Stephen Crane - "War is Kind"

Thomas H. Huxley - "On the Advisableness of Improving Natural Knowledge"

Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB): Hosea"

Stephen Crane - "War is Kind"

The Journal to Stella

J >> Jonathan Swift >> The Journal to Stella




Unfortunately he failed--partly no doubt from mistaken considerations of
kindness, partly because he shrank from losing her affection--to take
effective steps to put an end to Vanessa's hopes. It would have been better
if he had unhesitatingly made it clear to her that he could not return her
passion, and that if she could not be satisfied with friendship the intimacy
must cease. To quote Sir Henry Craik, "The friendship had begun in literary
guidance: it was strengthened by flattery: it lived on a cold and almost
stern repression, fed by confidences as to literary schemes, and by occasional
literary compliments: but it never came to have a real hold over Swift's
heart."

With 1716 we come to the alleged marriage with Stella. In 1752, seven years
after Swift's death, Lord Orrery, in his Remarks on Swift, said that Stella
was "the concealed, but undoubted, wife of Dr. Swift. . . . If my
informations are right, she was married to Dr. Swift in the year 1716, by Dr.
Ashe, then Bishop of Clogher." Ten years earlier, in 1742, in a letter to
Deane Swift which I have not seen quoted before, Orrery spoke of the advantage
of a wife to a man in his declining years; "nor had the Dean felt a blow, or
wanted a companion, had he been married, or, in other words, had Stella
lived." What this means is not at all clear. In 1754, Dr. Delany, an old
friend of Swift's, wrote, in comment upon Orrery's Remarks, "Your account of
his marriage is, I am satisfied, true." In 1789, George Monck Berkeley, in
his Literary Relics, said that Swift and Stella were married by Dr. Ashe, "who
himself related the circumstances to Bishop Berkeley, by whose relict the
story was communicated to me." Dr. Ashe cannot have told Bishop Berkeley by
word of mouth, because Ashe died in 1717, the year after the supposed
marriage, and Berkeley was then still abroad. But Berkeley was at the time
tutor to Ashe's son, and may therefore have been informed by letter, though it
is difficult to believe that Ashe would write about such a secret so soon
after the event. Thomas Sheridan, on information received from his father,
Dr. Sheridan, Swift's friend, accepted the story of the marriage in his book
(1784), adding particulars which are of very doubtful authenticity; and
Johnson, in his Lives of the Poets, says that Dr. Madden told him that Stella
had related her "melancholy story" to Dr. Sheridan before her death. On the
other hand, Dr. Lyon, Swift's attendant in his later years, disbelieved the
story of the marriage, which was, he said, "founded only on hearsay"; and Mrs.
Dingley "laughed at it as an idle tale," founded on suspicion.

Sir Henry Craik is satisfied with the evidence for the marriage. Mr. Leslie
Stephen is of opinion that it is inconclusive, and Forster could find no
evidence that is at all reasonably sufficient; while Mr. Stanley Lane-Poole,
Mr. Churton Collins, and others are strongly of opinion that no such marriage
ever took place. A full discussion of the evidence would involve the
consideration of the reliability of the witnesses, and the probability of
their having authentic information, and would be out of place here. My own
opinion is that the evidence for the marriage is very far from convincing, and
this view seems to be confirmed by all that we know from his own letters of
Swift's relations with Stella. It has been suggested that she was pained by
reports of Swift's intercourse with Vanessa, and felt that his feelings
towards herself were growing colder; but this is surmise, and no satisfactory
explanation has been given to account for a form of marriage being gone
through after so many years of the closest friendship. There is no reason to
suppose that there was at the time any gossip in circulation about Stella, and
if her reputation was in question, a marriage of which the secret was
carefully kept would obviously be of no benefit to her. Moreover, we are told
that there was no change in their mode of life; if they were married, what
reason could there be for keeping it a secret, or for denying themselves the
closer relationship of marriage? The only possible benefit to Stella was that
Swift would be prevented marrying anyone else. It is impossible, of course,
to disprove a marriage which we are told was secretly performed, without banns
or licence or witnesses; but we may reasonably require strong evidence for so
startling a step. If we reject the tale, the story of Swift's connection with
Stella is at least intelligible; while the acceptance of this marriage
introduces many puzzling circumstances, and makes it necessary to believe that
during the remainder of Stella's life Swift repeatedly spoke of his wife as a
friend, and of himself as one who had never married.[7] What right have we to
put aside Swift's plain and repeated statements? Moreover, his attitude
towards Vanessa for the remaining years of her life becomes much more culpable
if we are to believe that he had given Stella the claim of a wife upon him.[8]

