Lord Auchinleck died in 1782. His relations with Boswell are of some
interest in this place, because they exhibit Boswell in the _rôle_ of
son and incidentally raise an important question. The two never agreed
very well. Was this the fault of the son? Was he deliberately unkind,
or negligent, or disagreeable?
There is no reason to suppose that Boswell was culpable in any such
way: indiscretion on the one hand and intolerance on the other are
sufficient to account for all the friction. Lord Auchinleck had
evidently a very rigid view of the career fitting for his eldest son.
His ideal of progeniture seems to have assumed with a not uncommon
complacency that the ego was worthy of a second edition. James
Boswell must be after the pattern of his father--a Scotch lawyer,
a hard-headed, practical man of affairs, a wise man of business
successful in his profession.
James, however, was not made like that: and if he had practical
ability he hated the Scotch law and lawyers far too much ever to use
it with success. He had a taste for extravagant behaviour and liked
to exhibit his high spirits. Johnson might condone this, though he
disapproved of it, and love Boswell the more, because 'he was a boy
longer than others.' Lord Auchinleck regarded it with alarm while
Boswell was young, and with contempt when he was of a mature age.
Conduct that would have been regrettable to a milder father, was to
him intolerable.
It is not surprising, then, that Boswell found the company of his
father extremely irksome:
We divaricate so much (he writes to Temple) that I am often
hurt when I dare say he means no harm; and he has a method of
treating me which makes me feel like a timid boy, which to
me (comprehending all that my character does in my own
imagination, and in that of a wonderful number of mankind) is
intolerable. I have appeared good-humoured; but it has cost
me drinking a considerable quantity of strong beer to dull my
faculties.
The stern father had undoubtedly some good reasons for disapproving
of the irresponsible James. Besides the habitual lack of restraint in
Boswell's behaviour, money was a continual source of irritation. The
heir to Auchinleck, it is clear, considered that he had a sort of
natural right to his father's money. He found an allowance of £300 a
year insufficient. He wrote to Temple in a complaining tone about his
financial difficulties and his father:
He allows me £300 a year. But I find that what I gain by
practice and that sum together will not support my family. I
have now two sons and three daughters. I am in hopes that my
father will augment my allowance to £400.
He admits, however, that 'his paying £1000 of my debt some years
ago was a large bounty.' Lord Auchinleck, no doubt with justice,
considered Boswell to be extravagant; and he did not approve of his
marriage. 'I understand,' writes Boswell, 'he fancies that if I had
married another woman, I might not only have had a better portion with
her, but might have been kept from what he thinks idle and extravagant
conduct.'
The indiscretion of Boswell in his correspondence and conversation
with his father must have continually aggravated the pronounced
prejudices and preferences of the ill-tempered old lawyer. It was
a wanton imprudence to express his extreme aversion to his father's
second marriage; we can hardly doubt that he was equally imprudent
with regard to the Scotch law and Scotch legal circles. Boswell
intended that his father should appreciate him for what he was rather
than tolerate him for what he was not. In 1767 he writes to Temple:
How unaccountable it is that my father and I should be so ill
together! He is a man of sense and a man of worth; but from
some unhappy turn in his disposition, he is much dissatisfied
with a son whom you know. I write to him with warmth, with an
honest pride, wishing that he should think of me as I am;
but my letters shock him, and every expression in them is
interpreted unfavourably.
Boswell did not understand that the temperaments of his father
and himself were in some degree incompatible, and he succeeded in
emphasising their points of disagreement rather than cultivating what
they had in common. He was very slow to realise how much his father
disapproved of his literary friends in London, and of Dr. Johnson in
particular: to Temple he exclaims, with horrified surprise, 'he
harps on my going over Scotland with a brute (think how shockingly
erroneous) and wandering (or some such phrase) to London.' Johnson was
actually taken to visit Auchinleck--a most hazardous experiment!
Boswell must certainly be blamed, if blame can be distributed in this
sort, for indiscretion, but not for unkindness. From no passage in the
'Letters to Temple' can it be inferred that he disliked his father,
or wished to displease him; on several occasions he speaks of him with
affection. Moreover the obligation to be deliberately kind to one
who cannot occupy the position of a friend is based upon a supposed
affection on his part. Boswell clearly was not cruel in any positive
or malevolent sense; he can only be condemned as unkind if it be
proved that he was inconsiderate to a man who displayed a substantial
affection towards him. But Lord Auchinleck cannot be said to have done
this--if we may accept as true the dictum of Dr. Johnson to Boswell on
the occasion of his father's death: 'His disposition towards you was
undoubtedly that of a kind, though not of a fond father.' And so we
may say that Boswell was a disappointing, though not a bad son.
* * * * *
In 1782 Boswell, on his father's death, became Laird of Auchinleck.
The new position was a matter of importance to him. Not only were the
duties it involved such duties as he liked to perform, but it was
a considerable advance in the right direction. He was the man of
property. A part of his dream was come true; and he could now invest
himself with a fresh halo of respect and respectability derived
from his new station. Local and public affairs were more intimately
connected in the eighteenth century than in our own day; and, when the
men of estate had a monopoly of governing, it was not unnatural for
one who inherited land to cast his eyes beyond the fences of his
patrimony. At the age of forty-two Boswell was by no means too old to
look forward. The event of inheriting quickened his aspirations, and
the prospect of becoming 'the great man' seemed nearer.
The ambitions of Boswell were not destined to be realised in any high
degree.
His hopes were of a double nature; they were both legal and political.
Of his early life at the Bar we have already spoken, and we must
now briefly trace out the course of his legal career to its dismal
conclusion.
It was hardly to be expected that a man who disliked and despised so
much the whole Scotch atmosphere of his work should persevere with it.
Boswell was so discontented with his lot that he began to hope for a
change which should bring him into a more congenial situation. In
1775 he entered at the Inner Temple with the intention of being called
eventually to the English Bar.
There was much to recommend this plan; for it would enable him to
spend far more time in his beloved London. Boswell no doubt considered
this a very important reason. In London he was happier and better than
elsewhere. 'I own, Sir, the spirits which I have in London make me do
everything with more readiness and vigour. I can talk twice as much
in London as anywhere else'; and he considered, no doubt with equal
justice, that it had some effects of a different nature: 'In reality
it is highly improving to me, considering the company which I enjoy';
and he goes on to say, 'I think it is also for my interest, as in time
I may get something.'[1]
Ambition was one motive which prompted Boswell to seek a different
sphere; he seems to have thought the abilities which were cramped in
Scotland and were not appreciated by the Scotch would grow in London
to their full stature and be handsomely recognised. In 1777 he talked
to Johnson upon the subject of the English Bar:
I had long complained to him 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 and amusement: a scene which was to me,
comparatively speaking, a heaven upon earth.
There were, however, a number of reasons which prevented Boswell
from making his home in London till long after this conversation. The
possibility of his father's death, which would probably make him
the Laird of Auchinleck, was always present to him, and it would be
inconvenient as well as expensive to have a separate establishment in
London. It was by no means certain, moreover, as Boswell seems to have
realised, that there would be much financial gain by the change, and
he could not afford to fail at the English Bar; his father as well
as Johnson opposed the step, a consideration which would probably in
itself have prevented it, from interested motives on Boswell's part if
from no others.
