IN THE MILITIA.
The only person whom, on his return, Gibbon had the least wish to see
was his aunt, Catherine Porten. To her house he at once hastened, and
"the evening was spent in the effusions of joy and tenderness." He
looked forward to his first meeting with his father with no slight
anxiety, and that for two reasons. First, his father had parted from
him with anger and menace, and he had no idea how he would be received
now. Secondly, his mother's place was occupied by a second wife, and
an involuntary but strong prejudice possessed him against his
step-mother. He was most agreeably disappointed in both respects. His
father "received him as a man, as a friend, all constraint was
banished at our first interview, and we ever after continued on the
same terms of easy and equal politeness." So far the prospect was
pleasant. But the step-mother remained a possible obstacle to all
comfort at home. He seems to have regarded his father's second
marriage as an act of displeasure with himself, and he was disposed to
hate the rival of his mother. Gibbon soon found that the injustice was
in his own fancy, and the imaginary monster was an amiable and
deserving woman. "I could not be mistaken in the first view of her
understanding; her knowledge and the elegant spirit of her
conversation, her polite welcome, and her assiduous care to study and
gratify my wishes announced at least that the surface would be smooth;
and my suspicions of art and falsehood were gradually dispelled by the
full discovery of her warm and exquisite sensibility." He became
indeed deeply attached to his step-mother. "After some reserve on my
side, our minds associated in confidence and friendship, and as Mrs.
Gibbon had neither children nor the hopes of children, we more easily
adopted the tender names and genuine characters of mother and son." A
most creditable testimony surely to the worth and amiability of both
of them. The friendship thus begun continued without break or coolness
to the end of Gibbon's life. Thirty-five years after his first
interview with his step-mother, and only a few months before his own
death, when he was old and ailing, and the least exertion, by reason
of his excessive corpulence, involved pain and trouble, he made a long
journey to Bath for the sole purpose of paying Mrs. Gibbon a visit. He
was very far from being the selfish Epicurean that has been sometimes
represented.
He had brought with him from Lausanne the first pages of a work which,
after much bashfulness and delay, he at length published in the French
language, under the title of _Essai sur l'Étude de la Littérature_, in
the year 1761, that is two years after its completion. In one respect
this juvenile work of Gibbon has little merit. The style is at once
poor and stilted, and the general quality of remark eminently
commonplace, where it does not fall into paradox. On the other hand,
it has an interesting and even original side. The main idea of the
little book, so far as it has one, was excellent, and really above the
general thought of the age, namely, the vindication of classical
literature and history generally from the narrow and singular
prejudice which prevailed against them, especially in France. When
Gibbon ascribes the design of his first work to a "refinement of
vanity, the desire of justifying and praising the object of a
favourite pursuit," he does himself less than justice. This first
utterance of his historic genius was prompted by an unconscious but
deep reaction against that contempt for the past, which was the
greatest blot in the speculative movement of the eighteenth century.
He resists the temper of his time rather from instinct than reason,
and pleads the cause of learning with the hesitation of a man who has
not fully seen round his subject, or even mastered his own thoughts
upon it. Still there is his protest against the proposal of
D'Alembert, who recommended that after a selection of facts had been
made at the end of every century the remainder should be delivered to
the flames. "Let us preserve them all," he says, "most carefully. A
Montesquieu will detect in the most insignificant, relations which the
vulgar overlook." He resented the haughty pretensions of the
mathematical sciences to universal dominion, with sufficient vigour to
have satisfied Auguste Comte. "Physics and mathematics are at present
on the throne. They see their sister sciences prostrate before them,
chained to their chariot, or at most occupied in adorning their
triumph. Perhaps their downfall is not far off." To speak of a
positive downfall of exact sciences was a mistake. But we may fairly
suppose that Gibbon did not contemplate anything beyond a relative
change of position in the hierarchy of the sciences, by which history
and politics would recover or attain to a dignity which was denied
them in his day. In one passage Gibbon shows that he had dimly
foreseen the possibility of the modern inquiries into the conditions
of savage life and prehistoric man. "An Iroquois book, even were it
full of absurdities, would be an invaluable treasure. It would offer a
unique example of the nature of the human mind placed in circumstances
which we have never known, and influenced by manners and religious
opinions, the complete opposite of ours." In this sentence Gibbon
seems to call in anticipation for the researches which have since been
prosecuted with so much success by eminent writers among ourselves,
not to mention similar inquirers on the Continent.
