it on its subjects; and history tells us that any attempt to do so has always ended in a melancholy failure. For instance, the Governments of the middle ages, and that of the Puritans under Cromwell, tried to enforce a moral action in the State, as distinguished from mere obedience to the laws, and the result was, the prostitution of the Canon law to the purposes of lucre, and the hypocrisy and nonsense of the reign of saints, to be followed by the profligacy of the Restoration. Nor is the reason of the difference obscure; for whereas the will of the individual has power over his volitions, and conceivably could make them obedient to perfect right, the authority of Government over its subjects is so circumscribed that really it can scarcely influence their conduct at all; and thus when it sets up a high standard of moral practice, and seeks to adjust the national life to it, it fails in doing more than securing an external conformity, which soon degenerates into nullity or hypocrisy. And, therefore, while we fully admit that the State, through the medium of education and religious teaching, should indirectly promote moral ends among its subjects, we deny that it should directly attempt to obtain them, or profess to make either morality or any creed a test of citizenship. So, again, though it may be true in theory that the State might exercise the functions of a Church, it would seem that no secular administration of spiritual things, upon the principle of teaching the Gospel generally, can secure even a decent reverence for religion; that, on the whole, an ecclesiastical polity invested with something of grandeur and power, and separated from temporal affairs, is the best security for Christianity in a nation; and that under whatever conception we view a Church, its ministers should not be considered only as members of a lay congregation of Christians. Of course this is no place to enumerate the many other arguments which might be urged against the theory; but these plain considerations may show that it cannot be realized in actual politics. At the same time there is this value in the theory, that it tends to obliterate the doctrines of Warburton and Bentham, that the objects of Government are purely secular, or, as Sydney Smith called them, "roast mutton and police;" and that it inculcates this important truth, that if the State cannot enforce morality directly, its tendencies should be in that way; and therefore that it should act indirectly towards that end. Besides, even if it errs in basing the Church on too latitudinarian a foundation, it operates as a noble protest against the fallacies, on the one hand, that the Church is merely a priesthood, on the other, that it is a congregation, secluded from the world, and unfitted for the active duties of citizenship. From this point of view the theory has been very valuable in elevating the tone of national politics, and in bringing the Church of England more in harmony with the uses of society. Its practical results may be traced in the increase of education which recently has been achieved by the State; and in the works of writers of the school of Kingsley, whose doctrines, as regards the functions of Government, are those of Arnold, though, of course, also marked by other influences. 66 III. We have already touched upon Arnold's excellencies as an historian, and so shall only add one or two remarks. He belongs to the school of Vico in his views upon history, believing that the laws of historical phenomena can generally be traced: but he is sober and cautious in his doctrines. The essays in his "Thucydides," and some passages in his Roman History," comprehend his theories on this part of philosophy, and they will well repay a careful perusal. He is deficient in dramatic force as an historical artist, and in fine perception of individual character; but his power of analysing the elements of governments, and the nature and general relations of parties, and his skill in depicting external scenery and landscape, will keep him in a high place among our historians. And although his historical style is not quite of the highest order, it is so clear, logical, and picturesque, so simple, manly, and energetic, that we scarcely know how to particularize where it is wanting. To our taste, a little more fulness of illustration, and more richness and copiousness of language, would have been a valuable addition to it. HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II. OF PRUSSIA, CALLED FREDERICK THE GREAT. 66 It is curious to observe how much our estimation of any literary work is affected by the personal intrusion of the author, and how the personality and the production blend into that common charm which genius exercises over our understanding. There is far more in the Iliad than the delirium of kings, and the plagues, duels, and slaughter of horse-feeding Argives and unlucky Trojans. We never read ten lines of that grand sonorous epic that the blind old man of rocky Chios does not mingle with our visions, chanting his verses to the swelling of the voiceful sea." More in Sophocles than a king of Colone caught in the meshes of the Fates, and worsted in the struggle with inexorable destiny; there is the bard ever before us, with his habitual thoughts, and vain struggle to reconcile natural justice with the Inevitable in human life, whom oracles pronounced oopératos and whose Edipus remains to prove him possessed of the craft of the greatest workers in an age when many wrought