Boswell, in fact, remained at the Scotch Bar until 1786, when he
determined finally, in spite of his position as a Scotch laird, which
he had occupied for four years, to try his fortune at Westminster
Hall. He had been disappointed of promotion[2] for so long in Scotland
that it was time to exercise his talents in a different sphere.
The English lawyers, however, seem to have been no more congenial than
the Scotchmen, for he speaks of the 'rough scene of the roaring and
bantering society of lawyers,' which he is compelled to be with on the
Northern Circuit.[3] There is an amusing story recounted by Lord
Eldon in his 'Anecdotes' about Boswell at the Lancaster Assizes, which
belongs to a period between the years '86 and '88:
We found Jemmy Boswell lying upon the pavement--inebriated. We
subscribed at supper a guinea for him and half-a-crown for his
clerk, and sent him next morning a brief with instructions to
move for the writ _Quare adhæsit pavimento_, with observations
calculated to induce him to think that it required great
learning to explain the necessity of granting it. He sent all
round the town to attornies for books, but in vain. He moved,
however, for the writ, making the best use he could of the
observations in the brief. The judge was astonished and the
audience amazed. The judge said, 'I never heard of such a
writ--what can it be that adheres pavimento? Are any of you
gentlemen at the Bar able to explain this?' The Bar laughed.
At last one of them said, 'My Lord, Mr. Boswell last night
_adhæsit pavimento_. There was no moving him for some time.
At last he was carried to bed, and he has been dreaming about
himself and the pavement.'
Boswell himself pours out to Temple in plaintive accents the tangled
story of a wig lost at Carlisle in 1789, from which we may suspect, as
he did himself, another practical joke. 'I suspected a wanton trick,
which some people think witty, but I thought it very ill-timed to one
in my situation.'
We might judge from the manner in which he was treated by his
fellow-lawyers that Boswell was not wholly successful at the English
Bar. No one can have realised this more keenly than himself.
'I am sadly discouraged,' he writes, 'by having no practice, nor
probable prospect of it.... Yet the delusion of Westminster Hall, of
brilliant reputation and splendid fortune as a barrister, still weighs
upon my imagination. I must be seen in the courts, and must hope for
some happy openings in causes of importance. The Chancellor, as you
observe, has not done as I expected; but why did I expect it?' Later
in the same year, 1789, he exclaims: 'O Temple! Temple! is this
realising any of the towering hopes which have so often been the
subject of our conversations and letters?' It is pathetic to see him
clinging still to the old hopes and ideals, when his real title to
fame lay near at hand in his Johnsonian stores, so much thought of,
and yet so little valued beside the great world of practical affairs.
There were no doubt some special reasons, connected with his attitude
towards the law itself, which may account in a large degree for
Boswell's failure at the Bar. We have mentioned already the aversion
which Boswell had for the society of lawyers. This in itself was
likely to be a hindrance in his legal career; but it is only the
result of the general unfittedness of Boswell for the Bar. He was not
unwilling, when his plan of being a soldier had been abandoned, to
enter upon a legal career; it would offer the kind of opportunities
for distinction which he wanted. Possibly he was attracted too by the
formalism of the Courts; one may suppose that the mere wearing of
a wig and gown would give him pleasure. But the mind of Boswell was
entirely unlegal. He had no capacity for estimating the value of
evidence, and was readily convinced by a plausible story. He applied
to his work rather the common sense of the layman (being actually
advised very often by Johnson, who knew nothing of Scotch law) than
the exact reasoning required by his profession. And though Boswell
could apply himself at times with continued effort to any work which
he particularly wanted to do, the dislike which he had for his legal
studies made him tire of them so soon that he never knew very much
about any body of laws. 'Mr. Boswell,' says Malone, 'professed the
Scotch and the English Law; but had never taken very great pains on
the subject. His father, Lord Auchinleck, told him one day that it
would cost him more trouble to hide his ignorance in these professions
than to show his knowledge. This Boswell owned he had found to be
true.'[4] Boswell himself wrote to Temple on the subject of his
chances of success at the English Bar: 'To confess fairly to you, my
friend, I am afraid that, were I to be tried, I should be found so
deficient in the forms, the _quirks_ and _quiddities_ which early
habit acquires, that I should expose myself.'
Boswell, moreover, had never the reputation which is suitable for a
legal man. The sober citizen does not choose either the adventurer or
the _littérateur_ to plead his cause before a jury. His connections
with actors, who were disapproved as a class by the respectable
community, told against Boswell in legal circles. And worst of all was
the tour in the Hebrides with the avowed enemy of Scotland.
Boswell, besides, acquired a reputation for eccentricity which must
have been fatal to the chances of a barrister.
One habit, that of attending executions, deserves a closer
examination; by this behaviour Boswell made himself conspicuous in
a wholly unprofessional attitude, which must have been extremely
damaging to his position as a lawyer. 'I must confess,' he writes,
'that I myself am never absent from a public execution.... When I
first attended them I was shocked to the greatest degree. I was in
a manner convulsed with pity and terror, and for several days, but
especially nights after, I was in a very dismal situation.' The object
in the first place seems then to have been the mere indulgence
of morbid sentiment; but later he continued the habit more out of
curiosity and as an inherent part of his whole study of Man.
I can now see one with great composure. I can account for
this curiosity in a philosophical manner, when I consider
that death is the most awful object before every man who ever
directs his thoughts seriously towards futurity. Therefore it
is that I feel an irresistible impulse to be present at every
execution, as I there behold the various effects of the near
approach of death.
In accordance with this practice Boswell accompanied a celebrated
criminal, Hackman, in the prison coach to the gibbet; and he made the
acquaintance of the murderess Mrs. Rudd. The latter apparently was an
interesting woman. Johnson entirely approved Boswell's conduct, and
said he would have done the same himself if he had not been afraid
that his presence would be reported in the newspapers. It is
interesting to note that Boswell had scruples, and wrote to Temple:
'Perhaps the adventure with Mrs. Rudd is very foolish notwithstanding
the approbation of Dr. Johnson.'
On one occasion Boswell persuaded Sir Joshua Reynolds to go with
him, and evidently won him over to his view about the question of
propriety: 'I am obliged to you,' wrote Sir Joshua, 'for carrying me
yesterday to see the execution at Newgate of the five malefactors.
I am convinced it is a vulgar error in the opinion that it is so
terrible a spectacle, or that it in any way implies a hardness of
heart or cruelty of disposition.'
Sir Walter Scott gives a kinder motive on Boswell's part than mere
curiosity:
He used to visit the prisoners on the day before execution,
with the singular wish to make the condemned wretches laugh by
dint of buffoonery, in which he not infrequently succeeded.
The satisfaction which Boswell had from these strange interviews was
no doubt in part the commendable satisfaction of being kind and good;
and his piety as well as his jesting may have been a comfort to many
of these criminals in their last hours. It was also a pleasure to
Boswell to read his name in the newspaper on the day following an
execution. But probably this conduct did not earn the praises of the
Scotch lawyers nor inspire the confidence of the litigating public.
