time, I should be able to lay up a stock of materials, enough to
astonish you, and that, like a river damm'd up, when let loose, I should
flow on with unusual rapidity; or like a man, who has not beat his wife
for a fortnight, I should cudgel you with my wit for hours together;
but I find the contrary of all this is the case; I resemble a person
long absent from his native country, of which he has formed a thousand
endearing ideas, and to which he at last returns; but alas! he beholds
with sorrowful eyes, everything changed for the worse; the town where he
was born, which used to have two snows[56] and three sloops trading to
all parts of the known world, is not now master of two fishing-boats;
the steeple of the church, where he used to sleep in his youth, is rent
with lightning; and the girl on whom he had placed his early affections,
has had three bastard children, and is just going to be delivered of a
fourth; or I resemble a man who has had a fine waistcoat lying long in
the very bottom of a chest, which he is determined shall be put on at
the hunter's ball; but woe's me, the lace is tarnished, and the moths
have devoured it in a melancholy manner; these few similies may serve to
shew, that this letter has little chance of being a good one; yet they
don't make the affair certain. Prince Ferdinand beat the French at
Minden; Sheridan, in his lectures, sometimes spoke sense; and John Home
wrote one good play.[57] I have read Lord Kames's Elements,[58] and
agree very heartily with the opinion of the Critical Reviewers; however,
I could often have wished, that his Lordship had been less obscure, or
that I had had more penetration; he praises the Mourning Bride
excessively, which, nevertheless, I can not help thinking a very
indifferent play; the plot wild and improbable, and the language
infinitely too high and swelling.[59] It is curious to see the opinions
of the Reviewers concerning you and me; they take you for a poor
distressed gentleman, writing for bread, and me for a very impudent
Irishman; whereas you are heir to a thousand a year, and I am one of the
most bashful Scotchmen that ever appeared! I confess, indeed, my
bashfulness does not appear in my works, for them I print in the most
impudent manner; being exceeded in that respect by nobody but James
Boswell, Esq.
Yours, &c., ANDREW ERSKINE.
[Footnote 56: A snow (Low-German, snau; High-German, schnau) is a small
vessel with beaked or snout-like bows, according to Wedgewood. But more
probably it takes its name from the triangular shape of its
sails.--Schnauzegel, a trysail.--ED.]
[Footnote 57: "As we sat over our tea, Mr. Home's tragedy of Douglas was
mentioned. I put Dr. Johnson in mind that once, in a coffee-house at
Oxford, he called to old Mr. Sheridan, 'how came you, Sir, to give Home
a gold medal for writing that foolish play?'" Boswell's "Tour to the
Hebrides." Date of October 26, 1773.--ED.]
[Footnote 58: "The Elements of Criticism," by Henry Home, Lord Kames.
"Sir," said Johnson, "this book is a pretty essay and deserves to be
held in some estimation though much of it is chimerical!" Boswell's
"Life of Johnson." Date of May 16, 1763.--ED.]
[Footnote 59: "In this play there is more bustle than sentiment; the
plot is busy and intricate, and the events take hold on the attention;
but, except a very few passages, we are rather amused with noise, and
perplexed with stratagem, than entertained with any true delineation of
natural characters."--Johnson's "Lives of the Poets."--ED.]
* * * * *
LETTER XXXIX.
Kames, October 19, 1762.
Dear ERSKINE,--In my own name, and in the name of Lord Kames, I desire
to see you here immediately. I have been reading the "Elements of
Criticism." You and the Reviewers have pronounced enough of serious
panegyric on that book. In my opinion, it has the good properties of all
the four elements. It has the solidity of earth, the pureness of air,
the glow of fire, and the clearness of water. The language is excellent,
and sometimes rises to so noble a pitch, that I exclaim, in imitation of
Zanga in the Revenge,[60]
"I like this roaring of the Elements."
[Footnote 60: "The Revenge," a tragedy, by Edward Young, author of
"Night Thoughts."--ED.]
If this does not bring you, nothing will; and so, Sir, I continue,
Yours as usual,
JAMES BOSWELL.
* * * * *
LETTER XL.
Kelly, October 28, 1762.
