Complete Works of Samuel Johnson, page 922
On Thursday, April 15, I dined with him and Dr. Goldsmith at General Paoli’s.
I spoke of Allan Ramsay’s Gentle Shepherd, in the Scottish dialect, as the best pastoral that had ever been written; not only abounding with beautiful rural imagery, and just and pleasing sentiments, but being a real picture of manners; and I offered to teach Dr. Johnson to understand it. ‘No, Sir, (said he,) I won’t learn it. You shall retain your superiority by my not knowing it.’
It having been observed that there was little hospitality in London; — JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, any man who has a name, or who has the power of pleasing, will be very generally invited in London. The man, Sterne, I have been told, has had engagements for three months.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘And a very dull fellow.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, no, Sir.’
Martinelli told us, that for several years he lived much with Charles Townshend, and that he ventured to tell him he was a bad joker. JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, thus much I can say upon the subject. One day he and a few more agreed to go and dine in the country, and each of them was to bring a friend in his carriage with him. Charles Townshend asked Fitzherbert to go with him, but told him, “You must find somebody to bring you back: I can only carry you there.” Fitzherbert did not much like this arrangement. He however consented, observing sarcastically, “It will do very well; for then the same jokes will serve you in returning as in going.”’
An eminent publick character being mentioned; — JOHNSON. ‘I remember being present when he shewed himself to be so corrupted, or at least something so different from what I think right, as to maintain, that a member of parliament should go along with his party right or wrong. Now, Sir, this is so remote from native virtue, from scholastick virtue, that a good man must have undergone a great change before he can reconcile himself to such a doctrine. It is maintaining that you may lie to the publick; for you lie when you call that right which you think wrong, or the reverse. A friend of ours, who is too much an echo of that gentleman, observed, that a man who does not stick uniformly to a party, is only waiting to be bought. Why then, said I, he is only waiting to be what that gentleman is already.’
We talked of the King’s coming to see Goldsmith’s new play.— ‘I wish he would,’ said Goldsmith; adding, however, with an affected indifference, ‘Not that it would do me the least good.’ JOHNSON. ‘Well then, Sir, let us say it would do HIM good, (laughing.) No, Sir, this affectation will not pass; — it is mighty idle. In such a state as ours, who would not wish to please the Chief Magistrate?’ GOLDSMITH. ‘I DO wish to please him. I remember a line in Dryden, —
“And every poet is the monarch’s friend.”
It ought to be reversed.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, there are finer lines in Dryden on this subject: —
“For colleges on bounteous Kings depend,
And never rebel was to arts a friend.”’
General Paoli observed, that ‘successful rebels might.’ MARTINELLI. ‘Happy rebellions.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘We have no such phrase.’ GENERAL PAOLI. ‘But have you not the THING?’ GOLDSMITH. ‘Yes; all our HAPPY revolutions. They have hurt our constitution, and will hurt it, till we mend it by another HAPPY REVOLUTION.’ I never before discovered that my friend Goldsmith had so much of the old prejudice in him.
General Paoli, talking of Goldsmith’s new play, said, ‘Il a fait un compliment tres gracieux a une certaine grande dame;’ meaning a Duchess of the first rank.
I expressed a doubt whether Goldsmith intended it, in order that I might hear the truth from himself. It, perhaps, was not quite fair to endeavour to bring him to a confession, as he might not wish to avow positively his taking part against the Court. He smiled and hesitated. The General at once relieved him, by this beautiful image: ‘Monsieur Goldsmith est comme la mer, qui jette des perles et beaucoup d’autres belles choses, sans s’en appercevoir.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘Tres bien dit et tres elegamment.’
A person was mentioned, who it was said could take down in short hand the speeches in parliament with perfect exactness. JOHNSON. ‘Sir, it is impossible. I remember one, Angel, who came to me to write for him a Preface or Dedication to a book upon short hand, and he professed to write as fast as a man could speak. In order to try him, I took down a book, and read while he wrote; and I favoured him, for I read more deliberately than usual. I had proceeded but a very little way, when he begged I would desist, for he could not follow me.’ Hearing now for the first time of this Preface or Dedication, I said, ‘What an expense, Sir, do you put us to in buying books, to which you have written Prefaces or Dedications.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, I have dedicated to the Royal family all round; that is to say, to the last generation of the Royal family.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘And perhaps, Sir, not one sentence of wit in a whole Dedication.’ JOHNSON. ‘Perhaps not, Sir.’ BOSWELL. ‘What then is the reason for applying to a particular person to do that which any one may do as well?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, one man has greater readiness at doing it than another.’
