LAST ILLNESS.--DEATH.--CONCLUSION.
Gibbon had now only about six months to live. He did not seem to have
suffered by his rapid journey from Lausanne to London. During the
summer which he spent with his friend Lord Sheffield, he was much as
usual; only his friend noticed that his habitual dislike to motion
appeared to increase, and he was so incapable of exercise that he was
confined to the library and dining-room. "Then he joined Mr. F. North
in pleasant arguments against exercise in general. He ridiculed the
unsettled and restless disposition that summer, the most uncomfortable
of all seasons, as he said, generally gives to those who have the use
of their limbs." The true disciples of Epicurus are not always the
least stout and stoical in the presence of irreparable evils.
After spending three or four months at Sheffield Place, he went to
Bath to visit his step-mother, Mrs. Gibbon. His conduct to her through
life was highly honourable to him. It should be remembered that her
jointure, paid out of his father's decayed estate, was a great tax on
his small income. In his efforts to improve his position by selling
his landed property, Mrs. Gibbon seems to have been at times somewhat
difficult to satisfy as regards the security of her interests. It was
only prudent on her part. But it is easy to see what a source of
alienation and quarrel was here ready prepared, if both parties had
not risen superior to sordid motives. There never seems to have been
the smallest cloud between them. When one of his properties was sold
he writes: "Mrs. Gibbon's jointure is secured on the Buriton estate,
and her legal consent is requisite for the sale. Again and again I
must repeat my hope that she is perfectly satisfied, and that the
close of her life may not be embittered by suspicion, fear, or
discontent. What new security does she prefer--the funds, a mortgage,
or your land? At all events, she must be made easy." So Gibbon left
town and lay at Reading on his road to Bath: here he passed about ten
days with his step-mother, who was now nearly eighty years of age. "In
mind and conversation she is just the same as twenty years ago," he
writes to Lord Sheffield; "she has spirits, appetite, legs, and eyes,
and talks of living till ninety. I can say from my heart, Amen." And
in another letter, a few days later, he says: "A _tête-à-tête_ of
eight or nine hours every day is rather difficult to support; yet I do
assure you that our conversation flows with more ease and spirit when
we are alone, than when any auxiliaries are summoned to our aid. She
is indeed a wonderful woman, and I think all her faculties of the mind
stronger and more active than I have ever known them.... I shall
therefore depart next Friday, but I may possibly reckon without my
host, as I have not yet apprised Mrs. G. of the term of my visit, and
will certainly not quarrel with her for a short delay." He then went
to Althorpe, and it is the last evidence of his touching a
book--"exhausted the morning (of the 5th November) among the first
editions of Cicero." Then he came to London, and in a few days was
seized with the illness which in a little more than two months put an
end to his life.
His malady was dropsy, complicated with other disorders. He had most
strangely neglected a very dangerous symptom for upwards of thirty
years, not only having failed to take medical advice about it, but
even avoiding all allusion to it to bosom friends like Lord Sheffield.
But longer concealment was now impossible. He sent for the eminent
surgeon Farquhar (the same who afterwards attended William Pitt), and
he, together with Cline, at once recognised the case as one of the
utmost gravity, though they did not say as much to the patient. On
Thursday, the 14th of November, he was tapped and greatly relieved. He
said he was not appalled by the operation, and during its progress he
did not lay aside his usual good-humoured pleasantry. He was soon out
again, but only for a few days, and a fortnight after another tapping
was necessary. Again he went out to dinners and parties, which must
have been most imprudent at his age and in his state. But he does not
seem to have acted contrary to medical advice. He was very anxious to
meet the prime minister, William Pitt, with whom he was not
acquainted, though he must have seen him in old days in the House. He
saw him twice; once at Eden Farm for a whole day, and was much
gratified, we are told. At last he got to what he called his home--the
house of his true and devoted friend, Lord Sheffield. "But," says the
latter, whose narrative of his friend's last illness is marked by a
deep and reserved tenderness that does him much honour, "this last
visit to Sheffield Place became far different from any he had ever
made before. That ready, cheerful, various and illuminating
conversation which we had before admired in him, was not always to be
found in the library or the drawing-room. He moved with difficulty,
and retired from company sooner than he had been used to do. On the
23rd of December his appetite began to fail him. He observed to me
that it was a very bad sign _with him_ when he could not eat his
breakfast, which he had done at all times very heartily; and this
seems to have been the strongest expression of apprehension that he
was ever observed to utter." He soon became too ill to remain beyond
the reach of the highest medical advice. On the 7th of January, 1794,
he left a houseful of company and friends for his lodgings in St.
