FOOTNOTES:

Her hearers are amazed from whenceProceeds that fund of wit and sense,Which, though her modesty would shroud,Breaks like the sun behind a cloud;While gracefulness its art conceals,And yet through every motion steals.Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind,And forming you, mistook your kind?No; 'twas for you alone he stoleThe fire that forms a manly soul;Then, to complete it every way,He moulded it with female clay:Tothatyou owe the nobler flame,Tothisthe beauty of your frame.

He compliments her sincerity and firmness of principle in four nervous lines:

Ten thousand oaths upon recordAre not so sacred as her word!The world shall in its atoms end,Ere Stella can deceive a friend!

Her tender attention to him in sickness and suffering, is thus described, with a tolerable insight into his own character.

To her I oweThat I these pains can undergo;She tends me like an humble slave,And, when indecently I rave,When out my brutish passions break,With gall in every word I speak,She, with soft speech, my anguish cheers,Or melts my passions down with tears:Although 'tis easy to descryShe wants assistance more than I,She seems to feel my pains alone,And is a Stoic to her own.Where, among scholars, can you findSo soft, and yet so firm a mind?

These lines, dated March, 1724, are the more remarkable, because they refer to a period whenStella had much to forgive;—when she had just been injured, in the tenderest point, by the man who owed to her tenderness and forbearance all the happiness that his savage temper allowed him to taste on earth.

As Stella passed much of her time in solitude, she read a great deal. She received Swift's friends, many of whom were clever and distinguished men, particularly Sheridan and Delany; and on his public days she dined as a guest at his table, where, says his biographer,[108]"the modesty of her manners, the sweetness of her disposition, and the brilliance of her wit, rendered her the general object of admiration to all who were so happy as to have a place in that enviable society."

Johnson says that, "if Swift's ideas of women were such as he generally exhibits, a very little sense in a lady would enrapture, and a very little virtue astonish him;" and thinks, therefore, that Stella's supremacy might be "only local and comparative;"but it is not the less true, that she was beheld with tenderness and admiration by all who approached her; and whether she could spell or not,[109]she could certainly write very pretty verses, considering whom she had chosen for her model:—for instance, the following little effusion, in reply to a compliment addressed to her:

If it be true, celestial powers,That you have formed me fair,And yet, in all my vainest hours,My mind has been my care;Then, in return, I beg this grace,As you were ever kind,What envious time takes from my face,Bestow upon my mind!

She had continued to live on in this strange undefinable state of dependance for fourteen years, "in pale contented sort of discontent," though her spirit was so borne down by the habitualawe in which he held her, that she never complained—when the suspicion that a younger and fairer rival had usurped the heart she possessed, if not the rights she coveted, added the tortures of jealousy to those of lingering suspense and mortified affection.

A new attachment had, in fact, almost entirely estranged Swift from her, and from his home. While in London, from 1710 to 1712, he was accustomed to visit at the house of Mrs. Vanhomrigh, and became so intimate, that during his attendance on the ministry at that time, he was accustomed to change his wig and gown, and drink his coffee there almost daily. Mrs. Vanhomrigh had two daughters: the eldest, Esther, was destined to be the second victim of Swift's detestable selfishness, and become celebrated under the name of Vanessa.

She was of a character altogether different from that of Stella. Not quite so beautiful in person, but with all the freshness and vivacity of youth—(she was not twenty,) and adding to the advantages of polished manners and lively talents,a frank confiding temper, and a capacity for strong affections. She was rich, admired, happy, and diffusing happiness. Swift, as I have said, visited at the house of her mother. His age, his celebrity, his character as a clergyman, gave him privileges of which he availed himself. He was pleased with Miss Vanhomrigh's talents, and undertook to direct her studies. She was ignorant of the ties which bound him to the unhappy Stella; and charmed by his powers of conversation, dazzled by his fame, won and flattered by his attentions, surrendered her heart and soul to him before she was aware; and her love partaking of the vivacity of her character, not only absorbed every other feeling, but, as she expressed it herself, "became blended with every atom of her frame."[110]

Swift, among his other lessons, took pains to impress her with his own favourite maxims (it had been well for both had he acted up to them himself)—"to speak the truth on all occasions, and atevery hazard: and to do what seemed right in itself, without regard to the opinions or customs of the world." He appears also to have insinuated the idea, that the disparity of their age and fortune rendered him distrustful of his own powers of pleasing.[111]She was thus led on, by his open admiration, and her own frank temper, to betray the state of her affections, and proffered to him her hand and fortune. He had not sufficient humanity, honour, or courage, to disclose the truth of his situation, but replied to the avowal of this innocent and warm-hearted girl, first in a tone of raillery, and then by an equivocal offer of everlasting friendship.

