On Monday, March 27, I breakfasted with him at Mr. Strahan’s. He told us, that he was engaged to go that evening to Mrs. Abington’s benefit. ‘She was visiting some ladies whom I was visiting, and begged that I would come to her benefit. I told her I could not hear: but she insisted so much on my coming, that it would have been brutal to have refused her.’ This was a speech quite characteristical. He loved to bring forward his having been in the gay circles of life; and he was, perhaps, a little vain of the solicitations of this elegant and fashionable actress. He told us, the play was to be The Hypocrite, altered from Cibber’s Nonjuror,436 so as to satirize the Methodists. ‘I do not think (said he,) the character of The Hypocrite justly applicable to the Methodists, but it was very applicable to the Nonjurors. I once said to Dr. Madan, a clergyman of Ireland, who was a great Whig, that perhaps a Nonjuror would have been less criminal in taking the oaths imposed by the ruling power, than refusing them; because refusing them, necessarily laid him under almost an irresistible temptation to be more criminal; for, a man must live, and if he precludes himself from the support furnished by the establishment, will probably be reduced to very wicked shifts to maintain himself.’a BOSWELL. ‘I should think, Sir, that a man who took the oaths contrary to his principles, was a determined wicked man, because he was sure he was committing perjury; whereas a Nonjuror might be insensibly led to do what was wrong, without being so directly conscious of it.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, a man who goes to bed to his patron’s wife is pretty sure that he is committing wickedness.’ BOSWELL. ‘Did the nonjuring clergymen do so, Sir?’ JOHNSON. ‘I am afraid many of them did.’
I was startled at his argument, and could by no means think it convincing. Had not his own father complied with the requisition of government, (as to which he once observed to me, when I pressed him upon it, ‘That, Sir, he was to settle with himself,’) he would probably have thought more unfavourably of a Jacobite who took the oaths:
‘—had he not resembled
My father as he swore—.’438
Mr. Strahan talked of launching into the great ocean of London, in order to have a chance for rising into eminence; and, observing that many men were kept back from trying their fortunes there, because they were born to a competency, said, ‘Small certainties are the bane of men of talents;’ which Johnson confirmed. Mr. Strahan put Johnson in mind of a remark which he had made to him; ‘There are few ways in which a man can be more innocently employed than in getting money.’ ‘The more one thinks of this, (said Strahan,) the juster it will appear.’
Mr. Strahan had taken a poor boy from the country439 as an apprentice, upon Johnson’s recommendation. Johnson having enquired after him, said, ‘Mr. Strahan, let me have five guineas on account, and I’ll give this boy one. Nay, if a man recommends a boy, and does nothing for him, it is sad work. Call him down.’
I followed him into the court-yard, behind Mr. Strahan’s house; and there I had a proof of what I had heard him profess, that he talked alike to all. ‘Some people (said he), tell you that they let themselves down to the capacity of their hearers. I never do that. I speak uniformly, in as intelligible a manner as I can.’
‘Well, my boy, how do you go on?’ – ‘Pretty well, Sir; but they are afraid I an’t strong enough for some parts of the business.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, I shall be sorry for it; for when you consider with how little mental power and corporeal labour a printer can get a guinea a week, it is a very desirable occupation for you. Do you hear, – take all the pains you can; and if this does not do, we must think of some other way of life for you. There’s a guinea.’
Here was one of the many, many instances of his active benevolence. At the same time, the slow and sonorous solemnity with which, while he bent himself down, he addressed a little thick short-legged boy, contrasted with the boy’s aukwardness and awe, could not but excite some ludicrous emotions.
I met him at Drury-lane play-house in the evening. Sir Joshua Reynolds, at Mrs. Abington’s request, had promised to bring a body of wits to her benefit; and having secured forty places in the front boxes, had done me the honour to put me in the group. Johnson sat on the seat directly behind me; and as he could neither see nor hear at such a distance from the stage, he was wrapped up in grave abstraction, and seemed quite a cloud, amidst all the sunshine of glitter and gaiety. I wondered at his patience in sitting out a play of five acts, and a farce of two. He said very little; but after the prologue to Bon Ton440 had been spoken, which he could hear pretty well from the more slow and distinct utterance, he talked of prologue-writing, and observed, ‘Dryden has written prologues superiour to any that David Garrick has written; but David Garrick has written more good prologues than Dryden has done. It is wonderful that he has been able to write such a variety of them.’
At Mr. Beauclerk’s, where I supped, was Mr. Garrick, whom I made happy with Johnson’s praise of his prologues; and I suppose, in gratitude to him, he took up one of his favourite topicks, the nationality of the Scotch, which he maintained in his pleasant manner, with the aid of a little poetical fiction. ‘Come, come, don’t deny it: they are really national. Why, now, the Adams are as liberal-minded men as any in the world: but, I don’t know how it is, all their workmen are Scotch. You are, to be sure, wonderfully free from that nationality: but so it happens, that you employ the only Scotch shoe-black in London.’ He imitated the manner of his old master with ludicrous exaggeration; repeating, with pauses and half-whistlings interjected,
‘Os homini sublime dedit, — ccelumque tueri
Jussit, — et erectos ad sidera — tollere vultus;’441
looking downwards all the time, and, while pronouncing the four last words, absolutely touching the ground with a kind of contorted gesticulation.
Garrick, however, when he pleased, could imitate Johnson very exactly; for that great actor, with his distinguished powers of expression which were so universally admired, possessed also an admirable talent of mimickry. He was always jealous that Johnson spoke lightly of him. I recollect his exhibiting him to me one day, as if saying, ‘Davy has some convivial pleasantry about him, but ’tis a futile fellow;’ which he uttered perfectly with the tone and air of JOHNSON.
I cannot too frequently request of my readers, while they peruse my account of Johnson’s conversation, to endeavour to keep in mind his deliberate and strong utterance. His mode of speaking was indeed very impressive;a and I wish it could be preserved as musick is written, according to the very ingenious method of Mr. Steele,b who has shewn how the recitation of Mr. Garrick, and other eminent speakers, might be transmitted to posterity in score.c
Next day I dined with Johnson at Mr. Thrale’s. He attacked Gray, calling him a ‘dull fellow.’ BOSWELL. ‘I understand he was reserved, and might appear dull in company; but surely he was not dull in poetry.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, he was dull in company, dull in his closet, dull everywhere. He was dull in a new way, and that made many people think him great. He was a mechanical poet.’ He then repeated some ludicrous lines, which have escaped my memory, and said, ‘Is not that great, like his Odes?’ Mrs. Thrale maintained that his Odes were melodious; upon which he exclaimed,
‘Weave the warp, and weave the woof;’ –
I added, in a solemn tone,
‘The winding-sheet of Edward’s race.’
‘There is a good line.’ ‘Ay, (said he,) and the next line is a good one,’ (pronouncing it contemptuously;)
‘Give ample verge and room enough.’ –442
‘No, Sir, there are but two good stanzas in Gray’s poetry, which are in his Elegy in a Country Church-yard.’ He then repeated the stanza,
‘For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,’ &c.
mistaking one word; for instead of precincts he said confines. He added, ‘The other stanza I forget.’
A young lady who had married a man443 much her inferiour in rank being mentioned, a question arose how a woman’s relations should behave to her in such a situation; and, while I recapitulate the debate, and recollect
what has since happened, I cannot but be struck in a manner that delicacy forbids me to express. While I contended that she ought to be treated with an inflexible steadiness of displeasure, Mrs. Thrale was all for mildness and forgiveness, and, according to the vulgar phrase, ‘making the best of a bad bargain.’ JOHNSON. ‘Madam, we must distinguish. Were I a man of rank, I would not let a daughter starve who had made a mean marriage; but having voluntarily degraded herself from the station which she was originally entitled to hold, I would support her only in that which she herself had chosen; and would not put her on a level with my other daughters. You are to consider, Madam, that it is our duty to maintain the subordination of civilized society; and when there is a gross and shameful deviation from rank, it should be punished so as to deter others from the same perversion.’
After frequently considering this subject, I am more and more confirmed in what I then meant to express, and which was sanctioned by the authority, and illustrated by the wisdom, of Johnson; and I think it of the utmost consequence to the happiness of Society, to which subordination is absolutely necessary. It is weak, and contemptible, and unworthy, in a parent to relax in such a case. It is sacrificing general advantage to private feelings. And let it be considered, that the claim of a daughter who has acted thus, to be restored to her former situation, is either fantastical or unjust. If there be no value in the distinction of rank, what does she suffer by being kept in the situation to which she has descended? If there be a value in that distinction, it ought to be steadily maintained. If indulgence be shewn to such conduct, and the offenders know that in a longer or shorter time they shall be received as well as if they had not contaminated their blood by a base alliance, the great check upon that inordinate caprice which generally occasions low marriages will be removed, and the fair and comfortable order of improved life will be miserably disturbed.
