THE POET AMONG THE LADIES--DESCRIPTION OF HIS PERSON AND
MANNERS--EXPEDITION TO PARIS WITH THE HORNECK FAMILY--THE TRAVELER OF
TWENTY AND THE TRAVELER OF FORTY--HICKEY, THE SPECIAL ATTORNEY--AN UNLUCKY
EXPLOIT
The Deserted Village had shed an additional poetic grace round the homely
person of the author; he was becoming more and more acceptable in ladies'
eyes, and finding himself more and more at ease in their society; at least
in the society of those whom he met in the Reynolds circle, among whom he
particularly affected the beautiful family of the Hornecks.
But let us see what were really the looks and manners of Goldsmith about
this time, and what right he had to aspire to ladies' smiles; and in so
doing let us not take the sketches of Boswell and his compeers, who had a
propensity to represent him in caricature; but let us take the apparently
truthful and discriminating picture of him as he appeared to Judge Day,
when the latter was a student in the Temple.
"In person," says the judge, "he was short; about five feet five or six
inches; strong, but not heavy in make; rather fair in complexion, with
brown hair; such, at least, as could be distinguished from his wig. His
features were plain, but not repulsive--certainly not so when lighted up by
conversation. His manners were simple, natural, and perhaps on the whole,
we may say, not polished; at least without the refinement and good-breeding
which the exquisite polish of his compositions would lead us to expect. He
was always cheerful and animated, often, indeed, boisterous in his mirth;
entered with spirit into convivial society; contributed largely to its
enjoyments by solidity of information, and the naïvete and originality of
his character; talked often without premeditation, and laughed loudly
without restraint."
This, it will be recollected, represents him as he appeared to a young
Templar, who probably saw him only in Temple coffee-houses, at students'
quarters, or at the jovial supper parties given at the poet's own chambers;
here, of course, his mind was in its rough dress; his laugh may have been
loud and his mirth boisterous; but we trust all these matters became
softened and modified when he found himself in polite drawing-rooms and in
female society.
But what say the ladies themselves of him; and here, fortunately, we have
another sketch of him, as he appeared at the time to one of the Horneck
circle; in fact, we believe, to the Jessamy Bride herself. After admitting,
apparently with some reluctance, that "he was a very plain man," she goes
on to say, "but had he been much more so, it was impossible not to love and
respect his goodness of heart, which broke out on every occasion. His
benevolence was unquestionable, and _his countenance bore every trace of
it_: no one that knew him intimately could avoid admiring and loving his
good qualities." When to all this we add the idea of intellectual delicacy
and refinement associated with him by his poetry and the newly plucked bays
that were flourishing round his brow, we cannot be surprised that fine and
fashionable ladies should be proud of his attentions, and that even a young
beauty should not be altogether displeased with the thoughts of having a
man of his genius in her chains.
We are led to indulge some notions of the kind from finding him in the
month of July, but a few weeks after the publication of the Deserted
Village, setting off on a six weeks' excursion to Paris, in company with
Mrs. Horneck and her two beautiful daughters. A day or two before his
departure we find another new gala suit charged to him on the books of Mr.
William Filby. Were the bright eyes of the Jessamy Bride responsible for
this additional extravagance of wardrobe? Goldsmith had recently been
editing the works of Parnell; had he taken courage from the example of
Edwin in the fairy tale?--
"Yet spite of all that nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,
This creature dared to love.
He felt the force of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize
_Could ladies look within--_"
All this we throw out as mere hints and surmises, leaving it to our readers
to draw their own conclusions. It will be found, however, that the poet was
subjected to shrewd bantering among his contemporaries about the beautiful
Mary Horneck, and that he was extremely sensitive on the subject.
It was in the month of June that he set out for Paris with his fair
companions, and the following letter was written by him to Sir Joshua
Reynolds, soon after the party landed at Calais:
"MY DEAR FRIEND--We had a very quick passage from Dover to Calais, which we
performed in three hours and twenty minutes, all of us extremely seasick,
which must necessarily have happened, as my machine to prevent seasickness
was not completed. We were glad to leave Dover, because we hated to be
imposed upon; so were in high spirits at coming to Calais, where we were
told that a little money would go a great way.
"Upon landing, with two little trunks, which was all we carried with us, we
were surprised to see fourteen or fifteen fellows all running down to the
ship to lay their hands upon them; four got under each trunk, the rest
surrounded and held the hasps; and in this manner our little baggage was
conducted, with a kind of funeral solemnity, till it was safely lodged at
the custom-house. We were well enough pleased with the people's civility
till they came to be paid; every creature that had the happiness of but
touching our trunks with their finger expected sixpence; and they had so
pretty and civil a manner of demanding it that there was no refusing them.
