'TO MR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.
'London, 26th April, 1768[173].
'MY DEAR SIR,
'I have received your last letter, which, though very short, and by no
means complimentary, yet gave me real pleasure, because it contains
these words, "I shall be glad, very glad to see you." Surely you have no
reason to complain of my publishing a single paragraph of one of your
letters; the temptation to it was so strong. An irrevocable grant of
your friendship, and your dignifying my desire of visiting Corsica with
the epithet of "a wise and noble curiosity," are to me more valuable
than many of the grants of kings.
'But how can you bid me "empty my head of Corsica[174]?" My noble-minded
friend, do you not feel for an oppressed nation bravely struggling to be
free? Consider fairly what is the case. The Corsicans never received any
kindness from the Genoese[175]. They never agreed to be subject to them.
They owe them nothing; and when reduced to an abject state of slavery,
by force, shall they not rise in the great cause of liberty, and break
the galling yoke? And shall not every liberal soul be warm for them?
Empty my head of Corsica! Empty it of honour, empty it of humanity,
empty it of friendship, empty it of piety. No! while I live, Corsica and
the cause of the brave islanders shall ever employ much of my attention,
shall ever interest me in the sincerest manner.
'I am, &c.
'JAMES BOSWELL.'
Upon his arrival in London in May, he surprized me one morning with a
visit at my lodgings in Half-Moon-street[176], was quite satisfied with my
explanation, and was in the kindest and most agreeable frame of mind. As
he had objected to a part of one of his letters being published, I
thought it right to take this opportunity of asking him explicitly
whether it would be improper to publish his letters after his death. His
answer was, 'Nay, Sir, when I am dead, you may do as you will[177].'
He talked in his usual style with a rough contempt of popular
liberty[178]. 'They make a rout about _universal_ liberty, without
considering that all that is to be valued, or indeed can be enjoyed by
individuals, is _private_ liberty. Political liberty is good only so far
as it produces private liberty. Now, Sir, there is the liberty of the
press, which you know is a constant topick[179]. Suppose you and I and two
hundred more were restrained from printing our thoughts: what then? What
proportion would that restraint upon us bear to the private happiness of
the nation[180]?'
This mode of representing the inconveniences of restraint as light and
insignificant, was a kind of sophistry in which he delighted to indulge
himself, in opposition to the extreme laxity for which it has been
fashionable for too many to argue, when it is evident, upon reflection,
that the very essence of government is restraint; and certain it is,
that as government produces rational happiness, too much restraint is
better than too little. But when restraint is unnecessary, and so close
as to gall those who are subject to it, the people may and ought to
remonstrate; and, if relief is not granted, to resist. Of this manly and
spirited principle, no man was more convinced than Johnson himself[181].
About this time Dr. Kenrick[182] attacked him, through my sides, in a
pamphlet, entitled _An Epistle to James Boswell, Esq., occasioned by his
having transmitted the moral Writings of Dr. Samuel Johnson to Pascal
Paoli, General of the Corsicans_[183]. I was at first inclined to answer
this pamphlet; but Johnson, who knew that my doing so would only gratify
Kenrick, by keeping alive what would soon die away of itself, would not
suffer me to take any notice of it[184].
His sincere regard for Francis Barber, his faithful negro servant, made
him so desirous of his further improvement, that he now placed him at a
school at Bishop Stortford, in Hertfordshire. This humane attention does
Johnson's heart much honour. Out of many letters which Mr. Barber
received from his master, he has preserved three, which he kindly gave
me, and which I shall insert according to their dates.
'To MR. FRANCIS BARBER.
'DEAR FRANCIS,
'I have been very much out of order. I am glad to hear that you are
well, and design to come soon to see you. I would have you stay at Mrs.
Clapp's for the present, till I can determine what we shall do. Be a
good boy[185].
'My compliments to Mrs. Clapp and to Mr. Fowler. I am,
'Your's affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON'.
'May 28, 1768.'
Soon afterwards, he supped at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in the
Strand, with a company whom I collected to meet him. They were Dr.
Percy, now Bishop of Dromore, Dr. Douglas, now Bishop of Salisbury, Mr.
Langton, Dr. Robertson the Historian[186], Dr. Hugh Blair, and Mr. Thomas
Davies, who wished much to be introduced to these eminent Scotch
_literati_; but on the present occasion he had very little opportunity
of hearing them talk, for with an excess of prudence, for which Johnson
afterwards found fault with them, they hardly opened their lips, and
that only to say something which they were certain would not expose them
to the sword of Goliath; such was their anxiety for their fame when in
the presence of Johnson[187]. He was this evening in remarkable vigour of
mind, and eager to exert himself in conversation, which he did with
great readiness and fluency; but I am sorry to find that I have
preserved but a small part of what passed.
He allowed high praise to Thomson as a poet[188]; but when one of the
company said he was also a very good man, our moralist contested this
with great warmth, accusing him of gross sensuality and licentiousness
of manners. I was very much afraid that in writing Thomson's _Life_, Dr.
Johnson would have treated his private character with a stern severity,
but I was agreeably disappointed; and I may claim a little merit in it,
from my having been at pains to send him authentick accounts of the
affectionate and generous conduct of that poet to his sisters, one of
whom, the wife of Mr. Thomson, schoolmaster at Lanark, I knew, and was
presented by her with three of his letters, one of which Dr. Johnson has
inserted in his _Life_[189].
He was vehement against old Dr. Mounsey, of Chelsea College[190], as 'a
fellow who swore and talked bawdy.' 'I have been often in his company,
(said Dr. Percy,) and never heard him swear or talk bawdy.' Mr. Davies,
who sat next to Dr. Percy, having after this had some conversation aside
with him, made a discovery which, in his zeal to pay court to Dr.
Johnson, he eagerly proclaimed aloud from the foot of the table: 'O,
Sir, I have found out a very good reason why Dr. Percy never heard
Mounsey swear or talk bawdy; for he tells me, he never saw him but at
the Duke of Northumberland's table.' 'And so, Sir, (said Johnson loudly,
to Dr. Percy,) you would shield this man from the charge of swearing and
talking bawdy, because he did not do so at the Duke of Northumberland's
table. Sir, you might as well tell us that you had seen him hold up his
hand at the Old Bailey, and he neither swore nor talked bawdy; or that
you had seen him in the cart at Tyburn, and he neither swore nor talked
bawdy. And is it thus, Sir, that you presume to controvert what I have
related?' Dr. Johnson's animadversion was uttered in such a manner, that
Dr. Percy seemed to be displeased, and soon afterwards left the company,
of which Johnson did not at that time take any notice.
Swift having been mentioned, Johnson, as usual, treated him with little
respect as an authour[191]. Some of us endeavoured to support the Dean of
St. Patrick's by various arguments. One in particular praised his
_Conduct of the Allies_. JOHNSON. 'Sir, his _Conduct of the Allies_ is a
performance of very little ability.' 'Surely, Sir, (said Dr. Douglas,)
you must allow it has strong facts[192].' JOHNSON. 'Why yes, Sir; but what
is that to the merit of the composition? In the Sessions-paper of the
Old Bailey there are strong facts. Housebreaking is a strong fact;
robbery is a strong fact; and murder is a _mighty_ strong fact; but is
great praise due to the historian of those strong facts? No, Sir. Swift
has told what he had to tell distinctly enough, but that is all. He had
to count ten, and he has counted it right[193].' Then recollecting that
Mr. Davies, by acting as an _informer_, had been the occasion of his
talking somewhat too harshly to his friend[194] Dr. Percy, for which,
probably, when the first ebullition was over, he felt some compunction,
he took an opportunity to give him a hit; so added, with a preparatory
laugh, 'Why, Sir, Tom Davies might have written _The Conduct of the
Allies_.' Poor Tom being thus suddenly dragged into ludicrous notice in
presence of the Scottish Doctors, to whom he was ambitious of appearing
to advantage, was grievously mortified. Nor did his punishment rest
here; for upon subsequent occasions, whenever he, 'statesman all
over[195],' assumed a strutting importance, I used to hail him--'the
Authour of _The Conduct of the Allies_.'
When I called upon Dr. Johnson next morning, I found him highly
satisfied with his colloquial prowess the preceding evening. 'Well,
(said he,) we had good talk[196].' BOSWELL. 'Yes, Sir; you tossed and
gored several persons[197].'
