Johnson’s unqualified condemnation was more than equally
disproportionate to its defects.
Of Mrs. Montagu’s conversational abilities Johnson
entertained a higher opinion. “Sir,” he would say, “that
lady exerts more mind in conversation than any person I ever
met with” (Miss Reynolds’s Recollections). It was probably,
indeed, to the fame of her conversation, and of the has been
parties which assembled at her house, that she owed the
greater part of her reputation. She was the acknowledged
“Queen of the Blue Stockings” although the epithet
originated with a rival giver of literary parties, Mrs.
Vesey, who, replying to the apology of a gentleman who
declined an invitation to one of her meetings on the plea of
want of dress, exclaimed, “Pho, pho! don’t mind dress! Come
in your blue stockings!” The term “Blue Stocking” (bas
bleu) was thenceforward applied to the set which met at Mrs.
Vesey’s, and was gradually extended to other coteries of
similar character.
The charitable and beneficient disposition of Mrs. Montagu
was as notorious as her intellectual superiority. It may be
interesting here to observe that after her husband’s death,
in 1775, she doubled the income of poor Anna Williams, the
blind poetess who resided with Dr. Johnson, by settling upon
her an annuity of ten pounds. The publication of Johnson’s
“Lives of the Poets,” in 1781, occasioned a coolness between
the doctor and Mrs. Montagu, on account of the severity with
which, in that work, he had handled the character of Lord
Lyttelton. In September, 1783, however, Dr. Johnson wrote
to the lady to announce the death of her pensioner, Miss
Williams; and shortly afterwards he informs Mrs. Thrale that
he has received a reply “not only civil but tender; so I
hope peace is proclaimed.” Mrs. Montagu died at her house
in Portman Square, in the year 1800. — ED.]
I was looking over the “Life of Cowley,” which Dr. Johnson had himself given me to read, at the same time that he gave to Mrs. Thrale that of Waller. But he bade me put it away.
“Do,” cried he, “put away that now, and prattle with us; I can’t make this little Burney prattle, and I am sure she prattles well; but I shall teach her another lesson than to sit thus silent before I have done with her.”
“To talk,” cried I, “is the only lesson I shall be backward to learn from you, sir.”
“You shall give me,” cried he, “a discourse upon the passions: come, begin! Tell us the necessity of regulating them Watching over and curbing them! Did you ever read Norris’s “Theory of Love?”
“No, sir,” said I, laughing, yet staring a little.
Dr. J.-It is well worth your reading. He will make you see that inordinate love is the root of all evil, inordinate love of wealth brings on avarice; of wine, brings on intemperance; of power, brings on cruelty; and so on. He deduces from inordinate love all human frailty.”
Mrs. T.-To-morrow, sir, Mrs. Montagu dines here, and then you will have talk enough.
Dr. Johnson began to see-saw, with a countenance strongly expressive of inward fun, and after enjoying it some time in silence, he suddenly, and with great animation, turned to me and cried,
“Down with her, Burney! — down with her! — spare her not! — attack her, fight her, and down with her at once! You are a rising wit, and she is at the top; and when I was beginning the world, and was nothing and nobody, the joy of my life was to fire at all the established wits! and then everybody loved to halloo me on. But there is no game now; every body would be glad to see me conquered: but then, when I was new, to vanquish the great ones was all the delight of my poor little dear soul! So at her, Burney — at her, and down with her!”
Oh, how we were all amused! By the way I must tell you that Mrs. Montagu is in very great estimation here, even with Dr. Johnson himself, when others do not praise her improperly. Mrs. Thrale ranks her as the first of women in the literary way. I should have told you that Miss Gregory, daughter of the Gregory who wrote the “Letters,” or, “Legacy of Advice,” lives with Mrs. Montagu, and was invited to accompany her.
“Mark now,” said Dr. Johnson, “if I contradict her tomorrow. I am determined, let her say what she will, that I will not contradict her.”
Mrs. T.-Why, to be sure, sir, you did put her a little out Of countenance the last time she came. Yet you were neither rough, nor cruel, nor ill-natured, but still, when a lady changes colour, we imagine her feelings are not quite composed.
