said they would not concur in stopping me by violence, and Crutchley
was forced to content himself with intending to put the ladies under
legal protection as soon as we should be across the sea. This measure
I much applaud, for if I die or marry in Italy their fortunes will be
safer in Chancery than any how else. Cator[1] said _I_ had a right to
say that going to Italy would benefit the children as much as _they_
had to say it would _not_; but I replied that as I really did not
mean anything but my own private gratification by the voyage, nothing
should make me say I meant _their_ good by it; and that it would be
like saying I eat roast beef to mend my daughters' complexions. The
result of all is that we certainly _do go_. I will pick up what
knowledge and pleasure I can here this winter to divert myself, and
perhaps my _compagno fidele_ in distant climes and future times, with
the recollection of England and its inhabitants, all which I shall be
happy and content to leave _for him_."
[Footnote 1: _Note by Mrs. T.:_ "Cator said likewise that the
attorney's bill ought to be paid by the ladies as a bill of Mr.
Thrale's, but I replied that perhaps I might marry and give my estate
away, and if so it would be unjust that they should pay the bill
which related to that estate only. Besides, if I should leave it to
Hester, says I, ... why should Susan and Sophy and Cecilia and
Harriet pay the lawyer's bill for their sister's land? He agreed to
this plea, and I will live on bread and water, but I will pay Norris
myself. 'Tis but being a better huswife in pins."]
Madame D'Arblay writes, Friday, December 27th, 1782:
"I dined with Mrs. Thrale and Dr. Johnson, who was very comic and
good-humoured.... Mrs. Thrale, who was to have gone with me to Mrs.
Orde's, gave up her visit in order to stay with Dr. Johnson. Miss
Thrale, therefore, and I went together."
I return to "Thraliana":
"_January_, 1783.--A fit of jealousy seized me the other day: some
viper had stung me up to a notion that my Piozzi was fond of a Miss
Chanon. I call'd him gently to account, and after contenting myself
with slight excuses, told him that, whenever we married, I should,
however, desire to see as little as possible of the lady _chez
nous_."
There is a large gap in "Thraliana" just in the most interesting part
of the story of her parting with Piozzi in 1783, and his recall.
"_January 29, 1783_.--Adieu to all that's dear, to all that's lovely;
I am parted from my life, my soul, my Piozzi. If I can get health and
strength to write my story here, 'tis all I wish for now--oh misery!
[Here are four pages missing.] The cold dislike of my eldest daughter
I thought might wear away by familiarity with his merit, and that we
might live tolerably together, or, at least, part friends--but no;
her aversion increased daily, and she communicated it to the others;
they treated _me_ insolently, and _him_ very strangely--running away
whenever he came as if they saw a serpent--and plotting with their
governess--a cunning Italian--how to invent lyes to make me hate him,
and twenty such narrow tricks. By these means the notion of my
partiality took air, and whether Miss Thrale sent him word slily or
not I cannot tell, but on the 25th January, 1783, Mr. Crutchley came
hither to conjure me not to go to Italy; he had heard such things, he
said, and by _means_ next to _miraculous_. The next day, Sunday,
26th, Fanny Burney came, said I must marry him instantly or give him
up; that my reputation would be lost else.
"I actually groaned with anguish, threw myself on the bed in an agony
which my fair daughter beheld with frigid indifference. She had
indeed never by one tender word endeavoured to dissuade me from the
match, but said, coldly, that if I _would_ abandon my children I
_must_; that their father had not deserved such treatment from me;
that I should be punished by Piozzi's neglect, for that she knew he
hated me; and that I turned out my offspring to chance for his sake,
like puppies in a pond to swim or drown according as Providence
pleased; that for her part she must look herself out a place like the
other servants, for my face would she never see more.' 'Nor write to
me?' said I. 'I shall not, madam,' replied she with a cold sneer,
'easily find out your address; for you are going you know not
whither, I believe.'
