George Borrow and His Circle / Wherein May Be Found Many Hitherto Unpublished Letters of Borrow and His Friends

Strolled about town with my wife and Henrietta; wonderful docks and quays, where all the ships of the world seemed to be gathered—all the commerce of the world to be carried on; St. George's Crescent; noble shops; strange people walking about, an Herculean mulatto, for example; the old china shop; cups with Chinese characters upon them; an horrible old Irishwoman with naked feet; Assize Hall a noble edifice.

Entered into conversation with two of the crew—Manx sailors—about the Manx language; one, a very tall man, said he knew only a very little of it as he was born on the coast, but that his companion, who came from the interior, knew it well; said it was a mere gibberish. This I denied, and said it was an ancient language, and that it was like the Irish; his companion, a shorter man, in shirt sleeves, with a sharp, eager countenance, now opened his mouth and said I was right, and said that I was the only gentleman whom he had ever heard ask questions about the Manx language. I spoke several Irish words which they understood.

'Are you Manx?' said I. 'Yes,' he replied, 'I am Manx.' 'And what do you call a river in Manx?' 'A river,' he replied. 'Can you speak Manx?' I demanded. 'Yes,' he replied, 'I speak Manx.' 'And you call a river a river?' 'Yes,' said he, 'I do.' 'You don't call it owen?' said I. 'I do not,' said he. I passed on, and on the other side of the bridge went for some time along an avenue of trees, passing by a stone water-mill, till I came to a public-house on the left hand. Seeing a woman looking out of the window, I asked her to what place the road led. 'To Castletown,' she replied. 'And what do you call the river in Manx?' said I. 'We call it an owen,' said she. 'So I thought,' I replied, and after a little further discourse returned, as the night was now coming fast on.

This day year I ascended Snowdon, and this morning, which is very fine, I propose to start on an expedition to Castletown and to return by Peel.

My dear Sir,—If experience on report has made you acquainted with the nature of true Celtic indolence and procrastination you will be prepared to learn, without surprise, that your Runic stone still remains unerected.[184] In vain have I called time after time upon the clerk of Braddan—in vain have I expostulated. Nothing could I get but fair words and fair promises. First he was very rheumatic, having, according to his own account, contracted his dolorous aches in the course of that five-hours' job under your superintendence in the steeple, where, it seems, a merciless wind is in the habit of disporting itself. Then the weather was so unfavourable, then his wife was ailing, etc., etc. On Saturday, however, armed with your potent note, I made another attack, and obtained a promise that the stone should be in its right place on that day of the week following. So I await the result. My own private impression is that if we see the achievement complete by Easter there will be much cause for thankfulness.

Many thanks for The Illustrated News; I read the article with great interest, and subsequently studied the stone itself as well as its awkward position in its nook in the steeple would allow me. Your secret, I need hardly say, was faithfully kept till the receipt of the news assured me that it need be a secret no longer. I may just mention that the clerk thinks that the sovereign you left will be quite enough to defray the expenses. I think so too; at least if there be anything more it cannot be worth mentioning. Though no Manxman myself still I shall take the liberty of thanking you in the name of Mona—may I not add in the name of Antiquarian Science too—for your liberality in this matter. Mrs. Borrow, I trust, is convalescent by this time, and Miss Clarke well. With our united kind regards, believe me, my dear Sir, very sincerely yours,

My dear Sir,—I return you my most hearty thanks for your most handsome present of Romany Rye, and no less handsome letter relative to your tour in the Isle of Man and the literature of the Manx. Both I value very highly, and from both I shall derive useful hints for my introduction to the new edition of the Manx Grammar. I hope you will have no objection to my quoting a passage or two from the advertisement of your forthcoming book; and if I receive no intimation of your dissent, I shall take it for granted that I have your kind permission. The whole notice is so apposite to my purpose, and would be so interesting to every Manxman, that I would fain insert the whole bodily, did the Author and the limits of an Introduction permit. The Grammar will, I think, go to press in March next. It is to be published under the auspices of 'The Manx Society,' instituted last year 'for the publication of National documents of the Isle of Man.' As soon as it is printed I hope to beg the favour of your acceptance of a copy.—I am, my dear Sir, your deeply obliged humble servant,

