The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 1/Memoirs and Anecdotes of Swift
Memoirs and Anecdotes of Swift, extracted from the former Publications by Doctor Delany and others.
AS Swift had been charged by many with want of religion, Voltaire, and other freethinkers, wishing to have a man of his genius enrolled in their class; doctor Delany enters into a justification of him in that respect. Among other passages to this effect, are the following: As to his religion, I myself have observed many strong indications and proofs of his sincerity in it, beside those now mentioned. His saying grace, both before and after meat, was very remarkable. It was always in the fewest words that could be uttered on the occasion, but with an emphasis and fervour which every one around him saw and felt, and with his hands clasped into one another, and lifted up to his breast, but never higher. The religious and christian form of his last will, and the many prayers composed, and constantly offered up by him in Mrs. Johnson's sickness, are strong proofs to the same purpose.
There was no vice in the world he so much abhorred as hypocrisy; and of consequence nothing he dreaded so much as to be suspected of it. This naturally led to make him verge sometimes too much to the other extreme; and made him often conceal his piety with more care, than others take to conceal their vices. I have been assured by doctor Delany, who lived for a considerable time in his house, that he resided with him for more than six months, before he knew, or so much as suspected that he ever read prayers to his family. Which nevertheless he constantly did, at a fixed hour every night in his own bedchamber, to which the servants regularly and silently resorted, at the time appointed, without any notice from a bell, or audible call of any kind, except the striking of a clock. And I am well assured, that when he lived in London, his constant way was to go to early prayers, and sacrament; which he thought made him less distinguished in his devotions. But though in his private capacity he indulged himself in his own method of paying his devotions, yet when his duty called on him either as a parish priest, or dean, no one performed all the functions of that sacred office in a more exemplary manner, because in this case nothing of ostentation could be imputed to him. Of this doctor Delany gives several instances, and concludes with a very remarkable one, where he says, after a good deal of meditation upon Swift's character, as a man of true religion, I think I have found out one proof of it so clear and incontestable, as may well supersede the necessity of any other. His cathedral of St. Patrick's, is the only church in that city, wherein the primitive practice of receiving the sacrament every Lord's day was renewed, and is still continued; and to the best of my remembrance and belief, renewed in his time. At least, as he was ordinary there, it could not be continued without his consent; and it is most certain that he constantly attended that holy office; consecrated and administered the sacrament in person. Nor do I believe he ever once failed to do so, when it was in his power; I mean when he was not sick, or absent at too great a distance.
His attention to the economy of his cathedral was such, that he would not suffer a shilling of its revenues to be alienated from its proper use, even for the purposes of charity. If any thing of that kind was proposed, his answer was, that this money was appropriated; but he would give out of his own pocket, in proportion to his income, as much toward any charitable purpose, as any of them would in proportion to theirs. Then turning to the person who made the proposal, "You, sir, declare upon your conscience, that the person you now solicit for, is a proper object of Christian charity. My deanery is worth seven hundred pounds a year; your prebend, worth two; if you will give two shillings to this charity, I will give seven, or any greater sum in the same proportion."
His strict religious attention to the revenues of the deanery, was so great, that he never failed to sacrifice his own present emoluments, to the reasonable prospects of a future sufficient maintenance for his successors and chapter. One instance of this appeared most remarkably in the great decline, and almost total decay of his understanding. He had resolved many years before, never to renew a certain lease of lands belonging to the deanery, without raising the rent thirty pounds a year. The tenant had often applied to him for a renewal upon other terms, but to no purpose. And finding now that Swift's understanding was in the decay, and his avarice remarkably predominant; he thought this the proper season to make his last effort for a renewal, and tempt him with such a fine, as he was sure the dean could not resist in those circumstances. Accordingly he made his attempt; but to as little purpose as ever he had done before, the dean remaining immovable. He refused a large fine, at a time when he loved money incomparably beyond any thing else in the world, and raised the rent, as he had long since resolved to do. I visited him the next day after the renewal of this lease, and inquiring after his health, he told me in a tone of heavy complaint, that his memory was almost totally gone, and his understanding going; but that he had yesterday done something for the benefit of his successor, but he had forgot what; but doctor Wilson (who then lived in the house with him) would tell me. I inquired, and was informed of this renewal, as I have now related it.
