The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 19/Inquiry Into the Life of Dean Swift - Extracts
EXTRACTS
FROM MR. MONCK-BERKELEY'S INQUIRY INTO THE LIFE OF DEAN SWIFT.
THE principal charges that are stated as affecting the character of Swift are as follows: His want of benevolence, his impiety, and his treatment of Stella and Vanessa. To these I shall reply in the order in which they are here stated. It will however be necessary, before I proceed on the subject of these charges, to take a transient survey of those writers from whose reports the publick have formed their ideas of this illustrious man. His biographers were four in number; Orrery, Hawkesworth, Johnson, and Sheridan: for as to Dr. Delany, Deane Swift, esq., and Mrs. Pilkington, they come under a different description.
How far the biographers of Swift adhered to truth, were uninfluenced by prejudice, or were possessed of information, shall now be inquired.
The first in order is lord Orrery. As, during the life of Swift, this man was the most assiduous of his visitors, and the most servile of his flatterers, when the memoirs of the illustrious dean were announced as coming from the pen of Orrery, expectation waited the appearance of unlimited panegyrick. Great was the disappointment of the world when a libel, replete with the most ungenerous, the most unmerited accusations, was the only tribute his lordship offered to the memory of departed worth. To see the hand of friendship planting a thorn at the grave it ought to have decorated with roses, excited the indignation of the good, and the wonder of the bad.
On a conduct so repugnant to honour and to justice, and for which no cause but the general depravity of weak minds has hitherto been assigned, the following anecdote will perhaps throw some light. Lord Orrery having one day gained admission, to Swift's library, discovered a letter of his own, written several years before, lying still unopened, and on which Swift had written, "This will keep cold." As in a publication of this kind, authenticity is of the utmost importance, I shall to this, as to every other anecdote, add the name of my informer. The story which I have just communicated, was related to me by the rev. Dr. Berkeley, prebendary of Canterbury, and son of the late bishop of Cloyne. Were any additional authority necessary to procure it credit, I could add, that the story was also related to me by the late archbishop of Tuam, who thought, as I do, that it fully accounts for the malignity that dictated, and the treachery that blackens, every page of lord Orrery's publication. While the sanction of Swift could support his lordship's ill-founded claims to genius, boundless was the respect which he professed to entertain for his literary patron; but when the venerable pile was mouldering in the dust, the right honourable biographer erected on the ruins a temple to perfidy: and though he had not even the courage of the ass to insult the dying lion, yet, monster like, he preyed upon the carcase. I shall conclude my observations on his lordship's performance, by saying, that though he possessed the amplest means of information, he has given the publick a work equally deficient in matter and in truth.
Although, after what I have said, to draw lord Orrery's character is hardly necessary; yet, as he once had a sort of literary reputation, the opinion delivered of him by the celebrated bishop of Cloyne may possibly be thought worth preserving. It was as follows: "My lord Orrery would be a man of genius if he knew how to set about it."
Dr. Hawkesworth is the next of Swift's biographers that occurs. For the task he undertook his talents were fully equal; and the period at which he wrote was friendly to impartiality. Swift had now been dead some years; and Hawkesworth was the first man from whom the publick could expect a totally unprejudiced account of his life. To Hawkesworth, except as a writer, Swift was wholly unknown. His mirth had never enlivened the hours, nor had his satire embittered the repose, of him who was now to be his biographer; circumstances these highly favourable to impartial investigation and candid decision. But alas! Hawkesworth contented himself with such materials as the life of Orrery and the apologies of Deane Swift and Dr. Delany afforded, adding nothing to this stock of information but a few scattered remarks collected by Johnson. Of his performance, therefore, I shall only observe, that its information is sometimes useful and amusing, and that its misrepresentations are never intentional.
Some years after the publication of Hawkesworth's Life, on the Collection of the British Poets, Johnson, the general and able biographer, reclaimed for his own use the materials he had originally communicated to his friend. Of fresh matter he added little. At his time of life indolence was excusable. But the little which he gave bears incontestable marks of its origin; and however incorrect the Life of Swift (as given by Johnson) may be considered, it is but justice to say, that he is the only one of the dean's biographers who has offered any thing in extenuation of his conduct toward Stella and Vanessa. At the same time, it is impossible not to regret, that when Johnson became the biographer of Swift, he should have contented himself with pursuing the beaten track; for had he provided himself with materials that might have easily been collected, a life would have been given to the world, which, like his own inimitable Rasselas, would have at once diffused pleasure and instruction.