Dr. J.-Why, madam, I won’t answer that I shan’t contradict her again, if she provokes me as she did then; but a less provocation I will withstand. I believe I am not high in her good graces already; and I begin, added he, laughing heartily, to tremble for my admission into her new house. I doubt I shall never see the inside of it.
(Mrs. Montagu is building a most superb house.)
Mrs. T.-Oh, I warrant you, she fears you, indeed; but that, you know, is nothing uncommon: and dearly I love to hear your disquisitions; for certainly she is the first woman for literary knowledge in England, and if in England, I hope I may say in the world.
Dr. J.-I believe you may, madam. She diffuses more knowledge in her conversation than any woman I know, or, indeed, almost any man.
Mrs. T.-I declare I know no man equal to her, take away yourself and Burke, for that art. And you who love magnificence, won’t quarrel with her, as everybody else does, for her love of finery.
Dr. J.-No, I shall not quarrel with her upon that topic.
FANNY BURNEY’S INTRODUCTION TO A CELEBRATED “BLUE-STOCKING.”
Wednesday. — We could not prevail with Dr. Johnson to stay till Mrs. Montagu arrived, though, by appointment, she came very early. She and Miss Gregory came by one o’clock.
There was no party to meet her. She is middle-sized, very thin, and looks infirm; she has a sensible and penetrating countenance, and the air and manner of a woman accustomed to being distinguished, and of great parts. Dr. Johnson, who agrees in this, told us that a Mrs. Hervey, of his acquaintance, says she can remember Mrs. Montagu trying for this same air and manner. Mr. Crisp has said the same: however, nobody can now impartially see her, and not confess that she has extremely well succeeded.
My expectations, which were compounded of the praise of Mrs. Thrale, and the abuse of Mr. Crisp, were most exactly, answered, for I thought her in a medium way.
Miss Gregory is a fine young woman, and seems gentle and well-bred.
A bustle with the dog Presto — Mrs. Thrale’s favourite — at the entrance of these ladies into the library, prevented any formal reception; but as soon as Mrs. Montagu heard my name, she inquired very civilly after my father, and made many speeches concerning a volume of “Linguet,” which she has lost; but she hopes soon to be able to replace it. I am sure he is very high in her favour, because she did me the honour of addressing herself to me three or four times.
But my ease and tranquillity were soon disturbed: for she had not been in the room more than ten minutes, ere, turning to Mrs. Thrale, she said,
“Oh, ma’am — but your ‘Evelina’ — I have not yet got it. I sent for it, but the bookseller had it not. However, I will certainly have it.”
“Ay, I hope so,” answered Mrs. Thrale, “and I hope you will like it too; for ’tis a book to be liked.”
I began now a vehement nose-blowing, for the benefit of handkerchiefing my face.
“I hope though,” said Mrs. Montagu, drily, “it is not in verse? I can read anything in prose, but I have a great dread of a long story in verse.”
“No, ma’am, no; ’tis all in prose, I assure you. ’Tis a novel; and an exceeding — but it does nothing good to b
e praised too much, so I will say nothing more about it: only this, that Mr. Burke sat up all night to read it.”
“Indeed? Well, I propose myself great pleasure from it and I am gratified by hearing it is written by a woman.”
“And Sir Joshua Reynolds,” continued Mrs. Thrale, “has been offering fifty pounds to know the author.”
“Well, I will have it to read on my journey; I am going to Berkshire, and it shall be my travelling book.”
“No, ma’am if you please you shall have it now. Queeny, do look it for Mrs. Montagu, and let it be put in her carriage, and go to town with her.”
Miss Thrale rose to look for it, and involuntarily I rose too, intending to walk off, for my situation was inexpressibly awkward; but then I recollected that if I went away, it might seem like giving Mrs. Thrale leave and opportunity to tell my tale, and therefore I stopped at a distant window, where I busied myself in contemplating the poultry.
“And Dr. Johnson, ma’am,” added my kind puffer, “says Fielding never wrote so well — never wrote equal to this book; he says it is a better picture of life and manners than is to be found anywhere in Fielding.”
