DR. JOHNSON’S WILL
“My readers,” writes Boswell, “are now, at last, to behold Samuel
Johnson preparing himself for that doom from which the most exalted
powers afford no exemption to man.” There can be few sights more
fascinating. In the case of Johnson there is an especial fascination,
since for many years he felt, and at times expressed, fear and horror
of death in a degree to which most men are strangers. He said “he
never had a moment in which death was not terrible to him.” But toward
the end this horror abated, so that there is a peculiar beauty in the
opening of his will, which he made but five days before his death. “In
the name of God, Amen. I, Samuel Johnson, being in full possession
of my faculties, but fearing this night may put an end to my life,
do ordain this my last will and testament. I bequeath to God a soul
polluted with many sins, but I hope purified by repentance and I trust
redeemed by Jesus Christ.”
He calmly anticipates the acceleration with which he advances towards
death. But, now as formerly, he will not dogmatise on his salvation; he
“hopes” and “trusts.” “A man may have such a degree of hope as to keep
him quiet,” he had observed on one occasion; but on another, “No man
can be sure that his obedience and repentance will obtain salvation.”
He might have prayed, as did Sir Francis South in his will dated
November 14, 1631, “beseeching Him for the all-sufficient merits and
infinite mercies of His only Son and my alone Saviour Christ Jesus to
accept of this my poor sacrifice, and freely to pardon and forgive me
my many multiplied sins and transgressions, and in the love of His most
blessed Spirit to give me some comfortable assurance thereof during my
time in this vale of flesh, that I may joyfully and willingly part with
this miserable world to live with Him for ever in His eternal rest.”
It was this “comfortable assurance” that Johnson needed. To the last
he seems logically to have maintained the distinction between hope and
belief, but emotionally to have discarded it. Certainly at the end he
was resigned.
But Johnson could not comfort himself with the idea, prevalent
in his century, of the infinite goodness of God. He dismissed it
as inapplicable to his case, a few months before his death, in a
conversation with Dr. Adams. “‘As I cannot be _sure_ that I have
fulfilled the conditions on which salvation is granted, I am afraid I
may be one of those who shall be damned’ (looking dismally).” But it
is made a frequent ground of hope (for want of a better) in wills of
the time. John Murton, in a will proved the year of Johnson’s death,
thus begins: “In the Name of God, Amen. I, John Murton, of Milton next
Sittingbourne in the County of Kent, grocer, being advanced in years
and in an indifferent state of health, but of sound and perfect mind
memory and understanding, (praised be Almighty God for the same,) and
considering the uncertain continuance of this mortal life, and the many
hazards and dangers that we frail beings are daily liable and incident
unto, do make publish and declare this my last will and testament in
manner and form following, (that is to say:) First and principally of
all I commend my soul into the hands of Almighty God who gave it, in
all humble hopes and with a firm assurance of its future happiness as
in the disposal of a Being infinitely good.” Forty years previously
Pope employed the same sentiment and almost the same phrase: “I
Alexander Pope, of Twickenham in the County of Middlesex, make this my
last will and testament. I resign my soul to its Creator in all humble
hope of its future happiness as in the disposal of a Being infinitely
good.”
Boswell mars the rhythm of Johnson’s formal act of faith, and the
depths of meaning it conveys (to those who remember Johnson’s delicate
apprehension of Christian terms), by writing “but I hope purified by
Jesus Christ” in place of the fuller form “but I hope purified by
repentance and I trust redeemed by Jesus Christ.” A namesake, the Rev.
Samuel Johnson, whose will is dated November 8, 1777, and was proved on
June 3, 1784, has a similar clause in words that strongly recall the
theological arguments and vocabulary of the Doctor. “My soul I commit
and commend altogether to the mercy of God in Christ Jesus trusting
through His merits and powerful mediation to be saved from that eternal
punishment whereof I am deserving on account of my sins, and to inherit
all that eternal life promised in the Gospel to all them that obey Him:
even so, Lord Jesus.”
