A biography of Boswell, though it might profess to be complete, could
say little about his domestic life. If he has told us very little
about it, there is, however, no reason that we should seek to know
more. It was a very essential part of Boswell that he should have
a wife and family: a wife, because she adds a certain flavour of
respectability and is a definite asset to the social position of a
man, still more perhaps because she increases responsibility and so
intensifies the sensation of importance; a family, because to the man
of estate there must be born an heir. But the mere fact of his being
married was, in a sense, of far less consequence to him than to most
men.
There were two aspects of his life which were dissociated in a
peculiar degree from each other--the life in Scotland, where he
laboured at the Law and was eventually to be Laird of Auchinleck, and
where his home was the basis of operations; and the life in London,
which he visited as often as he was able, to live the gay life he
loved, and to talk to his literary friends, especially to Dr. Johnson.
The pleasure he had in the society of his English friends was far more
to him than another man's recreation or hobby. It occupied more time,
and it was time spent away from his domestic circle and, for the most
part, away from his work. He is never tired of telling of his love of
London.
I had long complained to him [Johnson] that I felt myself
discontented in Scotland, as too narrow a sphere, and that I
wished to make my chief residence in London, the great scene
of ambition, instruction, amusement: a scene which was to me,
comparatively speaking, a heaven upon earth! _Johnson_: 'Why,
Sir, I never knew anyone who had such a gust for London as you
have.'
It must be our business then to follow for a little the life of
Boswell among his London friends, to see the relations in which he
stood to them and the progress of his intimacy with Dr. Johnson.
In the 'Life' there are recorded the consecutive visits of Boswell
to England with relation always to Dr. Johnson in particular, but
referring also to other celebrities whom he met, and to his own
pleasures and amusements. The group of men who were in the first
place the friends and admirers of Dr. Johnson, and with whom Boswell
naturally associated so far as he was able, were for the most part
distinguished men in the best literary society, and members of that
club which was started by Johnson and Reynolds in 1762 or 1763. Burke,
Beauclerk, Langton, Goldsmith, Hawkins, were original members; Garrick
was elected in 1773, as was Boswell himself. Malone, whose wise help
was invaluable to Boswell in preparing for the press his _magnum
opus_, and who was its first editor, became a member later.
The pleasure which it gave Boswell to belong to this club of
distinguished men is revealed in his own account of his election. 'The
gentlemen went away to their club, and I was left at Beauclerk's till
the fate of my election should be announced to me. I sat in a state
of anxiety which even the charming conversation of Lady Di Beauclerk
could not entirely dissipate. In a short time I received the agreeable
intelligence that I was chosen. I hastened to the place of meeting,
and was introduced to such a society as can seldom be found.'
From a conversation reported in the 'Tour to the Hebrides' it would
appear that Boswell was not elected without some difficulty. 'He
[Johnson] told me, "Sir, you got into our club by doing what a man can
do."'
(Boswell's note on this is: 'This I find is considered as
obscure. I suppose Dr. Johnson meant that I assiduously and
earnestly recommended myself to some of the members, as in a
canvass for an election into Parliament.')
'Several of the members wished to keep you out. Burke told me he
doubted if you were fit for it....' _Boswell_: 'They were afraid of
you, Sir, as it was you who proposed me.' _Johnson_: 'Sir, they knew
that if they refused you, they'd probably have never got in another.
I'd have kept them all out.'
Boswell, of course, did not get on equally well with all of Johnson's
friends. Goldsmith especially he seems to have disliked, and at a
later date Mrs. Thrale, Miss Burney and Baretti; we may suppose that
the feeling was mutual, especially after the appearance of the 'Life
of Johnson,' in which Boswell made little attempt to conceal his
feelings. With Hawkins, who was chosen to write the official biography
of Johnson, he was eventually to quarrel. But he had strong supporters
in the club. 'Now you are in,' Johnson told him, 'none of them are
sorry. Burke says you have so much good humour naturally, it is scarce
a virtue.' Beauclerk too appreciated him. 'Beauclerk was very earnest
for you.' His greatest friend of this _coterie_ besides Dr. Johnson
was Sir Joshua Reynolds. Sir Joshua seems always to have understood
and insisted upon the value of Boswell. He was prepared to take up
the cudgels. 'He thaws reserve wherever he comes and sets the ball of
conversation rolling.'[1] The club, whatever else it might think about
Boswell, was obliged to admit that he was excellent company.
