An account of Dr. Swift has been already collected, with great diligence
and acuteness, by Dr. Hawkesworth, according to a scheme which I laid
before him in the intimacy of our friendship. I cannot, therefore, be
expected to say much of a life, concerning which I had long since
communicated my thoughts to a man capable of dignifying his narrations
with so much elegance of language and force of sentiment.
Jonathan Swift was, according to an account said to be written by
himself[93], the son of Jonathan Swift, an attorney, and was born at
Dublin, on St. Andrew's day, 1667: according to his own report, as
delivered by Pope to Spence, he was born at Leicester, the son of a
clergyman, who was minister of a parish in Herefordshire[94]. During his
life the place of his birth was undetermined. He was contented to be
called an Irishman by the Irish; but would occasionally call himself an
Englishman. The question may, without much regret, be left in the
obscurity in which he delighted to involve it.
Whatever was his birth, his education was Irish. He was sent, at the age
of six, to the school at Kilkenny, and in his fifteenth year, 1682, was
admitted into the university of Dublin.
In his academical studies he was either not diligent or not happy. It
must disappoint every reader's expectation, that, when at the usual time
he claimed the bachelorship of arts, he was found by the examiners too
conspicuously deficient for regular admission, and obtained his degree,
at last, by _special favour_; a term used in that university to denote
want of merit.
Of this disgrace it may easily be supposed that he was much ashamed,
and shame had its proper effect in producing reformation. He resolved,
from that time, to study eight hours a day, and continued his industry
for seven years, with what improvement is sufficiently known. This part
of his story well deserves to be remembered; it may afford useful
admonition and powerful encouragement to men whose abilities have been
made for a time useless by their passions or pleasures, and who, having
lost one part of life in idleness, are tempted to throw away the
remainder in despair.
In this course of daily application he continued three years longer at
Dublin; and in this time, if the observation and memory of an old
companion may be trusted, he drew the first sketch of his Tale of a Tub.
When he was about one-and-twenty, 1688, being, by the death of Godwin
Swift, his uncle, who had supported him, left without subsistence, he
went to consult his mother, who then lived at Leicester, about the
future course of his life; and by her direction solicited the advice and
patronage of sir William Temple, who had married one of Mrs. Swift's
relations, and whose father, sir John Temple, master of the Rolls in
Ireland, had lived in great familiarity of friendship with Godwin Swift,
by whom Jonathan had been to that time maintained.
Temple received with sufficient kindness the nephew of his father's
friend, with whom he was, when they conversed together, so much pleased,
that he detained him two years in his house. Here he became known to
king William, who sometimes visited Temple when he was disabled by the
gout, and, being attended by Swift in the garden, showed him how to cut
asparagus in the Dutch way.
King William's notions were all military; and he expressed his kindness
to Swift by offering to make him a captain of horse.
When Temple removed to Moor-park, he took Swift with him; and when he
was consulted by the earl of Portland about the expedience of complying
with a bill then depending for making parliaments triennial, against
which king William was strongly prejudiced, after having in vain tried
to show the earl that the proposal involved nothing dangerous to royal
power, he sent Swift for the same purpose to the king. Swift, who
probably was proud of his employment, and went with all the confidence
of a young man, found his arguments, and his art of displaying them,
made totally ineffectual by the predetermination of the king; and used
to mention this disappointment as his first antidote against vanity.
Before he left Ireland he contracted a disorder, as he thought, by
eating too much fruit. The original of diseases is commonly obscure.
Almost every boy eats as much fruit as he can get, without any great
inconvenience. The disease of Swift was giddiness with deafness, which
attacked him from time to time, began very early, pursued him through
life, and, at last, sent him to the grave, deprived of reason.
Being much oppressed at Moor-park by this grievous malady, he was
advised to try his native air, and went to Ireland; but, finding no
benefit, returned to sir William, at whose house he continued his
studies, and is known to have read, among other books, Cyprian and
Irenaeus. He thought exercise of great necessity, and used to run half a
mile up and down a hill every two hours.
It is easy to imagine that the mode in which his first degree was
conferred, left him no great fondness for the university of Dublin, and,
therefore, he resolved to become a master of arts at Oxford. In the
testimonial which he produced, the words of disgrace were omitted[94];
and he took his master's degree July 5, 1692, with such reception and
regard as fully contented him.
While he lived with Temple, he used to pay his mother, at Leicester, a
yearly visit. He travelled on foot, unless some violence of weather
drove him into a wagon; and at night he would go to a penny lodging,
where he purchased clean sheets for sixpence. This practice lord Orrery
imputes to his innate love of grossness and vulgarity: some may ascribe
it to his desire of surveying human life through all its varieties; and
others, perhaps, with equal probability, to a passion which seems to
have been deeply fixed in his heart, the love of a shilling.
In time he began to think that his attendance at Moor-park deserved some
other recompense than the pleasure, however mingled with improvement, of
Temple's conversation; and grew so impatient, that, 1694, he went away
in discontent.
Temple, conscious of having given reason for complaint, is said to have
made him deputy-master of the rolls, in Ireland; which, according to his
kinsman's account, was an office which he knew him not able to
discharge. Swift, therefore, resolved to enter into the church, in which
he had at first no higher hopes than of the chaplainship to the factory,
at Lisbon; but being recommended to lord Capel, he obtained the prebend
of Kilroot, in Connor, of about a hundred pounds a year.
But the infirmities of Temple made a companion like Swift so necessary,
that he invited him back, with a promise to procure him English
preferment in exchange for the prebend, which he desired him to
resign[95]. With this request Swift complied, having, perhaps, equally
repented their separation, and they lived on together with mutual
satisfaction; and, in the four years that passed between his return and
Temple's death, it is probable that he wrote the Tale of a Tub, and the
Battle of the Books.
Swift began early to think, or to hope, that he was a poet, and wrote
Pindarick odes to Temple, to the king, and to the Athenian society, a
knot of obscure men[96], who published a periodical pamphlet of answers
to questions, sent, or supposed to be sent, by letters. I have been told
that Dryden, having perused these verses, said, "Cousin Swift, you will
never be a poet;" and that this denunciation was the motive of Swift's
perpetual malevolence to Dryden.
In 1699 Temple died, and left a legacy with his manuscripts to Swift,
for whom he had obtained, from king William, a promise of the first
prebend that should be vacant at Westminster or Canterbury.
That this promise might not be forgotten, Swift dedicated to the king
the posthumous works with which he was intrusted; but neither the
dedication, nor tenderness for the man whom he once had treated with
confidence and fondness, revived in king William the remembrance of his
promise. Swift awhile attended the court; but soon found his
solicitations hopeless.
He was then invited by the earl of Berkeley to accompany him into
Ireland, as his private secretary; but, after having done the business
till their arrival at Dublin, he then found that one Bush had persuaded
the earl that a clergyman was not a proper secretary, and had obtained
the office for himself. In a man like Swift, such circumvention and
inconstancy must have excited violent indignation.
But he had yet more to suffer. Lord Berkeley had the disposal of the
deanery of Derry, and Swift expected to obtain it; but by the
secretary's influence, supposed to have been secured by a bribe, it was
bestowed on somebody else; and Swift was dismissed with the livings of
Laracor and Rathbeggin, in the diocese of Meath, which together did not
equal half the value of the deanery.
At Laracor he increased the parochial duty by reading prayers on
Wednesdays and Fridays, and performed all the offices of his profession
with great decency and exactness.
Soon after his settlement at Laracor, he invited to Ireland the
unfortunate Stella; a young woman, whose name was Johnson, the daughter
of the steward of sir William Temple, who, in consideration of her
father's virtues, left her a thousand pounds[97]. With her came Mrs.