The scene is thus given in Cadenus and Vanessa.

Vanessa, though by Pallas taught,By Love invulnerable thought,Searching in books for wisdom's aid,Was in the very search betrayed.....*....*....*....*Cadenus many things had writ;Vanessa much esteemed his wit,And call'd for his poetic works.Mean time the boy in secret lurks;And, while the book was in her handThe urchin from his private standTook aim, and shot with all his strengthA dart of such prodigious length,It pierced the feeble volume through,And deep transfix'd her bosom too.Some lines, more moving than the rest,Stuck to the point that pierced her breast,And borne directly to the heart,With pains unknown, increas'd her smart.Vanessa, not in years a score,Dreams of a gown of forty-four;Imaginary charms can find,In eyes with reading almost blind.Cadenus now no more appearsDeclin'd in health, advanc'd in years;She fancies music in his tongue,Nor farther looks, but thinks him young.

Vanessa, though by Pallas taught,By Love invulnerable thought,Searching in books for wisdom's aid,Was in the very search betrayed.

....*....*....*....*

Cadenus many things had writ;Vanessa much esteemed his wit,And call'd for his poetic works.Mean time the boy in secret lurks;And, while the book was in her handThe urchin from his private standTook aim, and shot with all his strengthA dart of such prodigious length,It pierced the feeble volume through,And deep transfix'd her bosom too.Some lines, more moving than the rest,Stuck to the point that pierced her breast,And borne directly to the heart,With pains unknown, increas'd her smart.Vanessa, not in years a score,Dreams of a gown of forty-four;Imaginary charms can find,In eyes with reading almost blind.Cadenus now no more appearsDeclin'd in health, advanc'd in years;She fancies music in his tongue,Nor farther looks, but thinks him young.

Vanessa is then made to disclose her tenderness. The expressions and the sentiments are probably as true to the facts as was consistent with the rhyme:but how cold, how flat, how prosaic! no emotion falters in the lines—not a feeling blushes through them!—as if an ardent but delicate and gentle girl would ever have made a first avowal of passion in thischop-logicstyle—

"Now," said the Nymph, "to let you seeMy actions with your rules agree;That I can vulgar forms despise,And have no secrets to disguise;I knew, by what you said and writ,How dangerous things were men of wit;You caution'd me against their charms,But never gave me equal arms;Your lessons found the weakest part,Aimed at the head, but reach'd the heart!"Cadenus felt within him riseShame, disappointment, guilt, surprise, &c.

It is possible he might have felt thus; and yet the excess of hissurpriseanddisappointmenton the occasion, may be doubted. He makes, however, a very candid confession of his own vanity.

Cadenus, to his grief and shame,Could scarce oppose Vanessa's flame;And, though her arguments were strong,At least could hardly wish them wrong:Howe'er it came, he could not tell,But sure she never talked so well.His pride began to interpose;Preferred before a crowd of beaux!So bright a nymph to come unsought!Such wonder by his merit wrought!'Tis merit must with her prevail!He never knew her judgment fail.She noted all she ever read,And had a most discerning head!

The scene continues—he rallies her, and affects to think it all

Just what coxcombs call a bite.

(such is his elegant phrase.) He then offers her friendship instead of love: the lady replies with very pertinent arguments; and finally, the tale is concluded in this ambiguous passage, in which we must allow that great room is left for scandal, for doubt, and for curiosity.

But what success Vanessa metIs to the world a secret yet;—Whether the nymph, to please her swain,Talks in a high romantic strain,Or whether he at last descendsTo act with less seraphic ends;Or to compound the business, whetherThey temper love and books together;Must never to mankind be told,Nor shall the conscious Muse unfold.

