CHAPTER XIII
Four years of life remained to Boswell after the publication of the great biography. His death came at the due moment; he was not cut off in the midst of a great undertaking or in the course of an important development. It is inconceivable that, had he lived, he would have produced another biography which should be comparable to the 'Life of Johnson.' An autobiography he might indeed have written, but there is no sign that he was engaged upon such a work in the closing years, or that the idea had taken definite shape in his mind; his nature was rather that of the casual autobiographer, such as we find him in the 'Life' from time to time, and particularly in the 'Letters to Temple'; and it is doubtful whether his autobiography, if ever it had been written, would have added much to letters and diaries which were no doubt in existence, though not preserved for our eyes.[1] The RETROSPECT great labour of his life had been accomplished: and he was allowed a little time longer to see that it was approved by his own generation.
Several questions naturally present themselves when we consider the end of a man's life. Has he been successful? What is his position in the world? Do men respect him? Do they love him?
Boswell, we had occasion to remark before, had not been, in the ordinary sense, successful. He had always been ambitious; he had wanted to be 'the great man'; he had coveted the world's honours; he would have liked to be busy with the affairs of a nation, or, at the least, to have been reputed a leading barrister. But the glory which fell to the lot of those who governed this country was withheld from Boswell; in the legal and political spheres he failed. The one post which he obtained, as Recorder of Carlisle—and it was one of no importance—he resigned in 1790, because he could no longer brook the overbearing behaviour of an insolent patron.
Certainly Boswell was far from attaining such fame as he desired; but at the same time he had a very remarkable success. What then was Boswell's reputation among his contemporaries?
The literary world had welcomed the 'Tour to the Hebrides'; men of discrimination had seen that it was a very remarkable book. And yet Boswell's talents won little respect from this performance. It was amazingly indiscreet; and censure was more readily bestowed upon the author's indiscretion than praise upon his art. It was easy to account for the interest of the book, as Gray and Walpole had accounted for the charm of the 'Tour in Corsica,' by the peculiarities of the writer; and though to many so shallow an explanation must have been unsatisfactory, it detracted from Boswell's reputation as a man of letters. Moreover, the caricaturists were always busy with Boswell's oddities: the 'Tour to the Hebrides' provided ample store for the exercise of their wit, and the persistency of their ridicule no doubt hindered the recognition of Boswell's talents. When the 'Life of Johnson' was published, the subject of Boswell and Johnson had been somewhat played out. A number of 'Lives' of Johnson had already appeared; besides Hawkins, Mrs. Thrale, and Murphy, several less known pens had made use of so promising a subject. The public interest in Johnson had begun to wane. The sale of Boswell's 'Life' was actually rather less rapid than was expected. This was, on the whole, an advantage. The work obtained a less hasty and more serious consideration. Some who would have bought the book five years before, when the subject was fresh, REPUTATION and the expectation to be amused by Boswell was still keen, probably now refrained. Those who bought Boswell's 'Life' bought it, one may surmise, as the best book about Johnson; and, to anyone who read it, Boswell's work must have profited by comparison with those who had published before him. No doubt another reason for the graver attitude of the public towards the 'Life' was that it was less indiscreet than the 'Tour'; it provided less capital for those whose trade it was to amuse, and—by comparison—provoked very little ridicule.
Boswell's reputation as a serious writer certainly gained enormously from the 'Life of Johnson.' It gained, in fact, disproportionately. The plan and scope of the 'Life' are larger than that of the 'Tour'; but the earlier book exhibits in their maturity, and equally well, all the qualities for which we most value Boswell.
It was the later work, however, that brought honour to Boswell. The publication of the magnum opus in April 1791 led to a distinction which he can hardly have expected. 'In July 1791,' we read in Taylor's 'Life of Reynolds,' 'Boswell to his great delight was appointed Secretary for Foreign Correspondence to the Academy in lieu of Baretti. The newspapers abounded in squibs at his appointment, for Bozzy's weaknesses were favourite game with the small wits.' The announcement, with its double import of respect and ridicule, gives a fair indication of Boswell's reputation among his contemporaries.
