Complete Works of Samuel Johnson

by Samuel Johnson

Johnson was not more satisfied with his situation as the master of an academy, than with that of the usher of a school; we need not wonder, therefore, that he did not keep his academy above a year and a half. From Mr. Garrick’s account he did not appear to have been profoundly reverenced by his pupils. His oddities of manner, and uncouth gesticulations, could not but be the subject of merriment to them; and, in particular, the young rogues used to listen at the door of his bed-chamber, and peep through the key-hole, that they might turn into ridicule his tumultuous and awkward fondness for Mrs. Johnson, whom he used to name by the familiar appellation of Tetty or Tetsey, which, like Betty or Betsey, is provincially used as a contraction for Elisabeth, her Christian name, but which to us seems ludicrous, when applied to a woman of her age and appearance. Mr. Garrick described her to me as very fat, with a bosom of more than ordinary protuberance, with swelled cheeks of a florid red, produced by thick painting, and increased by the liberal use of cordials; flaring and fantastick in her dress, and affected both in her speech and her general behaviour. I have seen Garrick exhibit her, by his exquisite talent of mimickry, so as to excite the heartiest bursts of laughter; but he, probably, as is the case in all such representations, considerably aggravated the picture.

  That Johnson well knew the most proper course to be pursued in the instruction of youth, is authentically ascertained by the following paper in his own hand-writing, given about this period to a relation, and now in the possession of Mr. John Nichols:

  ‘SCHEME for the CLASSES of a GRAMMAR SCHOOL.

  ‘When the introduction, or formation of nouns and verbs, is perfectly mastered, let them learn:

  ‘Corderius by Mr. Clarke, beginning at the same time to translate out of the introduction, that by this means they may learn the syntax. Then let them proceed to:

  ‘Erasmus, with an English translation, by the same authour.

  ‘Class II. Learns Eutropius and Cornelius Nepos, or Justin, with the translation.

  ‘N.B. The first class gets for their part every morning the rules which they have learned before, and in the afternoon learns the Latin rules of the nouns and verbs.

  ‘They are examined in the rules which they have learned every Thursday and Saturday.

  ‘The second class does the same whilst they are in Eutropius; afterwards their part is in the irregular nouns and verbs, and in the rules for making and scanning verses. They are examined as the first.

  ‘Class III. Ovid’s Metamorphoses in the morning, and Caesar’s

  Commentaries in the afternoon.

  ‘Practise in the Latin rules till they are perfect in them; afterwards in Mr. Leeds’s Greek Grammar. Examined as before.

  ‘Afterwards they proceed to Virgil, beginning at the same time to write themes and verses, and to learn Greek; from thence passing on to Horace, &c. as shall seem most proper.

  ‘I know not well what books to direct you to, because you have not informed me what study you will apply yourself to. I believe it will be most for your advantage to apply yourself wholly to the languages, till you go to the University. The Greek authours I think it best for you to read are these:

  ‘Cebes.

  ‘Ælian. }

  ‘Lucian by Leeds. } Attick.

  ‘Xenophon. }

  ‘Homer. Ionick.

  ‘Theocritus. Dorick.

  ‘Euripides. Attick and Dorick.

  ‘Thus you will be tolerably skilled in all the dialects, beginning with the Attick, to which the rest must be referred.

  ‘In the study of Latin, it is proper not to read the latter authours, till you are well versed in those of the purest ages; as Terence, Tully, Cæsar, Sallust, Nepos, Velleius Paterculus, Virgil, Horace, Phædrus.

  ‘The greatest and most necessary task still remains, to attain a habit of expression, without which knowledge is of little use. This is necessary in Latin, and more necessary in English; and can only be acquired by a daily imitation of the best and correctest authours.

  ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  While Johnson kept his academy, there can be no doubt that he was insensibly furnishing his mind with various knowledge; but I have not discovered that he wrote any thing except a great part of his tragedy of Irene. Mr. Peter Garrick, the elder brother of David, told me that he remembered Johnson’s borrowing the Turkish History of him, in order to form his play from it. When he had finished some part of it, he read what he had done to Mr. Walmsley, who objected to his having already brought his heroine into great distress, and asked him, ‘how can you possibly contrive to plunge her into deeper calamity?’ Johnson, in sly allusion to the supposed oppressive proceedings of the court of which Mr. Walmsley was register, replied, ‘Sir, I can put her into the Spiritual Court!’

  Mr. Walmsley, however, was well pleased with this proof of Johnson’s abilities as a dramatick writer, and advised him to finish the tragedy, and produce it on the stage.

  Johnson now thought of trying his fortune in London, the great field of genius and exertion, where talents of every kind have the fullest scope, and the highest encouragement. It is a memorable circumstance that his pupil David Garrick went thither at the same time, with intention to complete his education, and follow the profession of the law, from which he was soon diverted by his decided preference for the stage.

  This joint expedition of those two eminent men to the metropolis, was

  many years afterwards noticed in an allegorical poem on Shakspeare’s

  Mulberry Tree, by Mr. Lovibond, the ingenious authour of The Tears of

  Old-May-day.

  They were recommended to Mr. Colson, an eminent mathematician and master of an academy, by the following letter from Mr. Walmsley:

  ‘To THE REVEREND MR. COLSON.

  ‘Lichfield, March 2, 1737.

  ‘DEAR SIR,

  ‘I had the favour of yours, and am extremely obliged to you; but I cannot say I had a greater affection for you upon it than I had before, being long since so much endeared to you, as well by an early friendship, as by your many excellent and valuable qualifications; and, had I a son of my own, it would be my ambition, instead of sending him to the University, to dispose of him as this young gentleman is.

  ‘He, and another neighbour of mine, one Mr. Samuel Johnson, set out this morning for London together. Davy Garrick is to be with you early the next week, and Mr. Johnson to try his fate with a tragedy, and to see to get himself employed in some translation, either from the Latin or the French. Johnson is a very good scholar and poet, and I have great hopes will turn out a fine tragedy-writer. If it should any way lie in your way, doubt not but you would be ready to recommend and assist your countryman.

  ‘G. WALMSLEY.’

  How he employed himself upon his first coming to London is not particularly known. I never heard that he found any protection or encouragement by the means of Mr. Colson, to whose academy David Garrick went. Mrs. Lucy Porter told me, that Mr. Walmsley gave him a letter of introduction to Lintot his bookseller, and that Johnson wrote some things for him; but I imagine this to be a mistake, for I have discovered no trace of it, and I am pretty sure he told me that Mr. Cave was the first publisher by whom his pen was engaged in London.

  He had a little money when he came to town, and he knew how he could live in the cheapest manner. His first lodgings were at the house of Mr. Norris, a staymaker, in Exeter-street, adjoining Catharine-street, in the Strand. ‘I dined (said he) very well for eight-pence, with very good company, at the Pine Apple in New-street, just by. Several of them had travelled. They expected to meet every day; but did not know one another’s names. It used to cost the rest a shilling, for they drank wine; but I had a cut of meat for six-pence, and bread for a penny, and gave the waiter a penny; so that I was quite well served, nay, better than the rest, for they gave the waiter nothing.’

  He at this time, I believe, abstained entirely from fermented liquors: a practice to which he rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of his life.

  His
Ofellus in the Art of Living in London, I have heard him relate, was an Irish painter, whom he knew at Birmingham, and who had practised his own precepts of oeconomy for several years in the British capital. He assured Johnson, who, I suppose, was then meditating to try his fortune in London, but was apprehensive of the expence, ‘that thirty pounds a year was enough to enable a man to live there without being contemptible. He allowed ten pounds for clothes and linen. He said a man might live in a garret at eighteen-pence a week; few people would inquire where he lodged; and if they did, it was easy to say, ‘Sir, I am to be found at such a place.’ By spending three-pence in a coffee-house, he might be for some hours every day in very good company; he might dine for six-pence, breakfast on bread and milk for a penny, and do without supper. On clean-shirt-day he went abroad, and paid visits.’ I have heard him more than once talk of this frugal friend, whom he recollected with esteem and kindness, and did not like to have one smile at the recital. ‘This man (said he, gravely) was a very sensible man, who perfectly understood common affairs: a man of a great deal of knowledge of the world, fresh from life, not strained through books. He borrowed a horse and ten pounds at Birmingham. Finding himself master of so much money, he set off for West Chester, in order to get to Ireland. He returned the horse, and probably the ten pounds too, after he got home.’