ANCIENT RUNIC STONE, RECENTLY FOUND IN THE ISLE OF MAN

For upwards of seventy years a stone which, as far as it could be discerned, had the appearance of what is called a Danish cross, has been known to exist in the steeple of Kirk Braddan, Isle of Man. It was partly bedded in mortar and stones above the lintel of a doorway leading to a loft above the gallery. On the 19th of November it was removed from its place under the superintendence of an English gentleman who had been travelling about the island. It not only proved to be a Northern cross, but a Runic one; that is, it bore a Runic inscription. As soon as the stone had been taken out of the wall, the gentleman in question copied the inscription and translated it, to the best of his ability, in the presence of the church clerk who had removed the stone. The Runes were in beautiful preservation, and looked as fresh as if they had just come out of the workshop of Orokoin Gaut. Unfortunately the upper part of the cross was partly broken, so that the original inscription was not entire. In the inscription, as it is, the concluding word is mutilated; in its original state it was probably 'sonr,' son; the Runic character which answers to s being distinct, and likewise the greater part of one which stands for o. Yet there is reason for believing that sonr was not the concluding word of the original, but the penultimate, and that the original terminated with some Norwegian name: we will suppose 'Olf.' The writing at present on the stone is to this effect:

The names Otr and Fruki have never before been found on any of the Runic stones in the Isle of Man. The words In ... Thorwiaori, which either denote the place where the individual to whom they relate lived, or one of his attributes or peculiarities, will perhaps fling some light on the words In ... Aruthur, which appear on the beautiful cross which stands nearly opposite the door of Kirk Braddan.

The present cross is curiously ornamented. The side which we here present to the public bears two monsters, perhaps intended to represent dragons, tied with a single cord, which passes round the neck and body of one whose head is slightly averted, whilst, though it passes round the body of the other, it leaves the neck free. Little at present can be said about the other side of the stone, which is still in some degree covered with the very hard mortar in which it was found lying. The gentleman of whom we have already spoken, before leaving the island, made arrangements for placing the stone beside the other cross, which has long been considered one of the principal ornaments of the beautiful churchyard of Braddan.

Gentlemen,—Having received a communication from Liverpool from Harry Palmer, Esq., stating that you are his agents in London, and that as such he has requested you to communicate with us relative to a passage required for a man sent to Cadiz or Gibraltar, I shall as briefly as possible state the particulars. Mr. Palmer names £7 or £8 as the lowest which he thinks it will cost us to get him to Gibraltar or Cadiz. This we consider is a large sum when it is to be remembered that he is to fare as the ship's crew fare, and with the exception of a berth to lie down in, no difference is required at this beautiful season of the year. I must here state as an excuse for the above remark that this man came to England at his own particular desire. I have been at much expense about him. He has had good wages, but now that he wants to get back to his own country the whole expense is thrown upon me, as he has saved no money, and we wish it to be clearly understood by the captain who will take him that when he is once off from England and his passage paid that we will be responsible for no further expense whatever. We do not want to get him to Tangier, as we shall put money in his pocket which will enable him to pay for a passage across if he wishes to go there, but we will pay only to Gibraltar or Cadiz. A steam vessel sails from Yarmouth bridge every Wednesday and Friday. This will be the most direct and safe way to send him to London, and then trouble you to have him met at the steamer and conveyed to the ship at once in which he is to have his passage. All therefore that remains to be done is to trouble you to give us a few days' notice with time to get him up per Yarmouth steamer. I beg to thank you for the willingness you expressed to Mr. Palmer to assist me in this affair by getting as cheap a passage as you can and seeing him on board and the passage not paid till the ship sails. You no doubt can quite understand our anxious feelings upon the subject from your connection with shipping, and consequently knowing what foreigners generally are.—I am, Sir, Your obedient servant,

A Statement of Hayim Ben Attar previous to his leaving England.

I declare that it was my own wish to come to England with my master G. H. Borrow, who offered to send me to my own country before he left Spain. That I have regularly received the liberal wages he agreed to give me from the first of my coming to him. That I have been treated justly and kindly by him during my stay in England, and that I return to my country at my own wish and request, and at my master's expense. To this statement, which I declare to be true, I sign my name.—Hayim Ben Attar.

Declared before me this 9 of August 1843.