The late Alexander, Earl of Eglintoune[198], who loved wit more than wine,
and men of genius more than sycophants, had a great admiration of
Johnson; but from the remarkable elegance of his own manners, was,
perhaps, too delicately sensible of the roughness which sometimes
appeared in Johnson's behaviour. One evening about this time, when his
Lordship did me the honour to sup at my lodgings with Dr. Robertson and
several other men of literary distinction, he regretted that Johnson had
not been educated with more refinement, and lived more in polished
society. 'No, no, my Lord, (said Signor Baretti,) do with him what you
would, he would always have been a bear.' 'True, (answered the Earl,
with a smile,) but he would have been a _dancing_ bear.'
To obviate all the reflections which have gone round the world to
Johnson's prejudice, by applying to him the epithet of a _bear_[199], let
me impress upon my readers a just and happy saying of my friend
Goldsmith, who knew him well: 'Johnson, to be sure, has a roughness in
his manner; but no man alive has a more tender heart. _He has nothing of
the bear but his skin_.'
1769: AETAT. 60.--In 1769, so far as I can discover, the publick was
favoured with nothing of Johnson's composition, either for himself or
any of his friends[200]. His _Meditations_[201] too strongly prove that
he suffered much both in body and mind; yet was he perpetually striving
against _evil_, and nobly endeavouring to advance his intellectual and
devotional improvement. Every generous and grateful heart must feel for
the distresses of so eminent a benefactor to mankind; and now that his
unhappiness is certainly known, must respect that dignity of character
which prevented him from complaining.
His Majesty having the preceding year instituted the Royal Academy of
Arts in London, Johnson had now the honour of being appointed Professor
in Ancient Literature[202]. In the course of the year he wrote some
letters to Mrs. Thrale, passed some part of the summer at Oxford and at
Lichfield, and when at Oxford wrote the following letter:
'To THE REVEREND MR. THOMAS WARTON.
'DEAR SIR,
'Many years ago, when I used to read in the library of your College, I
promised to recompence the College for that permission, by adding to
their books a Baskerville's _Virgil_. I have now sent it, and desire you
to reposit it on the shelves in my name[203].
'If you will be pleased to let me know when you have an hour of leisure,
I will drink tea with you. I am engaged for the afternoon, to-morrow and
on Friday: all my mornings are my own[204].
'I am, &c.,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'May 31, 1769.'
I came to London in the autumn, and having informed him that I was going
to be married in a few months, I wished to have as much of his
conversation as I could before engaging in a state of life which would
probably keep me more in Scotland, and prevent me seeing him so often as
when I was a single man; but I found he was at Brighthelmstone with Mr.
and Mrs. Thrale. I was very sorry that I had not his company with me at
the Jubilee, in honour of Shakspeare, at Stratford-upon-Avon, the great
poet's native town[205]. Johnson's connection both with Shakspeare and
Garrick founded a double claim to his presence; and it would have been
highly gratifying to Mr. Garrick. Upon this occasion I particularly
lamented that he had not that warmth of friendship for his brilliant
pupil, which we may suppose would have had a benignant effect on
both[206]. When almost every man of eminence in the literary world was
happy to partake in this festival of genius, the absence of Johnson
could not but be wondered at and regretted. The only trace of him there,
was in the whimsical advertisement of a haberdasher, who sold
_Shakspearian ribbands_ of various dyes; and, by way of illustrating
their appropriation to the bard, introduced a line from the celebrated
Prologue[207] at the opening of Drury-lane theatre:
'Each change of many-colour'd life he drew.'
From Brighthelmstone Dr. Johnson wrote me the following letter, which
they who may think that I ought to have suppressed, must have less
ardent feelings than I have always avowed[208].
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'Why do you charge me with unkindness? I have omitted nothing that could
do you good, or give you pleasure, unless it be that I have forborne to
tell you my opinion of your _Account of Corsica_. I believe my opinion,
if you think well of my judgement, might have given you pleasure; but
when it is considered how much vanity is excited by praise, I am not
sure that it would have done you good. Your History is like other
histories, but your Journal is in a very high degree curious and
delightful. There is between the History and the Journal that difference
which there will always be found between notions borrowed from without,
and notions generated within. Your History was copied from books; your
Journal rose out of your own experience and observation. You express
images which operated strongly upon yourself, and you have impressed
them with great force upon your readers. I know not whether I could name
any narrative by which curiosity is better excited, or better gratified.
'I am glad that you are going to be married; and as I wish you well in
things of less importance, wish you well with proportionate ardour in
this crisis of your life. What I can contribute to your happiness, I
should be very unwilling to with-hold; for I have always loved and
valued you, and shall love you and value you still more, as you become
more regular and useful: effects which a happy marriage will hardly fail
to produce.
'I do not find that I am likely to come back very soon from this place.
I shall, perhaps, stay a fortnight longer; and a fortnight is a long
time to a lover absent from his mistress. Would a fortnight ever have an
end?
'I am, dear Sir,
'Your most affectionate humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'Brighthelmstone,
Sept. 9, 1769.'
After his return to town, we met frequently, and I continued the
practice of making notes of his conversation, though not with so much
assiduity as I wish I had done. At this time, indeed, I had a sufficient
excuse for not being able to appropriate so much time to my Journal; for
General Paoli[209], after Corsica had been overpowered by the monarchy of
France, was now no longer at the head of his brave countrymen, but
having with difficulty escaped from his native island, had sought an
asylum in Great Britain; and it was my duty, as well as my pleasure, to
attend much upon him[210]. Such particulars of Johnson's conversation at
this period as I have committed to writing, I shall here introduce,
without any strict attention to methodical arrangement. Sometimes short
notes of different days shall be blended together, and sometimes a day
may seem important enough to be separately distinguished.
He said, he would not have Sunday kept with rigid severity and gloom,
but with a gravity and simplicity of behaviour[211].
I told him that David Hume had made a short collection of
Scotticisms[212]. 'I wonder, (said Johnson,) that _he_ should find them.'
He would not admit the importance of the question concerning the
legality of general warrants[213]. 'Such a power' (he observed,) 'must be
vested in every government, to answer particular cases of necessity; and
there can be no just complaint but when it is abused, for which those
who administer government must be answerable. It is a matter of such
indifference, a matter about which the people care so very little, that
were a man to be sent over Britain to offer them an exemption from it at
a halfpenny a piece, very few would purchase it.' This was a specimen of
that laxity of talking, which I have heard him fairly acknowledge[214];
for, surely, while the power of granting general warrants was supposed
to be legal, and the apprehension of them hung over our heads, we did
not possess that security of freedom, congenial to our happy
constitution, and which, by the intrepid exertions of Mr. Wilkes, has
been happily established.
He said, 'The duration of Parliament, whether for seven years or the
life of the King, appears to me so immaterial, that I would not give
half a crown to turn the scale one way or the other[215]. The _habeas
corpus_ is the single advantage which our government has over that of
other countries.'
On the 30th of September we dined together at the Mitre. I attempted to
argue for the superior happiness of the savage life, upon the usual
fanciful topicks. JOHNSON. 'Sir, there can be nothing more false. The
savages have no bodily advantages beyond those of civilised men. They
have not better health; and as to care or mental uneasiness, they are
not above it, but below it, like bears. No, Sir; you are not to talk
such paradox[216]: let me have no more on't. It cannot entertain, far less
can it instruct. Lord Monboddo[217], one of your Scotch Judges, talked a
great deal of such nonsense. I suffered _him_; but I will not suffer
_you_.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, does not Rousseau talk such nonsense?'
JOHNSON. 'True, Sir, but Rousseau _knows_ he is talking nonsense, and
laughs at the world for staring at him.' BOSWELL. 'How so, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, a man who talks nonsense so well, must know that he
is talking nonsense. But I am _afraid_, (chuckling and laughing,)
Monboddo does _not_ know that he is talking nonsense[218].' BOSWELL. 'Is
it wrong then, Sir, to affect singularity, in order to make people
stare?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, if you do it by propagating errour: and, indeed,
it is wrong in any way. There is in human nature a general inclination
to make people stare; and every wise man has himself to cure of it, and
does cure himself[219]. If you wish to make people stare by doing better
than others, why, make them stare till they stare their eyes out. But
consider how easy it is to make people stare by being absurd. I may do
it by going into a drawing-room without my shoes. You remember the
gentleman in _The Spectator_, who had a commission of lunacy taken out
against him for his extreme singularity, such as never wearing a wig,
but a night-cap. Now, Sir, abstractedly, the night-cap was best; but,
relatively, the advantage was overbalanced by his making the boys run
after him[220].'
