HONORS AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY--LETTER TO HIS BROTHER MAURICE--FAMILY
FORTUNES--JANE CONTARINE AND THE MINIATURE--PORTRAITS AND
ENGRAVINGS--SCHOOL ASSOCIATIONS--JOHNSON AND GOLDSMITH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
The latter part of the year 1768 had been made memorable in the world of
taste by the institution of the Royal Academy of Arts, under the patronage
of the king, and the direction of forty of the most distinguished artist.
Reynolds, who had been mainly instrumental in founding it, had been
unanimously elected president, and had thereupon received the honor of
knighthood. [Footnote: We must apologize for the anachronism we have
permitted ourselves, in the course of this memoir, in speaking of Reynolds
as _Sir Joshua_, when treating of circumstances which occurred prior
to his being dubbed; but it is so customary to speak of him by that title
that we found it difficult to dispense with it.] Johnson was so delighted
with his friend's elevation that he broke through a rule of total
abstinence with respect to wine, which he had maintained for several years,
and drank bumpers on the occasion. Sir Joshua eagerly sought to associate
his old and valued friends with him in his new honors, and it is supposed
to be through his suggestions that, on the first establishment of
professorships, which took place in December, 1769, Johnson was nominated
to that of Ancient Literature, and Goldsmith to that of History. They were
mere honorary titles, without emolument, but gave distinction, from the
noble institution to which they appertained. They also gave the possessors
honorable places at the annual banquet, at which were assembled many of the
most distinguished persons of rank and talent, all proud to be classed
among the patrons of the arts.
The following letter of Goldsmith to his brother alludes to the foregoing
appointment, and to a small legacy bequeathed to him by his uncle
Contarine.
"_To Mr. Maurice Goldsmith, at James Lawders, Esq., at Kilmore, near
Carrick-on-Shannon._
"January, 1770.
"DEAR BROTHER--I should have answered your letter sooner, but, in truth, I
am not fond of thinking of the necessities of those I love, when it is so
very little in my power to help them. I am sorry to find you are every way
unprovided for; and what adds to my uneasiness is, that I have received a
letter from my sister Johnson, by which I learn that she is pretty much in
the same circumstances. As to myself, I believe I think I could get both
you and my poor brother-in-law something like that which you desire, but I
am determined never to ask for little things, nor exhaust any little
interest I may have, until I can serve you, him, and myself more
effectually. As yet, no opportunity has offered; but I believe you are
pretty well convinced that I will not be remiss when it arrives.
"The king has lately been pleased to make me Professor of Ancient History
in the Royal Academy of Painting which he has just established, but there
is no salary annexed; and I took it rather as a compliment to the
institution than any benefit to myself. Honors to one in my situation are
something like ruffles to one that wants a shirt.
"You tell me that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds left me in the hands
of my cousin Lawder, and you ask me what I would have done with them. My
dear brother, I would by no means give any directions to my dear worthy
relations at Kilmore how to dispose of money which is, properly speaking,
more theirs than mine. All that I can say is, that I entirely, and this
letter will serve to witness, give up any right and title to it; and I am
sure they will dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely
leave it; whether they or you may think the whole necessary to fit you out,
or whether our poor sister Johnson may not want the half, I leave entirely
to their and your discretion. The kindness of that good couple to our
shattered family demands our sincerest gratitude; and though they have
almost forgotten me, yet, if good things at last arrive, I hope one day to
return and increase their good-humor, by adding to my own.
"I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as I believe it
is the most acceptable present I can offer. I have ordered it to be left
for her at George Faulkner's, folded in a letter. The face, you well know,
is ugly enough, but it is finely painted. I will shortly also send my
friends over the Shannon some mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more of
my friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I
have written a hundred letters to different friends in your country, and
never received an answer to any of them. I do not know how to account for
this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards which I
must ever retain for them.
"If, then, you have a mind to oblige me, you will write often, whether I
answer you or not. Let me particularly have the news of our family and old
acquaintances. For instance, you may begin by telling me about the family
where you reside, how they spend their time, and whether they ever make
mention of me. Tell me about my mother, my brother Hodson, and his son, my
brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family of
Ballyoughter, what is become of them, where they live, and how they do. You
talked of being my only brother: I don't understand you. Where is Charles?
