The Romany Rye

by George Borrow

  CHAPTER III--ON FOREIGN NONSENSE

  With respect to the third point, various lessons which the book reads tothe nation at large, and which it would be well for the nation to ponderand profit by.

  There are many species of nonsense to which the nation is much addicted,and of which the perusal of Lavengro ought to give them a wholesomeshame. First of all, with respect to the foreign nonsense so prevalentnow in England. The hero is a scholar, but, though possessed of a greatmany tongues, he affects to be neither Frenchman, nor German, nor this orthat foreigner; he is one who loves his country, and the language andliterature of his country, and speaks up for each and all when there isoccasion to do so. Now, what is the case with nine out of ten amongstthose of the English who study foreign languages? No sooner have theypicked up a smattering of this or that speech than they begin to abusetheir own country and everything connected with it, more especially itslanguage. This is particularly the case with those who call themselvesGerman students. It is said, and the writer believes with truth, thatwhen a woman falls in love with a particularly ugly fellow, she squeezeshim with ten times more zest than she would a handsome one if captivatedby him. So it is with these German students; no sooner have they takenGerman in hand than there is nothing like German. Oh, the deardelightful German! How proud I am that it is now my own, and that itsdivine literature is within my reach! And all this whilst mumbling themost uncouth speech, and crunching the most crabbed literature in Europe.The writer is not an exclusive admirer of everything English; he does notadvise his country people never to go abroad, never to study foreignlanguages, and he does not wish to persuade them that there is nothingbeautiful or valuable in foreign literature; he only wishes that theywould not make themselves fools with respect to foreign people, foreignlanguages or reading; that if they chance to have been in Spain, and havepicked up a little Spanish, they would not affect the arts of Spaniards;that, if males they would not make Tom-fools of themselves by stickingcigars into their mouths, dressing themselves in zamarras, and saying'Carajo!' {327} and, if females, that they would not make zanies ofthemselves by sticking cigars into their mouths, flinging mantillas overtheir heads, and by saying, 'Carai,' and perhaps 'Carajo' too; or if theyhave been in France or Italy, and have picked up a little French orItalian, they would not affect to be French or Italians; andparticularly, after having been a month or two in Germany, or picked up alittle German in England, they would not make themselves foolish abouteverything German, as the Anglo-German in the book does--a realcharacter, the founder of the Anglo-German school in England, and thecleverest Englishman who ever talked or wrote encomiastic nonsense aboutGermany and the Germans. Of all infatuations connected with what isforeign, the infatuation about everything that is German, to a certainextent prevalent in England, is assuredly the most ridiculous. One canfind something like a palliation for people making themselves somewhatfoolish about particular languages, literatures, and people. The Spanishcertainly is a noble language, and there is something wild andcaptivating in the Spanish character, and its literature contains thegrand book of the world. French is a manly language. The French are themost martial people in the world; and French literature is admirable inmany respects. Italian is a sweet language, and of beautiful simplicity;its literature, perhaps, the first in the world. TheItalians!--wonderful men have sprung up in Italy. Italy is not merelyfamous for painters, poets, musicians, singers, and linguists--thegreatest linguist the world ever saw, the late Cardinal Mezzofanti, wasan Italian; but it is celebrated for men--men emphatically speaking:Columbus was in Italian, Alexander Farnese was an Italian, so was themightiest of the mighty, Napoleon Bonaparte. But the German language,German literature, and the Germans! The writer has already stated hisopinion with respect to German; he does not speak from ignorance orprejudice; he has heard German spoken, and many other languages. Germanliterature! he does not speak from ignorance; he has read that and many aliterature, and he repeats--however, he acknowledges that there is onefine poem in the German language; that poem is the 'Oberon'--a poem,by-the-by, ignored by the Germans--a speaking fact--and, of course, bythe Anglo-Germanists. The Germans! he has been amongst them, and amongstmany other nations, and confesses that his opinion of the Germans, asmen, is a very low one. Germany, it is true, has produced one very greatman, the monk who fought the Pope, and nearly knocked him down; but thisman his countrymen--a telling fact--affect to despise, and, of course,the Anglo-Germanists. The father of Anglo-Germanism was very fond ofinveighing against Luther.

  The madness, or rather foolery, of the English for foreign customs,dresses, and languages, is not an affair of to-day, or yesterday--it isof very ancient date, and was very properly exposed nearly threecenturies ago by one Andrew Borde, who, under the picture of a 'Nakedman, with a pair of shears in one hand and a roll of cloth in the other,'{328} inserted the following lines along with others:

  'I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here, Musing in my mind what garment I shall weare; For now I will weare this, and now I will weare that, Now I will weare, I cannot tell what. All new fashions be pleasant to mee, I will have them, whether I thrive or thee; What do I care if all the world me fail? I will have a garment reach to my taille; Then am I a minion, for I wear the new guise. The next yeare after I hope to be wise, Not only in wearing my gorgeous array, For I will go to learning a whole summer's day; I will learn Latine, Hebrew, Greek, and French, And I will learn Dutch, sitting on my bench. I had no peere if to myself I were true, Because I am not so, divers times do I rue. Yet I lacke nothing, I have all things at will If I were wise and would hold myself still, And meddle with no matters but to me pertaining, But ever to be true to God and my king. But I have such matters rowling in my pate, That I will and do . . . I cannot tell what,' etc.