NOTE

_A few passages in this monograph are taken from a short article on_“_George Borrow_” _which appeared in_ “_Good Words_. ”

 _W. A. D. _

 GEORGE BORROW IN EAST ANGLIA

 BY WILLIAM A. DUTT

 “The foregoing generations beheld God and Nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should we not also enjoy an original relation to the universe? . . . The sun shines to-day also. There is more wool and flax in the fields. Let us demand our own works, and laws, and worship. ”—EMERSON. 

 LONDON DAVID NUTT, 270–271, STRAND 1896

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGEI. EAST ANGLIA 7II. EARLY DAYS 12III. THE LAWYER’S CLERK 19IV. DAYS IN NORWICH 29V. LIFE AT OULTON 39VI. BORROW AND PUGILISM 60VII. BORROW AND THE EAST ANGLIAN GIPSIES 68

 “_Apart from Borrow’s undoubted genius as a writer_, _the subject-matter of his writings has an interest that will not wane_, _but will go on growing_. _The more the features of our_ ‘_Beautiful England_, ’ _to use his own phrase_, _are changed by the multitudinous effects of the railway system_, _the more attraction will readers find in books which depict her before her beauty was marred_—_books which picture her in those antediluvian days when there was such a thing as space in the island_—_when in England there was a sense of distance_, _that sense without which there can be no romance_—_when the stage-coach was in its glory_, _when the only magician that could convey man and his belongings at any rate of speed beyond man’s own walking rate was the horse_—_the beloved horse whose praises Borrow loved to sing_, _and whose ideal was reached in the mighty_ ‘_Shales_’—_when the great high roads were alive_, _not merely with the bustle of business_, _but with real adventure for the traveller_—_days and scenes which Borrow_, _better than any one else_, _could paint_. ”

 THEODORE WATTS. 

CHAPTER I: EAST ANGLIA

It is a trite saying, the truth of which is so universally admitted thatit is hardly worth repeating, that a man’s memory, above all things, retains most vividly recollections of the scenes amidst which he passedhis early days. Amidst the loneliness of the African veldt or Americanprairie solitudes, the West-countryman dreams of Devon’s grassy tors andhoneysuckle lanes, and Cornish headlands, fretted by the foaming waves ofthe grey Atlantic; in teaming cities, where the pulse of life beats loudand strong, the Scotsman ever cherishes sweet, sad thoughts of the braesand burns about his Highland home; between the close-packed roofs of aLondon alley, the Italian immigrant sees the sunny skies and deep blueseas of his native land, the German pictures to himself the loveliness ofthe legend-haunted Rhineland, and the Scandinavian, closing his eyes andears to the squalor and misery, wonders whether the sea-birds stillcircle above the stone-built cottage in the Nordland cleft, and cryweirdly from the darkness as they sweep landward in the night. Many awanderer, whatever else he may let go, holds in his heart the hope thatone day he may go back to the place where his boyhood’s days were spent, even though it be but to dwell alone amidst the phantoms of long deaddreams and long lost loves. 

East Anglia may well be compared to a sad-faced mother, who sees herchildren, whom she would fain keep with her, one by one go out into thewide world to seek those things that cannot be found in her humble home. For years the youths of Eastern England have had to leave the hamlethall, the village rectory, the marshland farmstead, and the cottage home, and wander far and wide to gain their daily bread. Toil as they might, farm and field could give them little for their labour, themother-country’s breast was dry. And yet they loved her—loved herdearly. Deeply and firmly rooted in his heart is the love of the EastAnglian for East Anglia. The outside world has but recently discoveredthe charm of the Broadland: by the dweller there it has been felt sincethe day when he first gazed with seeing eyes across its dreamy, silentsolitudes. The secrets of the marshland wastes have been whispered inhis ears by the wind in the willows, and have been sung to him by thesighing sedge. He knows the bird voices of reed rond and hover, and hasread the lesson of the day’s venture in the brightening sunrise andsunset glow. Amidst scenes that have little changed since the Iceni hidin the marshland-bordering woods, and crept out in their coracles on therush-fringed meres, he is at home with Nature, and becomes her friend, her lover. She holds back no secret from him if he wills that he shouldlearn it; she charms him with her many moods. Her laughter is thesunlight, and ere it has died away she has hidden coyly in a veil ofmist; now she is tearful with the raindrops falling on her changefulface, but the light comes back with the silvery gleaming of her windingrivers. When her lover leaves her, and wanders off to wooings far away, she reproaches him by her silence; and when he has time to think, heremembers with regret and longing the restful loveliness that was onceabout him like a mantle of peace. 

Flowering meads, wide-reaching marshland solitudes, lonely heaths andsandhills sloping downward to the sea; wildfowl-haunted shores and flats, rivers and lagoons through which the wherries glide, the calling of theherdman and the sighing of the sea-wind through bracken, gorse, and firridge—these are East Anglia, and, like voices heard in childhood, theyare with her children wherever they may wander, until all earthly voicesare for ever lost in silence. 

No one felt the charm of peaceful Eastern England more fully and deeplythan did George Borrow. An East Anglian born, he was nurtured within theborders of Norfolk during many of the most impressionable years of hislife, and when world-worn and weary, he sought rest from his wanderings, he came back to East Anglia to die. During his latter days, he becamerather inaccessible; but an East Englishman always had a better chance ofsuccessfully approaching him than any one not so fortunate as to havebeen born within the compass of East Anglia. Mr. Theodore Wattsdiscovered this when Borrow and he were the guests of Dr. Hake atRoehampton. 

“When I went on to tell him, ” writes Mr. Watts, “that I once used todrive a genuine Shales mare, a descendant of that same famous Norfolktrotter who could trot fabulous miles an hour, to whom he, with theNorfolk farmers, raised his hat in reverence at the Norwich horse fair;and when I promised to show him a portrait of this same East Anglian marewith myself behind her in a dogcart—an East Anglian dogcart; when Ipraised the stinging saltness of the sea-water of Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and Cromer, the quality of which makes it the best, the most delightfulof all sea-water to swim in; when I told him that the only English riverin which you could see reflected the rainbow he loved was ‘the glassyOuse’ of East Anglia, and the only place in England where you could seeit reflected in the wet sand was the Norfolk coast; and when I told him agood many things showing that I was in very truth not only an Englishmanbut an East Englishman, my conquest of the ‘walking lord of gipsy lore’was complete, and from that moment we became friends. ”

“It is on sand alone, ” said Borrow, “that the sea strikes its truemusic—Norfolk sand. ”

“The best of the sea’s lutes, ” chimed in the artful Watts, “is made bythe sands of Cromer. ”

CHAPTER II: EARLY DAYS

The eighteenth century had almost run its course when the exigencies ofEngland’s conflict with the French brought Thomas Borrow, a stalwartCornishman, into East Anglia, on recruiting service. For several yearsthe worthy West-countryman had served his king in the rank and file ofthe British army before he was appointed sergeant-major of the newlyraised body of West Norfolk Militia. The headquarters of this regimentwas East Dereham, a pleasant little country town situated about sixteenmiles from the Norfolk capital. 

Thomas Borrow came of a good Cornish family, and explanation of hishaving attained nothing better than non-commissioned rank is to be foundin the fact that he preferred to enter the army as a private soldier—somesay that he ran away from home in order to enlist. That his duties as asergeant-major were performed in a creditable and satisfactory manner weare justified in believing, knowing that in 1798 he was raised to theposition of captain and adjutant of the regiment. 

While in Dereham, Sergeant-major Borrow made the acquaintance of AnnParfrement, the daughter of a small farmer of French Huguenot extraction, living at Dumpling Green, an open neighbourhood in the outskirts of thetown. This acquaintance ripened into a mutual attachment, and on Borrowreceiving promotion the two were united in marriage. Two children wereborn to them; the younger of whom, George Henry Borrow, was born on July5th, 1803. 

The wandering instinct that George afterwards developed may well havebeen the natural outcome of the roving life of his early years. Beforehe was many months old, his parents, obedient to the dictates of militarycommand, had moved from Dereham to Canterbury. The year 1809, however, saw them back again in the little Norfolk town with which Borrow’searliest recollections were associated. 

East Dereham is a town of Anglo-Saxon foundation, and strange legends andtraditions are interwoven with its history. To-day it is chiefly knownfor the fact that the bones of the poet Cowper rest beneath the chancelof its ancient church. To this church of St. Nicholas, George was takenby his parents every Sunday. Writing in after years, he says, “Twiceevery Sunday I was regularly taken to the church, where, from a corner ofthe large spacious pew, lined with black leather, I would fix my eyes onthe dignified High-church rector, and the dignified High-church clerk, and watch the movement of their lips, from which, as they read theirrespective portions of the venerable Liturgy, would roll many aportentous word descriptive of the wondrous works of the Most High. ”

The vicar of Dereham at this time was the Rev. Charles Hyde Wollaston. The “dignified High-church clerk” was George Philo (spelt Philoh in“Lavengro”), an old soldier, retired on a pension. 

The Borrows remained in Dereham only a few months, but their stay in theplace was ever after a memorable one in George’s mind, for the occurrenceof a great event. A young lady, a friend of the family, presented himwith a copy of “Robinson Crusoe. ” This book first aroused in him adesire for knowledge. For hours together he sat poring over its pages, until, “under a shoulder-of-mutton sail, I found myself cantering beforea steady breeze over an ocean of enchantment, so well pleased with myvoyage that I cared not how long it might be ere it reached itstermination. ”

After settling down for a time at Norman Cross in Huntingdonshire and inEdinburgh, Captain Borrow retired into private life; but not for long. Elba failed to hold the fiery Corsican, Napoleon again burst upon thebattlefield of Europe, the demon of war and ravage was again abroad. Borrow’s corps was levied anew, and his eldest son, John, became one ofits officers. Before the regiment saw service, however, the escaped lionwas again caged. But it was not disbanded, and, being in a thoroughlyefficient state, was ordered to Ireland, where local trouble was feared. The autumn of 1815 saw the Borrows sail from Harwich. After a voyage ofeight days, during which a terrific storm was encountered and thetransports nearly foundered, the military force of eight hundred men waslanded on the Irish coast. After a lengthy stay at Clonmel, where, as inEdinburgh, George was sent to school, the corps moved their quarters toTemplemore. 

