At times Borrow seemed to find his pictures flat, and heightened the colour in places, as a painter might heighten the tone of a drapery, a roof or some other object, not because the individual spot required it, but rather because the general effect he was aiming at rendered it necessary. He did this just as an actor rouges his face, darkens his eyebrows and round his eyes, that he may appear to his audience a living man and not an animated corpse.

Borrow was drawing himself, striving to be as faithful to the original as Boswell to Johnson. Incidents! what were they? the straw with which the bricks of personality are made. A comparison of Lavengro with Borrow's letters to the Bible Society is instructive; it is the same Borrow that appears in both, with the sole difference that in the Letters he is less mysterious, less in the limelight than in Lavengro.

Mr Watts-Dunton, with inspiration, has asked whether or not Lavengro and The Romany Rye form a spiritual autobiography; and if they do, whether that autobiography does or does not surpa.s.s every other for absolute truth of spiritual representation. Borrow certainly did colour his narrative in places. Who could write the story of his early life with absolute accuracy? without dwelling on and elaborating certain episodes, perhaps even adjusting them somewhat?

That would not necessarily prove them untrue.

There are, unquestionably, inconsistencies in Lavengro and The Romany Rye -they are admitted, they have been pointed out. There are many inaccuracies, it must be confessed; but because a man makes a mistake in the date of his birth or even the year, it does not prove that he was not born at all. Borrow was for ever making the most inaccurate statements about his age.

In the main Lavengro would appear to be autobiographical up to the period of Borrow's coming to London. After this he begins to indulge somewhat in the dramatic. The meeting with the pickpocket as a thimble-rigger at Greenwich might pa.s.s muster were it not for the rencontre with the apple-woman's son near Salisbury. The Dingle episode may be accepted, for Mr John Sampson has verified even the famous thunder-storm by means of the local press. Isopel Berners is not so easy to settle; yet the picture of her is so convincing, and Borrow was unable to do more than colour his narrative, that she too must have existed.

The failure of Lavengro is easily accounted for. Borrow wrote of vagabonds and vagabondage; it did not mitigate his offence in the eyes of the critics or the public that he wrote well about them. His crime lay in his subject. To Borrow, a man must be ready and able to knock another man down if necessity arise. When nearing sixty he lamented his childless state and said very mournfully: "I shall soon not be able to knock a man down, and I have no son to do it for me."

{398a} He glorified the bruisers of England, in the face of horrified public opinion. England had become ashamed of its bruisers long before Lavengro was written, and this flaunting in its face of creatures that it considered too low to be mentioned, gave mortal offence. That in Lavengro was the best descriptions of a fight in the language, only made the matter worse. Borrow's was an age of gentility and refinement, and he outraged it, first by glorifying vagabondage, secondly by decrying and sneering at gentility.

"Qui n' a pas l'esprit de son age, De son age a tout le malheur."

And Borrow proved Voltaire's words.

It is not difficult to understand that an age in which prize-fighting is anathema should not tolerate a book glorifying the ring; but it is strange that Borrow's simple paganism and nature-worship should not have aroused sympathetic recognition. Poetry is ageless, and such pa.s.sages as the description of the sunrise over Stonehenge should have found some, at least, to welcome them, even when found in juxtaposition with bruisers and gypsies.

Borrow loved to mystify, but in Lavengro he had overreached himself.

"Are you really in existence?" wrote one correspondent who was unknown to Borrow, "for I also have occasionally doubted whether things exist, as you describe your own feelings in former days."

John Murray wrote (8th Nov. 1851):-

"I was reminded of you the other day by an enquiry after Lavengro and its author, made by the Right Honourable John Wilson Croker. Knowing how fastidious and severe a critic he is, I was particularly glad to find him expressing a favourable opinion of it; and thinking well of it his curiosity was piqued about you. Like all the rest of the world, he is mystified by it. He knew not whether to regard it as truth or fiction. How can you remedy this defect? I call it a defect, because it really impedes your popularity. People say of a chapter or of a character: 'This is very wonderful, IF TRUE; but if fiction it is pointless.'--Will your new volumes explain this and dissolve the mystery? If so, pray make haste and get on with them.

I hope you have employed the summer in giving them the finishing touches."