James's Street. On arriving he sent the following note to Lord
Sheffield, the last lines he ever wrote:--
"ST. JAMES'S, FOUR O'CLOCK, TUESDAY.
"This date says everything. I was almost killed between
Sheffield Place and East Grinstead by hard, frozen, long, and
cross ruts, that would disgrace the approach of an Indian
wigwam. The rest was somewhat less painful, and I reached
this place half dead, but not seriously feverish or ill. I
found a dinner invitation from Lord Lucan; but what are
dinners to me? I wish they did not know of my departure. I
catch the flying post. What an effort! Adieu till Thursday or
Friday."
The end was not far off. On the 13th of January he underwent another
operation, and, as usual, experienced much relief. "His spirits
continued good. He talked of passing his time at houses which he had
often frequented with great pleasure--the Duke of Devonshire's, Mr.
Craufurd's, Lord Spencer's, Lord Lucan's, Sir Ralph Payne's, Mr.
Batt's." On the 14th of January "he saw some company--Lady Lucan and
Lady Spencer--and thought himself well enough to omit the opium
draught which he had been used to take for some time. He slept very
indifferently; before nine the next morning he rose, but could not eat
his breakfast. However, he appeared tolerably well, yet complained at
times of a pain in his stomach. At one o'clock he received a visit of
an hour from Madame de Sylva; and at three, his friend, Mr. Craufurd,
of Auchinames (whom he always mentioned with particular regard),
called, and stayed with him till past five o'clock. They talked, as
usual, on various subjects; and twenty hours before his death Mr.
Gibbon happened to fall into a conversation not uncommon with him, on
the probable duration of his life. He said that he thought himself a
good life for ten, twelve, or perhaps twenty years. About six he ate
the wing of a chicken and drank three glasses of Madeira. After dinner
he became very uneasy and impatient, complained a good deal, and
appeared so weak that his servant was alarmed.
"During the evening he complained much of his stomach, and of a
feeling of nausea. Soon after nine, he took his opium draught and went
to bed. About ten he complained of much pain, and desired that warm
napkins might be applied to his stomach. He almost incessantly
expressed a sense of pain till about four o'clock in the morning, when
he said he found his stomach much easier. About seven the servant
asked whether he should send for Mr. Farquhar. He answered, No; that
he was as well as the day before. At about half-past eight he got out
of bed, and said he was 'plus adroit' than he had been for three
months past, and got into bed again without assistance, better than
usual. About nine he said he would rise. The servant, however,
persuaded him to remain in bed till Mr. Farquhar, who was expected at
eleven, should come. Till about that hour he spoke with great
facility. Mr. Farquhar came at the time appointed, and he was then
visibly dying. When the _valet-de-chambre_ returned, after attending
Mr. Farquhar out of the room, Mr. Gibbon said, 'Pourquoi est ce que
vous me quittez?' This was about half-past eleven. At twelve he drank
some brandy and water from a teapot, and desired his favourite servant
to stay with him. These were the last words he pronounced
articulately. To the last he preserved his senses; and when he could
no longer speak, his servant having asked a question, he made a sign
to show that he understood him. He was quite tranquil, and did not
stir, his eyes half shut. About a quarter before one he ceased to
breathe." He wanted just eighty-three days of fifty-seven years of
age.