During the following year, Captain Borrow returned to Norfolk, andsettled down with his family in a small house which is still standing inWillow Lane, Norwich. George was at once entered as a pupil at KingEdward’s Grammar School, then conducted by Dr. Valpy, and remained ascholar there till 1818, when he attained his fifteenth year. As aschoolboy he appears to have been an apter pupil of Defoe than of thereverend headmaster of the Norwich academy. Dr. James Martineau, who wasone of his schoolfellows, has related how Borrow once persuaded severalof his companions to rob their father’s tills, and run away to join thesmugglers of the East Anglian coast. For this escapade he was awardeddue punishment, which he received hoisted on the back of the futurecelebrated Unitarian divine. Miss Frances Cobbe, who knew both Borrowand Dr. Martineau in after years, says in her Autobiography, “The earlyconnection between the two old men as I knew them was irresistibly comicto my mind. When I asked Mr. Borrow once to come andmeet some friends atour house, he accepted our invitation as usual, but, on finding that Dr. Martineau was to be of the party, hastily withdrew his acceptance on atransparent excuse, nor did he ever after attend our little assemblieswithout first ascertaining that Dr. Martineau would not be present. ”

On another occasion, George—probably in emulation of the East AnglianIceni—dyed his face with walnut juice, causing Dr. Valpy to inquirewhether he was “suffering from jaundice, or if it was only dirt. ” Dr. Jessop, who was afterwards headmaster of the school, says that there wasa tradition that Borrow was indolent and even stupid. There is littledoubt that he was a dreamy youth, much given to introspective thought andwild imaginings; but, in spite of these drawbacks in the dominie’s eyes, he was a very human boy, fond of outdoor life and sports. Some of hispursuits, however—such as his liking for philological studies, and forthe company of gipsies and horsey men generally—might well trouble hisfather, who was a steady-going old gentleman of strictly conventionalmethods and ideas. George stood in considerable awe of him, and alwaysfelt ill at ease in his presence. No doubt the old soldier frequentlyremonstrated with him for his indulgence in idle pleasures and lax ideasof duty. As a lad, he probably found it hard to justify himself in hisfather’s eyes, but there is a passage in “Lavengro, ” writtenfive-and-twenty years later, which clearly expresses his views:

“I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own firmbelief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it. Mere idleness is themost disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body arecontinually making efforts to escape from it. It has been said thatidleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischiefitself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness. There are many tasks and occupations which a man is unwilling to perform, but let no one think that he is therefore in love with idleness; he turnsto something which is more agreeable to his inclination, and doubtlessmore suited to his nature, but he is not in love with idleness. A boymay play the truant from school because he dislikes his books and study;but, depend upon it, he intends doing something the while—to go fishing, or perhaps to take a walk; and who knows but that from such excursionsboth his mind and body may derive more benefit than from books andschool?”

Contemporary with Borrow at Norwich Grammar School were several ladswhose names were afterwards written in large and shining letters on thescroll of fame. Amongst these were James Brooke, the Rajah of Sarawak, Sir Archdale Wilson, and, as has already been said, Dr. James Martineau. The old city has always borne itself with dignity during the passage ofevents that have gone to make up its history, as though conscious of itsability to send forth into the world sons who would do honour to herrecord and old foundations and traditions. From that old school theyhave gone out into every walk of life, carrying with them over land andsea, into court and pulpit, to bench and bar, hallowed memories of daysspent within its walls. Not ten years before Borrow’s name was enteredon its roll, its most brilliant star had set at Trafalgar, where Nelsonfound amidst the hailing death that poured upon the decks of the battered_Victory_ the passport to immortal fame and glory. 

CHAPTER III: THE LAWYER’S CLERK

When, at the end of his fifteenth year, George Borrow completed his termof study at the Norwich Grammar School, his parents had considerabledifficulty in determining upon a profession for their erratic son. Inthe solution of this problem he, himself, could help them but littletowards a satisfactory conclusion. His strange disposition and tasteswere a source of continual astonishment and mystification to the oldpeople. What, they asked themselves, could be done with a lad whose onlydecided bent was in the direction of philological studies, who at anearly age had attained a knowledge of Erse, and whose great pleasure itwas to converse in Romany with the gipsies whom he met at the fair-groundon Norwich Castle Hill? His father was anxious that he should enter theChurch; but George’s unsettled disposition was an effectual bar againsthis taking such a step, for he would never have been able to applyhimself with sufficient attention to the necessary routine course ofcollege study. 

In the midst of the warm controversy that the question excited he fellill, and firmly believed that he was going to die. His near approach todissolution found him quite resigned. A listless willingness to let lifego, grew upon him during the dreary days of helpless inactivity. “Death, ” he said, “appeared to him little else than a pleasant sleep, andhe wished for sleep. ” But a long life was before him, and, afterspending weeks upon his bed, his strength came back to him, and with itthe still unsolved problem of a suitable vocation. It was at lastdecided that he should enter upon a legal career. 

There is little doubt that the legal profession was one for which Borrowwas the least adapted, and of this he was well aware. When, however, in1819, the time arrived for him to be articled to Messrs. Simpson andRackham of Tuck’s Court, St. Giles, he apparently offered no objection, and his recollections of the years when he was tied to a lawyer’s deskwere always pleasant to him in after-life. 

But these pleasant recollections had little to do with the duties of hiscalling—they arose rather from the fact that his work was easy, and sointermittent as to give him ample opportunity for indulging in hisday-dreams. Who can doubt the personal basis of that passage in“Lavengro” in which he says: “Yes, very pleasant times were those, whenwithin the womb of a lofty desk, behind which I sat for some hours everyday, transcribing (when I imagined eyes were upon me) documents of everydescription in every possible hand. Blackstone kept company with AbGwilym—the polished English lawyer of the last century, who wrote longand prosy chapters on the rights of things—with a certain wild Welshman, who some four hundred years before that time indited immortal cowydds orodes to the wives of Cambrian chieftains—more particularly to oneMorfydd, the wife of a certain hunch-backed dignitary called by the poetfacetiously Bwa Bach—generally terminating with the modest request of alittle private parlance beneath the greenwood bough, with no otherwitness than the eos, or nightingale; a request which, if the poet may bebelieved, rather a doubtful point, was seldom, very seldom, denied. Andby what strange chance had Gwilym and Blackstone, two personages soexceedingly different, been thus brought together? From what the readeralready knows of me, he may be quite prepared to find me reading theformer; but what could have induced me to take up Blackstone, or ratherlaw?”

Yes, there was little in Borrow’s nature that was in common with that ofthe followers of the legal profession. What food for his wildimagination could he find in the prosy records and dry-as-dust documentsof a lawyer’s office? They contained words that to him, as to many ofhis master’s clients, were without meaning: his thoughts wandered beyondtheir mazy entanglements into a realm where the law that restrained wasthat of Nature alone, and whose only order was planned by the spirit thatsent forth shadows and dreams. He had been too much of a rover, had seentoo many strange sights in his young life, to be able to satisfy hiscravings for knowledge in musty law tomes and dusty deeds. His curiosityhad been aroused by many things he had seen in his early travels, he hadhad glimpses into so many wide fields of interest that led his mindastray. But none of these seemed to the steady-going old Militia captainto show a practical opening for his second son, whom, therefore, we findcopying legal documents in a “strange old house occupying one side of along and narrow court, ” instead of going a-viking with the Norseman orroving with the wild Welsh bard. 

Borrow has left us a striking picture of the head of the firm of Simpsonand Rackham; a picture drawn with that wealth of detail anduncompromising truthfulness which would have made the worthy gentlemantremble had he known at the time what a keen observer he was receivingbeneath his roof. “A more respectable-looking individual was neverseen, ” writes his erstwhile pupil; “he really looked what he was, agentleman of the law—there was nothing of the pettifogger about him:somewhat under middle size, and somewhat rotund in person, he was alwaysdressed in a full suit of black, never worn long enough to becomethreadbare. His face was rubicund, and not without keenness; but themost remarkable thing about him was his head, which was bald, and shonelike polished ivory, nothing more white, smooth and lustrous. Somepeople have said that he wore false calves, probably because his blacksilk stockings never exhibited a wrinkle; they might as well have saidthat he waddled because his shoes creaked, for these last, which werealways without a speck, and polished as his crown, though of a differenthue, did creak, as he walked rather slowly. I cannot say that I ever sawhim walk fast. ”

And then follows a little glimpse into the provincial life of the oldNorfolk capital that shows how little change there has been in the aimsand habits of a certain portion of the middle class since the firstquarter of the century. “He had a handsome practice, and might have dieda very rich man, much richer than he did, had he not been in the habit ofgiving rather expensive dinners to certain great people, who gave himnothing in return, except their company. ”

This worthy old gentleman must have been sorely puzzled as to what heshould make of the tall, spare, serious-looking lad who was placed underhis charge. He confessed to the old captain that the latter’s son was “avery extraordinary youth, a most remarkable youth, indeed;” and we canwell believe him. On one occasion, Borrow showed a one-eyed beggar intohis master’s private room, and installed him in an armchair “like ajustice of the peace. ” At another time, when invited to Mr. Simpson’shouse, he electrified a learned archdeacon and the company generally bymaintaining that his favourite Ab Gwilym was a better poet than Ovid, andthat many of the classic writers were greatly over-valued. Borrow oftendistinguished himself later on by his blunt way of expressing hisopinions, and the habit seems to have grown upon him early in life. 

A sense of duty towards those who were responsible for his upbringing, does not seem to have been a strong point with George Borrow. Hedisliked the profession to which he was apprenticed, and it is evidentthat his mind was as absent from his duties as was his heart. He wasalways dreaming of sagas and sea-rovers, battles and bards. Shut up inhis dull and dusty desk, he would

 “catch in sudden gleams The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, And islands that were the Hesperides Of all (his) boyish dreams. ”

No one will deny that “the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts, ”for have we not all thought such thoughts, and dreamt our dreams? Butthey are not as a rule conducive to the attainment of a mastery of thedetails and subtleties of law. 