Such is the story of this celebrated poem. The passion, the circumstances, the feelings are real, and it contains lines of great power; and yet, assuredly, the perusal of it never conveyed one emotion to the reader's heart, except of indignation against the writer; not a spark of poetry, fancy, or pathos, breathes throughout. We have a dull mythological fable in which Venus and the Graces descend to clothe Vanessa in all the attractions of her sex:—

The Graces next would act their part,And showed but little of their art;Their work was half already done,The child with native beauty shone;The outward form no help required;—Each, breathing on her thrice, inspiredThat gentle, soft, engaging air,Which in old times advanced the fair.

And Pallas is tricked by the wiles of Venus into doingherpart.—The Queen of Learning

Mistakes Vanessa for a boy;Then sows within her tender mindSeeds long unknown to womankind,For manly bosoms chiefly fit,—The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit.Her soul was suddenly enduedWith justice, truth, and fortitude,—With honour, which no breath can stain,Which malice must attack in vain;With open heart and bounteous hand, &c.

The nymph thus accomplished is feared by the men and hated by the women; and Swift has shown his utter want of heart and good taste, by making his homage to the woman he loved, a vehicle for the bitterest satire on the rest of her sex. What right had he to accuse us of a universal preference for mere coxcombs,—he who,through the sole power of his wit and intellect, had inspired with the most passionate attachment two lovely women not half his own age? Be it remembered, that while Swift was playing the Abelard with such effect, he was in his forty-fifth year, and though

He moved and bowed, and talked with so much grace,Nor showed the parson in his gait or face,[112]

he was one of the ugliest men in existence,—of a bilious, saturnine complexion, and a most forbidding countenance.

The poem of Cadenus and Vanessa was written immediately on his return to Ireland and to Stella, (where he describes himself devoured by melancholy and regret,) and sent to Vanessa. Her passion and her inexperience seem to have blinded her to what was humiliating to herself in this poem, and left her sensible only to the admiration it expressed, and the hopes it conveyed. She wrote him the most impassioned letters; and he replied in a style which, without committing himself, kept alive all her tenderness, and rivetted his influence over her.

Meanwhile, what became of Stella? Too quick-sighted not to perceive the difference in Swift's manner, pining under his neglect, and struck to the heart by jealousy, grief, and resentment, her health gave way. His pitiful resolve never to see her alone, precluded all complaint or explanation. The Mrs. Dingley who had been chosen for her companion, was merely calculated to save appearances;—respectable, indeed, in point of reputation, but selfish, narrow-minded and weak. Thus abandoned to sullen, silent sorrow, the unhappy Stella fell into an alarming state; and her destroyer was at length roused to some remorse, by the daily spectacle of the miserable wreck he had caused. He commissioned his friend Dr. Ashe, "to learn the secret cause of that dejection of spirits which had so visibly preyed on her health; and to know whether it was by any means in his power to remove it?" She replied, "that the peculiarity of her circumstances, and her singular connexion with Swift for so many years, had given great occasion for scandal; that she had learned to bear this patiently, hoping that all such reportswould be effaced by marriage; but she now saw, with deep grief, that his behaviour was totally changed, and that a cold indifference had succeeded to the warmest professions of eternal affection. That the necessary consequences would be, an indelible stain fixed on her character, and the loss of her good name, which was dearer to her than life."[113]

Swift answered, that in order to satisfy Mrs. Johnson's scruples, and relieve her mind, he was ready to go through the mere ceremony of marriage with her, on two conditions;—first, that they should live separately exactly as they did before;—secondly, that it should be kept a profound secret from all the world.[114]To these conditions,however hard and humiliating, she was obliged to submit: and the ceremony was performed privately by Dr. Ashe, in 1716. This nominal marriage spared her at least some of the torments of jealousy, by rendering a union with her rival impossible.

