the spirit of place and other essays-第2章

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foolishly　play　havoc　with　such　a　relation。　　To　Swift　it　was　the　most

secluded　thing　in　the　world。　　〃I　am　weary　of　friends；　and

friendships　are　all　monsters；　except　MD's；〃　〃I　ought　to　read　these

letters　I　write　after　I　have　done。　　But　I　hope　it　does　not　puzzle

little　Dingley　to　read；　for　I　think　I　mend：　　but　methinks；〃　he　adds；

〃when　I　write　plain；　I　do　not　know　how；　but　we　are　not　alone；　all

the　world　can　see　us。　　A　bad　scrawl　is　so　snug；　it　looks　like　PMD。〃

Again：　　〃I　do　not　like　women　so　much　as　I　did。　　MD；　you　must　know；

are　not　women。〃　　〃God　Almighty　preserve　you　both　and　make　us　happy

together。〃　　〃I　say　Amen　with　all　my　heart　and　vitals；　that　we　may

never　be　asunder　ten　days　together　while　poor　Presto　lives。〃

〃Farewell；　dearest　beloved　MD；　and　love　poor；　poor　Presto；　who　has

not　had　one　happy　day　since　he　left　you；　as　hope　saved。〃



With　themwith　herhe　hid　himself　in　the　world；　at　Court；　at　the

bar　of　St。　James's　coffee…house；　whither　he　went　on　the　Irish　mail…

day；　and　was　〃in　pain　except　he　saw　MD's　little　handwriting。〃　　He

hid　with　them　in　the　long　labours　of　these　exquisite　letters　every

night　and　morning。　　If　no　letter　came；　he　comforted　himself　with

thinking　that　〃he　had　it　yet　to　be　happy　with。〃　　And　the　world　has

agreed　to　hide　under　its　own　manifold　and　lachrymose　blunders　the

grace　and　singularitythe　distinctionof　this　sweet　romance。

〃Little；　sequestered　pleasure…house〃it　seemed　as　though　〃the　many

could　not　miss　it；〃　but　not　even　the　few　have　found　it。



It　is　part　of　the　scheme　of　the　sympathetic　historian　that　Stella

should　be　the　victim　of　hope　deferred；　watching　for　letters　from

Swift。　　But　day　and　night　Presto　complains　of　the　scantiness　of　MD's

little　letters；　he　waits　upon　〃her〃　will：　　〃I　shall　make　a　sort　of

journal；　and　when　it　is　full　I　will　send　it　whether　MD　writes　or

not；　and　so　that　will　be　pretty。〃　　〃Naughty　girls　that　will　not

write　to　a　body！〃　　〃I　wish　you　were　whipped　for　forgetting　to　send。

Go；　be　far　enough；　negligent　baggages。〃　　〃You；　Mistress　Stella；

shall　write　your　share；　and　then　comes　Dingley　altogether；　and　then

Stella　a　little　crumb　at　the　end；　and　then　conclude　with　something

handsome　and　genteel；　as　‘your　most　humble　cumdumble。'〃　　But　Scott

and　Macaulay　and　Thackeray　are　all　exceedingly　sorry　for　Stella。



Swift　is　most　charming　when　he　is　feigning　to　complain　of　his　task：

〃Here　is　such　a　stir　and　bustle　with　this　little　MD　of　ours；　I　must

be　writing　every　night；　O　Lord；　O　Lord！〃　　〃I　must　go　write　idle

things；　and　twittle　twattle。〃　　〃These　saucy　jades　take　up　so　much　of

my　time　with　writing　to　them　in　the　morning。〃　　Is　it　not　a　stealthy

wrong　done　upon　Mrs。　Dingley　that　she　should　be　stripped　of　all

these　ornaments　to　her　name　and　memory？　　When　Swift　tells　a　woman　in

a　letter　that　there　he　is　〃writing　in　bed；　like　a　tiger；〃　she　should

go　gay　in　the　eyes　of　all　generations。



They　will　not　let　Stella　go　gay；　because　of　sentiment；　and　they　will

not　let　Mrs。　Dingley　go　gay；　because　of　sentiment　for　Stella。　　Marry

come　up！　　Why　did　not　the　historians　assign　all　the　tender　passages

（taken　very　seriously）　to　Stella；　and　let　Dingley　have　the　jokes；

then？　　That　would　have　been　no　ill　share　for　Dingley。　　But　no；

forsooth；　Dingley　is　allowed　nothing。



There　are　passages；　nevertheless；　which　can　hardly　be　taken　from

her。　　For　now　and　then　Swift　parts　his　dear　MD。　　When　he　does　so　he

invariably　drops　those　initials　and　writes　〃Stella〃　or　〃Ppt〃　for　the

one；　and　〃D〃　or　〃Dingley〃　for　the　other。　　There　is　no　exception　to

this　anywhere。　　He　is　anxious　about　Stella's　〃little　eyes；〃　and

about　her　health　generally；　whereas　Dingley　is　strong。　　Poor　Ppt；　he

thinks；　will　not　catch　the　〃new　fever；〃　because　she　is　not　well；

〃but　why　should　D　escape　it；　pray？〃　　And　Mrs。　Dingley　is　rebuked　for

her　tale　of　a　journey　from　Dublin　to　Wexford。　　〃I　doubt；　Madam

Dingley；　you　are　apt　to　lie　in　your　travels；　though　not　so　bad　as

Stella；　she　tells　thumpers。〃　　Stella　is　often　reproved　for　her

spelling；　and　Mrs。　Dingley　writes　much　the　better　hand。　　But　she　is

a　puzzle…headed　woman；　like　another。　　〃What　do　you　mean　by　my　fourth

letter；　Madam　Dinglibus？　　Does　not　Stella　say　you　had　my　fifth；

goody　Blunder？〃　　〃Now；　Mistress　Dingley；　are　you　not　an　impudent

slut　to　except　a　letter　next　packet？　　Unreasonable　baggage！　　No；

little　Dingley；　I　am　always　in　bed　by　twelve；　and　I　take　great　care

of　myself。〃　　〃You　are　a　pretending　slut；　indeed；　with　your　‘fourth'

