Chapter 8

"Now Johnson's virtue was engaged; and he, I doubt not, made it a point of conscience not to increase the distresses of a family already oppressed with affliction. Baretti, however, from this time grew sullen and captious; he went on as usual notwithstanding, making Streatham his home, carrying on business there, when he thought he had any to do, and teaching his pupil at by-times when he chose so to employ himself; for he always took his choice of hours, and would often spitefully fix on such as were particularly disagreeable to me, whom he has now not liked a long while, if ever he did. He professed, however, a violent attachment to our eldest daughter; said if _she_ had died instead of her poor brother, he should have destroyed himself, with many as wild expressions of fondness. Within these few days, when my back was turned, he would often be telling her that he would go away and stay a month, with other threats of the same nature; and she, not being of a caressing or obliging disposition, never, I suppose, soothed his anger or requested his stay.

"Of all this, however, I can know nothing but from _her_, who is very reserved, and whose kindness I cannot so confide in as to be sure she would tell me all that passed between them; and her attachment is probably greater to him than me, whom he has always endeavoured to lessen as much as possible, both in her eyes and--what was worse--her father's, by telling him how my parts had been over-praised by Johnson, and over-rated by the world; that my daughter's skill in languages, even at the age of fourteen, would vastly exceed mine, and such other idle stuff; which Mr. Thrale had very little care about, but which Hetty doubtless thought of great importance. Be this as it may, no angry words ever passed between him and me, except perhaps now and then a little spar or so when company was by, in the way of raillery merely.

"Yesterday, when Sir Joshua and Fitzmaurice dined here, I addressed myself to him with great particularity of attention, begging his company for Saturday, as I expected ladies, and said he must come and flirt with them, &c. My daughter in the meantime kept on telling me that Mr. Baretti was grown very old and very cross, would not look at her exercises, but said he would leave this house soon, for it was no better than Pandæmonium. Accordingly, the next day he packed up his cloke-bag, which he had not done for three years, and sent it to town; and while we were wondering what he would say about it at breakfast, he was walking to London himself, without taking leave of any one person, except it may be the girl, who owns they had much talk, in the course of which he expressed great aversion to me and even to her, who, he said, he once thought well of.

"Now whether she had ever told the man things that I might have said of him in his absence, by way of provoking him to go, and so rid herself of his tuition; whether he was puffed up with the last 100 guineas and longed to be spending it _all' Italiano;_ whether he thought Mr. Thrale would call him back, and he should be better established here than ever; or whether he really was idiot enough to be angry at my threatening to whip Susan and Sophy for going out of bounds, although _he_ had given them leave, for Hetty said that was the first offence he took huff at, I never now shall know, for he never expressed himself as an offended man to me, except one day when he was not shaved at the proper hour forsooth, and then I would not quarrel with him, because nobody was by, and I knew him be so vile a lyar that I durst not trust his tongue with a dispute. He is gone, however, loaded with little presents from me, and with a large share too of my good opinion, though I most sincerely rejoice in his departure, and hope we shall never meet more but by chance.

"Since our quarrel I had occasion to talk of him with Tom Davies, who spoke with horror of his ferocious temper; 'and yet,' says I, 'there is great sensibility about Baretti: I have seen tears often stand in his eyes.' 'Indeed,' replies Davies, 'I should like to have seen that sight vastly, when--even butchers weep.'"

[Footnote 1: In "The Streatham Portraits." (See Vol. II.)]

His intractable character appears from his own account of the rupture:

"When Madam took it into her head to give herself airs, and treat me with some coldness and superciliousness, I did not hesitate to set down at breakfast my dish of tea not half drank, go for my hat and stick that lay in the corner of the room, turn my back to the house _insalutato hospite_, and walk away to London without uttering a syllable, fully resolved never to see her again, as was the case during no less than four years; nor had she and I ever met again as friends if she and her husband had not chanced upon me after that lapse of time at the house of a gentleman near Beckenham, and coaxed me into a reconciliation, which, as almost all reconciliations prove, was not very sincere on her side or mine; so that there was a total end of it on Mr. Thrale's demise, which happened about three years after."[1]

[Footnote 1: The European Magazine, 1788.]