Yet, within a year afterwards, we find this ill-fated rival, the yet more unhappy Vanessa,—more unhappy because endued by nature with quicker passions, and far less fortitude and patience,—following Swift to Ireland. She had a plausible pretext for this journey, being heiress to a considerable property at Celbridge, about twelve miles from Dublin, on which she came to reside with her sister;[115]but her real inducement washer unconquerable love for him. Nothing could be moremal aproposto Swift than her arrival in Dublin: placed between two women, thus devotedto him, his perplexity was not greater than his heartless duplicity deserved: nothing could extricate him but the simple, but desperate expedient of disclosing the truth, and this he could not or would not do: regardless of the sacred ties which now bound him to Stella, he continued to correspond with Vanessa and to visit her; but "the whole course of this correspondence precludes the idea of a guilty intimacy."[116]She, whose passion was as pure as it was violent and exclusive, asked but to be his wife. She would have flung down her fortune and herself at his feet, and bathed them with tears of gratitude, if he would have deigned to lift her to his arms. In the midst of all the mortification, anguish, and heart-wearing suspense to which his stern temper and inexplicable conduct exposed her, still she clung to the hopes he had awakened, and which, either in cowardice, or compassion, or selfish egotism, he still kept alive. He concludes one of his letters with the following sentence in French,"mais soyez assurée, que jamais personne au monde n'a été aimée, honorée, estimée, adorée, par votre amie, que vous:"[117]and there are other passages to the same effect, little agreeing with his professions to poor Stella:—one or the other, or both, must have been grossly deceived.

After declarations so explicit, Vanessa naturally wondered that he proceeded no farther; it appears that he sometimes endeavoured to repress her over-flowing tenderness, by treating her with a harshness which drove her almost to frenzy. There is really nothing in the effusions of Heloïse or Mdlle. de l'Espinasse, that can exceed, in pathos and burning eloquence, some of her letters to him during this period of their connection.[118]When hehad reduced her to the most shocking and pitiable state, so that her life or her reason were threatened, he would endeavour to soothe her in language which again revived her hopes—

Give the reedFrom storms a shelter,—give the drooping vineSomething round which its tendrils may entwine,—Give the parch'd flower the rain-drop,—and the meedOf Love's kind words to woman![119]

It will be said, where was her sex's delicacy, where her woman's pride? Alas!—

La Vergogna ritien debile amore,Ma debil freno è di potente amore.

In this agonizing suspense she lived through eight long years; till, unable to endure it longer, and being aware of the existence of Stella, she took the decisive step of writing to her rival, and desired to know whether she was, or was not, married to Swift? Stella answered her immediately in the affirmative; and then, justly indignant that he should have given any other woman such a right in him as was implied by the question, she enclosed Vanessa's letter to Swift; and instantly, with a spirit she had never before exerted, quitted her lodgings, withdrew to the house of Mr. Ford,of Wood Park, and threw herself on the friendship and protection of his family.

This lamentable tragedy was now brought to a crisis. Swift, on receiving the letter, was seized with one of those insane paroxysms of rage to which he was subject. He mounted his horse, rode down to Celbridge, and suddenly entered the room in which Vanessa was sitting. His countenance, fitted by nature to express the dark and fierce passions, so terrified her, that she could scarce ask him whether he would sit down? He replied savagely, "No!" and throwing down before her, her own letter to Stella, with a look of inexpressible scorn and anger, flung out of the room, and returned to Dublin.

This cruel scene was her death warrant.[120]Hitherto she had venerated Swift; and in the midst of her sufferings, confided in him, idolized him as the first of human beings. What must he now have appeared in her eyes?—They say, "Hell has no fury like a woman scorned;"—it is not so:the recoil of the heart, when forced to abhor and contemn, where it has once loved, is far,—far worse; and Vanessa, who had endured her lover's scorn, could not scornhim, and live. She was seized with a delirious fever, and died "in resentment and in despair."[121]She desired, in her last will, that the poem of Cadenus and Vanessa, which she considered as a monument of Swift's love for her, should be published, with some of his letters, which would have explained what was left obscure, and have cleared her fame. The poem was published; but the letters, by the interference of Swift's friends, were, at the time, suppressed.

On her death, and Stella's flight, Swift absented himself from home for two months, nor did any one know whither he was gone. During that time, what must have been his feelings—ifhe felt at all? what agonies of remorse, grief, shame, and horror, must have wrung his bosom! he had, in effect, murdered the woman who loved him, as absolutely as if he had plunged a poniardinto her heart: and yet it is not clear that Swift was a prey to any such feelings; at least his subsequent conduct gave no assurance of it. On his return to Dublin, mutual friends interfered to reconcile him with Stella. About this time, she happened to meet, at a dinner-party, a gentleman who was a stranger to the real circumstances of her situation, and who began to speak of the poem of Cadenus and Vanessa, then just published. He observed, that Vanessa must have been an admirable creature to have inspired the Dean to write so finely. "That does not follow," replied Mrs. Johnson, with bitterness; "it is well known that the Dean could write finely on abroomstick." Ah! how must jealousy and irritation, and long habits of intimacy with Swift, have poisoned the mind and temper of this unhappy woman, before she could have uttered this cruel sarcasm!—And yet she was true to the softness of her sex; for after the lapse of several months, during which it required all the attention of Mr. Ford and his family to sustain and console her, she consented to return to Dublin,and live with the Dean on the same terms as before. Well does old Chaucer say,

There can no man in humblesse him acquiteAs woman can, he can be half so trueAs woman be!

