Souvenir of the George Borrow Celebration | Page 7

the good old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard's sword."
After these descriptive passages, he at once passes to the questionings of his father and mother as to the career of "the other child," much more difficult to settle in life than his more sober-minded elder brother, who had, as Dr. Martineau informed me, "quite too much sense" to join in the wild escapade described by Dr. Knapp in one of his most "purple patches." Captain Borrow was sadly exercised about his younger son, and exclaimed, in the discussion about his prospects, "Why, he has neither my hair nor eyes; and then his countenance! Why, 'tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost said like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the boy is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair and eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!"
Our glimpses of the Grammar School life are meagre, but we can readily understand that to a lad of Borrow's temperament the routine of a well-ordered school was naturally distasteful, though he loved to gain knowledge from any unconventional source open to him. So we find him studying French and Italian with "one banished priest," the Rev. Thomas D'Eterville, M.A., of Caen University, who, as Borrow says, "lived in an old court of the old town," having come to Norwich in 1793. He advertised his "school in St. Andrew's," and this was situated in Locket's Yard, now built over by Messrs. Harmer's factory. Later he resided in the Strangers' Hall, then occupied by priests of the adjoining Roman Catholic Chapel of St. John, now superseded by the grand church which towers on the crest of St. Giles's Hill. The Norman priest was robust, with a slight stoop, but a rapid and vigorous step, "sixty or thereabouts," when Borrow was his pupil in 1816, according to "Lavengro." But he was really considerably younger, for when he died at Caen, February 22nd, 1843, his age was given as seventy-six. In a local obituary notice he was described as "a well-known and respected inhabitant of Norwich for upwards of forty years, who retired a few months ago to end his days in his native country." He made a small fortune, and there were rumours that he was engaged in the contraband trade. In a suppressed passage, reproduced by Dr. Knapp in his notes to "Lavengro," D'Eterville says he found friends here, and was able to ride a good horse to visit pupils in the country; also that he always carried pistols, which Borrow said he had seen. Here, then, was another character after Borrow's heart, especially as he told his pupil that one day he would be a great philologist. Of course, young Borrow was by no means the sort of lad to spend all his time on books. He loved to sally forth with an old condemned musket, and did such execution that he seldom returned (sad to say!) without a string of bullfinches, blackbirds, and linnets hanging round his neck. Yet, as Mr. Jenkins says, Borrow's "love of animals was almost feminine." With less zest he went fishing--too listless a pastime to interest him much, for he often fell into a doze by the water side, and sometimes let his rod drop into the stream. His poetical but strictly accurate account of Earlham is worth quoting:
"At some distance from the city, behind a range of hilly ground which rises towards the south-west, is a small river, the waters of which, after many meanderings, eventually enter the principal river of the district, and assist to swell the tide which it rolls down to the ocean. It is a sweet rivulet, and pleasant it is to trace its course from its spring-head, high up in the remote regions of East Anglia, till it arrives in the valley behind yon rising ground; and pleasant is that valley, truly a goodly spot, but most lovely where yonder bridge crosses the little stream. Beneath its 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. Farther 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 at its meridian, fling a broad shadow upon the face of the pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient brick of an old English hall. It has a stately look,