LANDING IN ENGLAND--SHIFTS OF A MAN WITHOUT MONEY--THE PESTLE AND
MORTAR--THEATRICALS IN A BARN--LAUNCH UPON LONDON--A CITY NIGHT
SCENE--STRUGGLES WITH PENURY--MISERIES OF A TUTOR--A DOCTOR IN THE
SUBURB--POOR PRACTICE AND SECOND-HAND FINERY--A TRAGEDY IN EMBRYO--PROJECT
OF THE WRITTEN MOUNTAINS
After two years spent in roving about the Continent, "pursuing novelty," as
he said, "and losing content," Goldsmith landed at Dover early in 1756. He
appears to have had no definite plan of action. The death of his uncle
Contarine, and the neglect of his relatives and friends to reply to his
letters, seem to have produced in him a temporary feeling of loneliness and
destitution, and his only thought was to get to London and throw himself
upon the world. But how was he to get there? His purse was empty. England
was to him as completely a foreign land as any part of the Continent, and
where on earth is a penniless stranger more destitute? His flute and his
philosophy were no longer of any avail; the English boors cared nothing for
music; there were no convents; and as to the learned and the clergy, not
one of them would give a vagrant scholar a supper and night's lodging for
the best thesis that ever was argued. "You may easily imagine," says he, in
a subsequent letter to his brother-in-law, "what difficulties I had to
encounter, left as I was without friends, recommendations, money, or
impudence, and that in a country where being born an Irishman was
sufficient to keep me unemployed. Many, in such circumstances, would have
had recourse to the friar's cord or the suicide's halter. But, with all my
follies, I had principle to resist the one, and resolution to combat the
other."
He applied at one place, we are told, for employment in the shop of a
country apothecary; but all his medical science gathered in foreign
universities could not gain him the management of a pestle and mortar. He
even resorted, it is said, to the stage as a temporary expedient, and
figured in low comedy at a country town in Kent. This accords with his last
shift of the "Philosophic Vagabond," and with the knowledge of country
theatricals displayed in his Adventures of a Strolling Player, or may be a
story suggested by them. All this part of his career, however, in which he
must have trod the lowest paths of humility, are only to be conjectured
from vague traditions, or scraps of autobiography gleaned from his
miscellaneous writings.
At length we find him launched on the great metropolis, or rather drifting
about its streets, at night, in the gloomy month of February, with but a
few half-pence in his pocket. The deserts of Arabia are not more dreary and
inhospitable than the streets of London at such a time, and to a stranger
in such a plight. Do we want a picture as an illustration? We have it in
his own words, and furnished, doubtless, from his own experience.
"The clock has just struck two; what a gloom hangs all around! no sound is
heard but of the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. How few appear in
those streets, which but some few hours ago were crowded! But who are those
who make the streets their couch, and find a short repose from wretchedness
at the doors of the opulent? They are strangers, wanderers, and orphans,
whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses
are too great even for pity. Some are without the covering even of rags,
and others emaciated with disease; the world has disclaimed them; society
turns its back upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and
hunger. _These poor shivering females have once seen happier days, and
been flattered into beauty._ They are now turned out to meet the
severity of winter. Perhaps now, lying at the doors of their betrayers,
they sue to wretches whose hearts are insensible, or debauchees who may
curse, but will not relieve them.
"Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches I cannot
relieve! Poor houseless creatures! The world will give you reproaches, but
will not give you relief."
Poor houseless Goldsmith! we may here ejaculate--to what shifts he must
have been driven to find shelter and sustenance for himself in this his
first venture into London! Many years afterward, in the days of his social
elevation, he startled a polite circle at Sir Joshua Reynolds' by
humorously dating an anecdote about the time he "lived among the beggars of
Axe Lane." Such may have been the desolate quarters with which he was fain
to content himself when thus adrift upon the town, with but a few
half-pence in his pocket.
The first authentic trace we have of him in this new part of his career, is
filling the situation of an usher to a school, and even this employ he
obtained with some difficulty, after a reference for a character to his
friends in the University of Dublin. In the Vicar of Wakefield he makes
George Primrose undergo a whimsical catechism concerning the requisites for
an usher. "Have you been bred apprentice to the business?" "No." "Then you
won't do for a school. Can you dress the boys' hair?" "No." "Then you won't
do for a school. Can you lie three in a bed?" "No." "Then you will never do
for a school. Have you a good stomach?" "Yes." "Then you will by no means
do for a school. I have been an usher in a boarding-school myself, and may
I die of an anodyne necklace, but I had rather be under-turnkey in Newgate.
I was up early and late; I was browbeat by the master, hated for my ugly
face by the mistress, worried by the boys."