It was easy not to respect Boswell; it was difficult not to love him. He was a 'truly social' man. 'His conversation talents were always pleasing and often fascinating.'[2] Boswell, in his best form, must have been irresistible. His spirits were tremendous and they were constantly bubbling over. Such spirits are infectious and intoxicating. They are like 'tone' in a violin; the full resonance, the very robustness of the sound, carries one away. Boswell, it may be said, had 'tone.' His gaiety and good humour were not self-contained, but expanded to others. The mainspring, or whatever it be that works the human being, was particularly powerful and active in his case; and his companions must have felt it.
The testimony as to his radiating good humour is unanimous. Dr. Rogers in describing his personal appearance says 'his well-set features beamed with perpetual good humour,' and certainly the portraits bear him out. 'It was impossible,' remarked a contemporary, 'to look upon his face without being moved by the comicality which always reigned upon it.'[3] 'It is no wonder,' says his friend John Taylor, POPULARITY 'that Mr. Boswell was universally well received. He was full of anecdote, well acquainted with the most distinguished characters, good-humoured, and ready at repartee. There was a kind of jovial bluntness in his manner, which threw off all restraint even with strangers, and immediately kindled a social familiarity.'[4]
Malone, replying to a detractor of Boswell, wrote:
The most important misrepresentation is, that Mr. Boswell was convivial without being social or friendly; a falsehood, which all who knew him intimately, can peremptorily contradict. He had not only an inexhaustible fund of good-humour and good-nature, but was extremely warm in his attachments, and as ready to exert himself for his friends as any man.
It would be tedious to discuss Boswell's character with reference to his popularity, explaining the various qualities which were or were not attractive in him. A good-natured and affectionate disposition, supported by high spirits, gives the key to many hearts; and Boswell's lack of dignity, and even his weaknesses, may have endeared him still more, when it was considered that there was nothing low or mean about him.
Popular he certainly was; he had many acquaintances and also a number of very good friends. Boswell, though he was volatile enough in some of his relations with the opposite sex, was very constant in his real affections. Temple was still his greatest friend at the end of his life. His fidelity to Johnson was remarkable, and surprised his contemporaries; and he was no less faithful to his other hero, Paoli. The General, indeed, was always very kind to Boswell, especially when he came to live in London after the death of his wife, and Boswell more than once stayed in his house.[5] Reynolds, the most distinguished among Boswell's friends of the Johnsonian circle, is mentioned by Malone as having had 'a very warm regard' for Boswell.[6] He left him £200 to buy a picture, to be kept for his sake.[7] Charles Dilly was Boswell's friend only for a less time than was Temple; and Boswell, it appears, was a second host in Dilly's house:
If ever the strict rule of decorum was by chance infringed on, it was on those occasional days when, inevitable business preventing the master of the house from sitting so long with his guests as he could wish, the pleasure of entertaining them was deputed to his kind-hearted and pleasant friend, James Boswell.[8]
Courtenay, Dempster and Sir William Forbes were all old friends, and friends to the last. Forbes was Boswell's literary executor in company with Malone and Temple. Malone's acquaintance with Boswell was FRIENDSHIPS more recent; but his friendship does Boswell more credit almost than any other. Its ten years began by Malone correcting the proof-sheets of the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' and ended by his preparing the third edition of the 'Life.' His affection for Boswell not only survived these labours, but grew up with them.[9] Shortly after Boswell's death he wrote a handsome defence of Boswell, who had been attacked by a journalist in the Gentleman's Magazine. Some parts of it have already been quoted here. Malone knew Boswell at the end of his life better perhaps than anyone, and the letter is authoritative as coming from his pen; it not only bears testimony to his friendship, but also gives a valuable estimate of Boswell.
