And now for a scene a little surprising.
The beautiful chapel of St. George, repaired and finished by the best artists at an immense expense, which was now opened after a very long shutting up for its preparations, brought in- numerable strangers to Windsor, and, among others, Mr. Boswell.
This I heard, in my way to the chapel, from Mr. Turbulent, who overtook me, and mentioned having met Mr. Boswell at the Bishop of Carlisle’s the evening, before. He proposed bringing him to call upon me; but this I declined, certain how little satisfaction would be given here by the entrance of a man so famous for compiling anecdotes. But yet I really wished to see him again, for old acquaintance sake, and unavoidable amusement from his oddity and good humour, as well as respect for the object of his constant admiration, my revered Dr. Johnson. I therefore told Mr. Turbulent I should be extremely glad to speak with him after the service was over.
Accordingly, at the gate of the choir, Mr. Turbulent brought him to me. We saluted With mutual glee: his comic-serious face and manner have lost nothing of their wonted singularity nor yet have his mind and language, as you will soon confess.
“I am extremely glad to see you indeed,” he cried, “but very sorry to see you here. My dear ma’am, why do you stay?—it won’t do, ma’am! You must resign!—we can put up with it no longer. I told my good host the bishop so last night; we are all grown quite outrageous!”
Whether I laughed the most, or stared the most, I am at a loss to say, but i hurried away from the cathedral, not to have such treasonable declarations overheard, for we were surrounded by a multitude.
He accompanied me, however, not losing one moment in continuing his exhortations: “If you do not quit, ma’am, very soon, some violent measures, I assure you, will be taken. We shall address Dr. Burney in a body; I am ready to make the harangue myself. We shall fall upon him all at once.”
I stopped him to inquire about Sir Joshua; he said he saw him very often, and that his spirits were very good. I asked about Mr. Burke’s book.[339] “O,” cried he “it Will come Out next week: ’tis the first book in the World, except my own, and that’s coming out also very soon; only I want your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes, madam,—you must give me some of your choice little notes of the doctor’s; we have seen him long enough upon stilts; I want to show him in a new light. Grave Sam, and great Sam, and solemn Sam, and learned Sam,—all these he has appeared over and over. Now I want to entwine a wreath of the graces across his brow; I want to show him as gay Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant Sam; so you must help me with some of his beautiful billets to yourself.”
I evaded this by declaring I had not any stores at hand. He proposed a thousand curious expedients to get at them, but I was invincible.
Then I was hurrying on, lest I should be too late. He followed eagerly, and again exclaimed, “But, ma’am, as I tell you, this won’t do; you must resign off hand! Why, I would farm you out myself for double, treble the money! I wish I had the regulation of such a farm,—yet I am no farmer-general. But I should like to farm you, and so I will tell Dr. Burney. I mean to address him; I have a speech ready for the first opportunity.”
He then told me his “Life of Dr. Johnson” was nearly printed, and took a proof-sheet out of his pocket to show me; with crowds passing and repassing, knowing me well, and staring well at him: for we were now at the iron rails of the Queen’s lodge.
I stopped; I could not ask him in: I saw he expected it, and was reduced to apologise, and tell him I must attend the queen immediately.
He uttered again stronger and stronger exhortations for my retreat, accompanied by expressions which I was obliged to check in their bud. But finding he had no chance for entering, he stopped me again at the gate, and said he would read me a part of his work.
There was no refusing this: and he began with a letter of Dr. Johnson’s to himself. He read it in strong imitation of the doctor’s manner, very well, and not caricature. But Mrs. Schwellenberg was at her window, a crowd was gathering to stand round the rails, and the king and queen and royal family now approached from the Terrace. I made a rather quick apology, and, with a step as quick as my now weakened limbs have left in my power, I hurried to my apartment.
You may suppose I had inquiries enough, from all around, of “Who was the gentleman I was talking to at the rails?” And an injunction rather frank not to admit him beyond those limits.
However, I saw him again the next morning, in coming from early prayers, and he again renewed his remonstrances, and his petition for my letters of Dr. Johnson. I cannot consent to print private letters, even of a man so justly celebrated, when addressed to myself: no, I shall hold sacred those revered and but too scarce testimonies of the high honour his kindness conferred upon me. One letter I have from him that is a masterpiece of elegance and kindness united. ‘Twas his last.