_This paper have I wrote for certain grave considerations which make me
suppose it well it were one day placed in the hands of the Dean. 'Tis,
however, possible I may destroy it, but this time shall determine ere my
death. Writ an: 1727 by me_, ESTHER JOHNSON.
When the Dean paid his last visit to London, an: 1726, he writ thus in a
letter directed to Mrs Dingley, but for her and me:--
"Farewell, my dearest lives and delights I love you better than ever, as
hope saved, and ever will. I can count on nothing but MD's love and
kindness, and so, farewell, dearest MD. PRESTO."
So he signs himself, and so it seems the old screen will still be kept up
and the letters to me wrote to her also, and in the child's talk that
pleaseth him, lest any in the world suspect the famous divine hath a man's
heart. But hath he? This I have not known, nor shall. Let me tell my own
heart yet again how deep my debt to him, remembering the sickly child of
Moor Park, to whom he brought not alone learning but companionship, and
all the joy known to her childhood. For it pleased Dr Swift, then a young
man, to condescend to a child's humours, to solace her solitary hours,
forsook as she was of her mother's company, and not alone to teach her to
write, but all store of knowledge. And Dr Swift hath since been pleased to
acknowledge that, having instilled in this poor child the principles of
honour and virtue, she hath not swerved from them in any passage of her
life.
Yet have I not? Again I question my heart. 'T is the most I can hope that
the woman hath repaid the child's debt. On this I will be judged.
A keen remembrance begins not much before the age of eight, nor can I
recall a time when I did not love him. My mother's time was took up in
making her court to my Lady Giffard, sister to our benefactor, Sir William
Temple; and Rebecca Dingley's (a kinswoman of the Temples) in making her
court to all; and the child Esther might run as she pleased, chid only
when she was remembered.
And this young man took pity on her. I remember very well Dr Swift's face
in youth. 'Twas extraordinary handsome and commanding, the eyes blue and
piercing, the features strong, and a something that very early
distinguisht him from others, so that great persons coming of errands to
Sir William Temple were not seldom drawn into intercourse with his
secretary.
Mr Swift was not then so prudent as he became later. What need with a
child? He permitted his fancy to range in all he said; and seated by the
lake at Moor Park, with this child at his knee looking up into his face,
he would discourse of things in heaven and earth, forgetting his hearer.
For he who could charm all charmed himself no less, and often hath said to
me laughing:--
"There's no company so good as Jonathan Swift's--and he himself would
choose it before all others!"
Of this I am not certain, for the Dean hath been and is very partial to
the company of the great and famous of either sex.
'Twas thus, sitting by the lake and gazing down the great perspective cut
in the trees, he saw the peasants going homeward up the hill, no greater
than ants, and looking into my eyes (from which and my name he called me
Star, and later, Stella), he said:--
"What say you, Mrs Star, if these folk were really no bigger than now they
seem? What if this country were peopled by a race of little creeping
Hop-o'-my-Thumbs?"
"O rare, rare!" I cried, and clapt my hands. "Tell me the history of them,
Mr Swift, and their little homely ways and houses like bees' cells for
size."
And as I looked up and the words came from him, truly all was visible
before me. 'Tis a gift Mr Swift hath had from the beginning, that men
should see what he would. And women,--O Father Almighty,--women!
So that was the beginning of Gulliver his travels, that being told for a
child's pleasure hath since become a world's wonder. It had not then the
meanings he gave it later, nor were there any Yahoos.
If I ask myself when this harmless love did change to a woman's, I cannot
tell, because with my growth it grew. But the first pain it brought (and
sure pain is love's shadow) was an: 1697, when I was sixteen years of age.
For I sat by the housekeeper's window, and Sir William and Mr Swift were
pacing the path, their voices coming and going. Mr Swift was now dressed
as the young Levite he sometimes called himself since he returned from
Ireland a clergyman; and he walked with his eyes fixed moodily on the
ground, listening to Sir William.
"Why, as to that, Jonathan," said he familiarly, "I ever thought it
behoves a parson to marry when he hath got preferment. There is room for
Mrs Parson's help with the women and children of the parish and 't is meet
she should set an example with her neat parsonage, and be a notable woman
with her possets and cordials for the sick. Now what like is this pretty
Varina that Dr Holmes hath brought news of from Belfast?"