He was 'extremely warm in his attachments,' Malone tells us. He also pays a striking tribute to his devotion to Dr. Johnson and his intellectual abilities:
His fervent attachment to Dr. Johnson at the early age of three-and-twenty, when the dissipation and amusements of London hold out to men of such lively parts as he possessed irresistible attraction, reflects great credit on his memory. His veneration and esteem for his friend induced him, at a subsequent period, to go through the laborious task of arranging and digesting the immense mass of materials with which his own diligence and the kindness of his friends had furnished him; and of forming his history of the life of that excellent and extraordinary man; one of the most instructive and entertaining books in the English language.... Mr. Boswell undoubtedly possessed considerable intellectual powers, for which he has not had sufficient credit; many supposing him to be a mere relator of the sayings of others: but it is manifest to every reader of any discernment that he never could have collected such a mass of information and just observation on human life as his very valuable work contains, without great strength of mind and much various knowledge; as he never could have displayed his collections in so lively a manner as he has done, had he not possessed a very picturesque imagination, or, in other words, had he not had a very happy turn for poetry as well as for humour and for wit.
Mr. Malone ends his letter by paying a final tribute to the affection of Boswell's friends:
He will long be regretted by a wide circle of friends, to whom his good qualities and social talents always made his company a valuable accession; and by none more sincerely than the present vindicator of his fame.
.....
Life is commonly somewhat of a battle. Blows are given and received. Flags are lost and won. Positions are captured and surrendered. Limbs are crushed and amputated. There are many ugly wounds; some bleed and fester; some are healed. It is natural to look back on life, as the general surveys the battlefield and the hospitals, to count the score. At the THE MODIFICATION OF BOSWELL end of all the struggle and the horror, the strange joys and the fantastic dreams, what has happened? What view does the fighter take himself? Was the cause worth struggling for, after all is done? Would he fight on the same side if he could start again? Would he refrain from fighting? Or would he fight with a different object? Is the essential man the same? Or have his ambitions and desires and the vital force of the man been modified? And if so how much? Can they be recognised as the same equipment with which he set forth, or has the consuming fire burnt out, and the bright flame grown pale and dim?
Boswell was not an old man when he died; and apart from the prostration caused by ill-health—for he was frequently ill towards the close of his life—his robust vigour seems hardly to have diminished. In July 1790, a year after Mrs. Boswell's death, he seems already to entertain some matrimonial scheme.[10] This apparently was the first of a fresh suite. In the spring of 1791 he is looking forward to the pleasure of meeting a certain Miss Bagnal, 'who may probably have six or seven hundred a year.' 'Here then I am, my Temple,' exclaims Boswell, 'my flattering self! A scheme, an adventure, seizes upon my fancy.' Assuredly this is the old Boswell.
In his whole outlook upon life Boswell, in fact, changed very little. He had failed in the main battle; the ambitious dreams which pleased him most had not come to pass. Neither as politician nor as barrister had he won the smallest degree of fame. He was, and is, famous in a rarer sort: yet he had esteemed literary fame at a much lower rate. And at the end of his life he still measured distinction by the same old standards. He felt that the struggle had gone against him: but he never doubted of the cause for which he was fighting. As late as August 1791, some months after the 'Life of Johnson' appeared, he wrote to Temple as though he were on the eve of a legal career:
I have gone the full round of the Home Circuit, to which I have returned, finding it much more pleasant, and, though I did not get a single brief, do not repent of the expense, as I am showing myself desirous of business and imbibing legal knowledge.
He still was building castles in the air of the old type; still, sometimes, he took an opportunity to be 'conspicuous' and made conscious efforts to 'be the great man.' Almost simultaneously with the 'Life,' he published a political poem, 'No Abolition of Slavery, or The Universal Empire of Love.' It was of a semi-frivolous nature, the argument being drawn from a premise that slavery is the most agreeable of 'goods,' when it is enforced by the chains of loving devotion. The name of Miss Bagnal is introduced, and it is difficult to tell whether the whole may not be an elaborate attempt to bring off a marriage with that AMBITION RETAINED lady. But it is evident from a remark to Temple, that the main purpose is political:
I am thinking to curtail my poem on the Slave Trade, and throw it into the world just before the great question comes on next Wednesday.
