The Life of Samuel Johnson

by James Boswell

  Here let the profane and licentious pause; let them not thoughtlessly say that Johnson was an hypocrite, or that his principles were not firm, because his practice was not uniformly comformable to what he professed.

  Let the question be considered independent of moral and religious association; and no man will deny that thousands, in many instances, act against conviction. Is a prodigal, for example, an hypocrite, when he owns he is satisfied that his extravagance will bring him to ruin and misery? We are sure he believes it; but immediate inclination, strengthened by indulgence, prevails over that belief in influencing his conduct. Why then shall credit be refused to the sincerity of those who acknowledge their persuasion of moral and religious duty, yet sometimes fail of living as it requires? I heard Dr. Johnson once observe, ‘There is something noble in publishing truth, though it condemns one’s self.’a And one who said in his presence, ‘he had no notion of people being in earnest in their good professions, whose practice was not suitable to them,’ was thus reprimanded by him: – ‘Sir, are you so grossly ignorant of human nature as not to know that a man may be very sincere in good principles, without having good practice?’b

  But let no man encourage or soothe himself in ‘presumptuous sin,’1266 from knowing that Johnson was sometimes hurried into indulgences which he thought criminal. I have exhibited this circumstance as a shade in so great a character, both from my sacred love of truth, and to shew that he was not so weakly scrupulous as he has been represented by those who imagine that the sins, of which a deep sense was upon his mind, were merely such little venial trifles as pouring milk into his tea on Good-Friday. His understanding will be defended by my statement, if his consistency of conduct be in some degree impaired. But what wise man would, for momentary gratifications, deliberately subject himself to suffer such uneasiness as we find was experienced by Johnson in reviewing his conduct as compared with his notion of the ethicks of the gospel? Let the following passages be kept in remembrance: –

  ‘O, God, giver and preserver of all life, by whose power I was created, and by whose providence I am sustained, look down upon me with tenderness and mercy; grant that I may not have been created to be finally destroyed; that I may not be preserved to add wickedness to wickedness.a ‘O, LORD, let me not sink into total depravity; look down upon me, and rescue me at last from the captivity of sin.’b ‘Almighty and most merciful Father, who hast continued my life from year to year, grant that by longer life I may become less desirous of sinful pleasures, and more careful of eternal happiness.c Let not my years be multiplied to increase my guilt; but as my age advances, let me become more pure in my thoughts, more regular in my desires, and more obedient to thy laws.’d ‘Forgive, O merciful Lord, whatever I have done contrary to thy laws. Give me such a sense of my wickedness as may produce true contrition and effectual repentance; so that when I shall be called into another state, I may be received among the sinners to whom sorrow and reformation have obtained pardon, for JESUS CHRIST’s sake. Amen.’e

  Such was the distress of mind, such the penitence of Johnson, in his hours of privacy, and in his devout approaches to his Maker. His sincerity, therefore, must appear to every candid mind unquestionable.

  It is of essential consequence to keep in view, that there was in this excellent man’s conduct no false principle of commutation, no deliberate indulgence in sin, in consideration of a counterbalance of duty. His offending, and his repenting, were distinct and separate:f and when we consider his almost unexampled attention to truth, his inflexible integrity, his constant piety, who will dare to ‘cast a stone’1267 at him? Besides, let it never be forgotten, that he cannot be charged with any offence indicating badness of heart, any thing dishonest, base, or malignant; but that, on the contrary, he was charitable in an extraordinary degree: so that even in one of his own rigid judgements of himself, (Easter-eve, 1781,) while he says, ‘I have corrected no external habits;’ he is obliged to own, ‘I hope that since my last communion I have advanced, by pious reflections, in my submission to God, and my benevolence to man.’g

  I am conscious that this is the most difficult and dangerous part of my biographical work, and I cannot but be very anxious concerning it. I trust that I have got through it, preserving at once my regard to truth, – to my friend, – and to the interests of virtue and religion. Nor can I apprehend that more harm can ensue from the knowledge of the irregularity of Johnson, guarded as I have stated it, than from knowing that Addison and Parnell were intemperate in the use of wine; which he himself, in his Lives of those celebrated writers and pious men, has not forborne to record.

  It is not my intention to give a very minute detail of the particulars of Johnson’s remaining days, of whom it was now evident, that the crisis was fast approaching, when he must ‘die like men, and fall like one of the Princes.,1268 Yet it will be instructive, as well as gratifying to the curiosity of my readers, to record a few circumstances, on the authenticity of which they may perfectly rely, as I have been at the utmost pains to obtain an accurate account of his last illness, from the best authority.

