I told her that I had not any doubt, when I had met with the same attention from them, but that they were calculating the exact cost of all my dress. Mrs. Thrale then told me that, about two years ago they were actually hissed out of the playhouse, on account of the extreme height of their feathers!
Dr. Johnson instantly composed an extempore dialogue between himself and Mr. Cumberland upon this subject, in which he was to act the part of a provoking condoler:
“Mr. Cumberland (I should say), how monstrously ill-bred is a playhouse mob! How I pitied poor Miss Cumberland’s about that affair!”
“What affair?” cries he, for he has tried to forget it.
“Why,” says I, “that unlucky accident they met with some time ago.”
“Accident? what accident, sir?”
“Why, you know, when they were hissed out of the playhouse —— you remember the time —— oh, the English mob is most insufferable! they are boors, and have no manner of taste!”
Mrs. Thrale accompanied me to my room, and stayed chatting with me for more than an hour....
Now for this morning’s breakfast.
Dr. Johnson, as usual, came last into the library; he was in high spirits, and full of mirth and sport. I had the honour of sitting next to him; and now, all at once, he flung aside his reserve, thinking, perhaps, that it was time I should fling aside mine.
Mrs. Thrale told him that she intended taking me to Mr. T— ‘s.
“So you ought, madam,” cried he; “’tis your business to be Cicerone to her.”
Then suddenly he snatched my hand, and kissing it,
“Ah!” he added, “they will little think what a tartar you carry to them!”
“No, that they won’t!” cried Mrs. Thrale; “Miss Burney looks so meek and so quiet, nobody would suspect what a comical girl she is; but I believe she has a great deal of malice at heart.”
“Oh, she’s a toad!” cried the doctor, laughing — — “a sly young rogue! with her Smiths and her Branghtons!”
“Why, Dr. Johnson,” said Mrs. Thrale, “I hope you are very well this morning! if one may judge by your spirits and good humour, the fever you threatened us with is gone off.”
He had complained that he was going to be ill last night.
“Why no, madam, no,” answered he, “I am not yet well; I could not sleep at all; there I lay restless and uneasy, and thinking all the time of Miss Burney. Perhaps I have offended her, thought I; perhaps she is angry; I have seen her but once, and I talked to her of a rasher! —— Were you angry?”
I think I need not tell you my answer.
“I have been endenvouring to find some excuse,” continued he, “and, as I could not sleep, I got up, and looked for some authority for the word; and I find, madam, it is used by Dryden: in one of his prologues, he says — — “And snatch a homely rasher from the coals.” So you must not mind me, madam;, I say strange things, but I mean no harm.”
I was almost afraid he thought I was really idiot enough to have taken him seriously; but, a few minutes after, he put his hand on my arm, and shaking his head, exclaimed,
“Oh, you are a sly little rogue! —— what a Holborn beau have you drawn!”
“Ay, Miss Burney,” said Mrs. Thrale, “the Holborn beau is Dr. Johnson’s favourite; and we have all your characters by heart, from Mr. Smith up to Lady Louisa.”
“Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith is the man!” cried he, laughing violently. “Harry Fielding never drew so good a character! —— such a fine varnish of low politeness! —— such a struggle to appear a gentleman! Madam, there is no character better drawn anywhere —— in any book or by any author.
I almost poked myself under the table. Never did I feel so delicious a confusion since I was born! But he added a great deal more, only I cannot recollect his exact Fords, and I do not choose to give him mine.
“Come, come,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “we”ll torment her no more about her book, for I see it really plagues her. I own I thought for awhile it was only affectation, for I m sure if the book were mine I should wish to hear of nothing else. But we shall teach her in time how proud she ought to be of such a performance.”
“Ah, madam,” cried the Doctor, “be in no haste to teach her that; she”ll speak no more to us when she knows her own weight.”
“Oh, but, sir,” cried she, “if Mr. Thrale has his way, she will become our relation, and then it will be hard if she won’t acknowledge us.”
You may think I stared, but she went on,
“Mr. Thrale says nothing would make him half so happy as giving Miss Burney to Sir J —— L —— .”
Mercy! what an exclamation did I give. I wonder you did not hear me to St. Martin’s Street. However, she continued,
“Mr. Thrale says, Miss Burney seems more formed to draw a husband to herself, by her humour when gay, and her good sense when serious, than almost anybody he ever saw.”
“He does me much honour,” cried I: though cannot say I much enjoyed such a proof of his good opinion as giving me to Sir J — . L —— ; but Mr. Thrale is both his uncle and his guardian, and thinks, perhaps, he would do a mutual good office in securing me so much money, and his nephew a decent companion. Oh, if he knew how little I require with regard to money — how much to even bear with a companion! But he was not brought up with such folks as my father, my Daddy Crisp, and my Susan, and does not know what indifference to all things, but good society such people as those inspire.