The monotony of a constant residence at Streatham was varied by trips to Bath or Brighton; and it was so much a matter of course for Johnson to make one of the party, that when (1776), not expecting him so soon back from a journey with Boswell, the Thrale family and Baretti started for Bath without him, Boswell is disposed to treat their departure without the lexicographer as a slight:

"This was not showing the attention which might have been expected to the 'guide, philosopher, and friend;' the _Imlac_ who had hastened from the country to console a distressed mother, who he understood was very anxious for his return. They had, I found, without ceremony, proceeded on their journey. I was glad to understand from him that it was still resolved that his tour to Italy with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale should take place, of which he had entertained some doubt, on account of the loss which they had suffered; and his doubts afterwards appeared to be well founded. He observed, indeed, very justly, that 'their loss was an additional reason for their going abroad; and if it had not been fixed that he should have been one of the party, he would force them out; but he would not advise them unless his advice was asked, lest they might suspect that he recommended what he wished on his own account.' I was not pleased that his intimacy with Mr. Thrale's family, though it no doubt contributed much to his comfort and enjoyment, was not without some degree of restraint[1]: not, as has been grossly suggested[2], that it was required of him as a task to talk for the entertainment of them and their company; but that he was not quite at his ease: which, however, might partly be owing to his own honest pride--that dignity of mind which is always jealous of appearing too compliant."

[Footnote 1: (_Marginal note_). "What restraint can he mean? Johnson kept every one else under restraint."]

[Footnote 2: (_Marginal note._) "I do not believe it ever was suggested."]

In his first letter of condolence on Mr. Thrale's death, Johnson speaks of her having enjoyed happiness in marriage, "to a degree of which, without personal knowledge, I should have thought the description fabulous." The "Autobiography" and "Thraliana" tell a widely different tale. The mortification of not finding herself appreciated by her husband was poignantly increased, during the last years of his life, by finding another offensively preferred to her. He was so fascinated by one of her fair friends, as to lose sight altogether of what was due to appearances or to the feelings of his wife.

A full account of the lady in question is given in the "Thraliana":

"_Miss Streatfield_.--I have since heard that Dr. Collier picked up a more useful friend, a Mrs. Streatfield, a widow, high in fortune and rather eminent both for the beauties of person and mind; her children, I find, he has been educating; and her eldest daughter is just now coming out into the world with a great character for elegance and literature.--_20 November, 1776._"

"_19 May, 1778._--The person who wrote the title of this book at the top of the page, on the other side--left hand--in the black letter, was the identical Miss Sophia Streatfield, mentioned in 'Thraliana,' as pupil to poor dear Doctor Collier, after he and I had parted. By the chance meeting of some of the currents which keep this ocean of human life from stagnating, this lady and myself were driven together nine months ago at Brighthelmstone: we soon grew intimate from having often heard of each other, and I have now the honour and happiness of calling her my friend. Her face is eminently pretty; her carriage elegant; her heart affectionate, and her mind cultivated. There is above all this an attractive sweetness in her manner, which claims and promises to repay one's confidence, and which drew from me the secret of my keeping a 'Thraliana,' &c. &c. &c."

"_Jan. 1779._--Mr. Thrale is fallen in love, really and seriously, with Sophy Streatfield; but there is no wonder in that; she is very pretty, very gentle, soft, and insinuating; hangs about him, dances round him, cries when she parts from him, squeezes his hand slyly, and with her sweet eyes full of tears looks so fondly in his face[1]--and all for love of me as she pretends; that I can hardly, sometimes, help laughing in her face. A man must not be a _man_ but an _it_, to resist such artillery. Marriott said very well,

"'Man flatt'ring man, not always can prevail, But woman flatt'ring man, can never fail.'

"Murphy did not use, I think, to have a good opinion of me, but he seems to have changed his mind this Christmas, and to believe better of me. I am glad on't to be sure: the suffrage of such a man is well worth having: he sees Thrale's love of the fair S.S. I suppose: approves my silent and patient endurance of what I could not prevent by more rough and sincere behaviour."

