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FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY
THE ROMANCE OF DEVOTION
BY
LYNDON ORR
VOLUME IV OF IV.
CONTENTS
DEAN SWIFT AND THE TWO ESTHERS PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AND MARY GODWIN THE STORY OF THE CARLYLES THE STORY OF THE HUGOS THE STORY OF GEORGE SAND THE MYSTERY OF CHARLES DICKENS HONORE DE BALZAC AND EVELINA HANSKA CHARLES READE AND LAURA SEYMOUR
DEAN SWIFT AND THE TWO ESTHERS
The story of Jonathan Swift and of the two women who gave their livesfor love of him is familiar to every student of English literature.Swift himself, both in letters and in politics, stands out aconspicuous figure in the reigns of King William III and Queen Anne. Bywriting Gulliver's Travels he made himself immortal. The external factsof his singular relations with two charming women are sufficiently wellknown; but a definite explanation of these facts has never yet beengiven. Swift held his tongue with a repellent taciturnity. No one everdared to question him. Whether the true solution belongs to the sphereof psychology or of physiology is a question that remains unanswered.
But, as the case is one of the most puzzling in the annals of love, itmay be well to set forth the circumstances very briefly, to weigh thetheories that have already been advanced, and to suggest another.
Jonathan Swift was of Yorkshire stock, though he happened to be born inDublin, and thus is often spoken of as "the great Irish satirist," or"the Irish dean." It was, in truth, his fate to spend much of his lifein Ireland, and to die there, near the cathedral where his remains nowrest; but in truth he hated Ireland and everything connected with it,just as he hated Scotland and everything that was Scottish. He was anEnglishman to the core.
High-stomached, proud, obstinate, and over-mastering, independence wasthe dream of his life. He would accept no favors, lest he should puthimself under obligation; and although he could give generously, andeven lavishly, he lived for the most part a miser's life, hoardingevery penny and halfpenny that he could. Whatever one may think of him,there is no doubt that he was a very manly man. Too many of hisportraits give the impression of a sour, supercilious pedant; but thefinest of them all--that by Jervas--shows him as he must have been athis very prime, with a face that was almost handsome, and a look ofattractive humor which strengthens rather than lessens the power of hisbrows and of the large, lambent eyes beneath them.
At fifteen he entered Trinity College, in Dublin, where he read widelybut studied little, so that his degree was finally granted him only asa special favor. At twenty-one he first visited England, and becamesecretary to Sir William Temple, at Moor Park. Temple, after adistinguished career in diplomacy, had retired to his fine countryestate in Surrey. He is remembered now for several things--for havingentertained Peter the Great of Russia; for having, while young, won theaffections of Dorothy Osborne, whose letters to him are charming intheir grace and archness; for having been the patron of Jonathan Swift;and for fathering the young girl named Esther Johnson, a waif, born outof wedlock, to whom Temple gave a place in his household.
When Swift first met her, Esther Johnson was only eight years old; andpart of his duties at Moor Park consisted in giving her what was thenan unusual education for a girl. She was, however, still a child, andnothing serious could have passed between the raw youth and this littlegirl who learned the lessons that he imposed upon her.
Such acquaintance as they had was rudely broken off. Temple, a man ofhigh position, treated Swift with an urbane condescension which drovethe young man's independent soul into a frenzy. He returned to Ireland,where he was ordained a clergyman, and received a small parish atKilroot, near Belfast.
It was here that the love-note was first seriously heard in thediscordant music of Swift's career. A college friend of his namedWaring had a sister who was about the age of Swift, and whom he metquite frequently at Kilroot. Not very much is known of this episode,but there is evidence that Swift fell in love with the girl, whom herather romantically called "Varina."
This cannot be called a serious love-affair. Swift was lonely, and JaneWaring was probably the only girl of refinement who lived near Kilroot.Furthermore, she had inherited a small fortune, while Swift wasmiserably poor, and had nothing to offer except the shadowy prospect offuture advancement in England. He was definitely refused by her; and itwas this, perhaps, that led him to resolve on going back to England andmaking his peace with Sir William Temple.
On leaving, Swift wrote a passionate letter to Miss Waring--the onlytrue love-letter that remains to us of their correspondence. Heprotests that he does not want Varina's fortune, and that he will waituntil he is in a position to marry her on equal terms. There is asmoldering flame of jealousy running through the letter. Swift chargesher with being cold, affected, and willing to flirt with persons whoare quite beneath her.