Dear BOSWELL,--How shall I begin? what species of apology shall I make?
the truth is, I really could not write, my spirits have been depressed
so unaccountably. I have had whole mountains of lead pressing me down:
you would have thought that five Dutchmen had been riding on my back,
ever since I saw you; or that I had been covered with ten thousand
folios of controversial divinity; you would have imagined that I was
crammed in the most dense part of a plumb-pudding, or steeped in a
hogshead of thick English Port. Heavens! is it possible, that a man of
some fame for joking, possessed of no unlaughable talent in punning, and
endued with no contemptible degree of liveliness in letter-writing,
should all of a sudden have become more impenetrably stupid than a
Hottentot legislator, or a moderator of the general assembly of the Kirk
of Scotland. By that smile which enlivens your black countenance, like a
farthing candle in a dark cellar, I perceive I am pardoned; indeed I
expected no less; for, I believe, if a sword was to run you through the
body, or a rope was to hang you, you would forget and forgive: you are
at Kames just now, very happy, I suppose; your letter seems to come from
a man in excellent spirits; I am very unequal at present to the task of
writing an answer to it, but I was resolved to delay no longer, lest you
should think I neglected you wilfully; a thought, I'm sure, you never
shall have occasion to entertain of me, though the mist of dulness
should for ever obscure and envelope my fancy and imagination. I cannot
think of coming to Kames, yet I am sufficiently thankful for the
invitation; my lowness would have a very bad effect in a cheerful
society; it would be like a dead march in the midst of a hornpipe, or a
mournful elegy in a collection of epigrams.
Farewell. Yours, &c.,
ANDREW ERSKINE.
* * * * *
LETTER XLI.
Parliament-Close, Nov. 10, 1762.
Dear ERSKINE,--All I have now to say, is to inform you, that I shall set
out for London on Monday next, and to beg that you may not leave
Edinburgh before that time.
My letters have often been carried to you over rising mountains and
rolling seas. This pursues a simpler track, and under the tuition of a
cadie,[61] is transmitted from the Parliament-Close to the Canongate.
Thus it is with human affairs; all is fluctuating, all is changing.
Believe me,
Yours, &c.
JAMES BOSWELL.
[Footnote 61: "There is at Edinburgh a society or corporation of
errand-boys, called 'cawdies,' who ply in the streets at night with
paper lanthorns, and are very serviceable in carrying messages."--"Humphry
Clinker," vol. ii., p. 240.--ED.]
* * * * *
LETTER XLII.
London, Nov. 20, 1762.
Dear ERSKINE,--What sort of a letter shall I now write to you? Shall I
cram it from top to bottom with tables of compound interest? with
anecdotes of Queen Anne's wars? with excerpts from Robertson's history?
or with long stories translated from Olaus Wormius?[62]
[Footnote 62: A distinguished Danish historian and antiquary, "Known in
the history of anatomy by the bones of the skull named after him _ossa
Wormiana_."--ED.]
To pass four-and-twenty hours agreeably was still my favourite plan. I
think at present that the mere contemplation of this amazing bustle of
existence, is enough to make my four-and-twenty go merrily round. I went
last night to Covent-Garden; and saw Woodward play Captain Bobadil;[63]
he is a very lively performer; but a little extravagant: I was too late
for getting into Drury-Lane, where Garrick played King Lear. That
inimitable actor is in as full glory as ever; like genuine wine, he
improves by age, and possesses the steady and continued admiration even
of the inconstant English.[64]
[Footnote 63: In Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour." This was
thought to be Woodward's masterpiece.--ED.]
[Footnote 64: This is scarcely correct. Garrick's popularity was, at
this time, falling off, and his theatre did not fill. "The profits of
the following season," says Davies, "fell very short to those of the
preceding years." At the close of the season he went abroad, and was
away for nearly two years. In Rogers's "Table Talk," it is
recorded--"Before his going abroad, Garrick's attraction had much
decreased; Sir W.W. Pepys said that the pit was often almost empty. But,
on his return to England, people were mad about seeing him." His
popularity did not wane a second time.--ED.]
I don't know what to say to you about myself: if I can get into the
Guards, it will please me much; if not, I can't help it. Perhaps you may
hear of my turning Templar, and perhaps ranger of some of his Majesty's
parks. It is not impossible but I may catch a little true poetic
inspiration, and have my works splendidly printed at Strawberry-hill,
under the benign influence of the Honourable Horace Walpole.[65] You and
I, Erskine, are, to be sure, somewhat vain. We have some reason too. The
Reviewers gave great applause to your Odes to Indolence and Impudence;
and they called my poems "agreeable light pieces," which was the very
character I wished for. Had they said less, I should not have been
satisfied; and had they said more, I should have thought it a burlesque.