From 1719 onwards we have a series of poems to Stella, written chiefly in
celebration of her birthday. She was now thirty-eight (Swift says, "Thirty-
four--we shan't dispute a year or more"), and the verses abound in laughing
allusions to her advancing years and wasting form. Hers was "an angel's face
a little cracked," but all men would crowd to her door when she was fourscore.
His verses to her had always been

"Without one word of Cupid's darts,
Of killing eyes, or bleeding hearts;
With friendship and esteem possessed,
I ne'er admitted Love a guest."

Her only fault was that she could not bear the lightest touch of blame. Her
wit and sense, her loving care in illness--to which he owed that fact that he
was alive to say it--made her the "best pattern of true friends." She
replied, in lines written on Swift's birthday in 1721, that she was his pupil
and humble friend. He had trained her judgment and refined her fancy and
taste:--

"You taught how I might youth prolong
By knowing what was right and wrong;
How from my heart to bring supplies
Of lustre to my fading eyes;
How soon a beauteous mind repairs
The loss of changed or falling hairs;
How wit and virtue from within
Send out a smoothness o'er the skin
Your lectures could my fancy fix,
And I can please at thirty-six."

In 1723 Vanessa is said to have written to Stella or to Swift--there are
discrepancies in the versions given by Sheridan and Lord Orrery, both of whom
are unreliable--asking whether the report that they were married was true.
Swift, we are told, rode to Celbridge, threw down Vanessa's letter in a great
rage, and left without speaking a word.[9] Vanessa, whose health had been
failing for some time, died shortly afterwards, having cancelled a will in
Swift's favour. She left "Cadenus and Vanessa" for publication, and when
someone said that she must have been a remarkable woman to inspire such a
poem, Stella replied that it was well known that the Dean could write finely
upon a broomstick.

Soon after this tragedy Swift became engrossed in the Irish agitation which
led to the publication of the Drapier's Letters, and in 1726 he paid a long-
deferred visit to London, taking with him the manuscript of Gulliver's
Travels. While in England he was harassed by bad news of Stella, who had been
in continued ill-health for some years. His letters to friends in Dublin show
how greatly he suffered. To the Rev. John Worrall he wrote, in a letter which
he begged him to burn, "What you tell me of Mrs. Johnson I have long expected
with great oppression and heaviness of heart. We have been perfect friends
these thirty-five years. Upon my advice they both came to Ireland, and have
been ever since my constant companions; and the remainder of my life will be a
very melancholy scene, when one of them is gone, whom I most esteemed, upon
the score of every good quality that can possibly recommend a human creature."
He would not for the world be present at her death: "I should be a trouble to
her, and a torment to myself." If Stella came to Dublin, he begged that she
might be lodged in some airy, healthy part, and not in the Deanery, where too
it would be improper for her to die. "There is not a greater folly," he
thinks, "than to contract too great and intimate a friendship, which must
always leave the survivor miserable." To Dr. Stopford he wrote in similar
terms of the "younger of the two" "oldest and dearest friends I have in the
world." "This was a person of my own rearing and instructing from childhood,
who excelled in every good quality that can possibly accomplish a human
creature. . . . I know not what I am saying; but believe me that violent
friendship is much more lasting and as much engaging as violent love." To Dr.
Sheridan he said, "I look upon this to be the greatest event that can ever
happen to me; but all my preparation will not suffice to make me bear it like
a philosopher nor altogether like a Christian. There hath been the most
intimate friendship between us from our childhood, and the greatest merit on
her side that ever was in one human creature towards another."[10] Pope
alludes in a letter to Sheridan to the illness of Swift's "particular friend,"
but with the exception of another reference by Pope, and of a curiously
flippant remark by Bolingbroke, the subject is nowhere mentioned in Swift's
correspondence with his literary and fashionable friends in London.

