Borrow’s reply (in the rough draft found among his papers after his death) ran:
“Mr Borrow has received Mr Denniss’ answer to his note. With respect to Mr Denniss’ recrimination on the quarrelsome disposition of his harmless house-dog, Mr Borrow declines to say anything further. No one knows better than Mr Denniss the value of his own assertions . . . Circumstances over which Mr Borrow has at present no control will occasionally bring him and his family under the same roof with Mr Denniss; that roof, however, is the roof of the House of God, and the prayers of the Church of England are wholesome from whatever mouth they may proceed.”
Borrow’s most partisan admirer could not excuse the outrage to all decency contained in the last paragraph of his note, if indeed it were ever sent, in any other way than to plead the writer’s ill-health.
It had been arranged that The Bible in Spain should make its appearance in May. In July Borrow wrote showing some impatience and urging greater expedition.
“What are your intentions with respect to the Bible in Spain?” he enquires of John Murray. “I am a frank man, and frankness never offends me. Has anybody put you out of conceit with the book? . . . Tell me frankly and I will drink your health in Romany. Or would the appearance of the Bible on the first of October interfere with the avatar, first or second, of some very wonderful lion or Divinity, to whom George Borrow, who is neither, must of course give place? Be frank with me, my dear Sir, and I will drink your health in Romany and Madeira.”
He goes on to offer to release John Murray from his “share in the agreement” and complete the book himself remitting to the printer “the necessary money for the purchase of paper.”
To Ford, who had acted as a sort of godfather to The Bible in Spain, it was “a rum, very rum, mixture of gypsyism, Judaism, and missionary adventure,” as he informed John Murray. He read it “with great delight,” and its publisher may “depend upon it that the book will sell, which, after all, is the rub.” He liked the sincerity, the style, the effect of incident piling on incident. It reminded him of Gil Blas with a touch of Bunyan. Borrow is “such a trump . . . as full of meat as an egg, and a fresh-laid one.” All this he tells John Murray, and concludes with the assurance, “Borrow will lay you golden eggs, and hatch them after the ways of Egypt; put salt on his tail and secure him in your coop, and beware how any poacher coaxes him with ‘raisins’ or reasons out of the Albemarle preserve.” [349]
Ford was never tired of applying new adjectives to Borrow and his work. He was “an extraordinary fellow,” “this wild missionary,” “a queer chap.” Borrow, on the other hand, cherished a sincere regard for the man who had shown such enthusiasm for his work. To John Murray, Junr., he wrote (4th April 1843): “Pray remember me to Ford, who is no humbug and is one of the few beings that I care something about.”
Throughout his correspondence with Borrow, Richard Ford showed a judgment and an appreciation of what the public would be likely to welcome that stamped him as a publishers’ “reader” by instinct. Such advice as he gave to Borrow in the following letter set up a standard of what a book, such as Borrow had it in his power to write, actually should be. It unquestionably influenced Borrow:—
10th June 1842.
“My advice again and again is to avoid all fine writing, all descriptions of mere scenery and trivial events. What the world wants are racy, real, genuine scenes, and the more out of the way the better. Poetry is utterly to be avoided. If Apollo were to come down from Heaven, John Murray would not take his best manuscript as a gift. Stick to yourself, to what you have seen, and the people you have mixed with. The more you give us of odd Jewish people the better . . . Avoid words, stick to deeds. Never think of how you express yourself; for good matter must tell, and no fine writing will make bad matter good. Don’t be afraid that what you may not think good will not be thought so by others. It often happens just the reverse . . . New facts seen in new and strange countries will please everybody; but old scenery, even Cintra, will not. We know all about that, and want something that we do not know . . . The grand thing is to be bold and to avoid the common track of the silver paper, silver fork, blue-stocking. Give us adventure, wild adventure, journals, thirty language book, sorcery, Jews, Gentiles, rambles, and the interior of Spanish prisons—the way you get in, the way you get out. No author has yet given us a Spanish prison. Enter into the iniquities, the fees, the slang, etc. It will be a little à la Thurtell, but you see the people like to have it so. Avoid rant and cant. Dialogues always tell; they are dramatic and give an air of reality.”