Talking of a London life, he said, 'The happiness of London is not to be
conceived but by those who have been in it. I will venture to say, there
is more learning and science within the circumference of ten miles from
where we now sit, than in all the rest of the kingdom.' BOSWELL. 'The
only disadvantage is the great distance at which people live from one
another.' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; but that is occasioned by the largeness of
it, which is the cause of all the other advantages.' BOSWELL. 'Sometimes
I have been in the humour of wishing to retire to a desart.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, you have desart enough in Scotland.'
Although I had promised myself a great deal of instructive conversation
with him on the conduct of the married state, of which I had then a near
prospect, he did not say much upon that topick. Mr. Seward[221] heard him
once say, that 'a man has a very bad chance for happiness in that state,
unless he marries a woman of very strong and fixed principles of
religion.' He maintained to me, contrary to the common notion, that a
woman would not be the worse wife for being learned[222]; in which, from
all that I have observed of Artemisias[223], I humbly differed from him.
That a woman should be sensible and well informed, I allow to be a great
advantage; and think that Sir Thomas Overbury[224], in his rude
versification, has very judiciously pointed out that degree of
intelligence which is to be desired in a female companion:
'Give me, next _good_, an _understanding wife_,
By Nature _wise_, not _learned_ by much art;
Some _knowledge_ on her side will all my life
More scope of conversation impart;
Besides, her inborne virtue fortifie;
They are most firmly good, who[225] best know why.'
When I censured a gentleman of my acquaintance for marrying a second
time, as it shewed a disregard of his first wife, he said, 'Not at all,
Sir. On the contrary, were he not to marry again, it might be concluded
that his first wife had given him a disgust to marriage; but by taking a
second wife he pays the highest compliment to the first, by shewing that
she made him so happy as a married man, that he wishes to be so a second
time[226].'
So ingenious a turn did he give to this delicate question. And yet, on
another occasion, he owned that he once had almost asked a promise of
Mrs. Johnson that she would not marry again, but had checked himself.
Indeed, I cannot help thinking, that in his case the request would have
been unreasonable; for if Mrs. Johnson forgot, or thought it no injury
to the memory of her first love,--the husband of her youth and the
father of her children,--to make a second marriage, why should she be
precluded from a third, should she be so inclined? In Johnson's
persevering fond appropriation of his _Tetty_, even after her decease,
he seems totally to have overlooked the prior claim of the honest
Birmingham trader. I presume that her having been married before had, at
times, given him some uneasiness; for I remember his observing upon the
marriage of one of our common friends, 'He has done a very foolish
thing, Sir; he has married a widow, when he might have had a maid[227].'
We drank tea with Mrs. Williams. I had last year the pleasure of seeing
Mrs. Thrale at Dr. Johnson's one morning, and had conversation enough
with her to admire her talents, and to shew her that I was as Johnsonian
as herself. Dr. Johnson had probably been kind enough to speak well of
me, for this evening he delivered me a very polite card from Mr. Thrale
and her, inviting me to Streatham.
On the 6th of October I complied with this obliging invitation, and
found, at an elegant villa, six miles from town, every circumstance that
can make society pleasing. Johnson, though quite at home, was yet looked
up to with an awe, tempered by affection, and seemed to be equally the
care of his host and hostess. I rejoiced at seeing him so happy.
He played off his wit against Scotland with a good humoured pleasantry,
which gave me, though no bigot to national prejudices, an opportunity
for a little contest with him. I having said that England was obliged to
us for gardeners, almost all their good gardeners being Scotchmen.
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, that is because gardening is much more necessary
amongst you than with us, which makes so many of your people learn it.
It is _all_ gardening with you. Things which grow wild here, must be
cultivated with great care in Scotland. Pray now (throwing himself back
in his chair, and laughing,) are you ever able to bring the _sloe_ to
perfection?'
I boasted that we had the honour of being the first to abolish the
unhospitable, troublesome, and ungracious custom of giving vails to
servants[228]. JOHNSON. 'Sir, you abolished vails, because you were too
poor to be able to give them.'
Mrs. Thrale disputed with him on the merit of Prior. He attacked him
powerfully; said he wrote of love like a man who had never felt it: his
love verses were college verses; and he repeated the song 'Alexis
shunn'd his fellow swains[229],' &c., in so ludicrous a manner, as to make
us all wonder how any one could have been pleased with such fantastical
stuff. Mrs. Thrale stood to her gun with great courage, in defence of
amorous ditties, which Johnson despised, till he at last silenced her by
saying, 'My dear Lady, talk no more of this. Nonsense can be defended
but by nonsense[230].'
Mrs. Thrale then praised Garrick's talent for light gay poetry; and, as
a specimen, repeated his song in _Florizel and Perdita_, and dwelt with
peculiar pleasure on this line:
'I'd smile with the simple, and feed with the poor[231].'
JOHNSON. 'Nay, my dear Lady, this will never do. Poor David! Smile with
the simple;--What folly is that? And who would feed with the poor that
can help it? No, no; let me smile with the wise, and feed with the
rich.' I repeated this sally to Garrick, and wondered to find his
sensibility as a writer not a little irritated by it. To sooth him, I
observed, that Johnson spared none of us; and I quoted the passage in
Horace[232], in which he compares one who attacks his friends for the sake
of a laugh, to a pushing ox[233], that is marked by a bunch of hay put
upon his horns: '_fA|num habet in cornu_.' 'Ay, (said Garrick
vehemently,) he has a whole _mow_ of it.'
Talking of history, Johnson said, 'We may know historical facts to be
true, as we may know facts in common life to be true. Motives are
generally unknown. We cannot trust to the characters we find in history,
unless when they are drawn by those who knew the persons; as those, for
instance, by Sallust and by Lord Clarendon[234].'
He would not allow much merit to Whitefield's oratory. 'His popularity,
Sir (said he,) is chiefly owing to the peculiarity of his manner. He
would be followed by crowds were he to wear a night-cap in the pulpit,
or were he to preach from a tree[235].' I know not from what spirit of
contradiction he burst out into a violent declamation against the
Corsicans, of whose heroism I talked in high terms. 'Sir (said he,) what
is all this rout about the Corsicans? They have been at war with the
Genoese for upwards of twenty years, and have never yet taken their
fortified towns. They might have battered down their walls, and reduced
them to powder in twenty years. They might have pulled the walls in
pieces, and cracked the stones with their teeth in twenty years.' It was
in vain to argue with him upon the want of artillery: he was not to be
resisted for the moment.
On the evening of October 10, I presented Dr. Johnson to General Paoli.
I had greatly wished that two men, for whom I had the highest esteem,
should meet[236]. They met with a manly ease, mutually conscious of their
own abilities, and of the abilities of each other. The General spoke
Italian, and Dr. Johnson English, and understood one another very well,
with a little aid of interpretation from me, in which I compared myself
to an isthmus which joins two great continents. Upon Johnson's approach,
the General said, 'From what I have read of your works, Sir, and from
what Mr. Boswell has told me of you, I have long held you in great
veneration.' The General talked of languages being formed on the
particular notions and manners of a people, without knowing which, we
cannot know the language. We may know the direct signification of single
words; but by these no beauty of expression, no sally of genius, no wit
is conveyed to the mind. All this must be by allusion to other ideas.
'Sir, (said Johnson,) you talk of language, as if you had never done any
thing else but study it, instead of governing a nation.' The General
said, '_Questo e un troppo gran complimento_;' this is too great a
compliment. Johnson answered. 'I should have thought so, Sir, if I had
not heard you talk.' The General asked him, what he thought of the
spirit of infidelity which was so prevalent[237]. JOHNSON. 'Sir, this
gloom of infidelity, I hope, is only a transient cloud passing through
the hemisphere[238], which will soon be dissipated, and the sun break
forth with his usual splendour.' 'You think then, (said the General,)
that they will change their principles like their clothes.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, if they bestow no more thought on principles than on
dress, it must be so.' The General said, that 'a great part of the
fashionable infidelity was owing to a desire of shewing courage. Men who
have no opportunities of shewing it as to things in this life, take
death and futurity as objects on which to display it.' JOHNSON. 'That is
mighty foolish affectation. Fear is one of the passions of human nature,
of which it is impossible to divest it. You remember that the Emperour
Charles V, when he read upon the tomb-stone of a Spanish nobleman, "Here
lies one who never knew fear," wittily said, "Then he never snuffed a
candle with his fingers."'