"Susan and Sophy said nothing at all, but they taught the two young
ones to cry 'Where are you going, mama? will you leave us and die as
our poor papa did?' There was no standing _that_., so I wrote my
lover word that my mind was all distraction, and bid him come to me
the next morning, 27th January--my birthday--and spent the Sunday
night in torture not to be described. My falsehood to my Piozzi, my
strong affection for him, the incapacity I felt in myself to resign
the man I so adored, the hopes I had so cherished, inclined me
strongly to set them all at defiance, and go with him to church to
sanctify the promises I had so often made him; while the idea of
abandoning the children of my first husband, who left me so nobly
provided for, and who depended on my attachment to his offspring,
awakened the voice of conscience, and threw me on my knees to pray
for _His_ direction who was hereafter to judge my conduct. His grace
illuminated me, His power strengthened me, and I flew to my
daughter's bed in the morning and told her my resolution to resign my
own, my dear, my favourite purpose, and to prefer my children's
interest to my love. She questioned my ability to make the sacrifice;
said one word from him would undo all my--[Here two pages are
missing].
"I told Dr. Johnson and Mr. Crutchley three days ago that I had
determined--seeing them so averse to it--that I would not go abroad,
but that, if I did not leave England, I _would_ leave London, where I
had not been treated to my mind, and where I had flung away much
unnecessary money with little satisfaction; that I was greatly in
debt, and somewhat like distress'd: that borrowing was always bad,
but of one's children worst: that Mr. Crutchley's objection to their
lending me their money when I had a mortgage to offer as security,
was unkind and harsh: that I would go live in a little way at Bath
till I had paid all my debts and cleared my income: that I would no
more be tyrannized over by people who hated or people who plundered
me, in short that I would retire and save my money and lead this
uncomfortable life no longer. They made little or no reply, and I am
resolved to do as I declared. I will draw in my expenses, lay by
every shilling I can to pay off debts and mortgages, and perhaps--who
knows? I may in six or seven years be freed from all incumbrances,
and carry a clear income of 2500_l._ a year and an estate of 500_l._
in land to the man of my heart. May I but live to discharge my
obligations to those who _hate me_; it will be paradise to discharge
them to him who _loves me_."
"_April, 1783_.--I will go to Bath: nor health, nor strength, nor my
children's affections, have I. My daughter does not, I suppose, much
delight in this scheme [viz, retrenchment of expenses and removal to
Bath], but why should I lead a life of delighting her, who would not
lose a shilling of interest or an ounce of pleasure to save my life
from perishing? When I was near losing my existence from the
contentions of my mind, and was seized with a temporary delirium in
Argyll Street, she and her two eldest sisters laughed at my distress,
and observed to dear Fanny Burney, that it was _monstrous droll_.
_She_ could hardly suppress her indignation.
"Piozzi was ill.... A sore throat, Pepys said it was, with four
ulcers in it: the people about me said it had been lanced, and I
mentioned it slightly before the girls.' Has he cut his own throat?'
says Miss Thrale in her quiet manner. This was less inexcusable
because she hated him, and the other was her sister; though, had she
exerted the good sense I thought her possessed of, she would not have
treated him so: had she adored, and fondled, and respected him as he
deserved from her hands, and from the heroic conduct he shewed in
January when he gave into her hands, that dismal day, all my letters
containing promises of marriage, protestations of love, &c., who
knows but she might have kept us separated? But never did she once
caress or thank me, never treat him with common civility, except on
the very day which gave her hopes of our final parting. Worth while
to be sure it was, to break one's heart for her! The other two are,
however, neither wiser nor kinder; all swear by her I believe, and
follow her footsteps exactly. Mr. Thrale had not much heart, but his
fair daughters have none at all."[1]
[Footnote 1: This is the very accusation they brought against her.]
Johnson was not called in to counsel on these matters of the heart,
but he was not cast off or neglected. Madame D'Arblay lands him in
Argyll Street on the 20th November, 1782. We hear of him at Mrs.
Thrale's house or in her company repeatedly from Madame D'Arblay and
Dr. Lort. "Johnson," writes Dr. Lort, January 28th, 1783, "is much
better. I saw him the other evening at Madame Thrale's in very good
spirits." Boswell says:
"On Friday, March 21, (1783) having arrived in London the night
before, I was glad to find him at Mrs. Thrale's house, in Argyle
Street, appearances of friendship between them being still kept up. I
was shown into his room; and after the first salutation he said, 'I
am glad you are come; I am very ill'....