"Swift welcomed her to town," says Sheridan, "with that beautiful poem entitled 'Stella at Wood Park;'" that is to say, he welcomed back to the home from which he had driven her, the woman whose heart he had well nigh broken, the wife he had every way injured and abused,—with a tissue of coarse sarcasms, on the taste for magnificence she must have acquired in her visit to Wood Park, and the difficulty of descending

From every day a lordly banquetTo half a joint—and God be thanket!

From partridges and venison with the rightfumette,—to

Small beer, a herring, and the Dean.

And this was all the sentiment, all the poetry with which the occasion inspired him!

Stella naturally hoped, that when her rival was no more, and Swift no longer exposed to her torturing reproaches, that he would do her tardy justice, and at length acknowledge her as his wife. But no;—it would have cost him some little mortification and inconvenience; and on such a paltry pretext he suffered this amiable and admirable woman, of whom he had said, that "her merits towards him were greater than ever was in any human being towards another;" and "that she excelled in every good quality that could possibly accomplish a human creature,"—this woman did he suffer to languish into the grave, broken in heart and blighted in name. When Stella was on her death-bed, some conversation passed between them upon this sad subject. Only Swift's reply was audible: he said, "Well, my dear, it shall be acknowledged, if you wish it." To which she answered with a sigh, "It isnowtoo late!"[122]Itwastoo late!—

What now to her was womanhood or fame?

She died of a lingering decline, in January, 1728, four years after the death of Miss Vanhomrigh.

Thus perished these two innocent, warm-hearted and accomplished women;—so rich in all the graces of their sex—so formed to love and to be loved, to bless, and to be blessed,—sacrifices to the demoniac pride of the man they had loved and trusted. But it will be said, "si elles n'avaient point aimé, elles seraient moins connues:" they have become immortal by their connection with genius; they are celebrated, merely through their attachment to a celebrated man. But, good God! what an immortality! won by what martyrdom of the heart!—And what a celebrity! not that with which the poet's love, and his diviner verse, crownthe deified object of his homage, but a celebrity, purchased with their life-blood and their tears! I quit the subject with a sense of relief:—yet one word more.

It was after the death of these two amiable women, who had deserved so much from him, and whose enduring tenderness had flung round his odious life and character their only redeeming charm of sentiment and interest, that the native grossness and rancour of this incarnate spirit of libel burst forth with tenfold virulence.[123]He showed how true had been his love and his respect forthem, by insulting and reviling, in terms a scavenger would disavow, the sex they belonged to. Swift's master-passion was pride,—an unconquerable, all-engrossing, self-revolving pride: he was proud of his vigorous intellect, proud of being the "dread and hate of half mankind,"—proud of his contempt for women,—proud of his tremendouspowers of invective. It was his boast, that he never forgave an injury; it was his boast, that the ferocious and unsparing personal satire with which he avenged himself on those who offended him, had never been softened by the repentance, or averted by the concessions of the offender. Look at him in his last years, when the cold earth was heaped over those who would have cheered and soothed his dark and stormy spirit; without a friend—deprived of the mighty powers he had abused—alternately a drivelling idiot and a furious maniac, and sinking from both into a helpless, hopeless, prostrate lethargy of body and mind!—Draw,—draw the curtain, in reverence to the human ruin, lest our woman's hearts be tempted to unwomanly exultation!