  Considering Johnson’s narrow circumstances in the early part of his life, and particularly at the interesting aera of his launching into the ocean of London, it is not to be wondered at, that an actual instance, proved by experience of the possibility of enjoying the intellectual luxury of social life, upon a very small income, should deeply engage his attention, and be ever recollected by him as a circumstance of much importance. He amused himself, I remember, by computing how much more expence was absolutely necessary to live upon the same scale with that which his friend described, when the value of money was diminished by the progress of commerce. It maybe estimated that double the money might now with difficulty be sufficient.

  Amidst this cold obscurity, there was one brilliant circumstance to cheer him; he was well acquainted with Mr. Henry Hervey, one of the branches of the noble family of that name, who had been quartered at Lichfield as an officer of the army, and had at this time a house in London, where Johnson was frequently entertained, and had an opportunity of meeting genteel company. Not very long before his death, he mentioned this, among other particulars of his life, which he was kindly communicating to me; and he described this early friend, ‘Harry Hervey,’ thus: ‘He was a vicious man, but very kind to me. If you call a dog HERVEY, I shall love him.’

  He told me he had now written only three acts of his Irene, and that he retired for some time to lodgings at Greenwich, where he proceeded in it somewhat further, and used to compose, walking in the Park; but did not stay long enough at that place to finish it.

  At this period we find the following letter from him to Mr. Edward Cave, which, as a link in the chain of his literary history, it is proper to insert:

  ‘To MR. CAVE.

  ‘Greenwich, next door to the Golden Heart,

  ‘Church-street, July 12, 1737.

  ‘SIR,

  ‘Having observed in your papers very uncommon offers of encouragement to men of letters, I have chosen, being a stranger in London, to communicate to you the following design, which, I hope, if you join in it, will be of advantage to both of us.

  ‘The History of the Council of Trent having been lately translated into French, and published with large Notes by Dr. Le Courayer, the reputation of that book is so much revived in England, that, it is presumed, a new translation of it from the Italian, together with Le Courayer’s Notes from the French, could not fail of a favourable reception.

  ‘If it be answered, that the History is already in English, it must be remembered, that there was the same objection against Le Courayer’s undertaking, with this disadvantage, that the French had a version by one of their best translators, whereas you cannot read three pages of the English History without discovering that the style is capable of great improvements; but whether those improvements are to be expected from the attempt, you must judge from the specimen, which, if you approve the proposal, I shall submit to your examination.

  ‘Suppose the merit of the versions equal, we may hope that the addition of the Notes will turn the balance in our favour, considering the reputation of the Annotator.

  ‘Be pleased to favour me with a speedy answer, if you are not willing to engage in this scheme; and appoint me a day to wait upon you, if you are.

  ‘I am, Sir,

  ‘Your humble servant,

  ‘SAM. JOHNSON.’

  It should seem from this letter, though subscribed with his own name, that he had not yet been introduced to Mr. Cave. We shall presently see what was done in consequence of the proposal which it contains.

  In the course of the summer he returned to Lichfield, where he had left Mrs. Johnson, and there he at last finished his tragedy, which was not executed with his rapidity of composition upon other occasions, but was slowly and painfully elaborated. A few days before his death, while burning a great mass of papers, he picked out from among them the original unformed sketch of this tragedy, in his own hand-writing, and gave it to Mr. Langton, by whose favour a copy of it is now in my possession. It contains fragments of the intended plot, and speeches for the different persons of the drama, partly in the raw materials of prose, partly worked up into verse; as also a variety of hints for illustration, borrowed from the Greek, Roman, and modern writers. The hand-writing is very difficult to be read, even by those who were best acquainted with Johnson’s mode of penmanship, which at all times was very particular. The King having graciously accepted of this manuscript as a literary curiosity, Mr. Langton made a fair and distinct copy of it, which he ordered to be bound up with the original and the printed tragedy; and the volume is deposited in the King’s library. His Majesty was pleased to permit Mr. Langton to take a copy of it for himself.

