expresses a regret that he himself cannot wed so long as his father
lives. Having administered these virtuous counsels, he intimates that
he has involved himself in an illicit amour—or, as he expresses it,
that he is attached to “a dear infidel.” The person so described was a
married woman, who had separated from her husband. Boswell had met her
in the autumn of 1765 at Moffat Spa, where he had been sojourning with
his friend Mr. Johnston, of Grange, a Dumfriesshire landowner. He had
brought her to Edinburgh, and she was now maintained at his expense. In
mitigation of his conduct in associating with her, he thus expatiates
to Mr. Temple:—
“Don’t think her unfaithful; I could not love her if she was. There is
baseness in all deceit which my soul is virtuous enough to abhor, and
therefore I look with horror on adultery. But my amiable mistress is
no longer bound to him who was her husband: he has used her shockingly
ill; he has deserted her; he lives with another. Is she not then free?
She is, it is clear, and no arguments can disguise it. She is now
mine; and were she to be unfaithful to me, she ought to be pierced
with a Corsican poniard; but I believe she loves me sincerely. She has
done everything to please me: she is perfectly generous, and would not
hear of any present.”
The first part of Boswell’s letter embracing these incongruous details
is dated “1st February,” and occupies seven folio pages. With temporary
discretion the writer hesitated to send off so strange a communication;
at length, on the 28th of the month, he resumed his narrative, which
after another interval was concluded on the 4th March, and thereupon
despatched. Respecting his unhappy amour he writes:—
“I have talked a great deal of my sweet little mistress; I am,
however, uneasy about her. Furnishing a house and maintaining her
with a maid will cost me a great deal of money, and it is too like
marriage, or too much a settled plan of licentiousness; but what
can I do? I have already taken the house, and the lady has agreed
to go in at Whitsuntide; I cannot in honour draw back.... Now am I
tormented because my charmer has formerly loved others. Besides, she
is ill-bred, quite a rompish girl. She debases my dignity; she has no
refinement, but she is very handsome and very lively. What is it to
me that she has formerly loved? so have I. I am positive that since
I first courted her at Moffat she has been constant to me; she is
kind, she is generous. What shall I do? I wish I could get off; and
yet how awkward would it be!... What is to be thought of this life,
my friend? Hear the story of my last three days. After tormenting
myself with reflecting on my charmer’s former loves, and ruminating
on parting with her, I went to her. I could not conceal my being
distressed. I told her I was very unhappy, but I would not tell her
why. She took this very seriously, and was so much affected that she
went next morning and gave up her house. I went in the afternoon and
secured the house, and then drank tea with her. She was much agitated;
she said she was determined to go and board herself in the north of
England, and that I used her very ill. I expostulated with her; I was
sometimes inclined to let her go, and sometimes my heart was like to
burst within me. I held her dear hand; her eyes were full of passion;
I told her what made me miserable; she was pleased to find it was
nothing worse. She had imagined I was suspicious of her fidelity, and
she thought that very ungenerous in reconsidering her behaviour. She
said I should not mind her faults before I knew her, since her conduct
was now more circumspect. She owned that she loved me more than she
had ever done her husband. All was well again.”
Boswell went out, and the same evening got drunk, and committed gross
follies. On the 30th March he wrote to Mr. Temple from Auchinleck. He
informed him that as his Circe had gone to Moffat, he has “had time
to think coolly,” and to call up “that reason which he had so often
contradicted.” He proceeds:—
“Johnston, an old friend of mine, a writer in Edinburgh, but too
much of an indolent philosopher to have great business, being rather
a worthy country gentleman, with a paternal estate of £100 a year,
was much distressed with my unhappy passion. He was at Moffat when
it first began, and he marked the advance of the fever. It was he
who assured me, upon his honour, that my fair one had a very bad
character, and gave me some instances which made my lovesick heart
recoil. He had some influence with me, but my brother David had more.
To him I discovered my weakness, my slavery, and begged his advice.
