  The meeting and harmonious mixing of East and
West early attracted his attention.  The Oriental cultivation of a
twelve-inch beard among the middle and lower classes, placed them in
marked contrast with the moustached or clean-shaven patricians and
foreigners.  In short, Russia gripped hold of and warmed Borrow’s
imagination.  Here were new types, curious blendings of nationalities
unthought of and strange to him, a mine of wealth to a man whose studies
were never books, except when they helped him the better to understand
men.

Another thing that attracted him to Russia was the great kindness with
which he was received, both by the English Colony and the natives: to the
one he appealed by virtue of a common ancestry; to the other, on account
of his knowledge of the Russian tongue, not to speak of his mission,
which acted as a strong recommendation to their favour.  On his part
Borrow reciprocated the esteem.  If he were an implacable enemy, he was
also a good friend, and he thoroughly appreciated the manner in which he
was welcomed by his countrymen, especially the invitation he received
from one of them to make his house his home until he found a suitable
dwelling.  To his mother he wrote:

    “The Russians are the best-natured, kindest people in the world, and
    though they do not know as much as the English [he was not referring
    to the Colony], they have not their fiendish, spiteful dispositions,
    and if you go amongst them and speak their language, however badly,
    they would go through fire and water to do you a kindness.”  Later,
    when in Portugal, he heartily wished himself “back in Russia . . .
    where I had left cherished friends and warm affections.”

High as was his opinion of the Russians, he was at a loss to understand
how they had earned their reputation as “the best general linguists in
the world.”  He found Russian absolutely necessary to anyone who wished
to make himself understood.  French and German as equivalents were of
less value in St Petersburg than in England.

At first Borrow took up his residence “for nearly a fortnight in a hotel,
as the difficulty of procuring lodgings in this place is very great, and
when you have procured them you have to furnish them yourself at a
considerable expense . . . eventually I took up my abode with Mr Egerton
Hubbard, a friend of Mr Venning’s [at 221 Galernoy Ulitza], where I am
for the present very comfortably situated.” {110}  He stayed with Mr
Hubbard for three months; but was eventually forced to leave on account
of constant interruptions, probably by his fellow-boarders, in
consequence of which he could neither perform his task of transcription
nor devote himself to study.  He therefore took a small lodging at a cost
of nine shillings a week, including fires, where he could enjoy quiet and
solitude.  His meals he got at a Russian eating-house, dinner costing
fivepence, “consequently,” he writes to his mother, “I am not at much
expense, being able to live for about sixty pounds a year and pay a
Russian teacher, who has five shillings for one lesson a week.”

One of Borrow’s earliest thoughts on arriving at St Petersburg had been
to present his letters of introduction.  Within two days of landing he
called upon Prince Alexander Galítzin, {111} accompanied by his
fellow-lodger, young Venning.  One of the most important, and at the same
time useful, friendships that he made was with Baron Schilling de
Canstadt, the philologist and savant, who, later, with his accustomed
generosity, was to place his unique library at Borrow’s disposition.  The
Baron was one of the greatest bibliophiles of his age, and possessed a
collection of Eastern manuscripts and other priceless treasures that was
world-famous.  He spared neither expense nor trouble in procuring
additions to his collection, which after his death was acquired by the
Imperial Academy of Science at St Petersburg.  In this literary
treasure-house Borrow found facilities for study such as he nowhere else
could hope to obtain.

Another friendship that Borrow made was with John P. Hasfeldt, a man of
about his own age attached to the Danish Legation, who also gave lessons
in languages.  Borrow seems to have been greatly attracted to Hasfeldt,
who wrote to him with such cordiality.  It was Hasfeldt who gave to
Borrow as a parting gift the silver shekel that he invariably carried
about with him, and which caused him to be hailed as blessed by the
Gibraltar Jews.

In his letter Hasfeldt shows himself a delightful correspondent.  His
generous camaraderie seemed to warm Borrow to response, as indeed well it
might.  Who could resist the breezy good humour of the following from a
letter addressed to Borrow by Hasfeldt years later?—

    “Do you still eat Pike soup?  Do you remember the time when you lived
    on that dish for more than six weeks, and came near exterminating the
    whole breed?  And the pudding that accompanied it, that always lay as
    hard as a stone on the stomach?  This you surely have not forgotten.
    Yes, your kitchen was delicately manipulated by Machmoud, your Tartar
    servant, who only needed to give you horse-meat to have merited a
    diploma.  Do you still sing when you are in a good humour?  Doubtless
    you are not troubled with many friends to visit you, for you are not
    of the sort who are easily understood, nor do you care to have
    everyone understand you; you prefer to have people call you grey and
    let you gae.”

Other friends Borrow made, including Nikolai Ivánovitch Gretch, {112a}
the grammarian, and Friedrich von Adelung, {112b} who assisted him with
the loan of books and MSS. in Oriental tongues.

The story of Borrow’s labours in connection with the printing of the
Manchu version of the New Testament, forms a remarkable study of
unswerving courage and will-power triumphing over apparently
insurmountable obstacles.  The mere presence of difficulties seemed to
increase his eagerness and determination to overcome them.
Disappointments he had in plenty; but his indomitable courage and
untiring energy, backed up by the earnest support he received from Earl
Street, enabled him to emerge from his first serious undertaking with the
knowledge that he had succeeded where failure would not have been
discreditable.

He threw himself into his work with characteristic eagerness.  At the end
of the first two months he had transcribed the Second Book of Chronicles
and the Gospel of St Matthew.  He formed a very high opinion of the work
of the translator, and took the opportunity of paying a tribute to the
followers of Ignatius Loyola (Father Puerot was a Jesuit).  “When,” he
writes, “did a Jesuit any thing which he undertook, whether laudable or
the reverse, not far better than any other person?” yet they laboured in
vain, for “they thought not of His glory, but of the glory of their
order.” {113}

Borrow discovered that Mr Lipovzoff knew nothing of the Bible Society’s
scheme for printing the New Testament in Manchu; but he found, what was
of even greater importance to him, that the old man knew no European
language but Russian.  Thus the frequent conversations and explanations
all tended to improve Borrow’s knowledge of the language of the people
among whom he was living.

Mr Lipovzoff struck Borrow as being “rather a singular man,” as he took
occasion to inform Mr Jowett, apparently utterly indifferent as to the
fate of his translation, excellent though it was.  As a matter of fact,
Mr Lipovzoff was occupied with his own concerns, and, as an official in
the Russian Foreign Office, most likely saw the inexpediency of a too
eager enthusiasm for the Bible Society’s Manchu-Tartar programme.  He was
probably bewildered by the fierce energy of its honest and compelling
agent, who had descended upon St Petersburg to do the Society’s bidding
with an impetuosity and determination foreign to Russian official life.
Borrow was on fire with zeal and impatient of the apathy of those around
him.

He soon began to show signs of that singleness of purpose and
resourcefulness that, later, was to arouse so much enthusiasm among the
members of the Bible Society at home.  The transcribing and collating
Puerot’s version of the Scriptures occupied the remainder of the year.
On the completion of this work, it had been arranged that Mr Swan should
return to his mission-station in Siberia.  The next step was to obtain
official sanction to print the Lipovzoff version of the New Testament.
Dr Schmidt, to whom Borrow turned for advice and information, was
apparently very busily occupied with his own affairs, which included the
compilation of a Mongolian Grammar and Dictionary.  The Doctor was
optimistic, and promised to make enquiries about the steps to be taken to
obtain the necessary permission to print; but Borrow heard nothing
further from him.

    “Thus circumstanced, and being very uneasy in my mind,” he writes, “I
    determined to take a bold step, and directly and without further
    feeling my way, to petition the Government in my own name for
    permission to print the Manchu Scriptures.  Having communicated this
    determination to our beloved, sincere, and most truly Christian
    friend Mr Swan (who has lately departed to his station in Siberia,
    shielded I trust by the arm of his Master), it met with his perfect
    approbation and cordial encouragement.  I therefore drew up a
    petition, and presented it with my own hand to His Excellence Mr
    Bludoff, Minister of the Interior.” {114a}

The minister made reply that he doubted his jurisdiction in the matter;
but that he would consider.  Fearful lest the matter should miscarry or
be shelved, Borrow called on the evening of the same day upon the British
Minister, the Hon. J. D. Bligh, “a person of superb talents, kind
disposition, and of much piety,” {114b} whose friendship Borrow had
“assiduously cultivated,” and who had shown him “many condescending marks
of kindness.” {114c}  But Mr Bligh was out.  Nothing daunted, Borrow
wrote a note entreating his interest with the Russian officials.  On
calling for an answer in the morning, he was received by Mr Bligh, when
“he was kind enough to say that if I desired it he would apply officially
to the Minister, and exert all his influence in his official character in
order to obtain the accomplishment of my views, but at the same time
suggested that it would, perhaps, be as well at a private interview to
beg it as a personal favour.” {115a}

There was hesitation, perhaps suspicion, in official quarters.  It is
easy to realise that the Government was not eager to assist the agent of
an institution closely allied to the Russian Bible Society, which it had
recently been successful in suppressing.  It might with impunity suppress
a Society; but in George Borrow it soon became evident that the officials
had to deal with a man of purpose and determination who used a British
Minister as a two-edged sword.  Borrow was invited to call at the Asiatic
Department: he did so, and learned that if permission were granted, Mr
Lipovzoff (who was a clerk in the Department) was to be censor (over his
own translation!) and Borrow editor.  There was still the “If.”  Borrow
waited a fortnight, then called on Mr Bligh.  By great good chance Mr
Bludoff was dining that evening with the British Minister.  The same
night Borrow received a message requesting him to call on Mr Bludoff the
next day.  On presenting himself he was given a letter to the Director of
Worship, which he delivered without delay, and was told to call again on
the first day of the following week.

“On calling there _I found that permission had been granted to print the
Manchu Scripture_.” {115b}  Baron Schilling had rendered some assistance
in getting the permission, and Borrow was requested to inform him of “the
deep sense of obligation” of the Bible Society, to which was added a
present of some books.

Borrow clearly viewed this as only a preliminary success; he had in mind
the eventual printing of the whole Bible.  He was beginning to feel
conscious of his own powers.  Mr Swan had gone, and upon Borrow’s
shoulders rested the whole enterprise.  A mild wave of enthusiasm passed
over the Head Office at Earl Street on receipt of the news that
permission to print had been obtained.

“You cannot conceive,” Borrow wrote to Mr Jowett, “the cold, heartless
apathy in respect to the affair, on which I have been despatched hither
as an _assistant_, which I have found in people to whom I looked not
unreasonably for encouragement and advice.” {116}  Well might he
underline the word “assistant.”  In this same letter, with a spasmodic
flicker of the old self-confidence, he adds, “In regard to what we have
yet to do, let it be borne in mind, that we are by no means dependent
upon Mr Lipovzoff, though certainly to secure the services, which he is
capable of performing, would be highly desirable, and though he cannot
act outwardly in the character of Editor (he having been appointed
censor), he may privately be of great utility to us.”  Borrow seems to
have formed no very high opinion of Mr Lipovzoff’s capacity for affairs,
although he recognised his skill as a translator.

At first Borrow seems to have found the severity of the winter very
trying.  “The cold when you go out into it,” he writes to his mother
(1st/13th Feb. 1834), “cuts your face like a razor, and were you not to
cover it with furs the flesh would be bitten off.  The rooms in the
morning are heated with a stove as hot as ovens, and you would not be
able to exist in one for a minute; but I have become used to them and
like them much, though at first they made me dreadfully sick and brought
on bilious headaches.”

There was still at the Sarepta House, the premises of the Bible Society’s
bankers in St Petersburg, the box of Manchu type, which had not been
examined since the river floods.  In addition to this, the only other
Manchu characters in St Petersburg belonged to Baron Schilling, who
possessed a small fount of the type, which he used “for the convenience
of printing trifles in that tongue,” as Borrow phrased it.  This was to
be put at Borrow’s disposal if necessary; but first the type at the
Sarepta House had to be examined.  Borrow’s plan was, provided the type
were not entirely ruined, to engage the services of a printer who was
accustomed to setting Mongolian characters, which are very similar to
those of Manchu, who would, he thought, be competent to undertake the
work.  He suggested following the style of the St Matthew’s Gospel
already printed, giving to each Gospel and the Acts a volume and printing
the Epistles and the Apocalypse in three more, making eight volumes in
all.

These he proposed putting “in a small thin wooden case, covered with blue
stuff, precisely after the manner of Chinese books, in order that they
may not give offence to the eyes of the people for whom they are intended
by a foreign and unusual appearance, for the mere idea that they are
barbarian books would certainly prevent them being read, and probably
cause their destruction if ever they found their way into the Chinese
Empire.” {117}  Borrow left nothing to chance; he thought out every
detail with great care before venturing to put his plans into execution.

Although busily occupied in an endeavour to stimulate Russian government
officials to energy and decision, Borrow was not neglecting what had been
so strongly urged upon him, the perfecting of himself in the Manchu
dialect.  In reply to an enquiry from Mr Jowett as to what manner of
progress he was making, he wrote:—

    “For some time past I have taken lessons from a person who was twelve
    years in Pekin, and who speaks Manchu and Chinese with fluency.  I
    pay him about six shillings English for each lesson, which I grudge
    not, for the perfect acquirement of Manchu is one of my most ardent
    wishes.” {118a}

This person Borrow subsequently recommended to the Society “to assist me
in making a translation into Manchu of the Psalms and Isaiah,” but the
pundit proved “of no utility at all, but only the cause of error.”

Borrow was soon able to transcribe the Manchu characters with greater
facility and speed than he could English.  In addition to being able to
translate from and into Manchu, he could compose hymns in the language,
and even prepared a Manchu rendering of the second Homily of the Church
of England, “On the Misery of Man.”  He had, however, made the discovery
that Manchu was far less easy to him than it had at first appeared, and
that Amyot was to some extent justified in his view of the difficulties
it presented.  “It is one of those deceitful tongues,” he confesses in a
letter to Mr Jowett, “the seeming simplicity of whose structure induces
you to suppose, after applying to it for a month or two, that little more
remains to be learned, but which, should you continue to study a year, as
I have studied this, show themselves to you in their veritable colours,
amazing you with their copiousness, puzzling with their idioms.”{118b}
Its difficulties, however, did not discourage him; for he had a great
admiration for the language which “for majesty and grandeur of sound, and
also for general copiousness is unequalled by any existing tongue.”
{118c}

However great his exertions or discouragements, Borrow never forgot his
mother, to whom he was a model son.  On 1st/13th February he sent her a
draft for twenty pounds, being the second since his arrival six months
previously.  Thus out of his first half-year’s salary of a hundred
pounds, he sent to his mother forty pounds (in addition to the seventeen
pounds he had paid into her account before sailing), and with it a
promise that “next quarter I shall try and send you thirty,” lest in the
recent storms of which he had heard, some of her property should have
suffered damage and be in need of repair.  The larger remittance,
however, he was unable to make on account of the illness that had
necessitated the drinking of a bottle of port wine each day (by doctor’s
orders); but he was punctual in remitting the twenty pounds.  The attack
which required so drastic a remedy originated in a chill caught as the
ice was breaking up.  “I went mad,” he tells his mother, “and when the
fever subsided, I was seized with the ‘Horrors,’ which never left me day
or night for a week.” {119}  During this illness everyone seems to have
been extremely kind and attentive, the Emperor’s apothecary, even,
sending word that Borrow was to order of him anything, medical or
otherwise, that he found himself in need of.




CHAPTER VIII
FEBRUARY–OCTOBER 1834


BORROW had at last found work that was thoroughly congenial to him.  It
was not in his nature to exist outside his occupations, and his whole
personality became bound up in the mission upon which he was engaged.
Not content with preparing the way for printing the New Testament in
Manchu, he set himself the problem of how it was to be distributed when
printed.  He foresaw serious obstacles to its introduction into China, on
account of the suspicion with which was regarded any and everything
European.  With a modest disclaimer that his suggestion arose “from a
plenitude of self-conceit and a disposition to offer advice upon all
matters, however far they may be above my understanding,” he proceeds to
deal with the difficulties of distribution with great clearness.

To send the printed books to Canton, to be distributed by English
missionaries, he thought would be productive of very little good, nor
would it achieve the object of the Society, to distribute copies at
seaports along the coasts, because it was unlikely that there would be
many Tartars or people there who understood Manchu.  There was a further
obstacle in the suspicion in which the Chinese held all things English.
On the other hand, he tells Mr Jowett,

    “there is a most admirable opening for the work on the Russian side
    of the Chinese Empire.  About five thousand miles from St Petersburg,
    on the frontiers of Chinese Tartary, and only nine hundred miles
    distant from Pekin, the seat of the Tartar Monarchy, stands the town
    of Kiakhta, {121a} which properly belongs to Russia, but the
    inhabitants of which are a medley of Tartary, Chinese, and Russ
    (_sic_).  As far as this town a Russian or foreigner is permitted to
    advance, but his further progress is forbidden, and if he make the
    attempt he is liable to be taken up as a spy or deserter, and sent
    back under guard.  This town is the emporium of Chinese and Russian
    trade.  Chinese caravans are continually arriving and returning,
    bringing and carrying away articles of merchandise.  There are
    likewise a Chinese and a Tartar Mandarin, also a school where Chinese
    and Tartar are taught, and where Chinese and Tartar children along
    with Russian are educated.” {121b}

The advantages of such a town as a base of operations were obvious.
Borrow was convinced that he could dispose “of any quantity of Testaments
to the Chinese merchants who arrive thither from Pekin and other places,
and who would be glad to purchase them on speculation.” {121c}

Russia and China were friendly to each other, so much so, that there was
at Pekin a Russian mission, the only one of its kind.  These good
relations rendered Borrow confident that books from Russia, especially
books which had not an outlandish appearance, would be purchased without
scruple.  “In a word, were an agent for the Bible Society to reside at
this town [Kiakhta] for a year or so, it is my humble opinion, and the
opinion of much wiser people, that if he were active, zealous and
likewise courageous, the blessings resulting from his labours would be
incalculable.” {121d}

He might even make excursions into Tartary, and become friendly with the
inhabitants, and eventually perhaps, “with a little management and
dexterity,” he might “penetrate even to Pekin, and return in safety,
after having examined the state of the land.  I can only say that if it
were my fortune to have the opportunity, I would make the attempt, and
should consider myself only to blame if I did not succeed.”  Borrow was
to revert to this suggestion on many occasions, in fact it seems to have
been in his mind during the whole period of his association with the
Bible Society.

Acting upon instructions from Earl Street, Borrow proceeded to find out
the approximate cost of printing the Manchu New Testament.  He early
discovered that in Russia “the wisdom of the serpent is quite as
necessary as the innocence of the dove,” as he took occasion to inform Mr
Jowett.  The Russians rendered him estimates of cost as if of the opinion
that “Englishmen are made of gold, and that it is only necessary to ask
the most extravagant price for any article in order to obtain it.”

In St Petersburg Borrow was taken for a German, a nation for which he
cherished a cordial dislike.  This mistake as to nationality, however,
did not hinder the Russian tradesmen from asking exorbitant prices for
their services or their goods.  At first Borrow “was quite terrified at
the enormous sums which some of the printers . . . required for the
work.”  At length he applied to the University Press, which asked 30
roubles 60 copecks (24s. 8d.) per sheet of two pages for composition and
printing.  A young firm of German printers, Schultz & Beneze, was,
however, willing to undertake the same work at the rate of 12.5 roubles
(10s.) per two sheets.

In contracting for the paper Borrow showed himself quite equal to the
commercial finesse of the Russian.  He scoured the neighbourhood round St
Petersburg in a calash at a cost of about four pounds.  Russian methods
of conducting business are amazing to the English mind.  At Peterhof, a
town about twenty miles out of St Petersburg, he found fifty reams of a
paper such as he required.  “Concerning the price of this paper,” he
writes, “I could obtain no positive information, for the Director and
first and second clerks were invariably absent, and the place abandoned
to ignorant understrappers (according to the custom of Russia).  And
notwithstanding I found out the Director in St Petersburg, he himself
could not tell me the price.” {123a}

Eventually 75 roubles (£3) a ream was quoted for the stock, and 100
roubles (£4) a ream for any further quantity required.  Thus the paper
for a thousand copies would run to 40,000 roubles (£1600), or 32s. a
copy.  Borrow found that the law of commerce prevalent in the East was
that adopted in St Petersburg.  A price is named merely as a basis of
negotiation, and the customer beats it down to a figure that suits him,
or he goes elsewhere.  Borrow was a master of such methods.  The sum he
eventually paid for the paper was 25 roubles (£1) a ream!  Of all these
negotiations he kept Mr Jowett well informed.  By June he had received
from Earl Street the official sanction to proceed, together with a
handsome remittance.

For some time past Borrow had been anxious on account of his brother
John.  On 9th/21st November, he had written to his mother telling her to
write to John urging him to come home at once, as he had seen in the
Russian newspapers how the town of Guanajuato had been taken and sacked
by the rebels, and also that cholera was ravaging Mexico.  Later {123b}
he tells her of that nice house at Lakenham, {123c} which he means to
buy, and how John can keep a boat and amuse himself on the river, and
adds, “I dare say I shall continue for a long time with the Bible
Society, as they see that I am useful to them and can be depended upon.”

On the day following that on which Borrow wrote asking his mother to urge
his brother to return home, viz., 10th/22nd November, John died.  He was
taken ill suddenly in the morning and passed away the same afternoon.

In February 1832 John Borrow had, much against the advice of his friends,
left the United Mexican Company, which he had become associated with the
previous year.  He was of a restless disposition, never content with what
he was doing.  Thinking he could better himself, and having saved a few
hundred dollars, he resigned his post.  He appears soon to have
discovered his mistake.  First he indulged in an unfortunate speculation,
by which he was a considerable loser, then cholera broke out.  Without a
thought of himself he turned nurse and doctor, witnessing terrible scenes
of misery and death and ministering to the poor with an energy and
humanity that earned for him the admiration of the whole township.
Finally, finding himself in serious financial difficulties, he entered
the service of the Colombian Mining Company, and was to be sent to
Colombia “for the purpose of introducing the Mexican system of
beneficiating there.”  It only remained for the agreement to be signed,
when he was taken ill.

In the letter in which she tells George of their loss, Mrs Borrow
expresses fear that he does “not live regular.  When you find yourself
low,” she continues, “take a little wine, but not too much at one time;
it will do you the more good; I find that by myself.”  Her solicitude for
George’s health is easily understandable.  He is now her “only hope,” as
she pathetically tells him.  “Do not grieve, my dear George,” she
proceeds tenderly, “I trust we shall all meet in heaven.  Put a crape on
your hat for some time.”

George wrote immediately to acknowledge his mother’s letter containing
the news of John’s death, which had given him “the severest stroke I ever
experienced.  It [the letter] quite stunned me, and since reading its
contents I have done little else but moan and lament . . . O that our
darling John had taken the advice which I gave him nearly three years
since, to abandon that horrid country and return to England! . . . Would
that I had died for him! for I loved him dearly, dearly.”  Borrow’s
affection for his bright and attractive brother is everywhere manifest in
his writings.  He never showed the least jealousy when his father held up
his first-born as a model to the strange and incomprehensible younger
son.  His love for and admiration of John were genuine and deep-rooted.
In the same letter he goes on to assure his mother that he was never
better in his life, and that experience teaches him how to cure his
disorders.  “The ‘Horrors,’ for example.  Whenever they come I must drink
strong Port wine, and then they are stopped instantly.  But do not think
that I drink habitually, for you ought to know that I abhor drink.  The
‘Horrors’ are brought on by weakness.”

He goes on to reassure his mother as to the care he takes of himself,
telling her that he has three meals a day, although, as a rule, dinner is
a poor one, “for the Russians, in the first place, are very indifferent
cooks, and the meat is very bad, as in fact are almost all the
provisions.”  The fish is without taste, Russian salmon having less
savour than English skate; the fowls are dry because no endeavour is made
to fatten them, and the “mutton stinks worst than carrion, for they never
cut the wool.”

With great thought and tenderness he tells her that he wishes her “to
keep a maid, for I do not like that you should live alone.  Do not take
one of the wretched girls of Norwich,” he advises her, but rather the
daughter of one of her tenants.  “What am I working for here and saving
money, unless it is for your comfort? for I assure you that to make you
comfortable is my greatest happiness, almost my only one.”  Urging her to
keep up her spirits and read much of the things that interest her, he
concludes with a warning to her not to pay any debts contracted by John.
{126a}  The letter concludes with the postscript: “I have got the crape.”

In July 1834 Borrow again changed his quarters, taking an unfurnished
floor, {126b} at the same time hiring a Tartar servant named Mahmoud,
“the best servant I ever had.” {126c}  The wages he paid this prince of
body-servants was thirty shillings a month, out of which Mahmoud supplied
himself “with food and everything.”  Borrow’s reason for making this
change in his lodgings was that he wanted more room than he had, and
furnished apartments were very expensive.  The actual furnishing was not
a very costly matter to a man of Borrow’s simple wants; for the
expenditure of seven pounds he provided himself with all he required.

After the letter of 27th June/9th July the Bible Society received no
further news of what was taking place in St Petersburg.  Week after week
passed without anything being heard of its Russian agent’s movements or
activities.  On 25th September/7th October Mr Jowett wrote an extremely
moderate letter beseeching Borrow to remember “the very lively interest”
taken by the General Committee in the printing of the Manchu version of
the New Testament; that people were asking, “What is Mr Borrow doing?”
that the Committee stands between its agents and an eager public,
desirous of knowing the trials and tribulations, the hopes and fears of
those actively engaged in printing or disseminating the Scriptures.  “You
can have no difficulty,” he continues, “in furnishing me with such
monthly information as may satisfy the Committee that they are not
expending a large sum of money in vain.”  There was also a request for
information as to how “some critical difficulty has been surmounted by
the translator, or editor, or both united, not to mention the advance
already made in actual printing.”  On 1st/13th Oct. Borrow had written a
brief letter giving an account of his disbursements during the journey to
St Petersburg _fifteen months previously_; but he made no mention of what
was taking place with regard to the printing.

The letter in which Borrow replied to Mr Jowett is probably the most
remarkable he ever wrote.  It presents him in a light that must have
astonished those who had been so eager to ridicule his appointment as an
agent of the Bible Society.  The letter runs:—

                                                            ST PETERSBURG,
                                            8_th_ [20_th_] _October_ 1834.

    I have just received your most kind epistle, the perusal of which has
    given me both pain and pleasure—pain that from unavoidable
    circumstances I have been unable to gratify eager expectation, and
    pleasure that any individual should have been considerate enough to
    foresee my situation and to make allowance for it.  The nature of my
    occupations during the last two months and a half has been such as
    would have entirely unfitted me for correspondence, had I been aware
    that it was necessary, which, on my sacred word, I was not.  Now, and
    only now, when by the blessing of God I have surmounted all my
    troubles and difficulties, I will tell, and were I not a Christian I
    should be proud to tell, what I have been engaged upon and
    accomplished during the last ten weeks.  I have been working in the
    printing-office, as a common compositor, between ten and thirteen
    hours every day during that period; the result of this is that St
    Matthew’s Gospel, printed from such a copy as I believe nothing was
    ever printed from before, has been brought out in the Manchu
    language; two rude Esthonian peasants, who previously could barely
    compose with decency in a plain language which they spoke and were
    accustomed to, have received such instruction that with ease they can
    each compose at the rate of a sheet a day in the Manchu, perhaps the
    most difficult language for composition in the whole world.
    Considerable progress has also been made in St Mark’s Gospel, and I
    will venture to promise, provided always the Almighty smiles upon the
    undertaking, that the entire work of which I have the superintendence
    will be published within eight months from the present time.  Now,
    therefore, with the premise that I most unwillingly speak of myself
    and what I have done and suffered for some time past, all of which I
    wished to keep locked up in my own breast, I will give a regular and
    circumstantial account of my proceedings from the day when I received
    your letter, by which I was authorised by the Committee to bespeak
    paper, engage with a printer, and cause our type to be set in order.

    My first care was to endeavour to make suitable arrangements for the
    obtaining of Chinese paper.  Now those who reside in England, the
    most civilised and blessed of countries, where everything is to be
    obtained at a fair price, have not the slightest idea of the anxiety
    and difficulty which, in a country like this, harass the foreigner
    who has to disburse money not his own, if he wish that his employers
    be not shamefully and outrageously imposed upon.  In my last epistle
    to you I stated that I had been asked 100 roubles per ream for such
    paper as we wanted.  I likewise informed you that I believed that it
    was possible to procure it for 35 roubles, notwithstanding our
    Society had formerly paid 40 roubles for worse paper than the samples
    I was in possession of.  Now I have always been of opinion that in
    the expending of money collected for sacred purposes, it behoves the
    agent to be extraordinarily circumspect and sparing.  I therefore was
    determined, whatever trouble it might cost me, to procure for the
    Society unexceptionable paper at a yet more reasonable rate than 35
    roubles.  I was aware that an acquaintance of mine, a young Dane, was
    particularly intimate with one of the first printers of this city,
    who is accustomed to purchase vast quantities of paper every month
    for his various publications.  I gave this young gentleman a specimen
    of the paper I required, and desired him (he was under obligations to
    me) to inquire of his friend, _as if from curiosity_, the least
    possible sum per ream at which _the printer himself_ (who from his
    immense demand for paper should necessarily obtain it cheaper than
    any one else) could expect to purchase the article in question.  The
    answer I received within a day or two was 25 roubles.  Upon hearing
    this I prevailed upon my acquaintance to endeavour to persuade his
    friend to bespeak the paper at 25 roubles, and to allow me,
    notwithstanding I was a perfect stranger, to have it at that price.
    All this was brought about.  I was introduced to the printer, Mr
    Pluchard, by the Dane, Mr Hasfeldt, and between the former gentleman
    and myself a contract was made to the effect that by the end of
    October he should supply me with 450 reams of Chinese paper at 25
    roubles per ream, the first delivery to be made on the 1st of August;
    for as my order given at an advanced period of the year, when all the
    paper manufactories were at full work towards the executing of orders
    already received, it was but natural that I should verify the old
    apophthegm, ‘Last come, last served.’  As no orders are attended to
    in Russia unless money be advanced upon them, I deposited in the
    hands of Mr Pluchard the sum of 2000 roubles, receiving his receipt
    for that amount.

    Having arranged this most important matter to my satisfaction, I
    turned my attention to the printing process.  I accepted the offer of
    Messrs Schultz & Beneze to compose and print the Manchu Testament at
    the rate of 25 roubles per sheet [of four pages], and caused our
    fount of type to be conveyed to their office.  I wish to say here a
    few words respecting the state in which these types came into my
    possession.  I found them in a kind of warehouse, or rather cellar.
    They had been originally confined in two cases; but these having
    burst, the type lay on the floor trampled amidst mud and filth.  They
    were, moreover, not improved by having been immersed within the
    waters of the inundation of ’27 [1824].  I caused them all to be
    collected and sent to their destination, where they were purified and
    arranged—a work of no small time and difficulty, at which I was
    obliged to assist.  Not finding with the type what is called
    ‘Durchschuss’ by the printers here, consisting of leaden wedges of
    about six ounces weight each, which form the spaces between the
    lines, I ordered 120 pounds weight of those at a rouble a pound,
    being barely enough for three sheets. {129}  I had now to teach the
    compositors the Manchu alphabet, and to distinguish one character
    from another.  This occupied a few days, at the end of which I gave
    them the commencement of St Matthew’s Gospel to copy.  They no sooner
    saw the work they were called upon to perform than there were loud
    murmurs of dissatisfaction, and . . . ‘It is quite impossible to do
    the like,’ was the cry—and no wonder.  The original printed Gospel
    had been so interlined and scribbled upon by the author, in a hand so
    obscure and irregular, that, accustomed as I was to the perusal of
    the written Manchu, it was not without the greatest difficulty that I
    could decipher the new matter myself.  Moreover, the corrections had
    been so carelessly made that they themselves required far more
    correction than the original matter.  I was therefore obliged to be
    continually in the printing-office, and to do three parts of the work
    myself.  For some time I found it necessary to select every character
    with my own fingers, and to deliver it to the compositor, and by so
    doing I learnt myself to compose.  We continued in this way till all
    our characters were exhausted, for no paper had arrived.  For two
    weeks and more we were obliged to pause, the want of paper being
    insurmountable.  At the end of this period came six reams; but partly
    from the manufacturers not being accustomed to make this species of
    paper, and partly from the excessive heat of the weather, which
    caused it to dry too fast, only one ream and a half could be used,
    and this was not enough for one sheet; the rest I refused to take,
    and sent back.  The next week came fifteen reams.  This paper, from
    the same causes, was as bad as the last.  I selected four reams, and
    sent the rest back.  But this paper enabled us to make a beginning,
    which we did not fail to do, though we received no more for upwards
    of a fortnight, which caused another pause.  At the end of that time,
    owing to my pressing remonstrances and entreaties, a regular supply
    of about twelve reams per week of most excellent paper commenced.
    This continued until we had composed the last five sheets of St
    Matthew, when some paper arrived, which in my absence was received by
    Mr Beneze, who, without examining it, as was his duty, delivered it
    to the printers to use in the printing of the said sheets, who
    accordingly printed upon part of it.  But the next day, when my
    occupation permitted me to see what they were about, I observed that
    the last paper was of a quality very different from that which had
    been previously sent.  I accordingly instantly stopped the press,
    and, notwithstanding eight reams had been printed upon, I sent all
    the strange paper back, and caused Mr Beneze to recompose three
    sheets, which had been broken up, at his own expense.  But this
    caused the delay of another week.

    This last circumstance made me determine not to depend in future for
    paper on one manufactory alone.  I therefore stated to Mr P[luchard]
    that, as his people were unable to furnish me with the article fast
    enough, I should apply to others for 250 reams, and begged him to
    supply me with the rest as fast as possible.  He made no objection.
    Thereupon I prevailed upon my most excellent friend, Baron Schilling,
    to speak to his acquaintance, State-Councillor Alquin, who is
    possessed of a paper-factory, on the subject.  M. Alquin, as a
    personal favour to Baron Schilling (whom, I confess, I was ashamed to
    trouble upon such an affair, and should never have done so had not
    zeal for the cause induced me), consented to furnish me with the
    required paper on the same terms as Mr P.  At present there is not
    the slightest risk of the progress of our work being retarded—at
    present, indeed, the path is quite easy; but the trouble, anxiety,
    and misery which have till lately harassed me, alone in a situation
    of great responsibility, have almost reduced me to a skeleton.

    My dearest Sir, do me the favour to ask our excellent Committee,
    Would it have answered any useful purpose if, instead of continuing
    to struggle with difficulties and using my utmost to overcome them, I
    had written in the following strain—and what else could I have
    written if I had written at all?—‘I was sent out to St Petersburg to
    assist Mr Lipovzoff in the editing of the Manchu Testament.  That
    gentleman, who holds three important Situations under the Russian
    Government, and who is far advanced in years, has neither time,
    inclination, nor eyesight for the task, and I am apprehensive that my
    strength and powers unassisted are incompetent to it’ (praised be the
    Lord, they were not!), ‘therefore I should be glad to return home.
    Moreover, the compositors say they are unaccustomed to compose in an
    unknown tongue from such scribbled and illegible copy, and they will
    scarcely assist me to compose.  Moreover, the working printers say
    (several went away in disgust) that the paper on which they have to
    print is too thin to be wetted, and that to print on dry requires a
    twofold exertion of strength, and that they will not do such work for
    double wages, for it ruptures them.’  Would that have been a welcome
    communication to the Committee?  Would that have been a communication
    suited to the public?  I was resolved ‘to do or die,’ and, instead of
    distressing and perplexing the Committee with complaints, to write
    nothing until I could write something perfectly satisfactory, as I
    now can; {132a} and to bring about that result I have spared neither
    myself nor my own money.  I have toiled in a close printing-office
    the whole day, during ninety degrees of heat, for the purpose of
    setting an example, and have bribed people to work when nothing but
    bribes would induce them so to do.

    I am obliged to say all this in self-justification.  No member of the
    Bible Society would ever have heard a syllable respecting what I have
    undergone but for the question, ‘What has Mr Borrow been about?’  I
    hope and trust that question is now answered to the satisfaction of
    those who do Mr Borrow the honour to employ him.  In respect to the
    expense attending the editing of such a work as the New Testament in
    Manchu, I beg leave to observe that I have obtained the paper, the
    principal source of expense, at fifteen roubles per ream less than
    the Society formerly paid for it—that is to say, at nearly half the
    price.

    As St Matthew’s Gospel has been ready for some weeks, it is high time
    that it should be bound; for if that process be delayed, the paper
    will be dirtied and the work injured.  I am sorry to inform you that
    book-binding in Russia is incredibly dear, {132b} and that the
    expenses attending the binding of the Testament would amount, were
    the usual course pursued, to two-thirds of the entire expenses of the
    work.  Various book-binders to whom I have applied have demanded one
    rouble and a half for the binding of every section of the work, so
    that the sum required for the binding of one Testament alone would be
    twelve roubles.  Doctor Schmidt assured me that one rouble and forty
    copecks, or, according to the English currency, fourteenpence
    halfpenny, were formerly paid for the binding of every individual
    copy of St Matthew’s Gospel.

    I pray you, my dear Sir, to cause the books to be referred to, for I
    wish to know if that statement be correct.  In the meantime
    arrangements have to be made, and the Society will have to pay for
    each volume of the Testament the comparatively small sum of
    forty-five copecks, or fourpence halfpenny, whereas the usual price
    here for the most paltry covering of the most paltry pamphlet is
    fivepence.  Should it be demanded how I have been able to effect
    this, my reply is that I have had little hand in the matter.  A
    nobleman who honours me with particular friendship, and who is one of
    the most illustrious ornaments of Russia and of Europe, has, at my
    request, prevailed on his own book-binder, over whom he has much
    influence, to do the work on these terms.  That nobleman is Baron
    Schilling.

    Commend me to our most respected Committee.  Assure them that in
    whatever I have done or left undone, I have been influenced by a
    desire to promote the glory of the Trinity and to give my employers
    ultimate and permanent satisfaction.  If I have erred, it has been
    from a defect of judgment, and I ask pardon of God and them.  In the
    course of a week I shall write again, and give a further account of
    my proceedings, for I have not communicated one-tenth of what I have
    to impart; but I can write no more now.  It is two hours past
    midnight; the post goes away to-morrow, and against that morrow I
    have to examine and correct three sheets of St Mark’s Gospel, which
    lie beneath the paper on which I am writing.  With my best regards to
    Mr Brandram,

    I remain, dear Sir,

                              Most truly yours,

                                                                G. BORROW.

    Rev. JOSEPH JOWETT.

Closely following upon this letter, and without waiting for a reply,
Borrow wrote again to Mr Jowett, 13th/25th October, enclosing a
certificate from Mr Lipovzoff, which read:—

    “Testifio:—Dominum Burro ab initio usque ad hoc tempus summa cum
    diligentia et studio in re Mantshurica laborasse, Lipovzoff.”

He also reported progress as regards the printing, and promised (D.V.)
that the entire undertaking should be completed by the first of May; but
the letter was principally concerned with the projected expedition to
Kiakhta, to distribute the books he was so busily occupied in printing.
He repeated his former arguments, urging the Committee to send an agent
to Kiakhta.  “I am a person of few words,” he assured Mr Jowett, “and
will therefore state without circumlocution that I am willing to become
that agent.  I speak Russ, Manchu, and the Tartar or broken Turkish of
the Russian Steppes, and have also some knowledge of Chinese, which I
might easily improve.”  As regards the danger to himself of such a
hazardous undertaking, the conversion of the Tartar would never be
achieved without danger to someone.  He had become acquainted with many
of the Tartars resident in St Petersburg, whose language he had learned
through conversing with his servant (a native of Bucharia [Bokhara]), and
he had become “much attached to them; for their conscientiousness,
honesty, and fidelity are beyond all praise.”

To this further offer Mr Jowett replied:—

    “Be not disheartened, even though the Committee postpone for the
    present the consideration of your enterprising, not to say intrepid,
    proposal.  Thus much, however, I may venture to say: that the offer
    is more likely to be accepted now, than when you first made it.  If,
    when the time approaches for executing such a plan, you give us
    reason to believe that a more mature consideration of it in all its
    bearings still leaves you in hope of a successful result, and in
    heart for making the attempt, my own opinion is that the offer will
    ultimately be accepted, and that very cordially.”




CHAPTER IX
NOVEMBER 1834–SEPTEMBER 1835


BORROW was an unconventional editor.  He foresaw the interminable delays
likely to arise from allowing workmen to incorporate his corrections in
the type.  To obviate these, he first corrected the proof, then,
proceeding to the printing office, he made with his own hands the
necessary alterations in the type.  This involved only two proofs, the
second to be submitted to Mr Lipovzoff, instead of some half a dozen that
otherwise would have been necessary.  During these days Borrow was
ubiquitous.  Even the binder required his assistance, “for everything
goes wrong without a strict surveillance.”

Borrow had passed through _the_ crisis in his career.  Stricken with
fever, which was followed by an attack of the “Horrors” (only to be
driven away by port wine), he had scarcely found time in which to eat or
sleep.  He had emerged triumphantly from the ordeal, and if he had
“almost killed Beneze and his lads”{135a} with work, he had not spared
himself.  If he had to report, as he did, that “my two compositors, whom
I had instructed in all the mysteries of Manchu composition, are in the
hospital, down with the brain fever,” {135b} he himself had grown thin
from the incessant toil.

The simple manliness and restrained dignity of his justification had
produced a marked effect upon the authorities at home.  If the rebuke
administered by Mr Jowett had been mild, his acknowledgment of the reply
that it had called forth was most cordial and friendly.  After assuring
Borrow of the Committee’s high satisfaction at the way in which its
interests had been looked after, he proceeds sincerely to deprecate
anything in his previous letter which may have caused Borrow pain, and
continues:

    “Yet I scarcely know how to be sorry for what has been the occasion
    of drawing from you (what you might otherwise have kept locked up in
    your own breast) the very interesting story of your labours,
    vexations, disappointments, vigilance, address, perseverance, and
    successes.  How you were able in your solitude to keep up your
    spirits in the face of so many impediments, apparently
    insurmountable, I know not . . . Do not fear that _we_ should in any
    way interrupt your proceedings.  We know our interest too well to
    interfere with an agent who has shown so much address in planning,
    and so much diligence in effecting, the execution of our wishes.”

These encouraging words were followed by a request that he would keep a
careful account of all extraordinary expenses, that they might be duly
met by the Society:—

    “I allude, you perceive, to such things,” the letter goes on to
    explain, “as your journies _huc et illuc_ in quest of a better
    market, and to the occasional bribes to disheartened workmen.  In all
    matters of this kind the Society is clearly your debtor.”  Borrow
    replied with a flash of his old independent spirit: “I return my most
    grateful thanks for this most considerate intimation, which,
    nevertheless, I cannot avail myself of, as, according to one of the
    articles of my agreement, my salary of £200 was to cover all extra
    expenses.  Petersburg is doubtless the dearest capital in Europe, and
    expenses meet an individual, especially one situated as I have been,
    at every turn and corner; but an agreement is not to be broken on
    that account.” {136}

That the Committee, even before this proof of his ability, had been well
pleased with their engagement of Borrow is shown by the acknowledgment
made in the Society’s Thirtieth Annual Report: “Mr Borrow has not
disappointed the expectation entertained.”

There were other words of encouragement to cheer him in his labours.  His
mother wrote in September of that year, telling him how, at a Bible
Society’s gathering at Norwich, which had lasted the whole of a week, his
name “was sounded through the Hall by Mr Gurney and Mr Cunningham”;
telling how he had left his home and his friends to do God’s work in a
foreign land, calling upon their fellow-citizens to offer up prayers
beseeching the Almighty to vouchsafe to him health and strength that the
great work he had undertaken might be completed.  “All this is very
pleasing to me,” added the proud old lady.  “God bless you!”

From Mrs Clarke of Oulton Hall, with whom he kept up a correspondence, he
heard how his name had been mentioned at many of the Society’s meetings
during the year, and how the Rev. Francis Cunningham had referred to him
as “one of the most extraordinary and interesting individuals of the
present day.”  Even at that date, viz., before the receipt of the
remarkable account of his labours, the members and officials of the Bible
Society seem to have come to the conclusion that he had achieved far more
than they had any reason to expect of him.  Their subsequent approval is
shown by the manner in which they caused his two letters of 8th/20th and
13th/25th October to be circulated among the influential members of the
Society, until at last they had reached the Rev. F. Cunningham and Mrs
Clarke.

About the middle of January (old style) 1835, Borrow placed in the hands
of Baron Schilling a copy of each of the four Gospels in Manchu, to be
conveyed to the Bible Society by one of the couriers attached to the
Foreign Department at St Petersburg; but they did not reach Earl Street
until several weeks later.  There were however, still the remaining four
volumes to complete, and many more difficulties to overcome.

One vexation that presented itself was a difference of opinion between
Borrow and Lipovzoff, who “thought proper, when the Father Almighty is
addressed, to erase the personal and possessive pronouns _thou_ or
_thine_, as often as they occur, and in their stead to make use of the
noun as the case may require.  For example, ‘O Father! thou art merciful’
he would render, ‘O Father! the Father is merciful.’”  Borrow protested,
but Lipovzoff, who was “a gentleman, whom the slightest contradiction
never fails to incense to a most incredible degree,” told him that he
talked nonsense, and refused to concede anything. {138a}  Lipovzoff, who
had on his side the Chinese scholars and unlimited powers as official
censor (from whose decree there was no appeal) over his own work, carried
his point.  He urged that “amongst the Chinese and Tartars, none but the
dregs of society were ever addressed in the second person; and that it
would be most uncouth and indecent to speak of the Almighty as if He were
a servant or a slave.”  This difficulty of the verbal ornament of the
East was one that the Bible Society had frequently met with in the past.
It was rightly considered as ill-fitting a translation of the words of
Christ.  Simplicity of diction was to be preserved at all costs, whatever
might be the rule with secular books.  Mr Jowett had warned Borrow to
“beware of confounding the two distinct ideas of translation and
interpretation!” {138b} and also informed him that “the passion for
honorific-abilitudinity is a vice of Asiatic languages, which a Scripture
translator, above all others, ought to beware of countenancing.” {139a}

Well might Borrow write to Mr Jowett, “How I have been enabled to
maintain terms of friendship and familiarity with Mr Lipovzoff, and yet
fulfil the part which those who employ me expect me to fulfil, I am much
at a loss to conjecture; and yet such is really the case.” {139b}  On the
whole, however, the two men worked harmoniously together, the
censor-translator being usually amenable to editorial reason and
suggestion; and Borrow was able to assure Mr Jowett that with the
exception of this one instance “the word of God has been rendered into
Manchu as nearly and closely as the idiom of a very singular language
would permit.”

Borrow’s mind continued to dwell upon the project of penetrating into
China and distributing the Scriptures himself.  He wrote again, repeating
“the assurance that I am ready to attempt anything which the Society may
wish me to execute, and, at a moment’s warning, will direct my course
towards Canton, Pekin, or the court of the Grand Lama.” {139c}  The
project had, however, to be abandoned.  The Russian Government, desirous
of maintaining friendly relations with China, declined to risk her
displeasure for a missionary project in which Russia had neither interest
nor reasonable expectation of gain.  In agreeing to issue a passport such
as Borrow desired, it stipulated that he should carry with him “not one
single Manchu Bible thither.” {139d}  In spite of this discouragement,
Borrow wrote to Mr Jowett with regard to the Chinese programme, “_I again
repeat that I am at command_.” {139e}

This determination on Borrow’s part to become a missionary filled his
mother with alarm.  She had only one son now, and the very thought of his
going into wild and unknown regions seemed to her tantamount to his going
to his death.  Mrs Clarke also expressed strong disapproval of the
project.  “I must tell you,” she wrote, “that your letter chilled me when
I read your intention of going as a Missionary or Agent, with the Manchu
Scriptures in your hand, to the Tartars, the land of incalculable
dangers.”

By the middle of May 1835 Borrow saw the end of his labours in sight.  On
3rd/15th May he wrote asking for instructions relative to the despatch of
the bulk of the volumes, and also as to the disposal of the type.  “As
for myself,” he continues, “I suppose I must return to England, as my
task will be speedily completed.  I hope the Society are convinced that I
have served them faithfully, and that I have spared no labour to bring
out the work, which they did me the honor of confiding to me, correctly
and within as short a time as possible.  At my return, if the Society
think that I can still prove of utility to them, I shall be most happy to
devote myself still to their service.  I am a person full of faults and
weaknesses, as I am every day reminded by bitter experience, but I am
certain that my zeal and fidelity towards those who put confidence in me
are not to be shaken.” {140}

On 15th/27th June he reported the printing completed and six out of the
eight volumes bound, and that as soon as the remaining two volumes were
ready, he intended to take his departure from St Petersburg; but a new
difficulty arose.  The East had laid a heavy hand upon St Petersburg.
“To-morrow, please God!” met the energetic Westerner at every turn.  The
bookbinder delayed six weeks because he could not procure some paper he
required.  But the real obstacle to the despatch of the books was the
non-arrival of the Government sanction to their shipment.  Nothing was
permitted to move either in or out of the sacred city of the Tsars
without official permission.  Probably those responsible for the
administration of affairs had never in their experience been called upon
to deal with a man such as Borrow.  To apply to him the customary rules
of procedure was to bring upon “the House of Interior Affairs” a series
of visits and demands that must have left it limp with astonishment.

On 16th/28th July Borrow wrote to the Bible Society, “I herewith send you
a bill of lading for six of the eight parts of the New Testament, which I
have at last obtained permission to send away, after having paid sixteen
visits to the House of Interior Affairs.” {141a}  He expresses a hope
that in another fortnight he will have despatched the remaining two
volumes and have “bidden adieu to Russia”; but it was dangerous to
anticipate the official course of events in Russia.  Even to the last
Borrow was tormented by red tape.  Early in August the last two volumes
were ready for shipment to England; but he could not obtain the necessary
permission.  He was told that he ought never to have printed the work, in
spite of the license that had been granted, and that grave doubts existed
in the official mind as to whether or no he really were an agent of the
Bible Society.  At length Borrow lost patience and told the officials
that during the week following the books would be despatched, with or
without permission, and he warned them to have a care how they acted.
These strong measures seem to have produced the desired result.

Despite his many occupations on behalf of the Bible Society, Borrow found
time in which to translate into Russian the first three Homilies of the
Church of England, and into Manchu the Second.  His desire was that the
Homily Society should cause these translations to be printed, and in a
letter to the Rev. Francis Cunningham he strove to enlist his interest in
the project, offering the translations without fee to the Society if they
chose to make use of them. {141b}  As “a zealous, though most unworthy,
member of the Anglican Church,” he found that his “cheeks glowed with
shame at seeing dissenters, English and American, busily employed in
circulating Tracts in the Russian tongue, whilst the members of the
Church were following their secular concerns, almost regardless of things
spiritual in respect to the Russian population.” {142a}

Borrow also translated into English “one of the sacred books of Boudh, or
Fo,” from Baron Schilling de Canstadt’s library.  The principal
occupation of his leisure hours, however, was a collection of
translations, which he had printed by Schultz & Beneze, and published
(3rd/ 15th June 1835) under the title of _Targum_, _or Metrical
Translations from Thirty Languages and Dialects_. {142b}  In a prefatory
note, the collection is referred to as “selections from a huge and
undigested mass of translation, accumulated during several years devoted
to philological pursuits.”  Three months later he published another
collection entitled _The Talisman_, _From the Russian of Alexander
Pushkin_.  _With Other Pieces_. {143a}  There were seven poems in all,
two after Pushkin, one from the Malo-Russian, one from Mickiewicz, and
three “ancient Russian Songs.”  Again the printers were Schultz & Beneze.
Each of these editions appears to have been limited to one hundred
copies. {143b}

Writing in the _Athenæum_, {143c} J. P. H[asfeldt] says:—“The work is a
pearl in literature, and, like pearls, derives value from its scarcity,
for the whole edition was limited to about a hundred copies.”  W. B.
Donne admired the translations immensely, considering “the language and
rhythm as vastly superior to Macaulay’s _Lays of Ancient Rome_.” {143d}

Whilst the last two volumes of the Manchu New Testament were waiting for
paper (probably for end-papers), Borrow determined to pay a hurried visit
to Moscow, “by far the most remarkable city it has ever been my fortune
to see.”  One of his principal objects in visiting the ancient capital of
Russia was to see the gypsies, who flourished there as they flourished
nowhere else in Europe.  They numbered several thousands, and many of
them inhabited large and handsome houses, drove in their carriages, and
were “distinguishable from the genteel class of the Russians only . . .
by superior personal advantages and mental accomplishments.” {143e}  For
this unusual state of prosperity the women were responsible, “having from
time immemorial cultivated their vocal powers to such an extent that,
although in the heart of a country in which the vocal art has arrived at
greater perfection than in any other part of the world, the principal
Gypsy choirs in Moscow are allowed by the general voice of the public to
be unrivalled and to bear away the palm from all competitors.  It is a
fact notorious in Russia that the celebrated Catalani was so filled with
admiration for the powers of voice displayed by one of the Gypsy
songsters, who, after the former had sung before a splendid audience at
Moscow, stepped forward and with an astonishing burst of melody ravished
every ear, that she [Catalani] tore from her own shoulders a shawl of
immense value which had been presented to her by the Pope, and embracing
the Gypsy, compelled her to accept it, saying that it had been originally
intended for the matchless singer, which she now discovered was not
herself.” {144a}

These Russian gypsy singers lived luxurious lives and frequently married
Russian gentry or even the nobility.  It was only the successes, however,
who achieved such distinction, and there were “a great number of low,
vulgar, and profligate females who sing in taverns, or at the various
gardens in the neighbourhood, and whose husbands and male connections
subsist by horse-jobbing and such kinds of low traffic.” {144b}

One fine evening Borrow hired a calash and drove out to Marina Rotze, “a
kind of sylvan garden,” about one and a half miles out of Moscow, where
this particular class of Romanys resorted.  “Upon my arriving there,” he
writes, “the Gypsies swarmed out of their tents and from the little
_tracteer_ or tavern, and surrounded me.  Standing on the seat of the
calash, I addressed them in a loud voice in the dialect of the English
Gypsies, with which I have some slight acquaintance.  A scream of wonder
instantly arose, and welcomes and greetings were poured forth in torrents
of musical Romany, amongst which, however, the most pronounced cry was:
_ah kak mi toute karmuma_ {145a}—‘Oh how we love you’; for at first they
supposed me to be one of their brothers, who, they said, were wandering
about in Turkey, China, and other parts, and that I had come over the
great _pawnee_, or water, to visit them.” {145b}

On several other occasions during his stay at Moscow, Borrow went out to
Marina Rotze, to hold converse with the gypsies.  He “spoke to them upon
their sinful manner of living,” about Christianity and the advent of
Christ, to which the gypsies listened with attention, but apparently not
much profit.  The promise that they would soon be able to obtain the
teachings of Jesus of Nazareth in their own tongue interested them far
more on account of the pleasurable strangeness of the idea, than from any
anticipation that they might derive spiritual comfort from such writings.

Returning to St Petersburg from Moscow, after four-days’ absence, Borrow
completed his work, settled up his affairs, bade his friends good-bye,
and on 28th August/9th September left for Cronstadt to take the packet
for Lübeck.  The authorities seem to have raised no objection to his
departure.  His passport bore the date 28th August O/S (the actual day he
left) and described him as “of stature, tall—hair, grey—face,
oval—forehead, medium—eyebrows, blonde—eyes, brown—nose and mouth,
medium—chin, round.”

Borrow’s work at St Petersburg gave entire satisfaction to the Bible
Society.  The Official Report for the year 1835 informed the members
that—

    “The printing of the Manchu New Testament in St Petersburg is now
    drawing to a conclusion.  Mr G. Borrow, who has had to superintend
    the work, has in every way afforded satisfaction to the Committee.
    They have reason to believe that his acquirements in the language are
    of the most respectable order; while the devoted diligence with which
    he has laboured, and the skill he has shown in surmounting
    difficulties, and conducting his negotiations for the advantage of
    the Society, justly entitle him to this public acknowledgment of his
    services.” {146a}

Of the actual work itself John Hasfeldt justly wrote:

    “I can only say, that it is a beautiful edition of an oriental
    work—that it is printed with great care on a fine imitation of
    Chinese paper, made on purpose.  At the outset, Mr Borrow spent weeks
    and months in the printing office to make the compositors acquainted
    with the intricate Manchu types; and that, as for the contents, I am
    assured by well-informed persons, that this translation is remarkable
    for the correctness and fidelity with which it has been executed.”
    {146b}

The total cost to the Society of his labours in connection with the
transcription of Puerot’s MS., and printing and binding one thousand
copies of Lipovzoff’s New Testament had reached the very considerable sum
of £2600.  What the amount would have been if Borrow had not proved a
prince of bargainers, it is impossible to imagine.  The entire edition
was sent to Earl Street, and eventually distributed in China as occasion
offered.  An edition of the Gospels in this version has recently been
reprinted, and is still in use among certain tribes in Mongolia.

Borrow arrived in London somewhere about 20th September (new style),
after an absence of a little more than two years.  He went to St
Petersburg “prejudiced against the country, the government, and the
people; the first is much more agreeable than is generally supposed; the
second is seemingly the best adapted for so vast an empire; and the
third, even the lowest classes, are in general kind, hospitable, and
benevolent.” {147}

On 23rd September Borrow was still in London writing his report to the
General Committee upon his recent labours.  In all probability he left
immediately afterwards for Norwich, there to await events.




CHAPTER X
OCTOBER 1835–JANUARY 1836


BORROW had strong hopes that the Bible Society would continue to employ
him.  Mr Brandram had written (5th June 1835) that the Committee “will
not very willingly suffer themselves to be deprived of your services.
From Russia Borrow had written to his mother: {148}

    “They [the Bible Society] place great confidence in me, and I am
    firmly resolved to do all in my power to prove that they have not
    misplaced that confidence.  I dare say that when I return home they
    will always be happy to employ me to edit their Bibles, and there is
    no employment in the whole world which I should prefer and for which
    I am better fitted.  I shall, moreover, endeavour to get ordained.”

On another occasion he wrote, also to his mother:

    “I hope that the Bible Society will employ me upon something new, for
    I have of late led an active life, and dread the thought of having
    nothing to do except studying as formerly, and I am by no means
    certain that I could sit down to study now.  I can do anything if it
    is to turn to any account; but it is very hard to dig holes in the
    sand and fill them up again, as I used to do.  However, I hope God
    will find me something on which I can employ myself with credit and
    profit.  I should like very much to get into the Church, though I
    suppose that that, like all other professions, is overstocked.”

Mrs Borrow reminded him that he had a good home ready to receive him, and
a mother grown lonely with long waiting.  She told him, among other
things, that she had spent none of the money that he had so generously
and unsparingly sent her.

Borrow certainly had every reason to expect further employment.  He had
proved himself not only a thoroughly qualified editor; but had discovered
business qualities that must have astonished and delighted the General
Committee.  Above all he had brought to a most successful conclusion a
venture that, but for his ability and address, would in all probability
have failed utterly.  The application for permission to proceed with the
distribution had, it is true, been unsuccessful; but there was, as Mr
Brandram wrote, the “seed laid up in the granary; but ‘it is not yet
written’ that the sowers are to go forth to sow.”

After remaining for a short time with his mother at Norwich, Borrow
appears to have paid a visit to his friends the Skeppers of Oulton.  Old
Mrs Skepper, Mrs Clarke’s mother, had just died, and it is a proof of
Borrow’s intimacy with the family that he should be invited to stay with
them whilst they were still in mourning.  Although there is no record of
the date when he arrived at Oulton, he is known to have been there on 9th
October, when he addressed a Bible Society meeting, about which he wrote
the following delectable postscript to a letter he addressed to Mr
Brandram: {149}

    “There has been a Bible meeting at Oulton, in Suffolk, to which I was
    invited.  The speaking produced such an effect, that some of the most
    vicious characters in the neighbourhood have become weekly
    subscribers to the Branch Society.  So says the Chronicle of Norfolk
    in its report.”  The actual paragraph read:

    “It will doubtless afford satisfaction to the Christian public to
    learn that many poor individuals in this neighbourhood, who previous
    to attending this meeting were averse to the cause or indifferent to
    it, had their feelings so aroused by what was communicated to them,
    that they have since voluntarily subscribed to the Bible Society,
    actuated by the hope of becoming humbly instrumental in extending the
    dominion of the true light, and of circumscribing the domains of
    darkness and of Satan.”

On returning to the quiet of the old Cathedral city, Borrow had an
opportunity of resting and meditating upon the events of the last two
years; but he soon became restless and tired of inaction. {150a}  “I am
weary of doing nothing, and am sighing for employment,” {150b} he wrote.
He had impatiently awaited some word from Earl Street, where, seemingly,
he had discussed various plans for the future, including a journey to
Portugal and Spain, as well as the printing in Armenian of an edition of
the New Testament.  Hearing nothing from Mr Jowett, he wrote begging to
be excused for reminding him that he was ready to undertake any task that
might be allotted to him.

On the day following, he received a letter from Mr Brandram telling of
how a resolution had been passed that he should go to Portugal.  Then the
writer’s heart misgave him.  In his mind’s eye he saw Borrow set down at
Oporto.  What would he do?  Fearful that the door was not sufficiently
open to justify the step, he had suggested the suspension of the
resolution.  Borrow was asked what he himself thought.  What did he think
of China, and could he foresee any prospect for the distribution of the
Scriptures there?  “Favour us with your thoughts,” Mr Brandram wrote.
“Experimental agency in a Society like ours is a formidable undertaking.”
Borrow replied the same day, {150c}

    “As you ask me to favour you with my thoughts, I certainly will; for
    I have thought much upon the matters in question, and the result I
    will communicate to you in a very few words.  I decidedly approve
    (and so do all the religious friends whom I have communicated it to)
    of the plan of a journey to Portugal, and am sorry that it has been
    suspended, though I am convinced that your own benevolent and
    excellent heart was the cause, unwilling to fling me into an
    undertaking which you supposed might be attended with peril and
    difficulty.  Therefore I wish it to be clearly understood that I am
    perfectly willing to undertake the expedition, nay, to extend it into
    Spain, to visit the town and country, to discourse with the people,
    especially those connected with institutions for infantine education,
    and to learn what ways and opportunities present themselves for
    conveying the Gospel into those benighted countries.  I will moreover
    undertake, with the blessing of God, to draw up a small volume of
    what I shall have seen and heard there, which cannot fail to be
    interesting, and if patronised by the Society will probably help to
    cover the expenses of the expedition.  On my return I can commence
    the Armenian Testament, and whilst I am editing that, I may be
    acquiring much vulgar Chinese from some unemployed Lascar or stray
    Cantonman whom I may pick up upon the wharves, and then . . . to
    China.  I have no more to say, for were I to pen twenty pages, and I
    have time enough for so doing, I could communicate nothing which
    would make my views more clear.”

The earnestness of this letter seems effectually to have dissipated Mr
Brandram’s scruples, for events moved forward with astonishing rapidity.
Four days after the receipt of Borrow’s letter, a resolution was adopted
by the Committee to the following effect:—

    “That Mr Borrow be requested to proceed forthwith to Lisbon and
    Oporto for the purpose of visiting the Society’s correspondents
    there, and of making further enquiries respecting the means and
    channels which may offer for promoting the circulation of the Holy
    Scriptures in Portugal.” {151}

Mr Brandram gave Borrow two letters of introduction, one to John Wilby, a
merchant at Lisbon, and the other to the British Chaplain, the Rev. E.
Whiteley.  Having explained to Mr Whiteley how Borrow had recently been
eventually going to be employed in St Petersburg in editing the Manchu New
Testament, he wrote:—

    “We have some prospect of his eventually going to China; but having proved by experience
    that he possesses an order of talent remarkably suited to the
    purposes of our Society, we have felt unwilling to interrupt our
    connection with him with the termination of his engagement at St
    Petersburg.  In the interval we have thought that he might
    advantageously visit Portugal, and strengthen your hands and those of
    other friends, and see whether he could not extend the promising
    opening at present existing.  He has no specific instructions, though
    he is enjoined to confer very fully with yourself and Mr Wilby of
    Lisbon.

    “I have mentioned his recent occupation at St Petersburg, and you may
    perhaps think that there is little affinity between it and his
    present visit to Portugal.  But Mr Borrow possesses no little tact in
    addressing himself to anything.  With Portugal he is already
    acquainted, and speaks the language.  He proposes visiting several of
    the principal cities and towns . . .

    “Our correspondence about Spain is at this moment singularly
    interesting, and if it continues so, and the way seems to open, Mr
    Borrow will cross the frontier and go and enquire what can be done
    there.  We believe him to be one who is endowed with no small portion
    of address and a spirit of enterprise.  I recommend him to your kind
    attentions, and I anticipate your thanks for so doing, after you
    shall have become acquainted with him.  Do not, however, be too hasty
    in forming your judgment.”

This letter outlines very clearly what was in the minds of the Committee
in sending Borrow to Portugal.  He was to spy out the land and advise the
home authorities in what direction he would be most likely to prove
useful.  He was in particular to direct his attention to schools, and was
“authorised to be liberal in _giving_ New Testaments.”  Furthermore, he
was to be permitted to draw upon the Society’s agents to the extent of
one hundred pounds.

The most significant part of this letter is the passage relating to
China.  It leaves no doubt that Borrow’s reiterated requests to be
employed in distributing the Manchu New Testament had appealed most
strongly to the General Committee.  Mr Brandram was evidently in doubt as
to how Borrow would strike his correspondent as an agent of the Bible
Society, hence his warning against a hasty judgment.  Apparently this
letter was never presented, as it was found among Borrow’s papers, and Mr
Whiteley had to form his opinion entirely unaided.

On 6th November Borrow sailed from the Thames for Lisbon in the steamship
_London Merchant_.  The voyage was fair for the time of year, and was
marked only by the tragic occurrence of a sailor falling from the
cross-trees into the sea and being drowned.  The man had dreamed his fate
a few minutes previously, and had told Borrow of the circumstances on
coming up from below. {153}

Borrow had scarcely been in Lisbon an hour before he heartily wished
himself “back in Russia . . . where I had left cherished friends and warm
affections.”  The Customs-house officers irritated him, first with their
dilatoriness, then by the minuteness with which they examined every
article of which he was possessed.  Again, there was the difficulty of
obtaining a suitable lodging, which when eventually found proved to be
“dark, dirty and exceedingly expensive without attendance.”  Mr Wilby was
in the country and not expected to return for a week.  It would also
appear that the British Chaplain was likewise away.  Thus Borrow found
himself with no one to advise him as to the first step he should take.
This in itself was no very great drawback; but he felt very much a
stranger in a city that struck him as detestable.

Determined to commence operations according to the dictates of his own
judgment, he first engaged a Portuguese servant that he might have ample
opportunities of perfecting himself in the language.  He was fortunate in
his selection, for Antonio turned out an excellent fellow, who “always
served me with the greatest fidelity, and . . . exhibited an assiduity
and a wish to please which afforded me the utmost satisfaction.” {154a}

When Borrow arrived in Portugal, it was to find it gasping and dazed by
eight years of civil war (1826–1834).  In 1807, when Junot invaded the
country, the Royal House of Braganza had sailed for Brazil.  In 1816 Dom
Joāo succeeded to the thrones of Brazil and Portugal, and six years later
he arrived in Portugal, leaving behind him as Viceroy his son Dom Pedro,
who promptly declared himself Emperor of Brazil.  Dom Joāo died in 1826,
leaving, in addition to the self-styled Emperor of Brazil, another son,
Miguel.  Dom Pedro relinquished his claim to the throne of Portugal in
favour of his seven years old daughter, Maria da Gloria, whose right was
contested by her uncle Dom Miguel.  In 1834 Dom Miguel resigned his
imaginary rights to the throne by the Convention of Evora, and departed
from the country that for eight years had been at war with itself, and
for seven with a foreign invader.

