Sunday 3 November 2013

A very nice human being


One of the highlights of the recent trip to London to visit Green-Eyes was also visiting the house of Samuel Johnson - a little oasis of 18th century peace, tucked away in Gough Square, just off Fleet Street. It is now overshadowed by massive office blocks and the view from the windows bears hardly any similarity to what Johnson would have seen when looking out of them.

"Who is Samuel Johnson?' asked G.E. From her, this was an understandable question, but - sad to say - I have been asked the same one by a few much older people when I mentioned him and his house.

Johnson rented this house to be near to his printer, and he spent many years as 'a harmless drudge', composing the first definitive English dictionary in its garret.

He often infuriated his wife by physically carrying home crippled beggars to feed, who he had taken pity on in the nearby streets. When she left him heartbroken by dying, a friend 'gave' him a ten year-old Jamaican boy  - Francis Barber - as a slave, and this boy quickly graduated from 'manservant' to friend and companion.

His freedom was guaranteed by Dr Johnson (who abhorred slavery) from the start, and Frank was the sole inheritor of Johnson's material wealth at the finish. He left him all he had. Frank's portrait was commissioned by Johnson, and shows the level of respect he had for his life-long companion in a time of callous treatment toward most dark-skinned people.

Despite his disregard for personal hygiene (Woman seated next to him at dinner-table: "Sir, you Smell." Lexicographer: "No madam, you smell, I stink.") and appalling eating habits and table-manners, he must have been a very nice human being indeed.

I can just hear him now, correcting me on the use of the word 'nice', but he would have thought of himself as 'nice' at his work, so I am leaving it as it is.



20 comments:

  1. This story sounds familiar. Was there a movie about Mr. Johnson? Or perhaps a book? Either way, once again I am less ignorant than I was 5 minutes ago before reading your blog. Thanks again Tom.

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    1. The book about Johnson was written by his best friend and travelling companion, James Boswell. I don't remember any film, but there could have been.

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  2. That is such a great portrait ...
    and I like his answer to the woman. Of course we smell. I'd hate not being able to smell things.

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    1. Can I keep that apostrophe in 'it's' please? I need it.

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    2. Oh, now I see. I didn't actually need it. I'll save it for something else... (mumble....)

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    3. (mumble.... 'king writers.... mumble...)

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  3. Nurture that apostrophe for later Tom. You'll never know when you will need it.

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    1. I might have to open up a Greengrocer's's shop - they are piling up now.

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  4. One of my English lit classes was devoted entirely to Dr. Johnson, it seemed. "My dear friend, clear your mind of can't." Probably became the dreadful millennium's quote to the effect their is no can't, just do.
    Is that his home, with the nine over nine windows?

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    1. Yes, that's it. These days, he would say to me, "My dear friend, clear your mind of cunt."

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  5. He was born in Lichfield, where I lived for some years. You can still visit his house there. A nice man indeed.

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    1. Yes - maybe it's because he was from T' North (just got rid of another apostrophe)

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  6. I visited S. Johnson's house too when I was in London in June - and was a bit disappointed (have to look up my diary to see why - a bit unlovingly it was presented by the curators, I think). S.J. was a fascinating person. -I didn't know about Frances Barber - but prefer to read about him than sit beside him. Then.

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    1. What was unloving about the presentation?

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    2. Also, how can you have missed Francis Barber, with his huge portrait hanging on the wall of a very small room there?

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    3. I had only 15 minutes left to see it all - finding it was not that easy - and in that time I had to take some notes. As to the presentation I will write about it soon.

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  7. I believe that Johnson exhibited one of the first known cases of Tourettes (sp?), so he probably not only stank at table, but also used fucking awful language.

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    1. Apparently he would fall into a sort of eating frenzy, stuffing the food down with pig-like grunts etc. In the short time that the food was consumed, he was supposed to have been oblivious to any attempts to make polite conversation.

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  8. Handsome building. I agree with Donna, nearly every time i read a blog entry from you, i learn something.

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    1. I hope I'm not too boring - I think I may be getting that way.

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