No More Learning

It is the solid book of an 'unclubbable'
magistrate and antiquary, who has much knowledge and little
intuition. He had known Johnson for over forty years and, on
many points, is our chief authority. Much of the value of his
book lies in the lengthy digressions on contemporary literature.
His lack of sympathy made him unsuited for biography; but
we are under a debt to him for the facts which he threw to-
gether.
The merits of Mrs Piozzi and Hawkins were united and aug-
mented by Boswell. He had been collecting material since his
first interview in 1763. He had told Johnson his purpose by 1772,
and he had spoken definitely of his Life in a letter of 1775. After
Johnson's death, he set to work in earnest and spared himself no
trouble.
a
You cannot imagine,' he wrote in 1789, what labour, what perplexity, what
vexation I have endured in arranging a prodigious multiplicity of materials,
in supplying omissions, in searching for papers buried in different masses,
and all this besides the exertion of composing and polishing: many a time
have I thought of giving it up. '


## p. 190 (#216) ############################################

190
Johnson and Boswell
But he was confident in the result. It was to be not merely the
best biography of Johnson, but the best biography ever written.
'I am absolutely certain,' he said, 'that my mode of biography, which gives
not only a History of Johnson's visible progress through the world, and of his
publications, but a view of his mind in his letters and conversations, is the
most perfect that can be conceived, and will be more of a Life than any work
that has ever yet appeared. '
When the book at last came out, in May 1791, the same confidence
was expressed in the opening paragraphs. There, he admits that
the idea of interspersing letters had been taken from Mason’s life of
Gray. He had made a careful study of the art of biography; and
the Anecdotes of Mrs Piozzi, which had shown the necessity of a
careful handling of intimate material, and the facts of Hawkins,
which had proved the inadequacy of simple narrative, had reassured
him that he was engaged on the real life of his friend.
Johnson owes much to Boswell; but it was Johnson who gave us
Boswell. His life is the story of failure turned to success by an
irresistible devotion. He had always been attracted by whatever
won the public attention, partly from scientific curiosity, as when he
visited Mrs Rudd, and partly with a view to his own advancement.
In the first of his letters, he says that Hume ‘is a very proper
person for a young man to cultivate an acquaintance with. ' He
comes to know Wilkes, but doubts if it would be proper to keep
a correspondence with a gentleman in his present capacity. ' The
chief pleasure that he foresaw in his continental tour was his
meeting with Voltaire and Rousseau. Then, he proceeded to
Corsica and became the friend and enthusiastic champion of Paoli.
Having received a communication on Corsican affairs from the
earl of Chatham, he asks: ‘Could your lordship find time to honour
me now and then with a letter? ' Again, he is found thinking of
a life of lord Kames and satisfying himself that he has eminence
enough to merit this. There was cause for the sturdy laird of
Auchinleck to complain, according to Sir Walter Scott's anecdote,
that his irresponsible son was always pinning himself to the tail of
somebody or other. But, of all his heroes, Johnson alone brought
out the best qualities in his volatile character, and steadied him to
the worthy use of his rare gifts. When Johnson is absent, his
writings possess no remarkable merit, though they have always the
interest of being the pellucid expression of his singular personality.
The Life is the devoted and flawless recognition of an influence
which he knew that his nature had required.
Born at Edinburgh in 1740, the son of a Scottish advocate who


## p. 191 (#217) ############################################

Boswell's Earlier Life
191
a
6
took his title as a judge from his ancient estate of Auchinleck in
Ayrshire, Boswell reluctantly adopted the family profession of law,
and, after studying at Edinburgh, Glasgow and Utrecht, was called
to the Scottish bar in 1766. His heart was never in a legal career,
and, to the last, he had a fond belief in sudden and splendid suc-
cess in literature or politics. His earliest work appeared in The
Scots Magazine, but has not been identified. He wrote much verse
and published An Elegy on the death of an amiable young lady
(1761), An Ode to Tragedy, dedicated to himself (1761), and The
Cub at Newmarket, a humorous description of his experiences
as the guest of the Jockey club (1762). Several of his earliest
pieces are printed in A Collection of Original Poems, by the
Rev. Mr Blacklock and other Scotch Gentlemen (1760—2), the
second volume of which he edited'. He frequented the literary
society of Edinburgh, founded the jovial “Soaping Club' and
engaged in regular correspondence with his friends. The Letters
between the Hon. Andrew Erskine and James Boswell Esq. , in
which, also, there is much verse, he published in 1763. "They have
made ourselves laugh,' says the advertisement; 'we hope they will
have the same effect upon other people. They were hardly worth
publishing, though we should be sorry now not to have them. In
the description of a long series of daydreams, given with the
characteristic vanity which is always saved by its frankness, he
says:
I am thinking of the perfect knowledge which I shall acquire of men and
manners, of the intimacies which I shall have the honour to form with the
learned and ingenious in every science, and of the many amusing literary
anecdotes which I shall pick up.
This was published, from Flexney's shop in Holborn, in the very
month that he met Johnson in Davies's parlour. Shortly before
this, he had brought out, with Erskine and George Dempster, his
two associates in much of his early work, the rare Critical Stric-
tures on Mallet's Elvira. He returned to Edinburgh from his
continental travels in 1766, and, being admitted to the bar in the
midst of the excitement about the Douglas cause, found in it
material for Dorando (June 1767), which recounts the points at
issue under a Spanish disguise, and appeared immediately before
the thirteen Scottish judges, by a majority of one, arrived at a
decision contrary to his wishes. The little story went into three
1 The manuscripts of many of Boswell's poems written between 1760 and 1768, several
of them unprinted, are in the Bodleian library--MS Douce 193. The collection includes
a 'Plan of a Volume of Poems to be published for me by Becket and Dehorde. '