Borrow proceeded to acquaint himself with the state of affairs in Lisbon
and the surrounding country, that he might transmit a full account to the
Bible Society.  He visited every part of the city, losing no opportunity
of entering into conversation with anyone with whom he came in contact.
The people he found indifferent to religion, the lower orders in
particular.  They laughed in his face when he enquired if ever they
confessed themselves, and a muleteer on being asked if he reverenced the
cross, “instantly flew into a rage, stamped violently, and, spitting on
the ground, said it was a piece of stone, and that he should have no more
objection to spit upon it than the stones on which he trod.” {154b}

Many of the people could read, as they proved when asked to do so from
the Portuguese New Testament; but of all those whom he addressed none
appeared to have read the Scriptures, or to know anything of what they
contain.

After spending four or five days at Lisbon, Borrow, accompanied by
Antonio, proceeded to Cintra. {155a}  Here he pursued the same method,
also visiting the schools and enquiring into the nature of the religious
instruction.  During his stay of four days, he “traversed the country in
all directions, riding into the fields, where I saw the peasants at work,
and entering into discourse with them, and notwithstanding many of my
questions must have appeared to them very singular, I never experienced
any incivility, though they frequently answered me with smiles and
laughter.” {155b}

From Cintra he proceeded on horseback to Mafra, a large village some
three leagues distant.  Everywhere he subjected the inhabitants to a
searching cross-examination, laying bare their minds upon religious
matters, experiencing surprise at the “free and unembarrassed manner in
which the Portuguese peasantry sustain a conversation, and the purity of
the language in which they express their thoughts,” {155c} although few
could read or write.

On the return journey from Mafra to Cintra he nearly lost his life, owing
to the girth of his saddle breaking during his horse’s exertions in
climbing a hill.  Borrow was cast violently to the ground; but
fortunately on the right side, otherwise he would in all probability have
been bruised to death by tumbling down the steep hill-side.  As it was,
he was dazed, and felt the effects of his mishap for several days.

On his return to Lisbon, Borrow found that Mr Wilby was back, and he had
many opportunities of taking counsel with him as to the best means to be
adopted to further the Society’s ends.  He learned that four hundred
copies of the Bible and the New Testament had arrived, and it was decided
to begin operations at once.  Mr Wilby recommended the booksellers as the
best medium of distribution; but Borrow urged strongly that at least half
of the available copies “should be entrusted to colporteurs,” who were to
receive a commission upon every copy sold.  To this Mr Wilby agreed,
provided the operations of the colporteurs were restricted to Lisbon, as
there was considerable danger in the country, where the priests were very
powerful and might urge the people to mishandle, or even assassinate, the
bearers of the Word.

By nature Borrow was not addicted to half measures.  His whole record as
an agent of the Bible Society was of a series of determined onslaughts
upon the obstacles animate and inanimate, that beset his path.  Sometimes
he took away the breath of his adversaries by the very vigour of his
attack, and, like the old Northern leaders, whose deeds he wished to give
to an uneager world in translated verse, he faced great dangers and
achieved great ends.  Recognising that the darkest region is most in need
of light, he enquired of Mr Wilby in what province of Portugal were to be
found the most ignorant and benighted people, and on being told the
Alemtejo (the other side of the Tagus), he immediately announced his
intention of making a journey through it, in order to discover how dense
spiritual gloom could really be in an ostensibly Christian country.

The Alemtejo was an unprepossessing country, consisting for the most part
of “heaths, broken by knolls and gloomy dingles, swamps and forests of
stunted pine,” with but few hills and mountains.  The place was infested
with banditti, and robberies, accompanied by horrible murders, were of
constant occurrence.  On 6th December, accompanied by his servant
Antonio, Borrow set out for Evora, the principal town, formerly a seat of
the dreaded Inquisition, which lies about sixty miles east of Lisbon.
After many adventures, which he himself has narrated, including a
dangerous crossing of the Tagus, and a meeting with Dom Geronimo Jozé
d’Azveto, secretary to the government of Evora, Borrow arrived at his
destination, having spent two nights on the road.  During the journey he
had been constantly mindful of his mission; beside the embers of a
bandit’s fire he left a New Testament, and the huts that mark the spot
where Dom Pedro and Dom Miguel met, he sweetened with some of “the
precious little tracts.”

He had brought with him to Evora twenty Testaments and two Bibles, half
of which he left with an enlightened shopkeeper, to whom he had a letter
of introduction.  The other half he subsequently bestowed upon Dom
Geronimo, who proved to be a man of great earnestness, deeply conscious
of his countrymen’s ignorance of true Christianity.  Each day during his
stay at Evora, Borrow spent two hours beside the fountain where the
cattle were watered, entering into conversation with all who approached,
the result being that before he left the town, he had spoken to “about
two hundred . . . of the children of Portugal upon matters connected with
their eternal welfare.”  Sometimes his hearers would ask for proofs of
his statements that they were not Christians, being ignorant of Christ
and his teaching, and that the Pope was Satan’s prime minister.  He
invariably replied by calling attention to their own ignorance of the
Scripture, for if the priests were in reality Christ’s ministers, why had
they kept from their flocks the words of their Master?

When not engaged at the fountain, Borrow rode about the neighbourhood
distributing tracts.  Fearful lest the people might refuse them if
offered by his own hand, he dropped them in their favourite walks, in the
hope that they would be picked up out of curiosity.  He caused the
daughter of the landlady of the inn at which he stopped to burn a copy of
Volney’s _Ruins of Empire_, because the author was an “emissary of
Satan,” the girl standing by telling her beads until the book were
entirely consumed.

Borrow had been greatly handicapped through the lack of letters of
introduction to influential people in Portugal.  He wrote, therefore, to
Dr Bowring, now M.P. for Kilmarnock, telling him of his wanderings among
the rustics and banditti of Portugal, with whom he had become very
popular; but, he continues:

    “As it is much more easy to introduce oneself to the cottage than the
    hall (though I am not utterly unknown in the latter), I want you to
    give or procure me letters to the most liberal and influential minds
    in Portugal.  I likewise want a letter from the Foreign Office to
    Lord [Howard] de Walden.  In a word, I want to make what interest I
    can towards obtaining the admission of the Gospel of Jesus into the
    public schools of Portugal, which are about to be established.  I beg
    leave to state that this is _my plan_ and no other person’s, as I was
    merely sent over to Portugal to observe the disposition of the
    people, therefore I do not wish to be named as an Agent of the B.S.,
    but as a person who has plans for the mental improvement of the
    Portuguese; should I receive _these letters_ within the space of six
    weeks it will be time enough, for before setting up my machine in
    Portugal, I wish to lay the foundations of something similar in
    Spain.”

    P.S.—“I start for Spain to-morrow, and I want letters something
    similar (there is impudence for you) for Madrid, _which I should like
    to have as soon as possible_.  I do not much care at present for an
    introduction to the Ambassador at Madrid, as I shall not commence
    operations seriously in Spain until I have disposed of Portugal.  I
    will not apologise for writing to you in this manner, for you know
    me, but I will tell you one thing, which is, that the letter which
    you procured for me, on my going to St Petersburg, from Lord
    Palmerston, assisted me wonderfully; I called twice at your domicile
    on my return; the first time you were in Scotland—the second in
    France, and I assure you I cried with vexation.  Remember me to Mrs
    Bowring, and God bless you.” {159a}

In this letter Borrow gives another illustration of his shrewdness.  He
saw clearly the disadvantage of appealing for assistance as an agent of
the Bible Society, a Protestant institution which was anathema in a Roman
Catholic country, whereas if he posed merely as “a gentleman who has
plans for the mental improvement of the Portuguese,” he could enlist the
sympathetic interest of any and every broad-minded Portuguese mindful of
his country’s intellectual gloom.  In response to this request Dr
Bowring, writing from Brussels, sent two letters of introduction, one
each for Lisbon and Madrid.

After remaining at Evora for a week (8th to 17th December) Borrow
returned to Lisbon, thoroughly satisfied with the results of his journey.
The next fortnight he spent in a further examination of Lisbon, and
becoming acquainted with the Jews of the city, by whom he was welcomed as
a powerful rabbi.  He favoured the mistake, with the result that in a few
days he “knew all that related to them and their traffic in Lisbon.”
{159b}

Borrow’s methods seem to have impressed Earl Street most favourably.  In
a letter of acknowledgment Mr Brandram wrote:—

    “We have been much interested by your two communications. {159c}
    They are both very painful in their details, and you develop a truly
    awful state of things.  You are probing the wound, and I hope
    preparing the way for our pouring in by and by the healing balsam of
    the Scripture.  We shall be anxious to hear from you again.  We often
    think of you in your wanderings.  We like your way of communicating
    with the people, meeting them in their own walks.”

Thoroughly convinced as to the irreligious state of Portugal, Borrow
determined to set out for Spain, in order that he might examine into the
condition of the people, and report to the Bible Society their state of
preparedness to receive the Scriptures.  On the afternoon of 1st January
1836 he set out, bound for Badajos, a hundred miles south of Lisbon.
From Badajos he intended to take the diligence on to Madrid, which he
decided to make his headquarters.

Having taken leave of his servant Antonio (who had accompanied him as far
as Aldéa Galléga) almost with tears, Borrow mounted a hired mule, and
with no other companion than an idiot lad, who, when spoken to, made
reply only with an uncouth laugh, he plunged once more into the dangerous
and desolate Alemtejo on a four days’ journey “over the most savage and
ill-noted track in the whole kingdom.”  At first he was overwhelmed with
a sense of loneliness, and experienced a great desire for someone with
whom to talk.  There was no one to be seen—he was hemmed in by desolation
and despair.

At Montemôr Novo Borrow appears in a new light when he kisses his hand
repeatedly to the tittering nuns who, with “dusky faces and black waving
hair,” {160a} strove to obtain a glance of the stranger who, a few
minutes previously, had dared to tell one of their number that he had
come “to endeavour to introduce the gospel of Christ into a country where
it is not known.” {160b}

One adventure befel him that might have ended in tragedy.  Soon after
leaving Arrayólos he overtook a string of carts conveying ammunition into
Spain.  One of the Portuguese soldiers of the guard began to curse
foreigners in general and Borrow, whom he mistook for a Frenchmen, in
particular, because “the devil helps foreigners and hates the
Portuguese.”  When about forty yards ahead of the advance guard, with
which the discontented soldier marched, Borrow had the imprudence to
laugh, with the result that the next moment two well-aimed bullets sang
past his ears.  Taking the hint, Borrow put spurs to his mule, and,
followed by the terrified guide, soon outdistanced these official
banditti.  With great _naïveté_ he remarks, “Oh, may I live to see the
day when soldiery will no longer be tolerated in any civilised, or at
least Christian country!” {161a}

For two and a half days the idiot guide had met Borrow’s most dexterous
cross-examination with a determined silence; but on reaching a hill
overlooking Estremóz he suddenly found tongue, and, in an epic of
inspiration, told of the wonderful hunting that was to be obtained on the
Serre Dorso, the Alemtejo’s finest mountain.  “He likewise described with
great minuteness a wonderful dog, which was kept in the neighbourhood for
the purpose of catching the wolves and wild boars, and for which the
proprietor had refused twenty _moidores_.” {161b}  From this it would
appear that the idiocy of the guide was an armour to be assumed at will
by one who preferred the sweetness of his own thoughts to the
cross-questionings of his master’s clients.

At Elvas, which he reached on 5th January, Borrow showed very strongly
one rather paradoxical side of his character.  Never backward in his
dispraise of Englishmen and things English, in particular those
responsible for the administration of the nation’s affairs, past and
present, he demonstrated very clearly, in his expressions of indignation
at the Portuguese attitude towards England, that he reserved this right
of criticism strictly to himself.  At the inn where he stayed, he
thoroughly discomfited a Portuguese officer who dared to criticise the
English Government for its attitude in connection with the Spanish civil
war.  When refused entrance to the fort, where he had gone in order to
satisfy his curiosity, Borrow exclaims, “This is one of the beneficial
results of protecting a nation, and squandering blood and treasure in its
defence.” {162a}

Borrow was essentially an Englishman and proud of his blood, prouder
perhaps of that which came to him from Norfolk, {162b} and although
permitting himself and his fellow-countrymen considerable license in the
matter of caustic criticism of public men and things, there the matter
must end.  Let a foreigner, a Portuguese, dare to say a word against his,
Borrow’s, country, and he became subjected to either a biting
cross-examination, or was denounced in eloquent and telling periods.  “I
could not command myself,” he writes in extenuation of his unchristian
conduct in discomfiting the officer at Elvas, “when I heard my own
glorious land traduced in this unmerited manner.  By whom?  A Portuguese?
A native of a country which has been twice liberated from horrid and
detestable thraldom by the hands of Englishmen.” {162c}

On 6th January 1836, {162d} having sent back the “idiot” guide with the
two mules, Borrow “spurred down the hill of Elvas to the plain, eager to
arrive in old, chivalrous, romantic Spain,” and having forded the stream
that separates the two countries, he crossed the bridge over the Guadiana
and entered the North Gate of Badajos, immortalised by Wellington and the
British Army.  He had reached Spain “in the humble hope of being able to
cleanse some of the foul stains of Popery from the minds of its
children.” {162e}




CHAPTER XI
JANUARY–OCTOBER 1836


WHEN Borrow entered Spain she was in the throes of civil war.  In 1814
British blood and British money had restored to the throne Ferdinand
VII., who, immediately he found himself secure, and forgetting his
pledges to govern constitutionally, dissolved the Cortes and became an
absolute monarch.  All the old abuses were revived, including the
re-establishment of the Inquisition.  For six years the people suffered
their King’s tyranny, then they revolted, with the result that Ferdinand,
bending to the wind, accepted a re-imposition of the Constitution.  In
1823 a French Army occupied Madrid in support of Ferdinand, who promptly
reverted to absolutism.

In 1829 Ferdinand married for the fourth time, and, on the birth of a
daughter, declared that the Salic law had no effect in Spain, and the
young princess was recognised as heir-apparent to the throne.  This drew
from his brother, Don Carlos, who immediately left the country, a protest
against his exclusion from the succession.  When his daughter was four
years of age, Ferdinand died, and the child was proclaimed Queen as
Isabel II.

A bitter war broke out between the respective adherents of the Queen and
her uncle Don Carlos.  Prisoners and wounded were massacred without
discrimination, and an uncivilised and barbarous warfare waged when
Borrow crossed the Portuguese frontier “to undertake the adventure of
Spain.”

Spain had always appealed most strongly to Borrow’s imagination.

    “In the day-dreams of my boyhood,” he writes, “Spain always bore a
    considerable share, and I took a particular interest in her, without
    any presentiment that I should, at a future time, be called upon to
    take a part, however humble, in her strange dramas; which interest,
    at a very early period, led me to acquire her noble language, and to
    make myself acquainted with the literature (scarcely worthy of the
    language), her history and traditions; so that when I entered Spain
    for the first time I felt more at home than I should otherwise have
    done.” {164a}

Whilst standing at the door of the Inn of the Three Nations on the day
following his arrival at Badajos, meditating upon the deplorable state of
the country he had just entered, Borrow recognised in the face of one of
two men who were about to pass him the unmistakable lineaments of Egypt.
Uttering “a certain word,” he received the reply he expected and
forthwith engaged in conversation with the two men, who both proved to be
gypsies.  These men spread the news abroad that staying at the Inn of the
Three Nations was a man who spoke Romany.  “In less than half an hour the
street before the inn was filled with the men, women, and children of
Egypt.”  Borrow went out amongst them, and confesses that “so much
vileness, dirt, and misery I had never seen among a similar number of
human beings; but worst of all was the evil expression of their
countenances.” {164b}  He soon discovered that their faces were an
accurate index to their hearts, which were capable of every species of
villainy.  The gypsies clustered round him, fingering his hands, face and
clothes, as if he were a holy man.

Gypsies had always held for Borrow a strange attraction, {164c} and he
determined to prolong his stay at Badajos in order that he might have an
opportunity of becoming “better acquainted with their condition and
manners, and above all to speak to them of Christ and His Word; for I was
convinced, that should I travel to the end of the universe, I should meet
with no people more in need of a little Christian exhortation.” {165a}

Intimate though his acquaintance with the gypsies of other countries had
been, Borrow was aghast at the depravity of those of Spain.  The men were
drunkards, brigands, and murderers; the women unchaste, and inveterate
thieves.  Their language was terrifying in its foulness.  They seemed to
have no religion save a misty glimmering of metempsychosis, which had
come down to them through the centuries, and having been very wicked in
this world they asked, with some show of reason, why they should live
again.  They were incorrigible heathens, keenly interested in the
demonstration that their language was capable of being written and read,
but untouched by the parables of Lazarus or the Prodigal Son, which
Borrow read and expounded to them.  “Brother,” exclaimed one woman, “you
tell us strange things, though perhaps you do not lie; a month since I
would sooner have believed these tales, than that this day I should see
one who could read Romany.” {165b}

Neither by exhortation nor by translating into Romany a portion of the
Gospel of St Luke could Borrow make any impression upon the minds of the
gypsies, therefore when one of them, Antonio by name, announced that “the
affairs of Egypt” called for his presence “on the frontiers of
Costumbra,” and that he and Borrow might as well journey thus far
together, he decided to avail himself of the opportunity.  It was
arranged that Borrow’s luggage should be sent on ahead, for, as Antonio
said, “How the _Busné_ [the Spaniards] on the road would laugh if they
saw two _Calés_ [Gypsies] with luggage behind them.” {166a}  Thus it came
about that an agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society, mounted
upon a most uncouth horse “of a spectral white, short in the body, but
with remarkably long legs” and high in the withers, set out from Badajos
on 16th January 1836, escorted by a smuggler astride a mule; for the
affairs of Egypt on this occasion were the evasion of the Customs dues.

Towards evening on the first day the curiously assorted pair arrived at
Mérida, and proceeded to a large and ruinous house, a portion of which
was occupied by some connections of the gypsy Antonio’s.  In the large
hall of the old mansion they camped, and here, acting on the gypsy’s
advice, Borrow remained for three days.  Antonio himself was absent from
early morning until late at night, occupied with his own affairs. {166b}

The fourth night was spent in the forest by the campfire of some more of
Antonio’s friends.  On one occasion, but for the fortunate possession of
a passport, the affairs of Egypt would have involved Borrow in some
difficulties with the authorities.  At another time, for safety’s sake,
he had to part from Antonio and proceed on his way alone, picking up the
_contrabandista_ further on the road.

When some distance beyond Jaraicéjo, it was discovered that the affairs
of Egypt had ended disastrously in the discomfiture and capture of
Antonio’s friends by the authorities.  The news was brought by the
gypsy’s daughter.  Antonio must return at once, and as the steed Borrow
was riding, which belonged to Antonio, would be required by him, Borrow
purchased the daughter’s donkey, and having said good-bye to the
smuggler, he continued his journey alone.

By way of Almaráz and Oropésa Borrow eventually reached Talavéra (24th
Jan.).  On the advice of a Toledo Jew, with whom he had become acquainted
during the last stage of his journey, he decided to take the diligence
from Talavéra to Madrid, the more willingly because the Jew amiably
offered to purchase the donkey.  On the evening of 25th Jan. Borrow
accordingly took his place on the diligence, and reached the capital the
next morning.

On arriving at Madrid, Borrow first went to a Posada; but a few days
later he removed to lodgings in the Calle de la Zarza (the Street of the
Brambles),—“A dark and dirty street, which, however, was close to the
Puerta del Sol, the most central point of Madrid, into which four or five
of the principal streets debouche, and which is, at all times of the
year, the great place of assemblage for the idlers of the capital, poor
or rich.” {167a}

The capital did not at first impress Borrow very favourably. {167b}
“Madrid is a small town,” he wrote to his mother, {167c} “not larger than
Norwich, but it is crammed with people, like a hive with bees, and it
contains many fine streets and fountains . . .  Everything in Madrid is
excessively dear to foreigners, for they are made to pay six times more
than natives . . .  I manage to get on tolerably well, for I make a point
of paying just one quarter of what I am asked.”

He suffered considerably from the frost and cold.  From the snow-covered
mountains that surround the city there descend in winter such cold blasts
“that the body is drawn up like a leaf.” {167d}  Then again there were
the physical discomforts that he had to endure.

“You cannot think,” he wrote, {168a} “what a filthy, uncivilised set of
people the Spanish and Portuguese are.  There is more comfort in an
English barn than in one of their palaces; and they are rude and ill-bred
to a surprising degree.”

Borrow was angry with Spain, possibly for being so unlike his “dear and
glorious Russia.”  He saw in it a fertile and beautiful country,
inhabited by a set of beings that were not human, “almost as bad as the
Irish, with the exception that they are not drunkards.” {168b}  They were
a nation of thieves and extortioners, who regarded the foreigner as their
legitimate prey.  Even his own servant was “the greatest thief and
villain that ever existed; who, if I would let him, would steal the teeth
out of my head,” {168c} and who seems actually to have destroyed some of
his master’s letters for the sake of the postage.  Being forced to call
upon various people whose addresses he did not know, Borrow found it
necessary to keep the man, in spite of his thievish proclivities, for he
was clever, and had he been dismissed his place would, in all
probability, have been taken by an even greater rogue.

At night he never went out, for the streets were thronged with hundreds
of people of the rival factions, bent on “cutting and murdering one
another; . . . for every Spaniard is by nature a cruel, cowardly tiger.
Nothing is more common than to destroy a whole town, putting man, woman,
and child to death, because two or three of the inhabitants have been
obnoxious.” {168d}  Thus he wrote to his mother, all-unconscious of the
anxiety and alarm that he was causing her lest he, her dear George,
should be one of the cut or murdered.

Later, Borrow seems to have revised his opinion of Madrid and of its
inhabitants.  He confesses that of all the cities he has known Madrid
interested him the most, not on account of its public buildings, squares
or fountains, for these are surpassed in other cities; but because of its
population.  “Within a mud wall scarcely one league and a half in
circuit, are contained two hundred thousand human beings, certainly
forming the most extraordinary vital mass to be found in the entire
world.” {169}  In the upper classes he had little interest.  He mixed but
little with them, and what he saw did not impress him favourably.  It was
the Spaniard of the lower orders that attracted him.  He regarded this
class as composed not of common beings, but of extraordinary men.  He
admired their spirit of proud independence, and forgave them their
ignorance.  His first impressions of Spain had been unfavourable because,
as a stranger, he had been victimised by the amiable citizens, who were
merely doing as their fathers had done before them.  Once, however, he
got to know them, he regarded with more indulgence their constitutional
dishonesty towards the stranger, a weakness they possessed in common with
the gypsies, and hailed them as “extraordinary men.”  Borrow’s
impulsiveness frequently led him to ill-considered and hasty conclusions,
which, however, he never hesitated to correct, if he saw need for
correction.

The disappointment he experienced as regards Madrid and the Spaniards is
not difficult to understand.  He arrived quite friendless and without
letters of introduction, to find the city given over to the dissensions
and strifes of the supporters of Isabel II. and Don Carlos.  His journey
had been undertaken in “the hope of obtaining permission from the
Government to print the New Testament in the Castilian language, without
the notes insisted on by the Spanish clergy, for circulation in Spain,”
and there seemed small chance of those responsible for the direction of
affairs listening to the application of a foreigner for permission to
print the unannotated Scriptures.  For one thing, any acquiescence in
such a suggestion would draw forth from the priesthood bitter reproaches
and, most probably, active and serious opposition.  It is only natural
that despondency should occasionally seize upon him who sought to light
the lamp of truth amidst such tempests.

[Picture: George Villiers, Fourth Earl of Clarendon.  British Minister at
  Madrid, 1833–1839.  From the engraving after Sir Francis Grant in the
                        National Portrait Gallery]

The man to approach was the premier, Juan Álvarez y Mendizábal, {170a} a
Christianised Jew.  He was enormously powerful, and Borrow decided to
appeal to him direct; for, armed with the approval of Mendizábal, no one
would dare to interfere with his plans or proceedings.  Borrow made
several attempts to see Mendizábal, who “was considered as a man of
almost unbounded power, in whose hands were placed the destinies of the
country.”  Without interest or letters of introduction, he found it
utterly impossible to obtain an audience.  Recollecting the assistance he
had received from the Hon. J. D. Bligh at St Petersburg, Borrow
determined to make himself known to the British Minister at Madrid, the
Hon. George Villiers, {170b} and, “with the freedom permitted to a
British subject . . . ask his advice in the affair.”  Borrow was received
with great kindness, and, after conversing upon various topics for some
time, he introduced the subject of his visit.  Mr Villiers willingly
undertook to help him as far as lay in his power, and promised to
endeavour to procure for him an audience with the Premier.  In this he
was successful, and Borrow had an interview with Mendizábal, who was
almost inaccessible to all but the few.

At eight o’clock on the morning of 7th February Borrow presented himself
at the palace, where Mendizábal resided, and after waiting for about
three hours, was admitted to the presence of the Prime Minister of Spain,
whom he found—“A huge athletic man, somewhat taller than myself, who
measure six foot two without my shoes.  His complexion was florid, his
features fine and regular, his nose quite aquiline, and his teeth
splendidly white; though scarcely fifty years of age, his hair was
remarkably grey.  He was dressed in a rich morning gown, with a gold
chain round his neck, and morocco slippers on his feet.” {171}

Borrow began by assuring Mendizábal that he was labouring under a grave
error in thinking that the Bible Society had sought to influence unduly
the slaves of Cuba, that they had not sent any agents there, and they
were not in communication with any of the residents.  Mr Villiers had
warned Borrow that the premier was very angry on account of reports that
had reached him of the action in Cuba of certain people whom he insisted
were sent there by the Bible Society.  In vain Borrow suggested that the
disturbers of the tranquillity of Spain’s beneficent rule in the Island
were in no way connected with Earl Street; he was several times
interrupted by Mendizábal, who insisted that he had documentary proof.
Borrow with difficulty restrained himself from laughing in the premier s
face.  He pointed out that the Committee was composed of quiet,
respectable English gentlemen, who attended to their own concerns and
gave a little of their time to the affairs of the Bible Society.

On Borrow asking for permission to print at Madrid the New Testament in
Spanish without notes, he was met with an unequivocal refusal.  In spite
of his arguments that the whole tenor of the work was against
bloodshedding and violence, he could not shake the premier’s opinion that
it was “an improper book.”

At first Borrow had experienced some difficulty in explaining himself, on
account of the Spaniard’s habit of persistent interruption, and at last
he was forced in self-defence to hold on in spite of Mendizábal’s
remarks.  The upshot of the interview was that he was told to renew his
application when the Carlists had been beaten and the country was at
peace.  Borrow then asked permission to introduce into Spain a few copies
of the New Testament in the Catalan dialect, but was refused.  He next
requested to be allowed to call on the following day and submit a copy of
the Catalan edition, and received the remarkable reply that the
prime-minister refused his offer to call lest he should succeed in
convincing him, and Mendizábal did not wish to be convinced.  This seemed
to show that the Mendizábal was something of a philosopher and a little
of a humorist.

With this Borrow had to be content, and after an hour’s interview he
withdrew.  The premier was unquestionably in a difficult position.  On
the one hand, he no doubt desired to assist a man introduced to him by
the representative of Great Britain, to whom he looked for assistance in
suppressing Carlism; on the other hand, he had the priesthood to
consider, and they would without question use every means of which they
stood possessed to preserve the prohibition against the dissemination of
the Scriptures, without notes, a prohibition that had become almost a
tradition.

But Borrow was not discouraged.  He wrote in a most hopeful strain that
he foresaw the speedy and successful termination of the Society’s
negotiations in the Peninsula.  He looked forward to the time when only
an agent would be required to superintend the engagement of colporteurs,
and to make arrangements with the booksellers.  He proceeds to express a
hope that his exertions have given satisfaction to the Society.

Borrow received an encouraging letter from Mr Brandram, telling him of
the Committee’s appreciation of his work, but practically leaving with
him the decision as to his future movements.  They were inclined to
favour a return to Lisbon, but recognised that “in these wondrous days
opportunities may open unexpectedly.”  In the matter of the Gospel of St
Luke in Spanish Romany, the publication of extracts was authorised, but
there was no enthusiasm for the project.  “We say,” wrote Mr Brandram,
“_festina lente_.  You will be doing well to occupy leisure hours with
this work; but we are not prepared for printing anything beyond portions
at present.”

In the meantime, however, an article in the Madrid newspaper, _El
Español_, upon the history, aims, and achievements of the British and
Foreign Bible Society, had determined Borrow to remain on at Madrid for a
few weeks at least.

    “Why should Spain, which has explored the New World, why should she
    alone be destitute of Bible Societies,” asked the _Español_.  “Why
    should a nation eminently Catholic continue isolated from the rest of
    Europe, without joining in the magnificent enterprise in which the
    latter is so busily engaged?” {173a}

This article fired Borrow, and with the promise of assistance from the
liberal-minded _Español_, he set to work “to lay the foundation of a
Bible Society at Madrid.” {173b}  As a potential head of the Spanish
organization, Borrow’s eyes were already directed towards the person of
“a certain Bishop, advanced in years, a person of great piety and
learning, who has himself translated the New Testament” {173c} and who
was disposed to print and circulate it.

Nothing, however, came of the project.  Mr Brandram wrote to
Borrow:—“With regard to forming a Bible Society in Madrid, and appointing
Dr Usoz Secretary, it is so out of our usual course that the Committee,
for various reasons, cannot comply with your wishes—of the desirableness
of forming such a Society at present, you and your friend must be the
best judges.  If it is to be an independent society, as I suppose must be
the case,” Mr Brandram continues, and the Bible Society’s aid or that of
its agent is sought, the new Society must be formed on the principles of
the British and Foreign Bible Society, admitting, “on the one hand,
general cooperation, and on the other, that it does not circulate
Apocryphal Bibles.”  There was doubt at Earl Street as to whether the
time was yet ripe; so the decision was very properly left with Borrow,
and he was told that he “need not fear to hold out great hopes of
encouragement in the event of the formation of such a Society.” {174}

A serious difficulty now arose in the resignation of Mendizábal (March
1836).  Two of his friends and supporters, in the persons of Francisco de
Isturitz and Alcala Galiano, seceded from his party, and, under the name
of _moderados_, formed an opposition to their Chief in the Cortes.  They
had the support of the Queen Regent and General Cordova, whom Mendizábal
had wished to remove from his position as head of the army on account of
his great popularity with the soldiers, whose comforts and interests he
studied.  Isturitz became Premier, Galiano Minister of Marine (a mere
paper title, as there was no navy at the time), and the Duke of Rivas
Minister of the Interior.

Conscious of the advantage of possessing powerful friends, especially in
a country such as Spain, Borrow had used every endeavour to enlarge the
circle of his acquaintance among men occupying influential positions, or
likely to succeed those who at present filled them.  The result was that
he was able to announce to Mr Brandram that the new ministry, which had
been formed, was composed “entirely of _my_ friends.” {175a}  With
Galiano in particular he was on very intimate terms.  Everything promised
well, and the new Cabinet showed itself most friendly to Borrow and his
projects, until the actual moment arrived for writing the permission to
print the Scriptures in Spanish.  Then doubts arose, and the decrees of
the Council of Trent loomed up, a threatening barrier, in the eyes of the
Duke of Rivas and his secretary.

So hopeful was Borrow after his first interview with the Duke that he
wrote:—“I shall receive the permission, the Lord willing, in a few days . . .
The last skirts of the cloud of papal superstition are vanishing
below the horizon of Spain; whoever says the contrary either knows
nothing of the matter or wilfully hides the truth.” {175b}

At Earl Street the good news about the article in the _Español_ gave the
liveliest satisfaction.  “Surely a new and wonderful thing in Spain,”
wrote Mr Brandram {175c} in a letter in which he urged Borrow to “guard
against becoming too much committed to one political party,” and asked
him to write more frequently, as his letters were always most welcome.
This letter reached Madrid at a time when Borrow found himself absolutely
destitute.

“For the last three weeks,” he writes, {175d} “I have been without money,
literally without a farthing.”  Everything in Madrid was so dear.  A
month previously he had been forced to pay £12, 5s. for a suit of
clothes, “my own being so worn that it was impossible to appear longer in
public with them.” {175e}  He had written to Mr Wilby, but in all
probability his letter had gone astray, the post to Estremadura having
been three times robbed.  “The money may still come,” he continues,
{176a} “but I have given up all hopes of it, and I am compelled to write
home, though what I am to do till I can receive your answer I am at a
loss to conceive . . . whatever I undergo, I shall tell nobody of my
situation, it might hurt the Society and our projects here.  I know
enough of the world to be aware that it is considered as the worst of
crimes to be without money.” {176b}

For weeks Borrow devoted himself to the task of endeavouring to obtain
permission to print the Scriptures in Spanish.  The Duke of Rivas
referred him to his secretary, saying, “He will do for you what you
want!”  But the secretary retreated behind the decrees of the Council of
Trent.  Then Mr Villiers intervened, saw the Duke and gave Borrow a
letter to him.  Again the Council of Trent proved to be the obstacle.
Galiano took up the matter and escorted Borrow to the Bureau of the
Interior, and had an interview with the Duke’s secretary.  When Galiano
left, there remained nothing for the conscientious secretary to do but to
write out the formal permission, all else having been satisfactorily
settled; but no sooner had Galiano departed, than the recollection of the
Council of Trent returned to the secretary with terrifying distinctness,
and no permission was given.

Tired of the Council of Trent and the Duke’s secretary, Borrow would
sometimes retire to the banks of the canal and there loiter in the sun,
watching the gold and silver fish basking on the surface of its waters,
or gossiping with the man who sold oranges and water under the shade of
the old water-tower.  Once he went to see an execution—anything to drive
from his mind the conscientious secretary and the Council of Trent, the
sole obstacles to the realisation of his plans.

Borrow informed Mr Brandram at the end of May that the Cabinet was
unanimously in favour of granting his request; nothing happened.  There
seems no doubt that the Cabinet’s policy was one of subterfuge.  It could
not afford to offend the British Minister, nor could it, at that
juncture, risk the bitter hostility of the clergy, consequently it
promised and deferred.  A petition to the Ecclesiastical Committee of
Censors, although strongly backed by the Civil Governor of Madrid (within
whose department lay the censorship), produced no better result.  There
was nothing heard but “To-morrow, please God!”

Foiled for the time being in his constructive policy, Borrow turned his
attention to one of destruction.  He had already announced to the Bible
Society that the authority of the Pope was in a precarious condition.

    “Little more than a breath is required to destroy it,” he writes,
    {177} “and I am almost confident that in less than a year it will be
    disowned.  I am doing whatever I can in Madrid to prepare the way for
    an event so desirable.  I mix with the people, and inform them who
    and what the Pope is, and how disastrous to Spain his influence has
    been.  I tell them that the indulgences, which they are in the habit
    of purchasing, are of no more intrinsic value than so many pieces of
    paper, and were merely invented with the view of plundering them.  I
    frequently ask: ‘Is it possible that God, who is good, would sanction
    the sale of sin? and, supposing certain things are sinful, do you
    think that God, for the sake of your money, would permit you to
    perform them?’  In many instances my hearers have been satisfied with
    this simple reasoning, and have said that they would buy no more
    indulgences.”

Mr Brandram promptly wrote warning Borrow against becoming involved in
any endeavour to hasten the fall of the Pope.  Although deeply interested
in what their agent had to say, there was a strong misgiving at
headquarters that for a few moments Borrow had “forgotten that our hopes
of the fall of — are founded on the simple distribution of the
Scriptures,” {178a} and he was told that, as their agent, he must not
pursue the course that he described.  The warning was carefully worded,
so that it might not wound Borrow’s feelings or lessen his enthusiasm.

Borrow had found that the climate of Madrid did not agree with him.  It
had proved very trying during the winter; but now that summer had arrived
the heat was suffocating and the air seemed to be filled with “flaming
vapours,” and even the Spaniards would “lie gasping and naked upon their
brick floors.” {178b}  In spite of the heat, however, he was occupied
“upon an average ten hours every day, dancing attendance on one or
another of the Ministers.” {178c}

Sometimes the difficulties that he had to contend with reduced him almost
to despair of ever obtaining the permission he sought.  “Only those,” he
writes, {178d} “who have been in the habit of dealing with Spaniards, by
whom the most solemn promises are habitually broken, can form a correct
idea of my reiterated disappointments, and of the toil of body and agony
of spirit which I have been subjected to.  One day I have been told, at
the Ministry, that I had only to wait a few moments and all I wished
would be acceded to; and then my hopes have been blasted with the
information that various difficulties, which seemed insurmountable, had
presented themselves, whereupon I have departed almost broken-hearted;
but the next day I have been summoned in a great hurry and informed that
‘all was right,’ and that on the morrow a regular authority to print the
Scriptures would be delivered to me, but by that time fresh and yet more
terrible difficulties had occurred—so that I became weary of my life.”

Mr Villiers evidently saw through the Spanish Cabinet’s policy of delay;
for he spoke to the ministers collectively and individually, strongly
recommending that the petition be granted.  He further pointed out the
terrible condition of the people, who lacked religious instruction of any
kind, and that a nation of atheists would not prove very easy to govern.
It may have been these arguments, or, what is more likely, a desire on
the part of the Cabinet to please the representative of Great Britain, in
any case a greater willingness was now shown to give the necessary
permission.  Measures were accordingly taken to evade the law and protect
the printer into whose hands the work was to be entrusted, until an
appropriate moment arrived for repealing the existing statute.

Borrow forwarded to Earl Street the following interesting letter that he
had received from Mr Villiers, which confirms his words as to the keen
interest taken by the British Minister in the endeavour to obtain the
permission to print the New Testament in Spanish

    DEAR SIR,

    I have had a long conversation with Mr Isturitz upon the subject of
    printing the Testament, in which he showed himself to be both
    sagacious and liberal.  He assured me that the matter should have his
    support whenever the Duque de Ribas brought it before the Cabinet,
    and that as far as he was concerned the question _might be considered
    as settled_.

    You are quite welcome to make any use you please of this note with
    the D. de Ribas or Mr Olivan. {179a}

    I am, Dear Sir,

                              Yours faithfully,

                                                          GEORGE VILLIERS.

    _June_ 23_rd_ [1836].

It was unquestionably Borrow’s personality that was responsible for Mr
Villiers’ interest in the scheme, as when Lieutenant Graydon {179b} had
applied to him on a previous occasion he declined to interfere.

At Borrow’s suggestion the President of the Bible Society, Lord Bentley,
wrote to Mr Villiers thanking him for the services he had rendered in
connection with the Spanish programme.  It was characteristic of Borrow
that he added to his letter as a reason for his request, that “I may be
again in need of Mr V’s. assistance before I leave Spain.” {180}  Borrow
was always keenly alive to the advantage of possessing influential
friends who would be likely to assist him in his labours for the Society.
He was not a profound admirer of the Society of Jesus for nothing, and
although he would scorn to exercise tact in regard to his own concerns,
he was fully prepared to make use of it in connection with those of the
Bible Society.  He was a Jesuit at heart, and would in all probability
have preferred a good compositor who had been guilty of sacrilege to a
bad one who had not.  He saw that besides being something of a
diplomatist, an agent of the Bible Society had also to be a good business
man.  He has been called tactless, until the word seems to have become
permanently identified with his name; how unjustly is shown by a very
hasty examination of his masterly diplomacy, both in Russia and Spain.
Diplomacy, as Borrow understood it, was the art of being persuasive when
persuasion would obtain for him his object, and firm, even threatening,
when strong measures were best calculated to suit his ends.  It is only
the fool who defines tact as the gentle art of pleasing everybody.
Diplomacy is the art of getting what you want at the expense of
displeasing as few people as possible.

“The affair is settled—thank God!!! and we may begin to print whenever we
think proper.”  With these words Borrow announces the success of his
enterprise.  “Perhaps you have thought,” he continues, “that I have been
tardy in accomplishing the business which brought me to Spain; but to be
able to form a correct judgment you ought to be aware of all the
difficulties which I have had to encounter, and which I shall not
enumerate.  I shall content myself with observing that for a thousand
pounds I would not undergo again all the mortifications and
disappointments of the last two months.” {181a}

There were moments when Borrow forgot the idiom of Earl Street and
reverted to his old, self-confident style, which had so alarmed some of
the excellent members of the Committee.  He had achieved a great triumph,
how great is best shown by the suggestion made by the prime minister that
if determined to avail himself of the permission that had been obtained,
he had better employ “the confidential printer of the Government, who
would keep the matter secret; as in the present state of affairs he [the
prime minister] would not answer for the consequences if it were noised
abroad.” {181b}  By giving the license to print the New Testament without
notes, the Cabinet was assuming a very grave responsibility.  All this
shows how great was the influence of the British Minister upon the
Isturitz Cabinet, and how considerable that of Borrow upon the British
Minister.

Now that his object was gained, there was nothing further to keep Borrow
in Spain, and he accordingly asked for instructions, suggesting that, as
soon as the heats were over, Lieutenant Graydon might return to Madrid
and take charge, “as nothing very difficult remains to be accomplished,
and I am sure that Mr Villiers, at my entreaty, would extend to him the
patronage with which he has honoured me.” {181c}  In conclusion he
announced himself as ready to do “whatever the Bible Society may deem
expedient.” {181d}

Borrow now began to suffer from the reaction after his great exertions.
He became so languid as scarcely to be able to hold a pen.  He had no
books, and conversation was impossible, for the heat had driven away all
who could possibly escape, among them his acquaintances, and he
frequently remembered with a sigh the happy days spent in St Petersburg.

A few days later (25th July) he wrote proposing as a member of the Bible
Society Dr Luis de Usoz y Rio, “a person of great respectability and
great learning.” {182a}  Dr Usoz, who was subsequently to be closely
associated with Borrow in his labours in Spain, was a man of whom he was
unable to “speak in too high terms of admiration; he is one of the most
learned men in Spain, and is become in every point a Christian according
to the standard of the New Testament.” {182b}

Dr Usoz also addressed a letter to the Society asking to be considered as
a correspondent and entrusted with copies of the Scriptures, which he was
convinced he could circulate in every province of Spain.  The advantage
of having one of the editors of the principal newspaper of Spain on the
side of the Society did not fail to appeal to Borrow.  Dr Usoz not only
became a member of the Bible Society, but earned from Borrow a splendid
tribute in the Preface to _The Bible in Spain_.

Before advantage could be taken of the hardly earned permission to print
the New Testament in Madrid, the Revolution of La Granja {182c} broke
out, resulting in the proclamation of the Constitution of 1812, by which
the press became free.  In Madrid chaos reigned as a result.  Borrow
himself has given a vivid account of how Quesada, by his magnificent
courage, quelled for the time being the revolution, how the ministers
fled, how eventually the heroic tyrant was recognised and killed, and,
finally, how, at a celebrated coffee-house in Madrid, Borrow saw the
victorious Nationals drink to the Constitution from a bowl of coffee,
which had first been stirred with one of the mutilated hands of the hated
Quesada. {183a}

Now that no obstacle stood in the way of the printing of the Spanish New
Testament, Borrow was requested to return to England that he might confer
with the authorities at Earl Street.  “You may now consider yourself
under marching orders to return home as soon as you have made all the
requisite arrangements; . . . you have done, we are persuaded, a good and
great work,” {183b} Mr Brandram wrote.  It was thought by the Committee
that the advantages to be derived from a conference with Borrow would be
well worth the expense involved in his having to return again to Spain.

To this request for his immediate presence in London Borrow replied:

    “I shall make the provisional engagement as desired [as regards the
    printing of the New Testament] and shall leave Madrid as soon as
    possible; but I must here inform you, that I shall find much
    difficulty in returning to England, as all the provinces are
    disturbed in consequence of the Constitution of 1812 having been
    proclaimed, and the roads are swarming with robbers and banditti.  It
    is my intention to join some muleteers, and attempt to reach Granada,
    from whence, if possible, I shall proceed to Malaga or Gibraltar, and
    thence to Lisbon, where I left the greatest part of my baggage.  Do
    not be surprised, therefore, if I am tardy in making my appearance;
    it is no easy thing at present to travel in Spain.  But all these
    troubles are for the benefit of the Cause, and must not be repined
    at.” {183c}

Leaving Madrid on 20th August, Borrow was at Granada on the 30th, as
proved by the Visitors’ Book, in which he signed himself

    “George Borrow Norvicensis.”

The real object of this visit appears to have been his desire to study
more closely the Spanish gypsies.  From Granada he proceeded to Malaga.
Neither place can be said to be on the direct road to England; but the
disturbed state of the country had to be taken into consideration, and it
was a question not of the shortest road but the safest.

On his return to London, early in October, Borrow wrote a report {184}
upon his labours, roughly sketching out his work since he left Badajos.
He repeated his view that the Papal See had lost its power over Spain,
and that the present moment was a peculiarly appropriate one in which to
spread the light of the Gospel over the Peninsula.  Forgetting the
thievish propensities of the race, he wrote glowingly of the Spaniards
and their intellectual equipment, the clearness with which they expressed
themselves, and the elegance of their diction.  The mind of the Spaniard
was a garden run to waste, and it was for the British and Foreign Bible
Society to cultivate it and purge it of the rank and bitter weeds.

He foresaw no difficulty whatever in disposing of 5000 copies of the New
Testament in a short time in the capital and provincial towns, in
particular Cadiz and Seville where the people were more enlightened.  He
was not so confident about the rural districts, where those who assured
him that they were acquainted with the New Testament said that it
contained hymns addressed to the Virgin which were written by the Pope.




CHAPTER XII
NOVEMBER 1836–MAY 1837


BORROW remained in England for a month (3rd October/4th November), during
which time he conferred with the Committee and Officials at Earl Street
as to the future programme in Spain.  On 4th November, having sent to his
mother £130 of the £150 he had drawn as salary, and promising to write to
Mr Brandram from Cadiz, he sailed from London in the steamer
_Manchester_, bound for Lisbon and Cadiz.

In a letter to his mother, he describes his fellow passengers as invalids
fleeing from the English winter.  “Some of them are three parts gone with
consumption,” he writes, “some are ruptured, some have broken backs; I am
the only sound person in the ship, which is crowded to suffocation.  I am
in a little hole of a berth where I can scarcely breathe, and every now
and then wet through.”

The horrors of the voyage from Falmouth to Lisbon he has described with
terrifying vividness; {185a} how the engines broke down and the vessel
was being driven on to Cape Finisterre; how all hope had been abandoned,
and the Captain had told the passengers of their impending fate; how the
wind suddenly “_veered right about_, and pushed us from the horrible
coast faster than it had previously driven us towards it.” {185b}

During the whole of that terrible night Borrow had remained on deck, all
the other passengers having been battened down below.  He was almost
drowned in the seas that broke over the vessel, and, on one occasion, was
struck down by a water cask that had broken away from its lashings.  Even
after he had escaped Cape Finisterre, the ordeal was not over; for the
ship was in a sinking condition, and fire broke out on board.  Eventually
the engines were repaired, the fire extinguished, and Lisbon was reached
on the 13th, where Borrow landed with his water-soaked luggage, and found
on examination that the greater part of his clothes had been ruined.  In
spite of this experience, he determined to continue his voyage to Cadiz
in the _Manchester_, probably for reasons of economy, indifferent to the
fact that she was utterly unseaworthy, and that most of the other
passengers had abandoned her.  During his enforced stay in Lisbon, whilst
the ship was being patched up, Borrow saw Mr Wilby and made enquiry into
the state of the Society’s affairs in Portugal.  Many changes had taken
place and the country was in a distracted state.

After a week’s delay at Lisbon the _Manchester_ continued her voyage to
Cadiz, where she arrived without further mishap on the 21st.  During this
voyage a fellow passenger with Borrow was the Marqués de Santa Coloma.
“According to the expression of the Marqués, when they stepped on to the
quay at Cadiz, Borrow looked round, saw some Gitanos lounging there, said
something that the Marqués could not understand, and immediately ‘that
man became _une grappe de Gitanos_.’  They hung round his neck, clung to
his knees, seized his hands, kissed his feet, so that the Marqués hardly
liked to join his comrade again after such close embraces by so dirty a
company.” {186}

Borrow now found himself in his allotted field—unhappy, miserable,
distracted Spain.  Gomez, the Carlist leader, had been sweeping through
Estremadura like a pestilence, and Borrow fully expected to find Seville
occupied by his banditti; but Carlists possessed no terrors for him.
Unless he could do something to heal the spiritual wounds of the wretched
country, he assured Mr Brandram, he would never again return to England.

On 1st December Mr Brandram wrote to Borrow expressing deep sympathy with
all he had been through, and adding: “If you go forward . . . we will
help you by prayer.  If you retreat we shall welcome you cordially.”  He
appears to have written before consulting with the Committee, who, on
hearing of the actual state of affairs in Spain, became filled with
misgiving and anxiety for the safety of their agent, who seemed to be
destitute of fear.  Mr Brandram had been content for Borrow to go forward
if he so decided, but, as he wrote later, “your prospective dangers,
while they created an absorbing interest, were viewed in different lights
by the Committee,” who thought they had “no right to commit you to such
perils.  My own feeling was that, while I could not urge you forward,
there were peculiarities in your history and character that I would not
keep you back if you were minded to go.  A few felt with me—most,
however, thought that you should have been restrained.” {187}  It was
decided therefore to forbid him to proceed on his hazardous adventure,
and accordingly a letter was addressed to him care of the British Consul
at Cadiz.  If Borrow received this he disregarded the instructions it
contained.

Cadiz proved to be in a state of great confusion.  It was reported that
numerous bands of Carlists were in the neighbourhood, and the whole city
was in a state of ferment in consequence.  In the coffee-houses the din
of tongues was deafening; would-be orators, sometimes as many as six at
one time, sprang up upon chairs and tables and ventilated their political
views.  The paramount, nay, the only, interest was not in the words of
Christ; but the probable doings of the Carlists.

On the night of his arrival Borrow was taken ill with what, at the time,
he thought to be cholera, and for some time in the little “cock-loft or
garret” that had been allotted to him at the over-crowded French hotel,
he was “in most acute pain, and terribly sick,” drinking oil mixed with
brandy.  For two days he was so exhausted as to be able to do nothing.

On the morning of the 24th he embarked in a small Spanish steamer bound
for Seville, which was reached that same night.  The sun had dissipated
the melancholy and stupor left by his illness, and by the time he arrived
at Seville he was repeating Latin verses and fragments of old Spanish
ballads to a brilliant moon.  The condition of affairs at Seville was as
bad if not worse than at Cadiz.  There was scarcely any communication
with the capital, the diligences no longer ran, and even the fearless
_arrieros_ (muleteers) declined to set out.  Famine, plunder and murder
were let loose over the land.  Bands of banditti robbed, tortured and
slew in the name of Don Carlos.  They stripped the peasantry of all they
possessed, and the poor wretches in turn became brigands and preyed upon
those weaker than themselves.  Through all this Borrow had to penetrate
in order to reach Madrid.  Had the road been familiar to him he would
have performed the journey alone, dressed either as a beggar or as a
gypsy.  It is obvious that he appreciated the hazardous nature of the
journey he was undertaking, for he asked Mr Brandram, in the event of his
death, to keep the news from old Mrs Borrow as long as possible and then
to go down to Norwich and break it to her himself.

At Seville Borrow encountered Baron Taylor, {188} whom he states that he
had first met at Bayonne (during the “veiled period”), and later in
Russia, beside the Bosphorus, and finally in the South of Ireland.  Than
Baron Taylor there was no one for whom Borrow entertained “a greater
esteem and regard . . .  There is a mystery about him which, wherever he
goes, serves not a little to increase the sensation naturally created by
his appearance and manner.” {189}  Borrow was much attracted to this
mysterious personage, about whom nothing could be asserted “with
downright positiveness.”

From Seville Borrow proceeded to Cordoba, accompanied by “an elderly
person, a Genoese by birth,” whose acquaintance he had made and whom he
hoped later to employ in the distribution of the Testaments.  Borrow had
hired a couple of miserable horses.  The Genoese had not been in the
saddle for some thirty years, and he was an old man and timid.  His horse
soon became aware of this, and neither whip nor spur could persuade it to
exert itself.  When approaching night rendered it necessary to make a
special effort to hasten forward, the bridle of the discontented steed
had to be fastened to that of its fellow, which was then urged forward
“with spur and cudgel.”  Both the Genoese and his mount protested against
such drastic measures, the one by entreaties to be permitted to dismount,
the other by attempting to fling itself down.  The only notice Borrow
took of these protests was to spur and cudgel the more.

On the night of the third day the party arrived at Cordoba, and was
cordially welcomed by the Carlist innkeeper, who, although avowing
himself strictly neutral, confessed how great had been his pleasure at
welcoming the Carlists when they occupied the City a short time before.
It was at this inn that Borrow explained to the elderly Genoese, who had
indiscreetly resented his host’s disrespectful remarks about the young
Queen Isabel, how he invariably managed to preserve good relations with
all sorts of factions.  “My good man,” he said, “I am invariably of the
politics of the people at whose table I sit, or beneath whose roof I
sleep; at least I never say anything which can lead them to suspect the
contrary; by pursuing which system I have more than once escaped a bloody
pillow, and having the wine I drank spiced with sublimate.” {190a}

Borrow remained at Cordoba much longer than he had intended, because of
the reports that reached him of the unsafe condition of the roads.  He
sent back the old Genoese with the horses, and spent the time in
thoroughly examining the town and making acquaintances among its
inhabitants.  At length, after a stay of ten or eleven days, despairing
of any improvement in the state of the country, he continued his journey
in the company of a _contrabandista_, temporarily retired from the
smuggling trade, from whom he hired two horses for the sum of forty-two
dollars.  Borrow allowed no compunction to assail him as to the means he
employed when he was thoroughly convinced as to the worthiness of the end
he had in view.  To further his projects he would cheerfully have
travelled with the Pope himself.

The journey to Madrid proved dismal in the extreme.  The _contrabandista_
was sullen and gloomy, despite the fact that his horses had been insured
against loss and the handsome fee he was to receive for his services.
The Despeñaperros in the Sierra Morena through which Borrow had to pass,
had, even in times of peace, a most evil reputation; but by great good
luck for Borrow, the local banditti had during the previous day
“committed a dreadful robbery and murder by which they sacked 40,000
_reals_.” {190b}  They were in all probability too busily occupied in
dividing their spoil to watch for other travellers.  Another factor that
was much in Borrow’s favour was a change in the weather.

    “Suddenly the Lord breathed forth a frozen blast,” Borrow writes,
    “the severity of which was almost intolerable.  No human being but
    ourselves ventured forth.  We traversed snow-covered plains, and
    passed through villages and towns to all appearance deserted.  The
    robbers kept close to their caves and hovels, but the cold nearly
    killed us.  We reached Aranjuez late on Christmas day, and I got into
    the house of an Englishman, where I swallowed nearly a pint of
    brandy: {191a} it affected me no more than warm water.” {191b}

Borrow arrived at Madrid on 26th December, having almost by a miracle
avoided death or capture by the human wolves that infested the country.
He took up his quarters at 16 Calle de Santiago at the house of Maria
Díaz, who was to prove so loyal a friend during many critical periods of
his work in Spain.  His first care was to call upon the British Minister,
and enquire if he considered it safe to proceed with the printing without
special application to the new Government.  Mr Villiers’ answer is
interesting, as showing how thoroughly he had taken Borrow under his
protection.

    “You obtained the permission of the Government of Isturitz,” he
    replied, “which was a much less liberal one than the present; I am a
    witness to the promise made to you by the former Ministers, which I
    consider sufficient; you had best commence and complete the work as
    soon as possible without any fresh application, and should anyone
    attempt to interrupt you, you have only to come to me, whom you may
    command at any time.” {191c}

Having saved the Bible Society 9000 _reals_ in its paper bill alone,
{191d} Borrow proceeded to arrange for the printing.  He had already
opened negotiations with Charles Wood, who was associated with Andréas
Borrégo, {192a} the most fashionable printer in Madrid, who not only had
the best printing-presses in Spain, but had been specially recommended by
Isturitz.  It had been tentatively arranged that an edition of 5000
copies of the New Testament should be printed from the version of Father
Felipe Scio de San Miguel, confessor to Ferdinand VII., without notes or
commentaries, and delivered within three months.

Remembering the advice of Isturitz, Borrow determined to entrust the work
to Borrégo, including the binding.  He was the Government printer, and,
furthermore, enjoyed the good opinion of Mr Villiers.  Having persuaded
Borrégo to reduce his price to 10 _reals_ a sheet, he placed the order.
It was agreed that the work should be completed in ten weeks from 20th
January.

Each sheet was to be passed by Borrow.  As a matter of fact he read every
word three times; but in order to insure absolute accuracy, he engaged
the services of Dr Usoz, “the first scholar in Spain,” {192b} who was to
be responsible for the final revision, leaving the question of the
remuneration to the generosity of the Bible Society.  The result of all
this care was that, according to Borrow the edition exhibited scarcely
one typographical error. {192c}

The question of systematic distribution had next to be considered.  After
much musing and cogitation, Borrow came to the conclusion that the only
satisfactory method was for him to “ride forth from Madrid into the
wildest parts of Spain,” where the word is most wanted and where it seems
next to an impossibility to introduce it, and this he proposed to the
Committee.

    “I will take with me 1200 copies,” he wrote, {193} “which I will
    engage to dispose of for little or much to the wild people of the
    wild regions which I intend to visit; as for the rest of the edition,
    it must be disposed of, if possible, in a different way—I may say the
    usual way; part must be entrusted to booksellers, part to
    colporteurs, and a depôt must be established at Madrid.  Such work is
    every person’s work, and to anyone may be confided the execution of
    it; it is a mere affair of trade.  What I wish to be employed in is
    what, I am well aware, no other individual will undertake to do:
    namely, to scatter the Word upon the mountains, amongst the valleys
    and the inmost recesses of the worst and most dangerous parts of
    Spain, where the people are more fierce, fanatic and, in a word,
    Carlist.”

In the same letter Borrow shows how thoroughly he understood his own
character when he wrote:

    “I shall not feel at all surprised should it [the plan] be
    disapproved of all-together; but I wish it to be understood that in
    that event I could do nothing further than see the work through the
    press, as I am confident that whatever ardour and zeal I at present
    feel in the cause would desert me immediately, and that I should
    neither be able nor willing to execute anything which might be
    suggested.  I wish to engage in nothing which would not allow me to
    depend entirely on myself.  It would be heart-breaking to me to
    remain at Madrid expending the Society’s money, with almost the
    certainty of being informed eventually by the booksellers and their
    correspondents that the work has no sale.  In a word, to make sure
    that some copies find their way among the people, I must be permitted
    to carry them to the people myself.”

He goes on to inform Mr Brandram that in anticipation of the acquiescence
of the Committee in his schemes, he has purchased, for about £12, one of
the smuggler’s horses, which he has preferred to a mule, on account of
the expense of the popular hybrid, and also because of its enormous
appetite, to satisfy which two pecks of barley and a proportionate amount
of straw are required each twenty-four hours, as the beast must be fed
every four hours, day and night.  Thus the members of the Committee
learned something about the ways of the mule.

The response to this suggestion was a resolution passed by the
Sub-Committee for General Purposes, by which Borrow was permitted to
enter into correspondence with the principal booksellers and other
persons favourable to the dissemination of the Scriptures.  In a covering
letter {194a}  Mr Brandram very pertinently enquired, “Can the people in
these wilds read?”  Whilst not wishing to put a final negative to the
proposal, the Secretary asked if there were no middle course.  Could
Borrow not establish a depôt at some principal place, and from it make
excursions occupying two or three days each, “instead of devoting
yourself wholly to the wild people.”

Borrow assured Mr Brandram that he had misunderstood.  The care of “the
wild people” was only to be incidental on his visits to towns and
villages to establish depôts or agencies.  “On my way,” he wrote, “I
intended to visit the secret and secluded spots amongst the rugged hills
and mountains, and to talk to the people, after my manner, of Christ.”
{194b}

It was on 3rd April that Borrow had received the letter from Earl Street
authorising him “to undertake the tour suggested . . . for the purpose of
circulating the Spanish New Testament in some of the principal cities of
Spain.”  He was requested to write as frequently as possible, giving an
account of his adventures.  At the same time Mr Brandram wrote: “You will
perceive by the Resolution that nearly all your requests are complied
with.  You have authority to go forth with your horses, and may you have
a prosperous journey . . .  Pray for wisdom to discern between
presumptuousness and want of Faith.” {195a}

The printing of the 5000 copies of the New Testament in Spanish was
completed early in April, but there was considerable delay over the
binding.  The actual date of publication was 1st May.  The work had been
well done, and was “allowed by people who have perused it, and with no
friendly feeling, to be one of the most correct works that have ever
issued from the press in Spain, and to be an exceedingly favourable
specimen of typography and paper.” {195b}

In addition to the _contrabandista’s_ horse, Borrow had acquired “a black
Andalusian stallion of great size and strength, and capable of performing
a journey of a hundred leagues in a week’s time.” {195c}  In spite of his
unbroken state, Borrow decided to purchase the animal, relying upon “a
cargo of bibles” to reduce him to obedience.  It was with this black
Andalusian that he created a sensation by riding about Madrid, “with a
Russian skin for a saddle, and without stirrups.  Altogether making so
conspicuous a figure that [the Marqués de] Santa Coloma hesitated, and it
needed all his courage to be seen riding with him.  At this period Borrow
spent a good deal of money and lived very freely (i.e., luxuriously) in
Spain.  From the point of view of the Marqués, a Spanish Roman Catholic,
Borrow was excessively bigoted, and fond of attacking Roman Catholics and
Catholicism.  He evidently, however, liked him as a companion; but he
says Borrow never, as far as he saw or could learn, spoke of religion to
his Gypsy friends, and that he soon noticed his difference of attitude
towards them.  He was often going to the British Embassy, and he thinks
was considered a great bore there.” {195d}

The unanimous advice of Borrow’s friends, Protestant and Roman Catholic,
was “that for the present I should proceed with the utmost caution, but
without concealing the object of my mission.” {196a}  He was to avoid
offending people’s prejudices and endeavour everywhere to keep on good
terms with the clergy, “at least one-third of whom are known to be
anxious for the dissemination of the Word of God, though at the same time
unwilling to separate themselves from the discipline and ceremonials of
Rome.” {196b}

Thus equipped with sage counsel, Borrow was just about to start upon his
journey into the North, when he found it necessary to dismiss his servant
owing to misconduct.  This caused delay.  Through Mr O’Shea, the banker,
he got to know Antonio Buchini, the Greek of Constantinople, who, of all
the strange characters Borrow had met he considered “the most
surprising.” {196c}  Antonio’s vices were sufficiently obvious to
discourage anyone from attempting to discover his virtues.  He loved
change, quarrelled with everybody, masters, mistresses, and
fellow-servants.  Borrow engaged him; but looked to the future with
misgiving.  Antonio unquestionably had his bad points; yet he was a
treasure compared with the Spaniard whom he succeeded.  This man was much
given to drink and was always engaged in some quarrel.  He drew his
terrible knife, such as all Spaniards carry, upon all who offended him.
On one occasion Borrow saved from his wrath a poor maid-servant who had
incurred his ire by burning a herring she was toasting for him.
Antonio’s virtues comprised an unquestioned honesty and devotion, and on
the whole he was a desirable servant in a country where such virtues were
extremely rare.

It was not until 15th May that Borrow, accompanied by Antonio, was able
to get away from Madrid.  A few days previously he had contracted “a
severe cold which terminated in a shrieking, disagreeable cough.”  This,
following on a fortnight’s attack of influenza, proved difficult to shake
off.  Finding himself scarcely able to stand, he at length appealed to a
barber-surgeon, who drew 16 oz. of blood, assuring his patient that on
the following day he would be well enough to start.

That same evening Mr Villiers sent round to Borrow’s lodgings informing
him that he had decided to help him by every means in his power.  He
announced his intention of purchasing a large number of the Testaments,
and despatching them to the various British Consuls in Spain, with
instructions “to employ all the means which their official situation
should afford them to circulate the books in question, and to assure
their being noticed.” {197a}  They were also to render every assistance
in their power to Borrow “as a friend of Mr Villiers, and a person in the
success of whose enterprise he himself took the warmest interest.” {197b}
Mr Villiers’ interest in Borrow’s mission seems to have led him into a
diplomatic indiscretion.  Borrow himself confesses that he could scarcely
believe his ears.  Although assured of the British Minister’s friendly
attitude, he “could never expect that he would come forward in so noble,
and to say the least of it, considering his high diplomatic situation, so
bold and decided a manner.” {197c}  This act of friendliness becomes a
personal tribute to Borrow, when it is remembered that at first Mr
Villiers had been by no means well disposed towards the Bible Society.

Before leaving Madrid, Borrow had circularised all the principal
booksellers, offering to supply the New Testament at fifteen _reals_ a
copy, the actual cost price; but he was not sanguine as to the result,
for he found the Spaniard “short-sighted and . . . so utterly
unacquainted with the rudiments of business.” {198}  Advertisements had
been inserted in all the principal newspapers stating that the
booksellers of Madrid were now in a position to supply the New Testament
in Spanish, unencumbered by obscuring notes and comments.  Borrow also
provided for an advertisement to be inserted each week during his
absence, which he anticipated would be about five months.  After that he
knew not what would happen—there was always China.




CHAPTER XIII
MAY–OCTOBER 1837


THE prediction of the surgeon-barber was fulfilled; by the next morning
the fever and cough had considerably abated, although the patient was
still weak from loss of blood.  This, however, did not hinder him from
mounting his black Andalusian, and starting upon his initial journey of
distribution.  On arriving at Salamanca, his first objective, he
immediately sought out the principal bookseller and placed with him
copies of the New Testament.  He also inserted an advertisement in the
local newspaper, stating that the volume was the only guide to salvation;
at the same time he called attention to the great pecuniary sacrifices
that the Bible Society was making in order to proclaim Christ crucified.
This advertisement he caused to be struck off in considerable numbers as
bills and posted in various parts of the town, and he even went so far as
to affix one to the porch of the church.  He also distributed them as he
progressed through the villages. {199}

From Salamanca (10th June) Borrow journeyed to Valladolid, and from
thence to León, {200a} (a hotbed of Carlism), where the people were
ignorant and brutal and refused to the stranger a glass of water, unless
he were prepared to pay for it.  At León he was seized by a fever that
prostrated him for a week.  He also experienced marked antagonism from
the clergy, who threatened every direful consequence to whosoever read or
purchased “the accursed books” which he brought.  A more serious evidence
of their displeasure was shown by the action they commenced in the
ecclesiastical court against the bookseller whom Borrow had arranged with
to act as agent for his Testaments.  The bookseller himself did not mend
matters by fixing upon the doors of the cathedral itself one of the
advertisements that he had received with the books.

When sufficiently recovered to travel, Borrow proceeded to Astorga, which
he reached with the utmost difficulty owing to bad roads and the fierce
heat.

    “We were compelled to take up our abode,” he writes, {200b} “in a
    wretched hovel full of pigs’ vermin and misery, and from this place I
    write, for this morning I felt myself unable to proceed on my
    journey, being exhausted with illness, fatigue and want of food, for
    scarcely anything is to be obtained; but I return God thanks and
    glory for being permitted to undergo these crosses and troubles for
    His Word’s sake.  I would not exchange my present situation,
    unenviable as some may think it, for a throne.”

Thus Borrow wrote when burning with fever, after having just been told to
vacate his room at the _posada_, and having his luggage flung into the
yard to make room for the occupants of the “waggon” from Madrid to
Coruña.

From Astorga he proceeded by way of Puerto de Manzanál, Bembibre,
Cacabélos, Villafranca, Puerto de Fuencebadón and Nogáles, “through the
wildest mountains and wildernesses” to Lugo.