  Dr. Heberden, Dr. Brocklesby, Dr. Warren, and Dr. Butter, physicians, generously attended him, without accepting of any fees, as did Mr. Cruik-shank, surgeon; and all that could be done from professional skill and ability, was tried, to prolong a life so truly valuable. He himself, indeed, having, on account of his very bad constitution, been perpetually applying himself to medical inquiries, united his own efforts with those of the gentlemen who attended him; and imagining that the dropsical collection of water which oppressed him might be drawn off by making incisions in his body, he, with his usual resolute defiance of pain, cut deep, when he thought that his surgeon had done it too tenderly.a

  About eight or ten days before his death, when Dr. Brocklesby paid him his morning visit, he seemed very low and desponding, and said, I have been as a dying man all night.’ He then emphatically broke out, in the words of Shakspeare: –

  ‘Can’st thou not minister to a mind diseas’d;

  Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;

  Raze out the written troubles of the brain;

  And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,

  Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff,

  Which weighs upon the heart?’1269

  To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered, from the same great poet: –

  ‘––––therein the patient

  Must minister to himself.’1270

  Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application.

  On another day after this, when talking on the subject of prayer, Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal, –

  ‘Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano,’1271

  and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly over, he happened, in the line,

  ‘Qui spatium vitæ extremum inter munera ponat,’1272

  to pronounce supremum for extremum;1273 at which Johnson’s critical ear instantly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the unmetrical effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as ever of the spirit of the grammarian.

  Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson’s intention to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr. Francis Barber, whom he looked upon as particularly under his protection, and whom he had all along treated truly as an humble friend. Having asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity to bequeath to a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on the circumstances of the master; and, that in the case of a nobleman, fifty pounds a year was considered as an adequate reward for many years’ faithful service; ‘Then, (said Johnson,) shall I be nobilissimus,1274 for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a year, and I desire you to tell him so.’ It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time; and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins’s repeatedly urging it, I think it is probable that his kind resolution
would not have been fulfilled. After making one, which, as Sir John Hawkins informs us, extended no further than the promised annuity, Johnson’s final disposition of his property was established by a Will and Codicil, of which copies are subjoined.a

  The consideration of the numerous papers of which he was possessed, seems to have struck Johnson’s mind with a sudden anxiety, and as they were in great confusion, it is much to be lamented that he had not entrusted some faithful and discreet person with the care and selection of them; instead of which, he, in a precipitate manner, burnt large masses of them, with little regard, as I apprehend, to discrimination. Not that I suppose we have thus been deprived of any compositions which he had ever intended for the publick eye; but, from what escaped the flames, I judge that many curious circumstances relating both to himself and other literary characters have perished.

  Two very valuable articles, I am sure, we have lost, which were two quarto volumes, containing a full, fair, and most particular account of his own life, from his earliest recollection. I owned to him, that having accidentally seen them, I had read a great deal in them; and apologizing for the liberty I had taken, asked him if I could help it. He placidly answered, ‘Why, Sir, I do not think you could have helped it.’ I said that I had, for once in my life, felt half an inclination to commit theft. It had come into my mind to carry off those two volumes, and never see him more. Upon my inquiring how this would have affected him, ‘Sir, (said he,) I believe I should have gone mad.’a

  During his last illness, Johnson experienced the steady and kind attachment of his numerous friends. Mr. Hoole has drawn up a narrative of what passed in the visits which he paid him during that time, from the ioth of November to the 13th of December, the day of his death, inclusive, and has favoured me with a perusal of it, with permission to make extracts, which I have done. Nobody was more attentive to him than Mr. Langton, to whom he tenderly said, Te teneam moriens deficiente manu.1278 And I think it highly to the honour of Mr. Windham, that his important occupations as an active statesman did not prevent him from paying assiduous respect to the dying Sage, whom he revered. Mr. Langton informs me, that, ‘one day he found Mr. Burke and four or five more friends sitting with Johnson. Mr. Burke said to him, “I am afraid, Sir, such a number of us may be oppressive to you.” “ No, Sir, (said Johnson,) it is not so; and I must be in a wretched state, indeed, when your company would not be a delight to me.” Mr. Burke, in a tremulous voice, expressive of being very tenderly affected, replied, “My dear Sir, you have always been too good to me.” Immediately afterwards he went away. This was the last circumstance in the acquaintance of these two eminent men.’

  The following particulars of his conversation, within a few days of his death, I give on the authority of Mr. John Nichols: –a

  ‘He said, that the Parliamentary Debates were the only part of his writings which then gave him any compunction: but that at the time he wrote them, he had no conception he was imposing upon the world, though they were frequently written from very slender materials, and often from none at all, – the mere coinage of his own imagination. He never wrote any part of his works with equal velocity. Three columns of the Magazine, in an hour, was no uncommon effort, which was faster than most persons could have transcribed that quantity.