* * * * *
The failure which attended Boswell's legal career included also his
political schemes.
It is clear that Boswell had an idea of some kind of Parliamentary
career. His ambition was to be a Minister:
He [Hume] says there will in all probability be a change of
the Ministry soon, which he regrets. Oh Temple, while they
change so often, how does one feel an ambition to have a share
in that great department; but I fear my wish to be a man of
consequence in the State is much like some of your ambitious
sallies.
Boswell, if he was ambitious in 1775 of some high office in the State,
can certainly have had little chance, as he evidently realised, of
being immediately satisfied. His financial difficulties alone
would have prevented this. But when in 1782 he became the Laird of
Auchinleck the increase of his importance seemed to warrant some more
definite plan. 'I wish much to be in Parliament, Sir,' he said to
Johnson; and though the latter discouraged him he applied himself with
energy to his political schemes.
Boswell had two plans by which he hoped to become a member of
Parliament. He hoped in the first place that the influence of Lord
Lonsdale[5] would procure him a seat. This patron seems to have shown
a disposition to be friendly. In the summer of 1786, Boswell received
from Bishop Percy, who had formerly been at Carlisle and knew Lord
Lonsdale, a most encouraging letter:
You are now connected with a nobleman [Lord Lonsdale] who
serves his friends with a zeal and spirit which I hope will be
attended with the happiest consequences to your establishment
in England. I also anticipate his bringing you into the House
of Commons, as an event no less certain and splendid to your
fortunes.
Early in 1788[6] Lord Lonsdale appointed Boswell Recorder of Carlisle.
This was not an important post, but it was doubtless a sign of favour.
Bishop Percy wrote warm congratulations; and Boswell was no doubt
encouraged to hope for more. Lord Lonsdale, however, would appear to
have lost interest in Boswell: he procured no seat in Parliament for
his friend, and some years later behaved so insolently that Boswell
broke the connection.[7]
Boswell's second plan was to represent his county. Even in Ayrshire he
was not altogether independent of Lord Lonsdale, but he relied chiefly
upon his own position as head of an old county family. With this
project in view, he engaged himself in various activities. The most
remarkable of these were his 'Letters to the People of Scotland,' the
first dated 1783 and the second 1785. In these two pamphlets Boswell
displayed abundantly to his countrymen his ardent patriotism and
zealous Tory principles. In 1784 he took part in a Tory demonstration
at York; and in his county he issued 'An Address to the Real
Freeholders of the County of Ayr,' stating his willingness to be their
representative, and his qualifications for that position.[8] He also
carried an address to his Majesty--'it was most graciously received,
and Mr. Boswell had afterwards the honour to kiss his Majesty's
hand.'[9] In 1789 he was again very busy electioneering, though he
seems to have realised that his chance of success was very small.[10]
He carried an address to the Prince of Wales.
I am carrying it up, to be presented by the Earl of Eglintoun,
accompanied by such Justices of us as may be in London. This
will add something to my 'conspicuousness.' Will that word
do?[11]
The word seems to do very well. Boswell writes later:
The Prince of Wales has received our Address most graciously,
and I am to be presented to his Royal Highness, who desired it
might be signified that he regretted Mr. Boswell was gone from
town.[12]
But this would seem to be the final achievement of Boswell's political
career, for he was not successful in the General Election, and we hear
no more in the 'Letters' of political schemes.
Beyond any special reasons which there may be for the failure of
Boswell in his legal career, there is a more general cause for all his
disappointment. We must remember that Boswell throughout his life was,
like many men in the eighteenth century less gifted than himself, a
thorough-going place-hunter. He hoped even in his early life for some
advantages through his great patrons, Lord Somerville,[13] Sir David
Dalrymple,[14] Lord Eglintoun,[13] Lord Mount Stuart,[15] Sir
Andrew Mitchell[16]; he had obtained by their means a number of
introductions. The ardour with which he pursued the acquaintance of
the great must have been prompted in some degree by an interested
expectation, and we may suppose that from the friendship of Chatham,
which he was so eager to cultivate, he had flattered himself with a
hope of political advancement, a hope of fulfilling the dreams that
he had dreamt, with Temple, in University days, of their future
greatness. They were but vague hopes in those early years, since he
could hardly have expected an immediate recognition of his particular
services. But Boswell when he grew older attached himself more
definitely to particular patrons. There are a number of names--Lord
Pembroke, Lord Lisburne, Lord Lonsdale, Burke, Dundas.[17] To these
in turn he seems to have pinned his faith and almost to have expected
some promotion to have fallen upon him. And from all his great
acquaintances he was to get but one poor post, the Recordership of
Carlisle.
We can hardly be surprised from what we have seen already of Boswell's
methods of approaching his patrons that he had no great success in
these schemes of advancement. We have quoted already a letter to
Chatham, which was designed to impress that Minister with the fact
that he was a rising young man, and to solicit his favour. There
is another letter of a later date[18] intended to further his
acquaintance with Burke. The great orator might have one day at his
disposal some Government posts; his memory must not be allowed to
lapse:
Dear Sir,--Upon my honour I began a letter to you some time
ago, and did not finish it, because I imagined you were then
near your apotheosis--as poor Goldsmith said upon a former
occasion, when he thought your party was coming into
administration; and being one of your old barons of Scotland,
my pride could not brook the appearance of paying my court to
a Minister, amongst the crowd of interested expectants on his
accession.
Certainly if one wishes to obtain a post it is better to avoid the
'crowd of interested expectants.' The 'old baron' too is an excellent
card to play to one who is not of the aristocratic circles; few men
are free from the taint of snobbishness, and patronage may be courted
by cultivating disinterested friendship. It is well at the same time
to remember _Qui s'excuse s'accuse_. 'At present,' Boswell continues,
'I take it for granted that I need be under no such apprehension, and,
therefore, I resume the indulgence of my inclination.' Only one who
was really interested and wished to conceal the fact could be so
careful. Boswell realises that there is something rather odd about
the explanation. It may not after all be entirely wise. It is possible
that men rather like it to be thought that they have much patronage,
and find some pleasure in being asked for favours. 'This may be,
perhaps, a singular method of beginning a correspondence; and, in one
sense may not be very complimentative. But I can sincerely assure you,
my dear Sir, that it is a genuine compliment to Mr. Burke himself.'
The explanation of how it is a compliment is now to follow, but the
desire for self-excuse obtrudes itself again: 'It is generally thought
no meanness to solicit the notice and favour of a man in power, and,
surely, it is much less a meanness to endeavour, by honest means, to
have the honour and pleasure of being on an agreeable footing with a
superior man of knowledge, abilities and genius.' A further excuse
is furnished by the favours shown to Boswell in the past by Mr. Burke
himself:
I have to thank you for the obligation which you have already
conferred upon me, by the welcome which I have, upon repeated
occasions, experienced under your roof.