A rumour of war with Russia also rouses the public spirit of Boswell to seek distinction, and he hesitates
whether I should not write one of my characteristical pamphlets on this crisis—An Appeal to the People upon the threatened project of involving this country in a war with Russia, in order to assist the Turks.
At the end of his life Boswell had not deserted his ambition, and, as far as we can tell, he had not forgotten his disappointment. There are few 'Letters to Temple' during these last few years, and it is difficult to form an exact idea of Boswell's state of mind. For the year 1792 we have only one note of a few lines: it begins, 'Still I cannot write a long letter.' These words suggest, though they do not prove, that Boswell had been in low spirits; for such a condition was frequently a reason for neglecting to write. For the following year there are three letters. In the first, Boswell refers to the pain it gives him to visit Auchinleck; in the second, he discusses with remorse his habit of indulgence in wine; in the third, he says 'My spirits are somewhat better, but by no means right yet.' It is probable that Boswell wrote more regularly in 1794, but only one letter to Temple exists. This, the last letter written in his own hand, is much more cheerful in tone, and concerned more with Temple than with himself. But this alone is no evidence to prove that Boswell at the end of his life was contented with his lot and satisfied with the measure of success he had attained. The reverse is far more likely to be the case. As late as 1791 he had time, in the very throes of publishing the magnum opus, to brood over 'the disappointment of my hopes in life.' He clearly suffered from low spirits during the next two years, and it can hardly be supposed that his disappointment, though only one of several causes, had nothing to do with it.
The old standards had not changed. The same weights and measures, which were adopted early in life, still at the end of it were used to determine the deeds of men and fix their value. And yet a change had come. In the 'Letters to Temple' a certain difference of tone may be distinguished after Boswell lost his wife. It was partly that he began fully to realise the failure of his ambitious plans; and it was still more a different attitude which that realisation involved. When a man discovers that he cannot get what he wants, he is apt to pay more attention to what he already has.
Though literature did not supply for Boswell the wine of life, it had always attracted him very strongly. He had a taste for books and a very keen desire for LITERARY AMBITION learning; above all, he had literary ambition. He made a number of literary plans besides that of writing Johnson's 'Life.'[11] He was not merely, in his own conception, the biographer of Johnson, but the man of letters in a most extended fashion, and something of a scholar. And it was towards the end of his life, though then concerned almost exclusively with Johnson, that Boswell was most industrious in the literary field. Not only did he publish the magnum opus four years before his death, but he continued diligently to collect fresh material. The second edition appeared two years later, in July 1793. The third edition was being prepared, with Malone's valuable help, when Boswell died. The biographer evidently did not consider his labours ended when the 'Life of Johnson' was at last published. Its favourable reception 'has excited,' he says in the Advertisement to the Second Edition, 'my best exertions to render my Book more perfect; and in this endeavour I have had the assistance not only of some of my particular friends, but of many other learned and ingenious men, by which I have been able to rectify some mistakes, and to enrich the Work with many valuable additions.'
The scale of Boswell's literary efforts towards the end of his life is the measure of his satisfaction in the performance, and this satisfaction, though it did not take the place of the magnificent pleasure he had imagined in being 'the great man,' and did not cure his disappointment, must have frequently consoled, and, in some moods, keenly delighted Boswell. In the 'Life' he expresses, with a note of triumph, his satisfaction in the fate of the 'Tour to the Hebrides':
To please the true, candid, warm admirers of Johnson, and in any degree increase the splendour of his reputation, I bid defiance to the shafts of ridicule, or even of malignity. Showers of them have been discharged at my 'Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides'; yet it still sails unhurt along the stream of time, and, as attendant upon Johnson,
Pursues the triumph, and partakes the gale.