Sir,—I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 17th inst., which my friend, Mr. Murray, has just forwarded to me. I am afraid that you attribute to me powers and information which I am by no means conscious of possessing; I should feel disposed to entertain a much higher opinion of myself than I at present do could I for a moment conceive myself gifted with the talent of inducing any endeavour to dismiss from his mind a theory of the reasonableness of which appears to him obvious. Nevertheless, as you do me the honour of asking my opinion with respect to the theory of Gypsies being Jews by origin, I hasten to answer to the following effect. I am not prepared to acknowledge the reasonableness of any theory which cannot be borne out by the slightest proof. Against the theory may be offered the following arguments which I humbly consider to be unanswerable. The Gypsies differ from the Jews in feature and complexion—in whatever part of the world you find the Gypsy you recognise him at once by his features which are virtually the same—the Jew likewise has a peculiar countenance by which at once he may be distinguished as a Jew, but which would certainly prevent the probability of his being considered as a scion of the Gypsy stock—in proof of which assertion I can adduce the following remarkable instance.

I have in my service a Jew, a native of Northern Africa. Last summer I took him with me to an encampment of Romanies or Gypsies near my home at Oulton in Suffolk. I introduced him to the Chief, and said, Are ye not dui patos (two brothers). The Gypsy passed his hand over the Jew's face and stared him in the eyes, then turning to me he answered—we are not two brothers, not two brothers—this man is no rom—I believe him to be a Jew. Now this Gypsy has been in the habit of seeing German and English Jews who must have been separated from their African brothers for a term of 1700 years—yet he recognised the Jew of Troy for what he was—a Jew—and without hesitation declared that he was not a rom; the Jews, therefore, and the Gypsies have each their peculiar and distinctive features, which disprove the impossibility of their having been originally the same people.—Your obedient servant,

When I knew Mr. Borrow he lived in a lovely cottage whose garden sloped down to the edge of Oulton Broad. He had a wooden room built on the very margin of the water, where he had many strange old books in various languages. I remember he once put one before me, telling me to read it. 'Oh, I can't,' I replied. He said, 'You ought, it's your own language.' It was an old Saxon book. He used to spend a great deal of his time in this room writing, translating, and at times singing strange words in a stentorian voice, while passers-by on the lake would stop to listen with astonishment and curiosity to the singular sounds. He was 6 feet 3 inches, a splendid man, with handsome hands and feet. He wore neither whiskers, beard, nor moustache. His features were very handsome, but his eyes were peculiar, being round and rather small, but very piercing, and now and then fierce. He would sometimes sing one of his Romany songs, shake his fist at me and look quite wild. Then he would ask, 'Aren't you afraid of me?' 'No, not at all,' I would say. Then he would look just as gentle and kind, and say, 'God bless you, I would not hurt a hair of your head,' He was an expert swimmer, and used to go out bathing, and dive under water an immense time. On one occasion he was bathing with a friend, and after plunging in nothing was seen of him for some while. His friend began to be alarmed, when he heard Borrow's voice a long way off exclaiming, 'There, if that had been written in one of my books they would have said it was a lie, wouldn't they?' He was very fond of animals, and the animals were fond of him. He would go for a walk with two dogs and a cat following him. The cat would go a quarter of a mile or so and then turn back home. He delighted to go for long walks and enter into conversation with any one he might meet on the road, and lead them into histories of their lives, belongings, and experiences. When they used some word peculiar to Norfolk (or Suffolk) countrymen he would say, 'Why, that's a Danish word.' By and by the man would use another peculiar expression, 'Why, that's Saxon'; a little later on another, 'Why, that's French.' And he would add, 'Why, what a wonderful man you are to speak so many languages.' One man got very angry, but Mr. Borrow was quite unconscious that he had given any offence. He spoke a great number of languages, and at the Exhibition of 1851, whither he went with his stepdaughter, he spoke to the different foreigners in their own language, until his daughter saw some of them whispering together and looking as if they thought he was 'uncanny,' and she became alarmed and drew him away. He, however, did not like to hear the English language adulterated with the introduction of foreign words. If his wife or friends used a foreign word in conversation, he would say, 'What's that, trying to come over me with strange languages.'