When I was last in London, you gave me a general invitation,
which I value more than a treasury warrant: an invitation to
the 'feast of reason'; and what I like still more, the 'flow
of the soul,' which you dispense with liberal and elegant
abundance, is, in my estimation, a privilege of enjoying
certain felicity.
The comparison between the places that come of courting a patron
and this sublime 'felicity' that comes of friendship must still be
maintained--'and we know that riches and honour are desirable only as
a means of felicity, and that they often fail of the end.'
It is necessary now to give an account of his political opinions, so
that Mr. Burke may be assured that Mr. Boswell is his supporter:
Most heartily do I rejoice that our present Ministers have, at
last, yielded to conciliation. For amidst all the sanguinary
zeal of my countrymen I have professed myself a friend to our
fellow-subjects in America, so far as they claim an exemption
from being taxed by the representatives of the King's British
subjects. I do not perfectly agree with you; for I deny
the Declaratory Act; and I am a warm Tory, in its true
constitutional sense.
It will be noticed that the assertion of independence adds to this
declaration a considerable degree of importance. After so careful a
preparation the real point of the letter may be disclosed:
I wish I were a Commissioner, or one of the Secretaries of the
Commission, for the grand treaty. I am to be in London this
spring, and if His Majesty should ask me what I would choose,
my answer will be, to assist at the compact between Britain
and America.
The letter to Burke is only less absurd than the letter to Chatham,
which was quoted above. What most surprises us is not the vanity of
the young man who confided to Chatham his hopes and prospects, nor
his impudence in asking a Minister to favour him with a letter and in
bothering Burke with his political opinions, but the entire ignorance
displayed by a man of intelligence about the kind of impression that
letters such as these would produce upon their recipients.
Boswell indeed as we have said--and it is a sufficient reason to
account for his failure--was a fool. It is this ignorance of the
minds of others about oneself, a certain simplicity of character, an
unquestioning, childlike self-confidence, that makes fools of men.
No fool would wish to be thought foolish, and if a fool were to
understand what was thought about him he would soon alter his
behaviour. His foolishness depends upon the fact that in this respect
he has no imagination. The ignorance of Boswell about the effect
of his behaviour is the more remarkable because he was in many ways
intelligent, sagacious, and extremely observant. It was not a quality
which vanished with maturity, though it was slightly modified in later
years: he was nearly fifty when he wrote to Temple an account of his
attempts to enlist the patronage of Pitt (the younger), which shows
how completely he misunderstood the whole situation:
It is utter folly in Pitt not to reward and attach to his
administration a man of my popular and pleasant talents, whose
merit he has acknowledged in a letter under his own hand. He
did not answer several letters, which I wrote at intervals,
requesting to wait upon him; I lately wrote to him that such
behaviour to me was certainly not generous. 'I think it is not
just, and (forgive the freedom) I doubt if it be wise. If I do
not hear from you in ten days, I shall conclude that you
are resolved to have no farther communication with me; for
I assure you, Sir, I am extremely unwilling to give you, or
indeed myself, unnecessary trouble.' About two months have
elapsed, and he has made no sign.
And it was an ignorance which included even his own father:
I have answered him in my own style: I will be myself....
Would you not be pleased to see your son happy in
independence, cultivating his little farm and ornamenting
his nuptial villa, and filling himself one day, as well as
possible, the place of a much greater man? Temple, would you
not like such a son? Would you not feel a glow of parental
joy? I know you would; and yet my worthy father writes to me
in the manner you see, with that Scots strength of sarcasm
which is peculiar to a North Briton. But he is offended with
that fire which you and I cherish as the essence of our soul;
and how can I make him happy?[19]
But if all fools are alike in so far as they have this common
foundation upon which the flimsy fabric of folly is erected, yet they
differ widely in the manner of their foolishness. To say that a man is
a fool is to say but little of all that is meant by the expression in
his individual case. Boswell was a fool in a number of ways which we
shall now have to consider.
The extract of Boswell's letter to his father which we have quoted
above in his letter to Temple is typical of one phase of all his
foolishness. The impulse which made him write in this place about
'cultivating his little farm and ornamenting his nuptial villa' is one
which he frequently had. It is difficult to find a name which exactly
fits it. It is the melodramatic instinct applied to real life. The
words which he uses in this case contain a sentiment beyond the mere
facts they represent; and it is a false sentiment--false not because
he did not feel it, but because there was no occasion for it;
sentiment is wasted. In Boswell there was a sentimental side to the
affectation that we have already spoken of as having been partially
cured by Johnson. It is not meant, by this expression, that Boswell
consciously assumed sentiment which he did not feel: we cannot
always tell whether he was conscious or not; and it does not matter.
Affectation implies only the presence of what is unreal; it is
concerned as much with the feeling of what is false as with falsely
pretending to feel.
Perhaps the most remarkable of Boswell's extravagant utterances are
those to Temple on the subject of their friendship. He idealises this
to suit his conception of the most perfect of human relationships, and
frequently alludes to it. 'May indulgent Heaven grant a continuance
of our friendship! As our minds improve in knowledge, may the sacred
flame still increase, until at last we reach the glorious world above,
when we shall never be separated, but enjoy an everlasting society
of bliss!' He was able to enjoy the 'luxury of philosophy and
friendship,' and 'invaluable hours of elegant friendship and classical
sociality,' and 'calmly smile' in consequence 'at the attacks of envy
or of malevolence.' Temple, 'whose kind and amiable counsel never
failed to soothe my dejected mind,' was told to 'reflect, my friend,
that you have sure comfort, you have true friends--you have Nichols
and Boswell, whom you may look upon as parts of yourself. Consider
this as an exalted comfort which few enjoy, although they have many
of the shining gifts of fortune.' He seems at one moment to have
suspected that he might grow cold in his affection:
I am a quick fire, but I know not if I last sufficiently,
though, surely, my dear Temple, there is always a warm place
for you. With many people I have compared myself to a taper,
which can light up a great and lasting fire though itself is
soon extinguished.
The friendship, indeed, was of the greatest value to Boswell; as we
see, behind his absurd manner of expressing it, it must have been a
comfort to him in many disappointments:
When harassed and fretted with Court of Sessions business,
when vexed to think myself a coarse labourer in an obscure
corner, I get into good humour again by recollecting that I am
Temple's most intimate friend.[20]
His friendship with Mrs. Stuart is treated in the same manner:
We talked with unreserved freedom, as we had nothing to fear;
we were philosophical, upon honour,--not deep, but feeling; we
were pious, we drank tea and bid each other adieu as finely
as romance paints. She is my wife's dearest friend, so you see
how beautiful our intimacy is.[21]
The romantic sphere into which Boswell elevated these friendships
contrasts very strangely with his acute analysis to Johnson of his
true sentiments: 'The feeling of friendship is like that of being
comfortably filled with roast beef.' One would suspect that the
feeling of friendship with him was, as he might have expressed it
himself, like a balloon, which rises higher and higher as it is more
blown out with gas.