"There are," says a distinguished critic, {399a} "pa.s.sages in Lavengro which are unsurpa.s.sed in the prose literature of England-- unsurpa.s.sed, I mean, for mere perfection of style--for blending of strength and graphic power with limpidity and music of flow."

Borrow's own generation would have laughed at such a value being put upon anything in Lavengro.

Another thing against the books success was its style. It lacked what has been described as the poetic ecstacy or sentimental verdure of the age. Trope, imagery, mawkishness, were all absent, for Borrow had gone back to his masters, at whose head stood the glorious Defoe.

Borrow's style was as individual as the man himself. By a curious contradiction, the tendency is to overlook literary lapses in the very man towards whom so little lat.i.tude was allowed in other directions. Many Borrovians have groaned in anguish over his misuse of that wretched word "Individual." A distinguished man of letters {400a} has written:- "I would as lief read a chapter of The Bible in Spain as I would Gil Blas; nay, I positively would give the preference to Senor Giorgio." Another critic, and a severe one, has written:-

"It is not as philologist, or traveller, or wild missionary, or folk- lorist, or antiquary, that Borrow lives and will live. It is as the master of splendid, strong, simple English, the prose Morland of a vanished road-side life, the realist who, Defoe-like, could make fiction seem truer than fact. To have written the finest fight in the whole world's literature, the fight with the Flaming Tinman, is surely something of an achievement." {400b}

It is Borrow's personality that looms out from his pages. His mastery over the imagination of his reader, his subtle instinct of how to throw his own magnetism over everything he relates, although he may be standing aside as regards the actual events with which he is dealing, is worthy of Defoe himself. It is this magnetism that carries his readers safely over the difficult places, where, but for the author's grip upon them, they would give up in despair; it is this magnetism that prompts them to pa.s.s by only with a slight shudder, such references as the feathered tribe, fast in the arms of Morpheus, and, above all, those terrible puns that crop up from time to time. There is always the strong, masterful man behind the words who, like a great general, can turn a reverse to his own advantage.

In his style perhaps, after all, lay the secret of Borrow's unsuccess. He was writing for another generation; speaking in a voice too strong to be heard other than as a strange noise by those near to him. It may be urged that The Bible in Spain disproves these conclusions; but The Bible in Spain was a peculiar book. It was a chronicle of Christian enterprise served up with sauce picaresque.

It pleased and astonished everyone, especially those who had grown a little weary of G.o.dly missioners. It had the advantage of being spontaneous, having been largely written on the spot, whereas Lavengro and The Romany Rye were worked on and laboured at for years.

Above all, it had the inestimable virtue of being known to be True.

To the imaginative intellectual, Truth or Fiction are matters of small importance, he judges by Art; but to the general public of limited intellectual capacity, Truth is appreciated out of all proportion to its artistic importance. If Borrow had published The Bible in Spain after the failure of Lavengro, it would in all probability have been as successful as it was appearing before.

CHAPTER XXV: SEPTEMBER 1849-FEBRUARY 1854

One of the finest traits in Borrow's character was his devotion to his mother. He was always thoughtful for her comfort, even when fighting that almost hopeless battle in Russia, and later in the midst of bandits and b.l.o.o.d.y patriots in Spain. She was now, in 1849, an old woman, too feeble to live alone, and it was decided to transfer her to Oulton. An addition to the Hall was constructed for her accommodation, and she was to be given an attendant-companion in the person of the daughter of a local farmer.

For thirty-three years she had lived in the little house in Willow Lane; yet it was not she, but Borrow, who felt the parting from old a.s.sociations. "I wish," she writes to her daughter-in-law on 16th September 1849, "my dear George would not have such fancies about the old house; it is a mercy it has not fallen on my head before this."

The old lady was anxious to get away. It would not be safe, she thought, for her to be shut up alone, as the old woman who had looked after her could, for some reason or other, do so no longer. She urges her daughter-in-law to represent this to Borrow.

"There is a low, noisy set close to me," she continues. "I shall not die one day sooner, or live one day longer. If I stop here and die on a sudden, half the things might be lost or stolen, therefore it seems as if the Lord would provide me a SAFER HOME. I have made up my mind to the change and only pray that I may be able to get through the trouble."

