The Life of George Borrow Part 2

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

Mr Simpson seems to have earned Borrow's thorough regard, no small achievement considering in how much he differed from his ill.u.s.trious articled-clerk in everything, not excepting humour, of which the delightful, old-world gentleman seems to have had a generous share.

He was doubtless puzzled to cla.s.sify the strange being by whose instrumentality a stream of undesirable people was admitted to his presence, whilst distinguished clients were sternly and rigorously turned away. He probably smiled at the story of the old yeoman and his wife who, in return for some civility shown to them by Borrow, presented him with an old volume of Danish ballads, which inspired him to learn the language, aided by a Danish Bible. {30a} He was not only "the first solicitor in East Anglia," but "the prince of all English solicitors--for he was a gentleman!" {30b} In another place Borrow refers to him as "my old master . . . who would have died sooner than broken his word. G.o.d bless him!" {30c} And yet again as "my ancient master, the gentleman solicitor of East Anglia." {30d}

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

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

Whilst Borrow was striving to learn languages and avoid the law, {31b} the question of his brother's career was seriously occupying the mind of their father. Borrow loved and admired his brother.

There is sincerity in all he writes concerning John, and there is something of n.o.bility about the way in which he tells of his father's preference for him. "Who," he asks, "cannot excuse the honest pride of the old man--the stout old man?" {31c}

The Peace had closed to John Borrow the army as a profession, and he had devoted himself a.s.siduously to his art. Under Crome the elder he had made considerable progress, and had exhibited a number of pictures at the yearly exhibitions of the Norwich Society of Artists.

He continued to study with Crome until the artist's death (22nd April 1821), when a new master had to be sought. With his father's blessing and 150 pounds he proceeded to London, where he remained for more than a year studying with B. R. Haydon. {32a} Later he went to Paris to copy Old Masters.

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

. . Bulldog Hudson, . . . fearless Scroggins, . . . Black Richmond, .

. . Tom of Bedford," and a host of lesser lights of the "Fancy."

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

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

It is doubtful if William Taylor ever found another pupil so apt, or a disciple so enthusiastic among all the "harum-scarum young men"

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

To a correspondent Taylor wrote:-

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

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

Taylor, however, uses the words "facility and elegance."

In the autobiographical notes that Borrow supplied to Mr John Longe in 1862 there appears the following pa.s.sage:-

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

At William Taylor's table Borrow met "the most intellectual and talented men of Norwich, as also those of note who visited the city."

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

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

William Taylor appears to have flattered "the harum-scarum young men"

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

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

Borrow met at the house of his tutor and friend, in July 1821, Dr Bowring {36a} (afterwards Sir John) at a dinner given in his honour.

Bowring had recently published Specimen of Russian Poets, in recognition of which the Czar (Alexander I.) had presented him with a diamond ring. He had a considerable reputation as a linguist, which naturally attracted Borrow to him. Dr Bowring was told of Borrow's accomplishments, and during the evening took a seat beside him.

Borrow confessed to being "a little frightened at first" of the distinguished man, whom he described as having "a thin weaselly figure, a sallow complexion, a certain obliquity of vision, and a large pair of spectacles." It would be dangerous to accept entirely the account that Borrow gives of the meeting, {36b} because when that was written he had come to hate and despise the man whom he had begun by regarding with such awe. Bowring appears to have ventilated his views with some freedom, and to have had a rather serious pa.s.sage of arms with another guest whom he had rudely contradicted. It is very probable that Borrow's dislike of Bowring prompted him to exaggerate his account of what happened at Taylor's house that evening.

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

One day the inevitable interrogation took place. "What do you propose to do?" and the equally inevitable reply followed, "I really do not know what I shall do." In the course of a somewhat lengthy cross-examination, Captain Borrow discovered that his son knew the Armenian tongue, for which he very cunningly strove to enlist his father's interest by telling him that in Armenia was Mount Ararat, whereon the ark rested. Captain Borrow also discovered that his son could not only shoe a horse, but also make the shoes; but, what was most important, he found that George had learned "very little" law.

When asked if he thought he could support himself by Armenian or his "other acquirements," the younger man was not very hopeful, and horrified the old soldier by suggesting that if all else failed there was always suicide.

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

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

{38a}

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

The end came on the morning of 28th February 1824. It was by a strange chance that the old man should die in the arms of his younger son, who had run down on hearing his mother's anguished screams.

Borrow has given a dramatic account of his father's last moments:-

"At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was awakened from sleep by a cry which sounded from the room immediately below that in which I slept. I knew the cry, it was the cry of my mother, and I also knew its import; yet I made no effort to rise, for I was for the moment paralysed. Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay motionless--the stupidity of horror was upon me. A third time, and it was then that, by a violent effort bursting the spell which appeared to bind me, I sprang from the bed and rushed downstairs. My mother was running wildly about the room; she had awoke and found my father senseless in the bed by her side. I essayed to raise him, and after a few efforts supported him in the bed in a sitting posture.

My brother now rushed in, and s.n.a.t.c.hing a light that was burning, he held it to my father's face. 'The surgeon, the surgeon!' he cried; then dropping the light, he ran out of the room followed by my mother; I remained alone, supporting the senseless form of my father; the light had been extinguished by the fall, and an almost total darkness reigned in the room. The form pressed heavily against my bosom--at last methought it moved. Yes, I was right, there was a heaving of the breast, and then a gasping. Were those words which I heard? Yes, they were words, low and indistinct at first, and then audible. The mind of the dying man was reverting to former scenes.

I heard him mention names which I had often heard him mention before.

It was an awful moment; I felt stupified, but I still contrived to support my dying father. There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard him speak of Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he uttered another name, which at one period of his life was much on his lips, the name of--but this is a solemn moment! There was a deep gasp: I shook, and thought all was over; but I was mistaken--my father moved and revived for a moment; he supported himself in bed without my a.s.sistance. I make no doubt that for a moment he was perfectly sensible, and it was then that, clasping his hands, he uttered another name clearly, distinctly--it was the name of Christ. With that name upon his lips, the brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands still clasped, yielded up his soul." {39a}

CHAPTER III: APRIL 1824-MAY 1825

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

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

Among the bundles of papers were:

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

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

(iii.) A romance in the German style.

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