[Illustration]
The principal scenes of residence of Dean Swift lie in Ireland. Johnson,
in his life of the dean, makes it doubtful whether he was really an
Englishman or an Irishman by birth. He says: "Jonathan Swift was,
according to an account said to be written by himself, 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. 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."
There has long ceased to be any obscurity about the matter. His
relations, justly proud of the connection, have set that fully in the
light which Swift himself characteristically wrapped in mystification.
He was of an English family, originally of Yorkshire, but his
grandfather Thomas Swift was vicar of Goodrich in Herefordshire. Taking
an active part with Charles I. against the Parliament, he was expelled
from his living; yet he died at Goodrich, and was buried under the altar
there. The account of the plundering of his parsonage by the Parliament
army, given in the appendix to Scott's life of the dean, is so lively a
description of such an affair, that I will transcribe it:
"When the Earl of Stamford was in Herefordshire, in October, 1642, and
pillaged all that kept faith and allegiance to the king, information was
given to Mrs. Swift, wife of Thomas Swift, parson of Goodrich, that her
house was designed to be plundered. To prevent so great a danger, she
instantly repaired to Hereford, where the earl then was, some ten miles
from her own home, to petition him that no violence might be offered to
her house or goods. He most nobly, and according to the goodness of his
disposition, threw the petition away, and swore no small oaths that she
should be plundered to-morrow. The good gentlewoman, being out of hope
to prevail, and seeing that there was no good to be done by petitioning
him, speeds home as fast as she could, and that night removed as much of
her goods as the shortness of the time would permit. Next morning, to
make good the Earl of Stamford's word, Captain Kirle's troop, consisting
of seventy horse and thirty foot, which were hangers on--birds of prey,
came to Mr. Swift's house. There they took away all his provision of
victuals, corn, household stuff, which was not conveyed away. They empty
his beds, and fill the ticks with malt; they rob him of his cart and six
horses, and make this part of their theft the means to convey away the
rest. Mrs. Swift, much affrighted to see such a sight as this, thought
it best to save herself, though she lost her goods; therefore, taking up
a young child in her arms, began to secure herself by flight, which one
of the troopers perceiving, he commanded her to stay, or, holding a
pistol to her breast, threatened to shoot her dead. She, good woman,
fearing death whether she went or returned, at last, shunning that death
which was next unto her, she retires back to her house, where she saw
herself undone, and yet durst not oppose, or ask why they did so. Having
thus rifled the house and gone, next morning early she goes again to
Hereford, and there again petitions the earl to show some compassion to
her and her ten children, and that he would be pleased to cause her
horses and some part of her goods to be restored to her. The good earl
was so far from granting her petition, that he would not vouchsafe so
much as to read it. When she could not prevail herself, she makes use of
the mediation of friends. These have the repulse also, his lordship
remaining inexorable, without any inclination to mercy. At last, hoping
that all men's hearts were not adamant relentless, she leaves the earl,
and makes her addresses to Captain Kirle, who, upon her earnest
entreaty, grants her a protection for what was left; but for
restitution, there was no hope of that. This protection cost her no less
than thirty shillings. It seems paper and ink are dear in those parts.
And now, thinking herself secure in his protection, she returns home, in
hope that what was left she might enjoy in peace and quietness. She had
not been long at home ere Captain Kirle sends her word that, if it
pleased her, she might buy four of her own six horses again, assuring
her, by her father's servant and tenant, that she should not fear being
plundered any more by the Earl of Stamford's forces while they were in
those parts. Encouraged by these promises, she was content to buy her
own, and deposited eight pounds ten shillings for four of her horses.
And now, conceiving the storm to be blown over, and all danger past, and
placing much confidence in her purchased protection, she causes all her
goods secured in her neighbor's houses to be brought home; and since it
could not be better, rejoiced that she had not lost all. She had not
enjoyed these thoughts long ere Captain Kirle sent unto her for some
vessels of cider, whereof having tasted, but not liking it, since he
could not have drink for himself he would have provender for his horses,
and therefore, instead of cider, he demands ten bushels of oats. Mrs.
Swift, seeing that the denial might give some ground for a quarrel, sent
him word that her husband had not two bushels of oats in a year for
tithes, nor did they grow any on their glebe, both of which were most
true. Yet, to show how willing she was, to her power, to comply with
him, that the messengers might not return empty, she sent him forty
shillings to buy oats. Suddenly after, the captain of Goodridge castle
sends to Mr. Swift's house for victual and corn. Mrs. Swift instantly
shows him her protection. He, to answer show with show, shows her his
warrant; and so, without any regard to her protection, seizeth upon that
provision which was in the house, together with the cider which Captain
Kirle had refused. Hereupon Mrs. Swift writes to Captain Kirle,
complaining of this injury, and the affront done to him in slighting his
protection; but before the messenger could return with an answer to her
letter, some from the castle came a second time to plunder the house,
and they did what they came for. Presently after comes a letter from
Captain Kirle in answer to Mrs. Swift's, that the Earl of Stamford did
by no means approve of the injuries done to her, and withal, by word of
mouth, sends to her for more oats. She, perceiving that as long as she
gave they would never leave asking, resolved to be drilled no more. The
return not answering expectation, on the third of December, Captain
Kirle's lieutenant, attended by a considerable number of dragoons, comes
to Mr. Swift's house and demands entrance; but the doors being kept shut
against them, and not being able to force them, they broke down two iron
bars in a stone window, and so, with swords drawn and pistols cocked,
they enter the house. Being entered, they take all Master Swift's and
his wife's apparel, his books and his children's clothes, they being in
bed; and these poor children that hung by their clothes, they being
unwilling to part with them, they swung them about until, their
hold-fast failing, they dashed them against the walls. They took away
all his servants' clothes, and made so clean work with one that they
left him not a shirt to cover his nakedness. There was one of the
children, an infant, lying in the cradle; they robbed that, and left not
the poor soul a rag to defend it from the cold. They took away all the
iron, pewter, and brass; and a very fair cupboard of glasses, which they
could not carry away, they broke to pieces; and the four horses lately
redeemed are with them lawful prize again, and nothing left of all the
goods but a few stools, for his wife, children, and servants to sit down
and bemoan their distressed condition. Having taken away all, and being
gone, Mrs. Swift, in compassion to her poor infant in the cradle, took
it up, almost starved with cold, and wrapped it in a petticoat which she
took off from herself; and now hoped that having nothing to lose would
be a better protection for their persons than that which they purchased
of Captain Kirle for thirty shillings. But, as if Job's messenger would
never make an end, her three maid-servants, whom they in the castle had
compelled to carry the poultry to the castle, return and tell their
mistress that they in the castle said they had a warrant to seize upon
Mrs. Swift and bring her into the castle, and they would make her three
maid-servants wait on her there, and added things not fit for them to
speak nor us to write. Hereupon Mrs. Swift fled to the place where her
husband, for fear of the rebels, had withdrawn himself. She had not been
gone two hours before they come from the castle, and bring with them
three teams to carry away what was before designed for plunder, but
wanted means of conveyance. When they came there was a batch of bread
hot in the oven. This they seize on; her children, on their knees,
entreat but for one loaf, and at last, with much importunity, obtained
it; but before the children had eaten it, they took even that one loaf
away, and left them destitute of a morsel of bread among ten children.
Ransacking every corner of the house that nothing might be left behind,
they find a small pewter dish in which the dry-nurse had put pap to feed
the poor infant, the mother who gave it suck being fled to save her
life. This they seize on too. The nurse entreats, for God's sake, that
they would spare that, pleading that, in the mother's absence, it was
all the substance which was or could be provided to sustain the life of
the child, that 'knew not the right hand from the left,' a motive which
prevailed with God himself, though justly incensed against Nineveh.