In the same fashion he believed that his life was, 'one of the most
romantic' he knew of;[22] that Temple's 'soft admonitions would at
any time calm the tempests of his soul,'[23] and that he could 'retire
into the calm regions of philosophy' and contemplate the 'heroism'
which he was able to see in his conduct towards his father.[24]
Philosophy, indeed, had a great attraction for him. It was in the
bower of philosophy that many of his best hours were filled with that
noble admiration which his disinterested soul was able to enjoy
for the character of Lord Chatham. In early years he was Temple's
philosophic friend, and Paoli is told that 'with a mind naturally
inclined to melancholy and a deep desire of inquiry, I have intensely
applied myself to metaphysical researches.'
The affectation or extravagance of Boswell appears also from time to
time in his pious and moral remarks.
Being in a frame of mind which I hope, for the felicity of
human nature, many experience--in fine weather--at the country
house of a friend--consoled and elevated by pious exercises--I
expressed myself with an unrestrained fervour to my 'Guide,
Philosopher and Friend': 'My dear Sir, I could fain be a good
man; and I am very good now. I fear God and honour the king, I
wish to do no ill, and to be benevolent to all mankind.'[25]
Boswell was very impressionable, by his own account, to good
influences. He rose from reading a dialogue of Hume's 'happier and
more disposed to follow virtue.'[26] Relating how Mr. Edward
Dilly repeated on his death-bed a passage from Young's 'Night
Thoughts'--'Death, a subterraneous road to bliss,' or some such
words--Boswell remarks: 'I am edified here.'[27] The greatest triumph,
one would suppose, of this nature was when, as he says, speaking of
his 'moral fences,' 'Reason, that steady builder and overseer, has set
them firm.'[28] Boswell was excellent too at giving moral advice: 'It
is certainly true philosophy to submit to the will of Heaven, and to
fulfil the amiable duties of morality.'[29] 'Read Epictetus,'[30] he
writes to Temple; on another occasion, 'Read Johnson. Let a manly and
firm philosophy brace your mind.'
Boswell, however, though he was continually posing, posed not for
others but for himself. He had an insatiable greed of sensation. He
derived prodigious pleasure from the view of himself in a situation.
'I cannot resist,' he says, 'the serious pleasure of writing to Mr.
Johnson from the tomb of Melancthon. My paper rests upon the tomb of
that great and good man.' While he wrote the letter he admired the
scene he had arranged. He admired himself playing every kind of
_rôle_; he could be the grave author, or the romantic lover, the
scholar of 'solid learning' or the elegant man of the world, the sage
counsellor or the jolly good fellow, the enthusiast for liberty who
talked heroics with Paoli and politics with Chatham, explorer and
diplomat, the feudal lord or the humble paterfamilias of a rustic
domesticity; he could be literary, theological, pious, philosophical,
legal, or political, as occasion suited, with profound enjoyment of
the part he was acting. He delighted in the solemnity of a vow,
and even had a taste for the solitude of a hermit: 'Sometimes,'
he exclaims, 'I have been in the humour of wishing to retire to a
desert.' His gust for London was the same gust for sensation; and his
pursuit of distinguished men was partly for the sake of an added zest
and excitement from their company.
'You can almost see him,' says Lionel Johnson, 'reckoning up, as it
were, on his plump fingers, his eminent acquaintances, the cities and
courts he has visited, his writings and flirtations and experiences in
general: they are his treasures and his triumphs. The acquisition of
Johnson was but the greatest of them all, his crowning achievement;
all his life was devoted to social _coups d'état_. To hear service in
an Anglican cathedral, to attend an exceptionally choice murderer to
the gallows; to contrive a meeting between Johnson and Wilkes;... to
pray among the ruins of Iona, and to run away for fear of ghosts; to
turn Roman Catholic, and immediately to run away with an actress: each
and all of these performances were to him sensational, enlivening,
vivid.'
Boswell was not unaware of this extravagance in his temperament. He
alludes to his 'warm imagination.' In 'Boswelliana,' pleased at having
found 'a good image,' he records:
There have been many people who built castles in the air; but,
I believe, I am the first who ever attempted to live in them.
By castles in the air, he means not only glorious plans for the
future, but the sensational and emotional in common incidents. A
moment during the 'Tour to the Hebrides' reveals the whole of what he
meant:
I can never forget the impression made upon my fancy by some
of the ladies' maids tripping about in neat morning dresses.
After seeing for a long time little but rusticity, their
lively appearance pleased me so much that I thought for a
moment I could have been a knight-errant for them.
A knight-errant for a couple of Scotch maids! A preposterous fancy!
But none the less it is Boswell.
It would be too large a task to deal here with all the recorded
affectation or extravagance of Boswell. But we must not omit to
mention one particular phase of it. Consciously or unconsciously,
Boswell in some degree imitated Dr. Johnson--precisely in what degree
it is difficult to determine.
The influence which Johnson had upon his faithful follower has been
discussed already. This must be carefully distinguished from the
imitation in question now; for an influence is something acquired from
the manner and mind of another, assimilated and reproduced, not as
original but as genuine; an imitation is, as it were, a garment put
on, an adornment of the outward person, reflecting no true sentiment
within.
Though Johnson had a real moral influence upon Boswell, some of his
remarks, and especially some of the pious exclamations, such as those
we have quoted, were of the latter kind. We find passages in the
'Life' when Boswell makes truly Johnsonian remarks; as on the occasion
when, in a discussion about the freedom of the will, Dr. Mayo alluded
to the distinction between moral and physical necessity, and Boswell
replied: 'Alas! Sir, they come both to the same thing. You may be
bound as hard by chains when covered by leather, as when the iron
appears'; or when he said in answer to Dr. Johnson's remark that he
had _downed_ Dr. Robertson with the King of Prussia, 'Yes, Sir, you
threw a _bottle_ at his head.'
When actually in his presence, it is clear from Fanny Burney's account
that Boswell imitated Dr. Johnson:
He had an odd mock-solemnity of tone and manner that he
had acquired imperceptibly from constantly thinking of and
imitating Dr. Johnson, whose own solemnity, nevertheless, far
from mock, was the result of pensive rumination. There was,
also, something slouching in the gait and dress of Mr. Boswell
that wore an air, ridiculously enough, of purporting to
personify the same model. His clothes were always too large
for him; his hair, or wig, was constantly in a state of
negligence; and he never for a moment sat still or upright
upon a chair. Every look and movement displayed either
intentional or voluntary imitation. Yet certainly it was not
meant for caricature, for his heart, almost even to idolatry,
was in his reverence for Dr. Johnson.[31]
It is a curious and striking picture, and we may gather that there was
always something odd and laughable, and yet rather lamentable, about
Boswell's appearance. The effect of imitation he seems sometimes
half-conscious of producing, from the care with which he accentuates
in the 'Life' and the 'Tour' any point of difference between Dr.
Johnson and himself. But it must be remembered that Miss Burney's
account is an account of particular circumstances--the company was a
large one, and not an inner circle of more intimate friends of Boswell
and Johnson. We have no reason to suppose that Boswell's behaviour,
particularly his behaviour apart from Dr. Johnson, was greatly
affected by this strange homage to his friend.