But in the meantime Gibbon had entered on a career which removed him
for long months from books and study. Without sufficiently reflecting
on what such a step involved, he had joined the militia, which was
embodied in the year 1760; and for the next two and a half years led,
as he says, a wandering life of military servitude. At first, indeed,
he was so pleased with his new mode of life that he had serious
thoughts of becoming a professional soldier. But this enthusiasm
speedily wore off, and our "mimic Bellona soon revealed to his eyes
her naked deformity." It was indeed no mere playing at soldiering that
he had undertaken. He was the practical working commander of "an
independent corps of 476 officers and men." "In the absence, or even
in the presence of the two field officers" (one of whom was his
father, the major) "I was intrusted with the effective labour of
dictating the orders and exercising the battalion." And his duty did
not consist in occasional drilling and reviews, but in serious
marches, sometimes of thirty miles in a day, and camping under canvas.
One encampment, on Winchester Downs, lasted four months. Gibbon does
not hesitate to say that the superiority of his grenadiers to the
detachments of the regular army, with which they were often mingled,
was so striking that the most prejudiced regular could not have
hesitated a moment to admit it. But the drilling, and manoeuvring, and
all that pertained to the serious side of militia business interested
Gibbon, and though it took up time it gave him knowledge of a special
kind, of which he quite appreciated the value. He was much struck, for
instance, by the difference between the nominal and effective force of
every regiment he had seen, even when supposed to be complete, and
gravely doubts whether a nominal army of 100,000 men often brings
_fifty_ thousand into the field. What he found unendurable was the
constant shifting of quarters, the utter want of privacy and leisure
it often entailed, and the distasteful society in which he was forced
to live. For eight months at a stretch he never took a book in his
hand. "From the day we marched from Blandford, I had hardly a moment I
could call my own, being almost continually in motion, or if I was
fixed for a day, it was in the guardroom, a barrack, or an inn." Even
worse were the drinking and late hours; sometimes in "rustic" company,
sometimes in company in which joviality and wit were more abundant
than decorum and common sense, which will surprise no one who hears
that the famous John Wilkes, who was colonel of the Buckingham
militia, was not unfrequently one of his boon companions. A few
extracts from his journal will be enough. "To-day (August 28, 1762),
Sir Thomas Worsley," the colonel of the battalion, "came to us to
dinner. Pleased to see him, we kept bumperising till after
roll-calling, Sir Thomas assuring us every fresh bottle how infinitely
sober he was growing." September 23rd. "Colonel Wilkes, of the
Buckingham militia, dined with us, and renewed the acquaintance Sir
Thomas and myself had begun with him at Reading. I scarcely ever met
with a better companion; he has inexhaustible spirits, infinite wit
and humour, and a great deal of knowledge.... This proved a very
debauched day; we drank a great deal both after dinner and supper; and
when at last Wilkes had retired, Sir Thomas and some others (of whom I
was not one) broke into his room and made him drink a bottle of claret
in bed." December 17. "We found old Captain Meard at Arlesford with
the second division of the Fourteenth. He and all his officers supped
with us, which made the evening rather a drunken one." Gibbon might
well say that the militia was unfit for and unworthy of him.
