Shorter novels, vol. 3 : $b Eighteenth centuryJohnson, Samuel
General
Shorter novels, vol. 3 : $b Eighteenth century
Johnson, Samuel
English fiction -- 18th century
He was now no longer gloomy and unsocial; but, considering himself as
master of a secret stock of happiness, which he could enjoy only by
concealing it, he affected to be busy in all schemes of diversion, and
endeavoured to make others pleased with the state of which he himself
was weary. But pleasures never can be so multiplied or continued, as not
to leave much of life unemployed; there were many hours, both of the
night and day, which he could spend without suspicion in solitary
thought. The load of life was much lightened: he went eagerly into the
assemblies, because he supposed the frequency of his presence necessary
to the success of his purposes; he retired gladly to privacy, because he
had now a subject of thought.
His chief amusement was to picture to himself that world which he had
never seen; to place himself in various conditions, to be entangled in
imaginary difficulties, and to be engaged in wild adventures; but his
benevolence always terminated his projects in the relief of distress,
the detection of fraud, the defeat of oppression, and the diffusion of
happiness.
Thus passed twenty months of the life of Rasselas. He busied himself so
intensely in visionary bustle, that he forgot his real solitude, and,
amidst hourly preparations for the various incidents of human affairs,
neglected to consider by what means he should mingle with mankind.
One day, as he was sitting on a bank, he feigned to himself an orphan
virgin robbed of her little portion by a treacherous lover, and crying
after him for restitution and redress. So strongly was the image
impressed upon his mind, that he started up in the maid’s defence, and
run forward to seize the plunderer, with all the eagerness of real
pursuit. Fear naturally quickens the flight of guilt. Rasselas could not
catch the fugitive with his utmost efforts; but resolving to weary by
perseverance him whom he could not surpass in speed, he pressed on till
the foot of the mountain stopped his course.
Here he recollected himself, and smiled at his own useless impetuosity.
Then raising his eyes to the mountain, “This,” said he, “is the fatal
obstacle that hinders at once the enjoyment of pleasure, and the
exercise of virtue. How long is it that my hopes and wishes have flown
beyond this boundary of my life, which yet I never have attempted to
surmount!”
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