However much he suggested the typical Anglo-Saxon in real life, there was the true Celt whenever he took pen in hand.
A stranger blend of the Celt and the Saxon indeed it would be hard to find. The Celtic side is not uppermost in his temperament-this strong, a.s.sertive, prize-fighting, beer-loving man (a good drinker, but never a drunkard) seems far more Saxon than anything else. De Quincey had no small measure of the John Bull in [Picture: George Borrow] his temperament, and Borrow had a great deal more. The John Bull side was very obvious. Yet a Celt he was by parentage, and the Celtic part was unmistakable, though below the surface. If the East Anglian in him had a weakness for athleticism, boiled mutton and caper sauce, the Celt in him responded quickly to the romantic a.s.sociates of Wales.
Readers of Mr. Watts-Dunton"s charming romance _Aylwin_ will recall the emphasis laid on the pa.s.sionate love of the Welsh for a tiny strip of Welsh soil. Borrow understood all this; he had a rare sympathy with the Cymric Celt. You can trace the Celt in his scenic descriptions, in his feeling for the spell of antiquity, his restlessness of spirit. And yet in his appearance there was little to suggest the Celt. Small wonder that many of his friends spoke of this white-haired giant of six foot three as if he was first and foremost an excellent athlete.
Certainly he had in full measure an Englishman"s delight and proficiency in athletics-few better at running, jumping, wrestling, sparring, and swimming.
In many respects indeed Borrow will not have realized the fancy picture of the Englishman as limned by Hawthorne"s fancy-the big, hearty, self-opiniated, beef-eating, ale-drinking John Bull. Save to a few intimates like Mr. Watts-Dunton and Dr. Hake he seems to have concealed very effectually the Celtic sympathies in his nature. But no reader of his books can be blind to this side of his character; and then again, as in all the literary Vagabonds, it is the complexity of the man"s temperament that attracts and fascinates.
The man who can delight in the garrulous talk of a country inn, understand the magic of big solitudes; who can keenly appraise the points of a horse and feel the impalpable glamour of an old ruin; who will present an impenetrable reserve to the ordinary stranger and take the fierce, moody gypsy to his heart; who will break almost every convention of civilization, yet in the most unexpected way show a st.u.r.dy element of conventionality; a man, in short, of so many bewildering contradictions and strangely a.s.sorted qualities as Borrow cannot but compel interest.
Many of the contradictory traits were not, as they seemed, the inconsequential moods of an irresponsible nature, but may be traced to the fierce egotism of the man. The Vagabond is always an egotist; the egotism may be often amusing, and is rarely uninteresting. But the personal point of view, the personal impression, has for him the most tremendous importance. It makes its possessor abnormally sensitive to any circ.u.mstances, any environment, that may restrict his independence or prevent the full expression of his personal tastes and whims. Among our Vagabonds the two most p.r.o.nounced egotists are Borrow and Whitman. The secret of their influence, their merits, and their deficiencies lies in this intense concentration of self. An appreciation of this quality leads us to comprehend a good deal of Borrow"s att.i.tude towards men and women. Reading _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_ the reader is no less struck by the remarkable interest that Borrow takes in the people-especially the rough, uncultured people-whom he comes across, as in the cheerful indifference with which he loses sight of them and pa.s.ses on to fresh characters. There is very little objective feeling in his friends.h.i.+ps; as flesh and blood personages with individualities of their own-loves, hopes, faiths of their own-he seems to regard them scarcely at all. They exist chiefly as material for his curiosity and inquisitiveness. Hence there is a curious selfishness about him-not the selfishness of a pa.s.sionate, capricious nature, but the selfishness of a self-absorbed and self-contained nature. Perhaps there was hidden away somewhere in his nature a strain of tenderness, of altruistic affection, which was reserved for a few chosen souls. But the warm human touch is markedly absent from his writings, despite their undeniable charm.
Take the Isopel Berners episode. Whether Isopel Berners was a fiction of the imagination or a character in real life matters not for my purpose.
At any rate the episode, his friends.h.i.+p with this Anglo-Saxon girl of the road, is one of the distinctive features of both _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_. The att.i.tude of Borrow towards her may safely be regarded as a clear indication of the man"s character.