As an ecclesiastick, he was scrupulously exact in the exercise of his function, as well with regard to temporal, as spiritual things. He expended more money to support and adorn his cathedral, than had been applied to the same use in any period since it was first built. He was extremely exact and conscientious in promoting the members of the choir according to their merit, and never advanced any person to a vicarage, who was not qualified for it in all respects, whatever their interest, or however recommended. He once refused a vicarage to a person for whom lady Carteret was very importunate; at the same time declaring to her ladyship, that, if it had been in his power to have made the gentleman a dean, or a bishop, he would have obliged her willingly, because, he said, deaneries and bishopricks were preferments in which merit had no concern; but the merit of a vicar would be brought to the test every day.
It happened that a young gentleman of his choir being abroad with his gun, suffered irreparable hurt by its going off accidentally. When the dean heard of it he expressed great concern, and having paused a little, "well," said he, "this will be a good opportunity at once to reward merit, and alleviate distress; I will make him a vicar;" which he did accordingly the same hour.
The poor in the liberty of his cathedral, were better regulated than any other in the kingdom; they were all badged, and were never found begging out of their district. For some of these he built and furnished a little almshouse, being assisted in this by some voluntary contributions; and preserved among them uncommon cleanliness and decency, by constantly visiting them in person.
In the distribution of his charity, that he might proportion his bounty to the necessities and merits of the different objects he met with, and yet give but one piece of money at a time, he constantly kept a pocket full of all sorts of coin, from a silver threepence to a crown piece.
He was a strenuous supporter of all the rights and privileges belonging to his deanery, against all incroachments attempted by his powerful neighbour the archbishop of Dublin; in opposition to whom he determined to assert his right of absence without his grace's permission, at the expense of several hundred pounds, at a time when he did not believe he should ever again claim the privilege for himself; but because he would not endanger the liberty of his successor by an injurious precedent.
In contradiction to the account given of the great decorum and solemnity with which Swift performed all religious duties, there are two stories told by lord Orrery, to which I can give no credit. The first is thus related by his lordship: "As soon as he had taken possession of his two livings, he went to reside at Laracor, and gave publick notice to his parishioners, that he would read prayers every Wednesday and Friday. Upon the subsequent Wednesday the bell was rung, and the rector attended in his desk; when after having sat some time, and finding the congregation to consist only of himself, and his clerk Roger, he began with great composure and gravity, but with a turn peculiar to himself, 'Dearly beloved Roger — the Scripture moveth you and me in sundry places,' &c. — And then proceeded regularly through the whole service. I mention this trifling circumstance only to show you, that he could not resist a vein of humour, whenever he had an opportunity of exerting it."