The last of this great man's biographers was Sheridan; a name not unknown to genius, and with which one has long been accustomed to connect ideas of literary merit and of Swift. From the writer now before us may be collected much information, and that information well authenticated. His father's intimacy, and his own acquaintance with the dean, had enabled him to acquire a thorough knowledge of Swift's later years, of which Dr. Sheridan was the constant companion; and it is about them only that the publick wishes for information. The former were passed in a station too conspicuous to admit of secrecy, in a manner too splendid to escape observation.
At the same time, I cannot refrain from observing, that some few passages in Sheridan's memoirs are deserving of censure, especially in his attempt to vindicate the conduct of Swift toward those two celebrated females, who bartered happiness for immortality. He seems on that occasion to have collected improper circumstances, and to have stated them by way of extenuation. I am however well convinced, that to him they must have appeared in a light widely different, as his attachment to the memory of Swift was too sincere to justify any supposition to the contrary.
Notwithstanding these faults, it would be highly unjust to the memory of Mr. Sheridan were I to dismiss this subject without saying, that his work breathes a spirit of truth and candour which does honour to the writer's heart; and that his life of Swift will, together with other useful publications, rescue from oblivion the memory of an honest man.
Having concluded my remarks on the principal writers who have made any mention of Swift, I shall proceed to inquire with what degree of justice he has been charged with being a misanthrope.
The authors of this charge have ever depended on the yahoos for support: And where could those who wished to throw dirt have found more proper allies? for it seems to have been a favourite amusement among that celebrated nation. "How," exclaim the enemies of Swift, "could a man that possessed one spark of benevolence paint human nature in such colours?" They then proceed to declaim for an hour on the dignity of human nature; a term which, though generally used, I could never comprehend: nor have I found, among those who were most frequent in the use of it, one person able to favour me with a satisfactory definition.
The only meaning I can affix to the term is, that it alludes to a certain portion of dignity which is innate in us, and consequently inseparable from our nature. Now, if this definition be allowed to be just, it will be incumbent on the patrons of innate dignity to show in what it consists; and whether it be discernible in our state of infancy, which is more helpless than that of any other creature; or at a more advanced period of our lives, when we are slaves to our passions? or whether its splendour is more evident when our sun sets, enveloped in the cheerless clouds of dotage? Till this point be determined, I shall beg leave to remain an infidel with respect to the existence of this much injured dignity.
The writers on this subject seem to have involved themselves in an errour, by not distinguishing between the terms natural and acquired. That human nature is, by the practice of virtue, capable of acquiring great dignity, is what I most readily admit; but the dignity of an individual, thus acquired by himself, cannot be said to be the dignity of the species. No man who sees two mares at Astley's dancing a minuet will affirm, that dancing is common to the whole species; or, because some men are born with a power of erecting their ears, that therefore it is a power common to the whole race. But admitting that this same dignity existed any where but in the imaginations of those who declaim about it, the History of the Yahoos can by no means be considered as offering any insult to our nature. It only paints mankind in that state to which habits of vice must necessarily sink them. And it is surely no very reprehensible part of Swift's character, that, being by profession a teacher of morals, he should paint the deformity of vice in colours the most glaring, and in situations the most disgusting. It therefore remains with the publick to determine, how far he is culpable who attempts to correct by satire those who are invulnerable to reproof, and deaf to persuasion; and how far a wish to make mankind better, and consequently happier, is a proof of misanthropy.
I shall not trespass on the reader's attention by recapitulating the many instances of benevolence and mercy, that adorned the life of the illustrious dean. They are too well known to need repetition, and arc recorded where they will one day be amply rewarded. I shall therefore conclude this subject by observing, that of his benevolence no one can entertain a doubt, who sees him resigning the only preferment he possessed to relieve the wants of honest indigence; who sees him quitting the splendid mansions of the great, to visit the dreary residence of sequestered wo; exchanging the applause of peers and of princes for the inarticulate thanks of grateful poverty; while the smile which he frequently withheld from the great, beamed spontaneous on every child of sorrow.
