Chapter 3

Borrow's school era was closed appropriately, says Dr. Knapp, by the mysterious distemper already referred to, which would, he thought, end his life; but as he recovered a career had to be decided upon, and, apparently on the advice of his friend Roger Kerrison, the law was chosen. So on Monday, March 30th, 1819, George Borrow was articled for a term of five years to the highly respectable firm of Simpson & Rackham, whose offices were in Tuck's Court, St. Giles's, still occupied by solicitors in the persons of Messrs. Leathes Prior & Son. "So," says Borrow, "I sat behind a desk many hours in the day, ostensibly engaged in transcribing documents of various kinds. The scene of my labours was a strange old house, occupying one side of a long and narrow court, into which, however, the greater number of the windows looked not, but into an extensive garden, filled with fruit trees, in the rear of a large handsome house, belonging to a highly respectable gentleman." This was William Simpson, Town Clerk of Norwich from 1826 till his death, in 1834, having succeeded Elisha de Hague, who attested Borrow's articles. The portraits of both these worthies hang in Blackfriars Hall, that of De Hague by Sir William Beechey, that of Simpson by Thomas Phillips, whose son, H. W. Phillips, painted Borrow's portrait in 1843: it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1844. As articled clerk Borrow lived at Mr. Simpson's house in the Upper Close, which has long since disappeared.

Mr. Simpson was a genial and indulgent employer, so probably young Borrow found little to prevent him from bringing Ab Gwilym into company with Blackstone: by adopting the law the ardent young linguist had not ceased to be Lav-engro; indeed, the acquisition of languages was his chief pursuit. He already knew, in a way, Latin, Greek, Irish, French, Italian, Spanish, and what Dr. Knapp calls "the broken jargon" then current in England as gypsy. From a misshapen Welsh groom this queer lawyer's clerk learned Welsh pronunciation, and to the consternation of his employer, "turned Sir Edward from the door," and gladly admitted the petty versifier Parkerson who sold his sheets to the highest bidder in the streets; worse even than this was his audacity in contending against a wealthy archdeacon that Ab Gwilym was the superior of Ovid. This gentleman was probably the Rev. John Oldershaw, Archdeacon of Norfolk from 1797 till his death, January 31st, 1847, aged ninety-three. As he was one of the most active magistrates in the county, he would naturally be on friendly terms with so prominent a lawyer as Mr. Simpson, whose handsome wife, moreover, was in the habit of giving entertainments which rather worried her spouse. The episode of the Wake of Freya, included in Chapter XX. of Dr. Knapp's edition of "Lavengro," and the fine eulogy of Crome in the succeeding chapter, should inspire every reader's genuine interest. Here is the memorable Crome passage: "A living master? Why, there he comes! thou hast had him long, he has long guided thy young hand towards the excellence which is yet far from thee, but which thou canst attain if thou shouldst persist and wrestle, even as he has done, midst gloom and despondency--ay, and even contempt; he who now comes up the creaking stair to thy little studio in the second floor to inspect thy last effort before thou departest, the little stout man whose face is very dark, and whose eye is vivacious; that man has attained excellence, destined some day to be acknowledged, though not till he is cold, and his mortal part returned to its kindred clay. He has painted, not pictures of the world, but English pictures, such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful rural pieces, with trees which might well tempt the wild birds to perch upon them; thou needest not run to Rome, brother, after pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of England; nor needest thou even go to London, the big city, in search of a master, for thou hast one at home in the old East Anglian town who can instruct thee whilst thou needest instruction. Better stay at home, brother, at least for a season, and toil and strive 'midst groanings and despondency till thou hast attained excellence even as he has done--the little dark man with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name will one day be considered the chief ornament of the old town, and whose works will at no distant period rank among the proudest pictures of England--and England against the world! thy master, my brother, thy, at present, all too little considered master--Crome."