  The whole of it is rich in thought and imagery, and happy expressions; and of the disjecta membra scattered throughout, and as yet unarranged, a good dramatick poet might avail himself with considerable advantage. I shall give my readers some specimens of different kinds, distinguishing them by the Italick character.

  ‘Nor think to say, here will I stop,

  Here will I fix the limits of transgression,

  Nor farther tempt the avenging rage of heaven.

  When guilt like this once harbours in the breast,

  Those holy beings, whose unseen direction

  Guides through the maze of life the steps of man,

  Fly the detested mansions of impiety,

  And quit their charge to horrour and to ruin.’

  A small part only of this interesting admonition is preserved in the play, and is varied, I think, not to advantage:

  ‘The soul once tainted with so foul a crime,

  No more shall glow with friendship’s hallow’d ardour,

  Those holy beings whose superior care

  Guides erring mortals to the paths of virtue,

  Affrighted at impiety like thine,

  Resign their charge to baseness and to ruin.’

  ’I feel the soft infection

  Flush in my cheek, and wander in my veins.

  Teach me the Grecian arts of soft persuasion.’

  ‘Sure this is love, which heretofore I conceived the dream of idle maids, and wanton poets.’

  ‘Though no comets or prodigies foretold the ruin of Greece, signs which heaven must by another miracle enable us to understand, yet might it be foreshewn, by tokens no less certain, by the vices which always bring it on.’

  This last passage is worked up in the tragedy itself, as follows:

  LEONTIUS.

  ‘ —— That power that kindly spreads

  The clouds, a signal of impending showers,

  To warn the wand’ring linnet to the shade,

  Beheld, without concern, expiring Gree
ce,

  And not one prodigy foretold our fate.

  DEMETRIUS.

  ‘A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it;

  A feeble government, eluded laws,

  A factious populace, luxurious nobles,

  And all the maladies of sinking States.

  When publick villainy, too strong for justice,

  Shows his bold front, the harbinger of ruin,

  Can brave Leontius call for airy wonders,

  Which cheats interpret, and which fools regard?

  When some neglected fabrick nods beneath

  The weight of years, and totters to the tempest,

  Must heaven despatch the messengers of light,

  Or wake the dead, to warn us of its fall?’

  MAHOMET (to IRENE). ‘I have tried thee, and joy to find that thou deservest to be loved by Mahomet, — with a mind great as his own. Sure, thou art an errour of nature, and an exception to the rest of thy sex, and art immortal; for sentiments like thine were never to sink into nothing. I thought all the thoughts of the fair had been to select the graces of the day, dispose the colours of the flaunting (flowing) robe, tune the voice and roll the eye, place the gem, choose the dress, and add new roses to the fading cheek, but — sparkling.’

  Thus in the tragedy:

  ‘Illustrious maid, new wonders fix me thine;

  Thy soul completes the triumphs of thy face:

  I thought, forgive my fair, the noblest aim,

  The strongest effort of a female soul

  Was but to choose the graces of the day,

  To tune the tongue, to teach the eyes to roll,

  Dispose the colours of the flowing robe,

  And add new roses to the faded cheek.’

  I shall select one other passage, on account of the doctrine which it illustrates. IRENE observes,

  ‘That the Supreme Being will accept of virtue, whatever outward circumstances it may be accompanied with, and may be delighted with varieties of worship: but is answered, that variety cannot affect that Being, who, infinitely happy in his own perfections, wants no external gratifications; nor can infinite truth be delighted with falsehood; that though he may guide or pity those he leaves in darkness, he abandons those who shut their eyes against the beams of day.’