Owing to the unsafety of the roads, it was customary for travellers to
attach themselves to the Grand Post, which was always guarded by an
escort.  At Nogáles Borrow joined the mail courier; but as a rule he was
too independent, too much in a hurry, and too indifferent to danger to
wait for such protection against the perils of the robber-infested roads.
He has given the following graphic account “of the grand post from Madrid
to Coruña, attended by a considerable escort, and an immense number of
travellers . . . We were soon mounted and in the street, amidst a
confused throng of men and quadrupeds.  The light of a couple of
flambeaus, which were borne before the courier, shone on the arms of
several soldiers, seemingly drawn up on either side of the road; the
darkness, however, prevented me from distinguishing objects very clearly.
The courier himself was mounted on a little shaggy pony; before and
behind him were two immense portmanteaus, or leather sacks, the ends of
which nearly touched the ground.  For about a quarter of an hour there
was much hubbub, shouting, and trampling, at the end of which period the
order was given to proceed.  Scarcely had we left the village when the
flambeaus were extinguished, and we were left in almost total darkness.
In this manner we proceeded for several hours, up hill and down dale, but
generally at a very slow pace.  The soldiers who escorted us from time to
time sang patriotic songs . . . At last the day began to break, and I
found myself amidst a train of two or three hundred people, some on foot,
but the greater part mounted, either on mules or the pony mares: I could
not distinguish a single horse except my own and Antonio’s.  A few
soldiers were thinly scattered along the road.” {201}

After about a week’s stay at Lugo, Borrow again attached himself to the
Grand Post; but tiring of its slow and deliberate progress, he decided to
push on alone, and came very near to falling a prey to the banditti.  He
was suddenly confronted by two of the fraternity, who presented their
carbines, “which they probably intended to discharge into my body, but
they took fright at the noise of Antonio’s horse, who was following a
little way behind.” {202}

The night was spent at Betanzos, where the black Andalusian was stricken
with “a deep, hoarse cough.”  Remembering a prophetic remark that had
been made by a roadside acquaintance to the effect that “the man must be
mad who brings a horse to Galicia, and doubly so he who brings an
_entero_,” Borrow, determined to have the animal bled, sent for a
farrier, meanwhile rubbing down his steed with a quart of _anis_ brandy.
The farrier demanded an ounce of gold for the operation, which decided
Borrow to perform it himself.  With a large fleam that he possessed, he
twice bled the Andalusian, to the astonishment of the discomfited
farrier, and saved its valuable life, also an ounce of gold.  Next day he
and Antonio walked to Coruña, leading their horses.

At Coruña were five hundred copies of the New Testament that had been
sent on from Madrid.  So far Borrow had himself disposed of sixty-five
copies, irrespective of those sold at Lugo and other places by means of
the advertisement.  These books were all sold at prices ranging from 10
to 12 _reals_ each.  Borrow made a special point of this, “to give a
direct lie to the assertion” that the Bible Society, having no vent for
the Bibles and New Testaments it printed, was forced either to give them
away or sell them by auction, when they were purchased as waste paper.

The condition of the roads at that period was so bad, on account of
robbers and Carlists, that it was forbidden to anyone to travel along the
thoroughfare leading to Santiago unless in company with the mail courier
and his escort of soldiers.  Unfortunately for Borrow his black
Andalusian was not of a companionable disposition, and to bring him near
other horses was to invite a fierce contest.  On the rare occasions that
he did travel with the Grand Post, Borrow was frequently involved in
difficulties on account of the _entero’s_ unsociable nature; but as he
was deeply attached to the noble beast, he retained him and suffered
dangers rather than give up the companion of many an adventure.

Some idea may be obtained of the state of rural Spain in 1837, when the
highways teemed with “patriots” bent upon robbing friend and foe alike
and afterwards assassinating or mutilating their victims, from a story
that Borrow tells of how a viper-catcher, who was engaged in pursuing his
calling in the neighbourhood of Orense, fell into the hands of these
miscreants, who robbed and stripped him.  They then pinioned his hands
behind him and drew over his head the mouth of the bag containing the
_living_ vipers, which they fastened round his neck and listened with
satisfaction to the poor wretch’s cries.  The reptiles stung their victim
to madness, and after having run raving through several villages he
eventually fell dead. {203a}

Making Coruña his headquarters, Borrow proceeded to Santiago, “travelling
with the courier or weekly post,” and from thence to Padrón, Pontevedra,
and Vigo.  At Vigo he was apprehended as a spy, but immediately released.
It was whilst at Santiago that he repeated an experiment he had
previously made at Valladolid.

    “I . . . sallied forth,” he writes, {203b} “alone and on horseback,
    and bent my course to a distant village; on my arrival, which took
    place just after the _siesta_ or afternoon’s nap had concluded, I
    proceeded . . . to the market place, where I spread a horse-cloth on
    the ground, upon which I deposited my books.  I then commenced crying
    with a loud voice: ‘Peasants, peasants, I bring you the Word of God
    at a cheap price.  I know you have but little money, but I bring it
    you at whatever you can command, at four or three _reals_, according
    to your means.’  I thus went on till a crowd gathered round me, who
    examined the books with attention, many of them reading aloud, but I
    had not long to wait; . . . my cargo was disposed of almost
    instantaneously, and I mounted my horse without a question being
    asked me, and returned to my temporary abode lighter than I came.”

Borrow did not repeat the experiment for fear of giving offence to the
clergy.  The new means of distribution was to be used only as a last
resource.

Arriving at Padrón on the return journey, Borrow found that he had only
one book left.  He determined to send Antonio forward with the horses to
await him at Coruña, whilst he made an excursion to Cape Finisterre.

    “It would be,” he says, “difficult to assign any plausible reason for
    the ardent desire which I entertained to visit this place; but I
    remembered that last year I had escaped almost by a miracle from
    shipwreck and death on the rocky sides of this extreme point of the
    Old World, and I thought that to convey the Gospel to a place so wild
    and remote might perhaps be considered an acceptable pilgrimage in
    the eyes of my Maker.” {204a}

Hiring a guide and a pony, he reached the Cape, after surmounting
tremendous difficulties, and on arrival he and his guide were arrested as
Carlist spies. {204b}  In all probability he would have been shot, such
was the certainty of the _Alcalde_ that he was a spy, had not the
professional hero of the place come forward and, after having
cross-examined him as to his knowledge of “knife” and “fork,” the only
two English words the Spaniard knew, pronounced him English, and
eventually conveyed him to the _Alcalde_ of Convucion, who released him.
On the man who had saved him Borrow privately bestowed a gratuity, and
publicly the copy of the New Testament that had led to the expedition.
He then returned to Coruña, by his journey having accomplished “what has
long been one of the ardent wishes of my heart.  I have carried the
Gospel to the extreme point of the Old World.” {205a}

The black Andalusian was totally unfitted for the long mountainous
journey into the Asturias that Borrow now planned to undertake, and he
decided to dispose of him.  He was greatly attached to the creature,
notwithstanding his vicious habits and the difficulties that arose out of
them.  Now the _entero_ would be engaged in a deadly struggle with some
gloomy mule; again, by rushing among a crowd outside a _posada_, he would
do infinite damage and earn for his master and himself an evil name.
Borrow thus announces to the Bible Society the sale of its property:
“This animal cost the Society about 2000 _reals_ at Madrid; I, however,
sold him for 3000 at Coruña, notwithstanding that he has suffered much
from the hard labour which he had been subjected to in our wanderings in
Galicia, and likewise from bad provender.” {205b}

Borrow next set out upon an expedition to Orviedo in the Asturias, {205c}
then in daily expectation of being attacked by the Carlists.  It was at
Orviedo that he received a striking tribute from a number of Spanish
gentlemen.

    “A strange adventure has just occurred to me,” he wrote. {205d}  “I
    am in the ancient town of Orviedo, in a very large, scantily
    furnished and remote room of an ancient _posada_, formerly a palace
    of the Counts of Santa Cruz, it is past ten at night and the rain is
    descending in torrents.  I ceased writing on hearing numerous
    footsteps ascending the creeking stairs which lead to my
    apartment—the door was flung open, and in walked nine men of tall
    stature, marshalled by a little hunchbacked personage.  They were all
    muffled in the long cloaks of Spain, but I instantly knew by their
    demeanour that they were _caballeros_, or gentlemen.  They placed
    themselves in a rank before the table where I was sitting; suddenly
    and simultaneously they all flung back their cloaks, and I perceived
    that every one bore a book in his hand, a book which I knew full
    well.  After a pause, which I was unable to break, for I sat lost in
    astonishment and almost conceived myself to be visited by
    apparitions, the hunchback advancing somewhat before the rest, said,
    in soft silvery tones, ‘_Señor_ Cavalier, was it you who brought this
    book to the Asturias?’  I now supposed that they were the civil
    authorities of the place come to take me into custody, and, rising
    from my seat, I exclaimed: ‘It certainly was I, and it is my glory to
    have done so; the book is the New Testament of God; I wish it was in
    my power to bring a million.’  ‘I heartily wish so too,’ said the
    little personage with a sigh; ‘be under no apprehension, Sir
    Cavalier, these gentlemen are my friends.  We have just purchased
    these books in the shop where you have placed them for sale, and have
    taken the liberty of calling upon you in order to return you our
    thanks for the treasure you have brought us.  I hope you can furnish
    us with the Old Testament also!’  I replied that I was sorry to
    inform him that at present it was entirely out of my power to comply
    with his wish, as I had no Old Testaments in my possession, but I did
    not despair of procuring some speedily from England. {206}  He then
    asked me a great many questions concerning my Biblical travels in
    Spain and my success, and the views entertained by the Society in
    respect to Spain, adding that he hoped we should pay particular
    attention to the Asturias, which he assured me was the best ground in
    the Peninsula for our labour.  After about half an hour’s
    conversation, he suddenly said in the English language, ‘Good night,
    Sir,’ wrapped his cloak around him and walked out as he had come.
    His companions, who had hitherto not uttered a word, all repeated,
    ‘Good night, Sir,’ and adjusting their cloaks followed him.”

This anecdote greatly impressed the General Committee.  Mr Brandram wrote
(15th November 1837): “We were all deeply interested with your ten
gentlemen of Orviedo.  I have introduced them at several meetings.”

Whilst at Orviedo, Borrow began to be very uneasy about the state of
affairs at the capital.  “Madrid,” he wrote, {207} “is the depôt of our
books, and I am apprehensive that in the revolutions and disturbances
which at present seem to threaten it, our whole stock may perish.  True
it is that in order to reach Madrid I should have to pass through the
midst of the Carlist hordes, who would perhaps slay or make me prisoner;
but I am at present so much accustomed to perilous adventure, and have
hitherto experienced so many fortunate escapes, that the dangers which
infest the route would not deter me a moment from venturing.  But there
is no certain intelligence, and Madrid may be in safety or on the brink
of falling.”

Another factor that made him desirous of returning to the capital was
that, ever since leaving Coruña, he had been afflicted with a dysentery
and, later, with ophthalmia, which resulted from it, and he was anxious
to obtain proper medical advice.  He determined, however, first to carry
out his project of visiting Santandér, which he reached by way of Villa
Viciosa, Colunga, Riba de Sella, Llánes, Colombres, San Vicente,
Santillana.  It was at Santandér that he encountered the unfortunate
Flinter, {208} as brave with his sword as with his tongue.

Instructions had been given in a letter to Borrégo to forward to
Santandér two hundred copies of the New Testament; but, much to Borrow’s
disappointment, he found that they had not arrived.  He thought that
either they had fallen into the hands of the Carlists, or his letter of
instruction had miscarried: as a matter of fact they did not leave Madrid
until 30th October, the day before Borrow arrived at the capital.  Thus
his journey was largely wasted.  It would be folly to remain at
Santandér, where, in spite of the strictest economy, his expenses
amounted to two pounds a day, whilst a further supply of books was
obtained.  Accordingly he determined to make for Madrid without further
delay.

Purchasing a small horse, and notwithstanding that he was so ill as
scarcely to be able to support himself; indifferent to the fact that the
country between Santandér and Madrid was overrun with Carlists, whose
affairs in Castile had not prospered; too dispirited to collect his
thoughts sufficiently to write to Mr Brandram, he set out, accompanied by
Antonio, “determined to trust, as usual, in the Almighty and to venture.”
Physical ailments, however, did not in any way cause him to forget why he
had come to Santandér, and before leaving he made tentative arrangements
with the booksellers of the town as to what they should do in the event
of his being able to send them a supply of Testaments.

That journey of a hundred leagues was a nightmare.  “Robberies, murders,
and all kinds of atrocity were perpetrated before, behind, and on both
sides” of them; but they passed through it all as if travelling along an
English highway.  Even when met at the entrance of the Black Pass by a
man, his face covered with blood, who besought him not to enter the pass,
where he had just been robbed of all he possessed, Borrow, without making
reply, proceeded on his way.  He was too ill to weigh the risks, and
Antonio followed cheerfully wherever his master went.  Madrid was reached
on 31st October. {209a}   The next day Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram:
“People say we have been very lucky; Antonio says, ‘It was so written’;
but I say, Glory be to the Lord for His mercies vouchsafed.”

The expedition to the Northern Provinces had occupied five and a half
months.  Every kind of fatigue had been experienced, dangers had been
faced, even courted, and every incident of the road turned to further the
end in view—the distribution of the Scriptures in Spain.  The countryside
had proved itself ignorant and superstitious, and the towns eager, not
for the Word of God but “for stimulant narratives, and amongst too many a
lust for the deistical writings of the French, especially for those of
Talleyrand, which have been translated into Spanish and published by the
press of Barcelona, and for which I was frequently pestered.” {209b}
Antonio had proved himself a unique body-servant and companion, and if
with a previous employer he had valued his personal comfort so highly as
to give notice because his mistress’s pet quail disturbed his slumbers,
he was nevertheless utterly indifferent to the hardships and discomforts
that he endured when with Borrow, and always proved cheerful and willing.

Borrow had “by private sale disposed of one hundred and sixteen
Testaments to individuals entirely of the lower classes, namely,
muleteers, carmen, _contrabandistas_, etc.” {209c}  He had dared to
undertake what perhaps only he was capable of carrying to a successful
issue; for, left alone to make his own plans and conduct the campaign
along his own lines, Borrow has probably never been equalled as a
missionary, strange though the term may seem when applied to him.  His
fear of God did not hinder him from making other men fear God’s
instrument, himself.  His fine capacity for affairs, together with what
must have appeared to the clergy of the districts through which he passed
his outrageous daring, conspired to his achieving what few other men
would have thought, and probably none were capable of undertaking.  A
missionary who rode a noble, black Andalusian stallion, who could use a
fleam as well as a blacksmith’s hammer, who could ride barebacked, and,
above all, made men fear him as a physical rather than a spiritual force,
was new in Spain, as indeed elsewhere.  The very novelty of Borrow’s
methods, coupled with the daring and unconventional independence of the
man himself, ensured the success of his mission.  There was something of
the Camel-Driver of Mecca about his missionary work.  He saw nothing
anomalous in being possessed of a strong arm as well as a Christian
spirit.  He would endeavour to win over the ungodly; but woe betide them
if they should attempt to pit their strength against his.  Borrow’s own
comment upon his journey in the Northern Provinces was, “Insignificant
are the results of man’s labours compared with the swelling ideas of his
presumption; something, however, had been effected by the journey which I
had just concluded.” {210}




CHAPTER XIV
NOVEMBER 1837–APRIL 1838


GREAT changes had taken place in Madrid during Borrow’s absence.  The
Carlists had actually appeared before its gates, although they had
subsequently retired.  Liberalism had been routed and a _Moderado_
Cabinet, under the leadership of Count Ofalia, ruled the city and such
part of the country as was sufficiently complaisant as to permit itself
to be ruled.  As the _Moderados_ represented the Court faction, Borrow
saw that he had little to expect from them.  He was unacquainted with any
of the members of the Cabinet, and, what was far more serious for him,
the relations between the new Government and Sir George Villiers {211}
were none too cordial, as the British Minister had been by no means
favourable to the new ministry.

Having written to Mr Brandram telling of his arrival in Madrid, “begging
pardon for all errors of commission and omission,” and confessing himself
“a frail and foolish vessel,” that had “accomplished but a slight portion
of what I proposed in my vanity,” Borrow proceeded to disprove his own
assertion.  He found the affairs of the Bible Society in a far from
flourishing condition.  The Testaments had not sold to any considerable
extent, for which “only circumstances and the public poverty” were the
cause, as Dr Usoz explained.

To awaken interest in his campaign, Borrow planned to print a thousand
advertisements, which were to be posted in various parts of the city, and
to employ colporteurs to vend the books in the streets.  He despatched
consignments of books to towns he had visited that required them, and in
the enthusiasm of his eager and active mind foresaw that, “as the circle
widens in the lake into which a stripling has cast a pebble, so will the
circle of our usefulness continue widening, until it has embraced the
whole vast region of Spain.” {212a}

It soon became evident that there was to be a very strong opposition.  A
furious attack upon the Bible Society was made in a letter addressed to
the editors of _El Español_ on 5th November, prefixed to a circular of
the Spiritual Governor of Valencia, forbidding the purchase or reading of
the London edition of Father Scio’s Bible.  The letter described the
Bible Society as “an infernal society,” and referred in passing to “its
accursed fecundity.”  It also strongly resented the omission of the
Apocrypha from the Scio Bible.  Borrow promptly replied to this attack in
a letter of great length, and entirely silenced his antagonist, whom he
described to Mr Brandram (20th Nov.) as “an unprincipled benefice-hunting
curate.”  “You will doubtless deem it too warm and fiery,” he writes,
referring to his reply, “but tameness and gentleness are of little avail
when surrounded by the vassal slaves of bloody Rome.” {212b}  Borrow’s
response to the “benefice-hunting curate” not only silenced him, but was
listened to by the General Committee of the Society “with much pleasure.”

The cause of the trouble in Valencia lay with the other agent of the
Bible Society in Spain, Lieutenant James Newenham Graydon, R.N., who
first took up the work of distributing the Scriptures at Gibraltar in
1835.  Here he became associated with the Rev. W. H. Rule, of the
Wesleyan Methodist Society.  “The Lieutenant, who seems to have combined
the personal charm of the Irish gentleman with some of the perfervid
incautiousness of the Keltic temperament, finding himself unemployed at
Gibraltar, resolved to do what lay in his power for the spiritual
enlightenment of Spain.  Without receiving a regular commission from any
society, he took up single-handed the task which he had imposed upon
himself.” {213a}

Borrow had first met Lieutenant Graydon at Madrid, in the summer of 1836,
where he saw him two or three times.  When Graydon left, on account of
the heat, Borrow had removed to Graydon’s lodgings as being more
comfortable than his own.  The prohibition in Valencia was directly due
to the indiscretion and incaution of Graydon.  The Vicar-General of the
province gave as a reason for his action, an advertisement that had
appeared in the _Diario Comercial_ of Valencia, undertaking to supply
Bibles gratis to those who could not afford to buy them.  For this
advertisement Graydon was admonished by the General Committee, which
refused to entertain his plea that, being unpaid, he was not, strictly
speaking, an agent of the Bible Society.  He was given to understand that
as the Society was responsible for his acts he must be guided by its
views and wishes.

The next occasion on which Borrow came into conflict with this impulsive
missionary free-lance was in March 1838, when he heard from the Rev. W.
H. Rule that Graydon was on his way to Andalusia.  Borrow immediately
wrote to Mr Brandram that he, acting on the advice of Sir George
Villiers, had already planned an expedition into that province, and
furthermore that he had despatched there a number of Testaments.  He
explained to Mr Brandram that he was apprehensive “of the re-acting at
Seville of the Valencian Drama, which I have such unfortunate cause to
rue, as I am the victim on whom an aggravated party have wreaked their
vengeance, and for the very cogent reason that I was within their reach.”
{213b}  On this occasion Graydon was instructed not to start upon his
projected journey, although Mr Brandram gave the order much against his
own inclination. {214a}

One great difficulty that Borrow had to contend with was the apathy of
the Madrid booksellers, who “gave themselves no manner of trouble to
secure the sale, and even withheld [the] advertisements from the public.”
{214b}  This determined him to open a shop himself, and, accordingly,
towards the end of November, he secured premises in the Calle del
Principe, one of the main thoroughfares, for which he agreed to pay a
rent of eight _reals_ a day.  He furnished the premises handsomely, with
glass cases and chandeliers, and caused to be painted in large yellow
characters the sign “Despacho de la Sociedad Bíblica y Estrangera” (Depôt
of the Biblical and Foreign Society).  He engaged a Gallegan (José
Calzado, whom he called Pepe) as salesman, and on 27th November formally
opened his new premises.  Customers soon presented themselves; but many
were disappointed on finding that they could not obtain the Bible.  “I
could have sold ten times the amount of what I did,” Borrow writes.  “I
_must_ therefore be furnished with Bibles instanter; send me therefore
the London edition, bad as it is, say 500 copies.” {214c}

To facilitate the passing of these books through the customs, Borrow
suggested that they should be consigned to the British Consul at Cadiz,
who was friendly to the Society and “would have sufficient influence to
secure their admission into Spain.  But the most advisable way,” he goes
on to explain with great guile, “would be to pack them in two chests,
placing at the top Bibles in English and other languages, for there is a
demand, viz., 100 English, 100 French, 50 German, 50 Hebrew, 50 Greek, 10
Modern Greek, 10 Persian, 20 Arabic.  _Pray do not fail_.” {215a}

When Sir George Villiers first obtained from Isturitz permission for
Borrow to print and sell the New Testament in Spanish without notes, he
had cautioned him “to use the utmost circumspection, and in order to
pursue his vocation with success, to avoid offending popular prejudices,
which would not fail to be excited against a Protestant and a Foreigner
engaged in the propagation of the Gospel.” {215b}  This warning the
British Minister had repeated frequently since.  It was without
consulting Sir George that Borrow opened his depôt, and “imprudently
painted upon the window that it was the Depôt of the London (sic) Bible
Society for the sale of Bibles.  I told him,” Sir George writes “that
such a measure would render the interference of the Authorities
inevitable, and so it turned out.” {215c}

Borrow now lost the services of the faithful Antonio, who, on the last
day of the year, informed him that he had become unsettled and
dissatisfied with everything at his master’s lodgings, including the
house, the furniture, and the landlady herself.  Therefore he had hired
himself out to a count for four dollars a month less than he was
receiving from Borrow, because he was “fond of change, though it be for
the worse.  _Adieu_, _mon maitre_,” he said in parting; “may you be as
well served as you deserve.  Should you chance, however, to have any
pressing need _de mes soins_, send for me without hesitation, and I will
at once give my new master warning.”  A few days later Borrow engaged a
Basque, named Francisco, who “to the strength of a giant joined the
disposition of a lamb,” {216a} and who had been strongly recommended to
him.

On his return from a hurried visit to Toledo, Borrow found his _Despacho_
succeeding as well as could be expected.  To call attention to his
premises he now took an extremely daring step.  He caused to be printed
three thousand copies of an advertisement on paper yellow, blue, and
crimson, “with which I almost covered the sides of the streets” he wrote,
“and besides this inserted notices in all the journals and periodicals,
employing also a man, after the London fashion, to parade the streets
with a placard, to the astonishment of the populace.” {216b}  The result
of this move, Borrow declared, was that every man, woman and child in
Madrid became aware of the existence of his _Despacho_, as well they
might.  In spite of this commercial enterprise, the first month’s trading
showed a sale of only between seventy and eighty New Testaments, and ten
Bibles, {216c} these having been secured from a Spanish bookseller who
had brought them secretly from Gibraltar, but who was afraid to sell them
himself.  Mr Brandram’s comment upon the letter from Borrow telling of
the posters was that its contents had “afforded us no little merriment.
The idea of your placards and placard-bearers in Madrid is indeed a novel
one.  It cannot but be effectual in giving publicity.  I sincerely hope
it may not be prejudicial.” {216d}

When in England, at the end of 1836, Borrow had been authorised by the
Bible Society to find “a person competent to translate the Scriptures in
Basque.”  On 27_th_ February 1837, he wrote telling Mr Brandram that he
had become “acquainted with a gentleman well versed in that dialect, of
which I myself have some knowledge.”  Dr Oteiza, the domestic physician
of the Marqués de Salvatierra, was accordingly commissioned to proceed
with the work, for which, when completed, he was paid the sum of “£8 and
a few odd shillings.”  Borrow reported to Mr Brandram (7th June 1837):

    “I have examined it with much attention, and find it a very faithful
    version.  The only objection which can be brought against it is that
    Spanish words are frequently used to express ideas for which there
    are equivalents in Basque; but this language, as spoken at present in
    Spain, is very corrupt, and a work written entirely in the Basque of
    Larramendi’s Dictionary would be intelligible to very few.  I have
    read passages from it to men of Guipuscoa, who assured me that they
    had no difficulty in understanding it, and that it was written in the
    colloquial style of the province.”

Borrow had “obtained a slight acquaintance” with Basque when a youth,
which he lost no opportunity of extending by mingling with Biscayans
during his stay in the Peninsula.  He also considerably improved himself
in the language by conversing with his Basque servant Francisco.  Borrow
now decided to print the Gitano and Basque versions of St Luke, which he
accordingly put in hand; but as the compositors were entirely ignorant of
both languages, he had to exercise the greatest care in reading the
proofs.

During his stay in Spain he had found time to translate into the dialect
of the Spanish gypsies the greater part of the New Testament. {217a}  His
method had been somewhat original.  Believing that there is “no
individual, however wicked and hardened, who is utterly _godless_,”
{217b} he determined to apply his belief to the gypsies.  To enlist their
interest in the work, he determined to allow them to do the translating
themselves.  At one period of his residence in Madrid he was regularly
visited by two gypsy women, and these he decided to make his translators;
for he found the women far more amenable than the men.  In spite of the
fact that he had already translated into Gitano the New Testament, or the
greater part of it, he would read out to the women from the Spanish
version and let them translate it into Romany themselves, thus obtaining
the correct gypsy idiom.  The women looked forward to these gatherings
and also to “the one small glass of Malaga” with which their host regaled
them.  They had got as far as the eighth chapter before the meetings
ended.  What was the moral effect of St Luke upon the minds of two
gypsies?  Borrow confessed himself sceptical; first, because he was
acquainted with the gypsy character; second, because it came to his
knowledge that one of the women “committed a rather daring theft shortly
afterwards, which compelled her to conceal herself for a fortnight.”
{218a}  Borrow comforted himself with the reflection that “it is quite
possible, however, that she may remember the contents of those chapters
on her death-bed.” {218b}  The translation of the remaining chapters was
supplied from Borrow’s own version begun at Badajos in 1836.

It is not strange that Borrow should be regarded with suspicion by the
Spaniards on account of his association with the Gitanos.  Sometimes
there would be as many as seventeen gypsies gathered together at his
lodgings in the Calle de Santiago.

    “The people in the street in which I lived,” he writes, {218c}
    “seeing such numbers of these strange females continually passing in
    and out, were struck with astonishment, and demanded the reason.  The
    answers which they obtained by no means satisfied them.  ‘Zeal for
    the conversion of souls—the souls too of Gitánas,—disparáte! the
    fellow is a scoundrel.  Besides he is an Englishman, and is not
    baptised; what cares he for souls?  They visit him for other
    purposes.  He makes base ounces, which they carry away and circulate.
    Madrid is already stocked with false money.’  Others were of the
    opinion that we met for the purposes of sorcery and abomination.  The
    Spaniard has no conception that other springs of action exist than
    interest or villany.”

Borrow was in reality endeavouring to convey to his “little
congregation,” as he called them, some idea of abstract morality.  He was
bold enough “to speak against their inveterate practices, thieving and
lying, telling fortunes,” etc., and at first experienced much opposition.
About the result, he seems to have cherished no illusions; still, he
wrote a hymn in their dialect which he taught his guests to sing.

For some time past it had been obvious to Borrow that he was becoming
more than ever unpopular with certain interested factions in Madrid, who
looked upon his missionary labours with angry disapproval.  The opening
of his _Despacho_ had caused a great sensation.  “The Priests and Bigots
are teeming with malice and fury,” he had written to Mr Brandram, {219a}
“which hitherto they have thought proper to exhibit only in words, as
they know that all I do here is favoured by Mr Villiers {219b} (sic) . . .
There is no attempt, however atrocious, which may not be expected from
such people, and were it right and seemly for _me_, the most
insignificant of worms, to make such a comparison, I would say that, like
Paul at Ephesus, I am fighting with wild beasts.”  He was attacked in
print and endeavours were made to incite the people against him as a
sorcerer and companion of gypsies and witches.  When he decided upon the
campaign of the posters it would appear, at first glance, that in the
claims of the merchant Borrow had entirely forgotten the obligations of
the diplomatist.  On the other hand, he may have foreseen that the
priestly party would soon force the Government to action, and was
desirous of selling all the books he could before this happened.  His own
words seem to indicate that this was the case.

    “People who know me not,” he wrote to Mr Brandram, “nor are
    acquainted with my situation, may be disposed to call me rash; but I
    am far from being so, as I never adopt a venturous course when any
    other is open to me; but I am not a person to be terrified by any
    danger when I see that braving it is the only way to achieve an
    object.” {220}

Whatever may have been Borrow’s motives, the crisis arrived on 12th
January, when he received a peremptory order from the Civil Governor of
Madrid (who had previously sent for and received two copies, to submit
for examination to the Ecclesiastical Authorities) to sell no more of the
New Testament in Spanish without notes.  At that period the average sale
was about twenty copies a day.  “The priests have at length ‘swooped upon
me,’” Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram, three days later.  The order did not,
however, take him unawares.

Borrow saw that little assistance was to be expected from Sir George
Villiers, who, for obvious reasons, was not popular with the Ofalia
ministry, and, accepting the British Minister’s advice, he promptly
complied with the edict.  He recognised that for the time being his
enemies were paramount.  He accuses the priests of employing the ruffian
who, one night in a dark street, warned him to discontinue selling his
“Jewish books,” or he would “have a knife ‘_nailed in his heart_’” to
which he replied by telling the fellow to go home, say his prayers and
inform his employers that he, Borrow, pitied them.  It was a few days
after this episode that Borrow received the formal notice of prohibition.

Consoling himself with the fact that he was not ordered to close his
_Despacho_, and refusing the advice that was tendered to him to erase
from its windows the yellow-lettered sign, he determined to continue his
campaign with the Bibles that were on their way to him, and the Gitano
and Basque versions of St Luke as soon as they were ready.  The
prohibition referred only to the Spanish New Testament without notes, and
in this Borrow took comfort.  He had every reason to feel gratified; for,
since opening the _Despacho_, he had sold nearly three hundred copies of
the New Testament.

At Earl Street it was undoubtedly felt that Borrow had to some extent
precipitated the present crisis.  On 8th February Mr Brandram wrote that,
whilst there was no wish on the part of the Committee to censure him,
they were not altogether surprised at what had occurred; for, when they
first heard about them, “some _did_ think that your tri-coloured placards
and placard-bearer were somewhat calculated to provoke what has
occurred.”  In reply Borrow confessed that the view of the “some” gave
him “a pang, more especially as I knew from undoubted sources that
nothing which I had done, said, or written, was the original cause of the
arbitrary step which had been adopted in respect to me.” {221a}

The printing of the Gitano and Basque editions of St Luke (500 copies
{221b} of each) was completed in March, and they were published
respectively in March and April.  The Gitano version attracted much
attention.  Some months later Borrow wrote:—

    “No work printed in Spain ever caused so great and so general a
    sensation, not so much amongst the Gypsies, that peculiar people for
    whom it was intended, as amongst the Spaniards themselves, who,
    though they look upon the Roma with some degree of contempt as a low
    and thievish race of outcasts, nevertheless take a strange interest
    in all that concerns them, it having been from time immemorial their
    practice, more especially of the dissolute young nobility, to
    cultivate the acquaintance of the Gitanos, as they are popularly
    called, probably attracted by the wild wit of the latter and the
    lascivious dances of the females.  The apparation, therefore, of the
    Gospel of St Luke at Madrid in the peculiar jargon of these people,
    was hailed as a strange novelty and almost as a wonder, and I believe
    was particularly instrumental in bruiting the name of the Bible
    Society far and wide through Spain, and in creating a feeling far
    from inimical towards it and its proceedings.” {222a}

The little volume appears to have sold freely among the gypsies.  “Many
of the men,” Borrow says, {222b} “understood it, and prized it highly,
induced of course more by the language than the doctrine; the women were
particularly anxious to obtain copies, though unable to read; but each
wished to have one in her pocket, especially when engaged in thieving
expeditions, for they all looked upon it in the light of a charm.”

All endeavours to get the prohibition against the sale of the New
Testament removed proved unavailing.  Borrow’s great strength lay in the
support he received from the British Minister, and, in all probability,
this prevented his expulsion from Spain, which alone would have satisfied
his enemies.  At the request of Sir George Villiers, he drew up an
account of the Bible Society and an exposition of its views, telling
Count Ofalia, among other things, that “the mightiest of earthly
monarchs, the late Alexander of Russia, was so convinced of the
single-mindedness and integrity of the British and Foreign Bible Society,
that he promoted their efforts within his own dominions to the utmost of
his ability.”  He pointed to the condition of Spain, which was
“overspread with the thickest gloom of heathenish ignorance, beneath
which the fiends and demons of the abyss seem to be holding their ghastly
revels.”  He described it as “a country in which all sense of right and
wrong is forgotten . . . where the name of Jesus is scarcely ever
mentioned but in blasphemy, and His precepts [are] almost utterly unknown
. . . [where] the few who are enlightened are too much occupied in the
pursuit of lucre, ambition, or ungodly revenge to entertain a desire or
thought of bettering the moral state of their countrymen.”  This report,
in which Borrow confesses that he “made no attempts to flatter and
cajole,” must have caused the British Minister some diplomatic
embarrassment when he read it; but it seems to have been presented,
although, as is scarcely surprising, it appears to have been ineffectual
in causing to be removed the ban against which it was written as a
protest.

The Prime Minister was in a peculiarly unpleasant position.  On the one
hand there was the British Minister using all his influence to get the
prohibition rescinded; on the other hand were six bishops, including the
primate, then resident in Madrid, and the greater part of the clergy.
Count Ofalia applied for a copy of the Gipsy St Luke, and, seeing in this
an opening for a personal appeal, Borrow determined to present the
volume, specially and handsomely bound, in person, probably the last
thing that Count Ofalia expected or desired.  The interview produced
nothing beyond the conviction in Borrow’s mind that Spain was ruled by a
man who possessed the soul of a mouse.  Borrow had been received “with
great affability,” thanked for his present, urged to be patient and
peaceable, assured of the enmity of the clergy, and promised that an
endeavour should be made to devise some plan that would be satisfactory
to him.  The two then “parted in kindness,” and as he walked away from
the palace, Borrow wondered “by what strange chance this poor man had
become Prime Minister of a country like Spain.”

In reporting progress to the Bible Society on 17th March Borrow, after
assuring Mr Brandram that he had “brought every engine into play which it
was in my power to command,” asked for instructions.  “Shall I wait a
little time longer in Madrid,” he enquired; “or shall I proceed at once
on a journey to Andalusia and other places?  I am in strength, health and
spirits, thanks be to the Lord! and am at all times ready to devote
myself, body and mind, to His cause.” {224a}  The decision of the
Committee was that he should remain at Madrid.

During the time that Borrow had been preparing his Depôt in Madrid,
Lieutenant Graydon had been feverishly active in the South.  On 19th
April Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram:—

    “Sir George Villiers has vowed to protect me and has stated so
    publicly . . . He has gone so far as to state to Ofalia and [Don
    Ramon de] Gamboa [the Civil Governor], that provided I be allowed to
    pursue my plans without interruption, he will be my bail (_fiador_)
    and answerable for everything I do, as he does me the honor to say
    that he knows me, and can confide in _my_ discretion.”

In the same letter he begs the Society to be cautious and offer no
encouragement to any disposed “‘to run the muck’ (_sic_) (it is Sir
George’s expression) against the religious and political _institutions_
of Spain”; but “the delicacy of the situation does not appear to have
been thoroughly understood at the time even by the Committee at home.”
{224b}  They saw the astonishing success of Graydon in distributing the
Scripture, and became infused with his enthusiasm, oblivious to the fact
that the greater the enthusiasm the greater the possibilities of
indiscretion.  On the other hand Graydon himself saw only the glory of
the Gospel.  If he were indiscreet, it was because he was blinded by the
success that attended his efforts, and he failed to see the clouds that
were gathering. {225}  Borrow saw the danger of Graydon’s reckless
evangelism, and although he himself had few good words for the pope and
priestcraft, he recognised that a discreet veiling of his opinions was
best calculated to further the ends he had in view.

About this period Borrow became greatly incensed at the action of the
Rev. W. H. Rule of Gibraltar in consigning to his care an ex-priest, Don
Pascual Mann, who, it was alleged, had been persuaded to secede from Rome
“by certain promises and hopes held out” to him.  He had accordingly left
his benefice and gone to Gibraltar to receive instruction at the hands of
Mr Rule.  On his return to Valencia his salary was naturally
sequestrated, and he was reduced to want.  When he arrived at Madrid it
was with a letter (12th April) from Mr Rule to Borrow, in which it was
stated that Mann was sent that he might “endeavour to circulate the Holy
Scriptures, Religious Tracts and books, and if possible prepare the minds
of some with a view to the future establishment of a Mission in Madrid.”

Borrow had commiserated with the unfortunate Mann, even to the extent of
sending him 500 _reals_ out of his own pocket; but on hearing that he was
on his way to Madrid to engage in missionary work, he immediately wrote a
letter of protest to Mr Brandram.  He was angry at Mr Rule’s conduct in
saddling him with Mann, and that without any preliminary correspondence.
He had entertained Mr Rule when in Madrid, had conversed with him about
the unfortunate ex-priest; but there had never been any mention of his
being sent to Madrid.  Mr Rule, on the other hand, thought it had been
arranged that Mann should be sent to Borrow.  The whole affair appears to
have arisen out of a misunderstanding.  There was considerable danger to
Borrow in Mann’s presence in the capital; but it was not the thought of
the danger that incensed him so much as what he conceived to be Mr Rule’s
unwarrantable conduct, and his own deeply-rooted objection to working
with anyone else.  Mr Brandram repudiated the suggestion that assistance
had been promised Mann from London (although he authorised Borrow to give
him ten pounds in his, Brandram’s, name), and gave as an excuse for what
Borrow described as the desertion of the ex-priest by those who were
responsible for his conversion, that “the man had returned of his own
accord to Rome,” Graydon vouching for the accuracy of the statement.

On the other hand, Mann stated that he was persuaded to secede by
promises made by Graydon and Rule, and induced to sign a document
purporting to be a separation from the Roman Church.  He further stated
that he was abandoned because he refused to preach publicly against the
Chapter of Valencia, which in all probability would have resulted in his
imprisonment.  Whatever the truth, there appears to have been some
embarrassment among those responsible for bringing in the lost sheep as
to what should be done with him.  “I hope that Mann’s history will be a
warning to many of our friends,” Borrow wrote to Mr Rule and quoted the
passage in his letter to Mr Brandram, {226} “and tend to a certain extent
to sober down the desire for doing what is called at home _smart things_,
many of which terminate in a manner very different from the original
expectations of the parties concerned.”  Mr Brandram thought that Borrow
was a little hard upon Graydon, and that he had not received “with the
due _grano salis_ the statements of the unfortunate M.”  He intimated,
nevertheless, that the Committee had no opening for Mann’s services.

That Borrow was justified in his anger is shown by the fact that, as he
had foreseen, he reaped all the odium of Mann’s conversion.  The Bishop
of Cordoba in Council branded him as “a dangerous, pestilent person, who
under the pretence of selling the Scriptures went about making converts,
and moreover employed subordinates for the purpose of deluding weak and
silly people into separation from the Mother Church.” {227a}

Although Borrow was angry about the Mann episode, he did not allow his
personal feelings to prevent him from ministering to the needs of the
poor ex-priest “as far as prudence will allow,” when he fell ill.  He
even went the length of writing to Mr Rule, being wishful “not to offend
him.”  None the less he felt that he had not been well treated.  To Mr
Brandram he wrote reminding him “that all the difficulty and danger
connected with what has been accomplished in Spain have fallen to my
share, I having been labouring on the flinty rock and sierra, and not in
smiling meadows refreshed by sea breezes.” {227b}

On 14th July 1838 Borrow made the last reference to the ex-priest in a
letter to Mr Brandram: “The unfortunate M. is dying of a galloping
consumption, brought on by distress of mind.  All the medicine in the
world would not accomplish his cure.” {227c}

The watchful eye of the law was still on Borrow, and fearful lest his
stock of Bibles, of which 500 had arrived from Barcelona, and the Gypsy
and Basque editions of St Luke should be seized, he hired a room where he
stored the bulk of the books.  He now advertised the two editions of St
Luke, with the result that on 16th April a party of _Alguazils_ entered
the shop and took possession of twenty-five copies of the Romany Gospel
of St Luke.

On the publication of the Gypsy St Luke, a fresh campaign had been opened
against Borrow, and accusations of sorcery were made and fears expressed
as to the results of the publication of the book.  Application was made
by the priestly party to the Civil Governor, with the result that all the
copies at the _Despacho_ of the Basque and Gitano versions of St Luke had
been seized.  Borrow states that the _Alguazils_ “divided the copies of
the gypsy volume among themselves, selling subsequently the greater
number at a large price, the book being in the greatest demand.” {228a}
Thus the very officials responsible for the seizure and suppression of
the Bible Society’s books in Spain became “unintentionally agents of an
heretical society.” {228b}

Disappointed at the smallness of the spoil, the authorities strove by
artifice to discover if Borrow still had copies of the books in his
possession.  To this end they sent to the _Despacho_ spies, who offered
high prices for copies of the Gitano St Luke, in which their interest
seemed specially to centre, to the exclusion of the Basque version.  To
these enquiries the same answer was returned, that at present no further
books would be sold at the _Despacho_.

As evidence of the high opinion formed of the Romany version of St Luke,
the following story told by Borrow is amusing:—

    “Shortly before my departure a royal edict was published, authorising
    all public libraries to provide themselves with copies of the said
    works [the Basque and Gypsy St Lukes] on account of their
    philological merit; whereupon on application being made to the Office
    [of the Civil Governor, where the books were supposed to be stored],
    it was discovered that the copies of the Gospel in Basque were safe
    and forthcoming, whilst every one of the sequestered copies of the
    Gitano Gospel had been plundered by hands unknown [to the
    authorities].  The consequence was that I was myself applied to by
    the agents of the public libraries of Valencia and other places, who
    paid me the price of the copies which they received, assuring me at
    the same time that they were authorised to purchase them at whatever
    price which might be demanded.” {229a}

Borrow’s enemies acknowledged that the Gitano St Luke was a philological
curiosity; but that it was impossible to allow it to pass into
circulation without notes.  How great a philological curiosity it
actually was, is shown by the fact that the ecclesiastical authorities
were unable to find anywhere a person, in whom they had confidence,
capable of pronouncing upon it, consequently they could only condemn it
on two counts of omission; firstly the notes, secondly the imprint of the
printer from the title-page.

The Basque version was by no means so popular; for one thing, “It can
scarcely be said to have been published,” Borrow wrote, “it having been
prohibited, and copies of it seized on the second day of its appearance.”
{229b}  Several orders were received from San Sebastian and other towns
where Basque predominates, which could not be supplied on account of the
prohibition.

The official remonstrance from Sir George Villiers to Count Ofalia in
respect of the seizure of the Gypsy and Basque Gospels is of great
interest as showing, not only the British Minister’s attitude towards
Borrow, but how, and with what wrath, Borrow “desisted from his
meritorious task.”  The communication runs:—

                                              MADRID, 24_th_ _April_ 1838.

    SIR,

    It is my duty to request the attention of Your Excellency to an act
    of injustice committed against a British subject by the Civil
    Authorities of Madrid.

    It appears that on the 16th inst., two officers of Police were sent
    by the Civil Governor to a Shop, No. 25 Calle del Principe occupied
    by Mr Borrow, where they seized and carried away 25 Copies of the
    Gospel of St Luke in the Gitano language, being the entire number
    exposed there for sale.

    Mr Borrow is an agent of the British Bible Society, who has for some
    time past been in Spain, and in the year 1836 obtained permission
    from the Government of Her Catholic Majesty to print, at the expense
    of the Society, Padre Scio’s translation of the New Testament.  He
    subsequently sold the work at a moderate price and had no reason to
    believe that in so doing he infringed any law of Spain or exposed
    himself to the animadversion of the Authorities, otherwise, from my
    knowledge of Mr Borrow’s character, I feel justified in assuring Your
    Excellency that he would at once, although with regret, have desisted
    from his meritorious task of propagating the Gospel.  Some months
    ago, however, the late Civil Governor of Madrid, after having sent
    for and examined a copy of the work, thought proper to direct that
    its further sale should be suspended, which order was instantly
    complied with.

    Mr Borrow is a man of great learning and research and master of many
    languages, and having translated the Gospel of St Luke into the
    Gitano, he presented a copy of it to Don Ramon Gamboa, the late Civil
    Governor, and announced his intention to advertise it for sale, to
    which no objection was made.

    Since that time neither Mr Borrow nor the persons employed by him
    received any communication from the present Civil Governor forbidding
    the sale of this work until it was seized in the manner I have above
    described to Your Excellency.

    I feel convinced that the mere statement of these facts without any
    commentary on my part will be sufficient to induce your Excellency to
    take steps for the indemnification of Mr Borrow, who is not only a
    very respectable British subject but the Agent of one of the most
    truly benevolent and philanthropic Societies in the world.

    I have, etc., etc., etc.

                                                          GEORGE VILLIERS.

    His Excellency Count Ofalia.




CHAPTER XV
MAY 1–13, 1838


ON the morning of 30th April, whilst at breakfast, Borrow, according to
his own account, received a visit from a man who announced that he was “A
Police Agent.”  He came from the Civil Governor, who was perfectly aware
that he, Borrow, was continuing in secret to dispose of the “evil books”
that he had been forbidden to sell.  The man began poking round among the
books and papers that were lying about, with the result that Borrow led
his visitor by the arm down the three flights of stairs into the street,
“looking him steadfastly in the face the whole time,” and subsequently
sending down by his landlady the official’s sombrero, which, in the
unexpectedness of his departure, he had left behind him.

The official report of Pedro Martin de Eugenio, the police agent in
question, runs as follows:—

                                              MADRID, 30_th_ _April_ 1838.

        OFFICIAL REPORT OF THE POLICE AGENT OF THE LANGUAGE HELD BY MR
                                   BORROW.

    _Public Security_.—In virtue of an order from His Excellency the
    Civil Governor, {231} I went to seize the Copies Entitled the Gospel
    of St Luke, in the Shop Princes Street No. 25, belonging to Mr George
    Borrow, but not finding him there; I went to his lodgings, which are
    in St James Street, No. 16, on the third floor and presenting the
    said order to Him He read it, and with an angry look threw it on the
    ground saying, that He had nothing to do with the Civil Governor,
    that He was authorised by His Ambassador to sell the Work in
    question, and that an English Stable Boy, is more than any Spanish
    Civil Governor, and that I had forcibly entered his house, to which I
    replied that I only went there to communicate the order to Him, as
    proprietor as he was of the said Shop, and to seize the Copies in it
    in virtue of that Order, and He answered I might do as I liked, that
    He should go to the House of His Ambassador, and that I should be
    responsible for the consequences; to which I replied that He had
    personally insulted the Civil Governor and all Spain, to which He
    answered in the same terms, holding the same language as above
    stated.

    All of which I communicate to you for the objects required.

                                                          THE POLICE AGENT
                                           PEDRO MARTIN DE EUGENIO. {232a}

Borrow felt that the fellow had been sent to entrap him into some
utterance that should justify his arrest.  In any case a warrant was
issued that same morning.  The news caused Borrow no alarm; for one thing
he was indifferent to danger, for another he was desirous of studying the
robber language of Spain, and had already, according to his own
statement, {232b} made an unsuccessful effort to obtain admission to the
city prison.

The official account of the interview between Borrow and the “Police
Agent” is given in the following letter from the Civil Governor to Sir
George Villiers:—

    To the British Minister,—

                                              MADRID, 30_th_ _April_ 1838.

    SIR,

    The Vicar of the Diocese having, on the 16th and 26th Instant,
    officially represented to me, that neither the publication nor the
    sale of the Gospel of St Luke translated into the romain, or Gitano
    Dialect ought to be permitted, until such time as the translation had
    been examined and approved by the competent Ecclesiastical Authority,
    in conformity with the Canonical and Civil regulations existing on
    the matter, I gave an order to a dependent of this civil
    administration, to present himself in the house of Mr George Borrow,
    a British Subject, charged by the London Bible Society with the
    publication of this work, and to seize all the Copies of it.  In
    execution of this order my Warrant was yesterday morning {233}
    presented to the said Mr George Borrow; who, so far from obeying it,
    broke out in insults most offensive to my authority, threw the order
    on the ground with angry gestures, and grossly abused the bearer of
    it, and said that he had nothing to do with the Civil Governor.  The
    detailed report in writing which has been made to me of this
    disageeeable occurrence could not but deeply affect me, being a
    question of a British Subject, to whom the Government of Her Catholic
    Majesty has always afforded the same protection as to its own.  As
    Executor of the Law it is my duty to cause its decrees to be
    inviolably observed; and you will well understand, that both the
    Canonical as the Civil Laws now existing, in this kingdom, relative
    to writings and works published upon Dogmas, Morals, and holy and
    religious matters, are the same without distinction for the Subjects
    of all Countries residing in Spain.  No one can be permitted to
    violate them with impunity, without detriment to the Laws themselves,
    to the Royal Authority and to the Evangelical Moral which is highly
    interested in preventing the propagation of doctrines which may be
    erroneous, and that the purity of the sublime maxims of our divine
    Faith should remain intact.

    In conformity with these undeniable principles, which are in the Laws
    of all civilised nations, you must acknowledge that the offensive
    conduct of Mr George Borrow, and his disobedience to a legitimate
    Authority sufficiently authorised the proceeding to his arrest . . .

                              I have, etc., etc.

                                                         DEIGO DE ENTRENA.

The “Police Agent” seems to have boasted that within twenty-four hours
Borrow would be in prison; Borrow, on the other hand, determined to prove
the “Police Agent” wrong.  He therefore spent the rest of the day and the
following night at a café. {234a}  In the evening he received a visit
from Maria Diaz, {234b} his landlady and also his strong adherent and
friend, whom he had informed of his whereabouts.  From her he learned
that his lodgings had been searched and that the _alguazils_, who bore a
warrant for his arrest, were much disappointed at not finding him.

The next morning, 1st May, at the request of Sir George Villiers, Borrow
called at the Embassy and narrated every circumstance of the affair, with
the result that he was offered the hospitality of the Embassy, which he
declined.  Whilst in conversation with Mr Sothern, Sir George Villiers’
private secretary, Borrow’s Basque servant Francisco rushed in with the
news that the _alguazils_ were again at his rooms searching among his
papers, whereat Borrow at once left the Embassy, determined to return to
his lodgings.  Immediately afterwards he was arrested, {234c} within
sight of the doors of the Embassy, and conducted to the office of the
Civil Governor.  Francisco in the meantime, acting on his master’s
instructions, conveyed to him in Basque that the _alguazils_ might not
understand, proceeded immediately to the British Embassy and informed Sir
George Villiers of what had just taken place, with such eloquence and
feeling that Mr Sothern afterwards remarked to Borrow, “That Basque of
yours is a noble fellow,” and asked to be given the refusal of his
services should Borrow ever decide to part with him.  With his dependents
Borrow was always extremely popular, even in Spain, where, according to
Mr Sothern, a man’s servant seemed to be his worst enemy.

Borrow submitted quietly to his arrest and was first taken to the office
of the Civil Governor (_Gefatura Politica_), and subsequently to the
Carcel de la Corte, by two Salvaguardias, “like a common malefactor.”
Here he was assigned a chamber that was “large and lofty, but totally
destitute of every species of furniture with the exception of a huge
wooden pitcher, intended to hold my daily allowance of water.” {235}  For
this special accommodation Borrow was to pay, otherwise he would have
been herded with the common criminals, who existed in a state of foulness
and misery.  Acting on the advice of the _Alcayde_, Borrow despatched a
note to Maria Diaz, with the result that when Mr Sothern arrived, he
found the prisoner not only surrounded by his friends and furniture, but
enjoying a comfortable meal, whereat he laughed heartily.

Borrow learned that, immediately on hearing what had taken place, Sir
George Villiers had despatched Mr Sothern to interview Señor Entrena, the
Civil Governor, who rudely referred him to his secretary, and refused to
hold any communication with the British Legation save in writing.
Nothing further could be done that night, and on hearing that Borrow was
determined to remain in durance, even if offered his liberty, now that he
had been illegally placed there, Mr Sothern commended his resolution.
The Government had put itself grievously in the wrong, and Sir George,
who had already sent a note to Count Ofalia demanding redress, seemed
desirous of making it as difficult for them as possible, now that they
had perpetrated this wanton outrage on a British subject.  He determined
to make it a national affair.

It is by no means certain that Borrow was anxious to leave the _Carcel de
la Corte_, even with the apologies of Spain in his pocket.  The prison
afforded him unique opportunities for the study of criminal vagabonds.
An entirely new phase of life presented itself to him, and, but for this
arrest and his subsequent decision to involve the authorities in
difficulties, _The Bible in Spain_ would have lacked some of its most
picturesque pages.  It would have been strange if he had not encountered
some old friend or acquaintance in the prison of the Spanish capital.  At
the _Carcel de la Corte_ he found the notorious and immense Gitana,
Aurora, who had fallen into the hands of the _Busné_ for defrauding a
rather foolish widow.

“A great many people came to see me,” Borrow wrote to his mother,
“amongst others, General Quiroga, the Military Governor, who assured me
that all he possessed was at my service.  The Gypsies likewise came, but
were refused admittance.”  His dinner was taken to him from an inn, and
Sir George Villiers sent his butler each day to make enquiries.  There
was, however, one very unpleasant feature of his prison life, the
verminous condition of the whole building.  In spite of having fresh
linen taken to him each day, he suffered very much from what the polished
Spaniard prefers to call _miseria_.

Sir George Villiers took active and immediate steps, not only to secure
Borrow’s release, but to obtain an unqualified apology.  Referring to the
letter he had received from the Civil Governor (30th April), he expressed
himself as convinced that “a gentleman of Borrow’s character and
education was incapable of the conduct alleged,” and had accordingly
requested Mr Sothern to enquire into the matter and then to call upon the
Civil Governor to explain in what manner he had been misinformed.  As the
Civil Governor refused to receive Mr Sothern, Sir George adds that he
need trouble him no further, as the affair had been placed before Her
Catholic Majesty’s Government; but during his five years of office at the
Court of Madrid, he proceeded, “no circumstance has occurred likely to be
more prejudicial to the relations between the two Countries than the
insult and imprisonment to which a respectable Englishman has now been
subjected upon the unsupported evidence of a Police Officer,” acting
under the orders of the Civil Governor.

On 3rd May Sir George Villiers wrote again to Count Ofalia, reminding him
that he had not received the letter from him that he had expected.  In
the course of a lengthy recapitulation of the occurrences of the past ten
days, Sir George reminded Count Ofalia that, as a result of their
interview on 30th April about the ill-usage of Borrow, the Count had
written on 1st May to him a private letter stating that measures had been
taken to release Borrow on _parole_, he to appear when necessary, and
that if Sir George would abstain from making a written remonstrance,
Count Ofalia would see that both he and Borrow received the ample
satisfaction to which they were entitled.  Borrow had been taken by two
Guards “like a Malefactor, to the Common Prison, where he would have been
confined with Criminals of every description if he had not had money to
pay for a Cell to Himself.”  The British Minister complained that every
step that he had taken for Borrow’s protection was followed by fresh
insult, and he further intimated that Borrow refused to leave the prison
until his character had been publicly cleared.

The Spanish Government now found itself in a quandary.  The British
Minister was pressing for satisfaction, and he was too powerful and too
important to the needs of Spain to be offended.  The prisoner himself
refused to be liberated, because he had been illegally arrested, inasmuch
as he, a foreigner, had been committed to prison without first being
conducted before the Captain-General of Madrid, as the law provided.
Furthermore, Borrow advised the authorities that if they chose to eject
him from the prison he would resist with all his bodily strength.  In
this determination he was confirmed by the British Minister.

A Cabinet Council was held, at which Señor Entrena was present.  The
Premier explained the serious situation in which the ministry found
itself, owing to the attitude assumed by the British Minister, and he
remarked that the Civil Governor must respect the privileges of
foreigners.  Señor Entrena suggested that he should be relieved of his
duties; but the majority of the Cabinet seems to have been favourable to
him.  The _Affaire Borrow_ is said to have come up for debate even during
a secret session of the Chamber.

When Count Ofalia had called at the British Embassy (4th May) he was
informed by Sir George Villiers that the affair had passed beyond the
radius of a subordinate authority of the Government, and that he
“considered that great want of respect had been shown to me, as Her
Majesty’s Minister, and that an unjustifiable outrage had been committed
upon a British Subject,” {238a} and that the least reparation that he was
disposed to accept was a written declaration that an injustice had been
done, and the dismissal of the Police Officer. {238b}

The value of a British subject’s freedom was brought home to the Spanish
Government with astonishing swiftness and decision.  The Civil Governor
wrote to Sir George Villiers (3rd May), apparently at the instance of the
distraught premier, discoursing sagely upon the Civil and Canon Laws of
Spain, and adding that the 25 copies of the Gitano St Luke were seized,
“not as being confiscated, but as a deposit to be restored in due time.”
He concluded by hoping that he had convinced the British Minister of his
good faith.

In his reply, Sir George considered that the Civil Governor had been led
to view the matter in a light that would not “bear the test of impartial
examination.”  The result of this interchange of letters was twofold.
Sir George dropped the correspondence with “that Functionary [who]
displays so complete a disregard for fact,” {239a} and as Count Ofalia
evaded the real question at issue, holding out “slender hopes of the
matter ending in the reparation which I considered to be peremptorily
called for,” {239b} he advised Borrow to claim protection from the
Captain-General, the only authority competent to exercise any
jurisdiction over him.  The Captain-General Quiroga, jealous of his
authority, entered warmly into the dispute and ordered the Civil Governor
to hand over the case to him.  There was now a danger of the _Affaire
Borrow_ being made a party question, in which case it would have been
extremely difficult to settle.

The intervention of the Captain-General rendered all the more obvious the
illegality of the Civil Governor’s action, and increased the
embarrassment of Count Ofalia, who called on Sir George to ask him to
have Borrow’s memorial to the Captain-General withdrawn.  He refused, and
said the only way now to finish the affair was that “His Excellency
should in an official Note declare to me that Mr Borrow left the prison,
where he had been improperly placed, with unstained honour,—that the
Police Agent, upon whose testimony he had been arrested, should be
dismissed,—that all expenses imposed upon Mr Borrow by his detention
should be repaid him by the Government,—that Mr Borrow’s not having
availed himself of the ‘Fuero Militar’ should not be converted into a
precedent, or in any way be considered to prejudice that important right,
and that Count Ofalia should add with reference to maintaining the
friendly relations between Great Britain and Spain, that he hoped I would
accept this satisfaction as sufficient.” {240a}

Borrow states that Sir George Villiers went to the length of informing
Count Ofalia that unless full satisfaction were accorded Borrow, he would
demand his passports and instruct the commanders of the British war
vessels to desist from furnishing further assistance to Spain. {240b}
There is, however, no record of this in the official papers sent by Sir
George to the Foreign Office.  What actually occurred was that, on 8th
May, the British Minister, determined to brook no further delay, wrote a
grave official remonstrance, in which he stated that, “if the desire had
existed to bring it to a close,” the case of Borrow could have been
settled.  “Having up to the present moment,” he proceeds, “trusted that
in Your Excellency’s hands, this affair would be treated with all that
consideration required by its nature and the consequences that may follow
upon it . . . I have forborne from denouncing the whole extent of the
illegality which has marked the proceedings of the case” (viz., the Civil
Governor’s having usurped the right of the Captain-General of the
Province in causing Borrow’s arrest).  In conclusion, Sir George states
that he considers the

    “case of most pressing importance, for it may compromise the
    relations now existing between Great Britain and Spain.  It is one
    that requires a complete satisfaction, for the honor of England and
    the future position of Englishmen in the Country are concerned; and
    the satisfaction, in order to be complete, required to be promptly
    given.”

    “This disagreeable business,” Sir George writes in another of his
    despatches, “is rendered yet more so by the impossibility of
    defending with success all Mr Borrow’s proceedings . . .  His
    imprudent zeal likewise in announcing publicly that the Bible Society
    had a depôt of Bibles in Madrid, and that he was the Agent for their
    sale, irritated the Ecclesiastical Authorities, whose attention has
    of late been called to the proceedings of a Mr Graydon,—another agent
    of the Bible Society, who has created great excitement at Malaga (and
    I believe in other places) by publishing in the Newspapers that the
    Catholic Religion was not the religion of God, and that he had been
    sent from England to convert Spaniards to Protestantism.  I have upon
    more than one occasion cautioned Mr Graydon, but in vain, to be more
    prudent.  The Methodist Society of England is likewise endeavouring
    to establish a School at Cadiz, and by that means to make
    conversions.

    “Under all these circumstances it is not perhaps surprising that the
    Archbishop of Toledo and the Heads of the Church should be alarmed
    that an attempt at Protestant Propagandism is about to be made, or
    that the Government should wish to avert the evils of religious
    schism in addition to all those which already weigh upon the Country;
    and to these different causes it must, in some degree, be attributed
    that Mr Borrow has been an object of suspicion and treated with such
    extreme rigor.  Still, however, they do not justify the course
    pursued by the Civil Governor towards him, or by the Government
    towards myself, and I trust Your Lordship will consider that in the
    steps I have taken upon the matter, I have done no more than what the
    National honor, and the security of Englishmen in this Country,
    rendered obligatory upon me.” {241a}

Whilst Borrow was in the _Carcel de la Corte_, a grave complication had
arisen in connection with the misguided Lieutenant Graydon.  Borrow gives
a strikingly dramatic account {241b} of Count Ofalia’s call at the
British Embassy.  He is represented as arriving with a copy of one of
Graydon’s bills, which he threw down upon a table calling upon Sir George
Villiers to read it and, as a gentleman and the representative of a great
and enlightened nation, tell him if he could any longer defend Borrow and
say that he had been ill or unfairly treated.  According to the Foreign
Office documents, Count Ofalia _wrote_ to Sir George Villiers on 5th May,
_enclosing_ a copy of an advertisement inserted by Lieutenant Graydon in
the _Boletin Oficial de Malaga_, which, translated, runs as follows:—

    “The Individual in question most earnestly calls the greatest
    attention of each member of the great Spanish Family to this _divine_
    Book, in order that _through it_ he may learn the chief cause, if not
    the _sole one_, of all his terrible afflictions and of his _only_
    remedy, as it is so clearly manifested in the Holy Scripture . . .  A
    detestable system of superstition and fanaticism, _only greedy for
    money_, and not so either of the temporal or eternal felicity of man,
    has prevailed in Spain (as also in other Nations) during several
    Centuries, by the _absolute_ exclusion of the true knowledge of the
    Great God and last Judge of Mankind: and thus it has been plunged
    into the most frightful calamities.  There was a time in which
    precisely the same was read in the then _very little_ Kingdom of
    England, but at length Her Sons recognising their imperative _Duty_
    towards God and their Neighbour, as also their unquestionable rights,
    and that since the world exists it has never been possible to gather
    grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles, they destroyed the system
    and at the price of their blood chose the Bible.  Oh that the
    unprejudiced and enlightened inhabitants not only of Malaga and of so
    many other Cities, but of all Spain, would follow so good an
    example.” {242a}

The result of Graydon’s advertisement was that “the people flocked in
crowds to purchase it [the Bible], so much so that 200 copies, all that
were in Mr Graydon’s possession at the time, were sold in the course of
the day.  The Bishop sent the Fiscal to stop the sale of the work, but
before the necessary measures were taken they were all disposed of.”
{242b}  In consequence Graydon “was detained and under my [the Consul’s]
responsibility allowed to remain at large.” {243a}  A jury of nine all
pronounced the article to contain “matter subject to legal process”
{243b} but a second jury of twelve at the subsequent public trial
“unanimously absolved” Graydon.

Sir George Villiers acknowledged the letter from Count Ofalia (9th May)
saying that he had written to Graydon warning him to be more cautious in
future.  He stated that from personal knowledge he could vouch for the
purity of Lieutenant Graydon’s intentions; but he regretted that he
should have announced his object in so imprudent a manner as to give
offence to the ministers of the Catholic religion of Spain.  In a
despatch to Lord Palmerston he states that he has not thought it in the
interests of the Bible Society to defend this conduct of Graydon, “whose
zeal appears so little tempered by discretion,” {243c} as he had written
to Count Ofalia.  “Had I done so,” he proceeds, “and thereby tended to
confirm some of the idle reports that are current, that England had a
national object to serve in the propagation of Protestantism in Spain, it
is not improbable that a legislative Enactment might have been introduced
by some Member of the Cortes, which would be offensive to England, and
render it yet more difficult than it is the task the Bible Society seems
desirous to undertake in this Country.” {243d}  Sir George concludes by
saying that he gave to “these Agents the best advice and assistance in my
power, but if by their acts they infringe the laws of the Country,” it
will be impossible to defend them.

Sir George thought so seriously of the _Affaire Borrow_, as endangering
the future liberty of Englishmen in Spain, that he went so far as to send
a message to the Queen Regent, “by a means which I always have at my
disposal,” {244a} in which he told her that he thought the affair “might
end in a manner most injurious to the continuance of friendly relations
between the two Countries.” {244b}  He received a gracious assurance that
he should have satisfaction.  Later there reached him

    “a second message from the Queen Regent expressing Her Majesty’s hope
    that Count Ofalia’s Note [of 11th May] would be satisfactory to me,
    and stating that Her Ministers had so fully proved their incompetency
    by giving any just cause of complaint to the Minister of Her only
    real Friend and Ally, The Queen of England, that she should have
    dismissed them, were it not that the state of affairs in the Northern
    Provinces at this moment might be prejudiced by a change of
    Government, which Her Majesty said she knew no one more than myself
    would regret, but at the same time if I was not satisfied I had only
    to state what I required and it should be immediately complied with.
    My answer was confined to a grateful acknowledgement of Her Majesty’s
    condescension and kindness.  Count Ofalia has informed me that as
    President of the Council He had enjoined all his Colleagues never to
    take any step directly or indirectly concerning an Englishman without
    a previous communication with Him as to its propriety, and I
    therefore venture to hope that the case of Mr Borrow will not be
    unattended with ultimate advantage to British subjects in Spain.”
    {244c}

The “Note” referred to by the Queen Regent in her message was Count
Ofalia’s acquiescence in Sir George Villiers’ demands, with the exception
of the dismissal of the Police Officer.  His communication runs:—

                                                       “11_th_ _May_ 1838.

    “SIR,—The affair of Mr Borrow is already decided by the Judge of
    First Instance and his decision has been approved by the Superior or
    Territorial Court of the Province.  As I stated to you in my note of
    the fourth last, the foundation of the arrest of Mr Borrow, who was
    detained (and not committed), was an official communication from the
    Agent of Police, Don Pedro Martin de Eugenio, in which he averred
    that on intimating to Mr Borrow the written order of the Civil
    Governor relative to the seizure of a book which he had published and
    exposed for sale without complying with the forms prescribed by the
    Civil and Ecclesiastical Laws of Spain, he (Mr Borrow) had thrown on
    the floor the order of the Superior Authority of the Province and
    used offensive expressions with regard to the said Authority.

    “The judicial proceedings have had for their object the ascertainment
    of the fact.  Mr Borrow has denied the truth of the statement and the
    Agent of Police, who it appears entered the lodgings of Mr Borrow
    without being accompanied by any one, has been unable to confirm by
    evidence what he alleged in his official report, or to produce the
    testimony of any one in support of it.