Borrow was frankly bored by his experiences in law; he tired of his surroundings, but relaxation came when an old couple gave him a venerable collection of Danish ballads, jetsam of the sea, left with the yeoman and his wife by some shipwrecked red-haired man. This was enough to waken his greedy curiosity, and he at once shook off his listlessness, and set to work to learn Danish, by the aid of a Danish Bible bought of a Muggletonian preacher, who was also a bookseller. In less than a month he was able to read his prize. A correspondent in "Notes and Queries" (April 3rd, 1852) suggested that Borrow confounded Muggleton with Huntington, which, indeed, seems likely enough.

[Picture: The Windmill on Mousehold Heath. By John Crome]

In the old Corporation Library Borrow was enabled to pursue his studies in Scandinavian literature, and having become acquainted with William Taylor, "one of the most extraordinary men that Norwich ever produced," learned German from him with wonderful rapidity. He was a frequent visitor at Taylor's house, 21, King Street, which has just been demolished for the extension of some motor works. Though a pronounced Free-thinker, Taylor was a friend of Southey, and gave his young pupil excellent advice. Mr. Elwin once said to me that most of the Norwich antipathetic references to Borrow arose from his waywardness and wildness as a youth, and considered that there was no evidence that he was ever dissipated or loose in his life. We may largely discount Harriet Martineau's acid references to Taylor's harum-scarum young men, especially as she romanced about that very wild young man Polidori, Byron's erstwhile physician, who, during his stay in Norwich--1817-8--was ever at the Martineaus' house.

[Picture: Ned Painter. From an Engraving. Lent by Mr. C. J. A. Howes]

Whatever were the faults of "Godless Billy," as the Norwich people called Taylor, it was at his table that Borrow met the most intellectual people of Norwich, and of visitors who were amongst Taylor's admirers. One of these, in July, 1821, was Dr. Bowring (afterwards Sir John), so unjustly and rancorously pilloried in Appendix XI. of "The Romany Rye," in 1857. Another guest at the same time was Dr. Lewis Evans, physician to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, 1821-50, a hot-tempered Welshman who had served with distinction in Spain during the Peninsular War. In 1823 William Taylor declared that Borrow translated with facility and elegance twenty different languages.

On Monday, February 11th, 1822, Captain Borrow made his will, and perhaps it was not a mere coincidence that it was a Monday, also on February 11th, but back in 1793, that he married his beloved wife at East Dereham. The old soldier again became concerned about the fate of George when out of his articles, and was anything but heartened by being informed that the young lawyer's clerk had acquired Armenian from a book obtained from a clergyman's widow, who took a fancy, so he says, to him, and even drew his portrait--the expression of his countenance putting her in mind of Alfieri's Saul. The worthy Captain died February 28th, 1824, and was buried in St. Giles's churchyard on March 4th. There never appears to have been any memorial stone, and I have found it impossible to locate the exact position of the grave. As a corner of the churchyard was cut off to widen the street, and to remove a dangerous corner, under the City of Norwich Act of 1867, it is quite likely that the remains are now under the roadway.

In an obituary notice in the _Norwich Mercury_ of March 6th, 1824, Captain Borrow's passing is described thus: "He rose from his bed about four, apparently as well as he has usually been in the winter time; returned to it without the least assistance, and in less than a quarter of an hour was a corpse in the arms of his sons, leaving those who knew his worth and deeply lament his loss." "It will be a shocking thing for George and John," wrote Allday Kerrison to his brother Roger.

Borrow's articles with Simpson & Rackham expired on March 30th, 1824, and a new epoch, packed with extraordinary vicissitudes, was to follow.

_Section III_. (1824-35)--LONDON--EARLY WRITINGS--A NORWICH MAYOR--GYPSYING--"VEILED PERIOD"--BIBLE SOCIETY.

Borrow describes his father's death in the following memorable passage in "Lavengro": "Clasping his hands he uttered another name clearly. 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." This concluded Volume I. of the original edition of the work.

He begins the first chapter of the second volume abruptly, thus: "One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have brought with you will be taken from you!"

