The Life of George Borrow [194]
disproves misanthropy, and leaves egoism as the only explanation of his occasional lapses into bitterness or rudeness. When in happy vein, however, "his conversation . . . was unlike that of any other man; whether he told a long story or only commented on some ordinary topic, he was always quaint, often humorous." {445a}
Miss Cobbe would not humour an egoist, because constitutionally women, especially clever women, dislike them, unless they wish to marry them. When she heard it said, as it very frequently was said, that Borrow was a gypsy by blood, she caustically remarked that if he were not he "OUGHT to have been." Miss Cobbe had living with her a Miss Lloyd who, "amused by his quaint stories and his (real or sham) enthusiasm for Wales, . . . cultivated his acquaintance. I," continued Miss Cobbe frankly, "never liked him, thinking him more or less of a hypocrite." {445b}
On one occasion Borrow had accepted an invitation from Miss Cobbe to meet some friends, but subsequently withdrew his acceptance "on finding that Dr Martineau was to be of the party . . . nor did he ever after attend our little assemblies without first ascertaining that Dr Martineau would not be present!" This she explained by the assertion that Dr Martineau had "horsed" Borrow when he was punished for running away from school at Norwich. It appeared "irresistibly comic" to her mind.
There is an amusing account given by Miss Cobbe of how she worsted Borrow, which is certainly extremely flattering to her accomplishments. Once when talking with him she happened to say
"something about the imperfect education of women, and he said it was RIGHT they should be ignorant, and that no man could endure a clever wife. I laughed at him openly," she continues, "and told him some men knew better. What did he think of the Brownings? 'Oh, he had heard the name; he did not know anything of them. Since Scott, he read no modern writer; Scott WAS GREATER THAN HOMER! What he liked were curious, old, erudite books about mediaeval and northern things.' I said I knew little of such literature, and preferred the writers of our own age, but indeed I was no great student at all. Thereupon he evidently wanted to astonish me; and, talking of Ireland, said, 'Ah, yes; a most curious, mixed race. First there were the Firbolgs,--the old enchanters, who raised mists.' . . . 'Don't you think, Mr Borrow,' I asked, 'it was the Tuatha-de-Danaan who did that? Keatinge expressly says that they conquered the Firbolgs by that means.' (Mr B. somewhat out of countenance), 'Oh! Aye! Keatinge is THE authority; a most extraordinary writer.' 'Well, I should call him the Geoffrey of Monmouth of Ireland.' (Mr B. changing the VENUE), 'I delight in Norse-stories; they are far grander than the Greek. There is the story of Olaf the Saint of Norway. Can anything be grander? What a noble character!' 'But,' I said, 'what do YOU think of his putting all those poor Druids on the Skerry of Shrieks, and leaving them to be drowned by the tide?' (Thereupon Mr B. looked at me askant out of his gipsy eyes, as if he thought me an example of the evils of female education!) 'Well! Well! I forgot about the Skerry of Shrieks. Then there is the story of Beowulf the Saxon going out to sea in his burning ship to die.' 'Oh, Mr Borrow! that isn't a Saxon story at all. It is in the Heimskringla! It is told of Hakon of Norway.' Then, I asked him about the gipsies and their language, and if they were certainly Aryans? He didn't know (or pretended not to know) what Aryans were; and altogether displayed a miraculous mixture of odd knowledge and more odd ignorance. Whether the latter were real or assumed I know not!" {446a}
These were some of the neighbourly little pleasantries indulged in by Miss Cobbe, regarding a man who was a frequent guest at her house.
"His has indeed been a fantastic fate!" writes Mr Theodore Watts- Dunton. "When the shortcomings of any illustrious man save Borrow are under discussion, 'les defauts de ses qualites' is the criticism- -wise as charitable--which
Miss Cobbe would not humour an egoist, because constitutionally women, especially clever women, dislike them, unless they wish to marry them. When she heard it said, as it very frequently was said, that Borrow was a gypsy by blood, she caustically remarked that if he were not he "OUGHT to have been." Miss Cobbe had living with her a Miss Lloyd who, "amused by his quaint stories and his (real or sham) enthusiasm for Wales, . . . cultivated his acquaintance. I," continued Miss Cobbe frankly, "never liked him, thinking him more or less of a hypocrite." {445b}
On one occasion Borrow had accepted an invitation from Miss Cobbe to meet some friends, but subsequently withdrew his acceptance "on finding that Dr Martineau was to be of the party . . . nor did he ever after attend our little assemblies without first ascertaining that Dr Martineau would not be present!" This she explained by the assertion that Dr Martineau had "horsed" Borrow when he was punished for running away from school at Norwich. It appeared "irresistibly comic" to her mind.
There is an amusing account given by Miss Cobbe of how she worsted Borrow, which is certainly extremely flattering to her accomplishments. Once when talking with him she happened to say
"something about the imperfect education of women, and he said it was RIGHT they should be ignorant, and that no man could endure a clever wife. I laughed at him openly," she continues, "and told him some men knew better. What did he think of the Brownings? 'Oh, he had heard the name; he did not know anything of them. Since Scott, he read no modern writer; Scott WAS GREATER THAN HOMER! What he liked were curious, old, erudite books about mediaeval and northern things.' I said I knew little of such literature, and preferred the writers of our own age, but indeed I was no great student at all. Thereupon he evidently wanted to astonish me; and, talking of Ireland, said, 'Ah, yes; a most curious, mixed race. First there were the Firbolgs,--the old enchanters, who raised mists.' . . . 'Don't you think, Mr Borrow,' I asked, 'it was the Tuatha-de-Danaan who did that? Keatinge expressly says that they conquered the Firbolgs by that means.' (Mr B. somewhat out of countenance), 'Oh! Aye! Keatinge is THE authority; a most extraordinary writer.' 'Well, I should call him the Geoffrey of Monmouth of Ireland.' (Mr B. changing the VENUE), 'I delight in Norse-stories; they are far grander than the Greek. There is the story of Olaf the Saint of Norway. Can anything be grander? What a noble character!' 'But,' I said, 'what do YOU think of his putting all those poor Druids on the Skerry of Shrieks, and leaving them to be drowned by the tide?' (Thereupon Mr B. looked at me askant out of his gipsy eyes, as if he thought me an example of the evils of female education!) 'Well! Well! I forgot about the Skerry of Shrieks. Then there is the story of Beowulf the Saxon going out to sea in his burning ship to die.' 'Oh, Mr Borrow! that isn't a Saxon story at all. It is in the Heimskringla! It is told of Hakon of Norway.' Then, I asked him about the gipsies and their language, and if they were certainly Aryans? He didn't know (or pretended not to know) what Aryans were; and altogether displayed a miraculous mixture of odd knowledge and more odd ignorance. Whether the latter were real or assumed I know not!" {446a}
These were some of the neighbourly little pleasantries indulged in by Miss Cobbe, regarding a man who was a frequent guest at her house.
"His has indeed been a fantastic fate!" writes Mr Theodore Watts- Dunton. "When the shortcomings of any illustrious man save Borrow are under discussion, 'les defauts de ses qualites' is the criticism- -wise as charitable--which