Boswell is equally triumphant about the 'Life':
That I was anxious for the success of a Work which had employed much of my time and labour, I do not wish to conceal: but whatever doubts I at any time entertained, have been entirely removed by the very favourable reception with which it has been honoured.
It was not merely literary fame that so much delighted Boswell: it was literary fame of the best sort. The most respected of Johnson's friends and the best critics had praised his book. Boswell could now feel secure in his own conviction that his 'Life' was beyond comparison as a portrait of a man and as a portrait of Johnson:
SATISFACTION In reflecting that the illustrious subject of this Work, by being more extensively and more intimately known, however elevated before, has risen in the veneration and love of mankind, I feel a satisfaction beyond what fame can afford.... It seems to me, in my moments of self-complacency, that this extensive biographical work, however inferior in its nature, may in one respect be assimilated to the Odyssey.
Boswell goes on to explain that the 'Hero,' like Ulysses, 'in the whole course of the History, is exhibited by the authour for the best advantage of his readers.' So certain is he of the merits of his book that he tells his readers, in so many words, that, if they do not like it, their own bad temper is to blame.
Should there be any cold-blooded morose mortals who really dislike this Book, I will give them a story to apply. When the great Duke of Marlborough, accompanied by Lord Cadogan, was one day reconnoitering the army in Flanders, a heavy rain came on and they both called for their cloaks. Lord Cadogan's servant, a good-humoured, alert lad, brought his Lordship's in a minute. The Duke's servant, a lazy sulky dog, was so sluggish, that his Grace being wet to the skin, reproved him, and had for answer, with a grunt, 'I came as fast as I could,' upon which the Duke calmly said, 'Cadogan, I would not for a thousand pounds have that fellow's temper.'
Boswell's satisfaction with his literary labours was certainly well-founded. It is fair to remind those who may condemn this attitude that he allowed an unduly large share of the book's merits to Dr. Johnson. Interesting and lovable as Johnson was, he had little to do with Boswell's execution. The biographer was fortunate—peculiarly fortunate—in his subject: so much must be allowed and no more. Boswell's pride did not exceed his deserts. But his 'moments of self-complacency' must have provided a considerable compensation for despondent moods when he regretted failure in other spheres. His 'satisfaction' reached a very high pitch when he could calmly say to an unappreciative reader—for that is what it amounts to—that he would be sorry to have a temper like that.
It is not remarkable for an author to feel as self-satisfied as Boswell. Many authors tell their readers, though not so frankly, that they ought to be interested in a book, and few give so good reasons as Boswell gave. The point has been laboured here in order to illustrate the final stage in his paradoxical development; to show in what degree Boswell, while realising failure in all his magnificent dreams, was satisfied with the fame he had of another sort. Assuredly he was pleased with what he had; the degree may be judged from this final extract from the Advertisement to the Second Edition:
There are some men, I believe, who have, or think they have, a very small share of vanity. Such may speak of their literary fame in a decorous style of diffidence. But I confess, that I am so formed by nature, and by habit, that to restrain the effusion of LITERARY FAME delight, on having obtained such fame, to me would be truly painful. Why then should I suppress it? Why 'out of the abundance of the heart' should I not speak? Let me then mention with a warm, but no insolent exultation, that I have been regaled with spontaneous praise of my work by many and various persons eminent for their rank, learning, talents and accomplishments; much of which praise I have under their hands to be reposited in my archives at Auchinleck. An honourable and reverend friend, speaking of the favourable reception of my volumes, even in the circles of fashion and elegance, said to me, 'You have made them all talk Johnson.'—Yes, I may add, I have Johnsonised the land; and I trust they will not only talk but think Johnson.
