No sooner did he, of whom we had been thus talking so easily, arrive, than we were all as quiet as a school upon the entrance of the head-master; and were very soon set down to a table covered with such variety of good things, as contributed not a little to dispose him to be pleased.
RAMSAY. ‘I am old enough to have been a contemporary of Pope. His poetry was highly admired in his life-time, more a great deal than after his death.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it has not been less admired since his death; no authours ever had so much fame in their own life-time as Pope and Voltaire; and Pope’s poetry has been as much admired since his death as during his life; it has only not been as much talked of, but that is owing to its being now more distant, and people having other writings to talk of. Virgil is less talked of than Pope, and Homer is less talked of than Virgil; but they are not less admired. We must read what the world reads at the moment. It has been maintained that this superfoetation, this teeming of the press in modern times, is prejudicial to good literature, because it obliges us to read so much of what is of inferiour value, in order to be in the fashion; so that better works are neglected for want of time, because a man will have more gratification of his vanity in conversation, from having read modern books, than from having read the best works of antiquity. But it must be considered, that we have now more knowledge generally diffused; all our ladies read now, which is a great extension. Modern writers are the moons of literature; they shine with reflected light, with light borrowed from the ancients. Greece appears to me to be the fountain of knowledge; Rome of elegance.’ RAMSAY. ‘I suppose Homer’s Iliad to be a collection of pieces which had been written before his time. I should like to see a translation of it in poetical prose like the book of Ruth or Job.’ ROBERTSON. ‘Would you, Dr. Johnson, who are master of the English language, but try your hand upon a part of it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you could not read it without the pleasure of verse.’
We talked of antiquarian researches. JOHNSON. ‘All that is really known of the ancient state of Britain is contained in a few pages. We can know no more than what the old writers have told us; yet what large books have we upon it, the whole of which, excepting such parts as are taken from those old writers, is all a dream, such as Whitaker’s Manchester. I have heard Henry’s History of Britain well spoken of: I am told it is carried on in separate divisions, as the civil, the military, the religious history: I wish much to have one branch well done, and that is the history of manners, of common life.’ ROBERTSON. ‘Henry should have applied his attention to that alone, which is enough for any man; and he might have found a great deal scattered in various books, had he read solely with that view. Henry erred in not selling his first volume at a moderate price to the booksellers, that they might have pushed him on till he had got reputation. I sold my History of Scotland at a moderate price, as a work by which the booksellers might either gain or not; and Cadell has told me that Millar and he have got six thousand pounds by it. I afterwards received a much higher price for my writings. An authour should sell his first work for what the booksellers will give, till it shall appear whether he is an authour of merit, or, which is the same thing as to purchase-money, an authour who pleases the publick.’
Dr. Robertson expatiated on the character of a certain nobleman; that he was one of the strongest-minded men that ever lived; that he would sit in company quite sluggish, while there was nothing to call forth his intellectual vigour; but the moment that any important subject was started, for instance, how this country is to be defended against a French invasion, he would rouse himself, and shew his extraordinary talents with the most powerful ability and animation. JOHNSON. ‘Yet this man cut his own throat. The true strong and sound mind is the mind that can embrace equally great things and small. Now I am told the King of Prussia will say to a servant, “Bring me a bottle of such a wine, which came in such a year; it lies in such a corner of the cellars.” I would have a man great in great things, and elegant in little things.’ He said to me afterwards, when we were by ourselves, ‘Robertson was in a mighty romantick humour, he talked of one whom he did not know; but I downed him with the King of Prussia.’ ‘Yes, Sir, (said I,) you threw a bottle at his head.’
An ingenious gentleman was mentioned, concerning whom both Robertson and Ramsay agreed that he had a constant firmness of mind; for after a laborious day, and amidst a multiplicity of cares and anxieties, he would sit down with his sisters and be quite cheerful and good-humoured. Such a disposition, it was observed, was a happy gift of nature. JOHNSON. ‘I do not think so; a man has from nature a certain portion of mind; the use he makes of it depends upon his own free will. That a man has always the same firmness of mind I do not say; because every man feels his mind less firm at one time than another; but I think a man’s being in a good or bad humour depends upon his will.’ I, however, could not help thinking that a man’s humour is often uncontroulable by his will.
