The greatest amongst them, however, is, perhaps,
his "French Revolution, a History,"--which is no history, but a vivid
painting of characters and events as they moved along in tumultuous
procession. No one can appreciate this book who is not acquainted
with the history in its details beforehand. Emerson once related to us
a striking anecdote connected with this work, which gives us another
glimpse of Carlyle's character. He had just completed, after infinite
labor, one of the three volumes of his History, which he left exposed
on his study table when he went to bed. Next morning he sought in vain
for the manuscript, and had wellnigh concluded with Robert Hall, who
was once in a similar dilemma, that the Devil had run away with it,
when the servant-girl, on being questioned, confessed that she had
burnt it to kindle the fire. Carlyle neither stamped nor raved, but
sat down without a word and rewrote it.
In summing up the present results of Carlyle's labor, foolish men of
the world and small critics have not failed to ask what it all amounts
to,--what the great Demiurgus is aiming at in his weary battle of
life; and the question is significant enough,--one more proof of that
Egyptian darkness of vision which he is here to dispel.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233