He gave it me like a man. I gloried in him. I roused all my spirit,
and at last I was myself again. I immediately wrote her a letter, of
which I enclose the scroll for your perusal. She and I have always
corresponded in such a manner that no mischief could come of it, for
we supposed a Miss——, to whom all my amorous vows were paid.... I
have not yet got her answer: what will it be, think you? I shall judge
of her character from it. I shall see if she is abandoned or virtuous;
I mean both in a degree; I shall at any rate be free. What a snare
have I escaped! Do you remember Ulysses and Circe?—
‘Sub domina meretrice vixisset turpis et excors.’
“My life is one of the most romantic that I believe either you or I
really know of, and yet I am a very sensible, good sort of man. What
is the meaning of this, Temple? You may depend upon it that very soon
my follies will be at an end, and I shall turn out an admirable member
of society. Now that I have given my mind the turn, I am totally
emancipated from my charmer, as much as from the gardener’s daughter
who now puts on my fire and performs menial offices like any other
wench, and yet just this time twelvemonth I was so madly in love as
to think of marrying her. Should not this be an everlasting lesson to
me?... How strangely do we colour over our vices! I startle when you
talk of keeping another man’s wife, yet that was literally my scheme,
though imagination represented it just as being fond of a pretty,
lovely, black little lady, who to oblige me stayed in Edinburgh, and I
very genteelly paid her expenses.”
From several letters to Mr. Temple at subsequent dates, it appears that
Boswell’s discreditable amour was protracted for some time longer. In
the same letter he invited his friend’s counsel respecting certain
matrimonial projects on which he had embarked.
Amidst his dissipations and follies Boswell was not altogether idle.
To Mr. Temple he reported, in March, that he had at the Bar earned
sixty-five guineas during the winter, and that his employment was
steadily on the increase. He stated that Mr. Hume augured favourably
of his work on Corsica; that Rousseau had quarrelled with him as he
had done with Hume; that Dr. Gregory had sought his acquaintance, and
that he had received a long letter from General Paoli, and one of three
pages from Lord Chatham.
To Lord Chatham Boswell replied in characteristic fashion:—
“_Auchinleck, April 8th, 1767._
“I have communicated to General Paoli the contents of your lordship’s
letter, and I am persuaded he will think as I do.... Your lordship
applauds my ‘generous warmth for so striking a character as the
able chief.’ Indeed, my lord, I have the happiness of being able
to contemplate with supreme delight those distinguished spirits by
which God is sometimes pleased to honour humanity, and as I have no
personal favour to ask of your lordship, I will tell you, with the
confidence of one who does not fear to be thought a flatterer, that
your character, my lord, has filled many of my best hours with that
noble admiration which a disinterested soul can enjoy in the bower of
philosophy.”
After informing his correspondent that he is about to publish an
account of Corsica, he proceeds:—
“As for myself, to please a worthy and respected father, one of our
Scots judges, I studied law, and am now fairly entered to the bar. I
begin to like it; I can labour hard, I feel myself coming forward, and
I hope to be useful to my country. Could your lordship find time to
honour me now and then with a letter?
“I have been told how favourably your lordship has spoken of me. To
correspond with a Paoli and with a Chatham is enough to keep a young
man ever ardent in the pursuit of virtuous fame.”
The cool egotism which prompted Boswell, an undistinguished youth, to
beg an occasional letter from an illustrious and veteran statesman is
without a parallel in biography. At Edinburgh, notwithstanding his
obvious eccentricity, he enjoyed a kind of literary _status_. As a
patron of histrionic art he led a considerable section of the Edinburgh
youth; and we have already related, that at the request of Ross, the
player, he composed the prologue spoken at the opening of the Edinburgh
theatre in December, 1767. By an act of indiscretion he nearly crushed
the institution he had helped to rear. He brought on the Edinburgh
stage a comedy entitled “The Coquettes,” to oblige Lady Houston, by
whom it was composed. On the third performance it was condemned as a
bad translation of one of Corneille’s worst plays. Lady Houston was
sister of Lord Cathcart, one of Boswell’s friends, and creditably
enough he was content to bear the censure of producing the piece rather
than expose the foolish gentlewoman who had placed it in his hands.
