Part 12
Of the excellent persons who enjoyed such famous hospitality we know little, with the exception of two to be noticed hereafter. But they seem to have been all of one sex. In the short sketch of Mathew’s career that I have plundered so freely, I can find no record of any ladies among the guests. Nor is there any mention of a Mrs. Mathew, which is not surprising, for woman, who knits up the social fabric and keeps civilisation intact, does not favour these noble experiments, these staggering ideals, these gigantic whims; she puts the golden hobby-horse between the shafts or at the end of a towing-line. As a husband and family man Mathew would have been admirable and still the very soul of hospitality, but, you may depend upon it, he would never have carried out his astonishing scheme, never have had his coffee-house and tavern and what not at Thomastown, never have come down to us as one of the most delightful eccentrics of his age. As it was, the life at Thomastown was a purely masculine affair, as remote from femininity as that of a monastery or a college, and better than either, where men not desperately in love could ‘fleet the time carelessly,’ away from their ladies’ eyes.[A] It is fortunate that we do know the names of at least two of those lucky gentlemen who stayed with Mathew, and that one of them happens to be a great man, a man who might be called a ‘hard case’ so far as guests are concerned, a man with a capacity for being displeased that had not its equal in Europe, whose enjoyment may reasonably be taken as the very acid test of Mathew’s scheme--no other than Dean Swift. Yes, we are told that the great Dean himself rode down to Tipperary and spent some time at Thomastown. The fact is not recorded, so far as I know, in any of his numerous biographies; I have taken it on trust from the old volume that contains Mathew himself. Like many other stories, if it is not true it ought to be. But I see no reason to doubt it.
[A] But I am assured by a gentleman bearing the same name, and presumably of the same family, as our hero, that actually Mathew was married twice; also that his Christian name was George--“Grand George” he was called.
Swift’s friend, Dr. Sheridan, had charge of Mathew’s nephew for a time, and not unnaturally became one of the welcome guests at Thomastown. Through him Swift heard a great deal about the place, and, after a time, wanted to find out for himself how much truth there was in these reports of marvels, which seemed to him a monstrous tissue of exaggeration. Mathew, hearing of this through Sheridan, despatched a polite note to Swift, requesting the honour of a visit, in company with Sheridan, when the latter should have his next school vacation. Swift, though a little dubious, accepted the invitation, and some little time afterwards set out for Thomastown with Sheridan and a near relation of Mathew’s. The three of them rode all day through miry lanes and at length reached one of the wretched wayside hovels that passed then for inns in Ireland. Here they were to spend the night. Swift, who was very fastidious (did he not once complain of ‘dirty sheets’ and get in return a rebuke that is--or should be--historic?), began already to regret the adventure. But they had not been in the inn more than a few minutes when a magnificent coach-and-six thundered up to the door. It had been sent by Mathew to carry them the remainder of the journey to Thomastown, and contained a delectable supply of food, wine, and other liquors. Swift, we are told, ‘was highly pleased with this uncommon mark of attention paid him, and the coach proved particularly acceptable as he had been a good deal fatigued with his day’s journey.’ And an entertaining ride it must have been, too, with the Dean in good spirits, little Dr. Sheridan chuckling over the impromptu supper, and one and all rolling through the night on the road to Tipperary.
When they came within sight of the house, Swift was astonished at its size, and cried: ‘What, in the name of heaven, can be the use of such a vast building?’
‘Why, Mr. Dean,’ returned Mathew’s relative, ‘there are no less than forty apartments for guests in that house, and all of them probably occupied at this time, except what are reserved for us.’
Swift was down in the dumps in a moment. You could not expect the author of _Gulliver_ to relish his fellow-humans in a lump. Sticking his head out of the window, he called to the coachman and told him to drive back to Dublin, as he could not think of mixing with such a crowd. Then, luckily for himself, as it turned out, he saw that the affair had gone too far to be thus lightly abandoned. ‘Well,’ he declared gloomily, ‘there is no remedy; I must submit; but I have lost a fortnight of my life.’ He had not; but how many fortnights in that long unhappy life of his might not he have lost and yet only gained thereby, perhaps won some little touch of heart’s ease?
He was received at the door by Mathew, who conducted him to his room, made the usual speech about the customs of the house, and then retired, leaving Swift, still gloomily submissive and not a little incredulous, to his dour meditations. Shortly afterwards, however, the cook appeared with his bill of fare, and the butler with his wine list, ready to receive orders. ‘And is all this really so?’ Swift demanded of his two companions; ‘and may I command here as in my own house?’ Dr. Sheridan and his friend assured him that he might, that the host desired all his guests to suit their own inclinations without the least restraint. ‘Well then,’ cried Swift, ‘I invite you and Dr. Sheridan to be my guests while I stay, for I think I shall scarcely be tempted to mix with the mob below.’
Now listen to our historian, for we hasten to the climax:
Three days were passed in riding over the demesne, and viewing the various improvements, without ever seeing Mr. Mathew or any of the guests: nor were the company below much concerned at the dean’s absence, as his very name usually inspired those who did not know him with awe, and they were afraid that his presence would put an end to the ease and cheerfulness which reigned among them. On the fourth day Swift entered the room where the company were assembled before dinner, and addressed Mr. Mathew in a strain of the highest compliment, expatiating on all the beauties of his improvements, with the skill of an artist, and with the taste of a connoisseur. Such an address from a man of Swift’s character could not fail of being pleasing to the owner, who was, at the same time, the planner of these improvements; and so fine an eulogium from one who was supposed to deal more largely in satire than panegyric was likely to remove the prejudice entertained against his character, and prepossess the rest of the company in his favour. He concluded his speech by saying: ‘And now, gentlemen, I am come to live among you, and it shall be no fault of mine if we do not pass our time agreeably.’
There is something almost startling in the _naïveté_ of our historian’s observation that ‘such an address ... could not fail of being pleasing.’ Pleasing indeed! Hearty praise in public from Jonathan Swift was worth all that seven years’ sacrifice.
After that, we are told, all constraint vanished. Swift, as we know, could be the very prince of good fellows in his best days and when the mood was on; and now he entered readily into the life of the place, devised all manner of jests, and kept Thomastown in a roar. Never, we are told, were there such days and nights at Thomastown; and those of us who have more than a superficial acquaintance with Swift can readily believe it. Soon, all too soon, came the time when Sheridan had to return to his school. But Swift was not allowed to depart with his friend; the whole company entreated him to remain; even Mathew himself for once broke through his rule of never soliciting a guest to stay; and the upshot of it was that the great man stayed on, and finally, in place of that wasted fortnight, spent four months, four happy months, as the guest of Thomastown. Thus, though we know so little of Mathew’s guests, at least we do know this: he sheltered beneath his roof for more than a hundred nights one of the greatest intellects of his time; he was enabled to give some little time of rest and forgetfulness, snatched, as it were, before the coming of a dreadful darkness, to one of the greatest and most unhappy spirits known to our literature. That, surely, was no little thing. Nor did it lack recompense. I have said that Mathew, this eccentric personage, this king of hosts, was not without greatness, not yet suitably acknowledged. But I was wrong. For whatever he did, if the tale holds true, the world repaid him in full, the thanks of all guests to this greatest of hosts have long ago been given their voice, and the debt is cleared. For was he not praised by Swift?
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Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
yet did not hestitate to juggle=> yet did not hesitate to juggle {pg 46}