Johnson harangued against drinking wine. ‘A man (said he) may choose whether he will have abstemiousness and knowledge, or claret and ignorance.’ Dr. Robertson, (who is very companionable,) was beginning to dissent as to the proscription of claret. JOHNSON: (with a placid smile.) ‘Nay, Sir, you shall not differ with me; as I have said that the man is most perfect who takes in the most things, I am for knowledge and claret.’ ROBERTSON: (holding a glass of generous claret in his hand.) ‘Sir, I can only drink your health.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, I should be sorry if you should be ever in such a state as to be able to do nothing more.’ ROBERTSON. ‘Dr. Johnson, allow me to say, that in one respect I have the advantage of you; when you were in Scotland you would not come to hear any of our preachers, whereas, when I am here, I attend your publick worship without scruple, and indeed, with great satisfaction.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, that is not so extraordinary: the King of Siam sent ambassadors to Louis the Fourteenth; but Louis the Fourteenth sent none to the King of Siam.’
Here my friend for once discovered a want of knowledge or forgetfulness; for Louis the Fourteenth did send an embassy to the King of Siam, and the Abbé Choisi, who was employed in it, published an account of it in two volumes.
Next day, Thursday, April 30, I found him at home by himself. JOHNSON. ‘Well, Sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid dinner. I love Ramsay. You will not find a man in whose conversation there is more instruction, more information, and more elegance, than in Ramsay’s.’ BOSWELL. ‘What I admire in Ramsay, is his continuing to be so young.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, yes, Sir, it is to be admired. I value myself upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation. I am now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight.’ BOSWELL. ‘But, Sir, would not you wish to know old age? He who is never an old man, does not know the whole of human life; for old age is one of the divisions of it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, what talk is this?’ BOSWELL. ‘I mean, Sir, the Sphinx’s description of it; — morning, noon, and night. I would know night, as well as morning and noon.’ JOHNSON. ‘What, Sir, would you know what it is to feel the evils of old age? Would you have the gout? Would you have decrepitude?’ — Seeing him heated, I would not argue any farther; but I was confident that I was in the right. I would, in due time, be a Nestor, an elder of the people; and there should be some difference between the conversation of twenty-eight and sixty-eight. A grave picture should not be gay. There is a serene, solemn, placid old age. JOHNSON. ‘Mrs. Thrale’s mother said of me what flattered me much. A clergyman was complaining of want of society in the country where he lived; and said, “They talk of runts;” (that is, young cows). “Sir, (said Mrs. Salusbury,) Mr. Johnson would learn to talk of runts:” meaning that I was a man who would make the most of my situation, whatever it was.’ He added, ‘I think myself a very polite man.’
On Saturday, May 2, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s, where there was a very large company, and a great deal of conversation; but owing to some circumstance which I cannot now recollect, I have no record of any part of it, except that there were several people there by no means of the Johnsonian scho
ol; so that less attention was paid to him than usual, which put him out of humour; and upon some imaginary offence from me, he attacked me with such rudeness, that I was vexed and angry, because it gave those persons an opportunity of enlarging upon his supposed ferocity, and ill treatment of his best friends. I was so much hurt, and had my pride so much roused, that I kept away from him for a week; and, perhaps, might have kept away much longer, nay, gone to Scotland without seeing him again, had not we fortunately met and been reconciled. To such unhappy chances are human friendships liable.
On Friday, May 8, I dined with him at Mr. Langton’s. I was reserved and silent, which I suppose he perceived, and might recollect the cause. After dinner when Mr. Langton was called out of the room, and we were by ourselves, he drew his chair near to mine, and said, in a tone of conciliating courtesy, ‘Well, how have you done?’ BOSWELL. ‘Sir, you have made me very uneasy by your behaviour to me when we were last at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. You know, my dear Sir, no man has a greater respect and affection for you, or would sooner go to the end of the world to serve you. Now to treat me so — .’ He insisted that I had interrupted him, which I assured him was not the case; and proceeded— ‘But why treat me so before people who neither love you nor me?’ JOHNSON. ‘Well, I am sorry for it. I’ll make it up to you twenty different ways, as you please.’ BOSWELL. ‘I said to-day to Sir Joshua, when he observed that you tossed me sometimes — I don’t care how often, or how high he tosses me, when only friends are present, for then I fall upon soft ground: but I do not like falling on stones, which is the case when enemies are present. — I think this a pretty good image, Sir.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is one of the happiest I have ever heard.’