A girl of fine physical presence and many engaging qualities such as were bound to attract a man of Borrow"s type, who had forsaken her friends to throw in her lot with this fellow-wanderer on the road. Here were the ready elements of a romance-of a friends.h.i.+p that should burn up with the consuming power of love the baser elements of self in the man"s disposition, and transform his nature.
And what does he do?
He accepts her companions.h.i.+p, just as he might have accepted the companions.h.i.+p of one of his landlords or ostlers; spends the time he lived with her in the Dingle in teaching her Armenian, and when at last, driven to desperation by his calculating coldness, she comes to take farewell of him, he makes her a perfunctory offer of marriage, which she, being a girl of fine mettle as well as of strong affection, naturally declines. She leaves him, and after a few pa.s.sages of philosophic regret, he pa.s.ses on to the next adventure.
Now Borrow, as we know, was not physically drawn towards the ordinary gypsy type-the dark, beautiful Celtic women; and it was in girls of the fair Saxon order such as Isopel Berners that he sought a natural mate.
Certainly, if any woman was calculated by physique and by disposition to attract Borrow, Isopel Berners was that woman. And when we find that the utmost extent of his pa.s.sion is to make tea for her and instruct her in Armenian, it is impossible not to be disagreeably impressed by the unnatural chilliness of such a disposition. Not even Isopel could break down the barrier of intense egoism that fenced him off from any profound intimacy with his fellow-creatures.
Perhaps Dr. Jessop"s attack upon him errs in severity, and is to an extent, as Mr. Watts-Dunton says, "unjust"; but there is surely an element of truth in his remarks when he says: "Of anything like animal pa.s.sion there is not a trace in all his many volumes. Not a hint that he ever kissed a woman or even took a little child upon his knee." Nor do I think that the anecdote which Mr. Watts-Dunton relates about the beautiful gypsy, to whom Borrow read Arnold"s poem, goes far to dissipate the impression of Borrow"s insensibility to a woman"s charm.
A pa.s.sing tribute to the looks of an extraordinarily beautiful girl is quite compatible with a comparative insensibility to feminine beauty and feminine graces. That Borrow was devoid of animal pa.s.sion I do not believe-nor indeed do his books convey that impression; that he had no feeling for beauty either would be scarcely compatible with the Celtic element in his nature. I think it less a case-as Dr. Jessop seems to think-of want of pa.s.sion as of a tyrannous egotism that excluded any element likely to prove troublesome. He would not admit a disturbing factor-such as the presence of the self-reliant Isopel-into his life.
No doubt he liked Isopel well enough in his fas.h.i.+on. Otherwise certainly he would not have made up his mind to marry her. But his own feelings, his own tastes, his own fancies, came first. He would marry her-oh yes!-there was plenty of time later on. For the present he could study her character, amuse himself with her idiosyncrasies, and as a return for her devotion and faithful affection teach her Armenian. Extremely touching!
But the episode of Isopel Berners is only one ill.u.s.tration, albeit a very significant one, of Borrow"s calculating selfishness. No man could prove a more interesting companion than he; but one cannot help feeling that he was a sorry kind of friend.
It may seem strange at first sight, finding this wanderer of the road in the pay of the Bible Society, and a zealous servant in the cause of militant Protestantism. But the violent "anti-Popery" side of Borrow is only another instance of his love of independence. The brooding egotism that chafed at the least control was not likely to show any sympathy with sacerdotalism.
There was no trace of philosophy in Borrow"s frankly expressed views on religious subjects. They were honest and straightforward enough, with all the vigorous unreflective narrowness of ultra-Protestantism.
It says much for the amazing charm of Borrow"s writing that _The Bible in Spain_ is very much better than a glorified tract. It must have come as a surprise to many a grave, pious reader of the Bible Society"s publications.
And the Bible Society made the Vagabond from the literary point of view.
Borrow"s book-_The Zincali_-or an account of the gypsies of Spain, published in 1841, had brought his name before the public. But _The Bible in Spain_ (1843) made him famous-doubtless to the relief of "glorious John Murray," the publisher, who was doubtful about the book"s reception.