Yet it is quite astonishing to see, as recorded in his journal, how
keen an interest he still managed to retain in literature in the midst
of all this dissipation, and how fertile he was of schemes and
projects of future historical works to be prosecuted under more
favourable auspices. Subject after subject occurred to him as eligible
and attractive; he caresses the idea for a time, then lays it aside
for good reasons. First, he pitched upon the expedition of Charles
VIII. of France into Italy. He read and meditated upon it, and wrote a
dissertation of ten folio pages, besides large notes, in which he
examined the right of Charles VIII. to the crown of Naples, and the
rival claims of the houses of Anjou and Aragon. In a few weeks he
gives up this idea, firstly, for the rather odd reason that the
subject was too remote from us; and, secondly, for the very good
reason that the expedition was rather the introduction to great events
than great and important in itself. He then successively chose and
rejected the Crusade of Richard the First; the Barons' War against
John and Henry III.; the history of Edward the Black Prince; the lives
and comparisons of Henry V. and the Emperor Titus; the life of Sir
Philip Sidney, and that of the Marquis of Montrose. At length he fixed
on Sir Walter Raleigh as his hero. On this he worked with all the
assiduity that his militia life allowed, read a great quantity of
original documents relating to it, and, after some months of labour,
declared that "his subject opened upon him, and in general improved
upon a nearer prospect." But half a year later he "is afraid he will
have to drop his hero." And he covers half a page with reasons to
persuade himself that he was right in doing so. Besides the obvious
one that he would be able to add little that was not already
accessible in Oldys' _Life of Raleigh_, that the topic was exhausted,
and so forth, he goes on to make these remarks, which have more
signification to us now than perhaps they had to him when he wrote
them. "Could I even surmount these obstacles, I should shrink with
terror from the modern history of England, where every character is a
problem and every reader a friend or an enemy: when a writer is
supposed to hoist a flag of party, and is devoted to damnation by the
adverse faction. Such would be _my_ reception at home; and abroad the
historian of Raleigh must encounter an indifference far more bitter
than censure or reproach. The events of his life are interesting; but
his character is ambiguous; his actions are obscure; his writings are
English, and his fame is confined to the narrow limits of our language
and our island. _I must embrace a safer and more extensive theme._"
Here we see the first gropings after a theme of cosmopolitan interest.
He has arrived at two negative conclusions: that it must not be
English, and must not be narrow. What it is to be, does not yet
appear, for he has still a series of subjects to go through, to be
taken up and discarded. The history of the liberty of the Swiss, which
at a later period he partially achieved, was one scheme; the history
of Florence under the Medici was another. He speaks with enthusiasm of
both projects, adding that he will most probably fix upon the latter;
but he never did anything of the kind.
These were the topics which occupied Gibbon's mind during his service
in the militia, escaping when he could from the uproar and vulgarity
of the camp and the guardroom to the sanctuary of the historic muse,
to worship in secret. But these private devotions could not remove his
disgust at "the inn, the wine, and the company" he was forced to
endure, and latterly the militia became downright insupportable to
him. But honourable motives kept him to his post. "From a service
without danger I might have retired without disgrace; but as often as
I hinted a wish of resigning, my fetters were riveted by the friendly
intreaties of the colonel, the parental authority of the major, and my
own regard for the welfare of the battalion." At last the
long-wished-for day arrived, when the militia was disbanded. "Our two
companies," he writes in his journal, "were disembodied (December
23rd, 1762), mine at Alton, my father's at Buriton. They fired three
volleys, lodged the major's colours, delivered up their arms, received
their money, partook of a dinner at the major's expense, and then
separated, with great cheerfulness and regularity. Thus ended the
militia." The compression that his spirit had endured was shown by the
rapid energy with which he sought a change of scene and oblivion of
his woes. Within little more than a month after the scene just
described, Gibbon was in Paris beginning the grand tour.