He talked a few words of French[239] to the General; but finding he did
not do it with facility, he asked for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the
following note:--
'J'ai lu dans la geographie de Lucas de Linda un Pater-noster A(C)crit dans
une langue tout A -fait differente de l'Italienne, et de toutes autres
lesquelles se derivent du Latin. L'auteur l'appelle _linguam Corsicae
rusticam_; elle a peut-etre passA(C) peu A peu; mais elle a certainement
prevalue autrefois dans les montagnes et dans la campagne. Le mA(C)me
auteur dit la mA(C)me chose en parlant de Sardaigne; qu'il y a deux langues
dans l'Isle, une des villes, l'autre de la campagne.'
The General immediately informed him that the _lingua rustica_ was only
in Sardinia.
Dr. Johnson went home with me, and drank tea till late in the night. He
said, 'General Paoli had the loftiest port of any man he had ever
seen[240].' He denied that military men were always the best bred men.
'Perfect good breeding, he observed, consists in having no particular
mark of any profession, but a general elegance of manners; whereas, in a
military man, you can commonly distinguish the _brand_ of a soldier,
_l'homme d'A(C)pA(C)e_.'
Dr. Johnson shunned to-night any discussion of the perplexed question of
fate and free will, which I attempted to agitate. 'Sir, (said he,) we
_know_ our will is free, and _there's_ an end on't[241].'
He honoured me with his company at dinner on the 16th of October, at my
lodgings in Old Bond-street, with Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Garrick, Dr.
Goldsmith, Mr. Murphy, Mr. Bickerstaff[242], and Mr. Thomas Davies.
Garrick played round him with a fond vivacity, taking hold of the
breasts of his coat, and, looking up in his face with a lively archness,
complimented him on the good health which he seemed then to enjoy; while
the sage, shaking his head, beheld him with a gentle complacency. One of
the company not being come at the appointed hour, I proposed, as usual
upon such occasions, to order dinner to be served; adding, 'Ought six
people to be kept waiting for one?' 'Why, yes, (answered Johnson, with a
delicate humanity,) if the one will suffer more by your sitting down,
than the six will do by waiting.' Goldsmith, to divert the tedious
minutes, strutted about, bragging of his dress, and I believe was
seriously vain of it, for his mind was wonderfully prone to such
impressions[243]. 'Come, come, (said Garrick,) talk no more of that. You
are, perhaps, the worst--eh, eh!'--Goldsmith was eagerly attempting to
interrupt him, when Garrick went on, laughing ironically, 'Nay, you will
always _look_ like a gentleman[244]; but I am talking of being well or
_ill drest_.' 'Well, let me tell you, (said Goldsmith,) when my tailor
brought home my bloom-coloured coat, he said, 'Sir, I have a favour to
beg of you. When any body asks you who made your clothes, be pleased to
mention John Filby, at the Harrow, in Water-lane.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir,
that was because he knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze
at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a
coat even of so absurd a colour[245].'
After dinner our conversation first turned upon Pope. Johnson said, his
characters of men were admirably drawn, those of women not so well[246].
He repeated to us, in his forcible melodious manner, the concluding
lines of the _Dunciad_[247]. While he was talking loudly in praise of
those lines, one of the company[248] ventured to say, 'Too fine for such a
poem:--a poem on what?' JOHNSON, (with a disdainful look,) 'Why, on
_dunces_. It was worth while being a dunce then. Ah, Sir, hadst _thou_
lived in those days! It is not worth while being a dunce now, when there
are no wits[249].' Bickerstaff observed, as a peculiar circumstance, that
Pope's fame was higher when he was alive than it was then[250]. Johnson
said, his Pastorals were poor things, though the versification was
fine[251]. He told us, with high satisfaction, the anecdote of Pope's
inquiring who was the authour of his _London_, and saying, he will be
soon _dA(C)terrA(C)_[252]. He observed, that in Dryden's poetry there were
passages drawn from a profundity which Pope could never reach[253]. He
repeated some fine lines on love, by the former, (which I have now
forgotten[254],) and gave great applause to the character of Zimri[255].
Goldsmith said, that Pope's character of Addison[256] shewed a deep
knowledge of the human heart. Johnson said, that the description of the
temple, in the _Mourning Bride_[257], was the finest poetical passage he
had ever read; he recollected none in Shakspeare equal to it. 'But,
(said Garrick, all alarmed for the "God of his idolatry[258],") we know
not the extent and variety of his powers.'
'We are to suppose there are such passages in his works. Shakspeare must
not suffer from the badness of our memories.' Johnson, diverted by this
enthusiastick jealousy, went on with greater ardour: 'No, Sir; Congreve
has _nature_;' (smiling on the tragick eagerness of Garrick;) but
composing himself, he added, 'Sir, this is not comparing Congreve on the
whole, with Shakspeare on the whole; but only maintaining that Congreve
has one finer passage than any that can be found in Shakspeare. Sir, a
man may have no more than ten guineas in the world, but he may have
those ten guineas in one piece; and so may have a finer piece than a man
who has ten thousand pounds: but then he has only one ten-guinea piece.
What I mean is, that you can shew me no passage where there is simply a
description of material objects, without any intermixture of moral
notions, which produces such an effect[259].' Mr. Murphy mentioned
Shakspeare's description of the night before the battle of Agincourt[260];
but it was observed, it had _men_ in it. Mr. Davies suggested the speech
of Juliet, in which she figures herself awaking in the tomb of her
ancestors[261]. Some one mentioned the description of Dover Cliff[262].
JOHNSON. 'No, Sir; it should be all precipice,--all vacuum. The crows
impede your fall. The diminished appearance of the boats, and other
circumstances, are all very good description; but do not impress the
mind at once with the horrible idea of immense height. The impression is
divided; you pass on by computation, from one stage of the tremendous
space to another. Had the girl in _The Mourning Bride_ said, she could
not cast her shoe to the top of one of the pillars in the temple, it
would not have aided the idea, but weakened it.'
Talking of a Barrister who had a bad utterance, some one, (to rouse
Johnson,) wickedly said, that he was unfortunate in not having been
taught oratory by Sheridan[263]. JOHNSON. 'Nay, Sir, if he had been taught
by Sheridan, he would have cleared the room.' GARRICK. 'Sheridan has too
much vanity to be a good man.' We shall now see Johnson's mode of
_defending_ a man; taking him into his own hands, and discriminating.
JOHNSON. 'No, Sir. There is, to be sure, in Sheridan, something to
reprehend, and every thing to laugh at; but, Sir, he is not a bad man.
No, Sir; were mankind to be divided into good and bad, he would stand
considerably within the ranks of good. And, Sir, it must be allowed that
Sheridan excels in plain declamation, though he can exhibit no
character.'
I should, perhaps, have suppressed this disquisition concerning a person
of whose merit and worth I think with respect, had he not attacked
Johnson so outrageously in his _Life of Swift_, and, at the same time,
treated us, his admirers, as a set of pigmies[264]. He who has provoked
the lash of wit, cannot complain that he smarts from it.
Mrs. Montagu, a lady distinguished for having written an Essay on
Shakspeare, being mentioned. REYNOLDS. 'I think that essay does her
honour.' JOHNSON, 'Yes, Sir; it does _her_ honour, but it would do
nobody else honour. I have, indeed, not read it all. But when I take up
the end of a web, and find it packthread, I do not expect, by looking
further, to find embroidery. Sir, I will venture to say, there is not
one sentence of true criticism in her book.' GARRICK. 'But, Sir, surely
it shews how much Voltaire has mistaken Shakspeare, which nobody else
has done[265].' JOHNSON. 'Sir, nobody else has thought it worth while. And
what merit is there in that? You may as well praise a schoolmaster for
whipping a boy who has construed ill. No, Sir, there is no real
criticism in it: none shewing the beauty of thought, as formed on the
workings of the human heart.'