Goldsmith remained but a short time in this situation, and to the
mortifications experienced there we doubtless owe the picturings given in
his writings of the hardships of an usher's life. "He is generally," says
he, "the laughingstock of the school. Every trick is played upon him; the
oddity of his manner, his dress, or his language, is a fund of eternal
ridicule; the master himself now and then cannot avoid joining in the
laugh; and the poor wretch, eternally resenting this ill-usage, lives in a
state of war with all the family."--"He is obliged, perhaps, to sleep in
the same bed with the French teacher, who disturbs him for an hour every
night in papering and filleting his hair, and stinks worse than a carrion
with his rancid pomatums, when he lays his head beside him on the bolster."
His next shift was as assistant in the laboratory of a chemist near Fish
Street Hill. After remaining here a few months, he heard that Dr. Sleigh,
who had been his friend and fellow-student at Edinburgh, was in London.
Eager to meet with a friendly face in this land of strangers, he
immediately called on him; "but though it was Sunday, and it is to be
supposed I was in my best clothes, Sleigh scarcely knew me--such is the tax
the unfortunate pay to poverty. However, when he did recollect me, I found
his heart as warm as ever, and he shared his purse and friendship with me
during his continuance in London."
Through the advice and assistance of Dr. Sleigh, he now commenced the
practice of medicine, but in a small way, in Bankside, Southwark, and
chiefly among the poor; for he wanted the figure, address, polish, and
management, to succeed among the rich. His old schoolmate and college
companion, Beatty, who used to aid him with his purse at the university,
met him about this time, decked out in the tarnished finery of a
second-hand suit of green and gold, with a shirt and neckcloth of a
fortnight's wear.
Poor Goldsmith endeavored to assume a prosperous air in the eyes of his
early associate. "He was practicing physic," he said, "and _doing very
well!_" At this moment poverty was pinching him to the bone in spite of
his practice and his dirty finery. His fees were necessarily small, and ill
paid, and he was fain to seek some precarious assistance from his pen. Here
his quondam fellow-student, Dr. Sleigh, was again of service, introducing
him to some of the booksellers, who gave him occasional, though starveling
employment. According to tradition, however, his most efficient patron just
now was a journeyman printer, one of his poor patients of Bankside, who had
formed a good opinion of his talents, and perceived his poverty and his
literary shifts. The printer was in the employ of Mr. Samuel Richardson,
the author of Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison; who combined the
novelist and the publisher, and was in flourishing circumstances. Through
the journeyman's intervention Goldsmith is said to have become acquainted
with Richardson, who employed him as reader and corrector of the press, at
his printing establishment in Salisbury Court; an occupation which he
alternated with his medical duties.
Being admitted occasionally to Richardson's parlor, he began to form
literary acquaintances, among whom the most important was Dr. Young, the
author of Night Thoughts, a poem in the height of fashion. It is not
probable, however, that much familiarity took place at the time between the
literary lion of the day and the poor Aesculapius of Bankside, the humble
corrector of the press. Still the communion with literary men had its
effect to set his imagination teeming. Dr. Farr, one of his Edinburgh
fellow-students, who was at London about this time, attending the hospitals
and lectures, gives us an amusing account of Goldsmith in his literary
character.
"Early in January he called upon me one morning before I was up, and, on my
entering the room, I recognized my old acquaintance, dressed in a rusty,
full-trimmed black suit, with his pockets full of papers, which instantly
reminded me of the poet in Garrick's farce of Lethe. After we had finished
our breakfast he drew from his pocket part of a tragedy, which he said he
had brought for my correction. In vain I pleaded inability, when he began
to read; and every part on which I expressed a doubt as to the propriety
was immediately blotted out. I then most earnestly pressed him not to trust
to my judgment, but to take the opinion of persons better qualified to
decide on dramatic compositions. He now told me he had submitted his
productions, so far as he had written, to Mr. Richardson, the author of
Clarissa, on which I peremptorily declined offering another criticism on
the performance."
From the graphic description given of him by Dr. Farr, it will be perceived
that the tarnished finery of green and gold had been succeeded by a
professional suit of black, to which, we are told, were added the wig and
cane indispensable to medical doctors in those days. The coat was a
second-hand one, of rusty velvet, with a patch on the left breast, which he
adroitly covered with his three-cornered hat during his medical visits; and
we have an amusing anecdote of his contest of courtesy with a patient who
persisted in endeavoring to relieve him from the hat, which only made him
press it more devoutly to his heart.
Nothing further has ever been heard of the tragedy mentioned by Dr. Farr;
it was probably never completed. The same gentleman speaks of a strange
Quixotic scheme which Goldsmith had in contemplation at the time, "of going
to decipher the inscriptions on the _written mountains_," though he
was altogether ignorant of Arabic, or the language in which they might be
supposed to be written. "The salary of three hundred pounds," adds Dr.
Farr, "which had been left for the purpose, was the temptation." This was
probably one of many dreamy projects with which his fervid brain was apt to
teem. On such subjects he was prone to talk vaguely and magnificently, but
inconsiderately, from a kindled imagination rather than a well-instructed
judgment. He had always a great notion of expeditions to the East, and
wonders to be seen and effected in the Oriental countries.