Such was Borrow's first greeting in London when, on the morning of April 2nd, 1824, he alighted from the Norwich coach in the yard of the Swan with Two Necks, in a lane now swallowed up by Gresham Street. He proceeded to the lodgings of his friend Roger Kerrison, at 16, Millman Street, Bedford Row; but in May he had developed such alarming, even suicidal, symptoms that Kerrison, fearing he might be involved in a tragedy, hastily moved off to Soho. Borrow was now to begin the real battle of life, and he had to put in practice, as best he might, his motto, "Fear God, and take your own part." He had left behind in Norwich the mother he loved so well, she who ever defended him when his odd speeches and unconventional proceedings called forth criticism or censure. His friend William Taylor had given him introductions in London, and "honest six-foot-three," conscious of possessing unusual powers, mental and physical, set forth to seek literary work. So, with some papers from a little green box, he looked up Sir Richard Phillips, in Tavistock Square, presented him a letter from Mr. So-and-So (W. Taylor), and was promptly assured "literature is a drug." The following Sunday, however, he dined with the old publisher, who was soon to retire to Brighton, and was commissioned to compile six volumes of "Celebrated Trials," etc., "from the earliest records to the year 1825." What a caprice of Fate that the young aspirant should, on the very threshold of his adult career, be thrown into these coulisses of criminal biography! That a taste already keen to search out the birds of prey that haunt the fringe of decorous society, should be immersed, as it were, in a stream of criminal records! Old songs of Denmark, the poems of Ab Gwilym ("worth half a dozen of Chaucer"!), the "romance in the German style," all were ruthlessly swept aside to give place to a catena of lives of notorious evildoers!

The Lives and Trials appeared in March, 1825, with a preface by Sir Richard; but without Borrow's name. The intellectual impressions which this task, reaching 3,600 pages, produced on Borrow's mind were, said the publisher, "mournful." The grisly and sordid stories of crime and criminals he had to edit reduced him to a state of gloomy depression.

[Picture: Norwich Castle and Cattle Market in Borrow's Time. From a Lithograph. Lent by Norwich Public Library]

His melancholy was abated by an unexpected visit from his soldier-artist brother (April 29th, 1824), of whom, after an affectionate embrace, he asked: "How is my mother, and how is the dog?" Old Mrs. Borrow, down in Willow Lane, was getting past her fits of crying over the loss of her husband, and frequently had the Prayer Book in her hand, but oftener the Bible. John Borrow had been offered one hundred pounds by a Committee to paint Robert Hawkes, Mayor of Norwich in 1822, a prominent draper, who became extremely popular for "the nobly liberal spirit in which he sustained the splendour of civic hospitality." Mr. T. O. Springfield, commonly called "T.O.," was spokesman of the Committee--a little watchmaker with a hump, Borrow called him. Dr. Knapp denies that he was a watchmaker, but such he was in his early days, though he became very wealthy through speculations in silk, and Mayor of Norwich 1829 and 1836. Quite a character, his tombstone in the Rosary cemetery bears this honourable record: "A merciful magistrate, a successful merchant, A consistent politician, A benevolent benefactor, He devoted the energies of a vigorous intellect, and the sympathies of a warm heart, to the prosperity of his native city and the welfare of its inhabitants. Beloved, honoured and regretted, He died April 24th, 1855." John did not feel equal to painting little Mr. Hawkes "striding under the Norman arch out of the cathedral," but said, "I can introduce you to a great master of the heroic, fully competent to do justice to your mayor." "T.O." thought the money should not go to London, but John prevailed, and so came up to London to interview B. R. Haydon, who, owning himself confoundedly hard up, at once accepted the commission. But George comes in as Haydon's _beau ideal_ for that face of Pharaoh the artist desired to paint; later on Borrow asked Haydon for a sitting, saying he would "sooner lose a thousand pounds than not have the honour of appearing in the picture." No trace of any such portrait can be found. Haydon's portrait of Hawkes hangs in St. Andrew's Hall in close proximity to that of his friend "T.O.," painted by Philip Westcott.

[Picture: Marshland Shales]

"I have often thought," says Borrow, very characteristically, "what a capital picture might have been made by my brother's friend, if, instead of making the mayor issue out of the Norman arch, he had painted him moving under the sign of the Checquers (_sic_), or the Three Brewers, with mace--yes, with mace--the mace appears in the picture issuing out of the Norman arch behind the mayor--but likewise with Snap, and with whiffler, quart pot, and frying-pan, Billy Blind, and Owlenglass, Mr. Petulengro, and Pakomovna."