Swift crossed to Ireland in August, fearing the worst; but Stella rallied, and
in the spring of 1727 he returned to London. In August, however, there came
alarming news, when Swift was himself suffering from giddiness and deafness.
To Dr. Sheridan he wrote that the last act of life was always a tragedy at
best: "it is a bitter aggravation to have one's best friend go before one."
Life was indifferent to him; if he recovered from his disorder it would only
be to feel the loss of "that person for whose sake only life was worth
preserving. I brought both those friends over that we might be happy together
as long as God should please; the knot is broken, and the remaining person you
know has ill answered the end; and the other, who is now to be lost, is all
that was valuable." To Worrall he again wrote (in Latin) that Stella ought
not to be lodged at the Deanery; he had enemies who would place a bad
interpretation upon it if she died there.

Swift left London for Dublin in September; he was detained some days at
Holyhead by stress of weather, and in the private journal which he kept during
that time he speaks of the suspense he was in about his "dearest friend."[11]
In December Stella made a will--signed "Esther Johnson, spinster"--disposing
of her property in the manner Swift had suggested. Her allusions to Swift are
incompatible with any such feeling of resentment as is suggested by Sheridan.
She died on January 28, 1728. Swift could not bear to be present, but on the
night of her death he began to write his very interesting Character of Mrs.
Johnson, from which passages have already been quoted. He there calls her
"the truest, most virtuous and valuable friend that I, or perhaps any other
person, was ever blessed with." Combined with excellent gifts of the mind,
"she had a gracefulness, somewhat more than human, in every motion, word, and
action. Never was so happy a conjunction of civility, freedom, easiness, and
sincerity." Everyone treated her with marked respect, yet everyone was at
ease in her society. She preserved her wit, judgment, and vivacity to the
last, but often complained of her memory. She chose men rather than women for
her companions, "the usual topic of ladies' discourse being such as she had
little knowledge of and less relish." "Honour, truth, liberality, good
nature, and modesty were the virtues she chiefly possessed, and most valued in
her acquaintance." In some Prayers used by Swift during her last sickness, he
begged for pity for "the mournful friends of Thy distressed servant, who sink
under the weight of her present condition, and the fear of losing the most
valuable of our friends." He was too ill to be present at the funeral at St.
Patrick's. Afterwards, we are told, a lock of her hair was found in his desk,
wrapped in a paper bearing the words, "Only a woman's hair."

Swift continued to produce pamphlets manifesting growing misanthropy, though
he showed many kindnesses to people who stood in need of help. He seems to
have given Mrs. Dingley fifty guineas a year, pretending that it came from a
fund for which he was trustee. The mental decay which he had always feared--
"I shall be like that tree," he once said, "I shall die at the top"--became
marked about 1738. Paralysis was followed by aphasia, and after acute pain,
followed by a long period of apathy, death relieved him in October 1745. He
was buried by Stella's side, in accordance with his wishes. The bulk of his
fortune was left to found a hospital for idiots and lunatics.