## p. 192 (#218) ############################################

192 Johnson and Boswell
editions within a fortnight, but it now disappoints the hopes
excited by its rarity. As the case was sent up to the House of
Lords, where the decision was ultimately reversed, Boswell con-
tinued to write about it and brought out the more serious Essence
of the Douglas Cause (November 1767). He took an energetic
part in the riotous controversy concerning the Edinburgh stage
and supplied the prologue for the opening of the first licensed
theatre in Scotland! At the same time, he was engaged on his
Corsican experiences. An Account of Corsica had been read by
Lord Hailes in manuscript in June 1767, and was issued in March
1768. It is Boswell's first considerable book, and, indeed, his only
book, apart from those concerned with Johnson, that had a chance
of being remembered on its merits. It won what he calls 'amazing
celebrity'; he could boast that he was 'really the great man now. '
His head was full of Corsica and was not to be emptied of it, even
on Johnson's advice. He made a collection of twenty letters by
himself and others, and published them under the title British
Essays in favour of the Brave Corsicans (January 1769); and,
in the following September, he appeared at the Shakespeare
festival at Stratford in the dress of an armed Corsican chief and
recited a poem that 'preserved the true Corsican character. ' A
description of the proceedings, an account of himself, and the poem
were immediately contributed by him to The London Magazine.
Two months later, he married, and then tried to settle to his
legal practice. From this time, the influence of Johnson, already
evident in An Account of Corsica, grew steadily stronger. He
was not satisfied with Edinburgh after the splendour of London.
'The unpleasing tone, the rude familiarity, the barren conver-
sation,' he complains, `really hurt my feelings. But he had
to content himself with lengthy visits to London in vacation,
which were the more indispensable when Johnson had procured
his election to The Club, and he had become a proprietor of
The London Magazine. He contributed to it, monthly, a series
of seventy periodical essays called The Hypochondriack (1777–
83), for which he found much material in himself. There is also
much in them that was inspired by the dominating friendship.
They take The Rambler as their model, and are the most John-
sonian of his writings. After the death of his father and his own
1 The prologue was printed in The Scots Magazine for November 1767; see, also, The
European Magazine for May 1791 and Dibdin, J. C. , Annals of the Edinburgh Stage
(1888), pp. 143—8, and 493. The Songs in the Justiciary Opera, privately printed for
Alexander Boswell in 1816, belong to this time.


## p. 193 (#219) ############################################

His Later Life
193
succession to Auchinleck, in 1782, he turned to politics, and carried
out his ambition of becoming a member of the English bar, but to
no purpose. He stood for parliament, and published two letters
'to the people of Scotland'; one, On the Present State of the
Nation (1783), and the other, On the Alarming Attempt to
infringe the Articles of the Union (1785). All he obtained was the
recordership of Carlisle, which he soon resigned. In his last years,
which were saddened by the loss of his wife and troubled with
financial difficulties, he is still found hoping that practice may
come at any time and expecting “a capital prize. ' He confesses
that he no longer lives with a view to have surprising incidents,
though he is still desirous that his life 'should tell. ' But he begins
to waken from the long delusion and, in a melancholy moment,
admits: 'I certainly am constitutionally unfit for any employment
He was then on the point of achievement. His life was to tell
better than he knew, and in another way than he had hoped. His
friendship for Johnson was helping him in these years to do what
he was unable to do for himself. Without Johnson, he relapses to
the level of his early verse in No Abolition of Slavery; or the
Universal Empire of Love (April 1791)? . And, when the effort
of producing the great work is over, there remains only the
record of steady decline, varied by new schemes of matrimony,
and cheered by large sales and the preparation of new editions.
He died in London, 19 May 1795. From 1758 to within a few weeks
of his death, he had corresponded regularly with William Johnson
Temple, a fellow student in the Greek class at Edinburgh who
became vicar of St Gluvias in Cornwall; and these letters, which
had been sold by a hawker at Boulogne and were rescued to be
published in 1857, give us his real autobiography? They tell us
much more than the many descriptions of himself, from his Ode
to Tragedy to the ‘Memoirs’ in the European Magazine of 1791 3.
1 A copy of this rare piece is now in the Bodleian library. It was for long doubt.
ful if it had been published, but a review with copious extracts had been given in The
Gentleman's Magazine for April 1791.
· Boswell thought of an autobiography. “My journal,' he says, “will afford materials
for a very curious narrative' (letter to Temple, 22 May 1789). The first record of a
journal is in his letter to Temple of 16 December 1758. The journal was destroyed;
but a portfolio of papers, each inscribed • Boswelliana,' escaped. They are now in the
possession of the marquess of Crewe, and were edited by Charles Rogers for the
Grampian club in 1874. Boswell thought also of editions of Johnson's poems,
Walton's Lives, and the autobiography of Sir Robert Sibbald; a work maintaining the
merit of Addison's poetry; histories of Sweden, James IV, and the '45; a life of
Thomas Ruddiman; and an account of the Isle of Man. These, and others, are men.
tioned in the Life of Johnson ; and yet other projects are mentioned elsewhere.
3 If he did not write these · Memoirs,' he certainly supplied their material.
13
a
6
E. L. X.
CH. VIII.


## p. 194 (#220) ############################################

194
Johnson and Boswell
6
If they show why his descendants decided on a holocaust of his
papers, they also explain the attraction which he exerted on those
who took the trouble to try to understand him.
But, if Boswell without Johnson would have been forgotten, it
was his own talent that gave the Life its surpassing excellence.
Whenever he writes of Johnson, he succeeds in giving the impres-
sion that he saw things as they were, and not through the spectacles
of his own personality. He never tried to conceal the part that
he played; and yet, despite his vanities, and they were many, he
knew how to make his readers think that they are looking at the
facts for themselves. The very freedom from self-consciousness
which was no help to his career was a great part of the secret of
his skill in description. It also provided him with material denied
to less sympathetic natures. “No man,' he said, “has been more
successful in making acquaintance easily than I have been. I even
bring people quickly on to a degree of cordiality. ' Johnson, too,
tells us that 'Mr Boswell's frankness and gaiety made every body
communicative. ' He never tired of arranging new situations, in
order to see what they would bring forth ; and his interpretations
of what he found are strong testimony to his insight into character
and to his judgment. Minute as his observations are, he never
offers a meaningless detail. It is easy to understand why Johnson
made him postpone the Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, which
was intended as a supplement to his cwn Journey. He had given
'notions rather than facts'; but Boswell had contrived to make
the facts give Johnson. The reproduction of his sayings and
experiences was too minute to be published during his lifetime,
and was more decently delayed till the year after his death? The
Life does not surpass the Journal in the sense of actuality; but
it is a greater achievement. He had met Johnson only on some
two bundred and seventy days, scattered over twenty-one years,
and his material had to be gathered from many sources.
He
selects and arranges; he places his facts in the light and per-
spective that will create the situation; and Johnson lives in his
pages. And he had the gift of the perfect style for his kind of
biography—a style of no marked individuality, but easy, clear and
flexible, which does its duty without attracting attention, and re-
quires to be examined to have its excellence recognised.
1 The Journal was revised by Malone while it was going through the press. Malone
also revised the Life, and, on Boswell's death, completed the preparation of the third
and final edition.