Borrow's real literary career had begun with the translation of "Faustus" (1825), a rather lurid German work by F. von Klinger, one of whose plays, _Sturm und Drang_, gave the name to a whole period of German literature. The book was received very unfavourably, but Borrow meant having his Danish Ballads published, and in 1826 they were issued by S. Wilkin, Upper Haymarket, Norwich, in an edition of five hundred copies, of which two hundred were reserved for Norwich and sold at half a guinea each copy; the rest went to London. Allan Cunningham wrote a very eulogistic metrical dedication. The subscription list reveals a very varied list of subscribers, including Bishop Bathurst, Benjamin Haydon, Thomas Campbell, and John Thurtell, who was hanged before the book appeared. Borrow's biographers generally treat these ballads with scarcely veiled contempt, though Lockhart, whose brilliant renderings of Spanish ballads are unsurpassed, wrote of his complete skill in the Scandinavian languages, and his "copious body of translations from their popular minstrelsies, not at all to be confounded with that of certain versifiers. . . . His Norse ditties have the unforgeable stamp of authenticity on every line." W. Bodham Donne, a well-known critic, even went so far as to rank them above Macaulay's "Lays of Ancient Rome." A fine facsimile edition of Borrow's "Romantic Ballads" was brought out by Messrs. Jarrold in the early part of this year.

A rupture with Phillips, almost inevitable, set Borrow wandering, and very soon he became acquainted with the old fruit-woman who found a valid defence for theft in the history of "the blessed Mary Flanders," a dog's-eared volume of "Moll Flanders," wherein Borrow found "the air, the style, the spirit of the writer of the book" which first taught him to read--Defoe, of course. This classic is "supreme as a realistic picture of low life in the large."

A quite different figure appears in the person of Francis Arden, a handsome young Irishman with whom Borrow became acquainted in the coffee-room of an hotel, and with him obtained some knowledge of "the strange and eccentric places of London." When Arden burst out laughing one day Borrow said he would, perhaps, have joined if it were ever his wont to laugh, and his friends said that, though he enjoyed a joke, he did not seem to have the power of laughing. But in Borrow we expect contrarieties, so we find him saying that when he detected a man poking fun at him in Welsh he flung back his head, closed his eyes, and laughed aloud; and later on, walking in Wales with the rain at his back, he flung his umbrella over his shoulder and laughed. "Oh, how a man laughs who has a good umbrella when he has the rain at his back" ("Wild Wales," pp. 301, 470).

Passing by Borrow's meetings with the Armenian merchant, we come to the time when, as he says, he found himself reduced to his last half-crown, and set about writing the "Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, the Great Traveller," an entirely fictitious personage. This was completed within a week, towards the end of May, 1825, and the story brought the author a welcome twenty pounds. Such is the record. Dr. Knapp believes that there was such a story, probably part of a series, but Mr. Jenkins gives good reasons for thinking that "Joseph Sell" was not written till 1829, when Borrow would more probably be in want of money than just after payment for his "Trials" (in every sense trials) from Phillips. Anyway, on May 24th, 1825, Borrow left London. At starting he encountered Arden driving a cabriolet, who asked him whither he was bound. "I don't know," replied Borrow, "all I can say is that I am about to leave London." Being out of condition, he tired of walking, mounted a coach, "tipped the blunt" to the driver, and alighted at Amesbury, near Stonehenge, whence he began a ramble which became a perfect Iliad of strange happenings. His health improved, his spirits rose, as he tramped on, his journeyings varying from twenty to twenty-five miles a day. On the fifth day of his tramp he met at an inn the mysterious stranger who "touched," as Borrow himself did, against the evil eye; Dr. Johnson was an habitual toucher, and even Macaulay owned to a kindred feeling. While a guest of the "touching" gentleman, Borrow was introduced to the Rev. Mr. Platitude, a notable character in his literary portrait gallery--"he did not go to college a gentleman; he went an ass and returned a prig," writes Borrow fiercely. No biographer, so far as I know, has identified Platitude, but Mr. Donne evidently knew him, for he calls Borrow's account a "gross and unfair caricature." I believe I have identified "the rascally Unitarian minister who went over to the High Church," with the Rev. Theophilus Browne, Fellow and Tutor of Peterhouse, Cambridge, who quitted the Church for conscience sake, obtained an appointment at the York Unitarian College, and was minister at the Octagon Chapel in 1809, but was paid to resign the following year. He died at Bath in May, 1835. The historian of the Octagon applies Milton's line to him:

"New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large."