In his letter to Mr. Temple of the 30th March, 1767, he reports
concerning his forthcoming venture—“I am now seriously engaged in my
account of Corsica; it elevates my soul, and makes me _spernere humum_.
I shall have it finished by June.” Through Mr. Hume he endeavoured
to secure Mr. Andrew Millar as publisher; but negotiations being
unsatisfactory, he sold his MS. for 100 guineas to Messrs. Edward and
Charles Dilly, booksellers in the Poultry. In an ordinary octavo the
work appeared in the spring of 1768, with the title, “An Account of
Corsica: the Journal of a Tour to that Island, and Memoirs of Pascal
Paoli, by James Boswell, Esq.” It was dedicated, in flattering terms,
to Paoli; but the peculiarities of the writer were more apparent in his
preface. He there indicates his peculiar system of orthography. “Of
late,” he writes, “it has become the fashion to render our language
more neat and trim by leaving out k after c, and u in the last syllable
of words which used to end in our. The illustrious Mr. Samuel Johnson,
who has alone executed in England what was the task of whole academies
in other countries, has been careful in his dictionary to preserve the
k as a mark of Saxon original. He has for most part, too, been careful
to preserve the u, but he has also omitted it in several words. I have
retained the k, and have taken upon me to follow a general rule with
regard to words ending in our. Wherever a word originally Latin has
been transmitted to us through the medium of the French I have written
it with the characteristical u. Our attention to this may appear
trivial, but I own I am one of those who are curious in the formation
of language in its various modes; and therefore, with that, the
affinity of English with other tongues may not be forgotten. If this
work should at any future period be reprinted, I hope that care will be
taken of my orthography.”
Pursuant to his system, Boswell indulged the satisfaction of writing
_authour_ for author, and _tremenduous_ for a word known only
as tremendous. He closed his preface by intimating his literary
aspirations:—
“I should,” he writes, “be proud to be known as an authour, and I have
an ardent ambition for literary fame; for of all possessions I should
imagine literary fame to be the most valuable. A man who has been able
to furnish a book which has been approved by the world has established
himself as a respectable character in distant society, without any
danger of having that character lessened by the observation of his
weaknesses. To preserve an uniform dignity among those who see us
every day is hardly possible, and to aim at it must put us under the
fetters of a perpetual restraint. The authour of an approved book
may allow his natural disposition an easy play, and yet indulge the
pride of superior genius when he considers that by those who know him
only as an authour he never ceases to be respected. Such an authour,
when in his hours of gloom and discontent, may have the consolation
to think that his writings are at that very time giving pleasure to
numbers, and such an authour may cherish the hope of being remembered
after death, which has been a great object to the noblest minds in
all ages. Whether I may merit any portion of literary fame the public
will judge. Whatever my ambition may be, I trust that my confidence is
not too great, nor my hopes too sanguine.”
Though subjected to some ridicule, owing to the extreme egotism of the
writer, the Corsican Journey was well received. A second edition was
called for within a few months. Boswell proceeded to London to enjoy
an anticipated ovation. When he arrived Dr. Johnson was on a visit at
Oxford, but Boswell by letter solicited his commendation. Contrary to
his hopes he received this laconic answer—“I wish you would empty your
head of Corsica, which I think has filled it rather too long.” From Dr.
Johnson such a reproof was intolerable. Boswell at once despatched the
following reply:—
“How can you bid me empty my head of Corsica? My noble-minded friend,
do you not feel for an oppressed nation bravely struggling to be free?
Consider fairly what is the case. The Corsicans never received any
kindness from the Genoese. They never agreed to be subject to them.
They owe them nothing, and when reduced to an abject state of slavery
by force, shall they not rise in the great cause of liberty, and break
the galling yoke? And shall not every liberal soul be warm for them?
Empty my head of Corsica! Empty it of honour, empty it of humanity,
empty it of friendship, empty it of piety. No! while I live, Corsica
and the cause of the brave islanders shall ever employ much of my
attention, shall ever interest me in the sincerest manner.”
