the 'guide, philosopher, and friend;' the _Imlac_ who had hastened
from the country to console a distressed mother, who he understood
was very anxious for his return. They had, I found, without ceremony,
proceeded on their journey. I was glad to understand from him that it
was still resolved that his tour to Italy with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale
should take place, of which he had entertained some doubt, on account
of the loss which they had suffered; and his doubts afterwards
appeared to be well founded. He observed, indeed, very justly, that
'their loss was an additional reason for their going abroad; and if
it had not been fixed that he should have been one of the party, he
would force them out; but he would not advise them unless his advice
was asked, lest they might suspect that he recommended what he wished
on his own account.' I was not pleased that his intimacy with Mr.
Thrale's family, though it no doubt contributed much to his comfort
and enjoyment, was not without some degree of restraint[1]: not, as
has been grossly suggested[2], that it was required of him as a task
to talk for the entertainment of them and their company; but that he
was not quite at his ease: which, however, might partly be owing to
his own honest pride--that dignity of mind which is always jealous of
appearing too compliant."
[Footnote 1: (_Marginal note_). "What restraint can he mean? Johnson
kept every one else under restraint."]
[Footnote 2: (_Marginal note._) "I do not believe it ever was
suggested."]
In his first letter of condolence on Mr. Thrale's death, Johnson
speaks of her having enjoyed happiness in marriage, "to a degree of
which, without personal knowledge, I should have thought the
description fabulous." The "Autobiography" and "Thraliana" tell a
widely different tale. The mortification of not finding herself
appreciated by her husband was poignantly increased, during the last
years of his life, by finding another offensively preferred to her.
He was so fascinated by one of her fair friends, as to lose sight
altogether of what was due to appearances or to the feelings of his
wife.
A full account of the lady in question is given in the "Thraliana":
"_Miss Streatfield_.--I have since heard that Dr. Collier picked up a
more useful friend, a Mrs. Streatfield, a widow, high in fortune and
rather eminent both for the beauties of person and mind; her
children, I find, he has been educating; and her eldest daughter is
just now coming out into the world with a great character for
elegance and literature.--_20 November, 1776._"
"_19 May, 1778._--The person who wrote the title of this book at the
top of the page, on the other side--left hand--in the black letter,
was the identical Miss Sophia Streatfield, mentioned in 'Thraliana,'
as pupil to poor dear Doctor Collier, after he and I had parted. By
the chance meeting of some of the currents which keep this ocean of
human life from stagnating, this lady and myself were driven together
nine months ago at Brighthelmstone: we soon grew intimate from having
often heard of each other, and I have now the honour and happiness of
calling her my friend. Her face is eminently pretty; her carriage
elegant; her heart affectionate, and her mind cultivated. There is
above all this an attractive sweetness in her manner, which claims
and promises to repay one's confidence, and which drew from me the
secret of my keeping a 'Thraliana,' &c. &c. &c."
"_Jan. 1779._--Mr. Thrale is fallen in love, really and seriously,
with Sophy Streatfield; but there is no wonder in that; she is very
pretty, very gentle, soft, and insinuating; hangs about him, dances
round him, cries when she parts from him, squeezes his hand slyly,
and with her sweet eyes full of tears looks so fondly in his
face[1]--and all for love of me as she pretends; that I can hardly,
sometimes, help laughing in her face. A man must not be a _man_ but
an _it_, to resist such artillery. Marriott said very well,
"'Man flatt'ring man, not always can prevail,
But woman flatt'ring man, can never fail.'
"Murphy did not use, I think, to have a good opinion of me, but he
seems to have changed his mind this Christmas, and to believe better
of me. I am glad on't to be sure: the suffrage of such a man is well
worth having: he sees Thrale's love of the fair S.S. I suppose:
approves my silent and patient endurance of what I could not prevent
by more rough and sincere behaviour."
[Footnote 1:
"And Merlin look'd and half believed her true,
So tender was her voice, so fair her face,
So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears,
Like sunlight on the plain, behind a shower."
