The Life of George Borrow

by Herbert George Jenkins

In 1847 Bowring wrote to Borrow enquiring as to the Russian route through Kiakhta, and asking if he could put him in the way of obtaining the information for the use of a Parliamentary Committee then enquiring into England’s commercial relations with China. Borrow’s reply is apparently no longer in existence; but it drew from Bowring another letter raising a question as to whether “‘two hundred merchants are allowed to visit Pekin every three years.’ Are you certain this is in practice now? Have you ever been to Kiakhta?” It would appear from Bowring’s “if summoned, your expenses must be paid by the public,” that Borrow had suggested giving evidence before the Committee, hence Bowring’s question as to whether Borrow could speak from personal knowledge of Kiakhta.

Borrow’s claim against Bowring is that after promising to use all his influence to get him appointed Consul at Canton, he obtained the post for himself, passing off as his own the Manchu-Tartar New Testament that Borrow had edited in St Petersburg. There is absolutely no other evidence than that contained in Borrow’s Appendix to The Romany Rye. There is very little doubt that Bowring was a man who had no hesitation in seizing everything that presented itself and turning it, as far as possible, to his own uses. In this he was doing what most successful men have done and will continue to do. He had been kind to Borrow, and had helped him as far as lay in his power. He no doubt obtained all the information he could from Borrow, as he would have done from anyone else; but he never withheld his help. It has been suggested that he really did mention Borrow as a candidate for the Consulship and later, when in financial straits and finding that Borrow had no chance of obtaining it, accepted Lord Palmerston’s offer of the post for himself. It is, however, idle to speculate what actually happened. What resulted was that Bowring as the “Old Radical” took premier place in the Appendix-inferno that closed The Romany Rye. [378a]

Fate seemed to conspire to cause Borrow chagrin. Early in 1847 it came to his knowledge that there were in existence some valuable Codices in certain churches and convents in the Levant. In particular there was said to be an original of the Greek New Testament, supposed to date from the fourth century, which had been presented to the convent on Mount Sinai by the Emperor Justinian. Borrow received information of the existence of the treasure, and also a hint that with a little address, some of these priceless manuscripts might be secured to the British Nation. It was even suggested that application might be made to the Government by the Trustees of the British Museum. [378b] Borrow’s reply to this was an intimation that if requested to do so he would willingly undertake the mission. Nothing, however, came of the project, and the remainder of the manuscript of the Greek Testament (part of it had been acquired in 1843 by Tischendorf) was presented by the monks to Alexander II. and it is now in the Imperial Library at St Petersburg.

The information as to the existence of the manuscripts, it is alleged, was given to the Museum Trustees by the Hon. Robert Curzon, who had travelled much in Egypt and the Holy Land. It was certainly no fault of his that the mission was not sent out, and Borrow’s subsequent antagonism to him and his family is difficult to understand and impossible to explain.

Borrow had achieved literary success: before the year 1847 The Zincali was in its Fourth Edition (nearly 10,000 copies having been printed) and The Bible in Spain had reached its Eighth Edition (nearly 20,000 copies having been printed). He was an unqualified success; yet he had been far happier when distributing Testaments in Spain. The greyness and inaction of domestic life, even when relieved by occasional excursions with Sidi Habismilk and the Son of the Miracle, were irksome to his temperament, ever eager for occupation and change of scene. He was like a war-horse champing his bit during times of peace.

“Why did you send me down six copies [of The Zincali]?” he bursts out in a letter to John Murray (29th Jan. 1846). “Whom should I send them to? Do you think I have six friends in the world? Two I have presented to my wife and daughter (in law). I shall return three to you by the first opportunity.”

In 1847, through the Harveys, he became acquainted with Dr Thomas Gordon Hake, who was in practice at Brighton 1832–37 and at Bury St Edmunds 1839–53, and who was also a poet. The two families visited each other, and Dr Hake has left behind him some interesting stories about, and valuable impressions of, Borrow. Dr Hake shows clearly that he did not allow his friendship to influence his judgment when in his Memoirs he described Borrow as

“one of those whose mental powers are strong, and whose bodily frame is yet stronger—a conjunction of forces often detrimental to a literary career, in an age of intellectual predominance. His temper was good and bad; his pride was humility; his humility was pride; his vanity in being negative, was one of the most positive kind. He was reticent and candid, measured in speech, with an emphasis that made trifles significant.” [379]

This rather laboured series of paradoxes quite fails to give a convincing impression of the man. A much better idea of Borrow is to be found in a letter (1847) by a fellow-guest at a breakfast given by the Prussian Ambassador. He writes that there was present

“the amusing author of The Bible in Spain, a man who is remarkable for his extraordinary powers as a linguist, and for the originality of his character, not to speak of the wonderful adventures he narrates, and the ease and facility with which he tells them. He kept us laughing a good part of breakfast time by the oddity of his remarks, as well as the positiveness of his assertions, often rather startling, and like his books partaking of the marvellous.” [380a]