I spoke of Mr. Harris, of Salisbury, as being a very learned man, and in particular an eminent Grecian. JOHNSON. ‘I am not sure of that. His friends give him out as such, but I know not who of his friends are able to judge of it.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘He is what is much better: he is a worthy humane man.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, Sir, that is not to the purpose of our argument: that will as much prove that he can play upon the fiddle as well as Giardini, as that he is an eminent Grecian.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘The greatest musical performers have but small emoluments. Giardini, I am told, does not get above seven hundred a year.’ JOHNSON. ‘That is indeed but little for a man to get, who does best that which so many endeavour to do. There is nothing, I think, in which the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the fiddle. In all other things we can do something at first. Any man will forge a bar of iron, if you give him a hammer; not so well as a smith, but tolerably. A man will saw a piece of wood, and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give him a fiddle and a fiddle-stick, and he can do nothing.’
On Monday, April 19, he called on me with Mrs. Williams, in Mr. Strahan’s coach, and carried me out to dine with Mr. Elphinston, at his academy at Kensington. A printer having acquired a fortune sufficient to keep his coach, was a good topick for the credit of literature. Mrs. Williams said, that another printer, Mr. Hamilton, had not waited so long as Mr. Strahan, but had kept his coach several years sooner. JOHNSON. ‘He was in the right. Life is short. The sooner that a man begins to enjoy his wealth the better.’
Mr. Elphinston talked of a new book that was much admired, and asked Dr. Johnson if he had read it. JOHNSON. ‘I have looked into it.’ ‘What, (said Elphinston,) have you not read it through?’ Johnson, offended at being thus pressed, and so obliged to own his cursory mode of reading, answered tartly, ‘No, Sir, do YOU read books THROUGH?’
On Wednesday, April 21, I dined with him at Mr. Thrale’s. A gentleman attacked Garrick for being vain. JOHNSON. ‘No wonder, Sir, that he is vain; a man who is perpetually flattered in every mode that can be conceived. So many bellows have blown the fire, that one wonders he is not by this time become a cinder.’ BOSWELL. ‘And such bellows too. Lord Mansfield with his cheeks like to burst: Lord Chatham like an Aeolus. I have read such notes from them to him, as were enough to turn his head.’ JOHNSON. ‘True. When he whom every body else flatters, flatters me, I then am truly happy.’ Mrs. THRALE. ‘The sentiment is in Congreve, I think.’ JOHNSON. ‘Yes, Madam, in The Way of the World:
“If there’s delight in love, ’tis when I see
That heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.”
No, Sir, I should not be surprized though Garrick chained the ocean, and lashed the winds.’ BOSWELL. ‘Should it not be, Sir, lashed the ocean and chained the winds?’ JOHNSON. ‘No, Sir, recollect the original:
“In Corum atque Eurum solitus saevire flagellis
Barbarus, Aeolia nunquam hoc in carcere passos,
Ipsum compedibus qui vinxerat Ennosigaeum.”
The modes of living in different countries, and the various views with which men travel in quest of new scenes, having been talked of, a learned gentleman who holds a considerable office in the law, expatiated on the happiness of a savage life; and mentioned an instance of an officer who had actually lived for some time in the wilds of America, of whom, when in that state, he quoted this reflection with an air of admiration, as if it had been deeply philosophical: ‘Here am I, free and unrestrained, amidst the rude magnificence of Nature, with this Indian woman by my side, and this gun with which I can procure food when I want it; what more can be desired for human happiness?’ It did not require much sagacity to foresee that such a sentiment would not be permitted to pass without due animadversion. JOHNSON. ‘Do not allow yourself, Sir, to be imposed upon by such gross absurdity. It is sad stuff; it is brutish. If a bull could speak, he might as well exclaim, — Here am I with this cow and this grass; what being can enjoy greater felicity?’
We talked of the melancholy end of a gentleman who had destroyed himself. JOHNSON. ‘It was owing to imaginary difficulties in his affairs, which, had he talked with any friend, would soon have vanished.’ BOSWELL. ‘Do you think, Sir, that all who commit suicide are mad?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, they are often not universally disordered in their intellects, but one passion presses so upon them, that they yield to it, and commit suicide, as a passionate man will stab another.’ He added, ‘I have often thought, that after a man has taken the resolution to kill himself, it is not courage in him to do any thing, however desperate, because he has nothing to fear.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘I don’t see that.’ JOHNSON. ‘Nay, but my dear Sir, why should not you see what every one else sees?’ GOLDSMITH. ‘It is for fear of something that he has resolved to kill himself; and will not that timid disposition restrain him?’ JOHNSON. ‘It does not signify that the fear of something made him resolve; it is upon the state of his mind, after the resolution is taken, that I argue. Suppose a man, either from fear, or pride, or conscience, or whatever motive, has resolved to kill himself; when once the resolution is taken, he has nothing to fear. He may then go and take the King of Prussia by the nose, at the head of his army. He cannot fear the rack, who is resolved to kill himself. When Eustace Budgel was walking down to the Thames, determined to drown himself, he might, if he pleased, without any apprehension of danger, have turned aside, and first set fire to St. James’s palace.’