Thus, in consequence of his own strange self-neglect and imprudence,
was extinguished one of the most richly-stored minds that ever lived.
Occurring when it did, so near the last summons, Gibbon's prospective
hope of continued life "for ten, twelve, or twenty years" is harshly
pathetic, and full of that irony which mocks the vain cares of men.
But, truly, his forecast was not irrational if he had not neglected
ordinary precautions. In spite of his ailments he felt full, and was
full, of life, when he was cut off. We cannot be sure if lengthened
days would have added much to his work already achieved. There is
hardly a parallel case in literature of the great powers of a whole
life being so concentrated on one supreme and magnificent effort. Yet,
if he had lived to 1804, or as an extreme limit, to 1814, we should
have been all gainers. In the first place, he certainly would have
finished his admirable autobiography. We cannot imagine what he would
have made of it, judging from the fragment which exists. And yet that
fragment is almost a masterpiece. But his fertile mind had other
schemes in prospect; and what such a diligent worker would have done
with a decade or two more of years it is impossible to say, except
that it is certain they would not have been wasted. The extinction of
a real mind is ever an irreparable loss.
As it was, he went to his rest after one of the greatest victories
ever achieved in his own field of humane letters, and lived long
enough to taste the fruits of his toil. He was never puffed up, but
soberly and without arrogance received his laurels. His unselfish zeal
and haste to console his bereaved friend showed him warm and loving to
the last; and we may say that his last serious effort was consecrated
to the genius of pious friendship.
In 1796, two years after Gibbon's death, Lord Sheffield published two
quarto volumes of the historian's miscellaneous works. They have been
republished in one thick octavo, and many persons suppose that it
contains the whole of the posthumous works; not unnaturally, as a
fraudulent statement on the title-page, "complete in one volume," is
well calculated to produce that impression. But in 1814 Lord Sheffield
issued a second edition in five volumes octavo, containing much
additional matter, which additional matter was again published in a
quarto form, no doubt for the convenience of the purchasers of the
original quarto edition.
Of the posthumous works, the Memoirs are by far the most important
portion. Unfortunately, they were left in a most unfinished state, and
what we now read is nothing else than a mosaic put together by Lord
Sheffield from _six_ different sketches. Next to the Memoirs are the
journals and diaries of his studies. As a picture of Gibbon's method,
zeal, and thoroughness in the pursuit of knowledge, they are of the
highest interest. But they refer to an early period of his studies,
long previous to the concentration of his mind on his great work, and
one would like to know whether they present the best selection that
might have been made from these records. It is interesting to follow
Gibbon in his perusal of Homer and Juvenal at five-and-twenty. But one
would much like to be admitted to his study when he was a far riper
scholar, and preparing for or writing the _Decline and Fall_. Lord
Sheffield positively prohibited, by a clause in his will, any further
publication of the Gibbon papers, and although Dean Milman was
permitted to see them, it was with the express understanding that none
of their contents should be divulged. After the Memoirs and the
journals, the most interesting portion of the miscellaneous works are
_The Antiquities of the House of Brunswick_, which in their present
form are merely the preparatory sketch of a large work. It is too
imperfect to allow us to judge of what Gibbon even designed to make of
it. But it contains some masterly pages, and the style in many places
seems more nervous and supple than that of the _Decline and Fall._
For instance, this account of Albert Azo the Second:--
"Like one of his Tuscan ancestors Azo the Second was
distinguished among the princes of Italy by the epithet of
the _Rich_. The particulars of his rentroll cannot now be
ascertained. An occasional though authentic deed of
investiture enumerates eighty-three fiefs or manors which he
held of the empire in Lombardy and Tuscany, from the
Marquisate of Este to the county of Luni; but to these
possessions must be added the lands which he enjoyed as the
vassal of the Church, the ancient patrimony of Otbert (the
terra Obertenga) in the counties of Arezzo, Pisa, and Lucca,
and the marriage portion of his first wife, which, according
to the various readings of the manuscripts, may be computed
either at twenty or two hundred thousand English acres. If
such a mass of landed property were now accumulated on the
head of an Italian nobleman, the annual revenue might
satisfy the largest demands of private luxury or avarice,
and the fortunate owner would be rich in the improvement of
agriculture, the manufactures of industry, the refinement of
taste, and the extent of commerce. But the barbarism of the