The admirers of this Essay[266] may be offended at the slighting manner in
which Johnson spoke of it; but let it be remembered, that he gave his
honest opinion unbiased by any prejudice, or any proud jealousy of a
woman intruding herself into the chair of criticism; for Sir Joshua
Reynolds has told me, that when the Essay first came out, and it was not
known who had written it, Johnson wondered how Sir Joshua could like
it[267]. At this time Sir Joshua himself had received no information
concerning the authour, except being assured by one of our most eminent
literati, that it was clear its authour did not know the Greek tragedies
in the original. One day at Sir Joshua's table, when it was related that
Mrs. Montagu, in an excess of compliment to the authour of a modern
tragedy, had exclaimed, 'I tremble for Shakspeare;' Johnson said, 'When
Shakspeare has got ---- for his rival, and Mrs. Montagu for his
defender, he is in a poor state indeed.'
Johnson proceeded: 'The Scotchman[268] has taken the right method in his
_Elements of Criticism_. I do not mean that he has taught us any thing;
but he has told us old things in a new way.' MURPHY. 'He seems to have
read a great deal of French criticism, and wants to make it his own; as
if he had been for years anatomising the heart of man, and peeping into
every cranny of it.' GOLDSMITH. 'It is easier to write that book, than
to read it[269].' JOHNSON. 'We have an example of true criticism in
Burke's _Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful_; and, if I recollect, there
is also Du Bos[270]; and Bouhours[271], who shews all beauty to depend on
truth. There is no great merit in telling how many plays have ghosts in
them, and how this Ghost is better than that. You must shew how terrour
is impressed on the human heart. In the description of night in
_Macbeth_[272], the beetle and the bat detract from the general idea of
darkness,--inspissated gloom.'
Politicks being mentioned, he said, 'This petitioning is a new mode of
distressing government, and a mighty easy one. I will undertake to get
petitions either against quarter-guineas or half-guineas, with the help
of a little hot wine. There must be no yielding to encourage this. The
object is not important enough. We are not to blow up half a dozen
palaces, because one cottage is burning[273].'
The conversation then took another turn. JOHNSON. 'It is amazing what
ignorance of certain points one sometimes finds in men of eminence. A
wit about town, who wrote Latin bawdy verses, asked me, how it happened
that England and Scotland, which were once two kingdoms, were now
one:--and Sir Fletcher Norton[274] did not seem to know that there were
such publications as the Reviews.'
'The ballad of Hardyknute[275] has no great merit, if it be really
ancient. People talk of nature. But mere obvious nature may be exhibited
with very little power of mind.'
On Thursday, October 19, I passed the evening with him at his house. He
advised me to complete a Dictionary of words peculiar to Scotland, of
which I shewed him a specimen. 'Sir, (said he,) Ray has made a
collection of north-country words[276]. By collecting those of your
country, you will do a useful thing towards the history of the
language.' He bade me also go on with collections which I was making
upon the antiquities of Scotland. 'Make a large book; a folio.' BOSWELL.
'But of what use will it be, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Never mind the use; do it.'
I complained that he had not mentioned Garrick in his Preface to
Shakspeare[277]; and asked him if he did not admire him. JOHNSON. 'Yes, as
"a poor player, who frets and struts his hour upon the stage;"--as a
shadow[278].' BOSWELL, 'But has he not brought Shakspeare into notice?'
[279] JOHNSON. 'Sir, to allow that, would be to lampoon the age. Many of
Shakspeare's plays are the worse for being acted: _Macbeth_, for
instance[280].' BOSWELL. 'What, Sir, is nothing gained by decoration and
action? Indeed, I do wish that you had mentioned Garrick.' JOHNSON. 'My
dear Sir, had I mentioned him, I must have mentioned many more: Mrs.
Pritchard, Mrs. Cibber,--nay, and Mr. Cibber too; he too altered
Shakspeare.' BOSWELL. 'You have read his apology, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Yes,
it is very entertaining. But as for Cibber himself, taking from his
conversation all that he ought not to have said[281], he was a poor
creature. I remember when he brought me one of his Odes to have my
opinion of it[282]; I could not bear such nonsense, and would not let him
read it to the end; so little respect had I for _that great man_!
(laughing.) Yet I remember Richardson wondering that I could treat him
with familiarity[283].'
I mentioned to him that I had seen the execution of several convicts at
Tyburn[284], two days before, and that none of them seemed to be under any
concern. JOHNSON. 'Most of them, Sir, have never thought at all.'
BOSWELL. 'But is not the fear of death natural to man?' JOHNSON. 'So
much so, Sir, that the whole of life is but keeping away the thoughts of
it[285].' He then, in a low and earnest tone, talked of his meditating
upon the aweful hour of his own dissolution, and in what manner he
should conduct himself upon that occasion: 'I know not (said he,)
whether I should wish to have a friend by me, or have it all between GOD
and myself.'
Talking of our feeling for the distresses of others;--JOHNSON. 'Why,
Sir, there is much noise made about it, but it is greatly exaggerated.
No, Sir, we have a certain degree of feeling to prompt us to do good:
more than that, Providence does not intend. It would be misery to no
purpose[286].' BOSWELL. 'But suppose now, Sir, that one of your intimate
friends were apprehended for an offence for which he might be hanged.'
JOHNSON. 'I should do what I could to bail him, and give him any other
assistance; but if he were once fairly hanged, I should not suffer.'
BOSWELL. 'Would you eat your dinner that day, Sir?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir;
and eat it as if he were eating it with me. Why, there's Baretti, who is
to be tried for his life to-morrow, friends have risen up for him on
every side; yet if he should be hanged, none of them will eat a slice of
plumb-pudding the less. Sir, that sympathetic feeling goes a very little
way in depressing the mind[287].'
I told him that I had dined lately at Foote's, who shewed me a letter
which he had received from Tom Davies, telling him that he had not been
able to sleep from the concern which he felt on account of '_This sad
affair of Baretti_[288],' begging of him to try if he could suggest any
thing that might be of service; and, at the same time, recommending to
him an industrious young man who kept a pickle-shop. JOHNSON. 'Ay, Sir,
here you have a specimen of human sympathy; a friend hanged, and a
cucumber pickled. We know not whether Baretti or the pickle-man has kept
Davies from sleep; nor does he know himself. And as to his not sleeping,
Sir; Tom Davies is a very great man; Tom has been upon the stage, and
knows how to do those things. I have not been upon the stage, and cannot
do those things.' BOSWELL. 'I have often blamed myself, Sir, for not
feeling for others as sensibly as many say they do.' JOHNSON. 'Sir,
don't be duped by them any more. You will find these very feeling people
are not very ready to do you good. They _pay_ you by _feeling_.'
BOSWELL. 'Foote has a great deal of humour?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir.'
BOSWELL. 'He has a singular talent of exhibiting character.' JOHNSON.
'Sir, it is not a talent; it is a vice; it is what others abstain from.
It is not comedy, which exhibits the character of a species, as that of
a miser gathered from many misers: it is farce, which exhibits
individuals.' BOSWELL. 'Did not he think of exhibiting you, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, fear restrained him; he knew I would have broken his
bones. I would have saved him the trouble of cutting off a leg; I would
not have left him a leg to cut off[289].' BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, is not
Foote an infidel?' JOHNSON. 'I do not know, Sir, that the fellow is an
infidel; but if he be an infidel, he is an infidel as a dog is an
infidel; that is to say, he has never thought upon the subject[290].'
BOSWELL. 'I suppose, Sir, he has thought superficially, and seized the
first notions which occurred to his mind.' JOHNSON. 'Why then, Sir,
still he is like a dog, that snatches the piece next him. Did you never
observe that dogs have not the power of comparing? A dog will take a
small bit of meat as readily as a large, when both are before him.'
'Buchanan (he observed,) has fewer _centos_[291] than any modern Latin
poet. He not only had great knowledge of the Latin language, but was a
great poetical genius. Both the Scaligers praise him.'
He again talked of the passage in _Congreve_ with high commendation, and
said, 'Shakspeare never has six lines together without a fault. Perhaps
you may find seven, but this does not refute my general assertion. If I
come to an orchard, and say there's no fruit here, and then comes a
poring man, who finds two apples and three pears, and tells me, "Sir,
you are mistaken, I have found both apples and pears," I should laugh at
him: what would that be to the purpose?'