Boswell, after all, had changed very little since the publication of the 'Tour in Corsica' in his desire for literary fame, but he must have had a very different view of what it meant. In early life this literary ambition was but one aspect of the prevailing idea, to be 'the great man'; and he intended to win respect through literature as a wise and honoured 'citizen of the world.' He cannot have retained this delusion after publishing the 'Tour to the Hebrides.' It was in the very month when the 'Life' appeared that he spoke of 'the disappointment of my hopes of success in life.' There was no thought that the 'Life' would redeem these hopes. It was to win praise and bring esteem: but not in the same sphere with these 'hopes of success.' Boswell's literary fame compensated his disappointment in some degree, but by no means banished it. His triumphant satisfaction was founded, as is the case with many literary men, upon the merits of literary work and the applause of competent judges.
.....
Such changes as may be observed in Boswell towards the end of his life arose, it must be repeated, from the failure of his political and legal ambitions. When he ceased to pursue the adventures suggested by his wild imagination, he paid more attention to the natural interests of his position. He was a landlord and a father; and his children had now no mother. Boswell not only accepted his responsibilities, but performed something more than his duty.
When Boswell had left Auchinleck and came to live in London, his opportunities for interesting himself in the welfare of his tenants and dependants were naturally curtailed. With the strict view of a landlord's obligations which is commonly held in this age, we may be inclined to condemn Boswell simply on the ground that he did not live upon his estate. But, though Ayrshire is a far cry from London, the Laird of Auchinleck did not forget his position. He was willing to travel to Scotland 'to transact business with my tenants.' On one occasion, in 1793, he undertook the journey in order to see that the parish was provided AUCHINLECK with a suitable parson: 'The choice of a minister to a worthy parish is a matter of importance, and I cannot be sure of the real wishes of the people without being present.' He went to Auchinleck not because he enjoyed going, but because he thought he ought to go: 'though the journey will no doubt be uncomfortable (probably because Boswell was in bad health), and my being alone in that house where once I was so happy, be dreary in a woeful degree, the consciousness of duty, and being busy, will I hope support me.' In Boswell's will special provisions were made for his tenants and servants:
As there are upon the estate of Auchinleck several tenants whose families have possessed their farms for many generations, I do by these presents grant leases for nineteen years and their respective lifetimes of their present farms to John Templeton etc.... And I do beseech all the succeeding heirs of entail to be kind to the Tenants and not turn out old possessors to get a little more rent.
'Seldom,' exclaims Dr. Rogers, 'has Scottish landlord evinced greater consideration for his tenantry and domestics.'
As a father, Boswell was no less kind. He had had six children altogether, three sons and three daughters;[12] one of the sons had died early in 1777. His interest in his children no doubt increased very much after their mother's death. Frequently in the 'Letters to Temple' after that event (June, 1789) one or other of them is mentioned, and Boswell shows anxiety both for their present happiness and for their future welfare. Malone, in answering a detractor of Boswell's, says:
This writer acknowledges that he was an affectionate father; he was more; he was extremely liberal and indulgent to his children, having, for some years past, expended out of his moderate income, £300 a year to educate his two sons, one at Eton and the other at Westminster, and one of his daughters at a boarding-school: to effect which he confined his own personal expenses within the narrowest bounds.
That Boswell could stint himself in this way for his children shows a larger degree of self-sacrifice than might be expected from one of his extravagant tastes. It shows also a development in his character. The old passion for being conspicuous could now be put aside for the sake of his children.
Boswell, in fact, became less extravagant and affected towards the end of life. He was less often carried away by his 'warm imagination.' He lived less in his 'castles in the air,' and nearer the solid earth.
.....
The next cause of this development is not far to seek. It lies in the result of the main struggle in Boswell's life. Truth had won the day. The irrepressible quality of Boswell's genius had triumphed in spite of his THE SUPREME QUALITY commonplace aims and the conventionality of his beliefs and standards; and it had found its expression in biography. The nature of that triumph reacted inevitably upon Boswell. The highest of his qualifications for writing the 'Life of Johnson' was simply honesty. He was honest about human nature. He had related without omission and without perversion the story of a man as he had witnessed it. All his powers of observing and of judging character had been brought to bear upon the great work of his life. His own character had developed in the process. It is impossible for a man to concentrate all his mind upon the effort to understand the human being, without involving himself in his investigations; and Boswell was no exception. He had always been interested in his own character, though in a rather uncritical fashion; and no doubt, as often happens, his knowledge of others began with himself. He was himself both the primer of psychology and the standard for comparison, upon which his whole view of individuals was based; and it is often clear, when he is discussing some moral question, that he has his own case in mind. The 'Life of Johnson' was necessarily concerned with Boswell in some degree; and so it was that the author, when he came to record his observations of Johnson and his friends and acquaintances, found that the process which he applied to others was being applied to himself.