Varina played no important part in Swift's larger life thereafter; butsomething must be said of this affair in order to show, first of all,that Swift's love for her was due only to proximity, and that when heceased to feel it he could be not only hard, but harsh. His fieryspirit must have made a deep impression on Miss Waring; for though sheat the time refused him, she afterward remembered him, and tried torenew their old relations. Indeed, no sooner had Swift been made rectorof a larger parish, than Varina let him know that she had changed hermind, and was ready to marry him; but by this time Swift had lost allinterest in her. He wrote an answer which even his truest admirers havecalled brutal.
"Yes," he said in substance, "I will marry you, though you have treatedme vilely, and though you are living in a sort of social sink. I amstill poor, though you probably think otherwise. However, I will marryyou on certain conditions. First, you must be educated, so that you canentertain me. Next, you must put up with all my whims and likes anddislikes. Then you must live wherever I please. On these terms I willtake you, without reference to your looks or to your income. As to thefirst, cleanliness is all that I require; as to the second, I only askthat it be enough."
Such a letter as this was like a blow from a bludgeon. The insolence,the contempt, and the hardness of it were such as no self-respectingwoman could endure. It put an end to their acquaintance, as Swiftundoubtedly intended it should do. He would have been less censurablehad he struck Varina with his fist or kicked her.
The true reason for Swift's utter change of heart is found, no doubt,in the beginning of what was destined to be his long intimacy withEsther Johnson. When Swift left Sir William Temple's in a huff, Estherhad been a mere schoolgirl. Now, on his return, she was fifteen yearsof age, and seemed older. She had blossomed out into a very comelygirl, vivacious, clever, and physically well developed, with dark hair,sparkling eyes, and features that were unusually regular and lovely.
For three years the two were close friends and intimate associates,though it cannot be said that Swift ever made open love to her. To theoutward eye they were no more than fellow workers. Yet love does notneed the spoken word and the formal declaration to give it life andmake it deep and strong. Esther Johnson, to whom Swift gave the petname of "Stella," grew into the existence of this fiery, hold, andindependent genius. All that he did she knew. She was his confidante.As to his writings, his hopes, and his enmities, she was the mistressof all his secrets. For her, at last, no other man existed.
On Sir William Temple's death, Esther John son came into a smallfortune, though she now lost her home at Moor Park. Swift returned toIreland, and soon afterward he invited Stella to join him there.
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bsp; Swift was now thirty-four years of age, and Stella a very attractivegirl of twenty. One might have expected that the two would marry, andyet they did not do so. Every precaution was taken to avoid anythinglike scandal. Stella was accompanied by a friend--a widow named Mrs.Dingley--without whose presence, or that of some third person, Swiftnever saw Esther Johnson. When Swift was absent, how ever, the twoladies occupied his apartments; and Stella became more than everessential to his happiness.
When they were separated for any length of time Swift wrote to Stellain a sort of baby-talk, which they called "the little language." It wasmade up of curious abbreviations and childish words, growing more andmore complicated as the years went on. It is interesting to think ofthis stern and often savage genius, who loved to hate, and whose hatewas almost less terrible than his love, babbling and prattling inlittle half caressing sentences, as a mother might babble over herfirst child. Pedantic writers have professed to find in Swift's use ofthis "little language" the coming shadow of that insanity which struckhim down in his old age.
As it is, these letters are among the curiosities of amatorycorrespondence. When Swift writes "oo" for "you," and "deelest" for"dearest," and "vely" for "very," there is no need of an interpreter;but "rettle" for "let ter," "dallars" for "girls," and "givar" for"devil," are at first rather difficult to guess. Then there is a systemof abbreviating. "Md" means "my dear," "Ppt" means "poppet," and"Pdfr," with which Swift sometimes signed his epistles, "poor, dear,foolish rogue."
The letters reveal how very closely the two were bound together, yetstill there was no talk of marriage. On one occasion, after they hadbeen together for three years in Ireland, Stella might have marriedanother man. This was a friend of Swift's, one Dr. Tisdall, who madeenergetic love to the sweet-faced English girl. Tisdall accused Swiftof poisoning Stella's mind against him. Swift replied that such was notthe case. He said that no feelings of his own would ever lead him toinfluence the girl if she preferred another.
It is quite sure, then, that Stella clung wholly to Swift, and carednothing for the proffered love of any other man. Thus through the yearsthe relations of the two remained unchanged, until in 1710 Swift leftIreland and appeared as a very brilliant figure in the Londondrawing-rooms of the great Tory leaders of the day.
