No English or American lover of history visits Rome without bending
reverent footsteps to the Church of Santa Maria in Ara Coeli. Two visits
are necessary, as on the first you are at once seized by the sacristan,
who can conceive of no other motive for entering this church on the
Capitol Hill than to see the miraculous Bambino--the painted doll
swaddled in gold and silver tissue and "crusted over with magnificent
diamonds, emeralds, and rubies." When you have heard the tale of what
has been called "the oldest medical practitioner in Rome," of his
miraculous cures, of these votive offerings, the imaginary picture you
had conjured up is effaced; and it is better to go away and come a
second time when the sacristan will recognize you and leave you to
yourself. Then you may open your Gibbon's Autobiography and read that it
was the subtle influence of Italy and Rome that determined the choice,
from amongst many contemplated subjects of historical writing, of "The
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." "In my Journal," wrote Gibbon,
"the place and moment of conception are recorded; the 15th of October,
1764, in the close of the evening, as I sat musing in the Church of the
Franciscan friars while they were singing vespers in the Temple of
Jupiter on the ruins of the Capitol."[46] Gibbon was twenty-seven when
he made this fruitful visit of eighteen weeks to Rome, and his first
impression, though often quoted, never loses interest, showing, as it
does, the enthusiasm of an unemotional man. "At the distance of
twenty-five years," he wrote, "I can neither forget nor express the
strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first approached and entered
the _Eternal City_. After a sleepless night, I trod with a lofty step
the ruins of the Forum; each memorable spot where Romulus _stood_ or
Cicero spoke or Caesar fell was at once present to my eye."
The admirer of Gibbon as he travels northward will stop at Lausanne and
visit the hotel which bears the historian's name. Twice have I taken
luncheon in the garden where he wrote the last words of his history; and
on a third visit, after lunching at another inn, I could not fail to
admire the penetration of the Swiss concierge. As I alighted, he seemed
to divine at once the object of my visit, and before I had half the
words of explanation out of my mouth, he said, "Oh, yes. It is this way.
But I cannot show you anything but a spot." I have quoted from Gibbon's
Autobiography the expression of his inspiration of twenty-seven; a
fitting companion-piece is the reflection of the man of fifty. "I have
presumed to mark the moment of conception," he wrote; "I shall now
commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It was on the day, or
rather the 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.... I will not dissemble the first emotions of
joy on the 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 my everlasting leave of an old
and agreeable companion."[47]
Although the idea was conceived when Gibbon was twenty-seven, he was
thirty-one before he set himself seriously at work to study his
material. At thirty-six he began the composition, and he was
thirty-nine, when, in February, 1776, the first quarto volume was
published. The history had an immediate success. "My book," he wrote,
"was on every table and almost on every toilette; the historian was
crowned by the taste or fashion of the day."[48] The first edition was
exhausted in a few days, a second was printed in 1776, and next year a
third. The second and third volumes, which ended the history of the
Western empire, were published in 1781, and seven years later the three
volumes devoted to the Eastern empire saw the light. The last sentence
of the work, written in the summer-house at Lausanne, is, "It was among
the ruins of the Capitol that I first conceived the idea of a work which
has amused and exercised near twenty years of my life, and which,
however inadequate to my own wishes, I finally deliver to the curiosity
and candor of the public."
This is a brief account of one of the greatest historical works, if
indeed it is not the greatest, ever written. Let us imagine an
assemblage of English, German, and American historical scholars called
upon to answer the question, Who is the greatest modern historian? No
doubt can exist that Gibbon would have a large majority of the voices;
and I think a like meeting of French and Italian scholars would indorse
the verdict. "Gibbon's work will never be excelled," declared
Niebuhr.[49] "That great master of us all," said Freeman, "whose
immortal tale none of us can hope to displace."[50] Bury, the latest
editor of Gibbon, who has acutely criticised and carefully weighed "The
Decline and Fall," concludes "that Gibbon is behind date in many
details. But in the main things he is still our master, above and beyond
date."[51] His work wins plaudits from those who believe that history
in its highest form should be literature and from those who hold that it
should be nothing more than a scientific narrative. The disciples of
Macaulay and Carlyle, of Stubbs and Gardiner, would be found voting in
unison in my imaginary Congress. Gibbon, writes Bury, is "the historian
and the man of letters," thus ranking with Thucydides and Tacitus. These
three are put in the highest class, exemplifying that "brilliance of
style and accuracy of statement are perfectly compatible in an
historian."[52] Accepting this authoritative classification it is well
worth while to point out the salient differences between the ancient
historians and the modern. From Thucydides we have twenty-four years of
contemporary history of his own country. If the whole of the Annals and
History of Tacitus had come down to us, we should have had eighty-three
years; as it is, we actually have forty-one of nearly contemporary
history of the Roman Empire. Gibbon's tale covers 1240 years. He went
far beyond his own country for his subject, and the date of his
termination is three centuries before he was born. Milman spoke of "the
amplitude, the magnificence, and the harmony of Gibbon's design,"[53]
and Bury writes, "If we take into account the vast range of his work,
his accuracy is amazing."[54] Men have wondered and will long wonder at
the brain with such a grasp and with the power to execute skillfully so
mighty a conception. "The public is seldom wrong" in their judgment of a
book, wrote Gibbon in his Autobiography,[55] and, if that be true at the
time of actual publication to which Gibbon intended to apply the remark,
how much truer it is in the long run of years. "The Decline and Fall of
the Roman Empire" has had a life of over one hundred and thirty years,
and there is no indication that it will not endure as long as any
interest is taken in the study of history. "I have never presumed to
accept a place in the triumvirate of British historians," said Gibbon,
referring to Hume and Robertson. But in our day Hume and Robertson
gather dust on the shelf, while Gibbon is continually studied by
students and read by serious men.
A work covering Gibbon's vast range of time would have been impossible
for Thucydides or Tacitus. Historical skepticism had not been fully
enough developed. There had not been a sufficient sifting and criticism
of historical materials for a master's work of synthesis. And it is
probable that Thucydides lacked a model. Tacitus could indeed have drawn
inspiration from the Greek, while Gibbon had lessons from both, showing
a profound study of Tacitus and a thorough acquaintance with Thucydides.