greatly. More in the Socrates of Xenophon and Plato than the subtle dialectician and persuasive sophist; there is seen in the glass of the two different men and styles, the genial wit, the homely wisdom, the patient humour of the sage, who was content to be great in a little sphere, and made daily life a daily conquest over spleen and passion-the two anecdotists limning themselves as they sketched their subjects. More in Horace than the graceful lyrist, the distiller of Attic sweets in a Roman alembic, the denouncer of petty peccadilloes in piquant satires, the sagacious poet-philosopher of Augustus; there is the pleasant vivacity, shrewd commonsense, happy frugality of the fat, puffy, literary friend, who is the darling of all ages, and more the world's than Rome's; who, disguise himself as he will under pseudonyme in ode and epistle, is still the same merryand-wise identity under every per sonation. More in Shakespeare, to come to modern times, than unequalled tragedy, comedy, and farce; there is the actual Shakespeare, mumming in his clowns, and mouthing in his kings, and moralizing in his fools, laughing at us, philosophizing for us, calling out our tears and smiles, and being "himself the varied god." In reading no work of genius do we for five consecutive sentences forget the author, his pervading presence an essential part of his power; hence we venture on the heresy of a new literary axiom, namely, that that author who most vividly retains and exhibits his personality in his works, be they of what kind they will, prose or poetry, or that linsey-woolsey, which is both and neither, will maintain the deepest and firmest hold upon our sympathies and affections. It is not the Divina Commedia we admire in the great Florentine, though we plumb its depths and soar to its empyrean; but it is the Dante whom we accompany through these mystic regions, sorrowing as he wails, triumphing as he rejoices. When the twa inspired douggies of the Ayrshire Poet" forgathered ance upon a time," to exchange their views of canine philosophy and human life, our interest is caught, not by doggish dialogue on the kalon and agathon, but by the fact of Burns speaking to us "words of truth and soberness" through the throats of his four-footed billies. In like manner, it is not Frederick the Great, or his great sire, whom we follow with regard through these portly volumes; it is Carlyle, the historian, with the antics of his noble genius, the apophthegms of his profound wisdom, the platitudes and the Dry-as-dustisms of his repetitious, and sometimes very commonplace philosophy. We never forget, in the deepest disquisition with which he favours us, or most thrilling crisis of events in which he jams us up-he never suffers us to forget that we have to do with an eccentric, whose honest industry and History of Friedrich II. of Prussia, called Frederick the Great. By Thomas Carlyle. In four volumes. Vols. I., II. London, Chapman and Hall. 1858. extraordinary powers provoke our admiration, but whose strange gymnastics and semi-cynical curl of nose, prove that part of his vocation is to make his admirers stare with incredulity, as well as thrill with delight. He has adopted a motley, "with purpose of heart," and he wears it at all times, like the Messer Archies of the feudal courts, ringing his bells and passing his gibes, with rare enjoyment of his own soul, yet launching his satire and pointing his wisdom from under this unseemly guise, with a power and gravity which homilists might envy, and imitators toil after in vain. We are not admirers of Carlyle's later style, which has too much of the charlatan in its predominant cants and set phrases, its "Sahara dances," and its "Sibylline frenzies," to meet our notion of the natural and apt in writing; but candour must own, that in any case it is the style of a strong man, and that the thing it covers and conveys is usually worthy of the noblest setting which language can furnish-that any metal is mostly poorer than the diamond it would help to dazzle. the more decidedly does he win the approval of the public. That Carlyle has been drawn by his compassionate penchant for Voltaire into his patronage of Frederick -that his apologetic leanings towards the French philosopher have formed the clue which led him through the labyrinth of thought to the entertainment of his present purpose that Paris and Cirey have conducted the biographer to Potsdam and Cüstrin, we think beyond reasonable dispute. No author, probably, in England, knows more of Voltaire than does Mr. Carlyle-none has done more to re-establish him in the good-will of fair and indulgent men and nothing seemed more natural than that the love-look fixed so long on the ingenious Frenchman should glance aside with some fixity of gaze upon the object of Voltaire's literary adulation. We admit, of course, the Great Frederick's other claims to distinction amid the kingly blank of the eighteenth century; but perceive, as we fancy, with sufficient clearness, that the monarch's pretensions, apart from literature, were scarcely of a nature, But even the style, from use, as in themselves alone, to awaken our probably to the author himself, comes author's enthusiasm. We fancy, moreto have a tune in it to the reader over, that the adoption of Frederick which it had not originally; and like has led, in a partial measure, to an the barbarous ranz des vaches of the abatement of his veneration for VolSwiss mountains, is preferred to more taire: and our belief is, that