wanting to my father's felicity; and the vanities of his youth were
severely punished by the solicitude and sorrow of his declining age.
The first mortgage, on my return from Lausanne, (1758,) had afforded
him a partial and transient relief. The annual demand of interest
and allowance was a heavy deduction from his income; the militia was
a source of expence, the farm in his hands was not a profitable
adventure, he was loaded with the costs and damages of an obsolete
law-suit; and each year multiplied the number, and exhausted the
patience, of his creditors. Under these painful circumstances, I
consented to an additional mortgage, to the sale of Putney, and to
every sacrifice that could alleviate his distress. But he was no
longer capable of a rational effort, and his reluctant delays
postponed not the evils themselves, but the remedies of those evils
(remedia malorum potius quam mala differebat). The pangs of shame,
tenderness, and self-reproach, incessantly preyed on his vitals; his
constitution was broken; he lost his strength and his sight; the
rapid progress of a dropsy admonished him of his end, and he sunk
into the grave on Nov. 10, 1770, in the sixty-fourth year of his
age. A family tradition insinuates that Mr. William Law had drawn
his pupil in the light and inconstant character of Flatus, who is
ever confident, and ever disappointed in the chace of happiness.
But these constitutional failing were happily compensated by the
virtues of the head and heart, by the warmest sentiments of honour
and humanity. His graceful person, polite address, gentle manners,
and unaffected cheerfulness, recommended him to the favour of every
company; and in the change of times and opinions, his liberal spirit
had long since delivered him from the zeal and prejudice of a Tory
education. I submitted to the order of Nature; and my grief was
soothed by the conscious satisfaction that I had discharged all the
duties of filial piety.
As soon as I had paid the last solemn duties to my father, and
obtained, from time and reason, a tolerable composure of mind, I
began to form the plan of an independent life, most adapted to my
circumstances and inclination. Yet so intricate was the net, my
efforts were so awkward and feeble, that nearly two years (Nov.
1770-Oct. 1772) were suffered to elapse before I could disentangle
myself from the management of the farm, and transfer my residence
from Beriton to a house in London. During this interval I continued
to divide my year between town and the country; but my new situation
was brightened by hope; my stay in London was prolonged into the
summer; and the uniformity of the summer was occasionally broken by
visits and excursions at a distance from home. The gratification of
my desires (they were not immoderate) has been seldom disappointed
by the want of money or credit; my pride was never insulted by the
visit of an importunate tradesman; and my transient anxiety for the
past or future has been dispelled by the studious or social
occupation of the present hour. My conscience does not accuse me of
any act of extravagance or injustice, and the remnant of my estate
affords an ample and honourable provision for my declining age. I
shall not expatiate on my oeconomical affairs, which cannot be
instructive or amusing to the reader. It is a rule of prudence, as
well as of politeness, to reserve such confidence for the ear of a
private friend, without exposing our situation to the envy or pity
of strangers; for envy is productive of hatred, and pity borders too
nearly on contempt. Yet I may believe, and even assert, that in
circumstances more indigent or more wealthy, I should never have
accomplished the task, or acquired the fame, of an historian; that
my spirit would have been broken by poverty and contempt, and that
my industry might have been relaxed in the labour and luxury of a
superfluous fortune.
I had now attained the first of earthly blessings, independence: I
was the absolute master of my hours and actions: nor was I deceived
in the hope that the establishment of my library in town would allow
me to divide the day between study and society. Each year the
circle of my acquaintance, the number of my dead and living
companions, was enlarged. To a lover of books, the shops and sales
of London present irresistible temptations; and the manufacture of
my history required a various and growing stock of materials. The
militia, my travels, the House of Commons, the fame of an author,
contributed to multiply my connections: I was chosen a member of the
fashionable clubs; and, before I left England in 1783, there were
few persons of any eminence in the literary or political world to
whom I was a stranger. [Note: From the mixed, though polite,
company of Boodle's, White's, and Brooks's, I must honourably
distinguish a weekly society, which was instituted in the year 1764,
and which still continues to flourish, under the title of the
Literary Club. (Hawkins's Life of Johnson, p.415. Boswell's Tour to
the Hebrides, p 97.) The names of Dr. Johnson, Mr. Burke, Mr.
Topham Beauclerc, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Goldsmith, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Mr. Colman, Sir William Jones, Dr. Percy, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr.