"He sent a message to acquaint Mrs. Thrale that I was arrived. I had
not seen her since her husband's death. She soon appeared, and
favoured me with an invitation to stay to dinner, which I accepted.
There was no other company but herself and three of her daughters,
Dr. Johnson, and I. She too said she was very glad I was come; for
she was going to Bath, and should have been sorry to leave Dr.
Johnson before I came. This seemed to be attentive and kind; and I,
_who had not been informed of any change, imagined all to be as well
as formerly_. He was little inclined to talk at dinner, and went to
sleep after it; but when he joined us in the drawing-room he seemed
revived, and was again himself."
This is quite decisive so far as Boswell is concerned, and disposes
at once of all his preceding insinuations to her disadvantage. He had
not seen her before since Thrale's death; and now, finding them
together and jealously scrutinising their tone and manner towards
each, he imagined all to be as well as formerly.[1] That they were on
the point of living apart, and of keeping up their habitual
interchange of mind exclusively by letters, is no proof that either
was capriciously or irrecoverably estranged.
[Footnote 1: "Now on March 21, 1783, fifteen months before the
marriage in question, Boswell speaks of the severance of the old
friendship as effected: 'appearances of friendship,' he says, 'were
still maintained between them.' Boswell was at feud with the lady
when he wrote, as we all know. But his evidence is surely sufficient
as to the fact of the rupture, though not as to its causes."--_(Edin.
Rev._ p. 510.) Boswell's concluding evidence, that to the best of his
knowledge and observation, there was no change or rupture, is
suppressed!]
The pleasures of intimacy in friendship depend far more on external
circumstances than people of a sentimental turn of mind are willing
to concede; and when constant companionship ceases to suit the
convenience of both parties, the chances are that it will be dropped
on the first favourable opportunity. Admiration, esteem, or affection
may continue to be felt for one whom, from altered habits or new
ties, we can no longer receive as an inmate or an established member
of the family. Johnson was now in his seventy-fourth year, haunted by
the fear of death, and fond of dwelling nauseously on his ailments
and proposed remedies. From what passed at Brighton, it would seem
that there were moods in which he was positively unbearable, and
could not be received in a house without driving every one else out
of it. In a roomy mansion like Streatham he might be endured, because
he could be kept out of the way; but in an ordinary town-house or
small establishment, such a guest would resemble an elephant in a
private menagerie.
There is also a very great difference, when arrangements are to be
made for the domestication of a male visitor, between a family with a
male head, and one consisting exclusively of females. Let any widow
with daughters make the case her own, and imagine herself
domesticated in Argyll or Harley Street with the lexicographer. The
manly authority of Thrale was required to keep Johnson in order quite
as much as to steady the imputed flightiness of the lady; and his
idolaters must really remember that she was a sentient being, with
feelings and affections which she was fully entitled to consult in
arranging her scheme of life. When Lord Macaulay and his school
tacitly assume that these are to weigh as dust in the balance against
the claims of learning, they argue like sundry upholders of the
temporal sovereignty of the Pope, who contend that his subjects
should complacently endure any amount of oppression rather than
endanger (what they deem) the vital interests of the Church. When it
is maintained that the discomfort was amply repaid by the glory he
conferred, we are reminded of what the Strasbourg goose undergoes for
fame: "Crammed with food, deprived of drink, and fixed near a great
fire, before which it is nailed with its feet upon a plank, this
goose passes, it must be owned, an uncomfortable life. The torment
would indeed be intolerable, if the idea of the lot which awaits him
did not serve as a consolation. But when he reflects that his liver,
bigger than himself, loaded with truffles, and clothed in a
scientific _patè_, will, through the instrumentality of M. Corcellet,
diffuse all over Europe the glory of his name, he resigns himself to
his destiny, and suffers not a tear to flow."[1]
[Footnote 1: Almanach des Gourmands.]