Dingley, whose whole fortune was twenty-seven pounds a year for her
life. With these ladies he passed his hours of relaxation, and to them
he opened his bosom; but they never resided in the same house, nor did
he see either without a witness. They lived at the parsonage when Swift
was away; and, when he returned, removed to a lodging, or to the house
of a neighbouring clergyman.
Swift was not one of those minds which amaze the world with early
pregnancy: his first work, except his few poetical essays, was the
Dissensions in Athens and Rome, published, 1701, in his thirty-fourth
year. After its appearance, paying a visit to some bishop, he heard
mention made of the new pamphlet that Burnet had written, replete with
political knowledge. When he seemed to doubt Burnet's right to the work,
he was told, by the bishop, that he was "a young man;" and, still
persisting to doubt, that he was "a very positive young man."
Three years afterwards, 1704, was published the Tale of a Tub: of this
book charity may be persuaded to think, that it might be written by a
man of a peculiar character, without ill intention; but it is certainly
of dangerous example. That Swift was its author, though it be
universally believed, was never owned by himself, nor very well proved
by any evidence; but no other claimant can be produced, and he did not
deny it when archbishop Sharpe and the dutchess of Somerset, by showing
it to the queen, debarred him from a bishoprick.
When this wild work first raised the attention of the publick,
Sacheverell, meeting Smalridge, tried to flatter him, by seeming to
think him the author; but Smalridge answered, with indignation: "Not
all that you and I have in the world, nor all that ever we shall have,
should hire me to write the Tale of a Tub."
The digressions relating to Wotton and Bentley must be confessed to
discover want of knowledge, or want of integrity; he did not understand
the two controversies, or he willingly misrepresented them. But wit can
stand its ground against truth only a little while. The honours due to
learning have been justly distributed by the decision of posterity.
The Battle of the Books is so like the Combat des Livres, which the same
question concerning the ancients and moderns had produced in France,
that the improbability of such a coincidence of thoughts, without
communication, is not, in my opinion, balanced by the anonymous
protestation prefixed, in which all knowledge of the French book is
peremptorily disowned[98].
For some time after Swift was probably employed in solitary study,
gaining the qualifications requisite for future eminence. How often he
visited England, and with what diligence he attended his parishes, I
know not. It was not till about four years afterwards that he became a
professed author; and then, one year, 1708, produced the Sentiments of a
Church of England Man; the ridicule of astrology, under the name of
Bickerstaff; the Argument against abolishing Christianity, and the
Defence of the Sacramental Test.
The Sentiments of a Church of England Man is written with great
coolness, moderation, ease, and perspicuity. The Argument against
abolishing Christianity is a very happy and judicious irony. One passage
in it deserves to be selected.
"If christianity were once abolished, how could the freethinkers, the
strong reasoners, and the men of profound learning, be able to find
another subject so calculated, in all points, whereon to display their
abilities? What wonderful productions of wit should we be deprived of
from those, whose genius, by continual practice, hath been wholly turned
upon raillery and invectives against religion, and would, therefore,
never be able to shine, or distinguish themselves, upon any other
subject! We are daily complaining of the great decline of wit among us,
and would take away the greatest, perhaps the only, topick we have left.
Who would ever have suspected Asgill for a wit, or Toland for a
philosopher, if the inexhaustible stock of christianity had not been at
hand to provide them with materials? What other subject, through all art
or nature, could have produced Tindal for a profound author, or
furnished him with readers? It is the wise choice of the subject that
alone adorns and distinguishes the writer. For, had an hundred such pens
as these been employed on the side of religion, they would have
immediately sunk into silence and oblivion."
The reasonableness of a test is not hard to be proved; but, perhaps, it
must be allowed, that the proper test has not been chosen.
The attention paid to the papers published under the name of
Bickerstaff, induced Steele, when he projected the Tatler, to assume an
appellation which had already gained possession of the reader's notice.
In the year following he wrote a Project for the Advancement of
Religion, addressed to lady Berkeley; by whose kindness it is not
unlikely that he was advanced to his benefices. To this project, which
is formed with great purity of intention, and displayed with
sprightliness and elegance, it can only be objected, that, like many
projects, it is, if not generally impracticable, yet evidently hopeless,
as it supposes more zeal, concord, and perseverance, than a view of
mankind gives reason for expecting.
He wrote, likewise, this year, a Vindication of Bickerstaff; and an
explanation of an ancient Prophecy; part written after the facts, and
the rest never completed, but well planned to excite amazement.
Soon after began the busy and important part of Swift's life. He was
employed, 1710, by the primate of Ireland, to solicit the queen for a
remission of the first fruits and twentieth parts to the Irish clergy.
With this purpose he had recourse to Mr. Harley, to whom he was
mentioned as a man neglected and oppressed by the last ministry, because
he had refused to coöperate with some of their schemes. What he had
refused has never been told; what he had suffered was, I suppose, the
exclusion from a bishoprick by the remonstrances of Sharpe, whom he
describes as "the harmless tool of others' hate," and whom he represents
as afterwards "suing for pardon[99]."
Harley's designs and situation were such as made him glad of an
auxiliary so well qualified for his service; he, therefore, soon
admitted him to familiarity, whether ever to confidence, some have made
a doubt; but it would have been difficult to excite his zeal, without
persuading him that he was trusted, and not very easy to delude him by
false persuasions.
He was certainly admitted to those meetings in which the first hints and
original plan of action are supposed to have been formed; and was one of
the sixteen ministers, or agents of the ministry, who met weekly at each
other's houses, and were united by the name of _brother_.
Being not immediately considered as an obdurate tory, he conversed
indiscriminately with all the wits, and was yet the friend of Steele;
who, in the Tatler, which began in April, 1709, confesses the advantages
of his conversation, and mentions something contributed by him to his
paper. But he was now immerging into political controversy; for the year
1710 produced the Examiner, of which Swift wrote thirty-three papers. In
argument he may be allowed to have the advantage; for where a wide
system of conduct, and the whole of a publick character, is laid open
to inquiry, the accuser having the choice of facts, must be very
unskilful if he does not prevail; but, with regard to wit, I am afraid
none of Swift's papers will be found equal to those by which Addison
opposed him[100].
He wrote, in the year 1711, a Letter to the October Club, a number of
tory gentlemen sent from the country to parliament, who formed
themselves into a club, to the number of about a hundred, and met to
animate the zeal and raise the expectations of each other. They thought,
with great reason, that the ministers were losing opportunities; that
sufficient use was not made of the ardour of the nation; they called
loudly for more changes, and stronger efforts; and demanded the
punishment of part, and the dismission of the rest, of those whom they
considered as publick robbers.
Their eagerness was not gratified by the queen, or by Harley. The queen
was probably slow because she was afraid; and Harley was slow because he
was doubtful: he was a tory only by necessity, or for convenience; and,
when he had power in his hands, had no settled purpose for which he
should employ it; forced to gratify, to a certain degree, the tories who
supported him, but unwilling to make his reconcilement to the whigs
utterly desperate, he corresponded at once with the two expectants of
the crown, and kept, as has been observed, the succession undetermined.
Not knowing what to do, he did nothing; and, with the fate of a
double-dealer, at last he lost his power, but kept his enemies.
Swift seems to have concurred in opinion with the October Club; but it
was not in his power to quicken the tardiness of Harley, whom he
stimulated as much as he could, but with little effect. He that knows
not whither to go, is in no haste to move. Harley, who was perhaps not
quick by nature, became yet more slow by irresolution; and was content
to hear that dilatoriness lamented as natural, which he applauded in
himself as politick.