It is true that such expressions are still frequent in wills of the
latter half of the eighteenth century, and to some extent formal;
but they are not so much a matter of course as in earlier days, and
therefore all the more worth attention. “A few years ago,” wrote
Sir John Hawkins in his Life of Dr. Johnson, “it was the uniform
practice to begin wills with the words ‘In the Name of God, Amen,’
and frequently to insert therein a declaration of the testator’s hope
of pardon in the merits of his Saviour; but in these more refined
times such forms are deemed superfluous.” The will of Lucy Porter,
Johnson’s step-daughter, is devoid of such pious expressions; indeed,
wholly unsentimental save for a desire to be buried “under or near the
tombstone of Catherine Chambers,” and a request that the funeral “may
be performed in the afternoon before sun-setting.” The will of Anna
Williams, who was for twenty years as a sister to Dr. Johnson, and
died the year before he died, is also devoid of piety, save for the
conventional preface “In the Name of God, Amen.” Even of many divines
and doctors of divinity the same may be said: they plunge _in medias
res_, without any ascription of praise or uplifting of the heart to God.
The Rev. Samuel Johnson appears to have made his will betimes. But of
Dr. Johnson Boswell has to say: “It is strange 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 repeatedly urging it, I think it is probable that his
kind resolution (to provide for Francis Barber) would not have been
fulfilled.” But Sir John was not satisfied with the Doctor’s will when
made. The deficiencies that he detected therein he attributed to its
late execution. We may, however, leave Boswell and others to settle
this controversy.
Yet it is strange that any should jeopardise the fortunes of others,
and frustrate his own desires, by tarrying to set his house in order:
it can be explained only by neglect or superstition. Dr. Johnson did
not take to heart his lines in “London”:—
“Prepare for death, if here at night you roam,
And sign your will before you sup from home.”
He may have put it off from sheer indolence, but it is not unlikely
he felt something of the common superstition against making a will,
unreasonable though it may be and unwise. When Charles Lamb wished to
make his first will he wrote: “I want to make my will, and to leave
my property in trust for my sister. _N.B._ I am not going _therefore_
to die.” But Lamb had not Johnson’s peculiar dread of death. The
superstition is not yet defunct; its rise and origin would be difficult
to trace. “It is received,” says a writer in the sixteenth century,
“for an opinion amongst the ruder and more ignorant people, that if a
man should chance to be so wise as to make his will in his good health
when ... he might ask counsel of the learned, that then surely he
should not live long after.”
It is curious that it should sometimes be a case for jocularity if a
man make his will betimes. Possibly this light-heartedness is assumed
as a cloak to hide from ourselves the gravity of our inevitable end.
If this be so, it is not surprising to find Dr. Johnson convulsed with
hilarity when his friend Langton made his will. But the story is an
extraordinary one. “He now laughed immoderately, without any reason
that we could perceive,” says Boswell, “ ... called him the testator;
and added, ‘I dare say he thinks he has done a mighty thing. He won’t
stay till he gets home to his seat in the country, to produce this
wonderful deed: he’ll call up the landlord of the first inn on the
road; and, after a suitable preface upon mortality and the uncertainty
of life, will tell him he should not delay making his will.... He
believes he has made this will; but he did not make it; you, Chambers,
made it for him. I trust you have had more conscience than to make him
say, ‘being of sound understanding’; ‘ha, ha, ha! I hope he has left
me a legacy. I’d have his will turned into verse, like a ballad.’ ...
Johnson could not stop his merriment, but continued it all the way
till he got without the Temple-gate. He then burst into such a fit of
laughter, that he appeared to be almost in a convulsion; and, in order
to support himself, laid hold of one of the posts at the side of the
foot pavement, and sent forth peals so loud, that in the silence of the
night his voice seemed to resound from Temple-bar to Fleet-ditch.”