I shall now proceed to the consideration of the second charge; namely, that of impiety.
The first and the most important argument on which the patrons of this charge rest their hopes of success, is the tendency said to be observable in the Tale of a Tub.
"Of this work," says Johnson, "charity may be persuaded to think, that it might be written by a man of a peculiar character without bad intention; but it is certainly of dangerous example." I confess myself unable to discern the danger. The Tale of a Tub holds up to ridicule superstitious and fanatical absurdities, which, having no weak side of common sense, defy argument, and are unassailable by learning: but the essentials of religion are never attacked; and that church, for which Johnson entertained the highest veneration, is every where treated with the respect which is due to the glory of the reformation. If, in the book, a flight of fancy now and then occurs which a serious mind would wish away, before Swift be convicted of impiety, the following circumstances ought to be impartially weighed.
In the first place, the Tale of a Tub was the work of a very young man; and although the rule of Horace, Nonum prematur in annum, was observed, it still made its appearance at an early period of the author's life. To say, that he whose youth is not totally exempt from levity will be disgraced by an old age of blasphemy, is perhaps not perfectly consistent with that first of human virtues, charity. But of that virtue the persecutors of Swift seem to have had little or no idea. Secondly, I maintain, that in the work before us there is not a single passage which implies a disbelief of revelation: At the same time I must confess, there are many passages that, with the assistance of well meaning and able commentators, might be so construed as to prove, that the author was an admirer of the Gentoo tenets, and not wholly averse to the god of Thibet. For although my reading cannot as yet have been very extensive, I have read enough to know, that there is not the least necessity for any sort of connexion between the text and the commentary.
Having remarked upon the arguments advanced in support of this charge, I shall now beg leave to offer something on the other side of the question. In the first place, Swift, very early in life, conceived a violent disgust at that despicable vice hypocrisy; a vice so infamous and so degrading as is hardly to be expressed. Nor shall we wonder at his utter abhorrence of this vice, when we reflect how successfully it had been cultivated a little while before his birth by those eminently pious men, whose splendid triumph over the king and the constitution so gloriously distinguished the 17th century. To the horrour he entertained of this vice must be attributed the cautious manner in which he concealed that sense of religion, which seems to have been early impressed on his mind. For what but a sense of religion, and a most refined one too, could have withheld him from entering into orders till he had first obtained the refusal of some post, by means of which he could obtain to himself the blessings resulting from independence? To what but a sense of religion can we attribute the unequalled attention and decency with which he discharged his duty as dean of St. Patrick's? for I believe no man is fool enough to charge Swift with being a slave to appearances. Lastly, It is a certain fact, that while the power of speech remained, the dean continued constant in the performance of his private devotions; and in proportion as his memory failed, they were gradually shortened, till at last he could only repeat the Lord's prayer. That, however, he continued to do till the power of utterance for ever ceased. This information I had from the servant who attended him. Now, an address to Heaven by one whose reason was on the wane, must have arisen from habit. Hypocrisy cannot be supposed to have influenced him, who was unmindful of the past, unconscious of the present, and indifferent to the future.
I am now come to the only part of Swift's conduct which is, in my opinion, deserving of censure; I mean his treatment of Stella and Vanessa. But be it remembered, that censure, though merited, should be proportioned to the crime. Had the dean's accusers taken the trouble of candidly investigating all the circumstances relative to that double connexion, they might possibly have found the unfortunate lover not wholly undeserving of pity.
But before I proceed to inquire how far the treatment Stella experienced was or was not excusable, I shall inform my reader who Stella really was. On this point all the biographers of Swift have been misinformed. The following account I received a few days ago in a letter from Mrs. Hearn, niece to the celebrated Mrs. Johnson, and who now resides at Brighton, near Alresford, Hants, with her daughter, Mrs. Harrison, the wife of a most respectable clergyman of that name.