FOOTNOTES:[107]As Swift said truly and wittily of himself:As when a lofty pile is raised,We never hear the workmen praised,Who bring the lime or place the stones,But all admire Inigo Jones;So if this pile of scattered rhymesShould be approved in after-times,If it both pleases and endures,The merit and the praise are yours!Verses to Stella.[108]Sheridan's Life of Swift.[109]Dr. Johnson, who allows Stella to have been "virtuous, beautiful, and elegant," says she could not spell her own language: in those days few womencouldspell accurately.[110]See her Letters.[111]See some very poor verses found in Miss Vanhomrigh's desk, and inserted in his poems, vol. x, p. 14.[112]"The Author on himself," (Swift's poems.)[113]Sheridan's Life of Swift, p. 316.[114]How pertinaciously Swift adhered to these conditions, is proved by the fact, that after the ceremony, he never saw her alone; and that several years after, when she was in a dangerous state of health, and he was writing to a friend about providing for her comforts, he desires "that she might not be brought to the Deanery-house on any account, as it was a very improper place for her to breathe her last in."—Sheridan's Life, p. 356.[115]"Marley Abbey, near Celbridge, where Miss Vanhomrigh resided, is built much in the form of a real cloister, especially in its external appearance. An aged man (upwards of ninety, by his own account,) showed the grounds to my correspondent. He was the son of Mrs. Vanhomrigh's gardener, and used to work with his father in the garden when a boy. He remembered the unfortunate Vanessa well; and his account of her corresponded with the usual description of her person, especially as to herembonpoint. He said she went seldom abroad, and saw little company; her constant amusement was reading, or walking in the garden. Yet, according to this authority, her society was courted by several families in the neighbourhood, who visited her, notwithstanding her seldom returning that attention; and he added, that her manners interested every one who knew her,—but she avoided company, and was always melancholy save when Dean Swift was there, and then she seemed happy. The garden was to an uncommon degree crowded with laurels. The old man said, that when Miss Vanhomrigh expected the Dean, she always planted with her own hand a laurel or two against his arrival. He showed her favourite seat, still called Vanessa's Bower. Three or four trees, and some laurels, indicate the spot. They had formerly, according to the old man's information, been trained into a close arbour. There were two seats and a rude table within the bower, the opening of which commanded a view of the Liffey, which had a romantic effect; and there was a small cascade that murmured at some distance. In this sequestered spot, according to the old gardener's account, the Dean and Vanessa used often to sit, with books and writing materials on the table before them."—Scott's Life of Swift.[116]Scott's Life of Swift.[117]Correspondence, (as quoted in Sheridan's Life of Swift.)[118]I give one specimen, not as the most eloquent that could be extracted, but as most illustrative of the story."You bid me be easy, and you would see me as often as you could; you had better have said as often as you could get the better of your inclination so much; or, as often as you remembered there was such a person in the world. If you continue to treat me as you do, you will not be made uneasy by me long. 'Tis impossible to describe what I have suffered since I saw you last; I am sure I could have borne the rack much better than those killing, killing words of yours. Sometimes I have resolved to die without seeing you more; but those resolves, to your misfortune, did not last long, for there is something in human nature that prompts us to seek relief in this world. I must give way to it, and beg you would see me, and speak kindly to me; for I am sure you would not condemn any one to suffer what I have done, could you but know it. The reason I write to you is this, because I cannot tell it you, should I see you; for when I begin to complain, then you are angry, and there is something in your look so awful, that it strikes me dumb. Oh! that you may but have so much regard for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul with pity! I say as little as ever I can. Did you but know what I thought, I am sure it would move you. Forgive me, and believe, I cannot help telling you this, and live."—Letters, Vol. xix. page 421.[119]Mrs. Hemans.[120]Johnson's Life of Swift.[121]Johnson, Sheridan. Scott.[122]Scott's Life of Swift.—Sheridan has recorded another interview between Stella and her destroyer, in which she besought him to acknowledge her before her death, that she might have the satisfaction of dying his wife; and he refused.Dated Feb. 7, 1728, I find a letter from Swift to Martha Blount, written in a style of gay badinage, and her answer; and in neither is there the slightest allusion to his recent loss.—Roscoe's Pope, vol. viii. p. 460.[123]It was after the death of Stella, that all Swift's coarsest satires were written. He was in the act of writing the last and most terrible of these, when he was seized with insanity; and it remains unfinished.

[107]As Swift said truly and wittily of himself:As when a lofty pile is raised,We never hear the workmen praised,Who bring the lime or place the stones,But all admire Inigo Jones;So if this pile of scattered rhymesShould be approved in after-times,If it both pleases and endures,The merit and the praise are yours!Verses to Stella.