If circumstances then made it impossible for the Greek or the Roman to
attempt history on the grand scale of Gibbon, could Gibbon have written
contemporary history with accuracy and impartiality equal to his great
predecessors? This is one of those delightful questions that may be ever
discussed and never resolved. When twenty-three years old, arguing
against the desire of his father that he should go into Parliament,
Gibbon assigned, as one of the reasons, that he lacked "necessary
prejudices of party and of nation";[56] and when in middle life he
embraced the fortunate opportunity of becoming a member of the House of
Commons, he thus summed up his experience, "The eight sessions that I
sat in Parliament were a school of civil prudence, the first and most
essential virtue of an historian."[57] At the end of this political
career, Gibbon, in a private letter to an intimate Swiss friend, gave
the reason why he had embraced it. "I entered Parliament," he said,
"without patriotism, and without ambition, and I had no other aim than
to secure the comfortable and honest place of a _Lord of Trade_. I
obtained this place at last. I held it for three years, from 1779 to
1782, and the net annual product of it, being L750 sterling, increased
my revenue to the level of my wants and desires."[58] His retirement
from Parliament was followed by ten years' residence at Lausanne, in the
first four of which he completed his history. A year and a half after
his removal to Lausanne, he referred, in a letter to his closest friend,
Lord Sheffield, to the "abyss of your cursed politics," and added: "I
never was a very warm patriot and I grow every day a citizen of the
world. The scramble for power and profit at Westminster or St. James's,
and the names of Pitt and Fox become less interesting to me than those
of Caesar and Pompey."[59]
These expressions would seem to indicate that Gibbon might have written
contemporary history well and that the candor displayed in "The Decline
and Fall" might not have been lacking had he written of England in his
own time. But that subject he never contemplated. When twenty-four years
old he had however considered a number of English periods and finally
fixed upon Sir Walter Raleigh for his hero; but a year later, he wrote
in his journal: "I shrink with terror from the modern history of
England, where every character is a problem, and every reader a friend
or an enemy; where a writer is supposed to hoist a flag of party and is
devoted to damnation by the adverse faction.... I must embrace a safer
and more extensive theme."[60]
How well Gibbon knew himself! Despite his coolness and candor, war and
revolution revealed his strong Tory prejudices, which he undoubtedly
feared might color any history of England that he might undertake. "I
took my seat," in the House of Commons, he wrote, "at the beginning of
the memorable contest between Great Britain and America; and supported
with many a sincere and _silent_ vote the rights though perhaps not the
interests of the mother country."[61] In 1782 he recorded the
conclusion: "The American war had once been the favorite of the country,
the pride of England was irritated by the resistance of her colonies,
and the executive power was driven by national clamor into the most
vigorous and coercive measures." But it was a fruitless contest. Armies
were lost; the debt and taxes were increased; the hostile confederacy of
France, Spain and Holland was disquieting. As a result the war became
unpopular and Lord North's ministry fell. Dr. Johnson thought that no
nation not absolutely conquered had declined so much in so short a time.
"We seem to be sinking," he said. "I am afraid of a civil war." Dr.
Franklin, according to Horace Walpole, said "he would furnish Mr. Gibbon
with materials for writing the History of the Decline of the British
Empire." With his country tottering, the self-centered but truthful
Gibbon could not avoid mention of his personal loss, due to the fall of
his patron, Lord North. "I was stripped of a convenient salary," he
said, "after having enjoyed it about three years."[62]
The outbreak of the French Revolution intensified his conservatism. He
was then at Lausanne, the tranquillity of which was broken up by the
dissolution of the neighboring kingdom. Many Lausanne families were
terrified by the menace of bankruptcy. "This town and country," Gibbon
wrote, "are crowded with noble exiles, and we sometimes count in an
assembly a dozen princesses and duchesses."[63] Bitter disputes between
them and the triumphant Democrats disturbed the harmony of social
circles. Gibbon espoused the cause of the royalists. "I beg leave to
subscribe my assent to Mr. Burke's creed on the Revolution of France,"
he wrote. "I admire his eloquence, I approve his politics, I adore his
chivalry, and I can almost excuse his reverence for Church
establishments."[64] Thirteen days after the massacre of the Swiss guard
in the attack on the Tuileries in August, 1792, Gibbon wrote to Lord
Sheffield, "The last revolution of Paris appears to have convinced
almost everybody of the fatal consequences of Democratical principles
which lead by a path of flowers into the abyss of hell."[65] Gibbon, who
was astonished by so few things in history, wrote Sainte-Beuve, was
amazed by the French Revolution.[66] Nothing could be more natural. The
historian in his study may consider the fall of dynasties, social
upheavals, violent revolutions, and the destruction of order without a
tremor. The things have passed away. The events furnish food for his
reflections and subjects for his pen, while sanguine uprisings at home
or in a neighboring country in his own time inspire him with terror lest
the oft-prophesied dissolution of society is at hand. It is the
difference between the earthquake in your own city and the one 3000
miles away. As Gibbon's pocket-nerve was sensitive, it may be he was
also thinking of the L1300 he had invested in 1784 in the new loan of
the King of France, deeming the French funds as solid as the
English.[67]
It is well now to repeat our dictum that Gibbon is the greatest modern
historian, but, in reasserting this, it is no more than fair to cite the
opinions of two dissentients--the great literary historians of the
nineteenth century, Macaulay and Carlyle. "The truth is," wrote Macaulay
in his diary, "that I admire no historians much except Herodotus,
Thucydides, and Tacitus.... There is merit no doubt in Hume, Robertson,
Voltaire, and Gibbon. Yet it is not the thing. I have a conception of
history more just, I am confident, than theirs."[68] "Gibbon," said
Carlyle in a public lecture, is "a greater historian than Robertson but
not so great as Hume. With all his swagger and bombast, no man ever gave
a more futile account of human things than he has done of the decline
and fall of the Roman Empire; assigning no profound cause for these
phenomena, nothing but diseased nerves, and all sorts of miserable
motives, to the actors in them."[69] Carlyle's statement shows envious
criticism as well as a prejudice in favor of his brother Scotchman. It
was made in 1838, since when opinion has raised Gibbon to the top, for
he actually lives while Hume is read perfunctorily, if at all. Moreover
among the three--Gibbon, Macaulay, and Carlyle--whose works are
literature as well as history, modern criticism has no hesitation in
awarding the palm to Gibbon.