One day an old countryman from the coast brought George a book of Danishballads, left at his coast-line cottage by a crew of shipwrecked Danes. Once possessed of this work, he could not rest satisfied until he hadmastered the Danish language in order that he might unearth itshistorical and legendary treasures. “The Danes, the Danes!” he exclaimsto himself, as he holds the priceless volume in his hands. “And was I atlast to become acquainted, and in so singular a manner, with the speechof a people which had, as far back as I could remember, exercised thestrongest influence over my imagination. For the book was a book ofballads, about the deeds of knights and champions, and men of hugestature; ballads which from time immemorial had been sung in the North, and which some two centuries before the time of which I am speaking, hadbeen collected by one Anders Vedel, who lived with a certain Tycho Brahe, and assisted him in making observations upon the heavenly bodies, at aplace called Uranias Castle on the little island of Hveen, in theCattegat. ”

No, Borrow was never meant to be a lawyer; but no calling that waspossible to him could have suited him so well at the time with which weare dealing. Apparently the tasks set him were so light that he hadample opportunity for the pursuance of the philological investigationsthat he delighted in. His efforts in this direction attracted theattention of Dr. William Taylor, who had returned to his native cityafter his wanderings in France and Germany. As is well known, theaccomplished scholar and translator was an intimate friend of Southey’s, and it was to the poet he wrote: “A Norwich young man is construing withme Schiller’s ‘Wilhelm Tell, ’ with the view of translating it for thepress. His name is George Henry Borrow, and he has learnt German withextraordinary rapidity; indeed, he has the gift of tongues, and thoughnot yet eighteen understands twelve languages—English, Welsh, Erse, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, Danish, French, Italian, Spanish, andPortuguese. ”

Describing Taylor, when he and Lavengro are discussing together thepossibility of becoming a good German scholar without being an ardentsmoker, Borrow writes: “The forehead of the elder individual was high, and perhaps appeared more so than it really was, from the hair beingcarefully brushed back, as if for the purpose of displaying to the bestadvantage that part of the cranium; his eyes were large and full, and ofa light brown, and might have been called heavy and dull, had they notbeen occasionally lighted up by a sudden gleam not so brilliant, however, as that which at every inhalation shone from the bowl of a long clay pipewhich he was smoking, but which, from a certain sucking sound which aboutthis time began to be heard from the bottom, appeared to be giving noticethat it would soon require replenishment from a certain canister which, together with a lighted taper, stood upon the table beside him. ”

That the elderly German student and his youthful emulator were kindredspirits, there is no doubt; and Taylor seems to have instilled intoBorrow’s mind many of his own tastes and admirations. Amongst these wasa sincere admiration for Southey, whom Borrow, with his love ofsuperlatives, looked upon not so much as a poet as England’s best prosewriter, and probably the purest and most noble character to which she hadever given birth. 

We have no sure knowledge of whether, while in Norwich, Borrow made theacquaintance of Old Crome. We know, however, that he was an enthusiasticadmirer of the self-taught master of the Old Norwich School of artists. Still, he may never have been brought into immediate contact with him;for Crome was in his forty-sixth year when Borrow’s family first appearedin Norwich, and George was then but a young lad. But before 1821, whenOld Crome died, Borrow must have learnt a good deal both of the painterand his pictures, for the admiration that he afterwards expressed canhardly have been entirely the outcome of the artist’s posthumous fame. 

“He has painted, ” writes Borrow, “not pictures of the world, but Englishpictures, such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful ruralpieces, with trees that might well tempt the little birds to perch uponthem; thou needest not run to Rome, brother” (this was written of thetime when his brother John was leaving England to study art upon theContinent), “where lives the old Mariolater, after pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of England; nor needest thou even go toLondon, the big city, in search of a master, for thou hast one at home inthe old East Anglian town, who can instruct thee, while thou needestinstruction; better stay at home, brother, at least for a season, andtoil and strive ’midst groanings and despondency till thou hast attainedexcellence, even as he has done—the little dark man with the dark-browncoat and the top-boots, whose name will one day be considered the chiefornament of the old town, and whose works will at no distant period rankamongst the proudest pictures of England—and England against theworld!—thy master, my brother, all too little considered master—Crome. ”

It would almost appear from the details of the dark-brown coat andtop-boots that Borrow must have met Crome at some period of his Norwichlife. From the foregoing eulogy, one would gather that his brother Johnwas a pupil of the old painter. This may well have been the case, forCrome had many such pupils, amongst whom, as has lately been shown, were, in earlier years, some of the sisters Gurney of Earlham. 

CHAPTER IV: DAYS IN NORWICH

The Norwich of Borrow’s early years was noted for its literary andartistic associations, and the names of some of its more distinguishedwriters and painters were household words in the land. Harriet Martineauhad “left off darning stockings to take to literature”; Dr. Taylor wasopening up to English readers a new field in German writings; John SellCotman was making a name for himself; and Opie, who “lived to paint, ” wasoften seen at Earlham, Keswick, and in the city streets. Such names asthese, and of Elizabeth Fry, Sir James Smith (who founded the LinnæanSociety), and Mrs. Opie would fall upon the ear of the young lawyer’sclerk whenever he mixed in polite society. The old city was thenenjoying a reputation that was worthy of its best traditions; and itstill prides itself on the memory of those golden days. 

A bookish youth could not fail to be influenced by such associations, andit may well be that Borrow’s thoughts were first drawn into a literarygroove by a knowledge of what certain of these Norwich celebrities weredoing. The delight he had found in the pages of his book of Danishballads, inspired him to turn his pen from the copying of deeds to thewriting of verses. His “Romantic Ballads from the Danish, ” printed bySimon Wilkins of Norwich, and consisting of translations from his prizedvolume, appeared in 1826. Dr. Jessop surmises that these translationsmust have brought him in a very respectable sum, but Mr. AugustusBirrell, in his own inimitable way, expresses his doubt on the point. “Ihope it was so, ” he writes, “but, as Dr. Johnson once said about theimmortality of the soul, I should like more evidence of it. ”

Borrow’s translations and linguistic pursuits, however, were not allowedto occupy all his spare hours in those early days. Norwich and itsneighbourhood had too much to show him, and to move him to reflection andenthusiasm, to allow this to be the case. By degrees, he came to lovethe old city, as he never got to love any other place in after-life. Writing many years later, the memories of it flooded in upon his brainuntil he saw its castle and cathedral, its homes and hospitality, in sucha rosy light as never glowed upon the scenes through which he journeyedin after years. “Who can wonder, ” he asks, “that the children of thatfine old city are proud of her, and offer up prayers for her prosperity?I, myself, who was not born within her walls, offer up prayers for herprosperity, that want may never visit her cottages, vice her palaces, andthat the abomination of idolatry may never pollute her temples. ”

The grey old castle and stately cathedral were a never-failing source ofinterest, worship and delight to him, as they have been to many whocannot claim East Anglia for their homeland. Often he would lie upon thegrass in the sunlight and watch the rooks and choughs circle about theirbattlements and spires. As he said, he was not formed for an indoorstudent, and outdoor life had ever a greater charm for him than thelibrary or the study. Often with rod and gun (he had an old Tower musketnearly eighty years old) he would go down amongst the marshes to angle orshoot as the fancy took him and the season gave him sport. Fortunately, the old fowling-piece was sound, although condemned on account of itsage, and he never came to harm by it; indeed, if we may believe him inthis matter—and it is always hard to put implicit faith in a solitarysportsman or angler—he did considerable execution amongst the birds ofthe Broadland. 

Still there were times when even the attraction of the rod and gun werenot sufficient to keep him from dreaming. Then, he would throw himselfdown on some mossy bank and let his mind wander back into the mists andmysteries of the days of yore. There was one favourite spot of his, where, from beneath an arch, “the waters rush garrulously into a bluepool, and are there stilled for a time, for the pool is deep, and theyappear to have sunk to sleep. Further on, however, you hear their voiceagain, where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly shallow. On the left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin of the stream. On the right isa green level, a smiling meadow; grass of the richest decks the side ofthe slope; mighty trees also adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of which, when the sun is nigh its meridian, fling a broad shadow on the face ofthe pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient brick ofan old English hall. ” This old hall stood on the site of an olderhearthstead called the Earl’s Home, where lived some “Sigurd or Thorkild”in the days “when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a portentousname. ” Earlham stands to-day as it did in Borrow’s time, and, no doubt, other Norwich lads at times lie out on the hillside dreaming of thesea-rovers of Scandinavia who ravaged the hearths and homes of themarshland folk of East Anglia. 

Amongst the Norwich celebrities whom Borrow met, was Joseph John Gurneyof Earlham, the large-hearted Quaker brother of Elizabeth Fry. Mr. Gurney seems to have come across him one day while he was fishing, and tohave remonstrated with him for taking pleasure in such “a crueldiversion. ” He was a tall man, “dressed in raiment of a quaint andsingular fashion, but of goodly materials. He was in the pride andvigour of manhood (Joseph John Gurney was born in 1788); his featureshandsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence; at least Ithought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver, with broad drooping eaves. ”

The worthy Quaker, whose words had the effect of lessening Borrow’sinclination for angling, invited him to Earlham that he might search thelibrary there for any such works as might please and interest him. Thiswas an occupation so much to Borrow’s taste, that we wonder he did notaccept the invitation. He did not do so, however, but sought out fardifferent companions—namely, the Romanies whom he met at Tombland Fairand on Mousehold Heath. It was many years after that he paid his firstvisit to Earlham. Gurney did not then remember him as the youth whom hehad met by the side of the marshland stream; but he took him to thelibrary, and showed him the books of which he had spoken many yearsbefore. One of them was the work of a moneychanger. “I am a bankermyself, ” said Gurney, and the fact seems to have been the cause ofreproachings on the part of some of the Norwich “Friends. ” A letter ofhis appears in the chronicles of “The Gurneys of Earlham, ” in which hewrites: “I suppose my leading object in life may be said to be the bank. It sometimes startles me to find my leading object of such a nature, andnow and then I doubt whether it is quite consistent with my religiouspursuits and duties. ” Eventually he arrives at the conclusion that:“While I am a banker, the bank must be attended to. It is obviously thereligious duty of a trustee to so large an amount to be diligent inwatching his trust. ” Borrow, with whom he discussed the matter, sums upthe case by exclaiming, “Would that there were many like him, amidst themoney-changers of princes! The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty, the palace of many a prelate the piety and learning, which adorn thequiet Quaker’s home. ”

 * * * * *

It was the death of his father that brought about the first severing ofBorrow’s connection with Norwich. Captain Borrow, as his portrait showsand his son declares, had been a sturdy soldier, possessing greatphysical strength. He enjoyed several years of quiet domestic lifebefore the end came, and lingered for some months after the fatal illnessseized him. At times he would rally, so that he could walk abroad alittle, or sit up in the small parlour of the house in Willow Lane, wearing an old regimental coat, and with his dog at his feet. He used tohave long talks with George on such occasions, and would relate to himstories of his past life, and the distinguished people he had met. “Hehad frequently conversed—almost on terms of familiarity—with good oldGeorge. He had known the conqueror of Tippoo Saib: and was the friend ofTownshend, who, when Wolfe fell, led the British Grenadiers against theshrinking regiments of Montcalm. ”

The old veteran’s elder son, John, who was absent from England, hastenedhome just in time to receive his father’s blessing. In the middle of thenight, a sudden relapse brought the dying man’s wife and sons to hisbedside. In his last moments, his mind wandered and he spoke of “Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant. ” Last of all, “he utteredanother name clearly, distinctly, and it was the name of Christ. ” “Withthat name upon his lips, ” writes George Borrow, “the brave old soldiersank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands still clasped, yielded uphis soul. ” His death took place on February 28, 1824, and he was buriedin the churchyard of St. Giles, at Norwich. 