“Indeed?” cried Mrs. Montagu, surprised; “that I did not expect, for I have been informed it is the work of a young lady and therefore, though I expected a very pretty book, I supposed it to be a work of mere imagination, and the name I thought attractive; but life and manners I never dreamt of finding.”
“Well, ma’am, what I tell you is literally true; and for my part, I am never better pleased than when good girls write clever books — and that this is clever — But all this time we are killing Miss Burney, who wrote the book herself.”
What a clap of thunder was this! — the last thing in the world I should have expected before my face? I know not what bewitched Mrs. Thrale, but this was carrying the jest further than ever. All retenu being now at an end, I fairly and abruptly took to my heels, and ran out of the room with the utmost trepidation, amidst astonished exclamations from Mrs. Montagu and Miss Gregory.
I was horribly disconcerted, but I am now so irrecoverably in for it, that I begin to leave off reproaches and expostulations; indeed, they have very little availed me while they might have been of service, but now they would pass for mere parade and affectation; and therefore since they can do no good, I gulp them down. I find them, indeed, somewhat hard of digestion, but they must make their own way as well as they can.
I determined not to make my appearance again till dinner was upon table; yet I could neither read nor write, nor indeed do any thing but consider the new situation in life into which I am thus hurried — I had almost said forced — and if I had, methinks it would be no untruth.
Miss Thrale came laughing up after me, and tried to persuade me to return. She was mightily diverted all the morning, and came to me with repeated messages of summons to attend the company, but I could not brave it again into the roon, and therefore entreated her to say I was finishing a letter. Yet I was sorry to lose so much of Mrs. Montagu.
When dinner was upon table, I followed the procession, in a tragedy step, as Mr. Thrale will have it, into the dining parlour. Dr. Johnson was returned.
The conversation was not brilliant, nor do I remember much of it; but Mrs. Montagu behaved to me just as I could have wished, since she spoke to me very little, but spoke that little with the utmost politeness. But Miss Gregory, though herself a modest girl, quite stared me out of countenance, and never took her eyes off my face.
When Mrs. Montagu’s new house was talked of, Dr. Johnson, in a jocose manner, desired to know if he should be invited to see it.
“Ay, sure,” cried Mrs. Montagu, looking well pleased; “or I shan’t like it: but I invite you all to a house warming; I shall hope for the honour of seeing all this company at my new house next Easter day: I fix the day now that it may be remembered.”
Everybody bowed and accepted the invite but me, and I thought fitting not to hear it; for I have no notion of snapping at invites from the eminent. But Dr. Johnson, who sat next to me, was determined I should be of the party, for he suddenly clapped his hand on my shoulder, and called out aloud,
“Little Burney, you and I will go together?”
“Yes, surely,” cried Mrs. Montagu, “I shall hope for the pleasure of seeing ‘Evelina.’”
“‘Evelina’” repeated he; “has Mrs. Montagu then found out ‘Evelina?’”
“Yes,” cried she, “and I am proud of it: I am proud that a work so commended should be a woman’s.”
How my face burnt!
“Has Mrs. Montagu,” asked Dr. Johnson, “read ‘Evelina?’”
“No, sir, not yet; but I shall immediately, for I feel the greatest eagerness to read it.”
“I am very sorry, madam,” replied he, “that you have not already, read it, because you cannot speak of it with a full conviction of its merit: which, I believe, when you have read it, you will have great pleasure in acknowledging.”
Some other things were said, but I remember them not, for I could hardly keep my place: but my sweet, naughty Mrs. Thrale looked delighted for me....
When they were gone, how did Dr. Johnson astonish me by asking if I had observed what an ugly cap Miss Gregory had on? Then taking both my hands, and looking at me with an expression of much kindness, he said,
“Well, Miss Burney, Mrs. Montagu now will read ‘Evelina’”....
Mrs. Thrale then told me such civil things. Mrs. Montagu, it seems, during my retreat, inquired very particularly what kind of book it was?
“And I told her,” continued Mrs. Thrale, “that it was a picture of life, manners, and characters. ‘But won’t she go on,’ says she; ‘surely she won’t stop here?’