Now to suppose that a man of Swift's religious turn, should have made such a mockery of this solemn act of worship, and afterward go through the whole service, notwithstanding the many absurdities that would follow in the course of it, from there being no congregation present, merely for the sake of a paltry jest, is too gross an imposition to be easily swallowed. It is not indeed improbable, that Swift afterward, in relating this circumstance, might have said, he had a mind to begin the service with — "Dearly beloved Roger," &c. and they who heard this, as is frequently the case on such occasions, thought it would improve the story much by making him carry it into execution, and related it accordingly. The other story is thus told by his lordship. "His humorous disposition tempted him to actions inconsistent with the dignity of a clergyman; and such flights drew upon him the general character of an irreligious man: I remember to have heard a story of him, that fully shows how little he regarded certain ceremonies, which ought always to be observed with respect. Soon after he had been made dean of St. Patrick's, he was loitering one Sunday in the afternoon at the house of doctor Raymond, with whom he had dined at Trim (a small town near Laracor) of which the doctor was vicar. The bell had rung, and the people were assembled for evening prayers. Doctor Raymond was preparing to go to the church, which was scarce two hundred yards from his house. 'Raymond,' said the dean, 'I will lay you a crown, I will begin the prayers before you this afternoon.' 'I accept the wager,' replied doctor Raymond; and immediately they both ran as fast as they could toward the church. Raymond, who was the nimbler man of the two, arrived first at the door; and when he entered the church, walked decently toward the reading desk. Swift never slackened his pace, but running up the aisle, left doctor Raymond behind him in the middle of it, and stepping into the reading desk, without putting on a surplice, or opening the Prayerbook, began the liturgy in an audible voice, and continued to repeat the service sufficiently long to win the wager." Now it is very possible that such an adventure might have happened at that time between two clergymen, and nothing more probable than that it would immediately be transferred to Swift and his neighbour. We see it every day practised, that witty sayings, blunders, and things of humour, are constantly fathered upon the most remarkable wit, blunderer, or humourist of the times, whether they belong to them or not.
As his lordship has given no sort of authority for the truth of the above stories, nor indeed for that of any others that he has related to the prejudice of Swift, except hearsay; we may judge to what degree of credit they are entitled.
Among the many false representations made by his lordship, he has been attacked for one of them with great spirit, by doctor Delany, in the following passage. A friend of mine, turning over the index to your letters, showed me these words — Swift's Seraglio — Surprised at this, I immediately turned to the place; where, to my much greater surprise, I found the following paragraph: "You see the command which Swift had over all his females; and you would have smiled to have found his house a constant seraglio of very virtuous women, who attended him from morning to night, with an obedience, an awe, and an assiduity, that are seldom paid to the richest, or the most powerful lovers; no, not even to the grand seignior himself." This paragraph, my lord, gives me great concern, upon many accounts; though I shall mention only this one; that it seems to be written in the style of a man, who knew what he said to be truth; which yet most certainly was not, could not, be your case; and therefore I conclude you wrote it in the style in which it was delivered to you, by your monstrous misinformers.
My lord, the intercourse in which my station engaged me, for many years, with the dean; my long intimacy with his most intimate friends, and the frequent visits to him which my love and gratitude exacted; enable me to assure your lordship and the world (as I do in the most solemn and sincere manner) that nothing ever was more false, than the informations you received upon this point; and that in fact, females were rarely admitted into his house; and never came thither but upon very particular invitations, not excepting even Mrs. Johnson. The truth is, not one of those you are pleased to call his senators, ever presumed to approach him, till he very particularly signified his pleasure that they should, except his near kinswoman, Mrs. Whiteway, who was often with him, but not until the latter part of his life.