    “This being the case the judge has declared and the Territorial Court
    approved the superceding of the cause, putting Mr Borrow immediately
    at complete liberty, with the express declaration that the arrest he
    has suffered in no wise affects his honor and good fame, and that the
    ‘_celador_ of Public Security,’ Don Pedro Martin de Eugenio, be
    admonished for the future to proceed in the discharge of his duty
    with proper respect and circumspection according to the condition and
    character of the persons whom he has to address.

    “In accordance with the judicial decision and anxious to give
    satisfaction to Mr Borrow, correcting at the same time the fault of
    the Agent of Police in having presented himself without being
    accompanied by any person in order to effect the seizure in the
    lodging of Mr Borrow, Her Majesty has thought proper to command that
    the aforesaid Don Pedro Martin de Eugenio be suspended from his
    office for the space of Four Months, an order which I shall
    communicate to the Minister of the Interior, and that Mr Borrow be
    indemnified for the expenses which may have been incurred by his
    lodging in the apartment of the Alcaide (chief gaoler or Governor)
    for the days of his detention, although even before the expiration of
    24 hours after his arrest he was permitted to return to his house
    under his word of honor during the judicial proceedings, as I stated
    to you in my note already cited.  I flatter myself that in this
    determination you as well as your Government will see a fresh proof
    of the desire which animates that of H.M. the Queen Regent to
    maintain and draw closer the relation of friendship and alliance
    existing between the two countries.  And with respect to the claim
    advanced by Mr Borrow, and of which you also make mention in Your
    Note of the 8th inst., I ought to declare to you that when the Judge
    of First Instance received official information of the said claim the
    business was already concluded in his tribunal, and consequently
    there was nothing to be done.  Without, for this reason, there being
    understood any innovation with respect to the matter of privilege
    (_fuero_) according as it is now established.” {246a}

Borrow was liberated with unsullied honour on 12th May, after twelve
days’ imprisonment.  He refused the compensation that Sir George Villiers
had made a condition, and later wrote to the Bible Society asking that
there might be deducted from the amount due to him the expenses of the
twelve days.  He states also that he refused to acquiesce in the
dismissal of the Agent of Police, by which he doubtless means his
suspension, giving as a reason that there might be a wife and family
likely to suffer.  In any case the man was only carrying out his
instructions.  Borrow’s reason for refusing the payment of his expenses
was that he was unwilling to afford them, the Spanish Government, an
opportunity of saying that after they had imprisoned an Englishman
unjustly, and without cause, he condescended to receive money at their
hands. {246b}

The greatest loss to Borrow, consequent upon his imprisonment, no
government could make good.  His faithful Basque, Francisco, had
contracted typhus, or gaol fever, that was raging at the time, and died
within a few days of his master’s release.  “A more affectionate creature
never breathed,” Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram.  The poor fellow, who, “to
the strength of a giant joined the disposition of a lamb . . . was
beloved even in the _patio_ of the prison, where he used to pitch the bar
and wrestle with the murderers and felons, always coming off victor.”
{247a}  The next day Antonio presented himself at Borrow’s lodging, and
without invitation or comment assumed the duties he had relinquished in
order that he might enjoy the excitements of change.  “Who should serve
you now but myself?” he asked when questioned as to the meaning of his
presence, “N’est pas que le sieur François est mort!” {247b}

John Hasfeldt’s comment on his friend’s imprisonment was characteristic.
In September 1838 he wrote:—

    “The very last I heard of you is that you have had the great good
    fortune to be stopping in the _carcel de corte_ at Madrid, which
    pleasing intelligence I found in the _Preussiche Staats-Zeitung_ this
    last spring.  If you were fatter no doubt the monks would have got up
    an _Auto de Fé_ on your behalf, and you might easily have become a
    nineteenth-century martyr.  Then your strange life would have been
    hawked about the streets of London for one penny, though you never
    obtained a fat living to eat and drink and take your ease after all
    the hardships you have endured.”




CHAPTER XVI
MAY–JULY 1838


BORROW was now to enter upon that lengthy dispute with the Bible Society
that almost brought about an open breach, and eventually proved the
indirect cause that led to the severance of their relations.  Graydon’s
mistake lay in not contenting himself with printing and distributing the
Scriptures, of which he succeeded in getting rid of an enormous quantity.
He had advertised his association with the Bible Society and proclaimed
Borrow as a colleague, and the authorities at Madrid were not greatly to
blame for being unable to distinguish between the two men.  Whereas
Graydon and Rule, who was also extremely obnoxious to the Spanish Clergy,
were safe at Gibraltar or generally within easy reach of it, Borrow was
in the very midst of the enemy.  He was not unnaturally furiously angry
at the situation that he conceived to have been brought about by these
evangelists in the south.  He referred to Graydon as the Evil Genius of
the Society’s Cause in Spain.

It may be felt that Borrow was a prejudiced witness, he had every reason
for being so; but a despatch from Sir George Villiers to the Consul at
Malaga shows clearly how the British Minister viewed Lieutenant Graydon’s
indiscretion:

    “You will communicate Count Ofalia’s note to Mr Graydon,” he writes,
    “and tell him from me that, feeling as I do a lively interest in the
    success of his mission, I cannot but regret that he should have
    published his opinions upon the Catholic religion and clergy in a
    form which should render inevitable the interference of
    ecclesiastical authority.  I have no doubt that Mr Graydon, in the
    pursuit of the meritorious task he has undertaken, is ready to endure
    persecution, but he should bear in mind that it will not lead him to
    success in this country, where prejudices are so inveterate, and at
    this moment, when party spirit disfigures even the best intentions.
    Unless Mr Graydon proceeds with the utmost circumspection it will be
    impossible for me, with the prospect of good result, to defend his
    conduct with the Government, for no foreigner has a right, however
    laudable may be his object, to seek the attainment of that object by
    infringing the laws of the country in which he resides.” {249}

In writing to Mr Brandram, Borrow pointed out that although he had
travelled extensively in Spain and had established many depôts for the
sale of the Scriptures, not one word of complaint had been transmitted to
the Government.  He had been imprisoned; but he had the authority of
Count Ofalia for saying that it was not on account of his own, but rather
of the action of others.  Furthermore the Premier had advised him to
endeavour to make friends among the clergy, and for the present at least
make no further effort to promote the actual sale of the New Testament in
Madrid.

On the day following his release from prison (13th May) Borrow, after
being sent for by the British Minister, wrote to Mr Brandram as follows:—

    “Sir George has commanded me . . . to write to the following
    effect:—Mr Graydon must leave Spain, or the Bible Society must
    publicly disavow that his proceedings receive their encouragement,
    unless they wish to see the Sacred book, which it is their object to
    distribute, brought into universal odium and contempt.  He has lately
    been to Malaga, and has there played precisely the same part which he
    acted last year at Valencia, with the addition that in printed
    writings he has insulted the Spanish Government in the most
    inexcusable manner.  A formal complaint of his conduct has been sent
    up from Malaga, and a copy of one of his writings.  Sir George
    blushed when he saw it, and informed Count Ofalia that any steps
    which might be taken towards punishing the author would receive no
    impediment from him.  I shall not make any observation on this matter
    farther than stating that I have never had any other opinion of Mr
    Graydon than that he is insane—insane as the person who for the sake
    of warming his own hands would set a street on fire.  Sir George said
    to-day that he (Graydon) was the cause of my _harmless_ shop being
    closed at Madrid and also of my imprisonment.  The Society will of
    course communicate with Sir George on the subject, I wash my hands of
    it.”

On 23rd May Borrow wrote again to Mr Brandram:

    “In the name of the _Most Highest_ take steps for preventing that
    miserable creature Graydon from ruining us all.”  Borrow’s use of the
    term “insane” with regard to Graydon was fully justified.  The Rev.
    W. H. Rule wrote to him on 14th May:

    “Our worthy brother Graydon is, I suppose, in Granada.  I overtook
    him in Cartagena, endured the process of osculation, saw him without
    rhime or reason wrangle with and publicly insult our Consul there.
    Had his company in the steamer to Almeria, much to my discomfort.
    Never was a man fuller of love and impudence, compounded in the most
    provoking manner.  In Malaga, just as we were to part, he broke out
    into a strain highly disagreeable, and I therefore thought it a
    convenient occasion to tell him that I should have no more to do with
    him.  I left him dancing and raving like an energumen.”

This letter Borrow indiscreetly sent to Mr Brandram, much to Mr Rule’s
regret, who wrote to Mr Brandram, saying that whilst he had nothing to
retract, he would not have written for the eyes of the Bible Society’s
Committee what he had written to Borrow.  To Mr Rule Lieut. Graydon was
“a good man, or at least a well-meaning [one], who has not the balance of
judgment and temper necessary for the situation he occupies.”  He was
given to “the promulgation of Millenianism,” and to calling the Bible
“the true book of the Constitution.”

Mann had confirmed all the rumours current about Graydon.  In order to
remove from his shoulders “the burden of obloquy,” Borrow’s first act on
leaving prison was to publish in the _Correo Nacional_ an advertisement
disclaiming, in the name of the Bible Society, any writings which may
have been circulated tending to lower the authorities, civil and
ecclesiastical, in the eyes of the people.  He denied that it was the
Society’s intention or wish to make proselytes from the Roman Catholic
form of worship, and that it was at all times prepared to extend the hand
of brotherhood to the Spanish clergy.  This notice was signed “George
Borrow, Sole authorised Agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society in
Spain.”

_El Gazeta Oficial_ in commenting on the situation, saw in the
anti-Catholic tracts circulated by Graydon “part of the monstrous plan,
whose existence can no longer be called in question, concocted by the
enemies of all public order, for the purpose of inaugurating on our
unhappy soil a _social_ revolution, just as the political one is drawing
to a close.”  The Government was urged to allow no longer these attacks
upon the religion of the country.  Rather illogically the article
concludes by paying a tribute to the Bible Society, “considered not under
the religious but the social aspect.”  After praising its prudence for
“accommodating itself to the civil and ecclesiastical laws of each
country, and by adopting the editions there current,” it concludes with
the sophisticated argument that, “if the great object be the propagation
of evangelic maxims, the notes are no obstacle, and by preserving them we
fulfil our religious principle of not permitting to private reason the
interpretation of the Sacred Word.”

The General Committee expressed themselves, somewhat enigmatically, it
must be confessed, as in no way surprised at this article, being from
past experience learned enough in the ways of Rome to anticipate her.

    “That advertisement,” Borrow wrote six months later in his Report
    that was subsequently withdrawn, “gave infinite satisfaction to the
    liberal clergy.  I was complimented for it by the Primate of Spain,
    who said I had redeemed my credit and that of the Society, and it is
    with some feeling of pride that I state that it choked and prevented
    the publication of a series of terrible essays against the Bible
    Society, which were intended for the Official Gazette, and which were
    written by the Licentiate Albert Lister, the editor of that journal,
    the friend of Blanco White, and the most talented man in Spain.
    These essays still exist in the editorial drawer, and were
    communicated to me by the head manager of the royal printing office,
    my respected friend and countryman Mr Charles Wood, whose evidence in
    this matter and in many others I can command at pleasure.  In lieu of
    which essays came out a mild and conciliatory article by the same
    writer, which, taking into consideration the country in which it was
    written, and its peculiar circumstances, was an encouragement to the
    Bible Society to proceed, although with secrecy and caution; yet this
    article, sadly misunderstood in England, gave rise to communications
    from home highly mortifying to myself and ruinous to the Bible
    cause.”

Borrow had written from prison to Mr Brandram {252} telling him that it
had “pleased God to confer upon me the highest of mortal honors, the
privilege of bearing chains for His sake.”  After describing how it had
always been his practice, before taking any step, to consult with Sir
George Villiers and receive his approval, and that the present situation
had not been brought about by any rashness on his, Borrow’s, part, he
proceeds to convey the following curious piece of information that must
have caused some surprise at Earl Street:—

    “I will now state a fact, which speaks volumes as to the state of
    affairs at Madrid.  My arch-enemy, the Archbishop of Toledo, the
    primate of Spain, wishes to give me the kiss of brotherly Peace.  He
    has caused a message to be conveyed to me in my dungeon, assuring me
    that he has had no share in causing my imprisonment, which he says
    was the work of the Civil Governor, who was incited to the step by
    the Jesuits.  He adds that he is determined to seek out my
    persecutors amongst the clergy, and to have them punished, and that
    when I leave prison he shall be happy to co-operate with me in the
    dissemination of the Gospel!!  I cannot write much now, for I am not
    well, having been bled and blistered.  I must, however, devote a few
    lines to another subject, but not one of rejoicing or Christian
    exultation.  Mann arrived just after my arrest, and visited me in
    prison, and there favoured me with a scene of despair, abject
    despair, which nearly turned my brain.  I despised the creature, God
    forgive me, but I pitied him; for he was without money and expected
    every moment to be seized like myself and incarcerated, and he is by
    no means anxious to be invested with the honors of martyrdom.”

That the Primate of Spain should have sent to Borrow such a message is
surprising; but what is still more so is that six days later Borrow wrote
telling Mr Brandram that he had asked a bishop to arrange an interview
between him and the Archbishop of Toledo, and Sir George Villiers, who
was present, begged the same privilege. {253}  On 23rd May Borrow wrote
again to Mr Brandram: “I have just had an interview with the Archbishop.
It was satisfactory to a degree I had not dared to hope for.”  In his
next letter (25th May) he writes:

    “I have had, as you are aware, an interview with the Archbishop of
    Toledo.  I have not time to state particulars, but he said amongst
    other things, ‘Be prudent, the Government are disposed to arrange
    matters amicably, and I am disposed to co-operate with them.’  At
    parting he shook me most kindly by the hand saying that he liked me.
    Sir George intends to visit him in a few days.  He is an old,
    venerable-looking man, between seventy and eighty.  When I saw him he
    was dressed with the utmost simplicity, with the exception of a most
    splendid amethyst ring, the lustre of which was truly dazzling.”

There is only one conclusion to be drawn from this archiepiscopal
condescension, if the interview were not indeed sought by Borrow, that it
was a political move to pacify the wounded feelings of an outraged
Englishman at a time when the goodwill of England was as necessary to the
kingdom of Spain as the sun itself.

The upshot of the Malaga Incident was that “the Spanish Government
resolved to put an end to Bible transactions in Spain, and forthwith gave
orders for the seizure of all the Bibles and Testaments in the country,
wherever they might be deposited or exposed for sale.  They notified Sir
George Villiers of the decision, expressly stating that the resolution
was taken in consequence of the ‘_Ocurrido en Malaga_.’” {254a}  The
letter in which Sir George Villiers was informed of the Government’s
decision runs as follows:—

                                                MADRID, 19_th_ _May_ 1838.

    SIR,

    I have the honor to inform You that in consequence of what has taken
    place at Malaga and other places, respecting the publication and sale
    of the Bible translated by Padre Scio, which are not complete (since
    they do not contain all the Books which the Catholic Church
    recognises as Canonical) nor even being complete could they be
    printed unless furnished with the Notes of the said Padre Scio,
    according to the existing regulations; Her Majesty has thought proper
    to prevent this publication and sale, but without insulting or
    molesting those British Subjects who for some time past have been
    introducing them into the Kingdom and selling them at the lowest
    prices, thinking they were conferring a benefit when in reality they
    were doing an injury.

    I have also to state to You that in order to carry this Royal
    determination into effect, orders have been issued to prohibit its
    being printed in Spain, in the vulgar tongue, unless it should be the
    entire Bible as recognised by the Catholic Church with corresponding
    Notes, preventing its admittance at the Frontiers, as is the case
    with books printed in Spanish abroad; that the Bibles exposed for
    public sale be seized and given to their owners in a packet marked
    and sealed, upon the condition of its being sent out of the country
    through the Custom Houses on the Frontier or at the Ports.

                          I avail myself, etc., etc.

                                               THE COUNT OF OFALIA. {255a}

Borrow and Graydon were advised of this inhibition, and both ordered
their establishments for the sale of books to be closed, thus showing
that they were “Gentlemen who are animated with due respect for the Laws
of Spain.” {255b}  At Valladolid, Santiago, Orviedo, Pontevedra, Seville,
Salamanca, and Malaga the decree was at once enforced.  On learning that
the books at his depôts had all been seized, Borrow became apprehensive
for the safety of his Madrid stock of New Testaments, some three thousand
in number.  He accordingly had them removed, under cover of darkness, to
the houses of his friends.

Borrow was not the man to accept defeat, and he wrote to Mr Brandram with
great cheerfulness:

    “This, however, gives me little uneasiness, for, with the blessing of
    God, I shall be able to repair all, always provided I am allowed to
    follow my own plans, and to avail myself of the advantages which have
    lately been opened—especially to cultivate the kind feeling lately
    manifested towards me by the principal Spanish clergy.” {255c}

Later he wrote:

    “Another bitter cup has been filled for my swallowing.  The Bible
    Society and myself have been accused of blasphemy, sedition, etc.  A
    collection of tracts has been seized in Murcia, in which the Catholic
    religion and its dogmas are handled with the most abusive severity;
    {256a} these books have been sworn to as having been left _by the
    Committee of the Bible Society whilst in that town_, and Count Ofalia
    has been called upon to sign an order for my arrest and banishment
    from Spain.  Sir George, however, advises me to remain quiet and not
    to be alarmed, as he will answer for my innocence.” {256b}

Borrow strove to galvanise the General Committee into action.  The
Spanish newspapers were inflamed against the Society as a sectarian, not
a Christian institution.  “Zeal is a precious thing,” he told Mr
Brandram, “when accompanied with one grain of common sense.”  The theme
of his letters was the removal of Graydon.  “Do not be cast down,” he
writes; “all will go well if the stumbling block [Graydon] be removed.”

Borrow’s state of mind may well be imagined, and if by his impulsive
letters he unwittingly harmed his own cause at Earl Street, he did so as
a man whose liberty, perhaps his life even, was being jeopardised,
although not deliberately, by another whom the reforming spirit seemed
likely to carry to any excess.  It must be admitted that for the time
being Borrow had forgotten the idiom of Earl Street.

The president (a bishop) of the body of ecclesiastics that was engaged in
examining the Society’s Spanish Bible, communicated with Borrow, through
Mr Charles Wood, the suggestion that “the Committee of the Bible Society
should in the present exigency draw up an exposition of their views
respecting Spain, stating what they are prepared to do and what they are
not prepared to do; above all, whether in seeking to circulate the Gospel
in this Country they harbour any projects hostile to the Government or
the established religion; moreover, whether the late distribution of
tracts was done by their connivance or authority, and whether they are
disposed to sanction in future the publication in Spain of such a class
of writings.” {257a}

Borrow was of the opinion that this should be done, although he would not
take upon himself to advise the Committee upon such a point, he merely
remarked that “the Prelate in question is a most learned and respectable
man, and one of the warmest of our friends.” {257b}  The Society very
naturally declined to commit itself to any such undertaking.  It would
not have been quite logical or conceivable that a Protestant body should
give a guarantee that it harboured no projects hostile to Rome.

Undeterred by the official edict against the circulation in Spain of the
Scriptures, Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram (14th June):

    “I should wish to make another Biblical tour this summer, until the
    storm be blown over.  Should I undertake such an expedition, I should
    avoid the towns and devote myself entirely to the peasantry.  I have
    sometimes thought of visiting the villages of the Alpujarra Mountains
    in Andalusia, where the people live quite secluded from the world;
    what do you think of my project?”

All this time Borrow had heard nothing from Earl Street as to the effect
being produced there by his letters.  On 15th or 16th June he received a
long letter from Mr Brandram enclosing the Resolutions of the General
Committee with regard to the crisis.  They proved conclusively that the
officials failed entirely to appreciate the state of affairs in Spain,
and the critical situation of their paid and accredited agent, George
Borrow.  Their pride had probably been wounded by Borrow’s impetuous
requests, that might easily have appeared to them in the light of
commands.  It may have struck some that the Spanish affairs of the
Society were being administered from Madrid, and that they themselves
were being told, not what it was expedient to do, but what they _must_
do.  Another factor in the situation was the Committee’s friendliness for
their impulsive, unsalaried servant Lieut. Graydon, who was certainly a
picturesque, almost melodramatic figure.  In any case the letter from Mr
Brandram that accompanied the Resolutions was couched in a strain of fair
play to Graydon that became a thinly disguised partizanship.  At the
meeting of the Committee held on 28th May the following Resolutions had
been adopted:—

    _First_.—“That Mr Borrow be requested to inform Sir George Villiers
    that this Committee have written to Mr Graydon through their
    Secretary, desiring him to leave Spain on account of his personal
    safety.”

    _Second_.—“That Mr Borrow be informed that in the absence of specific
    documents, this Committee cannot offer any opinion on the proceedings
    of Mr Graydon, and that therefore he be desired to obtain, either in
    original or copy, the objectionable papers alleged to have been
    issued by Mr Graydon and to transmit them hither.”

    _Third_.—“That Mr Borrow be requested not to repeat the Advertisement
    contained in the _Corréo Nacional_ of the 17th inst., and that he be
    cautioned how he commits the Society by advertisements of a similar
    character.  And further, that he be desired to state to Sir George
    Villiers that the advertisement in question was inserted by him on
    the spur of the moment, and without any opportunity of obtaining
    instructions from this Committee.”

In justice to the Committee, it must be said that they did not appreciate
the delicacy of the situation, being only Christians and not
diplomatists.  Perhaps they were unaware that the _whole of Spain was
under martial law_, or if they were, the true significance of the fact
failed to strike them.  Mr Brandram’s letter accompanying these
Resolutions is little more than an amplification of the Committee’s
decision:

    “I have, I assure you,” he writes, “endeavoured to place myself in
    your situation and enter into your feelings strongly excited by the
    irreparable mischief which you suppose Mr G. to have done to our
    cause so dear to you.  Under the influence of these feelings you have
    written with, what appears to us, unmitigated severity of his
    conduct.  But now, let me entreat you to enter into our feelings a
    little, and to consider what we owe to Mr Graydon.  If we have at
    times thought him imprudent, we have seen enough in him to make us
    both admire and love him.  He has ever approved himself as an
    upright, faithful, conscientious, indefatigable agent; one who has
    shrunk from no trials and no dangers; one who has gone through in our
    service many and extraordinary hardships.  What have we against him
    at present?  He has issued certain documents of a very offensive
    character, as is alleged.  We have not seen them, neither does it
    appear that you have, but that you speak from the recollections of Mr
    Sothern.” {259}

The letter goes on to say that if it can be shown that Lieut. Graydon is
acting in the same manner as he did in Valencia, for which he was
admonished,

    “he will assuredly be recalled on this ground.  You wonder perhaps
    that we for a moment doubt the fact of his reiterated imprudence; but
    _audi alteram partem_ must be our rule—and besides, on reviewing the
    Valencia proceedings, we draw a wide distinction.  Had he been as
    free, as you suppose him to be, of the trammels of office in our
    service, many would say and think that he was prefectly at liberty to
    act and speak as he did of the Authorities, if he chose to take the
    consequences.  Really in such a country it is no marvel if his Spirit
    has been stirred within him!  Will you allow me to remind you of the
    strong things in your own letter to the Valencia ecclesiastic, the
    well pointed and oft repeated Væ!”

Mr Brandram points out that strong language is frequently the sword of
the Reformer, and that there are times when it has the highest sanction;
but

    “the judgment of all [the members of the Committee] will be that an
    Agent of the Bible Society is a Reformer, not by his preaching or
    denouncing, but by the distribution of the Bible.  If Mr G’s. conduct
    is no worse than it was in Valencia,” the letter continues, rather
    inconsistently, in the light of the assurance in the early part that
    recall would be the punishment for another such lapse into
    indiscretion, “you must not expect anything beyond a qualified
    disavowal of it, and that simply as unbecoming an Agent of such a
    Society as ours.

    “After what I have written, you will hardly feel surprised that our
    Committee could not quite approve of your Advertisement.  We have
    ever regarded Mr Graydon as much our Agent as yourself.  In three of
    our printed reports in succession we make no difference in speaking
    of you both.  We are anxious to do nothing to weaken your hands at so
    important a crisis, and we conceive that the terms we have employed
    in our Resolution are the mildest we could have used.  Do not insert
    the Advertisement a second time.  Let it pass; let it be forgotten.
    If necessary we shall give the public intimation that Mr G. was, but
    is not our agent any longer.  Remember, we entreat you, the very
    delicate position that such a manifesto places us in, as well as the
    effect which it may have on Mr Graydon’s personal safety.  We give
    you full credit for believing it was your duty, under the peculiar
    circumstances of the case, to take so decided and bold a step, and
    that you thought yourself fully justified by the distinction of
    salaried and unsalaried Agent, in speaking of yourself as the alone
    accredited Agent of the Society.  Possibly when you reflect a little
    upon the matter you may view it in another light.  There are besides
    some sentiments in the Advertisement which we cannot perhaps fully
    accord with . . .  If to our poor friend there has befallen the
    saddest of all calamities to which you allude, should we not speak of
    him with all tenderness.  If he be insane I believe much of it is to
    be attributed to that entire devotion with which he has devoted
    himself to our work.”

No complaint can be urged against the Committee for refusing to condemn
one of their agents unheard, and without documentary evidence; but it was
strange that they should pass resolutions that contained no word of
sympathy with Borrow for his sufferings in a typhus-infested prison.  It
is even more strange that the covering letter should refer to Graydon’s
sufferings and hardships and the danger to his person, without apparently
realising that Borrow _had actually_ suffered what the Committee feared
that Graydon _might_ suffer.  There is no doubt that Borrow’s impulsive
letters had greatly offended everybody at Earl Street, where Lieut.
Graydon appears to have been extremely popular; and the few words of
sympathy with Borrow that might have saved much acrimonious
correspondence were neither resolved nor written.

The other side of the picture is shown in a vigorous passage from
Borrow’s Report, which was afterwards withdrawn:

    “A helpless widow [the mother of Don Pascual Mann] was insulted, her
    liberty of conscience invaded, and her only son incited to rebellion
    against her.  A lunatic [Lieut. Graydon] was employed as the
    _repartidor_, or distributor, of the Blessed Bible, who, having his
    head crammed with what he understood not, ran through the streets of
    Valencia crying aloud that Christ was nigh at hand and would appear
    in a short time, whilst advertisements to much the same effect were
    busily circulated, in which the name, the noble name, of the Bible
    Society was prostituted; whilst the Bible, exposed for sale in the
    apartment of a public house, served for little more than a decoy to
    the idle and curious, who were there treated with incoherent railings
    against the Church of Rome and Babylon in a dialect which it was well
    for the deliverer that only a few of the audience understood.  But I
    fly from these details, and will now repeat the consequences of the
    above proceedings to myself; for I, I, and only I, as every
    respectable person in Madrid can vouch, have paid the penalty for
    them all, though as innocent as the babe who has not yet seen the
    light.”

If the General Committee at a period of anxiety and annoyance failed to
pay tribute to Borrow’s many qualities, the official historian of the
Society makes good the omission when he describes him as “A strange,
impulsive, more or less inflammable creature as he must have occasionally
seemed to the Secretaries and Editorial Superintendent, he had proved
himself a man of exceptional ability, energy, tact, prudence—above all, a
man whose heart was in his work.” {262}

Borrow’s acknowledgment of the Resolutions was dated 16th June.  It ran:—

    “I have received your communication of the 30th ult. containing the
    resolutions of the Committee, to which I shall of course attend.

    “Of your letter in general, permit me to state that I reverence the
    spirit in which it is written, and am perfectly disposed to admit the
    correctness of the views which it exhibits; but it appears to me that
    in one or two instances I have been misunderstood in the letters
    which I have addressed [to you] on the subject of Graydon.

    “I bear this unfortunate gentleman no ill will, God forbid, and it
    will give me pain if he were reprimanded publicly or privately;
    moreover, I can see no utility likely to accrue from such a
    proceeding.  All that I have stated hitherto is the damage which he
    has done in Spain to the cause and myself, by the—what shall I call
    it?—imprudence of his conduct; and the idea which I have endeavoured
    to inculcate is the absolute necessity of his leaving Spain
    instantly.

    “Take now in good part what I am about to say, and O! do not
    misunderstand me!  I owe a great deal to the Bible Society, and the
    Bible Society owes nothing to me.  I am well aware and am always
    disposed to admit that it can find thousands more zealous, more
    active, and in every respect more adapted to transact its affairs and
    watch over its interests; yet, with this consciousness of my own
    inutility, I must be permitted to state that, linked to a man like
    Graydon, I can no longer consent to be, and that if the Society
    expect such a thing, I must take the liberty of retiring, perhaps to
    the wilds of Tartary or the Zingani camps of Siberia.

    “My name at present is become public property, no very enviable
    distinction in these unhappy times, and neither wished nor sought by
    myself.  I have of late been subjected to circumstances which have
    rendered me obnoxious to the hatred of those who never forgive, the
    Bloody Church of Rome, which I have [no] doubt will sooner or later
    find means to accomplish my ruin; for no one is better aware than
    myself of its fearful resources, whether in England or Spain, in
    Italy or in any other part.  I should not be now in this situation
    had I been permitted to act alone.  How much more would have been
    accomplished, it does not become me to guess.

    “I had as many or more difficulties to surmount in Russia than I
    originally had here, yet all that the Society expected or desired was
    effected, without stir or noise, and that in the teeth of an imperial
    _Ukase_ which forbade the work which I was employed to superintend.

    “Concerning my late affair, I must here state that I was sent to
    prison on a charge which was subsequently acknowledged not only to be
    false but ridiculous; I was accused of uttering words disrespectful
    towards the _Gefé Politico_ of Madrid; my accuser was an officer of
    the police, who entered my apartment one morning before I was
    dressed, and commenced searching my papers and flinging my books into
    disorder.  Happily, however, the people of the house, who were
    listening at the door, heard all that passed, and declared on oath
    that so far from mentioning the _Gefé Politico_, I merely told the
    officer that he, the officer, was an insolent fellow, and that I
    would cause him to be punished.  He subsequently confessed that he
    was an instrument of the Vicar General, and that he merely came to my
    apartment in order to obtain a pretence for making a complaint.  He
    has been dismissed from his situation and the Queen [Regent] has
    expressed her sorrow at my imprisonment.  If there be any doubt
    entertained on the matter, pray let Sir George Villiers be written
    to!

    “I should be happy to hear what success attends our efforts in China.
    I hope a prudent conduct has been adopted; for think not that a
    strange and loud language will find favour in the eyes of the
    Chinese; and above all, I hope that we have not got into war with the
    Augustines and their followers, who, if properly managed, may be of
    incalculable service in propagating the Scriptures . . . _P.S._—The
    Documents, or some of them, shall be sent as soon as possible.”

Nine days later (25th June) Borrow wrote:

    “I now await your orders.  I wish to know whether I am at liberty to
    pursue the course which may seem to me best under existing
    circumstances, and which at present appears to be to mount my horses,
    which are neighing in the stable, and once more betake myself to the
    plains and mountains of dusty Spain, and to dispose of my Testaments
    to the muleteers and peasants.  By doing so I shall employ myself
    usefully, and at the same time avoid giving offence.  Better days
    will soon arrive, which will enable me to return to Madrid and reopen
    my shop, till then, however, I should wish to pursue my labours in
    comparative obscurity.”

Replying to Borrow’s letter of 16th June, Mr Brandram wrote (29th June):
“I trust we shall not easily forget your services in St Petersburg, but
suffer me to remind you that when you came to the point of distribution
your success ended.” {265a}  This altogether unworthy remark was neither
creditable to the writer nor to the distinguished Society on whose behalf
he wrote.  Borrow had done all that a man was capable of to distribute
the books.  His reply was dignified and effective.

    “It was unkind and unjust to taunt me with having been unsuccessful
    in distributing the Scriptures.  Allow me to state that no other
    person under the same circumstances would have distributed the tenth
    part; yet had I been utterly unsuccessful, it would have been wrong
    to check me with being so, after all I have undergone, and with how
    little of that are you acquainted.” {265b}

In response, Mr Brandram wrote (28th July):

    “You have considered that I have taunted you with want of success in
    St Petersburg.  I thought that the way in which I introduced that
    subject would have prevented any such unpleasant and fanciful
    impression.”

That was all!  It became evident to all at Earl Street that a conference
between Borrow, the Officials and the General Committee was imperative if
the air were to be cleared of the rancour that seemed to increase with
each interchange of letters. {265c}  Unless something were done, a breach
seemed inevitable, a thing the Society did not appear to desire.  When
Borrow first became aware that he was wanted at Earl Street for the
purpose of a personal conference, he in all probability conceived it to
be tantamount to a recall, and he was averse from leaving the field to
the enemy.

    “In the name of the Highest,” he wrote, {266} “I entreat you all to
    banish such a preposterous idea; a journey home (provided you intend
    that I should return to Spain) could lead to no result but expense
    and the loss of precious time.  I have nothing to explain to you
    which you are not already perfectly well acquainted with by my late
    letters.  I was fully aware at the time I was writing them that I
    should afford you little satisfaction, for the plain unvarnished
    truth is seldom agreeable; but I now repeat, and these are perhaps
    among the last words which I shall ever be permitted to pen, that I
    cannot approve, and I am sure no Christian can, of the system which
    has lately been pursued in the large sea-port cities of Spain, and
    which the Bible Society has been supposed to sanction,
    notwithstanding the most unreflecting person could easily foresee
    that such a line of conduct could produce nothing in the end but
    obloquy and misfortune.”

Borrow saw that his departure from Spain would be construed by his
enemies as flight, and that their joy would be great in consequence.

The Spanish authorities were determined if possible to rid the country of
missionaries.  The _Gazeta Oficial_ of Madrid drew attention to the fact
that in Valencia there had been distributed thousands of pamphlets
“against the religion we profess.”  Sir George Villiers enquired into the
matter and found that there was no evidence that the pamphlets had been
written, printed, or published in England; and when writing to Count
Ofalia on the subject he informed him that the Bible Society distributed,
not tracts or controversial writings, but the Scriptures.

The next move on the part of the authorities was to produce sworn
testimony from three people (all living in the same house, by the way)
that they had purchased copies of “the New Testament and other Biblical
translations at the _Despacho_ on 5th May.”  Borrow was in prison at the
time, and his assistant denied the sale.  Documents were also produced
proving that the imprint on the title-page of the Scio New Testament was
false, as at the time it was printed no such printer as Andréas Borrégo
(who by the way was the Government printer and at one time a candidate
for cabinet rank) lived in Madrid.  In drawing the British Minister’s
attention to these matters, Count Ofalia wrote (31st May):

    “It would be opportune if you would be pleased to advise Mr Borrow
    that, convinced of the inutility of his efforts for propagating here
    the translation in the vulgar tongue of Sacred Writings without the
    forms required by law, he would do much better in making use of his
    talents in some other class of scientifical or literary Works during
    his residence in Spain, giving up Biblical Enterprises, which may be
    useful in other countries, but which in this Kingdom are prejudicial
    for very obvious reasons.”




CHAPTER XVII
JULY–NOVEMBER 1838


BORROW’S spirit chafed under this spell of enforced idleness.  His horses
were neighing in the stable and “Señor Antonio was neighing in the
house,” as Maria Diaz expressed it; and for himself, Borrow required
something more actively stimulating than pen and ink encounters with Mr
Brandram.  He therefore determined to defy the prohibition and make an
excursion into the rural districts of New Castile, offering his
Testaments for sale as he went, and sending on supplies ahead.  His first
objective was Villa Seca, a village situated on the banks of the Tagus
about nine leagues from Madrid.

He was aware of the danger he ran in thus disregarding the official
decree.

    “I will not conceal from you,” he writes to Mr Brandram on 14th July,
    “that I am playing a daring game, and it is very possible that when I
    least expect it I may be seized, tied to the tail of a mule, and
    dragged either to the prison of Toledo or Madrid.  Yet such a
    prospect does not discourage me in the least, but rather urges me on
    to persevere; for I assure you, and in this assertion there lurks not
    the slightest desire to magnify myself and produce an effect, that I
    am eager to lay down my life in this cause, and whether a Carlist’s
    bullet or a gaol-fever bring my career to an end, I am perfectly
    indifferent.”

He was not averse from martyrdom; but he objected to being precipitated
into it by another man’s folly.  In his interview with Count Ofalia, he
had been solemnly warned that if a second time he came within the
clutches of the authorities he might not escape so easily, and had
replied that it was “a pleasant thing to be persecuted for the Gospel’s
sake.”

In his decision to make Villa Seca his temporary headquarters, Borrow had
been influenced by the fact that it was the home of Maria Diaz, his
friend and landlady.  Her husband was there working on the land, Maria
herself living in Madrid that her children might be properly educated.
Borrow left Madrid on 10th July, and on his arrival at Villa Seca he was
cordially welcomed by Juan Lopez, the husband of Maria Diaz, who
continued to use her maiden name, in accordance with Spanish custom.
Lopez subsequently proved of the greatest possible assistance in the work
of distribution, shaming both Borrow and Antonio by his energy and powers
of endurance.

The inhabitants of Villa Seca and the surrounding villages of Bargas,
Coveja, Villa Luenga, Mocejon, Yunclér eagerly bought up “the book of
life,” and each day the three men rode forth in heat so great that “the
very _arrieros_ frequently fall dead from their mules, smitten by a
sun-stroke.” {269a}

It was in Villa Seca that Borrow found “all that gravity of deportment
and chivalry of disposition which Cervantes is said to have sneered away”
{269b} and there were to be heard “those grandiose expressions which,
when met with in the romances of chivalry, are scoffed at as ridiculous
exaggerations.” {269c}  Borrow so charmed the people of the district with
the elaborate formality of his manner, that he became convinced that any
attempt to arrest or do him harm would have met with a violent
resistance, even to the length of the drawing of knives in his defence.

In less than a week some two hundred Testaments had been disposed of, and
a fresh supply had to be obtained from Madrid.  Borrow’s methods had now
changed.  He had, of necessity, to make as little stir as possible in
order to avoid an unenviable notoriety.  He carefully eschewed
advertisements and handbills, and limited himself almost entirely to the
simple statement that he brought to the people “the words and life of the
Saviour and His Saints at a price adapted to their humble means.” {270a}

It is interesting to note in connection with this period of Borrow’s
activities in Spain, that in 1908 one of the sons of Maria Diaz and Juan
Lopez was sought out at Villa Seca by a representative of the Bible
Society, and interrogated as to whether he remembered Borrow.  Eduardo
Lopez (then seventy-four years of age) stated that he was a child of
eight {270b} when Borrow lived at the house of his mother; yet he
remembers that “_El inglés_” was tall and robust, with fair hair turning
grey.  Eduardo and his young brother regarded Borrow with both fear and
respect; for, their father being absent, he used to punish them for
misdemeanours by setting them on the table and making them remain
perfectly quiet for a considerable time.  The old man remembered that
Borrow had two horses whom he called “la Jaca” and “el Mondrágon,” and
that he used to take to the house of Maria Diaz “his trunk full of books
which were beautifully bound.”  He remembered Borrow’s Greek servant,
“Antonio Guchino” (the Antonio Buchini of _The Bible in Spain_), who
spoke very bad Spanish.

The most interesting of Eduardo Lopez’ recollections of Borrow was that
he “often recited a chant which nobody understood,” and of which the old
man could remember only the following fragment:—

    “Sed un la in la en la la
    Sino Mokhamente de resu la.”

It has been suggested, {271a} and with every show of probability, that
“this is the Moslem _kalimah_ or creed which he had heard sung from the
minarets”:

    “La illaha illa allah
    Wa Muhammad rasoul allah.”

Borrow recognised that he must not stay very long in any one place, and
accordingly it was his intention, as soon as he had supplied the
immediate wants of the Sagra (the plain) of Toledo, “to cross the country
to Aranjuez, and endeavour to supply with the Word the villages on the
frontier of La Mancha.” {271b}  As he was on the point of setting out,
however, he received two letters from Mr Brandram, which decided him to
return immediately to Madrid instead of pursuing his intended route.

Borrow was informed that if, after consulting with Sir George Villiers,
it was thought desirable that he should leave Madrid, he was given a free
hand to do so.  Furthermore, the President of the Bible Society (Lord
Bexley), with whom Mr Brandram had consulted, was of the opinion that
Borrow should return home to confer with the Committee.  It was clear
from the correspondence that nothing short of an interview could remove
the very obvious feeling of irritation that existed between Borrow and
the Society.  In his reply (23rd July), Borrow showed a dignity and
calmness of demeanour that had been lacking from his previous letters;
and it most likely produced a far more favourable effect at Earl Street
than the impassioned protests of the past two months:—

    “My answer will be very brief;” he wrote, “as I am afraid of giving
    way to my feelings; I hope, however, that it will be to the purpose.

    “It is broadly hinted in yours of the 7th that I have made false
    statements in asserting that the Government, in consequence of what
    has lately taken place, had come to the resolution of seizing the
    Bible depôts in various parts of this country.  [Borrow had written
    to Mr Brandram on 25th June, “The Society are already aware of the
    results of the visit of our friend to Malaga; all their Bibles and
    Testaments having been seized throughout Spain, with the exception of
    my stock in Madrid.”]

    “In reply I beg leave to inform you that by the first courier you
    will receive from the British Legation at Madrid the official notice
    from Count Ofalia to Sir George Villiers of the seizures already
    made, and the motives which induced the Government to have recourse
    to such a measure.

    “The following seizures have already been made, though some have not
    as yet been officially announced:—The Society’s books at Orviedo,
    Pontevedra, Salamanca, Santiago, Seville, and Valladolid.

    “It appears from your letters that the depôts in the South of Spain
    have escaped.  I am glad of it, although it be at my own expense.  I
    see the hand of the Lord throughout the late transactions.  He is
    chastening me; it is His pleasure that the guilty escape and the
    innocent be punished.  The Government gave orders to seize the Bible
    depôts throughout the country on account of the late scenes at Malaga
    and Valencia—I have never been there, yet only _my_ depôts are
    meddled with, as it appears!  The Lord’s will be done, blessed be the
    name of the Lord!

    “I will write again to-morrow, I shall have then arranged my
    thoughts, and determined on the conduct which it becomes a Christian
    to pursue under these circumstances.  Permit me, in conclusion, to
    ask you:

    “Have you not to a certain extent been partial in this matter?  Have
    you not, in the apprehension of being compelled to blame the conduct
    of one who has caused me unutterable anxiety, misery and persecution,
    and who has been the bane of the Bible cause in Spain, refused to
    receive the information which it was in _your_ power to command?  I
    called on the Committee and yourself from the first to apply to Sir
    George Villiers; no one is so well versed as to what has lately been
    going as himself; but no.  It was God’s will that I, who have risked
    all and lost _almost_ all in the cause, be taunted, suspected, and
    the sweat of agony and tears which I have poured out be estimated at
    the value of the water of the ditch or the moisture which exudes from
    rotten dung; but I murmur not, and hope I shall at all times be
    willing to bow to the dispensations of the Almighty.

    “Sir George Villiers has returned to England for a short period; you
    have therefore the opportunity of consulting him.  I _will not_ leave
    Spain until the whole affair has been thoroughly sifted.  I shall
    then perhaps appear and bid you an eternal farewell. {273a}  Four
    hundred Testaments have been disposed of in the Sagra of Toledo.

    “_P.S._—I am just returned from the Embassy, where I have had a long
    interview with that admirable person Lord Wm. Hervey [Chargé
    d’Affaires during Sir George Villiers’ absence].  He has requested me
    to write him a letter on the point in question, which with the
    official documents he intends to send to the Secretary of State in
    order to be laid before the Bible Society.  He has put into my hands
    the last communication from Ofalia {273b} it relates to the seizure
    of _my_ depots at Malaga, Pontevedra, etc.  I have not opened it, but
    send it for your approval.”

It is pleasant to record that the Sub-Committee expressed itself as
unable to see in Mr Brandram’s letter what Borrow saw.  There was no
intention to convey the impression that he had made false statements, and
regret was expressed that he had thought it necessary to apply to the
Embassy for confirmation of what he had written.  All this Mr Brandram
conveyed in a letter dated 6th August.  He continues: “I am now in full
possession of all that Mr Graydon has done, and find it utterly
impossible to account for that very strong feeling that you have imbibed
against him.”

On 20th July Mr Brandram had written that, after consulting with two or
three members of the Committee, they all confirmed a wish already
expressed that their Agent should not continue to expose himself to such
dangers.  If, however, he still saw the way open before him,

    “as so pleasantly represented in your letter . . . you need not think
    of returning . . . Do allow me to suggest to you,” he continues, “to
    drop allusion to Mr Graydon in your letters.  His conduct is not
    regarded here as you regard it.  I could fancy, but perhaps it is all
    fancy, that you have him in your eye when you tell us that you have
    eschewed handbills and advertisements.  Time has been when you have
    used them plentifully . . .  Sir George Villiers is in England—but I
    do not know that we shall seek an interview with him—We are afraid of
    being hampered with the trammels of office.”

The Committee, however, did not endorse Mr Brandram’s view as to Borrow
continuing in Spain, and further, they did “not see it right,” the
secretary wrote (6th August), “after the confidential communication in
which you have been in with the Government, that you should be acting now
in such open defiance of it, and putting yourself in such extreme
jeopardy.”  Later Borrow made reference to the remark about the
handbills.

    “It would have been as well,” he wrote, “if my respected and revered
    friend, the writer, had made himself acquainted with the character of
    my advertisements before he made that observation.  There is no harm
    in an advertisement, if truth, decency and the fear of God are
    observed, and I believe my own will be scarcely found deficient in
    any of these three requisites.  It is not the use of a serviceable
    instrument, but its abuse that merits reproof, and I cannot conceive
    that advertising was abused by me when I informed the people of
    Madrid that the New Testament was to be purchased at a cheap price in
    the _Calle del Principe_.” {275}

Elsewhere he referred to these same advertisements as “mild yet
expressive.”

In spite of the strained state of his relations with the Bible Society,
Borrow had no intention of remaining in Madrid brooding over his wrongs.
Encouraged by the success that had attended his efforts in the Sagra of
Toledo, and indifferent to the fact that his renewed activity was known
at Toledo, where it was causing some alarm, he determined to proceed to
Aranjuez, and, on his arrival there, to be guided by events as to his
future movements.  Accordingly about 28th July he set out attended by
Antonio and Lopez, who had accompanied him from Villa Seca to Madrid,
proceeding in the direction of La Mancha, and selling at every village
through which they passed from twenty to forty Testaments.  At Aranjuez
they remained three days, visiting every house in the town and disposing
of about eighty books.  It was no unusual thing to see groups of the
poorer people gathered round one of their number who was reading aloud
from a recently purchased Testament.

Feeling that his enemies were preparing to strike, Borrow determined to
push on to the frontier town of Ocaña, beyond which the clergy had only a
nominal jurisdiction on account of its being in the hands of the
Carlists.  Lopez was sent on with between two and three hundred
Testaments, and Borrow, accompanied by Antonio, followed later by a
shorter route through the hills.  As they approached the town, a man, a
Jew, stepped out from the porch of an empty house and barred their way,
telling them that Lopez had been arrested at Ocaña that morning as he was
selling Testaments in the streets, and that the authorities were now
waiting for Borrow himself.

Seeing that no good could be done by plunging into the midst of his
enemies, who had their instructions from the _corregidor_ of Toledo,
Borrow decided to return to Aranjuez.  This he did, on the way narrowly
escaping assassination at the hands of three robbers.  The next morning
he was rejoined by Lopez, who had been released.  He had sold 27
Testaments, and 200 had been confiscated and forwarded to Toledo.  The
whole party then returned to Madrid.

The unfortunate affair at Ocaña by no means discouraged Borrow.  It was
his intention “with God’s leave” to “fight it out to the last.”  He saw
that his only chance of distributing his store of Testaments lay in
visiting the smaller villages before the order to confiscate his books
arrived from Toledo.  His enemies were numerous and watchful; but Borrow
was as cunning as a gypsy and as far-seeing as a Jew.  Thinking that his
notoriety had not yet crossed the Guadarrama mountains and penetrated
into Old Castile, he decided to anticipate it.  Lopez was sent ahead with
a donkey bearing a cargo of Testaments, his instructions being to meet
Borrow and Antonio at La Granja.  Failing to find Lopez at the appointed
place, Borrow pushed on to Segovia, where he received news that some men
were selling books at Abades, to which place he proceeded with three more
donkeys laden with books that had been consigned to a friend at Segovia.
At Abades Lopez was discovered busily occupied in selling Testaments.

Hearing that an order was about to be sent from Segovia to Abades for the
confiscation of his Testaments, Borrow immediately left the town,
donkeys, Testaments and all, and for safety’s sake passed the night in
the fields.  The next day they proceeded to the village of Labajos.  A
few days after their arrival the Carlist leader Balmaceda, at the head of
his robber cavalry, streamed down from the pine woods of Soria into the
southern part of Old Castile, Borrow “was present at all the horrors
which ensued—the sack of Arrevalo, and the forcible entry into Marrin
Muñoz and San Cyprian.  Amidst these terrible scenes we continued our
labours undaunted.” {277a}  He witnessed what “was not the war of men or
even cannibals . . . it seemed a contest of fiends from the infernal
pit.”  Antonio became seized with uncontrollable fear and ran away to
Madrid.  Lopez soon afterwards disappeared, and, left alone, Borrow
suffered great anxiety as to the fate of the brave fellow.  Hearing that
he was in prison at Vilallos, about three leagues distant, and in spite
of the fact that Balmaceda’s cavalry division was in the neighbourhood,
Borrow mounted his horse and set off next day (22nd Aug.) alone.  He
found on his arrival at Vilallos, that Lopez had been removed from the
prison to a private house.  Disregarding an order from the _corregidor_
of Avila that only the books should be confiscated and that the vendor
should be set at liberty, the _Alcalde_, at the instigation of the
priest, refused to liberate Lopez.  It had been hinted to the unfortunate
man that on the arrival of the Carlists he was to be denounced as a
liberal, which would mean death.  “Taking these circumstances into
consideration,” Borrow wrote, {277b} “I deemed it my duty as a Christian
and a gentleman to rescue my unfortunate servant from such lawless hands,
and in consequence, defying opposition, I bore him off, though perfectly
unarmed, through a crowd of at least one hundred peasants.  On leaving
the place I shouted ‘Viva Isabella Segunda.’”

In this affair Borrow had, not only the approval of Lord William Hervey,
but of Count Ofalia also.  In all probability the Bible Society has never
had, and never will have again, an agent such as Borrow, who on occasion
could throw aside the cloak of humility and grasp a two-edged sword with
which to discomfit his enemies, and who solemnly chanted the creed of
Islam whilst engaged as a Christian missionary.  There was something
magnificent in his Christianity; it savoured of the Crusades in its
pre-Reformation virility.  Martyrdom he would accept if absolutely
necessary; but he preferred that if martyrs there must be they should be
selected from the ranks of the enemy, whilst he, George Borrow,
represented the strong arm of the Lord.

After the Vilallos affair, Borrow returned to Madrid, crossing the
Guadarramas alone and with two horses.  “I nearly perished there,” he
wrote to Mr Brandram (1st Sept.), “having lost my way in the darkness and
tumbled down a precipice.”  The perilous journey north had resulted in
the sale of 900 Testaments, all within the space of three weeks and
amidst scenes of battle and bloodshed.

On his return to Madrid, Borrow found awaiting him the Resolution of the
General Committee (6th Aug.), recalling him “without further delay.”

    “I will set out for England as soon as possible,” he wrote in reply;
    {278} “but I must be allowed time.  I am almost dead with fatigue,
    suffering and anxiety; and it is necessary that I should place the
    Society’s property in safe and sure custody.”

On 1st September he wrote to Mr Brandram that he should “probably be in
England within three weeks.”  Shortly after this he was attacked with
fever, and confined to his bed for ten days, during which he was
frequently delirious.  When the fever departed, he was left very weak and
subject to a profound melancholy.

    “I bore up against my illness as long as I could,” he wrote, {279a}
    “but it became too powerful for me.  By good fortune I obtained a
    decent physician, a Dr Hacayo, who had studied medicine in England,
    and aided by him and the strength of my constitution I got the better
    of my attack, which, however, was a dreadfully severe one.  I hope my
    next letter will be from Bordeaux.  I cannot write more at present,
    for I am very feeble.”

The actual date that Borrow left Madrid is not known.  He himself gave it
as 31st August, {279b} which is obviously inaccurate, as on 19th
September he wrote to Mr Brandram: “I am now better, and hope in a few
days to be able to proceed to Saragossa, which is the only road open.”
He travelled leisurely by way of the Pyrenees, through France to Paris,
where he spent a fortnight.  Of Paris he was very fond; “for, leaving all
prejudices aside, it is a magnificent city, well supplied with sumptuous
buildings and public squares, unequalled by any town in Europe.” {279c}
Having bought a few rare books he proceeded to Boulogne, “and thence by
steamboat to London,” {279d} where in all probability he arrived towards
the end of October.

He had “long talks on Spanish affairs” {279e} with his friends at Earl
Street, where personal interviews seem to have brought about a much
better feeling.  The General Committee requested Borrow to put into
writing his views as to the best means to be adopted for the future
distribution of the Scriptures in Spain.  He accordingly wrote a
statement, {280} a fine, vigorous piece of narrative, putting his case so
clearly and convincingly as to leave little to be said for the
unfortunate Graydon.  He expressed himself as “eager to be carefully and
categorically questioned.”  This Report appears subsequently to have been
withdrawn, probably on the advice of Borrow’s friends, who saw that its
uncompromising bluntness of expression would make it unacceptable to the
General Committee.  It was certainly presented to and considered by the
Sub-Committee.  Another document was drawn up entitled, “Report of Mr
Geo. Borrow on Past and Future Operations in Spain.”  This reached Earl
Street on 28th November.  In it Borrow states that as the inhabitants of
the cities had not shown themselves well-disposed towards the Scriptures,
it would be better to labour in future among the peasantry.  It was his
firm conviction, he wrote,

    “that every village in Spain will purchase New Testaments, from
    twenty to sixty, according to its circumstances.  During the last two
    months of his sojourn in Spain he visited about forty villages, and
    in only two instances was his sale less than thirty copies in each .
    . . If it be objected to the plan which he has presumed to suggest
    that it is impossible to convey to the rural districts of Spain the
    book of life without much difficulty and danger, he begs leave to
    observe that it does not become a real Christian to be daunted by
    either when it pleases his Maker to select him as an instrument; and
    that, moreover, if it be not written that a man is to perish by wild
    beasts or reptiles he is safe in the den even of the Cockatrice as in
    the most retired chamber of the King’s Palace; and that if, on the
    contrary, he be doomed to perish by them, his destiny will overtake
    him notwithstanding all the precautions which he, like a blind worm,
    may essay for his security.”

In conclusion Borrow calls attention, without suggesting intimate
alliance and co-operation, to the society of the liberal-minded Spanish
ecclesiastics, which has been formed for the purpose of printing and
circulating the Scriptures in Spanish _without commentary or notes_.
This had reference to a movement that was on foot in Madrid, supported by
the Primate and the Bishops of Vigo and Joen, to challenge the Government
in regard to its attempt to prevent the free circulation of the
Scriptures.  It was held that nowhere among the laws of Spain is it
forbidden to circulate the Scriptures either with or without annotations.
The only prohibition being in the various Papal Bulls.  Charles Wood was
chosen as “the ostensible manager of the concern”; but had it not been
for the trouble in the South, Borrow would have been the person selected.

It would have been in every way deplorable had Borrow severed his
connection with the Bible Society as a result of the Graydon episode.
Borrow had been impulsive and indignant in his letters to Earl Street, Mr
Brandram, on the other hand, had been “a little partial,” and on one or
two occasions must have written hastily in response to Borrow’s letters.
There is no object in administering blame or directing reproaches when
the principals in a quarrel have made up their differences; but there can
be no question that the failure of the Officials and Committee of the
Bible Society to appreciate the situation in Spain retarded their work in
that country very considerably.  This fact is now generally recognised.
Mr Canton has admirably summed up the situation when he says:

    “Borrow had his faults, but insincerity and lack of zeal in the cause
    he had espoused were not among them.  Both Sir George Villiers and
    his successor [during Sir George’s visit to England], Lord William
    Hervey, were satisfied with the propriety of his conduct.  Count
    Ofalia himself recognised his good faith—‘_cuia buena fé me es
    conocida_.’  To see his plans thwarted, his work arrested, the
    objects of the Society jeopardised, and his own person endangered by
    the indiscretion of others, formed, if not a justification, at least
    a sufficient excuse for the expression of strong feeling.  On the
    other hand, it was difficult for those at home to ascertain the
    actual facts of the case, to understand the nicety of the situation,
    and to arrive at an impartial judgment.  Mr Brandram, who in any case
    would have been displeased with Borrow’s unrestrained speech, appears
    to have suspected that his statements were not free from
    exaggeration, and that his discretion was not wholly beyond reproach.
    Happily the tension caused by this painful episode was relieved by
    Lieut. Graydon’s withdrawal to France in June.” {282}




CHAPTER XVIII
DECEMBER 1838–MAY 1839


ON 14th December 1838 it was resolved by the General Committee of the
Bible Society that Borrow should proceed once more to Spain to dispose of
such copies of the Scriptures as remained on hand at Madrid and other
depôts established by him in various parts of the country.  He left
London on the 21st, and sailed from Falmouth two days later, reaching
Cadiz on the 31st, after a stormy passage, and on 2nd January he arrived
at Seville, “rather indisposed with an old complaint,” probably “the
Horrors.”

In such stirring times to be absent from the country, even for so short a
period as two months, meant that on his return the traveller found a new
Spain.  Borrow learned that the Duke of Frias had succeeded Count Ofalia
in September.  The Duke had advised the British Ambassador in November
that the Spanish authorities were possessed of a quantity of Borrow’s
Bibles (?New Testaments) that had been seized and taken to Toledo, and
that if arrangements were not made for them to be taken out of Spain they
would be destroyed.  Sir George Villiers had replied that Mr Borrow, who
was then out of the country, had been advised of the Duke’s notification,
and as soon as word was received from him, the Duke should be
communicated with.  Then the Duke of Frias in turn passed out of office
and was succeeded by another, and so, politically, change followed
change.

The Government, however, had no intention of putting itself in the wrong
a second time.  Great Britain’s friendship was of far too great
importance to the country to be jeopardised for the mere gratification of
imprisoning George Borrow.  An order had been sent out to all the
authorities that an embargo was to be placed upon the books themselves;
but those distributing them were not to be arrested or in any way harmed.

At Seville he found evidences of the activity of the Government in the
news that of the hundred New Testaments that he had left with his
correspondent there, seventy-six had been seized during the previous
summer.  Hearing that the books were in the hands of the Ecclesiastical
Governor, Borrow astonished that “fierce, persecuting Papist by calling
to make enquiries concerning them.”  The old man treated his visitor to a
stream of impassioned invective against the Bible Society and its agent,
expressing his surprise that he had ever been permitted to leave the
prison in Madrid.  Seeing that nothing was to be gained, although he had
an absolute right to the books, provided he sent them out of the country,
Borrow decided not to press the matter.

On the night of 12th Jan. 1839, he left Seville with the Mail Courier and
his escort bound for Madrid, where he arrived on the 16th without
accident or incident, although the next Courier traversing the route was
stopped by banditti.  It was during this journey, whilst resting for four
hours at Manzanares, a large village in La Mancha, that he encountered
the blind girl who had been taught Latin by a Jesuit priest, and whom he
named “the Manchegan Prophetess.” {284}  In telling Mr Brandram of the
incident, Borrow tactlessly remarked, “what wonderful people are the
Jesuits; when shall we hear of an English rector instructing a beggar
girl in the language of Cicero?”  Mr Brandram clearly showed that he
liked neither the remark, which he took as personal, nor the use of the
term “prophetess.”

On reaching Madrid a singular incident befell Borrow.  On entering the
arch of the _posada_ called La Reyna, he found himself encircled by a
pair of arms, and, on turning round, found that they belonged to the
delinquent Antonio, who stood before his late master “haggard and
ill-dressed, and his eyes seemed starting from their sockets.”  The poor
fellow, who was entirely destitute, had, on the previous night, dreamed
that he saw Borrow arrive on a black horse, and, in consequence, had
spent the whole day in loitering about outside the _posada_.  Borrow was
very glad to engage him again, in spite of his recent cowardice and
desertion.  Borrow once more took up his abode with the estimable Maria
Diaz, and one of his first cares was to call on Lord Clarendon (Sir
George Villiers had succeeded his uncle as fourth earl), by whom he was
kindly received.

A week later, there arrived from Lopez at Villa Seca his “largest and
most useful horse,” the famous Sidi Habismilk (My Lord the Sustainer of
the Kingdom), “an Arabian of high caste . . . the best, I believe, that
ever issued from the desert,” {285a} Lopez wrote, regretting that he was
unable to accompany “The Sustainer of the Kingdom” in person, being
occupied with agricultural pursuits, but he sent a relative named
Victoriano to assist in the work of distributing the Gospel.

Borrow’s plan was to make Madrid his headquarters, with Antonio in charge
of the supplies, and visit all the villages and hamlets in the vicinity
that had not yet been supplied with Testaments.  He then proposed to turn
eastward to a distance of about thirty leagues.

    “I have been very passionate in prayer,” he writes, {285b} “during
    the last two or three days; and I entertain some hope that the Lord
    has condescended to answer me, as I appear to see my way with
    considerable clearness.  It may, of course, prove a delusion, and the
    prospects which seem to present themselves may be mere palaces of
    clouds, which a breath of wind is sufficient to tumble into ruin;
    therefore bearing this possibility in mind it behoves me to beg that
    I may be always enabled to bow meekly to the dispensations of the
    Almighty, whether they be of favour or severity.”

Mr Brandram’s comment on this portion of Borrow’s letter is rather
suggestive of deliberate fault-finding.

    “May your ‘passionate’ prayers be answered,” he writes. {286}  “You
    see I remark your unusual word—very significant it is, but one rather
    fitted for the select circle where ‘passion’ is understood in its own
    full sense—and not in the restricted meaning attached to it
    ordinarily.  Perhaps you will not often meet with a better set of men
    than those who assembled in Earl Street, but they may not always be
    open to the force of language, and so unwonted a phrase may raise odd
    feelings in their minds.  Do not be in a passion, will you, for the
    freedom of my remarks.  You will perhaps suppose remarks were made in
    Committee.  This does not happen to be the case, though I fully
    anticipated it.  Mr Browne, Mr Jowett and myself had first privately
    devoured your letter, and we made our remarks.  We could relish such
    a phrase.”

Sometimes there was a suggestion of spite in Mr Brandram’s letters.  He
was obviously unfriendly towards Borrow during the latter portion of his
agency.  It was clear that the period of Borrow’s further association
with the Bible Society was to be limited.  If he replied at all to this
rather unfair criticism, he must have done so privately to Mr Brandram,
as there is no record of his having referred to it in any subsequent
letters among the Society’s archives.

All unconscious that he had so early offended, Borrow set out upon his
first journey to distribute Testaments among the villages around Madrid.
Dressed in the manner of the peasants, on his head a _montera_, a species
of leathern helmet, with jacket and trousers of the same material, and
mounted on Sidi Habismilk, he looked so unlike the conventional
missionary that the housewife may be excused who mistook him for a pedlar
selling soap.

In some villages where the people were without money, they received
Testaments in return for refreshing the missionaries.  “Is this right?”
Borrow enquires of Mr Brandram.  The village priests frequently proved of
considerable assistance; for when they pronounced the books good, as they
sometimes did, the sale became extremely brisk.  After an absence of
eight days, Borrow returned to Madrid.  Shortly afterwards, when on the
eve of starting out upon another expedition to Guadalajara and the
villages of Alcarria, he received a letter from Victoriano saying that he
was in prison at Fuente la Higuera, a village about eight leagues
distant.  Acting with his customary energy and decision, Borrow obtained
from an influential friend letters to the Civil Governor and principal
authorities of Guadalajara.  He then despatched Antonio to the rescue,
with the result that Victoriano was released, with the assurance that
those responsible for his detention should be severely punished.

Whilst Victoriano was in prison, Borrow and Antonio had been very
successful in selling Testaments and Bibles in Madrid, disposing of
upwards of a hundred copies, but entirely to the poor, who “receive the
Scriptures with gladness,” although the hearts of the rich were hard.
The work in and about Madrid continued until the middle of March, when
Borrow decided to make an excursion as far as Talavera.  The first halt
was made at the village of Naval Carnero.  Soon after his arrival orders
came from Madrid warning the _alcaldes_ of every village in New Castile
to be on the look out for the tall, white-haired heretic, of whom an
exact description was given, who to-day was in one place and to-morrow
twenty leagues distant.  No violence was to be offered either to him or
to his assistants; but he and they were to be baulked in their purpose by
every legitimate means.

Foiled in the rural districts, Borrow instantly determined to change his
plan of campaign.  He saw that he was less likely to attract notice in
the densely-populated capital than in the provinces.  He therefore
galloped back to Madrid, leaving Victoriano to follow more leisurely.  He
rejoiced at the alarm of the clergy.  “Glory to God!” he exclaims, “they
are becoming thoroughly alarmed, and with much reason.” {288a}  The
“reason” lay in the great demand for Testaments and Bibles.  A new
binding-order had to be given for the balance of the 500 Bibles that had
arrived in sheets, or such as had been left of them by the rats, who had
done considerable damage in the Madrid storehouse.

It was at this juncture that Borrow’s extensive acquaintance with the
lower orders proved useful.  Selecting eight of the most intelligent from
among them, including five women, he supplied them with Testaments and
instructions to vend the books in all the parishes of Madrid, with the
result that in the course of about a fortnight 600 copies were disposed
of in the streets and alleys.  A house to house canvass was instituted
with remarkable results, for manservant and maidservant bought eagerly of
the books.  Antonio excelled himself and made some amends for his flight
from Labajos, when, like a torrent, the Carlist cavalry descended upon
it.  Dark Madrid was becoming illuminated with a flood of Scriptural
light.  In two of its churches the New Testament was expounded every
Sunday evening.  Bibles were particularly in demand, a hundred being sold
in about three weeks.  The demand exceeded the supply.  “The Marques de
Santa Coloma,” Borrow wrote, “has a large family, but every individual of
it, old or young, is now in possession of a Bible and likewise of a
Testament.” {288b}

Borrow appears to have enlisted the aid of other distributors than the
eight colporteurs.  One of his most zealous agents was an ecclesiastic,
who always carried with him beneath his gown a copy of the Bible, which
he offered to the first person he encountered whom he thought likely to
become a purchaser.  Yet another assistant was found in a rich old
gentleman of Navarre, who sent copies to his own province.

One night after having retired to bed, Borrow received a visit from a
curious, hobgoblin-like person, who gave him grave, official warning that
unless he present himself before the _corregidor_ on the morrow at eleven
A.M., he must be prepared to take the consequences.  The hour chosen for
this intimation was midnight.  On the next day at the appointed time
Borrow presented himself before the _corregidor_, who announced that he
wished to ask a question.  The question related to a box of Testaments
that Borrow had sent to Naval Carnero, which had been seized and
subsequently claimed on Borrow’s behalf by Antonio.  In Spain they have
the dramatic instinct.  If it strike the majestic mind of a _corregidor_
at midnight that he would like to see a citizen or a stranger on the
morrow about some trifling affair, time or place are not permitted to
interfere with the conveyance of the intimation to the citizen or
stranger to present himself before the gravely austere official, who will
carry out the interrogation with a solemnity becoming a capital charge.