It is clear in any case that affectation, however much it may have
taken a Johnsonian form, was fundamental in Boswell's character;
for we can see it plainly before the date of that eventful meeting.
Johnson indeed had a marked aversion from the kind of sentimentality
which Boswell frequently indulged in, and there is in it something
which could not possibly have been the effect of imitating Dr.
Johnson. How very far removed from anything which Johnson could have
done is the absurd conduct of Boswell (the best instance, perhaps, of
this kind of affectation in him) when he visited Mr. Ireland and saw
the fraudulent Shakespeare papers:
On the arrival of Mr. Boswell, the papers were as usual placed
before him, when he commenced his examination of them; and
being satisfied as to their antiquity, as far as the external
appearance would attest, he proceeded to examine the style of
the language from the fair transcripts made from the disguised
handwriting. In this research Mr. Boswell continued for a
considerable length of time, constantly speaking in favour of
the internal as well as external proofs of the validity of
the manuscripts. At length, finding himself rather thirsty,
he requested a tumbler of warm brandy and water; which
having nearly finished, he then redoubled his praises of the
manuscripts; and at length, arising from his chair, he made
use of the following expression: 'Well, I shall now die
contented, since I have lived to witness the present day.'
Mr. Boswell then, kneeling down before the volume containing
a portion of the papers, continued, 'I now kiss the invaluable
relics of our bard: and thanks to God that I have lived to see
them!' Having kissed the volume with every token of reverence,
Mr. Boswell shortly after quitted Mr. Ireland's house.[32]
However absurd the behaviour of Boswell in the _rôle_ of a man of
letters may seem to us when we understand the feelings which prompted
it, it is doubtful whether it would have been sufficient alone to give
him the reputation of a fool. Extravagance of this kind is not very
commonly condemned if it is not seen to be insincere, and though it
is easy enough for us who are in possession of all the records of his
life to see the imposture, it must have been more difficult for those
who knew Boswell to have a real interest in literature, and to be
already a man of letters, to understand that he was posing as the
literary man. His acquaintance would more readily have called him a
fool on account of his vanity.
We have all at bottom in some degree the love of self, and vanity is
the expression we apply to it when it causes us in some way to
lose our sense of proportion, to see things, as it were, in a
false perspective. Self-love becomes vanity when we love ourselves
undeservedly, or when it makes necessary to us the approbation of
others. Usually when it has one effect it has also the other.
But Boswell was vain, not, like many people, of qualities which he
did not possess, or which, if he did possess them, were no cause for
self-congratulation, but because he had an uncontrollable desire that
everyone else should know about his success and share his wonder and
admiration. It was not so much that he exaggerated his importance,
though he did that sometimes, as that he exaggerated the importance to
other people of his importance. He not only desired their applause as
well as his own, but assumed, with his curious ignorance of the mind
of others in matters which concerned himself, that what interested him
would naturally interest them.
It was vanity of this kind which, more than anything else, made a fool
of Boswell. The insatiable desire to be conspicuous which made him as
a young man publish what he must have known to be worthless, appear at
the Shakespeare Jubilee as Corsican Boswell, and insert notices of his
movements in the papers,[33] did not diminish as one might expect with
maturity, but rather grew with his years. There is nothing which he
wrote so egotistical and vain as some passages in those most serious
documents which he addressed to the 'People of Scotland upon the State
of the Nation' and to which were pinned his hopes of political honour.
In the letter of 1783 he says of himself:
'For my own part, I should claim no credit, did I not flatter
myself that I practise what I now presume to recommend. I have
mentioned former circumstances, perhaps of too much egotism,
to show that I am no time server; and at this moment, friends
to whom I am attached by affection, gratitude, and interest,
are zealous for the measure which I deem so alarming. Let
me add that a dismission of the Portland administration will
probably disappoint an object which I have most ardently at
heart.
The second letter alludes to the former one as though it had almost
created a revolution, and manages in the same sentence to remind his
readers that he had the approval of Pitt and was himself descended
from an old Scotch family:
I had the happiness to find my letter received not only with
indulgence, but with a generous warmth of heart I can never
forget, but to the latest moment of my life shall most
gratefully remember. The fire of loyalty was kindled. It flew
through our counties and our boroughs. The King was addressed:
the Constitution was saved. I was proud to have been able thus
_ciere viros_; prouder still than of receiving the applause of
the _Minister of the Crown_, which he was pleased to convey
to me in a very handsome letter; upon which, however, I set
a high value, considering not only the Minister, but the man;
and accordingly it shall be preserved in the archives of my
family.
In the same pamphlet Boswell refers to his wife's aristocratic
connections, and intrudes an assertion of his domestic felicity which
could have no bearing on the political theme. He wishes to appear as
'the friend of Lord Eglintoun':
Amongst those friends I myself am one of the warmest, both as
an enthusiast for ancient feudal attachments, and as having
the honour and happiness to be married to his Lordship's
relation, a true Montgomerie, whom I esteem, after fifteen
years, as on the day when she gave me her hand.
This declaration satisfied in some strange manner a personal vanity,
and was also no doubt intended to enlist the support of his Lordship.
But by far the most remarkable story of Boswell's absurdities is one
told by John Taylor, editor of the _Sun_, about his behaviour at a
public dinner:
I remember dining with him at Guildhall in 1785, when Alderman
Boydell gave his grand civic festival on being raised to the
mayoralty. Mr. Pitt honoured the table on that occasion with
his presence, and, when the company removed to a room, in a
short time Mr. Boswell contrived to be asked to favour the
company with a song. He declared his readiness to comply, but
first delivered a short preface, in which he observed that it
had been his good fortune to be introduced to several of the
potentates and most of the great characters of Europe, but
with all his endeavours he had never been successful in
obtaining an introduction to a gentleman who was an honour to
his country, and whose talents he held in the highest esteem
and admiration. It was evident to all the company that Mr.
Boswell alluded to Mr. Pitt, who sat with all the dignified
silence of a marble statue, though, indeed, in such a
situation he could not but take the reference to himself. Mr.
Boswell then sang a song of his own composition, which was a
parody on Dibdin's 'Sweet Little Cherub,' under the title of
'A Grocer of London,' which rendered the reference to Mr. Pitt
too evident to be mistaken, as the great minister was then a
member of the Grocers' Company. This song Mr. Boswell, partly
volunteering and partly pressed by the company, sang at least
six times, insomuch that Mr. Pitt was obliged to relax from
his gravity and join in the general laugh at the oddity of Mr.
Boswell's character.[34]
The value of this tale as evidence of Boswell's behaviour and
character depends in some degree upon the extent of his potations.
Though he may have had the audacity to do such things when in a normal
condition, it must have been easier to do them when tipsy. It may be
judged, from the continuation of Dr. Taylor's story, that a part
of Boswell's confidence in the presence of Mr. Pitt was due to the
festivity of the occasion:
Boswell and I came away together, both in so convivial a mood
that we roared out all the way 'The Grocer of London,' till we
reached Hatton Garden, where I then resided, to the annoyance
of many watchmen whom we roused from their peaceful slumbers,
without, however, being taken into custody for disturbing
their repose.... I met him the next day about twelve o'clock
near St. Dunstan's Church, as fresh as a rose.
