The offending passage was that in which Borrow says, when describing the interior of the Mosque at Tangier: “I looked around for the abominable thing, and found it not; no scarlet strumpet with a crown of false gold sat nursing an ugly changeling in a niche.” In later editions the words “no scarlet strumpet,” etc., were changed to “the besetting sin of the pseudo-Christian Church did not stare me in the face in every corner.”
The amendment was little likely to please a Churchman of Gladstone’s calibre, or procure for the writer the magistracy he coveted, even if it had been made less grudgingly. “We must not make any further alterations here,” Borrow wrote to Murray a few days later, “otherwise the whole soliloquy, which is full of vigor and poetry, and moreover of truth, would be entirely spoiled. As it is, I cannot help feeling that [it] is considerably damaged.” There seems very little doubt that this passage was referred to in the letter that John Murray encloses in his of 10th July 1843 [374] with this reference: “(The writer of the enclosed note is a worthy canon of St Paul’s, and has evidently seen only the 1st edition).” Borrow replied:—
“Pray present my best respects to the Canon of St Paul’s and tell him from me that he is a burro, which meaneth Jackass, and that I wish he would mind his own business, which he might easily do by attending a little more to the accommodation of the public in his ugly Cathedral.”
Borrow appears to have set his mind on becoming a magistrate. He had written to Lockhart (November 1843) enquiring how he had best proceed to obtain such an appointment. Lockhart was not able to give him any very definite information, his knowledge of such things, as he confessed, “being Scotch.” For the time being the matter was allowed to drop, to be revived in 1847 by a direct application from Borrow to Lord Clarendon to support his application with the Lord Chancellor. His claims were based upon (1) his being a large landed-proprietor in the district (Mrs Borrow had become the owner of the Oulton Hall Estate during the previous year); (2) the fact that the neighbourhood was over-run with thieves and undesirable characters; (3) that there was no magistrate residing in the district. Lord Clarendon promised his good offices, but suggested that as all such appointments were made through the Lord-Lieutenant of the County, the Earl of Stradbroke had better be acquainted with what was taking place. This was done through the Hon. Wm. Rufus Rous, Lord Stradbroke’s brother, whose interest was obtained by some of Borrow’s friends.
After a delay of two months, Lord Stradbroke wrote to Lord Clarendon that he was quite satisfied with “the number and efficiency of the Magistrates” and also with the way in which the Petty Sessions were attended. He could hear of no complaint, and when the time came to increase the number of J.P.’s, he would be pleased to add Borrow’s name to the list, provided he were advised to do so by “those gentlemen residing in the neighbourhood, who, living on terms of intimacy with them [the Magistrates], will be able to maintain that union of good feeling which . . . exists in all our benches of Petty Sessions.”
Borrow would have made a good magistrate, provided the offender were not a gypsy. He would have caused the wrong-doer more fear the instrument of the law rather than the law itself, and some of his sentences might possibly have been as summary as those of Judge Lynch.
“It was a fine thing,” writes a contemporary, “to see the great man tackle a tramp. Then he scented the battle from afar, bearing down on the enemy with a quivering nostril. If the nomad happened to be a gypsy he was courteously addressed. But were he a mere native tatterdemalion, inclined to be truculent, Borrow’s coat was off in a moment, and the challenge to decide there and then who was the better man flung forth. I have never seen such challenges accepted, for Borrow was robust and towering.” [375]
It is not strange that Borrow’s application failed; for he never refused leave to the gypsies to camp upon his land, and would sometimes join them beside their campfires. Once he took a guest with him after dinner to where the gypsies were encamped. They received Borrow with every mark of respect. Presently he “began to intone to them a song, written by him in Romany, which recounted all their tricks and evil deeds. The gypsies soon became excited; then they began to kick their property about, such as barrels and tin cans; then the men began to fight and the women to part them; an uproar of shouts and recriminations set in, and the quarrel became so serious that it was thought prudent to quit the scene.” [376a] “In nothing can the character of a people be read with greater certainty and exactness than in its songs,” [376b] Borrow had written. [376c]
These disappointments tended to embitter Borrow, who saw in them only a conspiracy against him. There is little doubt that Lord Stradbroke’s enquiries had revealed some curious gossip concerning the Master of Oulton Hall, possibly the dispute with his rector over the inability of their respective dogs to live in harmony; perhaps even the would-be magistrate’s predilection for the society of gypsies, and his profound admiration for “the Fancy” had reached the Lord-Lieutenant’s ears.
The unfortunate and somewhat mysterious dispute with Dr Bowring was another anxiety that Borrow had to face. He had once remarked, “It’s very odd, Bowring, that you and I have never had a quarrel.” [376d] In the summer of 1842 he and Bowring seem to have been on excellent terms. Borrow wrote asking for the return of the papers and manuscripts that had remained in Bowring’s hands since 1829, when the Songs of Scandinavia was projected, as Borrow hoped to bring out during the ensuing year a volume entitled Songs of Denmark. The cordiality of the letter may best be judged by the fact that in it he announces his intention of having a copy of the forthcoming Bible in Spain sent “to my oldest, I may say my only friend.”