''aall•iT^' 
 
 ^(/A«v«an-i\^' 
 
 A^llBRARYc' 
 
 %0J|]V0-JO>' <rii33NVS01^ 
 
 .j<lOSANCFlfx> 
 
 
 OFCAUFOff^ 
 
 ,^WE-UNIVER5yA 
 
 *^ — ^^ 
 
 %89AINf|-3V\V^ 
 
 ;OiAINll iU 
 
 ^k 
 
 ^xMlIBRARYQr 
 
 .yOJIlV3JO>' 
 
 
 J><» i 
 
 
 .^OFCALIFO/?^ 
 
 /iiail-i^'^'' 
 
 4^ 
 
 ';p.^nT// 
 
 . in^Awrn; 
 
 
 •j.jik'ivnjc/x 
 
 
 ii « 
 
 SI 

 
 UAINIIJVW 
 
 -'o'Aavflbiiix^' 
 
 'VAdvaai) i^' 
 
 IBRARYOr^ 
 
 
 ^OF-CAlIFOff^ 
 
 
 
 ,\WEUNIVERJ//, vvlOSANCFIPj'; 
 
 ^TiiaoNvsm^ 
 
 > 
 
 1 
 
 
 % 
 
 1 Z2 
 
 
 'ER% ^lOSAKi 
 
 '^/^a3AiNn-5Wv' 
 
 5,^^[IBR/> 
 
 SOl^' '-^'aiAINa^AV' ^6 
 
 ^ ^ 5 1 
 
 F0% 
 
 ^OFCAIIF^'" 
 
 
 ;',\nilJI\,TDC/
 
 THE LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES.
 
 THE ''CHANDOS CLASSICS." 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 EDWARD lGJ BBON 
 
 WITH IIIS 
 
 A/ /HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 
 
 1 -ERB. I TIM REPRINT, 
 WITH COPIOUS INDEX BY 
 
 W^ J. DAY. 
 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 
 
 jSSo
 
 LONDON : 
 OKADhURY AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS,
 
 A? 
 
 MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 In the fiftj'-second year of my age, after the completion of an arduous 
 and successful work, I now propose to employ some moments of my 
 leisure in reviewing the simple transactions of a private and literary 
 life. Truth, naked unblushing truth, the first virtue of more serious 
 history, must be the sole recommendation of this personal narrative.. 
 The style shall be simple and famiHar; but style is the image of cha- 
 racter ; and the habits of correct writing may produce, without labour 
 or design, the appearance of art and study. My own amusement is 
 my motive, and will be my reward : and if these sheets are communi- 
 cated to some discreet and indulgent friends, they will be secreted 
 from the public eye till the author shall be removed beyond the reach 
 of criticism or ridicule.* 
 
 A lively desire of knowing and of recording our ancestors so generally 
 prevails, that it must depend on the influence of some common prin- 
 ciple in the minds of men. We seem to have lived in the persons of 
 our forefathers ; it is the labour and reward of vanity to extend the 
 term of this ideal longevity. Our imagination is always active to 
 enlarge the narrow circle in which Nature has confined us. Fifty or 
 an hundred years may be allotted to an individual, but we step forward 
 beyond death with such hopes as religion and philosophy will suggest ; 
 and we fill up the silent vacancy that precedes our birth, by associating 
 ourselves to the authors of our existence. Our calmer judgment will 
 ratlier tend to moderate, than to suppress, the pride of an ancient and 
 worthy race. The satirist may laugh, the philosopher may preach ; 
 but Reason herself will respect the prejudices and habits, which have 
 been consecrated by the experience of mankind. 
 
 Wherever the distinction of birth is allowed to form a superior order 
 in the state, education and example should always, and will often, 
 produce among them a dignity of sentiment and propriety of conduct, 
 which is guarded from dishonour by their own and the public esteem. 
 If we read of some illustrious line so ancient that it has no beginning, 
 so worthy that it ought to have no end, we sympathize in its various 
 
 * This passage is found in one only of the six sketches, and in that which seems to have 
 been the first written, and which was laid aside among loose papers. Mr. Gibbon, in his com- 
 munications with me on the subject of his Memoirs, a subject which he had never mentioned 
 lo any other person, expressed a determination of publishing them in his lifetime ; and never 
 appears to have departed from that resolution, excepting in one of his letters annexed, in 
 which he intimates a doubt, though rather carelessly, whether in his time, or at any time, they 
 would meet the eye of the public. In a conversation, however, not long before his death, it 
 was suggested to him, that, if he should make them a full image of his mind, he would not 
 have nerves to publish them in his lifetime, and that they should be posthumous ; — He 
 answered, rather eagerly, that he '.vas determined to publish them in his lifetime. S.
 
 6 PRIDE OF ANCESTRY— VALUE OF BIOGRAPHV. 
 
 fortunes ; nor can we blame the generous enthusiasm, or even the 
 harmless vanity, of those who are allied to the honours of its name. 
 For my own part, could I draw my pedigree from a general, a states- 
 man, or a celebrated author, I should study their lives with the diligence 
 of filial love. In the investigation of past events, our curiosity is 
 stimulated by the immediate or indirect reference to ourselves; but in 
 the estimate of honour we should learn to value the gifts of Nature 
 above those of Fortune ; to esteem in our ancestors the qualities tliat 
 best promote the interests of society ; and to pronounce the descendant 
 of a king less truly noble than the offspring of a man of genius, whose 
 writings will instruct or delight the latest posterity. The family of 
 Confucius is, in my opinion, the most illustrious in the world. After a 
 painful ascent of eight or ten centuries, our barons and princes of 
 Europe are lost in the darkness of the middle ages ; but, in the vast 
 equality of the empire of China, the posterity of Confucius have main- 
 tained, above two thousand two hundred years, their peaceful honours 
 and perpetual succession. The chief of the family is still revered, by 
 the sovereign and the people, as the lively image of the wisest of man- 
 kind. The nobility of the Spencers has been illustrated and enriched 
 by the trophies of Marlborough ; but I exhort them to consider the 
 " Fairy Queen " as the most pi-ecious jewel of their coronet. I have 
 exposed my private feelings, as I shall always do, without scruple or 
 reserve. That these sentiments are just, or at least natural, I am inclined 
 to believe, since I do not feel myself interested in the cause ; for I can 
 derive from my ancestors neither glory nor shame. 
 
 Yet a sincere and simple narrative of my own life may amuse some of 
 my leisure hours ; but it will subject me, and perhaps with justice, to 
 the imputation of vanity. I may judge, however, from the experience 
 both of past and of the present times, that the public are always 
 curious to know the men, who have left behind them any image of 
 their minds : the most scanty accounts of such men are compiled with 
 diligence, and perused with eagerness; and the student of every class 
 may derive a lesson, or an example, from the lives most similar to his 
 own. My name may hereafter be placed among the thousand articles 
 of a Biographia Britannica ; and I must be conscious, that no one is 
 so well qualified, as myself, to describe the series of my thoughts and 
 actions. The authority of my masters, of the grave Thuanus, and the 
 philosophic Hume, might be sufficient to justify my design; but it 
 would not be difficult to produce a long list of ancients and moderns, 
 who, in various forms, have exhibited their own portraits. Such por- 
 traits are often the most interesting, and sometimes the only interesting 
 parts of their writings ; and if they be sincere, we seldom complain of 
 the minuteness or prolixity of these personal memorials. The lives of 
 the younger Pliny, of Petrarch, and of Erasmus, are expressed in the 
 epistles, which they themselves have given to the world. The essays 
 of Montaigne and Sir William Temple bring us home to the houses 
 and bosoms of the authors : we smile without contempt at the head- 
 strong passions of Benevenuto Cellini, and the gay follies of Colley 
 Cibber. The confessions of St. Austin and Rousseau disclose the 
 secrets of the human heart; the commentaries of the learned Huet 
 have survived his evangelical demonstration ; and the memoirs of Gol-
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. J 
 
 doni are more truly dramatic than his Italian comedies. The heretic 
 and the churchman are strongly marked in the characters and fortunes 
 of Whiston and Bishop Newton; and even the dullness of Michael de 
 Marolles and Anthony Wood acquires some value from the faithful 
 representation of men and manners. That I am equal or superior to 
 some of these, the effects of modesty or affectation cannot force me to 
 dissemble. 
 
 My family is originally derived from the county of Kent. The 
 southern district, which borders on Sussex and the sea, was formerly 
 overspread with the great forest Anderida, and even now retains the 
 denomination of the Weald or Woodland. In this district, and in the 
 hundred and parish of Rolvenden, the Gibbons were possessed of 
 lands in the year one thousand three hundred and twenty-six ; and the 
 elder brancli of the family, without much increase or diminution of 
 property, still adheres to its native soil. Fourteen years after the first 
 appearance of his name, John Gibbon is recorded as the Marmorarius or 
 architect of King Edward the Third : the strong and stately castle of 
 Queensborough, which guarded the entrance of the Medway, was a 
 monument of his skill ; and the grant of an hereditary toll on the 
 passage from Sandwich to Stonar, in the Isle of Thanet, is the reward 
 of no vulgar artist. In the visitations of the heralds, the Gibbons are 
 frequently mentioned ; they held the rank of esquire in an age, when 
 that title was less promiscuously assumed : one of them, under the 
 reign of Queen Elizabeth, was captain of the militia of Kent ; and a 
 free school, in the neighbouring town of Benenden, proclaims the 
 charity and opulence of its founder. But time, or their own obscurity, 
 has cast a veil of oblivion over the virtues and vices of my Kentish 
 ancestors; their character or station confined them to the labours and 
 pleasures of a rural life : nor is it in my power to follow the advice of 
 the poet, in an inquiry after a name, — 
 
 " Go ! search it there, where to be born, and die, 
 Of rich and poor makes all the histoiy." 
 
 So recent is the institution of our parish registers. In the beginning 
 of the seventeenth century, a younger branch of the Gibbons of Rol- 
 venden migrated from the country to the city ; and from this branch I 
 do not blush to descend. The law requires some abilities ; the church 
 imposes some restraints ; and before our army and navy, our civil 
 establishments, and India empire, had opened so many paths of fortune, 
 the mercantile profession was more frequently chosen by youths of a 
 liberal race and education, who aspired to create their own independ- 
 ence. Our most respectable families have not disdained the counting- 
 house, or even the shop ; their names are enrolled in the Livery and 
 Companies of London; and in England, as well as in the Italian com- 
 monwealths, heralds have been compelled to declare that gentility is 
 not degraded by the exercise of trade. 
 
 The armorial ensigns which, in the times of chivalry, adorned the 
 crest and shield of the soldier, are now become an empty decoration, 
 which every man, who has money to build a carriage, may paint 
 according to his fancy on the panels. My family arms are the same,
 
 8 THE ANCESTRY AND ALLIANCES OP THE CIBBONS. 
 
 which were borne by the Gibbons of Kent in an age, when the College 
 of Heralds religiously guarded the distinctions of blood and name: a 
 lion rampant gardant, between three schallop-shells argent, on a field 
 azure.* I should not however have been tempted to blazon my coat of 
 arms, were it not connected with a whimsical anecdote. — About the 
 reign of James the First, the three harmless schallop-shells were 
 changed by Edmund Gibbon esq. into three ogresses, or female can- 
 nibals, with a design of stigmatizing three ladies, his kinswomen, who 
 had provoked him by an unjust law-suit. But this singular mode of 
 revenge, for which he obtained the sanction of Sir William Seagar, 
 king at arms, soon expired with its author ; and, on his own monument 
 in the Temple church, the monsters vanish, and the three schallop- 
 shells resume their proper and hereditary place. 
 
 Our alliances by marriage it is not disgraceful to mention. The 
 chief honour of my ancestry is James Fiens, Baron Say and Seale, and 
 Lord High Treasurer of England, in the reign of Henry the Sixth; 
 from whom by the Phelips, the Whetnalls, and the Cromers, I am 
 lineally descended in the eleventh degree. His dismission and impri- 
 sonment in the Tower were insufficient to appease the popular clamour ; 
 and the Treasurer, with his son-in-law Cromer, was beheaded (1450), 
 after a mock trial by the Kentish insurgents. The black list of his 
 offences, as it is exhibited in Shakespeare, displays the ignorance and 
 envy of a plebeian tyrant. Besides the vague reproaches of selling 
 Maine and Normandy to the Dauphin, the Treasurer is specially 
 accused of luxury, for riding on a foot-cloth ; and of treason, for 
 speaking French, the language of our enemies : " Thou hast most 
 traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm," says Jack Cade to the 
 unfortunate Lord, " in erecting a grammar-school ; and whereas before 
 our forefathers had no other books than the score and the tally, thou 
 hast caused printing to be used; and, contrary to the king, his crown, 
 and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy 
 face, that thou hast men about thee, who usually talk of a noun and a 
 verb, and such abominable words, as no christian ear can endure to 
 hear." Our dramatic poet is generally more attentive to character 
 than to history; and I much fear that the art of printing was not intro- 
 duced into England, till several years after Lord Say's death ; but of 
 some of these meritorious crimes I should hope to find my ancestor 
 guilty; and a man of letters may be proud of his descent from a 
 patron and martyr of learning. 
 
 In the beginning of the last century Robert Gibbon esq. of Rol- 
 venden in Kent (who died in 161 8), had a son of the same name of 
 Robert, who settled in London, and became a member of the Cloth- 
 workers' Company. His wife was a daughter of the Edgars, who 
 flourished about four hundred years in the county of Suffolk, and pro- 
 duced an eminent and wealthy serjcant-at-law, Sir Gregory Edgar, in 
 the reign of Henry the Seventh. Of the sons of Robert Gibbon, (who 
 died in 1643,) Matthew did not aspire above the station of a linen- 
 draper in Leadenhall-street ; but John has given to the public some 
 
 * The father of Lord Chancellor Hardwiclce married an heirc*;'; of this family of Gibbon, 
 The Chancellor's escutcheon in the Temple Hall quarters the arms of Gibbon, as does also 
 that, in Lincoln's Inn Hall, of Charles York, Chancellor in 1770. S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIB BOX. g 
 
 curious memorials of his existence, his character, and his family. He 
 was born on Nov. 3d, 1629; his education was liberal, at a grammar- 
 school, and afterwards in Jesus College at Cambridge: and he cele- 
 brates the retired content which he enjoyed at Allesborough, in 
 Worcestershire, in the house of Thomas Lord Coventry, where John 
 Gibbon was employed as a domestic tutor, the same office which Mr. 
 Hobbes exercised in the Devonshire family. But the spirit of my 
 kinsman soon immerged into more active life : he visited foreign coun- 
 tries as a soldier and a traveller, acquired the knowledge of the French 
 and Spanish languages, passed some time in the Isle of Jersey, crossed 
 the Atlantic, and resided upwards of a twelvemonth (1659) in the 
 rising colony of Virginia. In this remote province his taste, or rather 
 passion, for heraldry found a singular gratification at a war-dance of 
 the native Indians. As they moved in measured steps, brandishing 
 their tomahawks, his curious eye contemplated their little shields of 
 bark, and their naked bodies, which were painted with the colours and 
 symbols of his favourite science. " At which I exceedingly wondered ; 
 and concluded that heraldry was ingrafted naturally into the sense of 
 human race. If so, it deserves a greater esteem than now-a-days is 
 put upon it." His return to England after the Restoration was soon 
 followed by his marriage — his settlement in a house in St. Catherine's 
 Cloister, near the Tower, which devolved to my grandfather — and his 
 introduction into the Heralds' College (in 1671) by the style and title 
 of Blue-mantle Pursuivant at Arms. In this office he enjoyed near 
 fifty years the rare felicity of uniting, in the same pursuit, his duty and 
 inclination : his name is remembered in the College, and many of his 
 letters are still preserved. Several of the most respectable characters 
 of the age, Sir William Dugdale, Mr. Ashmole, Dr. John Betts, and 
 Dr. Nehemiah Grew, were his friends ; and in the society of such men, 
 John Gibbon may be recorded without disgrace as the member of an 
 astrological club. The study of hereditary honours is favourable to the 
 Royal prerogative ; and my kinsman, like most of his family, was a 
 high Tory both in church and state. In the latter end of the reign of 
 Charles the Second, his pen was exercised in the cause of the Duke of 
 ■^'ork : the Republican faction he most cordially detested ; and as each 
 animal is conscious of its proper arms, the heralds' revenge was embla- 
 zoned on a most diabolical escutcheon. But the triumph of the Whig 
 government checked the preferment of Blue-mantle ; and he was even 
 suspended from his office, till his tongue could learn to pronounce the 
 oath of abjuration. His life was prolonged to the age of ninety ; and, in 
 the expectation of the inevitable though uncertain hour, he wishes to 
 preserve the blessings of health, competence, and virtue. In the year 
 1682 he published in London his Introductio ad Latijiam Blasottiam, 
 an original attempt, which Camden had desiderated, to define, in a 
 Roman idiom, the terms and attributes of a Gothic institution. It is 
 not two years since I acquired, in a foreign land, some domestic intel- 
 ligence of my own family ; and this intelligence was conveyed to Swit- 
 zerland from the heart of Germany. I had formed an acc^uaintance 
 with Mr. La)iger, a lively and ingenious scholar, while he resided at 
 Lausanne as preceptor to the Hereditary Pi'ince of Bi'uns'wick. On 
 his return to his proper station of Librarian to the Ducal Library 0/
 
 10 JOHN THE HERALD — EDWARD THE MERCHANT. 
 
 Wolfenbuttel, he accidentally found among some literary rubbish a 
 small old English volimie of heraldry, inscribed with the name oiyohn 
 Gibbon. From the title only Mr. Lang'eriudgedi that it might be an 
 acceptable present to his friend ; and be judged rightly. His manner 
 is quaint and aftected ; his order is confused : but he displays some 
 wit, more reading, and still more enthusiasm: and if an enthusiast be 
 often absurd, he is never languid. An English text is perpetually 
 interspersed with Latin sentences in prose and verse ; but in his own 
 poetry he claims an exemption from the laws of prosody. Amidst a 
 profusion of genealogical knowledge, my kinsman could not be forgetful 
 of his own name ; and to him I am indebted for almost the whole of 
 my information concerning the Gibbon family. From this small work 
 the author expected immortal fame. 
 
 Such are the hopes of authors ! In the failure of those hopes John 
 Gibbon has not been the first of his profession, and very possibly may 
 not be the last of his name. His brother Matthew Gibbon, the draper, 
 had one daughter and two sons— my grandfather Edward, who was 
 born in the year 1666, and Thomas, afterwards Dean of Carlisle. 
 According to the mercantile creed, that the best book is a profitable 
 ledger, the writings of John the herald would be much less precious 
 than those of his nephew Edward : but an author professes at least to 
 write for the public benefit ; and the slow balance of trade can be 
 pleasing to those persons only, to whom it is advantageous. The suc- 
 cessful industry of my grandfather raised him above the level of his 
 immediate ancestors ; he appears to have launched into various and 
 extensive dealings : even his opinions were subordinate to his interest ; 
 and I find him in Flanders clothing King William's troops, while he 
 would have contracted with more pleasure, though not perhaps at a 
 cheaper rate, for the service of King James. During his residence 
 abroad, his concerns at home were managed by his mother Hester, an 
 active and notable woman. Her second husband was a widower of the 
 name of Acton : they united the children of their first nuptials. After 
 his marriage with the daughter of Richard Acton, goldsmith in Leaden- 
 hall-street, he gave his own sister to Sir Whitmore Acton, of Aldenham ; 
 and I am thus connected, by a triple aUiance, with that ancient and 
 loyal family of Shropshire baronets. It consisted about that time of 
 seven brothers, all of gigantic stature ; one of whom, a pigmy of six 
 feet two inches, confessed himself the last and least of the seven ; add- 
 ing, in the true spirit of party, that such men were not born since the 
 Revolution. Under the Tory administration of the four last years of 
 Queen Anne (1710 — 1714) Mr. Edward Gibbon was appointed one of 
 the Commissioners of the Customs ; he sat at that Board with Prior • 
 but the merchant was better qualified for his station than the poet ; 
 since Lord Bolingbroke has been heard to declare, that he had never 
 conversed with a man, who more clearly understood the commerce and 
 finances of England. In the year 17 16 he was elected one of the 
 Directors of the South Sea Company ; and his books exhibited the 
 proof that, before his acceptance of this fatal office, he had acquired an 
 independent fortune of sixty thousand pounds. 
 
 But his fortune was ovcr\\'helmed in tlic shipwreck of the year twenty, 
 and the labours of thirty years were blasted in a single day. Of the
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. II 
 
 use or abuse of the South Sea scheme, of the guilt or innocence of my 
 grandfather and his brother Directors, I am neither a competent nor a 
 disinterested judge. Yet the equity of modern times must condemn 
 the \'iolent and arbitrary proceedings, which would have disgraced the 
 cause of justice, and would render injustice still more odious. No 
 sooner had the nation awakened from its golden dream, than a popular 
 and even a parliamentary clamour demanded their victims : but it was 
 acknowledged on all sides that the South Sea Directors, however guilty, 
 could not be touched by any known laws of the land. The speech of 
 Lord Molesworth, the author of the State of Denmark, may shew the 
 temper, or rather the intemperance, of the House of Commons. "Ex- 
 traordinary crimes (exclaimed that ardent Whig) call aloud for extra- 
 ordinary remedies. The Roman lawgivers had not foreseen the possible 
 existence of a parricide ; but as soon as the first monster appeared, he 
 was sewn in a sack, and cast headlong into the river ; and 1 shall be 
 content to inflict the same treatment on the authors of our present 
 ruin." His motion was not literally adopted ; but a bill of pains and 
 penalties was introduced, a retroactive statute, to punish the offences, 
 which did not exist at the time they were committed. Such a per- 
 nicious violation of liberty and law can be excused only by the most 
 imperious necessity ; nor could it be defended on this occasion by the 
 plea of impending danger or useful example. The legislature restrained 
 the persons of the Directors, imposed an exorbitant security for their 
 aj^pearance, and marked their characters with a previous note of igno- 
 miny : they were compelled to deliver, upon oath, the strict value of 
 their estates ; and were disabled from making any transfer or alienation 
 of any part of their property. Against a bill of pains and penalties it 
 is the common right of every subject to be heard by his counsel at the 
 bar : they prayed to be heard ; their prayer was refused ; and their 
 oppressors, who required no evidence, would listen to no defence. It 
 had been at first proposed that one-eighth of their respective estates 
 should be allowed for the future support of the Directors ; but it was 
 speciously urged, that in the various shades of opulence and guilt such 
 an unequal proportion would be too light for many, and for some might 
 possibly be too heavy. The character and conduct of each man were 
 separately weighed ; but, instead of the calm solemnity of a judicial 
 inquiry, the fortune and honour of three and thirty Englishmen were 
 made the topic of hasty conversation, the sport of a lawless majority ; 
 and the basest member of the committee, by a malicious word or a 
 silent vote, might indulge his general spleen or personal animosity. 
 Injury was aggravated by insult, and insult was embittered by plea- 
 santry. Allowances of twenty pounds, or one shilling, were facetiously 
 moved. A vague report that a Director had formerly been concerned 
 in another project, by which some unknown persons had lost their 
 money, was admitted as a proof of his actual guilt. One man was 
 ruined because he had dropped a foolish speech, that his horses should 
 feed upon gold ; another because he was grown so proud, that, one day 
 at the Treasury, he had refused a civil answer to persons much above 
 him. All were condemned, absent and unheard, in arbitrary fines and 
 forfeitures, which swept away the greatest part of their substance. 
 Such bold oppression can scarcely be shielded by the omnipotence of
 
 12 FORTUNES OF THE FAMILY LOST— AND RECOVERED. 
 
 parliament ; and yet it may be seriously questioned, whether the Judges 
 of the South Sea Directors were the true and legal representatives of 
 their country. The first parliament of George the First had been chosen 
 (17 1 5) for three years : the term had elapsed, their trust was expired ; 
 and the four additional years (171 8 — 1722), during which they continued 
 to sit, were derived not from the people, but from themselves ; from the 
 strong measure of the septennial bill, which can only be paralleled by 
 il serar di coiisi-:;lio of the Venetian history. Yet candour will own 
 that to the same parliament every Englishman is deeply indebted : the 
 septennial act, so vicious in its origin, has been sanctioned by time, ex- 
 perience, and the national consent. Its first operation secured the 
 House of Hanover on the throne, and its permanent influence main- 
 tains the peace and stability of government. As often as a repeal has 
 been moved in the House of Commons, I have given in its defence a 
 clear and conscientious vote. 
 
 My grandfather could not expect to be treated with moi-e lenity than 
 his companions. His Tory principles and connections rendered him 
 obnoxious to the ruling powers : his name is reported in a suspicious 
 secret ; and his well-known abilities could not plead the excuse of igno- 
 rance or error. In the first proceedings against the South Sea Direc- 
 tors, Mr. Gibbon is one of the few who were taken into custody ; and, 
 in the final sentence, the measure of his fine proclaims him eminently 
 guilty. The total estimate which he delivered on oath to the House of 
 Commons amounted to ^106,543 5s. 6d., exclusive of antecedent settle- 
 ments. Two different allowances of ^i 5,000 and of ^10,000 were moved 
 for Mr. Gibbon ; but, on the question being put, it was carried without 
 a division for the smaller sum. On these ruins, with the skill and 
 credit, of which parliament had not been able to despoil him, my grand- 
 father at a mature age erected the edifice of a new fortune : the labours 
 of sixteen years were amply rewarded ; and I have reason to believe 
 that the second structure was not much inferior to the first. He had 
 realized a very considerable property in Sussex, Hampshire, Bucking- 
 hamshire, and the New River Company ; and had acquired a spacious 
 house,* with gardens and lands, at Putney, in Surrey, where he resided 
 in decent hospitality. He died in December 1736, at the age of seventy; 
 and by his last will, at the expense of Edward, his only son, (with whose 
 marriage he was not perfectly reconciled,) enriched his two daughters, 
 Catherine and Hester. The former became the wife of Mr. Edward 
 EUiston, an East India captain : their daughter and heiress Catherine 
 was married in the year 1756 to Edward Eliot, Esq. (now lord Eliot), 
 of Port Eliot, in the county of Cornwall ; and their three sons are my 
 nearest male relations on the father's side. A life of devotion and celi- 
 bacy was the choice of my aunt, Mrs. Hester Gibbon, who, at the age 
 of eighty-five, still resides in a hermitage at Cliffe, in Northamptonshire ; 
 having long survived her spiritual guide and faithful companion Mr. 
 William Law, who, at an advanced age, about the year I76i,died in her 
 house. In our family he had left the reputation of a worthy and pious 
 man, who believed all that he professed, and practised all that he en- 
 joined. The character of a non-juror, wliich he maintained to the last, 
 is a sufficient evidence of his principles in church and state ; and the 
 • Since inhabited by Mr. Wood, Sir John Shelley, the Duke of Norfolk, &c. — S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 3 
 
 sacrifice of interest to conscience will be always respectable. His theo- 
 logical writings, which our domestic connection has tempted me to 
 peruse, preserve an imperfect sort of life, and I can pronounce with 
 more confidence and knowledge on the merits of the author. His last 
 compositions are darkly tinctured by the incomprehensible visions of 
 Jacob 15ehmen ; and his discourse on the absolute unlawfulness of 
 stage entertainments is sometimes quoted for a ridiculous intemperance 
 of sentiment and language. — "The actors and spectators must all be 
 damned : ti'.e playhouse is the porch of Hell, the place of the Devil's 
 abode, where he holds his filthy court of evil spirits : a play is the 
 Devil's triumph, a sacrifice performed to his glory, as much as in the 
 heathen temples of Bacchus or Venus, iJv:c., &c." But these sallies of 
 rehgious frenzy must not extinguish the praise, which is due to Mr. 
 William Law as a wit and a scholar. His argument on topics of less 
 absurdity is specious and acute, his manner is lively, his style forcible 
 and clear ; and, had not his vigorous mind been clouded by enthusiasm, 
 he might be ranked with the most agreeable and ingenious writers of 
 the times. While the Bangorian controversy was a fashionable theme, 
 he entered the lists on the subject of Christ's kingdom, and the 
 authority of the priesthood : against the plain account of the sacra- 
 ment of the Lord's Supper he resumed the combat with Bishop Hoad- 
 ley, the object of Whig idolatry, and Tory abhorrence ; and at every 
 weapon of attack and defence the non-juror, on the ground which is 
 common to both, approves himself at least equal to the prelate. On 
 the appearance of the Fable of the Bees, he drew his pen against the 
 licentious doctrine that private vices are public benefits, and morality 
 as well as religion must join in his applause. IMr. Law's master-work, 
 the Serious Call, is still read as a popular and powerful book of devotion. 
 His precepts are rigid, but they are founded on the gospel ; his satire 
 is sharp, but it is drawn from the knowledge of human life ; and many 
 of his portraits are not unworthy of the pen of La Bruyere. If he 
 finds a spark of piety in his reader's mind, he will soon kindle it to a 
 flame ; and a philosopher must allow that he exposes, with equal 
 severity and truth, the strange contradiction between the faith and prac- 
 tice of the Christian world. Under the names of Flavia and Miranda 
 he has admirably described my two aunts — the heathen and the Chris- 
 tian sister. 
 
 My father, Edward Gibbon, was born in October, 1707 : at the age of 
 thirteen he could scarcely feel that he was disinherited by act of par- 
 liament ; and, as he advanced towards manhood, new prospects of 
 fortune opened to his view. A parent is most attentive to supply in his 
 children the deficiencies, of which he is conscious in himself : my 
 grandfather's knowledge was derived from a strong understanding, and 
 the experience of the ways of men ; but my father enjoyed the benefits 
 of a liberal education as a scholar and a gentleman. At Westminster 
 School, and afterwards at Emanuel College in Cambridge, he passed 
 through a regular course of academical discipline ; and the care of his 
 learning and morals was intrusted to his private tutor, the same Mr. 
 William Law. But the mind of a saint is above or below the present 
 world ; and while the pupil proceeded on his travels, the tutor remained 
 at Putney, the much-honoured friend and spiritual director of the whole
 
 14 MV FATHER IN FRANCE — MY BIRTH AT PUTNEY. 
 
 family. My father resided some time at Paris to acquire the fashionable 
 exercises ; and as his temper was warm and social, he indulged in those 
 pleasures, for which the strictness of his former education had given 
 him a keener relish. He afterwards visited several provinces of France ; 
 but his excursions were neither long nor remote ; and the slender know- 
 ledge, which he had gained of the French language, was gradually ob- 
 literated. His passage through Besan^on is marked by a singular con- 
 sequence in the chain of human events. In a dangerous illness Mr. 
 Gibbon was attended, at his own request, by one of his kinsmen of the 
 name of Acton, the younger brother of a younger brother, who had 
 applied himself to the study of physic. During the slow recovery of 
 his patient, the physician himself was attacked by the malady of love : 
 he married his mistress, renounced his country and religion, settled at 
 Besanqon, and became the father of three sons ; the eldest of whom. 
 General Acton, is conspicuous in Europe as the principal Minister of 
 the king of the Two Sicilies. By an uncle whom another stroke of 
 fortune had transplanted to Leghorn, he was educated in the naval ser- 
 vice of the Emperor ; and his valour and conduct in the command of 
 the Tuscan frigates protected the retreat of the Spaniards from Algiers. 
 On my father's return to England he was chosen, in the general election 
 of 1734, to serve in parliament for the borough of Petersfiield ; a burg- 
 age tenure, of which my grandfather possessed a weighty share, till he 
 alienated (I know not why) such important property. In the opposi- 
 tion to Sir Robert Walpole and the Pelhams, prejudice and society 
 connected his son with the Tories, — shall I say Jacobites ? or, as they 
 were pleased to style themselves, the country gentlemen 1 with them he 
 gave many a vote ; with them he drank inany a bottle. Without ac- 
 quiring the fame of an orator or a statesman, he eagerly joined in the 
 great opposition, which, after a seven years' chase, hunted down Sir 
 Robert Walpole : and in the pursuit of an unpopular minister, he grati- 
 fied a private revenge against the oppressor of his family in the South 
 Sea persecution. 
 
 I was born at Putney, in the county of Surrey, April 27th, O. S., in 
 the year one thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven ; the first child 
 of the marriage of Edward Gibbon, esq., and of Judith Porten.* My 
 lot might have been that of a slave, a savage, or a peasant ; nor can I 
 reflect without pleasure on the bounty of Nature, which cast my birth 
 in a free and civilized country, in an age of science and philosophy, in 
 a family of honourable rank, and decently endowed with the gifts of 
 fortune. From my birth I have enjoyed the right of primogeniture; 
 but I was succeeded by five brothers and one sister, all of whom were 
 snatched away in their infancy. My five brothers, whose names may 
 be found in the parish register of Putney, I shall not pretend to lament : 
 but from my childhood to the present hour I have deeply and sincerely 
 regretted my sister, whose life was somewhat prolonged, and whom I 
 remember to have been an amiable infant. The relation of a brother 
 
 * The union to wliich I owe my birth was a marriage of inclination and esteem. Mr. James 
 Porten, a merchant of London, resided with his family at Putney, in a house adjoining to the 
 bridge and churchyard, where I have passed many happy hours of my childliood. He left one 
 son (the late Sir Stanier Porten) and three daughters ; Catherine, who preserved her maiden 
 name, and of whom I shall hereafter speak ; another daughter married Mr. Darrel of Richmond, 
 and left two sons, Edward and Rohevt ; the youngest of the three sisters was Judith, my mother.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBO.Y. 1 5 
 
 and a sister, especially if they do not marry, appears to me of a very 
 singular nature. It is a familiar and tender friendship with a female, 
 much about our own age ; an aflection pcrhajjs softened by the secret 
 influence of sex, and the sole species of Platonic love that can be 
 indulged with truth, and without danger. 
 
 At the general election of 1741, Mr. Gibbon and Mr. Delme stood an 
 expensive and successful contest at Southampton, against Mr. Dummer 
 and Mr. Henly, afterwards Lord Chancellor and Earl of Northington. 
 The Whig candidates had a majority of the resident voters ; but the 
 corporation was firm in the Tory interest : a sudden creation of one 
 hundred and seventy new freemen turned the scale ; and a supply was 
 readily obtained of respectable volunteers, who flocked from all parts 
 of England to supj>ort the cause of their political friends. The new 
 parliament opened with the victory of an opposition, which was fortified 
 by strong clamour and strange coalitions. From the event of the first 
 divisions. Sir Robert Walpole perceived that he could no longer lead a 
 majority in the House of Commons, and prudently resigned (after a 
 dominion of one-and-twenty years) the guidance of the state (1742). 
 But the fall of an unpopular minister was not succeeded, according to 
 general expectation, fjy a millennium of happiness and virtue : some 
 courtiers lost their places, some patriots lost their characters. Lord 
 Orford's offences vanished with his power ; and after a short vibration, 
 the Pelham government was fixed on the old basis of the Whig aristo- 
 cracy. In the year 1745, the throne and the constitution were attacked 
 by a rebellion, which does not reflect much honour on the national 
 spirit ; since the English friends of the Pretender wanted courage to 
 join his standard, and his enemies (the bulk of the people) allowed him 
 to advance into the heart of the kingdom. Without daring, perhaps 
 without desiring, to aid the rebels, my father invariably adhered to the 
 Tory opposition. In the most critical season he accepted, for the 
 service of the party, the office of alderman in the city of London : but 
 the duties were so repugnant to his inclination and habits, that he 
 resigned his gown at the end of a few months. The second parliament 
 in which he sat was prematurely dissolved (1747) : and as he was unable 
 or unwilling to maintain a second contest for Southampton, the life of 
 the senator expired in that dissolution. 
 
 The death of a new-born child before that of its parents may seem an 
 unnatural, but it is strictlya probable, event : since of any given number the 
 greater part are extinguished before their ninth year, before they possess 
 the faculties of the mind or body. Without accusing the profuse waste 
 or imperfect workmanship of Nature, I shall only observe, that this 
 unfavourable chance was multiplied against my infant existence. So 
 feeble was my constitution, so precarious my life, that, in the baptism 
 of each of my brothers, my father's prudence successively repeated my 
 Christian name of Edward, that, in case of the departure of the eldest 
 son, this patronymic appellation might be still perpetuated in the family. 
 
 Uno avulso non deficit alter. 
 
 To preserve and to rear so frail a being, the most tender assiduity was 
 scarcely sufficient, and my mother's attention was somewhat diverted 
 by an exclusive passion for her husband, and by the dissipation of the
 
 1 6 MV AUNT CATHARINE — MY FIRST TUTOR. 
 
 world, in which his taste and authority obhged her to mingle. But the 
 maternal oliice was supplied by my aunt, Mrs. Catherine Porten ; at 
 whose name I feel a tear of gratitude trickling down my cheek. A life 
 of celibacy transferred her vacant affection to her sister's first child : 
 my weakness excited her pity ; her attachment was fortified by labour 
 and success : and if there be any, as I trust there are some, who rejoice 
 that I live, to that dear and excellent woman they must hold themselves 
 indebted. Many anxious and solitary days did she consume in the 
 patient trial of every mode of relief and amusement. Many wakeful 
 nights did she sit by my bedside in trembling expectation that each hour 
 would be my last. Of the various and frequent disorders of my child- 
 hood my own recollection is dark. Suffice it to say, that while every 
 practitioner, from Sloane and Ward to the Chevalier Taylor, was suc- 
 cessively summoned to torture or relieve me, the care of my mind was 
 too frequently neglected for that of my health : compassion always 
 suggested an excuse for the indulgence of the master, or the idleness of 
 the pupil ; and the chain of my education v/as broken, as often as I was 
 recalled from the school of learning to the bed of sickness. 
 
 As soon as the use of speech had prepared my infant reason for the 
 admission of knowledge, 1 was taught the arts of reading, writing, and 
 arithmetic. So remote is the date, so vague is the memory of their 
 origin in myself, that, were not the error corrected by analogy, I should 
 be tempted to conceive them as innate. In my childhood I was 
 praised for the readiness with which I could multiply and divide, by 
 memory alone, two sums of several figures ; such praise encouraged my 
 growing talent ; and had I persevered in this line of application, I might 
 have acquired some fame in mathematical studies. 
 
 After this previous institution at home, or at a day school at Putney, 
 I was delivered at the age of seven into the hands of Mr. John Kirkby, 
 who exercised about eighteen months the office of my domestic tutor. 
 His learning and virtue introduced him to my father; and at Putney he 
 might have found at least a temporary shelter, had not an act of indis- 
 cretion driven him into the world. One day reading prayers in the 
 parish church, he most unluckily forgot the name of King George : his 
 patron, a loyal subject, dismissed him with some reluctance, and a 
 decent reward ; and Jiow the poor man ended his days I have never 
 been able to learn. Mr. John Kirkby is the author of two small volumes; 
 he Life of Automathes (London, 1745), and an English and Latin 
 Grammar (London, 1746); which, as a testimony of gratitude, he dedi- 
 cated (Nov. 5th, 1745) to my father. The books are before me : from 
 them the pupil may judge the preceptor ; and, upon the whole, his 
 judgment will not be unfavourable. 1 he grammar is executed with 
 accuracy and skill, and I know not whether any better existed at the 
 time in our language : but the Life of Automathes aspires to the honours 
 of a philosophical fiction. It is the story of a youth, the son of a ship- 
 wrecked exile, who lives alone on a desert island from infancy to the age 
 of manhood. A hind is his nurse ; he inherits a cottage, with many 
 useful and curious instruments ; some ideas remain of the education of 
 his two first years; some arts arc borrowed from the beavers of a 
 neighbouring lake ; some truths are revealed in supernatural visions. 
 With these helps, and his own industry, Automathes becomes a self-
 
 AUTOBlOGRAPtttC MEMOIRS OP Er)WARD GIBBOX. I J 
 
 taught though speechless philosopher, who had invesligalcd with 
 success his own mind, the natural world, the abstract sciences, and the 
 great principles of morality and religion. The author is not entitled 
 to the merit of invention, since he has blended the English story of 
 Robinson Crusoe with the Arabian romance of Hal Ebn Yokhdan, 
 which he might have read in the Latin version of Pocock. In the 
 Automathes I cannot praise either the depth of thought or elegance of 
 style ; but the book is not devoid of entertainment or instruction ; and 
 among several interesting passages, I would select the discovery of tire, 
 which produces by accidental mischief the discovery of conscience. A 
 man who had thought so much on the subjects of language and edu- 
 cation was surely no ordinary preceptor: my childish years, and his 
 hasty departure, prevented me from enjoying the full benefit of his 
 lessons ; but they enlarged my knowledge of arithmetic, and left me a 
 clear impression of the English and Latin rudiments. 
 
 In my ninth year (Jan., 1746), in a lucid interval of comparative 
 health, my father adopted the convenient and customary mode of 
 English education ; and I was sent to Kingston-upon-Thames, to a 
 school of about seventy boys, which was kept by Dr. Wooddeson and 
 his assistants. Every time I have since passed over Putney Common, 
 I have always noticed the spot where my mother, as we drove along in 
 the coach, admonished me that I was now going into the world, and 
 must learn to think and act for myself. The expression may appear 
 ludicrous ; yet there is not, in the course of life, a more remarkable 
 change than the removal of a child from the luxury and freedom of a 
 wealthy house, to the frugal diet and strict subordination of a school ; 
 from the tenderness of parents, and the obsequiousness of servants, to 
 the rude familiarity of his equals, the msolent tyranny of his seniors, 
 and the rod, perhaps, of a cruel and capricious pedagogue. Such 
 hardships may steel the mind and body against the injuries of fortune ; 
 but my timid reserve was astonished by the crowd and tumult of the 
 school ; the want of strength and activity disqualified me for the sports 
 of the play-field ; nor have I forgotten how often in the year forty-six 
 I was reviled and buffeted for the sins of my Tory ancestors. By the 
 common methods of discipline, at the expence of many tears and 
 some blood, I purchased the knowledge of the Latin syntax : and not 
 long since I was possessed of the dirty volumes of Phjedrus and Cor- 
 nelius Nepos, which I painfully construed and darkly understood. The 
 choice of these authors is not injudicious. The lives of Cornelius 
 Nepos, the friend of Atticus and Cicero, are composed in the style of 
 the purest age : his simplicity is elegant, his brevity copious ; he 
 exhilDits a series of men and manners ; and with such illustrations, as 
 every pedant is not indeed qualified to give, this classic biographer 
 may initiate a young student in the history of Greece and Rome. The 
 use of failles or apologues has been approved in every age from ancient 
 India to modern Europe. They convey in familiar images the truths of 
 morality and prudence ; and the most childish understanding (I advert 
 to the scruples of Rousseau) will not suppose either that beasts do 
 speak, or that men may lie. A fable represents the genuine characters 
 of animals ; and a skilful master might extract from Pliny and Buffon 
 some pleasing lessons of natural history, a science well adapted to the
 
 1 8 DEA 77/ OF MY MO THER — CHERISHED B V MY A VNT. 
 
 taste and capacity of children. Tlie Latinity of Pha^drus is not 
 exempt from an alloy of the silver age ; but his manner is concise, 
 terse, and sententious : the Thracian slave discreetly breathes the 
 spirit of a freeman ; and when the text is found, the style is per- 
 spicuous. But his fables, after a long oblivion, were first published by 
 Peter Pithou, from a corrupt manuscript. The labours of fifty editors 
 confess the defects of the copy, as well as the value of the original ; and 
 the school-boy may have been whipped for misapprehending a passage, 
 which Bentley could not restore, and which Burman could not explain. 
 
 My studies were too frequently interrupted by sickness ; and after 
 a real or nominal residence at Kingston School of near two years, I 
 was finally recalled (Dec, 1747) by my mother's death, in her thirty- 
 eighth year. I was too young to feel the importance of my loss ; and 
 the image of her person and conversation is faintly imprinted in my 
 memory. The affectionate heart of my aunt, Catherine Porten, 
 bewailed a sister and a friend ; but my poor father was inconsolable, 
 and the transport of grief seemed to threaten his life or his reason. I 
 can never forget the scene of our first interview, some weeks after the 
 fatal event ; the awful silence, the room hung with black, the mid-day 
 tapers, his sighs and tears ; his praises of my mother, a saint in 
 heaven ; his solemn adjuration that I would cherish her memory and 
 imitate her virtues ; and the fervor with which he kissed and blessed 
 me as the sole surviving pledge of their loves. The storm of passion 
 insensibly subsided into calmer melancholy. At a convivial ineeting 
 of his friends, Mr. Gibbon might affect or enjoy a gleam of cheerful- 
 ness ; but his plan of happiness was for ever destroyed : and after the 
 loss of his companion he was left alone in a world, of which the 
 business and pleasures were to him irksome or insipid. After some 
 unsuccessful trials he renounced the tumult of London and the hos- 
 pitality of Putney, and buried himself in the rural or rather rustic 
 solitude of Beriton ; from which, during several years, he seldom 
 emerged. 
 
 As far back as I can remember, the house, near Putney-bridge and 
 churchyard, of my maternal grandfather appears in the light of my 
 proper and native home. It was there that I was allowed to spend the 
 greatest part of my time, in sickness or in health, during my school 
 vacations and my parents' residence in London, and finally after my 
 mother's death. Three months after that event, in the spring of 1748, 
 the commercial ruin of her father, Mr. Janies Porten, was accom- 
 plished and declared. He suddenly absconded : but as his effects 
 were not sold, nor the house evacuated, till the Christmas following, I 
 enjoyed during the whole year the society of my aunt, without much 
 consciousness of her impending fate. I feel a melancholy pleasure in 
 repeating my obligations to that excellent woman, Mrs. Catherine 
 Porten, the true mother of my mind as well as of my health. Her 
 natural good sense was improved by the perusal of the best books in 
 the English language ; and if her reason was sometimes clouded by 
 prejudice, her sentiments were never disguised by hypocrisy or affec- 
 tation. Her indulgent tenderness, the frankness of her temper, and 
 my innate rising curiosity, soon removed all distance between us : like 
 friends of an eq'aal age, we freely conversed on every topic, familiar or
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON'. IQ 
 
 abstruse ; and it was her delight and reward to observe the first shoots 
 of my young ideas. Pain and languor were often soothed by the voice 
 of instruction and amusement ; and to her kind lessons I ascribe my 
 early and invincible love of reading, which I would not exchange for 
 the treasures of India. I should perhaps be astonished, were it pos- 
 sible to ascertain the date, at which a favourite tale was engraved, by 
 frecjuent repetition, in my memory : the Cavern of the Winds ; the 
 Palace of Felicity ; and the fatal moment, at the end of three months 
 or centuries, when Prince Adolphus is overtaken by Time, who had 
 worn out so many pair of wings in the pursuit. Before I left Kingston 
 school I was well acquainted with Pope's Homer and the Arabian 
 Nights Entertainments, two books which will always please by the 
 moving picture of human manners and specious miracles : nor was I 
 then capable of discerning that Pope's translation is a portrait endowed 
 with every merit, excepting that of likeness to the original. The verses 
 of Pope accustomed my ear to the sound of poetic harmony : in the 
 death of Hector, and the shipwreck of Ulysses, I tasted the new 
 emotions of terror and pity ; and seriously disputed with my aunt on 
 the vices and virtues of the heroes of the Trojan war. From Pope's 
 Homer to Drjden's Virgil was an easy transition ; but I know not 
 how, from some fault in the author, the translator, or the reader, the 
 pious ^neas did not so forcibly seize on my imagination ; and I 
 derived more pleasure from Ovid's Metamorphoses, especially in the 
 fall of Phaeton, and the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses. My grand- 
 father's flight unlocked the door of a tolerable library ; and I turned 
 over many English pages of poetry and romance, of history and 
 travels. Where a title attracted my eye, without fear or awe I snatched 
 the volume from the shelf ; and Mrs. Porten, who indulged herself in 
 moral and religious speculations, was more prone to encourage than to 
 check a curiosity above the strength of a boy. This year (1748), the 
 twelfth of my age, I shall note as the most propitious to the growth of 
 my intellectual stature. 
 
 The relics of my grandfather's fortune afforded a bare annuity for 
 his own maintenance ; and his daughter, my worthy aunt, who had 
 already passed her fortieth year, was left destitute. Her noble spirit 
 scorned a life of obligation and dependence ; and after revolving 
 several schemes, she preferred the humble industry of keeping a board- 
 ing-house for Westminster-school,* where she laboriously earned a 
 competence for her old age. This singular opportunity of blending the 
 advantages of private and public education decided my father. After 
 the Christmas holidays in January, 1749, I accompanied Mrs. Porten 
 to her new house in College-street ; and was immediately entered in 
 the school, of which Dr. John Nicoll was at that time head-master. 
 At first I was alone : but my aunt's resolution was praised ; her 
 character was esteemed ; her friends were numerous and active : in 
 the course of some years she became the mother of forty or fifty boys, 
 for the most part of family and fortune ; and as her primitive habita- 
 tion was too narrow, she built and occupied a spacious mansion in 
 
 • It is said In the family, that she was principally induced to this undertaking by her 
 sflcction for her nephew, whose weak constitution required her constant and unremitted 
 attention. — S.
 
 20 AM SENT TO WESTMINSTER SCHOOL — AND TO BATtJt. 
 
 Dean's Yard. I shall always be ready to join in the common opinion, 
 that our public schools, which have produced so many eminent 
 chi-.racters, are the best adapted to the genius and constitution of the 
 English people. A boy of spirit may acquire a previous and practical 
 experience of the world ; and his playfellows may be the future friends 
 of his heart or his interest. In a free intercourse with his equals, the 
 habits of truth, fortitude, and prudence will insensibly be matured. 
 Birth and riches are measured by tlie standard of personal merit ; and 
 the mimic scene of a rebellion has displayed, in their true colours, the 
 ministers and patriots of the rising generation. Our seminaries of 
 learning do not exactly correspond with the precept of a Spartan king, 
 " that the child should be instructed in the arts, which will be useful 
 to the man ; " since a finished scholar may emerge from the head of 
 Westminster or Eton, in total ignorance of the business and conversa- 
 tion of English gentlemen in the latter end of the eighteenth century. 
 But these schools may assume the merit of teaching all that they pre- 
 tend to teach, the Latin and Greek languages : they deposit in the 
 hands of a disciple the keys of two valuable chests ; nor can he com- 
 plain, if they are afterwards lost or neglected by his own fault. Thz 
 necessity of leading in equal ranks so many unequal powers of capacity 
 and application, will prolong to eight or ten years the juvenile studies, 
 which might be despatched in half that time by the skilful master of a 
 single pupil. Yet even the repetition of exercise and discipline contri- 
 butes to fix in a vacant mind the verbal science of grammar and 
 prosody : and the private or voluntary student, who possesses the sense 
 and spirit of the classics, may offend, by a false quantity, the scrupu- 
 lous ear of a well-flogged critic. For myself, I must be content with a 
 very small share of the civil and literary fruits of a public school. In 
 the space of two years (1749, 1750), interrupted by danger and debility, 
 I painfully climbed into the third form ; and my riper age was left to 
 acquire the beauties of the Latin, and the rudiments of the Greek 
 tongue. Instead of audaciously mingling in the sports, the quarrels, 
 and the connections of our little world, I was still cherished at home 
 under the maternal wing of my aunt ; and my removal from West- 
 minster long preceded the approach of manhood. 
 
 The violence and variety of my complaint, which had excused my 
 frequent absence from Westminster School, at length engaged Mrs. 
 Porten, with the advice of physicians, to conduct me to Bath : at the 
 end of the Michaelmas vacation (1750) she quitted me with reluctance, 
 and I remained several months under the care of a trusty maid-servant. 
 A strange nervous affection, which alternately contracted my legs, and 
 produced, without any visible symptoms, the most excruciating pain, 
 was ineffectually opposed by the various methods of bathing and 
 pumping. From Bath I was transported to Winchester, to the house 
 of a physician ; and after the failure of his medical skill, we had again 
 recourse to the virtues of the Bath waters. During the intervals of 
 these fits, I moved with my father to Beriton and Putney ; and a short 
 unsuccessful trial was attempted to renew my attendance at West- 
 minster School. But my infirmities could not be reconciled with the 
 hours and discipline of a public seminary ; and instead of a domestic 
 tutor, who might have watched the favourable moments, and gently
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDUARD CJBBO.W i.J 
 
 advanced the progress of my learning, my fatlicr was too easily content 
 with such occasional teachers as the diflerent places ot my residence 
 could supply. I was never forced, and seldom was I persuaded, to 
 admit these lessons : yet I read with a clergyman at Bath some odes 
 of Horace, and several episodes of Virgil, wliich gave me an impertecl 
 and transient enjoyment of the Latin poets. It might now be appre- 
 hended that 1 should continue for life an illiterate cripple ; but, as I 
 approached my sixteenth year. Nature displayed in my favour her 
 mysterious energies : my constitution was fortified and fixed ; and my 
 disorders, instead of growing with my growth and strengthening with 
 my strength, most wonderfully vanished. I have never possessed or 
 abused the insolence of health : but since that time few persons have 
 been more exempt from real or imaginary ills ; and, till I am admon- 
 ished by the gout, the reader will no more be troubled with the history 
 of my bodily complaints. My unexpected recovery again encouraged 
 the hope of my education ; and I was placed at Esher, in Surrey, in the 
 house of the Reverend Mr. Philip Francis, in a pleasant spot, which 
 promised to unite the various benefits of air, exercise, and study (Jan., 
 1752). The translator of Horace might have taught me to relish the 
 Latin poets, had not my friends discovered in a tew weeks, that he pre- 
 ferred the pleasures of London, to the instruction of his pupils. My 
 father's perplexity at this time, rather than his prudence, was urged to 
 embrace a singular and desperate measure. Without preparation or 
 delay he carried me to Oxford ; and I was matriculated in the univer- 
 sity as a gentleman commoner of Magdalen college, before I had 
 accomplished the fifteenth year of my age (April 3, 1752). 
 
 The curiosity, which had been implanted in my infant mind, wa.s 
 still alive and active ; but my reason was not sufficiently informed to 
 understand the value, or to lament the loss, of three precious years 
 from my entrance at Westm.inster to my admission at Oxford. Instead 
 of repining at my long and frequent confinement to the chamber or 
 the couch, I secretly rejoiced in those infirmities, which delivered me 
 from the exercises of the school, and the society of my equals. As 
 .often as I was tolerably exempt from danger and pain, reading, free 
 desultory reading, was the employment and comfort of my solitary 
 hours. At Westminster, my aunt sought only to amuse and indulge 
 me ; in my stations at Bath and Winchester, at Beriton and Putnej'', 
 a false compassion respected my sufferings ; and I was allowed, without 
 controul or advice, to gratify the wanderings of an unripe taste. My 
 indiscriminate appetite subsided by degrees in the Jiistoric line : and 
 since philosophy has exploded all innate ideas and natural propen- 
 sities, I must ascribe this choice to the assiduous perusal of the 
 Universal History, as the octavo volumes successively appeared. This 
 unequal work, and a treatise of Hearne, theDiw/ffr historiciis, referred 
 and introduced me to the Greek and Roman historians, to as many 
 at least as were accessible to an English reader. All that I could find 
 were greedily devoured, from Littlebury's lame Herodotus, and 
 Spelman's valuable Xenophon, to the pompous folios of Gordon's 
 Tacitus, and a ragged Procopius of the beginning of the last century. 
 The cheap acc|uisition of so much knowledge confirmed my dislike 10 
 the study of languages ; and I argued with Mrs. Porten, that, were I 
 
 C
 
 22 Jl/V COURSE OF READING IN EARLY YOUTH, 
 
 iiif)?trr of Greek and Latin, 1 must interpret to myself in English tlic 
 thoughts of the original, and that such extemporary versions must be 
 inferior to the elaborate translations of professed scholars ; a silly 
 sophism, which could not easily be confuted by a person ignorant of 
 any other language than her own. From the ancient I leaped to the 
 modern world : many crude lumps of Speed, Rapin, Mezeray, Davila, 
 Machiavel, Father Paul, Bower, &c., I devoured like so many novels ; 
 and I swallowed with the same voracious appetite the descriptions of 
 India and China, of Mexico and Peru. 
 
 My first introduction to the historic scenes, which have since engaged 
 so many years of my life, must be ascribed to an accident. In the 
 summer of 1751, I accompanied my father on a visit to Mr. Hoare's, 
 in Wiltshire ; but I was less delighted with the beauties of Stourhead, 
 than with discovering in the library a common book, the Continuation 
 of Echard's Roman History, which is indeed executed with more skill 
 and taste than the previous work. To me the reigns of the successors 
 of Constantine were absolutely new ; and I was immersed in the 
 passage of the Goths over the Danube, when the summons of the 
 dinner-bell reluctantly dragged me from my intellectual feast. This 
 transient glance served rather to irritate than to appease my curiosity ; 
 and as soon as I returned to Bath I procured the second and third 
 volumes of Howel's History of the World, which exhibit the Byzantine 
 period on a larger scale. Mahomet and his Saracens soon fixed my 
 attention; and some instinct of criticism directed me to the genuine 
 sources. Simon Ockley, an original in every sense, first opened my 
 eyes ; and I was led from one book to another, till I had ranged round 
 the circle of Oriental history. Before I was sixteen, I had exhausted 
 all that could be learned in English of the Arabs and Persians, the 
 Tartars and Turks ; and the same ardour urged me to guess at the 
 French of D'Herbelot, and to construe the barbarous Latin of Pocock's 
 Abulfaragius. Such vague and multifarious reading could not teach 
 me to think, to write, or to act ; and the only principle that darted a 
 ray of light into the indigested chaos, was an early and rational appli- 
 cation to the order of time and place. The maps of Cellarius and- 
 Wells imprinted in my mind the picture of ancient geography : fi^om 
 Stranchius I imbibed the elements of chronology : the Tables of 
 Helvicus and Anderson, the Annals of Usher and Prideaux, distin- 
 guished the connection of events, and engraved the multitude of names 
 and dates in a clear and indelible series. But in the discussion of the 
 first ages I overleaped the bounds of modesty and use. In my childish 
 balance I presumed to weigh the systems of Scaliger and Petavius, of 
 Marsham and Newton, which I could seldom study in the originals ; 
 and my sleep has been disturbed by the difficulty of reconciling the 
 Septuagint with the Hebrew computation. I arrived at Oxford with a 
 stock of erudition, that might have puzzled a doctor, and a degree of 
 ignorance, of which a school-boy would have been ashamed. 
 
 At the conclusion of this first period of my life, I am tempted to 
 enter a protest against the trite and lavish praise of the happiness of 
 our boyish years, which is echoed with so much affectation in the 
 world. That happiness I have never known, that time I have never 
 regretted ; and were my poor aunt stiU alive, she would bear testimony
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBOX. 2^ 
 
 to the early and constant uniformity of my sentiments. It will indeed 
 be replied, that /am not a competent judge ; that pleasure is incom- 
 patible with pain; that joy is excluded from sickness; and that the 
 felicity of a schoolboy consists in the perpetual motion of thoughtless 
 and playful agility, in which I was never qualified to excel. My name, 
 it is most true, could never be enrolled among the sprightly race, the 
 idle progeny oi Eton or Westminster, 
 
 "Who foremost may delight to I With pliant arm, the glassy wave, 
 cleave, 1 Or urge the flying ball." 
 
 The poet may gaily describe the short hours of recreation ; but he 
 forgets the daily tedious labours of the school, which is approached 
 each morning w^ith anxious and reluctant steps. 
 
 A traveller, who visits Oxford or Cambridge, is surprised and edified 
 by the apparent order and tranquillity that prevail in the seats of the 
 English muses. In the most celebrated universities of Holland, Ger- 
 many, and Italy, the students, who swarm from different countries, 
 are loosely dispersed in private lodgings at the houses of the burghers: 
 they dress according to their fancy and fortune ; and in the intemperate 
 quarrels of youth and wine, their s-ruords, though less frequently than 
 of old, are sometimes stained with each other's blood. The use of 
 arms is banished from our English universities; the uniform habit of 
 the academics, the square cap, and black gown, is adapted to the civil 
 and even clerical profession ; and from the doctor in divinity to the 
 under-graduate, the degrees of learning and age are externally distin- 
 guished. Instead of being scattered in a town, the students of Oxford 
 and Cambridge arc united in colleges ; their maintenance is provided 
 at their own expense, or that of the founders ; and the stated hours of 
 the hall and chapel represent the discipline of a regular, and, as it 
 were, a religious community. The eyes of the traveller are attracted 
 by the size or beauty of the public edifices ; and the principal colleges 
 appear to be so many palaces, which a liberal nation has erected and 
 endowed for the habitation of science. My own introduction to the 
 university of Oxford forms a new acra in my life ; and at the distance 
 of forty years I still remember my first emotions of surprise and satis- 
 faction. In my fifteenth year I felt myself suddenly raised from a boy 
 to a man : the persons, whom I respected as my su]3eriors in age and 
 academical rank, entertained me with every mark of attention and 
 civility ; and my vanity was flattered by the velvet cap and silk gown, 
 which distinguish a gentleman commoner from a plebeian student. A 
 decent allowance, more money than a schoolboy had ever seen, was at 
 my own disposal; and I might command, among the tradesmen of 
 Oxford, an indefinite and dangerous latitude of credit. A key was 
 delivered into my hands, which gave me the free use of a numerous and 
 learned library; my apartment consisted of three elegant and well- 
 furnished rooms in the new building, a stately pile, of Magdalen College ; 
 and the adjacent walks, had they been frequented by Plato's disciples, 
 might have been compared to the Attic shade on the banks of the 
 Ilissus. Such was the fair prospect of my entrance (April 3, 1752) into 
 the university of Oxford. 
 
 A venerable prelate, whose taste and erudition must reflect honour
 
 24 VALUE OF OXFORD ACADEMIC INSTRUCTION, 
 
 on the society in whicli they were formed, has drawn a very interesting 
 picture of his academical life. — " I was educated (says Bishop Lowth) 
 in the university of Oxford. I enjoyed all the advantages, both 
 public and private, which that famous seat of learning so largely affords. 
 I spent many years in that illustrious society, in a well-regulated course 
 of useful discipline and studies, and in the agreeable and improving 
 commerce of gentlemen and of scholars ; in a society where emulation 
 without envy, ambition without jealousy, contention without animosity, 
 incited industry, and awakened genius ; Avhere a liberal pursuit of 
 knowledge, and a genuine freedom of thought, were raised, encouraged, 
 and pushed forward by example, by commendation, and by authority. 
 I breathed the same atmosphere that the Hookers, the Chilling- 
 WORTHS, and the Lockes had breathed before ; whose benevolence 
 and humanity were as extensive as their vast genius and comprehensive 
 knowledge ; who always treated their adversaries with civility and 
 respect ; who made candour, moderation, and liberal judgment as much 
 the rule and law as the subject of their discourse. And do you reproach 
 me with my education in this place, and with my relation to this most 
 respectable body, which I shall always esteem my greatest advantage 
 and my highest honour?" I transcribe with pleasure this eloquent 
 passage, without examining what benefits or what rewards were derived 
 by Hooker, or Chillingworth, or Locke, from their academical institu- 
 tion ; without inquiring, whether in this angry controversy the spirit of 
 Lowth himself is purified from the intolerant zeal, which Warburton 
 had ascribed to the genius of the place. It may indeed be observed, 
 that the atmosphere of Oxford did not agree with Mr. Locke's consti- 
 tution; and that the philosopher justly despised the academical bigots, 
 who expelled his person and condemned his principles. The ex- 
 pression of gratitude is a virtue and a pleasure : a liberal mind will 
 delight to cherish and celebrate the memory of its parents ; and the 
 teachers of science are the parents of the mind. I applaud the fiHal 
 piety, which it is impossible for me to imitate ; since I must not confess 
 an imaginary debt, to assume the merit of a just or generous retribution. 
 To the university of Oxford / acknowledge no obligation ; and she will 
 as cheerfully renounce me for a son, as I am willing to disclaim her for 
 a mother. I spent fourteen months at IVIagdalen College ; they proved 
 the fourteen months the most idle and unprofitable of my whole life : 
 the reader will pronounce between the school and the scholar ; but I 
 cannot affect to believe that Nature had disqualified me for all literary 
 pursuits. The specious and ready excuse of my tender age, imperfect 
 preparation, and hasty departure, may doubtless be alleged ; nor do I 
 wish to defraud such excuses of their proper weight. Yet in my six- 
 teenth year I was not devoid of capacity or application ; even my 
 childish reading had displayed an early though blind propensity for 
 books ; and the shallow flood might have been taught to flow in a deep 
 channel and a clear stream. In the discipline of a well-constituted 
 academy, under the guidance of skilful and vigilant professors, I should 
 gradually have risen from translations to originals, from the Latin to 
 the Greek classics, from dead languages to living science : my hours 
 would have been occupied by useful and agreeable studies, the wan- 
 derings of fancy would have been restrained, and I should have escaped
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 2^ 
 
 the temptations of idleness, which finally precipitated my departure 
 from Oxford. 
 
 Perhaps in a separate annotation I may coolly examine the fabulous 
 and real antiquities of our sister universities, a question which has 
 kindled such fierce and foolish disputes among their fanatic sons. In 
 the meanwhile it will be acknowledged that these venerable bodies are 
 sufficiently old to partake of all the prejudices and infirmities of age. 
 The schools of Oxford and Cambridge were founded in a dark age of 
 false and barbarous science ; and they are still tainted with the vices 
 of their origin. Their primitive discipline was adapted to the education 
 of priests and monks; and the government still remains in the hands 
 of the clergy, an order of men whose manners are remote from the 
 present world, and whose eyes are dazzled by the light of philosophy. 
 The legal incorporation of these societies by the charters of popes and 
 kings had given them a monopoly of the public instruction ; and the 
 spirit of monopolists is narrow, lazy, and oppressive ; their work is more 
 costly and less productive than that of independent artists ; and the new 
 improvements so eagerly grasped by the competition of freedom, are 
 admitted with slow and sullen reluctance in those proud coi;porations, 
 above the fear of a rival, and below the confession of an error. We 
 may scarcely hope that any reformation will be a voluntary act ; and 
 so deeply are they rooted in law and prejudice, that even the omnipo- 
 tence of parliament would shrink from an inquiry into the state and 
 abuses of the two universities. 
 
 The use of academical degrees, as old as the thirteenth century, is 
 visibly borrowed from the mechanic corporations ; in which an appren- 
 tice, after serving his time, obtains a testimonial of his skill, and a 
 licence to practise his trade and mystery. It is not my design to 
 depreciate those honours, which could never gratify or disappoint my 
 ambition ; and I should applaud the institution, if the degrees of bachelor 
 or licentiate were bestowed as the reward of manly and successful study : 
 if the name and rank of doctor or master were strictly reserved for the 
 professors of science, who have approved their title to the public esteem. 
 
 In all the universities of Europe, excepting our own, the languages 
 and sciences are distributed among a numerous list of effective pro- 
 fessors : the students, according to their taste, their calling, and their 
 diligence, apply themselves to the proper masters ; and in the annual 
 repetition of public and private lectures, these masters are assiduously 
 employed. Our curiosity may inquire what number of professors has 
 been instituted at Oxford ? (for I shall now confine myself to my own 
 university ;) by whom are they appointed, and what may be the pro- 
 bable chances of merit or incapacity ; how many are stationed to the 
 three faculties, and how many are left for the liberal arts .'' what is the 
 form, and what the substance, of their lessons ? But all these ques- 
 tions are silenced by one short and singular answer, "That in the 
 university of Oxford, the greater part of the public professors have for 
 these many years given up altogether even the pretence of teaching." 
 Incredible as the fact may appear, I must rest my belief on the posi- 
 tive and impartial evidence of a master of moral and political wisdom, 
 who had himself resided at Oxford. Dr. Adam Smith assigns as the 
 cause of their indolence, that, instead of being paid by voluntary con-
 
 26 MY OPINION' OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD, 
 
 tributions, which would urge them to increase the number, and to 
 deserve the gratitude of their pujjils, the Oxford professors are secure 
 in the enjoyment of a fixed stipend, without the necessity of labour, or 
 the apprehension of controul. It has indeed been observed, nor is the 
 observation absurd, that excepting in experimental sciences, which 
 demand a costly apparatus and a dexterous hand, the many valuable 
 treatises, that have been published on every subject of learning, may 
 now supersede the ancient mode of oral instruction. Were this 
 principle true in its utmost latitude, I should only infer that the offices 
 and salaries, which are become useless, ought without delay to be 
 abolished. But there still remains a material difference between a 
 book and a professor ; the hour of the lecture enforces attendance ; 
 attention is fixed by the presence, the voice, and the occasional ques- 
 tions of the teacher ; the most idle will carry sometliing away ; and 
 the moi-e diligent will compare the instructions, which they have heard 
 in the school, with the volumes, which they peruse in their chamber. 
 The advice of a skilful professor will adapt a course of reading to 
 every mind and every situation; his authority will discover, admonish, 
 and at last chastise the negligence of his disciples ; and his vigilant 
 inciuiries will ascertain the steps of their literary progress. Whatever 
 science he professes he may illustrate in a series of discourses, com- 
 posed in the leisure of his closet, pronounced on public occasions, and 
 finally delivered to the press. I observe with jjleasure, that in the 
 university of Oxford Dr. Lowth, with equal eloquence and erudition, 
 has executed this task in his incomparable P/'alections on the Poetry 
 of the Hebrews. 
 
 The college of St. Mary Magdalen was founded in the fifteenth 
 century by Wainfleet, bishop of Winchester ; and now consists of a 
 president, forty fellows, and a number of inferior students. It is 
 esteemed one of the largest and most wealthy of our academical corpo- 
 rations, which may be compared to the Benedictine abbeys of Catholic 
 countries ; and I have loosely heard that the estates belonging to 
 Magdalen College, which are leased by those indulgent landlords at 
 small quit-rents and occasional fines, might be raised, in the hands of 
 private avarice, to an annual revenue of nearly thirty thousand pounds. 
 Our colleges arc supposed to be schools of science, as well as of educa- 
 tion ; nor is it unreasonable to expect that a body of literary men, 
 devoted to a life of celibacy, exempt from the care of their own sub- 
 sistence, and amply provided with books, should devote their leisure 
 to the prosecution of study, and that some effects of their studies 
 should be manifested to the world. The shelves of their library groan 
 under the weight of the Benedictine folios, of the editions of the fathers, 
 and the collections of the middle ages, which have issued from the 
 single abbey of St. Germain de Prez at Paris. A composition of genius 
 must be the oflspring of one mind ; but such works of industry, as may 
 be divided among many hands, and must be continued during many 
 years, are the peculiar province of a laborious community. If I inquire 
 into the manufactures of the monks of Magdalen, if I extend the 
 inquiry to tlic other colleges of Oxford and Camljridge, a silent blush, 
 or a scornful frown, will be the only reply. The iellows or monks of 
 my time were decent easy men, who supinely enjoyed the gifts of the
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 2/ 
 
 founder ; their days were filled by a series of uniform emplojTiienls ; 
 the chapel and the hall, the coffee-house and the common room, till 
 they retired, weary and well satisfied, to a long slumber. From the 
 toil of reading, or thinking, or writing, they had absolved their con- 
 science ; and the first shoots of learning and ingenuity withered on the 
 ground, without yielding any fruits to the owners or the public. As a 
 gentleman commoner, I was admitted to the society of the fellows, 
 and fondly expected that some questions of literatme would be the 
 amusing and instructive topics of their discourse. Their conversation 
 stagnated in a round of college business, Tory politics, personal anec- 
 dotes, and private scandal : their dull and deep potations excused the 
 brisk intemperance of youth ; and their constitutional toasts were not 
 expressive of the most lively loyalty for the house of Hanover. A 
 general election was now approaching : the great Oxfordshire contest 
 already blazed with all the malevolence of party-zeal. Magdalen Col- 
 lege was devoutly attached to the old interest ! and the names of 
 Wenman and Dashwood were more frequently pronounced, than those 
 of Cicero and Chrysostom. The example of the senior fellows could 
 not inspire the under-graduates with a liberal spirit or studious emula- 
 tion ; and I cannot describe, as I never knew, the discipHne of college. 
 Some duties may possibly have been imposed on the poor scholars, 
 whose ambition aspired to the peaceful honours of a fellowship {nscribi 
 
 quietis ordinibus Deortmi) ; but no independent members were 
 
 admitted below the rank of a gentleman commoner, and our velvet cap 
 was the cap of liberty. A tradition prevailed that some of our pre- 
 decessors had spoken Latin declamations in the hall ; but of this 
 ancient custom no vestige remained : the obvious methods of public 
 exercises and examinations were totally unknown ; and I have never 
 heard that either the president or the society interfered in the private 
 economy of the tutors and their pupils. 
 
 The silence of the Oxford professors, which deprives the youth of 
 public instruction, is imperfectly supplied by the tutors, as they are 
 styled, of the several colleges. Instead of confining themselves to 3 
 single science, which had satisfied the ambition of Burman or Ber- 
 noulli, they teach, or promise to teach, either history or mathematics, 
 or ancient literature, or moral philosophy ; and as it is possible that 
 they may be defective in all, it is highly probable that of some they 
 will be ignorant. They are paid, indeed, by voluntary contributions ; 
 but their appointment depends on the head of the house : their dili- 
 gence is voluntary, and will consequently be languid, while the pupils 
 themselves, or their parents, are not indulged in the liberty of choice 
 or change. The first tutor into whose hands I was resigned appears 
 to have been one of the best of the tribe : Dr. Waldegrave was a 
 learned and pious man, of a mild disposition, strict morals, and abste- 
 mious life, who seldom mingled in the politics or the jollity of the 
 college. But his knowledge of the world was confined to the univer- 
 sity ; his learning was of the last, rather than the present age ; his 
 temper was indolent ; his. faculties, which were not of the first rate, 
 had been relaxed by the climate, and he was satisfied, like his fellows, 
 with the slight and superficial discharge of an important trust. As 
 soon as my tutor had sounded the insufticiency of his pupil in school-
 
 2S A/Y U^ASTE OF TIME AND OPPORTUmTlES AT COLLEGE. 
 
 learning, he proposed that we should read every morning from ten to 
 eleven the comedies of Terence. The sum of my improvement in the 
 university of Oxford is confined to three or four Latin plays ; and even 
 the study of an elegant classic, which might have been illustrated by a 
 comparison of ancient and modern theatres, was reduced to a dry and 
 literal interpretation of the author's text. During the first weeks I 
 constantly attended these lessons in my tutor's room ; but as they 
 appeared equally devoid of profit and pleasure I was once tempted to 
 try the experiment of a formal apology. The apology was accepted 
 with a smile. I repeated the offence with less ceremony ; the excuse 
 was admitted with the same indulgence : the slightest motive of laziness 
 or indisposition, the most trifling avocation at home or abroad, was 
 allowed as a worthy impediment ; nor did my tutor appear conscious 
 of my absence or neglect. Had the hour of lecture been constantly 
 filled, a single hour was a small portion of my academic leisure. No 
 plan of study was recommended for my use ; no exercises were pre- 
 scribed for his inspection ; and, at the most precious season of youth, 
 whole days and weeks were suffered to elapse without labour or amuse- 
 ment, without advice or account. I should have listened to the voice 
 of reason and of my tutor ; his mild behaviour had gained my con- 
 fidence. I preferred his society to that of the younger students ; and 
 in our evening walks to the top of Heddington-hill, we freely conversed 
 on a variety of subjects. Since the days of Pocock and Hyde, Oriental 
 learning has always been the pride of Oxford, and I once expressed an 
 inclination to study Arabic. His prudence discouraged this childish 
 fancy ; but he neglected the fair occasion of directing the ardour of a 
 curious mind. During my absence in the summer vacation, Dr. 
 Waldegrave accepted a college living at Washington in Sussex, and on 
 my return 1 no longer found him at Oxford. From that time I have 
 lost sight of my first tutor ; but at the end of thirty years (i 781) he was 
 still alive ; and the practice of exercise and temperance had entitled 
 him to a healthy old age. 
 
 The long recess between the Trinity and Michaelmas terms empties 
 the colleges of Oxford, as well as the courts of Westminster. I spent, 
 at my father's house at Beriton in Hampshire, the two months ot 
 A-ugust and September. It is whimsical enough, that as soon as I left 
 Magdalen College, my taste for books began to revive ; but it was the 
 same blind and boyish taste for the pursuit of exotic history. Unpro- 
 vided with original learning, unformed in the habits of thinking, un- 
 skilled in the arts of composition, I resolved— to write a book. The 
 title of this first Essay, The Age of Sesostris, was perhaps suggested by 
 Voltaire's Age of Lewis XIV. which was new and popular ; but my sole 
 object was to investigate the probable date of the life and reign of the 
 conqueror of Asia. I was then enamoured of Sir John Marsham's 
 Canon Chronicus ; an elaborate work, of whose merits and defects I 
 was not yet qualified to judge. According to his specious, though 
 narrow plan, I settled my hero about the time of Solomon, in the tenth 
 century before the Christian era. It was therefore incumbent on me, 
 unless I would adopt Sir Isaac Newton's shorter chronology, to remove 
 a formidable objection ; and my solution, for a youth of fifteen, is not 
 devoid of ingenuity. In his version of the Sacred Books, Manctho the
 
 AUrOBIOGRArHIC MEMOIRS OF ED WARD GIJBBOX. 2g 
 
 high priest has identified Sethosis, or Scsostris, with the elder broll-.or 
 of Danaus, who landed in Greece, according to the Parian Marble, 
 fifteen hundred and ten years before Christ. But in my supposition the 
 high priest is guilty of a voluntary error ; flattery is the proHfic parent 
 of falsehood. Manetho's History of Egypt is dedicated to Ptolemy 
 Philadelphus, who derived a fabulous or illegitimate pedigree from the 
 Macedonian kings of the race of Hercules. Danaus is the ancestor 
 of Hercules ; and after the failure of the elder branch, his descendants, 
 the Ptolemies, are the sole representatives of the royal family, and may 
 claim by inheritance the kingdom which they hold by conquest. Such 
 were my juvenile discoveries ; at a riper age I no longer presume to 
 connect the Greek, the Jewish, and the Egyptian antiquities, which are 
 lost in a distant cloud. Nor is this the only instance, in which the 
 belief and knowledge of the child are superseded by the more rational 
 ignorance of the man. During my stay at Beriton, my infant-labour 
 was diligently prosecuted, without much interruption from company or 
 country diversions ; and I already heard the music of public applause. 
 The discovery of my own weakness was the first symptom of taste. 
 On my return to Oxford, the Age of Sesostris was wisely relinquished ; 
 but the imperfect sheets remained twenty years at the bottom of a 
 drawer, till, in a general clearance of papers (Nov., 1772,) they were 
 committed to the flames. 
 
 After the departure of Dr. Waldgrave, I was transferred, with his 
 other pupils, to his academical heir, whose literary character did not 
 
 command the respect of the college. Dr. well remembered that 
 
 he had a salary to receive, and only forgot that he had a duty to per- 
 form. Instead of guiding the studies, and watching over the behaviour 
 of his disciple, I was never summoned to attend even the ceremony 
 of a lecture ; and, excepting one voluntary visit to his rooms, during 
 the eight months of his titular office, the tutor and pupil lived in the 
 same college as strangers to each other. The want of experience, of 
 advice, and of occupation, soon betrayed me into some improprieties 
 of conduct, ill-chosen company, late hours, and inconsiderate expense. 
 My growing debts might be secret ; but my frequent absence was 
 visible and scandalous : and a tour to Bath, a visit into Buckingham- 
 shire, and four excursions to London in the same winter, were costly 
 and dangerous frolics. They were, indeed, without a meaning, as 
 without an excuse. The irksomeness of a cloistered life repeatedly 
 tempted me to wander ; but my chief pleasure was that of travelling ; 
 and I was too young and bashful to enjoy, like a Manly Oxonian in 
 Town, the pleasures of London. In all these excursions 1 eloped from 
 Oxford ; I returned to college ; in a few days I eloped again, as if I 
 had been an independent stranger in a hired lodging, without once 
 hearmg the voice of admonition, without once feeling the hand ot 
 control. Yet my time was lost, my expenses were multiplied, my be- 
 haviour abroad was unknown ; lolly as well as vice should have awa- 
 kened the attention of my superiors, and my tender years would have 
 justified a more than ordinary degree of restraint and discipline. 
 
 It might at least be expected, that an ecclesiastical school should 
 inculcate the orthodox principles of religion. But our venerable mother 
 had contrived to unite the opposite extremes of bigotry and indiffer-
 
 30 I EMBRACE THE ERRORS OF THE CHURCH OF ROME. 
 
 ence : an heretic, or unbeliever, was a monster in her eyes ; but she 
 was always, or often, or sometimes, remiss in the spiritual education of 
 her own children. According to the statutes of the university, every 
 student, before he is matriculated, must subscribe his assent to the 
 thirty-nine articles of the church of England, which are signed by more 
 than read, and read by more than believe them. My insufficient age 
 excused me, however, from the immediate performance of this legal 
 ceremony ; and the vice-chancellor directed me to return, as soon as I 
 should have accomplished my fifteenth year; recommending me, in 
 the mean while, to the instruction of my college. My college forgot to 
 instruct : 1 forgot to return, and was myself forgotten l^y the first magis- 
 trate of the university. Without a single lecture, either public or pri- 
 vate, either christian or protestant, without any academical subscription, 
 without any episcopal confirmation, I was left by the dim light of my 
 catechism to grope my way to the chapel and comnuniion-table, where 
 I was admitted, without a c^uestion, how far, or by what means, I might 
 be qualified to receive the sacrament. Such almost incredible neglect 
 was productive of the worst mischiefs. From my childhood I had been 
 fond of religious disputation : my poor aunt has been often puzzled by 
 the mysteries which she strove to believe ; nor had the clastic spring 
 been totally broken by the weight of the atmosphere of Oxford. The 
 blind activity of idleness urged me to advance without armour into the 
 dangerous mazes of controversy ; and at the age of sixteen, I bewil- 
 dered myself in the errors of the church of Rome. 
 
 The progress of my conversion may tend to illustrate, at least, the 
 history of my own mind. It was not long since Dr. Middleton's free 
 inquiry had founded an alarm in the theological world : much ink and 
 much gall had been spilt in the defence of the primitive miracles; and 
 the two dullest of their champions were crowned with academic honours 
 by the university of Oxford. The name of Middleton was unpopular ; 
 and his proscription very naturally led me to peruse his writings, and 
 those of his antagonists. His bold criticism, which approaches the 
 precipice of infidelity, produced on my mind a singular eftect ; and had 
 I persevered in the communion of Rome, I should now apply to my owu 
 fortune the prediction of the Sibyl, 
 
 Via prima salutis, 
 
 Quod minime reris, Graia, pandetur ab urbe. 
 
 The elegance of style and freedom of argument were repelled by a 
 shield of prejudice. I still revered the character, or rather the names, 
 of the saints and fathers whom Dr. Middleton exposes ; nor could he 
 destroy my implicit belief, that the gift of miraculous powers was con- 
 tinued in the church, during the first four or five centuries of Chris- 
 tianity. But I was unable to resist the weight of historical evidence, 
 that within the same period most of the leading doctrines of popery 
 were already introduced in theory and practice : nor was my conclu- 
 sion absurd, that miracles are the test of truth, and that the church 
 must be orthodox and pure, wliich was so often approved by the visiljle 
 interposition of the Deity. The marvellous tales which arc so boklly 
 attested by the Basils and Chrysostoms, the Austins and Jeroms, com- 
 pelled me to embrace the superior merits of celibacy, the institution of
 
 A UTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF ED WARD GlBnON. 3 1 
 
 the monastic life, the use of the sign of the cross, of holy oil, and even 
 of images, the invocation of saints, the worship of relics, the rudiments 
 of purgatory in prayers for the dead, and the tremendous mystery of 
 the sacrifice of the body and blood of Christ, which insensibly swelled 
 into the prodigy of transubstantiation. In these dispositions, and 
 already more than half a convert, I formed an unlucky intimacy with a 
 young gentleman of our college, whose name I shall spare. With a 
 
 character less resolute, Mr. had imbibed the same religious 
 
 opinions ; and some Popish books, I know not through what channel, 
 were conveyed into his possession. 1 read, I applauded, I believed : 
 the English translations of two famous works of Bossuet, Bishop of 
 Meaux, the Exposition of the Catholic Doctrine, and the History of the 
 I'rotestant Variations, achieved my conversion, and I surely fell by a 
 noble hand.* 1 have since examined the originals with a more discern- 
 ing eye, and shall not hesitate to pronounce, that Bossuet is indeed a 
 master of all the weapons of controversy. In the Exposition, a specious 
 apology, the orator assumes, with consummate art, the tone of candour 
 and simplicity ; and the ten-horned monster is transformed, at his 
 magic touch, into the milk-white hind, who must be loved as soon as 
 she is seen. In the History, a bold and well-aimed attack, he displays, 
 with a happy mixture of narrative and argument, the faults and follies, 
 the changes and contradictions of our first reformers ; whose variations 
 (as he dexterously contends) are the mark of historical error, while the 
 perpetual unity of the catholic church is the sign and test of infallible 
 truth. To my present feelings it seems incredible that 1 should ever 
 believe that 1 believed in transubstantiation. But my conqueror 
 oppressed me with the sacramental words, " Hoc est corpus meum," and 
 dashed against each other the figurative half-meanings of the protest- 
 ant sects : every objection was resolved into omnipotence ; and after 
 repeating at St. Mary's the Athanasian creed, I humbly acquiesced in 
 the mystery of the real presence. 
 
 " To take up half on trust, and half to try, 
 
 Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. 
 
 Both knave and fool, the merchant we may call, ") 
 
 To pay great sums, and to compound the small, > 
 
 For who would break with Heaven, and would not break for all ? " i 
 
 No sooner had I settled my new religion than 1 resolved to profess my- 
 self a catholic. Youth is sincere and impetuous ; and a momentary 
 glow of enthusiasm had raised me above all temporal considerations.f 
 By the keen prolestants, who would gladly retaliate the example of 
 persecution, a clamour is raised of the increase of popery: and they 
 are always loud to declaim against the toleration of priests and Jesuits, 
 who pervert so many of his majesty's subjects from their religion 
 and allegiance. On the present occasion, the fall of one or more of 
 her sons directed this clamour against the university : and it was con- 
 
 * Mr. Gibbon never talked with me on the subject of his conversion to popery but once : 
 and then he imputed his change to the works of Parsons the Jesuit, who hvcd in the reisn of 
 Elizabeth, and who, he said, had urged all the best arguments in favour of the Roman catholic 
 religion. S. 
 
 + He described the letter to his father, announcing his conversion, as written with all tho 
 pomp, the dignity, and self-satisfaction of a martyr. i>.
 
 32 MV FA THER DEPL ORES MY ' CONVERSION. ' 
 
 fluently afiirmed that popish missionaries were sufiered, under various 
 disguises, to introduce themselves into the colleges of Oxford. But 
 justice obliges me to declare, that, as far as relates to myself, this 
 assertion is false ; and that I never conversed with a priest, or even 
 with a papist, till my resolution from books was absolutely fixed. In 
 my last excursion to London, I addressed myself to Mr. Lewis, a 
 Roman catholic bookseller in Russell-street, Covent Garden, who 
 recommended me to a priest, of whose name and order I am at present 
 ignorant. In our first interview he soon discovered that persuasion 
 was needless. After sounding the motives and merits of my conversion, 
 he consented to admit me into the pale of the church \ and at his feet, 
 on the eighth of June 1753, I solemnly, though privately, abjured the 
 errors of heresy. The seduction of an English youth of family and 
 fortune was an act of as much danger as glory ; but he bra\'ely over- 
 looked the clanger, of which I was not then sufficiently informed. 
 " Where a person is reconciled to the see of Rome, or procures others 
 to be reconciled, the offence (says Blackstone) amounts to high 
 treason." And if the humanity of the age would prevent the execution 
 of this sanguinary statute^ there were other laws of a less odious cast, 
 which condemned the priest to perpetual imprisonment, and trans- 
 ferred the proselyte's estate to his nearest relation. An elaborate con- 
 troversial epistle, approved by my director, and addressed to my 
 father, announced and. justified the step which I had taken. My father 
 was neither a bigot nor a philosopher ; but his affection deplored the 
 loss of an only son ; and his good sense was astonished at my strange 
 departure from the religion of my country. In the first sally of passion 
 he divulged a secret which prudence might have suppressed, and the 
 gates of Magdalen College were for ever shut against my return. 
 Many years afterwards, when the name of Gibbon was become as 
 notorious as that of Middlcton, it was industriously whispered at 
 Oxford, that the historian had formerly "turned papist ;" my character 
 stood exposed to the reproach of inconstancy ; and this invidious topic 
 would have been handled without mercy by my opponents, could they 
 have separated my cause from that of the university. For my own 
 part, I am proud of an honest sacrifice of interest to conscience. I 
 can never blush, if my tender mind was entangled in the sophistry that 
 seduced the acute and manly understandings of Chillingworth and 
 Bayle, who afterwards emerged from superstition to scepticism. 
 
 While Charles the First governed England, and was himself governed 
 by a catholic queen, it cannot be denied that the missionaries of Rome 
 laboured with impunity and success in the court, the country, and even 
 the universities. One of the sheep, 
 
 Whom the grim wolf with privy paw 
 
 Daily devours apace, and nothing said, 
 
 is Mr. William Chillingworth, Master of Arts, and Fellow of Trinity 
 College, Oxford ; Avho, at the ripe age of twenty-eight years, was per- 
 suaded to elope from Oxford, to the English seminary at Douay in 
 Flanders. Some disputes with Fisher, a subtle Jesuit, might first 
 awaken him from the prejudices of education ; but he yielded to his 
 own victorious argument, " that there must be somewhere an infallible
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 33 
 
 Judge; and that the church of Rome is the only christian society which 
 either does or can pretend to that character." After a short trial of a 
 few months, Mr. Chillingworth was again tormented by religious 
 scruples : he returned home, resumed his studies, unravelled his mis- 
 takes, and delivered his mind from the yoke of authority and super- 
 stition. His new creed was built on the principle, that the Bible is our 
 sole judge, and private reason our sole interpreter : and he ably main- 
 tains this principle in the Religion of a Protestant, a book which, after 
 startling the doctors of Oxford, is still esteemed the most solid defence 
 of the Reformation. The learning, the virtue, the recent merits of the 
 author, entitled him to fair preferment : but the slave had now broken 
 his fetters ; and the more he weighed, the less was he disposed to sub- 
 scribe to the thirty-nine articles of the church of England. In a private 
 letter he declares, with all the energy of language, th.\t he could not 
 subscribe to them without subscribing to his own damnation ; and that 
 if ever he should depart from this immoveable resolution, he would 
 allow his friends to think him a madman, or an atheist. As the letter 
 is without a date, we cannot ascertain the number of weeks or months 
 that elapsed between this passionate abhorrence and the Salisbury 
 
 Register, which is still extant. "Ego Gulielmus Chillingworth, 
 
 omnibus hisce articulis, et singulis in iisdem contentis volens, et 
 
 ex animo subscribe, et conscnsum meum iisdem prtebeo. 20 die Julii 
 1638." But, alas ! the chancellor and prebendary of Sarum soon 
 deviated from his own subscription : as he more deeply scrutinized the 
 article of the Trinity, neither scripture nor the primitive fathers could 
 long uphold his orthodox belief; and he could not but confess, "that 
 the doctrine of Arius is either the truth, or at least no damnable 
 heresy." From this middle region of the air, the descent of his reason 
 would naturally rest on the firmer ground of the Socinians : and if we 
 may credit a doubtful story, and the popular opinion, his anxious 
 inquiries at last subsided in philosophic indifference. So conspicuous, 
 however, were the candour of his nature and the innocence of his heart, 
 that this apparent levity did not affect the reputation of Chillingworth. 
 His frequent changes proceeded from too nice an inquisition into 
 truth. His doubts grew out of himself; he assisted them with all the 
 strength of his reason : he was then too hard for himself; but finding 
 as little quiet and repose in those victories, he quickly recovered, by a 
 new appeal to his own judgment : so that in all his sallies and retreats, 
 he was in fact his own convert. 
 
 Bayle was the son of a Calvinist minister in a remote province cr*" 
 France, at the foot of the Pyrenees. For the benefit of education, the 
 protectants w^ere tempted to risk their children in the catholic univer- 
 sities ; and in the twenty-second year of his age, young Bayle was 
 seduced by the arts and arguments of the Jesuits of Toulouse. He 
 remained about seventeen months (Mar. 19 1669 — Aug. 19 1670) in 
 their hands, a voluntary captive : and a letter to his parents, which the 
 new convert composed or subscribed (April 15 1670), is darkly tinged 
 with the spirit of popery. But Nature had designed him to think as 
 he pleased, and to speak as he thought : his piety was offended by the 
 excessive worship of creatures ; and the study of physics convinced 
 him of the impossibility of ttansubstantiation, which is abundantly
 
 34 CHILLING IVOR TH AND BA YLE—THE EXPERIENCE^ OF. 
 
 refuted by the testimony of our senses. His return to the communion 
 of a falling sect was a bold and disinterested step, that exposed him to 
 the rigour of the laws ; and a speedy flight to Geneva protected him 
 from the resentment of his spiritual tyrants, unconscious as they were 
 of the full value of the prize, which they had lost. Had Bayle adhered 
 to the catholic church, had he embraced the ecclesiastical profession, 
 the genius and favour of such a proselyte might have aspired to wealth 
 and honours in his native country : but the hypocrite would have found 
 less happiness in the comforts of a benefice, or the dignity of a mitre, 
 than he enjoyed at Rotterdam in a private state of exile, indigence, 
 and freedom. Without a country, or a patron, or a prejudice, he 
 claimed the liberty and subsisted by the labours of his pen : the 
 inequality of his voluminous works is explained and excused by his 
 alternately writing for himself, for the booksellers, and for posterity ; 
 and if a severe critic would reduce him to a single folio, that relic, like 
 the books of the Sibyl, would become still more valuable. A calm and 
 lofty spectator of the religious tempest, the philosopher of Rotterdam 
 condemned with equal firmness the persecution of Lewis the Four- 
 teenth, and the republican maxims of the Calvinists ; their vain pro- 
 phecies, and the intolerant bigotry which sometimes vexed his solitary 
 retreat. In reviewing the controversies of the times, he turned against 
 each other the arguments of the disputants ; successively wielding the 
 arms of the catholics and protestants. he proves that neither the way 
 of authority, nor the way of examination can afford the multitude any 
 test of religious truth ; and dexterously concludes that custom and 
 education must be the sole grounds of popular belief. The ancient 
 paradox of Plutarch, that atheism is less pernicious than superstition, 
 acquires a tenfold vigor, when it is adorned with the colours of his wit, 
 and pointed with the acuteness of his logic. His critical dictionary is 
 a vast repository of facts and opinions ; and he balances the false 
 religions in his sceptical scales, till the opposite quantities (if I may 
 use the language of algebra) annihilate each other. The wonderful 
 power which he so boldly exercised, of assembling doubts and objec- 
 tions, had tempted him jocosely to assume the title of the vnpeXiiytpsra 
 'LiVQ, the cloud-compelling Jove; and in a conversation with the 
 ingenious Abbe (afterwards Cardinal) de Poiignac, he freely disclosed 
 his universal Pyrrhonism. " I am most truly (said Bayle) a protestant ; 
 for I protest indifferently against all systems and all sects." 
 
 The academical resentment, which I may possibly have provoked, 
 will prudently spare this plain narrative of my studies, or rather of my 
 idleness ; and of the unfortunate e\'ent which shortened the term of my 
 residence at Oxford. But it may be suggested, that my father was 
 unlucky in the choice of a society, and the chance of a tutor. It will 
 perhaps be asserted, that in the lapse of forty years many improvements 
 liave taken place in the college and in the university. I am not 
 unwilling to believe, that some tutors might have been found more 
 active than Dr. Waldgrave, and less contemptible than Dr. ****. 
 About the same time, and in the same walk, a Bentham was still 
 treading in the footsteps of a Burton, whose maxims he bad adopted, 
 and whose life he had published. The biographer indeed preferred 
 the school-logic to the new philosophy, Burgursdicius to Locke j and
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 35 
 
 tlie hero appears, in his own writings, a stiff and conceited pedant. 
 Yet even these men, according to the measure of their capacity, might 
 be diligent and useful ; and it is recorded of Burton, that he taught his 
 pupils what he knew ; some Latin, some Greek, some ethics and 
 metaphysics ; referring them to proper masters for the languages and 
 sciences of which he was ignorant. At a more recent period, many 
 students have been attracted by the merit and reputation of Sir William 
 Scott, then a tutor in University College, and now conspicuous in the 
 profession of the civil law : my personal acquaintance with that gentle- 
 man has inspired me with a just esteem for his abilities and knowledge ; 
 and I am assured that his lectures on history would compose, were 
 they given to the public, a most valuable treatise. Under the auspices 
 of the present Archbishop of York, Dr. Markham, himself an eminent 
 scholar, a more regular discipline has been introduced, as I am told, at 
 Christ Church;* a course of classical and philosophical studies is pro- 
 posed, and even pursued, in that numerous seminary : learning has 
 been made a duty, a pleasure, and even a fashion ; and several young 
 gentlemen do honour to the college in which they have been educated. 
 According to the will of the donor, the profit of the second part of 
 Lord Clarendon's History has been applied to the establishment of a 
 riding-school, that the polite exercises might be taught, I know not 
 with what success, in the university. The Vinerian professorship is of 
 far more serious importance ; the laws of his country are the first science 
 of an Englishman of rank and fortune, who is called to be a magistrate, 
 and may hope to be a legislator. This judicious institution was coldly 
 entertained by the graver doctors, who complained (I have heard the 
 complaint) that it would take the young people from their books : but 
 Mr. Viner's benefaction is not unprofitable, since it has at least pro- 
 duced the excellent commentaries of Sir William Blackstone. 
 
 After carrying me to Putney, to the house of his friend Mr, Mallet,t 
 
 * This was written on the information Mr. Gibbon had received, and the observation he 
 had made, previous to his late residence at Lausanne. During his last visit to England, he 
 had an opportunity of seeing at Sheffield-place some j'oung men of the college above alluded 
 to ; he had great satisfaction in conversing with them, made many inquiries respecting their 
 course of study, applauded the discipline of Christ Church, and the liberal attention shown by 
 the Dean, to those whose only recommendation was their merit. Had Mr. Gibbon lived to 
 revise this work, I am sure he would have mentioned the name of Dr. Jackson with the highest 
 commendation. There are other colleges at O.xford, with whose discipline my friend was unac- 
 quainted, to which, without doubt, he would willingly have allowed their due praise, particu- 
 larly Brazen Nose and Oriel Colleges ; the former under the care of Dr. Cleaver, bishop 
 of Chester, the latter under that of Dr. Eveleigh. It is still greatly to be wished that the 
 general expence, or rather extravagance, of young men at our English universities m.ay be 
 more effectually restrained. The expence, in which they are permitted to indulge, is incon- 
 sistent not only with a necess.ary degree of study, but with those habits of morahty which 
 .should be promoted, by all means possible, at an early period of life. An academical education 
 in England is at present an object of alarm and terror to every thinking parent of moderate 
 fortune. It is the apprehension of the expence, of the dissipation, and other evil consequences, 
 which arise from the want of proper restraint at our own universities, that forces a number of 
 our English youths to those of Scotland, and utterly excludes many from any sort of academical 
 instruction. If a charge be true, which I have heard insisted on, that the heads of our col- 
 leges in Oxford and Cambridge are vain of having under their care chiefly men of opulence, 
 who may be supposed exempt from the necessity of occonomical controul, they are indeed 
 highly censurable ; since the mischief of allowing early habits of expence and dissipation is 
 great, in various respects, even to those possessed of large property ; and the most serious evil 
 from this indulgence must happen to youths of humbler fortune, who certainly form the majority 
 of students both at Oxford and Cambridge.— S. 
 
 t Tlie author of a life of Bacon, which has been rated above its value j of some forgotten 
 poems and plays ; and of the pathetic ballad of William and Margaret.
 
 36 I AM SENT TO LA USANNE. 
 
 by whose philosophy I was rather scandalized than reclaimed, it was 
 necessary for my father to form a new plan of education, and to devise 
 some method which, if possible, might effect the cure of my spiritual 
 malady. After much debate it v/as determined, from the advice and 
 personal experience of Mr. Eliot (now Lord Eliot) to fix me, during 
 some years, at Lausanne in Switzerland. Mr. Frey, a Swiss gentleman 
 of Basil, undertook the conduct of the journey : we left London the 
 19th of June, crossed the sea from Dover to Calais, travelled post through 
 several provinces of France, by the direct road of St. Ouentin, Rheims, 
 Langres, and Besanqon, and arrived the 30th of June at Lausanne, 
 where I was immediately settled under the roof and tuition of 
 Mr. Pavilliard, a Calvinist minister. 
 
 The first marks of my father's displeasure rather astonished than 
 aftlicted me : when he threatened to banish, and disown, and disinherit 
 a rebellious son, I cherished a secret hope that he would not be able or 
 willing to effect his menaces ; and the pride of conscience encouraged 
 me to sustain the honourable and important part which I was now 
 acting. My spirits were raised and kept alive by the rapid motion of 
 my journey, the new and various scenes of the Continent, and the 
 civility of Mr. Frey, a man of sense, who was not ignorant of books or 
 the world. But after he had resigned me into Pavilliard's hands, and 
 I was fixed in my new habitation, I had leisure to contemplate the 
 strange and melancholy prospect before me. My first complaint arose 
 from my ignorance of the language. In my childhood I had once 
 studied the French grammar, and I could imperfectly understand the 
 easy prose of a familiar subject. But when I was thus suddenly cast 
 on a foreign land, I found myself deprived of the use of speech and of 
 hearing; and, during some weeks, incapable not only of enjoying the 
 pleasures of conversation, but even of asking or answering a question 
 in the common intercourse of life. To a home-bred Englishman every 
 object, every custom was offensive ; but the native of any country 
 might have been disgusted with the general aspect of his lodging and 
 entertainment. I had now exchanged my elegant apartment in Mag- 
 dalen College, for a narrow, gloomy street, the most unfrequented of 
 an unhandsome town, for an old inconvenient house, and for a small 
 chaniber ill-contrived and ill-furnished, which, on the approach of 
 Winter, instead of a companionable fire, must be warmed by the dull 
 invisible heat of a stove. From a man 1 was again degraded to the 
 dependence of a schoolboy. Mr. Pavilliard managed my expences, 
 which had been reduced to a diminutive state : I received a small 
 monthly allowance for my pocket-money ; and helpless and awkward 
 as I have ever been, I no longer enjoyed the indispensable comfort of 
 a servant. My condition seemed as destitute of hope, as it was devoid 
 of pleasure : 1 was separated for an indefinite, which appeared an 
 infinite term from my native country ; and I had lost all connexion 
 with my catholic friends. 1 have since reflected with surprise, that as 
 the Romish clergy of every part of Europe maintain a close corre- 
 spondence with each other, they never attempted, by letters or messages, 
 to rescue me from the hands of the heretics, or at least to confirm my 
 zeal and constancy in the profession of the faith. Such was my first 
 introduction to Lausanne ; a place where I spent nearly five years
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. Z7 
 
 with pleasure and profit, which I afterwards revisited without compul- 
 sion, and wliich I have finally selected as the most grateful retreat for 
 the decline of my life. 
 
 But it is the peculiar felicity of youth that the most unpleasing 
 objects and events seldom make a deep or lasting impression ; it forgets 
 the past, enjoys the present, and anticipates the future. At the flexible 
 age of sixteen 1 soon learned to endure, and gradually to adopt, the 
 new forms of arbitrary manners : the real hardships of my situation 
 were alienated by time. Had I been sent abroad in a more splendid 
 style, such as the fortune and bounty of my father might have supplied, 
 I might have returned home with the same stock of language and 
 science, which our countrymen usually import from the Continent. 
 An exile and a prisoner as I was, their example betrayed me into some 
 irregularities of wine, of play, and of idle excursions : but I soon felt 
 the impossibility of associating with them on equal terms ; and after 
 the departure of my first acquaintance, I held a cold and civil corre- 
 spondence with their successors. This seclusion from English society 
 was attended with the most solid benefits. In the Pays de Vaud, the 
 French language is used with less imperfection than in most of the 
 distant provinces of PVance : in Pavilliard's family, necessity compelled 
 me to listen and to speak ; and if I was at first disheartened by the 
 apparent slowness, in a few months I was astonished by the rapidity of 
 my progress. My pronunciation was formed by the constant repetition 
 of the same sounds; the variety of words and idioms, the rules of 
 grammar, and distinctions of genders, were impressed in my memory : 
 ease and freedom were obtained by practice ; correctness and elegance 
 by labour ; and before I was recalled home, French, in which I spon- 
 taneously thought, was more familiar than English to my ear, my 
 tongue, and my pen. The first effect of this opening knowledge was the 
 revival of my love of reading, which had been chilled at Oxford; and I 
 soon turned over, without much choice, almost all the French books in 
 my tutor's library. Even these amusements were productive of real 
 advantage: my taste and judgment were now somewhat riper. I was 
 introduced to a new mode of style and literature : by the comparison 
 of manners and opinions, my views were enlarged, my prejudices were 
 corrected, and a copious voluntary abstract of the Histoire de rEglise 
 et de r Empire J by le Sueur, may be placed in a middle line between 
 my childish and my manly studies. As soon as I was able to converse 
 with the natives, I began to feel some satisfaction in their company : 
 my awkward timidity was polished and emlioldened ; and I frequented, 
 for the first time, assemblies of men and women. The acquaintance of 
 the Pavilliards prepared me by degrees for more degant society. I was 
 received with kindness and indulgence in the best families of Lausanne ; 
 and it was in one of these that I formed an intimate and lasting 
 connection with Mr. Deyverdun, a young man of an amiable temper 
 and excellent understanding. In the arts of fencing and dancing, 
 small indeed was my proficiency ; and some months were idly wasted 
 in the riding-school. My unfitness to bodily exercise reconciled me to 
 a sedentary life, and the horse, the favourite of my countrymen, never 
 contributed to the pleasures of my youth. 
 
 My obligations to the lessons of Mr. Pavilliard, gratitude v.ill not 
 
 1)
 
 30 THE COURSE OF INSTRUCTION A T LACS ANNE. 
 
 suffer me to forget : he was endowed with a clear head and a warm 
 heart ; his innate benevolence had assuaged the spirit of the church ; 
 he was rational, because he was moderate : in the course of his studies 
 he had acquired a just though superficial knowledge of most branches 
 of literature ; by long practice, he was skilled in the arts of teaching ; 
 and he laboured with assiduous patience to know the character, gain 
 the affection, and open the mind of his English pupil.* As soon as we 
 began to imderstand each other, he gently led me, from a blind and 
 undistinguishing love of reading, into the path of instruction. I con- 
 sented with pleasure that a portion of the morning hours should be 
 consecrated to a plan of modern history and geography, and to the 
 critical perusal of the French and Latin classics ; and at each step I 
 felt myself invigorated by the habits of application and method. His 
 prudence repressed and dissembled some youthful sallies ; and as soon 
 as I was confirmed in the habits of industry and temperance, he gave 
 the reins into my own hands. His favourable report of my behaviour 
 and progress gradually obtained some latitude of action and expence ; 
 and he wished to alleviate the hardships of my lodging and entertain- 
 ment. The principles of philosophy were associated with the exam- 
 ples of taste ; and by a singular chance, the book, as well as the man, 
 Avhich contributed the most cftectually to my education, has a stronger 
 claim on my gratitude than on my admiration. Mr. De Crousaz, the 
 adversary of Bayle and Pope, is not distinguished by lively fancy or 
 profound reflection ; and even in his own country, at the end of a few 
 years, his name and writings are almost obliterated. But his philo- 
 sophy had been formed in the school of Locke, his divinity in that of 
 Limborch and Le Clerc ; in a long and laborious life, several genera- 
 tions of pupils were taught to think, and even to write ; his lessons 
 rescued the academy of Lausanne from Calvinistic prejudice ; and he 
 had the rare merit of diffusing a more liberal spirit among the clergy 
 and people of the Pays de Vaud. His system of logic, which in the 
 last editions has swelled to six tedious and prolix volumes, may be 
 praised as a clear and methodical abridgment of the art of reasoning, 
 from our simple ideas to the most complex operations of the human 
 understanding. This system I studied, and meditated, and abstracted, 
 till I have obtained the free command of an universal instrument, 
 
 * Extract of a letter frotn M. Pavilliard to Edward Gibbon esq. 
 
 A Lausanne, ce 25 Jnillet, 1753. 
 
 Monsieur de Gibbon se porte tres bien par la Grace de Dicu, et il me paroit qu'il ne se 
 trouve pas mal de notre Maison ; j'ai meme lieu de penser qu'il prend de I'attachement pour 
 moi, ce dont je suis charme et que je travaillerai a augmenter, parce qu'il aura plus de con- 
 fiance en moi, dans ce que je me propose de lui dire. 
 
 Je n'ai point encore enterpris de lui parler sur les matieres de religion, parce que je n'entens 
 pas assez la languc Angloise pour soutenir unc longue conversation en cette langue, quoiqua 
 je lise les auteurs Anglois avec assez de facilitg ; et Monsieur de Gibbon n'entend pas assez de 
 Franfois, mais il y fait beaucoup de progrfis. 
 
 Je suis fort content de la politesse et de la douceur de caractere de Monsieur votre Fils, et 
 je me flatte que je pouvrai toujours vous parler de lui avec eloge; il s applique beaucoup a la 
 lecture. 
 
 From the Same to the Saiite. A Lausanne, ce 13 Aout, I753. 
 
 Monsieur de Gibbon se porte bien par la grace de Dieu ; je I'aime, et je me suis extr6mement 
 attache a lui parce qu'il est doux et tranquille. Pour ce que regard ses sentimens, quoique 
 je ne lui aie encore rien dit la dessus, j'ai lui d'espcrer qu'il ouvrira les yeux a la verite. Je 
 le pcnse ainsi, parce qu'etant dans mon cabinet il a choisi deux livres de controverse qu'il a 
 pris dans sa chambre et qu'il les lit. II m'a charge de vous oftrir ses trOs humble respects, et 
 de vo MS <lsmander la permission de le laisser monter an manege ; cet exercise pourroit contri- 
 bucr a donner de la force a son corps, c'est I'idce qu'i' en a.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBO.Y. 39 
 
 which I soon presumed to exercise on my catholic opinions, r.williarcl 
 was not unmindful that his first task, his most important duty, was to 
 reclaim mc from the errors of popery. The intermixture of sects ha? 
 rendered the Swiss clergy acute and learned on the topics of contro- 
 versy ; and I have some of his letters in which he celebrates the dex- 
 terity of his attack, and my gradual concessions after a firm and well- 
 managed defence.* I was willing, and I am now willing, to allow him 
 a handsome share of the lionour of my conversion : yet 1 must observe, 
 that it was principally effected by my private reflections ; and I stilf 
 remember my solitary transport at the discovery of a philosophical 
 argument against the doctrine of transubstantiation : that the text of 
 scripture, which seems to inculcate the real presence, is attested only 
 by a single sense — our sight ; while the real presence itself is disproved 
 by three of our senses— the sight, the touch, and the taste. The variout 
 articles of the Romish creed disappeared like a dream ; and after a fuU 
 conviction, on -Christmas-day, 1754, I received the sacrament in th> 
 church of Lausanne. It was here that I suspended my religious inquC.. 
 ries, acquiescing with implicit belief in the tenets and mysteries, which 
 are adopted by "the general consent of catholics and protestants.f 
 
 • M. Pavilliard has described to me the astonishment with which he gazed on Mr. Gibbon 
 standing before him : a thin httle figure, with a large head, disputing and urging, with the 
 greatest ability, all the best arguments that had ever been used in favour of popery. Mr. 
 Gibbon many years ago became very fat and corpulent, but he had uncommonly small bones, 
 and was very slight made. S. 
 
 t Letter from Mr. Pavilliard /y Edward Gibbon esq. 
 Monsieur, _ June 26th, 1754, 
 
 J'espOrc que vous pardonnerez mon long silence en faveur des nouvelles qnej'ai a. vous 
 apprendre. Si j'ai tant tarde, ce n'a 6tg ni par oubli, ni par negligence, mais je croyois de 
 semaine en semaine pouvoir vous annoncer que Monsieur votre fils avoit entierement renoncS 
 aux fausse idfies qu'il avoit embrassees ; mais il a fallu disputer le terrein pie a pie, et je n'ai 
 pas trouvfi en iui nn hnmme leger, et qui passe rapidement dun sentiment a un autre. Sou- 
 vent aprfis avoir detruit toutes ses idees sur un article de maniere qu'il n'avoit rien a repliquer, 
 ce qu'il avouoit sans detour, il me disoit qu'il ne croioit pas, qu'il n'y eut rien a me repondre. 
 La dessus je n'ai pas juge qu'il fallut le pousser a bout, et extorquer de Iui un aveu que son 
 ccEur des^voueroit ; je Iui donnois alors du terns pour rcflechir ; tons mes livres etoient 9, sa 
 disposition ; je revenois a, la charge quand il m'avouoit qu'il avoit etudie la matiere aussi bien 
 qu'il I'avoit pu, et enfin j'etablissoit une verite. 
 
 Je me persuadois, que quand j'aurois detruit les prlncipales erreurs de I'eglise Romaine, je 
 n'uurois qu'a faire voir que les autres sont des consequences des premigres, et qu'elles ne 
 peuvcnt subsister quand lesfundamentales sont renversees ; mais, comme je I'ai dit, je me suis 
 trompo, il a failu traitter chaque article dans son entier. Par la grace de Dieu, je n'ai pas perdu 
 mon terns, et aujourdhui, si meme il conserve quelques rcstes de ces pernicieuses erreurs, j'ose 
 dire qu'il n'est plus membre de I'eglise Romaine ; void dans oil nous en sommes. 
 
 J'ai renverse I'infallibilite de I'eglise; j'ai prouve que jamais St. Pierre n'a ^t(5 chef des 
 api'itres : que quand il I'auroit ete, le pape n'est point son successeur ; qu'il est douteuse que St. 
 Pierre a j.imais 6\.6 a. Rome, mais, suppose qu'il y ait ete, il n'a pas ete eveque de cette ville : 
 que la transubstantiation est un invention humaine.ct peuancien ne dans I'eglise; que I'adoration 
 de I'Eucharistc et le retranchement de la coupe sont contraires a la parole de Dieu : qu'il y a des 
 saints, mais que nous ne savons pas que ils sont, et par consequent qu'on ne pent pas le prier; 
 que le respect et le culte qu'on rend aux reliques est condamnable ; qu'il n'y a point de purga- 
 toire, et que la doctrine des indulgences est fausse ; que la Careme et les jeunes du Vendredi 
 et du Samedi sont ridicules aujourdhui, et de la maniere que I'eglise Romaine lei: prescrit ; 
 que les impulations que I'eglise de Rome nous fait de varier dans notre doctrine, et d'avoir 
 pour reformatcurs des personnes dont la conduite et les mojurs ont etc en scandale, sont entiere- 
 ment fausses. 
 
 Vous comprenez bien. Monsieur, que ces articles sont d'un longue discussion, qu'il a fallu du 
 lems a Monsieur votre fils pour mediter mes raison.s et pour y chcrcher des reponses. Je Iui 
 ai demandu plusieurs fois, si mes preuves et mes raisons Iui paroissoient convainquantes ; il m'a 
 toujours assure qu'oui, de fafon que j'ose assurer, aussi comme je le Iui a dit a Iui meme, il y a 
 pen de terns qu'il n'etoit phis catholique Remain. Je me fiatte, qu'aprCs avoir obtenu la 
 victoire sur ces articles, je I'aurai sur le reste avec le secovirs de Dieu. Tellement que ja 
 compte de vous marquer dans peu que cette ouvrage est fini, je dois vous dire encore, que 
 quoiquc j'ai trouve Mr. votre fils tres ferme dans ses idees, je I'ai trouvi^ raisonnable, qu'il s'est 
 rendu il la lumifire, et qu'il n'est pas, ce qu'on appelle, chicaneur. Par raport a I'article du
 
 40 MY SELF-CULTURE, AND COURSE OF READLNG. 
 
 Such, from my arrival at Lausanne, during the first eighteen or 
 twenty months (July 1753 — March 1755), were my useful studies, the 
 foundation of all my future improvements. But every man who rises 
 above the common level has received two educations : the first from 
 his teachers ; the second, more personal and important, from himself. 
 He will not, like the fanatics of the last age, define the moment of 
 grace ; but he cannot forget the sera of his life, in which his mind 
 has expanded to its proper form and dimensions. My worthy tutor 
 had the good sense and modesty to discern how far he could be useful : 
 as soon as he felt that I advanced beyond his speed and measure, he 
 wisely left me to my genius ; and the hours of lesson were soon lost in 
 the voluntary labour of the whole morning, and sometimes of the 
 whole day. The desire of prolonging my time, gradually confirmed 
 the salutary habit of early rising, to which I have always adhered, with 
 some regard to seasons and situations ; but it is happy for my eyes 
 and my health, that my temperate ardour has never been seduced to 
 trespass on the hours of the night. During the last three years of my 
 residence at Lausanne, I may assume the merit of serious and solid 
 application ; but I am. tempted to distinguish the last eight months of 
 the year 1755, as the period of the most extraordinaiy diligence and 
 rapid progress.* In my French and Latin translations I adopted an 
 excellent method, which, from my own success, I would recommend to 
 the imitation of students. I chose some classic writer, such as Cicero 
 and Vertot, the most approved for purity and elegance of style. I 
 translated, for instance, an epistle of Cicero into French ; and after 
 throwing it aside, till the words and phrases were obliterated from my 
 memory, I re-translated my French into such Latin as I could find ; 
 and then compared each sentence of my imperfect version, with the 
 
 jeune le Vendredi et Samedi, long tems apres que je vous eus ecrit qu'il n'avoit jamais marque 
 qu'il voulut I'observer, environ le commencement du mois de Mars je m'aperfus un Vendredi 
 qu'il ne mangeoit point de viande ; je lui parlai en particulier pour en savoir laraison, craig- 
 nant que ce ne fut par indisposition ; il me repondit qu'il I'avoit fait a dessein, et qu'il avoit 
 cru etre oblige de se conformer a la pratique d'un eglise dont il etoit membre : nous parlames 
 quelques tems sur ce sujet ; il m'assura qu'il n'invisageoit cela que comme une pratique bonne 
 a la verite, et qu'il devoit suivre, quoiqu'il ne la crus pas sainte en elle meme, ni d'institution 
 divine. Je ne crus pas devoir insister pour lors, ni le forcer il agir centre ses lumieres : j'ai 
 traitte cette article qu'est certainement un des moins importans des moins fondes ; et cepen- 
 dant il m'a fallu un tems considerable pour le detromper, et pour lui faire comprendre qu'il 
 avoit tort de s'assujetlir a la pratique d'un Eglise qu'il ne reconnoissoit plus pour infaillible ; que 
 si meme cette pratique avoit eu quelque utiiite' dans son institution, cependant elle_ n'eri avoit 
 aucune en elle meme, puis qu'elle ne contribuoit en rien a la purete des mceurs ; qu'ainsi il n'y 
 avoit aucune raison, ni dans I'institution de cette pratique, ni dans la pratique en elle meme, que 
 I'autorisit a s'y soumettre : qu'aujourdhui ce n'etoit qu'une affaire d'interet, puis qu'avecdl 
 l'ar°;ent on obtennoit des dispenses pour manger gras, &c. de manier que je I'ai ramene a la 
 liberte Chretienne avec beaucoup de peine et seulement depuis quelques sc maines. Je I'ai 
 engage a vous ecrire, pour vous manifester les sentimens oil il est, et I'etat de sa sante, et 
 je crois qu'il I'a fait. 
 
 * Journal, December 1755.] — In finishing this year, I must remark how favourable it was 
 to my studies. In the space of eight months, from the beginning of April, I learnt the prin- 
 ciples of drawing ; made myself complete master of the French and Latin languages, with 
 which I was very superficially acquainted before, and wrote and translated a great deal in 
 both ; read Cicero's Epistles ad Familiares, his Brutus, all his Orations, his Dialogues de 
 Amicitia, and De Senectute; Terence, twice; and Pliny's Epistles. In French, Giannone's 
 History of Naples, and I'Abbe' Bannier's Mythology, and M. de Boehat's Memoirs sur la 
 Suisse, and wrote a very ample relation of my tour. I likewise began to study Greek, and 
 went throuf^h the Grammar. I begun to make very large coUecti^ons of what I read. But 
 what I esteem most of all, from the perusal and meditation of De Crousaz's Logic, I not only 
 tindorstood the principles of th.;t science, but formed my mind to a habit of thinking and rea« 
 Ofuiiiig I had no idea of before.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC AiEMOtRS OF EDWARD GIB BOX. 4 1 
 
 ease, the grace, the propriety of the Roman orator. A similar experi- 
 ment was made on several pages of the Revohitions of Vertot ; I turned 
 them into Latin, returned them after a sufficient interval into my own 
 French, and again scrutinized the resemblance or dissimilitude of the 
 copy and the original. By degrees I was less ashamed, by degrees I 
 was more satisfied with myself ; and I persevered in the practice of 
 these double translations, which filled several books, till I had acquired 
 the knowledge ot both idioms, and the command at least of a correct 
 style. This useful exercise of writing was accompanied and succeeded 
 by the more pleasing occupation of reading the best authors. The 
 perusal of the Roman classics was at once my exercise and reward. 
 Dr. jMiddleton's History, which I then appreciated above its true 
 value, naturally directed me to the writings of Cicero. The most per- 
 fect editions, that of Olivet, which may adorn the shelves of the rich, 
 that of Ernesti, which should lie on the table of the learned, were not 
 in my power. For the familiar epistles 1 used the text and English 
 commentary of Bishop Ross : but my general edition was that of V'cr- 
 burgius, published at Amsterdam in two large volumes in folio, with 
 an indifferent choice of various notes. I read, with application and 
 pleasure, all the epistles, all the orations, and the most important 
 treatises of rhetoric and philosophy ; and as I read, 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. I tasted the beauties of language, I breathed the spirit of free- 
 dom, and I imbibed from his precepts and examples the public and 
 private sense of a man. Cicero in Latin, and Xenophon in Greek, are 
 indeed the two ancients whom I would first propose to a liberal scholar; 
 not only for the merit of their style and sentiments, but for the admi- 
 rable lessons, which may be applied almost to every situation of public 
 and private life. Cicero's Epistles may in particular afford the models 
 of every form of correspondence, from the careless effusions of tender- 
 ness and friendship, to the well-guarded declaration of discreet and 
 dignified resentment. After finishing this great author, a library of 
 eloquence and reason, I formed a more extensive plan of reviewing the 
 Latin classics,* under the four divisions of, i. historians, 2. poets, 
 3. orators, and 4. philosophers, in a chronological series, from the days 
 of Plautus and Sallust, to the decline of the language and empire of 
 Rome : and this plan, in the last twenty-seven months of my residence 
 at Lausanne (Jan. 1756— April 1758), I nearly accomplished. Nor 
 was this review, however rapid, either hasty or superficial. I indulged 
 myself in a second and even a third perusal of Terence, Virgil, Horace, 
 Tacitus, lie, and studied to imbibe the sense and spirit most congenial 
 to my own. I never suffered a difticult or corrupt passage to escape, 
 till I had viewed it in every light of which it was susceptible : though 
 often disappointed, I always consulted the most learned or ingenious 
 commentators, Torrentius and Dacier on Horace, Catrou and Servius 
 on Virgil, Lipsius on Tacitus, Meziriac on Ovid, &c. ; and in the 
 ardour of my inquiries, I embraced a large circle of historical and 
 
 * Journal, Jan. 1756.] — ! determined to read over the Latin authors in order ; and read 
 ihis year, Virgil, Sallust, I^ivy, Velleius Paterculus, Valerius Maximus, Tacitus, Suetonius, 
 Quicitus Curtius, Justin, Florus, I'lautus, Terence, and Lucretius. I also read and raeditate<i 
 tocke upon the Understanding.
 
 42 GIVE MY TIME TO THE CLASSICS, AND MATHEMATICS, . 
 
 critical erudition. My abstracts of each boolc were made in the French , 
 language : my observations often branched into particular essays ; and l 
 I can still read, without contempt, a dissertation of eight folio pages on { 
 eight lines (287—294) of the fourth Georgic of Virgil. Mr. Deyverdun, : 
 my friend, whose name will be frequently I'epeated, had joined with 
 equal zeal, though not with equal perseverance, in the same under- ■ 
 taking. To him every thought, every composition, was instantly com- 
 municated ; with him I enjoyed the benefits of a free conversation on i 
 'ihe topics of our common studies. \ 
 
 But it is scarcely possible for a mind endowed with any active 
 curiosity to be long conversant with the Latin classics, without aspiring ' 
 to know the Greek originals, whom they celebrate as their masters, and 
 of whom they so warmly recommend the study and imitation ; 
 
 Vos exemplaria Gra^ca 
 
 Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna. 
 
 It was now that I regretted the early years which had been wasted 
 in sickness or idleness, or mere idle reading ; that I condemned the 
 perverse method of our schoolmasters, who, by first teaching the i 
 mother-language, might descend with so much ease and perspicuity to 1 
 the origin and etymology of a derivative idiom. In the nineteenth j 
 year of my age I determined to supply this defect ; and the lessons of ' 
 Pavilliard again contributed to smooth the entrance of the way, the 
 Greek alphabet, the grammar, and the pronunciation according to the 
 French accent. At my earnest request we presumed to open the 
 Iliad ; and I had the pleasure of beholding, though darkly and through 
 a glass, the tru^; image of Homer, whom I had long since admired in 
 an English dress. After my tutor had left me to myself, I worked my 
 way through about half the Iliad, and afterwards interpreted alone a 
 large portion of Xenophon and Herodotus. But my ardour, 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. Yet in my residence at Lausanne 
 I had laid a solid foundation, which enabled me, in a more propitious 
 season, to prosecute the study of Grecian literature. 
 
 From a blind idea of the usefulness of such abstract science, my j 
 father had been desirous, and even pressing, that I should devote '• 
 some time to the mathematics ;* nor could I refuse to comply witli so 
 reasonable a wish. During two winters I attended the private lectures i 
 of Monsieur de Traytorrens, who explained the elements of algebra 1 
 and geometry, as far as the conic sections of the Marquis de I'Hopital, 1 
 
 • Extract of a Letter from M. Pavilliakd to Edward Gibbon esq. 
 
 Monsieur, January i2lh, Tji"]. \ 
 
 Vous avez souhaitte que Monsieur votre fils s'appliqualt a I'algebre; le gout qu'il a pour les j 
 
 belles lettres lui faisoit apprehendre que I'algebre ne nuissit a ses etudes favorites : je lui ai , 
 
 persuade qu'il ne se faisoit pas une juste idee de cette partie des mathematiques ; I'obeissance ; 
 
 qu il vous dois, jointe a. mes raisons, I'ont determine a en faire un cours. Je ne croiois pas ' 
 
 qu'avec cette repugnance il y fit de grand progres : je me suis trompd : il fait bicn tout ce | 
 
 qu'il fait ; il est exact a ses lejons, il s'applique a lire avant sa Icyon, ctil repasse avec soin, de , 
 
 maniere qu'il avance bcaucoup, et plus que je ne me serois atlendu : il est charme d'avoir ' 
 
 commence, et je pcnse qu'il fera un petit cours de geometric, ce que en tout ne lui prendra que ■ 
 
 sept a huit mois. Pendant qu'il fait ses lefons, ilne s'est point rclaclie sur ses autres etudes: \ 
 il avance beaucoup dans le Grec, et il a presque lu la nioicte de I'lliade d'Homere; je lui fait 
 
 reguliercment des lefons sur cot auteur : il a aussi fini les Historieiis Latins ; il en est a present ; 
 
 auxPoetes; et il a lu cntieremeat Plaute et Terence, et bieutOtil aura tiui Lucrece. Au reste, 1
 
 AUTOBIOGkAPHiC MEMOIRS OP EDWARD GIBBON. 43 
 
 and appeared satisfied with iny diligence and improvement.* But as 
 my childish propensity for numbers and calculations was totally 
 extinct, 1 was content to receive the passive impression of my Pro- 
 fessor's lectures, without any active exercise of my own powers. As 
 soon as I understood the principles, I relinquished for ever the pursuit 
 of the mathematics ; nor can I lament that I desisted, before my mind 
 was hardened by the habit of rigid demonstration, so destructive of the 
 finer feelings of moral evidence, wliicli must, however, determine the 
 actions and opinions of our lives. I listened with more pleasure to 
 the proposal of studying the law of nature and nations, which was 
 taught in the academy of Lausanne by Mr. Vicat, a professor of some 
 learning and reputation. But instead of attending his public or 
 private course, I preferred in my closet the lessons of his masters, and 
 my own reason. Without being disgusted by Grotius or Puffendorf, I 
 studied in their writings the duties of a man, the rights of a citizen, the 
 theory of justice (it is, alas ! a theory), and the laws of peace and war, 
 which have had some influence on the practice of modern Europe. 
 My fatigues were alleviated by the good sense of their commentator 
 Barbeyrac. Locke's Treatise of Go\ernment instructed me in the 
 knowledge of Whig principles, which are rather founded in reason 
 than experience ; but my delight was in the frequent perusal of Mon- 
 tesquieu, whose energy of style, and boldness of hypothesis, were power- 
 ful to awaken and stimulate the genius of the age. The logic of De 
 Crousaz had prepared me to engage with his master Locke and his 
 antagonist Bayle ; of whom the former may be used as a bridle, and 
 the latter applied as a spur, to the curiosity of a young philosopher. 
 According to the nature of their respective works, the schools of argu- 
 ment and objection, I carefully went through the Essay on Human 
 Understanding, and occasionally consulted the most interesting arti- 
 cles of the Philosophic Dictionary. In the infancy of my reason I 
 
 il ne lit pas ces auteurs a la legere, il veut s'eclaircir sur tout ; de fagon, qu'avec le genie qu'il 
 a, I'excellenle memoire et I'application, il ira loin dans les sciences. 
 
 J'ai eu I'honneur de vous dire ci-devant, que malgre ses etudes il voioit coinpagnie ; je puis 
 vous le dire encore aujourdhui. 
 
 From the Same to the Same. 
 Monsieur, Jan. 14th, 1753. 
 
 J'ai eu riionneur de vous ecrire le 27 Juillet et le 26 &"' passe?, et je vous ai rendu compte 
 de la sante, des etudes, et de la conduite de Monsieur votre fils. Je n'ai rien a ajouter a tout 
 ce que je vous en ai dit : il se porte parfaitement bien par la grace de Dieu : il continue a 
 ctudier avcc application, ct je puis vous assurer qu'il fait de progres considerable dans les 
 etudes, et il se fait extremement estimer par tons ceux qui les connoissent, et j'espere que quand 
 il vous montrera en detail ce qu'il fait, vous en serez trcs content. Les Belles Lettres que sont 
 son etude favorite ne I'occupent pas entierement ; il continue les mathematiques, et son pro- 
 fesseur m'assure qu'il n'a jamais vu personne avancer autant que lui, ni avoir plus d'.ardeur et 
 d'application qu'il en a. Son genie heureux ct penetrant est seconde par un memoire de plus 
 hcurcuse, tcllement qu'il u'cublie presque rien de ce qu'il apprend. Je n'ai pas moins lieu d'etre 
 content de sa conduite; quoiqu'il etude beaucoup, il voit cependant compagnie, mais il ne voit 
 que des personnes dont le commerce pent lui etre utile. 
 
 * Journal, January 17S7.] — I began to study algebra under M. de Traytorrens, went through 
 the elements of algebra and geometry, and the three first books of the Marquis de THopital's 
 Conic Sections. I alno read Tibullus, Catullus, Propertius, Horace, (with Dacicr's and Tor- 
 rentius's Notes,) Virgil, Ovid's Epistles, with Alcziriac's Commentary, the Ars Amandi, atid 
 the Elegies ; likewise the Augustus and Tiberius of Suetonius, and a Latin translation of Dion 
 Cassius, from the death of Julius Cjesar to the death of Augustus. I also continued my cor- 
 respondence begun last year with M. AUemand of Bex, and the Professor Breitinger of 
 Zurich ; and opened a new one with the Professor Gesner of Gottingen. 
 
 N.B. Last year and this, 1 read St. John's Gospel, with part of Xenophon's Cyropoedia ; the 
 Iliad, and Herodotus ; but upon the whole, I rather neglected my Greek.
 
 44 OUTLINE OF ONE MONTH'S TOUR IN SWITZERLAND. 
 
 turned over, as an idle amusement, the most serious and important 
 treatise : in its maturity, the most trilhng performance could exercise 
 my taste or judgment, and more than once I have been led by a novel 
 into a deep and instructive train of thinking. .But I cannot forbear to 
 mention three particular books, since they may have remotely contri- 
 buted to form the historian of the Roman empire. I. From the Pro- 
 vincial Letters of Pascal, which almost every year I have perused with 
 new pleasure, I learned to manage the weapon of grave and temperate 
 irony, even on subjects of ecclesiastical solemnity. 2. The Life of 
 Juhan, by the Abbe de la Bleterie, first introduced me to the man and 
 the times ; and I should be glad to recover my first essay on the truth 
 of the miracle which stopped the rebuilding of the Temple of Jeru- 
 salem. 3. In Giannone's Civil History of Naples I observed with a 
 critical eye the progress and abuse of sacerdotal power, and the revo- 
 lutions of Italy in the darker ages. This various reading, which I 
 now conducted with discretion, was digested, according to the precept 
 and model of Mr. Locke, into a large common-place book ; a practice, 
 however, which I do not strenuously recommend. The action of the 
 pen will doubtless imprint an idea on the niind as well as on the 
 paper : but I much question whether the benefits of this laborious 
 method are adequate to the waste of time ; and I must agree with Dr, 
 Johnson, (Idler, No. 74.) "that what is twice read, is commonly better 
 remembered, than what is transcribed." 
 
 During two years, if I forget some boyish excursions of a day or a 
 week, I was fixed at I-ausanne ; but at the end of the third summer, 
 my father consented that I should make the tour of Switzerland with 
 Pavilliard : and our short absence of one month (Sept. 21st — Oct. 20th, 
 1755) '^^'is ^ reward and relaxation of my assiduous studies.* The 
 fashion of climbing the mountains and reviewing the Glaciers^ had not 
 yet been introduced by foreign travellers, who seek the sublime beauties 
 of nature. But the political face of the country is not less diversified 
 
 * From Edward Gibbon to'M'RS,. Porten. ****** Now for myself. As my 
 fathei has given me leave to make a journey round Switzerland, we set out to-morrow. Buy 
 a map of Switzerland, it will cost you but a shilling, and follow me. I go by Iverdun, Neuf- 
 chatel, Bienne or Biel, .Soleurre or Solothurn, Bale or Basil, Bade, Zurich, Lucerne, and 
 Berne. The voyage will be of about four weeks; so that Ihofetojlndalettcrfroiiiyou 
 waiting /or me. As my father had given me leave to learn what I had a mind, I have learned 
 to ride, and learn actually to dance and draw. Besides that, I often give ten or twelve hours 
 a day to my studies. I find a great many agreeable people here ; see them sometimes, and 
 can say upon the whole, without vanity, that though I am the Englishman here who spends 
 the least money, 1 am he who is the most generally liked. I told you that my father had 
 promised to send me into France and Italy. I have thanked him for it ; but if he would 
 follow my plan, he won't do it yet a while. I never liked young travellers : they go too raw 
 to make any great remarks, and they lose a time which is (in my opinion) the most precious 
 part of a man's life. My scheme would be, to spend this winter at Lausanne : for thougli it is 
 a very good place to acquire the air of good company and the French tongue, we have no good 
 professors. To spend (I say) the winter at Lausanne ; go into England to see my friends a 
 couple of months, and after that, finish my studies, either at Cambridge (for after what has 
 passed one cannot think of O.xford), or at an university in Holland. If you liked the scheme, 
 could you not i>7'opose it to my father by Metcalf, or somebody who has a certain credit ovt-r 
 him ? I forgot to ask you whether, in case my father writes to tell me of his marriage, would 
 you advise me to compliment my mother-in-law ? I think so. My health is so very regular, 
 that I have nothing to say about it. 
 
 I have been the whole day writing you this letter ; the preparations for our voy.age gave me 
 a thousand interruptions. Besides that, 1 was obliged to write in English. This last reason 
 will seem a paradox, but I assure you the French is much more familiar to me. I am, 8^c. 
 
 £. Gibbon. 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. 20, 17=6.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 45 
 
 by the forms and spirit of so many various republics, from the jealous 
 government of theyt'w to the licentious freedom of the 7iiany. I con- 
 templated with pleasure the new prospects of men and manners; though 
 my conversation with the natives would have been more free and in- 
 structive, had I possessed the German, as well as the French language. 
 We passed through most of the principal towns of Switzerland ; Neuf- 
 chatel, Bienne, Soleurre, Arau, Baden, Zurich, Basil, and Berne. In 
 every place we visited the churches, arsenals, libraries, and all the most 
 eminent persons ; and after my return, I digested my notes in fourteen 
 or tifteen sheets of a French journal, which I dispatched to my father, 
 as a proof that my time and his money had not been mis-spent. Had 
 I found this journal among his papers, I might be tempted to select 
 some passages ; but I will not transcribe the printed accounts, and it 
 may be sufticient to notice a remarkable spot, which left a deep and 
 lasting impression on my memory. From Zurich we proceeded to the 
 Benedictine Abbey of Einfidlen, more commonly styled Our Lady of 
 the Hermits. I was astonished by the profuse ostentation of riches 
 in the poorest corner of Europe ; amidst a savage scene of woods and 
 mountains, a palace appears to have been erected by magic ; and it 
 was erected by the potent magic of religion. A crowd of palmers and 
 votaries was prostrate before the altar. The title and worship of the 
 Mother of God provoked my indignation ; and the lively flaked image 
 of superstition suggested to me, as in the same place it had done to 
 Zuinglius, the most pressing argument for the reformation of the churcli. 
 About two years after this tour, I passed at Geneva a useful and agreeable 
 month ; but this excursion, and short visits in the Pays de Vaud, 
 did not materially interrupt my studious and sedentary life at Lausanne. 
 My thirst of improvement, and the languid state of science at 
 Lausanne, soon prompted me to solicit a literary correspondence with 
 several men of learning, whom I had not an opportunity of personally 
 consulting, i. In the perusal of Livy, (xxx. 44,) I had been stopped 
 by a sentence in a speech of Hannibal, which cannot be reconciled by 
 any torture with his character or argument. The commentators dis- 
 semble, or confess their perplexity. It occurred to me, that the change 
 of a single letter, by substituting otio instead of odio, might restore a 
 clear and consistent sense ; but I wished to weigh my emendation in 
 scales less partial than my own. I addressed myself to M. Crevier, the 
 successor of Rollin, and a professor in the university of Paris, who had 
 published a large and valuable edition of Livy. His answer was speedy 
 and polite ; he praised my ingenuity, and adopted my conjecture. 2. I 
 maintained a Latin correspondence, at first anonymous, and afterwards 
 in my own name, with Professor Breitinger of Zurich, the learned editor 
 of a Septuagint Bil)le. In our frequent letters we discussed many 
 questions of anticjuity, many passages of the Latin classics. I pro- 
 posed my interpretations and amendments. His censures, for he did 
 not spare my boldness of conjecture, were sharp and strong ; and I 
 was encouraged by the consciousness of my strength, when I could 
 stand in free debate against a critic of such eminence and erudition. 
 3. I corresponded on similar topics with the celebrated Professor 
 Matthew Gesner, of the university of Gottingen ; and he accepted, as 
 courteously as the two former, the invitation of an unknown youth.
 
 45 MY ACQUAINTANCE WITH ALLAMAND AND VOLTAIRE. 
 
 But his abilities might possibly be decayed ; his elaborate letters were 
 feeble and prolix ; and when I asked his proper direction, the vain old 
 man covered half a sheet of paper with the foolish enumeration of his 
 titles and offices. 4. These Professors of Paris, Zurich, and Gottingen, 
 were strangers, whom I presumed to address on the credit of their 
 name ; but iVIr. Allamand, Minister at Bex, was my personal friend, 
 with whom I maintained a more free and interesting correspondence. 
 He was a master of language, of science, and, above all, of dispute ; 
 and his acute and flexible logic could support, with equal address, and 
 perhaps with equal indifference, the adverse sides of every possible 
 question. His spirit was active, but his pen had been indolent. Mr. 
 Allamand had exposed himself to much scandal and reproach, by an 
 anonymous letter (1745) to the Protestants of France; in which he 
 labours to persuade them XhdX public worship is the exclusive right and 
 duty of the state, and that their numerous assemblies of dissenters and 
 rebels were not authorized by the law or the gospel. His style is ani- 
 mated, his arguments specious ; and if the papist may seem to lurk 
 under the mask of a protestant, the philosopher is concealed under the 
 disguise of a papist. After some trials in France and Holland, which 
 were defeated by his fortune or his character, a genius that might have 
 enlightened or deluded the woi'ld, was buried in a country living, un- 
 known to fame, and discontented with mankind. Est sacrificidus in 
 pcigo, ct riisiicos dccipit. As often as private or ecclesiastical business 
 called him to Lausanne, I enjoyed the pleasure and benefit of his con- 
 versation, and we were mutually flattered by our attention to each other. 
 Our correspondence, in his absence, chiefly turned on Locke's meta- 
 physics, which he attacked, and I defended ; the origin of ideas, the 
 principles of evidence, and the doctrine of liberty ; 
 
 And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. 
 
 By fencing with so skilful a master, I acquired some dexterity in the 
 use of my philosophic weapons ; but I was still the slave of education 
 and prejudice. He had some measures to keep ; and I much suspect 
 that he never showed me the true colours of his secret scepticism. 
 
 Before I was recalled from Switzerland, I had the satisfaction of 
 seeing the most extraordinary man of the age ; a poet, an historian, a 
 philosopher, who has filled thirty quartos, of prose and verse, with his 
 various productions, often excellent, and always entertaining. Need I 
 add the name of Voltaire ? After forfeiting, by his own misconduct, 
 the friendship of the first of kings, he retired, at the age of sixty, with 
 a plentiful fortune, to a free and beautiful country, and resided two 
 winters (1757 and 1758) in the town or neighbourhood of Lausanne. 
 My desire of beholding Voltaire, whom I then rated above his real 
 magnitude, was easily gratified. He received me with civility as an 
 English youth ; but I cannot boast of any pecuhar notice or distinction, 
 Viro;ilinm vidi tantum. 
 
 The ode which he composed on his first arrival on the banks of the 
 Leman Lake, O Maison d'Aristippe ! O yardin d'Epia/rc, cir^r. had 
 been imparted as a secret to the gentleman by whom I was introduced. 
 He allowed mc to read it twice ; I knew it by heart ; and as my dis- 
 cretion was not equal to my memory, the author w as soon displeased
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 47 
 
 by the circulation of a copy. In writing this trivial anecdote, I wished 
 to observe whether my memory was impaired, and 1 have the comfort 
 of finding that e\ery line of the poem is still engraved in fresh and in- 
 delible characters. The highest gratification which I derived from 
 Voltaire's residence at Lausanne, was the uncommon circumstance of 
 hearing a great poet declaim his own productions on the stage. He 
 had formed a company of gentlemen and ladies, some of whom were 
 not destitute of talents. A decent theatre was framed at Monrepos, a 
 country-house at the end of a suburb ; dresses and scenes were pro- 
 vided at the expense of the actors ; and the author directed the re- 
 hearsals with the zeal and attention of paternal love. In two successi\c 
 winters his tragedies of Zayre, Alzire, Zulime, and his sentimental 
 comedy of the Enfant Prodigue, were played at the theatre of Mon- 
 repos. Voltaire represented the characters best adapted to his years, 
 Lusignan, Alvarez, Benassar, Euphcmon. His declamation was 
 fashioned to the pomp and cadence of the old stage ; and he expressed 
 the enthusiasm of poetry, rather than the feelings of nature. My 
 ardour, which soon became conspicuous, seldom failed of procuring 
 me a ticket. The habits of pleasure fortified my taste for the French 
 theatre, and that taste has perhaps abated my idolatry for the gigantic 
 genius of Shakespeare, which is inculcated from our infancy as the 
 first duty of an Englishman. The wit and philosophy of Voltaire, his 
 table and theatre, 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 representation of Monrepos 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 con- 
 versation, either in private parties or numerous assemblies. 
 
 1 hesitate, from the apprehension of ridicule, when I approach the 
 delicate subject of my early love. By this word I do not mean the 
 polite attention, the gallantry, without hope or design, which has 
 originated in the spirit of chivalry, and is interwoven with the texture 
 of French manners. I understand by this passion the union of desire, 
 friendship, and tenderness, which is inflamed by a single female, which 
 prefers her to the rest of her sex, and which seeks her possession as 
 the supreme or the sole happiness of our being. I need not blush at 
 recollecting the object of my choice ; and though my love was disap- 
 pointed of success, I am rather proud that I was once capable oi 
 feeling such a pure and exalted sentiment. The personal attractions 
 of Mademoiselle Susan Curchod were embellished by the virtues and 
 talents of the mind. Her fortune was humble, but her family was 
 respectable. Her mother, a native of France, had preferred her 
 religion to her country. The profession of her father did not extinguish 
 the moderation and philosophy of his temper, and he lived content 
 with a small salary and laborious duty, in the obscure lot of minister 
 of Grassy, in the mountains that separate the Pays de Vaud from the 
 county of Burgundy.* In the solitude of a sequestered village he 
 
 * E-xtttiils froin the ycH>iial. — 'i\AX(^\ 1757. — I wrote some critical observations upon 
 Plautus. March 8. — I wrote a long dissertation on some lines of Virgil. June.— I saw 
 Mademoiselle Curchod - t^;««/(Z vincit amor, ct nos cedaiitus aiiiori. August.— I went to 
 brassy, and staid two days. Sept, ij.— I went to Geneva, Oct. 15. — I came back to
 
 48 MY LOVE FOR MISS CURCHOD DEFEATED. 
 
 bestowed a liberal, and even learned, education on his only daughter. 
 She surpassed his hopes by her proficiency in the sciences and lan- 
 guages ; and in her short visits to some relations at Lausanne, the 
 wit, the beauty, and erudition of Mademoiselle Curchod were the 
 theme of universal applause. The report of such a prodigy awakened 
 my curiosity ; I saw and loved. I found her learned without pedantry, 
 lively in conversation, pure in sentiment, and elegant in manners ; and 
 the first sudden emotion was fortified by the habits and knowledge of 
 a more familiar acquaintance. She permitted me to make her two or 
 three visits at her father's house. I passed some happy days there, 
 in the mountains of Burgundy, and her parents honourably encouraged 
 the connection. In a calm retirement the gay vanity of youth no 
 longer fluttered in her bosom ; she listened to the voice of truth and 
 passion, and I might presume to hope that I had made some impres- 
 sion on a virtuous heart. At Crassy and Lausanne I indulged my 
 dream of felicity : but on my return to England, 1 soon discovered 
 that my father would not hear of this strange alliance, and that 
 without his consent I was myself destitute and helpless. After a 
 painful struggle I yielded to my fate : I sighed as a lover, I obeyed as 
 a son * ; my wound was insensibly healed by time, absence, and the 
 habits of a new life. My cure was accelerated by a faithful report of 
 the tranciuillity and cheerfulness of the lady herself, and my love sub- 
 sided in friendship and esteem. The minister of Crassy soon after- 
 wards died ; his stipend died with him : his daughter retired to Geneva, 
 where, by teaching young ladies, she earned a hard subsistence for her- 
 self and her mother ; but in her lowest distress she maintained a spot- 
 less reputation, and a dignified behaviour. A rich banker of Paris, a 
 citizen of Geneva, had the good fortune and good sense to discover 
 and possess this inestimable treasure ; and in the capital of taste and 
 luxury she resisted the temptations of wealth, as she had sustained the 
 hardships of indigence. The genius of her husband has exalted him 
 to the most conspicuous station in Europe. In every change of pros- 
 perity and disgrace he has reclined on the bosom of a faithful friend ; 
 and Mademoiselle Curchod is now the wife of M. Necker, the minister, 
 and perhaps the legislator, of the French monarchy. 
 
 Whatsoever have been the fruits of my education, they must be 
 ascribed to the fortunate banishment which placed me at Lausanne. 
 I have sometimes applied to my own fate the verses of Pindar, which 
 remind an Olympic champion that his victory was the consequence of 
 his exile ; and that at home, like a domestic fowl, his days might have 
 rolled away inactive or inglorious. 
 
 T.ausanne, having passed through Crassy. Nov. i. — I went to visit M. de Wattevillc at 
 l.oin, and saw Mademoiselle Curchod in my way through Rolle. Nov. 17.— I went to 
 Crassy, and staid there six days. Jan. 1758.— In tlie three first months of this year I read 
 Ovid's Metamorphoses, finished the conic sections witli M. de 'I'raytorrens, and went as far 
 as the infinite series ; I likewise read Sir Isaac Newton's Chronology, and wrote my critical 
 observations upon it. Jan. 23. — I saw Alzire acted by the society at Monrepos. Voltaire 
 acted Alvarcs ; D'Hermanches, Zamore ; de St. Cierge, Cusman ; M. de Gentil, Monteze ; 
 and Madame Dcnys, Alzire. 
 
 * See Oeuvres de Rousseau, torn. xx.\iii. p, SS, Sg. octavo edition. As an author I shall 
 not appeal from the judgment, or taste, or caprice of ycrt« Jaqiies: but that extraordinary 
 man, whom I admire and pity, should have been less precipitate in condemning the moral 
 character and conduct of a stranger.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 49 
 
 ?/roi Kai ria Kev, 
 'Ki'?o/[ifix«C ''''' aXiicruip, 
 J^iiyyoj'UJ Trap' idrm 
 'A(c\f>}c Tifia Karf(l)v\\opu)]<Jt TrociiV 
 V.t jAi'i UTaaiQ avTuh'upa 
 Ki'iouliig ajitpm Trdrpac.* 
 
 Oh'n^p- xii. 
 
 * Thus, like the crested bird of Mars, at hon.e 
 Engag'd in foul domestic jars, 
 And wasted with intestine wars, 
 
 Inglorious hadst thouspentthy vig'rousblooin; 
 Had not sedition's civil broils 
 Expell'd thee from thy native Crete, 
 And driv'n thee with more glorious toils 
 
 Th' Olympic crowti in Pisa's plain to meet. 
 West's Pindar. 
 
 If my childish revolt against the religion of my country had not 
 stripped me in time of my academic gown, the five important years, 
 so liberally improved in the studies and conversation of Lausanne, 
 would have been steeped in port and prejudice among the monks of 
 Oxford. Had the fatigue of idleness compelled me to read, the path 
 of learning would not have been enlightened by a ray of philosophic 
 freedom. I should have grown to manhood ignorant cf the life and 
 language of Europe, and my knowledge of the world would have been 
 contincd to an English cloister. But my religious error fixed me at 
 Lausanne, in a state of banishment and disgrace. The rigid course of 
 discipline and abstinence, to which I was condemned, invigorated the 
 constitution of my mind and body; poverty and pride estranged me 
 from my countrymen. One mischief, however, and in their eyes a 
 serious and irreparable mischief, was derived from the success of my 
 Swiss education ; I had ceased to be an Englishman. At the flexible 
 period of youth, from the age of sixteen to twenty-one, my opinions, 
 habits, and sentiments were cast in a foreign mould ; the faint and 
 distant remembrance of England was almost obliterated ; my native 
 language was grown less familiar ; and I should have cheerfully 
 accepted the offer of a moderate independence on the terms of perpetual 
 exile. By the good sense and temper of Pavilliard my yoke was 
 insensibly lightened : he left me master of my time and actions ; but 
 he could neither change my situation, nor increase my allowance, and 
 with the progress of my years and reason I impatiently sighed for the 
 moment of my deliverance. At length, in the spring of the year 1758, 
 my father signified his permission and his pleasure that I should 
 immediately return home. We were then in the midst of a war : the 
 resentment of the French at our taking their ships without a declara- 
 tion, had rendered that polite nation somewhat peevish and difficult. 
 They denied a passage to English travellers, and the road through 
 Germany was circuitous, toilsome, and perhaps in the neighbourhood 
 of the armies, exposed to some danger. In this perplexity, two Swiss 
 oHicers of my acquaintance in the Dutch service, who were returning 
 to their garrisons, offered to conduct me through France as one of 
 their companions; nor did we sufficiently reflect that my borrowed 
 name and regimentals might have been considered, in case of a dis- 
 covery, in a very serious light. I took my leave of Lausanne on 
 April II 1758, with a mixture of joy and regret, in the firm resolution 
 cf revisiting, as a man, the persons and places which had been so 
 dear to my youth. We travelled slowly, but pleasantly, in a hired 
 coach, over the hills of Franche-comptc and the fertile province of 
 Lorraine, and passed, without accident or inquiry, through several 
 fortified towns of the French frontier: from thence we entered the wild 
 Ardennes of the Austrian dutchy of Lu.xcmburg ; and after crossing
 
 50 MY RE TURN' TO ENGLAND — MY DEAR A UNT. 
 
 the Mcuse at Liege, we traversed the heaths of Brabant, and reached, 
 on April 26, our Dutch garrison of Bois le Due. In our passage 
 through Nancy, my eye was gratified by the aspect of a regular and 
 beautiful city, the work of Stanislaus, who, after the storms of 
 Polish royalty, reposed in the love and gratitude of his new sub- 
 jects of Lorraine. In our halt at Maestricht I visited Mr. de 
 Beaufort, a learned critic, who was known to me by his specious 
 arguments against the five first centuries of the Roman History. 
 After dropping my regimental companions, I stepped aside to visit 
 Rotterdam and the Hague. I wished to have observed a country, 
 the monument of freedom and industry ; but my days were num- 
 bered, and a longer delay would have loeen ungraceful. I hastened 
 to embark at the Brill, landed the next day at Harwich, and pro- 
 ceeded to London, where my father awaited my arrival. The whole 
 term of my first absence from England was four years ten months and 
 fifteen days. 
 
 In the prayers of the church our personal concerns are judiciously 
 reduced to the threefold distinction of mind, body, and estate. The 
 sentiments of the mind excite and exercise our social sympathy. 
 The review of my moral and literary character is the most interesting 
 to myself and to the public ; and I may expatiate, without reproach, 
 on my private studies ; since they have produced the public writings, 
 which can alone entitle me to the esteem and friendship of my readers. 
 The experience of the world inculcates a discreet reserve on the subject 
 of our person and estate, and we soon learn that a free disclosure of 
 our riches or poverty would provoke the malice of envy, or encourage 
 the insolence of contempt. 
 
 The only person in England whom I was impatient to see was my 
 aunt Porten, the affectionate guardian of my tender years. I hastened 
 to her house in College-street, Westminster; and the evening was 
 spent in the effusions of joy and confidence. It was not without some 
 awe and apprehension that I approached the presence of my father. 
 My infancy, to speak the truth, had been neglected at home ; the 
 severity of his look and language at our last parting still dwelt on my 
 memory ; nor could I form any notion of his character, or my probable 
 reception. They were both more agreeable than I could expect. The 
 domestic disciplineof our ancestors has been relaxed by the philosophy 
 and softness of the age; and if my father remembered that he had 
 trembled before a stern parent, it was only to adopt with his own son 
 an opposite mode of behaviour. He received me as a man and a 
 friend ; all constraint was banished at our first interview, and we ever 
 afterwards continued on the same terms of easy and equal politeness. 
 He applauded the success of my education ; every word and action 
 was expressive of the most cordial affection ; and our lives would have 
 passed without a cloud, if his ceconomy had been equal to his fortune, 
 or if his fortune had been equal to his desires. During my absence he 
 had married his second wife. Miss Dorothea Patton, who was intro- 
 duced to me with the most unfavourable prejudice. I considered his 
 second marriage as an act of displeasure, and I was disposed to hate 
 the rival of my mother. But the injustice was in my own fanc)', and 
 the imaginary monster was an amiable and deserving woman. 1 could
 
 A UTOBIO GRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF ED WARD GIBB O.V. $ Z 
 
 not be mistaken in the first view of her understanding, her knowledge, 
 and the elegant spirit of licr conversation : her polite welcome, and her 
 assiduous care to study and gratify my wishes, announced at least that 
 the surface would be smooth ; and my suspicions of art and falsehood 
 were gradually dispelled by the full discovery of her warm and exquisite 
 sensibility. After some reserve on my side, our minds associated in 
 confidence and friendship ; and as Mrs. Gibbon had neither children 
 nor the hopes of children, we more easily adopted the tender names 
 and genuine characters of mother and of son. By the indulgence of 
 these parents, I was left at liberty to consult my taste or reason in the 
 choice of place, of company, and of amusements ; and my excursions 
 were bounded only by the limits of the island, and the measure of my 
 income. Some faint efforts were made to procure me the employment 
 of secretary to a foreign embassy ; and I listened to a scheme which 
 would again have transported me to the continent. Mrs. Gibbon, with 
 seeming wisdom, exhorted me to take chambers in the Temple, and 
 devote my leisure to the study of the law. I cannot repent of having 
 neglected her advice. Few men, without the spur of necessity, have 
 resolution to force their way, through the thorns and thickets of that 
 gloomy labyrinth. Nature had not endowed me with the bold and 
 ready eloquence which makes itself heard amidst the tumult of the bar; 
 and I should probably have been diverted from the labours of literature, 
 ^vilhout acquiring the fame or fortune of a successful pleader. I hacl 
 no need to call to my aid the regular duties of a profession ; every day, 
 every hour, was agreeably filled ; nor have I known, like so many of 
 my countrymen, the tediousness of an idle life. 
 
 Of the two years (May 1758 — May 1760,) between my return to 
 England and the embodying of the Hampshire militia, I passed about 
 nine months in London, and the remainder in the country. The 
 metropolis affords many amusements, which are open to all. It is 
 itself an astonishing and perpetual spectacle to the curious eye; and 
 each taste, each sense may be gratified by the variety of objects which 
 will occur in the long circuit of a morning walk. I assiduously 
 frequented the theatres at a very propitious tera of the stage, when 
 a constellation of excellent actors, both in tragedy and comedy, was 
 eclipsed by the meridian brightness of Garrick in the maturity of his 
 judgment, and vigour of his performance. The pleasures of a town- 
 life are within the reach of every man who is regardless of his health, 
 his money, and his company. By the contagion of example I was 
 sometimes seduced ; but the better habits, which I had formed at 
 Lausanne, induced me to seek a more elegant and rational society; 
 and if my search was less easy and successful than I might have 
 hoped, I shall at present impute the failure to the disadvantages 
 of my situation and character. Had the rank and fortune of my 
 parents given them an annual establishment in London, their own 
 house would have introduced me to a numerous and polite circle of 
 acquaintance. But my father's taste had always preferred the highest 
 and the lowest company, for which he was ec[ually cjualified ; and after 
 a twelve years' retirement, he was no longer in the memory of the 
 great with whom he had associated. I found myself a stranger in the 
 midst of a vast and unknown city ; and at my entrance into life I was
 
 52 MV HOME IN LONDON AND A T BERITON. 
 
 reduced to some dull family parties, and some scattered connections, 
 which were not such as 1 should have chosen for myself. The most 
 useful friends of my father were the Mallets : they received me with 
 civility and kindness at first on his account, and afterwards on my 
 own ; and (if I may use Lord Chesterfield's words) I was soon domes- 
 ticated in their house. Mr. Mallet, a name among the English poets, 
 is praised by an unfoi-giving enemy, for the ease and elegance of his 
 conversation, and his wife was not destitute of wit or learning. By 
 his assistance I was introduced to Lady Hervey, the mother of the 
 present earl of Bristol. Her age a.nd infirmities confined her at home ; 
 her dinners were select; in the evening her house was open to the 
 best company of both sexes and all nations ; nor was I displeased at 
 her preference and affectation of the manners, the language, and the 
 literature of France. But my progress in the English world was in 
 general left to my own efforts, and those eftbrts were languid and slow. 
 1 had not been endowed by art or nature with those happy gifts of 
 confidence and address, which unlock every door and every bosom ; 
 nor would it be reasonable to complain of the just consequences of my 
 sickly childhood, foreign education, and reserved temper. While 
 coaches were rattling through Bond-street, I have passed many a 
 solitary evening in my lodging with my books. My studies were 
 sometimes interrupted by a sigh, which I breathed towaixls Lausanne ; 
 and on the approach of Spring, I withdrew without reluctance from 
 the noisy and extensive scene of crowds without company, and dissi- 
 pation without pleasure. In each of the twenty-five years of my 
 acquaintance with London (1758 — 17S3) the prospect gradually 
 brightened ; and this unfavourable picture most properly belongs to 
 the first period after my return from Switzerland. 
 
 My father's residence in Hampshire, where I have passed many 
 light, and some heavy hours, was at Beriton, near Petersfield, one 
 mile from the Portsmouth road, and at the easy distance of fifty-eight 
 miles from London.* An old mansion, in a state of decay, had been 
 converted into the fashion and convenience of a modern house : and if 
 strangers had nothing to see, the inhabitants had little to desire. The 
 spot was not happily chosen, at the end of the village aad the bottom 
 of the hill : but the aspect of the adjacent grounds was various and 
 cheerful ; the downs commanded a nol)le prospect, and the long 
 hanging woods in sight of the house could not perhaps have been 
 improved by art or expence. My father kept in his own hands the 
 whole of the estate, and even rented some additional land ; and what- 
 soever might be the balance of profit and loss, the farm supplied him 
 with amusement and plenty. The produce maintained a number of 
 men and horses, which were multiplied by the intermixture of domestic 
 and rural servants ; and in the intervals of labour the favourite team, a 
 handsome set of bays or greys, was harnessed to the coach. The 
 oeconomy of the house was regulated by the taste and prudence of 
 Mrs. Gibbon. She prided herself in the elegance of her occasional 
 dinners; and from the uncleanly avarice of Madame Pavilliard, I was 
 suddenly transported to the daily neatness and luxury of an English 
 
 * The estate and manor of Beriton, otherwise Buriton, were considerable, and were soIJ a 
 faw years ago to Lord Stawell.— S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OP EDWARD GIB BOX. 53 
 
 table. Our immediate neighbourhood was rare and rustic ; but fro.,i 
 tlie verge of our hills, as far as Chichester and Goodwood, the western 
 district of Sussex was interspersed with noble seats and hospitable 
 families, with whom we cultivated a friendly, and might have enjoyed 
 a very frequent, inteixourse. As my stay at 13uriton was always volun- 
 tary, I was received and dismissed with smiles ; but the comforts oi 
 my retirement did not depend on the ordinary pleasures of the country. 
 My father could never inspire me with his love and knowledge of 
 farming. I never handled a gun, I seldom mounted an horse; and 
 my philosophic walks were soon terminated by a shady bench, where 
 1 was long detained by the sedentary amusement of I'eading or medi- 
 tation. At home I occupied a pleasant and spacious apartment ; the 
 library on the same floor was soon considered as my peculiar domain ; 
 and I might say with truth, that I was never less alone than when by 
 myself. My sole complaint, which I piously suppressed, arose from 
 the kind restraint imposed on the freedom of my time. By the habit 
 of early rising I always secured a sacred portion of the day, and many 
 scattered moments were stolen and employed by my studious industry. 
 But the family hours of breakfast, of dinner, of tea, and of supper, were 
 regular and long : after breakfast Mrs. Gibbon expected my company 
 in her dressing-room ; after tea my father claimed my conversation 
 and the perusal of the newspapers ; and in the midst of an interesting 
 work I was often called down to receive the visit of some idle neigh- 
 bours. Their dinners and visits required, in due season, a similar 
 return ; and I dreaded the period of the full moon, which was usually 
 reserved for our more distant excursions. I could not refuse attending 
 my father, in the summer of 1759, to the races at Stockbridgc, Reading, 
 and Odiam, where he had entered a horse for the hunter's plate ; and 
 I was not displeased with the sight of our Olympic games, the beauty 
 of the spot, the fleetness of the horses, and the gay tumult of the 
 numerous spectators. As soon as the militia business was agitated, 
 many days were tediously consumed in meetings of deputy-lieutenants 
 at Petersfield, Alton, and Winchester. In the close of the same year, 
 1759, Sir Simeon (then Mr.) Stewart attempted an unsuccessful contest 
 for the county of Southampton, against Air. Legge, Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer : a well-known contest, in which Lord Bute's influence was 
 first exerted and censured. Our canvas at Portsmouth and Gosport 
 lasted several days ; but the interruption of my studies was compensated 
 in some degree by the spectacle of English manners, and the acquisi- 
 tion of some practical knowledge. 
 
 If in a more domestic or more dissipated scene my application was 
 somewhat relaxed, the love of knowledge was inflamed and gratified 
 by the command of books ; and I compared the poverty of Lausanne 
 with the plenty of London. My father's study at Buriton was stuffed 
 with much trash of the last age, with much high church divinity and 
 poUtics, which have long since gone to their proper place : yet it con- 
 tained some valuable editions of the classics and the fathers, the 
 choice, as it should seem, of Mr. Law ; and many English publica- 
 tions of the times had been occasionally added. From this slender 
 beginning I have gradually formed a numerous and select library, the 
 foundation of my works, and the best comfort of my life, both at home 
 
 £
 
 54 ^fy COURSE OF READmO AND MODE OF STUDY. 
 
 and abroad. On the receipt of the first quarter, a large share of my 
 allowance was appropriated to my literary wants. I cannot forget the 
 joy with which I exchanged a bank-note of twenty pounds for the 
 twenty volumes of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions ; nor 
 would it have been easy, by any other expenditure of the same sum, to 
 have procured so large and lasting a fund of rational amusement. At 
 a time when I most assiduously frequented this school of ancient lite- 
 rature, I thus expressed my opinion of a learned and various collection, 
 which since the year 1759 has been doubled in magnitude, though not 
 in merit — " Une de ccs societes, qui ont mieux immortalise Louis XIV. 
 quun ambition souvent pernicieuse aux hommes, commen^oit dcja ces 
 recherchcs qui reunissent la justesse de I'esprit, Famenete & I'crudi- 
 tion : oil Ton voit tant des decouvertes, ct quelquefois, ce qui ne cede 
 qu'a peine aux decouvertes, une ignorance modeste ct savante." Tlie 
 review of my library must be reserved for the period of its maturity ; 
 but in this place I may allow myself to observe, that I am not con- 
 scious of having ever bought a book from a motive of ostentation, that 
 every volume, before it was deposited on the shelf, was either read or 
 sufficiently examined, and that I soon adopted the tolerating maxim of 
 the elder Pliny, " nullum esse librum tam malum ut non ex aliqua 
 parte prodesset." I could not yet find leisure or courage to renew the 
 pursuit of the Greek language, excepting by reading the lessons of the 
 Old and New Testament every Sunday, when I attended the family to 
 church. The series of my Latin authors was less strenuously com- 
 pleted ; but the acquisition, by inheritance or purchase, of the best 
 editions of Cicero, Ouintilian, Livy, Tacitus, Ovid, &c. afforded a fair 
 prospect, which I seldom neglected. I persevered in the useful 
 method of abstracts and observations ; and a single example may 
 suffice, of a note which had almost swelled into a work. The solution 
 of a passage of Livy (xxxviii. 38,) involved me in the dry and dark 
 treatises of Greaves, Arbuthnot, Hooper, Bernard, Eisenschmidt, Gro- 
 novius. La Barre, Freret, &c. ; and in my French essay (chap. 20,) I 
 ridiculously send the reader to my own manuscript remarks on the 
 weights, coins, and measures of the ancients, which were abruptly ter- 
 minated by the militia drum. 
 
 As I am now entering on a more ample field of society and study, I 
 can only hope to avoid a vain and prolix garrulity, by overlooking the 
 vulgar crowd of my acquaintance, and confining myself to such inti- 
 mate friends among books and men, as are best entitled to my notice 
 by their own merit and reputation, or by the deep impression which 
 they have left on my mind. Yet I will embrace this occasion of 
 recommending to the young student a practice, which about this time 
 I myself adopted. After glancing my eye over the design and order of 
 a new book, I suspended the perusal till I had finished the task of self- 
 examination, till 1 had revolved, in a solitary walk, all that I knew or 
 believed, or had thought on the subject of the whole work, or of 
 some particular chapter : I was then qualified to discern how much 
 the author added to my original stock ; and I was sometimes satisfied 
 by the agreement, I was sometimes armed by the opposition of our 
 ideas. The favourite companions of my leisure were our English 
 writers since the Revolution : they breathf^ tJie spirit of reason and
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 55 
 
 liberty ; and they most seasonably contributed to restore the purity of 
 my own language, which had been corrupted by tlie long use of a 
 foreign idiom. By tlie judicious advice of Mr. Alallet, 1 was directed 
 to the writings of Swift and Addison ; wit and simplicity arc their 
 common attributes : but the style of Swift is supported by manly 
 original vigour ; that of Addison is adorned by the female graces of 
 elegance and mildness. The old reproach, that no British altars had 
 been raised to the muse of history, was recently disproved by the first 
 performances of Robertson and Hume, the histories of Scotland and 
 of the Stuarts. I will assume the presumption of saying, that I was 
 not unworthy to read them : nor will I disguise my diiferent feelings 
 in the repeated perusals. The perfect composition, the nervous lan- 
 guage, the well-tm-ncd 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. 
 
 The design of my lirst work, the Kssay on the Study of Literature, 
 was suggested by a rehnement of vanity, the desire of justifying and 
 praising the object of a favourite pursuit. In France, to which my 
 ideas were confined, tlie learning and language of Greece and Rome 
 were neglected by a philosophic age. The guardian of those studies, 
 the iVcademy of Inscriptions, was degraded to the lowest rank among 
 the three royal societies of Paris : the new appellation of Erudits was 
 contemptuously applied to the successors of Lipsius and Casaubon ; 
 and I was provoked to hear (see M. d'Alembert Discours preliminaire 
 a TEncyclopedie) that the exercise of the memory, their sole merit, had 
 been superseded by the nobler faculties of the imagination and the 
 judgment. I was ambitious of proving by my own example, as well as 
 by my precepts, that all the faculties of the mind may be exercised 
 and displayed lay the study of ancient literature : I began to select 
 and adorn the various proofs and illustrations which had offered them- 
 selves in reading the classics ; and the first pages or chapters of my 
 essay were composed before my depaiture from Lausanne. The hurry 
 of the journey, and of the first weeks of my English life, suspended all 
 thoughts of serious application : but my object was ever before my 
 eyes ; a.nd no more than ten days, from the first to the eleventh of 
 July, were suffered to elapse after my summer establishment at Buriton. 
 My essay was finished in about six weeks ; and as soon as a fair copy 
 had been transcribed by one of the French prisoners at Petersfield, I 
 looked round for a critic and judge of my first performance. A writer 
 can seldom be content with the doubtful recompence of solitary appro- 
 bation ; but a youth ignorant of the world, and of himself, must desire 
 to weigh his talents in some scales less partial than his own : my con- 
 duct was natural, my motive laudable, my choice of Dr. Maty judicious 
 and fortunate. By descent and education Dr. Maty, though born in 
 Holland, might be considered as a Frenchman ; but he was fixed in. 
 London by the practice of physic, and an office in the British Museum. 
 His reputation was justly founded on the eighteen volumes of the 
 yonriial BritaiDiique^ which he had supported, almost alone, with 
 perseverance and success. This humble though useful labour, which
 
 $6 PRODUCTION- OP MY PIRST PUBLICATION: 
 
 had once been dignified by the genius of Bayle and the learning of Le 
 Clerc, was not disgraced by the taste, the knowledge, and the judgment 
 of Maty : he exhibits a candid and pleasing view of the state of litera- 
 ture in England during a period of six years (January 1750 — December 
 1755) ; and, far different from his angry son, he handles the rod of 
 criticism with the tenderness avid reluctance of a parent. The author 
 of the Jourjial Britainiiqjie sometimes aspires to the character of a 
 poet and philosopher : his style is pure and elegant ; and in his 
 virtues, or even in his defects, he may be ranked as one of the last 
 disciples of \\\z school of Fontenelle. His answer to my first letter 
 was prompt and polite : after a careful examination he returned my 
 manuscript, with some animadversion and much applause ; and when 
 I visited London in the ensuing winter, we discussed the design and 
 execution in several free and familiar conversations. In a short excur- 
 sion to Buriton I reviewed my essay, according to his friendly advice ; 
 and after suppressing a third, adding a third, and altering a third, I 
 consummated my first labour by a short preface, which is dated Feb. 3, 
 1759. ^s*^ I still shrunk from the press with the terrors of virgin 
 modesty : the manuscript was safely deposited in my desk ; and as my 
 attention was engaged by new objects, the delay might have been pro- 
 longed till I had fulfilled the precept of Horace, " nonumque prematur 
 in annum." Father Sirmond, a learned Jesuit, was still more rigid, 
 since he advised a young friend to expect the mature age of fifty, 
 before he gave himself or his writings to the public (Olivet Hist, de 
 I'Acad. Fran9oise, tom. ii. p. 143). The counsel was singular; but it 
 is still more singular that it should have been approved by the example 
 of the author. Sirmond was himself fifty-five years of age Avhen he 
 published (in 1614) his first work, an edition of Sidonius ApoUinaris, 
 with many valuable annotations : (see his life, before the great edition 
 of his works in five volumes folio, Paris, 1696, e Typographic Regia). 
 
 Two years elapsed in silence : but in the spiking of 1761 1 yielded to 
 the authority of a parent, and complied, like a pious son, with the wish 
 of my own heart.* My private resolves were influenced by the slate 
 of Europe. About this time the belligerent powers had made and ac- 
 cepted overtures of peace ; our English plenipotentiaries were named 
 to assist at the Congress of Augsburg, which never met : I wished to 
 attend them as a gentleman or a secretary ; and my father fondly 
 
 * Journal, March 8, 1753.]— I began my Essai sur I'Etude de la Litteraturr;, and wrote 
 the 23 first chapters (excepting the following ones, ii, 12, 13, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22.) before I left 
 Switzerland. 
 
 July II. — I again took in hand my Essay: and in about six weeks finished it, from C. 
 83—55- (excepting 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33. and note to C. 38.) besides a number of chapters 
 from C. 55. to the end, which are now struck out. 
 
 Feb. II, 1759. — I wrote the chapters of my Essay, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31. the note to C. 3S. and 
 the first part of the preface. 
 
 April 23, 1761. — Being at length, by my fathers advice, determined to publish my Essay, I 
 revised it with great care, made many alterations, struck out a considerable part, a.iJ wrote the 
 chapters from 57 — 78, which I was obliged myself to copy out fair. 
 
 June 10, 1761.— Finding the printing of my book proceeded but slowly, I went up to town, 
 where I found the whole was finished. I gave Beckel orders for the presents : 20 for Lausanne; 
 copies for the Duke of Richmond, Marquis of Carnarvon, Lords Waldegrave, Litchfield, Bath, 
 Granville, Bute, Shelbouni, Chesterfield, Hardwicke, Lady Hervey, Sir Joseph Yorke, Sir 
 Matthew Featherstone, M. M. Mallet, Maty, Scott, Wray, Lord Egremont, M. de Bussy, 
 Mademoiselle la Duchesse d'Aguillon, and M. le Comte de Caylus : great part of these were 
 only my father's or Mallei's acquaintance.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 57 
 
 believed that the proof of some Hterary talents might introduce me to 
 public notice, and second the recommendations of my friends. Affer 
 a last revisal 1 consulted with Mr. Mallet and Dr. Maty, who approved 
 the design and promoted the execution. Mr. Mallet, after hearing me 
 read my manuscript, received it from my hands, and delivered it into 
 those of Becket, with whom he made an agreement in my name ; an 
 easy agreement : I required only a certain number of copies ; and, 
 without transferring my property, I devolved on the bookseller the 
 charges and profits of the edition. Dr. Maty undertook, in my absence, 
 to correct the sheets : he inserted, without my knowledge, an elegant 
 and nattering epistle to the author ; which is composed, however, with 
 so much art, that, in case of a defeat, his favourable report might have 
 been ascribed to the indulgence of a friend for the rash attempt of a 
 young English gentleman. The work was printed and published, 
 under the title of Essai sur I'Etude de la Litterature, a. Londres, chez 
 T. Becket et P. A. de Hondt, 1761, in a small volume in duodecimo : 
 my dedication to my father, a proper and pious address, was composed 
 the twenty-eighth of May : Dr. Maty's Letter is dated June 16 ; and I 
 received the tirst copy (Jiuic 23) at Alresford, two days before I marched 
 with the Hampshire militia. Some weeks afterwards, on the same 
 ground, I presented my book to the late Duke of York, \viiio breakfasted 
 in Colonel Pitt's tent. By my father's direction, and Mallet's advice, 
 many literary gifts were distributed to several eminent characters in 
 England and France ; two books were sent to the Count de Caylus, 
 and the Duchesse d'Aiguillon, at Paris : I had reserved twenty copies 
 for my friends at Lausanne, as the first fruits of my education, and a 
 grateful token of my remembrance : and on all these persons I levied 
 an unavoidable tax of civility and compliment. It is not surprising 
 that a work, of which the style and sentiments were so totally foreign, 
 should have been more successful abroad than at home. I was de- 
 lighted by the copious extracts, the warm commendations, and the 
 flattering predictions of the Journals of France and Holland : and the 
 next year (1762) a new edition (I believe at Geneva) extended the fame, 
 or at least the circulation, of the work. In England it was received 
 with cold indifference, little read, and speedily forgotten : a small im- 
 pression was slowly dispersed ; the bookseller murmured, and the 
 author (had his feelings been more exquisite) might have wept over the 
 blunders and baldness of the English translation. The publication of 
 my History fifteen years afterwards revived the memory of my first 
 performance, and the Essay was eagerly sought in the shops. But I 
 refused the permission which Becket solicited of reprinting it : the 
 public curiosity was imperfectly satisfied by a pirated copy of the 
 booksellers of Dublin ; and when a copy of the original edition has 
 been discovered in a sale, the primitive value of half-a-crown has 
 risen to the fanciful price of a guinea or thirty shillings. 
 
 I have expatiated on the petty circumstances and period of my first 
 publication, a memorable sera in the life of a student, when he ventures 
 to reveal the measure of his mind : his hopes and fears are multiplied 
 by the idea of self-importance, and he believes for a while that the 
 eyes of mankind are fixed on his person and performance. Whatever 
 may be my present reputation, it no longer rests on the merit of this
 
 58 MV CRITICISM ON MY FIRST LITERARY WORK, 
 
 first essay ; and at the end of twenty-eiglit years I may appreciate my 
 juvenile worlc with the impartiality, and almost with the indiffe\ ence, of 
 a stranger. In his answer to Lady Hervey, the Count de Caylus ad- 
 mires, or affects to admire, " les livres sans nombre cjue Mr. Gibbon a 
 lus et tres bien lus." But, alas ! my stock of erudition at that time was 
 scanty and superficial ; and if I allow myself the liberty of naming the 
 Greek masters, my genuine and personal acquaintance was confined to 
 the Latin classics. The most serious defect of my Essay is a kind of 
 obscurity and abruptness which always fatigues, and may often elude, 
 the attention of the reader. Instead of a precise and proper definition 
 of the title itself, the sense of the word Litteraturc is loosely and 
 variously applied : a number of remarks and examples, historical, 
 critical, philosophical, are heaped on each other without method or 
 connection ; and if we except some introductory pages, all the remain- 
 ing chapters might indifferently be reversed or transposed. The 
 obscure passages is often affected, brevis esse laboro, obsciirits fio; the 
 desire of expressing perhaps a common idea with sententious and 
 oracular brevity : alas ! how fatal has been the imitation of Montes- 
 quieu ! But this obscurity sometimes proceeds from a mixture of light 
 and darkness in the author's mind ; from a partial ray which strikes 
 upon an angle, instead of spreading itself over the surface of an object. 
 After this fair confession I shall presume to say, that the Essay does 
 credit to a young writer of two and twenty years of age, who had read 
 with taste, who thinks with freedom, and who writes in a foreign lan- 
 guage with spirit and elegance. The defence of the early History of 
 Rome and the new Chronology of Sir Isaac Newton form a specious 
 argument. The patriotic and political design of the Georgics is 
 happily conceived ; and any probable conjecture, which tends to raise 
 the dignity of the poet and the poem, deserves to be adopted, without 
 a rigid scrutiny. Some dawnings of a philosophic spirit enhghten the 
 general remarks on the study of history and of man. I am not dis- 
 pleased with the inquiry into the origin and nature of the gods of poly- 
 theism, which might deserve the illustration of a riper judgment. Upon 
 the whole, I may apply to the first labour of my pen the speech of a 
 far superior artist, when he surveyed the first productions of his pencil. 
 After viewing some portraits which he had painted in his youth, my 
 friend Sir Joshua Reynolds acknowledged to me, that he was rather 
 humbled than flattered by the comparison with his present works ; and 
 that after so much time and study, he had conceived his improvement 
 to be much greater than he found it to have been. 
 
 At Lausanne I composed the first chapters of my Essay in French, 
 the familiar language of my conversation and studies, in which it 
 was easier for me to write than in my mother tongue. After my return 
 to England I continued the same practice, without any affectation, or 
 design of repudiating (as Dr. Bentley would say) my vernacular idiom. 
 But I should have escaped some Anti-gallican clamour, had I been 
 content with the more natural character of an English author. I should 
 have been more consistent had I rejected Mallet's advice, of prefixing 
 an English dedication to a French book ; a confusion of tongues that 
 seemed to accuse the ignorance of my patron. The use of a foreign 
 dialect might be excused by the hope of being emplo)ed as a negociator,
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 59 
 
 by the desire of being generally understood on the continent ; but my 
 true motive was doubtless the ambition of new and singular fame, an 
 Englishman claiming a place among the writers of France. The latin 
 tongue had been consecrated by the service of the church, it was re- 
 fined by the imitation of the ancients ; and in the fifteenth and six- 
 teenth centuries the scholars of Europe enjoyed the advantage, which 
 they have gradually resigned, of conversing and writing in a common 
 and learned idiom. As that idiom was no longer in any country the 
 vulgar speech, they all stood on a level with each other ; yet a citizen 
 of old Rome might have smiled at the best Latinity of the Germans 
 and Britons ; and we may learn from the Ciccronianiis oi Erasmus, how 
 difficult it was found to steer a middle course between pedantry and 
 barbarism. The Romans themselves had sometimes attempted a more 
 perilous task, of writing in a living language, and appealing to the taste 
 and judgment of the natives. The vanity of Tully was doubly inte- 
 rested in the Greek memoirs of his own consulship ; and if he modestly 
 supposes that some Latinisms might be detected in his style, he is con- 
 fident of his own skill in the art of Isocrates and Aristotle; and he 
 requests his friend Atticus to disperse the copies of his work at Athens, 
 and in the other cities of Greece, {Ad Atticum, i. 19. ii. i.) But it must 
 not be forgotten, that from infancy to manhood Cicero and his con- 
 temporaries had read and declaimed, and composed with equal dili- 
 gence in both languages ; and that he was not allowed to frequent a 
 X-atin school till he had imbibed the lessons of the Greek grammarians 
 and rhetoricians. In modern times, the language of France has been 
 diflused by the merit of her writers, the social manners of the natives, 
 the influence of the monarchy, and the exile of the protestants. 
 Several foreigners have seized the opportunity of speaking to Europe 
 in this common dialect, and Germany may plead the authority of 
 Leibnitz and Frederick, of the first of her philosophers, and the greatest 
 of her kings. The just pride and laudable prejudice of England has 
 restrained this communication of idioms ; and of all the nations on 
 this side of the Alps, my countrymen are the least practised, and least 
 perfect in the exercise of the French tongue. By Sir William Temple 
 and Lord Chesterfield it was only used on occasions of civility and 
 business, and their printed letters will not be quoted as models of com- 
 position. Lord Bolingbroke may have published in P>ench a sketch 
 of his Reflections on Exile : but his reputation now reposes on the 
 address of Voltaire, " Docte sermones utriusque linguae ;" and by his 
 English dedication to Queen Caroline, and his Essay on Epic Poetiy, 
 it should seem that Voltaire himself wished to deserve a retuin of the 
 same compliment. The exception of Count Hamilton cannot fairly be 
 urged ; though an Irishman by birth, he was educated in France from 
 his childhood. Yet I am surprised that a long residence in England, 
 and the habits of domestic conversation, did not affect the ease and 
 purity of his inimitable style ; and I regret the omission of his English 
 verses, which might have afforded an amusing object of comparison, 
 I might therefore assume the primus ego i/i piiiriaiii, &^c.; but with 
 what success I have explored this untrodden path must be left to the 
 decision of my French readers. Dr. IMaty, who might himself be ques- 
 tioned as a foreijj;ner, has secured his retreat at my expense. " Je ne
 
 6o / BECOME CAPTAIN- OF A REGIMENT OF MILITIA. 
 
 crois pas que vous vous piquiez d'etre moins facile a reconnoitre pom 
 un Anglois que Lucullus pour un Remain.'' My friends at Paris have 
 been more indulgent, they received me as a countryman, or at least as 
 a provincial ; but they were friends and Parisians.* The defects which 
 Maty insinuates, " Ces traits saillans, ces figures hardies, ce sacrifice 
 de la regie au sentiment, et de la cadence a la force," are the faults of 
 the youth, rather than of the stranger : and after the long and laborious 
 exercise of my own language, 1 am conscious that my French style has 
 been ripened and improved. 
 
 I have already hinted, that the publication of my essay was delayed 
 till I had embraced the military profession. I shall now amuse myself 
 with the recollection of an active scene, which bears no affinity to any 
 other period of my studious and social life. 
 
 In the outset of a glorious war, the English people had been defended 
 by the aid of German mercenaries. A national militia has been the 
 cry of eveiy patriot since the Revolution ; and this measure, both in 
 parliament and in the field, was supported by the country gentlemen 
 or Tories, who insensibly transferred their loyalty to the house of 
 Hanover : in the language of Mr. Burke, they have changed the idol, 
 but they have preserved the idolatry. In the act of offering our 
 names and receiving our commissions, as major and captain in the 
 Hampshire regiment, (June 12, 1759,) we had not supposed that we 
 sliould be dragged away, my father from his farm, myself from my 
 books, and condemned, during two years and a half, (May 10, 1760 — 
 December 23, 1762,) to a wandering life of military servitude. But a 
 weekly or monthly exercise of thirty thousand provincials would have 
 left them useless and ridiculous ; and after the pretence of an invasion 
 had vanished, the popularity of Mr. Pitt gave a sanction to the illegal 
 step of keeping them till the end of the war under arms, in constant 
 pay and duty, and at a distance from their respective homes. When 
 the King's oi'der for our embodying came down, it was too late to 
 retreat, and too soon to repent. The South battalion of the Hamp- 
 shire militia was a small independent corps of four hundred and 
 seventy-six, ofiicers and men, commanded by lieutenant-colonel Sir 
 Thomas Worsley, who, after a prolix and passionate contest, delivered 
 us from the tyranny of the lord lieutenant, the Duke of Bolton. My 
 proper station, as first captain, was at the head of my own, and after- 
 wards of the grenadier, company ; but in the absence, or even in the 
 presence, of the two field officers, I was entrusted by my friend and 
 my father with the effective labour of dictating the orders, and exer- 
 cising the battalion. With the help of an original journal, I could 
 write the history of my bloodless and inglorious campaigns ; but as 
 tliese events have lost much of their importance in my own eyes, they 
 shall be dispatched in a few words. From Winchester, the first place 
 of assembly, (June 4, 1760,) we were removed, at our own request, for 
 the benefit of a foreign education. By the arbitrary, and often capri- 
 cious, orders of the War-office, the battalion successively marched to 
 
 * The copious extracts which were given in the yptirnal Eiranger by Mr. Suard, a judi- 
 cious critic, must satisfy both the author and the public. I may here observe, that I have 
 never seen in any Uterary review a tolerable account of my History. The manufacture ol 
 jounials, at least on the continent, is miserably debused.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 6 1 
 
 the pleasant and hospitable Blandford (June 17) ; to Hilsea barracks, 
 a seat of disease and discord (Sept. i) ; to Cranbrook in the weakl of 
 Kent (Dec. 11) ; to the sea-coast of Dover (Dec. 27); to Winchester 
 camp (June 25, 1761) ; to the populous and disorderly town of Devizes 
 (Oct. 23) ; to iSalisbury (Feb. 28, 1762) ; to our beloved Blandford a 
 second time (March 9) ; and finally, to the fashionable resort of 
 Soutliampton (June 2) ; where the colours were fixed till our final dis- 
 eolutiou (Dec. 23). On the beach at Dover we had exercised in sight 
 of the Gallic shores. But the most splendid and useful scene of our 
 life was a four months' encampment on Winchester Down, under the 
 command of the Earl of Effingham. Our army consisted of the 
 thirty-fourth regiment of foot and six mihtia corps. The consciousness 
 of our defects was stimulated by fnendly emulation. We improved 
 our time and opportunities in morning and evening field-days ; and 
 in the general reviews the South Hampshire were rather a credit than 
 a disgrace to the line. In our subsequent quarters of the Devizes and 
 Blandford, we advanced with a quick step in our military studies ; the 
 ballot of the ensuing summer renewed our vigour and youth ; and had 
 the militia subsisted another year, we might have contested the prize 
 with tlie most perfect of our brethren. 
 
 The loss of so many busy and idle hours was not compensated by 
 any elegant pleasure ; and my temper was insensibly soured by the 
 society of our rustic oflicers. In every state there exists, however, a 
 balance of good and evil. The habits of a sedentary life were usefully 
 broken by the duties of an active profession : in the healthful exercise 
 of the field I hunted with a battalion, instead of a pack ; and at that 
 time I was ready, at any hour of the day or night, to fly from quarters 
 to London, from London to quarters, on the slightest call of private or 
 regimental business. But my principal obligation to the militia, was 
 the making me an Englishman, and a soldier. After my foreign 
 education, with my reserved temper, I should long have continued a 
 stranger in my native country, had I not been shaken in this various 
 scene of new faces and new friends : had not experience forced me to 
 feel the characters of our leading men, the state of parties, the forms 
 of office, and the operation of our civil and military system. In this 
 peaceful service I imbibed the rudiments of the language, and science 
 of tactics, which opened a new field of study and observation. I dili- 
 gently read, and meditated, the Mcnioircs Mih'taires of Quintus Icilius, 
 (!\Ir. Guichardt,) the only writer who has united the merits of a pro- 
 fessor and a veteran. The discipline and evolutions cf a modern bat- 
 talion gave me a clearer notion of the phalanx and the legion ; and 
 the captain of the Hampshire grenadiers (the reader may smile) has 
 not been useless to the historian of the Roman empire, 
 
 A youth of any spirit is fired even by the play of arms, and in the 
 first sallies of my enthusiasm I had seriously attempted to embrace the 
 regular profession of a soldier. But this military fever was cooled by 
 the cnjoyrrient of our mimic Bcliona, who soon unveiled to my eyes her 
 naked deformity. How often did I sigh for my proper station in society 
 and letters. How often (a proud comparison) did I repeat the com- 
 plaint of Cicero in the command of a provincial army : " Clitelke bovi 
 saut impositae. Est jncrcdjbiJc cjuam me nci^otii ta-xlcat, Non habet
 
 62 JOURNAL OF MY MILITIA EXPERIENCES. 
 
 satis magnum campum ille tibi nonignotus cursus animi; et industriae 
 me^ pricclara opera cessat. Lucem, libros, uibem domum, vos 
 desidero. Sed fcram, ut potero ; sit modo annuum. Si prorogatur, 
 actum est." — Epist. ad Atticum, lib. v. 15. From a service without 
 danger I might indeed have retired without disgrace ; but as often as 
 I hinted a wish of resigning, my fetters were riveted by the friendly 
 intreaties of the colonel, the parental authority of the major, and my 
 own regard for the honour and welfare of the battalion. When I felt 
 that my personal escape was impracticable, I bowed my neck to the 
 yoke : my servitude was protracted far beyond the annual patience of 
 Cicero ; and it was not till after the preliminaries of peace that I 
 received my discharge, from the act of government which disembodied 
 the militia.* 
 
 When I complain of the loss of time, justice to myself and to the 
 militia must throw the greatest part of that reproach on the tirst seven 
 or eight months, while I was obliged to learn as well as to teach. The 
 dissipation of Blandford, and the disputes of Portsmouth, consumed 
 the hours which were not employed in the field ; and amid the per- 
 petual hurry of an inn, a barrack, or a guard-room, all literary ideas 
 were banished from my mind. After this long fast, the longest which 
 I have ever known, I once more tasted at Dover the pleasures of 
 
 * Journal, i76r, Jan. ii.] — In these seven or eight months of a most disagreeably active 
 life, I have had no studies to set down ; indeed, I hardly took a book in my hand the whole time. 
 The first two months at Blandford, I might have done something ; but the novelty of the thing, 
 of which for some time I was so fond as to think of going into the army, our field-days, our 
 dinners abroad, and the drinking and late hours we got into, prevented any serious reflections. 
 From the day we marched from Blandford I had hardly a moment I could call my own, almost 
 continually in motion ; if I was fi.\ed for a day, it was in the guard-room, a barrack, or an 
 inn. Our disputes consumed the little time I had left. Every letter, every memorial re- 
 lative to them fell to my share ; and our evening conferences were used to hear all the morn- 
 ing hours strike. At last I got to Dover, and Sir Thomas left us for two months. The 
 charm was over, I was sick of so hateful a service ; I was settled in a comparatively quiet 
 situation. Once more I began to taste the pleasure of thinking. 
 
 Recollecting some thoughts I had formerly had in relation to the system of Paganism, 
 which I intended to make use of in my Essay, I resolved to read Tully de Natura Deorum, 
 and finished it in about a month. I lost some time before I could recover my habit of 
 application. 
 
 Oct. 23.] — Our first design was to march through Marlborough; but finding on inquiry 
 that it was a bad road, and a great way about, we resolved to push for Devizes in one day, 
 though nearly thirty miles. We accordingly arrived there about three o'clock in the after- 
 Doon. 
 
 Nov. 2.] — I have very little to say for this and the following month. Nothing could be 
 n;ore uniform than the life I led there. The little civility of the neighbouring gentlemen 
 gave us no opportunity of dining out ; the time of year did not tempt us to any excursions 
 round tlie coutry ; and at first my indolence, and afterwards a violent cold, prevented my 
 going over to Bath. I believe in the two moiithsl never dined or lay from quarters. I can 
 therefore only set down what I did in the literary way. Designing to recover my Greok, 
 which I had somewhat neglected, I set myself to read Homer, and finished the four first 
 books of the Iliad, with Pope's translation and notes : at the same time, to understand the 
 geography of the Iliad, and particularly the catalogue, I read books 8, g, lo, 12, 13, and 14 
 of Strabo, in Casaubon's Latin translation : I likewise read Hume's History of England to the 
 Reign of Henry the Seventh, just published, iiigenioiisbui superficial; and the Jo7trnahdes 
 S^avans for Aug., Sept., and Oct. 1761, with the Bibliotheque ties Sciences, &c. from July to 
 Oct. Both these Journals speak very handsomely of my book. 
 
 December 25, 1761.] — When, upon finishing the year, I take a review of what I have done, 
 I am not dissatisfied with what I did in it, upon making proper allowances. On the one hand, 
 I could begin nothing before the middle of January, The Deal duty lost me part of February ; 
 although I was at home part of March, and all April, yet electioneering is no friend to the 
 Muses. May, indeed, though dissipated by our sea parties, was pretty quiet; but June was 
 absolutely lost, upon the march, at Alton, and settling ourselves in camp. The four suc- 
 ceeding months in camp allowed me little leisure and less quiet. November and December 
 were indeed as much my own as any time can be whilst 1 remain in the militia ; but itill it is,
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDU ARD GIB BOW 63 
 
 reading and thinking ; and the hungry appetite with which I opened a 
 voUime of Tully's pliilosophical works is still present to my memory. 
 The last review of my Essay l:)efore its publication, had prompted me 
 to investigate the nature of t he gods; my inquiries led me to the 
 Historie Critique du Manicheisme of Beausobre, who discusses many 
 
 at best, not a life for a man of letters. However, in this tumultuous year, (besides smaller thinc;s 
 which I have set down,) I read four books of Homer in Greek, six of Strabo in Latin, Cicero 
 de Natura Deorum, and the great philosophical and theological work of M. de Beausobre : I 
 wnjte in the same time a long dissertation on the succession of Naples ; reviewed, fated 
 for the press, and augmented above a fourth, my Essai sur 1' Etude de la Litterature. 
 
