[16] The Lord Chancellor.
[17] See page 108.
[18] No doubt Edmund Burke.
[19] Probably Boswell.
[20] A famous actress.
[21] In a letter to Miss Boothby (31 Dec. 1755) Johnson recommended
"dried orange-peel finely powdered ... in a glass of hot red port" as
"a very probable remedy for indigestion."
_Enter Boswell_
Boswell and many others of Johnson's friends have already entered so
often into the foregoing pages, that it is time we gave some space to
the more prominent members of Johnson's circle.
James Boswell was more than thirty years younger than Johnson, being
born at Edinburgh in 1740. He was the son of a Scottish judge, Lord
Auchinleck, and his own inclination was to be an officer in the Guards;
but at his father's wish he entered the profession of the law, and
studied, not very industriously, first at Edinburgh and afterwards at
Glasgow University. He dabbled in poetry and literary criticism and
longed for the gayer world and more cultured society of London. He
first visited the capital in 1760 and on his second visit fulfilled
what was then the greatest ambition of his life--he met Dr Johnson.
[Illustration: JAMES BOSWELL]
Boswell's account of this meeting has become one of the most famous
passages in English literature and part of it, at any rate, must be
repeated here:
"Mr Thomas Davies the actor, who then kept a bookseller's shop in
Russel-street, Covent-garden, told me that Johnson was very much
his friend, and came frequently to his house, where he more than
once invited me to meet him; but by some unlucky accident or other
he was prevented from coming to us. Mr Thomas Davies was a man of
good understanding and talents, with the advantage of a liberal
education.... [He] recollected several of Johnson's remarkable
sayings, and was one of the best of the many imitators of his voice
and manner, while relating them. He increased my impatience more and
more to see the extraordinary man whose works I highly valued, and
whose conversation was reported to be so peculiarly excellent. At last,
on Monday the 16th of May [1763], when I was sitting in Mr Davies's
back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs Davies, Johnson
unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr Davies having perceived him
through the glass-door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing
towards us,--he announced his aweful approach to me, somewhat in the
manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet
on the appearance of his father's ghost, 'Look, my Lord, it comes.'
I found that I had a very perfect idea of Johnson's figure, from the
portrait of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had
published his _Dictionary_, in the attitude of sitting in his easy
chair in deep meditation, which was the first picture his friend did
for him.... Mr Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully introduced me
to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his prejudice against
the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to Davies, 'Don't
tell where I come from.'--'From Scotland,' cried Davies roguishly.
'Mr Johnson, (said I) I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot
help it.' I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as light
pleasantry to sooth and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating
abasement at the expence of my country. But however that might be, this
speech was somewhat unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which
he was so remarkable, he seized the expression 'come from Scotland,'
which I used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had
said that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, 'That, Sir, I
find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.' This
stroke stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat down, I felt myself
not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next.
He then addressed himself to Davies: 'What do you think of Garrick?
He has refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he
knows the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three
shillings.' Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with
him, I ventured to say, 'O, Sir, I cannot think Mr Garrick would grudge
such a trifle to you.' 'Sir (said he, with a stern look,) I have known
David Garrick longer than you have done: and I know no right you have
to talk to me on the subject.' Perhaps I deserved this check; for it
was rather presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any
doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance
and pupil. I now felt myself much mortified, and began to think that
the hope which I had long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was
blasted. And, in truth, had not my ardour been uncommonly strong, and
my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough a reception might have
deterred me for ever from making any further attempts. Fortunately,
however, I remained upon the field not wholly discomfited; and was soon
rewarded by hearing some of his conversation...."
Before the end of the interview Boswell recovered a little from his
nervousness; but, as he was going, complained to Davies of the hard
blows the great man had given him. Davies, who had no doubt enjoyed
the evening with considerable relish, cheered him by saying "Don't be
uneasy. I can see he likes you very well."
A few days later Boswell made a further venture. He "boldly repaired"
to Johnson's chambers on the first floor on No. 1 Inner-Temple-lane.
"He received me very courteously; but it must be confessed, that his
apartment, and furniture, and morning dress, were sufficiently uncouth.
His brown suit of cloaths looked very rusty; he had on a little old
shrivelled unpowdered wig, which was too small for his head; his
shirt-neck and knees of his breeches were loose; his black worsted
stockings ill drawn up; and he had a pair of unbuckled shoes by way of
slippers. But all these slovenly particularities were forgotten the
moment that he began to talk. Some gentlemen, whom I do not recollect,
were sitting with him; and when they went away, I also rose; but he
said to me, 'Nay, don't go.' 'Sir (said I,) I am afraid that I intrude
upon you. It is benevolent to allow me to sit and hear you.' He seemed
pleased with this compliment, which I sincerely paid him, and answered,
'Sir, I am obliged to any man who visits me.'"
He soon reached a further stage of intimacy:
"I had learnt that his place of frequent resort was the Mitre tavern
in Fleet-street, where he loved to sit up late, and I begged I might
be allowed to pass an evening with him there soon, which he promised
I should. A few days afterwards I met him near Temple-bar, about one
o'clock in the morning, and asked him if he would then go to the Mitre.
'Sir, (said he) it is too late; they won't let us in. But I'll go with
you another night with all my heart.'"
There is only one way to follow the progress of this friendship--and
that is to read Boswell's own story of it.
Boswell did not get on very happily with his father and, whenever he
could, left his Ayrshire home for London; and in London his chief
delight was to be with Johnson. They often travelled together and in a
later chapter we shall read some account of their journeys, especially
of Johnson's visit to Scotland, about which each of them wrote a book.
Here we will be content with a few typical incidents and conversations
in the long friendship.
Johnson could not have found a better listener than "Bozzy," as he soon
began to call him. Boswell's worship of his hero may often seem to us
absurd, but we may be sure that Johnson would never have tolerated,
much less loved, a man who was simply a flatterer.
Boswell was really interested in the things Johnson talked about and,
without any pretence, enjoyed the same kind of pleasures--dining
out, arguing over a good bottle of port, staying at friends' houses,
examining cathedrals, wandering up and down Fleet Street, coming down
late to breakfast. "No man," as Johnson said, "is a hypocrite in his
pleasures."