There were some, no doubt, who had a high opinion of Boswell's
abilities; it was admitted by everyone that he had written a good
book, and not all, like Gray and Walpole,[2] can have thought that he
wrote it by chance. And Boswell too, if not a good literary critic,
was interested in books and able to talk about them. The opinions to
which he gave expression in the 'Life of Johnson' about various books
which came under discussion are often more appreciative and better
supported by reason than the dicta of Johnson, and he sometimes
shows considerable sagacity. His views about Johnson's own books, and
especially his criticism of Johnson's style and the high estimate he
formed of the 'Lives of the Poets,' are excellent.
But it was far more for his social than for his literary qualities
that Boswell was valued. In the circle of Johnson's admirers he was
in a sense the most important figure; he had a greater admiration
than any other and was rewarded by Johnson with a greater degree of
affection. He came to understand Johnson. Hannah More relates that she
was on one occasion made umpire in a trial of skill between Garrick
and Boswell, which could most nearly imitate Dr. Johnson's manner.[3]
'I remember I gave it for Boswell in familiar conversation, and
for Garrick in reciting poetry.' To have beaten Garrick was a great
performance and shows how Boswell must have studied Johnson. He was,
as it were, his chief exploiter. It was he above all the rest who
could make Johnson talk.[4] He knew what would provoke a discussion,
and was so reckless of appearing foolish that he would introduce any
subject. He made opportunities for Johnson to exhibit his powers. The
description of how he arranged the meeting with Wilkes, though more
famous almost than any other passage of the 'Life,' is too important
as illustrating the whole attitude of Boswell to be omitted here.
It is not inappropriate to say that the very name of Wilkes was to
Johnson like a red rag to a bull. He hated what he considered to be a
pretentious notoriety, and what he no doubt talked about as 'this cant
of liberty' was the signal for an outburst of violence in his best
manner. Boswell conceived the idea of bringing these two together, and
probably hoped to witness an incomparable contest. But how was this
to be done? 'I was persuaded that if I had come upon him with a direct
proposal, "Sir, will you dine in company with Jack Wilkes?" he would
have flown into a passion and would probably have answered, "Dine with
Jack Wilkes, Sir! I'd as soon dine with Jack Ketch."' But it was easy
to see the weak point in the Doctor's armour. 'Notwithstanding the
high veneration which I entertained for Dr. Johnson, I was sensible
that he was a little actuated sometimes by contradiction, and by means
of that I hoped I should gain my point.' Boswell, who knows exactly
what will provoke his friend, has thought out beforehand precisely
what he shall say, and opens with a proposal which Johnson is sure
to accept. 'Mr. Dilly, Sir, sends me his respectful compliments, and
would be happy if you would do him the honour to dine with him
on Wednesday next along with me, as I must soon go to Scotland.'
_Johnson_: 'Sir, I am obliged to Mr. Dilly. I will wait upon him.' The
dictator is in a gracious mood, and the moment favourable to excite a
rebuke in defence of that formal courtesy which he loved to practise.
'Provided, Sir, I suppose,' adds Boswell, 'that the company which
he is to have is agreeable to you.' The apparent artlessness of the
remark in the true Boswellian fashion, with the exaggerated respect
that so often irritated Johnson, took effect at once. _Johnson_:
'What do you mean, Sir? What do you take me for? Do you think I am
so ignorant of the world as to imagine that I am to prescribe to a
gentleman what company he is to have at his table?' An excuse must
now be made which is certain to meet with sledge-hammer reasoning
or piercing sarcasm, and it will then be safe to lead up to the
disagreeable intelligence. 'I beg your pardon, Sir, for wishing to
prevent you from meeting people whom you might not like. Perhaps
he may have some of what he calls his patriotic friends with him.'
_Johnson_: 'Well, Sir, what then? What care _I_ for his _patriotic
friends_? Poh!' _Boswell_: 'I should not be surprised to find Jack
Wilkes there.' The possibility may have been disconcerting, but
retreat was now out of the question. _Johnson_: 'And if Jack Wilkes
should be there, what is that to me, Sir? My dear friend, let me have
no more of this. I am sorry to be angry with you, but really it is
treating me strangely to talk to me as if I could not meet any company
whatever, occasionally.' So the matter was settled. Boswell asks
forgiveness and clinches the matter: 'Pray forgive me, Sir; I meant
well. But you shall meet whoever comes.' 'Thus,' he tells the reader,
with evident satisfaction, 'I secured him.'
The man who could do this was clearly of importance to those who were
interested, even though in a less degree than himself, in Dr. Johnson.
We may suppose that the circle of Johnson's literary friends welcomed
Boswell as much for his peculiar homage to the Doctor as for his own
social talents.