Before finally deciding upon his subject Gibbon thought of "The History
of the Liberty of the Swiss" and "The History of the Republic of
Florence under the House of Medicis,"[70] but in the end, as we have
seen, he settled on the later history of the Roman Empire, showing, as
Lowell said of Parkman, his genius in the choice of his subject. His
history really begins with the death of Marcus Aurelius, 180 A.D., but
the main narrative is preceded by three excellent introductory chapters,
covering in Bury's edition eighty-two pages. After the completion of his
work, he regretted that he had not begun it at an earlier period. On
the first page of his own printed copy of his book where he announces
his design, he has entered this marginal note: "Should I not have given
the _history_ of that fortunate period which was interposed between two
iron ages? Should I not have deduced the decline of the Empire from the
Civil Wars that ensued after the Fall of Nero or even from the tyranny
which succeeded the reign of Augustus? Alas! I should; but of what avail
is this tardy knowledge?"[71] We may echo Gibbon's regret that he had
not commenced his history with the reign of Tiberius, as, in his
necessary use of Tacitus, we should have had the running comment of one
great historian on another, of which we have a significant example in
Gibbon's famous sixteenth chapter wherein he discusses Tacitus's account
of the persecution of the Christians by Nero. With his power of historic
divination, he would have so absorbed Tacitus and his time that the
history would almost have seemed a collaboration between two great and
sympathetic minds. "Tacitus," he wrote, "very frequently trusts to the
curiosity or reflection of his readers to supply those intermediate
circumstances and ideas, which, in his extreme conciseness, he has
thought proper to suppress."[72] How Gibbon would have filled those
gaps! Though he was seldom swayed by enthusiasm, his admiration of the
Roman historian fell little short of idolatry. His references in "The
Decline and Fall" are many, and some of them are here worth recalling to
mind. "In their primitive state of simplicity and independence," he
wrote, "the Germans were surveyed by the discerning eye and delineated
by the masterly pencil of Tacitus, the first of historians who applied
the science of philosophy to the study of facts."[73] Again he speaks of
him as "the philosophic historian whose writings will instruct the last
generation of mankind."[74] And in Chapter XVI he devoted five pages to
citation from, and comment on, Tacitus, and paid him one of the most
splendid tributes one historian ever paid another. "To collect, to
dispose, and to adorn a series of fourscore years in an immortal work,
every sentence of which is pregnant with the deepest observations and
the most lively images, was an undertaking sufficient to exercise the
genius of Tacitus himself during the greatest part of his life."[75] So
much for admiration. That, nevertheless, Gibbon could wield the critical
pen at the expense of the historian he rated so highly, is shown by a
marginal note in his own printed copy of "The Decline and Fall." It will
be remembered that Tacitus published his History and wrote his Annals
during the reign of Trajan, whom he undoubtedly respected and admired.
He referred to the reigns of Nerva and Trajan in suggested contrast to
that of Domitian as "times when men were blessed with the rare privilege
of thinking with freedom, and uttering what they thought."[76] It fell
to both Tacitus and Gibbon to speak of the testament of Augustus which,
after his death, was read in the Senate: and Tacitus wrote, Augustus
"added a recommendation to keep the empire within fixed limits," on
which he thus commented, "but whether from apprehension for its safety,
or jealousy of future rivals, is uncertain."[77] Gibbon thus criticised
this comment: "Why must rational advice be imputed to a base or foolish
motive? To what cause, error, malevolence, or flattery, shall I ascribe
the unworthy alternative? Was the historian dazzled by Trajan's
conquests?"[78]
The intellectual training of the greatest modern historian is a matter
of great interest. "From my early youth," wrote Gibbon in his
Autobiography, "I aspired to the character of an historian."[79] He had
"an early and invincible love of reading" which he said he "would not
exchange for the treasures of India" and which led him to a "vague and
multifarious" perusal of books. Before he reached the age of fifteen he
was matriculated at Magdalen College, giving this account of his
preparation. "I arrived at Oxford," he said, "with a stock of erudition
that might have puzzled a Doctor and a degree of ignorance of which a
schoolboy would have been ashamed."[80] He did not adapt himself to the
life or the method of Oxford, and from them apparently derived no
benefit. "I spent fourteen months at Magdalen College," he wrote; "they
proved the fourteen months the most idle and unprofitable of my whole
life."[81] He became a Roman Catholic. It was quite characteristic of
this bookish man that his conversion was effected, not by the emotional
influence of some proselytizer, but by the reading of books. English
translations of two famous works of Bossuet fell into his hands. "I
read," he said, "I applauded, I believed ... and I surely fell by a
noble hand." Before a priest in London, on June 8, 1753, he privately
"abjured the errors of heresy" and was admitted into the "pale of the
church." But at that time this was a serious business for both priest
and proselyte. For the rule laid down by Blackstone was this, "Where a
person is reconciled to the see of Rome, or procures others to be
reconciled, the offence amounts to High-Treason." This severe rule was
not enforced, but there were milder laws under which a priest might
suffer perpetual imprisonment and the proselyte's estate be transferred
to his nearest relations. Under such laws prosecutions were had and
convictions obtained. Little wonder was it when Gibbon apprised his
father in an "elaborate controversial epistle" of the serious step
which he had taken, that the elder Gibbon should be astonished and
indignant. In his passion he divulged the secret which effectually
closed the gates of Magdalen College to his son,[82] who was packed off
to Lausanne and "settled under the roof and tuition" of a Calvinist
minister.[83] Edward Gibbon passed nearly five years at Lausanne, from
the age of sixteen to that of twenty-one, and they were fruitful years
for his education. It was almost entirely an affair of self-training, as
his tutor soon perceived that the student had gone beyond the teacher
and allowed him to pursue his own special bent. After his history was
published and his fame won, he recorded this opinion: "In the life of
every man of letters there is an aera, from a level, from whence he soars
with his own wings to his proper height, and the most important part of
his education is that which he bestows on himself."[84] This was
certainly true in Gibbon's case. On his arrival at Lausanne he hardly
knew any French, but before he returned to England he thought
spontaneously in French and understood, spoke, and wrote it better than
he did his mother tongue.[85] He read Montesquieu frequently and was
struck with his "energy of style and boldness of hypothesis." Among the
books which "may have remotely contributed to form the historian of the
Roman Empire" were the Provincial Letters of Pascal, which he read "with
a new pleasure" almost every year. From them he said, "I learned to
manage the weapon of grave and temperate irony, even on subjects of
ecclesiastical solemnity." As one thinks of his chapters in "The Decline
and Fall" on Julian, one is interested to know that during this period
he was introduced to the life and times of this Roman emperor by a book
written by a French abbe. He read Locke, Grotius, and Puffendorf, but
unquestionably his greatest knowledge, mental discipline, and peculiar
mastery of his own tongue came from his diligent and systematic study of
the Latin classics. He read nearly all of the historians, poets,
orators, and philosophers, going over for a second or even a third time
Terence, Virgil, Horace, and Tacitus. He mastered Cicero's Orations and
Letters so that they became ingrained in his mental fiber, and he termed
these and his other works, "a library of eloquence and reason." "As I
read Cicero," he wrote, "I applauded the observation of Quintilian, that
every student may judge of his own proficiency by the satisfaction which
he receives from the Roman orator." And again, "Cicero's epistles may in
particular afford the models of every form of correspondence from the
careless effusions of tenderness and friendship to the well-guarded
declaration of discreet and dignified resentment."[86] Gibbon never
mastered Greek as he did Latin; and Dr. Smith, one of his editors,
points out where he has fallen into three errors from the use of the
French or Latin translation of Procopius instead of consulting the
original.[87] Indeed he himself has disclosed one defect of
self-training. Referring to his youthful residence at Lausanne, he
wrote: "I worked my way through about half the Iliad, and afterwards
interpreted alone a large portion of Xenophon and Herodotus. But my
ardor, destitute of aid and emulation, was gradually cooled and, from
the barren task of searching words in a lexicon, I withdrew to the free
and familiar conversation of Virgil and Tacitus."[88]
All things considered, however, it was an excellent training for a
historian of the Roman Empire. But all except the living knowledge of
French he might have had in his "elegant apartment in Magdalen College"
just as well as in his "ill-contrived and ill-furnished small chamber"
in "an old inconvenient house," situated in a "narrow gloomy street, the
most unfrequented of an unhandsome town";[89] and in Oxford he would
have had the "aid and emulation" of which at Lausanne he sadly felt the
lack.