It is a fascinating book, and if lacking the unique flavour of the romantic autobiographies, _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_, has none the less many of the characteristics that give all his writings their distinctive attraction.
II
Can we a.n.a.lyse the charm that Borrow"s books and Borrow"s personality exercise over us, despite the presence of unpleasing traits which repel?
In the first place he had the faculty for seizing upon the picturesque and picaresque elements in the world about him. He had the ready instinct of the discursive writer for what was dramatically telling.
Present his characters in dramatic form he could not; one and all pa.s.s through the crucible of his temperament before we see them. We feel that they are genuinely observed, but they are Borrovized. They speak the language of Borrow. While this is quite true, it is equally true that he knows exactly how to impress and interest the reader with the personages.
Take this effective little introduction to one of the characters in _The Bible in Spain_:-
"At length the moon shone out faintly, when suddenly by its beams I beheld a figure moving before me at a slight distance. I quickened the pace of the burra, and was soon close at its side. It went on, neither altering its pace nor looking round for a moment. It was the figure of a man, the tallest and bulkiest that I had hitherto seen in Spain, dressed in a manner strange and singular for the country. On his head was a hat with a low crown and broad brim, very much resembling that of an English waggoner; about his body was a long loose tunic or slop, seemingly of coa.r.s.e ticken, open in front, so as to allow the interior garments to be occasionally seen; these appeared to consist of a jerkin and short velveteen pantaloons. I have said that the brim of the hat was broad, but broad as it was, it was insufficient to cover an immense bush of coal-black hair, which, thick and curly, projected on either side; over the left shoulder was flung a kind of satchel, and in the right hand was held a long staff or pole.
"There was something peculiarly strange about the figure, but what struck me the most was the tranquillity with which it moved along, taking no heed of me, though, of course, aware of my proximity, but looking straight forward along the road, save when it occasionally raised a huge face and large eyes towards the moon, which was now s.h.i.+ning forth in the eastern quarter.
""A cold night," said I at last. "Is this the way to Talavera?"
""It is the way to Talavera, and the night is cold."
""I am going to Talavera," said I, "as I suppose you are yourself."
""I am going thither, so are you, _Bueno_."
"The tones of the voice which delivered these words were in their way quite as strange and singular as the figure to which the voice belonged; they were not exactly the tones of a Spanish voice, and yet there was something in them that could hardly be foreign; the p.r.o.nunciation also was correct, and the language, though singular, faultless. But I was most struck with the manner in which the last word, _bueno_, was spoken. I had heard something like it before, but where or when I could by no means remember. A pause now ensued; the figure stalking on as before with the most perfect indifference, and seemingly with no disposition either to seek or avoid conversation.
""Are you not afraid," said I at last, "to travel these roads in the dark? It is said that there are robbers abroad."
""Are you not rather afraid," replied the figure, "to travel these roads in the dark-you who are ignorant of the country, who are a foreigner, an Englishman!"
""How is it that you know me to be an Englishman?" demanded I, much surprised.
""That is no difficult matter," replied the figure; "the sound of your voice was enough to tell me that."
""You speak of voices," said I; "suppose the tone of your own voice were to tell me who you are?"
""That it will not do," replied my companion; "you know nothing about me-you can know nothing about me."
""Be not sure of that, my friend; I am acquainted with many things of which you have little idea."
""Por exemplo," said the figure.
""For example," said I, "you speak two languages."
"The figure moved on, seemed to consider a moment, and then said slowly, "_Bueno_."
""You have two names," I continued; "one for the house and the other for the street; both are good, but the one by which you are called at home is the one which you like best."
"The man walked on about ten paces, in the same manner as he had previously done; all of a sudden he turned, and taking the bridle of the burra gently in his hand, stopped her. I had now a full view of his face and figure, and those huge features and Herculean form still occasionally revisit me in my dreams. I see him standing in the moons.h.i.+ne, staring me in the face with his deep calm eyes. At last he said-
""Are you then one of us?""
An admirable sketch, adroitly conceived and executed beyond doubt, but as a fragment of dialogue remarkable for its literary skill rather than for its characterization.