The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney. Frances Burney
to the harpsichord.
Not long after, the party broke up, and they took leave. I had no conversation with Sir Joshua all day; but I found myself more an object of attention to him than I wished; and he several times spoke to me, though he did not make love!
When they rose to take leave, Miss Palmer, with the air of asking the greatest of favours, hoped to see me when I returned to town; and Sir Joshua, approaching me with the most profound respect, inquired how long I should remain at Streatham? A week, I believed: and then he hoped, when I left it, they should have the honour of seeing me in Leicester Square.31
In short, the joke is, the people speak as if they were afraid of me, instead of my being afraid of them. It seems, when they got to the door, Miss Palmer said to Mrs. Thrale,
“Ma’am, so it’s Miss Burney after all!”
“Ay, sure,” answered she, “who should it be?”
“Ah! why did not you tell us sooner?” said Offy, “that we might have had a little talk about it?”
Here, therefore, end all my hopes of secrecy!
The Members of Dr. Johnson’s Household
At tea-time the subject turned upon the domestic economy of Dr. Johnson’s 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?
Johnson—Madam, she does not like them at all: but their fondness for her is not greater. She and De Mullin32 quarrel incessantly; but as they can both be occasionally of service to each other, and as neither of them have a place to go to, their animosity does not force them to separate.
Mrs. T.—And pray, sir, what is Mr. Macbean?33
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 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,34 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, larger are done at the tavern. I have some thoughts (with 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.”35
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.
Anticipated Visit from Mrs. Montagu
(“The great Mrs. Montagu” deserves a somewhat longer notice than can be conveniently compressed within the limits of a footnote. She was as indisputably, in public estimation, the leading literary lady of the time, as Johnson was the leading man of letters. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Robinson. She was born at York in the year 1720, and married, in 1742, Edward Montagu, grandson of the first Earl of Sandwich. Her husband’s death, in 1775, left her in the possession of a handsome fortune. Mrs. Montagu’s literary celebrity was by no means dearly bought, for it rested, almost exclusively, on her “Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespear,” published by Dodsley in 1769. Indeed, the only other writings which she committed to the press were three “Dialogues of the Dead,” appended to the Well-known “Dialogues” of her friend, Lord Lyttelton. The “Essay” is an elegantly written little work, superficial when regarded in the light of modern criticism, but marked by good sense and discrimination. One of the chief objects of the authoress was to defend Shakespeare against the strictures of Voltaire, and in this not very difficult task she has undoubtedly succeeded. Johnson’s opinion of the “Essay” was unfavourable. To Sir Joshua Reynolds’s remark, that it did honour to its authoress, he replied: “Yes Sir: it does her honour, but it would do nobody else honour;” and he goes on to observe that “there is not one sentence of true criticism in the book.” But if the general applause which the book had excited was out of all proportion to its merits, 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.
I was looking over the “Life of Cowley,” 36which 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