* * * * *
We must now more nearly examine that friendship, which is as much
the concern of our own age as it was of Boswell's. We have considered
already what it was that caused these two men to be friends; but the
meanest picture of Boswell must include some account of his behaviour
towards Johnson; we must review the progress of their friendship and
remark the more characteristic attitudes of the biographer.
In the pages of the 'Life of Johnson' is recorded in detail, and
almost without reserve, the story of the relations between these
two friends. It is a story full of humour, telling of all the little
peculiarities of a great man, of all the whims and foibles which we
are accustomed to observe in old age and which we both like and laugh
at; but it is the story also of a deep and anxious affection.
If the course of friendship ran smoothly on the whole for Johnson and
Boswell, as might be expected when one of the two was so well balanced
and so practically wise as the older man, yet, as must always be the
case with people who are not either quite perfect or quite colourless,
there were rough places here and there; and these, if responsible for
no great misery, were, however, the cause of some unhappiness to both.
Boswell, at all events, realised very keenly the great gulf between
them; between his own sensitive, uncertain nature and Johnson's rude
strength. He, probably more than most men, wanted sympathy, wanted to
be understood. With what relief he speaks from his heart to Temple: 'I
have not had such a relief as this for I don't know how long. I have
broke the trammels of business, and am roving unconfined with my
Temple.' It is unfortunate for Boswell that he expressed himself so
extravagantly. We sympathise with those who are self-contained about
sentiment and particularly about their own sorrows, but we have few
kind feelings for those who exaggerate. And Boswell, because he was
difficult to understand, was more than usually isolated: to Johnson,
at all events, there must have been many matters about which he could
not talk, and he was nettled sometimes by the other's blunt advice.
It was unpleasant to be told by one whom he so much respected, at the
moment of his first serious publication, 'The Corsican Journal,' to
'empty his head of Corsica which had filled it too long.' It must have
been more than annoying when he had written to Johnson in a despondent
mood (there is no reason to doubt that he was genuine in despondency)
to receive his answer: 'I had hoped you had got rid of all this
hypocrisy of misery. What have you to do with Liberty and Necessity?
Or what more than to hold your tongue about it? Do not doubt that I
shall be most heartily glad to see you here again, for I love every
part about you but your affectation of distress.'
Much as we must admire the honest wrath of Johnson, and the desire
which he had to cure the affectation of Boswell, we cannot but regret
sometimes that he was not more discriminating. It was much, no doubt,
to be assured of affection, but affection alone could not take the
place of an understanding sympathy; and if this had come from one whom
he so much respected, it would have been invaluable to Boswell. As it
was, he realised that Johnson must partially disapprove of him, and
it was because he knew, and felt this disapproval, as much as from any
inherent quality of his temperament, that he so often wanted a proof
of affection.
Whatever may have been their cause--it may have been no more than
the mere need for friendship coupled with the peculiar unreserve of
Boswell's character--the result of these demands was sometimes to
irritate Johnson.
I said to him: 'My dear Sir, we must meet every year, if you
don't quarrel with me.' _Johnson_: 'Nay, Sir, you are more
likely to quarrel with me than I with you. My regard for you
is greater almost than I have words to express; but I do not
choose to be always repeating it; write it down in the first
leaf of your pocket-book, and never doubt of it again.'
On one occasion Johnson was really angry. Boswell conceived the idea
of making an experiment to test his affection. It was apparently his
custom to write to Johnson upon his return to his family. He wanted
to see what the Doctor would do if he neglected the usual civility.
Johnson, of course, was eventually the first to write; and Boswell,
thus gratified, answered him by a letter which frankly explained his
motives:
I was willing ... to try whether your affection for me would,
after an unusual silence on my part, make you write first.
This afternoon I have had very high satisfaction by receiving
your kind letter of inquiry, for which I most gratefully thank
you. I am doubtful if it was right to make the experiment,
though I have gained by it.
We may forgive Johnson for being annoyed by this letter.
Those who make very large demands upon their friends for a display of
affection are, as a rule, rather tiresome companions; it may possibly
be good to be sensitive, but it is bad to be easily offended, which is
often the case with such people. But if Boswell, like many who take a
decided lead in friendship, required many proofs to make him believe
that it was more than a one-sided affair, he of all men was the most
difficult to offend. We cannot do better than read his own accounts
of his quarrels with Johnson. There is that famous one, in the first
place, of the dinner at Sir Joshua's.