With that keen sense of the value of time which marked him, Gibbon
with great impartiality cast up and estimated the profit and loss of
his "bloodless campaigns." Both have been alluded to already. He
summed up with great fairness in the entry that he made in his journal
on the evening of the day on which he recovered his liberty. "I am
glad that the militia has been, and glad that it is no more." This
judgment he confirmed thirty years afterwards, when he composed his
Memoirs. "My principal obligation to the militia was the making me an
Englishman and a soldier. After my foreign education, with my reserved
temper, I should long have continued a stranger in my native country,
had I not been shaken in this various scene of new faces and new
friends; had not experience forced me to feel the characters of our
leading men, the state of parties, the forms of office, the operations
of our civil and military system. In this peaceful service I imbibed
the rudiments of the language and science of tactics, which opened a
new field of study and observation. I diligently read and meditated
the _Mémoires Militaires_ of Quintus Icilius, the only writer who has
united the merits of a professor and a veteran. The discipline and
evolution of a modern battalion gave me a clearer notion of the
phalanx and the legion, and the captain of the Hampshire grenadiers
(the reader may smile) has not been useless to the historian of the
Roman Empire." No one can doubt it who compares Gibbon's numerous
narratives of military operations with the ordinary performances of
civil historians in those matters. The campaigns of Julian,
Belisarius, and Heraclius, not to mention many others, have not only
an uncommon lucidity, but also exhibit a clear appreciation of the
obstacles and arduousness of warlike operations, which is rare or
unknown to non-military writers. Macaulay has pointed out that Swift's
party pamphlets are superior in an especial way to the ordinary
productions of that class, in consequence of Swift's unavowed but very
serious participation in the cabinet councils of Oxford and
Bolingbroke. In the same manner Gibbon had an advantage through his
military training, which gives him no small superiority to even the
best historical writers who have been without it.
The course of foreign travel which Gibbon was now about to commence
had been contemplated before, but the war and the militia had
postponed it for nearly three years. It appears that as early as the
year 1760 the elder Gibbon had conceived the project of procuring a
seat in Parliament for his son, and was willing to incur the
anticipated expense of £1500 for that object. Young Gibbon, who seems
to have very accurately gauged his own abilities at that early age,
was convinced that the money could be much better employed in another
way. He wrote in consequence, under his father's roof, a letter to the
latter which does such credit to his head and to his heart, that,
although it is somewhat long, it cannot with propriety be omitted
here.
EDWARD GIBBON TO HIS FATHER.
"DEAR SIR,
"An address in writing from a person who has the pleasure of
being with you every day may appear singular. However I have
preferred this method, as upon paper I can speak without a
blush and be heard without interruption. If my letter
displeases you, impute it, dear sir, to yourself. You have
treated me, not like a son, but like a friend. Can you be
surprised that I should communicate to a friend all my
thoughts and all my desires? Unless the friend approve them,
let the father never know them; or at least let him know at
the same time that however reasonable, however eligible, my
scheme may appear to me, I would rather forget it for ever
than cause him the slightest uneasiness.