And yet, my lord, as the honour I bear you strongly inclines me to assent to your positions, wherever I can; I must own, that if keeping a great number of professed nominal mistresses, constitutes the complete idea of a seraglio, Swift kept a greater, and a much more extended one than the grand seignior. And I have had the honour to be admitted, more than once, to bear him company in his visits to them. But this I must add, in support of the credit of your judgment of his constitution, that his visits were always by daylight; and for the most part, in the most open and publick places of the city. But yet truth obliges me to own, that he also visited some of them in by-alleys, and under arches; places of long suspected fame. Let me add, that he kept strictly to that Turkish principle, of honouring none, but such as were bred up and occupied in some employment. One of these miistresses sold plums; another, hobnails; a third, tapes; a fourth, gingerbread; a fifth, knitted; a sixth, darned stockings; and a seventh, cobbled shoes; and so on, beyond my counting. And in all this detail of his amours, I take upon me to say, that the singularity of his taste, was as remarkably distinguished, as his genius was, in any, or all of his compositions. One of these mistresses wanted an eye; another, a nose; a third, an arm; a fourth, a foot: a fifth, had all the attractions of Agnas Polypus; and a sixth, more than all those of Æsop's hump; and all of them as old at least as some of Lewis the XIVth's mistresses; and many of them much older. He saluted them with all becoming kindness; asked them how they did; how they throve; what stock they had, &c.; and as mistresses, all the world owns, are expensive things, it is certain he never saw his, but to his cost. If any of their ware were such as he could possibly make use of, or pretend to make use of, he always bought some; and paid for every halfpennyworth, at least sixpence, and for every pennyworth, a shilling. If their saleables were of another nature, he added something to their stock; with strict charges of industry and honesty. And I must once more own, for truth exacts it of me, that these mistresses were very numerous; insomuch, that there was scarce one street, or alley, or lane in Dublin, its suburbs, and its environs, that had not at least one or more of them. Some of these he named thus for distinction's sake, and partly for humour; Cancerina, Stumpanympha, Pullagowna, Futterilla, Flora, Stumpantha, &c. Pray, my lord, are Horace's Pyrrhas and Lydias to be named in a day with these? And yet I cannot say that any, or all of them, ever influenced him, either in the composition or publication of any of his poems; though I cannot tell whether they might not have occasioned a very celebrated love epistle, from a blind man, to one of Swift's favourite mistresses, called Stumpy, from the fame of her wooden leg.
What a glorious scene is here displayed of Swift's beneficence! To seek out objects in all quarters of the town, from which the bulk of mankind turn with loathing; to place them in a way of gaining an honest livelihood, instead of being publick nuisances in the street; to keep them steady in a course of industry, by frequent visits in such places as the fastidious rich would disdain to enter; to supply their wants when business was slack, and encourage the successful by farther bounties — these are instances of such truly christian charity, as are rarely to be found. And after this shall it be a doubt whether Swift had a heart susceptible of the soft feelings of humanity?
He had a servant well known to all his friends by the name of Saunders; an appellation given him by the dean. He was remarkably kind to him during a course of several years spent in his service; but more particularly throughout a long illness, under which he laboured for many months before he died. He had him buried in the south aisle of his cathedral, where he erected a monument to him in a small piece of statuary marble, with this inscription:
Here lieth the body of
Alexander Magee, 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.
Ob. Mar. 24, 1721, etat. 29.
In the original draught, which I saw in the dean's own hand writing, it stood thus:
His grateful friend, and master, &c.
A gentleman of the dean's acquaintance, much more distinguished for vanity than wisdom, prevailed upon him to leave out the word friend, and only write his grateful master; and this in contradiction to a known maxim of his own. — "That an affectionate and faithful servant, should always be considered in the character of an humble friend." He performed the burial service himself on the occasion, and in the course of it was observed to shed tears.
As he expected punctual, ready, and implicit obedience, he always tried his servants when he hired them by some test of their humility. Among other qualities, he always asked whether they understood cleaning shoes, because, said he, my kitchen wench has a scullion that does her drudgery, and one part of the business of my groom and footman is constantly to clean her shoes by turns: if they scrupled this, their treaty was at an end; if not, he gave them a farther hearing. His kitchen wench, however, was his cook; a woman of a large size, robust constitution, and coarse features; her face very much seamed with the smallpox, and furrowed by age; this woman he always distinguished by the name of Sweetheart.
It happened one day that Sweetheart greatly over-roasted the only joint he had for dinner; upon which he sent for her up, and with great coolness and gravity, "Sweetheart," says he, "take this down into the kitchen, and do it less." She replied, "that was impossible." "Pray, then," said he, "if you had roasted it too little, could you not have done it more?" "Yes," she said, "she could easily have done that;" "Why then, Sweetheart, if you must commit a fault, let me advise you to commit one that can be mended."