and　‘fifth'　in　the　margin；　and　your　‘journal'　and　everything。　　O

Lord；　never　saw　the　like；　we　shall　never　have　done。〃　　〃I　never　saw

such　a　letter；　so　saucy；　so　journalish；　so　everything。〃　　Swift　is

insistently　grateful　for　their　inquiries　for　his　health。　　He　pauses

seriously　to　thank　them　in　the　midst　of　his　prattle。　　Both　women

MDare　rallied　on　their　politics：　　〃I　have　a　fancy　that　Ppt　is　a

Tory；　I　fancy　she　looks　like　one；　and　D　a　sort　of　trimmer。〃



But　it　is　for　Dingley　separately　that　Swift　endured　a　wild　bird　in

his　lodgings。　　His　man　Patrick　had　got　one　to　take　over　to　her　in

Ireland。　　〃He　keeps　it　in　a　closet；　where　it　makes　a　terrible

litter；　but　I　say　nothing；　I　am　as　tame　as　a　clout。〃



Forgotten　Dingley；　happy　in　this；　has　not　had　to　endure　the

ignominy；　in　a　hundred　essays；　to　be　retrospectively　offered　to

Swift　as　an　unclaimed　wife；　so　far　so　good。　　But　two　hundred　years

is　long　for　her　to　have　gone　stripped　of　so　radiant　a　glory　as　is

hers　by　right。　　〃Better；　thanks　to　MD's　prayers；〃　wrote　the　immortal

man　who　loved　her；　in　a　private　fragment　of　a　journal；　never　meant

for　Dingley's　eyes；　nor　for　Ppt's；　nor　for　any　human　eyes；　and　the

rogue　Stella　has　for　two　centuries　stolen　all　the　credit　of　those

prayers；　and　all　the　thanks　of　that　pious　benediction。







SOLITUDE







The　wild　man　is　alone　at　will；　and　so　is　the　man　for　whom

civilization　has　been　kind。　　But　there　are　the　multitudes　to　whom

civilization　has　given　little　but　its　reaction；　its　rebound；　its

chips；　its　refuse；　its　shavings；　sawdust　and　waste；　its　failures；　to

them　solitude　is　a　right　foregone　or　a　luxury　unattained；　a　right

foregone；　we　may　name　it；　in　the　case　of　the　nearly　savage；　and　a

luxury　unattained　in　the　case　of　the　nearly　refined。　　These　has　the

movement　of　the　world　thronged　together　into　some　blind　by…way。



Their　share　in　the　enormous　solitude　which　is　the　common；　unbounded；

and　virtually　illimitable　possession　of　all　mankind　has　lapsed；

unclaimed。　　They　do　not　know　it　is　theirs。　　Of　many　of　their

kingdoms　they　are　ignorant；　but　of　this　most　ignorant。　　They　have

not　guessed　that　they　own　for　every　man　a　space　inviolate；　a　place

of　unhidden　liberty　and　of　no　obscure　enfranchisement。　　They　do　not

claim　even　the　solitude　of　closed　corners；　the　narrow　privacy　of　the

lock　and　key；　nor　could　they　command　so　much。　　For　the　solitude　that

has　a　sky　and　a　horizon　they　know　not　how　to　wish。



It　lies　in　a　perpetual　distance。　　England　has　leagues　thereof；

landscapes；　verge　beyond　verge；　a　thousand　thousand　places　in　the

woods；　and　on　uplifted　hills。　　Or　rather；　solitudes　are　not　to　be

measured　by　miles；　they　are　to　be　numbered　by　days。　　They　are

freshly　and　freely　the　dominion　of　every　man　for　the　day　of　his

possession。　　There　is　loneliness　for　innumerable　solitaries。　　As

many　days　as　there　are　in　all　the　ages；　so　many　solitudes　are　there

for　men。　　This　is　the　open　house　of　the　earth；　no　one　is　refused。

Nor　is　the　space　shortened　or　the　silence　marred　because；　one　by

one；　men　in　multitudes　have　been　alone　there　before。　　Solitude　is

separate　experience。　　Nay；　solitudes　are　not　to　be　numbered　by　days；

but　by　men　themselves。　　Every　man　of　the　living　and　every　man　of　the

