suffering seemed only to increase. And then the
doctor received news of the death of Miss Williams, who
had, for some time, been languishing in helpless misery,
and this loss left him desolate. He returned to London
where he yearned for pleasant company and conversation,
but most of his time was spent in a deep, but agitated,
slumber that was inevitably punctuated by raucous breathing
and the occasional yelp of pain. Francis continued to attend
upon him daily, but as his master's condition worsened the
negro made sure that he was also available for long nightly
vigils in the sickroom in case the doctor's pain became
intolerable. On the morning of Monday 13 December,
Francis noted that the slumbering doctor's breathing had
become difficult, and then his master awoke suddenly with
a series of convulsive movements that alarmed Francis.
Apparently the pain in his master's legs was so unbearable
that the doctor snatched up a pair of scissors and plunged
them deep into his calves causing jagged wounds. This
afforded the doctor some relief, but also occasioned a loss
of blood which startled Francis and Mrs Desmoulins, who
had recently arrived at the house to offer what help she
could. In fact, she had another reason for attending upon
her beloved Dr Johnson on this day, for she wished to
receive his blessings, which he was happy to give. Once the
bleeding had stopped, the doctor slowly turned to Mrs
Desmoulins and whispered, 'God bless you,' in a trembling
voice. Francis waited and watched as Mrs Desmoulins
fought bravely to hold back her tears, and then she rushed
quickly from the room.
Later that same day the ailing Dr Johnson received a
visit from a Miss Morris, who was the child of a friend
of his. The young woman's unexpected arrival alarmed
Francis, but he escorted her from the street door up the
stairs to Dr Johnson's chamber, where he asked her to wait.
He entered and informed his master that a young woman
was here who claimed to be the daughter of a friend, and
that she had asked permission to see him so that she might
receive his blessings. Dr Johnson smiled weakly, which his
negro servant took as a sign that he should usher this Miss
Morris into the room, which he did. The doctor turned
in the bed and looked carefully at the girl before
pronouncing, 'God bless you, my dear.' With this said he
turned away and Francis marshalled Miss Morris from the
room. Soon after, Francis, together with Mrs Desmoulins,
returned to Dr Johnson's chamber where they both realised
that the doctor's breathing had become even more laboured,
but there was nothing that they could do to alleviate his
discomfort. Shortly after seven o'clock in the evening, both
Francis and Mrs Desmoulins noticed that the painful
breathing had ceased and so they quickly left their respective
chairs and went to the bed where they discovered that the
great Englishman was dead.
The woman poured her visitor more tea and then
coughed loudly without resorting to covering her mouth.
It was clear that, in common with her husband's late master,
this woman had no passion for clean linen or immersing
herself in cold water. The story of her time in Lichfield
with her negro husband was now clearly uppermost in her
mind, but it was apparent that this was not a joyful tale.
If, as seemed to be the case, Francis Barber was still alive
then what I most desired was an introduction to the man
so that I might discover for myself why fortune had not
smiled upon him since the death of his master. It was an
indisputable fact that Dr Johnson had provided handsomely
for Francis, although Sir John Hawkins, among
many others, had complained loudly of the imprudence
of Dr Johnson leaving money to a negro. If the rumours
of Barber's fall from grace, and his foolishly squandering
the assets bequeathed to him, and thereby betraying the
generosity of England's greatest literary mind, proved to
be true then this would serve only to confirm Hawkins'
estimation of Dr Johnson's folly.
The woman
doctor received news of the death of Miss Williams, who
had, for some time, been languishing in helpless misery,
and this loss left him desolate. He returned to London
where he yearned for pleasant company and conversation,
but most of his time was spent in a deep, but agitated,
slumber that was inevitably punctuated by raucous breathing
and the occasional yelp of pain. Francis continued to attend
upon him daily, but as his master's condition worsened the
negro made sure that he was also available for long nightly
vigils in the sickroom in case the doctor's pain became
intolerable. On the morning of Monday 13 December,
Francis noted that the slumbering doctor's breathing had
become difficult, and then his master awoke suddenly with
a series of convulsive movements that alarmed Francis.
Apparently the pain in his master's legs was so unbearable
that the doctor snatched up a pair of scissors and plunged
them deep into his calves causing jagged wounds. This
afforded the doctor some relief, but also occasioned a loss
of blood which startled Francis and Mrs Desmoulins, who
had recently arrived at the house to offer what help she
could. In fact, she had another reason for attending upon
her beloved Dr Johnson on this day, for she wished to
receive his blessings, which he was happy to give. Once the
bleeding had stopped, the doctor slowly turned to Mrs
Desmoulins and whispered, 'God bless you,' in a trembling
voice. Francis waited and watched as Mrs Desmoulins
fought bravely to hold back her tears, and then she rushed
quickly from the room.
Later that same day the ailing Dr Johnson received a
visit from a Miss Morris, who was the child of a friend
of his. The young woman's unexpected arrival alarmed
Francis, but he escorted her from the street door up the
stairs to Dr Johnson's chamber, where he asked her to wait.
He entered and informed his master that a young woman
was here who claimed to be the daughter of a friend, and
that she had asked permission to see him so that she might
receive his blessings. Dr Johnson smiled weakly, which his
negro servant took as a sign that he should usher this Miss
Morris into the room, which he did. The doctor turned
in the bed and looked carefully at the girl before
pronouncing, 'God bless you, my dear.' With this said he
turned away and Francis marshalled Miss Morris from the
room. Soon after, Francis, together with Mrs Desmoulins,
returned to Dr Johnson's chamber where they both realised
that the doctor's breathing had become even more laboured,
but there was nothing that they could do to alleviate his
discomfort. Shortly after seven o'clock in the evening, both
Francis and Mrs Desmoulins noticed that the painful
breathing had ceased and so they quickly left their respective
chairs and went to the bed where they discovered that the
great Englishman was dead.
The woman poured her visitor more tea and then
coughed loudly without resorting to covering her mouth.
It was clear that, in common with her husband's late master,
this woman had no passion for clean linen or immersing
herself in cold water. The story of her time in Lichfield
with her negro husband was now clearly uppermost in her
mind, but it was apparent that this was not a joyful tale.
If, as seemed to be the case, Francis Barber was still alive
then what I most desired was an introduction to the man
so that I might discover for myself why fortune had not
smiled upon him since the death of his master. It was an
indisputable fact that Dr Johnson had provided handsomely
for Francis, although Sir John Hawkins, among
many others, had complained loudly of the imprudence
of Dr Johnson leaving money to a negro. If the rumours
of Barber's fall from grace, and his foolishly squandering
the assets bequeathed to him, and thereby betraying the
generosity of England's greatest literary mind, proved to
be true then this would serve only to confirm Hawkins'
estimation of Dr Johnson's folly.
The woman
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