On Saturday, May 2, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds',
where there was a very large company, and a great deal of
conversation; but owing to some circumstance which I cannot
now recollect, I have no record of any part of it, except that
there were several people there by no means of the Johnsonian
school; so that less attention was paid to him than usual,
which put him out of humour; and upon some imaginary offence
from me he attacked me with such rudeness, that I was vexed
and angry, because it gave those persons an opportunity of
enlarging upon his supposed ferocity and ill-treatment of his
friends.
We may doubt whether Boswell gives the true reason for his vexation.
He was able to stand a great deal of 'buffeting' at Dr. Johnson's
hands; but it was probably necessary for him to feel that the company
were good-natured in their merriment. We do not resent that men should
laugh _at_ us if they laugh _with_ us at the same time. It was no
doubt the contemptuous and half-concealed mirth of strangers which
Boswell felt to be unbearable. And if he felt like this we may
sympathise with a short period of sulking. 'I was so much hurt, and
had my pride so much roused, that I kept away from him for a week;
and, perhaps, might have kept away much longer, nay, gone to Scotland
without seeing him again, had not we fortunately met and been
reconciled. To such unhappy chances are human friendships liable.'
The oddest thing of all about Boswell, when we reflect upon the scenes
of his humiliation, is his pride. It is not the least unlikely that,
as he suggests, if circumstances had not ordained otherwise he would
have waited, and waited for a long time, for Johnson to make advances.
It was not merely the pride of the worm in the proverb which may be
roused at the last. The worm would not consciously go out of his way
to incur insulting anger as Boswell did when he arranged the dinner
with Wilkes and on many other occasions. Boswell's was a pride
which was constantly giving him pain and was capable, when goaded to
obstinacy, of going to considerable lengths.
At Sir Joshua Reynolds' dinner he must have suffered acutely. Croker
tells the story of Boswell's discomfiture as it was told to him at
fourth-hand by the Marquess of Wellesley. 'The wits of Queen Anne's
reign were talked of, when Boswell exclaimed, "How delightful it must
have been to have lived in the society of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot,
Gay, and Bolingbroke! We have no such society in our days." Sir Joshua
answered, "I think, Mr. Boswell, you might be satisfied with your
great friend's conversation." "Nay, Sir, Mr. Boswell is right," said
Johnson, "every man wishes for preferment, and if Boswell had lived
in those days, he would have obtained promotion." "How so, Sir?" asked
Sir Joshua. "Why, Sir," said Johnson, "he would have had a high place
in the Dunciad."' It was a hard blow. How deep was the wound we cannot
tell, because we do not know how it was said or how received. It is
curious at first sight that Boswell should have been more sulky about
this than about many a rough retort recorded in the 'Life.' It is
even more remarkable that he should have concealed this story of his
humiliation while he told others with perfect frankness. To do so was
entirely contrary to his principle and practice. The idea that 'the
several people there by no means of the Johnsonian school' should read
the story, recall the circumstances and laugh, not good-naturedly but
with contempt and malice, must have overcome for once the biographer's
'sacred love of truth.' From these facts, in any case, we may fairly
argue that Boswell suffered from his pride as a proud man must have
suffered from the Doctor's rude snubs. It is to Boswell's credit that
he was willing to run the gauntlet and even to bare his breast for the
wound, not only because if he was to have the honour he must endure
the pain, but at least as much because he knew that it was his
vocation to goad the giant into action, to strike and fan the spark
that would ignite the powder. It is to Boswell's credit that he had
a part in the fray: he bled from honourable wounds. But since men had
been so ill-natured as to despise them it was difficult to display the
gashes and the scars; and because from a noble motive he did what was
most difficult and most valuable we must praise Boswell exceedingly.
It is further to Boswell's credit that, if he winced for a moment
under the sledge-hammer and pouted at the executioner, his natural
good-humour and generosity made reconciliation easy.
On Friday, May 8, I dined with him at Mr. Langton's. I was
reserved and silent, which I suppose he perceived and might
recollect the cause. After dinner, while Mr. Langton was
called out of the room, and we were by ourselves, he drew
his chair near to mine, and said, in a tone of conciliating
courtesy, 'Well, how have you done?' _Boswell_: 'Sir, you have
made me very uneasy by your behaviour to me when we were last
at Sir Joshua Reynolds'. You know, my dear Sir, no man has a
greater respect and affection for you, or would sooner go to
the end of the world to serve you. Now to treat me so----.' He
insisted that I had interrupted him, which I assured him was
not the case and proceeded--'But why treat me so before people
who neither love you nor me?' _Johnson_: 'Well, I am sorry
for it. I'll make it up to you i' twenty different ways as you
please.'