It would appear that the move, which took place at the end of September, was brought about by the old lady's appeals and insistence, and that Borrow himself was not anxious for it. He felt a sentimental attachment to the old place, which for so many years had been a home to him.

In 1853 Borrow removed to Great Yarmouth. During the summer of that year, Dr Hake had peremptorily ordered Mrs George Borrow not to spend the ensuing winter and spring at Oulton, and the move was made in August. The change was found to be beneficial to Mrs Borrow and agreeable to all, and for the next seven years (Aug. 1853-June 1860) Borrow's headquarters were to be at Great Yarmouth, where he and his family occupied various lodgings.

Shortly before leaving Oulton, Borrow had received the following interesting letter from FitzGerald:-

BOULGE, WOODBRIDGE, 22nd July 1853.

MY DEAR SIR,--I take the liberty of sending you a book [Six Dramas from Calderon], of which the t.i.tle-page and advertis.e.m.e.nt will sufficiently explain the import. I am afraid that I shall in general be set down at once as an impudent fellow in making so free with a Great Man; but, as usual, I shall feel least fear before a man like yourself, who both do fine things in your own language and are deep read in those of others. I mean, that whether you like or not what I send you, you will do so from knowledge and in the candour which knowledge brings.

I had even a mind to ask you to look at these plays before they were printed, relying on our common friend Donne for a mediator; but I know how wearisome all MS. inspection is; and, after all, the whole affair was not worth giving you such a trouble. You must pardon all this, and believe me,--Yours very faithfully,

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

Soon after his arrival by the sea, Borrow performed an act of bravery of which The Bury Post (17th Sept. 1852) gave the following account, most likely written by Dr Hake:-

"INTREPIDITY.--Yarmouth jetty presented an extra-ordinary and thrilling spectacle on Thursday, the 8th inst., about one o'clock.

The sea raged frantically, and a ship's boat, endeavouring to land for water, was upset, and the men were engulfed in a wave some thirty feet high, and struggling with it in vain. The moment was an awful one, when George Borrow, the well-known author of Lavengro, and The Bible in Spain, dashed into the surf and saved one life, and through his instrumentality the others were saved. We ourselves have known this brave and gifted man for years, and, daring as was this deed we have known him more than once to risk his life for others. We are happy to add that he has sustained no material injury."

Borrow was a splendid swimmer. {404a} In the course of one of his country walks with Robert Cooke (John Murray's partner), with whom he was on very friendly terms, "he suggested a bathe in the river along which they were walking. Mr Cooke told me that Borrow, having stripped, took a header into the water and disappeared. More than a minute had elapsed, and as there were no signs of his whereabouts, Mr Cooke was becoming alarmed, lest he had struck his head or been entangled in the weeds, when Borrow suddenly reappeared a considerable distance off, under the opposite bank of the stream, and called out 'What do you think of that?'" {404b}

Elizabeth Harvey, in telling the same story, says that on coming up he exclaimed: "There, if that had been written in one of my books, they would have said it was a lie, wouldn't they?"

The paragraph about Borrow's courage was printed in various newspapers throughout the country, amongst others in the Plymouth Mail under the heading of "Gallant Conduct of Mr G. Borrow," and was read by Borrow's Cornish kinsmen, who for years had heard nothing of Thomas Borrow. Apparently quite convinced that George was his son, they deputed Robert Taylor, a farmer of Penquite Farm (who had married Anne Borrow, granddaughter of Henry Borrow), to write to Borrow and invite him to visit Trethinnick. The letter was dated 10th October and directed to "George Borrow, Yarmouth." Borrow replied as follows:-

YARMOUTH, 14th Octr., 1853.

MY DEAR SIR,--I beg leave to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 10th inst. in which you inform me of the kind desire of my Cornish relatives to see me at Trethinnock (sic). Please to inform them that I shall be proud and happy to avail myself of their kindness and to make the acquaintance of "one and all" {405a} of them. My engagements will prevent my visiting them at present, but I will appear amongst them on the first opportunity. I am delighted to learn that there are still some living at Trethinnock who remember my honoured father, who had as true a Cornish heart as ever beat.