Though Dr. Johnson imparted no praise, Boswell, on account of his book,
met with considerable attention. To Mr. Temple he wrote on the 14th
May,—
“I am really the great man now. I have had David Hume in the forenoon,
and Mr. Johnson in the afternoon of the same day visiting me. Sir John
Pringle, Dr. Franklin, and some more company, dined with me to-day;
and Mr. Johnson and General Oglethorpe one day, Mr. Garrick alone
another, and David Hume and some more _literati_, dine with me next
week. I give admirable dinners and good claret; and the moment I go
abroad again, which will be in a day or two, I set up my chariot. This
is enjoying the fruit of my labours, and appearing like the friend of
Paoli. By-the-bye, the Earl of Pembroke and Captain Meadows are just
setting out for Corsica, and I have the honour of introducing them by
letter to the General. David Hume came on purpose the other day to
tell me that the Duke of Bedford was very fond of my book, and had
recommended it to the Duchess.”
In the beginning of 1769 Boswell issued under the publishing auspices
of Messrs. Dilly, a duodecimo volume entitled “British Essays in
favour of the brave Corsicans”—a work which was followed by the third
edition of his work on Corsica. In a preface to this edition, dated at
Auchinleck, 29th October, 1768, he thus disposes of his critics:—“To
those who have imagined themselves very witty in sneering at me for
being a Christian, I would recommend the serious study of theology;
and I hope they will attain to the same comfort that I have in the
belief of a revelation by which a Saviour is proclaimed to the world,
and ‘life and immortality are clearly brought to light.’” He closes by
congratulating himself on having obtained literary reputation.
“May I be permitted to say,” he writes, “that the success of this
book has exceeded my warmest hopes. When I first ventured to send it
into the world I fairly owned an ardent desire for literary fame. I
have obtained my desire; and whatever clouds may overcast my days, I
can now walk here among the rocks and woods of my ancestors with an
agreeable consciousness that I have done something worthy.”
Complacently as he had expressed himself, Boswell was ill at ease,
for though his book sold, and was generally approved, Dr. Johnson
remained silent. After enduring the affront for eighteen months, he at
length, in September, 1769, addressed a letter to the lexicographer,
charging him with unkindness. In these terms Dr. Johnson rebutted the
accusation:—
“Why do you charge me with unkindness? I have omitted nothing that
could do you good or give you pleasure, unless it be that I have
forborne to tell you my opinion of your ‘Account of Corsica.’ I
believe my opinion, if you think well of my judgment, might have given
you pleasure; but when it is considered how much vanity is excited by
praise, I am not sure that it would have done you good. Your history
is like other histories, but your journal is in a very high degree
curious and delightful. There is between the history and the journal
that difference which there will always be found between notions
borrowed from without and notions generated within. Your history was
copied from books; your journal rose out of your own experience and
observation. You express images which operated strongly upon yourself,
and you have impressed them with great force upon your readers. I know
not whether I could name any narrative by which curiosity is better
excited or better gratified.”
These words from Dr. Johnson made Boswell happy. The Doctor’s opinion
as to the interest of the work mainly depending on the narrative of the
writer’s own experiences was shared generally. Respecting Boswell and
his performance, Mr. Walpole, in a letter to the poet Gray, dated 18th
February, 1768, thus expresses himself:—“Pray read the new account of
Corsica; what relates to Paoli will amuse you much. There is a deal
about the island and its dimensions that one does not care a straw
for. The author, Boswell, is a strange being, and, like Cambridge,[40]
has a rage for knowing anybody that was ever talked of. He forced
himself upon me in spite of my teeth and my doors, and I see has given
a foolish account of all he could pick up from me about King Theodore.
He then took an antipathy to me on Rousseau’s account, abused me in the
newspapers, and expected Rousseau to do so too; but as he came to see
me no more, I forgave all the rest. I see he is now a little sick of
Rousseau himself, but I hope it will not cure him of his anger to me;
however, his book will amuse you.”
