It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst
the ruins of the Capitol, while the barefooted friars were singing
vespers in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the decline
and fall of the city first started to my mind. But my original plan
was circumscribed to the decay of the city, rather than of the empire:
and, tho my reading and reflections began to point toward that object,
some years elapsed, and several avocations intervened, before I was
seriously engaged in the execution of that laborious work....
I have presumed to mark the moment of conception: I shall now
commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It was on the day, or
rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven
and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a
summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several
turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a
prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was
temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was
reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will not
dissemble the first emotions of joy on recovery of my freedom, and
perhaps the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled,
and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had
taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that
whatsoever might be the future date of my history, the life of the
historian must be short and precarious.
I will add two facts which have seldom occurred in the composition of
six, or at least of five, quartos. 1. My first rough manuscript,
without any intermediate copy, has been sent to the press. 2. Not a
sheet has been seen by any human eyes excepting those of the author
and the printer: the faults and the merits are exclusively my own.