The two brothers remained at home with their mother for some time aftertheir father’s death. John fitted up a studio in the little house inWillow Lane, and there devoted himself to his art. His work does notseem to have been very remunerative, and eventually he went abroad inconnection with a mining venture, and died in Mexico in 1833. George hada great opinion of his brother’s painting, and believed that if he hadlived and continued to strive after excellence he would have left “someenduring monument of his powers”; but his estimate of John’s endowmentsmay have been biassed by his affection. His love for his brother wasdeep and abiding, and was not lessened by his father’s marked preferencefor his elder son. 

The precise date of Borrow’s leaving Norwich and betaking himself toLondon cannot be ascertained, but it is certain that he left his brotherbehind him in the old home. Mr. Birrell believes it to have been notlater than 1828, and says “his only introduction appears to have been onefrom William Taylor to Sir Richard Phillips, the publisher known to allreaders of “Lavengro. ” Mr. George Saintsbury sums up his life in Norwichwith the remark that “he occupied his time with things that obviouslywould not pay. ”

A friend of the writer, who recently examined the old house in WillowLane, has contributed the following description of its appearance at thetime of his visit:

“In a quiet, secluded court, opening from a narrow lane in the old cityof Norwich, stands an unpretentious house, which at first sight presentslittle to attract the attention of a visitor. A closer inspection, however, discloses a marble slab affixed over the door, bearing thefollowing inscription: ‘In this house resided for some years of theearlier portion of his life, George Henry Borrow, author of “The Bible inSpain”; and other valued works. Died in 1881, aged 78 years. ’ The oldhouse immediately becomes invested with great interest to one who hasspent many enraptured hours over the pages of the writer whoseassociation with Norwich has been thus commemorated by Sir Peter Eade. 

“The house itself is of somewhat ancient date, and its externalappearance affords little indication of its size and the comfort of itsarrangement within. Its condition is practically unchanged since thetime when it was inhabited by the Borrow family. The present proprietor, Mr. W. Cooper, with a commendable respect for the memory of the greatauthor, has made but few alterations. The principal change that has beeneffected is in the division of the house into two separate parts. Thishas been easily accomplished by the simple process of blocking up a doorin the hall, and forming another doorway in the front of the house. Thepeculiar plan of the building adapts itself to this arrangement, no otheralteration being found necessary for the complete disconnection of thetwo parts. Of the two cottages so formed, one is at present occupied byan old couple, while the other is used as a workshop. 

“On entering the front door, which has a picturesque, antique porchway, access is gained to a fairly spacious hall, paved with tiles, from whichascends the main staircase of fine old oak. The door that is now closed, opened into a commodious front room, with a large window facing the west. This contains some finely carved panelling in a good state ofpreservation, and was evidently the chief room of the house. From it apassage extends to the back buildings. A narrow and particularlytortuous staircase leads from the front room to the upper rooms at theback of the house, to which access cannot be gained by the main stairs. On passing through the hall, the visitor finds himself in a largekitchen, where provision is made for an exceptionally big fireplace. Incommon with most old houses, every inch of available space is convertedinto cupboards, which are to be discovered in most unexpected nooks andcorners. All the rooms are panelled, but it is only the large rooms justmentioned that contain any carving. 

“On the first floor, the arrangements are of a similar nature to those onthe ground floor. From the landing of the main staircase open two rooms, a large one over the best room, and a smaller one above the hall. In thefirst-mentioned is a noticeable fireplace, which, in the place of thecustomary mantelpiece, has a panel-work frame, uniform with thatsurrounding the other rooms. The place of the centre panel was formerlyoccupied by a large oil painting, which remained in its position for sometime after the Borrows vacated the house, and is now in the possession ofMr. Cooper. It represents ‘The Judgment of Solomon, ’ and is supposed tobe the work of John Borrow, George’s artist brother. The two remainingbedrooms, which are reached by the small staircase, are of unequal sizeon account of a narrow passage, from which rises a short flight of stairsleading to a very irregular-shaped attic in the roof. ”

CHAPTER V: LIFE AT OULTON

After many painful experiences in London, whither he went in the hope ofbeing able to gain a livelihood by devoting himself to literature, GeorgeBorrow turned his back upon the metropolis, and set out on that wild, rambling excursion narrated and enlarged upon in the pages of “Lavengro. ”Lapse of time has emphasised the impossibility of ascertaining how muchis fact and how much fiction in the fascinating account of hiswanderings. Criticism on that point is unjustifiable, for Borrowannounced that the book was “a dream, ” and a history only up to a certainpoint. From what the writer has gathered, however, from those who knewBorrow intimately, he has good reason to believe that there are morefacts recorded in the latter part of “Lavengro, ” and in “The Romany Rye, ”than are credited by many students of “Don Jorge’s” writings. 

After lengthy roamings far and wide, he returned again to Norwich, wherehe lived for a time a quiet life, of which he has left no record. Hisliterary exploits had not been of such a nature as to rank his name withthose of the known writers of his day; indeed, there is every reason forbelieving that as an author he was as little known as on the day when heabandoned the quiet little house in Willow Lane for a wider field oflife. Yet, painful, and even heartbreaking, as his experiences had been, he was infinitely the gainer by the hard fate that sent him out awanderer upon the face of the earth, and we who read his books to-day maybe thankful for the tears and toilings that brought about so rich andabundant a harvest. 

An introduction from Joseph John Gurney to the British and Foreign BibleSociety resulted in Borrow’s leaving England in 1830 for the Continent, where he went on another _wanderjahre_ not unlike that he had taken inhis native land. 

After visiting France, Austria and Italy, we eventually find him in St. Petersburg, where he undertook the translation of the Bible into theMandschu-Tartar language, and issued in 1835, through Schulz and Beneze, his “Targum; or Metrical Translations from Thirty Languages andDialects. ” While in Russia, he made many friends amongst the nobilitythere, who frequently invited him to their country homes. In the sameyear that saw the publication of “Targum, ” he returned home. His stay inEngland, however, was a very short one. The British and Foreign BibleSociety was so satisfied with his work in Russia that they pressed him tocontinue to serve them, and undertake a journey into Spain for thepurpose of circulating the Scriptures in that country. His travels inSpain occupied over four years. While there he met Mrs. Mary Clarke, whoafterwards became his wife. This lady, who was the widow of a navalofficer, was connected with a Suffolk family which had been associatedwith the village of Oulton for several generations. Their name wasSkeppar, and it was in their old Suffolk home by the side of Oulton Broadthat Borrow went to live on his return to England. 

 * * * * *

Borrow, who was now in his thirty-eighth year, set to work at Oulton uponhis “Bible in Spain, ” which was published by Mr. John Murray, three yearslater, in 1843. Of his method, or lack of method, in working, somethingmay be gathered from the preface to the second edition of “The Zincali, ”which was written about the time of the issue of the former book. Mr. Murray had advised him to try his hand at something different from his“sorry trash” {41} about gipsies, and write a work that would really beof credit to the great firm in Albemarle Street. Borrow responded bystarting on an account of his wanderings in Spain. 

“At first I proceeded slowly—sickness was in the land, and the face ofNature was overcast—heavy rainclouds swam in the heavens, the blasthowled amid the pines which nearly surround my lonely dwelling, and thewaters of the lake, which lies before it, so quiet in general andtranquil, were fearfully agitated . . . A dreary summer and autumn passedby, and were succeeded by as gloomy a winter. I still proceeded with theBible in Spain. The winter passed, and spring came, with cold dry windsand occasional sunshine, whereupon I arose, shouted, and mounting myhorse, even Sidi Habismilk, I scoured all the surrounding district, andthought but little of the Bible in Spain. So I rode about the country, over the heaths, and through the green lanes of my native land, occasionally visiting friends at a distance, and sometimes, for variety’ssake, I stayed at home and amused myself by catching huge pike, which lieperdue in certain deep ponds skirted with lofty reeds, upon my land, andto which there is a communication from the lagoon by a deep and narrowwatercourse. I had almost forgotten the Bible in Spain. Then came thesummer with much heat and sunshine, and then I would lie for hours in thesun and recall the sunny days I had spent in Andalusia, and my thoughtswere continually reverting to Spain, and at last I remembered that theBible in Spain was still unfinished; whereupon I arose and said: ‘Thisloitering profiteth nothing, ’ and I hastened to my summer-house by theside or the lake, and there I thought and wrote, and thought and wrote, until I had finished the ‘Bible in Spain. ’”

Within a few weeks of the publication of the “Bible in Spain, ” Borrow’sname was in everyone’s mouth. Attempts were made to “lionise” him; butwere met with his distinct disapproval, though it was always a pleasureto him to be looked upon as a celebrity. To escape from the Mrs. LeoHunters of fashionable society, he almost immediately fled to theContinent, where he went on another pilgrimage. Having journeyed throughTurkey, Albania, Hungary, and Wallachia, he again came home to Oulton, and completed “Lavengro, ” which had been commenced almost as soon as themanuscript of “The Bible in Spain” had left his hands. This book wasfinished in the summer-house of his garden by the broad where most of hisfuture work was done, and was issued in 1851. 

Defending himself against the critics who attacked him for interminglingtruth and fiction in “Lavengro, ” he afterwards wrote: “In the preface‘Lavengro’ is stated to be a dream; and the writer takes this opportunityof stating that he never said it was an autobiography; never authorisedany person to say that it was one; and that he has in innumerableinstances declared in public and in private, both before and after thework was published, that it was not what is generally termed anautobiography: but a set of people who pretend to write criticisms onbooks, hating the author for various reasons, amongst others, because, having the proper pride of a gentleman and a scholar, he did not in theyear 1843, choose to permit himself to be exhibited and made a zany of inLondon, and especially because he will neither associate with, nor curryfavour with, them who are neither gentlemen nor scholars—attack his bookwith abuse and calumny. ”

Interrogated by Mr. Theodore Watts as to the real nature of anautobiography, Borrow asked the question, “What is an autobiography? Isit a mere record of the incidents of a man’s life? or is it a picture ofthe man himself—his character, his soul?”