By the middle of April barely a thousand Testaments remained; these
Borrow determined to distribute in Seville.  Sending Antonio, the
Testaments and two horses with the convoy, Borrow decided to risk
travelling with the Mail Courier.  For one thing, he disliked the
slowness of a convoy, and for another the insults and irritations that
travellers had to put up with from the escort, both officers and men.
His original plan had been to proceed by Estremadura; but a band of
Carlist robbers had recently made its appearance, murdering or holding at
ransom every person who fell into its clutches.  Borrow wrote:—

    “I therefore deem it wise to avoid, if possible, the alternative of
    being shot or having to pay one thousand pounds for being set at
    liberty . . . It is moreover wicked to tempt Providence
    systematically.  I have already thrust myself into more danger than
    was, perhaps, strictly necessary, and as I have been permitted
    hitherto to escape, it is better to be content with what it has
    pleased the Lord to do for me up to the present moment, than to run
    the risk of offending Him by a blind confidence in His forbearance,
    which may be over-taxed.  As it is, however, at all times best to be
    frank, I am willing to confess that I am what the world calls
    exceedingly superstitious; perhaps the real cause of my change of
    resolution was a dream, in which I imagined myself on a desolate road
    in the hands of several robbers, who were hacking me with their long,
    ugly knives.” {290}

In the same letter, which was so to incur Mr Brandram’s disapproval,
Borrow tells of the excellent results of his latest plan for disposing of
Bibles and Testaments, three hundred and fifty of the former having been
sold since he reached Spain.  He goes on to explain and expound the
difficulties that have been met and overcome, and hopes that his friends
at Earl Street will be patient, as it may not be in his power to send
“for a long time any flattering accounts of operations commenced there.”
In conclusion, he assures Mr Brandram that from the Church of Rome he has
learned one thing, “_Ever to expect evil_, _and ever to hope for good_.”

Nothing could have been more unfortunate than the effect produced upon Mr
Brandram’s mind by this letter.

    “I scarcely know what to say,” he writes.  “You are in a very
    peculiar country; you are doubtless a man of very peculiar
    temperament, and we must not apply common rules in judging either of
    yourself or your affairs.  What, _e.g._, shall we say to your
    confession of a certain superstitiousness?  It is very frank of you
    to tell us what you need not have told; but it sounded very odd when
    read aloud in a large Committee.  Strangers that know you not would
    carry away strange ideas . . . In bespeaking our patience, there is
    an implied contrast between your own mode of proceeding and that
    adopted by others—a contrast this a little to the disadvantage of
    others, and savouring a little of the praise of a personage called
    number one . . . Perhaps my vanity is offended, and I feel as if I
    were not esteemed a person of sufficient discernment to know enough
    of the real state of Spain . . .

    “Bear with me now in my criticisms on your second letter [that of 2nd
    May].  You narrate your perilous journey to Seville, and say at the
    beginning of the description: ‘My usual wonderful good fortune
    accompanying us.’  This is a mode of speaking to which we are not
    well accustomed; it savours, some of our friends would say, a little
    of the profane.  Those who know you will not impute this to you.  But
    you must remember that our Committee Room is public to a great
    extent, and I cannot omit expressions as I go reading on.  Pious
    sentiments may be thrust into letters _ad nauseam_, and it is not for
    that I plead; but is there not a _via media_?  “We are odd people, it
    may be, in England; we are not fond of prophets or ‘prophetesses’ [a
    reference to her of La Mancha about whom Borrow had previously been
    rebuked].  I have not turned back to your former description of the
    lady whom you have a second time introduced to our notice.  Perhaps
    my wounded pride had not been made whole after the infliction you
    before gave it by contrasting the teacher of the prophetess with
    English rectors.”

Borrow replied to this letter from Seville on 28th June, and there are
indications that before doing so he took time to deliberate upon it.

    “Think not, I pray you,” he wrote, “that any observation of yours
    respecting style, or any peculiarities of expression which I am in
    the habit of exhibiting in my correspondence, can possibly awaken in
    me any feeling but that of gratitude, knowing so well as I do the
    person who offers them, and the motives by which he is influenced.  I
    have reflected on those passages which you were pleased to point out
    as objectionable, and have nothing to reply further than that I have
    erred, that I am sorry, and will endeavour to mend, and that,
    moreover, I have already prayed for assistance to do so.  Allow me,
    however, to offer a word, not in excuse but in explanation of the
    expression ‘wonderful good fortune’ which appeared in a former letter
    of mine.  It is clearly objectionable, and, as you very properly
    observe, savours of pagan times.  But I am sorry to say that I am
    much in the habit of repeating other people’s sayings without
    weighing their propriety.  The saying was not mine; but I heard it in
    conversation and thoughtlessly repeated it.  A few miles from Seville
    I was telling the Courier of the many perilous journeys which I had
    accomplished in Spain in safety, and for which I thank the Lord.  His
    reply was, ‘La mucha suerte de Usted tambien nos ha acompañado en
    este viage.’”

Thus ended another unfortunate misunderstanding between secretary and
agent.

Borrow had taken considerable risk in making the journey to Seville with
the Courier.  The whole of La Mancha was overrun with the
Carlist-banditti, who, “whenever it pleases them, stop the Courier, burn
the vehicle and letters, murder the paltry escort which attends, and
carry away any chance passenger to the mountains, where an enormous
ransom is demanded, which if not paid brings on the dilemma of four shots
through the head, as the Spaniards say.”  The Courier’s previous journey
over the same route had ended in the murder of the escort and the burning
of the coach, the Courier himself escaping through the good offices of
one of the bandits, who had formerly been his postilion.  Borrow was
shown the blood-soaked turf and the skull of one of the soldiers.  At
Manzanares, Borrow invited to breakfast with him the Prophetess who was
so unpopular at Earl Street.  Continuing the journey, he reached Seville
without mishap, and a few days later Antonio arrived with the horses.  It
was found that the two cases of Testaments that had been forwarded from
Madrid had been stopped at the Seville Customs House, and Borrow had
recourse to subterfuge in order to get them and save his journey from
being in vain.

    “For a few dollars,” he tells Mr Brandram (2nd May), “I procured a
    _fiador_ or person who engaged _that the chests_ should be carried
    down the river and embarked at San Lucar for a foreign land.
    Yesterday I hired a boat and sent them down, but on the way I landed
    in a secure place all the Testaments which I intend for this part of
    the country.”

The _fiador_ had kept to the letter of his undertaking, and the chests
were duly delivered at San Lucar; but a considerable portion of their
contents, some two hundred Testaments, had been abstracted, and these had
to be smuggled into Seville under the cloaks of master and servant.  The
officials appear to have treated Borrow with the greatest possible
courtesy and consideration, and they told him that his “intentions were
known and honored.”

Borrow had great hopes of achieving something for the Gospel’s sake in
Seville; but the operation would be a delicate one.  To Mr Brandram he
wrote:—

    “Consider my situation here.  I am in a city by nature very
    Levitical, as it contains within it the most magnificent and
    splendidly endowed cathedral of any in Spain.  I am surrounded by
    priests and friars, who know and hate me, and who, if I commit the
    slightest act of indiscretion, will halloo their myrmidons against
    me.  The press is closed to me, the libraries are barred against me,
    I have no one to assist me but my hired servant, no pious English
    families to comfort or encourage me, the British subjects here being
    ranker papists and a hundred times more bigoted than the Spanish
    themselves, the Consul, a _renegade Quaker_.  Yet notwithstanding,
    with God’s assistance, I will do much, though silently, burrowing
    like the mole in darkness beneath the ground.  Those who have
    triumphed in Madrid, and in the two Castiles, where the difficulties
    were seven times greater, are not to be dismayed by priestly frowns
    at Seville.” {293}

On arriving at Seville Borrow had put up at the _Posada de la Reyna_, in
the Calle Gimios, and here on 4th May (he had arrived about 24th April)
he encountered Lieut.-Colonel Elers Napier.  Borrow liked nothing so well
as appearing in the _rôle_ of a mysterious stranger.  He loved mystery as
much as a dramatic moment.  His admiration of Baron Taylor was largely
based upon the innumerable conjectures as to who it was that surrounded
his puzzling personality with such an air of mystery.  That May morning
Colonel Napier, who was also staying at the _Posada de la Reyna_, was
wandering about the galleries overlooking the _patio_.  He writes:—

    “whilst occupied in moralising over the dripping water spouts, I
    observed a tall, gentlemanly-looking man dressed in a _semarra_
    [_zamarra_, a sheepskin jacket with the wool outside] leaning over
    the balustrades and apparently engaged in a similar manner with
    myself . . .  From the stranger’s complexion, which was fair, but
    with brilliant black eyes, I concluded he was not a Spaniard; in
    short, there was something so remarkable in his appearance that it
    was difficult to say to what nation he might belong.  He was tall,
    with a commanding appearance; yet, though apparently in the flower of
    manhood, his hair was so deeply tinged with the winter of either age
    or sorrow as to be nearly snow white.” {294a}

Colonel Napier was thoroughly mystified.  The stranger answered his
French in “the purest Parisian Accent”; yet he proved capable of speaking
fluent English, of giving orders to his Greek servant in Romaïc, of
conversing “in good Castillian with ‘mine host’,” and of exchanging
salutations in German with another resident at the _fonda_.  Later the
Colonel had the gratification of startling the Unknown by replying to
some remark of his in Hindi; but only momentarily, for he showed himself
“delighted on finding I was an Indian, and entered freely, and with depth
and acuteness, on the affairs of the East, most of which part of the
world he had visited.” {294b}

No one could give any information about “the mysterious Unknown,” who or
what he was, or why he was travelling.  It was known that the police
entertained suspicions that he was a Russian spy, and kept him under
strict observation.  Whatever else he was, Colonel Napier found him “a
very agreeable companion.” {295}

On the following morning (a Sunday) Colonel Napier and his Unknown set
out on horseback on an excursion to the ruins of Italica.  As they sat on
a ruined wall of the Convent of San Isidoro, contemplating the scene of
ruin and desolation around, “the ‘Unknown’ began to feel the vein of
poetry creeping through his inward soul, and gave vent to it by reciting
with great emphasis and effect” some lines that the scene called up to
his mind.

    “I had been too much taken up with the scene,” Colonel Napier
    continues, “the verses, and the strange being who was repeating them
    with so much feeling, to notice the approach of a slight female
    figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whose tattered garments, raven
    hair, swarthy complexion and flashing eyes proclaimed to be of the
    wandering tribe of _Gitanos_.  From an intuitive sense of politeness,
    she stood with crossed arms and a slight smile on her dark and
    handsome countenance until my companion had ceased, and then
    addressed us in the usual whining tone of
    supplication—‘_Caballeritos_, _una limosnita_!  _Dios se la pagará á
    ustedes_!’—‘Gentlemen, a little charity; God will repay it to you!’
    The gypsy girl was so pretty and her voice so sweet, that I
    involuntarily put my hand in my pocket.

    “‘Stop!’ said the Unknown.  ‘Do you remember what I told you about
    the Eastern origin of these people?  You shall see I am
    correct.’—‘Come here, my pretty child,’ said he in Moultanee, ‘and
    tell me where are the rest of your tribe.’

    “The girl looked astounded, replied in the same tongue, but in broken
    language; when, taking him by the arm, she said in Spanish, ‘Come,
    cabellero—come to one who will be able to answer you’; and she led
    the way down amongst the ruins, towards one of the dens formerly
    occupied by the wild beasts, and disclosed to us a set of beings
    scarcely less savage.  The sombre walls of the gloomy abode were
    illumined by a fire the smoke from which escaped through a deep
    fissure in the mossy roof; whilst the flickering flames threw a
    blood-red glare on the bronzed features of a group of children, of
    two men, and a decrepit old hag, who appeared busily engaged in some
    culinary preparations.

    “On our entrance, the scowling glance of the males of the party, and
    a quick motion of the hand towards the folds of the ‘faja’ [a sash in
    which the Spaniard carries a formidable clasp-knife] caused in me, at
    least, anything but a comfortable sensation; but their hostile
    intentions, if ever entertained, were immediately removed by a wave
    of the hand from our conductress, who, leading my companion towards
    the sibyl, whispered something in her ear.  The old crone appeared
    incredulous.  The ‘Unknown’ uttered one word; but that word had the
    effect of magic; she prostrated herself at his feet, and in an
    instant, from an object of suspicion he became one of worship to the
    whole family, to whom, on taking leave, he made a handsome present,
    and departed with their united blessings, to the astonishment of
    myself and what looked very like terror in our Spanish guide.

    “I was, as the phrase goes, dying with curiosity, and as soon as we
    mounted our horses, exclaimed—‘Where, in the name of goodness, did
    you pick up your acquaintance with the language of those
    extraordinary people?’

    “‘Some years ago, in Moultan,’ he replied.

    “‘And by what means do you possess such apparent influence over
    them?’  But the ‘Unknown’ had already said more than he perhaps
    wished on the subject.  He drily replied that he had more than once
    owed his life to gypsies, and had reason to know them well; but this
    was said in a tone which precluded all further queries on my part.
    The subject was never again broached, and we returned in silence to
    the fonda . . .  This is a most extraordinary character, and the more
    I see of him the more am I puzzled.  He appears acquainted with
    everybody and everything, but apparently unknown to every one
    himself.  Though his figure bespeaks youth—and by his own account his
    age does not exceed thirty [he would be thirty-six in the following
    July]—yet the snows of eighty winters could not have whitened his
    locks more completely than they are.  But in his dark and searching
    eye there is an almost supernatural penetration and lustre, which,
    were I inclined to superstition, might induce me to set down its
    possessor as a second Melmoth.” {297}




CHAPTER XIX
MAY–DECEMBER 1839


BORROW confesses that he was at a loss to know how to commence operations
in Seville.  He was entirely friendless, even the British Consul being
unapproachable on account of his religious beliefs.  However, he soon
gathered round him some of those curious characters who seemed always to
gravitate towards him, no matter where he might be, or with what
occupied.  Surely the Scriptures never had such a curious assortment of
missionaries as Borrow employed?  At Seville there was the gigantic
Greek, Dionysius of Cephalonia; the “aged professor of music, who, with
much stiffness and ceremoniousness, united much that was excellent and
admirable”; {298} the Greek bricklayer, Johannes Chysostom, a native of
Morea, who might at any time become “the Masaniello of Seville.”  With
these assistants Borrow set to work to throw the light of the Gospel into
the dark corners of the city.

Soon after arriving at Seville, he decided to adopt a new plan of living.

    “On account of the extreme dearness of every article at the
    _posada_,” he wrote to Mr Brandram on 12th June, “where, moreover, I
    had a suspicion that I was being watched [this may have reference to
    the police suspicion that he was a Russian spy], I removed with my
    servant and horses to an empty house in a solitary part of the town .
    . .  Here I live in the greatest privacy, admitting no person but two
    or three in whom I had the greatest confidence, who entertain the
    same views as myself, and who assist me in the circulation of the
    Gospel.”

The house stood in a solitary situation, occupying one side of the
Plazuela de la Pila Seca (the Little Square of the Empty Trough).  It was
a two-storied building and much too large for Borrow’s requirements.
Having bought the necessary articles of furniture, he retired behind the
shutters of his Andalusian mansion with Antonio and the two horses.  He
lived in the utmost seclusion, spending a large portion of his time in
study or in dreamy meditation.  “The people here complain sadly of the
heat,” he writes to Mr Brandram (28th June 1839), “but as for myself, I
luxuriate in it, like the butterflies which hover about the _macetas_, or
flowerpots, in the court.”  In the cool of the evening he would mount
Sidi Habismilk and ride along the _Dehesa_ until the topmost towers of
the city were out of sight, then, turning the noble Arab, he would let
him return at his best speed, which was that of the whirlwind.

Throughout his work in Spain Borrow had been seriously handicapped by
being unable to satisfy the demand for Bibles that met him everywhere he
went.  In a letter (June) from Maria Diaz, who was acting as his agent in
Madrid, {299} the same story is told.

    “The binder has brought me eight Bibles,” she writes, “which he has
    contrived to make up out of _the sheets gnawn by the rats_, and which
    would have been necessary even had they amounted to eight thousand (y
    era necesario se puvièran vuelto 8000), because the people are
    innumerable who come to seek more.  Don Santiago has been here with
    some friends, who insisted upon having a part of them.  The Aragonese
    Gentleman has likewise been, he who came before your departure, and
    bespoke twenty-four; he now wants twenty-five.  I begged them to take
    Testaments, but they would not.” {300}

The Greek bricklayer proved a most useful agent.  His great influence
with his poor acquaintances resulted in the sale of many Testaments.
More could have been done had it not been necessary to proceed with
extreme caution, lest the authorities should take action and seize the
small stock of books that remained.

When he took and furnished the large house in the little square, there
had been in Borrow’s mind another reason than a desire for solitude and
freedom from prying eyes.  Throughout his labours in Spain he had kept up
a correspondence with Mrs Clarke of Oulton, who, on 15th March, had
written informing him of her intention to take up her abode for a short
time at Seville.

For some time previously Mrs Clarke had been having trouble about her
estate.  Her mother (September 1835) and father (February 1836) were both
dead, and her brother Breame had inherited the estate and she the
mortgage together with the Cottage on Oulton Broad.  Breame Skepper died
(May 1837), leaving a wife and six children.  In his will he had
appointed Trustees, who demanded the sale of the Estate and division of
the money, which was opposed by Mrs Clarke as executrix and mortgagee.
Later it was agreed between the parties that the Estate should be sold
for £11,000 to a Mr Joseph Cator Webb, and an agreement to that effect
was signed.  Anticipating that the Estate would increase in value, and
apparently regretting their bargain, the Trustees delayed carrying out
their undertaking, and Mr Webb filed a bill in Chancery to force them to
do so.  Mrs Clarke’s legal advisers thought it better that she should
disappear for a time.  Hence her letter to Borrow, in replying to which
(29th March), he expresses pleasure at the news of his friend’s
determination “to settle in Seville for a short time—which, I assure you,
I consider to be the most agreeable retreat you can select . . . for
_there_ the growls of your enemies will scarcely reach you.”  He goes on
to tell her that he laughed outright at the advice of her counsellor not
to take a house and furnish it.

    “Houses in Spain are let by the day: and in a palace here you will
    find less furniture than in your cottage at Oulton.  Were you to
    furnish a Spanish house in the style of cold, wintry England, you
    would be unable to breathe.  A few chairs, tables, and mattresses are
    all that is required, with of course a good stock of bed-linen . . .

    “Bring with you, therefore, your clothes, plenty of bed-linen, etc.,
    half-a-dozen blankets, two dozen knives and forks, a mirror or two,
    twelve silver table spoons, and a large one for soup, tea things and
    urn (for the Spaniards never drink tea), a few books, but not
    many,—and you will have occasion for nothing more, or, if you have,
    you can purchase it here as cheap as in England.”

Borrow’s ideas of domestic comfort were those of the old campaigner.  For
all that, he showed himself very thorough in the directions he gave as to
how and where Mrs Clarke should book her passage and obtain “a passport
for yourself and Hen.”  (Henrietta her daughter, now nearly twenty years
of age), and the warning he gave that no attempt should be made to go
ashore at Lisbon, “a very dangerous place.”

On 7th June Mrs Clarke and her daughter Henrietta sailed from London on
board the steam-packet _Royal Tar_ bound for Cadiz, where they arrived on
the 16th, and, on the day following, entered into possession of their
temporary home where Borrow was already installed, safe for the time from
Mr Webb’s Chancery bill.  It was no doubt to Mrs and Miss Clarke that
Borrow referred when he wrote to Mr Brandram {301} saying that “two or
three ladies of my acquaintance occasionally dispose of some [Testaments]
amongst their friends, but they say that they experience some difficulty,
the cry for Bibles being great.”

Borrow continued to reside at 7 Plazuela de la Pila Seca, and Mrs Clarke
and Henrietta soon learned something of the vicissitudes and excitements
of a missionary’s life.  On Sunday, 8th July, as Borrow “happened to be
reading the Liturgy,” he received a visit from “various _alguacils_,
headed by the _Alcade del Barrio_, or headborough, who made a small
seizure of Testaments and Gypsy Gospels which happened to be lying
about.” {302}  This circumstance convinced Borrow of the good effect of
his labours in and around Seville.

The time had now arrived, however, when the whole of the smuggled
Testaments had been disposed of, and there was no object in remaining
longer in Seville, or in Spain for that matter.  There were books at San
Lucar that might without official opposition be shipped out of the
country, and Borrow therefore determined to see what could be done
towards distributing them among the Spanish residents on the Coast of
Barbary.  This done, he hoped to return to Spain and dispose of the 900
odd Testaments lying at Madrid.  On 18th July he wrote to Mr Brandram:—

    “I should wish to be permitted on my return from my present
    expedition to circulate some in La Mancha.  The state of that
    province is truly horrible; it appears peopled partly with spectres
    and partly with demons.  There is famine, and such famine; there is
    assassination and such unnatural assassination [another of Borrow’s
    phrases that must have struck the Committee as odd].  There you see
    soldiers and robbers, ghastly lepers and horrible and uncouth maimed
    and blind, exhibiting their terrible nakedness in the sun.  I was
    prevented last year in carrying the Gospel amongst them.  May I be
    more successful this.”

Antonio had been dismissed, his master being “compelled to send [him]
back to Madrid . . . on account of his many irregularities,” and in
consequence it was alone, on the night of 31st July, that Borrow set out
upon his expedition.  From Seville he took the steamer to Bonanza, from
whence he drove to San Lucar, where he picked up a chest of New
Testaments and a small box of St Luke’s Gospel in Gitano, with a pass for
them to Cadiz.  It proved expensive, this claiming of his own property,
for at every step there was some fee to be paid or gratuity to be given.
The last payment was made to the Spanish Consul at Gibraltar, who claimed
and received a dollar for certifying the arrival of books he had not
seen.

Borrow was instinctively a missionary, even a great missionary.  At the
Customs House of San Lucar some questions were asked about the books
contained in the cases, and he seized the occasion to hold an informal
missionary meeting, with the officials clustered round him listening to
his discourse.  One of the cases had to be opened for inspection, and the
upshot of it was that, to the very officials whose duty it was to see
that the books were not distributed in Spain, Borrow sold a number of
copies, not only of the Spanish Testament, but of the Gypsy St Luke.
Such was the power of his personality and the force of his eloquence.

From San Lucar Borrow returned to Bonanza and again took the boat, which
landed him at Cadiz, where he was hospitably entertained by Mr
Brackenbury, the British Consul, who gave him a letter of introduction to
Mr Drummond Hay, the Consul-General at Tangier.  On 4th August he
proceeded to Gibraltar.  It was not until the 8th, however, that he was
able to cross to Tangier, where he was kindly received by Mr Hay, who
found for him a very comfortable lodging.

Taking the Consul’s advice, Borrow proceeded with extreme caution.  For
the first fortnight of his stay he made no effort to distribute his
Testaments, contenting himself with studying the town and its
inhabitants, occasionally speaking to the Christians in the place
(principally Spanish and Genoese sailors and their families) about
religious matters, but always with the greatest caution lest the two or
three friars, who resided at what was known as the Spanish Convent,
should become alarmed.  Again Borrow obtained the services of a curious
assistant, a Jewish lad named Hayim Ben Attar, who carried the Testaments
to the people’s houses and offered them for sale, and this with
considerable success.  On 4th September Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram:—

    “The blessed book is now in the hands of most of the Christians of
    Tangier, from the lowest to the highest, from the fisherman to the
    consul.  One dozen and a half were carried to Tetuan on speculation,
    a town about six leagues from hence; they will be offered to the
    Christians who reside there.  Other two dozen are on their way to
    distant Mogadore.  One individual, a tavern keeper, has purchased
    Testaments to the number of thirty, which he says he has no doubt he
    can dispose of to the foreign sailors who stop occasionally at his
    house.  You will be surprised to hear that several amongst the Jews
    have purchased copies of the New Testament with the intention, as
    they state, of improving themselves in Spanish, but I believe from
    curiosity.”

During his stay in Tangier, Borrow had some trouble with the British
Vice-Consul, who seems to have made himself extremely offensive with his
persistent offers of service.  His face was “purple and blue” and in
whose blood-shot eyes there was an expression “much like that of a
departed tunny fish or salmon,” and he became so great an annoyance that
Borrow made a complaint to Mr Drummond Hay.  This is one of the few
instances of Borrow’s experiencing difficulty with any British official,
for, as a rule, he was extremely popular.  In this particular instance,
however, the Vice-Consul was so obviously seeking to make profit out of
his official position, that there was no other means open to Borrow than
to make a formal complaint.

In the case of Mr Drummond Hay, he obtained the friendship of a “true
British gentleman.”  At first the Consul had been reserved and distant,
and apparently by no means inclined to render Borrow any service in the
furtherance of his mission; but a few days sufficed to bring him under
the influence of Borrow’s personal magnetism, and he ended by assuring
him that he would be happy to receive the Society’s commands, and would
render all possible assistance, officially or otherwise, to the
distribution of the Scriptures “in Fez or Morocco.”

Borrow was thoroughly satisfied with the result of his five weeks’ stay
in Tangier.  He reached Cadiz on his way to Seville on 21st Sept., after
undergoing a four days’ quarantine at Tarifa, when he wrote to Mr
Brandram (29th Sept.):

    “I am very glad that I went to Tangier, for many reasons.  In the
    first place, I was permitted to circulate many copies of God’s Word
    both among the Jews and the Christians, by the latter of whom it was
    particularly wanted, their ignorance of the most vital points of
    religion being truly horrible.  In the second place, I acquired a
    vast stock of information concerning Africa and the state of its
    interior.  One of my principal Associates was a black slave whose
    country was only three days’ journey from Timbuctoo, which place he
    had frequently visited.  The Soos men also told me many of the
    secrets of the land of wonders from which they come, and the Rabbis
    from Fez and Morocco were no less communicative.”

Borrow had started upon his expedition to the Barbary Coast without any
definite instructions from Earl Street.  On 29th July the Sub-Committee
had resolved that as his mission to Spain was “nearly attained by the
disposal of the larger part of the Spanish Scriptures which he went out
to distribute,” the General Committee be recommended to request him to
take measures for selling or placing in safe custody all copies remaining
on hand and returning to England “without loss of time.”  This was
adopted on 5th Aug.; but before it received the formal sanction of the
General Committee Mr Browne had written (29th July) to Borrow acquainting
him with the feeling of the Sub-Committee, thinking that he ought to have
early intimation of what was taking place.  This letter Borrow found
awaiting him at Cadiz on his return from Tangier.  He replied immediately
(21st Sept.):

    “Had I been aware of that resolution before my departure for Tangier
    I certainly should not have gone; my expedition, however, was the
    result of much reflection.  I wished to carry the Gospel to the
    Christians of the Barbary shore, who were much in want of it; and I
    had one hundred and thirty Testaments at San Lucar, which I could
    only make available by exportation.  The success which it has pleased
    the Lord to yield me in my humble efforts at distribution in Barbary
    will, I believe, prove the best criterion as to the fitness of the
    enterprise.

    “I stated in my last communication to Mr Brandram the plan which I
    conceived to be the best for circulating that portion of the edition
    of the New Testament which remains unsold at Madrid, and I scarcely
    needed a stimulant in the execution of my duty.  At present, however,
    I know not what to do; I am sorrowful, disappointed and unstrung.

    “I wish to return to England as soon as possible; but I have books
    and papers at Madrid which are of much importance to me and which I
    cannot abandon, this perhaps alone prevents me embarking in the next
    packet.  I have, moreover, brought with me from Tangier the Jewish
    youth [Hayim Ben Attar], who so powerfully assisted me in that place
    in the work of distribution.  I had hoped to have made him of service
    in Spain, he is virtuous and clever . . .

    “I am almost tempted to ask whether some strange, some unaccountable
    delusion does not exist: what should induce me to stay in Spain, as
    you appear to suppose I intend?  I may, however, have misunderstood
    you.  I wish to receive a fresh communication as soon as possible,
    either from yourself or Mr Brandram; in the meantime I shall go to
    Seville, to which place and to the usual number pray direct.”

It would appear that the Bible Society had become aware of Borrow’s
_ménage_ at Seville, and concluded that he meant to take up his abode in
Spain more or less permanently.

Borrow’s next plan was to order a chest of Testaments to be sent to La
Mancha, where he had friends, then to mount his horse and proceed there
in person.  With the assistance of his Jewish body-servant he hoped to
circulate many copies before the authorities became aware of his
presence.  Later he would proceed to Madrid, put his affairs in order,
and make for France by way of Saragossa (where he hoped to accomplish
some good), and then—home.

In September a circular signed by Lord Palmerston was received by all the
British Consuls in Spain, strictly forbidding them “to afford the
slightest countenance to religious agents. {307a}  What was the cause of
this last blow?” {307b}  Borrow rather unfortunately enquired of Mr
Brandram.  The Consul at Cadiz, Mr Brackenbury, explained it, according
to Borrow, as due to “an ill-advised application made to his Lordship to
interfere with the Spanish Government on behalf of a certain individual
{307c} [Lieut. Graydon] whose line of conduct needs no comment.” {307d}
After pointing out that once the same consuls had received from a British
Ambassador instructions to further, in their official capacity, the work
of the Bible Society, he concludes with the following remark, as
ill-advised as it is droll: “When dead flies fall into the ointment of
the apothecary they cause it to send forth an unpleasant savour.” {308a}

It must have been obvious to both Borrow and Mr Brandram that matters
were rapidly approaching a crisis.  Mr Brandram seems to have been almost
openly hostile, and draws Borrow’s attention to the fact that after all
his distributions have been small.  Borrow replies by saying that the
fault did not rest with him.  Had he been able to offer Bibles instead of
Testaments for sale, the circulation would have been ten times greater.
He expresses it as his belief that had he received 20,000 Bibles he could
have sold them all in Madrid during the Spring of 1839.

    “When the Bible Society has no further occasion for my poor labours,”
    he wrote {308b} somewhat pathetically, “I hope it will do me justice
    to the world.  I have been its faithful and zealous servant.  I shall
    on a future occasion take the liberty of addressing you as a friend
    respecting my prospects.  I have the materials of a curious book of
    travels in Spain; I have enough metrical translations from all
    languages, especially the Celtic and Sclavonic, to fill a dozen
    volumes; and I have formed a vocabulary of the Spanish Gypsy tongue,
    and also a collection of the songs and poetry of the Gitanos, with
    introductory essays.  Perhaps some of these literary labours might be
    turned to account.  I wish to obtain honourably and respectably the
    means of visiting China or particular parts of Africa.”

It is clear from this that Borrow saw how unlikely it was that his
association with the Bible Society would be prolonged beyond the present
commission.  For one thing Spain was, to all intents and purposes, closed
to the unannotated Scriptures.  Something might be done in the matter of
surreptitious distribution; but that had its clearly defined limitations,
as the authorities were very much alive to the danger of the light that
Borrow sought to cast over the gloom of ignorance and superstition.

At Earl Street it was clearly recognised that Borrow’s work in Spain was
concluded.  On 1st November the Sub-Committee resolved that it could “not
recommend to the General Committee to engage the further services of Mr
Borrow until he shall have returned to this country from his Mission in
Spain.”  Again, on 10th January following, it recommends the General
Committee to recall him “without further delay.”

Although he had been officially recalled, nothing was further from
Borrow’s intentions than to retire meekly from the field.  He intended to
retreat with drums sounding and colours flying, fighting something more
than a rearguard action.  This man’s energy and resource were terrible—to
the authorities!  Seville he felt was still a fruitful ground, and
sending to Madrid for further supplies of Testaments, he commenced
operations.  “Everything was accomplished with the utmost secrecy, and
the blessed books obtained considerable circulation.” {309}  Agents were
sent into the country and he went also himself, “in my accustomed
manner,” until all the copies that had arrived from the capital were put
into circulation.  He then rested for a while, being in need of quiet, as
he was indisposed.

By this action Borrow was incurring no little risk.  The Canons of the
Cathedral watched him closely.  Their hatred amounted “almost to a
frenzy,” and Borrow states that scarcely a day passed without some
accusation of other being made to the Civil Governor, all of which were
false.  People whom he had never seen were persuaded to perjure
themselves by swearing that he had sold or given them books.  The same
system was carried on whilst he was in Africa, because the authorities
refused to believe that he was out of Spain.

There now occurred another regrettable incident, and Borrow once more
suffered for the indiscretion of those whom he neither knew nor
controlled.  To Mr Brandram he wrote:

    “Some English people now came to Seville and distributed tracts in a
    very unguarded manner, knowing nothing of the country or the
    inhabitants.  They were even so unwise as _to give tracts instead of
    money on visiting public buildings_, _etc._ [!].  These persons came
    to me and requested my coöperation and advice, and likewise
    introductions to people spiritually disposed amongst the Spaniards,
    to all which requests I returned a decided negative.  But I foresaw
    all.  In a day or two I was summoned before the Civil Governor, or,
    as he was once called, the _Corregidor_, of Seville, who, I must say,
    treated me with the utmost politeness and indeed respect; but at the
    same time he informed me that he had (to use his own expression)
    terrible orders from Madrid concerning me if I should be discovered
    in the act of distributing the Scriptures or any writings of a
    religious tendency; he then taxed me with having circulated both
    lately, especially tracts; whereupon I told him that I had never
    distributed a tract since I had been in Spain nor had any intention
    of doing so.  We had much conversation and parted in kindness.” {310}

For a few days nothing happened; then, determined to set out on an
expedition to La Mancha (the delay had been due to the insecure state of
the roads), Borrow sent his passport (24th Nov.) for signature to the
_Alcalde del Barrio_.

    “This fellow,” Borrow informs Mr Brandram, “is the greatest ruffian
    in Seville, and I have on various occasions been insulted by him; he
    pretends to be a liberal, but he is of no principle at all, and as I
    reside within his district he has been employed by the Canons of the
    Cathedral to vex and harrass me on every possible occasion.”

In the following letter, addressed to the British _Chargé d’Affaires_
(the Hon. G. S. S. Jerningham), Borrow gives a full account of what
transpired between him and the _Alcalde_ of Seville:—

    SIR,

    I beg leave to lay before you the following statement of certain
    facts which lately occurred at Seville, from which you will perceive
    that the person of a British Subject has been atrociously outraged,
    the rights and privileges of a foreigner in Spain violated, and the
    sanctuary of a private house invaded without the slightest reason or
    shadow of authority by a person in the employ of the Spanish
    Government.

    For some months past I have been a resident at Seville in a house
    situated in a square called the “Plazuela de la Pila Seca.”  In this
    house I possess apartments, the remainder being occupied by an
    English Lady and her daughter, the former of whom is the widow of an
    officer of the highest respectability who died in the naval service
    of Great Britain.  On the twenty-fourth of last November, I sent a
    servant, a Native of Spain, to the Office of the “_Ayuntamiento_” of
    Seville for the purpose of demanding my passport, it being my
    intention to set out the next day for Cordoba.  The “_Ayuntamiento_”
    returned for answer that it was necessary that the ticket of
    residence (_Billete de residencia_) which I had received on sending
    in the Passport should be signed by the _Alcalde_ of the district in
    which I resided, to which intimation I instantly attended.  I will
    here take the liberty of observing that on several occasions during
    my residence at Seville, I have experienced gross insults from this
    _Alcalde_, and that more than once when I have had occasion to leave
    the Town, he has refused to sign the necessary document for the
    recovery of the passport; he now again refused to do so, and used
    coarse language to the Messenger; whereupon I sent the latter back
    with money to pay any fees, lawful or unlawful, which might be
    demanded, as I wished to avoid noise and the necessity of applying to
    the Consul, Mr Williams; but the fellow became only more outrageous.
    I then went myself to demand an explanation, and was saluted with no
    inconsiderable quantity of abuse.  I told him that if he proceeded in
    this manner I would make a complaint to the Authorities through the
    British Consul.  He then said if I did not instantly depart he would
    drag me off to prison and cause me to be knocked down if I made the
    slightest resistance.  I dared him repeatedly to do both, and said
    that he was a disgrace to the Government which employed him, and to
    human nature.  He called me a vile foreigner.  We were now in the
    street and a mob had collected, whereupon I cried: “Viva Inglaterra y
    viva la Constitucion.”  The populace remained quiet, notwithstanding
    the exhortations of the _Alcalde_ that they would knock down “the
    foreigner,” for he himself quailed before me as I looked him in the
    face, defying him.  At length he exclaimed, with the usual obscene
    Spanish oath, “I will make you lower your head” (Yo te haré abajar la
    cabeza), and ran to a neighbouring guard-house and requested the
    assistance of the Nationals in conducting me to prison.  I followed
    him and delivered myself up at the first summons, and walked to the
    prison without uttering a word; not so the _Alcalde_, who continued
    his abuse until we arrived at the gate, repeatedly threatening to
    have me knocked down if I moved to the right or left.

    I was asked my name by the Authorities of the prison, which I refused
    to give unless in the presence of the Consul of my Nation, and indeed
    to answer any questions.  I was then ordered to the _Patio_, or
    Courtyard, where are kept the lowest thieves and assassins of
    Seville, who, having no money, cannot pay for better accommodation,
    and by whom I should have been stripped naked in a moment as a matter
    of course, as they are all in a state of raging hunger and utter
    destitution.  I asked for a private cell, which I was told I might
    have if I could pay for it.  I stated my willingness to pay anything
    which might be demanded, and was conducted to an upper ward
    consisting of several cells and a corridor; here I found six or seven
    Prisoners, who received me very civilly, and instantly procured me
    paper and ink for the purpose of writing to the Consul.  In less than
    an hour Mr Williams arrived and I told him my story, whereupon he
    instantly departed in order to demand redress of the Authorities.
    The next morning the _Alcalde_, without any authority from the
    Political [Civil] Governor of Seville, and unaccompanied by the
    English Consul, as the law requires in such cases, and solely
    attended by a common _Escribano_, went to the house in which I was
    accustomed to reside and demanded admission.  The door was opened by
    my Moorish Servant, Hayim Ben-Attar, whom he commanded instantly to
    show the way to my apartments.  On the Servant’s demanding by what
    authority he came, he said, “Cease chattering” (Deje cuentos), “I
    shall give no account to you; show me the way; if not, I will take
    you to prison as I did your master: I come to search for prohibited
    books.”  The Moor, who being in a strange land was somewhat
    intimidated, complied and led him to the rooms occupied by me, when
    the _Alcalde_ flung about my books and papers, finding nothing which
    could in the slightest degree justify his search, the few books being
    all either in Hebrew or Arabic character (they consisted of the
    Mitchna and some commentaries on the Coran); he at last took up a
    large knife which lay on a chair and which I myself purchased some
    months previous at Santa Cruz in La Mancha as a curiosity—the place
    being famous for those knives—and expressed his determination to take
    it away as a prohibited article.  The _Escribano_, however, cautioned
    him against doing so, and he flung it down.  He now became very
    vociferous and attempted to force his way into some apartments
    occupied by the Ladies, my friends; but soon desisted and at last
    went away, after using some threatening words to my Moorish Servant.
    Late at night of the second day of my imprisonment, I was set at
    liberty by virtue of an order of the Captain General, given on
    application of the British Consul, after having been for thirty hours
    imprisoned amongst the worst felons of Andalusia, though to do them
    justice I must say that I experienced from them nothing but kindness
    and hospitality.

    The above, Sir, is the correct statement of the affair which has now
    brought me to Madrid.  What could have induced the _Alcalde_ in
    question to practise such atrocious behaviour towards me I am at a
    loss to conjecture, unless he were instigated by certain enemies
    which I possess in Seville.  However this may be, I now call upon
    you, as the Representative of the Government of which I am a Subject,
    to demand of the Minister of the Spanish Crown full and ample
    satisfaction for the various outrages detailed above.  In conclusion,
    I must be permitted to add that I will submit to no compromise, but
    will never cease to claim justice until the culprit has received
    condign punishment.

                            I am, etc., etc., etc.

                                                            GEORGE BORROW.

    MADRID (no date).

                                      Recorded 6th December [1839].” {313}

Thus it happened that on 19th December Mr Brandram received the following
letter:—

                                    PRISON OF SEVILLE, 25_th_ _Nov._ 1839.

    I write these lines, as you see, from the common prison of Seville,
    to which I was led yesterday, or rather dragged, neither for murder
    nor robbery nor debt, but simply for having endeavoured to obtain a
    passport for Cordoba, to which place I was going with my Jewish
    servant Hayim Ben-Attar.

When questioned by the Vice-Consul as to his authority for searching
Borrow’s house, the _Alcalde_ produced a paper purporting to be the
deposition of an old woman to whom Borrow was alleged to have sold a
Testament some ten days previously.  The document Borrow pronounced a
forgery and the statement untrue.

Borrow’s fellow-prisoners treated him with unbounded kindness and
hospitality, and he was forced to confess that he had “never found
himself amongst more quiet and well-behaved men.”  Nothing shows more
clearly the power of Borrow’s personality over rogues and vagabonds than
the two periods spent in Spanish prisons—at Madrid and at Seville.  Mr
Brandram must have shuddered when he read Borrow’s letter telling him by
what manner of men he was surrounded.

    “What is their history?” he writes apropos of his fellow-prisoners.
    “The handsome black-haired man, who is now looking over my shoulder,
    is the celebrated thief, Pelacio, the most expert housebreaker and
    dexterous swindler in Spain—in a word, the modern Guzman D’alfarache.
    The brawny man who sits by the _brasero_ of charcoal is Salvador, the
    highwayman of Ronda, who has committed a hundred murders.  A
    fashionably dressed man, short and slight in person, is walking about
    the room: he wears immense whiskers and mustachios; he is one of that
    most singular race the Jews of Spain; he is imprisoned for
    counterfeiting money.  He is an atheist; but, like a true Jew, the
    name which he most hates is that of Christ.  Yet he is so quiet and
    civil, and they are all so quiet and civil, and it is that which most
    horrifies me, for quietness and civility in them seems so unnatural.”
    {315}

Such were the men who fraternised with an agent of a religious society
and showed him not only civility but hospitality and kindness.  It is
open to question if they would have shown the same to any other
unfortunate missionary.  In all probability they recognised a
fellow-vagabond, who was at much at issue with the social conventions of
communities as they were with the laws of property.

On this occasion the period of Borrow’s imprisonment was brief.  He was
released late at night on 25th Nov., within thirty hours of his arrest,
and he immediately set to work to think out a plan by which he could once
more discomfit the Spanish authorities for this indignity to a British
subject.  He would proceed to Madrid without delay and put his case
before the British Minister, at the same time he would “make preparations
for leaving Spain as soon as possible.”




CHAPTER XX
DECEMBER 1839–MAY 1840


It was probably about this time (1839) that

    “The Marqués de Santa Coloma met Borrow again at Seville.  He had
    great difficulty in finding him out; though he was aware of the
    street in which he resided, no one knew him by name.  At last, by
    dint of inquiry and description, some one exclaimed, ‘Oh! you mean el
    Brujo’ (the wizard), and he was directed to the house.  He was
    admitted with great caution, and conducted through a lot of passages
    and stairs, till at last he was ushered into a handsomely furnished
    apartment in the ‘_mirador_,’ where Borrow was living _with his wife
    and daughter_. . .  It is evident . . . that, to his Spanish friends
    at least, he thus called Mrs Clarke and her daughter Henrietta his
    wife and daughter: and the Marqués de Santa Coloma evidently believed
    that the young lady was Borrow’s _own_ daughter, and not his
    step-daughter merely (!).  At the time the roads from Seville to
    Madrid were very unsafe.  Santa Coloma wished Borrow to join his
    party, who were going well armed.  Borrow said he would be safe with
    his Gypsies.  Both arrived without accident in Madrid; the Marqués’s
    party first.  Borrow, on his arrival, told Santa Coloma that his
    Gypsy chief had led him by by-paths and mountains; that they had not
    slept in a village, nor seen a town the whole way.” {316}

It must be confessed that Mr Webster was none too reliable a witness, and
it seems highly improbable that Borrow would wish to pass Mrs Clarke off
as his wife before their marriage.  The fact of their occupying the same
house may have seemed to their Spanish friends compromising, as it
unquestionably was; but had he spoken of Mrs Clarke as his wife, it would
have left her not a vestige of reputation.

On arriving at Madrid Borrow found that Lord Clarendon’s successor, Mr
Arthur Aston, had not yet arrived, he therefore presented his complaint
to the _Chargé d’Affaires_, the Hon. G. S. S. Jerningham, who had
succeeded Mr Sothern as private secretary.  Mr Sothern had not yet left
Madrid to take up his new post as First Secretary at Lisbon, and
therefore presented Borrow to Mr Jerningham, by whom he was received with
great kindness.  He assured Mr Jerningham that for some time past he had
given up distributing the Scriptures in Spain, and he merely claimed the
privileges of a British subject and the protection of his Government.
The First Secretary took up the case immediately, forwarding Borrow’s
letter to Don Perez de Castro with a request for “proper steps to be
taken, should Mr Borrow’s complaint . . . be considered by His Excellency
as properly founded.”  Borrow himself was doubtful as to whether he would
obtain justice, “for I have against me,” he wrote to Mr Brandram (24th
December), “the Canons of Seville; and all the arts of villany which they
are so accustomed to practise will of course be used against me for the
purpose of screening the ruffian who is their instrument. . . .  I have
been, my dear Sir, fighting with wild beasts.”

The rather quaint reply to Borrow’s charges was not forthcoming until he
had left Spain and was living at Oulton.  It runs: {317}

                                                MADRID, 11_th_ _May_ 1840.

    SIR,

    Under date of 20th December last, Mr Perez de Castro informed Mr
    Jerningham that in order to answer satisfactorily his note of 8th
    December _re_ complaint made by Borrow, he required a faithful report
    to be made.  These have been stated by the Municipality of Seville to
    the Civil Governor of that City, and are as follows:—

    “When Borrow meant to undertake his journey to Cadiz towards the end
    of last year, he applied to the section of public security for his
    Passport, for which purpose he ought to deliver his paper of
    residence which was given to him when he arrived at Seville.  That
    paper he had not presented in its proper time to the _Alcalde_ of his
    district, on which account this person had not been acquainted as he
    ought with his residence in the district, and as his Passport could
    not be issued in consequence of this document not being in order,
    Borrow addressed, through the medium of a Servant, to the house of
    the said district _Alcalde_ that the defect might be remedied.  That
    functionary refused to do so, founded on the reasons already stated;
    and for the purpose of overcoming his resistance he was offered a
    gratification, the Servant with that intent presenting half a dollar.
    The _Alcalde_, justly indignant, left his house to make the necessary
    complaint respecting their indecorous action when he met Borrow, who,
    surprised at the refusal of the _Alcalde_, expressed to him his
    astonishment, addressing insulting expressions not only against his
    person but against the authorities of Spain, who, he said, he was
    sure were to be bought at a very small price—crying on after this,
    Long live the Constitution, Death to the Religion, and Long live
    England.  These and other insults gave rise to the _Alcalde_
    proceeding to his arrest and the assistance of the armed force of
    Veterans, and not of the National Militia, as Borrow supposed, making
    a detailed report to the Constitutional _Alcalde_, who forwarded it
    original to the Captain General of the Province as Judge Protector of
    Foreigners, leaving him under detention at his disposition.  He did
    the same with another report transmitted by the said functionary, in
    which reference to a Lady who lived at the Gate of Xerez; he
    denounced Borrow as a seducer of youth in matters of Religion by
    facilitating to them the perusal of prohibited books, of which a
    copy, that was in the hands of the Ecclesiastical Governor, was
    likewise transmitted to the Captain General.  These antecedents were
    sufficient to have authorised a summary to have been formed against
    Borrow, but the repeated supplications of the British Vice-Consul, Mr
    Williams, who among other things stated that Borrow laboured under
    fits of madness, had the effect of causing the above Constitutional
    _Alcalde_ to forgive him the fault committed and recommend to the
    Captain General that the matter should be dropped, which was acceded
    to, and he was put at liberty.  The above facts, official proofs of
    which exist in the Captain General’s Office, clearly disprove the
    statement of Borrow, who ungrateful for the generous hospitality
    which he has received, and for the consideration displayed towards
    him on account of his infirmity, and out of deference to the request
    of the British Vice-Consul, makes an unfounded complaint against the
    very authorities who have used attentions towards him which he is
    certainly not deserving; it being worthy of remark, in order to prove
    the bad faith of his procedure, that in his own _exposé_, although he
    disfigures facts at pleasure, using a language little decorous, he
    confesses part of his faults, such as the offering of money _to pay_,
    as he says, ‘_the legal or extra-legal dues that might be exacted_,
    and his having twice challenged the _Alcalde_.’

    “I should consider myself wanting towards your enlightened sense of
    justice if, after the reasons given, I stopped to prove the just and
    prudent conduct of Seville authorities.

    “Hope he will therefore be completely satisfied, especially after the
    want of exactitude on Borrow’s part.

                                     From

                                                EVARISTO PEREZ DE CASTRO.”

    To Mr Aston. {319}

And so the matter ended.  The Spanish authorities knew that they no
longer had a Sir George Villiers to deal with, and had recourse to that
trump card of weak and vacillating diplomatists—delay.  Whatever Borrow’s
offence, the method of his arrest and imprisonment was in itself
unlawful.

It was Borrow’s intention on his return to England to endeavour to obtain
an interview with some members of the House of Lords, in order to
acquaint them with the manner in which Protestants were persecuted in
Spain.  They were debarred from the exercise of their religion from being
married by Protestant rites, and the common privileges of burial were
denied them.  He was anxious for Protestant England, lest it should fall
a victim to Popery.  This fear of Rome was a very real one to Borrow.  He
marvelled at people’s blindness to the danger that was threatening them,
and he even went so far as to entreat his friends at Earl Street “to drop
all petty dissensions and to comport themselves like brothers” against
their common enemy the Pope.

Unfortunately Borrow had shown to a number of friends one of his letters
to Mr Brandram dealing with the Seville imprisonment, and had even
allowed several copies of it to be taken “in order that an incorrect
account of the affair might not get abroad.”  The result was an article
in a London newspaper containing remarks to the disparagement of other
workers for the Gospel in Spain.  Borrow disavowed all knowledge of these
observations.

    “I am not ashamed of the Methodists of Cadiz,” he assures Mr
    Brandram, “their conduct in many respects does them honor, nor do I
    accuse any one of fanaticism amongst our dear and worthy friends; but
    I cannot answer for the tittle-tattle of Madrid.  Far be it from me
    to reflect upon any one, I am but too well aware of my own
    multitudinous imperfections and follies.” {320}

There is nothing more mysterious in Borrow’s life than his years of
friendship with Mrs Clarke.  He was never a woman’s man, but Mary Clarke
seems to have awakened in him a very sincere regard.  The ménage at
Seville was a curious one, and both Borrow and Mrs Clarke should have
seen that it was calculated to make people talk.  There may have been a
tacit understanding between them.  Everything connected with their
relations and courtship is very mysterious.  Dr Knapp is scarcely just to
Borrow or gracious to the woman he married, when he implies that it was
merely a business arrangement on both sides.  Mrs Clarke’s affairs
required a man’s hand to administer them, and Borrow was prepared to give
the man’s hand in exchange for an income.  The engagement could scarcely
have taken place in the middle of November 1839, as Dr Knapp states, for
on the day of his arrest at Seville (24th Nov.) Borrow wrote:—

    MY DEAR MRS CLARKE,—Do not be alarmed, but I am at present in the
    prison, to which place the _Alcalde_ del Barrio conducted me when I
    asked him to sign the Passport.  If Phelipe is not already gone to
    the Consul, let Henrietta go now and show him this letter.  When I
    asked the fellow his motives for not signing the Passport, he said if
    I did not go away he would carry me to prison.  I dared him to do so,
    as I had done nothing; whereupon he led me here.—Yours truly,

                                                            GEORGE BORROW.

This is obviously not the letter of a man recently engaged to the woman
who is to become his wife.  On the other hand, Borrow may have been
writing merely for the Consul’s eye.

On hearing the news of the engagement old Mrs Borrow wrote:—

    “I am not surprised, my dear Mrs Clarke, at what you tell me, though
    I knew nothing of it.  It put me in mind of the Revd. Flethers; you
    know they took time to consider.  So far all is well.  I shall now
    resign him to your care, and may you love and cherish him as much as
    I have done.  I hope and trust that each will try to make the other
    happy.  You will always have my prayers and best wishes.  Give my
    kind love to dear George and tell him he is never out of my thoughts.
    I have much to say, but I cannot write.  I shall be glad to see you
    all safe and well.  Give my love to Henrietta; tell her _I_ can sing
    ‘Gaily the Troubadour’; I only want the ‘guitar.’ {321} God bless you
    all.”

There is no doubt that a very strong friendship had existed between Mrs
Clarke and Borrow during the whole time that he had been associated with
the Bible Society.  She it was who had been indirectly responsible for
his introduction to Earl Street.  It is idle to speculate what it was
that led Mrs Clarke to select Seville as the place to which to fly from
her enemies.  There is, however, a marked significance in old Mrs
Borrow’s words, “I am not surprised, my dear Mrs Clarke, at what you tell
me.”  Whatever his mother may have seen, there appears to have been no
thought of marriage in Borrow’s mind when, on 29th September 1839, he
wrote to Mr Brandram telling him of his wish to visit “China or
particular parts of Africa.”

Borrow paid many tributes to his wife, not only in his letters, but in
print, every one of which she seems thoroughly to have merited.  “Of my
wife,” he writes, {322}  “I will merely say that she is a perfect paragon
of wives—can make puddings and sweets and treacle posset, and is the best
woman of business in East Anglia.”  On another occasion he praises her
for more general qualities, when he compares her to the good wife of the
Triad, the perfect woman endowed with all the feminine virtues.  His wife
and “old Hen.” (Henrietta) were his “two loved ones,” and he subsequently
shows in a score of ways how much they had become part of his life.

After his return to Seville, early in January, Borrow proceeded to get
his “papers into some order.”  There seems no doubt that this meant
preparing _The Zincali_ for publication.  In the excitement and
enthusiasm of authorship, and the pleasant company of Mrs and Miss
Clarke, he seems to have been divinely unconscious that he was under
orders to proceed home.  Week after week passed without news of their
Agent in Spain reaching Earl Street, and the Officials and Committee of
the Bible Society became troubled to account for his non-appearance.  The
last letter from him had been received on 13th January.  Early in March
Mr Jackson wrote to Mr Brackenbury asking for news of him.  A letter to
Mr Williams at Seville was enclosed, which Mr Brackenbury had
discretionary powers to withhold if he were able to supply the
information himself.  Two letters that Borrow had addressed to the
Society it appears had gone astray, and as “one steamer . . . arrived
after another and yet no news from Mr Borrow,” some apprehension began to
manifest itself lest misfortune had befallen him.  On the other hand,
Borrow had heard nothing from the Society for five months, the long
silence making him “very, very unhappy.”

In reply to Mr Brandram’s letter Borrow wrote:—

    “I did not return to England immediately after my departure from
    Madrid for several reasons.  First, there was my affair with the
    _Alcalde_ still pending; second, I wished to get my papers into some
    order; third, I wished to effect a little more in the cause, though
    not in the way of distribution, as I have no books: moreover the
    house in which I resided was paid for and I was unwilling altogether
    to lose the money; I likewise dreaded an English winter, for I have
    lately been subjected to attacks, whether of gout or rheumatism I
    know not, which I believe were brought on by sitting, standing and
    sleeping in damp places during my wanderings in Spain.  The _Alcalde_
    has lately been turned out of his situation, but I believe more on
    account of his being a Carlist than for his behaviour to me; that,
    however, is of little consequence, as I have long forgotten the
    affair.” {323a}

There was no longer any reason for delay; the English winter was over, he
had one book nearly ready for publication and two others in a state of
forwardness.

    “I embark on the third of next month [April],” he continued, “and you
    will probably see me by the 16th.  I wish very much to spend the
    remaining years of my life in the northern parts of China, as I think
    I have a call for those regions, and shall endeavour by every
    honourable means to effect my purpose.” {323b}

These words would seem to imply that his marriage with Mrs Clarke was by
no means decided upon at the date he wrote, although during the previous
month he had been in correspondence with Mr Brackenbury regarding
Protestants in Spain being debarred from marrying.  It is inconceivable
that Mrs Clarke and her daughter contemplated living in the North of
China; and equally unlikely that Mrs Clarke would marry a potential
“absentee landlord,” or one who frankly confessed “I hope yet to die in
the cause of my Redeemer.”

Sidi Habismilk had at first presented a grave problem; but Mr
Brackenbury, who secured the passages on the steamer, arranged also for
the Arab to be slung aboard the Steam-Packet.  On 3rd April the whole
party, including Hayim Ben Attar and Sidi Habismilk, boarded the _Royal
Adelaide_ bound for London.

Borrow never forgave Spain for its treatment of him, although some of the
happiest years of his life had been spent there.  “The Spaniards are a
stupid, ungrateful set of ruffians,” he afterwards wrote, “and are
utterly incapable of appreciating generosity or forbearance.”  He piled
up invective upon the unfortunate country.  It was “the chosen land of
the two fiends—assassination and murder,” where avarice and envy were the
prevailing passions.  It was the “country of error”; yet at the same time
“the land of extraordinary characters.”  As he saw its shores sinking
beneath the horizon, he was mercifully denied the knowledge that never
again was he to be so happily occupied as during the five years he had
spent upon its soil distributing the Scriptures, and using a British
Minister as a two-edged sword.

The party arrived in London on 16th April and put up at the Spread Eagle
in Gracechurch Street.  On 23rd April, at St Peter’s Church in Cornhill,
the wedding took place.  There were present as witnesses only Henrietta
Clarke and John Pilgrim, the Norwich solicitor.  In the Register the
names appear as:—

    “George Henry Borrow—of full age—bachelor—gentleman—of the City of
    Norwich—son of Thomas Borrow—Captain in the Army.

    “Mary Clarke—of full age—widow—of Spread Eagle Inn, Gracechurch
    Street—daughter of Edmund Skepper—Esquire.”

On 2nd May an announcement of the marriage appeared in _The Norfolk
Chronicle_.  A few days later the party left for Oulton Cottage, and
Borrow became a landed proprietor on a small scale in his much-loved East
Anglia.

On 21st April Mr Brandram had written to Borrow the following letter:—

    MY DEAR FRIEND,—Your later communications have been referred to our
    Sub-Committee for General Purposes.  After what you said yesterday in
    the Committee, I am hardly aware that anything can arise out of them.
    The door seems shut.  The Sub-Committee meet on Friday.  Will you
    wish to make any communications to them as to any ulterior views that
    may have occurred to yourself?  I do not myself at present see any
    sphere open to which your services in connection with our Society can
    be transferred. . . . With best wishes—Believe me—Yours truly,

                                                              A. BRANDRAM.

On 24th April, the day after Borrow’s wedding, the Sub-Committee duly met
and

    “Resolved that, upon mature consideration, it does not appear to this
    Sub-Committee that there is, at present, any opening for employing Mr
    Borrow beneficially as an Agent of the Society . . . and that it be
    recommended to the General Committee that the salary of Mr Borrow be
    paid up to the 10th June next.”

The Bible Society’s valediction, which appeared in the Thirty-Sixth
Annual Report, read:—

    “G. Borrow, Esq., one of the gentlemen referred to in former Reports
    as having so zealously exerted themselves on behalf of Spain, has
    just returned home, hopeless of further attempts at present to
    distribute the Scriptures in that country.  Mr B. has succeeded, by
    almost incredible pains, and at no small cost and hazard, in selling
    during his last visit a few hundred copies of the Bible, and most
    that remained of the edition of the New Testament printed in Madrid.”

Thus ended George Borrow’s activities on behalf of the British and
Foreign Bible Society, and incidentally the seven happiest and most
active years of his life.  On the whole the association had been
honourable to all concerned.  There had been moments of irritation and
mistakes on both sides.  It would be foolish to accuse the Society of
deliberately planting obstacles in the path of its own agent; but the
unfortunate championing of Lieutenant Graydon was the result of a very
grave error of judgment.  Borrow had no personal friends among the
Committee, to whom the impetuous zeal of Graydon was more picturesque
than the grave and deliberate caution of Borrow.  The Officials and
Committee alike saw in Graydon the ideal Reformer, rushing precipitately
towards martyrdom, exposing Anti-Christ as he ran.  Had Borrow been
content to allow others to plead his cause, the history of his relations
with the Bible Society would, in all probability, have been different.
He felt himself a grievously injured man, who had suffered from what he
considered to be the insane antics of another, and he was determined that
Earl Street should know it.  On the other hand, Mr Brandram does not
appear to have understood Borrow.  He made no attempt to humour him, to
praise him for what he had done and the way in which he had done it.
Praise was meat and drink to Borrow; it compensated him for what he had
endured and encouraged him to further effort.  He hungered for it, and
when it did not come he grew discouraged and thought that those who
employed him were not conscious of what he was suffering.  Hence the long
accounts of what he had undergone for the Gospel’s sake.

During his six years in Spain he had distributed nearly 5000 copies of
the New Testament and 500 Bibles, also some hundreds of the Basque and
Gypsy Gospel of St Luke.  These figures seem insignificant beside those
of Lieut. Graydon, who, on one occasion, sold as many as 1082 volumes in
fourteen days, and in two years printed 13,000 Testaments and 3000
Bibles, distributing the larger part of them.  During the year 1837 he
circulated altogether between five and six thousand books.  But there was
no comparison between the work of the two men.  Graydon had kept to the
towns and cities on the south coast; Borrow’s methods were different.  He
circulated his books largely among villages and hamlets, where the
population was sparse and the opportunities of distribution small.  He
had gone out into the highways, risking his life at every turn,
penetrating into bandit-infested provinces in the throes of civil war,
suffering incredible hardships and fatigues and, never sparing himself.
Both men were earnest and eager; but the Bible Society favoured the wrong
man—at least for its purposes.  But for Lieut. Graydon, Borrow would in
all probability have gone to China, and what a book he would have
written, at least what letters, about the sealed East!

Borrow, however, had nothing to complain of.  He had found occupation
when he badly needed it, which indirectly was to bring him fame.  He had
been well paid for his services (during the seven years of his employment
he drew some £2300 in salary and expenses), his £200 a year and expenses
(in Spain) comparing very favourably with Mr Brandram’s £300 a year.

He was loyal to the Bible Society, both in word and thought.  He
honourably kept to himself the story of the Graydon dispute.  He spoke of
the Society with enthusiasm, exclaiming, “Oh! the blood glows in his
veins! oh! the marrow awakes in his old bones when he thinks of what he
accomplished in Spain in the cause of religion and civilisation with the
colours of that society in his hat.” {328a}  In spite of the
misunderstandings and the rebukes he could write fourteen years later
that he “bade it adieu with feelings of love and admiration.” {328b}  He
“had done with Spain for ever, after doing for her all that lay in the
power of a lone man, who had never in this world anything to depend upon,
but God and his own slight strength.” {328c}  In the preface to _The
Bible in Spain_ he pays a handsome tribute to both Rule and Graydon, thus
showing that although he was a good hater, he could be magnanimous.

It has been stated that, during a portion of his association with the
Bible Society, Borrow acted as a foreign correspondent for _The Morning
Herald_.  Dr Knapp has very satisfactorily disproved the statement, which
the Rev. Wentworth Webster received from the Marqués de Santa Coloma.
Either the Marqués or Mr Webster is responsible for the statement that
Borrow was wrecked, instead of nearly wrecked, off Cape Finisterre.  As
the Marqués was a passenger on the boat, the mistake must be ascribed to
Mr Webster.  The further statement that Borrow was imprisoned at Pamplona
by Quesada is scarcely more credible than that about the wreck.  His
imprisonment could not very well have taken place, as stated, in 1837–9,
because General Quesada was killed in 1836.  Mention is made of this
foreign correspondent rumour only because it has been printed and
reprinted.  It may be that Borrow was imprisoned at Pamplona during the
“Veiled Period”; there is certainly one imprisonment (according to his
own statement) unaccounted for.  It is curious how the fact first became
impressed upon the Marqués’ mind, unless he had heard it from Borrow.  It
is quite likely that he confused the date.

It would be interesting to identify the two men whom Borrow describes in
_Lavengro_ as being at the offices of the Bible Society in Earl Street,
when he sought to exchange for a Bible the old Apple-woman’s copy of
_Moll Flanders_.  “One was dressed in brown,” he writes, “and the other
was dressed in black; both were tall men—he who was dressed in brown was
thin, and had a particularly ill-natured countenance; the man dressed in
black was bulky, his features were noble, but they were those of a lion.”
{329a}  Again, in _The Romany Rye_, he makes the man in black say with
reference to the Bible Society:—“There is one fellow amongst them for
whom we entertain a particular aversion: a big, burly parson, with the
face of a lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a sledge-hammer.”
{329b}  Who these two worthies were it is impossible to say with any
degree of certainty.  Caroline Fox describes Andrew Brandram no further
than that he “appeared before us once more with his shaggy eyebrows.”
{329c}  Mr Brandram was not thin and his countenance was not ill-natured.




CHAPTER XXI
MAY 1840–MARCH 1841


EARLY in May, Borrow, his wife and step-daughter left London to take up
their residence at Oulton, in Suffolk.  After years of wandering and
vagabondage he was to settle down as a landed proprietor.  His income, or
rather his wife’s, amounted to £450 per annum, and he must have saved a
considerable sum out of the £2300 he had drawn from the Bible Society, as
his mother appears to have regarded the amounts he had sent to her as
held in trust.  He was therefore able to instal himself, Sidi Habismilk
and the Jew of Fez upon his wife’s small estate, with every prospect of
enjoying a period of comfort and rest after his many years of wandering
and adventure.

         [Picture: Oulton Cottage.  Photo. C. Wilson, Lowestroft]

Oulton Cottage was ideally situated on the margin of the Broad.  It was a
one-storied building, with a dormer-attic above, hanging “over a lonely
lake covered with wild fowl, and girt with dark firs, through which the
wind sighs sadly. {330a}  A regular Patmos, an _ultima Thule_; placed in
an angle of the most unvisited, out-of-the-way portion of England.”
{330b}  A few yards from the water’s edge stood the famous octagonal
Summer-house that Borrow made his study.  Here he kept his books, a
veritable “polyglot gentleman’s” library, consisting of such literary
“tools” as a Lav-engro might be expected to possess.  There were also
books of travel and adventure, some chairs, a lounge and a table; whilst
behind the door hung the sword and regimental coat of the sleeping
warrior to whom his younger son had been an affliction of the spirit,
because his mind pursued paths that appeared so strangely perilous.

Here in this Summer-house Borrow wrote his books.  Here when “sickness
was in the land, and the face of nature was overcast—heavy rain-clouds
swam in the heavens—the blast howled amid the pines which nearly surround
the lonely dwelling, and the waters of the lake which lies before it, so
quiet in general and tranquil, were fearfully agitated,” Borrow shouted,
“‘Bring lights hither, O Hayim Ben Attar, son of the miracle!’  And the
Jew of Fez brought in the lights,” {331a} and his master commenced
writing a book that was to make him famous.  When tired of writing, he
would sometimes sing “strange words in a stentorian voice, while
passers-by on the lake would stop to listen with astonishment and
curiosity to the singular sounds.” {331b}

Life at Oulton Cottage was delightfully simple.  Borrow was a good host.
“I am rather hospitable than otherwise,” {331c} he wrote, and thoroughly
disliked anything in the nature of meanness.  There was always a bottle
of wine of a rare vintage for the honoured guest.  Sometimes the host
himself would hasten away to the little Summer-house by the side of the
Broad to muse, his eyes fixed upon the military coat and sword, or to
scribble upon scraps of paper that, later, were to be transcribed by Mrs
Borrow.  Borrow would spend his evenings with his wife and Henrietta,
generally in reading until bedtime.

In the Norwich days Borrow had formed an acquaintance with another
articled-clerk named Harvey (probably one of his colleagues at Tuck’s
Court).  They had kindred tastes, in particular a love of the open air
and vigorous exercise.  After settling at Oulton, the Borrows and the
Harveys (then living at Bury St Edmunds) became very intimate, and
frequently visited each other.  Elizabeth Harvey, the daughter of
Borrow’s contemporary, has given an extremely interesting account of the
home life of the Borrows.  She has described how sometimes Borrow would
sing one of his Romany songs, “shake his fist at me and look quite wild.
Then he would ask: ‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’  ‘No, not at all,’ I would
say.  Then he would look just as gentle and kind, and say, ‘God bless
you, I would not hurt a hair of your head.’” {332a}

Miss Harvey has also given us many glimpses into Borrow’s character.  “He
was very fond of ghost stories,” she writes, “and believed in the
supernatural.” {332b}  He enjoyed music of a lively description, one of
his favourite compositions being the well-known “Redowa” polka, which he
would frequently ask to have played to him again.