The Calvinist minister, his tutor, was a more useful guide for Gibbon in
the matter of religion than in his intellectual training. Through his
efforts and Gibbon's "private reflections," Christmas Day, 1754, one
year and a half after his arrival at Lausanne, was witness to his
reconversion, as he then received the sacrament in the Calvinistic
Church. "The articles of the Romish creed," he said, had "disappeared
like a dream"; and he wrote home to his aunt, "I am now a good
Protestant and am extremely glad of it."[90]
An intellectual and social experience of value was his meeting with
Voltaire, who had set up a theater in the neighborhood of Lausanne for
the performance mainly of his own plays. Gibbon seldom failed to procure
a ticket to these representations. Voltaire played the parts suited to
his years; his declamation, Gibbon thought, was old-fashioned, and "he
expressed the enthusiasm of poetry rather than the feelings of nature."
"The parts of the young and fair," he said, "were distorted by
Voltaire's fat and ugly niece." Despite this criticism, these
performances fostered a taste for the French theater, to the abatement
of his idolatry for Shakespeare, which seemed to him to be "inculcated
from our infancy as the first duty of an Englishman."[91] Personally,
Voltaire and Gibbon did not get on well together. Dr. Hill suggests that
Voltaire may have slighted the "English youth," and if this is correct,
Gibbon was somewhat spiteful to carry the feeling more than thirty
years. Besides the criticism of the acting, he called Voltaire "the
envious bard" because it was only with much reluctance and ill-humor
that he permitted the performance of Iphigenie of Racine. Nevertheless,
Gibbon is impressed with the social influence of the great Frenchman.
"The wit and philosophy of Voltaire, his table and theatre," he wrote,
"refined in a visible degree the manners of Lausanne, and however
addicted to study, I enjoyed my share of the amusements of society.
After the theatrical representations, I sometimes supped with the
actors: I was now familiar in some, and acquainted in many, houses; and
my evenings were generally devoted to cards and conversation, either in
private parties or numerous assemblies."[92]
Gibbon was twenty-one when he returned to England. Dividing his time
between London and the country, he continued his self-culture. He read
English, French, and Latin, and took up the study of Greek. "Every day,
every hour," he wrote, "was agreeably filled"; and "I was never less
alone than when by myself."[93] He read repeatedly Robertson and Hume,
and has in the words of Sainte-Beuve left a testimony so spirited and so
delicately expressed as could have come only from a man of taste who
appreciated Xenophon.[94] "The perfect composition, the nervous
language," wrote Gibbon, "the well-turned periods of Dr. Robertson
inflamed me to the ambitious hope that I might one day tread in his
footsteps; the calm philosophy, the careless inimitable beauties of his
friend and rival, often forced me to close the volume with a mixed
sensation of delight and despair."[95] He made little progress in London
society and his solitary evenings were passed with his books, but he
consoled himself by thinking that he lost nothing by a withdrawal from a
"noisy and expensive scene of crowds without company, and dissipation
without pleasure." At twenty-four he published his "Essay on the Study
of Literature," begun at Lausanne and written entirely in French. This
possesses no interest for the historical student except to know the bare
fact of the writing and publication as a step in the intellectual
development of the historian. Sainte-Beuve in his two essays on Gibbon
devoted three pages to an abstract and criticism of it, perhaps because
it had a greater success in France than in England; and his opinion of
Gibbon's language is interesting. "The French" Sainte-Beuve wrote, "is
that of one who has read Montesquieu much and imitates him; it is
correct, but artificial French."[96]
Then followed two and a half years' service in the Hampshire militia.
But he did not neglect his reading. He mastered Homer, whom he termed
"the Bible of the ancients," and in the militia he acquired "a just and
indelible knowledge" of what he called "the first of languages." And his
love for Latin abided also: "On every march, in every journey, Horace
was always in my pocket and often in my hand."[97] Practical knowledge
he absorbed almost insensibly. "The daily occupations of the militia,"
he wrote, "introduced me to the science of Tactics" and led to the study
of "the precepts of Polybius and Caesar." In this connection occurs the
remark which admirers of Gibbon will never tire of citing: "A familiar
view of the discipline and evolutions 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 decline and fall of the Roman Empire."[98] The grand
tour followed his militia service. Three and a half months in Paris, and
a revisit to Lausanne preceded the year that he passed in Italy. Of the
conception of the History of the Decline and Fall, during his stay in
Rome, I have already spoken.
On his return to England, contemplating "the decline and fall of Rome at
an awful distance," he began, in collaboration with the Swiss Deyverdun,
his bosom friend, a history of Switzerland written in French. During the
winter of 1767, the first book of it was submitted to a literary society
of foreigners in London. As the author was unknown the strictures were
free and the verdict unfavorable. Gibbon was present at the meeting and
related that "the momentary sensation was painful," but, on cooler
reflection, he agreed with his judges and intended to consign his
manuscript to the flames. But this, as Lord Sheffield, his literary
executor and first editor, shows conclusively, he neglected to do.[99]
This essay of Gibbon's possesses interest for us, inasmuch as David Hume
read it, and wrote to Gibbon a friendly letter, in which he said: "I
have perused your manuscript with great pleasure and satisfaction. I
have only one objection, derived from the language in which it is
written. Why do you compose in French, and carry faggots into the wood,
as Horace says with regard to Romans who wrote in Greek?"[100] This
critical query of Hume must have profoundly influenced Gibbon. Next year
he began to work seriously on "The Decline and Fall" and five years
later began the composition of it in English. It does not appear that he
had any idea of writing his magnum opus in French.