BOSWELL. 'What do you think of Dr. Young's _Night Thoughts_, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, there are very fine things in them[292].' BOSWELL. 'Is
there not less religion in the nation now, Sir, than there was
formerly?' JOHNSON. 'I don't know, Sir, that there is.' BOSWELL. 'For
instance, there used to be a chaplain in every great family[293], which we
do not find now.' JOHNSON. 'Neither do you find any of the state
servants which great families used formerly to have. There is a change
of modes in the whole department of life.'
Next day, October 20, he appeared, for the only time I suppose in his
life, as a witness in a Court of Justice, being called to give evidence
to the character of Mr. Baretti, who having stabbed a man in the street,
was arraigned at the Old Bailey for murder[294]. Never did such a
constellation of genius enlighten the aweful Sessions-House,
emphatically called JUSTICE HALL; Mr. Burke, Mr. Garrick, Mr. Beauclerk,
and Dr. Johnson; and undoubtedly their favourable testimony had due
weight with the Court and Jury. Johnson gave his evidence in a slow,
deliberate, and distinct manner, which was uncommonly impressive. It is
well known that Mr. Baretti was acquitted.
On the 26th of October, we dined together at the Mitre tavern. I found
fault with Foote for indulging his talent of ridicule at the expence of
his visitors, which I colloquially termed making fools of his company.
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, when you go to see Foote, you do not go to see a
saint: you go to see a man who will be entertained at your house, and
then bring you on a publick stage; who will entertain you at his house,
for the very purpose of bringing you on a publick stage. Sir, he does
not make fools of his company; they whom he exposes are fools already:
he only brings them into action.'
Talking of trade, he observed, 'It is a mistaken notion that a vast deal
of money is brought into a nation by trade. It is not so. Commodities
come from commodities; but trade produces no capital accession of
wealth. However, though there should be little profit in money, there is
a considerable profit in pleasure, as it gives to one nation the
productions of another; as we have wines and fruits, and many other
foreign articles, brought to us.' BOSWELL. 'Yes, Sir, and there is a
profit in pleasure, by its furnishing occupation to such numbers of
mankind.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, you cannot call that pleasure to which all
are averse, and which none begin but with the hope of leaving off; a
thing which men dislike before they have tried it, and when they have
tried it.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, the mind must be employed, and we grow
weary when idle.' JOHNSON. 'That is, Sir, because, others being busy, we
want company; but if we were all idle, there would be no growing weary;
we should all entertain one another. There is, indeed, this in
trade:--it gives men an opportunity of improving their situation. If
there were no trade, many who are poor would always remain poor. But no
man loves labour for itself.' BOSWELL. 'Yes, Sir, I know a person who
does. He is a very laborious Judge, and he loves the labour[295].'
JOHNSON. 'Sir, that is because he loves respect and distinction. Could
he have them without labour, he would like it less.' BOSWELL. 'He tells
me he likes it for itself.'--'Why, Sir, he fancies so, because he is not
accustomed to abstract.'
We went home to his house to tea. Mrs. Williams made it with sufficient
dexterity, notwithstanding her blindness, though her manner of
satisfying herself that the cups were full enough appeared to me a
little aukward; for I fancied she put her finger down a certain way,
till she felt the tea touch it[296]. In my first elation at being allowed
the privilege of attending Dr. Johnson at his late visits to this lady,
which was like being _A" secretioribus consiliis_[297], I willingly drank
cup after cup, as if it had been the Heliconian spring. But as the charm
of novelty went off, I grew more fastidious; and besides, I discovered
that she was of a peevish temper[298].
There was a pretty large circle this evening. Dr. Johnson was in very
good humour, lively, and ready to talk upon all subjects. Mr. Fergusson,
the self-taught philosopher, told him of a new-invented machine which
went without horses: a man who sat in it turned a handle, which worked a
spring that drove it forward. 'Then, Sir, (said Johnson,) what is gained
is, the man has his choice whether he will move himself alone, or
himself and the machine too.' Dominicetti[299] being mentioned, he would
not allow him any merit. 'There is nothing in all this boasted system.
No, Sir; medicated baths can be no better than warm water: their only
effect can be that of tepid moisture.' One of the company took the other
side, maintaining that medicines of various sorts, and some too of most
powerful effect, are introduced into the human frame by the medium of
the pores; and, therefore, when warm water is impregnated with
salutiferous substances, it may produce great effects as a bath. This
appeared to me very satisfactory. Johnson did not answer it; but talking
for victory, and determined to be master of the field, he had recourse
to the device which Goldsmith imputed to him in the witty words of one
of Cibber's comedies: 'There is no arguing with Johnson; for when his
pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it[300].' He
turned to the gentleman, 'Well, Sir, go to Dominicetti, and get thyself
fumigated; but be sure that the steam be directed to thy _head_, for
_that_ is the _peccant part_'. This produced a triumphant roar of
laughter from the motley assembly of philosophers, printers, and
dependents, male and female.
I know not how so whimsical a thought came into my mind, but I asked,
'If, Sir, you were shut up in a castle, and a newborn child with you,
what would you do?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, I should not much like my
company.' BOSWELL. 'But would you take the trouble of rearing it?' He
seemed, as may well be supposed, unwilling to pursue the subject: but
upon my persevering in my question, replied, 'Why yes, Sir, I would; but
I must have all conveniencies. If I had no garden, I would make a shed
on the roof, and take it there for fresh air. I should feed it, and wash
it much, and with warm water to please it, not with cold water to give
it pain.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, does not heat relax?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, you
are not to imagine the water is to be very hot. I would not _coddle_ the
child. No, Sir, the hardy method of treating children does no good. I'll
take you five children from London, who shall cuff five Highland
children. Sir, a man bred in London will carry a burthen, or run, or
wrestle, as well as a man brought up in the hardiest manner in the
country.' BOSWELL. 'Good living, I suppose, makes the Londoners strong.'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, I don't know that it does. Our Chairmen from
Ireland, who are as strong men as any, have been brought up upon
potatoes. Quantity makes up for quality.' BOSWELL. 'Would you teach this
child that I have furnished you with, any thing?' JOHNSON. 'No, I should
not be apt to teach it.' BOSWELL. 'Would not you have a pleasure in
teaching it?' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, I should _not_ have a pleasure in
teaching it.' BOSWELL. 'Have you not a pleasure in teaching
men?--_There_ I have you. You have the same pleasure in teaching men,
that I should have in teaching children.' JOHNSON. 'Why, something about
that.' BOSWELL. 'Do you think, Sir, that what is called natural
affection is born with us? It seems to me to be the effect of habit, or
of gratitude for kindness. No child has it for a parent whom it has not
seen.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, I think there is an instinctive natural
affection in parents towards their children.'
Russia being mentioned as likely to become a great empire, by the rapid
increase of population:--JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, I see no prospect of their
propagating more. They can have no more children than they can get. I
know of no way to make them breed more than they do. It is not from
reason and prudence that people marry, but from inclination. A man is
poor; he thinks, "I cannot be worse, and so I'll e'en take Peggy."'
BOSWELL. 'But have not nations been more populous at one period than
another?' JOHNSON. 'Yes, Sir; but that has been owing to the people
being less thinned at one period than another, whether by emigrations,
war, or pestilence, not by their being more or less prolifick. Births at
all times bear the same proportion to the same number of people.'
BOSWELL. 'But, to consider the state of our own country;--does not
throwing a number of farms into one hand hurt population?' JOHNSON. 'Why
no, Sir; the same quantity of food being produced, will be consumed by
the same number of mouths, though the people may be disposed of in
different ways. We see, if corn be dear, and butchers' meat cheap, the
farmers all apply themselves to the raising of corn, till it becomes
plentiful and cheap, and then butchers' meat becomes dear; so that an
equality is always preserved. No, Sir, let fanciful men do as they will,
depend upon it, it is difficult to disturb the system of life.' BOSWELL.
'But, Sir, is it not a very bad thing for landlords to oppress their
tenants, by raising their rents?' JOHNSON. 'Very bad. But, Sir, it never
can have any general influence; it may distress some individuals. For,
consider this: landlords cannot do without tenants. Now tenants will not
give more for land, than land is worth. If they can make more of their
money by keeping a shop, or any other way, they'll do it, and so oblige
landlords to let land come back to a reasonable rent, in order that they
may get tenants. Land, in England, is an article of commerce. A tenant
who pays his landlord his rent, thinks himself no more obliged to him
than you think yourself obliged to a man in whose shop you buy a piece
of goods. He knows the landlord does not let him have his land for less
than he can get from others, in the same manner as the shopkeeper sells
his goods. No shopkeeper sells a yard of ribband for sixpence when
seven-pence is the current price.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, is it not better
that tenants should be dependant on landlords?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, as
there are many more tenants than landlords, perhaps, strictly speaking,
we should wish not. But if you please you may let your lands cheap, and
so get the value, part in money and part in homage. I should agree with
you in that.' BOSWELL. 'So, Sir, you laugh at schemes of political
improvement.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, most schemes of political improvement
are very laughable things.'
