E. HARVEY.

Another letter that has some bearing upon Borrow's last days is worth printing here:

To Mrs. MacOubrey

YARMOUTH, _August 19, 1881._

MY DEAR MRS. MACOUBREY,--I was very sorry indeed to hear of Mr.

Borrow's death. I thought he looked older the last time I saw him, but with his vigorous const.i.tution I have not thought the end so near. You and Mr. MacOubrey have the comfort of knowing that you have attended affectionately to his declining years, which would otherwise have been very lonely. I have been abroad for a short time, and this has prevented me from replying to your kind letter before. Pray receive the a.s.surance of my sympathy, and with my kind remembrances to Mr. MacOubrey, believe me, yours very truly,

R. H. INGLIS PALGRAVE.

Three years later Dr. MacOubrey died in his eighty-fourth year, and was interred at Oulton. Mrs. MacOubrey lived for a time at Oulton and then removed to Yarmouth. A letter that she wrote to a friend soon after the death of her husband is perhaps some index to her character:

OULTON COTTAGE, OULTON, NR. LOWESTOFT, _Sept. 3rd, 1884._

MY DEAR SIR,--I beg to thank you for your kind thought of me.

On Sunday night the 24th Augst., it pleased G.o.d to take from me my excellent and beloved husband--his age was nearly 84. He sunk simply from age and weakness. I was his nurse by night and by day, administering constant nourishment, but he became weaker and weaker, till at last 'The silver cord was loosed.'

My dear father died about this time three years since, which makes the blow more stunning. I feel very lonely now in my secluded residence on the banks of the Broad--the music of the wild birds adds not to my pleasure now. Trusting that yourself and Mrs. S---- may long be spared.--Believe me to remain, yours very truly,

HENRIETTA MACOUBREY.

The cottage at Oulton was soon afterwards pulled down, but the summer-house where Borrow wrote a portion of his _Bible in Spain_ and his other works remained for some years. That ultimately an entirely new structure took its place may be seen by comparing the roof in Mrs.

MacOubrey's drawing with the ill.u.s.tration of the structure as it is to-day. Mrs. MacOubrey died in 1903 at Yarmouth, and the following inscription may be found on her tomb in Oulton Churchyard:

Sacred to the memory of Henrietta Mary, widow of William MacOubrey, only daughter of Lieut. Henry Clarke, R.N., and Mary Skepper, his wife, and stepdaughter of George Henry Borrow, Esq., the celebrated author of _The Bible in Spain_, _The Gypsies of Spain_, _Lavengro_, _The Romany Rye_, _Wild Wales_, and other works and translations. Henrietta Mary MacOubrey was born at Oulton Hall in this Parish, May 17th, 1818, and died 23rd December 1903. 'And He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.'--Psalm xci. 11.

The following extract from her will is of interest as indicating the trend of a singularly kindly nature. The intimate friends of Mrs.

MacOubrey's later years, whose opinion is of more value than that of village gossips, speak of her in terms of sincere affection:

I give the following charitable legacies, namely, to the London Bible Society, in remembrance of the great interest my dear father, George Henry Borrow, took in the success of its great work for the benefit of mankind, the sum of one hundred pounds. To the Foreign Missionary Society the sum of one hundred pounds. To the London Religious Tract Society the sum of one hundred pounds. To the London Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, the sum of one hundred pounds.

FOOTNOTES:

[252] Henrietta's guitar is now in my possession and is a very handsome instrument.

[253] Henrietta MacOubrey put every difficulty in the way of Dr. Knapp, and I hold many letters from her strongly denouncing his _Life_.

[254] The stories against Henrietta MacOubrey have received endors.e.m.e.nt from that pleasant writer Mr. W. A. Dutt, who has long lived near Lowestoft. It is conveyed in such a communication as the following from a correspondent: 'After Borrow's death Mr. Reeve, Curator of Norwich Castle Museum, visited the Oulton house with the Rev. J. Gunn (died 28th May 1890), having some idea of buying Borrow's books for the Colman collection. Mrs. MacOubrey wanted 1000 for them, but Mr. Reeve did not think them worth more than 200. They were, however, bought by Webber of Ipswich, who soon afterwards entered into the employment of Jarrold of Norwich. Mr. Reeve described the scene as one of rank dilapidation and decay--evidences of extreme untidiness and neglect everywhere.'

[255] Mr. Herbert Jenkins has drawn a quite wrong conclusion--although natural under the circ.u.mstances--from a letter he had seen in which Borrow asked his wife for money. Mrs. Borrow kept the banking account.