Lord Chesterfield’s Letters being mentioned, Johnson said, ‘It was not to be wondered at that they had so great a sale, considering that they were the letters of a statesman, a wit, one who had been so much in the mouths of mankind, one long accustomed virum volitare per ora.’444
On Friday, March 31, I supped with him and some friends at a tavern. One of the company445 attempted, with too much forwardness, to rally him on his late appearance at the theatre; but had reason to repent of his temerity. ‘Why, Sir, did you go to Mrs. Abington’s benefit? Did you see?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ ‘Did you hear?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir.’ ‘Why then, Sir, did you go?’ JOHNSON. ‘Because, Sir, she is a favourite of the publick; and when the publick cares the thousandth part for you that it does for her, I will go to your benefit too.’
Next morning I won a small bet from Lady Diana Beauclerk, by asking him as to one of his particularities, which her Ladyship laid I durst not do. It seems he had been frequently observed at the Club to put into his pocket the Seville oranges, after he had squeezed the juice of them into the drink which he made for himself. Beauclerk and Garrick talked of it to me, and seemed to think that he had a strange unwillingness to be discovered. We could not divine what he did with them; and this was the bold question to be put. I saw on his table the spoils of the preceding night, some fresh peels nicely scraped and cut into pieces. ‘O, Sir, (said I,) I now partly see what you do with the squeezed oranges which you put into your pocket at the Club.’ JOHNSON. ‘I have a great love for them.’ BOSWELL. ‘And pray, Sir, what do you do with them? You scrape them, it seems, very neatly, and what next?’ JOHNSON. ‘I let them dry, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘And what next?’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, you shall know their fate no further.’ BOSWELL. ‘Then the world must be left in the dark. It must be said (assuming a mock solemnity,) he scraped them, and let them dry, but what he did with them next, he never could be prevailed upon to tell.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, you should say it more emphatically: – he could not be prevailed upon, even by his dearest friends, to tell.’
He had this morning received his Diploma as Doctor of Laws from the University of Oxford. He did not vaunt of his new dignity, but I understood he was highly pleased with it. I shall here insert the progress and completion of that high academical honour, in the same manner as I have traced his obtaining that of Master of Arts.
To the Reverend Dr. FOTHERGILL, vice-Chancellor of the University of Oxford, to be communicated to the Heads of Houses, and proposed in Convocation.
‘MR. VICE-CHANCELLOR AND GENTLEMEN,
‘The honour of the degree of M.A. by diploma, formerly conferred upon Mr. Samuel Johnson, inconsequence of his having eminently distinguished himself by the publication of a series of Essays, excellently calculated to form the manners of the people, and in which the cause of religion and morality has been maintained and recommended by the strongest powers of argument and elegance of language, reflected an equal degree of lustre upon the University itself.
‘The many learned labours which have since that time employed the attention and displayed the abilities of that great man, so much to the advancement of literature and the benefit of the community, render him worthy of more distinguished honours in the Republick of letters: and I persuade myself, that I shall act agreeably to the sentiments of the whole University, in desiring that it may be proposed in Convocation to confer on him the degree of Doctor in Civil Law by diploma, to which I readily give my consent; and am, Mr. Vice-Chancellor and Gentlemen, your affectionate friend and servant, ‘Downing-street, March 23, 1775.’ ‘North.’a
DIPLOMA.
‘CANCELLARIUS, Magistri, etScbolares Universitatis Oxoniensis omnibus ad quos prcesentes Literce pervenerint, Salutem in Domino Sempiternam.