## p. 195 (#221) ############################################

CHAPTER IX
OLIVER GOLDSMITH
'No man,' wrote that authoritative but autocratic biographer,
John Forster, 'ever put so much of himself into his books as
Goldsmith, from the beginning to the very end of his career. ' To
many authors, this saying is only partly applicable ; but it is
entirely applicable to the author of The Vicar of Wakefield. His
life and his works are intimately connected. They accompany and
interpret each other in such a way as to make them practically
inseparable; and it is, therefore, appropriate, as well as convenient,
to treat them, so to speak, in the piece, rather than to attempt any
distribution of the subject into divisions and sub-divisions of
history and criticism.
Concerning Goldsmith's early years, there is much that is
obscure, or that, in any case, cannot be accepted without rigorous
investigation. He left his native island when he was three-and-
twenty, and never returned to it. Those who, like Glover and
Cooke, wrote accounts of him shortly after his death, were the
humbler associates of his later and more famous years, while the
professedly authentic 'Memoir' drawn up under the nominal
superintendence of bishop Percy, and the much quoted letter
of Annesley Strean in Mangin's Essay on Light Reading, did not
see the light until the first decade of the nineteenth century, when
Goldsmith had long been dead. It follows that much of the
information thus collected after date must have been imperfect
and contradictory, often extracted from persons more familiar
with his obscure beginnings than with his later eminence, and,
possibly, in answer to those unsatisfactory leading questions which
usually elicit not so much the truth as what the querist wishes to
establish.
Goldsmith was born on 10 November 1728; and it is usually
held that the place of his nativity was Pallas, or Pallasmore,
a village near Ballymahon, in the county of Longford, Ireland.
13--2


## p. 196 (#222) ############################################

196
Oliver Goldsmith
But it has also been plausibly contended, though actual proof
is not forthcoming, that his true birthplace was Smith-Hill house,
Elphin, Roscommon, the residence of his mother's father, Oliver
Jones, a clergyman and master of the Elphin diocesan school. His
own father, Charles Goldsmith, was, likewise, a clergyman of the
established church. When Oliver came into the world, Charles Gold-
smith was acting as assistant to an uncle whose name was Green,
the rector of Kilkenny West, and eking out a scanty subsistence
by farming a few fields. In 1730, Green died; and Charles Gold-
smith, succeeding to the vacant rectorate, transferred his residence
to the hamlet of Lissoy, in Westmeath, a little to the right of the
road from Ballymahon to Athlone. At this time, he had five
children, two sons and three daughters, Oliver being the fifth
child and second son. As already stated, the accounts of his
,
earliest years are contradictory. By some, he was regarded as
thick-witted and sullen ; to others, he seemed alert and intelligent.
That he was an adept at all boyish sports is admitted ; and it is
also recorded that he scribbled verses early. His first notable
instructor was the village schoolmaster, Thomas, or 'Paddy,'
Byrne, who had been a quartermaster in queen Anne's wars.
Byrne was also a local rimer, and had even composed an Irish
version of the Georgics. His endless stories of his continental
adventures, and his inexhaustible legends of ghosts and banshees,
held his pupils spellbound; and, by Goldsmith's family, were, later,
made responsible for much of that wandering and unsettled turn
which so much appeared in his future life. ' When Goldsmith was
seven or eight, he was attacked by confluent smallpox, which
scarred him terribly and probably added not a little to the
'exquisite sensibility of contempt' with which he seems to have
been born. With this, at all events, is connected one of the two
most-repeated anecdotes of his childhood. A ne'er-do-well relation
asked him heartlessly when he meant to grow handsome, to which,
after an awkward silence, he replied, 'I mean to get better, sir,
when you do. ' The other story also illustrates an unexpected gift
of repartee. At a party in his uncle's house, during the pause
between two country-dances, little Oliver capered out, and
executed an extempore hornpipe. His deeply-pitted face and
ungainly figure caused much amusement; and the fiddler, a lad
named Cumming, called out Æsop. ' To which the dancer promptly
answered:
Heralds, proclaim aloud! all saying,
See Esop dancing, and his Monkey playing,
6


## p. 197 (#223) ############################################

The Old House, a New Inn
197
at once transferring the laugh to his side. Whether improvised
or remembered, the retort certainly shows intellectual alacrity.
From Byrne, Goldsmith passed to the school at Elphin, of
which his grandfather had been master; thence to Athlone,
and, finally, to Edgeworthstown, where his preceptor, Patrick
Hughes, seems to have understood him better than his previous
instructors. Hughes penetrated his superficial obtuseness, re-
cognised his exceptionally sensitive temperament, and contrived,
at any rate, to think better of him than some of his playmates
who only succeeded in growing up blockheads. There were
traditions at Edgeworthstown of his studies-his fondness for
Ovid and Horace, his hatred of Cicero and his delight in Livy
and Tacitus ; of his prowess in boyish sports and the occasional
robbing of orchards. It is to the close of his Edgeworthstown
experiences that belongs one of the most popular of the incidents
which exemplify the connection between his life and his work.
Returning to school at the end of his last holiday, full of the
youthful pride begotten of a borrowed mount and a guinea in
his pocket, he lingered on his road, with the intention of putting
up, like a gentleman, at some roadside inn. Night fell, and he
found himself at Ardagh, where, with much importance, he
enquired of a passer-by for 'the best house' (hostelry) in the
neighbourhood. The person thus appealed to, a local wag named
Cornelius Kelly, formerly fencing master to the marquis of
Granby, amused by his boyish swagger, gravely directed him to
the residence of the squire of the place, Mr Featherston. Hither
Goldsmith straightway repaired, ordered supper, invited his host,
according to custom, to drink with him, and, being by that
humourist fooled to the top of his bent, retired to rest, after
giving particular directions as to the preparation of a hot cake
for his breakfast. Not until his departure next morning was it
disclosed that he had been entertained in a private house. The
story is too good to question; and accepted, as it has always been,
supplies a conclusive answer to those after-critics of She Stoops
to Conquer who regarded the central idea of that comedy—the
mistaking of a gentleman's residence for an inn-as unjustifiably
farfetched. Here, in Goldsmith's own life, was the proof of its
probability.
At this date, he must have been between fourteen and fifteen ;
and, whatever his ability, it seems to have been decided that he
should follow his elder brother Henry to Trinity college, Dublin,
though not with the same advantages. Henry Goldsmith, who