"Mrs. Esther Johnson, better known by the name of Stella, was born at Richmond in Surry on the 13th of March 168l. Her father was a merchant, and the younger brother of a good family in Nottinghamshire. He died young, and left his widow with three children, a son and two daughters. While Mrs. Johnson lived at Richmond, she had the happiness of becoming first acquainted with lady Gifford, the sister of sir William Temple. The uncommon endowments, both of body and mind, which Mrs. Johnson certainly possessed in a high degree, soon gained her not only the esteem but the warm friendship of that excellent lady; a friendship which lasted till death. As they seldom were apart, and lady Gifford lived much with her brother sir William, it was through her that Mrs. Johnson and her two daughters (her son dying young) were brought to the knowledge and friendship of sir William Temple and his lady; who discovering so many excellencies, and such fine parts, in the little Hetty, as she was always called in the Temple family, so far took upon themselves the care of her education as to bring her up with their own niece the late Mrs. Temple of Moor Park, by Farnham; a most acceptable piece of kindness and friendship this to the mother, whose little fortune had been greatly injured by the South Sea bubbles. And here it was that Dr. Swift first became acquainted with Stella, and commenced that attachment which terminated in their marriage. The cause why that marriage was not owned to the world has never been thoroughly explained. It is the opinion, however, of her own family, that their finances not being equal to the style in which the dean wished to move as a married man, could be the only one; Stella's own fortune being only 15001., one thousand of which, as a farther mark of friendship, was left her by sir William Temple himself. It was Dr. Swift's wish at last to have owned his marriage; but finding herself declining very fast, Stella did not choose to alter her mode of life, and besides fully intended coming over to England to her mother."
It has been asserted that Swift, from the first moment of his acquaintance with Stella, had resolved never to marry. But it may possibly strike the reader as somewhat singular, that the dean could entertain serious thoughts (as from his letter to Varina, inserted in this collection, it is evident he did) of forming a permanent connexion with a woman, who, by his own account, was no desirable object; and yet, immediately afterward, when he became sensible of Stella's worth, who was in every respect superiour to his former mistress, he should immediately determine to spend the remainder of his days in a state of celibacy; especially as, at that time, there is little reason to think he could flatter himself with the idea, that the gentle Stella would consent to share his fortunes before they were properly hers; and, relying on his honour and his love, follow his footsteps through distant realms.
Besides, as Swift informed the bishop of Clogher what rules he had laid down with respect to marrying, it is pretty certain he had never made any resolution against matrimony, as no one but a lunatick would resolve on a particular line of conduct, to be observed in a predicament in which he was determined never to place himself, and in which no one, without his own consent, could place him. After what has been said, I presume the assertion I am now combating needs no other confutation.
Swift's motive for putting a period to his connexion with Varina, seems to have been the vexation he daily experienced from that caprice, which a weak woman never fails to exercise as a proof of the despotick sway, with which her own charms or her lover's infatuation have invested her; and he who withdraws himself from a government thus tyrannical, cannot with justice be considered as deserving of censure. Now, it is probable that the caprice of Varina influenced not a little the conduct of Swift toward Stella. The only woman with whom he had hitherto been intimately connected, had shown that she knew only the abuse of power; and he might have his fears, that should he avow himself the lover of Stella, she might also be ignorant how to use that power, with which his avowal would invest her. If, however, this suspicion existed, it was certainly ill founded, and never could have entered into the dean's mind, had Stella been the first object of his regard; but experience is the parent of suspicion. The mind of Stella was too great, her sentiments were too exalted to admit of her being capricious. Caprice is the growth of weak minds only.
What has been said may possibly account for Swift's never throwing off the mask of friendship during this intercourse with the lovely partner of his fortunes. On this ground, it appears no very difficult matter to reconcile his conduct toward Stella with the most determined resolution of marrying her, whenever circumstances should admit of it. And if we attentively survey the situation of Swift, from the first moment of his connexion with the far-famed object of his wishes to the period immediately preceding her death, we shall be at a loss to point out the time when, consistently with the dictates of prudence, he could have united himself with his amiable mistress.
From the promised munificence of king William, he received nothing but disappointment. Yet such a promise to the dead, to one whom he had honoured with his confidence and friendship, should have been considered by the monarch as guarded from violation by every tie that could influence either a great or good mind.
But to proceed. After Swift's retirement from Moor Park till his connexion with lord Berkeley, he had no prospect of preferment. The misconduct of that nobleman, I am sorry to say, but too justly provoked the indignation of Swift; and the provision he at length obtained was too scanty to admit of his embarking with a family. On his promotion to the deanery of St. Patrick, a system of the severest economy was necessary to liquidate the debt contracted by a long and vexatious attendance on ministry; at the same time that a certain degree of state was a necessary appendage to his station.
To the union of Swift and Stella there was, however, at one period of their connexion, a much more formidable obstacle than any that could have arisen from prudence. It is with reluctance I proceed; but during one of the dean's long ministerial attendances in London, commenced his acquaintance with Vanessa.
This lady possessed wit, youth, beauty, a competent share of wealth, and universal admiration. Thus decorated, she offered herself a willing victim at the shrine of Swift, by whose genius she was completely fascinated.
To behold, without emotion, such a sacrifice, was hardly to be expected from man. But to the honour of Swift be it remembered, that though allured by such attractions as were indeed at once most rare and powerful, he made a long and obstinate defence; and when the death of the queen exiled him as it were from England, he used all the force of argument to prevail on Vanessa, to smother the destructive flame she had so long nourished in her bosom, and which, he wisely apprehended, would at some future period kindle a conflagration, from which effects the most fatal were justly to be dreaded. Dazzled at first by the splendour of his conquest, he was prevented from seeing his own conduct in a proper point of view; but when the death of the queen reminded him that Ireland was to be the scene of his remaining years, the thought of wounding her, whom he had invited to that country, by the presence of her rival, shocked the delicacy of his feelings; while the idea of Stella, neglected and forsaken, returned with redoubled force, and once more possessed itself of his mind.
Yet at the moment when he recommended to Vanessa forgetfulness of the past, it is certain he taught what he could not practise, and that what was right was preferred to what was pleasant. In the eye of justice, the claims of Stella were highly forcible. She had, at an early period of life, yielded her affections to the assiduities of Swift. To enjoy his society, she had sacrificed her country and her connexions, and had fixed her abode in a part of the world where people were by no means inclined to put the best construction on the face of things. And it must be owned, that to those who were not behind the curtain, matters wore not an appearance highly favourable to delicacy.
In circumstances like these, to have finally deserted Stella was a piece of cruelty and of villany of which her lover was utterly incapable. His return to Ireland certainly lessened her anxiety, and rendered her situation more tolerable than it could be during his absence. Whatever she might think of the state of his affections, she was at least in a situation to attempt the recovery of them; and though disappointment had killed the roses of youth, yet her conversation was still attractive, her mind cultivated, and her manners gentle. But the arrival of the unfortunate Vanessa soon violated the tranquillity of Stella. The anxiety inseparable from such a situation as hers preyed on her spirits, and materially affected her health.
Swift, shocked at the effects his own inconstancy was likely to produce, requested bishop Ash, the common friend of both, to inquire from Stella what could restore her former peace of mind. Her answer was to this effect, "That for many years she had patiently born the tongue of slander; but that hitherto she had been cheered by the hope of one day becoming his wife: That of such an event she now saw no probability; and that, consequently, her memory would be transmitted to posterity branded with the most unmerited obloquy."
Swift, in his reply to this declaration, observed, that "in early life he had laid down two maxims with respect to matrimony: The first was, never to marry unless possessed of a competency: the second, unless this was the case at such a period of life as afforded him a probable prospect of living to educate his family; but yet, since her happiness depended on his marrying her, he would directly comply with her wishes on the following terms: That it should remain a secret from all the world, unless the discovery were called for by some urgent necessity; and that they should continue in separate houses."
To these terms Stella readily acceded; and in 1716, they were married by the bishop of Clogher, who himself related the circumstance to bishop Berkeley, by whose relict the story was communicated to me[1].
What Swift meant by the term urgent necessity, unless it alluded to the birth of children, it would be hard to say; but before I proceed any farther in my inquiry, I shall here insert an anecdote, for the authenticity of which I pretend not to vouch. I shall relate it as I heard it, and shall mention the name of my informer, who was Richard Brennan[2], the servant in whose arms Swift breathed his last, and who attended him during the six years that immediately preceded his death. My informer, who is still living in Dublin, told me, that when he was at school, there was a boy boarded with the master, who was commonly reported to be the dean's son by Mrs. Johnson. He added, that the boy strongly resembled the dean in his complexion; that he dined constantly at the deanery every Sunday; and that, when other boys were driven out of the deanery yard, he was suffered to remain there and divert himself. This boy survived Mrs. Johnson but a year or two at the most.