[Footnote 1:

"And Merlin look'd and half believed her true, So tender was her voice, so fair her face, So sweetly gleam'd her eyes behind her tears, Like sunlight on the plain, behind a shower." _Idylls of The King.--Vivien._]

"20 _January_, 1780.--Sophy Streatfield is come to town: she is in the 'Morning Post' too, I see (to be in the 'Morning Post' is no good thing). She has won Wedderburne's heart from his wife, I believe, and few married women will bear _that_ patiently if I do; they will some of them wound her reputation, so that I question whether it can recover. Lady Erskine made many odd inquiries about her to me yesterday, and winked and looked wise at her sister. The dear S.S. must be a little on her guard; nothing is so spiteful as a woman robbed of a heart she thinks she has a claim upon. She will not lose _that_ with temper, which she has taken perhaps no pains at all to preserve: and I do not observe with any pleasure, I fear, that my husband prefers Miss Streatfield to me, though I must acknowledge her younger, handsomer, and a better scholar. Of her chastity, however, I never had a doubt: she was bred by Dr. Collier in the strictest principles of piety and virtue; she not only knows she will be always chaste, but she knows why she will be so.[1] Mr. Thrale is now by dint of disease quite out of the question, so I am a disinterested spectator; but her coquetry is very dangerous indeed, and I wish she were married that there might be an end on't. Mr. Thrale loves her, however, sick or well, better by a thousand degrees than he does me or any one else, and even now desires nothing on earth half so much as the sight of his Sophia.

"'E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries! E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires!'

"The Saturday before Mr. Thrale was taken ill, Saturday, 19th February--he was struck Monday, 21st February--we had a large party to tea, cards, and supper; Miss Streatfield was one, and as Mr. Thrale sate by her, he pressed her hand to his heart (as she told me herself), and said 'Sophy, we shall not enjoy this long, and to-night I will not be cheated of my only comfort.' Poor soul! how shockingly tender! On the first Fryday that he spoke after his stupor, she came to see him, and as she sate by the bedside pitying him, 'Oh,' says he, 'who would not suffer even all that I have endured to be pitied by you!' This I heard myself."

[Footnote 1:

"Besides, her inborn virtue fortify, They are most firmly good, who best know why."]

"Here is Sophy Streatfield again, handsomer than ever, and flushed with new conquests; the Bishop of Chester feels her power, I am sure; she showed me a letter from him that was as tender and had all the tokens upon it as strong as ever I remember to have seen 'em; I repeated to her out of Pope's Homer--'Very well, Sophy,' says I:

"'Range undisturb'd among the hostile crew, But touch not Hinchliffe[1], Hinchliffe is my due.'

Miss Streatfield (says my master) could have quoted these lines in the Greek; his saying so piqued me, and piqued me because it was true. I wish I understood Greek! Mr. Thrale's preference of her to me never vexed me so much as my consciousness--or fear at least--that he has reason for his preference. She has ten times my beauty, and five times my scholarship: wit and knowledge has she none."

[Footnote 1: For Hector. Hinchliffe was Bishop of Peterborough.]

"_May_, 1781.--Sophy Streatfield is an incomprehensible girl; here has she been telling me such tender passages of what passed between her and Mr. Thrale, that she half frights me somehow, at the same time declaring her attachment to Vyse yet her willingness to marry Lord Loughborough. Good God! what an uncommon girl! and handsome almost to perfection, I think: delicate in her manners, soft in her voice, and strict in her principles: I never saw such a character, she is wholly out of my reach; and I can only say that the man who runs mad for Sophy Streatfield has no reason to be ashamed of his passion; few people, however, seem disposed to take her for life--everybody's admiration, as Mrs. Byron says, and nobody's choice.

"_Streatham, January 1st_, 1782.--Sophy Streatfield has begun the new year nicely with a new conquest. Poor dear Doctor Burney! _he_ is now the reigning favourite, and she spares neither pains nor caresses to turn that good man's head, much to the vexation of his family; particularly my Fanny, who is naturally provoked to see sport made of her father in his last stage of life by a young coquet, whose sole employment in this world seems to have been winning men's hearts on purpose to fling them away. How she contrives to keep bishops, and brewers, and doctors, and directors of the East India Company, all in chains so, and almost all at the same time, would amaze a wiser person than me; I can only say let us mark the end! Hester will perhaps see her out and pronounce, like Solon, on her wisdom and conduct."

