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CHAPTER IV: DAYS IN NORWICH

The Norwich of Borrow’s early years was noted for its literary and artistic associations, and the names of some of its more distinguished writers and painters were household words in the land. Harriet Martineau had “left off darning stockings to take to literature”; Dr. Taylor was opening up to English readers a new field in German writings; John Sell Cotman was making a name for himself; and Opie, who “lived to paint,” was often seen at Earlham, Keswick, and in the city streets. Such names as these, and of Elizabeth Fry, Sir James Smith (who founded the Linnæan Society), and Mrs. Opie would fall upon the ear of the young lawyer’s clerk whenever he mixed in polite society. The old city was then enjoying a reputation that was worthy of its best traditions; and it still prides itself on the memory of those golden days.

A bookish youth could not fail to be influenced by such associations, and it may well be that Borrow’s thoughts were first drawn into a literary groove by a knowledge of what certain of these Norwich celebrities were doing. The delight he had found in the pages of his book of Danish ballads, inspired him to turn his pen from the copying of deeds to the writing of verses. His “Romantic Ballads from the Danish,” printed by Simon Wilkins of Norwich, and consisting of translations from his prized volume, appeared in 1826. Dr. Jessop surmises that these translations must have brought him in a very respectable sum, but Mr. Augustus Birrell, in his own inimitable way, expresses his doubt on the point. “I hope it was so,” he writes, “but, as Dr. Johnson once said about the immortality of the soul, I should like more evidence of it.”

Borrow’s translations and linguistic pursuits, however, were not allowed to occupy all his spare hours in those early days. Norwich and its neighbourhood had too much to show him, and to move him to reflection and enthusiasm, to allow this to be the case. By degrees, he came to love the old city, as he never got to love any other place in after-life. Writing many years later, the memories of it flooded in upon his brain until he saw its castle and cathedral, its homes and hospitality, in such a rosy light as never glowed upon the scenes through which he journeyed in after years. “Who can wonder,” he asks, “that the children of that fine old city are proud of her, and offer up prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, who was not born within her walls, offer up prayers for her prosperity, that want may never visit her cottages, vice her palaces, and that the abomination of idolatry may never pollute her temples.”

The grey old castle and stately cathedral were a never-failing source of interest, worship and delight to him, as they have been to many who cannot claim East Anglia for their homeland. Often he would lie upon the grass in the sunlight and watch the rooks and choughs circle about their battlements and spires. As he said, he was not formed for an indoor student, and outdoor life had ever a greater charm for him than the library or the study. Often with rod and gun (he had an old Tower musket nearly eighty years old) he would go down amongst the marshes to angle or shoot as the fancy took him and the season gave him sport. Fortunately, the old fowling-piece was sound, although condemned on account of its age, and he never came to harm by it; indeed, if we may believe him in this matter – and it is always hard to put implicit faith in a solitary sportsman or angler – he did considerable execution amongst the birds of the Broadland.

Still there were times when even the attraction of the rod and gun were not sufficient to keep him from dreaming. Then, he would throw himself down on some mossy bank and let his mind wander back into the mists and mysteries of the days of yore. There was one favourite spot of his, where, from beneath an arch, “the waters rush garrulously into a blue pool, and are there stilled for a time, for the pool is deep, and they appear to have sunk to sleep. Further on, however, you hear their voice again, where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly shallow. On the left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin of the stream. On the right is a green level, a smiling meadow; grass of the richest decks the side of the slope; mighty trees also adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of which, when the sun is nigh its meridian, fling a broad shadow on the face of the pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient brick of an old English hall.” This old hall stood on the site of an older hearthstead called the Earl’s Home, where lived some “Sigurd or Thorkild” in the days “when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a portentous name.” Earlham stands to-day as it did in Borrow’s time, and, no doubt, other Norwich lads at times lie out on the hillside dreaming of the sea-rovers of Scandinavia who ravaged the hearths and homes of the marshland folk of East Anglia.

Amongst the Norwich celebrities whom Borrow met, was Joseph John Gurney of Earlham, the large-hearted Quaker brother of Elizabeth Fry. Mr. Gurney seems to have come across him one day while he was fishing, and to have remonstrated with him for taking pleasure in such “a cruel diversion.” He was a tall man, “dressed in raiment of a quaint and singular fashion, but of goodly materials. He was in the pride and vigour of manhood (Joseph John Gurney was born in 1788); his features handsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence; at least I thought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver, with broad drooping eaves.”

The worthy Quaker, whose words had the effect of lessening Borrow’s inclination for angling, invited him to Earlham that he might search the library there for any such works as might please and interest him. This was an occupation so much to Borrow’s taste, that we wonder he did not accept the invitation. He did not do so, however, but sought out far different companions – namely, the Romanies whom he met at Tombland Fair and on Mousehold Heath. It was many years after that he paid his first visit to Earlham. Gurney did not then remember him as the youth whom he had met by the side of the marshland stream; but he took him to the library, and showed him the books of which he had spoken many years before. One of them was the work of a moneychanger. “I am a banker myself,” said Gurney, and the fact seems to have been the cause of reproachings on the part of some of the Norwich “Friends.” A letter of his appears in the chronicles of “The Gurneys of Earlham,” in which he writes: “I suppose my leading object in life may be said to be the bank. It sometimes startles me to find my leading object of such a nature, and now and then I doubt whether it is quite consistent with my religious pursuits and duties.” Eventually he arrives at the conclusion that: “While I am a banker, the bank must be attended to. It is obviously the religious duty of a trustee to so large an amount to be diligent in watching his trust.” Borrow, with whom he discussed the matter, sums up the case by exclaiming, “Would that there were many like him, amidst the money-changers of princes! The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty, the palace of many a prelate the piety and learning, which adorn the quiet Quaker’s home.”

