James Boswell, best known for his biography of Samuel Johnson, had a very interesting December in 1764. In his tour of the Continent, Boswell had come to Switzerland, and there he met Rousseau and Voltaire. Unfortunately, he never had a chance to write up the meetings in good form, as he had with Johnson; but even though the interactions are scattered through journal entries, memoranda, and correspondence in cryptic form, it still provides a valuable sighting of the two philosophers in their natural habitat.

To understand the meeting with Rousseau, it is important to keep in mind the kind of Rousseau Boswell saw himself as meeting. Rousseau is known to us primarily through his Confessions, but the Confessions were published posthumously. The Rousseau that was lionized throughout the literary world instead cut an exotic and brilliant figure: one of the great literary writers, political philosophers, and social theorists of the time, made all the more interesting by his eccentricities and the fact that he was constantly having to flee the enemies he made. He was a genius and a rebel. He inspired not only with great works like Emile but also with the figure he cut of an intellectual willing to stand for what he believed regardless of the inconvenience. He was the Wild Philosopher, proponent of virtue in the face of corruption, advocate of noble nature in the face of the false sophistications of society, persecuted yet defiant. No one then or since has ever seemed so perfectly fitted to the intellectual's fantasy of being a noble genius against a degenerate world. It is not surprising, then, that Boswell set out right from the beginning to make Rousseau his confessor and moral guide, nor that Rousseau had from the very beginning of Boswell's tour of the continent been one of the most anticipated attractions.

Rousseau was not well; he had serious urinary problems that had long led him to wear the Armenian caftan for which he became famous in order to reduce the pain of sensitivity. He was also famous for being erratic and irritable. Boswell approached the meeting with some worry and knew that he would have to put forward all his powers of social pleasing in order to have the sort of interaction with Rousseau that he wished. Fortunately for Boswell and us, the young Scot had considerable powers of social pleasing, and equally considerable experience in managing Notable Men.

He came to Môtiers on the third of December. He felt sure that he would get some access to Rousseau, despite the difficulty; Lord Marischal was Rousseau's protector and patron at the time, and Boswell had a note of introduction from him, as well as from several other well-connected people of the time. But how could he guarantee more than that? Moreover, since Boswell came to Rousseau to have his soul plumbed, he wanted to be judged (or, rather, admired) on his own merits rather than on his connections. In a fit of inspiration (and revision, since he went through several drafts in a period of a few hours that were filled with busy activities) Boswell wrote a letter to Rousseau:

I had therefore prepared a letter to Monsieur Rosseau, in which I informed him that an ancient Scots gentleman of twenty-four was come hither with the hopes of seeing him. I assured him that I deserved his regard, that I was ready to stand the test of his penetration. Toward the end of my letter I showed him that I had a heart and a soul.1

Boswell was extraordinarily proud of the letter, which he calls a "a masterpiece." And as a letter introduction, it is indeed quite remarkable: it is an almost perfect blend of humor, melodramatic hint, sentimental effusion, vigorous argument, outright flattery, and self-selling. It has that curious mix of enthusiasm, egoistic vanity, and humility before genius that lends its charm to much of Boswell's best work. He sent it ahead of him. He was still anxious, however; he had made bold in the letter to paint himself as an extraordinary person, and was worried on two accounts: first, that Rousseau might think him merely presumptuous and refuse to admit him without recommendations, which would start the interaction off in a very embarrassing way; second, that Rousseau might be made curious enough by the letter to see him, but be disappointed by some disparity between the Boswell painted in the letter and the Boswell in real life. He had taken a risk, it is true; but his anxieties were unfounded, because he had played his hand perfectly. Rousseau was indisposed by his ailment, but he was struck by the letter and curious as to the sort of person who would write something like it; despite his pain and discomfort, he agreed to see Boswell for a short interview.

Boswell was disappointed by the qualification "short"; but it was an entrance. He took a turn around the room with the philosopher. We only have fragments of the conversation, bits and pieces that Boswell wrote down to jog his memory, set down in no particular order; but it is enough to give us the basic gist of the conversation. They talked a bit about books and Rousseau's misfortune and Boswell was at his most charming, squeezing Rousseau's hand and thumping him on the shoulder to highlight everything Rousseau said that moved or touched him. When he saw that Rousseau had warmed to him, he mentioned Lord Marischal's recommendation, although he was embarrassed to realize that he had forgotten to bring it. Rousseau, however, was charmed enough by Boswell to take his word for it, and very likely was impressed that with such a good recommendation Boswell nonetheless chose to try to gain entrance on his own merits. They chatted on about Scotland and the Union (both were critical of the latter), kings, and ecclesiastics. Rousseau had some particular biting words about this last topic, as can be seen even through Boswell's somewhat cryptic notes:

When one of these gentlemen provides a new explanation of something incomprehensible, leaving it as incomprehensible as before, every one cries, 'Here's a great man.' But, Sir, they will tell you that no single point of theology may be neglected, that every stone in God's building, the mystic Jerusalem, must be considered as sacred. 'But they have added stones to it.--Here, take off this; take off that! Now you see, the building is admirably complete, and you have no need to stand there to hold it up.' 'But we want to be necessary!' 'Ah!' 2

The interview ended with Rousseau still noncommittal about further meetings; but Boswell had no doubts. And he was right on that point. But Rousseau, charmed as he might be, had no interest in playing father confessor and moral mentor to the young man, and Boswell, in his efforts to tap into Rousseau's moral wisdom, found himself repeatedly deflected. That tale, and the tale of the ingenious means whereby Boswell managed to overcome Rousseau's reluctance, will be discussed in Part II.

To be continued!

1. 1. Frederick A. Pottle, ed. Boswell on the Grand Tour: Germany and Switzerland, 1764. McGraw-Hill (New York: 1953) p. 217.
2. 2. Boswell on the Grand Tour, p. 223