Without the tories, however, nothing could be done; and, as they were
not to be gratified, they must be appeased; and the conduct of the
minister, if it could not be vindicated, was to be plausibly excused.
Early in the next year he published a Proposal for correcting,
improving, and ascertaining the English Tongue, in a letter to the earl
of Oxford; written without much knowledge of the general nature of
language, and without any accurate inquiry into the history of other
tongues. The certainty and stability which, contrary to all experience,
he thinks attainable, he proposes to secure by instituting an academy;
the decrees of which every man would have been willing, and many would
have been proud to disobey, and which, being renewed by successive
elections, would, in a short time, have differed from itself.
Swift now attained the zenith of his political importance: he published,
1712, the Conduct of the Allies, ten days before the parliament
assembled. The purpose was to persuade the nation to a peace; and never
had any writer more success. The people, who had been amused with
bonfires and triumphal processions, and looked with idolatry on the
general and his friends, who, as they thought, had made England the
arbitress of nations, were confounded between shame and rage, when they
found that "mines had been exhausted, and millions destroyed," to secure
the Dutch, or aggrandize the emperour, without any advantage to
ourselves; that we had been bribing our neighbours to fight their own
quarrel; and that amongst our enemies, we might number our allies.
That is now no longer doubted, of which the nation was then first
informed, that the war was unnecessarily protracted to fill the pockets
of Marlborough; and that it would have been continued without end, if he
could have continued his annual plunder. But Swift, I suppose, did not
yet know what he has since written, that a commission was drawn which
would have appointed him general for life, had it not become
ineffectual by the resolution of lord Cowper, who refused the seal.
"Whatever is received," say the schools, "is received in proportion to
the recipient." The power of a political treatise depends much upon the
disposition of the people; the nation was then combustible, and a spark
set it on fire. It is boasted, that between November and January eleven
thousand were sold; a great number at that time, when we were not yet a
nation of readers. To its propagation certainly no agency of power or
influence was wanting. It furnished arguments for conversation, speeches
for debate, and materials for parliamentary resolutions.
Yet, surely, whoever surveys this wonder-working pamphlet with cool
perusal, will confess that its efficacy was supplied by the passions of
its readers; that it operates by the mere weight of facts, with very
little assistance from the hand that produced them.
This year, 1712, he published his Reflections on the Barrier Treaty,
which carries on the design of his Conduct of the Allies, and shows how
little regard in that negotiation had been shown to the interest of
England, and how much of the conquered country had been demanded by the
Dutch.
This was followed by Remarks on the Bishop of Sarum's Introduction to
his third volume of the History of the Reformation; a pamphlet which
Burnet published as an alarm, to warn the nation of the approach of
popery. Swift, who seems to have disliked the bishop with something more
than political aversion, treats him like one whom he is glad of an
opportunity to insult.
Swift, being now the declared favourite and supposed confidant of the
tory ministry, was treated by all that depended on the court with the
respect which dependants know how to pay. He soon began to feel part of
the misery of greatness; he that could say he knew him, considered
himself as having fortune in his power. Commissions, solicitations,
remonstrances crowded about him; he was expected to do every man's
business, to procure employment for one, and to retain it for another.
In assisting those who addressed him, he represents himself as
sufficiently diligent; and desires to have others believe, what he
probably believed himself, that by his interposition many whigs of
merit, and among them Addison and Congreve, were continued in their
places. But every man of known influence has so many petitions which he
cannot grant, that he must necessarily offend more than he gratifies,
because the preference given to one affords all the rest a reason for
complaint. "When I give away a place," said Lewis the fourteenth, "I
make a hundred discontented, and one ungrateful."
Much has been said of the equality and independence which he preserved
in his conversation with the ministers, of the frankness of his
remonstrances, and the familiarity of his friendship. In accounts of
this kind a few single incidents are set against the general tenour of
behaviour. No man, however, can pay a more servile tribute to the great,
than by suffering his liberty in their presence to aggrandize him in his
own esteem. Between different ranks of the community there is
necessarily some distance; he who is called by his superiour to pass the
interval, may properly accept the invitation; but petulance and
obtrusion are rarely produced by magnanimity; nor have often any nobler
cause than the pride of importance, and the malice of inferiority. He
who knows himself necessary may set, while that necessity lasts, a high
value upon himself; as, in a lower condition, a servant eminently
skilful may be saucy; but he is saucy only because he is servile. Swift
appears to have preserved the kindness of the great when they wanted him
no longer; and, therefore, it must be allowed, that the childish
freedom, to which he seems enough inclined, was overpowered by his
better qualities.
His disinterestedness has been likewise mentioned; a strain of heroism,
which would have been in his condition romantick and superfluous.
Ecclesiastical benefices, when they become vacant, must be given away;
and the friends of power may, if there be no inherent disqualification,
easonably expect them. Swift accepted, 1713, the deanery of St.
Patrick, the best preferment that his friends could venture[101] to give
him. That ministry was, in a great degree, supported by the clergy, who
were not yet reconciled to the author of the Tale of a Tub, and would
not, without much discontent and indignation, have borne to see him
installed in an English cathedral.
He refused, indeed, fifty pounds from lord Oxford; but he accepted,
afterwards, a draught of a thousand upon the exchequer, which was
intercepted by the queen's death, and which he resigned, as he says
himself, "multa gemens," with many a groan[102].
In the midst of his power and his politicks, he kept a journal of his
visits, his walks, his interviews with ministers, and quarrels with his
servant, and transmitted it to Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley, to whom he
knew that whatever befell him was interesting, and no accounts could be
too minute. Whether these diurnal trifles were properly exposed to eyes
which had never received any pleasure from the presence of the dean, may
be reasonably doubted: they have, however, some odd attraction; the
reader finding frequent mention of names which he has been used to
consider as important, goes on in hope of information; and, as there is
nothing to fatigue attention, if he is disappointed he can hardly
complain. It is easy to perceive, from every page, that though ambition
pressed Swift into a life of bustle, the wish for a life of ease was
always returning.
He went to take possession of his deanery as soon as he had obtained it;
but he was not suffered to stay in Ireland more than a fortnight, before
he was recalled to England, that he might reconcile lord Oxford and lord
Bolingbroke, who began to look on one another with malevolence, which
every day increased, and which Bolingbroke appeared to retain in his
last years.
Swift contrived an interview, from which they both departed
discontented: he procured a second, which only convinced him that the
feud was irreconcilable: he told them his opinion, that all was lost.
This denunciation was contradicted by Oxford; but Bolingbroke whispered
that he was right.
Before this violent dissension had shattered the ministry, Swift had
published, in the beginning of the year 1714, the publick Spirit of the
Whigs, in answer to the Crisis, a pamphlet for which Steele was expelled
from the house of commons. Swift was now so far alienated from Steele,
as to think him no longer entitled to decency, and, therefore, treats
him sometimes with contempt, and sometimes with abhorrence.
In this pamphlet the Scotch were mentioned in terms so provoking to that
irritable nation, that resolving "not to be offended with impunity," the
Scotch lords, in a body, demanded an audience of the queen, and
solicited reparation. A proclamation was issued, in which three hundred
pounds were offered for the discovery of the author. From this storm he
was, as he relates, "secured by a sleight;" of what kind, or by whose
prudence, is not known; and such was the increase of his reputation,
that the Scottish "nation applied again that he would be their friend."
He was become so formidable to the whigs, that his familiarity with the
ministers was clamoured at in parliament, particularly by two men,
afterwards of great note, Aislabie and Walpole.