All I shall remark on this story is, that it is very consistent with the dates of Mrs. Johnson's marriage and death; the former having taken place in 1716, the latter in 1727-8. The story is, however, related merely as the report of the day, and no stress is meant to be laid upon it.
Swift, by marrying Stella at a time when it is pretty certain he ceased to entertain for her any very impassioned sentiments, is one proof that he thought the laws of honour entitled to the strictest observance. He saw, when it was too late, the errour of his conduct toward that amiable woman, and made reparation; though, to be sure, his declining to acknowledge her was a step that cannot be justified, and which must be attributed merely to that love of singularity, which in a greater or less degree is inseparable from genius.
It is the property of genius to make men despise happiness as it is served up to the rest of mankind. Men of genius will cook it their own way; and in their attempts to heighten the flavour, they too often spoil the dish. Such was the case of the unfortunate dean of St. Patrick's. Had Swift been a blockhead, he would not have had the evening of his life imbittered by reflections the most piercing, the most cruel! — he would have pursued the beaten track which leads to that which is commonly called happiness, and would have reached the goal without interruption.
Having no farther observations to make on the peculiar circumstances of the unfortunate Stella, I shall conclude my account of her, by drawing her character as it appears to me from the best information I have been able to collect. Her manners were gentle to a great degree; her mind was rather elegant than strong; her reading was extensive; her wit was rather agreeable than brilliant, while her patience and her piety will find more to admire than to imitate them.
With respect to Vanessa I have little to say. While, in justice to Swift, I cannot refrain from observing, that the first advances came from her, I should not forbear recalling to the reader's recollection what is remarked a few pages back, that when Vanessa selected Cadenus for her lover, she was universally followed and admired; and whatever construction may be put on a celebrated poem, which it is to be wished had never seen the light, I shall venture to assert, that the passion she entertained for Swift was perfectly innocent. She knew of no engagement to prevent their union; and to obtain that union was the sole object of her wishes. Although the encouragement she gave to Swift might be rather inconsistent with the etiquette observed by all prudent and experienced women when in a state of courtship; yet for this inattention it is by no means right to brand her memory with the severest obloquy.
With respect to the dean's conduct toward this lady, no other apology can be offered than this: That the violence of the passion which he entertained for her, blinded him to the fatal effects that were likely to arise from such a connexion; and that he found himself unexpectedly in a situation where perseverance was wrong, and where retreat was impossible. Swift has been severely blamed for continuing his connexion with Vanessa after his marriage with Stella: But be it remembered, that though in this point he erred, his motive was such as, though it could not justify, certainly palliated the crime. He wanted resolution mortally to wound the peace of one who loved so well. Justice and nature contested the point; and those who in this instance may censure, cannot regret the triumph of the latter. It is likewise more than probable, that one of the motives which induced Swift to conceal his marriage, was a wish to spare Vanessa so severe a pang; the effects produced by the discovery of that fatal secret were foreseen, and are too well known to need recapitulation. Her last will declared what her feelings were: Her appointing Swift's most intimate friend bishop Berkeley to be one of the executioners of her vengeance, shows the violence of her resentment. At the same time, had the hour of Vanessa's dissolution been less rapid in its approach, had death allowed the storm of passion time to subside, it is more than probable she would have recalled her order respecting the publication of their mutual correspondence. Her passions were violent, and consequently would have been short lived[3]. Her heart was tender, and her sensibility great; while her mind was possessed of a degree of strength not always to be found among the fair sex; and her talents in many points eclipsed those of her unfortunate rival.
Such was Vanessa, over whose last moments, as well as over those of the amiable Stella, it were to be wished that a veil had from the first been drawn. They only exhibit two dreary scenes of cheerless sorrow, over which the benevolent and the feeling will drop one silent tear; while none will withhold from the ill-fated Swift the tribute of pity, but such as, in opposition to the benevolent author of nature, prefer sacrifice to mercy.
- ↑ The same circumstance was told to Dr. Johnson by Dr. Madden.
- ↑ In 1789 he was one of the bell-ringers at St. Patrick's church, and in a state of penury.
- ↑ Influenced by this idea, bishop Berkeley withheld from the press a series of letters, the publication of which could only have served to torment one already bending under the iron rod of affliction.