There has been much rather fruitless discussion respecting the reason or
reasons why Swift did not marry Stella; for if there was any marriage, it was
nothing more than a form. Some have supposed that Swift resolved to remain
unmarried because the insanity of an uncle and the fits and giddiness to which
he was always subject led him to fear insanity in his own case. Others,
looking rather to physical causes, have dwelt upon his coldness of temperament
and indisposition to love; upon the repugnance he often showed towards
marriage, and the tone of some of the verses on the subject written in his
later years. Others, again, have found a cause in his parsimonious habits, in
his dread of poverty, the effects of which he had himself felt, and in the
smallness of his income, at least until he was middle-aged.[12] It may well
be that one or all of these things influenced Swift's action. We cannot say
more. He himself, as we have seen, said, as early as 1704, that if his humour
and means had permitted him to think of marriage, his choice would have been
Stella. Perhaps, however, there is not much mystery in the matter. Swift
seems to have been wanting in passion; probably he was satisfied with the
affection which Stella gave him, and did not wish for more. Such an
attachment as his usually results in marriage, but not necessarily. It is not
sufficiently remembered that the affection began in Stella's childhood. They
were "perfect friends" for nearly forty years, and her advancing years in no
way lessened his love, which was independent of beauty. Whether Stella was
satisfied, who shall say? Mrs. Oliphant thought that few women would be
disposed to pity Stella, or think her life one of blight or injury. Mr.
Leslie Stephen says, "She might and probably did regard his friendship as a
full equivalent for the sacrifice. . . . Is it better to be the most intimate
friend of a man of genius or the wife of a commonplace Tisdall?" Whatever we
may surmise, there is nothing to prove that she was disappointed. She was the
one star which brightened Swift's storm-tossed course; it is well that she was
spared seeing the wreck at the end.


The Journal to Stella is interesting from many points of view: for its
bearing upon Swift's relations with Stella and upon his own character; for the
light which it throws upon the history of the time and upon prominent men of
the day; and for the illustrations it contains of the social life of people of
various classes in London and elsewhere. The fact that it was written without
any thought of publication is one of its greatest attractions. Swift jotted
down his opinions, his hopes, his disappointments, without thought of their
being seen by anybody but his correspondents. The letters are transparently
natural. It has been said more than once that the Journal, by the nature of
the case, contains no full-length portraits, and hardly any sketches. Swift
mentions the people he met, but rarely stops to draw a picture of them. But
though this is true, the casual remarks which he makes often give a vivid
impression of what he thought of the person of whom he is speaking, and in
many cases those few words form a chief part of our general estimate of the
man. There are but few people of note at the time who are not mentioned in
these pages. We see Queen Anne holding a Drawing-room in her bedroom: "she
looked at us round with her fan in her mouth, and once a minute said about
three words to some that were nearest her." We see Harley, afterwards the
Earl of Oxford, "a pure trifler," who was always putting off important
business; Bolingbroke, "a thorough rake"; the prudent Lord Dartmouth, the
other Secretary of State, from whom Swift could never "work out a dinner."
There is Marlborough, "covetous as Hell, and ambitious as the prince of it,"
yet a great general and unduly pressed by the Tories; and the volatile Earl of
Peterborough, "above fifty, and as active as one of five-and-twenty"--"the
ramblingest lying rogue on earth." We meet poor Congreve, nearly blind, and
in fear of losing his commissionership; the kindly Arbuthnot, the Queen's
physician; Addison, whom Swift met more and more rarely, busy with the
preparation and production of Cato; Steele, careless as ever, neglecting
important appointments, and "governed by his wife most abominably"; Prior,
poet and diplomatist, with a "lean carcass"; and young Berkeley of Trinity
College, Dublin, "a very ingenious man and great philosopher," whom Swift
determined to favour as much as he could. Mrs. Masham, the Duchess of
Somerset, the Duchess of Shrewsbury, the Duchess of Hamilton, Lady Betty
Germaine, and many other ladies appear with more or less distinctness; besides
a host of people of less note, of whom we often know little but what Swift
tells us.