"When I first returned to England, attentive to my future
interests, you were so good as to give me hopes of a seat in
Parliament. This seat, it was supposed, would be an expense
of fifteen hundred pounds. This design flattered my vanity,
as it might enable me to shine in so august an assembly. It
flattered a nobler passion: I promised myself that, by the
means of this seat, I might one day be the instrument of
some good to my country. But I soon perceived how little
mere virtuous inclination, unassisted by talents, could
contribute towards that great end, and a very short
examination discovered to me that those talents had not
fallen to my lot. Do not, dear sir, impute this declaration
to a false modesty--the meanest species of pride. Whatever
else I may be ignorant of, I think I know myself, and shall
always endeavour to mention my good qualities without vanity
and my defects without repugnance. I shall say nothing of
the most intimate acquaintance with his country and
language, so absolutely necessary to every senator; since
they may be acquired, to allege my deficiency in them would
seem only the plea of laziness. But I shall say with great
truth that I never possessed that gift of speech, the first
requisite of an orator, which use and labour may improve,
but which nature can alone bestow; that my temper, quiet,
retired, somewhat reserved, could neither acquire
popularity, bear up against opposition, nor mix with ease in
the crowds of public life; that even my genius (if you allow
me any) is better qualified for the deliberate compositions
of the closet than for the extempore discourses of
Parliament. An unexpected objection would disconcert me, and
as I am incapable of explaining to others what I do not
understand myself, I should be meditating when I ought to be
answering. I even want necessary prejudices of party and of
nation. In popular assemblies it is often necessary to
inspire them, and never orator inspired well a passion which
he did not feel himself. Suppose me even mistaken in my own
character, to set out with the repugnance such an opinion
must produce offers but an indifferent prospect. But I hear
you say it is not necessary that every man should enter into
Parliament with such exalted hopes. It is to acquire a title
the most glorious of any in a free country, and to employ
the weight and consideration it gives in the service of
one's friends. Such motives, though not glorious, yet are
not dishonourable, and if we had a borough in our command,
if you could bring me in without any great expense, or if
our fortune enabled us to despise that expense, then indeed
I should think them of the greatest strength. But with our
private fortune, is it worthwhile to purchase at so high a
rate a title honourable in itself, but which I must share
with every fellow that can lay out 1500 pounds? Besides,
dear sir, a merchandise is of little value to the owner when
he is resolved not to sell it.
"I should affront your penetration did I not suppose you now
see the drift of this letter. It is to appropriate to
another use the sum with which you destined to bring me into
Parliament; to employ it, not in making me great, but in
rendering me happy. I have often heard you say yourself that
the allowance you had been so indulgent as to grant me,
though very liberal in regard to your estate, was yet but
small when compared with the almost necessary extravagances
of the age. I have indeed found it so, notwithstanding a
good deal of economy, and an exemption from many of the
common expenses of youth. This, dear sir, would be a way of
supplying these deficiencies without any additional expense
to you. But I forbear--if you think my proposals reasonable,
you want no intreaties to engage you to comply with them, if
otherwise all will be without effect.
"All that I am afraid of, dear sir, is that I should seem
not so much asking a favour, as this really is, as exacting
a debt. After all I can say, you will remain the best judge
of my good and your own circumstances. Perhaps, like most
landed gentlemen, an addition to my annuity would suit you
better than a sum of money given at once; perhaps the sum
itself may be too considerable. Whatever you may think
proper to bestow on me, or in whatever manner, will be
received with equal gratitude.
"I intended to stop here, but as I abhor the least
appearance of art, I think it better to lay open my whole
scheme at once. The unhappy war which now desolates Europe
will oblige me to defer seeing France till a peace. But that
reason can have no influence on Italy, a country which every
scholar must long to see. Should you grant my request, and
not disapprove of my manner of employing your bounty, I
would leave England this autumn and pass the winter at
Lausanne with M. de Voltaire and my old friends. In the
spring I would cross the Alps, and after some stay in Italy,
as the war must then be terminated, return home through
France, to live happily with you and my dear mother. I am
now two-and-twenty; a tour must take up a considerable time;
and although I believe you have no thoughts of settling me
soon (and I am sure I have not), yet so many things may
intervene that the man who does not travel early runs a
great risk of not travelling at all. But this part of my
scheme, as well as the whole of it, I submit entirely to
you.
"Permit me, dear sir, to add that I do not know whether the
complete compliance with my wishes could increase my love
and gratitude, but that I am very sure no refusal could
diminish those sentiments with which I shall always remain,
dear sir, your most dutiful and obedient son and servant.
"E. GIBBON, JUN."
Instead of going to Italy in the autumn of 1760, as he fondly hoped
when he wrote this letter, Gibbon was marching about the south of
England at the head of his grenadiers. But the scheme sketched in the
above letter was only postponed, and ultimately realised in every
particular. The question of a seat in Parliament never came up again
during his father's life, and no doubt the money it would have cost
was, according to his wise suggestion, devoted to defray the expenses
of his foreign tour, which he is now about to begin.