"Master Swift's eldest son, a youth, seeing this barbarous cruelty,
demanded of them a reason for this so hard usage. They replied that his
father was a traitor to the king and Parliament, and added, that they
would keep them so short that they would eat the very flesh from their
arms; and to make good their word, they threaten the miller, that if he
ground any corn for these children, they would grind him in his own
mill; and not contented with this, they go to Mr. Swift's next neighbor,
whose daughter was his servant, and take him prisoner: they examine him
on oath what goods of Mr. Swift's he had in his custody. He professing
that he had none, they charge him to take his daughter away from Mr.
Swift's service, or else they threaten to plunder him; and to make sure
work, they make him give them security to obey all their commands.
Terrified with this, the neighbors stand afar off, and pity the
distressed condition of these persecuted children, but dare not come or
send to their relief. By this means the children and servants had no
sustenance, hardly any thing to cover them, from Friday, six o'clock at
night, until Saturday, twelve at night, until at last, the neighbors,
moved with the lamentable cries and complaints of the children and
servants, one of the neighbors, overlooking all difficulties, and
showing that he durst be charitable in despite of these monsters,
ventured in, and brought them some provision. And if the world would
know what it was that so exasperated these rebels against this
gentleman, the Earl of Stamford, a man that is not bound to give an
account of all his actions, gave two reasons for it: first, because he
had bought arms and conveyed them into Monmouthshire, which, under his
lordship's good favor, was not so; and, secondly, because, not long
before, he preached a sermon in Rosse upon that text, 'Give unto Cæsar
the things that are Cæsar's,' in which his lordship said he had spoken
treason in endeavoring to give Cæsar more than his due. These two crimes
cost Mr. Swift no less than £300."[8]
With the memory of such things as these in the family, there need be no
wonder at the dean's decided tendency to Toryism. His father and three
uncles, that is, four out of ten sons, and three or four daughters of
the persecuted clergyman, fled to Ireland, where the eldest son, Godwin
Swift, a barrister, married a relative of the Marchioness of Ormond, and
was made, by the Marquis of Ormond, his attorney-general in the
palatinate of Tipperary. This Godwin married the co-heiress of Admiral
Deane; the second son, a daughter of Sir William Davenant. Another was
Mr. Dryden Swift, so called after his mother, who was a Dryden, and a
near relation of the poet's. Thus Swift was of good family and alliance.
He was the only son of Jonathan Swift, the eighth son of Thomas Swift,
the vicar of Goodrich, who was so plundered. His mother was Abigail
Erick, of Leicestershire, descended from the most ancient family of the
Ericks, who derive their lineage from Erick the Forester, a great
commander, who raised an army to oppose the invasion of William the
Conqueror, by whom he was vanquished, but afterward employed to command
that prince's forces. In his old age he retired to his house in
Leicestershire, where his family has continued ever since, has produced
many eminent men, and is still represented by the Heyricks of Leicester
town, and the Herricks of Beaumanor.
Swift's father was a solicitor, and steward to the Society of the King's
Inn, Dublin; but he died before Swift was born, and left his mother in
such poverty that she was not able to defray the expenses of her
husband's funeral. He was born on the 30th of November, 1667, St.
Andrew's Day, in a small house, now called No. 7, in Hoey's Court,
Dublin, which is still pointed out by the inhabitants of that quarter,
and, by the antiquity of its appearance, seems to vindicate the truth of
the tradition. Here a circumstance occurred to him as singular as the
case of his father, who, as a child in the cradle, had his clothes
stripped from him by the troopers of Captain Kirle. His nurse was a
woman of Whitehaven, and being obliged to go thither in order to see a
dying relative, from whom she expected a legacy, out of sheer affection
for the child, she stole on shipboard, unknown to his mother and uncle,
and carried him with her to Whitehaven, where he continued for almost
three years; for, when the matter was discovered, his mother sent orders
by all means not to hazard a second voyage till he could better bear it.
The nurse was so careful of him, that before he returned he had learned
to spell, and by the time that he was five years old he could read any
chapter in the Bible.
After his return to Ireland he was sent, at six years old, to Kilkenny
school, and thence, at fourteen, he was transferred to the University at
Dublin. At Kilkenny, it is said that his name is still shown to
strangers at the school, cut, boy fashion, upon his desk or form. At the
University, like Goldsmith, he was more addicted to general reading and
poetry than to the classics and mathematics. He was poor, and the sense
of his poverty on his proud spirit made him reckless, and almost
desperate. He got into dissipation to drown his mortification. Between
the 14th of November, 1685, and the 8th of October, 1687, he incurred no
less than seventy penalties for non-attendance at chapel, for
neglecting lectures, for being absent at the evening roll-call, and for
town-haunting, the academical phrase for absence from college without
license. These brought censures, suspension of his degree; and, on his
part, satirical sallies against the college authorities. He finally
received his degree of bachelor of arts by _special grace_, that is, not
by his own fair acquisition. His uncles, Godwin, and, after his death,
Dryden, had borne the cost of his education; his mother had gone over to
her native Leicester and friends, and, on obtaining his degree, he
passed over to England to her. His mother was related to the wife of Sir
William Temple, and, through her, Swift was received into Sir William's
house as his private secretary. This brings us to the first _home_ which
Jonathan Swift may almost be said to have had.
Sir William, according to some authorities, was residing at this time at
Sheen, near Richmond; according to others, he had retired to his
favorite residence of Moorpark, near Farnham, in Surrey. Whichever place
it was originally, it soon became Moorpark. Here William III. used to
visit Temple; and here, as at Sheen, it was that the Dutch monarch, as
is related as a most important fact, taught Swift to cut asparagus the
Dutch way. The fact is Dutch and economical, and worthy to be known to
all gardeners, and all other people who undertake this useful operation.
It consists in cutting with a short and circular stroke, not with a
wide, sweeping one. In the first case, you cut off only the head of
asparagus you want; in the other, you most probably cut off half a dozen
heads that have not yet appeared above the soil. Still, this was only
half the advantage derived from the royal gardener: he taught Swift how
to eat the asparagus when cut; and Swift used always to tell his guests
that King William ate the stalks as well as the heads. If he taught him
how to make them eatable, it is a great pity that the secret is lost.
William is said, also, to have offered Swift a troop of horse, which
might naturally arise out of their cutting _horse_radish for dinner at
the same time, though of this the biographers do not inform us. Certain
it is, that Swift must have become a great favorite with William, or
have thought so; for, though he respectfully declined becoming a
trooper, he gave the king to understand that he had no objection to
become a _canon_; and the king, as Swift wrote his uncle, desired him
not to take orders till he gave him a prebend. Such was the opinion
entertained by both Sir William Temple and Swift of his standing in the
monarch's estimation, that he was employed by Sir William, who was
himself laid up with the gout, to lay before the king reasons why his
majesty ought to assent to the bill for triennial Parliaments. Swift
could strengthen Sir William's opinion by several arguments drawn from
English history; but all his arguments had no effect on William III.,
who knew how to cut triennial Parliaments as cleverly as asparagus. This
was Swift's first dip into politics, and, though he said it helped to
cure him of vanity, it did not of addicting himself to the same
unsatisfactory pursuit in after life.
Swift's residence at Moorpark is marked by all the characteristics of
his after life, and by two of those events which are mixed up with its
great mystery, and which brought after them its melancholy ending. He
was so morose, bitter, and satirical, that Mr. Temple, nephew to Sir
William, stated that Sir William for a long time very much disliked him
"for his ill qualities, nor would allow him to sit down at table with
him." Though related to Lady Temple, Sir William had engaged him only in
the capacity of reader and amanuensis, at a salary of £20 a year and his
board, and looked upon him as "a young fellow taken into a low office
who was inclined to forget himself." We can well believe that the proud
and unbending spirit which, through life, never deserted Swift, made him
feel that he was thus regarded, and excited his most hostile and
disagreeable qualities. He was also very defective in his education,
and the consciousness of this in a towering spirit like Swift's, while
it mortified him, could not make him humble. Yet his better qualities at
length prevailed. He took to study; was commended by Sir William; and
this, on his part, induced a more respectful deportment toward Sir
William, whose fine mind and noble character no one could better
estimate than Swift, and it ended, notwithstanding an occasional jar,
and a parting at one time, with Swift's becoming the most zealous,
attentive, and affectionate friend of Sir William, who admitted him to
his most entire and cordial confidence.
The whole period of Swift's residence at Moorpark was two years. During
this time he went for a while to Oxford to take his degree, and he was
absent twice in Ireland; once a few months on account of his health, and
the second time when Swift, anxious for some means of independence, and
Temple only offering him an employment worth a hundred a year in the
office of the rolls in Ireland, they parted with mutual displeasure.
Swift then went to Ireland, where, the heat of their difference having
abated on both sides, through Sir William's influence, he obtained the
prebend of Kilroot, in the diocese of Connor, worth about a hundred
pounds a year. To this small living he retired, and assumed the
character of a country clergyman. But this life of obscurity and
seclusion was not likely long to suit the reckless, aspiring nature of
Swift. He sighed to return to the intellectual pleasures and persons who
resorted to Moorpark, and Sir William had not the less sensibly felt the
absence of Swift, than Swift the absence of Moorpark. He returned within
the year, and was welcomed back with warmth and respect, and
thenceforward stood in a new position. With his abrupt departure from
Kilroot, two very different stories have been connected: one which, if
true, would sink his character forever; the other, which has never been
questioned, evidencing the noblest qualities in that character. The
first of these stories is that he attempted violence on the daughter of
a farmer, one of his parishioners. Of this it is enough to quote the
words of Sir Walter Scott, which, after giving the particulars of the
refutation of this calumny, are: "It is sufficient for Swift's
vindication to observe, that he returned to Kilroot after his
resignation, and inducted his successor in face of the church and of the
public; that he returned to Sir William Temple with as fair a character
as when he left him; that during all his public life in England and
Ireland, when he was the butt of a whole faction, this charge was never
heard of; that when adduced so many years after his death, it was
unsupported by aught but sturdy and general averment; and that the chief
propagator of the calumny first retracted his assertions, and finally
died insane."
That there might be _something_ on which this charge was founded is by
no means improbable, and that Swift, as alleged, was brought before a
magistrate of the name of Dobbs; for it is confessed that in his youth
he was of a dissipated habit, and it is far more likely that these
habits induced that constitutional affection, with giddiness, deafness,
and ultimate insanity, which made his future life wretched, than that it
was owing to eating an over quantity of stone-fruit. In this point of
view, the life of Swift presents a deep moral lesson; for no man, if
that were the case, ever drew down upon himself a severer chastisement;
but, as regards this particular fact, it could by possibility be nothing
so flagrant as was endeavored to be propagated by the report. The second
statement one is unwilling to weaken, because, in itself, it is so
beautiful; yet in the dean's life there are so many proofs of his making
professions of patriotism and generosity to cover and screen his private
purposes, that one is equally tempted to suspect a certain share of
policy. The fact is thus stated:
"In an excursion from his habitation, he met with a clergyman, with whom
he formed an acquaintance, which proved him to be learned, modest,
well-principled, the father of eight children, and a curate at the rate
of forty pounds a year. Without explaining his purpose, Swift borrowed
this gentleman's black mare--having no horse of his own--rode to Dublin,
resigned the prebend of Kilroot, and obtained a grant of it for this new
friend. When he gave the presentation to the poor clergyman, he kept his
eyes steadily fixed on the old man's face, which, at first, only
expressed pleasure at finding himself preferred to a living; but when he
found that it was that of his benefactor, who had resigned in his favor,
his joy assumed so touching an expression of surprise and gratitude,
that Swift, himself deeply affected, declared he had never experienced
so much pleasure as at that moment. The poor clergyman, at Swift's
departure, pressed upon him the black mare, which he did not choose to
hurt him by refusing; and thus mounted for the first time on a horse of
his own, with fourscore pounds in his purse, Swift again rode to Dublin,
and there embarked for England, and resumed his situation at Moorpark as
Sir William Temple's confidential secretary."
The incident is a charming one; and we may admit the facts as regards
the clergyman to be fully true, and that the pleasure of Swift must have
been great in having the opportunity of thus making a good man happy;
but, in order to place the transaction on its probably correct basis, we
must not forget that Swift was confessedly already most thoroughly weary
of the obscurity of Kilroot, and longing for return to Moorpark. This
takes a good deal of the romance out of it. Without, therefore,
astonishing ourselves at the unworldly generosity of a young man
abandoning his own chance in life to serve a poor and meritorious man,
we may suppose to the full that Swift was glad to do the good man such a
service while it jumped with his own wishes. No man was more
clear-sighted than Swift as to the consequences of such things; and none
could better estimate the wide difference in the mode of doing the
thing, between saying, "Well, I'm tired of this stupid place; I must
away again to England; but I'll try to get the living for you," and
leaving the high merit of such a personal sacrifice to be attributed to
him. In any way, it was rich in consequences. He left behind a family
made happy; grateful hearts, and tongues that would sound his praises
through the country; and what a _prestige_ with which to return to
Moorpark! He came back like a hero of romance. That, judging by the
after life of the dean, is probably the true view of the affair. He did
a good deed, and he took care that it presented to the public its best
side.
These ten years of life at Moorpark, which ended only with the death of
Sir William Temple, were every way a most important portion of Swift's
life. Here he laid at once the foundation of his fame and his
wretchedness. Here, with books, leisure, and as much solitude as he
pleased--with the conversation of Sir William Temple, and the most
distinguished literati of the age who visited him--Swift, in so
auspicious an atmosphere, not only thought and studied much, but wrote a
vast deal, as it were to practice his pen for great future efforts, when
he felt his mind and his knowledge had reached a sufficient maturity. He
informs his friend, Mr. Kendall, that he had "written, and burned, and
written again upon all manner of subjects, more than perhaps any man in
England." He wrote Pindaric Odes; translated from the classics; and
exercised his powers of satire till he could confidently to himself
predict the force of that "hate to fools" which he afterward assumed as
his principal characteristic. Besides this, he was deeply engaged in
assisting Sir William in the controversy on the superiority of ancient
or modern learning, in which Temple, Boyle, Wotton, and Bentley were all
involved. This occasioned Swift's "Battle of the Books," though it was
not printed till some years afterward. Here, also, he wrote his famous
"Tale of a Tub," which more than any other cause stopped effectually
the path of his ambition toward a bishopric. Though not known avowedly
as an author, Swift was now well known as a man of great ability to many
literary men, and was on terms of particular friendship with Congreve.
But his literary pursuits here had not so completely engrossed him as to
prevent his engaging in what, in any other man, would have been termed
more tender ones; in Swift they must take some other name, be that what
it may. The history of his conduct, too, with regard to every woman to
whom he paid particular court, is the most extraordinary thing in all
literary research; there have been several ways of accounting for it,
into which it is not my intention to descend; let the causes have been
what they may, they stamp his character for intense selfishness beyond
all possibility of palliation. If Swift felt himself disqualified for
entering into matrimonial relations from whatever cause or motive, as it
is evident he did, he should have conducted himself toward women of
taste and feeling accordingly; but, on the contrary, he never, in any
instance, seems to have put the slightest check on himself in this
respect. He paid them the most marked attentions; in some instances he
wooed, with all the appearances of passion, and proposed marriage with
the most eager importunity; he saw one after another respond to his
warmth, and then he coolly backed out, or entered into such a
tantalizing and mysterious position--where the woman had to sacrifice
every thing, peace of mind being destroyed, and character put into
utmost jeopardy--as wore their very hearts and lives out. He played with
women as a cat does with mice. So that they were kept fast bound within
his toils, cut off from all the better prospects of life, sacrificed as
victims to his need of their society, he cared nothing. He was alarmed
and agitated almost to madness by the fear of losing them; yet this was
a purely selfish feeling; he took no measures to set their hearts at
rest; he placed them in such circumstances that he could not do it; to
satisfy one he must immolate another. Some of the finest and most
charming women of the age were thus kept, as it were, with a string
round their hearts, by which he could pluck and torture them at
pleasure, and keep them walking forever over the burning plowshares of
agonizing uncertainties, and the world's oblique glances. There is
nothing which can ever reclaim Swift's memory, in this respect, from the
most thorough contempt and indignation of every manly mind.