eleventh century diminished the income and aggravated the
expense of the Marquis of Este. In a long series of war and
anarchy, man and the works of man had been swept away, and
the introduction of each ferocious and idle stranger had
been overbalanced by the loss of five or six perhaps of the
peaceful industrious natives. The mischievous growth of
vegetation, the frequent inundations of the rivers were no
longer checked by the vigilance of labour; the face of the
country was again covered with forests and morasses; of the
vast domains which acknowledged Azo for their lord, the far
greater part was abandoned to the beasts of the field, and a
much smaller portion was reduced to the state of constant
and productive husbandry. An adequate rent may be obtained
from the skill and substance of a free tenant who fertilizes
a grateful soil, and enjoys the security and benefit of a
long lease. But faint is the hope and scanty is the produce
of those harvests which are raised by the reluctant toil of
peasants and slaves condemned to a bare subsistance and
careless of the interests of a rapacious master. If his
granaries are full, his purse is empty, and the want of
cities or commerce, the difficulty of finding or reaching a
market, obliges him to consume on the spot a part of his
useless stock, which cannot be exchanged for merchandise or
money.... The entertainment of his vassals and soldiers,
their pay and rewards, their arms and horses, surpassed the
measure of the most oppressive tribute, and the destruction
which he inflicted on his neighbours was often retaliated on
his own lands. The costly elegance of palaces and gardens
was superseded by the laborious and expensive construction
of strong castles on the summits of the most inaccessible
rocks, and some of these, like the fortress of Canossa in
the Apennine, were built and provided to sustain a three
years' siege against a royal army. But his defence in this
world was less burdensome to a wealthy lord than his
salvation in the next; the demands of his chapel, his
priests, his alms, his offerings, his pilgrimages were
incessantly renewed; the monastery chosen for his sepulchre
was endowed with his fairest possessions, and the naked heir
might often complain that his father's sins had been
redeemed at too high a price. The Marquis Azo was not exempt
from the contagion of the times; his devotion was animated
and inflamed by the frequent miracles that were performed in
his presence; and the monks of Vangadizza, who yielded to
his request the arm of a dead saint, were not ignorant of
the value of that inestimable jewel. After satisfying the
demands of war and superstition he might appropriate the
rest of his revenue to use and pleasure. But the Italians of
the eleventh century were imperfectly skilled in the liberal
and mechanical arts; the objects of foreign luxury were
furnished at an exorbitant price by the merchants of Pisa
and Venice; and the superfluous wealth which could not
purchase the real comforts of life, were idly wasted on some
rare occasions of vanity and pomp. Such were the nuptials of
Boniface, Duke or Marquis of Tuscany, whose family was long
after united with that of Azo by the marriage of their
children. These nuptials were celebrated on the banks of the
Mincius, which the fancy of Virgil has decorated with a more
beautiful picture. The princes and people of Italy were
invited to the feasts, which continued three months; the
fertile meadows, which are intersected by the slow and
winding course of the river, were covered with innumerable
tents, and the bridegroom displayed and diversified the
scenes of his proud and tasteless magnificence. All the
utensils of the service were of silver, and his horses were
shod with plates of the same metal, loosely nailed and
carelessly dropped, to indicate his contempt of riches. An
image of plenty and profusion was expressed in the banquet;
the most delicious wines were drawn in buckets from the
well; and the spices of the East were ground in water-mills
like common flour. The dramatic and musical arts were in the
rudest state; but the Marquis had summoned the most popular
singers, harpers, and buffoons to exercise their talents in
this splendid theatre. After this festival I might remark a
singular gift of this same Boniface to the Emperor Henry
III., a chariot and oxen of solid silver, which were
designed only as a vehicle for a hogshead of vinegar. If
such an example should seem above the imitation of Azo
himself, the Marquis of Este was at least superior in wealth
and dignity to the vassals of his compeer. One of these
vassals, the Viscount of Mantua, presented the German
monarch with one hundred falcons and one hundred bay horses,
a grateful contribution to the pleasures of a royal
sportsman. In that age the proud distinction between the
nobles and princes of Italy was guarded with jealous
ceremony. The Viscount of Mantua had never been seated at
the table of his immediate lord; he yielded to the
invitation of the Emperor; and a stag's skin filled with
pieces of gold was graciously accepted by the Marquis of
Tuscany as the fine of his presumption.