Fitzgerald, after quoting this account of the mayoralty dinner,
continues:
This ludicrous exhibition was much talked of and laughed at.
To heighten the absurdity, his Liberal friends affected to be
shocked at his want of principle, in singing praises of the
'Grocer,' whom he had been heard to abuse. They were enchanted
to find him rise to the bait, and thus vindicate himself:
'Pray let them know that I am vain of a hasty composition
which has procured me large draughts of the popular applause
in which I delight. Let me add that there was certainly no
servility on my part, for I publicly declared in Guildhall,
between the encores, "that this same Grocer had treated me
arrogantly and ungratefully, but that, from his great merit
as a minister, I was compelled to support him." The time will
come when I shall have a riper opportunity to show, that in
one instance, at least, the man has wanted wisdom.'
He goes on to explain that Boswell gained a good deal of notoriety
from the escapade, which was alluded to in a popular satirical poem of
the time.
It is easy indeed to understand the motives of Boswell. His childish
and unrestrained love of merriment, his insatiable desire to be the
wag and the buffoon, enabled him to give vent in the most mirthful
fashion to his passion for self-advertisement, to explain how he had
been honoured by the attention of kings and how he intended to have
an introduction to the great Minister; and with all this he retained a
certain fundamental honesty about himself, so that he was compelled
to exclaim between the encores 'that this same Minister had treated
me arrogantly and ungratefully.' He understood so little what was the
opinion of the company about him that he seems to have believed that
he was recommending himself to a patron, and he was so vain that he
was undoubtedly proud of what must have been an absurd composition.
Boswell indeed was very fond of writing humorous verse.[35] The
instinct in him was the natural result of his animal spirits; the need
to be laughing, which he felt so strongly at most times when he was
not depressed and melancholy, fixed upon the smallest objects as
suitable for his wit, and he was satisfied only by some form of
expression. The reason that he collected in his commonplace-book a
number of 'good things,' as he would call them, is not so much that he
was proud of his own sayings (for those of others are also treasured)
or that he wished to preserve them for posterity, though both these
feelings were present, as that his huge enjoyment of anything witty
must be recorded to be satisfied.
It is remarkable, when we recollect what a large sense of humour he
had, that many of his verses and of his jokes should be so dull and
colourless. But the faculty for appreciating what is amusing is very
different from the capacity for originating it. It is the difference
between humour and wit. The latter involves the power of expression;
and a man may as easily be full of humour, without making a joke, as
he may be by nature a poet without ever writing a line of good poetry.
Boswell had some wit, but not very much--far less than anyone would
imagine merely from reading the 'Life' or the 'Tour.' His position
perhaps is not unlike that of several poets who have written some
stanzas and stray lines of a rare beauty, and are none the less poets
because they have written also much that seems quite unpoetical.
A specimen of Boswell's humorous verse is printed in the 'Life.' He
had dined one evening at Lord Montrose's and afterwards went to Miss
Monckton's, where 'a great number of persons of the first rank' were
assembled, in a state of improper elevation. 'Next day,' says Boswell,
'I endeavoured to give what had happened the most ingenious turn I
could, by the following verses:
Not that with th' excellent Montrose
I had the happiness to dine;
Not that I late from table rose,
From Graham's wit, from generous wine.
It was not these alone which led
On sacred manners to encroach;
And made me feel what most I dread,
Johnson's just frown, and self-reproach.
But when I entered, not abash'd,
From your bright eyes were shot such rays,
At once intoxication flash'd,
And all my frame was in a blaze:
But not a brilliant blaze I own,
Of the dull smoke I'm yet asham'd;
I was a dreary ruin grown,
And not enlighten'd though enflam'd.
Victim at once to wine and love,
I hope, Maria, you'll forgive;
While I invoke the powers above,
That henceforth I may wiser live.
Certainly this is amusing in some degree, and amusing too in an
original way; but much of it is mere rhyming without any sort of wit.
Boswell could be as banal as anyone. An ode ('Horatian Ode,' he calls
it) to Charles Dilly, which is chiefly concerned with one Dr. Lettsom,
frequently the host of both Boswell and Dilly, exhibits the author of
humorous verse at his worst; it will be enough to quote one stanza:
And guests has he in ev'ry degree
Of decent estimation.
His liberal mind holds all mankind,
As an extended nation.
Boswell's _mots_ are of a common eighteenth-century type. The turn
of phrase admired by both Johnson and Boswell and most of their
contemporaries was the image. In 'Boswelliana' is a story of Boswell's
introduction to Scotch lawyers: 'Boswell had a great aversion to the
law, but forced himself to enter upon that laborious profession in
compliance with the anxious desire of his father, for whom he had the
greatest regard. After putting on the gown he said with great good
humour to his brother advocates, 'Gentlemen, I am prest into the
service here; but I have observed that a prest man, either by sea or
land, after a little time does just as well as a volunteer.'
That is Boswell at his best.
Here is another specimen of Boswell's wit: 'A modern man of taste
found fault with the avenues at Auchinleck, and said he wished to
see straggling trees. 'I wish,' said Boswell, 'I could see straggling
fools in this world.'
That is Boswell at his worst.
Why a man who had so much natural humour as Boswell had should have
failed so completely to discriminate when his own wit was in question
must remain as much a problem to us as is the failure of many a poet
to criticise his own writings--the explanation may be perhaps that it
requires some special effort of the mind which can but rarely be
made and which is impossible after the moment of composition. Boswell
certainly seems to have had a high opinion of his efforts to be witty;
his verses to Miss Monckton are inserted in the 'Life' with evident
pride, and without any excuse of some connection with Johnson such as
he usually makes when alluding to his own performances, and he seems
frequently to have sung the songs which he composed, obtaining, no
doubt, in this way the 'conspicuousness' which he desired.[36]
The enjoyment which Boswell had in public at Stratford and at the
mayoralty dinner and in private, no doubt, on many occasions of which
unfortunately we have no account, is perhaps best illustrated and best
understood from a single sentence of his own in one of the 'Letters to
Temple':
I was the great man (as we used to say) at the late
Drawing-Room, in a suit of imperial blue lined with
rose-coloured silk, and ornamented with rich gold-wrought
buttons.
For the eagerness which Boswell had to reveal to others anything about
himself which he was proud of, and a sort of inevitable obtrusiveness
in him, Johnson with his usual shrewdness found an excellent parallel
which is faithfully recounted in the 'Life':
Once when checking my boasting too frequently of myself in
company, he said to me, 'Boswell, you often vaunt so much
as to provoke ridicule. You put me in mind of a man who was
standing in the kitchen of an inn with his back to the fire,
and thus accosted the person next him, "Do you know, sir,
who I am?" "No, sir," said the other, "I have not that
advantage." "Sir," said he, "I am the _great Twalmley_, who
invented the New Floodgate Iron."'
