110 CARLYLE. 



had been already five years in his grave, could yet see nothing 

 but barbarism in German literature, had little of the old 

 Teutonic fibre in his nature. The man who pronounced the 

 Nibelungen Lied not worth a pinch of priming, had little 

 conception of the power of heroic traditions in making heroic 

 men, and especially in strengthening that instinct made up 

 of so many indistinguishable associations which we call love 

 of country. Charlemagne, when he caused the old songs of 

 his people to be gathered and written down, showed a truer 

 sense of the sources of national feeling and a deeper political 

 insight. This want of sympathy points to the somewhat 

 narrow limits of Friedrich s nature. In spite of Mr. Carlyle s 

 adroit statement of the case and the whole book has an air 

 of being the plea of a masterly advocate in mitigation of 

 sentence we feel that his hero was essentially hard, narrow, 

 and selfish. His popularity will go for little with any one 

 who has studied the trifling and often fabulous elements that 

 make up that singular compound. A bluntness of speech, a 

 shabby uniform, a frugal camp equipage, a timely familiarity, 

 may make a man the favourite of an army or a nation above 

 all, if he have the knack of success. Moreover, popularity 

 is much more easily won from above downward, and is 

 bought at a better bargain by kings and generals than by 

 other men. We doubt if Friedrich would have been liked as 

 a private person, or even as an unsuccessful king. He ap 

 parently attached very few people to himself, fewer even than 

 his brutal old Squire Western of a father. His sister Wil- 

 helmina is perhaps an exception. We say perhaps, for we 

 do not know how much the heroic part he was called on to 

 play had to do with the matter, and whether sisterly pride 

 did not pass even with herself for sisterly affection. More 

 over she was far from him; and Mr. Carlyle waves aside, 

 in his generous fashion, some rather keen comments of hers 

 on her brother s character when she visited Berlin after he 

 had become king. Indeed, he is apt to deal rather con 

 temptuously with all adverse criticism of his hero. We sym 

 pathise with his impulse in this respect, agreeing heartily as 

 we do in Chaucer s scorn of those who gladlie demen to the 

 baser end in such matters. But we are not quite sure if this 

 be a safe method with the historian. He must doubtless be 

 the friend of his hero if he would understand him, but he 

 must be more the friend of truth if he would understand 