In this rambling discourse, in which I have purposely avoided relating
the life of Gibbon in anything like a chronological order, we return
again and again to the great History. And it could not well be
otherwise. For if Edward Gibbon could not have proudly said, I am the
author of "six volumes in quartos"[101] he would have had no interest
for us. Dr. Hill writes, "For one reader who has read his 'Decline and
Fall,' there are at least a score who have read his Autobiography, and
who know him, not as the great historian, but as a man of a most
original and interesting nature."[102] But these twenty people would
never have looked into the Autobiography had it not been the life of a
great historian; indeed the Autobiography would never have been written
except to give an account of a great life work. "The Decline and Fall,"
therefore, is the thing about which all the other incidents of his life
revolve. The longer this history is read and studied, the greater is the
appreciation of it. Dean Milman followed Gibbon's track through many
portions of his work, and read his authorities, ending with a deliberate
judgment in favor of his "general accuracy." "Many of his seeming
errors," he wrote, "are almost inevitable from the close condensation of
his matter."[103] Guizot had three different opinions based on three
various readings. After the first rapid perusal, the dominant feeling
was one of interest in a narrative, always animated in spite of its
extent, always clear and limpid in spite of the variety of objects.
During the second reading, when he examined particularly certain points,
he was somewhat disappointed; he encountered some errors either in the
citations or in the facts and especially shades and strokes of
partiality which led him to a comparatively rigorous judgment. In the
ensuing complete third reading, the first impression, doubtless
corrected by the second, but not destroyed, survived and was
maintained; and with some restrictions and reservations, Guizot declared
that, concerning that vast and able work, there remained with him an
appreciation of the immensity of research, the variety of knowledge, the
sagacious breadth and especially that truly philosophical rectitude of a
mind which judges the past as it would judge the present.[104] Mommsen
said in 1894: "Amid all the changes that have come over the study of the
history of the Roman Empire, in spite of all the rush of the new
evidence that has poured in upon us and almost overwhelmed us, in spite
of changes which must be made, in spite of alterations of view, or
alterations even in the aspect of great characters, no one would in the
future be able to read the history of the Roman Empire unless he read,
possibly with a fuller knowledge, but with the broad views, the clear
insight, the strong grasp of Edward Gibbon."[105]
It is difficult for an admirer of Gibbon to refrain from quoting some of
his favorite passages. The opinion of a great historian on history
always possesses interest. History, wrote Gibbon, is "little more than
the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind." Again,
"Wars and the administration of public affairs are the principal
subjects of history." And the following cannot fail to recall a similar
thought in Tacitus, "History undertakes to record the transactions of
the past for the instruction of future ages."[106] Two references to
religion under the Pagan empire are always worth repeating. "The various
modes of worship which prevailed in the Roman world," he wrote, "were
all considered by the people as equally true; by the philosopher as
equally false; and by the magistrate as equally useful." "The fashion of
incredulity was communicated from the philosopher to the man of
pleasure or business, from the noble to the plebeian, and from the
master to the menial slave who waited at his table and who equally
listened to the freedom of his conversation."[107] Gibbon's idea of the
happiest period of mankind is interesting and characteristic. "If," he
wrote, "a man were called to fix the period in the history of the world
during which the condition of the human race was most happy and
prosperous, he would, without hesitation, name that which elapsed from
the death of Domitian to the accession of Commodus."[108] This period
was from A.D. 96 to 180, covering the reigns of Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian,
Antoninus Pius, and Marcus Aurelius. Professor Carter, in a lecture in
Rome in 1907, drew, by a modern comparison, a characterization of the
first three named. When we were studying in Germany, he said, we were
accustomed to sum up the three emperors, William I, Frederick III, and
William II, as der greise Kaiser, der weise Kaiser, und der reise
Kaiser. The characterizations will fit well Nerva, Trajan, and Hadrian.
Gibbon speaks of the "restless activity" of Hadrian, whose life "was
almost a perpetual journey," and who during his reign visited every
province of his empire.[109]
A casual remark of Gibbon's, "Corruption [is] the most infallible
symptom of constitutional liberty,"[110] shows the sentiment of the
eighteenth century. The generality of the history becomes specific in a
letter to his father, who has given him hopes of a seat in Parliament.
"This seat," so Edward Gibbon wrote, "according to the custom of our
venal country was to be bought, and fifteen hundred pounds were
mentioned as the price of purchase."[111]
Gibbon anticipated Captain Mahan. In speaking of a naval battle between
the fleet of Justinian and that of the Goths in which the galleys of the
Eastern empire gained a signal victory, he wrote, "The Goths affected to
depreciate an element in which they were unskilled; but their own
experience confirmed the truth of a maxim, that the master of the sea
will always acquire the dominion of the land."[112] But Gibbon's
anticipation was one of the frequent cases where the same idea has
occurred to a number of men of genius, as doubtless Captain Mahan was
not aware of this sentence any more than he was of Bacon's and Raleigh's
epitomes of the theme which he has so originally and brilliantly
treated.[113]
No modern historian has been the subject of so much critical comment as
Gibbon. I do not know how it will compare in volume with either of the
similar examinations of Thucydides and Tacitus; but the criticism is of
a different sort. The only guarantee of the honesty of Tacitus, wrote
Sainte-Beuve, is Tacitus himself;[114] and a like remark will apply to
Thucydides. But a fierce light beats on Gibbon. His voluminous notes
furnish the critics the materials on which he built his history, which,
in the case of the ancient historians, must be largely a matter of
conjecture. With all the searching examination of "The Decline and
Fall," it is surprising how few errors have been found and, of the
errors which have been noted, how few are really important. Guizot,
Milman, Dr. Smith, Cotter Morison, Bury, and a number of lesser lights
have raked his text and his notes with few momentous results. We have,
writes Bury, improved methods over Gibbon and "much new material of
various kinds," but "Gibbon's historical sense kept him constantly right
in dealing with his sources"; and "in the main things he is still our
master."[115] The man is generally reflected in his book. That Gibbon
has been weighed and not found wanting is because he was as honest and
truthful as any man who ever wrote history. The autobiographies and
letters exhibit to us a transparent man, which indeed some of the
personal allusions in the history might have foreshadowed. "I have often
fluctuated and shall _tamely_ follow the Colbert Ms.," he wrote, where
the authenticity of a book was in question.[116] In another case "the
scarcity of facts and the uncertainty of dates" opposed his attempt to
describe the first invasion of Italy by Alaric.[117] In the beginning of
the famous Chapter XLIV which is "admired by jurists as a brief and
brilliant exposition of the principles of Roman law,"[118] Gibbon wrote,
"Attached to no party, interested only for the truth and candor of
history, and directed by the most temperate and skillful guides, I enter
with just diffidence on the subject of civil law."[119] In speaking of
the state of Britain between 409 and 449, he said, "I owe it to myself
and to historic truth to declare that some _circumstances_ in this
paragraph are founded only on conjecture and analogy."[120] Throughout
his whole work the scarcity of materials forces Gibbon to the frequent
use of conjecture, but I believe that for the most part his conjectures
seem reasonable to the critics. Impressed with the correctness of his
account of the Eastern empire a student of the subject once told me that
Gibbon certainly possessed the power of wise divination.