I have gone for many a walk with him at Oulton. He used to go on, singing to himself or quite silent, quite forgetting me until he came to a high hill, when he would turn round, seize my hand, and drag me up. Then he would sit down and enjoy the prospect. He was a great lover of nature, and very fond of his trees. He quite fretted if, by some mischance, he lost one. He did not shoot or hunt. He rode his Arab at times, but walking was his favourite exercise. He was subject to fits of nervous depression. At times also he suffered from sleeplessness, when he would get up and walk to Norwich (25 miles), and return the next night recovered. His fondness for the gypsies has been noticed. At Oulton he used to allow them to encamp in his grounds, and he would visit them, with a friend or alone, talk to them in Romany, and sing Romany songs. He was very fond of ghost stories and believed in the supernatural. He was keenly sympathetic with any one who was in trouble or suffering. He was no man of business and very guileless, and led a very harmless, quiet life at Oulton, spending his evenings at home with his wife and stepdaughter, generally reading all the evening. He was very hospitable in his own home, and detested meanness. He was moderate in eating and drinking, took very little breakfast, but ate a very great quantity at dinner, and then had only a draught of cold water before going to bed. He wrote much in praise of 'strong ale,' and was very fond of good ale, of whose virtue he had a great idea. Once I was speaking of a lady who was attached to a gentleman, and he asked, 'Well, did he make her an offer?' 'No,' I said. 'Ah,' he exclaimed, 'if she had given him some good ale he would.' But although he talked so much about ale I never saw him take much. He was very temperate, and would eat what was set before him, often not thinking of what he was doing, and he never refused what was offered him. He took much pleasure in music, especially of a light and lively character. My sister would sing to him, and I played. One piece he seemed never to tire of hearing. It was a polka, 'The Redowa,' I think, and when I had finished he used to say, 'Play that again, E——.' He was very polite and gentlemanly in ladies' society, and we all liked him.

Circumstances over which Mr. Borrow has at present no control will occasionally bring him and his family under the same roof with Mr. Denniss; that roof, however, is the roof of the House of God, and the prayers of the Church of England are wholesome from whatever mouth they may proceed.[190]

Present my compliments to Mr. Gladstone, and tell him that the Bible in Spain will have no objection to becoming one of the 'Great Unpaid.'

Sacred to the memory of Ann Borrow, widow of Captain Thomas Borrow. She died on the 16th of August 1858, aged eighty-six years and seven months. She was a good wife and a good mother.

Among those friends were two who, I believe, are still alive, and who about the year 1846 set out, without telling me of their intention, on a pilgrimage to Oulton to see George Borrow in the flesh. In those days the journey was not an inconsiderable one; and though my friends must have known that I would have given my ears to be of the party, I suppose they kept their project to themselves for reasons of their own. Two, they say, are company and three are none; two men could ride in a gig for sixty miles without much difficulty, and an odd man often spoils sport. At any rate, they left me out, and one day they came back full of malignant pride and joy and exultation, and they flourished their information before me with boastings and laughter at my ferocious jealousy; for they had seen, and talked with, and eaten and drunk with, and sat at the feet of the veritable George Borrow, and had grasped his mighty hand. To me it was too provoking. But what had they to tell?

They found him at Oulton, living, as they affirmed, in a house which belonged to Mrs. Borrow and which her first husband had left her. The household consisted of himself, his wife, and his wife's daughter; and among his other amusements he employed himself in training some young horses to follow him about like dogs and come at the call of his whistle. As my two friends were talking with him Borrow sounded his whistle in a paddock near the house, which, if I remember rightly, was surrounded by a low wall. Immediately two beautiful horses came bounding over the fence and trotted up to their master. One put his nose into Borrow's outstretched hand and the other kept snuffing at his pockets in expectation of the usual bribe for confidence and good behaviour. Borrow could not but be flattered by the young Cambridge men paying him the frank homage they offered, and he treated them with the robust and cordial hospitality characteristic of the man. One or two things they learnt which I do not feel at liberty to repeat.

He told us there were three personages in the world whom he had always a desire to see; two of these had slipped through his fingers, so he was determined to see the third. 'Pray, Mr. Borrow, who were they?' He held up three fingers of his left hand and pointed them off with the forefinger of the right: the first Daniel O'Connell, the second Lamplighter (the sire of Phosphorus, Lord Berners's winner of the Derby), the third, Anna Gurney. The first two were dead and he had not seen them; now he had come to see Anna Gurney, and this was the end of his visit.