"When we had done with the porters, we had next to speak with the
custom-house officers, who had their pretty civil ways too. We were
directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre, where a valet-de-place came to offer
his service, and spoke to me ten minutes before I once found out that he
was speaking English. We had no occasion for his services, so we gave him a
little money because he spoke English, and because he wanted it. I cannot
help mentioning another circumstance: I bought a new ribbon for my wig at
Canterbury, and the barber at Calais broke it in order to gain sixpence by
buying me a new one."
An incident which occurred in the course of this tour has been tortured by
that literary magpie, Boswell, into a proof of Goldsmith's absurd jealousy
of any admiration shown to others in his presence. While stopping at a
hotel in Lisle, they were drawn to the windows by a military parade in
front. The extreme beauty of the Misses Horneck immediately attracted the
attention of the officers, who broke forth with enthusiastic speeches and
compliments intended for their ears. Goldsmith was amused for a while, but
at length affected impatience at this exclusive admiration of his beautiful
companions, and exclaimed, with mock severity of aspect, "Elsewhere I also
would have my admirers."
It is difficult to conceive the obtuseness of intellect necessary to
misconstrue so obvious a piece of mock petulance and dry humor into an
instance of mortified vanity and jealous self-conceit.
Goldsmith jealous of the admiration of a group of gay officers for the
charms of two beautiful young women! This even out-Boswells Boswell; yet
this is but one of several similar absurdities, evidently misconceptions of
Goldsmith's peculiar vein of humor, by which the charge of envious jealousy
has been attempted to be fixed upon him. In the present instance it was
contradicted by one of the ladies herself, who was annoyed that it had been
advanced against him. "I am sure," said she, "from the peculiar manner of
his humor, and assumed frown of countenance, what was often uttered in jest
was mistaken, by those who did not know him, for earnest." No one was more
prone to err on this point than Boswell. He had a tolerable perception of
wit, but none of humor.
The following letter to Sir Joshua Reynolds was subsequently written:
"To _Sir Joshua Reynolds_.
"PARIS, _July 29 (1770)_.
"MY DEAR FRIEND--I began a long letter to you from Lisle, giving a
description of all that we had done and seen, but, finding it very dull,
and knowing that you would show it again, I threw it aside and it was lost.
You see by the top of this letter that we are at Paris, and (as I have
often heard you say) we have brought our own amusement with us, for the
ladies do not seem to be very fond of what we have yet seen.
"With regard to myself, I find that traveling at twenty and forty are very
different things. I set out with all my confirmed habits about me, and can
find nothing on the Continent so good as when I formerly left it. One of
our chief amusements here is scolding at everything we meet with, and
praising everything and every person we left at home. You may judge,
therefore, whether your name is not frequently bandied at table among us.
To tell you the truth, I never thought I could regret your absence so much
as our various mortifications on the road have often taught me to do. I
could tell you of disasters and adventures without number; of our lying in
barns, and of my being half poisoned with a dish of green peas; of our
quarreling with postilions, and being cheated by our landladies; but I
reserve all this for a happy hour which I expect to share with you upon my
return.
"I have little to tell you more but that we are at present all well, and
expect returning when we have stayed out one month, which I did not care if
it were over this very day. I long to hear from you all, how you yourself
do, how Johnson, Burke, Dyer, Chamier, Colman, and every one of the club
do. I wish I could send you some amusement in this letter, but I protest I
am so stupefied by the air of this country (for I am sure it cannot be
natural) that I have not a word to say. I have been thinking of the plot of
a comedy, which shall be entitled A Journey to Paris, in which a family
shall be introduced with a full intention of going to France to save money.
You know there is not a place in the world more promising for that purpose.
As for the meat of this country, I can scarce eat it; and, though we pay
two good shillings a head for our dinner, I find it all so tough that I
have spent less time with my knife than my picktooth. I said this as a good
thing at the table, but it was not understood. I believe it to be a good
thing.
"As for our intended journey to Devonshire, I find it out of my power to
perform it; for, as soon as I arrive at Dover, I intend to let the ladies
go on, and I will take a country lodging somewhere near that place in order
to do some business. I have so outrun the constable that I must mortify a
little to bring it up again. For God's sake, the night you receive this,
take your pen in your hand and tell me something about yourself and myself,
if you know anything that has happened. About Miss Reynolds, about Mr.
Bickerstaff, my nephew, or anybody that you regard. I beg you will send to
Griffin the bookseller to know if there be any letters left for me, and be
so good as to send them to me at Paris. They may perhaps be left for me at
the Porter's Lodge, opposite the pump in Temple Lane. The same messenger
will do. I expect one from Lord Clare, from Ireland. As for the others, I
am not much uneasy about.
