Boswell writes that after Johnson’s marriage he set up a school in a large house – a private academy in which he intended to teach Latin and Greek. This is 1736 in Staffordshire. He wasn’t famous at that stage and didn’t have very many pupils. Boswell wrote that Johnson’s mind was too great and his temperament too peculiar for him to be any good at it and it only lasted a year and a half. ‘…a mind gloomy and impetuous like that of Johnson, cannot be fixed for any length of time in minute attention, and must be so frequently irritated by unavoidable slowness and errour in the advances of scholars, as to perform the duty, with little pleasure to the teacher, and no great advantage to the pupils.’
But while the academy was operating, David Garrick [later the famous actor], told Boswell that Johnson’s pupils didn’t ‘reverence’ him profoundly. ‘His oddities of manner, and uncouth gesticulations, could not but be the subject of merriment to them; and in particular the young rogues used to listen at the door of his bed-chamber, and peep through the key-hole, that they might turn into ridicule his tumultuous and awkward fondness for Mrs. Johnson, whom he used to name by the familiar appellation of Tetty, or Tetsey, which, like Betty or Betsey, is provincially used as a contraction for Elizabeth, her christian name, but which to us seems ludicrous, when applied to a woman of her age and appearance. Mr. Garrick described her to me as very fat, with a bosom of more than ordinary protuberance, with swelled cheeks, of a florid red, produced by thick painting, and increased by the liberal use of cordials; flaring and fantastic in her dress, and affected both in her speech and general behaviour.’
Phew! I think it wouldn’t be that hard to imagine a modern day equivalent.
Boswell, who, as he shows in his London Journal 1762-1763, loved gossip and absurdities, and who himself got into a bit of trouble for mimicry [which I think was probably a commonplace social activity amongst young men], writes that Mr Garrick could imitate Tetty wonderfully: I have seen Garrick exhibit her, by his exquisite talent of mimickry, so as to excite the heartiest bursts of laughter; but he probably, as is the case in all such representations, considerably aggravated the picture.’
So, when the academy folded, Johnson having written a play and shown it to a Mr. Walmsley, who encouraged him, decided to travel to London and try his luck as a ‘dramatick writer.’ I guess Tetty must have stayed at home near Lichfield and drank a lot of cordials. Johnson first stayed in Exeter Street by Catherine Street in the Strand. His landlord was a Mr. Norris, a staymaker, [maker of women’s corsets]. Johnson told Boswell that he ‘dined very well for eight-pence, with very good company, at the Pine-Apple in New Street, just by.’ He continues ‘It used to cost six-pence, and bread for a penny, and [I] gave the waiter a penny; so that I was quite well served…’ Boswell writes that Johnson didn’t drink at the time: ‘He at this time, I believe, abstained entirely from fermented liquors: a practice to which he rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of his life.’ I hope this doesn’t mean that later on in , Boswell is going to tell us that Johnson got fed up with Tetty’s drinking. We shall see.
So, when the academy folded, Johnson having written a play and shown it to a Mr. Walmsley, who encouraged him, decided to travel to London and try his luck as a ‘dramatick writer.’ I guess Tetty must have stayed at home near Lichfield and drank a lot of cordials. Johnson first stayed in Exeter Street by Catherine Street in the Strand. His landlord was a Mr. Norris, a staymaker, [maker of women’s corsets]. Johnson told Boswell that he ‘dined very well for eight-pence, with very good company, at the Pine-Apple in New Street, just by.’ He continues ‘It used to cost six-pence, and bread for a penny, and [I] gave the waiter a penny; so that I was quite well served…’ Boswell writes that Johnson didn’t drink at the time: ‘He at this time, I believe, abstained entirely from fermented liquors: a practice to which he rigidly conformed for many years together, at different periods of his life.’ I hope this doesn’t mean that later on in The Life of Samuel Johnson, Boswell is going to tell us that Johnson got fed up with Tetty’s drinking. We shall see.
Johnson had been told that thirty pounds a year was enough money to allow a man to live in London ‘without being contemptible.’ It was explained to him that he should allow ‘ten pounds for cloaths and linen. …’a man might live in a garret at eighteen-pence a week; few people would enquire where he lodged; and if they did, it was easy to say, ‘‘Sir, I am to be found at such a place.’’ [I don’t quite understand whether this means he should reveal the fact that he was living in a garret to people he met or not]. ‘By spending three-pence in a coffee-house, he might be for some hours every day in very good company; he might dine for six-pence, breakfast on bread and milk for a penny, and do without supper. On clean-shirt-day he went abroad, and paid visits.’
Boswell writes that Johnson had great respect for the man, [an Irish painter], who instructed him in how to survive in London: ‘This man (said he [Johnson] gravely) was a very sensible man, who perfectly understood common affairs: a man a great deal of knowledge of the world, fresh from life, not strained through books.’
I read elsewhere that Johnson’s failure with his academy cost Tetty an enormous amount of money; they were living on her money, as Johnson had none of his own. While reading that, I came across a picture of Tetty, and unless the painter was terrified of painting the truth, she doesn’t look clownish and doesn’t seem to be fat, and isn’t wearing weird clothes. Of course this could be before she met and married Johnson… not that I’m implying anything here, of course about the state of marriage.