On Tuesday, April 27, Mr. Beauclerk and I called on him in the morning. As we walked up Johnson’s-court, I said, ‘I have a veneration for this court;’ and was glad to find that Beauclerk had the same reverential enthusiasm. We found him alone. We talked of Mr. Andrew Stuart’s elegant and plausible Letters to Lord Mansfield: a copy of which had been sent by the authour to Dr. Johnson. JOHNSON. ‘They have not answered the end. They have not been talked of; I have never heard of them. This is owing to their not being sold. People seldom read a book which is given to them; and few are given. The way to spread a work is to sell it at a low price. No man will send to buy a thing that costs even sixpence, without an intention to read it.’
He said, ‘Goldsmith should not be for ever attempting to shine in conversation: he has not temper for it, he is so much mortified when he fails. Sir, a game of jokes is composed partly of skill, partly of chance, a man may be beat at times by one who has not the tenth part of his wit. Now Goldsmith’s putting himself against another, is like a man laying a hundred to one who cannot spare the hundred. It is not worth a man’s while. A man should not lay a hundred to one, unless he can easily spare it, though he has a hundred chances for him: he can get but a guinea, and he may lose a hundred. Goldsmith is in this state. When he contends, if he gets the better, it is a very little addition to a man of his literary reputation: if he does not get the better, he is miserably vexed.’
Johnson’s own superlative powers of wit set him above any risk of such uneasiness. Garrick had remarked to me of him, a few days before, ‘Rabelais and all other wits are nothing compared with him. You may be diverted by them; but Johnson gives you a forcible hug, and shakes laughter out of you, whether you will or no.’
Goldsmith, however, was often very fortunate in his witty contests, even when he entered the lists with Johnson himself. Sir Joshua Reynolds was in company with them one day, when Goldsmith said, that he thought he could write a good fable, mentioned the simplicity which that kind of composition requires, and observed, that in most fables the animals introduced seldom talk in character. ‘For instance, (said he,) the fable of the little fishes, who saw birds fly over their heads, and envying them, petitioned Jupiter to be changed into birds. The skill (continued he,) consists in making them talk like little fishes.’ While he indulged himself in this fanciful reverie, he observed Johnson shaking his sides, and laughing. Upon which he smartly proceeded, ‘Why, Dr. Johnson, this is not so easy as you seem to think; for if you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like WHALES.’
On Thursday, April 29, I dined with him at General Oglethorpe’s, where were Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Langton, Dr. Goldsmith, and Mr. Thrale. I was very desirous to get Dr. Johnson absolutely fixed in his resolution to go with me to the Hebrides this year; and I told him that I had received a letter from Dr. Robertson the historian, upon the subject, with which he was much pleased; and now talked in such a manner of his long-intended tour, that I was satisfied he meant to fulfil his engagement.
The character of Mallet having been introduced, and spoken of slightingly by Goldsmith; JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, Mallet had talents enough to keep his literary reputation alive as long as he himself lived; and that, let me tell you, is a good deal.’ GOLDSMITH. ‘But I cannot agree that it was so. His literary reputation was dead long before his natural death. I consider an authour’s literary reputation to be alive only while his name will ensure a good price for his copy from the booksellers. I will get you (to Johnson,) a hundred guineas for any thing whatever that you shall write, if you put your name to it.’
Dr. Goldsmith’s new play, She Stoops to Conquer, being mentioned; JOHNSON. ‘I know of no comedy for many years that has so much exhilarated an audience, that has answered so much the great end of comedy — making an audience merry.’