dead　might　have　had　his　〃privacy　of　light。〃



It　needs　no　park。　　It　is　to　be　found　in　the　merest　working　country；

and　a　thicket　may　be　as　secret　as　a　forest。　　It　is　not　so　difficult

to　get　for　a　time　out　of　sight　and　earshot。　　Even　if　your　solitude

be　enclosed；　it　is　still　an　open　solitude；　so　there　be　〃no　cloister

for　the　eyes；〃　and　a　space　of　far　country　or　a　cloud　in　the　sky　be

privy　to　your　hiding…place。　　But　the　best　solitude　does　not　hide　at

all。



This　the　people　who　have　drifted　together　into　the　streets　live

whole　lives　and　never　know。　　Do　they　suffer　from　their　deprivation

of　even　the　solitude　of　the　hiding…place？　　There　are　many　who　never

have　a　whole　hour　alone。　　They　live　in　reluctant　or　indifferent

companionship；　as　people　may　in　a　boarding…house；　by　paradoxical

choice；　familiar　with　one　another　and　not　intimate。　　They　live　under

careless　observation　and　subject　to　a　vagabond　curiosity。　　Theirs　is

the　involuntary　and　perhaps　the　unconscious　loss　which　is　futile　and

barren。



One　knows　the　men；　and　the　many　women；　who　have　sacrificed　all　their

solitude　to　the　perpetual　society　of　the　school；　the　cloister；　or

the　hospital　ward。　　They　walk　without　secrecy；　candid；　simple；

visible；　without　moods；　unchangeable；　in　a　constant　communication

and　practice　of　action　and　speech。　　Theirs　assuredly　is　no　barren　or

futile　loss；　and　they　have　a　conviction；　and　they　bestow　the

conviction；　of　solitude　deferred。



Who　has　painted　solitude　so　that　the　solitary　seemed　to　stand　alone

and　inaccessible？　　There　is　the　loneliness　of　the　shepherdess　in

many　a　drawing　of　J。F。　Millet。　　The　little　figure　is　away；　aloof。

The　girl　stands　so　when　the　painter　is　gone。　　She　waits　so　on　the

sun　for　the　closing　of　the　hours　of　pasture。　　Millet　has　her　as　she

looks；　out　of　sight。



Now；　although　solitude　is　a　prepared；　secured；　defended；　elaborate

possession　of　the　rich；　they　too　deny　themselves　the　natural

solitude　of　a　woman　with　a　child。　　A　newly…born　child　is　so　nursed

and　talked　about；　handled　and　jolted　and　carried　about　by　aliens；

and　there　is　so　much　importunate　service　going　forward；　that　a　woman

is　hardly　alone　long　enough　to　become　aware；　in　recollection；　how

her　own　blood　moves　separately；　beside　her；　with　another　rhythm　and

different　pulses。　　All　is　commonplace　until　the　doors　are　closed

upon　the　two。　　This　unique　intimacy　is　a　profound　retreat；　an

absolute　seclusion。　　It　is　more　than　single　solitude；　it　is　a

redoubled　isolation　more　remote　than　mountains；　safer　than　valleys；

deeper　than　forests；　and　further　than　mid…sea。



That　solitude　partakenthe　only　partaken　solitude　in　the　worldis

the　Point　of　Honour　of　ethics。　　Treachery　to　that　obligation　and　a

betrayal　of　that　confidence　might　well　be　held　to　be　the　least

pardonable　of　all　crimes。　　There　is　no　innocent　sleep　so　innocent　as

sleep　shared　between　a　woman　and　a　child；　the　little　breath　hurrying

beside　the　longer；　as　a　child's　foot　runs。　　But　the　favourite　crime

of　the　sentimentalist　is　that　of　a　woman　against　her　child。　　Her

power；　her　intimacy；　her　opportunity；　that　should　be　her　accusers；

are　held　to　excuse　her。　　She　gains　the　most　slovenly　of　indulgences

and