Dr. Johnson was later than usual this morning, and did not come down till our breakfast was over, and Mrs. Thrale had risen to give some orders, I believe: I, too, rose, and took a book at another end of the room. Some time after, before he had yet appeared, Mr. Thrale called out to me,
So, Miss Burney, you have a mind to feel your legs before the doctor comes?”
“Why so?” cried Mr. Lort.
“Why, because when he comes she will be confined.”
“Ay? —— how is that?”
“Why, he never lets her leave him, but keeps her prisoner till he goes to his own room.”
“Oh, ho!” cried Mr. Lort, “she is in great favour with him.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Seward, “and I think he shows his taste.” “I did not know,” said Mr. Lort, “but he might keep her to help him in his Lives of the Poets, if she’s so clever.”
And yet,” said Mrs. Thrale, “Miss Burney never flatters him, though she is such a favourite with him; — but the tables are turned, for he sits and flatters her an day long.
“I don’t flatter him,” said I, “because nothing I could say would flatter him.”
Mrs. Thrale then told a story of Hannah More, which I think exceeds, in its severity, all the severe things I have yet heard of Dr. Johnson’s saying.
When she was introduced to him, not long ago, she began singing his praise in the warmest manner, and talking of the pleasure and the instruction she had received from his writings, with the highest encomiums. For some time he heard her with that quietness which a long use of praise has given him: she then redoubled her strokes, and, as Mr. Seward calls it, peppered still more highly: till, at length, he turned suddenly to her, with a stern and angry countenance, and said, “Madam, before you flatter a man so grossly to his face, you should consider whether or not your flattery is worth his having.”
Mr. Seward then told another instance of his determination not to mince the matter, when he thought reproof at all deserved. During a visit of Miss Brown’s to Streatham, he was inquiring of her several things that she could not answer; and as he held her so cheap in regard to books, he began to question her concerning domestic affairs —— puddings, pies, plain work, and so forth. Miss Brown, not at all more able to give a good account of herself in these articles than in the others, began all her answers with, “Why, sir, one need not be obliged to do so, —— or so,” whatever was the thing in question. When he had finished his interrogatories, and she had finished her “need nots he ended the discourse with saying, “As to your needs, my dear, they are so very many, that you would be frightened yourself if you knew half of them.”
After breakfast on Friday, or yesterday, a curious trait occurred of Dr. Johnson’s jocosity. It was while the talk ran so copiously upon their urgency that I should produce a comedy. While Mrs. Thrale was in the midst of her flattering persuasions, the doctor, see-sawing in his chair, began laughing to himself so heartily as to almost shake his seat as well as his sides. We stopped our confabulation, in which he had ceased to join, hoping he would reveal the subject of his mirth; but he enjoyed it inwardly, without heeding our curiosity, — till at last he said he had been struck with a notion that “Miss Burney would begin her dramatic career by writing a piece called Streatham.” He paused, and laughed yet more cordially, and then suddenly commanded a pomposity to his countenance and his voice, and added, “Yes! Streatham —— a Farce.
How little did I expect from this Lexiphanes, this great and dreaded lord of English literature, a turn for burlesque humour!
Place: Streatham, September. ——
Our journey hither proved, as it promised, most sociably cheerful, and Mrs. Thrale opened still further upon the subject she began in St. Martin’s Street, of Dr. Johnson’s kindness towards me. To be sure she saw it was not totally disagreeable to me; though I was really astounded when she hinted at my becoming a rival to Miss Streatfield 2 in the doctor’s good graces.
“I had a long letter,” she said, “from Sophy Streatfield t’other day, and she sent Dr. Johnson her elegant edition of the Classics; but when he had read the letter he said, “She is a sweet creature, and I love her much; but my little Burney writes a better letter.” “Now,” continued she, “that is just what I wished him to say of you both.
Before dinner, to my great joy, Dr. Johnson returned home from Warley Common. I followed Mrs. Thrale into the library to see him, and he is so
near-sighted that he took me for Miss Streatfield.:
bu he did not welcome me less kindly when he found
his mistake, which Mrs. Thrale made known by saying, “No, ’tis Miss Streatfield’s rival, Miss
Burney.”
At tea-time the subject turned upon the domestic economy of Dr. Johnson’s own household. Mrs.
Thrale has often acquainted me that his house is quite filled and overrun with all sorts of strange creatures, whom he admits for mere charity, and because nobody else will admit them —— for his charity is unbounded —— or, rather, bounded only by his circumstances.
