BORROW AS A PROFESSOR OF LANGUAGES
An 'Advertisement' put forth by Borrow in Norwich during the years of struggle before he was sent to Russia by the Bible Society. This interesting document, which is in Borrow's handwriting, is in the possession of Mr. Frank J. Farrell of Great Yarmouth, by whose courtesy it is reproduced here.
There is, I repeat, excellent work in these ballads. As to Targum let it not be forgotten that Hasfeld—really a good judge—said in The Athenæum that 'the work is a pearl of genius,' and that William Bodham Donne declared that 'the language and rhythm are vastly superior to Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome.' As to The Sleeping Bard Borrow himself was able to make his own vigorous defence of that work. In emulation of Walter Scott he reviewed himself in The Quarterly.[251] His article is really an essay on Welsh poetry, and incidentally he quotes from his unpublished Celtic Bards, Chiefs and Kings a lengthy passage, the manuscript of which is in my possession. We are introduced again to all Borrow's old friends of Wild Wales: Hew Morris, Goronwy Owen, and finally Elis Wyn. Borrow quotes from The Romany Rye, but as becomes a reviewer of his own book, gives no praise to his achievement.
I find no plays among Borrow's 'mountains of manuscript' in my possession, and so I am not disposed to accept the suggestion that the following letter from Gifford to Borrow refers to a play which Borrow pretended to be the work of a friend while it was really his own. If it was his own he doubtless took Gifford's counsel to heart and promptly destroyed the manuscript:—
To George Borrow, Esq.
A Specimen of Gifford's criticism on a friend's play, which I was desired to send to him.
My dear Borrow,—I have read your M.S. very attentively, and may say of it with Desdemona of the song—
'It is silly, sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love
Like to old age.'
The poetry in some places is pretty, the sentiment is also excellent. And can I say more? The plot is petty, the characters without vigour, and the story poorly told. Instead of Irene the scene seems to be laid in Arcadia, and the manners are not so much confounded as totally lost. There are Druids—but such Druids! O Lord!
There is to be seen no physical, perhaps no moral lesson, though a Druid should not be a rogue—but it is not so set down in the bond. Is this the characterisation which we have been used to see there? To end an unpleasant letter, I must leave to your friendship for the author to contrive some mode of dissuading him from publishing. If, however, he is determined to rush on the world, let him do it, in the first place, anonymously. If it takes, he may then toss up his nose at my opinion, and claim his work.