his great friends, who sat in the seat of power, much disunited among
themselves. He saw the Queen declining in her health, and distressed in
her situation; while faction was exerting itself, and gathering new
strength every day. He exerted the utmost of his skill to unite the
ministers, and to cement the apertures of the state: but he found his
pains fruitless, his arguments unavailing, and his endeavours, like the
stone of Sisyphus, rolling back upon himself. He retired to a friend's
house in Berkshire, where he remained 'till the Queen died. So fatal an
event terminated all his views in England, and made him return as fast
as possible to his deanery in Ireland, oppressed with grief and
discontent. His hopes in England were now crushed for ever. As Swift was
well known to have been attached to the Queen's last ministry, he met
with several indignities from the populace, and, indeed, was equally
abused by persons of all ranks and denominations. Such a treatment
soured his temper, confined his acquaintance, and added bitterness to
his stile.
From the year 1714, 'till he appeared in the year 1720 a champion for
Ireland, against Wood's halfpence, his spirit of politics and patriotism
was kept almost closely confined within his own breast. Idleness and
trifles engrossed too many of his leisure hours; fools and sycophants
too much of his conversation. His attendance upon the public service of
the church was regular and uninterrupted; and indeed regularity was
peculiar to all his actions, even in the meerest trifles. His hours of
walking and reading never varied. His motions were guided by his watch,
which was so constantly held in his hand, or placed before him on the
table, that he seldom deviated many minutes in the revolution of his
exercises and employments. In the year 1720 he began to re-assume, in
some degree, the character of a political writer. A small pamphlet in
defence of the Irish Manufactures was his first essay in Ireland in that
kind of writing, and to that pamphlet he owed the turn of the popular
tide in his favour. It was entitled, A Proposal for the Universal Use of
Irish Manufacture in Clothes and Furniture of Houses, &c. utterly
rejecting and renouncing every thing wearable that comes from England.
This proposal immediately raised a very violent flame. The Printer was
prosecuted, and the prosecution had the same effect, which generally
attends those kind of measures. It added fuel to flame. But his greatest
enemies must confess, that the pamphlet is written in the stile of a man
who had the good of his country nearest his heart, who saw her errors,
and wished to correct them; who felt her oppressions, and wished to
relieve them; and who had a desire to rouze and awaken an indolent
nation from a lethargic disposition, that might prove fatal to her
constitution. This temporary opposition but increased the stream of his
popularity. He was now looked upon in a new light, and was distinguished
by the title of THE DEAN, and so high a degree of popularity did he
attain, as to become an arbitrator, in disputes of property, amongst his
neighbours; nor did any man dare to appeal from his opinion, or murmur
at his decrees.
But the popular affection, which the dean had hitherto acquired, may be
said not to have been universal, 'till the publication of the Drapier's
Letters, which made all ranks, and all professions unanimous in his
applause. The occasion of those letters was, a scarcity of copper coin
in Ireland, to so great a degree, that, for some time past, the chief
manufacturers throughout the kingdom were obliged to pay their workmen
in pieces of tin, or in other tokens of suppositious value. Such a
method was very disadvantageous to the lower parts of traffic, and was
in general an impediment to the commerce of the state. To remedy this
evil, the late King granted a patent to one Wood, to coin, during the
term of fourteen years, farthings and halfpence in England, for the use
of Ireland, to the value of a certain Aim specified. These halfpence and
farthings were to be received by those persons, who would voluntarily
accept them. But the patent was thought to be of such dangerous
consequence to the public, and of such exorbitant advantage to the
patentee, that the dean, under the character of M. B. Drapier, wrote a
Letter to the People, warning them not to accept Wood's halfpence and
farthings, as current coin. This first letter was succeeded by several
others to the same purpose, all which are inserted in his works.
At the sound of the Drapier's trumpet, a spirit arose among the people.
Persons of all ranks, parties and denominations, were convinced that the
admission of Wood's copper must prove fatal to the commonwealth. The
Papist, the Fanatic, the Tory, the Whig, all listed themselves
volunteers, under the banner of the Drapier, and were all equally
zealous to serve the common cause. Much heat, and many fiery speeches
against the administration were the consequence of this union; nor had
the flames been allayed, notwithstanding threats and proclamations, had
not the coin been totally suppressed, and Wood withdrawn his patent. The
name of Augustus was not bestowed upon Octavius Cæsar with more
universal approbation, than the name of the Drapier was bestowed upon
the dean. He had no sooner assumed his new cognomen, than he became the
idol of the people of Ireland, to a degree of devotion, that in the most
superstitious country, scarce any idol ever obtained. Libations to his
health were poured out as frequent as to the immortal memory of King
William. His effigies was painted in every street in Dublin.
Acclamations and vows for his prosperity attended his footsteps wherever
he passed. He was consulted in all points relating to domestic policy in
general, and to the trade of Ireland in particular; but he was more
immediately looked upon as the legislator of the Weavers, who frequently
came in a body, consisting of 40 or 50 chiefs of their trade, to receive
his advice in settling the rates of their manufactures, and the wages of
their journeymen. He received their address with less majesty than
sternness, and ranging his subjects in a circle round his parlour, spoke
as copiously, and with as little difficulty and hesitation, to the
several points in which they supplicated his assistance, as if trade had
been the only study and employment of his life. When elections were
depending for the city of Dublin, many Corporations refused to declare
themselves, 'till they had consulted his sentiments and inclinations,
which were punctually followed with equal chearfulness and submission.
In this state of power, and popular admiration, he remained 'till he
lost his senses; a loss which he seemed to foresee, and prophetically
lamented to many of his friends. The total deprivation of his senses
came upon him by degrees. In the year 1736 he was seized with a violent
fit of giddiness; he was at that time writing a satirical poem, called
The Legion Club; but he found the effects of his giddiness so dreadful,
that he left the poem unfinished, and never afterwards attempted a
composition, either in verse or prose. However, his conversation still
remained the same, lively and severe, but his memory gradually grew
worse and worse, and as that decreased, he grew every day more fretful
and impatient. In the year 1741, his friends found his passions so
violent and ungovernable, his memory so decayed, and his reason so
depraved, that they took the utmost precautions to keep all strangers
from approaching him; for, 'till then, he had not appeared totally
incapable of conversation. But early in the year 1742, the small remains
of his understanding became entirely confused, and the violence of his
rage increased absolutely to a degree of madness. In this miserable
state he seemed to be appointed the first inhabitant of his own
Hospital; especially as from an outrageous lunatic, he sunk afterwards
to a quiet speechless ideot; and dragged out the remainder of his life
in that helpless situation. He died towards the latter end of October
1745. The manner of his death was easy, without the least pang, or
convulsion; even the rattling of his throat was scarce sufficient to
give an alarm to his attendants, 'till within some very little time
before he expired. A man in possession of his reason would have wished
for such a kind dissolution; but Swift was totally insensible of
happiness, or pain. He had not even the power or expression of a child,
appearing for some years before his death, referred only as an example
to mortify human pride, and to reverse that fine description of human
nature, which is given us by the inimitable Shakespeare. 'What a piece
of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form
and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in
apprehension how like a God! the beauty of the world! the paragon of
animals!' Swift's friends often heard him lament the state of childhood
and idiotism, to which some of the greatest men of this nation were
reduced before their death. He mentioned, as examples within his own
time, the duke of Marlborough and lord Somers; and when he cited these
melancholy instances, it was always with a heavy sigh, and with gestures
that shewed great uneasiness, as if he felt an impulse of what was to
happen to him before he died. He left behind him about twelve thousand
pounds, inclusive of the specific legacies mentioned in his will, and
which may be computed at the sum of twelve hundred pounds, so that the
remaining ten thousand eight hundred pounds, is entirely applicable to
the Hospital for Idiots and Lunatics; an establishment remarkably
generous, as those who receive the benefit, must for ever remain
ignorant of their benefactor.
Lord Orerry has observed, that a propension to jocularity and humour is
apparent in the last works of Swift. His Will, like all his other
writings, is drawn up in his own peculiar manner. Even in so serious a
composition, he cannot help indulging himself in leaving legacies, that
carry with them an air of raillery and jest. He disposes of his three
best hats (his best, his second best, and his third best beaver) with an
ironical solemnity, that renders the bequests ridiculous. He bequeaths,
'To Mr. John Grattan a silver-box, to keep in it the tobacco which the
said John usually chewed, called pigtail.' But his legacy to Mr. Robert
Grattan, is still more extraordinary. 'Item, I bequeath to the Revd. Mr.
Robert Grattan, Prebendary of St. Audeon's, my strong box, on condition
of his giving the sole use of the said box to his brother, Dr. James
Grattan, during the life of the said Doctor, who hath more occasion for
it.'
These are so many last expressions of his turn, and way of thinking, and
no doubt the persons thus distinguished looked upon these instances as
affectionate memorials of his friendship, and tokens of the jocose
manner, in which he had treated them during his life-time.
With regard to Dean Swift's poetical character, the reader will take the
following sketch of it in the words of Lord Orrery. 'The poetical
performances of Swift (says he) ought to be considered as occasional
poems, written either to pleasure[3], or to vex some particular persons.
We must not suppose them designed for posterity; if he had cultivated
his genius that way, he must certainly have excelled, especially in
satire. We see fine sketches in several of his pieces; but he seems more
desirous to inform and strengthen his mind, than to indulge the
luxuriancy of his imagination. He chuses to discover, and correct errors
in the works of others, rather than to illustrate, and add beauties of
his own. Like a skilful artist, he is fond of probing wounds to their
depth, and of enlarging them to open view. He aims to be severely
useful, rather than politely engaging; and as he was either not formed,
nor would take pains to excel in poetry, he became in some measure
superior to it; and assumed more the air, and manner of a critic than a
poet.' Thus far his lordship in his VIth letter, but in his IXth, he
adds, when speaking of the Second Volume of Swift's Works, 'He had the
nicest ear; he is remarkably chaste, and delicate in his rhimes. A bad
rhime appeared to him one of the capital sins of poetry.'
The Dean's poem on his celebrated Vanessa, is number'd among the best of
his poetical pieces. Of this lady it will be proper to give some
account, as she was a character as singular as Swift himself.
Vanessa's real name was Esther Vanhomrich[4]. She was one of the
daughters of Bartholomew Vanhomrich, a Dutch merchant of Amsterdam; who
upon the Revolution went into Ireland, and was appointed by king William
a commissioner of the revenue. The Dutch merchant, by parsimony and
prudence, had collected a fortune of about 16,000 _l_. He bequeathed an
equal division of it to his wife, and his four children, of which two
were sons, and two were daughters. The sons after the death of their
father travelled abroad: The eldest died beyond sea; and the youngest
surviving his brother only a short time, the whole patrimony fell to his
two sisters, Esther and Mary.
With this encrease of wealth, and with heads and hearts elated by
affluence, and unrestrained by fore-sight or discretion, the widow
Vanhomrich, and her two daughters, quitted their native country for the
more elegant pleasures of the English court. During their residence at
London, they lived in a course of prodigality, that stretched itself far
beyond the limits of their income, and reduced them to great distress,
in the midst of which the mother died, and the two daughters hastened in
all secresy back to Ireland, beginning their journey on a Sunday, to
avoid the interruption of creditors. Within two years after their
arrival in Ireland, Mary the youngest sister died, and the small remains
of the shipwreck'd fortune center'd in Vanessa.
Vanity makes terrible devastations in a female breast: Vanessa was
excessively vain. She was fond of dress; impatient to be admired; very
romantic in her turn of mind; superior in her own opinion to all her
sex; full of pertness, gaiety, and pride; not without some agreeable
accomplishments, but far from being either beautiful or genteel:
Ambitious at any rate to be esteemed a wit; and with that view always
affecting to keep company with wits; a great reader, and a violent
admirer of poetry; happy in the thoughts of being reputed Swift's
concubine; but still aiming to be his wife. By nature haughty and
disdainful, looking with contempt upon her inferiors; and with the
smiles of self-approbation upon her equals; but upon Dr. Swift, with the
eyes of love: Her love was no doubt founded in vanity.
Though Vanessa had exerted all the arts of her sex, to intangle Swift in
matrimony; she was yet unsuccessful. She had lost her reputation, and
the narrowness of her income, and coldness of her lover contributed to
make her miserable, and to increase the phrensical disposition of her
mind. In this melancholly situation she remained several years, during
which time Cadenus (Swift) visited her frequently. She often press'd him
to marry her: His answers were rather turns of wit, than positive
denials; till at last being unable to sustain the weight of misery any
longer, she wrote a very tender epistle to him, insisting peremptorily
upon a serious answer, and an immediate acceptance, or absolute refusal
of her as his wife. His reply was delivered by his own hand. He brought
it with him when he made his final visit; and throwing down the letter
upon the table with great passion, hastened back to his house, carrying
in his countenance the frown of anger, and indignation. Vanessa did not
survive many days the letter delivered to her by Swift, but during that
short interval she was sufficiently composed, to cancel a will made in
his favour, and to make another, wherein she left her fortune (which by
a long retirement was in some measure retrieved) to her two executors,
Dr. Berkley the late lord bishop of Cloyne, and Mr. Marshal one of the
king's Serjeants at law. Thus perished under all the agonies of despair,
Mrs. Esther Vanhomrich; a miserable example of an ill-spent life,
fantastic wit, visionary schemes, and female weakness.
It is strange that vanity should have so great a prevalence in the
female breast, and yet it is certain that to this principle it was
owing, that Swift's house was often a seraglio of very virtuous women,
who attended him from morning till night, with an obedience, an awe, and
an assiduity that are seldom paid to the richest, or the most powerful
lovers. These ladies had no doubt a pride in being thought the
companions of Swift; but the hours which were spent in his company could
not be very pleasant, as his sternness and authority were continually
exerted to keep them in awe.
Lord Orrery has informed us, that Swift took every opportunity to expose
and ridicule Dryden, for which he imagines there must have been some
affront given by that great man to Swift. In this particular we can
satisfy the reader from authentic information.
When Swift was a young man, and not so well acquainted with the world as
he afterwards became, he wrote some Pindaric Odes. In this species of
composition he succeeded ill; sublimity and fire, the indispensable
requisites in a Pindaric Ode not being his talent. As Mr. Dryden was
Swift's kinsman, these odes were shewn to him for his approbation, who
said to him with an unreserved freedom, and in the candour of a friend,
'Cousin Swift, turn your thoughts some other way, for nature has never
formed you for a Pindaric poet.'
Though what Dryden observed, might in some measure be true, and Swift
perhaps was conscious that he had not abilities to succeed in that
species of writing; yet this honest dissuasive of his kinsman he never
forgave. The remembrance of it soured his temper, and heated his
passions, whenever Dryden's name was mention'd.
We shall now take a view of Swift in his moral life, the distinction he
has obtained in the literary world having rendered all illustrations of
his genius needless.
Lord Orrery, throughout his excellent work, from which we have drawn our
account of Swift, with his usual marks of candour, has displayed his
moral character. In many particulars, the picture he draws of the Dean
resembles the portrait of the same person as drawn by Mrs. Pilkington.
'I have beheld him (says his lordship) in all humours and dispositions,
and I have formed various speculations from the several weaknesses to
which I observed him liable. His capacity, and strength of mind, were
undoubtedly equal to any talk whatsoever. His pride, his spirit, or his
ambition (call it by what name you please) was boundless; but his views
were checked in his younger years, and the anxiety of that
disappointment had a sensible effect upon all his actions. He was sour
and severe, but not absolutely ill-natur'd. He was sociable only to
particular friends, and to them only at particular hours. He knew
politeness more than he practiced it. He was a mixture of avarice and
generosity; the former was frequently prevalent, the latter seldom
appeared unless excited by compassion. He was open to adulation, and
would not, or could not, distinguish between low flattery and just
applause. His abilities rendered him superior to envy. He was
undisguised, and perfectly sincere. I am induced to think that he
entered into orders, more from some private and fixed resolution, than
from absolute choice: Be that as it may, he performed the duties of the
church with great punctuality, and a decent degree of devotion. He read
prayers, rather in a strong nervous voice, than in a graceful manner;
and although he has been often accused of irreligion, nothing of that
kind appeared in his conversation or behaviour. His cast of mind induced
him to think and speak more of politics than religion. His perpetual
views were directed towards power; and his chief aim was to be removed
to England: But when he found himself entirely disappointed, he turned
his thoughts to opposition, and became the Patron of Ireland.'
Mrs. Pilkington has represented him as a tyrant in his family, and has
discovered in him a violent propension to be absolute in every company
where he was. This disposition, no doubt, made him more feared than
loved; but as he had the most unbounded vanity to gratify, he was
pleased with the servility and awe with which inferiors approached him.
He may be resembled to an eastern monarch, who takes delight in
surveying his slaves, trembling at his approach, and kneeling with
reverence at his feet.
Had Swift been born to regal honours, he would doubtless have bent the
necks of his people to the yoke: As a subject, he was restless and
turbulent; and though as lord Orrery says, he was above corruption, yet
that virtue was certainly founded on his pride, which disdained every
measure, and spurned every effort in which he himself was not the
principal.
He was certainly charitable, though it had an unlucky mixture of
ostentation in it. One particular act of his charity (not mentioned,
except by Mrs. Pilkington, in any account of him yet published) is well
worthy of remembrance, praise, and imitation:--He appropriated the sum
of five-hundred pounds intirely to the use of poor tradesmen and
handicraftsmen, whose honesty and industry, he thought merited
assistance, and encouragement: This he lent to them in small loans, as
their exigencies required, without any interest; and they repaid him at
so much per week, or month, as their different circumstances best
enabled them.--To the wealthy let us say--
"Abi tu et fac similiter."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Lord Orrery, page 6.
[2] The authors of the Monthly Review have justly remarked, that this
observation of his lordship's seems premature.
The same public rumour, say they, that made HER Sir William Temple's
daughter, made HIM also Sir William's son: Therefore he (Swift)
could never with decency, have acknowledged Mrs. Johnson as his
wife, while that rumour continued to retain any degree of credit;
and if there had been really no foundation for it, surely it might
have been no very hard task to obviate its force, by producing the
necessary proofs and circumstances of his birth: Yet, we do not
find that ever this was done, either by the Dean or his relations.
[3] We are assured, there was one while a misunderstanding subsisting
between Swift and Pope: But that worthy gentleman, the late general
Dormer (who had a great regard for both) reconciled them, e'er it
came to an open rupture:--Though the world might be deprived by the
general's mediation of great matter of entertainment, which the
whetted wit of two such men might have afforded; yet his
good-nature, and sincere friendship, deserves to be remember'd with
honour.--This gentleman Mr. Cibber senior was very intimate with,
and once hinted to him, 'He was concerned to find he stood so ill in
the Dean's opinion, whose great parts, wit, genius, &c. he held in
the highest estimation; nor could he easily account for the Dean's
so frequently appearing his enemy, as he never knowingly had
offended him; and regretted the want of an opportunity of being
better acquainted with him.'--The general had also a great regard
for Mr. Cibber, and wished to bring them together on an agreeable
footing:--Why they were not so, came out soon after.--The secret
was,--Mr. Pope was angry; [for the long-latent cause, look into Mr.
Cibber's letter to Mr. Pope.] Passion and prejudice are not always
friends to truth;--and the foam of resentment never rose higher,
than when it boil'd and swell'd in Mr. Pope's bosom: No wonder then,
that his misrepresentation might make the Dean believe, Mr. Cibber
was not unworthy of that satire and raillery (not always just
neither, and sometimes solicited) which is not unsparingly thrown on
him in the Dean's works:--That this was the case, appears from the
following circumstance.