Mr. Carlegitimate music by the ear that has lyle has been induced, by the course learned to relish its discordant ca- of his more recent studies, to dethrone dences. But that which never fails his quondam French idol from the to please is the thorough heartiness place he once occupied in his rewith which the historian throws for- gard, and, without directly putting ward himself to court the gazer's ob- Frederick of Prussia in the vacated servation under every mask of every seat, to look upon the soldier with hero his Clio may put upon the stage. more partiality than on the literary It may be Voltaire or Luther, Crom- adventurer. Certainly the intercourse well or Frederick, Teufelsdröckh or of these parties with each other-the Sauerteig, who struts his little hour crown prince and the poet of Cireybefore the footlights of our small in- reflects small credit upon either. We dividual auditory; but the voice, the have we know not how many volumes gait, and the philosophy are undis- of the correspondence of Frederick guisedly the gifted Dumfriesian's, lying before us, notably, sundry letthe unacknowledged, and perhaps in- ters interchanged between himself deed unconscious, ground of his po- and Voltaire some years after this pularity. Whatever some may think latter had won an equivocal reputaand avow, of a favourite author the tion by his impurities and impieties public cannot get too much; and whe--and they are undoubtedly disfigured ther he choose fiction or history for manipulation in his workshop, the more decidedly he reflects himself, his individuality, his crotchets, his humours, in the mirror of his work, by innumerable blemishes on both sides. Our readers may guess the kind of entertainment in store for them in this budget of stale "ca' me's, ca' thee's," when they find Voltaire near the commencement of it dosing his Royal Highness after this fashion, and in being assured that his Royal Highness had strength of stomach to endure it, while the Prince administered doses of equal potency in return. November, 1736, Monsieur de V. writes: "Je suis étonné de toute maniere; vous parlez comme Trajan, vous écrivez comme Pline, et vous parlez Français comme nos meilleurs Ecrivains." ad December, 1736, Frederick dresses Voltaire in a similar strainthe poet being then in Holland: "La Hollande, pays qui ne m' a jamais déplu, me deviendra une terre Sacrée puisqu' elle vous contient. Mes vœux vous suivront partout: et la parfaite estime que j'ai pour vous, etant fondée sur votre merite, ne cessera que quand il plaira au Createur de metter fin à mon existence." One extract more will be quite enough, in which impiety caps folly. But we shall give the paragraph in English, as, if possible, less offensive than the original. Voltaire writes, February, 1737 :"I have met with some persons of Berlin at Amsterdam: Fruere fama tui Germanice. They speak of your Royal Highness with transport. I question every body I meet concerning you. I say, 'Ubi est Deus meus?' 'Deus tuus,' they reply, has the finest regiment in Europe; Deus tuus excels in the arts and embellishments of life; he is better educated than Alcibiades, plays the flute like Telemachus, and is accomplished beyond both of these Greeks.' On hearing this I cry with the aged Simeon, 'When shall mine eyes behold the Saviour of my life?"" To this sally Frederick replies somewhat further on in the year-May, 1737: "I put you at the head of all thinking beings; the Creator would certainly find it difficult to produce a mind more sublime than yours." With which, as we find a difficulty in digesting condiments of such transcendant flavour, we must bid farewell to the correspondence of this Castor and Pollux of literature, the name of one of whom as naturally recalls the other as that of Bentley does Boyle, as that of Beaumont does Fletcher; these examples on, of course, diamet rically opposite grounds. Mr. Carlyle has felt the full force of the association, and has probably thrown himself into the arms of Frederick from his custom of contemplating both habitually together; just as the sight of the surviving sister recalls the image of the deceased wife, and prompts to that marriage union which the laws of England still forbid. With the popular reputation which the monarch of Prussia bears, it would seem, however, at first sight, unlikely that he should be chosen by our author for the exercise of his pen. Nevertheless, it is by no means difficult to understand why Mr. Carlyle, beating the stream for a fish, should deem himself fortunate in meeting with one so much, after all, to his goût as the Great Frederick, for the veneration of the biographer for all that is German, down to the minutest particle of the dust of Fatherland, is too notorious to need proof. To him the weeds of that land are flowersits geese, swans-and its mal-odorous Cologne the sweetest of cities and scents. As a monarch, Frederick shines by his daring and successes, winning the homage of a worshipper of manhood: and as a representative of the greatest Protestant power on the continent of Europe, he commands the sympathies of his chronicler to an extent which is remarkable in a person of our Carlyle's unstraitlaced views. This last bond of liking between the two is much stronger than is apdue to the King of Prussia's position; parent on the surface, although only for the historian of Frederick imbibed the blood of the Covenanters with his mother's milk, and, be his speculative views of Christian dogma what they may, can no more get rid of his sturdy He Protestantism than of his skin. would himself, perhaps, disown the soft impeachment in the broad, palpable way in which we put it, but the evidence is abundant, and the fact certain. Carlyle likes Germany because mainly Protestant, and Berlin eminently because at the head of German Protestantism. Having found a hero who, with all his faults and blemishes, possesses a certain attraction for the biographer, it is not hard to surmise how he will treat him-enrol him amongst the demi-gods on the score of his virtues, and use pumice, pipe-clay, stucco, and Paris-plaster to whitewash the unseemly and supply the defectuous. Our author begins in a Herodotean style-his picture presenting us with the result of so many years of striving on the great arena of the world -and given that result, will proceed to the unravelment-with the pursuit here and there of many a stray thread of the processes whereby the thenand-there presentment has been obtained. The picture is that of Frederick the Great in his declining years: "About four score years ago, there used to be seen sauntering on the terraces of Sans Souci, for a short time in the afternoon, or you might have met him elsewhere, at an earlier hour, riding or driving, in a rapid business manner, on the open roads or through the scraggy woods and avenues of that intricate amphibious Potsdam region, a highly interesting lean little old man, of alert, though slightly stooping, figure; whose name among strangers was King Friedrich the Second, or Frederick the Great, of Prussia; and at home among the common people, who much loved and esteemed him, was Vater Fritz, Father Fred, a name of familiarity which had not bred contempt in that instance. He is a king every inch of him, though without the trappings of a king. Presents himself in a Spartan simplicity of vesture; no crown, but an old military cocked hat, generally old, or trampled and kneaded into absolute softness if new; no sceptre, but one like Agamemnon's, a walking-stick, cut from the woods, which serves also as a riding stick (with which he hits the horse 'between the ears,' say authors); and for royal robes, a mere soldier's blue coat with red facings; coat likely to be old, and sure to have a good deal of Spanish snuff on the breast of it; rest of the apparel dun, unobtrusive in colour or cut, ending in high over-knee military boots, which may be brushed (and, I hope, kept soft with an underhand suspicion of oil), but are not permitted to be blackened or varnished; Day and Martin with their soot-pots forbidden to approach. "The man is not of god-like physiog nomy, any more than of imposing stature or costume; close-shut mouth, with thin lips, prominent jaws and nose, receding brow, by no means of Olympian height; head, however, is of long form, and has superlative grey eyes in it. Not what is called a beautiful man; nor yet, by all appearance, what is called a happy. On the contrary, the face bears evidence of many sorrows, as they are termed, of much hard labour done in this world; and seems to anticipate nothing but more still coming. Quiet stoicism, capable enough of what joys there were, but not expecting any worth conscious pride, well tempered, with a mention; great unconscious and some cheery mockery of humour, are written on that old face; which carries its chin well forward, in spite of the slight stoop about the neck; snuffy nose, rather flung into the air, under its old cocked hat, like an old snuffy lion on the watch; and such a pair of eyes as no man, or lion, according to all the testimony we have. or lynx of that century bore elsewhere, 'Those eyes,' says Mirabeau,' which, at the bidding of his great soul, fascinated you with seduction or terror (portaient au gré de son ame héroique, la seduction ou la terreur). Most excellent, potent, brilliant eyes, swift-darting as the stars, steadfast as the sun; grey, we said-of the azure-grey colour; large enough, not of glaring size; the habitual expression of them vigilance and penetrating sense, rapidity resting on depth, which is an excellent combination, and gives us the notion of a lambent outer radiance, springing from some great inner sea of light and fire in the man. The voice, if he speak to you, is of similar physiognomy, clear, melodious, and sonorous; all tones are in it, from that of ingenuous inquiry, graceful sociality, light flowing banter (rather prickly for most part), up to definite word of command, up to desolating word of rebuke and reprobation; a voice, the clearest and most agreeable for conversation I ever heard,' says witty Dr. Moore. He speaks a great deal,' continues the Doctor, yet those who hear him regret that he does not speak a good deal more. His observations are always lively, very often just, and few men possess the talent of repartee in greater perfection.'" This fine sketch of Frederick the Great in his later years must remain in its isolation here, as it does in Carlyle's volumes, until it please the author to resume his publication, and issue the after history of his hero. For the present our attention, like Carlyle's, is devoted to his conduct as Crown Prince, under the tutelage of his stern and eccentric father. The Electorate of Brandenburgh, by means of intermarriages, inherithundreds of years, expanded in the ances, and battles, continued for year 1701 into the dignity of the Kingdom of Prussia. The boulder rolling down the channel of centuries had gathered such abundant accretions and agglomerations in its course, |