  ‘Of his friend Cave, he always spoke with great affection. “Yet (said he,) Cave, (who never looked out of his window, but with a view to the Gentleman’s Magazine,) was a penurious pay-master; he would contract for lines by the hundred, and expect the long hundred;1282 but he was a good man, and always delighted to have his friends at his table.”

  ‘When talking of a regular edition of his own works, he said, “that he had power, [from the booksellers,] to print such an edition, if his health admitted it; but had no power to assign over any edition, unless he could add notes, and so alter them as to make them new works; which his state of health forbade him to think of. I may possibly live, (said he,) or rather breath, three days, or perhaps three weeks; but find myself daily and gradually weaker.”

  ‘He said at another time, three or four days only before his death, speaking of the little fear he had of undergoing a chirurgical operation, “I would give one of these legs for a year more of life, I mean of comfortable life, not such as that which I now suffer;” – and lamented much his inability to read during his hours of restlessness. “I used formerly, (he added,) when sleepless in bed, to read like a Turk.”

  ‘Whilst confined by his last illness, it was his regular practice to have the church-service read to him, by some attentive and friendly Divine. The Rev. Mr. Hoole performed this kind office in my presence for the last time, when, by his own desire, no more than the Litany was read; in which his responses were in the deep and sonorous voice which Mr. Boswell has occasionally noticed, and with the most profound devotion that can be imagined. His hearing not being quite perfect, he more than once interrupted Mr. Hoole, with “Louder, my dear Sir, louder, I entreat you, or you pray in vain!” – and, when the service was ended, he, with great earnestness, turned round to an excellent lady1283 who was present, saying, “I thank you, Madam, very heartily, for your kindness in joining me in this solemn exercise. Live well, I conjure you; and you will not feel the compunction at the last, which I now feel.” So truly humble were the thoughts which this great and good man entertained of his own approaches to religious perfection.

  ‘He was earnestly invited to publish a volume of Devotional Exercises; but this, (though he listened to the proposal with much complacency, and a large sum of money was offered for it,) he declined, from motives of the sincerest modesty.

  ‘He seriously entertained the thought of translating Thuanus. He often talked to me on the subject; and once, in particular, when I was rather wishing that he would favour the world, and gratify his sovereign, by a Life of Spenser, (which he said that he would readily have done, had he been able to obtain any new materials for the purpose,) he added, “I have been thinking again, Sir, of Thuanus: it would not be the laborious task which you have supposed it. I should have no trouble but that of dictation, which would be performed as speedily as an amanuensis could write.”’

  It is to the mutual credit of Johnson and Divines of different communions, that although he was a steady Church-of-England man, there was, nevertheless, much agreeable intercourse between him and them. Let me particularly name the late Mr. La Trobe, and Mr. Hutton, of the Moravian profession. His intimacy with the English Benedictines, at Paris, has been mentioned; and as an additional proof of the charity in which he lived with good men of the Romish Church, I am happy in this opportunity of recording his friendship with the Reverend Thomas Hussey, D.D., His Catholick Majesty’s Chaplain of Embassy at the Court of London, that very respectable man, eminent not only for his powerful eloquence as a preacher, but for his various abilities and acquisitions. Nay, though Johnson loved a Presbyterian the least of all, this did not prevent his having a long and uninterrupted social connection with the Reverend Dr. James Fordyce, who, since his death, hath gratefully celebrated him in a warm strain of devotional composition.

  Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the dying Johnson, his characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions.

  When Dr. Warren, in the usual style, hoped that he was better; his answer was, ‘No, Sir; you cannot conceive with what acceleration I advance towards death.’

  A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit up with him. Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant, his answer was, ‘Not at all, Sir: the fellow’s an ideot; he is as aukward as a turn-spit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse.’

  Mr. Windham having placed a pillow conveniently to support him, he thanked him for his kindness, and said, ‘That will do, – all that a pillow can do.’

  He repeated with great spirit a poem, consisting of several stanzas, in four lines, in alternate rhyme, which he said he had composed some years before, on occasion of a rich, extravagant young gentlem
an’s1284 coming of age; saying he had never repeated it but once since he composed it, and had given but one copy of it. That copy was given to Mrs. Thrale, now Piozzi, who has published it in a Book which she entitles British Synonimy, but which is truly a collection of entertaining remarks and stories, no matter whether accurate or not. Being a piece of exquisite satire, conveyed in a strain of pointed vivacity and humour, and in a manner of which no other instance is to be found in Johnson’s writings, I shall here insert it: –

  Long-expected one-and-twenty,

  Ling’ring year, at length is flown;

  Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty,

  Great ∗∗∗ ∗∗∗∗,1285 are now your own.

  Loosen’d from the Minor’s tether,

  Free to mortgage or to sell,

  Wild as wind, and light as feather,

  Bid the sons of thrift farewell.