Читать книгу The Life of George Borrow - Herbert George Jenkins - Страница 5

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For the first time since his marriage, Captain Borrow found himself at liberty to settle down and educate his sons. He had spent much of his life in Norfolk, and he decided to remain there and make Norwich his home. It was a quiet and beautiful old-world city: healthy, picturesque, ancient, and, above all, possessed of a Grammar School, where George could try and gather together the stray threads of education that he had acquired at various times and in various dialects. It was an ideal city for a warrior to take his rest in; but probably what counted most with Captain Borrow was the Grammar School—more than the Norman Cathedral, the grim old Castle that stands guardian-like upon its mound, the fact of its being a garrison town, or even the traditions that surrounded the place. He had two sons who must be appropriately sent out into the world, and Norwich offered facilities for educating both. He accordingly took a small house in Willow Lane, to which access was obtained by a covered passage then called King’s, but now Borrow’s Court.

During the most nomadic portion of his life, when, with discouraging rapidity, he was moving from place to place, Captain Borrow never for one moment seems to have forgotten his obligations as a father. Whenever he had been quartered in a town for a few months, he had sought out a school to which to send John and George, notably at Huddersfield and Sheffield. Had he known it, these precautions were unnecessary; for he had two sons who were of what may be called the self-educating type: John, by virtue of the quickness of his parts; George, on account of the strangeness of his interests and his thirst for a knowledge of men and the tongues in which they communicate to each other their ideas. It would be impossible for an unconventional linguist, such as George Borrow was by instinct, to remain uneducated, and it was equally impossible to educate him.

Quite unaware of the trend of his younger son’s genius, Captain Borrow obtained for him a free-scholarship at the Grammar School, then under the headmastership of the Rev. Edward Valpy, B.D., whose principal claims to fame are his severity, his having flogged the conqueror of the “Flaming Tinman,” and his destruction of the School Records of Admission, which dated back to the Sixteenth Century. Among Borrow’s contemporaries at the Grammar School were “Rajah” Brooke of Sarawak (for whose achievements he in after life expressed a profound admiration), Sir Archdale Wilson of Delhi, Colonel Charles Stoddart, Dr James Martineau, and Thomas Borrow Burcham, the London Magistrate.

Borrow was now thirteen, and, it would appear, as determined as ever to evade as much as possible academic learning. He was “far from an industrious boy, fond of idling, and discovered no symptoms by his progress either in Latin or Greek of that philology, so prominent a feature of his last work (Lavengro).” [20] Borrow was an idler merely because his work was uncongenial to him. “Mere idleness is the most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are continually making efforts to escape from it,” he wrote in later years concerning this period. He wanted an object in life, an occupation that would prove not wholly uncongenial. That he should dislike the routine of school life was not unnatural; for he had lived quite free from those conventional restraints to which other boys of his age had always been accustomed. Occupation of some sort he must have, if only to keep at a distance that insistent melancholy that seems to have been for ever hovering about him, and the tempter whispered “Languages.” [21a] One day chance led him to a bookstall whereon lay a polyglot dictionary, “which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English.” He took the two first, and when he had gleaned from the old volume all it had to teach him, he longed for a master. Him he found in the person of an old French émigré priest, [21b] a study in snuff-colour and drab with a frill of dubious whiteness, who attended to the accents of a number of boarding-school young ladies. The progress of his pupil so much pleased the old priest that “after six months’ tuition, the master would sometimes, on his occasional absences to teach in the country, request his so forward pupil to attend for him his home scholars.” [21c] It was M. D’Eterville who uttered the second recorded prophecy concerning George Borrow: “Vous serez un jour un grand philologue, mon cher,” he remarked, and heard that his pupil nourished aspirations towards other things than mere philology.

In the study of French, Spanish, and Italian, Borrow spent many hours that other boys would have devoted to pleasure; yet he was by no means a student only. He found time to fish and to shoot, using a condemned, honey-combed musket that bore the date of 1746. His fishing was done in the river Yare, which flowed through the estate of John Joseph Gurney, the Quaker-banker of Earlham Hall, two miles out of Norwich. It was here that he was reproached by the voice, “clear and sonorous as a bell,” of the banker himself; not for trespassing, but “for pulling all those fish out of the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun.”

At Harford Bridge, some two miles along the Ipswich Road, lived “the terrible Thurtell,” a patron and companion of “the bruisers of England,” who taught Borrow to box, and who ultimately ended his own inglorious career by being hanged (9th January 1824) for the murder of Mr Weare, and incidentally figuring in De Quincey’s “On Murder Considered As One of the Fine Arts.” It was through “the king of flash-men” that Borrow saw his first prize-fight at Eaton, near Norwich.

