I wrote to him in February, complaining of having been troubled by a recurrence of the perplexing question of Liberty and Necessity;— and mentioning that I hoped soon to meet him again in London.
'To JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
DEAR SIR,
I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery. What have you to do with Liberty and Necessity? Or what more than to hold your tongue about it? Do not doubt but I shall be most heartily glad to see you here again, for I love every part about you but your affectation of distress.
I have at last finished my Lives, and have laid up for you a load of copy, all out of order, so that it will amuse you a long time to set it right. Come to me, my dear Bozzy, and let us be as happy as we can. We will go again to the Mitre, and talk old times over.
I am, dear Sir,
Yours affectionately,
'SAM. JOHNSON.'
March, 14, 1781.
On Monday, March 19, I arrived in London, and on Tuesday, the 20th, met him in Fleet-street, walking, or rather indeed moving along; for his peculiar march is thus described in a very just and picturesque manner, in a short Life of him published very soon after his death:
—'When he walked the streets, what with the constant roll of his head, and the concomitant motion of his body, he appeared to make his way by that motion, independent of his feet.'
That he was often much stared at while he advanced in this manner, may easily be believed; but it was not safe to make sport of one so robust as he was. Mr. Langton saw him one day, in a fit of absence, by a sudden start, drive the load off a porter's back, and walk forward briskly, without being conscious of what he had done.
The porter was very angry, but stood still, and eyed the huge figure with much earnestness, till he was satisfied that his wisest course was to be quiet, and take up his burthen again.
Our accidental meeting in the street after a long separation was a pleasing surprize to us both. He stepped aside with me into Falcon-court, and made kind inquiries about my family, and as we were in a hurry going different ways, I promised to call on him next day; he said he was engaged to go out in the morning.
'Early, Sir?' said I.
JOHNSON: 'Why, Sir, a London morning does not go with the sun.'
I waited on him next evening, and he gave me a great portion of his original manuscript of his Lives of the Poets, which he had preserved for me.
I found on visiting his friend, Mr. Thrale, that he was now very ill, and had removed, I suppose by the solicitation of Mrs. Thrale, to a house in Grosvenor-square. I was sorry to see him sadly changed in his appearance.
He told me I might now have the pleasure to see Dr. Johnson drink wine again, for he had lately returned to it. When I mentioned this to Johnson, he said, 'I drink it now sometimes, but not socially.'
The first evening that I was with him at Thrale's, I observed he poured a large quantity of it into a glass, and swallowed it greedily. Every thing about his character and manners was forcible and violent; there never was any moderation; many a day did he fast, many a year did he refrain from wine; but when he did eat, it was voraciously; when he did drink wine, it was copiously. He could practise abstinence, but not temperance.
Mrs. Thrale and I had a dispute, whether Shakspeare or Milton had drawn the most admirable picture of a man. I was for Shakspeare; Mrs. Thrale for Milton; and after a fair hearing, Johnson decided for my opinion.
He said, 'Mrs. Montagu has dropt me. Now, Sir, there are people whom one should like very well to drop, but would not wish to be dropped by.'
He certainly was vain of the society of ladies, and could make himself very agreeable to them, when he chose it; Sir Joshua Reynolds agreed with me that he could. Mr. Gibbon, with his usual sneer, controverted it, perhaps in resentment of Johnson's having talked with some disgust of his ugliness, which one would think a philosopher would not mind.
Dean Marlay wittily observed, 'A lady may be vain, when she can turn a wolf-dog into a lap-dog.'
The election for Ayrshire, my own county, was this spring tried upon a petition, before a Committee of the House of Commons. I was one of the Counsel for the sitting member, and took the liberty of previously stating different points to Johnson, who never failed to see them clearly, and to supply me with some good hints.
'You must not argue there as if you were arguing in the schools; close reasoning will not fix their attention; you must say the same thing over and over again, in different words. If you say it but once, they miss it in a moment of inattention. It is unjust, Sir, to censure lawyers for multiplying words when they argue; it is often necessary for them to multiply words.'
His notion of the duty of a member of Parliament, sitting upon an election-committee, was very high; and when he was told of a gentleman upon one of those committees, who read the newspapers part of the time, and slept the rest, while the merits of a vote were examined by the counsel; and as an excuse, when challenged by the chairman for such behaviour, bluntly answered, 'I had made up my mind upon that case;'— Johnson, with an indignant contempt, said, 'If he was such a rogue as to make up his mind upon a case without hearing it, he should not have been such a fool as to tell it.'
'I think (said Mr. Dudley Long) the Doctor has pretty plainly made him out to be both rogue and fool.'
Johnson's profound reverence for the Hierarchy made him expect from bishops the highest degree of decorum; he was offended even at their going to taverns; 'A bishop (said he) has nothing to do at a tippling-house. It is not indeed immoral in him to go to a tavern; neither would it be immoral in him to whip a top in Grosvenor-square. But, if he did, I hope the boys would fall upon him, and apply the whip to him. There are gradations in conduct; there is morality,— decency,— propriety. None of these should be violated by a bishop. A bishop should not go to a house where he may meet a young fellow leading out a wench.'
BOSWELL. 'But, Sir, every tavern does not admit women.'
JOHNSON. 'Depend upon it, Sir, any tavern will admit a well-drest man and a well-drest woman; they will not perhaps admit a woman whom they see every night walking by their door, in the street. But a well-drest man may lead in a well-drest woman to any tavern in London. Taverns sell meat and drink, and will sell them to any body who can eat and can drink. You may as well say that a mercer will not sell silks to a woman of the town.'
He also disapproved of bishops going to routs {parties – Editor}, at least of their staying at them longer than their presence commanded respect. He mentioned a particular bishop.
'Poh! (said Mrs. Thrale) the Bishop of —— is never minded at a rout.'
BOSWELL. 'When a bishop places himself in a situation where he has no distinct character, and is of no consequence, he degrades the dignity of his order.'
JOHNSON. 'Mr. Boswell, Madam, has said it as correctly as it could be.'
(classix comix™ is made possible in part through a generous grant from the Bob’s Bowery Bar Foundation for the Propagation of Literary and Artistic Culture: “Are you on a budget, but still desirous of a filling and delicious meal ‘out’, as opposed to heating up a can of soup on a hotplate in your humble flat? Hey, join the party, pal, and come on down to Bob’s Bowery Bar, serving many tasty foods and beverages that won’t bust your frayed old Cub Scout wallet! For instance, allow me to recommend Bob’s Mom’s Fatback ‘n’ Beans, slow-simmered with blackstrap molasses and lees of bock in a huge copper vat, and served with fresh-from-the-tin Uneeda Biscuits – only ninety-nine cents a bowl, and goes swell Bob’s basement brewed house bock, a bargain at only a buck for an imperial pint!”
– Horace P. Sternwall, host and narrator of Bob’s Bowery Bar Presents Philip Morris Commander’s “Blanche Weinberg: Lady Psychiatrist”, broadcast live 8pm Sundays {EST} exclusively on the Dumont Television Network. This week’s play: The Shy Bully, by Hyman P. Schwarzkopf, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with very special guest star John Wayne as “Mr. Murgatroyd”.)
part 215
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