He was now a man of mark, because of his ability as a controversialist.He had learned the manners of the world, and he carried him self withan air of power which impressed all those who met him. Among thesepersons was a Miss Hester--or Esther--Vanhomrigh, the daughter of arather wealthy widow who was living in London at that time. MissVanhomrigh--a name which she and her mother pronounced "Vanmeury"--wasthen seventeen years of age, or twelve years younger than the patientStella.
Esther Johnson, through her long acquaintance with Swift, and from hisconfidence in her, had come to treat him almost as an intellectualequal. She knew all his moods, some of which were very difficult, andshe bore them all; though when he was most tyrannous she became onlypassive, waiting, with a woman's wisdom, for the tempest to blow over.
Miss Vanhomrigh, on the other hand, was one of those girls who, thoughthey have high spirit, take an almost voluptuous delight in yielding toa spirit that is stronger still. This beautiful creature felt apositive fascination in Swift's presence and his imperious manner. Whenhis eyes flashed, and his voice thundered out words of anger, shelooked at him with adoration, and bowed in a sort of ecstasy beforehim. If he chose to accost a great lady with "Well, madam, are you asill-natured and disagreeable as when I met you last?" Esther Vanhomrighthrilled at the insolent audacity of the man. Her evident fondness forhim exercised a seductive influence over Swift.
As the two were thrown more and more together, the girl lost all herself-control. Swift did not in any sense make love to her, though hegave her the somewhat fanciful name of "Vanessa"; but she, driven on bya high-strung, unbridled temperament, made open love to him. When hewas about to return to Ireland, there came one startling moment whenVanessa flung herself into the arms of Swift, and amazed him by pouringout a torrent of passionate endearments.
Swift seems to have been surprised. He did what he could to quiet her.He told her that they were too unequal in years and fortune foranything but friendship, and he offered to give her as much friendshipas she desired.
Doubtless he thought that, after returning to Ireland, he would not seeVanessa any more. In this, however, he was mistaken. An ardent girl,with a fortune of her own, was not to be kept from the man whom absenceonly made her love the more. In addition, Swift carried on hiscorrespondence with her, which served to fan the flame and to increasethe sway that Swift had already acquired.
Vanessa wrote, and with every letter she burned and pined. Swiftreplied, and each reply enhanced her yearning for him. Ere long,Vanessa's mother died, and Vanessa herself hastened to Ireland and tookup her residence near Dublin. There, for years, was enacted this tragiccomedy--Esther Johnson was near Swift, and had all his confidence;Esther Vanhomrigh was kept apart from him, while still receivingmissives from him, and, later, even visits.
It was at this time, after he had become dean of St. Patrick'sCathedral, in Dublin, that Swift was married to Esther Johnson--for itseems probable that the ceremony took place, though it was nothing morethan a form. They still saw each other only in the presence of a thirdperson. Nevertheless, some knowledge of their close relationship leakedout. Stella had been jealous of her rival during the years that Swiftspent in London. Vanessa was now told that Swift was married to theother woman, or that she was his mistress. Writhing with jealousy, shewrote directly to Stella, and asked whether she was Dean Swift's wife.In answer Stella replied that she was, and then she sent Vanessa'sletter to Swift himself.
All the fury of his nature was roused in him; and he was a man whocould be very terrible when angry. He might have remembered the intenselove which Vanessa bore for him, the humility with which she hadaccepted his conditions, and, finally, the loneliness of this girl.
But Swift was utterly unsparing. No gleam of pity entered his heart ashe leaped upon a horse and galloped out to Marley Abbey, where she wasliving--"his prominent eyes arched by jet-black brows and glaring withthe green fury of a cat's." Reaching the house, he dashed into it, withsomething awful in his looks, made his way to Vanessa, threw her letterdown upon the table and, after giving her one frightful glare, turnedon his heel, and in a moment more was galloping back to Dublin.
The girl fell to the floor in an agony of terror and remorse. She wastaken to her room, and only three weeks afterward was carried forth,having died literally of a broken heart.
Five years later, Stella also died, withering away a sacrifice to whatthe world has called Swift's cruel heartlessness and egotism. Hisgreatest public triumphs came to him in his final years of melancholyisolation; but in spite of the applause that greeted The DrapierLetters and Gulliver's Travels, he brooded morbidly over his past life.At last his powerful mind gave way, so that he died a victim to seniledementia. By his directions his body was interred in the same coffinwith Stella's, in the cathedral of which he had been dean.