Swift throws much light, too, on the daily life of his time. The bellman on
his nightly rounds, calling "Paaast twelvvve o'clock"; the dinner at three, or
at the latest, four; the meetings at coffee-houses; the book-sales; the visit
to the London sights--the lions at the Tower, Bedlam, the tombs in Westminster
Abbey, and the puppet-show; the terrible Mohocks, of whom Swift stood in so
much fear; the polite "howdees" sent to friends by footmen; these and more are
all described in the Journal. We read of curious habits and practices of
fashionable ladies; of the snuff used by Mrs. Dingley and others; of the
jokes--"bites," puns, and the like--indulged in by polite persons. When Swift
lodged at Chelsea, he reached London either by boat, or by coach,--which was
sometimes full when he wanted it,--or by walking across the "Five Fields," not
without fear of robbers at night. The going to or from Ireland was a serious
matter; after the long journey by road came the voyage (weather permitting) of
some fifteen hours, with the risk of being seized or pursued by French
privateers; and when Ireland was reached the roads were of the worst. We have
glimpses of fashionable society in Dublin, of the quiet life at Laracor and
Trim, and of the drinking of the waters at Wexford, where visitors had to put
up with primitive arrangements: "Mrs. Dingley never saw such a place in her
life."

Swift's own characteristics come out in the clearest manner in the Journal,
which gives all his hopes and fears during three busy years. He was pleased
to find on his arrival in London how great a value was set on his friendship
by both political parties: "The Whigs were ravished to see me, and would lay
hold on me as a twig while they are drowning;" but Godolphin's coldness
enraged him, so that he was "almost vowing vengeance." Next day he talked
treason heartily against the Whigs, their baseness and ingratitude, and went
home full of schemes of revenge. "The Tories drily tell me I may make my
fortune, if I please; but I do not understand them, or rather, I DO understand
them." He realised that the Tories might not be more grateful than others,
but he thought they were pursuing the true interests of the public, and was
glad to contribute what was in his power. His vanity was gratified by Harley
inviting him to the private dinners with St. John and Harcourt which were
given on Saturdays, and by their calling him Jonathan; but he did not hope too
much from their friendship: "I said I believed they would leave me Jonathan,
as they found me. . . but I care not."

Of Swift's frugal habits there is abundant evidence in the Journal. When he
came to town he took rooms on a first floor, "a dining-room and bed-chamber,
at eight shillings a week; plaguy dear, but I spend nothing for eating, never
go to a tavern, and very seldom in a coach; yet after all it will be
expensive." In November he mentions that he had a fire: "I am spending my
second half-bushel of coals." In another place he says, "People have so left
the town, that I am at a loss for a dinner. . . . It cost me eighteenpence in
coach-hire before I could find a place to dine in." Elsewhere we find: "This
paper does not cost me a farthing: I have it from the Secretary's office."
He often complains of having to take a coach owing to the dirty condition of
the streets: "This rain ruins me in coach-hire; I walked away sixpennyworth,
and came within a shilling length, and then took a coach, and got a lift back
for nothing."[13]

Swift's arrogance--the arrogance, sometimes, of a man who is morbidly
suspicious that he may be patronised--is shown in the manner in which he
speaks of the grand ladies with whom he came in contact. He calls the Duke of
Ormond's daughters "insolent drabs," and talks of his "mistress, Ophy Butler's
wife, who is grown a little charmless." When the Duchess of Shrewsbury
reproached him for not dining with her, Swift said that was not so soon done;
he expected more advances from ladies, especially duchesses. On another
occasion he was to have supped at Lady Ashburnham's, "but the drab did not
call for us in her coach, as she promised, but sent for us, and so I sent my
excuses." The arrogance was, however, often only on the surface. It is
evident that Swift was very kind in many cases. He felt deeply for Mrs. Long
in her misfortunes, living and dying in an obscure country town. On the last
illness of the poet Harrison he says, "I am very much afflicted for him, as he
is my own creature. . . . I was afraid to knock at the door; my mind misgave
me." He was "heartily sorry for poor Mrs. Parnell's death; she seemed to be
an excellent good-natured young woman, and I believe the poor lad is much
afflicted; they appeared to live perfectly well together." Afterwards he
helped Parnell by introducing him to Bolingbroke and Oxford. He found kind
words for Mrs. Manley in her illness, and Lady Ashburnham's death was
"extremely moving. . . . She was my greatest favourite, and I am in excessive
concern for her loss." Lastly, he was extraordinarily patient towards his
servant Patrick, who drank, stopped out at night, and in many ways tried
Swift's temper. There were good points about Patrick, but no doubt the great
consideration which Swift showed him was due in part to the fact that he was a
favourite of the ladies in Dublin, and had Mrs. Vanhomrigh to intercede for
him.