I met Borrow in 1869 at the house of Dr. Gordon Hake at Coombe End, near the top of Roehampton Lane, Wimbledon Common. My recollection is of a tall, broad-shouldered old man, stooping a little, engaged in reading a small volume held close to his eyes. Something Yorkshire about his powerful build, but little tolerance or benevolence in his expression. A fine, strongly marked clean shaven face, but with no kindliness or sense of humour indicated in its lines. In loosely made broadcloth he gave the idea of a nonconformist minister—a Unitarian, judging from the intellectuality betrayed in his countenance. To me he was always civil and, even, genial, for he did not know that I was a writing fellow. But to others casually met he seemed to be invariably and intolerably rude. He could not brook contradiction—particularly on religious topics. He was an earnest believer. But it was in the God of Battles that he believed. And he would be delighted at any time to prove in a stand-up fight the honesty of his convictions. In the union of a deep religious fervour with an overwhelming love of fighting—sheer physical hand-to-hand fighting—he was an interesting study. In this curious blending of what appear to be opposite qualities he resembled General Gordon, who, by the way, was a cousin of Dr. Gordon Hake at whose place I met Borrow.

He was a splendid liar too. Not in the ordinary domestic meaning of the word. But he lied largely, picturesquely, like Baron Munchausen. That is one of the reasons that he did not take to the literary persons whom he met at Hake's. Perhaps he was afraid that some of them would steal his thunder, or perhaps he had a contempt for their serious pose. But to those whom he did not suspect of literary leanings he lied delightfully. That fine boys' book, The Bible in Spain, is, I should say, chiefly lies. I have heard him reel off adventures as amazing as any in the Spanish reminiscences, related as having happened on the very Common which we were crossing. Theodore Watts, who first met Borrow at Hake's, appears to have got on all right with him. But then Watts would get on with anybody. Besides, the two men had a common topic in Romany lore. But toward the literary man in general his attitude was pretty much that of Carlyle. He was contemptuous towards those who followed his own trade.

Is there any Dog in Spain closely like our English Pointer, in shape and size, and habits,—namely in pointing, backing, and not giving tongue. Might I be permitted to quote Mr. Borrow's answer to the query? Has the improved English pointer been introduced into Spain?

Dear Carreta,—I reached this place yesterday and hope to be home to-night (Monday). I walked the whole way by Kingston, Hampton, Sunbury (Miss Oriel's place), Windsor, Wallingford, etc., a good part of the way was by the Thames. There has been much wet weather. Oxford is a wonderful place. Kiss Hen., and God bless you!

Dear Carreta,—I have arrived here safe—it is a wonderful place, a small city of palaces amidst hills, rocks, and woods, and is full of fine people. Please to carry up stairs and lock in the drawer the little paper sack of letters in the parlour; lock it up with the bank book and put this along with it—also be sure to keep the window of my room fastened and the door locked, and keep the key in your pocket. God bless you and Hen.

Sir,—Your letter of the eighth of March I only lately received, otherwise I should have answered it sooner. In it you mention Chamberlayne's work, containing versions of the Lord's Prayer translated into a hundred languages, and ask whether I can explain why the one which purports to be a rendering into Waldensian is evidently made in some dialect of the Gaelic. To such explanation as I can afford you are welcome, though perhaps you will not deem it very satisfactory. I have been acquainted with Chamberlayne's work for upwards of forty years. I first saw it at St. Petersburg in 1834, and the translation in question very soon caught my attention. I at first thought that it was an attempt at imposition, but I soon relinquished that idea. I remembered that Helvetia was a great place for Gaelic. I do not mean in the old time when the Gael possessed the greater part of Europe, but at a long subsequent period: Switzerland was converted to Christianity by Irish monks, the most active and efficient of whom was Gall. These people founded schools in which together with Christianity the Irish or Gaelic language was taught. In process of time, though the religion flourished, the Helveto Gaelic died away, but many pieces in that tongue survived, some of which might still probably be found in the recesses of St. Gall. The noble abbey is named after the venerable apostle of Christianity in Helvetia; so I deemed it very possible that the version in question might be one of the surviving fruits of Irish missionary labour in Helvetia, not but that I had my doubts, and still have, principally from observing that the language though certainly not modern does not exhibit any decided marks of high antiquity. It is much to be regretted that Chamberlayne should have given the version to the world under a title so calculated to perplex and mislead as that which it bears, and without even stating how or where he obtained it. This, sir, is all I have to say on the very obscure subject about which you have done me the honour to consult me.—Yours truly,