Adam Smith, Mr. Steevens, Mr. Dunning, Sir Joseph Banks, Dr. Warton,
and his brother Mr. Thomas Warton, Dr. Burney, &c., form a large and
luminous constellation of British stars.] It would most assuredly be
in my power to amuse the reader with a gallery of portraits and a
collection of anecdotes. But I have always condemned the practice
of transforming a private memorial into a vehicle of satire or
praise. By my own choice I passed in town the greatest part of the
year; but whenever I was desirous of breathing the air of the
country, I possessed an hospitable retreat at Sheffield-place in
Sussex, in the family of my valuable friend Mr. Holroyd, whose
character, under the name of Lord Sheffield, has since been more
conspicuous to the public.
No sooner was I settled in my house and library, than I undertook
the composition of the first volume of my History. At the outset
all was dark and doubtful; even the title of the work, the true aera
of the Decline and Fall of the Empire, the limits of the
introduction, the division of the chapters, and the order of the
narrative; and I was often tempted to cast away the labour of seven
years. The style of an author should be the image of his mind, but
the choice and command of language is the fruit of exercise. Many
experiments were made before I could hit the middle tone between a
dull chronicle and a rhetorical declamation: three times did I
compose the first chapter, and twice the second and third, before I
was tolerably satisfied with their effect. In the remainder of the
way I advanced with a more equal and easy pace; but the fifteenth
and sixteenth chapters have been reduced by three successive
revisals, from a large volume to their present size; and they might
still be compressed, without any loss of facts or sentiments. An
opposite fault may be imputed to the concise and superficial
narrative of the first reigns from Commodus to Alexander; a fault of
which I have never heard, except from Mr. Hume in his last journey
to London. Such an oracle might have been consulted and obeyed with
rational devotion; but I was soon disgusted with the modest practice
of reading the manuscript to my friends. Of such friends some will
praise from politeness, and some will criticise from vanity. The
author himself is the best judge of his own performance; no one has
so deeply meditated on the subject; no one is so sincerely
interested in the event.
By the friendship of Mr. (now Lord) Eliot, who had married my first
cousin, I was returned at the general election for the borough of
Liskeard. I took my seat at the beginning of the memorable contest
between Great Britain and America, and supported, with many a
sincere and silent vote, the rights, though not, perhaps, the
interest, of the mother country. After a fleeting illusive hope,
prudence condemned me to acquiesce in the humble station of a mute.
I was not armed by Nature and education with the intrepid energy of
mind and voice.
Vincentem strepitus, et natum rebus agendis.
Timidity was fortified by pride, and even the success of my pen
discouraged the trial of my voice. But I assisted at the debates of
a free assembly; I listened to the attack and defence of eloquence
and reason; I had a near prospect of the characters, views, and
passions of the first men of the age. The cause of government was
ably vindicated by Lord North, a statesman of spotless integrity, a
consummate master of debate, who could wield, with equal dexterity,
the arms of reason and of ridicule. He was seated on the
Treasury-bench between his Attorney and Solicitor General, the two
pillars of the law and state, magis pares quam similes; and the
minister might indulge in a short slumber, whilst he was upholden on
either hand by the majestic sense of Thurlow, and the skilful
eloquence of Wedderburne. From the adverse side of the house an
ardent and powerful opposition was supported, by the lively
declamation of Barre, the legal acuteness of Dunning, the profuse
and philosophic fancy of Burke, and the argumentative vehemence of
Fox, who in the conduct of a party approved himself equal to the
conduct of an empire. By such men every operation of peace and war,
every principle of justice or policy, every question of authority
and freedom, was attacked and defended; and the subject of the
momentous contest was the union or separation of Great Britain and
America. The eight sessions that I sat in parliament were a school
of civil prudence, the first and most essential virtue of an
historian.
The volume of my History, which had been somewhat delayed by the
novelty and tumult of a first session, was now ready for the press.
After the perilous adventure had been declined by my friend Mr.
Elmsly, I agreed, upon easy terms, with Mr. Thomas Cadell, a
respectable bookseller, and Mr. William Strahan, an eminent printer;
and they undertook the care and risk of the publication, which
derived more credit from the name of the shop than from that of the
author. The last revisal of the proofs was submitted to my
vigilance; and many blemishes of style, which had been invisible in
the manuscript, were discovered and corrected in the printed sheet.