Moreover, it is not generally known that Borrow completed the possession of his wife's estate, including Oulton Hall farm and some cottage property, with the money that came to him from _The Bible in Spain_.

[256] 'George Borrow Reminiscences' in _The Eastern Daily Press_, July 31, 1913.

[257] Mr. Baldrey also gives us reminiscences of Borrow's prowess as a swimmer:

'It was one of the signs of his perfect health and vigour that he was a fine swimmer. On one occasion George Jay and John Pilgrim were out for a sail in Jay's old yacht, the _Widgeon_. Becalmed, they were drifting somewhere down by Reedham, when suddenly Borrow said, "George, how deep is it here?" "About twenty-two feet, sir," said George Jay. The partners always called him "sir." "George," said Borrow, "I am going to the bottom." Straightway he stripped, dived, and presently came up with a handful of mud and weeds. "There, George," he said, "I've been to the bottom," Some time in 1872 or 1873, for Borrow was then sixty-nine, my mother and I were walking on the beach at Lowestoft, when just round the Ness Light we met Borrow coming: towards us from the Corton side. He got hold of my shoulder, and, pointing to the big black buoy beyond the Ness, he said, "There! Do you see that? I have just been out there. I have not been back many minutes." At the age of nearly seventy he had been round the Ness Buoy and home again--a wonderful performance if, in addition to his age, you remember the dangerous set of the currents thereabouts.'

There is also a story, which comes to me from another quarter, of Borrow skating upon the ice of Oulton Broad a few months before his death, and remarking that he had not skated since he was in Russia. The following pa.s.sage from Mr. Baldrey's narrative is interesting as showing that Borrow did not in later life quite lose sight of his birthplace:

'Apparently I interested him in some way, for twice while I was at school at East Dereham he came over specially to take me out for the afternoon. He had ascertained from my mother which were the school half-holidays, and purposely chose those days so that I might be free.

We would start off at half-past twelve and return at bedtime. Where we went I could not tell you for certain, but I know that once we went through Scarning and once through Mattishall. What we talked about of course I cannot recall, for I was then a boy between 13 and 15 years of age, and I had no sort of inkling that my companion was even then a celebrity and destined to be a still greater one in the future. But I do remember that sometimes I could not get a word out of him for an hour or more, and that then suddenly he would break out with all sorts of questions. "I wonder if you can see what I can," he once remarked. "Do you see that the gypsies have been here?" "No," I replied. "And you are not likely to," said he. And then he would tell me no more. He was rather p.r.o.ne to arouse one's curiosity and refuse to pursue the subject.

I do not mean that he was morose. Far from it. He was always very kind to me. After I had left school and returned to Norwich he frequently called for me and took me out with him. Once or twice I went with him to Lowestoft.'

[258] One of them is ent.i.tled _The Present Crisis: The True Cause of Our Indian Troubles_, by William MacOubrey of the Middle Temple. There are also countless pamphlets in ma.n.u.script. MacOubrey was an enthusiastic and indeed truculent upholder of the Act of Union.

[259] The farm referred to was Oulton Hall farm, often referred to as Oulton Hall.

[260] Another letter from Miss Harvey, dated 1st August, is one of sympathy, and there are pa.s.sages in it that may well be taken to heart when it is considered that Miss Harvey was the most intimate friend of Borrow and his stepdaughter:

'BURY, _August 1st, 1881._

'DEAREST FRIEND,--Though I cannot be with you in your trouble I am continually thinking of you, and praying that all needful help and comfort may be sent to you _as_ you need and _how_ you need it. I have no means of hearing any particulars, and am most anxious to know how you do, and how you have got through the last painful week. Whenever you feel able write me a few words, I await them with much anxiety. When you are able to realise the _reality_ of his eternal gain--you will feel that all is well. A _great_ spirit, a great and n.o.ble spirit, has pa.s.sed from the earth, his earthly tabernacle is taken down to be raised again--glorious and immortal, a fitting abode for a spirit of the just _made perfect_. How wonderful are those words, "made perfect." We are even now part of that grand a.s.sembly where they dwell. "We are come to the general a.s.sembly and church of the first born which are written in heaven. To G.o.d the judge of all, to Jesus the Mediator, to an innumerable company of angels, etc., to the _spirits of the just made perfect_." Let us realise our communion with them even now, and _soon_ to meet them on the Resurrection Morn--when they who sleep in Jesus will G.o.d _bring_ with Him ... and so we shall be ever with the Lord.

Ever with the Lord, Amen, so let it be, Life from the dead is in that word, 'Tis immortality.