 In the six weeks I passed at JJeriton, as I never stirred from it, every day was like the 
 former. I had neither visits, hunting, or walking. My only resources were myself, my books, 
 and family conversations.— But to me these were great resources. 
 
 April 24, 1762. ] — I waited upon Colonel Harvey in the morning, to get him to apply for me 
 to be brig.ide major to Lord Effingham, as a post I should be very fond of, and for which I 
 am not unfit. Harvey received me with great good-nature and candour, told me he was both 
 willing and able to serve me ; that indeed he had already applied to Lord Effingham for 
 •****, one of his own officers, and though there would be more than one brigade major, 
 he did not think he could properly recommend two ; but that if I could get some other person 
 to break the ice, he would second it, and believed he should succeed : should that fail, as 
 ***** was in bad circumstances, he believed he could make a compromise with him (this 
 v - my desire) to let me do the duty without pay. I went from him to the Mallets, who pro- 
 mised to get Sir Charles Howard to speak to Lord Effingham. 
 
 August 22.]— I went with Ballard to the French church, where I heard a most indifferent 
 sermon preached by M. * * * * *. A very bad style, a worse pronunciation and action, and 
 a very great vacuity of ideas, composed this excellent performance. Upon the whole, which 
 is preferable, the philosophic method of the English, or the rhetoric of the French preachers? 
 The first (though less glorious) is certainly safer for the preacher. It is difficult for a man to 
 make himself ridiculous, who proposes only to deliver plain sense on a subject he has thoroughly 
 studied. But the instant he discovers the least pretentions towards the sublime, or the pathetic, 
 there is no medium ; we must either admire or laugh : and there are so many various talents re- 
 quisite to form the character of an orator, that it is more than probable we shall laugh. As 
 to the advantage of the hearer, which ought to be the great consideration, the dilemma is 
 much greater. Excepting in some particular cases, where we are blinded by popular pre- 
 judices, we are in general so well acquainted with our duty, that it is almost superfluous to 
 convince us of it. It is the heart, and not the head, that holds out ; and it is certainly pos- 
 sible, by a moving eloquence, to rouse the sleeping sentiments of that heart, and incite it to 
 acts of virtue. Unluckily it is not so much acts, as habits of virtue, we should have in view ; 
 and the preacher who is inculcating, with the eloquence of a Bourdaloue, the necessity of a 
 virtuous life, will dismiss his assembly full of emotions, which a variety of other objects, the 
 coldness of our northern constitutions, and no immediate opportunity of e.xerting their good 
 resolutions, will dissipate in a few moments. 
 
 Aug. 24.] — The same reason that carried so many people to the assembly to-night, was what 
 kept me away ; I mean the dancing. 
 
 28.] — To-day Sir Thomas came to us to dinner. The Spa has done him a great deal of good, 
 for he looks another man. Pleased to see him, we kept bumperizing till after roll-calling ; 
 Sir Thomas assuring us, everj' fresh bottle, how infinitely soberer he was grown. 
 
 29.] — I felt the usual consequences of Sir Thomas's company, and lost a morning, because I 
 had lost the day before. However, having finished Voltaire, I returned to Le Clerc (I mean 
 for the amusement of my leisure hours) ; and laid aside for some time his Bibliotheque 
 Universelle, to look into the Bibliotlicque Choisie, which is by far the better work. 
 
 Sept. 23.] — Colonel Wilkes, of the Buckingham.shire militia, dined with us, and renewed 
 the acquaintance Sir Thomas and myself had begun with him at Reading. I scarcely ever 
 met with a better companion ; he has inexhaustible spirits, infinite wit and humour, and a 
 great deal of knowledge. He told us himself, that in this time of public dissension he was 
 resolved to make his fortune. Upon this principle he has connected himself closely with Lord 
 Temple and Mr. Pitt, commenced a public adversary to Lord Bute, whom he abuses weekly 
 in the North Briton, and other political papers in which he is concerned. This proved a very 
 debauched day: we drank a good deal both after dinner and supper ; and when at last Wilke.s 
 had retired, Sir Thomas and some others (of whom I was not one) broke into his room, and 
 made him drink a bottle of claret in bed. 
 
 Oct. .";.]— The review, which lasted about three hours, concluded, as usual, with marching 
 by Lord Effingham, by grand divisions. Upon the whole, considering the camp had done 
 both the Winchester and the Gosport duties all the summer, they behaved very well, and made 
 n fine appearance. As they marched by, I had my usual curiosity to count their files. The 
 following is my field return : I think it a curiosity ; I am sure it is more exiCt than is com- 
 raonly made to a reviewing general.
 
 64 
 
 AIV LITERARY SCHEMES IN THE CAMP. 
 
 deep questions of Pagan and Christian theolog}' : and from this rich 
 treasury of facts and opinions, I deduced my own consequences, 
 beyond the holy circle of the author. After this recovery I never 
 relapsed into indolence ; and my example might prove, that in the life 
 most averse to study, some hours may be stolen, some minutes may be 
 
 Number of Files. Number of Men. Establishment 
 BerksMre, \ ^^^^' ]l\ ,r - ^73 - 560 
 
 »^-^--. { tS:^' 8^ 95 - ^85 - 480 
 
 „ ^,. , J Grenadiers, 20 ) ^„, ,,^ ^^^ 
 
 S.Glosier, \ Battalion. 84 f ^°^ " 3i2 - Cod 
 
 «r ^7' J J Grenadiers, 13 I <;, , ,_ „<„ 
 
 N. Closter, \ Battalion, 52 J ^^ ~ '^'^ ~ ^60 
 
 , ,. f Grenadiers, 20 1 ^„q ,^, „ 
 
 Lancashire, \ Kattalion, 88 / '°^ ~ 3'+ " ^°° 
 
 ,.,.,, ,. f Grenadiers, 24 \ ,.. ,,, o 
 
 Mdlslure, { Battalion, 120 ^44 - 432 - 800 
 
 Total, 607 1821 3600 
 
 N.B. The Gosport detachment from the Lancashire consisted of two hundred and fifty 
 men. The Buckinghamshire took the Winchester duty that day. 
 
 So that this camp in England, supposed complete, with only one detachment, had under 
 arms, on the day of the grand review, little more than half their establishment. This amazing 
 deficiency (though exemplified in every regiment I have seen) is an extraordinary military 
 phoipomenon : what must it be upon foreign service ? I doubt whether a nominal army of an 
 hundred thousand men often brings fifty into the field. 
 
 Upon our return to Southampton in the evening, we found Sir Thomas Worsley. 
 
 October 21.] — One of those impulses, which it is neither very easy nor very necessary to 
 withstand, drew me from Longinus to a very different subject, the Greek Calendar. Last 
 night, when in bed, I was thinking of a dissertation of M. de la Nauze upon the Roman 
 calendar, which I read last year. This led me to consider what was the Greek, and finding 
 myself very ignorant of it, I determined 'to read a short, but very excellent abstract of Mr. 
 IJodwell's. book de Cyclis, by the famous Dr. Halley. It is only twenty-five pages ; but as 
 I meditated it thoroughly, and verified all the calculations, it was a very good morning's work. 
 
 Oct. 28.] — I looked over a new Greek Lexicon which I have just received from London. It 
 is that of Robert Constantine, Lugdon. 1637. It is a very large volume in folio, in two 
 parts, comprising in the whole 1785 pages. After the great Thesaurus, this is esteemed the 
 best Greek Lexicon. It seems to be so. Of a variety of words for which I looked, I always 
 found an exact definition ; the various senses well distinguished, and properly supported, by 
 the best authorities. However, I still prefer the radical method of Scapula to this alpha- 
 betical one. 
 
 Dec. II.]— I have already given an idea of the Gosport duty; I shall only add a trait which 
 ch.nracterizes admirably our inithlnking sailors. At a time when they knew that they should 
 infallibly be discharged in a few weeks, numbers, who had considerable wages due to them, 
 were continually jumping over the walls, and risquing the losing of it for a few hour.s' amuse- 
 ment at Portsmouth. 
 
 17.I — We found old Captain Meard at Alresford, with the second division of the fourteenth. 
 He and all his officers supped with us, and made the evening rather a drunken one. 
 
 18.]— About the same hour our two corps paraded to march off. They, an old corps of 
 regulars, who had been two years quiet in Dover castle. We, part of a young body of militia, 
 two-thirds of our men recruits, of four months' standing, two of which they had passed upon 
 very disagreeable duty. Every advantage was on their side, and yet our superiority, both 
 as to appearance and discipline, was so striking, that the most prejudiced regular could not 
 have hesitated a moment. At the end of the town our two companies separated ; my father's 
 struck off for Petcrsfield, whilst I continued my rout to Alton ; into which place I marched 
 my company about noon ; two years six months and fifteen days after my first leaving it. I 
 gave the men some beer at roll-calling, which they received with great cheerfulness and 
 decency. I dined and lay at Harrison's, where I was received with that old-fashioned breed- 
 ing, w liich is at once so honourable and so troublesome. 
 
 23-] "Our two companies were disembodied; mine at Alton, and my father's at Buriton. 
 Smith marched them over from Petersfield : they fired three vollies, lodged the major's 
 colours, delivered up their arms, received their money, partook of a dinner at the major's 
 expence, and then separated with great cheerfulness and regularity. Thus ended the militia : 
 I may say ended, since our annual assemblies in May are so very precarious, and can be oi 
 BO little use. However, our Serjeants and drums are still kept up, and quartered at th; 
 rcjulczvous of their compajjy, aud tJie adjutant remains at Somhampton in ijjJJ pay.
 
 AUTODIOGkAPHiC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 65 
 
 snatched. Amidst the tumult of Winchester camp I sometimes thou.^ht 
 and read in my tent ; in the more settled quarters of the Devizes, 
 Blandford, and Southampton, I always secured a separate lod<^ing, and 
 the necessary books ; and in the summer of 1762, while the new 
 militia was raising, I enjoyed at Buriton two or three months of literary 
 repose*. In forming a new plan of study, I hesitated between the 
 mathematics and the Greek language ; both of which I had neglected 
 since my return from Lausanne. I consulted a learned and friendly 
 mathematician, Mr. George Scott, a pupil of de Moivre ; and his 
 map of a countr)^ which I have never explored, may perhaps be more 
 serviceable to others. As soon as I had given the preference to 
 Greek, the example of Scaliger and my own reason determined me 
 on the choice of Homer, the father of poetry, and the Bible of the 
 ancients : but Scaliger ran through the Iliad in one and twenty days ; 
 and I was not dissatisfied with my own diligence for performing the 
 same labour in an equal number of weeks. After the lirst difficulties 
 were surmounted, the language of nature and harmony soon became 
 easy and familiar, and each d^.y I sailed upon the ocean with a 
 brisker gale and a moi'e steady course. 
 
 As this was an extraordinary scene of life, in which I was engaged above three years and 
 a half from the date of my commission, and above two years and a half from the time of our 
 embodying, 1 cannot take my leave of it without some few reflections. When I engaged in 
 it, I was totally ignorant of its nature and consequences. I offered, because my father did, 
 without ever imagining that we should be called out, till it was too late to retreat with 
 honour. Indeed, I believe it happens throughout, that our most important actions have beea 
 often determined by chance, caprice, or some very inadequate motive. After our embodying, 
 many things contributed to make me support it with great impatience. Our continual dis- 
 pvites with the duke of Bolton ; our unsettled way of life, which hardly allowed me books or 
 leisure for study ; and more than all, the disagreeable society in which I was forced to live. 
 
 After mentioning my sufferings, I must say something of what I found agreeable. Now it 
 is over, I can make the separation much better than I could at the time. i. The unsettled 
 way of life itself had its advantages. The exercise and change of air and of objects amused 
 me, at the same time that it fortified my health. 2. A new field of knowledge and amusement 
 opened itself to me ; that of military affairs, which, both in my studies and travels, will give 
 me eyes for a new world of things, which before would have passed unheeded. Indeed, in 
 that respect I can hardly help wishing our battalion had continued another 3'ear. We had 
 got a fine set of new men, all our difficulties were over ; we were perfectly well clothed and 
 appointed ; and, from the progress our recruits had already made, we conld promise ourselves 
 that we should be one of the best militia corps by next summer ; a circumstance that would 
 have been the more agreeable to me, as I am now established the real acting major of the 
 battalion. But what I value most, is the knowledge it has given me of mankind in general, 
 and of my own country in particular. The general system of our government, the methods 
 of our sever.al offices, the departments and powers of their respective officers, our provincial 
 and municipal administration, the views of our several parties, the characters, connections, 
 and influence of our principal people, have been impressed on my mind, not by vain theory, 
 but by the indelible lessons of action and experience. 1 have made a number of valuable 
 acquaintance, and am myself much better known, than (with my ressrvoJ character) I should 
 have been in ten years, passing regularly my summers at Buriton, and my winters in London. 
 So that the sum of all is, that I am glad the militia has been, and glad that it is no more. 
 
 * Jours \l. May 8, 1762.] — This was my birth-day, on which I entered into the twenty- 
 si.xth year ^,1 my age. This gave me occasion to look a little into myself, and consider inipir- 
 tially my good and bad qualities. It appeared to me, upon this inquiry, that my character 
 was virtuous, incapable of a base action, and formed for generous ones ; but that it wa-J 
 proud, violent, and disagreeable in society. These qualities I must endeavour to cultivate, 
 extirpate, or restrain, according to their different tendency. Wit I have none. My imagi- 
 nation is rather strong than pleasing. My memory both capacious and retentive. The 
 shining qualities of my understanding are extensiveness and penetration ; but I want both 
 quickness and exactness. As to my situation in life, though I may sometimes repine at it. it 
 perhaps is the best adapted to my character. I can command all the convenit;nces of life, 
 and I can command too that inilejicndence, (fiiat first earthly blessing,) which is hardly to 
 be met with in a higher or lower fortune. When I talk of my situation, I must exclude tl»'it 
 temporary one, of bi-ing in the militia. Though I go through it with spirit and application, 
 it is both unfit for, and luiworthy uf uie.
 
 66 FLAM FOR FUTURE LITERARY OCCUPATION, 
 
 'Ej' S' avi/^wg Trprjcii' n'saov 'kjtIov, di^Kpl, de KVfia 
 
 Yrdpr] TVop<pl}pioi> luydX' iaxs, vijoq lovrrijg' 
 
 'H c' iQtiv Kara KVfta ^ianpi](jaovaa Kk\ti>9a.* Rias, A. 481. 
 
 In the study of a poet who has since become the most intimate of my 
 friends, I successively applied many passages and fragments of Greek 
 writers ; and among these I shall notice a life of Homer, in the Oposcula 
 Mythologica of Gale, several books of the geography of Strabo, and 
 the entire treatise of Longinus, which, from the title and the style, is 
 equally worthy of the epithet of sublime. My grammatical skill was 
 improved, my vocabulary was enlarged ; and in the militia I acquired 
 a just and indelible knowledge of the first of languages. On every 
 march, in every journey, Horace was always in my pocket, and often 
 in my hand : but I should not mention his two critical epistles, the 
 amusement of a morning, had they not been accompanied by the 
 elaborate commentary of Dr. Hurd, now Bishop of Worcester. On 
 the interesting subjects of composition and imitation of epic and 
 dramatic poetry, I presumed to think for myself ; and thirty close- 
 written pages in folio could scarcely comprise my full and free dis- 
 cussion of the sense of the master and the pedantry of the servant. 
 
 After his oracle Dr. Johnson, my friend Sir Joshua Reynolds denies 
 all original genius, any natural propensity of the mind to one art or 
 science rather than another. Without engaging in a metaphysical or 
 rather verbal dispute, I know, by experience, that from my early youth 
 I aspired to the character of an historian. While I served in the 
 militia, before and after the publication of my essay, this idea ripened 
 in my mind ; nor can I paint in more lively colours the feelings of the 
 moment, than by transcribing some passages, under their respective 
 dates, from a journal which I kept at that time. ( 
 
 Beriton, April 14, 1761. (In a short excursion from Dover.)— 
 " Having thought of several subjects for an historical composition, I 
 chose the expedition of Charles VIII. of France into Italy. I read 
 two memoirs of Mr. de Foncemagne in the Academy of Inscriptions 
 (tom. xvii. p. 539 — 607.), and abstracted them. I likewise finished this 
 day a dissertation, in which I examine the right of Charles VIII. to 
 the crown of Naples, and the rival claims of the House of Anjou and 
 Arragon : it consists of ten folio pages, besides large notes." 
 
 Beriton, Aiigiist ^, 1761. (In a week's excursion from Winchester 
 camp.) — " After having long revolved subjects for my intended historical 
 essay, I renounced my first thought of the expedition of Charles VIII. 
 as too remote from us, and rather an introduction to great events, than 
 great and important in itself. I successively chose and rejected the 
 crusade of Richard the First, the barons' wars against John and Henry 
 the Third, the History of Edward the Black Prince, the lives and com- 
 parisons of Henry V. and the Emperor Titus, the life of Sir Philip 
 Sidney, and that of the Marquis of Montrose. At length I have fixed 
 on Sir Walter Raleigh for my hero. His eventful story is varied by 
 the characters of the soldier and sailor, the courtier and historian ; and 
 
 • Fair wind, and blowing fresh, 
 
 ApoUo sent them ; quick they rear'd the mast, 
 Xbcu spread th'unsuUied canvas to the ^ale, 
 
 And the wind fiU'd it. Roar'd the sable flood 
 Around the bark, that ever as she went 
 Dash'd wide the brine, and scudded swift away, 
 Cowper's Homer,
 
 AUTOBIO€RAPIIIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIJSBOiV. 67 
 
 it may afford such a fund of materials as I desire, which have not yet 
 bciTi properly manufactured. At present 1 cannot attempt the execution 
 t>l' this work, P^rec leisure, and the opportunity of consulting many 
 books, boi.h printed and manuscript, are as necessary as they are im- 
 jxjssiblc to be attained in my present way of life. However, to acquire 
 a general insight into my subject and resources, I read the life of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh by Dr. Birch, his copious article in the General 
 Dictionary by the same hand, and the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and 
 James the First in Hume's History of England." 
 
 Biriioii, Ja/ntary 1762. (In a month's absence from the Devizes.) — 
 " During this interval of repose, I again turned my thoughts to Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, and looked more closely into my materials. I read 
 the two volumes in quarto of the Bacon Papers, published by Dr. 
 Birch ; the Fragmenta Regalia of Sir Robert Naunton, Mallet's Life of 
 Lord Bacon, and the political treatises of that great man in the first 
 volume of his works, with many of his letters in the second ; Sir 
 William Monson's Naval Tracts, and the elaborate life of Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, which Mr. Oldys has pu'efixed to the best edition of his 
 Jlistory of the World. My subject opens upon me, and in general 
 improves upon a nearer prospect." 
 
 Bcriion^July 26, 1762. (During my summer residence.) — "I am 
 afraid of being reduced to drop my hero ; but my time has not, how- 
 ever, been lost in the research of bis story, and of a memorable aera of 
 our English annals. The life of Sir W^alter Raleigh, by Oldys, is a 
 very poor performance ; a servile panegyric, or flat apology, tediously 
 minute, and composed in a dull and affected style. Yet the author was 
 a man of diligence and learning, who had read everything relative to 
 his subject, and whose ample collections are arranged with perspicuity 
 and method. Excepting some anecdotes lately revealed in the Sidney 
 and Bacon Papers, 1 know not what I should be able to add. My 
 ambition (exclusive of the uncertain merit of style and sentiment) must 
 be contined to the hope of giving a good abridgment of Oldys. I have 
 even the disappointment of finding some parts of this copious work 
 very dry and barren ; and these parts are unluckily some of the most 
 characteristic : Raleigh's colony of Virginia, his quarrels with Essex, 
 the true secret of his conspiracy, and, above all, the detail of his private 
 life, the most essential and important to a biographer. My best 
 resource would be in the circumjacent history of the times, and per- 
 haps in some digressions artfully introduced, like the fortunes of the 
 Peripatetic philosophy in the portrait of Lord Bacon. But the reigns 
 of IClizabeth and James the First are the periods of English history, 
 wliich have been the most variously illustrated : and what new lights 
 could I reflect on a subject, which has exercised the accurate industry of 
 Birch, the lively and curious acuteness of ]Valpolc, the critical spirit 
 of Ifiird, the vigorous sense of JAz/Zt'/ and Bobc/isoii, ^.wdihe impartial 
 philosophy of Hume ? Could 1 even surmount these obstacles, I should 
 shrink with terror from the modern history of England, where every 
 character is a problem, and every reader a friend or an enemy ; where 
 ■K writer is supposed to hoist a flag of party, and is devoted to damnation 
 by the adverse faction. Such would be my reception at home : and 
 abroad, the historian of Raleigh must encounter an indifference far more
 
 68 RESOLVE TO DEVOTE MYSELF TO HlSTORLCAL WORKS, 
 
 bitter than censure or reproach. The events of his Hfe are interesting^ : 
 but his character is ambiguous, his actions are obscure, his writiny" 
 are English, and his fame is confined to the narrow limits of our 
 language and our island. I must embrace a safer and more extensive 
 theme. 
 
 There is one which I should prefer to all others, Tlie History of the 
 Liberty of the Stfiss, of that independence which a brave people rescued 
 from the House of Austria, defended against a Dauphin of France, and 
 finally sealed with the blood of Charles of Burgundy. From such a 
 theme, so full of public spirit, of military glory, of examples of virtue, 
 of lessons of government, the dullest stranger would catch fire ; what 
 might not / hope, whose talents, whatsoever they may be, would be 
 inflamed with the zeal of patriotism. But the materials of this history 
 are inaccessible to me, fast locked in the obscurity of an old barbarous 
 German dialect, of which I am totally ignorant, and which I cannot 
 resolve to learn for this sole and peculiar purpose. 
 
 I have another subject in view, which is the contrast of the former 
 history : the one a poor, warlike, virtuous republic, which emerges into 
 glory and freedom ; the other a commonwealth, soft, opulent, and cor- 
 rupt ; which, by just degrees, is precipitated from the abuse to the loss 
 of her liberty : both lessons are, perhaps, equally instructive. This 
 second subject is. The History of the Republic of Florence under the 
 House of Medicis : a period of one hundred and fifty years, which rises 
 or descends from the dregs of the Florentine democracy, to the title 
 and dominion of Cosmo de Medicis in the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. 
 I might deduce a chain of revolutions not unworthy of the pen of 
 Vertot ; singular men, and singular events ; the Medicis four times 
 expelled, and as often recalled ; and the Genius of Freedom reluc- 
 tantly yielding to the arms of Charles V. and the policy of Cosmo. 
 The character and fate of Savanerola, and the revival of arts and 
 letters in Italy, will be essentially connected with the elevation of the 
 family and the fall of the republic. The Medicis (stirps quasi fataliter 
 nata ad instauranda velfovenda studia (Lipsius ad Germanos et Gallos, 
 Epist. viii.) were illustrated by the patronage of learning ; and enthu- 
 siasm was the most formidable weapon of their adversaries. On this 
 splendid subject I shall most probably fix ; but when, or where, or 
 how will it be executed .'' I behold in a dark and doubtful perspec- 
 tive." 
 
 Res alta terra, et caligine mersas.* 
 
 * Joia^^lAL, July 27, 1762.]— The reflections which I was making yesterday I continued 
 and digested to-day. I don't absolutely look on that time as lost, but that it might have been 
 better employed than in revolving schemes, the execution of which is so far distant. I must 
 learn to check these wanderings of my imagination. 
 
 Nov. 24.]— I dined at the Cocoa Tree with * * * * » * ; who, under a great appearance of 
 oddity, conceals more real honour, good sense, and even knowledge, than half those who laugh at 
 him. We went thence to the play (the Spanish Friar) ; and when it was over, returned to the 
 Cocoa Tree. That respectable body, of which I have the honour of being a member, affords 
 every evening a sight truly English. Twenty or thirty perhaps, of the first men in the king- 
 dom, in point of fashi>m and fortune, supping at little tables covered with a napkin, in the 
 middle of a coffee-rot^m, upon a bit of cold meat, or a Sandwich, and drinking a glass of 
 punch. At present, we are full of king's counsellers and lords of the bedchamber ; who, 
 having jumped iutc the ministry, make a very singular medley of their old principles and 
 language, with theii modern ones. 
 
 Nov 26.]—] went with Mallet (o breakfast with Garrick ; and thence to Drnry-lane House, 
 where I assisted at a very private rehearsal, iu the Grccn-rooiii, ''"■' ">»cw Irajjedy of Mallet's,
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBO-V. 69 
 
 The youthful habits of the language and manners of France had left 
 in my mind an ardent desire of revisiting the Continent on a larger 
 and more liberal plan. According to the law of custom, and perhaps 
 of reason, foreign travel completes the education of an English gentle- 
 man : my father had consented to my wish, but I was detained above 
 four years by my rash engagement in the militia. I eagerly grasped 
 the first moments of freedom : three or four weeks in Hampshire and 
 1 London were employed in the preparations of my journey, and the 
 j farewell visits of friendship and civility : my last act in town was to 
 ' applaud Mallet's new tragedy of Elvira;* a post-chaise conveyed me 
 
 called Elvira. As I have since seen it acted, I shall defer my opinion of it till then ; but I 
 
 j cannot help mentioning here the surprising versatility of Mrs. Pritchard's talents, who 
 
 rehearsed, almost at the same time, the part of a furious queen in the Green-room, and that of 
 
 ' a coquette on the stage ; and passed several times from one to the other with the utmost ease 
 
 and happiness. 
 
 Dec. 30.] — Before I close the year I must balance my accounts — not of money, but of time. 
 
 I I may divide my studies into four branches ; i. Books that I have read for themselves, classic 
 
 I writers, or capital- treatises on any science ; such books as ought to be perused with attention, 
 
 and meditated with care. Of these I read the twenty last books of the Iliad twice, the three 
 
 /irst books 0/ the Odyssey, the Life of Homer-, and Longimis n-cpi Y</<oi/r. 2. Books which I 
 
 have read or consulted, to illustrate the former. Such as this year, Blackwall's Inqiiity into 
 
 the Life and Writings of Homer, Bttrke's Sublime and Beautiful, Hurd's Horace, Guichard'i 
 
 Memoires Militaires, a great variety of passages of the ancients occasionally useful : large 
 
 J extracts from Mezeriac, Bayle, and Potter; and many memoirs and abstracts from the 
 
 f Academy of Belles Lettres : among these I shall only mention here two long and curious 
 
 * suites of dissertations — the one upon the Temple of Delphi, the Amphictyonic Couticil, and 
 if the Holy Wars, by M. M. Hardionand De Valois ; theothcrnpon the games of the Grecians, 
 
 • iy ]\I. M. Burette, Gedoyne, and de la Barre. 3. Books of amusement and instruction, 
 j perused at my leisure hours, without any reference to a regular plan of study. Of these, per- 
 ; haps, I read too many, since I went through the Life of Erasmus, by Le Clerc and Burigny, 
 ■ many extracts from Le Clerc's Bibliothegues, The Ciceronians, and Colloquies of Erasmus, 
 
 Barclay's Argents, Terasson's Sethos, Voltaire's Steele de Louis XIV., Madame de Hotter 
 ' ville's Memoirs, and Fontenelle's Works. 4. Compositions of my own. I find hardly any, 
 except this Journal, and the Extract of H^tfd's Horace, which (like a chapter of Montaigne) 
 contains many things very different from its title. To these four heads I must this year add a 
 fifth. J. Those treatises of English history which I read in January, with a view to my now 
 abortive scheme of the Life of Sir Walter Raleigh. I ought indeed to have known my own 
 mind better before I undertook them. Upon the whole, after making proper allowances, I 
 am not dissatisfied with the year. 
 
 The three weeks which I passed at Beriton, at the end of this and the beginning of the 
 ensuing year, are almost a blank. I seldom went out ; and as the scheme of my travelling 
 was at last entirely settled, the hurry of impatience, the cares of preparations, and the tender- 
 ness of friends I was going to quit, allowed me hardly any moments for study. 
 
 * Journal, Jan. 11, 1763.] — I called upon Dr. Matey in the morning. He told me that the 
 Duke de Nivernois desired to be acquainted with me. It was indeed with that view that I 
 had written to Matey from Beriton to present, in my name, a copy of my book to him. 
 Thence I went to Becket, paid him his bill, (fifty-four pounds,) and gave him back his trans- 
 latien. It must be printed, though very indifferent. My comfort is, that my misfortune is 
 not an uncommon one. We dined and supped at the Mallets. 
 
 12. — I went with Matey to visit the Duke in Albemarle Street. He is a little emaciated 
 figure, but appears to possess a good understanding, taste, and knowledge. He offered me 
 very politely letters for Paris. We dined at our lodgings. I went to Covent Garden to see 
 Woodward in Bobadil, and supped with the Mallets at George .Scott's. 
 
 Journal, Jan. ig, 1763.] — 1 waited upon Lady Herbert and the Duke de Nivernois, and 
 received my credentials. Lady Hervey's are for M. le Comte de Caylus, and Madame 
 Geoffrin. The Duke received me very civilly, but (perhaps through Matey's fault) treated me 
 more as a nian of letters than as a man of fashion. His letters are entirely in that style; for the 
 Count de Caylus and M. M. de la Bleterie, de Ste. Palaye, C.aperonier, du Clos, de Force- 
 magne, and d'Alembert. I then undressed for the play. My father and I went to the Rose, 
 in the passage of the play-house, where we found Mallet, with about thirty friends. We dined 
 together, and went thence into the pit, where we took our places in a body, ready to silence 
 all opposition. However, w-e had no occasion to exert ourselves. Notwithstanding tha 
 malice of party. Mallet's nation, connections, and, indeed, imprudence, we heard nothing but 
 applause. I think it was deserved. The plan A'as taken from de la Motte, but the details 
 and language have great merit. A fine vein ofdramatic poetry runs through the piece. Tha 
 scenes t>etwccn the father and son awaken almost every sensation of the hunian breast; and 
 
 F
 
 JO THREE MONTHS SPENT PLEASANTLY IN PARIS. 
 
 to Dover, the packet to Boulogne, and such was my diligence, that I 
 reached Paris on Jan. 28, 1763, only thirty-six days after the disband- 
 ing of the militia. Two or three j'ears were loosely defined for the 
 term of my absence ; and I was left at liberty to spend that time in 
 such places and in such a manner as was most agreeable to my taste 
 and judgment. 
 
 In this first visit I passed three months and a half, (Jan. 28 — May 
 9,) and a much longer space might have been agreeably filled, without 
 any intercourse with the natives. At home we are content to move in 
 the daily round of pleasure and business ; and a scene which is always 
 present is supposed to be within our knowledge, or at least within our 
 power. But in a foreign country, curiosity is our business and our 
 pleasure ; and the traveller, conscious of his ignorance, and covetous 
 of his time, is diligent in the search and the view of every object that 
 can deserve his attention. I devoted many hours of the morning to 
 the circuit of Paris and the neighbourhood, to the visit of churches and 
 palaces conspicuous by their architecture, to the royal manufactures, 
 collections of books and pictures, and all the various treasures of art, 
 of learning", and of luxury. An Englishman may hear without reluctance, 
 that in these curious and costly articles Paris is superior to London ; 
 since the opulence of the French capital arises from the defects of its 
 government and religion. In the absence of Louis XIV. and his suc- 
 cessors, the Louvre has been left unfinished : but the millions which 
 have been lavished on the sands of Versailles, and the morass of Marli, 
 could not be supplied by the legal allowance of a British king. The 
 splendour of the French nobles is confined to their town residence ; 
 that of the English is more usefully distributed in their country seats ; 
 and we should be astonished at our own riches, if the labours of archi- 
 tecture, the spoils of Italy and Greece, which are now scattered from 
 Inverary to Wilton, were accumulated in a few streets between Maryle- 
 bone and Westminster. All superfluous ornament is rejected by the 
 cold frugality of the protestants ; but the cathoHc superstition, which 
 is always the enemy of reason, is often the parent of the arts. The 
 wealthy communities of priests and monks expend their revenues in 
 stately edifices ; and the parish church of St. Sulpice, one of the 
 noblest structures in Paris, was built and adorned by the private in- 
 dustry of a late cure. In this outset, and still more in the sequel of 
 my tour, my eye was amused ; but the pleasing vision cannot be fixed 
 by the pen ; the particular images are darkly seen through the medium 
 
 the counsel would have equally moved, but for the inconvenience unavoidable upon all theatres, 
 that of entrusting fine speeches to indifferent actors. The perplexity of the catastrophe is 
 much, and I believe justly, criticised. But another defect made a stronger impression upon 
 me. When a poet ventures upon the dreadful situation of a father who condemns his son to 
 death, there is no medium, the father must either be a monster or a hero. His obligations of 
 justice, cf the pubUc good, must be as binding, as apparent, as perhaps those of the first 
 Brutus. The cruel necessity consecrates his actions, and leaves no room for repentance. The 
 thought is shocking, if not carried into action. In the execution of Brutus's sons I am sensible 
 of that fatal necessity. Without such an example, the unsettled liberty of Rome would have 
 perished the instant after its birth. But Alonzo might have pardoned his son for a rash 
 attempt, the cause of which was a private injury, and whose consequences could never have 
 disturbed an established government. He might have pardoned such a crime in any other 
 subject ; and as the laws could exact only an equal rigour for a son, a vain appetite for glory, 
 and a mad affectation of heroism, could alone have influenced him to exert an imaaual and 
 superior severity.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 7 1 
 
 of five-and-twcnty years, and the narrative of my life must not degene- 
 rate into a book of travels.* 
 
 But the principal end of my journey was to enjoy the society of a 
 polished and amialjle people, in whose favour I was strongly prejudiced, 
 and to converse with some authors, whose conversation, as I fondly 
 imagined, must be far more pleasing and instructive than their writings. 
 The moment was Iiappily chosen. At the close of a successful war the 
 British name was respected on the continent. 
 
 Clarum et venerabile nomen 
 Gentibus. 
 Our opinions, our fashions, even our games, were adopted in France, a 
 ray of national glory illuminated each individual, and eveiy English- 
 man was supposed to be born a patriot and a philosopher. For myself, 
 I carried a personal recommendation ; my name and my Essay were 
 already known ; the compliment of having written in the French 
 language entitled me to some returns of civility and gratitude. I was 
 considered as a man of letters, who wrote for amusement. Before my 
 departure I had obtained from the Duke de Nivernois, Lady Hervey, 
 the Mallets, Mr. Walpole, &:c. many letters of recommendation to their 
 private or literary friends. Of these epistles the reception and success 
 were determined by the character and situation of the persons by whom 
 and to whom they were addressed : the seed was sometimes cast on a 
 barren rock, and it sometimes multiplied an hundred fold in the pro- 
 duction of new shoots, spreading branches, and exquisite fruit. But 
 upon the whole, I had reason to praise the national urbanity, which 
 from the court has diiTused its gentle influence to the shop, the 
 cottage, and the schools. Of the men of genius of the age, Montesquieu 
 and Fontenelle were no more ; Voltaire resided on his own estate 
 near Geneva ; Rousseau in the preceding year had been driven from 
 his hermitage of Montmorency ; and I blush at my having neglected 
 to seek, in this journey, the acquaintance of Buffon. Among the men 
 of letters whom I saw, D'Alembert and Diderot held the foremost 
 rank in merit, or at least in fame. I shall content myself with 
 enumerating the well-known names of the Count de Caylus, of the 
 Abbe de la Bleterie, Barthelemy, Reynal, Arnaud, of Messieurs de la 
 Condamine, du Clos, de S''^ Palaye, de Bougainville, Caperonnier, de 
 Guignes, Suard, &c. without attempting to discriminate the shades of 
 their characters, or the degrees of our connection. Alone, in a morn- 
 ing visit, I commonly found the artists and authors of Paris less vain, 
 
 • Journal, ai Fevrier 1763.] — Aujourdhui j'ai commence matournee, pour voir lesendroiu 
 dignes d'attention dans la ville. D'Augny m'a accompagne. Nous sommes alles d'abord a 
 la blbliotheque de I'Abbaye de St. Germain des Prez, oil tout le monde ^toit occupe a 
 I'arrangement d'un cabinet de curiosltes, et 3. Thnpital des invaUdes, ofl le dome etoit ferme 
 a cause des reparations qu'on y faisoit. II faut done differer la visite et la description de ccs 
 deux endroits. De la nous sommes alles voir I'ecole militaire. Comme ce batiment s'eleve 3. 
 cote des Invalides, bien des gens y verroient un moyen assez facile d'apprecier les ames 
 difterentcs de leurs fondatcurs. Dans I'un tout est grand et fastueux, dans I'autre tout est 
 petit et mesquin. De petits corps de logis blancs et assez propres, qui, au lieu de Joo gentils- 
 hommes, dont on a parle, en contiennent 258, composent tout I'etablissement ; car le manege 
 et les ecuries ne sont ricn. II est vrai qu'on dit que ces batimens ne soiit qu'unechaffaudage, 
 qu'on doit otre, pour clever le veritable ouvrage sur ces debris. II faut bien en effet qu'on 
 n'ait pas bati pour I'eternite, puisque dans vingt ans la plupart des poutres se sont pourries. 
 Nous jctt'uncs ensuitc un coup d'oeil sur I'egUse de St. Sulpice, dont la fajade (le pretexte 
 e< le fruit de tant de lotteries) n'cst point encore achevee.
 
 7 3 EXTRACTS PROM JOURNAL KEPT AT PARIS. 
 
 and more reasonable, than in the circles of their equals, with whom 
 they mingle in the houses of the rich. Four days in a week, I had 
 i place, without invitation, at the hospitable tables of Mesdames 
 Geoffrin and du Bocage, of the celebrated Helvetius, and of the Baron 
 d 'Olbach. Jn these symposia the pleasures of the table were improved 
 by lively and liberal conversation; the company was select, though 
 various and voluntary.* 
 
 The society of Madame du Bocage was more soft and moderate than 
 that of her rivals, and the evening conversations of M. de Foncemagne 
 were supported by the good sense and learning of the principal members 
 of the Academy of Inscriptions. The opera and the Italians I occa- 
 sionally visited ; but the French theatre, both in tragedy and comedy, 
 was my daily and favourite amusement. Two famous actresses then 
 divided the public applause. For my own part, I preferred the con- 
 summate art of the Claron, to the intemperate sallies of the Dumesnil, 
 which were extolled by her admirers, as the genuine voice of nature 
 and passion. Fourteen weeks insensibly stole away ; but had I been 
 rich and independent, I should have prolonged, and perhaps have 
 fixed, my residence at Paris. 
 
 Between the expensive style of Paris and of Italy it was prudent to 
 interpose some months of tranquil simplicity; and at the thoughts of 
 Lausanne I again lived in the pleasures and studies of my early youth. 
 Shaping my course through Dijon and Besan9on, in the last of which 
 places I was kindly entertained by my cousin Acton, I arrived in the 
 month of May 1763 on the banks of the Leman Lake. It had been 
 my intention to pass the Alps in the autumn, but such are the simple 
 attractions of the place, that the year had almost expired before my 
 departure from Lausanne in the ensuing spring. An absence of five 
 years had not made much alteration in manners, or even in persons. 
 My old friends, of both sexes, hailed my voluntary return ; the most 
 
 * Journal, Fevrier 23, i^^^-l — Je fis une visite a I'Abbe de la Bleterie, qui veut meraener 
 chez la Duchesse d'Aiguillon; je me fis ecrire chez M. de Bougainville que j'ai grande envie 
 de connoitre, et me rendis ensuite chez le Baron d' Olbach, ami de M. Helvetius. C'etoit ma 
 premiere visite, et le premier pas dans une fort bonne maison. Le Baron a de I'esprit et des 
 connoissances, et surtout il donne souvent et fort bien il diner. 
 
 Fevrier 24.] — L'Abbe Barthelemy est fort aimable et n'a de I'antiquaire (Jti'une tr2s grande 
 Erudition. Je finis la soiree par une souper triis agreable chez Madame Bontems avec M. le 
 Marquis de Mirabeau. Get homme est singulier ; il a assez d' imagination pour dix autres, et 
 pas assez de sens rassis pour lui seul. Je lui ai fait beaucoup de questions sur les titres de la 
 noblesse Francoise ; mais tout ce que j'en ai pu comprendre, c'est que personne n'a la dessus 
 des ide'es bien nettes. 
 
 Mai 1763.] — Muni d'une double lettre de recommandation pour M. le Comte de Caylus, je 
 m'etois imagine que je trouverois reunis en lui 1' homme de lettres et 1' homme de qualite. Je 
 Is vis trois ou quatre fois, et je vis un homme simple, uni, bon, et qui me temoignoit une 
 bonte extreme. Si je n'en ai point profite, je I'attribue moins a son caracte're qu'a son genre 
 de vie. II se leve de grande matin, court les atteliers des artistes pendant tout le jour, et 
 rentre chez lui a six heurs du soir pour se mettre en robe de chambre, et s'enfermer dans son 
 cabinet. Le moyen de voir ses amis ? 
 
 Si ces recommendations etoient steriles, il y en eut d'autres que devinrcnt aussi secondes 
 par leurs suites, qu'elles etoient agreables en elles memes. Dans une capitate comme Paris, 
 il est necessaire, il est juste que des lettres de recommendation vous ayent distingue de la 
 foule. Mais dfesque la glace est rompue, vos connoissances se multiplient, et vos nouveaux 
 amis se font un plaisir de vous en procurer d'autres plus nouveaux encore. Heureux eflfet 
 de ce caractere leger et aimable du Fraufois, qui a etabli dans Paris une douceur et une 
 liberte dans la societe, inconnues a I'antiquite, et encore ignorees des autres nations. A 
 Londres il faut faire fon chemin dans les maisons que ne s'ouvrent qu' avec peine. La on 
 croit vous faire plaisir en vous recevant. lei on crolt s'en faire a. soi-meme. Aussi je 
 connois plus ds maisons a Paris qu'a Londres: le fait n'est pas vr.'iiscmblable, laais il 
 vi t wai.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. J$ 
 
 genuine proof of my attachment. They had been flattered by the 
 present of my book, the produce of their soil ; and the good PavilHard 
 shed tears of joy as he embraced a pupil, whose literary merit he might 
 fairly impute to his own labours. To my old list I added some new 
 acquaintance, and among the strangers I shall distinguish Prince 
 Lewis of Wirtemberg, the brother of the reigning Duke, at whose 
 country-house, near Lausanne, I frequently dined : a wandering 
 meteor, and at length a falling star, his light and ambitious spirit had 
 successively dropped from the firmament of Prussia, of France, and of 
 Austria ; and his faults, which he styled his misfortunes, had driven 
 him into philosophic exile in the Pays de Vaud. He could now moralize 
 on the vanity of the world, the equality of mankind, and the happiness 
 of a private station. His address was affable and polite, and as he 
 had shone in courts and armies, his memory could supply, and his 
 eloquence could adorn, a copious fund of interesting anecdotes. His 
 first enthusiasm was that of charity and agriculture ; but the sage 
 gradually lapsed in the saint, and Prince Lewis of Wirtemberg is now 
 buried in a hermitage near RIayence, in the last stage of mystic devo- 
 tion. By some ecclesiastical quarrel, Voltaire had been provoked to 
 withdraw himself from Lausanne, and retire to his castle at Ferney, 
 where I again visited the poet and the actor, without seeking his more 
 intimate acquaintance, to which I might now have pleaded a better 
 title. But the theatre which he had founded, the actors whom he had 
 formed, survived the loss of their master ; and, recent from Paris, I 
 attended with pleasure at the representation of several tragedies and 
 comedies. I shall not descend to specify particular names and cha- 
 racters ; but I cannot forget a private institution, which will display 
 the innocent freedom of Swiss manners. My favourite society had 
 assumed, from the age of its members, the proud denomination of the 
 spring (/a societc dii priiitenis). It consisted of fifteen or twenty young 
 unmarried ladies, of genteel, though not of the very first families ; the 
 eldest perhaps about twenty, all agreeable, several handsome, and two 
 or three of exquisite beauty. At each other's houses they assembled 
 almost every day, without the controul, or even the presence, of a mother 
 or an aunt ; they were trusted to their own prudence, among a crowd 
 of young men of every nation in Europe. They laughed, they sung, 
 they danced, they played at cards, they acted comedies ; but in the 
 midst of this careless gaiety, they respected themselves, and were 
 respected by the men ; the invisible line between liberty and licentious- 
 ness was never transgressed by a gesture, a word, or a look, and their 
 virgin chastity was never sullied by the breath of scandal or suspicion. 
 A singular institution, expressive of the innocent simplicity of Swiss 
 manners. After having tasted the luxury of England and Paris, I could 
 not have returned with satisfaction to the coarse and homely table of 
 Madame Pavilliard ; nor was her husband offended that I now entered 
 myself as a pcnsionaire, or boarder, in the elegant house of Mr. 
 De Mesery, which may be entitled to a short remembrance, as it 
 has stood above twenty years, perhaps, without a parallel in Europe. 
 The house in which we lodged was spacious and convenient, in the 
 best street, and commanding, from behind, a noble prospect over the 
 country and the Lake. Our table was served with neatness and
 
 74 COMFORTS OF MY NEW HOME AT LAUSANNE, 
 
 plenty ; the boarders were select ; we had the liberty of inviting any 
 guests at a stated price ; and in the summer the scene was occasionally 
 transferred to a pleasant villa, about a league from Lausanne. The 
 characters of Master and Mistress were happily suited to each other, 
 and to their situation. At the age of seventy-five, Madame de Mesery, 
 who has survived her husband, is still a graceful, I had almost said, a 
 handsome woman. She was alike qualified to preside in her kitchen 
 and her drawing-room ; and such was the equal propriety of her con- 
 duct, that of two or three hundred foreigners, none ever failed in 
 respect, none could complain of her neglect, and none could ever boast 
 of her favour. Mesery himself, of the noble family of De Crousaz, 
 was a man of the world, a jovial companion, whose easy manners and 
 natural sallies maintained the cheerfulness of his house. His wit 
 could laugh at his own ignorance : lie disguised, by an air of profu- 
 sion, a strict attention to his interest ; and in this situation he appeared 
 like a nobleman who spent his fortune and entertained his friends. In 
 this agreeable society I resided nearly eleven months (May 1763 — 
 April 1764) ; and in this second visit to Lausanne, among a crowd of 
 my English companions, 1 knew and esteemed Mr. Holroyd (now 
 Lord Sheffield) ; and our mutual attachment was renewed and fortified 
 in the subsequent stages of our Italian journey. Our lives are in the 
 power of chance, and a slight variation on either side, in time or place, 
 might have deprived me of a friend, whose activity in the ardour of 
 youth was always prompted by a benevolent heart, and directed by a 
 strong understanding.* 
 
 * Journal, Sept. 16, 1763.] — * ***i g(»*** j,oyg qjjj. quitte. Le premier est une 
 mechante bete, grossier, ignorant, et sans usage du monde. Sa violence lui a fait vingt 
 mauvaises affaires ici. On vouloit cependant lui faire entreprendre le voyage d'ltalie, mais 
 » * » * refusant de I'y accompagner, on a pris le partie de le rapeller en Angleterre en le 
 faisant passer par Paris. * * * * est philosophe, et fort instruit, mais froid et nullement 
 homme d'esprit. II est las de courir le monde avec des jeunes foux. Apres avoir rendu 
 celui-ci a sa famille, il compte venir chercher le repos et la retraite dans ce pays. Qu'il a 
 raison ! 
 
 Sept. 2ime.3 — J'al essuye une petite mortification au cercle. Le depart de Frey ayant fait 
 vacquer I'emploi de directeur des etrangers, on m'avoit fait entrevoir qu'on me le destinoit, 
 et ma franchise naturelle ne m'avoit pas permis de dissimuler que je le recevrois avec plaisir, 
 et que je m'y attendois. Cependant le pluralite des voix I'a donne a M. Roel Hollandois. J'ai 
 vu qu'on a saisi le premier moment que lesloixpermettoient de balloter, et que, si j'avois voulu 
 rassembler mes amis, je I'aurois emporte ; mais je sais en meme terns que je I'aurois eu il y a 
 trois mois, sans y songer un moment. Ma reputation baisse ici avec quelque raison, et j'ai 
 des ennemis. 
 
 Sept. 25me.] — J'ai passe I'aprSs diner chez Madame de * * * * *. Je ne I'avois pas vue 
 depuis le 14 de ce mois. Elle ne m'a point parle, ni n'a paru s'etre apperyue de mon absence. 
 Ce silence m'a fait de la peine. J'avois une tres belle reputation ici pour les mosurs, mais 
 je vois qu'on commence a me confondre avec mes compatriotes et a me regarder comme un 
 homme qui aime le vin et le desordre. 
 
 Oct. isme.] — J'ai passe I'apres midi chez Madame de Mesery. Elle vouloit me faire 
 rencontrer avec une Demoiselle Franjoise qu'elle a pric a souper ; cette Demoiselle, qui 
 s'apelle Le Franc, a six pieds de haut. Sa taille, sa figure, son ton, sa conver.sation, tout 
 annonce le grenadier le plus determine, mais un grenadier, que a de I'esprit, des connois- 
 sances, et I'usage du monde. Aussi son sexe, son nom, son etat, tout est mystere. Elle se 
 dit Parisienne. fille de condition, qui s'est retiree dans ce pays pour cause de religion. Ne 
 scroit ce pas plutot pour une affaire d'honneur? 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. i6me, 1763.] — Je me suis leve tard, et une visite fort amicale de M. de 
 Chandieu Viliars,* m'a enleve ce qui me restoit de la matinee. M. de Chandieu a servi en 
 France avec distinction et s'est retire avec le grade de marechal de camp. C'est un homrae 
 
 * The father of Madame de Severy, whose family were Mr. Gibbon's most intimate friends., 
 after he bad settled at Lausanne in the year 17S3, S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON; 75 
 
 If my studies at Paris had been confined to the study of the world, 
 three or four months would not have been unproHtably spent. My visits, 
 however superficial, to the Academy of Medals and tlie public libraries, 
 opened a new field of inquiry ; and the view of so many manuscripts 
 of different ages and characters induced me to consult the two great 
 
 d'une crrande politesse, d'un esprit vif et facile ; il ferolt aujourdhul a soixnnte ans, ragt€. 
 meiit d'une societc de jcuiies fiUes. C'est presque le seul etranger qui aitpu acquerir I'aisance 
 des manieres Franyoises, sans en prendre en meme tems les airs bruyans et etourdis. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. iSme, 1763.] — C'etoit un Dimanche de communion. Les cere'nionies re- 
 ligicuscs sont bein entendues dans ce pays. Elles sont rarcs, et par lil mome plus re.spectees ; 
 les Viellards se plaignent a la verite du refroidissement de la devotion : cependant \\\\ jour, 
 comme celui-ci, offre encore un spectacle trSs edifiant. Point d'affaires, point d'asscnib'ee ; 
 on s'interdit jusqu'au iuliist%\ necessaire a I'existence d'un Lausannois. 
 
 Dec. 3ime.]— Jettons un coup d'ceil sur cette annee 1763. Voyons comment j'ai employe 
 cette portion de mon existence qui s'est ecoulee et qui ne reviendra plus. Le mois de Janvier 
 s'est passe dans le sein de ma faraille a qui il falloit sacrifier tous mes momens, parccqu'ils 
 etoient les derniers dans les soins d'un depart et dans I'embarras d'un voyage. Dans ce 
 voyage cependant je trouvai moyen de lire les lettres de Biisbeqiiius, Ministre Lnperial a la 
 Porte. Elles sont aussi interessantes qu'instructives. Je restai a Paris depuis le 2S J.\nvier 
 jusqu'au 9 M.M. Pendant tout ce tems je n'etudiai point. Les amusements m'occupoient 
 beaucoup, et I'habitude de la dissipation, qu'on prend si facilement dans les grandcs villes, ne 
 me permettoieiit pas de mettre a profit le tems qui me demeuroit. A la verite, si j'ai peu 
 fcuillete les livres, 1' observation de tous les objets curieux qui se presentent dans une grande 
 capitale, et la conversation avec les plus grands hommes du siecle, m'ont instruit de beaucoup 
 de choses que je n'aurois point trouve dans les livres. Les sept ou huit derniers raois de cette 
 anndc ont ete plus tranquilles. D6s que je me suis vu etabli a Lausanne, j'ai entrepris une 
 etude suivie sur la geogi-aphie ancienne de I'ltalie. Mon ardeur s'est tres bicn soutenue 
 pendant si.t semainesjusqu'a la fin du mois de Juin. Ce fut alors qu'un voyage de Geneve 
 interrompit un peu mon assiduite, que le sejour de Mesery m'offrit mille distractions, et que la 
 societe de Saussure acheva de me fuire perdre mon tems. Je repris mon travail avec ce 
 Journal au milieu d'Aont, et depuis ce tems, jusqu'au commencement de Novembre, j'ai mis 
 a profit tous mes instans ; j'avoue que pendant les deu.x derniers mois mon ardeur s'est un 
 peu rallantie. Irement, Dans cette etude suivie j'ai lu : 1, Pres de deux livres de la geographic 
 de Strabon sur I'ltalie deux fois. 2. Une partie du deuxieme livre de I'histoire naturelle de 
 Pline. 3. Le quatrieme chapitre du deuxieme livre de Poiiipotiius Mela. 4. Les Itineraires 
 d'Antonin, et de Jerusalem pour ce qui regarde I'ltalie. Je les ai lus avec les Commentaires 
 de Wesseling, &c. J'en ai tire des tables de toutes les grandes routes de I'ltalie, reduisant 
 partout les milles Romains, en milles Anglois, et en lieues de France, selon les calculs de M. 
 d'Anville. 5. L'Histoire des Grands Chemins de I'Empire Romain, par M. Bergier, deux 
 volumes in 4to. 5. Quelques Extraits choisis de Ciceron, Tite Live, Velleius Paterculus, 
 Tacite, et les deux Plines. La Roma Veins de Nardini et plusieurs autres opuscules sur le 
 meme sujet qui composent presque tout le quatrieme tome du Tresor des Antiquites Romaines 
 de Graevius. 7. \J I talia Atitiqua de Cluvier, en deux volumes in folio. 8. \j'Iter ou le 
 'Voyage de CI. Rutillius Numatianus dans les Gaules. 9. Les Catalogues de Virgile. 
 10. Celui de Silius Italicus. 11. Le Voyage d'Horace a Brundusium. N.B. J'ai lu deux 
 fois ces trois derniers morceaux. 12. Le Tralte sur les Mesures Itineraires par M. d'Anville, 
 et quelques Memoires de I'Acaden.ie des Belles Lettres. Ilment, On me fit attendre Nardini 
 de !a Bibliotheque de Geneve. Je voulus remplir ce moment de vuide par la lecture de 
 y.-tvctial, pOcte qui je ne connoissois encore quede reputation. Je le lu deux fois avecplaisir 
 et avec soin. Illment, Pendant I'annee j'ai lu quelques journaux, entre autres le Journal 
 Etranger depuis son commencement, un tome des Nouvelles de Bayle, et les xxxv premiers 
 volumes de la Bibliotheque raisonnee. IVment, J'ai beaucoup ecrit de mon Recueil Gdc 
 graphique de I'ltalie qui est deja bien bein ample et assez curieux. Vment, Je ne dois point 
 oublier ce journal meme qui est devenu un ouvrage ; 214 pages en quatre mois et demi et des 
 pages des mieux fournies font un objet considerable. Aussi sans compter un grand nombre 
 d'observations detachees, il s'y trouve des dissertations savantes et raisonees. Celle du 
 pasf-.age d'Annibal contient dix pages, et celle sur le guerre sociale en a douze. Mais ces 
 morceaux sont trop etendus, et le journal meme a besoin d'une reforme qui lui retranche 
 quantity de pieces qui sont assez etrangeres a son veritable plan. Apres avoir un peu reflechi 
 la. dessus, voici quelques regies que je me suis faites sur les objets qui lui conviennent. 
 Iment, Toute ma vie civile et privee, amusemens, mes liaisons, mes ecarts meme, et toutes 
 mes refle'xions qui ne roulent que sur des sujets qui me sont personals, je conviens que tout 
 cela n'est interessant que pour moi, mais aussi ce n'cst que pour moi que j'ecris mon journal. 
 Ilment, Tout ce que j'apprens par I'observation ou la conversation. A I'egard de celle-ci je 
 ne rapporterai que ce que je tiens de personnes tout a la fois instruites et veridiques, lorsqu'il 
 est question de faits, ou du petit nombre de ceux qui meritent le titre de grand homme, s'il 
 S'agit de sentimens ct d'opinions. Illment, J'y mettrai soignnusement tout ce qu'on pcut
 
 76 MY PREPARATIONS FOR MY TRANSALPINE yOURNEY, 
 
 Benedictine works, the Diplomatica of Mabillon, and the Palceographia 
 of Montfaucon. 1 studied the theory without attaining the practice of 
 the art : nor should I complain of the intricacy of Greek abbreviations 
 and Gothic alphabets, since every day, in a familiar language, I am at 
 a loss to decipher the hieroglyphics of a female note. In a tranquil 
 scene, which revived the memory of my first studies, idleness would 
 have been less pardonable : the public libraries of Lausanne and Geneva 
 liberally supplied me with books ; and if many hours were lost in dis- 
 sipation, many more were employed in literary labour. In the country, 
 Horace and Virgil, Juvenal and Ovid, were my assiduous companions : 
 but, in town, I formed and executed a plan of study for the use of my 
 Transalpine expedition : the topography of old Rome, the ancient 
 geography of Italy, and the science of medals, i. I diligently read, 
 almost always with my pen in my hand, the elaborate treatises of 
 Nardini, Donatus, &c., which fill the fourth volume of the Roman 
 Antiquities of Grasvius. 2. I next undertook and finished the Italia 
 Aiitiqiia of Ciuverius, a learned native of Prussia, who had measured, 
 on foot, every spot, and has compiled and digested every passage of 
 
 appeller la partie tnaterielle de mes etudes ; combein d'heures j'ai travaille, combien de pages 
 j'ai ecrit ou lu, avec une courte notice du sujet qu'ellescontenoient. IVment, Je serois fache 
 de lire sans reflechir sur mes lectures, sans porter des jugemens raisonnes sur mes auteurs, et 
 sans eplucher avec 'join leurs idees et leurs expressions. Mais toute lecture ne fournit pas 
 egalement. II y a aes livres qu'on parcourt, et il y en a qu'on lit ; il y en a enfin qu'on doit 
 etudier. Mes observanons sur ceux de la premiere classe ne peuvent qu'etre courtes et detachees. 
 EUes convienuent au journal. Celles qui regardent la seconde classe n'y entreront qu'autant 
 qu'elles auront le mtme caractere Vment, Mes refle'xions sur ce petit nombre d'auteurs 
 classiques, qu'on meaite aver soin, seront naturellement plus approfondies et plus suivies. C'est 
 pour elles, er pour des pieces ^lus etendues et plus originales, aux quelles la lecture ou la me- 
 ditation peut donner iieu, que je ferai ,-,n recueil separe. Je conserverai cependant sa liaison 
 avec le journal par des renvois constans qui marqueront le numero de chaque piece avec le terns 
 etl'occasiondesa composition. Moyennant ces precautions mon journal ne peut que m'etre utile. 
 Ce conipte exact de mon tems m'en fcra mieux sentir le prix ; il dissipera par son detail, rillusion 
 qu'on se fait d'invisager seulement les annees et les mois et de mepriser lesheures et les jours. 
 Je ne dis rien de I'agrement. C'en est un bien grand cependant de pouvoir repasser chaque 
 epoque de sa vie, et de se placer, des qu'on le veut, au milieu de toutes les petites scenes qu'on 
 ajoue, ou qu'on a vu jouer. 
 
 6 Avril 1764.]-- J'ai etc eveille par Pavilliard et H * * * * pour arreterune facheuse affaire 
 qui s'etoit passec aj bal apres notre depart. G * * * * qui faisoit sa cour a Mademoiselle 
 ****** depuis iong tems, voyoit avec peine que ******(***»**) menacoit de 
 le supplanter, II nc repondoit jamais aux politesses de son rival, que par des brusquerics i et 
 a la fin a I'occasion de la main de Mademoiselle ****** \\ s'emporta centre luile plus mal 
 a propos du monde, et le traita devant tout le monde d'impertine>it, &c. J'ai appris de 
 Pavilliard que ****** lui avoit envoye un cartel ; et que la reponse de G * * * * ne I'ayant 
 point contente ils devoient se rencontrer a cinq heures du soir. Au desespoir de voir mon ami 
 engage dans une affaire qui ne pouvoit que lui faire du tort, j'ai couru chez M. de Crousaz oiX 
 demeuroit ******. J'ai bientot vu qu'il ne lui falloit qu'une explication assez legere, 
 jointe a quelque apologie de la part de G * * * * pour le de'sarmer, et je suis retourne che* 
 lui avec H * * * ' pour I'engager a la donner. Nous lui avons fait comprendre que I'aveu 
 d'une veritable tort ne blessoit jamais I'honneur, et que son insulte envers les dames aussi bien 
 qu'envers ***** gtoit sans excuse. Je lui ai dicte un billet convenable, mais sans la 
 moindre bassesse, que j'ai porte au Hollandois. 11 a rendu les armes sur le champ, lui a fait 
 la reponse la plus polie, et m'a remercie mille fois du role que j'avois fait. En verite cet 
 homme n'est pas difficile. AprCs diner j'ai vu nos dames il qui j'ai porte une lettre d'excuses. 
 La mere n'en veut plus a G * * * *, mais Mademoiselle ****** est desolee du tort que 
 cette affaire peut lui faire dans le monde. Cette ncgociation m'a pris le jour eutler ; mais 
 ^eut on mieux employer un jour qu'a sauvcr la vie, peutetre a deux personncs, et a conservei' 
 la reputation d'un ami? Au reste j'ai vu au fond plus d'un caractere. G * * * * est brave, 
 vrai, et sense, mais d'une impetuosite qui n'est que plus dangereuse pour etre supprimee a 
 I'ordinaire. C ***'*''' est d'une etourderie d'enfant. De g * * * * d'une indifference qui 
 vient bien plus d'un defaut de sensibilite, que d'un excfis de raison. J'ai conru une ve'ritable 
 amitie pour H * • * *, Jl a beaucoup de raison et des sentimens d'honncur avec uu coeur d$» 
 mieux place.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBO.V. 7/ 
 
 the ancient writers. These passages in Greek or Latin authors I perused 
 in the text of Chiverius, in two foho vohimes : but I separatel)^ read the 
 descriptions of Italy by Strabo, Phny, and Pomponius Mela, the Cata- 
 logues of the Epic poets, the Itineraries of Wcsseling's Antoninus, and 
 the coasting Voyage of Rutilius Numatianus ; and I studied two kindred 
 subjects in the Measures Itineraires of d'Anville, and the copious work 
 of Bergier, Hisioire dcs grands CJiciiiins dc I' Empire Roniain. From 
 these materials I formed a table of roads and distances reduced to our 
 English measure ; filled a folio common-place book with my collections 
 and remarks on the geography of Italy; and inserted in my journal 
 many long and learned notes on the insulce and populousness of Rome, 
 the social war, the passage of the Alps by Hannibal, iScC. 3. After 
 glancing my eye over Addison's agreeable dialogues, I more seriously 
 read the great work of Ezechiel Spanheim de Prccsiantin et Usu 
 Nmnisi/iatiim, and applied with him the medals of the kings and 
 emperors, the families and colonies, to the illustration of ancient history. 
 And thus was I armed for my Italian journey.* 
 
 I shall advance with rapid brevity in the narrative of this tour, in 
 which somewhat more than a year (April 1764 — May 1765) was agree- 
 ably emploj'ed. Content with tracing my line of march, and slightly 
 touching on my personal feelings, I shall waive the minute investigation 
 of the scenes which have been viewed by thousands, and described by 
 hundreds, of our modern travellers. Rome is the great object of our 
 pilgrimage : and ist, the journey ; 2d, the residence ; and 3d, the return ; 
 will form the most proper and perspicuous division, i. I climbed 
 Mount Cenis, and descended into the plain of Piedmont, not on the back 
 of an elephant, but on a light osier seat, in the hands of the dextrous 
 and intrepid chairmen of the Alps. The architecture and government 
 of Turin presented the same aspect of tame and tiresome uniformity : 
 
 * Journal, Lausanne, Avril 17, 1764.] — Guise et moi, nous avons donne un diner excellent 
 et beaucoup de vin a Dupleix, et a beaucoup d'autre^. Apres diner nous nous sommes 
 cchappes pour faire quelques visiles aux * * *^ aux * * *, et aux * * *. Je pars avec quelques 
 regrets : cependant un peu de vin, et une gayete dont je ne pouvois rendre raison, m'ont 
 rendu d'une ctourdeiie sans pareille, vis-a-vis de ces petites. Je leur ai dit cent folies, et nous 
 nous sommes embrasses en riant. Alesery nous a donne un trCs beau souper avec une partie 
 de la compagnie du matin, augmentce de Bourgeois et de PaviUiard. Ce souper, les adieux 
 sur tout a PaviUiard, que j'aime veritablenient, et les preparatifs du depart, m'ont occupe 
 jusqu'a deux heures du matin. 
 
 Je quitte Lausanne avec moins de regret que la premi&re fois. Je n'y laisse plus que des 
 connoissances. C'etoit la maitresse et I'arai dont je pleurois la perte. D'aillieurs je voyois 
 Lausanne avec les yeux encore novices d'un jeune homme, qui lui devoit la partie raisonable 
 de son existence, et qui jugeoit sans objets de comparaison. Aujourdhui j'y vols une ville 
 mal batie, au milieu d'un pays delicieux, qui jouit de la paix et du repos, et qui les prend pour 
 la liberte. Un peuple nombreux et bien eleve, qui aime la societe, qui y est propre, et qui 
 admet avec plaisir les etrangers dans ses cotteries, qui seroient bien plus agreables, si la con- 
 versation n'avoit pas cede la place au jeu. Les femmes sont jolies, et malgre leur grande 
 liberte, elles sont tres sages. Tout au plus peuvent elles etre un peu complaisantes, dans I'idee 
 honnete, mais incertaine, de prendre un etranger dans leurs filets. L'aftectation est le peche 
 originel des Lausannois. Affectation de depense, affectation de noblesse, affectation d'esprit : 
 les deux premieres sont fort repandues, pendant que la troisieme est fort rare Comme ce 
 vice se cboque a tout instant avec celui des autres, Lausanne se trouve partagee dans un grand 
 nombre d'etats, dont les principes et le langage varient a I'inftni, et qui n'ont de commun que 
 leur mcpris reciproque les ims pour les autres. Leur gout pour la depense s'accorde mal avec 
 celui de la noblesse, lis periroient plutot que de renoncer a leurs grandeurs, ou d'embras.ser 
 la seule profession qui p\iisse les y soutenir. La maison de RL de Mesery est charmante : le 
 caractere franc et gencreux du INLari, les agremens de la femme, une situation delicieuse, une 
 there excellente, la compagnie de ses compatriotes, et une liberte parfaite, font aimer ce sejour 
 a tout Anglois. Que je voudrois en trouver un seniblable a, Londres ! J'y regrette epgQrs 
 Holroyd, mais il nous suit de prCj.
 
 /8 MY EMOTIONS WHEN I TROD THE FORUM OF ROME. 
 
 but the court was regulated with decent and splendid oeconomy ; and 
 I was introduced to his Sardinian majesty Charles Emanuel, who, 
 after the incomparable Frederic, held the second rank (proximus longo 
 tamen intervallo) among the kings of Europe. The size and populous- 
 ness of Milan could not surpiise an inhabitant of London : but the 
 fancy is amused by a visit to the Boromean Islands, an enchanted 
 palace, a work of the fairies in the midst of a lake encompassed with 
 mountains, and far removed from the haunts of men. I was less amused 
 by the marble palaces of Genoa, than by the recent memorials of her 
 deliverance (in December 1746) from the Austrian tyranny; and I took 
 a military survey of every scene of action within the inclosure of her 
 double walls. My steps were detained at Parma and Modena, by the 
 precious relics of the Farnese and Este collections : but, alas ! the far 
 greater part had been already transported, by inheritance or purchase, 
 to Naples and Dresden. By the road of Bologna and the Apennine I 
 at last reached Florence, where I reposed from June to September, 
 during the heat of the summer months. In the Gallery, and especially 
 in the Tribune, I first acknowledged, at the feet of the Venus of 
 Medicis, that the chisel may dispute the pre-eminence witli the 
 pencil, a truth in the fine arts which cannot on this side of the Alps 
 1)0 felt or understood. At home I had taken some lessons of Italian : 
 on the spot I read, with a learned native, the classics of the 
 Tuscan idiom : but the shortness of my time, and the use of the 
 French language, prevented my acquiring any facility of speaking ; 
 and I was a silent spectator in the conversations of our envoy. Sir 
 Horace Mann, whose most serious business was that of entertaining 
 the English at his hospitable table.* After leaving Florence, I com- 
 pared the solitude of Pisa with the industry of Lucca and Leghorn, and 
 continued my journey through Sienna to Rome, where I arrived in 
 the beginning of October. 2. My temper is not very susceptible of 
 enthusiasm ; and the enthusiasm which I do not feel, I have ever 
 scorned to affect. But, at the distance of twenty-live years, 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 memor- 
 able spot where Romulus stood, or Tully spoke, or Ccesar fell, was at 
 once present to my eye ; and several days of intoxication were lost or 
 enjoyed before I could descend to a cool and minute investigation. 
 My guide was Mr. Byers, a Scotch antiquary of experience and taste ; 
 but, in the daily labour of eighteen weeks, the powers of attention 
 were sometimes fatigued, till I was myself qualified, in a last review, 
 to select and study the capital works of ancient and modern art. Six 
 weeks were borrowed for my tour of Naples, the most populous of 
 cities, relative to its size, whose luxurious inhabitants seem to dwell on 
 the confines of paradise and hell-fire. I was presented to the boy- 
 
 * Journal, Florence, Aout gme, 1764.] — Cocchi a dine avec nous. Nousavonsbeaucoup 
 cause, mais je ne lui trouve pas le genre qu'on lui attribue, c'est peutetre, parceque les notres 
 ne sont pas analogues. J'entrevois de I'cxtravagance dans ses ideas, de I'aftectation dans ses 
 manieres. II se plaint a tout moment de sa pauvrete. II connoit peu la veritable dignite d'un 
 homme de lettres. S'il a beauccfup de science, elle est bornee a la physique. II m'a demand^ 
 si Lord Spenser ne pouvoit pas faire des eveques, et m'a fait un conte de Lord Lvttclton (Uont 
 il le ne peut souffrir le fils) ou il etoit question des Parlemens de Campagnc.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEKTVlRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 79 
 
 Icing by our new envoy, Sir William Hamilton ; who, wisely divcrtino- 
 his correspondence from the Secretary of State to the Royal Society 
 and British Museum, has elucidated a country of such incstimal^le 
 value to the naturalist and antiquarian. On my return, I fondly em- 
 braced, for the last time, the miracles of Rome ; but I departed with- 
 out kissing the feet of Rezzonico (Clement XIII.), who neither pos- 
 sessed the wit of his predecessor Lambertini, nor the virtues of his 
 successor Ganganelli. 3. In my pilgrimage from Rome to Loretto I 
 again crossed the Apennine ; from the coast of the Adriatic I traversed 
 a fruitful and populous country, which could alone disprove the paradox 
 of Montesquieu, that modern Italy is a desert. Without adopting the 
 exclusive prejudice of the natives, I sincerely admire the paintings of the 
 Lologna school. I hastened to escape from the sad solitude of Ferrara, 
 which in the age of Caasar was still more desolate. The spectacle of 
 \'enice aftbrded some hours of astonishment j the university of Padua 
 is a dying taper : but Verona still boasts h'er amphitheatre, and his 
 native Vicenza is adorned by the classic architecture of Palladio : the 
 road of Lombardy and Piedmont (did Montesquieu find them without 
 inhabitants ') led me back to Milan, Turin, and the passage of Mount 
 Cenis, where I again crossed the Alps in my way to Lyons. 
 
 The use of foreign travel has been often debated as a general ques- 
 tion ; but the conclusion must be finally applied to the character and 
 circumstances of each individual. With the education of boys, where 
 or hoiu they may pass over some juvenile years with the least mischief 
 to themselves or others, I have no concern. But after supposing the 
 previous and indispensable requisites of age, judgment, a competent 
 knowledge of men and books, and a freedom from domestic prejudices, 
 I will briefly describe the qualifications which I deem most essential 
 to a traveller. He should be endowed with an active, indefatigable 
 vigour of mind and body, which can seize every mode of conveyance, 
 and support, with a careless smile, every hardship of the road, the 
 weather, or the inn. The benefits of foreign travel will correspond 
 with the degrees of these qualifications ; but, in this sketch, those to 
 M-hom I am Icnown will not accuse me of framing my own panegyric. 
 It was at Rome, on the 15th of October 1764, as I sat musing amidst 
 the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare-footed fryars 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 though my reading and reflections began to point towards that 
 oljject, some years elapsed, and several avocations intervened, before 
 I was seriously engaged in the execution of that laborious work. 
 
 I had not totally renounced the southern provinces of France, but 
 the letters which I found at Lyons were expressive of some impatience. 
 Rome and Italy had satiated my curious appetite, and I was now 
 ready to return to the peaceful retreat of my family and books. After a 
 happy fortnight I rcluctiintly left Paris, embarked at Calais, again landed 
 at Dover, after an interval of two years and five months, and hastily drove 
 through the summer dust and solitude of London. On June 25 1765 
 1 arrived at my father's house : and the five years and a half between 
 • Now the Church of the Zoccolants, or Franciscan Friars. S.
 
 80 MY RETURN TO ENGLAND, AND FRIENDS THERE. 
 
 my travels and my father's death (1770) are the portion of my life 
 which I passed with the least enjoyment, and which I remember with 
 the least satisfaction. Every spring I attended the monthly meeting 
 and exercise of the militia at Southampton ; and by the resignation of 
 my father, and the death of Sir Thomas Worsley, \ was successively 
 promoted to the rank of major and lieutenant-coionel commandant ; 
 but I was each year more disgusted with the inr.. ihe wine, the com- 
 pany, and the tiresome repetition of annual aiit-ndance and daily 
 exercise. At home, the oeconomy of the family ana farm still main- 
 tained the same creditable appearance. My connection with Mrs. 
 Gibbon was mellowed into a warm and solid attacnment : my growing 
 years abolished the distance that might yet ixmain ijetween a parent 
 and a son, and my behaviour satisfied my father, who was proud of 
 the success, however imperfect in his own life-iime, of my literary 
 talents. Our solitude was soon and often enlivened by the visit of the 
 friend i.f my youth, Mr. Deyverdun, whose absence from Lausanne I 
 had sincerely lamented. About three years after my first departure, 
 he had emigrated from his native lake to the banks of the Oder in 
 Germany. The res angiista doiiii, the waste of a decent patrimony, 
 by an improvident father, obliged him, like many of his countrymen, 
 to confide in his own industry ; and he was entrusicd with the educa- 
 tion of a young prince, the grandson of the Margrave of Schavedt, of 
 the Royal Family of Prussia. Our friendship was never cooled, our 
 correspondence was sometimes interrupted ; but i rather wished than 
 hoped to obtain Mr. Deyveixlun for the companion of my Italian tour. 
 An unhappy, though honourable passion, drove him from his German 
 court ; and the attractions of hope and curiosity were fortified by the 
 expectation of my speedy return to England. During four successive 
 summers he passed several weeks or months at Beriton, and our free 
 conversations, on every topic that could interest the heart or under- 
 standing, would have reconciled me to a desert or a prison. In the 
 winter months of London my sphere of knowledge and action was 
 somewhat enlarged, by the many new acquaintance which 1 had con- 
 tracted in the militia and abroad ; and I must regret, as more than an 
 acquaintance, Mr. Godfrey Clarke of Derbyshire, an amiable and 
 worthy young man, who was snatched away by an untimely death. A 
 weekly convivial meeting was established by myself and travellers, 
 under the name of the Roman Club*. 
 
 The renewal, or perhaps the improvement, cf my English life was 
 embittered by the alteration of my own feelings. At the age of twenty- 
 one I was, in my proper station of a youth, delivered from the yoke of 
 education, and delighted with the comparative state of liberty and 
 affluence. My filial obedience was natural and easy ; and in the gay 
 prospect of futurity, my ambition did not extend beyond the enjoy- 
 ment of my books, my leisure, and my patrimonial estate, undisturbed 
 by the cares of a family and the duties of a profession. But in the 
 militia I was armed with power ; in my travels, I was exempt from 
 
 • The members were Lord Moiintstuart (now Earl of Bute), Col. Edmonstone, Weddal, 
 Palgrave, Lord Berkley, Godfrey Clarke, Holroyd (Lord Sheffield), Major Ridley, Sir 
 William Guize, Sir John Aubrey, Lord Abingdon, Hon. Peregrine Bertie, Cleaver, Hon. 
 John Darner, Hon. George Darner (Lord Milton), Sii- Thomas GoscoygnCj Sir John Uort, 
 E. Gibbon.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 8 1 
 
 controu] ; and as I approached, as I gradually passed my tliirlicth 
 year, I began to feel the desire of being master in my own house. 
 The most gentle authority will sometimes frown without reason, the 
 most cheerful submission will sometimes murmur without cause ; and 
 such is the law of our imperfect nature, that we must either command 
 or obey ; that our personal liberty is supported by the obsequiousness 
 of our own dependants. While so many of my acquaintance were 
 married or in parliament, or advancing with a rapid step in the various 
 roads of honour and fortune, I stood alone, immoveable and insigni- 
 ficant ; for after the monthly meeting of 1770, I had even withdrawn 
 myself from the militia, by the resignation of an empty and barren 
 commission. My temper is not susceptible of envy, and the view of 
 successful merit has always excited my warmest applause. The 
 miseries of a vacant life were never known to a man whose hours 
 were insufficient for the inexhaustible pleasures of study. But I 
 lamented that at the proper age I had not embraced the lucrative pur- 
 suits of the law or of trade, the chances of civil office or India adven- 
 ture, or even the fat slumbers of the church ; and my repentance 
 became more lively as the loss of time was more irretrievable. Exper- 
 ience shewed me the use of grafting my private consequence on the 
 importance of a great professional body ; the benefits of those firm 
 connections which are cemented by hope and interest, by gratitude 
 and emulation, by the mutual exchange of services and favours. From 
 the emoluments of a profession I might have derived an ample fortune, 
 or a competent income, instead of being stinted to the same narrow 
 allowance, to be increased only by an event which I sincerely depre- 
 cated. The progress and the knowledge of our domestic disorders 
 aggravated my anxiety, and I began to apprehend that I might be 
 left in my old age without the fruits either of industry or inheritance. 
 
 In the first summer after my return, whilst I enjoyed at Beriton the 
 society of my friend Deyverdun, our daily conversations expatiated 
 o\er the field of ancient and modern literature ; and we freely dis- 
 cussed my studies, my first Essay, and my future projects. The 
 Decline and Fall of Rome I still contemplated at an awful distance : 
 but the two historical designs which had balanced my choice were sub- 
 mitted to his taste : and in the parallel between the Revolutions of 
 Florence and Switzerland, our common partiality for a country which 
 was Jiis by birth, and »iine by adoption, inclined the scale in favour of 
 the latter. According to the plan, which was soon conceived and 
 digested, I embraced a period of two hundred years, from the asso- 
 ciation of the three peasants of the Alps to the plenitude and pros- 
 perity of the Helveti'C body in the sixteenth century. I should have 
 described the deliverance and victory of the Swiss, who have never shed 
 the blood of their tyrants but in a field of battle; the laws and manners 
 of the confederate states ; the splendid trophies of the Austrian, Bur- 
 gundian, and Italian wars ; and the wisdom of a nation, which, after 
 some sallies of martial adventure, has been content to guard the 
 blessings of peace with the sword of freedom. 
 
 Manus haec inimica tyrannis 
 
 Ense petit placidam sub lihertate quietem. 1
 
 8 2 QPimON OF HUME ON HISTOR Y OF SWITZERLAND. 
 
 My judgment, as well as my enthusiasm, was satisfied with the goriousj 
 theme ; and the assistance of Deyverdun seemed to remove an insu- 
 perable obstacle. The French or Latin memorials, of which I was not 
 ignorant, are inconsiderable in number and weight ; but in the perfect 
 acquaintance of my friend with the German language, I found the key 
 of a more valuable collection. The most necessary books were pro- 
 cured ; he translated, for my use, the folio volume of Schilling, a copious 
 and contemporary relation of the war of Burgundy ; we read and 
 marked the most interesting parts of the great chronicle of Tschudi ; 
 and by his labour, or that of an inferior assistant, large extracts were 
 made from the History of Lauft'er and the Dictionary of Lew : yet such 
 was the distance and delay, that two years elapsed in these preparatory 
 steps ; and it was late in the third summer (1767) before I entered, 
 with these slender materials, on the more agreeable task of composi- 
 tion. A specimen of my History, the first book, was read the following 
 winter in a literary society of foreigners in London ; and as the author 
 was unknown, I listened, without observation, to the free strictures, 
 and unfavourable sentence, of my judges.* The momentary sensation 
 was painful ; but their condemnation was ratified by my cooler 
 thoughts. I delivered my imperfect sheets to the flames,t and for ever 
 renounced a design in which some expence, much labour, and more 
 time had been so vainly consumed. I cannot regret the loss of a 
 slight and superficial essay, for such the work must have been in the 
 hands of a stranger, uninformed by the scholars and statesmen, and 
 remote from the libraries and archives of the Swiss republics. My 
 ancient habits, and the presence of Deyverdun, encouraged me to 
 'vrite in French for the continent of Europe ; but I was conscious 
 myself that my style, above prose and below poetry, degenerated into a 
 verbose and turgid declamation. Perhaps I may impute the failure to 
 the injudicious choice of a foreign language. Perhaps I may suspect 
 
 * Mr. Hume seems to have had a difterent opinion of this work. 
 F?-ov: Mr. Hiime to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Sir, 
 It is but a few days since M. Deyverdun put your manuscript into my hands, and I have 
 perused it 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 the Romans who wrote in Greek? I grant that you have 
 a like motive to those Romans, and adopt a language much more generally diffused than your 
 native tongue : but have you not remarked the fate of those two ancient languages in following 
 ages? The Latin, though then less celebrated, and confined to more narrow limits, has in 
 some measure outlived the Greek, and is now more generally understood by men of letters. 
 Let the French, therefore, triumph in the present diffusion of their tongue. Our solid and 
 increasing establishments in America, where we need less dread the inundation of Barbarians, 
 promise a superior stability and duration to the English language. 
 
 Your use of the French tongue has also led you into a style more poetical and figurative, and 
 more highly coloured, than our language seems to admit of in historical productions ; for such 
 is the practice of French writers, particularly the more recent ones, who illuminate their pic- 
 tures more than custom will permit us. On the whole, your History, in my opinion, is written 
 with spirit and judgment; and I e.xhort you verjf earnestly to conlinueit. The objectionsthat 
 occurred to me on reading it, were so f'rivolous, that I shall not trouble you with them, and 
 should, I believe, have a difficulty to recollect them. I am, with great esteem, 
 
 SIR, &c. 
 
 David Hume. 
 London, 
 24th of Oct. 1767. 
 t He neglected to burn them. He left at Sheffield-Place the introduction, or first book, in 
 forty-three pages folio, written in a very small hand, besides a considerable number of notes. 
 If Mr. Gibbon had not declared his judgment, perhaps Mr. Hume's opinion, expressed in tho 
 letter in the last note, might have' justified the publication of it, S.
 
 AUTCpro<:RApmc memoirs of edward gibbon: 83 
 
 that the language itself is ill adapted to sustain the vigour and dignity 
 of an important narrative. 15ut if France, so rich in literary merit, had 
 produced a great original historian, his genius would have formed and 
 tixcd the idiom to the proper tone, the peculiar model of historical 
 eloquence. 
 
 It was in search of some liberal and lucrative employment that my 
 friend Deyverdun had visited England. His remittances from home 
 were scanty and precarious. My purse was always open, but it was 
 ofien empty ; and 1 bitterly felt the want of riches and power, which 
 might have enabled me to correct the errors of his fortune. His 
 wishes and qualifications solicited the station of the travelling governor 
 of some wealthy pupil ; but every vacancy provoked so many eager 
 candidates, that for a long time 1 struggled without success ; nor was 
 it till after much application that I could even place him as a clerk in 
 the office of the secretary of state. In a residence of several years he 
 never acc^uired the just pronunciation and familiar use of the English 
 tongue, but he read our most difficult authors with ease and taste : his 
 critical knowledge of our language and poetry was such as few 
 foreigners have possessed ; and few of our countrymen could enjoy the 
 theatre of Sliakspeare and Garrick with more exquisite feeling and 
 discernment. The consciousness of his own strength, and the assurance 
 of my aid, emboldened him to imitate the example of Dr. Maty, whose 
 yoiirnal Brilanniquc was esteemed and regretted ; and to improve 
 his model, by uniting with the transactions of literature a philosophic 
 view of the arts and manners of the British nation. Our Journal for 
 the year 1767, under the title oi Mcmoires Literaires de la Grand Bre- 
 ta^ne, was soon finished, and sent to the press. For the first article, ' 
 Lord Lyttelton's History of Henry II. I must own myself responsible ; 
 but the public has ratified my judgment of that voluminous work, in 
 which sense and learning are not illuminated by a ray of genius. The 
 next specimen was the choice of my friend, the Bath Guide, a light 
 and whimsical performance, of local, and even verbal, pleasantry. I 
 started at the attempt : he smiled at my fears : his courage was justi- 
 fied by success ; and a master of both languages will applaud the 
 curious felicity with which he has transfused into French prose the 
 spirit, and even the humour, of the English verse. It is not my wish 
 to deny how deeply I was interested in these Memoirs, of which I need 
 not surely be ashamed ; but at the distance of more than twenty years, 
 it would be impossible for me to ascertain the respective shares of the 
 two associates. A long and intimate communication of ideas had cast 
 our sentiments and style in the same mould. In our social labours we 
 composed and corrected by turns ; and the praise which I might 
 honestly bestow, would fall perhaps on some article or passage most 
 properly my own. A second volume (for the year 1768) was published 
 of these Memoirs. I will presume to say, that their merit was superior 
 to their reputation ; but it is not less true, that they were productive of 
 more reputation than emolument. They introduced my friend to the 
 protection, and myself to the acquaintance, of the Earl of Chesterfield, 
 whose age and infirmities secluded him from the world ; and of Mr. 
 David Hume, who was under-secretary to the office in which Deyver- 
 dun was more humbly employed. The fomicr accepted a dedication,
 
 $4 ^'^^y CONTROVERSY WITH BISHOP WARliVR'lOK 
 
 (April 12, 1769,) and reserved the author for the future educalicn of 
 his successor : the latter enriched the Journal with a reply to Mr. Wal- 
 pole's Historical Doubts, which he afterwards shaped into the form of 
 a note. The materials of the third volume were almost completed, 
 when I recommended Deyverdun as governor to Sir Richard Worsley, 
 a youth, the son of my old Lieutenant-colonel, who was lately deceased. 
 They set forwards on their travels ; nor did they return to England till 
 some time after my father's death. 
 
 My next publication was an accidental sally of love and resentment ; 
 of my reverence for modest genius, and my aversion for insolent 
 pedantry. The sixth book of the ^neid is the most pleasing and per- 
 fect composition of Latin poetry. The descent of vEneas and the 
 Sibyl to the infernal regions, to the world of spirits, expands an awful 
 and boundless prospect, from the nocturnal gloom of the Cumsean 
 grot, 
 
 I bant obscuri sola sub nocte per umbram, 
 
 to the meridian brightness of the Elysian fields ; 
 
 Largior hie campos tether et lumine vestit 
 Purpureo 
 
 from the dreams of simple Nature, to the dreams, alas ! of Egyptian 
 theology, and the philosophy of the Greeks. But the final dismission 
 of the hero through the ivory gate, whence 
 
 Falsa ad coelum mittunt insomnia manes, 
 
 seems to dissolve the whole enchantment, and leaves the reader in a 
 state of cold and anxious scepticism. This most lame and impotent 
 conclusion has been variously imputed to the taste or irreligion of 
 Virgil ; but, according to the more elaborate interpretation of Bishop 
 Warburton, the descent to hell is not a false, but a mimic scene ; 
 which represents the initiation of ^neas, in the character of a law- 
 giver, to the Eleusinian mysteries. This hypothsis, a singular chapter 
 in the Divine Legation of Moses, had been admitted by many as true ; 
 it was praised by all as ingenious ; nor had it been exposed, in a space 
 of thirty years, to a fair and critical discussion. The learning and the 
 abihties of the author had raised him to a just eminence ; but he 
 reigned the dictator and tyrant of the world of literature. The real 
 merit of Warburton was degraded by the pride and presumption with 
 which he pronounced his infallible decrees ; in his polemic writings he 
 lashed his antagonists without mercy or moderation ; and his servile 
 flatterers, (see the base and malignant Essay on the Delicacy of Friend- 
 ships exalting the master critic far above Ai-istotle and Longinus, 
 assaulted every modest dissenter who refused to consult the oracle, and 
 to adore the idol. In a land of liberty, such despotism must provoke 
 a general opposition, and the zeal of opposition is seldom candid or 
 impartial. A late professor of Oxford, (Dr. Lowth,) in a pointed and 
 polished epistle, (Aug. 31, 1765,) defended himself, and attacked the 
 Bishop ; and, whatsoever might be the merits of an insignificant con- 
 troversy, his victory was clearly estabhshed by the silent confusion of
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPIJIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBDOX. ?5 
 
 Warburton and his slaves. / too, without any private offence, was 
 amlMtious of breaking a lance against the giant's shield ; and in the 
 beginning of the year 1770, my Critical Observations on the Sixth 
 Book of the yEneid were sent, without my name, to the press. In 
 this short Essay, my first English publication, 1 aimed my strokes 
 against the person and the hypothesis of Bishop Warburton. I proved, 
 at least to my own satisfaction, that the ancient lawgivers did not 
 in\-cnt the mysteries, and that yEncas was never invested with the 
 office of lawgiver : tliat there is not any argument, any circumstance, 
 which can melt a fable into allegory, or remove the scene from the 
 Lake Avernus to the Temple of Ceres: tliat such a wild supposition is 
 equally injurious to the poet and the man : tliat if Virgil was not 
 initiated he could not, if he were, he would not, reveal the secrets of 
 the initiation : tliat the anathema of Horace {z'etabo qui Cereris sacrum 
 vulj:arit, o-'t".) at once attests his own ignorance and the innocence of 
 his friend. As the Bishop of Gloucester and his party maintained a 
 discreet silence, my cHtical disquisition was soon lost among the pam- 
 phlets of the day ; but the public coldness was overbalanced to my 
 feelings by the weighty approbation of the last and best editor of 
 \'irgil, Professor Heyne of Gottingen, who acquiesces in my confuta- 
 tion, and styles the unknown author, doctus - - - et elegaiitissii)ius 
 Britannus. But I cannot resist the temptation of transcribing the 
 favourable judgment of Mr. Hayley, himself a poet and a scholar : 
 " An intricate hypothesis, twisted into a long and laboured chain of 
 quotation and argument, the Dissertation on the Sixth Book of Virgil, 
 remained some time unrefuted. - - - At length, a superior, but anony- 
 mous, critic arose, who, in one of the most judicious and spirited essays 
 that our nation has produced, on a point of classical literature, com- 
 pletely overturned this ill-founded edifice, and exposed the arrogance 
 and futility of its assuming architect." He even condescends to justify 
 an acrimony of style, which had been gently blamed by the more un- 
 biassed German; ^" Paullo acrius quant velis - - - perstrinxit."* 
 But I cannot forgive myself the contemptuous treatment of a man 
 who, with all his faults, was entitled to my esteem ;t and I can less 
 forgive, in a personal attack, the cowardly concealment of my name 
 and character. 
 
 In the fifteen years between my Essay on the Study of Literature 
 and the first volume of the Decline and Fall, (1761— 1776,) this criticism 
 on Warburton, and some articles in the Journal, were my sole publica- 
 tions. It is more especially incumbent on me to mark the employment, 
 or to confess the waste of time, from my travels to my father's death, 
 an interval in which I was not diverted by any professional duties 
 from the labours and pleasures of a studious life. i. As soon as I was 
 released from the fruitless task of the Swiss revolutions, (1768,) I began 
 
 • The editor of the Warburtonian tracks, Dr. Parr, (p. 192,) considers the allegorical inter- 
 pretation " as completely refuted in a most clear, elegant, and decisive work of criticism; 
 which could not, indeed, derive authority from the greatest name; but to which the greatest 
 name might with propriety have been affixed." 
 
 + Tlv; Divine Legation of Moses is a monument, already crumbling in the dust, of the 
 vigour and weakness of the human mind. If Warburton's new argument proved anything, it 
 would be a demonstration against the legislator, who left his people without the knowledge of 
 R future state. But some episodes of the work, on the Greek philosophy, the hieroglyphics of 
 E^ypt, &c. are entitled to the praise of learning, imagination, and discernment. 
 
 G
 
 86 MY READING FOR THE HISTORICAL WORKS ON ROME: 
 
 gradually to advance from the wish to the hope, from the hope to the 
 design, from the design to the execution, of my historical work, of 
 whose limits and extent I had yet a very inadequate notion. The 
 Classics, as low as Tacitus, the younger Pliny, and Juvenal, were my 
 old and familiar companions. I insensibly plunged into the ocean of 
 the Augustan history ; and in the descending series I investigated, with 
 my pen almost always in my hand, the original records, both Greek 
 and Latin, from Dion Cassius to Ammianus Marcellinus, from the 
 reign of Trajan to the last age of the Western Cassars. The subsidiary 
 rays of medals, and inscriptions of geography and chronology, were 
 thrown on their proper objects ; and I applied the collections of Tille- 
 mont, whose inimitable accuracy almost assumes the character of 
 genius, to fix and arrange within my reach the loose and scattered 
 atoms of historical information. Through the darkness of the middle 
 ages I explored my way in the Annals and Antiquities of Italy of the 
 learned Muratori ; and diligently compared them with the parallel or 
 transverse lines of Sigonius and Maffei, Baronius and Pagi, till I almost 
 grasped the ruins of Rome in the fourteenth century, without suspect- 
 ing that this final chapter must be attained by the labour of six quartos 
 and twenty years. Among the books which I purchased, the Theodocian 
 Code, with the commentary of James Godefroy, must be gratefully re- 
 membered. I used it (and much I used it) as a work of history, rather 
 than of jurisprudence : but in every light it may be considered as a full 
 and capacious repository of the political state of the empire in the 
 fourth and fifth centuries. As I believed, and as I still believe, that 
 the propagation of the Gospel, and the triumph of the church, are in- 
 separably connected with the decline of the Roman monarchy, I 
 weighed the causes and effects of the revolution, and contrasted the 
 narratives and apologies of the Christians themselves, with the glances 
 of candour or enmity which the Pagans have cast on the rising sects. 
 The Jewish and Heathen testimonies, as they are collected and illus- 
 trated by Dr. Lardner, directed, without superseding, my search of 
 the originals ; and in an ample dissertation on the miraculous dark- 
 ness of the passion, I privately withdrew my conclusions from the 
 silence of an unbelieving age. I have assembled the preparatory 
 studies, directly or indirectly relative to my history; but, in strict 
 equity, they must be spread beyond this period of my life, over the two 
 summers (1771 and 1772) that elapsed between my father's death and 
 my settlement in London. 2. In a free conversation with books and 
 iiien, it would be endless to enumerate the names and characters of all 
 who are introduced to our acquaintance ; but in this general acquaint- 
 oince we may select the degrees of friendship and esteem, according to 
 the wise maxim, MultJiin legcre potius giia-in vudta. I reviewed, again 
 and again, the immortal works of the French and English, the Latin 
 and Italian classics. My Greek studies (though less assiduous than I 
 designed) maintained and extended my knowledge of that incomparable 
 idiom. Homer and Xenophon were still my favourite authors ; and I 
 had almost prepared for the press an Essay on the Cyropoedia, which, 
 in my own judgment, is not unhappily laboured. After a certain age, 
 the new publications of merit are the sole food of the many ; and the 
 most austere student will be often tempted to break the line, for the
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS Oh EDWARD GIBBON. 8/ 
 
 sake of indulging his own curiosity, and of providing the topics of 
 fashionable currency. A more respectable motive maybe assigned for 
 the third perusal of Blackstone's Commentaries, and a copious and 
 critical abstract of that English work was my first serious production 
 in my native language. 3. My literary leisure was much less complete 
 and independent than it might appear to the eye of a stranger. In the 
 hurry of London I was destitute of books ; in the solitude of Hamp- 
 shire I was not master of my time. My quiet was gradually disturbed 
 by our domestic anxiety, and I should be ashamed of my unfeeling 
 philosophy, had I found much time or taste for study in the last fatal 
 summer (1770) of my fathers decay and dissolution. 
 
 The disembodying of the militia at the close of the war (1763) had 
 restored the Major (a new Cincinnatus) to a life of agriculture. His 
 labours were useful, his pleasures innocent, his wishes moderate ; and 
 m)- fiither seoiied to enjoy the state of happiness which is celebrated 
 by poets and philosophers, as the most agreeable to nature, and the 
 least accessible to fortune. 
 
 Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis | Like the first mortals, blest is he, 
 
 (Ut prisca gens mortalium) 
 Paterna rura bubus exercet suis 
 Solutus omni foenore. 
 
 HoR. Epod. ii. 
 
 From debts, and usury, and busi- 
 ness free, 
 
 With his own team who ploughs 
 the soil. 
 Which grateful once confessed his 
 father's toil. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 But the last indispensable condition, the freedom from debt, was 
 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 afTorded 
 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 con- 
 sented 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 {rcmcdia vialoriim 
 potiiis qiiam mala diffcrebat). 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 
 1 Nov. 10, 1770, in the sixty-fourth year of his age. A family tradition 
 I insinuates that Mr. William Law had drawn his pupil in the light -myI 
 j inconstant character oi Flatus, who is ever confident, and ever disap' 
 pointed 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, recom-
 
 88 MY FATHER DIES— LENTEN PARLIAMENT. 
 
 mended him to the favour of every company ; and in the change of 
 times and opinions, his Hberal spirit had long since deUvered 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 sov^n as I had paid the last solemn duties to my father, and ob- 
 tained, from time and reason, a tolerable composure of mind, I began 
 to form the plan of an independent life, most adapted to my circum- 
 stances 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 ex- 
 travagance 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 
 fjhould 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.* It would most assuredly be in my power to amuse the 
 
 • From the mixed, though polite, company of Boodle's, ^Vhite'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
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPlilIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. Sq 
 
 reader with a gallery of portraits and a collection of anecdotes. But 
 I have always condemned the practice ot transforming a private me- 
 morial 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 asra 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 senti- 
 ments. An opposite fault may be imputed to the concise and super- 
 ficial 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 con- 
 demned 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 dis- 
 couraged the trial of my voice*. But 1 assisted at the debates of a 
 
 William Jones, Dr. Percy, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Adam Smith, Mr. Stcevens, Mr. 
 Dunning, Sir loseph Banks, Dr. Warton, and his brother Mr. Thomas Warton, Dr. Burncy, 
 &c., form a large and luminous constellation of British stars. 
 
 • A French sketch of Mr. Gibbon's Life, written by himself, probably for the use of some 
 foreign journalist or translator, contains no fact not mentioned in his English Life. He there 
 describes himself with his usual candour. Depuis huit ans il a assiste' au.\ deliberations les
 
 90 MY HISTORY OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE PUT TO PRESS. 
 
 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 vindi- 
 cated by Lord North, a statesman of spotless integrity, a consummate 
 master of debate, who could wield, with equal dexterity, the arras 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, uiagis pares qitatn similes j 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 argu- 
 mentative 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 parlia- 
 ment 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 estab- 
 lishment 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 
 
 plus importantes, mais il ne s'est jamais trouve le courage, ni Ic talent, de parlcr dans une 
 asscmbloc publique. This sketch was written before the publication of his three last volumes, 
 as in closing it he says of his History: Cette entreprise lui demande encore plusieurs annees 
 d'une application soutenue ; mais quelqu'en soit le succ6s, il trouve dans cctte application 
 nieme un plaisir toujours varid et toujours renaissant. S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. QI 
 
 the demand ; and the bookseller's property was twice invaded by the 
 pirates of Dublin. I\Iy 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 p7-ofane 
 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 appro- 
 bation of my judges. The candour of Dr. Robertson embraced his 
 disciple. A letter from Mr. Hume overpaid the labour of ten years, 
 but 1 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, i8th March 1776. 
 
 "As I ran through your volume of history with great avidity and 
 impatience, I cannot forbear discovering somewhat of the same impa- 
 tience in returning you thanks lor your agreeable present, and express- 
 ing the satisfaction which the performance has given me. Whether I 
 consider the dignity of your style, the depth of your matter, or the 
 cxtensiveness 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 hap- 
 piness 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 ever)^ 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 genera- 
 tions, by the rudest, perhaps, of all the European nations, the most 
 necessitous, the most turbulent, and the most unsettled. Where a
 
 92 VAPID MUME — / GO TO PARIS; SOCIETY TtiERE. 
 
 supposition is so contrary to common sense, any positive evidence of 
 it ought never to be regarded. Men run with great avidity to give 
 tlieir evidence in favour of what flatters their passions and their national 
 prejudices. You are therefore over and above indulgent to us in speak- 
 ing 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 }0u from the difficulties ; and, in all events, you have cou- 
 rage 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 )'ear (1776) he died, at Edinburgh, the death 
 of a philosopher. 
 
 My second excursion to Paris was determined by the pressing invi- 
 tation 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 cha- 
 racters 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 Buftbn, 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 pre- 
 ceded 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. I'Abbe de Mably et ]\L Gibbon y dincrent en grande compagnie. La 
 conversation roula presque entierement sur I'histoire. L'Abbe etant 
 un profond politiciue, la tourna sur I'administration, quand on fut au 
 desert : et comme par caractere, par humeur, par I'habitude d'admirer 
 Tite Live, il ne prise que le systeme republicain, il se mit a vanter 
 rexcellence des republiques : bien persuade que le savant Anglois
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 93 
 
 I'approuveroit en tout, et admireroit la profondeur de genie qui avoit 
 fait deviner tous ces avantages a un Francois. Mais M. Gibbon, 
 instruit par rcxpcrience des inconveniens d'un gouvernement popu- 
 lairc, ne fut point du tout de son avis, ct 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 prescns a la pensee, domina bien-tot la conversa- 
 tion ; I'Abbe se facha, il s'emporta, il dit des choses durcs ; I'Anglois, 
 conservant le phlegme de son pays, prenoit ses avantages, et pressoit 
 I'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 sc levant de table, et en passant dans le salon, ou personne ne fut 
 tente de la renouer." — Siipploncnt de la Maiiierc d'ccrire VHistoire, 
 p. 125, &c.* 
 
 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, i. After a short holiday, I indulged 
 jiiy 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 improve- 
 ment ; I was now master of my stj'Ie and subject, and while the mea- 
 sure 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 la?t 
 polish to my work. Shall I add, that I never found my mind more 
 vigorous, nor my composition more happy, than in the winter hurry oi 
 society and parliament ? 
 
 Had I believed that the majority of English readers were so fondly 
 
 • Of the voluminous writings of the Abbe' de Mably, (see his Eloge by the Abbe Hrizard,) 
 the Principes du ihvit public dc I' Europe, and the first part of the O/scn'. sur V Hist de 
 France, m.iy be deservedly praised ; and even the jSIaniere 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 Abb6 Rcynal, Dr. Robertson, and tutti quaitti can be 
 injurious only to himself. 
 
 " Est il rien de plus fastidieux (.saj'S the polite Censor) qu'un IM. Gibbon ; qui dans son eter- 
 nelle Histoire des Empereurs Remains, suspend a chaque instant son insipide et lente narra- 
 tion, pour vous e.vpliquer la cause de faits que vous allez lire." (ManiCre d'ecrire I'Histoire, 
 p. 184. See another passage, p. 2S0. ) Yet I am indebted to the Abbe de Mably for two such 
 advocates as the anonymous French Critic and my friend Mf ilaylcy. (fiayley's \\'ui!cs, 
 ivo Ed. Vol. ii. 261.}
 
 94 THE CHAMPIONS OF THE CHURCH ASSAIL MY HISTORY. 
 
 attached even 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, which would create many enemies, and con- 
 ciliate few friends. But the shaft was shot, the alarm was sounded, and 
 I could only rejoice, that if the voice of our priests was clamorous and 
 bitter, their hands were disarmed from the powers of persecution. I 
 adhered to the wise resolution of trusting myself and my writings to 
 the candour of the public, till Mr. Davies of Oxford presumed to attack, 
 not the faith, but the fidelity, of the historian. My Vindication, expres- 
 sive of less anger than contempt, amused for a moment the busy and 
 idle metropolis; and the most rational part of the laity, and even of the 
 clergy, appear to have been satisfied of my innocence and accuracy. 
 I would not print this Vindication in quarto, lest it should be bound 
 and preserved with the history itself. At the distance of twelve years, 
 I calmly affirm my judgment of Davies, Chelsum, &c. A victory over 
 such antagonists was a sufficient humiliation. They, however, were 
 rewarded in this world. Poor Chelsum was indeed neglected ; and I 
 dare not boast the making Dr. Watson a bishop ; he is a prelate of a 
 large mind and liberal spirit : but I enjoyed the pleasure of giving a 
 Royal pension to Mr. Davies, and of collating Dr. Apthorpe to an 
 archiepiscopal living, '^heir success encouraged the zeal of Taylor the 
 Arian,* and Milner the Methodist,t with many others, whom it would 
 be difficult to remember, and tedious to rehearse. The list of my 
 adversaries, however, was graced with the more respectable names of 
 Dr. Priestley, Sir David Dalrymple, and Dr. White ; and every polemic, 
 of either university, discharged Jiis sermon or pamphlet against the 
 impenetrable silence of the Roman historian. In his History of the 
 Corruptions of Christianity, Dr. Priestley threw down his two gauntlets 
 to Bishop Hurd and Mr. Gibbon. I declined the challenge in a letter, 
 exhorting my opponent to enlighten the world by his philosophical dis- 
 coveries, and to remember that the merit of his predecessor Servetus 
 is now reduced to a single passage, which indicates the smaller circula- 
 tion of the blood through the lungs, from and to the heart. J Instead 
 of listening to this friendly advice, the dauntless philosopher of Bir- 
 mingham continued to fire away his double battery against those who 
 believed too little, and those who believed too much. From vij replies 
 he has nothing to hope or fear : but his Socinian shield has repeatedly 
 been pierced by the spear of Horsley, and his trumpet of sedition may 
 at length awaken the magistrates of a free country. 
 
 The profession and rank of Sir David Dalrymple (now a Lord of 
 Session) has given a more decent colour to his style. But he scrutinized 
 each separate passage of the two chapters with the dry minuteness of 
 a special pleader ; and as he was always solicitous to make, he may 
 
 * The stupendous title, Tho^ights on the Caitses of ike grand Apostacy, at first agitated my 
 nerves, till I discovered that it was the apostacy of the whole church, since the Council of 
 Nice, from INIr. Taylor's private religion. His book is a thorough mixture ol high enthusiasm 
 and low buffoonery, and the Millennium is a fundamental article of his creed. 
 
 + From his grammar-school at Kingston upon Hull, Mr. Joseph Milner pronounces an 
 anathema against all rational religion. His faith is a divine taste, a spiritual inspiration ; hii 
 church is a mystic and invisible body : the ^/ir'w;?!/ Christians, such as Mr. Locke, who believe 
 and interpret the Scriptures, are, in his judgment, no better than profane infiidels. 
 
 X Astruc de la Structure du Cccur, L VJ, 79.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 95 
 
 have succeeded sometimes in finding, a flaw. In his Annals of Scot- 
 land, he has shewn himself a diligent collector and an accurate critic. 
 
 I have praised, and I still praise, the eloquent sermons which were 
 preached in St. Mary's pulpit at Oxford by Dr. White. If he assaulted 
 me with some degree of illiberal acrimony, in such a place, and before 
 such an audience, he was obliged to speak the language of the country. 
 I smiled at a passage in one of his private letters to Mr. Badcock ; 
 " The part where we encounter Gibbon must be brilliant and striking." 
 
 In a sermon preached before the university of Cambridge, Dr. Edwards 
 complimented a worlc, " which can only perish with the language 
 itself;" and esteems the author a formidable enemy. He is, indeed, 
 astonished that more learning and ingenuity has not been shewn in the 
 defence of Israel ; that the prelates and dignitaries of the church (alas, 
 good man!) did not vie with each other, whose stone should sink the 
 deepest in the forehead of this Goliah. 
 
 " But the force of truth will oblige us to confess, that in the attacks 
 which have been levelled against our sceptical historian, we can discover 
 but slender traces of profound and exquisite erudition, of solid criticism 
 and accurate investigation ; but we are too frequently disgusted by 
 vague and inconclusive reasoning ; by unseasonable banter and sense- 
 less witticisms ; by imbittered bigotry and enthusiastic jargon ; by 
 futile cavils and illiberal invectives. Proud and elated by the weakness 
 of his antagonists, he condescends not to handle the sword of contro- 
 versy." — Monthly Review, Oct. 1790. 
 
 Let me frankly own that I was startled at the first discharge of eccle- 
 siastical ordnance ; but as soon as I found that this empty noise was 
 mischievous only in the intention, my fear was converted into indigna- 
 tion ; and every feeling of indignation or curiosity has long since sub- 
 sided in pure and placid indifference. 
 
 The prosecution of my history was soon afterwards checked by 
 another controversy of a very different kind. At the request of the 
 Lord Chancellor, and of Lord Weymouth, then Secretary of State, I 
 vindicated, against the French manifesto, the justice of the British 
 arms. The whole correspondence of Lord Stormont, our late ambas- 
 sador at Paris, was submitted to my inspection, and the JMemoire 
 Justijicatif, which I composed in French, was first approved by the 
 Cabinet Ministers, and then delivered as a State paper to the courts of 
 Europe. The style and manner are praised by Beaumarchais himself, 
 who, in his private quarrel, attempted a reply ; but he flatters me, by 
 ascribing the memoir to Lord Stormont ; and the grossness of his 
 invective betrays the loss of temper and of wit ; he acknowledged, 
 Oeuv. de Beaumarchais, iii. 299, 355, that le style ne seroit pas sans 
 grace, ni la logiqiie sans jiistesse, &c. if the facts were true which he 
 undertakes to disprove. For these facts my credit is not pledged ; I 
 spoke as a lawyer from my brief, but the veracity of Beaumarchais may 
 be estimated from the assertion that France, by the treaty of Paris 
 (1763) was limited to a certain number of ships of war. On the appli- 
 cation of the Duke of Choiseul, he was obliged to retract this daring 
 falsehood. 
 
 Among the honourable connections which I had formed, I may justly 
 be proud of the friendship of I\Ir, Wedderburne, at that time Attorney-
 
 96 I AM APFOmTED TO A SEAT AT THE BOARD OF TRADE, 
 
 General, who now illustrates the title of Lord Loughborough, and the 
 office of Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. By his strong recom- 
 mendation, and the favourable disposition of Lord North, I was 
 appointed one of the Lords Commissioners of Trade and Plantations ; 
 and my private income was enlarged by a clear addition of between 
 seven and eight hundred pounds a-year. The fancy of an hostile orator 
 may paint, in the strong colours of ridicule, " the perpetual virtual 
 adjournment, and the unbroken sitting vacation of the Board of Trade."* 
 But it must be allowed that our duty was not intolerably severe, and 
 that I enjoyed many claj's and weeks of repose, without being called 
 away from my library to the office. My acceptance of a place provoked 
 some of the leaders of opposition, with whom I had lived in habits of 
 intimacy ; and I was most unjustly accused of deserting a party, in 
 which I had never enlisted.f 
 
 The aspect of the next session of parliament was stormy and perilous ; 
 county meetings, petitions, and committees of correspondence, an- 
 nounced the public discontent ; and instead of voting with a trium- 
 phant majority, the friends of government were often exposed to a 
 struggle, and sometimes to a defeat. The House of Commons adopted 
 Mr. Dunning's motion, " That the influence of the Crown had in- 
 creased, was increasing, and ought to be diminished :"and Mr. Burke's 
 bill of reform was framed with skill, introduced with eloquence, and 
 supported by numbers. Our late president, the American Secretary 
 of State, very narrowly escaped the sentence of proscription ; but the 
 unfortunate Board of Trade was abolished in the committee by a small 
 
 * I can never forget the delight with which that diffusive and ingenious orator, Mr. Burke, 
 was heard by all sides of the house, and even by those whose existence he proscribed. (Speech 
 on the Bill of Reform, p. 72 — So.) The Lords of Trade blushed at their insignificancy, and 
 Mr. Eden's appeal to the 2,500 volumes of our Reports, served only to e.xcite a general laugh. 
 I take this opportunity of certifying the correctness of Mr, Burke's printed speeches, which I 
 have heard and read. 
 
 + From Edward Gibdon, esq. to — — ^— esq. 
 Dear Sir, ... . 2nd J"'y i779' 
 
 Yesterday I received a very interesting communication from my friend, whose kind and 
 honourable behaviour towards me I must always remember with the highest gratitude. He 
 informed me that, in consequence of an arrangement, a place at the Board of Trade was 
 reserved for me, and that as soon as I signified my acceptance of it, he was satisfied no farther 
 difficulties would arise. My answer to him was sincere and explicit. I told him that I was 
 far from approving all the past measures of the administration, even some of those in which I 
 myself had silently concurred ; that I saw, with the rest of the world, many capital defects in 
 the characters of some of the present ministers, and was sorry that in so alarming a situation 
 of public affairs, the country had not the assistance of several able and honest men who are 
 now in opposition. But that I had not formed with any of those persons in opposition any 
 engagementsor connections which could in the least restrain oraffect my parliamentary conduct: 
 that I could not discover among them such superior advantages, either of measures or of 
 abilities, as could make me consider it as a duty to attach myself to their cause ; and that I 
 
 clearly understood, from the public and private language of , one of their leaders, that 
 
 in the actual state of the country, he himself was seriously of opinion that opposition could not 
 tend to any good purpose, and might be productive of much mischief; that, for those reasons, 
 I saw no objections which could prevent me from accepting an office under the present govern- 
 ment, and that I was ready to take a step which I found to be consistent both with my interest 
 and my honour. 
 
 It must now be decided, whether I may continue to live in England, or whether I must soon 
 withdraw myself into a kind of philosophical exile in Switzerland. My father left his affairs 
 in a state of embarrassment, and even of distress. My attempts to dispose of a part of my 
 landed property have hitherto been disappointed, and are not likely at present to be more 
 successful ; and my plan of expence, though moderate in itself, deserves the name of extrava- 
 gance, since it exceeds my real income. The addition of the salary which is now offered will 
 m.ike my situation perfectly easy ; but I hope you will do me the justice to believe that my 
 mind could n 't be so, unless I were satisfied of the rectitude of my own conduct.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 9/ 
 
 majority (207 to 199) of eight votes. The storm, however, blew over 
 for a time ; a large defection of country gentlemen eluded the sanguine 
 hopes of the patriots : the Lords of Trade were revived ; administra- 
 tion recovered their strength and spirit ; and the flames of London, 
 which were kindled by a mischievous madman, admonished all think- 
 ing men of the danger of an appeal to the people. In the premature 
 dissolution which followed this session of parliament I lost my scat. 
 Mr. Elliot was now deeply engaged in the measures of opposition, 
 and the electors of Lcskcard* are commonly of the same opinion as 
 Mr. Elliot. 
 
 In this interval of my senatorial life, I published the second and 
 third volumes of the Decline and Fall. My eccesiastical history still 
 breathed the same spirit of freedom ; but protestant zeal is more in- 
 different to the characters and controversies of the fourth and fifth 
 centuries. My obstinate silence had damped the ardour of the polemics. 
 Dr. Watson, the most candid of my adversaries, assured me that he 
 had no thoughts of renewing the attack, and my impartial balance 
 of the virtues and vices of Julian was generally praised. This truce 
 was interrupted only by some animadversions of the Catholics of Italy, 
 and by some angry letters from Mr. Travis, who made me personally 
 responsible for condemning, with the best critics, the spurious text of 
 the three heavenly witnesses. 
 
 The piety or prudence of my Italian translator has provided an anti- 
 dote against the poison of his original. The 5th and 7th volumes are 
 armed with five letters from an anonymous divine to his friends. Foot- 
 head and Kirk, two English students at Rome : and this meritorious 
 service is commended by Monsignor Stonor, a prelate of the same 
 nation, who discovers much venom in the fluid and nervous style of 
 Oibbon. The critical essay at the end of the third volume was fur- 
 nished by the Abbate Nicola Spedalieri, whose zeal has gradually 
 swelled to a more solid confutation in two quarto volumes. — Shall I be 
 excused for not having read them ? 
 
 The brutal insolence of Mr. Travis's challenge can only be excused 
 by the absence of learning, judgment, and humanity ; and to that ex- 
 cuse he has the fairest or foulest pretension. Compared with Arch- 
 deacon Travis, Chelsum and Davies assume the title of respectable 
 enemies. 
 
 The bigoted advocate of popes and monks may be turned over 
 even to the bigots of Oxford ; and the wretched Travis still smarts 
 under the lash of the merciless Porson. I consider Mr. Porson's 
 answer to Archdeacon Travis as the most acute and accurate piece of 
 criticism which has appeared since the days of Bentley. His strictures 
 are founded in argument, enriched with learning, and enlivened with 
 wit ; and his adversary neither deserves nor finds any C|uarter at his 
 hands. The evidence of the three heavenly witnesses would now be 
 rejected in any court of justice : but prejudice is blind, authority is 
 deaf, and our vulgar bibles will ever be polluted by this spurious text, 
 '■'• scdct atcj-niiiuqitc scdcbit" The more learned ecclesiastics \\\\\ 
 indeed have the secret satisfaction of reprobating in the closet what 
 they read in the church. 
 
 • The bovou£h which Mr. Gibbon had represented in Parliament.
 
 98 CRITICISM OF BISHOP NEWTON ON MY WORK. 
 
 I perceived, and without surprise, the coldness and even prejudice 
 of the town ; nor could a whisper escape my ear, that, in the judgment 
 of many readers, my continuation was much inferior to the original 
 attempts. An author who cannot ascend will always appear to sink : 
 envy was now prepared for my reception, and the zeal of my religious, 
 was fortified by the motive of my political, enemies. Bishop Newton, 
 in writing his own life, was at full liberty to declare how much he 
 himself and two eminent brethren were disgusted by Mr. G.'s prolixity, 
 tediousness, and affectation. But the old man should not have 
 indulged his zeal in a false and feeble charge against the historian,* 
 who had faithfully and even cautiously rendered Dr. Burnet's meaning 
 by the alternative of sleep or repose. That philosophic divine sup- 
 poses, that, in the period between death and the resurrection, human 
 souls exist without a body, endowed with internal consciousness, but 
 destitute of all active or passive connection with the external world, 
 '■ Secundum communem dictionem sacr^e scriptures, mors dicitur 
 somnus, et morientes dicuntur abdonnire, quod innuere mihi videtur 
 statum mortis esse statum quietis, silentii, et at^jarsiaq." {De Statu 
 Hlortuoi-iim, ch. v. p. 98.) 
 
 * Extract from Mr. Gibbon'^ Coinmo7i Place Book. 
 
 Thomas Newton, Bishop of Bristol and Dean of St. Paul's, was born at Litchfield On 
 Dec. 21 1703, O. S. (ist Jan. 1704, N. S.), and died Feb. 14 1782, in the 79th year of his age. 
 A few days before his death he finished the memoirs of his own life, which have been pre- 
 fixed to an edition of his posthumous works, first published in quarto, and since (1787) re-pub- 
 lished in six volumes octavo. 
 
 P. 173, 174. Some books were published in 1781, which employed some of the Bishop's 
 leisure hours, and during his illness. Mr. Gibbon's History of the Decline and Pall 0/ tlie 
 Poman EinJ>ire he read throughout, but it by no means answered his expectation ; for he 
 found it rather a prolix and tedious performance, his matter uninteresting, and his style 
 affected ; his testimonies not to be depended upon, and his frequent scoffs at religion offensive 
 to every sober mind. He had before been convicted of making false quotations, which 
 should have taught him more prudence and caution. But, without examining his authorities, 
 there is one which must necessarily strike every man who has read Dr. Burnet's Treatise 
 tie Statu, Mortuoruin. In vol. iii. p. 99, Mr. G. has the following note : — " Burnet (de S. M. 
 p. 56—84) collects the opinions of the Fathers, as far as they assert the sleep or repose of 
 human souls till the day of judgment. He afterwards exposes (p. 91) the inconveniences 
 which must arise if they possessed a more active and sensible e.xistence. Who would not 
 from hence infer that Dr. B. was an advocate for the sleep or insensible existence of the soul 
 after death ? whereas his doctrine is directly the contrary. He has employed some chapters 
 in treating of the state of human souls in the interval between death and the resurrection ; 
 and after various proofs from reason, from scripture, and the Fathers, his conclusions are, 
 that human souls exist after their separation from the body, that they are in a good or evil 
 state according to their good or ill behaviour, but that neither their happiness nor their misery 
 will be complete or perfect before the day of judgment. His argumentation is thus summed 
 up at the end of the 4th chapter — Ex quilnis constat prima, aninzas snperesse extincto 
 corpore; secundo, honas bene, vzalas jiialc se liahitiiras ; iertio, ncc illis snintnam felicitatein, 
 nee bis sntnmavi miseriam, accessiiravi esse ante diem jiidicii." (The Bishop's reading the 
 whole was a greater compliment to the work than was paid to it by two of the most eminent 
 of his brethren for their learning and station. The one entered upon it, but was soon 
 wearied, and laid it aside in disgust : the other returned it upon the bookseller's hands ; and 
 it is said that INIr. G. himself happened unluckily to be in the shop at the same time.) 
 
 Does the Bishop comply with his own precept in the next page ? (p. 175.) " Old age 
 should lenify, should soften men's manners, and make them more mild and gentle ; but often 
 has the contrary effect, hardens their hearts, and makes them more sour and crabbed." — He 
 is speaking of Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Have I ever insinuated that preferment-hunting is the great occupation of an ecclesiastic.1l 
 life? (Memoirs passim); that a minister's influence and a bishop's patronage are sometimes 
 pledged eleven deep? (p. iji ;) that a prebendary considers the audit week as the better part 
 of the year ? (p. 127 ;) or that the most eminent of priests, the pope himself, would change 
 their religion, if any thing better could be oflered them? (p. 36)- Such things are more 
 than insinuated in the Bishop's Life, which afforded some scandal to the church, aad some 
 diversion to the profane laity.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 99 
 
 I was however encouraged by some domestic and foreign testimonies 
 of applause ; and the second and third vohmies insensibly rose in sale 
 and reputation to a level with the first. But the public is seldom 
 wrong ; and I am inclined to believe that, especially in the beginning, 
 they are more prolix and less entertaining than the first : my efforts 
 had not been relaxed by success, and I had rather deviated into the 
 opposite fault of minute and superfluous diligence. On the Continent, 
 my name and writings were slowly diffused ; a French translation of 
 the first volume had disappointed the booksellers of Paris ; and a 
 passage in the third was construed as a personal reflection on the 
 reigning monarch.* 
 
 Before I could apply for a seat at the general election the list was 
 already full ; but Lord North's promise was sincere, his recommenda- 
 tion was effectual, and I was soon chosen on a vacancy for the borough 
 of Lymington,. in Hampshire. In the first session of the new par- 
 liament, administration stood their ground ; their final overthrow was 
 reser\ed for the second. The American war had once been the 
 fa\-ourite of the countr>' : the pride of England was irritated by the 
 resistance of her colonies, and the executive power was driven by 
 national clamour into the most vigorous and coercive measures. But 
 the length of a fruitless contest, the loss of armies, the accumulation 
 of debt and taxes, and the hostile confederacy of France, Spain, and 
 Holland, indisposed the public to the American war, and the persons 
 by whom it was conducted ; the representatives of the people, followed, 
 at a slow distance, the changes of their opinion ; and the ministers who 
 refused to bend, were broken by the tempest. As soon as Lord North 
 had lost, or was about to lose, a majority in the House of Commons, 
 he surrendered his office, and retired to a private station, with the 
 tranquil assurance of a clear conscience and a cheerful temper : the 
 old fabric was dissolved, and the posts of government were occupied 
 by the victorious and veteran troops of opposition. The lords of trade 
 were not immediately dismissed, but the board itself was abolished by 
 Mr. Burke's bs'U, which decency had compelled the patriots to revive ; 
 and I was stripped of a convenient salary, after having enjoyed it about 
 three years. 
 
 So flexible is the title of my History, that the final aera might be 
 fixed at my own choice ; and I long hesitated whether I should be 
 content with the three volumes, the fall of the Western empire, which 
 fulfilled my first engagement with the public. In this interval of sus- 
 pense, nearly a twelvemonth, I returned by a natural impulse to the 
 Greek authors of antiquity; I read with new pleasure the Iliad and the 
 Odyssey, the Histories of Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, a 
 large portion of the tragic and comic theatre of Athens, and many 
 interesting dialogues of the Socratic school. Yet in the luxury of 
 freedom I began to wish for the daily task, the active pursuit, which 
 
 * It may not be generally known that Louis XVI. is a great reader, and a reader of 
 Englisli books. On perusing a passage of my History which seems to compare him to 
 Arcadius or Honorius, he expressed his resentment to the Prince of H * * *, from whom tlie 
 intelhgcnce was conveyed to me. I shall neither disclaim the allusion, nor examine the 
 likeness ; but the situation of the late King of France excludes all suspicion of flattery ; and 
 I am ready to declare that the concluding observations of my third volume were written 
 before bis accession to the throne.
 
 100 MV YEAJiiVJNGS FOR THE PEACE OF LAUSANNE. 
 
 gave a value to every book, and an object to every inquiry ; the preface 
 of a new edition announced my design, and I dropped without reluc- 
 tance from the age of Plato to that of Justinian. The original texts of 
 Procopius and Agathias supplied the events and even the characters 
 of his reign : but a laborious winter was devoted to the Codes, the 
 Pandects, and the niodern interpreters, before I presumed to form an 
 abstract of the civil law. My skill was improved by practice, my 
 diligence perhaps was quickened by the loss of office ; and, excepting 
 the last chapter, I had finished the fourth volume before I sought a 
 retreat on the banks of the Leman Lake. 
 
 It is not the purpose of this narrative to expatiate on the public or 
 secret history of the times : the schism which followed the death of 
 the Marquis of Rockingham, the appointment of the Earl of Shelburne, 
 the resignation of Mr. Fox, and his famous coalition with Lord North. 
 But I may assert, with some degree of assurance, that in their political 
 conflict those great antagonists had never felt any personal animosity 
 to each other, that their reconciliation was easy and sincere, and that 
 their friendship has never been clouded by the shadow of suspicion 
 or jealousy. The most violent or venal of their respective followers 
 embraced this fair occasion of revolt, but their alliance still commanded 
 a majority in the House of Commons ; the peace was censured. Lord 
 Shelburne resigned, and the two friends knelt on the same cushion to 
 take the oath of secretary of state. From a principle of gratitude I 
 adhered to the coalition : my vote was counted in the day of battle, 
 but I was overlooked in the division of the spoil. There were many 
 claimants more deserving and importunate than myself : the board of 
 trade could not be restored ; and, while the list of places was curtailed, 
 the number of candidates was doubled. An easy dismission to a 
 secure seat at the board of customs or excise was promised on the first 
 vacancy : but the chance was distant and doubtful ; nor could I solicit 
 with much ardour an ignoble servitude, which would have robbed me 
 of the most valuable of my studious hours : at the same time the 
 tumult of London, and the attendance on parliament, were grown more 
 irksome ; and, without some additional income, I could not long or 
 prudently maintain the style of expence to which I was accustomed. 
 
 From my early acquaintance with Lausanne I had always cherished 
 a secret wish, that the school of my youth might become the retreat of 
 my declining age. A moderate fortune would secure the blessings of 
 ease, leisure, and independence : the country, the people, the manners, 
 the language, were congenial to my taste ; and I might indulge the 
 hope of passing some years in the domestic society of a friend. After 
 travelling with several English,* Mr. Deyverdun was now settled at 
 home, in a pleasant habitation, the gift of his deceased aunt : we had 
 long been separated, we had long been silent ; yet in my first letter I 
 exposed, with the most perfect confidence, my situation, my senti- 
 ments, and my designs. His immediate answer was a warm and joyful 
 acceptance : the picture of our future life provoked my impatience ; 
 and the terms of arrangement were short and simple, as he possessed 
 the property, and I undertook the expence of our common house. 
 
 • Sir Richard Worslcy, Lord Chesterfield, Eroderick Lord Midleton, and Mr. Hume, 
 brother to Sir Abraham.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS 0I< EDWARD GIB BOX. 101 
 
 Before I could break my English chain, it was incumbent on me to 
 struggle with the feelings of m)- heart, the indolence of my temper, 
 and the opinion of the world, which unanimously condemned this 
 voluntary banishment. In the disposal of my effects, the library, a 
 sacred deposit, was alone excepted : as my post-chaise moved ovef 
 Westminster-bridge I bid a long farewell to the " fumum et opes 
 strepitumq ; Roma;." My journey by the direct road through France 
 was not attended with any accident, and I arrived at Lausanne nearly 
 twenty years after my second departure. Within less than three 
 months the coalition struck on some hidden rocks : had I remained on 
 board, 1 should have perished in the general shipwreck. 
 
 Since my establishment at Lausanne, more than seven years have 
 elapsed; and if every day has not been equally soft and serene, not a 
 day, not a moment, has occurred in which \ have repented of my 
 choice. During my absence, a long portion of human life, many 
 changes had happened : my elder acquaintance had left the stage ; 
 virgins were ripened into matrons, and children were grown to the 
 age of manhood. But the same manners were transmitted from one 
 generation to another : my friend alone was an inestimable treasure; 
 my name was not totally forgotten, and all were ambitious to welcome 
 the arrival of a stranger and the return of a fellow-citizen. The first 
 winter was given to a general embrace, without any nice discrimination 
 of persons and characters. After a more regular settlement, a more 
 accurate survey, I discovered three solid and permanent benefits of 
 my new situation. I. My personal freedom had been somewhat im- 
 paired by the House of Commons and the Board of Trade; but I was 
 now delivered from the chain of duty and dependence, from the hopes 
 and fears of political adventure : my sober mind was no longer intoxi- 
 cated by the fumes of party, and I rejoiced in my escape, as often as I 
 read of the midnight debates which preceded the dissolution of parlia- 
 ment. 2. My English ceconomy had been that of a solitary bachelor, 
 who might afford some occasional dinners. In Switzerland I enjoyed 
 at every meal, at every hour, the fi^ee and pleasant conversation of the 
 friend of my youth ; and my daily table was always provided for the 
 reception of one or two extraordinary guests. Our importance in 
 society is less a positive than a relative weight : in London I was lost 
 in the crowd; I I'anked with the first families of Lausanne, and my 
 style of prudent expence enabled me to maintain a fair balance of 
 reciprocal civilities. 3. Instead of a small house between a street 
 and a stable-yard, I began to occupy a spacious and convenient man- 
 sion, connected on the north side with the city, and open on the south 
 to a beautiful and boundless horizon. A garden of four acres had been 
 laid out by the taste of Mr. Deyverdun : from the garden a rich scenery 
 of meadows and vineyards descends to the Leman Lake, and the 
 prospect far beyond the Lake is crowned by the stupendous mountains 
 of Savoy. My books and my acquaintance had been first united in 
 London ; but this happy position of my library in town and country 
 was finally reserved for Lausanne. Possessed of every comfort in this 
 triple alliance, I could not be tempted to change my habitation with 
 the changes of the seasons. 
 
 My friends had been kindly apprehensive that I should not be able 
 
 H
 
 1 02 THE A TTRA CTIONS OF MY HOME AT LA US ANNE. 
 
 to exist in a Swiss town at the foot of the Alps, after having so long 
 conversed with the first men of the first cities of the world. Such loftj 
 connections may attract the curious, and gratify the vain ; but I am 
 too modest, or too proud, to rate my own value by that of my 
 associates ; and whatsoever may be the fame of learning or genius, 
 experience has shown me that the cheaper qualifications of politeness 
 and good sense are of more useful currency in the commerce of life. 
 By many, conversation is esteemed as a theatre or a school : but, 
 after the morning has been occupied by the labours of the library, I 
 wish to unbend rather than to exercise my mind ; and in the interval 
 between tea and supper I am far from disdaining the innocent amuse- 
 ment of a game at cards. Lausanne is peopled by a numerous 
 gentry, whose companionable idleness is seldom disturbed by the 
 pursuits of avarice or ambition : the women, though confined to a 
 domestic education, are endowed for the most part with more taste 
 and knowledge than their husbands and brothers : but the decent 
 freedom of both sexes is equally remote from the extremes of simplicity 
 and refinement. I shall add as a misfortune rather than a merit, that 
 the situation and beauty of the Pays de Vaud, the long habits of the 
 English, the medical reputation of Dr. Tissot, and the fashion of view- 
 ing the mountains and Glaciers, have opened us on all sides to the 
 incursions of foreigners. The visits of Mr. and Madame Necker, of 
 Prince Henry of Prussia, and of Mr. Fox, may form some pleasing 
 exceptions ; but, in general, Lausanne has appeared most agreeable in 
 my eyes, when we have been abandoned to our own society. I had 
 frequently seen Mr. Necker, in the summer of 1784, at a country house 
 near Lausanne, where he composed his Treatise on the Administration 
 of the Finances. I have since, in October 1790, visited him in his 
 present residence, the castle and barony of Copet, near Geneva. Of 
 the merits and measures of that statesman various opinions may be 
 entertained ; but all impartial men must agree in their esteem of his 
 integrity and patriotism. 
 
 In August 1784, Prince Henry of Prussia, in his way to Paris, passed 
 three days at Lausanne. His military conduct has been praised by 
 professional men ; his character has been vihfiedby the wit andmahce 
 of a dsemon (Mem. Secret de la Cour de Berhn) ; but I was flattered 
 by his affability, and entertained by his conversation. 
 
 In his tour of Switzerland (Sept. 1788) Mr. Fox gave me two days 
 of free and private society. He seemed to feel, and even to envy, 
 the happiness of my situation ; while I admired tlie powers of a supe- 
 rior man, as they are blended in his attractive character with the 
 softness and simplicity of a child. Perhaps no human being was 
 ever more perfectly exempt from the taint of malevolence, vanity, or 
 falsehood 
 
 My transmigration from London to Lausanne could not be effected 
 without interrupting the course of my historical labours. The hurry 
 of my departure, the joy of my arrival, the delay of my tools, suspended 
 their progress; and a full twelvemonth was lost before I could resume 
 tlie thread of regular and daily industry. A number of books most 
 requisite and least common had been previously selected ; the 
 academical library of Lausanne, which I could use as my own, con-
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIB BOY. 103 
 
 tained at least the fathers and councils ; and I have derived some 
 occasional succour from the public collections of Berne and Geneva. 
 The fourth volume was soon terminated, by an abstract of the contro- 
 versies of the Incarnation, which the learned Dr. Prideaux was appre- 
 hensive of exposing to profane eyes. It had been the original design 
 of the learned Dean Prideaux to write the history of the ruin oi the 
 Eastern Church. In this work it would have been necessary, not only 
 to unravel all those controversies which the Christians made about the 
 hypostatical union, but also to unfold all the niceties and subtle notions 
 which each sect entertained concerning it. The pious historian was 
 apprehensive of exposing that incomprehensible mystery to the cavils 
 and objections of unbelievers : and he durst not, " seeing the nature of 
 this book, venture it abroad in so wanton and lewd an age" (Preface 
 to the Life of Mahomet, p. 10). 
 
 In the fifth and sixth volumes the revolutions of the empire and the 
 world are most rapid, various, and instructive ; and the Greek or Roman 
 historians are checked by the hostile narratives of the barbarians of 
 the East and the West.* 
 
 It was not till after many designs, and many trials, that I preferred, 
 as I still prefer, the method of grouping my picture by nations ; and 
 the seeming neglect of chronological order is surely compensated by 
 the superior merits of interest and perspicuity. The style of the first 
 volume is, in my opinion, somewhat crude and elaborate ; in the second 
 and third it is ripened into ease, correctness, and numbers ; but in the 
 three last I may have been seduced by the facility of my pen, and the 
 constant habit of speaking one language and writing another may have 
 infused some mixture of Gallic idioms. Happily for my ejes, I have 
 always closed my studies with the day, and commonly with tht morning; 
 and a long, but temperate, labour has been accomplished, without 
 fatiguing either the mind or body; but when I computed the remainder 
 of my time and my task, it was apparent that, according to the season 
 of publication, the delay of a month would be productive of that of a 
 year. I was now straining for the goal, and in the last winter many 
 evenings were borrowed from the social pleasures of Lausanne. I 
 could now wish that a pause, an interval, had been allowed for a 
 serious revisal. 
 
 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, 1 took several turns 
 in a bercean, 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 emo- 
 tions of joy on the recovery of my freedom, and, perhaps, the establish- 
 ment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober 
 
 * I have followed the judicious precept of the Abbe de Mably, (Manifre d'ecrire I'Hist., 
 p. no,) who advises the historian not to dwell too minutely on the decay of the eastern empire; 
 but to consider the barbarian conquerors as a more worthy subject of his narrative. " fas est 
 et ab hoste doceri."
 
 1 04 THE REPUTA TION OF MY FRIEND MR. HOLRO YD. 
 
 melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had taken an 
 everlasting^ leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that what- 
 soever 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. I. 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.* 
 
 I cannot help recollecting a much more extraordinary fact, which is 
 affinned of himself by Retif de la Bretorme, a voluminous and original 
 writer of French novels. He laboured, and may still labour, in the 
 humble office of corrector to a printing-house ; but this office enabled 
 him to transport an entire volume from his mind to the press ; and his 
 work was given to the public without ever having been written with a 
 pen. 
 
 After a quiet residence of four years, during which I had never 
 moved ten miles from Lausanne, it was not without some reluctance 
 and terror, that I undertook, in a journey of two hundred leagues, to 
 cross the mountains and the sea. Yet this formidable adventure 
 was achieved without danger or fatigue ; and at the end of a fort- 
 night I found myself in Lord Sheffield's house and library, safe, 
 happy, and at home. The character of my friend (Mr. Llolroyd) had 
 recommended him to a seat in parliament for Coventry, the com- 
 mand of a regiment of light dragoons, and an Irish peerage. The 
 sense and spirit of his political writings have decided the public 
 opinion on the great c|ucstions of our commercial interest with America 
 and Ireland.f 
 
 The sale of his Observations on the American States was diffusive, 
 their effect beneficial ; the Navigation Act, the palladium of Britain, 
 was defended, and perhaps saved, by his pen ; and he proves, by the 
 weight of fact and argument, that the mother-country may survive and 
 flourish after the loss of America. My friend has never cultivated the 
 arts of composition ; but his materials are copious and correct, and he 
 leaves on his paper the clear impression of an active and vigorous mind. 
 His " Observations on the Trade, Manufactures, and present State of 
 Ireland," were intended to guide the industry, to correct the prejudices, 
 and to assuage the passions of a country which seemed to forget that 
 she could be free and prosperous only by a friendly connection with 
 Great Britain. The concluding observations are written with so much 
 ease and spirit, that they may be read by those who are the least 
 interested in the subject. 
 
 He fell (in 1784) with the unpopular coalition; but his merit has 
 been acknowledged at the last general election, 1790, by the honourable 
 
 * Extract from Mr. Gibbon'j Common-place Book. 
 The IVth Volume of the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, begun March 
 
 I St, 1782 — ended June 1784. 
 Tl;e Vth Volume, begun July 1784 — ended May ist, 17S6. 
 Ihe Vlth Volume, begun May iSth, 17S6— ended June 27th, 1787. 
 
 'I'hese three volumes were sent to press August isth, 1787, and the whole impression was 
 concluded April following. \Tlie edition— six t'olnmcs quarto — is referred to.^ 
 
 A Observations on the Commerce of the American States, by John Lord Sheffield, 6th ed., 
 Lond., 1784, in 8vo.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBO.V. I05 
 
 invitation and free clioice of tlic city of Bristol. During tlie wlmle 
 time of my residence in England I was entertained at Sheftield-ri.;ce 
 and in Downing-Strcet by his hospitable kindness ; and the most 
 pleasant period was that which I passed in the domestic society of the 
 family. In the larger circle of the metropolis I observed the country 
 and the inhabitants with the knowledge, and without the prejudices, of 
 an Englishman ; but I rejoiced in the apparent increase of wealth and 
 prosperity, which might be fairly divided between the spirit of the 
 nation and the wisdom of the minister. All party-resentment was 
 now lost in oblivion : since I was no man's rival, no man was my 
 enemy. I felt the dignity of independence, and as I asked no more. I 
 was satisfied with the general civilities of the world. The house in 
 London which I frequented with most pleasure and assiduity was that 
 of Lord North. After the loss of power and of sight, he was still 
 happy in himself and his friends ; and my public tribute of gratitude 
 and esteem could no longer be suspected of any interested motive. 
 Before my departure from England, I was present at the august spec- 
 tacle of Mr. Hastings's trial in Westminster Hall. It is not my 
 province to absolve or condemn the Governor of India ; but Mr. 
 Sheridan's eloquence demanded my applause ; nor could I hear with- 
 out emotion the personal compliment which he paid me in the presence 
 of the British nation.* 
 
 From this display of genius, which blazed four successive days, I 
 shall stoop to a very mechanical circumstance. As I was waiting in 
 tlie managers' box, I had the curiosity to inquire of the short-hand 
 writer, how many words a ready and rapid orator might pronounce in 
 an hour ? From 7000 to 7500 was his answer. The medium of 7200 
 will afford 120 words in a minute, and two words in each second. But 
 this computation will only apply to the English language. 
 
 As the publication of my three last volumes was the principal object, 
 so it was the first care of my English journey. The previous arrange- 
 ments with the bookseller and the printer were settled in my passage 
 through London, and the proofs, which I returned more correct, were 
 transmitted every post from the press to Sheffield-Place. The length 
 of the operation, and the leisure of the country, allowed some time to 
 review my manuscript. Several rare and useful books, the Assises de 
 Jerusalem, Ramusius de Bello C. P"'", the Greek Acts of the Synod of 
 Florence, the Statuta Urbis Romas, &c. were procured, and introduced 
 in their proper places the supplements which they aftbrded. The 
 impression of the fourth volume had consumed three months 
 Our common interest required that we should move with a quicker 
 pace ; and Mr. Strahan fulfilled his engagement, which few printers 
 could sustain, of delivering every week three thousand copies of nine 
 sheets. The day of publication was, however, delayed, that it might 
 coincide with tlie fifty-first anniversaiy of my own birthday ; the 
 double festival was celebrated by a cheerful literary dinner at Mr. 
 Cadell's house ; and I seemed to blush while they read an elegant com- 
 
 * He sakl the facts that made up the volume of narrative were unparalleled in atrocioiisness, 
 and tliat nothing equal in criminality was tii he traced, either in ancient or modt;rn history, in 
 the correct periods of Tacitus, or the luminous page of Gibbon. — Morning Chroiiide, Juiu 
 14, 17S8.
 
 I06 FERSES BY HA YLEY ON COMPLETION- OF MY WORKS. 
 
 plimeiii from Mr. Hayley,* whose poetical talents had more than once 
 beon employed in the praise of his friend. Before Mr. Hayley inscribed 
 with my name his epistles on history, I was not acquainted with that 
 amiable man and elegant poet. He afterwards thanked me in verse 
 for my second and third volumes ;t and in the summer of 178T, the 
 Roman Eagle J (a proud title) accepted the invitation of the English 
 
 * OCCASIONAL STANZAS, hy Mr. Hayley, read aftey the Dinner at Mr. CadellV, 
 May 8, 17S8 ; being the Day of the Publication of the three last VohtmesofWx. Gibbon'j 
 History, and his Birtliday. 
 
 Genii of England and of Rome ! 
 In mutual triumph here assume 
 
 The honours each may claim ! 
 This social scene with sn.iles survey ! 
 And consecrate the festive day 
 
 To Friendship and to Fame ! 
 
 Enough, by Desolation's tide, 
 With anguish, and indignant pride, 
 
 Has Rome bewail'd her fate ; 
 And mourn'd that Time, in Havoc's hour, 
 Defac'd each monument, of power 
 
 To speak her truly great. 
 
 O'er maim'd Polybius, just and sage, 
 O'er Livy's mutilated page. 
 
 How deep was her regret ! 
 Touch'd by this Queen, in ruin grand. 
 See ! Glory, by an English hand, 
 
 Now pays a mighty debt : 
 
 Lo ! sacred to the Roman Name, 
 And rais'd, like Rome's immortal Fame, 
 By Genius and by Toil, 
 
 The splendid Work is crown'd to-day. 
 On which Oblivion ne'er shall prey. 
 Nor Envy make her spoil ! 
 
 England, e.xult ! and view not now. 
 With jealous eye each nation's brri'.v, 
 
 Where Hist'ry's palm has spread ! 
 In every path of liberal art, 
 Thy Sons to prime distinction start. 
 
 And no superior dread. 
 
 Science for Thee a Newton rais'd ; 
 For thy renown a -Shakespeare blaz'J, 
 
 Lord of the drama's sphere ! 
 In different fields to equal praise 
 See History now thy GIBBON raise 
 
 To shine without a peer ! 
 
 Eager to honour living worth. 
 And bless to-day the double birfh. 
 That proudest joy may claim. 
 
 Let artless Truth this homage pay. 
 And consecrate the festive day 
 To Friendship and to Fame ! 
 t SONNET to EDWARD GIBBON, esq. 
 O71 the Pnblication of his Second attd Tliird Volnincs, ij8l. 
 WITH proud delight th' imperial founder gaz'd 
 
 On the new beauty of his second Rome, 
 
 When on his eager eye rich temples blaz'd. 
 
 And his fair city rose in youthful bloom ; 
 
 A pride more noble may thy heart assume, 
 
 O Gibbon ! gazing on thy growing work. 
 
 In which, constructed for a happier doom. 
 
 No hasty marks of vain ambition lurk : 
 Thou may'st deride both Time's destructive sway. 
 
 And baser En-vy's beauty-mangling dirk ; 
 Thy gorgeous fabric, plann'd with wise delay. 
 
 Shall baflle foes more savage than the Turk ; 
 As ages multiply, its fame shall rise. 
 And earth must perish ere its splendour dies. 
 
 Hayley's Works, Svo. ed. i. 162. 
 X A Card 0/ Invitation to Mr. GIBBON, at Brighthelmstonc, 1781. 
 
 AN English sparrow, pert and free, 
 Who chirps beneath his native tree. 
 Hearing the Roman eagle's near, 
 And feeling more respect than fear, 
 Thus, witjr united love and awe. 
 Invites him to his shed of straw. 
 
 Tho' he is but a twittering sparrow, 
 The field he hops in rather narrow. 
 When nobler plumes attract his view, 
 He ever pays them homage due. 
 He looks with reverential wonder 
 On him whose talons bear the thunder; 
 Nor could the Jackdaws e'er inveigle 
 His voice to vilify the eagle, 
 Tho' issuing from the holy tow'rs. 
 In which they build their warmest bow'rs. 
 Their sovereign's haunt they slyly search, 
 
 In hopes to catch him on his perch, 
 (For Pindar says, beside his God 
 The thunder-bearing bird will nod,) 
 Then, peeping round his still retreat. 
 They pick from underneath his feet 
 Some moulted feather he lets fall. 
 
 And swear he cannot fly at all. 
 
 Lord of the sky ! whose pounce can tear 
 These croakers, that infest the air. 
 Trust him ! the sparrow loves to sing 
 The praise of thy imperial wing ! 
 He thinks thoul't deem him, on his word, 
 An honest, though familial bird : 
 And hopes thou soon wilt condescend 
 To look upon thy little friend ; 
 That he may boast around his grove 
 A visit from the bird of Jove. 
 
 Havlev'.s- Works, i. 189.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIEBOiV. lOf 
 
 Sparrow, who chirped in the groves of Eartham, near Chichester. As 
 most of the former purchasers were naturally desirous of completing 
 their sets, the sale of the quarto edition was quick and easy ; and an 
 octavo size was printed, to satisfy at a cheaper rate the public demand. 
 The conclusion of my work was generally read, and variously judged. 
 Tlie style has been exposed to much academical criticism ; a religious 
 clamour was revived, and the reproach of indecency has been loudly 
 echoed by the rigid censors of morals. I never could understand the 
 clamour that has been raised against the indecency of my three last 
 volumes, i. An equal degree of freedom in the former part, especially 
 in the fust volume, had passed without reproach. 2. I am justified in 
 painting the manners of the times ; the vices of Theodora form an 
 essential feature in the reign and character of Justinian. 3. My 
 English text is chaste, and all licentious passages are left in the 
 obscurity of a learned language. Le Latin dans ses mots brave r/iou- 
 itetcte, says the correct Boileau, in a country and idiom more scrupu- 
 lous than our own. Yet, upon the whole, the History of the Decline 
 and P^all seems to have struck root, both at home and abroad, and 
 may, perhaps, a hundred years hence still continue to be abused. I 
 am less flattered by Mr. Person's high encomium on the style and 
 spirit of my history, than I am satisfied with his honourable testimony 
 to my attention, diligence, and accuracy ; those humble virtues, which 
 religious zeal had most audaciously denied. The sweetness of his 
 praise is tempered by a reasonable mixture of acid. As the book may 
 not be common in England, I shall transcribe my own character from 
 the Bibliotheca Historica of Meuselius, a learned and laborious 
 German. " Summis asvi nostri historicis Gibbonus sine dubio adnu- 
 nierandus est. Inter capitolii ruinas stans primum hujus operis 
 scribendi concilium cepit. Florentissimos vitas annos colligendo et 
 laborando eidem impendit. Enatum inde monumentum asre perennius, 
 licet passim appareant sinistre dicta, minus perfecta, veritati non satis 
 consentanea. Vidcmus quidem ubique fere studium scrutandi vcrita- 
 temque scribendi maximum : tamen sine Tillemontio duce ubi scilicet 
 hujus historia finitur saepius noster titubat atque hallucinatur. Quod 
 vel maxime fit ubi de rebus Ecclesiasticis vel de juris prudentia Ro- 
 mana (torn, iv.) tradit, et in aliis locis. Attamen nasvi hujus generis 
 baud impediunt quo minus operis summam et oiKoj'o/nrtv prtedare dis- 
 positam, delectum rerum sapicntissimum, argutum quoque interdum, 
 dictioncmque scu stylum historico a^que ac philosopho dignissimum, 
 et vix a quoque alio Anglo, Humio ac Robertsono baud exceptis 
 (/r(r<:7r/'//('/'/^.?)vehementerlaudemus, atque sa^culo nostro de hujusmodi 
 
 historia gratulemur Gibbonus adversaries cum in turn extra 
 
 patriam nactus est, quia propogationem religionis Christiance, non, ut 
 vulgo, fieri solet, aut more Thcologorum, sed ut Historicum et Philo- 
 sophum decet, exposuerat." 
 
 The French, Italian, and German translations have been executed 
 with various success ; but, instead of patronizing, I should willingly 
 suppress such imperfect copies, which injure the character, while they 
 propagate the name of the author. The first volume had been feebly, 
 though faithfully, translated into French by M. Le Clercde Septchenes, 
 a young gentleman of a studious character and liberal fortune. After
 
 1 08 Jl/y RE TURN- TO LA USANCE. POOR DE YVERDUN. 
 
 his decease the work was continued by two manufacturers of Paris, 
 M. M. Desmuniers and Cantwell : but the former is now an active 
 member in the national assembly, and the undertaking languishes in 
 the hands of his associate. The superior merit of the interpreter, or 
 his language, inclines me to prefer the Italian version : but I wish 
 that it were in my power to read the German, which is praised by the 
 best judges. The Irish pirates are at once my friends and my enemies, 
 But I cannot be displeased with the too numerous and correct impres- 
 sions which have been published for the use of the continent at Basil 
 in Switzerland.* The concjuests of our language and literature are 
 not confined to Europe alone, and a writer who succeeds in London, 
 is speedily read on the banks of the Delaware and the Ganges. 
 
 In the preface of the fourth volume, while I gloried in the name of 
 an Englishman, I announced my approaching return to the neigh- 
 bourhood of the Lake of Lausanne. This last trial confirmed my 
 assurance that I had wisely chosen for my own happiness ; nor did 
 I once, in a year's visit, entertain a wish of settling in my native 
 country. Britain is the free and fortunate island ; but where is the 
 spot in which I could unite the comforts and beaut ies of my establish- 
 ment at Lausanne ? The tumult of London astonished my eyes and 
 ears ; the amusements of public places were no longer adequate to the 
 trouble ; the clubs and assemblies were filled with new faces and 
 young men ; and our best society, our long and late dinners, would 
 soon have been prejudicial to my health. Without any share in the 
 political wheel, I must be idle and insignificant : yet the most splendid 
 temptations would not have enticed me to engage a second time in the 
 servitude of Parliament or office. At Tunbridge, some weeks after 
 the publication of my History, I reluctantly cjuitted Lord and Lady 
 Sheffield, and, with a young Swiss friend, M. Wilhelm. de Severy, 
 whom I had introduced to the English world, I pursued the road of 
 Dover and Lausanne. My habitation was embellished in my absence, 
 and the last division of books, which followed my steps, increased my 
 chosen library to the number of between six and seven thousand 
 volumes. My seraglio was ample, my choice was free, my appetite 
 ■was keen. After a full repast on Homer and Aristophanes, I involved 
 myself in the philosophic maze of the writings of Plato, of which the 
 dramatic is, perhaps, more interesting than the argumentative part : 
 but I stepped aside into every path of inquiry which reading or reflec- 
 tion accidentally opened. 
 
 Alas ! the joy of my return, and my studious ardour, were soon 
 damped by the melancholy state of my friend Mr. Dcyverdun. His 
 health and spirits had long suftered a gradual decline, a succession of 
 apoplectic fits announced his dissolution ; and before he expired, those 
 who loved him could not wish for the continuance of his life. The 
 voice of reason might congratulate his deliverance, but the feelings of 
 nature and friendship could be subdued only by time : his amiable 
 character was still alive in my remembrance ; each room, each »valk, 
 was imprinted with our common footsteps ; and I should blush at my 
 
 * Of their 14 8vo. vols, the two last include the whole body of the notes. The public im- 
 portunity had forced me to remove them from tlic end of the volume to the bottom of the 
 page ; but I have often repented of my compliance.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OP EDWARD GIBBON: lOQ 
 
 own philosopliy, if a long interval of study had not preceded and 
 followed the death of my friend. By his last will he left to me the 
 option of purchasing his house and garden, or of possessing them 
 during my life, on the payment either of a stipulated price, or of an 
 easy retribution to his kinsman and heir. I should probably have 
 been tempted by the daemon of property, if some legal difficulties had 
 not been started against my title ; a contest would have been vexatioufi, 
 doubtful, and invidious ; and the heir most gratefully subscribed an 
 agreement, which rendered my life-possession more perfect, and his 
 future condition more advantageous. Yet I had often rcvohcd the 
 judicious lines in which Pope answers the objections of his long- 
 sighted friend : 
 
 Pity to build without or child or wife ; 
 Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life : 
 Well, if the use be mine, docs it concern one, 
 Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon? 
 
 The certainty of my tenure has allowed me to lay out a considerable 
 sum in improvements and alterations : they have been executed with 
 skill and taste ; and few men of letters, perhaps, in Europe, are so 
 desirably lodged as myself. But I feel, and with the decline of years 
 I shall more painfully feel, that I am alone in Paradise. Among the 
 circle of my acquaintance at Lausanne, I have gradually acquired the 
 solid and tender friendship of a respectable family, the family of de 
 Severy : the fom- persons of whom it is composed are all endowed with 
 the virtues best adapted to their age and situation ; and I am en- 
 couraged to love the parents as a brother, and the children as a father. 
 Every day we seek and find the opportunities of meeting : yet even 
 this valuable connection cannot supply the loss of domestic society. 
 
 Within the last two or three years our tranquillity has been clouded 
 by the disorders of France : many families at Lausanne were alarmed 
 and affected by the terrors of an impending bankruptcy ; but the re- 
 volution, or rather the dissolution of the kingdom has been heard and 
 felt in the adjacent lands. 
 
 I beg leave to subscribe my assent to Mr. Burke's creed on the 
 revolution of France. I admire his eloquence, I approve his politics, 
 I adore his chivalry, and I can almost excuse his reverence for church 
 establishments. I have sometimes thought of writing a dialogue of 
 the dead, in which Lucian, Erasmus, and Voltaire should mutually 
 acknowledge the danger of exposing an old superstition to the contempt 
 of the blind and fanatic multitude. 
 
 A swarm of emigrants of both sexes, who escaped from the public 
 ruin, has been attracted by the vicinity, the manners, and the language 
 of Lausanne ; and our narrow habitations in town and country are now 
 occupied by the first names and titles of the departed monarchy. 
 These noble fugitives are entitled to our pity ; they may claim our 
 esteem, but they cannot, in their present state of mind and fortune, 
 much contribute to our amusement. Instead of looking down as cahn 
 and idle spectators on the theatre of Europe, our domestic harmony is 
 somewhat embittered by the infusion of party spirit : our ladies and 
 gentlemen assume the character of self-taught politicians ; and the
 
 1 10 MV QUIET HOME AND LOVE OF STUDY. 
 
 sober dictates of wisdom and experience are silenced by the clamour 
 of the triumphant democrates. The fanatic missionaries of sedition 
 have scattered the seeds of discontent in our cities and villages, which 
 had flourished above two hundred and fifty years without fearing the 
 approach of war, or feeling the weight of government. Many in- 
 dividuals, and some communities, appear to be infested with the Gallic 
 phrenzy, the wild theories of equal and boundless freedom ; but I trust 
 that the body of the people will be faithful to their sovereign and to 
 themselves ; and I am satisfied that the failure or success of a revolt 
 would ecjually terminate in the ruin of the country. While the aristocracy 
 of Berne protects the happiness, it is superfluous to enquire whether 
 it be founded in the rights of man : the oeconom.y of the state is 
 liberally supplied without the aid of taxes ; and the magistrates nucst 
 reign with prudence and equity, since they are unarmed in the midst of 
 an armed nation. 
 
 The revenue of Berne, excepting some small duties, is derived from 
 church lands, tithes, feudal rights, and interest of money. The republic 
 has nearly 500,0001. sterling in the English funds, and the amount 
 of their treasure is unknown to the citizens themselves. For myself 
 (may the omen be averted) I can only declare, that the first stroke of a 
 rebel drum would be the signal of my immediate departure. 
 
 When I contemplate the common lot of mortality, I must acknow- 
 ledge that I have drawn a high prize in the lottery of life. The far 
 greater part of the globe is overspi-ead with barbarism or slavery : in 
 the civilized world, the most numerous class is condemned to igno- 
 rance and poverty ; and the double fortune of my birth in a free and 
 enlightened country, in an honourable and wealthy family, is the lucky 
 chance of an unit against millions. The general probability is about 
 three to one, that a new-born infant will not live to complete his 
 fiftieth year.* I have now passed that age, and may fairly estimate 
 the present value of my existence in the three-fold division of mind, 
 body, and estate. 
 
 I. The first and indispensable requisite of happiness is a clear 
 conscience, unsullied by the reproach or remembrance of an unworthy 
 action. 
 
 Hic murus aheneus esto, 
 
 Nil conscire sibi, nulla pallescere culpa. 
 
 I am endowed with a cheerful temper, a moderate sensibility, and 
 a natural disposition to repose rather than to activity: some mis- 
 chievous appetites and habits have perhaps been corrected by philo- 
 sophy or time. The love of study, a passion which derives fresh vigour 
 from enjoyment, supplies each day, each hour, with a perpetual 
 source of independent and rational pleasure ; and I am not sensible 
 of any decay of the mental faculties. The original soil has been highly 
 improved by cultivation ; but it may be questioned, whether some 
 flowers of fancy, some grateful errors, have not been eradicated with 
 the weeds of prejudice. 2. Since I have escaped from the long perils 
 
 • Buflfon, Supplement a I'Hist. naturelle, vii. p. i^S — 164, of a given number of new-born 
 infants, one half, by the fault of nature or man, is extinguished before the age of puberty 
 and reason, — a melancholy calculation 1
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBOiV. Ill 
 
 of my childhood, the serious advice of a physician has seldom been 
 requisite. " The madness of superfluous health" I have never known ; 
 but my tender constitution has been fortified by time, and the in- 
 estimable <;ift of the sound and peaceful slumbers of infancy may be 
 imputed both to the mind and body. 3. I have already described 
 the merits of my society and situation ; but these enjoyments would 
 be tasteless or bitter if their possession were not assured by an annual 
 and adequate supply. According to the scale of Switzerland, I am a 
 rich man ; and 1 am indeed rich, since my income is superior to my 
 expencc, and my cxpence is equal to my wishes. My friend Lord 
 Sheffield has kindly relieved me from the cares to which my taste and 
 temper are most adverse : shall I add, that since the failure of my f.rst 
 wishes, I have never entertained any serious thoughts of a matrimonial 
 connection ? 
 
 I am disgusted with the affectation of men of letters, who com- 
 plain that they have renounced a substance for a shadow ; and that 
 their fame (which sometimes is no insupportable weight) affords a 
 poor compensation for envy, censure, and persecution.* My own ex- 
 perience, at least, has taught me a very different lesson : twenty happy 
 years have been animated by. the labour of my History ; and its success 
 has gi\cn me a name, a rank, a character, in the world, to which I 
 should not otherwise have been entitled. The freedom of my writings 
 has indeed provoked an implacable tribe ; but, as I was safe from the 
 stings, I was soon accustomed to the buzzing of the hornets : my nerves 
 are not tremblingly alive, and my literary temper is so happily tramed, 
 that I am less sensible of pain than of pleasure. The rational pride of 
 an author may be rftended, rather than flattered, by vague indis- 
 criminate praise ; but he cannot, he should not, be indifferent to the 
 fair testimonies of private and public esteem. Even his moral sym- 
 pathy may be gratified by the idea, that now, in the present hour, he 
 is imparting some degree of amusement or knowledge to his friends in 
 a distant land : that one day his mind will be familiar to the grand- 
 children of those who are yet unborn.f I cannot boast of the friend- 
 ship or favour of princes ; the patronage of English literature has long 
 since been devolved on our booksellers, and the measure of their 
 liberality is the least ambiguous test of our common success. Perhaps 
 the golden mediocrity of my fortune has contributed to fortify my 
 application. 
 
 The present is a fleeting moment, the past is no more ; and our 
 prospect of futurity is dark and doubtful. This day may possibly be 
 
 • M. d'Alembert relates, that as he was walking in the gardens of Sans Souci with the King 
 of Prussia, Frederic 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." The king and the 
 philosopher may speak for themselves ; for my part I do not envy the old woman. 
 
 t In the first of ancient or modern romances (Tom Jones), this proud sentiment, this feast 
 of fancy, is enjoyed by the genius of Fielding. — " Come, bright love of fame, &c. fill my 
 ravished fancy with the hopes of charming ages yet to come. Forelcl mc that some tender 
 maid, whose grandmother is yet unborn, hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of Sophia, 
 she re.ads the real worth which once existed in my Charlotte, shall from her sympathetic breast 
 send forth the heaving sigh. Do thou teach me not only to foresee but to enjoy, nay 
 even to feed on future praise. Comfort me by the solemn assurance, that, when the little 
 parlour in which I sit at this moment shall be reduced to a worse furnished box, I shall be 
 read with honour by those who never knew nor saw me, and whom I shall neither know nor 
 »ee." Book xiii. ch. i.
 
 1 1 2 CIIA RA C TER OF GIBB ON BY L ORD SHE INFIELD. 
 
 my last : but the laws of probability, so true in general, so fallacious 
 in particular, still allow about fifteen years.* 1 shall soon enter into 
 the period which, as the most agreeable of my long life, was selected 
 by the judgment and experience of the sage Fontenelle. His choice 
 is approved by the eloquent historian of nature, who fixes our moral 
 happiness to the mature season in which our passions are supposed to 
 be calmed, our duties fulfilled, our ambition satisfied, our fame and 
 fortune established on a solid basis (see Buffon). In private con- 
 versation, that great and amiable man added the weight of his own 
 experience ; and this autumnal felicity might be exemplified in the 
 lives of Voltaire, Hume, and many other men of letters. I am lar 
 more inclined to embrace than to dispute this comfortable doctrine. 
 I will not suppose any premature decay of the mind or body ; but I 
 must reluctantly observe that two causes, the abbreviation of time, 
 and the failure of hope, will always tinge with a browner shade the 
 evening of life. 
 
 When I first undertook to prepare Mr. Gibbon's Memoirs for the 
 press, I supposed that it would be necessary to introduce some con- 
 tinuation of them, from the time when they cease, namely, soon after 
 his return to Switzerland in the year 1788 ; but the examination of his 
 correspondence with me suggested, that the best continuation would 
 be the publication of his letters from that time to his death. I shall 
 thus give more satisfaction, by employing the language of Mr. Gibbon, 
 instead of my own ; and the public will see him in a new and (I think) 
 an admiralale light, as a writer of letters. By the insertion of a few 
 occasional sentences, I shall obviate the disadvantages that are apt to 
 arise from an interrupted ntvVration. A prejudiced or a fastidious critic 
 may condemn, perhaps, some parts of the letters as trivial ; but many 
 readers, I flatter myself, will be gratified by discovering even in these 
 my friend's affectionate feelings, and his character in familiar life. His 
 letters in general bear a strong resemblance to the style and turn of 
 his conversation ; the characteristics of which were vivacity, elegance, 
 and precision, with knowledge astonishingly extensive and correct. He 
 never ceased to be instructive and entertaining ; and in general there 
 was a vein of pleasantry in his conversation which prevented its becoming 
 languid, even during a residence of many months with a family in the 
 country. 
 
 It has been supposed that he always arranged what he intended to 
 say, before he spoke ; his quickness in conversation contradicts this 
 notion : but it is very true, that before he sat down to write a note or 
 letter, he completely arranged in his mind what he meant to express. 
 He pursued the same method in respect to other composition ; and he 
 occasionally would walk several times about his apartment before he 
 
 * Mr. Buffon, from our disregard of the possibility of death within the four and twenty 
 hours, concludes that a chance, which falls below orrises above ten thousand to one, will never 
 affect the hopes or fears of a reasonable man. The fact is true, but our courage is the effijctof 
 thoughtlessness, rather than of reflection. If a public lottery were drawn for, the choice of 
 a:i immediate victim, and if our name v/ere inscribed on one of the ten thousand tickets, should 
 wc be perfectly easy 'i
 
 AU'IOBIOGRAPHIC MExMOIRS OF EDWARD G/BBOA\ II3 
 
 had rounded a period to his taste. He has pleasantly remarked to me, 
 that it sometimes cost him many a turn before he could throw a senti- 
 ment into a form that gratified his own criticism. His systematic 
 habit of arranL,rcment in point of style, assisted, in his instance, by an 
 excellent memory and correct judgment, is much to be recommended 
 to those who aspire to any perfection in writing. 
 
 Although the Memoirs extend beyond the time of Mr. G'.hbon's return 
 to Lausanne, I shall insert a few Letters, written immediately after his 
 arrival there, and combine them so far as to include even the last note 
 which he wrote a few days previously to his deaih. '^'ome of them 
 contain few incidents ; but they connect and carry on the account cither 
 of his opinions or of his employment. 
 
 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON, ESQ., 
 
 TO THE 
 
 Right Hon. LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 Lausanne, July 30, 17S8.— Wed., 3 p.m. 
 I HAVE but a moment to say, before the departure of the post, that 
 after a very pleasant journey I arrived here about half an hour ago ; 
 that I am as well arranged, as if I had never stirred from this place ; 
 and that dinner on the table is just announced. Severy I dropt at his 
 country-house about two leagues off. I just saluted the family, who 
 dine with me the day after to-morrow, and return to town for some 
 days, I hooe weeks, on my account. The son is an amiable and 
 grateful youth ; and even this journey has taught me to know and to 
 love him still better. My satisfaction would be complete, had I not 
 found a sad and serious alteration in poor Deyverdun : but thus our 
 joys are chequered ! I embrace all ; and at this moment feel the last 
 pang of our parting at Tunbridge. Convey this letter or information, 
 without delay, from SheHield-Place to Bath. In a few days I shall 
 write more amply to both places. 
 
 Oct. I, 17S8. 
 After such an act of vigor as my first letter, composed, finished, 
 and dispatched within half an hour after my landing, while the dinner 
 was smoaking on the table, your knowledge of the animal must have 
 taught you to expect a proportionable degree of relaxation ; and you 
 will be satisfied to hear, that, for many Wednesdays and Saturdays, I 
 have consumed more time than would have sufficed for the epistle, in 
 devising reasons for procrastinating it to the next post. At this very 
 moment I begin so very late, as I am just going to dress, and dine in 
 the country, that I can take only the benefit of the date, October the 
 first, and must be content to seal and send my letter next Saturday.
 
 1 14 LETTERS FROM E. GIBBON TO LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 Oct. the 4th. 
 Saturday is now arrived, and I much doubt whether I shall have 
 time to finish. I rose, as usual, about seven ; but as I knew I should 
 have so much time, you know it would have been ridiculous lo 
 begin anything before breakfast. When I returned from my break- 
 fast-room to the library, unluckily I found on the table some new 
 and interesting books, which instantly caught my attention ; and 
 without injuring my correspondent, I could safely bestow a single 
 hour to gratify my curiosity. Some things which I found in them 
 insensibly led rnc- to oilier books, and other enquiries ; the morning 
 has stolen away, and I shall be soon summoned to dress and dine 
 with the two Severys, father and son, who are returned from the 
 country on a disagreeable errand, an illness of Madame, from which 
 she is however recovering. Such is the faithful picture of my mind 
 and manners, and from a single day disce oinnes. After having been 
 so long chained to the oar, in a splendid galley indeed, I fi'eely and 
 fairly enjoy my liberty as I promised in my preface : range without 
 control over the wide expanse of my library ; converse, as my fancy 
 prompts me, with poets and historians, philosophers and orators, of 
 every age and language ; and often indulge my meditations in the 
 invention and arrangement of mighty works, which I shall probably 
 never find time or application to execute. My garden, berceau, and 
 pavilion often varied the scene of my studies ; the beautiful weather 
 which we have enjoyed exhilarated my spirits, and I again tasted the 
 wisdom and happiness of my retirement, till that happiness was inter- 
 rupted by a very serious calamity, which took from me for above a 
 fortnight all thoughts of study, of amusement, and even of correspond- 
 ence. I mentioned in my first letter the uneasiness I felt at poor 
 Deyverdun's declining health, how much the pleasure of my life was 
 embittered by the sight of a suffering and languid friend. The joy of 
 our meeting appeared at first to revive him ; and, though not satisfied, 
 I began to think, at least to hope, that he was every day gaining 
 ground ; when, alas ! one morning I was suddenly recalled from my 
 berceau to the house, with the dreadful intelligence of an apoplectic stroke; 
 I found him senseless : the best assistance was instantly collected : 
 and he had the aid of the genius and experience of Mr. Tissot, and of 
 the assiduous care of another physician, who for some time scarcely 
 Cjuitted his bedside either night or day. While I was in momentary 
 dread of a relapse, with a confession from his physicians that such a 
 relapse must be fatal, you will feel that I was much more to be pitied 
 than my friend. At length, art or nature triumphed over the enemy 
 of life. I was soon assured that all immediate danger was past ; and 
 now for many days I have had the satisfaction of seeing him recover, 
 though by slow degrees, his health and strength, his sleep and appetite. 
 He now walks about the garden, tnd receives his particular friends, 
 but has not yet gone abroad. His future health will depend very much 
 upon his own prudence : but, at all events, this has been a very 
 serious warning; and the slightest indisposition will hereafter assume 
 a very formidable aspect, liut let us turn from this melancholy 
 subject. — The Man of the People escaped from the tumult, the bloody 
 tumult of the Westminster election, to the lakes and mountains of
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. II5 
 
 Switzerland, and I was informed that he was arrived at the Lyon d'Or. 
 I sent a compliment ; he answered it in person, and settled at my 
 iTOuse for the remainder of the day. I have er^t and drank, and con- 
 versed and sat up all night with Fox in England ; but it never has 
 happened, perhaps it never can happen again, that I should enjoy him 
 as I did that day, alone, from ten in the morning till ten at night. 
 Poor Dcyverdun, before his accident, wanted spirits to appear, and 
 has regretted it since. Our conversation never flagged a moment ; 
 and he seemed thoroughly pleased with the place and with his com- 
 pany. We had little politics ; though he gave me, in a few words, 
 such a character of Pitt, as one great man should give of another his 
 rival : much of books, from my own, on which he flattered me very 
 pleasantly, to Homer and the Arabian Nights; much about the 
 countr)^ my garden (which he understands far better than I do), a.nd, 
 upon the whole, I think he envies me, and would do so were he 
 minister. The next morning I gave him a guide to walk him about 
 the town and country, and invited some company to meet him at 
 dinner. The following day he continued his journey to Berne and 
 Zurich, and I have heard of him by various means. The people gaze 
 on him as a prodigy, but he shows little inclination to converse with 
 them, &c, «&c. &c. Our friend Doi/Qlas has been curious, attentive, 
 agreeable ; and in every place where he has resided some days, he has 
 left acquaintance who esteem and regret him : I never knew so clear 
 and general an impression. 
 
 After this long letter I have yet many things to say, though none 
 of any pressing consequence. I hope you are not idle in the deliver- 
 ance of Beriton, though the late events and edicts in France begin to 
 reconcile me to the possession of dirty acres. What think you of 
 Neckcr and the States Generales ? Are not the public expectations 
 too sanguine ? Adieu. I will write soon to my lady separately, though 
 I have not any particular subject for her ear. Ever yours. 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. 29, 1788. 
 
 As I have no correspondents but yourself, I should have been re- 
 duced to the stale and stupid communications of the newspapers, if 
 you had not dispatched me an excellent sketch of the extraordinary 
 state of things. In so new a case the sains populi must be the first 
 law : and any extraordinary acts of the two remaining branches of the 
 legislature must be excused by necessity, and ratified by general con- 
 sent. * * Till things are settled, I expect a regular journal. 
 
 From kingdoms I descend to farms. * * Adieu. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec, 13, 1788, 
 * * * Of public affairs I can only hear with curiosity and wonder : 
 careless as you may think me, I feel myself deeply interested. You 
 must now write often ; make Miss Firth copy any curious fragments : 
 and stir up any of my well-informed acquaintance, Batt, Douglas, 
 Adam, perhaps Lord Loughborough, to correspond with me ; I will 
 answer them. 
 
 We are now cold and gay at Lausanne. The Severys came to town 
 yesterday. I saw a eood deal of Lords Malmsbury and Beauchamj"),
 
 1 1 6 LETTERS FROM E. GIBBON TO LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 and their ladies ; Ellis, of the Rolliad, was with them ; I like him 
 much : I gave them a dinner. 
 
 Adieu for the present. Deyverdun is not worse. 
 
 Lausanne, April 25, 1789. 
 Before your letter, which I received yesterday, I was in the anxious 
 situation of a king, who hourly expects a courier from his general, 
 with the news of a decisive engagement. I had abstained from 
 writing, for fear of dropping a word, or betraying a feeling, which 
 might render you too cautious or too bold. On the famous 8th of 
 April, between twelve and two, I reflected that the business was 
 determined ; and each succeeding day I computed the speedy approach 
 of your messenger', with favourable or melancholy tidings. When 
 I broke the seal, I expected to read, " What a damned unlucky fellow 
 you are ! Nothing tolerable was offered, and I indignantly withdrew 
 the estate." I did remember the fate of poor Lenborough, and I was 
 afraid of your magnanimity, &c. It is whimsical enough, but it is 
 human nature, that I now begin to think of the deep-rooted founda- 
 tions of land, and the airy fabric of the funds. I not only consent, but 
 even wish, to have eight or ten thousand pounds on a good mortgage. 
 The pipe of wine you sent to me was seized, and would have been 
 confiscated, if the government of Berne had not treated me with the 
 most flattering and distinguished civility : they not only released the 
 wine, but they paid out of their own pocket the shares to which the 
 bailiff and the informer were entitled hy law. I should not forget that 
 the bailift' refused to accept of his part. Poor Deyverdun's constitu- 
 tion is quite broken ; he has had two or three attacks, not so violent 
 as the first : every time the door is hastily opened, I expect to hear of 
 some fatal accident : the best or worst hopes of the physicians are 
 only that he may linger some time longer ; but if he lives till the 
 summer, they propose sending him to some mineral waters at Aix, 
 in Savoy. You will be glad to hear that I am now assured of jaos- 
 sessing, during my life, this delightful house and garden. The act 
 has been lately executed in the best form, and the handsomest manner. 
 I know not what to say of your miracles at home : we rejoice in the 
 king's recovery, and its ministerial consequences ; and I cannot be 
 insensible to the hope, at least the chance, of seeing in this country a 
 first lord of trade, or secretary at war. In your answer, which I shall 
 impatiently expect, you will give me a full and true account of your 
 designs, which by this time must have dropt, or be determined at least, 
 for the present year. If you come, it is high time that we should look 
 out for a house- — a task much less easy than you may possibly imagine. 
 Among new books, I recommend to you the Count de Mirabeau's great 
 work, " Sur la Monarchie Prussienne ;" it is in your own way, and 
 gives a very just and complete idea of that wonderful machine. His 
 " Correspondence Secrette" is diabolically good. Adieu. Ever yours. 
 
 Lausanne, June 13, 1789. 
 You are in truth a wise, active, indefatigable, and inestimable friend '■ 
 and as our virtues are often connected with our faults, if you v:re 
 more tame and placid, you would be perhaps of less use and value. A
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEIitOiRS OF EDWARD GIBBO.V. 1 1 "J 
 
 very important and difficult transaction seems to be nearly terminated 
 with success and mutual satisfaction : we seem to run before the wind 
 with a prosperous gale ; and, unless we should strike on some secret 
 rocks which I do not foresee, shall, on or before the 31st July, enter 
 the harbour of Content ; though I cannot pursue the metaphor by 
 adding we shall land, since our operation is of a very opposite ten- 
 dency. I could not easily forgive myself for shutting you up in a dark 
 room with parchments and attornies, did I not reflect that this pro- 
 bably is the last material trouble that you will ever have on my 
 account ; and that after the labours and delays of twenty years, I shall 
 at last attain what I have always sighed for, a clear and competent 
 income, above my wants, and equal to my wishes. In this contempla- 
 tion you will be sufficiently rewarded. I hope ***** will be content 
 with our title-deeds, for I cannot furnish another shred of parchment. 
 Mrs. Gibbon's jointure is secured on the Beriton 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, or fear, or discontent. What new 
 security does she prefer, — the funds, the mortgage, or your land .'' At 
 all events she must be made easy. I wrote to her again some time 
 ago, and begged that if she were too weak to write, she would desire 
 Mrs. Gould or Mrs. Holroyd to give mc a line concerning her state of 
 health. To this no answer ; I am afraid she is displeased. 
 
 Now for the disposal of the money: I approve of the 8000 1. mort- 
 gage on Beriton ; and honour your prudence in not shewing, by the 
 comparison of the rent and interest, how foolish it is to purchase land. 
 * * * There is a chance of my drawing a considerable sum into 
 this countiy, for an arrangement which you yourself must approve, but 
 which I have not time to explain at present. For the sake of dispatch- 
 ing, by this evening's post, an answer to your letter which arrived this 
 morning, I confine myself to the needful, but in the course of a few 
 days I will send a more familiar epistle. Adieu. Ever yours. 
 
 Lausanne, July 14, 1789. 
 Poor Deyverdun is no more : he expired Saturday the 4th instant ; 
 and in his unfortunate situation, death could only be viewed by him- 
 self, and by his friends, in the light of a consummation devoutly to be 
 wished. Since September he has had a dozen apoplectic strokes, more 
 or less violent : in the intervals between them his strength gradually 
 decayed ; every principle of life was exhausted ; and had he continued 
 to drag a miserable existence, he must probably have survived the 
 loss of his faculties. Of all misfortunes this was what he himself 
 most apprehended : but his reason was clear and calm to the last ; he 
 beheld his approaching dissolution with the firmness of a philosopher. 
 I fancied that time and reflection had prepared me for the event ; but 
 the habits of three-and-thirty years friendship are not so easily broken. 
 The first days, and more especially the fii'st nights, were indeed 
 pa:.*iful. Last Wednesday and Saturday it would not have been in 
 my power to write. I must now recollect myself, since it is necessary 
 for me not only to impart the news, but to ask your opinion in a very 
 serious and doubtful question, which must be decided without loss of 
 
 I
 
 1 1 8 SCHEMES AS TO PURCHASE OF HOUSE AT LA USANNR, 
 
 time. I shall state the facts, but as I am on the spot, and as new lights 
 may occur, I do not promise implicit obedience. 
 
 Had my poor friend died without a will, a female yfrj'^ cousin settled 
 somewhere in the north of Germany, and whom I believe he had never 
 seen, would have been his heir at law. In the next degree he had 
 several cousins ; and one of these, an old companion, by name Mr. de 
 Montagny, he has chosen for his heir. As this house and garden was 
 the best and clearest part of poor Deyverdun's fortune : as there is a 
 heavy duty or fine (what they call lods) on every change of property 
 out of the legal descent ; as Montagny has a small estate and a large 
 family, it was necessary to make some provision in his favour. The 
 will therefore leaves me the option of enjoying this place during my 
 life, on paying the sum of 250 1. (I reckon in English money) ai 
 present, and an annual rent of 30 1. ; or else, of purchasing the house 
 and garden for a sum which, including the duty, will amount to 2500 1. 
 If 1 value the rent of 30 1. at twelve years purchase, I may acquire my 
 enjoyment for life at about the rate of 600 1. ; and the remaining 1900 1. 
 will be the difference between that tenure and absolute perpetual pro- 
 perty. As you have never accused me of too much zeal for the interest 
 of posterity, you will easily guess which scale at first preponderated. 
 I deeply felt the advantage of acquiring, for the smaller sum, every 
 possible enjoyment, as long as 1 myself should be capable of enjoying: 
 I rejected, with scorn, the idea of giving 1900 1. for ideal posthumous 
 property ; and I deemed it of little moment whose name, after my 
 death, should be inscribed on my house and garden at Lausanne. How 
 often did I repeat to myself the philosophical lines of Pope, which seem 
 to determine the question. 
 
 In this state of self-satisfaction I was not much disturbed by all my 
 real or nominal friends, who exhort me to prefer the right of purchase ; 
 among such friends, some are careless and some are ignorant ; and 
 the judgment of those, who are able and willing to form an opinion, is 
 often biassed by some selfish or social affection, by some visible or 
 invisible interest. But my own reflections have gradually and forcibly 
 driven me from my first propensity ; and these reflections I will now 
 proceed to enumerate : 
 
 1. I can make this purchase with ease and prudence. As I have 
 had the pleasure of not hearing from you very lately, I flatter myself 
 that you advance on a carpet road, and that almost by the receipt of 
 this letter (July 31st) the acres of Beriton will be transmuted into 
 sixteen thousand pounds : if the payment be not absolutely completed 
 by that day, ***** will not scruple, I suppose, depositing the 2600 1. at 
 Gosling's, to meet my di'aught. Should he hesitate, I can desire 
 DarrcU to sell quantum siifficit of my short annuities. As soon as the 
 new settlement of my affairs is made, I shall be able, after deducting 
 this sum, to square my expence to my income, &c. 
 
 2. On ma,ture consideration, I am perhaps less selfish and less phi- 
 losophical than I appear at first sight : indeed, were I not so, it would 
 now be in my power to turn my fortune into life-annuities, and let the 
 Devil take the hindmost. I feel, (perhaps it is foolish,) but I feel that 
 this little paradise will please me still more when it is absolutely my 
 own ; and that I shall Ije encouraged in every improvement of use or .
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OP EDWARD GIBBON. II9 
 
 beauty, by the prospect that, after my departure, it will be enjoyed by 
 some person of my own choice. I sometimes reflect with pleasure 
 that my writings will survive me ; and that idea is at least as vain and 
 chimerical. 
 
 3. The heir, Mr. de Montagny, is an old acquaintance. My situa- 
 tion of a life-holder is rather new and singular in this country ; the 
 laws have not provided for many nice cases which may arise between 
 the landlord and tenant : some I can foresee, others have been sug- 
 gested, many more I might feel when it would be too late. His right 
 of property might plague and confine me ; he might forbid my lending 
 to a friend, inspect my conduct, check my improx'ements, call lor 
 securities, repairs, &c_. But if I p-urchase, I walk on my own terrace 
 fierce and erect, the free master of one of the most delicious spots on 
 the globe. 
 
 Should I ever migrate homewards, (you stare, but such an event is 
 less improbable than I could have thought it two years ago,) this place 
 would be disputed by strangers and natives. 
 
 Weigh these reasons, and send me without delay a rational explicit 
 opinion, to which I shall pay such regard as the nature of circumstances 
 will allow. But, alas ! when all is determined, I shall possess this 
 house, by whatsoever tenure, without friendship or domestic society. 
 I did not imagine, six years ago, that a plan of life so congenial to my 
 wishes, would so speedily vanish. I cannot write upon any other 
 subject. Adieu, your's ever. 
 
 Lausanne, August 1789. 
 After receiving and dispatching the power of attorney, last Wed- 
 nesday, I opened, with some palpitation, the unexpected missive which 
 arrived this morning. The perusal of the contents spoiled my break- 
 fast. They are disagreeable in themselves, alarming in their conse- 
 quences, and peculiarly unpleasant at the present moment, when I 
 hoped to have formed and secured the arrangements of my future lite. 
 I do not perfectly understand what are these deeds which are so 
 inflexibly required ; the wills and marriage-settlements I have suffi- 
 ciently answered. But your arguments do not convince ****, and I 
 have very little hope from the Lenborough search. What will be the 
 event ? If his objections are only the result of legal scrupulosity, 
 surely they might be removed, and every chink might be filled, by a 
 general bond of indemnity, in which I boldly ask you to join, as it will 
 be a substantial important act of friendship, without any possible risk 
 to yourself or your successors. Should he still remain obdurate, I 
 must believe what I already suspect, that **** repents of his purchase, 
 and wishes to elude the conclusion. Our case would be then hopeless, 
 ibi oniiiis effiisus labor, and the estate would be returned on our hands 
 with the taint of a bad title. The refusal of mortgage does not please 
 me ; but surely our offer shews some confidence in the goodness of my 
 title. If he will not take eight thousand pounds at four per cent, we 
 must look out elscwlicre ; new doubts and delays will arise, and I am 
 persuaded that you will not place an implicit confidence in my attorney. 
 I know not as yet your opinion about my Lausanne purchase. If you 
 are against it, the present position of affairs gives you great ad\'antage,
 
 1 20 DJFFICUL TV m DISPOSING OP THE BERITON ESTA TE. 
 
 &c. &c. The Severys are all well ; an uncommon circumstance for the 
 four persons of the family at once. They are now at Mex, a country- 
 house six miles from hence, which I visit to-morrow for two or three 
 days. They often come to town, and we shall contrive to pass a part 
 of the autumn together at Rolle. I want to change the scene ; and 
 beautiful as the garden and prospect must appear to every eye, I feel 
 that the state of my own mind casts a gloom over them ; every spot, 
 every walk, every bench, recals the memory of those hours, of those 
 conversations, which will return no more. But I tear myself from the 
 subject. I could not help writing to-day, though I do not hnd I have 
 said any thing very material. As you must be conscious that you have 
 agitated me, you will not postpone any agreeable, or even decisive 
 intelligence. I almost hesitate, whether I shall run over to England, 
 to consult with you on the spot, and to fly from poor Deyverdun's shade, 
 which meets me at every turn. I did not expect to have felt his loss 
 so sharply. But six hundred miles ! Why are we so far off? 
 
 Once more. What is the difficulty of the title .'' Will men of sense, 
 in a sensible country, never get rid of the tyranny of lawyers ? more 
 oppressive and ridiculous than even the old yoke of the clergy. Is not 
 a term of seventy or eighty years, nearly twenty in my own person, 
 sufficient to prove our legal possession.'' Will not the records of fines 
 and recoveries attest that / am free from any bar of entails and settle- 
 ments ? Consult some sage of the law, whether their present demand 
 be necessary and legal. If your ground be firm, force them to execute 
 the agreement or forfeit the deposit. But if, as I much fear, they 
 have a right, and a wish, to elude the consummation, would it not be 
 better to release them at once, than to be hung up for five years, as in 
 the case of Lovegrove, which cost me in the end four or five thousand 
 pounds ? You are bold, you are wise ; consult, resolve, act. In my 
 penultimate letter I dropped a strange hint, that a migration homeward 
 was not impossible. I know not what to say ; my mind is all afloat ; 
 yet you will not reproach me with caprice or inconstancy. How many 
 years did you damn my scheme of retiring to Lausanne ! I executed 
 that plan ; I found as much happiness as is compatible with human 
 nature, and during four years (1783— 1787) I never breathed a sigh of 
 repentance. On my return from England the scene was changed : I 
 found only a faint semblance of Deyverdun, and that semblance was 
 each day fading from my sight. I have passed an anxious year, but 
 my anxiety is now at an end, and the prospect before me is a melancholy 
 solitude. I am still deeply rooted in this country ; the possession of 
 this paradise, the friendship of the Severys, a mode of society suited to 
 my taste, and the enormous trouble and expence of a migration. Yet 
 in England (when the present clouds are dispelled) I could form a 
 very comfortable establishment in London, or rather at Bath ; and I 
 have a very noble country-seat at about ten miles from East Grinstead 
 in Sussex {alluding to Sheffield-Place). That spot is dearer to me 
 than the rest of the three kingdoms ; and I have sometimes wondered 
 how two men, so opposite in their tempers and pursuits, should have 
 imbibed so long and lively a propensity for each other. Sir Stanier 
 Porten is just dead. He has left his widow with a moderate pension, 
 and two children, my nearest relations : the eldest, Charlotte, is about
 
 AUTOBIOGRAnilC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 121 
 
 Louisa's age, and also a most amiable, sensible young creature. I 
 have conceived a romantic idea of educating and adopting her ; as we 
 descend into the vale of years our infirmities require some domestic 
 female society : Charlotte would be the comfort of my age, and I could 
 reward her care and tenderness with a decent fortune. A thousand 
 difiiculties oppose the execution of the plan, which 1 laave never opened 
 but to you ; yet it would be less impracticable in England than in 
 Switzerland. Adieu. I am wounded ; pour some oil into my wounds : 
 yet I am less imhappy since I have thrown my mind upon paper. 
 
 Arc )'0U not amazed at the French revolution ? They ha\e the power, 
 will they have the moderation, to establisli a good constitution ? AdieU; 
 ever yours. 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. 9, 1789. 
 Within an hour after the reception of your last, I drew my pen for 
 the purpose of a reply, and my exordium ran in the following words ; 
 " I tind by experience, that it is much more rational, as well as easy, 
 to answer a letter of real business by the return of the post." This 
 important truth is again verified by my own e.x.ample. After writing three 
 pages I was called away by a very rational motive, and the post departed 
 before 1 could return to the conclusion. A second delay was coloured by 
 some decent pretence. Three weeks have slipped away, and I now 
 force myself on a task, which I should have dispatched without an 
 effort on the first summons. My only excuse is, that 1 had little tc 
 write about English business, and that I could write nothing definitive 
 about my Swiss affairs. And first, as Aristotle says of the first, 
 
 1. 1 was indeed in low spirits when I sent what you so justly stile 
 my dismal letter ; but 1 do assure you, that my own feelings contributed 
 much more to sink me, than any events or terrors relative to the sale 
 of Beriton. But I again hope and trust, from your consolatory epistle, 
 that, &c. &c. 
 
 2. My Swiss transaction has suffered a great alteration. I shall not 
 become the proprietor of my house and garden at Lausanne, and I 
 relinquish the phantom with more regret than you could easily imagine. 
 But I have been determined by a difficulty, which at first appeared 
 of little moment, but which has gradually swelled to an alarming 
 magnitude. There is a law in this country, as well as in some provinces 
 of France, which is styled le droit de 7'e trait, le ret rait lignagerc, (Lord 
 Loughborough must have heard of it,) by which the relations of the 
 deceased are entitled to redeem a house or estate at the price for which 
 it has been sold ; and as the sum fixed by poor Deyverdun is much 
 l)elow its known value, a crowd of competitors are beginning to start. 
 The best opinions (for they are divided) are in my favour, that I am 
 not subject to le droit de retrait, since I take not as a purchasei', but 
 as a legatee. But the words of the will are somewhat ambiguous, the 
 event of law is always uncertain, the administration of justice at Berne 
 (the last appeal) depends too much on favour and intrigue : and it is 
 very doubtful whether I could revert to the life-holding, after having 
 chosen and lost the property. These considerations engaged me to 
 open a negotiation with Mr. de Montagny, through the medium of my 
 friend the judge ; and as he most ardently wishes to keep the house.
 
 122 THE RE VOL UTIONl WHA T A SCENE IN FRANCE I 
 
 he consented, though with some reluctance, to my proposals. Yesterday 
 he signed a covenant in the most regular and binding form, by which 
 he allows my power of transferring my interest, interprets in the most 
 ample sense my right of making alterations, and expressly renounces 
 all claim, as landlord, of visiting or inspecting the premises. I have 
 promised to lend him twelve thousand livres, (between seven and eight 
 hundred pounds,) secui'ed on the house and land. The mortgage is 
 four times its value ; the interest of four pounds/i?/' cent, will be annually 
 discharged by the rent of thirty guineas. So that I am now tranquil 
 on that score for the remainder of my days. I hope that time will 
 gradually reconcile me to the place which I have inhabited with my 
 '))oor friend ; for in spite of the cream of London, I am still persuaded 
 that no other place is so well adapted to my taste and habits of studious 
 and social life. 
 
 Far from delighting in the whirl of a metropolis, my only complaint 
 against Lausanne is the great number of strangers, always of English, 
 and now of French, by whom we are infested in summer. Yet we have 
 escaped the damned great ones, the Count d'Artois, the Polignacs, &c., 
 who slip by us to Turin. What a scene is France ! While the assembly 
 is voting abstract propositions, Paris is an independent republic ; the 
 provinces have neither authoiity nor freedom, and poor Necker declares 
 that credit is no more, and that the people refuse to pay taxes. Yet I 
 think you must be seduced by the abolition of tithes. If Eden goes to 
 Paris you may have some curious information. Give me some account 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Douglas. Do they live with Lord North? I hope 
 they do. When will parliament be dissolved ? Are you still Coventry- 
 mad ? I embrace my Lady, the sprightly Maria, and the smiling 
 Louisa. Alas ! alas ! you will never come to Switzerland. Adieu, ever 
 yours. 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. 25, 1789. 
 
 Alas ! what perils do environ | The man who meddles with cold iron. 
 