Gibbon's striving after precision and accuracy is shown in some marginal
corrections he made in his own printed copy of "The Decline and Fall."
On the first page in his first printed edition and as it now stands, he
said, "To deduce the most important circumstances of its decline and
fall: a revolution which will ever be remembered and is still felt by
the nations of the earth." For this the following is substituted: "To
prosecute the decline and fall of the empire of Rome: of whose language,
religion, and laws the impression will be long preserved in our own and
the neighboring countries of Europe." He thus explains the change: "Mr.
Hume told me that, in correcting his history, he always labored to
reduce superlatives and soften positives. Have Asia and Africa, from
Japan to Morocco, any feeling or memory of the Roman Empire?"
On page 6, Bury's edition, the text is, "The praises of Alexander,
transmitted by a succession of poets and historians, had kindled a
dangerous emulation in the mind of Trajan." We can imagine that Gibbon
reflected, What evidence have I that Trajan had read these poets and
historians? Therefore he made this change: "Late generations and far
distant climates may impute their calamities to the immortal author of
the Iliad. The spirit of Alexander was inflamed by the praises of
Achilles; and succeeding heroes have been ambitious to tread in the
footsteps of Alexander. Like him, the Emperor Trajan aspired to the
conquest of the East."[121]
The "advertisement" to the first octavo edition published in 1783 is an
instance of Gibbon's truthfulness. He wrote, "Some alterations and
improvements had presented themselves to my mind, but I was unwilling to
injure or offend the purchasers of the preceding editions." Then he
seems to reflect that this is not quite the whole truth and adds,
"Perhaps I may stand excused if, amidst the avocations of a busy winter,
I have preferred the pleasures of composition and study to the minute
diligence of revising a former publication."[122]
The severest criticism that Gibbon has received is on his famous
chapters XV and XVI which conclude his first volume in the original
quarto edition of 1776. We may disregard the flood of contemporary
criticism from certain people who were excited by what they deemed an
attack on the Christian religion. Dean Milman, who objected seriously to
much in these chapters, consulted these various answers to Gibbon on the
first appearance of his work with, according to his own confession,
little profit.[123] "Against his celebrated fifteenth and sixteenth
chapters," wrote Buckle, "all the devices of controversy have been
exhausted; but the only result has been, that while the fame of the
historian is untarnished, the attacks of his enemies are falling into
complete oblivion. The work of Gibbon remains; but who is there who
feels any interest in what was written against him?"[124] During the
last generation, however, criticism has taken another form and
scientific men now do not exactly share Buckle's gleeful opinion. Both
Bury and Cotter Morison state or imply that well-grounded exceptions may
be taken to Gibbon's treatment of the early Christian church. He ignored
some facts; his combination of others, his inferences, his opinions are
not fair and unprejudiced. A further grave objection may be made to the
tone of these two chapters: sarcasm pervades them and the Gibbon sneer
has become an apt characterization.
Francis Parkman admitted that he was a reverent agnostic, and if Gibbon
had been a reverent free-thinker these two chapters would have been far
different in tone. Lecky regarded the Christian church as a great
institution worthy of reverence and respect although he stated the
central thesis of Gibbon with emphasis just as great. Of the conversion
of the Roman Empire to Christianity, Lecky wrote, "it may be boldly
asserted that the assumption of a moral or intellectual miracle is
utterly gratuitous. Never before was a religious transformation so
manifestly inevitable."[125] Gibbon's sneering tone was a characteristic
of his time. There existed during the latter part of the eighteenth
century, wrote Sir James Mackintosh, "an unphilosophical and indeed
fanatical animosity against Christianity." But Gibbon's private defense
is entitled to consideration as placing him in a better light. "The
primitive church, which I have treated with some freedom," he wrote to
Lord Sheffield in 1791, "was itself at that time an innovation, and I
was attached to the old Pagan establishment."[126] "Had I believed," he
said in his Autobiography, "that the majority of English readers were so
fondly attached to the name and shadow of Christianity, had I foreseen
that the pious, the timid, and the prudent would feel, or affect to
feel, with such exquisite sensibility, I might perhaps have softened the
two invidious chapters."[127]
On the other hand Gibbon's treatment of Julian the Apostate is in
accordance with the best modern standard. It might have been supposed
that a quasi-Pagan, as he avowed himself, would have emphasized Julian's
virtues and ignored his weaknesses as did Voltaire, who invested him
with all the good qualities of Trajan, Cato, and Julius Caesar, without
their defects.[128] Robertson indeed feared that he might fail in this
part of the history;[129] but Gibbon weighed Julian in the balance, duly
estimating his strength and his weakness, with the result that he has
given a clear and just account in his best and most dignified
style.[130]
Gibbon's treatment of Theodora, the wife of Justinian, is certainly open
to objection. Without proper sifting and a reasonable skepticism, he has
incorporated into his narrative the questionable account with all its
salacious details which Procopius gives in his Secret History, Gibbon's
love of a scandalous tale getting the better of his historical
criticism. He has not neglected to urge a defense. "I am justified," he
wrote, "in painting the manners of the times; the vices of Theodora form
an essential feature in the reign and character of Justinian.... My
English text is chaste, and all licentious passages are left in the
obscurity of a learned language."[131] This explanation satisfies
neither Cotter Morison nor Bury, nor would it hold for a moment as a
justification of a historian of our own day. Gibbon is really so
scientific, so much like a late nineteenth-century man, that we do right
to subject him to our present-day rigid tests.
There has been much discussion about Gibbon's style, which we all know
is pompous and Latinized. On a long reading his rounded and sonorous
periods become wearisome, and one wishes that occasionally a sentence
would terminate with a small word, even a preposition. One feels as did
Dickens after walking for an hour or two about the handsome but
"distractingly regular" city of Philadelphia. "I felt," he wrote, "that
I would have given the world for a crooked street."[132] Despite the
pomposity, Gibbon's style is correct, and the exact use of words is a
marvel. It is rare, I think, that any substitution or change of words
will improve upon the precision of the text. His compression and
selection of salient points are remarkable. Amid some commonplace
philosophy he frequently rises to a generalization as brilliant as it is
truthful. Then, too, one is impressed with the dignity of history; one
feels that Gibbon looked upon his work as very serious, and thought with
Thucydides, "My history is an everlasting possession, not a prize
composition which is heard and forgotten."