Johnson certainly seems to have made himself most agreeable on this
occasion, and it would have been churlish of Boswell to have resisted
these advances; but nothing could be more truly generous than the way
in which he reminded Johnson of his affection and respect. Boswell
now proceeds to appease his pride by using the occasion to make a _bon
mot_. 'I said to-day to Sir Joshua, when he observed that you _tossed_
me sometimes--"I don't care how often or how high he tosses me, when
only friends are present, for then I fall upon soft ground: but I
do not like falling on stones, which is the case when enemies are
present." I think this is a pretty good image, Sir.' Johnson assents,
with unusual courtesy, 'Sir it is one of the happiest I have ever
heard.' And Boswell is now completely satisfied. The account proceeds
by giving Johnson a testimonial for good-nature and assuring its
readers that the best of relations were at once re-established. 'The
truth is, there was no venom in the wounds he inflicted at any time,
unless they were irritated by some malignant infusion from other
hands. We were instantly as cordial again as ever, and joined in
hearty laugh at some ludicrous but innocent peculiarities of one of
our friends.'
The story of this quarrel, if there were no other evidence, would show
that Boswell endured not a few rebuffs. The fact indeed has never been
challenged. Johnson's method of talking for victory often took the
form of mere rudeness, and Boswell was frequently the subject of
his rough wit. For Boswell it was a question whether the fun and the
interest of making Johnson angry were worth the sacrifice of dignity
involved. In retrospect it always was so, and, at the moment too, very
often. He tells us how, on one occasion, he had quoted Shakespeare
in the course of discussion, and Johnson, who was angry, had made the
characteristic reply, 'Nay, if you are to bring in gabble I'll talk
no more'; it is evident that this was regarded by him as a successful
issue to the argument. Johnson had become angrier and angrier, and
Boswell, far from trying to appease him, was glad to bring him to a
state of entire unreasonableness. He was conscious of this when he
commented with evident pleasure, 'My readers will decide upon this
dispute.'
There is something of the same spirit in the tale which Boswell tells
of the quarrel on the moor during the Tour in the Hebrides. Boswell
towards the end of a day had the not unnatural intention of going on
ahead to make preparations at the inn.
It grew dusky; and we had a very tedious ride for what was
called five miles; but I am sure would measure ten. We had no
conversation. I was riding forward to the inn at Glenelg, on
the opposite shore to Skye, that I might take proper measures,
before Dr. Johnson, who was now advancing in dreary silence,
Hay leading his horse, should arrive. Vass also walked by the
side of his horse, and Joseph followed behind: as therefore
he was thus attended, and seemed to be in deep meditation,
I thought there could be no harm in leaving him for a little
while.
Boswell indeed seems to have been particularly thoughtful and even
shows some delicacy in not interrupting Johnson's meditations to tell
him his plan. The sequel must have surprised him very much. 'He called
me back with a tremendous shout, and was really in a passion with me
for leaving him. I told him my intentions, but he was not satisfied,
and said, "Do you know I should as soon have thought of picking a
pocket as doing so?"' This did not annoy Boswell in the least, though
it took place in the presence of their servants; he was accustomed by
this time to the Doctor's moods, and could only be amused. He replied
with a composure which he must have known would irritate Johnson
exceedingly; 'I am diverted with you, Sir.' The force of the desired
explosion may have been underestimated. '_Johnson_: "Sir, I could
never be diverted with incivility...." His extraordinary warmth
confounded me so much, that I justified myself but lamely to him.
Matters in fact were rather more serious than Boswell had supposed,
and he must now make an effort to pacify his companion--but without
effect. 'I resumed the subject of my leaving him on the road, and
endeavoured to defend it better. He still was violent on that head,
and said, "Sir, had you gone on, I was thinking that I should have
returned with you to Edinburgh, and then have parted from you, and
never spoken to you more."' The storm was indeed a bad one that did
not clear up entirely by bedtime. Boswell felt distinctly uneasy
in the volcanic atmosphere; but he easily effected a complete
reconciliation.
Thursday, September 2. I had slept ill. Dr. Johnson's anger
had affected me much. I considered that, without any bad
intention, I might suddenly forfeit his friendship; and was
impatient to see him this morning. I told him how uneasy he
had made me by what he had said, and reminded him of his own
remark at Aberdeen upon old friendships being hastily broken
off. He owned he had spoken in a passion ...; and he added,
'Let's think no more on't.' _Boswell_: 'Well then, Sir, I
shall be easy. Remember I am to have fair warning in case of
any quarrel. You are never to spring a mine upon me. It was
absurd in me to believe you.' _Johnson_: 'You deserved about
as much as to believe me from night to morning.'