“My master says a very good speech,” cried the Doctor, “if Miss Burney’s husband should have anything in common with herself; but I know not how we can level her with Sir J —— L — , unless she would be content to put her virtues and talents in a scale against his thousands; and poor Sir J —— must give cheating weight even then! However, if we bestow such a prize upon him he shall settle his whole fortune on her.”
Ah! thought I, I am more mercenary than you fancy me, for not even that would bribe me high enough.
Before Dr. Johnson had finished his éloge, I was actually on the ground, for there was no standing it, —— or sitting it, rather; and Mrs. Thrale seemed delighted for me.
“I assure you,” she said, “nobody can do your book more justice than Dr. Johnson does; and yet, do you remember, sir, how unwilling you were to read it? He took it up, just looked at the first letter, and then put it away, and said, “I don’t think I have any taste for it!” —— but when he was going to town, I put the first volume into the coach with him; and then, when he came home, the very first words he said to me were “Why, madam, this Evelina is a charming creature! —— and then he teased me to know who she married, and what became of her, — and I gave him the rest. For my part, I used to read it in bed, and could not part with it: I laughed at the second, and I cried at the third; but what a trick was that of Dr. Burney’s, never to let me know whose it was till I had read it! Suppose it had been something I had not liked! Oh, it was a vile trick!”
“No, madam, not at all!” cried the Doctor, “for, in that case, you would never have known; —— all would have been safe, for he would neither have told you who wrote it, nor Miss Burney what you said of it.”
Some time after the Doctor began laughing to himself, and then, suddenly turning to me, he called out, “Only think, Polly! Miss has danced with a lord!”
“Ah, poor Evelina!” cried Mrs. Thrale, “I see her now in Kensington Gardens. What she must have suffered! Poor girl! what fidgets she must have been in! And I know Mr. Smith, too, very well; —— I always have him before me at the Hampstead Ball, dressed in a white coat, and a tambour waistcoat, worked in green silk. Poor Mr. Seward! Mr. Johnson made him so mad t’other day! “Why, Seward,” said he, “how smart you are dressed! why, you only want a tambour waistcoat to look like Mr. Smith.” But I am very fond of Lady Louisa; I think her as well drawn as any character in the book; so fine, so affected, so languishing; and, at the same time so insolent!
She then ran on with several of her speeches.
> Some time after, she gave Dr. Johnson a letter from Dr. Jebb, concerning one of the gardeners who is very ill. When he had read it, he grumbled violently to himself, and put it away with marks of displeasure.
“What’s the matter, sir!” said Mrs. Thrale; “do you find any fault with the letter?”
“No, madam, the letter’s well enough, if the man knew how to write his own name; but it moves my indignation to see a gentleman take pains to appear a tradesman. Mr. Branghton would have written his name with just such beastly flourishes.”
“Ay, well,” said Mrs. Thrale, “he is a very agreeable man, and an excellent physician, and a great favourite of mine, and so he is of Miss Burney’s.”
“Why, I have no objection to the man, madam, if he would write his name as he ought to do.”
“Well, it does not signify,” cried Mrs. Thrale;, “but the commercial fashion of writing gains ground every day, for all Miss Burney abuses it, with her Smiths and her Branghtons. Does not the great Mr. Pennant write like a clerk, without any pronouns? and does not everybody flourish their names till nobody can read them?
After this they talked over a large party of company who are invited to a formal and grand dinner for next Monday, and among others Admiral Montagu was mentioned. The Doctor, turning to me with a laugh, said,
“You must mark the old sailor, Miss Burney; he”ll be a character.”
“Ah!” cried Mrs. Thrale, who was going out of the room, “how I wish you would hatch up a comedy between you! do, fall to work!”
A pretty proposal! to be sure Dr. Johnson would be very proud of such a fellow-labourer!
As soon as we were alone together, he said,
“These are as good people as you can be with; you can go to no better house; they are all good nature; nothing makes them angry.”
As I have always heard from my father that every individual at Streatham spends the morning alone, I took the first opportunity of absconding to my room, and amused myself in writing till I tired. About noon, when I went into the library, book hunting, Mrs. Thrale came to me.
We had a very nice confab about various books, and exchanged opinions and imitations of Baretti; she told me many excellent tales of him, and I, in return, related my stories. She gave me a long and very entertaining account of Dr. Goldsmith, who was intimately known here;, but in speaking of The Goodnatured Man, when I extolled my favourite Croaker, I found that admirable character was a downright theft from Dr. Johnson. Look at the Rambler, and you will find Suspirius is the man, and that not merely the idea, but the particulars of the character, are all stolen thence!