This, Mr. Watts thinks, was a very suggestive query of Borrow’s withregard to himself and his work. “That he sat down to write his own lifein ‘Lavengro’ I know. He had no idea then of departing from the strictline of fact. Indeed, his letters to his friend, Mr. John Murray, wouldalone be sufficient to establish this in spite of his calling ‘Lavengro’a dream. In the first volume he did almost confine himself to matters offact. But as he went on he clearly found that the ordinary tapestry intowhich Destiny had woven the incidents of his life were not tinged withsufficient depth of colour to satisfy his sense of wonder. . . . When hewishes to dive very boldly into the ‘abysmal deeps of personality, ’ hespeaks and moves partly behind the mask of some fictitious character . . . Let it be remembered that it was this instinct of wonder, not theinstinct of the mere _poseur_, that impelled him to make certainexaggerated statements about the characters themselves that areintroduced into his books. ”

The village of Oulton lies on the border of the marshland about a milefrom the most easterly point of England, and within hearing of thebeating of the billows of the wild North Sea. Borrow’s home, which waslittle more than a cottage, stood on the side of a slight rising bankoverlooking Oulton Broad, and was sheltered from the winds of the sea andmarshland by a belt of storm-rent pines. The house contained asitting-room on either side of the entrance-hall, a kitchen, fourbedrooms, and two attics. It was its smallness and compactness thatcommended it to Borrow, and it also had the extra recommendation to a manof his disposition of being quiet and secluded. Indeed, soout-of-the-way was its situation that to take a boat upon the broad waslooked upon as the best and most direct means of attaining this isolatednook of the Broadland. 

At the present time the broad, that stretches away from Lake Lothing tothe westward of Borrow’s Ham, {45} is for several months of the yearpicturesque with the white sails of yachts and other pleasure boats thathave skimmed its placid waters since the Broadland first became a holidayresort. In the early days of Borrow’s residence at Oulton, the onlycraft that stirred its sunlit ripples were the punts of the eel-catcherand wildfowl-seeker and the slowly gliding wherries voyaging to and fromthe coast and inland towns. To-day, a little colony of dwellers inred-brick villas have invaded the lonely spot where Borrow lived; buteven now you have but to turn aside a few steps from the lake side toreach the edge of far-stretching marshland levels that have changed theirface but little during the passage of many centuries. Farther away themarshlanders have seized upon any slight piece of rising ground toestablish a firm foundation for their humble homes; here and there a greychurch tower or skeleton windmill breaks the line of the level horizon. The meres and marshes have the silence of long dead years resting uponthem, save where the breeze stirs the riverside reeds or a curlew criesabove the ooze flats. 

Queer company the “walking lord of gipsy lore” must have kept as he satalone in that little book-lined summer-house, hearing strange voices inthe sighing of the wind through the fir-trees and the distant sobbing ofthe sea. Out of the shadow of the past there would come to him, not onlythe swarthy Romanies, but Francis Ardrey, the friend of his youth; theArmenian merchant, with whom Lavengro discussed Haik; the victim of theevil chance, who talked nonsense about the _star_ Jupiter and told himthat “touching” story of his fight against destiny; the Rev. Mr. Platitude, who would neither admit there were any Dissenters nor permitany to exist; Peter Williams, the man who committed the unpardonable sinagainst the Holy Ghost, and Winifred, his patient, constant wife; thestudent of Chinese, who learnt the language of the land of the Celestialsfrom the figures on the teapots; the Hungarian, who related so manylegends and traditions of the Magyars; and Murtagh, with his wonderfulstories of the Pope. These were the friends with whom he spent the reallife of his latter days, and it is hardly surprising that under theinfluence of their companionship he should have become somewhat of arecluse, and lost touch with living friends and acquaintances. 

Dr. Gordon Hake, whose residence at Bury St. Edmunds was contemporarywith Borrow’s settling down at Oulton, writes in his Memoirs: “GeorgeBorrow was one of those whose mental powers are strong, and whose bodilyframe is yet stronger—a conjunction of forces often detrimental to aliterary career in an age of intellectual predominance. His temper wasgood and bad; his pride was humility; his humility was pride; his vanity, in being negative, was of the most positive kind. He was reticent andcandid, measured in speech, with an emphasis that makes triflessignificant. Borrow was essentially hypochondriacal. Society he lovedand 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 itsmidst. His figure was tall, and his bearing noble; he had a finelymoulded head and thick white hair—white from his youth; his brown eyeswere soft, yet piercing; his nose somewhat of the Semitic type, whichgave his face the cast of the young Memnon; his mouth had a generouscurve, and his features, for beauty and true power, were such as can haveno parallel in our portrait gallery, where it is to be hoped the likenessof him, in Mr. Murray’s possession, may one day find a place. Borrow andhis family used to stay with me at Bury; I visited him, less often, athis cottage on the lake at Oulton, a fine sheet of water that flows intothe sea at Lowestoft. He was much courted there by his neighbours and byvisitors to the seaside. I there met Baron Alderson and his daughters, who had ridden from Lowestoft to see him. ”

Borrow had many good qualities, but it must be admitted that his temperwas queer and uncertain. At times he was passionate and overbearing, andhe never had the necessary patience to submit to what seemed to him theinanities and boredom of admirers, hero worshippers, and others who weredesirous of being brought to his notice. Mr. J. W. Donne, who occupiedthe position of librarian of the London Library and was afterwards readerof plays, related to Dr. Hake how on one occasion Miss Agnes Stricklandurged him to introduce her to her brother author. Borrow, who was in theroom at the time, offered some objection, but was at length prevailedupon to accept the introduction. Ignorant of the peculiar twists inBorrow’s nature, the gifted authoress commenced the conversation by anenthusiastic eulogy of his works, and concluded by asking permission tosend him a copy of her “Queens of England. ” “For God’s sake, don’t, madam, ” exclaimed Borrow. “I should not know what to do with them. ” Hethen got up in a rage, and, addressing Mr. Donne, said, “What a d--- foolthat woman is!”

“He once, ” writes Dr. Hake, “went with me to a dinner at Mr. Bevan’scountry-house, Rougham Rookery, and placed me in an extremely awkwardposition. Mr. Bevan was a Suffolk banker, a partner of Mr. Oakes. Hewas one of the kindest and most benevolent of men. His wife was gentle, unassuming, attentive to her guests. A friend of Borrow, the heir to avery considerable estate, had run himself into difficulties and owedmoney, which was not forthcoming, to the Bury banking-house; and in orderto secure repayment Mr. Bevan was said to have ‘struck the docket. ’ Iknew this beforehand from Borrow, who, however, accepted the invitation, and was seated at dinner at Mrs. Bevan’s side. This lady, a simple, unpretending woman, desirous of pleasing him, said, ‘Oh, Mr. Borrow, Ihave read your books with so much pleasure!’ On which he exclaimed, ‘Pray, what books do you mean, madam? Do you mean my account-books?’ Onthis he fretted and fumed, rose from the table, and walked up and downamongst the servants during the whole of dinner, and afterwards wanderedabout the rooms and passage, till the carriage could be ordered for ourreturn home. ”

On another occasion Hake and Borrow were guests together at HardwickeHouse, Suffolk, a fine old Jacobean Hall, then the residence of SirThomas Cullum. There were also staying at the Hall at the time LordBristol, Sir Fitzroy Kelly, William Makepeace Thackeray, and otherdistinguished people. Borrow and Thackeray did not get on well together. The latter evidently felt it his duty to live up to his reputation byentertaining the company with lively sallies and witticisms. At last heapproached Borrow, and inquired, “Have you read my Snob Papers in_Punch_?” “In _Punch_?” asked Borrow. “It is a periodical I never lookat. ”

Mr. John Murray, in his “Reminiscences, ” has also given instances ofBorrow’s strange behaviour in other people’s houses; but there is reasonto believe that he often keenly reproached himself afterwards for givingway in public to such unseemly displays of temper and spleen. That hisheart was in the right place and he was not lacking in powers ofrestraint, are facts fully demonstrated by the following incident. Hewas invited to meet Dr. Robert Latham at the house of Dr. Hake, who hadmany inward tremors at what might be the outcome of bringing themtogether. Latham was in the habit of indulging somewhat too freely attable, and under such circumstances, as might be expected, was oftendeficient in tact and courtesy. 

“All, like most things that are planned, began well. But with Lathamlife was a game of show. He had to put forth all his knowledge ofsubjects in which he deemed Borrow was an adept. He began withhorse-racing. Borrow quietly assented. He showed off all he knew of thering. Borrow freely responded. He had to show what he knew ofpublishers, instancing the Longmans. Borrow said, ‘I suppose you dinewith your publishers sometimes?’ It was Latham’s opportunity; he couldnot resist it, and replied, ‘Never; I hope I should never do anything solow. You do not dine with Mr. John Murray, I presume?’ ‘Indeed, I do, ’said Borrow, emotionally. ‘He is a most kind friend. When I have hadsickness in my house he has been unfailing in his goodness towards me. There is no man I value more. ’ Latham’s conversation was fast fallingunder the influence of wine; with this his better taste departed fromhim. ‘I have heard, ’ he said, ‘that you are a brave man over a bottle ofwine. Now, how many bottles can you get through at a sitting?’ Borrowsaw what the other was; he was resolved not to take offence at what wasonly impertinent and self-asserting, so he said, ‘When I was in Madrid Iknew a priest who would sit down alone to his two bottles. ’ ‘Yes, ’replied Latham, with his knowing look and his head on one side like abird, ‘but what I want to know is, how many bottles you can manage at onesitting?’ ‘I once knew another priest, ’ said Borrow, ‘it was at Oporto;I have seen him get through two bottles by himself. ’ By this time Lathamwas a little unsteady, he slipped from his chair as if it had been aninclined plane and lay on the carpet. He was unable to rise, but he heldhis head up with a cunning smile, saying, ‘This must be a verydisreputable house. ’ Borrow saw Latham after this at times on his way tome, and always stopped to say a kind word to him, seeing his forlorncondition. ”

Given as he was to snubbing and browbeating others, Borrow was not a manto sit silent and see another man badly treated without raising hand orvoice in his defence. Proof of this is found in an instructive storyrelated by Mr. J. Ewing Ritchie in his chatty “East AnglianReminiscences. ” “One good anecdote I heard about George Borrow, ” writesMr. Ritchie. “My informant was an Independent minister, at the timesupplying the pulpit at Lowestoft and staying at Oulton Hall, theninhabited by a worthy dissenting tenant. One night a meeting of theBible Society was held at Mutford Bridge, at which the party from theHall attended, and where George Borrow was one of the speakers. Afterthe meeting was over, all the speakers went back to supper at OultonHall, and my friend among them, who, in the course of the supper, foundhimself violently attacked by a clergyman for holding Calvinisticopinions. Naturally my friend replied that the clergyman was bound to dothe same. ‘How do you make that out?’ ‘Why, the Articles of your Churchare Calvinistic, and to them you have sworn assent!’ ‘Oh yes, but thereis a way of explaining them away!’ ‘How so?’ said my friend. ‘Oh, ’replied the clergyman, ‘we are not bound to take the words in theirnatural sense. ’ My friend, an honest, blunt East Anglian, intimated thathe did not understand that way of evading the difficulty; but he was thena young man and did not like to continue the discussion further. However, George Borrow, who had not said a word hitherto, entered intothe discussion, opening fire on the clergyman in a very unexpectedmanner, and giving him such a setting down as the hearers, at any rate, never forgot. All the sophistry about the non-natural meaning of termswas held up by Borrow to ridicule, and the clergyman was beaten at everypoint. ‘Never, ’ says my friend, ‘did I hear one man give another such adressing as on that occasion. ’”

 * * * * *

Borrow was often asked by visitors to Oulton if it was his intention toleave behind him the necessary material for the compilation of abiography of his strange career. This, however, he could never bepersuaded to do. He maintained that “Lavengro, ” “The Romany Rye, ” and“The Bible in Spain, ” contained all of his life that it was necessary forposterity to know. It was not the man but his works that should live, hewould say, and his books contained the best part of himself. While inLondon, however, at the house which he took in Hereford Square, Brompton, he consented to sit for his portrait, the artist being Henry Philips. This picture afterwards passed into the possession of his step-daughter, Mrs. Henrietta MacOubrey. 