As an eater Borrow was very moderate, he “took very little breakfast but
ate a very great quantity of dinner, and then had only a draught of cold
water before going to bed . . .  He was very temperate and would eat what
was set before him, often not thinking of what he was doing, and he never
refused what was offered him.” {332c}  On one occasion when he was dining
with the Harveys, young Harvey, seeing Borrow engrossed in telling of his
travels, handed him dish after dish in rapid succession, from all of
which he helped himself, entirely unconscious of what he was doing.
Finally his plate was full to overflowing, perceiving which he became
very angry, and it was some time before he could be appeased.  A
practical joke made no appeal to him. {332d}

Elizabeth Harvey also tells how, when a cousin of hers was staying at
Cromer, the landlady went to her one day and said, “O, Miss, there’s such
a curious gentleman been.  I don’t know what to think of him, I asked him
what he would like for dinner, and he said, ‘Give me a piece of flesh.’”
“What sort of gentleman was it?” enquired the cousin, and on hearing the
description recognised George Borrow, and explained that the strange
visitor merely wanted a rump-steak, a favourite dish with him.

As he did not shoot or hunt, he obtained exercise either by riding or
walking.  At times “he suffered from sleeplessness, when he would get up
and walk to Norwich (25 miles) and return the next night recovered”
{333a} yet Borrow has said that “he always had the health of an
elephant.”

He was proud of the Church and took great pleasure in showing to his
friends the brasses it contained, including one bearing an effigy of Sir
John Fastolf, whom he considered to be the original of Falstaff.  He was
also “very fond of his trees.  He quite fretted if by some mischance he
lost one.” {333b}

His methods with the country people round Oulton were calculated to earn
for him a reputation for queerness.  “Curiosity is the leading feature of
my character” {333c} he confessed, and the East Anglian looks upon
curiosity in others with marked suspicion.  It was impossible for Borrow
to walk far without getting into conversation with someone or other.  He
delighted in getting people to tell their histories and experiences;
“when they used some word peculiar to Norfolk (or Suffolk) country men,
he would say ‘Why, that’s a Danish word.’  By and bye the man would use
another peculiar expression, ‘Why, that’s Saxon’; a little further on
another, ‘Why, that’s French.’  And he would add, ‘Why, what a wonderful
man you are to speak so many languages.’  One man got very angry, but Mr
Borrow was quite unconscious that he had given any offence.” {334a}

He took pleasure in puzzling people about languages.  Elizabeth Harvey
tells {334b} how he once put a book before her telling her to read it,
and on her saying she could not, he replied, “You ought; it’s your own
language.”  The volume was written in Saxon.  Yet for all this he hated
to hear foreign words introduced into conversation.  When he heard such
adulterations of the English language he would exclaim jocosely, “What’s
that, trying to come over me with strange languages?” {334c}

Borrow’s first thoughts on settling down were of literature.  He had
material for several books, as he had informed Mr Brandram.  Putting
aside, at least for the present, the translations of the ballads and
songs, he devoted himself to preparing for the press a book upon the
Spanish Gypsies.  During the five years spent in Spain he had gathered
together much material.  He had made notes in queer places under strange
and curious conditions, “in moments snatched from more important
pursuits—chiefly in _ventas_ and _posadás_” {334d}—whilst engaged in
distributing the Gospel.  It was a book of facts that he meant to write,
not theories, and if he sometimes fostered error, it was because at the
moment it was his conception of truth.  Very little remained to do to the
manuscript.  Mrs. Borrow had performed her share of the work in making a
fair copy for the printer.  Borrow’s subsequent remark that the
manuscript “was written by a country amanuensis and probably contains
many ridiculous errata,” was scarcely gracious to the wife, who seems to
have comprehended so well the first principle of wifely duty to an
illustrious and, it must be admitted, autocratic genius—viz.,
self-extinction.

“No man could endure a clever wife,” Borrow once confided to the
unsympathetic ear of Frances Power Cobbe; but he had married one
nevertheless.  No woman whose cleverness had not reached the point of
inspiration could have lived in intimate association with so capricious
and masterful a man as George Borrow.  John Hasfeldt, in sending his
congratulations, had seemed to suggest that Borrow was one of those
abstruse works of nature that require close and constant study.  “When
your wife thoroughly knows you,” he wrote, “she will smooth the wrinkles
on your brow and you will be so cheerful and happy that your grey hair
will turn black again.”

“In November 1840 a tall athletic gentleman in black called upon Mr
Murray, offering a manuscript for perusal and publication.” {335a}
Fifteen years before, the same “tall athletic gentleman” had called a
dozen times at 50a Albemarle Street with translations of Northern and
Welsh ballads, but “never could see Glorious John.”  Borrow had
determined to make another attempt to see John Murray, and this time he
was successful.  He submitted the manuscript of _The Zincali_, which
Murray sent to Richard Ford {335b} that he might pronounce upon it and
its possibilities.  “I have made acquaintance,” Ford wrote to H. U.
Addington, 14th Jan. 1841, “with an extraordinary fellow, _George
Borrow_, who went out to Spain to convert the _gypsies_.  He is about to
publish his failure, and a curious book it will be.  It was submitted to
my perusal by the hesitating Murray.” {335c}  On Ford’s advice the book
was accepted for publication, it being arranged that author and publisher
should share the profits equally between them.

On 17th April 1841 there appeared in two volumes _The Zincali_; {336a}
_or_, _An Account of the Gypsies in Spain_.  _With an original Collection
of their Songs and Poetry_, _and a copious Dictionary of their Language_.
By George Borrow, late Agent of the British and Foreign Bible Society in
Spain.  It was dedicated to the Earl of Clarendon, G.C.B. (Sir George
Villiers), in “remembrance of the many obligations under which your
Lordship has placed me, by your energetic and effectual interference in
time of need.”  The first edition of 750 copies sufficed to meet the
demand of two years.  Ford, however, wrote to Murray: “The book has
created a great sensation far and wide.  I was sure it would, and I hope
you think that when I read the MS. my opinion and advice were sound.”
{336b}

     [Picture: Richard Ford.  From the painting by Antonio Chatelain]

_The Zincali_ had been begun at Badajos with the Romany songs or rhymes
copied down as recited by his gypsy friends.  To these he had
subsequently added, being assisted by a French courier, Juan Antonio
Bailly, who translated the songs into Spanish.  These translations were
originally intended to be published in a separate work, as was the
Vocabulary, which forms part of _The Zincali_.  Had Borrow sought to make
two separate works of the “Songs” and “Vocabulary,” there is very
considerable doubt if they would have fared any better than the
everlasting Ab Gwilym; but either with inspiration, or acting on some
one’s wise counsel, he determined to subordinate them to an account of
the Spanish Gypsies.

As a piece of bookmaking _The Zincali_ is by no means notable.  Borrow
himself refers to it (page 354) as “this strange wandering book of mine.”
In construction it savours rather of the method by which it was
originally inspired; but for all that it is fascinating reading,
saturated with the atmosphere of vagabondage and the gypsy encampment.
It was not necessarily a book for the scholar and the philologist, many
of whom scorned it on account of its rather obvious carelessnesses and
inaccuracies.  Borrow was not a writer of academic books.  He lacked the
instinct for research which alone insures accuracy.

It was particularly appropriate that Borrow’s first book should be about
the Gypsies, who had always exercised so strange an attraction for him
that he could not remember the time “when the very name of Gypsy did not
awaken within me feelings hard to be described.” {337a}  His was not
merely an interest in their strange language, their traditions, their
folk-lore; it was something nearer and closer to the people themselves.
They excited his curiosity, he envied their mode of life, admired their
clannishness, delighted in their primitive customs.  Their persistence in
warring against the gentile appealed strongly to his instinctive hatred
of “gentility nonsense”; and perhaps more than anything else, he envied
them the stars and the sun and the wind on the heath.

“Romany matters have always had a peculiar interest for me,” {337b} he
affirms over and over again in different words, and he never lost an
opportunity of joining a party of gypsies round their camp-fire.  His
knowledge of the Romany people was not acquired from books.  Apparently
he had read very few of the many works dealing with the mysterious race
he had singled out for his particular attention.  With characteristic
assurance he makes the sweeping assertion that “all the books which have
been published concerning them [the Gypsies] have been written by those
who have introduced themselves into their society for a few hours, and
from what they have seen or heard consider themselves competent to give
the world an idea of the manners and customs of the mysterious Romany.”
{338a}

His attitude towards the race is curious.  He recognised the Gypsies as
liars, rogues, cheats, vagabonds, in short as the incarnation of all the
vices; yet their fascination for him in no way diminished.  He could mix
with them, as with other vagabonds, and not become harmed by their broad
views upon personal property, or their hundred and one tricks and
dishonesties.  He was a changed man when in their company, losing all
that constraint that marked his intercourse with people of his own class.

He had laboured hard to bring the light of the Gospel into their lives.
He made them translate for him the Scriptures into their tongue; but it
was the novelty of the situation, aided by the glass of Malaga wine he
gave them, not the beauty of the Gospel of St Luke, that aroused their
interest and enthusiasm.  To this, Borrow’s own eyes were open.  “They
listened with admiration,” he says; “but, alas! not of the truths, the
eternal truths, I was telling them, but to find that their broken jargon
could be written and read.” {338b}

On one occasion, having refused to one of his congregation the loan of
two _barias_ (ounces of gold), he proceeded to read to the whole assembly
instead the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostle’s Creed in Romany.  Happening
to glance up, he found not a gypsy in the room, but squinted, “the Gypsy
fellow, the contriver of the jest, squinted worst of all.  Such are
Gypsies.” {338c}

[Picture: John Murray the Second.  The “Glorious John” of Lavengro.  From
 a portrait by H. W. Pickersgill, R.A., in the possession of Mr. Murray]

It was indeed the novelty that appealed to them.  They greeted with a
shout of exultation the reading aloud a translation that they themselves
had dictated; but they remained unmoved by the Christian teaching it
contained.  For all these discouragements Borrow persisted, and perhaps
none of his efforts in Spain produced less result than this “attempt to
enlighten the minds of the Gitanos on the subject of religion.” {339}

If the Gypsies were all that is evil, judged by conventional standards,
they at least loyally stood by each other in the face of a common foe.
Borrow knew Ambrose Petulengro to be a liar, a thief, in fact most things
that it is desirable a man should not be; yet he was equally sure that
under no circumstances would he forsake a friend to whom he stood
pledged.  There seems to be little doubt that Borrow’s fame with the
Gypsies spread throughout England and the Continent.  “Everybody as ever
see’d the white-headed Romany Rye never forgot him.”

Borrow was by no means the first Romany Rye.  From Andrew Boorde
(15th-16th Century) down the centuries they are to be found, even to our
day, in the persons of Mr Theodore Watts-Dunton and Mr John Sampson; but
Borrow was the first to bring the cult of Gypsyism into popularity.
Before he wrote, the general view of Gypsies was that they were
uncomfortable people who robbed the clothes-lines and hen-roosts, told
fortunes and incidentally intimidated the housewife if unprotected by man
or dog.  Borrow changed all this.  The suspicion remained, so strongly in
fact that he himself was looked at askance for consorting with such
vagabonds; but with the suspicion was more than a spice of interest, and
the Gypsies became epitomised and immortalised in the person of Jasper
Petulengro.  Borrow’s Gypsyism was as unscientific as his “philology.”
Their language, their origin he commented on without first acquainting
himself with the literature that had gathered round their name.  Francis
Hindes Groome, “that perfect scholar-gypsy and gypsy-scholar,” wrote:—

    “The meagreness of his knowledge of the Anglo-Gypsy dialect came out
    in his _Word Book of the Romany_ (1874); there must have been over a
    dozen Englishmen who have known it far better than he.  For his
    Spanish-Gypsy vocabulary in _The Zincali_ he certainly drew largely
    either on Richard Bright’s _Travels through Lower Hungary_ or on
    Bright’s Spanish authority, whatever that may have been.  His
    knowledge of the strange history of the Gypsies was very elementary,
    of their manners almost more so, and of their folk-lore practically
    _nil_.  And yet I would put George Borrow above every other writer on
    the Gypsies.  In _Lavengro_ and, to a less degree, in its sequel,
    _The Romany Rye_, he communicates a subtle insight into Gypsydom that
    is totally wanting in the works—mainly philological—of Pott, Liebich,
    Paspati, Miklosich, and their confrères.” {340a}

Groome was by no means partial to Borrow, as a matter of fact he openly
taxed him {340b} with drawing upon Bright’s _Travels in Hungary_
(Edinburgh 1819) for the Spanish-Romany Vocabulary, and was strong in his
denunciation of him as a _poseur_.

Borrow scorned book-learning.  Writing to John Murray, Junr. (21st Jan.
1843), about _The Bible in Spain_, he says, “I was conscious that there
was vitality in the book and knew that it must sell.  I read nothing and
drew entirely from my own well.  I have long been tired of books; I have
had enough of them,” {340c} he wrote later, and this, taken in
conjunction with another sentence, viz., “My favourite, I might say my
only study, is man,” {340d} explains not only Borrow’s Gypsyism, but also
his casual philology.  Languages he mostly learned that he might know
men.  In youth he read—he had to do something during the long office
hours, and he read Danish and Welsh literature; but he did not trouble
himself much with the literary wealth of other countries, beyond dipping
into it.  He had a brain of his own, and preferred to form theories from
the knowledge he had acquired first hand, a most excellent thing for a
man of the nature of George Borrow, but scarcely calculated to advance
learning.  He hated anything academic.

    “I cannot help thinking,” he wrote, “that it was fortunate for
    myself, who am, to a certain extent, a philologist, that with me the
    pursuit of languages has been always modified by the love of horses .
    . .  I might, otherwise, have become a mere philologist; one of those
    beings who toil night and day in culling useless words for some _opus
    magnum_ which Murray will never publish and nobody ever read—beings
    without enthusiasm, who, having never mounted a generous steed,
    cannot detect a good point in Pegasus himself.” {341}

This quotation clearly explains Borrow’s attitude towards philology.  As
he told the _émigré_ priest, he hoped to become something more than a
philologist.

There was nothing in the sale of _The Zincali_ to encourage Borrow to
proceed with the other books he had partially prepared.  Nearly seven
weeks after publication, scarcely three hundred copies had been sold.  In
the spring of the following year (18th March) John Murray wrote: “The
sale of the book has not amounted to much since the first publication;
but in recompense for this the Yankees have printed two editions, one for
twenty pence _complete_.”  As Borrow did not benefit from the sale of
American editions, the news was not quite so comforting as it would have
been had it referred to the English issue.




CHAPTER XXII
APRIL 1841–MARCH 1844


DURING his wanderings in Portugal and Spain Borrow had carried out his
intention of keeping a journal, from which on several occasions he sent
transcriptions to Earl Street instead of recapitulating in his letters
the adventures that befell him.  Many of his letters went astray, which
is not strange considering the state of the country.  The letters and
reports that Borrow wrote to the Bible Society, which still exist, may be
roughly divided as follows:—

From his introduction until the end of the Russian               17.50
expedition
Used for _The Bible in Spain_                                    30.00
Others written during the Spanish and Portuguese periods         52.50
and not used for _The Bible in Spain_
                                                                100.00

Thirty per cent, of the whole number of the letters was all that Borrow
used for _The Bible in Spain_.  In addition he had his Journal, and from
these two sources he obtained all the material he required for the book
that was to electrify the religious reading-public and make famous its
writer.

Between Borrow and Ford a warm friendship had sprung up, and many letters
passed between them.  Ford, who was busily engaged upon his Hand-Book,
sought Borrow’s advice upon a number of points, in particular about Gypsy
matters.  There was something of the same atmosphere in his letters as in
those of John Hasfeldt: a frank, affectionate interest in Borrow and what
affected him that it was impossible to resent.  “How I wish you had given
us more about yourself,” he wrote to Borrow _apropos_ of _The Zincali_,
“instead of the extracts from those blunder-headed old Spaniards, who
knew nothing about Gypsies!  I shall give you . . . a hint to publish
your whole adventures for the last twenty years.”  But Hayim Ben-Attar,
son of the miracle, had already brought lights, and _The Bible in Spain_
had been begun.

Ford’s counsel was invariably sound and sane.  He advised _El Gitano_, as
he sometimes called Borrow, “to avoid Spanish historians and _poetry_
like Prussic acid; to stick to himself, his biography and queer
adventures,” {343} to all of which Borrow promised obedience.  Ford wrote
to Borrow (Feb. 1841) suggesting that _The Bible in Spain_ should be what
it actually was.  “I am delighted to hear,” he wrote, “that you meditate
giving us your travels in Spain.  The more odd personal adventures the
better, and still more so if _dramatic_; that is, giving the exact
conversations.”

In June 1841 Borrow received from Earl Street the originals of his
letters to the Bible Society, and when he was eventually called upon to
return them he retained a number, either through carelessness or by
design.  It was evidently understood that there should be no reference to
any contentious matters.  Borrow set to work with the aid of his “Country
Amanuensis” to transcribe such portions of the correspondence as he
required.  The work proceeded slowly.

    “I still scribble occasionally for want of something better to do,”
    he informs John Murray, Junr. (23rd Aug. 1841), and continues: “ . .
    . A queer book will be this same _Bible in Spain_, containing all my
    queer adventures in that queer country whilst engaged in distributing
    the Gospel, but neither learning, nor disquisitions, fine writing, or
    poetry.  A book with such a title and of this description can
    scarcely fail of success.”

Through a dreary summer and autumn he wrote on complaining that there was
“scarcely a gleam of sunshine.”  Remote from the world “with not the
least idea of what is going on save in my immediate neighbourhood,” he
wrote merely to kill time.  Such an existence was, to the last degree,
uncongenial to a man who for years had been accustomed to sunshine and a
life full of incident and adventure.

He grew restless and ill-content.  He had been as free as the wind, with
occupation for brain and body.  He was now, like Achilles, brooding in
his tent, and over his mind there fell a shadow of unrest.  As early as
July 1841 he had thought of settling in Berlin and devoting himself to
study.  Hasfeldt suggested Denmark, the land of the Sagas.  Later in the
same year Africa had presented itself to Borrow as a possible retreat,
but Ford advised him against it as “the land from which few travellers
return,” and told him that he had much better go to Seville.  Still later
Constantinople was considered and then the coast of Barbary.  Into his
letters there crept a note of querulous complaint.  John Hasfeldt
besought him to remember how much he had travelled and he would find that
he had wandered enough, and then he would accustom himself to rest.

The manuscript of _The Bible in Spain_ was completed early in January
(1842) and despatched to John Murray, who sent it to Richard Ford.  From
the “reader’s report” it is to be gathered that in addition to the
manuscript Borrow sent also the letters that he had borrowed from the
Bible Society.  Ford refers to the story of the man stung to death by
vipers {344} “in the letter of the 16th August 1837,” and advises that
“Mr Borrow should introduce it into his narrative.”  He further
recommends him “to go carefully over the whole of his Letters, as it is
very probable that other points of interest which they contain may have
been omitted in the narrative.  Some of the most interesting letters
relate to journies not given in the MS.”

The work when it reached Ford was apparently in a very rough state.  In
addition to many mistakes in spelling and grammar, a number of words were
left blank.  In a vast number of instances short sentences were run
together.  Mrs Borrow does not appear to have been a very successful
amanuensis at this period.  Perhaps the most interesting indication of
how much the manuscript, as first submitted, differed from the published
work is shown by one of Ford’s criticisms:—

    “In the narrative there are at present two breaks—one from about
    March 1836 to June 1837 [Chapters XIII.–XX.],—and the other from
    November 1837 to July 1839 [Chapters XXXVI.–XLIX.]”

This represents a third of the book as finally printed.  Ford objected to
the sudden ending; but Borrow made no alteration in this respect.  There
were a number of other suggestions of lesser importance in this admirable
piece of technical criticism.  Ford disliked Borrow’s striving to create
an air of mystery as “taking an unwarrantable liberty with the reader”;
he suggested a map and a short biographical sketch of the author, and
especially the nature of his connection with the Bible Society.  Finally
he gives it as his opinion that it is neither necessary nor advisable to
insert any of his letters to the Bible Society, either in the body of the
book or as an Appendix.

    “The Dialogues are amongst the best parts of the book,” Ford wrote;
    “but in several of them the tone of the speakers, of those especially
    who are in humble life, is too correct and elevated, and therefore
    out of character.  This takes away from their effect.  I think it
    would be very advisable that Mr Borrow should go over them with
    reference to this point, simplifying a few of the turns of expression
    and introducing a few contractions—_don’ts_, _can’ts_, etc.  This
    would improve them greatly.”

This criticism applies to all Borrow’s books, in particular to the
passages dealing with the Gypsies, who, in spite of their love of
high-sounding words, which they frequently misuse, do not speak with the
academic precision of Borrow’s works any more than do peers or princes or
even pedagogues.  Borrow met Ford’s criticism with the assurance that
“the lower classes in Spain are generally elevated in their style and
scarcely ever descend to vulgarity.”

Borrow’s first impulse appears to have been to disregard the suggestion
that the two breaks should be filled in.  On 13th Jan. he wrote to John
Murray, Junr.:

    “I have received the MS. and likewise your kind letter . . . Pray
    thank the Gentleman who perused the MS. in my name for his
    suggestions, which I will attend to.  [By this it is clear that
    Borrow was not told that Ford was ‘the Gentleman.’]  I find that the
    MS. was full of trifling mistakes, the fault of my amanuensis; but I
    am going through it, and within three days shall have made all the
    necessary corrections.”

No man, of however sanguine a temperament, could seriously contemplate
the mere transcription of some eighty thousand words, in addition to the
correction of twice that amount of manuscript, within three days.  Nine
days later Borrow wrote again to John Murray, Junr.  “We are losing time;
I have corrected seven hundred _consecutive_ pages of MS., and the
remaining two hundred will be ready in a fortnight.”  That he had taken
so long was due to the fact that the greater part of the preceding week
had been occupied with other and more exciting matters than correcting
manuscript.

    “During the last week,” he continues, “I have been chiefly engaged in
    horse-breaking.  A most magnificent animal has found his way to this
    neighbourhood—a half-bred Arabian—he is at present in the hands of a
    low horse-dealer; he can be bought for eight pounds, but no person
    will have him; it is said that he kills everybody who mounts him.  I
    have been _charming_ him, and have so far succeeded that at present
    he does not fling me more than once in five minutes.  What a
    contemptible trade is the Author’s compared to that of the jockey.”

It was not until towards the end of February that the corrected
manuscript of the first volume of _The Bible in Spain_ reached Albemarle
Street.  Later and better counsels had apparently prevailed, and Borrow
had become reconciled to filling up the breaks.

Borrow had other occupations than preparing his manuscript for the
printer’s hands.  He was ill and overwrought, and small things became
magnified out of all proportion to their actual importance.  There had
been a dispute between Borrow’s dog and that of the rector of Oulton, the
Rev. E. P. Denniss, and as the place was small, the dogs met frequently
and renewed their feud.  Finally the masters of the animals became
involved, and an interchange of frigid notes ensued.  It appears that
Borrow threatened to appeal to the Law and to the Bishop of the Diocese,
and further seems to have suggested that in the interests of peace, the
rector might do away with his own dog.  The tone of the correspondence
may be gathered from the following notes:—{347}

    “Mr Denniss begs to acknowledge Mr Borrow’s note, and is sorry to
    hear that his dog and Mr Borrow’s have again fallen out.  Mr Denniss
    learns from his servant that Mr D’s dog was no more in fault than Mr
    B’s, which latter is of a very quarrelsome and savage disposition, as
    Mr Denniss can himself testify, as well as many other people.  Mr
    Denniss regrets that these two animals cannot agree when they meet,
    but he must decline acceding to Mr Borrow’s somewhat arbitrary
    demand, conceiving he has as much right to retain a favourite, and in
    reality very harmless, animal, as Mr Borrow has to keep a dog which
    has once bitten Mr Denniss himself, and oftentimes attacked him and
    his family.  Mr Borrow is at perfect liberty to take any measure he
    may deem advisable, either before the magistrates or the Bishop of
    the Diocese, as Mr Denniss is quite prepared to meet them.”

    “OULTON RECTORY, 22_nd_ _April_ 1842.”

Borrow’s reply (in the rough draft found among his papers after his
death) ran:

    “Mr Borrow has received Mr Denniss’ answer to his note.  With respect
    to Mr Denniss’ recrimination on the quarrelsome disposition of his
    harmless house-dog, Mr Borrow declines to say anything further.  No
    one knows better than Mr Denniss the value of his own assertions . .
    . Circumstances over which Mr Borrow has at present no control will
    occasionally bring him and his family under the same roof with Mr
    Denniss; that roof, however, is the roof of the House of God, and the
    prayers of the Church of England are wholesome from whatever mouth
    they may proceed.”

Borrow’s most partisan admirer could not excuse the outrage to all
decency contained in the last paragraph of his note, if indeed it were
ever sent, in any other way than to plead the writer’s ill-health.

It had been arranged that _The Bible in Spain_ should make its appearance
in May.  In July Borrow wrote showing some impatience and urging greater
expedition.

    “What are your intentions with respect to the _Bible in Spain_?” he
    enquires of John Murray.  “I am a frank man, and frankness never
    offends me.  Has anybody put you out of conceit with the book? . . .
    Tell me frankly and I will drink your health in Romany.  Or would the
    appearance of the _Bible_ on the first of October interfere with the
    avatar, first or second, of some very wonderful lion or Divinity, to
    whom George Borrow, who is _neither_, must of course give place?  Be
    frank with me, my dear Sir, and I will drink your health in Romany
    and Madeira.”

He goes on to offer to release John Murray from his “share in the
agreement” and complete the book himself remitting to the printer “the
necessary money for the purchase of paper.”

To Ford, who had acted as a sort of godfather to _The Bible in Spain_, it
was “a rum, very rum, mixture of gypsyism, Judaism, and missionary
adventure,” as he informed John Murray.  He read it “with great delight,”
and its publisher may “depend upon it that the book will sell, which,
after all, is the rub.”  He liked the sincerity, the style, the effect of
incident piling on incident.  It reminded him of _Gil Blas_ with a touch
of Bunyan.  Borrow is “such a _trump_ . . . as full of meat as an egg,
and a fresh-laid one.”  All this he tells John Murray, and concludes with
the assurance, “Borrow will lay you golden eggs, and hatch them after the
ways of Egypt; put salt on his tail and secure him in your coop, and
beware how any poacher coaxes him with ‘raisins’ or reasons out of the
Albemarle preserve.” {349}

Ford was never tired of applying new adjectives to Borrow and his work.
He was “an extraordinary fellow,” “this wild missionary,” “a queer chap.”
Borrow, on the other hand, cherished a sincere regard for the man who had
shown such enthusiasm for his work.  To John Murray, Junr., he wrote (4th
April 1843): “Pray remember me to Ford, who is no humbug and is one of
the few beings that I care something about.”

Throughout his correspondence with Borrow, Richard Ford showed a judgment
and an appreciation of what the public would be likely to welcome that
stamped him as a publishers’ “reader” by instinct.  Such advice as he
gave to Borrow in the following letter set up a standard of what a book,
such as Borrow had it in his power to write, actually should be.  It
unquestionably influenced Borrow:—

                                                       10_th_ _June_ 1842.

    “My advice again and again is to avoid all fine writing, all
    descriptions of mere scenery and trivial events.  What the world
    wants are racy, real, genuine scenes, and the more out of the way the
    better.  Poetry is utterly to be avoided.  If Apollo were to come
    down from Heaven, John Murray would not take his best manuscript as a
    gift.  Stick to yourself, to what you have seen, and the people you
    have mixed with.  The more you give us of odd Jewish people the
    better . . .  Avoid words, stick to deeds.  Never think of how you
    express yourself; for good matter must tell, and no fine writing will
    make bad matter good.  Don’t be afraid that what you may not think
    good will not be thought so by others.  It often happens just the
    reverse . . . New facts seen in new and strange countries will please
    everybody; but old scenery, even Cintra, will not.  We know all about
    that, and want something that we do not know . . . The grand thing is
    to be bold and to avoid the common track of the silver paper, silver
    fork, blue-stocking.  Give us adventure, wild adventure, journals,
    thirty language book, sorcery, Jews, Gentiles, rambles, and the
    interior of Spanish prisons—the way you get in, the way you get out.
    No author has yet given us a Spanish prison.  Enter into the
    iniquities, the fees, the slang, etc.  It will be a little à la
    Thurtell, but you see the people like to have it so.  Avoid rant and
    cant.  Dialogues always tell; they are dramatic and give an air of
    reality.”

_The Bible in Spain_ was published 10th December, and one of the first
copies that reached him was inscribed by the author to “Ann Borrow.  With
her son’s best love, 13th Decr. 1842.”

From the critics there was praise and scarcely anything but praise.  It
was received as a work bearing the unmistakable stamp of genius.
Lockhart himself reviewed it in _The Quarterly Review_, confessing the
shame he felt at not having reviewed _The Zincali_.  “Very good—very
clever—very neatly done.  Only one fault to find—too laudatory,” was
Borrow’s comment upon this notice.

And through the clamour and din of it all, old Mrs Borrow wrote to her
daughter-in-law telling her of the call of an old friend, whom she had
not seen for twenty-eight years, and who had come to talk with her of the
fame of her son, “the most remarkable man that Dereham ever produced.
Capt. Girling is a man of few words, but when he _do_ speak it is to some
purpose.”  Ford wrote also (he was always writing impulsive, boyish
letters) telling how Borrow’s name would “fill the trump of fame,” and
that “Murray is in high bone” about the book.  Hasfeldt wrote, too,
saying that he saw his “friend ‘tall George,’ wandering over the
mountains until I ached in every joint with the vividness of his
descriptions.”

In all this chorus of praise there was the complaint of the _Dublin
Review_ that “Borrow was a missionary sent out by a gang of conspirators
against Christianity.”  Borrow’s comment upon this notice was that “It is
easier to call names and misquote passages in a dirty Review than to
write _The Bible in Spain_.”

A second edition of _The Bible in Spain_ was issued in January, to which
the author contributed a preface, “very funny, but wild,” he assured John
Murray, Junr., and he promised “yet another preface for the third
edition, should one be called for.”  The third edition appeared in March,
the fourth in June, and the fifth in July.  When the Fourth Edition was
nearing completion Borrow wrote to Murray: “Would it be as well to write
a preface to this _fourth_ edition with a tirade or two against the Pope,
and allusions to the Great North Road?”  To which Murray replied, “With
due submission to you as author, I would suggest that you should not
abuse the Pope in the new preface.”

In the flush of his success Borrow could afford to laugh at the few
cavilling critics.

    “Let them call me a nonentity if they will,” he wrote to John Murray,
    Junr. (13th March).  “I believe that some of those, who say I am a
    phantom, would alter their tone provided they were to ask me to a
    good dinner; bottles emptied and fowls devoured are not exactly the
    feats of a phantom.  No!  I partake more of the nature of a Brownie
    or Robin Goodfellow, goblins, ’tis true, but full of merriment and
    fun, and fond of good eating and drinking.”

America echoed back the praise and bought the book in thousands.
Publishers issued editions in Philadelphia and New York; but Borrow did
not participate in the profits, as there was then no copyright protection
for English books in the United States of America.  The _Athenæum_
reported (27th May 1843) that 30,000 copies had been sold in America.  “I
really never heard of anything so infamous,” wrote Borrow to his wife.
The only thing that America gave him was praise and (in common with other
countries) a place in its biographical dictionaries and encyclopædias.
_The Bible in Spain_ was translated into French and German and
subsequently (abridged) into Russian.

What appeared to please Borrow most was Sir Robert Peel’s reference to
him in the House of Commons, although he regretted the scanty report of
the speech given in the newspapers.  Replying to Dr Bowring’s (at that
time Borrow’s friend) motion “for copies of the correspondence of the
British Government with the Porte on the subject of the Bishop of
Jerusalem,” Sir Robert remarked: “If Mr Borrow had been deterred by
trifling obstacles, the circulation of the Bible in Spain would never
have been advanced to the extent which it had happily attained.  If he
had not persevered he would not have been the agent of so much
enlightment.” {352}

There were many things that contributed to the instantaneous success of
_The Bible in Spain_.  Apart from the vivid picture that it gave of the
indomitable courage and iron determination of a man commanding success,
its literary qualities, and enthralling interest, its greatest commercial
asset lay in its appeal to the Religious Public.  Never, perhaps, had
they been invited to read such a book, because never had the Bible been
distributed by so amazing a missionary as George Borrow.  _Gil Blas_ with
a touch of Bunyan, as Ford delightfully phrased it, and not too much
Bunyan.  Thieves, murderers, gypsies, bandits, prisons, wars—all knit
together by the missionary work of a man who was _persona grata_ with
every lawless ruffian he encountered, and yet a sower of the seed.  The
Religious Public did not pause to ponder over the strangeness of the
situation.  They had fallen among thieves, and with breathless eagerness
were prepared to enjoy to the full the novel experience.

Here was a religious book full of the most exquisite material thrills
without a suggestion of a spiritual moral.  Criminals were encountered,
their deeds rehearsed and the customary sermon upon the evils arising
from wickedness absent.  It was a stimulating drink to unaccustomed
palates.  _The Bible in Spain_ sold in its thousands.

The accuracy of the book has never been questioned; if it had, Borrow’s
letters to the Bible Society would immediately settle any doubt that
might arise.  If there be one incident in the work that appears invented,
it is the story of Benedict Moll, the treasure-hunter; yet even that is
authentic.  In the following letter, dated 22nd June 1839, Rey Roméro,
the bookseller of Santiago, refers to the unfortunate Benedict Moll:—

    “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 Coruña; then they
    brought him back here again, and I do not know what has become of him
    since.” {353}

Borrow now became the lion of the hour.  He was fêted 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 _soirée_, “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.”
{354}

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_.” {356}

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. {357}  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.

  [Picture: John Murray the Third.  From a photograph by Maull and Fox]

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, 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:—

                                                      “25_th_ _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.” {361}

He left London towards the end of April for Paris, from which he wrote to
John Murray, 1st May:—

    “Vidocq wishes very much to have a copy of my _Gypsies of Spain_, and
    likewise one of the Romany Gospels.  On the other side you will find
    an order on the Bible Society for the latter, and perhaps you will be
    so kind as to let one of your people go to Earl Street to procure it.
    You would oblige me by forwarding it to your agent in Paris, the
    address is Monsr. Vidocq, Galerie Vivienne, No. 13 . . . V. is a
    strange fellow, and amongst other things dabbles in literature.  He
    is meditating a work upon _Les Bohemiens_, about whom I see he knows
    nothing at all.  I have no doubt that the _Zincali_, were it to fall
    into his hands, would be preciously gutted, and the best part of the
    contents pirated.  By the way, could you not persuade some of the
    French publishers to cause it to be translated, in which event there
    would be no fear.  Such a work would be sure to sell.  I wish Vidocq
    to have a copy of the book, but I confess I have my suspicions; he is
    so extraordinarily civil.”

From Paris he proceeded to Vienna, and thence into Hungary and
Transylvania, where he remained for some months.  He is known to have
been “in the steppe of Debreczin,” {362a} to Koloszvar, through
Nagy-Szeben, or Hermannstadt, on his journey through Roumania to
Bucharest.  He visited Wallachia “for the express purpose of discoursing
with the Gypsies, many of whom I found wandering about.” {362b}

So little is known of Borrow’s Eastern Journey that the following
account, given by an American, has a peculiar interest:—

    “My companions, as we rode along, related some marvellous stories of
    a certain English traveller who had been here [near Grosswardein] and
    of his influence over the Gypsies.  One of them said that he was
    walking out with him one day, when they met a poor gypsy woman.  The
    Englishman addressed her in Hungarian, and she answered in the usual
    disdainful way.  He changed his language, however, and spoke a word
    or two in an unknown tongue.  The woman’s face lighted up in an
    instant, and she replied in the most passionate, eager way, and after
    some conversation dragged him away almost with her.  After this the
    English gentleman visited a number of their most private gatherings
    and was received everywhere as one of them.  He did more good among
    them, all said, than all the laws over them, or the benevolent
    efforts for them, of the last half century.  They described his
    appearance—his tall, lank, muscular form, and mentioned that he had
    been much in Spain, and I saw that it must be that most ubiquitous of
    travellers, Mr Borrow.” {362c}

This was the fame most congenial to Borrow’s strange nature.  Dinners,
receptions, and the like caused him to despise those who found pleasure
in such “crazy admiration for what they called gentility.”  It was his
foible, as much as “gentility nonsense” was theirs, to find pleasure in
the _rôle_ of the mysterious stranger, who by a word could change a
disdainful gypsy into a fawning, awe-stricken slave.  Fame to satisfy
George Borrow must carry with it something of the greatness of Olympus.

A glimpse of Borrow during his Eastern tour is obtained from Mrs Borrow’s
letters to John Murray.  After telling him that she possesses a privilege
which many wives do not (viz.), permission to open her Husband’s letters
during his absence, she proceeds:—

    “The accounts from him are, I am thankful to say, very satisfactory.
    It is extraordinary with what marks of kindness even Catholics of
    distinction treat him when they know who he is, but it is clearly his
    gift of tongues which causes him to meet with so many adventures,
    several of which he has recorded of a most singular nature.” {363}

At Vienna Borrow had arranged to wait until he should receive a letter
from his wife, “being very anxious to know of his family,” as Mrs Borrow
informed John Murray (24th July).

    “Thus far,” she continues, “thanks be to God, he has prospered in his
    journey.  Many and wonderful are the adventures he has met with,
    which I hope at no distant period may be related to his friends.
    Doctor Bowring was very kind in sending me flattering tidings of my
    Husband.”

Borrow was at Constantinople on 17th Sept. when he drew on his letter of
credit.  Leland tells an anecdote about Borrow at Constantinople; but it
must be remembered that it was written when he regarded Borrow with
anything but friendly feelings:—

    “Sir Patrick Colquhoun told me that once when he was at
    Constantinople, Mr Borrow came there, and gave it out that he was a
    marvellous Oriental scholar.  But there was great scepticism on this
    subject at the Legation, and one day at the _table d’hôte_, where the
    great writer and divers young diplomatists dined, two who were seated
    on either side of Borrow began to talk Arabic, speaking to him, the
    result being that he was obliged to confess that he not only did not
    understand what they were saying, but did not even know what the
    language was.  Then he was tried in Modern Greek, with the same
    result.” {364}

The story is obviously untrue.  Had Borrow been ignorant of Arabic he
would not have risked writing to Dr Bowring (11th Sept. 1831; see _ante_,
page 85) expressing his enthusiasm for that language.  Arabic had,
apparently, formed one of the subjects of his preliminary examination at
Earl Street.  With regard to Modern Greek he confessed in a letter to Mr
Brandram (12th June 1839), “though I speak it very ill, I can make myself
understood.”

Having obtained a Turkish passport, and after being presented to Abdûl
Medjîd, the Sultan, Borrow proceeded to Salonika and, crossing Thessaly
to Albania, visited Janina and Prevesa.  He passed over to Corfù, and saw
Venice and Rome, returning to England by way of Marseilles, Paris and
Havre.  He arrived in London on 16th November, after nearly seven months’
absence, to find his “home particularly dear to me . . . after my long
wanderings.”

It is curious that he should have left no record of this expedition; but
if he made notes he evidently destroyed them, as, with the exception of a
few letters, nothing was found among his papers relating to the Eastern
tour.  There is evidence that he was occupied with his pen during this
journey, in the existence at the British Museum of his _Vocabulary of the
Gypsy Language as spoken in Hungary and Transylvania_, _compiled during
an intercourse of some months with the Gypsies in those parts in the
year_ 1844, _by George Borrow_.  In all probability he prepared his
_Bohemian Grammar_ at the same time. {365a}

From the time that he became acquainted with Borrow, Richard Ford had
constituted himself the genius of _La Mezquita_ (the Mosque), as he
states the little octagonal Summer-house was called.  He was for ever
urging in impulsive, polyglot letters that the curtain to be lifted.
“Publish your _whole_ adventures for the last twenty years,” he had
written. {365b}  Ford saw that a man of Borrow’s nature must have had
astonishing adventures, and with _his_ pen would be able to tell them in
an astonishing manner.

As early as the summer of 1841 Borrow appears to have contemplated
writing his _Autobiography_.  On the eve of the appearance of _The Bible
in Spain_ (17th Dec.) he wrote to John Murray: “I hope our book will be
successful; if so, I shall put another on the stocks.  Capital subject:
early life; studies and adventures; some account of my father, William
Taylor, Whiter, Big Ben, etc. etc.”

The first draft of notes for _Lavengro_, _an Autobiography_, as the book
was originally advertised in the announcement, is extremely interesting.
It runs:—

    “Reasons for studying languages: French, Italian, D’Eterville.

    Southern tongues.  Dante.

    Walks.  The Quaker’s Home, Mousehold.  Petulengro.

    The Gypsies.

    The Office.  Welsh.  Lhuyd.

    German.  Levy.  Billy Taylor.

    Danish.  Kœmpe Viser.  Billy Taylor.  Dinner.

    Bowring.

    Hebrew.  The Jew.

    Philosophy.  Radicalism.  Ranters.

    Thurtell.  Boxers.  Petulengres.” {365c}

_Lavengro_ was planned in 1842 and the greater part written before the
end of the following year, although the work was not actually completed
until 1846.  There are numerous references in Borrow’s letters of this
period to the book on which he was then engaged, and he invariably refers
to it as his _Life_.  On 21st January 1843 he writes to John Murray,
Junr.: “I meditate shortly a return to Barbary in quest of the _Witch
Hamlet_, and my adventures in the land of wonders will serve capitally to
fill the thin volume of _My Life_, _a Drama_, By G. B.”  Again and again
Borrow refers to _My Life_.  Hasfeldt and Ford also wrote of it as the
“wonderful life” and “the _Biography_.”

In his letters to John Murray, Borrow not only refers to the book as his
_Life_, but from time to time gives crumbs of information concerning its
progress.  The Secretary of the Bible Society has just lent him his
letters from Russia, “which will be of great assistance in the Life, as I
shall work them up as I did those relating to Spain.  The first volume,”
he continues, “will be devoted to England entirely, and my pursuits and
adventures in early life.”  He recognises that he must be careful of the
reputation that he has earned.  His new book is to be original, as would
be seen when it at last appears; but he confesses that occasionally he
feels “tremendously lazy.”  On another occasion (27th March 1843) he
writes to John Murray, Junr.: “I hope by the end of next year that I
shall have part of my life ready for the press in 3 vols.”  Six months
later (2nd Oct. 1843) he writes to John Murray:—

    “I wish I had another _Bible_ ready; but slow and sure is my maxim.
    The book which I am at present about will consist, if I live to
    finish it of a series of Rembrandt pictures interspersed here and
    there with a Claude.  I shall tell the world of my parentage, my
    early thoughts and habits; how I became a sap-engro, or
    viper-catcher; my wanderings with the regiment in England, Scotland
    and Ireland . . . Then a great deal about Norwich, Billy Taylor,
    Thurtell, etc.; how I took to study and became a lav-engro.  What do
    you think of this as a bill of fare for the _first_ Vol.?  The second
    will consist of my adventures in London as an author in the year ’23
    (_sic_), adventures on the Big North Road in ’24 (_sic_),
    Constantinople, etc.  The third—but I shall tell you no more of my
    secrets.”

In a letter to John Murray (25th Oct. 8843), the title is referred to as
_Lavengro_: _A Biography_.  It is to be “full of grave fun and solemn
laughter like the _Bible_.”  On 6th December he again writes:—

    “I do not wish for my next book to be advertised yet; I have a
    particular reason.  The Americans are up to everything which affords
    a prospect of gain, and I should not wonder that, provided I were to
    announce my title, and the book did not appear forthwith, they would
    write one for me and send forth their trash into the world under my
    name.  For my own part I am in no hurry,” he proceeds.  “I am writing
    to please myself, and am quite sure that if I can contrive to please
    myself, I shall please the public also.  Had I written a book less
    popular than the _Bible_, I should be less cautious; but I know how
    much is expected from me, and also know what a roar of exultation
    would be raised by my enemies (and I have plenty) were I to produce
    anything that was not first rate.”

Time after time he insists upon his determination to publish nothing that
is not “as good as the last.”  “I shall go on with my _Life_,” he writes,
to Ford (9th Feb. 1844), “but slowly and lazily.  What I write, however,
is _good_.  I feel it is good, strange and wild as it is.” {367}

From 24th–27th Jan. 1844 that “most astonishing fellow” Richard Ford
visited Borrow at Oulton, urging again in person, most likely, the
lifting of the veil that obscured those seven mysterious years.  Ford has
himself described this visit to Borrow in a letter written from Oulton
Hall.

    “I am here on a visit to _El Gitano_;” he writes, “two ‘rum’ coves,
    in a queer country . . . we defy the elements, and chat over _las
    cosas de España_, and he tells me portions of his life, more strange
    even than his book.  We scamper by day over the country in a sort of
    gig, which reminds me of Mr Weare on his trip with Mr THURTELL
    [Borrow’s old preceptor]; ‘Sidi Habismilk’ is in the stable and a
    Zamarra [sheepskin coat] now before me, writing as I am in a sort of
    summer-house called _La Mezquita_, in which _El Gitano_ concocts his
    lucubrations, and _paints_ his pictures, for his object is to colour
    up and poetise his adventures.”

By this last sentence Ford showed how thoroughly he understood Borrow’s
literary methods.  A fortnight later Borrow writes to Ford:—

    “You can’t think how I miss you and our chats by the fireside.  The
    wine, now I am alone, has lost its flavour, and the cigars make me
    ill.  I am frequently in my valley of the shadows, and had I not my
    summer jaunt [the Eastern Tour] to look forward to, I am afraid it
    would be all up with your friend and _Batushka_.”

The Eastern Tour considerably interfered with the writing of _Lavengro_.
There was a seven months’ break; but Borrow settled down to work on it
again, still determined to take his time and produce a book that should
be better than _The Bible in Spain_.

Ford’s _Hand-Book for Travellers in Spain and Readers at Home_ appeared
in 1845, a work that had cost its author upwards of sixteen years of
labour.  In a letter to Borrow he characterised it as “a _rum_ book and
has queer stuff in it, although much expurgated for the sake of Spain.”
Ford was very anxious that Borrow should keep the promise that he had
given two years previously to review the _Hand-Book_ when it appeared.
“You will do it _magnificently_.  ‘Thou art the man,’” Ford had written
with the greatest enthusiasm.  On 2nd June an article of thirty-seven
folio pages was despatched by Borrow to John Murray for _The Quarterly
Review_, with the following from Mrs Borrow:—

    “With regard to the article, it must not be received as a specimen of
    what Mr Borrow would have produced had he been well, but he
    considered his promise to Mr Ford sacred—and it is only to be wished
    that it had been written under more favourable circumstances.”
    Borrow was ill at the time, having been “very unwell for the last
    month,” as Mrs Borrow explains, “and particularly so lately.
    Shivering fits have been succeeded by burning fever, till his
    strength was much reduced; and he at present remains in a low, and
    weak state, and what is worse, we are by no means sure that the
    disease is subdued.”

Ford saw in Borrow “a crack reviewer.”  “ . . . You have,” he assured him
in 1843, “only to write a _long letter_, having read the book carefully
and thought over the subject.”  Ford also wrote to Borrow (26th Oct.
1843): “I have written several letters to Murray recommending them to
_bag_ you forthwith, unless they are demented.”  There was no doubt in
his, Ford’s, mind as to the acceptance of Borrow’s article.

    “If insanity does not rule the _Q. R._ camp, they will embrace the
    offer with open arms in their present Erebus state of dullness,” he
    tells Borrow, then, with a burst of confidence continues, “But,
    barring politics, I confidentially tell you that the _Ed_[_inburgh_]
    _Rev._ does business in a more liberal and more business-like manner
    than the _Q_[_uarterly_] _Rev._  I am always dunning this into
    Murray’s head.  More flies are caught with honey than vinegar.  Soft
    sawder, especially if plenty of _gold_ goes into the composition,
    cements a party and keeps earnest pens together.  I grieve, for my
    heart is entirely with the _Q. R._, its views and objects.”

The article turned out to be, not a review of the _Hand-Book_, but a
bitter attack on Spain and her rulers.  The second part was to some
extent germane to the subject, but it appears to have been more concerned
with Borrow’s view of Spain and things Spanish than with Ford’s book.
Lockhart saw that it would not do.  In a letter to John Murray he
explains very clearly and very justly the objections to using the article
as it stood.

    “I am very sorry,” he writes (13th June), “after Borrow has so kindly
    exerted himself during illness, that I must return his paper.  I read
    the MS. with much pleasure; but clever and brilliant as he is sure
    always to be, it was very evident that he had not done such an
    article as Ford’s merits required; and I therefore intended to adopt
    Mr Borrow’s lively diatribe, but interweave with his matter and add
    to it, such observations and extracts as might, I thought, complete
    the paper in a _review sense_.

    “But it appears that Mr B. won’t allow anybody to tamper with his
    paper; therefore here it is.  It will be highly ornamental as it
    stands to any _Magazine_, and I have no doubt either _Blackwood_ or
    _Fraser_ or _Colburn_ will be [only] too happy to insert it next
    month, if applied to now.

    “Mr Borrow would not have liked that, when his _Bible in Spain_ came
    out, we should have printed a brilliant essay by Ford on some point
    of Spanish interest, but including hardly anything calculated to make
    the public feel that a new author of high consequence had made his
    appearance among us—one bearing the name, not of Richard Ford, but of
    George Borrow.”

Lockhart was right and Borrow was wrong.  There is no room for
equivocation.  Borrow should have sunk his pride in favour of his
friendship for Ford, who had, even if occasionally a little tedious in
his epistolary enthusiasm, always been a loyal friend; but Borrow was ill
and excuses must be made for him.  Lockhart wrote also to Ford describing
Borrow’s paper as “just another capital chapter of his _Bible in Spain_,”
which he had read with delight, but there was “hardly a word of _review_,
and no extract giving the least notion of the peculiar merits and style
especially, of the _Hand-Book_.”  “He is unwell,” continued Lockhart, “I
should be very sorry to bother him more at present; and, moreover, from
the little he has said of your _style_, I am forced to infer that a
_review_ of your book by him would never be what I could feel authorised
to publish in the _Q. R._”  The letter concludes with a word of
condolence that the _Hand-Book_ will have to be committed to other hands.

Ford realised the difficulty of the situation in which he was placed, and
strove to wriggle out of it by telling Borrow that his wife had said all
along that

    “‘Borrow can’t write anything dull enough for your set; I wonder how
    I ever married one of them,’—I hope and trust you will not cancel the
    paper, for we can’t afford to lose a scrap of your queer sparkle and
    ‘thousand bright daughters circumvolving.’  I have recommended its
    insertion in _Blackwood_, _Fraser_, or some of those clever
    Magazines, who will be overjoyed to get such a hand as yours, and I
    will bet any man £5 that your paper will be the most popular of all
    they print.”

It is evident that Ford was genuinely distressed, and in his anxiety to
be loyal to his friend rather overdid it.  His letter has an air of
patronage that the writer certainly never intended.  The outstanding
feature is its absolute selflessness.  Ford never seems to think of
himself, or that Borrow might have made a concession to their friendship.
Happy Ford!  The unfortunate episode estranged Borrow from Ford.  Letters
between them became less and less frequent and finally ceased altogether,
although Borrow did not forget to send to his old friend a copy of
_Lavengro_ when it appeared.

Worries seemed to rain down upon Borrow’s head about this time.  Samuel
Morton Peto (afterwards Sir Samuel) had decided to enrich Lowestoft by
improving the harbour and building a railway to Reedham, about half-way
between Yarmouth and Norwich.  He was authorised by Parliament and duly
constructed his line, which not even Borrow’s anger could prevent from
passing through the Oulton Estate, between the Hall and the Cottage.
Borrow could not fight an Act of Parliament, which forced him to cross a
railway bridge on his way to church; but he never forgave the man who had
contrived it, or his millions.  His first thought had been to fly before
the invader.  All quiet would be gone from the place.  “Sell and be off,”
advised Ford; “I hope you will make the railway pay dear for its
whistle,” quietly observed John Murray.  At first Borrow was inclined to
take Ford’s advice and settle abroad; but subsequently relinquished the
idea.

He was not, however, the man quietly to sit down before what he conceived
to be an unjustifiable outrage to his right to be quiet.  He never
forgave railways, although forced sometimes to make use of them.  Samuel
Morton Peto became to him the embodiment of evil, and as “Mr Flamson
flaming in his coach with a million” he is immortalised in _The Romany
Rye_.

It is said that Sir Samuel boasted that he had made more than the price
he had paid for Borrow’s land out of the gravel he had taken from off it.
On one occasion, after he had bought Somerleyton Hall, happening to meet
Borrow, he remarked that he never called upon him, and Borrow remembering
the boast replied, “I call on you!  Do you think I don’t read my
Shakespeare?  Do you think I don’t know all about those highwaymen
Bardolph and Peto?” {372}

The neighbourhood of Oulton appears to have been infested with thieves,
and poachers found admirable “cover” in the surrounding plantations, or
small woods.  On several occasions Borrow himself had been attacked at
night on the highway between Lowestoft and Oulton.  Once he had even been
shot at and nearly overpowered.  John Murray (the Second) on hearing of
one of these assaults had written (1841) artfully enquiring, “Were your
wood thieves Gypsies, and have the _Calés_ got notice of your publication
[_The Zincali_]?”

Borrow had written to John Murray, Junr. (10th May 1842):—

    “I have been dreadfully unwell since I last heard from you—a regular
    nervous attack.  At present I have a bad cough, caught by getting up
    at night in pursuit of poachers and thieves.  A horrible
    neighbourhood this—not a magistrate dares do his duty.”  On 18th
    September 1843 he again wrote to John Murray: “One of the Magistrates
    in this district is just dead.  Present my compliments to Mr
    Gladstone and tell him that the _The Bible in Spain_ would have no
    objection to become ‘a great unpaid!’”

Gladstone is said greatly to have admired _The Bible in Spain_, even to
the extent of writing to John Murray counselling him to have amended a
passage that he considered ill-advised.  Gladstone’s letter was sent on
to Borrow, and he acknowledges its receipt (6th November 1843) in the
following terms:—

    “Many thanks for the perusal of Mr Gladstone’s letter.  I esteem it a
    high honour that so distinguished a man should take sufficient
    interest in a work of mine as to suggest any thing in emendation.  I
    can have no possible objection to modify the passage alluded to.  It
    contains some strong language, particularly the sentence about the
    scarlet Lady, which it would be perhaps as well to omit.”

The offending passage was that in which Borrow says, when describing the
interior of the Mosque at Tangier: “I looked around for the abominable
thing, and found it not; no scarlet strumpet with a crown of false gold
sat nursing an ugly changeling in a niche.”  In later editions the words
“no scarlet strumpet,” etc., were changed to “the besetting sin of the
pseudo-Christian Church did not stare me in the face in every corner.”

The amendment was little likely to please a Churchman of Gladstone’s
calibre, or procure for the writer the magistracy he coveted, even if it
had been made less grudgingly.  “We must not make any further alterations
here,” Borrow wrote to Murray a few days later, “otherwise the whole
soliloquy, which is full of vigor and poetry, and moreover of _truth_,
would be entirely spoiled.  As it is, I cannot help feeling that [it] is
considerably damaged.”  There seems very little doubt that this passage
was referred to in the letter that John Murray encloses in his of 10th
July 1843 {374} with this reference: “(The writer of the enclosed note is
a worthy canon of St Paul’s, and has evidently seen only the 1st
edition).”  Borrow replied:—

    “Pray present my best respects to the Canon of St Paul’s and tell him
    from me that he is a _burro_, which meaneth Jackass, and that I wish
    he would mind his own business, which he might easily do by attending
    a little more to the accommodation of the public in his ugly
    Cathedral.”

Borrow appears to have set his mind on becoming a magistrate.  He had
written to Lockhart (November 1843) enquiring how he had best proceed to
obtain such an appointment.  Lockhart was not able to give him any very
definite information, his knowledge of such things, as he confessed,
“being Scotch.”  For the time being the matter was allowed to drop, to be
revived in 1847 by a direct application from Borrow to Lord Clarendon to
support his application with the Lord Chancellor.  His claims were based
upon (1) his being a large landed-proprietor in the district (Mrs Borrow
had become the owner of the Oulton Hall Estate during the previous year);
(2) the fact that the neighbourhood was over-run with thieves and
undesirable characters; (3) that there was no magistrate residing in the
district.  Lord Clarendon promised his good offices, but suggested that
as all such appointments were made through the Lord-Lieutenant of the
County, the Earl of Stradbroke had better be acquainted with what was
taking place.  This was done through the Hon. Wm. Rufus Rous, Lord
Stradbroke’s brother, whose interest was obtained by some of Borrow’s
friends.

After a delay of two months, Lord Stradbroke wrote to Lord Clarendon that
he was quite satisfied with “the number and efficiency of the
Magistrates” and also with the way in which the Petty Sessions were
attended.  He could hear of no complaint, and when the time came to
increase the number of J.P.’s, he would be pleased to add Borrow’s name
to the list, provided he were advised to do so by “those gentlemen
residing in the neighbourhood, who, living on terms of intimacy with them
[the Magistrates], will be able to maintain that union of good feeling
which . . . exists in all our benches of Petty Sessions.”

Borrow would have made a good magistrate, provided the offender were not
a gypsy.  He would have caused the wrong-doer more fear the instrument of
the law rather than the law itself, and some of his sentences might
possibly have been as summary as those of Judge Lynch.

    “It was a fine thing,” writes a contemporary, “to see the great man
    tackle a tramp.  Then he scented the battle from afar, bearing down
    on the enemy with a quivering nostril.  If the nomad happened to be a
    gypsy he was courteously addressed.  But were he a mere native
    tatterdemalion, inclined to be truculent, Borrow’s coat was off in a
    moment, and the challenge to decide there and then who was the better
    man flung forth.  I have never seen such challenges accepted, for
    Borrow was robust and towering.” {375}

It is not strange that Borrow’s application failed; for he never refused
leave to the gypsies to camp upon his land, and would sometimes join them
beside their campfires.  Once he took a guest with him after dinner to
where the gypsies were encamped.  They received Borrow with every mark of
respect.  Presently he “began to intone to them a song, written by him in
Romany, which recounted all their tricks and evil deeds.  The gypsies
soon became excited; then they began to kick their property about, such
as barrels and tin cans; then the men began to fight and the women to
part them; an uproar of shouts and recriminations set in, and the quarrel
became so serious that it was thought prudent to quit the scene.” {376a}
“In nothing can the character of a people be read with greater certainty
and exactness than in its songs,” {376b} Borrow had written. {376c}

These disappointments tended to embitter Borrow, who saw in them only a
conspiracy against him.  There is little doubt that Lord Stradbroke’s
enquiries had revealed some curious gossip concerning the Master of
Oulton Hall, possibly the dispute with his rector over the inability of
their respective dogs to live in harmony; perhaps even the would-be
magistrate’s predilection for the society of gypsies, and his profound
admiration for “the Fancy” had reached the Lord-Lieutenant’s ears.

The unfortunate and somewhat mysterious dispute with Dr Bowring was
another anxiety that Borrow had to face.  He had once remarked, “It’s
very odd, Bowring, that you and I have never had a quarrel.” {376d}  In
the summer of 1842 he and Bowring seem to have been on excellent terms.
Borrow wrote asking for the return of the papers and manuscripts that had
remained in Bowring’s hands since 1829, when the _Songs of Scandinavia_
was projected, as Borrow hoped to bring out during the ensuing year a
volume entitled _Songs of Denmark_.  The cordiality of the letter may
best be judged by the fact that in it he announces his intention of
having a copy of the forthcoming _Bible in Spain_ sent “to my oldest, I
may say my _only_ friend.”

In 1847 Bowring wrote to Borrow enquiring as to the Russian route through
Kiakhta, and asking if he could put him in the way of obtaining the
information for the use of a Parliamentary Committee then enquiring into
England’s commercial relations with China.  Borrow’s reply is apparently
no longer in existence; but it drew from Bowring another letter raising a
question as to whether “‘two hundred merchants are allowed to visit Pekin
every three years.’  Are you certain this is in practice now?  Have you
ever been to Kiakhta?”  It would appear from Bowring’s “if summoned, your
expenses must be paid by the public,” that Borrow had suggested giving
evidence before the Committee, hence Bowring’s question as to whether
Borrow could speak from personal knowledge of Kiakhta.

Borrow’s claim against Bowring is that after promising to use all his
influence to get him appointed Consul at Canton, he obtained the post for
himself, passing off as his own the Manchu-Tartar New Testament that
Borrow had edited in St Petersburg.  There is absolutely no other
evidence than that contained in Borrow’s Appendix to _The Romany Rye_.
There is very little doubt that Bowring was a man who had no hesitation
in seizing everything that presented itself and turning it, as far as
possible, to his own uses.  In this he was doing what most successful men
have done and will continue to do.  He had been kind to Borrow, and had
helped him as far as lay in his power.  He no doubt obtained all the
information he could from Borrow, as he would have done from anyone else;
but he never withheld his help.  It has been suggested that he really did
mention Borrow as a candidate for the Consulship and later, when in
financial straits and finding that Borrow had no chance of obtaining it,
accepted Lord Palmerston’s offer of the post for himself.  It is,
however, idle to speculate what actually happened.  What resulted was
that Bowring as the “Old Radical” took premier place in the
Appendix-inferno that closed _The Romany Rye_. {378a}

Fate seemed to conspire to cause Borrow chagrin.  Early in 1847 it came
to his knowledge that there were in existence some valuable Codices in
certain churches and convents in the Levant.  In particular there was
said to be an original of the Greek New Testament, supposed to date from
the fourth century, which had been presented to the convent on Mount
Sinai by the Emperor Justinian.  Borrow received information of the
existence of the treasure, and also a hint that with a little address,
some of these priceless manuscripts might be secured to the British
Nation.  It was even suggested that application might be made to the
Government by the Trustees of the British Museum. {378b}  Borrow’s reply
to this was an intimation that if requested to do so he would willingly
undertake the mission.  Nothing, however, came of the project, and the
remainder of the manuscript of the Greek Testament (part of it had been
acquired in 1843 by Tischendorf) was presented by the monks to Alexander
II. and it is now in the Imperial Library at St Petersburg.

The information as to the existence of the manuscripts, it is alleged,
was given to the Museum Trustees by the Hon. Robert Curzon, who had
travelled much in Egypt and the Holy Land.  It was certainly no fault of
his that the mission was not sent out, and Borrow’s subsequent antagonism
to him and his family is difficult to understand and impossible to
explain.

Borrow had achieved literary success: before the year 1847 _The Zincali_
was in its Fourth Edition (nearly 10,000 copies having been printed) and
_The Bible in Spain_ had reached its Eighth Edition (nearly 20,000 copies
having been printed).  He was an unqualified success; yet he had been far
happier when distributing Testaments in Spain.  The greyness and inaction
of domestic life, even when relieved by occasional excursions with Sidi
Habismilk and the Son of the Miracle, were irksome to his temperament,
ever eager for occupation and change of scene.  He was like a war-horse
champing his bit during times of peace.

    “Why did you send me down six copies [of _The Zincali_]?” he bursts
    out in a letter to John Murray (29th Jan. 1846).  “Whom should I send
    them to?  Do you think I have six friends in the world?  Two I have
    presented to my wife and daughter (in law).  I shall return three to
    you by the first opportunity.”

In 1847, through the Harveys, he became acquainted with Dr Thomas Gordon
Hake, who was in practice at Brighton 1832–37 and at Bury St Edmunds
1839–53, and who was also a poet.  The two families visited each other,
and Dr Hake has left behind him some interesting stories about, and
valuable impressions of, Borrow.  Dr Hake shows clearly that he did not
allow his friendship to influence his judgment when in his _Memoirs_ he
described Borrow as

    “one of those whose mental powers are strong, and whose bodily frame
    is yet stronger—a conjunction of forces often detrimental to a
    literary career, in an age of intellectual predominance.  His temper
    was good and bad; his pride was humility; his humility was pride; his
    vanity in being negative, was one of the most positive kind.  He was
    reticent and candid, measured in speech, with an emphasis that made
    trifles significant.” {379}

This rather laboured series of paradoxes quite fails to give a convincing
impression of the man.  A much better idea of Borrow is to be found in a
letter (1847) by a fellow-guest at a breakfast given by the Prussian
Ambassador.  He writes that there was present

    “the amusing author of _The Bible in Spain_, a man who is remarkable
    for his extraordinary powers as a linguist, and for the originality
    of his character, not to speak of the wonderful adventures he
    narrates, and the ease and facility with which he tells them.  He
    kept us laughing a good part of breakfast time by the oddity of his
    remarks, as well as the positiveness of his assertions, often rather
    startling, and like his books partaking of the marvellous.” {380a}

Abandoning paradox, Dr Hake is more successful in his description of
Borrow’s person.

    “His figure was tall,” he tells us, “and his bearing very noble; he
    had a finely moulded head, and thick white hair—white from his youth;
    his brown eyes were soft, yet piercing; his nose somewhat of the
    ‘semitic’ type, which gave his face the cast of the young Memnon.
    His mouth had a generous curve; and his features, for beauty and true
    power, were such as can have no parallel in our portrait gallery.”
    {380b}

When not occupied in writing, Borrow would walk about the estate with his
animals, between whom and their master a perfect understanding existed.
Sidi Habismilk would come to a whistle and would follow him about, and
his two dogs and cat would do the same.  When he went for a walk the dogs
and cat would set out with him; but the cat would turn back after
accompanying him for about a quarter of a mile. {381a}

The two young undergraduates who drove in a gig from Cambridge to Oulton
to pay their respects to Borrow (_circa_ 1846) described him as employed

    “in training some young horses to follow him about like dogs and come
    at the call of his whistle.  As my two friends {381b} were talking
    with him, Borrow sounded his whistle in a paddock near the house,
    which, if I remember rightly, was surrounded by a low wall.
    Immediately two beautiful horses came bounding over the fence and
    trotted up to their master.  One put his nose into Borrow’s
    outstretched hand and the other kept snuffing at his pockets in
    expectation of the usual bribe for confidence and good behaviour.”

Borrow’s love of animals was almost feminine.  The screams of a hare
pursued by greyhounds would spoil his appetite for dinner, and he
confessed himself as “silly enough to feel disgust and horror at the
squeals of a rat in the fangs of a terrier.” {381c}  When a favourite cat
was so ill that it crawled away to die in solitude, Borrow went in search
of it and, discovering the poor creature in the garden-hedge, carried it
back into the house, laid it in a comfortable place and watched over it
until it died.  His care of the much persecuted “Church of England cat”
at Llangollen {381d} is another instance of his tender-heartedness with
regard to animals.

Borrow had ample evidence that he was still a celebrity.  “He was much
courted . . . by his neighbours and by visitors to the sea-side,” Dr Hake
relates; but unfortunately he allowed himself to become a prey to moods
at rather inappropriate moments.  As a lion, Borrow accompanied Dr Hake
to some in the great houses of the neighbourhood.  On one occasion they
went to dine at Hardwick Hall, the residence of Sir Thomas and Lady
Cullum.  The last-named subsequently became a firm friend of Borrow’s
during many years.