 Alas ! what delays and difficulties do attend the man who meddles 
 with legal and landed business ! Yet if it be only to disappoint your 
 expectation, I am not so very nervous at this new provoking obstacle. 
 I had totally forgotten the deed in question, which was contrived in 
 the last year of my father's life, to tie his hands and regulate the dis- 
 order of his affairs ; and which might have been so easily cancelled by 
 Sir Stannier, who had not the smallest interest in it, either for himself 
 or his family. The amicable suit, which is now become necessary, 
 must, I think, be short and unambiguous, yet I cannot help dreading 
 the crotchets, that lurk under the chancellor's great wig ; and, at all 
 events, I foresee some additional delay and expence. The golden pill 
 of the two thousand eight hundred pounds has soothed my discontent ; 
 and if it be safely lodged with the Goslings, I agree with you, in con- 
 sidering it as an unequivocal pledge of a fair and willing purchaser. It 
 is indeed chiefly in that light I now rejoice in so large a deposit, which 
 is no longer necessary in its full extent. You are apprised by my last 
 letter that I have reduced myself to the life-enjoyment of the house 
 and garden. And, in spite of my feelings, I am every day more con- 
 vinced that I have chosen the safer side, I believe my cause to have
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 12$ 
 
 been good, but it was doubtful. Law in this country is not so expen- 
 sive as in England, but it is more troublesome ; I must have gone to 
 Berne, have solicited my judges in person ; a vile custom ! the event 
 was uncertain ; and during at least two years, I should have been in a 
 state of suspense and anxiety ; till the conclusion of which it would 
 have been madness to have attempted any alteration or improvement. 
 According to my present arrangement I shall want no more than 
 eleven hundred pounds of the two thousand, and I suppose you will 
 direct Gosling to lay out the remainder in India bonds, that it may not 
 lie quite dead, while I am accountable to * * * * for the interest 
 The elderly lady in a male habit, who informed me that Yorkshire is a 
 register county, is a certain judge, one Sir William Blackstone, whose 
 name you may possibly have heard. After stating the danger of pur- 
 chasers and creditors, with regard to the title of estates on which they 
 lay out or lend their money, he thus continues : " In Scotland every 
 act and event regarding the transmission of property is regularly 
 entered on record ; and some of our own provincial divisions, particu- 
 larly the extended county of York and the populous county of Middle- 
 sex, have prevailed with the legislature to erect such registers in their 
 respective districts," (Blackstone's Comment, ii. 343, ed. 1774, qto.) 
 If I am mistaken it is in pretty good company ; but I suspect that we 
 are all right, and that the register is confined to one or two ridings. 
 As we have, alas ! two or three months before us, I should hope that 
 your prudent sagacity will discover some sound land, in case you 
 should not have time to arrange another mortgage. I now write in a 
 hurry, as I am just setting out for Rolle, where I shall be settled with 
 cook and servants in a pleasant apartment, till the middle of No\'em- 
 ber. The Severys have a house there, where they pass the autumn. 
 I am not sorry to vary the scene for a few weeks, and I wish to be 
 al^scnt while some alterations are making in my house at Lausanne. 
 1 \\ish the change of air may be of service to Severy the father, but we 
 do not at all like his present state of health. How completely, alas, 
 how completely ! could I now lodge you : but your firm resolve of 
 making me a visit seems to have vanished like a dream. Next sum- 
 mer you will not find five hundred pounds for a rational friendly expe- 
 dition ; and should parliament be dissolved, you will perhaps find five 
 
 thousand for . I cannot think of it with patience. Pray take 
 
 serious strenuous measures for sending me a pipe of excellent Madeira 
 in cask, with some dozens of Malmsey Madeira., It should be con- 
 signed to Messrs. Romberg Voituriers at Ostend, and I must have 
 timely notice of its march. We have so much to say about France, 
 that I suppose we shall never say anything. That country is now in a 
 state 01 dissolution. Adieu. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 15, 1789. 
 Y(5U have often reason to accuse my sti^ange silence and neglect in 
 the most important of ;;// own affairs ; for I will presume to assert, 
 that in a business of yours of equal consequence, you should not find 
 me cold or careless. But on the present occasion my silence is, per- 
 haps, the highest compliment I ever paid you. You remember the 
 answer of Philip of Macedon : Philip may sleep, while he knows that
 
 124 LAUSANNE DELUGED WITH FRENCH EXILES. 
 
 Parmenio is awake." I expected, and to say the truth, I wished that 
 my Parmenio would have decided and acted, witliout expecting my 
 dilatory answer, and in his decision I should have acquiesced with 
 implicit confidence. But since you will have my opinion, let us con- 
 sider the present state of my affairs. In the course of my life I have 
 often known, and sometimes felt, the difficulty of getting money, but I 
 now find myself involved in a more singular distress, the difticulty of 
 placing it, and if it continues much longer, I shall almost wish for my 
 land again. 
 
 I perfectly agree with you that it is bad management to purchase in 
 the funds when they do not yield four pounds pei' cent. * * * Some 
 of this money I can place safely, by means of my banker here ; and I 
 shall possess, what 1 have always desired, a command of cash, which 
 I cannot abuse to my prejudice, since I have it in my power to supply 
 with my pen any extraordinary or fanciful indulgence of expense. 
 And so much, much indeed, for pecuniary matters. What would you 
 have me say of the affairs of France .'' We are too near, and too 
 remote, to form an accurate judgment of that wonderful scene. The 
 abuses of the court and government callecl ^.loud for reformation ; and 
 it has happened, as it will always ^iappen, that an innocent well- 
 disposed Prince has paid the forfeit oJ the sins of his predecessors ; 
 of the ambition of Louis the Fourteenth, of the profusion of Louis the 
 Fifteenth. The French nation had a glorious opportunity, but they 
 have abused, and may lose their advantages. If they had been con- 
 tent with a liberal translation of our system, if they had respected the 
 prerogatives of the crown, and the privileges of the nobles, they might 
 have raised a solid fabric on the only true foundation, the natural aris- 
 tocracy of a great country. How different is the prospect ! Their 
 King brought a captive to Paris, after his palace had been stained with 
 the blood of his guards ; the nobles in exile; the clergy plundered in a 
 way which strikes at the root of all property ; the capital an independent 
 republic ; the union of the provinces dissolved ; the fiames of discord 
 kindled by the worst of men ; (in that light I consider Mirabeau ;) and 
 the honestest of the assembly a set of wild visionaries (like our Dr. 
 Price,) who gravely debate, and dream about the establishment of a 
 pure and perfect democracy of five-and-twenty millions, the virtues of 
 the golden age, and the primitive rights and equality of mankind, 
 which would lead, in fair reasoning, to an ecpal partition of lands and 
 money. How many years must elapse before France can recover any 
 vigour, or resume her station among the Powers of Europe ? As yet 
 there is no symptom of a great man, a Richlieu or a Cromwell, arising, 
 either to restore the monarchy, or to lead the commonwealth. The 
 weight of Paris, more deeply engaged in the funds than all the rest of 
 the kingdom, will long delay a bankruptcy ; and if it should happen, 
 it will be, both in the cause and the effect, a measure of weakness, 
 rather than of strength. You send me to Chamberry, to see a Prince 
 and an Archbishop. Alas ! we have exiles enough here, with the 
 Marshal de Castries and the Duke de Guignes at their head ; and this 
 inundation of strangers, which used to be confined to the summer, will 
 now stagnate all the winter. The only ones whom I have seen with 
 pleasure are Mr. Mounicr; the late president of the national assembly,
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 12$ 
 
 and the Count de Lally ; they have both dined with me. Mounier, 
 who is a serious dry poHtician, is returned to Dauphine. Lally is an 
 amiable man of the world, and a poet ; he passes the winter here. 
 You know how much I prefer a quiet select society to a crowd of 
 names and titles, and that I alwa}s seek conversation with a vicv/ to 
 amusement, rather than information. What happy countries are Eng- 
 land and Switzerland, if they know and preserve their happiness. 
 
 I have a thousand things to say to my Lady, Maria, and Louisa, but 
 I can add only a short postscript about the ALadeira. Good Madeira 
 is now become essential to my health and reputation. May your hogs- 
 head prove as good as the last ; may it not be intercepted by the rebels 
 or the Austrians. What a scene again in that country ! Happy 
 England ! Happy Switzerland ! I again repeat, adieu. 
 
 Lausanne, Jan. 27, 1790. 
 Your two last epistles, of the 7th and nth instant, were somewhat 
 delayed on the road ; they arrived within two days of each other, the 
 last this morning (27th) ; so that I answer by the first, or at least by 
 the second post. Upon the whole, your French method, though some- 
 times more rapid, appears to me less sure and steady than the old 
 German highway, &c. &c. * * * But enough of this. Anew and 
 brighter prospect seems to be breaking upon us, and few events oitJiat 
 kind have ever given me more pleasure than your successful negociation 
 mif[ * * * *\ satisfactory answer. The agreement is, indeed, equally 
 convenient for both parties : no time or expence will be wasted in 
 scrutinizing the title of the estate ; the interest will be secured by the 
 clause of five /tv coit. and I lament with you, that no larger sum than 
 eight thousand pounds can be placed on Beriton, without asking (wh.at 
 might be somewhat impudent) a collateral security, &c. * * * But 
 I wish )-ou to choose and execute one or the other of these arrange- 
 ments with sage discretion and absolute power. I shorten my letter, 
 that I may dispatch it by this post. I see the time, and I shall rejoice 
 to see it at the end of twenty years, when my cares will be at an end, 
 and our friendly pages will be no longer sullied with the repetition of 
 dirty land and vile money ; when we may expatiate on the politics of the 
 world and our personal sentiments. Without expecting your answer 
 of business, I mean to write soon in a purer style, and I wish to lay 
 open to my friend the state of my mind, which (exclusive of all worldly 
 concerns) is not perfectly at ease. In the mean while, I must add two 
 or three short articles, i. I am astonished at Elmsley's silence, and 
 the immobility of your picture, Mine should have departed long since, 
 could I have found a sure opportunity, &c. Adieu, yours. 
 
 Lausanne, May 15, 1790. 
 
 Since the first origin {ab ovo) of our connection and correspondence, 
 so long an interval of silence has not intervened, as far as I remember, 
 between us, >S:c. 
 
 From my silence you conclude that the moral complaint, which I 
 had insinuated in my last, is either insignificant or tanciful. The con- 
 clusion is rash. But the complaint in question is of the nature of a 
 slow lin^'-cring disease, which is not attended with any immediate
 
 126 A SEVERE ATTACK OF THE GOUT— MY PORTRAIT. 
 
 danger. As I have not leisure to expatiate, take the idea in three 
 words : " Since the loss of poor Deyverdun, I am alone j and even in 
 Paradise, solitude is painful to a social mind. When I was a dozen 
 years younger, I scarcely felt the weight of a single existence amidst 
 the crowds of London, of parliament, of clubs ; but it will press more 
 heavily upon me in this tranquil land, in the decline of life, and with 
 the increase of infirmities. Some expedient, even the most desperate, 
 must be embraced, to secure the domestic society of a male or female 
 companion. But I am not in a hurry ; there is time for reflection and 
 advice." During this winter such finer feelings have been suspended 
 by the grosser evil of bodily pain. On the ninth of February I was 
 seized by such a fit of the gout as I had never known, though I must 
 be thankful that its dire effects have been confined to the feet and 
 knees, without ascending to the more noble parts. With some vicis- 
 situdes of better and worse, I have groaned between two and three 
 months ; the debility has survived the pain, and though now easy, I 
 am carried about in my chair, without any power, and with a very 
 distant chance, of supporting myself, from the extreme weakness and 
 contraction of the joints of my knees. Yet I am happy in a skilful 
 physician, and kind assiduous friends : every evening, during more 
 than three months, has been enlivened (excepting when I have been 
 forced to refuse them) by some cheerful visits, and very often by a 
 chosen party of both sexes. How different is such society from the 
 solitary evenings which I have passed in the tumult of London ! It is 
 not worth while fighting about a shadow, but should I ever return to 
 England, Bath, not the metropolis, would be my last retreat. 
 
 Your portrait is at last arrived in perfect condition, and now occupies 
 a conspicuous place over the chimney-glass in my library. It is the 
 object of general admiration ; good judges (the few) applaud the work ; 
 the name of Reynolds opens the eyes and mouths of the many ; and 
 were not I afraid of making you vain, I would inform you that the 
 original is not allowed to be more than five-and-thirty. In spite of 
 private reluctance and pubhc discontent, I have honourably dismissed 
 viyself (\x\i portrait). I shall arrive at Sir Joshua's before the end of 
 the month ; he will give me a look, and perhaps a touch ; and you will 
 be indebted to the president one guinea for the carriage. Do not be 
 nervous, I am not rolled up; had I been so, you might have gazed on 
 my charms four months ago. I want some account of yourself, of my 
 Lady, (shall we never directly correspond ?) of Louisa, and of Maria. 
 How has the latter since her launch supported a quiet winter in Sussex ? 
 
 I so much rejoice in your divorce from that b Kitty Coventiy, that 
 
 I care not what marriage you contract. A great city would suit your 
 dignity, and the duties which would kill me in the first session, would 
 supply your activity with a constant fund of amusement. But tread 
 soitly and surely ; the ice is deceitful, the water is deep, and you may 
 be soused over head and ears before you are aware. Why did not you 
 or Elmsley send me the African pamphlet* by the post ? it would not 
 have cost much. You have such a knack of turning a nation, that I 
 am afraid you will triumph (perhaps by the force of argument) over 
 justice and humanity. But do you not expect to work at Belzebub's 
 * Observations on the Project for abolLsiing the Slave Trade, by Lord Sheffield-
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 12/ 
 
 sugar plantations in tlie infernal regions, under the tender government 
 of a negro-driver ? I should suppose both my Lady and Miss Firth 
 very angry with you. 
 
 As to the bill for prints, which has been too long neglected, why will 
 you not exercise the power, which I have never revoked, over all my 
 cash at the Goslings ? The Severy family has passed a very favourable 
 winter ; the young man is impatient to hear from a family which he 
 places above all others : yet he will generously write next week, and 
 send you a drawing of the alterations in the house. Do not raise your 
 ideas ; you know / am satisfied with convenience in architecture, and 
 some elegance in furniture. I admire the coolness with which you ask 
 me to epistolize Reynell and Elmsley, as if a letter were so easy and 
 pleasant a task ; it appears less so to me every day. 
 
 1790. 
 
 Your indignation will melt into pity, when you hear that for several 
 weeks past I have been again confined to my chamber and my chair. 
 Yet I must hasten, generously hasten, to exculpate the gout, my old 
 enemy, from the curses which you already pour on his head. He is 
 not the cause of this disorder, although the consequences have been 
 somewhat similar. I am satisfied that this effort of nature has saved 
 me from a very dangerous, perhaps a fatal crisis ; and I listen to the 
 flattering hope that it may tend to keep the gout at a more respectful 
 distance, &c. 
 
 The whole sheet has been filled with dry selfish business ; but I 
 must and will reserve some lines of the cover for a little friendly con- 
 versation. I passed four days at the castle of Copet with Necker; and 
 could have wished to have shown him, as a warning to any aspiring 
 youth possessed with the daemon of ambition. With all the means 
 of private happiness in his power, he is the most miserable of human 
 beings : the past, the present, and the future are equally odious to 
 him. When I suggested some domestic amusements of books, build- 
 ing, &c. he answered, with a deep tone of despair, " Dans I'etat ou 
 je suis, je ne puis sentir que le coup de vent qui m'a abbatu." 
 How different from the careless cheerfulness with which our poor 
 friend Lord North supported his fiill ! Madame Necker maintains 
 more external composure, viais le Viable ii'y perd rien. It is true 
 that Necker wished to be carried into the closet, like old Pitt, on the 
 shoulders of the people ; and that he has been ruined by the democracy 
 which he had raised. I believe him to be an able financier, and 
 know him to be an honest man; too honest, perhaps, for a minister. 
 His rival Calonne has passed through Lausanne, in his way from 
 Turin ; and was soon followed by the Prince of Conde, with his son 
 and grandson ; but I w^as too much indisposed to see them. They 
 have, or have had, some wild projects of a counter-revolution : horses 
 have been bought, men levied : such foolish attempts must end in the 
 ruin of the party. Burke's book is a most admirable medicine against 
 Jhe French disease, which has made too much progress even in this 
 happy country. I admire his eloquence, I approve his politics, I 
 adore his chivalry, and I can forgive even his superstition. The 
 primitive church, which I have treated with some freedom, was itsell
 
 128 THE ELECTION FOR BRISTOL OF LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 at that time an innovation, and I was attached to the old Pagan 
 estabHshment. The French spread so many lies about the sentiments 
 of the English nation, that I wish the most considerable men of all 
 parties and descriptions would join in some public act, declaring them- 
 selves satisfied and resolved to support our present constitution. Such 
 a declaration would have a wonderful eftect in Europe ; and, were I 
 thought worthy, 1 myself would be proud to subscribe it. I have a 
 great mind to send you something of a sketch, such as all thinking 
 men might adopt. 
 
 I have intelligence of the approach of my Madeira, I accept with 
 equal pleasure the second pipe, now in the Torrid Zone. Send me some 
 pleasant details of your clomestic state, of Maria, &c. If my Lady 
 thinks that my silence is a mark of indifference, my Lady is a goose. 
 I viust have you all at Lausanne next summer. 
 
 Lausanne, August 7, 1790. 
 
 I ANSWER at once your two letters ; and I should probably have 
 taken earlier notice of the first, had I not been in daily expectation of 
 the second, I must begin on the subject of what really interests me 
 the most, your glorious election for Bristol. Most sincerely do I con- 
 gratulate your exchange of a cursed expensive jilt, who deserted you 
 for a rich Jew, for an honourable connection with a chaste and virtuous 
 matron, who will probably be as constant as she is disinterested. In the 
 whole range of election from Caithness to St, Ives, I much doubt 
 whether there be a single choice so truly honourable to the member 
 and the constituents. The second commercial city invites, from a dis- 
 tant province, an independent gentleman, known only by his active 
 spirit, and his writings on the subject of trade ; and names him, 
 without intrigue or expence, for her representative ; even the voice 
 of party is silenced, while factions strive which shall applaud the most. 
 
 You are now sure, for seven years to come, of never wanting food ; 
 I mean business : what a crowd of suitors or complainants will be- 
 siege your door ! what a load of letters and memorials will be heaped 
 on your table ! I much cjuestion whether even you will not some- 
 times exclaim, Olie / Jam satis est / but that is your affair. Of the 
 excursion to Coventry I cannot decide, but I hear it is pretty generally 
 blamed : but, however, I love gratitude to an old friend ; and shall 
 not be very angry if you damned them with a farewell to all eternity. 
 But I cannot repress my indignation at the use of those foolish, 
 obsolete, odious words, Whig and Tory. In the American war they 
 might have some meaning ; and then your Lordship was a Tory, 
 although you supposed yourself a Whig: since the coalition, all 
 general principles have been confounded ; and if there ever was an 
 opposition to men, not measures, it is the present. Luckily both the 
 leaders are great men ; and, whatever happens, the country must fall 
 upon its legs. What a strange mist of peace and war seems to hang 
 over the ocean ! We can perceive nothing but secrecy and vigour ; 
 but those are excellent qualities to perceive in a minister. From 
 yourself and politics I now return to my private concerns, which I 
 shall methodically consider under the three great articles of mind, 
 body, and estate.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF SDIVARD GIB B 01/. 1 29 
 
 r. I am not absolutely displeased at your firing so hastily at the 
 hint, a tremendous hint, in my last letter. But the danger is not so 
 serious or imminent as you seem to suspect ; and I give you my 
 word, that, before I take the slightest step which can bind me either 
 in law, conscience, or honour, I will faithfully communicate, and we 
 will freely discuss, the whole state of the business. But at present 
 there is not anything to communicate or discuss ; I do assure you 
 that I have not any particular object in view : I am not in love with 
 any of the hj'cenas of Lausanne, though there are some who keep 
 their claws tolerably well pared. Sometimes, in a solitary mood, I 
 have fancied myself married to one or another of those whose society 
 and conversation are the most pleasing to me ; but when I have 
 painted in my fancy all the probable conseciuences of such an union, 
 I have started from my dream, rejoiced in my escape, and ejaculated 
 a thanksgiving that I was still in possession of my natural freedom. 
 Yet I feel, and shall continue to feel, that domestic solitude, however 
 it may be alleviated by the world, by study, and even by friendship, 
 is a comfortless state, which will grow more painful as I descend in 
 the vale of years. At present my situation is very tolerable ; and 
 if at dinner-time, or at my return home in the evening, I sometimes 
 sigh for a companion, there are many hours, and many occasions, 
 in which I enjoy the superior blessing of being sole master of my own 
 house. But your plan, though less dangerous, is still more absurd 
 than mine : such a couple as you describe could not be found ; and, 
 if found, would not answer my purpose ; their rank and position would 
 be awkward and ambiguous to myself and my acquaintance, and the 
 agreement of three persons of three characters would be still more 
 impracticable. My plan of Charlotte Porten is undoubtedly the most 
 desirable ; and she might either remain a spinster (the case is not 
 •without example), or marry some Swiss of my choice, who would 
 increase and enliven our society ; and both would have the strongest 
 motives for kind and dutiful behaviour. But the mother has been 
 indirectly sounded, and will not hear of such a proposal for some 
 years. On my side, I would not take her, but as a piece of soft wax 
 which I could model to the language and manners of the country : I 
 must therefore be patient. 
 
 Young Severy's letter, which may be now in your hands, and which, 
 for these three or four last posts, has furnished my indolence with a 
 new pretence for delay, has ah^eady imformed you of the means 
 and circumstances of my resurrection. Tedious indeed was my con- 
 finement, since I was not able to move from my house or chair, from 
 the ninth of February to the first of July, very nearly five months. 
 The first weeks were accompanied with more pain than I have ever 
 known in the gout, with anxious days and sleepless nights ; and 
 when that pain subsided, it left a weakness in my knees which seemed 
 to have no end. My confinement was however softened by books, by 
 the possession of every comfort and convenience, by a succession 
 each evening of agreeable company, and by a fiow of equal spirits 
 and general good health. During the last weeks I descended to the 
 ground tloor, poor Dcyverdun's apartment, and constructed a chair 
 like Merlin's, in which I could wheel myself in the house and on the
 
 130 FRIENDS AT A DISTANCE — STATE OF MY HEALTH. 
 
 terrace. My patience has been universally admired ; yet how many 
 thousands have passed those five months less easily than myself. I 
 remember making a remark perfectly simple, and perfectly true ; " At 
 present (I said to Madame de Severy,) I am not positively miserable, 
 and I may reasonably hope a daily or weekly improvement, till soonci- 
 or later in the summer I shall recover new limbs, and new pleasures, 
 which I do not now possess : have any of you such a prospect ? " The 
 prediction has been accomplished, and I have arrived to my present 
 condition of strength, or rather of feebleness : I now can walk with 
 tolerable ease in my garden and smooth places ; but on the rough 
 pavement of the town I use, and perhaps shall use, a sedan chair. 
 The Pyrmont waters have performed wonders ; and my physician (not 
 Tissot, but a very sensible man) allows me to hope, that the term of 
 the interval will be in proportion to that of the fit. 
 
 Have you read in the English papers, that the government of Berne 
 is overturned, and that we are divided into three democratical leagues? 
 true as what I have read in the French papers, that the English have 
 cut off Pitt's head, and abolished the House of Lords. The people 
 of this country are happy ; and in spite of some miscreants, and more 
 foreign emissaries, they are sensible of their happiness. 
 
 Finally — Inform my Lady, that I am indignant at a false and 
 heretical assertion in her last letter to Severy, " that friends at a distance 
 cannot love each other, if they do not write." I love her better than 
 any woman in the world ; indeed I do ; and yet I do not write. 
 And she herself — but I am calm. We have now nearly one hundred 
 French exiles, some of them worth being acquainted with ; particu- 
 larly a Count de Schomberg, who is become almost my friend ; he is 
 a man of the world, of letters, and of sufficient age, since in 1753 he 
 succeeded to Marshal Saxe's regiment of dragoons. As to the rest, 
 I entertain them, and they flatter me : but I wish we were reduced to 
 our Lausanne society. Poor France ! the state is dissolved, the nation 
 is mad ! Adieu. 
 
 Lausanne, April 9, 1791. 
 First, of my health : it is now tolerably restored, my legs are still 
 weak, but the animal in general is in a sound and lively condition ; 
 and we have great hopes from the fine weather and the Pyrmont 
 waters. I most sincerely wished for the presence of Maria, to em- 
 bellish a ball which I gave the 29th of last month to all the best com- 
 pany, natives and foreigners, of Lausanne, with the aid of the Severys, 
 especially of the mother and son, who directed the oeconomy, and per- 
 formed the honours of the /c/.?. It opened about seven in the evening ; 
 the assembly of men and women was pleased and pleasing, the music 
 good, the illumination splendid, the refreshments profuse : at twelve, 
 one hundred and thirty persons sat down to a very good supper : at 
 two, I stole away to bed, in a snug corner ; and I was informed at 
 bfeakfast, that the remains of the veteran and young troops, with 
 Severy and his sister at their head, had concluded the last dance about 
 a quarter before seven. This magnificent entertainment has gained 
 me great credit ; and the expence was more reasonable than you can 
 easilv imagine. This was an extraordinary event, but I give frequent
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 13 1 
 
 dinners ; and in the summer I have an assembly every Sunday evening. 
 What a wicked wretch ! says my Lady. 
 
 I cannot pity you for the accumulation of business, as you ought not 
 to pity wt', if I complained of the tranquillity of Lausanne ; we suffer 
 or enjoy the effects of our own choice. Perhaps you will mutter some- 
 thing, of our not being bora for ourselves, of public spirit (I have for- 
 merly read of such a thing), of private friendship, for which I give you 
 full and ample credit, &c. But your parliamentary operations, at least, 
 will probably expire in the month of June ; and I shall refuse to sign 
 the Newhaven conveyance, unless I am satisfied that you will execute 
 the Lausanne visit this summer. On the 15th of June, suppose Lord, 
 Lady, Maria, and Maid, (poor Louisa !) in a post coach, with Elienne 
 on horseback, set out from Downing-Street, or Sheffield-Place, across 
 the channel from Brighton to Dieppe, visit the National Assembly, 
 buy caps at Paris, examine the ruins of Versailles, and arrive at 
 Lausanne, without danger or fatigue, the second week in July; you will 
 be lodged pleasantly and comfortably, and will not perhaps despise my 
 situation. A couple of months will roll, alas ! too hastily away : you 
 will all be amused by new scenes, new people ; and whenever Maria 
 and you, \\ith Scvery, mount on horseback to visit the country, the 
 glaciers, <S:c. my Lady and myself shall form a very quiet tete-a- tete at 
 home. \xi September, if you are tired, you may return by a direct or 
 indirect way ; but I only desire that you will not make the plan im- 
 practicable, by grasping at too much. In return, 1 promise you a visit 
 of three or four months in the autumn of ninety-two : you and my 
 booksellers are now my principal attractions in England. You had 
 some right to growl at hearing of my supplement in the papers : but 
 Cadell's indiscretion v.'as founded on a hint which I had thrown out in 
 a letter, and which in all probability will never be executed. Yet I 
 am not totally idle. Adieu. 
 
 Lausanne, May 18, 1791. 
 
 I WRITE a short letter, on small paper, to inform you, that the 
 various deeds, which arrived safe and in good condition, have this 
 morning been sealed, signed, and delivered, in the presence of respect- 
 able and well-known English witnesses. To have read the aforesaid 
 acts, would have been difficult ; to have understood them, impracticable. 
 I therefore signed them with my eyes shut, and in that implicit confi.- 
 dence, which we freemen and Britons are humbly content to yield to 
 our lawyers and ininisters. I hope, however, most seriously hope, that 
 every thing has been carefully examined, and that I am not totally 
 ruined. It is not without much impatience that I expect an account 
 of the payment and investment of the purchase-money. It was my 
 intention to have added a new edition of my will ; but I have an unex- 
 pected call to go to Geneva to-morrow with the Severys, and must 
 defer that business a few days till after my return. On my return I 
 may possibly find a letter from you, and will write more fully in 
 answer : my posthumous work, contained in a single sheet, will not 
 ruin you in postage. In the mean while let me desire you eitlier never 
 to talk of Lausanne, or to execute the journey this summer ; after the 
 dispatch of public and private business, there can be no real obstacle 
 but in yourself Pray do not go to war with Russia ; it is very foolish, 
 I am quite angry with Pitt. Adieu.
 
 I 3 2 VISIT OF THE SHEFFIELD FAMIL V TO LA USANHE. 
 
 Lausanne, May 31, 1791. 
 
 At length I see a ray of sunshine breaking from a darlc cloud. Your 
 Cisistle of the 13th arrived this morning, the 25th instant, the day after 
 my return from Geneva ; it has been communicated to Severy. We 
 now beheve that you intend a visit to Lausanne this summer, and we 
 hope that you will execute that intention. If you are a man of honour, 
 you shall find me one ; and, on the day of your arrival at Lausanne, I 
 will ratify my engagement of visiting the British isle before the end of 
 the year 1792, excepting only the fair and foul exception of the gout. 
 You rejoice me, by proposing the addition of dear Louisa ; it was not 
 without a bitter pang that I threw her overboard, to lighten the vessel 
 and secure the voyage : 1 was fearful of the governess, a second car- 
 riage, and a long train of difficulty and expence, which might have 
 ended in blowing up the whole scheme. But if you can bodlcin the 
 sweet creature into the coach, she will find an easy welcome at 
 Lausanne. The first arrangements which 1 must make before your 
 arrival, may be altered by your own taste, on a survey of the premises, 
 and you will all be commodiously and pleasantly lodged. You have 
 heard a great deal of the beauty of my house, garden, and situation ; 
 but such are their intrinsic value, that, unless I am much deceived, 
 they will bear the test even of exaggerated praise. From my know- 
 ledge of your Lordship, I have always entertained some doubt how 
 you would get through the society of a Lausanne winter : but I am 
 satisfied that, exclusive of friendship, your summer visits to the banks 
 of the Leman Lake will long be remembered as one of the most agree- 
 able periods of your life ; and that you will scarcely regret the amuse- 
 ment of a Sussex Committee of Navigation in the dog days. You ask 
 for details : what details .'' a map of France and a post-book are easy 
 and infallible guides. If the ladies are not afraid of the ocean, you 
 are not ignorant of the passage from Brighton to Dieppe : Paris will 
 then be in your direct road ; and even allovving you to look at the 
 Pandtemonium, the ruins of Versailles, &c., a fortnight diligently em- 
 plo)'ed will clear you from Shefiield Place to Gibbon Castle. What 
 can 1 say more ? 
 
 As little have I to say on the subject of my worldly matters, which 
 seem now, Jupiter be praised, to be drawing towards a final conclusion ; 
 since when people part with their money, they are indeed serious. I 
 do not perfectly understand the ratio of the precise sum which you 
 have poured into Gosling's reservoir, but suppose it will be explained 
 in a general account. 
 
 You have been very dutiful in sending me, what I have always 
 desired, a cut Woodfall on a remarkable debate ; a debate, indeed, 
 most remarkable ! Poor ***** is the most elocjuent and rational mad- 
 man that I ever knew. 1 love ***'s feelings, but I detest the political 
 principles of the man, and of the party. Formerly, you detested them 
 more strongly during the American war, than myself. 1 am half afraid 
 that you are corrupted by your unfortunate connections. Should you 
 admire the National Assembly, we shall have many an altercation, for 
 I am as high an aristocrat as Burke himself : and he has truly observed, 
 that it is impossible to debate with temper on the subject of that cursed 
 revolution. In my last excursion to Geneva I frequently saw the
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 33 
 
 Neckers, who by this time are returned to their summer residence at 
 Copet. He is much restored in health and spirits, especially since tlie 
 publication of his last book, which has probably reached England. 
 Both parties, who agree in abusing him, agree likewise that he is a 
 man of virtue and genius ; but I much fear that the purest intentions 
 have been productive of the most baneful consequences. Our military 
 men, I mean the French, are leaving us every day for the camp of the 
 Princes at Worms, and support what is called * * * representation. 
 Their hopes are sanguine ; I will not answer for their being well 
 grounded ; it is certain, however, that the emperor had an interview 
 the 19th instant with the Count of Artois at Mantua; and the aristo- 
 crats talk in mysterious language of Spain, Sardinia, the Empire, four 
 or five armies, &c. They will doubtless strike a blow this summer : 
 may it not recoil on their own heads ! Adieu. Embrace our female 
 travellers. A short delay ! 
 
 Lausanne, June 12, lygi. 
 
 I NOW begin to see you all in real motion, swimming from Brighton 
 to Dieppe, according to my scheme, and afterwards treading the direct 
 road, which you cannot well avoid, to the turbulent capital of the late 
 kingdom of France. I know not what more to say, or what further 
 instructions to send ; they would indeed be useless, as you are traveUing 
 through a country which has been sometimes visited by Englishmen : 
 only this let me say, that in the midst of anarchy the roads were never 
 more secure than at present. As you will wish to assist at the national 
 assembly, you will act prudently in obtaining from the French in 
 London a good recommendation to some leading member ; Cazales, 
 for instance, or the Abbe Maury. I soon expect from Elmsley a cargo 
 of books ; but you may bring me any new pamphlet of exquisite flavour, 
 particularly the last works of John Lord Sheffield, which the dog has 
 always neglected to send. You will have time to write once more, and 
 you must endeavour, as nearly as possible, to mark the day of your 
 arrival. You may come either by Lyons and Geneva, by Dijon and 
 les Rousses, or by Dole and Pontarliere. The post will fail you on 
 the edge of Switzerland, and must be supplied by hired horses. I 
 wish you to make your last day's journey easy, so as to dine upon the 
 road, and arrive by tea-time. The pulse of the counter-revolution 
 beats high, but I cannot send you any certain facts. Adieu. I want 
 to hear Ts\y Lady abusing me for never writing. A// the Severys are 
 very impatient. 
 
 Notwithstanding the high premium, I do not absolutely wish you 
 drowned. Besides all other cares, I must marry and propagate, which 
 would give me a great deal of trouble. 
 
 Lausanne, July ist, 1791. 
 In obedience to your orders I direct a flying shot to Paris, though I 
 have not anything particular to add, excepting that our impatience is 
 increased in the inverse ratio of time and space. Yet I almost doubt 
 whether you have passed the sea. The news of the King of France's 
 escape must have reached you before the 28th, the day of your depar- 
 ture, and the prospect of strange unknown disorder may well have
 
 1 34 ACCOUNT OF LORD SHEFFIELD'S VISIT TO LAUSANNE. 
 
 suspended your firmest resolves. The royal animal is again caught, 
 and all may probably be quiet. I was just going to exhort you to pass 
 through Brussels and the confines of Germany ; a fair Irishism, since 
 if you read this, you are already at Paris. The only reasonable advice 
 which now remains, is to obtain, by means of Lord Gower, a sufficiency, 
 or even superfluity, of forcible passports, such as leave no room for 
 cavil on a jealous frontier. The frequent intercourse with Paris has 
 proved that the best and shortest road, instead of Besanqon, is by 
 Diion, Dole, Les Rousses, and Niyon. Adieu. 1 warmly embrace the 
 Ladies. It would be idle now to talk ot business. 
 
 It has appeared from the foregoing Letters, that a visit from myself 
 and my family, to Mr. Gibbon at Lausanne, had been for some time • 
 in agitation. This long-promised excursion took place in the month : 
 of June 1 791, and occasioned a considerable cessation of our corre- I 
 spondence. I landed at Dieppe immediately after the flight from, 
 and return to, Paris of the unfortunate Lewis XVI. During my stay 
 in that capital, I had an opportunity of seeing the extraordinary 
 ferment of men's minds, both in the national assembly, in private \ 
 societies, and in my passage through France to Lausanne, where I 
 recalled to my memory the interesting scenes I had witnessed, by 
 frequent conversations with my deceased friend. I might have wished 
 to record his opinions on the subject of the French revolution, if he \ 
 had not expressed them so well in the annexed Letters. He seemed ' 
 to suppose, as some of his Letters hint, that I had a tendency to the 1 
 new French opinions. Never indeed, I can with truth aver, was j 
 suspicion more unfounded ; nor could it have been admitted into ■ 
 Mr, Gibbon's mind, but that his extreme friendship for me, and his 
 utter abhorrence of these notions, made him anxious and jealous, even : 
 to an excess, that I should not entertain them. He was, however, ; 
 soon undeceived ; he found that I was full as averse to them as himself, j 
 I had from the first expressed an opinion, that such a change as was 
 aimed at in France, must derange all the regular governments in ] 
 Europe, hazard the internal quiet and dearest interests of this country, ] 
 and probably end in bringing on mankind a much greater portion of 
 misery, than the most sanguine reformer had ever promised to himself ; 
 or others to produce of benefit, by the visionary schemes of liberty 
 and equality, with which the ignorant and vulgar were misled and 
 abused. '• 
 
 Mr. Gibbon at first, like many others, seemed pleased with the pro- 
 spect of the reform of inveterate abuses ; but he very soon discovered 
 the mischief which was intended, the imbecility with which concessions , 
 were made, and the ruin that must arise, from the want of resolution 
 or conduct, in the administration of France. He lived to reprobate, j 
 in the strongest terms possible, the folly of the first reformers, and the 1 
 something worse than extravagance and ferocity of their successors. \ 
 He saw the wild and mischievous tendency of those pretended reformers, I 
 which, while they professed nothing but amendment, really meant '
 
 A UTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF ED WARD GIBBON. 1 3 5 
 
 destruction to all social order ; and so strongly was his opinion fixed 
 as to the danger of hasty innovation, that he became a warm and 
 zealous advocate for every sort of old establishment, which he marked 
 in various ways, sometimes rather ludicrously ; and I recollect, in a 
 circle where French affairs were the topic, and some Portuguese present, 
 he, seemingly with seriousness, argued in favour of the inquisition at 
 Lisbon, and said he would not, at the present moment, give up even 
 that old establishment. 
 
 It may, perhaps, not be quite uninteresting to the readers of these 
 Memoirs, to know, that I found Mr. Gibbon at Lausanne in possession 
 of an excellent house ; the view from which, and from the terrace, 
 was so uncommonly beautiful, that even his own pen would with 
 ditiiiculty describe the scene which it commanded. This prospect 
 comprehended everything grand and magnificent, which could be 
 furnished by the finest mountains among the Alps, the most extensive 
 view of the Lake of Geneva, with a beautifully varied and cultivated 
 country, adorned by numerous villas, and picturesque buildings, inter- 
 mixed with beautiful masses of stately trees. Here my friend received 
 us with an hospitality and kindness which I can never forget. 
 The best apartments of the house were appropriated to our use ; the 
 choicest society of the place was sought for, to enliven our visit, and 
 render every day of it cheerful and agreeable. It was impossible for 
 any man to be more esteemed and admired than Mr. Gibbon was at 
 Lausanne. The preference he had given to that place, in adopting it 
 for a residence, rather than his own country, was felt and acknowledged 
 by all the inhabitants ; and he may have been said almost to have 
 given the law to a set of as willing subjects as any man ever presided 
 over. In return for the deference shewn to him, he mixed, without 
 any affectation, in all the society, 1 mean all the best society, that 
 Lausanne afforded ; he could indeed command it, and was, perhaps, 
 for that reason the more partial to it ; for he often declared that he 
 liked society more as a relaxation from study, than as expecting to 
 derive from it amusement or instruction ; that to books he looked for 
 ir»provement, not to living persons. But this I considered partly as 
 an answer to my expressions of wonder, that a man who might choose 
 the most various and most generally improved society in the world, 
 namely, in England, that he should prefer the very limited circle of 
 Lausanne, which he never deserted, but for an occasional visit to M. 
 and Madame Necker. It must not, however, be understood, that in 
 chusing Lausanne for his home, he was insensible to the merits oi a 
 residence in England : he was not in possession of an incorrie which 
 corresponded with his notions of ease and comfort in his own country. 
 In Switzerland, his fortune was ample. To this consideration of 
 fortune may be added another, which also had its weight ; from early 
 youth Mr. Gibbon had contracted a partiality for foreign taste and 
 foreign habits of life, which made him less a stranger abroad than he 
 was, in some respects, in his native country. This arose, perhaps, from 
 having been out of England from his sixteenth to his twenty- first year ; 
 yet, when I came to Lausanne, I found him apparently without relish 
 for French society. During the stay I made with him he renewed his 
 intercourse with the principal French who were at Lausanne ; of whom
 
 136 LETTER~^E. GIBBON TO THE HON. MISS HOLROYD. 
 
 there happened to be a considerable number, distinguished for rank or 
 talents ; many indeed respectable for both.* During my stay in 
 Switzerland I was not absent from my friend's house, except during a 
 short excursion that wc made together to Mr. Necker's at Copet, and 
 a tour to Geneva, Chamouny, over the Col de Balme, to Martigny, St. 
 Maurice, and round the Lake by Vevay to Lausanne. In the social 
 and singularly pleasant months that I passed with Mr. Gibbon, he en- 
 joyed his usual che'erfulness, with good health. Since he left England, 
 in 178S, he had had a severe attack, mentioned in one of the foregoing 
 letters, of an Erysipelas, which at last settled in one of his legs, and 
 left something of a dropsical tendency ; for at this time I first perceived 
 a considerable degree of swelling about the ancle. 
 
 In the beginning of October I left this delightful residence ; and 
 some time after my return to England, our correspondence recom- 
 menced. 
 
 LETTERS FROM E. GIBBON, Esq., 
 
 TO 
 
 LORD SHEFFIELD, and Others. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq.^ to the Hon. Miss Holroyd. 
 
 Lausanne, 9 Nov. 1791. 
 Gulliver is made to say, in presenting his interpreter, " My tongue 
 is in the mouth of my friend." Allow me to say, with proper expres- 
 sions and excuses, " My pen is in the hand of my friend ;" and the 
 aforesaid friend begs leave thus to continue."!" 
 
 I remember to have read somewhere in Rousseau, of a lover quitting 
 very often his mistress, to have the pleasure of corresponding with 
 her. Though not absolutely your lover, I am very much your admirer, 
 and should be extremely tempted to follow the same example. The 
 spirit and reason which prevail in your conversation, appear to great 
 advantage in your letters. The three which I have received from 
 Berne, Coblentz, and Brussels have given me much real pleasure ; 
 first, as a proof that you are often thinking of me ; secondly, as an 
 evidence that you are capable of keeping a resolution ; and thirdly, 
 from their intrinsic merit and entertainment. The style, without any 
 allowance for haste or hurry, is perfectly correct ; the manner is neither 
 too light, nor too grave ; the dimensions neither too long, nor too 
 short : they are such, in a word, as I should like to receive from the 
 daughter of my best friend. I attend your lively journal, through bad 
 
 * Marshal de Castries and several branches of his family, Due de Guignes and daughters, 
 Due and Duchesse dc Guiche, Madame de Grammont, Princesse d'Henin, Princesse de 
 Bouillon, Duchesse de Biron, Prince de Salms, Comte de Schomberg, M. Lally Tolendal, M. 
 de Mounier, Madame d'Aguesseau and family, M. de Malherbes, &c. &c. 
 
 + The remainder of the letter was dictated by Mr. Gibbon, and written by M. Wilh. d« 
 Scvery, S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 37 
 
 roads, and worse inns. Your description of men and manners conveys 
 very satisfactory information ; and I am particularly delighted with 
 your remark concerning the irregular behaviour of the Rhine. But 
 the Rhine, alas ! after some temporary wanderings, will be content to 
 flow in his old channel, while man — man is the greatest fool of the 
 whole creation. 
 
 I direct this letter to Sheffield-Place, where I suppose you arrived 
 in health and safety. I congratulate my Lady on her quiet establish- 
 ment by her fireside ; and hope you will be able, after all your excur- 
 sions, to support the climate and manners of Old England. Before 
 this epistle reaches you, I hope to have received the two promised 
 letters from Dover and Sheftield-Place. If they should not meet with 
 a proper return, you will pity and forgive me. I have not yet heard 
 from Lord Sheffield, who seems to have devolved on his daughter, the 
 task which she has so gloriously executed. I shall probably not write 
 to him, till I have received his first letter of business from England ; 
 but with regard to my Lady, I have most excellent intentions. 
 
 I never could understand how two persons of such superior merit, 
 as Miss Holroyd and Miss Lausanne, could have so little relish for 
 one another, as they appeared to have in the beginning ; and it was 
 with great pleasure that I observed the degrees of their growing inti- 
 macy, and the mutual regret of their separation. Whatever you may 
 imagine, your friends at Lausanne have been thinking as frequently 
 of yourself and company, as you could possibly think of them ; and 
 you will be very ungrateful, if you do not seriously resolve to make 
 them a second visit, under such name and title as y^ou may judge 
 most agreeable. None of the Severy family, except perhaps my 
 secretary, are inclined to forget you ; and I am continually asked for 
 some account of your health, motions, and amusements. Since your 
 departure, no great events have occurred. I have made a short excur- 
 sion to Geneva and Copet, and found Mr. Necker in much better 
 spirits than when you saw him. They pressed me to pass some weeks 
 this winter in their house at Geneva ; and I may possibly comply, at 
 least, in part, with their invitation. The aspect of Lausanne is peaceful 
 and placid ; and you have no hopes of a revolution driving me out of 
 this country. We hear nothing of the proceedings of the commission,* 
 except by playing at cards every evening with Monsieur Fischer, who 
 often speaks of Lord Sheffield with esteem and respect. There is no 
 appearance of Rosset and La Motte being brought to a speedy trial, 
 and they still remain in the castle of Chillon, which (according to the 
 geography of the National Assembly) is washed by the sea. Our 
 winter begins with great severity ; and we shall not probably have 
 many balls, which, as you may imagine, I lament much. Angletine 
 does not consider two French words as a letter. Montrond sighs and 
 
 * A commission, at the head of which was Monsieur Fischer, one of the principal members 
 of the government of Berne, a very active and intelUgent man, who would have distinguished 
 himself in the administration of any country. This commission, which was accompanied by 
 two or three thousand of the best of the German militia of the Canton of Berne, was sent for the 
 examining into some attempts to introduce the French revolutionary principles into the Pays 
 de Vaud. Several persons were seized ; the greater part were released ; the examination was 
 secret, but Rosset and La Motte were confined in the castle of Chillon ; and being afterwards 
 condemned for correspondence with the French, to a long imprisonment, were trar vferred W 
 tb« castle of Arbourg. S.
 
 "138 LETTER--E. GIBBON TO LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 blushes whenever Louisa's name is mentioned : Philippine wishes to 
 converse with her on men and manners. The French ladies are settlad 
 in town for the winter, and they form, with Mrs. Trevor, a very agree- 
 able addition to our society. It is now enlivened by a visit of the 
 Chevalier de Boufflers, one of the most accomplished men in the 
 ci devant kingdom of France. 
 
 As Mrs. Wood, Madame de Silva, who has miscarried, is about to 
 leave us, I must either cure or die ; and, upon the whole, I believe the 
 former will be most expedient. You may see her in London, with dear 
 Corea, next winter. My rival magnificently presents me with an hogs- 
 head of Madeira : so that in honour I could not supplan-t him : yet I 
 do assure you, from my heart, that another departure is much more 
 painful to me. The apartment below* is shut up, and I know not 
 when I shall again visit it with pleasure. Adieu. Believe me, one 
 and all, most affectionately yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq.^ to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, December 28, 1791. 
 Alas ! alas ! the daemon of procrastination has again possessed me. 
 Three months have nearly rolled away since your departure ; and 
 seven letters, five from the most valuable Maria, and two from yourself, 
 have extorted from me only a single epistle, which perhaps would 
 never have been written, had I not used the permission of employing 
 my own tongue and the l«ind of a secretary. Shall I tell you, that, for 
 these last six weeks, the eve of every day has witnessed a firm resolu- 
 tion, and the day itself has furnished some ingenious delay.? This 
 morning, for instance, I determined to invade you as soon as the 
 breakfast things should be removed : they were removed ; but I had 
 something to read, to write, to meditate, and there was time enough 
 before me. Hour after hour has stolen away, and I finally begin my 
 letter at two o'clock, evidently too late for the post, as I must dress, 
 dine, go abroad, &;c. A foundation, however, sJiall be laid, which will 
 stare me in the face ; and next Saturday I shall probably be roused by 
 the awful reflection that it is the last day in the year. 
 
 After realizing this summer an event which I had long considered 
 as a dream of fancy, I know not whether I should rejoice or grieve at 
 your visit to Lausanne. While I possessed the family, the sentiment 
 of pleasure highly predominated ; when, just as we had subsided in a 
 regular, easy, comfortable plan of life, the last trump sounded, and, 
 without speaking of the pang of separation, you left me to one of the 
 most gloomy, solitary months of October which I have ever passed. 
 For yourself and daughters, however, you have contrived to snatch 
 some of the most interesting scenes of this world. Paris, at such 
 a moment, Switzerland and the Rhine, Strasburg, Coblentz, have 
 suggested a train of lively images and useful ideas, which will not be 
 speedily erased. The mind of the young damsel, more especially, will 
 be enlarged and enlightened in every sense. In four months she has 
 lived many years ; and she will much deceive and displease me, if she 
 
 • The apaiUnent principally inhabited during the residence of roy family at Lausanqe. S.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 1 39 
 
 does not review and methodize her journal, in such a manner as she is 
 capable of performing, for the amusement of her particular friends. 
 Another benefit which will redound from )'our recent view is, that every 
 place, person, and object, about Lausanne, are now become familiar 
 and interesting to you. In our future correspondence (do I dare pro- 
 nounce the word correspondence ?) I can talk to you as freely of every 
 circumstance as if it were actually before your eyes. And first, of my 
 own improvements. — All those venerable piles of ancient verdure which 
 you admife have been eradicated in one fatal day. Your faithful sub- 
 stitutes, William de Severy and Levade, have never ceased to persecute 
 me, till I signed their death warrant. Their place is now supplied by 
 a number of picturesque naked poles, the foster-fathers of as many 
 twigs of Platanusses, which may afford a grateful but distant shade 
 to the founder, or to his seris Nepotibus. In the mean while I must 
 confess that the terrace appears broader, and that I discover a much 
 larger quantity of snow than I should otherwise do. The workmen 
 admire your ingenious plan for cutting out a new bed-chamber and 
 book-room ; but, on mature consideration, we all unanimously prefer 
 the old scheme of adding a third room on the terrace beyond the 
 library, with two spacious windows, and a fire-place between. It will 
 be larger (28 feet by 21), and pleasanter, and warmer : the difterence 
 of e.xpence will be much less considerable than I imagined : the door 
 of communication with the library will be artfully buried in the wainscot : 
 and, unless it be opened by my own choice, may always remain a pro- 
 found secret. Such is the design ; but, as it will not be executed 
 before next summer, you have time and liberty to state your objections. 
 I am much colder about the staircase, but it maybe finished, according 
 to your idea, for thirty pounds ; and I feel they will persuade me. 
 Am I not a very rich man ? When these alterations are completed, 
 few authors of six volumes in quarto will be more agreeably lodged 
 than myself. Lausanne is now full and lively ; all our native families 
 are returned from the country ; and, praised be the Lord ! we are 
 infested with few foreigners, either French or English. Even our 
 democrats are more reasonable or more discreet ; it is agreed, to 
 wave the subject of politics, and all seem happy and cordial. I have 
 a grand dinner this week, a supper of thirty or forty people on 
 Twelfth-day, &c.; some concerts have taken place; some balls are 
 talked of ; and even Maria would allow (yet it is ungenerous to say 
 even Maria) that the winter sceRi, at Lausanne is tolerably gay and 
 active. I say nothing of the Severys, as Angletine has epistolized 
 Maria last post. She has probably hinted that her brother meditates a 
 short excursion to Turin ; that worthy fellow Trevor has given him 
 a pressing invitation to his own house. In the beginning of February 
 I propose going to Geneva for three or four weeks. I shall lodge and 
 eat with the Neckers ; my mornings will be my own, and I shall spend 
 my evenings in the society of the place, where I have many acquaint- 
 ance. This short absence will agitate my stagnant life, and restore 
 me with fresh appetite to my house, my library, and my friends. Be- 
 fore that time (the end of Februar}'^) what events may happen, or be 
 ready to happen ! The National Assembly (compared to which the 
 former was a senate of heroes and demi-gods) seem resolved to attack
 
 140 LETTERS — E. GIBBON TO LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 Germany avec qziaire millions de bayonettes litres; the army of the 
 princes must soon either fight, or starve, or conquer. Will Sweden 
 draw his sword ? will Russia draw her purse ? an empty purse ! All 
 is darkness and anarchy : neither party is strong enough to oppose a 
 settlement ; and I cannot see a possibility of an amicable arrangement, 
 where there are no heads (in any sense of the word) who can answer 
 for the multitude. Send me your ideas and those of Lord Guildford, 
 Lord Loughborough, Fox, &c. 
 
 Before I conclude, a word of my vexatious affairs. — Shall I never 
 sail on the smooth stream of good security and half-yearly interest ? 
 will everybody refuse my money ? I had already written to Barrel 
 and Gosling to obey your commands, and was in hopes that you had 
 already made large and salutary evacuations. During your absence 
 1 never expected much effect from the cold indifference of agents ; 
 but you are now in England — you will be speedily in London : set all 
 your setting-dogs to beat the field, hunt, inquire, why should you not 
 advertise ? Yet I am almost ashamed to complain of some stagnation 
 of interest, when I am witness to the natural and acquired philosophy 
 of so many French, who are reduced from riches, not to indigence, but 
 to absolute want and beggary. A Count Argout has just left us, who 
 possessed ten thousand a year in the island of St. Domingo ; he is 
 utterly burnt and ruined ; and a brother, whom he tenderly loved, has 
 been murdered by the negroes. These are real misfortunes. I have 
 much revolved the plan of the Memoirs I once mentioned ; and, as you 
 do not think it ridiculous, I believe I shall make an attempt : if I can 
 please myself, I am confident of not displeasing ; but let this be a pro- 
 found secret between us : people must not be prepared to laugh ; they 
 must be taken by surprise. Have you looked over your, or rather my, 
 letters ? Surely, in the course of the year, you may find a safe and 
 cheap occasion of sending me a parcel ; they may assist me. Adieu. 
 I embrace my Lady : send me a favourable account of her health. I 
 kiss the Marmaille. By an amazing push of remorse and diligence I 
 have finished my letter (three pages and a half) this same day since 
 dinner ; but I have not time to read it. Ever yours. 
 
 Half past Six. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 31, 1791. 
 To the same. To-morrow a new year, multos et felices ! 
 
 I NOW most sincerely repent of my late repentance, and do almost 
 swear never to renounce the amiable and useful practice of procrasti- 
 nation. Had I delayed, as I was strongly tempted, another post, your 
 missive of the 13th, which did not reach me till this morning (three 
 mails were due), would have arrived in time, and I might have avoided 
 this second Herculean labour. It will be, however, no more than an 
 infant Hercules. The topics of conversation have been fully discussed, 
 and I shall now confine myself to the needful of the new business. 
 Felix faiistumque sit / may no untoward accident disarrange your 
 Yorkshire mortgage ; the conclusion of which will place me in a clear 
 and easy state, such as I have never known since the first hour of 
 property. * * * 
 
 The three per cents are so high, and the country is in such a damned
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON'. I4I 
 
 state of prosperity under that fellow Pitt, that it goes against me to 
 purchase at such low interest. In my visit to England next autumn, 
 or in the spring following, (alas ! you must acquiesce in the alterna- 
 tive,) I hope to be armed with sufficient materials to draw a sum, 
 which may be employed as taste or fancy shall dictate, in the improve- 
 ment of my library, a service of plate, &c. I am not very sanguine, 
 but surely this is no uncomfortable prospect. This pecuniary detail, 
 which has not indeed been so unpleasant as it used formerly to be, 
 has carried me farther than I expected. Let us now drink and be 
 merry. I flatter myself that your Madeira, improved by its travels, 
 will set forwards for Messrs. Romberg, at Ostend, early in the spring ; 
 and I should be very well pleased if you could add a hogshead of ex- 
 cellent Claret, for which we should be entitled to the drawback : they 
 must halt at Basle, and send notice to me for a safe-conduct. Have 
 you had any intelligence from Lord Auckland about the wine which he 
 was to order from Bourdeaux, by Marseilles and the Rhone ? The 
 one need not impede the other ; I wish to have a large stock. Corea 
 has promised me a hogshead of his native Madeira, for which I am 
 to give him an order on Cadell for a copy of the Decline and Fall : he 
 vanished without notice, and is now at Paris. Could you not fish out 
 his direction by Mrs. Wood, who by this time is in England ? I re- 
 joice in Lally's prosperity. Have you reconsidered my proposal of a 
 declaration of constitutional principles from the heads of the party ? 
 I think a foolish address from a body of Whigs to the National As- 
 sembly renders it still more incumbent on you. Achieve my worldly 
 concerns, ct eris mihimagiiics Apollo. Adieu, ever yours. 
 
 To the same. Lausanne, April 4, 1792. 
 
 For fear you should abuse me, as usual, I will begin the attack, 
 and scold at you for not having yet sent me the long-expected in- 
 telligence of the completion of my mortgage. You had positively 
 assured me that the second of February would terminate my worldly 
 cares, by a consummation so devoutly to be wished. The news, there- 
 fore, might reach me about the eighteenth : and I argued with the 
 gentle logic of laziness, that it was perfectly idle to answer your letter, 
 till I could chant a thanksgiving song of gratitude and praise. As 
 every post disappointed my hopes, the same argument was repeated 
 for the next ; and twenty empty-handed postillions have blown their 
 insignificant horns, till I am provoked at last to write by sheer impa- 
 tience and vexation. Facit indigiiatio versiim. Cospetto di Bacclio ; 
 for I must ease myself by swearing a little. What is the cause, the 
 meaning, the pretence, of this delay? Are the Yorkshire mortgagers 
 inconstant in their wishes ? Are the London lawyers constant in their 
 procrastination ? Is a letter on the road, to inform me that all is con- 
 cluded, or to tell me that all is broken to pieces ? Had the money 
 been placed in the three per cents last May ; besides the annual 
 interest, it would have gained by the rise of stock nearly twenty /tr 
 cent. Your Lordship is a wise man, a successful writer, and an useful 
 senator : you understand America and Ireland, corn and slaves, but 
 your prejudice against the funds,* in which I am often tempted to jean, 
 
 * It would be more correct if he had said, tny prefe>r«Mice for land. S.
 
 142 MV VISIT TO THE NECKER FAMILY A7 COPET. 
 
 makes you a little blind to their increasing value in the hands of our 
 virtuous and excellent minister. But our regret is vain ; one pull 
 more and we reach the shore ; and our future correspondence will be 
 no longer tainted with business. Shall I then be more diligent and 
 regular.? I hope and believe so ; for now that I have got over this 
 article of worldly interest, my letter seems to be almost finished. A 
 propos of letters, am I not a sad dog to forget my Lady and Maria ? 
 Alas ! the dual number has been prejudicial to both. How happy 
 could I be with either, were t'other dear charmer away. I am like 
 the ass of famous memory ; I cannot tell which way to turn first, and 
 there I stand mute and immoveable. The baronial and maternal 
 dignity of my Lady, supported by twenty years' friendship, may claim 
 the preference. But the five incomparable letters of Maria ! — Next 
 Aveek, however. — Am I not ashamed to talk of next week ? 
 
 I have most successfully, and most agreeably, executed my plan of 
 spending the month of March at Geneva, in the Necker-house, and 
 every circumstance that I had arranged turned out beyond my expec- 
 tation ; the freedom of the morning, the society of the table and 
 drawing-room, from half an hour past two till six or seven ; an even- 
 ing assembly and card party, in a round of the best company, and, 
 excepting one day in the week, a private supper of free and friendly 
 conversation. You would like Geneva better than Lausanne ; there 
 is much more information to be got among the men ; but though I 
 found some agreeable women, their manners and style of life are, upon 
 the whole, less easy and pleasant than our own. I was much pleased 
 with Necker's brother Mr. De Germain, a good-humoured, polite, 
 sensible man, without the genius and fame of the statesman, but much 
 more adapted for private and ordinary happiness. Madame de Stael 
 is expected in a few weeks at Copet, where they receive her, and where 
 "to dumb forgetfulness a prey," she will have leisure to regret "the 
 pleasing anxious being," which she enjoyed amidst the storms of Paris. 
 But what can the poor creature do ? her husband is in Sweden, her 
 lover is no longer secretary at war, and her father's house is the only 
 place where she can reside with the least degree of prudence and 
 decency. Of that father I have really a much higher idea than I ever 
 had before ; in our domestic intimacy he cast away his gloom and 
 reserve ; 1 saw a great deal of his mind, and all that I saw is fair and 
 worthy. He was overwhelmed by the hurricane, he mistook his way 
 in the fog, but in such a perilous situation, I much doubt whether any 
 mortal could have seen or stood. In the meanwhile, he is abused by 
 all parties, and none of the French in Geneva will set their foot in his 
 house. He remembers Lord Sheffield with esteem ; his health is good, 
 and he would be tranquil in his private life, were not his spirits con- 
 tinually wounded by the arrival of txtry letter and every newspaper. 
 His sympathy is deeply interested by the fatal consequences of a revo- 
 lution, in which he had acted so leading a part ; and he feels as a 
 friend for the danger of M. de Lessart, who may be guilty in the eyes 
 of the Jacobins, or even of his judges, by those very actions and dis- 
 patches which would be most approved by all the lovers of his country. 
 What a momentous event is the Emperor's death ! In the forms of a 
 new reign, and of the Imperial election, the Democrats have at least
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBOA\ 143 
 
 gained time, if they knew how to use it. But the new monarch, 
 though of a weak complexion, is of a martial temper ; he loves the 
 soldiers, and is beloved by them ; and the slow fluctuating politics of his 
 uncle may be succeeded by a direct line of march to the gates of Stras- 
 bourg and Paris. It is the opinion of the master movers in France, 
 (I know it most certainly,) that their troops will not tight, that the 
 people have lost all sense of patriotism, and that on the first discharge 
 of an Austrian cannon the game is up. But what occasion for Austrians 
 or Spaniards ? the French are themselves their greatest enemies ; four 
 thousand Marseillois are marched against Aries a.nd A\'\gno\\,t\\Q t?'oupes 
 de lig7ie are divided between the two parties, and the flame of civil 
 war will soon extend over the southern provinces. You have heard of 
 the unworthy treatment of the Swiss regiment of Ernst. The canton 
 of Berne has bravely recalled them, with a stout letter to the King of 
 France, which must be inserted in all the papers. I now come to the 
 most unpleasant article, our home politics. Bosset and La Motte are 
 condemned to fine and twenty years' imprisonment in the fortress of 
 Arbourg. We have not yet received their official sentence, nor is it 
 believed that the proofs and proceedings against them will be published ; 
 an awkward circumstance, which it does not seem easy to justify. 
 Some (though none of note) are taken up, several are fled, many more 
 are suspected and suspicious. All are silent, but it is the silence of 
 fear and discontent ; and the secret hatred which rankled against 
 government begins to point against the few who are known to be well- 
 affected. I never knew any place so much changed as Lausaiine, 
 even since last year ; and though you will not be much obliged to me 
 for the motive, I begin very seriously to think of visiting Sheffield- 
 Place by the month of September next. Yet here again I am 
 frightened, by the dangers of a French, and the difficulties of a German, 
 route. You must send me an account of the passage from Dieppe to 
 Brighton, with an itinerary of the Rhine, distances, expences, (S:c. 
 As usual, I just save the post, nor have I time to read my letter, 
 which, after wasting the morning in deliberation, has been struck off 
 in a heat since dinner. No news of the Madeira. Your views of 
 S. P. are just received ; they arc admired, and shall be framed. 
 Severy has spent the carnival at Turin. Trevor is only the best man 
 in the world. 
 
 To tlie Same. Lausanne, May 30, 1792. 
 
 After the receipt of ^'owx penultimate, eight days ago, I expected, 
 with much impatience, the arrival of your next-promised epistle. It 
 arrived this morning, but has not completely answered my expectations. 
 I wanted, and I hoped for a full and fair picture of the present and 
 probable aspect of your political world, with which, at this distance, I 
 seem every day less satisfied. In the slave question you triumphed 
 last session, in this you have been defeated. What is the cause of this 
 alteration '> If it proceeded only from an impulse of humanity, I can- 
 not be displeased, even with an error ; since it is very likely that my 
 own vote (had I possessed one) would have been added to the majority. 
 But in this rage against slavery, in the numerous petitions against the 
 slave trade, was there no leaven of new democratical principles ? no
 
 144 THE SOCIAL WRECKS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIOfT. 
 
 wild ideas of the rights and natural equality of man ? It is these, I 
 fear. Some articles in newspapers, some pamphlets of the year, the 
 Jockey Club, have fallen into my hands. I do not infer much from 
 such publications ; yet I have never known them of so black and 
 malignant a cast. I shuddered at Grey's motion ; disliked the half- 
 support of Fox, admired the firmness of Pitt's declaration, and excused 
 the usual intemperance of Burke. Surely such men as * * *, * * *, 
 * * *, have talents for mischief. I see a club of reform which contains 
 some respectable names. Inform me of the professions, the principles, 
 the plans, the resources, of these reformers. Will they heat the minds 
 of the people? Does the French democracy gain no ground? Will 
 the bulk of your party stand firm to their own interest, and that of their 
 country ? Will you not take some active measures to declare your 
 sound opinions, and separate yourselves from your rotten members ? 
 If you allow them to perplex government, if you trifle with this solemn 
 business, if you do not resist the spirit of innovation in the first 
 attempt, if you admit the smallest and most specious change in our 
 parliamentary system, you are lost. You will be driven from one step 
 to another ; from principles just in theory, to consequences most per- 
 nicious in practice ; and your first concessions will be productive of 
 every subsequent mischief, for which you will be answerable to your 
 country and to posterity. Do not suffer yourselves to be lulled into a 
 false security ; remember the proud fabric of the French monarchy. 
 Not four years ago it stood founded, as it might seem, on the rock of 
 time, force, and opinion, supported by the triple aristocracy of the 
 church, the nobility, and the parliaments. They are crumbled into 
 dust ; they are vanished from the earth. If this tremendous warning 
 has no effect on the men of property in England ; if it does not open 
 every eye, and raise every arm, you will deserve your fate. If I am 
 too precipitate, enlighten ; if I am too desponding, encourage me. 
 
 My pen has run into this argument ; for, as much as a foreigner as 
 you think me, on this momentous subject, I feel myself an Englishman. 
 
 The pleasure of residing at Sheffield-Place is, after all, the first and 
 the ultimate object of my visit to my native country. But when or 
 how will that visit be effected ? Clouds and whirlwinds, Austrian 
 Croats and Gallic cannibals, seem on every side to impede my passage. 
 You seem to apprehend the perils or difficulties of the German road, 
 and French peace is more sanguinary than civilized war. I must 
 pass through, perhaps, a thousand republics or municipalities, which 
 neither obey, nor are obeyed. The strictness of passports, and the 
 popular ferment, are much increased since last summer : aristocrat 
 is in every mouth, lanterns hang in every street, and an hasty word, 
 or a casual resemblance, may be fatal. Yet, on the other hand, it is 
 probable that many English, men, women, and children, will traverse 
 the country without any accident before next September ; and I am 
 sensible that many things appear more formidable at a distance than 
 on a nearer approach. Without any absolute determination, we must 
 see what the events of the next three or four months will produce. In 
 the meanwhile, I shall expect with impatience your next letter : let it 
 be speedy ; my answer shall be prompt. 
 
 Vou will be glad, or sorry, to learn that my gloomy apprehensions
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 1 45 
 
 are much abated, and that my departure, whenever it takes place, 
 will be an act of choice, rather than of necessity. I do not pretend to 
 affirm, that secret discontent, dark suspicion, private animosity, are 
 very materially assuaged ; but we have not experience, nor do we now 
 apprehend, any dangerous acts of violence, which may compel me to 
 seek a refuge among the friendly Bears (Berne), and to abandon my 
 library to the mercy of the democrats. The firmness and vigour of 
 government have crushed, at least for a time, the spirit of innovation ; 
 and I do not believe that the body of the people, especially the pea- 
 sants, are disposed for a revolution. From France, praised be the 
 demon of anarchy ! the insurgents of the Pays de Vaud could not at 
 present have much to hope ; and should the gardes Jiationalcs, of which 
 there is little appearance, attempt an incursion, the country is armed 
 and prepared, and they would be resisted with equal numbers and 
 superior discipline. The Gallic wolves that prowled round Geneva are 
 drawn away, some to the south and some to the north, and the late 
 e\ents in Flanders seem to have diffused a general contempt, as well 
 as abhorrence, for the lawless savages, who fly before the enemy, hang 
 their prisoners, and murder their officers. The brave and patient regi- 
 ment of Ernest is expected home every day, and as Berne will take 
 them into present pay, that veteran and regular corps will add to the 
 security of our frontier. 
 
 I rejoice that we have so little to say on the subject of worldly 
 affairs. * * * This summer we are threatened with an inundation, 
 beside many nameless English and Irish ; but I am anxious for the 
 Duchess of Devonshire and the Lady Elizabeth Foster, who are on 
 their march. Lord Malmsbury, the audacieicx Harris, will inform you 
 that he has seen me : him I would have consented to keep. 
 
 One word more before we part ; call upon Mr. John Nicholls, book- 
 seller and Printer, at Cicero's Head, Red-Lion-Passage, Fleet-Street, 
 and ask him whether he did not, about the beginning of March, receive 
 a very polite letter from Mr. Gibbon of Lausanne ? To which, either 
 as a man of business or a civil gentleman, he should have returned an 
 answer. My application related to a domestic article in the Gentleman's 
 Magazine of August, 1788, (p. 698,) which had lately fallen into my hands, 
 and concerning which I requested some farther lights. Mrs. Moss 
 delivered the letters* into my hands, but I doubt whether they will be 
 of much service to me ; the work appears far more difficult in the 
 execution than in the idea, and as I am now taking my leave for some 
 time of the library, I shall not make much progress in the memoirs of 
 P. P. till I am on English ground. But is it indeed true, that I shall eat 
 any Sussex pheasants this autumn .'' The event is in the book of 
 Fate, and I cannot unroll the leaves of September and October. 
 Should I reach Sheffield-Place, I hope to find the whole family in a 
 perfect state of existence, except a certain Maria Holroyd, my fair 
 and generous correspondent, whose annihilation on proper terms I 
 most fervently desire. I must receive a copious answer before the 
 end of next month, June, and again call upon you for a map of your 
 political world. The chancellor roars ; does he break his chain 1 Vale, 
 
 • His letters to me for a certain period, which he desired me to send, to aasist him in writ- 
 ing ius Memoirs, is.
 
 146 MADAAfE DE STAEL — SWISS POLITICS, 
 
 To the Same. Lausanne, Aug-. 23, 1792, 
 
 When I inform you, that the design of my Enghsh expedition is at 
 last postponed till another year, you will not be much surprised. The 
 public obstacles, the danger of one road, and the difficulties of another, 
 would alone be sufficient to arrest so unwieldy and inactive a being ; 
 and these obstacles, on the side of France, are growing every day more 
 insuperable. On the other hand, the terrors which might have di'iven 
 me from hence have, in a great measure, subsided; our state-prisoners 
 are forgotten: the country begins to recover its old good humour and 
 unsuspecting confidence, and the last revolution of Paris appears to 
 have convinced almost everybody of the fatal consequences of demo- 
 cratical principles, which lead by a path of flowers into the abyss of 
 hell. I may therefore wait with patience and tranquillity till the Duke 
 of Brunswick shall have opened the French road. But if I am not 
 driven from Lausanne, you will ask, I hope with some indignation, 
 whether I am not drawn to England, and more especially to Sheffield- 
 Place ? The desire of embracing you and yours is now the strongest, 
 and must gradually become the sole, inducement that can force me 
 from my library and garden, over seas and mountains. The English 
 world will forget and be forgotten, and every year will deprive me of 
 some acquaintance, who by courtesy are styled friends : Lord Guild- 
 ford and Sir Joshua Reynolds ! two of the men, and two of the houses 
 in London, on whom I the most relied for the comforts of society. 
 
 Sept. 12, 1792. 
 Thus far had I written in the full confidence of finishing and send- 
 ing my letter the next post ; but six post-days have unaccountably 
 slipped away, and were you not accustomed to my silence, you would 
 almost begin to think me on the road. How dreadfully, since my last 
 date, has the French road been polluted with blood ! and what horrid 
 scenes may be acting at this moment, and may still be aggravated, till 
 the Duke of Brunswick is master of Paris ! On every rational principle 
 of calculation he must succeed ; yet sometimes, when my spirits are 
 low, I dread the blind efforts of mad and desperate multitudes fighting 
 on their own ground. A few days or weeks must decide the military 
 operations of this year, and perhaps for ever ; but on the fairest sup- 
 position, I cannot look forwards to any firm settlement, either of a legal 
 or an absolute government. I cannot pretend to give you any Paris 
 news. Should I inform you, as we believe, that Lally is still among 
 the cannibals, you would possibly answer, that he is now sitting in the 
 library at Sheffield. Madame de Stael, after miraculously escaping 
 through pikes and poignards, has reached the castle of Copet, where 1 
 shall see her before the end of the week. If anything can provoke the 
 King of Sardinia and the Swiss, it must be the foul destruction of his 
 cousin Madame de Lamballe, and of their regiment of guards. An 
 extraordinary council is summoned at Berne, bict resentment may be 
 checked by prudence. In spite of Maria's laughter, I applaud your 
 moderation, and sigh for a hearty union of all the sense and property 
 of the country. The times require it ; but your last political letter was 
 a cordial to mv spirits. The Duchess of D. rather dislikes a coalition ; 
 amiable creature] The Eliza fv/e call her Bess) is nu-n)us against you
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 47 
 
 for not writing. We shall lose them in a it^ days ; but the motions of 
 Bess and the Duchess for Italy or England are doubtful. Ladies 
 Spencer and Duncannon certainly pass the Alps. I live with them. 
 Adieu. Since I do not appear in person, I feel the absolute propriety 
 of writing to my lady and Maria ; but there is far from the knowledge 
 to the performance of a duty. Ever your's. 
 
 To the Same. Lausanne, Oct. 5, 1792. 
 
 As our English newspapers must have informed you of the invasion 
 of Savoy by the French, and as it is possible that you may have some 
 trifling apprehensions of my being killed and eaten by those cannibals, 
 it has appeared to me that a short extraordinary dispatch might not be 
 unacceptable on this occasion. It is indeed true, that about ten days 
 ago the French army of the South, under the command of i\I. de Mon- 
 tesquieu, (if any French army can be said to be under any command,) 
 has entered Savoy, and possessed themselves of Chamberry, Mont- 
 melian, and several other places. It has always been the practice of 
 the King of Sardinia to abandon his transalpine dominions ; but on 
 this occasion the court of Turin appears to have been surprised by the 
 strange eccentric motions of a democracy, which always acts from the 
 passion of the moment, and their inferior troops have retreated, with 
 some loss and disgrace, into the passes of the Alps. Mount Cenis is 
 now impervious, and our English travellers who are bound for Italy, 
 the Duchess of Devonshire, Ancaster, &c. will be forced to explore a 
 long circuitous road through the Tyrol. But the Chablais is yet intact, 
 nor can our telescopes discover the tricolor banners on the other side 
 of the lake. Our accounts of the French numbers seem to vary from 
 fifteen to thirty thousand men ; the regulars are few, but they are fol- 
 lowed by a rabble-rout, which must soon, however, melt away, as they 
 will find no plunder, and scanty subsistence, in the poverty and bar- 
 renness of Savoy. N.B. — I have just seen a letter from M. de Mon- 
 tesquieu, who boasts that at his first entrance into Savoy he had only 
 twelve battalions. Our intelligence is far from correct. 
 
 The magistrates of Geneva were alarmed by this dangerous neigh- 
 bourhood, and more especially by the well-known animosity of an 
 exiled citizen, Claviere, who is one of the six ministers of the French 
 republic. It was carried by a small majority in the General Council, 
 to call in the succour of three thousand Swiss, which is stipulated by 
 ancient treaty. The strongest reason or pretence of the minority, was 
 founded on the danger of provoking the French, and they seem to 
 have been justified by the event ; since the complaint of the French 
 resident amounts to a declaration of war. The fortifications of Geneva 
 are not contemptible, especially on the side of Savoy ; and it is much 
 doubted whether iNI. de Montesquieu is prepared for a regular siege ; 
 but the malcontents are numerous within the walls, and I question 
 whether the spirit of the citizens will hold out against a bombardment. 
 In the mean while the diet has declared that the first cannon fired 
 against Geneva will be considered as an act of hostility against the 
 whole Helvetic body. Berne, as the nearest and most powerful canton, 
 has taken the lead with great vigour and vigilance ; the road is filled 
 with the perpetual succession of troops and artillery ; and, if some
 
 148 THE GENE VO IS ALARMED BY THE FRENCH TROOPS. 
 
 disafl'ection lurks in the towns, the peasants, especially the Germans, 
 are inflamed with a strong desire of encountering the murderers of 
 their countrymen. M. de Watteville, with whom you dined at my 
 house last year, refused to accept the command of the Swiss succour 
 of Geneva, till it was made his first instruction that he should never, 
 in any case, surrender himself prisoner of war. 
 
 In this situation, you may suppose that we have some fears. I have 
 great dependence, however, on the many chances in our favour, the 
 valour of the Swiss, the return of the Piedmontese with their Austrian 
 allies, eight or ten thousand men from the Milanese, a diversion from 
 Spain, the great events (how slowly they proceed) on the side of Paris, 
 the inconstancy and want of discipline of the French, and the near 
 approach of the winter season. I am not nervous, but I will not be 
 rash. It will be painful to abandon my house and library ; but, if the 
 danger should approach, I will retreat before it, first to Berne, and 
 gradually to the North. Should I even be forced to take refuge in 
 England (a violent measure so late in the year), you would perhaps 
 receive me as kindly as you do the French priests — a noble act of hos- 
 pitality ! Could I have foreseen this storm, I would have been there 
 six weeks ago ; but who can foresee the wild measures of the savages 
 of Gaul ? We thought ourselves perfectly out of the hurricane latitudes. 
 Adieu. I am going to bed, and must rise early to visit the Neckers at 
 Rolle, whither they have retired, from the frontier situation of Copet. 
 Severy is on horseback, with his dragoons : his poor father is danger- 
 ously ill. It will be shocking if it should be found necessary to remove 
 him. While we are in this very awkward crisis, I will write at least 
 every week. Ever yours. Write instantly, and remember all my 
 commissions. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 I WILL keep my promise of sending you a weekly journal of our 
 troubles, that, when the piping times of peace ai-e restored, I may sleep 
 in long and irreproachable silence : but I shall use a smaller paper, as 
 our military exploits will seldom be sufficient to fill the ample size of 
 our English quarto. 
 
 Oct. 13, 1792. 
 
 Since my last of the 6th, our attack is not more eminent, and our 
 defence is most assuredly stronger, two veiy important circumstances, 
 at a time when every day is leading us, though not so fast as our 
 impatience could wish, towards the unwarlike month of November ; 
 and we observe with pleasure that the troops of M. de Montesquieu, 
 which are chiefly from the Southern Provinces, will not cheerfully 
 entertain the rigor of an Alpine winter. The 7th instant, M. de Cha- 
 teauneuf, the French resident, took his leave with an haughty mandate, 
 commanding the Genevois, as they valued their safety and the friend- 
 ship of the republic, to dismiss their Swiss allies, and to punish the 
 magistrates who had traitorously proposed the calling in these foreign 
 troops. It is precisely the fable of the wolves, who oftered to make 
 peace with the sheep, provided they would send away their dogs. You 
 know what became of the sheep. This demand appears to have 
 kindled a just and general indignation, since it announced an edict oi
 
 A UTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF ED WARD GiB BON". 1 49 
 
 proscription ; and must lead to a democratical revolution, which would 
 probably renew the horrid scenes of Paris and Avignon. A general 
 assembly of the citizens was convened, the message was read, speeches 
 were made, oaths were taken, and it was resolved (with only three 
 dissentient voices) to live and die in the defence of their country. The 
 Genevois muster about three thousand well-armed citizens ; and the 
 Swiss, who may easily be increased (in a few hours) to an equal num- 
 ber, add spirit to the timorous, and confidence to the well-affected : 
 their arsenals are filled with arms, their magazines with ammunition. 
 and their granaries with corn. But their fortifications are extensive 
 and imperfect, they are commanded from two adjacent hills ; a French 
 faction lurks in the city, the character of the Genevois is rather com- 
 mercial than military, and their behaviour, lofty promise, and base 
 surrender, in the year 1782, is fresh in our memories. In the mean 
 while, 4000 French at the most are arrived in the neighbouring camp, 
 nor is there yet any appearance of mortars or heavy artillery. Perhaps 
 an haughty menace may be repelled by a firm countenance. If it were 
 worth while talking of justice, what a shameful attack of a feeble, 
 unoffending state ! On the news of their danger, all Switzerland, from 
 Schaffouse to the Pays de Vaud, has risen in arms ; and a French 
 resident, who has passed through the countr)', in his way from Ratisbon, 
 declares his intention of informing and admonishing the National 
 Convention. About eleven thousand Bernois are already posted in the 
 neighbourhood of Copet and Nyon ; and new r':inforcements of men, 
 artillery, &c. arrive every day. Another army is drawn together to 
 oppose jNI. de Ferrieres, on the side of Bienne and the bishopric of 
 Basle ; and the Austrians in Swabia would be easily persuaded to cross 
 the Rhine in our defence. But we are yet ignorant whether our sove- 
 reigns mean to wage an offensive or defensive war. If the latter, 
 which is more likely, will the French begin the attack ? Should Genoa 
 yield to fear or force, this country is open to an invasion ; and though 
 our men are brave, we want generals ; and I despise the French much 
 less than I did two months ago. It should seem that our hopes from 
 the King of Sardinia and the Austrians of Milan are faint and distant ; 
 Spain sleeps ; and the Duke of Brunswick (amazement !) seems to 
 have failed in his great project. For my part, till Geneva falls, I do 
 not think of a retreat ; but at all events, I am provided with two strong 
 horses, and an hundred Louis in gold. Zurich would be probably my 
 winter quarters, and the society of the Neckers would make any place 
 agreeable. Their situation is worse than mine : I have no daughter 
 ready to lie in ; nor do I fear the French aristocrats on the road. 
 Adieu. Keep my letters. Excuse contradictions and repetitions. The 
 Duchess of Devonshire leaves us next week. Lady Elizabeth abhors 
 you. Ever yours. 
 
 To the Same. Oct. 20, 1792, 
 
 Since my last, our affairs take a more pacific turn ; but I will not 
 venture to affirm that our peace will be either safe or honourable. 
 M. de Montesquieu and three commissioners of the Convention, who 
 are at Carrouge, have had frequent conferences with the magistrates 
 of Geneva ; several expresses have been dispatched to and from Paris, 
 
 L
 
 150 SUCCESS OF THE TROOPS OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC. 
 
 and every step of the negotiation is communicated to the deputies of 
 Berne aud Zurich. The French troops observe a very tolerable degree 
 of order and discipline ; and no act of hostility has yet been committed 
 on the territory of Geneva. 
 
 Oct. 27. 
 
 My usual temper very readily admitted the excuse, that it would be 
 better to wait another week, till the final settlement of our affairs. 
 The treaty is signed between France and Geneva ; and the ratification 
 of the Convention is looked upon as assured, if any thing can be 
 assured in that wild democracy. On condition that the Swiss garrison, 
 with the approbation of Berne and Zurich, be recalled before the first 
 of December, it is stipulated that the independence of Geneva shall 
 be preserved inviolate ; that M. de Montesquieu shall immediately 
 send away his heavy artillery ; and that no French troops shall 
 approach within ten leagues of the city. As the Swiss have acted 
 only as auxiliaries, they have no occasion for a direct treaty ; but they 
 cannot prudently disarm, till they are satisfied of the pacific intentions 
 of France ; and no such satisfaction can be given till they have 
 acknowledged the new republic, which they will probably do in a few 
 days, with a deep groan of indignation and sorrow ; it has been 
 cemented with the blood of their countrymen ! But when the Emperor, 
 the King of Prussia, the first general, and the first army in Europe 
 have failed, less powerful states may acquiesce, without dishonour, in 
 the determination of fortune. Do you understand this most unex- 
 pected failure ? I will allow an ample share to the badness of the 
 roads and the weather, to famine and disease, to the skill of Dumourier, 
 a heaven-born general ! and to the enthusiastic ardour of the new 
 Romans ; but still, still there must be some secret and shameful cause 
 at the bottom of this strange retreat. We are now delivered from the 
 impending terrors of siege and invasion. The Geneva emigres, par- 
 ticularly the Neckers, are hastening to their homes ; and I shall not 
 be reduced to the hard necessity of seeking a winter asylum at Zurich 
 or Constance : but I am not pleased with our future prospects. It is 
 much to be feai'ed that the present government of Geneva will be soon 
 modelled after the French fashion ; the new republic of Savoy is 
 forming on the opposite bank of the Lake ; the Jacobin missionaries 
 are powerful and zealous ; and the malcontents of this country, who 
 begin again to rear their heads, will be surrounded with temptations, 
 and examples, and allies. I know not whether the Pays de Vaud will 
 long adhere to the dominion of Berne ; or whether I shall be per- 
 mitted to end my days in this little paradise, which I have so happily 
 suited to my taste and circumstances. 
 
 Last Monday only I received your letter, which had strangely loitered 
 on the road since its date of the 29th of September. There must 
 surely be some disoider in the posts, since the Eliza departed indignant 
 at never having heard from you. 
 
 The case of my wine I think peculiarly hard : to lose my Madeira, 
 and to be scolded for losing it. I am much indebted to Mr. Nichols 
 for his genealogical communications, which I am impatient to receive; 
 but I do not understand why so civil a gentleman could not favour me,,
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIB BOM. 15I 
 
 in six months, with an answer by the post : since he entrusts me with 
 these valuable papers, you have not, I presume, informed him of my 
 negligence and awkwardness in regard to manuscripts. Your reproach 
 rather surprises me, as I suppose 1 am much the same as I have been 
 for these last twenty years. Should you hold your resolution of 
 Avriting only such things as may be published at Charing Cross, our 
 future correspondence would not be ver)^ interesting. But I expect and 
 require, at this important crisis, a full and confidential account of your 
 views concerning England, Ireland, and France. You have a strong 
 and clear eye ; and your pen is, perhaps, the most useful quill that 
 ever has been plucked from a goose. Your protection of the French 
 refugees is highly applauded. Rosset and La Motte hav^o escaped 
 from Arbourg, perhaps with connivance to avoid disagreeable demands 
 from the republic. Adieu. Ever yours. 
 
 To the Same. Nov. 10, 1792. 
 
 Received this day, November 9th, a most amiable dispatch from 
 the too humble secretary (Miss Holroyd), of the family of Espee 
 (meaning Sheffield-Place), dated October 24th, which I answer the 
 same day. It will be acknowledged, that I have fulfilled my engage- 
 ments with as much accuracy as our uncertain state and the fragility 
 of human nature would allow. I resume my narrative. At the time 
 when we imagined that all was settled, by an equal treaty between two 
 such imequal powers, as the Geneva Flea and the Leviathan France, 
 we were thunderstruck with the intelligence that the ministers of the 
 republic refused to ratify the conditions ; and they were indignant, 
 with some colour of reason, at the hard obligation of withdrawing their 
 troops to the distance of ten leagues, and of consequently leaving the 
 Pays de Gez naked, and exposed to the Swiss, who had assembled 
 15,000 men on the frontier, and with whom they had not made any 
 agreement. The messenger who was sent last Sunday from Geneva 
 is not yet returned ; and many persons are afraid of some design and 
 danger in this delay. Montesquieu has acted with politeness, mode- 
 ration, and apparent sincerity ; but he may resign, he may be super- 
 seded, his place may be occupied by an enrage, by Servan, or Prince 
 Charles of Hesse, who would aspire to imitate the predatory fame of 
 Custine in Germany. In the mean while, the General holds a wolf by 
 the ears ; an officer who has seen his troops, about 1 8,000 men (with 
 a tremendous train of artillery), represents them as a black, daring, 
 desperate crew of buccaneers, rather shocking than contemptible ; the 
 officers (scarcely a gentleman among them), without servants, or horses, 
 or baggage, lying higgled}' piggledy on the ground with the common 
 men, yet maintaining a rough kind of discipline over them. They 
 already begin to accuse and even to suspect their general, and call 
 aloud for blood and plunder : could they have an opportunity of 
 squeezing some of the rich citizens, Geneva would cut up as fat as 
 most towns in Europe. During this suspension of hostilities they are 
 permitted to visit the city without arms, sometimes three or four hun- 
 dred at a time ; and the magistrates, as well as the Swiss commander, 
 are by no means pleased with this dangerous intercourse, which they 
 dare not prohibit. Such are our fears : yet it should seem on. the
 
 1 5 2 MISERIES OF THE FRENCH EMIGRES. 
 
 other side, that the French affect a kind of magnanimous justice 
 towards their Httle neighbour, and that they are not ambitious of an 
 unprofitable contest witli the poor and hardy Swiss. The Swiss are 
 not equal to a long and expensive war ; and as most of our militia have 
 families and trades, the country already sighs for their return. What- 
 ever can be yielded, without absolute danger or disgrace, will doubtless 
 be granted ; and the business will probably end in our owning the 
 sovereignty, and trusting to the good faith of the republic of France : 
 how that word would have sounded four years ago ! The measure is 
 humiliating ; but after the retreat of the Duke of Brunswick, and the 
 failure of the Austrians, the smaller powers may acquiesce without dis- 
 honour. Every dog has his day ; and these Gallic dogs have their 
 day, at least, of most insolent prosperity. After forcing or tempting 
 the Prussians to evacuate their country, they conquer Savoy, pillage 
 Germany, threaten Spain : the Low Countries are ere now invaded ; 
 Rome and Italy tremble ; they scour the Mediterranean, and talk of 
 sending a squadron into the South Sea. The whole horizon is so black, 
 that 1 begin to feel some anxiety for England, the last refuge of liberty 
 and law ; and the more so, as I perceive from Lord Sheffield's last 
 epistle that his firm nerves are a little shaken : but of this more in my 
 next, for I want to unburthen my conscience. If England, with the 
 experience of our happiness and French calamities, should now be 
 seduced to eat the apple of false freedom, we should indeed deserve to 
 be driven from the paradise which we enjoy. I turn aside from the 
 horrid and improbable (yet not impossible) supposition, that, in three 
 or four years' time, myself and my best friends may be reduced to the 
 deplorable state of the French emigrants : they thought it as impossible 
 three or four years ago. Never did a revolution affect, to such a 
 degree, the private existence of such numbers of the first people of a 
 great country: your examples of misery I could easily match with 
 similar examples in this country and the neighbourhood ; and our 
 sympathy is the deeper, as we do not possess, like you, the means of 
 alleviating, in some degree, the misfortunes of the fugitives. But I 
 must have, from the very excellent pen of the Maria, the tragedy of 
 the Archbishop of Aries ; and the longer the better. Madame de Biron 
 has probably been tempted by some faint and (I fear) fallacious pro- 
 mises of clemency to the women, and which have likewise engaged 
 Madame d'Aguesseau and her two daughters to revisit France. 
 Madame de Bouillon stands her ground, and her situation as a foreign 
 princess is less exposed. As Lord S. has assumed the glorious 
 character of protector of the distressed, his name is pronounced with 
 gratitude and respect. The D. of Richmond is praised, on Madame 
 de Biron's account. To the Princess d'Henin, and Lally, I wish to be 
 remembered. The Neckers cannot venture into Geneva, and Madame 
 de Stael will probably lie in at Rolle. He is printing a defence of the 
 King, &c. against their republican Judges ; but the name of Necker is 
 unpopular to all parties, and I much fear that the guillotine will be 
 more speedy than the press. It will, however, be an eloquent per- 
 formance ; and, if I find an opportunity, I am to send you one, to you 
 Lord S. by his particular desire : he wishes likewise to convey some 
 copies with speed to our principal people, Pitt, Fox. 1-ord Stormont, &c.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBO.V. 1 53 
 
 But such is the rapid succession of events, that it will appear like the 
 
 Poicvoir Exeadif, his best work, after the whole scene has been totally 
 
 changed. Ever yours. 
 
 P.S. The revolution of France, and my triple dispatch by the same 
 
 post to Sheffield-Place, arc, in my opinion, the two most singular 
 
 events in the eighteenth century. I found the task so easy and 
 
 pleasant, that I had some thoughts of adding a letter to the gentle 
 
 Louisa. I am this moment informed, that our troops on the 
 
 frontier are beginning to move, on their return home ; yet we 
 
 hear nothing of the treaty's being concluded. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Hon. Miss Holroyd. 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. 10, 1792. 
 
 In dispatching the weekly political journal to Lord. S. my conscience 
 (for I have some remains of conscience) most powerfully urges me to 
 salute, with some lines of friendship and gratitude, the amiable secre- 
 tary, who might save herself the trouble of a modest apology. I have 
 not yet forgotten our different behaviour after the much lamented 
 separation of October the 4th, 1791, your meritorious punctuality, and 
 my unworthy silence. I have still Isefore me that entertaining nar- 
 rative, which would have interested me, not only in the progress of 
 the carissi/ua fa/nilia, but in the motions of a Tartar camp, or the 
 march of a caravan of Arabs ; the mixture of just observation and 
 lively imagery, the strong sense of a man, expressed with the easy 
 elegance of a female. I still recollect with pleasure the happy com- 
 parison of the Rhine, who had heard so much of liberty on both his 
 banks, that he wandered with mischievous licentiousness over all the 
 adjacent meadows.* The inundation, alas ! has now spread much 
 wider ; and it is sadly to be feared that the Elbe, the Po, and the 
 Danube, may imitate the vile example of the Rhine : I shall be content, 
 however, if our own Thames still preserves his fair character, of 
 Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. 
 
 These agreeable epistles of Maria produced only some dumb inten- 
 tions, and some barren remorse ; nor have I designed, except by a brief 
 missive from my chancellor, to express how much I loved the author, 
 and how much I was pleased with the composition. That amiable 
 author I have known and loved from the first dawning of her life and 
 coquetry, to the present maturity of her talents ; and as long as I 
 remain on this planet, I shall pursue, with the same tender and even 
 anxious concern, the future steps of her establishment and life. That 
 establishment must be splendid ; that life must be happy. She is 
 endowed with every gift of nature and fortune ; but the advantage 
 which she will derive from them, depends almost entirely on herself. 
 You must not, you shall not, think yourself unworthy to write to any 
 man : there is none whom your correspondence would not amuse and 
 satisfy. I will not undertake a task, which my taste would adopt, and 
 my indolence would too soon relinquish ; but I am really curious, from 
 the best motives, to have a particular account of your own studies and 
 
 • Mr. Gibbon alludes to letters written by him to Miss Holroyd, when she was retuniing 
 from Switzerland, along the Rhine, to Kagland. S.
 
 154 HORRID ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE AUX CARMES. 
 
 daily occupation. What books do you read ? and how do you employ 
 your time and your pen ? Except some professed scholars, I have 
 often observed that women in general read much more than men ; but, 
 for want of a plan, a method, a fixed object, their reading is of little 
 benefit to themselves, or others. If you will infgrm me of the species 
 of reading to which you have the most propensity, I shall be happy to 
 contribute my share of advice or assistance. I lament that you have 
 not left me some monument of your pencil. Lady Elizabeth Foster 
 has executed a very pretty drawing, taken from the door of the green- 
 house where we dined last summer, and including the poor Acacia 
 (now recovered from the cruel shears of the gardener), the end of the 
 terrace, the front of the Pavilion, and a distant view of the country, 
 lake, and mountains. I am almost reconciled to d'Apples' house, which 
 is nearly finished. Instead of the monsters which Lord Hercules 
 Sheffield extirpated, the terrace is already shaded with the new acacias 
 and plantanes ; and although the uncertainty of possession restrains 
 me from building, I myself have planted a bosquet at the bottom of 
 the garden, with such admirable skill that it affords shade without 
 intercepting prospect. The society of the aforesaid EHza, commonly 
 called Bess, of the Duchess of D. &c. has been very interesting ; but 
 they are now flown beyond the Alps, and pass the winter at Pisa. The 
 Legards, who have long since left this place, should be at present in 
 Italy; but I believe Mrs. Grimstone and her daughter returned to 
 England. The Levades are highly flattered by your remembrance. 
 Since you still retain some attachment to this delightful country, and 
 it is indeed delightful, why should you despair of seeing it once more .'' 
 The happy peer or commoner, whose name you may assume, is still 
 concealed in the book of fate : but, whosoever he may be, he will 
 
 cheerfully obey your commands, of leading you from Castle 
 
 to Lausanne, and from Lausanne to Rome and Naples. Before that 
 event takes place, I may possibly see you in Sussex ; and, whether as 
 a visitor or a fugitive, I hope to be welcomed with a friendly embrace. 
 The delay of this year was truly painful, but it was inevitable ; and 
 individuals must submit to those storms which have overtui^ned the 
 thrones of the earth. The tragic story of the Archbishop of Aries I 
 have now somewhat a better right to require at your hands. I wish to 
 have it in all its horrid details*; and as you are now so much mingled 
 
 * The Answer to Mr. Gibbon's Letter is annexed, as giving the best account I have seen of 
 the barbarous transaction alluded to. S. 
 
 Sheffield-Pl,a.ce, November 1791. 
 
 "Your three letters received yesterday caused the most sincere pleasure to each individual 
 of this family; to none more than myself. Praise, (I fear, beyond my deserts,) from one 
 whose opinion I so highly value, and whose esteem I so much wish to preserve, is more pleasing 
 than I can describe. I had nut neglected to make the collection of facts which you recom- 
 mend, and which the great variety of unfortunate persons whom we see, or with whom we 
 correspond, enables me to make. 
 
 " As to tliat part of your letter which respects my studies, I can only say, the slightest hint 
 on that subject is always received with the greatest gratitude, and attended to with the utmost 
 punctuality ; but I must decline that topic for the present, to obey your commands, which 
 require from me the horrid account of the massacre aux Car/nes. — Eight respectable eccle- 
 siastics landed, about the beginning of October, from an open boat at Seaford, wet as the 
 waves. The natives of the coast were endeavouring to get from them what they had not, (viz.) 
 money, when a gentleman of the neighbourhood came to their protection; and, finding they 
 had nothing, shewed his good sense, by dispatching them to Milord Sheffield : they had been 
 pilhaged, and with great difficulty had escaped from Paris. The reception they met with at 
 this house, seemed to make the greatest impression on them ; they were in extacy on finding
 
 A UTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF ED IVARD GIBBOM. 1 5 5 
 
 with the French exiles, I am of opinion, that were you to keep a 
 journal of all the authentic facts which they relate, it would be an 
 agreeable exercise at present, and a future source of entertainment and 
 instruction. 
 
 I should be obliged to you, if you would make, or find, some excuse 
 for my not answering a letter from your aunt, which was presented to 
 me by Mr. Fowler. I shewed him some civilities, but he is now a poor 
 invalid, confined to his room. By her channel and yours I should be 
 glad to have some information of the health, spirits, and situation of 
 Mrs. Gibbon of Bath, whose alarms (if she has any) you may dispel. 
 She is in my debt. Adieu ; most truly yours. 
 
 M. de L.illy living: they gradually became cheerful, and enjoyed their dinner: they were 
 greatly aflected as they recollected themselves, and found us attending on them. Having 
 dined, and drank a glass of wine, they began to discover the beauties of the dining-room, and 
 of the chateau : as they walked about, they were overheard to express their admiration at the 
 treatment they met, and/rijw Protestants. We then assembled in the library, formed half a 
 circle round the lire, M. de I. ally and Milord occupying the hearth a l' Atigloise, and ques- 
 tioning the priests concerning their escape. Thus we discovered, that two of these unfortunate 
 men were in the Carmelite Convent at the time of the massacre of the one hundred and twenty 
 priests, ,>nd had most miraculously escaped, by climbing trees in the garden, and from tlience 
 over the tops of the buildings. One of ihem, a man of superior appearance, described, in the 
 most pathetic manner, the death of the Archbishop of Aries, (and with such simplicity and 
 feeling, as to leave no doubt of the truth of all that he said,) to the following purport.— On 
 the second of September, about five o'clock in the evening, at the time they were permitted to 
 walk in the garden, expecting every hour to be released, they expressed their surprise at 
 seeing several large pits, which had been digging for two days past : they said, the day is 
 almost spent ; and yet INIannel told a person who interceded for us last Thursday, that on the 
 Sunday following not one should remain in captivity : we are still prisoners : soon after, they 
 heard shouts, and some musquet-shots. An ensign of the national guard, some commissaries 
 of the sections, and some Marseillois rushed in: the miserable victims, who were dispersed in 
 the garden, assembled under the walls of the church, not daring to go in, lest it should be 
 polluted with blood. One man, who was behind the rest, was shot. ' Point ite coup de fusils' 
 cried one of the chiefs of the assassins, thinking that kind of death too easy. These well- 
 trained fusileers went to the rear ; les piques, les baches, les poignards came forward. They 
 demanded the Archbishop of Aries ; he was immediately surrounded by all the priests. The 
 worthy prelate said to his friends, ' Let me pass ; if my blood will appease them, what signifies 
 it, if I die? Is it not my duty to preserve your lives at the expence of my own?' He asked 
 the eldest of the priests to give him absolution : he knelt to receive it ; and when he arose, 
 forced himself from them, advanced slowly, and with his arms crossed upon his breast, and 
 his eyes raised to heaven, sair\ to the assassins, ' Je siiis celui que vous cherckez.' His appear- 
 ance was so dignified and noble, that, during ten minutes, not one of these wretches had 
 courage to lift his hand against him : they upbraided each other with cowardice, and advanced ; 
 one look from this venerable man struck them with awe, and they retired. At last, one of the 
 miscreants struck off the cap of the Archbishop with a pike ; respect once violated, their fury 
 returned, and another from behind cut him through the skull with a sabre. He raised his 
 right hand to his eyes : with another stroke they cut off his hand. The Archbishop said, Ol 
 inon Dieu ! and raised the other : a third stroke across the face left him sitting ; the fourth 
 extended him lifeless on the ground ; and then all pressed forward, snd buried their pikes and 
 poignards in the body. The priests all agreed, that he had been one of the most amiable men 
 in France ; and that his only crime was, having, since the revolution, expended his private 
 fortune, to support the necessitous clergy of his diocese. The second victim was the General 
 des Bencdictins. Then the national guards obliged the priests to go into the church, telling 
 them, they should appear, one after another, before the Commissaires du section' They had 
 hardly entered, before the people impatiently called for them ; upon which, all kneeling before 
 the altar, the Bishop of Beauvais gave them absolution : they were then obliged to go out, 
 two by two ; they passed before a commissaire, who did not question, but only counted, his 
 victims ; they had in their sight the heaps of dead, to which they were gomg to add. Among 
 the one hundred and twenty priests thus sacrificed, were the Bishops of Zaintes and Beauvais 
 (both of the Rochefoucauld family). I should not omit to remark, that one of the priests 
 observed they were assassinated, because they would not swear to a constitution which their 
 murderers had destroyed. We had (to comfort us for this melancholy story) the most grateful 
 expressions of gratitude towards the English nation, from whom they did not do us the justice 
 to expect such a reception. 
 
 "There can be no doubt that the whole business of the massacres was concerted at a meeting 
 at the Duke of Orlean's house. I shall make you as dismal as myself by this narration. I 
 must change the style." * * *
 
 156 THE TRAGICAL ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH EMPIRE. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lady Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, November 10, 1792. 
 
 I could never forgive myself, were I capable of writing by the same 
 post, a political epistle to the father, and a friendly letter to the daughter, 
 without sending any token of remembrance to the respectable matron, 
 my dearest my Lady, whom I have now loved as a sister for something 
 better or worse than twenty years. No, indeed, the historian may be 
 careless, he may be indolent, he may always intend and never execute, 
 but he is neither a monster nor a statue ; he has a memory, a con- 
 science, a heart, and that heart is sincerely devoted to Lady S . 
 
 He must even acknowledge the fallacy of a sophism which he has 
 sometimes used, and she has always and most truly denied ; that where 
 the persons of a family are strictly united, the writing to one is in fact 
 writing to all ; vmd that consequently all his numerous letters to the 
 husband, may be considered as equally addressed to his vvife. He 
 feels, on the contrary, that separate minds have their distinct ideas 
 and sentiments, and that each character, either in speaking or writing, 
 has its peculiar tone of conversation. He agrees with the maxim of 
 Rousseau, that three friends who wish to disclose a common secret, 
 will impart it orA-^ deux a deuxj and he is satisfied that, on the present 
 memorable occasion, each of the persons of the Sheffield family will 
 claim a peculiar share in this triple missive, which will communicate, 
 however, a triple satisfaction. The experience of what may be effected 
 by vigorous resolution, encourages the historian to hope that he shall 
 cast the skin of the old serpent, and hereafter show himself a new 
 creature. 
 
 I lament, on all our accounts, that the last year's expedition to Lau- 
 sanne did not take place in a golden period, of health and spirits. 
 But we must reflect, that human felicity is seldom without alloy ; and 
 if we cannot indulge the hope of your making a second visit to Lau- 
 sanne, we must look forwards to my residence next summer at Sheffield- 
 Place, where I must find you in the full bloom of health, spirits, and 
 beauty. I can perceive, by all public and private intelligence, that 
 your house has been the open hospitable asylum of French fugitives ; 
 and it is a sufficient proof of the firmness of your nerves, that you have 
 not been overwhelmed or agitated by such a concourse of strangers. 
 Curiosity and compassion may, in some degree, have supported you. 
 Every day has presented to your view, some new scene of that strange 
 tragical romance, which occupies all Europe so infinitely beyond any 
 event that has happened in our time, and you have the satisfaction of 
 not being a mere spectator of the distress of so many victims of false 
 liberty. The benevolent fame of Lord S. is widely diffused. 
 
 From Angletine's last letter to Maria, you have already some idea of 
 the melancholy state of her poor father. As long as M. de Severy 
 allowed our hopes and fears to fluctuate with the changes of his dis- 
 order, I was unwilling to say anything on so painful a subject ; and it 
 is with the deepest concern that I now confess our absolute despair of 
 his recovery. All his particular complaints are now lost in a general 
 dissolution of the whole frame ; every principle of life is exhausted, and 
 as often as I am admitted to his bedside, though he still looks and 
 smiles with the patience of an angel, I have the heart-felt grief ol
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 157 
 
 seeing him each day drawing nearer to the term of his existence. A 
 few weeks, possibly a few days, will deprive me of a most excellent 
 friend, and break for ever the most perfect system of domestic happi- 
 ness, in which I had so large and intimate a share. Wilhelm (who 
 has obtained leave of absence from his military duty) and his sister 
 behave and feel like tender and dutiful children ; but they have a long 
 gay prospect of life; and new connections, new families will make 
 them forget, in due time, the common lot of mortality. But it is 
 Madame de Severy whom I truly pity ; I dread the effects of the first 
 shock, and I dread still more the deep perpetual consuming affliction 
 for a loss which can never be retrieved. You will not wonder that 
 such reflections sadden my own mind, nor can I forget how much my 
 situation is altered since I retired, nine years ago, to the banks of the 
 Leman Lake. The death of poor Deyverdun first deprived me oi a 
 domestic companion, who can never be supplied ; and your visit has 
 only served to remind me that man, however amused and occupied in 
 his closet, was not made to live alone. Severy will soon be no more ; 
 his widow for a long time, perhaps for ever, will be lost to herself and 
 her friends, the son will travel, and I shall be left a stranger in the 
 insipid circle of mere common acquaintance. The revolution of 
 France, which first embittered and divided the society of Lausanne, 
 has opposed a barrier to my Sussex visit, and may finally expel me 
 from the paradise which I inhabit. Even that paradise, the expen- 
 sive and delightful establishment of my house, library, and garden, 
 almost becomes an incumbrance, by rendering it more difficult for me 
 to relinquish my hold, or to form a new system of life in my native 
 country, for which my income, though improved and improving, would 
 be probably insufficient. But every complaint should be silenced by 
 the contemplation of the French ; compared with whose cruel late, all 
 misery is relative happiness. I perfectly concur in your partiality for 
 Lally ; though Nature might forget some meaner ingredients, of pru- 
 dence, oeconomy, &c. she never formed a purer heart, or a brighter 
 imagination. If he be with you, I beg my kuidest salutations to him. 
 I am every day more closely united with the Neckers. Should 
 P'rance break, and this country be over-run, they would be reduced, in 
 very humble circumstances, to seek a refuge ; and where but in 
 England .'* Adieu, dear Madam, there is, indeed, much pleasure in 
 discharging one's heart to a retil iriend. Ever yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Rii^ht Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 [Send me a List of these Letters, with their respective dates.] 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. 25, 1792. 
 After the triple labour of my last dispatch, your experience of the 
 creature might tempt j-ou to suspect that it would again relapse into a 
 long slumber. But, partly from the spirit 01 contradiction, (though I 
 am not a lady,) and partly from the ease and pleasure which I now find in 
 the task, you see me again alive, awake, and almost faithful to my hebdo- 
 madal promise. The last week has not, however, afforded any events 
 deserving the notice of an historian. Our affairs are still floating on 
 the waves of the convention, and the ratification of a corrected treaty, 
 which had been fixed for the twentieth, is not yet arrived ; but the
 
 1 5 S THE FRENCH ARMY DkSER TED B Y THEIR GENERAL. ' 
 
 report of the diplomatic committee has been favourable, and it is gene- 
 rally understood that the leaders of the French republic do not wish 
 to quarrel with the Swiss. We are gradually withdrawing and disband- 
 ing our militia. Geneva will be left to sink or swim, according to the 
 humour of the people ; and our last hope appears to be, that by sub- 
 mission and good behaviour we shall avert for some time the impending 
 storm. A few days ago an odd accident happened in the French 
 army ; the desertion of the general. As the Neckers were sitting, 
 about eight o'clock in the evening, in their drawing-room at Rolle,* 
 the door flew open, and they were astounded by their servant's announ- 
 cing ]Mo7isieu7- le Geiie?'al de Montesqideic ? On the receipt of some 
 secret intelligence of a decret d'accusatwfi, and an order to arrest him, 
 he had only time to get on horseback, to gallop through Geneva, to 
 take boat for Copet, and to escape from his pursuers, who were ordered 
 to seize him alive or dead. He left the Neckers after supper, passed 
 through Lausanne in the night, and proceeded to Berne and Basle, 
 whence he intended to wind his way through Gei'many, amidst enemies 
 of every description, and to seek a refuge in England, America, or the 
 moon. He told Necker, that the sole remnant of his fortune consisted 
 in a wretched sum of twenty thousand livres ; but the public report, or 
 suspicion, bespeaks him in much better circumstances. Besides the 
 reproach of acting with too much tameness and delay, he is accused of 
 making very foul and exorbitant contracts ; and it is certain that new 
 Sparta is infected with this vice, beyond the example of the most cor- 
 rupt monarchy. Kellerman is arrived, to take the command ; and it 
 is apprehended that on the first of December, after the departure of 
 the Swiss, the French may request the permission of using Geneva, a 
 friendly city, for their winter quarters. In that case, the democratical 
 revolution, which we all foresee, will be very speedily effected. 
 
 I would ask you, whether you apprehend there was any treason in 
 the Duke of Brunswick's retreat, and whether you have totally with- 
 drawn your confidence and esteem from that once-'", .ned general ? 
 Will it be possible for England to preserve her neutrality with any 
 honour or safety? We are bound, as I understand, by treaty, to 
 guarantee the dominions of the King of Sardinia and the Austrian 
 provinces of the Netherlands. These countries are now invaded and 
 over-run by the French. Can we refuse to fulfil our engagements, 
 without exposing ourselves to all Europe as a perfidious or pusillanim- 
 ous nation .-' Yet, on the other hand, can we assist those allies, with- 
 out plunging headlong into an abyss, whose bottom no man can 
 discover .-' But my chief anxiety is for our domestic tranquillity ; for 
 I must find a retreat in England, should I be driven from Lausanne. 
 The idea of firm and honourable union of parties pleases me much ; 
 but you must frankly unfold what are the great difficulties that may 
 impede so salutary a measure : you write to a man discreet in speech, 
 and now careful of napers. Yet what can such a coalition avail ? 
 Where is the champio. of the constitution ? Alas, Lord Guildford ! 
 I am much pleased with the Manchester Ass. The asses or wolves 
 who sacrified him have cast off the mask too soon ; and such a non- 
 sensical act must open the eyes of many simple patriots, who might 
 * A considerable town between Lausanne and Geneva.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OE EDWARD GIBBON. 1 59 
 
 have been led astray by the specious name of reform. It should be 
 made as notorious as possible. Next winter may be the crisis of our 
 fate, and if you begin to improve the constitution, you may be driven 
 step by step from the disfranchisement of old Sarum to the King in 
 Newgate, the Lords voted useless, the Bishops abolished, and a House 
 of Commons without articles {sans culottes). Necker has ordered you 
 a copy of his royal defence, which has met with, and deserved, uni- 
 versal success. The pathetic and argumentative parts are, in my 
 opinion, equally good, and his mild eloquence may persuade without 
 irritating. I have applied to this gentler tone some verses of Ovid, 
 (Metamorph. 1. iii. 302, &c.*) which you may read. Madame de Stael 
 has produced a second son. She talks wildly enough of visiting 
 England this winter. She is a pleasant little woman. Poor Scvery's 
 condition is hopeless. Should he drag through the winter, Madame 
 de S. would scarcely survive him. She kills herself with grief and 
 fatigue. What a difference in Lausanne ? 1 hope triple answers are 
 on the road. I must write soon ; the ti))ies will not allow me to read 
 or think. Ever yours. 
 
 To the same. Lausanne, Dec. 14, 1792, 
 
 Our little storm has now completely subsided, and we are again 
 spectators, though anxious spectators, of the general tempest that 
 invades or threatens almost every country of Europe. Our troops 
 are every day disbanding and returning home, and the greatest part of 
 the French have evacuated the neighbourhood of Geneva. Monsieur 
 Barthelemy, whom you have seen secretary in London, is most courte- 
 ously entertained, as ambassador, by the Helvetic body. He is now 
 at Berne, where a diet will speedily be convened : the language on 
 both sides is now pacific, and even friendly, and some hopes are given 
 of a provision for the officers of the Swiss guards who have survived 
 the massacres of Paris. 
 
 January i, 1793. 
 With the return of peace I have relapsed into my former indolence ; 
 but now awakening, after a fortnight's slumber, I have little or nothing 
 to add, with regard to the internal state of this country, only the re- 
 volution of Geneva has already taken place, as I announced, but 
 sooner than I expected. The Swiss troops had no sooner evacuated 
 the place, than the Egaliseiirs, as they are called, assembled in arms ; 
 and as no resistance was made, no blood was shed on the occasion. 
 They seized the gates, disarmed the garrison, imprisoned the magis- 
 trates, imparted the rights of citizens to all the rabble of the town and 
 country, and proclaimed a National Convention, which has not yet 
 met. They are all for a pure and absolute democracy ; but some 
 wish to remain a small independent state, whilst others aspire to be- 
 come a part of the republic of France ; and as the latter, though less 
 
 * Qui tamen usque potest, vires sibi demere tentat. 
 Nee, fuo centimanum dejecerat igne Typhoja, 
 Nunc aimatur eo : nimiClm feritatis in illo. 
 Est aliud levius fulmen ; cui dextra Cycloputn 
 Sasvitiae, flammaeque minus, minus addidit irae ; 
 Tela secunda vocaiit Superi.
 
 l6o I AM TRULY ATTACHED TO MY I^ATlVE COUNTRY. 
 
 numerous, are more violent and absurd than their adversaries, it iS 
 highly probable that they will succeed. The citizens of the best 
 families and fortunes have retired from Geneva into the Pays de Vaud ; 
 but the French methods of recalling or proscribing emigrants, will 
 soon be adopted. You must have observed, that Savoy is now become 
 le dcpart))ient dit JMoni Blanc. I cannot satisfy myself, whether the 
 mass of the people is pleased or displeased with the change ; but my 
 noble scenery is clouded by the democratical aspect of twelve leagues 
 of the opposite coast, which every morning obtrude themselves on my 
 view. I here conclude the first part of the history of our Alpine 
 troubles, and now consider myself as disengaged from all promises of 
 periodical writing. Upon the whole, I kept it beyond our expectations ; 
 nor do I think that you have been sufficiently astonished by the 
 wonderful effort of the triple dispatch. 
 
 You must now succeed to my task, and I shall expect, during the 
 winter, a regular political journal of the events of your greater world. 
 You are on the theatre, and may often be behind the scenes. You 
 can always see, and may sometimes forsee. My own choice has indeed 
 transported me into a foreign land ; but I am truly attached, from 
 interest and inclination, to my native country ; and even as a citizen 
 of the world, I wish the stability of England, the sole great refuge of 
 mankind, against the opposite mischiefs of despotism and democracy. 
 I was indeed alarmed, and the more so, as I saw that you were not 
 without apprehension ; but I now glory in the triumph of reason and 
 genuine patriotism, which seems to pervade the country ; nor do I 
 dislike some mixture of popular enthusiasm, which may be requisite to 
 encounter our mad or wicked enemies with equal arms. The behaviour 
 of Fox does not surprise me. You may remember what I told you last 
 year at Lausanne, when you attempted his defence, that * * * 
 You have now crushed the daring subverters of the constitution ; but 
 I now fear the moderate well-meaners, reformers. Do not, I beseech 
 you, tamper with parliamentary representation. The present House 
 of Commons forms, \n practice, a body of gentlemen, who must always 
 sympathise with the interests and opinions of the people ; and the 
 slightest innovation launches you, without rudder or compass, on a 
 dark and dangerous ocean of theoretical experiment. On this subject 
 I am indeed serious. 
 
 Upon the whole, I like the beginning of ninety-three better than the 
 end of ninety-two. The illusion seems to break away throughout 
 Europe. I think England and Switzerland are safe. Brabant adheres 
 to its old constitution. The Germans are disgusted Avith the rapine 
 and insolence of their deliverers. The Pope is resolved to head his 
 armies, and the Lazzaroni of Naples have presented St. Januarius with 
 a gold fuzee, to fire on the Brigands PYanfois. So much for politics, 
 which till now never had such possession of my mind. Next post I 
 will write about myself and my own designs. Alas, your poor eyes ! 
 make the Maria write ; I will speedily answer her. My Lady is still 
 dumb. The German posts are now slow and irregular. You had 
 better write by the way of France, under cover. Direct to Le Citoien 
 Rcbours a Pontalier, France. Adieu ; ever yours.
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. l6l 
 
 To the Same. Lausanne, Jan. 6, 1793. 
 
 There was formerly a time when our correspondence was a paini'ul 
 discussion of my private affairs ; a vexatious repetition of losses, of 
 disappointments, of sales, &c. These affairs are decently arranged : 
 but public cares have now succeeded to private anxiety, and our whole 
 attention is lately turned from Lenborough and Beriton, to the political 
 state of France and of Europe. From these politics, however, one 
 letter shall be free, while 1 talk of myself and of my own plans ; a sub- 
 ject most interesting to a friend, and only to a friend. 
 
 1 know not whether 1 am sorry or glad that my expedition has been 
 postponed to the present year. It is true, that I now wish myself in 
 England, and almost repent that I did not grasp the opportunity when 
 the obstacles were comparatively smaller than they are now likely to 
 prove. Yet had I reached you last summer before the month of August, 
 a considerable portion of my time would be now elapsed, and 1 should 
 already begin to think of my departure. If the gout should spare me 
 this winter, (and as yet I have not felt any symptom,) and if the spring 
 should make a soft and early appearance, it is my intention to be with 
 you in Uowning-street before the end of April, and thus to enjoy six 
 weeks or two months of the most agreeable season of London and the 
 neighbourhood, after the hurry of parliament is subsided, and before 
 the great rural dispersion. As the Banks of the Rhine and the Belgic 
 provinces are completely overspread with anarchy and war, I have 
 made up my mind to pass through the territories of the French re- 
 public. From the best and most recent information, I am satisfied 
 that there is little or no real danger in the journey; and I must arm 
 myself with patience to support the vexatious insolence of democratical 
 tyranny. I have even a sort of curiosity to spend some days at Paris, 
 to assist at the debates of the Pandjemonium, to seek an introduction 
 to the principal devils, and to contemplate a new form of public and 
 private life, which never existed before, and which I devoutly hope will 
 not long continue to exist. Should the obstacles of health or weather 
 confine me at Lausanne till the month of May, I shall scarcely be able 
 to resist the temptation of passing some part at least of the summer in 
 my own little paradise. But all these schemes must ultimately depend 
 on the great question of peace and war, which will indeed be speedily 
 determined. Should France become impervious to an English tra\-eller, 
 what must I do ? I shall not easily resolve to explore my way through 
 the unknown language and abominable roads of the interior parts of 
 Germany, to embark in Holland, or perhaps at Hamburgh, and to be 
 finally intercepted by a French privateer. My stay in England appears 
 not less doubtful than the means of transporting myself Should I 
 arrive in the spring, it is possible, and barely possible, that I should 
 return here in the autumn : it is much more probable that I shall 
 pass the winter, and there may be even a chance of my giving my own 
 country a longer trial. In my letter to my Lady I fairly exposed the 
 decline of Lausanne; but such an establishmert as mine must not be 
 lightly abandoned ; nor can I discover what adequate mode of life my 
 private circumstances, easy as they now are, could afford me in Eng- 
 land. London and Bath have doubtless their respective merits, and I 
 could wish to reside within a day's journey of Sheffield-Place. But a
 
 1 62 OUTLINE OF A NEW WORK I THINK OF PRODUCING. 
 
 state of perfect happiness is not to be found here below ; and in the 
 possession of my libraiy, house, and garden, with the rehcs of our 
 society, and a frequent intercourse with the Neckers, I may still be 
 tolerably content. Among the disastrous changes of Lausanne, I must 
 principally reckon the approaching dissolution of poor Sevory and his 
 family. He is still alive, but in such a hopeless and painlul decay, 
 that we no longer conceal our wishes for his speedy release. I never 
 loved nor esteemed him so much as in this last mortal disease, which 
 he supports with a degree of energy, patience, and even cheerful- 
 ness, beyond all belief. His wife, whose whole time and soul are 
 devoted to him, is almost sinking under her long anxiety. The children 
 are most amiably assiduous to both their parents, and, at all events, 
 his filial duties and worldly cares must detain the son some time at 
 home. 
 
 And now approach, and let me drop into your most private ear a 
 literary secret. Of the Memoirs little has been done, and with that 
 little 1 am not satisfied. They must be postponed till a mature season; 
 and 1 much doubt whether the book and the Author can ever see the 
 light at the same time. But 1 have long revolved in my mind another 
 scheme of biographical writing : the Lives, or rather the Characters, 
 of the most eminent Persons in Arts and Arms, in- Church and State, 
 who have flourished in Britain from the reign of Henry the Eighth 
 to the present age. This work, extensive as it may be, would be an 
 amusement, rather than a toil: the materials are accessible in our own 
 language, and, for the most part, ready to my hands : but the subject, 
 which would afford a rich display of human nature and domestic 
 history, would powerfully adress itself to the feelings of every English- 
 man. The taste or fashion of the times seems to delight in picturesque 
 decorations ; and this series of British portraits might aptly be accom- 
 panied by the respective heads, taken from originals, and engraved by 
 the best masters. Alderman Boydell, and his son-in-law, Mr. George 
 Nicol, bookseller in Pall-mall, are the great undertakers in this line. 
 On my arrival in England 1 shall be free to consider, whether it may 
 suit me to proceed in a mere literary work without any other decora- 
 tions than those which it inay derive from the pen of the Author. It 
 is a serious truth, that I am no longer ambitious of fame or money ; 
 that my habits of industry are much impaired, and that 1 have reduced 
 my studies, to be the loose amusement of my morning hours, the re- 
 petition of which will insensibly lead me to the last term of exist- 
 ence. And for this very reason I shall not be sorry to bind myself by 
 a liberal engagement, from which 1 may not with honour recede. 
 
 Before I conclude, we must say a word or two of parliamentary 
 and pecuniary concerns, i. We all admire the generous spirit with 
 which you damned the assassins * *. I hope that * * The 
 opinion of parliament in favour of Louis was declared in a manner 
 worthy of the representatives of a great and wise nation. It will cer- 
 tainly have a powerful effect ; and if the poor King be not already 
 murdered, I am satisfied that his life is in safety : but is such a life 
 worth his care ? Our debates will now become every day more in- 
 teresting ; and as I expect from you only opinions and anecdotes, I 
 most earnestly conjure you to send me Woodfall's Register as often
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON: 1 63 
 
 (and that must be very often) as the occasion deserves it. I now spare 
 no expcnce for news. 
 
 I want some account of Mrs. G.'s health. Will my Lady never 
 write .'' How can people be so indolent ! I suppose this will find you 
 at Sheffield-Place during the recess, and that the heavy baggage will 
 not move till after the birth-day. Shall I be with you by the first of 
 May ? The Gods only know. I almost wish that I had accompanied 
 Madame de Stael. Ever yours. 
 
 To the Sa7ne. Begun Feb. 9, — ended Feb. 18, 1793. 
 
 The struggle is at length over, and poor de Severy is no more ! He 
 expired about ten days ago, after every vital principle had been 
 exhausted by a complication of disorders, which had lasted above five 
 months : and a mortification in one of his legs, that gradually rose to 
 the more noble parts, was the immediate cause of his death. His 
 patience and even cheerfulness supported him to the fatal moment ; and 
 he enjoyed every comfort that could alleviate his situation, the skill of 
 his physicians, the assiduous tenderness of his family, and the kind 
 sympathy not only of his particular friends, but even of common 
 acquaintance, and generally of the whole town. The stroke has been 
 severely felt : yet I have the satisfaction to perceive that Madame de 
 Severy's health is not affected ; and we may hope that in time she will 
 recover a tolerable share of composure and happiness. Her firmness 
 has checked the violent sallies of grief; her gentleness has preserved 
 her from the worst of symptoms, a dry, silent despair. She loves to 
 talk of her irreparable loss, she descants with pleasure on his virtues ; 
 her words are interrupted with tears, but those tears are her best relief; 
 and her tender feelings will insensibly subside into an affectionate 
 remembrance. Wilhelm is much more deeply wounded than I could 
 imagine, or than he expected himself: nor have I ever seen the affliction 
 of a son more lively and sincere. Severy was indeed a very valuable 
 man: without any shining qualifications, he was endowed in a high 
 degree with good sense, honour, and benevolence ; and few men have 
 filled with more propriety their circle in private life. For myself, I 
 have had the misfortune of knowing him too late, and of losing him too 
 soon. — But enough of this melancholy subject. 
 
 The affairs of this theatre, which must always be minute, are now 
 grown so tame and tranquil, that they no longer deserve the historian's 
 pen. The new constitution of Geneva is slowly forming, without much 
 noise or any bloodshed ; and the patriots, who have staid in hopes of 
 guiding and restraining the multitude, flatter themselves that they shall 
 be able at least to prevent their mad countrymen from giving them- 
 selves to the French, the only mischief that would be absolutely 
 irretrievable. The revolution of Geneva is of less consequence to us, 
 however, than that of Savoy ; but our fate will depend on the general 
 event, rather than on these particular causes. In the mean while we 
 hope to be quiet spectators of the struggle of this year ; and we seem 
 to have assurances that both the Emperor and the French will com- 
 pound for the neutrality of the Swiss. The Helvetic body does not 
 acknowledge the republic of France : but Barthelcmy, their ambas- 
 sador, resides at Baden, and steals, like Chauvelin, into a kind of
 
 164 ON POLITICS CONTIYENTAL AND BRITISH. 
 
 extra-otticial negotiation. All spirit of opposition is quelled in the 
 Canton of Berne, and the perpetual banishment of the * * * family 
 has scarcely excited a murmur. It will probably be followed by that 
 of * * *^ * * * : the crime alleged in their sentence is the having 
 assisted at the federation-dinner at Rolle two years ago ; and as they 
 are absent, I could almost wish that they had been summoned to 
 appear, and heard in their own defence. To the general supineness 
 of the inhabitants of Lausanne I must ascribe, that the death of Louis 
 the Sixteenth has been received with less horror and indignation than 
 I could have wished. I was much tempted to go into mourning, and 
 probably should, had the Duchess been still here ; but, as the only 
 Englishman of any mark, I was afraid of being singular ; more espe- 
 cially as our French emigrants, either from prudence or poverty, do 
 not wear black, nor do even the Neckers. Have you read his discourse 
 for the King ? It might indeed supersede the necessity of mourning. 
 I should judge from your last letter, and from the Diary, that the 
 French declaration of war must have rather surprised you. I wish, 
 although I know not how it could have been avoided, that we might 
 still have continued to enjoy our safe and prosperous neutrality. You 
 will not doubt my best wishes for the destruction of the miscreants ; 
 but I love England still more than I hate France. All reasonable 
 chances are in favour of a confederacy, such as was never opposed to the 
 ambition of Louis the Fourteenth ; but, after the experience of last 
 year, I distrust reason, and confess myself fearful for the event. The 
 French are strong in numbers, activity, enthusiasm ; they are rich in 
 rapine ; and, although their strength may be only that of a phrenzy fever, 
 they may do infinite mischief to their neighbours before they can be 
 reduced to a straight waistcoat. I dread the effects that may be pro- 
 duced on the minds of the people by the increase of debt and taxes, 
 probable losses, and possible mismanagement. Our trade must suffer; 
 and though projects of invasion have been always abortive, I cannot 
 forget that the ileets and armies of Europe have failed before the towns 
 in America, which have been taken and plundered by a handful of 
 Buccaneers. I know nothing of Pitt as a war minister ; but it affords 
 me much satisfaction that the intrepid wisdom of the new chancellor, 
 Lord Loughborough, is introduced into the cabinet. I wish, not merely 
 on your own account, that you were placed in an active, useful station 
 in government. 1 should not dislike you secretary at war. 
 
 I have little more to say of myself, or of my journey to England : you 
 know my intentions, and the great events of Europe must determine 
 whether they can be carried into execution this summer. If * * * has 
 warmly adopted your idea, I shall speedily hear from him ; but in 
 truth, I know not what will be my answer : I see difficulties which at 
 first did not occur : I doubt my own perseverance, and my fancy 
 begins to wander into new paths. The amusement of reading and 
 thinking may perhaps satisfy a man who has paid his debt to the 
 public ; and there is more pleasure in building castles in the air than 
 on the ground. I shall contrive some small assistance for your corre- 
 spondent, though I cannot learn any thing that distinguishes him from 
 many of his countrymen ; we have had our full share of poor emigrants : 
 but if you wish that any thing extraordinary should be done lor this
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBOX. 165 
 
 man, you must send me a measure. Adieu. I embrace my Lady and 
 Maria, as also Louisa, if with you. Perhaps I may soon write, without 
 expecting an answer. Ever yours. 
 
 Death of Lady Sheffield. 
 To THE Same. Lausanne, April 27, 1793. 
 
 My dearest Friend, for such you most truly are, nor does tliere exist 
 a person who obtains, or shall ever obtain, a superior place in my 
 esteem and affection. 
 
 After too long a silence 1 was sitting down to write, when, only 
 yesterday morning (such is now the irregular slowness of the English 
 post), I was suddenly struck, indeed struck to the heart, by the fatal 
 intelligence, tlte death of Lady Sheffield, from Sir Henry Clinton and 
 Mr. de Lally. Alas ! what is life, and what are our hopes and projects ! 
 When 1 embraced her at your departure from Lausanne, could 1 imagine 
 that it was for the last time .'' when I postponed to another summer my 
 journey to England, could 1 apprehend that I never, never should see 
 her again ? I always hoped that she would spin her feeble thread to a 
 long duration, and that her delicate frame would survive (as is often 
 the case) many constitutions of a stouter appearance. In four days ! 
 in your absence, in that of her children ! But she is now at rest ; and 
 if there be a future life, her mild virtues have surely entitled her to the 
 reward of pure and perfect felicity. It is for you that I feel, and I can 
 judge of )our sentiments by comparing them with my own. I have 
 lost, it is true, an amiable and affectionate friend, whom I had known 
 and loved above three-and-twenty years, and whom I often styled by 
 the endearing name of sister. But you are deprived of the companion 
 of your life, the wife of your choice, and the mother of your children ; 
 poor children ! the liveliness of Maria, and the softness of Louisa, 
 render them almost equally the objects of my tenderest compassion. I 
 do not wish to aggravate your grief; but, in the sincerity of friendship, 
 I cannot hold a different language. I know the impotence of reason, 
 and I much fear that the strength of your character will serve to make 
 a sharper and more lasting impression. 
 
 The only consolation in these melancholy trials to which human 
 life is exposed, the only one at least in which I have any confidence, is 
 the presence of a real friend ; and of that, as far as it depends on 
 myself, you shall not be destitute. I regret the few days that must be 
 lost in some necessary preparations ; but I trust that to-morrow se'n- 
 night (May the fifth) I shall be able to set forwards on my journey to 
 England : and when this letter reaches you, I shall be considerably 
 advanced on my way. As it is yet prudent to keep at a respectful, 
 distance from the banks of the French Rhine, I shall incline a little to 
 the right, and proceed by Schaffouse and Stutgard to Frankfort and 
 Cologne : the Austrian Netherlands are now open and safe, and I am 
 sure of being able at least to pass from Ostend to Dover: whence, 
 without passing through London, I shall pursue the direct road to 
 Sheffield-Place. Unless I should meet with some unforeseen accident, 
 and dela\s, I hope, before the end of the month to share your solitude, 
 and sympathize with your grief. All the difticulties of the journeys 
 which my indolence had probably magnified, have now disappeared 
 
 M
 
 1 66 ARRANGEMENTS FOR VISITING MY FRIEND. 
 
 before a stronger passion ; and you will not be sorry to hear, that, as 
 far as Frankfort to Cologne, I shall enjoy the advantage of the society, 
 the conversation, the German language, and the active assistance of 
 Severy. His attachment to me is the sole motive which prompts him 
 to undertake this troublesome journey ; and as soon as he has seen me 
 over the roughest ground, he will immediately return to Lausanne. 
 The poor young man lovecl Lady S. as a mother, and the whole family 
 is deeply affected by an event which reminds them too painfully of 
 their own misfortune. Adieu. I could write volumes, and shall there- 
 fore break off abruptly. I shall write on the road, and hope to find a 
 tew lines a poste restante at Frankfort and Brussels. Adieu ; ever 
 yours. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 My dear Friend, Lausanne, May 8, 1793. 
 
 I MUST write a few lines before my departure, though indeed I 
 scarcely know what to say. Nearly a fortnight has now elapsed since 
 the first melancholy tidings, without my having received the slightest 
 subsequent accounts of your health and situation. Your own silence 
 announces too forcibly how much you are involved in your feelings ; 
 and I can but too easily conceive that a letter to me would be more 
 painful than to an indifferent person. But that amiable man Count 
 Lally might surely have written a second time ; but your sister, who is 
 probably with you ; but Maria, — alas ! poor Maria ! I am left in a 
 stale of darkness to the workings of my own fancy, which imagines 
 everything that is sad and shocking. What can I think of for your 
 relief and comfort ? I will not expatiate on those common-place topics, 
 which have never dried a single tear ; but let me advise, let me urge 
 you to force yourself into business, as I would try to force myself into 
 study. The mind must not be idle ; if it be not exercised on external 
 objects, it will prey on its own vitals. A thousand little arrangements, 
 which must precede a long journey, have postponed my departure three 
 or four days beyond the term which I had first appointed ; but all is 
 now in order, and I set off to-morrow, the ninth instant, with my valet 
 de cliainbre, a courier on horseback, and Severy, with his servant, as 
 far as Frankfort. I calculate my arrival at Sheffield-Place (how I dread 
 and desire to see that mansion !) for the first week in June, soon after 
 this letter ; but I will try to send you some later intelligence. I never 
 found myself stronger, or in better health. The German road is now 
 cleared, both of enemies and allies, and though I must expect fatigue, 
 I have not any apprehensions of danger. It is scarcely possible that 
 you should meet me at Frankfort, but I shall be much disappointed 
 at not finding a line at Brussels or Ostend. Adieu. If there be any 
 invisible guardians, may they watch over you and yours ! Adieu. 
 
 To the Same. Frankfort, May 19, 1793. 
 
 And here I am in good health and spirits, after one of the easiest, 
 safest, and pleasantest journies which I ever performed in my whole 
 life ; not the appearance of an enemy, and hardly the appearance of a 
 war. Yet I hear, as I am writing, the cannon of the siege of Mayence, 
 at the distance of twenty miles ; and long, very long, will it be heard.
 
 'autobiographic memoirs of EDWARD GIB BOX. 1 67 
 
 It is confessed on all sides, that the French fight with a courage worthy 
 of a better cause. The town of Mayencc is strong, their artillery 
 admirable ; they are already reduced to horsc-tlesh, but they ha\e still 
 the resource of eating the inhabitants, and at last of eating one another ; 
 and, if that repast could be extended to Paris and the whole country, 
 it might essentially contribute to the relief of mankind. Our operations 
 are carried on with more than German slowness, and when the besieged 
 are quiet, the besiegers are perfectly satisfied with their progress. A 
 spirit of division undoubtedly prevails ; and the character of the 
 Prussians for courage and discipline is sunk lower than you can pos- 
 sibly imagine. Their glory has expired with Frederick. I am sorry 
 to ha\'e missed Lord Elgin, who is beyond the Rhine with the King 
 of Prussia. As I am impatient, I propose setting forwards to-morrow 
 afternoon, and shall reach Ostend in less than eight days. The passage 
 must depend on winds and packets ; and I hope to find at Brussels or 
 Dover a letter which will direct me to Sheffield- Place or Downing- 
 Street. Severy goes back from hence. Adieu : I embrace the dear 
 girls. Ever yours. 
 
 From the Same. Brussels, May 27, 1793. 
 
 This day, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, I am 
 arrived at this place in excellent preservation. My expedition, which 
 is now drawing to a close, has been a journey of perseverance rather 
 than speed, of some labour since Frankfort, but without the smallest 
 degree of difficulty or danger. As I have every morning been seated 
 in the chaise soon after sun-rise, I propose indulging to-morrow till 
 eleven o'clock, and going that day no farther than Ghent. On Wed- 
 nesday the 29th instant I shall reach Ostend in good time, just eight 
 days, according to my former reckoning, from Frankfort. Beyond 
 that I can say nothing positive ; but should the winds be propitious, it 
 is possible that I may appear next Saturday, June first, in Downing- 
 Street. After that earliest date, you will expect me day by day till I 
 arrive. Adieu. I embrace the dear girls, and salute Airs. Holroyd. 
 I rejoice that you have anticipated my advice by plunging into busi- 
 ness ; but I should now be sorry if that business, however important, 
 detained us long in town. I do not wish to make a public exhibition, 
 and only sigh to enjoy you and the precious remnant in the solitude ot 
 Sheffield-Place. Ever yours. 
 
 If I am successful I may outstrip or accompany this letter. Your's 
 and Maria's waited for me here, and over -paid the journey. 
 
 The preceding Letters intimate that, in return for my visit to 
 Lausanne in 1791, Mr. Gibbon engaged to pass a year with me in 
 England : that the war having rendered travelling exceedingly incon- 
 venient, especially to a person who, from his bodily infirmities, required 
 every accommodation, prevented his undertaking so formidable a 
 journey at the time he proposed. 
 
 The call of friendship, however, was sufficient to make him overlook 
 every personal consideration, when he thought his presence might
 
 1 68 / ORD SHEFFIELD'S REPORT OF HIS FRIEND'S HABITS. 
 
 prove a consolation. I must ever regard it as the most endearing 
 proof of his sensibihty, and of his possessing the true spirit of friend- 
 ship, that after having relinquished the thought of his intended visit, 
 he hastened to England, in spite of encreasing impediments, to seethe 
 me by the most generous sympathy, and to alleviate my domestic 
 affliction ; neither his great corpulency, nor his extraordinary bodily 
 infirmities, nor any other consideration, could prevent him a moment 
 from resolving on an undertaking that might have deterred the most 
 active young man. He, almost immediately, with alertness by no 
 means natural to him, undertook a great circuitous journey, along the 
 frontiers of an enemy, worse than savage, within the sound of their 
 cannon, within the range of the light troops of the different armies, 
 and through roads ruined by the enormous machinery of war. 
 
 The readiness with which he engaged in this kind office of friend- 
 ship, at a time when a selfish spirit might have pleaded a thousand 
 reasons for declining so hazardous a journey, conspired, with the 
 peculiar charms of his society to render his arrival a cordial to my 
 mind. I had the satisfaction of finding that his own delicate and pre- 
 carious health had not suffered in the service of his friend, a service in 
 which he disregarded his own personal infirmities. He arrived in the 
 beginning of June at my house in Downing-Street, safe and in good 
 health ; and after we had passed about a month together in London, 
 we settled at Sheffield-Place for the summer ; where his wit, learning, 
 and cheerful politeness delighted a great variety of characters. 
 
 Although he was inclined to represent his health as better than it 
 really was, his habitual dislike to motion appeared to increase ; his 
 inaptness to exercise confined him to the library and dining-room, and 
 there he joined my friend Mr. Frederick North, in pleasant arguments 
 against exercise in general. He ridiculed the unsettled and restless 
 disposition that summer, the most uncomfortable, as he said, of all 
 seasons, generally gives to those who have the free use of their limbs. 
 Such arguments were little required to keep society within doors, when 
 his company was only there to be enjoyed ; for neither the fineness of 
 the season, nor the most promising parties of pleasure, could tempt 
 the company of either sex to desert him. 
 
 Those who have enjoyed the society of Mr. Gibbon will agree with 
 me, that his conversation was still more captivating than his writings. 
 Perhaps no man ever divided time more fairly between literary labour 
 and social enjoyment ; and hence, probably, he derived his peculiar 
 excellence of making his very extensive knowledge contribute, in the 
 highest degree, to the use or pleasure of those with whom he conversed. 
 He united, in the happiest manner imaginable, two characters which 
 are not often found in the same person, the profound scholar and the 
 fascinating companion. 
 
 It would be superfluous to attempt a veiy minute delineation of a 
 character which is so distinctly marked in the Memoirs and Letters. 
 He has described himself without reserve, and with perfect sincerity. 
 The Letters, and especially the extracts from the Journal, which could 
 not have been written with any purpose of being seen, will make the 
 reader perfectly acquainted with the man. 
 
 Excepting a visit to Lord Egremont and Mr. Hayley, whom he very
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 169 
 
 particularly esteemed, ^Ir. Gibbon was not absent from Shefheld- Place 
 till the beginning of October, when we were reluctantly obliged to part 
 with him, that he might perform his engagement to Mrs. Gibbon at 
 Bath, the widow of his father, who had early deser\cd, and invariably 
 retained, his affection. From Bath he proceeded to Lord Spencers at 
 Althorp, a family which he always met with uncommon satisfaction. 
 He continued in good health during the whole summer, and in excel- 
 lent spirits (I never knew him enjoy better) ; and when he went froni 
 Sheffield-Place, little did I imagine it would be the last time I should 
 have the inexpressible pleasure of seeing him there in full possession 
 of health. 
 
 The few following short letters, though not important in themselves, 
 will fill up this part of the narrative better, and more agreeably, than 
 any thing I can substitute in their place. 
 
 E. Gibbon to Z^r^ Sheffield. 
 
 Oct. 2, 1793. 
 The Cork-Street hotel has answered its recommendation ; it is 
 clean, convenient, and quiet. My first evening was passed at home 
 in a very agreeable t^te-ii-tcte with my friend Elmsley. Yesterday I 
 dined at Craufurd's with an excellent set, in which were Pelham and 
 Lord Egremont. I dine to-day with my Portuguese friend, Madame 
 de Sylva, at Grenier's ; most probably with Lady Webster, whom I 
 met last night at Devonshire-House ; a constant, though late, resort 
 of society. The Duchess is as good, and Lady Elizabeth as seducing, 
 as ever. No news whatsoever. You will see in the papers Lord 
 Harvey's memorial. I love vigour, but it is surely a strong measure to 
 tell a gentleman you have resolved to pass the winter in his house. 
 London is not disagreeable ; yet I shall probably leave it Saturday. 
 If any thing should occur, I will write. Adieu ; ever yours. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 Sunday afternoon I left London and lay at Reading, and Monday 
 in very good time I reached this place, after a very pleasant airing ; 
 and am always so much delighted and improved, with this union of 
 ease and motion, that, were not the expence enormous, I would travel 
 every year some hundred miles, more especially in England. I passed 
 the day with Mrs. G. yesterday. In mind and conversation she is just 
 the same as twenty years ago. She has spirits, appetite, legs, and 
 eyes, and talks (she was then in her eightieth year. S.) of living till 
 ninety. I can say from my heart, Amen. We dine at two, and remain 
 together till nine ; but, although we have much to say, I am not sorry 
 that she talks of introducing a third or fourth actor. Lord Spenser 
 expects me about the 20th ; but if I can do it without offence, 1 shall 
 steal away two or three days sooner, and you shall have advice of my 
 motions. The troubles of Bristol have been serious and bloody. I 
 know not who was in fault ; but I do not like appeasing the mob by 
 the extinction of the toll, and the removal of the Hereford militia, who
 
 170 A/y T'ls/r To bat/t, althorpe, and london'. 
 
 had done their duty. Adieu. The girls must dance at Tunbiidge. 
 What would dear little aunt say if I was to answer her letter ? Ever 
 yours, &c. 
 
 York-House, Bath, Oct. 9, 1793, 
 
 I still follow the old style, though the Convention has abolished the 
 Christian £era, with months, weeks, days, &c. 
 
 To the same. YORK-HouSE, Bath, Oct. 13, 1793. 
 
 I AM as ignorant of Bath in general as if I were still at Sheffield. 
 My impatience to get away makes me think it better to devote my 
 whole time to Mrs. G. ; and dear little aunt, whom I tenderly salute, 
 will excuse me to her two friends, Mrs. Hartley and Preston, if I make 
 little or no use of her kind introduction. A tete-a-tcte 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 have 
 settled, that ten full days may be sufficient for all the purposes of our 
 interview. I should therefore depart next Friday, the eighteenth in- 
 stant, and am indeed expected at Althorpe on the twentieth ; but I 
 may possibly reckon without my host, as 1 have not yet apprised Mrs. 
 G. of the term of my visit ; and will certainly not quarrel with her for 
 a short delay. Adieu. 1 must have some political speculations. The 
 campaign, at least on our side, seems to be at an end. Ever yours. 
 
 To the saine. Althorp Library, Tues., 4 o'c. 
 
 We have so completely exhausted this morning among the first 
 editions of Cicero, that I can mention only my departure hence to- 
 morrow the sixth instant. 1 shall lie quietly at Woburn, and reach 
 London in good time Thursday. By the following post I will write 
 somewhat more largely. My stay in London will depend, partly on 
 my amusement, and your being fixed at Sheffield-Place ; unless you 
 think I can be comfortably arranged for a week or two with you at 
 Brighton. The military remarks seem good ; but now to what pur- 
 pose ? Adieu. I embrace and much rejoice in Louisa's improvement. 
 Lord Ossory was from home at Earning- Woods. 
 
 To the same. London, Frid., Nov. 8, 4 o'c. 
 
 W^alpole has just delivered yours, and I hasten the direction, that 
 >'ou may not be at a loss. I will write to-morrow, but I am now 
 fatigued, and rather unwell. Adieu, I have not seen a soul except 
 Elmsley. 
 
 To the same. St. James's-St., Nov. 9, 1793. 
 
 As I dropt yesterday the word unwell, I flatter myself that the 
 family would have been a little alarmed by my silence to-day. I am 
 still awkward, though without any suspicions of gout, and have some 
 idea of having recourse to medical advice. Yet I creep out to-day in 
 a chair, to dine with Lord Lucan. But as it will be literally my first 
 going down stairs, and as scarcely any one is apprised of my arrival,
 
 A UTOBIOGRA PfflC MEMOIRS OF ED WARD GIBBON, I ^ I 
 
 I know nothing, I have heard nothing, I have nothing to say. My 
 present lod^ang, a house of Elmsley's, is cheerful, convenient, some- 
 what dear, but not so much as a hotel, a speciesof habitation for whicl* 
 I have not conceived any great affection. Had you been stationary at 
 Sheffield, you would have seen me before the twentieth ; for I am 
 tired of rambling, and pant for my home ; that is to say, for your 
 house. But whether I shall have courage to brave * * * and a 
 bleak down, time only can discover. Adieu. I wish you back to 
 Sheffield-Place. The health of dear Louisa is doubtless the first 
 r/bject ; but I did not expect Brighton after Tunbridge. Whenever 
 dear little aunt is separate from you, I shall certainly write to her ; but 
 at prcacnt how is it possible ? Ever yours. 
 
 To the same at Brighton. St. James's St., Nov. 1 1, 1793. 
 
 I MUST at length withdraw the veil before my state of health, though 
 the naked truth may alarm you more than a fit of the gout. Have you 
 ne\'cr observed, through my inexpressibles, a large prominency circa 
 genitalia^ which, as it was not at all painful, and very little trouble- 
 some, I had strangely neglected for many years ? But since my de- 
 parture from Sheffield-Place it has increased (most stupendously,) is 
 increasing, and ought to be diminished. Yesterday I sent for Far- 
 quhar, who is allowed to be a very skillful surgeon. After viewing 
 and palping, he very seriously desired to call in assistance, and has 
 examined it again to-day with Mr. Cline, a surgeon, as he says, of the first 
 eminence. They both pronounce it a hydrocele^ (a collection of water,) 
 which must be let out by the operation of tapping ; but, from its magni- 
 tude and long neglect, they think it a most extraordinary case, and 
 wish to have another surgeon, Dr. Bayley, present. If the business 
 should go off smoothly, I shall be delivered from my burthen, (it is 
 almost as big as a small child,) and walk about in four or five days 
 with a truss. But the medical gentlemen, who never speak quite plain, 
 insinuate to me the possibility of an inflammation, of fever, &c. I am 
 not appalled at the thoughts of the operation, which is fixed for Wed- 
 nesday next, twelve o'clock ; but it has occurred to me, that you might 
 wish to be present, before and afterwards, till the crisis was past ; and 
 to give you that opportunity, I shall solicit a delay till Thursday, or 
 even Friday. In the mean while, I crawl about with some labour, and 
 much indecency, to Devonshire-House (where I left all the fine Ladies 
 making flannel waistcoats) ; Lady Lucan's, &c. Adieu. Varnish the 
 business for the Ladies : yet I am afraid it will be public;— the ad- 
 vantage of being notorious. Ever yours. 
 
 Immediately on receiving the last letter, I went the same day from 
 Brighthelmstone to London, and was agreeably surprised to find that 
 Mr. Gibbon had dined at Lord Lucan's, and did not return to his 
 lodgings, where I waited for him till eleven o'clock at night. Those 
 who have seen him within the last eight or ten years, must be surprised 
 to hear, that he could doubt, whether his disorder was apparent. Wlicn 
 he returned to England in 1787, I was greatly alarmed by a prodigious 
 increase, which I always conceived to proceed from a rupture. I did 
 not understand why he, who had talked with me on every other subject
 
 t72 BAD HEALTfl OF E. CIBBON' ALARMS TTtS FR/EA^DS. 
 
 relative to himself and his affiiirs without reserve, should never in any 
 shape hint at a malady so troublesome ; but on speaking to his valet 
 de chambre, he told me, Mr. Gibbon could not bear the least allusion 
 to that subject, and never would suffer him to notice it. I consulted 
 some medical persons, who with me supi^osing it to be a rupture, were 
 of opinion that nothing could be done, and said that he surely must 
 have had advice, and of course had taken all necessary precautions. 
 He now talked freely with me about his disorder ; which, he said, 
 began in the year 1761 ; that he then consulted Mr. Hawkins, the sur- 
 geon, who did not decide whether it was the beginning of a rupture, or 
 an hydrocele ; but he desired to see Mr. Gibbon again when he came 
 to town. Mr. Gibbon not feehng any pain, nor suffering any incon- 
 venience, as he said, never returned to Mr. Hawkins ; and although 
 the disorder continued to increase gradually, and of late years very 
 much indeed, he never mentioned it to any person, however incredible 
 it may appear, from T761 to November 1793. I told him, that I had 
 always supposed there was no doubt of its being a rupture ; his answer 
 was, that he never thought so, and that he, and the surgeons who 
 attended him, were of opinion that it was an hydrocele. It is now 
 certain that it was originally a rupture, and that an hydrocele had 
 lately taken place in the same part ; and it is remarkable that his legs, 
 which had been swelled about the ancle, particularly one of them, 
 since he had the erisipelas in 1790, recovered their former shape, as 
 soon as the water appeared in another part, which did not happen till 
 between the time he left Sheffield-Place, in the beginning of October, 
 and his arrival at Althorpe, towards the latter end of that month. On 
 the Thursday following the date of his last letter, Mr. Gibbon was 
 tapped for the first time ; four quarts of a transparent watery fluid 
 were discharged by that operation. Neither inflammation nor fever 
 ensued ; the tumour was diminished to nearly half its size ; the remain- 
 ing part was a soft irregular mass. I had been with him two days 
 before, and I continued with him above a week after the first tapping, 
 during which time he enjoyed his usual spirits ; and the three medical 
 gentlemen who attended him will recollect his pleasantry, even during 
 the operation. He was abroad again in a few days, but the water 
 evidently collecting very fast, it was agreed that a second puncture 
 should be made a fortnight after the first. Knowing that I should be 
 wanted at a meeting in the country, he pressed me to attend it, and 
 promised that soon after the second operation was performed he would 
 follow me to Sheffield- Place ; but before he arrived I received the two 
 following Letters : 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Lord Sheffield, at Brighton. 
 
 Sir. James's Street, Nov, 25, 1793. 
 Though Farquhar has promised to write you a line, 1 conceive you 
 may not be sorry to hear directly from me. The operation of yester- 
 day was much longer, more searching, and more painful than the 
 former ; but it has eased and lighr.ened me to a much greater degree.* 
 No inflammation, no fever, a oelicious night, leave to go abroad 
 to-morrow, and to go out of tot»^n when I please, en attendant the 
 
 * Three quarts of the same <uid as before were disci arged.
 
 AVl'DBIOGRAPHIC MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON'. 1 73 
 
 future measures of a radical cure. If you hold your intention of 
 returning next Saturday to Sheffield-Place, I shall probably join you 
 about the Tuesday following, after having passed two nights at Eden- 
 Farm, Beckenham. The Devons are going to Bath, and the hospitable 
 Craufurd follows them. I passed a delightful day with Burke ; an odd 
 one with Monsignore Erskine, the Pope's Nuncio. Of public news, 
 you and the papers know more than I do. We seem to have strong 
 sea and land hopes ; nor do I dislike the Royalists having beaten the 
 Sans Culottes, and taken Dol. How many minutes will it take to 
 guillotine the seventy-three new members of the convention, who are 
 now arrested .? Adieu ; ever yours. 
 
 To the same. St. Jainies's-St., Nov. 30, 1793. 
 
 It will not be in my power to reach Sheffield-Place quite so soon as 
 I wished and expected. Lord Auckland informs me that he shall bo 
 at Lambeth next week, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I have 
 therefore agreed to dine at Beckenham on Friday. Saturday will be 
 spent thi:re, and unless some extraordinary temptation should detain 
 me another day, you will see me by four o'clock Sunday the ninth 
 of December. I dine to-morrow with the Chancellor at Hampstead, 
 and, what I do not like at this time of the year, without a proposal to 
 stay all night. Yet I would not refuse, more especially as I had denied 
 him on a former day. My health is good ; but I shall have a final 
 interview with Farquhar before I leave town. We are still in darkness 
 about Lord Howe and the French ships, but hope seems to prepon- 
 derate. Adieu. Nothing that relates to Louisa can be forgotten. 
 Ever yours. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon generally took the opportunity of passing a night or two 
 with his friend Lord Auckland, at Eden-Farm, (ten miles from 
 London,) on his passage to Sheffield-Place ; and notwithstanding his 
 indisposition, he had lately made an excursion thither from London ; 
 when he was much pleased by meeting the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 of whom he expressed an high opinion. He returned to London, to 
 dine with Lord Loughborough, to meet Mr. Burke, Mr. Windham, 
 and particularly Mr. Pitt, with whom he was not acquainted ; and in 
 his last journey to Sussex, he re-visited Eden-Farm, and was much 
 gratified by the opportunity of again seeing, during a whole day, Mr 
 Pitt, who passed the night there. From Lord Auckland's, Mr. Gibbon 
 proceeded to Sheffield-Place ; and his discourse was never more bril- 
 liant, nor more entertaining, than on his arrival. The parallels he 
 drew, and the comparisons he made, between the leading men of this 
 country, were sketched in his best manner, and were infinitely inte- 
 resting. However, this last visit to Sheffield-Place became far dif- 
 ferent from any he had ever made before. That ready, cheerful, 
 various, and illuminating conversation, which we had before admired 
 in him, was not now always to be found in the library or the dining- 
 room. He moved with difficulty, and retired from company sooner 
 than he had been used to do. On the twenty-third of December, his 
 appetite began to fail him. He observed to me, that it was a very bad
 
 174 THE LAST LETTER E. GIBBON EVER WROTE. 
 
 sign witli hivt 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. A 
 considerable degree of fever now made its appeai'ance. Inflammation 
 arose, from the weight and the bulk of the tumour. Water again col- 
 lected very fast, and when the fever went off, he never entirely reco- 
 vered his appetite even for breakfast. I became very uneasy indeed 
 at his situation towards the end of the month, and thought it necessary 
 to advise him to set out for London. He had before settled his plan 
 to arrive there about the middle of January. I had company in the 
 house, and we expected one of his particular friends ; but he was 
 obliged to sacrifice all social pleasure to the immediate attention which 
 his health required. He went to London on the seventh of January, 
 and the next day I received the following billet ; the last he ever wrote: 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Lord Sheffield. 
 
 St. James's Street, four o'clock, Tuesday. 
 " This date says every thing. I was almost killed between Shef- 
 field-Place and East-Grinsted, by hard, frozen, long, and cross ruts, 
 that would disgrace the approach of an Indian wig-wam. The rest 
 was something 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. 
 
 By his own desire. I did not follow him till Thursday the ninth. I 
 then found him far from well. The tumour more distended than 
 before, inflamed, and ulcerated in several places. Remedies were 
 applied to abate the inflammation ; but it was not thought pi'oper to 
 puncture the tumour for the third time, till Monday the 13th of 
 January, when no less than six quarts of fluid were discharged. He 
 seemed much relieved by the evacuation. His spirits continued good. 
 He talked, as usual, of passing his time at houses which he had often 
 frequented with great pleasure, the Duke of Devonshire's, Mr. Crau- 
 furd's. Lord Spenser's, Lord Lucan's, Sir Ralph Payne's, and Mr. 
 Batt's ; and when I told him that I should not return to the country, 
 as I had intended, he pressed me to go ; knowing I had an engagement 
 there on public business, he said, " you may be back on Saturday, and 
 I intend to go on Thursday to Devonshire-House." I had not any 
 apprehension that his life was in danger, although I began to fear that 
 he might not be restored to a comfortable state, and that motion would 
 be very troublesome to him ; but he talked of a radical cure. He 
 said, that it was fortunate the disorder had shewn itself while he was 
 in England, where he might procure the best assistance ; and if a 
 radical cure could not be obtained before his return to Lausanne, there 
 was an able surgeon at Geneva, who could come to tap him when it 
 should be necessary. 
 
 On Tuesday the fourteenth, when the risk of inflammation and
 
 THE DYTNG HOURS OF THE HISTORIAN: 1 75 
 
 fever from the last operations was supposed to be over, as the medical 
 gentlemen who attended him expressed no fears for his Hfe, I went that 
 afternoon part of the way to Sussex, and the following day reached 
 Shefiield-place. The next morning, the sixteenth, I received by the 
 post a good account of Mr. Gibbon, which mentioned also that he 
 hourly gained strength. In the evening came a letter by express, 
 dated noon that day, which acquainted me that Mr. Gibbon had had 
 a violent attack the preceding night, and that it was not probable he 
 should live till I could come to him. I reached his lodgings in St. 
 James's-street about midnight, and learned that my friend had expired 
 a quarter before one o'clock that day, the sixteenth of January 1794. 
 
 After I left him on Tuesday afternoon the fourteenth, he saw some 
 company. Lady Lucan and Lady Spenser, and thought himself well 
 enough at night 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. Mr. Gibbon had sent to his 
 friend and relation, Mr. Robert Darell, whose house was not far 
 distant, desiring to see him, and adding, that he had somctliing 
 particular to say. But, unfortunately, this desired interview never 
 took place. 
 
 During the evening he complained much of his stomach, and of a 
 disposition to vomit. 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 in- 
 cessantly expressed a sense of pain till about four o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, 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 he had been the day before. At about half 
 past eight, he got out of bed, and said he was '■''pins adroit" than he 
 had been for three months past, and got into bed again, without assist- 
 ance, better than usual. About nine, he said that 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 ap- 
 pointed, and he was then visibly dying. When the valet de cJiavibre 
 returned, after attending Mr. Farquhar out of the room, Mr. Gibbon 
 said, " Pourquoi est ce que vans nie qiiittez ? " This was about half- 
 past eleven. At twelve, he drank some brandy and water from a tea- 
 pot, and desired his favourite servant to stay with him. These were
 
 176 THE TESTAMENT OF EDWARD GIBBON: 
 
 the last words he pronounced articulately. To the last he presei-ved 
 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. 
 
 The valei de cJiambre observed, that Mr. Gibbon did not, at any 
 time, shew the least sign of alarm, or apprehension of death ; and it 
 does not appear that he ever thought himself in danger, unless hi:; 
 desire to speak to Mr. Darell may be considered in that light. 
 
 Perhaps I dwell too long on these minute and melancholy circum- 
 stances. Yet the close of such a life can hardly fail to interest eveiy 
 reader ; and I know that the public has received a different and erro- 
 neous account of my friend's last hours. 
 
 I can never cease to feel regret that I was not by his side at this 
 awful period : a regret so strong, that I can express it only by borrowing 
 (as the eloquent Mr. Mason has done on a similar occasion) the forcible 
 language of Tacitus : Mild prceter acei^bitatem amici e7'epti, miQ;ct 
 ma'stifiajii quod assidere valetiidini^fovere deficicntein^ satiari vicliic, 
 complt'XH non coiitigit. It is some consolation to me, that I have not, 
 like Tacitus, by a long absence, anticipated the loss of my friend 
 several years before his decease. Although I had not the mournful 
 gratification of being near him on the day he expired, yet during his 
 illness I had not failed to attend him with that assiduity which his 
 genius, his virtues, and, above all, our long, uninterrupted, and happy 
 friendship demanded. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon's Will is dated the ist of October 1791, just before I 
 left Lausanne ; he distinguishes me, as usual, in the most flattering 
 manner : 
 
 " I constitute and appoint the Right Honourable John Lord Sheffield, 
 Edward Darell Esquire, and John Thomas Batt Esquire, to be the 
 Executors of this my last Will and Testament ; and as the execution 
 of this trust will not be attended with much difficulty or trouble, I shall 
 indulge these gentlemen, in the pleasure of this last disinterested ser- 
 vice, without wronging my feelings, or oppressing my heir, by too light 
 or too weighty a testimony of my gratitude. My obligations to the 
 long and active friendship of Lord Sheffield, I could never sufficiently 
 repay." 
 
 He then observes, that the Right Hon. Lady Eliot, of Port-Eliot, is 
 his nearest relation on the father's side ; but that her three sons are in 
 such prosperous circumstances, that he may well be excused for making 
 the two children of his late uncle, Sir Stanier Porten, his heirs ; they 
 being in a very different situation. He bequeaths annuities to two old 
 servants, three thousand pounds, and his furniture, plate, &c., at Lau- 
 sanne, to Mr. Wilhelme de Severy ; one hundred guineas to the poor 
 of Lausanne, and fifty guineas each to the following persons : Lady 
 Sheffield and daughters, Maria and Louisa, ALadame and Mademoiselle 
 de Severy, the Count de Schomberg, Mademoiselle la Chanoincsse 
 de Poller, and M. le Ministre Le Vade, for the purchase of some token 
 which mav remind them of a sincere friend.
 
 EPITAPH OF EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 The Remains of Mr. Gibbon were deposited in Lord Sheffield's Family 
 Bit rial-Place, in Fleiching, Sussexy whereon is inscribed the/olloivl n ^ 
 Epitaph, written at his Lordships s request by a distinguished scholar^ 
 the Rev. Dr. Parr : — 
 
 EDVARDUS GIBBON 
 
 CRITICUS ACRI INGEXIO ET MULTIPLICI DOCTRINA ORNATUS 
 
 IDEMQUE HISTORICORUM QUI FORTUNAM 
 
 IMPERII ROMANI 
 
 VEL LABEXTIS ET INCLINATI VEL EVERSI ET FUNDITUS DELETI 
 
 LITTERIS MANDAVERINT 
 
 OMNIUM FACILE PRINCEPS 
 
 CUJUS IN MORIBUS ERAT MODERATIO ANIMI 
 
 CUM LinERALI QUADAM SPECIE CONJUNCTA 
 
 IN SERMONE 
 
 MULTA GRAVITATI COMITAS SUAVITER ADSPERSA 
 
 IN SCRIPTIS 
 
 COPIOSUM SPLENDIDUM 
 
 CONCINNUM ORBE VERBORUM 
 
 ET SUMMO ARTIFICIO DISTINCTUM 
 
 ORATIONIS GENUS 
 
 RECONDITiE EXQUISIT^EQUE SENTENTI^ 
 
 ET IN MONUMENTIS RERUM POLITICARUM OBSERVANDIS 
 
 ACUTA ET PERSPICAX PRUDENTIA 
 
 VIXIT ANNOS LVI MENS. VII DIES XXVIII 
 
 DECESSIT XVII CAL. FEB. ANNO SACRO 
 
 MDCCLXXXXIV 
 
 ET IN HOC MAUSOLEO SEPULTUS EST 
 
 EX VOLUNTATE JOHANNIS DOMINI SHEFFIELD 
 
 QUI AMICO BENE MERENTI ET CONVICTORI HUMANISSIMO 
 
 H. TAB. P. C.
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 The Letters of Mr. Gibbon, from the time of his return to Switzerland 
 in 1788, are annexed to his Memoirs, as the best continuation of them. 
 Among his Letters of an earlier date, I find several which he has 
 alluded to, and others which will illustrate the account he has given of 
 himself. These, I flatter myself, will please the generality of readers ; 
 since, when he touches on matters of private business, even subjects of 
 the driest nature become interesting, from his mode of treating them. 
 Many Letters from distinguished persons to him will be introduced, 
 and some that he received at a very early period of life. Although we 
 have not all his own Letters to which these were answers, yet we have 
 enough to testify his ambition, even in youth, to be distinguished as a 
 scholar. 
 
 It has been sometimes thought necessary to offer to the Public an 
 apology for the publication of private Letters. I have no scruple to 
 say, that I publish these, because I think they place my friend in an 
 advantageous point of view. He might not, perhaps, have expected 
 that all his Letters should be printed ; but I have no reason to believe 
 that he would have been averse to the publication of any. If I had, 
 they never would have been made public, however highly I might have 
 conceived of their excellence. 
 
 M. Allamand to E. Gibbon. 
 
 Sir, Bex, 12th September 1756. 
 
 After escaping from the tumult of public functions, in which the 
 ministers of this church are employed during the holydays, I sit down 
 with much pleasure to converse with you a few minutes on paper ; 
 without intending to make any very violent exertion in answering the 
 questions concerning innate ideas, which you propose for my considera- 
 tion. I am not willing to risk the being obliged to say, with one of 
 Terence's characters, Mai^no conatii magnas iiugasj besides, it is long 
 since I looked into Locke, the modern oracle on that subject ; and too 
 much time and paper would be requisite completely to canvass so 
 intricate a subject. You will have the goodness, therefore, to be con- 
 tented with the first reflections that occur to me on some passages of 
 his first book. 
 
 In chapter i. § 5, that able writer undertakes to prove that the axioms, 
 " Whatever is, is ;" and " It is impossible for the same thing to be and 
 not to be at the same time;" are not innate; because children are 
 totally ignorant of them, as appears from their never taking notice of 
 them ; and many persons die without ever perceiving the truth of 
 these axioms ; " but it is impossible," Mr. Locke observes, " for an idea 
 to be in the mind, which the mind never takes notice of." It is plain 
 that the whole weight of his reasoning rests on this last assertion ; 
 which assertion itself seems to be manifestly contradicted by experience.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. lyg 
 
 Do you perceive, Sir, at this moment all the ideas that are in your 
 mind ? Are there not some of them which you may not, perhaps, take 
 notice of for many years ? In the efforts which we make to recall thin^^s 
 to the memory, are we not sensible that some ideas may be so deeply 
 hidden in its recesses, that instead of continually perceiving them, we 
 have no small trouble in bringing them back to our remembrance ? I 
 know that Mr. Locke, c. iii. § 20, endeavours to obviate these objec- 
 tions ; but the length and perplexity of that article shews that he was 
 not at ease in writing it. How indeed could he be so ? since, as far as 
 I am able to judge, the following is the result of his argument : " T 
 confess that we have ideas in the mind, of which we are not conscious ; 
 but then these ideas are in the memory ; as appears from this, that we 
 never recall them without remembering that they formerly were objects 
 of our perception. But this is not supposed to hold with regard to 
 what are called innate ideas. When these are perceived for the first 
 time, it is not with reminiscence, which would certainly be the case if 
 they had been in the mind before this first perception of them," &c. 
 
 Be pleased to tell me, Sir, whether you think that Mr. Locke himself 
 well understood the distinction which he makes between bci)ig in the 
 mind, and being in the memory? And of what importance is it, that 
 we remember to have formerly had the recalled ideas, provided it be 
 allowed that we had them long, without taking any notice of them, 
 which is the point in question.'' Besides, Mr. Locke ought to have 
 known that innate ideas are not recalled with reminiscence, because 
 those ideas come originally into the mind in a way that neither excites 
 nor requires our attention ; for whatever Mr. Locke may say, every 
 one may be sensible from his own experience, that many even of his 
 acc[uired ideas could not have come into his mind independently of the 
 presence of certain objects of which he had never taken any notice ; 
 or, in general, independently of certain unknown causes, which enriched 
 him, without his being sensible of it, with ideas that he did not believe 
 himself possessed of, till they actually presented themselves to his 
 understanding. 
 
 As to the main question, Mr. Locke seems to me perpetually to con- 
 found two things extremely different ; the idea itself, which is a percep- 
 tion of the mind, and a principle of reasoning; and the expression of 
 that idea in the form of a proposition or definition. It is possible, nay, 
 very probable, that many persons have never formed, or thought of the 
 proposition, " It is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be at 
 the same time." See Locke, b. i. c i. § 12. But does it follow from 
 this, that they are ignorant of the truth expressed by these words ? By 
 no means. Every man who affirms, denies, or speaks ; a child who 
 asks, refuses, or complains, must know the truth of this proposition. 
 Does it not appear to you. Sir, that the doctrine of innate ideas may 
 be defended on the same principle by which Mr. Locke attacks it ; 
 namely, that many persons have never thought of the propositions or 
 descriptions by which they are expressed ? For if without ever having 
 thought of those propositions, they make use of them in their reasonings, 
 and employ them in judging of the justness or absurdity of ever>' dis- 
 course which they hear, how could they be so familiar with principles 
 which they never distinctlv took notice of, unless they had a natural 
 knowledge or innate i>es©**sion of them ?
 
 I So M. ALLAH AND TO EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 In paragraphs 17 and 18, Mr. Locke denies that our consenting to 
 certain propositions at first hearing them, is a proof that the ideas 
 expressed by them are innate ; since many propositions, thus assented 
 to, evidently express ideas that had been acquired ; for example, two 
 and two make four, &c. But does it not appear to you, that he here 
 confounds the definition of words with self-evident truths ? at least, all 
 the examples which he gives are mere definitions. The idea expressed 
 by t%vo and two is precisely the same with the idea oi four. Nobody 
 says that our knowledge of the definitions of words is innate, because 
 that would imply language to be so. But the knowledge of this truth, 
 that the whole is greater than its part, does not imply that supposition ; 
 since an infant shews itself acquainted with this principle, when, dis- 
 satisfied with the half of an apple, it indicates its desire to possess the 
 whole. 
 
 Take the trouble, Sir, to examine § 23 ; in which Mr. Locke endea- 
 vours to disprove the assertion, that there are some principles so truly 
 innate, that those who hear them expressed in words for the first time, 
 immediately comprehend them without learning anything new. " First 
 of all," he observes, " it is clear they must have learned the terms of 
 the expression, and the meaning of those terms." But here Mr. Locke 
 manifestly departs from the question. Nobody says that words, which 
 are merely arbitrary signs of our ideas, are innate. He adds, "that 
 the ideas denoted by these expressions are no more born with us than 
 the expressions themselves, and that we acquire the ideas after first 
 learning the terms by which they are expressed." But, i. Is not this 
 to take for granted the thing to be proved .'' There are no innate ideas, 
 for all ideas are acquired. Mr. Locke would laugh at his adversaries, 
 were they to make use of such an argument. 2. If words are learned 
 before ideas, at least if that is always the case, as Mr. Locke under- 
 stands it to be, I would be glad to know how the first language could 
 have been formed, or how it could be possible to communicate to any 
 one the meaning of a word altogether new to him ? A person who had 
 no idea of order, for example, would be no more capable of under- 
 standing the word order, than a man born blind could understand the 
 word colour. 
 
 In paragraph 27, Mr. Locke denies innate ideas, because they are 
 not found in children and idiots, in whom we ought most to expect 
 meeting with them. I answer, i. Those who admit innate ideas, do 
 not believe them more natural to the mind than its faculties ; and as 
 the state and constitution of the body disturbs the faculties of idiots, 
 the same cause may hinder them from showing any signs of innate 
 ideas. 2. The fact is not strictly true. Even idiots and infants have 
 the idea of their existence, individuality, identity, &c. 
 
 In the remainder of that paragraph, Mr. Locke diverts himself with 
 the absurdity of those who believe the expressions of abstract maxims 
 to be innate ; but the most detemiined scholastic never maintained 
 any such opinion ; and he combats a chimera which is the work of his 
 own fancy. 
 
 I know not how it has happened that, instead of a few general reflec- 
 tions which I had intended, I have sent you a long and tiresome criti- 
 cism on some passages of a single chapter. The remains of lassitude,
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. iSl 
 
 probably, made it easier for me to follow and dispute with Mr. Locke, 
 than to think and reason alone. Have patience, and pardon me. There 
 are many remarks to make on the second chapter, where he treats of 
 innate practical principles. But I will not tire you with that subject, 
 unless you desire it. 
 
 Our newspapers say, that the King of Prussia has beat the Austrians, 
 and killed twenty thousand of their men ; with the loss of fifteen 
 thousand of his own. This was the object he had in view when he 
 passed through Leipsic. If the news be true, the war must become 
 general ; and, according to appearances, it will be terrible. But I much 
 fear lest his Prussian Majesty meet with the fate of Charles XII. What 
 are his resources for defence against the united strength of France and 
 Austria, and perhaps of Russia ? 
 
 I have the honour to be, with the most perfect consideration, yours, 
 &c. Allamand. 
 
 M. Allamand to Mr. Gibbon. 
 
 SIR, Bex, October 12, 1756. 
 
 I am delighted with your last letter, equally distinguished by accuracy 
 and penetration ; and with you, Sir, I believe that the cjuestion ap- 
 proaches to its decision. 
 
 You are right in saying, that the self-evident propositions, which I 
 mentioned, are not merely ideas, but judgments : yet you will have the 
 goodness to observe, that Mr. Locke having given them as examples 
 of ideas which pass for being innate, but which he does not regard as 
 such, the mistake is chargeable on him, and not on me, who had 
 nothing farther to do than to refute his manner of reasoning. Besides, 
 you will be pleased to remark, that the real question is, whether not 
 only certain ideas, but also certain common and self-evident proposi- 
 tions be innate. The only examples produced of innate ideas are those 
 of God, unity, and existence ; the other examples are of innate propo- 
 sitions, which you call judgments. 
 
 You ask, whether it be possible that our judgments should be innate, 
 judgment being nothing else but the act of our intellectual faculties in 
 comparing our ideas, and our judgment concerning self-evident truths 
 being merely the perception of those truths by a simple glance of the 
 mind .'' I grant all that, but would ask, what else is an idea but a 
 glance of the mind ? Those who define it otherwise, widely depart 
 from the original sense of the word ; and talk unintelligibly, when they 
 say that ideas are species ; that is, appearances of things impressed 
 on the mind, as the images of corporeal objects are impressed on the 
 eye. All metaphysicians have committed this mistake ; and Mr. 
 Locke, though sensible of it, has chosen in his anger to direct his 
 batteries against the weathercocks, rather than against the building 
 itself. According to the meaning of these metaphysicians, there are 
 surely no innate ideas, because in their sense of the word there are no 
 ideas whatever. An idea is merely an act or perception of the mind : 
 and the question concerning innate ideas is merely to determine, 
 whether certain truths be not so common and so evident, that every 
 mind, not absolutely stupid, must recognize them at a single glance, 
 
 N
 
 1 82 Af. ALLAMAND TO EDWARD GIBBON: 
 
 without the assistance of any teacher, and without the intervention cf 
 any discussion or reasoning ; and often without being sensible that 
 this glance is cast on them ? The affirmative appears to me incontro- 
 vertible ; and the question thereby is solved. 
 
 You will please to remark, that this way of explaining the matter is 
 as favourable to innate ideas, and therefore as opposite to Mr. Locke's 
 doctrine, as the unintelligible hypothesis above mentioned. For what 
 reason do we contend in favour of innate ideas ? To oppose evidence 
 and certainty to universal scepticism ; whose cause is ruined by prov- 
 ing certain truths to be so necessary and so natural to man, that they 
 are universally recognized by a single glance. This may be proved 
 according to my meaning of the word idea, as well as according to the 
 sense in which this word is vulgarly taken ; and the proof would not 
 have been very pleasing to Mr. Locke, who, without professing himself 
 a sceptic, yet shows a leaning to the sceptical side ; and whose works 
 have contributed much to the diffusion of scepticism in the present 
 age. His too eager desire of fixing the limits of human knowledge, a 
 thing highly necessary, has made him leave nothing but limits. 
 
 After these general observations on the main question, it is not verj 
 necessary to descend to the particulars in which you think me mis- 
 taken. Yet you will permit me to answer your objections, i. It is 
 true, that Mr. Locke, § 5, c. i, joins the two expressions, " being in the 
 mind, without being actually perceived by the mind," and " being in 
 the mind, without having ever been perceived by the mind ;" but at 
 the conclusion of the paragraph he lays himself open to my criticism, 
 by expressing himself as follows : " so that to be in the understanding 
 and not to be understood, to be in the mind and never to be perceived, is 
 all one as to say, any thing is and is not in the mind or understanding." 
 It is clear. Sir, that this. great philosopher erred in writing this passage ; 
 maintaining what I took the liberty to contradict, that nothing could 
 be in the understanding without being perceived to be there. I doubt 
 not that he would have corrected this mistake had it been pointed out 
 to him ; but he certainly falls into it, and employs it as a principle of 
 reasoning against his adversaries. 
 
 2. You think that we ought to admit his distinction between " ideas 
 in the mind," and " ideas in the memory." I admit the distinction 
 with all my heart, provided you take the word idea in the same accep- 
 tation as I do. In that sense an idea is in the mind, when the mind 
 actually considers the proposition which is the object of its idea, that 
 is, of its glance or perception ; and an idea is in the memory when the 
 mind, having formerly cast that glance on it, finds thereby a greater 
 facility in recalling it, remembering at the same time that it formerly 
 was the object of its perception. But if you understand by ideas these 
 chimerical species, the mere fictions of metaphysicians, and, as it seems 
 to me, not sufficiently disproved by Mr. Locke, I return to my asser- 
 tion, and maintain that the distinction is unintelligible between " being 
 in the mind," and " being in the memory." 
 
 A violent headache, which I brought with me from our venerable 
 class, hinders me from continuing this letter, or rendering what I have 
 already written shorter and more perspicuous. I intreat you to excuse 
 its imperfections. Your penetration will perhaps discern how aU dififi-
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 83 
 
 /<;ulties may be solved concerning innate practical principles. Mr. 
 Locke treats this subject better than he does the others ; but in several 
 parts he is somewhat puzzled. 
 
 I rejoiced at the hopes of seeing you for a moment at Vevay, and 
 was surprised at being disappointed. If I rightly understand this 
 word of your language, it cannot be well translated into ours. I met 
 with Mr, Pavillard only in the assembly. 
 
 IM. Allamand. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to M. Gesner. 
 SIR, 
 
 The multitude of your employments affords at once the proof of 
 your own merit, of the justice done to it by the public, of my presump- 
 tion, and of your goodness. How enviable is the lot of that small 
 number of superior minds whose talents are equally adapted to promote 
 the purposes either of pleasure or utility .'' The discernment surely ot 
 those princes is worthy of much applause, who, having ventured to 
 dissipate the clouds of envy, calumny, and frivolity, that usually sur- 
 round thrones, render to the truly great men among their suljjects a 
 justice which had been long done to them by the impartial public, and 
 reward their talents, by affording them new opportunities to display 
 them. These are but a small part of the reflections occasioned by 
 your letter, and which, were I to consult my inclination only, would 
 extend to a great length ; but my reason tells me, that I must be con- 
 tented with assuring you, that you have filled with gratitude a man 
 who will always be proud of being called your scholar. I go shortly 
 to England ; where, perhaps, I may find an opportunity of proving to 
 you the sincerity of my sentiments, at least of rendering my correspond- 
 ence less tiresome. My residence in London will give me a sort of 
 local merit. I will send you early intelligence of the labours and dis- 
 coveries of our learned men, whose example I am unable to imitate ; 
 and will expect to learn, in return, what is so proper an object of 
 curiosity, the occupations and studies of your colleagues and disciples 
 at Gottingen. At my return to London I propose to myself a new 
 pleasure in collecting all your works, which I will make it my first 
 business to procure ; and for assisting me in this matter, must request 
 that you will give me the titles of all the curious pieces with which you 
 have enriched the republic of letters. My ignorance of many of them 
 causes both joy and shame. It can only be excused in consideration 
 of my youth, and the place from which this letter is dated. 
 
 If I venture to propose some new doubts, it is because you know 
 better than any one, that absolute submission, is due only to reason, 
 either real or apparent. You will believe that my only motive for dis- 
 cussing your lessons is to render myself worthy of them : 
 
 " Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amorem."* 
 
 After this apology, I must confess that I have still some remaining 
 doubts concerning the Piso to whom Horace addresses his Art of 
 Poetry. You think that the manner in which that poet speaks of 
 Virgil does not prove the latter to be still alive ; because Horace does 
 
 * Lucici. dc Rcr. Watur. L. iii, ver. i, ctscq.
 
 184 EDWARD GIBBON- TO M. GESNER. 
 
 not oppose the dead to the living, but the ancients to the moderns. \ 
 examined the passage again, and that new perusal excited reflections 
 which confirmed me more strongly in my former opinion. Horace 
 ihought the Latin tongue too poor and barren, and deficient in words 
 Expressive of abstract ideas, which were unknown to Romulus' com- 
 panions, consisting of shepherds and robbers. This imperfection had 
 been remarked by others. Horace, wishing to remedy it, proposes to 
 the Virgils and Variuses, to co-operate witli him in this design, by 
 borrowing from the Greek many energetic terms and phrases which 
 were wanting in Latin. He does not justify a thing already done, but 
 proposes a new enterprise. The futurity which he looks to can only 
 have a reference to authors still alive. The Art of Poetry was there- 
 fore written before the year of Rome seven hundred and thirty-five. 
 This explanation agrees so well with the poet's thought, that his op- 
 position between the dead and living poets, concludes with one of the 
 justest and liveliest images that I ever remember to have met with : 
 
 " licuit semperque licebit 
 
 Signatum prsesente nota producere nomen."* 
 
 The licuit has a reference to the Terences and the Ceciliuses, who 
 were long dead ; the licebit^ in the future, to the Variuses and Virgils, 
 who were still alive, and might avail themselves of the maxim.f 
 
 You say that Piso's eldest son might be ten years old when the Art 
 of Poetry was published ; an age at which Grotius wrote verses. 
 Grotius did so ; but how few boys of that age have not only the fire to 
 write, but the judgment to criticise poetry? It is not likely that Piso 
 the father should have children at the age of twenty. You well know the 
 paucity of marriages under Augustus, which rendered the conjugal 
 felicity of Germanicus an example so much admired, S^iet. L. II. c. 34 ; 
 pride, poverty. Tacit. AmiaL ii. c. yj , and debauchery, deterred the 
 Roman nobles from marriage, especially amidst the civil wars, which, 
 during Piso's youth, desolated the earth. Augustus' laws on that 
 subject only prove the greatness of the evil:}: ; and Piso was thirty years 
 old, before the first of those laws v/as enacted §. If an ordinary gene- 
 ration is computed at thirty-three years ||, the generations under the 
 first emperors ought rather to be extended to forty, than reduced to 
 twenty years. These I acknowledge, are but prolaabilities, but in 
 the science of criticism probabilities destroy possibilities, and are 
 themselves destroyed by proofs. This principle is not to be contro- 
 verted. The authority of Porphyrio is of too little weight among the 
 learned to be the foundation of an argument ; it might at best help to 
 prop an argument, otherwise well supported. The ancients do not 
 assign to him the first rank among Horace's commentators^ ; and the 
 moderns, particularly Mr. Dacier, find in him many errors. I do not 
 see any ground for your first hypothesis. If Piso had a son when he 
 was thirty years old, this son might be sixteen when Horace wrote his 
 
 * Horat. de Art, Poet. ver. 59. 
 
 + This explanation is the more probable, because Virgil appears in his works to value 
 himself rather on reviving old words, than on borrowing new ones from the Greek. I doubt 
 whether a single passage can be pointed out, in which. he followed Horace's advice. 
 
 X Dion. Hist. Rom. L. Ivi. p. 570. § Horat. Carm. Secular, v 17, &c. Torrent de Lege 
 Julia ad Calc. Horat p. 75, &c. || Herodot. L. ii. NewLon Chronol. Emendat. p. 41. 
 
 ■j Vid. Vitam Horat fine nomine Autoris.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GTE BON. 1 85 
 
 Art of Poetry ; an age which you think agrees with every quality 
 required in him. Did you not forget, in writing this sentence, that 
 Horace died in seven hundred and forty-five, when Piso himself was 
 only forty years old ? 
 
 2. I think it certain that Horace, in the third ode of his third book, 
 meant to show the Romans, that if their prince aspired to divine 
 honours, V. ainque affcctat Olympo, he well merited them by his 
 exploits, which rivalled those of the greatest heroes, Bacchus, Hercules, 
 and Romulus, who, after trampling on their human enemies, and 
 appeasing the jealousy of the gods, had opened for themselves a road 
 to the palace of the immortals. But did the poet also intend, by this 
 ode, to resist and destroy the clamours of the people concerning the 
 infamous supper of the twelve gods ? I think he did not. i. This 
 design does not agree with chronology. Suetonius does not tell us the 
 date of this supper ; but since Mark Antony mentioned it, in his letters 
 to Augustus, Suet. L. ii. c. jo ; it must have happened before the last 
 quarrel of the triumvirs. According to Bentley, Bcntlcy in Prafat. ad 
 Horat J whose opinion you adopt, Horace wrote the third book of his 
 odes in the forty-second and forty-third years of his age ; that is, in the 
 seven hundred and twenty-eighth and seven hundred and twenty-ninth 
 years of Rome. An apology for Augustus' debaucheries, written seven 
 years after they happened, could have only served to revive the memory 
 of enormities, which the policy of that prince and the gratitude of the 
 Romans had long consigned to oblivion. 2. Augustus supped with 
 eleven men and women, who, as well as himself, were adorned with 
 the emblems of divinities. The poet feated Augustus at the table of 
 the gods, p7u-pin-co bibit ore nectar ; but can we reasonably suppose 
 that he meant to place there the companions of his feast ? This would 
 have been to render the honour too common ; and his panegyric would 
 have degenerated into a satire. I agree with you, that it is rather 
 desirable than necessary to discover the plan of an ode ; the writers of 
 Lyric poetry having always enjoyed the privilege of soaring to heights, 
 which, if admired by fancy, must not be cri>ticised by reason. This fault, 
 if it be one, is compensated by great beauties. The two first stanzas prove 
 the wonderful efficacy of poetry when combined with philosophy. The 
 justnni Ss^ tcnacon propositi virum is the sage of the Stoics, their 
 king.* and only happy man ; all whose designs are just, and inflexibly 
 persucd.t Such a being, exempt from passions and prejudices, never 
 casts his eyes on the tumults of human life, without exclaiming, 
 
 " O ! curas hominum ! O ! quantum in robus inane ! " 
 
 To the disgrace of mankind, such a character never existed ; but it is 
 not a small honour for the species, that such perfect virtue has been 
 described and relished. The climax is beautiful. The sage would resist 
 the clamorous fury of a mad multitude ; liut this popular rage is often 
 appeased as easily as it is kindled. He would despise the threats of a 
 furious tyrant ; but the hearts of tyrants sometimes relent with compas- 
 sion. He would hear without terror the raging tempest, which over- 
 powers the cries of the wretched ; but fortune has often rescued victims 
 
 • Horat. Serm. L. i. Serm. iii. ver. 124. + Cicero pro Murenae, c. 29. De la Motlie le 
 Vayer, torn i p. 606, &c. de la Vcrtu des Payens.
 
 1 86 EDWARD GIBBON TO M. GESNER. 
 
 from the boisterous waves. He would not dread the thunder of Jupiter ; 
 here the trembUng imagination pauses, fearing lest the poet should 
 either sink into meanness, or swell into bombast ; because it seems 
 impossible to conceive a bolder image than the enraged master of gods 
 and men. But our fear is converted into admiration, when we read 
 " he would sustain unterrified the crashing shock of the universe, by 
 which the elements, men, and gods are involved in one common ruin," 
 Plin. L. vi. Epist. 20, I stop here, lest my reflections should tire you ; 
 which if they do, it must be my fault. I shall have attained, however, 
 my purpose, which was to show the point of view under which I con- 
 sider the most profound erudition. Regarded as a mean or instrument, 
 it merits our highest admiration ; but considered as an ultimate end, 
 it is entitled to nothing but contempt. 
 
 3. You remember, Sir, that famous passage of Velleius Paterculus, 
 Veil. Paterc. L. ii. c. 125, which has given so much trouble to the 
 learned. It is as follows : * * * * It seems unsusceptible of any 
 meaning, and must be supposed either defective or cori'upt. All the 
 critics, therefore, who have examined it, endeavour to restore the text. 
 Burerius, Acidalius, Gruter, Boeclerus, Heinsius, Burman, have, all of 
 them, given conjectures more or less probable, which I shall not here 
 discuss. I shall rather submit an emendation of my own to your judg- 
 ment. Instead of the common reading, I would substitute Prisca 
 ajitiqiLuqjie feveritate^ FUSUS aiicipitla sibi ta/n re quant exemplo per- 
 niciosa. We see at once that this small alteration produces a clear 
 and distinct sense ; and the correction may be proved to be equally 
 conformable to the analogy of the Latin tongue, and agreeable to the 
 truth of history. The best grammarians acknowledge that the Latin, not 
 having a middle voice, admits of a passive participle in an active signi- 
 fication.* Thus, juratits, pimitus, sometimes denote qui juravit, qui 
 punivit. We find peragratus used in this meaning by Velleius him- 
 self f Fusus may therefore, without impropriety, denote the action of 
 Drusus. History also favours this correction. According to Tacitus, 
 when Drusus arrived in the camp of the rebels, his orders were dis- 
 obeyed, his offers suspected, the soldiers made him prisoner, they 
 insulted his friends, and waited only for a pretence to begin the 
 slaughter. Such were the dangers that threatened his person ! Sibi 
 aiicipitia tarn re. The severity of the Roman discipline is well known. 
 The generals were the gods of the soldiers, and their orders received as 
 oracles. But ancient maxims were now overturned ; and the sedition 
 of the Pannonian legions created an example most pernicious to pos- 
 terity. Superstition, which does so much evil, here did good ; an 
 eclipse of the moon frightened the soldiers, and saved the life of the 
 general. 
 
 I read with much pleasure your solution of the difficulty in Justin ; 
 and admire your skill in extracting a regular narrative, by bringing 
 the scattered hglits in authors to one focus. If any uncertainty still 
 remains, it must be ascribed to the darkness of antiquity and Justin's 
 brevity. 
 
 Your suffrage i-emoves all fear about the solidity of my conjecture 
 
 • V. Burman ad Veil. Paterc. L. ii. c. 97. Perizon. ad Sanct. IMinerv. L. i. c. ij. n. 4. 
 ♦ Veil. Paicrc. L, ii. c. 97. % Tacit. Annal. i. c. 24, &c.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 8/ 
 
 concerning the death of Catullus. I formerly thought it probable, but 
 begin now to regard it as certain. I have the honour to remain, with 
 the highest consideration and most perfect esteem, yours, &.c, 
 
 Edward Gibbon. 
 
 [THIS LETTER, in the early hand-writing of Mr. GiBBON, (pro- 
 bably about the time of his first leaving Lausanne,) seems to 
 be under the assumed character of a Swedish traveller, writing 
 to a Swiss friend, delineating the defects he discovered in the 
 government of Berne. In pointing out those defects he seems 
 to have had the intention of suggesting remedies ; but, as he is 
 entering on this topic, the manuscript ends abruptly. The 
 excellence of this curious paper will apologize for its great 
 length.— S.] 
 
 No ; my dear friend, I will not be a citizen of the world ; I reject 
 with scorn that proud title, under which our philosophers conceal an 
 equal indifference for the whole human race. I will love my country; 
 and to love it above all others, there must be reasons for my pre- 
 ference : but, if I am not mistaken, my heart is susceptible of affection 
 for more countries than one. Did I sacrifice all to Sweden, I should 
 only pay my debt of gratitude to the land in which I was born, and to 
 which I owe my life and fortune. Yet life and fortune would have 
 been but melancholy burthens, if, after my banishment from home in 
 early youth, your country had not formed my taste and reason, and 
 taught me more refined morals than our own. I should prove myself 
 unworthy of this goodness, did it not inspire me with the liveliest 
 gratitude : and now that Sweden, enjoying tranquillity under the pro- 
 tection of laws, requires nothing from its subjects but a just sense of 
 their happiness, I may direct my attention, without oft'ence, to the 
 Pays de Vaud, my second country ; rejoicing with you in its advan- 
 tages, or commiserating its misfortunes. 
 
 You enjoy a fine climate, a fertile soil, and have conveniences for 
 internal commerce, from which great benefit might be derived. But I 
 consider the people rather than their territory. Philosophy flourishes 
 in London ; Paris is the centre of those attracted by the allurements 
 of polished society. Your country, though inferior to those capitals, 
 yet unites in some measure their respective advantages : since it is the 
 only country whose inhabitants, while they think freely and boldly, 
 live politely and elegantly. What then is wanting ? Liberty ; and 
 deprived of it, you have lost your all. 
 
 This truth surprises and offends you. The right of complaining, 
 you answer, that we are not free, is a proof of our liberty. If I wrote 
 at Lausanne, the argument would have weight ; yet even there, it 
 would not be convincing ; for your masters are not ignorant of Cardinal 
 Mazarine's maxim, and are willing to allow you to talk, provided you 
 allow them to act ; so that the process is not yet determined. 
 
 If I wrote for the people I would speak to their passions, and hold 
 a language repeated in all ages, that under republics, those who are
 
 1 88 E. GIB BOX O.V THE STATE OF THE FAYS DE VAUD. 
 
 free are more free, and those who are enslaved, more enslaved, than 
 under any other form of government. But with a friend like you I 
 would seek only the maxims of truth, and employ only the arguments 
 of reason. When I compare your condition with that of surrounding 
 nations, I can sincerely congratulate you on your happiness. When- 
 ever we quit the neighbourhood of your lake and mountains, we find 
 men who, though worthy of a better fate, are plunged in the most 
 abject superstition ; whose property and industry are the spoils of a 
 licentious soldiery; and whose lives are ready every moment to be 
 sacrificed to the caprice of one man, who, when he bears that twenty 
 thousand of his fellow-creatures have fallen sacrifices to his ambition, 
 is contented with saying coldly, " they have done their duty." 
 
 You, on the contrary, enjoy a Christianity brought back to the 
 purity of its original principles, taught publicly by worthy ministers, 
 who are loved and respected, but who have it not in their power to 
 bectDme the objects of fear. Your connection with the Swiss cantons 
 has preserved to you the blessings of peace two centuries ; a thing 
 unexampled in history. Your taxes are moderate ; and the public 
 administration is gentle. You have not to complain of those arbitrary 
 sentences, which, without any form of legal procedure, without an 
 accuser, and without a crime, have been known to tear citizens from 
 the bosoms of their families. The sovereign is never seen ; the weight 
 of his authority is rarely felt : yet if liberty consists in being subject 
 to laws, which impartially consult the interests of all the members of 
 the community, you do not enjoy that blessing. 
 
