I have omitted from this sketch of Lord Chesterfield’s political life
any reference to the literary side of his character. I have, however,
spoken of his friendship with Voltaire. Voltaire came to England in
the same year that Chesterfield’s father died, to obtain, among other
things, a publisher for the _Henriade_. Chesterfield and Bolingbroke
at once took him up and introduced him into high places.[7] Voltaire
never forgot him nor the services which he had rendered; and one of the
most charming lights thrown upon the end of Lord Chesterfield’s career
is in a letter from the old sage of Ferney to his friend of younger
days, now grown old as himself. Chesterfield was always a great admirer
of Voltaire’s, though by no means a blind one:
“I strongly doubt,” he writes, “whether it is permissible for
a man to write against the worship and belief of his country,
even if he be fully persuaded of its error, on account of the
terrible trouble and disorder it might cause; but I am sure
it is in no wise allowable to attack the foundations of true
morality, and to break unnecessary bonds which are already too
weak to keep men in the path of duty.”
But differences upon points of morality and religion did not prevent
his having an immense regard for Voltaire’s genius.
There is yet the other transaction in which Lord Chesterfield was
engaged, and it will probably be as long remembered against him as the
letters--his ill-famed treatment of Dr. Johnson. It is too well known
how Johnson came to his door, and how Chesterfield, who could never
be impolite, received the ill-mannered Doctor. But either the Earl
objected to having the old man annoying his guests at table, or else
he was not sufficiently pressing with his money; anyhow, the Doctor
felt repelled, left off calling, and never sought another patron.
Years afterward, when he brought out his Dictionary (1755), there was
a letter prefixed to the first edition, entitled “The Blast of Doom,
proclaiming that patronage shall be no more.” Boswell solicited the
Doctor for many years to give him a copy, but he did not do so until
1781, and then gave it from memory:
“... Seven years, my lord, have passed since I waited in your
outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which
time I have been pushing on my work under difficulties, of
which it is useless to complain, and have brought it to the
verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of
encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not
expect; for I never had a patron before....
“Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a
man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached
ground, encumbers him with help? The notice you have been
pleased to take of my labors, had it been early, had been kind;
but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy
it; till I am solitary and cannot impart it; till I am known
and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not
to confess obligations, where no benefit has been received; or
to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing
that to a patron which providence has enabled me to do for
myself.
“Having carried on my work thus far, with so little obligation
to any favorer of learning, I shall not be disappointed, though
I should conclude it, if possible, with less; for I have been
long wakened from that dream of hope in which I once boasted
myself with so much exaltation, my lord, your lordship’s most
humble and most obedient servant,
“SAMUEL JOHNSON.”
Such a transaction is but little to the praise of Lord Chesterfield,
who would have posed as the Mæcenas of the eighteenth century. But
there the matter rests. It is another proof of what the Earl was not,
but with the slightest bend of his body might have been. He lost the
Dedication to one of the greatest achievements of the time.