She will here copy, from the diary she sent to Boulogne, an account of what, eventually, though unsuspectedly, proved to be her last interview with this venerated friend.
To Mrs. Phillips.
25th Nov. 1784.—Our dear father lent me the carriage this morning for Bolt Court. You will easily conceive how gladly I seized the opportunity for making a longer visit than usual to my revered Dr. Johnson, whose health, since his return from Litchfield, has been deplorably deteriorated.
He was alone, and I had a more satisfactory and entertaining conversation with him than I have had for many months past. He was in better spirits, too, than I have seen him, except upon our first meeting, since he came back to Bolt Court.
He owned, nevertheless, that his nights were grievously restless and painful; and told me that he was going, by medical advice, to try what sleeping out of town might do for him. And then, with a smile, but a smile of more sadness than mirth!—he added: “I remember that my wife, when she was near her end, poor woman!—was also advised to sleep out of town: and when she was carried to the lodging that had been prepared for her, she complained that the staircase was in very bad condition; for the plaister was beaten off the walls in many places. ‘O!’ said the man of the house, ‘that’s nothing; it’s only the knocks against it of the coffins of the poor souls that have died in the lodging.’”
He forced a faint laugh at the man’s brutal honesty; but it was a laugh of ill-disguised, though checked, secret anguish.
I felt inexpressibly shocked, both by the perspective and retrospective view of this relation: but, desirous to confine my words to the literal story, I only exclaimed against the man’s unfeeling absurdity in making so unnecessary a confession.
“True!” he cried; “such a confession, to a person then mounting his stairs for the recovery of her health—or, rather, for the preservation of her life, contains, indeed, more absurdity than we can well lay our account to.”
We talked then of poor Mrs. Thrale—but only for a moment—for I saw him so greatly moved, and with such severity of displeasure, that I hastened to start another subject; and he solemnly enjoined me to mention that no more!