## p. 198 (#224) ############################################

198
Oliver Goldsmith
was five or six years his brother's senior, had gone as a pensioner
and obtained a scholarship. For Oliver, this was impracticable.
His father, a poor man, had, from family pride, further crippled
himself by undertaking to portion his second daughter, Catherine,
who had clandestinely married the son of a rich neighbour. In
these circumstances, nothing was open to Goldsmith but to obtain
his university education as a poor scholar, a semi-menial condition
which, to one already morbidly sensitive, could not fail to be
distasteful. For a long time, he fought doggedly against his fate;
but, at length, yielding to the persuasions of a friendly uncle
Contarine, who had himself gone through the same ordeal, he
was admitted to Trinity college as a sizar on 11 June 1744,
taking up his abode in one of the garrets of what was then
the eastern side of Parliament square.
The academic career thus inauspiciously begun was not
worshipful. From the outset, he was dispirited and disappointed,
and, consequently, without energy or enthusiasm. Moreover, he
was unfortunate in his tutor, a clergyman named Theaker Wilder,
who, though his bad qualities may have been exaggerated, was
certainly harsh and unsympathetic. His forte, too, was mathe-
matics, which Goldsmith, like Swift, like Gray, like Johnson,
detested as cordially as he detested the arid logic of 'Dutch
Burgersdyck' and Polish Smiglesius. According to Stubbs's
History of the University of Dublin,
Oliver Goldsmith is recorded on one or two occasions as being remarkably
diligent at Morning Lecture; again, as cautioned for bad answering at
Morning and Greek Lectures; and finally, as put down into the next class
for neglect of his studies.
To this, he added other enormities. He was noted, as was Johnson
at Oxford, for much lounging about the college gate’; and for
his skill on that solace to melancholy and laborum dulce lenimen,
the German flute, of which, as readily as his own “Man in Black,
he had apparently mastered the ‘Ambusheer. ' He became involved
in various scrapes, notably a college riot, including that ducking
of a bailiff afterwards referred to in the first version of The
Double Transformation, on which occasion he was publicly
admonished quod seditioni favisset et tumultuantibus opem
tulisset. Recovering a little from the stigma of this disgrace
by gaining a small (Smythe) exhibition, he was imprudent enough
to celebrate his success by a mixed entertainment, in what only
by courtesy could be called his ‘apartments. ' On these festivities,
the exasperated Wilder made irruption, knocking, down the


## p. 199 (#225) ############################################

9
a
Goldsmith B. A.
199
unfortunate host, who, after forthwith selling his books, ran away,
vaguely bound, as on subsequent occasions, for America. But a
reconciliation with his tutor was patched up by Oliver's brother
Henry; and he returned to his college to enjoy the half-peace
of the half-pardoned. His father was now dead; and he was
;
miserably poor. He managed, however, to take his B. A. degree
on 27 February 1749, and quitted the university without
regret, leaving behind him a scratched signature on a window
pane (still preserved), an old lexicon scored with 'promises to
pay' and a reputation for supplementing his scanty means by the
ballads (unluckily not preserved) which he was accustomed to
write and afterwards sell for five shillings a head at the Reindeer
in Mountrath court, stealing out at nightfall-80 runs the
tradition—to snatch the fearful joy’ of hearing them sung. It
must have been the memory of these things which, years after,
at Sir William Chambers's, made him fling down his cards, and
rush hurriedly into the street to succour a poor ballad-woman,
who had apparently, like Rubini, les larmes dans la voix.
What was to happen next? For a Goldsmith of the Goldsmiths,
there was no career but the church; and he was too young to be
ordained. Thereupon ensued an easy, irresponsible time, which
the new B. A. spent very much to his own satisfaction. He was
supposed to be qualifying for orders; but he had never any great
leaning that way.
“To be obliged to wear a long wig, when he
liked a short one, or a black coat, when he generally dressed in
brown,' observes one of his characters in The Citizen of the World,
was 'a restraint upon his liberty. Hence, as his biographer Prior
'
sagaciously says, 'there is reason to believe that at this time he
followed no systematic plan of study. On the contrary, he passed
his time wandering, like Addison's Will Wimble, from one relative
to another, fishing and otter-hunting in the isleted river Inny,
playing the flute to his cousin Jane Contarine's harpsichord, or
presiding at the ‘free and easys' held periodically at George
Conway's inn at Ballymahon, where, for the benefit of posterity,
he doubtless made acquaintance with Jack Slang the horse-doctor,
Dick Muggins the exciseman and that other genteel and punctilious
humourist who never 'danced his bear' except to Arne’s ‘Water
writ:parted? or the minuet in Handel's Ariadne. But these 'violent
delights' could have only one sequel. When, in 1751, he presented
himself to Dr Synge, bishop of Elphin, for ordination, he was
rejected. Whether his college reputation had preceded him ;
whether, as on a later occasion, he was found' not qualified,' or
6


## p. 200 (#226) ############################################

200
Oliver Goldsmith
whether (as legend has it) he pushed his aversion from clerical
costume so far as to appear in flaming scarlet smallclothes—these
questions are still debated. That another calling must be chosen
was the only certain outcome of this mishap. He first turned to
the next refuge of lettered unemployment, tuition. Having, in
this way, accumulated some thirty pounds, he bought a horse, and
once more started for America. Before six weeks were over,
he had returned penniless, on an animal only fit for the knacker's
yard, and seemed naïvely surprised that his friends were not
rejoiced to see him. Law was next thought of; and, to this end,
his uncle Contarine equipped him with fifty pounds. But he was
cozened by a sharper on his way to London, and once more came
back-in bitter self-abasement. In 1752, his longsuffering uncle
for the last time fitted him out, this time to study physic at
Edinburgh, which place, wonderful to relate, he safely reached.
But he never saw Ireland, or his kind relative, again.
After two years' stay in the Scottish capital, where more
memories survive of his social success than of his studies, he took
his departure for Leyden, nominally to substitute the lectures
of Albinus for the lectures of Monro. At Leyden, he arrived in
1754, not without some picturesque and, possibly, romanced
adventures related in a letter to Contarine. The names of Gaubius
and other Batavian professors figure glibly and sonorously in his
future pages ; but that he had much experimental knowledge of
their instruction is doubtful. His name is not enrolled as a
*Stud. Litt. ' in the Album Academicum of Leyden university, nor
is it known where he received that 'commission to slay' which
justified him in signing himself 'M. B. ' It was certainly not at
Padua ! ; and enquiries at Leyden and Louvain were made by
Prior without success. But the Louvain records were destroyed
in the revolutionary wars. That, however, his stay at Leyden
was neither prosperous nor prolonged is plain. He fell again
among thieves; and, finally, like Holberg, or that earlier 'Peregrine
of Odcombe,' Thomas Coryat of the Crudities, set out to make the
grand tour on foot. 'Haud inexpertus loquor,' he wrote, later, in
praising this mode of locomotion; though, on second thoughts, he
suppressed the quotation as an undignified admission. He went,
first, to Flanders; then passed to France, Germany, Switzerland
and Italy, supporting himself, much as George Primrose does in
The Vicar of Wakefield, by playing the flute, and by occasional
disputations at convents or universities. 'Sir,' said Boswell to
The Athenaeum, 21 July 1894.
a
6