_Idylls of The King.--Vivien._]
"20 _January_, 1780.--Sophy Streatfield is come to town: she is in
the 'Morning Post' too, I see (to be in the 'Morning Post' is no good
thing). She has won Wedderburne's heart from his wife, I believe, and
few married women will bear _that_ patiently if I do; they will some
of them wound her reputation, so that I question whether it can
recover. Lady Erskine made many odd inquiries about her to me
yesterday, and winked and looked wise at her sister. The dear S.S.
must be a little on her guard; nothing is so spiteful as a woman
robbed of a heart she thinks she has a claim upon. She will not lose
_that_ with temper, which she has taken perhaps no pains at all to
preserve: and I do not observe with any pleasure, I fear, that my
husband prefers Miss Streatfield to me, though I must acknowledge her
younger, handsomer, and a better scholar. Of her chastity, however, I
never had a doubt: she was bred by Dr. Collier in the strictest
principles of piety and virtue; she not only knows she will be always
chaste, but she knows why she will be so.[1] Mr. Thrale is now by
dint of disease quite out of the question, so I am a disinterested
spectator; but her coquetry is very dangerous indeed, and I wish she
were married that there might be an end on't. Mr. Thrale loves her,
however, sick or well, better by a thousand degrees than he does me
or any one else, and even now desires nothing on earth half so much
as the sight of his Sophia.
"'E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries!
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires!'
"The Saturday before Mr. Thrale was taken ill, Saturday, 19th
February--he was struck Monday, 21st February--we had a large party
to tea, cards, and supper; Miss Streatfield was one, and as Mr.
Thrale sate by her, he pressed her hand to his heart (as she told me
herself), and said 'Sophy, we shall not enjoy this long, and to-night
I will not be cheated of my only comfort.' Poor soul! how shockingly
tender! On the first Fryday that he spoke after his stupor, she came
to see him, and as she sate by the bedside pitying him, 'Oh,' says
he, 'who would not suffer even all that I have endured to be pitied
by you!' This I heard myself."
[Footnote 1:
"Besides, her inborn virtue fortify,
They are most firmly good, who best know why."]
"Here is Sophy Streatfield again, handsomer than ever, and flushed
with new conquests; the Bishop of Chester feels her power, I am sure;
she showed me a letter from him that was as tender and had all the
tokens upon it as strong as ever I remember to have seen 'em; I
repeated to her out of Pope's Homer--'Very well, Sophy,' says I:
"'Range undisturb'd among the hostile crew,
But touch not Hinchliffe[1], Hinchliffe is my due.'
Miss Streatfield (says my master) could have quoted these lines in
the Greek; his saying so piqued me, and piqued me because it was
true. I wish I understood Greek! Mr. Thrale's preference of her to me
never vexed me so much as my consciousness--or fear at least--that he
has reason for his preference. She has ten times my beauty, and five
times my scholarship: wit and knowledge has she none."
[Footnote 1: For Hector. Hinchliffe was Bishop of Peterborough.]
"_May_, 1781.--Sophy Streatfield is an incomprehensible girl; here
has she been telling me such tender passages of what passed between
her and Mr. Thrale, that she half frights me somehow, at the same
time declaring her attachment to Vyse yet her willingness to marry
Lord Loughborough. Good God! what an uncommon girl! and handsome
almost to perfection, I think: delicate in her manners, soft in her
voice, and strict in her principles: I never saw such a character,
she is wholly out of my reach; and I can only say that the man who
runs mad for Sophy Streatfield has no reason to be ashamed of his
passion; few people, however, seem disposed to take her for
life--everybody's admiration, as Mrs. Byron says, and nobody's
choice.
"_Streatham, January 1st_, 1782.--Sophy Streatfield has begun the new
year nicely with a new conquest. Poor dear Doctor Burney! _he_ is now
the reigning favourite, and she spares neither pains nor caresses to
turn that good man's head, much to the vexation of his family;
particularly my Fanny, who is naturally provoked to see sport made of
her father in his last stage of life by a young coquet, whose sole
employment in this world seems to have been winning men's hearts on
purpose to fling them away. How she contrives to keep bishops, and
brewers, and doctors, and directors of the East India Company, all in
chains so, and almost all at the same time, would amaze a wiser
person than me; I can only say let us mark the end! Hester will
perhaps see her out and pronounce, like Solon, on her wisdom and
conduct."
As this lady has excited great interest, and was much with the
Thrales, I will add what I have been able to ascertain concerning
her. She is frequently mentioned in Madame D'Arblay's Diary:
"_Streatham, Sept_. 1778.--To be sure she (Mrs. Thrale) saw it was
not totally disagreeable to me; though I was really astounded when
she hinted at my becoming a rival to Miss Streatfield in the Doctor's
good graces.