A sheet of paper occasionally filled with the news of this kind would make
me very happy, and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear
brother, believe me to be
"Yours, most affectionately,
"OLIVER GOLDSMITH."
By this letter we find the Goldsmiths the same shifting, shiftless race as
formerly; a "shattered family," scrambling on each other's back as soon as
any rise above the surface. Maurice is "every way unprovided for"; living
upon Cousin Jane and her husband, and, perhaps, amusing himself by hunting
otter in the river Inny. Sister Johnson and her husband are as poorly off
as Maurice, with, perhaps, no one at hand to quarter themselves upon; as to
the rest, "what is become of them; where do they live; how do they do; what
is become of Charles?" What forlorn, haphazard life is implied by these
questions! Can we wonder that, with all the love for his native place,
which is shown throughout Goldsmith's writings, he had not the heart to
return there? Yet his affections are still there. He wishes to know whether
the Lawders (which means his cousin Jane, his early Valentine) ever make
mention of him; he sends Jane his miniature; he believes "it is the most
acceptable present he can offer"; he evidently, therefore, does not believe
she has almost forgotten him, although he intimates that he does: in his
memory she is still Jane Contarine, as he last saw her, when he accompanied
her harpsichord with his flute. Absence, like death, sets a seal on the
image of those we have loved; we cannot realize the intervening changes
which time may have effected.
As to the rest of Goldsmith's relatives, he abandons his legacy of fifteen
pounds, to be shared among them. It is all he has to give. His heedless
improvidence is eating up the pay of the booksellers in advance. With all
his literary success, he has neither money nor influence; but he has empty
fame, and he is ready to participate with them; he is honorary professor,
without pay; his portrait is to be engraved in mezzotint, in company with
those of his friends, Burke, Reynolds, Johnson, Colman, and others, and he
will send prints of them to his friends over the Shannon, though they may
not have a house to hang them up in. What a motley letter! How indicative
of the motley character of the writer! By the bye, the publication of a
splendid mezzotinto engraving of his likeness by Reynolds, was a great
matter of glorification to Goldsmith, especially as it appeared in such
illustrious company. As he was one day walking the streets in a state of
high elation, from having just seen it figuring in the print-shop windows,
he met a young gentleman with a newly married wife hanging on his arm, whom
he immediately recognized for Master Bishop, one of the boys he had petted
and treated with sweetmeats when a humble usher at Milner's school. The
kindly feelings of old times revived, and he accosted him with cordial
familiarity, though the youth may have found some difficulty in recognizing
in the personage, arrayed, perhaps, in garments of Tyrian dye, the dingy
pedagogue of the Milners. "Come, my boy," cried Goldsmith, as if still
speaking to a schoolboy, "Come, Sam, I am delighted to see you. I must
treat you to something--what shall it be? Will you have some apples?"
glancing at an old woman's stall; then, recollecting the print-shop window:
"Sam," said he, "have you seen my picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds? Have you
seen it, Sam? Have you got an engraving?" Bishop was caught; he
equivocated; he had not yet bought it; but he was furnishing his house, and
had fixed upon the place where it was to be hung. "Ah, Sam!" rejoined
Goldsmith reproachfully, "if your picture had been published, I should not
have waited an hour without having it."
After all, it was honest pride, not vanity, in Goldsmith, that was
gratified at seeing his portrait deemed worthy of being perpetuated by the
classic pencil of Reynolds, and "hung up in history," beside that of his
revered friend, Johnson. Even the great moralist himself was not insensible
to a feeling of this kind. Walking one day with Goldsmith, in Westminster
Abbey, among the tombs of monarchs, warriors, and statesmen, they came to
the sculptured mementos of literary worthies in Poets' Corner. Casting his
eye round upon these memorials of genius, Johnson muttered in a low tone to
his companion,
"Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis."
Goldsmith treasured up the intimated hope, and shortly afterward, as they
were passing by Temple bar, where the heads of Jacobite rebels, executed
for treason, were mouldering aloft on spikes, pointed up to the grizzly
mementos, and echoed the intimation,
"Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur _istis_."