As this lady has excited great interest, and was much with the Thrales, I will add what I have been able to ascertain concerning her. She is frequently mentioned in Madame D'Arblay's Diary:

"_Streatham, Sept_. 1778.--To be sure she (Mrs. Thrale) saw it was not totally disagreeable to me; though I was really astounded when she hinted at my becoming a rival to Miss Streatfield in the Doctor's good graces.

"'I had a long letter,' she said, 'from Sophy Streatfield t'other day, and she sent Dr. Johnson her elegant edition of the 'Classics;' but when he had read the letter, he said 'she is a sweet creature, and I love her much; but my little Burney writes a better letter.' Now,' continued she, 'that is just what I wished him to say of you both.'"

"_Streatham, Sept_. 1779.--Mr. Seward, you know, told me that she had tears at command, and I begin to think so too, for when Mrs. Thrale, who had previously told me I should see her cry, began coaxing her to stay, and saying, 'If you go, I shall know you don't love me so well as Lady Gresham,'--she did cry, not loud indeed, nor much, but the tears came into her eyes, and rolled down her fine cheeks.

"'Come hither, Miss Burney,' cried Mrs. Thrale; 'come and see Miss Streatfield cry!'

"I thought it a mere _badinage_. I went to them, but when I saw real tears, I was shocked, and saying, 'No, I won't look at her,' ran away frightened, lest she should think I laughed at her, which Mrs. Thrale did so openly, that, as I told her, had she served me so, I should have been affronted with her ever after.

"Miss Streatfield, however, whether from a sweetness not to be ruffled, or from not perceiving there was any room for taking offence, gently wiped her eyes, and was perfectly composed!"

"_Streatham, June_, 1779.--Seward, said Mrs. Thrale, had affronted Johnson, and then Johnson affronted Seward, and then the S.S. cried.

"_Sir Philip_ (_Clerke_).--Well, I have heard so much of these tears, that I would give the universe to have a sight of them.

"_Mrs. Thrale_.--Well, she shall cry again, if you like it.

"_S.S._.--No, pray, Mrs. Thrale.

"_Sir Philip_.--Oh, pray do! pray let me see a little of it.

"_Mrs. Thrale_.--Yes, do cry a little Sophy [in a wheedling voice], pray do! Consider, now, you are going to-day, and it's very hard if you won't cry a little: indeed, S.S., you ought to cry.

"Now for the wonder of wonders. When Mrs. Thrale, in a coaxing voice, suited to a nurse soothing a baby, had run on for some time,--while all the rest of us, in laughter, joined in the request,--two crystal tears came into the soft eyes of the S.S., and rolled gently down her cheeks! Such a sight I never saw before, nor could I have believed. She offered not to conceal or dissipate them: on the contrary, she really contrived to have them seen by everybody. She looked, indeed, uncommonly handsome; for her pretty face was not, like Chloe's, blubbered; it was smooth and elegant, and neither her features nor complexion were at all ruffled; nay, indeed, she was smiling all the time.

"'Look, look!' cried Mrs. Thrale; 'see if the tears are not come already.'

"Loud and rude bursts of laughter broke from us all at once. How, indeed, could they be restrained?"

"_Streatham, Sunday, June_ 13, 1779.--After church we all strolled round the grounds, and the topic of our discourse was Miss Streatfield. Mrs. Thrale asserted that she had a power of captivation that was irresistible; that her beauty, joined to her softness, her caressing manners, her tearful eyes, and alluring looks, would insinuate her into the heart of any man she thought worth attacking.

"Sir Philip declared himself of a totally different opinion, and quoted Dr. Johnson against her, who had told him that, taking away her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly.

"Mr. Seward declared her Greek was all against her with him, for that, instead of reading Pope, Swift, or the Spectator--books from which she might derive useful knowledge and improvement--it had led her to devote all her reading time to the first eight books of Homer.