Endowed with these qualities of unsuspecting simplicity and
open-mouthed vanity, Boswell naturally became, as we have seen, an
object of mirth to his fellow-lawyers. When they took away his wig he
did indeed half suspect a trick; but how confident and innocent
and entirely unsuspicious he is when he boldly pleads for the writ,
'_Quare adhaesit pavimento_.' His own story of the storm during the
sail to Mull, told in the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' illustrates perhaps
better than any other the childish confidence of his conduct. Boswell,
though filled with undisguised terror, still ardently wished to play
the man and be the hero, and he thought, no doubt, as he stood holding
the rope in expectation of the captain's command, that the post
assigned to him was one of vital importance.
As I saw them all busy doing something, I asked Col, with much
earnestness, what I could do. He, with a happy readiness, put
into my hand a rope, which was fixed to the top of one of the
masts, and told me to hold it till he bade me pull. If I had
considered the matter, I might have seen that this could not
be of the least service; but his object was to keep me out of
the way of those who were busy working the vessel, and at
the same time to divert my fear by employing me and making
me think that I was of use. Thus did I stand firm to my post,
while the wind and rain beat upon me, always expecting a call
to pull my rope.'
The vanity and simplicity of Boswell no doubt obtruded themselves very
frequently in his behaviour; and they caused a certain expansiveness
and recklessness of conversation which would be interpreted at once as
thoughtless and foolish. We have an admirable glimpse into the kind of
atmosphere produced by his talk in a story which he tells of a snub he
received from Colman:
I was then so impressed with the truth of many of the stories
of which I had been told, that I avowed my conviction, saying,
'He is only _willing_ to believe; I _do_ believe. The evidence
is enough for me, though not for his great mind. What will not
fill a quart bottle will fill a pint bottle. I am filled with
belief.' 'Are you?' said Colman, 'then cork it up.'[37]
'His social propensities,' says Sir J. Prior, 'were well known ...
he opens his mind so freely that we discover much of what is passing
there, even when the disclosure is not meant.'[38] Boswell, indeed,
talked very readily even upon the most serious subjects. About morals
and religion he was continually questioning Dr. Johnson, and most of
all about what to the other was a peculiarly sacred and awful thing,
the fear of death. The topics were introduced apparently without any
particular reason or fitness, but just as it occurred to Boswell that
he might elicit some response from Johnson upon questions about which
it was essential to his purpose that he should hear the doctor's
views: and they were introduced too not merely in private converse but
when a number of people were present.
It seems clear that Boswell was sometimes very tactless in leading
Johnson to talk; he did not understand that not every company nor
every occasion is suitable for the discussion of the most serious
matters. He had, too, an unfortunate habit of saying things which were
extremely injudicious. He did not even understand altogether what was
likely to annoy Dr. Johnson--as on the occasion when he referred to
him in company by the name 'Gargantua,' which Johnson had spoken of as
having been applied to himself, or when he made what must have been an
obvious reference to Johnson's curious clothes: 'Would not _you_, sir,
be the better for velvet embroidery?' These remarks were made, it is
evident, without any malevolent intention. It would seem that even
when he meant to be rude he did not realise all the harm he was doing:
Hume was with some justice annoyed when Boswell quoted the phrase of
Temple, 'their infidel pensioner, Hume';[39] and it was introduced
just as a child might say in some personal argument, 'I know what
someone said of _you_'; and Foote can never have felt much friendship
for Johnson after he heard that the latter had compared his infidelity
to that of a dog.[40] The company in both cases may have been glad
to see Boswell defend his friend, but they must have thought him a
considerable fool and hardly a harmless one.
Nor was it merely from his disregard of what was appropriate that his
conversation might be thought foolish, but rather because a man who
is very ready to talk of his most intimate thoughts and feelings is
usually supposed to be a fool.
Boswell certainly had far more candour than most men, and he had also
a far greater curiosity and interest in mankind, which made him ready
to talk like a child of things about which many men prefer to be
silent. But it would seem, too, that though far from incapable of
feeling deep emotion he was unaffected where most of us would be
touched. 'He was a boy longer than others,' and this perhaps is the
explanation.
[Footnote 1: _Letters to Temple_, pp. 146-7.]
[Footnote 2: _Letters to Temple_, p. 157.]
[Footnote 3: _Letters to Temple_, p. 250.]
[Footnote 4: _European Magazine_, 1798, p. 376.]
[Footnote 5: For an account of Lord Lonsdale _v._ Sir George
Trevelyan's _Life of Fox_.]
[Footnote 6: Or possibly at the end of 1787--_v._ Nichols'
_Illustrations_, vii. 310. The _Dictionary of National
Biography_ gives 1790, and Dr. Rogers 1789. But Bishop Percy's
letter of congratulation (printed in Nichols) was dated 1788.
The year is undoubtedly correct, for it refers to a letter
of Boswell's dated Feb. 9, 1788, and in this letter Boswell
speaks of the forthcoming publication of Johnson's letters to
Mrs. Piozzi, which were published actually in 1788.]
[Footnote 7: _Letters to Temple_, pp. 268-9.]
[Footnote 8: _Life of Johnson_, iv. 265.]
[Footnote 9: Fitzgerald's _Life of Boswell_, II, 16.]
[Footnote 10: _Letters to Temple_, p. 244.]
[Footnote 11: _Ib._, p. 244.]
[Footnote 12: _Ib._, p. 249.]
[Footnote 13: _Gentleman's Magazine_, June 1795, and _Nichols'
Literary Anecdotes_, ii, pp. 400-2.]
[Footnote 14: _Letters to Temple_, p. 29.]
[Footnote 15: _Ib._, p. 43.]
[Footnote 16: _Ib._, p. 190, and _Tour to Corsica_.]
[Footnote 17: _Letters to Temple._]
[Footnote 18: March 3, 1778.]
[Footnote 19: _Letters to Temple_, p. 88.]
[Footnote 20: _Letters to Temple_, p. 162.]
[Footnote 21: _Ib._, p. 158.]
[Footnote 22: _Ib._, p. 63.]
[Footnote 23: _Letters to Temple_, p. 148.]
[Footnote 24: _Ib._, p. 4.]
[Footnote 25: _Life of Johnson_, iv, 122.]
[Footnote 26: _Letters to Temple_, p. 20.]
[Footnote 27: _Ib._, p. 195.]
[Footnote 28: _Ib._, p. 148.]
[Footnote 29: _Ib._, p. 24.]
[Footnote 30: _Ib._, p. 127.]
[Footnote 31: _Diary of Madame D'Arblay_, i, p. 509.]
[Footnote 32: _Ireland's Confessions_, pp. 95-6.]
[Footnote 33: Prior's _Life of Goldsmith_, i, 449-50.]
[Footnote 34: _Taylor's Records_, vol. i, 89, 90.]
[Footnote 35: Fitzgerald's _Life of Boswell_, ii, 73-8.]
[Footnote 36: Fitzgerald's _Life of Boswell_, ii, 76.]
[Footnote 37: _Life of Johnson_, ii, 318.]
[Footnote 38: Prior's _Life of Goldsmith_, i, 452-3.]
[Footnote 39: _Letters to Temple_, p. 165.]
[Footnote 40: _Life of Johnson_, ii, 95.]