"The temporal felicity of Azo was crowned by the long
possession of honour and riches; he died in the year 1097,
aged upwards of an hundred years; and the term of his mortal
existence was almost commensurate with the lapse of the
eleventh century. The character as well as the situation of
the Marquis of Este rendered him an actor in the revolutions
of that memorable period; but time has cast a veil over the
virtues and vices of the man, and I must be content to mark
some of the eras, the milestones of his which measure the
extent and intervals of the vacant way. Albert Azo the
Second was no more than seventeen when he first drew the
sword of rebellion and patriotism, when he was involved with
his grandfather, his father, and his three uncles in a
common proscription. In the vigour of his manhood, about his
fiftieth year, the Ligurian Marquis governed the cities of
Milan and Genoa as the minister of Imperial authority. He
was upwards of seventy when he passed the Alps to vindicate
the inheritance of Maine for the children of his second
marriage. He became the friend and servant of Gregory VII.,
and in one of his epistles that ambitious pontiff recommends
the Marquis Azo, as the most faithful and best beloved of
the Italian princes, as the proper channel through which a
king of Hungary might convey his petitions to the apostolic
throne. In the mighty contest between the crown and the
mitre, the Marquis Azo and the Countess Matilda led the
powers of Italy. And when the standard of St. Peter was
displayed, neither the age of the one nor the sex of the
other could detain them from the field. With these two
affectionate clients the Pope maintained his station in the
fortress of Canossa, while the Emperor, barefoot on the
frozen ground, fasted and prayed three days at the foot of
the rock; they were witnesses to the abject ceremony of the
penance and pardon of Henry IV.; and in the triumph of the
Church a patriot might foresee the deliverance of Italy from
the German yoke. At the time of this event the Marquis of
Este was above fourscore; but in the twenty following years
he was still alive and active amidst the revolutions of
peace and war. The last act which he subscribed is dated
above a century after his birth; and in that the venerable
chief possesses the command of his faculties, his family,
and his fortune. In this rare prerogative the longevity of
Albert Azo the Second stands alone. Nor can I remember in
the _authentic_ annals of mortality a single example of a
king or prince, of a statesman or general, of a philosopher
or poet, whose life has been extended beyond the period of a
hundred years.... Three approximations which will not
hastily be matched have distinguished the present century,
Aurungzebe, Cardinal Fleury, and Fontenelle. Had a fortnight
more been given to the philosopher, he might have celebrated
his secular festival; but the lives and labours of the Mogul
king and the French minister were terminated before they had
accomplished their ninetieth year."
Then follow several striking and graceful pages on Lucrezia Borgia and
Renée of France, Duchess of Ferrara. The following description of the
University of Padua and the literary tastes of the house of Este is
all that we can give here:--
"An university had been founded at Padua by the house of
Este, and the scholastic rust was polished away by the
revival of the literature of Greece and Rome. The studies of
Ferrara were directed by skilful and eloquent professors,
either natives or foreigners. The ducal library was filled
with a valuable collection of manuscripts and printed books,
and as soon as twelve new plays of Plautus had been found in
Germany, the Marquis Lionel of Este was impatient to obtain
a fair and faithful copy of that ancient poet. Nor were
these elegant pleasures confined to the learned world. Under
the reign of Hercules I. a wooden theatre at a moderate
cost of a thousand crowns was constructed in the largest
court of the palace, the scenery represented some houses, a
seaport and a ship, and the _Menechmi_ of Plautus, which had
been translated into Italian by the Duke himself, was acted
before a numerous and polite audience. In the same language
and with the same success the _Amphytrion_ of Plautus and
the _Eunuchus_ of Terence were successively exhibited. And
these classic models, which formed the taste of the
spectators, excited the emulation of the poets of the age.
