'The accident,' says Professor Raleigh,[1] 'which gave Boswell to
Johnson and Johnson to Boswell is one of the most extraordinary pieces
of good fortune in literary history.' The event of their meeting took
place on May 16th, 1763, and if in one sense it was clearly, as the
word is commonly used, an accident, it was equally the result of a
strong wish and intention, if not of deliberate design, on Boswell's
part. He had long known of Johnson, and as early as 1760 had hoped for
an introduction from 'Mr. Derrick, the poet,' 'an honour,' he says,
'of which I was very ambitious.' This honour bestowed eventually upon
a vain and extravagant youth (a circumstance which must be highly
esteemed among the good gifts of the Lady Fortune to humanity) was to
be attained through a humble agent. Among those of Boswell's friends
who were not of the higher strata in society was one Tom Davies. He
was at this time a bookseller, but as he had been formerly an actor
and then dramatic critic, there was something uncommon and adventurous
about his career. He had in fact in some degree the equivalent of what
has been known at a later date as Bohemianism. It seems particularly
appropriate that Boswell should have forgotten the pride of birth
to meet so, in humble circumstances, the object of his devotion. The
scene which took place in Tom Davies' back-parlour has the essence of
true comedy. Two of the actors are light-heartedly unconscious that
the moment has the least importance; the third is painfully and
anxiously aware that it is important to him, and naturally unaware
that it can have a value to anyone else. And it has, too, that
dramatic quality of great events taking place by accident, as it
seems, among incongruous circumstances. It is a scene which must
kindle always, for one who feels a serious value in humour, an emotion
beyond mere pleasure.
The comedy opens by Tom Davies announcing the eventful news in
farcical manner.
At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr.
Davies's back-parlour, after having drunk tea with him and
Mrs. Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr.
Davies having perceived him, through the glass-door in the
room in which we were sitting, advancing towards us,--he
announced his aweful approach to me, somewhat in the manner of
an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet
on the appearance of his father's ghost, 'Look, my Lord, it
comes....'
Boswell, who at once became nervous, had only time to give a warning
to Davies, and the latter maliciously said the one thing he had been
asked not to say. 'Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully
introduced me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his
prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to
Davies, "Don't tell where I come from."--"From Scotland," cried Davies
roguishly.' This was apparently a disastrous beginning, and something
must be done to retrieve the position. '"Mr. Johnson," said I, "I do
indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it."' It was rash indeed
to originate the conversation and not less typical of Boswell for
that. But a more pleasing remark could hardly be imagined, at
once courteous and frank and full of humour.[2] Johnson no doubt
appreciated it very well, and the more because he was able to find
an excellent repartee. For the moment, however, Boswell seemed to be
involved in fresh calamity. 'This speech was somewhat unlucky; for
with that quickness of wit for which he was so remarkable, he seized
the expression, "come from Scotland," which I used in the sense of
being of that country; and, as if I had said that I had come away from
it, or left it, retorted, "That, Sir, I find, is what a great many of
your countrymen cannot help."' Boswell for the moment was completely
crushed: 'This stroke stunned me a good deal,' and he now found
himself left out of the conversation, in which situation he felt
that he was unlikely to make a very favourable impression. 'He then
addressed himself to Davies: "What do you think of Garrick? He has
refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows
that the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three
shillings."' No opportunity must be missed, and youth is prompted by
enthusiasm. 'Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with
him, I ventured to say, "O, Sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would
grudge such a trifle to you!"' If this was bold it was at least both
genuine and polite, and the reproof was severe though Boswell admits
its justice. '"Sir," (said he, with a stern look) "I have known David
Garrick longer than you have done: and I know no right you have to
talk to me on the subject."' 'Perhaps' Boswell continues, 'I deserved
this check; for it was rather presumptuous in me, an entire stranger,
to express any doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his old
acquaintance and pupil. I now felt myself much mortified, and began
to think that the hope which I had long indulged of obtaining his
acquaintance was blasted. And, in truth, had not my ardour been
uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough
a reception might have deterred me for ever from making any further
attempts. Fortunately, however, I remained upon the field not
wholly discomfited; and was soon rewarded by hearing some of his
conversation.'