## p. 201 (#227) ############################################

6
The Parting of the Ways 201
Johnson (who seems to have sustained the pun without blenching),
‘he disputed his passage through Europe. At some period of
'
his wanderings he must have sketched a part of The Traveller,
specimens of which he sent from Switzerland to his brother Henry.
After a year's wandering, he landed at Dover on 1 February 1756,
‘his whole stock of cash,' says an early biographer, 'amounting
to no more than a few half-pence. By this time, he was seven-
and-twenty.
His vocation was still as visionary as were his means of subsis-
tence. He is supposed to have tried strolling, and was certainly
anxious to play 'Scrub' in later years. For a season, he was an
apothecary's assistant on Fish street hill. Hence, with some as-
sistance from an Edinburgh friend, Dr Sleigh, he 'proceeded' a
poor physician in the Bankside, Southwark—the region afterwards
remembered in An Elegy on Mrs Mary Blaize. He is next found
as corrector of the press to Richardson, at Salisbury court. Then,
drifting insensibly towards literature, to which he seems never to
have intentionally shaped his course, he is (again like his own George
Primrose) an usher at the 'classical Academy of Dr Milner of
Peckham. He had already submitted a manuscript tragedy to the
author of Clarissa ; and, at Milner's table, he encountered the
bookseller Ralph Griffiths, proprietor of The Monthly Review.
Struck by some remark on the part of Milner's latest assistant,
and seeking for new blood to aid him in his campaign against
Hamilton's Critical Review, Griffiths asked Goldsmith whether
he could furnish some ‘specimens of criticism. An arrangement
followed under which, released from the drudgery of Peckham,
Goldsmith was to receive, with bed and board, a salary which
Percy calls ‘handsome,' Prior 'adequate' and Forster (small. '
For this, he was to labour daily from nine till two (or later) on
copy-of-all-work for his master's magazine.
This, in effect, was Goldsmith's turning-point; and he had
reached it by accident rather than design. Divinity, law, physic-
he had tried them all; but, at letters, he had never aimed With
his duties at the Sign of the Dunciad,' in Paternoster row, began
his definite bondage to the 'antiqua Mater of Grub Street'; and
we may pause for a moment to examine his qualifications for his
difficult career. They were more considerable than one would
imagine from his vagrant, aimless past. He was a fair classical
scholar, more advanced than might be supposed from his own
modest admission to Malone, that he could 'turn an ode of Horace
into English better than any of them'; and, as that sound critic
6


## p. 202 (#228) ############################################

202
Oliver Goldsmith
6
and Goldsmithian, the late Sidney Irwin, remarked, it is not
necessary to make him responsible for the graceless Greek of
Mr Ephraim Jenkinson. In English poetry, he was far seen,
especially in Dryden, Swift, Prior, Johnson, Pope and Gay. He
had a good knowledge of Shakespeare; and was familiar with
the comic dramatists, particularly his compatriot Farquhar.
French he had acquired before he left Ireland, and he had
closely studied Molière, La Fontaine and the different collections
of ana. For Voltaire, he had a sincere admiration; and, whether
he actually met him abroad or not, it is probable his own native
style, clear and perspicuous as it was from the first, had been
developed and perfected by the example of the wonderful writer
by whom the adjective was regarded as the enemy of the noun.
Finally, he had enjoyed considerable experience of humanity,
though mostly in the rough ; and, albeit his standpoint as a
pedestrian had, of necessity, limited his horizon, he had 'observed
the face of the countries through which he had travelled, making
his own deductions. On what he had seen, he had reflected, and,
when he sat down to the 'desk’s dead wood’ in Paternoster row,
his initial equipment as a critic, apart from his individual genius,
must have been superior, in variety and extent, at all events, to
that of most of the literary gentlemen, not exclusively hacks,
who did Griffiths's notices in The Monthly Review.
Even in his first paper, on The Mythology of the Celtes, by
Mallet, the translator of the Edda, he opened with a statement
which must have been out of the jog-trot of the Dunciad traditions.
“The learned on this side the Alps,' he said, 'have long laboured in the
Antiquities of Greece and Rome, but almost totally neglected their own; like
Conquerors who, while they have made inroads into the territories of their
neighbours, have left their own natural dominions to desolation. '
It would be too much to trace the Reliques of English Poetry
to this utterance; but (as Forster says) 'it is wonderful what
a word in season from a man of genius may do, even when the
genius is hireling and obscure and only labouring for the bread it
eats. ' Meanwhile, the specimen review 'from the gentleman who
signs, D,' although printed with certain omissions, secured Gold-
smith's entry to Griffiths's periodical, and he criticised some notable
books—Home's Douglas, Burke On the Sublime, Gray's Odes, the
Connoisseur, Smollett's History_titles which at least prove that,
utility man as he was, his competence was recognised from the
first. The review of Gray, whose remoteness and 'obscurity' he
.
regretted, and whom he advised to take counsel of Isocrates and
6