But for the best example of the kindly side of Swift's nature, we must turn to
what he tells us in the Journal about Stella herself. The "little language"
which Swift used when writing to her was the language he employed when playing
with Stella as a little child at Moor Park. Thackeray, who was not much in
sympathy with Swift, said that he knew of "nothing more manly, more tender,
more exquisitely touching, than some of these notes." Swift says that when he
wrote plainly, he felt as if they were no longer alone, but "a bad scrawl is
so snug it looks like a PMD." In writing his fond and playful prattle, he
made up his mouth "just as if he were speaking it."[14]

Though Mrs. Dingley is constantly associated with Stella in the affectionate
greetings in the Journal, she seems to have been included merely as a cloak to
enable him to express the more freely his affection for her companion. Such
phrases as "saucy girls," "sirrahs," "sauceboxes," and the like, are often
applied to both; and sometimes Swift certainly writes as if the one were as
dear to him as the other; thus we find, "Farewell, my dearest lives and
delights, I love you better than ever, if possible, as hope saved, I do, and
ever will. . . . I can count upon nothing, nor will, but upon MD's love and
kindness. . . . And so farewell, dearest MD, Stella, Dingley, Presto, all
together, now and for ever, all together." But as a rule, notwithstanding
Swift's caution, the greetings intended for Stella alone are easily
distinguishable in tone. He often refers to her weak eyes and delicate
health. Thus he writes, "The chocolate is a present, madam, for Stella.
Don't read this, you little rogue, with your little eyes; but give it to
Dingley, pray now; and I will write as plain as the skies." And again, "God
Almighty bless poor Stella, and her eyes and head: what shall we do to cure
them, poor dear life?" Or, "Now to Stella's little postscript; and I am
almost crazed that you vex yourself for not writing. Can't you dictate to
Dingley, and not strain your dear little eyes? I am sure 'tis the grief of my
soul to think you are out of order." They had been keeping his birthday;
Swift wished he had been with them, rather than in London, where he had no
manner of pleasure: "I say Amen with all my heart and vitals, that we may
never be asunder again ten days together while poor Presto lives." A few days
later he says, "I wish I were at Laracor, with dear charming MD," and again,
"Farewell, dearest beloved MD, and love poor poor Presto, who has not had one
happy day since he left you." "I will say no more, but beg you to be easy
till Fortune takes his course, and to believe MD's felicity is the great goal
I aim at in all my pursuits." "How does Stella look, Madam Dingley?" he asks;
"pretty well, a handsome young woman still? Will she pass in a crowd? Will
she make a figure in a country church?" Elsewhere he writes, on receipt of a
letter, "God Almighty bless poor dear Stella, and send her a great many
birthdays, all happy and healthy and wealthy, and with me ever together, and
never asunder again, unless by chance. . . . I can hardly imagine you absent
when I am reading your letter or writing to you. No, faith, you are just here
upon this little paper, and therefore I see and talk with you every evening
constantly, and sometimes in the morning." The letters lay under Swift's
pillow, and he fondled them as if he were caressing Stella's hand.

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.