It would be interesting to identify the two men whom Borrow describes in Lavengro as being at the offices of the Bible Society in Earl Street, when he sought to exchange for a Bible the old Apple-woman’s copy of Moll Flanders. “One was dressed in brown,” he writes, “and the other was dressed in black; both were tall men—he who was dressed in brown was thin, and had a particularly ill-natured countenance; the man dressed in black was bulky, his features were noble, but they were those of a lion.” [329a] Again, in The Romany Rye, he makes the man in black say with reference to the Bible Society:—“There is one fellow amongst them for whom we entertain a particular aversion: a big, burly parson, with the face of a lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a sledge-hammer.” [329b] Who these two worthies were it is impossible to say with any degree of certainty. Caroline Fox describes Andrew Brandram no further than that he “appeared before us once more with his shaggy eyebrows.” [329c] Mr Brandram was not thin and his countenance was not ill-natured.
CHAPTER XXI
MAY 1840–MARCH 1841
Early in May, Borrow, his wife and step-daughter left London to take up their residence at Oulton, in Suffolk. After years of wandering and vagabondage he was to settle down as a landed proprietor. His income, or rather his wife’s, amounted to £450 per annum, and he must have saved a considerable sum out of the £2300 he had drawn from the Bible Society, as his mother appears to have regarded the amounts he had sent to her as held in trust. He was therefore able to instal himself, Sidi Habismilk and the Jew of Fez upon his wife’s small estate, with every prospect of enjoying a period of comfort and rest after his many years of wandering and adventure.
Oulton Cottage was ideally situated on the margin of the Broad. It was a one-storied building, with a dormer-attic above, hanging “over a lonely lake covered with wild fowl, and girt with dark firs, through which the wind sighs sadly. [330a] A regular Patmos, an ultima Thule; placed in an angle of the most unvisited, out-of-the-way portion of England.” [330b] A few yards from the water’s edge stood the famous octagonal Summer-house that Borrow made his study. Here he kept his books, a veritable “polyglot gentleman’s” library, consisting of such literary “tools” as a Lav-engro might be expected to possess. There were also books of travel and adventure, some chairs, a lounge and a table; whilst behind the door hung the sword and regimental coat of the sleeping warrior to whom his younger son had been an affliction of the spirit, because his mind pursued paths that appeared so strangely perilous.
Here in this Summer-house Borrow wrote his books. Here when “sickness was in the land, and the face of nature was overcast—heavy rain-clouds swam in the heavens—the blast howled amid the pines which nearly surround the lonely dwelling, and the waters of the lake which lies before it, so quiet in general and tranquil, were fearfully agitated,” Borrow shouted, “‘Bring lights hither, O Hayim Ben Attar, son of the miracle!’ And the Jew of Fez brought in the lights,” [331a] and his master commenced writing a book that was to make him famous. When tired of writing, he would sometimes sing “strange words in a stentorian voice, while passers-by on the lake would stop to listen with astonishment and curiosity to the singular sounds.” [331b]
Life at Oulton Cottage was delightfully simple. Borrow was a good host. “I am rather hospitable than otherwise,” [331c] he wrote, and thoroughly disliked anything in the nature of meanness. There was always a bottle of wine of a rare vintage for the honoured guest. Sometimes the host himself would hasten away to the little Summer-house by the side of the Broad to muse, his eyes fixed upon the military coat and sword, or to scribble upon scraps of paper that, later, were to be transcribed by Mrs Borrow. Borrow would spend his evenings with his wife and Henrietta, generally in reading until bedtime.
In the Norwich days Borrow had formed an acquaintance with another articled-clerk named Harvey (probably one of his colleagues at Tuck’s Court). They had kindred tastes, in particular a love of the open air and vigorous exercise. After settling at Oulton, the Borrows and the Harveys (then living at Bury St Edmunds) became very intimate, and frequently visited each other. Elizabeth Harvey, the daughter of Borrow’s contemporary, has given an extremely interesting account of the home life of the Borrows. She has described how sometimes Borrow would sing one of his Romany songs, “shake his fist at me and look quite wild. Then he would ask: ‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’ ‘No, not at all,’ I would say. Then he would look just as gentle and kind, and say, ‘God bless you, I would not hurt a hair of your head.’” [332a]
Miss Harvey has also given us many glimpses into Borrow’s character. “He was very fond of ghost stories,” she writes, “and believed in the supernatural.” [332b] He enjoyed music of a lively description, one of his favourite compositions being the well-known “Redowa” polka, which he would frequently ask to have played to him again.
As an eater Borrow was very moderate, he “took very little breakfast but ate a very great quantity of dinner, and then had only a draught of cold water before going to bed . . . He was very temperate and would eat what was set before him, often not thinking of what he was doing, and he never refused what was offered him.” [332c] On one occasion when he was dining with the Harveys, young Harvey, seeing Borrow engrossed in telling of his travels, handed him dish after dish in rapid succession, from all of which he helped himself, entirely unconscious of what he was doing. Finally his plate was full to overflowing, perceiving which he became very angry, and it was some time before he could be appeased. A practical joke made no appeal to him. [332d]