"'I had a long letter,' she said, 'from Sophy Streatfield t'other
day, and she sent Dr. Johnson her elegant edition of the 'Classics;'
but when he had read the letter, he said 'she is a sweet creature,
and I love her much; but my little Burney writes a better letter.'
Now,' continued she, 'that is just what I wished him to say of you
both.'"
"_Streatham, Sept_. 1779.--Mr. Seward, you know, told me that she had
tears at command, and I begin to think so too, for when Mrs. Thrale,
who had previously told me I should see her cry, began coaxing her to
stay, and saying, 'If you go, I shall know you don't love me so well
as Lady Gresham,'--she did cry, not loud indeed, nor much, but the
tears came into her eyes, and rolled down her fine cheeks.
"'Come hither, Miss Burney,' cried Mrs. Thrale; 'come and see Miss
Streatfield cry!'
"I thought it a mere _badinage_. I went to them, but when I saw real
tears, I was shocked, and saying, 'No, I won't look at her,' ran away
frightened, lest she should think I laughed at her, which Mrs. Thrale
did so openly, that, as I told her, had she served me so, I should
have been affronted with her ever after.
"Miss Streatfield, however, whether from a sweetness not to be
ruffled, or from not perceiving there was any room for taking
offence, gently wiped her eyes, and was perfectly composed!"
"_Streatham, June_, 1779.--Seward, said Mrs. Thrale, had affronted
Johnson, and then Johnson affronted Seward, and then the S.S. cried.
"_Sir Philip_ (_Clerke_).--Well, I have heard so much of these tears,
that I would give the universe to have a sight of them.
"_Mrs. Thrale_.--Well, she shall cry again, if you like it.
"_S.S._.--No, pray, Mrs. Thrale.
"_Sir Philip_.--Oh, pray do! pray let me see a little of it.
"_Mrs. Thrale_.--Yes, do cry a little Sophy [in a wheedling voice],
pray do! Consider, now, you are going to-day, and it's very hard if
you won't cry a little: indeed, S.S., you ought to cry.
"Now for the wonder of wonders. When Mrs. Thrale, in a coaxing voice,
suited to a nurse soothing a baby, had run on for some time,--while
all the rest of us, in laughter, joined in the request,--two crystal
tears came into the soft eyes of the S.S., and rolled gently down her
cheeks! Such a sight I never saw before, nor could I have believed.
She offered not to conceal or dissipate them: on the contrary, she
really contrived to have them seen by everybody. She looked, indeed,
uncommonly handsome; for her pretty face was not, like Chloe's,
blubbered; it was smooth and elegant, and neither her features nor
complexion were at all ruffled; nay, indeed, she was smiling all the
time.
"'Look, look!' cried Mrs. Thrale; 'see if the tears are not come
already.'
"Loud and rude bursts of laughter broke from us all at once. How,
indeed, could they be restrained?"
"_Streatham, Sunday, June_ 13, 1779.--After church we all strolled
round the grounds, and the topic of our discourse was Miss
Streatfield. Mrs. Thrale asserted that she had a power of captivation
that was irresistible; that her beauty, joined to her softness, her
caressing manners, her tearful eyes, and alluring looks, would
insinuate her into the heart of any man she thought worth attacking.
"Sir Philip declared himself of a totally different opinion, and
quoted Dr. Johnson against her, who had told him that, taking away
her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly.
"Mr. Seward declared her Greek was all against her with him, for
that, instead of reading Pope, Swift, or the Spectator--books from
which she might derive useful knowledge and improvement--it had led
her to devote all her reading time to the first eight books of Homer.
"'But,' said Mrs. Thrale, 'her Greek, you must own, has made all her
celebrity;--you would have heard no more of her than of any other
pretty girl, but for that.'
"'What I object to,' said Sir Philip, 'is her avowed preference for
this parson. Surely it is very indelicate in any lady to let all the
world know with whom she is in love!"
"'The parson,' said the severe Mr. Seward, 'I suppose, spoke
first,--or she would as soon have been in love with you, or with me!'
"You will easily believe I gave him no pleasant look."
