To be overpowered with languor must make a man very unhappy. He is tantalized with a thousand ineffectual wishes which he cannot realise. For as Tantalus is fabled to have been tormented by the objects of his desire being ever in his near view, yet ever receding from his touch as he endeavoured to approach them, the languid Hypochondriack has the sad mystification of being disappointed of realising every wish, by the wretched defect of his own activity. While in that situation time passes over him only to be loaded with regrets. The important duties of life, the benevolent offices of friendship are neglected, though he is sensible that he shall upbraid himself for that neglect till he is glad to take shelter under cover of disease.
In this account there is no ill-placed levity and no extravagance such as we might fear to find. It is a simple and effective account of an unpleasant experience. The advice which he gives to hypochondriacs from time to time is similarly grave and sympathetic, and concerned with defeating the dangers of their state of mind; his view is that the disease is nearly always curable; he unwillingly admits that there are cases beyond hope, and condemns pessimistic fatalism:
We should guard against imagining that there is a volcano within us, a melancholy so dreadful that we can do nothing in opposition to it.
It would be a mistake to suppose when we read such grave advice that Boswell had a serious view of himself as the spiritual adviser of hypochondriacs. His object, as he tells us, was to divert them; and in that frame of mind no doubt he began to write. He became grave and even earnest because he had a very strong vein of seriousness. In the ordinary way of life he was light-hearted enough, and easily dispensed with his thoughts when they began to be uncomfortable: but when he had set himself to write from a text he persevered with his serious reflections and they found expression. He was able to reach considerable heights; a famous epitaph, when he is writing upon a motto from Cicero about the duties of Conscience, stirs him to a noble feeling:
The epitaph upon Sir Christopher Wren in St. Paul's Church, of which he was the architect, has been justly admired as sublime: 'Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice'; 'Reader, if you would see his monument, cast your eyes around you,' so that the whole Church is made his Mausoleum. In my opinion there is a similar sublimity about this sentiment, by which a man, upon the ancient principle of τίμα σεαυτὸυ, 'reverence thyself,' is taught to expand his mind into a grand theatre of self-observation.
Occasionally Boswell, on account of this same seriousness, has an outburst of Johnsonian anger. He tells of a French writer that he published a book, 'Réflexions sur ceux qui sont morts en plaisantant,' that he succeeded in collecting a good number of instances both ancient and modern: 'But I,' says Boswell 'hold all such extraordinary appearances to be unnatural, affected, and thoughtless.'
However, when all is said about the gravity of the Hypochondriack, he is essentially the easy, good-humoured companion he set out to be. He is often dignified, never indecorous; rarely is he even light-hearted, for while he supports the cares of this world with smiling equanimity he leaves the impression that they matter; still more rarely is he flippant. The effect is never depressing. He is for the most part a soothing optimist; and if that seem scant praise, be it remembered that one may resist the optimist's persuasion and yet fall a victim to the cheerful manners that accompany it. Such is the attitude of Boswell as an essayist; and, when we consider what he chose to write about, it is a remarkable performance.
The lightness of touch which was necessary for Boswell's purpose was obtained partly by anecdote and image. A wide acquaintance with books evidently supplied Boswell with a store of anecdotes; and he both selected them well and used them relevantly. One instance, where Boswell, in an essay about Excess, is speaking of the dangers of wealth, will suffice to illustrate his method:
The Dutch, who have much sagacity of contrivance in many respects, have in what they call a 'verbeetering huys' (that is to say, a correcting and amending house, a house for making people better) an admirable method of curing laziness. A fellow who will not work is put into a large reservoir, which takes him up to the chin; a cock is then turned so as to let more water run in upon him, and he is then shown a pump. If he exerts himself with active force he prevents the water from rising, and breathes freely; but if he does not ply the pump, the water soon gets up upon him and he is suffocated. An inundation of wealth will be equally fatal to a man's happiness, if he does not throw it off by vigorous exertion. Aurum potabile will choak him; and, when drowning in Pactolus's streams, it will be no consolation to him to know that they have golden sands.
Boswell's images, sometimes employed in imitation of Dr. Johnson's manner, if they are apt to be slightly extravagant, are generally pointed and help the sense. 'A Dogmatist,' he says, 'is a man that has got a pair of shoes that fit him exactly well, and therefore he thinks them so very good that he flies in a passion against those who cannot wear them.' An image is often used far more gracefully to bring the argument to a head as in the following admirable passage: