Like Gibbon,
Ford Madox Ford frequently hides interesting tidbits of information in plain
sight in his footnotes. This one the reader will find at the bottom of page 251
in The March of Literature (George
Allen and Unwin, 1938). The page is devoted to the Roman histories of Tacitus,
but Ford has the sort of hypertextual mind able to recall that from 1759 to
1762, Gibbon held a commission in the Hampshire militia, serving on active duty
and in reserve. In his posthumously published Memoirs, Gibbon writes: “The discipline and evolutions of a modern
battalion gave me a clearer notion of the phalanx and the legion; and the
captain of the Hampshire grenadiers (the reader may smile) has not been useless
to the historian of the Roman empire.”
I’m reading
Tacitus and wanted to see what Ford, the most formidable and eccentric of readers,
had to say about him. Here is the footnoted passage in the main text:
“He was a
voluminous writer, and he was one of those writers who have experience of life
and action by which to set the tone of their writings. He was a fine soldier,
he was the son-in-law of Agricola, though his birth does not seem to have been
noticeably noble.”
One reads
much self-identification in Ford’s passage. He, too, had “experience of life
and action.” He enlisted in the Welch Regiment at age forty-two. In July 1916,
he was sent to the Somme in time for the bloodiest battle in English military
history, and was blown into the air by the explosion of a German shell. He
suffered memory loss and for three weeks remained incapacitated. Near the end
of 1916, Ford wrote to Joseph Conrad: “I began to take a literary view of the
war.” He was hospitalized again with lung problems exacerbated by exposure to
poison gas, and in March 1917 was sent home as an invalid. Ford was discharged
from the army on Jan. 7, 1919, and out of his wartime experience he crafted the
tetralogy of novels Parade’s End
(1924-1928), one of the last century’s greatest works of fiction.
Throughout The March of Literature, when he writes
about Gibbon, Ford often mentions the historian’s military service. In Chap 7,
devoted to the English eighteenth century, he looks at literary continuity: “On
a social scale usually lower, you had the string that connected Shakespeare
with Johnson. These men were usually men of action or parsons. They were men
who had fought or been in the army like Gibbon, Smollett, Steele.” In a later
chapter ostensibly devoted to Saint-Beuve he stresses the importance of
biography, contra New Criticism, in understanding a writer:
“But once
you are really saturated in the work of a writer it is legitimate to enquire
into the circumstances of his life. It is human nature—and not only that,
details of an author’s life may cast light on passages of his work or on the
nature of literature itself. It is, thus, useful to the father of a future littérateur
to know that Shakespeare was reputed a deer thief; that Marlowe really was a
braggart with the sword; that Sidney died at the Battle of Zutphen; that Dante
was a skilful [sic] commander of
troops in small engagements; that Gibbon served with the militia; that
Conrad—like today’s poet laureate [John Masefield]—was a hand before the mast,
or that the writer’s friend, Mr. Hemingway, served voluntarily with the allied
troops before his country took part in a late war.”
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