The Jessamy Bride

by Frank Frankfort Moore

It was the afternoon of the next day before he set out once more for the Hornecks.

He meant to see Mary, and then go on to Sir Joshua Reynolds's to dine. There was to be that night a meeting of the Royal Academy, which he would attend with the president, after Sir Joshua's usual five o'clock dinner. It occurred to him that, as Baretti would also most probably be at the meeting, he would do well to make him acquainted with the dangerous character of Jackson, so that Baretti might take due precautions against any attack that the desperate man might be induced to make upon him. No doubt Baretti would make a good point in conversation with his friends of the notion of Oliver Goldsmith's counselling caution to any one; but the latter was determined to give the Italian his advice on this matter, whatever the consequences might be.

It so happened, however, that he was unable to carry out his intention in full, for on visiting Mrs. Horneck, he learned that Mary would not return from Barton until late that night, and at the meeting of the Academy Baretti failed to put in an appearance.

He mentioned to Sir Joshua that he had something of importance to communicate to the Italian, and that he was somewhat uneasy at not having a chance of carrying out his intention in this respect.

“You would do well, then, to come to my house for supper,” said Reynolds. “I think it is very probable that Baretti will look in, if only to apologise for his absence from the meeting. Miss Kauffman has promised to come, and I have secured Johnson as well.”

Goldsmith agreed, and while Johnson and Angelica Kauffman walked in front, he followed with Reynolds some distance behind—not so far, however, as to be out of the range of Johnson's voice. Johnson was engaged in a discourse with his sweet companion—he was particularly fond of such companionship—on the dignity inseparable from a classic style in painting, and the enormity of painting men and women in the habiliments of their period and country. Angelica Kauffman was not a painter who required any considerable amount of remonstrance from her preceptors to keep her feet from straying in regard to classical traditions. The artist who gave the purest Greek features and the Roman toga alike to the Prodigal Son and King Edward III could not be said to be capable of greatly erring from Dr. Johnson's precepts.

All through supper the sage continued his discourse at intervals of eating, giving his hearty commendation to Sir Joshua's conscientious adherence to classical traditions, and shouting down Goldsmith's mild suggestion that it might be possible to adhere to these traditions so faithfully as to inculcate a certain artificiality of style which might eventually prove detrimental to the best interests of art.

“What, sir!” cried Johnson, rolling like a three-decker swinging at anchor, and pursing out his lips, “would you contend that a member of Parliament should be painted for posterity in his every-day clothes—that the King should be depicted as an ordinary gentleman?”

“Why, yes, sir, if the King were an ordinary gentleman,” replied Goldsmith.

Whitefoord, who never could resist the chance of making a pun, whispered to Oliver that in respect of some Kings there was more of the ordinary than the gentleman about them, and when Miss Reynolds insisted on his phrase being repeated to her, Johnson became grave.