The account he gave of the adventures and absurdities of the set was highly diverting, but too diffused for writing, though one or two speeches I must give. I think I shall occasionally theatricalise my dialogues.
Mrs. Thrale. —— Pray, sir, how does Mrs. Williams like all this tribe?
Dr. Johnson. —— Madam, she does not like them at all; but their fondness for her is not greater. She and De Mullin quarrel incessantly; but as they can both be occasionally of service to each other, and as neither of them have any other place to go to, their animosity does not force them to separate. Mrs. T. —— And pray, sir, what is Mr. Macbean?
Dr. J. —— Madam, he is a Scotchman; he is a man of great learning, and for his learning I respect him, and I wish to serve him. He knows many languages, and knows them well; but he knows nothing of life. I advised him to write a geographical dictionary; but I have lost all hopes of his ever doing anything properly, since I found he gave as much labour to Capua as to Rome.
Mr. T. —— And pray who is clerk of your kitchen, sir?
Dr. J. —— Why, sir, I am afraid there is none; a general anarchy prevails in my kitchen, as I am told by Mr. Levat, who says it is not now what it used to be!
Mrs. T. —— Mr. Levat, I suppose, sir, has the office of keeping the hospital in health? for he is an apothecary.
Dr. J. —— Levat, madam, is a brutal fellow, but I have a good regard for him; for his brutality is in his manners, not his mind.
Mr. T. —— But how do you get your dinners drest?
Dr. J. —— Why, De Mullin has the chief management of the kitchen; but our roasting is not magnificent, for we have no jack.
Mr. T. —— No jack? Why, how do they manage without? Dr. J. —— Small joints, I believe, they manage with a string, and a larger are done at the tavern. I have some thoughts (with a profound gravity) of buying a jack, because I think a jack is some credit to a house.
Mr. T. —— Well, but you”ll have a spit, too?
Dr. J. —— No, sir, no; that would be superfluous; for we shall never use it; and if a jack is seen, a spit will be presumed!
Mrs. T. —— But pray, sir, who is the Poll you talk of? She that you used to abet in her quarrels with Mrs. Williams, and call out, “At her again, Poll! Never flinch, Poll”?
Dr. J. —— Why, I took to Poll very well at first, but she won’t do upon a nearer examination.
Mrs. T. —— How came she among you, sir?
Dr. J. —— Why, I don’t rightly remember, but we could spare her very well from us. Poll is a stupid slut; I had some hopes of her at first; but, when I talked to her tightly and closely, I could make nothing of her; she was wiggle-waggle, and I could never persuade her to be categorical. I wish Miss Burney would come among us; if she would only give us a week, we should furnish her with ample materials for a new scene in her next work. A little while after he asked Mrs. Thrale, who had read Evelina in his absence?
&
nbsp; “Who?” cried she,— “why, Burke! —— Burke sat up all night to finish it; and Sir Joshua Reynolds is mad about it, and said he would give fifty pounds to know the author. But our fun was with his nieces —— we made them believe I wrote the book, and the girls gave me the credit of it at once.”
“I am very sorry for it, madam,” cried he, quite angrily, — — “you were much to blame; deceits of that kind ought never to be practised; they have a worse tendency than you are aware of.”
Mr. T. —— Why, don’t frighten yourself, sir; Miss Burney will have all the credit she has a right to, for I told them whose it was before they went.
Dr. J. —— But you were very wrong for misleading them for a moment; such jests are extremely blameable; they are foolish in the very act, and they are wrong, because they always leave a doubt upon the mind. What first passed will be always recollected by those girls, and they will never feel clearly convinced which wrote the book, Mrs. Thrale or Miss Burney.
Mrs. T. —— Well, well, I am ready to take my Bible oath it was not me; and if that won’t do, Miss Burney must take hers too.
I was then looking over the Life of Cowley which he had himself given me to read, at the same time that he gave to Mrs. Thrale that of Waller. They are now printed, though they will not be published for some time. 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 I Did you ever read Norris’s Theory of Love?”
“No, sir,” said I, laughing, yet staring a little.
Dr. J. —— Well, it is 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; everybody 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 to-morrow. 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 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. (Then, looking earnestly at me), “Nay,” he added, “it’s very handsome!”
“What, sir?” cried!, amazed.