## p. 203 (#229) ############################################

,
Marteilhe's Memoirs
203
'study the people,' was, nevertheless, the last of his contributions
to The Monthly Review. Whether the fault lay in his own restless
nature, or whether he resented the vexatious editing of his work
by the bookseller and his wife, the fact remains that, with
September 1757, Goldsmith's permanent connection with Griffiths
came to a close ; and, for the next few months, he subsisted by
contributing to The Literary Magazine and by other miscellaneous
practice of the pen.
At this point, however, emerges his first prolonged literary
effort, the remarkable rendering of the Memoirs of Jean Marteilhe
of Bergerac, 'a Protestant condemned to the Galleys of France
for his Religion, which was published in February 1758. This
translation, perhaps because it has been sometimes confused with
that issued by the Religious Tract Society, has never received the
attention it deserves. It is an exceedingly free and racy version
of one of the most authentic records of the miseries ensuing on the
revocation of the edict of Nantes; and Goldsmith, drudge as he was
supposed to be, has treated his theme sympathetically. He may,
indeed, have actually seen Marteilhe in Holland; but it is more
reasonable to suppose that he was attracted to the subject by the
advertisement, in The Monthly Review for May 1757, of the
French original. The book is full of interest; and, as the fight
of The Nightingale with the galleys, and the episode of Goujon,
the young cadet of the Aubusson regiment, prove, by no means
deficient in moving and romantic incident. Why, on this occasion,
Goldsmith borrowed as his pseudonym the name of an old college-
fellow, James Willington, it is idle to enquire. In his signed
receipt, still extant, to Edward Dilly, for a third share in the
volumes, they are expressly described as “my translation, and it
is useful to note that the mode of sale, as will hereafter be seen,
is exactly that subsequently adopted for the sale of The Vicar
of Wakefield.
Anonymous or pseudonymous, Marteilhe's Memoirs had little
effect on Goldsmith’s fortunes; and the twenty pounds he received
for the MS in January 1758, must have been quickly spent, for
he was shortly at Peckham again, vaguely hoping that his old
master would procure him a medical appointment on a foreign
station. It was, no doubt, to obtain funds for his outfit that he
began to plan his next book, An Enquiry into the Present State
of Polite Learning in Europe, for we find him in this year
soliciting subscriptions from his friends in Ireland. When, at
last, the nomination arrived, it was merely that of physician to


## p. 204 (#230) ############################################

204
Oliver Goldsmith
a Coromandel factory. What was worse, for some obscure reason,
it came to nothing; and his next move was to present himself
at Surgeons' hall—like Smollett's Roderick Random-as a ship's
hospital mate, with the result that, in December, he was rejected
as ‘not qualified. ' To put the seal on his embarrassments, this new
effort involved him in fresh difficulties with his former employer,
Griffiths, who had helped him to appear in decent guise before
the examiners - difficulties from which he only extricated himself
with much humiliation by engaging to write a life of Voltaire.
We next find him domiciled at 12 Green Arbour court, Little
Old Bailey', where, in March 1759, Percy, who had recently made
his acquaintance through Grainger of The Sugar Cane, one of the
staff of The Monthly Review, paid him a visit. He discovered him
in a miserable room, correcting the proofs of his Enquiry, which
appeared in the following month. For a small duodecimo of two
hundred pages, it is, beyond doubt, ambitiously labelled. The
field was too wide for so brief a survey; and, although the author
professed that his sketch was mostly 'taken upon the spot,' it was
obvious that he was imperfectly equipped for his task. What he
had himself seen he described freshly and forcibly; and what
he knew of the conditions of letters in England he depicted with
feeling. He might talk largely of the learning of 'Luitprandus’ and
the 'philological performances' of Constantinus Afer; but what
touched him more nearly was the mercantile avidity and sordid
standards of the London bookseller, the hungry rancour of the
venal writers in his pay, the poverty of the poets, the slow
rewards of genius. Perhaps the most interesting features of the
Enquiry are, primarily, that it is Goldsmith's earliest original
work; and, next, that it is wholly free from that empty orotundity,
that didactic stiffness of wisdom,' which his French models had
led him to regard as the crying sin of his English contemporaries.
To be 'dull and dronish,' he held, was “an encroachment on the
prerogative of a folio. ' 'The most diminutive son of fame, or of
famine, has his we and his us, his firstlys and his secondlys as
methodical as if bound in cowhide, and closed with clasps of brass. '
On the whole, the little book was well received, notwithstanding its
censure of the two leading Reviews, and the fact that the chapter
"Of the Stage,' enforcing, as it did, Ralph's earlier Case of Authors
by Profession, gave Garrick lasting offence--a circumstance to
1 These premises were subsequently occupied by Smith, Elder & Co. as The
Cornhill Magazine printing office, to which Thackeray sent his proofs. (Cf. Round.
about Paper, 'De Finibus,' August 1862, at end. )


## p. 205 (#231) ############################################

6
>
The Bee
205
which may be traced not only some of Goldsmith's later dramatic
difficulties, but that popular 'poor Poll' couplet of which the
portable directness rather than the truth has done much wrong
to Goldsmith's reputation. To be as easily remembered as a
limerick is no small help to a malicious epigram.
At this date, beyond a few lines dated 'Edinburgh, 1753,' the
instalment of The Traveller sent to Henry Goldsmith from Switzer-
land, and the Description of an Author's Bedchamber included
in another letter to the same address, little had been heard of
Goldsmith's verse, although he had written vaguely of himself
as a 'poet. ' In the Enquiry, however, he published his first
metrical effort, a translation of a Latin prologue in that recondite
Macrobius with a quotation from whom, after an uncommunicative
silence, Johnson electrified the company on his first arrival at
Oxford. In the little periodical called The Bee, with which
Goldsmith followed up the Enquiry, he included several rimed
contributions. Of these, only one, some 'topical stanzas, On the
Death of Wolfe, is absolutely original. But the rest anticipate
some of his later excellences—and personal opinions. In the
Elegy on Mrs Mary Blaize, he laughs at the fashion, set by Gray,
of funereal verse, and, in the bright little quatrains entitled The
Gift, successfully reproduces the levity of Prior. But, what is
more, he begins to exhibit his powers as a critic and essayist,
to write character sketches in the vein of Addison and Steele,
to reveal his abilities as a stage critic and censor of manners.
One of the papers, A City Night-Piece, still remains a most
touching comment on the shame of cities; another, the Lucianic
reverie known as The Fame Machine (that is, 'coach'), in which
Johnson, rejected by Jehu as a passenger for his Dictionary, is
accepted on the strength of his Rambler, may have served to
introduce him to the great man who, ever after, loved him with
a growling but genuine affection. The Bee, though brief-lived,
with similar things in The Busy Body and The Lady's Magazine,
also brought him to the notice of some others, who, pecuniarily,
were more important than Johnson. Smollett enlisted him for
the new venture, The British Magazine, and bustling John
Newbery of St Paul's churchyard, for a new paper, The Public
Ledger.
For Smollett, besides a number of minor efforts, Goldsmith
wrote two of his best essays, A Reverie in the Boar's Head Tavern
at Eastcheap, and the semi-autobiographic Adventures of a
Strolling Player; for Newbery, the Chinese Letters, afterwards
>