[Footnote 65: Walpole always expressed the greatest contempt for
Boswell. In one of his letters he says that "he is the ape of most of
Johnson's faults, without a grain of his sense." In another letter he
writes about "a jackanapes who has lately made a noise here, one
Boswell, by anecdotes of Dr. Johnson." Improbable though it was that
Boswell should catch a little true poetic inspiration, it was still more
improbable that he should ever have a single one of his works printed at
The Strawberry Press.--ED.]
What a fine animated prospect of life now spreads before me! Be assured,
that my genius will be highly improved, and please yourself with the
hopes of receiving letters still more entertaining. I ever am,
Your affectionate friend,
JAMES BOSWELL.
THE JOURNAL
OF
A TOUR
TO
CORSICA.
INTRODUCTION.
The following sketch of the Corsican War of Independence may, perhaps,
enable the reader better to follow Boswell in his narrative, and in his
description of Paoli's character. I have founded it chiefly on Boswell's
own account, though I have, at the same time consulted other
authorities. As an historical writer, in theory at least, he would
scarcely satisfy the exact school of historians that has sprung up since
his day. "I confess I am not," he says in his second chapter, "for
humouring an inordinate avidity for positive evidence." He is speaking,
however, about the origin of nations, and not about the wars of Corsica,
which he describes at some length.
From about the beginning of the fourteenth century Corsica had belonged
to the Republic of Genoa. The islanders had proved restive under the
yoke of their hard masters, and more than once had risen in revolt. The
Government of the Republic was, indeed, the worst of despotisms. A
succession of infamous Governors--men who came to Corsica poor, and,
after their two years of office, returned to Genoa rich--had cruelly
oppressed the people. By their ill-gotten wealth, and by their interest
in the Senate, they were able on their return to secure themselves
against any inquiry into their conduct. The foreign trade of the
islanders was almost ruined by a law which appointed Genoa as the sole
port to which their products could be exported. The Corsicans, like many
other mountaineers, had always been too much given up to private feuds.
But it was charged against their Genoese masters, that, in their dread
of union among their subjects, they themselves fomented dissentions. It
was asserted in a petition presented to the King of France in 1738,
that, under the last sixteen Governors, no less than 26,000 Corsicans
had died by the hands of the assassin.
In the legal proceedings that followed on these deeds of bloodshed, the
Genoese judges found their profit. Condemnation was often followed by
confiscation of the criminal's estates; acquittal had often been
preceded by a heavy bribe to the judge. Multitudes were condemned to the
galleys on frivolous charges in the hope that they would purchase their
freedom at a high price. The law was even worse than the judges. A man
could be condemned to the galleys or to death on secret information,
without being once confronted with his accusers, without undergoing any
examination, without the observance of any formality of any kind in the
sentence that was passed on him. The judge could either acquit the
greatest criminal, or condemn a man of stainless character "_ex
informata conscientia_, on the information of his own conscience, of
which he was not obliged to give any account." He could at any time stop
the course of justice, "by saying '_Non procedatur_, let there be no
process;' which could easily be cloaked under the pretence of some
defect in point of form." When this atrocious law was at last abolished,
Montesquieu wrote, "On a vu souvent des peuples demander des priviléges;
ici le souverain accorde le droit de toutes les nations." No wonder that
Horace Walpole exclaimed more than twenty years before Boswell's book
was published, "I hate the Genoese; they make a commonwealth the most
devilish of all tyrannies!"
In 1729 the people rose once more against their rulers. It was the case
of Wat Tyler over again. A tax-gatherer demanded a small sum--it was but
about fivepence--of a poor old woman. Small as it was, she had not
wherewithal to pay. He abused her, and seized some of her furniture. She
raised an outcry. Her neighbours came flocking in and took her part. The
tax-gatherer used threats, and was answered with a volley of stones.