Eventually, when he went away, Davies made some encouraging remarks:
'Tom Davies followed me to the door; and when I complained to him a
little of the hard blows which the great man had given me, he kindly
took upon him to console me by saying, "Don't be uneasy. I can see he
likes you very well!"' The evidence that Johnson liked him very well
was not very convincing, we may suppose, to Boswell. But he called
upon Johnson a week later.
In the account of Boswell's first visit to Dr. Johnson's house there
is one instructive passage:
He told me that he generally went abroad at four in the
afternoon, and seldom came home till ten in the morning. I
took the liberty to ask if he did not think it wrong to live
thus, and not make more use of his great talents. He owned it
was a bad habit. On reviewing, at the distance of many years,
my journal of this period, I wonder how, at my first visit, I
ventured to talk to him so freely, and that he bore it with so
much indulgence.
Clearly Boswell was good at saying what he thought--the remark about
Garrick and the question as to the morality of Johnson's habits, so
early in their acquaintance, show this; he is himself amazed, at a
later date, 'how I ventured to talk so freely.' It is this candour,
in fact, which particularly attracted Johnson. His fame for brilliant
argument and crushing repartee, and his unbending dogmatic manner in
conversation, prevented very often the course of free and fearless
expression in his presence. The young, too, from their supposed
ignorance, have still something of the privilege of childhood in
saying what they think without offending. It is refreshing to
older men to hear the frank opinions of youth; and it was very
characteristic of Johnson that he liked people to speak quite openly
upon serious subjects, so long as they were sincere.
It is easy enough indeed to see why the two became friends. Boswell
was attractive to Johnson in more ways than one. His outspokenness was
happily blended with more gentle softening qualities, which made it
modest and appealing rather than over-confident and repelling. He
expressed, by his 'light pleasantry to soothe and conciliate him'--and
also, we may suppose, by something respectful in his manner--a
frank admiration for Johnson. And though some may say that this
attitude--flattery one might almost call it (for it is something very
near to that)--is repulsive to them, there are very few people in
practice who, when it is managed with sufficient dexterity, do not
find in it something peculiarly pleasant. Johnson certainly liked to
have admirers, and it was Boswell's nature to admire--but not in a
mean or servile fashion. He managed, one may suppose, to make Johnson
feel pleased with himself, but without lying and without compromising
his own opinions. We may see the attitude which he adopted from his
own words upon the subject of flattery:
[3]But there may be honest as well as dishonest flattery.
There may be flattery from a sincere admiration, and a desire
to please. It is benevolent to indulge this: and a man of
good disposition may find frequent opportunities for it, by
directly or obliquely bringing under the view of those with
whom he associates, such circumstances in their situations and
characters as are agreeable.
There is nothing unpleasant about this attitude: on the contrary it is
a very desirable civility.
It must be remembered, too, that Boswell with all his good-humoured
gaiety and pleasant social qualities could be, and often wanted to
be serious. And the conversation of Johnson was very often, at least
during the latter end of his life, of a serious nature. Morality,
human beings, literature, these were his great subjects; religion and
politics were discussed, but less often. Boswell was interested in the
same things; if with him more than with most men his own case was the
mainspring of all interests, this made him not less, but rather
more, attentive to all questions dealing with right and wrong and the
motives of men; and in literature, as we shall have occasion to show
later, he had a strong natural interest.
But there is another reason which made him an extremely suitable
companion for Johnson. What Johnson loved best in conversation was
to 'buffet' his adversary; this mode of proceeding has, however, the
obvious disadvantage that it prevents people talking, and also may
possibly offend them, a result which Johnson himself held to be
inexpedient. Boswell, fortunately, was little affected in either way.
Nothing, it is evident, could prevent him talking, and it took a great
deal to offend or even to hurt him. He was so divinely good-humoured!
For the moment, sometimes, he might be annoyed; but it very soon blew
over, and there was no malice in his nature to irritate a wound. The
consequence of this was that Johnson was often rude, which pleased
him, and sometimes went too far, which made him really sorry, so that
his kind-hearted nature liked the object of his brutality the better
for having injured it.
Of the attraction of Dr. Johnson for Boswell we need hardly speak. The
little that has been said already about Boswell's strange personality
and desires is almost sufficient explanation. We must not think
that he attached himself to Johnson with any particular object. 'To
suppose,' said Malone '(as some of his detractors have suggested),
that he attached himself to Dr. Johnson for the purpose of writing his
life, is to know nothing of the author and nothing of human nature.'
Malone, who knew Boswell very well at the end of his life, was
probably a good judge; and it is not difficult to account for
Johnson's attraction for Boswell without making a supposition of this
kind. Apart from the unique position which he had among literary men,
Johnson was a very striking figure and a very lovable man, and one who
would readily appeal to the imagination of the young; the honour of
receiving the attentions of Johnson would be pleasant in every way;
and Boswell's character was eminently capable of devotion.
The friendship which grew up between these two men, who were so
different, was not wholly without the shadow of romance. The relations
between them were of the kind that parents would wish to exist
between father and son. A great deal of affection on both sides there
certainly was. The journey together which they took to Harwich on the
occasion of Boswell's departure for the Continent[4] is significant
enough of Johnson's feelings, and Boswell's account of their parting
may speak for his:
My revered friend walked down with me to the beach, where we
embraced and parted with tenderness and engaged to correspond
by letters. I said, 'I hope, Sir, you will not forget me in
my absence.' Johnson, 'Nay, Sir, it is more likely you should
forget me, than that I should forget you.' As the vessel put
out to sea I kept my eyes upon him for a considerable time,
while he remained rolling his majestic frame in his usual
manner: and at last I perceived him walk back into the town,
and he disappeared.
There is a note of regret in the paragraph, which, as anyone can see,
is perfectly genuine.
But Boswell's attitude was much more complicated than one of mere
affection. The friendship was of that complementary order where each
person contributes something which the other lacks, so that they have
a natural need each of the other. Johnson liked Boswell for his
youth and freshness; Boswell worshipped Johnson for his strength.[5]
Worship! it was no less than that; he admitted it, he was proud of
it. His own mind was of the indecisive kind which sees many things and
finds it difficult to choose among them; he turned very readily to the
strong, definite view of life, the expression of an intelligence not
smaller, as convinced people are often fundamentally smaller, but
clearly larger than his own; Johnson's overwhelming personality was
able to support their common prejudices, usually by argument, but, if
not so, by sheer force of conviction. It was not so much that Boswell
approved of everything in Johnson's mind as that he could depend upon
finding there a certain attitude expressive, as he thought, of his own
better self, or of what he would like to have become had he been able
to forgo a part of his own nature.
* * * * *
Dr. Johnson, if he was by far the most important, was by no means
the only great man who was to become Boswell's friend. The paternal
graciousness admitted of two years to be spent on the Continent,
years that were to be devoted to diligent study in the University of
Utrecht. Boswell turned them to the best advantage. The parting was
propitious; his friend of the past few months accompanied him to the
quay-side and Boswell was launched for the Continent by the great
literary dictator. That the excellent advice of the moralist and
the command of a father were neglected made little difference to the
success of the lively young man. Utrecht was frankly a dull place,
and there were several gay spots to be visited. Boswell fulfilled
his destiny by amusing the best society, and made acquaintances among
distinguished men. The capital of Prussia was visited, and the English
ambassador Sir Andrew Mitchell was assailed and surrendered. The
courts of Saxe-Gotha and Baden were the sphere of the young Scotsman's
wit. Philosophers were among his honoured objects of attachment. The
youthful Bozzy called upon Voltaire at Ferney, and became almost the
friend of Rousseau. Lord Mount Stuart desired him for a travelling
companion. The greatest achievement, perhaps, and the most
characteristic was the capture of the notorious Wilkes; and intimacy
with him was not unfitting, for the two were much alike in their
irresponsible levity.
But all this was no more than the tinkling of a cymbal before the
booming of an heroic drum. Boswell determined to visit the Island of
Corsica.