 When the injustice of some, and the weakness of others, showed 
 the necessity for civil society, individuals were obliged to renounce 
 their beloved, but pernicious, independence. All particular wills were 
 melted down into the general will of the public ; by which, under the 
 sanction of definite punishments, men became bound to regulate their 
 conduct. But it is a matter of the utmost delicacy to determine with 
 whom that general will ought to be deposited. Shall it reside in the 
 breast of a prince, who thereby becomes absolute ? I know that the 
 true interests of a prince can never be separated from those of his 
 people, and that in exerting himself for their benefit, he labours for his 
 own. This is the language of philosophy, but it is seldom spoken by 
 the preceptors of princes ; and if the latter sometimes read it in their 
 own hearts, the impression is speedily effaced by contrary passions, in 
 themselves, their confessors, their ministers, or mistresses. The 
 groans of the people are not soon heard ; and their master learns only 
 by a fatal experience, that it is the interest of a shepherd to preserve 
 his flock. The legislative power, therefore, cannot safely be entrusted 
 to a single person. A council, whose members mutually instiiict, and 
 mutually check each other, appears to be its proper depository^ But 
 in this council one condition is essentially requisite. It nx^vA consist 
 of deputies from every order in the state, interested by their own 
 s.ifety in opposing every regulation inconsistent with the happiness of 
 that order to which they belong. Such a council will rarely be guilty 
 of gross errors ; and should this sometimes happen, it will soon blush 
 for, and repair them. Is this the picture of your legislature ? When 
 I survey your country, I behold two nations, distinctly characterised
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 89 
 
 by their rights, employments, and manners : the one, consisting of 
 three hundred famihcs, born to command ; the other, consisting of an 
 hundred thousand, doomed to submission. The former are invested, 
 as a body, with all the prerogatives of hereditary monarchs, which are 
 the more humiliating to you their subjects, because they belong to 
 men apparently your equals. The comparison between yourselves and 
 them is made every moment ; no circumstance tends to conceal it 
 from your fancy. 
 
 A council of three hundred persons is the sovereign umpire of your 
 dearest interests, which will always be sacrificed when they clash with 
 their own. This council is invested with the executive, as well as the 
 legislative, power ; two branches of authority which can never be 
 united, without rendering each of them too formidable to the subject. 
 When they belong to diflerent persons, or assemblies, the legislature 
 will not venture to form violent resolutions, because these would be of 
 no avail, unless they were carried into execution by another power, 
 always its rival, and often its antogonist. The sword of authority is 
 not only sharpened by this union, but is thereby confined to a smaller 
 number of hands. In the last century the great council of Berne began 
 to elect its own members ; which was a great step towards oligarchy, 
 since it excluded from elections the citizens at large, and thereby nar- 
 rowed the basis of the government. But this arrangement was liable 
 to other inconveniences. Intrigue, venality, and debauchery signalised 
 the admission of citizens into the sovereign council ; and ambitious 
 men squandered their wealth, that they might purchase a right to 
 indulge their rapacity. A committee of six counsellors, established in 
 the infancy of the republic, to watch the execution of the laws, and 
 whose offices were held at pleasure, became entrusted with the power 
 of naming the members of the grand council, by which this committee 
 itself was appointed. Its number was augmented by sixteen senators, 
 chosen in the manner most favourable to the designs of faction. They 
 exercised their power at first collectively, but by degrees they came to 
 understand that their particular interests would be better promoted by 
 each naming his son, son-in-law, or kinsman. The powerful families 
 which then commanded the senate, still rule in it at present. Thirty 
 places are filled by the Wattevilles and Steiguers. This selfish traffic, 
 by which the members of the little council are elected by the great 
 council, consisting of their own relations, that they may name other 
 relations to seats in the great council, has reduced the number of 
 families, which have a right to sit in the latter, to nearly fourscore. 
 These princely families look down with equal contempt on those who 
 are their fellow-citizens by the law of nature, and those who were 
 rendered such by the constitution of their country. The former class 
 is deprived of a resource which the most absolute princes have seldom 
 ventured to wrest from their subjects ; I mean those courts of justice 
 acknowledged by the prince, and revered by the people, as the organs 
 of public opinion, and the depositories of the huvs. The commands 
 of the sovereign are obeyed with cheerfulness only when their propriety 
 is confinned by the approbation of those tribunals, whose members it 
 has been found difficult cither to deceive, to seduce, or to intimidate. 
 Their resistance to oppression is respectful, but firm ; and in exerting
 
 190 LETTER ON THE STATE OF SWITZERLAND. 
 
 it, they display that warmth of eloquence with which reason and liberty 
 inspire good citizens. In the members of those peaceful tribunals, 
 such qualities appear in their greatest lustre. Destitute of arms, their 
 whole strength lies in their talents and their probity. What noble 
 lessons to kings have been given by the Parliament of Paris ? What 
 excellent examples to subjects are set by the Mandarines of China ? 
 Monarchs must hear the groans of their people, when such respectable 
 bodies of men are their organs. The people too learn that they have 
 a country, which they will begin to love, to study its laws, and to form 
 themselves to public virtues. These virtues ripen silently ; they are 
 exerted when an opportunity offers ; and sometimes they will make an 
 opportunity for their own exhibition. In the Pays de Vaud, which was 
 equally respectable under the kings of Burgundy and the dukes of 
 Savoy, the states formed such a tribunal. They were composed of the 
 nobility, clergy, and deputies from the principal cities, which annually 
 assembled at Moudon, and formed the perpetual council of the prince, 
 without whose consent he could neither enact new laws, nor impose 
 new taxes. Were I on the spot, I could prove the existence of those 
 rights by your most authentic records. At a distance I can only appeal 
 to their testimony, and employ an analogical proof, which will be suffi- 
 ciently convincing to men of letters. The Barbarians, who overflowed 
 Europe in the fifth century, every where laid the foundation of that 
 form of government which Charlemagne established in the Low 
 Countries, France, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany. The different 
 modes of tenure which were at different times introduced, the various 
 degrees of dependance which one fief came to have on another, the 
 acquisition of lordships by the clergy, and the purchase of franchises 
 by cities ; all these circumstances occasioned but slight differences in 
 the ground-work of the constitution, which remained unalterably 
 founded on a firm basis of liberty. The states, their members, and 
 their rights, were invariably maintained ; remaining uniformly the 
 same at all times, and in all places. 
 
 I think that I hear you, my friend, interrupting me. Hitherto, you 
 say, I have listened to you with patience ; but what is your conclusion 
 from this picture of our government .'' Whatever defects there may be 
 in its principles, we have experienced its salutary consequences ; and 
 the states and assemblies which you so much commend, will not easily 
 make us abolish our ancient magistracies, in order to try innovations. 
 
 It is time. Sir, to pause ; I spoke to you as became a freeman, and 
 you answer me in the language of slavery. Let us admit for a moment 
 your prosperity ; to whom do yoa owe it ? You will not answer, to the 
 constitution. It is due then to your rulers. The Romans owed a 
 prosperity yet greater to Titus ; but still remained the basest of slaves. 
 Brutus would have taught you that a despot may sometimes choose to 
 promote the public happiness ; but that the magistrates of a free 
 people can have no other wish. The advantages actually enjoyed bj 
 a citizen and a slave may be the same ; but those of the latter are 
 precarious, having no other foundation than the changeable passions 
 of men ; whereas those of the former are secure, being solidly sup- 
 ported on those laws which curb guilty passions in the prince as well 
 as in the peasant.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. IQI 
 
 But unfortunately too many faults may be found in your public 
 administration. 1 shall give you the black list of omissions and oppres- 
 sions which, notwithstanding that you will exclaim against my malignity, 
 your own memory will augment by an hundred articles, which I may 
 be either ignorant of, or forget to mention. It is the duty of a sovereign 
 to procure for his people all the happiness of which their condition is 
 susceptible. His public spirited exertions may be suspended by the 
 exigencies of defensive war ; but as soon as peace is restored, he will 
 be continually and usefully occupied with the interests of religion, laws, 
 morals, sciences, police, commerce, and agriculture. Let us try the 
 merits of the senate of Berne by these maxims. The members of this 
 senate have been masters of the Pays de Vaud since the year one 
 thousand five hundred and thirty-six. When we consider the deplorable 
 condition in those days of France, England, Holland, and Germany, 
 we can scarcely imagine that they were the same countries with those 
 respectively known at present by the same names. Their barbarism 
 has been civilized, their ignorance enlightened, their poverty enriched ; 
 their deserts have become cities, and their forests now wave with yellow 
 harvests. These wonders have been effected by their princes and 
 ministers : a Henry the Fourth, a Sully, a Colbert, an Elizabeth, a de 
 Witt, and a Frederick William. The comparative condition of the 
 Pays de Vaud at those two remote £eras, does not present so pleasing 
 a picture. There the arts still languish, for want of those encourage- 
 ments which princes only can bestow : the country is still destitute of 
 commerce and manufactures : we hear not of any projects for promoting 
 the public prosperity : we see nothing but the marks of an universal 
 lethargy. Yet the princes above mentioned had but moments for exe- 
 cuting their great designs ; the senators of Berne have had ages. What 
 benefits might not those patriotic kings have conferred on their subjects, 
 if, instead of having their thrones continually shaken by war and 
 sedition, they had enjoyed during two centuries the advantage of having 
 loyal subjects and pacific neighbours ? I appeal to yourself; point out 
 a single useful establishment which the Pays de Vaud owes to the 
 sovereignty of Berne : but do not tell me of the academy of Lausanne, 
 founded on motives of religion during the zeal of reformation, but since 
 totally neglected, though a worthy magistrate of that city proposed the 
 laudable design of erecting it into an university. 
 
 Your masters err not through ignorance. They are not deficient, I 
 know, in political abilities. But while a prince treats with impartial 
 bounty all his subjects, the citizens of an aristocratical capital are 
 apt to behold with jealousy the improvement of the provinces. Their 
 elevation, they think, must pave the way for their own downfal ; and if 
 they become their equals in point of knowledge and riches, they will 
 soon be tempted, they imagine, to aspire at an equality with themselves 
 in power. Recal to memory the year 1685 ; when the wretched policy 
 of Louis the Fourteenth drove from their country the most industrious 
 portion of his subjects, many of whom sought refuge in the Pays de 
 Vaud ; a neighbouring district, and speaking their own language. They 
 requested only an asylum, the benefit of which they would richly have 
 repaid by the wealth which they carried with them, and their skill in 
 manufactures, still more valuable. But the narrow policy of Berne
 
 192 NARROW POLICY OF THE ARISTOCRACY OF BERNE, 
 
 took the alarm. " If we make these men citizens of Berne, their interests 
 will coincide with our own. But is it fit that mortals should be raised 
 to the rank of gods ! If they are mixed with the mass of our subjects, 
 our subjects will be enriched by their industry." They concluded there- 
 fore, with the ambassadors of Porsenna— "that it was more desirable 
 for a prince to govern a poor but submissive people, than to contend 
 with the unruly passions of men pampered by prosperity." 
 
 The emigrants, disgusted at being repeatedly refused what they ought 
 to have been requested to accept, travelled to Holland, Prussia, and 
 England, whose rulers had the good sense to avail themselves of an 
 emergency as favourable as it was singular. A part of them indeed 
 remained in the Pays de Vaud, but the poorest and the idlest, who had 
 neither money nor spirit to travel farther. 
 
 These unhappy fugitives had no sooner begun to forget their past 
 sufferings, than they learned by fatal experience that, in order to avoid 
 persecution, it was necessary to fly from the society of men. The 
 sovereigns of the country in which they had settled had imbibed the 
 severe system of Calvin, a stern theologian, who loved liberty too well, 
 to endure that Christians should wear any other chains than those 
 imposed by himself His near conformity in opinion with a celebrated 
 German philosopher, interested the honour of the German name in 
 supporting his doctrines. But in the Pays de Vaud the asperity of 
 religious opinions had softened with the improvement of society. It 
 became necessary, therefore, to send thither formulas and inquisitors, 
 designed to make as many hypocrites as possible, not indeed by fire 
 and sword, but by threats and deposition from office. 
 
 In supporting the rights of man, I would not carry too far the maxims 
 of toleration. It is just that public rewards should be bestowed only 
 on those who teach the religion of the public ; and those bold inno- 
 vators, who would impart a dangerous light to the people, may very 
 properly be restrained by the arm of the magistrate. But it surely is 
 absurd, that the sovereign should interfere in theological minutiee, and 
 take part warmly in questions which are incapable of being decided. 
 It is particularly unjust, that he should impose confessions of faith on 
 i)ld ministers, who wish to avoid disputation ; leaving them the iniserable 
 alternative of falsehood or beggary. But this persecution has now 
 ceased. What put an end to it .'' It was not shame, nor the tears of 
 the people, but the boldness of Davel, that meritorious enthusiast. 
 Even to the present day, a secret inquisition still reigns at Lausanne ; 
 where the names of Arminian and Socinian are often mentioned in the 
 letters written by very honest people to their patrons of Berne ; and 
 offices are often given or withheld according to the reports made of 
 the religious tenets of the candidates. 
 
 Having made these strictures on your legislature, which by no means 
 exhaust the subject, I proceed to consider the defects of your executive 
 power ; which is the public force, as the legislature ought to be the 
 public will. But a single council, or a single man, may deliberate and 
 resolve for a whole nation ; the executive power, on the contrary, 
 requires the exertions of many : as it is composed of a great variety of 
 branches, many officers, subordinate one to the other, must actuate 
 the different parts of the machine, to which the chief magistrate can
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. I93 
 
 only communicate the first general movement. The honours and 
 emoluments legally attached to such offices, ought to be open to all 
 those citizens who are properly qualified for discharging them. Each 
 individual, as he bears a share of the public burdens, is entitled also to 
 a share of the public rewards. This just arrangement is easily main- 
 tained in monarchies ; where, with the exception of a few courtiers, 
 who, by being continually about the prince's person, have an opportunity 
 of substituting flattery instead of real services, all the inhabitants of the 
 kingdom are treated with comparative equity. In France, provided a 
 man has court-favour or merit, the question is never asked whether he 
 comes from Provence or Normandy. D'Epernon was born in Gascony ; 
 Richelieu, in Champagne ; Mazarine, in Rome. But in aristocratical 
 republics, the citizens of one town are not contented with being sove- 
 reigns collectively, unless they individually appropriate all offices of 
 honour or emolument. In the canton of Berne talents and information 
 are not of the smallest use to any one who is not born in the capital ; 
 and in another sense they are useless to those born there ; because 
 they must make their way without them. Their subjects in the Pays 
 de Vaud are condemned, by the circumstances of their birth, to a con- 
 dition of shameful obscurity. They naturally become, therefore, a prey 
 to despair ; and neglecting to cultivate talents which they can never 
 enjoy an opportunity to display, those who had capacities for becoming 
 great men are contented with making themselves agreeable companions. 
 Should I propose that the subjects obtained a right to hold the lucrative 
 employments of Baillis, or governors of districts, the aristocratical 
 families of Berne would think me guilty of a crime little less than 
 sacrilege. "The emoluments of these offices form the patrimony of 
 the state ; and we are the state." It is true, that you in the Pays de 
 Vaud may be deputies to the Baillis ; but the advantages belonging to 
 that subordinate magistracy are obtained on certain conditions, which, 
 unless the holder of the office lives a certain number of years, renders 
 his bargain a very bad one for his family. 
 
 What encouragement is then left for the gentlemen of the Pays de 
 Vaud ? That of foreign service. But to them, even this road to pre- 
 ferment is extremely difficult, and to attain the higher ranks is impos- 
 sible. I speak not of the brilliant service of France : in that country, 
 expence is unavoidable ; the ensign is ruined, the captain can scarcely 
 live, and the colonel cannot save money. You are therefore obliged to 
 the paternal care of the magistrates of Berne, whose treaties for supply- 
 ing troops to France do not lead you into temptation. Let us only 
 consider the service of Holland, a service more profitable than showy, 
 where officers have nothing to do but to grow ricb. By the treaty of 
 171 2, the Canton of Berne granted the use of twenty-four companies 
 to their High Mightinesses, and promised that they should always be 
 allowed to recruit them in their territories. But the command of six- 
 teen of those companies was appropriated by the citizens of Berne, and 
 the remaining eight were left common between them and their subjects 
 in the Pays de Vaud. On the supposition, then, that the interest of 
 both classes of candidates for those companies is equal, the sovereign 
 people will obtain four out of the eight, and twenty out of the whole 
 twenty-foiu". This proportion appears the more unreasonable, when it
 
 194 ^^^ REVENUE AND WEALTH OE BERNE, 
 
 is considered that in the canton there are above an 100,000 men fit to 
 bear arms, of whom scarcely 800 are citizens of Berne. Besides, tlie 
 poorer classes of citizens, proud merely of this title, prefer living in 
 idleness at Berne to honourable exertions abroad, by which they might 
 better their condition. I doubt, therefore, whether fifty citizens of 
 Berne, who are not officers, will be found in the whole of the Swiss 
 Dutch troops. 
 
 These inconveniencies, you will tell me, are only felt by men of 
 family ; that is to say, by the most respectable, but least num.erous, 
 portion of the community ; and they disappear amidst the general 
 equity and impartiality of the public administration. But does the 
 tyranny of the bailiffs disappear also ? The people, a name so dear to 
 humanity, feel the full weight of their oppression. I will not have re- 
 course to particular examples ; because you might call in question the 
 authenticity of facts, or object with reason, that general conclusions 
 are not to be drawn from particular principles. I shall be contented 
 with pointing out the extent of their power, and leave to your own 
 knowledge of human nature to infer the abuses with which it must be 
 accompanied. In his own district every bailiff is at the head of religion, 
 of the law, the army, and the finances. As judge, he decides without 
 appeal, all causes to the amount of an hundred franks ; a sum of little 
 importance to a gentleman, but which often makes the whole fortune 
 of a peasant ; and he decides alone, for the voice of his assessors has 
 not any weight in the scale. He confers, or rather he sells, all the 
 employments in his district. When the injured party wishes to appeal 
 from his sentence, as there is no court of justice at Moudon, he is 
 obliged to remove the cause to Berne ; and how few peasants can 
 bear this expence. But if his eagerness to punish his tyrant carries 
 him thither, it is not without many difficulties on his part that the 
 Avoyer or chief magistrate, grants him admission into the council ; 
 where, after all his trouble and expence, he is finally allowed to plead 
 his cause before a tribunal, the members of which are connected with 
 his oppressor by the ties of blood, and still more by a conformity of 
 interests and crimes. 
 
 Your taxes, moderate as they are, exhaust the country. This obser- 
 vation requires to be explained. While the great kingdoms of Europe, 
 loaded with expences and debts, are driven to expedients which would 
 alarm the wildest prodigal, Berne is the only state which has amassed 
 a large treasure. The secret has been so well kept, that it is not easy 
 to ascertain its amount. Stanyan, the British envoy at Berne, a man 
 inquisitive and possessed of good means of information, estiinated 
 forty years ago the money belonging to that republic, in the English 
 funds, at 300,0001., or seven millions of Swiss livres ; and the sums 
 remaining in the treasury of Berne, or dispersed through the other 
 funds or banks of Europe, at i,8oo,oool., or forty-three millions Swiss. 
 These treasures have not probably diminished since the year 1722. 
 The Canton enriches itself by the simple means of receiving much and 
 expending little. But what is the amount of its receipts ? I know 
 not, but I will try to discover it. The twelve bailiwics, or districts, of 
 the Pays de Vaud pay, one with another, during the six years that 
 they are governed by the same magistrate, five hundred thousand Swiss
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. I95 
 
 livres. The contributions, therefore, of all the twelve amount to a 
 million of livres annually. I have always been told that the bailiffs or 
 governors, retain ten per cent, on the revenues raised within their 
 respective jurisdictions. The million of revenue, diminished by an 
 hundred thousand livres consumed in the appointments of the bailiffs, 
 is reduced to three hundred thousand crowns ; of which one hundred 
 thousand may be allowed for the expences of the state, a sum not 
 chosen at random ; and the other two hundred thousand crowns, which 
 in other countries would be employed in the maintenance of a court 
 and army, whose incomes would circulate through the general mass of 
 the people on whom they had been raised, are here buried in the coffers of 
 the sovereignty, or dispersed through the precarious banks of Europe, to 
 become one day a prey to the knavery of a clerk, or the ambition of a 
 conqueror. This continual absorption of specie extinguishes industry, 
 deadens every enterprise that requires the aid of money, and gradually 
 impoverishes the country. 
 
 These, Sir, are your hardships. But I think you will say to me, 
 " Have you thus probed our wounds merely to make us feel their 
 smart ? What advice do you give us ?" None, unless you have already 
 anticipated it. I would indeed advise you to remonstrate. But there 
 are evils so deeply rooted in governments, that Plato himself would 
 despair of curing them. What could you expect to obtain from those 
 masters by remonstrances, who have remained during two centuries 
 insensible to the merit of your faithful service ? There is another 
 remedy, more prompt, more perfect, and more glorious. William Tell 
 would have prescribed it ; I do not. I know that the spirit of a good 
 citizen is, like that of charity, long-suffering, and hoping all things. 
 The citizen is in the right ; since he knows the evils resulting from his 
 submission, but knows not the greater evils which might be produced 
 by his resistance. You know me too well to be ignorant how much I 
 respect those principles, so friendly to the interests of peace and of 
 human kind. I will never, in the language of a seditious tribune, per- 
 suade the people to shake off the yoke of authority, that they may 
 proceed from murmur to sedition, from sedition to anarchy, and from 
 anarchy perhaps to despotism. 
 
 Yet, with the freedom which has hitherto guided my pen, I will en- 
 deavour to destroy some giants of romance, which might otherwise 
 inspire you with vain terror. Whether you prefer the road of bold 
 enterprise or cautious repose, I wish that reason, not prejudice, should 
 dictate your choice. 
 
 The magistrates of Berne have a right to expect your obedience ; 
 you fear to do them wrong in withholding it. * * * * * 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Mrs. Porten. 
 Dear Madam, Lausanne, 1756. 
 
 Fear no reproaches for your negligence, however great ; for your 
 silence, however long. I love you too well to make you any. Nothing, 
 in my opinion, is so ridiculous as some kind of friends, wives, and. 
 lovers, who look on no crime as so heinous as the letting slip a post 
 without writing. The charm of friendship is liberty ; and he that 
 would destroy the one, destroys, without designing it, the better half of
 
 196 EDWARD GIBBON- TO RIS AUNT FORTEN. 
 
 the other. I compare friendship to charity, and letters to ahiis ; iht 
 last signifies nothing without the first, and very often the first is very 
 strong, akhough it does not shew itself by the other. It is not good- 
 will which is wanting, it is only opportunities or means. However, one 
 month — two months — three months — four months— 1 began not to be 
 angry, but to be uneasy, for fear some accident had happened to you. I 
 was often on the point of writing, but was always stopped by the hopes 
 of hearing from you by the next post. Besides, not to flatter you, your 
 excuse is a very bad one. You cannot entertain me by your letters. 
 I think I ought to know that better than you ; and I assure you that 
 one of your plain sincere letters entertains me more than the most 
 polished one of Pliny or Cicero. 'Tis your heart speaks, and I look 
 on your heart as much better in its way than either of their heads. 
 
 Out of pure politeness I ought to talk of * * * before myself. I was 
 some hours with him in this place, that is to say, almost all the time 
 he was here. I find him always * * *, always good-natured, always 
 amusing, and always trifling. I asked him some questions about Italy ; 
 he told me, he hurried out of it as soon as he could, because there was 
 no French comedy, and he did not love the Italian opera. I let slip some 
 words of the pleasure he should have of seeing his native country 
 again, on account of the services he could render her in parliament. 
 " Yes (says he), I want vastly to be at London ; there are three years 
 since I have seen Garrick." He spoke to me of you, and indeed not 
 only with consideration, but with aftection. Were there nothing else 
 valuable in his character, I should love him, because he loves you. 
 He told me he intended to see you as soon as he should be in Eng- 
 land ; I am glad he has kept his word. I was so taken up with my 
 old friend, that I could not speak a word to * * *. He appeared, 
 however, a good, sensible, modest young man. Poor Minorca indeed 
 thus lost ! but poor Englishmen who have lost it ! I think the second 
 exclamation still stronger than the first. Poor Lord Torrington ! I 
 can't help pitying him. What a shameful uncle he has ! I shall lose 
 all my opinion of my countrymen, if the whole nation, Whigs, Tories, 
 Courtiers, Jacobites, &c. &c. are not unanimous in detesting that man. 
 Pray, is there any truth in a story we had here, of a brother of Admiral 
 Byng's having killed himself out of rage and shame ? I did not think 
 he had any brothers alive. It is thought here that Byng will be 
 acquitted. I hope not. Though I do not love rash judgments, I can- 
 not help thinking him guilty. 
 
 You ask me, when I shall come into England ? How should I know 
 it? The 14th of June I wrote to my father, and saying nothing of my 
 return, which I knew would have been to no purpose, I desired him to 
 give me a fixed allowance of 200I. a year, or, least, to allow me a 
 servant. No answer. About a fortnight ago I renewed my request ; 
 and I cannot yet know what will be my success. I design to make a 
 virtue of necessity, to keep quiet during this winter, and to put in use 
 all my machines next spring, in order to come over.* I shall write the 
 strongest, and at the same time the most dutiful letter I can imagine to 
 my father. If all that produces no effect, I don't know what I can do. 
 
 * This letter is a curious specimen of the degree in which Mr. Gibbon had lost the Er.slish 
 language in a short time. S.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 1 9/ 
 
 You talk to me of my cousin Ellison's wedding ; but you don't say a 
 word of who she is married to. Is it Eliot? Though you have not 
 seen my father yet, I suppose you have heard of him. How was he in 
 town? His wife, was she with him? Has marriage produced any 
 changement in his way of living? Is he to be always at Beriton, or 
 will he come up to London in winter ? Pray have you ever seen my 
 mother-in-law, or heard anything more of her character ? Compliments 
 to everybody that makes me compliments : to the Gilberts, to the 
 Comarques, to Lord Newnham, «S:c. When you see the Comarques 
 again, ask them if they did not know, at Putney, Monsieur la Vabrc, 
 and his daughters ; perhaps you know them yourself. I saw them 
 lately in this country ; one of them very well married. 
 
 The Englishman who lodges in our house, is little sociable at least 
 for a reasonable person. RIy health always good, my studies pretty 
 good. I understand Greek pretty well. I have even some kind of 
 correspondence with several learned men, with M. Crevier of Paris, 
 with M. Brcitinger of Zurich, and with M. Allamand, a clergyman of 
 this country, the most reasonable divine I e\'er knew. Do you never 
 read now ? I am a little piqued that you say nothing of Sir Charles 
 Grandison ; if you have not read it yet, read it for my sake. Perhaps 
 Clarissa does not encourage you ; but, in my opinion, it is much 
 superior to Clarissa. When you have read it, read the letters of 
 Madame de Sevigne to her daughter ; I don't doubt of their being 
 translated into English. They are properly what I called in the begin- 
 ning of my letter, letters of the heart ; the natural expressions of a 
 mother's fondness ; regret at their being at a great distance from one 
 another, and continual schemes to get together again. All that, won't 
 it please you ? There is scarce anything else in six whole volumes ; 
 and notwithstanding that, few people read them without finding them 
 too short. Adieu : my paper is at an end. I don't dare to tell you to 
 write soon. Do it, however, if you can. Yours affectionately, 
 
 E. Gibbon. 
 
 Rev. Dr. Waldgrave* to Edward Gibbon, Esq.jun. 
 Dear Sir, Washington, near Storrington, Dec. 7, 1758. 
 
 I HAVE read nothing for some time (and I keep reading on still) that 
 has given me so much pleasure as your letter, which I received by the 
 last post. I rejoice at your return to your country, to your father, and 
 to the good principles of truth and reason. Had I in the least sus- 
 pected your design of leaving us, I should immediately have put you 
 upon reading Mr. Chillingworlh's Religion of Protestants ; any one 
 page of which is worth a library of Swiss divinity. It will give me 
 great pleasure to see you at Washington ; where I am, I thank God, 
 very well and very happy. I desire my respects to Mr. Gibbon ; and 
 am, with very great regard, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most affectionate humble servant, 
 
 Tho. Wald(;rave. 
 
 • Tutor to Mr. Gibbon when he first went to Magdalen College, Oxford. S. 
 O
 
 198 / CANNOT MIX WITH EASE IN PUBLIC LII'E. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Ms Father, 
 Dear Sir, "^l^^o. 
 
 An address in writing, from a person who lias the pleasure of being 
 with you everj^ day, may appear singular. However, I have preferred 
 this method, as upon paper I can spealc without a blush, and be heard 
 without interruption. If my letter displeases you, impute it, dear Sir, 
 only to yourself. You have treated me, not lik'=^ a son, but like a friend. 
 Can you be surprised that I should communicate to a friend, all my 
 thoughts, and all my desires ? Unless the friend approve them, let the 
 father never know them ; or at least, let him know at the same time, 
 that however reasonable, however eligible, my scheme may appear to 
 me, I would rather forget it for ever, than cause him the slightest un- 
 easiness. 
 
 When I first returned to England, attentive to my future interest, 
 you were so good as to give me hopes of a seat in parliament. This 
 seat, it was supposed would be an expence of fifteen hundred pounds. 
 This design flattered my vanity, as it might enable me to shine in so 
 august an assembly. It flattered a nobler passion ; I promised myself 
 that by the means of this seat I might be one day the instrument of 
 some good to my country. But I soon perceived how little a mere 
 virtuous inchnation, unassisted by talents, could contribute towards 
 that great end ; and a very short examination discovered to me, that 
 those talents had not fallen to my lot. Do not, dear Sir, impute this 
 declaration to a false modesty, the meanest species of pride. What- 
 ever else I may be ignorant of, I think I know myself, and shall always 
 endeavour to mention my good qualities without vanity, and my defects 
 without repugnance. I shall say nothing of the most intimate acquaint- 
 ance with his country and language, so absolutely necessary to every 
 senator. Since they may be acquired, to alledge my deficiency in 
 them, would seem only the plea of laziness. But I shall say Avith great 
 truth, that I never possessed that gift of speech, the first requisite of an 
 orator, which use and labour may improve, but which nature alone can 
 bestow. That my temper, quiet, retired, somewhat reserved, could 
 neither acquire popularity, bear up against opposition, nor mix with 
 ease in the crowds of public life. That even my genius (if you will 
 allow me any) is better qualified for the deliberate compositions of the 
 closet, than for the extemporary discourses of the parliament. An un- 
 expected objection would disconcert me ; and as I am incapable of ex- 
 plaining to others, what I do not thoroughly understand myself, I should 
 be meditating, while I ought to be answering. I even want necessary 
 prejudices of party, and of nation. In popular assemblies, it is often 
 necessary to inspire them ; and never orator inspired well a passion, 
 which he did not feel himself Suppose me even mistaken in my own 
 character ; to set out with the repugnance such an opinion must pro- 
 duce, offers but an indifferent prospect. But I hear you say, it is not 
 necessary that every man should enter into parliament with such 
 exalted hopes. It is to acquire a title the most glorious of any in a free 
 country, and to employ the weight and consideration it gives, in the 
 service of one's friends. Such motives, though not glorious, yet are 
 not dishonourable ; and if we had a borough in our command, if you 
 could bring me in without any great expence, or if our fortune enabled
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD gibbon: I99 
 
 as to despise that expence, then indeed I should think them of the 
 greatest strength. But Avith our private fortune, is it worth while to 
 purchase at so high a rate, a title, honourable in itself, but which I 
 must share with every fellow that can lay out fifteen hundred pounds ? 
 Besides, dear Sir, a merchandise is of little value to the owner, whea 
 he is resolved not to sell it. 
 
 1 should affront your penetration, did I not suppose you now sec the 
 drift of this letter. It is to appropriate to another use the sum with 
 which you destined to bring me into parliament ; to employ it, not in 
 making me great, but in rendering me happy. I have often heard you 
 say yourself, that the allowance you had been so indulgent as to grant 
 me, though very liberal in regard to your estate, was yet but small, 
 when compared with the almost necessary extravagancies of the age. 
 I have indeed found it so, notwithstanding a good deal of economy, and 
 an exemption from many of the common expences of youth. This, 
 dear Sir, would be a way of supplying these deficiencies, without any 
 additional expence to you. — But I forebear. — If you think my proposals 
 reasonable, you want no entreaties to engage you to comply with them ; 
 if otherwise, all will be without effect. 
 
 All that I am afraid of, dear Sir, is, that I should seem not so much 
 asking a favour, as this really is, as exacting a debt. Afcer all I can 
 say, you will still remain the best judge of my good, and your own cir- 
 cumstances. Perhaps, like most landed gentlemen, an addition to my 
 annuity would suit you better, than a sum of money given at once ; 
 perhaps the sum itself may be too considerable. Whatever you shall 
 think proper to bestow upon me, or in whatever manner, will be 
 received with equal gratitude. 
 
 I intended to stop here ; but as I abhor the least appearance of art, 
 I think it will be better to lay open my whole scheme at once. The 
 unhappy war which now desolates Europe, will oblige me to defer see- 
 ing France till a peace. But that reason can have no influence upon 
 Italy, a country which every scholar must long to see ; should you 
 grant my request, and not disapprove of my manner of employing your 
 bounty, I would leave England this Autumn, and pass the Winter at 
 Lausanne, with M. de Voltaire and my old friends. The armies no 
 longer obstruct my passage, and it must be indifterent to you, whether 
 I am at Lausanne or at London during the Winter, since I shall not 
 be at Beriton. In the spring I would cross the Alps, and after some 
 stay in Italy, as the war must then be terminated, return home through 
 France ; to live happily with you and my dear mother. I am now 
 two-and-twenty ; a tour must take up a considerable time, and though 
 I believe you have no thoughts of settling me soon, (and I am sure I 
 have not,) yet so many things may intervene, that the man who does 
 not travel early, runs a great risk of not travelling at all. But this part 
 of my scheme, as well as the whole, I submit entirely to you. 
 
 Permit me, dear Sir, to add, that I do not know whether the com- 
 plete compliance with my wishes could increase my love and gratitude ; 
 but that I am very sure, no refusal could diminish those sentiments 
 with which I shall always remain, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most dutiful and obedient son and servant, 
 
 E, Gibbon, junior.
 
 200 LETTERS TO D. MALLET; COUMT CAVLUS ; G. L. SCOTT, 
 
 Mr. Mallet to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, 17.61. 
 
 I COULD not procure you a ticket for the coronation, without putting 
 you to the expence of ten guineas. But I now send you something 
 much more valuable, which will cost you only a groat. When will your 
 father or you be in town .'' Desire Becket to send me one of your 
 books, well bound, for myself : all the other copies I gave away, as 
 Duke Desenany drunk out ten dozen of Lord Bolingbroke's Cham' 
 pagne in his absence— to your honour and glory. I need not tell you 
 that I am, 
 
 most affectionately. &c. 
 Turn over, read, and be delighted. D.' Mallet. 
 
 Let your father too read. 
 
 I READ with as much eagerness as pleasure the excellent and agree- 
 able work with which the author presented me. I speak as if Mr. 
 Gibbon had not praised me, and that too warmly. His work is that of 
 a real man of letters, who loves them for their own sake, without excep- 
 tion or prejudice ; and who unites with much talent the more precious 
 gift of good sense, and an impartiality that displays his candour and 
 justice, in spite of the bias that he must have received from the innumer- 
 able authors whom he has read and studied. I have therefore perused 
 with the greatest avidity, this little work ; and wish that it was more 
 extensive, and read universally. 
 
 I would also express my thanks to Lady Hervey, for making me ac- 
 quainted with an author who proves in every page that learning is 
 hostile only to ignorance and prejudice ; who deserves to have a Maty 
 for his friend, and who adds honour and strength to our language by 
 the use which he so ably makes of it. Were I more learned I should 
 dwell on the merit of the discussions, and the justness of the observa- 
 tions. 
 
 Caylus. 
 
 Geo. L. Scott, Esq. to E. Gibbon, ///«. 
 
 Supposing you settled in quarters, dear Sir, I obey your commands, 
 and send you my thoughts, relating to the pursuit of your mathematical 
 studies. You told me, you had read Clairaut's Algebra, and the three 
 first books of I'Hopital's Conic Sections. You did not mention the 
 Elements of Geometry you had perused. Whatever they were, 
 whether Euclid's, or by some other, you will do well, if you have not 
 applied yourself that way for some time past, to go over them again, 
 and render the conclusions familiar to your memory. You may defer, 
 however, a very critical inquiry into the principles and reasoning of 
 geometers, till Dr. Simpson's new edition of Euclid (now in the press) 
 appears. I would have you study that book well ; in the mean time 
 recapitulate Clairaut and I'Hopital, so far as you have gone, and then 
 go through the remainder of the marquis's books with care. The fifth 
 book will be an Introduction to the '■'•Analyse des Infinwient petitsj'^
 
 THE CORRESrONDEMCE OF EDWARD GIBBON: 20! 
 
 to which I would advise you to proceed, after finishing the Conic 
 Sections. The Infiniment petits may want a comment ; Crousaz has 
 written one, but it is a wretched performance : he did not understand 
 the first principles of the science he undertook to illustrate ; and his 
 geometry shews, that he did not understand the first principles of 
 geometry. There is a posthumous work of M. Varignon's, called 
 Eclaircissemens sur V Analyse des hijiniment petits. Paris, 1725, 4to. 
 This will be often of use to you. However, it must be owned, that 
 the notion of the hifinimciit pel its, or Infinilcswials, as we call them, 
 is too bold an assumption, and too remote from the principles of the 
 ancients, our masters in geometry : and has given a handle to an 
 ingenious author (Berkeley, late bishop of Cloyne) to atttack the logic 
 of modern mathematicians. He has been answered by many, but by 
 none so clearly as by Mr. Maclaurin, in his Fluxions, (2 vols. 4to,) 
 where you will meet with a collection of the most valuable discoveries 
 in the mathematical and physico-mathematical sciences. I recom- 
 mend this author to you ; but whether you ought to read him imme- 
 mediatcly after M. de I'Hopital, may be a question. 1 think you may 
 be satisfied at first with reading his introduction, and chap. i. book I. 
 of the grounds of the Method of Fluxions, and then proceed to chap. 
 12. of the same book, § 495 to § 505 inclusive, where he treats of the 
 Method of Infinitesimals, and of the Limits of Ratios. You may then 
 read chap. i. book H. § 697 to § 714 inclusive ; and this you may do 
 immediately after reading the first section of the Analyse des In/mi- 
 ment pelits : or if you please, you may postpone a critical inquiry into 
 the principles of Infinitesimals and Fluxions, till you have seen the 
 use and application of this doctrine in the drawing of Tangents, and 
 in finding the Maxima and Minima of Geometrical Magnitudes, 
 Annal. des Infai. pet. § 2 and 3. 
 
 When you have read the beginning of I'Hopital's 4th sect, to sect. 
 65 inclusive, you may read Maclaurin's chap. 2, 3, and 4 ; where he 
 fully explains the nature of these higher orders of Fluxions, and applies 
 the notion to geometrical figures. Your principles being then firmly 
 established, you may finish M. de I'Hopital. 
 
 Your next step must be to the inverse method of Fluxions, called by 
 the French ealcnl integral. M. de Bougainville has given us a treatise 
 upon this subject, Paris, 1754, 4to. under the title Traiie dit calcul 
 integral pour sefvir de suite a f Analyse des Infini))ient petits. You 
 should have it ; but though he explains the methods hitherto found out 
 for the determination of Fluents from given Fluxions, or in the French 
 style, pour trourer les integrates des differences donnevsj yet as he has 
 not shewn the use and application of this doctrine, as de I'Hopital did, 
 with respect to that part which he treats of, M. de Bougainville's book 
 is, for that reason, not so well suited to beginners as could be wished. 
 You may therefore take Carre's book in 4to, printed at Paris, 1700, 
 and entitled, Methode petir la Mesure des Surfaces, &.c. par VApplica- 
 Hon du Calcul integral. Only I must caution you against depending 
 upon him in his fourth section, where he treats of the centre of oscil- 
 lation and percussion ; he having made several mistakes there, as M. 
 de Mairan has shewn, p. 196. Mem. de VAcad. Royale d£S Sciences, 
 edit. Paris, 1735. After Carre, you may read Bougainville.
 
 202 GEO. L. SCOTT ON THE STUDY OF MATHEMATICS. 
 
 I have recommended French authors to you, because you are a 
 
 thorough master of that language, and because, by their studying style 
 and clearness of expression, they seem to me best adapted to 
 beginners. Our authors are often profound and acute, but their 
 laconisms, and neglect of expression, often perplex beginners. I except 
 Mr. Maclaurin, who is very clear ; but then he has such a vast variety 
 of matter, that a great part of his book is, on that account, too diflicult 
 for a beginner. 1 might recommend other authors to you, as a course 
 of elements ; for instance, you might read Simpson's Geometry, 
 Algebra, Trigonometry, and Fluxions ; all which contain a great variety 
 of good things. In his Geometry he departs from Euclid without a 
 sufficient reason. However, you may read him after Dr. R. Simson's 
 Euclid, or together with it, and take notice of what is new in Simpson. 
 His Algebra you may join with Clairaut ; and the rather that Clairaut 
 has been sparing of particular problems, and has, besides, omitted 
 several useful applications of Algebra. Simpson's Fluxions may go 
 hand in hand with I'Hopital, Maclaurin, Carre, and Bougainville. If 
 you come to have a competent knowledge of these authors, you will 
 be far advanced, and you may proceed to the works of Newton, Cotes, 
 the Bernoulli's, Dr. Moivre, &c. as your inclination and time will 
 permit. Sir Isaac Newton's treatise of the Quadrature of Curves has 
 been well commented by Mr. Stewart, «nd is of itself a good institu- 
 tion of Fluxions. Sir Isaac's Algebra is commented in several places 
 by Clairaut, and in more in Maclaurin's Algebra ; and Newton's famous 
 Principia are explained by the Minims Jacquirs et le Seur, Geneva, 
 4 vols. 4to. Cotes is explained by Don Walmesley, in his Analyse des 
 Illesnres, &c. Paris, 4to. You see you may find work enough. But 
 my paper bids me subscribe myself, dear Sii", 
 
 Your most obedient servant, 
 Leicester-Square, May 7, 1762. Geo. Lewis Scorr. 
 
 P. S. But I recollect, a little late, that the books I have mentioned, 
 excepting Newton's Principia, and the occasional problems in the rest, 
 treat only of the abstract parts of the Mathematics ; and you are, no 
 doubt, willing to look into the concrete parts, or what is called Mixed 
 Mathematics, and the Physico-mathematical Sciences. Of these the 
 principal are, mechanics, optics, and astronomy. As to the principles 
 of mechanics, M. d'Alembert has recommended }^i.TrAh3.\.\^'s Principes 
 (ill Moitvenient et de V Equilibre^ to beginners ; and you cannot do 
 better than to study this book. In optics we have Dr. Smith's Com- 
 plete System, 2 vols. 4to. I wish though, we had a good institution, 
 short and clear ; the Doctor's book entering into too great details for 
 beginners. However, you may consider his first book, or popular 
 Treatise, as an Institution, and you will from thence acquire a good 
 deal of knowledge. In astronomy I recommend M. le Monnier's 
 Institutions Astfono}niq7ies, in 4to. Paris, 1746. It is a translation 
 from Keil's Astronomical Lectures, but with considerable additions. 
 You should also have Cassini's Elemens d'Astrononiie, 2 vols. 4to. As 
 to the physical causes of the celestial motions, after having read 
 Maclaurin's account of Sir Isaac Newton's philosophical Discoveries, 
 and Dr. Pemberton's View of Sir Isaac's Philosophy, you may read
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 203 
 
 the great author himself, with the comment. But if you read Maclauriii's 
 1' luxions throughout, you will find many points of Sir Isaac's philo- 
 sophy well explained there. The theory of light and colours should 
 be studied in Sir Isaac himself; in the English edition of his Optics, 
 8vo. there is a branch of the optical sciences which I have not men- 
 tioned, that is, Perspective. Ur. Brook Taylor's is the best system, 
 but his style and expression is embarrassed and obscure. L'Abbe de 
 la Caille has also given a good treatise of Perspective, at the end of 
 his Optique : these are of use to painters ; but the theory of mathe- 
 matical projection in general is more extensive, and has been Avell 
 treated of by old writers, Clavius, Aguillonius, Tacquet, and De Chules : 
 and lately M. de la Caille has given a memoir among those of the 
 Acad. Roy. des Sciences of Paris, anno 1741, sur le calcul des projec- 
 tions en general. This subject is necessary for the understanding of 
 the theory of maps and planispheres. l\Iathematicians have also 
 applied their art to the theory of sounds and music. Dr. Smith's 
 Harmonics is the principal book of the kind. 
 
 Thus have I given you some account of the principal elementary 
 authors in the different branches of mathematical knowledge, and it 
 were much to be wished that we had a complete institution, or course, 
 of all these things of a moderate size, which might serve as an intro- 
 duction to all the good original authors. Wolsius attempted this ; his 
 intention was laudable, but his book is so full of errors of the press, 
 besides some of his own, that I cannot recommend him to a beginner. 
 He might be used occasionally for the signification of terms, and for 
 many historical facts relating to mathematics ; and, besides, may be 
 considered as a collector of problems, which is useful. 
 
 Besides the books I have mentioned, it might be of use to you to 
 have AI. Montucla's Historic des Matheviaiiqucs, in 4to. 2 vols. You 
 will there find a history of the progress of the mathematical sciences, 
 and some account of the principal authors relating to this subject. 
 
 I mentioned to you in conversation, the superior elegance of the 
 antient method of demonstration. If you incline to examine this 
 point, after being well versed in Euclid, you may proceed to Dr. 
 Simson's Conic Sections ; and to form an idea of the antient analysis 
 or method of investigating the solution of geometrical problems, read 
 Euclid's Data, which Dr. Simson will publish, together with his new 
 edition of Euclid ; and then read his Loci Plani, in 4to. The elegance 
 of the method of the ancients is confessed ; but it seems to require the 
 remembrance of a great multitude of propositions, and in complicated 
 problems it does not seem probable that it can be extended so far as 
 the algebraic method. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Beriton. 
 Dear Madam, Paris, Feb. 12, 1763. 
 
 You remember our agreement, — short and frequent letters. The 
 first part of the treaty you have no doubt of my observing. I think I 
 ought not to leave you any of the second. A propos of treaty : our 
 definitive one was signed here yesterday, and this morning the Duke
 
 204 EDWARD GIBBON TO HIS STEPMOTHER. 
 
 of Bridgewater and Mr. Neville went for London with the news of it. 
 The plenipotentiaries sat up till ten o'clock in the morning at the 
 ambassador of Spain's ball, and then went to sign this treaty, which 
 regulates the fate of Europe. 
 
 Paris, in most respects, has fully answered my expectations. I have 
 a number of very good acquaintance, which increase every day ; for 
 nothing is so easy as the making them here. Instead of complaining 
 
 \ of the want of them, I begin already to think of making a choice. 
 
 ^ Next Sunday, for instance, I have only three invitations to dinner. 
 Either in the houses you are already acquainted, you meet with people 
 who ask you to come and see them, or some of your friends offer them- 
 selves to introduce you. When I speak of these connections, I mean 
 chiefly for dinner and the evening. Suppers, as yet, I am pretty much 
 a stranger to, and I fancy shall continue so ; for Paris is divided into 
 two species, who have but little communication with each other. The 
 one, who are chiefly connected with the men of letters, dine very much 
 at home, are glad to see their friends, and pass the evenings till about 
 nine, in agreeable and rational conversation. The others are the most 
 fashionable, sup in numerous parties, and always play, or rather game, 
 both before and after supper. You may easily guess which sort suits 
 me best. Indeed, Madam, we may say what we please of the frivolity 
 of the French, but I do assure you, that in a fortnight passed at Paris, 
 I have heard more conversation worth remembering, and seen more 
 men of letters among the people of fashion, than I had done in two or 
 three winters in London. 
 
 Amongst my acquaintance I cannot help mentioning M. Helvetius, 
 the author of the famous book de VEsprit. I met him at dinner at 
 Madame Geoffrin's, where he took great notice of me, made me a visit 
 next day, has ever since treated me, not in a polite but a friendly 
 manner. Besides being a sensible man, an agreeable companion, and 
 the worthiest creature in the world, he has a very pretty wife, an 
 hundred thousand livres a year, and one of the best tables in Paris. 
 The only thing I dislike in him is his great attachment to, and admira- 
 tion for, * * * whose character is indeed at Paris beyond any 
 thing you can conceive. To the great civihty of this foreigner, who 
 was not obliged to take the least notice of me, I must just contrast the 
 behaviour of * * * 
 
 Edward Gibbon to his Father. 
 
 Dear Sir, Paris, Feb., 24, 1763. 
 
 I received your letter about twelve days after its date, owing, as I 
 apprehend, to Mr. Foley's negligence. My direction is, a Monsiatr 
 Gibbon, Ge}itilho7}nne Anglois d V Hotel de Londirs, rue de Columbier, 
 Fanxboiirg, St. Germaiiis, a Paris. You see I am still in that part of the 
 town ; and indeed from all the intelligence I could collect, I saw no reason 
 to change, either on account of cheapness or pleasantness. Madame 
 Bontcms, Mrs. Mallet's friend, and a Marquis de Mirabeau, (I got ac- 
 quainted with at her house,) have acted a very friendly part j though
 
 7 HE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 205 
 
 all their endeavours have only served to convince me that Paris is 
 unavoidably a very dear place. I am sorry to find my English cloaths 
 look very foreign. The French are now excessively long-waisted. 
 At present wc are in mourning for the Bishop of Liege, the king's 
 uncle ; and expect soon another of a singular nature, for the old PrC' 
 tender, who is very ill. They mourn for him, not as a crowned head, 
 but as a relation ot the king's. I am doubtful how the English here 
 will behave ; indeed we can have no difhculties, since we need only 
 follow the example of the Duke of Bedford. 
 
 I have now passed nearly a month in this place, and I can say with 
 trutli, that it has answered my most sanguine expectations. The 
 buildings of every kind, the libraries, the public diversions, take up a 
 great part of my time ; and 1 have already found several houses, where 
 it is both very easy and very agreeable to be acquainted. Lady 
 Harvey's recommendation to Aladame Geoffrin was a most excellent 
 one. Her house is a very good one ; regular dinners there every 
 Wednesday, and the best company of Paris, in men of letters and 
 people of fashion. It was at her house I connected myself with M. 
 Helvetius, who, from his heart, his head, and his fortune, is a most 
 valuable man. 
 
 At his house I was introduced to the Baron d'Olbach, who is a 
 man of parts and fortune, and has two dinners every week. The other 
 houses I am known in, are the Duchess d'Aiguillon's, Madame la 
 Comtesse de Froulay's, Madame du Bocage, Madame Boyer, M. le 
 Marquis de Mirabeau, and M. de Foucemagn. All these people have 
 their difierent merit ; in some I meet with good dinners ; in others, 
 societies for the evening ; and in all, good sense, entertainment, and 
 civility ; which, as I have no favours to ask, or business to transact 
 with them, is sufficient for me. Their men of letters are as affable and 
 communicative as 1 expected. My letters to them did me no harm, 
 but were very little necessar)\ My book had been of great service to 
 me, and the compliments I have received upon it would make me in- 
 sufferably vain, if I laid any stress on them. When 1 take notice of 
 the civilities 1 have received, I must take notice too of what I have 
 seen of a contrary behaviour. You know how much I always built 
 upon the Count de Caylus : he has not been of the least use to me. 
 With great difficulty I have seen him, and that is all. I do not, how- 
 ever, attribute his behaviour to pride, or dislike to me, but solely to 
 the man's general character, which seems to be a very odd one. De 
 la Motte, Mrs. Mallet's friend, has behaved very drily to me, though I 
 have dined with him twice. But I can forgive him a great deal, in 
 consideration of his having introduced me to M. d'Augny (Mrs. Mallet's 
 son). Her men are generally angels or devils ; but here I really think, 
 without being very prone to admiration, that she has said very little 
 too much of him. As far as I can judge, he has certainly an uncom- 
 mon degree of understanding and knowledge, and, I believe, a great 
 fund of honour and probity. We are very much together, and I think 
 our intimacy seems to be growing into a friendship. Next Sunday we 
 go to Versailles ; the king's guard is done by a detachment from 
 Paris, which is relieved every four days ; and as he goes upon this 
 command, it is a very good occasion for me to see the palace. I shall
 
 206 Mj?. GIBBON' TO MR. HOLROYD AT LAUSANNE. 
 
 not neglect, at the same time, the opportunity of informing myself of 
 the French discipline. 
 
 The great news at present is the arrival of a very extraordinary 
 person from the Isle of France in the East Indies. An obscure 
 Frenchman, wlio was lately come into the island, being very ill, and 
 given over, said, that before he died he must discharge his conscience 
 of a great burden he had upon it, and declared to several people, he 
 was the accomplice of Damien, and the very person who held the 
 horses. Unluckily for him, the man recovered after this declaration, 
 was immediately sent prisoner to Paris, and is just landed at Port 
 rOrient, from whence he is daily expected here, to unravel the whole 
 mystery of that dark affair. This story (which at first was laughed 
 at) has now gained entire credit, and I apprehend must be founded 
 on real fact. 
 
 A lady of Miss Caryll's acquaintance has desired me to convey the 
 inclosed letter to her. You will be so good as to send it over to 
 Ladyholt. I hope I need say nothing of my sentiments towards our 
 friends at Beriton, nor of my readiness to execute any of their com- 
 mands here. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, most affectionately yours, 
 
 E. Gibbon. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Mr. Holroyd at Lausanne. 
 Dear Holroyd, Boromean Islands, May i6, 1764. 
 
 Hurry of running about, time taken up with seeing places, &c. &c., 
 are excellent excuses ; but I fancy you will guess that my laziness and 
 aversion to writing to my best friend are the real motives, and I am 
 afraid you will have guessed right. 
 
 We are at this minute in a most magnificent palace, in the middle 
 of a vast lake ; ranging about suites of rooms without a soul to inter- 
 rupt us, and secluded from the rest of the universe. We shall sit 
 down in a moment to supper, attended by all the Count's household. 
 This is the fine side of the medal : turn to the reverse. We are got 
 here wet to the skin ; we have crawled about fine gardens which rain 
 and fogs prevented our seeing ; and if to-morrow does not hold up a 
 little better, we shall be in some doubt whether we can say we have 
 seen these famous islands. Guise says yes, and I say no. The Count 
 is not here : we have our supper from a paultry hedge alehouse, (ex- 
 cuse the bull.) and the servants have offered us beds in the palace, 
 pursuant to their master's directions. 
 
 I hardly think you will like Turin ; the court is old and dull ; and 
 in that country every one follows the example of the court. The 
 principal amusement seems to be, driving about in your coach in 
 the evening, and bowing to the people you meet. If you go while 
 the Royal Family is there, you have the additional pleasure of 
 stopping to salute them every time they pass. I had that advantage 
 fifteen times one afternoon. We were presented to a lady who keeps 
 a public assembly, and a very mourniul one it is ; the few women 
 that go to it are each taken up by their cicisbeo ; and a poor English-
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 20/ 
 
 man, who can neither talk Piedmontois nor play at Faro, stands 
 by himself without one of their haughty nobility doing him the honour 
 of speaking to him. You must not attribute this account to our not 
 not having staid long enough to form connections. It is a general com- 
 plaint of our countrymen, except of Lord * * *, who has been engaged 
 for about two years in the service of a lady, whose long nose is her 
 most distinguishing fine feature. The most sociable women 1 have 
 met with are the king's daughters. I chatted for about a quarter of an 
 hour with them, talked about Lausanne, and grew so very free and 
 easy, that I drew my snuff-box, rapped it, took snuff twice (a crime 
 never known before in the presence chamber), and continued my dis- 
 course in my usual attitude of my body bent forwards, and my fore 
 finger stretched out.* As it might however have been difficult to keep 
 up this acquaintance, I chiefly employ my time in seeing places, which 
 fully repaid me in pleasure the trouble of my journey. What enter- 
 tained me the most, was the museum and the citadel. The first is 
 under the care of a M. Bartoli, who received us, without any introduc- 
 tion, in the politest manner in the world, and was of the greatest 
 service to us, as I dare say he will be to you. The citadel is a stupen- 
 dous work ; and when you have seen the subterraneous part of it, you 
 will scarcely think it possible such a place can ever be taken. As it is 
 however a regular one, it does not pique my curiosity so much as those 
 irregular fortifications hewn out of the Alps, as Exiles, Fenestrelles, 
 and the Brunette would have done, could we have spared the time 
 necessary. Our next stage from Tu' a has been Milan, where we were 
 mere spectators, as it was not worth while to endeavour at forming 
 connections for so very few days. I think you will be surprised at the 
 great church, but infinitely more so at the regiment of Baden, which is 
 in the citadel. Such steadiness, such alertness in the men, and such 
 exactness in the officers, as exceeded all my expectations. Next Friday 
 I shall see the regiment reviewed by General Serbelloni. Perhaps I 
 may write a particular letter about it. From Milan we proceed to 
 Genoa, and thence to Florence. You stare — But reallv we find it so 
 inconvenient to travel like mutes, and to lose a number of curious 
 things for want of being able to assist our eyes with our tongues, that 
 we have resumed our original plan, and leave Venice for next year. I 
 think I should advise you to do the same. 
 
 Milan, May i8, 1764. 
 
 The next morning was not fair, but however we were able to take a 
 view of the islands, which, by the help of some imagination, we con- 
 clude to be a very delightful, though not an enchanted place. I would 
 certainly advise you to go there from Milan, which you may very well 
 perlbrm in a day and half. Upon our return, we found Lord Tilney 
 and some other English in their way to Venice. We heard a melancholy 
 piece of news from them : Byng died at Bologna a few days ago of a 
 fever, I am sure you will be all very sorry to hear it. 
 
 We expect a volume of news from you in relation to Lausanne, and 
 in particular to the alliance of the Duchess with the Frog. Is it already 
 concluded .'' How does the bride look after her great revolution ? 
 • This attitude continued to bt characteristic of Mr. Gibbon. S.
 
 208 MR. GIBBON TO MR. HOLROYD AT BERLIN. 
 
 Pray embrace her and the adorable, if you can, in both our names ; 
 and assure them, as well as all the Spring* that we talk of them very 
 often, but particularly of a Sunday ; and that we are so disconsolate, 
 that we have neither of us commenced cicisbeos as yet, whatever we 
 may do at Florence. We have drank the Duchess's health, not for- 
 getting the little woman on the top of Mount Cenis, in the middle of 
 the Lago Maggiore, &c. iScc. I expect some account of the said little 
 woman. Who is my successor? I think * * * had began to supplant 
 me before I went. I expect your answer at Florence, and your person 
 at Rome ; which the Lord grant. Amen. 
 
 I\Ir. Gibbon to Mr. Holroyd at Berhn. 
 
 Dear Holroyd, Beriton, Oct. 31, 1765. \ 
 
 Why did I not leave a letter for you at Marseilles ? For a very plain I 
 
 reason : because I did not go to Marseilles. But, as you have most ' 
 judiciously added, why did not I send one ? Humph. I own that 
 nonplussesme alittle. However, hearken to my history. After revolving 
 
 a variety of plans, and suiting them as well as possible to time and j 
 
 finances, Guise and I at last agreed to pass from Venice to Lyons, ] 
 
 swim down the Rhone, wheel round the south of France, and embark 1 
 
 at Bourdeaux. Alas ! At Lyons I received letters which convinced j 
 
 me that I ought no longer to deprive my country of one of her greatest 1 
 
 ornaments. Unwillingly I obeyed, left Guise to execute alone the \ 
 remainder of our plan, passed about ten delicious days at Paris, and 
 
 arrived in England about the end of June. Guise followed me about / 
 
 two months afterwards, as I was informed by an epistle from him, j 
 
 which, to his great astonishment, I immediately answered. You perceive \ 
 there is still some virtue amongst men. Exempli gratia, your letter is 
 
 dated Vienna, Oct. 12, 1765 ; it made its appearance at Beriton, Wed- 1 
 
 nesday evening, Oct. 29. I am at this present writing, sitting in my ! 
 library, on Thursday morning, between the hours of twelve and one. 
 
 I have ventured to suppose you still at Berlin ; if not, I presume you j 
 
 take care that your letters should follow you. This ideal march to ] 
 
 Berlin is the only one I can make at present. I am under command ; \ 
 
 and were I to talk of a third sally as yet, I know some certain people j 
 
 who would think it just as ridiculous as the third sally of the renowned ] 
 
 Don Quixote. All I ever hoped for was, to be able to take the field I 
 
 once more, after lying quiet a couple of years. I must own that ' 
 your executing your tour in so complete a manner gives me a little 
 
 selfish * * *, If I make a summer's escape to Berlin, I cannot hope j 
 
 for the companion I flattered myself with. I am sorry however I have ; 
 
 said so much ; but as it is difficult, to encrease your Honour's proper - 
 notions of your own perfections, I will e'en let it stand. Indeed I owed 
 
 you something for your account of the favourable reception my book , 
 
 has met with. I see there are people of taste at Vienna, and no longer 1 
 
 wonder at your liking it. Since the court is so agreeable, a thorough | 
 reformation must have taken place. The stiffness of the Austrian 
 
 etiquette, and the haughty magnificence of the Hungarian princes, must \ 
 
 * The so«i«ty of young ladies mentioned in tlie Memoirs. S. I
 
 TffE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 209 
 
 have given way to more civilized notions. You have (no doubt) in^ 
 formed yourself of the forces and revenues of the empress. I think 
 (however unfashionably) we always esteemed her. Have you lost or 
 improved that opinion. Princes, like pictures to be admired, must be 
 seen in their proper point of view, which is often a pretty distant one. 
 I am afraid you will find it peculiarly so at Berlin. 
 
 I need not desire you to pay a most minute attention to the Austrian 
 and Prussian discipline. You have been bit by a mad serjcant as well 
 as myself ; and when we meet, we shall run over every particular which 
 we can approve, blame, or imitate. Since my arrival, I have assumed 
 the august character of Major, received returns, issued orders, &c. &c. 
 I do not intend you shall have the honour of reviewing my troops next 
 summer. Three fourths of the men will be recruits ; and during my 
 pilgrimage, discipline seems to have been relaxed. But I summon you 
 to fulfil another engagement. Make me a visit next summer. You 
 Avill find here a bad house, a pleasant countiy in summer, some books, 
 and very little strange company. Such a plan of life for two or three 
 months must, I should imagine, suit a man who has been for as many 
 years struck from one end of Europe to the other like a tennis-ball. 
 At least I judge of you by myself. I always loved a quiet, studious, 
 indolent life ; but never enjoyed the charms of it so truly, as since my 
 return from an agreeable but fatiguing course of motion and hurry. 
 However I shall hear of your arrival, which can scarcely be so soon as 
 January 1766, and shall probably have the misfortune of meeting you 
 in town soon after. We may then settle any plans for the ensuing 
 campaign. 
 
 En attendant^ (admire me, this is the only scrap of foreign lingo I 
 have imported into this epistle — if you had seen that of Guise to me !) 
 let me tell you a piece of Lausanne news. Nanette Grand is married 
 to Lieutenant-colonel Prevot. Grand wrote to me ; and by the next post 
 I congratulated both father and daughter. There is exactness for you. 
 The Curchod (Madame Necker) I saw at Paris. 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 ! it is making an old 
 lover of mighty little consequence. She is as handsome as ever, and 
 much genteeler ; seems pleased with her fortune rather than proud of 
 it. I was (perhaps indiscreetly enough) exalting Nanette d'lllens's 
 good luck and the fortune. What fortune? (said she, with an air of 
 contempt) — not above twenty thousand livres a-year. I smiled, and 
 she caught herself immediately.— " What airs I give myself in despising 
 twenty thousand livres a-year, who a year ago looked upon eight hun- 
 dred as the summit of my wishes." 
 
 I must end this tedious scrawl. Let me hear from you : I think I 
 deserve it. Believe me, Dear Holroyd, I share in all your pleasures, 
 and feel all your misfortunes. Poor Bolton ! I saw it in the newspaper. 
 Is Ridley with you? I suspect not : but if he is, assure him I do not 
 forget him though he does me. Adieu ; and believe me, most affec- 
 tionately yours, 
 
 E. Gibbon Junior.
 
 210 FAMILY DISTRESS AT BERITON. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Dear Holroyd, Beriton, April 29, 1767. 
 
 I HAPPENED to-niglit to Stumble upon a very odd piece of intelligence 
 in the St. James's Chronicle ; it related to the marriage of a certain 
 Monsieur Olroy,* formerly Captain of Hussars, I do not know how- 
 it came into my head that this Captain of Hussars was not unknown 
 to me, and that he might possibly be an acquaintance of yours. If I 
 am not mistaken in my conjecture, pray give my compliments to him, 
 and tell him from me, that I am at least as well pleased that he is 
 married as if I were so myself. Assure him, however, that though as 
 a philosopher I may prefer celibacy, yet as a politician I think it highly 
 proper that the species should be propagated by the usual method ; 
 assure him even that I am convinced, that if celibacy is exposed to 
 fewer miseries, marriage can alone promise real happiness, since 
 domestic enjoyments are the source of every other good. May such 
 happiness, which is bestowed on few, be given to him ; the transient 
 blessings of beauty, and the more durable ones of fortune, good sense, 
 and an amiable disposition. 
 
 I can easily conceive, and as easily excuse you, if you have thought 
 mighty little this winter of your p'lor rusticated friend. I have been 
 confined ever since Christmas, an'l confined by a succession of very 
 melancholy occupations. I had scarcely arrived at Beriton, where I 
 proposed staying only about a fortnight, when a brother of Mrs. Gibbon's 
 died unexpectedly, though after a very long and painful illness. We 
 were scarcely recovered from the confusion which such an event must 
 produce in a family, when my father was taken dangerously ill, and 
 with some intervals has continued so ever since. I can assure you, my 
 dear Holroyd, that the same event appears in a very different light when 
 the danger is serious and immediate ; or when, in the gaiety of a tavern 
 dinner, we affect an insensibility that would do us no great honour 
 were it real. My father is now much better ; but I have since been 
 assailed by a severe stroke — the loss of a friend. You remember, 
 perhaps, an officer of our militia, whom I sometimes used to compare 
 to yourself. Indeed, the comparison would have done honour to any 
 one. His feelings were tender and noble, and he was always guided 
 by them : his principles were just and generous, and he acted up to 
 ihem. I shall say no more, and you will excuse my having said so 
 much, of a man with whom you were unacciuainted ; but my mind is 
 just now so very full of him, that I cannot easily talk, or even think, of 
 any thing else. If I know you right, you will not be offended at my 
 weakness. 
 
 What rather adds to my nneasiness, is the necessity I am under of 
 joining our militia the day after to-morrow. Though the lively hurry 
 of such a scene might contribute to divert my ideas, yet every circum- 
 stance of it, and the place itself, (which was that of his residence,) will 
 give me many a painful moment. I know nothing would better raise 
 my spirits than a visit from you ; the request may appear unseasonable, 
 but I think I have heard you speak of a)i uncle you had near South- 
 ampton. At all events, I hope you will snatch a moment to write to 
 
 • The name was so spelt in the newspapers. S.
 
 THE CORRESPONDEI^CE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 21 1 
 
 rr.o, and give me some account of your present situation and futxire 
 designs. As you are now fettered, I should expect you will not be such 
 a /i/c et r/biqiw* as you have been since your arrival in England. I 
 stay at Southampton from the first to the twenty-eighth of May, and 
 then propose making a short visit to town : if you are any where in the 
 neighbourhood of it, you may depend upon seeing me. I shall then 
 concert measures for seeing a little more of you next winter, than I 
 have lately done, as I hope to take a pretty long spell in town. I suppose 
 Guise has often fallen in your way : he has never once written to me, 
 nor I to him : in the country we want materials, and in London we 
 want time. I ought to recollect, that you even want time to read my 
 unmeaning scrawl. Believe, however, my dear Holroyd, that it is the 
 sincere expression of a heart entirely yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B, Holroyd, Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, Beriton, October i6, 1769. 
 
 I RLCEIYED your agreeable missive about two clays ago ; and am 
 glad to find that, after all your errors, you are at last a settled man. 
 I do most sincerely regret that it is not in my power to obey your 
 immediate summons. Some very particular business will not at pre- 
 sent permit me to be long absent from Beriton. The same business 
 will carry me to town, about the sixth of next month, for some days. 
 On my return, I do really hope and intend to storm your castle before 
 Christmas, as I presume you will hardly remove sooner. I should be 
 glad to meet Cambridge ; but the plain dish of friendship will satisfy 
 me, without the seasoning of Attic wit. Do you know any thing of 
 Guise ? Have you no inclination to look at the Russians 1 We have 
 a bed at your service. Vale. 
 
 Present my sincere respects to those who are dear to you ; believe 
 me, they are so to me. 
 
 The Same to the Same. 
 
 Dear Holroyd, Pall Mall, Dec. 25, 1769. 
 
 Some daemon, the enemy of friendship, seems to have determined 
 that we shall not meet at Sheffield-Place. I was fully resolved to make 
 amends for my lazy scruples, and to dine with you to-morrow ; when I 
 received a letter this day from my father, which irresistibly draws me 
 to Beriton for about ten days. The above-mentioned diemon, though 
 he may defer my projects, shall not however disappoint them. Since 
 you intend to pass the winter in retirement, it will be a far greater 
 compliment to quit active, gay, political London, than the drowsy 
 desert London of the holidays. But I retract. What is both pleasing 
 and sincere, is above that prostituted word compliment. Believe me, 
 
 Most sincerely yours. 
 
 A propos, I forgot the compliments of the season, &c. &c. 
 
 The motto of the regiment called Royal Foresters, in which Mr. Holroyd had bein 
 Captain.
 
 212 EDWARD GIBBONS TO % B. HOLROYD, ' ' 
 
 The Same to the Same. \ 
 
 Dear HoLROYD, October 6, 1771. j 
 
 I SIT down to answer your epistle, after taking a very pleasant ride. \ 
 
 — A ride! and upon what? — Upon a horse. — Yoii lie! — I don't. — I : 
 
 have got a droll little poney, and intend to renew the long-forgotten 1 
 
 practice of equitation, as it was known in the world before the second i 
 
 of June of the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and sixty- y \ 
 
 three. As I used to reason against riding, so I can now argue for it ; •. 
 
 and indeed the principal use I know in human reason is, when called 1 
 
 upon, to furnish arguments for what we have an inclination to do. \ 
 
 What do you mean by presuming to affirm, that I am of no use here? 
 Farmer Gibbon of no use ? Last week I sold all my hops, and I 
 
 believe well, at nine guineas a hundred, to a very responsible man. ! 
 Some people think I might have got more at Weyhill Fair, but that 
 would have been an additional expence, and a great uncertainty. Our 
 
 quantity has disappointed us very much ; but I think, that besides '. 
 
 hops for the family, there will not be less than 500I. ; — no contemptible 1 
 sum off thirteen small acres, and two of them planted last year only. 
 This week I let a little farm in Petersfield by auction, and propose 
 raising it from 25I. to 35I. per annum : and Farmer Gibbon of no use ? 
 
 To be serious ; I have but one reason for resisting your invitation, i 
 
 and my own wishes ; that is, Mrs. Gibbon I left nearly alone all last ] 
 
 winter, and shall do the same this. She submits very cheerfully to : 
 
 that state of solitude ; but, on sounding her, I am convinced that she 1 
 
 would think it unkind were I to leave her at present. I know you so j 
 
 well, that I am sure you will acquiesce in this reason ; and let me j 
 
 make my next visit to Sheffield-Place from town, which I think may , 
 
 be a little before Christmas. I should hke to hear something of the ] 
 
 precise time, duration, and extent of your intended tour into Bucks« ! 
 
 Adieu. j 
 
 Edward Gibbon Usg'. toJ.B. Holroyd JSsg. 
 Most respectable south saxon, Beriton, Nov. 18, 1771. 
 
 It would ill become me to reproach a dilatory correspondent ; 
 Quis ttilerit Gracchos dc scditione querentes ? 
 especially when that correspondent had given me hopes of undertaking a 
 very troublesome expedition for my sole advantage. Yet thus much I may 
 say, that I am obliged very soon to go to town upon other business, 
 which, in that hope, I have hitherto deferred. If by next Sunday I 
 have no answer, or if I hear that your journey to Denham is put oflf 
 sine die, or to a long day, I shall on Monday set off for London, and 
 wait your future will w'lth. faith, hope, and charity. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to John Baker Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Sheffield-Place. 
 
 Dear Holroyd, London, 1772, 
 
 The sudden change from the sobriety of Sheffield-Place to the irregu« 
 
 larities of this town, and to the wicked company of Wilbraham, Clarke, 
 
 Darner, &c. having deranged me a good deal, I am forced to employ
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIB BOX. 213 
 
 one of my secretaries to acquaint you with a piece of news I know 
 nothing about myself. It is certain, some extraordinary intelligence is 
 arrived this morning from Denmark, and as certain that the levee was 
 suddenly prevented by it. The particulars of that intelligence are 
 variously and obscurely told. It is said, that the king had raised a 
 little physician to the rank of minister and Ganymede : such a mad 
 administration had so disgusted all the nobility, that the fleet and army 
 had rose, and shut up the king in his palace. La Reine se irotroe inHle 
 la dedans J and it is reported that she is confined, but whether in con- 
 sequence of the insurrection, or some other cause, is not agreed. Such 
 is the rough draft of an affair that nobody yet understands. Embrassez 
 de ma pari Madame, et le reste de la chere famille. Gibbon. 
 
 ^///«.y i^(7j-— WlLBRAHAM, Sec. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Boodle's, 10 o'clock, Monday night, Feb. 3, 1772. 
 I LOVE, honour, and respect, every member of Sheflield-Place ; even 
 my great enemy* Datch, to whom you will please to convey my sincere 
 wishes, that no stmplefon may wait on him at dinner, that his wise 
 papa may not shew him any pictures, and that his much wiser mamma 
 may chain him hand and foot, in direct contradiction to Magna 
 Charta and the bill of rights. 
 
 It is difficult to write news, because there is none. Parliament is 
 perfectly quiet ; and I think that Barre, who is just now playing at 
 whist in the room, will not have exercise of the lungs, except, perhaps, 
 on a message much talked of, and soon expected, to recommend it to 
 the wisdom of the House of Commons to provide a proper future 
 remedy against the improper marriages of the younger branches of the 
 Royal Family. The noise of * * * is subsided, but there was some 
 foundation for it. * * *'s expences in his bold enterprise were yet 
 unpaid by government. The hero threatened, assumed the patriot, 
 received a sop, and again sunk into the courtier. As to Denmark, it 
 seems now that the king, who was totally unfit for government, has 
 only passed from the hands of his queen wife, to those of his queen 
 mother-in-law. * * * is said to have indulged a very vague taste in 
 her amours. She would not be admitted into the Pantheon, whence 
 the gentlemen proprietors exclude all beauty, unless unspotted and im- 
 maculate (tautology by the bye). The gentlemen proprietors, on the 
 other hand, are friends and patrons of the leopard beauties. Adver- 
 tising challenges have passed between the two great factions, and a 
 bloody battle is expected Wednesday night. A propos, the Pantheon, 
 in point of ennui and magnificence, is the wonder of the eighteenth 
 century and of the British empire. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Boodle's, Saturday night, Feb. 8, 1772. 
 
 Though it is very late, and the bell tells me that 1 have not above 
 
 ten minutes left, I employ them with pleasure in congratulating you on 
 
 ths late victory of our dear mamma the Church of England. She had 
 
 *The name by which the child called himself. S. 
 P
 
 214 GAMING LOSSES— STATE OF DENMARK. 
 
 last Thursday seventy-one rebellious sons, who pretended to set aside 
 her will on account of insanity : but two hundred and seventeen worthy 
 champions, headed by Lord North, Burke, Hans, Stanley, Charles Fox. 
 Godfrey Clarke, &c. though they allowed the thirty-nine clauses of her 
 testament were absurd and unreasonable, supported the validity of it 
 with infinite humour. By the bye, * * * prepared himself for that 
 holy war, by passing twenty-two hours in the pious exercise of hazard ; 
 his devotions cost him only about 5001./^;' hour — in all 11,000 1. « * * 
 lost 5000 1. This is from the best authority. I hear too, but will not 
 warrant it, that * * *, by way of paying his court to * * *, has lost 
 this winter 1 2,000 1. How I long to be ruined ! 
 
 There are two county contests. Sir Thomas Egerton and Colonel 
 Townley in Lancashire, after the county had for some time gone 
 a-begging. In Salop, Sir Watkin, supported by Lord Gower, happened 
 by a punctilio to disoblige Lord Craven, who told us last night, that he 
 had not quite 9000 1. a-year in that county, and who has set up Pigot 
 against him. You may suppose we all wish for God Almighty against 
 that black devil. 
 
 I am sorry your journey is deferred. Compliments to Datch. As he 
 is now in durance, great minds forgive their enemies, and I hope he 
 may be released by this time.- — Coming, Sir. Adieu. 
 
 You see the Princess of W. is gone. Hans Stanley says, it is 
 believed the Empress Queen has taken the same journey- 
 
 Dear Holroyd, London, Feb. 13, 1772. 
 
 The papers and plans arrived safe in town last night, and will be in 
 your hands in their intact virgin state in a day or two. Consider them 
 at leisure, if that word is known in the rural life. Unite, divide, but 
 (above all) raise. Bring them to London with you : I wait your 
 orders ; nor shall I, for fear of tumbling, take a single step till your 
 arrival, which, on many accounts, I hope will not be long deferred. 
 
 Clouds still hover over the horizon of Denmark. The public circum- 
 stances of the revolution are related, and I understand, very exactly, 
 in the foreign papers. The secret springs of it still remain unknown. 
 The town indeed seems at present quite tired of the subject. The 
 Princess's death, her character, and what she left, engross the conver- 
 sation. She died without a will ; and as her savings were generally 
 disposed of in charity, the small remains of her personal fortune will 
 make a trifling object when divided among her children. Her favourite 
 the Princess of B. very properly insisted on the king's immediately 
 sealing up all the papers, to secure her from the idle reports which 
 would be so readily swallowed by the great English monster. The 
 business of Lord and Lady * * * is finally compromised, by the arbi- 
 tration of the Chancellor and Lord * * * . PJe gives her 1200I. a-year 
 separate maintenance, and 1 500 1. to set out with : but as her Ladyship 
 is now a new face, her husband, who has already bestow-ed on the 
 public seventy young beauties, has conceived a violent but hopeless 
 passion for his chaste moiety. * * * Lord Chesterfield is dying. 
 County oppositions subside. Adieu. 
 
 Entirely yours.
 
 TITE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON 21 5 
 
 Dear Holroyd, Feb. 21, 1772. 
 
 However, notwithstanding my indignation, I will employ five 
 minutes in telling you two or three recent pieces of news. 
 
 1. Charles Fox is commenced patriot, and is already attempting to 
 jironounce the words country, liberty, corruption, &c. ; with what suc- 
 cess, time will discover. Yesterday he resigned the Admiralty. The 
 story is, that he could not prevail on ministry to join with him in 
 his intended repeal of the marriage act, (a favourite measure of his 
 father, who opposed it from its origin,) and that Charles very judi- 
 ciously thought Lord Holland's friendship imported him more than 
 Lord North's. 
 
 2. Yesterday the marriage message came to both Houses of Parlia- 
 ment. You will see the words of it in the papers : and thanks to the 
 submissive piety of this session, it is hoped that * * *. 
 
 3. To-day the House of Commons was employed in a very odd way. 
 Tommy Townshend moved, that the sermon of Dr. Knowell, who 
 preached before the house on the 30th of January, {id est, before the 
 Speaker and four members,) should be burnt by the common hang- 
 man, as containing arbitrary, tory, high-flown doctrines. The House 
 was nearly agreeing to the motion, till they recollected that they had 
 already thanked the Preacher for his excellent discourse, and ordered 
 it to be printed. Knowell's bookseller is much obliged to the Right 
 Honourable Tommy Townshend. 
 
 When do you come to town ? I want money, and am tired of stick- 
 ing to the earth by so many roots. Embrassez de ma part, &c. Adieu. 
 
 Ever yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Beriton. 
 Dear Madam, London, March 21, 1772 
 
 I have advanced with some care and some success in gaining an 
 idea of the Lenborough estate. The tenants are at will, and from a 
 comparison of my rents with the neighbouring ones, particularly Lord 
 * * *, there is great probability that my estate is very much under-let. 
 My friend Holroyd, who is a most invaluable counsellor, is strongly of 
 that opinion. Sir * * * * * * is just come home. I am sorry to see 
 many alterations, and little improvement. From an honest wild 
 Englisli buck he is grown 3. philosopher. Lord * * * displeases every- 
 body by the affectation of consequence : the young baronet disgusts 
 no less by the affectation of wisdom. He speaks in short sentences, 
 quotes Montaigne, seldom smiles, never laughs, drinks only water, pro- 
 fesses to command his passions, and intends to marry in five months. 
 The two lords, his uncles, as well as * * *, attempt to shew him, that 
 such behaviour, even were it reasonable, does not suit this country 
 He remains incorrigible, and is every day losing ground in the good 
 opinion of the public, which at his first arrival ran strongly in his 
 favour. Deyverdun is probably on his journey towards England, but 
 is not yet come. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, &c. &c.
 
 2l6 O.V THE DEATH OF MASTER HOLROYD. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, Pall Mall, May 26, 1772. 
 
 I WISH you lived nearer, or even that you could pass a week at 
 Beriton. When shall you be at Richmond, or would there be any use 
 hi my going down to Sheffield for a day or two ? In you alone I put 
 my trust, and without you I should be perplexed, discouraged, and 
 frightened ; for not a single fish has yet bit at the Lenborough bait. 
 
 I dined the other day with Mr. Way at Boodle's. He told me, that 
 he was just going down to Sheffield Place. As he has probably 
 unladen all the politics, and Mrs. Way all the scandal of the town, I 
 shall for tlie present only satisfy myself with the needful ; among which 
 I shall always reckon my sincere compliments to Madame, and my 
 profound respects for Mr. Datch. 
 
 I am, dear H. 
 
 Truly yours. 
 
 It is confidently asserted that the Emperor and King of Prussia are 
 to run for very deep stakes over the Polish course. If the news be 
 true, I back Austria against the aged horse, provided little Laudohn 
 rides the match. N.B. Crossing and jostling allowed. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Holroyd, Senior. 
 
 Beriton, near Petersfield, Hampshire, 
 Madam, July 17, 1772. 
 
 There is not any event which could have affected me with greater 
 surprise and deeper concern, than the news in last night's paper, of 
 the death of our poor little amiable friend Master Holroyd, whom 
 I loved, not only for his parents' sake, but for his own. Should the 
 news be true, (for even yet I indulge some faint hopes,) what must 
 be the distress of our friends at Sheffield ! I so truly sympathise with 
 them, that I know not how to write to Holroyd ; but must beg to 
 be informed of the state of the family by a line from you. I have 
 some company and business here, but would gladly quit them, if I 
 had the least reason to think that my presence at Sheffield would 
 afford comfort or satisfaction to the man in the world whom I 
 love and esteem most. I am, Madam, your most obedient humble 
 Servant, &c. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 My dear Holroyd, Beriton, July 30, 1772. 
 
 It was my intention to set out for Sheffield as soon as I received 
 your affecting letter, and I hoped to have been with you as to-day ; 
 but walking very carelessly yesterday morning, I fell down, and put 
 out a small bone in my ancle. I am now under the surgeon's hands, 
 but think, and most earnestly hope, that this little accident will not 
 delay my journey longer than the middle of next week. I share, and 
 wish I could alleviate your feelings. I beg to be remembered to Mrs. 
 Holroyd. I am, my dear Holroyd, most truly yours.
 
 THE CORRESPONDEMCE OF EDWARD GIBBON: 21/ 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Eeriton. 
 
 Dear Madam, Sheffield-Place, August 7, 1772. 
 
 I SET out at six yesterday morning from Uppark, and got to Brighton 
 about two ; a very thin season, everybody gone to Spa. In the even- 
 ing I reached this place. My friend appears, as lie ever will, in a 
 light truly respectable ; concealing the most exquisite sufferings under 
 the show of composure, and even cheerfulness, and attempting, though 
 with little success, to confirm the weaker mind of his partner. I find, 
 my friend expresses so much uneasiness at the idea of my leaving him 
 again soon, that I cannot refuse to pass the month here. If Mr. 
 Scott, as I suppose, is at Beriton, he has himself too high a sense 
 of friendship not to excuse my neglecting him. I had some hopes of 
 engaging Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd to make an excursion to Portsmouth, 
 Isle of Wight, Southampton, &c. in which case they would spend 
 a few days at Beriton. A sudden resolution was taken last night 
 in favour of the tour. We set out, Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd, Mr. Fauquier, 
 and myself, next Thursday, and shall dine at Beriton the following 
 dny, and stay there, most probably, three or four days. A farm-house, 
 without either cook or housekeeper, will afford but indifferent enter- 
 tainment ; but we must exert, and they must excuse. Our tour will 
 last about a fortnight ; after which my friend presses me to return 
 with him, and in his present situation I shall be at a loss how to 
 refuse him. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, &c. &c. 
 
 Dr. HURD {now Bishop ^Worcester) to Mr. Gibbon. 
 
 Sir, Thurcaston, August 29, 1772. 
 
 Your very elegant letter on the antiquity and authenticity of the 
 Book of Daniel, (just now received,) finds me here, if not without 
 leisure, yet without books, and therefore in no condition to enter far 
 into the depths of this controversy ; which indeed is the less necessary, 
 as everything that relates to the subject will come of course to be con- 
 sidered by my learned successors in the new lecture. For as the 
 prophecies of Daniel make an important link in that chain, which, as 
 you say, has been let down from lieavoi to earth, (but not by the 
 author of the late sermons, who brought into view only what he had 
 not invented,) the grounds on which their authority rests will, without 
 doubt, be carefully examined, and, as I suppose, firmly established. 
 
 15ut in tlie mean time, and to make at least some small return for 
 the civility of your address to me, I beg leave to trouble you with two 
 or three short remarks, such as occur to me on reading your letter. 
 
 Your main difficulties are these two : i. That the author of the book 
 of Daniel is too clear for a prophet ; as appears from his predictiori 
 of the Persian and Macedonian affairs : and, 2. too fabulous for a con- 
 temporary historian ; as is evident, you suppose, from his mistakes, 
 particularly in the sixth chapter. 
 
 I. The first of these difficulties is an extraordinary one For why 
 may not prophecy, if the inspircr think fit, be as clear as history?
 
 2l8 LETTER FROM HURD, BISHOP OF WORCESTER. 
 
 Scriptural prophecy, whence your idea of its obscurity is taken, is 
 occasionally thus clear, I mean after the event ; and Daniel's prophecy 
 of the revolutions in the Grecian empire, would have been obscure 
 "enough to Porphyry himself before it. 
 
 But your opinion, after all, when you come to explain yourself, really 
 is, as one should expect, that, as a prophet, Daniel is not clear enough ; 
 for you enforce the old objection of Porphyry, by observing, that where 
 a pretended prophecy is clear to a certain point of time, and afterwards 
 obscure and shadowy, there common sense leads one to conclude that 
 the author of it was an impostor. 
 
 This reasoning is plausible, but not conclusive, unless it be taken for 
 granted, that a prophecy must, in all its parts, be equally clear and 
 precise : whereas, on the supposition of real inspiration, it may be fit, 
 I mean it may suit with the views of the inspirer, to predict some things 
 with more perspicuity, and in terms more obviously and directly appli- 
 cable to the events in which they were fulfilled, than others. But 
 further, this reasoning, whatever force it may have, has no place here ; 
 at least you evidently beg the question when you urge it ; because the 
 persons you dispute against maintain, that the subsequent prophecies 
 of Daniel are equally distinct with those preceding ones concerning 
 the Persian and Macedonian empires, at least so much of them as they 
 take to have been fulfilled ; and that to judge of the rest, we must wait 
 for the conclusion of them. 
 
 However, you admit that the suspicion arising from the clearest 
 prophecy may be removed by direct positive evidence that it was com- 
 posed before the event. But then you carry your notions of that 
 evidence very far, when you require, "that the existence of such a 
 prophecy, prior to its accomplishment, should be proved by the know- 
 ledge of its being generally diffused amongst an enlightened nation 
 previous to that period, and its public existence attested by an unbroken 
 chain of authentic writers." 
 
 What you here claim as a matter of right, is, without question, very 
 desirable, but should, I think, be accepted, if it be given at all, as a 
 matter oi favour. For what you describe is the utmost evidence that 
 the case admits : but what right have we in this, or any other subject 
 whatever of natural or revealed religion, to the utmost evidence ? 
 Is it not enough that the evidence be sufficient to induce a reasonable 
 assent ? and is not that assent reasonable, which is given to real 
 evidence though of an inferior kind, when uncontrolled by any greater ? 
 And such evidence we clearly have for the authenticity of the book of 
 Daniel, in the reception of it by the Jewish nation down to the time 
 of Jesus whose appeal to it supposes and implies that reception to 
 have been constant and general : not to observe, that the testimony 
 of Jesus is further supported by all the considerations that are alleged 
 for his own divine character. To this evidence, which is positive 
 so far as it goes, you have nothing to oppose but surmise and conjec- 
 tures ; that is, nothing that deserves to be called evidence. But 1 doubt, 
 Sir, you take for granted that the claim of in spiration is never to be allowed, 
 so long as there is a possibility of supposing that it was not given. 
 
 II. In the second division of your letter, which is longer, and more 
 elaborate, than the first, you endeavour to shew that the historical part
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 219 
 
 of the book of Daniel, chiefly that of the sixth chapter, is false and 
 fabulous, and as such, confutes and overthrows \\\q. prophetical. What 
 you advance on this head, is contained undery^Vf articles : 
 
 1. You think it strange that Daniel, or any other man, should be 
 promoted to a secret office of state, y^r Jiis skill in divination. 
 
 But here, first, j'ou forget that Joseph was thus promoted for the 
 same reason. Or, if you object to this instance, what should hinder 
 the promotion either of Joseph or Daniel, (when their skill in divina- 
 tion had once brought them to the notice and favour of their sove- 
 reign,) for what you call mere human accomplisliinents ? For such 
 assuredly both these great men possessed, if we may believe the plain 
 part of their story, which asserts of Joseph, and indeed proves, that 
 he was in no common degree discreet and luisej and of Daniel, that 
 an excellent spirit was fojtnd in hiinj na)', that he had knowled^^e and 
 skill in all learning and wisdom, over and above his nnderstandinff 
 in all visio?is and dreams. In short. Sir, though princes of old might 
 not make it a rule to chuse their ministers out of their soothsayers, yet 
 neitiier would their being soothsayers, if they were otherwise well 
 accomplished, prevent them from being ministers. Just as in modern 
 times, though churchmen have not often, I will suppose, been made 
 officers of state, even by bigoted princes, because they were church- 
 men ; yet neither have they been always excluded from serving in 
 those stations when they have been found eminently qualified for them. 
 
 2. Your next exception is, that a combination could scarce have been 
 formed in the court of Babylon against the favourite minister, (though 
 such factions are common in other courts,) because the courtiers of 
 Darius innst have apprehended that the piety of Daniel could be asserted 
 by a miraculous interposition; of which they had seen a recent 
 instance. And here. Sir, you expatiate with a little too much com- 
 placency on the strange indifference which the ancient world shewed 
 to the gift of miracles. You do not, I dare say, expect a serious answer 
 to this charge ; or if you do, it may be enough to observe, what I am 
 sure your own reading and experience must have rendered very familiar 
 to you, that the strongest belief, or conviction of the mind, perpetually 
 gives way to the inflamed selfish passions ; and that, when men have 
 any scheme of interest or revenge much at heart, they are not restrained 
 from pursuing it, though the scaffold and the axe stand before them in 
 full view, and have perhaps been streaming but the day before with 
 the blood of other state-criminals. I ask not, whether miracles have 
 ever actually existed, but whether you do not think that multitudes 
 have been firmly persuaded of their existence ; and yet their indifference 
 about them, is a fact which I readily concede to you. 
 
 3. Your third criticism is directed against what is said of the law of 
 the Medes and Persians, that it altereth not; where I find nothing to 
 admire, but the extreme rigour of Asiatic despotism. For I consider 
 this irrevocability of the law, when once promulgated by the sovereign, 
 not as contrived to be a check on his will, but rather to shew the irre- 
 sistible and fatal course of it. And this idea was so much cherished 
 by the despots of Persia, that, rather than revoke the iniquitous law, 
 obtained by surprise, for exterminating the Jews, Ahasuerus took the 
 part, as we read in the book of Esther, (and as Baron Montesquieu, I
 
 220 HURD ON GIBBON'S CRITICISM ON DANIEL. 
 
 remember, observes,) to permit the Jews to defend themselves against 
 the execution of it ; whence we see how consistent this law is with the 
 determination of the judges, quoted by you from Herodotus, "that it 
 was lawful for the king to do whatever he. pleased :" for we understand 
 that he did tiot please that this law, when once declared by him, should 
 be altered. 
 
 You add under this head, " May I not assert that the Greek writers, 
 who have so copiously treated of the affairs of Persia, have not left ur> 
 the smallest vestige of a restraint, equally injurious to the monarch 
 and prejudicial to the people." I have not the Greek writers by me 
 to consult, but a common book I chance to have at hand refers me to 
 one such vestige, in a very eminent Greek historian, Diodorus Siculus. 
 LowtlCs Connnent. in loc. 
 
 4. A fourth objection to the historic truth of the book of Daniel is 
 taken, with more plausibility, from the matter of this law, which, as 
 you truly observe, was very strange for the king's counsellor to advise, 
 and for any despot whatever to enact. 
 
 But, I. I a little question whether prayer was so constant and con- 
 siderable a part of Pagan worship as is supposed ; and if it was not, 
 the prejudices of the people would not be so much shocked by this 
 interdict as we are ready to think. Daniel indeed prayed three times 
 a day : but the idolaters might content themselves with praying now 
 and then at a stated solemnity. It is clear, that when you speak of 
 depriving men of the comforts, and priests of the profits, of religion, 
 you have Christian, and even modern principles and manners in your 
 eye : perhaps in the co}nfo?-ts, you represented to yourself a company 
 of poor inflamed Huguenots under persecution ; and in \.\\q prof ts, ih.Q 
 lucrative trade of popish masses. But be this as it may, it should be 
 considered, 2. That this law could not, in the nature of the thing, 
 suppress all prayer, if the people had any great propensity to it. It 
 could not suppress jnental prayer ; it could not even suppress bodily 
 worship, if performed, as it easily might be, in the night, or in secret. 
 Daniel, it was well known, was used to pray in open daylight, and in 
 a place exposed to inspection, from his usual manner of praying ; 
 which manner, it was easily concluded, so zealous a votary as he was, 
 would not change or discontinue, on account of the edict. Lastly, 
 though the edict passed for thirty days, to make sure work, yet there 
 was no doubt but the end proposed would be soon accomplished, and 
 then it was not likely that much care would be taken about the 
 observance of it. 
 
 All this put together, I can very well conceive that extreme envy and 
 malice in the courtiers might suggest the idea of such a law, and that 
 an impotent despot might be flattered by it. Certainly, if what we 
 read in the third chapter be admitted, that one of these despots 
 required all people, nations, and languages, to worship his image on 
 pain of death, there is no great wonder that another of them should 
 demand the exclusive worship of himself for a month ; nay, perhaps, 
 he might think himself civil, and even bounteous to his gods, when he 
 left them a share of the other eleven. For as to the presumption, 
 " Nihil est quod credere de se 
 Non possit, cum laudatur diis a:qua potestas. —
 
 TttE CORRESPON-DENCE OF ED WAR r> GIBBON. 221 
 
 5. A fifth, and what you seem to think the strongest, objection to the 
 credit of the book of Daniel is, that "no such person as Darius the 
 Mede is to be found in the succession of the Babylonish princes," (you 
 mean as given in Ptolemy's canon and the Greek writers,) "between 
 the time of Nebuchadnezzar and that of Cyrus." In saying this, you 
 do not forget or disown what our ablest chronologers have said on the 
 subject ; but then you object that Xenophon's Cyaxares (to serve a 
 turn) has been made to personate Darius the Mede ; and yet that 
 Xenophon's book, whether it be a romance or a true history, overturns 
 the use which they have made of this hypothesis. 
 
 I permit myself perhaps to be too much flattered by your civility 
 in referring me to my own taste, rather than to the authority of Cicero : 
 but the truth is, I am much disposed to agree with you, that, " if we 
 unravel with any care the fine texture of the Cyropcedia, we shall 
 discover in every thread the Spartan discipline and the philosophy of 
 Socrates." But then, as the judicious author chose to make so recent 
 a story as that of Cyrus, and one so well known, the vehicle of his 
 political and moral instructions, he would be sure to keep up to the 
 truth of the story as far as might be ; especially in the leading facts, 
 and in the principal persons, as we may say, of the drama. This obvious 
 rule of decorum such a writer as Xenophon could not fail to observe ; 
 and therefore, on the supposition that his Cyroposdia is a romance, I 
 should conclude certainly that the outline of it was genuine history. 
 But, 2. If it be so, you conclude that there is no ground for thinking that 
 Darius the Mede ever reigned at Babylon, because Cyaxares himself 
 never reigned there. 
 
 Now, on the idea of Xenophon's book being a romance, there might 
 be good reason for the author's taking no notice of the short reign of 
 Cyaxares, which would break the unity of his work, and divert the 
 reader's attention too much from the hero of it : while yet the omission 
 could hardly seem to violate historic truth, since the lustre of his hero's 
 fame, and the real power, which, out of question, he reserved to him- 
 self, would make us forget or overlook Cyaxares. But, as to the fact, 
 it seems no way incredible that Cyrus should concede to his royal ally, 
 his uncle, and his father-in-law, (for he was all these,) the noininal 
 possession of the sovereignty ; or that he should share the sovereignty 
 with him ; or, at least, that he should leave the administration^ as we 
 say, in his hands at Babylon, while he himself was prosecuting his 
 other conquests at a distance. Any of these things is supposable 
 enough ; and I would rather admit any of them than reject ihe express, 
 the repeated, the circumstantial testimony of a not confessedly fabulous 
 historian. 
 
 After all, Sir, I should forfeit I know, your good opinion, if I did 
 not acknowledge that some, at least of these circumstances are such 
 as one should not, perhaps, expect at first sight. But then such is the 
 condition of things here ; and what is true in human life, is not always, 
 I had almost said, not often, that which was previously to be expected ; 
 whence an ordinary romance is, they say, vaaxQ probable than the best 
 history. 
 
 But should any or all of these circumstances convince you perfectly, 
 Ihat some degree of error or fiction is to be found in the book of Daniel,
 
 222 A^OT£S BY E. GIBBON- ON BURL'S STRICTURES. 
 
 it would be too precipitate to conclude that therefore the whole book 
 was of no authority : for, at most, you could but infer, that the historical 
 part, in which those circumstances are observed, namely, the 6th chapter, 
 is not genuine ; just as you know has been judged of some other histo- 
 rical tracts which had formerly been inserted in the book of Daniel. 
 For it is not with these collections, which go under the names of the 
 Prophets, as with some regularly connected system, where a charge of 
 falsehood, if made good against one part, shakes the credit of the 
 whole. Fictitious histories may have been joined to true prophecies, 
 when all that bore the name of the same person, or any way related to 
 him, came to be put together in the same volume : but the detection of 
 such misalliance could not affect the prophecies ; certainly not those 
 of Daniel, which respect the latter times; for these have an intrinsic 
 evidence in themselves, and assert their own authenticity, in proportion 
 as we see, or have reason to admit the accomplishment of them. 
 
 And now. Sir, I have only to commit these hasty reflections to your 
 candour ; a virtue which cannot be separated from the love of truth, 
 and of which I observe many traces in your agreeable letter ; and if 
 you should indulge this quality still further, so as to conceive the possi- 
 bility of that being true and reasonable, in matters of religion, which 
 may seem strange, or, to so lively a fancy as yours, even ridiculous, 
 you would not hurt the credit of your excellent understanding, and 
 would thus remove one, perhaps a principal, occasion of those mists 
 which, as you complain, haiig over these nice and difficiclt subjects. 
 1 am with true respect, Sir, yours, &c. 
 
 (Signed) R. H. 
 
 l^The following Fragment was foioid with the foregoing Letter, in 
 Mr. Gibbon's handwriting. S.] 
 
 Your answers to my five objections against the 6th chapter of Daniel 
 come next to be considered. 
 
 1. With regard to Daniel's promotion, I consent to withdraw my 
 opposition, and to allow the cases of Ximenes, Wolsey, and Richlieu 
 as parallel instances ; though there is surely some difference between 
 a young foreign soothsayer being suddenly i-ewarded, for the interpreta- 
 tion of a dream, with the government of Babylon, and a priest of the 
 established church, rising gradually to the great offices of state. 
 
 2. You apprehend. Sir, that my second objection scarcely deserves a 
 serious answer ; and that it is quite sufficient to appeal to my own 
 reading and experience, whether the strongest conviction of the mind 
 does not perpetually give way to the inflamed and selfish passions. 
 Since you appeal to me, I shall fairly lay before you the result of my 
 observations on that subject, i. It must be confessed that the drunkard 
 often sinks into the grave, and the prodigal into a gaol, without a 
 possibility of deceiving or of checking themselves. But they sink by 
 slow degrees ; and, whilst they indulge the ruling passion, attend only 
 to the trilling moment of each guinea, or of each bottle, without cal- 
 culating their accumulated weight, till they feel themselves irretrievably 
 ciushed under it. 2. In most of the hazardous interprizes of life there
 
 THE COkRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 223 
 
 is a mixture of chance and good fortune ; what is called good fortune, 
 is often the effect of skill : and as our vanity flatters us into an opinion 
 of our superior merit, we are neither surprised nor dismayed by the 
 miscarriage of our rash predecessors. Tlte conspirator turns Jiis eyes 
 from the axe and scaffold^ perhaps still streai?iing- with blood, to the 
 successful boldness of Sylla, of Ca:sar, and of Cromwell ; and convinces 
 himself that on such a golden pursuit it is even prudent to stake a 
 precarious and insipid life. We may add, that the most daring flights 
 of ambition are as often the effects of necessity as of choice. The 
 princes of Hindostan must either reign or perish ; and when Cassar 
 passed the Rubicon, it was scarcely possible for him to return to a 
 private station. 3. You think, Sir, we may learn from our own experi- 
 ence, that an indifference concerning miracles is very compatible with 
 a full conviction of their truth ; and so it undoubtedly is with such a 
 conviction as we have an opportunity of observing. 
 
 E. Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, Beriton, Oct. 13, 1772. 
 
 I AM just arrived, as well as yourself, at my dii penates, but with 
 very different intention. You will ever remain a bigot to those rustic 
 deities ; I propose to abjure them soon, and to reconcile myself to the 
 catholic church of London. 
 
 I am so happy, so exquisitely happy, at feeling so many mountains 
 taken off my shoulders, that I can brave your indignation, and even 
 the three-forked lightning of Jupiter himself. My reasons for taking 
 so unwarrantable a step (approved of by Hugonin) were no unmanly 
 despondency, (though it daily became more apparent how much the 
 farm would suffer, both in reality and in reputation, by another year's 
 management). * * * *. I see pleasure but not use in a congress, 
 therefore decline it. I know nothing as yet of a purchaser, and can 
 only give you full and unlimited powers. If you think it necessary, let 
 mc know when you sell ; but, however, do as you please. 
 
 I am sincerely glad to hear Mrs. H. is better. Still think Bath 
 would suit her. She, and you too, I fear, rather want the physic of 
 the mind, than of the body. Tell me something about yourself. If, 
 among a crowd of acquaintances, one friend can afford you any com- 
 fort, I am cjuite at your service. Once more, adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, Pall-Mall, nth Dec. 1772. 
 
 By this time, I suppose you returned to the Elysian fields of Shet- 
 field. The country (I do not mean any particular reflections on Sussex) 
 must be vastly pleasant at this time of the year ! For my own part, 
 the punishment of my sins has at length overtaken me. On Thursday 
 the third of December, in the present year of our Lord one thousand 
 seven hundred and seventy-two, between the hours of one and two in 
 the afternoon, as I was crossing St. James's church-yard, I stumbled, 
 and again spraified my foot; but, alas ! after two days pain and con-
 
 524 EDWARD GIBBON TO % B. HOLROVD. 
 
 finement, a horrid monster, ycleped the gout, made me a short visit ; 
 and though he has now taken his leave, I am full of apprehensions thaf 
 he may have liked my company well enough to call again. 
 
 The parliament, after a few soft murmurs, is gone to sleep, to awake 
 again after Christmas, safely folded in Lord North's arms. The town 
 is gone into the country, and I propose visiting Sheffield about Sunday 
 se'nnight, if by that time I can get my household preparations (1 have 
 as good as taken Lady Rous's lease in Bentinck-street) in any forward- 
 ness. Shall I angle for Batt? No news stirring, except the Duchess 
 of G.'s pregnancy certainly declared. * * * called on me the other 
 day, and has taken my plan with him to consider it ; he still wishes to 
 defer till spring ; talks of bad roads, &c. and is very absolute. I 
 remonstrated, but want to know whether I ain to submit. Adieu. 
 Godfrey Clarke, who is writing near me, begs to be remembered. The 
 savage is going to hunt foxes in Northamptonshire, Oxfordshire, Glou- 
 cestershire, &:c. Yours sincerely. 
 
 Boodle's, Ten o'clock, Thursday Evening, Dec. 1772. 
 Dear Holrovd, 
 
 My schemes with regard to you have been entirely disappointed. 
 The business that called me to town was not ready before the 20th of 
 last month, and the same business has kept me here till now. I have 
 however a very strong inclination to eat a Christmas mince pie with 
 you ; and let me tell you that inclination is no small compliment. 
 What are the trees and waters of Sheffield-Place, compared with the 
 comfortable smoke, lazy dinners, and inflammatory Junius's, which we 
 can every day enjoy in town ? You have seen the last Junius ? He 
 calls on the distant legions to march to the Capitol, and free us from 
 the tyranny of the Praetorian guards. I cannot answer for the ghost of 
 the hie et ubiqjce, but the Hampshire militia are determined to keep the 
 peace for fear of a broken head. After all, do I mean to make you a 
 visit next week ? Upon my soul, I cannot tell. I tell every body that 
 I shall : I know that I cannot pass the week with any man in the 
 world with whom the pleasure of seeing each other will be more sincere 
 or more reciprocal. Yet, entre notis, I do not believe that I shall be 
 able to get out of this town before you come into it. At all events I " 
 look forwards, with great impatience, to Bruton-street * and the 
 Romans.f 
 
 Believe me most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Jisq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, January 12, 1773. 
 
 Lenborough is no more ! * * * acted like a Jew, and I dare say 
 now repents it. In his room * * * found me a better man, a rich, 
 brutish, honest horse-dealer, who has got a great fortune by serving the 
 cavalry. On Thursday he saw Lenborough, on Friday came to town 
 with * * *, and this morning at nine o'clock we struck at 2o,oool. after 
 a very hard battle. As times go, I am not dissatisfied. * * * and the 
 
 • Where Mr. Holroyd's family passed a winter. t The Roman Club.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON, 225 
 
 new Lord of Lenborough (by name * * *) dined with me ; and though 
 we did not speak the same language, yet by the help of signs, such as 
 that of putting about the bottle, the natives seemed well satisfied. 
 
 The whole world is going down to Portsmouth, where they will enjoy 
 the pleasures of smoke, noise, heat, bad lodgings, and expensive reckon- 
 ings. For my own part, I have firmly resisted importunity, declined 
 parties, and mean to pass the busy week in the soft retirement of my 
 bocas;e de Bentinck-street. Yesterday the East India Company posi- 
 tively refused the loan : a noble resolution, could they get money any 
 where else. They are violent ; and it was moved, and the motion 
 heard with some degree of approbation, that they should instantly 
 abandon India to Lord North, Sujah Dowlah, or the Devil, if he chose 
 to take it. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. 
 Dear Holroyd, Boodle's, May ii, 1773. 
 
 I AM full of worldly cares, anxious about the great twenty-fourth, 
 plagued with the Public Advertiser, distressed by the most dismal dis- 
 patches from Hugonin. Mrs. Lee claims a million of repairs, which 
 will cost a million of money. 
 
 The House of Commons sat late last night. Burgoyne made some 
 spirited motions — " that the territorial acquisitions in India belonged 
 to the state (that was the word) ; that grants to the servants of the 
 company (such as jaghires) were illegal ; and that there would be no 
 true repentance without restitution." Wedderburne defended the 
 nabobs with great eloquence, but little argument. The motions were 
 carried without a division ; and the hounds go out again next Friday. 
 They are in high spirits ; but the more sagacious ones have no idea 
 they shall kill. Lord North spoke for the inquiry, but faintly and re- 
 luctantly. Lady * * * is said to be in town at her mother's, and 
 a separation is unavoidable ; but there is nothing certain. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 Sincerely yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq, to J. Holroyd, Esq. at Edinburgh. 
 Dear Holroyd, Bentinck-Street, Aug. 7, 1773. 
 
 I beg ten thousand pardons for not being dead, as I certainly ought 
 to be. But such is my abject nature, that I had rather live in Bentinck- 
 street, attainted and convicted of the sin of laziness, than enjoy your 
 applause either at old Nick's or even in the Elysian Fields. After all, 
 could you expect that I should honour with my correspondence a wild 
 barbarian of the Bogs of Erin ? Had the natives intercepted my letter, 
 the terrors occasioned by such unknown magic characters might have 
 been fatal to you. But now you have escaped the fury of their hospi- 
 tality, and are arrived among a cee-vi-leezed nation, I may venture to 
 renew my intercourse. 
 
 You tell me of a long list of dukes, lords, and chieftains of renown 
 ro whom you are introduced ; were I with you, I should prefer one 
 David \.Q ihcm all. When )ou arc at Edinburgh, I hope you will not
 
 226 NOTES BY E. GIBBON ON VISIT TO CORNWALL. 
 
 fail to visit the sty of that fattest of Epicurus's hogs, and inform your* 
 self whether there remains no hope of its recovering the use of its 
 right paw. There is another animal of great, though not perhaps of 
 equal and certainly not of similar merit, one Robertson ; has he almost 
 created the new world ? Many other men you have undoubtedly seen, 
 in the country where you are at present, who must have commanded 
 your esteem : but when you return, if you are not very honest, you 
 will possess great advantages over me in any dispute concerning Cale- 
 donian merit. 
 
 Boodle's and Atwood's are now no more. The last stragglers, and 
 Godfrey Clarke in the rear of all, are moved away to their several 
 castles ; and I now enjoy, in the midst of London, a delicious solitude. 
 My library, Kensington Gardens, and a few parties with new acquaint- 
 ance who are chained to London, (among whom I reckon Goldsmith 
 and Sir Joshua Reynolds,) fill up my time, and the monster ennui 
 preserves a very respectful distance. By the bye, your friends, Batt, 
 Sir John Russell, and Lascelles, dined with me one day before they 
 set off; for I sometimes give the prettiest little dinner in the world. 
 But all this composure draws near its conclusion. About the sixteenth 
 of this month, J\Ir. Eliot carries me away, and after picking up IMrs. 
 Gibbon at Bath, sets me down at Port Eliot : there I shall certainly 
 remain six weeks, or, in other words, to the end of September. My 
 future motions, whether to London, Derbyshire, or a longer stay in 
 Cornwall, (pray is not "motion to stay" rather in the Hibernian style?) 
 will depend on the life of Port Eliot, the time of the meeting of parlia- 
 ment, and perhaps the impatience of Mr. * * *, Lord of Lenborough. 
 One of my pleasures in town I forgot to mention, the unexpected visit 
 of Deyverdun, who accompanies his young lord (very young indeed !) 
 on a two months' tour to England. He took the opportunity of the 
 Earl's going down to the Duke of * * *, to spend a fortnight (nor 
 do I recollect a more pleasant one) in Bentinck-street. They are now 
 gone together into Yorkshire, and I think it doubtful whether I shall 
 see him again before his return to Leipsic. It is a melancholy reflec- 
 tion, that while one is plagued with acquaintance at the corner of every 
 street, real friends should be separated from each other by unsurmount- 
 able bars, and obliged to catch at a few transient moments of inter- 
 view. I desire that you and my Lady (whom I most respectfully 
 greet) would take your share of that veiy new and acute observation, 
 not so large a share indeed as my Swiss friend, since nature and 
 fortune give tis more frequent opportunities of being together. You 
 cannot expect news from a desert, and such is London at present. 
 The papers give you the full harvest of public intelligence ; and I 
 imagine that the eloquent nymphs of Twickenham (Miss Cambridges), 
 communicate all the transactions of the polite, the amorous, and the 
 marrying world. The great pantomime of Portsmouth was universally 
 admired ; and I am angry at my own laziness in neglecting an excellent 
 opportunity of seeing it. Foote has given us the Bankrupt, a serious 
 and sentimental piece, with very severe strictures on the licence of 
 scandal in attacking private characters. Adieu. Forgive and epistolize 
 me. I shall not believe you sincere in the former, unless you make 
 Bentinck-street your inn. I fear I shall be gone ; but Mrs. Ford (his
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 22/ 
 
 housekeeper) and the parrot will be proud to receive you and my Lady 
 after your long peregrination, from which I expect great improvements. 
 Has she got the brogue upon the tip of her tongue:* 
 
 Edward Gibdon, Esq. to J. Holroyd, Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, Port Eliot, Sept. lo, 1773. 
 
 By this time you have surely finished your tour, touched at Edin- 
 burgh, where you found a letter, which you have not answered, and are 
 now contemplating tlie beauties of the Weald of Sussex. I shall de- 
 mand a long and particular account of your peregrinations, but will 
 excuse it till we meet ; and for the present expect only a short memor- 
 andum of your health and situation, together with that of my much- 
 honoured friend Mrs. Abigail Holroyd. A word too, if you please, 
 concerning father and sister ; to the latter I enclose a receipt from 
 Mrs. G. who is now with me at Port Eliot. 
 
 Blind as you accuse me of being to the beauties of nature, I am 
 wonderfully pleased with this country. Of her three dull notes, ground, 
 plants, and water, Cornwall possesses the first and last in very high 
 perfection. Think of a hundred solitary streams peacefully gliding 
 between amazing cliffs on one side, and rich meadows on the other, 
 gradually swelling by the aid of the tide into noble rivers, successively 
 losing themselves in each other, and all at length terminating in the 
 harbour of Plymouth, whose broad expanse is irregularly dotted with 
 two-and-forty line of battle ships. In plants indeed we are deficient ; 
 and though all the gentlemen now attend to posterity, the country will 
 for a long time be very naked. We have spent several days agreeably 
 enough in little parties ; but in general our time rolls away in complete 
 uniformity. Our landlord possesses neither a pack of hounds, nor a 
 stable of running horses, nor a large farm, nor a good library. The 
 last only could interest me ; but it is singular that a man of fortune, 
 who chooses to pass nine months of the year in the country, should 
 have none of them. 
 
 According to our present design, Mrs. G. and myself return to Bath 
 about the beginning of next month. I shall probably make but a 
 short stay with her, and defer my Derbyshire journey till another year. 
 Sufficient for the summer is the evil thereof, viz. one distant country 
 excursion. Natural inclination, the prosecution of my great work, 
 and the conclusion of my Lenborough business, plead strongly iri 
 favour of London. However I desire, and one always finds time for 
 what one really desires, to visit Sheffield-Place before the end of 
 October, should it only be for a few days. I know several houses 
 where I am invited to think myself at home, but I know no other where 
 I seem inclined to accept of the invitation. I forgot to tell you, that 
 I have declined the publication of Lord Chesterfield's Letters. The 
 public will soe them, and upon the whole, I think, with pleasure ; but 
 the family were strongly bent against it ; and especially on Deyverdun's 
 account, I deemed it more prudent to avoid making them my personal 
 enemies, 
 
 * Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd made a tour to Ireland and ScotL-uid tliis summer.
 
 22S MODE OF LIFE IN LONDON, BY E. GIBBON. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 January 1774. 
 
 I HAVE a letter from Hugonin, a dreadful one I believe, but it has 
 lain four days unperused in my drawer. Let me turn it over to you. 
 
 Foster is playing at what he calls whist ; his partner swearing in- 
 wardly. He would write to you to-night, but he thinks he had rather 
 write next post ; he will think so a good while. Every thing public, 
 Etill as death. Our Committee of the Catch Club has done more 
 business this morning than all those of the House of Commons since 
 tlieir meeting. Roberts does not petition. This from the best 
 authority, and yet perhaps totally false. Hare married to Sir Abraham 
 Hume's daughter. You see how hard pressed I am for news. Besides, 
 at any time, I had rather talk an hour, than write a page. Therefore 
 adieu. I am glad to hear of your speedy removal. Remember 
 Bentinck-street. 
 
 The Same to the Same. January 29, 1774. 
 
 I AM now getting acquainted with authors, managers, &c. good com- 
 pany to know, but not to live with. Yesterday I dined at the British 
 Coftee-house, with Garrick, Coleman, Goldsmith, Macpherson, John 
 Hume, &c. I am this moment come from Coleman's Man of Business. 
 We dined at the Shakespeare, and went in a body to support it. Be- 
 tween friends, though we got a verdict for our client, his cause was but 
 a bad one. It is a very confused miscellany of several plays and tales ; 
 sets out brilliantly enough, but as we advance the plot grows thicker, 
 the wit thinner, till the lucky fall of the curtain preserves us from total 
 chaos. 
 
 Bentinck-street has visited Welbeck-street. Sappho is very happy 
 that she is there yet : on Sheffield-place she squints with regret and 
 gratitude. Mamma consulted me about buying coals ; we cannot get 
 any round ones. Quintus is gone to head the civil war. Of Mrs. * * * 
 I have nothing to say. I have got my intelligence for insuring, and 
 will immediately get the preservative against fire. Foster has sent me 
 eight-and-twenty pairs of Paris silk stockings, with an intimation that 
 my lady wished for half-a-dozen. They are much at her service ; but 
 if she will look into David Hume's Essay on National Characters, she 
 ;vill see that I durst not offer them to a Queen of Spain, Sachez 
 qu'une reine d^Espagne n a point de jambes. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 1774- 
 We have conquered ; * * * was amazed at the tempest just ready to 
 break over his head. He docs not desire to go to law, wishes to live 
 in peace, has no complaints to make, hopes for a little indulgence. 
 Htigonin is now in the attitude of St. Michael trampling upon Satan; 
 he holds him down, till Andrews has ^re^pdived a little chaiti of adamant 
 to bind the foul fiend. In return, receive my congratulation on your 
 Irish victory. Batt told me yesterday, as from good authority, that 
 administratioii designed a second attemot this session ; but to-day I
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 22^ 
 
 have it from much better, that they always discouraged it, and that it 
 was totally an Hibernian scheme. You remark that I saw Batt. He 
 passed tn'O hours with me ; a pleasant man ! He and Sir John Russell 
 dine with me next week: you will liave both their portraits; the 
 originals are engaged. 
 
 The Same to the Same. February, 1774. 
 
 Did you get down safe and early? Is my lady in good spirits and 
 humour? You do not deserve that she should, for hurrying her away. 
 Does Maria coquet with Divedown ? [Dr. Downes.] Adieu. Bentinck- 
 street looks very dismal. You may suppose that nothing ver}^ import- 
 ant can have occurred since you left town : but I will send you some 
 account of America after Monday, though indeed my anxiety about an 
 old manor takes away much of my attention from a new continent. 
 I'he mildness of Godfrey Clarke is roused into military fury ; but he is 
 an old Tory, and you only suppose yourself an old Whig. I alone am 
 a true Englishman, Philosopher, and Whig. 
 
 The Same to the Satne. Boodles, Wed. Even. March 16, 1774. 
 
 I WAS this morning with * * *. He was positive that the attempt 
 to settle the preliminaries of arbitration by letters would lead us on to 
 the middle of the summer, and that a meeting was the only practicable 
 measure. I acquiesced, and we blended his epistle and yours into one, 
 which goes by this post. If you can contrive to suit to it your Oxford 
 journey, your presence at the meeting would be received as the descent 
 of a guardian angel. 
 
 Very little that is satisfactory has transpired of America. On Monday 
 Lord North moved for leave to bring in a bill to remove the customs 
 and courts of justice from Boston to New Salem ; a step so detrimental 
 to the former town, as must soon reduce it to your own terms ; and yet 
 of so mild an appearance, that it was agreed to without a division, and 
 almost without a debate. Something more is, however, intended, and 
 a committee is appointed to inquire into the general state of America. 
 But the administration keep their secret as well as that of free masonry, 
 and, as Coxe profanely suggests, for the same reason. 
 
 Don't you remember that in our pantheon walks we admired the 
 modest beauty of Mrs. * * *? EJi bieti, alas ! she is * * *. You ask 
 me with whom ? With * * *, of the guards ; both the * * *'s ; * * *j 
 a steward of * * *'s, her first love, and half the town besides. A meeting 
 of * * *'s friends assembled al^out a week ago, to consult of the best 
 method of acquainting him with his frontal honours. Edmund Burke 
 was named as the orator, and communicated the transaction in a most 
 eloquent speech. 
 
 E. GlHEON Esq. to J. HoLROYD Esq. March 29, 1774. 
 
 America. Had I written Saturday night, as I once intended, fire 
 and sword, oaths of allegiance and high treason tried in England, in 
 consequence of the refusal, would have formed my letter. Lord North, 
 however, opened a most lenient prescription last night ; and the utmost 
 attempt towards a new settlement seemed to be no more than invest- 
 ing the governors with a greater share of executive power, nomination 
 
 Q
 
 230 GODFREY CLARKE AND DEYVERDUN. 
 
 of civil officers, (judges, however, for life,) and some regulations of 
 juries. The Boston port bill passed the Lords last night ; some lively 
 
 conversation, but no division. 
 
 Bentinck-strcet. Rose Fuller was against the Boston port bill, and 
 against his niece's going to Boodle's masquerade. He was laughed at 
 in the first instance, but succeeded in the second. Sappho and Fanny 
 very indifferent (as mamma says) about going. They seetn of a differ- 
 ent opinion. Adieu, 
 
 Dear Holroyd, April 20, 1774. 
 
 You owe me a letter ; so this extra goes only to acquaint you with a 
 misfortune that has just happened to poor Clarke, and which he really 
 considers as such, the loss of a very excellent father. The blow was 
 sudden ; a thin little man, as abstemious as a hermit, was destroyed 
 by a stroke of apoplexy in his coach as he was going to dinner. He 
 appeared perfectly well, and only two days before had very good- 
 naturedly dined with us at a tavern, a thing he had not done for many 
 years before. I am the only person Clarke wishes to see, except his 
 own family ; and I pass a great part of the day with him. A line from 
 you would be kindly received. 
 
 Great news, you see, from India. Tanjour four hundred thousand 
 pounds to the company. Suja Dowla six hundred thousand. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. April 13, 1774. 
 
 At length I am a little more at liberty. Godfrey Clarke went out of 
 town this morning. Instead of going directly into Derbyshire, where 
 he would have been overwhelmed with visits, &c. he has taken his 
 sister, brother, and aunts to a villa near Farnham, in which he has the 
 happiness of having no neighbourhood. If my esteem and friendship 
 for Godfrey had been capable of any addition, it would have been very 
 much increased by the manner in which he felt and lamented his father's 
 death. He is now in very different circumstances than before ; instead 
 of an easy and ample allowance, he has taken possession of a great 
 estate, with low rents and high incumbrances. I hope the one may 
 make amends for the other : under your conduct I am sure they would, 
 and I have freely offered him your assistance, in case he should wish 
 to apply for it. 
 
 In the mean time I must not forget my own affairs, which seem to 
 be covered with inextricable perplexity. * * *, as I mentioned about 
 a century ago, promised to see * * * and his attorney, and to oil the 
 wheels of the arbitration. As yet I have not heard from him. I have 
 some thoughts of writing myself to the jockey, stating the various steps 
 of the affair, and offering him, with polite firmness, the immediate 
 choice of Chancery or arbitration. 
 
 For the time, however, I forgot all these difficulties, in the present 
 enjoyment of Deyverdun's company ; and I glory in thinking, that 
 although my house is small, it is just of a sufficient size to hold my 
 real friends, male and female j among the latter my Lady holds the 
 very first place. 
 
 We are all quiet.— American business is suspended and almost for- 
 got. The other day we had a brisk report of a Spanish war. It was
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBuX. 23 1 
 
 said they had taken one of our Leward Islands. It since turns out, 
 that we are the invaders, but the invasion is tritiing. 
 
 Bieii obUQ;i non (at present) for your invitation. I wisli my Lady 
 and you would come up to our masquerade the third of May. The 
 finest thing ever seen. We sup in a transparent temple that costs four 
 hundred and fifty pounds. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 Dear Holroyd, April 21, 1774. 
 
 I B:iGiN to flag, and though you already reproach me as a bad corre- 
 spondent, I much fear that 1 shall every week become a more hardened 
 sinner. Besides the occasional obstructions of Clarke and Dcyvcrdun, 
 1 must intreatyouto consider, with your usual candour, i. The aversion 
 to epistolary conversation, which it has pleased the daemon to implant 
 in my nature. 2. That 1 am a very fine gentleman, a subscriber to 
 tJTC masquerade, where you and my Lady ought to come, and am now 
 writing at Boodle's, in a fine velvet coat, with ruffles of my lady's 
 choosing, &c. 3. That the aforesaid fine gentleman is likewise an 
 historian ; and in truth, when I am writing a page, I do not only think 
 it a sufficient reason for delay, but even consider myself as writing for 
 you, and that, much more to the purpose than if I were sending you 
 the little tattle of the town, of which indeed there is none stirring. With 
 regard to America, the Minister seems moderate, and the House 
 obedient. 
 
 * * *'s last letter, by some unaccountable accident, had never 
 reached me ; so that yours, in every instance, amazed me. I imme- 
 diately dispatched to him groans and approbation. * * *, however, 
 gives me very little uneasiness. I see that he is a bully, and that I 
 have a stick. But the cursed business of Lenborough, in the midst of 
 study, dissipation, and friendship, at times almost distracts me. I am 
 surely in a worse situation than before I sold the estate, and what dis- 
 tresses me is, that 
 
 His ego nee inetas rcrian, nee tenipora pono. 
 
 Both Deyverdun and Clarke wish to be remembered to you. The 
 former, who has more taste for the country than * * *, could wish to 
 visit you, but he sets out in a few days for the continent with Lord 
 Midleton. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Dear Holroyd, May 4, 1774. 
 
 Last night was the triumph of Boodle's. Our masquerade cost two 
 thousand guineas ; a sum that might have fertilised a province, (I 
 speak in your own style,) vanished in a few hours, but not v>'ithout 
 leaving behind it the fame of the most splendid and elegant y?/^ that 
 was perhaps ever gi\'en in a seat of the arts and opulence. It would 
 be as difficult to describe the magnificence of the scene, as it would be 
 easy to record the humour of the night. The one was above, the other 
 below, all relation. I left the Pantlieon about five this morning, rose 
 at ten, took a good walk, and returned home to a more rational enter-
 
 2^2 EDWARD GIBBON TO HIS FATHER'S WIDOW. 
 
 tainment of Batt, Sir John Russell, and Lascelles, who dined with me. 
 They have left me this moment ; and were I to enumerate the things 
 said of Sheffield, it would form a much longer letter than I have any 
 inclination to write. Let it suffice, that Sir John means to pass in 
 Sussex the interval of the two terms. Everything, in a word, goes on 
 very pleasantly, except the terrestrial business of Lenborough, Last 
 Saturday se'nnight I wrote to * * *, to press him to see * * *, and 
 urge the arbitration. He has not condescended to answer me. All is a 
 dead calm, sometimes more fatal than a storm. For God's sake send 
 me advice. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Boodle's, May 24, 1774. 
 
 Do you remember that there exists in the world one Edward Gibbon, a 
 housekeeper in Bentinck-street ? If the standard of writing and of 
 affection were the same, I am sure he would ill-deserve it. I do not 
 wish to discover, how many days (I am afraid I ought to use another 
 word) have elapsed since the date of my last, or even of your last letter, 
 and yet such is the sluggish nature of the beast, that I am afraid 
 nothing but the arrival of Mrs. Bonfoy, and the expectation of Mr. Eliot, 
 could have roused me from my lethargy. The Lady gave me great 
 satisfaction, by her general account of your health and spirits, but 
 communicated some uneasiness, by the mention of a little encounter, 
 in the style of one of Don Quixote's, but which proved, I hope, as 
 trifling as you at first imagined it. For my own part, I am well in 
 mind and body, busy with my books, (which may perhaps produce 
 something next year, either to tire or amuse the world,) and every day 
 more satisfied with my present mode of life, which I always believed 
 was calculated to make me happy. My only remaining uneasiness is 
 Lenborough, which is not terminated. By Holroyd's advice, I rather 
 try what may be obtained by a little more patience, than rush at once 
 into the horrors of Chancery. But let us talk of something else. Mrs. 
 Porten grows younger every day. You remember, I think, in New- 
 man-street, an agreeable woman. Miss W * * *. The Under-secre- 
 tary is seriously in love with her, and seriously uneasy that his preca- 
 rious situation precludes him from happiness. We shall soon see which 
 will get the better, love or reason. 1 bet three to two on love. 
 
 Guess my surprise, when Mrs. Gibbon of Northamptonshire sud- 
 denly communicated her arrival. I immediately went to Surrey-street, 
 where she lodged, but though it was no more than half an hour after 
 nine, the Saint had finished her evening devotions, and was already 
 retired to rest. Yesterday morning (by appointment) I breakfasted 
 with her at eight o'clock, dined with her to-day at two in Newman- 
 street, and am just returned from setting her down. She is, in truth, a 
 very great curiosity : her dress and figure exceed anything we had at 
 the masquerade : her language and ideas belong to the last century. 
 However, in point of religion she was rational ; that is to say, silent. 
 I do not believe that she asked a single question, or said the least thing 
 concerning it. To me she behaved with great cordiality, and in her 
 u\iy expressed a great regard.
 
 77/^ CORRESFONDEiYC^ OF EDWARD GIBBON. 233 
 
 Mrs. Porten tells me, that she has just written to you. She ought to 
 go to a masquerade once a year. Did you think her such a girl? 
 I am, dear Madam, most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Boodle's, May 24, 1774. 
 I WROTE three folio pages to you this morning, and yet you complain. 
 Have reason, and have mercy ; consider all the excellent reasons for 
 silence which I gave you in one of my last, and expect my arrival in 
 Sussex, when I shall talk more in a quarter of an hour than I could 
 write in a day. A propos of that arrival ; never pretend to allure mc, 
 by painting in odious colours the dust of London. I love the dust, and 
 whenever I move into the Weald, it is to visit you and my Lady, and 
 not your trees. About this-day-month I mean to give you a visiia- 
 tioii. I leave it to Guise, Clarke, and the other light horse, to prance 
 down for a day or two. They all talk of mounting, but will not fix the 
 day. Sir John Russell, whom I salute, has brought you, I suppose, all 
 the news of Versailles. Let mc only add, that the Mesdames, by 
 attending their father, have both got the small-pox. I can make 
 nothing of * * *, or his lawyer. You will swear at the shortness of 
 this letter. — Swear. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Sat. Even. Aug. 27, 1774. 
 
 By your submission to the voice of reason, you eased me of a heavy 
 load of anxiety. I did not like your enterprise. * * *. As to papers, 
 I will shew you that I can keep them safe till we meet. What think 
 you of the Turks and Russians ? Romanzow is a great man. He 
 wrote uxv account of his amazing success to Mouskin Pouskin here, and 
 declared his intention of retiring as soon as he had conducted the army 
 home ; desiring that Pouskin would send him the best plan he could 
 procure of an English gentleman's farm. In his answer, Pouskin pro- 
 mised to get it ; but added, that at the same time he should send the 
 Empress a plan of Bleiilicii)i. A handsome compliment, I think. My 
 Lady and Maria, as usual. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Bentinck-Street, Sept. 10, 1774. 
 
 Since Heberden is returned, I think the road lies plain before )ou, I 
 mean the turnpike road ; the only party which in good sense can be 
 embraced is, without delay, to bring my Lady to Bentinck-street, where 
 you may inhabit two or three nights, and have any advice (Turton, 
 Heberden, &c.) which the town may afford, in a case that most 
 assuredly ought not to be trifled with. Do this as you value our good 
 opinion. The Cantabs are strongly in the same sentiments. There 
 can be no apprehensions of late hours, &c. as none of Mrs. H.'s raking 
 acquaintance are in town. * * * You give me no account of the 
 works. When do you inhabit the library .'' Turn over — great things 
 await yon. 
 
 It is surely infinite condescension for a senator to bestow his at- 
 tention on the affairs of a juryman. A senator? Yes, Sir, at last
 
 234 EDWARD GIBBON ENTERS PARLIAMENT, 
 
 -Quod .... Divum promittere nemo 
 
 Auderei^ volvcnda dies, en attiilit iiltro.- 
 Yesterday morning, about half an hour after seven, as I was destroy- 
 ing an army of Barbarians, I heard a double rap at the door, and my 
 friend * * * was soon introduced. After some idle conversation he 
 told me, that if I was desirous of being in parliament, he had an 
 ifidependent seat very much at my service. * * *. This is a fine 
 prospect opening upon me, and if next spring I should take my seat, 
 and publish my book, it will be a very memorable asra in my life. I am 
 ignorant whether my borough will be * * *. You despise boroughs, 
 and fly at nobler game. Adieu. , 
 
 The Savie to the Same. Dec. 2, 1774' 
 
 I SEND you inclosed a dismal letter from Hugonin. Return it with- 
 out delay, with observations. A manifesto has been sent to * * *, 
 which must, I think, produce immediate peace or war. Adieu. We 
 shall have a warm day on the address next Monday. A number of 
 young members ! Whitshed, a dry man, assured me, that he heard 
 one of them ask, whether the king always sat in that chair, pointing to 
 the Speaker's. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Boodle's, Jan. 31, 1775. 
 
 Sometimes people do not write because they are too idle, and some- 
 times because they are too busy. The former was usually my case, 
 but at present it is the latter. The fate of Europe and America seems 
 fully sufficient to take up the time of one man ; and especially of a 
 man who gives up a great deal of time for the purpose of public and 
 private information. I think I have sucked Mauduit and Hutcheson 
 very dry ; and if my confidence was equal to my eloquence, and my 
 eloquence to my knowledge, perhaps I might make no very intolerable 
 speaker. At all events, I fancy I shall try to expose myself. 
 
 Semper ego auditor tantum ? nunquamne reponam f 
 
 For my own part, I am more and more convinced that we have both 
 the right and the power on our side, and that, though the effort may be 
 accompanied with some melancholy circumstances, we are now arrived 
 at the decisive moment of preserving, or of losing for ever, both our 
 trade and empire. We expect next Thursday or Friday to be a very great 
 day. Hitherto we have been chiefly employed in reading papers, and 
 rejecting petitions. Petitions were brought from London, Bristol, Nor- 
 wich, &c. framed by party, and designed to delay. By the aid of some 
 parliamentaiy quirks, they have been all referred to a separate inactive 
 committee, which Burke calls a committee of oblivion, and are now 
 considered as dead in law. I could write you fifty little House of 
 Commons stories, but from their number and nature they suit better a 
 conference than a letter. Our general divisions are about two hundred 
 and fifty to eighty or ninety. Adieu.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 235 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 
 Dear Madam, London, Jan. 31, 1775. 
 
 An idle man has no time, and a busy man very httle. As yet tlie 
 House of Commons turns out very well to me, and though it should 
 never prove of any real benefit to me, I find it at least a very agreeable 
 coffee-house. We are plunging every day deeper and deeper into the 
 great business of America ; and I have hitherto been a zealous, though 
 silent, friend to the cause of government, which, in this instance, I 
 think the cause of England. I passed about ten days, as I designed, 
 at Uppark. I found Lord * * * and fourscore foxhounds. 
 
 The troubles of Beriton are perfectly composed, and the insurgents 
 reduced to a state, though not a temper of submission. You may 
 suppose I heard a great dead of Petersfield. L * * * means to con- 
 vict your friend of bribery, to transport him for using a second time 
 old stamps, and to prove that Petersfield is still a part of the manor 
 of Beriton. I remain an impartial spectator, I am, dear iVIadam, 
 most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 February 8, 1775. 
 
 I AM not d d according to your charitable wishes, because I have 
 
 not acted ; there was such an inundation of speakers, young speakers 
 in every sense of the word, both on Thursday in the grand committee, 
 and Monday on the report to the House, that neither Lord George 
 Germaine nor myself could find room for a single word. The principal 
 men both days were Fox and Wedderburne, on the opposite sides ; 
 the latter displayed his usual talents ; the former, taking the vast 
 compass of the question before us, discovered powers for regular debate, 
 which neither his friends hoped, nor his enemies dreaded. We voted 
 an address, (three hundred and four to one hundred and five,) of lives 
 and fortunes, declaring Massachussets Bay in a state of rebellion. 
 More troops, but I fear not enough, go to America, to make an army 
 of ten thousand men at Boston ; three generals, Howe, Burgoyne, and 
 Clinton. In a few days we stop the ports of New England. I cannot 
 write volumes ; but I am more and more convinced, that with firmness 
 all may go well ; yet I sometimes doubt. I am now writing with 
 ladies, (Sir S. Porten and his bride,) and two card-tables, in the library. 
 As to my silence, judge of my situation by last Monday. I am on the 
 Grenvillian committee of Downton. We always sit from ten to three 
 and a half ; after which, that day, I went into the House, and sat till 
 three in the morning. Adieu. 
 
 Tlie Same to the Same. Feb. 25, 1775. 
 
 We go on with regard to America, if we can be said to go on ; for 
 on last Monday a conciliatory motion of allowing the Colonies to tax 
 themselves, was introduced by Lord North, in the midst of lives and 
 fortunes, war and famine. We went into the House in confusion, 
 every moment expecting that the Bedfords would fiy into rebellion
 
 236 EDWARD GIBBOMMUTEIN THE ttOVSB OF COMMOXS. 
 
 against those measures. Lord North rose six times to appease the 
 storm, but all in vain ; till at length Sir Gilbert declared for administra- 
 tion, and the troops all rallied under their proper standard. On Wed- 
 nesday we had the Middlesex election. 1 was a patriot ; sat by the 
 Lord Mayor, who spoke well, and with temper, but before the end of 
 the debate fell fast asleep. I am still a mute ; it is more tremendous 
 than I imagined ; the great speakers fill me with despair, the bad ones 
 with terror. 
 
 When do you move? My lady answered like a woman of sense, 
 spirit, and good nature. Neither she nor I could bear it. She was 
 right, and the Duchess of Braganza would have made the same answer. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon. 
 
 Dear Madam, March 30, 1775. 
 
 I HARDLY know how to take up the pen. I talked in my last of two or 
 three posts, and I am almost ashamed to calculate how many have 
 elapsed. I will endeavour for the future to be less scandalous. Only 
 believe that my heart is innocent of the laziness of my hand. I do not 
 mean to have recourse to the stale and absurd excuse of business, 
 though I have really had a very considerable hurry of new parliamen- 
 tary business : one day, for instance, of seventeen hours, from ten in 
 the morning till between three and four the next morning. It is, upon 
 the whole, an agreeable improvement in my life, and forms just the 
 mixture of business, of study, and of society, which I always imagined 
 I should, and now find I do like. Whether the House of Commons 
 may ever prove of benefit to myself or country, is another question. 
 As yet I have been mute. In the course of our American affairs, I 
 have sometimes had a wish to speak, but though I felt tolerably pre 1 
 pared as to the matter, I dreaded exposing myself in the manner, and 
 remained in my seat safe, but inglorious. Upon the whole, (though I 
 still believe I shall try,) I doubt whether Nature, not that in some 
 instances I am ungrateful, has given me the talents of an orator, and I 
 feel that I came into parliament much too late to exert them. Do you 
 hear of Port Eliot coming to Bath ? and, above all, do you hear of 
 Charles-street* coming to Bentinck-street, in its way to Essex, &c. 
 
 Adieu. Dear Madam, 
 
 I am most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon. 
 Dear Madam, House of Commons, May 2, 1775 
 
 I ACCEPT of the Pomeranian Lady with gratitude and pleasure, and 
 shall be impatient to form an acquaintance with her. My presenta- 
 tions at St. James's passed graciously. My dinner at Twickenham 
 was attended with less ceremony and more amusement. If they turned 
 out Lord North to-morrow, they would still leave him one of the best 
 companions in the kingdom. By this time I suppose the Eliots are 
 with you. I am sure you will say every thing kind and proper on the 
 
 * Mrs. Gibbon's residence at Bath.
 
 THE CORkESrONDENCE OF EDWARD gibbon: 237 
 
 occasion. I am glad to hear of the approbation of my constituents 
 for my vote on the Middlesex election. On the subject of America, I 
 have been something more of a courtier. You know, I suppose, that 
 Holroyd is just stepped over to Ireland for a fortnight. He passed 
 three days with me on his way. Deyverdun had left me just before 
 your letter arrived, which I shall soon have an opportunity of conveying 
 to him. Though, I Hatter myself, he broke from me with some degree 
 of uneasiness, the engagement could not be declined. At the end of 
 four years he has an annuity of one hundred pounds for life, and may 
 for the remainder of his days enjoy a decent independence in that 
 country, which a philosopher would perhaps prefer to the rest of Europe. 
 For my own part, after the hurry of the town and of parliament, I am 
 now retired to my villa in Bentinck-street, which I begin to find a very 
 pleasing solitude, at least as well as if it were two hundred miles from 
 London ; because when I am tired of the Roman Empire, 1 can laugh 
 away the evening at Foote's theatre, which I could not do in Hamp- 
 shire or Cornwall. I am, dear Madam, most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq, 
 
 Bentinck-Street, August i, 1775. 
 
 Your apprehensions of a precipitate work, &c. are perfectly ground- 
 less. I should be much more addicted to a contrary extreme. The 
 head is now printing : true, but it was written last year and the year 
 before. The first chapter has been composed de iioiiveau three times; 
 the second twice, and all the others ha\e undergone reviews, correc- 
 tions, &c. As to the tail, it is perfectly formed and digested, (and were 
 I so much given to self-content and haste,) it is almost all written. 
 The ecclesiastical part, for instance, is written out in fourteen sheets, 
 which I mean to refoiui>-e from beginning to end. As to the friendly 
 critic, it is very difficult to find one who has leisure, candour, freedom, 
 and knowledge sufficient. However, Batt and Deyverdun have read 
 and observed. After all, the public is the best critic. I print no more 
 than five hundred copies of the first edition ; and the second (as it 
 happens frequently to my betters) may receive many improvements. 
 So much for Rome. We have nothing new from America. But I can 
 venture to assure you, that administration is now as unanimous and 
 decided as the occasion requires. Something will be done this year ; 
 but in the Spring the force of the country will be exerted to the utmost. 
 •Scotch Highlanders, Irish Papists, Hanoverians, Canadians, Indians, 
 &c. will all in various shapes be employed. Parliament meets the first 
 week in November. I think his Catholic Majesty may be satisfied with 
 his Summer's amusement. The Spaniards fought with great bravery, 
 and made a fine retreat ; but our Algerine friends surpassed them as 
 much in conduct as in number. Adieu. 
 
 The Duchess has stopped Eootc's piece. She sent for him to King- 
 ston-house, and threatened, bribed, argued, and wept for about two 
 hours. He assured her, that if the Chamberlain was obstinate, he 
 should publish it, with a dedication to her Grace.
 
 238 LETTERS TO MRS. GIBBON, AND J. B. HOLROYD, ESQ, 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mis. Gibbon, Bath. 
 
 Dear Madaini, London, August, 1775. 
 
 Will you accept my present literary business as an excuse for my not 
 writing? I think you will be in the wrong if you do, since I was just 
 as idle before. At all events, however, it is better to say three words, 
 than to be totally a dumb dog. A propos of dog, but not of dumb : 
 your Pomeranian is the comfort of my life ; pretty, impertinent, fantas- 
 tical, all that a young lady of fashion ought to be. I flatter myself 
 that our passion is reciprocal. I am just at present engaged in a great 
 historical work ; no less than a History of the Decline and Fall of the 
 Roman Empire ; with the first volume of which I may very possibly 
 oppress the public next winter. It would require some pages to give a 
 more particular idea of it ; but I shall only say in general, that the 
 subject is curious, and never yet treated as it deserves ; and that during 
 some years it has been in my thoughts, and even under my pen. 
 Should the attempt fail, it must be by the fault of the execution. 
 
 Adieu. Dear Madam, believe me most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 Bentinck-Street, October 14, 1775. 
 I SEND you two pieces of intelligence from the best authority, and 
 which, unless you hear them from some other quarter, I do not wish 
 you should talk much about, ist, When the Russians arrive, (if they 
 refresh themselves in England or Ireland,) will you go and see their 
 camp ? We have great hopes of getting a body of these Barbarians. 
 In consequence of some very plain advances, King George, with his 
 own hand, wrote a very polite epistle to sister Kitty, requesting her 
 friendly assistance. Full powers and instructions were sent at the same 
 time to Gunning, to agree for any force between five, and twenty thou- 
 sand men, carte blanche for the terms ; on condition, however, that 
 they should serve, not as auxiliaries, but as mercenaries, and that the 
 Russian general should be absolutely under the command of the British. 
 They daily and hourly expect a messenger, and hope to hear that the 
 business is concluded. The worst of it is, that the Baltic will soon be 
 frozen up, and that it must be late next year before they can get to 
 America. 2. In the mean time we are not quite easy about Canada ; 
 and even if it should be safe fi'om an attack, we cannot flatter ourselves 
 with the expectation of bringing down that martial people on the Back 
 Settlements. The priests are ours ; the gentlemen very prudently wait 
 the event, and are disposed to join the stronger party ; but the same 
 lawless spirit and impatience of government which have infected our 
 Colonies, are gone forth among the Canadian peasants, over whom, 
 since the conquest, the noblesse have lost much of their ancient influ- 
 ence. Another thing which will please and surprise, is the assurance 
 which I received from a man who might tell me a lie, but who could 
 not be mistaken, that no arts, no management whatsoever, have been 
 used to procure the addresses which fill the Gazette, and that Lord 
 North was as much surprised at the first that came up, as we could be
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 239 
 
 at Shefticld. We shall have, I suppose, some brisk skirmishing in 
 parliament, but the business will soon be decided by our superior 
 weight of fire. A propos^ I believe there has been some vague but 
 serious conversation about callins; out the militia. The new levies go 
 on very slowly in Ireland. The Dissenters, both there and here, are 
 violent and active. Adieu. I embrace my Lady and IMaria. 
 
 George Lewis Scott, Esq. to Edward Gibbon, Esq. 
 Dear Sir, December 29, 1775. 
 
 I AM obliged to you for the liberty of perusing part of your work. 
 What I have read has given me a great deal of pleasure. I have found 
 but few slips of the press, or the pen. 
 
 The style of the work is clear, and every way agreeable ; and I dare 
 say you will be thought to have written with all due moderation and 
 decency with respect to received (at least once received) opinions. The 
 notes and quotations v.-ill add not a little to the value of the work. The 
 authority of French writers, so familiar to you, has not infected you, 
 however, with the f^iult of superficial and careless quotations. I find, 
 since I saw you, that I must be in the chair at the Excise Office 
 to-morrow ; which service will confine me too much for a week, to 
 permit me to wait upon you so soon as I could wish. 
 I am very truly, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient and most humble Servant. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 London, January 18, 1776. 
 How do you do ? Are you alive ? Are you buried under mountains 
 of snow ? I write merely to triumph in the superiority of my own 
 situation, and to rejoice in my own prudence, in not going down to 
 Sheffield-place, as 1 seriously, but foolishly, intended to do last week. 
 We proceed triumphantly with the Roman Empire, and shall certainly 
 make our appearance before the end of next month. I have nothing 
 public. You know we have got eighteen thousand Germans from 
 Hesse, Brunswick, and Hesse Darmstadt. I think our meeting will 
 be lively ; a spirited minority, and a desponding majority. The higlicr 
 people are placed, the more gloomy arc their countenances, the more 
 melancholy their language. You may call this cowardice, but I fear 
 it arises from their knowledge (a late knowledge) of the difficulty and 
 magnitude of the business. Quebec is not yet taken. I hear that 
 Carleton is determined never to capitulate with rebels. A glorious 
 resolution, if it were supported with fifty thousand men ! Adieu. I 
 embrace my Lady and Maria. Make my excuses to the latter, for 
 having neglected her birthday. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq, to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 January 29, 1776. 
 
 Hares, &c. arrived safe ; were received with thanks, and devoured 
 
 with appetite. Send more {id est) of hares. I believe, in my last I
 
 240 LETTERS FROM DR. ROBERTSON, AND ADAM FERGUSON; 
 
 forgot saying anything of tlie son of Fergus ; his letters reached him. 
 What think you of the season ? Siberia, is it not ? A pleasant cam- 
 paign in America. I read and pondered your last, and think that, in 
 the place of Lord G. G. you might perhaps succeed ; but I much fear 
 that our Leaders have not a genius which can act at the distance of 
 three thousand miles. You know that a large draught of guards are 
 just going to America ; poor dear creatures ! We are met ; but no 
 business. Next week may be busy ; Scotch militia, &c. Roman 
 Empire (first part) will be finished in a week, or fortnight. At last, I 
 have heard Texier ; wonderful ! Embrace my Lady. The weather 
 too cold to turn over the page. Adieu. 
 
 Since this, I received your last, and honour your care of the old 
 
 yoi 
 may depend upon getting an excellent house. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 Bentinck-Street, Feb. 9, 1776. 
 You are mistaken about your dates. It is to-morrow sevcn-7iiglit, 
 the seventeenth, that my book will decline into the world. 
 
 I am glad to find, that by degrees you begin to understand the 
 advantage of a civilized city. Adieu. No pubHc business ; parliament 
 has sat every day, but we have not had a single debate. I think you 
 will have the book on Monday. The parent is not forgot, though I had 
 not a single one to spare. 
 
 Extract of a Letter from Dr. Robertson to I\fr. Strahan, dated 
 Edinburgh College, March 15, 1776. 
 
 * * * Since my last I have read Mr. Gibbon's History with 
 much attention, and great pleasure. It is a work of very high merit 
 indeed. He possesses that industry of research, without which no 
 man deserves the name of an Historian. His narrative is perspicuous 
 and interesting ; his style is elegant and forcible, though in some 
 passages I think rather too laboured, and in others too quaint. But 
 these defects are amply compensated by the beauty of the general flow 
 of language, and a very peculiar happiness in many of his expressions. 
 I have traced him in many of his cjuotations, (for experience has taught 
 me to suspect the accuracy of my brother pen-men,) and I find he 
 refers to no passage but what he has seen with his own eyes. I hope 
 the book will be as successful as it deserves to be. I have not yet 
 read the two last chapters, but am sorry, from -what I have heard of 
 them, that he has taken such a tone in them as will give great offence, 
 and hurt the sale of the book. 
 
 Mr. Ferguson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, Edinburgh, March 19, 1776. 
 
 I received, about eight days ago, after I had been reading your 
 History, the copy which you have been so good as to send me, and for
 
 THE CORRESPOyDENCE OF EDWARD GIB BOW 24 1 
 
 which I now trouble you with my thanks. But even if I had not been 
 thus called upon to oftcr you my respects, I could not have refrained 
 from congratulating you on the merit, and undoubted success, of this 
 valuable performance. The persons of this place whose judgment you 
 will value most, agree in opinion, that you have made a great addition 
 to the classical literature of England, and given us what Thucydides 
 proposed leaving with his own countrymen, a. possession in perpetuity. 
 Men of a certain modesty and merit always exceed the expectations of 
 their friends ; and it is with very great pleasure I tell you, that although 
 jou must have observed in me every mark of consideration and regard, 
 that this is, nevertheless, the case, I receive your instruction and study 
 your model with great deference, and join with every one else in 
 applauding the extent of your plan, in hands so well able to execute it. 
 Some of your readers, 1 tind, were impatient to get at the fifteenth 
 chapter, and began at that place. I have not heard much of their 
 criticism, but am told that many doubt of your orthodoxy. I wish to 
 be always of the charitable side, while I own you have proved that the 
 clearest stream may become foul when it comes to run over the muddy 
 bottom of human nature. I have not stayed to make any particular 
 remarks. If any should occur on the second reading, I shall not fail 
 to lay in my claim to a more needed, and more useful admonition from 
 you, in case I ever produce anything that merits your attention. And 
 am, w ith the greatest respect, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged, and most humble Servant, 
 
 Adam Ferguson. 
 
 Extract of a Letter from Mr. David Hume to Mr. Strahan, dated 
 Edinburgh, April 8, 1776. 
 
 * * * I AM very much taken with Mr. Gibbon's Roman History, 
 which came from your press, and am glad to hear of its success. 
 There will no books of reputation now be printed in London but 
 through your hands and Mr. Cadell's. The Author tells me that he is 
 already preparing a second edition. I resolved to have given him miV 
 ad\uce with regard to the manner of printing it ; but as I am now 
 writing to you, it is the same thing. He ought certainly to print the 
 number of the chapter at the head of the margin ; and it would be 
 better if something of the contents could also be added. One is also 
 plagued with his notes, according to the present method of printing 
 the book : when a note is announced, you turn to the end of the volume ; 
 and there you often find nothing but a reference to an authority. All 
 these authorities ought only to be printed at the margin, or the bottom 
 of the page. 1 desire a copy of my new edition should be sent to 
 Mr. Gibbon ; as wishing that gentleman, whom 1 so highly value, 
 should peruse me in a form the least imperfect to which 1 can bring 
 my work. 
 
 * * * Dr. Smith's perfonnance is another excellent work that 
 has come from your press this winter ; but I have ventured to tell 
 him, that it requires too much thought to be as popular as Mr. 
 Gibbon's.
 
 242 A. FERGUSON 70 E. G. E. G. TO J. B. HCLROYD, ESQ. 
 
 Mr. Ferguson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, Edinburgh, April i8, 1776, 
 
 I SHOULD make some apology for not writing you sooner an answer 
 to your obliging letter : but if you should honour me frequently with 
 such requests, you will find, that, with very good intentions, I am a 
 very dilatory and irregular correspondent. I am sorry to tell you, that 
 our respectable friend (Mr. Hume) is still declining in his health : he 
 is greatly emaciated, and loses strength. He talks familiarly of his 
 near prospect of dying. His mother, it seems, died under the same 
 symptoms ; and it appears so little necessary, or proper, to flatter him, 
 that no one attempts it. I never observed his understanding more 
 clear, or his humour more pleasant and lively. He has a great aversion 
 to leave the tranquillity of his own house, to go in search of health 
 among inns and hostlers. And his friends here gave way to him for 
 some time ; but now think it necessary that he should make an effort 
 to try what change of place and air, or anything else Sir John Pringle 
 may advise, can do for him. I left him this morning in the mind to 
 comply in this article, and I hppe that he will be prevailed on to set 
 out in a few days. He is just now sixty-five. 
 
 I am very glad that the pleasure you give us recoils a little on your- 
 self, through our feeble testimony. I have, as you suppose, been em- 
 ployed at any intervals of leisure or rest I have had for some years, in 
 taking notes, or collecting materials for a History of the distractions 
 that broke down the Roman Republic, and ended in the establishment 
 of Augustus and his immediate successors. The comphment you are 
 pleased to pay, I cannot accept of, even to my subject. Your subject 
 now appears with advantages it was not supposed to have had ; and I 
 suspect that the magnificence of the mouldering ruin will appear more 
 striking, than the same building, when the view is perplexed with scaf- 
 folding, workmen, and disorderly lodgers, and the ear is stunned with 
 the noise of destructions and repairs, and the alarms of fire. The night 
 which you begin to describe is solemn, and there are gleams of light 
 superior to what is to be found in any other time. I comfort myself, 
 that as my trade is the study of human nature, I could not fix on a 
 more interesting corner of it, than the end of the Roman Republic. 
 Whether my compilations should ever deserve the attention of any one 
 besides myself, must remain to be determined after they are farther 
 advanced. I take the liberty to trouble you with the enclosed for Mr. 
 Smith, whose uncertain stay in London makes me at a loss how to 
 direct for him. You have both such reason to be pleased with the 
 world just now, that I hope you are pleased with each other. 
 I am, with the greatest respect. Sir, 
 
 Adam Ferguson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 London, May 20, 1776. 
 
 I AM angry that you should impede my noble designs of visiting 
 
 foreign parts, more especially as I have an advantage which Sir Wilful 
 
 had not, that of understanding your foreign lingos. With regard to
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 243 
 
 Mrs. Gibbon, her intended visit, to which I was not totally a stranger, 
 will do me honour ; and, though it should delay my emigration till the 
 end of July, there will slill remain the months of August, September, 
 and October, Above all, abstain from giving the least hint to any 
 Bath correspondent, and perhaps, if I am not provoked by opposition, 
 the thing may not be absolutely certain. At all events, you may 
 depend on a previous visit. At present, I am very busy with the 
 Neclcers. I live with her, just as I used to do twenty years ago, laugh 
 at her Paris varnish, and oblige her to become a simple reasonable 
 Suissesse. The man who might read English husbands' lessons of 
 proper and dutiful behaviour, is a sensible good-natured creature. In 
 about a fortnight I launch again into the world in the shape of a 
 quarto volume. Cadell assures me, that he never remembered so 
 eager and impatient a demand for a second edition. The town is 
 beginning to break up ; the day after to-morrow we have our last day 
 in the House of Commons, to inquire into the instructions of the com- 
 missioners. I like the man, and the motion appears plain. Adieu. I 
 dined with Lord Palmerstone to-day ; great dinner of catches. I 
 embrace my Lady and the ALaria. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B, Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 To tell you anything of the change, or rather changes, of governors, 
 I must have known something of them myself; but all is darkness, 
 confusion, and uncertainty to such a degree, that people do not even 
 know what lies to invent. The news from America have indeed 
 diverted the public attention into another, and far greater, channel. 
 All that you sec in the papers, of the repulse at Quebec, as well as the 
 capture of Lee, rests on the authority (a very unexceptionable one) of 
 the provincial papers, as they have been transmitted by Governor 
 Tryon from New York. Howe is well, and eats plentifully ; and the 
 weather seems to clear up so fast, that, according to the English 
 custom, we have passed from the lowest despondency to a full assur- 
 ance of success. My new birth happened last Monday ; seven hun- 
 dred of the fifteen hundred were gone yesterday. I now understand, 
 from pretty good authority, that Dr. * * *, the friend and chaplain of 
 * * *, is actually sharpening his goose quill against the two last chap- 
 ters. Adieu. 
 
 June 6, 1776, from Almack's, where I was chosen last week. 
 
 Tlie Same to the Same. Almack's, June 24, 1776, 
 
 Yes, yes, I am alive, and well ; but what shall I say ? Town grows 
 empty, and this house, where I have passed very agreeable hours, is 
 the only place which still unites the flower of the English youth. The 
 style of li\ing, though somewhat expensive, is exceedingly pleasant, 
 and, notwithstanding the rage of play, I have found more entertaining, 
 and even rational society here, than in any other club to which I 
 belong. Mrs. Gibbon still hangs in suspense, and seems to consider a 
 town expedition with horror. I think, however, that she will be soon 
 in motion ; and when I have her in Bentinck-street, we shall perhaps
 
 244 DR. CAMPBELL, ABERDEEN; E. G. TOy.B.IIOLROYD,ESQ. 
 
 talk of a Sheffield excursion. I am now deeply engaged in the reign 
 of Constantine, and, from the specimens which I have already seen, J 
 can venture to promise, that the second volume will not be less inte- 
 resting than the first. The fifteen hundred copies are moving off with 
 decent speed, and the obliging Cadell begins to mutter something of a 
 third edition for next year. No news of Deyverdun, or his French 
 translation. What a lazy dog ! Madame Necker has been gone a 
 great while. I gave her, en partant, the most solemn assurances of 
 following \i&x paws in less than two months ; but the voice of indolence 
 begins to whisper a thousand difficulties, and unless your absurd 
 policy should thoroughly provoke me, the Parisian journey may pos- 
 sibly be deferred. I rejoice in the progress of * * * towards light. 
 We are in expectation of American news. Carleton is made a Knight 
 of the Bath. The old report of Washington's resignation, and quarrel 
 with the Congress, seems to revive. Adieu. 
 
 Extract of a Letter from Dr. George Campbell, Professor at 
 
 Aberdeen, to Mr. Strahan, dated Ah&rdttn, June 25, 1776. 
 I HAVE lately read over one of your last winter's publications with 
 very great pleasure, and I hope some instruction. My expectations 
 were indeed high when I began it ; but, I assure you, the entertain- 
 ment I received greatly exceeded them. What made me fall to it with 
 the greater avidity was, that it had in part a pretty close connection 
 with a subject I had occasion to treat sometimes in my Theological 
 Lectures ; to wit, the Rise and Progress of the Hierarchy ; and you 
 will believe that I was not the less pleased to discover, in an historian 
 of so much learning and penetration, so great a coincidence with my 
 own sentiments, in relation to some obscure points in the Christian 
 antiquities. I suppose I need not now inform you, that the book I 
 mean is Gibbon's History of the Fall of the Roman Empire ; which, in 
 respect of the style and manner, as well as the matter, is a most mas- 
 terly performance. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to ]. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 Saturday, August, 1776. 
 We expect you at five o'clock Tuesday, without a sore throat. You 
 have ere this heard of the shocking accident which takes up the atten- 
 tion of the town. Our old acquaintance * * *. By his own indolence, 
 rather than extravagance, his circumstances were embarrassed, and he 
 had frequently declared himself tired of life. No public news, nor any 
 material expected, till the end of this, or the beginning of next month, 
 when Howe will probably have collected his whole force. A tough 
 business indeed. You see by their declaration, that they have now 
 passed the Rubicon, and rendered the work of a treaty infinitely more 
 difficult. You will perhaps say, so much the better ; but I do assure 
 you, that the thinking friends of Government are by no meam sanguine, 
 i take the opportunity of eating turtle with Garrick at Hampton. 
 Ad ieu.
 
 THE CORRESPOhTDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 2^5 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Saturday, i past Eleven. 1776. 
 For the present I am so deeply engaged, that you must renounce the 
 hasty apparition at Sheffield-place ; but if you should be very impatient, 
 I will try (after the meeting) to run down, between the Friday and 
 Monday, and bring you the last editions of things. At present noiii^Iii 
 but expectation. The attack on me is begun ; an anonymous cighteen- 
 penny pamphlet, which will get the author more glory in the next 
 world than in this. The heavy troops, Watson and another, ar-e on 
 their march. Adieu. 
 
 Extract of a Letter from Mr. WALLACE to Mr, Strahan, dated 
 Edinburgh, August 30, 1776. 
 
 Alas, for David Hume ! * His friends have sustained a great loss 
 in his death. He was interred yesterday, at a place he lately pur- 
 chased in the burying-ground on the Calton. 
 
 " For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd. 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? " 
 
 A monument on that airy elevated cemetery, which, on accoimt of a 
 magnificent terrace, now carried round the hill, is greatly frequented, 
 will be extremely conspicuous, and must often call his name to remem- 
 brance. It has been remarked, that the same day on which Lucretius 
 died, gave birth to Virgil ; and amidst their late severe loss, philosophy 
 and literature will probablv find themselves not wholly disconsolate, on 
 reflecting that the same year in which they were deprived of Hume, 
 Gibbon arose ; his superior in some respects. This Gentleman's His- 
 tory of the Decline of the Roman Empire, appears to me, in point of 
 composition, incomparably the finest production in English, without 
 any exception. I hardly thought the language capable of arriving at 
 his correctness, perspicuity, and strength. 
 
 Edward GrsBON Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq, 
 
 1776. 
 1 HOPE you bark and growl at my silence ; growl and bark. This is 
 not a time for correspondence. Parliament, visits, dinners, suppers, 
 and an hour or two stolen with difficulty for the Decline, leave but very 
 little leisure. I send you the Gazette, and have scarcely any thing to 
 add, except that about five hundred of tliem have deserted to us, and 
 that the New York incendiaries were immediately, and very justifiably, 
 destined to the cord. Lord G. G. with whom I had a long conversa- 
 tion last night, was in high spirits, and hopes to reconquer Germany in 
 America. On the side of Canada, he only fears Carleton's slowness, 
 but entertains great expectations that the light troops and Indians, 
 under Sir William Johnson, who are sent from Oswego down the 
 
 * Mr. Hume died at Edinburgh, August 25, 1776. 
 H
 
 246 E. GIBBON' TO DR. WATSON: DR. WATSON TO E. GIBBON 
 
 Mohawk River to Albany, vv^ill oblige the Provincials to give up the 
 defence of the Lakes, for fear of being cut off. The report of a foreign 
 war subsides. House of Commons dull, and opposition talk of sus- 
 pending hostilities from despair. 
 
 An anonymous pamphlet and Dr. Watson out against me ; (in my 
 opinion,) the former feeble, and very illiberal ; the latter uncommonly 
 genteel. At last I have had a letter from Deyverdun ; wretched 
 excuses ; nothing done ; vexatious enough. To-morrow I write to 
 Suard, a very skilful translator of Paris, who was here in the spring 
 with the Neckers, to get him (if not too late) to undertake it. Adieu. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to the Rev. Dr. Watson ijiow Bishop <?/Llandaff). 
 
 Bentinck-Street, November 2, 1776. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon takes the earliest opportunity of presenting his compli- 
 ments and thanks to Dr. Watson, and of expressing his sense of the 
 liberal treatment which he has received from so candid an adversary. 
 Mr. Gibbon entirely coincides in opinion with Dr. Watson, that as their 
 different sentiments, on a very important period of history, are now 
 submitted to the Public, they both may employ their time in a manner 
 much more useful, as well as agreeable, than they could possibly do by 
 exhibiting a single combat in the amphitheatre of controversy. Mr. 
 Gibbon is therefore determined to resist the temptation of justifying, 
 in a professed reply, any passages of his History, which might perhaps 
 be easily cleared from censure and m.isapprehension ; but he still 
 reserves to himself the privilege of inserting in a future edition some 
 occasional remarks and explanations of his meaning. If any calls of 
 pleasure or business should bring Dr. Watson to town, Mr. Gibbon 
 would think himself happy in being permitted to solicit the honour of 
 his acquaintance. 
 
 Dr. Watson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 
 Cambridge, November 4, 1776. 
 Dr. Watson accepts with pleasure Mr. Gibbon's polite invitation to a 
 personal acquaintance. If he comes to town this winter, will certainly 
 do himself the honour to wait upon him. Begs, at the same time, to 
 assure Mr. Gibbon, that he will be very happy to have an opportunity 
 of shewing him every civility, if curiosity, or other motives, should 
 bring him to Cambridge. Dr. Watson can have some faint idea of 
 Mr. Gibbon's difficulty in resisting the temptation he speaks of, from 
 having been of late in a situation somewhat similar himself. It would 
 be very extraordinary, if Mr. Gibbon did not feel a parent's partiality 
 for an offspring which has justly excited the admiration of all who 
 have seen it ; and Dr. Watson would be the last person in the world to 
 wish him to suppress any explanation which might tend to e.xalt its 
 merits.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 247 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Almack's, November 7, 1776. 
 Letters from Burgoyne. They embarked on the Lakes the thirtieth 
 September, with eight hundred British sailors, six thousand reguh\rs, 
 and a naval force superior to any possible opposition : but the scascn 
 was so far advanced, that they expected only to occupy and strengthen 
 Ticonderoga, and afterwards to return and take up their winter quarters 
 in Canada. Yesterday we had a surprize in the House, from a procla- 
 mation of the Howes, which made its first appearance in the IMorning 
 Post, and which nobody seems to understand. By this time, my Lady 
 may see that I have not much reason to fear my antagonists. Adieu, 
 till next Thursday. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Friday Evening, November 22. 
 News from the Lakes. A naval combat, in which the Provincials 
 were repulsed with considerable loss. They burnt and abandoned 
 Crown Point. Carleton is besieging Ticonderoga. Carleton, I say ; 
 for he is there, and it is apprehended that Burgoyne is coming home. 
 We dismissed the Nabobs without a division. Burke and the Attorney 
 General spoke very well. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Bentinck-Street, January 18, 1777. 
 
 As I presume, my Lady does not make a practice of tumbling down 
 stairs every day after dinner, by this time the colours must have faded, 
 and the high places (I mean the temples) are reduced to a proper 
 level. But what, in the name of the great prince, is the meaning of 
 her declining the Urban expedition 1 Is it the spontaneous result of her 
 own proud spirit ? or does it proceed from the secret machinations of her 
 domestic tyrant ? At all events, I expect you will both remember yoiir 
 engagement of next Saturday in Bentinck-street, with Donna Catherina, 
 the Mountaineer*, &:c. Things go on very prosperously in America, 
 Howe is himself in the Jerseys, and will push at least as far as the Dela- 
 ware River. The continental (perhaps now the rebel) army is in a great 
 measure dispersed, and Washington, who wishes to cover Philadelphia, 
 has not more than six or seven thousand men with him. Clinton 
 designs to conquer Rhode Island in his way home. But, what /think 
 of much greater consequence, a province made its submission, and 
 desired to be reinstated in the peace of the King. It is indeed only 
 poor little Georgia ; and the application was made to Governor Tonyn 
 of Florida. Some disgust at a violent step of the Congress, who 
 removed the President of their Provincial Assembly, a leading and 
 popular man, co-operated with the fear of the Indians, who began to 
 amuse themselves with the exercise of scalping on their Back Settle- 
 ments. Town fills, and we are mighty agreeable. Last year, on the 
 Queen's birth-day, Sir G. Warren had his diamond star cut <# his coat; 
 
 • The Hoiiouiablc General Simou Fraser.
 
 24S EDWARD GIBBON- TO J. B. HOLROYD, ESQ. 
 
 this day the same accident happened to him again, Avith another star 
 worth seven hundred pounds. He had better compound by the year. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 Almack's, Wednesday Evening. 
 
 In due obedience to thy dread commands I write. 
 
 But what shall I say ? My life, though more Hvely than yours, is 
 almost as uniform. A very little reading and writing in the morning, 
 bones or guts* from two to four, pleasant dinners from five to eight, 
 and afterwards clubs, with an occasional assembly, or supper. 
 America affords nothing very satisfactory ; though we have many 
 flying reports, you may be assured that we are ignorant of the conse- 
 quences of Trenton, &c. Charles Fox is now at my elbow, declaiming 
 on the impossibility of keeping America, since a victorious army has 
 been unable to maintain any extent of posts in tlie single province of 
 Jersey. Lord North is out of danger (we trembled for his important 
 existence). I now expect that my Lady and you should fix the time 
 for the promised visitation to Bentinck-street. March and April are 
 open, chuse. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. ^777' 
 
 You deserve, and we exult in your weather and disappointments. 
 Why would you bury yourself? I dined in Downing-street Thursday 
 last ; and I think Wedderburne was at least as agreeable a companion 
 as your timber-surveyor could be. Lee is certainly taken, but Lord 
 North does not apprehend he is coming home. We are not clear 
 whether he behaved with courage or pusillanimity when he surrendered 
 himself ; but Colonel Keene told me to-day, that he had seen a letter 
 from Lee since his cc-nfinement. " He imputes his being taken, to 
 the alertness of Harcourt, and cowardice of his own guard ; hopes he 
 shall meet his fate with fortitude ; but laments that freedom is not 
 likely to find a resting-place in any part of the globe." It is said, he 
 was to succeed Washington. We know nothing certain of the 
 Hessians ; but there has been a blow. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Saturday Night, April 12, 1777. 
 
 Your dispatch is gone to * * *, and I flatter myself that by 
 your assistance I shall be enabled to lose a thousand a year upon 
 Lenborough before I return from Paris. The day of my departure is 
 not absolutely fixed ; Sunday seven-night, the twenty-seventh instant, 
 is talked of : But if any India business should come on after the Civil 
 List, it will occasion some delay, otherwise things are in great forward- 
 ness. Mrs. Gibbon is an enemy to the whole plan ; and I must 
 
 • Mr, CiiWion nt this time attended Dr. Hunter's An:itomical Lectures.
 
 THE CORRESFOXDE.VCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 249 
 
 answer, in a long letter, two very ingenious objections which she has 
 started, ist. That I shall be confined, or put to death by the priests ; 
 and, 2dly, That I shall sully my moral character, by making love to 
 Necker's wife. }5efore I go, I will consult Newton, about a power of 
 attorney for you. By the bye, I wish you would remember a sort of 
 promise, and give me one day before I go. We talk chictly of the 
 Marquis de la Fayette, who was here a few weeks ago. He is about 
 twenty, with an hundred and thirty thousand livres a year ; the nephew 
 of Noailles, who is ambassador here. He has bought the Duke of 
 Kingston's yacht, and is gone to join the Americans. The Court 
 appear to be angry with him. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gideon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 Atwood's, Saturday Night, April 19, 1777. 
 It is not possible as yet to fix the day of my departure. That cir- 
 cumstance depends on the state of India, and will not be determined 
 till the General Court of next Wednesday. I know from xho. first 
 authority, if the violence of the Proprietors about the I'igot, can be 
 checked in the India-house by the influence of a Government majority, 
 the Minister does not wish to exert the omnipotence of Parliament; 
 and I shall be dismissed from hence time enough to set forwards on 
 Thursday the first of May. On the contrary, should we be involved 
 in those perplexing affairs, they may easily detain me till the middle 
 of next month. But as all this is very uncertain, I direct you and my 
 Lady to appear in town to-morrow seven-night. I have many things 
 to say. We have been animated this week, and, notwithstanding the 
 strict ceconomy recommended by Charles Fox and John Wilkes, we 
 have paid the Royal debts. Adieu. 
 
 Tlte Same to the Saine. Monday Night, April 21, 1777. 
 
 Bad news from Hampshire. Support Hugonin, comfort me ; 
 
 correct or expel * * * sell Lenborough, and remove my temporal 
 cares. When do you arrive ? 
 
 77/1? Same to the Same. Wednesday Night, April 23, 1777. 
 
 It is uncertain whether India comes to Westminster this year, and 
 it is certain that Gibbon goes to Paris next Saturday seven-night. 
 Therefore Holroyd must appear in town the beginning of next week. 
 Ciibbon wants the cordial of his presence before the journey. My 
 Lady viust come. 
 
 The Same to the Same. DOVER, Tues. Even, May 6, 1777. 
 
 Mv expedition does not begin very auspiciously. The wind, which
 
 250 DR.ROBERTSON; the historian, to EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 for some days had been fair, paid me the comphment of changing on 
 my arrival ; and, though 1 immediately secured a vessel, it has been 
 impossible to make the least use of it during the whole of this tedious 
 day. It seems doubtful, whether I shall get out to-morrow morning ; 
 and the Captain assures me, that the passage will have the double 
 advantage of being both cold and rough. Last night a small privateer, 
 fitted out at Dunkirk, with a commission from Dr. Franklin, attacked, 
 took, and has carried into Dunkirk Road, the Harwich Packet. The 
 King's messenger had just time to throw his dispatches over-board. 
 He passed through this town about four o'clock this afternoon, in his 
 return to London. As the alarm is now given, our American friend 
 will probably remain quiet, or will be soon caught ; so that I have not 
 viuch apprehension for my personal safety ; but if so daring an outrage 
 is not followed by punishment and restitution, it may become a very 
 serious business, and may possibly shorten my stay at Paris. 
 
 Adieu. I shall write by the first opportunity, either from Calais or 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Mr. Holroyd. 
 
 Calais, Wednesday, May 7, 1777. 
 Post ntibila Phahis. A pleasant passage, an excellent house, a 
 good dinner, with Lord * * *, whom I found here. Easy Custom- 
 house officers, fine weather, &c. I am detained to-night by the tempta- 
 tion of a French comedy, in a theatre at the end of Dessein's garden ; 
 but shall be in motion to-morrow early, and hope to dine at Paris 
 Saturday. Adieu. I think I am a punctual correspondent ; but this 
 beginning is too good to last. 
 
 Dr. William Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Sir, College of Edinburgh, June 5, 1777. 
 
 I have desired Mr, Strahan to take the liberty of sending you, in 
 my name, a copy of the History of America, which I hope you will do 
 me the honour of accepting, as a testimony, not only of my respect, 
 but of my gratitude, for the instruction which I have received from 
 your writings, as well as the credit you have done me, by the most 
 obliging manner in which you have mentioned my name. I wish the 
 present work may not diminish sentiments so flattering to me. I have 
 taken much pains to obtain the approbation of those whose good 
 opinion one ought to be solicitous to secure, and I trust that my 
 industry at least will be applauded. 
 
 An unlucky indisposition prevented me from executing a scheme 
 which I had formed, of passing two months of last spring in London. 
 The honour of being made known to you, was one of the pleasures 
 with which I had flattered myself But I hope to be more fortunate 
 next year ; and beg that you will believe that I am, with great respect, 
 Sir, your most obedient, and most humble servant.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 25 I 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Dr. Robertson, 
 Sir, Paris, 1777. 
 
 When I ventured to assume the character of Historian, the first, the 
 most natural, but at the same time the most ambitious, wish which I 
 entertained, was to obtain the approbation of Dr. Robertson and of 
 ]\Ir. Hume ; two names which friendship united, and which posterity 
 will never separate. I shall not therefore attempt to dissemble, though 
 I cannot easily express, the pleasure which T received from your oblig- 
 ing letter, as well as from the intelligence of your most valuable 
 present. The satisfaction which I should otherwise have enjoyed, in 
 common with the public, will now be heightened by a sentiment of a 
 more personal and flattering nature ; and I shall frequently whisper to 
 myself, that I have in some measure deserved the esteem of the writer 
 A\hom I admire. 
 
 A short excursion which I have made to this place, during the 
 summer months, has occasioned some delay in my receiving your 
 letter, and will prevent my possessing, till my return, the copy of your 
 History, which you so politely desired Mr. Strahan to send me. But 
 I have already gratified the eagerness of my impatience ; and although 
 I was obliged to return the book much sooner than I could have 
 wished, I have seen enough to convince me, that the present publica- 
 tion will support, and if possible, will extend the fame of the Author ; 
 that the materials are collected with diligence, and arranged v.'ith skill ; 
 that the first book contains a learned and satisfactory account of 
 the progress of discovery ; that the achievements, the dangers, and the 
 crimes, of the Spanish adventurers are related with a temperate spirit ; 
 and that the most original, perhaps the most curious, portion of the 
 history of human manners is at length rescued from the hands of 
 sophists and declaimers. Lord Stormont, and the few in this Capital, 
 ^\•ho have had an opportunity of perusing the History of America^ 
 unanimously concur in the same sentiments. Your work is already 
 become a favourite topic of public conversation ; and Mr. Suard is 
 repeatedly pressed, in my hearing, to fix the time when his translation 
 will appear. 
 
 I flatter myself you will not abandon your design of visiting London 
 next winter ; as I already anticipate, in my own mind, the advantages 
 which I shall derive from so pleasing and so honourable a connection. 
 In the mean while, I should esteem myself happy, if you could think of 
 any literary commission, in the execution of which I might be useful to 
 you at Paris, where I propose to stay till very near the meeting of Parlia- 
 ment. Let me, for instance, suggest an enquiry, which cannot be in- 
 different to you, and which might perhaps be within my reach. A few 
 days ago I dined with Bagniousky, the famous adventurer, who escaped 
 from his exile at Kamschatska, and returned into Europe by Japan 
 and China. His narrative was amusing, though I know not how far his 
 veracity, in point of circumstances, may safely be trusted. It was his 
 original design to penetrate through the North East Passage ; and he 
 actually followed the coast of Asia as high as the latitude of 67* 35', 
 till his progress was stopped by the ice, in a Straight between the two 
 Continents, which was only seven leagues broad. Thence he descended 
 along the coast of America, as low as Cape Mcndocin ; but was repulsed
 
 252 DR. ROBERTSO.V, EDLVBURGH, TO E. GIBBON; PARIS. 
 
 by contrary winds, in his attempts to reach the port of Acapulco. The 
 Journal of his Voyage, with his original Charts, is now at Versailles, in 
 the Depot des Affaires Etrangers j and if you conceived that it would 
 be of any use to you for a second edition, I would try what might be 
 obtained ; though I am not ignorant of that mean jealousy which you 
 yourself have experienced, and so deservedly stigmatised. I am, &c. 
 
 Dr. Robertson to Mr. Gibbon, 
 Sir, 
 
 I HAD the honour of your obliging Letter, and I should be a very proud 
 man indeed, if I were not vain of the approbation which you are pleased 
 to bestow upon me. As you will now have had an opportunity to peruse 
 2he book, which you had only seen when you wrote to me, I indulge 
 myself in the hopes, that the favourable opinion you had formed of it, 
 is not diminished. I am much pleased with your mentioning my 
 friendship with Mr. Hume ; I have always considered that as one of 
 the most fortunate and honourable circumstances of my life. It is a 
 felicity of the age and country in which we live, that men of letters can 
 enter the same walk of science, and go on successfully, without feeling 
 one sentiment of envy or rivalship. In the intercourse between Mr. 
 Hume and me, we always found something to blame, as well as some- 
 thing to commend. I have received frequently very valuable criticisms 
 on my performances from him ; and I have sometimes ventured to 
 offer him my strictures on his works. Permit me to hope for the same 
 indulgence from you. If in reading the History of America, any thing, 
 either in the matter or style, has occurred to you as reprehensible, I 
 will deem it a most obliging favour if you will communicate it freely to 
 me. I am certain of profiting by such a communication. 
 
 I return you thanks for your frank offer of executing any literary 
 commission for me. I accept of it without ceremony, and am flattered 
 with the idea of receiving such aid from your hands. I know nothing 
 of Bagniouski's Adventures, but what was published in some News- 
 paper. If one can rely on his veracity, what he relates must be 
 very interesting to me. If you had heen writing the History of 
 America, the question concerning the mode of peopling it, might not 
 perhaps have occupied your attention very much. But it was proper 
 for me to consider it more fully. Bagniouski (if he may be credited) 
 has seen what it may be useful for me to know. I can see no reason 
 why the Court of France should be shy about communicating his 
 Journal, and the Charts which illustrate it ; possibly my name may 
 operate somewhat towards obtaining a copy of both ; your interposi- 
 tion, 1 am confident, will do a great deal. It will be very illiberal 
 indeed, if such a communication were refused. My Lord Stormont (by 
 whose attention I have been much honoured) would not dcclhie to give 
 his aid, were that necessary. But if your Court resembles that of 
 Spain, I am afraid every proposal from an ambassador is received with 
 some degree of jealousy. Your own private application will, I appre- 
 !\cnd, be more effectual. As it is probable that a second edition may 
 go to press early in the winter, it wj)I add to the favoufj if you can %oox\
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 253 
 
 inform me concerning the success of your negociation. As this is 
 something in the style of the Corps Diplouiaiiqnc, allow me to recom- 
 mend one of its members to you. Mr. Fullarton, the new secretary of 
 the embassy, is a particular friend of mine. He is a young man of 
 such qualities both of head and heart, that I am sure you will esteem 
 and love him. Please remember me to him. I have the houour to be, 
 with great respect. 
 
 Your obliged humble servant, 
 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 Paj^is, June 16, 1777. 
 T TOLD you what would infallibly happen, and you know enough of 
 the nature of the beast not to be surprised at it. I have now been at 
 Paris exactly five weeks ; during which time I have not written to any 
 person whatsoever within the British dominions, except two lines of 
 notification to Mrs. Gibbon. The daemon of procrastination has at 
 length yielded to the genius of friendship, assisted indeed by the 
 powers of fear and shame. But when I have seated myself before a 
 table, and begin to revolve all that I have seen and tasted during this 
 busy period, I feel myself oppressed and confounded ; and I am very 
 near throwing away the pen, and resigning myself to indolent despair. 
 A complete history would require a volume, at least, as corpulent as 
 the Decline and Fall ; and if I attempt to select and abridge, besides 
 the difficulty of the choice, there occur so many things which cannot 
 properly be entrusted to paper, and so many others of too slight a tex- 
 ture to support the journey, that I am almost tempted to reserve for 
 onr future conversations the detail of my pleasures and occupations. 
 But as I am sensible that you are 7-igid and nnpatient, I will try to 
 convey, in a few words, a general idea of my situation as a man of the 
 world, and as a man of letters. You remember that the Neckers were 
 my principal dependance ; and the reception which I have met with 
 from them very far surpassed my most sanguine expectations. I do not 
 indeed lodge in their house, (as it might incite the jealousy of the hus- 
 band, and procure me a lettre de cachet,) but I live very much with 
 them, and dine and sup whenever they have company, which is almost 
 every day, and whenever I like it, for they are not in the least exigcaiis. 
 Mr. Walpole gave me an introduction to Madame du Deffand, an 
 agreeable young lady of eighty-two years of age, who has constant 
 suppers, and the best company in Paris. When ) ou sc i the Duke of 
 Richmond, he will give you an account of that house, where I meet 
 him almost every evening. Ask him about Madame de Cambis. I 
 have met the Duke of Choiseul at his particular request, dined by 
 accident with Franklin, conversed with the Emperor, been presented at 
 court, and gradually, or rather rapidly, 1 find my acquaintance spread- 
 ing over the most valuable parts of Paris. They pretend to like me, 
 and whatever you may think of French professions, I am convinced 
 that some at least arc sincere. On the other hand, I feel myself easy 
 ajod happy iii their company, and only regret that I did not come over
 
 254 EDWARD GIBBON TO J. B. HOLROYD, ESQ. 
 
 two or three months sooner. Though Paris throughout the summer 
 promises me a very agreeable society, yet I am Iiurt every day by the 
 departure of men and women whom I begin to know with some 
 familiarity, the departure of officers for their governments and gar- 
 risons, of bishops for their dioceses, and even of country gentlemen 
 for their estates, as a rural taste gains ground in this countiy. So 
 much for the general idea of my acquaintance ; details would be end- 
 less, yet unsatisfactory. You inay add, to the pleasures of society, 
 those of the spectacles and promenades, and you will find that I lead a 
 very agreeable life ; let me just condescend to observe, that it is not 
 extravagant. After decking inyself out with silks and silver, the ordi- 
 nary establishment of coach, lodging, servants, eating, and pocket 
 expences, does not exceed sixty pounds per month. Yet I have two 
 footmen in handsome liveries behind my coach, and my apartment is 
 hung with damask. Adieu for the present : I have more to say, but 
 were I to attempt any further progress, you must wait another post ; 
 and you have already waited long enough, of all conscience. 
 
 Let me just in two words give you an idea of my day. I am now 
 going (nine o'clock) to the King's library, where I shall stay till twelve ; 
 as soon as I am dressed, I set out to dine with the Duke de Nivernois ; 
 shall go from thence to the French comedy, into the Princess de 
 Beaveau's loge grillee, and cannot cjuite determine whether I shall sup 
 at Madame du Deffand's, Madame Necker's, or the Sardinian Ambas- 
 sadress's. Once more adieu. 
 
 I embrace my Lady and Bambini. I shall with cheerfulness execute 
 any of her commissions. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Paris, August 13, 1777. 
 Well, and who is the culprit now ? — Thus far had I written in the 
 pride of my heart, and fully determined to inflict an epistle upon you, 
 even before I received any answer to my former ; I was very near a 
 bull. But this forward half line lay ten days barren and inactive, till 
 its generative powers were excited by the missive which I received 
 yesterday. What a wretched piece of work do we seem to be making 
 of it in America ? The greatest force which any European power ever 
 ventured to transport into that continent, is not strong enough even to 
 attack the enemy ; the naval strength of Great Britain is not sufficient 
 to prevent the Americans (they have almost lost the appellation of 
 Rebels) from receiving every assistance that they wanted ; and in the 
 mean time you are obliged to call out the militia to defend your own 
 coasts against their privateers. You possibly may expect from me 
 some account of the designs and policy of the French court, but I 
 choose to decline that task for two reasons : ist. Because you may find 
 them laid open in every newspaper; and 2dly, Because I live too 
 much with their courtiers and ministers to know anything about them. 
 I shall only say, that I am not under any immediate apprehensions of 
 a war with France. It is much more pleasant as well as profitable to 
 view in safety the raging of the tempest, occasionally to pick up some
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 255 
 
 pieces of the wreck, and to improve their trade, their agriculture, and 
 their finances, while the two countries are lento collisa duello. Far Irom 
 taking any step to put a speedy end to this astonishing dispute, I should 
 not be surprised if next summer they were to lend their cordial assist- 
 ance to England, as to the weaker party. As to my personal engage- 
 ment with the D. of R. I recollect a few slight skirmishes, but nothing 
 that deserves the name of a general engagement. The extravagance 
 of some diputants, both French and English, who have espoused the 
 cause of America, sometimes inspires me with an extraordinary vigour. 
 Upon the whole, I find it much easier to defend the justice than the 
 policy of our measures ; but there are certain cases, where whatever is 
 repugnant to sound policy ceases to be just. 
 
 The more I see of Paris, the more I like it. The regular course of 
 the society in which I live is easy, polite, and entertaining; and almost 
 every day is marked by the acquisition of some new acquaintance, who 
 .\s worth cultivating, or who, at least, is worth remembering. To the 
 great admiration of the French, I regularly dine and regularly sup, drink 
 a dish of strong coffee after each meal, and find my stomach a citizen of 
 the world. The spectacles, (particularly the Italian, and above all the 
 French Comedies,) which are open the whole summer, afford me an 
 agreeable relaxation from company ; and to shew you that I frequent 
 them from taste, and not from idleness, I have not yet seen the Colisee, 
 the Vauxhall, the Boulevards, or any of those places of entertainment 
 which constitute Paris to most of our countrymen. Occasional trips 
 to dine or sup in some of the thousand country-houses which are scat- 
 tered round the environs of Paris, serve to vary the scene. In the mean 
 while the summer insensibly glides away, and the fatal month of 
 October approaches, when I must change the house of Madame Necker 
 for the House of Commons. I regret that I could not choose the 
 winter, instead of the summer, for this excursion : I should have found 
 many valuable persons, and should have preserved others whom I have 
 lost as I began to know them. The Duke de Choiseul, who deserves 
 attention both for himself, and for keeping the best house in Paris, 
 passes seven months of the year in Touraine ; and though I have been 
 tempted, I consider with horror a journey of sixty leagues into the 
 country. The Princess of Beauveau, who is a most superior woman, 
 has been absent above six weeks, and does not return till the 24th of 
 this month. A large body of recruits will be assembled by the Fontain- 
 bleau journey ; but in order to have a thorough knowledge of this 
 splendid conntr}', I ought to stay till the month of January ; and if I 
 could be sure that Opposition would be as tranquil as they were last 
 year — I think your life has been as animated, or, at least, as tumul- 
 tuous, and I envy you Lady Payne, (S:c. much more than either the 
 Primate, or the Chief-justice. Let not the generous breast of my Lady 
 be torn by the black serpents of envy. She still possesses the first 
 place in the sentiments of her slave : but the adventure of the fan was 
 a mere accident, owing to Lord Carmarthen. Adieu. I think you may 
 be satisfied. I say nothing of my terrestrial affairs.
 
 256 LETTERS FROM EDWARD GIBBON AT LONDON. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Bentinck-Street, Saturday, November, 1777. 
 Had you four horns as well as four eyes and four hands, I should still 
 maintain that you are the most unreasonable monster in the creation. 
 My pain is lively, my weakness excessive, the season cold, and onlj; 
 twelve days remain to the meeting. Far from thinking of trips into 
 the country, I shall be well satisfied if I am on my legs the 20th, in the 
 medical sense of the word. At present I am a corpse, carried about 
 by four arms which do not belong to me. Yet I try to smile : I salute 
 the hen and chickens. Adieu. Writing is really painful. 
 
 Tlie Same to the Same. Friday, November 14, 1777. 
 
 I DO not like this disorder on your eyes : and when I consider your 
 temperance and activity, I cannot understand why any spring of the 
 machine should ever be deranged. With regard to myself, the gout 
 has behaved in a very honourable manner ; after a complete conquest, 
 and after making me feel his power for some days, the generous enemy 
 has disdained to abuse his victory, or to torment any longer an unre- 
 sisting victim. He has already ceased to torture the lower extremities 
 of your humble servant ; the swelling is so amazingly diminished, that 
 they are no longer above twice their ordinary size. Yesterday I moved 
 about the room with the laborious majesty of crutches ; to-day I have 
 exchanged them for a stick ; and by the beginning of next week, I 
 hope, with due precaution, to take the air, and to inure myself for the 
 interesting representation of Thursday. How cursedly unlucky ; I 
 wanted to see you both : a thousand things to say and to hear, and 
 every thing of that kind broken to pieces. If you are not able to come 
 to Bentinck-street, I must contrive to steal three or four vacant days 
 during the session, and run down to Sheffield. The town fills, and I 
 begin to have numerous levees, and couchees ; more properly the latter. 
 We are still in expectation, but in the mean while we believe (I mean 
 ministers) that the news of Howe's victory and the taking of Philadelphia 
 are true. Adieu. __^_^_ 
 
 The Same to the Same. December 2, 1777. 
 
 By the inclosed you will see that America is not yet conquered. 
 Opposition are very lively ; and, though in the House we keep our 
 numbers, there seems to be an universal desire of peace, even on th^ 
 most humble conditions. Are you still fierce ? 
 
 Tlie Same to the Same. Monday Night, December, 1777. 
 
 I CONGRATULATE your noblc firmness, as I suppose it must arise 
 from the knowledge of some hidden resources, which will enable us to 
 open the next campaign with new armies of fifty or sixty thousand 
 men. But I believe you will find yourself obliged to carry on this 
 glorious war almost alone. It would be idle to dispute any more about 
 politics, as we shall so soon have an opportunity of a personal combat. 
 Your journey gives me some hopes that you have not entirely lost your 
 reason Your bed shall be ready.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD gibbon: 2$^ 
 
 Edward Gibbon ^sgr. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 House of Commons, Thursday, Dec. 4, 1777. 
 Drradful news indeed ! You will see them partly in the papers, 
 and we have not yet any particulars. An English army of nearly ten 
 thousand men laid down their arms, and surrendered prisoners of war, 
 on condition of being sent to England, and of never serving against 
 America. They had fought bravely, and were three days without 
 eating. Bourgoyne is said to have received three wounds. General 
 Eraser, with two thousand men, killed. Colonel Ackland likewise 
 killed. A general cry for peace. Adieu. We have constant late days. 
 
 The Same to the Same. February 28, 1778. 
 
 * * * As to politics, we should easily fill pages, and therefore had 
 better be silent. You are mistaken in supposing that the bills are 
 opposed ; some particular objections have been stated, and in the only 
 division I voted with government. 
 