So moderate were our hopes, that the original impression had been
stinted to five hundred, till the number was doubled by the
prophetic taste of Mr. Strahan. During this awful interval I was
neither elated by the ambition of fame, nor depressed by the
apprehension of contempt. My diligence and accuracy were attested
by my own conscience. History is the most popular species of
writing, since it can adapt itself to the highest or the lowest
capacity. I had chosen an illustrious subject. Rome is familiar to
the school-boy and the statesman; and my narrative was deduced from
the last period of classical reading. I had likewise flattered
myself, that an age of light and liberty would receive, without
scandal, an inquiry into the human causes of the progress and
establishment of Christianity.
I am at a loss how to describe the success of the work, without
betraying the vanity of the writer. The first impression was
exhausted in a few days; a second and third edition were scarcely
adequate to the demand; and the bookseller's property was twice
invaded by the pirates of Dublin. My book was on every table, and
almost on every toilette; the historian was crowned by the taste or
fashion of the day; nor was the general voice disturbed by the
barking of any profane critic. The favour of mankind is most freely
bestowed on a new acquaintance of any original merit; and the mutual
surprise of the public and their favourite is productive of those
warm sensibilities, which at a second meeting can no longer be
rekindled. If I listened to the music of praise, I was more
seriously satisfied with the approbation of my judges. The candour
of Dr. Robertson embraced his disciple. A letter from Mr. Hume
overpaid the labour of ten years, but I have never presumed to
accept a place in the triumvirate of British historians.
That curious and original letter will amuse the reader, and his
gratitude should shield my free communication from the reproach of
vanity.
"DEAR SIR, EDINBURGH, 18th March 1776.
"As I ran through your volume of history with great avidity and
impatience, I cannot forbear discovering somewhat of the same
impatience in returning you thanks for your agreeable present, and
expressing the satisfaction which the performance has given me.
Whether I consider the dignity of your style, the depth of your
matter, or the extensiveness of your learning, I must regard the
work as equally the object of esteem; and I own that if I had not
previously had the happiness of your personal acquaintance, such a
performance from an Englishman in our age would have given me some
surprise. You may smile at this sentiment; but as it seems to me
that your countrymen, for almost a whole generation, have given
themselves up to barbarous and absurd faction, and have totally
neglected all polite letters, I no longer expected any valuable
production ever to come from them. I know it will give you pleasure
(as it did me) to find that all the men of letters in this place
concur in the admiration of your work, and in their anxious desire
of your continuing it.
"When I heard of your undertaking, (which was some time ago,) I own
I was a little curious to see how you would extricate yourself from
the subject of your two last chapters. I think you have observed a
very prudent temperament; but it was impossible to treat the subject
so as not to give grounds of suspicion against you, and you may
expect that a clamour will arise. This, if anything, will retard
your success with the public; for in every other respect your work
is calculated to be popular. But among many other marks of decline,
the prevalence of superstition in England prognosticates the fall of
philosophy and decay of taste; and though nobody be more capable
than you to revive them, you will probably find a struggle in your
first advances.
"I see you entertain a great doubt with regard to the authenticity
of the poems of Ossian. You are certainly right in so doing. It is
indeed strange that any men of sense could have imagined it
possible, that above twenty thousand verses, along with numberless
historical facts, could have been preserved by oral tradition during
fifty generations, by the rudest, perhaps, of all the European
nations, the most necessitous, the most turbulent, and the most
unsettled. Where a supposition is so contrary to common sense, any
positive evidence of it ought never to be regarded. Men run with
great avidity to give their evidence in favour of what flatters
their passions and their national prejudices. You are therefore
over and above indulgent to us in speaking of the matter with
hesitation.
"I must inform you that we all are very anxious to hear that you
have fully collected the materials for your second volume, and that
you are even considerably advanced in the composition of it. I
speak this more in the name of my friends than in my own; as I
cannot expect to live so long as to see the publication of it. Your
ensuing volume will be more delicate than the preceding, but I trust
in your prudence for extricating you from the difficulties; and, in
all events, you have courage to despise the clamour of bigots.
I am, with great regard,
"Dear Sir, &c.
"DAVID HUME."
Some weeks afterwards I had the melancholy pleasure of seeing Mr.
Hume in his passage through London; his body feeble, his mind firm.
On Aug. 25 of the same year (1776) he died, at Edinburgh, the death
of a philosopher.