Troops were sent to support him in the execution of his office, and the
people, in their turn, flew to their weapons. The revolt spread, and
soon the whole island was in arms. The Genoese, as vassals of the
Empire, sought the aid of their sovereign lord, the Emperor Charles the
Sixth, who sent a strong body of troops to the island. The Corsicans
were unable to resist, and "laid down their arms, upon condition that a
treaty should be made between them and the Genoese, having for guarantee
the Emperor." Hostages were sent by the islanders, to whom the Republic
was inclined to show but scant respect. In fact, the Emperor's consent
to their execution had been almost obtained, when the Prince of
Wirtemberg, the commander of the imperial forces in Corsica, sent an
express to Vienna, "with a very strong letter, representing how much the
honour of Cæsar would suffer, should he consent to the death of those
who had surrendered themselves upon the faith of his sacred protection."
The great Prince Eugene also spoke out, and for this time, Cæsar's
honour--at all events, all that was left of it--was saved.
The suspension of hostilities was but short; for neither was the cruelty
of the Genoese, nor the hatred of the Corsicans easily confined within
the limits of a treaty. "There is not," writes Boswell, "a Corsican
child who can procure a little gun-powder, but he immediately sets fire
to it, huzzas at the explosion, and, as if he had blown up the enemy,
calls out, 'Ecco i Genovesi; there go the Genoese!'" In 1734, the whole
island once more was in the flames of an insurrection. Giafferi and
Giacinto Paoli, the father of the famous Pascal Paoli, were chosen as
leaders. The Genoese hired Swiss mercenaries. They thought that against
soldiers, brought up amidst the Alps, as these had been, the mountains
of Corsica would provide no shelter for freedom. But the Swiss "soon saw
that they had made a bad bargain, and that they gave the Genoese too
much blood for their money." When at Lucerne we gaze at the noble
monument set up by Switzerland in memory of her sons who were massacred
in Paris, it is well at times to remember how the Swiss lion was at the
hire of the very jackals of the world.
Genoa next published an indemnity to all her assassins and outlaws, on
condition that they should fight for the Republic, in Corsica. "The
robbers and assassins of Genoa," writes Boswell, "are no inconsiderable
proportion of her people. These wretches flocked together from all
quarters, and were formed into twelve companies." The Corsican chiefs
called a general assembly, in which "On donna la Corse à la Vierge
Marie, qui ne parut pas accepter cette couronne."[66] They were not,
however, to be left long without a king, for the following year one of
the strangest adventurers whom the world has ever seen made a bid for
the crown. He promised the islanders the support of the great powers,
and, with their aid, he undertook, if he were made king, to clear
Corsica of her enemies. Men whose fortunes are well-nigh desperate, are
of easy faith, and the conditions of this poor German Baron were
accepted.
[Footnote 66: Voltaire, "Précis du Siècle de Louis XV.," chapter xl.]
His name was Theodore. He was Baron Neuhof, in the county of La Marc, in
Westphalia. Horace Walpole, who had seen him, describes him as "a
comely, middle-sized man, very reserved, and affecting much dignity."
Boswell says that "he was a man of abilities and address." He had served
in the French army, and, later on, had travelled through Spain, Italy,
England, and Holland, ever in search of some new adventure. He had
passed over to Tunis, and, under pretence of conquering Corsica for that
power, had obtained a supply of money and arms. In a ship of ten guns
furnished by the Bey, but carrying the English flag, which Theodore had
the impudence to raise, he sailed to Leghorn. There he sold the ship,
and despatched his offers to the Corsican leaders.
He quickly passed over to the island. This was in the spring of 1736.
"He was a man of a very stately appearance, and the Turkish dress which
he wore, added to the dignity of his mien.... He had his guards, and his
officers of state. He conferred titles of honour, and he struck money,
both of silver and copper. There was such a curiosity over all Europe to
have King Theodore's coins, that his silver coins were sold at four
zechins each; and when the genuine ones were exhausted, imitations of
them were made at Naples, and, like the imitations of antiques, were
bought up at a high price, and carefully preserved in the cabinets of
the virtuosi." He boasted of the immense treasures he had brought with
him, and, as a proof, he scattered among the people fifty sequins in
small coins of a debased or worn out currency. "Il donna des souliers de
bon cuir, magnificence ignorée en Corse." He blockaded the seaport towns
that were in the occupation of the Genoese. "He used to be sometimes at
one siege, sometimes at another, standing with a telescope in his hand,
as if he spied the assistance which he said he expected" from his
allies, the other monarchs of Europe. Couriers, who had been despatched
by himself, were constantly arriving from Leghorn, bringing him
despatches, as he pretended, from the great powers. The Genoese set a
price on his head. He replied in a manifesto, with all the calmness and
dignity of an injured monarch.