 TJie Same to the Same. February 23, 1778, 
 
 You do not readily believe in praeternatural miscarriages of letters ; 
 nor I neither. Listen, however, to a plain and honest narrative. This 
 morning after breakfast, as 1 was ruminating on jjv^r silence, Thomas, 
 my new footman, with confusion in his looks and stammering on his 
 tongue, produced a letter reasonably soiled, which he was to have 
 brought me the day of his arrival, and which had lain forgotten from 
 that time in his pocket. To shorten as much as possible the continu- 
 ance, I immediately enquired, whether any method of conveyance 
 could be devised more expeditious than the post, and was fortunately 
 informed of your coachman's intentions. You probably know the 
 heads of the plan : an Act of Parliament to declare, that we never 
 had any intention of taxing America : another Act, to empower the 
 Crown to name Commissioners, authorised to suspend hostilities by 
 sea and land, as well as all obnoxious Acts ; and, in short, to grant 
 every thing, except independence. Opposition, after expressing their 
 doubts whether the lance of Achilles could cure the wound which it 
 had inflicted, could not refuse their assent lo the principles of conduct 
 which they themselves had always recommended. Yet you must 
 acknowledge, that in a business of this magnitude there may arise 
 several important questions, which, without a spirit of faction, will 
 deserve to be debated : whether Parliament ought not to name the 
 Commissioners? whether it would not be better to repeal the obnoxious 
 Acts ourselves? I do not find that the world; that is, a few people 
 whom I happen to converse with ; are much inclined to praise Lord 
 N.'s ductility of temper. In the service of next Friday you will, how- 
 ever, take notice of the injunction given by the Liturgy: "And all the 
 People shall say after the Alhiister, Turn us again, O Lord, and so 
 shall we be turned." While we consider whether we shall negociate. I 
 fear the French have been more diligent. It is positively asserted, 
 both in private and in Parliament, and not contradicted by the
 
 258 EDWARD GIBBON ON THE AMERICAN WAR. 
 
 Ministers, that on the fifth of this month a Treaty of Commerce (which 
 naturally leads to a war) was signed at Paris with the independent 
 States of America. Yet there still remains a hope that England may 
 obtain the preference. The two greatest countries in Europe are fairly 
 running a race for the favour of America. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B, Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Almack's, Saturday Night, March 21, 1778. 
 As business thickens, and you may expect me to write sometimes, I 
 shall lay down one rule ; totally to avoid political argument, con- 
 jecture, lamentation, declamation, &c. which would fill pages, not to 
 say volumes ; and to confine myself to short, authentic pieces of intel- 
 ligence, for which I may be able to afibrd moments and lines. Hear 
 then — The French Ambassador went off yesterday morning, not 
 without. some slight expressions of ill-humour from John Bull. Lord 
 Stormont is probably arrived to-day. No immediate declaration, 
 except on our side. A report (but vague) of an action in the Bay, 
 between La Motte Piquet and Digby ; the former has five ships and 
 three frigates, with three large store-ships under convoy ; the latter 
 has eleven ships of the line. If the Frenchman should sail to the 
 mouth of the Delaware, he may possibly be followed and shut up. 
 When Franklin was received at Versailles, Deane went in the same 
 character to Vienna, and Arthur Lee to Madrid. Notwithstanding 
 the reports of an action in Silesia, they subside ; and I have seen a 
 letter from Eliot at Berlin of the tenth instant, without any mention of 
 actual hostilities, and even speaking of the impending war as not 
 absolutely inevitable. Last Tuesday the first payment of the loan of 
 six hundred thousand pounds was certainly made ; and as it would 
 otherwise be forfeited, it is a security for the remainder. I have not 
 yet got the intelligence you want about former prices of stock in 
 critical times. There are surely such. Dixi. Vale. Send me some 
 good news from Bucks ; in spite of the war, I must sell. We want 
 you in town. Simon Eraser is impatient : but if you come without 
 my Lady, every door will be shut. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Almack's, Friday, June 12, 1778. 
 
 * * *'s Letter gave me that sort of satisfaction which one may 
 receive from a good physician, who, after a careful examination, pro- 
 nounces your case incurable. But no more of that. I take up tlie 
 pen, as I suppose by this time you begin to swear at my silence. Yet 
 literally (a bull) I have not a word to say. Since D'Estaing's fieet has 
 passed through the Gut (I leave you to guess where it must have got 
 out) it has been totally forgotten, and the most wonderful lethargy and 
 oblivion, of war and peace, of Europe and of America, seems to 
 prevail. Lord Chatham's funeral was meanly attended, and Govern- 
 ment ingeniously contrived to secure the double odium of suffering the 
 thing to be done, and of doing it with an ill grace. Their chief con-
 
 THE COkRESPONDENCE OP EDWARD GIBBON: 2$g 
 
 versation at Almack's is about tents, drill-serjeants, subdivisons, 
 firings, &c. and I am revered as a veteran. Adieu. When do you 
 return ? If it suits your evolutions, aunt Kitty and myself meditate a 
 Sussex journey next week. I embrace my Lady. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esg. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Wednesday Evening, July i, 1778. 
 Your plan of operations is clear and distinct ; yet, notwithstanding 
 your zeal, and the ideas of ducal discipline, I think you will be more 
 and longer at Sheffield-Place than you imagine. However, I am dis- 
 posed to advance my journey as much as possible. I want to see )-ou ; 
 my martial ardour makes me look to Coxheath, necessity obliges me 
 to think of Beriton, and I feel something of a very new inclination to 
 taste the sweets of the country. Aunt Kitty shares the same senti- 
 ments ; but various obstacles will not allow us to be with you before 
 Saturday, or perhaps Sunday evening ; I say evetiing; as we mean to 
 take the cool part of the day, and shall probably arrive after supper. 
 Kcppel's return has occasioned infinite and inexpressible consternation, 
 which gradually changes into discontent against him. He is ordered 
 out again with three or four large ships ; two of ninety, two of seventy- 
 four, and the fiftieth regiment, as marines. In the mean time the 
 French, with a superior fleet, are masters of the sea ; and our outward- 
 bound East and West India trade is in the most imminent danger. 
 Adieu. 
 
 TIte Same to the Same. Bentinck-Street, July 7, 1778- 
 
 ExPECT me when you see me ; and do not regulate your active 
 
 motions by my uncertainty. Saturday is impossible. The most pro- 
 bable days are, Tuesday or Friday. I live not unpleasantly, in a round 
 of ministerial dinners ; but I am rather impatient to see my white 
 house at Brighton. I cannot find that Sheffield has the same attrac- 
 tions for you*. Lord North, as a mark of his gratitude, observed the 
 ■other day, that your regiment would make a very good figure in North 
 Carolina. Adieu. I wrote two lines to Rlitchel, lest he should think 
 me dead. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Saturday Night, Sept. 25, 1778. 
 
 No news from the fleets ; we are so tired of waiting, that our impati- 
 ence seems gradually to subside into a careless and supine indifference. 
 We sometimes yawn, and ask, just by way of conversation. Whether 
 Spain will join ? I believe you may depend on the truth, not the 
 sincerity, of an answer from their Court, that they will not support or 
 acknowledge the independence of the Americans. But, on the other 
 hand, magazines are forming, troops marching, in a stile which mani* 
 
 * Mr. Holroyd was then in quarters at Urighthdmstone.
 
 26o THE BISHOP OF LLANDAFP 70 E. GIBBON. 
 
 festly threatens Gibraltar. Gib is, however, a hard morsel ; five thotS' 
 sand elTectives, and every article of defence in the most complete state. 
 We are certainly courting Russia. So much for the Republic. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 Tuesday Night, Nov. 1778. 
 YoQ sometimes complain that I do not send you early news ; but 
 you will now be satisfied with receiving a full and true account of all 
 the parliamentary transactions of next Thursday. In town we think it 
 an excellent piece of humour* (the author is Tickell). Burke and 
 C. Fox are pleased with their own speeches, but serious patriots groan 
 that such things should be turned to farce. We seem to have a chance 
 of an additional Dutch war : you may depend upon its being a very 
 important business, from which we cannot extricate ourselves without 
 either loss or shame. Vale. 
 
 The Same to the Sauie. Almack's, Wednesday Evening, 1778. 
 
 I DELAYED writing, not so much thi-ough indolence, as because I 
 expected every post to hear from you. The state of Beriton is uncer- 
 tain, incomprehensible, tremendous. It would be endless to send you 
 the folios of Hugonin, but I have inclosed you one of his most pic- 
 turesque epistles, on which you may meditate. Few offers ; one, 
 promising enough, came from a gentleman at Camberwell. I detected 
 him, with masterly skill and diligence, to be only an attorney's Clerk, 
 without money, credit, or experience. I have written as yet in vain to 
 Sir John Shelley, about Hearsay ; perhaps you might get intelligence. 
 I much fear that the Beriton expedition is necessary ; but it has occurred 
 to me, that if I ;//<;'/, instead o{ accompanying you, it would save me a 
 journey of above one hundred miles. That reflection led to another of 
 a very impudent nature ; viz. that if I did not accompany you, I 
 certainly could be of no use to you or myself on the spot ; that I had 
 much rather, while you examined the premises, pass the time in a 
 horse-pond ; and that I had still rather pass it in my library with the 
 Decline and Fall. But that would be an effort of friendship worthy of. 
 Theseus or Perithous ; modern times would hardly credit, much less 
 imitate, such exalted virtue. No news from America ; yet there are 
 people, large ones too, who talk of conquering it next summer with the 
 help of twenty thousand Russians. I fancy you are better satisfied 
 with private than public war. The Lisbon packet in coming home 
 met above forty of our privateers. Adieu. I hardly know whether I 
 direct right to you, but I think Sheffield-Place the surest. 
 
 Dr. Watson {jwiu Bishop ^/Llandaff) to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Sir, Cambridge, January 14, 1779. 
 
 It will give me the greatest pleasure to ha\'e an opporluniiy of 
 
 • The Title of the I'nmph\ct~A«iii:i/>a/ii?n.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 26 1 
 
 becoming better acquainted Avith Mr. Gibbon. I beg he would accept 
 my sincere thanks for the too favourable manner in which he has 
 spoken of a performance, which derives its chief merit from the elegance 
 and importance of the work it attempts to oppose. I have no hope of 
 a future existence, except that which is grounded on the truth of 
 Christianity. I wish not to be deprived of this hope ; but I should be 
 an apostate from the mild principle of the religion I profess, if I could 
 be actuated with the least animosity against those who do not think 
 with me upon this, of all others, the most important subject. I beg 
 your pardon for this declaration of my belief; but my temper is 
 naturally open, and it ought assuredly to be without disguise to a man 
 whom I wish no longer to look upon as an antagonist, but as a friend. 
 I have the honour to be, with every sentiment of respect, your obhged 
 servant, 
 
 Rd. Watson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq, 
 
 February 6, 1779. 
 
 You are quiet and peaceable, and do not bark, as usual, at my 
 silence. To reward you, I would send you some news ; but we are 
 asleep ; no foreign intelligence, except the capture of a frigate ; no 
 certain account from the West Indies, and a dissolution of Parliament, 
 which seems to have taken place since Christmas. In the papers you 
 will see negociations, changes of departments, &c. and I have some 
 reason to believe that those reports are not entirely without foundation. 
 Portsmouth is no longer an object of speculation ; the whole stream of 
 all men, and all parties, runs one way. Sir Hugh is disgraced, ruined, 
 &c. &c.; and as an old wound has broken out again, they say he must 
 have his leg cut off as soon as he has time. In a night or two we shall 
 be in a blaze of illumination, from the zeal of naval heroes, land patriots, 
 and tallow-chandlers ; the last are not the least sincere. I want to 
 hear some details of your military and familiar proceedings. By your 
 silence I suppose you admire Davis, and dislike my pamphlet ; yet 
 such is the public folly, that we have a second edition in the press : the 
 fashionable style of the clergy, is to say they have not read it. If Maria 
 does not take care, I shall write a much sharper invective against her, 
 for )wt answering my diabolical book. My Lady carried it down, with 
 a solemn promise that I should receive an unassisted French letter. 
 Yet I embrace the little animal, as well as my Lady, and the Spes altera 
 Romce. Adieu. 
 
 There is a buz about a peace, and Spanish mediation. 
 
 Dr. William Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, College of Edinburgh, March 10, 1779. 
 
 I SHOULD have long since returned you thanks for the pamphlet you 
 took the trouble of sending to me. I hope you are not one of those 
 who estimate kindness by punctuality in correspondence. I read your 
 little performance with much eagerness, and some solicitude. The 
 
 s
 
 262 EDWARD GIBBON TO % B. HOLROYD ESQ. 
 
 latter soon ceased. The tone you take with your adversary in this 
 impar congressiis appears to me perfectly proper ; and, though I 
 watched you with some attention, I have not observed any expression 
 which I should, on your own account, wish to be altered. Davis's 
 book never reached us here. Our distance from the Capital operates 
 somewhat like time. Nothing but what has intrinsic value comes 
 down to us. We hear sometimes of the worthless and vile things that 
 float for a day on the stream, but we seldom see them. I am satisfied, 
 however, that it was necessary for you to animadvert on a man who 
 had brought accusations against you, which no gentleman can allow 
 to be made without notice. I am persuaded, that the persons who 
 instigated the man to such an illiberal attack, will now be ashamed of 
 him. At the same time I applaud your resolution, of not degrading 
 yourself, by a second conflict, with such antagonists. 
 
 I am ashamed to tell you, how little I have done since I had the 
 pleasure of seeing you. I have been prevented, partly by ill health, 
 partly by causes which I shall explain when we meet : 1 hope that may 
 be next spring. Believe me to be with great truth. 
 
 Your affectionate and faithful humble servant, 
 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to J. B. Holroyd, Esq. 
 
 May 7, 1779. 
 By some of the strangest accidents, (Lord G. G.'s indiscretion, 
 Rigby's boldness, &c.) which it would require ten pages to explain, our 
 wise resolution of last Thursday is changed, and Lord Cornwallis will 
 be examined ; Sir Henry Howe's enquiry will proceed, and we shall be 
 oppressed by the load of information. You have heard of the Jersey 
 invasion ; everybody praises Arbuthnot's decided spirit. Conway went 
 last night to throw himself into the island. 
 
 The Same to the Same. May, 1779. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! fourteen ships of the line : you understand by this, that 
 you have not got a single long-boat. Ministry are more crest-fallen 
 than I ever knew them, with the last intelligence ; and I am sorry to 
 say, that I see a smile of triumph on some opposition faces. Though 
 the business of the West Indies may still produce something, I am 
 much afraid that we shall have a campaign of immense expence, and 
 little or no action. The most busy scene is at present in the House of 
 Commons ; and we shall be involved, during a great part of next 
 month, in tedious, fruitless, but, in my opinion, proper inquiries. You 
 see how difficult it would be for me to visit Brighton ; and I fancy I 
 must content rnyself with receiving you on your passage to Ireland. 
 Indeed, I much want to have a very serious conversation with you. 
 Another reason, which must in a great measure pin me to Bentinck- 
 street, is the Decline and Fall. I have resolved to bring out the sjnte 
 in the course of next year ; and though I have been tolerably diligent, 
 SO much remains to be done, that I can hardly spare a single day Irom
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD G/BBO.\. 263 
 
 he shop. I can guess but one reason which should prevent you from 
 supposing that the picture in Leicester Fields was intended for the 
 Sheffield library ; viz. my having told you some time ago that I was 
 under a formal engagement to Mr. Walpole.* Probably I should not 
 have been in any great hurry to execute my promise, if Mr. Cadell had 
 not strenuously urged the curiosity of the Public, who may be willing 
 to repay the exorbitant price oS. fifty guineas. It is now finished, and 
 my friends say, that, in every sense of the word, it is a good head. 
 Next week it will be given to Hall the engraver, and I promise you a 
 first impression. Adieu. I embrace my Lady, and infants. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to J. B. Holroyd Esq. 
 
 1779- 
 When do you come to town ? You gave me hopes of a visit, and 
 I want to talk over things in general with you, before you march to 
 the extremities of the \\'est, where the sun goes to sleep in the sea. 
 Mrs. Trevor told me your destination was Exeter ;t and I suppose 
 nothing but truth can proceed from a pretty mouth. — I have been, and 
 am still very diligent ; and, though it is a huge beast, (the Roman 
 Empire,) yet, if I am not mistaken, I see it move a little. — You seem 
 surprised that I was able to get off Bath : very easily, the extreme 
 shortness of our holidays was a fair excuse ; her recovery of health, 
 spirits, &c. made it less necessary, and she accepted my apology, which 
 was however accompanied with an offer, if she chose it, in the prettiest 
 manner possible. A load of business in this House, I write from it 
 will be the amusement of the spring ; motions, enquiries, taxes, &c. &c 
 We are now engaged in Lord Pigott's affair, brought on by a motion 
 from the Admiral, that the Attorney General should prosecute Mr. 
 Stratton and Council ; all the Masters Charles, Burke, Wedderburne, 
 are of the same side, for it ; Lord i'^Iorth seems to make a feeble stand, 
 for the pleasure of being in a minority. The day is hot and dull ; will 
 be long : some curious evidence ; one man who refused three lacks of 
 rupees, (thirty-seven thousand five hundred pounds,) merely not to go 
 to council ; our mouths watered at such royal corruption ; how pitiful 
 is our insular bribery ! A letter from aunt Hester, Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. ■ July 2, 1779* 
 
 The inclosed will inform you of an event,J not the most disagreeable 
 of those which I have lately experienced. I have only to add, that it 
 was effected by the firm and sincere friendship of the Attorney General. 
 So many incidents have happened, that I hardly know how to talk of 
 news. You will learn that the Lords have strangely castrated the new 
 Militia Bill. The Ferrol squadron, eight or nine ships, have joined 
 the French. The numbers stand on our side thirty-two, on theirs 
 thirty-seven ; but our force is at least equal, and the general consterna- 
 tion much dispelled. If you do not Hibcrnize, you might at least 
 Bentinckize. I embrace, (Sic. Parliament will be prorogued to-morrow. 
 
 • The portrait, one of the best of Sir Joshua's, is in the library at Sheffield Place. 
 + With the Sussex Militia, of which Mr Holroyd was M.ijor. 
 t His appointment as Lord of Trade.
 
 264 E. GIBBON TO MRS. GIBBON; AND TO COL. HOLROYD, 
 
 Edward Giubon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Bentinck-Street, September 17, 1779, 
 
 I AM well and happy ; two words which you will accept as the sub- 
 stance of a very long letter ; and even as a sufficient excuse for a very 
 long silence. Yet I really do intend to behave better ; and to prevent 
 the abominable consequence of hours and days and posts stealing 
 away, till the sum total amounts to a formidable account, I have a 
 great mind to enter into an agreement, of sending you regularly every 
 month, a ininiatin-c picture of my actual state and condition on the first 
 day of the aforesaid month. 
 
 I am glad to hear of the very beneficial effects you have derived from 
 your recent friendship with the goats at Abergavenny ; and as I can- 
 not discover in what respect this poor country is more prosperous or 
 secure than it was last year, I must consider your present confidence 
 as a proof that you view the prospect through a purer medium, and a 
 glass of a more cheerful colour. I find myself so much more suscep- 
 tible of private friendship than of public spirit, that I am very well 
 satisfied with that conclusion. My summer has been passed in the 
 town and neighbourhood, which I still maintain to be the best society 
 and the best retirement ; the latter, however, has been sometimes inter- 
 rupted by the Colonel of Dragoons * with a train of Serjeants, trumpets, 
 recruits, &.C. &c. My own time is much and agreeably employed in 
 the prosecution of my business. After doing much more than I 
 expected to have done within the time, I find myself much less 
 advanced than I expected : yet I begin to reckon, and as well as I can 
 calculate, I believe, that in twelve or fourteen months I shall be 
 brought to-bed, perhaps of twins : may they live, and prove as healthy 
 as their eldest brother. With regard to the little foundling which so 
 many friends or enemies chose to lay at my door, I am perfectly inno- 
 cent, even of the knowledge of that production ; and all the faults or 
 merits of the History of Opposition must, as I am informed, be 
 imputed to Macpherson, the author or translator of Fingal. Dear 
 Madam, most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Colonel Holroyd at Coventry. 
 
 London, Monday, February 7, 17S0. 
 When the Attorney General informed me of the express he had just 
 sent down to Coventry, I had not the least doubt of your embracing 
 the bolder resolution. You are indeed obliged to him for his real 
 friendship, which he feels and expresses warmly ; on this occasion I 
 hope it will be successful, and that in a few days you will find yourself 
 among us at St. Stephen's in the heat of the battle. But you know 
 that 1 am a dastardly, pusillanimous spirit, more inclined to fear than 
 to hope, and not very eager in the pursuit of expensive vanity. On this 
 vacancy the celerity of your motions may probably prevent opposition ; 
 but at the general election your enemy the corporation will not be 
 asleep, and 1 wish, if it be not too late, to warn you against any pro- 
 mises or engagements which may terminate in a defeat, or at least a 
 
 • Colonel Holroyd at that time was raising a regiment of Light Dragoons.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 26$ 
 
 contest of ten thousand pounds. Adieu. I could believe (without seeing 
 it under her paw) that my Lady wishes to leave Coventry. No news ! 
 Ibrcij^n or domestic. I did not forget to mention the companies, but find 
 people, as I expected, torpid- Burke makes his motion P'riday ; but I 
 think the rumours of a civil war subside every day : petitions are 
 thought less formidable ; and I hear your Sussex protest gathers signa- 
 tures in the country. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Bentinck-Street, March lo, 1780. 
 
 When you awakened me with your pen, it was my intention to have 
 shown some signs of life by the next post. But so uncertain are all 
 human affairs, that I found myself arrested by a mighty unrelenting 
 tyrant, called the gout ; and though my feet were the part on which he 
 chose to exercise his cruelty, he left me neither strength nor spirits to 
 use my hand in relating the melancholy tale. At present, I have the 
 pleasure of informing you, that the fever and inflammation have sub- 
 sided : but the absolute weakness and monstrous swelling of my two 
 feet confine me to my chair and flannels ; and this confinement most 
 unluckily happens at a very nice and important moment of parlia- 
 mentary affairs. Col. H. pursues those aftairs with eager and persever- 
 ing zeal ; and has the pleasure of undertaking more business than any 
 three men could possibly execute. He is much obliged to you for your 
 kind congratulation. Mrs. Eliot is in town ; but I am quite ignorant 
 (not more so than they are themselves) of their intentions. I will write 
 again very soon. I am, dear Madam, most truly yours. 
 
 77/1? Same to the Same. 
 Dear Madam, June 6,1780. 
 
 As the old story of religion has raised most formidable tumults in 
 this town, and as they will of course seem much more formidable at 
 the distance of an hundred miles, you may not be sorry to hear that I 
 am perfectly safe and well : my known attachment to the Protestant 
 religion has most probably saved me. Measures, and effectual 
 measures, are taken to suppress those disorders, and every street is 
 filled with horse and foot. Mrs. Holroyd went out of town yesterday 
 morning ; the Colonel remains, and shows his usual spirit. I am 
 sincerely yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq, to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, London, June 8, 1780. 
 
 As a Member of Parliament, I cannot be exposed to any danger, 
 since the House of Commons has adjourned to Monday se'nnight ; as 
 an individual, I do not conceive myself to be obnoxious. 1 am not 
 apt, without duty or necessity, to thrust myself into a mob : and our
 
 266 EDWARD GIBBON TO MRS. GIBBON, BATH. 
 
 part of the town is as quiet as a country village. So much for persona. 
 safety ; but 1 cannot give the same assurances of public tranquility : 
 forty thousand Puritans, such as they might be in the time of Crom- 
 well, have started out of their graves ; the tumult has been dreadful : 
 and even the remedy of military force and martial law is unpleasant. 
 But Government, with fifteen thousand regulars in town, and every 
 gentleman (but one) on their side, must extinguish the flame. The 
 execution of last night was severe ; perhaps it must be repeated to- 
 night : yet, upon the whole, the tumult subsides. Colonel Holroyd was 
 all last night in Holborn among the flames, with the Northumberland 
 Militia, and performed very bold and able service. I will write again 
 in a post or two. 
 
 I am, dear Madam, ever yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 
 Dear Madam, June lo, 1780. 
 
 I should write with great pleasure, to say that this audacious tumult 
 is perfectly quelled ; that Lord George Gordon is sent to the Tower ; 
 and that, instead of safety or danger, we are now at leisure to think of 
 justice : but I am now alarmed on your account, as we have just got a 
 report, that a similar disorder has broken out at Bath. I shall be 
 impatient to hear from you ; but I flatter myself that your pretty town 
 does not contain much of that scum which has boiled up to the surface 
 in this huge cauldron. I am, dear Madam, most sincerely yours. 
 
 The Same to the Same. 
 Dear Madam, Bentinck-Street, June 27, 1780. 
 
 I believe we may now rejoice in our common security. All tumult 
 has perfectly subsided, and we only think of the justice which must be 
 properly and severely inflicted on such flagitious criminals. The 
 measures of Government have been seasonable and vigorous ; and 
 even opposition has been forced to confess, that the military power 
 was applied and regulated with the utmost propriety. Our danger is 
 at an end, but our disgrace will be lasting, and the month of June 1780, 
 will ever be marked by a dark and diabolical fanaticism, which I had 
 supposed to be extinct, but which actually subsists in Great Britain, 
 perhaps beyond any other country in Europe. Our parliamentary 
 work draws to a conclusion ; and I am much more pleasingly, though 
 laboriously, engaged in revising and correcting for the press, the con- 
 tinuation of my History, two volumes of which will certainly appear 
 next winter. This business fixes me to Bentinck-street more closely 
 than any other pait of my literary labour ; as it is absolutely necessaiy 
 that I should be in the midst of all the books which I ha^e at any 
 time used during the composition. But I feel a strong desire (irritated, 
 like all other passions, by repeated obstacles) to escape to Bath. 
 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 Most truly yours.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 26j 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Colottel Holroyd. 
 
 July 25, 1780. 
 As your motions arc spontaneous, and the stations of the Lord Chief 
 (Lord Mansfield) unalterably fixed, I cannot perceive the necessity of 
 your sending or receiving intelligence. However, your commands are 
 obeyed. You wish I would write, as a sign of life. I am alive ; but, 
 as I am immersed in the Decline and Fall, I shall only make the sign. 
 It is made. You may suppose that we are not pleased with the junc- 
 tion of the fleets ; nor can an ounce of West India loss be compen- 
 sated by a pound of East India success : but the circuit will roll down 
 all the news and politics of London. I rejoice to hear that the Sussex 
 regiment of Dragoons (commanded by Colonel Holroyd) are such well- 
 disciplined cannibals ; but I want to know when the chief cannibal 
 will return to his den. It would suit me better that it should happen 
 soon. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Brooks's, November 28, 1780. 
 
 Perhaps the Sheriffs (the Sheriffs of Coventry), the tools of your 
 enemies, may venture to make a false and hostile return, on the pre- 
 sumption that they shall have a whole year of impunity ; and that the 
 merits of your petition cannot be heard this session. Some of your 
 most respectable friends in the House of Commons are resolved, (if 
 the return should be such,) to state it forcibly as a special and extra- 
 ordinary case ; and to exert all proper strength for bringing on the 
 trial of your Petition without delay. The knowledge of such a reso- 
 lution may awe the Sheriffs ; and it may be prudent to admonish them 
 of the impending danger, in the way that you judge most adviseable. 
 Adieu. God send you a good deliverance. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Mrs. Gibbon, Belvedere, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Bentinck-Street, December 21, 1780. 
 
 The constant attendance on the Board of Trade almost every day 
 this week, has obliged me to defer till next Monday a visit of inclina- 
 tion and propriety to Lord Loughborough (at Mitcham, in Surrey). I 
 shall not return till Wednesday or Thursday ; and, instead of my 
 Christmas, I shall eat my New-year's dinner, at the Beh^edere, Bath. 
 May that New Year prove fortunate to you, to me, and to this weary 
 country, which is this day involved in a new war ! I shall write again 
 about the middle of next week, with a precise account of my motions. 
 I think the gallant Colonel, who is now Lord Sheffield, will succeed at 
 Coventry ; perhaps on the return, certainly on the petition. I am, 
 dear Madam, ever yours.
 
 268 DR. ROBERTSON, EDINBURGH, TO E. GIBBON. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Bentinck-Street, February 24, 1781. 
 
 As you have probably received my last letter of thirteen hundred 
 pages*, I shall be very concise ; read, judge, pronounce ; and believe 
 that I sincerely agree with my friend Julian, in esteeming the praise of 
 those only who will freely censure my defects. Next Thursday I shall 
 be delivered to the world, for whose inconstant and malicious levity I 
 am coolly but firmly prepared. Excuse me to Sarah. I see more 
 clearly than ever, the absolute necessity of confining my presents to 
 my own family : that, and that only, is a determined line, and Lord S. 
 is the first to approve his exclusion. He has a strong assurance of 
 success, and some hopes of a speedy decision. How suddenly your 
 friend General Pierson disappeared ! You thought him happy. What 
 is happiness I My dear Madam, ever yours. 
 
 Dr. William Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, College of Edinburgh, May 12, 1781, 
 
 I am ashamed of having deferred so long to thank you for the agree- 
 able presents of your two new volumes ; but just as I had finished the 
 first reading of them, I was taken ill, and continued, for two or three 
 weeks, nervous, deaf, and languid. I have now recovered as much 
 spirit as to tell you, with what perfect satisfaction I have not only 
 perused, but studied, this part of your work. I knew enough of your 
 talents and industry to expect a great deal, but you have gone far 
 beyond my expectations. I can recollect no historical work from 
 which I ever received so much instruction ; and when I consider in 
 what a barren field you had to glean and pick up materials, I am truly 
 astonished at the connected and interesting story you have formed. 
 I like the style of these volumes better than that of the first ; there is 
 the same beauty, richness, and perspicuity of language, with less of 
 that quaintness, into which your admiration of Tacitus sometimes 
 seduced you. I am highly pleased with the reign of Julian. I was a 
 little afraid that you might lean with some partiality towards him ; but 
 even bigots, I should think, must allow, that you have delineated his 
 most singular character with a more masterly hand than ever touched 
 it before. You set me a reading his works, with which I was very 
 slenderly acquainted ; and I am much struck with the felicity where- 
 with you have described that odd infusion of Heathen fanaticism and 
 philosophical coxcombry, which mingled with the great qualities of a 
 hero and a genius. Your chapter concerning the pastoral nations is 
 admirable ; and, though I hold myself to be a tolerably good general 
 historian, a great part of it was new to me. As soon as I have leisure, 
 I purpose to trace you to your sources of information ; and I have no 
 doubt of finding you as exact there, as I have found you in other pas- 
 sages where I have made a scrutiny. It was always my idea that an 
 historian should feel himself a witness giving evidence upon oath. I 
 am glad to perceive by your minute scrupulosity, that your notions are 
 
 • Second and third volumes of the Decline and Fall.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 269 
 
 the same. The last chapter in your work is the only one with which 1 
 am not entirely satisfied. I iniai;inc you ratlier anticipate, in describing 
 the jiuisprudencc and institutions of the Franks ; and should think 
 that the account of ])rivatc war, ordeals, chivalry, &c. would have come 
 in more in its place about the age of Charlemagne, or later : but with 
 respect to this, and some other petty criticisms, I will have an oppor- 
 tunity of talking fully to you soon, as 1 propose setting out for London 
 on Monday. I have, indeed, many things to say to you ; and as my 
 stay in London is to be very short, I shall hope to find your door (at 
 which 1 will be very often) always open to me. 1 cannot conclude 
 without approving of the caution with which the new volumes are 
 written ; 1 hope it will exempt you from the illiberal abuse the lirst 
 volume drew ui^on you. I ever am, yours, faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Lady Sheffield, at Sheffield-Place. 
 
 Bentinck-Street, Friday Evening, 10 o'clock, 1781. 
 Oh, oh ! I have given you the slip ; saved thirty miles, by pro- 
 ceeding this day directly from Eartham to town, and am now com- 
 foj-tably seated in my library, in my ottni easy chair, and before my own 
 fire ; a style which you understand, though it is unintelligible to your 
 Lord. The town is empty ; but 1 am surrounded with a thousand old 
 accjuaintancc of all ages and characters, who arc ready to answer a 
 thousand questions which I am impatient to ask. I shall not easily be 
 tired of their company ; yet I still remember, and will honorably exe- 
 cute, my promise of visiting you at Brighton about the middle of next 
 month. I have seen nobody, nor learned any thing, in four hours of a 
 town life ; but I can inform you that Lady * * * is now the declared 
 Mistress of Prince Henry of Prussia, whom she encountered at Spa; 
 and that the Emperor has invited the amiable couple to pass the 
 winter at Vienna : tine encouragement for married women, who behave 
 themselves properly. I spent a very pleasant day in the little paradise 
 of Eartham, and the hermit expressed a desire (no vulgar compliment) 
 to see and to know Lord S. Adieu. I cordially embrace, &c. 
 
 Sir William Jones to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, Lamb's-Buildings, June 30, 1784. 
 
 I HAVE more than once sought, without having been so fortunate as 
 to obtain, a proper opportunity of thanking you very sincerely for the 
 elegant compliment which you pay me, in a work abounding in elegance 
 of all kinds. 
 
 My Seven Arabian Poets will see the light before next winter, and 
 be proud to wait upon you in their English dress. Their wild produc- 
 tions will, I flatter myself, be thought interesting, and not venerable 
 merely on account of their antiquity. 
 
 In the mean while, let me request you to honour me with accepting 
 a copy ot a Law Tract, which is not yet published : the subject is so
 
 270 Sm WILLIAM yONES TO EDWARD GIBBON: 
 
 generally important, that I make no apology for sending you a pro- 
 fessional work. 
 
 You must pardon my inveterate hatred of C. Octavianus, basely 
 surnamed Augustus. I feel myself unable to forgive the death of 
 Cicero, which, if he did not promote, he might have prevented. Besides, 
 even Meccenas kne^v the cruelty of his disposition, and ventured to 
 reproach him with it. In short, I have not Christian charity for him. 
 
 With regard to Asiatic letters, a necessary attention to my profession 
 will compel me wholly and eternally to abandon them, unless Lord 
 North (to whom I am already under no small obligation) should think 
 me worthy to concur in the improved administration of justice in 
 Bengal, and should appoint me to supply the vacancy on the India 
 Bench. Were that appointment to take place this year, I should pro- 
 bably travel, for speed, through part of Egypt and Arabia, and should 
 be able, in my way, to procure many Eastern tracts of literature and 
 jurisprudence. I might become a good MaJioniedati lawyer before I 
 reached Calcutta, and, in my vacations, should iind leisure to explain, 
 in my native language, whatever the Arabs, Persians, and Turks, have 
 written on science, history, and the fine arts. 
 
 My happiness by no means depends on obtaining this appointment, 
 as I am in easy circumstances without my profession, and have flatter- 
 ing prospects in it ; but if the present summer and the ensuing autumn 
 elapse without my receiving any answer, favourable or unfavourable, I 
 shall be forced to consider that silence as a polite refusal, and, having 
 given sincere thanks for past favours, shall entirely drop all thoughts of 
 Asia, and "deep as ever plummet sounded, shall drown vo.y Persian 
 books." If my politics have given offence, it would be manly in Minis- 
 ters to tell me so. I shall never be personally hostile to them, nor 
 enlist under party banners of any colour ; but I will never resign my 
 opinions for interest, though I would cheerfully abandon them on con- 
 "viction. My reason, such as it is, can only be controlled by better 
 reason, to which I am ever open. As to my freedom of thought, 
 speech, and action, I shall ever say what Charles XII. wrote under the 
 map of Riga, " Dietc vie I'a donneej le diable ne 7iie Vetera pas." But 
 the fair answer to this objection is, that my system is purely specula- 
 tive, and has no relation to my seat on the bench in India, where I 
 should hardly think of instructing the Gentoos in the maxims of the 
 Athenians. I believe I should not have troubled you with this letter, if 
 I did not fear that your attendance in Parliament might deprive me of 
 the pleasure of meeting you at the Club next Tuesday ; and I shall go 
 to Oxford a few days after. At all times, and in all places, I shall ever 
 be, with undissembled regard, dear Sir, your much obliged and faithful 
 servant, W. Jones. 
 
 Lord Hardwicke to Mr. Gibbon. 
 
 Sir, Wimple, September 20, 1781. 
 
 As I have perused your History of the Decline, &c. with the greatest 
 
 pleasure and instruction, I cannot help wishing that, as health and 
 
 leisure permit, you would gratify your numerous readers and admirers,
 
 THE CORRESPOiYDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 2/1 
 
 bv continuing it, at least till the irruption of the Arabs after Mahomet. 
 From that period the History of the East is not very interesting, and 
 often disgusting. I particularly wish to see the reigns of Justin, Jus- 
 tinian, and I think Justin the Second, written by so masterly a hand. 
 There are striking facts and remarkable characters in all those reigns, 
 which have not yet met with an able and sagacious Historian. You 
 seemed (as well as I recollect) to think the anecdotes of Procopius 
 spurious ; there are strange anecdotes in them, and of a very diflerent 
 cast from his History. Can it be traced up when they first came to 
 light? 
 
 Excuse this short interruption from n'luch better employments or 
 amusements ; and believe me, Sir, with the greatest regard, your most 
 obedient humble servant, 
 
 Hardwicke. 
 
 P.S. It has occurred to me, that a map of the progress and native 
 scat of the northern hives would greatly elucidate and explain that 
 part of your History. It may be done in a second edition. 
 
 Dr. Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir College of Edinburgh, November 6, 1781. 
 
 Soon after my return I had a long conversation with our iriend 
 Mr. Smith, in which 1 stated to him every particular you mentioned to 
 me, with respect to the propriety of going on with your great work. I 
 was happy to find, that his opinion coincided perfectly with that which 
 I had ventured to give you. His decisions, you know, are both prompt 
 and vigorous ; and he would not allow that you ought to hesitate a 
 moment in your choice. He promised to write his sentiments to you 
 very fully. But as he may have neglected to do this, for it is not 
 willingly that he puts pen to paper, I thought it might be agreeable to 
 you to know his opinion, though I imagine you could hardly entertain 
 any doubt concerning it. I hope you have brought such a stock of 
 health and spirits from Brighton, that you are set seriously at your 
 desk, and that in two winters or so, you will display the crescent of 
 Mahomet on the dome of St. Sophia. I met t'other day, in a work 
 addressed to yourself, a sensible passage from F. Paul, which perfectly 
 removes one of your chief difficulties, as to the barrenness of some 
 parts of your period. Hayley's Essay on History, p. 133. By the bye, 
 who is this Mr. Hayley ? His poetr)' has more merit than that of most 
 of his contemporaries ; but his whiggism is so bigotted, and his Chris- 
 tianity so fierce, that he almost disgusts one with two very good things. 
 
 I have got quite well long ago, and am perfectly free from deafness ; 
 but I cannot yet place myself in any class but that of the inulta et 
 prceclara minaiites. Be so kind as to remember me to Lord Lough- 
 borough and Mr. Craufurd, and believe me to be, with most sincere 
 respect and attachment, yours very faithfully, 
 
 William Robertson.
 
 272 MOVEMENT OF FRIENDS; HOUSE OF COMMONS. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath, 
 Dear Madam, Brighthelmstone, Nov. 2, 1781. 
 
 I RETURNED to this place with Lord and Lady Sheffield, with the 
 design of passing two or three weeks in a situation which had so highly 
 delighted me. But how vain are all sublunary hopes ! I had forgot 
 that there is some difference between the sunshine of August and the 
 cold fogs (though we have uncommon good weather) of November. 
 Instead of my beautiful sea-shore, I am confined to a dark lodging in 
 the middle of the town; for the place is still full, and our time is now 
 spent in the dull imitation of a London life. To complete my mis- 
 fortunes. Lord Sheffield was hastily ordered to Canterbury and Deal, 
 to suppress some disturbances, and I was left almost alone with my 
 Lady, in the servile state of a married man. But he returns to-day, 
 and I hope to be seated in my own library by the middle of next week. 
 However, you will not be sorry to hear that I have refreshed myself by 
 a very idle summer, and indeed a much idler and more pleasant winter 
 than the House of Commons will ever allow me to enjoy again. I had 
 almost forgot Mr. Hayley ; ungratefully enough, since 1 really passed 
 a very simple, but entertaining day with him. His place, though small, 
 is elegant as his mind, which I value much more highly. Mrs. * * * 
 wrote a melancholy story of an American mother, a friend of her friend, 
 who in a short time had lost three sons ; one killed by the savages, 
 one run mad from the fright at that accident, and the third taken at 
 sea, now in England, a prisoner in Forton hospital. For hijii some- 
 thing might perhaps be done. Your humanity will prompt you to 
 obtain from Mrs. * * * a more accurate account of names, dates, and 
 circumstances ; but you will prudently suppress my request, lest I 
 should raise hopes which it may not be in my power to gratify. Lady S. 
 begs to send her kindest compliments to you. I am, dear Madam, evci 
 yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq, to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, July 3, 1782. 
 
 I hope you have not had a moment's uneasiness about the delay of 
 my Midsummer letter. Whatever may happen, you may rest fully 
 secure, that the materials of it shall always be found. But on this 
 occasion I have missed four or five posts ; postponing, as usual, from 
 morning to the evening bell, which now rings, till it has occurred to 
 me, that it might not be amiss to enclose the two essential lines, if I 
 only added that the influenza has been known to me only by the report 
 of others. Lord Rockingham is at last dead ; a good man, whatever 
 he might be a minister : his successor is not yet named, and divisions 
 in the Cabinet are suspected. If Lord Shelburnc should be the man, 
 as 1 think he will, the friends of his predecessor will quarrel with him 
 before Christmas. At all events, I foresee much tumult and strong 
 o|)[)osition, from which I should be very glad to extricate myself, by 
 cjuitting the House of Commons with honour. Whatever you may 
 hoar, 1 believe there is not the least intention of dissolving Parliament, 
 which would indeed be a rash and dangerous measure. 1 hope you
 
 TtiE CORRESPONDENCE OE EDWARD GIBBON. 273 
 
 like I\Ir. Ilayley's poem ; he rises with his subject, and since Pope's 
 dealli, I am satisfied that England has not seen so happy a mixture of 
 strong sense and flowing numbers. Are you not delighted with his 
 address to his mother ? I understand that she was in plain prose 
 every thing that he speaks her in verse. This summer I shall stay in 
 town, and work at my trade, till I make some holidays for my Bath 
 excursion. Lady Sheffield is at Brighton, and he is under tents, like 
 the wild Arabs ; so that rr.y country house is shut up. I am, dear 
 Madam, ever yours. 
 
 Edward Gikdon Esq. to the Ris^ht Honourable Lord Sheffield, 
 Camp., Coxheath. 
 
 Bentinck-Strret, 1782. 
 I SYMPATHISE with your fatigues ; yet Alexander, Hannibal, &c. 
 have suffered hardships almost equal to yours. At such a moment it is 
 disagreeable (besides laziness) to write, because every hour teems with 
 a new life. As yet, however, only Charles has formally resigned ; but 
 Lord John Cavendish, Burke, Keppel, Lord Althorpe, &c. certainly 
 follow ; your Lord Lieutenant stays. In short, three months of pros- 
 perity has dissolved a phalanx, which had stood ten years' adversity. 
 Next Tuesday, Fox will give his reasons, and possibly be encountered 
 by Pitt, the new Secretary, or Chancellor of the Exchequer, at three- 
 and-twenty. The day will be rare and curious, and, if 1 were a light 
 dragoon, I would take a gallop on purpose to Westminster. Adieu. 
 1 hear the bell. How could I write before I knew where you dwelt ? 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Rii^ht Honourable Lord Sheffield, 
 Coxheath Camp. 
 
 September 29, 17S2. 
 I SHOULD like to hear sometimes, whether you survive the scenes 
 of action and danger in which a dragoon is continually involved. 
 What a difference between the life of a dragoon and that of a philo- 
 sopher ! and I will freely own that I (the philosopher) am much better 
 satisfied with my own independent and tranquil situation, in which I 
 have always something to do, without ever being obliged to do any- 
 thing. The Hampton Court villa has answered my expectation, and 
 proved no small addition to my comforts ; so that I am resolved next 
 summer to hire, borrow, or steal, either the same, or something of the 
 same kind. Every morning I walk a mile or more before breakfast, 
 read and write quantum sufficit, mount my chaise and visit in the 
 neighbourhood, accept some invitations, and escape others, use the 
 Lucans as my daily bread, dine pleasantly at home, or sociably abroad, 
 reserve for study an hour or two in the evening, lie in town regularly 
 once a week, &c. &c. 1 have announced to Mrs. G. my new arrange- 
 ments ; the certainty that October will lie fine, and my increasing doubts 
 whether 1 shall be able to reach ISath before Christmas. Do you in- 
 tend (but how can you intend anytliing.'') to pass the winter under
 
 274 EDWARD GIBBON- TO LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 canvas. Perhaps under the veil of Hampton Court I may lurk ten 
 days or a fortnight at Sheffield, if the enraged Lady does not shut the 
 doors against me. The Warden (Lord North) passed through in his 
 way to Dover. He is not so fat, and more cheerful than ever. I had 
 not any private conversation with him ; but he clearly holds the balance, 
 unless he lets it drop out of his hand. The Pandaemonium (as I under- 
 stand) does not meet till the twenty-sixth of November. Town is more 
 a desert than I ever knew it. I arrived yesterday, dined at Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds' with a tolerable party ; the chaise is now at the door ; I dine 
 at Richmond, lie at Hampton, &c. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Lord Sheffield, at Coxheath Camp. 
 
 Bentinck-Street, October 14, 1782. 
 
 On the approach of winter, my paper house at Hampton becomes 
 less comfortable ; my visits to Bentinck-strcet grow longer and more 
 frequent, and the end of next week will restore me to the town, with a 
 lively wish, however, to repeat the same, or a similar experiment, next 
 summer. I admire the assurance with which you propose a month's 
 residence at Sheffield, when you are not sure of being allowed three 
 days. Here it is currently report«;d, that camps will not separate till 
 Lord Howe's return from Gibraltar, and as yet we have no news of 
 his arrival. Perhaps indeed you may have more intimate correspond- 
 ence with your old friend Lord Shelburne, and already know the hour 
 of your deliverance. I should like to be informed. As Lady S. has 
 entirely forgotten me, I shall have the pleasure of forming a new 
 acquaintance. I have often thought of writing, but it is now too late 
 to repent. 
 
 I am at a loss what to say or think about our parliamentary state. 
 A certain late Secretary of Ireland reckons the House of Commons 
 thus : Minister one hundred and forty, Reynard ninety, Boreas one 
 hundred and twenty, the rest unknown, or uncertain. The last of the 
 three, by self or agents, talks too much of absence, neutrality, modera- 
 tion. I still think he will discard the game. 
 
 I am not in such a fury with the letter of American independ- 
 ence ; but I think it seems ill-timed and useless ; and I am much 
 eotcrtained with the metaphysical disputes between Government and 
 Secession about the meaning of it. Lord Loughborough will be in 
 town Sunday seven-night. I long to see him and Co. I think he will 
 take a very decided part. If he could throw aside his gown, he would 
 make a noble leader. The East India news are excellent. Tht French 
 gone to Mauritius, Heyder desirous of peace, the Nizam and Mahrattas 
 our friends, and seventy lacks of rupees in the Bengal treasury, while 
 we were voting the recai of Plastings. Adieu. Write soon. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Lord Sheffield. 
 
 1782. 
 
 I HAVE designed writing every post. The air of London is admirable ; 
 
 my complaints have vanished, and the gout still respects me. Lord
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD LISBON. 27$ 
 
 Loughborough, with whom I passed an entire day, is very well satisfied 
 with his Irish expedition, and found the barbarous people very kind to 
 him. The castle is strong, but the volunteers are formidable. London 
 is dead, and all intelligence so totally extinct, that the loss of an army 
 would be a favourable incident. We have not even the advantage of 
 shipwrecks, which must soon, with the society of you and Gerard 
 Hamilton, become the only pleasures of Brighton. My Lady is pre- 
 cious, and deserves to shine in London, when she regains her palace. 
 The workmen are slow, but I hear that the Minister talks of hiring 
 another house after Christmas.* Adieu, till Monday seven-night. 
 
 T/w Same to the Same. 
 
 January 17, 1783. 
 
 As I arrived about seven o'clock on Wednesday last, we were some 
 time in town in mutual ignorance. Unlucky enough ; yet our loss 
 will be speedily repaired. Your reason for not writing is worthy of an 
 Irish Baron : you thought Sarah might be at Bath, because you directed 
 letters to her at Clifton near Bristol ; where indeed I saw her in a 
 delightful situation, swept by the winter winds, and scorched by the 
 summer sun. A nobler reason for your silence would be the care of the 
 public papers, to record your steps, words, and actions. I was pleased 
 with your Coventry oration : a panegyric on * * * is a subject entirely 
 new, and which no orator before yourself would have dared to under- 
 take. You have acted with prudence and dignity in casting away the 
 military yoke. This next summer you will sit down (if you can sit) in. 
 the long lost character of a country gentleman. 
 
 For my own part, my late journey has only confirmed me in the 
 opinion, that Number Seven in Bentinck-street is the best house in 
 the world. I find that peace and war alternately, and daily, take their 
 turns of conversation, and this (Friday) is the pacific day. Next week 
 we shall probably hear some questions on that head very strongly 
 asked, and very foolishly answered, &c. Give me a line by return of 
 post, and probably I may visit Downing-street on Monday evening ; 
 late, however, as I am engaged to dinner and cards. Adieu, 
 
 [Although Dr, Priestley may not be justified for publishing the follow- 
 ing Letters, yet as he thought fit to print them with a volume of 
 sermons soon after Mr. Gibbon's death, it will not be improper to 
 insert them in this collection.] 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Dr. Priestley. 
 Sir, January 23, 1 7 S3. 
 
 As a mark of your esteem, I should have accepted with pleasure 
 your History of the Corruptions of Christianity. You have been 
 careful to inform me, that it is intended, not as a gift, but as a chal- 
 lenge, and such a challenge you must permit me to decline. At the 
 
 • Lord Nortli, «hilc his liouse was repairing, inhabited Lord Sheffield's in Downing-street.
 
 Z^S EDWAliD GIBBON TO DR. PRIESTLEY. 
 
 same time you glory in outstripping the zeal of the Mufti and the 
 Lama, it may be proper to declare that I should equally refuse ihe 
 defiance of those venerable divines. Once, and once only, the just 
 defence of my own veracity provoked me to descend into the amphi- 
 theatre ; but as long as you attack opinions which I have never main- 
 tained, or maintain principles which I have never denied, you may 
 safely exult in my silence and your own victory. The difference 
 between us, (on the credibility of miracles,) which you chuse to sup- 
 pose, and wish to argue, is a trite and antient topic of controversy, 
 and, from the opinion which you entertain of yourself and of me, it 
 does not appear probable that our dispute would either edify or 
 enlighten the Public. 
 
 That Public will decide to whom the iiwidioiis name of Unbeliever 
 more justly belongs ; to the Historian, who, without interposing his 
 own sentiments, has delivered a simple narrative of authentic facts, or 
 to the disputant who proudly rejects all natural proofs of the immor- 
 tality of the soul, overthrows (by circumscribing) the inspiration of the 
 evangelists and apostles, and condemns the religion of every Christian 
 nation, as a fable less innocent, but not less absurd, than Mahomet's 
 journey to the third Heaven. 
 
 And now, Sir, since you assume a right to determine the objects of 
 my past and future studies, give me leave to convey to your ear the 
 almost unanimous, and not offensive wish, of the philosophic world :— 
 that you would confine your talents and industry to those sciences in 
 which real and useful improvements can be made. Remember the end 
 of your predecessor Servetus, not of his life, (the Calvins of our days 
 are restrained from the use of the same fiery arguments,) but, I mean, 
 the end of his reputation. His theological writings are lost in oblivion ; 
 and if his book on the Trinity be still preserved, it is only because it 
 contains the first rudiments of the discovery of the circulation of the 
 blood. 
 
 I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant. 
 
 Dr. Priestley to Mr. Gideon. 
 Sir, Birmingham, 3 February, 1783. 
 
 It would have been impertinent in me, especially considering the 
 object of my History, to have sent you a copy of it as a mark of my 
 csteetn ox friendsJiip. What I meant was to act the part of a fair and 
 open adversary, and I am truly sorry that you decline the discussion I 
 proposed : for though you are of a different opinion, I do not think that 
 either of us could be better employed ; and, should the Mufti and the 
 Lama, whose challenge, you say, you would also decline, become 
 parties in the business, I should rejoice the more. I do not well know 
 what you can mean by intimating, that I am a greater Unbeliever than 
 yourself; that I attack opinions which you never maintained, and 
 maintain principles which you never denied. If you mean to assert, 
 that you are a believer in Christianity, and meant to recommend it, I 
 must say, that your mode of writing has been very ill adapted to gain 
 your purpose. If thtre be any certain method of discovering a man's
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 2'] "J 
 
 real object, yours has been to discredit Christianity in fact, while in 
 words you represent yourself as a friend to it : a conduct which I 
 scruple not to call highly unworthy and mean ; an insult on the common 
 sense of the Christian world ; as a method of screening you from the 
 notice of the law, (which is as hostile to me as it is to you,) you must 
 know that it could avail you nothing : and, though that mode of writing 
 might be deemed ingenious and witty in the fust inventor of it, it has 
 been too often repeated to deserve that appellation now. 
 
 According to your own rule of conduct, this charge ought to provoke 
 you to descend into the amphitheatre once more, as much as the accusa- 
 tion of Mr. Davis : for it is a call upon you to defend, not your prin- 
 ciples only, but also your honour. For what can reflect greater dis- 
 honour on a man, than to say one thing and mean another? You have 
 certainly been very far from confining yourself, as you pretend, to a 
 simple narrative of authentic facts, without interposing your own senti- 
 ments. I hold no opinions, obnoxious as they are, that I am not ready 
 both to avow in the most explicit manner, and also to defend with any 
 person of competent judgment and ability. Had I not considered you 
 in this light, and also as fairly open, by the strain of your writings, to 
 such a challenge, I should not have called upon you as I have done. 
 The Public will form its own judgment both of that and of your silence 
 on the occasion ; and finally decide between you, the liuuible kisioriaft, 
 and me, \.\\t proud disputant. 
 
 As to my reputation, for which you are so verj' obligingly concerned, 
 give me leave to observe, that, as far as it is an object with any person, 
 and a thing to be enjoyed by himself, it must depend upon his parti- 
 cular notions and feelings. — Now, odd as it will appear to you, the 
 esteem of a very few rational Christian friends (though I know that it 
 will ensure me the detestation of the greater part of the present nominally 
 Christian world that happened to hear ine) gives me more real satisfac- 
 tion, than the applause of what you call the philosophic world. I 
 admire Servetus, by whose example you wish me to take warning, more 
 for his courage in dying for the cause of important truth, than 1 should 
 have done if, besides the certain discovery of the circulation of the blood, 
 he had made any other the most celebrated discovery in philosophy. 
 
 However, I do not see what my philosophical friends (of whom I 
 have many, and whom I think I value as I ought,) have to do with my 
 metaphysical or theological writings. They may, if they please, con- 
 sider them as my particular whims or amusements, and accordingly 
 neglect them. They have, in fact, interfered very little with my appli- 
 cation to philosophy, since I have had the means of doing it. I was 
 never more busy, or more successfully so, in my philosophical pursuits, 
 than during the time that I have been employed about the History of 
 the Corruptions of Christianity. I am at this very time, totus in illis, 
 as my friends know ; and as the Public will know in due time ; which 
 with me is never long, and if you had thought proper to enter into the 
 discussion I pmposecl, it would not have made me neglect my labora- 
 tory, or omit a sin^^le experiment that I should otherwise have made. 
 
 1 am. Sir, 
 
 Your very huinljlc servant, 
 
 J. ri:i;_.-iXfV. 
 ' T
 
 2/8 EDWARD GIBBON TO DR. PRIESTLEY, 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Dr. Priestley. 
 Sir, Bentinck-street, February 6, 1783. 
 
 As I do not pretend to judge of the sentiments or intentions of 
 another, I shall not enquire how far you are inclined to suffer, or inflict, 
 martyrdom. It only becomes me to say, that the style and temper of 
 your last letter have satisfied me of the propriety of declining all farther 
 correspondence, whether public or private, with such an adversary. I 
 am, Sir, your humble servant. 
 
 Dr. Priestley to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Sir, Birmingham, 10 February, 17S3. 
 
 I NEITHER requested nor wished to have 2J\y private correspondence 
 with you. All that my MS. card required, was a simple acknowledg- 
 ment of the receipt of the copy of my work. You chose, however, to 
 give me a specimen of your temper and feelings ; and also, what I 
 thought to be an opening to a further call upon you for a justification of 
 yourself ^■;^ ///Mc. Of this I was willing to take advantage ; and, at 
 the same time, to satisfy you, that my philosophical pursuits, for which, 
 whether in earnest or not, you were pleased to express some concern, 
 would not be interrupted in consequence of it. 
 
 As this correspondence, from the origin and nature of it, cannot be 
 deemed confidential., I may, especially if I resume my observations on 
 your conduct as an Historian, give the Public an opportunity of judging 
 of the propriety of my answer to your first extraordinary letter, and also 
 to this last truly enigmatical one ; to interpret which requires much 
 more sagacity than to discover your real intentions with respect to 
 Christianity, though you might think you had carefully concealed them 
 from all human inspection. 
 
 Wishing to hear from you just as little as you please in private, and 
 just as much as you please in public, I am, Sir, your humble servant. 
 
 Mr, Gibbon to Dr. Priestley. 
 
 February 22, 17 S3. 
 If Dr. Priestley consults his friends, he will probably learn, that a 
 single copy of a paper, addressed under a seal to a single person, and 
 not relative to any public or official business, must always be consi- 
 dered as private correspondence ; which a man of honour is not at 
 liberty to print without the consent of the writer. That consent in the 
 present instance, Mr. Gibbon thinks proper to withhold ; and, as he 
 desires to escape all further altercation, he shall not trouble Dr. Priestley 
 or himself with explaining the motives of his refusal. 
 
 Dr. Priestley to Mr. Gibbon. 
 
 Birmingham, February 25, 1783. 
 
 Dr. Priestley is as unwilling to be guilty of any real impropriety 
 
 as Mr. Gibbon can wish him to be ; but, as the correspondence between
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON, 2/9 
 
 Ihem relates not to any private, but only to Si public matter, he appre- 
 hends that it may, according to Mr. Gibbon's own distinction, at the 
 pleasure of either of the parties be laid before the Public ; who, in fact, 
 are interested to know, at least, the result of it. Dr. Priestley's 
 conduct will always be open to animadversion, that of Mr, Gibbon, or 
 of any other person. His appeal is to men of honour, and even men 
 of the world ; and he desires no favour. 
 
 Dr. Priestley has sent a single copy of the correspondence to a 
 friend in London, with leave to shew it to any other common friends, 
 but with a prohibition to take any other copy : but between this and 
 printifig' there is no difference, except in tuode and extent. In the eye 
 of the law and of reason both are equally publications ; and has Mr. 
 Gibbon never thought himself at liberty to shew a copy of a letter to a 
 third person ? 
 
 Mr. Gibbon may easily escape all further altercation by discontinu- 
 ing this mutually disagreeable correspondence, by leaving Dr. Priestley 
 to act as his own discretion or indiscretion may dictate j and for this, 
 himself only, and not Mr. Gibbon, is responsible. 
 
 M. Gibbon h Mons, Deyverdun, a Lausanne. 
 
 A LoNDRES, ce 20 Mai 1783. 
 
 Que j'aime la douce et parfaite confiance de nos sentimens reci- 
 proques ! Nous nous aimons dans I'eloignement et le silence, et il 
 nous suffit a I'un et a I'autre, de savoir de tems en tems, des nouvelles 
 de la sante et du bonheur de son ami. Aujourd'hui j'ai besoin de vous 
 ecrire ; je commence sans excuses et sans reproches, comme si nous 
 allions reprendre la conversation familiere du jour precedent. Si je 
 proposois de faire un cojuptc roidu de mes etudes, de mes occupations, 
 de mes plaisirs, de mes nouvelles liaisons, de ma politique toujours 
 muette, mais un peu plus rapprochee des grands dvenemens, je multi- 
 plierois mes in quarto, et je ne sais pas encore votre avis sur ceux que 
 je vous ai deja envoyes. Dans cette histoire moderne, il seroit toujours 
 question de la decadence des empires ; et autant que j'en puis juger 
 sur mes reminiscences et sur le rapport de I'ami Bugnon, vous aimez 
 aussi peu la puissance de I'Angleterre que celle des Remains. Notre 
 chute, cependant, a ete plus douce. Apres une guerre sans succes, et 
 une paix assez peu glorieuse, il nous reste de quoi vivre contens et 
 hcureux ; et lorsque je me suis d(^pouille du role de Membre du Parle- 
 mcnt, pour redevcnir homme, philosophe, et historien, nous pourrions 
 bien nous trouver d'accord sur la plus part des scenes etonnantes qui 
 vicnnent de se passer devant nos yeux, et qui fourniront une riche 
 matiere aux plus habiles de mes successeurs. 
 
 Bornons nous a cette heure a un objet moins illustre sans doute, 
 mais plus interessant pour tous Ics deux, et c'est beaucoup que le meme 
 objet puisse int(^resser deux mortels qui ne se sont pas vus, qui a peine 
 se sont ecrit depuis — oui ma foi — depuis huit ans. Ma plume, tres 
 paresscuse au commencement, ou plutot avant le commencement, 
 marche assez vitc, lorsqu'elle s'cst une fois mise en train ; mais une 
 raison qui m'cmpccheroit de lui donner carriere, c'est I'espf^rance de
 
 2 So EDWARD GIBBON TO GEORGE DEYVERDUN, . 
 
 pouvoir bientot me servir avec vous d'un instrument encore plus com- 
 mode, la langue. Que I'homme, I'homme Anglois, I'homme Gibbon, 
 est un sot animal ! Je I'espere, je le desire, je le puis, mais je ne sais 
 pas si je le veux, encore moins si j'cxecuterai cette volonte. Voici mon 
 histoire, autant qu'elle pourra vous eclairer, qu'elle pourra m'eclairer 
 moi-meme, sur mes veritables intentions, qui me paroissent tres 
 obscures, at tres Equivoques ; ct vous aurcz la bontd de m'apprendre 
 qu'elle sera ma conduite future. II vous souvient. Seigneur, que mon 
 grand pere a fait sa fortune, que mon pere I'a niangee avec un peu trop 
 d'appdtit, et que je jouis actuellement du fruit, ou plutot du reste de 
 leurs travaux. Vous n'avez pas oublie que je suis entrif au Parlement 
 sans patriotisme, sans ambition, et que toutes mes vues se bornoient a 
 la place commode et honnete d'un Lord of Trade. Cette place, je I'ai 
 obtenue enfin ; je I'ai possdd^e trois ans, depuis 1779 jusqu'k 1782, et 
 le produit net, qui se montoit a sept cens cinquante livres sterling, 
 augmentoit mon revenu, au niveau de mes besoins, et de mes desirs. 
 Mais au printems de I'annde precedente. Forage agronde sur nos tetes : 
 Milord North a ete renverse, votre serviteur chassd, et le Board 
 meme, dont j'dtois membre, aboli et cassd pour toujours, par la refor- 
 mation de M. Burke, avec beaucoup d'autres places de I'Etat, et de la 
 maison du Roi. Pour mon malheur, je suis toujours restd Membre de 
 la Chambre basse : a la fin du dernier Parlement (en 1780) M. Eliot 
 a retird sa nomination ; mais la faveur de Milord North a facilite ma 
 rentree, et la reconnoisance m'imposoit le devoir de faire valoir, pour 
 son service, les droits que je tenois en partie de lui. Cet hyver nous 
 avons combatu sous le dtendards rdunis (vous savez notre histoire) de 
 Milord North, ct de M. Fox ; nous avons triomphe de Milord Shel- 
 burne et de la paix, et mon ami (je n'aime pas h profaner ce nom) a 
 remontd sur sa bete en qualit(^ de Secretaire d'Etat. C'est h. present 
 qu'il peut bien me dire : " C'etoit beaucoup pour moi ; ce n'<?toit rien 
 pour vous ;" et malgrd les assurances les plus fortes, j'ai trop de raison, 
 pour avoir de la foi. Avec beaucoup d'esprit, et des qualitds tres 
 respectables, il n'a plus ni le titre, iii le crddit de premier ministre ; des 
 coUegues plus actifs lui enlevent les morceaux les plus friands, qui 
 sont aussitot devords par la voracity de leurs creatures ; nos malheurs 
 et nos rdformes ont diminud le nombre des graces ; par orgueil ou par 
 paresse, je sollicite aussi mal, et si je parviens enfin, ce sera peut etre 
 Ji la veillc d'unc nouvellc revolution, qui me fera perdre dans un 
 instant, ce qui m'aura coutd tant de soins et de recherchcs. Si je ne 
 consultois que mon coeur et ma raison, je romprois sur le champ cette 
 indigne chaine de la ddpendance ; je quitterois le Parlement, Londres, 
 I'Angleterre ; je chercherois sous un cicl plus doux, dans un pays plus 
 tranquille, le repos, la libertd, I'aisance, et une socidtd dclair^e et 
 aimable. Je coulerois quelques annees de ma vie sans espdrance, et 
 sans crainte, j'acheverois mon histoire, et je ne rentrerois dans ma 
 patric qu'en homme librc, richc, ct respectable par sa position, aussi 
 bien que par son caractcre. Mes amis, ct surtout Milord Sheffield, ne 
 veulent pas me permettre d'etre heurcux suivant mon goiit et mes 
 lumicres. Lcur prudence cxige que je fasse tons mes efforts, pour 
 obtenir un emploi tres sur ^i la vdritd, qui me donneroit mille guindes 
 de rente, mais qui m'enleveroit cinq jvjurs p'>r semaine. Je me pr^te
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 28 1 
 
 \ leur zele, et jc Icur ai promis de ne partir qu'en automnc, apies avoir 
 consacre I'etc a cette derniere tentative. Lc succes, cependant, est 
 ires incertain, ct je ne sais si je le desire de bonne foi. 
 
 Si je parviens k me voir exile, mon choix ne sera pas douteux. Lan- 
 sanne a eu mes premices ; elle me sera toujours chere par le doux souvenir 
 de ma jeunesse. Au bout de trente ans, je me rappelle les polissons 
 qui sont aujourd'hui juges, les petites filles de la socidtd du printems, 
 qui sont devenues grand-meres. Votre pays est charmant, et, malgr^ 
 le dugout de Jean Jacques, les moeurs, et I'esprit de ses habitans, me 
 paroissent tres assortis aux bords du lac Ldman. Mais un trdsor que 
 je ne trouverois qu'h. Lausanne ; c'est un ami que me convient ^gale- 
 ment par les sentimens, et les idt^es, avec qui je n'ai jamais connu un 
 instant d'ennui, de secheresse, ou de reserve. Autrefois dans nos 
 libres ^panchemens, nous avons cent fois fait le projet de vivre ensem- 
 ble, et cent fois nous avons dpluche tous les details du Romaa, avec une 
 chaleur qui nous dtonnoit nous memes. A present il demeure, ou 
 plutot vous dcmeurez, (car je me lasse de ce ton ctudid,) dans une 
 maison charmante et commode ; je vols d'ici mon appartement, nos 
 salles communes, notre table, et nos promena,des ; mais ce mariage ne 
 vaut rien, s'il ne convient pas cgalement aux deux ^poux, et je sens 
 combien des circonstances locales, des gouts nouveaux, de nouvelles 
 liaisons, peuvent s'opposer aux desseins, qui nous ont paru les plus 
 agrdables dans le lointain. Pour fixer mes iddes, et pour nous dpargner 
 des regrets, il faut me d^voilcr avec la franchise dont je vous ai donnd 
 I'exemple, le tableau extt5ricur et interieur de George Deyverdun. Mon 
 amour est trop ddlicat, pour supporter I'indiffdrence et les ^gards, et je 
 rougirois d'un bonheur dont je serois redevable, non k I'inclination, 
 mais k la fid^litd de mon ami. Pour m'armer contre les malheurs pos- 
 sibles, helas ! peut etre trop vraisemblables, j'ai essayd de me ddtacher 
 de la pcnsde de ce projet favori, et de me repri^senter h. Lausanne votre 
 bon voisin, sans etre prccisement votre commensal. Si j'y ctois rdduit, 
 je ne voudrois pas tenir maison, autant par raison d'economie, que pour 
 dviter I'cnnui de manger seul. D'un a.utre cote, une pension ouverte, 
 fut elle montde sur I'ancien pied de celle de Mesery, ne conviendroit 
 plus a mon age, ni 5, mon caract^re ? Passerois je ma vie au milieu 
 d'une foule de jeunes Anglois echappds du college, moi qui aimerois 
 Lausanne cent fois davantage, si j'y pouvois etre le seul de ma nation ? 
 II me faudroit done une maison commode et riante, un dtat au dessus 
 de la bourgeoisie, un mari instruit, une femme qui ne rcsembleroit pai 
 k Madame Pavilliard, ct I'assurance d'y etre regu comme le filles 
 unique, ou plutot comme le frere de la famille. Pour nous arranger 
 sans gene, je meublerait tres volontier un joli appartement sous le 
 mome toit, ou dans le voisinage, ct puisque lc menage le plus foible, 
 laisse encore de I'etoffe pour une forte pension, jc ne serois j^as obligif 
 de chicaner sur les conditions pdcuniarcs. Si je me vois ddchu de 
 cette dernidre esperance, je renonccrois en soupirant a ma scconde 
 patrie, pour chercher un nouvel asyle, non pas a Geneve, triste sdjour 
 du travail et de la discorde, mais aux bords du lac de Neufchatel, 
 parmi les bons Savoyards de Chamberry, ou sous le beau climat des 
 Provinces Mdridionales de la France. Jes finis brusquement, parccf|uc 
 j'ai mille choses a vous dire. Jc pensc que nous nous resscmljlons
 
 282 GEORGE DEYVERDUN TO EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 pour la correspondance. Pour le bavardage savant, ou meme amical, 
 je suis de tous les hommes le plus paresseux, mais des qu'il s'agit d'un 
 objet rdel, d'un service essentiel, le premier Courier emporte toujours 
 ma reponse. A la fin d'un mois, je commencerai a compter les semaines, 
 les jours, les heures. Ne me les faites pas compter trop long tems. 
 Vale. 
 
 M. Deyverdun d M. Gibbon. 
 
 Strasbourg, le lo Juin, 1783. 
 _ Je ne saurais vous exprimer. Monsieur et cher ami, la variete et la viva- 
 city des sensations que m'a fait eprouver votre lettre. Tout cela a fini 
 par un fond de plaisir et d'esperance qui resteront dans mon coeur, 
 jusqu'a ce que vous les en chassiez. 
 
 Un rapport singulier de circonstances contribue k me faire esperer 
 que nous sommes destines k vivre quelque tems agreablement ensemble. 
 Je ne suis pas ddgout^ d'une ambition que je ne connus jamais ; mais 
 par d'autres circonstances, je me trouve dans la meme situation d'em- 
 barras et d'incertitude ou. vous etes aussi k cette dpoque. II y a un an 
 que votre lettre, mon cher ami, m'auroit fait plaisir sans doute, mais en 
 ce moment, elle m'en fait bien davantage : elle vient en quelque fa§on 
 k mon secours. 
 
 Depuis mon retour d'ltalie, ne pouvant me determiner a vendre ma 
 maison, m'ennuyant d'y etre seul (car je suis comme vous. Monsieur, 
 et je ddteste de manger sans compagnie) ne voulant pas louer a des 
 Strangers, j'ai pris le parti de m'arranger assez joliment au premier 
 ^tage, et de donner le second a une famille de mes amis, qui me nourrit, 
 et que je loge. Cet arrangement a paru pendant long tems contribuer 
 au bonheur des deux parties. Mais tout est transitoire sur cette terre. 
 Ma maison seravuide, selon tout apparence, sur la fin de I'ete, et je me 
 vois d'avance tout aussi embarass^ et incertain, que je I'etais, il y a 
 quelques anndes, ne sachant quelle nouvelle society choisir, et assez 
 disposd a vendre enfin cette possession qui m'a cause bien des plaisirs, 
 et bien des peines. Ma maison est done a votre disposition pour cet 
 automne, et vous y arriveriez comme un Dieu dans une machine qui 
 finit I'embroglio. Voila quant a moi ; parlons de vous maintenant avec 
 la meme sincerite. 
 
 Un mot de preambule. Quelque int(5resse que je sois k votre reso- 
 lution, convaincu qu'il faut aimer ses amis pour eux mcmes, sentant 
 d'ailleurs combien il seroit affreux pour moi de vous voir des regrets, 
 je vous donne ici ma parole d'honneur, que mon interet n'influe en rien 
 sur ce que je vais ecrire, et que je ne dirai pas un mot que je ne vous 
 disse, si Thermite de la grotte etoit un autre que moi. Vos amis Anglais 
 vous aiment pour eux memes : je ne veux moi que votre bonheur. 
 Rappellez vous, mon cher ami, que je vis avec peine votre entree dans 
 le Parlement, et je crois n'avoir et^ que trop bon prophete ; je suis sur 
 que cette carriere vous a fait 6prouvcr plus de privations que de jouis- 
 sances, beaucoup plus dc peines que de plaisirs ; j'ai cru toujours, 
 depuis que je vous ai connu, que vous etiez destine k vivre heureux par 
 les plaisirs du cabinet et de la societe, que tout autre marche etait un 
 ^cart de la route du bonheur, et quo ce n'ctait que les qualites rcunies
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GiBBON. 283 
 
 d'homme de Icttres, et d'homme aimable dc societe, qui pouvoicnt vous 
 procurer gloirc, honncur, plaisirs, ctun suite continuelle dc jouissances. 
 Au bout de quclqucs tours dans votrc sallc, vous scntircz parfaitcment 
 que j'avois bicn vu, et que I'livenemcnt a justifie mes ide'cs. Lorsquc 
 j'ai appris que vous (^t\Qz Lord of Trade,']' en ai etc faclie ; quand j'ai 
 su que vous aviez perdu cettc place, je m'en suis rc'jouis pour vous ; 
 quand on m'a anonce que Milord North etoit remontc sur sa bete, j'ai 
 cru vous voir trfes mal k votre aise, en croupe derriere lui, et je m'en 
 suis afflige pour vous. Je suis done charme, mon cher ami, de vous 
 savoir ;\ pied, ct je vous conseille tres sincerement de rester dans cette 
 position, et bicn loin de sollicitcr la place en question, de la refuser, si 
 elle vous ctait oiiferte. Mille guim'cs vous cledommageront ellcs de 
 cinq jours pris de la semaine ? Jc suppose, ce que cepcndant j'ai peine 
 a croirc, que vous me disiez que oui : et la variete et I'inconstance 
 continuelle dc votre ministcre, vous promcttent elles d'en jouir long 
 terns constamment, et n'est il pas plus desagrcable, mon cher Monsieur, 
 de n'avoir plus 1000 livres sterl. de rente, qu'il n'a ete agreable d'en 
 jouir? D'aillcurs ne pourrez vous partoujours rentrer dans la carriere, 
 si I'ambition ou I'envic de servir la patric, vous reprennent ; ne rentrerez 
 vous pas avec plus d'honneur, lorsquc vos rentes etant augmentces 
 naturcUement, vous serez libi-e ct indcpendant ? 
 
 En faisant cette retraite en Suisse, outre la beautd du pays, et les 
 agrdmens de la socidte, vous acqucrercz deux biens que vous avez 
 perdus, la liberty et la richesse. Vous ne serez d'ailleurs point inutile ; 
 vos ouvrages continucront h. nous eclairer, et independamment de vos 
 talcns, riionnetc homme, le galant homme, n'est jamais inutile. 
 
 II me rcste h. vous presenter le tableau que vous trouveriez. Vous 
 ainiiez ma maison et mon jardin, c'cst bien autre chose h. present. Au 
 premier dtage qui donne sur la descente d'Ouchy, jc me suis arrangd 
 un appartcment qui me suffit, j'ai unc chambre de domestique, deux 
 sallons, ct deux cabinets. J'ai au plein pied de la tcrrasse, deux autres 
 sallons dont I'un sert en etd de salle a manger, et I'autrc dc sallon de 
 compagnie. J'ai fait un nouvel appartcment de trois pieces dans le 
 vuide cntre la maison et la remise, en forte que j'ai a vous offrir tout 
 le grand appartcment, qui consiste actuellement en onze pieces, tant 
 grandes que petitcs, tourndes au Levant et au Midi, meublees sans 
 magnificence deplacde, mais avec une sorte d'elegance dont j'espere 
 que vousseriez satisfait. La tcrrasse a peu change ; mais elle est ter- 
 mince par un grand cabinet mieux proportionnd que le precedent, 
 garnie tout du long, de caisscs d'orangers, &c. La treille, que ne vous 
 est pas indifferente, a cmbcUi, prospdre, et regno presclu'cntieremen^. 
 jusqu'au bout ; parvenu a ce bout, vous trouverez un petit chemin C|ui 
 vous conduira ;\ une chaumicre placdc dans un coin ; et de ce coin, en 
 suivant le long d'une autre route h. I'Anglaise, le mur d'un manege. 
 Vous trouverez au bout, un chalet avec dcurie, vacherie, petite porte, 
 petit cabinet, petite bibliotheque, et une galerie de bois dord, d'ou Ton 
 voit tout ce qui sort et cntre en ville par la porte du Chone, ct tout ce 
 qui se passe dans ce Faubourg. J'ai acquis la vigne au-dessous du 
 jardin ; j'en ai arrachd tout ce qui dtoit devant la maison ; j'en ai fait 
 un tapis vert, arrosd par I'eau du jet d'eau ; et j'ai fait tout autour de 
 ce pel it pare, une promenade tres varide par les diflerens points de vue
 
 284 GEORGE DEYVERDUN TO EDWARD GIBBON: 
 
 et les objets meme intdrieurs, tantot jardin potager, tantot parterre, 
 tantot vigne, tantot pres, puis chalet, chaumiere, petite montagne ; 
 bref, les Strangers viennent le voir et Tadmirent, et malgrd la descrip- 
 tion pompeuse que je vous en fais, vous en serez content. 
 N.B. J'ai plante una quantity d'excellens arbres fruitiers. 
 
 Venons k moi ; vous comprenez bien que j'ai vieilli, exceptd pour la 
 scnsibilitd ; je suis k la mode, mes nerfs sont attaques ; je suis plus 
 mdlancolique, mais je n'ai pas plus d'humeur ; vous ne souffrirez de 
 mes maux que tout au plus ndgativement. Ensemble, et scpards par 
 nos logemens, nous jouirons vis-k-vis I'un de I'autre, de la plus grande 
 libertd. Nous prendrons une gouvernante douce et entendue, plutot 
 par commodity que par necessite ; car je me chargerois sans crainte de 
 la surintendance. J'ai fait un manage de quatre, pendant quclque 
 tems ; j'ai fait le mien, et j'ai remarque que cela marchoit tout seul, 
 quand c'etoit une fois en train. Les petites gens qui n'ont que ce 
 merite, font grand bruit pour rien. Mon jardin nous fournira avec 
 abondance de bons fruits et d'excellens li^gumes. Pour le reste de la 
 table et de la depense domestique, je ne dcmanderais pas mieux que 
 de vous regevoir chez moi, comme vous m'avcz regu chez vous ; mais 
 nos situations sont differentcs a cet egard ; cependant si vous ctiez plus 
 ruind, je vous I'offrirois sans doute, et je devrois le faire ; mais avec les 
 rentes que vous aviez, quand j'dtois chez vous, en les supposant meme 
 diminuees, vous vivrez tres agrdablement h. Lausanne. Enfin k cet 
 egard nous nous arrangerons comme il vous sera le plus agrdable, et 
 en proportion de nos revenus. Toujours serez vous ainsi, h. ce qui 
 j'espcre, plus deccmment et plus comfortablement, que vous ne seriez 
 par tout ailleurs au meme prix. 
 
 Ouant ti la socidt^, quoique infiniment agrcable, je commence ce 
 chapitre par vous dire que j'dviterois de vous y inviter, si vous dtiez 
 entierement desoeuvrd ; les jours sont longs alors, et laissent Ijien du 
 vuide ; mais homme de lettres, comme vous etes, je ne connois point 
 de socidte qui vous convienne micux. Nous aurons autour de nous im 
 cercle, comme il seroit impossible d'cn trouver ailleurs dans un aussi 
 petit espace. Madame de Corcclles, Mademoiselle Sulcus, et M. de 
 Montolieu (Madame est morte), Messrs. Policr et leurs fcmmes, 
 Madame de Severy, et M. et Madame de Nassau, Mademoiselle de 
 Chandieu, Madame de St. Cierge, et M. avec leurs deux silles jolies et 
 aimables, Madanies de Crousaz, Poller, de Charrieres, &c. font uu fonds 
 de bonne compagnie dont on ne se lasse point, et dont M. de Scrvan est 
 si content qu'il regrette toujours d'etre obligd de retourner dans ses terres, 
 et ne respire que pours'ctablir tout h fait k Lausanne. 11 passa tout I'hyver 
 de 17S2 avec nous, et il fut, on nc pcut plus, agrcable. Vous trouverez 
 les moeurs changees en bien, et plus conformes a. nos ages, et a nos 
 caracteres ; peu de grandes assemblies, de grands repas, mais beau- 
 coup de petits soupers, de petites assemblees, oii Ton fait ce qu'on veut, 
 ou Ton cause, lit, (S:c. et dont on dcarte avec soin les fachcux de toute 
 espece. II y a le Dimanche une socidtd, oii tout ce qu'il y a d'un peu 
 distingud en dtrangeres et dtrangcrs, est invitd. Cela fait des assem- 
 blees de 40 h. 50 personnes, ou Ton voit ce qu'on ne voit guercs le reste 
 de la semaine, et ces cspeces de roui font quclquefois plaisir. Nous 
 summcs fort ddgoulds des dtrangcrs, surtout des jeunes gens, et nous
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 285 
 
 Ics ^cartons avec soin de nos petits comitds, a moins qu'ils n'ayent du 
 nicritc, ou quclqucs talens. A cct dgard un de nos petits travcrs, c'cst 
 Icngouement ; mais vous en profiterez, mon cher Monsieur, comme 
 ICdward Gibbon, et comme mon ami ; vous serez d'abord I'liomme ^ 
 la mode, et je vois d'ici que vous soutiendrez fort bien ce role, sans 
 vous en facher, dut on un peu vous surfaire. Je sens que tn me flattes, 
 mais til me fats plaisir, est peut etre le meilleur vers de Destouches. 
 Voilii done Thyver ; I'etude le matin, quelques conversations, quand 
 vous serez fatigud, avec quelque homme de lettres, ou amateur, ou du 
 moins qui aura vu quelque chose ; k I'heure qu'il vous plaira un diner, 
 point de fermier general, mais I'honnete epicurien, avec un ou deux 
 amis quand vous voudrez ; puis quelques visites, une soiree, souvent 
 un souper. Quant h. I'e'te, vu votre maniere d'aimer la campagne, on 
 diroit que ma remise ^ €i€ faite pour vous ; pendant que vous vous y 
 promenerez en sdnateur, je serai souvent en bon paysan Suisse, devant 
 mon chalet, ou dans ma chaumiere ; puis nous nous rcncontrerons tout 
 a coup, et tacherons de nous rcmettre au niveau Tun de I'autre. Nous 
 fcrmerons nos portes a I'ordinaire, except^ aux etrangers qui passent 
 Icur chcmin ; mais quand nous voudrons, nous y aurons toux ceux que 
 nous aimerons ^, y voir : car on ne demande pas mieux que d'y venir se 
 rejouir. J'ai eu, un beau jour d'Avril ce printems, un dejeuner, qui 
 m'a coute quelques Louis, ou il y avait plus de 40 pcrsonncs, je ne 
 sais combien de petitcs tables, une bonne musique au milieu du verger, 
 et une quantity de jeunes et jolies personnes dansant des branlcs, et 
 formant des chifres en cadence ; j'ai vu bien des fetes, j'en ai peu vu 
 de plus jolies. Quand mon pare vous ennuyera, nous aurons, ou nous 
 louerons ensemble (et ce sera ainsi un plaisir peu cher) un cabriolet 
 Icgcr, avec deux chevaux gentils, et nous irons visiter nos amis dis- 
 perses dans les campagnes, qui nous reccvront a bras ouverts. Vous 
 en serez content de nos campagnes ; toujours en proportion vous com- 
 prenez, et vous trouverez en gdndral un heureux changement pour les 
 agremens de la societe, et une scrte de recherche simple, mais elegante. 
 Les bergeres du prin/e»is, exceptc Madame de Vanberg, ne sont sans 
 doute plus prcsentables, mais il y en a d'autres assez gentilles, et 
 quoiqu'elles ne soyent pas en bien grand nombre, il y en aura toujours 
 assez pour vous, mon cher Monsieur. Peu il peu mon imagination m'a 
 emportd, et mon style s'dgaye, comme ceia nous arrivait quelquefois 
 dans nos chateaux en Espagne. 11 est bien terns de finir cet article, 
 rdsumons nous plus sc5rieusemcnt. 
 
 Si vous executcz Ic plan que vous avez imagine', j'aimerois meme h. 
 dire que voue eml^rassez, surtout d'apres ce que vous marquez vous 
 meme, Si je ne consultais que mon caitr et ma raison, Je romprois snr 
 Ic champ cette indii^ne chaine, &c. Eh ! que vouicz vous consulter, si 
 ce n'est votre coeur et votre raison ? Si, dis-jc, vous executez ce plan, 
 vous retrouvercz une libcrtd et une independance, que vous n'auriez 
 jamais du perdre, et dont vous meritez de jouir, une aisance qui ne vous 
 coutera qu'un voyage de cjuelques jours, une tranquillite que vous ne 
 pouvez avoir h. Londres, et enfin un ami qui n'a peut etre pas 6\.€ un 
 jour sans penser h. vous, et qui malgre scs ddfauts, ses foiblesses et son 
 inldriorite, est encore un des compagnons qui vous convient le mieux. 
 
 11 me rcste i\ vous appronure pourquoi je vous reponds si tard : vous
 
 286 EDV/ARD GIBBON, LONDON, TO G. DEYVERDUN. 
 
 savez dejk actuellement que ce n'est pas manque d'amitie et de zels 
 pour la chose ; mais votre leltre m'a €\€ renvoyee de Lausanne ici, b. 
 Strasbourg, et je n'ai passd qu'une poste sans y repondre, ce qui n'est 
 pas trop, vous I'avouerez, pour un pareil bavardage. Je suis parti de 
 Lausanne laveillede Paques pour venir voir un M. Bourcard de Basle, 
 fort de mes amis ; il est ici aupres du Comte de Cagliostro, pour profiter 
 de ses rem^des. Vous aurez entendu parler peut etre de cet homme 
 extraordinaire k tous egards. Comme j'ai €x.€ assez malade tout I'hyver, 
 \z profite aussi de ses remedes ; mais comme le tems du s^jour du 
 Comte ici n'est rien moins que sur, le mieux sera que vous m'^criviez ^ 
 M. D. ches M. Bourcard du Kirshgarten, a Basle. 
 
 Vous comprenez coml^ien k tous dgards, il est necessaire m'ecrire 
 sans parte de tems, desque vous aurez pris une resolution. Adieu, men 
 clier ami. 
 
 M. Gibbon a M. De\^erdun. 
 Je regois votre lettre du lo Juin, le 21 de ce mois. Aujourd'hui 
 Mardi 24th, je mets la main k la plume (comme dit M. Fr^ron) pour y 
 repondre, quoique ma missive ne puisse partir par arrangement des 
 postes, que Vendredi prochain, 27 du courant. O merveille, de la grace 
 efficace ! Elle n'agit pas moins puissamment sur vous, et moyennant 
 le secours toujours pret, et toujours prompt de nos couriers, un mois 
 nous suffit pour la demande et la rdponse. Je remercie mille fois le 
 g^nie de I'amitid, qui m'a pousse, apr^s mille efforts inutiles, a vous 
 ecrire enfin au moment le plus critique et le plus favorable. Jamais 
 d-marche n'a repondu si parfaitement k tous mes voeux et k toutes mes 
 esperances. Je comptois sans doute sur la duree et la vdrit^ de vos 
 sentimens ; mais j'ignorois (telle est la foiblesse humaine) jusqu'k quel 
 point ils avoient pu etre attiddis par le tems et I'cloignement ; et je 
 savois encore moins I'etat actuel de votre sante, de votre fortune et de 
 vos liaisons, qui auroient pu opposer tant d'obstacles k notre reunion. 
 Vous m'ecrivez, vous m'aimez toujours ; vous desirez avec zele, avec 
 ardeur,derealisernosanciens projets ; vous le pouvez,vous le voulez ; vous 
 m'offrez d^s I'automne votre maison, et quelle maison ! votre terrasse, et 
 quelle terrasse ! votre socidtd, et quelle socidte ! L'arrangement nous con- 
 vient k tous les deux ; je retrouve k la fois le compagnon de ma jeunesse, 
 un sage conseiller, et un peintre qui sait representer et exagdrer meme 
 les objets les plus rians. Ces exagerations me font pour le moins autant 
 de plaisir, que la simple vdritd. Si votre portrait dtoit tout k fait res- 
 semblant, ces agiemens n'existeroient que hors de nous mdmes, et 
 j'aime encore mieux les trouver dans la vivacitd de votre coeur et de, 
 votre imagination. Ce n'est pas que je ne reconnoisse un grand fond 
 de veritd dans le tableau de Lausanne ; je connois le lieu de la scene, 
 je me transporte en idde sur notre terrasse, je vois ces coteaux, ce lac, 
 ces montagnes, ouvrages favoris de la nature, et je congois sans peine 
 les embellissemens que votre gout s'est plus y ajouter. Je me rappelle 
 depuis vingt ou trente ans les moeurs, I'esprit, I'aisance de la socictd, et 
 je comprends que ce veritable ton de la bonne compagnie se perpetue, 
 et s'e'pure de pere en fils, ou plutot de mere en fille ; car il m'a toujours
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 28/ 
 
 paru qu'k Lausanne, aussi bien qu'en France, les femmes sont tr^s 
 supdrieures aux hommes. Dans un pareil sdjour, jecraindrois la dissi- 
 pation bien plus que I'ennui, et le tourbillon de Lausanne etonneroit un 
 philosophe accoutumd, dcpuis tantd'anndes h. latranquillite de Londres. 
 Vous etes trop instruit pour regarder ce propos, comme une mauvaise 
 plaisanterie ; c'est dans les ddtroits qu'on est entraine par la rapidite 
 des courans : il n'y en a point en pleine mer. Desqu'on ne recherche 
 plus les plaisirs bruyans, et qu'on s'affranchit volontiers des devoirs 
 penibles, la libertd d'un simple particulier se fortifie par Timmensite de 
 la ville. Quant a moi, I'application a mon grand ouvrage, I'habitude, 
 et la recompense du travail, m'ont rendu plus studieux, plus sendentaire, 
 plus ami dc la retraite. La chambre des communes et les grands 
 diners exigent beaucoup de tems ; et la temperance d'un repas 
 Anglois, vous permct de gouter de cinq ou six vins differens, et vous 
 ordonne de boire une bouteille de claret apres le desert. Mais enfin 
 je ne soupe jamais, je me couche de bonne heure, je regois peu de 
 visites, les matindes sont longues, les dtes sont libres, et desque je ferme 
 ma porte ; je suis oublie du Monde entier. Dans une societe plus 
 bornee et plus amicale, les demarches sont publiques, les droits sont 
 rdciproques, Ton dine de bonne heure, on se goute trop pour ne pas 
 passer I'apres-midi ensemble ; on soupe, on veille, et les plaisirs de la 
 soiree ne laissent pas de deranger le repos de la nuit, et le travail du 
 lendemain. Quel est cependant le resultat de ces plaintes ? c'est seule- 
 ment que la mariee est trop belle, et que j'ose me scrvir de I'excuse 
 honncte de la santd et du privilege d'un homme de lettres ; ilne tiendra 
 qu'il moi de moderer un peu I'exces de mcs jouissances. Pour cet 
 engouement que vous m'annoncez, et qui a toujours dtd le defaut des 
 peuples les plus spirituels, je I'ai dcja dprouve sur un plus grand 
 theatre. II y a six ans que I'ami de Madame Necker fut recu k Paris, 
 comme celui de George Deyverdun pourroit I'etre &. Lausanne. Je ne 
 connois rien de plustlatteur que cet accueil favorable d'un public poli 
 et cclairi^. Mais cette favour, si douce pour I'etranger, n'est-elle pas 
 un peu dangereuse pour I'habitant expose ^ voir fletrir ses lauriers, par 
 sa faute ou par I'inconstance des ses juges? Non ; on se soutient 
 toujours, pent etre pas precisement, au meme point d'dlevation. A 
 I'abri de trois gros volumes in quarto en langue etrangere, encore ce 
 qui n'est pas un petit avantage, je conserverai toujours la reputation 
 littcraire, et cette reputation donnera du relief aux qualitds sociales, si 
 Ton trouve I'historien sans travers, sans affectation et sans pretensions. 
 Je serai done charme et content de votre societe, et j'aurois pu dire en 
 deux mots, ce qui j'ai bavardd en deux pages ; mais il y a tant de 
 plaisir a, bavarder avec un ami ! car enfin je possede l\. Lausanne un 
 vdritable ami ; et les simples connoissances remplaccront sans beaucoup 
 de peine, tout ce qui s'appelle liaison, et meme amitid, dans, ce vaste 
 ddsert de Londres. Mais au moment ou j'dcris, je vols de tous cotes 
 une foule d'objets dont la perte sera bien plus difficile a rdparer. Vous 
 connoissiez ma bibliotheque ; mais je suis en dtat de vous rendre le 
 propos de votre maison c^est bien autre chose a cclie heure; formee peu 
 a peu, mais avec beaucoup de soin et de ddpense, elle peut se nommer 
 aujourd'hui un beau cabinet de particulier. Non content de remplir a 
 rangs redoublds la mcilleure piece qui lui ctoit destinee, elle s'est
 
 2 .^8 ON- TRANSPORT OF LIBRAR Y FROM L ONDON. 
 
 d<?bordee dans la chambre sur la rue, dans votre ancienne chambre \ 
 coucher, dans la mienne, dans tous les recoins de la maison de Bcnthick- 
 street, et jusqucs dans une chaumiere que je me suis donnee a Hampioti 
 Court. 
 
 J'ai mille courtisans ranges autour de moi : 
 
 Ma retraite est mon Louvre, et j'y commande en roi. 
 
 Le fonds est de la meilleure compagnie Grecque, Latine, Italienne, 
 Frangoise, et Angloise, et les auteurs les moins chers k Fhomme de gout, 
 dcs eccldsiastiques, des Byzantins, des Orientaux, sont les plus neces- 
 saires a I'historien de la decadence et de la chute, &c. Vous ne sentez 
 que trop bien le desagrdment de laisser, et I'impossibilite de transporter 
 cinq ou six milles volumes, d'autant plus que le ciel n'a pas voulu 
 faire de la Suisse, un pays maritime. Cependant mon zele pour la 
 rcussite de nos projets communs, me fait imaginer que ces obstacles 
 j)ourront s'applanir, et que je puis adoucir ou supporter ces privations 
 douloureuses. Les bons auteurs classiques, la bibliotheque des nations, 
 se retrouvent dans tous les pays. Lausanne n'est pas depourvu de 
 livrcs, ni de politesse, et j'ai dans I'esprit qu'on pourroit acquerir pour 
 un certain terns, quelque bibliotheque d'un vieillard ou d'un mincur, 
 dont la famille ne voudroit pas se ddfaire entierement. Quant aux 
 outils de mon travail, nous commencerons par examiner Tc'tat de nos 
 richesses ; apres quoi il faudroit faire un petit calcul du prix, du 
 poids et de la rarete de chaque ouvrage, pour juger de ce qu'il seroit 
 n^cessaire de transporter de Londres, et de ce qu'on achcteroit plus 
 commodement en Suisse ; k I'dgard de ces frais, on devroit les envisager 
 comme les avances d'une manufacture transplantde en pays ctranger, 
 et dont on espere rctirer dans la suite un profit raisonnable. Mal- 
 heureusement votre bibliotheque publique, en y ajoutant meme celle 
 de M. de Bochat, est assez piteuse ; mais celles de Berne et de Basle 
 sont tres nombreuses, et je compterois assez sur la bonhommie Helv^tique, 
 pour esperer que, moyennant des recommandations et des cautions, il 
 me seroit permis d'cn tirer les livres dont j'aurois essentiellement 
 besoin. Vois etes tres bien place pour prendre les informations, et 
 pour fixer les d-marches convenables ; mais vous voyez du moins 
 combien je me retourne de tous les cotes, pour esquiver la difficult^ la 
 plus formidable. 
 
 Venous k present h. des objcts moins relevds, mais tr^s importans \ 
 I'existence et au bien ctre de I'animal, le logcment, les domestiques, et 
 la table. Pour mon appartement particulier, une chambre h. coucher, 
 avec un grand cabinet et une antichambre, auroient sufii h. tous mes 
 besoins ; mais si vous pouvez vous en passer, je me promenerai avec 
 plaisir dans I'immensite de vos onze pieces, qui s'accommoderont sans 
 doute aux heures et aux saisons diffcrentes. L'articlc des domestiques 
 renferme une assez forte difficultc, sur la quelle je dois vous consulter. 
 V^ous connoissez, et vous estimez Caplin mon valet de chambre, maitre 
 d'hotel, &c. qui a etd nourri dans notre maison, et qui comptoit y finir 
 scs jours. Depuis votre depart, ses talens ct ses vertus se sont deve- 
 Ioi)I)ds dc plus en plus, et je le considere bien moins sur le pied d'un 
 • lomestique, que sur cclui d'un ami. Malheureusement il ne salt que 
 I'Anglois, et jamais il n'apprendra de langue dtrangcre. II m'accoin-
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 2 89 
 
 pagnn, il y a six ans, dans mon voyage \ Paris, mais il rapporta fidelc- 
 m'.'iu il Londres toute I'ignorance, et tous les prejuges d'un bon patriole. 
 A Lausanne il me couteroit beaucoup, et il I'exception du service per- 
 sonel, il ne nous seroit que d'une tres petite utilitd. Cependant je 
 supportcrois volontiers cctte dc'-pense, mais je suis tres persuade que, si 
 son attachement le portoit h. me suivre, il s'ennuyeroit h. mourir dans 
 un pays ou tout lui seroit otranger et desagreable. II faudroit done me 
 detacher d'un homme dont je connois le zele, la fidelite, rompre tout 
 d'un coup de pctites habitudes qui sont liees avec le bien etre journalier 
 et momentane, et se resoudre h lui substituer un visage nouveau, peut 
 etre un mauvais sujet, toujours quelque avanturier Suisse pris sur le 
 pave de Londres. V'ous rappellez vous un certain Georges Suisse qui 
 a fait autrefois avec moi, le voyage de France et d'ltalie? Je le crois 
 marie et etabli h. Lausanne ; s'il vit encore, si vous pouvez I'engager k 
 se rendre ici, pour me ramener en Suisse, la compagnie d'un bon et 
 ancien serviteur ne laisseroit pas d'adoucir la chute, et il resteroit peut 
 ^tre aupres de moi, jusqu'a ce que nous eussions choisi un jeune 
 homme du pays, adroit, modeste et bien eleve, ^ qui je ferois un parti 
 avantageux. Les autres domestiques, gouvernantes,laquais, cuisini^re, 
 (S:c. se prennent et se renvoyent sans difficulte. Un article bien plus im- 
 portant, c'est notre table, car enfin nous ne sommes pas assez hermites, 
 pour nous contenter des legumes et des fruits de votre jardin, tout 
 excellens qu'ils sont ; mais je n'ai prcsque rien k ajouter ^ I'honnetete 
 de vos propos, qui medonnent beaucoup plus de plaisirque de surprise. 
 Si je me trouvois sans fortune, au lieu de rougir des bienfaits de 
 I'amitie, j'accepterois vos offres aussi simplement que vous les faites. 
 Mais nous ne sommes pas reduits h. ce point, et vous comprenez assez 
 qu'une dcconhture Angloise laisse encore une foi'tune fort decente au 
 Pays de Vaud, et pour vous dire quelque chose de plus precis, je 
 depenserois sans peine et sans inconvenient cinq ou six cens Louis. 
 Vous connoissez le resultat aussi bien que les details d'un menage ; 
 en supposant une petite table de deux philosophes Epicuricns, cjuatre, 
 cinq, ou six domestiques, des amis assez souvent, des repas assez rare- 
 ment, beaucoup de sensualite, et peu de luxe, a combicn estimez vous 
 en gros le depcnse d'un mois et d'une annee ? Le partage c[ue vous 
 avez deJH fait, me paroit des plus raisonnables ; vous me logez, et je 
 vous nourris. A votre calcul, j'ajoutcrois mon entretien personnel, 
 habits, plaisirs, gages de domestiques, &c. et je vcrrois d'une mani^re 
 assez nette, I'ensemble dc mon petit dtablissemcnt. 
 
 Apres avoir essuydtant de details minulicux, lecherlecteur s'im.agine 
 sans doute que la rdsolution de me tixcr pendant quelque tcms aux 
 bords du Lac Ldman, est parfi^itement decidee. Hclas ! rien n'est 
 moins vrai ; mais je me suis livrd au charme ddlicieux de compter, de 
 sender, de palper ce bonheur, dont je sens tout le prix, qui est i ma 
 portde, et auquel j'aurai peut etre la betise de rcnoncer. Vous avez 
 raison de croire, mais vous ignorez jusqu'.\ quel point vous I'avez, que 
 ma carriC;re politique a dtd plus seme'e d epines que de roses. Eh ! quel 
 objet, c[uel mortel, pourroit me consoler de I'ennui des affaires, et de la 
 hontc de la dcpendance? La gloire? Comme homme de lef'.res, j'en 
 jouis, cornmc or;iteur je ne I'aurai jamais, et le nom des simples soldats 
 est oublid dans les victoires au^si bien que dans les ddfaitcs. Le devoir.
 
 290 G. DEYVERDUN, LAUSANNE, TO E. GIBBON, LONDON. 
 
 Dans ces combats a I'aveugle, ou les chefs ne cherclient que leui 
 avantage particulier, il y a toujours a parier que les subalternes feront 
 plus de mal que de bien. L'attachevient personnel? Les ministres 
 sont rarement dignes de I'inspirer ; jusqu'k present Lord North m'a 
 pas eu a se plaindre de moi, et si je me retire du Parlement, il lui sera 
 tres ais^ d'y substituer un autre muet, tout aussi affid^ que son ancien 
 serviteur. Je suis intimement convaincu, et par la raison, et par le 
 sentiment, qu'il n'y a point de parti, que me convienne aussi bien que 
 de vivre avec vous, et aupres de vous a Lausanne ; et si je parviens a 
 la place {Commissioner of the Excise or Ctistoms) ou je vise, il y aura 
 toutes les semaines cinq longues matinees, qui m'avertiront de la folia 
 de mon choix. Vous vous trompez a la vdrit6 a I'egard de I'instabilitd 
 de ces emplois ; ils sont presques les seuls qui ne se ressentent jamais 
 des revolutions du ministere. Cependant si cette place s'offroit bientot, 
 je n'aurois pas le bon sens et le courage de la refuser. Quels autres 
 conseillers veux je prendre, si non mon coeur et ma raison? 11 en est 
 de puissans et toujours ecoutes : les egards, la mauvaise honte, tous 
 mes amis, ou soi disant tels, s'dcrieront que je suis un homme perdu, 
 ruine, un fouqui se ddrobe a ses protecteurs, un misanthrope qui s'exile 
 au bout du monde, et puis les exag&ations sur tout ce qui seroit fait 
 en ma faveur, si surement, si promptement, si liberalement. Milord 
 Sheffield opinera k me faire interdire et enfermer ; mes deux tantes et 
 ma belle mere se plaindront que je les quitte pour jamais, &c. Et 
 I'embarras de prendre mon bonnet de nuit, comme disoit le sage 
 Fontenelle, lorsqu'il n'etoit question que de se coucher, combien de 
 bonnets de nuit ne me faudra-t-il pas prendre, et les prendre tout seul, 
 car tout le monde, amis, parens, domestiques, s'opposera a. ma fuite. 
 Voila a la vdritd des obstacles assez peu redoutables, et en les decrivant, 
 je sens qu'ils s'affoiblissent dans mon esprit. Grace a ce long bavar- 
 dage vous connoissez mon interieur, comme moi memo, c'est a dire, 
 assez mal ; mais cette incertitude, tres 'amicale pour moi, seroit tres 
 facheuse pour vous. Votre reponse me parviendra vers la fin de Juillet, 
 et huit jours apres, je vous prometsune replicjue nette et decisive : y.^ 
 pars ouje reste. Si je pars, ce sera au milieu de Septembre ; je man- 
 gerai les raisons de votre treille, les premiers jours d'Octobre, et vous 
 aurez encore le terns de me charger de vos commissions. Ne me dites 
 plus : Monsieur, et tres cher atnij le premier est froid, le second est 
 superflu. 
 
 M. Deyverdun & M. Gibbon. 
 
 Me voila un peu embarrasse actuellement ; je ne dois vous appeller 
 ni Monsieur, ni ami. Eh bien ! vous saurez qu'etant parti Samedi de 
 Strasbourg, pendant que je venois ici, votre seconde lettre alloit la, et 
 qu'ainsi je re9us votre troisieme, Dimanche, et votre seconde, hier. 
 La mention que vous y faisiez du Suisse George, dont je n'ai pu rien 
 trouver dans la premiere, m'a fait comprendre qu'il y en avoit une 
 seconde, ct j'ai cru devoir attendre un courier, la troisieme n'exigeant 
 pas de reponse. 
 
 Pour votre parole, pcrmettez que je vous en dispense encore, et
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 29 1 
 
 ."S^me jusqu'au dernier jour, je sens bien qu'un precede contraire, vous 
 conviendroit ; mais certes il ne me convient pas du tout. Ceci, comme 
 vous le dites, est une espece de mariage, et pensez vous que malgre les 
 engagemens les plus solemnels, je n'eusse pas reconduit chez elle, du 
 pied des autels, la femme la plus aimable qui m'eut temoigne des 
 regrets. Jamais je ne me consolerois, si je vous voyois mecontent 
 dans la suite, et dans le cas de me faire des reproches. C'est a vous a 
 faire, si vous croyez necessaire, des demarches de votre cote, qui 
 fortilient votre resolution ; pour moi, je n'en fcrai point d'essentielles, 
 jusqu a ce que j'aye re9u encore une lettre de vous. Apres ce petit 
 preambule, parlons toujours comme si I'affaire etoit decidee, et repassons 
 votre lettre. Tout ce que vous dites des grandes et petites villes est 
 tres vrai, et votre comparaison des detroits et de la pleine mer est on 
 ne peut pas plus juste et agreable ; mais enfin, covinie 01 fait son lit, 
 on se coitche, disoit Sanclio Pancha d'agreable memoire, et qui peut 
 mieux faire son lit a sa guise qu'un etranger, qui, n'ayant ni devoirs 
 d'etat ni de sang h, rcmplir, peut vivre entierement isole, sans que per- 
 sonne y puisse trouver h. redire ? Moi meme, bourgeois et citoyen de 
 la ville, je suis presqu'cntierement libre. L'ete, par exemple,je deteste 
 de m'cnfermer le soir dans des chambres chaudes, pour faire une 
 partie. Eh bien ! on m'a persecute un peu la premiere annde ; k pre- 
 sent on me laisse en repos. II y aura sans doute quelque changement 
 dans votre maniere de vivre ; mais il me semble qu'on se fait aisement 
 h. cela. Les diners, surtout en femmes, sont tres rares ; les soupers 
 peu grands ; on reste plutot pour etre ensemble, que pour manger, et 
 plusicurs personnes ne s'asseyent point, Je crois, tout compt^ et 
 rabattu, que vous aurcz encore plus de tems pour le cabinet qu'k 
 Londres ; on sort peu le matin, et quand nos amis communs viendront 
 chez mois, ct vous demanderont, je leur dirai ; " ce n'est pas un oisif 
 comme vous autres, il travaille dans son cabinet," et lis se tairont 
 respectueusement. 
 
 Pour les bibliotheques publiques, votre idtfe ne pourroit, je pense, 
 se rdaliser pour un lecteur ou meme un dcrivain ordinaire, mais un 
 homme qui joue un role dans la republique des lettres, un homme aimd 
 et considdrd, trouvera, je m'imagine, bien des facilites ; dailleurs, j"ai 
 de bons amis i Berne, et je prendrai ici des informations. 
 
 Passons h. la table. Si j'etois k Lausanne, cet article scroit plus 
 sur, je pourrois revoir mes papiers, consulter ; j'ai une chienne de 
 memoire. A vue de pays cela pourra aller de 20 h. 30 Louis par 
 mois, plus ou moins, vous sentez, suivant la friandise, et le plus ou 
 moins de convives. Marquez moi dans votre premiere combien vous 
 coiite le votre. 
 
 Je sens fort bien tous les bonnets de nuit : point de grands change- 
 mens sans embarras, mume sans regrets ; vous en aurez quelquefois 
 sans doute : par exemple, si votre salle ii manger, votre salle de com- 
 pagnic, sont plus riantes, vous perdrez pour le vase de la bibliotheque. 
 Pour ce qui est des representations, des discours au moins inutiles, il 
 me semble que le mieux scroit de masquer vos grandes opdrations, de 
 ne parler que d'une course, d'une visite chez moi, de six mois ou plus 
 ou moins. Vous fcricz bien, je pense, d'aller chez mon ami Louis 
 Teissier J c'est un brave ct lionnete homme, qui m'est attach^, qui
 
 292 E. GIBBON' TO G. DEY7ERDUN, AND LORD SHEFFIELD 
 
 aime notre pays ; il vous donnera tout plein de bons conseils avec 
 zele, et vous gardera le secret. 
 
 Vous auiez quelquefois k votre table un poete ; — oui, Monsieur, un 
 poete : — nous en avons un enfin. Procurez vous un volume 8vo. 
 Poesies Helvetiennes, impriincs FaiDieepasste cliez Monser, h Lausanne. 
 Vous trouverez entr'autres dans I'epitre au jardinier de la grotte, votre 
 ami ct votre pare. Toute la prose est de votre tres humble serviteur, 
 qui desire quelle trouve grace devant vous. 
 
 Le Comte de Cagliostro a fait un sejour a Londres. On ne sait qui 
 il est, d'oii il est, d'ou il tire son argent ; il Qxerce gratis ses talens pour 
 la modecine ; il a fait des cures admirables ; mais c'est d'ailleurs le 
 compose le plus etrange. J'ai cessd de prendre ses rdmedes qui 
 m'echauffoient — I'homme d'ailleurs me gatoit le medecin. Je suis 
 revenu a Basle avec mon ami. Adieu ; r^crivez moi le plutot possible. 
 
 M. Gibbon u M. Deyverdun. 
 
 Hampton Court, ce i Julliet, 1783. 
 Apres avoir pris ma resolution, Thonneur, et ce qui vaut encore 
 mieux I'amitie, me di^fendent de vous laisser un moment dans I'incerti- 
 tude. Je pars. Je vous en donne ma parole, et comme je suis bien 
 aise de me fortifier d'un nouveau lien, je vous prie tres s^rieusement de 
 ne pas m'en dispenser. Ma possession, sans doute, ne vaut pas celle 
 de Julie ; mais vous serez plus inexorable que St. Preux. Je ne sens 
 plus qu'une vive impatience pour notre reunion. Mais le mois 
 d'Octobre est encore loin ; 92 jours, et nous aurons tout le tems de 
 prendre, et de nous donncr des eclaircissemens dont nous avons besoin. 
 Apres un miir examcn, je renonce au voyage de George Suisse, qui me 
 paroit incertain, cher et diflicile. Apres tout mon valet de chambre et 
 ma bibliotheque, sont les deux articles les plus embarrassans. Si je 
 ne retenois pas ma plume, je remplirois sans peine la feuille ; mais il 
 ne faut pas passer du silence, a un babil intai'issable. Seulement si je 
 connois le Comte de Cagliostro, cet homme extraordinaire, &c. Savez 
 vous le Latin .'' oui, sans doute ; mais faitcs, comme si je ne le savois 
 point. Ouand retournez vous a Lausanne vous meme .'' Je pense que 
 vous y trouverez une petite bete bien aimable, mais tant soit peu 
 mechante, qui se nomme Milady Elizabeth Foster ; parlez lui de moi, 
 mais parlez en avec discretion ; elle a des correspondances partout. 
 Vale. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 July 10, 1783. 
 You will read the following lines with more patience and attention 
 than you would probably give to an hasty conference, perpetually inter- 
 rupted by the opening of the door, and perhaps by the quickness of 
 our ovvn tempers. I neither expect nor desire an answer on a subject 
 of extreme importance to myself, but wliich friendship alone can render 
 interesting to you. We shall soon meet at Sh.-.iTIicid.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 293 
 
 It is needless to repeat the reflections which we have sometimes 
 debated together, and which 1 have often seriously weighed in my 
 silent solitary walks. Notwithstanding your active and ardent spirit, 
 you must allow that there is some perplexity in my present situation, 
 and that my future prospects are distant and cloudy. I have lived 
 too long in the world to entertain a very sanguine idea of the friend- 
 ship or zeal of ministerial patrons ; and we are all sensible how much 
 the powers of patronage are reduced. * * *. At the end of the 
 Parliament, or rather long before that time, (for their lives are not 
 worth a \ ear's purchase,) our Ministers are kicked downstairs, and I 
 am left their disinterested friend, to fight through another opposi- 
 tion, and to expect the fruits of another revolution. But I will take a 
 more favourable supposition, and conceive myself in six months firmly 
 seated at the board of customs ; before the end of the next six months 
 I should infallibly hang myself. Instead of regretting my disappoint- 
 ment, I rejoice in my escape ; as I am satisfied that no salary could 
 pay me for the irksomeness of attendance, and the drudgery of busi- 
 ness so repugnant to my taste, (and I will dare to say,) so unworthy of 
 my character. Without looking forwards to the possibility, still more 
 remote, of exchanging that laborious office for a smaller annuity, there 
 is surely another plan, more reasonable, more simple, and more plea- 
 sant ; a temporary retreat to a quiet and less expensive scene. In a 
 four years' residence at Lausanne, I should live within my income, 
 save, and even accumulate, my ready money ; finish my History, an 
 object of profit, as well as fame, expect the contingencies of elderly 
 lives, and return to England at the age of fifty, to form a lasting inde- 
 pendent establishment, without courting the smiles of a Minister, or 
 apprehending the downfall of a party. Such have been my serious 
 sober reflections. Yet I much question, whether I should have found 
 courage to follow my reason and my inclination, if a friend had not 
 stretched his hand to draw me out of the dirt. The twentieth of last 
 May 1 wrote to my friend Deyverdun, after a long interval of silence, to 
 expose my situation, and to consult in what manner I might best arrange 
 myself at Lausanne. From his answer, which I received about a fort- 
 night ago, I have the pleasure to learn that his heart and his house 
 are both open for my reception ; that a family which he had lodged 
 for some years is about to leave him, and that at no other time my 
 company could have been so acceptable and convenient. I shall step, 
 at my arrival, into an excellent apartment and a delightful situation ; 
 the fair division of our expcnces will render them very moderate, and I 
 shall pass my time with the companion of my youth, whose temper 
 and studies have alwaj's been congenial to my own. I have given him 
 my word of honour to be at Lausanne in the beginning of October, and 
 no power or persuasion can divert me from this irrevocable resolu- 
 tion, which 1 am every day proceeding to execute. 
 
 I wish, but I scarcely hope, to convince you of the propriety of my 
 scheme ; but at least you will allow, that when we are not able to pre- 
 vent i\\c follies of our friends, we should strive to render them as easy 
 and harmless as possible. The arrangement of my house, furniture, 
 and books will be left to meaner hands, but it is to your zeal and judg- 
 ment alone that I can trust tiic more important disposal of Lenborough 
 
 u
 
 294 EDWARD GIBBON TO GEORGE DEYVERDUN, 
 
 and * * *. On these subjects we may go into a committee at Shef- 
 field-Place, but you know it is the rule of a committee, not to hear 
 any arguments against the principle of the bill. At present I shall 
 only observe, that neither of these negotiations ought to detain me 
 here ; the former may be dispatched as well, the latter much better, 
 in my absence. Vale. 
 
 M. GiBBor a M. Deyverdun. 
 
 Sheffield-Place, le 31 Juillet, 1783. 
 VoTRE papier s'est furicusement rappetis^ ; vous avez si bien re- 
 tranche le superflu, que vous oubliez I'essentiel, et ce n'est que pas des 
 conjectures fines et savantes que je devine la date du terns et du lieu. 
 Quant a moi je suis actuellement au chateau de Milord Sheffield, a 
 quarante milles de Londres, ce qui ajoute deux jours pour I'arriv^e et 
 le depart du courier. Je re9ois votre lettre (je ne sais du quantieme) 
 le 30 Juillet de I'an de grace 1783, je reponds du 31 du dit mois et de 
 la dite annde. Le zele ne se rallentit point pour la consummation du 
 grand ceuvre. Je sens votre procede delicat et gendreux, et quoique je 
 n'eusse pas ete fache de trouver dans votre fermete, un appui a la 
 mienne, mon inclination est si bien affermie sur la base inebranlable 
 de I'inclination et de la raison, cjue je ne crains plus les obstacles ex- 
 tdrieurs ni interieurs. Desque j'ai ose fixer mon depart, les nuages qui 
 le couvroient, se sont evanouis ; les montagnes s'aplanissoient devant 
 moi, et les dragons qui s'etoient present(fs sur ma route, se sont appri- 
 voises. La semaine passee, je frappai le grand coup par la cassation 
 du bail de ma maison de Bentinck-streetj et apres le mois de Sep- 
 tembre, si je ne couche pas a Lausanne, je coucherai dans la rue. Mes 
 differens bonnets de nuit s'arrangent tous les jours, avec beaucoup 
 d'ordre et de facilite. Lord Sheffield lui meme, ce terrible St. George, 
 vrai champion de I'Angleterre, s'est rendu a mes raisons, ou plutot aux 
 votres. II est charme du tableau de votre premiere lettre, et malgr^ 
 I'activit^ de son ame, au lieu de me condamner, il me porte envie ; et 
 nous disputons (un peu en I'air) sur le projet d'une visite que lui, son 
 amiable compagne et sa fiUe ainde, se proposent de nous faire dans 
 deux ans aux bords du Lac Leman. Bien loin de combattre mon 
 dessein, il me conseille, il me seconde dans I'ex^cution, et je n'aurai 
 pas besoin de recourir aux lumieres de votre ami Louis Teyssier, 
 d'autant plus que pour les menus ddtails de la correspondence etrangere, 
 je trouve dans le libraire Elmsly un conseiller sage, instruit et discret. 
 :",;: * * Votre calcul de la depcnse de la maison surpasse, non pas 
 absolument mes moyens, mais un peu mes esperanccs et mes conjec- 
 tures. La consummation en Suisse n'est point chargee d'impots ; le 
 vin y coule comme I'eau de fontaine ; votre jardin produit des fruits et 
 des legumes. Se peut il que vingt ou trente Louis se depensent tous 
 les mois pour le pain, la viande, le bois, la chandelle, quelque peu de 
 vin etranger, les domestiques de la cuisine, &;c. ? Je me flatte que 
 dans I'incertitude, vous avez cavd au plus fort ; mais enfin tout ce 
 detail se reglera suivant nos gouts ct nos facultes ; et un mois d'ex- 
 pcrience sera plus instructif que cent pages de raisonncmcns. La
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON 295 
 
 comparaison que vous me demandez de mon manage de Londres, nc 
 meneroit a rien. A la rigueur je ne tiens pas maison ; je ne donne 
 presque jamais a manger : en hyver je dine assez rarement chcz^ moi ; 
 je ne soui>e jamais ; et une partie assez considerable de la di'pcnse 
 (celle des clubs et des tavcrncs) n'entre point dans le comptc de la 
 maison. Ma nourriture domestique n'excede pas toutcfois votre calcul 
 Lausannois ; mais je sens la difference entre le petit couvert triste ct 
 mesquin d'un gar^on, et la table honnete et hospitaliere de deux amis, 
 qui auront d'autres amis, &c. 
 
 Votre idee de masquer mes grands operations est de la plus profonde 
 politique ; mais les declarations, et meme les demarches qui seront 
 ndcessaires pour me retirer de la Chamljre des Communes, declareront 
 un peu trop tot I'etendue de mes projets. Cependant on peut tircr 
 quelque parti de cette honnete dissimulation, pour calmer un peu les 
 scrupules, et les regrets des dames agces que vous connoissez, et que 
 vous ne connoissez pas. Mais le moyen le plus efhcace pour arretcr, 
 ou pour ne pas ^couter les mauvais discours, c'est de s'y derober par 
 une prompte fuite, et depuis que ma resolution a ete prise, je compte 
 les jours et les momens. Le 10 du mois prochain je retournerai k 
 Londres, ou je travaillerai vivement 5. preparer ce grand changement 
 d'etat. J'attends tous les jours la reponse de Madame Gibbon, a qui 
 j'ai tache de persuader quune entrevue de trois ou quatre jours k Bath, 
 seroit moins douce qu'amere a tous les deux. Si elle se rend, ou fait 
 semblant de se rendre a mes raisons, je compte que tout sei^a fini la 
 premiere, ou du moins la seconde semaine de Septembre, et comme jc 
 coupcrai droit par la Champagne, el la Franche-Comte, je pourrois 4ort 
 bien me trouver h, Lausanne vers le 20 ou le 25 de ce mois la, suppose 
 toujours que cette promptitude vous convienne, que votre maison sera 
 libre, ct que vous y serez rendu vous meme. J'avois quelque idee de 
 me detourncr par Strasbourg, de vous prendre ci Basle, et de passer 
 avec vous par Berne, &c. mais, tout bien considere, j'aimemieux abreger 
 le grand voyage et reserver cette promenade (si nous avions envie de 
 la faire) pour une saison plus tranquille. J'attends votre reponse dans 
 une trentaine de jours ; mais sans I'attendre je vous ecrirai de Londres, 
 pour continuer le fil de I'histoire, et peut etre pour vous charger de 
 quelques achats de livres, qui se feront plus commodement 3 Basle 
 qu'ii Lausanne. Vous ne me donnez point de commissions. Ce- 
 pendant ce pays n'est pas sans Industrie. Milord et Milady Shef- 
 field vous embrassent tres amicalement. Ce sera pour mois la pertc 
 la plus sensible. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Monday, August 18, 1783. 
 In the preparation of my journey I have not felt any circumstance 
 more deeply than the kind concern of Lady Sheffield and the silent 
 grief of Mrs. Porten. Yet the age of my friends makes a very essential 
 difference. I can scarcely hope ever to see my aunt again ; but I 
 flatter myself, that in less than two years, my sister will make me a 
 visit, and that in less than four, I shall return it with a cheerful heart
 
 296 GEORGE DEYVERDUN 70 EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 at Sheffield-Place. Business advances ; this morning my books wer« 
 shipped for Rouen, and will reach Lausanne almost as soon as myself. 
 On Thursday morning the bulk of the library moves from Bentinck- 
 street to Dovvning-street. I shall escape from the noise to Hampton 
 Court, and spend three or four days in taking leave. I want to know 
 your precise motions, what day you arrive in town, whether you visit 
 Lord * * * before the races, &c. I am now impatient to be gone, and 
 shall only wait for a last interview with you. Your medley of judges, 
 advocates, politicians, &c. is rather useful than pleasant. Town is a 
 vast solitude. Adieu. 
 
 llie Same to the Same. Bentinck-street, Aug. 20, 1783. 
 
 I AM now concluding one of the most unpleasant days of my life. 
 Will the day of our meeting again be accompanied with proportionable 
 satisfaction ? The business of preparation will serve to agitate and 
 divert my thoughts ; but I do not like your brooding over melancholy 
 ideas in your solitude, and I heartily wish that both you and my dear 
 Lady S. would immediately go over and pass a week at Brighton. 
 Such is our imperfect nature, that dissipation is a far more efficacious 
 remedy than reflection. At all events, let me hear from you soon. I 
 have passed the evening at home, without gaining any intelligence. 
 
 M. Deyverdun h M. Gibbon. 
 
 De Neuchatel, le 20 Aout, 1783. 
 
 Il y long terns que je n'ai €\.€ aussi mecontent de moi que je le suis 
 dans ce moment ; j"ai fait par I'dvenement une grande dtourderie ; j'ai 
 manque )x ccux qui me quittent, et k celui qui vient me joindre ; enfin 
 je me suis trcs mal conduit. M. * * *, qui loge chez moi, me paraissoit 
 si dispose a quitter ma maison, quand je partis au printems, que ne 
 doutant pas qu'il ne trouvat a s'arranger pendant tout I'etd, je la 
 regardois dejh. d'avance comme vacante. Le plaisir extreme que j'avois 
 a vous I'offrir, n'a pas peu contribud b. soutenir cette illusion ; enfin 
 n'entendant parler cependant de rien, je lui ai ecrit, apres avoir re^u il 
 y a six jours votre derniere, et il vient de me repondre qu'il n'a rien 
 trouvd encore, mais qu'il n'cpargnera ni soins ni depenses, pour deloger, 
 je ne lui ai au reste point marqud de quoi il dtoit question ; mais je I'ai 
 prie de me dire ^ quelle epoque il croyoit que ma maison pourroit etre 
 vacante. Je lui recrirai demain, car il me parait qu'il est pique, et tel 
 que je le connois, malgre ce que je pourrai lui marquer, il sera fort 
 empressd h. decamper ; mais malgre cela, il ne faut plus compter sur la 
 maison enti^re pour votre arrivee. 
 
 Je vous demande mille pardons, mon cher ami, je me mets k votre 
 merci ; et en verite si vous me voyiez en ce moment, vous auriez pitid 
 de moi. Que nous reste-t-il a faire ? car enfin il ne faut pas perdre la 
 tete. J'ai un appartement de deux chambres sans lit, et deux petits 
 cabinets, ou vous pourriez etre passablement, en attendant que la 
 maison fut tout a fait libre ; le tout est i plein picd de Ir terr-isse, je me 
 
 i
 
 Tlik CORRESPOMDEMCE 6F EDlVARI') C/nBO.V. 297 
 
 prociircrois un loc^cmcnt au bout de mon jardin, et nous pourrions nnus 
 iairc appoiter ;\ manger, chose pratiquc'c par nombrc de Grands Sei- 
 j;neurs, entr'autrcs par Monseigneur le Margrave d'Anspach, 2. Ou bien 
 loucr un appartement garni que nous occuperons ensemble. Ou enfin 
 3, passer riiyver dans quelle autre ville du Continent qu'il vous plaira 
 choisir, ou j'irai vous joindre et vous porter mes excuses. Une reflexion 
 que je fais dans ce moment ci, et qui me console un peu, c'est que dans 
 votre premiere lettre, votre resolution ne tenoit point .\ ma maison, ni 
 meme ;\ Tidec de loger et vivre avec moi. Ce second article aura 
 toujours lieu, s'il vous convient, et le premier ne sera que differe ; ainsi 
 appaisez vous, mon clier ami, pardonnez moi, et ecrivez moi tout de 
 suite lequel de ces partis vous convient le mieux, pour que je m'y con- 
 forme ; ou si vous en iraaginez un nouveau, annoncez le moi. Une 
 reflexion qui contribute encore a me consoler, c'est que pendant le terns 
 que nous camperons ainsi en quelque maniere, nous aurons le tems de 
 bien voir autour de nous, et de nous arranger a notre aise, d'une maniere 
 stable et commode pour notre etablissement. Encore une fois cepen- 
 dant, mon cher ami, mille pardons. 
 
 Milord Sheffield s'est montre plus raisonnablc que je ne I'aurais cru ; 
 diantre ! n'allez pas dire cela a sa scigneurie ; mais dites-lui, je vous 
 pric, combien me plait I'espoir d'avoir I'honneur de le connoitre ; je 
 vois encore d'ici son beau pare et le charmant ruisseau. Son suffrage 
 dans des circonstances qui doivent sans doute le pruvenir contre moi, 
 me fait le plus grand plaisir, parceque je le regarde comme une bien 
 forte preuve que vous prenez un parti convenable a votre bonheur. 
 Des commissions, je ne saurais trop que vous dire dans ce moment ; 
 comme vous avez une maison montee, voyez s'il n'y auroit pas des 
 choses Anglaises auxquelles vous etes accoutumt^ et qui vous feroient 
 plaisir, on en pourroit remplir une caisse. Un service de cette porce- 
 laine de Bath, par exemple, nous conviendroit, ce me semble, assez. 
 
 Une de mes craintes maintenant, c'est que cette lettre ne vous par- 
 vienne peut etre point avant votre dtfpart ; cela serait tres facheux. 
 Toujours aurai-je soin de me trouver a Lausanne, au moins vers le 
 milieu demois prochain. Des couriers, comme celui que vous amenez, 
 sont ordinairement de vrais domestiques de Grands Seigneurs, chers et 
 importans ; mais vous les connoitrez en route. Ne soyez pas trop 
 fach^ contre moi, du contretems que je vous annonce, et pensez qu'il y 
 a entin un appartement honnete de gar^on, ma terrasse, mon jardin et 
 votre ami, qui ne peuvcnt vous manquer — 
 
 Tout i vous, 
 
 D. 
 
 Edward Giebon Esq. to the Right Hon, Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Friday, August 22, 1783. 
 I AM astonished with your apparition and flight, and am at a loss to 
 conjecture the mighty and sudden business of * * *, which could 
 not be delayed till next week. Timeo * * *, their selfish cunning, 
 and your sanguine unsuspecting spirit. Not dreaming of your arrival, I 
 thought it unnecessary to apprise you, that I delayed leaving; Hampton
 
 298 FINAL ARRANGEMENTS FOR MOVING TO LAUSANNE. 
 
 to this day ; on Monday I shall return, and will expect you Tuesday 
 evening, either in Bentinck or Downing street, as you like best. You 
 have seen the piles of learning accumulated in your parlour ; the trans- 
 portation will be achieved to-day, and Bentinck-street is already re- 
 duced to a light, ignorant habitation, which I shall inhabit till about 
 the first of September ; four days must be allowed for clearing and 
 packing ; these I shall spend in Downing-street, and after seeing you 
 a moment on your return, I shall start about Saturday the sixth. 
 London is a desert, and life, without books, business, or society, will 
 be somewhat tedious. From this state, you will judge that your plan 
 coincides very well, only I think you should give me the whole of 
 Wednesday in Bentinck-street. With regard to Bushy, perhaps as a 
 compliment to Lord L. you had better defer it till your return. I ad- 
 mire Gregory Way, and should envy him, if I did not possess a dispo- 
 sition somewhat simil xv to his own. My Lady will be reposed and 
 restored at Brighton ; the torrent of Lords, Judges, &c. a proper 
 remedy for you, was a medicine ill-suited to her constitution. I tenderly 
 embrace her. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Rio^Jit Hon. Lady Sheffield. 
 My dear Friend, Bentinck-street, August 30, 1783. 
 
 For the names of Sheffelina, &c. are too playful for the serious temper 
 of my mind. In the whole period of my life I do not recollect a day in 
 which I felt more unpleasant sensations, than that on which I took my 
 leave of Sheffield-Place. I forgot my friend Deyverdun, and the fair 
 prospect of quiet and happiness which awaits me at Lausanne. I lost 
 sight of our almost certain meeting at the end of a term, which, at our 
 age, cannot appear very distant ; nor could I amuse my uneasiness 
 with the hopes, the more doubtful prospect, of your visit to Switzerland. 
 The agitation of preparing everything for my departure has, in some 
 degree, diverted these melancholy thoughts ; yet I still look forwards 
 to the decisive day (to-morrow se'nnight) with an anxiety of which 
 yourself and Lord S. have the principal share. 
 
 Surely never anything was so unlucky as the unseasonable death of 
 Sir John Russel on his passage to his friend at Sheffield-Place, which 
 so strongly reminded us of the instability of human life and human ex- 
 pectations. The inundation of the assizes must have distressed and 
 overpowered you ; but I hope and I wish to hear from yourself, that 
 the air of your favourite Brighton, the bathing, and the quiet society of 
 two or three friends have composed and revived your spirits. Present 
 my love to Sarah, and compliments to Miss Carter, &c. Give me a 
 speedy and satisfactory line. I am most truly yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield, 
 
 Downing-street, September 8, 1783. 
 
 As we are not unconscious of each other's feelings, I shall only 
 
 say, that T am glad you did not go alone into Sussex ; an American
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 299 
 
 rebel to dispute with gives a diversion to uneasy spirits, and I heartily- 
 wished for such a friend or adversary during the remainder of the 
 day. No letter from Deyverdun ; the post is arrived, but two P'landers' 
 mails are due. ^olus does not seem to approve of my designs, and 
 there is little merit in waiting till Friday. I should wait with more re- 
 luctance, did I think there was much chance of success. I dine with 
 Craufurcl, and if anything is decided, Avill send an extraordinary 
 Gazette. You have obliged me beyond expression, by your kindness 
 to aunt Kitty ; she will drink her afternoon tea at Sheffield next Fri- 
 day. For my sake Lady S. will be kind to the old lady, who will not 
 be troublesome, and will vanish at the first idea of Brighton. Has not 
 that salubrious air already produced some effects ? Peace will be pro- 
 claimed to-morrow ; odd ! as war was never declared. The buyers 
 of stock seem as indifferent as yourself about the definitive treaty. 
 Tell Maria, that though you had forgotten the Annales de la Vcrtu, I 
 have directed them to be sent, but know nothing of their plan or merit. 
 Adieu. When you see my Lady, say everything tender and friendly 
 to her. I did not know how much I loved her. She may depend 
 upon my keeping a separate, though not perhaps a very frequent 
 account with her. A propos, I think aunt Kitty has a secret wish to 
 sleep in my room ; if it is not occupied, she might be indulged. Once 
 more, adieu. 
 
 Af. Gibbon h 3f. Deyverdun. 
 DowNiNG-STREET, a LoNDRES, le Q Septembre 17S3. 
 Selon ma diligence ordinaire je repondis le 31 Juillet a votrc lettre 
 sans date, rcQue le jour auparavant. Je voyois couler le mois d'Aout, 
 fortement persuade qu'il ne s'acheveroit point, sans m'apporter votre 
 nltiinatuvi. Nous voici au 9 Septembre, quarante jours depuis ma 
 missive, et je n'ai point encore de vos nouvelles ! 11 est vrai que des 
 vents contraires nous retiennent deux malles de Flandres, et vos 
 depcches peuvent et doivent s'y trouver. Mais si elles ne m'apportent 
 rien de votre part, je serai tres dtonne, et pas moins embarrass^. Se 
 peut-il que vos lettres, ou les miennes se soient dgar^es en chemin ? 
 etes vous mort ? etes vous malade ? avez vous change d'avis ? est-il 
 survenu des difficultes ? Je vous ai dcrit de nouveau le 19 Aout ; mais 
 I'incertitude de mes craintes me salt encore hazarder ce billet. Apres 
 des travaux inouis, j ai enfin brisd tons mes liens, et depuis ma reso- 
 lution, je n'ai pas eu un instant de regrets ; ma vive impatience se 
 fortific tous les jours, et depuis que j'ai abandonnd ma maison et ma 
 bibliotheque, I'ennui a prete des ailes ^ I'esperance et k I'amitid Enfin 
 j'avois fixd mon depart au commencement de la semaine ; ci cette 
 heure il est renvoye a Vendredi prochain, 12 de ce mois, dans la sup- 
 position toujours d'une lettre de votre part, car je ne saurois entre- 
 prendre ma course, sans etre assured de la rt^ception qui m'attend au 
 bout. Je me ferai toujours precdder par un mot de billet ; mais la 
 saison est tcUement orageuse, qu'il me sera impossible d'arreter le jour 
 de mon arrivde h. Lausanne, jusqu'a ce que je me voye en suretc au- 
 dela de la mcr. Adieu. Vous dcvez etre de retour h, Lausanne. 
 Annoncez moi aux enfans des mes anciennes connoissances.
 
 300 ANXIETY OP E. GIBBON AS TO COMPORT OP BIS AUNT. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield, 
 
 Thursday, September ii, 1783. 
 The scheme (which you may impart to my Lady) is completely 
 panished, and 1 support the disappointment with heroic patience. 
 # * * g^es down to Chatsworth to-morrow, and * * * does not recom- 
 mend my waiting for the event ; yet the appointment is not yet declared, 
 and I am ignorant of the name and merits of my successful com- 
 petitor. Is it not wonderful that I am still in suspence, without a 
 letter from Deyverdun ? No, it is not wonderful, since no Flanders 
 mail is arrived : to morrow three will be due. I am therefore in a 
 miserable state of doubt and anxiety ; in a much better house indeed 
 than my own, but without books, or business, or society. I send or 
 call two or three times each day to Elmsly's, and can only say that I 
 shall fly the next day, Saturday, Sunday, (S:c. after I have got my 
 quietus. Aunt Kitty was delighted with my Lady's letter ; at her age, 
 and in her situatioa, every kind attention is pleasant. I took my leave 
 this morning ; and as I did not wish to repeat the scene, and thought 
 she would be better at Sheffield, I suffer her to go to-morrow. Your 
 discretion will communicate or withhold any tidings of my departure 
 or delay as you just most expedient. Christie writes to you this post ; 
 he talks, in his rhetorical way, of many purchasers. Do you approve 
 of his fixing a day for the auction ? To us he talked of an indefinite 
 advertisement. No news, except that we keep Negapatnam. The 
 other day the French Ambassador mentioned that the Empress of 
 
 Russia, a precious , had proposed to ratify the principles of the 
 
 armed neutrality, by a definitive treaty ; but that the French, obliging 
 creatures ! had declared, that they would neither propose nor accept 
 an article so disagreeable to England. Grey Elliot was pleased with 
 your attention, and says you are a perfect master of the subject 
 (American commerce). Adieu. If I could be sure that no mail would 
 arrive to-morrow, I would run down with my aunt. My heart is not 
 light. I embrace my Lady with true affection, but I need not repeat it. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Downing-STREET, Friday, September 12, 1783. 
 Since my departure is near, and inevitable, you and Lady S. will be 
 rather sorry than glad to hear that I am detained, day after day, by 
 the caprice of the winds. Three Flanders Mails are now due. I 
 know not how to move without the final letter from Deyverdun, which 
 I expected a fortnight ago, and my fancy (perfectly unreasonable) 
 begins to create strange phantoms. A state of suspence is painful, 
 but it will be alleviated by the short notes which I mean to write, and 
 hope to receive, every post. A separation has some advantages, 
 though they are purchased with bitter pangs ; among them is the 
 pleasure of knowing how dear we are to our friends, and how dear 
 they are to us. It will be a kind office to sooth aunt Kitty's sorrows, 
 and " to rock the cradle of declining age." She will be vexed to hear 
 that I am not yet gone ; but she is reasonable and cheerful. Adieu. 
 Most truly yours.
 
 7 HE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 30I 
 
 Edward Gibbon', Esq. to the Rvj;ht Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 DowNiNG-ST., Sat., Sept. 13, 1783. 
 
 Enfin la bombe a creve. — The three Flanders mails are arrived this 
 day, but without any letters from Deyverdun. Most incomprehensible ! 
 After many adverse reflections, I have finally resolved to begin my 
 journey on Monday ; a heavy journey, with much apprehension, and 
 much regret. Yet I consider, first. That if he is alive and well, (an 
 unpleasant //',) scarcely any event can have happened to disappoint our 
 mutual wishes ; and, 2ndly, That, supposing the very worst, even that 
 worst would not overthrow my general plan of living abroad, though 
 it would derange my hopes of a quiet and delightful establishment 
 with my friend. Upon the whole, without giving way to melancholy 
 fears, my reason conjectures that his indolence thought it superfluous 
 to write any more, that it was my business to act and move, and his 
 duty to sit still and receive me with open arms. At least he is well 
 informed of my operations, as I wrote to him (since his last) July 
 thirty-first, from Sheffield-Place ; August nineteenth ; and this week, 
 September ninth. The two first have already reached him. 
 
 As I shall not arrive at, or depart from, Dover till Tuesday night, 
 (alas ! I may be confined there a week,) you will have an opportunity, 
 by dispatching a parcel per post to Elmsly's, to catch the Monday's 
 post. Let us improve these last short moments : I want to hear how 
 poor Kitty behaves. I am really impatient to be gone. It is provoking 
 to be so near, yet so far from, certain persons. London is a desert. 
 I dine to-morrow with the Paynes, who pass through. Lord Lough- 
 borough was not returned from Buxton yesterday. Sir Henry Clinton 
 found me out this morning : he talks with rapture of visits to be made 
 at Sheffield, and returned at Brighton. I envy him those visits more 
 than the red ribbon. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Dover, Wed., Sept. 17, 1783. 
 
 The best laws are useless without proper guardians. Your letter /t'r 
 Sunday's post is not arrived, (its fate is uncertain and irrevocable, you 
 must repeat any material article,) but that per Monday's post reached 
 me last night. Oliver is more insolent than his great-grandfather ; 
 but you will cope with one, and would not have been much afraid of 
 the other. Last night the wind was so high, that the vessel could not 
 stir from the harbour ; this day it is brisk and fair. We are flattered 
 with the hope of making Calais harbour by the same tide, in three 
 hours and a half ; but any delay will leave the disagreeable option of 
 a tottering boat or a tossing night. What a cursed thing to live in an 
 island, this step is more awkward than the whole journey ! The 
 triumvirate of this memorable embarkation will consist of the grand 
 Gibbon, Henry Laurence Esquire, President of Congress, and Mr. 
 Secretary, Colonel, Admiral, Philosopher, Thompson, attended by three 
 horses, who are not the most agreeable fellow-passengers. If we 
 survive, I will finish and seal my letter at Calais. Our salvation shall 
 be ascribed to the prayers of my Lady and Aunt ; for I do believe 
 they both pray.
 
 302 E. GIBBON, LAUSANNE, TO LORD SHEFFIELD, LONDON. 
 
 Boulogne, Thursday Morning, Ten o'clock. 
 Instead of Calais, the wind has driven us to Boulogne, where wft 
 landed in the evening, without much noise and difficulty. The night is 
 passed, the custom-house is despatched, the post-horses are ordered, 
 and I shall start about eleven o'clock. I had not the least symptom of 
 sea-sickness, while my companions were spewing round me. Lau- 
 rence has read the pamphlet,* and thinks it has done much mischief. 
 A good sign ! Adieu. The Captain is impatient. I shall reach Lau- 
 sanne by the end of next week, but may probably write on the road. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Langres, Sept. 23, 1783. 
 Let the geographical Maria place before you the map of France, and 
 trace my progress as far as this place, through the following towns : 
 Boulogne, (where I was forced to land,) St. Omer, (where I recovered 
 my road,) Aire, Bethune, Douay, Cambray, St. Ouintin, La Fere, Laon, 
 Rheims, Chalons, St. Dizier, and Langres, where I have just finished 
 my supper. The Inns, in general, more agreeable to the palate, than 
 to the sight or smell. But, with some short exceptions of time and 
 place, I have enjoyed good weather and good roads, and at the end of 
 the ninth day, I feel so little fatigued, that the journey appears no more 
 than a pleasant airing. I have generally conversed with Homer and 
 Lord Clarendon, often with Caplin and Muff (his dog) ; sometimes 
 with the Fi'ench postillions, of the above mentioned animals the least 
 rational. To-morrow I lie at Besan^on, and, according to the arrange- 
 ment of post or hired horses, shall either sup at Lausanne on Friday, 
 or dine there Saturday. I feel some suspense and uneasiness with 
 regard to Deyverdun ; but in the scale both of reason and constitution, 
 my hopes preponderate very much above my fears. From Lausanne 
 I will immediately write. I embrace my Lady. If aunt Kitty's gra- 
 titude and good-breeding have not driven her away upon the first 
 whisper of Brighton, she will share this intelligence ; if she is gone, a 
 line from you would be humane and attentive. IMonsieur les Chevaicx 
 seront prets a cinq hciirs. Adieu. I am going into an excellent bed, 
 about six feet high from the ground. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. 30, 1783. 
 I arrived safe in harbour last Saturday, the 27th instant, about ten 
 o'clock in the morning ; but as the post only goes out twice a week, it 
 was not in my power to write before this day. Except one day, be- 
 tween Langres and Besangon, which was laborious enough, I finished 
 my easy and gentle airing without any fatigue, either of mind or body. 
 I found Deyverdun well and happy, but much more happy at the siglit 
 of a friend, and the accomplishment of a scheme which he had so long 
 and impatiently desired. His garden, terrace, and park, have even 
 
 * Lord ShefTield's Observations on the Commerce of the American States.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIRBON. 303 
 
 exceeded the most sanguine of my expectations and remembrances ; 
 and you yourself cannot have fort,rottcn the charming prospect of tlie 
 lake, the mountains, and the declivity of the Pays de Vaud. But as 
 human life is perpetually chequered with good and evil, I have found 
 some disappointments on my arrival. The easy nature of Deyverdun, 
 his indolence, and his impatience, had prompted him to reckon too 
 positively that his house would be vacant at Michaelmas ; some unfore- 
 seen difhculties have arisen, or have been discovered when it was 
 already too late, and the consummation of our hopes is (I am much 
 jifraid) postponed to next spring. At first, I was knocked down by 
 the unexpected thundei-bolt, but I have gradually been reconciled to 
 my fate, and have granted a free and gracious pardon to my friend. 
 As his own apartment, which afforded me a temporary shelter, is much 
 too narrow for a settled residence, we hired for the winter a convenient 
 ready furnished apartment in the nearest part of the Rue de Bourg, 
 whose backdoor leads in three steps to the terrace and garden, as often 
 as a tolerable day shall tempt us to enjoy their beauties ; and this 
 arrangement has even its advantage, of giving us time to deliberate 
 and provide, before we enter on a larger and more regular establish- 
 ment. But this is not the sum of my misfortunes ; hear and pity ! 
 The day after my arrival (Sunday) we had just finished a very tem- 
 perate dinner, and intended to begin a round of visits on foot, chapcatt 
 sous le bras, when, most unfortunately, Deyverdun proposed to shew 
 me something in the court ; we boldly and successfully ascended a 
 flight of stone steps, but in the descent I missed my footing, and 
 strained, or sprained, my ancle in a painful manner. My old latent 
 enemy, (I do not mean the Devil,) who is always on the watch, has 
 made an ungenerous use of his advantage, and I much fear that my 
 arrival at Lausanne will be marked with a fit of the gout, though it is 
 quite unnecessary that the intelligence or suspicion should find its way 
 to Bath. Yesterday afternoon I lay, or at least sat, in state to receive 
 visits, and at the same moment my room was filled with four different 
 nations. The loudest of these nations was the single voice of the Abbe 
 Raynal, who, like your friend, has chosen this place for the asylum of 
 freedom and history. His conversation, which might be very agree- 
 able, is intolerably loud, peremptory, and insolent ; and you would 
 imagine that he alone was the monarch and legislator of the world. 
 Adieu. I embrace my Lady and the infants. With regard to the 
 important transactions for which you are constituted plenipotentiary, I 
 expect with some impatience, but with perfect confidence, the result of 
 your labours. You may remember what I mentioned of my conversa- 
 tion with * * * about the place of Minister at Berne ; I have talked it 
 over with Deyverdun, who does not dislike the idea, provided this 
 place was allowed to be my villa during at least two-thirds of the year ; 
 but for my part, I am sure that * * * are worth more than ministerial 
 friendship and gratitude ; so I am inclined to think, that they 
 are preferable to an office which would be procured with difficulty, 
 enjoyed with constraint and cxpence, and lost, perhaps, next April, in 
 the annual revolutions of our domestic Government. Again adieu.
 
 304 COMFORTS OF THE SWISS HOME OF THE HISTORIAN. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right. Hon. Lady Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, October 28, 1783. 
 The progress of my gout is in general so regular, and there is so 
 much uniformity in the History of its Decline and Fall, that I have 
 hitherto indulged my laziness, without much shame or remorse, without 
 supposing that you would be very anxious for my safety, which has been 
 sufficiently provided for by the triple care of my friend Deyverdun, 
 my humbler friend Caplin, and a very conversable physician, (not the 
 famous Tissot,) whose ordinary fee is ten batz, about fifteen pence 
 English. After the usual increase and decrease of the member (for it 
 has been confined to the injured part) the gout has retired in good 
 order, and the remains of weakness, which obliged me to move on the 
 rugged pavement of Lausanne with a stick, or rather small crutch, are 
 to be ascribed to the sprain, which might have been a much more 
 serious business. As I have now spent a month at Lausanne, you will 
 enquire with much curiosity, more kindness, and some mixture of spite 
 and malignity, how far the place has answered my expectations, and 
 whether 1 do not repent of a resolution which has appeared so rash and 
 ridiculous to my ambitious friends ? To this ciuestion, however natural 
 and reasonable, I shall not return an immediate answer, for two 
 reasons : i. / have not yet made a fair trial. The disappointment and 
 delay with regard to Deyverdun's house, will confine us this winter to 
 lodgings, rather convenient than spacious or pleasant. I am only begin- 
 ning to recover my strength and liberty, and to look about on persons 
 and things ; the greatest part of those persons are in the country taken 
 up with their vintage ; my books are not yet arrived, and, in short, I 
 cannot look upon myself as settled in that comfortable way which you 
 and I understand and relish. Yet the weather has been heavenly, and 
 till this time, the end of October, we enjoy the brightness of the sun, 
 and somewhat gently complain of its immoderate heat. 2. If I should 
 be too sanguine in explaining my satisfaction in what I have done, you 
 would ascribe that satisfaction to the novelty of the scene, and the in- 
 constancy of man ; and 1 deem it far more safe and prudent to post- 
 pone any positive declaration, till I am placed by experience beyond 
 the danger of repentance and recantation. Yet of one thing I am sure, 
 that I possess in this country, as well as in England, the best cordial of 
 life, a sincere, tender, and sensible friend, adorned with the most valu- 
 able and pleasant qualities both of the heart and head. The inferior 
 enjoyments of leisure and society are likewise in my power ; and in the 
 short excursions which I have hitherto made, I have commenced or 
 renewed my acquaintance with a certain number of persons, more 
 especially women, (who, at least in France and this country, are un- 
 doubtedly superior to our prouder sex,) of rational minds and elegant 
 manners. I breakfast alone, and have declared that I receive no visits 
 in a morning, which you will easily suppose is devoted to study. 1 find 
 it impossible, without inconvenience, to defer my dinner beyond two 
 o'clock. We have got a ver>' good woman cook. Deyverdun, who is 
 somewhat of an Epicurean philosopher, understands the management 
 of a table, and we frequently invite a guest or two to share our luxu- 
 rious, but not extravagant repasts. The afternoons are (and will be 
 much niore so hereafter) devoted to society, and I shall find it necessary
 
 7HE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 305 
 
 to play at cards much oftencr than in London : but I do not disHke 
 tliat way of passing a couple of hours, and I shall not be ruined at 
 shilling whist. As yet I have not supped, but in the course of the 
 winter I must sometimes sacrifice an evening abroad, and in exchange 
 1 hope sometimes to steal a day at home, without going into company 
 * * *. I have all this time been talking to Lord Sheffield ; I hope 
 that he has dispatched my aftairs, and it would give me pleasure to 
 hear that I am no longer member for Lymington, nor Lord oi Lett- 
 borotts;h. Adieu. I feel every day that the distance serves only to 
 make me think with more tenderness of the persons whom I love. 
 
 Edward Gibeon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. 14, 1783. 
 Last Tuesday, November eleventh, after plaguing and vexing your- 
 self all the morning, about some business of your fertile creation, you 
 went to the House of Commons, and passed the afternoon, the evening, 
 and perhaps the night, without sleep or food, stifled in a close room by 
 the heated respiration of six hundred politicians, inflamed by party and 
 passion, and tired of the repetition of dull nonsense, which, in that 
 ilkistrious assembly, so far outweighs the proportion of reason and elo- 
 quence. On the same day, after a studious morning, a friendly dinner, 
 and a cheerful assembly of both sexes, I retired to rest at eleven 
 o'clock, satisfied with the past day, and certain that the next would 
 afford me the return of the same quiet and rational enjoyments. Which 
 hiTS the' better bargain ? Seriously, I am every hour more greatful to 
 my own judgment and resolution, and only regret that I so long delayed 
 tlie execution of a favourite plan, which I am convinced is the best 
 adapted to my character and inclinations. Your conjecture of the 
 revolutions of my face, when I heard that the house was for this winter 
 inaccessible, is probable, but false. I bore my disappointment with 
 the temper of a sage, and only use it to render the prospect of next 
 year still more pleasing to my imagination. You are likewise mistaken 
 in imputing my fall to the awkwardness of my limbs. The same 
 accident might have happened to Slingsby himself, or to any hero of the 
 age, the most distinguished for his bodily act iinty. I have now resumed 
 my entire strength, and walk with caution, yet with speed and safety, 
 through the streets of this mountainous city. After a month of the 
 finest autumn I oversaw, the bise (the N.E. wind) made me feel my old 
 acquaintance ; the weather is now milder, and this present day is dark 
 and rainy, not much better than what you probably enjoy in England. 
 'I'he town is comparatively empty, but the Noblesse are returning every 
 day from their chateaux, and I already perceive that 1 shall have more 
 reason to complain of dissipation than of dulness. As I told Lady S. 
 I am afraid of being too rash and hasty in expressing my satisfaction ; 
 but I must again repeat, that appearances are extremely favourable. I 
 am sensible that general praise conveys no distinct ideas, but it is very 
 difficult to enter into particulars where the individuals are unknown, or 
 indificrent to our correspondent. You have forgotten the old genera- 
 tion, aaid in twenty years a new one is grown up. Death hai swept
 
 306 E. GIBBON TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 many from the world, and chance or choice has brought many to this 
 place. If you enquire after your old acquaintance Catherine, you must 
 be told, that she is solitary, ugly, blind, and universally forgotten. 
 Your later flame, and our common goddess, the Eliza, passed a month 
 at the inn. She came to consult Tissot, and was acquainted with 
 Cerjat. And now to business. * * * With regard to meaner cases, 
 these are two, which you can and will undertake, i. As I have not 
 renounced my country, I should be glad to hear of your parliamentary 
 squabbles, which may be done with small trouble and expence. After 
 an interesting debate, my Lady in due time may cut the speeches from 
 Woodfall. You will write or dictate any curious anecdote, and the 
 whole, inclosed in a letter, may be dispatched to Lausanne. 2. A set 
 of Wedgewood china, which we talked of in London, and which would 
 be most acceptable here. As you have a sort of a taste, I leave to your 
 own choice the colour and the pattern ; but as I have the inclination and 
 means to live very handsomely liere, 1 desire that the size and number 
 of things may be adequate to a plentiful table. If you see Lord 
 North, assure him of my gratitude ; had he been a more successful 
 friend, I should now be drudging at the Board of Customs, or vexed 
 
 with business in the amiable society of . To Lord Loughborough 
 
 present an affectionate sentiment ; I am satisfied of his intention to serve 
 me, if I had not been in such a fidget. I am sure you will not fail, while 
 you are in town, to visit and comfort poor aunt Kitty. I wrote to her on my 
 first arrival, and she may be assured that I will not neglect her. To my 
 Lady I say nothing ; we have now our private correspondence, into which 
 the eye of an husband should not be permitted to intrude. I am really 
 satisfied with the success of the pamphlet ;* not only because I have 
 a sneaking kindness for the author, but as it shews me that plain sense, 
 full information, and warm spirit, are still acceptable in the world. 
 You talk of Lausanne as a place of retirement, yet, from the situation 
 and freedom of the Pays de Vaud, all nations, and all extraordinaiy 
 characters, are astonished to meet each other. The Abbe Raynal, the 
 grand Gibbon, and Mercier, author of the Tableau de Paris, have been 
 in the same room. The other day the Prince and Princess de Ligne, 
 the Duke and Duchess d'Ursel, &:c. came from Brussels on purjDose 
 (literally true) to act a comedy at * * * in the country. He was dying, 
 and could not appear ; but we had comedy, ball, and supper. The 
 event seems to have revived him ; for that great man is fallen from his 
 ancient glory, and his nearest relations refuse to see him. I told you 
 of poor Catherine's deplorable state ; but Madame de Mesery, at the 
 age of sixty-nine, is still handsome. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 20, 1783. 
 
 \ HAVE received both your epistles ; and as any excuse will serve a 
 
 man who is at the same time very busy and very idle, I patiently 
 
 expected the second, before I entertained any thoughts of answering 
 
 the first. *-***! therefore conclude, that on every principle of 
 
 • Observations on the Commerce witli the American States,
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 307 
 
 common sense, before this moment your active zeal has already expelled 
 nie from the house, to which, without regret, I bid an everlasting fare- 
 well. The agreeable hour of five o'clock in the morning, at which you 
 commonly retire, does not tend to revive my attachment ; but if you 
 add the soft hours of your morning Committee,* in the discussion of 
 taxes, customs, frauds, smugglers, &c. I think I should beg to be 
 released and quietly sent to the gallies, as a place of leisure and free- 
 dom. Yet I do not depart from my general principles of toleration. 
 Some animals are made to live in the watei", others on the earth, many 
 in the air, and some, as it is now believed, even in fire. Your present 
 hurry of Parliament I perfectly understand; when opposition make the 
 attack, 
 
 HorcE 
 
 Momento cita mors venil, aut victoria Iceta. 
 
 But when the Minister brings forward any strong and decisive measure, 
 he at length prevails ; but his progress is retarded at every step, and in 
 every stage of the bill, by a pertinacious, though unsuccessful, minority. 
 I am not sorry to hear of the splendour of Fox ; I am proud, in a 
 foreign country, of his fame and abilities, and our little animosities are 
 extinguished by my retreat from the English stage. With regard to 
 the substance of the business, I scarcely know what to think : the vices 
 of the Company (East India Company), both in their persons and their 
 constitution, were manifold and manifest ; the danger was imminent, 
 and such an empire, with thirty millions of subjects, was not to be lost 
 for trifles. Yet, on the other hand, the faith of charters, the rights of 
 property ! I hesitate and tremble. Such an innovation would at least 
 require that the remedy should be as certain as the evil, and the pro- 
 prietors may perhaps insinuate, that tiiey were as competent guardians 
 of their own affairs, as either * * * or * * *. Their acting without a 
 salary, seems childish, and their not being removable by the Crown, 
 is a strange and dangerous precedent. But enough of politics, which 
 I now begin to view through a thin, cold, distant cloud, yet not without 
 a reasonable degree of curiosity and patriotism. From the papers 
 (especially when you add an occasional slice of the Chronicle) I shall 
 be amply informed of facts and debates. From you I expect the 
 causes, rather than the events, the true springs of action, and those 
 interesting anecdotes which seldom ascend the gaiTet of a Fleet-street 
 editor. You say that many friends (alias acquaintance) have expressed 
 curiosity and concern ; I should not wish to be immediately forgotten. 
 That others (you once mentioned Gerard Hamilton) condemn Govern- 
 ment, for suffering the departure of a man who might have done them 
 some credit and some service, perhaps as much as * * * himself. To 
 you, in the confidence of friendship, and without either pride or resent- 
 ment, I will fairly own that I am somewhat of Gerard's opinion ; and 
 if I did not compare it with the rest of his character," I should be 
 astonished that * * * suffered me to depart, without even a civil answer 
 to my letter. Were I capable of hating a man, whom it is not easy to 
 hate, I should find myself amply revenged by * * *. But the happy 
 souls in Paradise are susceptible only of love and pity, and though 
 
 ♦ A select Committee for inquiring into frauds committed in respect to the revenue.
 
 30S EDWARD GIBBON TO HIS AUNT, MRS, PORTE N, 
 
 Lausanne is not a Paradise, more especially in winter, I do assure you, 
 in sober prose, that it has hitherto fulfilled, and even surpassed, my 
 warmest expectation. Yet I often cast a look toward Sheffield-Place, 
 where you now repose, if you can repose, during the Christmas recess. 
 Embrace my Lady, the young Baroness, and the gentle Louisa, and 
 insinuate to your silent Consort, that separate letters require separate 
 answers. Had I an air balloon, the great topic of modern conversation, 
 1 would call upon you till the meeting of Parliament. Vale. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Porten. 
 Dear Madam, Lausanne, Dec. 27, 1783. 
 
 The unfortunate are loud and loquacious in their complaints, but 
 real happiness is content with its own silent enjoyment ; and if that 
 happiness is of a quiet uniform kind, we suffer days and weeks to 
 elapse without communicating our sensations to a distant friend. By 
 you, therefore, whose temper and understanding have extracted from 
 human life on every occasion the best and most comfortable ingredients, 
 my silence will always be interpreted as an evidence of content, and 
 you would only be alarmed (the danger is not at hand) by the too 
 frequent repetition of my letters. Perhaps I should have continued to 
 slumber, I don't know how long, had I not been awakened by the 
 anxiety which you express in your last letter. * * * 
 
 From this base subject I ascend to one which more seriously and 
 strongly engages your thoughts, the consideration of my health and 
 happiness. And you will give me credit when I assure you with 
 sincerity, that I have not repented a single moment of the step wbich 
 I have taken, and that I only regret the not having executed the same 
 design two, or five, or even ten years ago. By this time I might have 
 returned independent and rich to my native country ; I should have 
 escaped many disagreeable events that have happened in the mean- 
 while, and I should have avoided the parliamentary life, which experi- 
 ence has proved to be neither suitable to my temper, nor conducive 
 to my fortune. In speaking of the happiness which I enjoy, you will 
 agree with me, in giving the preference to a sincere and sensible friend ; 
 and though you cannot discern the full extent of his merit, you will 
 easily believe that Deyverdun is the man. Perhaps two persons so 
 perfectly fitted to live together, were never formed by Nature and 
 education. We have both read and seen a great variety of objects ; 
 the lights and shades of our different characters are happily blended, 
 and a friendship of thirty years has taught us to enjoy our mutual 
 advantages, and to support our unavoidable imperfections. In love 
 and marriage, some harsh sounds will sometimes interrupt the har- 
 mony, and in the course of time, like our neighbours, we must expect 
 some disagreeable moments ; but confidence and freedom are the two 
 pillars of our union, and I am much mistaken, if the building be not 
 solid and comfortable. One disappointment I have indeed experienced, 
 and patiently supported. The family who were settled in Deyverdun's 
 liouse started some unexpected difficulties, and will not leave it till the 
 spring ; so that you must not yet expect any poetical, or even historical,
 
 TtlE COi^J^ESPOA'DEN-CE OF EDWARD GIB BO A'. 'i>^ 
 
 description of the Ijcnuties of my habitation. During the dull nionll.s 
 of winter we are satisfied with a very comfortable apartment in the 
 middle of the town, and even derive some advantage from this dcki)- ; 
 as it gives us time to arrange some plans of alteration and furniture, 
 which will embellish our future and more elegant dwelling. In this 
 season I rise (not at four in the morning) but a little before eight ; at 
 nine, I am called from my study to breakfast, which I always perform 
 alone, in the English style, and, with the aid of Caplin, I perceive no 
 difference between Lausanne and Bentinck-strcet. Our mornings are 
 usually passed in separate studies ; we never approach each other's 
 door without a previous message, or thrice knocking, and my apart- 
 ment is already sacred and formidable to strangers. I dress at half 
 past one, and at two (an early hour, to which I am not perfectly recon- 
 ciled,) we sit down to dinner. We have hired a female cook, well- 
 skilled in her profession, and accustomed to the taste of every nation ; 
 as for instance, we had excellent mince-pies yesterday. After dinner, 
 and the departure of our company, one, two, or three friends, we read 
 together some amusing book, or play at chess, or retire to our rooms, 
 or make visits, or go to the coffee-house. Between six and seven the 
 assemblies begin, and I am oppressed only with their number and 
 variety. Whist, at shillings or half-crowns, is the game I genci'ally 
 play, and I play three rubbers with pleasure. Between nine and ten 
 we withdraw to our bread and cheese, and friendly converse, which 
 sends us to bed at eleven ; but these sober hours are too often inter- 
 rupted by private or numerous suppers, which I have not the courage 
 to resist, though I practise a laudable abstinence at the best furnished 
 tables. Such is the skeleton of my life ; it is impossible to communi- 
 cate a perfect idea of the vital and substantial parts, the characters of 
 the men and women with whom I have very easily connected myself 
 in looser and closer bonds, according to their inclination and my own. 
 If I do not deceive myself and if Deyverdun does not flatter me, I am 
 already a general favourite ; and as our likings and dislikes are 
 commonly mutual, I am equally satisfied with the freedom and elegance 
 of manners, and (after proper allowances and exceptions) with the 
 worthy and amiable qualities of many individuals. The autumn has 
 been beautiful, and the winter hitherto mild, but in January we must 
 expect some severe frost. Instead of rolling in a coach, I walk the 
 streets, wrapped up in a fur cloak ; but this exercise is wholesome, and 
 except an accidental fit of the gout of a few days, I never enjoyed 
 better health. I am no longer in Pavillard's house, where I was almost 
 starved with cold and hunger, and you may be assured that I now 
 enjoy every benefit of comfort, plenty, and even decent luxury. You 
 wish me happy ; acknowledge that such a life is more conducive to 
 happiness, than five nights in the week passed in the House of Commons, 
 or f^ve mornings spent at the Custom-house. Send me, in return, a 
 fair account of your own situation in mind and body. I am satisfied 
 your own good sense would have reconciled you to inevitable separation ; 
 but there never was a more suitable diversion than your visit to Shef- 
 field- Place. Among the innumei"al;lc proofs of friendship which I have 
 received from that family, there arc none which affect me more sensibly 
 than their kind civilities to you, though I am persuaded that they are 
 
 X
 
 310 MESSAGES FROM LA USANNE TO FRIENDS IN LONDON. 
 
 at least as much on your account as on mine. At length Madame de 
 
 * * * is delivered by her tyrant's death ; her daughter, a valuable 
 woman of this place, has made some enquiries, and though her own 
 circumstances are narrow, she will not suffer her father's widow to be 
 left totally destitute. I am glad you derived so much melancholy 
 pleasure from the letters, yet had I known it, I should have withheld 
 
 # * * 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, Jan. 24, 1784. 
 Within two or three days after your last gracious epistle, your com- 
 plaints were silenced, and your enquiries were satisfied, by an ample 
 dispatch of four pages, which overflowed the inside of the cover, and 
 in which I exposed my opinions of things in general, public as well as 
 private, as they existed in my mind, in my state of ignorance and error, 
 about the eighteenth or twentieth of last month. Within a week after 
 that date I epistolised, in the same rich and copious strain, the two 
 venerable females of Newman-street and Bath, whose murmurings 
 must now be changed into songs of gratitude and applause. My cor- 
 respondence with the holy matron of Northamptonshire has been less 
 lively and loquacious. You have not forgotten the author's vindication 
 of himself from the foul calumnies of pretended Christians. Within a 
 fortnight after his arrival at Lausanne, he communicated the joyful 
 event to Mrs. Esther Gibbon. She answered, per return of post, both 
 letters at the same time, and in very dutiful larguage, almost excusing 
 her advice, which was intended for my spiritual as well as temporal 
 good, and assuring me, that nobody should be able to injure me with 
 her. Unless the saint is an hypocrite, such an expression must convey 
 a favourable and important meaning. At all events, it is worth giving 
 ourselves some trouble about her, without indulging any sanguine 
 expectations of inheritance. So much for my females ; with regard to 
 my male correspondents, you are the only one to whom I have given 
 any signs of my existence, though I have formed many a generous 
 resolution. Yet I am not insensible of the kind and friendly manner 
 in which Lord Loughborough has distinguished me. He could have 
 no inducements of interest, and now that I view the distant picture 
 with impartial eyes, I am convinced that (for a statesman) he was sin- 
 cere in his wishes to serve me. When you see liim, the Paynes, Eden, 
 Crauford, &c. tell them that I am well, happy, and ashamed. On 
 your side, the zeal and diligence of your pen has surprised and delighted 
 me, and your letters, at this interesting moment, are exactly such as I 
 wished them to be^ authentic anecdotes, and rational speculations, 
 worthy of a man who acts a part in the great theatre, and who fills a 
 seat, not only in the general Pandjemonium, but in the private council 
 of the Princes of the infernal regions. With regard to the detail of 
 parliamentary operations, I must repeat my request to you, or rather 
 to my Lady, who will now be on the spot, that she will write, not with 
 her pen, but with her scissors, and that after eveiy debate which 
 deserves to pass the sea and the mountains, she will dissect the faithful
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 31I 
 
 narrative of Woodfall, and send it off by the next post, as an agreeable 
 supplement to the meagre accounts of our weekly papers. The won- 
 derful revolutions of last month have sounded to my ear more like the 
 shifting scenes of a comedy, or comic opera, than like the sober events 
 of real and modern history ; and the irregularity of our winter posts, 
 which sometimes retarded, and sometimes hastened, the arrival of the 
 dispatches, has increased the confusion of our ideas. Surely the Lord 
 has blinded the eyes of Pharaoh and of his servants ; the obstinacy of 
 last spring was nothing compared to the headstrong and headlong 
 madness of this winter. I expect with much impatience the first days 
 of your meeting ; the purity and integrity of the coalition will suffer a 
 fiery trial ; but if they are true to themselves and to each other, a 
 majority of the House of Commons must prevail ; the rebellion of the 
 young gentlemen will be crushed, and the masters will resume the 
 government of the school. After the address and answer, I have no 
 conception that Parliament can be dissolved during the session ; but 
 if the present Ministry can outlive the storm, I think the death-warrant 
 will infallibly be signed in the summer. Here I blush for my country, 
 without confessing her shame. Fox acted like a man of honour, yet 
 surely his union with Pitt affords the only hope of salvation. How 
 miserably are we wasting the season of peace ! 
 
 I have written three pages before I come to my own business and 
 feelings. In the first place, I most sincerely rejoice that I left the ship, 
 and swam ashore on a plank : the daily and hourly agitation in which 
 I must have lived would have made me truly miserable ; and if I had 
 obtained a place during pleasure, * * *, for instance ? On the first 
 news of the dissolution, I considered my seat as so totally and irre- 
 coverably gone, that 1 have been less afilicted with * * *'s obstinacy. 
 * * *. On this occasion remember you are acting for a poor friend ; 
 dismiss a little of the spirit of faction and patriotism, and stoop to a 
 prudential line of conduct, which in your own case you might possibly 
 disdain. * * * Perhaps you will abuse my prudence and patriotism, 
 when I inform you, that I have already vested a part (thirty thousand 
 livres, about one thousand three hundred pounds) in the new loan of 
 the King of France. I get eight /<?r ce7it. on the joint lives of Deyver- 
 dun and myself, besides thirty tickets in a very advantageous lottery, 
 of which the highest prize is an annuity of forty thousand livres (one 
 thousand seven hundred pounds) a year. At this moment, the begin- 
 ning of a peace, and probably a long peace, I think (and the world 
 seems to think) the French funds at least as solid as our own, I have 
 empowered my agent, M. de Lessart, a capital banker at Paris, to draw 
 upon Gosling for the money two months hence ; and to avoid all acci- 
 dents tha'' may result from untoward delays, and mercantile churlish- 
 ness, I expect that you will support my credit in Fleet-street with your 
 own more respectable name. * * * What say you now ? Am I not 
 n. wise man ? My letter is enormous, and the post on the wing. In a 
 few days I will write to my Lady herself, and enter something more 
 into the details of domestic life. Suffice it to say, that the scene 
 becomes each day more pleasant and comfortable, and that I complain 
 only of the dissipation of Lausanne. In the course of March or April 
 wc shall take possession of Deyvcrdun's house. My books, which, by
 
 312 SWISS COMFORTS AND LONDON DISTRACTIONS. 
 
 some strange neglect, did not leave Paris till the third of this month, 
 will arrive in a few weeks ; and I shall resume the continuation of my 
 History, which I shall prosecute with the more vigour, as the comple- 
 tion affords me a distant prospect of a visit to England. Adieu. 
 Ever yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 Baron ! Lausanne, Feb. 20, 1784. 
 
 After my last enormous dispatch, nothing can remain, except some 
 small gleanings, or occasional hints ; and thus in order : I am not 
 conscio-Lis that any of your valuable MSS. have miscarried, or that I 
 have omitted to answer any essential particulars. They stand in my 
 bureau carefully arranged, and docketed under the following dates ; 
 September twenty-three, October twenty-three, November eighteen, 
 December two, IDecemlDer fifteen, December nineteen, December 
 twenty-three, December twenty-nine, January sixteen, which last I 
 have received this day, February 2nd. For greater perspicuity, it will 
 not be amiss (on either side) to number our future epistles, by a con- 
 spicuous Roman character inscribed in the front, to which we may at 
 any time refer. But instead of writing by Ostend, the shorter and 
 surer way, especially on all occasions that deserve celerity, will be to 
 inclose them to my banker, M. de Lessart at Paris, who will forward 
 them to me. Through Germany the passage by sea is more uncertain, 
 the roads worse, and the distance greater : we often complain of delay 
 and irregularity at this interesting moment. By your last I find that 
 you have boldly and generously opened a treaty with the enemy, which 
 I proposed with fear and hesitation. I impatiently expect the result ; 
 and again repeat, that whatever you can obtain for * * *^ \ shall 
 consider it as so much saved out of the fire, &c. &c. Do you remember 
 Dunning's motion (in the year 1780) to address the Crown against a 
 dissolution of Parliament ; a simple address we rejected, as an infringe- 
 ment on the prerogative .'' yet how far short of these strong demo- 
 cratical measures, for which you have probably voted, as I should pro- 
 bably have done : such is the contagion of party. Fox drives most 
 furiously, yet I should not be surprised if Pitt's moderation and 
 character should insensibly win the nation, and even the House, to 
 espouse his cause. * * * Unless when I look back on England 
 with a selfish or a tender regard, my hours roll away very pleasantly, 
 and I can again repeat with truth, that I have not regretted one single 
 moment the step which I have taken. We are now at the height of 
 the winter dissipation, and 1 am peculiarly happy when I can steal 
 away from great assemblies, and suppers of twenty or thirty people, to 
 a more private party of some of those persons whom I begin to call 
 my friends. Till we are settled in our house little can be expected on 
 our side ; yet I have already given two or three handsome dinners ; 
 and though everything is grown dearer, I am not alarmed at the 
 general view of my expence. Dcyvcrdun salutes you ; and we are 
 agreed that few married couples are better entitled to the flitch of 
 bacon than we shall be at the end of the year. When 1 liad written 
 about half this epistle my books arrived : at our first meeting all was
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 313 
 
 rapture and confusion, and two or three posts, from the second to this 
 day, the fourteenth, have been suffered to depart unnoticed. Your 
 letter of the twenty-seventh of January, which was not received till 
 yesterday, has again awakened me, and I thought the surest way would 
 be to send off this single sheet without any farther delay. 
 
 I sincerely rejoice in the stability of Parliament ;* and the first 
 faint dawn of reconciliation, which must however be effected by the 
 equal balance of parties, rather than by the wisdom of the country 
 gentlemen (at the St. Alban's Tavern). 
 
 My Lady ! — But it would be highly incongruous to begin my letter 
 at the bottom of the page. Adieu, therefore, till next post. 
 
 EuwARD Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, May 11, 1784. 
 Alas ! alas ! alas ! We may now exchange our mutual condolence. 
 Last Christmas, on the change of administration, I was struck with 
 the thunderbolt of the unexpected event, and in the approaching disso- 
 lution I foresaw the loss of * * *. The long continuance and 
 various changes of the tempest rendered me by degrees callous and 
 insensible ; when the art of the mariners was exhausted I felt that we 
 were sinking, 1 expected the ship to founder, and when the fatal 
 moment arrived, I was even pleased to be delivered from hope and 
 fear, to tl'.e calmness of despair. I now turn my eyes, not on the past, 
 but on tlie present and the future ; what is lost I try to consider as if 
 it never had existed ; and every day I congratulate my own good 
 fortune, let me say my prudence and resolution, in migrating from your 
 noisy stage to a scene of repose and content. But even in this separate 
 state, I was still anxious for my friend upon English earth, and at first 
 was much delighted with your hint, that you were setting off for 
 Coventry, without any prospect of an opposition. Every post, Wed- 
 nesdays and Saturdays, I eagerly looked for the intelligence of your 
 victory ; and in spite of my misbehaviour, which I do not deny, I must 
 abuse Diy Lady, rather than you, for leaving me in so painful a situa- 
 tion. Each day raised and increased my apprehension ; the Courier 
 de r Europe first announced the contest, the English papers proclaimed 
 your defeat, and your last letter, which I received four days ago, 
 shewed me that you exerted first the spirit, and at last the temper of 
 an hero. I am not much surprised that you should have been swept 
 away in the general unpopularity, since even in this quiet place, your 
 friends are considered as a factious crew, acting in direct opposition 
 both to the King and people. For yourself I am at a loss what to say. 
 If this repulse should teach you to renounce all connection with Kings 
 and Ministers, and Patriots and Parties, and Parliaments ; for all of 
 which you are by many degrees too honest ; I should exclaim, with 
 Teague of respectable memoiy, " By my shoul, dear joy, you have 
 gained a loss. ' Private life, whether contemplative or active, has 
 surely more solid and independent charms ; you have some domestic 
 comforts ; Sheffield-Place is still susceptible of useful and ornamental 
 • Tbi» supposition was founded on Mr. Banks's Jctlaraiioii in ilic nanie of Mr. Pitt.
 
 314 EDWARD GIBBON TO HIS FRIEND LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 improvements, (alas ! how much better might even the last * * * 
 have been laid out ! ) and if these cares are not sufficient to occupy 
 your leisure, I can trust your restless and enterprising spirit to find 
 nevv methods to preserve you from the insipidity of repose. But I 
 much fear your discontent and regret at being excluded from that Pan- 
 da;monium which we have so often cursed, as long as you were obliged 
 to attend it. The leaders of the party will flatter you with the opinion 
 of their friendship and your own importance ; the warmth of your 
 temper makes you credulous and unsuspicious ; and, like the rest of 
 our species, male and female, you are not absolutely deaf to the voice 
 of praise. Some other place will be suggested, easy, honourable, 
 certain, where nothing is wanted but a man of character and spirit to 
 head a superior interest ; the opposition, if any, is contemptible, and 
 the expence cannot be large. You will go down, find almost every cir- 
 cumstance falsely stated, repent that you had engaged yourself, but 
 you cannot desert those friends who are firmly attached to your cause ; 
 besides, the money you have already spent would have been thrown 
 away ; another thousand will complete the business : deeper and 
 deeper will you plunge, and the last evil will be worse than the first. 
 You see I am a free-spoken counsellor ; may I not be a true prophet ! 
 Did I consult my own wishes, I should observe to you, that as you are 
 no longer a slave, you might soon be transported, as you seem to desire, 
 to one of the Alpine hills. The purity and calmness of the air is the 
 best calculated to allay the heat of a political fever ; the education of 
 the two Princesses might be successfully conducted under your eye 
 and that of my Lady ; and if you had resolution to determine on a 
 residence, not a visit, at Lausanne, your worldly affairs might repose 
 themselves after their late fatigues. But you know that / am a friend 
 to toleration, and am always disposed to make the largest allowance 
 for the different natures of animals ; a lion and a lamb, an eagle and a 
 worm. I am afraid we are too quiet for you ; here it would not be 
 easy for you to create any business ; you have for some time neglected 
 books, and I doubt whether you would not think our suppers and 
 assemblies somewhat trifling and insipid. You are far more difficult 
 than I am ; you are in search of knowledge, and you are not content 
 with your company, unless you can derive from them information or 
 extraordinary amusement. For my part, I like to draw information 
 from books, and I am satisfied with polite attention and easy manners. 
 Finally, I am happy to tell, and you will be happy to hear, that this 
 place has in every respect exceeded my best and most sanguine hopes. 
 How often have you said, as often as I expressed any ill-humour against 
 the hurry, the expence, and the precarious condition of my London 
 life, " Ay, that is a nonsensical scheme of retiring to Lausanne that 
 you have got into your head, a pretty fancy ; you remember how much 
 you liked it in your youth, but you have now seen more of the world^ 
 and if you were to try it again, you would find yourself woefully dis- 
 appointed ?" I had it in my head, in my heart, I have tried it, I have 
 not been disappointed, and my knowledge of the world has served 
 only to convince me, that a capital and a crowd may contain much 
 less real society than the small circle of this gentle retirement. The 
 winter has been longer, but, as far as I can learn, less rigorous than in
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 315 
 
 the rest of Europe. The spring is now bursting upon us, and in our 
 own garden it is displayed in all its glory. I already occupy a tem- 
 porary apartment, and we live in the lower part of the house ; before 
 you receive this we shall be in full possession. We have much to 
 enjoy and something to do, which I take to be the happiest condition 
 of human life. Now for business, the kind of subject which I always 
 undertake with the most reluctance, and leave with the most pleasure. 
 * * * Adieu. 
 
 And now, my Lady, 
 Let me approach your gentle, not grimalkin, presence, with deep 
 remorse. You have indirectly been informed of my state of mind and 
 body ; (the whole winter I have not had the slightest return of the 
 gout, or any other complaint whatsoever ;) you have been apprised, • 
 and are now apprised, of my motions, or rather of my perfect and 
 agreeable repose ; yet I must confess (and I feel) that something of a 
 direct and personal exchange of sentiment has been neglected on my 
 side, though I still persuade myself that when I am settled in my new 
 house I shall have more subject, as well as leisure, to write. Such 
 tricks of laziness your active spirit is a stranger to, though Mrs. * * * 
 complains that she has never had an answer to her last letters. Poor 
 Lady Pembroke ! you will feel for her ; after a cruel alternative of hope 
 and fear, her only daughter. Lady Charlotte, died at Aix en Provence j 
 they have persuaded her to come to this place, where she is intimately 
 connected with the Cerjat family. She has taken an agreeable house, 
 about three miles from the town, and lives retired. I have seen her ; 
 
 her behaviour is calm, but her affliction . I accept with gratitude 
 
 your friendly proposal of Wedgewood's ware, and should be glad to 
 have it bought and packed, and sent without delay through Germany ; 
 and I shall only say, that I wish to have a very complete service for 
 two courses and a dessert, and that our suppers are numerous, fre- 
 quently fifteen or twenty persons. Adieu. I do not mean this as your 
 ]etter. You are very good to poor Kitty. With you I do not condole 
 about Coventry, 
 
 Edwakd Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Lausanne, May 28, 1784. 
 
 1 BEGIN without preface or apology, as if I had received your letter 
 by the last post. In my own defence I know not what to say; but if I 
 were disposed to recriminate, I might observe that you yourself are not 
 perfectly free from the sin of laziness and procrastination. I have 
 often wondered why we are not fonder of letter- writing. We all delight 
 to talk of ourselves, and it is only in letters, in writing to a friend, that 
 we can enjoy that conversation, not only without reproach or inter- 
 ruption, but with the highest propriety and mutual satisfaction ; sure 
 that the person whom we address feels an equal, or at least a strong 
 and lively interest in the consideration of the pleasing subject. On the 
 subject therefore of self I will entertain a friend, to whom none of my 
 thoughts or actions, none of my pains or pleasures, can ever be indiffer-
 
 3 16 EDWARD GIBBON TO MRS. E. GIBBON, SEN., BATH. 
 
 ent. When I first cherished the design of retiring to Lausanne, I was 
 much more apprehensive of wounding your tender attachment, than of 
 offending Lord Sheffield's manly and vehement friendship. In the 
 abolition of the Board of Trade the motives for my retreat became 
 tnore urgent and forcible ; I wished to break loose, yet I delayed above 
 a year before I could take my final resolution ; and the letter in which 
 I disclosed it to you cost me one of the most painful struggles of my 
 life. As soon as I had conquered that difficulty, all meaner obstacles 
 fell before me, and in a few weeks I found myself at Lausanne, aston- 
 ished at my firmness and my success. Perhaps you still blame or still 
 lament the step which I have taken. If on your own account, I can 
 only sympathize with your feelings, the recollection of which often costs 
 me a sigh : if on mine, let me fairly state what I have escaped in Eng- 
 ■land, and what I have found at Lausanne. Recollect the tempests of 
 this winter, how many anxious days I should have passed, how many 
 noisy, turbulent, hot, unwholesome nights, while my political existence, 
 and that of my friends, was at stake ; yet these feeble efforts would 
 have been unavailing ; I should have lost my seat in parliament, and 
 after the extraordinary expence of another year, I must still have 
 pursued the road of Switzerland, unless I had been tempted by some 
 selfish patron, or by Lord S.'s aspiring spirit, to incur a most incon- 
 venient expence for a new seat ; and once more, at the beginning of an 
 opposition, to engage in new scenes of business. As to the immediate 
 prospect of anything like a quiet and profitable retreat, I should not 
 know where to look ; my friends are no longer in power. With * * * 
 and his party I have no connection ; and were he disposed to favour a 
 man of letters, it is difficult to say what he could give, or what I would 
 accept ; the reign of pensions and sinecures is at an end, and a com- 
 mission in the Excise or Customs, the summit of my hopes, would give 
 me income at the expence of leisure and liberty. When I revolve 
 these circumstances in my mind, my only regret, I repeat it again and 
 again, is, that I did not embrace this salutary measure three, five, ten 
 years ago. Thus much I thought it necessary to say, and shall now 
 dismiss this unpleasing part of the subject. For my situation here, 
 health is the first consideration ; and on that head your tenderness had 
 conceived some degree of anxiety. I know not whether it has reached 
 you that I had a fit of the gout the day after my arrival. *rhe deed is 
 true, but the cause was accidental ; carelessly stepping down a flight 
 of stairs, I sprained my ancle ; and my ungenerous enemy instantly 
 took advantage of my weakness. But since my breaking that double 
 chain, I have enjoyed a winter of the most perfect health that I have 
 perhaps ever known, without any mixture of the little flying incommodi- 
 ties which in my best days have sometimes disturbed the tranquillity of 
 my English life. You are not ignorant of Dr. Tissot's reputation, and 
 his merit is even above his I'eputation. He assures me, that in his 
 opinion, the moisture of England and Holland is most pernicious ; the 
 dry pure air of Switzerland most favourable to a gouty constitution : 
 that experience justifies the theory ; and that there arc fewer martyrs 
 of that disorder in this, than in any other countrj' in Europe. This 
 winter iias cvcrywlicrc been most uncommonly severe : and yon seem 
 in England tp have had your full share of the general hardsliip ; but in
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIB BOM. 317 
 
 this corner, surrounded by the Alps, it has rather been long than 
 rigorous ; and its duration stole away our spring, and left us no interval 
 between furs and silks. We now enjoy the genial influence of the 
 climate and the season ; and no station was ever more calculated to 
 enjoy them than Deyverdun's house and garden, which are now become 
 my own. You will not expect that the pen should describe, what the 
 pencil would imperfectly delineate. A few circumstances may, how- 
 ever, be mentioned. My library is about the same size with that in 
 Bentinck-strect, with this difference, however, that instead of looking 
 on a paved court, twelve feet square, I command a boundless prospect 
 of vale, mountain, and water, from my three windows. My apartment 
 is completed by a spacious light closet, or store-room, with a bed- 
 chamber and dressing-room. Deyverdun's habitation is pleasant and 
 convenient, though less extensive : for our common use we have a very 
 handsome winter apartment of four rooms ; and on the ground-floor, 
 two cool saloons for the summer, with a sufficiency, or rather super- 
 fluity, of offices, &c. A terrace, one hundred yards long, extends 
 beyond the front of the house, and leads to a close impenetrable shrub- 
 bery ; and from thence the circuit of a long and various walk carries 
 me round a meadow and vineyard. The intervals afford abundant 
 supply of fruit, and every sort of vegetables ; and if you add, that this 
 villa (which has been much ornamented by my friend) touches the 
 best and most sociable part of the town, you will agree with me, that 
 few persons, either princes or philosophers, enjoy a more desirable 
 residence. Deyverdun, who is proud of his own works, often walks me 
 round, pointing out, with acknowledgment and enthusiasm, the beau- 
 ties that change with every step and with every variation of light. I 
 share, or at least, I sympathize with his pleasure. He appears con- 
 tented with my progress, and has already told several people, that he 
 does not despair of making me a gardener. Be that as it may, you 
 will be glad to hear that 1 am, by my own choice, infinitely more in 
 motion, and in the open air, than I ever have been formerly ; yet my 
 perfect liberty and leisure leave me many studious hours ; and as the 
 circle of our acquaintance retire into the country, I shall be much less 
 engaged in company and diversion. I have seriously resumed the 
 prosecution of my History ; each day and each month adds something 
 to the completion of the great work. The progress is slow, the labour 
 continual, and the end remote and uncertain ; yet every day brings its 
 amusement, as well as laliour ; and though I dare not fix a term, even 
 in my own fancy, I advance, with the pleasing rellection, that the 
 business of publication (should I be detained here so long) must 
 enforce my return to England, and restore me to the best of mothers 
 and friends. In the mean while, with health and competence, a full 
 independence of mind and action, a delightful habitation, a true friend, 
 and many pleasant acquaintance ; you will allow that I am rather an 
 ol3Ject of envy than of pity ; and if you were more conversant with the 
 use of the French language, I would seriously propose to you to repose 
 yourself with us in this fine country. My indirect intelligence (on 
 which I sometimes depend with more implicit faith than on the kind 
 dissimulation of your friendship) gives me reason to hope that the last 
 winter has been more favourable to your hca.lth than the preceding
 
 3l8 ED WARD GIBBON- TO LORD SHEFFIELD. 
 
 one. Assure me of it yourself honestly and truly, and you will afford 
 me one of the most lively pleasures. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, June 19, 1784.. 
 * * * In this glorious season I frequently give tea and supper 
 to a dozen men and women with ease and reputation, and heartily wish 
 you and my Lady were among them. In this corner of Europe we 
 enjoy, or shall speedily enjoy, (besides threescore English, with Lady 
 Pembroke, and forty French, with the Duchess de Sivrac at their 
 head,) M. and Madame Necker, the Abbe Raynal, the Hereditary 
 Prince of Brunswick, Prince Henry of Prussia, perhaps the Duke of 
 Cumberland ; yet I am still more content with the humble natives, 
 than with 7nost of these illustrious iiajues. Adieu. The post is on the 
 wing, and you owe me a long epistle. I am, as usual, in the firm in- 
 tention of writing next week to my Lady. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Lausanne, Oct. 18, 1784. 
 
 Since my retreat to Lausanne our correspondence has never re- 
 ceived so long an interruption ; and as I have been equally taciturn with 
 the rest of the English world, it may now be a problem among that 
 sceptical nation, whether the Historian of the Decline and Fall be a 
 living substance or an empty name. So tremendous is the sleepy 
 power of laziness and habit, that the silence of each post operated still 
 more strongly to benumb the hand, and to freeze the epistolary ink. 
 How or when I should have naturally awakened, I cannot tell ; but 
 the pressure of my affairs and the arrival of your last letter, compel 
 me to remember that you are entrusted with the final amputation of 
 the best limb of my property. The subject is in itself so painful, that 
 I have postponed it, like a child's physic, from day to day ; and losing 
 whole mornings, as I walked about my library, in useless regret and 
 impotent resolution, you will be amazed to hear that (after peeping to 
 see if you are all well, and returned from Ireland) I have not yet had 
 the courage to peruse your letter, for fear of meeting with some gloomy 
 intelligence ; and I will now finish what I have to say of pecuniary 
 matters, before I know whether its contents will fortify or overthrow 
 my unbiassed sentiments. * * * To what purpose (will you say) 
 are these tardy and useless repinings ? To arraign j'our manager ? 
 No, I am satisfied with the skill and firmness of the pilot, and com- 
 plain only of the untoward violence of the tempest. To repent of your 
 retreat into Switzerland ? No, surely, every subsequent event has 
 tended to make it as necessary as it has proved agreeable. Why then 
 these lamentations ? Hear and attend — It is to interest (if possible 
 more strongly) your zeal and friendship, to justify a sort of avarice, a 
 love of money, very foreign to my character, but with which I cling to 
 these last fragments of my fortune. * * * As far as I can judge 
 from the experience of a year, though I find Lausanne much more ex«
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 319 
 
 pensive than I imagined, yet my style of living (and a very handsome 
 style it is) will be brought nearly within my ordinary revenues. I wish 
 our poor country could say as much ! But it was always my favourite 
 and rational wish, that at the winding up of my affairs I might possess 
 a sum, from one to two thousand pounds, neither buried in land, nor 
 locked up in the funds, but free, light, and ready to obey any call of 
 interest, or pleasure, or virtue ; to defray any extraordinary expcnce, 
 support any delay, or remove any obstacle. P"or the attainment of this 
 object, I trust in your assistance. * * * Thus much for this money 
 transaction ; to you I need add no other stimulative, than to say that 
 my ease and comfort very much depend on the success of this plan. 
 
 As I thought every man of sense and fortune in Ireland must be 
 satisfied, I did not conceive the cloud so dark as you represent it. I 
 will seriously peruse the 8vo. and in due time the 4to. edition ;* it 
 would become a classic book, if you could find leisure (will you ever 
 find it ?) to introduce order and ornament. You must negociate directly 
 with Deyverdun ; but the state will not hear of parting (alluding to his 
 portrait) with their only Reynolds. I embrace my Lady ; let her be 
 angry, provided she be well. Adieu. Yours. 
 
 P. S. The care of Ireland may have amused you in the summer ; 
 but how do you mean to employ the winter ? Do you not cast a long- 
 ing, lingering look at St. Stephen's chapel .'' With your fiery spirit, 
 and firm judgment, I almost wish you there ; not for your benefit, but 
 for the public. If you resolve to recover your seat, do not listen to 
 any fallacious and infinite projects of interest, contest, return petition, 
 (Sec. but limit your expence. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lady Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, Oct. 22, 1784. 
 A FEW weeks ago, as I was walking on our terrace with M. Tissot, 
 the celebrated physician ; M. Mercier, the author of the Tableatc de 
 Paris; the Abbd Raynal ; Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle 
 Necker ; the Abbif de Bourbon, a natural son of Lewis the Fifteenth, 
 the Hereditary Prince of Brunswick, Prince Henry of Prussia, and a 
 dozen Counts, Barons, and extraordinary persons, among whom was a 
 
 natural son of the Empress of Russia Are you satisfied with this 
 
 list } which I could enlarge and embellish, without departing from 
 truth ; and was not the Baron of Sheffield (profound as he is on the 
 subject of the American trade) doubly mistaken with regard to Gibbon 
 and Lausanne .-* Whenever I used to hint my design of retiring, that 
 
 illustrious Baron, after a proper effusion of d d fools, condescended 
 
 to observe, that such an obscure nook in Switzerland might please me 
 in the ignorance of youth, but that after tasting for so many years the 
 various society of Paris and London, I should soon be tired with the 
 dull and uniform round of a provincial town. In the winter, Lausanne 
 is indeed reduced to its native powers ; but during the summer, it is 
 possibly, after Spa, one of the most favourite places of general resort. 
 The tour of Switzerland, the Alps, and the Glaciers, is become a 
 • Of Observations on the Commerce \vith the Amexican States.
 
