too
much. Others, such as John Skelton and Edward FitzGerald, believed
that he had raised Carlyle to a higher eminence than he had occupied
before. Froude himself felt entire confidence both in the greatness
of Carlyle's qualities and in the permanence of his fame. That was
why he thought that the revelation of small defects would do more
good than harm. A faultless character, even if he himself could have
reconciled it with his conscience to draw one, would not have been
accepted as genuine, would not have been treated as credible. The
true character, in its strength and its weakness, would command
belief, and admiration too. If Froude were alive, he would say that
the time had not yet come for a final judgment, and might not come
for a hundred years. Still, I think it will be conceded that the
twenty years which have elapsed since he accomplished his task are
a period of growth rather than decadence in the number and zeal of
Carlyle's admirers. This is no doubt in large measure due to
Carlyle's own books. He has been called the father of modern
socialism, and credited with the destruction of political economy. I
am too much out of sympathy with these views to judge them fairly.
But I suppose it cannot be denied that Carlyle fascinates thousands
who do not accept him as an infallible, or even as a fallible,
guide, or that they, as well as his disciples, devour the pages of
Froude.

Nothing annoyed Carlyle more than to be told that he confounded
might with right. He declared that, on the contrary, he had never
said, and would never say, a word for power which was not founded on
justice. Cromwell was as good as he was great, and he had never
glorified Frederick, unless to write a book about a man is
necessarily to glorify him. This prevalent misconception of
Carlyle's gospel, so prevalent that it deceived no less keen a
critic than Lecky, was completely dissipated by Froude. No one can
read his Life intelligently without perceiving that Carlyle's real
foe was materialism. The French Revolution was to him the central
fact of modern history, and at the same time a supreme judgment of
Heaven upon a society given up to unrestrained licentiousness.
Whether he was right or wrong is not the point. He was as far as
possible from being, in the modern sense, a scientific historian.
Yet in some respects he was utilitarian enough. The condition of
England was to him more important than any constitutional change,
any triumph in d