    “The party consisted of Lord Bristol; Lady Augusta Seymour, his
    daughter; Lord and Lady Arthur Hervey; Sir Fitzroy Kelly; Mr
    Thackeray, and ourselves.  At that date, Thackeray had made money by
    lectures on _The Satirists_, and was in good swing; but he never
    could realise the independent feelings of those who happen to be born
    to fortune—a thing which a man of genius should be able to do with
    ease.  He told Lady Cullum, which she repeated to me, that no one
    could conceive how it mortified him to be making a provision for his
    daughters by delivering lectures; and I thought she rather
    sympathised with him in this degradation.  He approached Borrow, who,
    however, received him very dryly.  As a last attempt to get up a
    conversation with him, he said, ‘Have you read my Snob Papers in
    _Punch_?’”

    “‘In _Punch_?’ asked Borrow.  ‘It is a periodical I never look at!’

    “It was a very fine dinner.  The plates at dessert were of gold; they
    once belonged to the Emperor of the French, and were marked with his
    “N” and his Eagle.

    “Thackeray, as if under the impression that the party was invited to
    look at him, thought it necessary to make a figure, and absorb
    attention during the dessert, by telling stories and more than half
    acting them; the aristocratic party listening, but appearing little
    amused.  Borrow knew better how to behave in good company, and kept
    quiet; though, doubtless he felt his mane.” {382}

There were other moments when Borrow caused acute embarrassment by his
rudeness.  Once his hostess, a simple unpretending woman desirous only of
pleasing her distinguished guest, said, “Oh, Mr Borrow, I have read your
books with so much pleasure!”  “Pray, what books do you mean, madam?  Do
you mean my account books?” was the ungracious retort.  He then rose from
the table, fretting and fuming and walked up and down the dining-room
among the servants “during the whole of the dinner, and afterwards
wandered about the rooms and passage, till the carriage could be ordered
for our return home.” {383a}  The reason for this unpardonable behaviour
appears to have been ill-judged loyalty to a friend.  His host was a
well-known Suffolk banker who, having advanced a large sum of money to a
friend of Borrow’s, the heir to a considerable estate, who was in
temporary difficulties, then “struck the docket” in order to secure
payment.  Borrow confided to another friend that he yearned “to cane the
banker.”  His loyalty to his friend excuses his wrath; it was his
judgment that was at fault.  He should undoubtedly have caned the banker,
in preference to going to his house as a guest and revenging his friend
upon the gentle and amiable woman who could not be held responsible for
her husband’s business transgressions.

Unfortunate remarks seemed to have a habit of bursting from Borrow’s
lips.  When Dr Bowring introduced to him his son, Mr F. J. Bowring, and
with pardonable pride added that he had just become a Fellow of Trinity,
Borrow remarked, “Ah!  Fellows of Trinity always marry their bed-makers.”
Agnes Strickland was another victim.  Being desirous of meeting him and,
in spite of Borrow’s unwillingness, achieving her object, she expressed
in rapturous terms her admiration of his works, and concluded by asking
permission to send him a copy of _The Queens of England_, to which he
ungraciously replied, “For God’s sake, don’t, madam; I should not know
where to put them or what to do with them.”  “What a damned fool that
woman is!” he remarked to W. B. Donne, who was standing by. {383b}

There is a world of meaning in a paragraph from one of John Murray’s (the
Second) letters (21st June 1843) to Borrow in which he enquires, “Did you
receive a note from Mme. Simpkinson which I forwarded ten days ago?  I
have not seen her since your abrupt departure from her house.”

It is rather regrettable that the one side of Borrow’s character has to
be so emphasised.  He could be just and gracious, even to the point of
sternly rebuking one who represented his own religious convictions and
supporting a dissenter.  After a Bible Society’s meeting at Mutford
Bridge (the nearest village to Oulton Hall), the speakers repaired to the
Hall to supper.  One of the guests, an independent minister, became
involved in a heated argument with a Church of England clergyman, who
reproached him for holding Calvinistic views.  The nonconformist replied
that the clergy of the Established Church were equally liable to attack
on the same ground, because the Articles of their Church were
Calvinistic, and to these they had all sworn assent.  The reply was that
the words were not necessarily to be taken in their literal sense.  At
this Borrow interposed, attacking the clergyman in a most vigorous
fashion for his sophistry, and finally reducing him to silence.  The
Independent minister afterwards confessed that he had never heard “one
man give another such a dressing down as on that occasion.” {384a}

Borrow was capable of very deep feeling, which is nowhere better shown
than in his retort to Richard Latham whom he met at Dr Hake’s table.
Well warmed by the generous wine, Latham stated that he should never do
anything so low as dine with his publisher.  “You do not dine with John
Murray, I presume?” he added.  “Indeed I do,” Borrow responded with deep
emotion.  “He is a most kind friend.  When I have had sickness in the
house he has been unfailing in his goodness towards me.  There is no man
I more value.” {384b}

Borrow was a frequent visitor to the Hakes at Bury St Edmunds.  W. B.
Donne gives a glimpse to him in a letter to Bernard Barton (12th Sept.
1848).

    “We have had a great man here—and I have been walking with him and
    aiding him to eat salmon and mutton and drink port—George Borrow—and
    what is more we fell in with some gypsies and I heard his speech of
    Egypt, which sounded wondrously like a medley of broken Spanish and
    dog Latin.  Borrow’s face lighted by the red turf fire of the tent
    was worth looking at.  He is ashy-white now—but twenty years ago,
    when his hair was like a raven’s wing, he must have been hard to
    discriminate from a born Bohemian.  Borrow is best on the tramp: if
    you can walk 4.5 miles per hour, as I can with ease and do by choice,
    and can walk 15 of them at a stretch—which I can compass also—then he
    will talk Iliads of adventures even better than his printed ones.  He
    cannot abide those Amateur Pedestrians who saunter, and in his chair
    he is given to groan and be contradictory.  But on Newmarket-heath,
    in Rougham Woods he is at home, and specially when he meets with a
    thorough vagabond like your present correspondent.” {385a}

The present Mr John Murray recollects Borrow very clearly as

    “tall, broad, muscular, with very heavy shoulders” and of course the
    white hair.  “He was,” continues Mr Murray, “a figure which no one
    who has seen it is likely to forget.  I never remember to have seen
    him dressed in anything but black broad cloth, and white cotton socks
    were generally distinctly visible above his low shoes.  I think that
    with Borrow the desire to attract attention to himself, to inspire a
    feeling of awe and mystery, must have been a ruling passion.”

Borrow was frequently the guest of his publisher at Albemarle Street, in
times well within the memory of Mr Murray, who relates how on one
occasion

    “Borrow was at a dinner-party in company with Whewell {385b} [who by
    the way it has been said was the original of the Flaming Tinman,
    although there is very little to support the statement except the
    fact that Dr Whewell was a proper man with his hands] both of them
    powerful men, and both of them, if report be true, having more than a
    superficial knowledge of the art of self-defence.  A controversy
    began, and waxed so warm that Mrs Whewell, believing a personal
    encounter to be imminent, fainted, and had to be carried out of the
    room.  Once when Borrow was dining with my father he disappeared into
    a small back room after dinner, and could not be found.  At last he
    was discovered by a lady member of the family, stretched on a sofa
    and groaning.  On being spoken to and asked to join the other guests,
    he suddenly said: Go away! go away!  I am not fit company for
    respectable people.  There was no apparent cause for this strange
    conduct, unless it were due to one of those unaccountable fits to
    which men of genius (and this description will be allowed him by
    many) are often subject.

    “On another occasion, when dining with my father at Wimbledon, he was
    regaled with a ‘haggis,’ a dish which was new to him, and of which he
    partook to an extent which would have astonished many a hardy
    Scotsman.  One summers day, several years later, he again came to
    dinner, and having come on foot, entered the house by a garden door,
    his first words—without any previous greetings—were: ‘Is there a
    haggis to-day?’” {386}




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
Athenæum_ 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 _Athenæum_.  “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, {390} “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?” {396}  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.” {398}  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 âge,
    De son âge 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.
    {399a}  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, {399b} “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 Señor 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.”

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?” {404c}

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, 14_th_ _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” {405} 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. {408}
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.” {409}

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; {411} 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_. {412a}  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.” {413}

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.” {416}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “‘Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen.’ {417a}

    “That is, ‘Ellen Jones belonging, from afar off to Gronwy Owen.’”
    {417b}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                 BAYR JAIRGEY
                                     AND
                                  GLION DOO

                      THE RED PATH AND THE BLACK VALLEY

                    WANDERINGS IN QUEST OF MANX LITERATURE

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

It must be borne in mind that Mrs Borrow had been in London a few days
previously, in order to deliver to John Murray the manuscript of
_Lavengro_.  Mrs Borrow’s reply to this letter is significant.  With
regard to the engraving, she writes (28th November), “_I like the idea of
it_, and when Mr Borrow remarked that he did not wish it (as we expected
he would) I reminded him that _his_ leave _was_ not asked.”

Again, on 30th October 1852, Mrs Borrow wrote to Robert Cooke asking that
either he or John Murray would write to Borrow enquiring as to his
health, and progress with _The Romany Rye_, and how long it would be
before the manuscript were ready for the printer.  “Of course,” she adds,
“all this is in perfect confidence to Mr Murray and yourself as you
_both_ of you know my truly excellent Husband well enough to be aware how
much he every now and then requires an impetus to cause the large wheel
to move round at a quicker pace . . . Oblige me by committing this to the
flames, and write to him just as you would have done, without hearing _a
word from me_.”  On yet another occasion when she and Borrow were both in
London, she writes to Cooke asking that either he “or Mr Murray will give
my Husband a look, if it be only for a few minutes . . . He seems rather
low.  Do, _not_ let this note remain on your table,” she concludes, “or
_mention_ it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He liked ale “with plenty of malt in it, and as little hop as well may
be—ale at least two years old.” {425b}  The period of its maturity
changed with his mood.  In another place he gives nine or ten months as
the ideal age. {425c}  He was all for an Act of Parliament to force
people to brew good ale.  He not only drank good ale himself; but
prescribed it as a universal elixir for man and beast.  Hearing from
Elizabeth Harvey “of a lady who was attached to a gentleman,” Borrow
demanded bluntly, “Well, did he make her an offer?”  “No,” was the
response.  “Ah,” Borrow replied with conviction, “if she had given him
some good ale he would.” {425d}

He loved best old Burton, which, with ’37 port, were his favourites; yet
he would drink whatever ale the roadside-inn provided, as if to
discipline his stomach.  It has been said that he habitually drank
“swipes,” a thin cheap ale, because that was the drink of his gypsy
friends; but Borrow’s friendship certainly did not often involve him in
anything so distasteful.




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, 27_th_ _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,
                                                        6_th_ _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 {427} 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, {429} 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. {431}  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.” {433}

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

                                                       8_th_ _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:—{435}

    “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.” {436}

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. {438}

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. {439}  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. {442}




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 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 mediæval 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!” {446}

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 défauts de ses qualités_’ 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.” {448}  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.” {449c}  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.” {450}  Borrow hated the literary man,
he was at war with the whole genus.

    [Picture: The Rev. Andrew Brandram.  From an old silhouette in the
           possession of the British and Foreign Bible Society]

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
    Æschylean 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}

Since the tour in Wales in 1854, from which he returned with the four
“Note Books,” Borrow had been working steadily at _Wild Wales_.  In 1857
the book had been announced as “ready for the press”; but this was
obviously an anticipation.  The manuscript was submitted to John Murray
early in November 1861.  On the 20th of that month he wrote the following
letter, addressing it, not to Borrow, but to his wife:—

    DEAR MRS BORROW,—The MS. of _Wild Wales_ has occupied my thoughts
    almost ever since Friday last.

    I approached this MS. with some diffidence, recollecting the
    unsatisfactory results, on the whole, of our last publication—_Romany
    Rye_.  I have read a large part of this new work with care and
    attention, and although it is beautifully written and in a style of
    English undefiled, which few writers can surpass, there is yet a want
    of stirring incident in it which makes me fearful as to the result of
    its publication.

    In my hands at least I cannot think it would succeed even as well as
    _Romany Rye_—and I am fearful of not doing justice to it.  I do not
    like to undertake a work with the chance of reproach that it may have
    failed through my want of power to promote its circulation, and I do
    wish, for Borrow’s own sake, that in this instance he would try some
    other publisher and perhaps some other form of publication.

    In my hands I am convinced the work will not answer the author’s
    expectations, and I am not prepared to take on me this amount of
    responsibility.

    I will give the best advice I can if called upon, and shall be only
    too glad if I can be useful to Mr Borrow.  I regret to have to write
    in this sense, but believe me always, Dear Mrs Borrow,

                            Your faithful friend,

                                                              JOHN MURRAY.

The reply to this letter has not been preserved.  It would appear that
some “stirring incidents” were added, among others most probably the
account of Borrow blessing the Irish reapers, who mistook him for Father
Toban.  This anecdote was one of John Murray’s favourite passages.  It is
evident that some concession was made to induce Murray to change his
mind.  In any case _Wild Wales_ appeared towards the close of 1862 in an
edition of 1000 copies.  The publisher’s misgivings were not justified,
as the first edition produced a profit, up to 30th June 1863, of £531,
14s., which was equally divided between author and publisher.  The
second, and cheap, edition of 3000 copies lasted for thirteen years, and
the deficiency on this absorbed the greater part of the publisher’s
profit.

In a way it is the most remarkable of Borrow’s books; for it shows that
he was making a serious effort to regain his public.  It is an older,
wiser and chastened Borrow that appears in its pages, striding through
the land of the bards at six miles an hour, his satchel slung over his
shoulder, his green umbrella grasped in his right hand, shouting the
songs of Wales, about which he knew more than any man he met.  There are
no gypsies (except towards the end of the book a reference to his meeting
with Captain Bosvile), no bruisers, the pope is scarcely mentioned, and
“gentility-nonsense” is veiled almost to the point of elimination.  It
seems scarcely conceivable that the hand that had written the appendix to
_The Romany Rye_ could have so restrained itself as to write _Wild
Wales_.  Borrow had evidently read and carefully digested Whitwell
Elwin’s friendly strictures upon _The Romany Rye_.  Instead of the pope,
the gypsies and the bruisers of England, there were the vicarage cat, the
bards and the thousand and one trivial incidents of the wayside.  There
were occasional gleams of the old fighting spirit, notably when he
characterises sherry, {453} as “a silly, sickly compound, the use of
which will transform a nation, however bold and warlike by nature, into a
race of sketchers, scribblers, and punsters,—in fact, into what
Englishmen are at the present day.”  He has created the atmosphere of
Wales as he did that of the gypsy encampment.  He shows the jealous way
in which the Welsh cling to their language, and their suspicion of the
_Saesneg_, or Saxon.  Above all, he shows how national are the Welsh
poets, belonging not to the cultured few; but to the labouring man as
much as to the landed proprietor.  Borrow earned the respect of the
people, not only because he knew their language; but on account of his
profound knowledge of their literature, their history, and their
traditions.  No one could escape him, he accosted every soul he met, and
evinced a desire for information as to place-names that instantly
arrested their attention.

The most curious thing about _Wild Wales_ is the omission of all mention
of the Welsh Gypsies, who, with those of Hungary, share the distinction
of being the aristocrats of their race.  Several explanations have been
suggested to account for the curious circumstance.  Had Borrow’s
knowledge of Welsh Romany been scanty, he could very soon have improved
it.  The presence of his wife and stepdaughter was no hindrance; for, as
a matter of fact, they were very little with him, even when they and
Borrow were staying at Llangollen; but during the long tours they were
many miles away.  In all probability the Welsh Gypsies were sacrificed to
British prejudice, much as were pugilism and the baiting of the pope.

In spite of its simple charm and convincing atmosphere, _Wild Wales_ did
not please the critics.  Those who noticed it (and there were many who
did not) either questioned its genuineness, or found it crowded with
triviality and self-glorification.  It was full of the superfluous, the
superfluous repeated, and above all it was too long (some 250,000 words).
_The Spectator_ notice was an exception; it did credit to the critical
faculty of the man who wrote it.  He declined “to boggle and wrangle over
minor defects in what is intrinsically good,” and praised _Wild Wales_ as
“the first really clever book . . . in which an honest attempt is made to
do justice to Welsh literature.”

Borrow had much time upon his hands in London, which he occupied largely
in walking.  He visited the Metropolitan Gypsyries at Wandsworth, “the
Potteries,” and “the Mounts,” as described in _Romano Lavo-Lil_.
Sometimes he would be present at some sporting event, such as the race
between the Indian Deerfoot and Jackson, styled the American Deer—tame
sport in comparison with the “mills” of his boyhood.  He did very little
writing, and from 1862, when _Wild Wales_ appeared, until he published
_The Romano Lavo-Lil_ in 1874, his literary output consisted of only some
translations contributed to _Once a Week_ (January 1862 to December
1863).

In 1865 he was to lose his stepdaughter, who married a William MacOubrey,
M.D., described in the marriage register as a physician of Sloane Street,
London, and subsequently upon his tombstone as a barrister.  In the July
of 1866 Borrow and his wife went to Belfast on a visit to the newly
married pair.  From Belfast Borrow took another trip into Scotland,
crossing over to Stranraer.  From there he proceeded to Glen Luce and
subsequently to Newton Stewart, Castle Douglas, Dumfries, Ecclefechan,
Gretna Green, Carlisle, Langholm, Hawick, Jedburgh, Yetholm (where he saw
Esther Blyth of Kirk Yetholm), Kelso, Abbotsford, Melrose, Berwick,
Edinburgh, Glasgow, and so back to Belfast, having been absent for nearly
four weeks.

Mrs Borrow’s health had been the cause of the family leaving Oulton for
Great Yarmouth, and about the time of the Irish visit it seems to have
become worse.  When Borrow was away upon his excursion he received a
letter at Carlisle in which his wife informed him that she was not so
well; but urging him not to return if he were enjoying his trip and it
were benefiting his health.

In the autumn of the following year (1867) they were at Bognor, Mrs
Borrow taking the sea air, her husband tramping about the country and
penetrating into the New Forest.  On their return to town Mrs Borrow
appears to have become worse.  There was much correspondence to be
attended to with regard to the Oulton Estate, and she had to go down to
Suffolk to give her personal attention to certain important details.
Miss Cobbe throws a little light on the period in a letter to a friend,
in which she says:

    “Mr Borrow says his wife is very ill and anxious to keep the peace
    with C. (a litigious neighbour).  Poor old B. was very sad at first,
    but I cheered him up and sent him off quite brisk last night.  He
    talked all about the Fathers again, arguing that their quotations
    went to prove that it was _not_ our gospels they had in their hands.
    I knew most of it before, but it was admirably done.  I talked a
    little theology to him in a serious way (finding him talk of his
    ‘horrors’) and he abounded in my sense of the non-existence of Hell,
    and of the presence and action on the soul of _a_ Spirit, rewarding
    and punishing.  He would not say ‘God’; but repeated over and over
    again that he spoke not from books but from his own personal
    experience.” {456}

On 24th January (1869) Mrs Borrow was taken suddenly ill and the family
doctor being out of town, Borrow sent for Dr W. S. Playfair of 5 Curzon
Street.  A letter from Dr Playfair, 25th January, to the family doctor is
the only coherent testimony in existence as to what was actually the
matter with Mrs Borrow.  It runs:—

    “I found great difficulty in making out the case exactly,” he writes,
    “since Mr Borrow himself was so agitated that I could get no very
    clear account of it.  I could detect no marked organic affection
    about the heart or lungs, of which she chiefly complained.  It seemed
    to me to be either a very aggravated form of hysteria, or, what
    appears more likely, some more serious mental affection.  In any
    case, the chief requisite seemed very careful and intelligent nursing
    or management, and I doubt very much, from what I saw, whether she
    gets that with her present surroundings.  If it is really the more
    serious mental affection, I should fancy that the sooner means are
    taken to have her properly taken care of, the better.”

Dr Playfair saw in Borrow’s highly nervous excitable nature, if not the
cause of his wife’s breakdown, at least an obstacle to her recovery, and
was of opinion that Mrs Borrow’s disorder had been greatly aggravated by
her husband’s presence.

Mrs Borrow never rallied from the attack, and on the 30th she died of
“valvular disease of the heart and dropsy,” being then in her
seventy-seventh year.  On 4th February she was buried in Brompton
Cemetery, and the lonely man, her husband, returned to Hereford Square.
The grave bears the inscription, “To the Beloved Memory of My Mother,
Mary Borrow, who fell asleep in Jesus, 30th January 1869.”  It is strange
that this should be in Henrietta’s and not Borrow’s name.

Mrs Borrow evidently made over her property to her husband during her
lifetime, as there is no will in existence, and no application appears to
have been made either by Borrow or anyone else for letters of
administration.




CHAPTER XXIX
JANUARY 1869–1881


THE death of his wife was a last blow to Borrow, and he soon retired from
the world.  At first he appears to have sought consolation in books, to
judge from the number of purchases he made about this time; but it was,
apparently, with pitiably unsuccessful results.  In a letter to a friend
Miss Cobbe gives a picture in his lonliness:

    “Poor old Borrow is in a sad state,” she wrote.  “I hope he is
    starting in a day or two for Scotland.  I sent C. with a note begging
    him to come and eat the Welsh mutton you sent me to-day, and he sent
    back word, ‘Yes.’  Then, an hour afterwards, he arrived, and in a
    most agitated manner said he had come to say ‘he would rather not.
    He would not trouble anyone with his sorrows.’  I made him sit down,
    and talked as gently to him as possible, saying: ‘It won’t be a
    trouble Mr. Borrow, it will be a pleasure to me.’  But it was all of
    no use.  He was so cross, so _rude_, I had the greatest difficulty in
    talking to him.  I asked about his servant, and he said I could not
    help him.  I asked him about Bowring, and he said: ‘Don’t speak of
    it.’  (It was some dispute with Sir John Bowring, who was an
    acquaintance of mine, and with whom I offered to mediate.)  ‘I asked
    him would he look at the photos of the Siamese,’ and he said: ‘Don’t
    show them to me!’  So, in despair, as he sat silent, I told him I had
    been at a pleasant dinner-party the night before, and had met Mr L—,
    who told me of certain curious books of mediæval history.  ‘Did he
    know them?’  ‘No, and he _dare said_ Mr L— did not, either!  Who was
    Mr L—?’  I described that _obscure_ individual, (one of the foremost
    writers of the day), and added that he was immensely liked by
    everybody.  Whereupon Borrow repeated at least twelve times,
    ‘Immensely liked!  As if a man could be immensely liked!’ quite
    insultingly.  To make a diversion (I was very patient with him as he
    was in trouble), ‘I said I had just come home from the Lyell’s and
    had heard—’ . . .  But there was no time to say what I had heard!  Mr
    Borrow asked: ‘Is that old Lyle I met here once, the man who stands
    at the door (of some den or other) and _bets_?’  I explained who Sir
    Charles was, {459a} (of course he knew very well), but he went on and
    on, till I said gravely: ‘I don’t think you will meet those sort of
    people here, Mr Borrow.  We don’t associate with blacklegs,
    exactly.’” {459b}

In the Autumn of 1870 Borrow became acquainted with Charles G. Leland
(“Hans Breitmann”) as the result of receiving from him the following
letter:—

                                          BRIGHTON, 24_th_ _October_ 1870.

    DEAR SIR,—During the eighteen months that I have been in England, my
    efforts to find some mutual friend who would introduce me to you have
    been quite in vain.  As the author of two or three works which have
    been kindly received in England, I have made the acquaintance of many
    literary men and enjoyed much hospitality; but I assure you very
    sincerely that my inability to find you out or get at you has been a
    source of great annoyance to me.  As you never published a book which
    I have not read through five times—excepting _The Bible in Spain_ and
    _Wild Wales_, which I have only read once—you will perfectly
    understand why I should be so desirous of meeting you.

    As you have very possibly never heard of me before, I would state
    that I wrote a collection of Ballads satirising Germany and the
    Germans under the title of _Hans Breitmann_.

    I never before in my life solicited the favour of any man’s
    acquaintance, except through the regular medium of an introduction.
    If my request to be allowed the favour of meeting and seeing you does
    not seem too _outré_, I would be to glad to go to London, or wherever
    you may be, if it can be done without causing you any inconvenience,
    and if I should not be regarded as an intruder.  I am an American,
    and among us such requests are _parfaitment_ (sic) _en régle_.

                                 I am, . . .

                                                        CHARLES G. LELAND.

Borrow replied on 2nd Nov.:

    SIR,

    I have received your letter and am gratified by the desire you
    express to make my acquaintance.

    Whenever you please to come I shall be happy to see you.

    Truly yours,

                                                     GEORGE BORROW. {460a}

The meeting unquestionably took place at Hereford Square, and Leland
found Borrow “a tall, large, fine-looking man who must have been handsome
in his youth.” {460b}  The result of the interview was that Leland sent
to Borrow a copy of his _Ballads_ and also _The Music Lesson of
Confucius_, then about to appear.  At the same time he wrote to Borrow
drawing his attention to one of the ballads written in German Romany
_jib_, and enquiring if it were worth anything.  Whilst deprecating his
“impudence” in writing a Romany _gili_ and telling, as a pupil might a
master, of his interest in and his association with the gypsies, he
continues: “My dear Mr Borrow, for all this you are entirely responsible.
More than twenty years ago your books had an incredible influence on me,
and now you see the results.”  After telling him that he can _never_
thank him sufficiently for the instructions he has given in _The Romany
Rye_ as to how to take care of a horse on a thirty mile ride, he
concludes—“With apologies for the careless tone of this letter, and with
sincere thanks for your kindness in permitting me to call on you and for
your courteous note,—I am your sincere admirer.”

The account that Leland gives of this episode in his _Memoirs_ is
puzzling and contradictory in the light of his first letter.  He writes:

    “There was another hard old character with whom I became acquainted
    in those days, and one who, though not a Carlyle, still, like him,
    exercised in a peculiar way a great influence on English literature.
    This was George Borrow.  I was in the habit of reading a great deal
    in the British Museum, where he also came, and there I was introduced
    to him. {461a}  [Leland seems to be in error here; see _ante_, page
    460.]  He was busy with a venerable-looking volume in old Irish, and
    made the remark to me that he did not believe there was a man living
    who could read old Irish with ease (which I now observe to myself was
    ‘fished’ out of Sir W. Betham).  We discussed several Gypsy words and
    phrases.  I met him in the same place several times.” {461b}

Leland states that he sent a note to Borrow, care of John Murray, asking
permission to dedicate to him his forthcoming book, _The English Gypsies
and Their Language_; but received no reply, although Murray assured him
that the letter had been received by Borrow.  “He received my note on the
Saturday,” Leland writes—“never answered it—and on Monday morning
advertised in all the journals his own forthcoming work on the same
subject.” {461c}  Had Borrow asked him to delay publishing his own book,
Leland says he would have done so, “for I had so great a respect for the
Nestor of Gypsyism, that I would have been very glad to have gratified
him with such a small sacrifice.” {462a}

However Borrow may have heard that Leland had in preparation a book on
the English Gypsies, he seemed to feel that it was a trespass upon ground
that was peculiarly his own.  Having revised and prepared for the press
the new edition of the Gypsy St Luke for the Bible Society (published
December 1872), and the one-volume editions of _Lavengro_ and _The Romany
Rye_, he set to work to forestall Leland with his own _Romano Lavo-Lil_.

In spite of his haste, however, Borrow was beaten in the race, and Leland
got his volume out first.  When the _Romano Lavo-Lil_ {462b} appeared in
March 1874, Borrow found what, in all probability he had not dreamed of,
that the thirty-three years intervening between its publication and that
of _The Zincali_, had changed the whole literary world as regards “things
of Egypt.”  In 1841 Borrow had produced a unique book, such as only one
man in England could have written, and that man himself {462c}; but in
1874 he found himself not only out of date, but out-classed.

The title very thoroughly explains the scope of the work.  The Vocabulary
had existed in manuscript for many years.  For some reason, difficult to
explain, Borrow had omitted from this Vocabulary a number of the gypsy
words that appeared in _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_.  In spite of this
“Mr Borrow’s present vocabulary makes a goodly show,” wrote F. H. Groome,
“. . . containing no fewer than fourteen hundred words, of which about
fifty will be entirely new to those who only know Romany in books.”
{463a}

After praising the Gypsy songs as the best portion of the book, Groome
proceeds:

    “Of his prose I cannot say so much.  It is the Romany of the study
    rather than of the tents [!]  Mr Borrow has attempted to rehabilitate
    English Romany by enduing it with forms and inflections, of which
    some are still rarely to be heard, some extinct, and others
    absolutely incorrect; while Mr Leland has been content to give it as
    it really is.  Of the two methods I cannot doubt that most readers
    will agree with me in thinking that Mr Leland’s is the more
    satisfactory.” {463b}

The _Athenæum_ sternly rebuked Borrow for seeming “to make the mistake of
confounding the amount of Rommanis which he has collected in this book
with the actual extent of the language itself.”  The reviewer pays a
somewhat grudging tribute to other portions of the book, the accounts of
the Gypsyries and the biographical particulars of the Romany worthies,
but the work suffers by comparison with those of Paspati and Leland.  He
acknowledges that Borrow was one of the pioneers of those who gave
accounts of the Gypsies in English, who gave to many their present taste
for Gypsy matters,

    “but,” he proceeds, “we cannot allow merely sentimental
    considerations to prevent us from telling the honest truth.  The fact
    is that the _Romano Lavo-Lil_ is nothing more than a _réchauffé_ of
    the materials collected by Mr Borrow at an early stage of his
    investigations, and nearly every word and every phrase may be found
    in one form or another in his earlier works.  Whether or not Mr
    Borrow _has_ in the course of his long experience become the _deep_
    Gypsy which he has always been supposed to be, we cannot say; but it
    is certain that his present book contains little more than he gave to
    the public forty years ago, and does not by any means represent the
    present state of knowledge on the subject.  But at the present day,
    when comparative philology has made such strides, and when want of
    accurate scholarship is as little tolerated in strange and remote
    languages as in classical literature, the _Romano Lavo-Lil_ is, to
    speak mildly, an anachronism.”

This notice, if Borrow read it, must have been very bitter to him.  All
the loyalty to, and enthusiasm for, Borrow cannot disguise the fact that
his work, as far as the Gypsies were concerned, was finished.  He had
first explored the path, but others had followed and levelled it into a
thoroughfare, and Borrow found his facts and theories obsolete—a
humiliating discovery to a man so shy, so proud, and so sensitive.

The _Romano Lavo-Lil_ was Borrow’s swan song.  He lived for another seven
years; but as far as the world was concerned he was dead.  In an obituary
notice of Robert Latham, Mr Watts-Dunton tells a story that emphasizes
how thoroughly his existence had been forgotten.  At one of Mrs Procter’s
“at homes” he was talking of Latham and Borrow, but when he happened to
mention that both men were still alive, that is in the early Seventies,
and that quite recently he had been in the company of each on separate
occasions, he found that he had lost caste in the eyes of his hearers for
talking about men as alive “who were well known to have been dead years
ago.” {464}

There is an interesting picture of Borrow as he appeared in the
Seventies, given by F. H. Groome, who writes:

    “The first time I ever saw him was at Ascot, the Wednesday evening of
    the Cup week in, I think, the year 1872.  I was stopping at a wayside
    inn, half-a-mile on the Windsor road, just opposite which inn there
    was a great encampment of Gypsies.  One of their lads had on the
    Tuesday affronted a soldier; so two or three hundred redcoats came
    over from Windsor, intending to wreck the camp.  There was a babel of
    cursing and screaming, much brandishing of belts and tent-rods, when
    suddenly an arbiter appeared, a white-haired, brown-eyed, calm
    Colossus, speaking Romany fluently, and drinking deep draughts of
    ale—in a quarter of an hour Tommy Atkins and Anselo Stanley were
    sworn friends over a loving-quart.  “Mr Burroughs,” said one of the
    Gypsies (it is the name by which Gypsies still speak of him), and I
    knew that at last I had met him whom of all men I most wished to
    meet.  Matty Cooper, the ‘celebrated Windsor Frog’ (_vide_ Leland),
    presented me as ‘a young gentleman, _Rya_, a scholard from Oxford’;
    and ‘H’m,’ quoth Colossus, ‘a good many fools come from Oxford.’  It
    was a bad beginning, but it ended well, by his asking me to walk with
    him to the station, and on the way inviting me to call on him in
    London.  I did so, but not until nearly a twelve-month afterwards,
    when I found him in Hereford Square, and when he set strong ale
    before me, as again on the occasion of my third and last meeting with
    him in the tent of our common acquaintance, Shadrach Herne, at the
    Potteries, Notting Hill.  Both these times we had much talk together,
    but I remember only that it was partly about East Anglia, and more
    about ‘things of Egypt.’  Conversations twenty years old are easy to
    imagine, hard to reproduce . . .  Probably Borrow asked me the Romany
    for ‘frying-pan,’ and I modestly answered, ‘Either _maasalli_ or
    _tasseromengri_’ (this is password No. 1), and then I may have asked
    him the Romany for ‘brick,’ to which he will have answered, that
    ‘there is no such word’ (this is No. 2).  But one thing I do
    remember, that he was frank and kindly, interesting and interested; I
    was only a lad, and he was verging on seventy.  I could tell him
    about a few ‘travellers’ whom he had not recently seen—Charlie
    Pinfold, the hoary polygamist, Plato and Mantis Buckland, Cinderella
    Petulengro, and Old Tom Oliver (‘Ha! so he has seen Tom Oliver,’ I
    seem to remember that).” {466a}

There was nothing now to keep Borrow in London.  Nobody wanted to read
his books, other stars had risen in the East.  His publisher had
exclaimed with energy, as Borrow himself would relate, “I want to meet
with good writers, but there are none to be had: I want a man who can
write like Ecclesiastes.”  There is something tragic in the account that
Mr Watts-Dunton gives of his last encounter with Borrow:

    “The last time I ever saw him,” he writes, “was shortly before he
    left London to live in the country.  It was, I remember well, on
    Waterloo Bridge, where I had stopped to gaze at a sunset of singular
    and striking splendour, whose gorgeous clouds and ruddy mists were
    reeling and boiling over the West-End.  Borrow came up and stood
    leaning over the parapet, entranced by the sight, as well he might
    be.  Like most people born in flat districts, he had a passion for
    sunsets.  Turner could not have painted that one, I think, and
    certainly my pen could not describe it . . . I never saw such a
    sunset before or since, not even on Waterloo Bridge; and from its
    association with ‘the last of Borrow,’ I shall never forget it.”
    {466b}

In 1874 Borrow withdrew to Oulton, there to end his lonely life, his
spirit seeming to enjoy the dreary solitude of the Cottage, with its
mournful surroundings.  His stepdaughter, the Henrietta of old, remained
in London with her husband, and Borrow’s loneliness was complete.
Sometimes he was to be seen stalking along the highways at a great pace,
wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a Spanish cloak, a tragic figure of
solitude and despair, speaking to no one, no one daring to speak to him,
who locally was considered as “a funny tempered man.”

In a fragment of a letter from Edward FitzGerald to W. B. Donne (June
1874), there is an interesting reference to Borrow:—

    “Wait!” he writes.  “I have one little thing to tell you, which,
    little as it is, is worth all the rest, if you don’t know already.

    “_Borrow_—has got back to his own Oulton Lodge.  My Nephew, Edmund
    Kerrich, now Adjutant to some Volunteer Battalion, wants a house
    _near_, not _in_, Lowestoft: and got some Agent to apply for
    Borrow’s—who sent word that he is himself there—an old Man—wanting
    Retirement, etc.  This was the account Edmund got.

    “I saw in some Athenæum a somewhat contemptuous notice of G. B.’s
    ‘Rommany Lil’ or whatever the name is.  I can easily understand that
    B. should not meddle with _science_ of any sort; but some years ago
    he would not have liked to be told so, however Old Age may have
    cooled him now.” {467}

Borrow sent a message to FitzGerald through Edmund Kerrich of Geldeston,
asking him to visit Oulton Cottage.  The reply shows all the sweetness of
the writer’s nature:—

                                                LITTLE GRANGE, WOODBRIDGE,
                                                             _Jan._ 10/75.

    DEAR BORROW,—My nephew Kerrich told me of a very kind invitation that
    you sent to me, through him, some while ago.  I think the more of it
    because I imagine, from what I have heard, that you have slunk away
    from human company as much—as I have!  For the last fifteen years I
    have not visited any one of my very oldest friends, except the
    daughters of my old [?friend] George Crabbe, and Donne—once only, and
    for half a day, just to assure myself by—my own eyes how he was after
    the severe illness he had last year, and which he never will quite
    recover from, I think; though he looked and moved better than I
    expected.

    Well—to tell you all about _why_ I have thus fallen from my company
    would be a tedious thing, and all about one’s self too—whom,
    Montaigne says, one never talks about without detriment to the person
    talked about.  Suffice to say, ‘so it is’; and one’s friends, however
    kind and ‘loyal’ (as the phrase goes), do manage to exist and enjoy
    themselves pretty reasonably without one.

    So with me.  And is it not much the same with you also?  Are you not
    glad now to be mainly alone, and find company a heavier burden than
    the grasshopper?  If one ever had this solitary habit, it is not
    likely to alter for the better as one grows older—as one grows _old_.
    I like to think over my old friends.  There they are, lingering as
    ineffaceable portraits—done in the prime of life—in my memory.
    Perhaps we should not like one another so well after a fifteen-years
    separation, when all of us change and most of us for the worse.  I do
    not say _that_ would be your case; but you must, at any rate, be less
    inclined to disturb the settled repose into which you, I suppose,
    have fallen.  I remember first seeing you at Oulton, some twenty-five
    years ago; then at Donne’s in London; then at my own happy home in
    Regent’s Park; then _ditto_ at Gorleston—after which, I have seen
    nobody, except the nephews and nieces left me by my good sister
    Kerrich.

    So shall things rest?  I could not go to you, after refusing all this
    while to go to older—if not better—friends, fellow Collegians, fellow
    schoolfellows; and yet will you still believe me (as I hope _they_
    do)

    Yours and theirs sincerely,

                                                        EDWARD FITZGERALD.

Borrow was still a remarkably robust man.  Mr Watts-Dunton tells how,

    “At seventy years of age, after breakfasting at eight o’clock in
    Hereford Square, he would walk to Putney, meet one or more of us at
    Roehampton, roam about Wimbledon and Richmond Park with us, bathe in
    the Fen Ponds with a north-east wind cutting across the icy water
    like a razor, run about the grass afterwards like a boy to shake off
    some of the water-drops, stride about the park for hours, and then,
    after fasting for twelve hours, eat a dinner at Roehampton that would
    have done Sir Walter Scott’s eyes good to see.  Finally, he would
    walk back to Hereford Square, getting home late at night.  And if the
    physique of the man was bracing, his conversation, unless he happened
    to be suffering from one of his occasional fits of depression, was
    still more so.  Its freshness, raciness and eccentric whim no pen
    could describe.  There is a kind of humour the delight of which is
    that while you smile at the pictures it draws, you smile quite as
    much or more to think that there is a mind so whimsical, crotchetty,
    and odd as to draw them.  This was the humour of Borrow.” {469a}

He was seventy years of age when, one March day during a bitterly-cold
east wind, he stripped and plunged into one of the Fen Ponds in Richmond
Park, which was covered with ice, and dived and swam under the water for
a time, reappearing some distance from the spot where he had entered the
water. {469b}

The remaining years of Borrow’s life were spent in Suffolk.  He would
frequently go to Norwich, however; for the old city seemed to draw him
irresistibly from his hermitage.  He would take a lodging there, and
spend much of his time occupying a certain chair in the Norfolk Hotel in
St Giles.  There were so many old associations with Norwich that made it
appear home to him.  He was possessed of sentiment in plenty, it had
caused his old mother to wish that “dear George would not have such
fancies about _the old house_” in Willow Lane.

Later, Dr and Mrs MacOubrey removed to Oulton (about 1878), and Borrow’s
life became less dismal and lonely; but he was nearing his end.
Sometimes there would be a flash of that old unconquerable spirit.  His
stepdaughter relates how,

    “on the 21st of November [1878], the place [the farm] having been
    going to decay for fourteen months, Mr Palmer [the tenant] called to
    demand that Mr Borrow should put it in repair; otherwise he would do
    it himself and send in the bills, saying, ‘I don’t care for the old
    farm or you either,’ and several other insulting things; whereupon Mr
    Borrow remarked very calmly, ‘Sir, you came in by that door, you can
    go out by it’—and so it ended.” {470a}

It was on an occasion such as this that Borrow yearned for a son to knock
the rascal down.  He was an infirm man, his body feeling the wear and
tear of the strenuous open-air life he had led.  In 1879, according to
Mrs MacOubrey, he was “unable to walk as far as the white gate,” the
boundary of his estate.  He was obviously breaking-up very rapidly.  The
surroundings appear to have reflected the gloomy nature of the master of
the estate.  The house was dilapidated, “with everything about it more or
less untidy,” {470b} although at this period his income amounted to
upwards of five hundred pounds a year.

    “During his latter years,” writes Mr W. A. Dutt, “his tall, erect,
    somewhat mysterious figure was often seen in the early hours of
    summer mornings or late at night on the lonely pathways that wind in
    and out from the banks of Oulton Broad . . . the village children
    used to hush their voices and draw aside at his approach.  They
    looked upon him with fear and awe. . . .  In his heart, Borrow was
    fond of the little ones, though it amused him to watch the impression
    his strange personality made upon them.  Older people he seldom spoke
    to when out on his solitary rambles; but sometimes he would flash out
    such a glance from beneath his broad-brimmed hat and shaggy eyebrows
    as would make timid country folk hasten on their way filled with
    vague thoughts and fears of the evil eye.” {470c}

Even to the last the old sensitiveness occasionally flashed out, as on
the occasion of a visit from the Vicar of Lowestoft, who drove over with
an acquaintance of Borrow’s to make the hermit’s acquaintance.  The
visitor was so incautious as to ask the age of his host, when, with
Johnsonian emphasis, came the reply: “Sir, I tell my age to no man!”
This occurred some time during the year 1880.  Immediately his
discomfited guest had departed, Borrow withdrew to the summer-house,
where he drew up the following apothegm on “People’s Age”:—

    “Never talk to people about their age.  Call a boy a boy, and he will
    fly into a passion and say, ‘Not quite so much of a boy either; I’m a
    young man.’  Tell an elderly person that he’s not so young as he was,
    and you will make him hate you for life.  Compliment a man of
    eighty-five on the venerableness of his appearance, and he will
    shriek out: ‘No more venerable than yourself,’ and will perhaps hit
    you with his crutch.”

On 1st December 1880 Borrow sent for his solicitor from Lowestoft, and
made his will, by which he bequeathed all his property, real and
personal, to his stepdaughter Henrietta, devising that it should be held
in trust for her by his friend Elizabeth Harvey.  It was evidently
Borrow’s intention so to tie up the bequest that Dr MacOubrey could not
in any way touch his wife’s estate.

The end came suddenly.  On the morning of 26th July 1881 Dr and Mrs
MacOubrey drove into Lowestoft, leaving Borrow alone in the house.  When
they returned he was dead.  Throughout his life Borrow had been a
solitary, and it seems fitting that he should die alone.  It has been
urged against his stepdaughter that she disregarded Borrow’s appeals not
to be left alone in the house, as he felt himself to be dying.  He may
have made similar requests on other occasions; still, whatever the facts,
it was strange to leave so old and so infirm a man quite unattended.

On 4th August the body was brought to London, and buried beside that of
Mrs George Borrow in Brompton Cemetery.  On the stone, which is what is
known as a saddle-back, is inscribed:

                           IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF

                          GEORGE HENRY BORROW, ESQ.,

    WHO DIED JULY 26TH, 1881 (AT HIS RESIDENCE “OULTON COTTAGE, SUFFOLK”)

                              IN HIS 79TH YEAR.

          (AUTHOR OF THE BIBLE IN SPAIN, LAVENGRO—AND OTHER WORKS.)

                    “IN HOPE OF A GLORIOUS RESURRECTION.”

A fruitless effort was made by the late J. J. Colman of Carrow to
purchase the whole of Borrow’s manuscripts, library, and papers for the
Carrow Abbey Library; but the price asked, a thousand pounds, was
considered too high, and they passed into the possession of another.
Eventually they found their way into the reverent hands of the man who
subsequently made Borrow his hero, and who devoted years of his life to
the writing of his biography—Dr W. J. Knapp.

It was Borrow’s fate, a tragic fate for a man so proud, to outlive the
period of his fame.  Not only were his books forgotten, but the world
anticipated his death by some seven or eight years.  His was a curiously
complex nature, one that seems specially to have been conceived by
Providence to arouse enmity among the many, and to awaken in the hearts
of the few a sterling, unwavering friendship.  It is impossible to
reconcile the accounts of those who hated him with those whose love and
respect he engaged.

He was in sympathy with vagrants and vagabonds—a taste that was perhaps
emphasised by the months he spent in preparing _Celebrated Trials_.  If
those months of hack work taught him sympathy with pariahs, it also
taught him to write strong, nervous English.

He was one of the most remarkable characters of his century—whimsical,
eccentric, lovable, inexplicable; possessed of an odd, dry humour that
sometimes failed him when most he needed it.  He lived and died a
stranger to the class to which he belonged, and was the intimate friend
and associate of that dark and mysterious personage, Mr Petulengro.  He
hated his social equals, and admired Tamerlane and Jerry Abershaw.  It
has been said {473} that he was born three centuries too late, and that
he belonged to the age when men dropped mysteriously down the river in
ships, later to return with strange stories and great treasure from the
Spanish Main.  Mr Watts-Dunton has said:—

    “When Borrow was talking to people in his own class of life there was
    always in his bearing a kind of shy, defiant egotism.  What Carlyle
    called the ‘armed neutrality’ of social intercourse oppressed him.
    He felt himself to be in the enemy’s camp.  In his eyes there was
    always a kind of watchfulness, as if he were taking stock of his
    interlocutor and weighing him against himself.  He seemed to be
    observing what effect his words were having, and this attitude
    repelled people at first.  But the moment he approached a gypsy on
    the heath, or a poor Jew in Houndsditch, or a homeless wanderer by
    the wayside, he became another man.  He threw off the burden of
    restraint.  The feeling of the ‘armed neutrality’ was left behind,
    and he seemed to be at last enjoying the only social intercourse that
    could give him pleasure.  This it was that enabled him to make
    friends so entirely with the gypsies.  Notwithstanding what is called
    ‘Romany guile’ (which is the growth of ages of oppression), the basis
    of the Romany character is a joyous frankness.  Once let the
    isolating wall which shuts off the Romany from the ‘Gorgio’ be broken
    through, and the communicativeness of the Romany temperament begins
    to show itself.  The gypsies are extremely close observers; they were
    very quick to notice how different was Borrow’s bearing towards
    themselves from his bearing towards people of his own race, and
    Borrow used to say that ‘old Mrs Herne and Leonora were the only
    gypsies who suspected and disliked him.’” {474a}

This convincing character sketch seems to show the real Borrow.  It
accounts even for that high-piping, artificial voice (a gypsy trait) that
he assumed when speaking with those who were not his intimate friends,
and which any sudden interest in the conversation would cause him to
abandon in favour of his own deep, rich tones.  Mr F. J. Bowring, himself
no friend of Borrow’s for very obvious reasons, has described this
artificial intonation as something between a beggar’s whine and the
high-pitched voice of a gypsy—in sort, a falsetto.  He tells how, on one
occasion, when in conversation with Borrow, he happened to mention to him
something of particular interest concerning the gypsies, Borrow became
immensely interested, immediately dropped the falsetto and spoke in his
natural voice, which Mr Bowring describes as deep and manly.

Even his friends were led sometimes into criticisms that appear
unsympathetic. {474b}  He was, Dr Hake has said, “essentially
hypochondriacal.  Society he loved and hated alike: he loved it that he
might be pointed out and talked of; he hated it because he was not the
prince that he felt himself in its midst.” {474c}  It is the son who
shows the better understanding, although there is no doubt about Dr
Hake’s loyalty to Borrow.  There is a faithful presentation of a man such
as Borrow really seems to have been, in the following words:—

    “Few men have ever made so deep an impression on me as George Borrow.
    His tall, broad figure, his stately bearing, his fine brown eyes, so
    bright yet soft, his thick white hair, his oval beardless face, his
    loud rich voice and bold heroic air were such as to impress the most
    indifferent lookers-on.  Added to this there was something not easily
    forgotten in the manner in which he would unexpectedly come to our
    gates, singing some gypsy song, and as suddenly depart.” {475a}

If Borrow wrote that he was ashamed of being an Englishman and referred
to their “pinched and mortified expressions,” if he found the virtues of
the Saxons “uncouth and ungracious,” he never permitted others to make
disparaging remarks about his country or his countrymen. {475b}  He was
typically English in this: agree with his strictures, add a word or two
of dispraise of the English, and there appeared a terrifying figure of a
patriot; “not only an Englishman but an East Englishman,” which in
Borrow’s vocabulary meant the finest of the breed.  He might with more
truth have said a Cornishman.  “I could not command myself when I heard
my own glorious land traduced in this unmerited manner,” {475c} he once
exclaimed.  He permitted to himself, and to himself only, a certain
latitude in such matters.

That Borrow exaggerated is beyond all question, but it must not be called
deliberate.  He desired to give impressions of scenes and people, and he
was inclined to emphasize certain features.  Isopel Berners he wished it
to be known was a queenly creature, and he described her as taller than
himself (he was 6 feet 2 inches without his shoes).  Exaggeration is
colour, not form.  A disbelief in his having encountered the convict son
of the old apple-woman near Salisbury does not imply that the old woman
herself is a fiction.  Borrow insisted upon Norfolk as his county, “where
the people eat the best dumplings in the world, and speak the purest
English.”  He even spoke with a strong, if imperfect, East Anglian
accent.  As a matter of fact his father was Cornish and his mother of
Huguenot stock.  It would be absurd to argue from this obvious
exaggeration of the actual facts that Borrow was a myth.

Then he has been taken to task for not being a philologist as well as a
linguist.  He may have used the word philologist somewhat loosely on
occasion.  “Think what the reader would have lost,” says one eminent but
by no means prejudiced critic {476} with real sympathy and insight, “had
Borrow waited to verify his etymologies.”  In all probability Nature will
never produce a Humboldt-Le Sage combination of intellect.  Language was
to Borrow merely the key that permitted him access to the chamber of
men’s minds.  It must be confessed that sometimes he invaded the sacred
precincts of philology.  His chapter on the Basque language in _The Bible
in Spain_ has been described as “utterly frantic,” and German
philologists, speechless in their astonishment, have expressed themselves
upon his conclusions in marks of exclamation!  He was not qualified to
discourse upon the science of language.

He was a staunch member of the Church of England, because he believed
there was in it more religion than in any other Church; but this did not
hinder him from consorting with the godless children of the tents, or
contributing towards the upkeep of Nonconformist-schools.  The gypsies
honoured and trusted him because, crooked themselves, they appreciated
straightness and clean living in another.  They had never known him use a
bad word or do a bad thing.  He was, on occasion, arrogant, overbearing,
ungracious, in short all the unattractive things that a proud and
masterful man can be; but his friendship was as strong as the man
himself; his charity above the narrow prejudices of sect.  When he threw
his tremendous power into any enterprise or undertaking, it was with the
determination that it should succeed, if work and self-sacrifice could
make it.  “The wisest course,” he thought, was, “ . . . to blend the
whole of the philosophy of the tombstone with a portion of the philosophy
of the publican and something more, to enjoy one’s pint and pipe and
other innocent pleasures, and to think every now and then of death and
judgment.” {477}

Borrow loved mystery for its own sake, and none were ever able quite to
penetrate into the inner fastness of his personality.  Those who came
nearest to it were probably Hasfeldt and Ford, whose persistent
good-humour was an armour against a reserve that chilled most men.  Of
all Borrow’s friends it is probable that none understood him so well as
Hasfeldt.  He recognised the strength of character of the white-haired
man who sang when he was happy, and he refused to be affected by his
gloomy moods.  “Write and tell me,” he requests, “if you have not fallen
in love with some nun or Gypsy in Spain, or have met with some other
romantic adventure worthy of a roaming knight.”  On another occasion
(June 1845) he boasts with some justification, “Heaven be praised, I can
comprehend you as a reality, while many regard you as an imaginary,
fantastic being.  But they who portray you have not eaten bread and salt
with you.”

Borrow’s contemporary recognition was a chance; he was writing for
another generation, and some of the friends that he left behind have
loyally striven to erect to him the only monument an artist desires—the
proclaiming of his works.

Nature it appeared had framed Borrow in a moment of magnificence, and,
lest he should be enticed away from her, had instilled into his soul a
hatred of all things artificial and at variance with her august decrees.
He was shy and suspicious with the men and women who regulated their
lives by the narrow standards of civilisation and decorum; but with the
children of the tents and the vagrants of the wayside he was a
single-minded man, eager to learn the lore of the open air.  He
recognised in these vagabonds the true sons and daughters of “the Great
Mother who mixes all our bloods.”

                                * * * * *

                                 THE END

                                * * * * *




LIST OF BORROW’S WORKS


1825


_Celebrated Trials_, _and Remarkable Cases of Criminal Jurisprudence_,
_from the Earliest Records to the Year_ 1825.  Six volumes, with plates.
London.

_Faustus_: _His Life_, _Death_, _and Descent into Hell_.  Translated from
the German [of F. M. von Klinger].  W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, London.



1826


_Romantic Ballads_.  Translated from the Danish: and Miscellaneous
Pieces.  S. Wilkin, Norwich.



1835


_Targum_: _or_, _Metrical Translations from Thirty Languages and
Dialects_.  St Petersburgh.  Reprinted later by Jarrold & Sons, Norwich.

_The Talisman_.  From the Russian of Alexander Pushkin.  With _Other
Pieces_.  St Petersburg.



1841


_The Zincali_; _or_, _An Account of the Gypsies of Spain_.  With an
Original Collection of their Songs and Poetry, and a Copious Dictionary
of their Language.  Two volumes.  John Murray, London.



1842


_The Bible in Spain_; _or_, _the Journeys_, _Adventures_, _and
Imprisonments of an Englishman in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures
in the Peninsula_.  Three volumes.  John Murray, London.

_Lavengro_: The Scholar—The Gypsy—The Priest.  Three volumes.  John
Murray, London.

_The Romany Rye_: _a Sequel to Lavengro_.  Two volumes.  John Murray,
London.

_The Sleeping Bard_; _or_, _Visions of the World_, _Death_, _and Hell_.
By Elis Wyn.  Translated from the Cambrian British.  John Murray, London.



1862


_Wild Wales_: _Its People_, _Language_, _and Scenery_.  Three volumes.
John Murray, London.

_Romano Lavo-Lil_: _Word-Book of Romany_; _or_, _English Gypsy Language_.
With Many Pieces in Gypsy, Illustrative of the Way of Speaking and
Thinking of the English Gypsies; with Specimens of Their Poetry, and an
Account of Certain Gypsyries or Places Inhabited by Them, and of Various
Things Relating to Gypsy Life in England.  John Murray, London.



1884


_The Turkish Jester_; _or_, _the Pleasantries of Cogia Nasr Eddin
Effendi_.  Translated from the Turkish.  Jarrold & Sons, Norwich.



1892


_The Death of Balder_.  Translated from the Danish of Evald.  Jarrold &
Sons, Norwich.

From the foregoing list has been omitted the mysterious _Life and
Adventures of Joseph Sell_, _the Great Traveller_, and those works that
Borrow edited or translated for the British and Foreign Bible Society.




FOOTNOTES


{3}  Afterwards General Morshead and friend of the Duke of York.  Captain
Morshead, himself a Cornishman, is credited with doing everything in his
power to dissuade Thomas Borrow from enlisting, but without result.

{4a}  _Lavengro_, page 2.  References to Borrow’s works throughout this
volume are to the Standard Edition, published by John Murray.

{4b}  Ann, the third of eight children born to Samuel Perfrement and Mary
his wife, 23rd January 1772.

{4c}  Locally, the name is pronounced “_Par_frement.”  This is quite in
accordance with the Norfolk dialect, which changes “e” into “a.”  Thus
“Ernest” becomes “Arnest”; “Earlham,” “Arlham”; “Erpingham,” “Arpingham,”
and so on.  In Norfolk there are grave peculiarities of pronunciation,
which have caused many a stranger to wish that he had never enquired his
way, so puzzling are the replies hurled at him in an incomprehensible
vernacular.

{5}  Married the Rev. Wm. Holland, rector of Walmer and afterwards rector
of Brasted, Kent.

{6a}  _Lavengro_, page 5.

{6b}  _Lavengro_, page 5.

{7a}  George in honour of the King, it is said, and Henry after his
father’s eldest brother.

{7b}  _Lavengro_, page 6.

{7c}  _Lavengro_, page 6.

{7d}  _Lavengro_, page 6.

{7e}  _Lavengro_, page 7.

{7f}  _Lavengro_, page 7.

{9a}  _Lavengro_, page 16.

{9b}  The widow of Sir John Fenn, editor of the _Paston Letters_.

{9c}  _Lavengro_, page 15.

{10a}  _Lavengro_, pages 398–9.

{10b}  “Many years have not passed over my head, yet during those which I
can call to remembrance, how many things have I seen flourish, pass away,
and become forgotten, except by myself, who, in spite of all my
endeavours, never can forget anything.”—_Lavengro_, page 166.

{10c}  _Lavengro_, page 16.

{11a}  _Lavengro_, pages 19–20.

{11b}  _Lavengro_, page 22.

{12a}  The gypsies “have a double nomenclature, each tribe or family
having a public and private name, one by which they are known to the
Gentiles, and another to themselves alone . . .  There are only two names
of trades which have been adopted by English gypsies as proper names,
Cooper and Smith: these names are expressed in the English gypsy dialect
by _Vardo-mescro_ and _Petulengro_ (_Romano Lavo-Lil_, page 185).  Thus
the Smiths are known among themselves as the Petulengros.  Petul, a horse
shoe, and engro a “masculine affix used in the formation of figurative
names.”  Thus Boshomengro (a fiddler) comes from Bosh a fiddle,
Cooromengro (a soldier, a pugilist) from Coor = to fight.

{12b}  The Rev. Wentworth Webster heard narrated at a provincial Bible
Society’s meeting that when Borrow first called at Earl Street “he said
that he had been stolen by gypsies in his boyhood, had passed several
years with them, but had been recognised at a fair in Norfolk and brought
home to his family by his uncle.”  There is, however, nothing to confirm
this story.

{13a}  _Lavengro_, page 164.

{13b}  The prisoners occupied much of their time in straw-plait making;
but the quality of their work was so much superior to that of the English
that it was forbidden, and consequently destroyed when found.

{13c}  _Lavengro_, page 45.

{14}  David Haggart, born 24th June 1801, was an instinctive criminal,
who, at Leith Races, in 1813, enlisted, whilst drunk, as a drummer in the
West Norfolks.  Eventually he obtained his discharge and continued on his
career of crime and prison-breaking, among other things murdering a
policeman and a gaoler, until, on 18th July 1821, he was hanged at
Edinburgh.

{15a}  _Lavengro_, page 138.

{15b}  John Crome (1768–1821), landscape painter.  Apprenticed 1783 as
sign-painter; introduced into Norwich the art of graining; founded the
Norwich School of Painting; first exhibited at the Royal Academy 1806.

{17}  Borrow was always a magnificent horseman.  “Vaya! how you ride!  It
is dangerous to be in your way!” said the Archbishop of Toledo to him
years later.  In _The Bible in Spain_ he wrote that he had “been
accustomed from . . . childhood to ride without a saddle.”  The Rev.
Wentworth Webster states that in Madrid “he used to ride with a Russian
skin for a saddle and _without stirrups_.”

{20}  Letter from “A School-fellow of _Lavengro_” in _The Britannia_,
26th April 1851.

{21a}  “It is probable, that had I been launched about this time into
some agreeable career, that of arms, for example, for which, being the
son of a soldier, I had, as was natural, a sort of penchant, I might have
thought nothing more of the acquisition of tongues of any kind; but,
having nothing to do, I followed the only course suited to my genius
which appeared open to me.”—_Lavengro_, page 89.

{21b}  The Rev. Thomas D’Eterville, M.A., “Poor Old Detterville,” as the
Grammar School boys called him, of Caen University, who arrived at
Norwich in 1793.  He acquired a small fortune by teaching languages.
There were rumours that he was engaged in the contraband trade, an
occupation more likely to bring fortune than teaching languages.

{21c}  Letter from “A School-fellow of _Lavengro_” in _The Britannia_,
26th April 1851.

{22}  It was here, in 1827, that he saw the world’s greatest trotter,
Marshland Shales, and in common with other lovers of horses lifted his
hat to salute “the wondrous horse, the fast trotter, the best in mother
England.”  In _Lavengro_ Borrow antedated this event by some nine years.

{23}  Manuscript autobiographical notes supplied by Borrow to Mr John
Longe, 1862.

{24}  _Lavengro_, page 134.

{25a}  This account is taken from a letter by “A Schoolfellow of
_Lavengro_” in _The Britannia_, 26th April 1851.

{25b}  In a letter to Borrow, dated 15th October 1862, John Longe, J.P.,
of Spixworth Park, Norwich, in acknowledging some biographical
particulars that Borrow had sent him for inclusion in Burton’s
_Antiquities of the Royal School of Norwich_, wrote:—

    “You have omitted an important and characteristic anecdote of your
    early days (fifteen years of age).  When at school you, with
    Theodosius and Francis W. Purland, _absented_ yourself from home and
    school and took up your abode in a certain ‘Robber’s Cave’ at Acle,
    where you _resided_ three days, and once more returned to your
    homes.”

{26}  According to the original manuscript of _Lavengro_, it appears that
Roger Kerrison, a Norwich friend of Borrow’s, strongly advised the law as
“an excellent profession . . . for those who never intend to follow
it.”—_Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp, i., 66.

{27a}  The Rev. Wm. Drake of Mundesley, in a letter which appeared in
_The Eastern Daily Press_, 22nd September 1892:—

    “ . . . I was at the Norwich Grammar School nine years, from 1820 to
    1829, and during that time (probably in 1824 and 1825) George Borrow
    was lodging in the Upper Close . . .  The house was a low
    old-fashioned building with a garden in front of it, and the fact of
    Borrow’s residence there is fixed in my memory because I had spent
    the first five or six years of my own life in the same house, from
    1811 to 1816 or 1817.  My father occupied it in virtue of his being a
    minor canon in Norwich Cathedral.  I remember Borrow very distinctly,
    because he was fond of chatting with the boys, who used to gather
    round the railings of his garden, and occasionally he would ask one
    or two of them to have tea with him.  I have a faint recollection
    that he gave us some of our first notions of chess, but I am not sure
    of this.  I . . . remember him a tall, spare, dark-complexioned man,
    usually dressed in black.  In person he was not unlike another
    Norwich man, who obtained in those days a very different notoriety
    from that which now belongs to Borrow’s name.  I mean John Thurtell,
    who murdered Mr Weare.”

{27b}  _Wild Wales_, page 3.

{28a}  _Wild Wales_, page 157.

{28b}  Forty years later Borrow wrote of these days:—“‘How much more
happy, innocent, and holy I was in the days of my boyhood when I
translated Iolo’s ode than I am at the present time!’  Then covering my
face with my hands I wept like a child.”—_Wild Wales_, page 448.

{30a}  There is no doubt that Borrow became possessed of a copy of
_Kiæmpe Viser_, first collected by Anders Vedel, which may or may not
have been given to him, with a handshake from the old farmer and a kiss
from his wife, in recognition of the attention he had shown the pair in
his official capacity.  He refers to the volume repeatedly in _Lavengro_,
and narrates how it was presented by some shipwrecked Danish mariners to
the old couple in acknowledgment of their humanity and hospitality.  It
is, however, most likely that he was in error when he stated that “in
less than a month” he was able “to read the book.”—_Lavengro_, pages
140–4.

{30b}  _Wild Wales_, page 2.

{30c}  _Wild Wales_, page 374.

{30d}  _Wild Wales_, page 9.  There is an interesting letter written to
Borrow by the old lawyer’s son on the appearance of _Lavengro_, in which
he says: “With tearful eyes, yet smiling lips, I have read and re-read
your faithful portrait of my dear old father.  I cannot mistake him—the
creaking shoes, the florid face, the polished pate—all serve as marks of
recognition to his youngest son!”

{31a}  _Wild Wales_, page 374.

{31b}  During the five years that he was articled to Simpson & Rackham,
Borrow, according to Dr Knapp, studied Welsh, Danish, German, Hebrew,
Arabic, Gaelic, and Armenian.  He already had a knowledge of Latin,
Greek, Irish, French, Italian, and Spanish.

{31c}  _Lavengro_, page 235.

{32a}  Benjamin Robert Haydon (1786–1846), the historical painter.

{32b}  _Lavengro_, page 166.

{33a}  William Taylor (1765–1836) was an admirer of German literature and
a defender of the French Revolution.  He is credited with having first
inspired his friend Southey with a liking for poetry.  He travelled much
abroad, met Goethe, attended the National Assembly debates in 1790,
translated from the German and contributed to a number of English
periodicals.

{33b}  Harriet Martineau’s _Autobiography_, 1877.

{33c}  Harriet Martineau’s _Autobiography_, 1877.

{33d}  Letter from “A School-fellow of _Lavengro_” in The Britannia, 26th
April 1851.

{34a}  _Memoir of Wm. Taylor_, by J. W. Robberds.

{34b}  _Memoir of Wm. Taylor_, by J. W. Robberds.

{34c}  Letter from “A School-fellow of _Lavengro_” in The Britannia, 26th
April 1851.

{35a}  The Rev. Whitwell Elwin, in a letter, 17th February 1887.

{35b}  Harriet Martineau’s _Autobiography_, 1877.

{35c}  _Lavengro_, page 355.

{36a}  John Bowring, F.R.S. (1792–1872), began life in trade, went to the
Peninsula for Milford & Co., army contractors, in 1811, set up for
himself as a merchant, travelled and acquired a number of languages.  He
was ambitious, energetic and shrewd.  He became editor of _The
Westminster Review_ in 1824, and LL.D., Grönigen, in 1829.  He was sent
by the Government upon a commercial mission to Belgium, 1833; to Egypt;
Syria and Turkey, 1837–8; M.P. for Clyde burghs, 1835–7, and for Bolton,
1841; was instrumental in obtaining the issue of the florin as a first
step toward a decimal system of currency; Consul of Canton, 1847;
plenipotentiary to China; governor, commander-in-chief, and vice-admiral
of Hong Kong, 1854; knighted 1854; established diplomatic and commercial
relations with Siam, 1855.  He published a number of volumes of
translations from various languages.  He died full of years and honours
in 1872.

{36b}  _The Romany Rye_, page 368, _et seq._

{38}  _Lavengro_, pages 177–8.

{39}  _Lavengro_, pages 179–80.  Captain Borrow was in his sixty-sixth
year at his death; b. December 1758, d. 28th February 1824.  He was
buried in St Giles churchyard, Norwich, on 4th March 1824.

{40a}  _The Romany Rye_, page 302.

{40b}  In his will Captain Borrow bequeathed to George his watch and “the
small Portrait,” and to John “the large Portrait” of himself; his mother
to hold and enjoy them during her lifetime.  Should Mrs Borrow die or
marry again, elaborate provision was made for the proper distribution of
the property between the two sons.

{41}  In particular Borrow believed in Ab Gwilym “the greatest poetical
genius that has appeared in Europe since the revival of literature”
(_Wild Wales_, page 6).  “The great poet of Nature, the contemporary of
Chaucer, but worth half-a-dozen of the accomplished word-master, the
ingenious versifier of Norman and Italian Tales.” (_Wild Wales_, page
xxviii.).

{42a}  Lines to Six-Foot-Three.  _Romantic Ballads_.  Norwich 1826.

{42b}  Sir Richard Phillips (1767–1840) before becoming a publisher was a
schoolmaster, hosier, stationer, bookseller, and vendor of patent
medicines at Leicester, where he also founded a newspaper.  In 1795 he
came to London, was sheriff in 1807, and received his knighthood a year
later.