In spite of Dr. Johnson’s amusement, the early making of a will has
long been of grave concern to moralists. As Donne in one of his sermons
says, the execution of a will at the last may be a heavy business, but
the addition of a codicil, if necessary, may be easily dispatched. But
in wills themselves the most elaborate language is employed to force
home this precept. The will of Dame Jane Talbot, dated in the 20th
year of Henry VII., thus begins: “I Dame Jane Talbot, widow late the
wife of Sir Humphrey Talbot knight, calling to remembrance that the
gracious passage and departing from this transitory life dependeth and
ensueth upon a discrete will made by good deliberation in good and
virtuous order; and that I and all other Christian people be mortal and
must depart from the wretched uncertain and unstable life, the hour
and time of which departing from the same unstable life is uncertain;
and also that I and any other mortal person, be apt by the sending and
visitation of God to receive and take such infirmities and sickness
whereby I might, in or immediately before the article or pain of death,
lack or fail sure and perfect mind and reason to order and make my last
will and testament according to the meritorious and wholesome intent to
the will of my soul: wherefore I the said Dame Jane Talbot, being of
perfect health, whole mind and good memory, to the honour of God and
health of my said soul ordain and make this my testament and last will
in manner and form following; that is to say, First I bequeath and give
my soul unto my Lord God, Father of Heaven, which of His inestimable
and infinite mercy and goodness hath made it assemblable to His own
image, and of His infinite mercy with His precious blood hath redeemed
it, and to His blessed Mother the Virgin Saint Mary and also to the
charitable tuition and keeping of all the saints in Heaven.”
Johnson had not wife or children of his own to provide for, but he
had many friends. As already hinted, some of these he offended by
the omission of their names. For this reason also he displeased Lucy
Porter. Boswell (himself omitted) says that she should have considered
that she had left nothing to Johnson, though her will was made in his
lifetime. But it is fair to remark that she mentions few names in all,
and that her will was not executed until September in the year of
Johnson’s death.
Thus even so simple a document as Johnson’s will occasioned searchings
of heart, a result that some strive heroically or pathetically to
avoid. “I again desire that all things may be composed with peace
honour and honesty,” wrote Dorothy Eve, of Canterbury, in 1691.
A merchant, James Clegg, whose will was proved the same year as
Johnson’s, declared that he made his testament “to explain my last
will for the distribution of what shall result to be my property and
to me belonging at the time of my decease, in such manner that I hope
not to embroil those persons who will have the pleasure of surviving
me.” Wills that stir the passions and sting the memory are indeed of
frequent occurrence. Wills that satisfy every friend must surely be few.
To what an extent the remembrance of friends may be carried is
illustrated by a will made a few years after Johnson’s death. While
Johnson bequeathed books to less than a score of friends, Martha
Shorte, in a list which must long have engaged her thoughts, bequeaths
mementoes to more than a hundred beneficiaries. “The small trifle,”
she says in one place, “is only to denote that all my kind neighbours
lived in my memory.” In some cases it may be surmised, or at least the
suspicion will cross the mind, that her friends were not unaware of her
testamentary tendencies. To one, for instance, she gives “two mahogany
stools that she used to like,” to another, “an old inlaid Chinese
cabinet that she always admired,” to another the “yew-tree card-table
which she admired.” But there is a danger in lavish remembrance: for if
one be omitted where many are comprised, the sting is so much the more
sharp.
Johnson left the residue of his estate to his negro servant, Francis
Barber. Even this raised dissent. Sir John Hawkins, says Boswell,
seemed not a little angry at this bequest, and muttered a caveat
against ostentatious bounty to negroes. Barber had once been a slave,
but had received the gift of liberty under his master’s will. The
latter years of his liberty Johnson hoped to provide for.
Simpson Strachan, the merchant whose will was buried for fear of the
enemy, may illustrate the case of Barber. “My will and my intention is
that my negro man ... in virtue of his faithful services be made free
of all slavery whatever, and I do hereby order and ordain and request
my executors to pay all the expenses attending his freedom from my
estate, and that they give him the sum of £330 currency to his own
use and behoof as a reward for his fidelity and attachment to me.”
Most would agree with Boswell that a faithful servant, in lieu of near
relations, is peculiarly entitled to enjoy
“A little gold that’s sure each week,
That comes not from his living kind,
But from a dead man in his grave,
Who cannot change his mind.”