Of the painting of this portrait a very good story is told. Borrow was avery bad sitter, he was ever anxious to get out into the fresh air andsunlight. Philips was greatly hindered by this restlessness, but one dayhe hit upon a plan which conquered the chafing child of Nature and servedhis own purpose admirably. He was aware of Borrow’s wonderful gift oftongues and the fascination that philological studies had for him. So heremarked, “I have always heard, Mr. Borrow, that the Persian is a veryfine language; is it so?” “It is, Philips; it is, ” replied “Lavengro. ”“Perhaps you will not mind reciting me something in the Persian tongue?”“Dear me, no; certainly not. ” And then Borrow’s face lit up with thelight that Philips longed for, and he commenced declaiming at the top ofhis voice, while the painter made the most of his opportunity. When hefound his subject was lapsing into silence, and that the old feeling ofweariness and boredom was again creeping upon him, he would start him offagain by saying, “I have always heard that the Turkish—or the Armenian—isa very fine language, ” with a like result, until at length the portraitwas completed. 

The monotony of Borrow’s life at Oulton was varied by occasional visitsto London and excursions into Wales and to the Isle of Man. In histravels through Wales he was accompanied by his wife and step-daughter. How the journey was brought about he explains in the first chapter of“Wild Wales, ” a work which, published in 1862, was the outcome of hisramblings in the Principality. “In the summer of 1854, myself, wife anddaughter, determined upon going into Wales, to pass a few months there. We are country-people of a corner of East Anglia, and, at the time ofwhich I am speaking, had been residing so long on our own little estatethat we had become tired of the objects around us, and conceived that weshould be all the better for changing the scene for a short period. Wewere undetermined for some time with respect to where we should go. Iproposed Wales from the first, but my wife and daughter, who have alwayshad rather a hankering after what is fashionable, said they thought itwould be more advisable to go to Harrogate or Leamington. On myobserving that these were terrible places for expense, they replied thatthough the price of corn had of late been shamefully low we had a sparehundred pounds or two in our pockets and could afford to pay for a littleinsight into fashionable life. I told them that there was nothing I somuch hated as fashionable life, but that, as I was anything but a selfishperson, I would endeavour to stifle my abhorrence of it for a time andattend them either to Leamington or Harrogate. By this speech I obtainedmy wish, even as I knew I should, for my wife and daughter instantlyobserved that, after all, they thought we had better go into Wales, which, though not so fashionable as either Leamington or Harrogate, was avery picturesque country, where they had no doubt they should get on verywell, more especially as I was acquainted with the Welsh language. ”

This is Borrow’s account of how he obtained his own way; it would havebeen interesting had his wife and step-daughter also recorded theirversion of the affair. 

Borrow’s mother, who had given up her house in Willow Lane, died atOulton, in 1860. The same year Borrow published a small volume, entitled“The Sleeping Bard, ” a translation from the Welsh of Elis Wyn. Duringthe years 1862–3 various translations of his appeared in _Once a Week_, amagazine that then numbered amongst its contributors such writers asHarriet Martineau and S. Baring-Gould, and artists as Leech, Keene, Tenniel, Millais and Du Maurier. Amongst these translations were “TheHailstorm, or the Death of Bui, ” from the ancient Norse; “The Count ofVendal’s Daughter, ” from the ancient Danish; “Harald Harfagr, ” from theNorse; “Emelian the Fool, ” and “The Story of Yashka with the Bear’s Ear, ”from the Russian; and several ballads from the Manx. Other translationsfrom the Danish of Oehlenschlaeger are still in the possession of Mrs. MacOubrey, and have never been printed. His last book, “The RomanoLavo-Lil, ” was issued in 1872. 

Between 1860 and 1870, Borrow spent a good deal of his time in London, athis house in Hereford Square. This was mainly on account of theill-health of his wife, who died there in 1869, and was buried inBrompton Cemetery. After her death, however, he returned to Oulton, telling Mr. Watts that he was going down into East Anglia to die. 

From that time his life was lived more apart from the world than ever. His visitors were few; and fewer still were the visits he paid to others. During his latter years his tall, erect, somewhat mysterious figure wasoften seen in the early hours of summer mornings or late at night on thelonely pathways that wind in and out from the banks of Oulton Broad. Heloved to be mysterious, and the village children used to hush theirvoices and draw aside at his approach. They looked upon him with fearand awe—for had they not seen him stop and talk with the gipsies, who ranaway with little children? But in his heart, Borrow was fond of thelittle ones, though it amused him to watch the impression his strangepersonality made upon them. Older people he seldom spoke to when out onhis solitary rambles; but sometimes he would flash out such a glance frombeneath his broad-brimmed hat and shaggy eyebrows as would make timidcountry-folk hasten on their way filled with vague thoughts and fears ofthe evil eye. Mr. John Murray has referred to this love of mystery onthe part of his father’s friend, and also to his moody and variabletemperament; while Mr. G. T. Bettany has related how he enjoyed creatinga sensation by riding about on a fine Arab horse which he brought homewith him from Turkey in 1844. 

Still Borrow was not unpopular with the villagers, many of whom, longafter his death, remembered little acts of kindness on his part by whichthey had benefited. To the sick and infirm he was always a good friend, though his almost invariable remedy for all the ills that flesh is heirto were wine and ale. He was exceedingly fond of animals, and nothingaroused his wrath more than to see them badly treated. On one occasion, while out walking not far from his home, he encountered some men who wereill-using a fallen horse. He remonstrated with them, and his words, backed by his commanding figure, prevailed upon them to desist from theircruelty. He then sent one of them for a bowl of ale. When it wasbrought, he knelt down on the road beside the exhausted animal, andpoured it down its throat. Having afterwards assisted the men in gettingthe horse upon its feet, he left them, but not before he had given them asevere lecture on the treatment of dumb animals in general and fallenhorses in particular. 

At another time, a favourite old cat that was ill, crawled out of hishouse to die in the garden hedge. Borrow no sooner missed the poorcreature than he went in search of it, and brought it indoors in hisarms. He then laid it down in a comfortable spot, and sat and watched ittill it was dead. 

Owing to the somewhat eccentric manner in which he passed his latterdays, there were some persons who assumed after his death that in hisdeclining years he lacked the attention of friends, and the littlecomforts and considerations that are due to old age. Yet this was notso; if the world heard little of him from the time of his finalretirement into rural seclusion, and lost sight of him and believed himdead, it was his own choosing that they should remain in ignorance. Hehad had his day, a longer and fuller one than falls to the lot of most ofthe sons of men, and, when the weight of years began to tell upon him, hechose to live out the little time that was left to him amidst such scenesas were in harmony with his nature. He died at Oulton on July 26, 1881, just three weeks after the completion of his seventy-eighth year. Hisstep-daughter, Mrs. MacOubrey, the Henrietta of “Wild Wales, ” who had asincere affection for him, was his constant attendant during his lastillness, and was with him at the end. He was buried at BromptonCemetery, where his body lies beside that of his wife. Not long afterhis death, his Oulton home was pulled down. All that now remains to markthe spot where it once stood are the old summer-house in which he lovedto linger, and the ragged fir-trees that sighed the requiem of his lasthours. 

CHAPTER VI: BORROW AND PUGILISM

During the first quarter of the present century pugilism was rampant inthe Eastern Counties of England. A pugilistic encounter was then lookedupon as an affair of national interest, and people came in theirthousands from far and near to witness it. The Norwich neighbourhood wasnoted for its prize-fights, and Borrow had the names of all the championsat his tongue’s end. Cobbett, Cribb, Belcher, Tom Spring of Bedford, Black Richmond, Irish Randall—he was acquainted with the records of themall, as well as with those of the leading fighting-men amongst thegipsies. They were to him the leaders of the old spirit of Englishaggressiveness, and as such he revered them. His pen was always ready todefend a straightforward bruiser, with whom, he contended, the Romangladiator and the Spanish bull-fighter were not to be compared. He, himself, was no mean student of the art of self-defence, and there issome ground for believing that the scene between Lavengro and the FlamingTinman, in which the burly tinker succumbs to the former’s prowess aftera warm encounter in the Mumpers’ Dingle, is founded upon an event whichoccurred during Borrow’s wayward progress through rural England. 

On the publication of “Lavengro, ” Borrow’s evident partiality for thepugilists of his day brought down upon him a torrent of criticism andcondemnation. Who, it was asked, but a man of coarse instincts couldhave found pleasure in mingling with brutal fighting-men and describingtheir desperate exploits? The writer of a work who went out of his wayto drag in such characters and scenes as these could be little betterthan a barbarian!

Borrow was not a man to sit down quietly under such attacks as these; hewaited his opportunity, and then had his fling. At the end of “TheRomany Rye, ” there appeared an Appendix, in which the author set himselfthe task of smashing his critics. This same Appendix is an amazing pieceof writing; in it Borrow slashes right and left as might a gallantswordsman who found himself alone in the midst of a mob bent on hisdestruction. Mr. Augustine Birrell regrets that it was ever printed; butthere are few who will agree with him; it contains too many good thingsthat Borrovians would be loth to lose. 