But, by the disunion of his great friends, his importance and designs
were now at an end; and seeing his services at last useless, he retired,
about June, 1714, into Berkshire, where, in the house of a friend, he
wrote what was then suppressed, but has since appeared under the title
of Free Thoughts on the present State of Affairs.
While he was waiting in this retirement for events which time or chance
might bring to pass, the death of the queen broke down at once the whole
system of tory politicks; and nothing remained but to withdraw from the
implacability of triumphant whiggism, and shelter himself in unenvied
obscurity.
The accounts of his reception in Ireland, given by lord Orrery and Dr.
Delany, are so different, that the credit of the writers, both
undoubtedly veracious, cannot be saved, but by supposing, what I think
is true, that they speak of different times. When Delany says, that he
was received with respect, he means for the first fortnight, when he
came to take legal possession; and when lord Orrery tells that he was
pelted by the populace, he is to be understood of the time when, after
the queen's death, he became a settled resident.
The archbishop of Dublin gave him at first some disturbance in the
exercise of his jurisdiction; but it was soon discovered, that between
prudence and integrity he was seldom in the wrong; and that, when he was
right, his spirit did not easily yield to opposition.
Having so lately quitted the tumults of a party, and the intrigues of a
court, they still kept his thoughts in agitation, as the sea fluctuates
awhile when the storm has ceased. He, therefore, filled his hours with
some historical attempts, relating to the change of the ministers, and
the conduct of the ministry. He, likewise, is said to have written a
history of the four last years of queen Anne, which he began in her
lifetime, and afterwards laboured with great attention, but never
published. It was after his death in the hands of lord Orrery and Dr.
King. A book under that title was published with Swift's name, by Dr.
Lucas; of which I can only say, that it seemed by no means to correspond
with the notions that I had formed of it, from a conversation which I
once heard between the earl of Orrery and old Mr. Lewis.
Swift now, much against his will, commenced Irishman for life, and was
to contrive how he might be best accommodated in a country where he
considered himself as in a state of exile. It seems that his first
recourse was to piety. The thoughts of death rushed upon him, at this
time, with such incessant importunity, that they took possession of his
mind, when he first waked, for many years together.
He opened his house by a publick table two days a week, and found his
entertainments gradually frequented by more and more visitants of
learning among the men, and of elegance among the women. Mrs. Johnson
had left the country, and lived in lodgings not far from the deanery. On
his publick days she regulated the table, but appeared at it as a mere
guest, like other ladies.
On other days he often dined, at a stated price, with Mr. Worral, a
clergyman of his cathedral, whose house was recommended by the peculiar
neatness and pleasantry of his wife. To this frugal mode of living, he
was first disposed by care to pay some debts which he had contracted,
and he continued it for the pleasure of accumulating money. His avarice,
however, was not suffered to obstruct the claims of his dignity; he was
served in plate, and used to say, that he was the poorest gentleman in
Ireland that ate upon plate, and the richest that lived without a coach.
How he spent the rest of his time, and how he employed his hours of
study, has been inquired with hopeless curiosity. For who can give an
account of another's studies? Swift was not likely to admit any to his
privacies, or to impart a minute account of his business or his leisure.
Soon after, 1716, in his forty-ninth year, he was privately married to
Mrs. Johnson, by Dr. Ashe, bishop of Clogher, as Dr. Madden told me, in
the garden. The marriage made no change in their mode of life; they
lived in different houses, as before; nor did she ever lodge in the
deanery but when Swift was seized with a fit of giddiness. "It would be
difficult," says lord Orrery, "to prove that they were ever afterwards
together without a third person."
The dean of St. Patrick's lived in a private manner, known and regarded
only by his friends; till, about the year 1720, he, by a pamphlet,
recommended to the Irish the use, and, consequently, the improvement of
their manufacture. For a man to use the productions of his own labour is
surely a natural right, and to like best what he makes himself is a
natural passion. But to excite this passion, and enforce this right,
appeared so criminal to those who had an interest in the English trade,
that the printer was imprisoned; and, as Hawkesworth justly observes,
the attention of the publick being, by this outrageous resentment,
turned upon the proposal, the author was by consequence made popular.
In 1723 died Mrs. Van Homrigh, a woman made unhappy by her admiration of
wit, and ignominiously distinguished by the name of Vanessa, whose
conduct has been already sufficiently discussed, and whose history is
too well known to be minutely repeated. She was a young woman fond of
literature, whom Decanus, the dean, called Cadenus by transposition of
the letters, took pleasure in directing and instructing; till, from
being proud of his praise, she grew fond of his person. Swift was then
about forty-seven, at an age when vanity is strongly excited by the
amorous attention of a young woman. If it be said that Swift should have
checked a passion which he never meant to gratify, recourse must be had
to that extenuation which he so much despised, "men are but men:"
perhaps, however, he did not at first know his own mind, and, as he
represents himself, was undetermined. For his admission of her
courtship, and his indulgence of her hopes, after his marriage to
Stella, no other honest plea can be found than that he delayed a
disagreeable discovery from time to time, dreading the immediate bursts
of distress, and watching for a favourable moment. She thought herself
neglected, and died of disappointment; having ordered, by her will, the
poem to be published, in which Cadenus had proclaimed her excellence,
and confessed his love. The effect of the publication upon the dean and
Stella is thus related by Delany:
"I have good reason to believe that they both were greatly shocked and
distressed (though it may be differently) upon this occasion. The dean
made a tour to the south of Ireland, for about two months, at this time,
to dissipate his thoughts, and give place to obloquy. And Stella
retired, upon the earnest invitation of the owner, to the house of a
cheerful, generous, good-natured friend of the dean's, whom she also
much loved and honoured. There my informer often saw her; and, I have
reason to believe, used his utmost endeavours to relieve, support, and
amuse her, in this sad situation.
"One little incident he told me of on that occasion, I think I shall
never forget. As her friend was an hospitable, open-hearted man,
well-beloved and largely acquainted, it happened one day that some
gentlemen dropped in to dinner, who were strangers to Stella's
situation; and as the poem of Cadenus and Vanessa was then the general
topick of conversation, one of them said, 'Surely that Vanessa must be
an extraordinary woman, that could inspire the dean to write so finely
upon her.' Mrs. Johnson smiled, and answered, 'that she thought that
point not quite so clear; for it was well known the dean could write
finely upon a broomstick.'"
The great acquisition of esteem and influence was made by the Drapier's
Letters, in 1724. One Wood, of Wolverhampton, in Staffordshire, a man
enterprising and rapacious, had, as is said, by a present to the
dutchess of Munster, obtained a patent, empowering him to coin one
hundred and eighty thousand pounds of halfpence and farthings for the
kingdom of Ireland, in which there was a very inconvenient and
embarrassing scarcity of copper coin; so that it was possible to run in
debt upon the credit of a piece of money; for the cook or keeper of an
alehouse could not refuse to supply a man that had silver in his hand,
and the buyer would not leave his money without change.
The project was therefore plausible. The scarcity, which was already
great, Wood took care to make greater, by agents who gathered up the old
halfpence; and was about to turn his brass into gold, by pouring the
treasures of his new mint upon Ireland; when Swift, finding that the
metal was debased to an enormous degree, wrote letters, under the name
of M. B. Drapier, to show the folly of receiving, and the mischief that
must ensue by giving gold and silver for coin worth, perhaps, not a
third part of its nominal value.
The nation was alarmed; the new coin was universally refused; but the
governors of Ireland considered resistance to the king's patent as
highly criminal; and one Whitshed, then chief justice, who had tried the
printer of the former pamphlet, and sent out the jury nine times, till,
by clamour and menaces, they were frighted into a special verdict, now
presented the Drapier, but could not prevail on the grand jury to find
the bill.