Goldsmith having said, that Garrick’s compliment to the Queen, which he introduced into the play of The Chances, which he had altered and revised this year, was mean and gross flattery; JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, I would not WRITE, I would not give solemnly under my hand, a character beyond what I thought really true; but a speech on the stage, let it flatter ever so extravagantly, is formular. It has always been formular to flatter Kings and Queens; so much so, that even in our church-service we have “our most religious King,” used indiscriminately, whoever is King. Nay, they even flatter themselves;— “we have been graciously pleased to grant.” No modern flattery, however, is so gross as that of the Augustan age, where the Emperour was deified. “Proesens Divus habebitur Augustus.” And as to meanness, (rising into warmth,) how is it mean in a player, — a showman, — a fellow who exhibits himself for a shilling, to flatter his Queen? The attempt, indeed, was dangerous; for if it had missed, what became of Garrick, and what became of the Queen? As Sir William Temple says of a great General, it is necessary not only that his designs be formed in a masterly manner, but that they should be attended with success. Sir, it is right, at a time when the Royal Family is not generally liked, to let it be seen that the people like at least one of them.’ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘I do not perceive why the profession of a player should be despised; for the great and ultimate end of all the employments of mankind is to produce amusement. Garrick produces more amusement than any body.’ BOSWELL. ‘You say, Dr. Johnson, that Garrick exhibits himself for a shilling. In this respect he is only on a footing with a lawyer who exhibits himself for his fee, and even will maintain any nonsense or absurdity, if the case requires it. Garrick refuses a play or a part which he does not like; a lawyer never refuses.’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, what does this prove? only that a lawyer is worse. Boswell is now like Jack in The Tale of a Tub, who, when he is puzzled by an argument, hangs himself. He thinks I shall cut him down, but I’ll let him hang.’ (laughing vociferously.) SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘Mr. Boswell thinks that the profession of a lawyer being unquestionably honourable, if he can show the profession of a player to be more honourable, he proves his argument.’
On Friday, April 30, I dined with him at Mr. Beauclerk’s, where were Lord Charlemont, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and some more members of the LITERARY CLUB, whom he had obligingly invited to meet me, as I was this evening to be balloted for as candidate for admission into that distinguished society. Johnson had done me the honour to propose me, and Beauclerk was very zealous for me.
Goldsmith being mentioned; JOHNSON. ‘It is amazing how little Goldsmith knows. He seldom comes where he is not more ignorant than any one else.’ SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ‘Yet there is no man whose company is more liked.’ JOHNSON. ‘To be sure, Sir. When people find a man of the most distinguished abilities as a writer, their inferiour while he is with them, it must be highly gratifying to them. What Goldsmith comically says of himself is very true, — he always gets the better when he argues alone; meaning, that he is master of a subject in his study, and can write well upon it; but when he comes into company, grows confused, and unable to talk. Take him as a poet, his Traveller is a very fine performance; ay, and so is his Deserted Village, were it not sometimes too much the echo of his Traveller. Whether, indeed, we take him as a poet, — as a comick writer, — or as an historian, he stands in the first class.’ BOSWELL. ‘An historian! My dear Sir, you surely will not rank his compilation of the Roman History with the works of other historians of this age?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, who are before him?’ BOSWELL. ‘Hume, — Robertson, — Lord Lyttelton.’ JOHNSON (his antipathy to the Scotch beginning to rise). ‘I have not read Hume; but, doubtless, Goldsmith’s History is better than the VERBIAGE of Robertson, or the foppery of Dalrymple.’ BOSWELL. ‘Will you not admit the superiority of Robertson, in whose History we find such penetration — such painting?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, you must consider how that penetration and that painting are employed. It is not history, it is imagination. He who describes what he never saw, draws from fancy. Robertson paints minds as Sir Joshua paints faces in a history-piece: he imagines an heroic countenance. You must look upon Robertson’s work as romance, and try it by that standard. History it is not. Besides, Sir, it is the great excellence of a writer to put into his book as much as his book will hold. Goldsmith has done this in his History. Now Robertson might have put twice as much into his book. Robertson is like a man who has packed gold in wool: the wool takes up more room than the gold. No, Sir; I always thought Robertson would be crushed by his own weight, — would be buried under his own ornaments. Goldsmith tells you shortly all you want to know: Robertson detains you a great deal too long. No man will read Robertson’s cumbrous detail a second time; but Goldsmith’s plain narrative will please again and again. I would say to Robertson what an old tutor of a college said to one of his pupils: “Read over your compositions, and where ever you meet with a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.” Goldsmith’s abridgement is better than that of Lucius Florus or Eutropius; and I will venture to say, that if you compare him with Vertot, in the same places of the Roman History, you will find that he excels Vertot. Sir, he has the art of compiling, and of saying every thing he has to say in a pleasing manner. He is now writing a Natural History and will make it as entertaining as a Persian Tale.’