The mixture of amusement and anxiety in Boswell's conduct and the
affectionate and good-humoured reconciliation are all extremely
typical of the relations between these two friends. Johnson indeed had
far too much sense of Boswell's good qualities and value ever to fall
out with him seriously, and it would have been hard to do so. There
was never one real misunderstanding between them up to the end. Their
intercourse, consisting of the visits of Boswell to London and a
number of letters on both sides, had but one break, from November 1769
to April 1771. Boswell had just been married, and omitted in 1770 to
pay his usual visit to London; he tells us that there was no coldness
on either side, no reason for not writing beyond the common one of
procrastination.
The correspondence of Boswell and Johnson is on the whole of an
irregular nature; there is more than one interval, longer than we
might expect, between two men who were such active friends as they,
in an age when letter-writing was cultivated for its own sake. Arguing
from this fact and considering that he was not present at Johnson's
death-bed, Boswell has been accused of neglecting his friend at the
end of his life. But from the state of mind which he described much
earlier in the _London Magazine_, we can otherwise account for these
lapses:
To pay a visit or write a letter to a friend does not surely
require much activity. Yet such small exertions have appeared
so laborious to a Hypochondriack, that he has delayed from
hour to hour, so that friendship has grown cold for want
of having its heat continued, for which repeated renewals,
however slight, are necessary; or, perhaps, till death has
carried his friend beyond the reach of any token of his
kindness, and the regrets which pained him in the course of
his neglect are accumulated and press upon his mind with a
weight of sorrow.[5]
We may suppose that whenever Boswell for a short time failed in his
careful attention it was through no lack of affection, but rather
through a kind of indolence and want of purpose in the manner of it,
which is far from being uncommon.
The greatest event in this long friendship, and the time which has
left us the fullest record, is the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' in 1773.
In Boswell's journal we see more nearly than elsewhere the relations
between the two friends and the nature of their companionship. In the
foreground is the extreme amiability of Boswell--it was by this that
he was fitted to perform that most difficult office of friendship,
to travel with Dr. Johnson. We may read his own account of himself at
this time:
Think then, of a gentleman of ancient blood, the pride
of which was his predominant passion. He was then in his
thirty-third year, and had been about four years happily
married. His inclination was to be a soldier; but his father,
a respectable judge, had pressed him into the profession of
the law. He had travelled a good deal, and seen many varieties
of human life. He had thought more than anybody supposed, and
had a pretty good stock of general learning and knowledge.
He had all Dr. Johnson's principles, with some degree of
relaxation. He had rather too little, than too much prudence;
and, his imagination being lively, he often said things of
which the effect was very different from the intention. He
resembled sometimes
'The best good man, with the worst natur'd muse.'
He cannot deny himself the vanity of finishing with the encomium of
Dr. Johnson, whose friendly partiality to the companion of his 'Tour'
represents him as one 'whose acuteness would help my enquiry, and
whose gaiety of conversation, and civility of manners, are sufficient
to counteract the inconveniences of travel, in countries less
hospitable than we have passed.' Dr. Johnson in a letter to Mrs.
Thrale wrote of him in terms of the highest esteem: 'Boswell will
praise my resolution and perseverance, and I shall in return celebrate
his good humour and perpetual cheerfulness.... It is very convenient
to travel with him, for there is no house where he is not received
with kindness and respect.'[6]
No one certainly could have been more attentive than Boswell was: he
had a sense of responsibility in being in charge of the great writer,
which made him anxious not only that Johnson should be welcomed in
a fitting manner, but that he himself should appear as a worthy
companion. His deep sense of respect, his desire for approval and
dread of reproof are constantly obvious. This attitude is well
illustrated by the account of his carouse in Corrichatachin:
We were cordial and merry to a high degree, but of what passed
I have no recollection, with any accuracy....
Sunday, September 26. I awaked at noon with a severe headache.
I was much vexed that I should have been guilty of such a
riot, and afraid of a reproof from Dr. Johnson. I thought it
very inconsistent with that conduct which I ought to maintain
as the companion of the Rambler.
The interview, however, was a very pleasant one. Boswell found 'the
Rambler' in his most agreeable mood and was glad to escape the reproof
he had anticipated. 'About one he came into my room and accosted
me, "What, drunk yet?"' His tone of voice was not that of severe
upbraiding; so I was relieved a little. 'Sir,' said I, 'they kept me
up.' He answered, 'No, you kept them up, you drunken dog:' This he
said with a good-humoured _English_ pleasantry.