Lord Carteret and the privy council published a proclamation, offering
three hundred pounds for discovering the author of the fourth letter.
Swift had concealed himself from his printers, and trusted only his
butler, who transcribed the paper. The man, immediately after the
appearance of the proclamation, strolled from the house, and staid out
all night, and part of the next day. There was reason enough to fear
that he had betrayed his master for the reward; but he came home, and
the dean ordered him to put off his livery, and leave the house; "for,"
says he, "I know that my life is in your power, and I will not bear, out
of fear, either your insolence or negligence." The man excused his fault
with great submission, and begged that he might be confined in the house
while it was in his power to endanger his master; but the dean
resolutely turned him out, without taking farther notice of him, till
the term of information had expired, and then received him again. Soon
afterwards he ordered him and the rest of the servants into his
presence, without telling his intentions, and bade them take notice that
their fellow-servant was no longer Robert the butler; but that his
integrity had made him Mr. Blakeney, verger of St. Patrick's; an officer
whose income was between thirty and forty pounds a year: yet he still
continued, for some years, to serve his old master as his butler[103].
Swift was known, from this time, by the appellation of _the dean_. He
was honoured by the populace as the champion, patron, and instructor of
Ireland; and gained such power as, considered both in its extent and
duration, scarcely any man has ever enjoyed without greater wealth or
higher station.
He was, from this important year, the oracle of the traders, and the
idol of the rabble, and by consequence was feared and courted by all to
whom the kindness of the traders or the populace was necessary. The
Drapier was a sign; the Drapier was a health; and which way soever the
eye or the ear was turned, some tokens were found of the nation's
gratitude to the Drapier.
The benefit was indeed great; he had rescued Ireland from a very
oppressive and predatory invasion; and the popularity which he had
gained he was diligent to keep, by appearing forward and zealous on
every occasion, where the publick interest was supposed to be involved.
Nor did he much scruple to boast his influence; for when, upon some
attempts to regulate the coin, archbishop Boulter, then one of the
justices, accused him of exasperating the people, he exculpated himself
by saying, "If I had lifted up my finger, they would have torn you to
pieces."
But the pleasure of popularity was soon interrupted by domestick misery.
Mrs. Johnson, whose conversation was to him the great softener of the
ills of life, began in the year of the Drapier's triumph to decline;
and, two years afterwards, was so wasted with sickness, that her
recovery was considered as hopeless.
Swift was then in England, and had been invited by lord Bolingbroke to
pass the winter with him in France, but this call of calamity hastened
him to Ireland; where, perhaps, his presence contributed to restore her
to imperfect and tottering health.
He was now so much at ease, that, 1727, he returned to England; where he
collected three volumes of Miscellanies, in conjunction with Pope, who
prefixed a querulous and apologetical preface.
This important year sent likewise into the world, Gulliver's Travels; a
production so new and strange, that it filled the reader with a mingled
emotion of merriment and amazement. It was received with such avidity,
that the price of the first edition was raised before the second could
be made; it was read by the high and the low, the learned and
illiterate. Criticism was for awhile lost in wonder; no rules of
judgment were applied to a book written in open defiance of truth and
regularity. But when distinctions came to be made, the part which gave
the least pleasure was that which describes the Flying island, and that
which gave most disgust must be the history of the Houyhnhnms.
While Swift was enjoying the reputation of his new work, the news of the
king's death arrived; and he kissed the hands of the new king and queen
three days after their accession.
By the queen, when she was princess, he had been treated with some
distinction, and was well received by her in her exaltation; but whether
she gave hopes which she never took care to satisfy, or he formed
expectations which she never meant to raise, the event was, that he
always afterwards thought on her with malevolence, and particularly
charged her with breaking her promise of some medals which she engaged
to send him.
I know not whether she had not, in her turn, some reason for complaint.
A letter was sent her, not so much entreating, as requiring her
patronage of Mrs. Barber, an ingenious Irishwoman, who was then begging
subscriptions for her poems. To this letter was subscribed the name of
Swift, and it has all the appearances of his diction and sentiments; but
it was not written in his hand, and had some little improprieties. When
he was charged with this letter, he laid hold of the inaccuracies, and
urged the improbability of the accusation; but never denied it; he
shuffles between cowardice and veracity, and talks big when he says
nothing[104].
He seemed desirous enough of recommencing courtier, and endeavoured to
gain the kindness of Mrs. Howard, remembering what Mrs. Masham had
performed in former times: but his flatteries were like those of other
wits, unsuccessful; the lady either wanted power, or had no ambition of
poetical immortality.
He was seized not long afterwards by a fit of giddiness, and again heard
of the sickness and danger of Mrs. Johnson. He then left the house of
Pope, as it seems, with very little ceremony, finding "that two sick
friends cannot live together;" and did not write to him till he found
himself at Chester.
He turned to a home of sorrow: poor Stella was sinking into the grave,
and, after a languishing decay of about two months, died in her
forty-fourth year, on January 28, 1728. How much he wished her life, his
papers show; nor can it be doubted that he dreaded the death of her whom
he loved most, aggravated by the consciousness that himself had hastened
it.
Beauty and the power of pleasing, the greatest external advantages that
woman can desire or possess, were fatal to the unfortunate Stella. The
man whom she had the misfortune to love was, as Delany observes, fond of
singularity, and desirous to make a mode of happiness for himself,
different from the general course of things and order of providence.
From the time of her arrival in Ireland he seems resolved to keep her in
his power, and, therefore, hindered a match sufficiently advantageous,
by accumulating unreasonable demands, and prescribing conditions that
could not be performed. While she was at her own disposal he did not
consider his possession as secure; resentment, ambition, or caprice,
might separate them; he was, therefore, resolved to make "assurance
doubly sure," and to appropriate her by a private marriage, to which he
had annexed the expectation of all the pleasures of perfect friendship,
without the uneasiness of conjugal restraint. But with this state poor
Stella was not satisfied; she never was treated as a wife, and to the
world she had the appearance of a mistress. She lived sullenly on, in
hope that in time he would own and receive her; but the time did not
come till the change of his manners and depravation of his mind made her
tell him, when he offered to acknowledge her, that "it was too late."
She then gave up herself to sorrowful resentment, and died under the
tyranny of him, by whom she was in the highest degree loved and
honoured.
What were her claims to this eccentrick tenderness, by which the laws of
nature were violated to retain her, curiosity will inquire; but how
shall it be gratified? Swift was a lover; his testimony may be
suspected. Delany and the Irish saw with Swift's eyes, and, therefore,
add little confirmation. That she was virtuous, beautiful, and elegant,
in a very high degree, such admiration from such a lover makes it very
probable: but she had not much literature, for she could not spell her
own language; and of her wit, so loudly vaunted, the smart sayings which
Swift himself has collected afford no splendid specimen.
The reader of Swift's Letter to a Lady on her Marriage, may be allowed
to doubt whether his opinion of female excellence ought implicitly to be
admitted; for, if his general thoughts on women were such as he
exhibits, a very little sense in a lady would enrapture, and a very
little virtue would astonish him. Stella's supremacy, therefore, was,
perhaps, only local; she was great, because her associates were little.
In some remarks lately published on the Life of Swift, this marriage is
mentioned as fabulous, or doubtful; but, alas! poor Stella, as Dr.
Madden told me, related her melancholy story to Dr. Sheridan, when he
attended her as a clergyman to prepare her for death; and Delany
mentions it not with doubt, but only with regret. Swift never mentioned
her without a sigh. The rest of his life was spent in Ireland, in a
country to which not even power almost despotick, nor flattery almost
idolatrous, could reconcile him. He sometimes wished to visit England,
but always found some reason of delay. He tells Pope, in the decline of
life, that he hopes once more to see him; "but if not," says he, "we
must part as all human beings have parted."