The passion for horses that came suddenly to Borrow with his first ride upon the cob in Ireland had continued to grow. He had an opportunity of gratifying it at the Norwich Horse Fair, held each Easter under the shadow of the Castle, and famous throughout the country. [22] It was here, in 1818, that Borrow encountered again Ambrose Petulengro, an event that was to exercise a considerable influence upon his life. Mr Petulengro had become the head of his tribe, his father and mother having been transported for passing bad money. He was now a man, with a wife, a child, and also a mother-in-law, who took a violent dislike to the tall, fair-haired gorgio. Borrow’s life was much broadened by his intercourse with Mr Petulengro. He was often at the gypsy encampment on Mousehold, a heath just outside Norwich, where, under the tuition of his host, he learned the Romany tongue with such rapidity as to astonish his instructor and earn for him among the gypsies the name of “Lav-engro,” word-fellow or word-master. He also boxed with the godlike Tawno Chikno, who in turn pronounced him worthy to bear the name “Cooro-mengro,” fist-fellow or fist-master. He frequently accompanied Mr Petulengro to neighbouring fairs and markets, riding one of the gypsy’s horses. At other times the two would roam over the gorse-covered Mousehold, discoursing largely about things Romany.

The departure of Mr Petulengro and his retinue from Norwich threw Borrow back once more upon his linguistic studies, his fishing, his shooting, and his smouldering discontent at the constraints of school life. It was probably an endeavour on Borrow’s part to make himself more like his gypsy friends that prompted him to stain his face with walnut juice, drawing from the Rev. Edward Valpy the question: “Borrow, are you suffering from jaundice, or is it only dirt?” The gypsies were not the only vagabonds of Borrow’s acquaintance at this period. There were the Italian peripatetic vendors of weather-glasses, who had their headquarters at Norwich. In after years he met again more than one of these merchants. They were always glad to see him and revive old memories of the Norwich days.

About this time he saved a boy from drowning in the Yare. [23] It may be this act with which he generously credits his brother John when he says—

“I have known him dash from a steep bank into a stream in his full dress, and pull out a man who was drowning; yet there were twenty others bathing in the water, who might have saved him by putting out a hand, without inconvenience to themselves, which, however, they did not do, but stared with stupid surprise at the drowning one’s struggles.” [24]

From the first Borrow had shown a strong distaste for the humdrum routine of school life. In a thousand ways he was different from his fellows. He had been accustomed to meet strange and, to him, deeply interesting people. Now he was bidden adopt a course of life against which his whole nature rebelled. It was impossible. He missed the atmosphere of vagabondage that had inspired and stimulated his early boyhood.

The crisis came at last. There was only one way to avoid the awkward and distasteful destiny that was being forced upon him. He entered into a conspiracy with three school-fellows, all younger than himself, to make a dash for a life that should offer wider opportunities to their adventurous natures. The plan was to tramp to Great Yarmouth and there excavate on the seashore caves for their habitation. From these headquarters they would make foraging expeditions, and live on what they could extract from the surrounding country, either by force or by the terror that they inspired. One morning the four started on their twenty-mile trudge to the sea; but, when only a few miles out, one of their number became fearful and turned back.

Encouraged by their leader, the others continued on their way. The father of the other two boys appears to have got wind of the project and posted after them in a chaise. He came up with them at Acle, about eleven miles from Norwich. When they were first seen, Borrow was striving to hearten his fellow buccaneers, who were tired and dispirited after their long walk. The three were unceremoniously bundled into the chaise and returned to their homes and, subsequently, to the wrath of the Rev. Edward Valpy. [25a]

The names of the three confederates were John Dalrymple (whose heart failed him) and Theodosius and Francis Purland, sons of a Norwich chemist. The Purlands are credited with robbing “the paternal till,” while Dalrymple confined himself to the less compromising duty of “gathering horse-pistols and potatoes.” If the boys robbed their father’s till, why did they beg? In the ballad entitled The Wandering Children and the Benevolent Gentleman, Borrow depicts the “eldest child” as begging for charity for these hungry children, who have had “no breakfast, save the haws.” This does not seem to suggest that the boys were in the possession of money. Again, it was the father of one of their schoolfellows who was responsible for their capture, according to Dr Knapp, by asking them to dinner whilst he despatched a messenger to the Rev. Edward Valpy. The story of Borrow’s being “horsed” on Dr Martineau’s back is apocryphal. Martineau himself denied it. [25b]

There is no record of how Captain Borrow received the news of his younger son’s breach of discipline. It probably reminded him that the boy was now fifteen and it was time to think about his future. The old soldier was puzzled. Not only had his second son shown a great partiality for acquiring Continental tongues, but he had learned Irish, and Captain Borrow seemed to think that by learning the language of Papists and rebels, his son had sullied the family honour. To his father’s way of thinking, this accomplishment seemed to bar him from most things that were at one and the same time honourable and desirable.

