Mrs. Thrale relates:
'That Mr. Ch-lm-ley unexpectedly rode up to Mr. Thrale's carriage, in which Mr. Thrale and she, and Dr. Johnson were travelling; that he paid them all his proper compliments, but observing that Dr. Johnson, who was reading, did not see him, 'tapt him gently on the shoulder. "Tis Mr. Ch-lm-ley;" says my husband. "Well, Sir— and what if it is Mr. Ch-lm-ley;" says the other, sternly, just lifting his eyes a moment from his book, and returning to it again, with renewed avidity.'
This surely conveys a notion of Johnson, as if he had been grossly rude to Mr. Cholmondeley, a gentleman whom he always loved and esteemed. If, therefore, there was an absolute necessity for mentioning the story at all, it might have been thought that her tenderness for Dr. Johnson's character would have disposed her to state any thing that could soften it. Why then is there a total silence as to what Mr. Cholmondeley told her?— that Johnson, who had known him from his earliest years, having been made sensible of what had doubtless a strange appearance, took occasion, when he afterwards met him, to make a very courteous and kind apology.
There is another little circumstance which I cannot but remark. Her book was published in 1785, she had then in her possession a letter from Dr. Johnson, dated in 1777, which begins thus:—
'Cholmondeley's story shocks me, if it be true, which I can hardly think, for I am utterly unconscious of it: I am very sorry, and very much ashamed.'
Why then publish the anecdote? Or if she did, why not add the circumstances, with which she was well acquainted!
In his social intercourse she thus describes him:—
'Ever musing till he was called out to converse, and conversing till the fatigue of his friends, or the promptitude of his own temper to take offence, consigned him back again to silent meditation.'
Yet, in the same book, she tells us,—
'He was, however, seldom inclined to be silent, when any moral or literary question was started; and it was on such occasions that, like the Sage in "Rasselas," he spoke, and attention watched his lips; he reasoned, and conviction closed his periods.'
His conversation, indeed, was so far from ever fatiguing his friends, that they regretted when it was interrupted, or ceased, and could exclaim in Milton's language,—
'With thee conversing, I forget all time.'
I certainly, then, do not claim too much in behalf of my illustrious friend in saying, that however smart and entertaining Mrs. Thrale's Anecdotes are, they must not be held as good evidence against him; for wherever an instance of harshness and severity is told, I beg leave to doubt its perfect authenticity; for though there may have been some foundation for it, yet, like that of his reproof to the 'very celebrated lady,' it may be so exhibited in the narration as to be very unlike the real fact.
The evident tendency of the following anecdote is to represent Dr. Johnson as extremely deficient in affection, tenderness, or even common civility:—
'When I one day lamented the loss of a first cousin killed in America,— "Prithee, my dear, (said he,) have done with canting; how would the world be the worse for it, I may ask, if all your relations were at once spitted like larks, and roasted for Presto's supper?"— Presto was the dog that lay under the table while we talked.'
I suspect this too of exaggeration and distortion. I allow that he made her an angry speech; but let the circumstances fairly appear, as told by Mr. Baretti, who was present:—
'Mrs. Thrale, while supping very heartily upon larks, laid down her knife and fork, and abruptly exclaimed, "O, my dear Mr. Johnson, do you know what has happened? The last letters from abroad have brought us an account that our poor cousin's head was taken off by a cannon-ball."
Johnson, who was shocked both at the fact, and her light unfeeling manner of mentioning it, replied, "Madam, it would give you very little concern if all your relations were spitted like those larks, and drest for Presto's supper."'
It is with concern that I find myself obliged to animadvert on the inaccuracies of Mrs. Piozzi's Anecdotes, and perhaps I may be thought to have dwelt too long upon her little collection. But as from Johnson's long residence under Mr. Thrale's roof, and his intimacy with her, the account which she has given of him may have made an unfavourable and unjust impression, my duty, as a faithful biographer, has obliged me reluctantly to perform this unpleasing task.
(classix comix™ is made possible in part through a continuing grant from the Bob’s Bowery Bar Fund for Indigent Artists and Writers: “Say, it’s a scorcher out there, with no relief in sight, and who wants to cook in your sixth-floor walk-up with no air-conditioning?
I know I sure as heck don’t! So why not join me at Bob’s Bowery Bar, where the motto is ‘Hearty food and drink for honest working people at reasonable prices’ and let somebody else do the cooking? Be sure to pay attention when your server is rattling off the daily specials or you might miss out on such delicious and nutritious items as Bob’s Mom’s Pig in a Blanket Deluxe: a 12-inch Nathan’s hot dog baked in a chewy sourdough wrapper – I’ll take mine with the house ‘hellfire sauce’ and a brimming beaded imperial pint of Bob’s justly renowned basement-brewed bock!”
– 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: “Mr. Snoid and Dr. Freud”, by Herbert P. Shuttlecock, starring Kitty Carlisle as “Dr. Blanche”, with special guest star Orson Bean as Mr. Snoid.)
part 269
|
|
No comments:
Post a Comment