To a writer of history few things are more interesting than a great
historian's autobiographical remarks which relate to the composition of
his work. "Had I been more indigent or more wealthy," wrote Gibbon in
his Autobiography, "I should not have possessed the leisure or the
perseverance to prepare and execute my voluminous history."[133]
"Notwithstanding the hurry of business and pleasure," he wrote from
London in 1778, "I steal some moments for the Roman Empire."[134]
Between the writing of the first three and the last three volumes, he
took a rest of "near a twelvemonth" and gave expression to a thought
which may be echoed by every studious writer, "Yet in the luxury of
freedom, I began to wish for the daily task, the active pursuit which
gave a value to every book and an object to every inquiry."[135] Every
one who has written a historical book will sympathize with the following
expression of personal experience as he approached the completion of
"The Decline and Fall": "Let no man who builds a house or writes a book
presume to say when he will have finished. When he imagines that he is
drawing near to his journey's end, Alps rise on Alps, and he continually
finds something to add and something to correct."[136]
Plain truthful tales are Gibbon's autobiographies. The style is that of
the history, and he writes of himself as frankly as he does of any of
his historical characters. His failings--what he has somewhere termed
"the amiable weaknesses of human nature"--are disclosed with the
openness of a Frenchman. All but one of the ten years between 1783 and
1793, between the ages of 46 and 56, he passed at Lausanne. There he
completed "The Decline and Fall," and of that period he spent from
August, 1787, to July, 1788, in England to look after the publication of
the last three volumes. His life in Lausanne was one of study, writing,
and agreeable society, of which his correspondence with his English
friends gives an animated account. The two things one is most impressed
with are his love for books and his love for Madeira. "Though a lover of
society," he wrote, "my library is the room to which I am most
attached."[137] While getting settled at Lausanne, he complains that his
boxes of books "loiter on the road."[138] And then he harps on another
string. "Good Madeira," he writes, "is now become essential to my health
and reputation;"[139] yet again, "If I do not receive a supply of
Madeira in the course of the summer, I shall be in great shame and
distress."[140] His good friend in England, Lord Sheffield, regarded his
prayer and sent him a hogshead of "best old Madeira" and a tierce,
containing six dozen bottles of "finest Malmsey," and at the same time
wrote: "You will remember that a hogshead is on his travels through the
torrid zone for you.... No wine is meliorated to a greater degree by
keeping than Madeira, and you latterly appeared so ravenous for it, that
I must conceive you wish to have a stock."[141] Gibbon's devotion to
Madeira bore its penalty. At the age of forty-eight he sent this account
to his stepmother: "I was in hopes that my old Enemy the Gout had given
over the attack, but the Villain, with his ally the winter, convinced
me of my error, and about the latter end of March I found myself a
prisoner in my library and my great chair. I attempted twice to rise, he
twice knocked me down again and kept possession of both my feet and
knees longer (I must confess) than he ever had done before."[142] Eager
to finish his history, he lamented that his "long gout" lost him "three
months in the spring." Thus as you go through his correspondence, you
find that orders for Madeira and attacks of gout alternate with
regularity. Gibbon apparently did not connect the two as cause and
effect, as in his autobiography he charged his malady to his service in
the Hampshire militia, when "the daily practice of hard and even
excessive drinking" had sown in his constitution "the seeds of the
gout."[143]
Gibbon has never been a favorite with women, owing largely to his
account of his early love affair. While at Lausanne, he had heard much
of "the wit and beauty and erudition of Mademoiselle Curchod" and when
he first met her, he had reached the age of twenty. "I saw and loved,"
he wrote. "I found her learned without pedantry, lively in conversation,
pure in sentiment, and elegant in manners.... She listened to the voice
of truth and passion.... At Lausanne I indulged my dream of felicity";
and indeed he appeared to be an ardent lover. "He was seen," said a
contemporary, "stopping country people near Lausanne and demanding at
the point of a naked dagger whether a more adorable creature existed
than Suzanne Curchod."[144] On his return to England, however, he soon
discovered that his father would not hear of this alliance, and he thus
related the sequence: "After a painful struggle, I yielded to my
fate.... I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as a son."[145] From England he
wrote to Mademoiselle Curchod breaking off the engagement. Perhaps it is
because of feminine criticism that Cotter Morison indulges in an
elaborate defense of Gibbon, which indeed hardly seems necessary.
Rousseau, who was privy to the love affair, said that "Gibbon was too
cold-blooded a young man for his taste or for Mademoiselle Curchod's
happiness."[146] Mademoiselle Curchod a few years later married Necker,
a rich Paris banker, who under Louis XVI held the office of
director-general of the finances. She was the mother of Madame de Stael,
was a leader of the literary society in Paris and, despite the troublous
times, must have led a happy life. One delightful aspect of the story is
the warm friendship that existed between Madame Necker and Edward
Gibbon. This began less than a year after her marriage. "The Curchod
(Madame Necker) I saw at Paris," he wrote to his friend Holroyd. "She
was very fond of me and the husband particularly civil. Could they
insult me more cruelly? Ask me every evening to supper; go to bed, and
leave me alone with his wife--what an impertinent security!"[147]
If women read the Correspondence as they do the Autobiography, I think
that their aversion to the great historian would be increased by these
confiding words to his stepmother, written when he was forty-nine: "The
habits of female conversation have sometimes tempted me to acquire the
piece of furniture, a wife, and could I unite in a single Woman the
virtues and accomplishments of half a dozen of my acquaintance, I would
instantly pay my addresses to the Constellation."[148]
I have always been impressed with Gibbon's pride at being the author of
"six volumes in quartos"; but as nearly all histories now are published
in octavo, I had not a distinct idea of the appearance of a quarto
volume until the preparation of this essay led me to look at different
editions of Gibbon in the Boston Athenaeum. There I found the quartos,
the first volume of which is the third edition, published in 1777 [it
will be remembered that the original publication of the first volume was
in February, 1776]. The volume is 11 1/4 inches long by 9 inches wide and
is much heavier than our very heavy octavo volumes. With this volume in
my hand I could appreciate the remark of the Duke of Gloucester when
Gibbon brought him the second volume of the "Decline and Fall." Laying
the quarto on the table he said, "Another d--d thick square book! Always
scribble, scribble, scribble! Eh! Mr. Gibbon?"[149]
During my researches at the Athenaeum, I found an octavo edition, the
first volume of which was published in 1791, and on the cover was
written, "Given to the Athenaeum by Charles Cabot. Received December 10,
1807." This was the year of the foundation of the Athenaeum. On the
quarto of 1777 there was no indication, but the scholarly cataloguer
informed me that it was probably also received in 1807. Three later
editions than these two are in this library, the last of which is Bury's
of 1900 to which I have constantly referred. Meditating in the quiet
alcove, with the two early editions of Gibbon before me, I found an
answer to the comment of H. G. Wells in his book "The Future in America"
which I confess had somewhat irritated me. Thus wrote Wells: "Frankly I
grieve over Boston as a great waste of leisure and energy, as a
frittering away of moral and intellectual possibilities. We give too
much to the past.... We are obsessed by the scholastic prestige of mere
knowledge and genteel remoteness."[150] Pondering this iconoclastic
utterance, how delightful it is to light upon evidence in the way of
well-worn volumes that, since 1807, men and women here have been
carefully reading Gibbon, who, as Dean Milman said, "has bridged the
abyss between ancient and modern times and connected together the two
worlds of history."[151] A knowledge of "The Decline and Fall" is a
basis for the study of all other history; it is a mental discipline, and
a training for the problems of modern life. These Athenaeum readers did
not waste their leisure, did not give too much to the past. They were
supremely right to take account of the scholastic prestige of Gibbon,
and to endeavor to make part of their mental fiber this greatest history
of modern times.