Nor was it his master’s fault if Barber made so ill a use of his money
as Hawkins affirms.
Provision for old servants is still a frequent, even an outstanding,
feature of wills, accompanied often by graceful expressions of
gratitude. Perhaps it has always been so. The Rt. Hon. Humphry Morice,
of the Privy Council, was writing a codicil by way of instruction to
his executors, shortly before the year of Johnson’s death. He makes us
feel vividly what Johnson must have owed to his faithful servant: “My
diamond shoe and knee buckles I mean to include in my wearing apparel
left to Richard Deale, also gold-headed canes, as his attention and
fidelity increases every day, and sorry I am to say he is the only
servant I ever had who seemed sensible of good treatment and did not
behave ungratefully.”
To the ordinary reader Dr. Johnson’s other bequests appear
thoughtful too, though Hawkins considered them ill-proportioned and
ill-calculated. To the Rev. Mr. Rogers, of Berkeley, near Frome, he
gave £100, “requesting him to apply the same towards the maintenance
of Elizabeth Herne, a lunatick”; to his god-children, “the son and
daughter of Mauritius Lowe, painter, each of them £100 of my stock in
the 3 per cent. consolidated annuities, to be applied and disposed
of by and at the discretion of my executors, in the education or
settlement in the world of them my said legatees”; and to “Mr. Sastres,
the Italian master, the sum of £5, to be laid out in books of piety
for his own use.” But uppermost in his mind, it would seem, was
the debt of gratitude he owed, for his father’s sake, to Innys the
bookseller; for him he remembered in his will made in the immediate
apprehension of death, while most of his bequests occurred in the
codicil executed on the following day.
One of the strangest characteristics of man is that, in the face of
death, he can without a qualm speak bitter words and cherish hard
feelings, a characteristic which sometimes distinguishes or disfigures
wills. Dr. Johnson’s will is free from any such taint. Yet he retained
a certain roughness of language to the last. “Treat thy nurses and
servants sweetly, and as it becomes an obliged and a necessitous
person,” says Jeremy Taylor. Boswell speaks of Johnson’s “uncommon
kindness to his servants.” But, asked one morning how he liked a new
attendant who had sat up with him, Johnson replied with a touch of his
old humorous self: “Not at all, Sir; the fellow’s an idiot; he is as
awkward as a turnspit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a
dormouse.”
When Burke heard how Langton could convict the Doctor of nothing worse
than a roughness of speech or manner, he said: “It is well if, when
a man comes to die, he has nothing heavier upon his conscience than
having been a little rough in conversation.” It does seem that Johnson
was not unworthy of some such eulogium in spite of certain charges
raised against him, and in spite of his fear of death. It is grateful
to consider that Johnson’s words may be applicable to himself: “The
better a man is, the more afraid he is of death, having a clearer
view of infinite purity.” Boswell says that the word _polluted_ in
Johnson’s will may to some convey an impression of more than ordinary
contamination, but mentions that the same word is used in the will of
Dr. Sanderson, Bishop of Lincoln, who was purity itself. A man would
indeed be ignorant of human nature, not to mention the phraseology of
wills, if he were to attach importance to the words _polluted with
many sins_; he would indeed be blind to the “view of infinite purity.”
It may be of interest therefore to compare the will of Dr. Sanderson
with Dr. Johnson’s in this respect. “First, I commend my soul into
the hands of Almighty God, as of a faithful Creator, which I humbly
beseech Him mercifully to accept, looking upon it, not as it is in
itself—infinitely polluted with sin—but as it is redeemed and purged
with the precious blood of His only beloved Son, and my most sweet
Saviour Jesus Christ.”
When John Selden died, his barber had a mind to see his will: “For,”
said he, “I never knew a wise man make a wise will.” The will of Dr.
Johnson, that great and good, wise and humorous, figure, may be read
in Boswell or Hawkins, in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, or at Somerset
House. It leaves a savour wholly sweet, and is in every item dignified.