To the rest of the servants, indeed, he appeared to be churlish and austere, but, in reality, was one of the best masters in the world. He allowed them board-wages at the highest rate then known; and if he employed them about any thing out of the ordinary course of their service, he always paid them to the full value of their work, as he would have paid another. With these emoluments, and the fragments from his table, he expected they should find themselves in victuals, and all other necessaries, except the liveries which he gave them. If in this situation their expenses were greater than their income, it was judged a sufficient reason to discharge them; but on the contrary, as soon as they had saved a full year's wages, he constantly paid them legal interest for it, and took great pleasure in seeing it accumulate to a sum, which might settle them in some employment if he should die; or if they found it advisable to quit his service, which was seldom the case; and he with whom his servants live long, has indubitable witnesses that he is a good master. Beside the motives already assigned for wishing to continue in his service, their pride was highly gratified while they remained in that station; it was thought an honour to belong to the dean in any shape; they had more respect paid them by the people in general than is usually shown to any others of this fraternity; and the dean's plain livery was a badge of greater distinction than that of the lord lieutenant's with all its finery.
He was one of the cleanliest men in his person that ever lived. His hands were not only washed, as those of other men, with the utmost care, but his nails were constantly kept pared to the quick, to guard against the least appearance of a speck upon them. And as he walked much, he rarely dressed himself without a basin of water by his side, in which he dipped a towel and cleansed his feet with the utmost exactness.
In company, he neither wrapped himself up in his own importance, without deigning to communicate his knowledge, or exert his wit; nor did he engross the conversation by perpetual and overbearing loquacity. His general rule was, never to speak more than a minute at a time, and then to wait at least as long for others to take up the conversation; after which he had a right to speak again. His colloquial style, like that of his writings, was clear, forcible, and concise. He also excelled greatly in telling a story; and though in the latter part of his life he was apt to repeat his stories too often, yet his wit, as well as his virtue, was always superiour to the wretched expedients of those despicable babblers, who are perpetually attempting to put off double entendre and profaneness, for humour and wit. His conversation was in the highest degree chaste, and wholly free from the least tincture of irreligion. As he was zealous to preserve all the delicacies of conversation, he was always best pleased when some of the company were ladies; and in his letter to lord Oxford, he says, "since women have been left out of all our meetings, except parties of play, or where worse designs are carried on, our conversation has very much degenerated." And in this instance, his example is a reproof to those pedants, who suppose that women are never in their proper sphere, but in the dressingroom or nursery.
The custom of Dublin in his time was, that the ladies should withdraw immediately after the first glass had gone round; but he never permitted this either when he had parties at home, or was invited to any abroad; always insisting upon their staying till the gentlemen had nearly done with their wine; and then after a decent allowance of time, they joined companies again at tea and coffee, as is the custom of France, and passed the remainder of the evening together. But the gentlemen at that time were too fond of the bottle, and of their own discourse over it, to suffer that custom to become general.
If the conversation turned upon serious subjects, he was neither petulant in the debate, nor negligent of the issue. He would listen with great attention to the arguments of others, and whether he was or was not engaged as a disputant himself, he would recapitulate what had been said, state the question with great clearness and precision, point out the controverted particular, and appeal to the opinion either of some neutral person, or of the majority.
Lord Orrery had said of him, that he was open to adulation, and could not, or would not distinguish between low flattery and just applause. From which charge he has been defended by doctor Delany, in the following manner:
My lord, the charge of Swift's delighting in low adulation, has lain so heavy upon my mind, that I have revolved it with the utmost attention for many hours, yet can find no just foundation for it. His heart was so thoroughly averse from flattery, that he took all occasions not only to express his utter contempt and detestation of it, but also to dissuade others from it. How it might have been with him in the decline of his understanding, when he made hasty approaches to a second childhood, I cannot say; he might then, possibly, be fed by those about him, as children often are, with plums and sweatmeats, instead of salutary food.
