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Rasselas is a moral fable, by the 18th-century English writer, Samuel Johnson. It tells the story of a prince of Abyssinia (modern-day Ethiopia) who is kept confined in a place called the Happy Valley. Rasselas grows tired of his luxurious lifestyle with its endless entertainment, and along with three others, escapes his ‘blissful captivity’. He then sets out on a quest for happiness.
On his travels, the prince comes across a seemingly ‘superior’ sage, who assures his followers that ‘rational fortitude’ will equip them to endure ‘the shafts of malice and misfortune’. The young man is impressed, but later comes across the same person mourning the death of his daughter. ‘Have you forgotten the precepts that you so powerfully endorsed?’ inquires Rasselas. The sage dismisses his own preaching, declaring that truth and reason are of no comfort in his bereavement.
After several similar encounters, Rasselas returns home, disillusioned. One would think that Rasselas need look no further than the Happy Valley for the happiness he seeks, but it eludes him in his pleasurable prison. Scholars have debated whether Samuel Johnson had heard of Lord Buddha who, in his youth, rather like Rasselas, was shielded from harsh reality by his father. As does the fictional prince, Prince Siddhartha found a wide and woeful world beyond his palace walls.
I had studied Rasselas as an MA text, half a century ago, and recalled it recently in connection with another royal figure. Until last December, the Princess of Wales was always in the public eye, arrayed in elegant ensembles of every imaginable shade. Smiling and waving, she was seen to carry out her duties with enthusiasm. Suddenly, this pillar of strength to the British monarchy announced that she had cancer. While one hopes the brave woman will beat the disease, one must admit that the mere mention of the big C is scary. Just when everything was going wonderfully well, Catherine, who appeared in the proverbial pink of health, has been dealt a devastating blow.
That, of course, happens, at some point in time, in one form or another, to all human beings, including the good, great and glamorous. As Rasselas discovers, an ideal existence is an illusion, and there is no such thing as a picture-perfect life.