Corsica was at this time the scene of a romantic struggle. Tired of
the heavy yoke of the Genoese republic, the islanders were in a state
of rebellion and were fighting under the flag of Liberty. Their
leader was an admirable figurehead, one General Paoli, a zealous and
disinterested patriot, a capable soldier and a wise politician. The
Byronic furore of a later date for an oppressed people would have
found a suitable object in the Corsicans and their national idol. For
the mind of Boswell in search of the heroic they had a special appeal.
A letter of introduction to Paoli was solicited from Rousseau, and
with this the light-hearted young man stepped bravely forth with the
bravery of ignorance, to be the first Englishman of his generation to
visit those distant and uncivilised shores.
The event was properly considered to be worthy of notice in the
English Press, and the requisite information as to Mr. Boswell's
movements was supplied from time to time by the pen of Mr. Boswell
himself.
The visit of Boswell to Corsica was a complete success. He travelled
in the _rôle_ of explorer, but was treated as an unknown political
force. Men of many wiles sought behind an ingenuous and good-natured
simplicity a deeper significance when there was none such to be
found; Paoli, who hoped for English assistance, was glad to treat with
especial favour the one English subject whom he had the opportunity of
knowing. And Boswell, if he disclaimed an embassy, was not unwilling
to be seen with an escort of Corsicans as he rode upon the general's
horse, and to be entertained with diplomatic courtesy.
His own social qualities were perhaps of even greater service to him.
He exercised to the full his invaluable talent for bringing good cheer
to his companions. In the journal which he afterwards published, the
'Tour to Corsica,' there is an admirable account of an evening spent
with the Corsican peasants which shows what an acceptable guest the
good-humoured and lively Boswell must have been.
The Corsican peasants and soldiers were quite free and easy
with me. Numbers of them used to come and see me of a morning,
and just go out and in as they pleased. I did everything in my
power to make them fond of the British, and bid them hope for
an alliance with us. They asked me a thousand questions about
my country, all which I cheerfully answered as well as I
could. One day they would needs hear me play upon my German
flute. To have told my honest natural visitants, 'Really,
gentlemen, I play very ill,' and put on such airs as we do in
our genteel companies, would have been highly ridiculous. I
therefore immediately complied with their request. I gave them
one or two Italian airs, and then some of our beautiful old
Scotch tunes, 'Gilderoy,' 'The Lass of Patie's Mill,' 'Corn
Riggs are Bonny.' The pathetick simplicity and pastoral gaiety
of the Scots musick will always please those who have the
genuine feelings of nature. The Corsicans were charmed with
the specimens I gave them, though I may now say that they were
very indifferently performed.
My good friends insisted also to have an English song from me.
I endeavoured to please them in this too, and was very lucky
in that which occurred to me. I sung them, 'Hearts of oak are
our ships, Hearts of oak are our men.' I translated it into
Italian for them, and never did I see men so delighted with
a song as the Corsicans were with 'Hearts of Oak.' 'Cuori di
querco,' cried they, 'bravo Inglese.' It was quite a joyous
riot. I fancied myself to be a recruiting sea-officer.