At the end of eight months, he "perceived that the people began to cool
in their affections towards him, and he therefore wisely determined to
leave them for a little, and try his fortune again upon the continent."
He went to Amsterdam, where he was thrown into prison for debt. But even
in prison he made fresh dupes. He induced some merchants, particularly
Jews, to pay his debts, and to furnish him with a ship, arms, and
provisions. He undertook in return, that they, and they alone, should
carry on the whole foreign trade of Corsica. When he reached the island
he did not venture to land; but contented himself with disembarking his
stores, and with putting to death the supercargo, "that he might not
have any trouble from demands being made upon him." In the end he
retired to London. "I believe I told you that King Theodore is here,"
wrote Horace Walpole in 1749, to Sir Horace Mann, our Envoy at Florence.
"I am to drink coffee with him to-morrow at Lady Schaub's."
The rest of the story of this adventurer is so strange that, though it
scarcely bears on Corsica, I shall venture to continue it. In the summer
of the next year Walpole writes to his friend, "I believe I told you
that one of your sovereigns, and an intimate friend of yours, King
Theodore, is in the King's Bench prison." The unfortunate monarch
languished there for some years. Walpole, with a kindliness which was
natural to him, raised a subscription for his majesty. He advocated his
cause in a paper in "The World," with the motto _Date obolum Belisario_.
But he wrote to his former correspondent, "His majesty's character is so
bad, that it only raised fifty pounds; and though that was so much above
his desert, it was so much below his expectation, that he sent a
solicitor to threaten the printer with a prosecution for having taken so
much liberty with his name--take notice, too, that he had accepted the
money! Dodsley, you may believe, laughed at the lawyer; but that does
not lessen the dirty knavery.... I have done with countenancing kings."
After he had remained in prison more than six years, "he took the
benefit of the Act of Insolvency, and went to the Old Bailey for that
purpose: in order to it, the person applying gives up all his effects to
his creditors: his Majesty was asked what effects he had? He replied
'Nothing but the kingdom of Corsica;' and it was actually registered for
the benefit of his creditors. As soon as Theodore was at liberty, he
took a chair and went to the Portuguese Minister, but did not find him
at home; not having sixpence to pay, he prevailed on the chairmen to
carry him to a tailor he knew in Soho, whom he prevailed upon to harbour
him; but he fell sick the next day, and died in three more." Walpole
set up a stone in St. Ann's Churchyard, Soho, in memory of his majesty,
with the following inscription:--
Near this place is interred
Theodore, King of Corsica;
Who died in this parish, Dec. 11, 1756,
Immediately after leaving the King's Bench Prison,
By the benefit of the Act of Insolvency:
In consequence of which, he registered
His Kingdom of Corsica
For the use of his Creditors.
The Grave, great teacher, to a level brings,
Heroes and beggars, galley-slaves and kings.
But Theodore this moral learn'd, ere dead;
Fate pour'd its lessons on his living head,
Bestow'd a kingdom and denied him bread.
Disappointed though they were in their king, the Corsicans nevertheless
carried on the war with spirit. They would, no doubt, have soon freed
the whole island, had not the French come to the help of their
oppressors. It was in vain that the islanders sent a memorial to the
King of France. "If," said their spokesman to Louis XV., "your sovereign
commands force us to yield to Genoa, well then, let us drink this bitter
cup to the health of the most Christian king, and die." The king and
the emperor acting together drew up articles of peace which seemed fair
enough; but, as a preliminary, the Corsicans were to be disarmed. To
this they refused to yield. Their leaders "published a spirited
manifesto to their countrymen, concluding it with the noble sentiment of
Judas Maccabeus: 'Melius est mori in bello quam videre mala gentis
nostrae. It is better for us to die in battle than to behold the
calamities of our people.'" The French dispatched an expedition to the
assistance of the Genoese which utterly failed. The following year
(1739) a more formidable expedition was sent under an able commander,
the Marquis de Maillebois. He divided his forces into two bodies.
Marching through the heart of the country each army carried devastation
in its path. "He cut down the standing corn," writes Boswell, "the
vines, the olives, set fire to the villages, and spread terror and
desolation in every quarter. He hanged numbers of monks and others who
were keenest in the revolt, and at the same time published, wherever he
went, his terms of capitulation." In a few weeks, all but the wildest
parts of the island were reduced. By the end of the next year there was
not a single patriot left in arms.