"Miss Waring," says Mr Swift, very grave, "is a commendable young lady,
but I design not for marriage as yet, Sir, nor for a long time to come."
They past out of hearing and, returning, I heard but the last part of Sir
William's words:--
"'T is a cruel thing for a man to raise hopes he means not to be
answerable for, and I am told the young lady grows very melancholy upon
it. True it is, a man must sow his wild oats even though he honour his
cloth; but 't is not well to sow them in a harmless girl's acre, Jonathan.
Sow them by the wayside, and then they come not up to her confusion and
your own."
"A sound precept, Sir; but better still to sow none. This shall be my
care. As to the connection you speak of, 't is long broke off, and was at
all times impossible, the lady having no portion, and myself--as you
know!"
His brow was like a thunder-cloud ere it bursts; but, looking up, he
catcht sight of me, and continued with no pause:--
"As for that matter of the publishers, Sir--they have writ to say that
they wait your commands anent the Letters of Phalaris. Asking your pardon,
time goes, and we should be speaking of this and not of child's toys."
I knew by the black blink of his eyes that I had heard what he would not;
and as they turned, my heart beat so that I laid my hand on it, as if that
poor fence might hide its throbbing. And for the first time in my life I
knew I had in this world an enemy, and that was this Varina; and from that
hour mine eyes waited on him.
More often mine eyes than my company, for, especially since this
conversation with Sir William, Mr Swift was now grown very cautious. In
public he addressed me as "Mrs Johnson," or, when Sir William rallied him,
as "Mrs Esther," affecting an awful distance, which was not in his heart,
for therein was still the tenderness for his child and pupil, as he had
used to call me. And he was good enough to signify to Mrs Dingley, who
carried it to me, that he found me grown to his liking; "beautiful,
graceful, and agreeable," says he, and condescended to praise even my
black hair and pale face, after which I would not have exchanged it
against the golden hair of Helen. But still held aloof except when I was
in company with others. And I took note that, of all the ladies that came
and went at Moor Park, there was not one but hung upon his talk, and held
up her head when he came near, spreading out all her graces. Mr Swift had
always that power with our sex and, if he used it, 't is but what all men
do. Providence made us fair game, to our undoing and theirs. 'T is not all
men who have this gift, and never have I seen one who, having it, spared
to use it, whether from liking or policy.
Yet he used it strangely. I remember, when the fair Lady Mary Fane came to
Moor Park,--a widowed beauty and toast,--the look of scorn she cast from
her fine eyes on the young secretary.
"I marvel, Sir William," says she, "that you will have your servant ever
at your elbow, so that a body hath never a word with you alone. I would
not presume to censure, but certainly my father's chaplain does not so
intrude himself into company; and 'tis difficult for persons of quality to
speak their mind in such underbred society."
"Why, your Ladyship," says he, laughing, "be gracious to my young Levite.
He is not of the common sort of creeping parson, but I dare venture will
yet be heard of. Simple as your Ladyship thinks him, he is at home in all
company, be it great or little; and I had not known him three year when I
sent him to London on a secret errand--and I was not mistook."
"Such persons," says the lady, very haughty, "are paid to exert themselves
in our service. We may expect no less."
So it passed; but a busybody carried this, with other tattle, to Mr Swift,
who questioned me also. I looked to see him mighty angry; and first his
brows frowned, and then he laughed, as if a thought pleased him.
"Said she so, the painted jade! What, Madam Stella, shall not a stinking
pride be taught its place by the Church? I'll give the hussy her lesson."
That very day, my Lady Mary sitting to embroidery on the great terrace in
the shade, and I holding her threads, she threw Mr Swift a word as he
past, to ask the name of the nymph that was turned to a bush to escape the
pursuit of Apollo; for that was the subject of her needle.
"Daphne, Madam," says he. "Have I your permission to look upon your work?
Oh, fie!--this bush--'t is a rosebush, and Daphne became a laurel. Sure, a
lady with your Ladyship's reputation for wit will not be in error."
She stopped with the needle in her hand and lookt at him angrily.
"Sir, if you know better than Mrs Weyland who drew my pattern, instruct
me. I am not too proud to learn from my--betters."