[Page 338: A violent death. A.D. 1759.]

'I love, dear Sir, to think on you, and therefore, should willingly write more to you, but that the post will not now give me leave to do more than send my compliments to Mr. Warton, and tell you that I am, dear Sir, most affectionately,

'Your very humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'June 28, 1757[1013].'

'TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ., AT LANGTON, NEAR SPILSBY, LINCOLNSHIRE.

'DEAR SIR,

'I should be sorry to think that what engrosses the attention of my friend, should have no part of mine. Your mind is now full of the fate of Dury[1014]; but his fate is past, and nothing remains but to try what reflection will suggest to mitigate the terrours of a violent death, which is more formidable at the first glance, than on a nearer and more steady view. A violent death is never very painful; the only danger is lest it should be unprovided. But if a man can be supposed to make no provision for death in war, what can be the state that would have awakened him to the care of futurity? When would that man have prepared himself to die, who went to seek death without preparation? What then can be the reason why we lament more him that dies of a wound, than him that dies of a fever? A man that languishes with disease, ends his life with more pain, but with less virtue; he leaves no example to his friends, nor bequeaths any honour to his descendants. The only reason why we lament a soldier's death, is, that we think he might have lived longer; yet this cause of grief is common to many other kinds of death which are not so pa.s.sionately bewailed. The truth is, that every death is violent which is the effect of accident; every death, which is not gradually brought on by the miseries of age, or when life is extinguished for any other reason than that it is burnt out. He that dies before sixty, of a cold or consumption, dies, in reality, by a violent death; yet his death is borne with patience only because the cause of his untimely end is silent and invisible. Let us endeavour to see things as they are, and then enquire whether we ought to complain.

Whether to see life as it is, will give us much consolation, I know not; but the consolation which is drawn from truth, if any there be, is solid and durable; that which may be derived from errour must be, like its original, fallacious and fugitive. I am, dear, dear Sir, your most humble servant,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

'Sept. 21, 1758.'

[Page 339: The death of Johnson's mother. aetat 50.]

1759: aeTAT. 50.--In 1759, in the month of January, his mother died at the great age of ninety, an event which deeply affected him[1015]; not that 'his mind had acquired no firmness by the contemplation of mortality[1016];' but that his reverential affection for her was not abated by years, as indeed he retained all his tender feelings even to the latest period of his life[1017]. I have been told that he regretted much his not having gone to visit his mother for several years, previous to her death[1018]. But he was constantly engaged in literary labours which confined him to London; and though he had not the comfort of seeing his aged parent, he contributed liberally to her support[1019].

[Page 340: Ra.s.selas. A.D. 1759.]

Soon after this event, he wrote his _Ra.s.selas_[1020], _Prince of Abyssinia_; concerning the publication of which Sir John Hawkins guesses vaguely and idly[1021], instead of having taken the trouble to inform himself with authentick precision. Not to trouble my readers with a repet.i.tion of the Knight's reveries, I have to mention, that the late Mr. Strahan the printer told me, that Johnson wrote it, that with the profits he might defray the expence of his mother's funeral, and pay some little debts which she had left. He told Sir Joshua Reynolds that he composed it in the evenings of one week, sent it to the press in portions as it was written, and had never since read it over[1022]. Mr.

Strahan, Mr. Johnston, and Mr. Dodsley purchased it for a hundred pounds[1023], but afterwards paid him twenty-five pounds more, when it came to a second edition.

[Page 342: Ra.s.selas and Candide. A.D. 1759.]

Considering the large sums which have been received for compilations, and works requiring not much more genius than compilations[1024], we cannot but wonder at the very low price which he was content to receive for this admirable performance; which, though he had written nothing else, would have rendered his name immortal in the world of literature. None of his writings has been so extensively diffused over Europe; for it has been translated into most, if not all, of the modern languages[1025]. This Tale, with all the charms of oriental imagery, and all the force and beauty of which the English language is capable, leads us through the most important scenes of human life, and shews us that this stage of our being is full of 'vanity and vexation of spirit[1026].' To those who look no further than the present life, or who maintain that human nature has not fallen from the state in which it was created, the instruction of this sublime story will be of no avail. But they who think justly, and feel with strong sensibility, will listen with eagerness and admiration to its truth and wisdom. Voltaire's _Candide_, written to refute the system of Optimism, which it has accomplished with brilliant success, is wonderfully similar in its plan and conduct to Johnson's _Ra.s.selas_; insomuch, that I have heard Johnson say[1027], that if they had not been published so closely one after the other that there was not time for imitation, it would have been in vain to deny that the scheme of that which came latest was taken from the other. Though the proposition ill.u.s.trated by both these works was the same, namely, that in our present state there is more evil than good, the intention of the writers was very different. Voltaire, I am afraid, meant only by wanton profaneness to obtain a sportive victory over religion, and to discredit the belief of a superintending Providence: Johnson meant, by shewing the unsatisfactory nature of things temporal, to direct the hopes of man to things eternal. _Ra.s.selas_, as was observed to me by a very accomplished lady, may be considered as a more enlarged and more deeply philosophical discourse in prose, upon the interesting truth, which in his _Vanity of Human Wishes_ he had so successfully enforced in verse.