Nothing in Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' is more remarkable, as nothing is more charming, than the author's candour when his own person is concerned. He does not obtrude himself upon the reader's notice; he relates the events quite naturally as they occurred. And though Boswell was not a little vain, he was able to relate what was not to his credit. Most of the stories of Boswell's folly we know from himself. He has recorded the sledge-hammer blows of Johnson provoked by his own absurdity; he has told us of occasions when he lacked in manners, even when, more than once, he was drunk in a lady's drawing-room; he has described at length, in the 'Tour to the Hebrides,' the story of a carouse at Corrichatachin, and has not failed to mention how very ill he felt next morning, and how much he dreaded Johnson's rebuke; it is in his own account that we read of the ridiculous figure he cut in a storm at sea; it is from his own correspondence with Johnson that we learn of all the weaknesses that earned the Doctor's reproof.
Boswell was perfectly conscious of his folly when he allowed us to see the absurdity of his behaviour. He was sometimes conscious, at the moment, of provoking ridicule. Occasionally, as he takes care to explain, he deliberately planned his own discomfiture:
Desirous of calling Johnson forth to talk and exercise his wit, though I should myself be the object of it, I resolutely ventured....
CONCIOUSNESS OF ABSURDITYThis was a common attitude. It has been discussed before in these pages with reference to Boswell's biographical method. Boswell even mentions once that he spoke 'with an assumed air of ignorance, to incite him to talk, for which it was often necessary to employ some address.' He realised well enough that he made the best possible foil to Johnson. And if he was able to understand his position in these undignified moments, still more must he have been conscious of it when he allowed his records to be printed many years afterwards in the 'Life.' He tells us as much himself in the Dedication to Sir Joshua Reynolds:
In one respect, this Work will, in some passages, be different from the former. In my 'Tour,' I was almost unboundedly open in my communications, and from my eagerness to display the wonderful fertility and readiness of Johnson's wit, freely shewed to the world its dexterity, even when I was myself the object of it. I trusted that I should be liberally understood, as knowing very well what I was about, and by no means as simply unconscious of the pointed effects of the satire. I own, indeed, that I was arrogant enough to suppose that the tenour of the rest of the book would sufficiently guard me against such a strange imputation. But it seems I judged too well of the world; for, though I could scarcely believe it, I have been undoubtedly informed, that many persons, especially in distant quarters, not penetrating enough into Johnson's character, so as to understand his mode of treating his friends, have arraigned my judgement, instead of seeing that I was sensible of all that they could observe.
It is related of the great Dr. Clarke, that when in one of his leisure hours he was unbending himself with a few friends in the most playful and frolicksome manner, he observed Beau Nash approaching; upon which he suddenly stopped. 'My boys (said he) let us be grave: here comes a fool.' The world, my friend, I have found to be a great fool, as to that particular, on which it has become necessary to speak very plainly. I have, therefore, in this Work been more reserved; and though I tell nothing but the truth, I have still kept in my mind that the whole truth is not always to be exposed. This, however, I have managed so as to occasion no diminution of the pleasure which my Book should afford; though malignity may sometimes be disappointed of its gratifications.
Boswell's statement speaks for itself. He realised as well as anyone his own vanity and affectation. It had been necessary when writing Johnson's 'Life' to apply the searching light of truth indiscriminately. Boswell had not flinched from applying it to himself: on the contrary it amused him to do so. He enjoyed his own absurdities as he enjoyed those of Johnson himself and of every other figure portrayed with good-humoured ridicule in the course of his great book. Boswell, we may be sure, laughed wherever his readers may laugh: indeed his readers laugh at all only because he himself laughed so whole-heartedly.
