Читать книгу The Jessamy Bride - Frank Frankfort Moore - Страница 6

But Dr. Johnson had turned his back upon the stranger, and had picked up a volume which Tom Davies, the bookseller, had sent to him at the Crown and Anchor, and had buried his face in its pages, bending it, as was his wont, until the stitching had cracked, and the back was already loose.

“Your great friend, Noll, is no lover of books, or he would treat them with greater tenderness,” said the clergyman. “I would fain hope that the purchasers of his dictionary treat it more fairly than he does the work of others. When did he bring out his dictionary?”

“Eighteen years ago,” said Oliver.

“And what books has he written within the intervening years?”

“He has been a constant writer, sir, and is the most highly esteemed of our authors.”

“Nay, sir, but give me a list of his books published within the past eighteen years, so that I may repair my deplorable ignorance. You, cousin, have written many works that the world would not willingly be without; and I hear that you are about to add to that already honourable list; but your friend—oh, you have deceived me, Oliver!—he is no true worker in literature, or he would—nay, he could not, have remained idle all these years. How does he obtain his means of living if he will not use his pen?”

“He has a pension from the King, sir,” stuttered Oliver. “I tell you, sir, he is the most learned man in Europe.”

“His is a sad case,” said the clergyman. “To refrain from administering to him the rebuke which he deserves would be to neglect an obvious duty.” He took a few steps towards Johnson and raised his head. Goldsmith fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands; Boswell's jaw fell; Burke and Reynolds looked by turns grave and amused. “Dr. Johnson,” said the stranger, “I feel that it is my duty as a clergyman to urge upon you to amend your way of life.”

“Sir,” shouted Johnson, “if you were not a clergyman I would say that you were a very impertinent fellow!”

“Your way of receiving a rebuke which your conscience—if you have one—tells you that you have earned, supplements in no small measure the knowledge of your character which I have obtained since entering this room, sir. You may be a man of some parts, Dr. Johnson, but you have acknowledged yourself to be as intolerant in matters of religion as you have proved yourself to be intolerant of rebuke, offered to you in a friendly spirit. It seems to me that your habit is to browbeat your friends into acquiescence with every dictum that comes from your lips, though they are workers—not without honour—at that profession of letters which you despise—nay, sir, do not interrupt me. If you did not despise letters, you would not have allowed eighteen years of your life to pass without printing at least as many books. Think you, sir, that a pension was granted to you by the state to enable you to eat the bread of idleness while your betters are starving in their garrets? Dr. Johnson, if your name should go down to posterity, how do you think you will be regarded by all discriminating men? Do you think that those tavern dinners at which you sit at the head of the table and shout down all who differ from you, will be placed to your credit to balance your love of idleness and your intolerance? That is the question which I leave with you; I pray you to consider it well; and so, sir, I take my leave of you. Gentlemen, Cousin Oliver, farewell, sirs. I trust I have not spoken in vain.”

He made a general bow—an awkward bow—and walked with some dignity to the door. Then he turned and bowed again before leaving the room.