 320 THE SOCIE TY EN JO YED AT LA US ANNE. 
 
 fashion. Tissot attracts the invaHds, especially from France ; and a 
 colony of English have taken up the habit of spending their winters at 
 Nice, and their summers in the Pays de Vaud. Such are the splendour 
 and variety of our summer visitors ; ar\djou will agree with me more 
 readily than the Baron, when I say that this variety, instead of being 
 a merit, is, in my opinion one of the very few objections to the resi- 
 dence of Lausanne. After the dissipation of the winter I expected 
 to have enjoyed, with more freedom and solitude, myself, my friend, 
 my books, and this delicious paradise ; but my position and character 
 make me here a sort of a public character, and oblige me to see and 
 be seen. However, it is my firm resolution for next summer to assume 
 the independence of a philosopher, and to be visible only to the 
 persons whom I like. On that principle I should not, most assuredly, 
 have avoided the Ncckers and Prince Henry. The former have 
 purchased the barony of Copet near Geneva ; and as the buildings 
 were very much out of repair, they passed this summer at a country- 
 house at the gates of Lausanne. They afford a new example, that 
 persons who have tasted of greatness can seldom return with pleasure 
 to a private station. In the moments when we were alone he conversed 
 with me freely, and I believe truly, on the subject of his administration 
 and fall ; and has opened several passages of modern history, which 
 would make a very good figure in t/ie American book.* If they spent 
 the summers at the castle of Copet, about nine leagues from hence, a 
 fortnight or three weeks visit would be a pleasant and healthful excur- 
 sion ; but, alas ! I fear there is little appearance of its being executed. 
 //er health is impaired by the agitation of her mind : instead of return- 
 ing to Paris, she is ordered to pass the winter in the southern provinces 
 of France, and our last parting was solemn ; as I very much doubt 
 whether I shall ever see her again. They have now a very troublesome 
 charge, which you will experience in a few years, the disposal of a 
 Baroness ; Mademoiselle (now Madame de Stael) Necker, one of the 
 greatest heiresses in Europe is now about eighteen, wild, vain, but 
 good-natured, and with a much larger provision of wit than of beauty : 
 what increases their difficulties is their religious obstinacy of marrying 
 her only to a protestant. It would be an excellent opportunity for a 
 young Englishman of a great name and a fair reputation. Prince 
 Henry must be a man of sense ; for he took more notice, and expressed 
 more esteem for me, than any body else. He is certainly (without 
 touching his military character) a very lively and entertaining com- 
 panion. He talked with freedom, and generally with contempt, of most 
 of the princes of Europe ; with respect of the Empress of Russia, but 
 never mentioned the name of his brother, except once, when he hinted 
 that it was /le hunself XhzX won the battle of Rosbach. His nephew, 
 and our nephew, the hereditary Prince of Brunswick is here for his 
 education. Of the English, who live very much as a national colony, 
 you will like to hear of Mrs. Eraser and one more. Donna Catherina 
 (the Hon. Mrs. Eraser) pleases every body, by the perfect simplicity of 
 her state of nature. You know she has had the resolution to return 
 from England (where she told me she saw you) to Lausanne, for the 
 sake of Miss Bristow, who is in bad health, and in a few days they set 
 * Observations on the Commerce witb the American States,
 
 TrtE coRkEspoNDEMCE OP rdwaud GiBSo^r. 321 
 
 off for Nice. 7'he other is the Eliza; she passed through Lausanne, 
 in her road from Italy to England ; poorly in health, but still adorable, 
 (nay, do not frown !) and I enjoyed some delightful hours by her bed- 
 side. She wrote me a line from Paris, but has not executed her promise 
 of visiting Lausanne in the month of October. My pen has run much 
 faster, and much farther, than I intended on the subject of others ; 
 yet, in describing them, I have thrown some light over myself and my 
 situation. A year, a very short one, has now elapsed since my arrival 
 at Lausanne ; and after a cool review of my sentiments, I can sincerely 
 declare, that I have never, during a single moment, repented of having 
 executed my absurd ^project of retiring to Lausanne. It is needless to 
 dwell on the fatigue, the hurry, the vexation which I must have felt in 
 the narrow and dirty circle of English politics. My present life wants 
 no foil, and shines by its own native light. The chosen part of my 
 library is now arrived, and arranged in a room full as good as that in 
 Bentinck-strcet, with this difference indeed, that instead of looking on 
 a stone court, twelve feet square, I command, from three windows of 
 plate-glass, an unbounded prospect of many a league of vineyard, of 
 fields, of wood, of lake, and of mountains ; a scene which Lord Shef- 
 field will tell you is superior to all you can imagine. The climate, 
 though severe in winter, has perfectly agreed with my constitution, and 
 the year is accomplished without any return of the gout. An excellent 
 house, a good table, a pleasant garden, are no contemptible ingredients 
 in human happiness. The general style of society hits my fancy ; I 
 have cultivated a large and agreeable circle of acquaintance, and I am 
 much deceived if I have not laid the foundations of two or three more 
 intimate and valuable connections ; but their names would be indif- 
 ferent, and it would require pages, or rather volumes, to describe their 
 persons and characters. With regard to my standing dish, my domestic 
 friend, I could not be much disappointed, after an intimacy of eight- 
 and-twenty years. His heart and his head are excellent ; he has the 
 warmest attachment for me, he is satisfied that I have the same for 
 him : some slight imperfections must be mutually supported ; two 
 batchelors, who have lived so long alone and independent, have their 
 peculiar fancies and humours, and when the mask of form and cere- 
 mony is laid aside, every moment in a family-life has not the sweetness 
 of the honey-moon, even between the husbands and wives who have 
 the truest and most tender regard for each other. Should you be very 
 much surprised to hear of my being married ? Amazing as it may 
 seem, I do assure you that the event is less improbable than it would 
 have appeared to myself a twelvemonth ago. Deyverdun and I have 
 often agreed, in jest and in earnest, that a house like ours would be 
 regulated, and graced, and enlivened, by an agreeable female com- 
 panion ; but each of us seems desirous that his friend should sacrifice 
 himself for the public good. Since my residence here I have lived 
 much in women's company ; and, to your credit be it spoken, I like 
 you the better the more I see of you. Not that I am in love with any 
 particular person. I have discovered about half-a-dozen wives who 
 would please me in different ways, and by various merits : one as a 
 mistress (a widow, vastly like the Eliza ; if she returns I am to bring 
 them together) ; a second, a lively entertaining acquaintance ; a third,
 
 322 EDWARD GIBBON TO LADY SHEFFIELD. 
 
 a sincere good-natured friend ; a fourth, Avho would represent with 
 grace and dignity at the head of my table and family ; a fifth, an excel- 
 lent oeconomist and housekeeper ; and a sixth, a verj' useful nurse. 
 Could I find all these qualities united in a single person, I should dare 
 to make my addresses, and should deserve to be refused. You hint in 
 some of your letters, or rather postscripts, that you consider me as 
 having renounced England, and having fixed myself for the rest of my 
 life in Switzerland, and that you suspect the sincerity of my vague or 
 insidious schemes of purchase or return. To remove, as far as I can, 
 your doubts and suspicions, I will tell you, on that interesting subject, 
 fairly and simply as much as I know of my own intentions. There is 
 little appearance that I shall be suddenly recalled by the offer of a 
 place or pension. I have no claim to the friendship of your young 
 minister, and should he propose a Commissioner of the Customs, or 
 Secretary at Paris, the supposed objects of my low ambition, Adam in 
 Paradise would refuse them with contempt. Here therefore I shall 
 certainly live till I have finished the remainder of my History ; an 
 arduous work, which does not proceed so fast as I expected, amidst 
 the avocations of society, and miscellaneous study. As soon as it is 
 completed, most probably in three orfourytSirs, I shall infallibly return 
 to England, about the month of May or June ; and the necessary labour 
 of printing with care two or three quarto volumes, will detain me till 
 their publication, in the ensuing spring. Lord Sheffield and yourself 
 will be the loadstone that most forcibly attracts me ; and as I shall 
 be a vagabond on the face of the earth, I shall be the better qualified 
 to domesticate myself with you, both in town and country. Here 
 then, at no very extravagant distance, we have the certainty (if we 
 live) of spending a year together, in the peace and freedom of a 
 friendly intercourse ; and a year is no very contemptible portion of 
 this mortal existence. Beyond that period all is dark, but not 
 gloomy. Whether, after the final completion of my History, I shall 
 return to Lausanne, or settle in England, must depend on a thou- 
 sand events which lie beyond the reach of human foresight, the 
 state of public and private affairs, my own health, the health and life of 
 Deyverdun, the various changes which may have rendered Lausanne 
 more dear, or less agreeable, to me than at present. But without 
 losing ourselves in this distant futurity, which perhaps we may never 
 see, and without giving any positive answer to Maria's parting ques- 
 tion, whether I shall be buried in England or Switzerland, let me 
 seriously and earnestly ask you, whether you do not mean to visit me next 
 summer ? The defeat at Coventry would, I should think, facilitate the 
 project ; since the Baron is no longer detained the whole winter from 
 his domestic affairs, nor is there any attendance on the House that 
 keeps him till Midsummer in dust and dispute. I can send you a 
 pleasant route, through Normandy, Paris, and Lyons, a visit to the 
 Glaciers, and your return down the Rhine, which would be commo- 
 diously executed in three or four months, at no very extravagant 
 expcnce, and would be productive of health and spirits to you, of 
 entertainment to you both, and of instruction to the Maria. Without 
 the smallest inconvenience to myself, I am able to lodge yourselves and 
 family, by arranging you in the winter apartment, which in the sum-
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON, 323 
 
 mer season is not of any use to us, I think you will be satisfied with 
 your habitation, and already see you in your dressing-room ; a small 
 pleasant room, with a delightful prospect to the west and south. If 
 poor aunt Kitty (you oblige me beyond expression by your tender care 
 of that excellent woman) if she were only ten years younger, I would 
 desire you to take her with you, but I much fear we shall never meet 
 again. You will not complain of the brevity of this epistle ; I expect, 
 in return, a full and fair account of yourself, your thoughts and actions, 
 soul and body, present and future, in the safe, though unreserved, con- 
 fidence of friendship. The Baron in two words hinted but an indif- 
 ferent account of your health ; you are a fine machine ; but as he was 
 absent in Ireland, I hope I understand the cause and the remedy. 
 Next to yourself, I want to hear of the two Baronesses. You must 
 give me a faithful picture (and though a mother you can give it) of 
 their present external and internal forms ; for a year has now elapsed, 
 and in t!ieir lives a year is an age. Adieu. Ever yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, March 13, 1785. 
 My long silence (and it has been long) must not, on this occasion, be 
 imputed to laziness, though that little devil may likewise have been 
 busy. But you cannot forget how many weeks I remained in suspense, 
 expecting every post the final sentence, and not knowing what to say 
 in that passive uncertainty. It is now something more than a fort- 
 night since your last letter, and that of Gosling informed me of the event. 
 I have intended every day to write, and every day I have started back 
 with reluctance and disgust, from the consideration of the wretched 
 subject. Lenborough irrecoverably gone, for three-fourths of its real, 
 at least of its ancient, value ; my seat in parliament sunk in the abyss 
 of your cursed politics, and a balance neatly cyphered and summed 
 by Gosling, which shews me a very shallow purse, in which others 
 have a clearer right to dip than myself. 
 
 March 21. 
 Another week is now elapsed, and though nothing is changed in 
 this too faithful state of my affairs, I feel myself able to encounter them 
 with more spirit and resolution ; to look on the future, rather than the 
 past, on the fair, rather than on the foul side of the prospect. I shall 
 speak in the confidence of friendship, and while you listen to the more 
 doleful tale of my wants and wishes, you will have the satisfaction of 
 hearing some circum.stances in my present situation of a less unpleasing 
 nature, i. In the first place, I most heartily rejoice in the sale, how- 
 ever unfavourable, of the Bucks estate. Considering the dullness of 
 the times, and the high interest of money, it is not a little to obtain 
 even a tolerable price, and I am sensible how much your patience and 
 industry have been exercised to extort the payment. 2. Your resist- 
 ance to my Swiss expedition was more friendly than wise. Had I 
 yielded, after eighteen months of suspense and anxiety, I should now, 
 a still poorer man, be driven to embrace the same resource, which has
 
 Pi LIFE AT LAUSANNE CONTRASTED WITH LONDON. I 
 
 succeeded according^ to, or even beyond, my most sanguine expecta- \ 
 
 tions. I do not pretend to have discovered the terrestrial paradise, 1 
 
 which has not been known in this world since the fall of Adam ; but I \ 
 
 can ti-uly declare, (now the charms of novelty are long since faded,) < 
 
 that I have found the plan of life the best adapted to my temper and ! 
 
 my situation. I am now writing to you in a room as good as that in ] 
 
 Bentinck-street, which commands the country, the lake, and the moun- 1 
 
 tains, and the opening prospect of the spring. The aforesaid room J 
 
 is furnished without magnificence, but with every conveniency for ] 
 
 warmth, ease, and study, and the walls are already covered with mora i 
 
 than two thousand volumes, the choice of a chosen library. I have ' 
 
 health, friends^ an amusing society, and perfect freedom. A Com- ,! 
 
 missioner of the Excise ! the idea makes me sick. If you ask me what j 
 
 I have saved by my retreat to Lausanne ? I will fairly tell you (in the j 
 two great articles of a carriage and a house in town, both which were 
 
 indispensable, and are now annihilated, with the difference of clubs, ■ 
 
 public places, servants' wages, &c.) about four hundred pounds, or ' 
 
 guineas, a year ; no inconsiderable sum, when it must be annually \ 
 found as addition to an expense which is somewhat larger than my 
 
 present revenue. 3. Wliat is tlien, you will ask, my present establish- \ 
 iitent f This is not by any means a cheap country ; and, except in the 
 
 article of wine, I could give a dinner, or make a coat, perhaps for the i 
 
 same price in London as at Lausanne. My chief advantage arises j 
 from the things which I do not want ; and in some respects my style 
 
 of living is enlarged by the increase of my relative importance, an \ 
 
 obscure batchelor in England, the master of a considerable house at ' 
 Lausanne. Here I am expected to return entertainments, to receive 
 ladies, &c. and to perform many duties of society, which, though agree- 
 able enough in themselves, contribute to inflame the housekeeper's^ 
 
 bills. From the disbursements of the first year I cannot form any just \ 
 
 estimate ; the extraordinaiy expenses of the journey, carriage of heavy j 
 
 goods from England, the acquisition of many books, which it was not j 
 
 expedient to transport, the purchase of furniture, wine, fitting up my ( 
 library, and the irregularity of a new menage, have consumed a pretty 
 large sum. But in a quiet, prudent, regular course of life, I think I 
 can support myself with comfort and honour for six or seven hundred 
 pounds a year, instead of a thousand or eleven hundred in England. 
 
 Besides these uncertainties, (uncertain at least as to the time,) I have , 
 
 a sure and honourable supply from my own pen. I continue my History I 
 
 with pleasure and assiduity ; the way is long and laborious, yet I see i 
 
 the end, and I can almost promise to land in England next September \ 
 
 twelvemonth, with a manuscript of the current value of about four \ 
 thousand pounds, which will afford cither a small income or a large 
 
 capital. 5. It is in the meanwhile that my situation is somewhat i 
 
 difficult, * * * Such are the services and revenues of the year ; pro- j 
 
 ceed we now, in the style of the budget, to the ways and means of 1 
 
 extraordinary supplies. * * * I will not affront your friendship, by j 
 
 observing that you will incur little or no risk on this occasion. Read, \ 
 
 consider, act, and write. _ • 
 
 It is the privilege of friendship to make our friend a patient hearer, ' 
 
 and active associate in our own affairs ; and I have now written five j
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 325 
 
 pages on my private affairs, without saying a -word either of the public, 
 or of yourself. Of the public 1 have little to say ; I never was a veiy 
 warm patriot, and I grow every day a citizen of the world. The 
 scramble for power or 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. You are not a friend of the young Minister, but 
 he is a great favourite on the continent, as he appears to be still ; and 
 you must own that the fairness of his character, his eloquence, his 
 application to business, and even his youth, must prepossess at least 
 the ignorant in his favour. Of the merit or defects of his administra- 
 tion I cannot pretend to speak ; but I find, from the complaints of 
 some interested persons, that his restraints on the smuggling of tea 
 have already ruined the East India Companies of Antwerp and S\\ eden, 
 and that even the Dutch will scarcely find it worth their while to send 
 any ships to China. Your Irish friends appear to be more quiet, at 
 least the volunteers and national congress seem to subside. How far 
 that tranquillity must be purchased on our side, by any pernicious 
 sacrifices, you will best decide ; and from some hint in your last letters, 
 I am inclined to think that you are-less aflected than might be supposed 
 with national or local prejudice. Your introduction I have attentively 
 read ; the matter, though most' important in itself, is out of the line of 
 my studies and habits, and the subordinate beauties of style you disclaim. 
 Yet I can say with truth, that I never met with more curious and diligent 
 investigation, more strong sense, more liberal spirit, and more cool and 
 impartial temper in the same number of pages. By this time you have 
 probably read Nccker's book on the finances. Perhaps for you there 
 is too much French enthusiasm and paint ; but in many respects you 
 must have gained a knowledge of his country ; and on the whole, you 
 must have been pleased with the picture of a great and benevolent 
 mind. In your attack on Deyverdun for my picture I cannot promise 
 you much success ; he seems resolved to maintain his right of posses- 
 sion, and your only chance would be a personal assault. The next 
 summer (how time slips away !) was fixed for your visit to Lausanne. 
 We are prepared at all points to receive yoit, my Lady, and a princess 
 or two, with their train ; and if you have a proper contempt for St. 
 Stephen's chapel, you are perfectly free, and at leisure (can you ever 
 be at leisure?) for the summer season. As you are now in a great 
 measure disengaged from any affairs, you may find time to inform me 
 of your proceedings and your projects. At present I do not even know 
 whether you pass the winter at Sheffield-Place or in Downing-street. 
 My Lady revenges herself of my long silence ; yet I embrace her and 
 the infants. Adieu. You have deranged the Decline and Fall this 
 morning. I have finished my epistle since dinner, and am now going 
 to a pleasant party and good supper. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Rit^Jit Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, September 5, 178;,'. 
 
 Extract from a weekly English Paper, September 5, 17S5. "It 
 
 is reported, but we hope without foundation, that the celebrated Mr
 
 326 ON THE REPORTED DEATH OP THE HISTORIAN. 
 
 Gibbon, who had retired to Lausanne in Switzerland to finish li?3 
 vahiable History, lately died in that city." 
 
 The hope of the Newspaper-writer is very handsome and obliging 
 to the Historian ; yet there are several weighty reasons which would 
 incline me to believe that the intelligence may be true. Primo, It 
 must one day be true ; and therefore may very probably be so at 
 present. Seamdo, We may always depend on the impartiality, ac- 
 curacy, and veracity of an English Newspaper. Teriio, which is 
 indeed the strongest argument, We are credibly informed that for a 
 long time past the said celebrated Historian has not written to any of 
 his friends in England ; and as that respectable personage had always 
 the reputation of a most exact and regular correspondent, it may be 
 fairly concluded from his silence, that he either is, or ought to be dead. 
 
 The only objection that I can foresee, is the assurance that Mr. G 
 
 himself read the article as he was eating his breakfast, and laughed 
 very heartily at the mistake of his brother Historian ; but as he might 
 he desirous of concealing that unpleasant event, we shall not insist on 
 his apparent health and spirits, which might be affected by that subtle 
 politician. He affirms, however, not only that he is alive, and was so 
 on the fifth of September, but that his head, his heart, his stomach, 
 are in the most perfect state, and thai the climate of Lausanne has 
 been congenial both to his mind and body. He confesses indeed, that 
 after the last severe winter, the gout, his old enemy, from whom he 
 hoped to have escaped, pursued him to his retreat among the moun- 
 tains of Helvetia, and that the siege v/as long, though more languid 
 than in his precedent attacks ; after some exercise of patience he begaK 
 to creep, and gradually to walk ; and though he can neither run, nor 
 fly, nor dance, he supports himself with firmness on his two legs, and 
 would willingly kick the impertinent Gazetteer ; impertinent enough, 
 though more easily to be forgiven than the insolent Courier du Bas 
 Rhhi, who about three years ago amused himself and his readers with 
 a fictitious epistle from Mr. Gibbon to Dr. Robertson. 
 
 Perhaps now you think. Baron, that I shall apologize in humble style 
 for my silence and neglect. But, on the contrary, 1 do assure you that 
 I am truly provoked at your Lordship's not condescending to be in a 
 passion. 1 might really have been dead, I might have been sick ; if I 
 were neither dead nor sick, I deserved a volley of curses and reproaches 
 for my infernal laziness, and you have defrauded me of my just dues. 
 Had I been silent till Christmas, till doomsday, you would never have 
 thought it worth your while to abuse me. Why then (let me ask in 
 )our name) did you not write liefore .'' That is indeed a very curious' 
 question of natural and moral philosophy. Certainly I am not lazy : 
 elaborate quartos have proved, and will abundantly prove my diligence. 
 I cati write ; spare my modesty on that subject. I like to converse 
 with my friends by pen or tongue, and as soon as I can set myself a« 
 going, I know no moments that run off more pleasantly. I am so well 
 convinced of that truth, and so much ashamed of forcing people that I 
 love to forget me, that I have now resolved to set apart the first hour of 
 each day for the discharge of my obligations ; beginning, coinvie de 
 ratsoii, with yourself, and regularly proceeding to Lord Loughborough 
 Tind the rest. May heaven give me strength and grace to accomplish
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 327 
 
 this laudable intention ! Amen, Certainly (yet I d,o not know whether 
 it be so certain) I should write much oftener to you if we were not 
 linked in business, and if my business had not always been of the un- 
 pleasant and mortifying kind. Even now I shove the ugly monster to 
 the end of this epistle, and will confine him to a page by himself, that 
 he may not infect the purer air of our correspondence. Of my situation 
 Iiere I have little new to say, except a very comfortable and singular 
 truth, that my passion for my wife or mistress (Fanny Lausanne) is not 
 palied by satiety and possession of two years. I have seen her in all 
 seasons, and in all humours, and though she is not without faults, they 
 are infinitely overbalanced by her good qualities. Her face is not 
 handsome, but her person, and everything about her, has admirable 
 grace and beauty : she is of a very cheerful sociable temper ; without 
 much learning, she is endowed with taste and good sense ; and though 
 not rich, the simplicity of her education makes her a veiy good oecono- 
 mist ; she is forbid by her parents to wear any expensive finery ; and 
 though her limbs are not much calculated for walking, she has not yet 
 asked me to keep her a coach. Last spring (not to wear the metaphor 
 to rags) I saw Lausanne in a new light, during my long fit of the gout, 
 and must boldly declare, that either in health or sickness I find it far 
 more comfortable than your huge metropolis. In London my confine- 
 ment was sad and solitary ; the many forgot my existence when they 
 saw me no longer at Brookes's ; and the few, who sometimes cast a 
 thought or an eye on their friend, were detained by business or pleasure, 
 the distance of the way, or the hours of the House of Commons, and I 
 was proud and happy if I could prevail on Elmsly to enliven the dul- 
 ness of the evening. Here the objects are nearer, and much more dis- 
 tinct, and I myself am an object of much larger magnitude. People are 
 not kinder, but they are more idle, and it must be confessed that, of all 
 nations on the globe, the English are the least attentive to the old and 
 infirm ; I do not mean in acts of charity, but in the offices of civil life. 
 During three months I have had round my chair a succession of agree- 
 able men and women, who came with a smile, and vanished at a nod ; 
 and as soon as it was agreeable I had a constant party at cards, which 
 was sometimes dismissed to their respective homes, and sometimes 
 detained by Deyverdun to supper, without the least trouble or incon- 
 venience to myself In a word, my plan has most completely answered ; 
 and I solemnly protest, after two years' trial, that I have never, in a 
 single moment repented of my transmigration. The only disagreeable 
 circumstance is the increase of a race of animals with which this coun- 
 try has been long infested, and who are said to come from an island in 
 the Northern Ocean. I am told, but it seems incredible, that upwards 
 of forty thousand English, masters and servants, are now absent on the 
 continent ; and I am sure we have our full proportion, both in town 
 and country, from the month of June to that of October. The occupa- 
 tions of the closet, indifferent health, want of horses, in some measure 
 plead my excuse ; yet 1 do too much to please myself, and probably too 
 little to satisfy my countrymen. What is still more unlucky is, that a 
 part of the colony of this present year are really good company, people 
 one knows, &c. ; the Astons, Hales, Hampdens, Trevors, Lady Clarges, 
 and Miss Carter, Lord Northington, &c. I have seen Trevor several
 
 328 REFUSAL OF DEVVERDVN TO GIVE UP THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 times, who talks of you, and seems to be a more exact correspondent 
 than myself. His wife is much improved by her diplomatic life, and 
 shines in every company, as a woman of fashion and elegance. But 
 those who have repaid me for the rest, were Lord and Lady Spencet. 
 I saw them almost every day, at my house or their own, during their 
 stay of a month ; for they were hastening to Italy, that they might 
 return to London next February. He is a valuable man, and where he 
 is familiar, a pleasant companion ; she a charming woman, who, with 
 sense and spirit, has the simplicity and playfulness of a child. You are 
 not ignorant of her talents, of which she has left me an agreeable speci- 
 men, a drawing of the Historic Muse, sitting in a thoughtful posture to 
 compose. So much of self and Co. let us now talk a little of your 
 house and your two countries. Does my Lady ever join in the abuse 
 which I have merited from you ? Is she satisfied with her own be- 
 haviour, her unpardonable silence, to one of the prettiest, most obhging, 
 most entertaining, most, &c. epistles that ever was penned since the 
 epistles of * * . *. Will she not mew one word of reply ? I want 
 some account of her spirits, health, amusements, of the elegant accom- 
 plishments of Maria, and the opening graces of Louisa : of yourself I 
 wish to have some of those details which she is most likely to transmit. 
 Are you patient in your exclusion from the House ? Are you satisfied 
 with legislating with your pen ? Do you pass the whole winter in town? 
 Have you resumed the pursuits of farming, &c, ? What new connec- 
 tions, public or private, have you formed ? A tour to the continent 
 would be the best medicine for the shattered nerves of a soldier and 
 politician. By this expression you ■ will perceive that your letter to 
 Deyverdun is received ; it landed last post, after I had already written 
 the two first pages of this composition. On the whole my friend was 
 pleased and flattered ; but instead of surrendering, or capitulating, he 
 seems to be making preparations for an obstinate defence. He already 
 talks of the right of possession,* of the duties of a good citizen, of a 
 W7-it ne exeat regniim, and of a vote of the two hundred, that whom- 
 soever shall, directly or indirectly, &c. is an enemy to his country. 
 Between you be the strife, while I sit with my scales in my hand, like 
 Jupiter on Mount Ida. I begin to view with the same indifference the 
 combat of Achilles, Pitt, and Hector Fox ; for such, as it should now 
 seem, must be the comparison of the two warriors. * * *. 
 
 At this distance I am much less angry with bills, taxes, and propo- 
 sitions, than I am pleased with Pitt for making a friend and a deserving 
 man happy, for releasing Batt from the shackles of the law, and for 
 enhancing the gift of a secure and honourable competency, by the 
 handsome manner in which it was conferred. This I understand to be 
 the case, from the unsuspicious evidence of Lord Northington 
 and Chief Baron Skinner ; and if I can find time, {resolution,) 
 1 will send him a hearty congratulation ; if I fail, you may at least 
 communicate my intentions. Of Ireland I know nothing, and while I 
 am writing the Decline of a great Empire, I have not leisure to attend 
 to the affairs of a remote and petty province. I see that your friend 
 Foster has been hooted by the mob, and unanimously chosen Speaker 
 of the House of Commons. How could Pitt expose himself to the 
 
 • His portrait, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds-
 
 THE CORRESrO.VDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBOy. $2() 
 
 disgrace of withdrawing his propositions after a pubhc attempt ? Have 
 Ministers no way of computing beforehand the sense or nonsense ol 
 an Irish Parhament ? I am quite in the dark ; your pamphlet, or book, 
 would probably have opened my eyes ; but, whatever may have been 
 the reason, 1 give you ;/zy word of ho7ioiir, that 1 have never seen nor 
 heard of it. Here we are much niore engaged with continental 
 politics. In general we hate the Emperor, as the enemy of peace, 
 without daring to make war. The old lion of Prussia acts a much 
 more glorious part, as the champion of public tranquillitj', and the 
 independence of the German states. 
 
 And now for the bitter and nauseous pill of pecuniary business, upon 
 which I shall be as concise as possible in the two articles of my dis- 
 course, land and money. * * * It is impossible to hate more than 
 I do this odious necessity of owing, borrowing, anticipating, and I 
 look forwards with impatience to the happy period when the supplies 
 will always be raised within the year, with a decent and useful surplus 
 in the treasury. I now trust to the conclusion of my History, and it 
 will hasten and secure the principal comforts of my life. You will 
 believe I am not lazy ; yet I fear the term is somewhat more distant 
 than 1 thought. My long gout lost me three months in the spring ; in 
 every great work unforeseen dangers, and difficulties, and delays will 
 arise ; and 1 should be rather sorry than surprised if next autumn was 
 postponed to the ensuing spring. If my Lady (a good creature) should 
 write to Mrs. Porten, she may convey news of my life and health, 
 without saying anything of this /^^i-j/^^/d' delay. Adieu. I embrace, &c. 
 
 Lausanne, October i, 1785. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield, 
 
 Lausanne, January 17, 1786. 
 Hear, all ye nations ! An epistle from Sheffield-Place, received 
 the seventeenth of January, is answered the same day ; and to say the 
 truth, this method, which is the best, is at the same time the most easy 
 and pleasant. Yet I do rwt allow that on the last past silence and 
 delay you have any more reason to swear than myself. Our letters 
 crossed each other, our claims were equal, and if both had been stiffly 
 maintained, our mutual silence must have continued till the day of 
 judgment. The balance was doubtless in my favour, if you recollect 
 the length, the fulness, the variety of pleasant and instructive matter 
 of my last dispatch. Even at present, of myself, my occupations, my 
 designs, I have little or nothing to add ; and can only speak dryly and 
 briefly to very dry and disagreeable business. * * * But we shall 
 both agree, that the true criminal is my Lady ; and though I do suppose 
 that a letter is on the road, which will make some amends, her 
 obstinate, contumacious, dilatory silence, so many months or years 
 since my valuable letter, is worthy 2. royal tigress. * * * Notwith- 
 standing your gloomy politicians, I do love the funds ; and were the 
 next war to reduce them to half, the remainder would be a better and 
 plcasanter property, than a similar value in your dirty acres. We are 
 DOW jji the height of our winter amusements; balls, great suppers,
 
 330 EDWARD GIBBON ON THE DEA TH OF HIS AUNT. 
 
 comedies, &c. and, except St. Stephen's, I certainly lead a more gay 
 and dissipated life here, among the Alps, (by the bye, a most extra- 
 ordinary mild winter,) than in the midst of London. Yet my mornings, 
 and sometimes an afternoon, are diligently employed. My work 
 advances, but much remains, indeed much more than I imagined ; but 
 a great book, like a great house, was never yet finished at the given 
 time. When I talk of the spring of eighty-seven, I suppose all my 
 time well bestowed ; and what do you think of a fit of the gout, that 
 may disqualify me for two or three months ? You may growl, but if 
 you calmly reflect on my pecuniary and sentimental state, you will 
 believe that I most earnestly desire to complete my labour, and visit 
 England. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield, 
 
 May lo, 1786. 
 By the difference, I suppose, of the posts of France and Germany, 
 Sir Stanier's letter, though first written, is still on the road, and yours, 
 which I received yesterday morning, brought me the first account of 
 poor Mrs. Port en's departure. There are few events that could afflict 
 me more deeply, and I have been ever since in a state of mind more 
 deserving of your pity than of your reproaches. I certainly ain not 
 ignorant that we have nothing better to wish for ourselves than the 
 fate of that best humoured woman, as you very justly style her ; a 
 good understanding and an excellent heart, with health, spa-its, and a 
 competency, to live in the midst of her friends till the age of fourscore, 
 and then to shut her eyes without pain or remorse. Death can have 
 deprived her only of some years of weakness, perhaps of misery ; and 
 for myself, it is surely less painful to lose her at present, than to find 
 her in my visit to England next year sinking under the weight of age 
 and infirmities, and perhaps forgetful of herself and of the persons 
 once the dearest to her. All this is perfectly true : but all these reflec- 
 tions will not dispel a thousand sad and tender remembrances that 
 rush upon my raind. To her care I am indebted in earliest infancy 
 for the preservation of my life and health. I was a puny child, 
 neglected by my mother, starved by my nurse, and of whose being 
 very little care or expectation was entertained ; without her maternal 
 vigilance I should cither have been in my grave, or imperfectly lived a 
 crooked ricketty monster, a burden to myself and others. To her 
 instructions I owe the first rudiments of knowledge, the first exercise 
 of reason, and a taste for books, which is still the pleasure and glory 
 of my life ; and though she taught me neither language nor science, 
 she was certainly the most useful preceptor I ever had. As I grew up, 
 an intercourse of thirty years endeared her to me, as the faithful friend 
 and the agreeable companion. You have seen with what freedom and 
 confidence we lived together, and have often admired her character 
 and conversation, which could alike please the young and the old. All 
 tliis is now lost, finally, irrecoverably lost ! I will agree with my Lady, 
 that the immortality of the soul is at some times a very comfortable 
 doctrine. A thousand thanks to her for her constant kind attention to 
 that poor woman who is no more. I wish I bad as mucli to applaud,
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 33 1 
 
 and as little to reproach, in my own behaviour towards Mrs. Porten 
 since I left England ; and when I reflect that my letters would have 
 soothed and comforted her decline, I feel more deeply than I can 
 express, the real neglect, and seeming indifference, of my silence. To 
 delay a letter from the Wednesday to the Saturday, and then from the 
 Saturday to the Wednesday, appears a very slight offence ; yet in the 
 repetition of such delay, weeks, months, and years will elapse, till the 
 omission may become irretrievable, and the consequence mischievous 
 or fatal. After a long lethargy, I had roused myself last week, and 
 wrote to the three old Ladies ; my letter for Mrs. Porten went away 
 last post, Saturday night, and yours did not arrive till Monday morning. 
 Sir Stanierwill probably open it, and read the true picture of my senti- 
 ments for a friend who, when I wrote, was already extinct. There is 
 something sad and awful in the thought, yet, on the whole, I am not 
 sorry that even this tardy epistle preceded my knowledge of her death : 
 but it did not precede (you will observe) the information of her dan- 
 gerous and declining state, which I conveyed in my last letter, and her 
 anxious concern that she should never see or hear from me again. 
 This idea, and the hard thoughts which you must entertain of me, 
 press so much on my mind, that I must frankly acknowledge a strange 
 inexcusable supineness, on which I desire you would make no 
 comment, and which in some measure may account for my delays in 
 corresponding with you. The unpleasant nature of business, and the 
 apprehension of finding something disagreeable, tempted me to post- 
 pone from day to day, not only the answering, but even the opening, 
 your penultimate epistle ; and when I received your last, yesterday 
 morning, the seal of the former was still unbroken. Oblige me so far 
 as to make no reflections ; my own may be of service to me hereafter. 
 Thus far (except the last sentence) I have run on with a sort of melan- 
 choly pleasure, and find my heart much relieved by unfolding it to a 
 friend. And the subject so strongly holds me, so much disqualifies 
 me for other discourse, either serious or pleasant, that here I would 
 willingly stop, and reserve all miscellaneous matter for a second 
 volunteer epistle. But we both know how frail are promises, how 
 dangerous are delays, and there are some pecuniary objects on which 
 I think it necessary to give you an immediate, though now tardy, 
 explanation. 
 
 1 do not return you any formal thanks for * * * I have really a 
 hundred things to say of myself, of you and Co. of your works, of mine, 
 of my books in Downing-street, of Lausanne, of politics, &c. &c. After 
 this, some epistolary debts must and shall be paid ; and to proceed 
 with order, I have fixed this day fortnight (May twenty-fifth) for the 
 date and dispatch of your second epistle. Give me credit once more. 
 Pray does my Lady think herself absolved from all obligation of writing 
 to me ? To her at least I am not in arrear. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Sir Stanier Porten, Kensington- Palace. 
 
 My dear Sir, Lausanne, May 12, 17S6. 
 
 The melancholy event which you have communicated, in your last 
 
 obliging letter of the twenty-fourth of April, might indeed be too
 
 332 E. GIBBON TO SIR STANIER FORTE N. 
 
 naturally feared and expected. If we consult our reason, we can wish 
 nothing better for ourselves than the lot of that dear and valuable friend 
 whom we have now lost.* A warm heart, a strong and clear under- 
 standing, a most invaluable happiness of temper, which showed her the 
 agreeable or comfortable side of every object, and every situation ; an 
 easy competency, the reward of her own attention ; private friendship, 
 general esteem, a mature age, and a placid decline. Eut these rational 
 motives of consolation are insufficient to check a thousand soft and sad 
 remembrances that rush into my mind ; the intimacy of a whole life ; 
 of mine, at least, from the earliest dawn of my infancy ; the maternal 
 and assiduous care of my health, and afterwards of my mind ; the 
 freedom and frequency of our conversations ; the regret which I felt in 
 our last separation, and the hope, however faint and precarious, of 
 seeing her again. Time alone can reconcile us to this irreparable loss, 
 and to his healing power I must recommend your grief as well as my 
 own. I sincerely applaud her very proper and natural disposal of her 
 effects, and am proud of the pre-eminence which she has allowed me in 
 a list of dear and worthy relations. 
 
 I am too full of a single idea to expatiate, as I should otherwise do, 
 on indifferent matters ; yet not totally indifferent to my friends, since they 
 relate to my present situation. My health is in general perfectly goocl, 
 and the only drawbacks some occasional visits of the gout, which 
 abate, however, in strength, and are grown, I think, less frequent and 
 lasting. The life which I lead is temperate and tranquil, and the dis- 
 temper itself is not common in the purity and dryness of the climate. 
 After a long trial, I can now approve my own choice of retiring to 
 Switzerland. My delightful habitation, at once in town and country ; 
 my library, and the society of agreeable men and women, compose a 
 very eligible plan of life, which is shaded with very few, and very slight 
 exceptions. I prosecute with ease, and regular diligence, the conclu- 
 sion of my History; and, as far as I can judge, I may hope to deliver 
 it to the press in the course of next year. That important business 
 will recall me to England, and detain me there some months ; and I 
 shall rejoice in the opportunity of revisiting my country and my 
 friends ; among them those of Kensington-Palace hold a high and dis- 
 tinguished place. 
 
 I truly sympathize, my dear Sir, in your paternal feelings, in the 
 health and progress of your very promising children. May that, and 
 every other blessing, attend both yourself and Lady Porten. My friend 
 M. Deyverdun desires to assure you of his respect and good wishes. I 
 am, dear Sir, most affectionately yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, July 22, 1786. 
 
 * * * Since I have another page, and some leisure moments, we may 
 
 as well employ it in friendly convert-'* ; the more so, as the greater letter 
 
 to which I alluded is wonderfully prf^carious and uncertain : the more 
 
 50 likewise, as our correspondence for some time past has been of an 
 
 * His auot, Mrs. Catherine Fortea
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 333 
 
 abnipt and disagreeable cast. Let us first talk of Sheffield's works : 
 they are of two sorts : Friino, Two njanphs, whom I much desire to sec; 
 the sprightly Maria and the gentle Louisa. I perfectly represent them 
 both in the eye of fancy ; each of them accomplished according to her 
 age and character, yet totally different in their external and internal 
 forms. Seciindo, Three pamphlets ; pamphlets ! I cry you mercy ; 
 three weighty treatises, almost as useful as an inquiry into the state of 
 the primitive church. And here let me justify, if I have not before, 
 my silence on a subject which we authors do not easily forgive. The 
 first, whose first editions had seen the light before I left England, 
 followed me here in a more complete condition ; and that Treatise on 
 the American Trade has been read, judged, approved, and reported. 
 The second, on Ireland, I have seen by accident the copy you sent to 
 Mr. Trevor, who passed last summer (eighty-five) here. The third, 
 and in my present situation the most interesting, on the French Com- 
 merce,* 1 have not yet seen by any means whatsoever, and you who 
 know what orders you have given to Elmsly or others, will best discern 
 on whom should be laid the fault and the blame. By the bye, Mrs. 
 Trevor is now here, without her husband, and I am just going to see 
 her, about a mile out of town : she is judged elegant and amiable. But 
 to return to your books, all that I have seen must do you honour, and 
 might do the public service ; you are above the trifling decorations of 
 style ; but your sense is strong, your views impartial, and your industry 
 laudable. I find that your American Tract is just translated into 
 German. Do you still correspond with * * *? If he could establish 
 a beneficial intercourse between the two first nations in the world, I 
 would excuse him some little political tergiversation. At some distance 
 of time and place, those domestic squabbles lose much of their import- 
 ance ; and though I should not forgive him any breach of private 
 friendship or confidence, I cannot much blame him if he chose rather 
 to serve his family and his country, than to persevere in a hopeless 
 and, as I suspect, an unpopular opposition. You have never told me 
 clearly and correctly how you support your inactive retreat from the 
 House of Commons ; whether you have resumed your long forgotten 
 taste for rural and domestic pleasures, and whether you have never 
 cast a look towards Coventry, or some other borough equally pure and 
 respectable. In the short space that is left I will only repeat more 
 distinctly, that in the present contemplation of my work, June or July 
 of next year is the earliest term at which I can hope to see England ; 
 and if I have a fit of the gout ? I have indeed been free from the 
 monster this last twelvemonth ; but he is most arbitrary and capricious. 
 Of my own situation let me say with truth that it is tranquil, easy, and 
 well adapted to my character. All enthusiasm is now at an end ; I 
 see things in their true light, and I applaud the judgment and choice 
 of my retirement. I am well, happy, and diligent ; but your kind hint 
 of the London house is perfectly superfluous ; as instead of the spn'jo^-, 
 we must already read the stti/uiicr of next year. Do not be childish or 
 passionate ; trust me, I wish to appear in England ; but it must be 
 with my book in my hand ; and a book takes more time in making 
 than a pudding. Adieu. Will my Lady never write .'' 
 
 * A loistake— Lord Sheffield did oot subusu any tract on Frenicl^ Qommeia,
 
 334 ^- GIBBON TO HIS PUBIISHER IN LONDON. 
 
 You see why I have left a blank in the first page ; and when I begun 
 I had no design of going beyond it ; and now, unless I have some 
 extraordinary fit of diligence and zeal, shall probably wait till the return 
 01 your epistle. A word before we part, about the least unpleasant of 
 my business ; my library in Downing-street. Excuse the accidental 
 derangement ; I shall send for no more books, and only beg you to 
 give them shelter in your uninhabited parlour till my arrival. Two or 
 three mornings will suffice for personal review, and the subsequent 
 steps of sale or travel will most properly be executed under my own 
 eye. Once tnore adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mr. Cadell, Bookseller, London. 
 Dear Sir, Lausanne, December i6, 1786. 
 
 I received your letter this morning (the i6th instant), and answer 
 it the same day. I am a sad correspondent, but it has been my constant 
 endeavour that my negligence should never affect the interest or happi- 
 ness of my friends. 
 
 The report you so kindly mention is somewhat incorrect. I never 
 could fix a particular day for dining with Lord Sheffield, nor should I 
 think of performing the journey in the winter month of February. The 
 last autumn was the term which I had fixed in my hopes, and long 
 since in my letters to him. It has been changed to next spring, and 
 by the spring I must now understand the middle of the summer, which 
 I can at present ascertain with some confidence, from a nearer prospect 
 of the end of my work, which I shall bring over for the press. It will 
 consist of three more quarto volumes, somewhat thinner, perhaps, than 
 their predecessors ; but as that difference cannot be enough to affect 
 the price, it will be so much saved on the author's pains, and the printer's 
 expences. I am happy to understand the public entertain the same 
 opinion of the past, and the same impatience for the remainder ; and, 
 unless I am strangely deceived, their expectation will not be disappointed. 
 The three last volumes are lalaoured at least with equal diligence ; they 
 contain a longer period of time, and a far greater variety of events ; and 
 the whole will comprise a general series of history, from the reign of 
 Trajan and the Antonines, to the taking of Constantinople by Mahomet 
 the Second ; with a review of Mahomet and his successors, the Crusades 
 and the Turks, as far as in their utmost latitude they are connected 
 with the fate of the Eastern or Western Empire. With regard to our 
 pecuniary arrangements, I persuade mj'self that we shall have no more 
 difficulties now than heretofore ; that you will cheerfully assign the same 
 value to the three younger as to the three elder brothers ; and that so 
 important a transaction will have been concluded in the first instance 
 by three minutes of conversation, and in the second by three lines of 
 a letter ; a memorable example in the annals of authors and booksellers. 
 If you agree with me on this subject, you may provide paper, &c. as 
 soon as you please in the spring, in the full confidence of seeing me 
 with my book in the summer ; and I should not be sorry to learn what 
 time (in using the utmost expedition) would be sufficient for printing, 
 jHfjcj how late you would consent to publish in the ensuing spring. At 
 
 i
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 335 
 
 this moment, when I am straining every nerve to conchide my living 
 labours, I am ill-disposed to lose any time in the dull dead work of 
 correcting a new edition. When I am in England, quiet in the country, 
 there would be room and leisure for a complete revision ; and I should 
 have no objection to place at the end of the sixth volume a string of 
 amendments and improvements, which hereafter might be inserted in 
 their proper places. We shall likewise have occasion for a good and 
 general index to the whole. 
 
 I sincerely condole with you in your various losses ; Rose and 
 Strahan were indeed valual)le men. For myself, you will rejoice to 
 hear that I am satisfied with my Swiss retirement ; and that, except 
 some mild and transient fits of the gout, 1 enjoy as much health and 
 happiness as is compatible with the lot of man. I expect with much 
 impatience Dr. Robertson's improved edition. There are three or 
 four books which I should like to have without del^iy : that work. 
 Pennant's Arctic Zoology, White's Sermons (the Arabic professor), 
 the Annual Registers since the year 1782. With Elmsley's assistance 
 (he is a sad dog, but I will write to him soon) could you not inclose 
 them in a small box, with any other recent publications oi merit, and 
 dispatch them instantly by some more costly and expeditious mode of 
 conveyance ? I am, most faithfully yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, January 20, 1787. 
 After some sallies of wrath, you seem at length to have subsided 
 in sullen silence, and I must confess not totally without reason. Yet if 
 your mind be still open to truth, you will confess that I am not so black 
 as I appear, i. Your Lordship has shown much less activity and elo- 
 quence than formerly, and your last letter was an answer to mine, 
 which I had expected some time with impatience. Bad examples are 
 dangerous to young people. 2. Formerly I have neglected answering 
 your epistles on essential, though unpleasant, business ; and the rcs- 
 piiblica ox privata may have suffered by my neglect. Supposing there- 
 fore we had no transactions, why should I write so often ? To exchange 
 sentimental compliments or to relate the various and important trans- 
 actions of the republic of Lausanne. As long as I do not inform you of 
 my death, you have good grounds to believe me alive and well. You 
 have a general, and will soon have a more particular idea of my system 
 and arrangement here. One day glides away after another in tranquil 
 uniformity. Every object must have sides and moments less luminous 
 than others ; but, upon tiie whole, the life and the place which I have 
 chosen are most happily adapted to my character and circumstances : 
 and I can now repeat, at the end of three years, what I soon and 
 sincerely affirmed, that never, in a single instant, have I repented of 
 my scheme of retirement to Lausanne ; a retirement which was judged 
 by my best and wisest friend a project little short of insanity. The 
 place, the people, the climate, have answered or exceeded my warmest 
 expectations. And though I truly rejoice in my approaching visit to 
 England, Mr, Pitt, were he your friend and mine, would not lind it an
 
 336 E. GIBBON ON HIS ANXIETl TO FINISH HIS BOOK. 
 
 easy task to prevent my return. 3. And now let me add a third reason, 
 which often diverted me from writing ; namely, my impatience to see 
 you this next summer. I am building a great book, which, besides the 
 three stories already exposed to the public eye, will have three stories 
 more before we reach the roof and battlements. You too have built or 
 altered a great Gothic castle with baronial battlements. Did you 
 finish it within the time you intended .'' As that time drew near, did 
 you not find a thousand nameless and unexpected works that must be 
 performed ; each of them calling for a portion of time and labour ? and 
 had you not despised, nobly despised, the minute diligence of finishing, 
 fitting up, and furnishing the apartments, you would have discovered a 
 new train of indispensable business. Such, at least, has been my case. 
 A long while ago, when I contemplated the distant prospect of my 
 work, I gave you and myself some hopes of landing in England last 
 autumn ; but, alas ! when autumn grew near, hills began to rise on 
 hills, Alps on Alps, and I found my journey far more tedious and toil- 
 some than I had imagined. When I look back on the length of the 
 undertaking, and the variety of materials, I cannot accuse, or suffer 
 myself to be accused of idleness ; yet it appeared that unless I doubled 
 my diligence, another year, and perhaps more, would elapse before I 
 could embark with my complete manuscript. Under these circum- 
 stances I took, and am still executing, a bold and meritorious resolu- 
 tion. The mornings in winter, and in a country of early dinners, are 
 very concise ; to them, my usual period of study, I now frequently add 
 the evenings, renounce cards and society, refuse the most agreeable 
 evenings, or perhaps make my appearance at a late supper. By 
 this extraordinary industry, which I never practised before, and 
 to which I hope never to be again reduced, I see the last part 
 of my History growing apace under my hands ; all my materials 
 are collected and arranged ; I can exactly compute, by the square 
 foot, or the square page, all that remains to be done ; and after 
 concluding text and notes, after a general review of my time and 
 my ground, I now can decisively ascertain the final period of the 
 Decline and Fall, and can boldly promise that I will dine with you at 
 Sheffield-Place in the month of August, or perhaps of July, in the pre- 
 sent year ; within less than a twelvemonth of the term which 1 had 
 loosely and originally fixed ; and perhaps it would not be easy to find 
 a work of that size and importance in which the workman has so tole- 
 rably kept his word with himself and the public. But in this situation, 
 oppressed with this particular object, and stealing every hour from my 
 amusement, to the fatigue of the pen, and the eyes, you will conceive, 
 or you might conceive, how little stomach I have for the epistolary 
 style ; and that instead of idle, though friendly, correspondence I think 
 it far more agreeable to employ my time in the effectual measures that 
 may hasten and exhilarate our personal interview. About a month ago 
 I had a voluntary, and not unpleasing, epistle froin Cadell ; he infonns 
 me that he is going to print a new octavo edition, the former being 
 exhausted, and that the public expect with impatience the conclusion 
 of that excellent work, whose reputation increases every day, &c. I 
 answered him by the return of the post, to inform him of the period 
 aod extent of my labours, and to express a reasonable hope that he
 
 THE COkRESPOiVDEN-CE OF EDWARD GIBBON: 337 
 
 would set the same value on the three last as he had done on the three 
 former vokimcs. Should we conclude in this easy manner a transac- 
 tion so honourable to the author and bookseller, my way is clear and 
 open before me ; in pecuniary matters I think I am assured for the 
 rest of my life of never troubling my friends, or being troubled myself ; 
 a state to which I aspire, and which I indeed deserve, if not by my 
 management, at least by moderation. 
 
 In your last, you talk more of the French treaty than of yourself and 
 your wile and family ; a true ^ngWsh. qicid iiirnc/ For my part, in this 
 remote, inland, neutral country, you will suppose, that after a slight 
 glance on the papers, I have neither had the means nor the inclination 
 to think very deeply about it. As a citizen of the world, a character to 
 which I am every day rising or sinking, I inust rejoice in every agreement 
 that diminishes the separation between neighbouring countries, which 
 softens their prejudices, unites their interests and industry, and renders 
 their future hostilities less frequent and less implacable. With regard 
 to the present treaty, I hope both nations are gainers ; since otherwise 
 it cannot be lasting ; and such double mutual gain is surely possible in 
 fair trade, though it could not easily happen in the mischievous amuse- 
 ments of war and gaming. * * * What a delightful hand have these 
 great statesmen made of it since my departure ! without power, and, as 
 far as I can sec, without hope. When we meet I shall advise you to 
 digest all your political and commercial knowledge, (England, Ireland, 
 France, America,) and, with some attention to style and order, to make 
 the whole a classic book, which may preserve your name and benefit 
 your country. I know not whether you have seen Sir Henry Clinton 
 since his return : he passed a day with me, and seemed pleased with 
 my reception and place. We talked over you and the American war. 
 I embrace the silent my Lady and the two honourable Misses, whom 
 I sigh to behold and admire. Adieu. Ever yours. 
 
 Though I can part with land, you find I cannot part with books : 
 the remainder of my library has so long embarrassed your room, that 
 it may now await my presence and final judgment. Has my Lady 
 lead a novel intitled Caroline de Litchfield, of our home manufacture ; 
 I may say of ours, since Deyverdun and myself were the judges and 
 patrons of the manuscript. The author, who is since married a second 
 time, (Madame de Crousaz, now Montolieu,) is a charming woman. I 
 was in some danger. Once more, bar a long fit of the gout, and the 
 Plistorian will land at Dover before the end of July. Adieu. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mr. Cadell, London. 
 Dear Sir, Lausanne, F^cbruary 24, 1787- 
 
 I AM perfectly satisfied with your's and Mr. Strahan's cheerful and 
 liberal assent to my proposal, and am glad to find that your partner 
 has not degenerated from his worthy father, whose loss I sincerely 
 lament. The sole remaining difficulty (of the volumes falling below 
 the guinea price) it is unnecessary for the present to discuss, as I think 
 it unlikely to happen. As I am resolved to finish and revise the work 
 before I leave Lausanne, it will depend on yourself to arrange your
 
 $^8 EDWARD GIBBON TO MR. CADELL, LONDON: 
 
 preparations of paper, &c, in such a manner that we may lose no time, 
 but go to press the first week after my arrival. But in the mean while 
 I wish you to reflect and inquire; ist, In how many months the im- 
 pression of the three volumes may be completed, either with ordinai-y 
 or extraordinary diligence. And, 2dly, How late in next year you 
 would be desirous or willing to publish. On my revisal I may find 
 more alterations and improvements to make than I at present foresee ; 
 I may be disabled by a fit of the gout ; and your speedy answer will 
 inform me of the utmost latitude in which I may be indulged, without 
 totally disconcerting our common interest. You probably agree with 
 me in the necessity of a good general index for the six volumes. If 
 you are possessed of an intelligent workman, he might without delay 
 take in hand the first three volumes ; but in that case I must desire 
 him to send me as soon as possible a sJiort specimen by the post, i 
 have thought on the subject of index-making, and can give him some 
 advice, which will abridge the size, without impairing the use and 
 value of his alphabetical table. By a letter of the thirteenth instant, 
 Elmsley informs me that he is on the point of sending the books ; and 
 I hope to have them here before the end of next month. I propose 
 writing to him very soon ; but as the events of life are uncertain, it 
 may be safer to answer his question through your channel : " The 
 author of Cai'oline (Madame de Crousaz) is now become Madame la 
 Baronne de Montolieu by second marriage, and has other cares and 
 pleasures besides those of writing. Her pen is not idle, but her new 
 schemes of romance are not in any degree of forwai^dness or maturity. 
 Perhaps an handsome proposal from an English bookseller might 
 stimulate her diligence." I am sincerely yours. 
 
 In our style of negociation it is almost superfluous to say that I 
 reserve about a score of copies for myself and my friends. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, June 2, 1787. 
 I BEGIN to discover that if I wait till I could achieve a just 
 and satisfactory epistle, equally pleasant and instructive, you would 
 have a poor chance of hearing from me. I will therefore content 
 myself with a simple answer to a question, which (I love to believe) 
 you repeat with some impatience : " When may we expect you in 
 England?" My great building is, as it were, completed, and some 
 slight ornaments, the painting and glazing of the last finished rooms 
 may be dispatched without inconvenience in the autumnal residence 
 of Sheffield-Place. It is therefore my sincere and peremptory inten- 
 tion to depart from Lausanne about the twentieth of July, and to 
 find myself {ine trouver) in London on or before the glorious first 
 of August. I know of nothing that can prevent it but a fit of 
 the gout, the capricious tyrant, who obeys no laws either of time 
 or place ; and so unfortunately are we circumstanced, that such a fit, 
 if it came late and lasted long, would effectually disable me from 
 coming till next spring ; since thereby I should lose the season, the 
 monsoon, for the impression of three cjuarto volumes, which will rg^ j
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 339 
 
 quire nine months (a regiilar parturition), and cannot advantageously 
 appear after the beginning or middle of May. At the same time do 
 not be apprehensive that I mean to play you a dog's trick. From a 
 thousand motives it is my wish to come over this year : the desire of 
 seeing you, and the silent sullen my Lady ; the family arrangements, 
 discharge of servants, which I have already made ; the strong wish of 
 settling my three youngest children in a manner honourable to them 
 and beneficial to their parents. Much miscellaneous matter rises to 
 my pen, but I will not be tempted to turn the leaf. E\])ect me there- 
 fore at Sheffield-Place, with strong probability, about the fifteenth of 
 Au-iust. Adieu. Yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Lausanne, July 21, 17S7. 
 The twentieth of July is past, and I am still at Lausanne; but the 
 march of heavy bodies, such as armies and historians, can seldom be 
 foreseen or fixed to a precise day. Some particular reasons have 
 engaged me to allow myself another week ; and the day of my depar- 
 ture is now (/ believe) determined for Sunday the twenty-ninth instant. 
 You know the road and the distance. I am no rapid English traveller, 
 and my servant is not accustomed to ride post. I was never fond of 
 deeds of darkness, and if the weather be hot, we must repose in the 
 middle of the day. Yet the roads are in general good : between sun 
 and sun the interval is long ; and, barring the accidents of winds and 
 waves, I think it possible to reach London in ten or twelve days ; viz. 
 on or before the ninth of August. With your active spirit, you will 
 scarce understand how I can look on this easy journey with some 
 degree of reluctance and apprehension ; but after a tranquil sedentary hfe 
 of four years, (having lain but a single night out of my own bed,) I see 
 mountains and monsters in the way ; and so happy do I feel myself at 
 home, that nothing but the strongest calls of friendship and interest 
 could drag me from hence. You ingeniously propose that I should 
 turn off at Sittingbourne, and seem to wonder what business I can 
 find, or make, for an immediate residence in the capital. Have you 
 totally forgot that I bring over three quarto volumes for the press ? 
 and are you ignorant that not a moment must be lost, if we are desir- 
 ous of appearing at a proper season ; and that 1 must set the machine 
 in motion before I can secede to Sheffield-Place with an easy mind, and 
 for a reasonable term ? Of this be assured, that I shall not be less 
 impatient than yourself, and that, of human two-legged animals, your- 
 self and yours are the first whom I shall wish to see in England. For 
 myself, I do not regret the occupancy of Downing-strcet ; in my first 
 visit to London, a lodging or hotel in the Adelphi will be more con- 
 venient ; but I have some anxiety about my books, and must try 
 whether I can approach those holy relics, without offending the de- 
 licacy of an amiable Duchess. Our interview is so near, that I have 
 little more to add, except a caution about my own concerns, in which, 
 you will confess, that from , and , to , I have been gene- 
 rally unlucky. If an)thing remains, present or future, it must be
 
 340 H. GIB BOM, W LONDO^r, TO LORD StlEFFlELD. 
 
 agitated and decided ; but all retrospects are useless and painful, and 
 we have so many pleasant subjects of conversation, that all such 
 odious matters may be buried in oblivion. Adieu. I embrace my 
 Lady and Louisa, but I no longer presume, even on paper, to embrace 
 the blooming Maria. Ever jours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 Adelphi Hotel, August 8, 1787. 
 Intelligence extraordinary. This day (August the seventh) 
 the celebrated E. G. arrived with a numerous retinue (one servant). 
 We hear that he has brought over from Lausanne the remainder of 
 his History for immediate publication. The post had left town before 
 my arrival. I am pleased, but indeed astonished, to find myself in 
 London, after a journey of six hundred miles, and hardly yet conceive 
 how I had resolution to undertake it. I find myself not a Httle fatigued, 
 and have devoted this hot day to privacy and repose, without having 
 seen anybody except Cadell and Elmsley, and my neighbour Batt, 
 whose civility amounts to kindness and real friendship. But you may 
 depend on it, that instead of sauntering in town, or giving way to every 
 temptation, I will dispatch my necessary work, and hasten with impati- 
 ence to the groves of Sheffield-Place ; a project somewhat more rational 
 than the hasty turbulent visit which your vigour had imagined. If you 
 come up to quicken my diligence we shall meet the sooner ; but I see 
 no appearance of my leaving town before the end of next week. I 
 embrace, &c. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Monday Afteriioon, 1787. 
 
 I precipitate, I inconvenience ! Alas ! alas ! I am a pooi- miserable 
 cripple, confined to my chair. Last Wednesday evening I felt some 
 flying symptoms of the gout : for two succeeding days I struggled 
 bravely, and went in a chair to dine with Batt and Lord Loughborough : 
 but on Saturday I yielded to my conciueror. I have now passed three 
 wearisome days without amusement, and three miserable nights with- 
 out sleep. Yet my acquaintance are charitable ; and as virtue should 
 never be made too difficult, I feel that a man has more friends inPall- 
 mall than in Bentinck-street. This fit is remarkably painful ; the enemy 
 is possessed of the left foot and knee, and how far he may carry the 
 war God only knows. Of futurity it is impossible to speak ; but it will 
 be fortunate if I am able to leave town by the end, not of this, but of 
 the ensuing week. What may be the future progress, whether slow or 
 rapid, fluctuating or steady, time alone will determine ; and to that 
 master of human knowledge I must leave our Bath journey. Pity me, 
 magnnnimous Baron ; pity me, tender females ; pity me, Swiss exile 
 (M. Wilhcl. de Scvery) ; and believe me, it is far better to be learning 
 English at Uckficld. I write with difficulty, as the least motion or 
 constraint in my attitude is repeated by all the nerves and sinews in
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 34 1 
 
 my knee. But you shall find each day a note or bulletin of my licit'.ib. 
 To morrovv I must give pain to Mrs. G . Adieu. Ever yo'.ii s 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to the Right Hoti. Lady Sheffield. 
 
 Bath, December iS, 1787. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! alas ! How vain and fallacious are all the designs of 
 man. This is now the eighteenth of December, precisely one month 
 since my departure from Sheffield- Place ; and it was firmly my wish, 
 my hope, my resolution, that after dispatching some needful business 
 in London, and accomplishing a pious duty at Bath, I should by this 
 day be restored to the tranquil leisure, and friendly society, of Sheffield- 
 Place. A cruel tyrant has disconcerted all my plans ; my business in 
 town has been neglected, my attendance at Bath is just begun, and my 
 return is yet distant. I was not a little edified to hear of some expres- 
 sions of regret and discontent on my departure ; and though I am not 
 able to produce as good evidence, you will perhaps believe that in the 
 solitude of a London lodging 1 often railed at the gout for maliciously 
 delaying his attack till I was removed from a place where my sufterings 
 would liave been alleviated by every kind and comfortable attention. 
 I grew at last so desperately impatient, as to resolve on immediate 
 llight, without waiting till I had totally expelled the foe, and recovered 
 my strength. I performed the journey with tolerable ease, but the 
 motion has agitated the remains of the humour. I am very lame, and 
 a second fit may possibly be the punishment of my rashness. 
 
 As yet I have seen nothing of Bath except Mrs. G ; and weak- 
 ness, as well as propriety, will confine me very closely to her. Lord 
 Sheffield, with Mrs. Holroyd and Maria, dined with us yesterday. We 
 begin to throw out hints of the shortness of our stay, and indispensable 
 business ; and, unless 1 should be confined by the gout, it is resolved 
 in our cabinet to leave Bath on Thursday the twenty-sixth, and passing 
 through Lord Loughborough's and town, to settle at Sheffield-Place, 
 most assuredly, before the end of the year. For my own part I can 
 say with truth, that did not the press loudly demand my presence, I 
 could, without a sigh, allow the Duchess to reign in Downing-street 
 the greatest part of the winter, and should be happy in the society oi 
 two persons (no common blessing) whom I love, and by whom I am 
 beloved. 
 
 Adieu, dear Madam, and believe me, with the affection of z fjiciid 
 and a brother, ever yours. 
 
 Dr. William Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 My dear Sir, College of Edinburgh, February 2'/, 1788. 
 
 Though you have now been some time in London, yet as I heard 
 of your welfare by different channels, and as I know from experience 
 how much a man has to do who is printing three quartos, even after 
 he thinks they are altogether ready for the press, I have hitherto forborne 
 to interrupt you by any letter or inquiry ot mine. But there is such a 
 
 Z
 
 342 ROBERTSON, THE HISTORIAN, TO EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 general impatience to see your new publication among people of letters 
 here ; and, as your friend, I am so frequently interrogated about the 
 length it has advanced, and the time when it will appear, that I begin 
 to be ashamed of knowing nothing more about it than other people. I 
 must request of you then to furnish me with such information as may 
 both preserve my credit, and gratify my own curiosity. My expecta- 
 tions from this part of your work are, indeed, very high. Your materials 
 begin to improve, and are certainly much more copious than during a 
 great part of the period you have gone through. You have three or 
 four events as great, and splendid, and singular, as the heart of an 
 historian could wish to delineate. The contemporary writers will 
 furnish you with all the necessary facts. To adorn them as elegant 
 writers, or to account for them as philosophers, never entered into their 
 heads. This they have left to you. 
 
 Since you went to the continent I have not done so much as I wished. 
 My health, until lately, has been more shattered ; and as I advance in 
 life, (I am now sixty-six,) though my faculties, I imagine, are still entire, 
 yet I find my mind less active and ardent. I have, however, finished 
 a very careful revise of all my works, and have given them the last 
 polish they will receive from my hand. I have made some additions 
 to each of them, and in the History of Scotland pretty considerable 
 ones. I have desired Mr. Strahan to send to you a copy of them 
 uniformly bound, and hope you will accept of them, as a memorial of 
 my esteem and affection. You will see that I have got in Mr. Whitaker 
 an adversary so bigotted and zealous, that though I have denied no 
 article of faith, and am at least as orthodox as he himself, yet he rails 
 against me with all the asperity of theological hatred. I shall adhere 
 to my fixed maxim of making no reply. May I hope that when you 
 see Lord Loughborough you will remember me to him with kindness 
 and respect. Our friend Mr. Smith, whom we were in great danger 
 of losing, is now almost perfectly re-established. I have the honour 
 to be, with great truth, your most faithful humble servant, 
 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 DOWNING-STREET, June 21, 1 788. 
 Instead of the Historian you receive a short letter, in your eyes an 
 indispensible tribute. This day, at length, after long delay and fre- 
 quent expostulation, I have received the writings, which I am now in 
 the act of signing, sealing, and delivering, according to the lawyer's 
 directions. * * * I long to be at Sheffield-Place. You see my 
 departure is not postponed a moment by idleness or pleasure, but the 
 precise day still hangs on contingencies, and we must all be patient, 
 if our wishes should be thwarted. I say our wishes, for I sincerely 
 desire to be with you. I have had many dinners, some splendid and 
 memorable, with Hastings last Thursday, with the Prince of Wales 
 next Tuesday at Craufurd's. But the town empties, Texier is silent, 
 and in an evening, I desiderate the resources of a family or a club. 
 CapHn has finished the Herculean labour, and seven majestic boxes
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 343 
 
 will abdicate on Monday your hall, Severy has likewise dispatched 
 his affairs, and secured his companion Clarke, who is arrived in town ; 
 but his schemes are abridged by the inexoral)lc rigour of Lord Howe, 
 wlio has assured our great and fair intercessors, that by the King's 
 order the dockyards are shut against all strangers. We therefore give 
 up Portsmouth, and content ourselves with two short trips ; one to 
 Stowe and Oxford, the other to Chatham ; and if we can catch a 
 launch and review, encore vit on. He (Severy, not Lord Howe,) salutes 
 with me the family. . Adieu. Yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lord Sheffield. 
 
 DOWNING-STREET, Saturday. 
 According to your imperious law I write a line to postpone my 
 arrival till Friday, or perhaps Saturday, but I hope Friday, and I pro- 
 mise you that not a moment shall be wasted. And now let me add a 
 cool word as to my final departure, which is irrevocably fixed between 
 the tenth and fifteenth of July. After a full and free enjoyment of each 
 other's society, let us submit, without a struggle, to reason and fate. 
 It would be idle to pretend business at Lausanne ; but a complete 
 year will elapse before my return. Severy and myself are now ex- 
 pected with some impatience. I am thankful for your hospitable 
 entertainment ; but I wish you to remember Homer's admirable 
 precept : 
 
 " Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest." 
 
 Spare me, therefore, spare yourseh'", the trouble of a fruitless contest, 
 in which, according to a great author, I foresee a certain loss of time, 
 and a probable loss of temper. I believe we shall have both Craufurd 
 and Hugonin at Sheffield-Place. Adieu. 
 
 The Same to the Same. Downing-ST., Sat., June, 17S8. 
 
 I HAVE but a moment between my return home and my dressing, 
 and heartily tired I am ; for I am now involved in the horrors of 
 shopping, packing, &c. yet I must write four lines, to prevent a growl, 
 which might salute the arrival of an empty-handed post on Sunday. 
 I hope the whole caravan, Christians and Pagans, arrived in good 
 health at the castle ; that the turrets begin to rise to the third heaven ; 
 that each has found a proper occupation ; and that Tuft* enjoys the 
 freedom and felicity of the lawn. Yesterday the august scene was 
 closed for this yeai% Sheridan surpassed himself; and though I am 
 far from considering him as a perfect orator, there were many beautiful 
 passages in his speech, on justice, filkil love, &c. ; one of the closest 
 chains of argument I ever heard, to prove that Hastings was respon- 
 sible for the acts of Middlcton ; and a compliment, much admired, to 
 a certain Historian of your acquaintance. Sheridan, in the close of 
 his speech, sunk into I3urke's arms ; but I called this morning, he is 
 
 ♦ Lady Sheffield's lap-dog.
 
 344 ^^- ROBERTSOiY TO E. GIBBON, LAUSANNE, 
 
 perfectly well. I fear that I shall not be able to dine at home a single 
 day. To-morrow Severy and myself go to Bushy. I hope to be with 
 you by Sunday the twenty-second instant. The casing of aiy books is 
 a prodigious operation. Adieu, 
 
 D7: William Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, College of Edinburgh, July 30, 1788. 
 
 Long before this I should have acknowledged the receipt of your 
 most acceptable present ; but for several weeks I have been afflicted 
 with a violent fit of deafness, and that unsocial malady is always ac- 
 companied with such a degree of languor, as renders even the writing 
 of a letter an effort. During my solitude the perusal of your book has 
 been my chief amusement and consolation. I have gone through it 
 once with great attention, and am now advanced to the last volume in 
 my second reading. I ventured to predict the superior excellence of 
 the volumes lately published, and I have not been a false prophet. 
 Indeed, when I consider the extent of your undertaking, and the im- 
 mense labour of historical and philosophic research requisite towards 
 executing every part of it, I am astonished that all tliis should have 
 been accomplished by one man. I know no example, in any age or 
 nation, of such a vast body of valuable and elegant information com- 
 municated by any individual. I feel, however, some degree of morti- 
 fication mingled with my astonishment. Before you began your his- 
 toric career, I used to pride myself in being at least the most industri- 
 ous historian of the age ; but now, alas ! I can pretend no longer even 
 to that praise, and must say, as Pliny did of his uncle. Si cotnparer 
 illi sunt desidiosissiimis. Your style appears to me improved in these 
 new volumes ; by the habit of writing, you write with greater ease. I 
 am sorry to find that our ideas on the effects of the Crusades do not 
 altogether coincide. I considered that point with great care, and cannot 
 help thinking still that my opinion was well founded. I shall consult 
 the authorities to which I refer ; for when my sentiments differ from 
 yours, I have some reason to distrust them, and I may possibly trouble 
 you with a letter on the subject. I am much flattered with the manner 
 in which you have so often mentioned my name. Latus sum laudnri 
 a te laudato viro. I feel much satisfaction in having been distinguished 
 by the two historians of my own times, whose favourable opinion I was 
 most ambitious of obtaining. 
 
 I hope this letter may find you still in England. When you return 
 to Lausanne, permit me to recommend to your good offices my young- 
 est son, who is now at Yverdun on account of his health, and lives with 
 M.- Herman, a clergyman there. You will find the young man (if you 
 can rely on the partial testimony of a father) sensible, modest, and 
 well-bred, and though no great scholar, he has seen much ; having 
 returned from India, where he served last war, by Bassora, Bagdat, 
 Moussul, and Aleppo. He is now a Captain in the twenty-third regi- 
 ment. If you have any friend at Yverdun, be so good as to recom- 
 mend him. It will do him credit to have your countenance. I have
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 345 
 
 dcsiii'd him to pay his respects to you at Lausanne. Farewell, my 
 dear Sir. I ever am yours most faithfully, 
 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Dr. Adam Sbiith to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Mv DEAR Friend, Edinburgh, December 10, 1788. 
 
 I HAVE ten thousand apologies to make, for not having long ago 
 returned you my best thanks for the very agreeable present you made 
 me of the three last volumes of your History. I cannot express to you 
 the pleasure it gives me to find, that by the universal assent of every 
 man of taste and learning, whom I either know or correspond with, it 
 sets you at the very head of the whole literary tribe at present existing 
 in Europe. I ever am, my dear friend, most affectionately yours, 
 
 Adam Smith. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Mr. Cadell, Bookseller, London. 
 
 Lausanne, February 11, 1789. 
 I SHOULD be much more ashamed of my silence, were I not satisfied 
 that you have received a recent and favourable account of me from 
 some of our friends who have visited this place since my return. But 
 I should be inexcusable, did I not thank you for your kind and season- 
 able wishes, which I can return with equal sincerity. I do not propose 
 making any improvements or corrections iii the octavo edition which 
 you meditate ; some slight alterations would give me more trouble than 
 pleasure. A thorough revision of the whole work would be the labour 
 of many months ; it may be the amusement of my old age, and will be 
 a valuable legacy, to renew your copyright at the expiration of the last 
 fourteen years. In the mean while, some expedition may be useful to 
 guard your property from the unexpected invasion of y^r^/i;';; pirates. 
 Eight volumes in octavo are already printed at Basil, and the remain- 
 der is expected every day. I am both glad and sorry to inform you, 
 that the type is neat, the paper tolerable, and the text wonderfully cor- 
 rect. I hear of another English edition in Saxony, and of two French 
 translations advancing with speed and emulation at Paris. Of the 
 success of the work at home you are best qualified, and most interested, 
 to judge ; and I am happy to find that you express yourself, with some 
 reserve, satisfied with the sale. Fronr some reports of angry criticisms, 
 and from the use and abuse of my name in the papers, 1 perceive that 
 I am not forgotten. I'cfore a year has elapsed from the time of jnib- 
 lication, my History will have been perused by some thousand readers 
 of various characters and understandings. Each will probably find 
 something to blame, and I hope something to commend ; and the 
 balance of their private judgments will fix the public estimate of its 
 merit and reputation. Since my return, I have been, as I promise in 
 the preface, very busy and very idle in my library ; several ideal works 
 have been embraced and thrown aside ; but if the warm weather 
 should ripen any project to form and maturity, you may depend on the
 
 34^ E, GIB BOM TO HIS AUNT, LADY PORTE AK 
 
 earliest intelligence. I have received a very friendly and flattering 
 letter from Dr. Robertson, and have had the pleasure of shewing some 
 civilities to his son during his residence in this place. If you can, send 
 me a good account of Adam Smith ; there is no man more sincerely 
 interested in his welfare than myself I beg you will present my com- 
 pliments to all our friends, particularly to Mr. Strahan and Dr. Gillies. 
 I'cU Elmsley, that I have received with due contrition his third letter ; 
 unless you are speedy, my answer will anticipate your information. I 
 am most faithfully yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Lady Porten, Kensington-palace. 
 Dear Madam, Lausanne, June 27, 1789. 
 
 I RECEIVED with more concern than surprize, your kind notification of 
 my poor uncle's departure. My own knowledge of his many valuable 
 qualities teaches me to sympathize in your loss ; but his long infirmities 
 and gradual decay must have prepared you for the melancholy event, 
 and your own reason will suggest the best and strongest motives of 
 consolation ; among these is your regard for the amiable children 
 whom he has left behind. Your labours for their future happiness will 
 be assisted by all your friends, who are attached to his memory; and 
 for my own part, I beg leave to assure you, that on every occasion I 
 shall consider them as my near and dear relations. When I had last 
 the pleasure of seeing Charlotte at Kensington, I was delighted with 
 her innocent cheerfulness, with her assiduous care of her poor father, 
 and with an appearance of sense and discretion far beyond her years. 
 How happy should I think myself, if I had a daughter of her age and 
 disposition, who in a short time would be qualified to govern my family, 
 and to be my companion and comfort in the decline of life ! 
 ' You will, I am sure, be pleased to hear that my situation at Lausanne 
 continues, almost in every respect, as agreeable as I could wish. The 
 only circumstance which embitters my happiness, is the declining 
 health of my friend Mons. Deyvcrdun. I cannot long flatter myself 
 with the hope of possessing him. I am, dear Madam, &c. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Mr. Cadell. 
 Dear Sir, Lausanne, November 17, 1790. 
 
 I should indeed be inexcusable for my long neglect of your last 
 obliging letter, had it not reached me in a moment of pain and weak- 
 ness, in a fit of the gout, the longest and most severe that I have ever 
 known. A letter with me is no trifling cnterprize ; and before I could 
 find strength, and time, and resolution, the occasion on which you so 
 handsomely consulted me was already past. I suppose that the abridg- 
 ment of my History is now freely circulated, cither with or without 
 your name ; nor can I foresee any possible mischief, cither for my 
 reputation or yo7cr interest. A translation, an abridgment, or even a 
 criticism, always proves the success, and consequently extends the 
 sale, of any popular work.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OP EDWARD GIBBON $47 
 
 As I am inclined to flatter myself that you have no reason to be 
 displeased with your purchase, I now wish to ask you whether you 
 feel yourself disposed to add a seventh, or supplemental volume to my 
 History? The materials of which it will be composed will naturally 
 be classed under the three following heads : i. A series of fragments, 
 disquisitions, digressions, &c. more or less connected with the principal 
 subject. 2, Several tables of geography, chronology, coins, weights 
 and measures, &c.; nor should I despair of obtaining from a gentleman 
 at Paris some accurate and well-adapted maps. 3. A critical review 
 of all the authors whom I have used and quoted.* I am convinced 
 such a supplement might be rendered entertaining, as well as useful ; 
 and that few purchasers would refuse to complete their Decline and 
 Fall. But as the writer could not derive either fame or amusement 
 from these obscure labours, he must be encouraged by other motives ; 
 and, in plain English, I should expect the same reward for the seventh, 
 as for any of the preceding volumes. You think and act with too much 
 liberality, to confound such a large original supplement with the occa- 
 sional improvements of a new edition, which are already your property 
 by the terms of our former covenant. But as I am jealous of standing 
 clear, not only in law and equity, but in your esteem and my own, I 
 shall instantly renounce the undertaking, if it appears by your answer 
 that you have the shadow of an objection. Should you tempt me to 
 proceed, this supplement will be only the employment of my leisure 
 hours ; and I foresee that full two years will elapse before I can deliver 
 it into the hands of the printer. 
 
 Our friend Elmsley, who possibly thinks me dead and buried, will 
 be, or will not be, surprised when you inform him that I have now a 
 letter of two pages in my bureau addressed to him, dated the twenty- 
 sixth of May, and not yet finished. Hunger, literary hunger, will soon, 
 however, compel me to write ; as I have many questions to ask, and 
 many commissions to give. In the mean while I thirst for Mr. Burke's 
 Reflections on the Revolutions of France. Intreat Elmsley, in my 
 name, to dispatch it to Lausanne with care and speed, by any mode of 
 conveyance less expensive than the post. He may add to the parcel 
 the new edition of Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. I heard 
 of his death with more concern than surprise. What a loss to letters, 
 philosophy, and mankind ! 
 
 1 beg you would remember me to Mr. Strahan and all our friends. 
 In my happy exile, my public and private affections remind me that I 
 am an Englishman. Pray thank Dr. Moore, in my name, for the 
 pleasure which I have received from Zeluco, the best philosophical 
 romance of the age. If he cultivates his talents by any similar publi- 
 cations, I only wish that he would place the scene at home ; we may 
 describe the characters, but we can never paint the manners of 
 foreigners, and the quarrel of the two Scotchmen is doubtless the best 
 chapter in the book. I am, dear Sir, most faithfully yours. 
 
 * Mr. Gibbon soon became tired of this plan, and expressed a wish it h?d not been nien> 
 tioned. He said his History was a critical review of the authors he had usee'. S.
 
 34^ EDWARD GIBBON TO If IS PUBLISHER, LONDON. 
 
 31 r. Gibbon to Mr. Cadell, 
 Dear Sir, Lausanne, April 27, 1791. 
 
 Too many posts have slipped away since my receipt of your last 
 letter, without my assuring you that every shadow of misapprehension 
 has vanished from my mind, and that I am perfectly satisfied witli the 
 liberality of your sentiments and conduct. But I am every day more 
 inclined to believe that on the present occasion they will not be put to 
 the triah On a closer inspection, I discover more difficulty and less 
 advantage than I had at first imagined in the plan of a supplement ; 
 and I feel the objection, which you so handsomely decline, against in- 
 creasing the weight and price of so voluminous a work. Perhaps it 
 would have been better if my crude idea had not been so hastily 
 announced to the public ; but even this venial indiscretion is a proof 
 of your zeal and regard. The intelligence of any new designs shall be 
 delayed till they are ripe for execution ; but you may be assured that I 
 am now awake. 
 
 I am very happy to hear that our respectable friend Dr. Robertsoi 
 is not asleep ; and much do I expect from the subject and the pen. I 
 had once a design not totally unconnected with his own, but it is now 
 in far abler hands. Boswell's book will be curious, or at least 
 whimsical: his hero, who can so long detain the public curiosity, 
 must be no common animal. I see you now advertise an octavo 
 edition ot Dr. Henry's History oF England. Is not the author dead ? 
 His plan is excellent, and I wish you could engage some diligent and 
 sensible man to undertake the continuation. Alas ! if Dr. Campbell 
 were still alive ! I have desired Elmsley to ask you for three octavo 
 copies of my own work. Whenever he sends me a box of books, I 
 should be glad if you would enrich it with any of your own valuable 
 publications. Your name is a recommendation ; but the chastity of 
 that name cannot be too religiously preserved. My health and spirits 
 are now remarkably good, and it will give me great pleasure to receive 
 as favourable an account of yourself. I am most faithfully yours. 
 
 Edward Gibbon Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Belvidere, Bath. 
 Dear Madam, Lausanne, May 18, 1791. 
 
 As much as I am accustomed to my own sins, I am shocked, really 
 shocked, when I think of my long and most inexcusable silence ; nor do 
 I dare to compute how many months I have suffered to elapse without 
 sending a single line (Oh shame ! shame !) to the best and dearest of 
 my friends, who indeed has been very seldom out of my thoughts. I 
 have sometimes imagined that if the opportunities of writing occurred 
 less frequently, they would be- seized with more diligence ; but the un- 
 fortunate departure of the post twice every week encourages procrasti- 
 nation, and each short successive delay is indulged without scruple, till 
 the whole has swelled to a tremendous account. I will try, alas ! to 
 reform ; and, although I am afraid that writing grows painful to you, I 
 have the confidence to solicit a speedy Ihie, to say that you love and 
 forgive me. After a long experience of the unfeeling doubts and delays 
 ot the law, you will probably soon hear from Lord Sheffield that the
 
 tHE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 349 
 
 Bcriton transaction is at last concluded, and I hope that you ui!l be 
 satisfied with the full and firm security of your annuity. That you may 
 long continue to enjoy it is the first and most sincere wish of my 
 lieart. 
 
 In the placid course of our lives, at Lausanne and Bath, we have few 
 events to relate, and fewer changes to describe ; but I indulge myself 
 in the pleasing belief that we are both as well and as happy as the 
 common order of nature will allow us to expect. I should be satisfied, 
 had I received from time to time some indirect, but agreeable, informa- 
 tion of your health. For myself, I have no complaint, except the gout ; 
 and though the visits of my old enemy are somewhat longer, and more 
 enfeebling, they are confined to my feet and knees ; the pain is 
 moderate, and my imprisonment to my chamber, or my chair, is much 
 alleviated by the daily kindness of my friends. I wish it were in my 
 power to give you an adequate idea of the conveniency of my house, 
 and the beauty of my garden ; both of which I have improved at a con- 
 siderable expcnce since the death of poor Deyverdun. But the loss of 
 a friend is indeed irreparable. Were I ten year's younger, I might 
 possibly think of a female companion ; but the choice is difficult, the 
 success doubtful, the engagement perpetual, and at fifty-four a man 
 should never think of altering the v/hole system of his life and habits. 
 The disposal of Beriton, and the death of my aunt Hester, who has left 
 me her estate in Sussex, makes me very easy in my worldly affairs : 
 my income is equal to my expence, and my expence is adequate to my 
 wishes. You may possibly have heard of literary projects which are 
 ascribed to me by the public without my knowledge : but it is much 
 more probable that I have closed the account ; and though I shall 
 never lay aside the pleasing occupations of study, you may be assured 
 that I have no serious settled thoughts of a new work. Next year I 
 shall meditate, and I trust shall execute, a visit to England, in which 
 the Belvidere is one of my powerful loadstones. I often reflect with a 
 painful emotion on the imperious circumstances which have thrown us 
 at such a distance from each other. 
 
 In the moving picture of the world, you cannot be indifterent to the 
 strange revolution which has humbled all that was high, and exalted 
 all that was low, in France. The irregular and lively spirit of the 
 nation has disgraced their liberty, and instead of building a free consti- 
 tution, they have only exchanged despotism for anarchy. This town 
 and country are crowded with noble exiles ; and we sometimes count 
 in an assembly a dozen Princesses and Duchesses. Burke, ?f I 
 remember right, is no favourite of yours ; but there is surely much elo- 
 quence and much sense in his book. The prosperity of England iorms 
 a proud contrast with the disorders of France ; but I hope we shall 
 avoid the folly of a Russian war. Pitt, in this instance, seems too like 
 his father. Mr. Helrard, a sensible man, and his pupil have left us. 
 They found, as your friends will always find, the weight of your recom- 
 mendation with me. I am, dearest Madam, ever most affectionately 
 yours.
 
 350 DR. ROBERTSON TO E. GIBBON, LAUSANNE. 
 
 Dr. William Robertson to Mr. Gibbon. 
 Dear Sir, Lennel-house, August 25, 1791. 
 
 Some time before the publication of my Historical Disquisition con- 
 cerning India I desired our friend Mr. Cadell to send a copy of it to you 
 in my name. I hope you received it long ago, and will allow it to remain 
 in your library, as a memorial of my respect and friendship. No man 
 had formed a more decided resolution of retreating early from public 
 view, and of spending the eve of life in the tranquillity of professional 
 and domestic occupations ; but, directly in the face of that purpose, I 
 step forth with a new work, when just on the brink of threescore and 
 ten. The preface of the book gives a fair and simple account how this 
 happened. Hitherto I have no cause to repent of a step which I took 
 with hesitation and anxiety. My book has met with a reception beyond 
 what the spe lentiis, pavidjisqiie ftitiiri, dared to expect. 1 find, how- 
 ever, like other parents, that I have a partial fondness for this child of 
 my old age ; and cannot set my heart quite at ease, until I know your 
 opinion of it. I need not say with what perfect confidence I rest upon 
 your judgment, and how happy it will make me to find that this pro- 
 duction meets with your approbation. Nothing will add so much to 
 that pleasure, as your communicating to me any remarks that occurred 
 to you in perusing it. While I was engaged in composing the Disqui- 
 sition it often occurred to me, that I was more upon your gi'ound than 
 in any of my former works ; and I often wished that I had been so 
 near to you as to profit by your advice and information. Next to that 
 will be the benefit I may derive from your friendly strictures. Be so 
 kind then as to mention to me any error or omission you have observed ; 
 every criticism of yours will be instructive. 
 
 Permit me to request another favour. You allowed me to hope, that 
 as soon as you fixed upon a new subject you would let me know, and 
 give me the satisfaction of indulging the hopes of living until you 
 finished it. I trust that you are not idle still. I may now tell you with 
 authority, that you are yet far from that period of life when you should 
 lay down your pen. I can say from experience, that the busiest season 
 of life is the most happy ; and I have no doubt that you will concur 
 with me in this sentiment. Let me know then, my dear Sir, how you 
 are, what you are doing, and what progress you make. As for my part, 
 I enjoy good health ; and, except some fits of deafness, am little 
 troubled with the infirmities of old age. I write this at my son-in-law's, 
 Mr. Brydone, who, if he had not a wife and family, loves Switzer- 
 land so well, and has so many friends in Lausanne, that I believe he 
 would gladly join you there. Believe me to be, with great respect, your 
 most faithful and obedient servant, 
 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to Mrs. Gibbon, Bath. 
 
 My dearest Madam, Lausanne, August i, 1792. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the arts of our great enemy, the daemon of 
 
 procrastination, I should not have postponed for so many months a 
 
 pleasing duty, which may at any time be performed in a single hour,
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 35 1 
 
 had I not for some time past entertained a lively and probable hope of 
 visiting you this autumn in person ; had I not flattered myself, that 
 the very next post I might be able to fix the day of my departure from 
 Lausanne, and almost of my arrival at the Belvidere. That hope is 
 now vanished, and my journey to England is unavoidably delayed till 
 the spring or summer of next year. The extraordinary state of public 
 affairs in France opposes an insuperable bar to my passage ; and every 
 prudent stranger will avoid that inhospitable land, in which a people 
 of slaves is suddenly become a nation of tyrants and cannibals. The 
 German road is indeed safe, but, independent of a great addition of 
 fatigue and expence, the armies of Austria and Prussia now cover that 
 frontier ; and though the generals are polite, and the troops well dis- 
 ciplined, I am not desirous of passing through the clouds of hussars 
 and pandours that attend their motions. These public reasons are 
 fortified by some private motives, and to this delay I resign myself, with 
 a sigh for the present, and a hope for the future. 
 
 What a strange wild world do we live in ! You will allow me to be a 
 tolerable historian, yet, on a fair review of ancient and modern times, 
 I can find none that bear any affinity with the present. My knowledge 
 of your discerning mind, and my recollection of your political prin- 
 ciples, assure me, that you are no more a democrat than myself. Had 
 the French improved their glorious opportunity to erect a free consti- 
 tutional monarchy on the ruins of arbitrary power and the Bastille, I 
 should applaud their generous effort ; but this total subversion of all 
 rank, order, and government could be productive only of a popular 
 monster, which, after devouring everything else, must finally devour 
 itself. I was once apprehensive that this monster would propagate 
 some imps in our happy island, but they seem to have been crushed in 
 their cradle ; and I acknowledge with pleasure and pride the good 
 sense of the English nation, who seem truly conscious of the blessings 
 which they enjoy : and I am happy to find that the most respectable 
 part of Opposition has cordially joined in the support of " things as 
 they are." Even this country has been somewhat tainted with the 
 democraticai infection ; the vigilance of government has been exerted, 
 the malcontents have been awed, the misguided have been undeceived, 
 the fever in the blood has gradually subsided, and I flatter myself that 
 we have secured the tranquil enjoyment of obscure felicity, which we 
 had been almost tempted to despise. 
 
 You have heard, most probably, from Mrs. Holroyd, of the long- 
 expected though transient satisfaction which I received from the visit 
 of Lord Sheffield's family. He appeared highly satisfied with my 
 arrangements here, my house, garden, and situation, at once in town 
 c!>Tid country, which are indeed singular in their kind, and which \\-xxq 
 ofttf-i made me regret the impossibility of shewing them to my dearest 
 frisid of the Belvidere. Lord Sheffield is still, and will ever continue, 
 the same active being ; always employed for himself, his friends, and 
 the public, and always persuading himself that he wishes for leisure 
 and repose. There are various roads to happiness ; but when I com- 
 pare his situation with mine, I do not, upon the whole, repent that I 
 have given the preference to a life of celibacy and retirement. Although 
 J have been long a spectator of the great world, my unambitious temper
 
 35" E. GIBBON- TO FRIEND AT FLORENCE, 
 
 1) IS been content with the occupations and rewards of study ; and 
 although my hbrary be still my favourite room, I am now no longer 
 stimulated by the prosecution of any literary work. The society of 
 Lausanne is adapted to my taste ; my house is open to many agreeable 
 acquaintance, and some real friends ; the uniformity of the natives is 
 enlivened by travellers of all nations ; and this summer I am happy in 
 a familiar intercourse with Lady Spencer, the Duchess of Devonshire, 
 Lady Elizabeth Foster, and Lady Duncannon, who seems to be gradually 
 recovering from her severe complaints. My health is remarkably good. 
 I have now enjoyed a long interval from the gout ; and 1 endeavour to 
 {is^ with moderation Dr. Cadogan's best remedies, temperance, exercise, 
 and cheerfulness. Adieu, dear Madam ; may every blessing that nature 
 can allow be attendant on your latter season. Your age and my 
 habits will not pemiit a very close correspondence ; but I wish to hear, 
 and I presume to ask, a speedy direct account of your own situation. 
 May it be such as I shall hear with pleasure ! Once more adieu ; I 
 live in hopes of embracing you next summer at the Belvidere, but you 
 may be assured that I bring over nothing for the press. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lady * ^ *• at Florence. 
 
 Lausanne, November 8, 1792. 
 I REMEMBER it has been obser\'ed of Augustus and Cromwell, that 
 they should ne\'er have been born, or never have died ; and I am 
 sometimes tempted to apply the same remark to certain beings of a 
 softer nature, who, after a short residence on the banks of the Leman 
 Lake, are now flown far away over the Alps and the Appenines, and 
 have abandoned their votaries to the insipidity of common life. The 
 remark, however, would be unreasonable, and the sentiment ungrateful. 
 The pleasures of the summer, the lighter and the graver moments of 
 the society oi petit Oitchy,* are indeed past, perhaps ne^■er to return ; 
 but the remembrance of that delightful period is itself a pleasure, and 
 I enjoy, I cherish the flattering persuasion that it is remembered with 
 some satisfaction in the gallery of Florence, as well as in the library 
 of Lausanne. Long before we were reduced to seek a refuge from the 
 savages of Gaul, I had secretly indulged the thought, or at least the 
 wish, of asking leave to attend incs bonf:es amis over Mount Cenis, 
 of basking once more in an Italian sun, and of paying once more my 
 devotions to the Apollo of the Vatican. But my aged and gouty limbs 
 would have failed me in the bold attempt of scaling St. Bernard, and 
 I wanted patience to undertake the tedious circumitincration of the 
 Tirol. Your return to the Pays de \^aud next summer I hold to be 
 extremely doubtful ; but my anxiety on that head is somewhat 
 diminished by the sure and certain hope of our all meeting in England 
 the ensuing winter. I flatter myself that the Porter of Devonshire- 
 house will not be inexorable ; yet I am afraid of losing you amidst 
 the smoke and tumult of fashionable London, in which the night is 
 devoted to pleasure and the morning to sleep. My ambition may 
 
 • A beautiful villa near the lake, about a mile from Lausanne.
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBBON. 353 
 
 perhaps aspire to pass some hours in the palladian Chiswick, or even 
 some days at Chatsworth ; but these princclj' mansions will not recal 
 the freedom, the ease, the primitive solitude of dear little Ouch>-, 
 Indeed ! indeed ! your fair friend was made for something better than 
 a Duchess. 
 
 Although you most magnanimously abandoned us in the crisis of 
 our fate, yet as you seem to interest yourself in the hopes and fears 
 of this little country, it is my duly to inform you, that wc still 
 hang in a state of suspense ; inclining, however, to the side of hope, 
 ratlier than of despair. The garrison, and even the bourgeoisie, of 
 Geneva shewed a vigorous resolution of defending the city ; and our 
 frontiers have been gradually covered with fifteen thousand intrepid 
 Swiss. But the threats of a bombardment, the weight of expcnce, 
 and, above all, the victorious ascendant of the French republic, have 
 abated much of the first heroic ardour. Monsieur de Montcsquiou 
 displayed a pacific, and even yielding, temper ; and a treaty was 
 signed, dismissing the Swiss garrison from Geneva, and removing the 
 French troops to the distance of ten leagues. But this last condition, 
 which is indeed objectionable, displeased the convention, who refused 
 to ratify the agreement. New conferences were held, new messengers 
 have been dispatched ; but unless they are determined to find or to 
 make a subject of quarrel, it is probable that we shall purchase peace 
 by submission. As Geneva has a very dangerous democratical party 
 within her walls, and as the national guards are already allowed to 
 enter the city, and to tamper with the inhabitants and the garrison, I 
 will not ensure that poor little republic from one week to another. 
 For ourselves, the approaches of danger must be more gradual. I 
 think we are now safe for this winter, and I no longer run to the 
 window to see whether the French are coming. But with so many 
 enemies without, and so many within, the government of Berne, aixl the 
 tranquillity of this happy country, will be suspended by a very slender 
 twig ; and I begin to fear that Satan will drive me out of the possession 
 of Paradise. My only comfort will be, that I shall have been expelled 
 by the power, and not seduced by the arts, of the blackest dajmon in 
 hell, the daemon of democracy. Where indeed will this tremendous 
 inundation, this conspiracy of numbers against rank and property, be 
 finally stopped 1 Europe seems to be universally tainted, and wherever 
 the P^ench can light a match, they may blow up a mine. Our only 
 hope is now in their devouring one another ; they are furious and 
 hungry monsters, and war is almost declared between the convention 
 and the city of Paris, between the moderate republicans and the abso- 
 lute levellers. A majority of the convention wishes to spare the royal 
 victims, but they must yield to the rage of the people and the thirst of 
 popularity, and a few hours may produce a trial, a sentence, and a 
 guillotine. Mr. Necker is publishing a pamphlet in defence of the 
 august sufferers ; but his feeble and tardy efforts will rather do credit 
 to himself than service to his clients. You kindly ask after the situa- 
 tion of poor Severy. Alas ! it is now hopeless ; all his complaints are 
 increased, all his resources are exhausted ; where nature cannot work, 
 the effect of art is vain, and his best friends begin to wish him a quiet 
 release. His wife, I had almost said his widow, is truly an object of
 
 354 E- GIBBON TO A LADY FRIEND AT FLORENCE. 
 
 compassion. The dragoon is returned for a few days ; and if his 
 domestic sorrows gave him leave, he would almost regret the want of 
 an occasion to deserve his feather and cockade. Your note has been 
 communicated to Madame de Montelieu ; but as she is engaged with 
 a dying aunt, I have not yet seen her. Madame Dagaisseau has hastily 
 left us ; the last decrees seemed to give the ej)iigres only the option of 
 starving abroad or hanging at home ; yet she has ventured into France, 
 on some faint glimpse of clemency for the women and children. Ma- 
 dame de Bouillon does not appear to move. Madame de Stael, whom I 
 saw last week at RoUe, is still uncertain where she shall drop her bur- 
 then ; but she must soon resolve, for the young lady or gentleman is at 
 the door ; 
 
 Demanding life, impatient for the skies. 
 
 By this time you have joined the Ladies Spencer and Duncannon, 
 whom I beg leave to salute with the proper shades of respect and ten- 
 derness. You may, if you please be^ belle comvie 2111 ange'j but I do 
 not like your comparison of the archangel. Those of Milton, with 
 whom I am better acquainted at present than with Guido, are all mas- 
 culine manly figures, with a great sword by their side, and six wings 
 folding round them. The heathen goddesses would please me as 
 little. Your friend is less severe than Minerva, more decent than 
 Venus, less cold than Diana, and not quite so great a vixen as the 
 ox-eyed Juno. To express that infallible mixture of grace, sweetness, 
 and dignity, a new race of beings must be invented, and I am a mere 
 prose narrator of matter of fact, Bess is much nearer the level of a 
 mortal, but a mortal for whom the wisest man, historic or medical, 
 would throw away two or three worlds, if he had them in his posses- 
 sion. From the aforesaid Bess I have received three marks of kind 
 remembrance, from the foot of St. Bernard, with an exquisite monu- 
 ment of art and friendship, from Turin, and finally, from Milan, with a 
 most valuable insertion from the Duchess. At birds in the air it is 
 difficult to take aim, and I fear or hope that I shall sustain some 
 reproaches on your not finding this long epistle at Florence. 1 will 
 mark it No. i. ; and why should I despair of my future since I 
 
 can say with truth, that since your departure I have not spent so agree- 
 able a morning. To each of the dear little Caro's pray deliver nine 
 kisses for me, which shall be repaid on demand. My best compli- 
 ments to Mr. Pelham, if he is with you. 
 
 Edward Gibbon, Esq. to the Right Hon. Lady ^ * * at Florence. 
 
 Lausanne, April 4, 1793, 
 Had I not given previous notice of my own unworthiness, the plea 
 of being an old incorrigible offender would serve only to aggravate my 
 guilt ; it is still sufficiently black, and I can patiently hear every 
 reproach, except the cruel and unjust imputation of having forgotten 
 my fair friends of the Arno and the Tyber. They would indeed have 
 been less present to my thoughts, had I maintained a regular weekly 
 correspondence ; since, by the effect of my negligence, not a day has
 
 THE CORRESPONDENCE OF EDWARD GIBlJON. 35 ^ 
 
 elapsed without a serious, though fruitless, resolution of writing by 
 the very next post. What may have somewhat contributed, besides 
 original sin, to this vile procrastination, is the course of events that 
 has filled this abominable winter. As long as the poor King's fate 
 was on suspense, one waited from post to post, between hope and fear, 
 and when the blow was struck, even Shakespeare's language was 
 inadequate to express our grief and indignation. I have never 
 appro\ed the execution of Charles the First ; yet Charles had invaded, 
 in many respects, the ancient constitution of England, and the question 
 had been judged in the field of Naseby before it was tried in West- 
 minster-hall. But Louis had given and suffered everything. The 
 cruelty of the French was aggravated by ingratitude, and a life of 
 innocence was crowned by the death of a saint, or, what is far better, 
 of a virtuous prince, who deserves our pity and esteem. He might 
 have lived and reigned, had he possessed as much active courage as 
 he was endowed with patient fortitude. When I read the accounts 
 from home, of the universal grief and indignation which that fatal 
 event excited, I indeed gloried in the character of an Englishman. 
 Our national fame is now pure and splendid ; we have nobly stood 
 forth in the common cause of mankind ; and although our armaments 
 are somewhat slow, I still persuade myself that we shall give the last 
 deadly wound to the Gallic hydra. The King of Prussia is likewise 
 slow, and your poor friend, the Duke of Brunswick, is now not cen- 
 sured but forgotten. We turn our eyes to the Prince of Cobourg and 
 his Austrians, and it must be confessed, that the deliverance of Holland 
 and Brabant from such a dragon as Dumourier is a very tolerable 
 employment for the month of March. These blossoms of the spring 
 will be followed, it may be fairly hoped, by the fruits of summer ; and 
 in the meanwhile the troubles of Paris, and the revolt of the pro- 
 vinces, may promote, by the increase of anarchy, the restoration of 
 order. I see that restoration through a dark cloud ; but if France be 
 lost, the rest of Europe, I believe and trust, will be saved. But 
 amidst the hurricane, I dare not fix my eyes on the Tanple. So much 
 for politics, which now engross the waking and sleejaing thoughts of 
 every feeling and thinking animal. In this country we are tranquil, 
 .and I believe safe, at least for this summer ; though peace has been 
 purchased at some expence of national honour, of the old reputation 
 of Swiss courage, we have crouched before the tiger, and stroked him 
 till he has sheathed his claws, and ceased /or a moment to roar. My 
 journey to England this year must depend on the events of the cam- 
 paign ; as I am fully resolved rather to remain quiet another autumn 
 and winter in my sweet habitation, than to encounter the dangers of 
 the sea and land. I envy the pleasures which you and your com- 
 panions have enjoyed at Florence and Rome ; nor can I decide which 
 have tasted the most perfect delight, those to whom such beauties 
 were new, or those to whom they were familiar. A fine eye, correct 
 judgment, and elegant sensibility, are requisite to qualify the studious 
 traveller ; and these gifts have been liberally dispensed among the 
 Ouchy caravan. But when you have been gratified, though not 
 satiated, with the Hesperian prospect, to what fortunate clime will 
 you direct your footsteps ? Have we any hopes of meeting (for my
 
 35 6 CLOSE OF THIS REPRINT OF THE GIBBON LETTERS. 
 
 journey, at all events, would be late) in the shades, or rather in the 
 sunshine, of Ouchy ? Should Mount Cenis be still imperious, you 
 have trampled on St. Bernard in a more rigorous season ; and what- 
 soever may be the state of the world, the Pays de Vaud will aftbrd you 
 a secure asylum, or a pleasant station. I rejoice to hear of Lady Bes- 
 borough's improvement. Will that new title make any difference in 
 the plan .'' Is the Duchess very impatient to revisit England ? Except 
 some trifling considerations of children, &c. all countries may be indif- 
 ferent to her ; as she is sure of being loved and admired in all. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon to Lord * * *. 
 Mv Lord, Rolle,* February 23, 1793. 
 
 I DO not merely congratulate your Lordship's promotion to an office 
 which your abilities have long deserved. My satisfaction does not 
 arise from an assurance of the wisdom and vigour which administra- 
 tion will derive from the support of so respectable an ally. But as a 
 friend to government in general, I most sincerely rejoice that you are 
 now armed in the common cause against the most dangerous fanatics 
 that have ever invaded the peace of Europe ; against the new bar- 
 barians, who labour to confound the order and happiness of society ; 
 and who, in the opinion of thinking men, are not less the enemies of 
 subjects than of kings. The hopes of the wise and good are now fixed 
 on the success of England ; and I am persuaded that my personal 
 attachment to your Lordship will be amply gratified by the important 
 share which your counsels will assume in that success. I could wish 
 that some of your former associates possessed sufficient strength of 
 mind to extricate themselves froin the toils of prejudice and party. 
 
 Mr. Nccker, in whose house I am now residing on a visit of some 
 days, wishes me to express the sentiments of esteem and consideration 
 which he entertains for your Lordship's character. As a friend to the 
 interests of mankind, he is warmly attached to the welfare of Great 
 Britain, which he has long revered as the first, and perhaps as the last 
 asylum of genuine liberty. His late eloquent work Du poiivoir exe- 
 ciitif, which your Lordship has assuredly read, is a valuable testimony 
 of his esteem for our constitution ; and the testimony of an impartial 
 stranger may have taught some of our countrymen to value the 
 political blessings which they have been tempted to despise. 
 
 I cherish a lively hope of being in England, and of paying my re- 
 spects to your Lordship before the end of the summer : but the events 
 of the year are so uncertain, and the sea and land are encompassed 
 with so many difficulties and dangers, that I am doubtful whether it 
 will be practicable for me to execute my purpose. 
 
 * A town between Lausanne and Geneva, whexe M. Nscker then resided. 
 
 \Por Index sec end of Velum e.'\
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 THE CRUSADES. 
 
 A A
 
 THE CRUSADES. 
 
 Since the first conquests of the caliphs, the establishment of the 
 Turks in Anatolia or Asia Minor was the most deplorable loss which 
 the church and empire had sustained. By the propagation of the Mos- 
 lem faith, Soliman the sultan, deserved the name of Gazi, a holy cham- 
 pion ; and his new kingdom of the Romans, or of Rotwi, was added 
 to the tables of Oriental geography. It is described as extending from 
 the Euphrates to Constantinople, from the Black vSea to the confines 
 of Syria ; pregnant with mines of silver and iron, of alum and copper, 
 fruitful in corn and wine, and productive of cattle and excellent horses. 
 The wealth of Lydia, the arts of the Greeks, the splendour of the 
 Augustan age, existed only in books and in ruins, which were equally 
 obscure in the eyes of the Scythian conquerors. Yet in the present 
 decay, Anatolia still contains sojne wealthy and populous cities ; and, 
 under the Byzantine empire, they were far more flourishing in num.- 
 bers, size, and opulence. By the choice of the sultan, Nice, the 
 metropolis of Bithynia, was preferred for his palace and fortress : the 
 scat of the Seljukian dynasty of Roum was planted loo miles from 
 Constantinople ; and the Divinity of Christ was denied and derided 
 in the same temple in which it had been pronounced by the first 
 general synod of the Catholics, The unity of God, and the mission 
 of Mahomet, were preached from the mosques, the Arabian learning 
 was taught in the schools ; the Cadis judged according to the law of 
 the Koran : the Turkish manners and language prevailed in the cities ; 
 and Turkman camps were scattered over the plains and mountains of 
 Anatolia. On the hard conditions of tribute and servitude, the Greek 
 Christians might enjoy the exercise of their religion ; but their most 
 holy churches were profaned ; their priests and bishops were insulted : 
 they were compelled to suffer the triumph of the Pagans, and the 
 apostacy of their brethren ; many thousand children were marked by 
 the knife of circumcision : and many thousand captives were devoted 
 to the service or the pleasures of their masters. After the loss of Asia, 
 Aiilioch still maintained her primitive allegiance to Christ and Ca;saj: j
 
 ^oo STAti; dp", AND Pilgrimages to, jeRVsalrm. 
 
 but the solitary province was separated from all Roman aid, and suf- 
 rounded on all sides by the Mahometan powers. The despair ol 
 Philaretus the governor prepared the sacrifice of his religion and 
 loyalty, had not his guilt been prevented by his son, who hastened tci 
 the Nicene palace, and offered to deliver this valuable prize into the 
 hands of Soliman. The ambitious sultan mounted on horseback, and 
 in twelve nights (for he reposed in the day) peiformed a march of six 
 hundred miles. Antioch was oppressed by the speed and secresy ot 
 his enterprise ; and the dependent cities, as far as Laodicea, and the 
 confines of Aleppo, obeyed the example of the metropolis. From Lao- 
 dicea to the Thracian Bosphorus, or arm of St. George, the conquests 
 and reign of Soliman extended thirty days' journey in length, and in 
 breadth about ten or fifteen, between the rocks of Lycia and the Blach 
 Sea. The Turkish ignorance of navigation protected, for a while, the 
 inglorious safety of the emperor ; but no sooner had a fleet of two 
 hundred ships been constructed by the hands of the captive Greeks^ 
 than Alexius trembled behind the walls of his capital. His plaintive 
 epistles were dispersed over Europe, to excite the compassion of the 
 Latins, and to paint the danger, the weakness, and the riches, of the 
 city of Constantino. 
 
 But the most interesting conquest of the Seljukian Turks, was that 
 of Jerusalem, which soon became the theatre of nations. In their 
 capitulation with Omar, the inhabitants had stipulated the assurance 
 of their religion and property ; but the articles were interpreted by a 
 master against whom it was dangerous to dispute ; and in the four 
 hundred years (a.d. 638 — 1099) of the reign of the caliphs, the politi- 
 cal climate of Jerusalem was exposed to the vicissitudes of storms and 
 sunshine. By the increase of proselytes and population, the Maho- 
 metans might excuse their usurpation of three-fourths of the city : but 
 a peculiar quarter was reserved for the patriarch with his clergy and 
 people ; a tribute of two pieces of gold was the price of protection ; 
 and the sepulchre of Christ, with the church of the Resurrection, was 
 still left in the hands of his votaries. Of these votaries, the most nu- 
 merous and respectable portion were strangers to Jerusalem : the pil- 
 grimages to the Holy Land had been stimulated, rather than suppressed, 
 by the conquest of the Arabs ; and the enthusiasm which had 
 always prompted these perilous journeys, was nourished by the con- 
 genial passions of grief and indignation. A crowd of pilgrims from 
 the East and West continued to visit the holy sepulchre, and the adja- 
 cent sanctuaries, more especially at the festival of Easter : and the 
 (irceks and Latins, the Nestorians and Jacobites, the Copts and Abys- 
 iinians, the Armenians and Georgians, maintained the chapels, the 
 clergy, and the poor of their respective communions. The harmony 
 of prayer in so many various tongues, the worship of so many nations 
 in the common temple ot their religion, might have afforded a spec-
 
 ins TOR y OF THE CR USA DES. ^d 
 
 tacle of edification and peace ; but the zeal of the Christian sects was 
 embittered by hatred and revenge ; and in the kingdom of a suffering 
 Messiah, who had pardoned his enemies, they aspired to command 
 and persecute their spiritual brethren. The pre-eminence was as- 
 serted by the spirit and number of the Franks ; and the greatness of 
 Charlemagne protected both the Latin pilgrims and the Catholics of 
 the East. The poverty of Carthage, Alexandria, and Jerusalem, was 
 relieved by the alms of that pious emperor ; and many monasteries of 
 Palestine were founded or restored by his liberal devotion. Harun 
 Alrashid, the greatest of the Abassides, esteemed in his Christian bro- 
 ther a similar supremacy of genius and power : their friendship was 
 cemented by a frequent intercourse of gifts and embassies ; and the ca- 
 liph, without resigning the substantial dominion, presented the emperor 
 with the keys of the holy sepulchre, and perhaps of the city of Jerusa- 
 lem. In the decline of the Carlovingian monarchy, the republic of 
 Amalphi promoted the interest of trade and religion in the East. Her 
 vessels transported the Latin pilgrims to the coasts of Egypt and Pales- 
 tine, and deserved, by their useful imports, the favour and alliance of 
 the Fatimite caliphs : an annual fair was instituted on mount Calvary ; 
 and the Italian merchants founded the convent and hospital of St. 
 John of Jerusalem, the cradle of the monastic and military order 
 which has since reigned in the isles of Rhodes and of Malta. Had 
 the Christian pilgrims been content to revere the tomb of a prophet, 
 the disciples of Mahomet, instead of blaming, would have imitated, 
 their piety : but these rigid Unitarians were scandalised by a worship 
 which represents the birth, death, and resurrection, of a God ; the 
 Catholic images were branded with the name of idols ; and the Mos- 
 lems smiled with indignation at the miraculous flame, which was 
 kindled on the eve of Easter in the holy sepulchre. This pious fraud, 
 first devised in the ninth century, was devoutly cherished by the Latin 
 crusaders, and is annually repeated by the clergy of the Greek, Arme- 
 nian, and Coptic sects, who impose on the credulous spectators for 
 their own benefit, and that of their tyrants. In every age, a principle 
 of toleration has been fortified by a sense of interest ; and the revenue 
 of the prince and his emir was increased each year, by the expence and 
 tribute of so many thousand strangers. 
 
 The revolution which transferred the sceptre (a.d. 969 — 1076) from 
 the Abassides to the rntimites was a benefit, rather than an injury, 
 to the Holy Land. A sovereign resident in Egypt was more sensible 
 of the importance of Christian trade ; and the emirs of Palestine were 
 less remote from the justice and power of the throne. But the third 
 of these Fatimite caliphs was the famous Hakem, a frantic youth, who 
 was delivered by his impiety and despotism from the fear either of 
 God or man ; and whose reign was a wild mixture of vice and folly, 
 RejardJess (^ the inost anjcknl ciostoros <oi Egypt, he imposed on the
 
 362 SACRILEGE OF THE CALIPH HAKEM. 
 
 women an absolute confinement : the restraint excited the clamours of 
 both sexes ; their clamours provoked his fury ; a part of Old Cairo 
 was delivered to the flames ; and the guards and citizens were engaged 
 many days in a bloody conflict. At first the caliph declared himself 
 a zealous Mussulman, the founder or benefactor of mosques and col- 
 leges : twelve hundred and ninety copies of the Koran were transcribed 
 at his expence in letters of gold ; and his edict extirpated the vineyards 
 of the Upper Egypt. But his vanity was soon flattered by the hope 
 of introducing a new religion ; he aspired above the fame of a prophet 
 and styled himself the visible image of the most high God, who, after 
 nine apparitions on earth, was at length manifest in his royal person. 
 At the name of Hakem, the lord of the living and the dead, every 
 knee was bent in religious adoration : his mysteries were performed on 
 a mountain near Cairo : sixteen thousand converts had signed his 
 profession of faith ; and at the present hour, a free and warlike people, 
 the Druses of Mount Libanus, are persuaded of the life and divinity 
 of a madman and tyrant. In his divine character, Hakem hated the 
 Jews and Christians, as the servants of his rivals : while some remains 
 of prejudice or prudence still pleaded in favour of the law of Mahomet. 
 Both in Egypt and Palestine, his cruel and wanton persecution made 
 some martyrs and many apostates : the common rights and special 
 privileges of the sectaries were equally disregarded ; and a general 
 interdict was laid on the devotion of strangers and natives. The 
 temple of the Christian world, the church of the Resurrection, was (a.d. 
 1009) demolished to its foundations ; the luminous prodigy of Easter 
 was interrupted, and much profane labour was exhausted to destroy 
 the cave in the rock which properly constitutes the holy sepulchre. 
 At the report of this sacrilege, the nations of Europe were astonished 
 and afflicted : but instead of arming in the defence of the Holy Land, 
 they contented themselves with burning, or banishing, the Jews, as 
 the secret advisers of the impious Barbarian. Yet the calamities of 
 Jerusalem were in some measure alleviated by the inconstancy or re- 
 pentance of Hakem himself ; and the royal mandate was sealed for 
 \the restitution of the churches, when the tyrant was assassinated by 
 ,'the emissaries of his sister. The succeeding caliphs resumed the 
 "5 laxims of religion and policy ; a free toleration was again granted ; 
 /ith the pious aid of the emperor of Constantinople, the holy sepulchre 
 arose from its ruins ; and, after a short abstinence, the pilgrims 
 returned with an increase of appetite to the spiritual feast. In the 
 sea-voyage of Palestine, the dangers were frecjuent, and the opportuni- 
 ties rare : but the conversion of Hungary opened a safe communica- 
 tion between Germany and Greece. The charity of St. Stephen, the 
 apostle of his kingdom, relieved and conducted his itinerant brethren : 
 and from Belgrade to Antioch, they traversed 1500 miles of?. Christian 
 empire. Among the Franks, the zeal of pilgrimage prevailed (a.p.
 
 HIS TOR y OF THE CR USA DES. 363 
 
 1034, &c.) beyond the example of former times : and the roads were 
 covered with multitudes of either sex, and of every rank, who professed 
 their contempt of life, so soon as they should have kissed the tomb 
 of their Redeemer. Princes and prelates abandoned the care of their 
 dominions ; and the numbers of these pious caravans were a prelude 
 to the armies which marched in the ensuing age under the banner of 
 the cross. About thirty years before the first crusade, the archbishop 
 of IMentz, with the bishops of Utrecht, Bamberb, and Ratisbon, under- 
 took this laborious journey from the Rhine to the Jordan ; and the 
 multitude of their followers amounted to 7000 persons. At Constan- 
 tinople, they were hospitably entertained by the emperor ; but the os- 
 tentation of their wealth provoked the assault of the wild Arabs ; they 
 drew their swords with scrupulous reluctance, and sustained a siege in 
 the village of Capernaum, till they were rescued by the venal protec- 
 tion of the Fatimite emir. After visiting the holy places, they em- 
 barked for Italy, but only a remnant of 2000 arrived in safety in their 
 native land. Ingulphus, a secretary of William the Conqueror, was a 
 companion of this pilgrimage : he observes that they sallied from 
 Normandy, thirty stout and v/ell-appointed horsemen; but that they 
 repassed the Alps, twenty miserable palmers, with the staff in their 
 hand, and the wallet at their back. 
 
 After the defeat of the Romans, the tranquillity of the Fatimite caliphs 
 was invaded (a.d. 1076 — 1096) by the Turks. One of the lieutenants 
 of Malek Shah, Atsiz the Carizmian, marched into Syria at the head 
 of a powerful army, and reduced Damascus by famine and the sword. 
 Hems, and the other cities of the province, acknowledged the caliph 
 of Bagdad and the sultan of Persia : and the victorious emir advanced 
 v.ithout resistance to the banks of the Nile : the Fatimite was prepar- 
 ing to fly into the heart ot Africa ; but the negroes of his guard and 
 the inhabitants of Cairo made a desperate sally, and repulsed the Turk 
 from the confines of Egypt. In his retreat, he indulged the licence of 
 slaughter and rapine : the judge and notaries of Jerusalem were invited 
 to his camp ; and their execution was followed by the massacre of 
 3000 citizens. The cruelty or the defeat of Atsiz was soon punished 
 l)y the sultan Toucush, the brother of Malek Shah, who, with a higher 
 title and more formidable powers, asserted the dominion of Syria and 
 Palestine. The house of Seljuk reigned about twenty years in Jeru- 
 salem ; but the hereditary command of the holy city and territory 
 was entrusted or abandoned to the emir Ortok, the chief of a tribe of 
 Turkmans, whose children, after their expulsion from Palestine, formed 
 two dynasties on the borders of Armenia and Assyria. The Oriental 
 Christians and the Latin pilgrims deplored a revolution, which, instead 
 of the regular government and old alliance of the caliphs, imposed on 
 their necks the iron yoke of the strangers of the north. In his court 
 and camp the great sultan had adopted in some degree the arts and
 
 364 '^^'''^ if SALEM IN POSSESSION OF THE TURKS 
 
 manners of Persia ; but the body of the Turkish nation, and more 
 especially the pastoral tribes, still breathed the fierceness of the desert 
 From Nice to Jerusalem, the western countries of Asia were a scene of 
 foreign and domestic hostility : and the shepherds of Palestine, who 
 held a precarious sway on a doubtful frontier, had neither leisure nor 
 capacity to await the slow profits of commercial and religious freedom. 
 The pilgrims who, through innumerable perils, had reached the gates 
 of Jerusalem, were the victims of private rapine or public oppression, 
 and often sunk under the pressure of famine and disease, before they 
 were permitted to salute the holy sepulchre. A spirit of native bar- 
 barism, or recent zeal, prompted the Turkmans to insult the clergy of 
 every sect : the patriarch was dragged by the hair along the pavement, 
 and cast into a dungeon, to extort a ransom from the sympathy of his 
 flock ; and the divine worship in the church of the resurrection was 
 often disturbed by the savage rudeness of its masters. The pathetic 
 tale excited the millions of the West to march under the standard of 
 the cross to the relief of the holy land : and yet how tinfling is the sum 
 of these accumulated evils, if compared with the single act of the sacri 
 lege of Hakem, which had been so patiently endured by the Latin 
 Christians ! A slighter provocation inflamed the more irascible tem- 
 per of their descendants : a new spirit had arisen of religious chivalry 
 and papal dominion : a nerve was touched of exquisite feeling ; and 
 the sensation vibrated to the heart of Europe. 
 
 About twenty years after the conquest of Jerusalem by the Turks 
 (a.d. 1095 — 1099), the holy sepulchre was visited by an hermit of the 
 name of Peter, a native of Amiens, in the province of Picardy in 
 France. His resentment and sympathy were excited by his own in- 
 juries, and the oppression of the Christian name ; he mingled his tears 
 with those of the patriarch, and earnestly inquired, if no hopes of relief 
 could be entertained from the Greek emperors of the East. The 
 patriarch exposed the vices and weakness of the successors of Con- 
 slantine. " I will rouse," exclaimed the hermit, " the martial nations 
 of Europe in your cause ;" and Europe was obedient to the call of 
 the hermit. The astonished patriarch dismissed him with epistles of 
 credit and complaint, and no sooner did he land at Bari, than Peter 
 hastened to kiss the feet of the Roman pontiff. His stature was small, 
 his appearance contemptible ; but his eye was keen and lively ; and he 
 possessed that vehemence of speech, which seldom fails to impart the 
 persuasion of the soul. He was born of a gentleman's family (for we 
 must now adopt a modern idiom), and his military service was under 
 the neighbouring counts of Boulogne, the heroe; of the first crusade. 
 But he soon rehnquished the sword and the woild ; and if it be true, 
 that his wife, however noble, was aged and ugly, he might withdraw, 
 with the less reluctance, from her bed to a convent, and at length to 
 sn hermitage. In this austere solitude, ids body ivas emaciated^ his
 
 HIS TORY OF THE CR USA DES. ^ (5 ^ 
 
 fancy was inflamed : whatever he wished, he believed ; whatever he 
 beheved, he sa-w in dreams and revelations. From Jerusalem, the 
 pilgrim returned an accomplished fanatic ; but as he excelled in the 
 popular madness of the times, pope Urban the second received him as 
 a prophet, applauded his glorious design, promised to support it in a 
 general council, and encouraged him to proclaim the deliverance of 
 the Holy Land. Invigorated by the approbation of the pontiff, this 
 zealous missionary traversed, with speed and success, the provinces of 
 Italy and France. His diet was abstemious, his prayers long and 
 fervent, and the alms which he received with one hand, he distributed 
 with the other : his head ^vas bare, his feet naked, his meagre body 
 was wrapt in a coarse garment ; he bore and displayed a weighty 
 crucifix ; and the ass on which he rode, was sanctified in the public 
 eye by the service of the man of God. He preached to innumerable 
 crowds in the churches, the streets, and the highways : the hermit en- 
 tered with equal confidence the palace and the cottage : and the people, 
 for all were people, were impetuously moved by his call to repentance 
 and arms. When he painted the sufferings of the natives and pilgrims 
 of Palestine, every heart was melted to compassion ; every breast 
 glowed with indignation, when he challenged the warriors of the 
 age to defend their brethren and rescue their Saviour : his ignorance 
 of art and language was compensated by sighs, and tears, and ejacu- 
 lations ; and Peter supplied the deficiency of reason by loud and fre- 
 quent appeals to Christ and his Mother, to the saints and angels of 
 paradise, with whom he had personally conversed. The most perfect 
 orator of Athens might have envied the success of his eloquence : the 
 rustic enthusiast inspired the passions which he felt, and Christendom 
 expected with impatience the counsels and decrees of the supreme 
 pontiff. 
 
 The magnanimous spirit of Gregory the seventh had already em- 
 braced the design of arming Europe against Asia ; the ardour of his 
 eoal and ambition still breathes in his epistles : from either side of the 
 Alps, 50,000 Catholics had enlisted under the banner of St. Peter ; 
 and his successor reveals his intention of marching at their head 
 against the impious sectaries of Mahomet. But the gloiy or reproach 
 of executing, though not in person, this holy enterprise, was reserved 
 for the pope, Urban the second, the most faithful of his disciples. 
 He undertook the conquest of the East, whilst the larger portion 
 of Rome was possessed and fortified by his rival Guibert of Ravenna, 
 who contended with Urban for the name and honours of the ponti- 
 ficate. He attempted to unite the powers of the West, at a time 
 when the princes were separated from the church, and the people from 
 their princes, by the excommunication which himself and his prede- 
 cessors liad thundered against the emperor and the king of France. 
 J'bJlip the firs^ of f xance, supported with patience the censures whjci
 
 ^65 URBAN II. IN THE COUNCIL OF PLACENTIA. 
 
 he had provoked by his scandalous life and adulterous marriage. 
 Henry the fourth, of Germany, asserted the right of investitures, the 
 prerogative of confirming his bishops by the delivery of the ring and 
 crosier. But the emperor's party was crushed in Italy by the arms of 
 the Normans and the countess Matilda ; and the long quarrel had 
 been recently envenomed by the revolt of his son Conrad and the 
 shame of his wife. So popular was the cause of Urban, so weighty was 
 his influence, that the council which he (a.d. 1095. March) summoned 
 at Placentia was composed of 200 bishops of Italy, France, Bur- 
 gundy, Swabia, and Bavaria. Four thousand of the clergy, and 30,000 
 of the laity, attended this important meeting : and as the most spacious 
 cathedral would have been inadequate to the multitude, the session of 
 teven days was held in a plain adjacent to the city. The ambassadors 
 of the Greek emperor, Alexius Comnenus, were introduced to plead 
 the distress of their sovereign and the danger of Constantinople, which 
 was divided only by a narrow sea from the victorious Turks, the com- 
 mon enemies of the Christian name. In their suppliant address they 
 flattered the pride of the Latin princes ; and, appealing at once to 
 their policy and religion, exhorted them to repel the Barbarians on the 
 confines of Asia, rather than to expect them in the heart of Europe. 
 At the sad tale of the misery and perils of their Eastern brethren the 
 assembly burst into tears : the most eager champions declared their 
 readiness to march ; and the Greek ambassadors were dismissed with 
 the assurance of a speedy and powerful succour. The relief of Con- 
 stantinople was included in the larger and most distant project of the 
 deliverance of Jerusalem ; but the prudent Urban adjourned the final 
 decision to a second synod, which he proposed to celebrate in some 
 city of France in the autumn of the same year. The short delay 
 would propagate the flame of enthusiasm ; and his firmest hope was in 
 a nation of soldiers still proud of the pre-eminence of their name, 
 and ambitious to emulate their hero Charlemagne, who, in the popular 
 romance of Turpin, had achieved the conquest of the Holy Land. A 
 latent motive of affection or vanity might influence the choice of Urban : 
 he was himself a native of France, a monk of Clugny, and the first of 
 his countrymen who ascended the throne of St. Peter. The pope had 
 illustrated his family and province ; nor is there perhaps a more ex- 
 quisite gratification than to revisit, in a conspicuous dignity, the humble 
 and laborious scenes of our youth. 
 
 It may occasion some surprise that the Roman pontiff should erect, 
 in the heart of France, the tribunal from whence he hurled his ana- 
 themas against the king. But our surprise will vanish so soon as we 
 form a just estimate of a king of France of the eleventh century. 
 Philip the first was the great-grandson of Hugh Capet the founder of 
 the present race, who, in the decline of Charlemagne's posterity, added 
 the regal title tp bis patrimonial estates of Paris and Orlean.5. In
 
 HIS TOR Y OF THE CR USA DES. 367 
 
 this narrow compass, he was possessed of wealth and jurisdiction ; 
 but in the rest of France, Hugh and his first descendants were no 
 more than the feudal lords of about sixty dukes and counts, of inde- 
 pendent and hereditary power, who disdained the control of laws and 
 legal assemblies, and whose disregard of their sovereign was revenged 
 by the disobedience of their inferior vassals. At Clermont, in the ter- 
 ritories of the count of Auvergne, the pope might brave with impunity 
 the resentment of Philip ; and the council which he convened (A.U. 
 1095. Nov.) in that city was not less numerous or respectable than 
 tlie synod of Placentia. Besides his court and council of Roman car- 
 dinals, he was supported by 13 archbishops and 225 bishops ; the 
 number of mitred prelates was computed at 400; and the fathers of 
 the church were blessed by the saints, and enlightened by the doctors 
 of the age. From the adjacent kingdoms, a martial train of lords and 
 knights of power and renown, attended the council in high expectation 
 of its resolves ; and such was the ardour of zeal and curiosity, that the 
 city was filled, and many thousands, in the month of November, erected 
 their tents or huts in the open field. A session of eight days produced 
 some useful or edifying canons for the reformation of manners ; a severe 
 censure was pronounced against the licence of private war ; the truce 
 of God was confirmed, a suspension of hostilities during four days of 
 the week ; women and priests were placed under the safeguard of the 
 church ; and a protection of three years was extended to husbandmen 
 and merchants, the defenceless victims of military rapine. But a law, 
 however venerable be the sanction, cannot suddenly transform the 
 temper of the times ; and the benevolent efforts of Urban deserve the 
 less praise, since he laboured to appease some domestic quarrels that 
 he might spread the flames of war from the Atlantic to the Euphrates, 
 From the synod of Placentia, the rumour of his great design had gone 
 forth among the nations : the clergy on their return had preached in 
 every diocese the merit and glory of the deliverance of the Holy Land ; 
 and when the pope ascended a lofty scaffold in the market-place ot 
 Clermont, his eloquence was addressed to a well-prepared and impatient 
 i^' audience. His topics were obvious, his exhortation was vehement, his 
 » success inevitable. The orator was interrupted by the shout of thou- 
 sands, who with one voice, and in their rustic idiom, exclaimed aloud, 
 , " God wills it, God wills it." " It is indeed the will of God," replied 
 the pope ; " and let this memorable word, the inspiration surely of the 
 Holy Spirit, be for ever adopted as your cry of battle to animate the 
 devotion and courage of the champions of Christ. His cross is the 
 symbol of your salvation ; wear it, a red, a bloody cross, as Jjn external 
 mark on your breasts or shoulders, as a pledge of your sacred and irre- 
 vocable engagement." The proposal was joyfully accepted ; great 
 numbers both of the clergy and laity impressed on their garments the 
 Bign of the cross, and solicited the pope to march at their head. This
 
 ^63 THE POPE PREACHES THE CRUSADES AT CLERMONT. 
 
 dangerous honour was declined by the more prudent successor of 
 Gregory, who alleged the schism of the church, and the duties of his 
 pastoral office, recommending to the faithful, who were disqualified by 
 sex or profession, by age or infirmity, to aid, with their prayers and 
 alms, the personal service of their robust brethren. The name and 
 powers of his legate he devolved on Adhomar bishop of Puy, the first 
 who had received the cross at his hands. The foremost of the tem- 
 poral chiefs was Raymond count of Toulouse, whose ambassadors in 
 the council excused the absence, and pledged the honour of their 
 master. After the confession and absolution of their sins, the cham- 
 pions of the cross were dismissed with a superfluous admonition to 
 invite their countrymen and friends ; and their departure for the Holy 
 Land was fixed to the festival of the Assumption, the fifteenth of August, 
 of the ensuing year. 
 
 So familiar, and as it were so natural to man, is the practice of 
 violence, that our indulgence allows the slightest provocation, the most 
 disputable right, as a sufficient ground of national hostility. But the 
 name and nature of an holy ivar demands a more rigorous scrutiny ; 
 nor can we hastily believe, that the servants of the Prince of peace 
 would unsheath the sword of destruction, unless the motive were pure, 
 the quarrel legitimate, and the necessity inevitable. The policy of an 
 action may be determined from the tardy lessons of experience ; but, 
 before we act, our conscience should be satisfied of the justice and 
 propriety of our enterprise. In the age of the crusades, the Christians, 
 both of the East and West, were persuaded of their lawfulness and 
 merit ; their arguments are clouded by the perpetual abuse of Scripture 
 and rhetoric ; but they seem to insist on the right of natural and 
 religious defence, their peculiar title to the Holy Land, and the impiety 
 of their Pagan and Mahometan foes. I. The right of a just defence 
 may fairly include our civil and spiritual allies : it depends on the 
 existence of danger ; and that danger must be estimated by the two- 
 fold consideration of the malice, and the power, of our enemies. A 
 pernicious tenet has been imputed to the Mahometans, the duty of 
 extirpating all other religions by the sword. This charge of ignorance 
 and bigotry is refuted by the Koran, by the history of the Mussulman 
 conquerors, and by their public and legal toleration of the Christian 
 worship. But it cannot be denied, that the Oriental churches are de- , 
 pressed under their iron yoke ; that, in peace and war, they asserted a 
 divine and indefeasible claim of universal empire ; and that, in their 
 orthodox creed, the unbelieving nations are continually threatened with 
 the loss of religion or liberty. In the eleventh century, the victorious 
 arms of the Turks presented a real and urgent apprehension of these 
 losses. They had subdued in less than thirty years the kingdoms ot 
 Asia, as far as Jerusalem and the Hellespont ; and the Greek empire 
 towered on the verge oi destructii)D. J3esides an hpnest symp3,th/ ihf
 
 JilSTORY OF THE CRUSADES. ^(J,, 
 
 their brethren, the Latins had a right and interest in the Siipport of 
 Constantinople, the most important barrier of the West ; and the 
 privilege of defence must reach to prevent, as well as to repel, an im- 
 pending assault. But this salutary purpose might have been accom- 
 plished by a moderate succour ; and our calmer reason might disclaim 
 the innumerable hosts and remote operations, which overwhelmed 
 Asia and depopulated Europe. II. Palestine could add nothing to the 
 strength or safety of the Latins ; and fanaticism alone could pretend 
 to justify the conquest of that distant and narrow province. Tlie 
 \ Christians affirmed that their inalienable title to the promised land had 
 been sealed by the blood of their divine Saviour : it was their right 
 and duty to rescue their inheritance from the unjust possessors, who 
 profaned his sepulchre, and oppressed the pilgrimage of his disciples. 
 Vainly would it be alleged that the pre-eminence of Jerusalem, and the 
 sanctity of Palestine have been abolished with the Mosaic law ; that 
 the God of the Christians is not a local deity, and that the recovery of 
 Bethlem or Calvary, his cradle or his tomb, will not atone for the 
 violation of the moral precepts of the gospel. Such arguments glance 
 aside from the leaden shield of superstition ; and the religious mind 
 will not easily relinquish its hold on the sacred ground of mystery and 
 miracle. III. But the holy wars which have been waged in eveiy 
 climate of the globe, from Egypt to Livonia, and from Peru to Hindos- 
 tan, rec|uire the support of some more general and flexible tenet. It 
 has been often supposed, and sometimies affirmed, that a difference of 
 religion is a worthy cause of hostility ; that obstinate unbelievers may 
 be slain or subdued by the champions of the cross ; and that grace is 
 the sole fountain of dominion as well as of mercy. Above four hundred 
 years bc-fore the first cnisade, the eastern and western provinces of the 
 Roman empire had been acquired about the same time, and in the 
 same manner, by the Barbarians of Germany and Arabia. Time and 
 treaties had legitimated the conquests of the Christian Franks ; but 
 in the eyes of their subjects and neighbours, the Mahometan princes 
 were still tyrants and usurpers, who, by the arms of war or rebellion, 
 might be lawfully driven from their unlawful possession. 
 
 As the manners of the Christians were relaxed, their discipline of 
 penance was enforced ; and with the multiplication of sins, the 
 remedies were multiplied. In the primitive church, a voluntary and 
 open confession prepared the work of atonement. In the middle 
 ages, the bishops and priests interrogated the criminal ; compelled him 
 to account for his thoughts, words, and actions ; and prescribed the 
 terms of his reconciliation with God. But as this discretionary 
 power might alternately be abused by indulgence and tyranny, a rule 
 of discipline was framed, to inform and regulate the spiritual judges. 
 This mode of legislation was invented by the Greeks ; their poiiteiit- 
 iiils were translated, or imitated, in the Latin church ; and, in the
 
 370 tH£ tiVLE, PRACTICE, AND PROFIT OF INDULGENCES. 
 
 time of Charlemagne, the clergy of every diocese were provided with 
 a code, which they prudently concealed from the knowledge of the 
 vulgar. In this dangerous estimate of crimes and punishments, each 
 case was supposed, each difference was remarked, by the experience 
 or penetration of the monks ; some sins are enumerated which inno- 
 cence could not have suspected, and others which reason cannot be- 
 lieve ; and the more ordinary offences of fornication and adulteiy, of 
 perjuiy and sacrilege, of rapine and murder, were expiated by a 
 penance, which, according to the various circumstances, was prolonged 
 from forty days to seven years. During this term of mortification, the 
 patient was healed, the criminal was absolved, by a salutary regimen 
 of fasts and prayers : the disorder of his dress was expressive of 
 grief and remorse ; and he humbly abstained from all the business 
 and pleasure of social life. But the rigid execution of these laws 
 would have depopulated the palace, the camp, and the city : the Bar- 
 barians of the West believed and trembled ; but nature often rebelled 
 against principle ; and the magistrate laboured without effect to en- 
 force the jurisdiction of the priest. A literal accomplishment of 
 penance was indeed impracticable ; the guilt of adultery was multi- 
 plied ; that of homicide might involve the massacre of a whole 
 people ; each act was separately numbered ; and, in those times of 
 anarchy and vice, a modest sinner might easily incur a debt of 300 
 years. His insolvency was relieved by a commutation, or indulge 1 1 ce : 
 a year of penance was appreciated at 26 solidi of silver, about four 
 pounds sterling, for the rich ; at 3 solidi, or nine shillings, for the indi- 
 gent : and these alms were soon appropriated to the use of the 
 church, which derived, from the redemption of sins, an inexhaustible 
 source of opulence and dominion. A debt of 300 years, or £,\2QOy 
 was enough to impoverish a plentiful fortune : the scarcity of gold and 
 silver was supplied by the alienation of land ; and the princely dona- 
 tions of Pepin and Charlemagne are expressly given for the remedy of 
 their soul. It is a maxim of the civil law, that whosoever cannot pay 
 with his purse, must pay with his body ; and the practice of fliagelH- 
 tion was adopted by the monks, a cheap, though painful, equivalent. 
 By a fantastic arithmetic, a year of penance was taxed at 3000 lashes ; 
 and such was the skill and patience of a famous hermit, St. Dominic 
 of the Iron Cuirass, that in six days he could discharge an entire 
 century, by a whipping of 300,000 stripes. His example was followed 
 by many penitents of both sexes ; and, as a vicarious sacrifice was 
 accepted, a sturdy disciplinarian might expiate on his own back the 
 sins of his benefactors. These compensations of the purse and the 
 person introduced, in the eleventh century, a more honourable mode 
 of satisfaction. The merit of military service against the Saracens of 
 Africa and Spain, had been allowed by the predecessors of Urban the 
 second. In the council of Clermont, that pope proclaimed a plenary
 
 MISTORY OP THS CR USAt>ES. 3 7 1 
 
 fttdulgcnce to those who should enlist under the banner of the cross j 
 the absolution of «// their sins, and a full receipt for all that might be 
 due of canonical penance. The cold philosophy of modern times is 
 incapable of feeling the impression that was made on a sinful and 
 fanatic world. At the voice of their pastor, the robber, the incen- 
 diary, the homicide, arose by thousands to redeem their souls, by re- 
 peating on the infidels the same deeds which they had exercised 
 against their Christian brethren ; and the terms of atonement were 
 eagerly embraced by offenders of every rank and denomination. None 
 were pure ; none were exempt from the guilt and penalty of sin ; and 
 those who were the least amenable to the justice of God and the 
 church, were the best entitled to the temporal and eternal recompence 
 of their pious courage. If they fell, the spirit of the Latin clergy did 
 not hesitate to adorn their tomb with the crown of martyrdom ; and 
 should they survive, they could expect without impatience the delay 
 and increase of their heavenly reward. They offered their blood to 
 the Son of God, who had laid down his life for their salvation : they 
 took up the cross, and entered with confidence into the way of the 
 Lord. His providence would watch over their safety ; perhaps his 
 visible and miraculous power would smooth the difficulties of their 
 holy enterprise. The cloud and pillar of Jehovah had marched before 
 the Israelites into the promised land. Might not the Christians more 
 reasonably hope that the rivers would open for their passage ; that the 
 walls of the strongest cities would fall at the sound of their trumpets ; 
 and that the sun would be arrested in his mid-career, to allow them 
 time for the destruction of the infidels ? 
 
 Of the chiefs and soldiers who marched to the holy sepulchre, I will 
 dare to affirm, that all were prompted by the spirit of enthusiasm ; the 
 belief of merit, the hope of reward, and the assurance of divine aid. 
 But I am equally persuaded, that in many it was not the sole, that in 
 some it was not the leading, principle of action. The use and abuse 
 of religion are feeble to stem, they are strong and irresistible to impel 
 the stream of national manners. Against the private wars of the 
 Barbarians, their bloody tournaments, licentious loves, and judicial 
 duels, the popes and synods might ineffectually thunder. It is a more 
 easy task to provoke the metaphysical disputes of the Greeks, to drive 
 into the cloister the victims of anarchy or despotism, to sanctify the 
 patience of slaves and cowards, or to assume the merit of the human- 
 ity and benevolence of modern Christians. War and exercise were 
 the reigning passions of the Franks or Latins ; they were enjoined, as 
 a penance, to gratify those passions, to visit distant lands, and to draw 
 llieir swords against the nations of the East. Their victory, or even 
 their attempt, would immortalize the names of the intrepid heroes of 
 the cross ; and the purest piety could not be insensible to the most 
 splendid prospect of military glory. In the petty quarrels of Europe,
 
 372 MOTIVES, CakF^AL AND SPIRITUAL, OF THE CRUSADERS. 
 
 they shed the blood of their friends and countrymen, for the acquisi- 
 tion perhaps of a castle or a village. They could march with alacrity 
 against the distant and hostile nations who were devoted to their 
 arms : their fancy already grasped the golden sceptres of Asia ; and 
 the conquest of Apulia and Sicily by the Normans might exalt to 
 royalty the hopes of the most private adventurer. Christendom, in 
 her rudest state, must have yielded to the climate and cultivation of 
 the Mahometan countries ; and their natural and artificial wealth had 
 been magnified by the tales of pilgrims, and the gifts of an imperfect 
 commerce. The vulgar, both the great and small, were taught to be- 
 lieve every wonder, of lands flowing with milk and honey, of mines 
 and treasures, of gold and diamonds, of palaces of marble and jasper, 
 and of odoriferous groves of cinnamon and frankincense. In this 
 earthly paradise, each warrior depended on his sword to carve a plen- 
 teous and honourable establishment, which he measured only by the 
 extent of his wishes. Their vassals and soldiers trusted their fortunes 
 to God and their master : the spoils of a Turkish emir might enrich 
 the meanest follower of the camp ; and the flavour of the wines, the 
 beauty of the Grecian women, were temptations more adapted to the 
 nature, than to the profession, of the champions of the cross. The 
 love of freedom was a powerful incitement to the multitudes who were 
 oppressed by feudal or ecclesiastical tyranny. Under this holy sign 
 the peasants and burghers, who were attached to the servitude of the 
 glebe, might escape from an haughty lord, and transplant themselves 
 and their families to a land of liberty. The monk might release him- 
 self from the discipline of his convent : the debtor might suspend the 
 accumulation of usury, and the pursuit of his creditors ; and outlaws 
 and malefactors of every cast might continue to brave the laws and 
 elude the punishment of their crimes. 
 
 These motives were potent and numerous : when we have singly 
 computed their weight on the mind of each individual, we must add 
 the infinite series, the multiplying powers of example and fashion. 
 The first proselytes became the warmest and most effectual mission- 
 aries of the cross : among their friends and countrymen they preached 
 the duty, the merit, and the recompense, of their holy vow ; and the 
 most reluctant hearers were insensibly drawn within the whirlpool of 
 persuasion and authority. The martial youths were fired by the re- 
 proach or suspicion of cowardice ; the opportunity of visiting with an 
 army the sepulchre of Christ, was embraced by the old and infirm, by 
 women and children, who consulted rather their zeal than their strength ; 
 and those who in the evening had derided the folly of their companions, 
 were the most eager, the ensuing day, to tread in their footsteps. The 
 ignorance which magnified the hopes, diminished the perils, of the 
 enterprise. Since the Turkish conc(uest, the paths of pilgrimage were 
 obliterated : the chiefs themselves had an imperfect notion of the
 
 HISTORY OF THE CR USA DES. 373 
 
 length of their way and the state of their enemies ; and such was the 
 stupidity of the people, that, at the sight of the first city or castle be- 
 yond the limits of their knowledge, they were ready to ask whether 
 that was not the Jerusalem, the term and object of their labours. Yet 
 the more prudent of the crusaders, who were not sure that they should 
 be fed from heaven with a shower of quails or manna, provided them- 
 selves with those precious metals, which, in every country, are the 
 representatives of every commodity. To defray, according to their 
 rank, the expences of the road, princes alienated their provinces, nobles 
 their lands and cattle, peasants their castles and the instruments of 
 husbandry. The value of property was depreciated by the eager com- 
 petition of multitudes ; while the price of arms and horses was raised 
 to an exorbitant height by the wants and impatience of the buyers. 
 Tliose who remained at home, with sense and money, were enriched 
 by the epidemical disease : the sovereigns acquired at a cheap rate the 
 domains of their vassals ; and the ecclesiastical purchasers completed 
 the payment by the assurance of their prayers. The cross, which was 
 commonly sewn on the garment, in cloth or silk, was inscribed by 
 some zealots on their skin : an hot iron, or indelible liquor, was applied 
 to perpetuate the mark ; and a crafty monk, who showed the miracu- 
 lous impression on his breast, was repaid with the popular veneration 
 and the richest benefices of Palestine. 
 
 The fifteenth of August had been fixed in the council of Clermont 
 for the departure of the pilgrims : but the day was anticipated by the 
 thoughtless and needy crowd of plebeians ; and I shall briefly dispatch 
 the calamities which they inflicted and suffered, before I enter on the 
 more serious and successful enterprise of the chiefs. Early in the 
 spring (a.d. 1096, March, May, <S:c.), from the confines of France and 
 Lorraine, above 60,000 of the populace of both sexes flocked round 
 the first missionary of the crusade, and pressed him with clamorous 
 importunity to lead them to the holy sepulchre. The hermit, assum- 
 ing the character, without the talents or authority, of a general, impelled 
 or obeyed the forward impulse of his votaries along the banks of the 
 Rhine and Danube. Their wants and numbers soon compelled them 
 to separate, and his lieutenant, Walter the Pennyless, a valiant though 
 needy soldier, conducted a vanguard of pilgrims, whose condition may 
 be determined from the proportion of 8 horsemen to 50,000 foot. 
 The example and footsteps of Peter were closely pursued by another 
 fanatic, the monk Godescal, whose sermons had swept away 15,000 or 
 20,000 peasants from the villages of Germany. Their rear was again 
 pressed by an herd of 200,000, the most stupid and savage refuse of 
 tlie fx;ople, who mingled with their devotion a brutal licence of rapine 
 and drunkenness. Some counts and gentlemen, at the head of 3000 
 horse, attended the motions of the multitude to partake in the spoil ; 
 *Hit their genuine leaders (may we credit such folly ?) were a goose and 
 
 13 B
 
 374 DESTRUCTION OF THE CRUSADERS IN HUNGARY AND ASIA. 
 
 a goat, who were carried in the front, and to whom these worthy 
 Christians ascribed an infusion of the divine spirit. Of these, and of 
 other bands of enthusiasts, the first and most easy warfare was against 
 the Jews, the murderers of the Son of God. In tlie trading cities of 
 the Moselle and the Rhine, their colonies were numerous and rich ; and 
 they enjoyed, 'mder the protection of the emperor and the bishops, the 
 free exercise of their religion. At Verdun, Treves, Mentz, Spires, 
 Worms, many thousands of that unhappy people were pillaged and 
 massacred : nor had they felt a more bloody stroke since the persecu- 
 tion of Hadrian. A remnant was saved by the firmness of their bishops, 
 who accepted a feigned and transient conversion ; but the more obsti- 
 nate Jews who opposed their fanaticism to the fanaticism of the Chris- 
 tians, bai-ricadoed their houses, and precipitating themselves, their 
 families, and their wealth, into the rivers or the flames, disappointed 
 the malice, or at least the avarice, of their implacable foes. 
 
 Between the frontiers of A.ustria and the seat of the Byzantine mo- 
 narchy, the crusaders were compelled to traverse an interval of six hun- 
 dred miles ; the wild and desolate countries of Hungary and Bulgaria. 
 The soil is fruitful, and intersected with rivers ; but it was then covered 
 with morasses and forests, which spread to a boundless extent when- 
 ever man has ceased to exercise his dominion over the earth. Both 
 nations had imbibed the rudiments of Christianity ; the Hungarians 
 were ruled by their native princes ; the Bulgarians by a lieutenant of 
 the Greek emperor ; but, on the slightest provocation, their ferocious 
 nature was rekindled, and ample provocation was afforded by the 
 disorders of the first pilgrims. Agriculture must have been unskilful 
 and languid among a people whose cities were built of reeds and 
 timber, which were deserted in the summer season for the tents of 
 hunters and shepherds. A scanty supply of provisions was rudely 
 demanded, forcibly seized, and greedily consumed ; and on the first 
 quarrel, the crusaders gave a loose to indignation and revenge. But 
 their ignorance of the country, of war, and discipline, exposed them to 
 every snare. The Greek prasfect of Bulgaria commanded a regular 
 force ; at the trumpet of the Hungarian king, the eighth or the tenth of 
 his martial subjects bent their bows aad mounted on horseback ; their 
 policy was insidious, and their retaliation on these pious robbers was 
 unrelenting and bloody. About a third of the naked fugitives, and the 
 hermit Peter was of the number, escaped to the Thracian mountains ; 
 and the emperor, who respected the pilgrimage and succour of the 
 Latins, conducted them by secure and easy journeys to Constan- 
 tinople, and advised them to await the arrival of their brethren. For 
 a while they remembered their faults and losses ; but no sooner were 
 they revived by the hospitable entertainment, than their venom was 
 again inflamed ; they stung their benefactor, and neither gardens, nor 
 palaces, nor churches, were safe from their depredations. For his own 
 safety, Alexius allured them to pass over to the Asiatic side of the
 
 HIS TOR Y OF THE CR USADES. 375 
 
 Bosphorus ; but their blind impetuosity soon urged them to desert the 
 station which he had assigned, and to rush headlong against the 
 Turks, who occupied the road of Jerusalem, The hermit, conscious of 
 liis shame, had withdrawn from the camp to Constantinople ; and his 
 lieutenant, Walter the Pennyless, who was worthy of a better command, 
 attempted without success to introduce some order and prudence 
 among the herd of savages. They separated in quest of prey, and 
 themselves fell an easy prey to the arts of the sultan. By a rumour 
 that their foremost companions were rioting in the spoils of his capital, 
 Soliman tempted the main body to descend into the plain of Nice; 
 they were overwhelmed by the Turkish arrows ; and a pyramid of 
 bones informed their companions of the place of their defeat. Of the 
 first crusaders, 300,000 had already perished, before a single city was 
 rescued from the infidels, before their graver and more noble brethren 
 had completed the preparations of their enterprise. 
 
 None of the great sovereigns of Europe embarked their persons in 
 the first crusade. The emperor Henry the fourth was not disposed to 
 obey the summons of the pope : Philip the first of France was occu- 
 pied by his pleasures ; William Rufus of England by a recent con- 
 quest ; the kings of Spain were engaged in a domestic war against the 
 Moors ; and the northern monarchs of Scotland, Denmark, Sweden, 
 and Poland, were yet strangers to the passions and interests of the 
 South. The religious ardour was more strongly felt by the princes of 
 the second order, who held an important place in the feudal system, 
 'i'heir situation will naturally cast under four distinct heads the review 
 of other names and characters ; but I may escape some needless repe- 
 tition, by observing at once, that courage and the exercise of arms are 
 the common attribute of these Christian adventurers. I. The first 
 rank both in war and council is justly due to Godfrey of Bouillon ; and 
 happy would it have been for the crusaders, if they had trusted theni- 
 selves to the sole conduct of that accomplished heio, a worthy repre- 
 sentative of Charlemagne, from whom he was descended in the female 
 line. His father was of the noble race of the counts of Boulogne : 
 Brabant, the lower province of Lorraine, was the inheritance of his 
 mother; and by the emperor's bounty, he was himself invested with 
 that ducal title, which has been improperly transferred to his lordship 
 of Bouillon in the Ardennes. In the service of Henry the fourth, he 
 bore the great standard of the empire, and pierced with his lance the 
 breast of Rodolph, the rebel king : Godfrey was the first who ascended 
 the walls of Rome ; and his sickness, his vow, perhaps his remorse for 
 bearing arms against the pope, confirmed an early resolution of visit- 
 ing the holy sepulchre, not as a pilgrim, but a deliverer. His valour 
 was matured by prudence and moderation ; his piety, though blind, 
 was sincere ; and, in the tumult of a camp, he practised the real and 
 fictitious virtues of a convent. Superior to the private factions of the
 
 376 CHARACTER AND POWER OF THE LEADERS. 
 
 chiefs, he reserved his enmity for the enemies of Christ ; and thoiijjh 
 he gained a kingdom by the attempt, his pure and disinterested zeai 
 was acknowledged by his rivals. Godfrey of Bouillon v/as accom- 
 panied by his two brothers, by Eustace the elder, who had succeeded 
 to the county of Boulogne, and by the younger, Baldwin, a character 
 of more ambiguous virtue. The duke of Lorraine was alike celebrated 
 on either side of the Rhine : from his birth and education he was 
 equally conversant with the French and Teutonic languages : the ba- 
 rons of France, Germany, and Lorraine, assembled their vassals ; and 
 the confederate force that marched under his banner was composed of 
 80,000 foot and about 10,000 horse. II. In the parliament that was 
 held at Paris, in the king's presence, about two months after the coun- 
 cil of Clermont, Hugh count of Vermandois was the most conspicuous 
 of the princes who assumed the cross. But the appellation of tJie 
 great was applied, not so much to his merit or possessions (though 
 neither were contemptible), as to the royal birth of the brother of the 
 king of France. Robert duke of Normandy was the eldest son of 
 William the Conqueror ; but on his father's death he was deprived of 
 the kingdom of England, by his own indolence and the activity of his 
 brother Rufus. The worth of Robert was degraded by an excessive 
 levity and easiness of temper : his cheerfulness seduced him to the in- 
 dulgence of pleasure ; his profuse liberality impoverished the prince and 
 people ; his indiscriminate clemency multiplied the number of offend- 
 ers ; and the amiable qualities of a private man became the essential 
 defects of a sovereign. For the trifling sum of 10,000 marks he mort- 
 gaged Normandy during his absence to the English usurper ; but his 
 engagement and behaviour in the holy war, announced in Robert a 
 reformation of manners, and restored him in some degree to the 
 public esteem. Another Robert was count of Flanders, a royal 
 province, which, in this century, gave three queens to the thrones of 
 France, England, and Denmark : he was surnamed the sword and 
 lalice of the Christians ; but in the exploits of a soldier, he sometimes 
 forgot the duties of a generak Stephen, count of Chartres, of Blois, 
 and of Troyes, was one of the richest princes of the age ; and the 
 number of his castles has been compared to the 365 days of the year. 
 His mind was improved by literature ; and in the council of the chiefs, 
 the eloquent Stephen was chosen to discharge the office of their pre- 
 sident. These four were the principal leaders of the French, the Nor- 
 mans, and the pilgrims of the British isles : but the list of the barons 
 who were possessed of three or four towns, would exceed, says a con- 
 temporary, the catalogue of the Trojan war. III. In the south of 
 France, the command was assumed by Adhemar, bishop of Puy, the 
 pope's legate, and by Raymond, count of St. Giles and Toulouse, who 
 added the prouder titles of duke of Narbonnc and marquis of Provence. 
 The former was a respectable prelate, alike qualified for this world and
 
 rrrs tor v of the cr us a des. 377 
 
 the next. The hitter was a veteran warrior, who had fought agiinst 
 the Saracens of Spain, and who consecrated his dechning age, not 
 only to the dchverance, but to the perpetual service, of the holy se- 
 I)iilchie, His experience and riches gave him a strong ascendant in 
 the Christian camp, whose distress he was often able, and sometimes 
 willing, to relieve. But it was easier for him to extort the praise of the 
 Infidels, than to preserve the love of his subjects and associates. His 
 eminent qualities were clouded by a temper, haughty, envious, and ob- 
 stinate ; and though he resigned an ample patrimony for the cause ot 
 God, his piety in the public opinion, was not exempt from avarice and 
 ambition. A mercantile, rather than a martial spirit, prevailed among 
 his provincials, a common name, which included the natives of 
 Auvergne and Langucdoc, the vassals of the kingdom of Burgundy 
 or Aries. Frona the adjacent frontier of Spain, he drew a band of 
 hardy adventurers ; as he marched through Lombardy, a crowd of 
 Italians flocked to his standard, and his united force consisted of 
 100,000 horse and foot. If Raymond was the first to enlist and the 
 last to depart, the delay may be excused by the greatness of his pre- 
 paration and the promise of an everlasting farewell. IV. The name 
 of liohemond, the son of Robert Guiscard, was already famous by his 
 double victory over the Greek emperor : but his father's will had re- 
 duced him to the principality of Tarentum, and the remembrance of 
 his Eastern trophies, still he was awakened by the rumour and passage 
 of the French pilgrims. It is in the person of this Norman chief that 
 we may seek for the coolest policy and ambition with a small alloy of 
 religious fonaticism. His conduct may justify a belief that he had 
 secretly directed the design of the pope, which he affected to second 
 with astonishment and zeal : at the siege of Amalphi, his example and 
 discourse inflamed the passions of a confederate army ; he instantly 
 tore his garment to supply crosses for the numerous candidates, and 
 prepared to visit Constantinople and Asia at the head of 10,000 horse 
 and 20,000 foot. Several princes of the Norman race accompanied 
 this veteran general ; and his cousin Tancred was the partner, rather 
 than the servant, of the war. In the accomplished character of 
 Tancred, we discover all the virtues of a perfect knight, the true sjiirit 
 of chivalry, which inspired the generous sentiments and social offices 
 of man, far better than the- base philosophy, or the baser religion of 
 the times. 
 
 Between the age of Charlemagne and that of the crusades, a re\o- 
 lution had taken place among the Spaniards, the Normans, and the 
 French, which was gradually extended to the rest of Europe. Thii 
 service of the infantry was degraded to the plebeians ; the cavalry 
 formed the strength of the armies, and the honourable name of miles, 
 or :.oIuier, was confined to the gentlemen who served on horseback, and 
 v.t:; invested with the character of knii^hthood. The dukes and
 
 378 ■ '^'^^ CHIVALRY OF EUROPE, AND THEIR DUTIES. 
 
 counts, who had usurped the rights ot sovereignty, divided the pro- ■ 
 vinces among their faithful barons : the barons distributed among 
 their vassals the fiefs or benefices of their jurisdiction ; and these mili- 
 tary tenants, the peers of each other and of their lord, composed the 
 noble or equestrian order, which disdained to conceive the peasant or 
 burgher as of the same species with themselves. The dignity of their 
 birth was preserved by pure and equal alliances ; their sons alone, 
 who could produce four quarters or lines of ancestry, without spot or 
 reproach, might legally pretend to the honour of knighthood ; but a ■ 
 valiant plebeian was sometimes enriched and ennobled by the sword, ^, 
 and became the father of a new race. A single knight could impart, 
 according to his judgment, the character which he received ; and the 
 warlike sovereigns of Europe derived more glory from this personal 
 distinction than from the lustre of their diadem. This ceremony, of 
 which soine traces may be found in Tacitus and the woods of Ger- 
 many, was in its origin simple and profane ; the candidate, after some 
 previous trial, was invested with the sword and spurs ; and his cheek 
 or shoulder was touched with a slight blow, as an emblem of the last 
 affront which it was lawful for him to endure. But superstition 
 mingled in every public and private action of life ; in the holy wars, it 
 sanctified the profession of arms ; and the order of chivalry was 
 assimilated in its rights and privileges to the sacred orders of priest- 
 hood. The bath and white garment of the novice, were an indecent 
 copy of the regeneration of baptism ; his sword, which he offered on 
 the altar, was blessed by the ministers of religion ; his solemn recep- 
 tion was preceded by fasts and vigils ; and he was created a knight in 
 the name of God, of St. George, and of St. Michael the archangel. 
 He swore to accomplish the duties of his profession ; and education, 
 example, and the public opinion, were the inviolable guardians of his 
 oath. As the champion of God and the ladies (I blush to unite such 
 discordant names), he devoted himself to speak the truth ; to maintain 
 the right ; to protect the distressed ; to practise cota'tesy, a virtue less 
 familiar to the ancients ; to pursue the infidels ; to despise the allure- 
 ments of ease and safety ; and to vindicate in every perilous adventure 
 the honour of his character. The abuse of the same spirit provoked 
 the illiterate knight to disdain the arts of industry and peace ; to 
 esteem himself the sole judge and avenger of his own injuries ; and 
 proudly to neglect the laws of civil society and military discipline. 
 Yet the benefits of this institution, to refine the temper of Barbarians, 
 and to infuse some principles of faith, justice, and humanity, were 
 strongly felt, and have been often observed. The asperity of national 
 prejudice was softened ; and the community of religion and arms 
 spread a similar colour and generous emulation over the face of 
 Christcndoiri. Abroad in enterprise and pilgrimage, at home in mar- 
 tial exercise, tl*e warriors of every country were perpetually associated ;
 
 n IS TOR I OF THE CRUSADES. 379 
 
 and impartial taste must prefer a Gothic tournament to the Olympic 
 games of classic antiquity. Instead of the naked spectacles which 
 corrupted the manners of the Greeks ; the pompous decoration of the 
 lists was crowned with the presence of high-born beauty, from whose 
 hands the conqueror received the prize of his dexterity and courage. 
 The skill and strength that were exerted in wrestling and boxing, bear 
 a distant and doubtful relation to the merit of a soldier ; but the 
 tournaments, as they were invented in France, and eagerly adopted 
 both in the East and West, presented a lively image ol the business of 
 the held. The single combats, the general skirmish, the defence of a 
 pass, or casde, were rehearsed as in actual service ; and the contest, 
 both in real and mimic war, was decided by the superior management 
 of the horse and lance. The lance was the proper and peculiar 
 weapon of the knight : his horse was of a large and heavy breed ; but 
 this charger, till he was roused by the approaching danger, v/as 
 usually led by an attendant, and he quietly rode a pad or palfrey of a 
 more easy pace. His helmet, and sword, his greaves, and buckler, it 
 would be superfluous to describe ; but I may remark, that at the 
 period of the crusades, the armour was less ponderous than in later 
 times ; and that, instead of a massy cuirass, his breast was defended 
 by an hauberk or coat of mail. When their long lances were fixed in 
 the rest, the warriors furiously spurred their horses against the foe ; 
 and the light cavalry of the Turks and Arabs could seldom stand 
 against the direct and impetuous weight of their charge. Each knight 
 was attended to the field by his faithful squire, a youth of equal birth 
 and similar hopes ; he was followed by his archers and men at arms, 
 and four, or five, or six soldiers, were computed as the furniture of a 
 complete latice. In the expeditions to the neighbouring kingdoms or 
 the Holy Land, the duties of the feudal tenure no longer subsisted ; 
 the voluntary service of the knights and their followers was either 
 prompted by zeal or attachment, or purchased with rewards and pro- 
 mises ; and the numbers of each squadron were measured by the power, 
 the wealth, and the fame of each independent chieftain. They were 
 distinguished by his banner, his armorial coat, and his cry of war ; and 
 the most ancient families of Europe must seek in these achievements 
 the origin and proof of their nobility. In this portrait of chivalry, I 
 have been urged to anticipate on the story of the crusades, at once an 
 effect and a cause, of this memorable institution. 
 
 Such were the troops, and such the leaders, who assumed the cross 
 for the deliverance of the holy sepulchre. As soon as they were 
 relieved (a.d. 1096, Aug. 15 — A.D. 1097, May) by the absence of the 
 plebeian multitude, they encouraged each other, by interviews and 
 messages, to accomplish their vow and hasten their departure. Their 
 wives and sisters were desirous of partaking the danger and merit of 
 the pilgrimage ; their portable treasures were conveyed in bars of
 
 380 ROUTE OF THE CRUSADERS THROUGH EUROPE. 
 
 silver and gold ; and the princes and barons were attended by theif 
 equipage of hounds and hawks to amuse their leisure and to supply 
 their table. The difficulty of procuring subsistence for so many 
 myriads of men and horses, engaged them to separate their forces ; 
 their choice or situation determined the road ; and it was agreed to 
 meet in the neighbourhood of Constantinople, and from thence to 
 begin their operations against the Turks. From' the banks of the 
 Meuse and the Moselle, Godfrey of Bouillon followed the dir«ect way 
 of Germany, Hungary, and Bulgaria : and, as long as he exercised the 
 sole command, every step afforded some proof of his prudence and 
 virtue. On the confines of Hungary he was stopped three weeks by 
 a Christian people, to whom the name, or at least the abuse, of the 
 cross was justly odious. The Hungarians still smarted with the 
 wounds which they had received from the first pilgrims : in their turn 
 they had abused the right of defence and retaliation ; and they had 
 reason to apprehend a severe revenge from an hero of the same na- 
 tion, and who was engaged in the same cause. But, after weighing 
 the motives and the events, the virtuous duke was content to pity the 
 crimes and misfortunes of his worthless brethren ; and his twelve 
 deputies, the messengers of peace, requested in his name a free pas- 
 sage and an equal market. To remove their suspicions, Godfrey 
 trusted himself, and afterwards his brother, to the faith of Carloman 
 king of Hungary, who treated them with a simple but hospitable 
 entertainment : the treaty was sanctified by their common gospel ; 
 and a proclamation, under pain of death, restrained the animosity and 
 licence of the Latin soldiers. From Austria to Belgrade, they traversed 
 the plains of Hungary, without enduring or offering an injury ; and the 
 proximity of Carloman, who hovered on their flanks with his numerous 
 cavalry, was a precaution not less useful for their safety than for his 
 own. They reached the banks of the Save ; and no sooner had they 
 passed the river than the king of Hungary restored the hostages, and 
 saluted their departure with the fairest wishes for the success of their 
 enterprise. With the same conduct and discipline, Godfrey pervaded 
 the woods of Bulgaria and the frontiers of Thrace ; and might con- 
 gratulate himself, that he had almost reached the first term of his 
 pilgrimage, without drawing his sword against a Christian adversary. 
 After an easy and pleasant journey through Lombardy, from Turin 
 to Aquileia, Raymond and his provincials marched forty days 
 through the savage country of Dalmatia and Sclavonia. The 
 weather was a perpetual fog : the land was mountainous and deso- 
 late ; the natives were either fugitive or hostile : loose in their 
 religion and government, they refused to furnish provisions or guides ; 
 murdered the stragglers ; and exercised by night and day the vigil- 
 ance of the count, who derived more security from the punishment 
 of some captive robbers than from his interview and treaty A\ith the
 
 N/S TO nV OF rlTF. C A- CrSA DES. 3 8 1 
 
 prince of Scodra. His march between Durazzo and Constantinople 
 was harassed, without being stopned, by the peasants and soldiers of 
 the Greek emperor ; and the sairie faint and ambiguous hostility was 
 prepared for the remair/ing chiefs, Avho passed the Kadriatic from the 
 coast of Italy. Bohemond had arms and vessels, and foresight and 
 discipline ; and his name was not forgotten in the provinces of Epirus 
 and Thessaly. Whatever obstacles he encountered were surmounted 
 by his military conduct and the valour of Tancred ; and if the Norman 
 prince affected to spare the Greeks, he gorged his soldiers with the 
 full plunder of an heretical castle. The nobles of France pressed 
 forward with the vain and thoughtless ardour of which their nation 
 has been sometimes accused. From the Alps to Apulia the march of 
 Hugh the Great, of the two Roberts, and of Stephen of Chartres, 
 through a wealthy country, and amidst the applauding Catholics, was a 
 devout or triumphant progress : they kissed the feet of the Roman 
 pontiff; and the golden standard of St. Peter was delivered to the 
 brother of the French monarch. But in this visit of piety and pleasure, 
 they neglected to secure the season, and the nieans, of their embarka- 
 tion : the winter was insensibly lost ; their troops were scattered and 
 corrupted in the towns of Italy. They sepaiately accomplished their 
 passage, regardless of safety or dignity : and within nine months from 
 the feast of the Assumption, the day appointed by Urban, all the Latin 
 princes had reached Constantinople. But the count of Vermandois 
 was produced as a captive ; his foremost vessels were scattered by a 
 tempest ; and his person, against the law of nations, was detained by 
 the lieutenants of Alexius. Yet the arrival of Hugh had been an- 
 nounced by four-and-twenty knights in golden armour, who commanded 
 the emperor to revere the general of the Latin Christians, the brother 
 of the King of kings. 
 
 In some Oriental talc I have read the fable of a shepherd who was 
 ruined by the accomplishment of his own wishes : he had prayed for 
 water ; the Ganges was turned into his grounds, and his flock and cot- 
 tage were swept away by the inundation. Such was the fortune, or 
 at least the apprehension, of the Greek emperor Alexius Comnenus 
 (a.d. 1096. Dec. — A.D. 1097. May), whose name has already appeared 
 in this history, and whose conduct is so differently represented by his 
 daughter Anne, and by the Latin writers. In the council of Placen- 
 tia, his ambassadors had solicited a moderate succour, perhaps of 
 10,000 soldiers : but he was astonished by the approach of so many 
 potent chiefs and fanatic nations. The emperor fluctuated between 
 hope and fear, between timidity and courage ; but in the crooked 
 policy which he mistook for wisdom, I cannot believe, I cannot dis- 
 cern that he maliciously conspired against the life or honour of the 
 French heroes. The promiscuous multitudes of Peter the hermit, were 
 savage beasts, alike destitute of humanity and reason : nor was it pos-
 
 382 ALAR3I OF THE GREEKS OF COmTANTINOPLE. 
 
 sible for Alexius to prevent or deplore their destruction. The troops 
 of Godfrey and his peers were less contemptible, but not less suspicious, 
 to the Greek emperor. Their motives might be pure and pious ; but 
 he was equally alarmed by his knowledge of the ambitious Bohemond, 
 and his ignorance of the Transalpine chiefs : the courage of the 
 French was blind and headstrong ; they might be tempted by the 
 luxury and wealth of Greece, and elated by the view and opinion of 
 their invincible strength ; and Jerusalem might be forgotten in the 
 prospect of Constantinople. After a long march and painful absti- 
 nence, the troops of Godfrey encamped in the plains of Thrace ; they 
 heard with indignation that their bi'other, the count of Vermandois, 
 was imprisoned by the Greeks ; and their reluctant duke was com- 
 pelled to indulge them in some freedom of retaliation and rapine. 
 They were appeased by the submission of Alexius ; he promised to 
 supply their camp ; and as they refused, in the midst of winter, to pass 
 the Bosphorus, their quarters were assigned among the gardens and 
 palaces on the shores of that narrow sea. But an incurable jealousy 
 still ranlded in the minds of the two nations, who despised each other 
 as slaves and Bai-barians. Ignorance is the ground of suspicion, and 
 suspicion was inflamed into daily provocations : prejudice is blind, 
 hunger is deaf; and Alexius is accused of a design to starve or assault 
 the Latins in a dangerous post, on all sides encompassed with the waters. 
 Godfrey sounded his trumpet, burst the net, overspread the plain, and 
 insulted the suburbs ; but the gates of Constantinople were strongly 
 fortified ; the ramparts were lined with archers ; and after a doubtful 
 conflict, both parties listened to the voice of peace and religion. The 
 gifts and promises of the emperor insensibly soothed the fierce spirit 
 of the western strangers ; as a Christian warrior, he rekindled their 
 zeal for the prosecution of their holy enterprise, which he engaged to 
 second with his troops and treasures. On the return of spring, God- 
 frey was persuaded to occupy a pleasant and plentiful camp in Asia ; 
 and no sooner had he passed the Bosphorus, than the Greek vessels 
 were suddenly recalled to the opposite shore. The same policy was 
 repeated with the succeeding chiefs, who were swayed by the example, 
 and weakened by the departure, of their foremost companions. By his 
 skill and diligence, Alexius prevented the union of any two of the con- 
 federate armies at the same moment under the walls of Constantinople ; 
 and before the feast of the Pentecost not a Latin pilgrim was left on 
 the coast of Europe. 
 
 The same arms which threatened Europe, might deliver Asia, and 
 repel the Turks from the neighbouring shores of the Bosphorus and 
 Hellespont. The fair provinces from Nice to Antioch were the recent 
 patrimony of the Roman emperor ; and his ancient and perpetual claim 
 still embraced the kingdoms of Syria and Egypt. In his enthusiasm 
 Alexius indulged, or affected, the ambitious hope of leading his new
 
 Hi^lORY OF THE CRUSADES. 38 3 
 
 allies to subvert the thrones of the East : but the calmer dictates of 
 reason and temper dissuaded him from exposing his royal person to 
 the faith of unknown and lawless Barbarians. His prudence, or his 
 pride, was content with extorting from the French princes an oath of 
 homage and fidelity, and a solemn promise, that they would either re- 
 store, or hold, their Asiatic conquests, as the humble and loyal vassals 
 of the Roman empire. Their independent spirit was fired at the men- 
 tion of this foreign and voluntary servitude ; they successively yielded 
 to the dexterous application of gifts and flattery ; and the first prose- 
 lytes became the most eloquent and effectual missionaries to multiply 
 the companions of their shame. The pride of Hugh of Vermandois 
 was soothed by the honours of his captivity ; and in the brother of the 
 French king, the example of submission was prevalent and weighty. 
 In the mind of Godfrey of Bouillon every human consideration was 
 subordinate to the glory of God and the success of the crusade. He 
 had firmly resisted the temptations of Bohemond and Raymond, who 
 urged the attack and conquest of Constantinople. Alexius esteemed 
 his virtues, deservedly named him the champion of the empire, and 
 dignified his homage with the filial name and the rites of adop.tion. 
 The hateful Bohemond was received as a true and ancient ally ; and 
 if the emperor reminded him of former hostilities, it was only to praise 
 the valour that he had displayed, and the glory that he had acquired, in 
 the fields of Durazzo and Larissa. The son of Guiscard was lodged 
 and entertained, and served with imperial pomp : one day, as he passed 
 through the gallery of the palace, a door was carelessly left open to 
 expose a pile of gold and silver, of silk and gems, of curious and costly 
 furniture, that was heaped, in seeming disorder, from the floor to the 
 roof of the chamber. " What conquests," exclaimed the ambitious 
 miser, " might not be achieved by the possession of such a treasure ?" 
 "It is your own," replied a Greek attendant who watched the motions 
 of his soul ; and Bohemond, after some hesitation, condescended to 
 accept this magnificent present. The Norman was flattered by the 
 assurance of an independent principality, and Alexius eluded, rather than 
 denied, his daring demand of the office of great domestic, or general, of 
 the East. The two Roberts, the son of the conqueror of England, and 
 the kinsman of three queens, bowed in their turn before the Byzantine 
 throne. A private letter of Stephen of Chartres attests his admiration 
 of the emperor, the most excellent and liberal of men, who taught him 
 to believe that he was a favourite, and promised to educate and estab- 
 lish his youngest son. In his southern province, the count of St. Giles 
 and Toulouse faintly recognized the supremacy of the king of France, 
 a prince of a foreign nation and language. At the head of 100,000 
 men, he declared, that he was the soldier and servant of Christ alone, 
 and that the Greek might be satisfied with an equal treaty of alliance 
 and friendship. His obstinate resistance enhanced the value and the
 
 381 HOMAGE OF 1HE CRUSADERS TO THE EMPEROR. 
 
 f)rice of his submission ; and he shone, says the princess Anna, among 
 the Barbarians, as the sun amidst the stars of heaven. His disgust of 
 the noise and insolence of the French, his suspicions of the designs of 
 Bohemond, the emperor imparted to his faithful Raymond ; and that 
 aged statesman might clearly discern, that however false in friendship, 
 he was sincere in his enmity. The spirit of chivalry was last subdued 
 in the person of Tancred ; and none could deem themselves dis- 
 honoured by the imitation of that gallant knight. He disdained the 
 gold and flattery of the Gi-eek monarch ; assaulted in his presence 
 an insolent patrician ; escaped to Asia in the habit of a private 
 soldier ; and yielded with a sigh to the authority of Bohemond 
 and the interest of the Christian cause. The best and most os- 
 tensible reason was the impossibility of passing the sea and accom- 
 plishing their vow, without the licence and the vessels of Alexius ; but 
 they cherished a secret hope, that as soon as they trod the continent 
 of Asia, their swords would obliterate their shame, and dissolve the en- 
 gagement, which on his side might not be very faithfully performed. The 
 ceremony of their homage was grateful to a people who had long since 
 considered pride as the substitute of power. High on his throne, the em- 
 peror sat mute and immovable : his majesty was adored by the Latin 
 princes ; and they submitted to kiss either his feet or his knees, an indig- 
 nity which their own writers are ashamed to confess and unable to deny. 
 
 Private or public interest suppressed the murmurs of the dukes 
 and counts ; but a French baron (he is supposed to be Robert of Paris) 
 presumed to ascend the throne, and to place himself by the side of 
 Alexius. The sage reproof of Baldwin provoked him to exclaim, in 
 his barbarous idiom, " Who is this rustic, that keeps his seat while so 
 many valiant captains are standing round him .''" The emperor 
 maintained his silence, dissembled his indignation, and questioned 
 his interpreter concerning the meaning of the words, which he partly 
 suspected from the universal language of gesture and countenance. 
 Before the departure of the pilgrims, he endeavoured to learn the 
 name and condition of the audacious baron. " I am a Frenchman,'' 
 replied Robert, " of the purest and most ancient nobility of my 
 country. All that I know is, that there is a church in my neighbour- 
 hood, the resort of those who are desirous of approving their valour 
 in single combat. Till an enemy appears, they address their prayers 
 to God and his saints. That church I have frequently visited, but 
 never have I found an antagonist who dared to accept my defiance." 
 Alexius dismissed the challenger with some prudent advice for his con- 
 duct in the Turkish warfare ; and history repeats with pleasure this 
 Jively example of the manners of his age and country. 
 
 The conquest of Asia was undertaken and achieved by Alexander, 
 with 35,000 IVIacedonians and Greeks ; and his best hope was in the 
 strength and discipline of his phalanx of infantry. The principal force
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 385 
 
 of the cnisadeis consisted in their cavalry ; and \\hcn that force was 
 mustered in the plains of Bithynia (A.D. 1097. May) the knights and 
 their martial attendants on horseback amounted to 100,000 fighting 
 men, completely armed with the helmet and coat of mail. The value 
 of these soldiers deserved a strict and authentic account ; and the 
 flower of European chivalry m.ight furnish, in a first effort, this formid- 
 able body of heavy horse. A part .of the infantry might be enrolled 
 for the service of scouts, pioneers, and archers ; but the promiscu- 
 ous crowd were lost in their own disorder ; and we depend not on the 
 eyes or knowledge, but on the belief and fancy, of a chaplain of count 
 Baldwin, in the estimate of 600,000 pilgrims able to bear arms, be- 
 sides the priests and monks, the women and children, of the Latin 
 camp. The reader starts ; but before he is recovered from his sur- 
 prise, I shall add, on the same testimony, that if all who took the cross 
 had accomplished their vow, above Six millions would have migrated 
 from Europe to Asia. Under this oppression of faith, I derive some 
 relief from a more sagacious and thinking writer, who, after the same 
 review of the cavalry, accuses the credulity of the priest of Chartres, 
 and even doubts whether the Cisalpine regions (in th e geography of a 
 Frenchman) were sufficient to produce and pour forth such incredible 
 multitudes. The coolest scepticism will remember, taat of these reli- 
 gious volunteers great numbers never beheld Constantinople and Nice. 
 Of enthusiasm the influence is irregular and transient : many were de- 
 tained at home by reason or cowardice, by poverty or weakness ; and 
 many were repulsed by the obstacles of the way, the more insuper- 
 able as they were unforeseen to these ignorant fanatics. The savage 
 countries of Hungary and Bulgaria were whitened with their bones : 
 their vanguard was cut in pieces by the Turkish sultan ; and the loss 
 of the first adventure by the sword, or climate, or fatigue, has already 
 been stated at 300,000 men. Yet the myriads that survived, that 
 marched, that pressed forwards on the holy pilgrimage, were a sub- 
 ject of astonishment to themselves and to the Greeks. The copious 
 energy of her language sinks under the efforts of the princess Anna : 
 the images of locusts, of leaves and flowers, of the sands of the sea, 
 or the stars of heaven, imperfectly represent what she had seen and 
 heard ; and the daughter of Alexius exclaims, that Europe was loos- 
 ened from its foundations, and hurled against Asia. The ancient 
 hosts of Darius and Xerxes labour under the same doubt of a vague 
 and indefinite magnitude ; but I am inclined to believe, that a larger 
 number has never been contained within the lines of a single camp 
 than at the siege of Nice, the first operation of the Latin princes. 
 Their motives, their characters, and their arms, have been already 
 displayed. Of their troops, the most numerous portion were natives 
 of France : the Low Countries, the banks of the Rhine, and Apulia, 
 sent a powerful reinforcement : some bands of adventurers were drawn
 
 3S6 PRAYERS OF THE CRUSADERS; THEY INVEST NICR. 
 
 from Spain, Lombardy, and England ; and from the distant bogs and 
 mountains of Ireland or Scotland issued some naked and savage 
 fanatics, ferocious at home but unwarlike abroad. Had not super- 
 stition condemned the sacrilegious prudence of depriving the poorest 
 or weakest Christian of the merit of the pilgrimage, the useless crowd, 
 with mouths but without hands, might have been stationed in the 
 Greek empire, till their companions had opened and secured the way 
 of the Lord. A small remnant of the pilgrims, who passed the Bos- 
 phorus, was permitted to visit the holy sepulchre. Their northern 
 constitution was scorched by the rays, and infected by the vapours, 
 of a Syrian sun. They consumed, Avith heedless prodigality, their 
 stores of water and provision : their numbers exhausted the inland 
 country ; the sea was remote, the Greeks were unfriendly, and the 
 Christians of every sect fled before the voracious and cruel rapine of 
 their brethren. In the dire necessity of famine, they sometimes 
 roasted and devoured the flesh of their infant or adult captives. Among 
 the Turks and Saracens, the idolaters of Europe were rendered more 
 odious by the name and reputation of cannibals : the spies who in- 
 troduced themselves into the kitchen of Bohemond, were shown 
 several human bodies turning on the spit ; and the artful Norman en- 
 couraged a report, which increased at the same time the abhorrence 
 and the terror of the infidels. 
 
 I have expatiated with pleasure on the first steps of the crusaders, as 
 they paint the manners and character of Europe : but I shall abridge 
 the tedious. and uniform narrative of their blind achievements, which 
 were performed by strength and are described by ignorance. From 
 their first station in the neighbourhood of Nicomedia, they advanced 
 in successive divisions ; passed the contracted limit of the Greek em- 
 pire ; opened a road through the hills, and commenced (a.d. 1097. 
 May 14 — June 20), by the siege of his capital, their pious warfare 
 against the Turkish sultan. His kingdom of Roum extended from 
 the Hellespont to the confines of Syria, and barred the pilgrimage of 
 Jerusalem : his name was Kilidge-Arslan, or Soliman, of the race oi 
 Seljuk, and son of the first conqueror ; and in the defence of a land 
 which the Turks considered as their own, he deserved the praise of 
 his enemies, by whom alone he is known to posterity. Yielding to 
 the first impulse of the torrent, he deposited his family and treasure in 
 Nice ; retired to the mountains with 50,000 horse ; and twice descend- 
 ed to assault the camps or quarters of the Christian besiegers, which 
 formed an imperfect circle of above six miles. The lofty and solid 
 walls of Nice were covered by a deep ditch, and flanked by 370 towers ; 
 and on the verge of Christendom, the Moslems were trained in arms 
 and inflamed by religion. Before this city, the French princes occu- 
 pied their stations, and prosecuted their attacks without correspond- 
 ence or subordination : emulation prompted their valour ; but their
 
 HIS TOR V OF THE CR USA DES. 3 3 7 
 
 valour was sullied by cruelty, and their emulation degenerated into 
 envy and civil discord. In the siege of Nice the arts and engines of 
 antiquity were employed by the Latins ; the mine and the baltcring- 
 vam, the tortoise, and the belfry or movable turret, artificial fire, and 
 the catapult and balist, the sling, and the cross-bow for the casting of 
 stones and darts. In the space of seven weeks, much labour and 
 blood were expended, and some progress, especially by count Raymond, 
 was made on the side of the besiegers. 13ut the Turks could protract 
 their resistance, and secure their escape, as long as they were masters 
 of the lake Ascanius, which stretches several miles to the westward 
 of the city. The means of conquest were supplied by the prudence 
 and industry of Alexius ; a great number of boats was transported on 
 sledges from the sea to the lake ; they were filled with the most dexterous 
 of his archers ; the flight of the sultana was intercepted ; Nice Nvas 
 invested by land and water ; and a Greek emissary persuaded the in- 
 habitants to accept his master's protection, and to save then"? selves by 
 a timely surrender, from the rage of the savages of Euroy??;. \t\ the 
 moment of victory, or at least of hope, the crusaders, thir^ tns; for 
 blood and plunder, were awed by the Imperial banner th^L ^-.reamed 
 from the citadel ; and Alexius guarded with jealous vigilance this im- 
 portant conquest. The murmurs of the chiefs were stifled by honour 
 or interest ; and after an halt of nine days, they directed their march 
 towards Phrygia under the guidance of a Greek general, whom they 
 suspected of secret connivance with the sultan. The consort and the 
 principal servants of Soliman had been honourably restored without 
 ransom ; and the emperor's generosity to the viiscreants* was interpreted 
 as treason to the Christian cause. 
 
 Soliman was rather provoked than dismayed by the loss of his capi- 
 tal : he admonished his subjects and allies of this strange invasion of 
 the western Barbarians ; the Turkish emirs obeyed the call of loyalty 
 or religion ; the Turkman hordes encamped round his standard ; and 
 his whole force is loosely stated by the Christians at 200,000, or even 
 360,000 horse. Yet he patient'y waited till they had left behind them 
 the sea and the Greek frontier ; and hoverinj^ on the flanks, observed 
 their careless and confident progress in two columns beyond th-^ view 
 of each other. Some miles before they could reach Doryhi:um m 
 Phrygia, the left, and least numerous division was surprised and 
 attacked (a.d. 1097. July 4), and almost oppressed by the Turkish 
 cavalry. The heat of the weather, the clouds of arrows, and the bar- 
 barous onset, overwhelmed the crusaders ; they lost their order and 
 confidence, and the fainting fight was sustained by the personal valour, 
 rather than by the military conduct, of Bohemond, Tancrcd, and 
 
 * Mecreant, a word invented by the French crusaders, and confined in that lansnincre to its 
 primitive sense. It should seem, that the zeal of our ancestors boiled higher, and that they 
 branded every unbeUever as a r;\scal. A similir prejudice still lurks in the minds of manv 
 who think themselves Christians.
 
 388 THE MOSLEM FORCES DEFEA TED A T DORYLjEUM. 
 
 Robert of Normandy. They were revived by the welcome banners of 
 duke Godfrey, who flew to their succour with the count of Verman- 
 dois, and 60,000 horse ; and was followed by Raymond of Toulouse, the 
 bishop of Puy, and the remainder of the sacred army. Without a 
 moment's pause, they formed in new order, and advanced to a second 
 battle. They were received with equal resolution ; and, in their com- 
 mon disdain for the unwarlike people of Greece and Asia, it was con- 
 fessed on both sides, that the Turks and the Franks were the only 
 nations entitled to the appellation of soldiers. Their encounter was 
 varied and balanced by the contrast of arms and discipline ; of the 
 direct charge, and wheeling evolutions ; of the couched lance, and the 
 brandished javelin ; of a weighty broad-sword and a crooked. sabre ; 
 of cumbrous armour, and thin flowing robes ; and of the long Tartar 
 bow, and the arbalist or cross-bow, a deadly weapon, yet unknown to 
 the Orientals. As long as the horses were fresh and the quivers full, 
 Soliman maintained the advantage of the day ; and 4000 Christians 
 were pierced by the Turkish arrows. In the evening, swiftness yielded 
 to strength ; on either side the numbers were equal, or at least as 
 great as any ground could hold, or any generals could manage ; but in 
 turning the hills, the last division of Raymond and h.\s pro-dincials was 
 led, perhaps without design, on the rear of an exhausted enemy ; and 
 the long contest was determined. Besides a nameless and unaccounted 
 multitude, 3000 Pagan knights were slain in the battle and pursuit ; 
 the camp of Soliman was pillaged ; and in the variety of precious 
 spoil, the curiosity of the Latins was amused with foreign arms and 
 apparel, and the new aspect of dromedaries and camels. The import- 
 ance of the victory was proved by the hasty retreat of the sultan : re- 
 serving 10,000 guards of the relics of his army, Soliman evacuated the 
 kingdom of Roum, and hastened to implore the aid and kindle the 
 resentment, of his Eastern brethren. In a march of 500 miles, the 
 crusaders (July — Sept.) traversed the lesser Asia through a wasted 
 land and deserted towns, without either finding a friend or an enemy. 
 The geographer may trace the position of Dorylaeum, Antioch, of 
 Pisidia, Iconium, Archelais, and Germanicia, and may compare those 
 classic appellations with the modern names of Eskishehr the old city, 
 Akshehr the white city, Cogni, Erekli, and Marash. As the pilgrims 
 passed over a desert, where a draught of water is exchanged for silver, 
 they were tormented by intolerable thirst ; and on the banks of the first 
 rivulet, their haste and intemperance were still more pernicious to the 
 disorderly throng. They climbed with toil and danger the steep and 
 slippery sides of mount Taurus : many of the soldiers cast away their 
 arms to secure their footsteps ; and had not terror preceded their van, 
 the long and trembling file might have been driven down the precipice 
 by a handful of resolute enemies. Two of their most respectable 
 chiefs, the duke of Lorraine and the count of Toulouse, were carried in
 
 HfSTOR Y OF THE CR USA DES. ^ g f^ 
 
 litters : Raymond was raised, as it is said by miracle, from an hopeless 
 malady , and Godfrey had been torn by a bear, as he pursued that rough 
 and perilous chace in the mountains of Pisidia. ■ 
 
 To improve the general consternation, the cousin of Bohemond and 
 the brother of Godfrey were detached from the main army with their 
 respective squadrons of five, and of seven hundred knights. They 
 o\cr-ran in a rapid career the hills and sea-coast of Cilicia, from Cogni 
 to the Syrian gates : the Norman standard was first planted on the 
 walls of Tarsus and Malmistra ; but the proud injustice of Baldwin at 
 length provoked the patient and generous Italian ; and they turned 
 their consecrated swords against each other in a private and profane 
 quarrel. Honour was the motive, and fame the reward, of Tancred ; 
 but fortune smiled on the more selfish enterprise of his rival. He was 
 called to the assistance of a Greek or Armenian tyrant, who had been 
 s"j,Tercd under the Turkish yoke to reign over the Christians of Edessa. 
 Baldwin accepted the character of his son and champion ; but no 
 sooner was he introduced into the city, than he inflamed the people to 
 the massacre of his father, occupied the throne and treasure, extended 
 his conquests over the hills of Armenia and the plain of Mesopotamia, 
 and founded (a.D. 1097 — 1 151) the first principality of the Franks or 
 Latins, which subsisted fifty-four years beyond the Euphrates. 
 
 Before the Franks could enter Syria, the summer, and even the 
 autumn, were completely wasted : the siege of Antioch (a.D. 1097, Oct. 
 21), or the separation and repose of the army during the winter season, 
 w as strongly debated in their council : the love of arms and the holy 
 sepulchre urged them to advance ; and reason perhaps was on the side 
 of resolution, since every hour of delay abates the fame and force of 
 the invader, and multiplies the resources of defensive war. The 
 capital of Syria was protected by the river Orontes ; and the iron 
 bridge, of nine arches, derives its name from the massy gates of the 
 two towers which are constructed at either end. They were opened 
 (a.D. 1098. June 3) by the sword of the duke of Normandy : his 
 victory gave entrance to 300,000 crusaders, an account which may 
 allow some scope for losses and desertion, but which clearly detects 
 much exaggeration in the review of Nice. In the description ot 
 Antioch, it is not easy to define a middle term between her ancient 
 magnificence, under the successors of Alexander and Augustus, and 
 the modern aspect of Turkish desolation. The Tetrapolis, or four 
 cities, if they retained thei'r name and position, must have left a large 
 vacuity in a circumference of twelve miles ; and that measure, as well 
 as the number of four hundred towers, are not perfectly consistent with 
 the five gates, so often mentioned in the history of the siege. Yet 
 Antioch must have still flourished as a great and populous capital. At 
 the head of the Turkish emirs, Baghisian, a veteran chief, commanded 
 in the place : his garrison was composed of six or seven thousand 
 
 c c
 
 390 NICE TAKEN. GALLANTRY OF THE PRINCES. 
 
 horse, and fifteen or twenty thousand foot : one hundred thousand 
 IMoslems are said to have fallen by the sword ; and their numbers 
 were probably inferior to the Greeks, Armenians, and Syrians, who 
 had been no more than fourteen years the slaves of the house of Seljuk. 
 From the remains of a solid and stately wall, it ai:)pears to have arisen 
 to the height of three-score feet in the valleys ; and wherever less art 
 and labour had been applied, the ground was supposed to be defended 
 by the river, the morass, and the mountains. Notwithstanding these 
 fortifications, the city had been repeatedly taken by the Persians, the 
 Arabs, the Greeks, and the Turks ; so large a circuit must have yielded 
 many pervious points of attack ; and in a siege that was formed about 
 the middle of October, the vigour of the execution could alone justify 
 the boldness of the attempt. Whatever strength and valour could 
 perform in the field was abundantly discharged by the champions of 
 the cross : in the frequent occasions of sallies, of forage, of the attack 
 and defence of convoys, they were often victorious, and we can only 
 complain, that their exploits are sometimes enlarged beyond the scale 
 of probability and truth. The sword of Godfrey divided a Turk from 
 the shoulder to the haunch ; and one half of the infidel fell to the 
 ground, while the other was transported by his horse to the city gate. 
 As Robert of Normandy rode against his antagonist, " I devote thy 
 head," he piously exclaimed, " to the daemons of hell ;" and that 
 head was instantly cloven to the breast by the resistless stroke of his 
 descending faulchion. But the reality or report of such gigantic 
 prowess must have taught the Moslems to keep within their walls ; 
 and against those walls of earth or stone, the sword and the lance 
 were unavailing weapons. In the slow and successive labours of a 
 siege, the crusaders were supine and ignorant, without skill to contrive, 
 or money to purchase, or industry to use, the artificial engines and 
 implements of assault. In the conquest of Nice, they had been 
 powerfully assisted by the wealth and knowledge of the Greek emperor : 
 his absence was poorly supplied by some Genoese and Pisan vessels, 
 that were attracted by religion or trade to the coast of Syria : the stores 
 were scanty, the return precarious, and the communication difficult 
 and dangerous. Indolence or weakness had prevented the Franks 
 from investing the entire circuit ; and the perpetual freedom of two 
 gates relieved the wants and recruited the garrison of the city. At the 
 end of seven months, after the ruin of their cavalry, and an enormous 
 loss by famine, desertion, and fatigue, the progress of the crusaders 
 was imperceptible, and their success remote, if the Latin Ulysses, the 
 artful and ambitious Bohemond, had not employed the arms of cunning 
 and deceit. The Christians of Antioch were numerous and discon- 
 tented : Phirouz, a Syrian renegado, had acquired the favour of the 
 emir and the command of three towers ; and the merit of his repentance 
 disguised to the Latins, and perhaps to himself, the foul design of 
 perfidy and treason. A secret correspondence, for their mutual iiu*ji est,
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 391 
 
 was soon established between Phirouz and the prince of Tarento ; and 
 Bohcmond declared in the council of the chiefs, that he could deliver 
 the city into their hands. But he claimed the sovereignty of Antioch 
 as the reward of his service ; and the proposal which had been rejected 
 by the envy, was at length extorted by the distress, of his equals. 
 The nocturnal surprise was executed by the French and Norman 
 princes, who ascended in person the scaling-ladders that were thrown 
 from the walls : their new proselyte, after the murder of his too 
 scrupulous brother, embraced and introduced the servants of Christ ; 
 the army rushed through the gates ; and the Moslems soon found, that 
 although mercy was hopeless, resistance was impotent. But the 
 citadel still refused to surrender ; and the victors themselves were 
 speedily encompassed and besieged by the innumerable forces of 
 Kerboga, prince of Mosul, who, with twenty-eight Turkish emirs, 
 ad\anced to the deliverance of Antioch. Five-and-twenty days the 
 Christians spent on the verge of destruction ; and the proud lieutenant 
 of the caliph and the sultan left them only the choice of servitude or 
 death. In this extremity they collected the relics of their strength, 
 sallied from the town, and in a single memorable day (a.D. 1098. June 
 28) annihilated or dispersed the host of Turks and Arabians, which 
 they might safely report to have consisted of 600,000 men. Their 
 supernatural allies I shall proceed to consider : the human causes of 
 the victory of Antioch were the fearless despair of the Franks ; and 
 the surprise, the discord, perhaps the errors, of their unskilful and 
 presumptuous adversaries. The battle is described with as much 
 disorder as it was fought ; but we may observe the tent of Kerboga, a 
 movable palace, enriched with the luxury of Asia, and capable of 
 holding above 2000 persons ; we may distinguish his 3000 guards, who 
 were cased, the horses as well as the men, in complete steel. 
 