In confirmation of the above account given by doctor Delany, I remember, when his lordship's book first came out, to have read this passage to Mrs. Sican, an intimate friend of the dean's; upon which she expressed herself thus: "I never yet knew any mortal who durst flatter him, except his lordship himself." Indeed the only way of paying court to him, was not by words, but a very respectful behaviour toward him, which he expected so much, that most of his acquaintance, except his intimate friends, stood in some degree of awe before him. On the contrary, he was more open to admonition than flattery, if it were offered without arrogance, and by persons of whose ability and candour he had no doubt. In his poem of Baucis and Philemon, which does not consist quite of two hundred verses, Swift himself related, that Mr. Addison made him blot out fourscore, add fourscore, and alter fourscore.
I remember a remarkable instance of this kind, told me by one of his chapter, which deserves to be recorded as a useful lesson to such opinionated authors as cannot bear to be told of any faults in their writings. That gentleman happened to visit him at a time when the dean was about to send a newly written pamphlet to the press; which he put into his friend's hands, desiring that he would point out freely any faults he might find in it. The gentleman stuck at two passages, and proposed an amendment of them, which Swift instantly complied with. When the work came out, the gentleman, upon a second reading, found he had been wrong in his objections, and that the passages had been altered for the worse. Upon his next visit to the dean, he expressed some concern at this, and no small degree of surprise, upon recollecting that the other had so readily acquiesced in the change, without making the slightest objection, though he must have been conscious it was wrong. "Sir," said Swift, "I considered that the passages were of no great consequence, and I made the alterations you desired without hesitation, lest, had I stood up in their defence, you might have imputed it to the vanity of an author unwilling to hear of his errours; and by this ready compliance, I hoped you would, at all times hereafter, be the more free in your remarks." Though he had no skill in musick, nor ear for its beauties, yet he had sufficient for a most ridiculous and droll imitation of it; of which doctor Delany gives the following instance in a scene at which he was present one evening, together with some others of the dean's friends.
Tom Rosingrave was just returned from Italy; and doctor Pratt, then provost of the college, who was not long come back from the same place, and was far gone in the Italian taste of musick, had been that morning at St. Patrick's, to hear him play a voluntary, and was in high rapture in praise of it. Upon which some of the company wished they had been present to have heard it. "Do you?" said Swift; "then you shall hear it still:" and immediately he sung out so lively, and yet so ridiculous an imitation of it, that all the company were kept in continual laughter till it was over; except one old gentleman, who sat with great composure, and though he listened, yet it seemed to make little or no impression on him; and being asked how he could hear such a fine piece of musick without being at all affected by it, made answer, "that he had heard Mr. Rosingrave himself play it before." An answer which, it may well be imagined, did not lessen the mirth.
Swift had a peculiar knack of conveying fine praise under cover of very rough words. When lord Carteret was lord lieutenant of Ireland, Swift happened to have a little dispute with him about the grievances that kingdom suffered from England, and the folly, nonsense, and injustice of their government in that respect; for he spared no hard words on that subject. The lord lieutenant replied with a mastery and strength of reasoning, for which he was so remarkable, and which Swift not well liking at that time, cried out in a violent passion — "What the vengeance brought you among us? Get you back — Get you back — Pray God Almighty send us our boobies again."
Being one day at a sheriff's feast, who, among other toasts, called out to him, "Mr. dean, The trade of Ireland:" he answered quick, — "Sir, I drink no memories[1]."
He greatly admired the talents of the late duke of Wharton, as the duke did his; who one day dining with the dean, and recounting several wild frolicks he had run through; "My lord," said Swift, "let me recommend one more to you — Take a frolick to be good — rely upon it, you will find it the pleasantest frolick you ever was engaged in[2]."
Happening to be in company with a petulant young man, who prided himself in saying pert things to the dean, and at last getting up with some conceited gesticulations, said, with a confident air — "You must know, Mr. dean, I set up for a wit." "Do you so," says the dean, "then take my advice, and sit down again."