While we were yet reading this Rambler, Dr. Johnson came in: we told him what we were about.
“Ah, madam!” cried he, “Goldsmith was not scrupulous; but he would have been a great man had he known the real value of his own internal resources.”
“Miss Burney,” said Mrs. Thrale, “is fond of his Vicar of Wakefield: and so am I; —— don’t you like it, sir?”
“No, madam, it is very faulty; there is nothing of real life in it, and very little of nature. It is a mere fanciful performance.” He then seated himself upon a sofa, and calling to me, said, “Come, —— Evelina, —— come and sit by me.”
I obeyed; and he took me almost in his arms, —— that is, one of his arms, for one would go three times at least, round me, —— and, half-laughing, half-serious, he charged me to “be a good girl!”
“But, my dear,” continued he with a very droll look, “what makes you so fond of the Scotch? I don’t like you for that; I hate these Scotch, and so must you. I wish Branghton had sent the dog to jail! That Scotch dog Macartney.”
“Why, sir,” said Mrs. Thrale, “don’t you remember he says he would, but that he should get nothing byit?”
“Why, ay, true,” cried the doctor, see-sawing very solemnly, “that, indeed, is some palliation for his forbearance. But I must not have you so fond of the Scotch, my little Burney; make your hero what you will but a Scotchman. Besides, you write Scotch —— you say “the one,” —— my dear, that’s not English. Never use that phrase again.”
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Thrale, “it may be used in Macartney’s letter, and then it will be a propriety.”
“No, madam, no!” cried he; “you can’t make a beauty of it; it is in the third volume; put it in Macartney’s letter, and welcome! —— that, or anything that is nonsense.”
“Why, surely,” I cried, “the poor man is used ill enough by the Branghtons.”, “But Branghton,” said he, “only hates him because of his wretchedness, —— poor fellow! —— But, my dear love, how should he ever have eaten a good dinner before he came to England?”
And then he laughed violently at young Branghton’s idea.
“Well,” said Mrs. Thrale, “I always liked Macartney; he is a very pretty character, and I took to him, as the folks say.”
“Why, madam,” answered he. “I like Macartney myself. Yes, poor fellow, I liked the man, but I love not the nation.”
And then he proceeded, in a dry manner, to make at once sarcastic reflections on the Scotch and flattering speeches to me, for Macartney’s firing at the national insults of young Branghton: his stubborn resolution in not owning, even to his bosom friend, his wretchedness of poverty; and his fighting at last for the honour of his nation, when he resisted all other provocations; he said, were all extremely well marked.
We stayed with him till just dinner time, and then we were obliged to run away and dress; but Dr. Johnson called out to me as I went ——
“Miss Burney, I must settle that affair of the Scotch with you at our leisure.”
At dinner we had the company, or rather the presence, for he did not speak two words, of Mr. E —— , the clergyman, I believe, of Streatham. And afterwards, Mrs. Thrale took the trouble to go with me to the T — — ‘s.
Dr. Johnson, who has a love of social converse that nobody, without living under the same roof with him, would suspect, quite begged us not to go till he went to town; but as we were hatted and ready, Mrs. Thrale only told him she rejoiced to find him so jealous of our companies, and then away we whisked, —— she, Miss Thrale, and my ladyship.
I could write some tolerable good sport concerning this visit, but that I wish to devote all the time I can snatch for writing, to recording what passes here; themes of mere ridicule offer everywhere.
We got home late, and had the company of Mr. E —— , and of Mr. Rose Fuller, a young man who lives at Streatham, and is nephew of the famous Rose Fuller; and whether Dr. Johnson did not like them, or whether he was displeased that we went out, or whether he was not well, I know not; but he never opened his mouth, except in answer to a question, till he bid us good-night.
Saturday Morning. ——
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 scrutinises 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 the 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 t
hings on better, he would still find fault.”
When Dr. Johnson was gone, she told me of my mother’s 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 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. Oh, 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!” said 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.”
So I think myself amazingly fortunate to be approved by him; for, if he disliked, alack-a-day, how could I change! But he has paid me some very fine compliments upon this subject.
I was very sorry when the doctor went to town, though Mrs. Thrale made him promise to return to Monday’s dinner; and he has very affectionately invited me to visit him in the winter, when he is at home: and he talked to me a great deal of Mrs. Williams, and gave me a list of her works, and said I must visit them; — which I am sure I shall be very proud of doing.
And now let me try to recollect an account he gave us of certain celebrated ladies of his acquaintance: an account which, had you heard from himself, would have made you die with laughing, his manner is so peculiar, and enforces his humour so originally.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 679