It was the death of his father that brought about the first severing of Borrow’s connection with Norwich. Captain Borrow, as his portrait shows and his son declares, had been a sturdy soldier, possessing great physical strength. He enjoyed several years of quiet domestic life before the end came, and lingered for some months after the fatal illness seized him. At times he would rally, so that he could walk abroad a little, or sit up in the small parlour of the house in Willow Lane, wearing an old regimental coat, and with his dog at his feet. He used to have long talks with George on such occasions, and would relate to him stories of his past life, and the distinguished people he had met. “He had frequently conversed – almost on terms of familiarity – with good old George. He had known the conqueror of Tippoo Saib: and was the friend of Townshend, who, when Wolfe fell, led the British Grenadiers against the shrinking regiments of Montcalm.”

The old veteran’s elder son, John, who was absent from England, hastened home just in time to receive his father’s blessing. In the middle of the night, a sudden relapse brought the dying man’s wife and sons to his bedside. In his last moments, his mind wandered and he spoke of “Minden, and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant.” Last of all, “he uttered another name clearly, distinctly, and it was the name of Christ.” “With that name upon his lips,” writes George Borrow, “the brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom, and, with his hands still clasped, yielded up his soul.” His death took place on February 28, 1824, and he was buried in the churchyard of St. Giles, at Norwich.

The two brothers remained at home with their mother for some time after their father’s death. John fitted up a studio in the little house in Willow Lane, and there devoted himself to his art. His work does not seem to have been very remunerative, and eventually he went abroad in connection with a mining venture, and died in Mexico in 1833. George had a great opinion of his brother’s painting, and believed that if he had lived and continued to strive after excellence he would have left “some enduring monument of his powers”; but his estimate of John’s endowments may have been biassed by his affection. His love for his brother was deep and abiding, and was not lessened by his father’s marked preference for his elder son.

The precise date of Borrow’s leaving Norwich and betaking himself to London cannot be ascertained, but it is certain that he left his brother behind him in the old home. Mr. Birrell believes it to have been not later than 1828, and says “his only introduction appears to have been one from William Taylor to Sir Richard Phillips, the publisher known to all readers of “Lavengro.” Mr. George Saintsbury sums up his life in Norwich with the remark that “he occupied his time with things that obviously would not pay.”

A friend of the writer, who recently examined the old house in Willow Lane, has contributed the following description of its appearance at the time of his visit:

“In a quiet, secluded court, opening from a narrow lane in the old city of Norwich, stands an unpretentious house, which at first sight presents little to attract the attention of a visitor. A closer inspection, however, discloses a marble slab affixed over the door, bearing the following inscription: ‘In this house resided for some years of the earlier portion of his life, George Henry Borrow, author of “The Bible in Spain”; and other valued works. Died in 1881, aged 78 years.’ The old house immediately becomes invested with great interest to one who has spent many enraptured hours over the pages of the writer whose association with Norwich has been thus commemorated by Sir Peter Eade.

“The house itself is of somewhat ancient date, and its external appearance affords little indication of its size and the comfort of its arrangement within. Its condition is practically unchanged since the time when it was inhabited by the Borrow family. The present proprietor, Mr. W. Cooper, with a commendable respect for the memory of the great author, has made but few alterations. The principal change that has been effected is in the division of the house into two separate parts. This has been easily accomplished by the simple process of blocking up a door in the hall, and forming another doorway in the front of the house. The peculiar plan of the building adapts itself to this arrangement, no other alteration being found necessary for the complete disconnection of the two parts. Of the two cottages so formed, one is at present occupied by an old couple, while the other is used as a workshop.

“On entering the front door, which has a picturesque, antique porchway, access is gained to a fairly spacious hall, paved with tiles, from which ascends the main staircase of fine old oak. The door that is now closed, opened into a commodious front room, with a large window facing the west. This contains some finely carved panelling in a good state of preservation, and was evidently the chief room of the house. From it a passage extends to the back buildings. A narrow and particularly tortuous staircase leads from the front room to the upper rooms at the back of the house, to which access cannot be gained by the main stairs. On passing through the hall, the visitor finds himself in a large kitchen, where provision is made for an exceptionally big fireplace. In common with most old houses, every inch of available space is converted into cupboards, which are to be discovered in most unexpected nooks and corners. All the rooms are panelled, but it is only the large rooms just mentioned that contain any carving.

“On the first floor, the arrangements are of a similar nature to those on the ground floor. From the landing of the main staircase open two rooms, a large one over the best room, and a smaller one above the hall. In the first-mentioned is a noticeable fireplace, which, in the place of the customary mantelpiece, has a panel-work frame, uniform with that surrounding the other rooms. The place of the centre panel was formerly occupied by a large oil painting, which remained in its position for some time after the Borrows vacated the house, and is now in the possession of Mr. Cooper. It represents ‘The Judgment of Solomon,’ and is supposed to be the work of John Borrow, George’s artist brother. The two remaining bedrooms, which are reached by the small staircase, are of unequal size on account of a narrow passage, from which rises a short flight of stairs leading to a very irregular-shaped attic in the roof.”