_Saturday._--Dr. Johnson was again all himself; and so civil to
me!--even admiring how I dressed myself! Indeed, it is well I have so
much of his favour--for it seems he always speaks his mind concerning
the dress of ladies, and all ladies who are here obey his injunctions
implicitly, and alter whatever he disapproves. This is a part of his
character that much surprises me: but notwithstanding he is sometimes
so absent, and always so near sighted, he scrutinizes into every part of
almost everybody's appearance. They tell me of a Miss Brown, who often
visits here, and who has a slovenly way of dressing. “And when she comes
down in a morning,” says Mrs. Thrale, “her hair will be all loose, and
her cap half off; and then Dr. Johnson, who sees something is wrong, and
does not know where the fault is, concludes it is in the cap, and says,
“My dear, what do you wear such a vile cap for?” “I'll change it, Sir!”
cries the poor girl, “if you don't like it.” “Ay, do,” he says; and away
runs poor Miss Brown; but when she gets on another, it's the same thing,
for the cap has nothing to do with the fault. And then she wonders Dr.
Johnson should not like the cap, for she thinks it very pretty. And so
on with her gown, which he also makes her change; but if the poor girl
were to change through all her wardrobe, unless she could put her things
on better, he would still find fault.”
When Dr. Johnson was gone, she told me of my mother's[50] being obliged
to change her dress.
“Now,” said she “Mrs. Burney had on a very pretty linen jacket and
coat, and was going to church; but Dr. Johnson, who, I suppose, did not
like her in a jacket, saw something was the matter, and so found fault
with the linen: and he looked and peered, and then said, 'Why, madam,
this won't do! you must not go to church so!' So away went poor Mrs.
Burney, and changed her gown! And when she had done so, he did not like
it, but he did not know why, so he told her she should not wear a black
hat and cloak in summer! How he did bother poor Mrs. Burney! and himself
too, for if the things had been put on to his mind, he would have taken
no notice of them.”
“Why,” said Mr. Thrale, very drily, “I don't think Mrs. Burney a very
good dresser.”
“Last time she came,” said Mrs. Thrale, “she was in a white cloak, and
she told Dr. Johnson she had got her old white cloak scoured on purpose
to oblige him! 'Scoured!' says he; 'ay, have you, madam?'--so he
see-sawed, for he could not for shame find fault, but he did not seem to
like the scouring.”
And now let me try to recollect an account he gave of certain celebrated
ladies of his acquaintance: an account in which, had you heard it
from himself, would have made you die with laughing, his manner is so
peculiar, and enforces his humour so originally. It was begun by Mrs.
Thrale's apologising to him for troubling him with some question she
thought trifling--O, I remember! We had been talking of colours, and
of the fantastic names given to them, and why the palest lilac should b
called a soupir etouffe; and when Dr. Johnson came in, she applied to
him.
“Why, madam,” said he, with wonderful readiness, “it is called a stifled
sigh because it is checked in its progress, and only half a colour.”
I could not help expressing my amazement at his universal readiness upon
all subjects, and Mrs. Thrale said to him, “Sir, Miss Burney wonders at
your patience with such stuff, but I tell her you are used to me, for
I believe I torment you with more foolish questions than anybody else
dares do.”
“No, madam,” said he; “you don't torment me;--you teaze me, indeed,
sometimes.”
“Ay, so I do, Dr. Johnson, and I wonder you bear with my nonsense.”
“No, madam, you never talk nonsense; you have as much sense and more
wit, than any woman I know.”
“Oh,” cried Mrs. Thrale, blushing, “it is my turn to go under the table
this morning, Miss Burney!”
“And yet,” continued the doctor, with the most comical look, “I have
known all the wits, from Mrs. Montagu down to Bet Flint.”
“Bet Flint cried Mrs. Thrale--pray, who is she?”
“Such a fine character, madam! She was habitually a slut and a drunkard,
and occasionally a thief and a harlot.”
“And, for heaven's sake, how came you to know her?”
“Why, madam, she figured in the literary world, too! Bet Flint wrote her
own life, and called herself Cassandra, and it was in verse;--it began:
'When Nature first ordained my birth,
A diminutive I was born on earth:
And then I came from a dark abode,
Into a gay and gaudy world.'[51]
So Bet brought me her verses to correct; but I gave her half-a-crown,
and she liked it as well. Bet had a fine spirit;--she advertised for a
husband, but she had no success, for she told me no man aspired to
her! Then she hired very handsome lodgings and a footboy; and she got
a harpsichord, but Bet could not play; however, she put herself in fine
attitudes, and drummed.”
Then he gave an account of another of these geniuses, who called herself
by some fine name, I have forgotten what.
“She had not quite the same stock of virtue,” continued he, “nor
the same stock of honesty as Bet Flint; but I suppose she envied her
accomplishments, for she was so little moved by the power of harmony,
that while Bet Flint thought she was drumming very divinely, the other
jade had her indicted for a nuisance!”
“And pray what became of her, sir?
“Why, madam, she stole a quilt from the man of the house, and he had
her taken up: but Bet Flint had a spirit not to be subdued; so when she
found herself obliged to go to jail, she ordered a sedan chair, and bid
her footboy walk before her. However, the boy proved refractory, for he
was ashamed, though his mistress was not.”
“And did she ever get out of jail again, sir?”
“Yes, madam; when she came to her trial the judge acquitted her.
'So now,' she said to me, 'the quilt is MY own, and now I'll make a
petticoat of it.' Oh, I loved Bet Flint!”[52]
Oh, how we all laughed! Then he gave an account of another lady, who
called herself Laurinda, and who also wrote verses and stole furniture;
but he had not the same affection for her, he said, though she too “was
a lady who had high notions of honour.”
Then followed the history of another, who called herself Hortensia, and
who walked up and down the park repeating a book of Virgil. “But,” said
he, “though I know her story, I never had the good fortune to see her.”
After this he gave us an account of the famous Mrs. Pinkethman: “And
she,” he said, “told me she owed all her misfortunes to her wit; for she
was so unhappy as to marry a man who thought himself also a wit, though
I believe she gave him not implicit credit for it, but it occasioned
much contradiction and ill-will.”
“Bless me, sir,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “how can all these vagabonds
contrive to get at you, of all people?”
“O the dear creatures!” cried he, laughing heartily, “I can't but be
glad to see them.”
“Why, I wonder, sir, you never went to see Mrs. Rudd,[53] among the
rest.”
“Why, madam, I believe I should,” said he, “if it was not for the
newspapers; but I am prevented many frolics that I should like very
well, since I am become such a theme for the papers.”
Now, would you ever have imagined this? Bet Flint, it seems, took Kitty
Fisher[54] to see him, but to his no little regret he was not at home.
“And Mrs. Williams,”[55] he added, “did not love Bet Flint, but Bet
Flint made herself very easy about that.”