Boswell, it need hardly be said, was very proud of introducing Johnson
to the men of Scotland: it raised him, as he no doubt understood, in
their esteem, and he took trouble that Johnson should appear to them
in the most favourable light. He had also a further gratification. He
was more than a mere showman. He came to have proprietary rights in
Dr. Johnson. Boswell's joy was the joy of possession: and he even
became jealous. There is a story told by Miss Burney, of a later
date, when Boswell, it must be admitted, behaved rather badly. A party
gathered at Streatham where Johnson was staying. Boswell arrived to
spend the morning. The Doctor's intimacy with Miss Burney was new to
Boswell and the latter now found that his rights were being infringed.
'A collation was ordered.'
Mr. Boswell [it is related] was preparing to take a seat that
he seemed, by prescription, to consider as his own, next to
Dr. Johnson; but Mr. Seward, who was present, waved his hand
for Mr. Boswell to move farther on, saying, with a smile, 'Mr.
Boswell, that seat is Miss Burney's.'
He stared, amazed: the asserted claimant was new and unknown
to him, and he appeared by no means pleased to resign his
prior rights. But, after looking round for a minute or
two with an important air of demanding the meaning of this
innovation, and receiving no satisfaction, he reluctantly,
also resentfully, got another chair, and placed it at the back
of the shoulder of Dr. Johnson, while this new and unheard-of
rival quietly seated herself as if not hearing what was
passing, for she shrunk from the explanation that she
feared might ensue, as she saw a smile stealing over every
countenance, that of Dr. Johnson himself not excepted, at the
discomfiture and surprise of Mr. Boswell.
We must not forget that Boswell, before everything else, was the
biographer, looking ever with inquisitive eye upon the great man's
movements, marking with zealous care any detail that might be
significant, and appreciating very keenly the humour of every scene.
The furthest point one may suppose that his curiosity reached, or
indeed was able to reach, is recorded in an account of breakfast at
Lochbuy. The comedy arose from an unusual proposal on the part of Lady
Lochbuy as to the provision to be made for Johnson's entertainment;
Boswell encouraged it to see what the Doctor would do, deriving at
the same time much pleasure from the dispute between the lady and her
brother.
She proposed that he should have some cold sheep's head
for breakfast. Sir Allan seemed displeased at his sister's
vulgarity, and wondered how such a thought should come into
her head. From a mischievous love of sport, I took the lady's
part; and very gravely said, 'I think it is but fair to give
him an offer of it. If he does not choose it, he may let it
alone.' 'I think so,' said the lady, looking at her brother
with an air of victory. Sir Allan, finding the matter
desperate, strutted about the room and took snuff. When Dr.
Johnson came in she called to him, 'Do you choose any cold
sheep's head, Sir?' 'No, Madam,' said he, with a tone of
surprise and anger. 'It is here, Sir,' said she, supposing
he had refused it to save the trouble of bringing it in. They
thus went on at cross purposes till he confirmed his refusal
in a manner not to be misunderstood.
The malicious experiment of Boswell had the desired conclusion. 'I,'
he says, 'sat quietly by, and enjoyed my success.'
Dr. Johnson was irritated sometimes by Boswell's curiosity. Dr.
Campbell even records that Johnson on one occasion was driven away
by Boswell's continual questions.[7] But it would seem that far more
often Johnson found means of protecting himself. Miss Burney gives
an enlightening summary of the prospect in case Johnson should notice
Boswell imitating him.
Dr. Burney thought that Dr. Johnson, who generally treated Mr.
Boswell like a schoolboy, whom, without the smallest ceremony,
he pardoned or rebuked alternately, would so indignantly have
been provoked as to have instantaneously inflicted upon him
some mark of his displeasure. And equally he was persuaded
that Mr. Boswell, however shocked and even inflamed in
receiving it, would soon, from his deep veneration, have
thought it justly incurred, and after a day or two of pouting
and sullenness would have compromised the matter by one of
his customary simple apologies of 'Pray, Sir, forgive me.' Dr.
Johnson though often irritated by the officious importunity of
Mr. Boswell, was really touched by his attachment.
It was presumably in some degree because he realised that Johnson was
fond of him that Boswell was able to endure his rudeness. It must be
remembered, however, that it was deliberately in most cases brought
upon himself, and there was then no real cause to take offence.
You cannot complain if by your own fault you have made a man angry,
whatever he may say--especially if he is thirty years older than
yourself. It is one of Boswell's chief merits that he was able to see
this. He may have been often annoyed, but he came afterwards to
see that it was but the natural result of his method of treating
Johnson--the method which enabled him to write in the end the immortal
'Life.'