The parson was the Rev. Dr. Vyse, Rector of Lambeth. He had made an
imprudent marriage early in life, and was separated from his wife, of
whom he hoped to get rid either by divorce or by her death, as she
was reported to be in bad health. Under these circumstances, he had
entered into a conditional engagement with the fair S.S.; but
eventually threw her over, either in despair at his wife's longevity
or from caprice. On the mention of his name by Boswell, Mrs. Piozzi
writes opposite: "whose connection with Sophia Streatfield was
afterwards so much talked about, and I suppose never understood:
certainly not at all by H.L.P." To return to the D'Arblay Diary:
"_Streatham, June_ 14, 1781.--We had my dear father and Sophy
Streatfield, who, as usual, was beautiful, caressing, amiable, sweet,
and--fatiguing."
"_Streatham, Aug_. 1781.--Some time after Sophy Streatfield was
talked of,--Oh, with how much impertinence! as if she was at the
service of any man who would make proposals to her! Yet Mr. Seward
spoke of her with praise and tenderness all the time, as if, though
firmly of this opinion, he was warmly her admirer. From such admirers
and such admiration Heaven guard me! Mr. Crutchley said but little;
but that little was bitter enough.
"'However,' said Mr. Seward, 'after all that can be said, there is
nobody whose manners are more engaging, nobody more amiable than the
little Sophy; and she is certainly very pretty; I must own I have
always been afraid to trust myself with her.'
"Here Mr. Crutchley looked very sneeringly.
"'Nay, 'squire,' cried Mr. Seward, 'she is very dangerous, I can tell
you; and if she had you at a fair trial, she would make an impression
that would soften-even your hard heart.'
"'No need of any further trial,' said he, laughing, 'for she has done
that already; and so soft was the impression that it absolutely all
dissolved!--melted quite away, and not a trace of it left!'
"Mr. Seward then proposed that she should marry Sir John Miller, who
has just lost his wife; and very gravely said, he had a great mind to
set out for Tunbridge, and carry her with him to Bath, and so make
the match without delay!
"'But surely,' said Mrs. Thrale, 'if you fail, you will think
yourself bound in honour to marry her yourself?'
"'Why, that's the thing,' said he; 'no, I can't take the little Sophy
myself; I should have too many rivals; rivals; no, that won't do.'
"How abominably conceited and _sure_ these pretty gentlemen are!
However, Mr. Crutchley here made a speech that half won my heart.
"'I wish,' said he, 'Miss Streatfield was here at this moment to cuff
you, Seward!'
"'Cuff me,' cried he. 'What, the little Sophy!--and why?'
"'For disposing of her so freely. I think a man deserves to be cuffed
for saying _any_ lady will marry him.'
"I seconded this speech with much approbation."
"_London, Jan._ 1783.--Before they went came Miss Streatfield,
looking pale, but very elegant and pretty. She was in high spirits,
and I hope has some reason. She made, at least, speeches that
provoked such surmises. When the Jacksons went,--
"'That,' said I, 'is the celebrated Jackson of Exeter; I dare say you
would like him if you knew him.'
"'I dare say I should,' cried she, simpering; 'for he has the two
requisites for me,--he is tall and thin.'
"To be sure, this did not at all call for raillery! Dr. Vyse has
always been distinguished by these two epithets. I said, however,
nothing, as my mother was present; but she would not let my looks
pass unnoticed.
"'Oh!' cried she, 'how wicked you look!--No need of seeing Mrs.
Siddons for expression!--However, you know how much that is my
taste,--tall and thin!--but you don't know how _apropos_ it is just
now!'"
Nine years after the last entry, we find:
"_May_ 25, 1792.--We now met Mrs. Porteous; and who should be with
her but the poor pretty S.S., whom so long I had not seen, and who
has now lately been finally given up by her long-sought and very
injurious lover, Dr. Vyse?
"She is sadly faded, and looked disturbed and unhappy but still
beautiful, though no longer blooming; and still affectionate, though
absent and evidently absorbed. We had a little chat together about
the Thrales. In mentioning our former intimacy with them, 'Ah,
those,' she cried, 'were happy times!' and her eyes glistened. Poor
thing! hers has been a lamentable story!--Imprudence and vanity have
rarely been mixed with so much sweetness, and good-humour, and
candour, and followed with more reproach and ill success. We agreed
to renew acquaintance next winter; at present she will be little more
in town."
In a letter to Madame D'Arblay, Oct. 20, 1820, Mrs. Piozzi says:
"Fell, the bookseller in Bond Street, told me a fortnight or three
weeks ago, that Miss Streatfield lives where she did in his
neighbourhood, Clifford Street, S.S. still." On the 18th January,
1821: "'The once charming S.S. had inquired for me of Nornaville and
Fell, the Old Bond Street book-sellers, so I thought she meditated
writing, but was deceived."