After the death of Stella, his benevolence was contracted, and his
severity exasperated; he drove his acquaintance from his table, and
wondered why he was deserted. But he continued his attention to the
publick, and wrote, from time to time, such directions, admonitions, or
censures, as the exigency of affairs, in his opinion, made proper; and
nothing fell from his pen in vain.
In a short poem on the presbyterians, whom he always regarded with
detestation, he bestowed one stricture upon Bettesworth, a lawyer
eminent for his insolence to the clergy, which, from very considerable
reputation, brought him into immediate and universal contempt.
Bettesworth, enraged at his disgrace and loss, went to Swift, and
demanded whether he was the author of that poem? "Mr. Bettesworth,"
answered he, "I was in my youth acquainted with great lawyers, who,
knowing my disposition to satire, advised me, that if any scoundrel or
blockhead whom I had lampooned should ask, 'Are you the author of this
paper?' I should tell him that I was not the author; and, therefore, I
tell you, Mr. Bettesworth, that I am not the author of these lines."
Bettesworth was so little satisfied with this account, that he publickly
professed his resolution of a violent and corporal revenge; but the
inhabitants of St. Patrick's district embodied themselves in the dean's
defence. Bettesworth declared in parliament, that Swift had deprived him
of twelve hundred pounds a year.
Swift was popular awhile by another mode of beneficence. He set aside
some hundreds to be lent in small sums to the poor, from five shillings,
I think, to five pounds. He took no interest, and only required that, at
repayment, a small fee should be given to the accomptant; but he
required that the day of promised payment should be exactly kept. A
severe and punctilious temper is ill qualified for transactions with the
poor: the day was often broken, and the loan was not repaid. This might
have been easily foreseen; but for this Swift had made no provision of
patience or pity. He ordered his debtors to be sued. A severe creditor
has no popular character; what then was likely to be said of him who
employs the catchpoll under the appearance of charity? The clamour
against him was loud, and the resentment of the populace outrageous; he
was, therefore, forced to drop his scheme, and own the folly of
expecting punctuality from the poor[105].
His asperity continually increasing, condemned him to solitude; and his
resentment of solitude sharpened his asperity. He was not, however,
totally deserted; some men of learning, and some women of elegance,
often visited him; and he wrote, from time to time, either verse or
prose; of his verses he willingly gave copies, and is supposed to have
felt no discontent when he saw them printed. His favourite maxim was,
"Vive la bagatelle;" he thought trifles a necessary part of life, and,
perhaps, found them necessary to himself. It seems impossible to him to
be idle, and his disorders made it difficult or dangerous to be long
seriously studious, or laboriously diligent. The love of ease is always
gaining upon age, and he had one temptation to petty amusements peculiar
to himself; whatever he did, he was sure to hear applauded; and such was
his predominance over all that approached, that all their applauses were
probably sincere. He that is much flattered, soon learns to flatter
himself: we are commonly taught our duty by fear or shame, and how can
they act upon the man who hears nothing but his own praises?
As his years increased, his fits of giddiness and deafness grew more
frequent, and his deafness made conversation difficult; they grew
likewise more severe, till in 1736, as he was writing a poem called the
Legion Club, he was seized with a fit so painful and so long continued,
that he never after thought it proper to attempt any work of thought or
labour.
He was always careful of his money, and was, therefore, no liberal
entertainer; but was less frugal of his wine than of his meat. When his
friends of either sex came to him, in expectation of a dinner, his
custom was to give every one a shilling, that they might please
themselves with their provision. At last his avarice grew too powerful
for his kindness; he would refuse a bottle of wine, and in Ireland no
man visits where he cannot drink.
Having thus excluded conversation, and desisted from study, he had
neither business nor amusement; for, having by some ridiculous
resolution, or mad vow, determined never to wear spectacles, he could
make little use of books in his later years; his ideas, therefore, being
neither renovated by discourse, nor increased by reading, wore gradually
away, and left his mind vacant to the vexations of the hour, till, at
last, his anger was heightened into madness.
He, however, permitted one book to be published, which had been the
production of former years; Polite Conversation, which appeared in 1738.
The Directions for Servants was printed soon after his death. These two
performances show a mind incessantly attentive, and, when it was not
employed upon great things, busy with minute occurrences. It is
apparent, that he must have had the habit of noting whatever he
observed; for such a number of particulars could never have been
assembled by the power of recollection.
He grew more violent, and his mental powers declined, till, 1741, it was
found necessary that legal guardians should be appointed of his person
and fortune. He now lost distinction. His madness was compounded of rage
and fatuity. The last face that he knew was that of Mrs. Whiteway; and
her he ceased to know in a little time. His meat was brought him cut
into mouthfuls; but he would never touch it while the servant staid,
and, at last, after it had stood perhaps an hour, would eat it walking;
for he continued his old habit, and was on his feet ten hours a day.
Next year, 1742, he had an inflammation in his left eye, which swelled
it to the size of an egg, with biles in other parts; he was kept long
waking with the pain, and was not easily restrained by five attendants
from tearing out his eye.
The tumour at last subsided; and a short interval of reason ensuing, in
which he knew his physician and his family, gave hopes of his recovery;
but in a few days he sunk into a lethargick stupidity, motionless,
heedless, and speechless. But it is said, that, after a year of total
silence, when his house-keeper, on the 30th of November, told him that
the usual bonfires and illuminations were preparing to celebrate his
birthday, he answered, "It is all folly; they had better let it alone."
It is remembered, that he afterwards spoke now and then, or gave some
intimation of a meaning; but at last sunk into perfect silence, which
continued till about the end of October, 1745, when, in his
seventy-eighth year, he expired without a struggle.
* * * * *
When Swift is considered as an author, it is just to estimate his powers
by their effects. In the reign of queen Anne he turned the stream of
popularity against the whigs, and must be confessed to have dictated,
for a time, the political opinions of the English nation. In the
succeeding reign he delivered Ireland from plunder and oppression; and
showed that wit, confederated with truth, had such force as authority
was unable to resist. He said truly of himself, that Ireland "was his
debtor." It was from the time when he first began to patronise the
Irish, that they may date their riches and prosperity. He taught them
first to know their own interest, their weight, and their strength, and
gave them spirit to assert that equality with their fellow-subjects to
which they have ever since been making vigorous advances, and to claim
those rights which they have at last established. Nor can they be
charged with ingratitude to their benefactor; for they reverenced him as
a guardian, and obeyed him as a dictator.
In his works he has given very different specimens both of sentiment
and expression. His Tale of a Tub has little resemblance to his other
pieces. It exhibits a vehemence and rapidity of mind, a copiousness of
images, and vivacity of diction, such as he afterwards never possessed,
or never exerted. It is of a mode so distinct and peculiar, that it must
be considered by itself; what is true of that, is not true of any thing
else which he has written.
In his other works is found an equable tenour of easy language, which
rather trickles than flows. His delight was in simplicity. That he has
in his works no metaphor, as has been said, is not true; but his few
metaphors seem to be received rather by necessity than choice. He
studied purity; and though, perhaps, all his strictures are not exact,
yet it is not often that solecisms can be found; and whoever depends on
his authority may generally conclude himself safe. His sentences are
never too much dilated or contracted; and it will not be easy to find
any embarrassment in the complication of his clauses, any inconsequence
in his connexions, or abruptness in his transitions.
