The Life of George Borrow [162]
describing Borrow's paper as "just another capital chapter of his Bible in Spain," which he had read with delight, but there was "hardly a word of REVIEW, and no extract giving the least notion of the peculiar merits and style especially, of the Hand-Book." "He is unwell," continued Lockhart, "I should be very sorry to bother him more at present; and, moreover, from the little he has said of your STYLE, I am forced to infer that a REVIEW of your book by him would never be what I could feel authorised to publish in the Q. R." The letter concludes with a word of condolence that the Hand-Book will have to be committed to other hands.
Ford realised the difficulty of the situation in which he was placed, and strove to wriggle out of it by telling Borrow that his wife had said all along that
"'Borrow can't write anything dull enough for your set; I wonder how I ever married one of them,'--I hope and trust you will not cancel the paper, for we can't afford to lose a scrap of your queer sparkle and 'thousand bright daughters circumvolving.' I have recommended its insertion in Blackwood, Fraser, or some of those clever Magazines, who will be overjoyed to get such a hand as yours, and I will bet any man 5 pounds that your paper will be the most popular of all they print."
It is evident that Ford was genuinely distressed, and in his anxiety to be loyal to his friend rather overdid it. His letter has an air of patronage that the writer certainly never intended. The outstanding feature is its absolute selflessness. Ford never seems to think of himself, or that Borrow might have made a concession to their friendship. Happy Ford! The unfortunate episode estranged Borrow from Ford. Letters between them became less and less frequent and finally ceased altogether, although Borrow did not forget to send to his old friend a copy of Lavengro when it appeared.
Worries seemed to rain down upon Borrow's head about this time. Samuel Morton Peto (afterwards Sir Samuel) had decided to enrich Lowestoft by improving the harbour and building a railway to Reedham, about half-way between Yarmouth and Norwich. He was authorised by Parliament and duly constructed his line, which not even Borrow's anger could prevent from passing through the Oulton Estate, between the Hall and the Cottage. Borrow could not fight an Act of Parliament, which forced him to cross a railway bridge on his way to church; but he never forgave the man who had contrived it, or his millions. His first thought had been to fly before the invader. All quiet would be gone from the place. "Sell and be off," advised Ford; "I hope you will make the railway pay dear for its whistle," quietly observed John Murray. At first Borrow was inclined to take Ford's advice and settle abroad; but subsequently relinquished the idea.
He was not, however, the man quietly to sit down before what he conceived to be an unjustifiable outrage to his right to be quiet. He never forgave railways, although forced sometimes to make use of them. Samuel Morton Peto became to him the embodiment of evil, and as "Mr Flamson flaming in his coach with a million" he is immortalised in The Romany Rye.
It is said that Sir Samuel boasted that he had made more than the price he had paid for Borrow's land out of the gravel he had taken from off it. On one occasion, after he had bought Somerleyton Hall, happening to meet Borrow, he remarked that he never called upon him, and Borrow remembering the boast replied, "I call on you! Do you think I don't read my Shakespeare? Do you think I don't know all about those highwaymen Bardolph and Peto?" {372a}
The neighbourhood of Oulton appears to have been infested with thieves, and poachers found admirable "cover" in the surrounding plantations, or small woods. On several occasions Borrow himself had been attacked at night on the highway between Lowestoft and Oulton. Once he had even been shot at and nearly overpowered. John Murray (the Second) on hearing of one of these assaults had written (1841) artfully enquiring, "Were your wood thieves
Ford realised the difficulty of the situation in which he was placed, and strove to wriggle out of it by telling Borrow that his wife had said all along that
"'Borrow can't write anything dull enough for your set; I wonder how I ever married one of them,'--I hope and trust you will not cancel the paper, for we can't afford to lose a scrap of your queer sparkle and 'thousand bright daughters circumvolving.' I have recommended its insertion in Blackwood, Fraser, or some of those clever Magazines, who will be overjoyed to get such a hand as yours, and I will bet any man 5 pounds that your paper will be the most popular of all they print."
It is evident that Ford was genuinely distressed, and in his anxiety to be loyal to his friend rather overdid it. His letter has an air of patronage that the writer certainly never intended. The outstanding feature is its absolute selflessness. Ford never seems to think of himself, or that Borrow might have made a concession to their friendship. Happy Ford! The unfortunate episode estranged Borrow from Ford. Letters between them became less and less frequent and finally ceased altogether, although Borrow did not forget to send to his old friend a copy of Lavengro when it appeared.
Worries seemed to rain down upon Borrow's head about this time. Samuel Morton Peto (afterwards Sir Samuel) had decided to enrich Lowestoft by improving the harbour and building a railway to Reedham, about half-way between Yarmouth and Norwich. He was authorised by Parliament and duly constructed his line, which not even Borrow's anger could prevent from passing through the Oulton Estate, between the Hall and the Cottage. Borrow could not fight an Act of Parliament, which forced him to cross a railway bridge on his way to church; but he never forgave the man who had contrived it, or his millions. His first thought had been to fly before the invader. All quiet would be gone from the place. "Sell and be off," advised Ford; "I hope you will make the railway pay dear for its whistle," quietly observed John Murray. At first Borrow was inclined to take Ford's advice and settle abroad; but subsequently relinquished the idea.
He was not, however, the man quietly to sit down before what he conceived to be an unjustifiable outrage to his right to be quiet. He never forgave railways, although forced sometimes to make use of them. Samuel Morton Peto became to him the embodiment of evil, and as "Mr Flamson flaming in his coach with a million" he is immortalised in The Romany Rye.
It is said that Sir Samuel boasted that he had made more than the price he had paid for Borrow's land out of the gravel he had taken from off it. On one occasion, after he had bought Somerleyton Hall, happening to meet Borrow, he remarked that he never called upon him, and Borrow remembering the boast replied, "I call on you! Do you think I don't read my Shakespeare? Do you think I don't know all about those highwaymen Bardolph and Peto?" {372a}
The neighbourhood of Oulton appears to have been infested with thieves, and poachers found admirable "cover" in the surrounding plantations, or small woods. On several occasions Borrow himself had been attacked at night on the highway between Lowestoft and Oulton. Once he had even been shot at and nearly overpowered. John Murray (the Second) on hearing of one of these assaults had written (1841) artfully enquiring, "Were your wood thieves