Being one day at a visitation dinner, a clergyman, who valued himself more upon his wit than he ought, and often mistook a rough kind of abuse for keen raillery; took it into his head to exercise his talents upon the dean, and that very licentiously. Swift sat with all the composure of a deaf man, not seeming to hear a word that he had said, nor making any kind of answer. At length the bishop interposed, and checked the petulance of the snarl; which was the name he went by. The dean immediately got up, and begged that no restraint might be laid on the gentleman — "Momus, my lord, was always admitted to the feasts of the gods, and privileged to say whatever he pleased there." From that time, instead of Snarl, the gentleman was called by no other name but that of Momus.
Sitting one evening with Mr. Addison, the conversation happened to turn upon the most distinguished characters in the history of the Old Testament; in which Swift preferred and supported that of Joseph; and Addison that of Jonathan; and after they had urged their reasons on both sides, with much zeal for a considerable time; Mr. Addison smiled, and said, "he was glad no third person was witness to their dispute;" just recollecting that he was asserting the hero of Swift's name, Jonathan; and Swift the hero of his, Joseph; which might have been interpreted by a standerby, as an intended compliment of each to the other.
A young clergyman, the son of a bishop in Ireland, having married without the knowledge of his friends, it gave umbrage to his family, and his father refused to see him. The dean being in company with him some time after, said he would tell him a story. "When I was a schoolboy at Kilkenny, and in the lower form, I longed very much to have a horse of my own to ride on. One day I saw a poor man leading a very mangy lean horse out of the town to kill him for the skin. I asked the man if he would sell him, which he readily consented to upon my offering him somewhat more than the price of the hide, which was all the money I had in the world. I immediately got on him, to the great envy of some of my schoolfellows, and to the ridicule of others, and rode him about the town. The horse soon tired and lay down. As I had no stable to put him into, nor any money to pay for his sustenance, I began to find out what a foolish bargain I had made, and cried heartily for the loss of my cash; but the horse dying soon after upon the spot, gave me some relief." To this the young clergyman answered — "Sir, your story is very good, and applicable to my case; I own I deserve such rebukes," — and then burst into a flood of tears. The dean made no reply, but went the next day to the lord lieutenant, and prevailed on him to give the young gentleman a small living then vacant, for his immediate support; and not long after brought about a reconciliation between his father and him.
The following anecdote is given by Dr. Goldsmith, in his Life of Parnell. The Scriblerus Club, when the members were in town, were seldom asunder, and they often made excursions together into the country, and generally on foot. Swift was usually the butt of the company, and if a trick was played, he was always the sufferer. The whole party once set out to walk down to the house of lord B about twelve miles from town. As every one agreed to make the best of his way, Swift, who was remarkable for walking, soon left all the rest behind; fully resolved, upon his arrival, to choose the very best bed for himself, as was his custom. In the mean time, Parnell was determined to prevent his intentions; and taking horse, arrived at lord B's by another way, long before him. Having apprised his lordship of Swift's design, it was resolved at any rate to keep him out of the house; but how to do this was the question. Swift never had the smallpox, and was much afraid of catching it; as soon, therefore, as he appeared striding along at some distance from the house, one of his lordship's servants was dispatched, to inform him that the smallpox was then making great ravage in the family; but that there was a summerhouse at the end of the garden, with a fieldbed at his service. There the disappointed dean was obliged to retire, and take a cold supper that was sent him, while the rest were feasting within. However, at last they took compassion on him; and upon his promising never to choose the best bed again, they permitted him to make one of the company.