"'But,' said Mrs. Thrale, 'her Greek, you must own, has made all her celebrity;--you would have heard no more of her than of any other pretty girl, but for that.'

"'What I object to,' said Sir Philip, 'is her avowed preference for this parson. Surely it is very indelicate in any lady to let all the world know with whom she is in love!"

"'The parson,' said the severe Mr. Seward, 'I suppose, spoke first,--or she would as soon have been in love with you, or with me!'

"You will easily believe I gave him no pleasant look."

The parson was the Rev. Dr. Vyse, Rector of Lambeth. He had made an imprudent marriage early in life, and was separated from his wife, of whom he hoped to get rid either by divorce or by her death, as she was reported to be in bad health. Under these circumstances, he had entered into a conditional engagement with the fair S.S.; but eventually threw her over, either in despair at his wife's longevity or from caprice. On the mention of his name by Boswell, Mrs. Piozzi writes opposite: "whose connection with Sophia Streatfield was afterwards so much talked about, and I suppose never understood: certainly not at all by H.L.P." To return to the D'Arblay Diary:

"_Streatham, June_ 14, 1781.--We had my dear father and Sophy Streatfield, who, as usual, was beautiful, caressing, amiable, sweet, and--fatiguing."

"_Streatham, Aug_. 1781.--Some time after Sophy Streatfield was talked of,--Oh, with how much impertinence! as if she was at the service of any man who would make proposals to her! Yet Mr. Seward spoke of her with praise and tenderness all the time, as if, though firmly of this opinion, he was warmly her admirer. From such admirers and such admiration Heaven guard me! Mr. Crutchley said but little; but that little was bitter enough.

"'However,' said Mr. Seward, 'after all that can be said, there is nobody whose manners are more engaging, nobody more amiable than the little Sophy; and she is certainly very pretty; I must own I have always been afraid to trust myself with her.'

"Here Mr. Crutchley looked very sneeringly.

"'Nay, 'squire,' cried Mr. Seward, 'she is very dangerous, I can tell you; and if she had you at a fair trial, she would make an impression that would soften-even your hard heart.'

"'No need of any further trial,' said he, laughing, 'for she has done that already; and so soft was the impression that it absolutely all dissolved!--melted quite away, and not a trace of it left!'

"Mr. Seward then proposed that she should marry Sir John Miller, who has just lost his wife; and very gravely said, he had a great mind to set out for Tunbridge, and carry her with him to Bath, and so make the match without delay!

"'But surely,' said Mrs. Thrale, 'if you fail, you will think yourself bound in honour to marry her yourself?'

"'Why, that's the thing,' said he; 'no, I can't take the little Sophy myself; I should have too many rivals; rivals; no, that won't do.'

"How abominably conceited and _sure_ these pretty gentlemen are! However, Mr. Crutchley here made a speech that half won my heart.

"'I wish,' said he, 'Miss Streatfield was here at this moment to cuff you, Seward!'

"'Cuff me,' cried he. 'What, the little Sophy!--and why?'

"'For disposing of her so freely. I think a man deserves to be cuffed for saying _any_ lady will marry him.'

"I seconded this speech with much approbation."

"_London, Jan._ 1783.--Before they went came Miss Streatfield, looking pale, but very elegant and pretty. She was in high spirits, and I hope has some reason. She made, at least, speeches that provoked such surmises. When the Jacksons went,--

"'That,' said I, 'is the celebrated Jackson of Exeter; I dare say you would like him if you knew him.'

"'I dare say I should,' cried she, simpering; 'for he has the two requisites for me,--he is tall and thin.'

"To be sure, this did not at all call for raillery! Dr. Vyse has always been distinguished by these two epithets. I said, however, nothing, as my mother was present; but she would not let my looks pass unnoticed.

"'Oh!' cried she, 'how wicked you look!--No need of seeing Mrs. Siddons for expression!--However, you know how much that is my taste,--tall and thin!--but you don't know how _apropos_ it is just now!'"

Nine years after the last entry, we find:

"_May_ 25, 1792.--We now met Mrs. Porteous; and who should be with her but the poor pretty S.S., whom so long I had not seen, and who has now lately been finally given up by her long-sought and very injurious lover, Dr. Vyse?