[107]As Swift said truly and wittily of himself:

As when a lofty pile is raised,We never hear the workmen praised,Who bring the lime or place the stones,But all admire Inigo Jones;So if this pile of scattered rhymesShould be approved in after-times,If it both pleases and endures,The merit and the praise are yours!Verses to Stella.

[108]Sheridan's Life of Swift.

[109]Dr. Johnson, who allows Stella to have been "virtuous, beautiful, and elegant," says she could not spell her own language: in those days few womencouldspell accurately.

[110]See her Letters.

[111]See some very poor verses found in Miss Vanhomrigh's desk, and inserted in his poems, vol. x, p. 14.

[112]"The Author on himself," (Swift's poems.)

[113]Sheridan's Life of Swift, p. 316.

[114]How pertinaciously Swift adhered to these conditions, is proved by the fact, that after the ceremony, he never saw her alone; and that several years after, when she was in a dangerous state of health, and he was writing to a friend about providing for her comforts, he desires "that she might not be brought to the Deanery-house on any account, as it was a very improper place for her to breathe her last in."—Sheridan's Life, p. 356.

[115]"Marley Abbey, near Celbridge, where Miss Vanhomrigh resided, is built much in the form of a real cloister, especially in its external appearance. An aged man (upwards of ninety, by his own account,) showed the grounds to my correspondent. He was the son of Mrs. Vanhomrigh's gardener, and used to work with his father in the garden when a boy. He remembered the unfortunate Vanessa well; and his account of her corresponded with the usual description of her person, especially as to herembonpoint. He said she went seldom abroad, and saw little company; her constant amusement was reading, or walking in the garden. Yet, according to this authority, her society was courted by several families in the neighbourhood, who visited her, notwithstanding her seldom returning that attention; and he added, that her manners interested every one who knew her,—but she avoided company, and was always melancholy save when Dean Swift was there, and then she seemed happy. The garden was to an uncommon degree crowded with laurels. The old man said, that when Miss Vanhomrigh expected the Dean, she always planted with her own hand a laurel or two against his arrival. He showed her favourite seat, still called Vanessa's Bower. Three or four trees, and some laurels, indicate the spot. They had formerly, according to the old man's information, been trained into a close arbour. There were two seats and a rude table within the bower, the opening of which commanded a view of the Liffey, which had a romantic effect; and there was a small cascade that murmured at some distance. In this sequestered spot, according to the old gardener's account, the Dean and Vanessa used often to sit, with books and writing materials on the table before them."—Scott's Life of Swift.

[116]Scott's Life of Swift.

[117]Correspondence, (as quoted in Sheridan's Life of Swift.)

[118]I give one specimen, not as the most eloquent that could be extracted, but as most illustrative of the story."You bid me be easy, and you would see me as often as you could; you had better have said as often as you could get the better of your inclination so much; or, as often as you remembered there was such a person in the world. If you continue to treat me as you do, you will not be made uneasy by me long. 'Tis impossible to describe what I have suffered since I saw you last; I am sure I could have borne the rack much better than those killing, killing words of yours. Sometimes I have resolved to die without seeing you more; but those resolves, to your misfortune, did not last long, for there is something in human nature that prompts us to seek relief in this world. I must give way to it, and beg you would see me, and speak kindly to me; for I am sure you would not condemn any one to suffer what I have done, could you but know it. The reason I write to you is this, because I cannot tell it you, should I see you; for when I begin to complain, then you are angry, and there is something in your look so awful, that it strikes me dumb. Oh! that you may but have so much regard for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul with pity! I say as little as ever I can. Did you but know what I thought, I am sure it would move you. Forgive me, and believe, I cannot help telling you this, and live."—Letters, Vol. xix. page 421.

[118]I give one specimen, not as the most eloquent that could be extracted, but as most illustrative of the story.