 In the eventful period of the siege and defence of Antioch, the cru- 
 saders were alternately exalted by victory or sunk in despair ; either 
 swelled with plenty or emaciated with hunger. A speculative reasoner 
 might suppose, that their faith had a strong and serious influence on 
 their practice ; and that the soldiers of the cross, the deliverers of the 
 holy sepulchre, prepared themselves by a sober and virtuous life for 
 the daily contemplation of martyrdom. Experience blows away this 
 charitable illusion : and seldom does the history of profane war dis- 
 play such scenes of intemperance as were exhibited under the walls of 
 Antioch. The grove of Daphne no longer flourished ; but the Syrian 
 air was still impregnated with the same vices ; the Christians were se- 
 duced by every temptation that nature either prompts or reprobates ; 
 the authority of the chiefs was despised ; and sermons and edicts 
 were alike fruitless against those scandalous disorders, not less per- 
 nicious to military discipline, than repugnant to evangelic purity. In 
 the fust days of the siege and the possession of Antioch, the Franks
 
 393 THE HEROES, GODFREY, BOHEMOND, TANCRED. 
 
 cor,5iimed with wanton and thoughtless prodigality the frugal sub- 
 sistence of weeks and months : the desolate country no longer yielded 
 a supply ; and from that country they were at length excluded by the 
 arms of the besieging Turks. Disease, the faithful companion of want, 
 Avas envenomed by the rains of the winter, the summer heats, unwhole- 
 some food, and the close imprisonment of multitudes. The pictures 
 of famine and pestilence are always the same, and always disgustful ; 
 and our imagination may suggest the nature of their sufferings and 
 their resources. The remains of treasure or spoil were eagerly lavished 
 in the purchase of the vilest nourishment ; and dreadful must have 
 been the calamities of the poor, since, after paying three marks of sil- 
 ver for a goat, and fifteen for a lean camel, the count of Flanders was 
 reduced to beg a dinner, and duke Godfrey to borrow a horse. Sixty 
 thousand horses had been reviewed in the camp : before the end of 
 the siege they were diminished to 2000, and scarcely 200 fit for service 
 could be mustered on the day of battle. Weakness of body, and 
 terror of mind, extinguished the ardent enthusiasm of the pilgrims ; 
 and every motive of honour and religion was subdued by the desire of 
 life. Among the chiefs, three heroes may be found without fear or 
 reproach : Godfrey of Bouillon was supported by his magnanimous 
 piety ; Bohemond by ambition and interest ; and Tancred declared, 
 in the true spirit of chivalry, that as long as he was at the head of 
 forty knights, he would never relinquish the enterprise of Palestine. 
 But the count of Toulouse and Provence was suspected of a voluntary 
 indisposition ; the duke of Normandy was recalled from the sea-shore 
 by the censures of the church ; Hugh the Great, though he led the 
 va.nguard of the battle, embraced an ambiguous opportunity of return- 
 ing to France ; and Stephen count of Chartres basely deserted the 
 standard which he bore, and the council in which he presided. The 
 soldiers were discouraged by the flight of William, viscount of Melun, 
 surnamed the Carpenter, from the weighty strokes of his axe ; and the 
 saints were scandalized by the fall of Peter the Hermit, who, after arm- 
 ing Europe against Asia, attempted to escape from the penance of a 
 necessary fast. Of the multitude of recreant warriors, the names (says 
 an historian) are blotted from the book of life ; and the opprobrious 
 epithet of the rope-dancers was applied to the deserters who dropt in 
 the night from the walls of Antioch. The emperor Alexius, who seemed 
 to advance to the succour of the Latins, was dismayed by the assurance 
 of their hopeless condition. They expected their fate in silent despair ; 
 oaths and punishments were tried without effect ; and to rouse the 
 soldiers to the defence of the walls, it was found necessary to set fire 
 1 their quarters. 
 
 For their salvation and victory, they were indebted to the same 
 fanaticism which had led them to the brink of ruin. In such a cause, 
 and in such an army, viiions, prophecies, and miracles, were frequent
 
 HIS TOR Y OF THE CR USA DES. 3 q ^ 
 
 and familiar. In the distress of Antioch, they were repeated wiih 
 unusual energy and success : St. Ambrose had assured a pious eccle- 
 siastic, that two years of trial must precede the season of deliverance 
 and grace ; the deserters were stopped by the presence and reproaches 
 of Christ himself ; the dead had promised to rise and combat with 
 their brethren ; the Virgin had obtained the pardon of their sins ; and 
 their confidence was relieved by a visible sign, the seasonable and 
 splendid discovery of the holy lance. The policy of their chiefs 
 has on this occasion been dmired, and might surely be excused ; but 
 a pious fraud is seldom produced by the cool conspiracy of many 
 persons ; and a voluntary impostor might depend on the support ot 
 the wise and the credulity of the people. Of the diocese of Marseilles, 
 there was a priest of low cunning and loose manners, and his name 
 was Peter Bartholemy. He presented himself at the door of the 
 council-chamber, to disclose an apparition of St. Andrew, which had 
 been thrice reiterated in his sleep, with a dreadful menace, if he pre- 
 sumed to suppress the commands of heaven. '' At Antioch," said 
 the apostle, " in the church of my brother St. Peter, near the high 
 altar, is concealed the steel head of the lance that pierced the side of 
 our Redeemer. In three days, that instrument of eternal, and now 
 of temporal salvation, will be manifested to his disciples. Search and 
 yc shall find ; bear it aloft in battle ; and that mystic weapon shall 
 penetrate the souls of the miscreants." The pope's legate, the bishop 
 of Puy, affected to listen with coldness and distrust ; but the revela- 
 tion was eagerly accepted by count Raymond, whom his faithful 
 subject, in the name of the apostle, had chosen for the guardian of 
 the holy lance. The experiment was resolved ; and on the third day, 
 after a due preparation of prayer and fasting, the priest of Marseilles 
 introduced twelve trusty spectators, among whom v.-ere the count and 
 his chaplain ; and the church-doors were barred against the impetuous 
 multitude. The ground was opened in the appointed place ; but the 
 workmen, who relieved each other, dug to the depth of twelve feet 
 without discovering the object of their search. In the evening, when 
 count Raymond had withdrawn to his post, and the weary assistants 
 began to murmur, Bartholemy, in his shirt, and without his shoes, 
 boldly descended into the pit ; the darkness of the hour and of the 
 place enabled him to secrete and deposit the head of a Saracen 
 lance ; and the first sound, the first gleam, of the steel, was saluted 
 with a devout rapture. The holy lance was drawn from its recess, 
 wrapt in a veil of silk and gold, and exposed to the veneration 
 of the crusaders ; their anxious suspense burst forth in a general 
 shout of joy and hope, and the desponding troops were again inflamed 
 with the enthusiasm of valour. Whatever had been the arts, and 
 ^vhatcver might be the sentiments, of the chiefs, they skilfully improved 
 tJjis fujj-jxiwiii rt^voJutioji by every aid tlxat discipline aad devotioa
 
 394 ^^^ LEGEND OF THE HOLY LANCE. 
 
 could afford. The soldiers were dismissed to their quarters with an 
 injunction to fortify their minds and bodies for the approaching con- 
 flict, freely to bestow their last pittance on themselves and their 
 horses, and to expect with the dawn of day the signal of victory. On 
 the festival of St. Peter and St. Paul, the gates of Antioch were thrown 
 open ; a martial psalm, " Let the Lord arise, and let his enemies be 
 scattered !" was chaunted by a procession of priests and monks ; 
 the battle-array was marshalled in twelve divisions, in honour of the 
 twelve apostles ; and the holy lance, in the absence of Raymond, was 
 entrusted to the hands of his chaplain. The influence of this relic or 
 trophy was felt by the servants, and perhaps by the enemies of 
 Christ ; and its potent energy was heightened by an accident, a 
 stratagem, or a rumour, of a miraculous complexion. Three knights, 
 in white garments and resplendent arms, either issued, or seemed to 
 issue, from the hills : the voice of Adhemar, the pope's legate, pro- 
 claimed them as the martyrs St. George, St. Theodore, and St. 
 Maurice ; the tumult of battle allowed no time for doubt or scrutiny ; 
 and the welcome apparition dazzled the eyes or the imagination of a 
 fanatic army. In the season of danger and triumph, the revelation 
 of Bartholemy of Marseilles vvas unanimously asserted ; but as soon 
 as the temporary service was accomplished, the personal dignity and 
 liberal alms which the count of Toulouse derived from the custody of 
 the holy lance, provoked the envy, and awakened the reason, of his 
 rivals. A Norman clerk presumed to sift, with a philosophic spirit, 
 the truth of the legend, the circumstances of the discovery, and the 
 character of the prophet ; and the pious Bohemond ascribed their 
 deliverance to the merits and intercession of Christ alone. For a 
 while, the Provincials defended their national palladium with clamours 
 and arms ; and new visions condemned to death and hell the profane 
 sceptics, who presumed to scrutinise the truth and merit of the dis- 
 covery. The prevalence of incredulity compelled the author to submit 
 his life and veracity to the judgment of God. A pile of dry faggots, 
 four feet high, and fourteen long, was erected in the midst of the 
 camp ; the flames burnt fiercely to the elevation of thirty cubits ; and 
 a narrow path of twelve inches was left for the perilous trial. The 
 unfortunate priest of Marseilles traversed the fire with dexterity and 
 speed ; but his thighs and belly were scorched by the intense heat ; 
 he expired the next day ; and the logic of believing minds will pay 
 some regard to his dying protestations of innocence and truth. Some 
 efforts were made by the Provincials to substitute a cross, a ring, or a 
 tabernacle, in the place of the holy lance, which soon vanished in con- 
 tempt and oblivion. Yet the revelation of Antioch is gravely asserted 
 by succeeding historians ; and such is credulity, that miracles most 
 doubtful on the spot and at the moment, will be received with implicit 
 faith at a convenient distance of time and space.
 
 UIS TOR r OF THE CR USA DES. 305 
 
 The prudence or fortune of the Franks had delayed their invasion 
 till the decline of the Turkish empire. Under the manly government 
 of the three first sultans, the kingdoms of Asia were united in peace 
 and justice ; and the innumerable armies which they led in person 
 were equal in courage, and superior in discipline, to the Barbarians of 
 the West. But at the time of the crusade, the inheritance of Malek 
 Shaw was disputed by his four sons ; their private ambition was insen- 
 sible of the public danger ; and, in the vicissitudes of their fortune, 
 tlu; royal vassals were ignorant, or regardless, of the true object of 
 their allegiance. The twenty-eight emirs, who marched with the 
 standard of Kerboga, were his rivals or enemies ; their hasty levies 
 were drawn from the towns and tents of Mesopotamia and Syria ; 
 and the Turkish veterans were employed or consumed in the civil 
 wars beyond the Tigris. The caliph of Egypt embraced this oppor- 
 tunity of weakness and discord, to recover his ancient possessions ; 
 and his sultan Aphdal besieged Jerusalem and Tyre, expelled the 
 children of Ortok, and restored in Palestine the civil and ecclesiast- 
 ical authority of the Fatimites. They heard with astonishment of 
 the vast armies of Christians that had passed from Europe to Asia, 
 and rejoiced in the sieges and battles which broke the power of the 
 Turks, the adversaries of their sect and monarchy. But the same 
 Christians were the enemies of the prophet ; and from the overthrow 
 of Nice and Antioch, the motive of their enterprise, which was gradu- 
 ally understood, would urge them forwards to the banks of the 
 Jordan, or perhaps of the Nile. An intercourse of epistles and em- 
 bassies, which rose and fell with the events of war, was maintained 
 between the throne of Cairo and the camp of the Latins ; and their 
 adverse pride was the result of ignorance and enthusiasm. The 
 ministers of Egypt declared in an haughty, or insinuated in a milder, 
 tone, that their sovereign, the true and lawful commander of the faith- 
 ful, had rescued Jerusalem from the Turkish yoke ; and that the pil- 
 grims, if they would divide their numbers, and lay aside their arms, 
 should find a safe and hospitable reception at the sepulchre of Jesus. 
 In the belief of their lost condition, the caliph Mostali despised their 
 arms, and imprisoned their deputies : the conquest and victory of 
 Antioch prompted him to solicit those formidalale champions with 
 gifts of horses and silk robes, of vases, and purses of gold and silver ; 
 and in his estimate of their merit or power, the first place was assigned 
 to Bohemond, and the second to Godfrey. In either fortune the 
 answer of the crusaders was firm and uniform : they disdained to in- 
 quire into the private claims or possessions of the followers of Maho- 
 met : whatsoever was his name or nation, the usurper of Jerusalem was 
 their enemy ; and instead of prescribing the mode and terms of their 
 pilgrimage, it was only by a timely surrender of the city and province, 
 their sacred right, that he could deserve their alliance, or deprecate 
 their impending and irresistible attack.
 
 2g5 ANTIOCH TAKEN. MARCH ON yERuSALEM. 
 
 Yet this attack, when they were within the view and reach of their 
 glorious prize, was suspended (a.D. 1098, July — A.D. 1099, May) above 
 ten months after the defeat of Kerboga. The zeal and courage of the 
 crusaders were chilled in the moment of victory : and, instead of 
 marching to improve the consternation, they hastily dispersed to enjoy 
 the luxury, of Syria. The causes of this strange delay may be found 
 in the want of strength and subordination. In the painful and various 
 service of Antioch, the cavalry was annihilated ; many thousands of 
 every rank had been lost by famine, sickness, and desertion : the same 
 abuse of plenty had been productive of a third famine ; and the aU 
 ternative of intemperance and distress, had generated a pestilence, 
 which swept away above 50,000 of the pilgrims. Few were able to 
 command, and none were willing to obey : the domestic feuds, which 
 had been stifled by common fear, were again renewed in acts, or at 
 least in sentiments, of hostility ; the fortune of Baldwin and Bohemond 
 excited the envy of their companions ; the bravest knights were en- 
 listed for the defence of their new principalities ; and count Raymond 
 exhausted his troops and treasures in an idle expedition into the heart 
 of Syria. The winter was consumed in discord and disorder ; a sense 
 of honour and religion was rekindled in the spring ; and the private 
 soldiers, less susceptible of ambition and jealousy, awakened with 
 angry clamours the indolence of their chiefs. In the month of May, 
 (a.d. 1099. May 13), the relics of this mighty host proceeded from 
 Antioch to Laodicea ; about 40,000 Latins, of whom no more than 
 1500 horse, and 20,000 foot, were capable of immediate service. Their 
 easy march was continued between mount Libanus and the sea-shore ; 
 their wants were liberally supplied by the coasting traders of Genoa 
 and Pisa ; and they drew large contributions from the emirs of Tripoli, 
 Tyre, Sidon, Acre, and Cassarea, who granted a free passage, and 
 promised to follow the example of Jerusalem. From Ctesarea they 
 advanced into the midland country ; their clerks recognized the sacred 
 geography of Lydda, Ramla, Emaus, and Bethlem, and as soon (June 
 6) as they descried the holy city, the crusaders forgot their toils and 
 claimed their reward. 
 
 Jerusalem has derived some reputation from the number and im- 
 portance of her memorable sieges. It was not till after a long and 
 obstinate contest that Babylon and Rome could prevail against the 
 obstinacy of the people, the craggy ground that might supersede the 
 necessity of fortifications, and the walls and towers that would have 
 fortified the most accessible plain. These obstacles were diminished 
 in the age of the crusades. The bulwarks had been completely de- 
 stroyed and imperfectly restored : the Jews, their nation and worship, 
 were for ever banished ; but nature is less changeable than man, and 
 the site of Jerusalem, though somewhat softened and somewhat re- 
 moved, was still strong against the assaults of aa enemy. By the ex-
 
 ) HIS TORY OF THE CR USA DES. ^ q 7 
 
 perience of a recent siege, and a three years' possession, the Saracens 
 of Egypt had been taught to discern, and in some degree to remedy, 
 the defects of a place, which rehgion as -well as honour forbade them 
 to resign. Aladin or Iftikhar, the cahph's hcutcnant, was entrusted 
 with the defence : his poHcy strove to restrain the native Christians 
 by the dread of their own ruin and that of the holy sepulchre ; to ani- 
 mate the Moslems by the assurance of temporal and eternal rewards. 
 His garrison is said to have consisted of 40,000 Turks and Arabians ; 
 and if he could muster 20,000 of the inhabitants, it must be confessed 
 that the besieged were more numerous than the besieging army. Had 
 the diminished strength and numbers of the Latins allowed them to 
 grasp the whole circumference of 4000 yards (about two English miles 
 and a half), to what useful purpose should they have descended into 
 the valley of Ben Himmon and torrent of Cedron, or approached the 
 precipices of the south and east, from whence they had nothing either 
 to hope or fear ? Their siege (a.d. 1099. June 7 — July 15) was more 
 reasonably directed against the northern and western sides of the city. 
 Godfrey of Bouillon erected his standard on the first swell of mount 
 Calvary : to the left, as far as St. Stephen's gate, the line of attack was 
 continued by Tancred and the two Roberts ; and count Raymond 
 established his quarters from the citadel to the foot of mount Sion, 
 which was no longer included within the precincts of the city. On the 
 fifth day, the crusaders made a general assault, in the fanatic hope of 
 battering down the walls without engines, and of scaling them without 
 ladders. By the dint of brutal force, they burst the first barrier, but 
 they were driven back with shame and slaughter to the camp : the in- 
 fluence of vision and prophecy was deadened by the too frequent 
 abuse of those pious stratagems ; and time and labour were found to 
 be the only means of victory. The time of the siege was indeed fulfilled 
 in forty days, but they were forty days of calamity and anguish. A 
 repetition of the old complaint of famine may be imputed in some de- 
 gree to the voracious or disorderly appetite of the Franks ; but the 
 stony soil of Jerusalem is almost destitute of water ; the scanty springs 
 and hasty torrents were dry in the summer season ; nor was the thirst 
 of the besiegers relieved, as in the city, by the artificial supply of 
 cisterns and aqueducts. The circumjacent country is equally destitute 
 of trees for the uses of shade or building ; but some large beams were 
 discovered in a cave by the crusaders : a wood near Sichem, the en- 
 chanted grove of Tasso, was cut down : the necessary timber was 
 transported to the camp by the vigour and dexterity of Tancred ; and 
 the engines were framed by some Genoese artists, who had fortunately 
 landed in the harbour of Jaffa. Two movable turrets were constructed 
 at the expence, and in the stations, of the duke of Lorraine and the 
 count of Toulouse, and rolled forwards with devout labour, not to the 
 oiost accessible, but to the most neglected, parts of tlie fortification.
 
 398 CAPTURE OF JERUSATEM BY THE CRUSADERS. 
 
 Raymond's tower was reduced to ashes by the fire of the besieged, but 
 his colleague was more vigilant and successful ; the enemies were 
 driven by his archers from the rampart ; the draw-bridge was let 
 down ; and on a Friday at three in the afternoon, the day and hour of 
 the Passion, Godfrey of Bouillon stood victorious on the walls of Je- 
 rusalem. His example was followed on every side by the emulation 
 of valour ; and about 460 years after the conquest of Omar, the holy 
 city was rescued from the Mahometan yoke. In the pillage of public 
 and private wealth, the adventurers had agreed to respect the exclusive 
 property of the iirst occupant ; and the spoils of the great mosque, 
 seventy lamps and massy vases of gold and silver, rewarded the dili- 
 gence, and displayed the generosity, of Tancred. A bloody sacrifice 
 was offered by his mistaken votaries to the God of the Christians . 
 resistance might provoke, but neither age nor sex could mollify, their 
 implacable rage : they indulged themselves three days in a promis- 
 cuous massacre ; and the infection of the dead bodies produced an 
 epidemical disease. After 70,000 Moslems had been put to the sword, 
 and the harmless Jews had been burnt in their synagogue, they could 
 still reserve a multitude of captives, whom interest or lassitude per- 
 suaded them to spare. Of these savage heroes of the cross, Tancred 
 alone betrayed some sentiments of compassion ; yet we may praise the 
 more selfish lenity of Raymond, who granted a capitulation and safe- 
 conduct to the garrison of the citadel. The holy sepulchre was now 
 free ; and the bloody victors prepared to accomplish their vow. Bare- 
 headed and barefoot, with contrite hearts, and in an humble posture, 
 they ascended the hill of Calvary, amidst the loud anthems of the 
 clergy ; kissed the stone which had covered the Saviour of the world ; 
 and bedewed with tears of joy and penitence the monument of their 
 redemption. This union of the fiercest and most tender passions has 
 been variously considered by two philosophers ; by the one as easy and 
 natural ; by the other as absurd and incredible. Perhaps it is too 
 rigorously applied to the same persons and the same hour : the example 
 of the virtuous Godfrey awakened the piety of his companions ; while 
 they cleansed their bodies, they purified their minds ; nor shall I believe 
 that the most ardent in slaughter and rapine were the foremost in the 
 procession to the holy sepulchre. 
 
 Eight days (a.d. 1099. July 23) after this memorable event, which 
 pope Urban did not live to hear, the Latin chiefs proceeded to the 
 election of a king, to guard and govern their conquests in Palestine. 
 Hugh the Great, and Stephen of Chartres, had retired with some loss 
 of reputation, which they strove to regain by a second crusade and art 
 honourable death. Baldwin was established at Edessa, and Bohemond 
 at Antioch, and two Roberts, the duke of Normandy and the count 
 of Flanders, preferred their fair inheritance in the West, to a doubtful 
 competition or a barreo sceptre. The jealousy and ambition of Ray- 
 
 I
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 399 
 
 mond were condemned by his own followers, and the free, the just, the 
 unanimous voice of the army, proclaimed Godfrey of Bouillon the first 
 and most worthy of the champions of Christendom. His magnanim- 
 ity accepted a trust as full of danger as of glory ; but in a city where 
 his Saviour had been crowned with thorns, the devout pilgrim rejected 
 the name and ensigns of royalty ; and the founder of the kingdom of 
 Jerusalem contented himself with the modest title of Defender and 
 Baron of the Holy Sepulchre. His government of a single year (a.d. 
 1 100. July iS), too short for the public happiness, was interrupted in 
 the first fortnight by a summons to the field by the approach of the 
 vizier or sultan of Egypt, who had been too slow to prevent, but who ' 
 was impatient to avenge, the loss of Jerusalem. His total overthrow 
 in the battle of Ascalon (a.d. 1099. Aug. 12) sealed the establishment 
 of the Latins in Syria, and signalized the valour of the French princes, 
 who in this action bade a long farewell to the holy wars. Some glory 
 might be derived from the prodigious inec^uality of numbers, though I 
 shall not count the myriads of horse and foot on the side of the Fati- 
 mites ; but, except 3000 Ethiopians or blacks, who were armed with 
 flails, or scourges of iron, the Barbarians of the South fled on the first 
 onset, and afforded a pleasing comparison between the active valour of 
 the Turks and the sloth and effeminacy of the natives of Egypt. After 
 suspending before the holy sepulchre the sword and standard of the 
 sultan, the new king (he deserves the title) embraced his departing 
 companions, and could retain only with the gallant Tancred 300 
 knights, and 2000 foot soldiers, for the defence of Palestine. His 
 sovereignty was soon attacked by a new enemy, the only one against 
 whom Godfrey was a coward. Adhemer, bishop of Puy, who excelled 
 both in council and action, had been swept away in the last plague of 
 Antioch : the remaining ecclesiastics preserved only the pride and 
 avarice of their character ; and their seditious clamours had required 
 that the choice of a bishop should precede that of a king. The 
 revenue and jurisdiction of the lawful patriarch were usurped by the 
 Latin clergy : the exclusion of the Greeks and Syrians was justified by 
 the reproach of heresy or schism ; and, under the iron yoke of their 
 deliverers, the Oriental Christians regretted the tolerating government 
 of the Arabian caliphs. Daimbert, archbishop of Pisa, had long been 
 trained in the secret policy of Rome : he brought a fleet of his country- 
 men to the succour of the Holy Land, and was installed, without a 1 
 competitor, the spiritual and temporal head of the church. The new 
 patriarch immediately grasped the sceptre which had been acquired by 
 the toil and blood of the victorious pilgrims ; and both Godfrey and 
 Bohemond submitted to receive at his hands the investiture of their 
 feudal possessions. Nor was this sufficient ; Daimbert claimed the 
 immediate property of Jerusalem and Jaffa : instead of a firm and 
 generous refusal, the hero negociated with the priest; a quarter of
 
 400 REDUCTJO.W OJ' THE MARITIME CITIES OF PALESTIXE. 
 
 cither city was ceded to the church ; and the modest bishop was satis- 
 fied with an eventual reversion of the rest, on the death of Godfrey 
 without children, or on the future acquisition of a new seat at Cairo or 
 Damascus. 
 
 Without this indulgence, the conqueror would have almost been 
 stripped of his infant kingdom (a.d. 1099 — 1 187) which consisted only 
 of Jerusalem and Jaffa, with about twenty villages and towns of the 
 adjacent country. Within this narrow verge, the Mahometans were 
 still lodged in some impregnable castles ; and the husbandman, the 
 trader, and the pilgrims, were exposed to daily and domestic hostility. 
 By the arms of Godfrey himself, and of the two Baldwins, his brother 
 and cousin, who succeeded to the throne, the Latins breathed with 
 more ease and safety ; and at length they equalled, in the extent of their 
 dominions, though not in the millions of their subjects, the ancient 
 princes of Judah and Israel."* After the reduction of the maritime 
 cities of Laodicea, Tripoli, Tyre, and Ascalon, which were powerfully 
 assisted by the fleets of Venice, Genoa, and Pisa, and even of Flan- 
 ders and Norway, the range of sea-coast from Scanderoon to the bor- 
 ders of Egypt was possessed by the Christian pilgrims. If the prince 
 of Antioch disclaimed his supremacy, the counts of Edessa and Tri- 
 poli owned themselves the vassals of the king of Jerusalem : the Latins 
 reigned beyond the Euphrates ; and the four cities of Hems, Hamah, 
 Damascus and Aleppo, were the only relics of the Mahometan con- 
 quests in Syria. The laws and language, the manners and titles, of 
 the French nation and Latin church, were introduced into these trans- 
 marine colonies. According to the feudal jurisprudence, the principal 
 states and subordinate baronies descended in the line of male and 
 female succession ; but the children of the first conquerors, a motley 
 and degenerate race, were dissolved by the luxury of the climate ; the 
 arrival of new crusaders from Europe, was a doubtful hope, and a 
 casual event. The service of the feudal tenures was performed by 
 666 knights, who might expect the aid of 200 more under the banner of 
 the count of Tripoli ; and each knight was attended to the field by 
 four squires or archers on horseback. Five thousand and seventy- 
 five sergeants, most probably foot soldiers, were supplied by the 
 churches and cities : and the whole legal militia of the kingdom could 
 not exceed 11,000 men, a slender defence against the surrounding 
 myriads of Saracens and Turks. But the firmest bulwark of Jerusalem 
 was founded on the knights of the hospital of St. John, and of the 
 temple of Solomon ; on the strange association of a monastic and 
 military life, which fanaticism might suggest, but which policy must 
 approve. The flower of the nobility of Europe aspii^ed to wear the 
 
 * An actual muster, not including the tribes of Levi and Benj,smin, gave David an army of 
 1^300,000, or 1,574,000 lighting men ; wliich, with the addition of wonzen, children, .lud siaves, 
 Ouy imply a popuiaiiow oi i^^oa i uoo, ia a. couaixy 69 Jea^'uts hi Ita^Vu s».'l j^ Ijcttd
 
 nrsTORy of the crusades. 401 
 
 cross, nn3 to profess the vows, of these respectable orders ; their spirit 
 and discipxine were immortal ; and the speedy donation of 28,000 
 farms or manors, enabled them to support a regular force of cavalry 
 and infantry for the defence of Palestine. The austerity of the con- 
 vent soon evaporated in the exercise of arms : the world was scandal- 
 ized by the pride, avarice, and corruption of these Christian soldiers ; 
 their claims of immunity and jurisdiction disturbed the harmony of the 
 church and state ; and the public peace was endangered by their 
 jealous emulation. But in their most dissolute period, the knights of 
 the hospital and temple maintained their fearless and fanatic character : 
 they neglected to live, but they were prepared to die, in the service of 
 Christ ; and the spirit of chivalry, the parent and offspring of the cru- 
 sades, was transplanted by this institution from the holy sepulchre to 
 the isle of Malta. 
 
 The spirit of freedom, which pervades the feudal institutions, was 
 felt in its strongest energy by the volunteers of the cross, who elected 
 for their chief the most deserving of his peers. Amidst the slaves of 
 Asia, unconscious of the lesson or example, a model of political liberty 
 was introduced : and the laws of the French kingdom are derived from 
 the purest source of equality and justice. Of such laws, the first and 
 indispensable condition is the assent of those, whose obedience they 
 require, and for whose benefit they are designed. No sooner had God- 
 frey of Bouillon accepted the office of supreme magistrate than he soli- 
 cited the public and private advice of the Latin pilgrims, who were the 
 best skilled in the statutes and customs of Europe. From these 
 materials, with the council and approbation of the patriarch and barons, 
 of the clergy and laity, Godfrey composed the assise of Jerusalem, 
 a precious monument of feudal jurisprudence. The new code, attested 
 by the seals of the king, the patriarch, and the viscount of Jerusalem, 
 was deposited in the holy sepulchre, enriched with the improvements of 
 succeeding times, and respectfully consulted as often as any doubtful 
 question arose in the tribunals of Palestine. With the kingdom and 
 cily, all was lost, the fragments of the written law were preserved (a.d. 
 1099 — 1369) by jealous tradition and variable practice till the middle 
 of the thirteenth century : the code was restored by the pen of John 
 d'Ibelin, count of Jaffa, one of the principal feudatories ; and the final 
 revision was accomplished in the year 1369, for the use of the Latin 
 kingdom of C>prus. 
 
 The justice and freedom of the constitution were maintained by 
 two tribunals of unequal dignity, which were instituted by Godfrey of 
 Bouillon after the conquest of Jerusalem. The king, in person, pre- 
 siding in the upper court, the court of the barons. Of these, the fout 
 most conspicuous were the prince of Galilee, the lord of .Sidon and 
 Caesarea, and the counts of Jaffa and Trijjoli, who, perhaps with the 
 constable and marshal, were in a special manner the compeers and
 
 402 THE ASSISE-THE LAWS OF yERUSALEM. 
 
 judges of each other. But all the nobles, who held their lands imme- 
 diately of the crown, were entitled and bound to attend the king's 
 court ; and each baron exercised a similar jurisdiction in the subor- 
 dinate assemblies of his own feudatories. The connexion of lord 
 and vassal was honourable and voluntary : reverence was due to the 
 benefactor, protection to the dependent ; but they mutually pledged 
 their faith to each other ; and the obligation on either side might be 
 suspended by neglect or dissolved by injury. The cognizance of mar- 
 riages and testaments was blended with religion and usurped by the 
 clergy ; but the civil and criminal causes of the nobles, the inheritance 
 and tenure of their fiefs, formed the proper occupation of the su- 
 preme court. Each member was the judge and guardian both of 
 public and private rights. It was his duty to assert with his tongue 
 and sword the lawful claims of the lord ; but if an unjust superior 
 presumed to violate the freedom or property of a. vassal, the confed- 
 erate peers stood forth to maintain his quarrel by word and deed. 
 They boldly affirmed his innocence and his wrongs ; demanded the 
 restitution of his liberty or his lands ; suspended, after a fruitless de- 
 mand, their own service ; rescued their brother from prison ; and em- 
 ployed every weapon in his defence, without offering direct violence to 
 the person of their lord, which was ever sacred in their eyes. In 
 their pleadings, replies, and rejoinders, the advocates of the court were 
 subtile and copious ; but the use of argument and evidence was often 
 superseded by judicial combat ; and the Assise of Jerusalem admits 
 in many cases this barbarous institution, which has been slowly abol- 
 ished by the laws and manners of Europe. 
 
 The trial by battle was established in all criminal cases, which 
 affected the life, or limb, or honour, of any person ; and in all civil 
 transactions, of or above the value of one mark of silver. It appears, 
 that in criminal cases the combat was the privilege of the accuser, 
 who, except in a charge of treason, avenged his personal injury, or the 
 death of those persons whom he had a right to represent ; but wher- 
 ever, from the nature of the charge, testimony could be obtained, it 
 was necessary for him to produce witnesses of the fact. In civil cases, 
 the combat was not allowed as the means of establishing the claim of 
 the demandant ; but he was obliged to produce witnesses Avho had, 
 or assumed to have, knowledge of the fact. The combat was then 
 the privilege of the defendant ; because he charged the witness with 
 an attempt by perjury to take away his right. He came therefore to 
 be in the same situation as the appellant in criminal cases. It was 
 not then as a mode of proof that the combat was received, nor as 
 making negative evidence (according to the supposition of Montes- 
 quieu ;) but in every case the right to offer battle was founded on the 
 right to pursue by arms the redress of an injury; and the judicial 
 combat was fought on the same principle, and with the same spirit, <jia
 
 rtlSTORY OP TtTE CRUSADES. 403 
 
 a private duel. Champions were only allowed to women, and to men 
 maimed or past the age of sixty. The consequence of a defeat was 
 death to the person accused, or to the champion or witness, as well as 
 to the accuser himself ; but in civil cases the demandant was punished 
 with infamy and the loss of his suit, while his witness and champion 
 suffered an ignominious death. In many cases it was in the option- of 
 the judge to award or to refuse the combat : but two are specified, in 
 which it was the inevitable result of the challenge ; if a faithful vassal 
 gave the lie to his compeer, who unjustly claimed any portion of their 
 lord's demesnes ; or if an unsuccessful suitor presumed to impeach 
 the judgment and veracity of the court. He might impeach them, 
 but the terms were severe and perilous : in the same day he success- 
 ively fought all the members of the tribunal, even those who had been 
 absent : a single defeat was followed by death and infamy ; and where 
 none could hope for victory, it is highly probable that none would ad- 
 venture the trial. In the Assise of Jerusalem, the legal subtlety of the 
 count of Jafia is more laudably employed to elude, than to facilitate, 
 the judicial combat, which he derives from a principle of honour rather 
 than of superstition. 
 
 Among the causes which enfranchised the plebeians from the yoke 
 of feudal tyranny, the institution of cities and corporations is one of 
 the most powerful ; and if those of Palestine are coeval with the first 
 crusade, they may be ranked with the most ancient of the Latin world. 
 Many of the pilgrims had escaped from their lords under the banner 
 of the cross ; and it was the policy of the French princes to tempt their 
 stay by the assurance of the rights and privileges of freemen. It is 
 expressly declared in the Assise of Jerusalem, that after instituting, for 
 his knights and barons, the court of peers, in which he presided him- 
 self, Godfrey of Bouillon established a second tribunal, in which his 
 person was represented by his viscount. The jurisdiction of this in- 
 ferior court extended over the burgesses of the kingdom ; and it was 
 composed of a select number of the most discreet and worthy citizens, 
 who were sworn to judge, according to the laws, of the actions and 
 fortunes of their equals. In the conquest and settlement of new 
 cities, the example of Jerusalem was imitated by the kings and their 
 great vassals ; and above thirty similar corporations were founded 
 before the loss of the Holy Land. Another class of subjects, the 
 Syrians, or Oriental Christians, were oppressed by the zeal of the 
 clergy, and protected by the toleration of the state. Godfrey listened 
 to their reasonable prayer, that they might be judged by their own 
 national laws. A third court was instituted for their use, of limited 
 and domestic jurisdiction : the sworn members were Syrians, in blood, 
 language, and religion ; but the office of the president (in Arabi-c, of 
 the rais) was sometimes exercised by the viscount of the city. At an 
 immeasurable distance below the nobhs, the burgesses, and the
 
 4o4 CRAFTY POLtCV OF THE EMPEROR ALEX, U". 
 
 strangers, the Assise of Jerusalem condescends to mention the villaini 
 •jnd slaves, the peasants of the land and the captives of war, who were 
 almost equally considered as the objects of property. The relief or 
 protection of these unhappy men was not esteemed worthy of the care 
 of the legislator ; but he diligently provides for the recovery, though 
 not indeed for the punishment, of the fugitives. Like hounds, or 
 hawks, who had strayed from the lawful owner, they might be lost 
 and claimed : the slave and falcon were of the same value ; but three 
 slaves, or twelve oxen, were accumulated to equal the price of the 
 war-horse ; and a sum of three hundred pieces of gold was fixed, in the 
 age of chivalry, as the equivalent of the more noble animal. 
 
 In a style less grave than that of history, I should perhaps compare 
 the emperor Alexius (a.d. 1097 — 11 18) to the jackall, who is said to 
 follow the steps, and to devour the leavings, of the lion. Whatever 
 had been his fears and toils in the passage of the first crusade, they 
 were amply recompensed by the subsequent benefits which he derived 
 from the exploits of the Franks. His dexterity and vigilance secured 
 their first conquest of Nice ; and from this threatening station the 
 Turks were compelled to evacuate the neighbourhood of Constantin- 
 ople. While the crusaders, with blind valour, advanced into the mid- 
 land counties of Asia, the crafty Greek improved the favourable oc- 
 casion when the emirs of the sea-coast were recalled to the standard 
 of the sultan. The Turks were driven from the isles of Rhodes and 
 Chios : the cities of Ephesus and Smyrna, of Sardes, Philadelphia, 
 and Laodicea, were restored to the empire, which Alexius enlarged 
 from the Hellespont to the banks of the Marauder, and the rocky 
 shores of Pamphylia. The churches resumed their splendour ; the 
 towns were rebuilt and fortified ; and the desert country was peo- 
 pled with colonies of Christians, who were gently removed from the 
 more distant and dangerous frontier. In these paternal cares, we 
 may forgive Alexius, if he forgot the deliverance of the holy sepulchre ; 
 but, by the Latins, he was stigmatized with the foul reproach of trea- 
 son and desertion. They had sworn fidelity and obedience to his 
 throne ; but he had promised to assist their enterprise in person, or, 
 at least, with his troops and treasures ; his base retreat dissolved their 
 obligations ; and the sword, which had been the instrument of their 
 victory, was the pledge and title of their just independence. It does 
 not appear that the emperor attempted to revive his obsolete claims 
 over the kingdom of Jerusalem ; but the borders of Cilicia and Syria 
 were more recent in his possession, and more accessible to his arms. 
 The great army of the crusaders was annihilated or dispersed ; the 
 principality of Antioch was left without a head, by the surprise and 
 captivity of Bohemond : his ransom had oppressed him with a heavy 
 debt ; and his Norman followers were insufficient to repel the hostili- 
 
 s ot the Greeks and Turks. In this distress, Bohemond einbiared
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 4o^ 
 
 a magnanimous resolution, of leaving the defence of Antioch to his 
 l.insman, tlie faithful Tancred ; of arming the West against the By- 
 tantine empire, and of executing the design which he inherited from 
 the lessons and example of his father Guiscard- His embarkation 
 was clandestine : and if we may credit a tale of the princess Anna, he 
 passed the hostile sea, closely secreted in a coffin. But his reception 
 in France was dignified by the public applause, and his marriage with 
 tlie king's daughter ; his return was glorious, since the bravest spirits 
 of the age enlisted under his veteran command ; and he repassed the 
 lladriatic at the head of 5,000 horse and 40,000 foot, assembled from 
 the most remote climates of Europe. The strength of Durazzo, and 
 prudence of Alexius, the progress of famine, and approach of winter, 
 eluded his ambitious hopes ; and the venal confederates were seduced 
 from his standard. A treaty of peace suspended the fears of the 
 Greeks ; and they were finally delivered by the death of an adversary, 
 wliom neither oaths could bind, nor dangers could appal, nor pros- 
 [lerity could satiate. His children succeeded to the principality of 
 .Vntioch : but the boundaries were strictly defined, the homage was 
 clearly stipulated, and the cities of Tarsus and Malmistra were re- 
 stored to the Byzantine emperors. Of the coast of Anatolia, they 
 possessed the entire circuit from Trebizond to the Syrian gates. The 
 Scljukian dynasty of Roum was separated on all sides from the sea 
 and their i\Iussulman brethren ; the power of the sultans was shaken 
 Ijy the victories, and even the defeats, of the Franks ; and after the loss 
 of Nice, they removed their throne to Cogni or Iconium, an obscure 
 and inland town above 300 miles from Constantinople. Instead of 
 trembling for their capital, the Comnenian princes waged an oftcnsive 
 war against the Turks, and the first crusade prevented the fall of the 
 declining empire. 
 
 In the twelfth century, three great emigrations marched by land 
 from the West to the relief of Palestine. The soldiers and pilgrims o' 
 Lombardy, France, and Germany, were excited by the example and 
 success of the first crusade (a.d. iioi). Forty-eight years (a.d. 1147) 
 after the deliverance of the holy sepulchre, the emperor and the 
 French king, Conrad the third and Louis the seventh, undertook the 
 second crusade to support the falling fortunes of the Latins. A grand 
 division of the third crusade was led (a.d. iiSq^i by the emperor Fre- 
 deric Barbarossa, who sympathized with his brothers of France and 
 England in the common loss of Jerusalem. These three expeditions 
 may be compared in their resemblance of the greatness of numbers, 
 their passage through the Greek empire, and the nature and event of 
 their Turkish warfare, and a brief parallel may save the repetition cf 
 a tedious narrative. However splendid it may seem, a regular story 
 of the crusades would exhibit the perpetual return of the same causes 
 and effects ; and the frequent atlijmpts for the defence or recovery o." 
 
 L) 1)
 
 .q5 review or the army of the crusaders. 
 
 Vlie Holy Land, would appear so many faint and unsuccessful copies 
 of the original. 
 
 I. Of the swarms that so closely trod in the footsteps of the first 
 pilgrims, the chiefs were equal in rank, though unequal in fame and 
 merit, to Godfrey of Bouillon and his fellow-adventurers. At their 
 head were displayed the banners of the dukes of Burgundy, Bavaria, 
 and Aquitain : the first a descendant of Hugh Capet, the second a 
 father of the Brunswick line : the archbishop of Milan, a temporal 
 prince, transported, for the benefit of the Turks, the treasures and 
 ornaments of his church and palace ; and the veteran crusaders, Hugh 
 the Great and Stephen of Chartres, returned to consummate their 
 unfinished vow. The huge and disorderly bodies of their followers 
 moved forwards in two columns ; and if the first consisted of 260,000 
 persons, the second might possibly amount to 60,000 horse, and 100,000 
 foot. The armies of the second crusade might have claimed the con- 
 c|uest of Asia : the nobles of France and Germany were animated by 
 the presence of their sovereigns ; and both the rank and personal cha- 
 racters of Conrad and Louis, gave a dignity to their cause, and a dis- 
 cipline to their force, which might be vainly expected from the 
 feudatory chiefs. The cavalry of the emperor, and that of the king, 
 was each composed of 70,000 knights and their immediate attendants 
 in the field ; and if the light-armed troops, the peasant infantry, the 
 women and children, the priests and monks, be rigorously excluded, 
 the full account will scarcely be satisfied with 400,000 souls. The 
 West, from Rome to Britain, was called into action ; the king of Po- 
 land and Bohemia obeyed the summons of Conrad ; and it is affirmed 
 by the Greeks and Latins, that in the passage of a strait or river, the 
 Byzantine agents, after a tale of 900,000, desisted from the endless and 
 formidable computation. In the third crusade, as the French and 
 English preferred the navigation of the Mediterranean, the host of 
 Frederic Barbarossa was less numerous. Fifteen thousand knights, 
 and as many squires, were the flower of the German chivalry : 60,000 
 horse, and 100,000 foot, were mustered by the emperor in the plains of 
 Hungary ; and after such repetitions we shall no longer be startled at 
 the 600,000 pilgrims, which credulity has ascribed to this last emigra^ 
 tion. Such extravagant reckonings prove only the astonishment of 
 contemporaries ; but their astonishment most strongly bears testimony 
 to the existence of an enormous though lAOJeftn'f, multitude. The 
 Greeks might applaud their superior kno'.vledge of the arts and strata- 
 gems of war, but they confessed the strength and courage of the French 
 cavalry and the infantry of the Germans ; and the strangers are de- 
 scribed as an iron race, of gigantic stature, who darted fire from their 
 eyes, and spilt blood like water on the ground. Under the banners of 
 Conrad, a troop of females rode in the attitude and armour of men ; and 
 the chief of these Amazons, from her gilt spurs and buskins, obtained 
 the epithet of the Golden-footed Dame.
 
 HISTOR V OF THE CR USADES. 40 7 
 
 II, The numbers and character of the strangers was an object of 
 teiTor to the effeminate Greeks, and the sentiment of fear is nearly 
 alHed to that of hatred. This aversion was suspended or softened by 
 the apprehension of the Turkish power ; and the invectives of the 
 Latins will not bias our more candid belief, that the emperor Alexius 
 dissembled their insolence, eluded their hostilities, counselled their 
 rashness, and opened to their ardour the road of pilgrimage and con- 
 quest. But when the Turks had been driven from Nice and the sea 
 coast, when the Byzantine princes no longer dreaded the distant sul- 
 tans of Cogni, they felt with purer indignation the free and frequent 
 passage of the Western Barbarians, who violated the majesty, and 
 endangered the safety, of the empire. The second and third crusades 
 were undertaken under the reign of Manuel Comnenus and Isaac An- 
 gelus. Of the former, the passions were always impetuous, and often 
 malevolent ; and the naUn-al union of a cowardly and a mischievous 
 temper was exemplified in the latter, who, without merit or mercy, 
 could punish a tyrant, and occupy his throne. It was secretly, and 
 perhaps tacitly, resolved by the prince and people to destroy, or at 
 least to discourage, the pilgrims, by every species of injury and op- 
 pression ; and their want of prudence and discipline continually 
 afforded the pretence or the opportunity. The Western monarchs 
 had stipulated a safe passage and fair market in the country of their 
 Christian brethren ; the treaty had been ratified by oaths and hostages ; 
 and the poorest soldier of Frederic's army was furnished with three 
 marks of silver to defray his expences on the road. But every engage- 
 ment was violated by treachery and injustice ; and the complaints of 
 the Latios are attested by the honest confession of a Greek historian, 
 who h? . dared to prefer truth to his country. Instead of an hospit- 
 able reception, the gates of the cities, both in Europe and Asia, were 
 closC-'y barred against the crusaders ; and the scanty pittance of food 
 was let down in baskets from the walls. Experience or foresight might 
 excuse this timid jealousy ; but the common duties of humanity pro- 
 hibited the mixture of chalk, or other poisonous ingredients, in the 
 bread ; and should Manuel be acquitted of any foul connivance, he is 
 guilty of coining base money for the purpose of trading with the pil- 
 grims. In every step of their march they were stopped or misled : the 
 governors had private orders to fortify the passes and break down the 
 bridges against them : the stragglers were pillaged and murdered : the 
 soldiers and horses were pierced in the woods by arrows from an in- 
 visible hand ; the sick were burnt in their beds : and the dead bodies 
 were hung on gibbets along the highways. These injuries exasperated 
 the champions of the cross, who were not endowed witli evangelical 
 patience ; and the Byzantine princes, who had provoked the unequal 
 conflict, promoted the embarkation and march of these formiilable 
 guests. On the verge of the Turkish frontier Barbarossa spared the
 
 4oS RUIN KESULTS TO CHRISTENDOM FROM THE CRUSADES. 
 
 guilty Philadelphia, rewarded the hospitable Laodicea, and deplored 
 the hard necessity that had stained his sword with any drops of Chris> 
 tian blood. In their intercourse with the monarchs of Germany and 
 France, the pride of the Greeks was exposed to an anxious trial. They 
 might boast that on the first interview the seat of Louis was a low 
 stool, beside the throne of Manuel ; but no sooner had the French 
 king transported his army beyond the Bosphorus, than he refused the 
 offer of a second conference, unless his brother would meet him on 
 equal terms, either on the sea or land. With Conrad and Frederic, 
 the ceremonial was still nicer and more difficult : like the successors 
 of Constantine, they styled themselves emperors of the Romans ; and 
 firmly maintained the purity of their title and dignity. The first of 
 these representatives of Charlemagne would only converse with Manuel 
 on horseback in the open field ; the second, by passing the Helles- 
 pont rather than the Bosphorus, declined the view of Constantinople 
 and its sovereign. An emperor, who had been crowned at Rome, was 
 reduced in the Greek epistles to the humble appellation of Re.v, or 
 prince of the Alemanni ; and the vain and feeble Angelus affected to 
 be ignorant of the name of one of the greatest men and monarchs of 
 the age. While they viewed with hatred and suspicion the Latin pil- 
 grims, the Greek emperors maintained a strict, though secret, alliance 
 with the Turks and Saracens. Isaac Angelus complained, that by his 
 friendship for the great Saladin he had incurred the enmity of the 
 Franks ; and a mosque was founded at Constantinople for the public 
 exercise of the religion of Mahomet.* 
 
 III. The swarms that followed the first crusade, were destroyed in 
 Anatolia by famine, pestilence, and the Turkish arrows : and the 
 princes only escaped with some squadrons of horse to accomplish their 
 lamentable pilgrimage. A just opinion may be formed of their know- 
 ledge and humanity ; of their knowledge, from the design of subduing 
 Persia and Chorasan in their way to Jerusalem ; of their humanity, 
 from the massacre of the Christian people, a friendly city, who came 
 out to meet them with palms and crosses in their hands. The arms 
 of Conrad and Louis were less cruel and imprudent ; but the event of 
 the second crusade was still more ruinous to Christendom ; and the 
 Greek Manuel is accused by his own subjects of giving seasonable 
 intelligence to the sultan, and treacherous guides to the Latin princes. 
 Instead of crushing the common foe, by a double attack at the same 
 time but on different sides, the Germans were urged by emulation, and 
 the French were retarded by jealousy. Louis had scarcely passed the 
 Bosphorus when he was met by the returning emperor, who had lost 
 the greatest part of his armiy in glorious, but unsuccessful, actions on 
 the banks of the Maeander. The contrast of the pomp of his rival 
 
 * In the Epist. of Innoc. III. (xiii. 184), .lud the Hist, of Boliadin (p. 129), see the views of 
 K popft and a radi on this uii^ular toleration.
 
 inSTORV OF THE CRUSADES. 409 
 
 hnstcned tlie retreat of Conrad : the desertion of his independent vas- 
 sals reduced him to his hereditary troops ; and he borrowed some 
 Greek vessels to execute by sea the pilgrimage of Palestine. Without 
 studying the lessons of experience, or the nature of war, the king of 
 France advanced through the same country to a similar fate. The 
 vanguard, which bore the royal banner and the oriflamme of St. Denys,* 
 had doubled their march with rash and inconsiderate speed ; and the 
 rear which the king commanded in person no longer found their com- 
 panions in the evening camp. In darkness and disorder they were 
 encompassed, assaulted, and overwhelmed by the innumerable host of 
 Turks, who in the art of war were superior to the Christians of the 
 twelfth century. Louis, who chmbed a tree in the general discomfiture, 
 was saved by his own valour and the ignorance of his adversaries ; 
 and with the dawn of day he escaped alive, but almost alone, to the 
 camp of the vanguard. But instead of pursuing his expedition by 
 land, he was rejoiced to shelter the relics of his army in the friendly 
 seaport of Satalia. From thence he embarked for Antioch ; but so 
 penurious was the supply of Greek vessels, that they could only afford 
 room for his knights and nobles ; and the plebeian crowd of infantry 
 was left to perish at the foot of the Pamphylian hills. The emperor 
 and the king embraced and wept at Jerusalem ; their martial trains, 
 the remnant of mighty armies, were joined to the Christian powers of 
 Syria, and a fruitless siege of Damascus was the final effort of the 
 second crusade. Conrad and Louis embarked for Europe with the 
 personal fame of piety and courage ; but the Orientals had braved 
 these potent monarchs of the Franks, with whose names and military 
 forces they had been so often threatened. Perhaps they had still 
 more to fear from the veteran genius of Frederic the first, who in his 
 youth had served in Asia, under his uncle Conrad. Forty campaigns 
 in Germany and Italy had taught Barbarossa to command ; and his 
 soldiers, even the princes of the empire, were accustomed under his 
 reign to obey. As soon as he lost sight of Philadelphia and Laodicea, 
 the last cities of the Greek frontier, he plunged into the salt and barren 
 desert, a land (says the historian) of horror and tribulation. During 
 twenty days, every step of his fainting and sickly march was besieged 
 by the innumerable hordes of Turkmans, whose numbers and fury 
 seemed after each defeat to multiply and inflame. The emperor con- 
 tinued to struggle and to suffer ; and such was the measure of his 
 calamities, that when he reached the gates of Iconium, no more than 
 1000 knights were able to serve on horseback. By a sudden and 
 resolute assault, he defeated the guards, and stormed the capital of 
 the sultan, who humbly sued for pardon and peace. The road was 
 
 * As counts of Vexin, the kinjjs of France were the vassals and advocates of the moii.islery 
 ot St. Denys. The saint's peculiar banner, which they received from the abbot, w.^sofa 
 «<inare form, and a red or jhiDting colour. The oriflamme appeared at the head of tho 
 !< reach armies from the xiilh to the xvth century.
 
 4 I O HISTOR V OP SAIMT BERNARD, OF CLERMONT. 
 
 now open, and Frederic advanced in a career of triumph, till he was 
 unfortunately drowned in a petty torrent of Cilicia. The remainder 
 of his Germans was consumed by sickness and desertion ; and the 
 emperor's son expired with the greatest part of his Swabian vassals at 
 the siege of Acre. Among the Latin heroes, Godfrey of Bouillon and 
 Frederic Barbarossa alone could achieve the passage of the Lesser 
 Asia ; yet even their success was a warning ; and in the last and most 
 experienced age of the crusades, every nation preferred the sea to the 
 toils and perils of an inland expedition. 
 
 The enthusiasm of the first crusade is a natural and simple event, 
 while hope was fresh, danger untried, and enterprise congenial to the 
 spirit of the times. But the obstinate perseverance of Europe may 
 indeed excite our pity and admiration ; that no instruction should have 
 been di-awn from constant and adverse experience ; that the same con- 
 fidence should have repeatedly grown from the same failures ; that 
 six succeeding generations should have rushed headlong down the 
 precipice that was open before them ; and that men of every condition 
 should have staked their public and private fortunes, on the desperate 
 adventure of possessing or recovering a tomb-stone 2000 miles from 
 their country. In a period of two centuries after the council of Cler- 
 mont, each spring and summer produced a new emigration of pilgrim 
 Avarriors for the defence of the Holy Land ; but the seven great arma- 
 ments or crusades were excited by some impending or recent calamity : 
 the nations were moved by the authority of their pontiffs, and the 
 example of their kings : their zeal was kindled, and their reason was 
 silenced, by the voice of their holy orators ; and among these, Bernard, 
 the monk, or the saint, may claim (a.D. 1091 — 1153) the most honour- 
 able place. About eight years before the first conquest of Jerusalem, 
 he was born of a noble family, in Burgundy ; at the age of three-and- 
 twenty, he buried himself in the monastery of Citeaux, then in the 
 primitive fervour of the institution ; at the end of two years he led forth 
 her third colony, or daughter, to the valley of Clairvaux in Cham- 
 pagne ; and was content, till the hour of his death, with the humble 
 station of Abbot of his own community. A philosophic age has abo- 
 lished, with too liberal and indiscriminate disdain, the honours of these 
 spiritual heroes. The meanest among them are distinguished by some 
 energies of the mind ; they were at least superior to their votaries and 
 disciples ; and, in the race of superstition, they attained the prize for 
 which such numbers contended. In speech, in writing, in action, Ber- 
 nard stood high above his rivals and contemporaries ; his composi- 
 tions are not devoid of wit and eloquence ; and he seems to have 
 preserved as much reason and humanity as may be reconciled with 
 the character of a saint. In secular life, he would have shared the 
 seventh part of a private inheritance ; by a vow of poverty and pen- 
 ance, by closing his eyes against the visible world, by the refusal of
 
 kiS TOR y OF THE CR USA DES. 4 1 1 
 
 all ecclesiastical dignities, the abbot of Clairvaux became the oracle of 
 Europe, and the founder of one hundred and sixty convents. Princes 
 and pontiffs trembled at the freedom of his apostolical censures ; ' 
 France, England, and Milan, consulted and obeyed his judgment in a 
 schism of the church : the debt was repaid by the gratitude of Inno- 
 cent the second ; and his successor Eugenius the third was the friend 
 and disciple of the holy Bernard. It was in the proclamation of the 
 second crusade that he shone as the missionary and prophet of Godi 
 who called the nations to the defence of his holy sepulchre. At the 
 parliament of Vezelay he spoke before the king ; and Louis the seventh, 
 with his nobles, received their crosses from his hand. The abbot of 
 Clairvaux then marched to the less easy conquest of the emperor Con- 
 rad : a phlegmatic people, ignorant of his language, was transported 
 by the pathetic vehemence of his tone and gestures ; and his progress, 
 from Constance to Cologne, was the triumph of eloquence and zeal. 
 Bernard applauds his own success in the depopulation of Europe ; 
 affirms that cities and castles were emptied of their inhabitants ; and 
 computes, that only one man was left behind for the consolation of 
 seven widows. The blind fanatics were desirous of electing him for 
 their general ; but the example of the hermit Peter was before his eyes ; 
 and while he assured the Crusaders of the divine favour, he prudently 
 declined a military command, in which failure and victory would have 
 been almost equally disgraceful to his character. Yet, after the cala- 
 mitous event, the abbot of Clairvaux was loudly accused as a false 
 prophet, the author of the public and private mourning ; his enemies ex- 
 ulted, his friends blushed, and his apology was slow and unsatisfactory. 
 He justifies his obedience to the commands of the pope ; expatiates on 
 the mysterious ways of providence ; imputes the misfortunes of the 
 pilgrims to their own sirvs ; and modestly insinuates, that his mission 
 had been approved by signs and wonders. Had the fact been certain, 
 the argument would be decisive ; and his faithful disciples, who enu- 
 merate twenty or thirty miracles in a day, appeal to the public assem- 
 blies of France and Germany, in which they were performed. At the 
 present hour, such prodigies will not obtain credit beyond the precincts 
 of Clairvaux ; but in the preternatural cures of the blind, the lame, and 
 the sick, who were presented to the man of God, it is impossible for 
 us to ascertain the separate shares of accident, of fancy, of imposture, 
 and of fiction. 
 
 Omnipotence itself cannot escape the murmurs of its discordant vo- 
 taries ; since the same dispensation which was applauded as a deliver- 
 ance in Europe, was deplored, and perhaps arraigned, as a calamity 
 in Asia. After the loss of Jerusalem, the Syrian fugitives diffused their 
 consternation and sorrow : Bagdad mourned in the dust ; the cadi 
 Zeineddin of Damascus tore his beard in the caliph's presence ; and 
 the whole divan shed tears at Iris melancholy tale. But the com-
 
 412 
 
 SrSE AND POWER OP THE TVRICrSH r.MlRS. 
 
 mandcrs of the faithful could only weep ; they were themselves cap- 
 tives in the hands of the Turks ; some temporal power was restored to 
 the last age of the Abbassides ; but their humble ambition was con- 
 fined to Bagdad and the adjacent province. Their tyrants, the Sel- 
 jukian sultans, had followed the common law of the Asiatic dynasties, 
 the imceasing round of valour, greatness, discord, degeneracy, and 
 decay : their spirit and power were unequal to the defence of religion ; 
 and, in his distant realm of Persia, the Christians were strangers to the 
 name and the arms of Sangier, the last hero of his race. While the 
 sultans were involved in the silken web of the harem, the pious task 
 was undertaken by their slaves, the Atabeks ; a Turkish name, which, 
 like the Byzantine patricians, may be translated by Father of the 
 Prince. Ascansar, a valiant Turk, had been the favourite of Malek 
 Shaw, from whom he received the privilege of standing on the right 
 hand of the throne ; but, in the civil wars that ensued on the monarch's 
 death, he lost his head and the government of Aleppo. His domestic 
 emirs persevered in their attachment to his son Zenghi (a.d. 1127 — 
 .'.145), who proved his first arms against the Franks in the defeat of 
 Antioch : thirty carhpaigns in the service of the caliph and sultan 
 established his military fame ; and he was invested witli the command 
 of Mosul, as the only champion that could avenge the cause of the 
 prophet. The public hope was not disappointed : after a siege of 
 twenty-five days, he stormed the city of Edessa, and recovered from 
 the Franks their conquests beyond the Euphrates : the martial tribes 
 of Curdistan were subdued by the independent sovereign of Mosul 
 and Aleppo : his soldiers were taught to behold the camp as their only 
 country ; they trusted to his liberality for their rewards ; and their ab- 
 sent families were protected by the vigilance of Zenghi. At the head 
 of these veterans, his son Noureddin gradually (a.d. 1145 — 11 74) 
 united the Mahometan powers ; added the kingdom of Damascus to 
 that of Aleppo, and waged a long and successful war against the Chris- 
 tians of Syria ; he spread his ample reign from the Tigris to the Nile, 
 and the Abbassides rewarded their faithful servant with all the titles 
 and prerogatives of royalty. The Latins themselves were compelled to 
 own the wisdom and courage, and even the justice and piety, of this 
 implacable adversary. In his life and government, the holy warrior 
 revived the zeal and simplicity of the first caliphs. Gold and silk were 
 banished from his palace ; the use of wine from his dominions ; the 
 public revenue was scrupulously applied to the public service ; and the 
 frugal household of Noureddin was maintained from his legitimate 
 share of the spoil, which he vested in the purchase of a private estate. 
 His favourite Sultana sighed for some female object of expence. 
 " Alas," replied the king, " I fear God, and am no more than the 
 treasurer of the Moslems. Their property I cannot alienate ; out i 
 still possess three shops in the city of Hems : these you may take ;
 
 HISTORY OP THE CRVSABES. 4x3 
 
 and these alone can I bestow." His chamber of justice was the tenor 
 of the great and the refuge of the poor. Some years after the Sultan's 
 death, an oppressed subject called aloud in the streets of Damascus, 
 " O Noureddin, Noureddin, where art thou now ? Arise, arise, to pity 
 and protect us !" A tumult was apprehended, and a living tyrant 
 trembled at the name of a departed monarch. 
 
 By the arms of the Turks and Franks, the Fatimitcs had been de- 
 prived of Syria. In Egypt, the decay of their character and influence 
 was still more essential. Yet they were still revered as the descend- 
 ants and successors of the prophet ; they maintained their invisible 
 state in the palace of Cairo ; and their person was seldom violated by 
 tlie profane eyes of subjects or strangers. The Latin ambassadors 
 linve described their own introduction through a series of gloomy 
 passages and glittering porticoes : the scene was enlivened by the 
 warbling of birds and the murmur of fountains ; it was enriched by 
 a display of rich furniture, and rare animals : of the Imperial trea- 
 sures, something was shown, and much was supposed ; and the long 
 order of unfolding doors was guarded by black soldiers and domestic 
 eunuchs. The sanctuary of the presence-chamber was veiled with a 
 curtain ; and the vizir, who conducted the ambassadors, laid aside his 
 scymetar, and prostrated himself three times on the ground ; the veil 
 was then removed ; and they beheld the commander of the faithful, 
 who signified his pleasure to the first slave of the throne. But this 
 slave was his master : the vizirs or sultans had usurped the supreme 
 administration of Egypt ; the claims of the rival candidates were de- 
 cided by arms ; and the name of the most worthy, of the strongest, 
 was inserted in the ro)al patent of command. The fictions of Darg- 
 ham and Shawer alternately expelled each other from the capital and 
 country ; and the weaker side implored the dangerous protection of 
 the sultan of Damascus or the king of Jerusalem, the perpetual 
 enemies of the sect and monarchy of the Fatimites. By his arms and 
 religion, the Turk was most formidable ; but the 'Frank, in an easy 
 direct march, could advance from Gaza to the Nile; while the inter- 
 mediate situation of his realm compelled the troops of Noureddin to 
 wheel round the skirts of Arabia, a long and painful circuit, which ex- 
 posed them to thirst, fatigue, and the burning winds of the desert. 
 The secret zeal and ambition of the Turkish prince aspired to reign in 
 Egypt under the name of the Abbassides ; but the restoration of the 
 supphant Shawer was the ostensible motive of the first expedition ; 
 and the success was (a.d. 1163) entrusted to the emir Shiracouh, a 
 valiant and veteran commander. Dargham was oppressed and slain ; 
 but the ingratitude, the jealousy, the just apprehensions, of his more 
 fortunate rival, soon provoked him to invite the king of Jerusalem to 
 deliver Egypt from his insolent benefactors. To this union, the forces 
 of Shiracouh were unequal ; he relinquished the premature conquest ;
 
 4T4 CONQUEST OF EGYPT BY THE TURKS. 
 
 and the evacuation of Belbeis or Pelusium was the condition of his 
 safe retreat. As the Turks defiled before the enemy, and their general 
 closed the rear, with a vigilant eye, and a battle-axe in his hand, a 
 Frank presumed to ask him if he were not afraid of an attack? " It 
 is doubtless in your power to begin the attack," replied the intrepid 
 emir ; " but rest assured, that not one of my soldiers will go to para- 
 dise till he has sent an infidel to hell." His report of the riches of 
 the land, the effeminacy of the natives, and the disorders of the 
 government, revived the hopes of Noureddin ; the caliph of Bagdad 
 applauded the pious design ; and Shiracouh descended into Egypt a 
 second time with 12,000 Turks and 11,000 Arabs. Yet his forces were 
 still inferior to the confederate armies of the Franks and Saracens ; 
 and I can discern an unusual degree of military art, in his passage of 
 the Nile, his retreat into Thebais, his masterly evolutions in the battle 
 of Babain, the surprise of Alexandria, and his marches and counter- 
 marches in the Hats and valley of Eg^^pt, from the tropic to the sea. 
 His conduct was seconded by the courage of his troops, and on the 
 eve of action a Mameluke exclaimed, " If we cannot wrest Egypt 
 from the Christian dogs, why do we not renounce the honours and 
 rewards of the sultan, and retire to labour with the peasants, or to 
 spin with the females of the harem ?" Yet, after all his efforts in the 
 field, after the obstinate defence of Alexandria by his nephew 
 Saladin, an honorable capitulation and retreat concluded the second 
 enterprise of Shiracouh ; and Noureddin reserved his abilities for a 
 third and more propitious occasion. It was soon offered by the am- 
 bition and avarice of Almaric or Amaury, king of Jerusalem, who had 
 imbibed the pernicious maxim, that no faith should be kept with the 
 enemies of God. A religious warrior, the great master of the hos- 
 pital, encouraged him to proceed ; the emperor of Constantinople 
 either gave, or promised, a fleet to act with the armies of Syria ; and 
 t\\Q perfidious Christian, unsatisfied with spoil and subsidy, aspired to 
 the conquest of Egypt. In this emergency, the Moslems turned their 
 eyes towards the sultan of Damascus ; the vizir, whom danger en- 
 compassed on all sides, yielded to their unanimous wishes, and Nou- 
 reddin seemed to be tempted by the fair offer of one third of the 
 revenue of the kingdom, Xhe Franks were already at the gates of 
 Cairo ; but the suburbs, the old city, were burnt on their approach ; 
 they were deceived by an insidious ncgociation ; and their vessels were 
 unable to surmount the barriers of the Nile. They prudently declined 
 a contest with the Turks, in the midst of an hostile country ; and 
 Amaury retired into Palestine, with the shame and reproach that 
 always adhere to unsuccessful injustice. After this deliverance, Shira- 
 couh was invested (a.d. 1169) with a robe of honour, which he soon 
 stained with the blood of the unfortunate Shavver. For a while, the 
 Turkish emirs condescended to hold the office of vizir ; but this foreign
 
 ms TOR y OP TitE cr us a des. 4 1 .1 
 
 conquest precipitated the fall of the Fatimites themselves ; and the 
 bloodless change was accomplished by a message and a word. The 
 caliphs had been degraded by their own weakness and the tyranny of 
 the vizirs : their subjects blushed, when the descendant and successor 
 of the prophet presented his naked hand to the rude gripe of a Latin 
 ambassador ; they wept when he sent the hair of his women, a sad 
 emblem of their grief and terror, to excite the pity of the sultan ot 
 Damascus. By the command of Noureddin (a.d. i 171), and the sen- 
 tence of the doctors, the holy names of Abubcker, Omar, and Othman, 
 were solemnly restored : the caliph Mosthadi, of Bagdad, was ac- 
 knowledged in the public prayers as the true commander of the 
 faithful ; and the green livery of the sons of Ali was exchanged for the 
 black colour of the Abbassides. The last of his race, the caliph 
 Adhed, who survived only ten days, expired in happy ignorance of his 
 fate : his treasures secured the loyalty of the soldiers and silenced the 
 murmurs of the sectaries ; and in all subsequent revolutions, Egypt 
 has never departed from the orthodox tradition of the Moslems. 
 
 The hilly country beyond the Tigris is occupied by the pastoral 
 tribes of the Curds : a people hardy, strong, savage, impatient of the 
 yoke, addicted to rapine, and tenacious of the government of their 
 national chiefs. The resemblance of name, situation, and manners, 
 seem to identify them with the Carducians of the Greeks ; and they 
 still defend against the Ottoman Porte the antique freedom which 
 they asserted against the successors of Cyrus. Poverty and ambi- 
 tion prompted them to embrace the profession of mercenary soldiers : 
 the service of his father and uncle prepared the reign of the great 
 Saladin (A.D. 1171 — 1193); and the son of Job or Ayub, a simple 
 Curd, magnanimously smiled at his pedigree, which flattery deduced 
 from the Arabian caliphs. So unconscious was Noureddin of the 
 impending ruin of his house, that he constrained the reluctant youth 
 to follow his uncle Shiracouh into Egypt : his military character was 
 established by the defence of Alexandria ; and if we may believe the 
 Latins, he solicited and obtained from the Christian general the p?-o- 
 fane honours of knighthood. On the death of Shiracouh, the office 
 of grand visir was bestowed on Saladin, as the youngest and least 
 powerful of the emirs ; but with the advice of his father, whom he in- 
 vited to Cairo, his genius obtained the ascendant over his equals, and 
 attached the army to his person and interest. While Noureddin lived, 
 these ambitious Curds were the most humble of his slaves ; and the 
 indiscreet murmurs of the divan were silenced by the prudent Ayub, 
 who loudly protested that at the command of the sultan he himself 
 would lead his son in chains to the foot of the throne. " Such lan- 
 guage," he added in private, " was prudent and proper in an assembly 
 of your rivals ; but we are now above fear and obedience ; and the 
 threats of Noureddin shall not extort the tribute of a sugar-cane."
 
 4I<^ niE REIGN- AND CHARACTER OT SALAVIM. 
 
 His seasonable death relieved them from the odious and douljtfiil 
 conflict : his son, a minor of eleven years of age, was left for a while 
 to the emirs of Damascus ; and the new lord of Egypt was decorated 
 by the caliph with every title that could sanctify his usurpation in the 
 eyes of the people. Nor was Saladin long content with the possession 
 of Egypt : he despoiled the Christians of Jerusalem, and the Atabeks 
 of Damascus, Aleppo, and Diarbekir ; Mecca and Medina acknow- 
 ledged him for their temporal protector ; his brother subdued the dis- 
 tant regions of Yemen, or the happy Arabia ; and at the ho- '■ of his 
 death, his empire was spread from the African Tripoli to the Tigris, 
 and from the Indian ocean to the mountains of Armenia. In the 
 judgment of his character, the reproaches of treason and ingratitude 
 strike forcibly on our minds, impressed, as they are, with the prin- 
 ciple and experience of law and loyalty. But his ambition may in 
 some measure be excused by the revolutions of Asia, which had erased 
 every notion of legitimate succession ; by the recent example of the 
 Atabeks themselves ; by his reverence to the son of his benefactor, 
 his humane and generous behaviour to the collateral branches ; by 
 t/icir incapacity and /lis merit ; by the approbation of the caliph, the 
 sole source of all legitimate power ; and, above all, by the wishes and 
 interests of the people, whose happiness is the first object of govern- 
 ment. In his virtues, and in those of his patron, they admired the 
 singular union of the hero and the saint ; for both Noureddin and 
 wSaladin are ranked among the Mahometan saints ; and the constant 
 meditation of the holy war appears to have shed a serious and sober 
 colour over their lives and actions. The youth of the latter was ad- 
 dicted to wine and women : but his aspiring spirit soon renounced the 
 temptations of pleasure, for the graver follies of fame and dominion ; the 
 garment of Saladin was of coarse woollen ; water was his only drink ; 
 and while he emulated the temperance, he surpassed the chastity, of his 
 Arabian prophet. Both in faith and practice he was a rigid Mussul- 
 man ; he ever deplored that the defence of religion had not allowed 
 him to accomplish the pilgrimage of Mecca ; but at the stated hours, 
 five times each day, the sultan devoutly prayed with his brethren : the 
 involuntary omission of fasting was scrupulously repaid ; and his per- 
 usal of the Koran on horseback between the approaching armies, may 
 be quoted as a proof, however ostentatious, of piety and courage. The 
 superstitious doctrine of the sect of Shafei was the only study that he 
 deigned to encourage : the poets were safe in his contempt ; but all 
 profane science was the object of his aversion ; and a philosopher, who 
 had vented some speculative novelties, was seized and strangled by the 
 command of the royal saint. The justice of his divan was accessible 
 to the meanest suppliants against himself or his ministers ; and it was 
 only for a kingdom that Saladin would deviate from the rule of equity, 
 Wliile the descendants of Seljuk and Zcnghi held his stirrup arui
 
 1/ISTUKy OF TJIE CRUSADES. 4I 7 
 
 smoothed his garments, he was affable and patient with the meancbt 
 of his servants. So boundless was his liberality, that he distributed 
 12,000 horses at the siege of Acre ; and, at the time of his death, no 
 more than forty-seven drachms of silver, and one piece of gold coin 
 were found in the treasury ; yet in a martial reign, the tributes wei e 
 diminished, and the wealthy citizens enjoyed without fear or danger, tlie 
 fruits of their industry. Egypt, Syria, and Arabia, were adorned by the 
 royal foundations of hospitals, colleges, and mosques, and Cairo was 
 fortified with a wall and citadel ; but his works were consecrated to 
 public use, nor did the sultan indulge himself in a garden or palace of 
 private luxury. In a fanatic age, himself a fanatic, the genuine virtues 
 of Saladin commanded the esteem of the Christians : the emperor of 
 Germany gloried in his friendship ; the Greek emperor solicited his 
 alliance ; and the conquest of Jerusalem diffused, and perhaps magni- 
 fied, his fame both in the East and West. 
 
 During its short existence, the kingdom of Jerusalem was supported 
 by the discord of the Turks and Saracens ; and both the Fatimite 
 caliphs and the sultans of Damascus were tempted to sacrifice the cause 
 of their religion to the meaner considerations of private and present 
 .idvantage. But the powers of Egypt, Syria, and Arabia, were now 
 imited by an hero, whom nature and fortune had armed against the 
 Cliristians. All without now bore the most threatening aspect ; and 
 all was feeble and hollow in the internal state of Jerusalem. After the 
 two first Baldwins, the brother and cousin of Godfrey of Bouillon, the 
 sceptre devolved by female succession to Melisenda, daughter of the 
 second Baldwin, and her husband Fulk, count of Anjou, the father, by 
 a former marriage, of our English Plantagenets. Their two sons, 
 Baldwin the third and Amaury, waged a strenuous, and not unsuc- 
 cessful, war against the infidels ; but the son of Amaury, Baldwin the 
 fourth, was deprived, by the leprosy, a gift of the crusades, of the facul- 
 ties both of mind and body. His sister, Sybilla, the mother of Baldwin 
 the fifth, was his natural heiress : after the suspicious death of her 
 child, she crowned her second husband, Guy of Lusignan, a prince of 
 handsome person, but of such base renown, that his own brother Jeffrey 
 was heard to exclaim, " Since they have made him a king, surely they 
 would have made f?ie a god !" The choice was generally blamed ; and 
 the most powerful vassal, Raymond count of Tripoli, who had been 
 excluded from the succession and regency, entertained an implacable 
 hatred against the king, and exposed his honour and conscience to the 
 temptations of the sultan. Such were the guardians of the holy city ; 
 a leper, a child, a woman, a coward, and a traitor : yet its fate was 
 'Iclayed twelve years by some supplies from Europe, by the valour of 
 the military orders, and by the distant or domestic avocations of their 
 great enemy. At length, on every side the sinking state was encircled 
 and pri.;,ssed by an hostile line ; and the truce was viohiled by the
 
 41 8 COKQ VEST OF JER USALEM BY SALADIN. 
 
 Franks, whose existence it protected. A soldier of fortune, Reginald 
 of Chatillon, had seized a fortress on the edge of the desert, from 
 whence he pillaged the caravans, insulted Mahomet, and threatened 
 the cities of Mecca and Medina. Saladin condescended to complain ; 
 rejoiced in the denial of justice ; and at the head of 80,000 horse and foot, 
 invaded the Holy Land. The choice of Tiberias for his first siege was 
 suggested by the count of Tripoli, to whom it belonged ; and the king 
 of Jerusalem was persuaded to drain his garrisons, and to arm his 
 people for the relief of that important place. By the advice of the per- 
 fidious Raymond, the Christians were betrayed into a camp destitirte 
 of water : he fled on the first onset with the curses of both nations : 
 Lusignan was overthrown (a.d. 1187. July 3) with the loss of 30,000 
 men ; and the wood of the true cross, a dire misfortune ! was left in the 
 power of the infidels. The royal captive was conducted to the tent of 
 Saladin ; and as he fainted with thirst and terror, the generous victor 
 presented him with a cup of sherbet cooled in snow, without suffering 
 his companion, Reginald of Chatillon, to partake of this pledge of hos- 
 pitality and pardon. " The person and dignity of a king," said the 
 sultan, " are sacred ; but this impious robber must instantly acknow- 
 ledge the prophet, whom he has blasphemed, or meet the death which 
 he has so often deserved." On the proud or conscientious refusal of 
 the Christian warrior, Saladin struck him on the head with his scymetar, 
 and Reginald was dispatched by the guards. The trembling Lusignan 
 was sent to Damascus to an honourable prison and speedy ransom ; 
 but the victory was stained by the execution of 230 knights of the hos- 
 pital, the intrepid champions and martyrs of their faith. The kingdom 
 was left without a head ; and of the two grand masters of the military 
 orders, the one was slain and the other was a prisoner. From all the 
 cities, both of the sea-coast and the inland country, the garrisons had 
 been drawn away for this fatal field : Tyre and Tripoli alone could 
 escape the rapid inroad of Saladin ; and three months after the battle 
 of Tiberias he appeared in arms before the gates of Jerusalem. 
 
 He might expect, that the siege of a city, so venerable on earth and 
 in heaven, so interesting to Europe and Asia, would rekindle the last 
 sparks of enthusiasm ; and that, of 60,000 Christians, every man would 
 be a soldier, and every soldier a candidate for martyrdom. But queen 
 Sybilla trembled for herself and her captive husband ; and the barons 
 and knights, who had escaped from the sword and chains of the 
 Turks, displayed the same factious and selfish spirit in the public ruin. 
 The most numerous portion of the inhabitants were composed of the 
 Greek and Oriental Christians, whom experience had taught to prcfci 
 the Mahometan before the Latin yoke ; and the holy sepulchre attracted 
 a base and needy crowd, without arms or courage, who subsisted only 
 on the charity of the pilgrims. Some feeble and hasty efforts were 
 made for the defence of Jerusalem ; but in the space of fourteen (A.D,
 
 ms TOR Y OF THE CR USA DES. 4 1 n 
 
 1 1 87. Oct. 2) days, a victorious army drove back the sallies of the be- 
 sieged, planted their engines, opened the wall to the breadth of fifteen 
 cubits, appHcd their scaling-ladders, and erected on the breach twelve 
 banners of the prophet and the sultan. It was in vain that a bare-foot 
 procession of the queen, the women, and the monks, implored the Son 
 of God to save his tomb and his inheritance from impious violation. 
 Their sole hope was in the mercy ot the conqueror, and to their first 
 suppliant deputation that mercy was sternly denied. " He had sworn 
 to avenge the patience and long-suffering of the Moslems ; the hour of 
 forgiveness was elapsed, and the moment has now arrived to expiate 
 in blood, the innocent blood which had been spilt by Godfrey and the 
 first crusaders." But a desperate and successful struggle of the Franks 
 admonished the sultan that his triumph was not yet secure ; he listened 
 with reverence to a solemn adjuration in the name of the common 
 Father of mankind ; and a sentiment of human sympathy mollified the 
 rigour of fanaticism and conquest. He consented to accept the city, 
 and to spare the inhabitants. The Greek and Oriental Christians were 
 permitted to live under his dominion ; but it was stipulated, that in 
 forty days all the Franks and Latins should evacuate Jerusalem, and 
 be safely conducted to the sea-ports of Syria and Egypt ; that ten 
 pieces of gold should be paid for each man, five for each woman, and 
 one for every child ; and that those who were unable to purchase their 
 freedom should be detained in perpetual slavery. Of some writers it 
 is a favourite and invidious theme to compare the humanity of Saladin 
 with the massacre of the first crusade. The difference would be merely 
 personal ; but we should not forget that the Christians had offered to 
 capitulate, and that the Mahometans of Jerusalem sustained the last 
 extremities of an assault and storm. Justice is indeed due to the 
 fidelity with which the Turkish conqueror fulfilled the conditions of the 
 treaty ; and he may be deservedly praised for the glance of pity which 
 he cast on the misery of the vanquished. Instead of a rigorous exaction 
 of his debt, he accepted a sum of 30,000 byzants, for the ransom of 
 7000 poor ; 2000 or 3000 more were dismissed by his gratuitous 
 clemency : and the number of slaves was reduced to 11,000 or 14,000 
 persons. In his interview with the queen, his words, and even his 
 tears, suggested the kindest consolations ; his liberal alms were dis- 
 tributed among those who had been made orphans or widows by the 
 fortune of war ; and while the knights of the hospital were in arms 
 against him, he allowed their more pious brethren to continue during 
 the term of a year, the care and the service of the sick. In these acts 
 of mercy the virtue of Saladin deserves our admiration and love : he 
 was above the necessity of dissimulation, and his stern fanaticism 
 would have prompted him to dissemble, rather than to affect, this pro- 
 fane compassion for the enemies of the Koran, After Jerusalem had 
 been delivered from the presence of the strangers, the sultan made his
 
 4^3 THE THIRD CRUSADE, BY SEA. 
 
 triumphant entry, his banners waving in the wind and to the harmony 
 of martial music. The great mosque of Omar, which had been con- 
 verted into a church, was again consecrated to one God and his pro- 
 phet Mahomet ; the walls and pavement were purified with rose water ; 
 and a pulpit, the labour of Noureddin, was erected in the sanctuary. 
 But when the golden cross that glittered on the dome was cast down, 
 and dragged through the streets, the Christians of every sect uttered a 
 lamentable groan, which was answered by the joyful shouts of the 
 Moslems. In four ivory chests the patriarch had collected the crosses, 
 the images, the vases, and the relics of the holy place : they were seized 
 by the conqueror, who was desirous of presenting the caliph with the 
 trophies of Christian idolatry. He was persuaded however to entrust 
 them to the patriarch and prince of Antioch ; and the pious pledge was 
 redeemed by Richard of England, at the expense of '52,000 byzants of 
 gold. 
 
 The nations might fear and hope the immediate and final expulsion 
 of the Latins from Syria ; which was yet delayed (a.d. 1188) above a 
 century after the death of Saladin. In the career of victory, he was 
 first checked by the resistance of Tyre ; the troops and garrisons 
 which had capitulated, were imprudently conducted to the same port : 
 their numbers were adequate to the defence of the place ; and the ar- 
 rival of Conrad of Montferrat inspired the disorderly crowd with con- 
 fidence and union. His father, a venerable pilgrim, had been made 
 prisoner in the battle of Tiberias ; but that disaster was unknown in 
 Italy and Greece, when the son was urged by ambition and piety to 
 visit the inheritance of his royal nephew, the infant Baldwin. The 
 view of the Turkish banners warned him from the hostile coast of 
 Jaffa ; and Conrad was unanimously hailed as the prince and cham- 
 pion of Tyre, which was already besieged by the conqueror of Jerusa- 
 lem. The firmness of his zeal, and perhaps his knowledge of a gener- 
 ous foe, enabled him to brave the threats of the sultan, and to declare, 
 ihat should his aged parent be exposed before the walls, he himself 
 would discharge the first arrow, and glory in his descent from a 
 Christian martyr. The Egyptian fleet was allowed to enter the har- 
 bour of Tyre ; but the chain was suddenly drawn, and five galleys 
 were either sunk or taken : 1000 Turks were slain in a sally ; and Sa- 
 ladin, after burning his engines, concluded a glorious campaign by a 
 disgraceful retreat to Damascus. He was soon assailed by a more 
 formidable tempest. The pathetic narratives, and even the pictures, 
 that represented in lively colours the servitude and profanation of Je- 
 rusalem, awakened the torpid sensibility of Europe : the emperor 
 Frederic Barbarossa, and the kings of France and England, assumed 
 the cross ; and the tardy magnitude of their armaments was anticipated 
 by the maritime states of the Mediterranean and the Ocean. The 
 skilful and provident Italians fust embarked in the ships of Genoa,
 
 HrSTORV OF THE CRUSADES. .21 
 
 Pisa, and Venice. They were speedily followed by the most eaglet 
 pilgrims of France, Normandy, and the Western Isles. The powerful 
 succour of Flanders, Frise, and Denmark, filled near a hundred ves- 
 sels ; and the northern warriors were distinguished in the field by a 
 lofty stature and a ponderous battle-axe. Their increasing multitudes 
 could no longer be confined within the walls of Tyre, or remain obedi- 
 ent to the voice of Conrad. They pitied the misfortunes, and revered 
 the dignity of Lusignan, who was released from prison, perhaps to 
 divide the aniiy of the Franks. He proposed the recovery of Ptole- 
 mais, or Acre, thirty miles to the south of Tyre ; and the place was 
 first invested by 2000 horse and 30,000 foot under his nominal com- 
 mand. I shall not expatiate on the story of this memorable siege , 
 which lasted near two years, and consumed (a.d. i 189, July — a.d. i 191. 
 July) in a narrow space, the forces of Europe and Asia. Never did 
 the flame of enthusiasm burn with fiercer and more destructive rage ; 
 nor could the true believers, a common appellation, who consecrated 
 their own martyrs, refuse some applause to the mistaken zeal and 
 courage of their adversaries. At the sound of the holy trumpet, the 
 Moslems of Egypt, Syria, Arabia, and the Oriental provinces, assem- 
 bled under the servant of the prophet : his camp was pitched and 
 removed within a few miles of Acre : and he laboured, night and day, 
 for the relief of his brethren and the annoyance of the Franks. Nine 
 battles not unworthy of the name, were fought, in the neighbour- 
 hood of mount Carmel, with such vicissitude of fortune, that in 
 one attack, the sultan forced his way into the city ; that in one sally 
 the Christians penetrated to the royal tent. By the means of divers 
 and pigeons, a regular correspondence was maintained with the be- 
 sieged : and, as often as the sea was left open, the exhausted garrison 
 was withdrawn, and a fresh supply was poured into the place. The 
 Latin camp was thinned by famine, the sword, and the climate ; but 
 the tents of the dead were replenished with new pilgrims, who ex- 
 aggerated the strength and speed of their approaching countrymen. 
 The vulgar was astonished by the report, that the pope himself, with 
 an innumerable crusade, was advanced as far as Constantinople. Thfe 
 march of the emperor filled the East with more serious alarms ; the 
 obstacles which he encountered in Asia, and perhaps in Greece, were 
 raised by the policy of Saladin ; his joy on the death of Barbarossa 
 was measured by his esteem ; and the Christians were rather dismayed 
 than encouraged at the sight of the duke of Swabia and his wayworn 
 remnant of 5000 Germans. At length, in the spring of the second 
 year, the royal fleets of France and England cast anchor in the bay of 
 Acre, and the siege was more vigorously prosecuted by the youthful 
 emulation of the two kings, Philip Augustus, and Richard Plantagcnet. 
 After every source had been tried, and every hope was exhausted, 
 ^hs defenders of Acre submitted to their fate ; a capitulation v/aa
 
 42 2 THE SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF ACRE. 
 
 granted, but their lives and liberties were taxed at the hard conditions 
 of a ransom of 2ori.ooo pieces of gold, the deliverance of loo nobles 
 and 1500 inferior captives, and the restoration of the wood of the holy 
 cross. Some doubts in the agreement, and some delay in the execu- 
 tion, rekindled the fury of the Franks, and 3000 Moslems, almost in 
 the Sultan's view, were beheaded by the command of the sanguinary 
 Richard. By the conquest of Acre, the Latin powers acquired a 
 strong town and a convenient harbour ; but the advantage was most 
 dearly purchased. The minister and historian of Saladin computes 
 from the report of the enemy, that their numbers, at different periods, 
 amounted to 500,000 or 600,000 ; that more than 100,000 Christians 
 were slain ; that a far greater number was lost by disease or ship- 
 wreck ; and that a small portion of this mighty host could return in 
 safety to their native countries. 
 
 Philip Augustus, and Richard the first, are the only kings of France 
 and England, who (A.D. 1191, 1192), have fought under the same 
 banners ; but the holy service, in which they were enlisted, was in- 
 cessantly disturbed by their national jealousy ; and the two factions, 
 which they protected in Palestine, were more averse to each other 
 than to the common enemy. In the eyes of the Orientals, the French 
 monarch was superior in dignity and power ; and in the emperor's 
 absence, the Latins revered him as their temporal chief. His exploits 
 were not adequate to his fame. Philip was brave, but the statesman 
 predominated in his character ; he was soon weary of sacrificing his 
 health and interest on a ban-en coast ; the surrender of Acre became 
 the signal of his departure ; nor could he justify this unpopular deser- 
 tion, by leaving the duke of Burgundy, with 500 knights and 10,000 foot, 
 for the service of the Holy Land. The king of England, though 
 inferior in dignity, surpassed his rival in wealth and military renown ; 
 and if heroism be confined to brutal and ferocious valour, Richard 
 Plantagenet will stand high among the heroes of the age. The 
 memory of Cceur de Lion, of the lion-hearted prince, was long dear 
 and glorious to his English subjects ; and, at the distance of sixty 
 years, it was celebrated in proverbial sayings by the grandsons of the 
 Turks and Saracens, against whom he had fought : his tremendous 
 name was employed by the Syrian mothers to silence their infants ; 
 and if an horse suddenly started from the way, his rider was wont to 
 exclaim, " Dost thou think king Richard is in that bush .?" His 
 cruelty to the Mahometans was the effect of temper and zeal ; but I 
 cannot believe that a soldier, so free and fearless in the use of his 
 lance, would have descended to whet a dagger against his valiant 
 brother Conrad of Montferrat, who was slain at Tyre by some secret 
 assassins. After the surrender of Acre, and the departure of Philip, the 
 king of England led the crusaders to the recovery of the sea-coast ; 
 and the cities of Csesarea and Jaffa were added to the fragments of the
 
 HIS TOR Y OF THE CR USA DES, 4 2 3 
 
 kingdom of Lusignan. A march of loo miles from Acre to Ascalon, 
 was a great and perpetual battle of eleven days. In the disorder of 
 his troops, Saladin remained on the field with seventeen guards, with- 
 out lowering his standard, or suspending the sound of his brazen 
 kettle-drum : he again rallied and i-enewed the charge ; and his 
 preachers or heralds called aloud on the itnitariaiis, manfully to 
 stand up against the Christian idolaters. But the progress of these 
 idolaters was irresistible : and it was only by demolishing the walls 
 and buildings of Ascalon, that the sultan could prevent them from 
 occupying an important fortress on the confines of Egypt. During a 
 severe winter, the armies slept ; but in the spring, the Franks advanced 
 within a day's march of Jerusalem, under the leading standard of the 
 English king ; and his active spirit intercepted a convoy, or caravan, 
 of 7000 camels. Saladin had fixed his station in the holy city ; but 
 the city was struck with consternation and discord : he fasted ; he 
 prayed ; he preached ; he offered to share the dangers of the siege ; 
 but his Mamalukes, who remembered the fate of their companions at 
 Acre, pressed the sultan with loyal or seditious clamours, to reserve his 
 person and their courage for the future defence of the religion and 
 empire. The Moslems were delivered by the sudden, or, as they 
 deemed, the miraculous, retreat of the Christians ; and the laurels of 
 Richard were blasted by the prudence, or envy of his companions. 
 The hero, ascending an hill, and veiling his face, exclaimed with an 
 indignant voice, "Those who are unwilling to rescue, are unworthy to 
 view, the sepulchre of Christ !" After his return to Acre, on the news 
 that Jaffa was surprised by the sultan, he sailed with some merchant 
 vessels, and leap»d foremost on the beach ; the castle was relieved by 
 his presence ; and 60,000 Turks and Saracens fled before his arms. 
 The discovery of his weakness provoked them to return in the morn- 
 ing ; and they found him carelessly encamped before the gates with only 
 seventeen knights and three hundred archers. Without counting their 
 numbers, he sustained their charge ; and we learn from the evidence 
 of his enemies, that the king of England, grasping his lance, rode 
 furiously along their front, from the right to the left wing, without 
 meeting an adversary who dared to encounter his career. Am I writ- 
 ing the history of Orlando or Amadis ? 
 
 During these hostilities, a languid and tedious negociation between 
 the Franks and Moslems was started, and continued, and broken, and 
 again resumed, and again broken. Some acts of royal courtesy, the 
 gift of snow and fruit, the exchange of Norway hawks and Arabian 
 horses, softened the asperity of religious war : from the vicissitude of 
 success, the monarchs might learn to susi)ect that Heaven was neutral 
 in the quarrel ; nor, after the trial of each other, could either hope for 
 a decisive victory. The health both of Richard and Saladin appeared 
 to be in a declining state ; and they respectively suffered the evils of
 
 424 TREA TY BETWEEN RICHARD OF ENGLAND AND SALADIN. 
 
 distant and domestic warfare : Plantagenet was impatient to punish a 
 perfidious rival who had invaded Normandy in his absence ; and the 
 'indefatigable sultan was subdued by the cries of the people, who was 
 the victim, and of the soldiers, who were the instruments, of his martial 
 zeal. The first demands of the king of England were the restitu- 
 tion of Jerusalem, Palestine, and the true cross ; and he firmly de- 
 clared, that himself and his brother pilgrims would end their lives in 
 the pious labour, rather than return to Europe with ignominy and re- 
 morse. But the conscience of Saladin refused, without some weighty 
 compensation, to restore the idols, or promote the idolatry, of the 
 Christians : he asserted, with equal firmness, his religious and 
 civil claim to the sovereignty of Palestine ; descanted on the im- 
 portance and sanctity of Jerusalem ; and rejected all terms of the 
 establishment, or partition, of the Latins. The marriage which 
 Richard proposed, of his sister with the sultan's brother, was defeated 
 by the difference of faith. A personal interview was declined by 
 Saladin, who alleged their mutual ignorance of each other's language ; 
 and the negociation was managed with much art and delay by their 
 interpreters and envoys. The final agreement (a.d. 1192. Sept.) was 
 equally disapproved by the zealots of both parties, by the Roman 
 pontiff and the caliph of Bagdad. It was stipulated that Jerusalem 
 and the holy sepulchre should be open, without tribute or vexation, 
 to the pilgrimage of the Latin Christians ; that, after the demolition 
 of Ascalon, they should inclusively possess the sea-coast from Jaffa to 
 Tyre ; that the count of Tripoli and the prince of Antioch should be 
 compromised in the truce ; and that, during three years and three 
 months, all hostilities should cease. The principal chiefs of the two 
 armies swore to the observance of the treaty ; but the monarchs were 
 satisfied with giving their word and their right-hand : and the royal 
 majesty was excused from an oath, which always implies some 
 suspicion of falsehood and dishonour. Richard embarked for Europe 
 to seek a long captivity and a premature grave ; and the space of a 
 few months (a.d. 1193. Mar. 4) concluded the life and glories of 
 Saladin. The Orientals describe his edifying death, which happened 
 at Damascus ; but they seem ignorant of the equal distribution of his 
 alms among the three religions, or of the display of a shroud, instead 
 of a standard, to admonish the East of the instability of human 
 greatness. The unity of empire was dissolved by his death ; his sons 
 were o-ppressed by the stronger arm of their uncle Saphadin ; the 
 hostile interests of the sultans of Egypt, Damascus, and Aleppo, were 
 again revived ; and the Franks or Latins stood, and breathed, and 
 hoped, in their fortresses along the Syrian coast. 
 
 The noblest monument of a conqueror's fame, and of the terror 
 .vhich he inspired, is the Saladine tenth, a general tax, which was im- 
 posed on the laity, and even the clergy, of the Latin church for the
 
 HIS TOR V OF THE CR USA DES. 425 
 
 service of the holy war. The practice was too lucrative to expire w iti) 
 the occasion; and this tribute became the loundatiou 01 all the tiilics 
 and tenths on ecclesiastical benefices, which have been granted by the 
 Roman pontilTs to Catholic sovereigns, or reserved for the immediate 
 use of the apostolic see. This pecuniary emolument must have 
 tended to increase the interest of the popes in the recovery of Pales- 
 tine ; after the death of Salad in they preached the crusade, by their 
 epistles, their legates, and their missionaries ; and the accomplishment 
 of the pious work might have been expected from the zeal (a.d. 119S — 
 1216) and talents of Innocent the third. Under that young and am- 
 bitious priest, the successors of St. Peter attained the full meridian of 
 their gicatness; and in a reign of eighteen years, he exercised a 
 despotic command over the emperors and kings, whom he raised and 
 deposed ; over the nations, whom an interdict of months or years de- 
 prived, for the offence of their rulers, of the exercise of Christian wor- 
 ship. In the council of the Lateran he acted as the ecclesiastical, 
 almost as the temporal, sovereign ol the East and West. It was at 
 the feet of his legate that John of England surrendered his ci'own ; 
 and Innocent may boast of the two most signal triumphs over sense 
 and humanity, the establishment of transubstantiation, and the 
 origin of the incjuisition. At his voice, two crusades, the fourth and 
 the fifth, were undertaken ; but except a king of Hungary, the princes 
 of the second order were at the head of the pilgrims ; the forces 
 were inadequate to the design ; nor did the efTec<.3 corresp )nd with 
 the hopes and wishes of the pope and the people. The fourth 
 crusade (a.d. 1203) was diverted from Syria to Constantinople; and 
 the conquest of the Greek or Roman empire by the Latins will form 
 the proper and important subject of succeeding pages. In the fifth 
 (a.d. 1218) 200,000 Franks were landed at the eastern mouth of the 
 Nile. They reasonably hoped that Palestine must be subdued in 
 Egypt, the seat and storehouse of the sultan ; and, after a siege of six 
 teen months, the Moslems deplored the loss of Damietta. But the 
 Christian army was ruined by the pride and insolence of the legate 
 Pelagius, who, in the pope's name, assumed the character of general : 
 the sickly Franks were encompassed by the waters of the Nile and the 
 Oriental forces ; and it was by the evacuation of Damietta that they 
 obtained a safe retreat, some concessions for the pilgrims, and the 
 tardy restitution of the doubtful relic of the true cross. The failurt 
 may in some measure be ascribed to the abuse and multiplication ot 
 the crusades, which were preached at the same time against the 
 Pagans of Livonia, the Moors of Spain, ti.« Albigeois of France, and 
 the kings of Sicily of the Imperial family. In these meritorious 
 services, the volunteers might acquire at home the same spiritual in- 
 dulgence, and a larger measure of temporal rewards ; and even the 
 popci, in their zeal against a domestic enemy, were sometimes tempted
 
 420 THE FO UR TH AND FIFTH CR USADES. 
 
 to forget the distress of their Syrian brethren. From the last age of 
 the crusades they derived the occasional command of an army and 
 revenue ; and some deep reasoners have suspected that the whole en- 
 terprise, from the first synod of Placentia, was contrived and executed 
 by the policy of Rome. The suspicion is not founded either in nature 
 or in fact. The successors of St. Peter appear to have followed, 
 rather than guided, the impulse of manners and prejudice ; without 
 much foresight of the seasons, or cultivation of the soil, they gathered 
 the ripe and spontaneous fruits of the superstition of the times. They 
 gathered these fruits without toil or personal danger : in the council of 
 the Lateran, Innocent the third declared an ambiguous resolution of 
 animating the crusaders by his example ; but the pilot of the sacred 
 vessel could not abandon the helm ; nor was Palestine ever blessed 
 with the presence of a Roman pontiff. 
 
 The persons, the families, and estates of the pilgrims, were under 
 the immediate protection of the popes ; and these spiritual patrons 
 soon claimed the prerogative of directing their operations, and en- 
 forcing, by commands and censures, the accomplishment of their vow. 
 Frederic the second, the grandson of Barbarossa, was successively the 
 pupil, the enemy, and the victim, of the church. At the age of twenty- 
 one years, and in obedience to his guardian Innocent the third, he 
 assumed (a.d. 1228) the cross ; the same promise was repeated at his 
 royal and imperial coronations ; and his marriage with the heiress of 
 Jerusalem for ever bound him to defend the kingdom of his son Con- 
 rad. But as Frederic advanced in age and authority, he repented of 
 the rash engagements of his youth : his liberal sense and knowledge 
 taught him to despise the phantoms of superstition and the crowns of 
 Asia : he no longer entertained the same reverence for the successors 
 of Innocent ; and his ambition was occupied by the restoration of the 
 Italian monarchy from Sicily to the Alps. But the success of this pro- 
 ject would have reduced the popes to their primitive simplicity ; and, 
 after the delays and excuses of twelve years, they urged the emperor, 
 with entreaties and threats, to fix the time and place of his departure 
 for Palestine. In the harbours of Sicily and Apulia, he prepared a 
 fleet of 100 galleys, and of 100 vessels, that were framed to transport 
 and land 2500 knights, with their horses and attendants : his vassals of 
 Naples and Germany formed a powerful army ; and the number of 
 English crusaders was magnified to 60,000 by the report of fame. But 
 the inevitable, or affected, slowness of these mighty preparations, con- 
 sumed the strength and provisions of the more indigent pilgrims : the 
 multitude was thinned by sickness and desertion ; and the sultry sum- 
 mer of Calabria anticipated the mischiefs of a Syrian campaign. At 
 length the emperor hoisted sail at Brundusium, with a fleet and army 
 of 40,000 men ; but he kept the sea no more than three days ; and his 
 hasty retreat, which was ascribed by his friends to a grievous indis-
 
 HTS TORY or- THE CR USA D£S. 427 
 
 Jjosition, was accused by his enemies as a voluntary and obstinate dis' 
 obedience. For suspending his vow was Frederic excommunicated by 
 Gregory the ninth ; for presuming, the next year, to accomphsh his 
 vow, he was again excommunicated by the same pope. While he 
 served under the banner of the cross, a crusade was preached against 
 him in Italy ; and after his return he was compelled to ask pardon for 
 the injuries which he had suffered. The clergy and military orders of 
 Palestine were previously instructed to renounce his communion and 
 dispute his commands ; and in his own kingdom, the emperor was 
 forced to consent that the orders of the camp should be issued in the 
 name of God and of the Christian republic. Frederic entered Jeru- 
 salem in triumph : and with his own hands (for no priest would per- 
 form the ofiice) he took the crown from the altar of the holy sepulchre. 
 But the patriarch cast an interdict on the church which his presence 
 had profaned ; and the knights of the hospital and temple informed 
 the sultan how easily he might be surprised and slain in his unguarded 
 visit to the river Jordan. In such a state of fanaticism and faction, 
 victory was hopeless and defence was difficult ; but the conclusion of 
 an advantageous peace may be imputed to the discord of the Ma- 
 hometans, and their personal esteem for the character of Frederic. 
 The enemy of the church is accused of maintaining with the miscreants 
 an intercourse of hospitality and friendship, unworthy of a Christian ; 
 of despising the barrenness of the land ; and of indulging a profane 
 thought, that if Jehovah had seen the kingdom of Naples, he never 
 would have selected Palestine for the inheritance of his chosen people. 
 Yet Frederic obtained from the sultan the restitution of Jerusalem, of 
 Bcthlenr and Nazareth, of Tyre and Sidon : the Latins were allowed 
 to inhabit and fortify the city ; an equal code of civil and religious 
 freedom was ratified for the sectaries of Jesus and those of Mahomet : 
 and, while the former worshipped at the holy sepulchre, the latter 
 might pray and preach in the mosque of the temple, from whence the 
 prophet undertook his nocturnal journey to heaven. The clergy de- 
 plored this scandalous toleration ; and the weaker Moslems were 
 gradually expelled : but every rational object of the crusades was accom- 
 plished without bloodshed ; the churches were restored, the monasteries 
 were replenished ; and in the space of fifteen years, the Latins of Jeru- 
 salem exceeded the number of six thousand. This peace and pros- 
 perity, for which they were ungrateful to their benefactor, was term- 
 inated (a.D. 1243) by the irruption of the strange and savage hordes 
 of Carizmians. Flying from the arms of the Moguls, those shepherds 
 of the Caspian rolled headlong on Syria ; arid the union of the Franks 
 with the sultans of Aleppo, Hems, and Damascus, was insufficient to 
 stem the violence of the torrent. Whatever stood against them, was 
 cut off by the sword, or dragged into captivity ; the military orders 
 were almost exterminated in a single battle ; and in the pillage of the
 
 4 ;8 THE CRUSADE OP SAINT LOUIS OF FRANCE. 
 
 city, in the profanation of the holy sepulchre, the Latins confess nnd 
 regret the modesty and discipline of the Turks and Saracens. 
 
 Of the seven crusades, the two last were undertaken by Louis the 
 ninth, king of France (a.d. 1248 — 1254) ; who lost his liberty in Egypt, 
 and his life on the coast of Africa. Twenty-eight years after his death, 
 he was canonized at Rome ; and sixty-five miracles were readily found, 
 and solemnly attested, to justify the claim of the royal saint. The 
 voice of history renders a more honourable testimony, that he imited 
 the virtues of a king, an hero, and a man ; and his martial spirit Avas 
 tempered by the love of private and public justice ; and that Louis was 
 the father of his people, the friend of his neighbours, and the terror of 
 the infidels. Superstition alone, in all the extent of her baleful influ- 
 ence, corrupted his understanding and his heart ; his devotion stooped 
 to admire and imitate the begging friars of Francis and Dominic ; he 
 pursued with blind and cruel zeal the enemies of the faith ; and the 
 best of kings twice descended from his throne to seek the adventures 
 of a spiritual knight-errant. A monkish historian would have been 
 content to applaud the most despicable part of his character ; but the 
 noble and gallant Joinville, who shared the friendship and captivity of 
 Louis, has traced with the pencil of nature the free portrait of his vir- 
 tues as well as of his failings. From this intimate knowledge, we may 
 learn to suspect the political views of depressing their great vassals, 
 which are so often imputed to the royal authors of the crusades. Above 
 all the princes of the middle ages, Louis the ninth successfully laboured 
 to restore the prerogatives of the crown ; but it was at home, and not 
 in the East, that he acquired for himself and his posterity ; his vow 
 was the result of enthusiasm and sickness : and if he were the pro- 
 moter, he was likewise the victim, of his holy madness. For the in- 
 vasion of Egypt, France was .exhausted of her troops and treasures ; 
 he covered the sea of Cyprus with 1800 sails ; the most modest enu- 
 meration amounts to 50,000 men ; and, if we might trust his own con- 
 fession, as it is reported by Oriental vanity, he disembarked 9500 horse, 
 and 130,000 foot, who performed their pilgrimage under the shadow of 
 his power. 
 
 In complete armour, the oriflamme waving before him, Louis leaped 
 foremost on the beach ; and the strong city of Damietta, which had 
 cost his predecessors a siege of sixteen months, was (a.d. 1249) aban- 
 doned on the first assault by the trembling Moslems. But Damietta 
 was the first and the last of his conquests : and in the fifth and sixth 
 crusades, the same causes, almost on the same ground, were productive 
 of similar calamities. After a ruinous delay, which introduced into the 
 camp the seeds of an epidemical disease, the Franks advanced from 
 the sea-coast towards the capital of Egypt, and strove to surmount the 
 unseasonable inundation of the Nile, which opposed their progress. 
 Under the eye of their intrepid monarch, the barons and knights of
 
 t//.'^ TOR V OF THE CR USA 1) /?.?. 439 
 
 France displayed their invincible contempt of danger and discipline : 
 his brother, the count of Artois, stormed with inconsiderable valour the 
 town of Massoura ; and the carrier pigeons announced to the in- 
 habitants of Cairo, that all was lost. But a soldier, who afterwards 
 usurped the sceptre, rallied the flying troops : the main body of the 
 Christians was far behind their vanguard ; and Artois was over- 
 powered and slain. A shower of Greek fire was incessantly poured on 
 the invaders ; the Nile was commanded by the Egyptian galleys, the 
 open country by the Arabs ; all provisions were intercepted ; each day- 
 aggravated the sickness and famine ; and about the same time a 
 retreat was found to be necessary and impracticable. The Oriental 
 writers confess, that Louis might have escaped, if he would have de- 
 serted his subjects : he was made prisoner, with the greatest part of 
 his nobles ; all who could not redeem their lives by service or ransom, 
 were inhumanly massacred ; and the walls of Cairo were decorated 
 with a circle of Christian heads. The king of France was (a.D. 1250, 
 April 5 — May 6) loaded with chains ; but the generous victor, a great 
 grandson of the brother of Saladin, sent a robe of honour to his royal 
 captive ; and his deliverance, with that of his soldiers, was obtained by 
 the restitution of Damietta and the payment of 400,000 pieces of gold. 
 In a soft and luxurious climate, the degenerate children of the com- 
 panions of Noureddin and Saladin were incapable of resisting the flower 
 of European chivalry : they triumphed by the arms of their slaves or 
 Mamalukes, the hardy natives of Tartary, who at a tender age had 
 been purchased of the Syrian merchants, and were educated in the 
 camp and palace of the sultan. But Egypt soon afforded a new ex- 
 ample of the danger of praetorian bands : and the rage of these fero- 
 cious animals, who had been let loose on the strangers, was provoked 
 to devour their benefactor. In the pride of conquest, Touran Shaw, 
 the last of his race, was murdered by his Mamalukes ; and the most 
 daring of the assassins entered the chamber of the captive king, with 
 drawn scymctars, and their hands imbrued in the blood of their sultan. 
 The firmness of Louis commanded their respect ; their avarice pre- 
 vailed over cruelty and zeal ; the treaty was accomplished ; and the 
 king of France, M'ith the relics of his army, was pr- ■ itted to embark 
 for Palestine. He wasted four years within the walls 'if Acre, unable 
 to visit Jerusalem, and unwilling to return to his native country. 
 
 The memory of his defeat excited Louis, after sixteen years of 
 wisdom and repose, to undertake the seventh and last of the crusades. 
 His finances were restored, his kingdom was enlarged ; a new genera- 
 tion of v.'arriors had arisen, and he embarVfd with fresh confidence at 
 the head of 6000 horse and 30,000 foot. The loss of Antioch had pro- 
 voked the enterprise : a wild hope of baptizing the king of Tunis, 
 tempted him to steer for the African coast ; and the report of an im- 
 mense treasure reconciled his troops to the delay of their voyage to
 
 436 'f'HE STATE OF EGYPT UNDER THE MAMELUKES. 
 
 the Holy Land. Instead of a pioselyte, he found a siege ; the French 
 panted and died on the burning sands ; St. Louis expired (a.d. 1270, 
 Aug. 25) in his tent ; and no sooner had he closed his eyes, than his 
 son and successor gave the signal of the retreat. "It is thus," says 
 Voltaire, " that a Christian king died near the ruins of Carthage, 
 waging war against the sectaries of Mahomet, in a land to which 
 Dido had introduced the deities of Syria." 
 
 A more unjust and absurd constitution cannot be devised, than that 
 which condemns the natives of a countiy to perpetual servitude, under 
 the arbitrary dominion of strangers and slaves. Yet such has been 
 the state of Egypt above five hundred years. The most illustrious 
 sultans of the Baharite and Borgite dynasties (a.d. 1250 — 15 17), were 
 themselves promoted from the Tartar and Circassian bands ; and the 
 four-and-twenty beys or military chiefs, have ever been succeeded, not 
 by their sons, but by their servants. They produce the great charter 
 of their liberties, the treaty of Selim the first with the republic ; and 
 the Othman empei'or still accepts from Egypt a slight acknowledgment 
 of tribute and subjection. With some breathing intervals of peace and 
 order, the two dynasties are marked as a period of rapine and blood- 
 shed : but their throne, however shaken, reposed on the two pillars 
 of discipline and valour ; their sway extended over Egypt, Nubia, 
 Arabia, and Syria ; their Mamalukes were multiplied from 800 to 25,000 
 horse ; and their numbers were increased by a provincial mihtia of 
 107,000 foot, and the occasional aid of 66,000 Arabs. Princes of such 
 power and spirit could not long endure on their coast an hostile and 
 independent nation ; and if the ruin of the Franks was postponed 
 about forty years, they were indebted to the cares of an unsettled 
 reign, to the invasion of the Moguls, and to the occasional aid of some 
 warlike pilgrims. Among these, the English reader will observe the 
 name of our first Edward, who assumed the cross in the lifetime of 
 his father Henry. At the head of a thousand soldiers, the future con- 
 queror of Wales and Scotland delivered Acre from a siege ; marched 
 as far as Nazareth with an army of 9000 men ; emulated the fame of 
 his uncle Richard ; extorted, by his valour, a ten years' truce ; and es- 
 caped, with a dangerous wound, from the dagger of a fanatic assassin. 
 Antioch, whose situation had been less exposed to the calamities of 
 the holy war, was (a.d. 1268, June 12) finally occupied and ruined by 
 Bondocdar, or Bibars, sultan of Egypt and Syria ; the Latin princi- 
 pality was extinguished ; and the first seat of the Christian name was 
 dispeopled by the slaughter of 17,000, and the captivity of 100,000 of 
 her inhabitants. The maritime towns of Laodicea, Gabala, Tripoli, 
 Berytus, Sidon, Tyre, and Jaffa, and the stronger castles of the Hos- 
 pitalers and Templars, successively fell ; and the whole existence of 
 the Franks was confined to the city and colony of St. John of Acre, 
 which is sometimes described by the more classic title of Ptolemais.
 
 fns TOR Y OF THE C/! crSA DES. 43 I 
 
 After the loss of Jerusalem, Acre, which is distant about Jo miles, 
 became the metropolis of the Latin Christians, and was adorned with 
 strong and stately buildings, w^ith aqueducts, an artificial port, and a 
 double wall. The population was increased by the incessant streams 
 of pilgrims and fugitives ; in the pauses of hostility, the trade of the 
 East and West was attracted to this convenient station ; and the 
 market could offer the produce of every clime and the interpreters of 
 every tongue. But in this conflux of nations, ever)' vice was propa- 
 gated and practised : of all the disciples of Jesus and Mahomet, the 
 male and female inhabitants of Acre were esteemed the most corrupt ; 
 nor could the abuse of religion be corrected by the discipline of law. 
 The city had many sovereigns, and no government. The kings of 
 Jerusalem and Cyprus, of the house of Lusignan, the princes of An- 
 tioch, the counts of Tripoh and Sidon, the great masters of the hos- 
 pital, the temple, and the Teutonic order, the republics of Venice, ' 
 Genoa, and Pisa, the pope's legate, the kings of France and England, 
 assumed an independent command : seventeen tribunals exercised the 
 power of life and death ; every criminal was protected in the adja- 
 cent quarter ; and the perpetual jealousy of the nations often burst 
 forth in acts of violence and blood. Some adventurers, who disgraced 
 the ensign of the cross, compensated their want of pay by the plunder " 
 of the Mahometan villages : nineteen Syrian merchants, who traded 
 under the public faith, were despoiled and hanged by the Christians ; 
 and the denial of satisfaction justified the arms of the sultan Khalil. 
 He marched against Acre at the head of 60,000 horse and 140,000 
 foot : his train of artillery (if I may use the word) was numerous and 
 weighty ; the separate timbers of a single engine were transported in 
 one hundred waggons ; and the royal historian Abulfeda, who served 
 with the troops of Hamah, was himself a spectator of the holy wslv. 
 \\'hatever might be the vices of the Franks, their courage was rekindled 
 by enthusiasm and despair ; but they were torn by the discord of 
 seventeen chiefs, and overwhelmed on all sides by the powers of the 
 sultan. After a siege of thirty-three days, the double wall was (a.d. 
 1 29 1, May 18) forced by the Moslems ; the principal tower yielded 
 to their engines ; the Mamalukes made a general assault ; the city 
 was stormed ; and death or slavery was the lot of 60,000 Christians. 
 The convent, or rather fortress, of the Templars, resisted three days 
 longer ; but the great master was pierced with an arrow ; and, of 500 
 knights, only ten were left alive, less happy than the victims of the 
 sword, if they lived to suffer on a scaffold in the unjust and cruel 
 proscription of the whole order. The king of Jerusalem, the patriarch, 
 and the great master of the hospital, effected their retreat to the shore ; 
 but the sea was rough ; the vessels were insufficient : and great mmi- 
 bers of the fugitives were drowned before they could reach the isk' of 
 Cyprus, which might comfort Lusi^jnan for the loss of Palestine. By
 
 43 2 SCHISM OF THE GREEK AND LA TIN CHURCHES. 
 
 the command of the sultan, the churches and fortifications of the 
 Latin cities were demolished ; a motive of avarice or fear still opened 
 *he holy sepulchre to some devout and defenceless pilgrims ; and a 
 mournful and solitary silence prevailed along the coast which had 
 so long resounded with the world's debate. 
 
 The restoration of the Western empire by Charlemagne, was speedily 
 followed by the separation of the Greek and Latin churches. A 
 religious and national animosity still divides the two largest com- 
 munions of the Christian woi'ld ; and the schism of Constantinople, by 
 alienating her most useful allies, and provoking her most dangerous 
 enemies, has precipitated the decline and fall of the Roman empire in 
 the East. 
 
 In the course of the present history, the aversion of the Greeks for 
 the Latins has been often visible and conspicuous. It was originally 
 derived from the disdain of servitude, inflamed, after the time of Con- 
 stantine, by the pride of equality or dominion ; and finally exasperated 
 by the preference which their rebellious subjects had given to the 
 alliance of the Franks. In every age, the Greeks were proud of their 
 superiority in profane and religious knowledge : they had first received 
 the light of Christianity ; they had pronounced the decrees of the seven 
 general councils : they alone possessed the language of Scripture and 
 philosophy ; nor should the Barbarians, immersed in the darkness of 
 the West, presume to argue on the high and mysterious questions 
 of theological science. Those Barbarians despised in their turn the 
 restless and subtle levity of the Orientals, the authors of every heresy ; 
 and blessed their own simplicity, which was content to hold the tradi- 
 tion of the apostolic church. Yet, in the seventh century, the synods 
 of Spain, and afterwards of France, improved or corrupted the Nicene 
 creed, on the mysterious subject of the third person of the Trinity. 
 In the long controversies of the East, the nature and generation of 
 the Christ had been scrupulously defined ; and the well-known relation 
 of father and son seemed to convey a faint image to the human mind. 
 The idea of birth was less analogous to the Holy Spirit, who, instead 
 of a divine gift or attribute, was considered by the Catholics, as a 
 substance, a person, a god ; he was not begotten, but in the orthodox- 
 style, he proceeded. Did he proceed from the Father alone, perhaps 
 by the Son } or from the Father and Son ? The first of these opinions 
 was asserted by the Greeks, the second by the Latins ; and the addi- 
 tion to the Nicene creed of the vford Jilwgiie, kindled the flame of dis- 
 cord between the Oriental and the Gallic churches. In the origin of 
 the dispute, the Roman pontiffs aftected a character of neutrality and 
 moderation : they condemned the innovation, but they acquiesced 
 in the sentiment, of their Transalpine brethren : they seemed desirous 
 of casting a veil of silence and charity over the superfluous research ; 
 and in the correspondence of Charlemagne and Leo the third, the pope
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 433 
 
 assumes the liberality of a statesman, and the prince descends to the 
 passions and prejudices of a priest. But the orthodoxy of Rome spon- 
 taneously obeyed the impulse of her temporal policy ; and \h.Q filioqiie 
 which Leo wished to erase, was transcribed in the symbol and chaunted 
 in the liturgy of the Vatican. The Nicene and Athanasian creeds are 
 held as the Catholic faith, without which none can be saved ; and both 
 Papists and Protestants must now sustain and return the anathemas of 
 the Greeks, who deny the procession of the Holy Ghost from the Son, 
 as well as from the Father. Such articles of faith are not susceptible 
 of treaty ; but the rules of discipline will vary in remote and indepen- 
 dent churches ; and the reason, even of divines, might allow, that the 
 difference is inevitable and harmless. The craft or superstition of 
 Rome has imposed on her priests and deacons the rigid obligation of 
 celibacy ; among the Greeks it is confined to the bishops ; the loss is 
 compensated by dignity or annihilated by age ; and the parochial clergy, 
 the papas, enjoy the conjugal society of the wives whom they have 
 married before their entrance into holy orders. A question concerning 
 the Azyms was fiercely debated in the eleventh century, and the essence 
 of the Eucharist was supposed, in the East and West, to depend on 
 the use of leavened or unleavened bread. Shall I mention in a serious 
 history the furious reproaches that were urged against the Latins, who, 
 for a long while, remained on the defensive ? They neglected to ab- 
 stain, according to the apostolic decree, from things strangled, and 
 from blood : they fasted, a Jewish observance ! on the Saturday of each 
 week : during the first week of Lent they permitted the use of milk 
 and cheese ; their infirm monks were indulged in the taste of flesh ; 
 and animal grease was substituted for the want of vegetable oil : the 
 holy chrism or unction in baptism, was reserved to the episcopal order : 
 the bishops, as the bridegrooms of their churches, were decorated with 
 rings ; their priests shaved their faces, and baptized by a single im- 
 mersion. Such were the crimes which provoked the zeal of the patri- 
 archs of Constantinople, and which were justified with equal zeal by the 
 doctors of the Latin church. 
 
 Bigotry and national aversion are powerful magnifiers of every ob- 
 ject of dispute ; but the immediate cause of the schism of the Greeks 
 maybe traced in the emulation of the leading prelates, who maintained 
 the supremacy of the old metropolis superior to all, and of the reigning 
 capital, inferior to none, in the Christian world. About the middle of 
 the ninth century, Photius, an ambitious layman, the captain of the 
 guard and principal secretary, was promoted (a.D. 857 — 886) by merit 
 and favour to the more desirable office of patriarch of Constantinople. 
 In science, even ecclesiastical science, he surpassed the clergy of the 
 age ; and the purity of his morals has never been impeached : but his 
 ordination was hasty, his rise was irregular ; and Ignatius, his abdi- 
 cated predecessor, was yet supported by the public compassion and
 
 434 THE POPE EX'COMMUmCA TES THE GREEK PA TRIARCH. 
 
 the obstinacy of his adherents. They appealed to the tribunal of 
 Nicholas the first, one of the proudest and most aspiring of the Roman 
 pontiffs, who embraced the uclcome opportunity of judging and con- 
 demning his rival of the East. Their quarrel was embittered by a 
 conflict of jurisdiction over the king and nation of the Bulgarians ; 
 nor was their recent conversion to Christianity of much avail to either 
 prelate^ unless he could number the proselytes among the subjects ol 
 his power. With the aid of his court the Greek patriarch was victo- 
 rious ; but in the furious contest he deposed in his turn the successor 
 of St. Peter, and involved the Latin church in the reproach of heresy 
 and schism. Photius sacrificed the peace of the world to a short and 
 precarious reign : he fell with his patron, the Csesar Bardas ; and 
 Basil the Macedonian performed an act of justice in the restoration 
 of Ignatius, whose age and dignity had not been sufficiently respected. 
 From his monastery, or prison, Photius solicited the favour of the 
 emperor by pathetic complaints and artful flattery ; and the eyes of 
 his rival were scarcely closed, when he was again restored to the throne 
 of Constantinople. After the death of Basil, he experienced the vicis- 
 situdes of courts and the ingratitude of a royal pupil : the patriarch 
 was again deposed, and in his last solitary hours he might regret the 
 freedom of a secular and studious life. In each revolution, the 
 breath, the nod, of the sovereign had been accepted by a submissive 
 clergy ; and a synod of 300 bishops was always prepared to hail the 
 triumph, or to stigmatise the fall, of the holy, or the execrable Photius. 
 By a delusive promise of succour or reward, the popes were tempted to 
 countenance these various proceedings ; and the synods of Constan- 
 tinople were ratified by their epistles or legates. But the court 
 and the people, Ignatius and Photius, were equally adverse to their 
 claims ; their ministers were insulted or imprisoned ; the proces- 
 sion of the Holy Ghost was forgotten ; Bulgaria was for ever an- 
 nexed to the Byzantine throne ; and the schism was prolonged by the 
 rigid censure of all the multiplied ordinations of an irregular patriarch. 
 The darkness and corruption of the tenth century suspended the in- 
 tercourse, without reconciling the minds, of the two nations. But 
 v.hen the Norman sword restored the churches of Apulia to the juris- 
 diction of Rome, the departing flock was warned, by a petulant epistle 
 of the Greek patriarch, to avoid and abhor the errors of the Latins. 
 The rising majesty of Rome could no longer brook the insolence of a 
 rebel ; and Michael Cerularius was excommunicated in the heart 
 of Constantinople by the pope's legates. Shaking the dust from their 
 feet, they (a.d. 1054. July 16) deposited on the altar of St. Sophia a 
 direful anathema, which enumerates the seven mortal heresies of the 
 Greeks, and devotes the guilty teachers, and their unhappy sectaries, 
 to the eternal society of the devil and his angels. According to the 
 emergencies of the church '"^d state, a friendly correspondence was
 
 f/rsTORy OP Tiin crusades. 4-55 
 
 sometimes resumed ; the language of charity and concord was some- 
 times affected ; but the Greeks have never recanted their errors ; 
 the popes have never repealed their sentence : and from this thund'er- 
 bolt we may date the consummation of the schism. It was en- 
 larged by each ambitious step of the Roman pontiffs : the emperors 
 blushed and trembled at the ignominious fate of their royal bretnrcn 
 of Germany ; and the people were scandalized by the temporal power 
 and military life of the Latin clergy. 
 
 The aversion of the Greeks and Latins was nourished and mani- 
 fested (a.d, 1 100 — 1200) in the three first expeditions to the Holy 
 Land. Alexius Comnenus contrived the absence at least of the 
 formidable pilgrims : his successors, Manuel and Isaac Angelus, con- 
 spired with the Moslems for the ruin of the greatest princes of the 
 Franks ; and their crooked and malignant policy was seconded by the 
 active and voluntary obedience of every order of their subjects. Ot 
 this hostile temper, a large portion may doubtless be ascribed to the 
 difference of language, dress, and manners, which severs and alienates 
 the nations of the globe. The pride, as well as the prudence, of the 
 sovereign was deeply wounded by the intrusion of foreign armies, that 
 claimed a right of traversing his dominions and passing under the 
 walls of his capital : his subjects were insulted and plundered by the 
 rude strangers of the West ; and the hatred of the pusillanimous 
 Greeks was sharpened by secret envy of the bold and pious enter- 
 prises of the Franks. But these profane causes oi national enmity 
 were fortified and inflamed by the venom of religious zeal. Instead 
 of a kind embrace, an hospitable reception, from their Christian 
 brethren of the East, every tongue was taught to repeat the names oi 
 schismatic and heretic, more odious to an orthodox ear than those oi 
 pagan and infidel : instead of being loved for the general conformity 
 of faith and worship, they were abhorred for some rules of discipline, 
 some questions of theology, in which themselves or their teachers 
 might differ from the Oriental church. In the crusade of Louis the 
 seventh, the Greek clergy washed and purified the altars which had 
 been defiled by the sacrifice of a French priest. The companions ol 
 Frederic Barbaiossa deplore the injuries which they endured, both in 
 word and deed, from the peculiar rancour of the bishops and monks. 
 Their prayers and sermons excited the people against the impious 
 Barbarians ; and the patriarch is accused of declaring, that the faith- 
 ful might obtain the redemption of all their sins by the extirpation ol 
 the schismatics. An enthusiast, named Dorotheus, alarmed the fears, 
 and restored the confidence, of the emperor, by a prophetic assurance, 
 that the German heretic, after assaulting the gate of Blachernes, 
 would be made a signal example of the divine vengeance. The 
 passage of these mighty armies were rare and perilous events ; but the 
 crusades introduced a frequent and familiar intercourse between the
 
 ^•^6 MASSACRE OF THE LA TINS A T CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 two nations, which enlarged their knowledge without abating iheir 
 v?rejudices. The wealth and luxury of Constantinople demanded the 
 productions of every climate : these imports were balanced by the art 
 and labour of her numerous inhabitants ; her situation invites the 
 commerce of the world ; and, in every period of her existence, that 
 commerce has been in the hands of foreigners. After the decline of 
 Amalphi, the Venetians, Pisans, and Genoese, introduced their fac- 
 tories and settlements into the capital of the empire : their services 
 were rewarded with honours and immunities ; they acquired the pos- 
 session of lands and houses ; their families were multiplied by mar- 
 riages with the natives ; and, after the toleration of a Mahometan 
 mosque, it was impossible to interdict the churches of the Roman 
 rite. The two wives of Manuel Comnenus were of the race of the 
 Franks ; the first, a sister-in-law of the emperor Conrad ; the second, 
 a daughter of the prince of Antioch : he obtained for his son Alexius a 
 daughter of Philip Augustus king of France ; and he bestowed his 
 own daughter on a marquis of Montferrat, who was educated and dig- 
 nified in the palace of Constantinople. The Greek encountered the 
 arms, and aspired to the empire, of the West ; he esteemed the valour, 
 and trusted the fidelity, of the Franks ; their military talents were un- 
 fitly recompensed by the lucrative offices of judges and treasurers ; the 
 policy of Manuel had solicited the alliance of the pope ; and the popu- 
 lar voice accused him of a partial bias to the nation and religion of the 
 Latins. During his reign, and that of his successor Alexius, they were 
 exposed at Constantinople to the reproach of foreigners, heretics, and 
 favourites ; and this triple guilt was severely expiated in the tumult, 
 which announced the return and elevation of Andronicus. The people 
 rose (A-D. 1 1 83) in arms ; from the Asiatic shore the tyrant dispatched 
 his troops and galleys to assist the national revenge ; and the hopeless 
 resistance of the strangers served only to justify the rage, and sharpen 
 the daggers, of the assassins. Neither age, nor sex, nor the ties of 
 friendship or kindred, could save the victims of national hatred, and 
 avarice, and religious zeal : the Latins were slaughtered in their 
 houses and in the streets ; their quarter was reduced to ashes ; the 
 clergy were burnt in their churches, and the sick in their hospitals ; 
 and some estimate may be formed of the slain from the clemency 
 which sold above 4000 Christians in perpetual slavery to the Turks, 
 The priests and monks were the loudest and most active in the de- 
 struction of the schismatics ; and they chaunted a thanksgiving to the 
 Lord, when the head of a Roman cardinal, the pope's legate, was 
 severed from his body, fastened to the tail of a dog, and dragged, with 
 savage mockery, through the city. The more diligent of the strangers 
 had retreated, on the first alarm, to their vessels, and escaped through 
 the Hellespont from the scene of blood. In their flight, they burnt 
 and ravaged 200 miles of the sea-coast ; inflicted a severe revenge on
 
 mSTOR Y OP THE CR USADES. 437 
 
 the guiltless subjects of the empire ; marked the priesls and monks as 
 their peculiar enemies ; and compensated, by the accumulation of 
 plunder, the loss of their [Property and friends. On their return, they 
 exposed to Italy and Europe the wealth and weakness, the perfidy 
 and malice, of the Greeks, whose vices were painted as the genuine 
 characters of heresy and schism. The scruples of the first crusaders 
 had neglected the fairest opportunities of securing, by the possession 
 of Constantinople, the way to the Holy Land : a domestic revolution 
 invited, and almost compelled, the French and Venetians to achieve 
 the conquest of the Roman empire of the east. 
 
 In the series of the Byzantine princes, I have exhibited the hypocrisy 
 and ambition, the tyranny and fall, of An i!ronicus, the last male of the 
 Comnenian family who reigned at Conr.tantinople. The revolution, 
 which cast him headlong from the throne, saved and exalted Isaac 
 Angelus (a.d. j 185— i 195, Sept. 12), who descended by the females 
 from the same imperial dynasty. The successor of a second Nero 
 might have found it an easy task to deserve the esteem and affection 
 ot his subjects : they sometimes had reason to regret the administra- 
 tion ol Andronicus. The sound and vigorous mind of the tyrant was 
 capable ol discerning the connexion between his own and the public 
 interest ; and while he was feared by all who could inspire him with 
 fear, the unsuspected people, and the remote provinces, might bless 
 the inexorable justice of their master. But his successor was vain 
 and jealous of the supreme power, which he wanted courage and 
 al)i!ities to exercise ; his vices were pernicious, his virtues (if he pos- 
 sessed any virtues) were useless to mankind ; and the Greeks, who 
 imputed their calamities to his negligence, denied him the merit of 
 any transient or accidental benefits of the times. Isaac slept on the 
 throne, and was awakened only by the sound of pleasure : his vacant 
 hours were amused by comedians and buffoons, and even to these 
 buffoons the emperor was an object of contempt ; his feasts and build- 
 ings exceeded the examples of royal luxury ; the number of his 
 eunuchs and domestics amounted to 20,000 ; and a daily sum of 4000 
 pounds of silver would swell to four millions sterling the annual 
 expcnce of his household and table. His poverty was relieved by 
 oppression ; and the public discontent was inflamed by equal abuses 
 in the collection, and the application, of the revenue. While the 
 (Irceks numbered the days of their servitude, a flattering prophet, 
 whom he rewarded with the dignity of patriarch, assured him of a 
 long and victorious reign of thirty-two years ; during which he should 
 extend his sway to mount Libanus, and his conquests beyond the 
 Euphrates. But his only step towards tJv> accomplishment of the 
 prediction, was a splendid and scandalo'.a embassy to Saladin, to 
 demand the restitution of the holy sepulchre, and to propose an 
 offensive and defensive leagut with the enemy oi the Cliristian name, 
 
 V V
 
 438 REIGNS OF ISA AC A NGEL US AND A LEXIUS A NGEL US. 
 
 In these unworthy hands, of Isaac and his brother, the remains of the 
 Greek empire crumbled into dust. The island of Cyprus, whose 
 name excites the ideas of elegance and pleasure, was usurped by his 
 namesake, a Comnenian prince : and by a strange concatenation of 
 events, the sword of our Richard bestowed that kingdom on the house 
 of Lusignan, a rich compensation for the loss of Jerusalem. 
 
 The honour of the monarchy, and the safety of the capital, were 
 deeply wounded by the revolt (a.d. 1186) of the Bulgarians and Wal- 
 lachians. Since the victory of the second Basil, they had supported, 
 above 170 years, the loose dominion of the Byzantine princes ; but no 
 effectual measures had been adopted to impose the yoke of laws and 
 manners on these savage tribes. By the command of Isaac, their 
 sole means of subsistence, their flocks and herd'*, were driven away, 
 to contribute towards the pomp of the royal nuptials : and their fierce 
 warriors were exasperated by the denial of equal rank and pay in the 
 military service. Peter and Asan, two powerful chiefs, of the race of 
 the ancient kings, asserted their own rights and the national freedom : 
 their demoniac impostors proclaimed to the crowd that their glorious 
 patron St. Demetrius had for ever desec ted the cause of the Greeks ; 
 and the conflagration spread from the banks of the Danube to the 
 hills of Macedonia and Thrace, After some faint efforts, Isaac An- 
 gclus and his brother acquiesced in their independence ; and the Im- 
 perial troops were soon discouraged by the bones of their fellow- 
 S'jldiers, that were scattered along the passes of mount Haemus. By 
 the arms and policy of John or Joannices, the second kingdom of Bul- 
 garia was firmly established. The subtle Barbarian sent an embassy 
 to Innocent the third, to acknowledge himself a genuine son of Rome 
 in descent and religion ; and humbly received from the pope the 
 licence of coining money, the royal title, and a Latin archbishop or 
 patriarch. The Vatican exulted in the spiritual conquest of Bulgaria, 
 the first object of the schism ; and if the Greeks could have preserved 
 the prerogatives of the church, they would gladly have resigned the 
 rights of the monarchy. 
 
 The Bulgarians were malicious enough to pray for the long life of 
 Isaac Angelus, the surest pledge of their freedom and prosperity. 
 Yet their chiefs could involve in the same indiscriminate contempt, 
 the family and nation of the emperor. " In all the Greeks," said 
 Asan to his troops, " the same climate, and character, and education, 
 will be productive of the same fruits. Behold my lance," continued 
 the warrior, " and the long streamers that float in the wind. They 
 differ only in colour ; they are formed of the same silk and fashioned 
 by the same workman ; nor has the stripe that is stained in purple 
 any superior price or value above its fellows." Several of these 
 candidates for the purple successively rose and fell under the empire 
 of Isaac : a general who had repelled the fleets of Sicily, was drivea
 
 ttlSTOR Y OF THE CR USADES. 43 q 
 
 to revolt and ruin by the ingratitude of the prince ; and his luxurious 
 repose was disturbed by secret conspiracies and popular insurrections. 
 The emperor was saved by accident, or the merit of his servants : he 
 u'as at length oppressed by an ambitious brother, who, for the hope 
 of a precarious diadem, forgot the obligations of nature, of loyalty, 
 and of friendship. While Isaac in the Thracian valleys pursued the 
 idle and solitary pleasures of the chase, his brother, Alexius Angekis, 
 was (a.d. 1203, April 8) invested with the purple, by the unanim- 
 ous suffrage of the camp : the capital and the clergy subscribed to 
 their choice ; and the vanity of the new sovereign rejected the name 
 of his fathers, for the lofty and royal appellation of the Comnenian 
 race. On the despicable character of Isaac I have exhausted the 
 language of contempt ; and can only add, that in a reign of eight 
 \ cars, the baser Alexius was supported by the masculine vices of his 
 Arife Euphrosyne. The first intelligence of his fall was conveyed to 
 the late emperor by the hostile aspect and pursuit of the guards, no 
 longer his own : he fled before them above fifty miles as far as Stagyra 
 in Macedonia ; but the fugitive, without an object or a follower, was 
 arrested, brought back to Constantinople, deprived of his eyes, and 
 confined in a lonesome tower, on a scanty allowance of bread and 
 v.atcr. At the moment of the revolution, his son Alexius, whom he 
 educated in the hope of empire, was twelve years of age. He was 
 spared by the usurper, and reduced to attend his triumph both in 
 I cace and war ; but as the army was encamped on the sea-shore, an 
 Italinn vessel facilitated the escape of the royal youth ; and, in the 
 disguise of a common sailor, he eluded the search of his enemies, 
 passed the Hellespont, and found a secure refuge in the isle of Sicily. 
 Afier saluting the threshold of the apostles, and imploring the pro- 
 tection of Pope Innocent the third, Alexius accepted the kind invita- 
 tion of his sister Irene, the wife of Philip of Swabia, king of the 
 Romans. But in his passage through Italy he heard that the flower 
 of Western chivalry was assembled at Venice for the deliverance of 
 the Holy Land ; and a ray of hope was kindled in his bosom, that 
 their invincible swords might be employed in his father's restoration. 
 
 About ten or twelve years after the loss of Jerusalem, the nobles of 
 France were (a.d. 1198) again summoned to the holy war by the voice 
 of a third prophet, less extravagant, perhaps, than Peter the hermit, 
 but far below St. Bernard in the merit of an orator and a statesman. 
 An illiterate priest of the neighbourhood of Paris, Fulk of N/^My, 
 f ;TSOok his parochial duty, to assume the more flattering character of a 
 popular and itinerant missionary. Thefam.e of his sanctity and miracles 
 war «pread over the land ; he declaimed, with severity and vehemence, 
 against live vices of the age ; and his sermons, which he preached ia 
 the streets of Paris, converted the robbers, the usurers, the prostitutes, 
 and even the doctors and scholars of the university. No sooner did Inno«
 
 4 .10 T//^ FOURTH CR VSAT)E.-FVLK OP NEVILLY. 
 
 cent the third ascend the chair of St. Peter, than he proclaimed in 
 Italy, Germany and France, the obhgation of a new crusade. The 
 eloquent pontiff described the ruin of Jerusalem, the triumph of the 
 Pagans, and the shame of Christendom : h's liberality proposed the 
 redemption of sins, a plenary indulgence to all who should serve in 
 Palestine, either a year in person, or two years by a substitute ; and 
 among his legates and orators who blew the sacred trumpet, Fulk of 
 Neuilly was the loudest and most successful. The situation of the 
 principal monarchs was averse to the pious summons. The emperor 
 Frederic the second was a child ; and his kingdom of Germany was 
 disputed by the rival houses of Brunswick and Swabia, the memorable 
 factions of the Guelphs and Ghibelines. Philip Augustus of France 
 had performed, and could not be persuaded to renew, the perilous 
 vow ; but as he was not less ambitious of praise than of power, he 
 cheerfully instituted a perpetual fund for the defence of the Holy 
 Land. Richard of England was satiated with the glory and mis- 
 fortunes of his first adventure, and he presumed to deride the exhorta- 
 tions of Fulk of Neuilly, who was not abashed in the presence of 
 Icings. "You advise me," said Plantagenet, "to dismiss my three 
 cUughters, pride, avarice, and incontinence : I bequeath them to the 
 most deserving ; my pride to the knights-templars, my avarice to the 
 monks of Cisteaux, and my incontinence to the prelates." But the 
 preacher was heard and obeyed by the great vassals, the princes of the 
 second order ; and Theobald, or Thibaut, count of Champagne, was 
 the foremost in the holy race. The valiant youth, at the age of twenty- 
 two years, was encouraged by the domestic examples of his father, 
 who marched in the second crusade, and of his elder brother, who 
 had ended his days in Palestine with the title of king of Jerusalem : 
 two thousand two hundred knights owed service and homage to his 
 peerage : the nobles of Champagne excelled in all the exercises of 
 war ; and by his marriage with the heiress of Navarre, Thibaut 
 could draw a band of hardy Gascons from either side of the Pyrcnaean 
 mountains. His companion in arms was Louis, count of Blois and 
 Chartres ; like himself of regal lineage, for both the princes were 
 nephews, at the same time, of the kings of France and England, In 
 a crowd of prelates and barons, who imitated then" zeal, I distinguish 
 the birth and merit of Matthew of Montmorency ; the famous Simon 
 of Montfort, the scourge of the Albigeois ; and a valiant noble, Jeffrey 
 of Villehardouin, marshal of Champagne, who has condescended, in 
 tlie rude idiom of his age and country, to write or dictate an original 
 narrative of the councils and actions, in which he bore a memorable 
 liart. At the same time, Baldwin count of Flanders, who had married 
 tlie sister of Thibaut, assumed the cross at Bruges, with his brother 
 Henry and the principal knights and citizens of that rich and in- 
 dustrious province. The vow which the chiefs had pronounced in
 
 HISTORY OF THE CMUSADE.S. 44I 
 
 churches, they ratified in tournaments . the operations of the war were 
 dcliated in full and frequent assemblies ; and it was resolved to seek 
 the deliverance of Palestine in Egypt, a country, since Saladin's death, 
 which was almost ruined by famine and civil war. But the fate ot 
 so many royal armies displayed the toils and perils of a land expedi- 
 tion ; and, if the Flemings dwelt along the ocean, the French barons 
 were destitute of ships and ignorant of navigation. They embraced 
 the wise resolution of chusing six deputies or representatives, of whom 
 Villehardouin was one, with a discretionary trust to direct the motions, 
 and to pledge the faith, of the whole confederacy. The maritime 
 states of Italy were alone possessed of the means of transporting the 
 holy warriors with their arms and horses ; and the six deputies pro- 
 ceeded to Venice to solicit, on motives of piety or interest, the aid ot 
 that powerful republic. 
 
 In the invasion of Italy by Attila, I have mentioned the flight (A.D. 
 697) of the Venetians from the fallen cities of the continent, and 
 their obscure shelter in the chain of islands that line the extremity of 
 the Hadriatic gulf. In the midst of the waters, free, indigent, labo- 
 rious, and inaccessible, they gradually coalesced into a republic : the 
 first foundations of Venice were laid in the island of Rialto ; and the 
 annual election of the twelve tribunes was superseded by the perma- 
 nent office of a duke or doge. On the verge of the two empires the 
 Venetians exult in the belief of primitive and perpetual independence. 
 Against the Latins, their antique freedom has been asserted by the 
 sword, and may be justified by the pen. Charlemagne'himself resigned 
 all claims of sovereignty to the islands of the Hadriatic gulf; his son 
 Pepin was repulsed in the attacks of the lagunas or canals, too deep 
 for the cavalry, and too shallow for the vessels ; and in every age, 
 under the German Cjesars, the lands of the republic have been clearly 
 distinguished from the kingdom of Italy. But the inhabitants ot 
 Venice were considered by themselves, by strangers, and by their 
 sovereigns, as an inalienable portion of the Greek empire ; in the 
 ninth and tenth centuries, the proofs of their subjection are numerous 
 and unquestionable ; and the vain titles, the servile honours, of the 
 Bycantine court, so ambitiously solicited by their dukes, would have 
 degraded the magistrates of a free people. But the bands of this 
 dependence, which was never absolute or rigid, were imperceptibly re- 
 laxed by the ambition of Venice and the weakness of Constantinople. 
 Obedience was softened into respect, privilege ripened into prerogative, 
 and the freedom of domestic government was fortified by the inde- 
 pendence of foreign dominion. The maritime cities of Istria and Dal- 
 matU bowed to the sovereigns of the Hadriatic ; and when they armed 
 against the Nonnans in the cause of Alexius, the emperor applied, not 
 to the duty of his subjects, but to the gratitude and generosity of his 
 ^liLlnid allies The sea was their patrimony ; the western parts of the
 
 442 KENRY DANDOLOf THE BLIND DOGE OF VENICE. 
 
 Mediterranean, from Tuscany to Gibraltar, were indeed abandoned to 
 their rivals of Pisa and Genoa ; but the Venetians acquired an early 
 and lucrative share of the commerce of Greece and Egypt. Their 
 riches increased with the increasing demand of Europe : their manu- 
 factures of silk and glass, perhaps the institution of their bank, are of 
 high antiquity ; and they enjoyed the fruits of their industry in the 
 magnificence of public and private life. To assert her flag, to avenge 
 her injuries, to protect the freedom of navigation, the republic could 
 launch and man a fleet of an hundred galleys ; and the Greeks, the 
 Saracens, and the Normans, were encountered by her naval arms. 
 The Franks of Syria were assisted by the Venetians in the reduction 
 of the sea-coast ; but their zeal was neither blind nor disinterested ; 
 and in the conquest of Tyre, they shared the sovereignty of a city, 
 the first seat of the commerce of the world. The policy of Venice 
 was marked by the avarice of a trading, and the insolence of a mari- 
 time power ; yet her ambition was prudent ; nor did she often forget 
 that if armed galleys were the effect and safeguard, merchant vessels 
 v;ere the cause and supply, of her greatness. In her religion she 
 avoided the schism of the Greeks, without yielding a servile obedience 
 to the Roman pontiff ; and a free intercourse with the infidels of every 
 clime appears to have allayed betimes the fever of superstition. Her 
 primitive government was a loose mixture of democracy and mon- 
 archy : the doge was elected by the votes of the general assembly ; as 
 long as he was popular and successful, he reigned with the pomp and 
 authority of a prince ; but in the frequent revolutions of the state, he 
 was deposed, or banished, or slain, by the justice or injustice of the 
 multitude. The twelfth century produced the first rudiments of the 
 wise and jealous aristocracy, which has reduced the doge to a pageant 
 and the people to a cipher. 
 
 When the six ambassadors of the French pilgrims arrived (a.d. 1201) 
 at Venice, they were hospitably entertained in the palace of St. Mark, 
 by the reigning doge : his name was Henry Dandolo ; and he shone 
 in the last period of human life as one of the most illustrious charac- 
 ters of the times. Under the weight of years, and after the loss of 
 his eyes, Dandolo retained a sound understanding and a manly 
 courage ; the spirit of an hero, ambitious to signalize his reign by 
 some memorable exploits, and the wisdom of a patriot, anxious to 
 build his fame on the glory and advantage of his country. He pi^aised 
 the bold enthusiana and liberal confidence of the barons and their 
 deputies ; in such a cause, and with such associates, he should aspire, 
 Vv'ere he a private man, to terminate his life ; but he was the servant of 
 the republic, and some delay was requisite to consult, on this arduous 
 business, the judgment of his colleagues. The pi'oposal of the French 
 was first debated by the six sages who had been recently appointed to 
 control the administration of the doge ; it was next disclosed to the
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 443 
 
 forty members of the council of state ; and finally communicated to 
 the legislative assembly of four hundred and fifty representatives, who 
 were annually chosen in the six quarters of the city. In peace and 
 war, the doge was still the chief of the republic ; his legal authority 
 was supported by the personal reputation of Dandolo : his arguments 
 of public interest were balanced and approved ; and he was authorized 
 to inform the ambassadors of the following conditions of the treaty. 
 It was proposed that the crusaders should assemble at Venice, on the 
 feast of St. John of the ensuing year : that flat-bottomed vessels should 
 be prepared for 4500 horses, and 9000 squires, with a number of 
 ships sufficient for the embarkation of 4500 knights, and 20,000 foot ; 
 that during a term of nine months they should be supplied with pro- 
 visions, and transported to whatsoever coast the sei'vice of God and 
 Christendom should require ; and that the republic should join the 
 armament with a squadron of fifty galleys. It was required, that the 
 pilgrims should pay, before their departure, a sum of 85,000 marks of 
 silver; and that all conquests, by sea and land, should be equally 
 divided between the confederates. The terms were hard ; but the 
 emergency was pressing, and the French barons were not less profuse 
 of money than of blood. A general assembly was convened to ratify 
 the treaty ; the stately chapel and place of St. Mark were filled with 
 10,000 citizens ; and the noble deputies were taught a new lesson of 
 humbling themselves before the majesty of the people. " Illustrious 
 Venetians," said the marshal of Champagne, "we are sent by the 
 greatest and most powerful barons of France, to implore the aid of 
 the masters of the sea for the deliverance of Jerusalem. They have 
 enjoined us to fall prostrate at your feet ; nor will we rise from the 
 ground, till you have promised to avenge with us the injuries of 
 Christ." The eloquence of their j^words and tears, their martial 
 aspect, and suppliant attitude, were applauded by an universal shout ; 
 as it were, says Jeffrey, by the sound of an earthquake. The venerable 
 doge ascended the pulpit to urge their request by those motives of 
 honour and virtue, which alone can be offered to a popular assembly ; 
 the treaty was transcribed on parchment ; attested with oaths and 
 seals, mutually accepted by the weeping and joyful representatives of 
 France and Venice ; and despatched to Rome for the approbation of 
 poi>e Innocent the third. Two thousand marks were borrowed of the 
 merchants for the first expences of the armament. Of the six depu- 
 ties, two repassed the Alps to announce their success while their four 
 companions made a fruitless trial of the zeal and emulation of tlie re- 
 publics of Genoa and Pisa. 
 
 The execution of the treaty was still opposed by unforeseen diffi- 
 culiies and delays. The marshal, on his return to Troyes, was em- 
 braced and approved by Thibaut count of Champagne, who had been 
 unanimously chosen general of the confederates. But the health of
 
 444 BONIFACE, MARQUIS OF MONTSERRAT, THE CRUSADER. 
 
 that valiant youth aheady decUned, and soon became hopeless ; and 
 he deplored the untimely fate, which condemned him to expire, not in 
 a field of battle, but on a bed of sickness. To his brave and numerous 
 vassals, the dying prince distributed his treasures : they swore in his 
 presence to accomplish his vow and their own ; but some there were, 
 says the marshal, who accepted his gifts and forfeited their word. The 
 more resolute champions of the cross held a parliament at Soissons for 
 the election of a new general, but such was the incapacity, or jealousy, 
 or reluctance of the princes of France, that none could be found both 
 able and willing to assume the conduct of the enterprise. They ac- 
 quiesced in the choice of a stranger, of Boniface marquis of Mont- 
 ferrat, descended of a race of heroes, and himself of conspicuous fame 
 in the wars and negociations of the times ; nor could the piety or am- 
 bition of the Italian chief decline this honourable invitation. After 
 visiting the French court, where he was received as a friend and kins- 
 man, the marquis, in the church of Soissons, was invested with the 
 cross of a pilgrim and the staff of a general ; and immediately repassed 
 the Alps, to prepare for the distant expedition of the East. About the 
 festival of the Pentecost he displayed his banner, and marched towards 
 Venice at the head of the Italians : he was preceded or followed by 
 the counts of Flanders and Blois, and the most respectable barons of 
 France ; and their numbers were swelled by the pilgrims of Germany, 
 whose object and motives were similar to their own. The Venetians 
 had fulfilled, and even surpassed, their engagements : siables were 
 constructed for the horses, and barracks for the troops ; the magazines 
 were abundantly replenished with forage and provisions ; and the fleet 
 of transports, ships, and galleys was ready to hoist sail, as soon as the 
 republic had received the price of the freight and armament. But 
 that price far exceeded the wealth of the crusaders who were assembled 
 at Venice. The Flemings, whose obedience to their count was volun- 
 tary and precarious, had embarked in their vessels for the long navi- 
 gation of the ocean and Mediterranean ; and many of the French and 
 Italians had preferred a cheaper and more convenient passage from 
 Marseilles and Apulia to the Holy Land, Each pilgrim might com- 
 plain that after he had furnished his own contribution he was made 
 responsible for the deficiency of his absent brethren : the gold and 
 silver plate of the chiefs, which they freely delivered to the treasury of 
 St. Mark, was a generous but inadequate sacrifice ; and after all their 
 efforts, 34,000 marks were still wanting to complete the stipulated sum. 
 The obstacle was removed by the policy and patriotism of the doge, 
 who proposed (a.d. 1202. October 8) to the barons, that if they would 
 join their anns in reducing some revolted cities of Dalmatia, he would 
 expose his person in the holy war, and obtain from the republic a long 
 indulgence, till some wealthy conquest should afford the means of 
 satisfying the debt After much scruple and hesitation they cliose
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 445 
 
 rather to accept the offer than to rehnquish the enterprise ; and the 
 fust hostilities of the fleet and army wei-e (Nov. 10) directed against 
 Zara, a strong- city of the Sclavonian coast, which had renounced its 
 allegiance to \'enice, and implored the protection of the king of Hun- 
 gary. The crusaders burst the chain or boom of the harbour ; landed 
 their horses, troops, and military engines ; and compelled the inhabit- 
 ants, after a defence of five days, to surrender at discretion ; their lives 
 were spared, but the revolt was punished by the pillage of their houses 
 and the demolition of their walls. The season was far advanced ; the 
 French and Venetians resolved to pass the winter in a secure harbour 
 and plentiful country ; but their repose was disturbed by national and 
 tumultuous quarrels of the soldiers and mariners. The conquest of 
 Zara had scattered the seeds of discord and scandal : the arms of the 
 allies had been stained in their outset with the blood, not of infidels, 
 but of Christians : the king of Hungary and his new subjects were 
 themselves enlisted under the banner of the cross ; and the scruples 
 of the devout were magnified by the fear or lassitude of the reluctant 
 pilgrims. The pope had excommunicated the false crusaders who had 
 pillaged and massacred their brethren, and only the marquis Boniface 
 and Simon ot Montfort escaped these spiritual thunders ; the one by 
 his absence from the siege, the other by his final departure from the 
 camp. Innocent might absolve the siniple and submissive penitents 
 of France ; but he was provoked by the stubborn reason of the Vene- 
 tians, who refused to confess their guilt, to accept their pardon, or to 
 allow, in their temooral concerns, the interposition of a priest. 
 
 The assembly 01 such formidable powers by sea and land, had re- 
 vived the hopes of young Alexius ; and, both at Venice and Zara, he 
 solicited the arms of the crusaders, for his own restoration and his 
 father's deliverance. The royal youth was recommended by Philip 
 king of Germany : his prayers and presence excited the compassion 
 of the camp ; and his cause was embraced and pleaded by the mar- 
 quis of Montferrat and the doge of Venice. A double alliance, and 
 the dignity of Ciesar, had connected with the Imperial family the two 
 elder brothers of Boniface : he expected to derive a kingdom from 
 the important service ; and the more generous ambition of Dandolo 
 was eager to secure the inestimable benefits of trade and dominion 
 that might accrue to his country. Their influence procured a favour- 
 .ible audience for the ambassadors of Alexius : and if the magnitude 
 ot his offers excited some suspicion, the motives and rewards which he 
 displayed might justify the delay and diversion of those forces which 
 had been consecrated to the deliverance of Jerusalem. He promised, 
 in his own and his father's name, that as soon as they should be 
 seated on the throne of Constantinople, they would terminate the long 
 schism of the Greeks, and submit themselves and their people to the 
 lau'fuJ supremacy ol the Ronixn chuichu He engaged to rrrom^^eusc
 
 446 THE COUNTS OF FLANDERS^ BLOJS, AND SAINT POL. \ 
 
 the labours and merits of the crusaders, by the immediate payment of i 
 200,000 marks of silver ; to accompany them in person to Egypt ; or, | 
 if it should be judged more advantageous, to maintain during a year, i 
 10,000 men, and, during his life, 500 knights, for the service of the 1 
 Holy Land. These tempting conditions were accepted by the republic ' 
 of Venice ; and the eloquence of the doge and marquis persuaded the i 
 counts of Flanders, Blois, and St. Pol, with eight barons of France, 
 to join in the glorious enterprise. A treaty of offensive and defensive ' 
 alliance was confirmed by their oaths and seals ; and each individual, 
 according to his situation and character, was swayed by the hope of 
 public or private advantage : by the honour of restoring a.n exiled | 
 monarch ; or by the sincere and probable opinion, that their efforts in ■ 
 Palestine would be fruitless and unavailing, and that the acquisition of '■ 
 Constantinople must precede and prepare the recovery of Jerusalem. . 
 But they were the chiefs or equals of a valiant band of freemen and j 
 volunteers, who thought and acted for themselves : the soldiers and : 
 clergy were divided ; and, if a large majority subscribed to the alliance, I 
 the numbers and arguments of the dissidents were strong and respec- ■ 
 table. The boldest hearts wei'e appalled by the report of the naval ; 
 power and impregnable strength of Constantinople ; and their appre- 
 hensions were disguised to the world, and perhaps to themselves, by \ 
 the more decent objections of religion and duty. They alleged the ; 
 sanctity of a vow, which had drawn them from their families and homes i 
 to the rescue of the holy sepulchre ; nor should the dark and crooked 
 counsels of human policy divert them from a pursuit, the event of which j 
 was in the hands of the Almighty. Their first offence, the attack of * 
 Zara, had been severely punished by the reproach of their conscience j 
 and the censures of the pope ; nor would they again imbrue their hands •; 
 in the blood of their fellow-Christians. The apostle of Rome had pro- ;i 
 nounced ; nor would they usurp the right of avenging with the sword ■; 
 the schism of the Greeks, and the doubtful usurpation of the Byzantine { 
 monarch. On these principles or pretences, many pilgrims, the most '" 
 distinguished for their valour and piety, withdrew from the camp ; and 't 
 their retreat was less pernicious than the open or secret opposition of ; 
 a discontented party, that laboured, on every occasion, to separate the « 
 army and disappoint the enterprise. « 
 
 Notwithstanding this defection, the departure of the fleet and army J 
 was vigorously pressed by the Venetians ; whose zeal for the service of 
 the royal youth concealed a just resentment to his nation and family. . 
 They were mortified (a.d. 1203. April 7 — June 24) by the recent pre- . 
 ference which had been given to Pisa, the rival of their trade ; they ■ 
 had a long arrear of debt and injury to liquidate with the Byzantine ■ 
 court ; and Dandolo might not discourage the popular tale, that he had 1 
 been deprived of his eyes by the emperor Manuel, who perfidiously ■ 
 violated the sanctity of an ambassador. A similar amiament, for
 
 HISTOR Y OF THE CR USA DES. 447 
 
 ages, had not rode the Hadriatic : it was composed of 120 flat-bottomed 
 vessels or palanders for the horses ; 240 transports filled with men and 
 arms ; 70 storeships laden with provisions ; and 50 stout galleys, well 
 prepared for the encounter of an enemy. While the wind was favour- 
 able, the sky serene, and the water smooth, every eye was fixed with 
 wonder and delight on the scene of military and naval pomp which 
 overspread the sea. The shields of the knights and squires, at once 
 an ornament and a defence, were arranged on either side of the ships ; 
 the banners of the nations and families were displayed from the stern ; 
 our modern artillery was supplied by 300 engines for casting stones 
 and darts ; the fatigues of the way were cheered with the sound of 
 music ; and the spirits of the adventurers were raised by the mutual 
 assurance, that 40,000 Christian heroes were equal to the conquest of 
 the world. In the navigation from Venice and Zara, the fleet was suc- 
 cessfully steered by the skill and experience of the Venetian pilots : at 
 Durazzo, the confederates first landed on the territories of the Greek 
 empire : the isle of Corfu aftbrded a station and repose ; they doubled 
 without accident the perilous cape of Malea, the southern point of 
 Peloponnesus or the Morea ; made a descent in the islands of Negro- 
 pont and Andros ; and cast anchor in Abydos on the Asiatic side of 
 the Hellespont. These preludes of conquest were easy and bloodless : 
 the Greeks of the provinces, without patriotism or courage, were 
 crushed by an irresistible force ; the presence of the lawful heir might 
 justify their obedience ; and it was rewarded by the modesty and dis- 
 cipline of the Latins. As they penetrated through the Hellespont, 
 the magnitude of their navy was compressed in a narrow channel ; and 
 the face of the waters was darkened with innumerable sails. They 
 again expanded in the bason of the Propontis, and traversed that 
 placid sea, till they approached the European shore, at the abbey of 
 St. Stephen, three leagues to the west of Constantinople. The pru- 
 dent doge dissuaded them from dispersing themselves in a populous 
 and hostile land ; and as their stock of provisions was reduced, it was 
 resolved, in the season of harvest, to replenish their storeships in the 
 fertile islands of the Propontis. With this resolution, they directed 
 their course ; but a strong gale, and their own impatience, drove them 
 to the eastward ; and so near did they run to the shore and the city, 
 that some volleys of stones and darts were exchanged between the 
 ships and the rampart. As they passed along, they gazed with admi- 
 ration on the capital of the East, or, as it should seem, of the earth ; 
 rising from her seven hills, and towering over the continents of Europe 
 and Asia, The swelling domes and lofty spires of 500 palaces and 
 churches were gilded by the sun and reflected in the waters ; the walls 
 v/cre crowded with soldiers and spectators, whose numbers they beheld, 
 of whose temper they were ignorant ; and each heart was chilled by 
 the reflection, that, since the beginning of the world, such an enter-
 
 ^^S THE CREEKS ALARMED BY ADVANCE OP THE LATINS. 
 
 juize had never been undertaken by such an handful of warriors. But 
 the momentary apprehension was dispelled by hope and valour ; and 
 every man, says the marshal of Champagne, glanced his eye on the 
 sword or lance which he must speedily use in the glorious conflict. 
 The Latins cast anchor before Chalcedon ; the mariners only were left 
 in the vessels ; the soldiers, horses, and arms, were safely landed ; 
 and in the luxury of an Imperial palace, the barons tasted the first 
 fruits of their success. On the third day, the fleet and army moved 
 towards Scutari, the Asiatic suburb of Constantinople ; a detachment 
 of 500 Greek horse was surprised and defeated by 80 French knights ; 
 and in a halt of nine days, the camp was plentifully supplied with 
 forage and provisions. 
 
 In relating the invasion of a great empire, it may seem strange that 
 I have not described the obstacles which should have checked the pro- 
 gress of the strangers. The Greeks, in truth, were an unwarlike peo- 
 le ; but they were rich, industrious, and subject to the will of a single 
 man : had that man been capable of fear, when his enemies were at a 
 distance, or of courage when they approached his person. The first 
 rumour of his nephew's alliance with the French and Venetians was 
 despised by the usurper Alexius ; his flatterers persuaded him, that in 
 this contempt he was bold and sincere ; and each evening, in the close 
 of the banquet, he thrice discomfited the Barbarians of the West. 
 These Barbarians had been justly terrified by the report of his naval 
 power ; and the 1600 fishing boats of Constantinople could have manned 
 a fleet, to sink them in the Hadriatic, or stop their entrance in the 
 mouth of the Hellespont. But all force may be annihilated by the 
 negligence of the prince and the venality of his ministers. The great 
 duke, or admiral, made a scandalous, almost a public, auction of the 
 sails, the masts, and the rigging ; the royal forests were reserved 
 for the more important purpose of the chase ; and the trees, says 
 Nicetas, were guarded by the eunuchs, like the groves of religious 
 worship. From his dream of pride, Alexius was awakened by the 
 siege of Zara and the rapid advances of the Latins ; as soon as he saw 
 the danger was real, he thought it inevitable ; and his vain pre- 
 sumption was lost in abject despondency and despair. He suffered 
 these contemptible Barbarians to pitch their camp in the sight of 
 the palace ; and his apprehensions were thinly disguised by the pomp 
 and menace of a suppliant embassy. The sovereign of the Romans 
 was astonished (his ambassadors were instructed to say) at the hostile 
 appearance of the strangers. If these pilgrims were sincere in theii 
 vow for the deliverance of Jerusalem, his voice must applaud, and his 
 treasures should assist, their pious design : but should they dare to 
 invade the sanctuary of empire, their numbers, were they ten time, 
 more considerable, should not protect them from his just resentment 
 The ajiswer of Uae doge and barons was simple and magnaniniuui
 
 ftrS TOR y OP THE CR USADES. ^^g 
 
 " Tn the cause of honour and justice," they said, "we despise the 
 usurper of Greece, his threats, and his offers. Our friendship and /ii's 
 allegiance are due to the lawful heir, to the young prince who is 
 seated among us, and to his father, the emperor Isaac, who has 
 been deprived of his sceptre, his freedom, and his eyes, by the crime 
 of an ungrateful brother. Let that brother confess his guilty and 
 implore forgiveness, and we ourselves will intercede, that he may be 
 permitted to live in affluence and security. But let him not insult us 
 by a second message : our reply will be made in arms, in the palace 
 of Constantinople." 
 
 On the tenth day (July 6) of their encampment at Scutari, the cru- 
 saders prepared themselves, as soldiers and as Catholics, for the 
 passage of the Bosphorus. Perilous indeed was the adventure ; the 
 stream was broad and rapid : in a calm the current of the Euxine 
 might drive down the liquid and unextinguishable fires of the Greeks ; 
 and the opposite shores of Europe were defended by 70,000 horse 
 and foot in formidable array. On this memorable day, which hap- 
 pened to be bright and pleasant, the Latins were distributed in six 
 battles or divisions ; the first, or vanguard, was led by the count 01 
 Flanders, one of the most powerful of the Christian princes in the skill 
 and number of his cross-bows. The four successive battles of the 
 French were commanded by his brother Henry, the counts of St. Pol 
 and Bloi?, and Matthew of Montmorency, the last of whom was hon- 
 oured by the voluntary service of the marshal and nobles of Champagne. 
 The sixth division, the rear-guard and reserve of the army, was con- 
 ducted by the marquis of Montferrat, at the head of the Germans 
 and Lombards. The chargers, saddled, with their long caparisons 
 dragging on the ground, were embarked in the flat palanders j and the 
 knights stood by the side of their horses, in complete armour, their 
 helmets laced, and their lances in their hands. Their numerous tmin 
 of Serjeants and archers occupied the transports ; and each trans- 
 port was towed by the strength and swiftness of a galley. The six 
 divisions traversed the Bosphorus, without encountering an enemy 
 or an obstacle ; to land the foremost was the wish, to conquer or die 
 was the resolution, of everj^ division and of every soldier. Jealous of 
 the pre-eminence of danger, the knights in their heavy armour 
 leaped into the sea, when it rose as high as their girdle ; the Serjeants 
 and archers were animated by their valour ; and the squires, letting 
 down the draw-bridges of the palanders, led the horses to the shore. 
 Before the squadrons could mount, and form and couch their lances, 
 the 70,000 Greeks had vanished from their sight ; the timid Alexius 
 gave the example to his troops : and it was only by the plunder of his 
 rich pavilions that the Latins were informed that they had fought 
 against an emperor. In the first consternation of a flying enemy, 
 they resolved by a double attack to open the entrance of the harbour.
 
 450 ^ONS TA NTINOPLE BESIEGED BY THE LA TINS. 
 
 The tower of Galata, in the suburb of Pera, was attacked and stormed 
 by the French, while tlie Venetians assumed the more difficult task 
 of forcing the boom or chain that was stretched from the tower to the 
 Byzantine shore. After some fruitless attempts, their intrepid perse- 
 verance prevailed : twenty ships of war, the relics of the Grecian navy, 
 were either sunk or taken : the enormous and massy links of iron were 
 cut asunder by the shears, or broken by the weight, of the galleys ; 
 and the Venetian fleet, safe and triumphant, rode at anchor in the 
 port of Constantinople. By these daring achievements, a remnant 
 of 20,000 Latins solicited the licence of besieging a capital \vhich con- 
 tained above 400,000 inhabitants, able, though not willing, to bear ; 
 arms in defence of their country. Such an account Vv-ould indeed j 
 suppose a population of near two millions ; but whatever abatement i 
 may be required in the numbers of the Greeks, the belief oi those num- 1 
 bers will equally exalt the fearless spirit of their assailants. , 
 In the choice of the attack, the French and Venetians were divided j 
 by their habits of life and warfare. The former affirmed with truth, \ 
 that Constantinople was most accessible on the side of the sea and the ' 
 harbour. The latter might assert with honour, that they had long | 
 enough trusted their lives and fortunes to a frail bark and a precarious 
 element, and loudly demanded a trial of knighthood, a firm ground, j 
 and a close onset, either on foot or horseback. After a prudent com- '• 
 promise, of employing the two nations by sea and land, in the service j 
 best suited to their character, the fleet covering the army, they both 
 proceeded from the entrance to the extremity of the harbour : the stone [ 
 bridge of the river v/as hastily repaired ; and the six battles of the ' 
 French formed their encampment against the front of .the capital, the , 
 basis of the triangle which runs about four miles from the port of the " 
 Propontis. On the edge of a broad ditch, at the foot of a lofty ram- ■ 
 part, they had leisure to contemplate the difficulties of their enterprise. ' 
 The gates to the right and left of their narrow camp poured forth fre- ' 
 quent sallies of cavalry and light-infantry, which cut off their stragglers, ' 
 swept the countiy of provisions, sounded the alarm five or six times in . 
 the course of each day, and compelled them to plant a palisade, and 
 sink an entrenchment, for their immediate safety. In the supplies and . 
 convoys the Venetians had been too sparing, or the Franks too vora- i 
 cious ; the usual complaints of hunger and scarcity were heard, and i 
 perhaps felt : their stock of flour would be exhausted in three weeks ; . 
 and their disgust of salt meat tempted them to taste the flesh of their \ 
 horses. The trembling usurper was supported by Theodore Lascaris, | 
 \ar. son-in-law, a valiant youth, who aspired to save and to rule his '-. 
 country ; the Greeks, regardless of that country, were awakened to the ! 
 dcftnce of their religion ; but their firmest hope was in the strength \ 
 and spirit of the Varangian guards, of the Danes and English, as they | 
 arc named in tlie writers of the times. After ten days' (July 7 — 18 i
 
 incessant labour, the ground was levelled, the ditch filled, the ap- 
 proaches of the besiegers were regularly made, and 250 engines of 
 assault exercised their various powers to clear the rampart, to batter 
 the walls and to sap the foundations. On the first appearance of a 
 breach, the scaling ladders were applied : the numbers that defended 
 the vantage-ground repulsed and oppressed the adventurous Latins ; 
 but they admired the resolution of fifteen knights and Serjeants, who 
 had gained the ascent, and maintained their perilous station till they 
 were precipitated or made prisoners by the Imperial guards. On the 
 side of the harbour the naval attack was more successfully conducted 
 by the Venetians ; and that industrious people employed every re- 
 source that was known and practised before the inventicfli of gim- 
 powder. A double line, three bow-shots in front, was formed by the 
 galleys and ships ; and the swift motion of the former was supported 
 by the weight and loftiness of the latter, whose decks and poops, and 
 turret, were the platforms of military engines, that discharged their 
 shot over the heads of the first line. The soldiers, who leaped from 
 the galleys on shore, immediately planted and ascended their scaling- 
 ladders, while the large ships, advancing more slowly into the intervals, 
 and lowering a drawbridge, opened a way through the air from their 
 masts to the rampart. In the midst of the conflict, the doge, a vener- 
 able and conspicuous form, stood aloft in complete armour on the 
 prow of the galley. The great standard of St. Mark was displayed 
 before him ; his threats, promises, and exhortations, urged the diligence 
 of the rowers ; his vessel was the first that struck ; and Dandolo was 
 the first warrior on the shore. The nations admired the magnanimity 
 of the blind old man, without reflecting that his age and infirmities 
 diminished the price of life, and enhanced the value of immortal glory. 
 On a sudden, by an invisible hand (for the standard-bearer was pro- 
 bably slain), the banner of the republic was fixed on the rampart : 
 twenty-five towers were rapidly occupied ; and, by the cruel expedient 
 of fire, the Greeks were driven from the adjacent quarter. The ''jge 
 had despatched the intelligence of his success, when he was checked 
 by the danger of his confederates. Nobly declaring that he would 
 rather die with the pilgrims than gain a victory by their destruction, 
 Dandolo relinquished his advantage, recalled his troops, and hastened 
 to the scene of action. He found the six weary diminutive battles of 
 tlie French encompassed by sixty squadrons of the Greek cavalry, the 
 least of which was more numerous than the largest of their divisions. 
 Shame and despair had provoked Alexius to the last effort of a general 
 sally ; but he v/as awed by the firm order and manly aspect of the 
 Latins : and, after skirmishing at a distance, withdrew his troops in 
 the close of the evening. The silence or tumult of the night exasperated 
 his feat's ; and ihe timid usurper, collecting a treasure of 10,000 pounds ot 
 gold, basely deserted his wife, his people, and his fortune ; threw him-
 
 452 
 
 RESTORAtrCN OF ISAAC ANGELUS AND HIS SON. 
 
 self into a bark, stole through the Bosphorus, and landed in shameful '\ 
 
 safety in an obscure harbour of Thrace. As soon as they were ap- 'i 
 
 prised of his flight, the Greek nobles sought pardon and peace in the - 
 
 dungeon where the blind Isaac expected each hour the visit of the •; 
 
 executioner. Again saved and exalted by the vicissitudes of fortune, \ 
 
 the captive in his imperial robes was replaced on the throne, and sur- i 
 
 rounded with prostrate slaves, whose real terror and affected joy he ] 
 was incapable of discerning. At the dawn of day hostilities were sus- 
 pended ; and the Latin chiefs were surprised by a message from the 
 
 lawful and reigning emperor, who was impatient to embrace his son ' 
 and to reward his generous deliverers. 
 
 But these generous deliverers were unwilling to release their hostage, 
 
 till they had obtained from his father the payment, or at least the pro- \ 
 
 mise, of their recompense. They chose four ambassadors, Matthew | 
 of Montmorency, our historian the marshal of Champagne, and two 
 
 Venetians, to congratulate the emperor. The gates (July 19) were 1 
 
 thrown open on their approach, the streets on both sides were lined 1 
 
 with the battle-axes of the Danish arid English guard : the presence- , 
 
 chamber glittered with gold and jewels, the false substitutes of virtue ' 
 
 and power ; by the side of the blind Isaac, his wife was seated, the sister 1 
 
 of the king of Hungary ; and by her appearance, the noble matrons of j 
 
 Greece were drawn from their domestic retirement, and mingled with i 
 
 the circle of senators and soldiers. The Latins, by the mouth of the j 
 
 marshal, spoke like men, conscious of their merits, but who respected, j 
 
 the work of their own hands ; and the emperor clearly understood , 
 
 that his son's engagements with Venice and the pilgrims must be \ 
 
 ratified without hesitation or delay. Withdrawing into a private _; 
 
 chamber with the empress, a chamberlain, an interpreter, and the ',^ 
 
 four ambassadors, the father of young Alexius inquired with some \ 
 
 anxiety into the nature of his stipulations. The submission of the \ 
 
 Eastern empire to the pope, the succour of the Holy Land, and a pre- ' 
 
 sent contribution of 200,000 marks of silver — " These conditions are ; 
 
 weighty," was his prudent reply ; " they are hard to accept, and dif- - 
 
 ficult to perform. But no conditions can exceed the measure of your ; 
 
 services and deserts." After this satisfactory assurance, the barons \ 
 
 mounted on horseback, and introduced the heir of Constantinople to the ! 
 
 city and palace : his youth and marvellous adventures engaged every ij 
 
 heart in his favour, and Alexius was solemnly crowned with his father J 
 
 in the dome of St. Sophia. In the first days of his reign, the people, | 
 
 already blessed with the restoration of plenty and peace, were delighted ;, 
 
 by the joyful catastrophe of the tragedy ; and the discontent of the \ 
 
 nobles, their regret and their fears, were covered by the polished sur- ] 
 
 face of pleasure and loyalty. The mixture of two discordant nations l 
 
 in the same capital might have been pregnant with mischief and dan- \ 
 ger ; and the suburb of Galata, or Pera, was assigned for the quarters
 
 NISTOR V OF THE CR USA DES. At^y 
 
 of the French and Venetians. But the liberty of trade and familiar 
 intercourse was allowed between the friendly nations ; and each day 
 the pilgrims were tempted by devotion or curiosity to visit the churches 
 and palaces of Constantinople. Their rude minds, insensible perhaps 
 of the finer arts, were astonished by the magnificent sceneiy : and the 
 poverty of their native towns enhanced the populousness and riches of 
 the first metropolis of Christendom. Descending from his state, 
 young Alexius was j^romptcd by interest and gratitude to repeat his 
 frequent and familiar visits to his Latin allies ; and in the freedom of 
 tlie table, the gay petulance of the French sometimes forgot the em- 
 peror of the East. In their more serious conferences, it was agreed, 
 that the re-union of the two churches must be the result of patience 
 and time ; but avarice was less tractable than zeal ; and a large sum 
 was instantly disbursed to appease the wants, and silence the impor- 
 tunity, of the crusaders. Alexius was alarmed by the approaching 
 hour of their departure : their absence might have relieved him from 
 the engagement which he was yet incapable of performing ; but his 
 friends would have left him, naked and alone, to the caprice and pre- 
 judice of a perfidious nation. He wished to binbe their stay, the delay 
 of a year, by undertaking to defray their expence, and to satisfy, in 
 their name, the freight of the Venetian vessels. The offer was agitated 
 in the council of the barons ; and, after a repetition of their debates 
 and scruples, a majority of votes again acquiesced in the advice ot the 
 doge and the prayer of the young emperor. At the price of 1600 
 pounds of gold, he prevailed on the marquis of Montferrat to lead 
 him with an army round the provinces of Europe ; to establish his 
 authority, and pursue his uncle, while Constantinople was awed by 
 the presence of Baldwin and his confederates of France and Flanders. 
 The expedition was successful ; the blind emperor exulted in the suc- 
 cess of his arms, and listened to the predictions of his flatterers, that 
 the same Providence which had raised him from the dungeon to the 
 throne, would heal his gout, restore his sight, and watch over the long 
 prosperity of his reign. Yet the mind of the suspicious old man was 
 tormented by the rising glories of his son ; nor could his pride conceal 
 from his envoy, that, while his own name was pronounced in faint and 
 reluctant acclamations, the royal youth was the theme of spontaneous 
 and universal praise. 
 
 By the recent invasion, the Greeks were awakened from a dream of 
 nine centuries ; from the vain presumption that the capital of the 
 Roman empire was impregnable to foreign arms. The strangers of 
 the West bad violated the city, and bestowed the sceptre, of Constan- 
 tine : their Imperial clients soon became as unpopular as themsehes : 
 the well-known vices of Isaac were rendered still more contemplible 
 by his infirmities ; and the young Alexius was hated as an apostate, 
 who had renounced the manners and religion of his country. His 
 
 G G
 
 454 ALEXIUS AND HtS FA THER DEPOSED-THEIR DEA TH. 
 
 secret covenant with the Latins was divulged or suspected ; the people, 
 and especially the clergy, were devoutly attached to their faith and 
 superstition ; and every convent, and every shop, resounded with the 
 danger of the church and the tyranny of the pope. An empty treasuiy 
 could ill supply the demands of regal luxury and foreign extortion : the 
 Greeks refused to avert, by a general tax, the impending evils of servi- 
 tude and pillage ; the oppression of the rich excited a more dangerous 
 and personal resentment : and if the emperor melted the plate, and 
 despoiled the images, of the sanctuary, he seemed to justify the com- 
 plaints of heresy and sacrilege. During the absence of man[uis Boni- 
 face and his Imperial pupil, Constantinople was visited with a calamity 
 which might be justly imputed to the zeal and indiscretion of the Flem- 
 ish pilgrims. In one of their visits to the city, they were scandalized 
 by the aspect of a mosque or synagogue, in which one God was wor- 
 shipped, without a partner or a son. Their effectual mode of con- 
 troversy was to attack the infidels with the sword, and their habitation 
 with fire : but the infidels, and some Christian neighbours, presumed 
 to defend their lives and properties ; and the flames which bigotry had 
 kindled consumed the most orthodox and innocent structures. During 
 eight days and nights, the conflagration spread above a league in front, 
 from the harbour to the Propontis, over the thickest and most populous 
 regions of the city. It is not easy to count the stately churches and 
 palaces that were reduced to a smoking ruin, to value the merchandise 
 that perished in the trading streets, or to number the families that were 
 involved in the common destruction. By this outrage, which the doge 
 and the barons in vain affected to disclaim, the name of the Latins 
 became still more unpopular ; and the colony of that nation, above 
 15,000 persons, consulted their safety in a hasty retreat from the city 
 to the protection of their standard in the suburb of Pera. The em- 
 peror returned in triumph ; but the firmest and most dexterous policy 
 would have been insufficient to steer him through the tempest, which 
 overwhelmed the person and government of that unhappy youth. His 
 own inclination, and his father's advice, attached him to his benefactors ; 
 but Alexius hesitated between gratitude and patriotism, between the 
 fear of his subjects and of his allies. By his feeble and fluctuating 
 conduct he lost the esteem and confidence of both ; and, while he 
 invited the marquis of Montferrat to occupy the palace, he suffered 
 the nobles to conspire, and the people to arm, for the deliverance of 
 their country. Regardless of his painful situation, the Latin chiefs 
 jepeated their demands, resented his delays, suspected his intentions, 
 and exacted a decisive answer of peace or Avar. The haughty sum- 
 mons was delivered by three French knights and three Venetian 
 deputies, who girded their swords, mounted their horses, pierced 
 through the angty multitude, and entered with a fearless countenance 
 the palace and presence of the Greek emperor. In a pcicmptory tone,
 
 iriSTOR y OF THE CR USADES. 45 5 
 
 they recapitulated their services and his engagements ; and boldly de- 
 clared, that unless their just claims were fully and immediately satisfied, 
 they should no longer hold him either as a sovereign or a friend. After 
 this defiance, the first that had ever wounded an Imperial ear, they de- 
 parted without betra)ing any symptoms of fear ; but their escape from 
 a servile palace and a furious city astonished the ambassadors ; and 
 their return to the camp was the signal of mutual hostility. 
 
 Among the Greeks, all authority and wisdom were overborne by the 
 impetuous multitude, who (a.d. 1204) mistook their rage for valour, 
 their numbers for strength, and their fanaticism for the support and 
 inspiration of Heaven. In the eyes of both nations Alexius was false 
 and contemptible : the base and spurious race of the Angeli was re- 
 jected with clamourous disdain ; and the people of Constantinople en- 
 compassed the senate, to demand at their hands a more worthy eiTi- 
 peror. To every senator, conspicuous by his birth or dignity, they 
 successively presented the purple : by each senator the deadly garment 
 was repulsed : the contest lasted three days ; and we may learn from 
 the historian Nicetas, one of the members of the assembly, that fear 
 and weakness were the guardians of their loyalty. A phantom, who 
 vanished in oblivion, was forcibly proclaimed by the crowd ; but the 
 author of the tumult, and the leader of the war, was a prince of the 
 house of Ducas ; and his common appellation of Alexius must be dis- 
 criminated by the epithet of Mourzoufle, which in the vulgar idiom 
 expressed the close junction of his black and shaggy eyebrows. At 
 once a patriot and a courtier, the perfidious Mourzoufle, who was not 
 destitute of cunning and courage, opposed the Latins both in speech 
 and action, inflamed the passions and prejudices of the Greeks, and 
 insinuated himself into the favour and confidence of Alexius, who 
 trusted him with the office of great chamberlain, and tinged his buskins 
 with the colours of royalty. At the dead of night he rushed into the 
 bed-chamber with an affrighted aspect, exclaiming, that the palace was 
 attacked by the people and betrayed by the guards. Starting from his 
 couch, the unsuspecting prince threw himself into the arms of his 
 enemy, who had contrived his escape by a private staircase. But that 
 staircase terminated in a prison ; Alexius was (Feb. 8) seized, stripped, 
 and loaded with chains ; and, after tasting some days the bitterness of 
 death, he was poisoned, or strangled, or beaten with clubs, at the com- 
 mand, and in the presence, of the tyrant. The emperor Isaac Angelus 
 soon followed his son to the grave, and Mourzoufle, perhaps, might 
 spare the superfluous crime of hastening the extinction of impotence 
 and blindness. 
 
 The death of the emperors, and the usurpation of Mourzoufle, had 
 changed the nature of the cjuarrel. It was no longer the disagree- 
 ment of allies who over-valued their services, or neglected their 
 obligations : the French and Venetians forgot their complaints against
 
 45*3 THE SECOND StEGE OP CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 Alexius, dropt a tear on the untimely fate of their companion, end 
 swore revenge against the perfidious nation who had crowned hig 
 assassin. Yet the prudent doge was still inclined to negociate ; he 
 asked as a debt, a subsidy, or a fine, 50,000 pounds of gold, about 
 /■2,ooo,ooo ; nor would the conference have been abruptly broken, if 
 the zeal, or policy, of Mourzoufie had not refused to sacrifice the Greek 
 church to the safety of the state. Amidst the invective of his foieign 
 and domestic enemies, we may discern, that he was not unworthy of 
 I the character which he had assumed, of the public champion : the 
 second siege (Jan. — April) of Constantinople was far more laborious than 
 the first ; the treasury was repleriished, and discipline was restored, l^y 
 a severe inquisition into the abuses of the former reign ; and Mour- 
 zoufie, an iron mace in his hand, visiting the posts, and affecting the 
 port and aspect of a warrior, was an object of terror to his soldiers, at 
 least, and to his kinsmen. Before and after the death of Alexius, the 
 Greeks made two vigorous and well-conducted attempts to burn the 
 navy in the harbour ; but the skill and courage of the Venetians 
 repulsed the fire-ships ; and the vagrant flames wasted themselves 
 without injury in the sea. In a nocturnal sally the Greek emperor 
 was vanquished by Henry, brother of the count of Flanders : the 
 advantages of number and surprise aggravated the shame of liis 
 defeat ; his buckler was found on the field of battle ; and the Imperial 
 standard, a divine image of the Virgin, was presented, as a trophy 
 and a relic, to the Cistercian monks, the disciples of St. Bernard. 
 Near three months, without excepting the holy season of Lent, were 
 consumed in skirmishes and preparations, before the Latins were 
 ready or resolved for a general assault. The land-fortifications had 
 been found impregnable ; and the Venetian pilots represented, that, 
 on the shore of the Propontis, the anchorage was unsafe, and the ships 
 must be driven by the current far away to the straits of the Helles- 
 pont ; a prospect not unpleasing to the reluctant pilgrims, who sought 
 every opportunity of breaking the army. From the harbour, there- 
 fore, the assault Avas determined by the assailants, and expected by 
 the besieged ; and the emperor had placed his scarlet pavilions on a 
 neighbouring height, to dii-ect and animate the efforts of his troops. A 
 fearless spectator, whose mind could entertain the ideas of pomp and 
 pleasure, might have admired the long array of two embattled armies, 
 which extended above half a league, the one on the ships and galleys, 
 the other on the walls and towers raised above the ordinary level by 
 several stages of wooden turrets. Their first fury was spent in the 
 discharge of darts, stones, and fire, fiom the engines ; but the \\;Ucr 
 was deep ; the French were bold ; the Venetians were skilful ; they 
 .vpproached the walls ; and a desperate conflict of swords, spears, and 
 battle-axes, was fought on the trembling bridges that grappleil the 
 floating, to the stable, batteries. In mCc than an hundred places,
 
 • HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 457 
 
 tlic assault was urged, and the defence was sustained ; till the supe- 
 riority of ground and numbers finally prevailed, and the Latin trum- 
 pets sounded a retreat. On the ensuing days, the attack was renewed 
 with equal vigour, and a similar event ; and in the night, the doge 
 and the barons held a council, apprehensive only for the public 
 danger : not a voice pronounced the words of escape or treaty ; and 
 each warrior, according to his temper, embraced the hope of victory 
 or the assurance of a glorious death. By the experience of the formel 
 siege, the Greeks were instructed, but the Latins were animated ; and 
 the knowledge that Constantinople Jiiighl be taken, was of more avail 
 than the local precautions which that knowledge had inspired for its 
 defence. In the third assault, two ships were linked together to double 
 their strength ; a strong north wind drove them on the shore ; the 
 bishops of Troyes and Soissons led the van ; and the auspicious 
 names of the pilgrim and the paradise resounded along the line. 
 The episcopal banners were displayed on the walls ; an hundred 
 marks of silver had been promised to the first adventurers ; and if 
 their reward was intercepted by death, their names have been immor- 
 talized by fame. Four towers were scaled ; three gates were burst 
 open ; and the French knights, who might tremble on the waves, felt 
 themselves invincible on horseback on the solid ground. Shall I 
 relate that the thousands who guarded the emperoi^'s person fled on the 
 approach and before the lance of a single warrior? Their ignominious 
 thght is attested by their countryman Nicetas ; an army of phantoms 
 marched with the French hero, and he was magnified to a giant in 
 the eyes of the Greeks. While the fugitives deserted their posts and 
 cast away their arms, the Latins entered the city under the banners of 
 their leaders : the streets and gates opened for their passage ; and 
 either design or accident kindled a third conflagration, which con- 
 sumed in a few hours the measure of three of the largest cities of 
 France. In the close of evening, the barons checked their troops 
 and fortified their stations ; they were awed by the extent and popu- 
 lousness of the capital, which might yet require the labour of a month, 
 if the churches and palaces were conscious of their internal strength. 
 But in the morning, a suppliant procession, with crosses and images, 
 announced the submission of the Greeks, and deprecated the wrath of 
 tlic conquerors ; the usurper escaped through the golden gate ; the 
 palaces of Blachernas and Boucoleon were occupied by the count of 
 Flanders and the marquis of Montferrat ; and the empire which still 
 bore the name of Constantine, and the title of Roman, was subverted 
 by the arms of the Latin pilgrims. 
 
 Constantinople had been taken by storm ; and no restraints, except 
 those of religion and humanity, were imposed on the conquerors by 
 the laws of war. Boniface marquis of Montferrat still acted as their 
 gciiexaJ : and iiic Oxc'ks, wlip revered his na-me zs that of their i)iXii^
 
 458 THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE SPOIL. 
 
 sovereign, were heard to exclaim in a lamentable tone, " Holy mar- 
 quis-king, have mercy upon us !" His prudence or compassion 
 opened the gates of the city to the fugitives ; and he exhorted the 
 soldiers of the cross to spare the lives of their fellow-Christians. The 
 streams of blood that flow down the pages of Nicetas may be reduced 
 to the slaughter of 2000 of his unresisting countrymen ; and the 
 greater part was massacred, not by the strangers, but by the Latins, 
 who had been driven from the city, and who exercised the revenge of 
 a triumphant faction. Yet of these exiles, some were less mindful of 
 injuries than of benefits ; and Nicetas himself was indebted for his 
 safety to the generosity of a Venetian merchant. Pope Innocent the 
 third accuses the pilgrims of respecting neither age nor sex, nor reli- 
 gious profession ; and bitterly laments that the deeds of darkness 
 were perpetrated in open day. It is indeed probable that the licence 
 of victory prompted and covered a multitude of sins ; the marquis of 
 Montferrat was the patron of discipline and decency ; the count of 
 Flanders was the mirror of chastity : they had forbidden, under pain 
 of death, the rape of married women, or virgins, or nuns ; and the 
 proclamation was sometimes invoked by the vanquished, and re- 
 spected by the victors. Their cruelty and lust were moderated by the 
 authority of the chiefs, and feelings of the soldiers ; for we are no 
 longer describing an irruption of the northern savages ; and however 
 ferocious they might still appear, time, policy, and religion, had 
 civilized the manners of the French, and still more of the Italians. 
 But a free scope was allowed to their avarice, which was glutted, even 
 in the holy week, by the pillage of Constantinople. The right of vic- 
 tory, unshackled by any promise or treaty, had confiscated the public 
 and private wealth of the Greeks ; and every hand, according to its 
 size and strength, might lawfully execute the sentence and seize the 
 forfeiture. A portable and universal standard of exchange was found 
 in the coined and uncoined metals of gold and silver, which each 
 captor at home or abroad might convert into the possessions most 
 suitable to his temper and situation. Of the treasures, which trade 
 and luxury had accumulated, the silks, velvets, furs, the gems, spices, 
 and rich movables, were the most precious, as they could not be pro- 
 cured for money in the ruder countries of Europe. An order of 
 rapine was instituted ; nor was the share of each individual abandoned 
 to industry or chance. Under the tremendous penalties of perjury, 
 excommunication, and death, the Latins were bound to deliver their 
 plunder into the common stock ; three churches were selected for 
 the deposit and distribution of the spoil : a single share was allotted 
 to a foot soldier ; two for a serjeant on horseback ; four to a knight ; 
 and larger proportions according to the rank and merit of the barons 
 and princes. For violating this sacred engagement, a knight belong- 
 ing to the count of St Pol was hanged with his shield and coat of arms
 
 HrS TOR V OF THE CR USA DES. 459 
 
 round hif. nock : his example might render similar offenders more art- 
 ful and discreet ; but avarice was more powerful than fear ; and it is 
 generally believed, that the secret far exxeeded the acknowledged plun- 
 der. Yet the magnitude of the prize surpassed the largest scale of 
 experience or expectation. After the whole had been equal!)' divided 
 between the French and Venetians, 50,000 marks were deducted to 
 satisfy the debts of the former and the demands of the latter. The 
 residue of the French amounted to 400,000 marks of silver, about 
 ;^8oo,ooo ; nor can I better appreciate the value of that sum in the 
 public and private transactions of the age, than by defining it as seven 
 times the annual revenue of the kingdom of England. 
 