I fancied all my chorus of Corsicans aboard the British
fleet.[6]
There is a natural good fellowship or social instinct, a splendid
enjoyment in the company of others, revealed in this story: it is a
quality that pleases everybody. To Paoli he was agreeable besides
for other reasons. He had a real enthusiasm and taste for literature,
which the intellectual world understood and appreciated readily
enough. Hume writes of Boswell's return from Paris, in the company
of Thérèse Le Vasseur. He calls him, 'a young gentleman, very
good-humoured, very agreeable, and very mad'; and afterwards refers to
his literary tastes: 'He has such a rage for literature that I dread
some event fatal to our friend's honour. You remember the story of
Terentia, who was first married to Cicero, then to Sallust, and at
last, in her old age, married a young nobleman, who imagined that
she must possess some secret which would convey to him eloquence and
genius.'[7]
There is a certain extravagance suggested by this which is very
characteristic of Boswell. He produced almost the expectation that
he would do something odd. This in itself is not to every one an
attractive quality; but it is one which combined with others may bring
an added charm. Boswell had great generosity of a certain kind which
was more than sufficient to excuse anything that might be tiresome
about him; he had an unabashed admiration and real respect for great
men. He was also able and was not unwilling to capture the hearts of
men by repeating things that would please them; as he relates that
he did upon his visit to Voltaire, by repeating the dictum of Johnson
about Frederick the Great: 'He writes just as you might suppose
Voltaire's footboy to do, who has been his amanuensis. He has such
parts as the valet might have, and about as much of the colouring of
his style as might be got by transcribing his works.' 'When I was at
Ferney,' Boswell records, 'I repeated this to Voltaire, in order to
reconcile him somewhat to Johnson, whom he, in affecting the English
mode of expression, had previously characterised as 'a superstitious
dog'; but after hearing such a criticism on Frederick the Great, with
whom he was then on bad terms, he exclaimed, 'An honest fellow!'
With such pleasant qualities Boswell won the esteem of the General of
the Corsicans. Paoli not only treated him with the courtesy due to a
distinguished and possibly a useful stranger but entertained him with
the spontaneous enjoyment of friendship.
The intimate relations which sprang up between Boswell and Paoli were,
as we may judge from Boswell's own account, very similar to those
already in existence between himself and Johnson.
The taste for the heroic may be satisfied easily. Even about the scamp
Wilkes in exile there was a glamour which appealed to the imaginative
young Bozzy. But for the real Boswellian admiration something more
was required--the portentous possession of the 'solid virtues.' The
probity of Paoli could never be in question. He appears to have been a
simple character with a noble disinterestedness and the honesty of the
Mediterranean sun. His interest was Corsica, and, if we may believe
Boswell, there was hardly a thought of self in the matter. In this he
was perhaps not different from the greater part of his countrymen;
but he had besides enthusiasm a wise moderation and self-control, a
knowledge of men and a military ability which gave him an authority
of the most absolute kind over the Corsicans. His power rested solely
upon the weight of his personal influence. It was an impressive figure
no doubt--a man to be admired; and Boswell was good at admiring: but a
man also to be loved, direct, kind-hearted and sympathetic. He had
too what we should scarcely expect in the patriot general--a wide
knowledge of literature and considerable culture. General Paoli was
in fact entirely suitable to be Boswellised, more suitable it might
almost seem than Doctor Sam himself; but the latter was a man of far
greater intelligence.
The opinions of Boswell in any case are clear enough, and we may read
a few specimens from the 'Tour in Corsica.'
The contemplation of such a character really existing was
of more service to me than all I had been able to draw from
books, from conversation or from the exertions of my own mind.
I had often enough formed the idea of a man continually such
as I could conceive in my best moments. But this idea appeared
like the ideas we are taught in the schools to form of things
which may exist, but do not; of seas of milk, and ships of
amber. But I saw my highest idea realised in Paoli. It was
impossible for me, speculate as I pleased, to have a little
opinion of human nature in him.
One morning, I remember, I came in upon him without ceremony,
while he was dressing. I was glad to have an opportunity of
seeing him in those teasing moments, when, according to
the Duke of Rochefoucault, no man is a hero to his valet de
chambre. The lively nobleman who has a malicious pleasure
in endeavouring to divest human nature of its dignity, by
exhibiting partial views, and exaggerating faults, would have
owned that Paoli was every moment of his life a hero.
Here is a candid unpretending hero-worship. If it eludes the virtue of
moderation it escapes the vice of mediocrity. In this is its capacity
for greatness. For the moment there is nothing very great about it,
but it has a most desirable effect for good in Boswell:
Never was I so thoroughly sensible of my own defects as while
I was in Corsica. I felt how small were my abilities, and how
little I knew.
The example made for a genuine modesty in the admirer (though it is
doubtful if Boswell was ever suspected of being modest); the Boswell
who was 'ambitious to be the companion of Paoli' was willing to
deserve the honour of that companionship:
From having known intimately so exalted a character my
sentiments of human nature were raised, while, by a sort of
contagion, I felt an honest ardour to distinguish myself, and
be useful, as far as my situation and abilities would allow;
and I was, for the rest of my life, set free from a slavish
timidity in the presence of great men, for where shall I find
a man greater than Paoli?