"Is there anything I can do for you at Paris? I wish you would tell me. The
whole of my own purchases here is one silk coat, which I have put on, and
which makes me look like a fool. But no more of that. I find that Colman
has gained his lawsuit. I am glad of it. I suppose you often meet. I will
soon be among you, better pleased with my situation at home than I ever was
before. And yet I must say that, if anything could make France pleasant,
the very good women with whom I am at present would certainly do it. I
could say more about that, but I intend showing them the letter before I
send it away. What signifies teasing you longer with moral observations,
when the business of my writing is over? I have one thing only more to say,
and of that I think every hour in the day; namely, that I am your most
sincere and most affectionate friend,
"OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
"Direct to me at the Hotel de Danemarc,
Rue Jacob, Fauxbourg St. Germains."
A word of comment on this letter:
Traveling is, indeed, a very different thing with Goldsmith the poor
student at twenty, and Goldsmith the poet and professor at forty. At
twenty, though obliged to trudge on foot from town to town, and country to
country, paying for a supper and a bed by a tune on the flute, everything
pleased, everything was good; a truckle bed in a garret was a conch of
down, and the homely fare of the peasant a feast fit for an epicure. Now,
at forty, when he posts through the country in a carriage, with fair ladies
by his side, everything goes wrong: he has to quarrel with postilions, he
is cheated by landladies, the hotels are barns, the meat is too tough to be
eaten, and he is half poisoned by green peas! A line hi his letter explains
the secret: "The ladies do not seem to be very fond of what we have yet
seen." "One of our chief amusements is scolding at everything we meet with,
and praising everything and every person we have left at home!" the true
English traveling amusement. Poor Goldsmith! he has "all his
_confirmed_ habits about him"; that is to say, he has recently risen
into high life, and acquired highbred notions; he must be fastidious like
his fellow-travelers; he dare not be pleased with what pleased the vulgar
tastes of his youth. He is unconsciously illustrating the trait so
humorously satirized by him in Bill Tibbs, the shabby beau, who can find
"no such dressing as he had at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's"; whose very
senses have grown genteel, and who no longer "smacks at wretched wine or
praises detestable custard." A lurking thorn, too, is worrying him
throughout this tour; he has "outrun the constable"; that is to say, his
expenses have outrun his means, and he will have to make up for this
butterfly flight by toiling like a grub on his return.
Another circumstance contributes to mar the pleasure he had promised
himself in this excursion. At Paris the party is unexpectedly joined by a
Mr. Hickey, a bustling attorney, who is well acquainted with that
metropolis and its environs, and insists on playing the cicerone on all
occasions. He and Goldsmith do not relish each other, and they have several
petty altercations. The lawyer is too much a man of business and method for
the careless poet, and is disposed to manage everything. He has perceived
Goldsmith's whimsical peculiarities without properly appreciating his
merits, and is prone to indulge in broad bantering and raillery at his
expense, particularly irksome if indulged in presence of the ladies. He
makes himself merry on his return to England, by giving the following
anecdote as illustrative of Goldsmith's vanity:
"Being with a party at Versailles, viewing the waterworks, a question arose
among the gentlemen present, whether the distance from whence they stood to
one of the little islands was within the compass of a leap. Goldsmith
maintained the affirmative; but, being bantered on the subject, and
remembering his former prowess as a youth, attempted the leap, but, falling
short, descended into the water, to the great amusement of the company."
Was the Jessamy Bride a witness of this unlucky exploit?
This same Hickey is the one of whom Goldsmith, some time subsequently, gave
a good-humored sketch in his poem of The Retaliation.
"Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature,
And slander itself must allow him good nature;
He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper,
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser;
I answer No, no, for he always was wiser;
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat,
His very worst foe can't accuse him of that;
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolishly honest? Ah, not
Then what was his failing? Come, tell it, and burn ye--
He was, could he help it? a special attorney."
One of the few remarks extant made by Goldsmith during his tour is the
following, of whimsical import, in his Animated Nature.
"In going through the towns of France, some time since, I could not help
observing how much plainer their parrots spoke than ours, and how very
distinctly I understood their parrots speak French, when I could not
understand our own, though they spoke my native language. I at first
ascribed it to the different qualities of the two languages, and was for
entering into an elaborate discussion on the vowels and consonants; but a
friend that was with me solved the difficulty at once, by assuring me that
the French women scarce did anything else the whole day than sit and
instruct their feathered pupils; and that the birds were thus distinct in
their lessons in consequence of continual schooling."
His tour does not seem to have left in his memory the most fragrant
recollections; for, being asked, after his return, whether traveling on the
Continent repaid "an Englishman for the privations and annoyances attendant
on it," he replied, "I recommend it by all means to the sick, if they are
without the sense of _smelling_, and to the poor, if they are without
the sense of _feeling_; and to both, if they can discharge from their
minds all idea of what in England we term comfort."
It is needless to say that the universal improvement in the art of living
on the Continent has at the present day taken away the force of Goldsmith's
reply, though even at the time it was more humorous than correct.