My second excursion to Paris was determined by the pressing
invitation of M. and Madame Necker, who had visited England in the
preceding summer. On my arrival I found M. Necker Director-general
of the finances, in the first bloom of power and popularity. His
private fortune enabled him to support a liberal establishment, and
his wife, whose talents and virtues I had long admired, was
admirably qualified to preside in the conversation of her table and
drawing-room. As their friend, I was introduced to the best company
of both sexes; to the foreign ministers of all nations, and to the
first names and characters of France; who distinguished me by such
marks of civility and kindness, as gratitude will not suffer me to
forget, and modesty will not allow me to enumerate. The fashionable
suppers often broke into the morning hours; yet I occasionally
consulted the Royal Library, and that of the Abbey of St. Germain,
and in the free use of their books at home I had always reason to
praise the liberality of those institutions. The society of men of
letters I neither courted nor declined; but I was happy in the
acquaintance of M. de Buffon, who united with a sublime genius the
most amiable simplicity of mind and manners. At the table of my old
friend, M. de Foncemagne, I was involved in a dispute with the Abbe
de Mably; and his jealous irascible spirit revenged itself on a work
which he was incapable of reading in the original.
As I might be partial in my own cause, I shall transcribe the words
of an unknown critic, observing only, that this dispute had been
preceded by another on the English constitution, at the house of the
Countess de Froulay, an old Jansenist lady.
"Vous etiez chez M. de Foncemagne, mon cher Theodon, le jour que M.
l'Abbe de Mably et M. Gibbon y dinerent en grande compagnie. La
conversation roula presque entierement sur l'histoire. L'Abbe etant
un profond politique, la tourna sur l'administration, quand on fut
au desert: et comme par caractere, par humeur, par l'habitude
d'admirer Tite Live, il ne prise que le systeme republicain, il se
mit a vanter l'excellence des republiques; bien persuade que le
savant Anglois l'approuveroit en tout, et admireroit la profondeur
de genie qui avoit fait deviner tous ces avantages a un Francois.
Mais M. Gibbon, instruit par l'experience des inconveniens d'un
gouvernement populaire, ne fut point du tout de son avis, et il prit
genereusement la defense du gouvernement monarchique. L'Abbe voulut
le convaincre par Tite Live, et par quelques argumens tires de
Plutarque en faveur des Spartiates. M. Gibbon, doue de la memoire
la plus heureuse, et ayant tous les faits presens a la pensee,
domina bien-tot la conversation; I'Abbe se facha, il s'emporta, il
dit des choses dures; l'Anglois, conservant le phlegme de son pays,
prenoit ses avantages, et pressoit l'Abbe avec d'autant plus de
succes que la colere le troubloit de plus en plus. La conversation
s'echauffoit, et M. de Foncemagne la rompit en se levant de table,
et en passant dans le salon, ou personne ne fut tente de la
renouer."--Supplement de la Maniere d'ecrire l'Histoire, p. 125,
&c. [Note: Of the voluminous writings of the Abbe de Mably, (see his
Eloge by the Abbe Brizard,) the Principes du droit public de
l'Europe, and the first part of the Observ. sur l'Hist. de France,
may be deservedly praised; and even the Maniere d'ecrire l'Hist.
contains several useful precepts and judicious remarks. Mably was a
lover of virtue and freedom; but his virtue was austere, and his
freedom was impatient of an equal. Kings, magistrates, nobles, and
successful writers were the objects of his contempt, or hatred, or
envy; but his illiberal abuse of Voltaire, Hume, Buffon, the Abbe
Reynal, Dr. Robertson, and tutti quanti can be injurious only to
himself.]
Nearly two years had elapsed between the publication of my first and
the commencement of my second volume; and the causes must be
assigned of this long delay. 1. After a short holiday, I indulged
my curiosity in some studies of a very different nature, a course of
anatomy, which was demonstrated by Doctor Hunter; and some lessons
of chymistry, which were delivered by Mr. Higgins. The principles
of these sciences, and a taste for books of natural history,
contributed to multiply my ideas and images; and the anatomist and
chymist may sometimes track me in their own snow. 2. I dived,
perhaps too deeply, into the mud of the Arian controversy; and many
days of reading, thinking, and writing were consumed in the pursuit
of a phantom. 3. It is difficult to arrange, with order and
perspicuity, the various transactions of the age of Constantine; and
so much was I displeased with the first essay, that I committed to
the flames above fifty sheets. 4. The six months of Paris and
pleasure must be deducted from the account. But when I resumed my
task I felt my improvement; I was now master of my style and
subject, and while the measure of my daily performance was enlarged,
I discovered less reason to cancel or correct. It has always been
my practice to cast a long paragraph in a single mould, to try it by
my ear, to deposit it in my memory, but to suspend the action of the
pen till I had given the last polish to my work. Shall I add, that
I never found my mind more vigorous, not my composition more happy,
than in the winter hurry of society and parliament?