The expedition to Corsica was, as we have said, a complete success. To
visit the island, to observe the manners of the heroic peasants, and
to become the friend of Paoli were admirable undertakings at that
time, and under those circumstances. But it was in England that
Boswell was to triumph. He was launched upon society with the _éclat_
of an interesting personage; he returned from his adventures over seas
to exact without reluctance the homage due to a brave traveller.
The early fame of Boswell came not from Johnson, but from Paoli and
Corsica. It is a fact worth remarking, because Boswell's connection
with Johnson is so much the more important for us, that we are apt to
forget that he can have had another title to renown. He was 'Corsica'
Boswell and 'Paoli' Boswell, as Dr. Birkbeck Hill remarks, long before
he became famous as 'Johnson' Boswell.
Boswell himself fully appreciated the situation. He felt that he had
accomplished something of which he could be justly proud. He knew
himself to be in the public eye. 'No apology shall be made,' he writes
in the preface to his book, 'for presenting the world with "An Account
of Corsica." It has been for some time expected from me; and I own
that the ardour of publick opinion has both encouraged and intimidated
me.' Johnson wrote him a letter which he quoted without permission in
the 'Tour to Corsica'--'Come home and expect such a welcome as is due
to him whom a wise and noble curiosity has led where perhaps no native
of this country ever was before.' He said no doubt what he really
felt.
When Boswell returned to England in 1766 he became therefore, quite
naturally, the champion of Corsican liberty. But this was only one
phase of the fame to which he aspired; there was still, and there
was always, the desire to shine in the great and elevated sphere of
literature, and the opportunity had now arrived to write a book of
universal interest.
It was in 1768 that the first literary work of any magnitude which
Boswell produced, 'An Account of Corsica, the journal of a tour to
that island; and memoirs of Pascal Paoli,' was published. The title
explains exactly the scope of the book. The account of Corsica is
historical; the journal is in its method much like other books of
travel, except for the biographical part which deals with Paoli. Of
the historical part of the book there is nothing particular to be
said: it is, as Johnson remarked, 'like other histories.' 'Your
History,' he told him, 'was copied from books; your Journal rose out
of your own experience and observation.' The chief interest of the
book is that it is the earliest example of Boswell's biographical
method. The memoirs that we have here of Paoli aim at giving a picture
of a man in much the same way as does the 'Life of Johnson.' The
question as to what exactly was Boswell's method will be discussed
later; but we are reminded here that the man who preserved the
conversations of Paoli and 'came in upon him without ceremony while
he was dressing,' in order to see how he conducted himself before his
_valet de chambre_, was becoming an adept in his own peculiar art.
A great charm of the Journal, also prophetic of the future, lies in
the perfect frankness with which Boswell discusses his own feelings.
'We retired to another room to drink coffee. My timidity wore off. I
no longer anxiously thought of myself; my whole attention was employed
in listening to the illustrious commander of a nation.' Or again, 'I
enjoyed a luxury of noble sentiment. Paoli became more affable with
me. I made myself known to him. I forgot the great distance between
us and had every day some hours of private conversation with him.'
Boswell realised that a Journal is delightful only if it is quite
informal. We have a pleasing sense of inconsequent freedom when we
read in the Journal several pages quoted from the 'First Book of the
Maccabees.' But it is not irrelevant to Boswell's purpose. It occurred
to his thoughts; and that is a sufficient justification, whether it
seem ludicrous or incongruous or ponderous, for its inclusion. There
is no scene in the 'Tour in Corsica' which comes up to the best in the
'Life of Johnson,' but there are several descriptions, such as that
quoted above, when Boswell played the pipe and sang 'Hearts of Oak,'
which are really artistic and pleasing.