“Why, your cap: — I have looked at it some time, and I like it much. It has not that vile bandeau across it, which I have so often cursed.” Did you ever hear anything so strange? nothing escapes him. My Daddy Crisp is not more minute in his attentions: nay, I think he is even less so.
Mrs. T. —— Well, sir, that bandeau you quarrelled with was worn by every woman at court the last birthday, and I observed that all the men found fault with it.
Dr. J. —— The truth is, women, take them in general, have no idea of grace. Fashion is all they think of. I don’t mean Mrs. Thrale and Miss Burney, when I talk of women! —— They are goddesses! and therefore I accept them.
Mrs. T. —— Lady Ladd never wore the bandeau, and said she never would, because it is unbecoming.
Dr. J. —— (laughing) Did not she? Then is Lady Ladd a charming woman, and I have yet hopes of entering into engagements with her!
Mrs. T. —— Well, as to that I can’t say; but to be sure, the only similitude I have yet discovered in you, is in size; there you agree mighty well.
Dr. J. Why, if anybody could have worn the bandeau, it must have been Lady Ladd; for there is enough of her to carry it off; but you are too little for anything ridiculous; that which seems nothing upon a Patagonian, will become very conspicuous upon a Lilliputian, and of you there is so little in all, that one single absurdity would swallow up half of you.
Some time after, when we had all been a few minutes wholly silent, he turned to me and said, “Come, Burney, shall you and I study our parts against Mrs. Montagu comes?
“Miss Burney,” cried Mr. Thrale, “you must get up your courage for this encounter! I think you should begin with Miss Gregory; and down with her first.”
Dr. J. —— No, no, always fly at the eagle! down with Mrs. Montagu herself! I hope she will come full of Evelina!
Wednesday. ——
At breakfast, Dr. Johnson asked me, if I had been reading his Life of Cowley?
“Oh yes,” said I.
“And what do you think of it.
“I am delighted with it,” cried I; “and if I was somebody, I should not have read it without telling you sooner what I think of it, and unasked.”
Again, when I took up Cowley’s Life, he made me put it away to talk. I could not help remarking how very like Dr. Johnson is to his writing; and how much the same thing it was to hear or to read him;, but that nobody could tell that without coming to Streatham, for his language was generally imagined to be laboured and studied, instead of the mere common flow of his thoughts. “Very true,” said Mrs. Thrale, “he writes and talks with the same ease, and in the same manner; but, sir (to him), if this rogue is like her book, how will she trim all of us by and by! Now, she dainties us up with all the meekness in the world; but when we are away, I suppose she pays us off finely.”
“My paying off,” cried I, “is like the Latin of Hudibras,
““. . . who never scanted,
His learning unto such as wanted;” for I can figure like anything when I am with those who can’t figure at all.”
> Mrs. T. —— Oh, if you have any mag in you, we”ll draw it out!
Dr. J. —— A rogue! she told me that if she was somebody instead of nobody, she would praise my book!
F. B. —— Why, sir, I am sure you would scoff my praise.
Dr. J. —— If you think that, you think very ill of me; but you don’t think it.
Mrs. T. —— We have told her what you said to Miss More, and I believe that makes her afraid.
Dr. Johnson. —— Well, and if she was to serve me as Miss More did, I should say the same thing of her. But I think she will not. Hannah More has very good intellects, too; but she has by no means the elegance of Miss Burney. “Well,” cried I, “there are folks that are to be spoilt, and folks that are not to be spoilt, as well in the world as in the nursery; but what will become of me, I know not.”
Mrs. T. —— Well, if you are spoilt, we can only say, nothing in the world is so pleasant as being spoilt.
Dr. J. —— No, no; Burney will not be spoilt; she knows too well what praise she has a claim to, and what not, to be in any danger of spoiling.
F. B. —— I do, indeed, believe I shall never be spoilt at Streatham, for it is the last place where I can feel of any consequence.
Mrs. T. —— Well, sir, she is our Miss Burney, however; we were the first to catch her, and now we have got, we will keep her And so she is all our own.
Dr. J. —— Yes, I hope she is; I should be very sorry to lose Miss Burney.
F. B. —— Oh, dear! how can two such people sit and talk such ——
Mrs. T. —— Such stuff, you think? but Dr. Johnson’s love ——
Dr. J. —— Love ? no, I don’t entirely love her yet; I must see more of her first; I have much too high an opinion of her to flatter her. I have, indeed, seen nothing of her but what is fit to be loved, but I must know her more. I admire her, and greatly too.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 681