This is caustic enough. Gray’s reply is equally in praise of Boswell’s
Journal and condemnatory of its author:—[41]
“_Pembroke College, February 25, 1768._
“Mr. Boswell’s book I was going to recommend to you when I received
your letter. It has pleased and moved me strangely—all (I mean)
that relates to Paoli.... The pamphlet proves what I have always
maintained, that any fool may write a most valuable book by chance,
if he will only tell us what he heard and said with veracity. Of Mr.
Boswell’s truth I have not the least suspicion, because I am sure he
could invent nothing of the kind. The title of this part of his work
is a dialogue between a Green Goose and a Hero.”[42]
Inflated with his success as an author, and his supposed popularity as
the friend of the Corsicans and of Paoli, Boswell, on his return to
Edinburgh in the summer of 1768, began to eschew his legal duties and
spend his evenings at the gambling-table. To this practice he had been
formerly addicted, but he had temporarily renounced it, on the counsel
of Mr. Sheridan. In August, 1768, he reported to Mr. Temple that
“he found the fever still lurking in his veins,” and so indulged his
propensity. During the previous autumn he had experienced his father’s
resentment for his encouragement of theatricals and constant talk about
Paoli. In reference to his father’s displeasure he thus communicated
with Mr. Temple in September, 1767:—
“How unaccountable is it 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. To give
you an instance, I send you a letter I had from him a few days ago.
How galling is it to the friend of Paoli to be treated so! I have
answered him in my own style. I will be myself.... 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 souls; and how can I make him happy? Am I bound to
do so at the expense, not of this or the other agreeable wish, but
at the expense of myself? The time was when such a letter from my
father as the one I enclose would have depressed; but I am now firm,
and as my revered friend Mr. Samuel Johnson used to say, I feel the
privileges of an independent human being. However, it is hard that I
cannot have the pious satisfaction of being well with my father.”
To lose the paternal favour was perilous; so Boswell’s next literary
performance was of a professional character. When he commenced practice
as an advocate, society in Edinburgh and in the country generally
was much agitated in connection with the Douglas case. The question
at issue was whether Mr. Archibald Douglas was the real heir to
the estates of Douglas, the succession otherwise devolving on the
Duke of Hamilton. The Lady Jane Douglas was twice married. By her
first union, which subsisted for many years she had no children; she
married secondly Mr. Stewart, afterwards Sir John Stewart, Bart., of
Grandtully, an aged gentleman in feeble health, and by this marriage,
as was alleged, gave birth to twin sons in her fifty-first year. Lady
Jane long resided in France; her alleged _accouchement_ took place in
the house of a Madame le Brun, in Paris, and it was asserted that the
children which she claimed as her sons were purchased from a Parisian
rope-dancer. The younger of the two boys died in childhood, and on
the death of the Duke of Douglas his Grace’s estates were claimed by
Archibald, the elder son. The validity of his claim was disputed,
and the evidence adduced on both sides occupies several quarto
volumes. In the Court of Session the claimant’s birth was pronounced
supposititious, on the casting vote of the Lord President Dundas. On
appeal that decision was reversed by the House of Lords, Lord Camden,
the Chancellor, alleging that “a more ample and positive proof of the
child’s being the son of a mother never appeared in a court of justice.”
While the Douglas case was exciting its utmost interest, Boswell
became a keen supporter of the claimant, Mr. Archibald Douglas; and
in November, 1767, produced a pamphlet entitled “The Essence of
the Douglas Cause.” This _brochure_ was issued in reply to a small
publication entitled “Considerations on the Douglas Cause,” but failed
to excite any general attention. The author, however, cherished the
belief that he had been of essential service to Mr. Douglas, and
accordingly requested that his name might be added to the list of
counsel retained on his behalf.
Boswell, we have seen, had begun to think of matrimony. In that
direction his thoughts were sufficiently persistent, though in respect
to the object of affection singularly variable. On the 30th March,
1767, he thus addressed Mr. Temple:—