Pyg by Russell Potter

Author:Russell Potter [Potter, Russell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780857862488
Publisher: Canongate Books

The next day, the estimable Doctor was unwell again, having perhaps over-exerted himself at the Banquet in his honour. There is, it must be admitted at once, something tedious in Praise, the more so when it is the better Deserved. For if one has, in plain fact, accomplished great things, and presuming that one has not lost one’s memory or other Faculties, this whole Business of praise is rather like an endless rehearsal of a Play based on one’s own life. And, unless the Playwrights be men of uncommon gifts (and this is rare), the Play itself is not the thing, but rather a poor imitation or repetition of matters that one knows already, and yet one to which it is Impossible, without great breach of protocol, to Object. On and on it must go, through every last execrable verse upon the occasion of one’s wonderful Visit, until the Visit itself be damned for the Visitor. Dr Johnson spent the next day in bed, attended by his Physician, who prescribed a regimen of Squills to keep the water down. By these means, he was by that evening much Improved, and the next day was able to accompany Dr Adams on a tour of Pembroke and some of the more notable sights of the University. Alas, although much disposed to ascend, he was defeated by the sixty-five steps to the Bodleian Library, an edifice of which it may be said that the path of Learning is at its Steepest. He departed the next morning with his Entourage, intending to visit Lichfield, where he wished to call upon Miss Seward.

Here I must insert a word about this magnificent Woman, whose virtues it quite exceeds my capacity adequately to praise. I had not known her name until Dr Johnson happened to mention the matter of the Medal, and upon Reflection, I realised that it was she, too, who had addressed me in Chester. On that latter occasion, I had not been able to linger, and had had no opportunity to Thank her in person; in the dim light of the Theatre, I had not been entirely certain of her Identity. That she was an acquaintance of Dr Johnson I would never have guessed, but now that I knew, I was most anxious to learn more of her. From Dr Adams I heard something of her history: she was, in fact, the granddaughter of Dr Johnson’s late schoolmaster in Lichfield, the man whose stern manners and frequent employment of the Lash were so ill-remembered by his famous Pupil. She herself was a remarkable Scholler, and was said to have been able to recite passages from ‘L’Allegro’ when she was only Three. There was a sad chapter to her life as well: her sister Sarah, who had been engaged to Dr Johnson’s stepson, had fallen ill and died on the very eve of their Wedding, much to the distress of both families.

The friendly animosity, and jovial contest that ran between Miss Seward and the learned Doctor seems to have begun soon after this time.

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