Her case for a separation _de corps_ is thus stated in the "Anecdotes
":
"All these exactnesses in a man who was nothing less than exact
himself, made him extremely impracticable as an inmate, though most
instructive as a companion, and useful as a friend. Mr. Thrale too
could sometimes overrule his rigidity, by saying coldly, 'There,
there, now we have had enough for one lecture, Dr. Johnson, we will
not be upon education any more till after dinner, if you please,'--or
some such speech; but when there was nobody to restrain his dislikes,
it was extremely difficult to find any body with whom he could
converse, without living always on the verge of a quarrel, or of
something too like a quarrel to be pleasing. I came into the room,
for example, one evening, where he and a gentleman, whose abilities
we all respected exceedingly, were sitting; a lady who had walked in
two minutes before me had blown 'em both into a flame, by whispering
something to Mr. S----d, which he endeavoured to explain away, so as
not to affront the Doctor, whose suspicions were all alive. 'And have
a care, Sir,' said he, just as I came in; 'the old lion will not bear
to be tickled.'[1] The other was pale with rage, the lady wept at the
confusion she had caused, and I could only say with Lady Macbeth,
'So! you've displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting
With most admir'd disorder.'
"Such accidents, however, occurred too often, and I was forced to
take advantage of my lost lawsuit, and plead inability of purse to
remain longer in London or its vicinage. I had been crossed in my
intentions of going abroad, and found it convenient, for every reason
of health, peace, and pecuniary circumstances, to retire to Bath,
where I knew Mr. Johnson would not follow me, and where I could for
that reason command some little portion of time for my own use; a
thing impossible while I remained at Streatham or at London, as my
hours, carriage, and servants, had long been at his command, who
would not rise in the morning till twelve o'clock perhaps, and oblige
me to make breakfast for him till the bell rung for dinner, though
much displeased if the toilet was neglected, and though much of the
time we passed together was spent in blaming or deriding, very
justly, my neglect of economy, and waste of that money which might
make many families happy. The original reason of our connexion, his
_particularly disordered health and spirits_[2], had been long at an
end, and he had no other ailments than old age and general infirmity,
which every professor of medicine was ardently zealous and generally
attentive to palliate, and to contribute all in their power for the
prolongation of a life so valuable.
"Veneration for his virtue, reverence for his talents, delight in his
conversation, and habitual endurance of a yoke my husband first put
upon me, and of which he contentedly bore his share for sixteen or
seventeen years, made me go on so long with Mr. Johnson; but the
perpetual confinement I will own to have been terrifying in the first
years of our friendship, and irksome in the last, nor could I pretend
to support it without help, when my coadjutor was no more. To the
assistance we gave him, the shelter our house afforded to his uneasy
fancies, and to the pains we took to soothe or repress them, the
world perhaps is indebted for the three political pamphlets, the new
edition and correction of his Dictionary, and for the Poets' Lives,
which he would scarce have lived, I think, and kept his faculties
entire, to have written, had not incessant care been exerted at the
time of his first coming to be our constant guest in the country; and
several times after that, when he found himself particularly
oppressed with diseases incident to the most vivid and fervent
imaginations. I shall for ever consider it as the greatest honour
which could be conferred on any one, to have been the confidential
friend of Dr. Johnson's health; and to have in some measure, with Mr.
Thrale's assistance, saved from distress at least, if not from worse,
a mind great beyond the comprehension of common mortals and good
beyond all hope of imitation from perishable beings."
[Footnote 1: This must be the quarrel between Johnson and Seward at
which Miss Streatfield cried. _(Antè,_ p. 116.)]
[Footnote 2: These words are underlined in the manuscript.]
This was written in Italy in 1785, when, painfully alive to the
insults heaped upon her on Johnson's account, she may be excused for
dwelling on what she had endured for his sake. But if, as may be
inferred from her statement, some of the cordiality shewn him during
the palmy days of their intimacy was forced, this rather enhances
than lessens the merit of her services, which thus become elevated
into sacrifices. The question is not how she uniformly felt, but how
she uniformly behaved to him; and the fact of her being obliged to
retire to Bath to get out of his way proves that there had been no
rupture, no coolness, no serious offence given or taken on either
side, up to April, 1783; just one year-and-a-half after the alleged
expulsion from Streatham.
There were ample avowable reasons for her retirement, and no
suspicion could have crossed Johnson's mind that he was an
incumbrance, or he would not have been found at her house by Boswell,
as he was found on the 21st March, 1783, when she said "she was going
to Bath, and should have been sorry to leave Dr. Johnson before I
came." Considering the heart-rending struggle in which she was
engaged at this time, with the aggravated infliction of an
unsympathising and dogmatic friend, the wonder is how she retained
her outward placidity at all.