"You bid me be easy, and you would see me as often as you could; you had better have said as often as you could get the better of your inclination so much; or, as often as you remembered there was such a person in the world. If you continue to treat me as you do, you will not be made uneasy by me long. 'Tis impossible to describe what I have suffered since I saw you last; I am sure I could have borne the rack much better than those killing, killing words of yours. Sometimes I have resolved to die without seeing you more; but those resolves, to your misfortune, did not last long, for there is something in human nature that prompts us to seek relief in this world. I must give way to it, and beg you would see me, and speak kindly to me; for I am sure you would not condemn any one to suffer what I have done, could you but know it. The reason I write to you is this, because I cannot tell it you, should I see you; for when I begin to complain, then you are angry, and there is something in your look so awful, that it strikes me dumb. Oh! that you may but have so much regard for me left, that this complaint may touch your soul with pity! I say as little as ever I can. Did you but know what I thought, I am sure it would move you. Forgive me, and believe, I cannot help telling you this, and live."—Letters, Vol. xix. page 421.

[119]Mrs. Hemans.

[120]Johnson's Life of Swift.

[121]Johnson, Sheridan. Scott.

[122]Scott's Life of Swift.—Sheridan has recorded another interview between Stella and her destroyer, in which she besought him to acknowledge her before her death, that she might have the satisfaction of dying his wife; and he refused.Dated Feb. 7, 1728, I find a letter from Swift to Martha Blount, written in a style of gay badinage, and her answer; and in neither is there the slightest allusion to his recent loss.—Roscoe's Pope, vol. viii. p. 460.

Dated Feb. 7, 1728, I find a letter from Swift to Martha Blount, written in a style of gay badinage, and her answer; and in neither is there the slightest allusion to his recent loss.—Roscoe's Pope, vol. viii. p. 460.

[123]It was after the death of Stella, that all Swift's coarsest satires were written. He was in the act of writing the last and most terrible of these, when he was seized with insanity; and it remains unfinished.

If the soul of sensibility, which I believe Pope really possessed, had been enclosed in a healthful frame and an agreeable person, we might have reckoned him among ourpreux chevaliers, and have had sonnets instead of satires. But he seems to have been ever divided between two contending feelings. He was peculiarly sensible to the charms of women, and his habits as a valetudinarian, rendered their society and attention not only soothing and delightful, but absolutely necessary to him: while, unhappily, there mingled with this real love for them, and dependanceon them as a sex, the most irascible self-love; and a torturing consciousness of that feebleness and deformity of person, which embittered all his intercourse with them. He felt that, in his character of poet, he could, by his homage, flatter their vanity, and excite their admiration and their fear; but, at the same time, he was shivering under the apprehension that, as a man, they regarded him with contempt; and that he could never hope to awaken in a female bosom any feelings corresponding with his own. So far he was unjust to us and to himself: his friend Lord Lyttelton, and his enemy Lord Hervey,[124]might have taught him better.

On reviewing Pope's life, his works, and his correspondence, it seems to me that these two oppositefeelings contending in his bosom from youth to age, will account for the general character of his poems with a reference to our sex:—will explain why women bear so prominent a part in all his works, whether as objects of poetical gallantry, honest admiration, or poignant satire: why there is not among all his productions more than one poem decidedly amatory, (and that one partly suppressed in the ordinary editions of his works,) while women only have furnished him with the materials of all hischef-d'œuvres: his Elegy, his 'Rape of the Lock,' the 'Epistle of Heloïse,' and the second of his Moral Essays. He may call us, and prove us, in his antithetical style, "a contradiction:"[125]but we may retort; for, as far as women are concerned, Pope was himself one miserable antithesis.

The "Elegy to the memory of an unfortunate Lady," refers to a tragedy which occurred in Pope's early life, and over which he has studiouslydrawn an impenetrable veil. When his friend Mr. Caryl wrote to him on the subject, many years after the Elegy was published, Pope, in his reply, left this part of the letter unnoticed; and a second application was equally unsuccessful. His biographers are not better informed. Johnson remarks upon the Elegy, that it commemorates the "amorous fury of a raving girl, who liked self-murder better than suspense;" and having given this deadly stroke with his critical fang, the grim old lion of literature stalks on, and "stays no farther question." But is this merciful, or is it just? by what right does he sit in judgment on the unhappy dead, of whom he knew nothing? or how could he tell by what course of suffering, disease, or tyranny, a gentle spirit may have been goaded to frenzy? It was said, on the authority of some French author, that she was secretly attached to one of the French princes: that, in consequence, her uncle and guardian ("the mean deserter of a brother's blood,") forced her into a convent, where, in despair and madness, she put an end to her existence; and that the lines

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