{43}  It has been urged against Borrow’s accuracy that Sir Richard
Phillips had retired to Brighton in 1823, vide _The Dictionary of
National Biography_.  In the January number (1824) of _The Monthly
Magazine_ appeared the following paragraph: “The Editor [Sir Richard
Phillips], having retired from his commercial engagements and removed
from his late house of business in New Bridge Street, communications
should be addressed to the appointed Publishers [Messrs Whittakers]; but
personal interviews of Correspondents and interested persons may be
obtained at his private residence in Tavistock Square.”  This proves
conclusively that Sir Richard was to be seen in London in the early part
of 1824.

{44a}  _Celebrated Trials and Remarkable Cases of Criminal Jurisprudence
from the Earliest Records to the Year_ 1825, 6 vols., with plates.
London, 1825.

{44b}  _Proximate Causes of the Material Phenomena of the Universe_.  By
Sir Richard Phillips.  London, 1821.

{45a}  Dr Knapp identified the editor as “William Gifford, editor of _The
Quarterly Review_ from 1809 to September 1824.”  (Life of George Borrow,
i. 93.)  The late Sir Leslie Stephen, however, cast very serious doubt
upon this identification, himself concluding that the editor of _The
Universal Review_ was John Carey (1756–1826), whose name was actually
associated with an edition of Quintilian published in 1822.  Carey was a
known contributor to two of Sir Richard Phillips’ magazines.

{45b}  _The Monthly Magazine_, July 1824.

{46a}  It appeared in six volumes.

{46b}  The work when completed contained accounts of over 400 trials.

{46c}  It appeared on 19th March following.

{46d}  _Lavengro_, page 210.

{47}  The picture was duly painted in the Heroic manner, the artist
lending to the ex-mayor, for some reason or other, his own unheroically
short legs.  Haydon received his fee of a hundred guineas, and the
picture now hangs in St Andrew’s Hall, Norwich.

{48a}  Letter from Roger Kerrison to John Borrow, 28th May 1824.

{48b}  _Memoirs_, _C. G. Leland_ 1893.

{49a}  Borrow himself gave the sum as “eighteen-pence a page.”  The books
themselves apparently did not become the property of the reviewer.—_The
Romany Rye_, page 324.

{49b}  Borrow says that he demanded lives of people who had never lived,
and cancelled others that Borrow had prepared with great care, because be
considered them as “drugs.”—_Lavengro_, pages 245–6.

{50a}  “‘Sir,’ said he, ‘you know nothing of German; I have shown your
translation of the first chapter of my Philosophy to several Germans: it
is utterly unintelligible to them.’  ‘Did they see the Philosophy?’ I
replied.  ‘They did, sir, but they did not profess to understand
English.’  ‘No more do I,’ I replied, ‘if the Philosophy be
English.’”—_Lavengro_, page 254.

{50b}  A German edition of the work appeared in Stuttgart in 1826.

{52a}  This sentence is quoted in _The Gypsies of Spain_ as a heading to
the section “On Robber Language,” page 335.

{52b}  _Lavengro_, pages 216–7.

{52c}  _Lavengro_, page 271.

{53a}  _Faustus_: _His Life_, _Death and Descent into Hell_.  Translated
from the German.  London: W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, 1825, pages xxii.,
251.  Coloured Plate.

{53b}  A letter from Borrow to the publishers, which Dr Knapp quotes, and
dates 15th September 1825, but without giving his reasons, was written
from Norwich, and runs:

    Dear Sir,—

    As your bill will become payable in a few days, I am willing to take
    thirty copies of _Faustus_ instead of the money.  The book has been
    _burnt_ in both the libraries here, and, as it has been talked about,
    I may, perhaps, be able to dispose of some in the course of a year or
    so.—Yours, G. BORROW.

{55a}  _Lavengro_, page 310.

{55b}  _The Romany Rye_, Appendix, page 303.

{57}  Probably it was only a portion of the whole amount of £50 that
Borrow drew after the completion of the work.  One thing is assured, that
Sir Richard Phillips was too astute a man to pay the whole amount before
the completion of the work.

{58}  Dr Knapp’s _Life of George Borrow_, i., page 141.

{60}  Dr Knapp gives the date as the 22nd; but Mr John Sampson makes the
date the 24th, which seems more likely to be correct.

{61a}  _The Athenæum_, 25th March 1899.

{61b}  _Lavengro_, page 362.

{62a}  _Lavengro_, page 362.

{62b}  _Lavengro_, page 374.

{63a}  _Lavengro_, pages 431–2.

{64a}  _Lavengro_, page 451.

{64b}  Mr Watts-Dunton in a review of Dr Knapp’s _Life of Borrow_ says
that she “was really an East-Anglian road-girl of the finest type, known
to the Boswells, and remembered not many years ago.”—_Athenæum_, 25th
March 1899.

{66a}  Mr Petulengro is made to say the “Flying Tinker.”

{66b}  Dr Knapp sees in the account of Murtagh’s story of his travels
Barrow’s own adventures during 1826–7, but there is no evidence in
support of this theory.  Another contention of Dr Knapp’s is more likely
correct, viz., that the story of Finn MacCoul was that told him by Cronan
the Cornish guide during the excursion to Land’s End.

{67a}  It will be remembered that in _The Romany Rye_ Borrow takes his
horse to the Swan Inn at Stafford, meets his postilion friend and is
introduced by him to the landlord, with the result that he arranges to
act as “general superintendent of the yard,” and keep the hay and corn
account.  In return he and his horse are to be fed and lodged.  Here
Borrow encounters Francis Ardry, on his way to see the dog and lion fight
at Warwick, and the man in black.

{67b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 360.

{68}  Introduction to _The Romany Rye_ in The Little Library, Methuen &
Co., Ltd.

{69a}  _The Romany Rye_, page 162.

{69b}  _The Romany Rye_, page 162.

{69c}  _The Romany Rye_, page 50.

{69d}  “Let but the will of a human being be turned to any particular
object, and it is ten to one that sooner or later he achieves
it.”—_Lavengro_, page 16.

{73}  They appeared as _Romantic Ballads_, _translated from the Danish_,
_and Miscellaneous Pieces_, by George Borrow.  Norwich.  S. Wilkin, 1826.
Included in the volume were translations from the _Kiæmpe Viser_ and from
Oehlenschlæger.

{74}  _Correspondence and Table-Talk of B. R. Haydon_.  London, 1876.
The position of the letter in the _Haydon Journal_ is between November
1825 and January 1826; but it is more likely that it was written some
months later.  Unfortunately, Borrow’s portrait cannot be traced in any
of Haydon’s pictures.

{75a}  _Lavengro_, page 9.

{75b}  There was a tradition that Borrow became a foreign correspondent
for the _Morning Herald_, and it was in this capacity that he travelled
on the Continent in 1826–7; but Dr Knapp clearly showed that such a
theory was untenable.

{75c}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 11.

{75d}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 219.

{75e}  Letter to his mother, August 1833.

{75f}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 172.

{75g}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 31.

{76a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 703.

{76b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 67.

{76c}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 19.

{76d}  _Excursions Along the Shores of the Mediterranean_, by Lt.-Col. E.
H. D. E. Napier.  London, 1842.

{76e}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, pages 10–11.

{76f}  _Patteran_, or _Patrin_; a gypsy method of indicating by means of
grass, leaves, or a mark in the dust to those behind the direction taken
by the main body.

{76g}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 31.

{77a}  If he went abroad, he certainly did so without obtaining a
passport from the Foreign Office.  The only passports issued to him
between the years 1825–1840 were:

  27th July 1833, to St Petersburg;

  2nd November 1836 and 20th December 1838, to Spain,

as far as the F. O. Registers show.

{77b}  Dr Knapp takes Borrow’s statement, made 29th March 1839, “I have
been three times imprisoned and once on the point of being shot,” as
indicating that he was imprisoned at Pamplona in 1826.  The imprisonments
were September 1837, Finisterre; May 1838, Madrid; and another unknown.
The occasion on which he was nearly shot, which may be assumed to be
connected with one of the imprisonments (otherwise he was more than “once
nearly shot”), was at Finisterre, when he, with his guide, was seized as
a Carlist spy “by the fishermen of the place, who determined at first on
shooting us.”  (Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 15th September 1837.)

{78}  The incident is given in _Lavengro_ under date of 1818, when
Marshland Shales was fifteen years old.  It was not, however, until 1827
that he appeared at the Norwich Horse Fair and was put up for auction.
“Such a horse as this we shall never see again; a pity that he is so
old,” was the opinion of those who lifted their hats as a token of
respect.

{79}  This and subsequent letters from Borrow to Sir John Bowring not
specially acknowledged have been courteously placed at the writer’s
disposal by Mr Wilfred J. Bowring, Sir John Bowring’s grandson.

{81}  In _The Monthly Review_, March 1830, there appeared among the
literary announcements a paragraph to the same effect.

{83}  From the original draft of his letter of 20th May to Dr Bowring,
omitted from the letter itself.

{86a}  Mr Thomas Seccombe in _Bookman_, February 1902.

{86b}  It is only fair to add that Mr Seccombe wrote without having seen
the correspondence quoted from above.  His words have been given as
representing the opinion held by most people regarding the Borrow-Bowring
dispute.  It has been said that Bowring sought to suck Borrow’s brains;
it would appear, however, that Borrow strove rather to make every
possible use that he could of Bowring.

{87a}  Preface to _The Sleeping Bard_, 1860.

{87b}  _Ibid._

{88a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 201.

{88b}  Dr Knapp gives the date as during the early days of September, but
without mentioning his authority.

{90}  _The Romany Rye_, page 362.

{91a}  _Lavengro_, page 403.

{91b}  _Lavengro_, page 446.

{92}  Vicar of Pakefield, in Norfolk, 1814–1830; Lowestoft, 1830–63.  He
married a sister of J. J. Gurney of Earlham Hall.

{93a}  Dr Knapp was in error when he credited J. J. Gurney with the
introduction.  In a letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 10th Feb. 1833, Borrow
wrote, “I must obtain a letter from him [Rev. F. Cunningham] to Joseph
Gurney.”

{93b}  T. Pell Platt, formerly the Hon. Librarian of the Society; W.
Greenfield, its lately deceased Editorial Superintendent.

{94a}  S. V. Lipovzoff (1773–1841) had studied Chinese and Manchu at the
National College of Pekin, and had lived in China for 20 years; belonged
to the Russian Foreign Office (Asiatic section); head of Board of Censors
for books in Eastern languages printed in Russia: Corresponding member of
Academy of Sciences for department of Oriental Literature and
Antiquities.  “A gentleman in the service of the Russian Department of
Foreign Affairs, who has spent the greater part of an industrious life in
Peking and the East.”—J. P. H[asfeldt] in the _Athenæum_, 5th March 1836.

{94b}  Asmus, Simondsen & Co., Sarepta House.

{95}  Borrow’s report upon Puerot’s translation, 23rd September 5th
October, 1835.

{96a}  _The Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society_, vol. i., July 1888 to
October 1899.  In the MS. autobiographical note he wrote later for Mr
John Longe, Borrow stated that he walked from London to Norwich in
November 1825.  He may have performed the journey twice.

{96b}  Letter from Borrow to the Rev. Francis Cunningham, to whom he
wrote on his return home, _circa_ January, acquainting him with what had
transpired in London, assuring him that “I am returned with a firm
determination to exert all my energies to attain the desired end [the
learning of Manchu]; and I hope, Sir, that I shall have the benefit of
your prayers for my speedy success, for the language is one of those
which abound with difficulties against which human skill and labour,
without the special favour of God, are as blunt hatchets against the oak;
and though I shall almost weary Him with my own prayers, I wish not to
place much confidence in them, being at present very far from a state of
grace and regeneration, having a hard and stony heart, replete with
worldy passions, vain wishes, and all kinds of ungodliness; so that it
would be no wonder if God to prayers addressed from my lips were to turn
away His head in wrath.”

{97}  Borrow always writes Mandchow, but, for the sake of uniformity his
spelling is corrected throughout.

{98}  Letter to Rev. Francis Cunningham, _circa_ January 1833.

{99a}  Dr Knapp ascribes the translation to Dr Pazos Kanki, who undertook
it at the instance of the Bishop of Puebla, but gives no authority.  Dr
Kanki was a native of La Paz, Peru, and translated St Luke into his
native dialect Aimará.  He had no more connection with Mexico than “stout
Cortez” with “a peak in Darien.”

{99b}  _Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp, i., page 157.

{100a}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 18th March 1833.

{100b}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 18th March 1833.

{100c}  Letter to Rev J. Jowett, 18th March 1833.

{101}  Caroline Fox wrote in her _Memories of Old Friends_ (1882):
“Andrew Brandram gave us at breakfast many personal recollections of
curious people.  J. J. Gurney recommended George Borrow to their
Committee [!]; so he stalked up to London, and they gave him a hymn to
translate into the Manchu language, and the same to one of their own
people to translate also.  When compared they proved to be very
different.  When put before their reader, he had the candour to say that
Borrow’s was much the better of the two.  On this they sent him to St
Petersburg, got it printed [!] and then gave him business in Portugal,
which he took the liberty greatly to extend, and to do such good as
occurred to his mind in a highly executive manner [22nd August 1844].”

{102}  Mr Lipovzoff’s unfortunate name was a great stumbling-block.
Borrow spelt it many ways, varying from Lipoffsky to Lipofsoff.  It has
been thought advisable to adopt Mr Lipovzoff’s _own_ spelling of his
name, in order to preserve some uniformity.

{104}  Minutes of the Editorial Sub-Committee, 29th July 1833.

{105}  Harriet Martineau’s _Autobiography_.

{106}  Letter to his mother, 30th July 1833.

{107a}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 4th August 1833.

{107b}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 4th August 1833.

{108a}  Borrow is always puzzling when concerned with dates.  He writes
to his mother telling her that he left on the 7th, and later gives the
date, in a letter to Mr Jowett, as 24th July, O.S. (5th August).  The 7th
seems to be the correct date.

{108b}  Letter to his mother.

{109}  “If I had my choice of all the cities of the world to live in, I
would choose Saint Petersburg.”—_Wild Wales_, page 665.

{110}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, undated: received 26th September 1833.

{111}  In a letter dated 3rd/15th August, the Prince wrote to Mr Venning
at Norwich, “On returning thence, your son came to introduce to me the
Englishman who has come over here about the translation of the Manchu
Bible, and who brought with him your letter.”—_Memorials of John
Venning_, 1862.

{112a}  Best known for his Grammar, written in German.

{112b}  Nephew of J. C Adelung, the philologist.

{113}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, undated, but received 26th September
1833.

{114a}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 20th January/1st February 1834.

{114b}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 20th January/1st February 1834.

{114c}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 20th January/1st February 1834.

{115a}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 20th January/1st February 1834.

{115b}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 20th January/1st February 1834.
Probably this means the New Testament only, as there was no intention of
printing the Old Testament at that date.

{116}  In a letter to his mother, dated 1st/13th Feb., Borrow writes:
“The Bible Society depended upon Dr Schmidt and the Russian translator
Lipovzoff to manage this business [the obtaining of the official
sanction], but neither the one nor the other would give himself the least
trouble about the matter, or give me the slightest advice how to
proceed.”

{117}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 4th/16th February 1834.

{118a}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 20th Jan./1st Feb. 1834.

{118b}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 20th Jan./1st Feb. 1834.

{118c}  Letter to the Rev. F. Cunningham, 17th/29th Nov. 1834.

{119}  1st/13th May 1834.

{121a}  This spelling is adopted throughout for uniformity.  Borrow
writes Chiachta.

{121b}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 4th/16th February 1834.

{121c}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 4th/16th February 1834.

{121d}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 4th/16th February 1834.

{123a}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 15th/23rd April 1834.

{123b}  In a letter dated 1st/13th May 1834.

{123c}  A suburb of Norwich.

{126a}  Mrs Borrow eventually received from Allday Kerrison £50, 11s.
1d., the amount realised from the sale of John’s effects.

{126b}  This was partly on account of the Bible Society for storage
purposes.  In the minutes of the Sub-Committee, 18th August 1834, there
is a record of an advice having been received from Borrow that he had
drawn “for 400 Roubles for one year’s rent in advance for a suitable
place of deposit for the Society’s paper, etc., part of which had been
received.”

{126c}  Letter to John P. Hasfeldt from Madrid, 29th April 1837.

{129}  In the minutes of the Sub-Committee, 18th August (N.S.) 1834,
there is a note of Borrow having drawn 210 roubles “to pay for certain
articles required to complete the Society’s fount of Manchu type.”

{132a}  “My letters to my private friends have always been written during
gleams of sunshine, and traced in the characters of hope.”

{132b}  “You may easily judge of the state of book-binding here by the
fact that for every volume, great or small, printed in Russia, there is a
duty of 30 copecks, or threepence, to be paid to the Russian Government,
if the said volume be exported unbound.”

{135a}  John Hasfeldt.

{135b}  Letter to Mr J. Tarn, Treasurer of the Bible Society, 15th/27th
December 1834.

{136}  Letter to the Rev. Joseph Jowett, 3rd/15th May 1835.

{138a}  Letter from Borrow to the Rev. J. Jowett, 20th Feb./4th March
1834.  In his Report on Puerot’s translation, received on 23rd Sep. 1835,
Borrow writes: “To translate literally, or even closely, according to the
common acceptation of the term, into the Manchu language is of all
impossibilities the greatest; partly from the grammatical structure of
the language, and partly from the abundance of its idioms.”  The lack of
“some of those conjunctions generally considered as indispensable” was
one of the chief difficulties.

{138b}  Letter, 31st Dec. 1834.

{139a}  Letter, 31st Dec. 1834.

{139b}  Letter, 20th Feb./4th Mar. 1835.

{139c}  Letter, 20th Feb./4th Mar. 1835.

{139d}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 3rd/15th May 1835.

{139e}  _Ibid._

{140}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 3rd/15th May 1835.

{141a}  Letter to Mr J. Tarn.

{141b}  None of these translations ever appeared, owing to the refusal of
the Russian Government to grant permission.  John Hasfeldt wrote to
Borrow, June 1837, apropos of the project: “You know the Russian
priesthood cannot suffer foreigners to mix themselves up in the affairs
of the Orthodox Church.  The same would have happened to the New
Testament itself.  You may certainly print in the Manchu-Tartar or what
the d-l you choose, only not in Russian, for that the long-bearded
he-goats do not like.”

{142a}  Letter to Rev. F. Cunningham, 27th/29th Nov. 1834.

{142b}  The principal interest in Targum lies in the number of languages
and dialects from which the poems are translated; for it must be
confessed that Borrow’s verse translations have no very great claim to
attention on account of their literary merit.  The “Thirty Languages”
were, in reality, thirty-five, viz.:—

Ancient British.        Gaelic.            Portuguese.
   “    Danish.         German.            Provençal
   “    Irish.          Greek.             Romany.
   “    Norse.          Hebrew.            Russian.
Anglo-Saxon.            Irish.             Spanish.
Arabic.                 Italian.           Suabian.
Cambrian British.       Latin.             Swedish.
Chinese.                Malo-Russian.      Tartar.
Danish.                 Manchu.            Tibetan.
Dutch.                  Modern Greek.      Turkish.
Finnish.                Persian.           Welsh.
French.                 Polish.



{143a}  A copy was presented by John Hasfeldt to Pushkin, who expressed
in a note to Borrow his gratification at receiving the book, and his
regret at not having met the translator.

{143b}  These two volumes were printed in one and published at a later
date by Messrs Jarrold & Son, London & Norwich.

{143c}  5th March 1836.

{143d}  From a letter to Borrow from Dr Gordon Hake.

{143e}  Borrow’s Report to the Committee of the Bible Society, received
23rd September 1835.

{144a}  Borrow’s Report to the Committee of the Bible Society, received
23rd September 1835.

{144b}  _Ibid._

{145a}  _Kak my tut kamasa_.

{145b}  Borrow’s Report to the Committee of the Bible Society, received
23rd September 1835.  He gives an account of the episode in _The Gypsies
of Spain_, page 6.

{146a}  The Thirty-First Annual Report.

{146b}  _Athenæum_, 5th March 1836.

{147}  Borrow’s Report to the Committee of the Bible Society, received
23rd September 1835.

{148}  18th/30th June 1834.

{149}  27th October 1835.

{150a}  His salary was paid continuously, and included the period of rest
between the Russian and Peninsula expeditions.

{150b}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 26th October 1835.

{150c}  In a letter dated 27th October 1835.

{151}  Minutes of the General Committee of the Bible Society, 2nd Nov.
1835.

{153}  In his first letter from Spain, addressed to Rev. J. Jowett (30th
Nov. 1835), Borrow tells of this incident in practically the same words
as it appears in _The Bible in Spain_, pages 1–3.

{154a}  _The Bible in Spain_, pages 73–4.

{154b}  Letter to the Rev. J. Jowett, 30th Nov. 1835.

{155a}  Dr Knapp states that upon this expedition he was accompanied by
Captain John Rowland Heyland of the 35th Regiment of Foot, whose
acquaintance he had made on the voyage out.—_Life of George Borrow_, i.,
page 234.

{155b}  Letter to Rev. J. Jowett, 30th Nov. 1835.

{155c}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 15th Dec. 1835.

{159a}  Letter to Dr Bowring, 26th December 1835.

{159b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 67.

{159c}  Dated 8th and 10th January 1836, giving an account of his journey
to Evora.

{160a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 78.

{160b}  _The Bible in Spain_, pages 77–8.

{161a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 87.

{161b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 88.

{162a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 99.

{162b}  _Lavengro_, page 191.

{162c}  _The Bible in Spain_, pages 97–8.

{162d}  Not 5th Jan., as given in _The Bible in Spain_.

{162e}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 103.

{164a}  _The Bible in Spain_, Preface, page vi.

{164b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 179.

{164c}  “Throughout my life the Gypsy race has always had a peculiar
interest for me.  Indeed I can remember no period when the mere mention
of the name Gypsy did not awaken within me feelings hard to be described.
I cannot account for this—I merely state it as a fact.”—_The Gypsies of
Spain_, page 1.

{165a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, pages 184–5.

{165b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 186.

{166a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 109.

{166b}  Dr Knapp states that the wedding described in _The Gypsies of
Spain_ took place during these three days.—_Life of George Borrow_, by Dr
Knapp, i., page 242.

{167a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 162.

{167b}  “I am not partial to Madrid, its climate, or anything it can
offer, if I except its unequalled gallery of pictures.”—Letter to Rev. A.
Brandram, 22nd March 1836.

{167c}  24th February 1836.

{167d}  Letter to his mother, 24th February 1836.

{168a}  Letter to his mother, 24th February 1836

{168b}  _Ibid._

{168c}  _Ibid._

{168d}  _Ibid._

{169}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 173.

{170a}  Born 1790, commissariat contractor in 1808 during the French
invasion, he was of great assistance to his country.  In 1823 he fled
from the despotism of Ferdinand VII.; he returned twelve years later as
Minister of Finance under Toreno.  He resigned in 1837, was again in
power in 1841, and died in 1853.

{170b}  George William Villiers, afterwards 4th Earl of Clarendon, born
12th Jan. 1800; created G.C.B., 19th Oct. 1837; succeeded his uncle as
Earl of Clarendon, 1838; K.G., 1849.  He twice refused a Marquisate, also
the Governor-generalship of India.  He refused the Order of the Black
Eagle (Prussia) and the Legion of Honour.  Lord Privy Seal, 1839–41;
Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, 1840–1, 1864–5; Lord-Lieutenant of
Ireland, 1847–52.  Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, 1853–8,
1865–6, 1868–9.  Died 27th June 1870.

{171}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 165.

{173a}  Extracts accompanying letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 22nd March
1836.

{173b}  _Ibid._

{173c}  _Ibid._

{174}  Letter of 22nd March 1837.

{175a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 22nd May 1836.

{175b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 22nd May 1836.

{175c}  Letter dated 6th April 1836.

{175d}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 20th April 1836.

{175e}  _Ibid._

{176a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 20th April 1836.

{176b}  _Ibid._  Borrow’s destitution was entirely accidental, and
immediately that his letter was received at Earl Street the sum of
twenty-five pounds was forwarded to him.

{177}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 20th April 1836.

{178a}  Letter of 9th May 1836.

{178b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 30th June 1836.

{178c}  _Ibid._

{178d}  _Ibid._

{179a}  The Duke’s secretary who had shown so profound a respect for the
decrees of the Council of Trent.

{179b}  Late of the Royal Navy, who for sheer love of the work
distributed the Scriptures in Spain, and who later was to come into grave
conflict with Borrow.

{180}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 30th June 1836.

{181a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 7th July 1836.

{181b}  _Ibid._

{181c}  _Ibid._

{181d}  _Ibid._

{182a}  Dr Usoz was a Spaniard of noble birth, a pupil of Mezzofanti, and
one of the editors of _El Español_.  He occupied the chair of Hebrew at
Valladolid.  He was deeply interested in the work of the Bible Society,
and was fully convinced that in nothing but the reading of the Bible
could the liberty in Spain be found.

{182b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th December 1837.

{182c}  La Granja was a royal palace some miles out of Madrid, to which
the Queen Regent had withdrawn.  On the night of 12th August, two
sergeants had forced their way into the Queen Regent’s presence, and
successfully demanded that she should restore the Constitution of 1812.
This incident was called the Revolution of La Granja.

{183a}  _The Bible in Spain_, pages 197–206.

{183b}  30th July 1836.

{183c}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 10th August 1836.

{184}  17th October 1836.

{185a}  _The Bible in Spain_, pages 209–11.

{185b}  _Ibid._, page 211.

{186}  The Rev. Wentworth Webster in _The Journal of Gypsy Lore Society_,
vol. i., July 1888–Oct. 1889.

{187}  Letter from Rev. A. Brandram, 6th Jan. 1837.

{188}  Isidor Just Severin, Baron Taylor (1789–1879), was a naturalised
Frenchman and a great traveller.  In 1821 he, with Charles Nodier, wrote
the play _Bertram_, which was produced with great success at Paris in
1821.  Later he was made Commissaire du Théâtre Français, and authorised
the production of _Hernani_ and _Le Mariage de Figaro_.  Later he became
Inspecteur-Général des Beaux Arts (1838).  When seen by Borrow in Seville
he was collecting Spanish pictures for Louis-Philippe.

{189}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 221.

{190a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 237.

{190b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 26th Dec. 1836.

{191a}  In letter to the Rev. A. Brandram (26th Dec. 1836), Borrow gives
the quantity of brandy as two bottles.  This letter was written within a
few hours of the act and is more likely to be accurate.

{191b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 254.

{191c}  Borrow’s letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 14th Jan. 1837.

{191d}  He was authorised to purchase 600 reams at 60 _reals_ per ream,
whereas he paid only 45 _reals_ a ream for a paper “better,” he wrote,
“than I could have purchased at 70.”

{192a}  Author of _La Historia de las Córtes de España durante el Siglo
XIX_. (1885) and other works of a political character.  He was also
proprietor and editor of _El Español_.  Isturitz had intended raising
Borrégo to the position of minister of finance when his government
suddenly terminated.

{192b}  General report prepared by Borrow in the Autumn of 1838 for the
General Committee of the Bible Society detailing his labours in Spain.
This was subsequently withdrawn, probably on account of its somewhat
aggressive tone.  In the course of this work the document will be
referred to as _General Report_, _Withdrawn_.

{192c}  To Rev. A. Brandram, 14th Jan. 1837.

{193}  To Rev. A. Brandram, 14th Jan. 1837.

{194a}  27th January 1837.

{194b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 27th Feb. 1837.

{195a}  Letter from Rev. A. Brandram to Borrow, 22nd March 1837.

{195b}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th Dec. 1837.

{195c}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 27th February 1837.

{195d}  Rev. Wentworth Webster in _The Journal of the Gypsy Lore
Society_, vol. i., July 1888–October 1889.

{196a}  _General Report_ withdrawn.

{196b}  _General Report_, withdrawn.

{196c}  Borrow to Richard Ford.  _Letters of Richard Ford_ 1797–1858.
Ed. R. E. Prothero.  Murray, 1905.

{197a}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 7th June 1837.

{197b}  _Ibid._

{197c}  _Ibid._

{198}  Letter from Borrow to the Rev. A. Brandram, 27th February 1837.

{199}  As the method adopted was practically the same in every town he
visited, no further reference need be made to the fact, and in the brief
survey of the journeys that Borrow himself has described so graphically,
only incidents that tend to throw light upon his character or
disposition, and such as he has not recorded himself, will be dealt with.

{200a}  Via Pitiegua, Pedroso, Medina del Campo, Dueñas Palencia.

“I suffered dreadfully during this journey,” Borrow wrote, “as did
likewise my man and horses, for the heat was the fiercest which I have
ever known, and resembled the breath of the simoon or the air from an
oven’s mouth.”—Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 5th July 1837.

{200b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 5th July 1837.

{201}  _The Bible in Spain_, pages 352–4.

{202}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 364.

{203a}  This is the story particularly referred to by Richard Ford in
report upon the MS. of _The Bible in Spain_.

{203b}  In the Report to the General Committee of the Bible Society on
Past and Future Operations in Spain, November 1838.

{204a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 409.

{204b}  In _The Bible in Spain_ Borrow says he was arrested on suspicion
of being the Pretender himself; but in a letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 15th
September 1837, he says that he and his guide were seized as Carlist
spies, and makes no mention of Don Carlos.

{205a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 15th September 1837.

{205b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 29th September 1837.

{205c}  By way of Ferrol, Novales, Santa María, Coisa d’Ouro, Viviero,
Foz, Rivadéo, Castro Pól, Naváia, Luarca, the Caneiro, Las Bellotas, Soto
Luiño, Muros, Avilés and Gijon.

{205d}  To the Rev. A. Brandram, 29th Sept. 1837.  The story also appears
in _The Bible in Spain_, pages 479–480.

{206}  Borrow’s original idea in printing only the New Testament was that
in Spain and Portugal he deemed it better not to publish the whole Bible,
at least not “until the inhabitants become christianised,” because the
Old Testament “is so infinitely entertaining to the carnal man,” and he
feared that in consequence the New Testament would be little read.  Later
he saw his mistake, and was constantly asking for Bibles, for which there
was a big demand.

{207}  To Rev. A. Brandram, 29th September 1837.

{208}  George Dawson Flinter, an Irishman in the service of Queen
Isabella II., who fought for his adopted Queen with courage and
distinction, and eventually committed suicide as a protest against the
monstrously unjust conspiracy to bring about his ruin, September 1838.

{209a}  By way of Ontanéda, Oña, Búrgos, Vallodolid, Guadarrama.

{209b}  _General Report_, withdrawn.

{209c}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 1st November 1837.

{210}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 507.

{211}  He was created G.C.B. 19th Oct. 1837.

{212a}  Letter from Borrow to the Rev. A. Brandram, 20th Nov. 1837.

{212b}  To the Rev. A. Brandram, 20th Nov. 1837.

{213a}  _History of the British and Foreign Bible Society_, W. Canton.

{213b}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 30th March 1838.

{214a}  Mr Brandram wrote to Graydon (12th April 1838): “Mr Rule being at
Madrid and having conferred with Mr Borrow and Sir George Villiers, it
appears to have struck them all three that a visit on your part to Cadiz
and Seville could not at present be advantageous to our cause.”

{214b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 20th November 1837.

{214c}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 28th November 1837.  The comment on
the badness of the London edition had reference to the translation, which
Borrow had condemned with great vigour; he subsequently admitted that he
had been too sweeping in his disapproval.

{215a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 28th November 1837.

{215b}  Sir George Villiers to Viscount Palmerston, 5th May 1838.

{215c}  _Ibid._

{216a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 241.

{216b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th Dec. 1837.

{216c}  These Bibles fetched, the large edition (Borrow wrote “I would
give my right hand for a thousand of them”) 17s. each, and the smaller
7s. each, whereas the New Testaments fetched about half-a crown.

{216d}  Letter dated 16th Jan. 1838.

{217a}  In _The Bible in Spain_ he says “the greater part,” in _The
Gypsies of Spain_ he says “the whole.”

{217b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 275.

{218a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 280.

{218b}  _Ibid._

{218c}  _Ibid._, page 282.

{219a}  On 25th December 1837.

{219b}  It is strange that Borrow should insist that he had Sir George
Villiers’ approval; for Sir George himself has clearly stated that he
strongly opposed the opening of the _Despacho_.

{220}  15th January 1838.

{221a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 30th March 1838.

{221b}  In _The Gypsies of Spain_ Borrow gives the number as 500 (page
281); but the Resolution, confirmed 20th March 1837, authorised the
printing of 250 copies only.  In all probability the figures given by
Borrow are correct, as in a letter to Mr Brandram, dated 18th July 1839,
he gives his unsold stock of books at Madrid as:—

Of Testaments                           962
Of Gospels in the Gypsy Tongue          286
Of ditto in Basque                      394

{222a}  Original Report, withdrawn.

{222b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, pages 280–1.

{224a}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 17th March 1838.

{224b}  _The History of the British and Foreign Bible Society_, by W.
Canton.

{225}  Mr Canton writes in _The History of the British and Foreign Bible
Society_: “His [Graydon’s] opportunity was indeed unprecedented; and had
he but more accurately appreciated the unstable political conditions of
the country, the susceptibilities, suspicious and precarious tenure of
ministers and placemen, the temper of the priesthood, their sensitive
attachment to certain tenets of their faith, and their enormous influence
over the civil power, there is reason to believe that he might have
brought his mission to a happier and more permanent issue.”

{226}  [11th] May 1838.

{227a}  Letter from George Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram [11th] May 1838.

{227b}  23rd April 1838.

{227c}  The Marin episode is amazing.  The object of distributing the
Scriptures was to enlighten men’s minds and bring about conversion, and a
priest was a distinct capture, more valuable by far than a peasant, and
likely to influence others; yet when they had got him no one appears to
have known exactly what to do, and all were anxious to get rid of him
again.

{228a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 536.

{228b}  _Ibid._

{229a}  Original Report, withdrawn.

{229b}  Original Report, withdrawn.

{231}  Sometimes this personage is referred to in official papers as the
“Political Chief,” a too literal translation of _Gefé Politico_.  In all
cases it has been altered to Civil Governor to preserve uniformity.  Many
of the official translations of Foreign Office papers can only be
described as grotesque.

{232a}  This is the official translation among the Foreign Office papers
at the Record Office.

{232b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 539.

{233}  There is an error in the dating of this letter.  It should be 1st
May.

{234a}  In a letter to Count Ofalia, Sir George Villiers states that
“George Borrow, fearing violence, prudently abstained from going to his
ordinary place of abode.”

{234b}  Borrow pays a magnificent and well-deserved tribute to this queen
among landladies.  (_The Bible in Spain_, pages 256–7.)  She was always
his friend and frequently his counsellor, thinking nothing of the risk
she ran in standing by him during periods of danger.  She refused all
inducements to betray him to his enemies, and, thoroughly deserved the
eulogy that Borrow pronounced upon her.

{234c}  It was subsequently stated that the arrest was ordered because
Borrow had refused to recognise the Civil Governor’s authority and made
use “of offensive expressions” towards his person.  The Civil Governor
had no authority over British subjects, and Borrow was right in his
refusal to acknowledge his jurisdiction.

{235}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 547.

{238a}  Dispatch from Sir George Villiers to Viscount Palmerston, 5th
May.

{238b}  _Ibid._

{239a}  Despatch from Sir George Villiers to Viscount Palmerston, 12th
May 1838.

{239b}  _Ibid._

{240a}  Despatch from Sir George Villiers to Viscount Palmerston.

{240b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 17th May 1838.

{241a}  Despatch from Sir George Villiers to Viscount Palmerston, 5th May
1838.

{241b}  In a letter to the Rev. A. Brandram, 17th May 1838.

{242a}  The Official Translation among the Foreign Office Papers at the
Record Office.

{242b}  Mr William Mark’s (the British Consul at Malaga) Official account
of the occurrence, 16th May 1838.

{243a}  Mr William Mark’s (the British Consul at Malaga) Official account
of the occurrence, 16th May 1838.

{243b}  _Ibid._

{243c}  Despatch to Viscount Palmerston, 12th May 1838.

{243d}  _Ibid._

{244a}  Despatch to Viscount Palmerston, 12th May 1838.

{244b}  _Ibid._

{244c}   Sir George Villiers’ Despatch to Viscount Palmerston, 12th May
1838.

{246a}  The Official Translation among the Foreign Office Papers at the
Record Office.

{246b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 578.

{247a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 241.

{247b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 579.

{249}  _History of the British and Foreign Bible Society_.  By W. Canton.

{252}  On [11th] May 1838.

{253}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 17th May 1838.

{254a}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th May 1838.

{255a}  The Official Translation among the Foreign Office Papers at the
Record Office.

{255b}  Sir George Villiers to Count Ofalia, 25th May 1838.

{255c}  Letter to Mr A. Brandram, 25th May 1838.

{256a}  At the time of writing Borrow had not seen any of these tracts
himself; but Sir George Villiers, who had, expressed the opinion that
“one or two of them were outrages not only to common sense but to
decency.”—Borrow to the Rev. A. Brandram, 25th June 1838.

{256b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 14th June 1838.

{257a}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 14th June 1838.

{257b}  _Ibid._

{259}  The quotations from Lieut. Graydon’s tracts were not sent by
Borrow to Mr Brandram until some weeks later.  They ran:—A True History
of the Dolorous Virgin to whom the Rebellious and Fanatical Don Carlos
Has Committed His Cause and the Ignorance which It Displays.

                                EXTRACTS.

_Page_ 17.  You will readily see in all those grandiose epithets showered
upon Mary, the work of the enemy of God, which tending essentially
towards idolatry has managed, under the cloak of Christianity, to
introduce idolatry, and endeavours to divert to a creature, and even to
the image of that creature, the adoration which is due to God alone.
Without doubt it is with this very object that on all sides we see
erected statues of Mary, adorned with a crown, and bearing in her arms a
child of tender years, as though to accustom the populace intimately to
the idea of Mary’s superiority over Jesus.

_Page_ 30.  This, then, is our conclusion.  In recognising and
sanctioning this cult, the Church of Rome constitutes itself an
idolatrous Church, and every member of it who is incapable of detecting
the truth behind the monstrous accumulation of impieties with which they
veil it, is proclaimed by the Church as condemned to perdition.  The
guiding light of this Church, which they are not ashamed to smother or to
procure the smothering of, by which nevertheless they hold their
authority, to be plain, the word of God, should at least teach them, if
they set any value on the Spirit of Christ, that their Papal Bulls would
be better directed to the cleansing of the Roman Church from all its
iniquities than to the promulgation of such unjust prohibitions.  Yet in
struggling against better things, this Church is protecting and hallowing
in all directions an innumerable collection of superstitions and false
cults, and it is clear that by this means it is abased and labelled as
one of the principal agents of Anti-Christ.

{262}  _The History of the British and Foreign Bible Society_, by W.
Canton.

{265a}  This letter reached Borrow when his “foot was in the stirrup,” as
he phrased it, ready to set out for the Sagra of Toledo.  He felt that it
could only have originated with “the enemy of mankind for the purpose of
perplexing my already harrassed and agitated mind”; but he continues,
“merely exclaiming ‘Satan, I defy thee,’ I hurried to the Sagra. . . .
But it is hard to wrestle with the great enemy.”  _General Report_,
withdrawn.

{265b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 14th July 1838.

{265c}  Mr Brandram informed Borrow that the General Committee wished him
to visit England if he could do so without injury to the cause (29th
June).

{266}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 14th July 1838.

{269a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 602.

{269b}  _Ibid._, page 606.

{269c}  _Ibid._, page 606.

{270a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 27th July 1838.

{270b}  This would have been impossible.  If his age were seventy-four,
he would of necessity have been four years old in 1838.

{271a}  By Mr A. G. Jayne in “Footprints of George Borrow,” in _The Bible
in the World_, July 1908.

{271b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 17th July 1838.

{273a}  This letter, in which there was a hint of desperation, disturbed
the officials at Earl Street a great deal.  Mr Brandram wrote (28th July)
that he was convinced that the Committee would “still feel that if you
are to continue to act with them _they must see you_, and I will only add
that it is _utterly foreign to their wishes_ that you should _expose
yourself in the daring manner you are now doing_.  I lose not a post in
conveying this impression to you.”

{273b}  The Translation of this communication runs:—“Madrid, 7th July
1838—I have the honour to inform your Excellency that according to
official advices received in the first Secretary of State’s Office, it
appears that in Malaga, Murcia, Valladolid, and Santiago, copies of the
New Testament of Padre Scio, without notes, have been exposed for sale,
which have been deposited with the political chiefs of the said
provinces, or in the hands of such persons as the chiefs have entrusted
with them in Deposit; it being necessary further to observe that the
parties giving them up have uniformly stated that they belonged to Mr
Borrow, and that they were commissioned by him to sell and dispose of
them.

“Under these circumstances, Her Majesty’s Government have deemed it
expedient that I should address your Excellency, in order that the above
may be intimated to the beforementioned Mr Borrow, so that he may take
care that the copies in question, as well as those which have been seized
in this City, and which are packed up in cases or parcels marked and
sealed, may be sent out of the Kingdom of Spain, agreeably to the Royal
order with which your Excellency is already acquainted, and through the
medium of the respective authorities who will be able to vouch for their
Exportation.  To this Mr Borrow will submit in the required form, and
with the understanding that he formally binds himself thereto, they will
remain in the meantime in the respective depots.”

{275}  _General Report_, withdrawn.

{277a}  Borrow’s letter to the Rev. A. Brandram, 1st Sept. 1838.

{277b}  To Lord William Hervey, Chargé d’Affaires at Madrid (23rd Aug.
1838).

{278}  To Rev. G. Browne, one of the Secretaries of the Bible Society,
29th Aug. 1838.

{279a}  To Rev. A. Brandram, 19th September 1838.

{279b}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 621.

{279c}  Letter to Dr Usoz, 22nd Feb. 1839.

{279d}  _Ibid._

{279e}  _Ibid._

{280}  The Report has here been largely drawn upon and has been referred
to as “Original Report, withdrawn.”

{282}  _History of the British and Foreign Bible Society_.

{284}  On the publication of _The Bible in Spain_ the Prophetess became
famous.  Thirty-six years later Dr Knapp found her still soliciting alms,
and she acknowledged that she owed her celebrity to the _Inglés rubio_,
the blonde Englishman.

{285a}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 627.

{285b}  To Rev. A. Brandram, 25th Jan. 1839.

{286}  On 6th Feb. 1839.

{288a}  Letter to Mr W. Hitchin of the Bible Society, 9th March 1839.

{288b}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 26th March 1839.

{290}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 10th April 1839.

{293}  Letter to the Rev. A. Brandram, 2nd May 1839.

{294a}  _Excursions Along the Shores of the Mediterranean_, by Lt.-Col.
E. Napier, 46th Regt.  Colburn, 1842, 2 vols.

{294b}  _Ibid._

{295}  _Excursions Along the Shores of the Mediterranean_, by Lt.-Col. E.
Napier, 46th Regt.  Colburn, 1842, 2 vols.

{297}  A reference to Charles Robert Maturin’s _Melmoth the Wanderer_, 4
vols., 1820.  This book was republished in 3 vols. in 1892, an almost
unparalleled instance of the reissue of a practically forgotten book in a
form closely resembling that of the original.  Melmoth the Wanderer was
referred to in the most enthusiastic terms by Balzac, Thackeray and
Baudelaire among others.

{298}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 663.

{299}  Maria Diaz had written on 24th May: “Calzado has been here to see
if I would sell him the lamps that belong to the shop [the _Despacho_].
He is willing to give four dollars for them, and he says they cost five,
so if you want me to sell them to him, you must let me know.  It seems he
is going to set up a beer-shop.”  It is not on record whether or no the
lamps from the Bible Society’s _Despacho_ eventually illuminated a
beer-shop.

{300}  Letter from Borrow to the Rev. A. Brandram, 28th June 1839.

{301}  28th June.

{302}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 18th July 1839.

{307a}  Letter from Borrow to Rev. A. Brandram, 29th Sept. 1839.

{307b}  _Ibid._

{307c}  Mr John M. Brackenbury, in writing to Mr Brandram, made it quite
clear that he had no doubt that the “inhibition was assuredly
accelerated, if not absolutely occasioned, by the indiscretion of some of
those who entered Spain for the avowed object of circulating the
Scriptures, and of others who, not being Agents of the British and
Foreign Bible Society, were nevertheless considered to be connected with
it, as they distributed your editions of the Old and New Testaments.  Our
objects were defeated and your interests injured, therefore, when the
Spanish Government required the departure from this country of those who,
by other acts and deeds wholly distinct from the distribution of Bibles
and Testaments, had been infracting the Laws, Civil and Ecclesiastical.”

{307d}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 29th Sept. 1839.

{308a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 29th Sept. 1839.

{308b}  _Ibid._

{309}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th Nov. 1839.

{310}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th Nov. 1839.

{313}  From the Public Record Office.

{315}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 25th Nov. 1839.

{316}  Rev. Wentworth Webster in _The Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society_.

{317}  The phrasing of the official translation has everywhere been
followed.

{319}  The Official Translation among the Foreign Office Papers at the
Record Office.

{320}  28th Dec. 1839.

{321}  Henrietta played “remarkably well on the guitar—not the trumpery
German thing so-called—but the real Spanish guitar.”—_Wild Wales_, page
6.

{322}  _Wild Wales_, page 6.

{323a}  Letter to Rev. A. Brandram, 18th March 1840.

{323b}  _Ibid._

{328a}  _The Romany Rye_, page 312.

{328b}  _Ibid._, page 313.

{328c}  _Wild Wales_, page 289.

{329a}  _Lavengro_, page 261.

{329b}  _The Romany Rye_, page 22.

{329c}  _The Journals of Caroline Fox_.

{330a}  _The Letters of Richard Ford_ 1797–1858.—Edited, R. E. Prothero,
M.V.O., 1905.

{330b}  _Ibid._

{331a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page xiv.

{331b}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{331c}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 238.

{332a}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{332b}  _Ibid._

{332c}  _Ibid._

{332d}  _Ibid._

{333a}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{333b}  _Ibid._

{333c}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 41.

{334a}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{334b}  In _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.  She also tells how
“at the Exhibition in 1851, whither we went with his step-daughter, he
spoke to the different foreigners in their own languages, until his
daughter saw some of them whispering together and looking as if they
thought he was ‘uncanny,’ and she became alarmed, and drew him away.”

{334c}  _Ibid._

{334d}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page vii.

{335a}  _A Publisher and His Friends_.  Samuel Smiles.

{335b}  Richard Ford, 1796–1858.  Critic and author.  Spent several years
in touring about Spain on horseback.  Published in 1845, _Hand-Book for
Travellers in Spain_.  Contributed to the _Edinburgh_, _Quarterly_, and
_Westminster_ Reviews from 1837.

{335c}  _The Letters of Richard Ford_, 1797–1858.  Ed. R. E. Prothero,
M.V.O., 1905.

{336a}  Dr. Knapp points out that the title is inaccurate, there being no
such word as “Zincali.”  It should be “Zincalé.”

{336b}  _The Letters of Richard Ford_, 1797–1858.  Ed. R. E. Prothero,
M.V.O., 1905.

{337a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 1.  As the current edition of _The
Zincali_ has been retitled _The Gypsies of Spain_, reference is made to
it throughout this work under that title and to the latest edition.

{337b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 32.

{338a}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 81.

{338b}  _Ibid._, page 186.

{338c}  _Ibid._, page 283.

{339}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 274.

{340a}  Introduction to _Lavengro_.  The Little Library, Methuen, 2
vols., 1, xxiii.-xxiv.  C. G. Leland expressed himself to the same
effect.

{340b}  _Academy_, 13th July 1874.

{340c}  _Wild Wales_, page 186.

{340d}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 64.

{341}  _Lavengro_, page 81.

{343}  Ford to John Murray.  _The Letters of Richard Ford_, 1797–1858.
Ed. R. E. Prothero, M.V.O., 1905.

{344}  Ford to John Murray.  _The Letters of Richard Ford_, 1797–1858.
Ed. R. E. Prothero, M.V.O., 1905.

{347}  Dr Knapp’s _Life of George Borrow_.

{349}  _The Letters of Richard Ford_, 1797–1858.  Edited, R. E. Prothero,
M.V.O., 1905.

{352}  _Times_, 12th April 1843, Hansard’s summary reads: “It might have
been said, to Mr Borrow with respect to Spain, that it would be
impossible to distribute the Bible in that country in consequence of the
danger of offending the prejudices which prevail there; yet he, a private
individual, by showing some zeal in what he believed to be right,
succeeded in triumphing over many obstacles.”

{353}  This is obviously the letter that Borrow paraphrases at the end of
Chapter XLII. of _The Bible in Spain_.

{354}  In the Appendix to _The Romany Rye_ Borrow wrote, “Having the
proper pride of a gentleman and a scholar, he did not, in the year ’43,
choose to permit himself to be exhibited and made a zany of in London.”
Page 355.

{355a}  Letters to John Murray, 27th Jan. and 13th March, 1843.

{355b}  Letters to John Murray, 27th Jan. and 13th March, 1843.

{355c}  Borrow wrote later on that he was “a sincere member of the
old-fashioned Church of England, in which he believes there is more
religion, and consequently less cant, than in any other Church in the
world” (_The Romany Rye_, page 346).  On another occasion he gave the
following reason for his adherence to it: “Because I believe it is the
best religion to get to heaven by” (_Wild Wales_, page 520).

{356}  No trace can be found among the Bible Society Records of any such
translation.

{357}  This portrait has sometimes been ascribed to Thomas Phillips,
R.A., in error.

{360a}  _Memories of Old Friends_ (1835–1871).  London 1882.

{360b}  _Memories of Eighty Years_, page 164.

{360c}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{360d}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Express_, 1st Oct.
1892.

{361}  _Journals and Correspondence of Lady Eastlake_, ed. by C. E.
Smith, 1895.

{362a}  _The Romany Rye_, page 344.

{362b}  Dr Knapp’s _Life of George Borrow_, ii. 44.

{362c}  _Hungary in_ 1851.  By Charles L. Brace.

{363}  Mrs Borrow to John Murray, 4th June 1844.

{364}  _Memoirs_, C. G. Leland, 1893.

{365a}  Both these MSS. were acquired by the Trustees of the British
Museum in 1892 by purchase.  The _Gypsy Vocabulary_ runs to fifty-four
Folios and the _Bohemian Grammar_ to seventeen Folios.

{365b}  24th April 1841.

{365c}  Dr Knapp’s _Life of George Borrow_, ii. page 5.

{367}  As late even as 13th March 1851, Dr Hake wrote to Mrs Borrow: “He
[Borrow] had better carry on his biography in three more volumes.”

{372}  Mr A. Egmont Hake in _Athenæum_, 13th Aug. 1881.

{374}  There is something inexplicable about these dates.  On 6th
November Borrow agrees to alter a passage that in the 14th of the
previous July he refers to as already amended.

{375}  _Vestiges of Borrow_: _Some Personal Reminiscences_, _The Globe_,
21st July 1896.

{376a}  Mr A. Egmont Hake in _Athenæum_, 13th Aug. 1881.

{376b}  _The Gypsies of Spain_, page 287.

{376c}  “His sympathies were confined to the gypsies.  Where he came they
followed.  Where he settled, there they pitched their greasy and horribly
smelling camps.  It pleased him to be called their King.  He was their
Bard also, and wrote songs for them in that language of theirs which he
professed to consider not only the first, but the finest of the human
modes of speech.  He liked to stretch himself large and loose-limbed
before the wood fires of their encampment and watch their graceful
movements among the tents” (_Vestiges of Borrow_: _Some Personal
Reminiscences_, _Globe_, 21st July 1896).

{376d}  This was said in the presence of Mr F. G. Bowring, son of Dr
Bowring.

{378a}  Mr F. J. Bowring writes: “I was myself present at Borrow’s last
call, when he came to take tea _as usual_, and not a word of the kind [as
given in the Appendix], was delivered.”

{378b}  There is no record of any correspondence with Borrow among the
Museum Archives.  Dr F. G. Kenyon, C.B., to whom I am indebted for this
information, suggests that the communications may have been verbal.

{379}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_.  By Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{380a}  _Annals of the Harford Family_.  Privately printed, 1909.  Mr
Theodore Watts-Dunton, in the _Athenæum_, 25th March 1899, has been
successful in giving a convincing picture of Borrow: “As to his
countenance,” he writes, “‘noble’ is the only word that can be used to
describe it.  The silvery whiteness of the thick crop of hair seemed to
add in a remarkable way to the beauty of the hairless face, but also it
gave a strangeness to it, and this strangeness was intensified by a
certain incongruity between the features (perfect Roman-Greek in type),
and the Scandinavian complexion, luminous and sometimes rosy as an
English girl’s.  An increased intensity was lent by the fair skin to the
dark lustre of the eyes.  What struck the observer, therefore, was not
the beauty but the strangeness of the man’s appearance.”

{380b}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_.  By Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{381a}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{381b}  The story is narrated by Dr Augustus Jessopp in the _Athenæum_,
8th July 1893.

{381c}  _Wild Wales_, page 487.

{381d}  _Wild Wales_, page 36 et seq.

{382}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_.  By Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{383a}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_.  By Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{383b}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_.  By Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{384a}  _George Borrow in East Anglia_.  W. A. Dutt.

{384b}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_.  By Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{385a}  _William Bodham Donne and His Friends_.  By Catherine B. Johnson.

{385b}  William Whewell (1794–1866), Master of Trinity College,
Cambridge, 1848–66; Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University, 1843–56;
secured in 1847 the election of the Prince Consort as Chancellor;
enlarged the buildings of Trinity College and founded professorship and
scholarships for international law.  Published and edited many works on
natural and mathematical science, philosophy, theology and sermons.

{386}  Mr John Murray in _Good Words_.

{390}  To John Murray; the letter is in Mrs Borrow’s hand but drafted by
Borrow himself, 29th Jan. 1855.

{391a}  16th April 1845.

{391b}  See post.

{393a}  _The Romany Rye_, page 338.

{393b}  _Life of Frances Power Cable_, by herself.

{393c}  Borrow goes on to an anti-climax when he states that he “believes
him [Scott] to have been by far the greatest [poet], with perhaps the
exception of Mickiewicz, who only wrote for unfortunate Poland, that
Europe has given birth to during the last hundred years.”

{393d}  _The Romany Rye_, pages 344–5.

{393e}  _Romano Lavo-Lil_, page 274.

{393f}  _The Romany Rye_, page 134.

{394a}  Letter from Borrow to Dr Usoz, 22nd Feb. 1839.

{394b}  _Macmillan’s Magazine_, vol. 45.

{396}  “Notes upon George Borrow” prefaced to an edition of _Lavengro_.
Ward, Lock & Co.

{398}  Mr W. Elvin in the _Athenæum_, 6th Aug. 1881.

{399a}  John Wilson Croker (1780–1857): Politician and Essayist; friend
of Canning and Peel.  At one time Temporary Chief Secretary for Ireland
and later Secretary of the Admiralty.  Supposed to have been the original
of Rigby in Disraeli’s _Coningsby_.

{399b}  Mr Theodore Watts-Dunton, “Notes upon George Borrow” prefaced to
an edition of _Lavengro_.  Ward, Lock & Co.

{400a}  The Rt. Hon. Augustine Birrell in _Obiter Dicta_, and Series,
1887.

{400b}  Francis Hindes Groome in _Bookman_, May 1899.

{404a}  “Swimming is a noble exercise, but it certainly does not tend to
mortify either the flesh or the spirit.”—_The Bible in Spain_, page 688.

{404b}  Mr John Murray in _Good Words_.

{404c}  In _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st October 1892.

{405}  Borrow’s reference is to the county motto, “One and All.”

{407a}  _The Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp, ii., 79–80.

{407b}  _George Borrow_, by R. A. J. Walling.

{407c}  _George Borrow_, by R. A. J. Walling.

{408}  _George Borrow_, by R. A. J. Walling.

{409}  _The Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp.

{411}  This is rather awkwardly phrased, as Mrs Borrow was alive at that
date.

{412a}  The first reference to the famous Appendix is contained in a
letter to John Murray (11th Nov. 1853) in which Borrow writes: “In answer
to your inquiries about the fourth volume of _Lavengro_, I beg leave to
say that I am occasionally occupied upon it.  I shall probably add some
notes.”

{412b}  _The Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp.

{413}  _The Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp.

{415a}  _Wild Wales_, page 6.

{415b}  There appears to have been a slight cast in his (Borrow’s) left
eye.  The Queen of the Nokkums remarked that, like Will Faa, he had “a
skellying look with the left eye” (_Romano Lavo-Lil_, page 267).  Mr F.
H. Bowring, who frequently met him, states that he “had a slight cast in
the eye.”

{416}  E[lizabeth] H[arvey] in _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{417a}  Ellen Jones actually wrote—

       Ellen Jones
    yn pithyn pell
    i gronow owen

{417b}  _Wild Wales_, pages 227–8.

{418a}  This was the mason of whom Borrow enquired the way, and who
“stood for a moment or two, as if transfixed, a trowel motionless in one
of his hands, and a brick in the other,” who on recovering himself
replied in “tolerable Spanish.”—_Wild Wales_, page 225.

{418b}  _Wild Wales_, page 5.

{418c}  These particulars have been courteously supplied by Mr George
Porter of Denbigh, who interviewed Mrs Thomas on 27th Dec. 1910.
Borrow’s accuracy in _Wild Wales_ was photograph.  The Norwich jeweller
Rossi mentioned in _Wild Wales_ (page 159 _et seq._) was a friend of
Borrow’s with whom he frequently spent an evening: conversing in Italian,
“being anxious to perfect himself in that language.”  I quote from a
letter from his son Mr Theodore Rossi.  “There was an entire absence of
pretence about him and we liked him very much—he always seemed desirous
of learning.”

{419a}  This story is told by Mr F. J. Bowring, son of Sir John Bowring.
He heard it from Mrs Roberts, the landlady of the inn.

{419b}  _Wild Wales_, page 274.

{419c}  _Wild Wales_, page 130.

{419d}  _Wild Wales_, page 130.

{420a}  _Wild Wales_, page 150.

{420b}  These carvels were written by such young people as thought
themselves “endowed with the poetic gift, to compose carols some time
before Christmas, and to recite them in the parish churches.  Those
pieces which were approved of by the clergy were subsequently chanted by
their authors through their immediate neighbourhoods.”  (Introduction to
_Bayr Jairgey_, Borrow’s projected book on the Isle of Man.)

{422}  Painted by H. W. Phillips in 1843.

{423a}  _Vestiges of Borrow_: _Some Personal Reminiscences_.  _The
Globe_, 21st July 1896.

{423b}  The Anglo-Saxon scholar (1795–1857), who though paralysed during
the whole of her life visited Rome, Athens and other places.  She was the
first woman elected a member of the British Association.

{423c}  To judge from Borrow’s opinion of O’Connell previously quoted,
“notoriety” would have been a more appropriate word in his case.

{424}  Given to the Rev. A. W. Upcher and related by him in _The
Athenæum_, 22nd July 1893.

{425a}  _Lavengro_, page 361.

{425b}  _The Romany Rye_, page 309.

{425c}  _Wild Wales_, page 285.

{425d}  _The Eastern Daily Press_, 1st Oct. 1892.

{427}  Garcin de Tassy.  Note sur les Rubâ’ïyât de ’Omar Khaïyam, which
appeared in the _Journal Asiatique_.

{428a}  _Letters and Literary Remains of Edward FitzGerald_, 1889.

{428b}  _Songs of Europe_, _or Metrical Translations from All the
European Languages_, _With Brief Prefatory Remarks on Each Language and
its Literature_.  2 vols.  (Advertised as “Ready for the Press” at the
end of _The Romany Rye_.  See page 438.)

{429}  Rev. Whitwell Elwin, editor of _The Quarterly Review_.  See
_post_, p. 431.

{431}  Elwin could not very well have known Borrow all his, Borrow’s
life, as Dr Knapp states, for he was fifteen years younger, being born
26th Feb. 1816.

{432a}  _Some XVIII. Century Men of Letters_.  Ed. Warwick Elwin, 1902.

{432b}  _Some XVIII. Century Men of Letters_.  Ed. Warwick Elwin, 1902.

{433}  _Some XVIII. Century Men of Letters_.  Ed. Warwick Elwin, 1902.

{435}  Entitled _Roving Life in England_.  March 1857.

{436}  Elwin had already testified, also in _The Quarterly Review_, to
the accuracy of Borrow’s portrait of B. R. Haydon in _Lavengro_, as
confirmed by documentary evidence, and this after first reading the
account as “a comic exaggeration.”

{437a}  _Letters and Literary Remains of Edward FitzGerald_, 1889.

{437b}  Mr A. Egmont Hake in _Athenæum_, 13th Aug. 1881.

{438}  Works by the Author of _The Bible in Spain_, ready for the Press.

In Two Volumes, Celtic Bards, Chiefs, and Kings.—In Two Volumes, Wild
Wales, Its People, Language, and Scenery.—In Two Volumes, Songs of
Europe; or, Metrical Translations From all the European Languages.  With
brief Prefatory Remarks on each Language and its Literature.—In Two
Volumes, Koempe Viser; Songs about Giants and Heroes.  With Romantic and
Historical Ballads, Translated from the Ancient Danish.  With an
Introduction and Copious Notes.—In One Volume, The Turkish Jester; or,
The Pleasantries of Cogia Nasr Eddin Efendi.  Translated from the
Turkish.  With an Introduction.—In Two Volumes, Penquite and Pentyre; or,
The Head of the Forest and the Headland.  A Book on Cornwall.—In One
Volume, Russian Popular Tales, With an Introduction and Notes.
Contents:—The Story of Emelian the Fool; The Story of the Frog and the
Hero; The Story of the Golden Mountain; The Story of the Seven
Sevenlings; The Story of the Eryslan; The Story of the Old Man and his
Son, the Crane; The Story of the Daughter of the Stroey; The Story of
Klim; The Story of Prince Vikor; The Story of Prince Peter; The Story of
Yvashka with the Bear’s Ear.—In One Volume, The Sleeping Bard; or,
Visions of the World, Death, & Hell.  By Master Elis Wyn.  Translated
from the Cambrian British.—In Two Volumes (Unfinished), Northern-Skalds,
Kings, and Earls.—The Death of Balder; A Heroic Play.  Translated from
the Danish of Evald.—In One Volume, Bayr Jairgey and Glion Doo: The Red
Path and the Black Valley.  Wanderings in Quest of Manx Literature.

{439}  “She was a lady of striking figure and very graceful manners,
perhaps more serious than vivacious.”—Mr A. Egmont Hake in _The
Athenæum_, 13th August 1881.

{440a}  She bequeathed to her son by will “all and every thing” of which
she died possessed, charging him with the delivery of any gift to any
other person she might desire.

{440b}  _Wild Wales_, page 548.

{442}  These particulars have been kindly supplied by Mr D. B. Hill of
Mattishall, Norfolk.

{445a}  Mr. A. Egmont Hake in _The Athenæum_, 13th Aug. 1881.

{445b}  _The Life of Frances Power Cobbe_, by Herself, 1894.

{446}  _The Life of Frances Power Cobbe_, by Herself, 1894.

{447a}  “In Defence of Borrow,” prefixed to _The Romany Rye_.  Ward,
Locke & Co.

{447b}  _Vestiges of Borrow_; _Some Personal Reminiscences_.  _The
Globe_, 21st July 1896.

{448}  _The Athenæum_, 13th August 1881.

{449a}  Mr A. Egmont Hake in _Macmillan’s Magazine_, November 1881.

{449b}  Mr A. Egmont Hake in _The Athenæum_, 13th August 1881.

{449c}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_, by Dr Gordon Hake, 1892.

{450}  _The Athenæum_, 10th September 1881.

{451a}  _The Athenæum_, 10th September 1881.

{451b}  _The Athenæum_, 13th August 1881.

{453}  “Sherry drinkers, . . . I often heard him say in a tone of
positive loathing, he _despised_.  He had a habit of speaking in a
measured syllabic manner, if he wished to express dislike or contempt,
which was certainly very effective.  He would say: ‘If you want to have
the Sherry _tang_, get Madeira (that’s a gentleman’s wine), and throw
into it two or three pairs of old boots, and you’ll get the taste of the
pig skins they carry the Sherry about in.”—Rev. J. R. P. Berkeley’s
_Recollections_.  _The Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp.

{456}  _Life of Frances Power Cobbe_, by Herself, 1894.

{459a}  _The Geologist_, 1797–1875.

{459b}  _The Life of Frances Power Cobbe_, by Herself, 1894.

{460a}  _Charles Godfrey Leland_, by E. R. Pennell, 1908

{460b}  _Memoirs_, by C. G. Leland, 1893.

{461a}  In her biography of Leland, Mrs Pennell states that an American
woman, a Mrs Lewis (“Estelle”) introduced Leland to Borrow at the British
Museum and that they talked Gypsy.  “I hear he expressed himself as
greatly pleased with me,” was Leland’s comment.  The correspondence
clearly shows that Leland called on Borrow.

{461b}  _Memoirs_ of C. G. Leland, 1893.

{461c}  _Memoirs_ of C. G. Leland, 1893.

{462a}  Leland’s annoyance with Borrow did not prevent him paying to his
memory the following tribute:—

“What I admire in Borrow to such a degree that before it his faults or
failings seem very trifling, is his absolutely vigorous, marvellously
varied originality, based on direct familiarity with Nature, but guided
and cultured by the study of natural, simple writers, such as Defoe and
Smollett.  I think that the ‘interest’ in, or rather sympathy for
gypsies, in his case as in mine, came not from their being curious or
dramatic beings, but because they are so much a part of free life, of
out-of-doors Nature; so associated with sheltered nooks among rocks and
trees, the hedgerow and birds, river-sides, and wild roads.  Borrow’s
heart was large and true as regarded English rural life; there was a
place in it for everything which was of the open air and freshly
beautiful.”—_Memoirs_ of C. G. Leland, 1893.

{462b}  _Romano Lavo-Lil_.  Word-Book of the Romany, or English Gypsy
Language.  With Specimens of Gypsy Poetry, and an Account of Certain
Gypsyries or Places Inhabited by Them, and of Various Things Relating to
Gypsy Life in England.

{462c}  “There were not two educated men in England who possessed the
slightest knowledge of Romany.”—F. H. Groome in _Academy_,—13th June
1874.

{463a}  F. H. Groome in _Academy_, 13th June 1874.

{463b}  _Ibid._

{464}  _The Athenæum_, 17th March 1888.

{466a}  _The Bookman_, February 1893.

{466b}  _The Athenæum_, 10th Sept. 1881.

{467}  _William Bodham Donne and His Friends_.  Edited by Catherine B.
Johnson, 1905.

{469a}  Mr T. Watts-Dunton, in _The Athenæum_, 3rd Sept. 1881.

{469b}  Mr A. Egmont Hake, in _The Athenæum_, 13th Aug. 1881.

{470a}  _The Life of George Borrow_, by Dr Knapp.

{470b}  _East Anglia_, by J. Ewing Ritchie, 1883.

{470c}  _George Borrow in East Anglia_.

{473}  W. E. Henley.

{474a}  _The Athenæum_, 25th March 1899.

{474b}  Many attacks have been made upon Borrow’s memory: one well-known
man of letters and divine has gone to lengths that can only be described
as unpardonable.  It is undesirable to do more than deplore the lapse
that no doubt the writer himself has already deeply regretted.

{474c}  _Memoirs of Eighty Years_, 1892.

{475a}  Mr A. Egmont Hake in _The Athenæum_, 13th August 1881.

{475b}  In _The Bible in Spain_.  “Next to the love of God, the love of
country is the best preventative of crime.”  (Page 53.)

{475c}  _The Bible in Spain_, page 97.

{476}  Mr Thomas Seccombe in _The Bookman_, Feb. 1892.

{477}  _Wild Wales_, page 628.