The fund of thinking which this work contains is such, that almost every sentence of it may furnish a subject of long meditation. I am not satisfied if a year pa.s.ses without my having read it through; and at every perusal, my admiration of the mind which produced it is so highly raised, that I can scarcely believe that I had the honour of enjoying the intimacy of such a man.

[Page 343: Apparitions. aetat 50.]

I restrain myself from quoting pa.s.sages from this excellent work, or even referring to them, because I should not know what to select, or rather, what to omit. I shall, however, transcribe one, as it shews how well he could state the arguments of those who believe in the appearance of departed spirits; a doctrine which it is a mistake to suppose that he himself ever positively held[1028]:

'If all your fear be of apparitions, (said the Prince,) I will promise you safety: there is no danger from the dead; he that is once buried will be seen no more.

'That the dead are seen no more, (said Imlac,) I will not undertake to maintain, against the concurrent and unvaried testimony of all ages, and of all nations. There is no people, rude or learned, among whom apparitions of the dead are not related and believed. This opinion, which prevails[1029] as far as human nature is diffused, could become universal only by its truth; those that never heard of one another, would not have agreed in a tale which nothing but experience can make credible. That it is doubted by single cavillers, can very little weaken the general evidence; and some who deny it with their tongues, confess it by their fears.'

Notwithstanding my high admiration of _Ra.s.selas_, I will not maintain that the 'morbid melancholy[1030]' in Johnson's const.i.tution may not, perhaps, have made life appear to him more insipid and unhappy than it generally is; for I am sure that he had less enjoyment from it than I have. Yet, whatever additional shade his own particular sensations may have thrown on his representation of life, attentive observation and close enquiry have convinced me, that there is too much of reality in the gloomy picture. The truth, however, is, that we judge of the happiness and misery of life differently at different times, according to the state of our changeable frame. I always remember a remark made to me by a Turkish lady, educated in France, '_Ma foi, Monsieur, notre bonheur depend de la facon que notre sang circule_.' This have I learnt from a pretty hard course of experience, and would, from sincere benevolence, impress upon all who honour this book with a perusal, that until a steady conviction is obtained, that the present life is an imperfect state, and only a pa.s.sage to a better, if we comply with the divine scheme of progressive improvement; and also that it is a part of the mysterious plan of Providence, that intellectual beings must 'be made perfect through suffering[1031];' there will be a continual recurrence of disappointment and uneasiness. But if we walk with hope in 'the mid-day sun' of revelation, our temper and disposition will be such, that the comforts and enjoyments in our way will be relished, while we patiently support the inconveniences and pains. After much speculation and various reasonings, I acknowledge myself convinced of the truth of Voltaire's conclusion, '_Apres tout c est un monde pa.s.sable_[1032].' But we must not think too deeply;

'Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise[1033],'

is, in many respects, more than poetically just. Let us cultivate, under the command of good principles, '_la theorie des sensations agreables_;'

and, as Mr. Burke once admirably counselled a grave and anxious gentleman, 'live pleasant[1034].'

[Page 344: 'Live pleasant.' A.D. 1759.]

The effect of _Ra.s.selas_, and of Johnson's other moral tales, is thus beautifully ill.u.s.trated by Mr. Courtenay:

'Impressive truth, in splendid fiction drest, Checks the vain wish, and calms the troubled breast; O'er the dark mind a light celestial throws, And sooths the angry pa.s.sions to repose; As oil effus'd illumes and smooths the deep, When round the bark the swelling surges sweep[1035].'

[Page 345: The Idler pirated. aetat 50.]