‘SCIATIS, virum illustrem, SAMUELEM JOHNSON, in omni bumaniorum literarum genere eruditum, omniumque scientiarum comprebensione felicissi-mum, scriptis suis, adpopularium mores formandos summa verborum elegantiä ac sententiarum gravitate compositis, ita olim inclaruisse, ut dignus videretur cui ab Academiä suä eximia qucedam laudis prcemia {deferrentur} quique {in} venerabilem Magistrorum Ordinem summa cum dignitate cooptaretur:
Cum verb eundem clarissimum virum tot posteä tantique labores, in patriä prcesertim linguä ornandä et stabiliendä feliciter impensi, ita insigniverint, ut in Literarum Republicä PRINCEPS jam et PRIMARIUS jure babeatur; Nos CANCELLARIUS, Magistri, etScbolares Universitatis Oxoniensis, quo talis viri merita pari honoris remuneratione excequentur, etperpetuum suce simul laudis, nostrceque ergä literas propensissimce voluntatis extet monumentum, in solenni Convocatione Doctorum et Magistrorum Regentium, et non Regentium, prce-dictum SAMUELEM JOHNSON Doctorem in Jure Civili renunciavimus et constituimus, eumque virtute prcesentis Diplomatis singulis juribus, privilegiis et bonoribus, ad istum gradum quäquä pertinentibus, frui et gaudere jussimus. In cujus rei testimonium commune Universitatis Oxoniensis sigillum prcesentibus apponi fecimus.
‘Datum in Domo nostrce Convocationis die tricesimo Mensis Martii, Anno Domini Millesimo septingentesimo, septuagesimo quinto.’ b 446
‘Viro Reverendo TNOMAE FOTHERGILL, S.T.P. Universitatis Oxoniensis Vice-Cancellario.
‘S. P. D.
‘SAM. JOHNSON.
‘MULTIS non est opus, ut testimonium quo, te preside, Oxonienses nomen meum posteris commendärunt, quali animo acceperim compertum faciam. Nemo sibi placens non IcBtatur; nemo sibi non placet, qui vobis, literarum arbitris, placere potuit. Hoc tarnen habet incommodi tantum beneficium, quod mihi nunquam posthäc sine vestrcB fames detrimento vel labi liceat vel cessare; semperque sit timendum, ne quod mihi tarn eximicB laudi est, vobis aliquando fiat opprobrio. Vale.’a
‘7 Id. Apr., 1775.’448
He revised some sheets of Lord Hailes’s Annals of Scotland; and wrote a few notes on the margin with red ink, which he bade me tell his Lordship did not sink into the paper, and might be wiped off with a wet sponge, so that he did not spoil his manuscript. I observed to him that there were very few of his friends so accurate as that I could venture to put down in writing what they told me as his sayings. JOHNSON. ‘Why should you write down my sayings?’ BOSWELL.
‘I write them when they are good.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, you may as well write down the sayings of any one else that are good.’ But where, I might with great propriety have added, can I find such?
I visited him by appointment in the evening, and we drank tea with Mrs. Williams. He told me that he had been in the company of a gentleman449 whose extraordinary travels had been much the subject of conversation. But I found that he had not listened to him with that full confidence, without which there is little satisfaction in the society of travellers. I was curious to hear what opinion so able a judge as Johnson had formed of his abilities, and I asked if he was not a man of sense. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, he is not a distinct relater; and I should say, he is neither abounding nor deficient in sense. I did not perceive any superiority of understanding.’ BOSWELL. ‘But will you not allow him a nobleness of resolution, in penetrating into distant regions?’ JOHNSON. ‘That, Sir, is not to the present purpose. We are talking of his sense. A fighting cock has a nobleness of resolution.’
Next day, Sunday, April 2, I dined with him at Mr. Hoole’s. We talked of Pope. JOHNSON. ‘He wrote his Dunciad for fame. That was his primary motive. Had it not been for that, the dunces might have railed against him till they were weary, without his troubling himself about them. He delighted to vex them, no doubt; but he had more delight in seeing how well he could vex them.’
The Odes to Obscurity and Oblivion, in ridicule of ‘cool Mason and warm Gray,’ being mentioned, Johnson said, ‘They are Colman’s best things.’ Upon its being observed that it was believed these Odes were made by Colman and Lloyd jointly; – JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, how can two people make an Ode? Perhaps one made one of them, and one the other.’ I observed that two people had made a play, and quoted the anecdote of Beaumont and Fletcher, who were brought under suspicion of treason, because while concerting the plan of a tragedy when sitting together at a tavern, one of them was overheard saying to the other, ‘I’ll kill the King.’ JOHNSON. ‘The first of these Odes is the best: but they are both good. They exposed a very bad kind of writing.’ BOSWELL. ‘surely, Sir, Mr. Mason’s Elfrida is a fine Poem: at least you will allow there are some good passages in it.’ JOHNSON. ‘There are now and then some good imitations of Milton’s bad manner.’
The Life of Samuel Johnson Page 69