For the use of the court and theatre of Ferrara, Ariosto
composed his comedies, which were often played with
applause, which are still read with pleasure. And such was
the enthusiasm of the new arts that one of the sons of
Alphonso the First did not disdain to speak a prologue on
the stage. In the legitimate forms of dramatic composition
the Italians have not excelled; but it was in the court of
Ferrara that they invented and refined the _pastoral
comedy_, a romantic Arcadia which violates the truth of
manners and the simplicity of nature, but which commands our
indulgence by the elaborate luxury of eloquence and wit. The
_Aminta_ of Tasso was written for the amusement and acted in
the presence of Alphonso the Second, and his sister Leonora
might apply to herself the language of a passion which
disordered the reason without clouding the genius of her
poetical lover. Of the numerous imitations, the _Pastor
Fido_ of Guarini, which alone can vie with the fame and
merit of the original, is the work of the Duke's secretary
of state. It was exhibited in a private house in Ferrara....
The father of the Tuscan muses, the sublime but unequal
Dante, had pronounced that Ferrara was never honoured with
the name of a poet; he would have been astonished to behold
the chorus of bards, of melodious swans (their own
allusion), which now peopled the banks of the Po. In the
court of Duke Borso and his successor, Boyardo Count
Scandiano, was respected as a noble, a soldier, and a
scholar: his vigorous fancy first celebrated the loves and
exploits of the paladin Orlando; and his fame has been
preserved and eclipsed by the brighter glories and
continuation of his work. Ferrara may boast that on classic
ground Ariosto and Tasso lived and sung; that the lines of
the _Orlando Furioso_, the _Gierusalemme Liberata_ were
inscribed in everlasting characters under the eye of the
First and Second Alphonso. In a period of near three
thousand years, five great epic poets have arisen in the
world, and it is a singular prerogative that two of the five
should be claimed as their own by a short age and a petty
state."
It perhaps will be admitted that if the style of these passages is
less elaborate than that of the _Decline and Fall_, the deficiency, if
it is one, is compensated by greater ease and lightness of touch.
It may be interesting to give a specimen of Gibbon's French style. His
command of that language was not inferior to his command of his native
idiom. One might even be inclined to say that his French prose is
controlled by a purer taste than his English prose. The following
excerpt, describing the Battle of Morgarten, will enable the reader to
judge. It is taken from his early unfinished work on the History of
the Swiss Republic, to which reference has already been made (p.
59):--
"Léopold était parti de Zug vers le milieu de la nuit. Il se
flattait d'occuper sans résistance le défilé de Morgarten
qui ne perçait qu'avec difficulté entre le lac Aegré et le
pied d'une montagne escarpée. Il marchait à la tête de sa
gendarmerie. Une colonne profonde d'infanterie le suivait de
près, et les uns et les autres se promettaient une victoire
facile si les paysans osaient se présenter à leur rencontre.