He observed, 'Providence has wisely ordered that the more numerous men
are, the more difficult it is for them to agree in any thing, and so
they are governed. There is no doubt, that if the poor should reason,
"We'll be the poor no longer, we'll make the rich take their turn," they
could easily do it, were it not that they can't agree. So the common
soldiers, though so much more numerous than their officers, are governed
by them for the same reason.'
He said, 'Mankind have a strong attachment to the habitations to which
they have been accustomed. You see the inhabitants of Norway do not with
one consent quit it, and go to some part of America, where there is a
mild climate, and where they may have the same produce from land, with
the tenth part of the labour. No, Sir; their affection for their old
dwellings, and the terrour of a general change, keep them at home. Thus,
we see many of the finest spots in the world thinly inhabited, and many
rugged spots well inhabited.'
_The London Chronicle_[301], which was the only news-paper he constantly
took in, being brought, the office of reading it aloud was assigned to
me. I was diverted by his impatience. He made me pass over so many parts
of it, that my task was very easy. He would not suffer one of the
petitions to the King about the Middlesex election to be read[302].
I had hired a Bohemian as my servant[303] while I remained in London, and
being much pleased with him, I asked Dr. Johnson whether his being a
Roman Catholick should prevent my taking him with me to Scotland.
JOHNSON. 'Why no, Sir, if _he_ has no objection, you can have none.'
BOSWELL. 'So, Sir, you are no great enemy to the Roman Catholick
religion.' JOHNSON. 'No more, Sir, than to the Presbyterian religion.'
BOSWELL. 'You are joking.' JOHNSON. 'No, Sir, I really think so. Nay,
Sir, of the two, I prefer the Popish[304].' BOSWELL. 'How so, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, the Presbyterians have no church, no apostolical
ordination.' BOSWELL. 'And do you think that absolutely essential, Sir?'
JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, as it was an apostolical institution, I think it is
dangerous to be without it. And, Sir, the Presbyterians have no public
worship: they have no form of prayer in which they know they are to
join. They go to hear a man pray, and are to judge whether they will
join with him.' BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, their doctrine is the same with that
of the Church of England. Their confession of faith, and the thirty-nine
articles, contain the same points, even the doctrine of predestination.'
JOHNSON. 'Why yes, Sir, predestination was a part of the clamour of the
times, so it is mentioned in our articles, but with as little
positiveness as could be.' BOSWELL. 'Is it necessary, Sir, to believe
all the thirty-nine articles?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, that is a question
which has been much agitated. Some have thought it necessary that they
should all be believed; others have considered them to be only articles
of peace, that is to say, you are not to preach against them[305].'
BOSWELL. 'It appears to me, Sir, that predestination, or what is
equivalent to it, cannot be avoided, if we hold an universal prescience
in the Deity.' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, does not GOD every day see things
going on without preventing them?' BOSWELL. 'True, Sir; but if a thing
be _certainly_ foreseen, it must be fixed, and cannot happen otherwise;
and if we apply this consideration to the human mind, there is no free
will, nor do I see how prayer can be of any avail.' He mentioned Dr.
Clarke, and Bishop Bramhall on _Liberty and Necessity_, and bid me read
South's _Sermons on Prayer_; but avoided the question which has
excruciated philosophers and divines, beyond any other. I did not press
it further, when I perceived that he was displeased[306], and shrunk from
any abridgement of an attribute usually ascribed to the Divinity,
however irreconcilable in its full extent with the grand system of
moral government. His supposed orthodoxy here cramped the vigorous
powers of his understanding. He was confined by a chain which early
imagination and long habit made him think massy and strong, but which,
had he ventured to try, he could at once have snapt asunder.
I proceeded: 'What do you think, Sir, of Purgatory[307], as believed by
the Roman Catholicks?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, it is a very harmless
doctrine. They are of opinion that the generality of mankind are neither
so obstinately wicked as to deserve everlasting punishment, nor so good
as to merit being admitted into the society of blessed spirits; and
therefore that God is graciously pleased to allow of a middle state,
where they may be purified by certain degrees of suffering. You see,
Sir, there is nothing unreasonable in this.' BOSWELL. 'But then, Sir,
their masses for the dead?' JOHNSON. 'Why, Sir, if it be once
established that there are souls in purgatory, it is as proper to pray
for _them_, as for our brethren of mankind who are yet in this life.'
BOSWELL. 'The idolatry of the Mass?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, there is no idolatry
in the Mass. They believe GOD to be there, and they adore him.' BOSWELL.
'The worship of Saints?' JOHNSON. 'Sir, they do not worship saints; they
invoke them; they only ask their prayers[308]. I am talking all this time
of the _doctrines_ of the Church of Rome. I grant you that in
_practice_, Purgatory is made a lucrative imposition, and that the
people do become idolatrous as they recommend themselves to the tutelary
protection of particular saints. I think their giving the sacrament only
in one kind is criminal, because it is contrary to the express
institution of CHRIST, and I wonder how the Council of Trent admitted
it.' BOSWELL. 'Confession?' JOHNSON. 'Why, I don't know but that is a
good thing. The scripture says, "Confess your faults one to another[309],"
and the priests confess as well as the laity. Then it must be considered
that their absolution is only upon repentance, and often upon penance
also. You think your sins may be forgiven without penance, upon
repentance alone.'
I thus ventured to mention all the common objections against the Roman
Catholick Church, that I might hear so great a man upon them. What he
said is here accurately recorded. But it is not improbable that if one
had taken the other side, he might have reasoned differently.
I must however mention, that he had a respect for '_the old religion_,'
as the mild Melancthon[310] called that of the Roman Catholick Church,
even while he was exerting himself for its reformation in some
particulars. Sir William Scott informs me, that he heard Johnson say, 'A
man who is converted from Protestantism to Popery may be sincere: he
parts with nothing: he is only superadding to what he already had. But a
convert from Popery to Protestantism gives up so much of what he has
held as sacred as any thing that he retains; there is so much
_laceration of mind_[311] in such a conversion, that it can hardly be
sincere and lasting[312].' The truth of this reflection may be confirmed
by many and eminent instances, some of which will occur to most of my
readers.
When we were alone, I introduced the subject of death, and endeavoured
to maintain that the fear of it might be got over. I told him that David
Hume said to me, he was no more uneasy to think he should _not be_ after
this life, than that he _had not been_ before he began to exist.
JOHNSON: 'Sir, if he really thinks so, his perceptions are disturbed; he
is mad: if he does not think so, he lies. He may tell you, he holds his
finger in the flame of a candle, without feeling pain; would you believe
him? When he dies, he at least gives up all he has.' BOSWELL: 'Foote,
Sir, told me, that when he was very ill he was not afraid to die.'
JOHNSON: 'It is not true, Sir[313]. Hold a pistol to Foote's breast, or to
Hume's breast, and threaten to kill them, and you'll see how they
behave.' BOSWELL: 'But may we not fortify our minds for the approach of
death?' Here I am sensible I was in the wrong, to bring before his view
what he ever looked upon with horrour; for although when in a celestial
frame, in his _Vanity of human wishes_, he has supposed death to be
'kind Nature's signal for retreat,' from this state of being to 'a
happier seat[314],' his thoughts upon this aweful change were in general
full of dismal apprehensions. His mind resembled the vast amphitheatre,
the Colisaeum at Rome. In the centre stood his judgement, which, like a
mighty gladiator, combated those apprehensions that, like the wild
beasts of the _Arena_, were all around in cells, ready to be let out
upon him. After a conflict, he drives them back into their dens; but not
killing them, they were still assailing him. To my question, whether we
might not fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered, in a
passion, 'No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how a man dies, but how
he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a
time[315].' He added, (with an earnest look,) 'A man knows it must be so,
and submits. It will do him no good to whine.'