His style was well suited to his thoughts, which are never subtilised by
nice disquisitions, decorated by sparkling conceits, elevated by
ambitious sentences, or variegated by far-sought learning. He pays no
court to the passions; he excites neither surprise nor admiration: he
always understands himself; and his reader always understands him: the
peruser of Swift wants little previous knowledge; it will be sufficient
that he is acquainted with common words and common things; he is neither
required to mount elevations, nor to explore profundities; his passage
is always on a level, along solid ground, without asperities, without
obstruction.
This easy and safe conveyance of meaning it was Swift's desire to
attain, and for having attained he deserves praise, though, perhaps, not
the highest praise. For purposes merely didactick, when something is to
be told that was not known before, it is the best mode; but against that
inattention by which known truths are suffered to lie neglected, it
makes no provision; it instructs, but does not persuade.
By his political education he was associated with the whigs; but he
deserted them when they deserted their principles, yet without running
into the contrary extreme; he continued throughout his life to retain
the disposition which he assigns to the Church of England Man, of
thinking commonly with the whigs of the state, and with the tories of
the church.
He was a churchman rationally zealous; he desired the prosperity, and
maintained the honour of the clergy; of the dissenters he did not wish
to infringe the toleration, but he opposed their encroachments.
To his duty as dean he was very attentive. He managed the revenues of
his church with exact economy; and it is said by Delany, that more money
was, under his direction, laid out in repairs, than had ever been in the
same time since its first erection. Of his choir he was eminently
careful; and, though he neither loved nor understood musick, took care
that all the singers were well qualified, admitting none without the
testimony of skilful judges.
In his church he restored the practice of weekly communion, and
distributed the sacramental elements in the most solemn and devout
manner with his own hand. He came to church every morning, preached
commonly in his turn, and attended the evening anthem, that it might not
be negligently performed.
He read the service, "rather with a strong, nervous voice, than in a
graceful manner; his voice was sharp and high-toned, rather than
harmonious."
He entered upon the clerical state with hope to excel in preaching; but
complained, that, from the time of his political controversies, "he
could only preach pamphlets." This censure of himself, if judgment be
made from those sermons which have been published, was unreasonably
severe.
The suspicions of his irreligion proceeded, in a great measure, from
his dread of hypocrisy; instead of wishing to seem better, he delighted
in seeming worse than he was. He went in London to early prayers, lest
he should be seen at church; he read prayers to his servants every
morning with such dexterous secrecy, that Dr. Delany was six months in
his house before he knew it. He was not only careful to hide the good
which he did, but willingly incurred the suspicion of evil which he did
not. He forgot what himself had formerly asserted, that hypocrisy is
less mischievous than open impiety. Dr. Delany, with all his zeal for
his honour, has justly condemned this part of his character.
The person of Swift had not many recommendations. He had a kind of muddy
complexion, which, though he washed himself with oriental scrupulosity,
did not look clear. He had a countenance sour and severe, which he
seldom softened by any appearance of gaiety. He stubbornly resisted any
tendency to laughter.
To his domesticks he was naturally rough; and a man of a rigorous
temper, with that vigilance of minute attention which his works
discover, must have been a master that few could bear. That he was
disposed to do his servants good, on important occasions, is no great
mitigation; benefaction can be but rare, and tyrannick peevishness is
perpetual. He did not spare the servants of others. Once, when he dined
alone with the earl of Orrery, he said of one that waited in the room,
"That man has, since we sat to the table, committed fifteen faults."
What the faults were, lord Orrery, from whom I heard the story, had not
been attentive enough to discover. My number may, perhaps, not be exact.
In his economy he practised a peculiar and offensive parsimony, without
disguise or apology. The practice of saving being once necessary, became
habitual, and grew first ridiculous and at last detestable. But his
avarice, though it might exclude pleasure, was never suffered to
encroach upon his virtue. He was frugal by inclination, but liberal by
principle; and if the purpose to which he destined his little
accumulations be remembered, with his distribution of occasional
charity, it will, perhaps, appear, that he only liked one mode of
expense better than another, and saved, merely that he might have
something to give. He did not grow rich by injuring his successors, but
left both Laracor and the deanery more valuable than he found them. With
all this talk of his covetousness and generosity, it should be
remembered that he was never rich. The revenue of his deanery was not
much more than seven hundred a year.
His beneficence was not graced with tenderness or civility; he relieved
without pity, and assisted without kindness; so that those who were fed
by him could hardly love him.
He made a rule to himself to give but one piece at a time, and,
therefore, always stored his pocket with coins of different value.
Whatever he did, he seemed willing to do in a manner peculiar to
himself, without sufficiently considering, that singularity, as it
implies a contempt of the general practice, is a kind of defiance which
justly provokes the hostility of ridicule; he, therefore, who indulges
peculiar habits, is worse than others, if he be not better.
Of his humour, a story told by Pope[106] may afford a specimen.
"Dr. Swift has an odd, blunt way, that is mistaken by strangers for
ill-nature. 'Tis so odd, that there's no describing it but by facts. I'll
tell you one that first comes into my head. One evening, Gay and I went
to see him: you know how intimately we were all acquainted. On our
coming in, 'Heyday, gentlemen, (says the Doctor,) what's the meaning of
this visit? How came you to leave all the great lords that you are so
fond of, to come hither to see a poor dean?' 'Because we would rather
see you than any of them.' 'Aye, any one that did not know so well as I
do might believe you. But since you are come, I must get some supper for
you, I suppose.' 'No, doctor, we have supped already.' 'Supped already?
that's impossible! why, 'tis not eight o'clock yet. That's very strange;
but if you had not supped, I must have got something for you. Let me
see, what should I have had? A couple of lobsters; aye, that would have
done very well; two shillings--tarts, a shilling: but you will drink a
glass of wine with me, though you supped so much before your usual time
only to spare my pocket?' 'No, we had rather talk with you than drink
with you.' 'But, if you had supped with me, as in all reason you ought
to have done, you must then have drunk with me. A bottle of wine, two
shillings--two and two is four, and one is five: just two and sixpence
apiece. There, Pope, there's half a crown for you, and there's another
for you, sir; for I won't save any thing by you, I am determined.' This
was all said and done with his usual seriousness on such occasions; and,
in spite of every thing we could say to the contrary, he actually
obliged us to take the money."
In the intercourse of familiar life, he indulged his disposition to
petulance and sarcasm, and thought himself injured if the licentiousness
of his raillery, the freedom of his censures, or the petulance of his
frolicks was resented or repressed. He predominated over his companions
with very high ascendency, and, probably, would bear none over whom he
could not predominate. To give him advice was, in the style of his
friend Delany, "to venture to speak to him." This customary superiority
soon grew too delicate for truth; and Swift, with all his penetration,
allowed himself to be delighted with low flattery.
On all common occasions, he habitually affects a style of arrogance, and
dictates rather than persuades. This authoritative and magisterial
language he expected to be received as his peculiar mode of jocularity:
but he, apparently, flattered his own arrogance by an assumed
imperiousness, in which he was ironical only to the resentful, and to
the submissive sufficiently serious.
He told stories with great felicity, and delighted in doing what he knew
himself to do well; he was, therefore, captivated by the respectful
silence of a steady listener, and told the same tales too often.
He did not, however, claim the right of talking alone; for it was his
rule, when he had spoken a minute, to give room, by a pause, for any
other speaker. Of time, on all occasions, he was an exact computer, and
knew the minutes required to every common operation.
It may be justly supposed that there was in his conversation, what
appears so frequently in his letters, an affectation of familiarity with
the great, an ambition of momentary equality sought and enjoyed by the
neglect of those ceremonies which custom has established as the barriers
between one order of society and another. This transgression of
regularity was, by himself and his admirers, termed greatness of soul.