The story she told the author of "Piozziana," in proof of Johnson's
want of firmness, clearly refers to this lady:
"I had remarked to her that Johnson's readiness to condemn any moral
deviation in others was, in a man so entirely before the public as he
was, nearly a proof of his own spotless purity of conduct. She said,
'Yes, Johnson was, on the whole, a rigid moralist; but he could be
ductile, I may say, servile; and I will give you an instance. We had
a large dinner-party at our house; Johnson sat on one side of me, and
Burke on the other; and in the company there was a young female (Mrs.
Piozzi named her), to whom I, in my peevishness, thought Mr. Thrale
superfluously attentive, to the neglect of me and others; especially
of myself, then near my confinement, and dismally low-spirited;
notwithstanding which, Mr. T. very unceremoniously begged of me to
change place with Sophy ----, who was threatened with a sore throat,
and might be injured by sitting near the door. I had scarcely
swallowed a spoonful of soup when this occurred, and was so overset
by the coarseness of the proposal, that I burst into tears, said
something petulant--that perhaps ere long, the lady might be at the
head of Mr. T.'s table, without displacing the mistress of the house,
&c., and so left the apartment. I retired to the drawing-room, and
for an hour or two contended with my vexation, as I best could, when
Johnson and Burke came up. On seeing them, I resolved to give a
_jobation_ to both, but fixed on Johnson for my charge, and asked him
if he had noticed what passed, what I had suffered, and whether
allowing for the state of my nerves, I was much to blame? He
answered, "Why, possibly not; your feelings were outraged." I said,
"Yes, greatly so; and I cannot help remarking with what blandness and
composure you _witnessed_ the outrage. Had this transaction been told
of others, your anger would have known no bounds; but, towards a man
who gives good dinners &c., you were meekness itself!" Johnson
coloured, and Burke, I thought, looked foolish; but I had not a word
of answer from either.'"
The only excuse for Mr. Thrale is to be found in his mental and
bodily condition at the time, which made it impossible for Johnson or
Burke to interfere without a downright quarrel with him, nor without
making matters worse. This, however, is not the only instance in
which Johnson witnessed Thrale's laxity of morals without reproving
it. Opposite the passage in which Boswell reports Johnson as
palliating infidelity in a husband by the remark, that the man
imposes no bastards on his wife, she writes: "Sometimes he does.
Johnson knew a man who did, and the lady took very tender care of
them."
Madame D'Arblay was not uniformly such a source of comfort to her as
that lady supposed. The entries in "Thraliana" relating to her show
this:
"_August,_ 1779.--Fanny Burney has been a long time from me; I was
glad to see her again; yet she makes me miserable too in many
respects, so restlessly and apparently anxious, lest I should give
myself airs of patronage or load her with the shackles of dependance.
I live with her always in a degree of pain that precludes
friendship--dare not ask her to buy me a ribbon--dare not desire her
to touch the bell, lest she should think herself injured--lest she
should forsooth appear in the character of Miss Neville, and I in
that of the widow Bromley. See Murphy's 'Know Your Own Mind.'"
"Fanny Burney has kept her room here in my house seven days, with a
fever or something that she called a fever; I gave her every medicine
and every slop with my own hand; took away her dirty cups, spoons,
&c.; moved her tables: in short, was doctor, and nurse and maid--for
I did not like the servants should have additional trouble lest they
should hate her for it. And now,--with the true gratitude of a wit,
she tells me that the world thinks the better of me for my civilities
to her. It does? does it?"
"Miss Burney was much admired at Bath (1780); the puppy-men said,
'She had such a drooping air and such a timid intelligence;' or, 'a
timid air,' I think it was,' and a drooping intelligence;' never sure
was such a collection of pedantry and affectation as rilled Bath when
we were on that spot. How everything else and everybody set off my
gallant bishop. 'Quantum lenta solent inter viburna Cupressi.' Of all
the people I ever heard read verse in my whole life, the best, the
most perfect reader, is the Bishop of Peterboro' (Hinchcliffe.)"[1]
[Footnote 1: In a marginal note on Boswell, she says: "The people (in
1783) did read shamefully. Yet Mr. Lee, the poet, many years before
Johnson was born, read so gracefully, the players would not accept
his tragedies till they had heard them from other lips: his own (they
said) sweetened all which proceeded from them." Speaker Onslow
equally was celebrated for his manner of reading.]