I attempted to continue the conversation. He was so provoked, that he
said, 'Give us no more of this;' and was thrown into such a state of
agitation, that he expressed himself in a way that alarmed and
distressed me; shewed an impatience that I should leave him, and when I
was going away, called to me sternly, 'Don't let us meet to-morrow.'
I went home exceedingly uneasy. All the harsh observations which I had
ever heard made upon his character, crowded into my mind; and I seemed
to myself like the man who had put his head into the lion's mouth a
great many times with perfect safety, but at last had it bit off.
Next morning I sent him a note, stating, that I might have been in the
wrong, but it was not intentionally; he was therefore, I could not help
thinking, too severe upon me. That notwithstanding our agreement not to
meet that day, I would call on him in my way to the city, and stay five
minutes by my watch. 'You are, (said I,) in my mind, since last night,
surrounded with cloud and storm. Let me have a glimpse of sunshine, and
go about my affairs in serenity and chearfulness.'
Upon entering his study, I was glad that he was not alone, which would
have made our meeting more awkward. There were with him, Mr. Steevens[316]
and Mr. Tyers[317], both of whom I now saw for the first time. My note
had, on[318] his own reflection, softened him, for he received me very
complacently; so that I unexpectedly found myself at ease, and joined in
the conversation.
He said, the criticks had done too much honour to Sir Richard Blackmore,
by writing so much against him[319]. That in his _Creation_ he had been
helped by various wits, a line by Phillips and a line by Tickell; so
that by their aid, and that of others, the poem had been made out[320].
I defended Blackmore's supposed lines, which have been ridiculed as
absolute nonsense:--
'A painted vest Prince Voltiger had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won[321].'
I maintained it to be a poetical conceit. A Pict being painted, if he is
slain in battle, and a vest is made of his skin, it is a painted vest
won from him, though he was naked[322].
Johnson spoke unfavourably of a certain pretty voluminous authour,
saying, 'He used to write anonymous books, and then other books
commending those books, in which there was something of rascality.'
I whispered him, 'Well, Sir, you are now in good humour.' JOHNSON. 'Yes,
Sir.' I was going to leave him, and had got as far as the staircase. He
stopped me, and smiling, said, 'Get you gone _in_;' a curious mode of
inviting me to stay, which I accordingly did for some time longer.
This little incidental quarrel and reconciliation, which, perhaps, I may
be thought to have detailed too minutely, must be esteemed as one of
many proofs which his friends had, that though he might be charged with
_bad humour_ at times, he was always a _good-natured_ man; and I have
heard Sir Joshua Reynolds[323], a nice and delicate observer of manners,
particularly remark, that when upon any occasion Johnson had been rough
to any person in company, he took the first opportunity of
reconciliation, by drinking to him, or addressing his discourse to
him[324]; but if he found his dignified indirect overtures sullenly
neglected, he was quite indifferent, and considered himself as having
done all that he ought to do, and the other as now in the wrong.
Being to set out for Scotland on the 10th of November, I wrote to him at
Streatham, begging that he would meet me in town on the 9th; but if this
should be very inconvenient to him, I would go thither. His answer was
as follows:--
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
'DEAR SIR,
'Upon balancing the inconveniences of both parties, I find it will less
incommode you to spend your night here, than me to come to town. I wish
to see you, and am ordered by the lady of this house to invite you
hither. Whether you can come or not, I shall not have any occasion of
writing to you again before your marriage, and therefore tell you now,
that with great sincerity I wish you happiness.
'I am, dear Sir,
'Your most affectionate humble servant,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
'Nov. 9, 1769.'
I was detained in town till it was too late on the ninth, so went to him
early on the morning of the tenth of November. 'Now (said he,) that you
are going to marry, do not expect more from life, than life will afford.
You may often find yourself out of humour, and you may often think your
wife not studious enough to please you; and yet you may have reason to
consider yourself as upon the whole very happily married.'
Talking of marriage in general, he observed, 'Our marriage service is
too refined. It is calculated only for the best kind of marriages;
whereas, we should have a form for matches of convenience, of which
there are many.' He agreed with me that there was no absolute necessity
for having the marriage ceremony performed by a regular clergyman, for
this was not commanded in scripture.
I was volatile enough to repeat to him a little epigrammatick song of
mine, on matrimony, which Mr. Garrick had a few days before procured to
be set to musick by the very ingenious Mr. Dibden.
'A MATRIMONIAL THOUGHT.
'In the blithe days of honey-moon,
With Kate's allurements smitten,
I lov'd her late, I lov'd her soon,
And call'd her dearest kitten.
But now my kitten's grown a cat,
And cross like other wives,
O! by my soul, my honest Mat,
I fear she has nine lives.'
My illustrious friend said, 'It is very well, Sir; but you should not
swear.' Upon which I altered 'O! by my soul,' to 'alas, alas!'
He was so good as to accompany me to London, and see me into the
post-chaise which was to carry me on my road to Scotland. And sure I am,
that, however inconsiderable many of the particulars recorded at this
time may appear to some, they will be esteemed by the best part of my
readers as genuine traits of his character, contributing together to
give a full, fair, and distinct view of it.
1770: AćTAT. 61.--In 1770 he published a political pamphlet, entitled
_The False Alarm_[325], intended to justify the conduct of ministry and
their majority in the House of Commons, for having virtually assumed it
as an axiom, that the expulsion of a Member of Parliament was equivalent
to exclusion, and thus having declared Colonel Lutterel to be duly
elected for the county of Middlesex, notwithstanding Mr. Wilkes had a
great majority of votes[326]. This being justly considered as a gross
violation of the right of election, an alarm for the constitution
extended itself all over the kingdom. To prove this alarm to be false,
was the purpose of Johnson's pamphlet; but even his vast powers were
inadequate to cope with constitutional truth and reason, and his
argument failed of effect; and the House of Commons have since expunged
the offensive resolution from their Journals[327]. That the House of
Commons might have expelled Mr. Wilkes repeatedly, and as often as he
should be re-chosen, was not denied; but incapacitation cannot be but by
an act of the whole legislature. It was wonderful to see how a prejudice
in favour of government in general, and an aversion to popular clamour,
could blind and contract such an understanding as Johnson's, in this
particular case; yet the wit, the sarcasm, the eloquent vivacity which
this pamphlet displayed, made it be read with great avidity at the time,
and it will ever be read with pleasure, for the sake of its composition.
That it endeavoured to infuse a narcotick indifference, as to publick
concerns, into the minds of the people, and that it broke out sometimes
into an extreme coarseness of contemptuous abuse, is but too evident.
It must not, however, be omitted, that when the storm of his violence
subsides, he takes a fair opportunity to pay a grateful compliment to
the King, who had rewarded his merit: 'These low-born rulers[328] have
endeavoured, surely without effect, to alienate the affections of the
people from the only King who for almost a century has much appeared to
desire, or much endeavoured to deserve them.' And, 'Every honest man
must lament, that the faction has been regarded with frigid neutrality
by the Tories, who being long accustomed to signalise their principles
by opposition to the Court, do not yet consider, that they have at last
a King who knows not the name of party, and who wishes to be the common
father of all his people.'
To this pamphlet, which was at once discovered to be Johnson's, several
answers came out, in which, care was taken to remind the publick of his
former attacks upon government, and of his now being a pensioner,
without allowing for the honourable terms upon which Johnson's pension
was granted and accepted, or the change of system which the British
court had undergone upon the accession of his present Majesty[329]. He
was, however, soothed[330] in the highest strain of panegyrick, in a poem
called _The Remonstrance_, by the Rev. Mr. Stockdale[331], to whom he was,
upon many occasions, a kind protector.
The following admirable minute made by him describes so well his own
state, and that of numbers to whom self-examination is habitual, that I
cannot omit it:--
'June 1, 1770. Every man naturally persuades himself that he can keep
his resolutions, nor is he convinced of his imbecility but by length of
time and frequency of experiment[332]. This opinion of our own constancy
is so prevalent, that we always despise him who suffers his general and
settled purpose to be overpowered by an occasional desire. They,
therefore, whom frequent failures have made desperate, cease to form
resolutions; and they who are become cunning, do not tell them. Those
who do not make them are very few, but of their effect little is
perceived; for scarcely any man persists in a course of life planned by
choice, but as he is restrained from deviation by some external power.
He who may live as he will, seldom lives long in the observation of his
own rules[333].'