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, their _works_ do follow them. Your beloved father's work in Spain will follow _him_. His efforts to spread the word of G.o.d in that benighted land, ever has and ever will bring forth blessed fruits. Dearest Henrietta, be comforted, you have been a most devoted daughter to him, and latterly his greatest earthly comfort; your dear husband also; and together you have tended him to the last. He now rests in peace. All the sufferings of mind and body are over for ever. You will have much earthly business on your hands. I pray that you may be directed in all things by true wisdom. The time is short, we must set our houses in order, that we may not be unnecessarily burdened with earthly cares. Having food and raiment, let us be therewith content.

'Let us be without carefulness, and so quietly and piously spend the remnant of our days--ever growing in the knowledge of Christ, and finding in _Him_ all our comfort and all our joy, and when our own time of departure shall arrive may we be _ready_ and able to say, "I have a _desire_ to depart and be with Christ, which is _far better_." The path of the just is as the shining light which shineth more and more unto the _perfect day_. May our path be so lighted up--until the day break and the shadows flee away. Dearest friend, do write soon. I am so anxious to hear how Dr. MacOubrey is.--Your most affect. friend,

E. HARVEY.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

THE AFTERMATH

'We are all Borrovians now.'--AUGUSTINE BIRRELL.

It is a curious fact that of only two men of distinction in English letters in these later years can it be said that they lived to a good old age and yet failed of recognition for work that is imperishable.

Many poets have died young--Sh.e.l.ley and Keats for example--to whom this public recognition was refused in their lifetime. But given the happiness of reaching middle age, this recognition has never failed. It came, for example, to Wordsworth and Coleridge long after their best work was done. It came with more promptness to all the great Victorian novelists. This recognition did not come in their lifetime to two Suffolk friends, Edward FitzGerald with _Omar Khayyam_ and George Borrow with _Lavengro_. In the case of FitzGerald there was probably no consciousness that he had produced a great poem. In any case his sunny Irish temperament could easily have surmounted disappointment if he had expected anything from the world in the way of literary fame. Borrow was quite differently made. He was as intense an egoist as Rousseau, whose work he had probably never read, and would not have appreciated if he had read. He longed for the recognition of the mult.i.tude through his books, and thoroughly enjoyed it when it was given to him for a moment--for his _Bible in Spain_. Such appreciation as he received in his lifetime was given to him for that book and for no other. There were here and there enthusiasts for his _Lavengro_ and _Romany Rye_. Dr.

Jessopp has told us that he was one. But it was not until long after his death that the word 'Borrovian'[261] came into the language. Not a single great author among his contemporaries praised him for his _Lavengro_, the book for which we most esteem him to-day. His name is not mentioned by Carlyle or Tennyson or Ruskin in all their voluminous works. Among the novelists also he is of no account. d.i.c.kens and Thackeray and George Eliot knew him not. Charlotte Bronte does indeed write of him with enthusiasm,[262] but she is alone among the great Victorian authors in this particular. Borrow's _Lavengro_ received no commendation from contemporary writers of the first rank. He died in his seventy-eighth year an obscure recluse whose works were all but forgotten. Since that year, 1881, his fame has been continually growing.

His greatest work, _Lavengro_, has been reprinted with introductions by many able critics;[263] notable essayists have proclaimed his worth. Of these Mr. Watts-Dunton and Mr. Augustine Birrell have been the most a.s.siduous. The efforts of the former have already been noted. Mr.

Birrell has expressed his devotion in more than one essay.[264]

Referring to a casual reference by Robert Louis Stevenson to _The Bible in Spain_,[265] in which R. L. S. speaks well of that book, Mr. Birrell, not without irony, says:

It is interesting to know this, interesting, that is, to the great Clan Stevenson, who owe suit and service to their liege lord; but so far as Borrow is concerned, it does not matter, to speak frankly, two straws. The author of _Lavengro_, _The Romany Rye_, _The Bible in Spain_, and _Wild Wales_ is one of those kings of literature who never need to number their tribe.

His personality will always secure him an attendant company, who, when he pipes, must dance.

This is to sum up the situation to perfection. You cannot force people to become readers of Borrow by argument, by criticism, or by the force of authority. You reach the stage of admiration and even love by effects which rise remote from all questions of style or taste. To say, as does a recent critic, that 'there is something in Borrow after all; not so much as most people suppose, but still a great deal,'[266] is to miss the compelling power of his best books as they strike those with whom they are among the finest things in literature.[267] In attempting to interest new readers in the man--and this book is not for the sect called Borrovians, to whom I recommend the earlier biographies, but for a wider public which knows not Borrow--I hope I shall succeed in sending many to those incomparable works, which have given me so many pleasant hours.