During his last deplorable state, the following circumstances are all that are recorded. In the beginning of the year 1741, his understanding was so much impaired, and his passions so greatly increased, that he was utterly incapable of conversation. Strangers were not permitted to approach him, and his friends found it necessary to have guardians appointed of his person and estate. Early in the year 1742, his reason was wholly subverted, and his rage became absolute madness. The last person whom he knew, was Mrs. Whiteway; and the sight of her, when he knew her no longer, threw him into fits of rage so violent and dreadful, that she was forced to leave him; and the only act of kindness that remained in her power, was to call once or twice a week at the deanery, inquire after his health, and see that proper care was taken of him. Sometimes she would steal a look at him when his back was toward her, but did not dare to venture into his sight. He would neither eat nor drink while the servant who brought him his provisions staid in the room. His meat, which was served up ready cut, he would sometimes suffer to stand an hour upon the table before he would touch it; and at last he would eat it walking; for during this miserable state of his mind, it was his constant custom to walk ten hours a day.
In October 1742, after this phrensy had continued several months, his left eye swelled to the size of an egg, and the lid appeared to be so much inflamed and discoloured, that the surgeon expected it would mortify; several large boils also broke out on his arms and his body. The extreme pain of this tumour kept him waking near a month, and during one week it was with difficulty that five persons kept him, by mere force, from tearing out his eyes. Just before the tumour perfectly subsided, and the pain left him, he knew Mrs. Whiteway, took her by the hand, and spoke to her with his former kindness: that day, and the following, he knew his physician and surgeon, and all his family, and appeared to have so far recovered his understanding and temper, that the surgeon was not without hopes he might once more enjoy society, and be amused with the company of his old friends. This hope, however, was but of short duration; for a few days afterward, he sunk into a state of total insensibility, slept much, and could not, without great difficulty, be prevailed on to walk across the room. This was the effect of another bodily disease, his brain being loaded with water. Mr. Stevens, an ingenious clergyman of his chapter, pronounced this to be the case during his illness, and upon opening his head it appeared that he was not mistaken: but though he often intreated the dean's friends and physicians that his skull might be trepanned and the water discharged, no regard was paid to his opinion or advice.
After the dean had continued silent a whole year in this helpless state of idiocy, his housekeeper went into his room on the 30th of November in the morning, telling him that it was his birthday, and that bonfires and illuminations were preparing to celebrate it as usual; to this he immediately replied — "It is all folly, they had better let it alone."
Some other instances of short intervals of sensibility and reason, after his madness had ended in stupor, seem to prove that his disorder, whatever it was, had not destroyed, but only suspended the powers of his mind.
He was sometimes visited by Mr. Deane Swift, a relation, and about Christmas, 1743, he seemed desirous to speak to him. Mr. Swift then told him he came to dine with him; and Mrs. Ridgeway the housekeeper immediately said, "Won't you give Mr. Swift a glass of wine, sir?" To this he made no answer, but showed he understood the question, by shrugging up his shoulders, as he had been used to do when he had a mind a friend should spend the evening with him, and which was as much as to say "you will ruin me in wine." Soon after he again endeavoured, with a good deal of pain, to find words; but at last, after many efforts, not being able, he fetched a deep sigh, and was afterward silent. A few months after this, upon his housekeeper's removing a knife, as he was going to catch at it, he shrugged up his shoulders, and said, "I am what I am;" and, in about six minutes, repeated the same words two or three times.
In the year 1744, he now and then called his servant by his name, and once attempting to speak to him, but not being able to express his meaning, he showed signs of much uneasiness, and at last said, "I am a fool." Once afterward, as his servant was taking away his watch, he said, "bring it here;" and when the same servant was breaking a hard large coal, he said, "that is a stone, you blockhead."
From this time he was perfectly silent till the latter end of October, 1745, and then died without the least pang or convulsion, in the seventy-eighth year of his age.
- ↑ To take the force of this answer, it is necessary to observe, that it was made soon after bishop Brown's book had come out against 'Drinking the Memories of the Dead;' which at that time made some noise.
- ↑ Doctor Delany has wonderfully marred this tale in the telling, as he has entirely missed the point, concluding it thus — "Take my word for it, that one will do you more honour than all the other frolicks of your life." To annex the idea of honour to frolicks, is nonsense; they can be only considered as pleasant.