Arriving at Tamworth, Borrow entered a cottage inn, and, as was his custom, called "House!" as loud as he could. Whilst drinking his beer he cheered the heart of the sorrowful Jack Slingsby by buying his whole tinker's stock-in-trade--beat, plant, pony, and all--concluding that "a tinker is his own master, a scholar is not." Poor Slingsby had been driven off the road by the great Flaming Tinman, "Black Jack," whose clan name was Anselo Herne, who, thrusting a Bible into Slingsby's mouth, forced him to swear his Bible oath that he would surrender his beat. Here was a truly picturesque situation after Borrow's own taste, and, no doubt with a joyful heart, he paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his tinker's outfit, bought a wagoner's frock from the landlady, and felt ready enough to encounter the dreaded "Black Jack."

[Picture: A quaint corner in Borrow's House. By C. M. Nichols, R.E.]

Borrow avers that he fled from London "from fear of consumption," that he must do something or go mad, so, having a knowledge of smithing that enabled him to acquire the tinkering craft, he became a sort of Petulengro himself. A few days after pitching his tent in Mumper's Dingle, near Willenhall, as he slept against an ash tree, a voice seemed to cry in his ear Danger! Danger! and he awoke to see Leonora, a pretty gypsy girl of thirteen, wearing a handsome necklace of corals and gold. She offered him a _manricli_, or cake, saying "Eat, pretty brother, grey-haired brother." After some demur, he ate part of it; it was poisoned, and he fell into a swoon. Soon he heard the voice of the malicious old hag Mrs. Herne, who, gloating over her enemy, told him he had taken _drows_, as, however he began to move they set their _juggal_ (dog) at him; but the animal, fled from the flash of the tinker's eye, and Mrs. Herne realised that he would live--the _dook_ (spirit of divination) told her so. The arrival of the Welsh preacher Peter Williams, and his wife Winifred, in their cart put the gypsy witch-wife and her daughter to flight. The Welshman administered some oil, which, after two hours of suspense, and with the help of an opiate, saved the life of Lavengro. During this companionship Borrow found that Williams suffered excruciating spiritual terrors from the conviction that he had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost--_pechod Ysprydd Glan_!

Borrow left his Welsh friends to join no less a personage than Jasper Petulengro, "one of the clibberty-clabber," quoted Peter from a Welsh poet; Borrow's pal had a wondrous story to tell of Mrs. Herne, of the "drows," who had "been her own hinjiri," _i.e._ hanged herself. The girl Leonora told Jasper that she had tracked Borrow and found him, alive and well, 'discussing religion with a Methody, and that when she told the old woman, Mrs. Herne said it was all up with her, and she must take a long journey. In March, 1911, died Isaac Herne, of the same family, son of beautiful Sinfi; he was known as "King of the Gypsies," and to the last would tell of his meetings and talks with the "Romany Rye." Unlike his clanswoman, who was buried "like a Roman woman of the old blood," he was buried in gorgious fashion--in the graveyard of Manston Church, near Leeds.

Borrow soon parted from Jasper, and settled himself in the beautiful Mumper's Dingle, where he had the historic fight with the "Flaming Tinman," getting the victory by using his "Long Melford," on the advice of that towering and handsome female bearing the name of Isopel Berners, who now comes on the scene, and who will ever remain one of the most fascinating figures in the wonderful gallery of Borrovian characters.

"I never saw such a face and figure," exclaims Borrow, "both regal--why, you look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could lick them all, though they were heroes--

"'On Dovrefeld in Norway, Were once together seen, The twelve heroic brothers Of Ingeborg the queen.'"

(See "Romantic Ballads," p. 59.)