Boswell in the _rôle_ of biographer will claim a more detailed
attention later in this book. It will suffice to say here that the
attitude which he presented in the scene at Lochbuy, and on all those
occasions when he led Johnson to talk or arranged some situation for
the sake of observing his behaviour, is that which is most typical
of Boswell, that by which he was famous, or, as some might have said,
notorious among his contemporaries.
The relations between these two friends which we see so pleasantly
revealed in Boswell's journal of the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' in 1773,
containing as they did all that is best between the old and the young,
remained unimpaired to the death of Johnson in 1784: Boswell never
neglected to pay at least one visit in the year to England, and
preserved to the end his affection, his careful and kind attention,
his pride and respect, and above all his humour and curiosity. It
would be idle to suggest, though it may be difficult to understand
or explain the fact, that his absence from Johnson's death-bed is
significant in any way of a declining interest and affection.
Boswell himself was feeling ill and melancholy during a considerable
part of the year, and was much upset by Johnson's charges of
affectation: it is easily conceivable that he shrank from the pain of
being present at the death-bed of his friend, and believed too that
his own distress could only irritate the other.[8] But, whatever may
have been the cause of his absence, it is impossible, if we consider
his own words about the final parting, to doubt the sincerity of his
affection.[9]
He asked me whether I would not go with him to his house; I
declined it, from an apprehension that my spirits would sink.
We bade adieu to each other affectionately in the carriage.
When he had got down upon the foot-pavement, he called out,
'Fare you well,' and without looking back, sprung away with a
kind of pathetic briskness, if I may use the expression,
which seemed to indicate a struggle to conceal uneasiness,
and impressed me with a foreboding of our long, long
separation.[10]
Johnson in one of his last letters said: 'I consider your fidelity and
tenderness as a great part of the comforts which are yet left me'; and
Boswell, speaking of his death, says enough when he says no more than
this: 'I trust I shall not be accused of affectation when I declare
that I find myself unable to express all that I felt upon the loss of
such a Guide, Philosopher, and Friend.'
The loss was indeed a severe one for Boswell. He made a friend of
Johnson at the age of twenty-two and was forty-four at the date of
Johnson's death. For more than twenty years he had been accustomed
implicitly to trust the judgment of the older man.
Its mere duration in time is some testimony to the value of the
friendship, the more so when we remember that Boswell when he died
himself was but fifty-five years old. The friend who was the hero of
Boswell's youth, and his constant adviser, saw within the space of a
few years the beginning of his professional life at the Scotch
Bar, the publication of his first serious book, his marriage to an
admirable lady, and his election to the Literary Club; he died but two
years after Boswell had become the Laird of Auchinleck, at a time when
he was showing an increased activity, and before the political and
legal hopes that he indulged had brought about by their failure the
disappointment of his later life.
From the few facts which have been related here something may be
gleaned, if not a complete conception of the part which Johnson played
in Boswell's life. Boswell has revealed himself as a friend and in
particular as the friend of Johnson. So great a devotion is a real
asset in life. Whatever its definite value may be as regards events,
and it is often small, it serves to fix more clearly and fuse together
the intricate moving forms of a land of dreams into a simple mundane
shape. It may be an end in itself. And devotion in Boswell's case
belonged to the essence of his genius. It was an important part
of that abnormal ingredient in him which was to blaze forth in an
imperishable flame.
What Johnson accomplished for Boswell was primarily in the realm
of ideals. The aspirations of Boswell were concentrated by his
admiration. But what was the final result? When Johnson died, the ship
that carried that heavy load of Boswell's hopes was sailing steadily
towards a definite harbour, though not the harbour he intended to
reach: what had Johnson to do with this? Was his the hand at the
helm?--the breath in the sails?
[Footnote 1: _Life of Reynolds_, ii, p. 12.]
[Footnote 2: _Letters of Horace Walpole_, v, p. 85.]
[Footnote 3: _Memoirs of Hannah More_, i, p. 213.]
[Footnote 4: The evidence for what is stated in this sentence
and the next is discussed later under Boswell's biographical
qualities.]
[Footnote 5: _London Magazine_, xlvii, 106.]
[Footnote 6: _Piozzi Letters_, i, 198.]
[Footnote 7: _Campbell's Diary_, p. 70.]
[Footnote 8: _Life of Johnson_, iv, pp. 378-80.]
[Footnote 9: It must be remembered that Boswell spent nearly
two months with Johnson in this last year. In March he wrote
to Dr. Percy about going to London, 'chiefly to attend upon
Dr. Johnson with respectful attention.' (Nichols, _Literary
History_, vii, p. 302.])
[Footnote 10: _Life of Johnson_, iv, p. 339.]