The truth is, there was no venom in the wounds which he inflicted at any time, unless they were irritated by some malignant infusion by other hands. We were instantly as cordial again as ever, and joined in hearty laugh at some ludicrous but innocent peculiarities of one of our friends. BOSWELL. ‘Do you think, Sir, it is always culpable to laugh at a man to his face?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, that depends upon the man and the thing. If it is a slight man, and a slight thing, you may; for you take nothing valuable from him.’
He said, ‘I read yesterday Dr. Blair’s sermon on Devotion, from the text “Cornelius, a devout man.” His doctrine is the best limited, the best expressed: there is the most warmth without fanaticism, the most rational transport. There is one part of it which I disapprove, and I’d have him correct it; which is, that “he who does not feel joy in religion is far from the kingdom of heaven!” There are many good men whose fear of GOD predominates over their love. It may discourage. It was rashly said. A noble sermon it is indeed. I wish Blair would come over to the Church of England.’
When Mr. Langton returned to us, the ‘flow of talk’ went on. An eminent author being mentioned; — JOHNSON. ‘He is not a pleasant man. His conversation is neither instructive nor brilliant. He does not talk as if impelled by any fulness of knowledge or vivacity of imagination. His conversation is like that of any other sensible man. He talks with no wish either to inform or to hear, but only because he thinks it does not become —— to sit in a company and say nothing.’
Mr. Langton having repeated the anecdote of Addison having distinguished between his powers in conversation and in writing, by saying ‘I have only nine-pence in my pocket; but I can draw for a thousand pounds;’ — JOHNSON. ‘He had not that retort ready, Sir; he had prepared it before-hand.’ LANGTON: (turning to me.) ‘A fine surmise. Set a thief to catch a thief.’
Johnson called the East-Indians barbarians. BOSWELL. ‘You will except the Chinese, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘Have they not arts?’ JOHNSON. ‘They have pottery.’ BOSWELL. ‘What do you say to the written characters of their language? ‘JOHNSON. ‘Sir, they have not an alphabet. They have not been able to form what all other nations have formed.’ BOSWELL. ‘There is more learning in their language than in any other, from the immense number of their characters.’ JOHNSON. ‘It is only more difficult from its rudeness; as there is more labour in hewing down a tree with a stone than with an axe.’
He said, ‘I have been reading Lord Kames’s Sketches of the History of Man. In treating of severity of punishment, he mentions that of Madame Lapouchin, in Russia, but he does not give it fairly; for I have looked at Chappe D’Auteroche, from whom he has taken it. He stops where it is said that the spectators thought her innocent, and leaves out what follows; that she nevertheless was guilty. Now this is being as culpable as one can conceive, to misrepresent fact in a book, and for what motive? It is like one of those lies which people tell, one cannot see why. The woman’s life was spared; and no punishment was too great for the favourite of an Empress who had conspired to dethrone her mistress.’ BOSWELL. ‘He was only giving a picture of the lady in her sufferings.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, don’t endeavour to palliate this. Guilt is a principal feature in the picture. Kames is puzzled with a question that puzzled me when I was a very young man. Why is it that the interest of money is lower, when money is plentiful; for five pounds has the same proportion of value to a hundred pounds when money is plentiful, as when it is scarce? A lady explained it to me. “It is (said she) because when money is plentiful there are so many more who have money to lend, that they bid down one another. Many have then a hundred pounds; and one says, — Take mine rather than another’s, and you shall have it at four per cent.”’ BOSWELL. ‘Does Lord Kames decide the question?’ JOHNSON. ‘I think he leaves it as he found it.’ BOSWELL. ‘This must have been an extraordinary lady who instructed you, Sir. May I ask who she was?’ JOHNSON. ‘Molly Aston, Sir, the sister of those ladies with whom you dined at Lichfield. I shall be at home to-morrow.’ BOSWELL. ‘Then let us dine by ourselves at the Mitre, to keep up the old custom, “the custom of the manor,” the custom of the mitre.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, so it shall be.’