Ils étaient à peine entrés dans un chemin rude et étroit, et
qui ne permettait qu'à trois ou quatre de marcher de front,
qu'ils se sentirent accablés d'une grêle de pierres et de
traits. Rodolphe de Reding, landamman de Schwitz et général
des Confédérés, n'avait oublié aucun des avantages que lui
offrit la situation des lieux. Il avait fait couper des
rochers énormes, qui en s'ébranlant dès qu'on retirait les
faibles appuis qui les retenaient encore, se détachaient du
sommet de la montaigne et se précipitaient avec un bruit
affreux sur les bataillons serrés des Autrichiens. Déjà les
chevaux s'éffrayaient, les rangs se confondaient, et le
désordre égarait le courage et le rendait inutile, lorsque
les Suisses descendirent de la montagne en poussant de
grands cris. Accoutumés à poursuivre le chamois sur les
bords glissants des précipices, ils couraient d'un pas
assuré au milieu des neiges. Ils étaient armés de grosses et
pesantes hallebardes, auxquelles le fer le mieux trempé ne
résistait point. Les soldats de Léopold chancelants et
découragés cédèrent bientôt aux efforts désespérés d'une
troupe qui combattait pour tout ce qu'il y a de plus cher
aux hommes. L'Abbé d'Einsidlen, premier auteur de cette
guerre malheureuse, et le comte Henri de Montfort, donnèrent
les premiers l'example de la fuite. Le désordre devint
général, le carnage fut affreux, et les Suisses se livraient
au plaisir de la vengeance. A neuf heures du matin la
bataille était gagnée.... Un grand nombre d'Autrichiens se
précipitant les uns sur les autres, cherchèrent vainement
dans le lac un asyle contre la fureur de leurs ennemis. Ils
y périrent presque tous. Quinze cents hommes restèrent sur
le champ de bataille. Ils étaient pour la plupart de la
gendarmerie, qu'une valeur malheureuse et une armure pesante
arrêtaient dans un lieu où l'un et l'autre leur étaient
inutiles. Longtemps après l'on s'apercevait dans toutes les
provinces voisines que l'élite de la noblesse avait péri
dans cette fatale journée. L'infanterie beaucoup moins
engagée dans le défilé, vit en tremblant la défaite des
chevaliers qui passaient pour invincibles, et dont les
escadrons effrayés se renversaient sur elle. Elle s'arrêta,
voulut se retirer, et dans l'instant cette retraite devint
une fuite honteuse. Sa perte fut assez peu considérable,
mais les historiens de la nation ont conservé la mémoire de
cinquante braves Zuriquois dont on trouva les rangs couchés
morts sur la place. Léopold lui-même fut entrainé par la
foule qui le portait du côté de Zug. On le vit entrer dans
sa ville de Winterthur. La frayeur, la honte et
l'indignation étaient encore peintes sur son front. Dès que
la victoire se fut déclarée en faveur des Suisses, ils
s'assemblèrent sur le champ de bataille, s'embrassèrent e
versant des larmes d'allégresse, et remercièrent Dieu de la
grace qu'il venait de leur faire, et qui ne leur avait coûté
que quatorze de leurs compagnons."
His familiar letters and a number of essays, chiefly written in youth,
form the remainder of the miscellaneous works. Of the letters, some
have been quoted in this volume, and the reader can form his own
judgment of them. Of the small essays we may say that they augment, if
it is possible, one's notion of Gibbon's laborious diligence and
thoroughness in the field of historic research, and confirm his title
to the character of an intrepid student.
The lives of scholars are proverbially dull, and that of Gibbon is
hardly an exception to the rule. In the case of historians, the
protracted silent labour of preparation, followed by the conscientious
exposition of knowledge acquired, into which the intrusion of the
writer's personality rarely appears to advantage, combine to give
prominence to the work achieved, and to throw into the background the
author who achieves it. If indeed the historian, forsaking his high
function and austere reserve, succumbs to the temptations that beset
his path, and turns history into political pamphlet, poetic rhapsody,
moral epigram, or garish melodrama, he may become conspicuous to a
fault at the expense of his work. Gibbon avoided these seductions. If
the _Decline and Fall_ has no superior in historical literature, it is
not solely in consequence of Gibbon's profound learning, wide survey,
and masterly grasp of his subject. With wise discretion, he
subordinated himself to his task. The life of Gibbon is the less
interesting, but his work remains monumental and supreme.
* * * * *
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