Assuredly the laughter which comes when the searching light is turned inwards is not without a lasting effect. The desire for dignity in some measure CANDOUR VICTORIOUS is with most men almost an instinct. It is rare for a man to perceive that he has been ridiculous without a blush, even though he smile; and the result of such perception is almost invariably preventive; the absurdity must not be repeated. Boswell was able to laugh at himself more whole-heartedly than the majority. But the mere fact of looking inwards with the seeing glance was certain to arrest him in moments of absurdity; and the necessity, as it appeared to him, of writing out an account of himself in the most undignified situations made his realisation more vivid and the inevitable tendency more sure.
And so, in the end, the truth of Boswell, his innate and unquenchable candour, not only won a victory, but spoiled the enemy. We may observe, if we care to, that the natural development has taken place. Much of the old affectation has disappeared. Boswell, to the last, is still tempted to give rein to that 'warm imagination'; but now as a rule the impulse is checked with a smile by a moment of self-consciousness. The development is clearly to be seen in the 'Letters to Temple,' and one instance will suffice to illustrate his attitude. Boswell, when telling of his intention of visiting Auchinleck, for the purpose related before in these pages of choosing a minister for the parish, cannot refrain from exclaiming in the old manner, 'Only think, Temple, how serious a duty I am about to discharge!' But then comes the inward glance and Boswell laughs:
I, James Boswell, Esq.—you know what vanity that name includes!—I have promised to come down on purpose, and his Honour's goodness is gratefully acknowledged.
Boswell was not systematic in his self-examination; but he came to know himself with a truer judgment than most men have where self is concerned. His principles had been ill carried out; his ideals had not been comprehensive. He had neglected the personal discipline which we look to see in men of power and in men who have accomplished important matters; he had neglected to train his mind to deal with all the problems of life. His grasp upon the whole scheme of things was feeble, as his control of himself was limited. And yet this knowledge of self with the good-humoured laugh—and it was not unaccompanied by fervent regret for his weakness, and anxious piety—this knowledge, which is the key to all right knowing, was a fitting achievement for one whose predominant interest was Human Nature, and whose prevailing passion was Truth.
[1:] Boswell's literary executors were Temple, Malone, and Sir William Forbes. 'The three persons,' says Dr. Rogers, 'nominated as literary executors did not meet, and the entire business of the trust was administered by Sir William Forbes, Bart., who appointed as his law-agent Robert Boswell, Writer to the Signet, cousin-german of the deceased. By that gentleman's advice Boswell's manuscripts were left to the disposal of his family, and it is believed that the whole were immediately destroyed. The Commonplace-book escaped, having been accidentally sold among the printed books.'
I believe there is still at Auchinleck the manuscript of a diary and some letters, but I have not been permitted to see them. Undoubtedly Boswell must have left far more than these.
[2:] The quotation is from a letter, quoted before in these pages, which appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for June 1795; it is clearly written by one of Boswell's friends, and the signature 'C.' suggests Courtenay. Dr. Rogers accepts it as by him.
[3:] Quoted in Dr. Rogers's Memoir with reference to Traditions of Edinburgh, 1869, p. 74. I have not verified.
[4:] Records of my Life, by John Taylor, Esq., 1832, i, 214.
[5:] Nichols' Literary History, vii, 303-13.
[6:] Gentleman's Magazine, June, 1795.
[7:] Life of Reynolds, ii, 636.
[8:] Nichols' Literary Anecdotes, iii, 192.
[9:] See Nichols' Literary History, v, 456-7.
[10:] Letters to Temple, p. 272.
[11:] James Boswell, by W. K. Leask, p. 155.
[12:] For an account of Boswell's family, see Dr. Rogers in Boswelliana, pp. 192-7.