“‘Why,’ said I, ‘I want her to go on in a new path — I want her to write a comedy.’
“‘But,’ said Mrs. Montagu, ‘one thing must be considered; Fielding, who was so admirable in novel writing, never succeeded when he wrote for the stage.’”
“Very well said,” cried Dr. Johnson “that was an answer which showed she considered her subject.”
Mrs. Thrale continued:
“‘Well, but a propos,’ said Mrs. Montagu, ‘if Miss Burney does write a play, I beg I may know of it; or, if she thinks proper, see it; and all my influence is at her service. We shall all be glad to assist in spreading the fame of Miss Burney.’”
I tremble for what all this will end in. I verily think I had best stop where I am, and never again attempt writing: for after so much honour, so much success — how shall I bear a downfall?
DR. JOHNSON’S COMPLIMENTS AND GROSS SPEECHES.
Monday, Sept. 21. — I have had a thousand delightful conversations with Dr. Johnson, who, whether he loves me or not, I am sure seems to have some opinion of my discretion, for he speaks of all this house to me with unbounded confidence, neither diminishing faults, nor exaggerating praise.
Whenever he is below stairs he keeps me a prisoner, for he does not like I should quit the room a moment; if I rise he constantly calls out, “Don’t you go, little Burney!”
Last night, when we were talking of compliments and of gross speeches, Mrs. Thrale most justly said, that nobody could make either like Dr. Johnson. “Your compliments, sir, are made seldom, but when they are made they have an elegance unequalled; but then when you are angry! who dares make speeches so bitter and so cruel?”
Dr. J.-Madam, I am always sorry when I make bitter speeches, and I never do it, but when I am insufferably vexed.
Mrs. T-Yes, Sir; but you suffer things to vex you, that nobody else would vex at. I am sure I have had my share of scoldings from you!
Dr. J-It is true, you have; but you have borne it like an angel, and you have been the better for it.
Mrs. T.-That I believe, sir: for I have received more instruction from you than from any man, or any book: and the vanity that you should think me worth instructing, always overcame the vanity of being found fault with. And so you had the scolding, and I the im
provement.
F.B.-And I am sure both make for the honour of both!
Dr J.-I think so too. But Mrs. Thrale is a sweet creature, and never angry; she has a temper the most delightful of any woman I ever knew.
Mrs. T.-This I can tell you, sir, and without any flattery — I not only bear your reproofs when present, but in almost everything I do in your absence, I ask myself whether you would like it, and what you would say to it. Yet I believe there is nobody you dispute with oftener than me.
F.B.-But you two are so well established with one another, that you can bear a rebuff that would kill a stranger.
Dr. J.-Yes; but we disputed the same before we were so well established with one another.
Mrs. T.-Oh, sometimes I think I shall die no other death than hearing the bitter things he says to others. What he says to myself I can bear, because I know how sincerely he is my friend, and that he means to mend me; but to others it is cruel.
Dr. J.-Why, madam, you often provoke me to say severe things, by unreasonable commendation. If you would not call for my praise, I would not give you my censure; but it constantly moves my indignation to be applied to, to speak well of a thing which I think contemptible.
F.B.-Well, this I know, whoever I may hear complain of Dr. Johnson’s severity, I shall always vouch for his kindness, as far as regards myself, and his indulgence.
Mrs. T.-Ay, but I hope he will trim you yet, too!
Dr. J.-I hope not: I should be very sorry to say anything that should vex my dear little Burney.
F.B.-If you did, sir, it would vex me more than you can imagine. I should sink in a minute.
Mrs. T.-I remember, sir, when we were travelling in Wales, how you called me to account for my civility to the people. ‘Madam,’ you said, ‘let me have no more of this idle commendation of nothing. Why is it, that whatever you see, and whoever you see, you are to be so indiscriminately lavish of praise?’ ‘Why! I’ll tell you, sir,’ said I, ‘when I am with you and Mr. Thrale, and Queeny, I am obliged to be civil for four!’
There was a cutter for you! But this I must say, for the honour of both — Mrs. Thrale speaks to Dr. Johnson with as much sincerity, (though with greater softness,) as he does to her.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 524