 In this great revolution we enjoy the singular felicity of comparing 
 the narratives of Villehardouin and Nicetas, the opposite feelings of 
 the marshal of Champagne and the Byzantine senator. At the first 
 view it should seem that the wealth of Constantinople was only trans- 
 ferred from one nation to another ; and that the loss and sorrow of tlie 
 Greeks is exactly balanced by the joy and advantage of the Latins. 
 But in the miserable account of war, the gain is never equivalent to 
 the loss, the pleasure to the pain : the smiles of the Latins were tran- 
 sient and fallacious ; the Greeks for ever wept over the ruins of their 
 country ; and their real calamities were aggravated by sacrilege and 
 mockery. What benefits accrued to the conquerors from the three 
 fires which annihilated so vast a portion of the buildings and riches of 
 the city ! What a stock of such things as could neither be used nor 
 transported, was maliciously or wantonly destroyed ! How much 
 treasure was idly wasted in gaming, debauchery, and riot ! And 
 what precious objects were bartered for a vile price by the impatience 
 or ignorance of the soldiers, whose reward was stolen by the base in- 
 dustry of the last of the Greeks ! Those alone, who had nothing to 
 lose, might derive some profit from the revolution ; but the misery of 
 the upper ranks of society is strongly painted in the personal adven- 
 tures of Nicetas himself His stately palace had been reduced to ashes 
 in the second conflagration ; and the senator, with his family and 
 friends, found an obscure shelter in another house which he possessed 
 near the church of St. Sophia. It was the door of this mean habita- 
 tion that his friend the Venetian merchant guarded in the disguise of 
 a soldier, till Nicetas could save, by a precipitate flight, the relics of 
 his fortune and the chastity of his daughter. In a cold wintry season, 
 these fugitives, nursed in the lap of prosperity, departed on foot ; his 
 wife was with child ; the desertion of their slaves compelled them to 
 carry their baggage on their own shoulders ; and their women, whom they 
 placed in the centre, were exhorted to conceal their beauty with dirt, 
 instead of adorning it with paint and jewels. Every step was exposed 
 >o insult and danger ; the threats of the strangers were less painful 
 lh<'a the taunts of the plebeians, with whom they were now leveUed ;
 
 460 THE DESTRUCTION OF THE STATUES. 
 
 nor did the exiles breathe in safety till their mournful pilgrimage was 
 concluded at Sclymbria, above forty miles from the capital. On their 
 way they overtook the patriarch, without attendance and almost with- 
 out apparel, riding on an ass, and reduced to a state of apostolical 
 poverty, which, had it been voluntary, might perhaps have been 
 meritorious. In the mean while, his desolate churches were profaned 
 by the licentiousness and party zeal of the Latins. After stripping the 
 gems and pearls, they converted the chalices into drinking-cups ; their 
 tables, on which they gamed and feasted, were covered with the pic- 
 tures of Christ and the saints ; and they trampled under foot the most 
 venerable objects of the Christian worship. In the cathedral of St. 
 Sophia, the ample veil of the sanctuary was rent asunder for the sake 
 of the golden fringe ; and the altar, a monument of art and riches, was 
 broken in pieces and shared among the captors. Their mules and 
 horses were laden with the wrought silver and gilt carvings, which 
 they tore down from the doors and pulpit ; and if the beasts stumbled 
 under the burthen, they were stabbed by their impatient drivers, and 
 the holy pavement streamed with their impure blood. Nor were the 
 repositories of the royal dead secure from violation : in the church of 
 the apostles, the tombs of the emperors were rifled ; and it is said, that 
 after six centuries the corpse of Justinian was found without any signs 
 of decay or putrefaction. In the streets, the French and Flemings 
 clothed themselves and their horses in painted robes and flowing head- 
 di^esses of linen ; and the coarse intemperance of their feasts insulted 
 the splendid sobriety of the East. To expose the arms of a people of 
 scribes, they affected to display a pen, an ink-horn, and a sheet of 
 paper, without discerning that the instruments of science and valour 
 were alike feeble and useless in the hands of the modern Greeks. 
 
 Their reputation and their language encouraged them, however, to 
 despise the ignorance, and to overlook the progress, of the Latins. 
 In the love of the arts, the national difference was still more obvious 
 and real ; the Greeks preserved with reverence the works of their 
 ancestors, which they could not imitate ; and, in the destruction of the 
 statues of Constantinople, we are provoked to join in the complaints 
 and invectives of the Byzantine historian. We have seen how the 
 rising city was adorned by the vanity and despotism of the Imperial 
 founder : in the ruins of paganism, some gods and heroes were saved 
 froni the axe of superstition ; and the forum and hippodrome were 
 dignified with the relics of a better age. Several of these are described 
 by Nicetas in a florid and affected style ; and, from his descriptions, 
 I shall select some interesting particulars. I. The victorious chariot- 
 eers were cast in bronze, at their own, or the public, charge, and fitly 
 placed in the hippodrome : they stood aloft in their chariots, wheeling 
 round the goal ; the spectators could admire their attitude, and jud^'-e 
 of the resemblance j and of these figures, the most perfect might have 
 
 J
 
 HIS TOR y OF U -HE CK USA DES. 46 1 
 
 been transported from the Olympic stadium. 2. The sphinx, river- 
 horse, and crocodile, denote the climate and manufacture of Egypt, 
 and the spoils of that ancient province. 3. The she-wolf suckling 
 Romulus and Remus ; a subject alike pleasing to the o/t/ and the jictv 
 Romans ; but which could rarely be treated before the decline of the 
 Greek sculpture. 4. An eagle holding and tearing a serpent in his 
 talons ; a domestic monument of the Byzantines, which they ascribed 
 not to a human artist, but to the magic power of the philosopher Apol- 
 lonius, who, by this talisman, delivered the city from such venomous 
 reptiles. 5. An ass and his driver ; which were erected by Augustus 
 in his colony of Nicopolis, to commemorate a verbal omen of the vic- 
 tory of Actium. 6. An equestrian statue ; which passed, in the vulgar 
 opinion, for Joshua, the Jewish conqueror, stretching out his hand to 
 stop the course of the descending sun. A more classical tradition 
 recognized the figures of Bellerophon and Pegasus ; and the free atti- 
 tude of the steed seemed to mark that he trod on air, rather than on 
 the earth. 7. A square and lofty obelisk of brass ; the sides were em- 
 bossed with a variety of picturesque and rural scenes : birds singing ; 
 rustics labouring, or playing on their pipes ; sheep bleating ; lambs 
 skipping ; the sea, and a scene of fish and fishing ; little naked cupids 
 laughing, playing, and pelting each other with apples ; and, on the 
 summit, a female figure turning with the slightest breath, and thence 
 denominated i/ie wiiufs aiiendani. 8. The Phrygian shepherd pre- 
 senting to Venus the prize of beauty, the apple of discord. 9. The in- 
 comparable statue of Helen ; which is delineated by Nicetas in the 
 words of admiration and love : her well-turned feet, snowy arms, rosy 
 lijis, bewitching smiles, swimniing eyes, arched eye-brows, the har- 
 mony of her shape, the lightness of her drapery, and her flowing locks 
 that waved in the wind : a beauty that might have moved her Bar- 
 Ijarian destroyers to pity and remorse. 10. The manly or divine form 
 of Hercules, as he was restored to life by the master-hand of Lysip- 
 pus ; of such magnitude, that his thumb was equal to the waist, his 
 leg to the stature, of a common man ; his chest ample, his shoulders 
 broad, his limbs strong and muscular, his hair curled, his aspect com- 
 manding. Without his bow, or quiver, or club, his lion's skin care- 
 lessly thrown over him, he was seated on an osier basket, his right leg 
 and arm stretched to the utmost, his left knee bent, and supporting 
 his elbow, his head reclining on his left hand, his countenance indig- 
 nant and pensive. 11. A colossal statue of Juno, which had once 
 adorned her temple of Samos ; the enormous head by four yoke of 
 oxen was laboriously drawn to the palace. 12. Another colossus, of 
 Pallas or Minerva, thirty feet in height, and representing with admi- 
 rable spirit the attributes and character of the martial maid. Before we 
 accuse the Latins, it is just to reiruirk, that this Pallas was destroyed 
 after the fixst siege, by the fear and superstition of the Greeks Uienj-
 
 462 ELECTION or THE EMPEROR BALDWIN. 
 
 selves. The other statues of brass which I have enumerated, were 
 broken and melted by the unfeeling avarice of the crusaders : the cost 
 and labour were consumed in a moment ; the soul of genius evaporated 
 in smoke ; and the remnant of base metal was coined into money for 
 the payment of the troops. Bronze is not the most durable of monu- 
 ments : from the marble forms of Phidias and Praxiteles, the Latins 
 might turn aside with stupid contempt ; but unless they were crushed 
 by some accidental injury, those useless stones stood secure on their 
 pedestals. The most enlightened of the strangers, above the gross and 
 sensual pursuits of their countrymen, more piously exercised the right 
 of conquest in the search and seizure of the relics of the saints. Im- 
 mense was the supply of heads and bones, crosses and images, that 
 were scattered by this revolution over the churches of Europe ; and 
 such was the increase of pilgrimage and oblation, that no branch, per- 
 haps, of more lucrative plunder was imported from the East. Of the 
 Avritings of antiquity, many that still existed in the twelfth century are 
 now lost. But the pilgrims were not solicitous to save or transport the 
 volumes of an unknown tongue : the perishable substance of paper or 
 parchment can only be preserved by the multiplicity of copies ; the 
 literature of the Greeks had almost centred in the metropolis : and, 
 without computing the extent of our loss, we may drop a tear over the 
 libraries that have perished in the triple fire of Constantinople. 
 
 After the death of the lawful princes, the French and Venetians, 
 confident of justice and victory, agreed to divide and regulate their 
 future possessions. It was stipulated by treaty, that twelve electors, 
 six of either nation, should be nominated ; that a majority should 
 chuse the emperor of the East ; and that, if the votes were equal, 
 the decision of chance should ascertain the successful candidate. To 
 him, with all the titles and prerogatives of the Byzantine throne, they 
 assigned the two palaces of Boucoleon and Blachernas, with a fourth 
 part of the Greek monarchy. It was defined that the three remaining 
 portions should be equally shared between the republic of Venice and 
 the barons of France ; that each feudatory, with an honourable excep- 
 tion for the doge, should acknowledge and perform the duties of hom- 
 age and military service to the supreme head of the empire : that the 
 nation which gave an emperor, should resign to their brethren the 
 choice of a patriarch ; and that the pilgrims, whatever might be their 
 impatience to visit the Holy Land, should devote another year to the 
 conquest and defence of the Greek provinces. After the conquest of 
 Constantinople by the Latins, the treaty was confirmed and executed, 
 and the first and most important step was the creation of an emperor. 
 The six electors of the French nation were all ecclesiastics, the abbot 
 of Loces, the archbishop elect of Acre in Palestine, and the bishops of 
 Troyes, Soissons, Halbcrstadt, and Bethlehem, the last of whom exer- 
 cised iA the camp the office of pope's legate : their profession and
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADE9. 463 
 
 knowledge were respectable ; and as they could not be the objects, they 
 were best qualified to be the authors, of the choice. The six Venetians 
 were the principal servants of the state, and in this list the noble fami- 
 lies of Ouerini and Contarini are still proud to discover their ances- 
 tors. The twelve assembled in the chapel of the palace ; and after the 
 solemn invocation of the Holy Ghost, they proceeded to deliberate 
 and vote. A just impulse of respect and gratitude prompted them to 
 crown the virtues of the doge ; his wisdom had inspired their enter- 
 prise ; and the most youthful knights might envy and applaud the ex- 
 ploits of blindness and age. But the patriot Dandolo was devoid of 
 all personal ambition, and fully satisfied that he had been judged 
 worthy to reign. His nomination was over-ruled by the Venetians 
 themselves ; his countrymen, and perhaps his friends, represented, 
 with the eloquence of truth, the mischiefs that might arise to national 
 freedom and the common cause, from the union of two incompatible 
 characters, of the first magistrate of a republic and the emperor of the 
 East. The exclusion of the doge left room for the more equal merits 
 of Boniface and Baldwin ; and at their names all meaner candidates 
 respectfully Avithdrew. The marciuis of Montferrat was recommended 
 by his mature age and fair reputation, by the choice of the adventurers 
 and the wishes of the Greeks ; nor can I believe that Venice, the mis- 
 tress of the sea, could be seriously apprehensive of a petty lord at the 
 foot of the Alps. But the count of Flanders was the chief of a 
 wealthy and warlike people ; he was valiant and pious ; in the prime of 
 life, since he was only thirty-two years of age, a descendant of Char- 
 lemagne, a cousin of the king of France, and a compeer of the pre- 
 lates and barons who had yielded with reluctance to the command of 
 a foreigner. Without the chapel, these barons, with the doge and 
 marquis at their head, expected the decision of the twelve electors. 
 It was (a.d. 1204. May 9 — 16) announced by the bishop of Soissons, 
 in the name of his colleagues : "Ye have sworn to obey the prince 
 whom we should chuse ; by our unanimous suffrage, Baldwin count 
 of Flanders and Hainault is now your sovereign, and the emperor of 
 the East." He was saluted with loud applause, and the proclamation 
 was re-echoed through the city by the joy of the Latins and the trem- 
 bling adulation of the Greeks. Boniface was the first to kiss the 
 hand of his rival, and to raise him on the buckler ; and Baldwin was 
 transported to the cathedral, and solemnly invested with the purple 
 buskins. At the end of three weeks he was crowned by the legate, in 
 the vacancy of a patriarch ; but the Venetian clergy soon filled the 
 chapter of St. Sophia, seated Thomas Morosini on the ecclesiastical 
 throne, and employed every art to perpetuate in their own nation the 
 honours and benefices of the Greek church. Without delay, the suc- 
 cessor of Constantine instructed Palestine, France, and Rome of this 
 memorable revolution. To Palestine he sent, as a trophy, the gate*
 
 464 7"//^ DIVISION OF THE GREEK EMPIRE. 
 
 of Constantinople, and the chain of the harbour ; and adopted, 
 from the Assise of Jei-usalem, the laws or customs best adapted to a 
 Fiench colony and conquest in the East. In his epistles, the natives 
 of France are encouraged to swell that colony, and to secure that 
 conquest, to people a magnificent city and a fertile land, which will 
 reward the labours both of the priest and the soldier. He congratulates 
 the Roman pontiff on the restoration of his authority in the East ; 
 invites him to extinguish the Greek schism by his presence in a general 
 council ; and implores his blessing and forgiveness for the disobedient 
 pilgrimSi Prudence and dignity are blended in the answer of Innocent. 
 In the subversion of the Byzantine empire, he arraigns the vices of 
 man, and adores the providence of God : the conquerors will be 
 absolved or condemned by their future conduct ; the validity of their 
 treaty depends on the judgment of St. Peter ; but he inculcates their 
 most sacred duty of establishing a just s-ubordination of obedience and 
 tribute, from the Greeks to the Latins, from the magistrate to the 
 clergy, and from the clergy to the pope. 
 
 In the division of the Greek provinces, the share of the Venetians 
 was more ample than that of the Latin emperor. No more than one 
 fourth was appropriated to his domain : a clear moiety of the re- 
 mainder was reserved for Venice ; and the other moiety was dis- 
 tributed among the adventurers of France and Lombardy. The 
 venerable Dandolo was proclaimed despot of Romania, and invested 
 after the Greek fashion with the purple buskins. He ended at Con- 
 stantinople his long and glorious life ; and if the prerogative was per- 
 sonal, the title was used by his successors till the middle of the four- 
 teenth century, with the singular though true addition of lords of one 
 fourth and a half of the Roman empire. The doge, a slave of state, 
 was seldom permitted to depart from the helm of the republic ; but 
 his place was supplied by the bail or regent, who exercised a supreme 
 jurisdiction over the colony of Venetians : they possessed three of the 
 eight quarters of the city ; and his independent tribunal was composed 
 of six judges, four counsellors, two chamberlains, two fiscal advocates, 
 and a constable. Their long experience of the eastern trade enabled 
 them to select their portion with discernment : they had rashly ac- 
 cepted the dominion and defence of Hadrianople ; but it was the more 
 reasonable aim of their policy to form a chain of factories, and cities, 
 and islands, along the maritime coast, from the neighbourhood of 
 Ragusa to the Hellespont and the Bosphorus. The labour and cost of 
 such extensive conquests exhausted their treasury : they abandoned 
 tlieir maxims of government, adopted a feudal system, and contented 
 themselves with the homage of their nobles, for the possessions which 
 Ihcse private vassals undertook to reduce and maintain. And thus it 
 u'as, that the family of Sanut acquired the duchy of Naxos, which in- 
 volved the greatest pajt of tjie ArcbJpi.'Uijo, For the price oi lofiOQ
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES} 465 
 
 marks, the republic purchased of the marquis of Montferrat the fertile 
 island of Crete or Candia with the ruins of an hundred cities : but its 
 irriprovemcnt was stinted by the proud and narrow spirit of an aris- 
 tocracy ; and the wisest senators would confess that the sea, not the 
 land, was the treasm-y of St. Mark. In the moiety of the adventurers, 
 the marquis Boniface might claim the most liberal reward ; and, be- 
 sides the isle of Crete, his exclusion from the throne was compensated 
 by the royal title and the provinces beyond the Hellespont. But lie 
 prudently exchanged that distant and difficult conquest for the kin^;- 
 dom of Thcssalonica or Macedonia, twelve days' journey from the 
 capital, Avhere he might be supported by the neighbouring powers of 
 his brother-in-law the king of Hungary. His progress was hailed by 
 the voluntary or reluctant acclamations of the natives ; and Greece, 
 the proper and ancient Greece, again received a Latin conqueror, 
 who trod with indifference that classic ground. He viewed witli a 
 careless eye the beauties of the valley of Tempe ; traversed with a 
 cautious step the straits of Thermopylae ; occupied the unknown cities 
 of Thebes, Athens, and Argos ; and assaulted the fortifications of 
 Corinth and Napoli, which resisted his arms. The lots of the Latin 
 pilgrims were regulated by chance, or choice, or subsequent exchange ; 
 and they abused, with intemperate joy, their triumph over the lives and 
 fortunes of a great people. After a minute survey of the provinces, 
 they weighed in the scales of avarice the revenue of each district, the 
 advantage of the situation, and the ample or scanty supplies for the 
 maintenance of soldiers and horses. Their presumption claimed and 
 divided the long-lost dependencies of the Roman sceptre : the Nile 
 and Euphrates rolled through their imaginary realms ; and happy was 
 the warrior who drew for his prize the palace of the Turkish sultan of 
 Iconium. I shall not descend to the pedigree of families and the 
 rent-roll of estates, but I wish to specify that the counts of Blois and 
 St. Pol were invested with the duchy of Nice and the lordship of De- 
 motica : the principal fiefs were held by the service of constable, 
 chamberlain, cup-bearer, butler, and chief cook ; and our historian, 
 Jeffrey of Villehardouin, obtained a fair establishment on the banks 
 of the Hcbrus, and united the double office of marshal of Cham})agric 
 and Romania. At the head of his knights and archers, each baron 
 mounted on horseback to secure the possession of his share, and their 
 first efforts were generally successful. But the public force was weak- 
 ened by their dispersion ; and a thousand quarrels must arise under a 
 law, and among men, whose sole umpire was the sword Within 
 three months after the conquest of Constantinople, the emperor and 
 the king of Thcssalonica drew their hostile followers into the field ; 
 they were reconciled by the authority of the doge, the advice of the 
 marshal, and the firm freedom of their peers. 
 
 Two fugitives, who had reigned at Constantinople, still asserted tlie
 
 466 REVOL T OF THE GREEKS FROM LA TIN R ULE. 
 
 title of emperor ; and the subjects of their fallen throne might be moved 
 to pity by the misfortunes of the elder Alexius, or excited to revenge 
 by the spirit of Mourzoufle. A domestic alliance (A.D. 1204, &c.), a 
 common interest, a similar guilt, and the merit of extinguishing his 
 enemies, a brother and a nephew, induced the more recent usuiper to 
 unite with the former the relics of his power. Mourzoufle was received 
 with smiles and honours in the camp of his father Alexius ; but the 
 wicked can never love, and should rarely trust, their fellow-criminals : 
 he was seized in the bath, deprived of his eyes, stripped of his troops 
 and treasures, and turned out to wander an object of horror and con- 
 tempt to those who with more propriety could hate, and with more 
 justice could punish, the assassin of the emperor Isaac, and his son. 
 As the tyrant, pursued by fear or remorse, was stealing over to Asia, 
 he was seized by the Latins of Constantinople, and condemned, after 
 an open trial, to an ignominious death. His judges debated the mode 
 of his execution, the axe, the wheel, or the stake ; and it was resolved 
 that Mourzoufle should ascend the Theodosian column, a pillar of 
 white marble of one hundred and forty-seven feet in height. From 
 the summit he was cast down headlong, and dashed in pieces on the 
 pavement, in the presence of innumerable spectators, who filled the 
 forum of Taurus, and admired the accomplishment of an old pre- 
 diction, which was explained by this singular event. The fate of 
 Alexius is less tragical : he was sent by the marquis a captive to Italy, 
 and a gift to the king of the Romans ; but he had not much to applaud 
 his fortune, if the sentence of imprisonment and exile were changed 
 from a fortress in the Alps to a monastery in Asia. But his daughter, 
 before the national calamity, had been given in marriage to a young 
 hero who continued the succession, and restored the throne, of the 
 Greek princes. The valour of Theodore Lascaris (a.d. 1204 — 1222), 
 was signalized in the two sieges of Constantinople. After the flight 
 of Mourzoufle, when the Latins were already in the city, he offered 
 himself as their emperor to the soldiers and people : and his ambition, 
 which might be virtuous, was undoubtedly brave. Could he have 
 infused a soul into the multitude, they might have crushed the 
 strangers under their feet : their abject despair refused his aid, and 
 Theodore retired to breath the air of freedom in Anatolia, beyond 
 the immediate view and pursuit of the conquerors. Under the title, at 
 first of despot, and afterwards of emperor, he drew to his standard the 
 bolder spirits, who were fortified against slavery by the contempt of 
 life ; and as every means was lawful for the public safety, implored, 
 without scruple, the alliance of the Turkish sultan. Nice, where Theo- 
 dore established his residence, Prusa and Philadelphia, Smyrna and 
 Ephesus, opened their gates to their deliverer : he derived strength 
 and reputation from his victories, and even from his defeats, and the 
 successor of Constantinc preserved a fragment of the empire from the
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 467 
 
 banks of the Mrcander to the suburbs of Nicomedin, and at length of 
 Constantinople. Another portion, distant and obscure, was possessed 
 by the lineal heir of the Comneni, a son of the virtuous Manuel, a 
 grandson of the tyrant Andronicus. His name was Alexius ; and the 
 epithet of great was applied perhaps to his stature, rather than to his 
 exploits. By the indulgence of the Angeli, he was appointed governor 
 or duke of Trebizond : his birth gave him ambition, the revolution 
 independence ; and without changing his title, he reigned in peace 
 from Sinopc to the Phasis, along the coast of the Black Sea. His 
 nameless son and successor is described as the vassal of the sultan, 
 whom he sei-ved with two hundred lances ; that Comnenian prince 
 was no more than duke of Trebizond, and the title of Emperor was 
 fust assumed by the pride and envy of the grandson of Alexius. In 
 the West a third fragment was saved from the common shipwreck by 
 Michael, a bastard of the house of Angeli, who, before the revolution, 
 had been known as an hostage, a soldier, and a rebel. His flight 
 from the camp of the marquis Boniface secured his freedom ; by his 
 marriage with the governor's daughter, he commanded the important 
 place of Durazzo, assumed the title of despot, and founded a strong 
 and conspicuous principality in Epirus, .^Etolia, and Thessaly, which 
 have ever been peopled by a warlike race. The Greeks who had 
 offered their service to their new sovereigns, were excluded by the 
 haughty Latins from all civil and military honours, as a nation born 
 to tremble and obey. Their resentment prompted them to show that 
 they might have been useful friends, since they could be dangerous 
 enemies : their nerves were braced by adversity : whatever was learned 
 or holy, whatever was noble or valiant, rolled away into the indepen- 
 dent states of Trebizond, Epirus, and Nice ; and a single patrician is 
 marked by the ambiguous praise of attachment and loyalty to the 
 Franks. The Aoilgar herd of the cities and the country, would have 
 gladly submitted to a mild and regular servitude ; and the transient 
 disorders of war would have been obliterated by some years of industry 
 and peace. But peace was banished, and industry was crushed, in 
 the disorders of the feudal system. The Roman emperors of Con- 
 stantinople, if they were endowed with abilities, were armed with 
 power for the protection of their subjects : their laws were wise, and 
 their administration was simple. The Latin throne was filled by a 
 titular prince, the chief, and often the servant, of his licentious con- 
 federates : the fiefs of the empire, from a kingdom to a castle, were 
 held and ruled by the sword of the barons : and their discord, 
 poverty, and ignorance extended the ramifications of tyranny to the 
 most sequestered villages. The Greeks were oppressed by the double 
 weight of the priest, who was invested with temporal power, and of 
 the soldier, who was inflamed by fanatic hatred : and the insuperable 
 bar of religion and l.mguagc for ever separated the stranger and the
 
 46L I'fiE DESPOTS OP MPIRUS.-TtiE BULGARIAN WAR. 
 
 native. As long as the crusaders were united at Constantinople, the 
 memory of their conquest, and the terror of their arms, imposed silence 
 on the captive lasid : their dispersion betrayed the smallness of their 
 numbers and the defects of their discipline ; and some failures and 
 mischances revealed the secret, that they were not invincible. As 
 the fear of the Greeks abated, their hatred increased. They mur- 
 mured ; they conspired ; and before a year of slavery had elapsed, 
 they implored, or accepted, the succour of a Barbarian, whose power 
 they had felt, and whose gratitude they trusted. 
 
 The Latin conquerors had been saluted with a solemn and early 
 embassy from John, or Joannice, or Calo-John, the revolted chief ot 
 the Bulgarians and Walachians. He deemed (a.d. 1205) himself their 
 brother, as the votary of the Roman pontiff, from whom he had 
 received the regal title and an holy banner ; and in the subversion of 
 the Greek monarchy, he might aspire to the name of their friend and 
 accomplice. But Calo-John was astonished to find, that the count of 
 Flanders had assumed the pomp and pride of the successors of 
 Constantine ; and his ambassadors were dismissed with an haughty 
 message, that the rebel must deserve a pardon, by touching with his 
 forehead the footstool of the imperial throne. His resentment would 
 have exhaled in acts of violence and blood ; his cooler policy watched 
 the rising discontent of the Greeks ; affected a tender concern for 
 their sufferings ; and promised, that their first struggles for freedom 
 should be supported by his person and kingdom. The conspiracy was 
 propagated by national hatred, the firmest band of association and 
 secrecy : the Greeks were impatient to sheath their daggers in the 
 breasts of the victorious strangers ; but the execution was prudently 
 delayed, till Henry, the emperoi-'s brother, had transported the flower 
 of his troops beyond the Hellespont. Most of the towns and villages 
 of Thrace were true to the moment and the signal : and the Latins, 
 without arms or suspicion, were slaughtered by the vile and merciless 
 revenge of their slaves. From Demotica, the first scene of the 
 massacre, the surviving vassals of the count of St. Pol escaped to 
 Hadrianople ; but the French and Venetians, who occupied that city, 
 were slain or expelled by the furious multitude ; the garrisons that 
 could effect their retreat fell back on each other towards the metro- 
 polis ; and the fortresses, that separately stood against the rebels, were 
 ignorant of each other's and of their sovereign's fate. The voice of 
 fame and fear announced the revolt of the Greeks and the rapid ap- 
 proach of their Bulgarian ally ; and Calo-John, not depending wholly 
 on his own kingdom, had drawn from the Scythian wilderness a body 
 of 14,000 Comans, who drank, as it was said, the blood of their cap- 
 tives, and sacrificed the Christians on the altars of their gods. 
 
 Alarmed by this sudden and growing danger, the emperor dis- 
 patched a swift messenger to recall count Henry and his troops;
 
 'IIS TOR V OF THE CK i SA DES. : 6 9 
 
 and had Baldwin expected the return of his gallant brother, with a 
 siipjjly of 20,000 Armenians, he might have encountered the invader 
 "A'itli equal numbers and a decisive superiority of arms and discipline. 
 But the spirit of chivalry could seldom discriminate caution from 
 cowardice; and the emperor took (March) the field with an hundred 
 and forty knights, and their train of archers and Serjeants. The 
 marshal, who dissuaded and obeyed, led the vanguard in their march 
 to Hadrianople ; the main body was commanded by the count of Blois ; 
 the aged doge of Venice followed with the rear ; and their scanty 
 numbers were increased from all sides by the fugitive Latins. They 
 undertook to besiege the rebels of Hadrianople ; and such was the 
 pious tendency of the crusades, that they employed the holy week in 
 ]-illaging the country for their subsistence, and in framing engines for 
 tlic destruction of their fellow-Christians. But the Latins were soon 
 interrupted and alarmed by the light cavalry of the Comans, who 
 boldly skirmished to the edge of their imperfect lines : and a procla- 
 mation was issued by the marshal of Romania, that, on the trumpet's 
 sound, the cavalry should mount and form ; but that none, under pain 
 of death, should abandon themselves to a desultory and dangerous 
 pursuit. This wise injunction was first disobeyed by the count of 
 lUois, who involved the emperor in his rashness and ruin. The Co- 
 mans, of the Parthian or Tartar school, fled before their first charge ; 
 but after a career of two leagues, when the knights and their horses 
 were almost breathless, they suddenly turned, rallied, and encompassed 
 the heavy scjuadrons of the Franks. The count was slaiu on the 
 field ; the emperor was (A.D. 1205, April 15) made prisoner ; and if the 
 one disdained to fly, if the other refused to yield, their personal bravery 
 made a poor atonement for their neglect of the duties of a general. 
 
 Proud of his victory and his royal prize, the Bulgarian advanced 
 to relieve Hadrianople and achieve the destruction of the Latins. 
 They must inevitably have been destroyed, if the marshal of Romania 
 had not displayed a cool courage and consummate skill ; uncommon 
 in all ages, but most uncommon in those times, when war was a 
 passion, rather than a science. Plis grief and fears were poured into 
 the firm and faithful bosom of the doge ; but in the camp he diffused 
 an assurance of safety, which could only be realized by the general 
 belief. All day he maintained his perilous station between the city 
 and the Barbarians : Villchardouin decamped in silence, at the dead 
 of night ; and his masterly retreat oi three days would have deserved 
 the praise of Xenophon and the ten thousand. In the rear the 
 marshal supported the weight of the pursuit ; in the front he moderated 
 the impatience of the fugitives ; and wherever the Comans approached, 
 they were repelled by a line of impenetrable spears. On the third 
 day, the weary troops beheld the sea, the solitary town of Rodosto, 
 and their friends, who had landed from the Asiatic shore. They ein- 
 
 H H
 
 470 THE DEFEA T AND CAPTIVITY OF BALDWIN. 
 
 braced, they wept ; but they united their amis and counsels ; and, in 
 his brother's absence, count Henry assumed the regency of the empire, 
 at once in a state of childhood and caducity. If the Comans with- 
 drew from the summer heats, 7000 Latins, in the hour of danger, 
 deserted Constantinople, their brethren, and their vows. Some partial 
 success was overbalanced by the loss of 120 knights in the field of 
 Rusium ; and of the Imperial domain, no more was left, than the 
 capital, with two or three adjacent fortresses on the shores of Europe 
 and Asia. The king of Bulgaria was resistless and inexorable ; and 
 Calo-John respectfully eluded the demands of the pope, who conjured 
 his new proselyte to restore peace and the emperor to the afflicted 
 Latins, The deliverance of Baldwin was no longer, he said, in the 
 power of man : that prince had died in prison ; and the manner of his 
 death is variously related by ignorance and credu/i'y. About twenty 
 years afterwards, in a wood of the Netherlands, an heiTnit announced 
 himself as the true Baldwin, the emperor of Constantinople, and law- 
 ful sovereign of Flanders. He related the wonders of his escape, his 
 adventures, and his penance, among a people prone to believe and to 
 rebel ; and, in the first transport, Flanders acknowledged her long- 
 lost sovereign. A short examination before the French court detected 
 the impostor, who was punished with an ignominious death ; but the 
 Flemings still adhered to the pleasing error ; and the countess Jane 
 is accused by the gravest historians of sacrificing to her ambition the 
 life of an unfortunate father. 
 
 In all civilized hostility, a treaty is established for the exchange or 
 ransom of prisoners ; and if their captivity be prolonged, their condi- 
 tion is known, and they are treated according to their rank with 
 humanity or honour. But the savage Bulgarian was a stranger to the 
 laws of war ; his prisons were involved in darkness and silence ; and 
 above a year elapsed before the Latins could be assured of the death 
 of Baldwin, before his brother, the regent Henry (a.d. 1206, Aug. 20 — 
 A.D. 1216, June 11), would consent to assume the title of emperor. His 
 moderation was applauded by the Greeks as an act of rare and inimit- 
 able virtue. Their light and perfidious ambition was eager to seize or 
 anticipate the moment of a vacancy, while a law of succession, the 
 guardian both of the prince and people, was gradually defined and con- 
 firmed in the hereditary monarchies of Europe. In the support of the 
 Eastern empire, Henry was gradually left without an associate, as the 
 heroes of the crusade retired from the world or from the war. The 
 doge of Venice, the venerable Dandolo, in the fulness of years and 
 glory, sunk into the grave. The marquis of Monferrat was slowly 
 recalled from the Peloponnesian war to the revenge of Baldwin and 
 the defence of Thessalonica, Some nice disputes of feudal homage 
 and service, were reconciled in a personal interview between the 
 emperor and the king : they were firmly united by mutual esteem and
 
 NISTORV OF THE CRUSADES'. 4y I 
 
 the cominon danger : and their alliance was sealed by the nuptials of 
 Henry with the daughter of the Italian prince. He soon deplored the 
 loss of his friend and father. At the persuasion of some faithful 
 Greeks, Boniface made a bold and successful inroad among the hills 
 of Rhodope : the Bulgarians fled on his approach ; they assembled to 
 harass his retreat. On the intelligence that his rear was attacked, 
 ^\•ithout waiting for any defensive armour, he leaped on horseback, 
 couched his lance, and drove the enemies before him ; but in the rash 
 pursuit he was pierced with a mortal wound ; and the head of the king 
 of Thessalonica was presented to Calo-John, who enjoyed the honours, 
 without the merit of victory. It is here, at this melancholy event, 
 that the pen or the voice of Jeffrey ol Villehardouin seems to drop or 
 to expire ; and if he still exercised his military office of marshal of 
 Romania, his subsequent exploits are buried in oblivion. The charac- 
 ter of Henry was not unequal to his arduous situation : in the siege 
 of Constantinople, and beyond the Hellespont, he had deserved the 
 fame of a valiant knight and a skilful commander ; and his courage 
 was tempered with a degree of prudence and mildness unknown to his 
 impetuous brother. In the double war against the Greeks of Asia and 
 the Bulgarians of Europe, he was ever the foremost on shipboard or 
 on horseback ; and though he cautiously provided for the success of 
 bis arms, the drooping Latins were often roused by his example to 
 save and to second their fearless emperor. But such efforts, and some 
 supplies of men and money from France, were of less avail than the 
 errors, the cruelty, and death of their most formidable adversarj^ 
 When the despair of the Greek subjects invited Calo-John as their 
 deliverer, they hoped that he would protect their liberty and adopt 
 their laws : they were soon taught to compare the degrees of national 
 ferocity, and to execrate the savage conqueror, who no longer dis- 
 sembled his intention of dispeopling Thrace, of demolishing the cities, 
 and of transplanting the inhabitants beyond the Danube. Many 
 towns and villages of Thrace were already evacuated : an heap of 
 ruins marked the place of Philippopolis, and a similar calamity was 
 expected at Dcmotica and Hadrianople, by the first authors of the 
 revolt. They raised a cry of grief and repentance to the throne of 
 Henry ; the emperor alone had the magnanimity to forgive and trust 
 them. No more than 400 knights, with their scrjeants and archers, 
 could be assembled under his banner ; and with this slender force he 
 fought and repulsed the Bulgarian, who, besides his infantry, was at 
 the head of 40,000 horse. In this expedition, Henry felt the difference 
 between an hostile and a friendly country ; the remaining cities were 
 preserved by his arms ; and the savage, with shame and loss, was 
 compelled to relinquish his prey. The siege of Thessalonica was the 
 last of the evils which Calo-John inflicted or suffered : he was stabbed 
 in the night in his tent ; and the general, perhaps the assassin, who
 
 472 THE REIGN A ND DEA TH OF HENR Y. 
 
 found him weltering in his blood, ascribed the blow with general ap- 
 plause to the lance of St. Demetrius. After several victories, the 
 prudence of Henry concluded an honourable peace with the successor 
 of the tyrant, and with the Greek princes of Nice and Epirus. If he 
 ceded some doubtful limits, an ample kingdom was reserved for him- 
 self and his feudatories ; and his reign, which lasted only ten years, 
 afforded a short interval of prosperity and peace. Far above the 
 narrow policy of Baldwin and Boniface, he freely entrusted to the 
 Greeks the most important offices of the state and army : and this 
 liberality of sentiment and practice was the more seasonable, as the 
 princes of Nice and Epirus had already learned to seduce and employ 
 the mercenary valour of the Latins. It was the aim of Henry to unite 
 and reward his deserving subjects of every nation and language ; but 
 he appeared less solicitous to accomplish the impracticable union 
 of the two churches. Pelagius, the pope's legate, who acted as the 
 sovereign of Constantinople, had interdicted the worship of the Greeks, 
 and sternly imposed the payment of tithes, the double procession of 
 the Holy Ghost, and a blind obedience to the Roman pontiff. As the 
 weaker party, they pleaded the duties of conscience, and implored the 
 rights of toleration : " Our bodies," they said, " are Caesai-'s, but our 
 souls belong only to God." The persecution was checked by the 
 firmness of the emperor ; and if we can believe that the same prince 
 was poisoned by the Greeks themselves, we must entertain a con- 
 temptible idea of the sense and gratitude of mankind. His valour was 
 a vulgar attribute, which he shared with ten thousand knights ; but 
 Henry possessed the superioi courage to oppose, in a superstitious 
 age, the pride and avarice of the clergy. In the cathedral of St. 
 Sophia he presumed to place his throne on the right hand of the 
 patriarch ; and this presumption excited the sharpest censure of pope 
 Innocent the third. By a salutary edict, one of the first examples of 
 the laws of mortmain, he pi'ohibited the alienation of fiefs ; many of 
 the Latins, desirous of returning to Europe, resigned their estates to 
 the church for a spiritual or temporal reward ; these holy lands were 
 immediately discharged from military service ; and a colony of soldiers 
 would have been gradually transformed into a college of priests. 
 
 The virtuous Henry died at Thessalonica, in the defence of that 
 kingdom, and of an infant, the son of his friend Boniface. In the two 
 first emperors of Constantinople the male line of the counts of Flan- 
 ders was extinct. But their sister Yolande was the wife of a French 
 prince, the mother of a numerous progeny ; and one of her daughters 
 had married Andrew king of Hungary, a brave and pious champion of 
 the cross. By seating him on the Byzantine throne, the barons of 
 Romania would have acquired the forces of a neighbouring and war- 
 like kingdom ; but the prudent Andrew revered the laws of succession ; 
 and the princess Yolande, with her husband Peter of Courtenay, count
 
 ms TOR y OP' THE CR USA DES. 4-3 
 
 of Atixcrre, was invited by the Latins to assume (A.D. 1217. April 9) 
 the empire of the East. The royal birth of his father, the noble origin 
 of his mother, recommended to the barons of France the first cousin 
 of their king. His reputation was fair, his possessions were ample, 
 and, in the bloody crusade against the Albigcois, the soldiers and the 
 priests had been abundantly satisfied of his zeal and valour. Vanity 
 might applaud the elevation of a French emperor of Constantinople ; 
 but prudence must pity, rather than envy, his treacherous and imagin- 
 ary greatness. To assert and adorn his title, he was reduced to sell 
 or mortgage the best of his patrimony. By these expedients, the 
 liberality of his royal kinsman Philip Augustus, and the national spirit 
 of chivalry, he was enabled to pass the Alps at the head of 140 knights, 
 and 5500 Serjeants and archers. After some hesitation, pope Honorius 
 the third was persuaded to crown the successor of Constantine ', but he 
 performed the ceremony in a church without the walls, lest he should 
 seem to imply or to bestow any right of sovereignty over the ancient 
 capital of the empire. The Venetians had engaged to transport Peter 
 and his forces beyond the Hadriatic, and the empress, with her four 
 children, to the Byzantine palace ; but they required, as the price of 
 their service, that he should recover Durazzo from the despot of Epirus. 
 Michael Angelus, or Comnenus, the first of his dynasty, had bequeathed 
 the succession of his power and ambition to Theodore, his legitimate 
 brother, who already threatened and invaded the establishments of 
 the Latins. After discharging his debt by a fruitless assault, the em- 
 peror raised the siege to prosecute a long and perilous journey over 
 land from Durazzo to Thessalonica. He was soon lost in the moun- 
 tains of Epirus : the passes were fortified ; his provisions exhausted : 
 he was delayed and deceived by a treacherous negociation ; and, after 
 Peter of Courtenay and the Roman legate had been an-ested in a ban- 
 quet, the French troops, without leaders or hopes, were eager to ex- 
 change their arms for the delusive promise of mercy and bread. The 
 Vatican thundered ; and the impious Theodore was threatened with 
 the vengeance of earth and heaven ; but the captive emperor and his 
 soldiers were forgotten, and the reproaches of the pope are confined to 
 the imprisonment of his legate. No sooner was he satisfied by the 
 deliverance of the priest and a promise of spiritual obedience, than he 
 pardoned and protected the despot of Epirus. His peremptory com- 
 mands suspended the ardour of the Venetians and the king of Hun- 
 gary ; and it was only by a natural or untimely death that Peter of 
 Coiu'tenay was released from his hopeless (A.D. 1217 — 1219) captivity. 
 The long ignorance of his fate, and the presence of the lawful sove- 
 reign, of Yolande, his wife or widow, delayed the proclamation of a 
 new emperor. Before her death, and in the midst of her grief, she 
 was delivered of a son, who was named Baldwin, the last and most 
 unfortunate of the Latin princes of Constantinople. His birth endeared
 
 474 liOSERT, THE LAS3? LATIN RULER OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 him to the barons of Romania ; but his childhood would have pro- 
 longed the troubles of a minority, and his claims were superseded by 
 the elder claims of his brethren. The first of these, Philip of Cour- 
 tcnay, who derived from his mother the inheritance of Namur, had the 
 wisdom to prefer the substance of a marquisate to the shadow of an 
 empire ; and on his refusal, Robert, the second of the sons of Peter 
 and Yolande, was called to the throne (a.d. 1221 — 1228) of Constan- 
 tinople. Warned by his father's mischance, he pursued his slow and 
 secure journey through Germany and along the Danube : a passage 
 was opened by his sister's marriage with the king of Hungary ; and 
 the emperor Robert was crowned by the patriarch in the cathedral of 
 St. Sophia. But his reign was an rera of calamity and disgrace ; and 
 the colony, as it was styled, of New FRANCE yielded on all sides to 
 the Greeks of Nice and Epirus. After a victory which he owed to 
 his perfidy rather than his courage, Theodore Angelus entered the 
 kingdom of Thessalonica, expelled the feeble Demetrius, the son of 
 the marquis Boniface, erected his standard on the walls of Hadrianople ; 
 and added, by his vanity, a third or fourth name to the list of rival 
 emperors. The relics of the Asiatic province were swept away by 
 John Vataces, the son-in-law and successor of Theodore Lascaris, 
 and who, in a triumphant reign of thirty-three years, displayed the 
 virtues both of peace and war. Under his discipline the swords of 
 the French mercenaries were the most effectual instrument of his con- 
 quests, and their desertion from the service of their country was at 
 once a symptom and a cause of the rising ascendant of the Greeks. 
 By the construction of a fleet, he obtained the command of the Helles- 
 pont, reduced the islands of Lesbos and Rhodes, attacked the Venetians 
 of Candia, and intercepted the rare and parsimonious succours of the 
 West. Once, and once only, the Latin emperor sent -an army against 
 Vataces ; and in the defeat of that army, the veteran knights, the last 
 of the original conquerors, were left on the field of battle. But the 
 success of a foreign enemy was less painful to the pusillanimous Robert 
 than the insolence of his Latin subjects, who confounded the weakness 
 of the emperor and of the empire. His personal misfortunes will prove 
 the anarchy of the government and the ferociousness of the times. 
 The amorous youth had neglected his Greek bride, the daughter of 
 Vataces, to introduce into the palace a beautiful maid, of a private, 
 though noble, family of Artois ; and her mother had been tempted by 
 the lustre of the purple to forfeit her engagements with a gentleman of 
 Burgundy. His love was converted into rage ; he assembled his friends, 
 forced the palace gates, threw the mother into the sea, and inhumanly 
 cut off the nose and lips of the wife or concubine of the emperor. 
 Instead of punishing the offender, the barons avowed and applauded 
 the savage deed, which, as a prince and as a man, it was impossible 
 that Robert should forgive. He escaped from the guilty city to im-
 
 /I/S TOR y OF THE CR USADES. 475 
 
 plorc the justice or compassion of the pope : the emperor was coolly 
 exhorted to return to his station ; before he could obey, he sank under 
 the weight of grief, shame, and impotent resentment. 
 
 It was only in the age of chivalry, that valour could ascend from a 
 private station to the thrones of Jerusalem and Constantinople. The 
 titular kingdom of Jeiaisalem had devolved to Mary, the daughter of 
 Isabel and Conrad of Montferrat, and the grand-daughter of Almeric 
 or Amaury. She was given to John of Brienne (A.D. 1228 — 1237), of a 
 noble family in Champagne, by the public voice and the judgment of 
 Philip Augustus, who named him as the most worthy champion of the 
 Holy Land. In the fifth crusade, he led 100,000 Latins to the con 
 quest of Egypt ; by him the siege of Damietta was achieved ; and the 
 subsequent failure was justly ascribed to the pride and avarice of the 
 legate. After the marriage of his daughter with Frederic the second, 
 he was provoked by the emperor's ingratitude to accept the com- 
 mand of the army of the church ; and though advanced in life, and 
 despoiled of royalty, the sword and spirit of John of Brienne were still 
 ready for the service of Christendom. In the seven years of his bro- 
 ther's reign, Baldwin of Courtenay had not emerged from a state of child- 
 hood, and the barons of Romania felt the strong necessity of placing 
 the sceptre in the hands of a man and an hero. The veteran king of 
 Jerusalem might have disdained the name and office of regent ; they 
 agreed to invest him for his life with the title and prerogatives of em- 
 peror, on the sole condition that Baldwin should marry his second 
 daughter, and succeed at a mature age to the throne of Constantinople. 
 The expectation both of the Greeks and Latins, was kindled by the 
 renown, the choice, and the presence of John of Brienne : and they ad- 
 mired his martial aspect, his green and vigorous age of more than four- 
 score years, and his size and stature, which surpassed the common 
 measure of mankind. But avarice, and the love of ease, appeared to 
 have chilled the ardour of enterprise : his troops were disbanded, and 
 two years rolled away without action or honour, till he was awakened 
 by the dangerous alliance of Vataces emperor of Nice, and of Azan 
 king of Bulgaria. They besieged Constantinople by sea and land, with 
 an army of 100,000 men, and a fleet of 300 ships of war ; while the en- 
 tire force of the Latin emperor was reduced to 160 knights, and a small 
 addition of Serjeants and archers. I tremble to relate, that instead of 
 defending the city, the hero made a sally at the head of his cavalry ; and 
 that of forty-eight squadrons of the enemy, no more than three escaped 
 from the edge of his invincible sword. Fired by his example, the in- 
 fantry and the citizens boarded the vessels that anchored close to thi 
 walls : and twenty-five were dragged in triumph into the harbour of 
 Constantinople. At the summons of the emperor, the vassals and allies 
 armed in her defence ; broke through every obstacle that opposed their 
 passage ; and, in the succeeding year obtained a second victory over
 
 47>' DALVinW OF L.OURTENAY APPEALS IN l'A!/JTO F.Ur.OPE. 
 
 the same enemies. Cy the rude poets of the age, John of Erienne is 
 compared to Hector, Roland, and Judas Machabzeus ; but their credit, 
 and his glory, receives some abatement from the silence of the Greeks. 
 The empire was soon deprived of the last of her champions ; and the 
 dying monarch was ambilious to enter paradise in the habit of a Fran- 
 ciscan friar. 
 
 In the double victory of John of Brienne, I cannot discover the name 
 or exploits of his pupil Baldwin ; who had attained the age of military 
 service, and who succeeded (a.d. 1237. Mar. 23 — A.D. 1261. July 25) to 
 the Imperial dignity on the decease of his adoptive father. The royal 
 youth was employed on a commission more suitable to his temper ; he 
 was sent to visit the Western courts, of the pope more especially, and 
 of the king of France ; to excite their pity by the view of his innocence 
 and distress ; and to obtain some supplies of men or money for the re- 
 lief of the sinking empire. He thrice repeated these mendicant visits, 
 in which he seemed to prolong his stay and postpone his return : of the 
 five-and-twenty years of his reign, a greater number were spent abroad 
 than at home ; and in no place did the emperor deem himself less free 
 and secure, than in his native country and his capital. On some public 
 occasions, his vanity might be soothed by the title of Augustus, and by 
 the honours of the purple ; and at the general council of Lyons, when 
 Frederic the second was excommunicated and deposed, his Oriental 
 colleague was enthroned on the right-hand of the pope. But how often 
 was the exile, the vagrant, the Imperial beggar, humbled with scorn, 
 insulted with pity, and degraded in his own eyes and those of the 
 nations ! In his first visit to England, he was stopped at Dover, by a 
 severe reprimand, that he should presume, without leave, to enter an 
 independent kingdom. After some delay, Baldwin however was per- 
 mitted to pursue his journey, was entertained with cold civility, and 
 thankfully departed with a present of seven hundred marks. From the 
 avarice of Rome he could only obtain the proclamation of a crusade 
 and a treasure of indulgences; a coin, whose currency was depreciated 
 by too frequent and indiscriminate abuse. His birth and misfortunes 
 recommended him to the generosity of his cousin Lewis the ninth ; but 
 the martial zeal of the saint was diverted from Constantinople to Egypt 
 and Palestine ; and the public and private property of Baldwin was 
 alleviated, for a moment, by the alienation of the marquisite of Namur 
 and the lordship of Courtenay, the last remains of his inheritanc(\ 
 By such shameful or ruinous expedients, he once more returned t^) 
 Romania, with an army of 30,000 soldiers, whose numbers were doubled 
 in the apprehension of the Greeks. His first despatches to France and 
 England announced his victories and his hopes : he had reduced tiie 
 country round the capital to the distance of three days' journey ; and 
 ;f he succeeded against an important, though nameless city (most pro- 
 bably Chiorli), the frontier would be safe and the passage accessible.
 
 N/S TOR Y OF THE CR USA DBS. 477 
 
 r.ut these expectations (if Baldwin was sincere) quickly vanished like a 
 dream : the troops and treasures of France melted away in his unskil- 
 ful hands ; and the throne of the Latin emperor was protected by a 
 dishonourable alliance with the Turks and Comans. To secure the 
 former, he consented to bestow his niece on the unbelieving sultan of 
 Cogni ; to please the latter he complied with their pagan rites ; a dog 
 was sacrificed between the two armies ; and the contracting parties 
 tasted each other's blood, as a pledge of their fidelity. In the palace 
 or prison of Constantinople, the successor of Augustus demolished the 
 vacant houses for winter fuel, and stripped the lead from the churches 
 for the daily expence of his family. Some usurious loans were dealt 
 with a scanty hand by the merchants of Italy ; and Philip, his son and 
 heir, was pawned at Venice as the security for a debt. Thirst, hunger, 
 and nakedness are positive evils ; but wealth is relative ; and a prince, 
 who would be rich in a private station, may be exposed by the increase 
 of his wants to all the anxiety and bitterness of poverty. 
 
 But in this abject distress, the emperor and empire were still pos- 
 sessed of an ideal treasure, which drew its fantastic value from the 
 superstition of the Christian world. The merit of the true cross was 
 somewhat impaired by its frequent division ; and a long captivity 
 among the infidels might shed some suspicion on the fragments that 
 were produced in the East and West: But another relic of the Pas- 
 sion was preserved in the Imperial chapel of Constantinople ; and the 
 crown of thorns which had been placed on the head of Christ was 
 equally precious and authentic. It had formerly been the practice of 
 the Egyptian debtors to deposit, as a security, the mummies of their 
 parents ; and both their honour and religion were bound for the re- 
 demption of the pledge. In the same manner, and in the absence of 
 the emperor, the barons of Romania borrowed the sum of 13,134 pieces 
 of gold, on the credit of the holy crown : they failed in the perform- 
 ance of their contract ; and a rich Venetian, Nicholas Querini, un- 
 dertook to satisfy their impatient creditors, on condition that the relic 
 should be lodged at Venice, to become his absolute property, if it were 
 not redeemed within a short and definite term. The barons apprised 
 their sovereign of the hard treaty and impending loss ; and as the 
 empire could not afford a ransom of £jooo, Baldwin was anxious to 
 snatch the prize from the Venetians, and to vest it with more honour 
 and emolument in the hands of the most Christian king. Yet the 
 ncgociation was attended with some delicacy. In the purchase of 
 relics, the saint would have started at the guilt of simony ; but if the 
 mode of expression were changed, he might lawfully repay the debt, 
 accept the gift, and acknowledge the obligation. His ambassadors 
 two Dominicans, were dispatched to Venice, to redeem and receive the 
 holy crown, which had escaped the dangers of the sea and the galleys 
 of Vataces. On opening a wooden box, they recognized the seals of
 
 478 MICHAEL PAL^OLOGUS, THE GREEK EMPEROR. 
 
 the doge and barons, which were apphed on a shrine of silver : and j 
 
 within this shrine, the monument of the Passion was inclosed in a I 
 golden vase. The reluctant Venetians yielded to justice and power : 
 the emperor Frederic granted a free and honourable passage ; the 
 court of France advanced as far as Troyes in Champagne, to meet 
 with devotion this inestimable relic : it was borne in triumph through 
 
 Paris by the king himself, barefoot, and in his shirt ; and a free gift of j 
 
 /o,ooo marks of silver reconciled Baldwin to his loss. The success of ; 
 
 this transaction tempted the Latin emperor to offer with the same ! 
 
 generosity the remaining furniture of his chapel ; a large and authen- ] 
 tic portion of the true cross ; the baby-linen of the Son of God ; the 
 
 lance, the spunge, and the chain of his Passion ; the rod of Moses, j 
 
 and part of the skull of St. John the Baptist. For the reception of : 
 
 these spiritual treasures, 20,000 marks were expended by St. Louis on j 
 
 a stately foundation, the holy chapel of Paris, on which the muse of ; 
 Boileau has bestowed a comic immortality. The truth of such remote 
 and ancient relics, which cannot be proved by any human testimony, 
 
 must be admitted, by those who believe in the miracles which they ! 
 
 have performed. About the middle of the last age, an inveterate i 
 
 ■ ulcer was touched and cured by an holy prickle of the hoi/ crown : i 
 
 the prodigy is attested by the most pious and enlightened Christians i 
 
 of France ; nor will the fact be easily disproved, except by those who j 
 
 are armed with a general antidote against religious credulity. I 
 
 The Latins of Constantinople were on all sides encompassed (a.d. 
 
 1237 — 1261) and pressed : their sole hope, the last delay of their ruin, \ 
 
 was in the division of their Greek and Bulgarian enemies ; and of this | 
 
 hope they were deprived by the superior arms and policy of Vataces ; 
 
 emperor of Nice. From the Propontis to the rocky coast of Pamphy- | 
 lia, Asia was peaceful and prosperous under his reign : and the events 
 
 of every campaign extended his influence in Europe. The strong 1 
 
 cities of the hills of Macedonia and Thrace, Avere rescued from the Bui- ■ 
 
 garians ; and their kingdom was circumscribed by its present and pro- ■ 
 
 per limits, along the southern banks of the Danube. The sole emperor i 
 
 of the Romans could no longer brook that a lord of Epirus, a Comnenian \ 
 prince of the West, should presume to dispute or share the honours 
 
 of the purple ; and the humble Demetrius changed the colour of his I 
 
 buskins and accepted with gratitude the appellation of despot. His I 
 
 own subjects were exasperated by his baseness and incapacity : they j 
 
 implored the protection of their supreme lord. After some resistance, , 
 the kingdom of Thessalonica was united to the empire of Nice ; and 
 
 Vataces reigned without a competitor from the Turkish borders to the , 
 Hadriatic gulf. The princes of Europe revered his merit and power ; 
 and had he subscribed an orthodox creed, it should seem that the 
 
 pope would have abandoned without reluctance the Latin throne of ■ 
 Constantinople. But the death of Vataces, the short and busy reign
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 479 
 
 of Theodore his son, and the helpless infancy of his grandson John, 
 suspended the restoration of the Greeks. The young prince wa= 
 oppressed by the ambition of his guardian and colleague (A.D. 1259, 
 Dec. i) Michael Pateologus, who displayed the virtues and vices that 
 belong to the founder of a new dynasty. The emperor Baldwin had 
 llattered himself, that he might recover some provinces or cities by an 
 impotent negociation. His ambassadors were dismissed from Nice 
 with mockery and contempt. At every place which they named, 
 Pateologus alleged some special reason, which rendered it dear and 
 valuable in his eyes : in the one he was born ; in another he had been 
 first promoted to military command ; and in a third he had enjoyed, 
 and hoped long to enjoy, the pleasures of the chace. " And what then 
 do you propose to give us ?" said the astonished deputies. " Nothing," 
 replied the Greek, " not a foot of land. If your master be desirous of 
 peace, let him pay me as an annual tribute, the sum which he receives 
 from the trade and customs of Constantinople. On these terms, I may 
 allow him to reign. If he refuses, it is war. I am not ignorant of the 
 art of war, and I trust the event to God and my sword." An expedition 
 against the despot of Epirus was the first prelude of his arms. If a 
 victory was followed by a defeat ; if the race of Comneni or Angeli 
 survived in those mountains his efforts and his reign ; the captivity 
 of Villehardouin, prince of Achaia, deprived the Latins of the most 
 active and powerful vassal of their expiring monarchy. The republics 
 of Venice and Genoa disputed, in the first of their naval wars, the 
 com.mand of the sea and the commerce of the East. Pride and 
 interest attached the Venetians to the defence of Constantinople : their 
 rivals were tempted to promote the designs of her enemies, and the 
 alliance of the Genoese with the schismatic conqueror provoked the 
 indignation of the Latin Church. 
 
 Intent on this great object, the emperor Michael visited in person 
 and strengthened the troops and fortifications of Thrace. The remains 
 of the Latins were driven from their last possessions : he assaulted 
 without success the suburb of Galata ; and corresponded with a perfi- 
 dious baron, who proved unwilling, or unable, to open the gates of the 
 metropolis. The next spring, his favourite general, Alexius Stratego- 
 pulus, whom he had decorated with the title of Cresar, passed the Hel- 
 lespont with eight hundred horse and some infantry, on a secret ex- 
 pedition. His instructions enjoined him to approach, to listen, to 
 watch, but not to risk any doubtful or dangerous enterprise against the 
 city. The adjacent territory between the Propontis and the Black 
 Sea, was cultivated by an hardy race of peasants and outlaws, exercised 
 in arms, uncertain in their allegiance, but inclined by language, reli- 
 gion, and present advantage, to the party of the Greeks. They were 
 styled the volunteers, and by their free service, the army of Alexius, 
 with the regulars ci Thrace and the Ccman auxiliaries, was augmented
 
 480 COI^STANTINOPLE RECOVERED BY THE GREEKS. 
 
 to the number of 25.000 men. By the ardour of the voUinteers, and 
 by his own ambition, the Cccsar was stimulated to disobey the precise 
 orders of his master, in the just confidence that success would plead 
 his pardon and reward. The weakness of Constantinople, and the dis- 
 tress and terror of the Latins, were familiar to the observation of the 
 volunteers : and they represented the present moment as the most pro- 
 pitious to surprise and conquest. A rash youth, the new governor of 
 the Venetian colony, had sailed away with thirty galleys and the best 
 of the French knights, on a wild expedition to Daphnusia, a town on 
 the Black Sea, at the distance of forty leagues ; and the remaining 
 Latins were without strength or suspicion. They were informed that 
 Alexius had passed the Hellespont ; but their apprehensions were 
 lulled by the smallness of his original numbers ; and their imprudence 
 had not watched the subsequent increase of his army. If he left his 
 main body to second and support his operations, he might advance un- 
 perceived in the night with a chosen detachment. While some ap- 
 plied (a.D. 1261. July 25) scaling ladders to the lowest part of the 
 walls, they were secure of an old Greek, who could introduce their com- 
 panions through a subterraneous passage into his house ; they could 
 soon on the inside break an entrance through the golden gate, which 
 had been long obstructed ; and the conqueror would be in the heart 
 of the city, before the Latins were conscious of their danger. After 
 some debate, the Ctesar resigned himself to the faith of the volunteers ; 
 they were trusty, bold, and successful ; and in describing the plan, I have 
 already related the execution and success. But no sooner had Alexius 
 passed the threshold of the golden gate, than he trembled at his own 
 rashness ; he paused, he deliberated ; till the desperate volunteers 
 urged him forwards, by the assurance that in retreat lay the greatest 
 and most inevitable danger. Whilst the Caesar kept his regulars in 
 firm array, the Comans dispersed themselves on all sides ; an alarm 
 was sounded, and the threats of fire and pillage compelled the citizens 
 to a decisive resolution. The Greeks of Constantinople remembered 
 their native sovereigns ; the Genoese merchants, their recent alliance 
 and Venetian foes ; every quarter was in arms ; and the air resounded 
 with a general acclamation of " Long life and victory to Michael and 
 John, the august emperors of the Romans !" Their rival, Baldwin, 
 was awakened by the sound ; but the most pressing danger could not 
 prompt him to draw his sword in the defence of a city which he de- 
 serted, perhaps, with more pleasure than regret ; he fled from the 
 palace to the sea-shore, where he descried the welcome sails of the 
 fleet returning from the vain and fruitless attempt on Daphnusia. 
 Constantinople was irrecoverably lost ; but the Latin Emperor and the 
 principal families embarked on board the Venetian galleys, and steered 
 for the isle of Euboea, and afterwards for Italy, where the royal fugi- 
 tive was entertained by the pope and Sicilian king with a mixture
 
 HISTORY OF THE CR USA DBS. ^ S I 
 
 of contempt and pity. From the loss of Constantinople to his death, 
 he consumed thirteen years, soliciting the Catholic powers to join in 
 his restoration; the lesson had been familiar to his youth; nor was 
 his last exile more indigent or shameful than his three former piigrim- 
 a_L;es to the courts of Europe. His son Philip was the heir of an ideal 
 empire ; and the pretensions of his daughter Catherine were trans- 
 ported by her marriage to Charles of Valois, the brother of Ph-ilip the 
 Fair king of France. The house of Courtenay was represented in the 
 female line by successive alliances, till the title of emperor of Constan- 
 tinople, too bulky and sonorous for a private name, modestly expired 
 in silence and oblivion. 
 
 After this narrative of the expeditions of the Latins to Palestine and 
 Constantinople, I cannot dismiss the subject without revolving the 
 general consequences on the countries that were the scene, and on the 
 nations that were the actors of these memorable crusades. As soon 
 as the arms of the Franks were withdrawn, the impression, though not 
 the memory, was erased in the Mahometan realms of Egypt and Syria. 
 The faithful disciples of the prophet were never tempted by a pro- 
 fane desire to study the laws or language of the idolaters ; nor did the 
 simplicity of their primitive manners receive the slightest alteration 
 from their intercourse in peace and war with the unknown strangers 
 of the West. The Greeks, who thought themselves proud, but who 
 were only vain, showed a disposition somewhat less inflexible. In the 
 efforts for the recovery of their empire, they emulated the valour, dis- 
 cipline, and tactics, of their antagonists. The modern literature of 
 the West they might justly despise ; but its free spirit would instruct 
 ihem in the rights of man ; and some institutions of public and private 
 life were adopted from the French. The correspondence of Constan- 
 tinople and Italy diftused the knowledge of the Latin tongue ; and 
 several of the fathers and classics were at length honoured with a 
 Greek version. But the national and religious prejudices of the 
 Orientals were inflamed by persecution ; and the reign of the Latins 
 confirmed the separation of the two churches. 
 
 If we compare, at the asra of the crusades, the Latins of Europe 
 with the Greeks and Arabians, their respective degrees of knowledge, 
 industry, and art, our rude ancestors must be content with the third 
 rank in the scale of nations. Their successive improvement and pre- 
 sent superiority may be ascribed to a peculiar energy of character, to 
 an active and imitative spirit, unknown to their more polished rivals, 
 who at that time were in a stationary or retrograde state. With such 
 a disposition, the Latins should have derived the most early and es- 
 sential benefits from a series of events which opened to their eyes the 
 prospect of the world, and introduced them to a long and frequent 
 vjitercourse.with the more cultivated regions of the East. The first 
 and most obvious progress was in trade and manufactures, in the
 
 482 GENERAL CONSEQ UENCES OF THE CR USA DES. 
 
 arts which are strongly prompted by the thirst of wealth, the calls of 
 necessity, and the gratification of the sense or vanity. Among the 
 crowd of unthinking fanatics, a captive or a pilgrim might sometimes 
 observe the superior refinements of Cairo and Constantinople : the 
 first importer of wind-mills* was the benefactor of nations ; and if 
 such blessings are enjoyed without any grateful remembrance, history 
 has condescended to notice the more apparent luxuries of silk and 
 sugar, which were transported into Italy from Greece and Egypt. 
 But the intellectual wants of the Latins were more slowly felt and 
 supplied ; the ardour of studious curiosity was awakened in Europe 
 by different causes and more recent events ; and, in the age of the 
 crusades, they viewed with careless indifference the literature of the 
 Greeks and Arabians. Some rudiments of mathematical and medi- 
 cinal knowledge might be imparted in practice and in figures ; neces- 
 sity might produce some interpreters for the grosser business of 
 mei-chants and soldiers ; but the commerce of the Orientals had not 
 diffused the study and knowledge of their languages in the schools of 
 Europe. If a similar principle of religion repulsed the idiom of the 
 Koran, it should have excited their patience and curiosity to under- 
 stand the original text of the Gospel ; and the same grammar would 
 have unfolded the sense of Plato and the beauties of Homer, Yet in 
 a reign of sixty years the Latins of Constantinople disdained the speech 
 and learning of their subjects ; and the manuscripts were the only 
 treasures which the natives might enjoy without rapine or envy. Aris- 
 totle was indeed the oracle of the Western universities ; but it was a 
 barbarous Aristotle ; and, instead of ascending to the fountain-head, 
 his Latin votaries humbly accepted a corrupt and remote version from 
 the Jews and Moors of Andalusia. The principle of the crusades was 
 a savage fanaticism ; and the most important effects were analogous to 
 the cause. Each pilgrim was ambitious to return with his sacred 
 spoils, the relics of Greece and Palestine ; and each relic was pre- 
 ceded and followed by a train of miracles and visions. The belief of 
 the Catholics was corrupted by new legends, their practice by new 
 superstitions ; and the establishment of the inquisition, the mendicant 
 orders of monks and friars, the last abuse of indulgences, and the final 
 progress of idolatry, flowed from the baleful fountain of the holy war. 
 The active spirit of the Latins preyed on the vitals of their reason and 
 religion ; and if the ninth and tenth centuries were the times of dark- 
 ness, the thirteenth and fourteenth were the age of absurdity and fable. 
 In the profession of Christianity, in the cultivation of a fertile land, 
 the northern conquerors of the Roman empire insensibly mingled with 
 the provincials, and rekindled the embers of the arts of antiquity. 
 Their settlements about the age of Charlemagne had acquired some 
 
 * Windmills, first invented in the dry country of Asia Minor, and ustd in Normandy ia 
 1105.
 
 HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. ^83 
 
 degree of order and stability, when they were overwhelmed by new 
 swarms of invaders, the Normans, Saracens, and Hungarians, who 
 replunged the western countries of Europe into their former state of 
 anarchy and barbarism. About the eleventh centurj', the second tem- 
 pest had subsided by the expulsion or conversion of the enemies of 
 Christendom : the tide of civilization, which had so long ebbed, began 
 to flow with a steady and accelerated course ; and a fairer prospect 
 was opened to the hopes and efforts of the rising generations. 
 
 Great was the increase, and rapid the progress, during the two hun- 
 dred years of the crusades ; and some philosophers have applauded 
 the propitious influence of these holy wars, which appear to me to have 
 checked rather than forwarded the maturity of Europe. The lives 
 and labours of millions, which were buried in the East, would have 
 been more profitably employed in the improvement of their native 
 country : the accumulated stock of industry and wealth would have 
 overflowed in navigation and trade ; and the Latins would have been 
 enriched and enlightened by a pure and friendly correspondence with 
 the climates of the East. In one respect I can indeed perceive the 
 accidental operation of the crusades, not so much in producing a bene- 
 fit as in removing an evil. The larger portion of the inhabitants of 
 Europe was chained to the soil, without freedom, or property, or know- 
 ledge ; and the two orders of ecclesiastics and nobles, whose numbers 
 were comparatively small, alone deserved the name of citizens and 
 men. This oppressive system was supported by the arts of the clergy 
 and the swords of the barons. The authority of the priests operated 
 in the darker ages as a salutary- antidote : they prevented the total ex- 
 tinction of letters, mitigated the fierceness of the times, sheltered the 
 poor and defenceless, and preserved or revived the peace and order of 
 civil society. But the independence, rapine, and discord of the feudal 
 lords were unmixed with any semblance of good ; and every hope of 
 industry and improvement was crushed by the iron weight of the mar- 
 tial aristocracy. Among the causes that undeiTnined that Gothic 
 edifice, a conspicuous place must be allowed to the crusades. The 
 estates of the barons were dissipated, and their race was often ex- 
 tinguished, in these costly and perilous expeditions. Their poverty 
 extorted from their pride those charters of freedom which unlocked 
 the fetters of the slave, secured the farm of the peasant and the shop 
 of the artificer, and gradually restored a substance and a soul to the 
 most numerous and useful part of the community. The conflagration 
 which destroyed the tall and barren trees of the forest, gave air and 
 scope to the vegetation of the smaller and nutritive plants of the soil.
 
 HALLAM ON CHIVALRY. 
 
 But the best school of moral discipline which the middle ages afforded 
 was the institution of chivalry. There are, if I may say so, three power- 
 fui spirits which have from time to time moved over the face of ihg 
 w; iters, and given a predominant impulse to the moral sentiments and 
 energies of mankind. These are the spirits of liberty, of religion, and 
 of honour. It was the principal business of chivalry to animate and 
 cherish the last of these three. And whatever high magnanimous energy 
 the love of liberty or religious zeal has ever imparted, was eciualled by 
 the exquisite sense of honour which this institution preserved. 
 
 It appears probable, that the custom of receiving arms at the age of 
 manhood with some solemnity was of immemorial antiquity among the 
 nations that overthrew the Roman empire. This ceremony, however, 
 A\ ould perhaps of itself have done little towards forming that intrinsic 
 principle which characterised the genuine chivalry. Certain feudal ten- 
 ants, and I suppose also allodial proprietors, were bound to serve on horse- 
 back, equipped with the coat of mail. These were called Caballarii, from 
 which the word chevaliers is an obvious corruption. But he who fought on 
 horseback, and had been invested with peculiar arms in a solemn manner, 
 wanted nothing more to render him a knight. We may, however, go far- 
 ther, and observe that these distinctive advantages above ordinary com- 
 batants were probably the sources of that remarkable valour and that 
 keen thirst for glory, which became the essential attributes of a knightly 
 character. The soul of chivalry was individual honour, coveted in so 
 entire and absolute a perfection that it must not be shared with an 
 army or a nation. Most of the virtues it inspired were what we may 
 call independent, as opposed to those which are founded upon social 
 relations. The knights-errant of romance perform their best exploits 
 from the love of renown, or from a sort of abstract sense of justice, 
 rather than from any solicitude to promote the happiness of mankind. 
 
 In the first state of chivalry, it was closely connected with the mili- 
 tary service of fiefs. The Caballarii in the Capitularies, the Milites 
 of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, were landholders who followed 
 their lord or sovereign into the field. A certain value of land was 
 termed in England a knight's fee, or, in Normandy, feudum lories, fief 
 tie haubert, from the coat of mail which it entitled and required the 
 tenant to wear ; a military tenure was said to be by service in chivalry. 
 A younger brother, leaving the paternal estate, in which he took a 
 slender share, might look to wealth and dignity in the service of a 
 powerful count. Knighthood, which he could not claim as his legal 
 right, became the object of his chief ambition. It raised him in the 
 scale of society, equalling him in dr^ss, in arms, and in title, to the rich 
 landholders. As it was due to his merit, it did much more than equal 
 him to those who had no pretensions but from wealth ; and the terri- 
 toiial knights became by degrees ashamed of assuming the title till 
 they could challenge it by real desert. 
 
 This class of noble and gallant cavaliers, serving commonly for pay, 
 but on the most honourable footing, became far more numerous through 
 the crusades ; a great epoch in the history of European society. During 
 tlie period of the crusades, we find the institution of chivalry acc[uire
 
 CEREMOXIAL OBSERVED OX ADMISSION TO AWJCII 7 L\'OD. ^$5 
 
 its full vigour as an order of personal nobility ; and its original con- 
 nexion with feudal tenure, if not eftaced, became in a great measure 
 forgotten in the splendour and dignity of the new form which it wore. 
 
 The crusades, however, changed in more than one respect the 
 character of chivalry. Before that epoch it appears to have had no 
 particular reference to religion. We can hardly perceive indeed why 
 the assumption of amis to be used in butchering mankind should be 
 treated as a religious ceremony. But the purposes for which men bore 
 arms in a crusade so sanctified their use, that chivalry acquired the 
 character as much of a religious as a military institution. For many 
 centuries, the recovery of the Holy Land was constantly at the heart of 
 a brave and superstitious nobility ; and every knight was supposed at 
 his creation to pledge himself, as occasion should arise, to that cause. 
 Meanwhile, the defence of God's law against infidels was his primary 
 and standing duty. A knight, whenever present at mass, held the 
 point of his sword before him while the Gospel Vvias read, to signify 
 l.is readiness to support it. The candidate passed nights in prayer 
 among priests in a church ; he received the sacraments ; he entered into 
 a bath, and was clad with a white robe, in allusion to the presumed 
 purification of his life ; his sword was solemnly blessed ; everything, 
 in short, was contrived to identif)- his new condition with the defence 
 of religion, or at least with that of the church. 
 
 Courtesy had always been the proper attribute of knighthood ; pro- 
 tection of the weak its legitimate duty ; but these were heightened to a 
 pitch of enthusiasm when woman became their object There was 
 little jealousy shown in the treatment of that sex, at least in France, the 
 fountain of chivalry ; they were present at festivals, at tournaments, 
 and sat promiscuously in the halls of their castles. 
 
 Next therefore, or even equal to devotion, stood gallantry among the 
 principles of knighthood. But all comparison between the two was 
 saved by blending them together. The love of God and the ladies was 
 enjoined as a single duty. But neither that emulous valour which chivalry 
 excited, nor the religion and gallantry which were its animating principles, 
 alloyed as the latter were b)' the corruption of those ages, could have ren- 
 dered its institution materially conducive to the moral improvement of 
 society. There were, however, excellences of a very high class which it 
 equally encouraged. In the books professedly written to lay down the 
 duties of knighthood they appear to spread over the whole compass of 
 human obligations. A justcr estimate of chivalrous manners is to be de- 
 duced from romances. From history itself, we may infer the tendency of 
 chivalry to elevate and purify the moral feelings. Three virtues may 
 particularly be noticed as essential, in the estimation of mankind, to the 
 cliaracter of a knight, — loyalty, courtesy, and munificence. 
 
 The first of these, in its original sense, may be defined fidelity ta 
 ei.gagements ; whether actual promises, or such tacit obligations as 
 bound a vassal to his lord, and a subject to his prince. Breach cf 
 faith, and especially of an express promise, was held a disgrace that no 
 v.ilour could redeem. This is one of the most striking changes pro- 
 duced by chivalry. Treacher)-, the usual vice of savage as well as cor- 
 rupt nations, became infamous ^luring tJie vigour of that discipline. As 
 
 1 I
 
 486 DEVOTION, GALLANTRY, LIBERALITY-GRACES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 personal rather than national feelings actuated its heroes, they never 
 felt that hatred, much less that fear, of their enemies which blind men 
 to the heinousness of ill faith. Though avarice may have been the 
 ^ rimary motive of ransoming prisoners, instead of putting them to 
 death, their permission to return home on the word of honour, in order 
 to prociu-ethe stipulated sum — an indulgence never refused — could only 
 be founded on experienced confidence in the principles of chivalry. 
 
 A knight was unfit to remain a member of the order if he violated his 
 faith ; he was ill-acquainted with its duties if he proved wanting in 
 courtesy. Besides the grace which this beautiful virtue threw over the 
 habits of social life, it softened down the natural roughness of war, and 
 , gradually introduced that indulgent treatment of prisoners which was 
 almost unknown to antiquity. Liberality, and disdain of money, might 
 also be reckoned among the essential virtues of chivalry. 
 
 Valour, loyalty, courtesy, munificence, formed collectively the charac- 
 ter of an accomplished knight, so far as was displayed in the ordinary 
 tenor of his life, reflecting these virtues as an unsullied mirror. Yet 
 something more was required for the perfect idea of chivalry, and 
 enjoined by its principles ; an active sense of justice, an ardent indig- 
 nation against wrong, a determination of courage to its best end, the 
 prevention or redress of injuiy. 
 
 The characteristic virtues of chivalry bear so much resemblance to 
 those which Eastern writers of the same period extol, that I am a little 
 disposed to suspect Europe of having derived some improvement from 
 imitation of Asia. Though the crusades began in abhorrence of infi- 
 dels, this sentiment wore off in some degree before their cessation ; and 
 the regular intercourse of commerce, sometimes of alliance, between 
 the Christians of Palestine and the Saracens, must have removed part 
 of the prejudice, while experience of their enemy's courage and gene- 
 rosity in war would with these gallant knights serve to lighten the 
 remainder. Excepting that romantic gallantry towards women, which 
 their customs would not admit, the Mahomedan chieftains were abun- 
 dantly ciualified to fulfil the duties of European chivalry. 
 
 The licence of times so imperfectly civilized could not be expected 
 to yield to institutions which, like those of religion, fell prodigiously 
 short in their practical result of the reformation which they were de- 
 signed to work. An undue thirst for military renown was a fault that 
 chivalry must have nourished ; and the love of war, sufficiently per- 
 nicious in any shape, was more founded on personal feelings of honour, 
 and less on public spirit, than in the citizens of free states. The 
 character of knighthood widened the separation between the classes of 
 society, and confirmed that aristocratical spirit of high birth, by which 
 the large mass of mankind were kept in unjust degradation.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 INDEX TO THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 
 
 Ai"TON, General, 14 ; his services and reputation, 14. 
 
 Acion, Mr., 14; attends Gibbon's father at Besanfon, 14; marries his mistress, 14; General 
 
 Acton, his son, 14. 
 ilineid, Critical Essay on the Sixth Book of the, 84 ; cause of its pubUcation, 84 ; abstract of 
 
 the Essay, 85. 
 Allamand, Mr., 46 ; minister at Be.\-, 46 ; his letter to the Protestants of France, 46 ; frequently 
 
 visits Lausanne, 46 ; the friend of Gibbon, 46. 
 Anderida, the forest of, 7. 
 
 Apthorpe, Dr., 94 ; attacks Gibbon and the History, 94 ; his preferment in the Church, 94. 
 Ashmole, Mr., 9; friend of John Gibbon, g. 
 
 15ADC0CK, Mr., 95 ; the letter to, from Dr. White, respecting Gibbon's History, 95. 
 
 Bayle, Peter, 33 ; parentage and education, 33 ; converted to Roman Catholicism, 33 ; returns 
 
 to Calvinism, and flees to Geneva, 34 ; his various works, 34 ; his conversation with the 
 
 Abbe de Polignac, 34. 
 Beaufort, M. de, 50; visited at Maestrlcht by Gibbon, 50. 
 
 Beaumarchais, 95; his reply to, and opinion of, the "Memoire Justlficatif," 95. 
 Becket, 57 ; terms on which he published "The Essay on the Study of Literature," 57. 
 Behmon, Jacob, 13. 
 
 Benenden Free School, 7 ; founded by a Gibbon, 7. 
 
 Bergier, 77 ; his " Histoire des Grand Chemins de I'EmpIre Romain," 77. 
 Beriton, Domestic life at, 53. 
 Berne, Republic of, no: its revenue, no. 
 liclts. Dr. John, 9; friend of John Gibbon, g. 
 
 Blackstone, on the law of England, respecting inducing conversion to Roman Catholicism, 32. 
 Bleteric, Abbe de la, 44 ; his "Life of Julian," 44 ; one of the three books particularly re.id by 
 
 Gibbon, 44. 
 Bolingbroke, Lord, 10 ; his opinion of Edward Gibbon, 10. 
 Boromean Islands, the, 78. 
 Breltinger, Professor, of Zurich, 45 ; maintains a correspondence with Gibbon on the Latin 
 
 classics, 45. 
 Buffon, M. de, 92 ; becomes acquainted with Gibbon, 92. 
 Burke, Mr., 96 ; definition of the functions of the Commissioners of the Board of Trade, 96; 
 
 his Bill of Reform, 96 ; his creed on the Revolution of France, log. 
 
 Cadell agrees to publish with Strahan the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," go. 
 
 Cenis, Mount, 77 ; climbed by Gibbon, 77. 
 
 Charles Emanuel, King of Sardinia, 78; receives Gibbon, 78. 
 
 Cholsum, Mr., 94 ; attacks Gibbon and his History, 94; dies neglected, 94. 
 
 Cliillingworth, William, 32; cause of his conversion to Roman Catholicism, 32, 33 ; returns to 
 O-xford, 33 ; "The Kellglon of a Protestant," 33 ; made Chancellor of Salisbury Cathe- 
 dral, 33 ; stumbles at the doctrine of the Trinity, 33. 
 
 Clarke, Mr. Godfrey, 80 ; an Intimate friend of Gibbon's, 80 ; his untianely death, 80. 
 
 Cluveriuis, 76 ; his " Italia iVntiqua," 76 ; studied by Gibbon, 76. 
 
 Coventry, I'homas, Lord, 9 ; employs John Gibbon as tutor, 9. 
 
 Crevier, M., 45; Professor in the University of Paris, 45; corresponds with Gibbon on a 
 passage in Livy {.v.xx, 44), 45 ; accepts Gibbon's rendering, 45. 
 
 Curchnd, Mdlle. Susan, 47 ; parentage, education, and attractions, 47 ; courted by Gibbon, 48 ; 
 the alliance forbidden by Gibbon's father, 48 ; on her fatligr'b death retires to Geneva, and 
 lives by teaching, 48 ; marries M, Mccjc^r, 48.
 
 488 INDEX TO THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Dalrymhle, Sir David, 94 ; his criticism of the two chapters in the History, 05 ; his " Annals 
 of Scotland," 95. 
 
 Davies, Mr., 94 ; his attack on Gibbon, 94 ; Gibbon's vindication, 94 ; receives a Royal 
 pension, 94. 
 
 Deyverdun, Mr., becomes acquainted \vith Gibbon, 37 ; joins in Gibbon's studies, 42 ; cause 
 of his leaving Germany, 80 ; comes to England, 80 ; visits regularly at Beriton, 80 ; 
 emigrates to the banks of the Oder, 80; educates the grands^.n of the Margrave of 
 Schavedt, 80 ; becomes a clerk in the office of the Secretary of State, 83 ; publishes with 
 Gibbon "Memoires Literaires de la grand Bretagne,"83 ; becomes acquainted with the 
 Earl of Chesterfield and David Hume, 83 ; becomes the travelling companion of Sir 
 I'lichard Worsley, 84 ; enabled to return to Lausanne, 100 ; his death, 108 ; his will, log. 
 
 D'Alembert, 71 : visited in Paris by Gibbon, 71. 
 
 Donatus, 76; his " Account of Roman Antiquities," 76 ; studied by Gibbon, 76. 
 
 Dugdale, Sir William, 9 ; friend of John Gibbon, g. 
 
 Dunning, Mr., 96 ; his motion respecting the power of the prerogative, 96 ; Its success, 96. 
 
 Edwards, Dr., 95 ; sermon at Cambridge, on the History, 95 ; his regret at the course pur- 
 sued by the Bishops, 95. 
 
 Einfidlen, Abbey of (Our Lady of the Hermits), 45 ; its impression on Gibbon. 
 
 Eliot, Lord, 36 ; advises Gibbon being sent to Lausanne, 36. _ 
 
 " Essay on the Study of Literature," 55; published by Becket in 1761, 57; second edition 
 published in Geneva, 57 ; the imperfect publication at DubHn, 57. 
 
 Ferrara, 79 ; Gibbon's opinion of, 79. 
 
 I'lorence, 78 ; Gibbon's stay in, 78 ; impression produced by visiting the Gallery and the 
 
 Tribune, 78. 
 Foncemagne, M. de, 92 ; a friend of Gibbon's, 92. 
 
 I'o.x, Mr., 102 ; his tour in Switzerland, 102 ; his stay with Gibbon at Lausanne, 102. 
 French Revolution, the, 109 ; its effects on the society of Lausanne, 109. 
 Trey, Mr., accompanies Gibbon to Lausanne, 36. 
 
 Genoa, 78 ; Gibbon on its palaces, 78 ; the memorial of its deliverance from Austrian 
 tyranny, 78. 
 
 Giannone, 44; his " Civil History of Naples," 44 ; one of the three books particularly read 
 by Gibbon, 44. 
 
 Gibbon, Edmund [toup James I.), 8 ; his reason for changing the family arms, 8. 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 10 ; grandfather of the historian, 10 ; his influential commercial position, 
 10; clothes William III.'s army in Flanders ; is a Commissioner (1710-1714) of Customs, 
 10 ; becomes a director of the South Sea Company, 10 ; his fortune at that time, 10 ; fine 
 imposed on by Parliament, 12 ; his second fortune, 12 ; his death and will, 12 ; his 
 children, 12. 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 13 ; father of the historian, 13 ; his birth and education, 13 ; travels, 13; 
 indulges at Paris in pleasure, 14; his illness at Besanfon, 14 ; returns to England, 14 ; 
 elected M.P. for Petersfield, 14; persistently opposes Sir Robert Walpole, 14; his 
 family, 14 ; the early death of the majority, 14 ; for a short time an alderman, 15 ; his 
 attachment to his patronymic, 15 ; elected M-P- for Southampton, 15 ; marries a second 
 time, 50 ; pecuniarily embarrassed, 87 ; his failing strength, 87 ; death, 87. 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, opinion on John Gibbon's " Introductio ad Latinam Blasoniam," 10 ; 
 opinions on the writings of Mr. Law, 13 ; birth, 14 ; his early health, 15 ; cared for by 
 his aunt, 16 ; early commences learning, 16 ; opinion of the works of Mr. Kirkby, 16, 17 ■ 
 opinion of the lives of Cornelius Nepos, 17, 18 ; goes to school at Kingston-on-Thames, 
 17; his course of study there, 17; loses his mother, 18; remembrance of his home at 
 Putney, 18 ; the benefits derived from the tuition and care of his aunt, 18, 19 ; the scopa 
 of his early reading, 19 ; entered at Westminster, 19 ; opinion of our public .schools, 20 , 
 its first effects, 22 ; a protest against the generally lavish prai.se of the happiness of boy- 
 liood, 22, 23 ; progress at and removal from Westminster School, 20 ; taken on the score 
 of health to Bath, 20 ; suffers from a strange nervous contraction of the legs, 20 ; goes to 
 VVinchester, but soon returns to Bath, 20 ; goes to Beriton, 20; again, but without suc- 
 tess. tries to attend at Westminster, 20 ; reads Horace and Virgil with a clergyman at 
 ^ath, 21 ; at si.x-teen obtains good health, 21 ; goes for a short time to school at Esher, 
 21 ; matriculates at Magdalen College, Oxford (1752), 21 ; love of historic literature, 21 ; 
 how he Qame to take up this line of reading, 22 ; influenced by entrance to the uni\ersity, 
 E3 ; his fourteen months at O.vford, 24 ; estimate of the amount of gratitude due to the 
 university, 24 ; review of the basis on which our universities were founded, 24 ; on the 
 advantages offered to scholars by the University of Oxford, 24, 25; his first tutor, 27, 
 opinion on the fellows and discipline of his college, 27 ; on the use and function of 
 tutors, 27 ; the effects of his university life, 29, 30 ; affected by Dr. Middlcton's Free 
 Inquiry, 30 ; opinion on Bossuet's " Exposition of the Catholic Doctrine," and " The 
 History of the Protestant Variations," 31; the means of his conversion to Popery, 31; 
 Conuai.u:icates the fact to hia faihei , 32 ; is excluded from Oxford, 32 ; external ef(«cU
 
 INDEX TO THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 489 
 
 0/ hu conversion, 32: sees Mr. Lewis, 32; admitted, 1753, to the Romlsli Cliunli, 32 ; 
 '■pillion i>f liayle's works, 34 ; opinion 011 the benefits of the Vincriaii Professorship, 35 ; 
 rfocs to Putney, 35 ; sent to Lausanne, 36 ; his companion and tlieir journey, 36 ; arrives 
 lit Lausanne and hves with Mr. Pavilliard, 36 ; first effects of the change, 36, 37 ; 
 becomes acquainted with Mr. Deyverdun, 37 ; opinion and sketch of Mr. Pavilliard, 38 ; 
 re-enters the Protestant Church, 1754, 39 ; on the tuition of Mr. Pavilliard, 40; method 
 of translating French and Latin, 40, 41 ; reads Ciceio, 41 ; plan for reviewincj the 
 Latin classics, 41 ; joined in study by Mr. Deyverdun, 42 ; commences the study of 
 Greek, 42 ; reads the " Iliad," Xenophon.and Herodotus, 42 ; attends during two winters 
 the lectures of M. de Traytorrens, 42 ; studies the principles of the laws of nature and 
 nations, 43 ; opinion on the principal works relating to international laws, 43 ; the three 
 books which contributed to his power, and formed his style as an historian, 44 ; makes a 
 tour of Switzerland with Mr. Pavilliard, 44 ; writes to his aunt on this subject, 44 ; the 
 route of the tour, 45 ; publishes his notes, 45 ; corresponds with various men of letters, 
 45, 46 ; opinion on the conversational and literary powers of Mr. AUamand, 46 ; meets 
 Voltaire, 46; falls in love, 47 ; the alliance opposed by his father, 48 ; retrospect of the 
 good effects of his banishment to Lausanne, 48, 40 ; receives permission to return to 
 Kngland, 49 ; the journey home, 49, 50 ; received in London by his father, 50 ; visits his 
 aunt, 50 ; habits of life for the next two years, 51, 52 ; forms a friendship with Mr. Mallet, 
 52 ; sketch of his father's house at Beriton, 52, 53 ; opinion of the conterrts of the library 
 at Beriton, 53, 54 ; opinion on the " ISIemoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions," 54 ; first 
 important literary purchase, 54 ; some of the books now perused, 54 ; principle adopted in 
 reading a book, 54; opinion on the writings of Swift and Addison, 55 : al.so on the style of 
 ]Jr. Robertson, 55 ; " The Essay on the Study of Literature," 55 ; opinion of Dr. Maty, 56 ; 
 criticism on his " Essay," 58 ; on the acquisition and use of foreign languages, 58-60 ; serves 
 as captain in the Hampshire Militia, 60; keeps a journal of the movements of the corps, 60; 
 the objectionable and beneficial effects of this service, 6i ; reads Guichardt's " Memoires 
 Militaires," 61 ; his objections to military service, 61, 62 ; persuaded not to resign his com- 
 mission, 62 ; extracts from his private journal, 62-65 ; his holidayat Beriton, 65 ; determines 
 to resume the study of Greek, 65 ; reads the '" Iliad" in twenty-one weeks, 65 ; his consider- 
 ation of a subject for a historical treatise, 66-68 ; his balance of time for 1762, 69 ; his visit to 
 Paris, 70 ; view of the place, its buildings, and the people, 70-72 ; visits for the second 
 time Lausanne, 72 ; meets Mr. Holroyd, 74 ; while at Lausanne acquires information 
 respecting Italy, 76; the books consulted, 76, 77; the incidents of the tour in Italy, 77-79 ; 
 on the use of foreign travel, 79 ; the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" the final re- 
 sult of this tour, 79 ; again returns to England, 79 ; lives at Beriton till the death of his 
 fatlier, 80 ; becomes lieutenant-colonel commandant of the militia, 80 ; on the state of his 
 feelings on the renewal of English life, 80, 81 ; projects a history of the Republic of 
 Switzerland, its progress and fate, 81, 82 ; obtains a post for Deyverdun, 83 ; publishes 
 with Deyverdun " iVIcmoires Literaires de la grand Bretagne," 83 ; responsible for the 
 article on Lyttleton's " History of Henry II.," 83 ; introduces Deyverdun to Sir Richard 
 Worsley, 84 ; the cause, and the publication of the " Critical Essay on the Si.xth 
 Book of the .I'Eneid," 84, 85 ; loses his father, 87 ; gets rid of the farm, 88 ; on the 
 question of cash payments, 88 ; commences the composition of the History, 89 ; becomes 
 acquainted with BulTon, 92 ; visits Paris at the invitation of M. and Madame Necker, 92 ; 
 introduced to the best French society, 92; occasionally consults the Royal Library, and 
 that of the Abbey of St. Germain's, 92 ; reason of the delay in the publication of the 
 fecond volume of the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," 93 ; declines Dr. 
 Priestley's challenge, 94 ; opinion of the writings of Dr. Priestley, 94 ; "Vindication of the 
 History," a reply to ISIr. Davies, 94 ; after-treatment of Mr. Davies and his other 
 opponents, 94 ; opinion on Sir David Dalrymple and his writings, 94, 95 ; criticism 
 of Beaumarchais' reply to the " Memoire Justificatif," 95 ; is requested to reply to the 
 French Manifesto, 95; writes from the materials submitted to him the "Memoire 
 Justificatif," 95 ; forms a friendship with Mr. Wedderburne, 95 ; appointed a Com- 
 missioner of the Board of Trade, 96 ; the" tenure of office imperilled, 97 ; loses his seat in 
 Parliament, 97 ; publishes the second and third volumes of the " Decline and P'all of the 
 Roman Empire," 97 ; opinion on Mr. Travis's attack respecting his statements con- 
 cerning the text of the Three Heavenly Witnesses, and Professor Porson's reply, 97 ; 
 chosen M.P. for Lymington, 99; his office abolished, 99 ; writes the fourth volume of tire 
 Histoiy, 100 ; determines to visit Lausanne a third time, loi ; the journey there, loi ; on 
 the advantages of the retirement from Kngland to Lausanne, loi, 102 ; meets M. Necker, 
 Prince Henry of Prussia, and Mr. Fox, 103 ; completes the fourth volume of tha 
 History, 103; on the style of the various volumes of his History, 103; feelings at 
 the moment of its comiiletion, 103, 104 ; retuins after four years absence to England, 
 
 104 ; resides with Lord Sheffield, 104 ; present at the trial of Warren Hastings, 105 ; 
 celebration of his fifty-first birthday, 105 ; publishes the three last volumesof the History, 
 
 105 ; reasons for not being able to understand the clamour rai.scd against portions of tha 
 Jaiit volumes of the History, 107: '•pini'in on the translating of liis History, 107. io8 ; his 
 distaste of London, 108; leaves Isuglaiid fur a fourth visit to Lausanne, loS ; the extent 
 of !iis library, loS ; becomes for life the possessor of Deyverdun 's house and garden, 109 ;
 
 490 INDEX TO THE AUl^OBIOGKAPHY. 
 
 his intimacy with the Severys, 109 ; estimate of the vahie of his existence under the three 
 divisions of mind, body, and estate, 110-112 ; promises Lord Sheffield to return to 
 England in 1792, 167 ; his precarious health, 168 ; his return to England, 169 ; his stay in 
 Sheffield Place, 169 ; goes to Bath, i6g ; goes on to Althorpe, 169 ; returns to London in 
 October, 1793, i6g ; goes to Lord Auckland's, 173 ; his last visit to Sheffield Place, 173, 
 174 ; returns to London, 174 ; his last letter, 174 ; his last hours, 174, 175 ; his will, 176 ; 
 his epitaph, 177; correspondence, 1 78-356. 
 
 Gibbon, John, 7 ; architect to Edward IIL, 7; builds Queensborough Castle, 7 ; granted an 
 hereditary toll on the passage from Sandwich to Stonor, 7. 
 
 Gibbon, John, g ; born, 1610, 9 ; education, g ; domestic tutor in the house of Lord Coventry, 
 9 ; his European travels, 9 ; his residence in Virginia, g ; his use of heraldry and its 
 effects upon the Indians, 9 ; return and marriage, 9 ; admitted to the Heralds' College, 9 ; 
 his friends, 9 ; suspended by the Whigs, g ; dies, aged ninety, g ; his " Introductio ad 
 Latinam Blasoniam," 9. 
 
 Gibbons, the, 7 ; mentioned in the " Visitation of the Heralds," 7 ; their rank, 7 ; one a 
 captain of Militia in Kent, 7 ; another a founder of Benenden Free School, 7 ; the older 
 branch of located at Rolvenden, 7 ; a younger branch come to London, 7 ; the historian 
 descended from the latter, 7 ; gradual growth of the younger branch, 3. 
 
 Grew, Dr. Nehemiah, g ; friend of John Gibbon, 9. 
 
 Guichardt's, 1\L, 61 ; his " Memoires Militaires" read by Gibbon, 61. 
 
 Hamilton, Sir William, 7g ; presents Gibbon to the King of Naples, 79 ; his communica- 
 tions with the Royal Society and the British Museum, 79. 
 
 Hampshire Militia, South, 60 ; Gibbon captain of the first company, 60 ; movements of the 
 corps, 60, 61. 
 
 Hayley, Mr., 85 ; his opinion on Gibbon's " Critical Essay on the Sixth Book of the jEneid," 
 85 ; his verses in honour of Gibbon, 106 ; invites Gibbon to Eartham, 107. 
 
 Heraldry, 9 ; its effect upon the Indians, g. 
 
 Henry of Prussia, Prince, 102 ; his stay at Lausanne, 102 ; his intercourse with Gibbon, 102. 
 
 Heyne, Professor, 85 ; his approbation of Gibbon's " Critical Essay on the Sixth Book of the 
 ^neid," 85. 
 
 Holroyd, Mr., 74 ; an acquaintance of Gibbon's, 74 ; meets him at Geneva, 74 ; created Lord 
 Sheffield, 104 ; M.P. for Coventry, 104 ; made a captain of Dragoons and an Irish peer, 
 104 ; his observations on the American States, 104 ; writes in favour of the Navigation Act, 
 104 ; his observations on the trade, manufacture, and present state of Ireland, 104 ; freely 
 sleeted in i7go for Bristol, 105 ; his friendship for Gibbon, 103. 
 
 Hume, David, 83 ; becomes acquainted with Deyverdun, 83 ; contributes a reply to Walpole's 
 " Historical Doubts" to the " Memoires Literaires," &c., 84 ; letter to Gibbon on the 
 first volume of " The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," 91, 92 ; meets Gibbon in 
 London, 92 ; his death, 92. 
 
 Hurd, Bishop, 94 ; challenged to discussion by Dr. Priestley, 94. 
 
 Italy, last of ancient descriptions of, perused by Gibbon, 77. 
 
 Kentish Insurgents, the, 8 ; reasons for their beheading Lord Say and Scale, 8. 
 Kirkby, Mr. John, 16 ; Gibbon's first master, 16 ; his unlucky mistake, 16 ; his works, 16. 
 
 Langer, Mr., 9; becomes acquainted with Gibbon at Lausanne, 9; his position, 9 ; dis- 
 covers and sends Gibbon a copy of his ancestor's book, "Introductio ad Latinam 
 Blasoniam," 10. 
 
 Law, Mr. William, 12 ; his character, 12, 13 ; his writings, 13 ; denounces the stage, 13 ; the 
 " Serious Call," 13. 
 
 Legge, Mr., 53; Chancellor of the Exchequer, 53 ; contests successfully with Mr. Stewart 
 the representation of the county of Southampton, 53. 
 
 Lewis, Mr., 32 ; introduces Gibbon to a Roman Catholic priest, 34. 
 
 Louvre, the, 70 ; cause of its non-completion, 70. 
 
 Lowth, Bishop, 24 ; his picture of Oxford and academical life, 24. 
 
 Mabillon, 76 ; his " Diplomatica," 76 ; examined by Gibbon, 76. 
 
 Mably, Abbe de, 92 ; has a dispute with Gibbon, 92. 
 
 Magdalen, St. Mary, College, Oxford, 25 ; its founder, 25 ; its present constitution and posi- 
 tion, 25 ; its library, 25 ; the fellows in the time of Gibbon, 26 ; its discipline, 27. 
 
 Mallet, Mr., 52 ; the friend of the Gibbons, 52 ; introduces Gibbon to Lady Hervey, 32- 
 
 Markham, Dr., 35 ; his discipline at Christ Church, Oxford, 35 ; afterwards Archbishop 
 of York, 35. 
 
 Maty, Dr., 55 ; his connexion with the " Journal Britannique," 53 ; his opinion on Gibbon's 
 " Essay on the Study of Literature," 56. 
 
 Medals, Academy of, 75 ; visited by Gibbon, 75.
 
 INDEX TO THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 491 
 
 " Mcmoire Justilicalif," 95 ; written at the request of the Lord Chancellor by Gibbon, 95 ; 
 
 compiled from the pajxirs of Lord Stormont, 95 ; approved by the Government, 95 ; sent 
 
 as a State paper to the Courts of Europe, 95 ; the reply of Beaiunarchais, 95. 
 INIescry, Madame de, 7.) ; Gibbon's opinion of herself and her husband, 74. 
 ISIeuselius, 107 ; bis opinion, as expressed iu his " Bibliotheca Historica" of Gibbon and hif 
 
 History, 107. 
 Middleton, Dr., 30 ; the effect of his Free Inquiry on the mind of Gibbon, 30. 
 Modena, 7S ; Gibbon stays to inspect the Este collection, 7S. 
 Molesworth, Lord, 11 ; speech in the House of Commons against the Directors of the Souih 
 
 Sea Company, 11. 
 Monrepos Theatre, the, 47. 
 
 " Monthly Review," the, 95 ; opinion on the character of the attacks on the History, 95. 
 Montfaucon, 76 ; his " Palaeographica," 76 ; examined by Gibbon, 76. 
 
 Nat'LES, 78 ; Gibbon's stay in and opinion of, 78. 
 
 Nardini, 76 ; his " Account of Roman Antiquities," 76 ; studied by Gibbon, 76. 
 
 Nccker, M., 48; marries Mdlle. Curchod, 48 ; invites Gibbon to Paris, 92 ; Director General 
 
 of the Finances, 92 ; writes his treatise on the "Administration of the Finances " at 
 
 Lausanne, 102. 
 Newton, Bishop, 9S ; brief sketch of his life, 98 ; his opinion of Gibbon's literary efforts, 98. 
 Nicoll, Dr. John, 19 ; head master of Westminster School, 19. 
 North, Lord, 105 ; his house frequented by Gibbon, 105. 
 
 OcKLEY, Simon, 22 ; assists Gibbon in his early historic studies, 22. 
 
 0.\ford and Cambridge, 23 ; the impression they make on a traveller, 23 ; comparison 
 
 between their appearance and those of foreign university towns, 23 ; also between the 
 
 manner and habits of the students, 23. 
 
 Padu.\, 79 ; Gibbon's opinion of its University, 79. 
 
 Painting, Bologna school of, 79 ; admired by Gibbon, 79, 
 
 Paris, Royal Library of, 92 ; used by Gibbon, 92. 
 
 Parma, 78 ; Gibbon stays to inspect the Farnese collection, 78. 
 
 Pascal, 44 ; his " Provincial Letters," 44 ; one of the three books particularly read by 
 
 Gibbon, 44. 
 Pavilliard, M., receives Gibbon into his house at Lausanne, 36; letters from to Gib- 
 bon, 38-40 ; his share in the reconversion of Gibbon, 39 ; letters to Gibbon's 
 
 father, 42, 43 ; takes Gibbon through Switzerland, 44. 
 Porson, Professor, 97 ; replies to Archdeacon Travis's attack on Gibbon, 97 ; opinion as to 
 
 Gibbon's execution of the " History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," 187. 
 Porten, Miss Catherine, 16 ; her care of Gibbon, 16 ; starts a boarding-house in College 
 
 Street in connexion with Westminster School, 19 ; removes to Dean's Yard, 20 ; letter 
 
 to, from Gibbon, respecting his tour in Switzerland, 44. 
 Porten, Mr. James, 14 ; father of Gibbon's mother, 14 ; is an absconding bankrupt, 18. 
 Pridcaux, Dr., 103 ; contemplates a History of the Ruin of the Eastern Church, 103; reason 
 
 for the non-fulfilment of the design, 103. 
 Priestley, Dr., 94; his "History of the Corruption of Christianity," 94; throws down the 
 
 gauntlet to Bishop Hurd and Gibbon, 94 ; continues to attack Gibbon, 94. 
 
 QuEENSBOROUGH Castle, 7; its Situation, 7 ; built by John Gibbon, 7. 
 
 Relif de la Bretorme, 104 ; reader in a French printing-oflScc, 104 ; writer of novels, 104 ; 
 his work set up without copy, 104. 
 
 Rolvenden, parish of, 7 ; date of the settlement of the Gibbons in, 7 ; still occupied by the 
 elder branch, 7. 
 
 Roman Club, the, 80. 
 
 " Roman Empire, the Decline and Fall of," 79 ; how suggested, 79 ; the original scope, 79 ; 
 causes retarding the commencement of the work, 85-87 ; incidents of its composition, 89 ; 
 publication of the first volume, 90 ; its great success, po, 91 ; reasons for delay between the 
 publication of the first and second volumes, 93 ; publication of volumes two and three, 97; 
 the Italian translation of, 97 ; the fortune of the French translation, 99 ; i^reparation for the 
 fourth volume, 100 ; completion of the fourth, fifth, and sixth volumes, 103 ; tne style of 
 the various volumes, 103 ; the date of its completion, 103 ; publication of the three last 
 volumes of the history, 105 ; sale of, 107 ; the various criticisms bestowed upon, 107 ; 
 the various translations, 107, 108. 
 
 Rome, 78 ; Gibbon's stay in, and opinion of, 78. 
 
 St. Germains, Library of the Abbey of, 92 ; consulted by Gibbon, 92. 
 St. Sulpice, 70 ; Gibbon's opinion of its character, 70. 
 
 Sayand Scale, Baron (James Fiens), 8 ; dismissed from his offices, 8; invisoned, 8; be- 
 headed, 1450, 8.
 
 492 INDEX TO THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 
 
 ■ Schavedt, Margrave of, 80. 
 Scott, Sir William, 35 ; tutor in University College, Oxford, 35 ; acquainted with GibLoa. 
 
 35- . 
 Sengar, Sir William, 8. 
 
 Severy, the, family, loq ; their intimacy with Gibbon, 109. 
 Sheffield, Lord, visits Gibbon at Lausanne in 1791, 167. 
 Sirmond, Father, 56 ; advice to young authors, 56 ; age at which he published his first work, 
 
 56 ; its publication, 57. 
 Southampton, the Corporation of, 15 ; sudden creation by, of freemen to secure the election 
 
 of 1741 to the Tories, 15. 
 South Sea Companj', the, 10 ; Edward Gibbon a director, 10 ; action of Parliament against 
 
 the directors of, 11, 12. 
 Spanheim, Ezekiel, 77 ; his " De Praestantia et Usu Numismatura," 77 ; studied by Gibbon, 
 
 77-. 
 Spedalieri, Abbate Nicola, 97 ; his confutation of parts of Gibbon's history, 97. 
 Spring, the Society of the, at Lausanne, 73. 
 
 Stewart, IVIr., contests unsuccessfully the representation of the county of Southampton, 58. 
 Stormont, Lord, 95 ; English ambassador at Paris, 95 ; his papers the basis of the " Me'moire 
 
 Justificatif," 95. 
 
 Travis, Mr., 97 ; his objection to Gibbon's treating the text of the Three Heavenly Witnesses 
 
 as spurious, 97. 
 Traytorrens, M. de, 42 ; private lecture on mathematics, 42 ; his lectures attended by Gibbon, 
 
 42- . ... 
 
 Turin, 77 ; Gibbon's opinion of its architecture and government, 77. 
 
 Venice, 79; Gibbon's astonishment at, 79. 
 
 Verona, 79 ; Gibbon's opinion of its Amphitheatre and Vicenta, 79. 
 
 Versailles, 70 ; Gibbon on the money spent on, and the Morass of Marli, 70. 
 
 Vinerian Professorship, the, 35 ; its results, 35. 
 
 Voltaire, 46 ; his acquaintance with Gibbon, 46 ; his dramatic productions at the Monrepos 
 
 Theatre, 47 ; actor as well as author, 47 ; the effect of his visit to Lausanne on its society, 
 
 47 ; retires from Lausanne, 73 ; goes to Ferney, 73. 
 
 Wai.degrave, Dr., 27 ; Gibbon's first university tutor, 27 ; his character as sketched by his 
 pupil, 27 ; accepts a living in Sussex, 28. 
 
 Walpole, Sir Horace, 84 ; his " Historical Doubts," 84 ; ifeplied to by David Hume in the 
 " Memoires Literaires," &c., 84. 
 
 AValpole, Sir Robert, 14 ; persistently opposed by Edward Gibbon, 15 ; the length of his 
 official career, 15. 
 
 Watson, Dr. 94 ; attacks Gibbon and the History, 94 ; is made a bishop, 94. 
 
 Weddcrburne, Mr., 95 ; the friend of Gibbon, 95 ; obtains for him the position of Lord Com- 
 missioner of the Board of Trade, 96. 
 
 White, Dr., 95 : his sermons at Oxford, 95 ; his letter to Mr. Badcock, 95. 
 
 Words, 105 ; the rate at which they are delivered bv a fluent orator, 105. 
 
 Wurtemberg, Prince Lewis of, 73 ; become.s acquainted at Lausanne with Cibbuj;, 73 ; his 
 retirtiEiut Ic ahcrinilagc, 75,
 
 PRECIS OF LETTERS. 
 
 M Atl,im;md to Mr. Gibbon — Bex, Sef<t. \itk, 1756: — Apologizes for b!' n.-flcCliiiis on 
 " Locke" — questions Mr. Locke undeistanding the distinction.s he himself makes— (iosig- 
 nates this letter as a long and tiresome criticism — the King of Prussia has beat the 
 Austrians, 178-181. 
 
 Bex, Oct. iiih, 1756: — Praises Mr. Gibbon's letter — dissertation on the doctrine of 
 Mr. Locke — disappointed at not seeing Mr. Gibbon at Vevaj', 181-183. 
 Dr. George Campbell to Mr. Strahan — Aherdeeti, June ■2'sth, 1776 : — Reads Gibbcn's 
 
 " History of the Decline and Fall of tlie Roman Empire" with great pleasure, 244. 
 ^L Deyverdun to Mr. Gibbon — Strasbourg, Jii?te lotk, 1783 : — E.\presses his delight .it 
 his friend's letter — offers him the use of his house at Lausanne — urges him to abandon 
 his political life — gives a vivid description of the house and garden — explains the terms 
 of mutual accommodation — recounts the pleasures and the members of the society of ilie 
 place, and describes his own intense delight at the prospect of his friend's society - 
 apologizes for delay in answering the letter, 282-2S6. 
 
 Undated — Speaks as if his friend had decided — discusses each point in question^ 
 cannot find the valet — is staying at Basle, 290-292. 
 
 De Neuchatel, Aug. 20th, 1783 : — An awkward predicament, the house is not empty — 
 uncertain when the tenant will leave — various suggestions for passing the winter — expres- 
 sions of great regret, 296, 297. 
 Mr. Ferguson to Mr. Gibbon — Edhiburgh, March, igth,- 1776: — Acknowledges receipt of 
 presentation copy, with thanks— opinions thereon, and approval of, 240, 241. 
 
 Edinburgh, April 18th, 1776: — Mr. Hume in ill health — remarks on the Roman 
 History, 242. 
 Gibbon to i\Ir. Cadell — Lausanne, Dec. z6ih, 1786 : — On the date of his visit to Sheffield 
 Place — the composition of the three last volumes of the History — pecuniary arrangements 
 — condolence on his several losses, 334, 335. 
 
 Lausanne, Feb. z^ik, 1787 : — Respecting the details of the publication of the History, 
 337, 338. 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. ijth, 1790 : — Apology for delay in writing, a .severe attack of gout — 
 proposes a supplemental volume to the History — opinion of Dr, Moore's "Zeluco," 
 346, 347. 
 
 Lausanne, April iith, 1791 : — Abandons the idea of a supplemental volume — his ex- 
 pectations from the labours of Dr. Robertson, 348. 
 Gibbon to M. Deyverdun— Z<?«aV»;/, May 10th, 1783 : — Expressions of sentiment and friend- 
 ship — account of his political life — states his preference for a retired life, especially at 
 Lausanne, 279, 282. 
 
 Jutie ■nth : — Thanks him for his offer and his friendship, which exceeds his expectations 
 — satirically describes London habits and society — praises those of Lausanne— regrets 
 leaving his library— makes inquiries about public and private collections in Lausanne — 
 discusses the household arrangements — inquires for an old valet — his English valet knows 
 no foreign language — after all these inquiries announces his indecision about leaving 
 London — his English friends object — asks for another letter in July, 2S6-290. . 
 
 Hampton Court, July ist, 1783 : — Decides to leave England — impatient to meet — his 
 valet and his library are his greatest embarrassments, 292. 
 
 Shelfield-place, July 31^/, 1783: — Promises to be in Lausanne in September, as all 
 opposition to his going is withdrawn — the calculations of expenditure exceed his means; — 
 shows that his expenses in London were less — explains his movements during the next 
 month, 294, 295. 
 
 Dozvning-street, London, Sept. gth .*— Disappointed at not receiving any answers to his 
 letter.'; — attributes it to the stormy weather — his impatience to be gone increases — fixes 
 his departure for the 12th — promises to preface his arrival at Lausanne by a letter, 299. 
 Gibbon to his Father — 1760 : — Apologizes for his writing a letter — his opinion of the requiremcntg 
 necessary for an M.P. — thinks himself unfit — wishes to go to Lausanne, and then take a 
 tour through Italy and France — expresses his attachment and respect, 198, 199. 
 
 Paris, Feb. ■z^th, 1763: — Acknowledges a letter — advises to follow the example of tlni 
 Duke of liedfoid — likes Paris — describes his friends — arrival of au extraordinary pcijua 
 iVom the Isle of France, 204-206.
 
 494 PRECIS OP LETTERS. 
 
 Gibbon to M. Gesner : — Promises to send him early intelligence of the labours and discoveries 
 of our great men — ^proposes to collect all his works — doubts and discusses his lessons, 
 183-187. 
 Gibbon to Mrs. Gibbon, Berlton — Paris, Feb. 12th, 1763: — The mutual agreement — signing nf 
 the treaty by the plenipotentiaries — acquaintances in Paris — M. Helvetius and his preU> 
 wife, 203, 204. 
 
 London, March 11st, 1772 : — Gains some idea of the Lenborough estate — Deyver- 
 dun on his way to England, 215. 
 
 Sheffield-place, Aug. jth, 1772 : — Goes to Brighton on his way — describes his friend 
 — intends going a tour, 217. 
 
 Boodle's, Slay ■z^th, 1774 : — Abuses himself — his health good — visit from Mrs. Gibbon 
 of Northamptonshire — her cordiality, 232, 233. 
 
 London, Jan. 3isi, 1775 : — Likes the House of Commons — Beriton and its troubles, 
 ^35- 
 
 11 f arch 30th, 1775 : — ^Apologizes for delay in writing — Parliamentary business — doubts 
 his talents as an orator, 236. 
 
 Hozise 0/ Commons, Alay 2nd, 1775: — Presentational St. James's — ^parliamentary 
 news — Deyverdun's departure, 236, 237. 
 
 London, A 7ig. 1775 : — Opinion of his Pomeranian dog — is engaged oa a great historicaj 
 work, 238. 
 
 Bentinck-street, Sept. ^^th, 1779 : — ^Well and happy — ^personal gossip — disclaims all 
 knowledge of the history of opposition, 264. 
 
 Bentifick-sU-eet, March xotk, 1780 : — ^Another attack of the gout, 265. 
 
 Jnne 6th, 1780 : — Safe and well — religious riots, 265. 
 
 London, June Zth, 1780 : — Reasons why he is not exposed to danger — tumult dreadful, 
 265, 266. 
 
 Jirne loth, 1780 : — Tumult quelled — Lord George Gordon sent to the Tower — re- 
 ported riot in Bath, 266. 
 
 Bentinck-street, June 2-]th, 1780: — Rejoices in security — government measures — 
 remarks on the riots, 266. 
 
 Bentinck-street, Dec. 21st, 1780: — Promises to spend New Year's Day in Bath — a 
 new war — Colonel Holroyd made Lord Sheffield, 267. 
 
 Bentinck-street, Feb. 2i,th, 1781 : — Sends second and third volumes of " Decline and 
 Fall," 268. 
 
 Brighthelmstone, Nov. '2nd, 1781 : — Impressions of the sea-side in November — a 
 melancholy story, 272. 
 
 Jiily j[th, 1782: — Lord Rockingham dead — expected tumult in the House — Mr. 
 Hayley's poem, 272, 273. 
 
 Lausanne, May 2i,th, 1784 :— Some of his hidden motives for retirement to Lausanne 
 ^mode of life— asks for a candid avowal of the state of her health, 315-318. 
 
 Lausanne, May zZth, 1791 : — Discusses domestic and family matters, 348, 349. 
 
 Laiisanfie, Atig. 1st, 1792 : — On domestic and personal matters, 350-352. 
 Gibbon to Mr. Holroyd — Boromcaii Islands, May 16///, 1764: — F.xciises his laziness — • 
 description of his quarters — doubts whether Mr. Holroyd will like Turin — surprised at 
 tlie church and regiment of Baden — advises him to go to Venice, 206, 207. 
 
 Milan, May lith, 1764: — Byng dies at Bologna — expects an answer at Florence, 
 207, 208. 
 
 Beriton, Oct. 31st, 1765: — Recounts the histoi-y of his travels — wishes him to pay 
 minute attention to the Austrian and Prussian discipline — Lausanne news, 208, 209. 
 
 Beriton, April 29//;, 1767 : — Marriage of Monsieur Alroy — melancholy occupations — 
 health of his fathei- — joins the militia, 210, 211. 
 
 Beriton, Oct. 16th, 1769: — Acknowledges receipt of letter — intends lo visit lilm before 
 Christmas — offers him a bed, 211. 
 
 Pall Mall, Dec. 2$th, 1769 : — Obliged to go to Beriton — pays the compliments of 
 the season, 211. 
 
 Oct. 6th, iTTi '. — Description of a ride — farming news — stays with Mrs. Gibbon, 212. 
 
 Beritoti, Nov. \Zth, 1771 : — Goes to town on busuiess, 212. 
 
 London, ij'j2 : — Deranged by the change to London — news from Denmark, 212,213. 
 
 Boodle's, TO o'clock, IMoiuiay night, Feb. yd, 1772 :— Message to "Datch" — no news 
 — scandal from Denmark — the rantlicon, 213. 
 
 Boodle's, Saturday night, F'eb.^th, 1772: — Victory of the Church of England — 
 departure of the Princess of W. — also of the Empress Queen, 213, 114. 
 
 London, Feb. 1.3th, 1772 : — Arrival of paper plans — the revolution in Denmark — death 
 of the Princess, 214. 
 
 Feb. 21st, 1772 : — Charles Fox a patriot — marriage — ^message to Parliament — the 
 sermon of Dr. Knowell — wants money, 215. 
 
 Pall Mall, May 26th, 1772: — Wishes to see him — distressed about the Lenborough 
 estate — backs Austria in the Polish matter, 216. 
 
 Beriton, July 30th, 1772 : — Intends visiting Sheffield Place — injures his ankle — con- 
 dolences, 316. 
 
 I
 
 PRECIS OF LETTERS. ^05 
 
 Beriion, Oct. 13///, 1772 : — Intends returning to London — gives him unlimited powers 
 to sill — reconuucuds Hath for Mrs Holroyd, 2-'3. 
 
 I'lill Mall, Dec. iitk, 1772: — Sprains his foot — a visit of the gout — intends visiting 
 Slj.jiricld Place, 223, 224. 
 
 Boodle's, Dec. 1772 : — Disappointed in his scheme — intends a visit next week— Junius' 
 ]. Liters, 224. 
 
 Jan. x2th, 1773 : — Lenborough sold — purchaser dines with him — East India Company 
 violent, 224, 225. 
 
 Boodle's, May iit/t, 1773; — Full of worldly cares — motions in tlie House of Commons, 
 225. 
 
 Benthtck-street, Aug. -jth, 1773: — Enjoys laziness — enjoys solitude in London — town 
 news, 225-227. 
 
 Port Eliot, SeJ>t. loth, 1773: — Demands an account of his tour— veiy pleased with 
 this country — describes it— declines the publication of Lord Chesterfield's letters, 227. 
 
 yan. 1774 : — Sends him a letter from Hugonin — prefers talking to writing, 228. 
 
 Jan. 2()tk, 1774 : — Gets acquainted with authors, managers, &c. — opinion on Caiman's 
 " Man of Business" — domestic news, 228. 
 
 1774 : — News of Hugonin — congratulation on Irish victory, 228, 229. 
 
 JFtb. 1774: — Questions on family matters — his opinion of himself, 229. 
 
 Boodle's, March 16th, 1774 :— Requires his presence at an arbitration — news of 
 America, 229. 
 
 March z()th, 1774 : — America — Bentinck-street, 229, 230. 
 
 AJiril i^th, 1774 : — More at liberty — account of Clarke — arbitration delayed — Deyver- 
 dun's visit — suspension of American business — report of a Spanish war, 230, 231. 
 
 April -zoth, 1774 : — Death of Clarke's father — news from India, 230. 
 
 Afiril zist, 1774: — Personal news, 231. 
 
 Jilay ^th, 1774 : — Boodle's masquerade— arbitration still delayed, 231, 232. 
 
 Bentinck-street, Sept. 10th, 1774 : — Advises him to bring Mrs. Holroyd to town — is 
 oftcred a seat in Parliament, 233, 234. 
 
 Dec. '2nd, 1774: — A letter from Hugonin, 234. 
 
 Boodle's, Jan. 31st, 1775 : — Motives for writing — intends to speak — House of Com- 
 mons, 234. 
 
 Fed. 8th, 1775 : — Account of affairs in the House — troops go to America, 235. 
 
 Fei. 2St/i, 1775 : — Progress of American affairs — storm in the House, 235, 236. 
 
 Bentinc/c-street, Aug. 1st, 1775 : — Account of his new work — nothing new from 
 America — Spanish and Algerine news — Foote's piece stopped, 237. 
 
 Bentinck-street, Oct. i^th, 1775 : — Two pieces of intelligence — the new levies progress 
 slowly in Ireland, 238, 239. 
 
 London, Jan. I'&th, 1776 :— Prefers London to Sheffield Place — his work proceeds 
 well— Quebec not yet taken, 239. 
 
 Jan. 2<)th, 1776: — Acknowledges with thanks receipt of hares — season as cold as 
 Siberia — first part of work nearly ready, 239, 240. 
 
 Feb. gth, 1776 : — Date of appearance of book, 240. 
 
 London, May 20th, iTj(>: — Proposes to go abroad — living with the Neckers — the 
 public impatient for a second edition — Lord Palmerston, 242, 243. 
 
 Alinack's, June 6th, 1776 : — Lies invented — American news — new edition out, 243. 
 
 Alniack's, June 2\th, itj6 : — Alive and well — Mrs. Gibbon intends visiting London- 
 no news of Dcyverdun — expectation of American news, 243, 244. 
 
 Aug. 1776 : — A shocking accident, 244. 
 
 1776 : — 'i'he attack on his book begun, 245. 
 
 1776 : — No time for correspondence — news in the Gazette — an anonymous pamphlet 
 and Dr. Watson, 245, 246. 
 
 Abnack's, Nov. -jth, 1776: — Letters from Burgoyne — proclamation of the Howes, 247. 
 
 Nov. 227id, 1776: — News from the Lakes, 247. 
 
 Bentinck-street, Jan. 18th, 1777 : — Refers to a fall of Mrs. Holroyd's — American 
 news — Sir G. Warren has a second diamond star stolen, 247, 24S. 
 
 Al/itack's, 1777 : — Attends Dr. Hunter's lectures, 24S. 
 
 1777: — American news, 248. 
 
 April 12th, 1777 :— E.xpecls to lose money on Lenborough — Mrs. Gibbon's objections to 
 his proposed trip to Paris — the Marquis dc la Fayette, 24S, 249. 
 
 Atwood's, April 19///, 1777 : — His departure undecided — owing to the state of Indian 
 aflairs — the Royal debts paid, 249. 
 
 April 21st, 1777 : — Bad news from Hampshire, 249. 
 
 April 2T,rd, 1777 : — Goes to Paris in ten days, 249. 
 
 Do7ier, May 6th, iTj-j : — Not an auspicious beginning of his journey — seizure of tha 
 Harwich Packet, 249, 250. 
 
 Paris, June \6th, i'JTT. — The demon of procrastination yields to the genius of friend- 
 ship — .spends most of his time with the Neckers — his life in Paris, 253, 254. 
 
 Paris, Aug. i-^th, i-j-jt. — Bad news from America — enjoys Paris — regrets his ap- 
 proaching return to London, 254, 255.
 
 496 PRECIS OF LETTER'S 
 
 Bentiiuk-street, Nov. 1777: — Complains of his friend's unreasonableness and his own 
 ill health, 256. 
 
 Nov. iiith, 1777 : — Tlie gout nearly gone — anxious to see him — hopes the American 
 news is true, 256. 
 
 Dec. Q-tid, 1777: — America not conquered, 256. 
 Dec. 1777 : — A letter of badinage, 256. 
 
 House ofCoinDwns, Dec. /^th, 1777 : — Dreadful news from America — a general cry for 
 peace, 257. 
 
 Feb. iZth, lyjS : — Votes with the Government, 257. 
 Culm's, May-jth, 1777 : — A pleasant passage — a French comedy, 250. 
 Feb. 2yd, 1778: — A plain narrative — heads of the plan in Parliament — a Treaty of 
 Commerce signed at Paris with America, 257, 258. 
 
 Ahitack's, March 7.1st, 1778 : — Authentic pieces of intelligence — wants his friend and 
 his wife, 258. 
 
 Almack's, yinie \ith, 177S : — No news stirring^Lord Chatham's funeral — intends to 
 go to Sussex, 258, 259. 
 
 July isi, 1778 : — Feels inclined to visit the country— Keppel's return — East and West 
 India trade in danger, 259. 
 
 Bentitick-sti-eet, July yth, iyj8 : — Gossip, 259. 
 
 Sejii. 25^/z, 1778 : — No news from the fleets— intentions of Spain — we court Russia, 
 259, 260. 
 
 Nov. 1778 : — Early news, 260. 
 
 Almack's, 1778 : — ^A letter of Hugonin's on the state of Beriton — no news from America, 
 260. 
 
 Feb. till, 1779: — No foreign intelligence — his pamphlet, a second edition — a talk of 
 peace, 261. 
 
 May -jth, 1779 : — Political news, 262. 
 
 May, 1779 : — Shipping disasters — distress of Ministers — promises an impression of his 
 portrait, 262, 263. 
 
 1779 : — Gossip and political news, 263. 
 
 jfuly, ind, 1779: — Appointed Lord of Trade — news of the Navj', 263. 
 Lo7uien, Feb. qth, 1780 : — Remarks on his friend's election — no news foreign or 
 domestic, 264, 265. 
 
 July idth, 1780 : — Gossip, 267. 
 
 Brooks's, Nov. -iZth, 17S0: — Probability that the Sheriffs of Coventiy should make a 
 false return — effect in Parliament, 267. 
 Gibbon to Mrs. Holroyd, senior — Beriton, July ijt/i, 1772 : — Sorrow at the death of Master 
 
 Holroyd — sympathizes with the family at Sheffield Place, 216. 
 Gibbon to Miss Holroyd — Lausanne, Nov. gtli. 1791 : — Receives great pleasure from her letters 
 — regrets her departure from Lausanne — Rosset and La Motte at the Castle of Chillon— 
 French society an agreeable addition — receives a hogshead of Madeira, 136-13S. 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. loth, 1792 : — Acknowledges her punctuality and tlie reverse on his 
 side — praises her capabilities of mind — wishes an account of her daily occupations — and of 
 the tragic story of the Archbishop of Aries, 153-155. 
 Gibbon to Mrs. Porten — Lausanne, 1756 : — Protests his friendship for her — reports his request 
 for an allowance from his father — no answer — his health good — Madame de Sevigne's 
 letters, 195-197. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. ■iith, 1783 : — Describes his habits of life, 308-310. 
 Gibbon to Lady Porten — Lausanne, 'Jntie i-jth, 1789 : — Letter of condolence in reply to one 
 
 announcing the death of her husband, 344. 
 Gibbon to Sir Stainer Porten — Lausanne, May zQ.th, 1786 : — Acknowledges receipt of letter 
 informing him of the death of his aunt — probable date of the completion of the History, 
 
 331, 332- _ 
 
 Gibbon to Dr. Priestley — Feb. ■2ind, 1703: — Defines his ideas of private correspondence — 
 refuses his consent to publish the letters, 278. 
 
 "Jan. lyd, 1783 :— Accepts his book — defends his own opinions — disdains his attempts 
 to determine the objects of his studies, 275, 276. 
 
 Bcntinck-street, Feb. 6th, 1783: — Declines aU further correspondence, 278. 
 Gibbon to Dr. Robertson — Paris, 1777 : — Is gratified with his approbation — admires his work 
 
 on America — suggests an inquiry, 251, 252. 
 Gibbon under the assumed character of a Swedish traveller to a Swiss friend : — Delineates the 
 defects he discovers in the government of Berne — intends to suggest remedies — but ends 
 abruptly, 187-195. 
 Gibbon to Lady Sheffield (see also Mrs. Holroyd) — Bentinck-street, 1781 : — Friendly gossip, 
 269. 
 
 Bcntinck-strcct, Au«. 30th, 1783: — His feelings on taking leave of Sheffield Place — 
 iCgret at the death of Sir John Russell — allusion to minor matters, 298. 
 
 Lausanne, May 11th, 1784: — Letter of gossip — thanks for a present of Wedgwood 
 china, 315. 
 
 Lausanne, Oct ■22nd, 1784 : — His companions — opinion of Prince Henry of Prussia—
 
 PRECIS OF LETTERS. 497 
 
 of Madame de Stael — the Hon. Mrs. Fraser^review of his stay in Lausanne — opinion of 
 its society, on the question of marriage — his intended stay in Lau.sanne — invitation to 
 Laiisanne — inquiries after her health, 319-323. 
 
 Bath, Dec. \Zth, 1787 : — Apologizes for not having yet come to Sheffield Place — the 
 absolute necessity of his returnins to town, 341. 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. ^th, \-jiji : — A letter of friendship and gossip — refers to the action of 
 the convention with reference to the Royaliits, 351-354. 
 
 Lausa>t>ic, A'o~>. lot/t, 1792 : — His devotion to her — his ideas on writing to several 
 inenibcrs of a family — M. Severy's health his pity for the family — the misery of the 
 French, 156, 157. 
 
 Lan-tanne, April j^th, 1793 : — Another letter of friendship and gossip — again touching 
 on the troubles in France, 354-356. 
 iLbcin to Lord Sheffield (see also Mr. Holroyd) — Bentittck-street, 17S2 : — Sympathizes with 
 his fatigues — resignation of various members of the Ministry, 273. 
 Sept. it^jth, 17S2: — Wholly gossip, 273, 274. 
 
 Bentinck-strcet, Oct. i^th, 1782 : — RIeditatcs remaining in town — speculations of state 
 of Parliament — letter of American luilependence, 274. 
 1782 :^Restored to health — no news, 274, 275. 
 Jan. iTth, 17S3 : — Satirical gossip, 275. 
 
 July lotli, 1783 : — Intimates a visit to SheflielJ Place— the reasons for his intentions, 
 and the stay he can make, 292-294. 
 
 Aug. \'&th, 1783 : — The movements of his books — intends a flying visit to Hampton 
 Court — opinion of town, 295, 296. 
 
 Beniinck-street, Aug: 10th, 1783 : — Expresses a desire that Lord and Lady Sheffield 
 should spend a week at Brighton, 296. 
 
 Aug. iind, 17S3 : — Narrates his movements, and expresses himself strongly dissatisfied 
 with London, 297, 298. 
 
 Doivning-street, Sept. St/t, 1783 : — Narrates his movements — expresses thanks for the 
 attention bestowed on his aunt — the indifference of stockbuyers as to the definite treaty 
 with America — desires to be remembered to Lady Sheffield, 298, 299. 
 
 Sept. 11^/;, 1783 : — Comments on the absence of letters from IJeyverdun — the propo- 
 sition of the Emperor of Russia as to the armed neutrality — political and social gossip, 
 300. 
 
 Doivning-sireet, Sept. I'ith, 1783 : — The non-arrival of the Flanders mails, 300. 
 Downing-street, Sept. \-ith, 1783 : — Arrival of the Flanders mails, but without letters 
 from Deyverdun — speculations as to the cause of his silence — fashionable intelligence, 
 3<^i- 
 
 Dover, Sept. iTt/i, 1783 : — Defects of the post-office — the wind — passengers on board 
 the Calais packet. 
 
 Boulogne, i&t/i Sept. 1783 : — The passage of the Channel, and the landing — probable 
 arrival at Lausanne, 302. 
 
 Laugres, Sept. i^^nl, 1S71 : — His route from Boulogne to this point — promises to write 
 from Lausanne — his bed, 302. 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. 30//;, 1783: — His journey from Langres^obliged to go into lodgings 
 — their character— fears of the gout — on the chance of being made a Minister at Berne — 
 till.' conversation of the Abbe Reynal, 302, 303. 
 
 Oct. i&th, 1783 : — Staying on at Lausanne — comparLson between the comforts afforded 
 here and in England, 304, 305. 
 
 Lausanne, Nerzi. i-^t/i, 1783 : — Comparison of their daily occupations — opinion of the 
 .society around — mes.sages of thanks to Lords North and Loughborough —opinion on Lord 
 Sheffield's pamphlet — some of the people at Lausanne, 305, 306. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. -zoth, 17S3: — Acknowledges receipt of two letters — banters Lord 
 Sheffield on the burdens of a parliamentary life — opinion of the attitude of the Govern- 
 ment towards the East India Company, and the conduct of the Company — on Gerard 
 Hamilton's opinion on the Government allowing his (the writer's) self-exile, 306-308. 
 
 Lausanne, Jan. ■z^th, 1784: — His epistolatory labours — comments on the possible 
 proceedings of Parliament — his investment in the French loan^his probable movements 
 in Lausanne, 310-312. 
 
 Lausanne, Feb. loth, 1784 : — A letter of gossip, 312, 313. 
 
 Lausanne, May 11th, 1784 : — Condoles with his lordship on the defeat of his party in 
 the House of Commons — criticism on Parliamentary intrigues — his life at Lausanne, 
 312-315. 
 
 Lausanne, "June igth, 1784 :^A lisf of his friends and acquaintances, 318. 
 Lansanjie, Oct. iStli, 1784 : — On the tardiness of the completion of the Hi.story — asks 
 for assistance in the winding up of his estates — inquires how his lordship intends passing 
 the winter, 318, 319. 
 
 Lausanne, Marcli 13M, 1785 : — Review of his position, 323. 
 
 March 21st, 1785: — Approves of the sum obtained for the Bucks estate — shows that 
 wisdom of his retirement to Lausanne— his mode of living — the privileges of friend ship 
 — reoiiudjf Ui-: lordship of his promised visit to Lausanne, 323-336.
 
 49S PRECIS OF LETTERS. \ 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. sM, 1785 : — On his reported death — his praises of Lausanne — on the 
 people staying there — inquiries as to what his lordship is doing with himself — on Dey- 
 
 verduu's refusal to part with the picture — his pecuniary condition, 325-329. c 
 
 Lausanne, Jan. 17th, 1786 : — Calls attention to the promptness of his reply — com- \ 
 
 parison of his habits of life in England and Lausanne — expected attack of the gout, \ 
 
 329. 33°- . I 
 
 May lath, 1786 : — Sentiments arising from the intimation of the death of his aunt — \ 
 
 promises another letter, 330, 331. ' 
 
 Lausanne, July ■zT.tid, 1786: — Letter of gossip, 332, 333. ' 
 
 Lausanne, Jan. loth, 1787: — On the course of their correspondence — his daily life — ' 
 
 looks forward to his visit to England— review of the progress of the History — advice to his ! 
 
 lordship — the probable date of his landing in England, 335-337. j 
 
 Lausanne, June 2ud, 1787 : — What would be the consequence of a fit of the gout, j 
 
 338, 339- , . . 1 
 
 La7isanne, July 21st, 1787 : — Apologjr for remainnig at Lausanne longer than he 1 
 
 intended, and for his going to London previous to visiting Sheffield Place, 339, 340. ' 
 
 Adelphi Hotel, Aug: St/i, 1787 : — Narrates his arrival in London, 340. ; 
 
 Monday afternoon : — The course of an attack of the gout, 340, 341. 
 
 Downing-street, June 21st, 1788 : — Intimates that he is free and will soon be at Shef- ' 
 
 field Place, 342, 343. ' 
 
 Doiuning-street , Saturday: — Postponeshis arrival. Indicates the length of his stay, 343. 
 
 Downing-street, Saturday, June, 17S8 : — A speech of Sheridan's, 343, 344. | 
 
 Lausatme, July 30//^, 1788 : — Arrival at Lausanne — opinion of the journey and of his 
 companion — serious state of Deyverdun, 113. 
 
 Lausanne, Oct. 1st, 1788: — Half apology for not writing sooner, 113. ! 
 
 Lausanne, Oct. ^fh, 1788 : — Instance of his procrastination — mention of the Severys — i 
 
 what he proposes to do — sudden and serious illness of Deyverdun — intercourse with Mr. I 
 
 Fox — M. Neckerand the States Generales, 114, 115. ' 
 
 Lausanne, Nov. 2qth, 178S : — Acknowledging thankfully the sketch of the slate of 
 
 England, owing to illness of the King, 115. ^ 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 13//?, 178S :^Desirous of increasing the circle of correspondents — | 
 
 Deyverdun's health, 115, 116. 1 
 
 Lausanue, April 2-^rd, 1789: — On the sale o f his estate — the Government of Berne, 
 
 and a pipe of wine — Deyverdun's health— contemplated necessary steps against the ' 
 
 arrival of the addressed, 116. 1 
 
 Lausanne, April 2$th, 1789 : — Anxiety for news of the estate — satisfied with the ] 
 
 mortgage — civility of the Government of Berne — Deyverdun's health — possession for life \ 
 
 of house and garden — happy at the King's recovery, and its consequences — anxiety for a | 
 
 letter — Count de INIirabeau's great work, 116. < 
 
 Lausatine, June i^th, 1789: — Admiration of his friend, and sorrow at giving him I 
 
 trouble — Mrs. Gibbon's consent required for the sale of the estate — anxiety for her health ; 
 and comfort, 116, 117. 
 
 Lausanne, July T^ih, z-]Z() : — Deyverdun's death — requires advice how to act with 
 
 regard to purchase of house — gives full statement of facts and wishes, 117-iig. ". 
 
 Lausanne, Aug 17S9: — Seriously distressed at the contents of n letter just re- 1 
 
 ceived — doubts of selling or mortgaging the estate — health of the Severys at Me.\ — • I 
 regret at the loss of Deyverdun — attachment to Lausanne, yet doubtful whether to 
 
 return to England — death of Sir Stainer Porten — romantic idea of adoptmg Charlotte ' 
 
 Porten— thoughts on the French Revolution, 119, 121. ' 
 
 Lausaiine, Sept. gtk, 1789 : — Procrastination in answering letters — decides not to , 
 
 purchase house at Lausanne — will hold it for his life — allows M. de Montagny a mortgage J 
 
 — Paris an independent Republic — requires news of Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, 121, 122. ' 
 
 Lausanne, Sept. 2^th, 1789 : — Discovers the obstacle to selling the estate — an ) 
 
 amicable lawsuit — sati.sfied with his decision about the house — reasons why — starting for | 
 
 Belle — bad health of M. Severy— wants a pipe oi Madeira — France in a state of ' 
 
 dissolution, 122, 123. \ 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. i^tk, 1789 : — Excuses himself for neglect of business — does not I 
 
 know in what to invest his money — affairs of France — exiles at Lausanne — anxiety ' 
 about his wine, 123- 125. 
 
 Lausanne, Jan. 2-]th, 1790 :— Delay of correspondent's letters — agreement about the j 
 
 estate — astonished at Elmsley's silence, 125. j 
 
 Lausanne, May i^th, 1790 : — Continued grief at the loss of Deyverdun — anxious for 1 
 
 domestic society — suffering from gout — receives the portrait — sends his own in return — \ 
 
 pleasure at Lord Sheffield retiring from Coventry — wants the African pamphlet — health of 1 
 
 the Severys, 125-127. j 
 
 1790: — Serious illness — a visit to M. Necker — opinion on Burke's book — pleasure in j 
 •xpectingthe Madeira, 127, 128. 
 
 Lausan7ie, Aug. qih, 1790: — Congratulations on the election for Bristol — talks of 1 
 getting married — still wishes to adopt Charlotte Porten — her mother objects — illness and 
 
 partial recovery — government of Berne overturned — French exiles, 129, 130. i
 
 PRECIS OF LETTERS. 409 
 
 Laitsanne, Af^il (\tJi, lygi : — Health re-established — gives a ball — anxious for a 
 visit from Lord Sheffield and family — promises one in return, 130, 131. 
 
 Lausanne, May i&th, 1791 : — Signs deeds — going to Geneva— displeased with Pitt, 131. 
 
 Lausanne, May 3isf, 1791 : — Delighted at the promised visit — the Neckers i>' 
 Geneva — news of the French, 132, 133. 
 
 Lausanne, June 12th, 1791 : — Continued anticipation of the visit — joined in by th». 
 Severys, 133. 
 
 , Lausanne, July ist, 1791 : — News of the King of France's escape and capture-^ 
 advises a plentiful supply of passports, 133, 134. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 2&t/i, ijgi : — False resolutions — reminiscences of the visit — alterations 
 in garden and house — Lausanne very gay — proposes to go to Geneva to the Neckers — 
 thoughts on France — doubts on money matters — destruction in St. Domingo — asks for his 
 letters, 138-140. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 3isf, 1791 : — Promises repentance for procrastination — remarks on the 
 
 prosperity of England — asks for claret as well as Madeira — ^rejoices in Lally's prosperity 
 
 advises a declaration of constitutional principles, 140, 141. 
 
 Lausanne, April \tli, 1792 : — Counter charge of delay in writing — wants information 
 on mortgage — describes society in Geneva — Madame de Stael and her father— the 
 fJmperor's death — influence on the nation — Bosset and Lamotte condemned — no news of 
 the Madeira, 141-143. 
 
 Lausajitte, May ■^oih, iji^i : — Glad receipt of political letter — argument thereon 
 
 aspect of things in Berne — firmness of the Government — directions to call on Mr. John 
 NichoUs about some literary work — hopes to visit Sheffield Place in the autumn, 
 143-145- 
 
 Laiisanne, Aug: lyd, 1792 : — Announces the postponement of his visit to England — 
 regrets the loss of friends, 146. 
 
 Sepi 12th, 1792: — Continuation of same letter — hopes for the success of the Duke of 
 Brunswick in Paris — escape of Madame de Stael — possible rousing of the King of 
 Sardinia and the Swiss, 146, 147. 
 
 Lausanne, Oct. $th, 1792 : — Invasion of Savoy by the French — no correct information 
 —alarm in Geneva — the Severys — illness of the father, 147, 14S. 
 
 Lausanne, Oct. 13^/;, 1792 : — Imminence of attack on Geneva, and strength of 
 defences — departure of M. de Chateauneuf— aspect of the citizens — all Switzerland in 
 arms, 148, 149. 
 
 Oct. zoth, 1792 : — Affairs more pacific, 149. 
 
 Oct. -i-jth : — Treaty signed — doubts pacific intentions of Fr.ance — loses his Madeira — 
 receives manuscripts from Mr. Nicholls — wants Lord Sheffield's opinion concerning 
 England, Ireland, and France — escape of Bosset and La Motte, 150, 151. 
 
 Nov. \oth, 1792 :— Acknowledges receipt of letter from Miss Holroyd^continues nar- 
 rative of events— feels an.xiety for the safety of England — accounts of French emigres, 
 151. 153- . . 
 
 Laitsanne, Nov. i^ih, 1792 : — Want of stirring events — desertion of a French general — 
 questions the possibility of England preserving lier neutrality — Severy's health, 157-159. 
 
 Lausanne, Dec. 14M, 1792 : — The storm subsides, 159. 
 
 Jari. 1st, 1793: — Indolent again — revolution in Geneva — e.xpects a regular political 
 journal, 159, 160. 
 
 Lausatme, Jan. 6th, 1793 : — Details his own plans — Severy and his family — proposes 
 to write a new work — a word on Parliamentary concerns, 161-163. 
 
 Begun Feb. (jth, etidcd Feb. i?,th, 1793 : — Severy 's death — his family — Geneva tran- 
 quillizing — death of Louis XVI. — promises help to an emigre, 163-165. 
 Gibbon to Lord RoUe, Feb. ^^rd, 1793 : — Letter of congratulation on his lordship's promotion, 
 356. 
 
 Lausanne, April 1-jth, 1793: — Pictures his distress at the death of Lady Sheffield — 
 protests his friendship fnr the family, and sympathizes with their grief — announces his 
 intention of proceeding at once to England, 165, 166. 
 
 Lausanne, May i>th, 1793 : — Status las distress at not receiving news from Sheffield 
 Place — calculates his arrival there in June, 166. 
 
 Frankjort, May igik, 1793 : — Announces his arrival thus far on his journey — the siege 
 of Mayence — intends to start for Ostend, 166, 167. 
 
 Brussels, May 2jth, 1793 : — Announces his arrival here — hopes to be in Downing-street 
 June 1st, 167. 
 
 Oct. 2nd, 1793 : — At Cork-street Hotel — describes his movements in London — in> 
 tends leaving on Saturday, 169. 
 
 Vor^ House, Bath, Oct. gth, 1793: — Likes Bath — meets Mrs. G. — troubles at Bristol. 
 
 York House, Bath, Oct. 13/A, 1793 : — Ignorance of Bath — devotes his whole time to 
 Mrs. Gibbon — expected at Althorpe on the nth, 170. 
 
 Altlwrp Library, Tuesday, 4 o'clock: — Leaves here to-morrow, the 6th — goes to 
 London on Thursday, 170. 
 
 London, Friday, Nov. 8tA, 4 o'clock', — Acknowledges receipt of letter through 
 Walpole — feels unwell, 170.
 
 Soo PRECIS OF LETTERS. 
 
 St. yamet's-sireet, Nov. gt/i, 1793: — Thinks of having medical advice — approvl> A 
 his prei.ent lodging, but wishes to get to Sheffield Place, 170, 171. 
 
 .S"^. James' s-street, Nov. 11th, 1793 : — Explains the state of his health — his neglect of 
 his complaint — calls in Mr. Farquhar — an operation needed — presumes his friend would 
 wish to be near him, 171. 
 
 St. James' s-street, Nov. zzth, 1793 : — Announces a second operation — and great 
 improvement in health — intends going to Sheffield Place, 172, 173. 
 
 St. James' s-street, Nov. 30//;, 1793: — Disappointment at not reaching Sheffield House 
 as soon as expected — his intention of dining with Lord Auckland at Beckenham, and \wth 
 the Chancellor at Hampstead — health better, 173. 
 
 St. Ja}nes' s-street, 4 o'clock, Tnesday .'^Announces his arrival at home half dead- 
 refuses an invitation to dinner — says "Adieu," 174. 
 Gibbon to Rev. Dr. Watson — Benti?ick-street, Nov. ■znd, 1776 : — Thanks him for his candid 
 
 treatment — hopes to make his acquaintance, 246. 
 Lord Hardwicke to Mr. Gibbon — Wimple, Sept. 10th, 1781 : — Wishes the " DecHne and 
 
 Fall " continued to a later period — suggests additions, 270, 271. 
 Miss Holroyd to Edward Gibbon — Sheffield Place, Nov. 1791 : — Thanks him for his inquiries 
 and solicitude for her stuflies — recounts the saving and succouring eight shipwrecked 
 priests who give particulars of the assassination of the Archbishop and one hundred and 
 twenty priests, 154, 155. 
 Mr. David Hume to Mr. Strahan — Edinluirgh, April &tk, 1776: — Approval of Mr. Gibbon's 
 book — advises as to its manner of printing — directs a copy of his own work to be sent to 
 Mr. Gibbon, 241. 
 Dr. Hurd (now Bishop of Worcester) to Mr. Gibbon — TJutrcaston, A7ig. ■zgth, 1772; — Ac- 
 knowledges receipt of letter on the " Book of Daniel " — discusses the subject — disputes 
 the authenticity, 217-222. 
 
 Further remarks thereon, 222, 223. 
 Sir William Jones to Mr. Gibbon — Lamb' s-htiildi/igs, June 30;"/^, 1784 : — Opinions on the 
 various publications, and speculations on the chance of an appointment to India, 269, 
 270. 
 Mr. Mallet to Mr. Gibbon — 1761 : — The price of a ticket for the coronation — wants a well- 
 bound copy of Gibbon's book — delighted with the contents, 200. 
 Dr. Priestley to Mr. Gibbon — Birmiiigham, Feb. ^rd, 17S3 : — Avows his antagonism, and 
 courts the opinion of the public to decide between them, 276, 277. 
 
 Birmingliam, Feb. i8tk, 1783: — Cavils at the wording of refusal — complains of his 
 temper — taunts him with attempted concealment, 278. 
 
 Birmingham, Feb. z^th, 1783 :— A letter of recrimination, 278, 279. 
 Dr. Robertson to Mr. Strahan — Edinburgh College, March 15//;, 1776 : — Opinion of Mr. 
 Gibbon's History — wishes it success, 240. 
 
 College 0/ Edinburgh, June 5th, 1777 : — Sends a copy of the History of America- 
 hopes to become personally acquainted, 250; proud of his acquaintance with Hume — 
 accepts the offer of literary aid, 252, 253. 
 
 College 0/ Edinburgh, March \oth, 1779: — Thanks for the pamphlet — reads it with 
 eagerness — admires its tone, 261, 262. 
 
 College of Edinburgh, May zzth, 1781 : — Laments his ill health — opinion on the two 
 volumes just out, 268, 269. 
 
 College 0/ Editiburgh, Nov. 6th, 1781 : — Opinions of Mr. Smith on Gibbon's book — 
 opinion freely expressed on Mr. Hayley — is perfectly restored to health, 271. 
 
 College 0/ Edinburgh, Feb. z-jth, 1788 : — Reason for not previously writing — glances 
 at literary topics, 341, 342. 
 
 Lennel House, Aug. ■isth, 1791 : — Refers to the composition and publication of the 
 " Historical Disquisition of India," 350. 
 George L. Scott, Esq., to E. Gibbon, jun. — Leicester-square, May -jth, 1762: — Sends his 
 thoughts on mathematical studies — i-ecommends what authors should be studied, 200- 
 203. 
 
 Dec. 2gth, 1775 : — Very pleased with his book — opinion on it, 239. 
 Mr. Wallace to Mr. Strahan — Edinburgh, Aug. y^th, 1776: — Death of David Hume- 
 buried on the Calton — likens Hume and Gibbon to Lucretius and Virgil, 245. 
 Rev. Dr. Waldegrave (Tutor at Magdalen College, Oxford), to Edward Gibbon, Esq., jun. — 
 JVashington, near Storrington, Dec. -jth, 1758 : — Intense pleasure derived from his letters 
 — hopes to see him in Washington, 197. 
 Dr. Watson to Mr. Gibbon — Cambridge, Nov. 4th, 1776 : — Promises to see him — partici- 
 pates in the temptation of justifying his own work and opinions, 246. 
 
 Cambridge, Jan. T.\ih, 1779; — Hopes to become better acquainted — his faith in tha 
 truth of Christianity, 200, 261.
 
 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 
 
 Acre, 422 ; the siepte of, by the Crusaders, commenced by Guy of Lusignan, 422 ; the allnck 
 and the defence, 422 ; its capitulation, 422, 423 ; the losses incurred in its siege and llie 
 benefits secured by its conquest, 423; the abode of Louis IX. for years, 429; is sa\i.d 
 from a siege by Edward I., 430 ; the last Eastern stronghold of the Turks, 430 ; its 
 appearance, 431 ; its population, 431 ; the habits of its people, 431; its numerous rulers 
 and forms of government, 431 ; besieged by Khalil, 431 ; its fall, 431. 
 
 Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, 368 ; appointed by Pope Urban II. as his deputy with the Cru- 
 saders, 36S ; assumes the command of the Crusaders from the south of France, 376 ; 
 dies at Antioch of the plague, 399. 
 
 Alexius, 360; his fear of the Turks, 360 ; diverts some of the Crusaders to his service, 383 ; 
 his respect for Godfrey de Bouillon, 383 ; detains Hugh, Count of Vermandois, 3S1 ; 
 his conduct towards the Crusaders, 381, 382 ; his quarrel with Godfrey de Bouillon, 382 ; 
 declines his challenge to single combat, 384 ; aids and insures the success of the siege of 
 Nice, 387 ; takes it under his protection, 387 ; captures Bohemond, 4'J4 ; his use of Nice, 
 404 ; drives the Turks from several somewhat important places, 404. 
 
 Alexius, 439 ; son of Isaac Angelus, 439; escapes from his uncle to Sicily, 439 ; hears of a 
 projected crusade to the Holy Land, 439 ; solicits the Crusaders to recover possession 
 of Constantinople for him, 445, 446; crowned, 452; his frequent visits to Italy, 45s I 
 induces the Crusaders to delay their visit to the Holy Land, 453 ; appoints Mourzoullo 
 his great chamberlain, 455 ; is deposed, 455 ; is killed in prison, 455. 
 
 Alexius Angelus, 439 ; deposes his brother Isaac, 439 ; his wife Euphrozyne, 439 ; sent 
 captive to Italy, 466 ; his daughter married to Theodore Lascaris, 466. 
 
 Alexius the Great, a descendant of Manuel Comneuus, 467 ; made Duke of Trebizond, 467 ; 
 obtains a portion of the Greek Empire, 467. 
 
 Almaric, King of Jerusalem, 414; his creed as regards faith with heretics, 414; aspires to 
 the conquest of Egypt, 414 ; is stopped before Cairo, and has to retire, 414. 
 
 Amalphi, the republic of, 361 ; supports trade and religion in the East, 361 ; the siege of, 
 377; Bohemond preaches the Crusade to the confederate leagues, 377. 
 
 Anatolia, its present condition, 359. 
 
 Andrew, King of Hungary, requested to become Emperor of the East, 472 ; declines, 472. 
 
 Andronicus, 437 ; his tyranny and fall, 437 ; succeeded by Isaac Angelus, 437. 
 
 Anna Comnenus, Princess, 385 ; her estimate of the number of the first Crusaders, 385. 
 
 ^nlioch, 359 ; its steadfostness in the faith, 359 ; separated from Roman aid, 360 ; its fall, 
 360 ; besieged by the first Crusaders, 389 ; its means of defence, 389 ; fall of the town, 
 
 389 ; description of its size and of its Turkish garrison, 389, 390 ; the losses of the siege, 
 
 390 ; the siege of the citadel, 391 ; the Crusaders besieged in the town, 391 ; the battle of, 
 391 ; details of the conflict, 393, 394 ; its loss provokes the last Crusade, 429. 
 
 Artois, Count of, 429 ; storms Massoura, 429 ; is slain in battle, 429. 
 
 Ascalon, battle of, 399 ; destroyed by Saladin to prevent its occupation by the Crusaders, 
 
 423- 
 Ascansar, 412 ; the favourite of Malek Shaw, 412 ; is executed, 412 ; his son Zenghi, 412. 
 Asia Minor, or Anatolia, 359 : its conquest by the Turks, 359 ; its ancient description, 359. 
 Assise of Jerusalem, the, 401 ; deposited in the Holy Sepulchre, 401 ; used, 1369, in the 
 
 kingdom of Cyprus, 401 ; its details and its working, 401-404. 
 Assiz, the Carizmian, 363 ; revolts against Malek Shaw, 363 ; his temporary success, 363. 
 Auvergne, the Council of, 367 ; its composition; 367 ; its labours, 367. 
 Auxerre, Count of, 473; made Emperor of the East, 473 ; crowned by Pope Honorlus III. 
 
 4.73 ; engages with the Venetians to attack Durazzo, 473 ; proceeds through the 
 
 mountains of Epirius, 473 ; himself and his army made prisoners, 473 ; released fron; 
 
 cskptivity, 473. 
 
 Baldwin (iv Courtenay becomes Eniperor of the East, 476: visits the courts of Europe to 
 obtain assistance, 476; attends the Council of Lyons, 476; his reception in England, 
 476 ; retiuus to Konuiuia, 476 ; ]iis alliance with the Turks auU Romans, 476, 477 ; gives
 
 502 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 
 
 his son as security for a debt, 477 ; pledges the True Cross and the Crown of Thoms, 
 477 ; pledges other sacred relics, 478 ; hemmed in on every side by enemies, 478 ; 
 escapes from Constantinople, 480 ; spends the last thirteen years of his life in unsuccess- 
 fully soliciting aid to restore him to his kingdom, 481. 
 
 Baldwin, Count of Flanders, 440 ; assumes the Cross, 440 ; elected by the French Crusaders 
 Emperor of the East, 463 ; his coronation, 463 ; recalls his brother from beyond the 
 Hellespont, 468, 469 ; takes the field against his revolted subjects, 469; made prisoner, 
 469 ; dies in prison, 470. 
 
 Basil, the Macedonian, 434 ; restores Ignatius to the Patriarchship of Constantinople, 434. 
 
 Blois, Count of, invested with the Duchy of Nice, 465. 
 
 Bohemond, 377 ; son of Robert Guiscard, 377 ; his military ability, 377 ; his position by his 
 father's will, 377; joins the Crusade, 377; his success as a preacher, 377; the route 
 adopted by him, 381 ; his reception by Alexius, 383 ; is bribed, 3S3 ; urges Godfrey de 
 Bouillon to attack Constantinople, 383 ; encourages a report that the Christians are 
 cannibals, 3S6 ; claims and obtains the sovereignty of Antioch, 391 ; conduct before 
 Antioch, 392 ; captured by the Greeks, 404 ; his ransom, 404 ; determines to leave 
 Antioch to the care of Tancred, 405 ; his arrival in France, 405 ; marries the King's 
 daughter, 405 ; returns to the East, 405 ; his war with Alexius, 405 ; his death, 405 ; his 
 children and their territory, 405. 
 
 Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat, elected commander of the French Crusaders, 444 ; enterj 
 the service of Alexius, 453 ; wishes to be Emperor of the East, 463 ; receives as spoil the 
 Island of Crete and the provinces beyond the Hellespont, 465 ; sells Crete to the 
 Republic of Venice, 465 ; exchanges the provinces beyond the Hellespont for Thessa- 
 lonica, 465 ; attacks Corinth and Napoli, 465 ; invades Rhodope, 471 ; killed on the field 
 of battle, 471. 
 
 Bulgarians, their revolt from the Byzantine Empire, 438 ; their first king, 438 ; their homage 
 to Rome, 468. 
 
 Burgundy, Duke of, 422 ; left in the East by Philip Augustus as his representative, 423. 
 
 CvESAR Bardas, 434 ; the patron of Photius, 434. 
 
 Csesarea, 422 ; taken by Richard I., 422. 
 
 Calvary, Mount, 361 ; the annual fair on, 361. 
 
 Capernaum, 363 ; the pilgrim bishops besieged in, by the Arabs, 363 ; the siege raised by the 
 aid of the Turks, 363. 
 
 Carizmians, the, 427 ; their flight from the Moguls, 427 ; their devastation of Palestine, 427. 
 
 Carloman, 380 ; King of Hungary, 380 ; his hospitable treatment of Godfrey de Bouillon, 
 . 380. 
 
 v-narlemagne, the Emperor, 361 ; protects the Franks at Jerusalem, 361 ; relieves the 
 poverty of Alexandria, Carthage, and Jerusalem, 361 ; his friendship with Harum 
 Alrashid, 361 ; its result, 361. 
 
 Chartres, Stephen, Count of, is won over to the cause of Alexius, 383. 
 
 Chivalry, the cause of its inscitution and its laws, 377-379. 
 
 Chivalry, Hallam on, 484-486. 
 
 Church, the, 432 ; reasons for the schisms between the Latin and Greek branches, 432, 433 ; 
 the immediate cause, 433-435 ; its political effects, 435-437. 
 
 Citeau, monastery of, 410 ; Bernard a member, 410. 
 
 Clairvaux, abbey of, 410 ; Bernard the Abbot, 410. 
 
 Clergy, the Latin, 399 ; their conduct at Jerusalem, 399. 
 
 Cogni taken by the third Crusaders, Frederic Barbarossa, 409. 
 
 Conrad of Montferrat, 421 ; goes to the Holy Land, 421 ; defends Tyre against Saladin, 421 ; 
 assassinated at Tyre, 423. 
 
 Conrad III., Emperor of Germany, 405 ; joins in the second Crusade, 405 ; will only meet 
 Manuel Comnenus on horseback, 408 ; meets Louis VII. at Jerusalem, 409 ; engages in 
 the siege of Damascus, 409 ; loses the greater portion of his troops, 408 ; returns to Con- 
 stantinople, 40S ; proceeds to Palestine, 409. 
 
 Constantinople, 447 ; as first seen by the Crusaders, 448 ; its siege and fall, 449-452 ; suffers 
 from an eight days' fire, 454 ; second siege and fall, 457-462. 
 
 Cerularius, Michael, 434 ; excommunicated in Constantinople, 434. 
 
 Cross, the badge of the, 367 ; its institution, 367. 
 
 Crusaders, inquiry into the merits of, 368, 369 ; reasons why the sovereigns of Europe did not 
 personally engage in the first, 375 ; review of the characters of its principal leaders, 375-377 ; 
 review of the motives prompting the, 371-373; the first detachment of pilgrims led by 
 Peter the Hermit, 373 ; splits into two parties, 373 ; the second detachment under Godcs- 
 '-"'^'> 373 ; the third detachment, 373 ; the latter make war upon tlie Jews, 374 ; their 
 losses while traversing Hungary and Bulgaria, 374 ; their conduct in Constantinople, 
 374; the slaughter inflicted by the Turks, 375; prelimin.ary preparations of the military, 
 379i 3S0 ; the route taken by Godfrey de Bouillon, 3S0 ; route of Raymond Count ol 
 Toulouse, 380 ; the route of Bohemond and Tancred, 381 ; route of the French knights, 
 381; encamp on the plains of Asia ; some of them diverted to the service of Alexius, 
 383 ; the muster (May, a.d. 1097) oa the plains of Bithynia, 385 ; the estimates of their
 
 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 503 
 
 number, 385 ; that of the Princess Anna, daughter of Alexius, 385 ; arrive before Nice, 
 386 ; commence to besiege that city, 386 ; the progress of the siege, 387 ; the siege by the 
 aid of Alexius successful, 387 ; proceed in the direction of Phrygia, 387 ; their feeling 
 towards the Greeks, 3S7 ; march in two columns, 387 ; the left attacked at Doryla;um, 
 387 : rescued by the right column, 38S ; great battle and defeat of the Turks, 388 ; 
 affected by the climate, 388 ; the march continued to Germanicia, 3S8 ; decide to attack 
 Antioch, 389 ; their successful attack of the town, 389 ; their skill as warriors compared 
 ■with their poverty as besiegers, 390 ; besiege the citadel of Antioch, 390 ; themselves 
 besieged and on the verge of destruction, 391 ; their victory over Kerboga, Prince of 
 Mosul, 391 ; review of their conduct during these trials, 391 ; the cause of their salvation 
 before Antioch, 392-394 ; reply to the Egyptian appeal to them to lay down their arms 
 and go in small parties to Jerusalem, 395 ; their halt in Syria, 396 ; their route from 
 Antioch to Jerusalem, 396 ; the siege and conquest of Jerusalem, 396-398 ; their visit to 
 the sepulchre, 398 ; opinion of the conduct of Alexius, 404 ; the second, 406 ; their 
 numbers and their course, 406 ; the third, 406 ; their numbers, 406 ; the second, their 
 troop of Amazons, 406 ; the second, their ill success, 408 ; the third, 409 ; the effect of 
 their march from Philadelphia to Cognl, 409 ; their successful assault on Cogni, 409 ; the 
 second, close their labours with the fruitless siege of Damascus, 409 ; its beneficialeffect 
 on the Greek Kmpire, 405 ; the second, third, 406-410 ; the third lose Frederic Barbarossa, 
 410 : excited to fresh efforts by the success of Saladin, 421, 422 ; the tliird commanded 
 by Richard I., 422 ; the march from Acre to Ascalon, 422 ; the third, within a day's march 
 of Jerusalem, 423 : tlie lesson of the first three, 410 ; the fourth and the fifth undertaken 
 through the exertions of Innocent III., 425 ; again preached by the Popes, 425 ; their 
 object, supporters, and result, 425 ; reason of their non-success, 425, 426 ; the two last, 
 428 ; resolve of those who support the Crusade preachsd by Fulk, of Neuilly, to seek 
 the restoration of Palestine in Egj'pt, 441 ; tlie aid of the Venetians solicited, 441 ; hold 
 a Parliament at Soissons, 444 ; elect Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat, their commander, 
 in the place of Thibault, 444 ; march towards Venice, 444 ; censured by the Church for 
 taking Zara, 445 ; attack and take Zara, 443 ; determine to attack Constantinople, 446 ; a 
 portion return home, 446 ; their fleet, 447 ; land at Durazzo, 447 ; their march to the Abbey 
 of St. Stephen, near Constantinople, 447 ; move to Chalcedon, 448 ; advance to Scutari, 
 448 ; their reply to the Greek Emperor's ambassadors, 448, 449 ; their passage of the 
 Bosphorus, 449 ; their siege of Constantinople, 449-452 ; the interview with Isaac Angelus, 
 452 ; retreat to tlie suburb of Pera, 454 ; demand the fulfilment of their engagement 
 with Alexius, 454, 455 ; unsuccessfully attempt to negotiate with Mourzoufle, 456 ; pre- 
 paration for the second siege of Constantinople, 456 ; the siege and sack, 457-462 ; pro- 
 ceed to divide the spoil, 462 ; elect an Emperor of the East, 463 ; Dandolo declines to 
 be made Emperor of the East, 463 ; review of their consequences on the Holy Land, 
 and on the nations that engaged in them, 481-484. 
 
 Curds, the, 415. 
 
 Cyprus, the island of, 438 ; a dependency of the Byzantine Empire, 438 ; usurped by Isaac 
 Comnenus, 438 ; taken by Richard I., 438. 
 
 Daimbert, Archbishop of Pisa, 399 ; goes to the Holy Land, 399 ; made patriarch of Jerusalem, 
 
 399 ; his pretensions and conduct, 399, 400. 
 Damascus, 409 ; unsuccessfully besieged by the second Crusaders, 409. 
 Damietta, 427 ; its first siege, 427 ; its second siege, 428 ; its restitution part of the ransom of 
 
 Louis, 429. 
 Dandolo, Henry, 442 : Doge of Venice, 442 ; receives the deputies of the French Crusaders, 
 
 441 ; proclaimed Despot of Romania, 464 ; dies at Constantinople, 464. 
 Doryla;um, 387 ; the Cnisaders attacked by Solinian, 387 ; the second battle, 388 ; complete 
 
 defeat of the Turks, 388. 
 Purazzo, 447 ; the landing-place of the Crusaders in Greece, 447 ; fruitlessly attacked by the 
 
 Count of Auxerre, 473. 
 
 Edward I., 430; assumes the Cross, 431; delivers Acre from a siege, 430; marches to 
 
 Nazareth, 430 ; obtains a ten years' truce, 430 ; his escape from assassination, 430. 
 Egj'pt, the invasion of, 428 ; the preparations made by Louis I., 428 ; Dannetta taken, 428 ; 
 the attempted passage of the Nile, 429 ; the storming of Massoura, 429 ; Louis IX. and 
 the greater part of his army made prisoners, 429 ; the terms of the release of Louis IX. 
 429. 
 Egypt, 430 ; its state for five hundred years, 430 : its power, 430. 
 Eugenius IIL, 411 ; the friend and disciple of Bernard, 411 
 
 Fati MITES, the, deprived of power in Syria, 413 ; their state at Cairo, 413 : ruled by their 
 viziers, 413 ; the results of the intrigues of the various factions, 413, 414 ; the last days of 
 the race, 415 ; Gibbon's picture of the third of the race, 361 ; the insurrection of Utsiz 
 the Carizmian, 363. 
 
 France, 'evi^w of its position in the eleventh century, 366. 
 
 KK a
 
 56-4 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 
 
 Franks the, 361 ; domineer over the other Christian pilgrims at Jerusnlem, 361 ; protected 
 by Chait.emagne, 361 ; still (a.d. 1024) the most zealous of the pilgrims, 363. 
 
 Frederic II., Emperor of Germany, 426; assiimes, 122S, the cross, 426; the prcmls* 
 repeated at his coronation and at his marriage with the heiress of Jerusalem, 426 ; con- 
 templates the restoration of the Italian monarchy, 426 ; is urged to go to the Holy Land, 
 426 ; the completion of his vow, 426, 427 ; the action of the Church against him, 427 ; its 
 effect, 427 ; obtains the restitution of Jerusalem and leading towns of the Holy Land, 
 
 427- 
 Frederic Barbarossa, 406 ; Emperor of Germany, 406 ; joins in the third Crusade, 406 ; 
 
 declines to visit Constantinople, 408 ; marches from the Greek frontiers to the Turkish 
 
 capital, 409 : takes that city, 409 ; dies in Cilicia, 410. 
 Fulk, of NeuiUy, 439 ; preaches a Crusade to the Holy Land, 439; his success among the 
 
 princes of the second order, 440. 
 
 GoDESCAL, 373 ; preaches in favour of the Crusades, 373 ; leads the second detachment of 
 pilgrim Crusaders, 373. 
 
 Godfrey de Bouillon, 375 ; his parentage, descent, and position, 37s ; his services under 
 Henry IV., 375 ; the first to mount the walls of Rome, 375 ; reason for joining the 
 Crusade, 375 ; his high military and personal character, 375, 376 ; accompanied by 
 his two brothers, 376 ; the force under his banners, 376 ; safely reaches the frontiers of 
 Thrace, 380 ; route adopted by him, 380 ; his negotiations with the Hungarians, 380 ; 
 has quarters assigned to him in the suburbs of Constantinople, 382 ; his quarrel with 
 Alexius, 382 ; is induced to take up his camp in Asia, 382 ; joined there by the other 
 Crusaders, 382 ; resists the appeals of Raymond, Count of Toulouse, and Bohe- 
 mond to attack Constantinople, 383 ; the title given him by Alexius, 3S3 ; hurt by a bear 
 in the mountains of Pisidia, 389 ; accompanies his brother Baldwin to the East, 3S9 ; 
 detached with Tancred from the main army, 389 ; overruns Cilicia, 389 ; 
 takes Tarsus and Malmistra, 389 ; quarrels with Tancred, 3S9 ; founds by fraud 
 and bloodshed a kingdom, 389 ; conduct before Antioch, 392 ; plants his standard on 
 IMount Calvary, 397 ; his banner the first to float over the wall of Jerusalem, 398 : 
 becomes defender and Baron of the Holy Sepulchre, 399 ; his victory over the Caliph of 
 Egypt, 399; his small remaining force, 399 ; opposed by the Church, 399, 400 ; the com- 
 promise, 400 ; composes the Assize of Jerusalem, 401. 
 
 " Golden-footed Dame," the, 406. 
 
 Greeks, the, their feeling towards the French Crusaders, 453, 454 ; rebel and massacre their 
 conquerors, 468. 
 
 Gregory IX., 427 ; excommunicates Frederic II., 427. 
 
 Guy of Lusignan, 417; his character, 417; marries the .sister of the last Baldwin, 417; is 
 defeated by Saladin, 418 ; his interview with Saladin, 418 ; sent to Damascus, 418; pro- 
 poses the recovery of Ptolemais or Acre, 422. 
 
 Hallam on chivalry, 484-486. 
 
 Harum Alrashid, 361 ; his friendship with Charlemagne, 361 ; restores him the keys of the 
 Holy Sepulchre, 361. 
 
 Henry IV. of Germany, 366 ; his attitude towards the Pope, 366 ; his non-success, 366. 
 
 Henry, brother of the Count of Flanders, 456 ; defeats the Greek Emperor in a night attack, 
 456 ; assumes the regency of the empire, 469 ; becomes Emperor, 470 ; left unsupported, 
 470; marries the daughter of the Marquis of Montferrat, 471; attacks and defeats 
 Joannice, 471 ; concludes a truce with the Bulgarians, 472 ; his government, 472 ; poisoned 
 by the Greeks, 472. 
 
 Holy Lance, the, 393 ; effect of its discovery on the besieged Christians in Antioch, 393 ; its 
 pecuniary benefits to the Count of Toulouse, 394 ; its authenticity examined and dis- 
 proved, 394. 
 
 Honorius III. crowns the Count of Auxerre Emperor of the East, 473. 
 
 Hugh, Count of Vermandois, 376 ; brother of the King of France, 376 ; takes up the cross, 
 376 ; his march to Constantinople, 381 ; his misfortunes, 381 ; goes over to the service of 
 Alexius, 383 ; leaves the Crusaders at Antioch and returns home, 392 ; joins in the second 
 Crusade, 406. 
 
 Hungary, the conversion of, 3C2 
 
 Ignatius, 434 ; the predecessor of Photius, 434 ; appeals to Rome, 434 ; restored to the 
 patriarchship, 434 ; a second time deposed, 434. 
 
 Ingulphus, 363 ; his account of the pilgrimage of the bishops, 363. 
 
 Innocent III., 425 ; his great influence, 425; his position in the Council of the Lateran, 425 
 his triumphs over sense and humanity, 425 ; projects the fourth and fifth Crusades, 4=t. 
 
 Isaac Angelus, 407 ; his conduct towards the Crusaders, 407 ; founds a mosque in ConsLiiili- 
 nople, 40S , his character and habits, 437 ; his embassy to Saladin, 437 ; loses the island 
 of Cyprus, 438 ; causes the revolt of the Bulgarians and Wallachiaus, 438 ; acquiesces in 
 their independence. 438 ; deposed by his biother, 439 , his imprisonment, 439 ; d'ciiies
 
 INDEX TO THb CRUSADES. 505 
 
 to confirm the conditions made by his son with >'ie French Ciusadcrs, 452 ; jealousy 
 of his soil, 453. 
 Isnac Coiuiienus, 438 ; usurps Cyprus, 438. 
 
 Jp.\'v\, 422 ; taken by Richard I., 422. 
 rifory of Villohardouin, 440 ; supports the crusade j^.tat fl 'A by Fulk, of Keiiilly, 440 ; writes 
 an account of the actions in which he takes paut, 440; one of the six deputies selected to 
 proceed to Venice to solicit tlie aid of the Republic, 441 ; his masterly retreat before 
 Joannice, 469 ; reinforced at Rodosto, 469 ; his character and abilities, 471. 
 
 Jerusalem, 360 ; conquered by the Turks, 360 ; the stipulation with its inhabitants, 360 ; 
 action of the Mahomcdans in a.d. 400, 360 ; the pilgrim sages go to, 360 : feuds at, between 
 the pilgrims, 361 ; the church of the Resurrection destroyed by Hakera, who also attempts 
 to destroy the Holy Sepulchre, 362 ; the restitution of the churches projected, 362 ; the 
 pilgrimage to, of the bishops, 363; mention of its former sieges, 396; the siege by the 
 first Crusaders, 396-308 ; its fall, 398 ; its military force, 400, 401 ; the effect of its loss 
 upon the Christian pilgrims, 411 ; taken by Saladin, 416 ; besieged and taken by Saladin, 
 418, 419 ; the terms of the capitulation, 419 ; the third Crusaders within a day's march 
 of the city, 423 ; the consternation of the Turks, 423 ; entered in triumph by Frederick 
 II., 427 ; again held by the Christians, 427 ; their expulsion by the Carizmians, 427. 
 
 Jerusalem, kingdom of, 400 ; its size and condition, 400 ; its extension under its first three 
 kings, 400 ; its dependences, 400 ; its last years, 417-420. 
 
 Jews, the, 374 ; persecuted by the pilgrim Crusaders in various German towns, 374 ; their 
 desperate despair, 374. 
 
 Joannice, 43S ; the first king of the Bulgarians, 43S ; assists the Greeks in their revolt against 
 the French Crusaders, 468 ; advances to the relief of Hadrianople, 469 ; conquers nearly the 
 whole of the French Crusaders' territory, 470 ; attempts to depopulate Thrace, 471 ; 
 defeated by Henry, brother of the Count of Flanders, 471 ; besieges Thessalonica, 471 ; 
 assassinated, 471, 472. 
 
 John of Brienne, 475 ; sometime King of Jerusalem, 475; attempts the conquest of Egypt, 
 47s ; marries his daughter to Frederic II., 475 ; commander of the army of the Church, 
 475 ; made Emperor of the East, 475 ; besieged by Vataces, 475 ; his successful sally, 
 475 ; his valour estimated by the poets of the age, 476 : his death, 476. 
 
 Joli« d'Ibelin, Count of Jaffa, 401 ; rescues the Assize of Jerusalem from obscurity, 401. 
 ohn Vataces, 474 ; successor of Theodore Lascaris, 474 ; principal incidents of his reign, 
 474 ; unsuccessfully besieges Constantinople, 475 ; reigns from the Turkish borders to 
 the Hadriatic Gulf, 478 ; dies, 478. 
 Joinville, 428 ; the historian of the life and reign of Louis IX., 428. 
 
 Kerboga, Prince of Mosul, 391 ; advances to the relief of Antioch, 391 ; fails in the attempt, 
 
 391- 
 Khahl, the Sultan, 431 ; causes of his besieging Acre, 431 ; his force, 431 ; his success, 431. 
 Knight, a, 37S ; the profession of, 378 ; his equipment and attendants, 379. 
 Knighthood, 37S ; the qualifications necessary for, 378 ; the ceremony of, 378 ; the benefits of 
 
 the institution, 378, 379. 
 
 Laodicea, 360 ; foilows the example of Antioch, and succumbs to the powers of the Turks, 
 
 360. 
 Lascaris, Theodore, 466 ; marries the daughter of Alexius Angelus, 466 ; twice attacks 
 
 Constantinople, 466 ; regains a portion of the Greek Empire, 466, 467. 
 Lateran, the Council of the, 425. 
 Louis VII., 405 ; King of France, 405 ; joins in the second Crusade, 405 ; barely escapes with 
 
 life, 409 ; retires to Satalia, 409 ; embarks for Antioch, 409 ; leaves his infantiy to their 
 
 fate, 409 ; meets Conrad III. at Jerusalem, 409 ; engages in the siege of Damascus, 
 
 409. 
 Louis IX., 428 ; undertakes the two last Crusades, 428 ; his death, 428 ; his canonization, 
 
 428 ; his character, 428 ; his efforts to restore the prerogative of the Crown, 428. 
 Louis, Count of Blois and Chartres, 440 ; accompanies Thibanlt, Count of Champagne, 440. 
 Lyons, Council of, 476. 
 
 Mahomedans, the, 3C1 ; their opinion of the action and practices of the Christian pilgrims 
 
 361 ; on the miraculous flame, 361. 
 Malmistra, 389 ; taken by the first Crusaders, 389. 
 
 Mamelukes, the, 429 ; their service and position, 429 ; murder Touran Shaw, 429. 
 Manuel Comnenus, 407 ; his action towards the Crusaders,' 407 ; his violation of the treaty 
 
 with Frederic Barbarossa, 407 ; his interviews with the French and German sovereigns, 
 
 408. 
 Massoura, 429 ; stormed by the French under Ro'oert, Count of Arlois, 429. 
 Matthew of Montmorency, 440 ; supports the Crusade preached by Fulk of Neuilly, 440. 
 Michael Angelus, escapes from the camp of the Marquis of Montferrat, 467; by mairiage 
 
 obtains the jiovenishi|) oJ Diirazzo, 467.
 
 5o6 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 
 
 Michael Comnenus, his wives, 436 ; his son married to a daughter of Philip Augustus, 436 ; 
 
 his daughter to Count Monlferrat, 436. 
 Michael Palla;ologus, 479; dismisses the Ambassador of the Emperor of the East, 479; 
 
 dictates an annual tribute to the Emperor as the terms of peace, 479 ; attacks the 
 
 despot of Epirus, 479 ; visits Thrace, 479 ; his attack and conquest of Constantinople, 
 
 479, 480. 
 Military service, 377 ; change between the time of Charlemagne and the Crusades in the 
 
 fashionable arm,- 377, 378. 
 Miraculous Flame, the, 361. 
 Mourzoufle, Prince of Ducas, 455 ; is appointed Great Chamberlain by Alexius, 455 : deposes 
 
 his sovereign, 455 ; leads the populace against the French Crusaders, 45s ; joins 
 
 Alexius Angelus against the Emperor, 466 ; grossly maltreated by Alexius Angelus, 466 ; 
 
 captured by the Emperor, is compelled to cast himself from a high monument, 466. 
 Morosini, Thomas, made Patriarch of Constantinople, 463. 
 
 Nice, 359 ; made the capital of Anatolia by Suliman, 359 ; its change of religion, 359 ; 
 
 besieged by the first Crusaders, 386 ; the progress of the siege, 387 ; its fall, 387 ; its sack 
 
 prevented by the intervention of Alexius, 387. 
 Nicene Creed, the, 432 ; correspondence between Leo III. and Charlemagne, 432. 
 Nicholas I,, 434 ; is appealed to by Ignatius, 434 ; decides against Photius, 434 ; is deposed, 
 
 434. 
 Noureddin, 412 ; the son of Zenghi, 412 ; unites the Mahometan powers, 412 ; wages war 
 
 against the Syrian Christians, 412 ; his regal position, 412 ; the simplicity of his habits of 
 
 life, 412, 413 ; his justice, 413 ; the effect even of its memory, 413 ; his death, 416 ; his 
 
 throne usurped by Saladin, 416. 
 
 Omek, 360 ; his stipulation with the Jews, 360. 
 
 Palestine, the shepherds of, 364. 
 
 Penance, 369 ; the liberal indulgenoe in, in the early ages, 369-371 ; some of its horn.; effects, 
 
 373- 
 Peter Bartholomew, 393 ; his diocese and character, 393 ; conceives the story of the Holy 
 
 Lance, 393 ; how he ensures its discovery, 393 ; compelled to undergo the ordeal of fire, 
 
 394 ; dies from its effects, 394. 
 Peter the Hermit, 364 ; his visit to the Holy Sepulchre, 364 ; review of his previous life, 
 
 364, 365; his reception by Urban II., 365; his agitation tour through Europe, 365 ; 
 
 leads the first detachment of pilgrim crusaders, 373 ; his incapacity, 373 ; retires 
 
 from the cause at Constantinople, 375. 
 Philaretus, 360 ; governor of Antioch, 360 ; his proposed treachery anticipated by his son, 360. 
 Philip Augustus, 422 ; King of France, 422 ; takes part in the third Crusade, 422 ; is present 
 
 at the siege of Acre, 422 ; grows tired of the East, 4S2 ; returns to Europe, 422 ; leaves 
 
 the Duke of Burgundy as his representative, 422. 
 Philip II., 365 ; his attitude towards the Pope, 365, 366. 
 Phirouz, 390 ; Antioch secured by his treachery, 390, 391 ; murders his more scrupulous 
 
 brother, 391. 
 Photius, 433 ; captain of the guard and principal secretary, 433 ; made Patriarch of Con- 
 stantinople, 433 ; his contest with Ignatius, 433 ; his conflict with Rome, 434 ; falls with 
 
 his patron, 434. 
 Placentia, the Council of, 366 ; its decision with reference to the Crusades, 366 ; its sitting 
 
 adjourned to France, 366. 
 
 Raymond, Count of Tripoli, 417 ; incensed at tha nomination of Guy of Lusignan to the 
 throne of Jerusalem, 417; seduces the Franks into a bad position, 418 ; the feeling of both 
 nations against him, 418. 
 
 Raymond, Count of St. Giles and Toulouse, 376 ; his other titles, 376 ; his previous military 
 career, 377 ; engages for perpetual service, 377 ; review of his character, 377 ; quarters 
 from whence his forces were drawn, 377 ; route adopted by him, 380 ; the latter part of 
 his march to Constantinople somewhat harassed, 380, 381 ; urges Godfrey de Bouillon 
 to attack Constantinople, 383 ; is induced, after a long resistance, to pay homage to 
 Alexus, 383, 384 ; is the most successful of the besiegers of Nice, 387 ; nearly dies from a 
 dangerous Eastern malady, 388, 389 ; suspected of feigning illness before Antioch, 392 ; 
 derives pecuniary benefit from the Holy Lance, 394. 
 
 Reginald, of Chatillon, 418 ; seizes a fortress in the desert, 418 ; pillages Mecca and Medina, 
 418 ; provokes Saladin to invade the Holy Land, 418 ; refuses to acknowledge the prophet, 
 418 ; is executed by Saladin, 418. 
 
 Richard I., 421 ; redeems the Holy Vessels of the Sepulchre, 421 ; effect of his name on 
 Moslem children, 422 ; assumes the command of the Crusaders, 422 : takes Cassarca and 
 Jaffa, 422 ; takes part in the siege of Acre, 422; orders the execution of 3000 Moslems, 
 422 ; his indignation at having to retreat from Jerusalem, 423 ; his relief of Jaffa, 423 ;
 
 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 50J 
 
 Kis negotiations with Saladin for a truce, 423, 424 ; returns to England, 424 ; takes 
 Cyprus, 438 ; bestows it on the house of Lusignan, 438. 
 
 Robert of Couitoiiay, made Emporor of the East, 474 ; his disastrous reign, 474. 
 
 Robert of Paris, 384 ; places himself by the side of Alexius, 384 ; challenges Alexius to single 
 combat, 384. 
 
 Robert, Count of Flanders, 376 ; the Sword and Lance of the Christians, 376 ; marches to- 
 wards Constantinople through Italy, 381 ; dallies in Rome, 381 ; arrives at Constantinople, 
 381. 
 
 Robert, Count of Normandy, 376 : review of his character and habits before the preaching of 
 the Crusade, 376 ; joins the Crusade, 376 ; its effect, 376 ; marches towards Constantinople 
 through Italy, 381 ; dallies in Rome, 381 ; arrives in Constantinople, 381 ; storms the Iron 
 Bridge of Antiocli, 389 ; censured by the church before Antioch, 392. 
 
 St. Bernard, 410 ; descent and birth, 410 ; enters the Monastery of Citeaux, 410 ; founds 
 the monastic colony of Clairvaux, 410; is Abbot of his community, 410 ; his character, 
 speeches, and writings, 410; the founder of Convents, 41 1 ; preaches the Crusade, 411 ; is 
 requested, but declines to lead the second Crusade, 411 ; accused as a false prophet, 411 ; 
 his apology, 411. 
 
 St. Dominic, of the Iron Cuirass, 370 : the self-inflicted penance he could sustain, 370. 
 
 St. John of Jerusalem, 361 ; founded by the Italian merchants, 361 ; a convent and hospital, 
 361 ; its peculiar constitutions, 400 ; its pecuniary resources, 401 ; its available strength, 
 401 ; the privileges of its members, 401. 
 
 St. Pol, Count of, 465 : invested with the Lordship of Demotica, 465. 
 
 St. Stephen, 362 ; the Apostle of Hungary, 362. 
 
 Saladin, 415 ; his defence of Alexandria, 413 ; made by Nourredin, grand vizier, 415 ; usurps 
 the throne of the Abbassides, 416 ; takes Jerusalem, 416 ; also the leading cities of the 
 Arabians and the Moslems, 416; general review of his character and actions, 41C, 417 ; 
 invades the Holy Land, 41S ; besieges Tiberias, 418 ; defeats Guy of Lusignan, 418 ; his 
 treatment of Guy of Lusignan and Reginald of Chatillon, 418 ; appears before Jerusalem, 
 418 ; besieges and takes the city, 418, 419 ; his entry into Jerusalem, 421 ; his tide of 
 victory checked before Tyre, 421 ; obliged to retreat to D.amascus, 421 ; resists the march 
 of the third Crusaders from Acre to Ascalon, 423 ; destroys Ascalon, 423; negotiates 
 with Rich.ard I. for a truce, 423, 424 ; his death, 424 ; its effect on the Turkish Empire, 
 424 ; its observance by the Latin Church, 424, 425. 
 
 S.aphadim, 424 ; brother of Saladin, 424 ; oppresses his nephews, 424. 
 
 Selim, the great charter of, 430. 
 
 Shiracouh, 413 ; endesivours to conquer Egypt, 413 ; is beaten off by an union of the Franks 
 and Saracens, 413, 414 : invades Egypt a second time, 414 ; a second time driven back, 
 414 ; comes to the relief of Egypt from the invasion of Almarie, king of Jerusalem, 414 ; 
 receives an honourable reward, 414 : murders Shawe, 414. 
 
 Simon de Montfort, 440 ; supports the Crusade preached by Fulk of Neuilly, 440. 
 
 Soliman, 359 ; the title he deserves for the propagation of the Moslem faith, 359 ; his choice 
 of a palace and fortress, 359 ; his great march, 360 ; attacks and conquers Antioch, 360 ; 
 the extent of his conquests, 360 ; prepares for resistance, 3S7 : the number of his troops, 
 387 ; attacks by surprise the left division of the Crusaders at Dorylseum, 387 ; puts Nice 
 m a state of defence, and retires to the mountains, 38S ; completely defeated, 3S8 ; 
 retreats, 3S8. 
 
 Stephen, Count of Chartres, Blois, and Troyes, 376 ; the richest prince of the age, 376 ; the 
 number of his castles, 376 ; president of the council of chiefs of the Crusade, 376 ; marches 
 towards Constantinople through Italy, 381 ; arrives at Constantinople, 381 ; deserts the 
 Crusaders, 392 ; joins in the second Crusade, 406. 
 
 Tancred, 377 ; his character that of a true knight, 377 ; insults a patrician in the presence o{ 
 Alexius, 384 ; flees to Asia, 384 ; is induced to return and pay homage to Alexis, 384 ; is 
 obliged to quarrel with Baldwin de Bouillon, 389 ; his detennination before Antioch to 
 pursue the Crusade, 392. 
 
 Tarsus, 389 ; taken by the first Crusaders, 389. 
 
 Theodore Angclus, forcibly obtains the kingdom of Thessalonica, 474 ; assumes the title of 
 emperor, 474. 
 
 Theodosian column, the, 4G6. 
 
 Thibault, Count of Champagne, 440 ; the principal leader in the Crusade preached by Fulk of 
 Neuilly. 440 ; accompanied by Louis, Count of Blois and Chartres. 440; dies from sick- 
 ness, 443, 444. _ ^ . . 
 
 Foncush, the Sultan, 363 ; puts down the revolt of Alsiz, the Canzmi.an, 363. 
 
 Touran Shaw, 429 ; murdered by his Mamelukes, 429 ; " truce of God," the, 367. 
 
 Tunis, King of, 429 , the seventh Crusaders hope to make him a proselyte, 429 ; their mis- 
 take, 430. 
 
 Turks, the, their continued persecution of the Christians at Jerusalem, 364 ; remove their 
 capital to Cogni, 405.
 
 5o3 INDEX TO THE CRUSADES. 
 
 Tyre, 421 ; besieged by Saladin, 421 ; its resistance, 421 ; the command assumed r.^ Conrad 
 of Montferrat, 421 ; the successful resistance, 421. 
 
 UrdaN II. ^ 365 ; his reception of Peter the Hermit, 365 ; completesthedesignsof Gregory VII. 
 with reference to the Holy Land, 365 ; his position at this time, 365, 366 ; fjmimons the 
 Council of Placentia, 366 ; effect of his oratory at Clermont, 367 ; institutes the badge of 
 the (^oss, 367 ; his reasons for not heading the Crusaders, 368 ; his deputy, 368. 
 
 Venice, the Republic of, 441 ; its gradual formation, 441 ; successfully resists Charlemagne 
 and Pepin, 441 ; for a time part of the Greek Empire, 441 ; the extent of its territory, 
 442; its policy, 442; its religion, 442; its reception of the deputies of the French 
 Crusaders, 442 ; the conditions on which it will assist them, 442, 443 ; its banner the first 
 to be erected on the walls of Constantinople, 451 ; accepts the defence of Adrianople, 
 464 ; purchases from the Marquis of Montferrat the island of Crete, 465 ; in consideration 
 of carrying the Count of Auxerre beyond the Adriatic makes him engage to recover 
 Durazzo, 473. 
 
 Walter, the Pennyless, 373 ; the lieutenant of Peter the Hermit, 373 ; leads the first body of 
 Pilgrim Crusaders against the Turks, 375. 
 
 YfiLANDi, 472 ; sister of the Count of Flanders, 472 ; marries Peter of Courtenay, 472 ; 
 gives birth to a son, christened ISyddwin, 473 ; her second son, Robert, made Emperor of 
 the East, 474. 
 
 Zara attacked by the French Crusaders, 445 ; implores the protection of the King of Hun- 
 gary, 445 ; taken after five days' siege, 445. 
 
 Zenglii, 412; takes part hi the defeat of Antioch, 412; recovers Edessa from the Franks 
 412 ; his son Nourredin, 412. 
 
 
 c
 
 en 
 
 CO 
 
 % 
 
 3i ^\ 
 
 V E ^ ZJ I I 5 
 
 
 .<>^IUBRARYQ^ 
 
 
 
 ,^yfyNIVER% ^lOSANCEier^ 
 
 ^lOSANCEier^ 
 
 soi^^ "^/saaMNa-awv 
 
 
 
 wm\n^ 
 
 ^.OF-CAIIFO% 
 
 ■R. 
 
 , ^WE UNIVERS//, 
 
 'A 
 
 ,,\WEUKIVER5//i 
 
 ^lOSANCElfj> 
 
 o ■ 
 
 ^/yajAiNfl^wv^ 
 
 rj^ ^mmiiu^
 
 )^r^ s^^t^ 
 
 
 
 PR3476 .A8 1889 
 
 y 
 
 mm. 
 
 L 009 528 113 5 
 
 OdlTVDJO 
 
 
 UC SOUTHERN 
 
 iir 
 
 REGIONAL UBBABVJJCJL^^^ 
 
 '^^ 
 
 S01 402 904 ^ 
 
 i^ 
 
 ■■^\mm: 
 
 mmmo. 
 
 .XLIBRARYO^: 
 
 ^A 
 
 mm 
 
 OFCAIIFO/; 
 
 > 
 
 JO 
 
 
 C? 35. 
 
 
 CO 
 
 /OJIIVJJO^ 
 
 vtKS7A 
 
 
 ^lOSANCflfJ^ 
 o 
 
 ? r^ 
 
 -< 
 
 aiAlNHJWV 
 
 '^u 
 
 ffi 
 
 •5. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 azi