Borrow’s defence is carried on in his own peculiar and inimitable style, it is an onslaught into the camp of the enemy. Speaking of theprize-fighters, whom a reviewer condemned as blackguards, he exclaimsdefiantly, “Can the rolls of the English aristocracy exhibit namesbelonging to more noble, more heroic men than those who were calledrespectively Pearce, Cribb, and Spring? Did ever one of the Englisharistocracy contract the seeds of fatal consumption by rushing up thestairs of a burning edifice, even to the topmost garret, and rescuing awoman from seemingly inevitable destruction? The writer says no. Awoman was rescued from the top of a burning house; but the man whorescued her was no aristocrat; it was Pearce, not Percy, who ran up theburning stairs. ” And so he goes on, overwhelming his opponents with atornado of generalities that have nothing whatever to do withprize-fighting, and yet how delightful it all is!

There were other critics—Borrow always had plenty of critics—who found itdifficult to make his admiration for the prize-ring fit in with hisdenunciation in one passage of “those disgraceful and brutalisingexhibitions called pugilistic combats. ” The explanation has beensuggested that for once the “John Bull” Borrow, with his patrioticexaltation of all things English, gave way before the proselytising agentof the British and Foreign Bible Society. It would be hard to find awriter who does not contradict himself at times, and Borrow was so much aman of “moods” that it would be uncharitable to set him down as ahypocrite, as Caroline Fox does, because all his sayings and doings donot tally with a superhuman exactitude. 

But whether it was in respect to the number of glasses of ale that hedrank on his Welsh rambles—and has not “Wild Wales” been called “The Epicof Ale?”—or his associations with the great fighting-men of his day, hewas never ashamed to admit his liking both for the ale and the men. “Whyshould I hide the truth?” he asks, when telling of his presence when aboy of fourteen at a prize-fight which took place near Norwich. Thurtell, whose boast it was that he had introduced bruising into EastAnglia, had arranged the fight, which was ever after memorable to Borrowfor the appearance on the scene of Gipsy Will and his celebrated gang. This well-known Romany, who was afterwards hanged outside the gaol atBury St. Edmunds for a murder committed in his youth, was a sturdy, muscular fellow, six feet in height, who rendered himself especiallynoticeable by wearing a broad-brimmed, high-peaked Andalusian hat. Hewas anxious on this occasion to fight the best man in England for twentypounds (not a very tempting sum in the light of our more advanced days);but no one accepted the challenge, though a young countryman was anxiousto do so until assured by his friends that the notorious gipsy wouldcertainly kill him. 

Borrow has gone out of his way in “The Gipsies of Spain” to give a fulldescription of this Gipsy Will and his notable companions. At the riskof wearying some readers who deprecate the prize-ring and itscosmopolitan environment, the writer quotes something of thisdescription, as it appears in one of the less known of Borrow’s works:

“Some time before the commencement of the combat, three men, mounted onwild-looking horses came dashing down the road in the direction of themeadow, in the midst of which they presently showed themselves, theirhorses clearing the deep ditches with wonderful alacrity. ‘That’s GipsyWill and his gang, ’ lisped a Hebrew pickpocket; ‘we shall have anotherfight. ’ The word gipsy was always sufficient to excite my curiosity, andI looked attentively at the new-comers. 

“I have seen gipsies of various lands, Russian, Hungarian, and Turkish;and I have also seen the legitimate children of most countries of theworld; but I never saw, upon the whole, three more remarkableindividuals, as far as personal appearance was concerned, than the threeEnglish gipsies who now presented themselves to my eyes on that spot. Two of them had dismounted, and were holding their horses by the reins. The tallest, and, at the first glance, the most (!) interesting of thetwo, was almost a giant, for his height could not have been less than sixfeet three. It is impossible for the imagination to conceive anythingmore perfectly beautiful than were the features of this man, and the mostskilful sculptor of Greece might have taken them as his model for a heroand a god. The forehead was exceedingly lofty, a rare thing in a gipsy;the nose less Roman than Grecian, fine, yet delicate; the eyes large, overhung with long drooping lashes, giving them almost a melancholyexpression; it was only when the lashes were elevated that the gipsyglance was seen, if that can be called a glance which is a strange stare, like nothing else in the world. His complexion was a beautiful olive;and his teeth were of a brilliancy uncommon even among these people, whohave all fine teeth. He was dressed in a coarse waggoner’s slop, which, however, was unable to conceal altogether the proportions of his nobleand Herculean figure. He might be about twenty-eight. His companion andhis captain, Gipsy Will, was, I think, fifty, when he was hanged tenyears subsequently. I have still present before me his bushy black hair, his black face, and his big black eyes, fixed and staring. His dressconsisted of a loose blue jockey coat, jockey boots and breeches; in hishand was a huge jockey whip, and on his head (it struck me at the timefor its singularity) a broad-brimmed, high-peaked, Andalusian hat, or atleast one very much resembling those generally worn in that province. Instature he was shorter than his more youthful companion, yet he must havemeasured six feet at least, and was stronger built, if possible. Whatbrawn! what bone! what legs! what thighs! The third gipsy, who remainedon horseback, looked more like a phantom than anything human. Hiscomplexion was the colour of pale dust, and of that same colour was allthat pertained to him, hat and clothes. His boots were dusty, of course, and his very horse was of a dusty dun. His features were whimsicallyugly, most of his teeth were gone, and as to his age, he might be thirtyor sixty. He was somewhat lame and halt; but an unequalled rider whenonce upon his steed, which he was naturally not very solicitous to quit. I subsequently discovered that he was considered the wizard of the gang. ”

Any one who is familiar with the living descendants of the Romanies ofBorrow’s early lifetime will know that amongst the few characteristics oftheir fathers that have been preserved down to the present day is thatskill at boxing or fisticuffs which was an absolute necessity in a timewhen their hand was against every man and every man’s hand against them. Nearly all the male Romanies are possessed of a lithe, sinewy, activeframe, combined with a quickness of hand and eye that gives them aconsiderable advantage over less alert antagonists of heavier build. They are not, as a rule, in a hurry to come to blows, for they know thatin the event of injury or police-court proceedings resulting from anencounter, prejudice is strongly against the gipsy. Still, the Romanyblood pulses quickly, and when it flies to the swarthy cheek and sets theeyes flashing, the time has come for someone to beware. The writer hasseen something of the gipsy’s skill and adroitness under such conditions, and the impression made was a lasting one. He has known, too, of asmall, slim-built Romany thrashing a strong, six-feet-high constable, forunwarrantable interference with the former’s mother in a public bar. TheRomany race is fast dying out from our midst; but it is dying what thesportsman would call “game. ”

Although Borrow’s obvious admiration for the brawny men of the prize-ringbrought him almost universal condemnation, his opinions were unchanged byhis critics’ wrath and denunciations. There were many points in hisfather’s character for which he held him in esteem and affection; but headmired him most because he had once vanquished Big Ben Brain in a fightin Hyde Park. 

“He was always at his best, ” writes Mr. Theodore Watts, “in describing apugilistic encounter; for in the saving grace of pugilism as an Englishaccomplishment, he believed as devoutly as he believed in East Anglia andthe Bible. ”

CHAPTER VII: BORROW AND THE EAST ANGLIAN GIPSIES

East Anglia has for centuries been a favourite roaming ground for certainof the families of the true Romany tribe. The reason for this, assignedby the gipsies themselves, is not a flattering one to East Englanders. They will tell you, if you are in their confidence, that they come toEast Anglia on account of the simplicity and gullibility of itsinhabitants. Nowhere else can the swarthy _chals_ find _gorgios_ soready to purchase a doctored nag, or the dark-eyed _chis_ so easily cozencredulous villagers and simple servant-girls by the mysteries of_dukkeripen_. Every fair-ground and race-course is dotted with theirtravelling vans; the end of every harvest sees them congregate on thevillage greens; the “making up” of the North Sea fishing-boats attractsthem to the Eastern coast. 

It may well be that Borrow first made the acquaintance of the Romanieswhen a child at East Dereham, for there is a heath just outside thelittle town which has long been their central halting-place for thedistrict. If this was the case, he has left no record of such a meeting:in all probability, had his wondering eyes rested upon their unfamiliarfaces and smouldering camp-fires he would have shared the childish fearsinstilled by kitchen and nursery legends and have fled the scene. It wasoutside Norman Cross that he first came into close contact with the alienwanderers. Straying into a green lane he fell in with a low tent fromwhich smoke was issuing, and in front of which a man was carding plaitedstraw, while a woman was engaged in the manufacture of spurious coin. Their queer appearance, so unlike that of any men or women he hadhitherto encountered, excited his lively curiosity; but, ere he had timeto examine them closely, they were down upon him with threats and curses. Violence was about to be done to him when a viper, which he had concealedin his jacket, lifted its head from his bosom, and the gipsies’ wrath atbeing discovered changed to awe of one who fearlessly handled such adeadly creature. From that day Borrow’s interest in the Romany tribecontinued to widen and deepen, until, at length, when fame and fortunewere his, it led him to take extended journeys into Hungary, Wallachia, and other European countries for the purpose of searching out thedescendants of the original wanderers from the East and learning fromthem their language, customs and history. 

Borrow himself says that he could remember no time when the mere mentionof the name of gipsy did not awaken within him feelings hard to bedescribed. He could not account for it, but some of the Romanies, heremarks, “to whom I have stated this circumstance have accounted for iton the supposition that the soul which at present animates my body has atsome former period tenanted that of one of their people, for many amongthem are believers in metempsychosis and, like the followers of Bouddha, imagine that their souls by passing through an infinite number of bodies, attain at length sufficient purity to be admitted to a state of perfectrest and quietude, which is the only idea of heaven they can form. ”

The Norwich Castle Hill provided Borrow with many opportunities ofobserving the habits of the East Anglian Romanies, who, in his day, attended in considerable numbers the horse sales and fairs that were heldin the old city. Thither would come the Smiths or Petulengros, Bosviles, Grays and Pinfolds; and often, when they left the Hill, he wouldaccompany them to their camps on Mousehold Heath and to neighbouringfairs and markets. Their daring horsemanship fascinated him, while thestrange tongue they employed amongst themselves when bargaining with thefarmers and dealers, aroused in him a curiosity that could only besatisfied by a closer acquaintance with its form and meaning. Many ofthe _chals_ and _chis_ to be met with in “Lavengro” and “The Romany Rye”were transferred to the pages of those works from the East Anglian heathsand fairsteads. It was on a heath not far from his Suffolk home that heintroduced the Jew of Fez to Jasper Petulengro in order that he mightrefute the theory entertained by one of his critics that the Romanieswere nothing less than the descendants of the two lost tribes of Israel. 