"_Sunday Morning, 6th April_, 1783.--I have been very busy preparing
to go to Bath and save my money; the Welch settlement has been
examined and rewritten by Cator's desire in such a manner that a will
can revoke it or charge the estate, or anything. I signed my
settlement yesterday, and, before I slept, wrote my will, charging
the estate with pretty near _3000l_. But what signifies it? My
daughters deserve no thanks from my tenderness and they want no
pecuniary help from my purse--let me provide in some measure, for my
dear, my absent Piozzi.--God give me strength to part with him
courageously.--I expect him every instant to breakfast with me for
the _last time_.--Gracious Heavens, what words are these! Oh no, for
mercy may we but meet again! and without diminished kindness. Oh my
love, my love!
"We did meet and part courageously. I persuaded him to bring his old
friend Mecci, who goes abroad with him and has long been his
confidant, to keep the meeting from being too tender, the separation
from being too poignant--his presence was a restraint on our conduct,
and a witness of our vows, which we renewed with fervour, and will
keep sacred in absence, adversity, and age. When all was over I flew
to my dearest, loveliest friend, my Fanny Burney, and poured all my
sorrows into her tender bosom."
"_Bath, April 14th, 1783._--Here I am, settled in my plan of economy,
with three daughters, three maids and a man," &c.
Piozzi left England the night of the 8th May, 1783.
"Come, friendly muse! some rhimes discover
With which to meet my dear at Dover,
Fondly to bless my wandering lover
And make him dote on dirty Dover.
Call each fair wind to waft him over,
Nor let him linger long at Dover,
But there from past fatigues recover,
And write his love some lines from Dover.
Too well he knows his skill to move her,
To meet him two years hence at Dover,
When happy with her handsome rover
She'll bless the day she din'd at Dover."
"_Russell Street, Bath, Thursday, 8th May_, 1783.--I sent him these
verses to divert him on his passage. Dear angel! _this day_ he leaves
a nation to which he was sent for my felicity perhaps, I hope for his
own. May I live but to make him happy, and hear him say 'tis _me_
that make him so!"--
In a note on the passage in which he states that Johnson studiously
avoided all mention of Streatham or the family after Thrale's death,
Hawkins says:--"It seems that between him and the widow there was a
formal taking of leave, for I find in his Diary the following note:
'1783, April 5th, I took leave of Mrs. Thrale. I was much moved. I
had some expostulations with her. She said she was likewise affected.
I commended the Thrales with great good will to God; may my petitions
have been heard.'" This being the day before her parting interview
with Piozzi, no doubt she was much affected: and as the newspapers
had already taken up the topic of her engagement, the expostulations
probably referred to it.
Preceding commentators were not bound to know what is now learned
from "Thraliana"; but they were bound to know what might always have
been learned from Johnson's printed letters; and the tone of these
from the separation in April, 1783, to the marriage in July, 1784, is
identically the same as at any period of the intimacy which can be
specified. There are the same warm expressions of regard, the same
gratitude for acknowledged kindness, the same alternations of hope
and disappointment, the same medical details, and the same reproaches
for silence or fancied coldness, in which he habitually indulged
towards all his female correspondents. Shew me a complaint or
reproach, and I will instantly match it with one from a period when
the intimacy was confessedly and notoriously at its height. If her
occasional explosions of irritability are to be counted, what
inference is to be drawn from Johnson's depreciatory remarks on her,
and indeed on everybody, so carefully treasured up by Hawkins and
Boswell?
On June 13th, 1783, he writes to her:
"Your last letter was very pleasing; it expressed kindness to me, and
some degree of placid acquiescence in your present mode of life,
_which is, I think, the best which is at present within your reach_.
"My powers and attention have for a long time been almost wholly
employed upon my health, I hope not wholly without success, but
solitude is very tedious."
She replies:
"Bath, June 15th, 1783.
"I believe it is too true, my dear Sir, that you think on little
except yourself and your own health, but then they are subjects on
which every one else would think too--and that is a great
consolation.