## p. 206 (#232) ############################################

206
Oliver Goldsmith
a
collected as The Citizen of the World. This production was his first
permanent success. With its assumed orientalism, as with what
it borrows from Montesquieu or his imitators, we can dispense,
although it may be noted that a summary of the vices of the con-
temporary novel, long supposed to be Goldsmith's own, is a literal
transcript of Du Halde. What is most enduring in the corre-
spondence of Lien Chi Altangi is the fuller revelation, already
begun in The Bee, of Goldsmith as a critic, a humourist and
a social historiographer. It is Goldsmith on quacks and con-
noisseurs, on travellers' tales and funeral pomp, on mad dogs, on
letters and the theatre, on such graver themes as the penal laws
and public morality, to whom we turn most eagerly now. And
of even greater interest than their good sense and good humour,
their graphic touches and kindly shrewdness, is the evidence which
these passages afford of the coming creator of Dr Primrose and
Tony Lumpkin. In the admirable portrait of 'the Man in Black,'
with his reluctant benevolence and his Goldsmith family traits,
there is a foretaste of some of the attractive peculiarities of the
vicar of Wakefield, while, in the picture of the pinched and
tarnished little beau, with his parrot chatter about the countess
of All-Night and the duke of Piccadilly, set to the forlorn burden
of 'Lend me Half-a-Crown,' he adds a character sketch, however
lightly touched, to that imperishable and, happily, inalienable
gallery which contains the finished full-lengths of Parson Adams
and Squire Western, of Matthew Bramble and ‘My Uncle Toby. '
The last Chinese letter appeared on 14 August 1761, and,
in May of the following year, the collection was issued in two
volumes as The Citizen of the World, a phrase first used in Letter
xx, and, perhaps, suggested by Bacon's Essays (no. XIII). At this
date, Goldsmith had moved from the Little Old Bailey to 6 Wine
Office court, Fleet street, where, on 31 May, he had been visited by
Johnson. He had been editing The Lady's Magazine, in which
appeared the Memoirs of Voltaire composed by him for Griffiths.
He wrote a pamphlet on the popular imposture, the Cock lane
ghost, and he compiled or revised A History of Mecklenburgh,
the native country of king George III's consort. He published an
anecdotical Life of Richard Nash, the fantastic old king of Bath,
and seven volumes of Plutarch's Lives. More important than these
activities, however, was the preparation of The Vicar of Wakefield,
on which, according to Miss Gaussen', he was engaged as early as
June 1761. Internal evidence shows that the book must have
Percy : Prelate and Poet, 1908, p. 144.
1


## p. 207 (#233) ############################################

The Traveller
207
6
a
been written in 1761-2; and it is certain that a third share of it
was purchased in October 1762 by Benjamin Collins of Salisbury,
who afterwards printed it for Newbery? It is to this date that
must probably be referred the sale of the MS familiar to Boswell's
readers, which, in that case, took place at Wine Office court, where
the author would be close to Johnson's chambers in Inner Temple
lane, on the opposite side of Fleet street. But, for obscure reasons,
The Vicar was not issued until four years later, at which date it
will be convenient to return to it.
Meanwhile, alternating incessant labour with fitful escapes to
* Bath or Tunbridge to careen,' and occasional residence at Islington,
Goldsmith continued in bondage to 'book-building. ' In 1764, he
became one of the original members of the famous (and still existing)
Club, afterwards known as 'The Literary Club,' a proof of the
eminence to which he had attained with the literati. This brought
him at once into relations with Burke, Reynolds, Beauclerk, Langton
and others of the Johnson circle. His next important work, The
History of England in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his
Son, published in June, was, as had no doubt been intended, long
attributed to Chesterfield and other patrician pens. Later, too, in
the same year, Christopher Smart's Hannah moved him to the com-
position of The Captivity, an oratorio never set to music. Then,
after the slow growth of months, was issued, on 19 December
1764, another of the efforts for his own hand with which he had
diversified his hackwork-the poem entitled The Traveller; or, a
Prospect of Society.
In a spirit of independence which distinguishes this per-
formance from its author's workaday output, The Traveller was
dedicated to his brother, Henry Goldsmith, to whom the first sketch
had been forwarded from abroad, and who, in Goldsmith's words,
'despising Fame and Fortune, had retired early to Happiness and
Obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year'-the actual
value of the curacy of Kilkenny West. The dedication further
accentuates that distaste for blank verse which Goldsmith had
already manifested in An Enquiry, as well as his antipathy, also
revealed in The Citizen of the World, to the hectoring satires of
Churchill; while the general purpose of the poem, anticipated by a
passage in the forty-third letter of Lien Chi Altangi, is stated in
the final words :
I have endeavoured to show, that there may be equal happiness in states, that
are differently governed from our own, that every state has a particular
1 This matter is discussed more fully in the bibliography.


## p. 208 (#234) ############################################

208
Oliver Goldsmith
principle of happiness, and that this principle in each may be carried to a
mischievous excess.
Whether these postulates of the philosophic Wanderer'-as
Johnson would have called him-are unanswerable or not matters
little to us now. The poetry has outlived the purpose. What
remains in Goldsmith's couplets is the beauty of the descriptive
passages, the 'curious' simplicity of the language, the sweetness
and finish of the verse. Where, in his immediate predecessors, are
we to find the tender charm of such lines as
6
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravell’d fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
But me, not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care,
Impelld, with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
It is characteristic both of Goldsmith, and of the mosaic of
memories which the poetic theories of his day made legitimate,
that, even in these few lines, there are happy recollections, and
recollections, moreover, that he had already employed in prose.
The Traveller was an immediate and enduring success; and
Newbery, so far as can be ascertained, gave Goldsmith £21 for it.
Second, third and fourth editions quickly followed until, in 1774,
the
year
of the author's death, a ninth was reached. Johnson, who
contributed nine of the lines, declared it to be the best poem since
the death of Pope, a verdict which, without disparagement to
Goldsmith, may also be accepted as evidence of the great man's
lack of sympathy with Gray, whose Elegy had appeared in the
interval. Perhaps the most marked result of The Traveller was
to draw attention to 'Oliver Goldsmith, M. B. ,' whose name, for the
first time, appeared on the title-page of Newbery's thin eighteen-
penny quarto. People began to enquire for his earlier works, and
thereupon came a volume of Essays by Mr Goldsmith, which
comprised some of the best of his contributions to The Bee, The
Public Ledger and the rest, together with some fresh specimens
of verse, The Double Transformation and A new Simile. This
was in June 1765, after which it seems to have occurred to the
joint proprietors of The Vicar of Wakefield, that the fitting moment