On Saturday, May 9, we fulfilled our purpose of dining by ourselves at the Mitre, according to old custom. There was, on these occasions, a little circumstance of kind attention to Mrs. Williams, which must not be omitted. Before coming out, and leaving her to dine alone, he gave her choice of a chicken, a sweetbread, or any other little nice thing, which was carefully sent to her from the tavern, ready-drest.
Our conversation to-day, I know not how, turned, (I think for the only time at any length, during our long acquaintance,) upon the sensual intercourse between the sexes, the delight of which he ascribed chiefly to imagination. ‘Were it not for imagination, Sir, (said he,) a man would be as happy in the arms of a chambermaid as of a Duchess. But such is the adventitious charm of fancy, that we find men who have violated the best principles of society, and ruined their fame and their fortune, that they might possess a woman of rank.’ It would not be proper to record the particulars of such a conversation in moments of unreserved frankness, when nobody was present on whom it could have any hurtful effect. That subject, when philosophically treated, may surely employ the mind in as curious discussion, and as innocently, as anatomy; provided that those who do treat it keep clear of inflammatory incentives.
‘From grave to gay, from lively to severe,’ — we were soon engaged in very different speculation; humbly and reverently considering and wondering at the universal mystery of all things, as our imperfect faculties can now judge of them. ‘There are (said he) innumerable questions to which the inquisitive mind can in this state receive no answer: Why do you and I exist? Why was this world created? Since it was to be created, why was it not created sooner?’
On Sunday, May 10, I supped with him at Mr. Hoole’s, with Sir Joshua Reynolds. I have neglected the memorial of this evening, so as to remember no more of it than two particulars; one, that he strenuously opposed an argument by Sir Joshua, that virtue was preferable to vice, considering this life only; and that a man would be virtuous were it only to preserve his character: and that he expressed much wonder at the curious formation of the bat, a mouse with wings; saying, that ‘it was almost as strange a thing in
physiology, as if the fabulous dragon could be seen.’
On Tuesday, May 12, I waited on the Earl of Marchmont, to know if his Lordship would favour Dr. Johnson with information concerning Pope, whose Life he was about to write. Johnson had not flattered himself with the hopes of receiving any civility from this nobleman; for he said to me, when I mentioned Lord Marchmont as one who could tell him a great deal about Pope,— ‘Sir, he will tell me nothing.’ I had the honour of being known to his Lordship, and applied to him of myself, without being commissioned by Johnson. His Lordship behaved in the most polite and obliging manner, promised to tell all he recollected about Pope, and was so very courteous as to say, ‘Tell Dr. Johnson I have a great respect for him, and am ready to shew it in any way I can. I am to be in the city to-morrow, and will call at his house as I return.’ His Lordship however asked, ‘Will he write the Lives of the Poets impartially? He was the first that brought Whig and Tory into a Dictionary. And what do you think of his definition of Excise? Do you know the history of his aversion to the word transpire?’ Then taking down the folio Dictionary, he shewed it with this censure on its secondary sense: ‘To escape from secrecy to notice; a sense lately innovated from France, without necessity.’ The truth was Lord Bolingbroke, who left the Jacobites, first used it; therefore, it was to be condemned. ‘He should have shewn what word would do for it, if it was unnecessary.’ I afterwards put the question to Johnson: ‘Why, Sir, (said he,) get abroad.’ BOSWELL. ‘That, Sir, is using two words.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, there is no end of this. You may as well insist to have a word for old age.’ BOSWELL. ‘Well, Sir, Senectus.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, to insist always that there should be one word to express a thing in English, because there is one in another language, is to change the language.’
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 779