The boy’s own inclinations pointed to the army; but Captain Borrow had apparently seen too much of the army in war time, and the slowness of promotion, to think of it as offering a career suitable to his son, now that there was every prospect of a prolonged peace. He thought of the church as an alternative; but here again that fatal facility the boy had shown in learning Erse seemed to stand out as a barrier. “I have observed the poor lad attentively and really I do not see what to make of him,” Captain Borrow is said to have remarked. What could be expected of a lad who would forsake Greek for Irish, or Latin for the barbarous tongue of homeless vagabonds? Certainly not a good churchman. At length it became obvious to the distressed parents that there was only one choice left them—the law.

About this period Borrow fell ill of some nameless and unclassified disease, which defied the wisdom of physicians, who shook their heads gravely by his bedside. An old woman, however, cured him by a decoction prepared from a bitter root. The convalescence was slow and laborious; for the boy’s nerves were shattered, and that deep, haunting melancholy, which he first called the “Fear” and afterwards the “Horrors,” descended upon him.

On the 30th of March 1819 Borrow was articled for five years to Simpson & Rackham, solicitors, of Tuck’s Court, St Giles, Norwich. [26] He consequently left home to take up his abode at the house of the senior partner in the Upper Close. [27a] Mr William Simpson was a man of considerable importance in the city; for besides being Treasurer of the County, he was Chamberlain and Town Clerk, whilst his wife was famed for her hospitality, in particular her expensive dinners.

With that unerring instinct of contrariety that never seemed to forsake him, Borrow proceeded to learn, not law but Welsh. When the eyes of authority were on him he transcribed Blackstone, but when they were turned away he read and translated the poems of Ab Gwilym. He performed his tasks “as well as could be expected in one who was occupied by so many and busy thoughts of his own.”

At the end of Tuck’s Court was a house at which was employed a Welsh groom, a queer fellow who soon attracted the notice of Simpson & Rackham’s clerks, young gentlemen who were bent on “mis-spending the time which was not legally their own.” [27b] They would make audible remarks about the unfortunate and inoffensive Welsh groom, calling out after him “Taffy”—in short, rendering the poor fellow’s life a misery with their jibes, until at last, almost distracted, he had come to the determination either to give his master notice or to hang himself, that he might get away from that “nest of parcupines.” Borrow saw in the predicament of the Welsh groom the hand of providence. He made a compact with him, that in exchange for lessons in Welsh, he, Borrow, should persuade his fellow clerks to cease their annoyance.

From that time, each Sunday afternoon, the Welsh groom would go to Captain Borrow’s house to instruct his son in Welsh pronunciation; for in book Welsh Borrow was stronger than his preceptor. Borrow had learned the language of the bards “chiefly by going through Owen Pugh’s version of ‘Paradise Lost’ twice” with the original by his side. After which “there was very little in Welsh poetry that I could not make out with a little pondering.” [28a] This had occupied some three years. The studies with the groom lasted for about twelve months, until he left Norwich with his family. [28b]

Captain Borrow’s thoughts were frequently occupied with the future of his younger son, a problem that had by no means been determined by signing the articles that bound him to Simpson & Rackham. The boy was frank and honest and did not scruple to give expression to ideas of his own, and it was these ideas that alarmed his father. Once at the house of Mr Simpson, and before the assembled guests, he told an archdeacon, worth £7000 a year, that the classics were much overvalued, and compared Ab Gwilym with Ovid, to the detriment of the Roman. To Captain Borrow the possession of ideas upon any subject by one so young was in itself a thing to be deplored; but to venture an opinion contrary to that commonly held by men of weight and substance was an unforgivable act of insubordination.

The boy had been sent to Tuck’s Court to learn law, and instead he persisted in acquiring languages, and such languages! Welsh, Danish, Arabic, Armenian, Saxon; for these were the tongues with which he occupied himself. None but a perfect mother such as Mrs Borrow could have found excuses for a son who pursued such studies, and her husband pointed out to her, it is “in the nature of women invariably to take the part of the second born.”

In one of those curiously self-revelatory passages 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 pass 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 illustrious 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 classify 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. God 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 nobility 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 assiduously 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 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 Saturday 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 assembled.

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 passage:—

“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.”