The book, at all events, had the effect of amusing people and it gave
them an interest in Corsica too. Boswell had good accounts of it on
all sides. 'My book,' he writes to Temple, 'has amazing celebrity:[8]
Lord Lyttelton, Mr. Walpole, Mrs. Macaulay, Mr. Garrick, have all
written me noble letters about it.' The sale must have been very
rapid. The dedication to the first edition is dated October 29, 1767,
and the preface to the third edition on the same day of October, his
birthday, in the following year. In this preface he explains that he
has acquired that literary fame which he desired:
May I be permitted to say that the success of this book has
exceeded my warmest hopes. When I first ventured to send it
into the world, I fairly owned an ardent desire for literary
fame. I have obtained my desire; and whatever clouds may
overcast my days, I can now walk here among the rocks and
woods of my ancestors, with an agreeable consciousness that I
have done something worthy.
There is nothing deserving particular remark in an author's desire for
literary fame. But it is remarkable that a man should proclaim it to
the world as Boswell did. The common ideal of an artist supposes that
his work should be, in the first place, the expression of his own
personality; an expression because to him it is necessary to reproduce
in some form what he sees and feels: it is for himself and himself
alone, and the world without is allowed to share, partly that the
artist may earn a living, partly perhaps that he may have some
justification for his self-absorption; and in greater part no doubt,
in some cases more than in others, but in every case a little, that
he may win the applause that we all like at bottom. None of these
reasons, and, least of all, the desire for fame, is held to be a
motive for producing art. There may be various impulses with varying
circumstances; but there can be but one motive.
The ambition which Boswell had, and which he expressed so freely, is
peculiar in some ways for the end desired, but it is not essentially
different from that of other artists.
He who publishes a book, affecting not to be an 'authour',[9]
and professing an indifference for literary fame, may possibly
impose upon many people such an idea of his consequence as he
wishes may be received. For my part, I should be proud to be
known as an authour and I have an ardent ambition for literary
fame; for of all possessions I should imagine literary fame
to be the most valuable. A man who has been able to furnish
a book which has been approved by the world, has established
himself as a respectable character in distant society,
without any danger of having that character lessened by the
observation of his weaknesses. To preserve an uniform dignity
among those who see us every day is hardly possible; and
to aim at it must put us under the fetters of a perpetual
restraint. The authour of an approved book may allow his
natural disposition an easy play, and yet indulge the pride of
superiour genius when he considers that, by those who know him
only as an authour, he never ceases to be respected. Such
an authour, when in his hours of discontent, may have the
consolation to think that his writings are at that very time
giving pleasure to numbers; and such an authour may cherish
the hope of being remembered after death, which has been a
great object to the noblest minds in all ages.
The nature of the desire for fame which he had is revealed to us by
Boswell in this curious passage. It does not compromise his character
as an artist.[10] He wished to obtain the public esteem, to have
the reputation of an ingenious and worthy man; and literature was
considered as a means to this end. But we cannot argue that he
must therefore have pandered to the public taste: he wrote, as he
proclaimed at a later date in a contribution to a periodical, 'from
the primary motive of pleasing himself.' This ambition is not in
its nature an attitude towards art but towards the world. In all his
writings, even in the frivolous publications of his youth, Boswell has
expressed his own person in a peculiar degree. We must not suppose,
when we see an eagerness for literary fame, which, from the frankness
of his expression, may appear extravagant, that he lacked a literary
conscience, for he had an excellent one; nor indeed that it mattered
at all to him whether opinion in general should care about his book,
except in so far as it approved of him, of the real Boswell, which it
could not but find there.
Boswell's ideal of the literary man's position is well expressed in
one of the letters to Temple:
Temple, I wish to be at last an uniform, pretty man. I am
astonishingly so already, but I wish to be a man who
deserves Miss B.... I am always for fixing some period for my
perfection as far as possible. Let it be when my account of
Corsica is published; I shall then have a character which
I must support. I will swear, like an ancient disciple of
Pythagoras, to observe silence; I will be grave and reserved,
though cheerful and communicative of what is _verum atque
decens_. One great fault of mine is talking at random; I will
guard against it.