Such is the story of Dean Swift, and it has always suggested severalcurious questions. Why, if he loved Stella, did he not marry her longbefore? Why, when he married her, did he treat her still as if she werenot his wife? Why did he allow Vanessa's love to run like a scarletthread across the fabric of the other affection, which must have beenso strong?
Many answers have been given to these questions. That which wasformulated by Sir Walter Scott is a simple one, and has been generallyaccepted. Scott believed that Swift was physically incapacitated formarriage, and that he needed feminine sympathy, which he took where hecould get it, without feeling bound to give anything in return.
If Scott's explanation be the true one, it still leaves Swift exposedto ignominy as a monster of ingratitude. Therefore, many of hisbiographers have sought other explanations. No one can palliate hisconduct toward Vanessa; but Sir Leslie Stephen makes a plea for himwith reference to Stella. Sir Leslie
points out that until Swift becamedean of St. Patrick's his income was far too small to marry on, andthat after his brilliant but disappointing three years in London, whenhis prospects of advancement were ruined, he felt himself a broken man.
Furthermore, his health was always precarious, since he suffered from adistressing illness which attacked him at intervals, rendering him bothdeaf and giddy. The disease is now known as Meniere's disease, from itsclassification by the French physician, Meniere, in 1861. Swift feltthat he lived in constant danger of some sudden stroke that woulddeprive him either of life or reason; and his ultimate insanity makesit appear that his forebodings were not wholly futile. Therefore,though he married Stella, he kept the marriage secret, thus leaving herfree, in case of his demise, to marry as a maiden, and not to beregarded as a widow.
Sir Leslie offers the further plea that, after all, Stella's life waswhat she chose to make it. She enjoyed Swift's friendship, which shepreferred to the love of any other man.
Another view is that of Dr. Richard Garnett, who has discussed thequestion with some subtlety. "Swift," says Dr. Garnett, "was by naturedevoid of passion. He was fully capable of friendship, but not of love.The spiritual realm, whether of divine or earthly things, was a regionclosed to him, where he never set foot." On the side of friendship hemust greatly have preferred Stella to Vanessa, and yet the latterassailed him on his weakest side--on the side of his love of imperiousdomination.
Vanessa hugged the fetters to which Stella merely submitted. Flatteredto excess by her surrender, yet conscious of his obligations and hisreal preference, he could neither discard the one beauty nor desert theother.
Therefore, he temporized with both of them, and when the choice wasforced upon him he madly struck down the woman for whom he cared theless.
One may accept Dr. Garnett's theory with a somewhat altered conclusion.It is not true, as a matter of recorded fact, that Swift was incapableof passion, for when a boy at college he was sought out by variousyoung women, and he sought them out in turn. His fiery letter to MissWaring points to the same conclusion. When Esther Johnson began to lovehim he was heart-free, yet unable, because of his straitened means, tomarry. But Esther Johnson always appealed more to his reason, hisfriendship, and his comfort, than to his love, using the word in itsmaterial, physical sense. This love was stirred in him by Vanessa. Yetwhen he met Vanessa he had already gone too far with Esther Johnson tobreak the bond which had so long united them, nor could he think of alife without her, for she was to him his other self.
At the same time, his more romantic association with Vanessa rousedthose instincts which he had scarcely known himself to be possessed of.His position was, therefore, most embarrassing. He hoped to end it whenhe left London and returned to Ireland; but fate was unkind to him inthis, because Vanessa followed him. He lacked the will to be frank withher, and thus he stood a wretched, halting victim of his own dualnature.
He was a clergyman, and at heart religious. He had also a sense ofhonor, and both of these traits compelled him to remain true to EstherJohnson. The terrible outbreak which brought about Vanessa's death wasprobably the wild frenzy of a tortured soul. It recalls the picture ofsome fierce animal brought at last to bay, and venting its own anguishupon any object that is within reach of its fangs and claws.
No matter how the story may be told, it makes one shiver, for it is atragedy in which the three participants all meet their doom--onecrushed by a lightning-bolt of unreasoning anger, the other wastingaway through hope deferred; while the man whom the world will alwayshold responsible was himself destined to end his years blind andsleepless, bequeathing his fortune to a madhouse, and saying, with hislast muttered breath:
"I am a fool!"