He returned as speedily as he could to Lausanne, to rest from his
labours. But he had a painful greeting in the sadly altered look of
his friend Deyverdun. Soon an apoplectic seizure confirmed his
forebodings, and within a twelvemonth the friend of his youth, whom he
had loved for thirty-three years, was taken away by death (July 4,
1789).[14]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 14: The letter in which Gibbon communicated the sad news to
Lord Sheffield was written on the 14th July, 1789, the day of the
taking of the Bastille. So "that evening sun of July" sent its beams
on Gibbon mourning the dead friend, as well as on "reapers amid
peaceful woods and fields, on old women spinning in cottages, on ships
far out on the silent main, on balls at the Orangerie of Versailles,
where high-rouged dames of the palace are even now dancing with
double-jacketed Hussar officers."]
Gibbon never got over this loss. His staid and solid nature was not
given to transports of joy or grief. But his constant references to
"poor Deyverdun," and the vacancy caused by his loss, show the depth
of the wound. "I want to change the scene," he writes, "and, beautiful
as the garden and prospect must appear to every eye, I feel that the
state of my mind casts a gloom over them: every spot, every walk,
every bench recalls the memory of those hours, those conversations,
which will return no more.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209