It will be recollected, that during all this year he carried on his Idler[1036], and, no doubt, was proceeding, though slowly, in his edition of _Shakspeare_. He, however, from that liberality which never failed, when called upon to a.s.sist other labourers in literature, found time to translate for Mrs. Lennox's English version of Brumoy, 'A Dissertation on the Greek Comedy,'[dagger] and 'The General Conclusion of the book.'[dagger]

An inquiry into the state of foreign countries was an object that seems at all times to have interested Johnson. Hence Mr. Newbery found no great difficulty in persuading him to write the Introduction[*] to a collection of voyages and travels published by him under the t.i.tle of _The World Displayed_; the first volume of which appeared this year, and the remaining volumes in subsequent years.

[Page 346: Parental tyranny. A.D. 1759.]

I would ascribe to this year[1037] the following letter to a son of one of his early friends at Lichfield, Mr. Joseph Simpson, Barrister, and authour of a tract ent.i.tled _Reflections on the Study of the Law_.

[Page 347: An excursion to Oxford. aetat 50.]

'If you married imprudently, you miscarried at your own hazard, at an age when you had a right of choice. It would be hard if the man might not choose his own wife, who has a right to plead before the Judges of his country.

'If your imprudence has ended in difficulties and inconveniences, you are yourself to support them; and, with the help of a little better health, you would support them and conquer them. Surely, that want which accident and sickness produces, is to be supported in every region of humanity, though there were neither friends nor fathers in the world.

You have certainly from your father the highest claim of charity, though none of right; and therefore I would counsel you to omit no decent nor manly degree of importunity. Your debts in the whole are not large, and of the whole but a small part is troublesome. Small debts are like small shot; they are rattling on every side, and can scarcely be escaped without a wound: great debts are like cannon; of loud noise, but little danger. You must, therefore, be enabled to discharge petty debts, that you may have leisure, with security, to struggle with the rest. Neither the great nor little debts disgrace you. I am sure you have my esteem for the courage with which you contracted them, and the spirit with which you endure them. I wish my esteem could be of more use. I have been invited, or have invited myself, to several parts of the kingdom; and will not incommode my dear Lucy by coming to Lichfield, while her present lodging is of any use to her. I hope, in a few days, to be at leisure, and to make visits. Whither I shall fly is matter of no importance. A man unconnected is at home every where; unless he may be said to be at home no where. I am sorry, dear Sir, that where you have parents, a man of your merits should not have an home. I wish I could give it you. I am, my dear Sir,

'Affectionately yours,

'SAM. JOHNSON.'

He now refreshed himself by an excursion to Oxford, of which the following short characteristical notice, in his own words, is preserved:--

'----[1039] is now making tea for me. I have been in my gown ever since I came here[1040]. It was, at my first coming, quite new and handsome. I have swum thrice, which I had disused for many years. I have proposed to Vansittart[1041], climbing over the wall, but he has refused me. And I have clapped my hands till they are sore, at Dr. King's speech[1042].'

[Page 348: The great CHAM of literature. A.D. 1759.]

His negro servant, Francis Barber, having left him, and been some time at sea, not pressed as has been supposed, but with his own consent, it appears from a letter to John Wilkes, Esq., from Dr. Smollet, that his master kindly interested himself in procuring his release from a state of life of which Johnson always expressed the utmost abhorrence. He said, 'No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail; for being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned[1043].' And at another time, 'A man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company[1044].' The letter was as follows:--

[Page 349: Johnson's black servant at sea. aetat 50.]

'Chelsea, March 16, 1759.

'DEAR SIR,

'I am again your pet.i.tioner, in behalf of that great CHAM[1045] of literature, Samuel Johnson. His black servant, whose name is Francis Barber, has been pressed on board the Stag Frigate, Captain Angel, and our lexicographer is in great distress. He says the boy is a sickly lad, of a delicate frame, and particularly subject to a malady in his throat, which renders him very unfit for his Majesty's service. You know what manner of animosity the said Johnson has against you[1046]; and I dare say you desire no other opportunity of resenting it than that of laying him under an obligation. He was humble enough to desire my a.s.sistance on this occasion, though he and I were never cater-cousins; and I gave him to understand that I would make application to my friend Mr. Wilkes, who, perhaps, by his interest with Dr. Hay and Mr. Elliot, might be able to procure the discharge of his lacquey. It would be superfluous to say more on the subject, which I leave to your own consideration; but I cannot let slip this opportunity of declaring that I am, with the most inviolable esteem and attachment, dear Sir,

'Your affectionate, obliged, humble servant,