The village of Oulton, too, gave him many chances of intercourse with thegipsies. Within five minutes’ walk of his home there is a spot wherethey frequently assembled, and where a few of them may sometimes be seeneven at the present day. The writer has reason to know that the gipsieslooked upon Borrow with no small amount of curiosity, for they wereunaccustomed to meet with _gorgios_ of his position who took so keen aninterest in their sayings and doings. As a rule, they are exceedinglysuspicious of the approaches of any one outside the Romany pale; and itmust not be assumed that he was popular with them because he usuallysucceeded in extracting from them the information he required. There wassomething about Borrow that made it hard to evade his questioning; he hadsuch a masterful way with him, and his keen eyes fixed upon a man asthough they would pierce him through and read his most secret thoughts. He himself attributes his success with the gipsies to his knowledge ofthe Romany tongue and customs, while they firmly believed that he hadgipsy blood in his veins. “He has known them, ” he says, writing ofhimself as the author of “The Zincali, ” “for upwards of twenty years invarious countries, and they never injured a hair of his head or deprivedhim of a shred of his raiment; but he is not deceived as to the motive oftheir forbearance: they thought him a _Rom_, and on this supposition theyhurt him not, their love of ‘the blood’ being their most distinguishingcharacteristic. ” This error on their part served his purpose well, as itenabled him to obtain from them a great deal of curious knowledge thatwould never have come into his possession had it been known he was one ofthe despised _gorgios_. He was known amongst them as the Romany Rye; butthat is a name by which, even at the present day, they distinguished anystranger who can “rokkra Romany” to the extent of a dozen words. 

Although Borrow spent so much time amongst the East Anglian gipsies, itis often difficult to ascertain the exact localities in which he met withthem. He seldom condescends to give the date of any incident, and asinfrequently does he choose to enlighten us as to his precise whereaboutswhen it occurred. Then, too, one might conclude that his investigationswere almost wholly confined to two families, those of the Smiths orPetulengros, and Hernes. As Mr. Watts has aptly remarked, one wouldimagine from all that is said about these families in “Lavengro” and “TheRomany Rye” that he knew nothing about the other Romanies of the EasternCounties. Yet he must have been familiar also with the Bosviles, Grays, and Pinfolds, some descendants of whom still haunt the heaths and greensof Eastern England. According to Borrow, the Petulengros werecontinually turning up wherever he might wander. Jasper Petulengro’snature seems something akin to that of the Wandering Jew; and yet, if wemay believe “Lavengro” and our own knowledge, the Smiths look upon EastAnglia as their native heath. First, he appears in the green lane nearNorman Cross; then at Norwich Fair and on Mousehold Heath; again atGreenwich Fair, where he tries to persuade Lavengro to take to the gipsylife; and once more in the neighbourhood of the noted dingle of theIsopel Berners episode. This, of course, is due to the exigencies ofwhat Mr. Watts calls a “spiritual biography, ” and it is evident thatwhenever anything particularly striking pertaining to the Romanies occursto Borrow the Romanies themselves promptly appear to illustrate it. 

Yet we know that Jasper Petulengro was a genuine character, even if hecomes to us under a fictitious name. He was a representative of one ofthe oldest of the East Anglian gipsy families, and a personal friend ofBorrow, who found in him much that was in common with his own nature. Borrow has left a dependable record of a meeting which took place betweenthem at his Oulton home, during the Christmas of 1842. “He stayed withme during the greater part of the morning, discoursing on the affairs ofEgypt, the aspect of which, he assured me, was becoming daily worse andworse. There is no living for the poor people, brother, said he, thechokengres (police) pursue us from place to place, and the gorgios arebecome either so poor or miserly, that they grudge our cattle a bite ofgrass by the wayside, and ourselves a yard of ground to light a fireupon. Unless times alter, brother, and of that I see no probability, unless you are made either poknees or mecralliskoe geiro (Justice of thePeace or Prime Minister), I am afraid the poor persons will have to giveup wandering altogether, and then what will become of them?”

Yet there was much of Borrow’s nature that was in common with that ofJasper Petulengro. Often the swarthy, horse-dealing gipsy was themouthpiece through which he breathed forth his own abhorrence ofconventional restraints and the thronging crowds of busy streets. Heloved the open air country life that he lived near the Suffolk coast, where the fresh salt winds sweep up from the sea across gorse-clad denesand pleasant pasture-lands. He was happiest when amongst the “summersaturated heathen” of the heath and glen. Who can doubt that themuch-quoted conversation in the twenty-fifth chapter of “Lavengro, ” givesexpression to much of Borrow’s own philosophy?

“Life is sweet, brother. ”

“Do you think so?”

“Think so! There’s night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moonand stars, brother, all sweet things; there’s likewise a wind on theheath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?”

“I would wish to die?”

“You talk like a gorgio—which is the same as talking like a fool—were youa Romany chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed! A Romany chalwould wish to live for ever!”

“In sickness, Jasper?”

“There’s the sun and stars, brother. ”

“In blindness, Jasper?”

“There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, Iwould gladly live for ever. ”

Like Bamfylde Moore Carew, though for a different reason, it was to thegipsy life that Borrow turned after his unsuccessful literary work inLondon. Disappointed and despondent, he fled the scenes that hadwitnessed his failures. It is easy to imagine how great must have beenhis sense of freedom when he cast off the shackles of city life, andbreathed again the air of the hills and pine-woods of rural England. With the poet whose bones rest in the midst of the little town of hisbirth, he felt and all his life maintained, that

 “’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume, And we are weeds without it. All constraint, Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes Their progress in the road of science; blinds The eyesight of discovery, and begets In those that suffer it, a sordid mind Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit To be the tenant of man’s noble form. ”

The gipsies of the first quarter of the present century possessed thedistinctive characteristics of their type in a far more marked degreethan their descendants of to-day. There were few amongst them who hadnot a fair knowledge of the old Romany tongue, though they were utterlyignorant of its source. Questioned as to where their ancestors camefrom, they would tell you Egypt; and “business of Egypt” was their namefor the mysteries of fortune-telling, and the other questionableproceedings they engaged in. Several of their families were fairlywell-to-do in the eyes of their tribe, though the fact was carefullyconcealed from inquisitive gorgios. Often a gipsy _gry-engro_, orhorse-dealer, would have a score or more horses on his hands at a time, while, not infrequently, his sales on a fair-day would amount to £50 or£60. The women of his camp would be gaudily and expensively dressed, andbedecked in heavy gold jewelry: he, himself, would often spend five orsix pounds on a suit of clothes, and half a guinea on a silk handkerchieffor his neck. Few of the women ever thought of marrying out of theRomany tribe, and their virtue and constancy were an example to allclasses of society. 

This last-mentioned fact is the more striking in view of the intenseadmiration often felt for the handsome _chis_ by men who were not of thegipsy race. Commenting upon it not long ago, {77} an _Athenæum_ reviewersaid: “Between some Englishmen and gipsy women there is an extraordinaryattraction—an attraction, we may say in passing, which did not existbetween Borrow and the gipsy women with whom he was brought into contact. Supposing Borrow to have been physically drawn to any woman, she wouldhave been of the Scandinavian type; she would have been what he used tocall a Brynhild. It was tall blondes he really admired. Hence, notwithstanding his love of the economies of gipsy life, his gipsy womenare all mere scenic characters, they clothe and beautify the scene: theyare not dramatic characters. When he comes to delineate a heroine, Isopel Bernes, she is physically the very opposite of the Romany _chi_—aScandinavian Brynhild, in short. ”

Mr. Watts has remarked on Borrow’s neglect to portray the higher traitsin the gipsy woman’s character. Mrs. Herne and her grandchild Leonora, who are instanced as the two great successes of his Romany group, areboth steeped in wickedness, and by omitting to draw a picture of thewomen’s loftier side, he is said to have failed to demonstrate theirgreat claim for distinction. There is a good deal of truth in thisaccusation; and yet it cannot be admitted wholly justifiable. In “TheRomany Rye” we have a whole chapter devoted to the emphasising of thechastity of the Romany girls, and their self-sacrificing devotion totheir husbands. Ursula marries a lazy, good-for-nothing _chal_, and thenexpressess her willingness to steal and swindle in order to keep him incomfort. The method is not commendable, but the object that prompts itis highly praiseworthy—from a Romany point of view. 

But to-day the old race of genuine Romanies is fast dying out, and soonwe shall have wholly lost the traces of a people who for many centurieshave constituted a familiar feature of English country life. One of thelast surviving _chals_ of an old East Anglian gipsy family, in reply to aremark of the writer said, not long ago, “Yes, it is quite true that theold race of gipsies is dying out; there are very few of the real oldRomanies to be met with at the present day. ‘Mumpers’ there are inplenty; folks who sell baskets and peddle clothes-pegs; but they are notof the true gipsy breed. At one time a gipsy never married out of his orher own tribe; but that day has gone, and there has been reared a mixedrace with little of the true blood in them. Marrying into the ‘mumping’and house-dwelling families has brought this about, and soon there willbe no true Romanies left. Here and there you may meet a few, such as theGrays, Lees, and Coopers, and one or two of the Pinfolds; but they, too, are going the way of the rest. Yes, as you say, it is a pity, for afterall the Romanies are a strange people, and, bad as they may have been, they were not without their good points. They knew a good horse whenthey saw one, and they let people see how a man, if he chooses, can shiftfor himself, without being beholden to any one. Anyhow, they have givenclever men something to puzzle their brains about, and their language isnot, as some would have it, a mere thieves ‘patter, ’ but is a good, ifnot a better one, than that which the clever men speak themselves. ”

“Yes, ” went on my Romany friend, “this old language seems to interest agood many of the clever men. I have known some of them come to our tentsand vans and write down the words and their meaning as we told them. Idid not mind their doing it; but some of my people did not like it, andtold them lies, and put them off with all sorts of queer stories. Theywere afraid the men should put the words into their books, and then itmight be awkward for the gipsies when they wished to have a little talkamongst themselves on matters that were nobody’s business but their own. Very few of the gipsies can read, so they did not learn the language inthat way; most of us who know anything of it picked it up from ourfathers and mothers when we were young. My father used to teach mecertain sayings about horses that were very useful when we were dealingat the fairs. Now, however, some people who are not gipsies know moreabout these things than we do ourselves. ”

 _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. _London and Edinburgh_

Footnotes:

{41} “The Zincali; or, An Account of the Gipsies of Spain, ” issued intwo volumes in 1841. 

{45} This is the name that was given to a small inlet during Borrowsresidence at Oulton. To-day it is sometimes called Burrough’s Ham. 

{77} _Athenæum_, March 28, 1896.