It is amusing to think of Boswell in this _rôle_. Already we may see
the great contest in his life between natural candour and commonplace
ambition--the charm of the 'Tour to Corsica' was the charm of candour,
and it was dangerous to dreams of future greatness in the sphere of
public affairs. Boswell understood that to gain respect he must be
more serious. But this he never was able to be; it was his nature
to be extravagant. He had a mind which in some respects was wholly
unconventional, and though he tried sometimes, he could never entirely
repress his feelings: the consequence was that though there were many
things about which he cared very much, it was never possible to take
him quite seriously; if a man plays the buffoon sometimes we are in
danger of being fooled if we give him credit for being in earnest; and
so, if we are to preserve our _amour propre_, which is what everybody
wants to do, we must laugh at a buffoon whatever he does.
A most notable piece of Boswell's buffoonery was in connection with
the Shakespeare Jubilee at Stratford-on-Avon in 1769. He attended
this festival dressed as an armed Corsican chief. This perhaps was not
particularly odd; the form of rejoicing which the company indulged in
was a 'Mask.' It is dangerous even so, and hardly decent, to blow the
personal trumpet so loudly. Boswell, however, was not content merely
with the public advertisement of his connexion with Corsica; he wrote
to the _London Magazine_[11] an elaborate unsigned account of himself
and his costume: it was entitled 'Account of the Armed Corsican Chief
at the Masquerade at Shakespeare's Jubilee, with a fine whole-length
portrait of James Boswell, Esq., in the dress of an armed Corsican
chief, as he appeared at the Jubilee Mask.' There is no need to give
here the text of this document: it has been quoted at length a number
of times, and it suffices to say that there can be no possible doubt
that Boswell wrote it and that he wrote it to exhibit himself in a
favourable light. The incident is characteristic of Boswell. It is not
the mad whim that may occur once in a lifetime, the event which stands
as it were by itself apart from the man; it is not an experiment
miscarried, that has taken him away from his usual self and so must
remain unexplained or be put to the long account of genius: rather it
is the sort of oddity that we come to expect of Boswell.
Frolics of this kind naturally deprived Boswell of the respect which
he desired for himself as a man of letters. The 'Tour to Corsica' was
an admirable beginning to a literary career; he had then the chance of
founding the reputation he wanted as a person of weight, a man whose
judgment must be accounted of some importance by the world at large.
His writings about Corsica had been widely read and his views had
found general sympathy. Moreover the popular poetess, Mrs. Barbauld,
had paid homage in verse to his fame as an explorer. But by such
behaviour as this at Stratford these hopes were frustrated. And to
him, though perhaps not to us, this was the tragedy of his life.
[Footnote 1: _Samuel Johnson_, by Walter Raleigh, 1907.]
[Footnote 2: This remark we may suppose was deliberately
misinterpreted by some of Boswell's contemporaries and he
finds it necessary to introduce a defence of it: 'I am willing
to believe that I meant this as light pleasantry to soothe
and conciliate him, and not as humiliating abasement at the
expense of my country.' It was of course an apology for coming
from Scotland, but an absurd apology of which he saw the
absurdity, as though a man were to apologise for being six
feet high.]
[Footnote 3: _London Magazine_, vol. li., p. 359.]
[Footnote 4: In August 1763.]
[Footnote 5: _Life of Johnson_, iii., 331.]
[Footnote 6: _Tour to Corsica_, pp. 320-1.]
[Footnote 7: _Private Correspondence of David Hume_, 1820.]
[Footnote 8: It is an interesting fact that it was translated
into German, Dutch, Italian, and French (_Gentleman's
Magazine_, June 1795--Letter from J. B. R.) The _Life_, I
believe, has never been translated. The same correspondent
says, 'It was received with extraordinary approbation.']
[Footnote 9: For Boswell's views on spelling see this same
preface.]
[Footnote 10: Mr. Malone, speaking of the _Life_, said, 'That
in this work he had not both fame and profit in view, would be
idle to assert; but to suppose that these were his principal
objects is to know nothing of the author, and nothing of human
nature.' _Gentleman's Magazine_, June 1795.]
[Footnote 11: September 1769.]