Every instance of what are called love-affairs, in which Swift was
concerned, presents the same features, even under the softened effect of
the coloring of his most laudatory biographer, Sir Walter Scott. While
Swift was at Leicester, his mother was afraid of his forming an
imprudent attachment to a young woman there; at which Swift, knowing
himself pretty well, only laughed. His flirtations, he represented, were
only "opportunities of amusement;" a "sort of insignificant gallantry
which he used toward the girl in question;" a "habit to be laid aside
whenever he took sober resolutions, and which, should he enter the
Church, he should not find it hard to lay down at the porch." This is
base language, and that of Scott is hardly better. He says, "It is
probably to a habit, at first indulged only from vanity or for the sake
of amusement, that we are to trace the well-known circumstances which
imbittered his life and impaired his reputation."
And is this all? Are habits of indulging vanity, and of amusing one's
self with the affections and the happiness of others, to be thus coolly
talked of? "Circumstances which imbittered _his_ life, and impaired
_his_ reputation," indeed! Swift had the greatest right to imbitter his
own life, and impair his own reputation, if he pleased, but that is not
the question; it was because he most recklessly, for the indulgence of
his vanity and his self-love, imbittered the lives of those who listened
to him, and impaired their reputations, that he was culpable in
proportion to his brilliant powers, and placed himself thereby in the
category of heartless villains. These are severe words; but I have
always felt, and still can not avoid feeling, that their application to
Swift is most just and necessary. Perhaps no instance of mere meanness
was ever more striking than that shown in his second courtship. The lady
in this case was not a simple country girl, but was Jane Waryng, the
sister of an ancient college companion; to this young lady, in his
affected pastoral style, he had given the name of Varina. Let it be
remembered that this was in Ireland, while he was bearing the name, and
performing the functions, of a clergyman. His suit for this lady was
continued for four or five years with all the appearances and
protestations of the deepest attachment; he proposed marriage in the
most unequivocal terms. The young lady does not seem to have responded
very cordially to his advances, for a long time, in fact, till that very
response put a speedy end to the disgraceful farce. When she did agree
to accept him and his offer, "he seemed," says Scott, "to have been a
little startled by her sudden offer of capitulation." He then assumed
quite another tone; let Scott's own language relate what he did: "Swift
charged Varina with want of affection and indifference; stated his own
income in a most dismal point of view, yet intimated that he might well
pretend to a better fortune than she was possessed of! He was so far
from retaining his former opinion as to the effects of a happy union,
that he inquired whether the physicians had got over some scruples they
appeared to entertain on the subject of her health. (He had made this
delicate health before a plea for entreating her to put herself under
his care.) Lastly, he demanded peremptorily to know whether she would
undertake to manage their domestic affairs with an income of rather less
than three hundred pounds a year; whether she would engage to follow the
methods he should point out for the improvement of her mind; whether
she could bend all her affections to the same direction which he should
give his own, and so govern her passions, however justly provoked, as at
all times to resume her good humor at his approach; and, finally,
whether she could account the place where he resided more welcome than
courts and cities without him. These premises agreed, as indispensable
to please those who, like himself, 'were deeply read in the world,' he
intimates his willingness to wed her, though _without_ personal beauty
or large fortune."
This language requires no comment; it is the vile shuffle of a
contemptible fellow, who, taken at his word, then bullies and insults to
get off again.
The next victim of this wretched man was Esther Johnson, the Stella of
this strange history. This young lady was the daughter of the steward of
Sir William Temple at Moorpark; she was fatherless when Swift commenced
his designs upon her; her father died soon after her birth, and her
mother and sister resided in the house at Moorpark, and were treated
with particular regard and esteem by the family. Miss Esther Johnson,
who was much younger than Swift, was beautiful, lively, and amiable.
Swift devoted himself to her as her teacher, and under advantage of his
daily office and position, engaged her young affections most absolutely.
So completely was it understood by her that they were to be married when
Swift's income warranted it, that on the death of Temple, and Swift's
preferment to the living of Laracor in Ireland, she was induced by him
to come over and fix her residence in Trim near him, under the
protection of a lady of middle age, Mrs. Dingley. The story is too well
known to be minutely followed; Swift acquired such complete mastery over
her, that he kept her near him and at his command the greater part of
his life, but would neither marry her, nor allow her to marry any one
else, though she had excellent offers. It was not till many years
afterward, when this state of dependence, uncertainty, and arbitrary
selfishness had nearly worn her to the death; and when these were
aggravated by fears for her reputation, and then by the appearance of a
rival on the scene, that she extorted from him a marriage, which was
still kept a profound secret, unacknowledged, and which left her just in
the position she was in before, that of a mere companion in presence of
a third party, when he chose. The rival just mentioned was a Miss
Vanhomrigh, the daughter of a widow lady, whose house he frequented
during his life in London. This young lady, to whom he, on his uniform
plan, which tended to prevent unpleasant claims by the evidence of
letters, gave the name of Vanessa, as he termed himself Cadenus, was
high-spirited and accomplished. When Swift, in his usual manner, had for
a long time paid every marked attention to Miss Vanhomrigh, and was
regarded both by herself and the whole family as an acknowledged lover,
yet never came to plain terms, the young lady came boldly to them
herself. The gay deceiver was thunderstruck: he had for a few years been
living in the most intimate state of confidence with Stella, as her
affianced lover; she had all the claims of honor and affection upon him
that a wife could have; for, though maintaining the strictest propriety
of life under the closest care of Mrs. Dingley, she was devoting her
time, her thoughts, the very flower of her life, and the hazard of her
good name, to his social happiness. This plain dealing, therefore, on
the part of Vanessa, was an embarrassing blow. "We can not doubt," says
Scott, "that he actually felt" the shame, disappointment, guilt,
surprise, "expressed in his celebrated poem, though he had not the
courage to take the open and manly course of avowing those engagements
with Stella, or other impediments, which prevented his accepting the
hand and fortune of her rival."
The fox, in fact, was taken in his wiles. He had got more on his hands
than, with all his cunning, he knew how to manage. His selfish tyranny
had been able to control, and put off poor Stella, but Vanessa was a
different kind of subject, and put the wretched shuffler into great
alarm and anxiety. He retired to Ireland; but this did not mend the
matter: it tended rather to make it worse; for Miss Vanhomrigh had
property there, and speedily announced to the guilty dean her presence
in Dublin. He was now in as pretty a fix as one could wish such a
double-dealer to be. "The claims of Stella," says Scott, "were
preferable in point of date, and to a man of honor and good faith, in
every respect inimitable. She had resigned her country, her friends, and
even hazarded her character, in hope of one day being united to Swift.
But if Stella had made the greater sacrifice, Vanessa was the more
important victim. She had youth, fortune, fashion; all the acquired
accomplishments and information in which Stella was deficient; possessed
at least as much wit, and certainly higher powers of imagination. She
had, besides, enjoyed the advantage of having in a manner compelled
Swift to hear and reply to the language of passion. There was in her
case no Mrs. Dingley, no convenient third party, whose presence in
society and community in correspondence necessarily imposed upon both a
restraint, convenient perhaps to Swift, but highly unfavorable to
Stella."
The consequences were such as might be expected. Swift endeavored to
temporize and amuse Miss Vanhomrigh, and to get her to return to
England, but in vain. She never ceased to press, to her, the important
question, and to keep him in what he used to call a "quickset hedge."
She importuned him with complaints of cruelty and neglect, and it was
obvious that any decisive measure to break this acquaintance would be
attended with some such tragic consequence as, though late, at length
concluded their story. He was thus compelled to assume a demeanor of
kindness and affection to Vanessa, which, of course, soon was reported
to Stella, and began to produce in her the most fatal symptoms. Her
heart was wrung by fears and jealousies; her health gave way; and Swift
was compelled to a private marriage, in order not to clog his conscience
with her murder. The conditions of this marriage were, that it should
continue a strict secret from the public, and that they should continue
to live separately, and in the same guarded manner as before. The grand
business of his life now was to soothe and wheedle Vanessa, and to play
the hypocrite lover to her while he was the husband of another woman; a
fine situation for a clergyman and a dean! This, we may believe, with a
woman of Miss Vanhomrigh's temperament, was no easy task. His next plan
was to get rid of her by inducing her to marry some one else, and for
this purpose he presented to her Dean Winter, a gentleman of character
and fortune, and Dr. Price, afterward Archbishop of Cashel. It was in
vain; she rejected such offers peremptorily, and at length, as if to
hide her vexation and seek repose in nature, she retired to Marley
Abbey, her house and property near Celbridge. But the dreams of love and
jealousy pursued her thither with only the more force. She heard
whispers of Stella being actually the wife of Swift, and she determined
to know the truth. For this purpose she wrote at once to Stella, and put
the plain question to her. The result of this was rapid and startling.
In a few days she saw the dean descend from his horse at her gate, and
advance to her door dark and fierce as a thunder-cloud. He entered,
threw down a letter upon the table before her, and with a look black as
night, stalked out again without a word, mounted, and rode away. As soon
as Miss Vanhomrigh recovered in some degree from her terror and
amazement, she took up the letter, opened it, and found it her own to
Stella!
Stella herself confirmed the fatal truth by a candid avowal and Miss
Vanhomrigh sank under the shock. For eight years, trusting probably to
the promises of Swift, and the apparently failing health of Stella, she
had maintained the unequal contest with her deep-rooted passion and
Swift's mysterious conduct, but this revelation of his villainy was her
death. However, she lived only to revoke in haste her will, which had
been made in favor of Swift, and to leave her fortune to Mr. Marshall,
afterward one of the judges of the Court of Common Pleas in Ireland, and
Dr. Berkeley, the celebrated philosopher, and afterward Bishop of
Cloyne; and to command the publication of all the letters which had
passed between Swift and herself, as well as the celebrated poem of
Cadenus and Vanessa.
Stella died in 1727-8, having borne the secret and corroding suffering
of the position imposed by the selfishness of Swift for upward of thirty
years. Mrs. Whiteway, a lady who was on terms of great intimacy with
Swift, and spent much time at the deanery of St. Patrick's, stated, that
when Stella was on her death-bed, she expostulated with Swift on his
having kept their marriage unnecessarily secret, and expressed her fear
that it might leave a stain on her reputation, to which Swift replied,
"Well, my dear, if you wish it, it shall be owned." Stella replied, "_It
is too late!_"
Scott says "he received this report of Mrs. Whiteway with pleasure, as
vindicating the dean from the charge of cold-blooded and hard-hearted
cruelty to the unfortunate Stella, when on the verge of existence." How
does it vindicate him from any such charge? The avowal was never made by
him; and so dubious was the very fact of the marriage left, as far as
any act of Swift's was concerned, that its very existence has since been
strenuously denied, especially by Mr. Monck Mason in his History of St.
Patrick's Cathedral. The simple truth is, that the whole of Swift's
conduct to Stella for thirty-three years was a piece of "cold-blooded
and hard-hearted cruelty," which admits of no defense. Such was the
treatment which all ladies who manifested an attachment to Swift
received at his hands; is it any wonder that such a man went mad?
These circumstances have given a singular character to the biography of
Swift; the letters of Stella and Vanessa, which have been published,
convert it, by their passion and heart-eloquence, into a species of
romance; in which, however, Swift himself plays the part of a very
clever, witty, and domineering, but certainly not attractive hero.
Moorpark will always possess an interest connected with Stella. It was
amid its pleasant groves that, young, beautiful, and confiding, she
indulged with Swift in those dreams of after life which he was so
bitterly to falsify. There is a cavern about three quarters of a mile
from the mansion, called Mother Ludlam's Hole, which the country
tradition represents as having been a frequent resort of Swift and
Stella in their walks. It lies half way down the side of the hill,
covered with wood toward the southern extremity of the park. It seems to
have been hewn out of the sandstone rock, and to have increased
considerably in its dimensions since it was described by Grose. The
greatest height of this excavation may be about twelve feet, and its
breadth twenty, but at the distance of about thirty feet from the
entrance it becomes so low and narrow as to be passable only by a person
crawling on his hands and knees. From the bottom of the cave issues a
small, clear stream, and two stone benches have been placed for the
accommodation of visitors. The gloom and uncertain depth of the grotto,
the sound of the water, and the beauty of the surrounding solitary
scene, surveyed through the dark arched entrance, shagged with weeds and
the roots of trees, give the spot an impressive effect. Grose gives a
jocose account of the origin of the name of the cave. Old Mother Ludlam,
he tells us, was a _white_ witch, one who neither killed hogs, rode on
broomsticks, nor made children vomit nails and crooked pins, but, on the
contrary, did all the good she could. That the country people, when in
want of any article, say a frying-pan or a spade, would come to the cave
at midnight, and, turning three times round, would three times say,
"Pray, good Mother Ludlam, lend me such a thing, and I will return it
within two days." The next morning, on going there again, the article
would be found laid at the entrance of the cave. At length the borrower
of a large caldron was not punctual in returning it, which so irritated
the good mother, that when it did come she refused to take it in again,
and in course of time it was conveyed away to Waverley Abbey, and, at
the dissolution of the monasteries, was deposited in Frensham Church.
From the hour of the non-appearance of the caldron, however, at its
proper time, Mother Ludlam never would lend the slightest thing.
The resorts and residences of Swift in London, during his life there,
have no very peculiar interest. He frequented freely the houses of the
great political characters with whom he was connected. His immediate
friends were Harley, Bolingbroke, Godolphin. He was a frequent attendant
at Leicester House, the court of the Prince of Wales, afterward George
II. He was on the most familiar terms with all the literati, Gay, Pope,
Addison, and for a considerable period, Steele, etc. He was often at
Twickenham for months together, and Button's Coffee-house was the
constant resort of the wits of the time, among whom he played a very
conspicuous part. It is not in these places, however, that the deep
interest of Swift's life has settled, and, therefore, we pass at once
across the Channel to Ireland, and seek his homes there. We have already
noticed his brief abode at Kilroot; his next residence was at Laracor,
in Meath.
Swift was about thirty-two years of age when he attended Lord Berkeley,
one of the lords-justices of Ireland, to that country as his chaplain
and private secretary. Berkeley had promised him the first good church
living that fell vacant, but the rich deanery of Derry soon after
falling out, he would only _sell_ it to Swift for a thousand pounds.
Swift resented this in such a manner, that to prevent making so
formidable an enemy, he gave him the next vacancy--the rectory of Agher,
and the vicarage of Laracor and Rathbeggan. These livings, united,
amounted to about £230 yearly; and the prebend of Dunlavin being added
in the year 1700, raised Swift's income to between £350 and £400. His
manner of taking possession of Laracor, where he resolved to live, was
characteristic. He was a great walker, and he is said to have walked
down _incognito_ to Laracor from Dublin, making doggerel rhymes on the
places which he passed through. Many anecdotes are related of this
journey. Arriving, he entered the curate's house, demanded his name, and
announced himself bluntly "as his master." All was bustle to receive a
person of such consequence, who, apparently, was determined to make his
consequence felt. The curate's wife was ordered to lay aside the
doctor's clean shirt and stockings, which he carried in his pocket; nor
did Swift relax his airs of domination until he had excited much alarm,
which his subsequent and friendly conduct to the worthy couple turned
into respectful attachment.
These _brusqueries_ of the dean's were, no doubt, very amusing to
himself, and are agreeable enough to read of, but they must have been
any thing but agreeable to those upon whom they were played off. They
betray a want of regard to the feelings of others, and were, every one
of them, offenses against the best laws of society, which every one who
regards the kindly sparing of the feelings of the humble and the modest
ought to condemn. However respectful might be the after attachment of
this worthy curate and his wife, we may well believe that the first
strange rudeness and severity of the dreaded dean would leave a wound
and a terror behind that were not deserved, and that no one ought
willingly to inflict. There were cases where folly merited the eccentric
chastisement which Swift gave them. The farmer's wife who invited him to
dinner, and then spoiled the dinner by repeatedly complaining that it
really was too poor for him to sit down to, though the table groaned
with good things, deserved, in some degree, the retort, "Then why did
you not get a better? you knew I was coming; I have a good mind to go
away and dine on a red herring." Yet even there, the good-natured
country habit of the woman was somewhat too severely punished. She meant
well.
Swift seemed to settle down at Laracor in good earnest. He found the
church and parsonage much neglected and dilapidated, and set about their
repairs at once. He was active and regular in the discharge of his
clerical duties. He read prayers twice a week, and preached regularly on
Sundays. The prayers were thinly attended, and it was on one of these
occasions that Lord Orrery represents him as addressing the clerk, Roger
Coxe, as "My dearly beloved Roger." The truth of the anecdote has been
disputed, and is said to exist in an old jest-book, printed half a
century before. This does not, however, render it at all improbable that
Swift did not make use of the jest, especially when we know that Roger
was himself a humorist and a joker; as, for instance, when Swift asked
Roger why he wore a red waistcoat, and he replied, because he belonged
to the church militant.
[Illustration: STELLA'S HOUSE.]
Swift took much pleasure in his garden at Laracor; converted a rivulet
that ran through it into a regular canal, and planted on its banks
avenues of willows. As soon as he was settled, Stella, and her
companion, Mrs. Dingley, came over and settled down too. They had a
house near the gate of Knightsbrook, the old residence of the
Percivals, almost half a mile from Swift's house, where they lived when
Swift was at Laracor, or were the guests of the hospitable vicar of
Trim, Dr. Raymond. Whenever Swift left Laracor for a time, as on his
annual journeys to England, the ladies then took possession of the
vicarage of Laracor, and remained there during his absence. The site of
Stella's house is marked on the Ordnance Survey of the county of Meath.
The residence of Swift at Laracor includes a most important portion of
his life. It was, at the least, twelve years, as he took possession of
his living in 1700, and quitted it for the deanery of St. Patrick in
1713. Here he was fully occupied with the duties of his parish, and the
united labors of authorship and politics. Hardly was he settled when he
wrote his pamphlet on the Dissensions between the Nobles and Commons of
Rome, which applied to the impeachment by the Commons of Lords Somers,
Oxford, Halifax, and Portland, on account of their share in the
partition treaty. This brought him at once into the intimacy of Somers,
Sunderland, and Halifax. Here he soon after published his Tale of a Tub,
which had been written at Moorpark. This created a vast sensation, and
though anonymous, like most of Swift's works, was soon known to be his,
and his society was eagerly sought by men of the highest distinction
both for rank and genius. Among the latter, Addison, Steele, Tickell,
Philips, and others, at once became his friends. He now made use of his
influence with government to obtain the gift of the first-fruits and
tenths to the Church of Ireland, which he effected. Besides this boon to
the Church at large, he increased the glebe of Laracor from one acre to
twenty; and purchasing the tithes of Effernock, when he was not
overburdened with money, settled them forever on his successors. Here he
amused himself with his quizzes upon Partridge the astrologer, under the
title of Isaac Bickerstaff, which almost drove that notorious impostor
mad. Here he wrote the celebrated verses on Baucis and Philemon, and
other of his poems. Here, in 1710, he made his grand political transit
from the Whigs to the Tories, and became the great friend, assistant,
and political counselor of Harley and Bolingbroke; living, during his
long sojourns in London, on the most familiar terms with those noblemen,
and also with Pope, Gay, and all the more celebrated authors.
It is a singular subject of contemplation, and shows what momentous
influence a mere private man may acquire in England by his talents, that
of Swift's political achievements at this time. Here was a country
clergyman of an obscure parish in Meath, with a congregation, as he
himself said, of "some half-score persons," who yet wielded the
destinies of all Europe. It was more by the power of his pen in "The
Examiner," and by his counsels and influence, than by any other means,
that the Tories were enabled to turn out of office the long-triumphant
Whigs, and, by the peace of Utrecht, put a stop to the triumphs of
Marlborough on the Continent. The vengeance which the Tories took on
their adversaries the Whigs, on regaining power for a time, in Anne's
reign, is, perhaps, the most startling thing in the history of party.
The Whigs had steadily pursued the war against Louis the Fourteenth, in
which William had been engaged all his life. For nearly half a century,
that is, from 1667 to 1713, had that French monarch driven on a
desperate contest for the destruction of the liberties of Europe. In
Spain, in the Netherlands, in Holland, in Italy, and Germany, had his
generals, Catinat, Luxemburg, Condé, Turenne, Vendôme, Villars, Melac,
Villeroi, Tallard, &c., &c., led on the French armies to the most
remorseless devastations. To this day, the successive demon deeds of
Turenne, Melac, Créqui, and their soldiers, are vividly alive in the
hearts and the memories of the peasantry of the Palatinate, where they
destroyed nearly every city, chased the inhabitants away, leaving all
that beautiful and fertile region a black desert, and, throwing the
bones of the ancient Germanic emperors out of their graves in the
Cathedral of Speir, played at bowls with their skulls. To extinguish
Protestantism, and to extend the French empire, appeared Louis's two
great objects, in which he was supported by all the spiritual power of
the king of superstitions, the pope. Revoking the Edict of Nantes, he
committed the most horrible outrages and destruction on his own
Protestant subjects. He hoped, on the subjugation of Holland and the
reformed states of Germany, to carry out there the same horrors of
religious annihilation. Except in the person of Bonaparte, never has the
spirit of conquest and of political insolence shown itself in so
lawless, determined, and offensive a form as in this ostentatious
monarch. William III., before his accession to the British throne, had
been the most formidable opponent to his progress. But he had contrived
to set his grandson, Philip V., on the throne of Spain, in opposition to
the claims of Austria, and, by the fear of the ultimate union of these
two great nations under one sceptre, alarmed all Europe. In vain was the
united resistance of Austria and Holland, till England sent out its
great general, Marlborough; and the names of Marlborough and the
Savoyard, Prince Eugene, became as those of the demi-gods in the temple
of war; and Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde, and Malplaquet, arose from
their ages of obscurity into continental pyramids of England's military
renown.
But of what avail was all this renown? What was won by it, except the
empty glory itself? At the crowning moment--at the hour of otherwise
inevitable retribution to the bloody and unprincipled monarch of France,
and of recompense to those nations whose blood he had so lavishly shed,
and whose surface he had covered with ashes, ruins, and horrors, instead
of cities, peaceful villages, and fair fields--the Whigs were expelled
from office by the Tories, and all the fruits of this long and bitter
war were snatched away from us and our allies. To deprive the Whigs of
the glory of a successful war, to dash down as abortive all the
triumphs of the Whig general, Marlborough, these men rushed into peace
without consulting the allies, and left no results to the great European
struggle but the blood which had been shed and the misery that had been
endured. Louis, then eighty-five years of age, and tottering toward the
grave, saw himself at once released from the most terrible condition
into which his wicked ambition had plunged him--from the most terrible
prospect of humiliation and disgrace which could wring such a mind. He
had reduced his kingdom to the last stage of exhaustion by half a
century's incessant contest with Europe; by bribing the English
monarchs, Charles II. and James II., and many English nobles, to refuse
help to the suffering Continent; and by bribing and paying the armies of
German princes whom he could induce to become traitors to their nation.
His people were fiercely imbittered against him; no taxes could be
raised; his best generals were defeated on all hands, and a short time
would, most probably, have seen Marlborough and Eugene anticipate the
allies of our day, by marching directly upon and taking possession of
Paris. So sensible of this was Louis, that his haughty tone was totally
gone; he ordered his embassadors to give up Alsace, and even to assist
in driving Philip, his own grandson, out of Spain, by privately paying
the allies a million of livres monthly for the purpose. The Tories came
in at this critical juncture, and all was changed. They offered Louis a
most unexpected peace. At once he lifted again his head and his heart;
Alsace remains to this day a part of France, Spain has descended to the
Bourbon, and the glory of Marlborough is without a single result except
Blenheim House, the dukedom to his family, and _sixty-two millions and a
half of taxation_, which that war cost the English people. The peace of
Utrecht roused the indignation of the whole civilized world. Volumes
have been written in reprehension of it, and even enlightened
Conservatives of our time, as Hallam in his Constitutional History,
join in the condemnation.
Yet this mighty change, with all its countless consequences, could be
effected, almost wholly, by the simple vicar of a simple Irish parish.
It was Swift who helped to plan and carry out this grand scheme of
defeat and mortification to the Whigs, who had excited his wrath by
withholding from him preferment. It was he, more than all men together,
who, in the Examiner, painted the scheme in all his affluence of
delusive colors to the nation, and roused the English people, by the cry
of English blood and English money wasted on the Continent, to demand
immediate peace. While we lament the deed, we must confess the
stupendous powers of the man.
But all this could not win him the keenly-coveted bishopric. He could
reverse the history of total Europe, he could reverse the victorious
arms of Marlborough and Eugene, he could put forth his hand and save
France and its proud monarch from just humiliation, but he could not
extort from the reluctant queen, even by the combined hands of Oxford
and Bolingbroke, the object of his own ambition, a mitre. The Tale of a
Tub stood in his way; it was only just in time that his friends,
themselves falling, secured for him the deanery of St. Patrick's, to
which he retired to act the ostensible patriot by indulging his own
private resentment against his enemies and his fate.
Laracor is about two English miles from Trim. It lies in a drearyish
sort of a farming country, and to Swift, full of ambition, and
accustomed to town life and the stirring politics of the time, with
which he was so much mixed up, one would have thought must prove a
perfect desert. There is no village there, nor does there appear to have
been one. It was a mere church and parsonage, and huts were very likely
scattered about here and there, as they are now. The church still
stands; one of the old, plain, barn-like structures of this part of the
country, with a low belfry. The grave-yard is pretty well filled with
headstones and tombs, and some that seem to belong to good families. The
church-yard is surrounded by a wall and trees, and in a thatched cottage
at the gate lives the sexton. He said he had built the house himself;
that he was seventy-five or so; and his wife, who had been on the spot
fifty years, as old; but that the incumbent, a Mr. Irvine, was
eighty-four, and that he was but the third from Swift. Swift held it
fifty-five years, the next incumbent nearly as long, and this clergyman
thirty-six, or thereabouts. It must, therefore, be a healthy place. The
old man complained that all the gentry who used to live near were gone
away. His wife used to get £20 at Christmas for Christmas-boxes, "and
now she does not get even a cup o' tay. Poor creature! and she so fond
of the tay!"
Like his house at Dublin, Swift's house here is gone. There remains only
one tall, thick ruin of a wall. "What is that?" I asked of a man at a
cottage door close by. "It's been there from the time of the dane," said
he. For a moment I imagined he meant the Danes, but soon recollected
myself. Close to it, at the side of the high road, is a clear spring,
under some bushes, and margined with great stones, which they call "the
Dane's Cellar" and "the Dane's Well." "He was a very good man to the
poor," say they. "He was a fine, bright man." This, however, is all the
remains of his place here. The present vicar has built himself a good
house in the fields, nearer to Trim; and not only the dean's house is
all gone except this piece of wall, but his holly hedge, his willows,
and cherry-trees have vanished. A common Irish hut now stands in what
was his garden. The canal may still be traced, but the river walk is now
a marsh.
Trim, where Stella lived when Swift was at Laracor, though the county
town of Meath, is now little more than a large village. It bears,
however, all the marks of its ancient importance. The ruins all about
it, on the banks of the Boyne, are most extensive. They are those of a
great palace, a castle, a cathedral, and other buildings. It is a great
haunt for antiquarians, and not far distant from it is Tara, with its
hill, the seat of ancient kings. As you leave the town to go to Laracor,
you come, at the town-end, to a lofty column in honor of Wellington, who
was born at Dangan Castle, a few miles beyond Laracor. The way to
Laracor then lies along a flattish country, with a few huts here and
there by the wayside. On your left, as you approach Laracor, runs an old
ruinous wall, with tall trees within it, as having once formed a park.
The first object, connected with Swift, which arrests your attention, is
the ruin of his house, with its spring, which lies on the right hand of
the road; and on the left side of the road, perhaps a hundred yards
further, stands the church in its inclosure.
From Laracor, Swift's remove was to Dublin, where he spent the remainder
of his life. Here the deanery has been quite removed, and a modern house
occupies its place. The old Cathedral of St. Patrick is a great object
connected with his memory here. Though wearing a very ancient look, St.
Patrick's was rebuilt after its destruction in 1362, and its present
spire was added only in 1750. In size and proportion the cathedral is
fine. It is three hundred feet long, and eighty broad. It can not boast
much of its architecture, but contains several monuments of
distinguished men; among them, those of Swift and Curran. These two are
busts. Aloft in the nave hang the banners of the Knights of St. Patrick;
and again, in the choir, hang newly-emblazoned banners of the knights;
and over the stalls which belong to the knights are fixed gilt helmets,
and by each stall hangs the knight's sword. The whole fabric is now
undergoing repair, and not before it was needed. Of course, the
monuments of highest interest here are those of Swift and Stella. These
occupy two contiguous pillars on the south side of the nave. They
consist of two plain slabs of marble, in memory of the dean and Mrs.
Johnson--Stella. The inscription on the dean's slab is expressive "of
that habit of mind which his own disappointments and the oppressions of
his country had produced." It was written by himself:
"_Hic_ depositum est corpus
JONATHAN SWIFT, S. T. D.
Hujus Ecclesiæ Cathedralis
Decani
_Ubi_ sæva indignatio
Ulterius
Cor lascerare nequit.
Abi Viator
Et imitare, si poteris,
Strenuum pro virili
Libertatis vindicatorem.
Obiit 19'o. die mensis Octobris,
A.D. 1745. Anno Ætatis 78."
Over this monument has been placed his bust in marble, sculptured by
Cunningham, and esteemed a good likeness. It was the gift of T. T.
Faulkner, Esq., nephew and successor to Alderman George Faulkner,
Swift's bookseller, and the original publisher of most of his works. The
inscription over his amiable and much-injured wife is as follows:
"Underneath lie the mortal remains of Mrs. Hester Johnson, better known
to the world by the name of STELLA, under which she is celebrated in the
writings of Dr. Jonathan Swift, dean of this Cathedral. She was a person
of extraordinary endowments and accomplishments of body, mind, and
behavior, justly admired and respected by all who knew her, on account
of her many eminent virtues, as well as for her great natural and
acquired perfections. She died January 27th, 1727-8, in the forty-sixth
year of her age, and by her will bequeathed one thousand pounds toward
the support of a chaplain to the hospital founded in this city by Dr.
Steevens."
In an obscure corner, near the southern entrance, is a small tablet of
white marble, with the following inscription: "Here lieth the body of
Alexander M'Gee, servant to Doctor Swift, dean of St. Patrick's. His
grateful master caused this monument to be erected in memory of his
discretion, fidelity, and diligence in that humble station. Obiit Mar.
24, 1721-2. Ætatis 29."
There are other monuments, ancient and modern, in the cathedral worthy
of notice, but this is all that concerns our present subject. How
little, indeed, seems to remain in evidence of Swift, where he lived so
many years, and played so conspicuous a part. The hospital for the
insane which he founded is perhaps his most genuine monument. It still
flourishes. The sum which was made over by the dean's executors for this
purpose was £7720. This has been augmented by Parliamentary grants and
voluntary donations, and is capable of accommodating upward of a hundred
pauper patients, besides nearly an equal number of paying ones.
At the deanery house there is an excellent portrait of Swift, by Bindon.
Another, by Bindon, and said to be one of the best likenesses of him, is
in the possession of Dr. Hill, of Dublin; and there is a third at Howth
Castle. But nothing can, to the visitor, fill up the vacuum made by the
destruction of the house in which he lived. We want to see where the
author of the Drapier's Letters and of Gulliver's Travels lived; where
he conversed with Stella and Mrs. Whiteway, and joked with Sheridan and
Delany, and where he finally sank into moody melancholy, and died.
Of all the lives of Swift which have been written, it would be difficult
to say whether Dr. Johnson's or Sir Walter Scott's is the most
one-sided. Johnson's is like that of a man who had a personal pique, and
Scott's is that of a regular pleader. In his admiration of his author,
he seems unconsciously to take all that comes as excellent and right,
and slurs over acts and principles in Swift which in another he would
denounce as most disgraceful. When we recollect that Swift was bitterly
disappointed in his ambition of a miter, and that he retired to Ireland
to brood not only over this, but over the utter wreck of his political
patrons and party, the impartial reader finds it difficult to concede to
him so much the praise of real patriotism as of personal resentment. He
was ready to lay hold on any thing that could at once annoy government
and enhance his own popularity. In all relations of life, an intense
selfishness was his great characteristic, if we except this in his
character of author: there he certainly displayed a great indifference
to pecuniary profit, and was not only a stanch friend to his literary
associates, but allowed them to reap that profit by his writings which
he would not reap himself. But in all other respects his selfishness is
strikingly prominent. He did not hesitate to sacrifice man or woman for
the promotion of his comfort or his ambition. We have spoken of his
treatment of women, we may take a specimen of his treatment of men. In
the celebrated case of Wood, the patentee, and the Drapier's Letters,
nothing could be more recklessly unjust than his conduct, or more hollow
than his pretenses. He wanted a cause of annoyance to Walpole, and
against the government generally. Government had given a contract to
Wood to coin a certain quantity of halfpence for Ireland, and this he
seized hold on. He represented Wood as a low iron-monger, an adventurer;
his halfpence as vile in quality and deficient in weight; and the whole
as a nuisance, which would rob Ireland of its gold, and enrich England
at its expense. Now Scott himself is obliged to admit that the whole of
this was false. Wood, instead of the mere iron-monger on whom he heaped
all the charges and epithets of villainy and baseness that he could,
even to that of a "wood-louse," was a highly respectable iron-master of
Wolverhampton. His coinage, on this outcry being raised by Swift, was
submitted by government to Sir Isaac Newton to be assayed, when it was
reported by Sir Isaac to be better than bargain; and is admitted by
Scott to have been better than Ireland had been in the habit of having,
and, in fact, he says, a very handsome coinage. So far from an evil to
Ireland, Scott admits, as is very obvious, that it was one of the best
things Ireland could have, a sufficient stock of coin. But the ignorant
population, once possessed with the idea of imposition, grew outrageous,
and flung the coinage into the Liffey, and Swift chuckled to himself
over the success of his scheme, and the acquisition of the reputation of
a patriot. In the mean time, he had inflicted a real injury on his
infatuated fellow-countrymen, and a loss of £60,000 on his innocent
victim, Wood. Scott says that Wood was indemnified by a grant of £3000
yearly for twelve years. The simple fact I believe to be, that, though
granted, it was never paid; Wood, who had nine sons, lost by this
transaction the fortune that should have provided for them. One of these
sons was afterward the introducer of platina into England. The real
facts respecting Wood's coinage may be found in "Ruding's Annals of
Coinage."
There is another point in which Swift's biographers and critics have
been far too lenient toward him. Wonderful as is his talent, and
admirable as his wit, these are dreadfully defiled by his coarseness and
filthiness of ideas. Wit has no necessary connection with disgusting
imagery; and in attempting to excuse Swift, his admirers have laid the
charge upon the times. But Swift out-Herods the times and his
cotemporaries. In them may be found occasional smuttiness, but the
filthy taint seemed to pervade the whole of Swift's mind, and his vilest
parts are inextricably woven with the texture of his composition, as in
Gulliver's Travels. There is nothing so singular as that almost all
writers speak of the wit of Swift and of Rabelais, without, as it
regards the latter, once warning the reader against the mass of most
revolting obscenity which loads almost every page of the Frenchman. Even
Rogers, moral and refined in his own writings, talks of "laughing with
Rabelais in his easy chair," but he never seems to reflect that far the
greater portion of readers would have to blush and quit his company in
disgust. It is fitting that in an age of moral refinement, youthful
readers should at least be made aware that the wit that is praised is
combined with obscenity or grossness that can not be too emphatically
condemned.
Among the places connected with the history of Swift's life, the
residence of Miss Vanhomrigh--Vanessa--is one of the most interesting.
The account of it, procured by Scott, was this: "Marley Abbey, near
Celbridge, where Miss Vanhomrigh resided, is built much in the form of a
real cloister, especially in its external appearance. An aged man,
upward of ninety by his own account, showed the grounds to my
correspondent. He was the son of Miss Vanhomrigh's gardener, and used to
work with his father in the garden when a boy. He remembered the
unfortunate Vanessa well, and his account of her corresponded with the
usual description of her person, especially as to her _embonpoint_. He
said she went seldom abroad, and saw little company; her constant
amusement was reading, or walking in the garden. Yet, according to this
authority, her society was courted by several families in the
neighborhood, who visited her, notwithstanding her seldom returning that
attention; and he added, that her manners interested every one who knew
her. But she avoided company, and was always melancholy, save when Dean
Swift was there, and then she seemed happy. The garden was to an
uncommon degree crowded with laurels. The old man said that when Miss
Vanhomrigh expected the dean, she always planted with her own hand a
laurel or two against his arrival. He showed her favorite seat, still
called Vanessa's Bower. Three or four trees and some laurels indicate
the spot. They had formerly, according to the old man's information,
been trained into a close arbor. There were two seats and a rude table
within the bower, the opening of which commanded a view of the Liffey,
which had a romantic effect, and there was a small cascade that murmured
at some distance. In this sequestered spot, according to the old
gardener's account, the dean and Vanessa used often to sit, with books
and writing materials on the table before them. Vanessa, besides musing
over her unhappy attachment, had, during her residence in this solitude,
the care of nursing the declining health of her younger sister, who at
length died about 1720. This event, as it left her alone in the world,
seems to have increased the energy of her fatal passion for Swift, while
he, on the contrary, saw room for still greater reserve, when her
situation became that of a solitary female without the society or
countenance of a female relation."
Marley Abbey, Vanessa's house, is now the residence of Mr. Henry
Grattan, M.P.
In D'Alton's History of the County of Dublin, p. 344, there is an
account of the present state of Delville, the residence of Dr. Delany.
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