I will close with a quotation from the Autobiography, which in its
sincerity and absolute freedom from literary cant will be cherished by
all whose desire is to behold "the bright countenance of truth in the
quiet and still air of delightful studies." "I have drawn a high prize
in the lottery of life," wrote Gibbon. "I am disgusted with the
affectation of men of letters, who complain that they have renounced a
substance for a shadow and that their fame affords a poor compensation
for envy, censure, and persecution. My own experience at least has
taught me a very different lesson: twenty happy years have been animated
by the labor of my history; and its success has given me a name, a rank,
a character in the world, to which I should not otherwise have been
entitled.... D'Alembert relates that as he was walking in the gardens of
Sans-souci with the King of Prussia, Frederick said to him, 'Do you see
that old woman, a poor weeder, asleep on that sunny bank? She is
probably a more happy Being than either of us.'" Now the comment of
Gibbon: "The King and the Philosopher may speak for themselves; for my
part I do not envy the old woman."[152]
[46] Autobiography, 270.
[47] Autobiography, 333.
[48] Autobiography, 311.
[49] Lectures, 763.
[50] Chief Periods European Hist., 75.
[51] Introduction, lxvii.
[52] Introduction, xxxi.
[53] Preface, ix.
[54] Introduction, xli.
[55] p. 324.
[56] Letters, I, 23.
[57] Autobiography, 310.
[58] Letters, II, 36.
[59] _Ibid._, 127.
[60] Autobiography, 196.
[61] Autobiography, 310. "I am more and more convinced that we have
both the right and power on our side." Letters, I, 248.
[62] Hill's ed. Gibbon Autobiography, 212, 213, 314.
[63] Letters, II, 249.
[64] Autobiography, 342.
[65] Letters, II, 310.
[66] Causeries du Lundi, viii, 469.
[67] Letters, II, 98.
[68] Trevelyan, II, 232.
[69] Lectures on the Hist. of Literature, 185.
[70] Autobiography, 196.
[71] Bury's ed., xxxv.
[72] Decline and Fall, Smith's ed., 236.
[73] _Ibid._, I, 349.
[74] Decline and Fall, Smith's ed., II, 35.
[75] II, 235.
[76] History, I, 1.
[77] Annals, I, 11.
[78] Bury's introduction, xxxv.
[79] Autobiography, 193.
[80] _Ibid._, 48, 59.
[81] _Ibid._, 67.
[82] Autobiography, 86 _et seq._; Hill's ed., 69, 291.
[83] Autobiography, 131.
[84] _Ibid._, 137.
[85] _Ibid._, 134.
[86] Autobiography, 139-142.
[87] V, 108, 130, 231.
[88] Autobiography, 141.
[89] Autobiography, 133.
[90] Hill's ed., 89, 293.
[91] Autobiography, 149.
[92] Autobiography, 149.
[93] _Ibid._, 161.
[94] Causeries du Lundi, VIII, 445.
[95] Autobiography, 167.
[96] Causeries du Lundi, VIII, 446.
[97] Autobiography, Hill's ed., 142.
[98] Autobiography, 258.
[99] _Ibid._, 277.
[100] _Ibid._
[101] Letters, II, 279.
[102] Preface, x.
[103] Smith's ed., I, xi.
[104] Causeries du Lundi, VIII, 453.
[105] _London Times_, November 16, 1894.
[106] Smith's ed., I, 215, 371; II, 230.
[107] Smith's ed., I, 165; II, 205.
[108] _Ibid._, I, 216.
[109] _Ibid._, I, 144.
[110] _Ibid._, III, 78.
[111] Letters, I, 23.
[112] Smith's ed., V, 230.
[113] See Mahan's From Sail to Steam, 276.
[114] Causeries du Lundi, I, 153.
[115] Introduction, xlv, l, lxvii.
[116] Smith's ed., III, 14.
[117] _Ibid._, IV, 31.
[118] Bury, lii.
[119] Smith's ed., V, 258.
[120] _Ibid._, IV, 132 n.
[121] Bury's ed., xxxv, xxxvi.
[122] Smith's ed., I, xxi.
[123] Smith's ed., I, xvii.
[124] History of Civilization, II, 308 n.
[125] Morals, I, 419.
[126] Letters, II, 237.
[127] Autobiography, 316.
[128] Cotter Morison, 118.
[129] Sainte-Beuve, 458.
[130] Cotter Morison, 120.
[131] Autobiography, 337 n.
[132] American Notes, Chap. VII.
[133] p. 155.
[134] Letters, I, 331.
[135] Autobiography, 325.
[136] Letters, II, 143.
[137] Letters, II, 130.
[138] _Ibid._, 89.
[139] _Ibid._, 211.
[140] _Ibid._, 217.
[141] _Ibid._, II, 232.
[142] Letters, II, 129.
[143] _Ibid._, 189.
[144] _Ibid._, I, 40.
[145] Autobiography, pp. 151, 239.
[146] Letters, I, 41.
[147] Letters, I, 81. In 1790 Madame de Stael, then at Coppet, wrote:
"Nous possedons dans ce chateau M. Gibbon, l'ancien amoreux de
ma mere, celui qui voulait l'epouser. Quand je le vois, je me
demande si je serais nee de son union avec ma mere: je me
reponds que non et qu'il suffisait de mon pere seul pour que je
vinsse au monde."--Hill's ed., 107, n. 2.
[148] Letters, II, 143.
[149] Birkbeck Hill's ed., 127.
[150] p. 235.
[151] Smith's ed., I, vii.
[152] Autobiography, 343, 346.