## p. 209 (#235) ############################################

The Vicar of Wakefield
209
had then arrived for the production of what they apparently
regarded as their bad bargain. The novel was accordingly
printed at Salisbury by Collins for Francis Newbery, John
Newbery's nephew, and it was published on 27 March 1766, in
two duodecimo volumes.
There is no reason for supposing that there were any material
alterations in the MS which, in October 1762, had been sold by
Johnson. 'Had I made it ever so perfect or correct,' said Goldsmith
to Dr Farr (as reported in the Percy Memoir), 'I should not have
had a shilling more'; and the slight modifications in the second
edition prove nothing to the contrary. But it is demonstrable
that there was one addition of importance, the ballad The Hermit
or Edwin and Angelina, which had only been written, in or before
1765, for the amusement of the countess of Northumberland, for
whom, in that year, it was privately printed. It was probably
added to fill up chapter VIII, where, perhaps, a blank had been
left for it, a conjecture which is supported by the fact that other
lacunae have been suspected. But these purely bibliographical
considerations have little relation to the real unity of the book,
which seems to follow naturally on the character sketches of The
Citizen of the World, to the composition of which it succeeded.
In The Citizen, there is naturally more of the essayist than of the
novelist; in The Vicar, more of the novelist than of the essayist.
But the strong point in each is Goldsmith himself—Goldsmith's
own thoughts and Goldsmith's own experiences. Squire Thornhill
might have been studied in the pit at Drury lane, and even
Mr Burchell conceivably evolved from any record of remarkable
eccentrics. But the Primrose family must have come straight from
Goldsmith's heart, from his wistful memories of his father and his
brother Henry and his kind uncle Contarine and all that half-
forgotten family group at Lissoy, who, in the closing words of his
first chapter were 'all equally generous, credulous, simple, and
inoffensive. ' He himself was his own 'Philosophic Vagabond
pursuing Novelty, but losing Content,' as does George Primrose
in chapter xx. One may smile at the artless inconsistencies of
the plot, the lapses of the fable, the presence in the narrative of
such makeweights as poetry, tales, political discourses and a
sermon; but the author's genius and individuality rise superior to
everything, and the little group of the Wakefield family are now
veritable citizens of the world. Only when some wholly new
form has displaced or dispossessed the English novel will the Doctor
and Mrs Primrose, Olivia and Sophia, Moses (with the green
14
L. L. X.
CH. IX.


## p. 210 (#236) ############################################

2 IO
Oliver Goldsmith
spectacles) and the Miss Flamboroughs (with their red topknots)
cease to linger on the lips of men.
It is a grave mistake, however, to suppose that this unique
masterpiece, which still sells vigorously today, sold vigorously in
1766—at all events in the authorised issues. From the publisher's
accounts, it is now known with certainty that, when the fourth
edition of 1770 went to press, there was still a debt against the
book. The fourth edition ran out slowly, and was not exhausted
until April 1774, when a fifth edition was advertised. By this time,
Collins had parted with his unremunerative share for the modest
sum of £5. 58. , and Goldsmith himself was dying or dead. These
facts, which may be studied in detail in Charles Welsh's life of John
Newbery, rest upon expert investigations, and are incontrovertible.
They, consequently, serve as a complete answer to all who, in this
respect, make lamentation over the lack of generosity shown by
Goldsmith's first publishers. How could they give him a bonus,
when, after nine years, they were only beginning to make a profit?
They had paid what, in those days, was a fair price for the
manuscript of a two volume novel by a comparatively unknown
man; and, notwithstanding the vogue of his subsequent Traveller,
the sale did not contradict their expectations. That, only as time
,
went on, the book gradually detached itself from the rubbish of
contemporary fiction, and, ultimately, emerged triumphantly as a
cosmopolitan masterpiece—is its author's misfortune, but cannot
be laid at the door of Collins, Newbery and Co. Johnson, who
managed the sale of the manuscript, did not think it would
have much success; they, who bought it, did not think so either,
and the immediate event justified their belief. Goldsmith's appeal
was not to his contemporaries, but to that posterity on whose fund
of prospective praise he had ironically drawn a bill in the preface
to his Essays of 1765. In the case of The Vicar, the appeal has
been amply honoured; but, as its author foresaw, without being
'very serviceable' to himself.
Meanwhile, he went on with a fresh course of that compilation
which paid better than masterpieces. He edited Poems for Young
Ladies and Beauties of English Poesy; he wrote An English
Grammar; he translated A History of Philosophy. But, towards
the close of 1766, his larger ambitions again began to bestir them-
selves, and, this time, in the direction of the stage, with all its
prospects of payment at sight. Already, we have seen, he had
essayed a tragedy, which, if it were based or modelled on his
favourite Voltaire, was, probably, no great loss. His real vocation


## p. 211 (#237) ############################################

The Good-Natur'd Man
2II
>
>
was comedy; and, on comedy, his ideas were formed, having been,
in great measure, expressed in the Enquiry and in other of his
earlier writings. He held that comic art involved comic situations;
he deplored the substitution for humour and character of delicate
distresses' and superfine emotion; and he heartily despised the
finicking, newfangled variation of the French drame sérieux which,
under the name of 'genteel' or 'sentimental'comedy, had gradually
gained ground in England. At this moment, its advocates were
active and powerful, while the defenders of the old order were few
and feeble. But, in 1766, The Clandestine Marriage of Garrick and
Colman seemed to encourage some stronger counterblast to the
lachrymose craze; and Goldsmith began slowly to put together
a piece on the approved method of Vanbrugh and Farquhar,
tempered freely with his own gentler humour and wider humanity.
He worked on his Good-Natur'd Man diligently at intervals during
1766, and, in the following year, it was completed. Its literary
merits, as might be expected, were far above the average ; it
contained two original characters, the pessimist Croaker and the
pretender Lofty; and, following the precedent of Fielding, it
borrowed the material of one of its most effective scenes from
those 'absurdities of the vulgar' which its author held to be
infinitely more diverting than the affected vagaries of so-called
high life. The next thing was to get it acted.
This was no easy matter, for it had to go through what Goldsmith
had himself termed 'a process truly chymical. ' It had to be tried
in the manager's fire, strained through a licenser, and purified in
the Review, or the newspaper of the day. ' And he had said more
indiscreet things than these. He had condemned the despotism
of the monarchs of the stage, deplored the over-prominence of
that ‘histrionic Daemon,' the actor, and attacked the cheeseparing
policy of vamping up old pieces to save the expense of `authors'
nights. ' All these things were highly unpalatable to Garrick; but,
to Garrick, owing to the confusion at Covent garden caused by the
death of Rich, Goldsmith had to go.