But a great mind disdains to hold any thing by courtesy, and, therefore,
never usurps what a lawful claimant may take away. He that encroaches on
another's dignity, puts himself in his power; he is either repelled with
helpless indignity, or endured by clemency and condescension.
Of Swift's general habits of thinking, if his letters can be supposed to
afford any evidence, he was not a man to be either loved or envied. He
seems to have wasted life in discontent, by the rage of neglected pride,
and the languishment of unsatisfied desire. He is querulous and
fastidious, arrogant and malignant; he scarcely speaks of himself but
with indignant lamentations, or of others but with insolent superiority
when he is gay, and with angry contempt when he is gloomy. From the
letters that pass between him and Pope it might be inferred that they,
with Arbuthnot and Gay, had engrossed all the understanding and virtue
of mankind; that their merits filled the world; or that there was no
hope of more. They show the age involved in darkness, and shade the
picture with sullen emulation.
When the queen's death drove him into Ireland, he might be allowed to
regret, for a time, the interception of his views, the extinction of his
hopes, and his ejection from gay scenes, important employment, and
splendid friendships; but when time had enabled reason to prevail over
vexation, the complaints which at first were natural, became ridiculous,
because they were useless. But querulousness was now grown habitual, and
he cried out when he probably had ceased to feel. His reiterated
wailings persuaded Bolingbroke that he was really willing to quit his
deanery for an English parish; and Bolingbroke procured an exchange,
which was rejected; and Swift still retained the pleasure of
complaining.
The greatest difficulty that occurs, in analyzing his character, is to
discover by what depravity of intellect he took delight in revolving
ideas, from which almost every other mind shrinks with disgust. The
ideas of pleasure, even when criminal, may solicit the imagination; but
what has disease, deformity, and filth, upon which the thoughts can be
allured to dwell? Delany is willing to think that Swift's mind was not
much tainted with this gross corruption before his long visit to Pope.
He does not consider how he degrades his hero, by making him at
fifty-nine the pupil of turpitude, and liable to the malignant influence
of an ascendant mind. But the truth is that Gulliver had described his
yahoos before the visit; and he that had formed those images had nothing
filthy to learn.
I have here given the character of Swift as he exhibits himself to my
perception; but now let another be heard who knew him better. Dr.
Delany, after long acquaintance, describes him to lord Orrery in these
terms:
"My lord, when you consider Swift's singular, peculiar, and most
variegated vein of wit, always intended rightly, although not always so
rightly directed; delightful in many instances, and salutary even where
it is most offensive: when you consider his strict truth, his fortitude
in resisting oppression and arbitrary power; his fidelity in friendship;
his sincere love and zeal for religion; his uprightness in making right
resolutions, and his steadiness in adhering to them; his care of his
church, its choir, its economy, and its income; his attention to all
those that preached in his cathedral, in order to their amendment in
pronunciation and style; as also his remarkable attention to the
interest of his successors, preferably to his own present emoluments;
his invincible patriotism, even to a country which he did not love; his
very various, well-devised, well-judged, and extensive charities,
throughout his life; and his whole fortune (to say nothing of his
wife's) conveyed to the same christian purposes at his death; charities,
from which he could enjoy no honour, advantage, or satisfaction of any
kind in this world; when you consider his ironical and humorous, as well
as his serious schemes, for the promotion of true religion and virtue;
his success in soliciting for the first-fruits and twentieths, to the
unspeakable benefit of the established church of Ireland; and his
felicity (to rate it no higher) in giving occasion to the building of
fifty new churches in London:
"All this considered, the character of his life will appear like that of
his writings; they will both bear to be reconsidered and reexamined with
the utmost attention, and always discover new beauties and excellencies
upon every examination.
"They will bear to be considered as the sun, in which the brightness
will hide the blemishes; and whenever petulant ignorance, pride, malice,
malignity, or envy, interposes to cloud or sully his fame, I take upon
me to pronounce, that the eclipse will not last long.
"To conclude--No man ever deserved better of any country, than Swift did
of his; a steady, persevering, inflexible friend; a wise, a watchful,
and a faithful counsellor, under many severe trials and bitter
persecutions, to the manifest hazard both of his liberty and fortune.
"He lived a blessing, he died a benefactor, and his name will ever live
an honour to Ireland."
* * * * *
In the poetical works of Dr. Swift, there is not much upon which the
critick can exercise his powers. They are often humorous, almost always
light, and have the qualities which recommend such compositions,
easiness and gaiety.
They are, for the most part, what their author intended. The diction is
correct, the numbers are smooth, and the rhymes exact. There seldom
occurs a hard-laboured expression, or a redundant epithet; all his
verses exemplify his own definition of a good style, they consist of
"proper words in proper places."
To divide this collection into classes, and show how some pieces are
gross, and some are trifling, would be to tell the reader what he knows
already, and to find faults of which the author could not be ignorant,
who certainly wrote often not to his judgment, but his humour.
It was said, in a preface to one of the Irish editions, that Swift had
never been known to take a single thought from any writer, ancient or
modern. This is not literally true; but, perhaps, no writer can easily
be found that has borrowed so little, or that, in all his excellencies
and all his defects, has so well maintained his claim to be considered
as original.
-----
[Footnote 92: Mr. Sheridan, in his Life of Swift, observes, that this
account was really written by the dean, and now exists in his own
handwriting in the library of Dublin college. R.]
[Footnote 93: Spence's Anecdotes, vol. ii. p. 273.]
[Footnote 94: The words _speciali gratia_, or _per specialem gratium_,
were used in the record of his degree in the college of Dublin; but were
never entered in any _testimonium_, which merely states the fact of a
degree having been taken, and, therefore, the account that they were
omitted as a favour to Swift is incorrect.]
[Footnote 95: The affecting and amiable circumstances attending this
resignation are not mentioned by Johnson, but may be seen in Sheridan's
Life of Swift, p. 21, 22.]
[Footnote 96: The publisher of this collection was John Dunton. R.]
[Footnote 97: How does it appear that Stella's father was steward to sir
William Temple? In his will he does not say one word of her father's
services, and did not leave Esther Johnson a thousand pounds, but a
lease. His bequest runs thus: "I leave the lease of some lands I have in
Morris-town, in the county of Wicklow, in Ireland, to Esther Johnson,
_servant_ to my sister Gifford." M.]
[Footnote 98: See Sheridan's Life, edit. 1784, p. 525; where are some
remarks on this passage. R.]
[Footnote 99: The whole story of this bishoprick is a very blind one.
That it was ever intended for Swift, or that Sharpe and the dutchess of
Somerset ever dissuaded queen Anne from promoting him, is not
ascertained by any satisfactory evidence. M.]
[Footnote 100: Mr. Sheridan, however, says, that Addison's last Whig
Examiner was published October 12, 1711; and Swift's first Examiner, on
the 10th of the following November. R.]
[Footnote 101: This emphatic word has not escaped the watchful eye of
Dr. Warton, who has placed a nota bene at it.]
[Footnote 102: See this affair very differently represented in Swift's
Panegyrist, Sheridan, p. 530.]
[Footnote 103: An account somewhat different from this is given by Mr.
Sheridan, in his Life of Swift, p. 511. R.]
[Footnote 104: It is but justice to the dean's memory, to refer to Mr.
Sheridan's defence of him from this charge. See the Life of Swift, p.
458. R.]
[Footnote 105: This account is contradicted by Mr. Sheridan, who, with
great warmth, asserts, from his own knowledge, that there was not one
syllable of truth in this whole account from the beginning to the end.
See Life of Swift, edit. 1784, p. 532. R.]
[Footnote 106: Spence.]