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The wife of Carlyle never would have permitted her husband to visit on such intimate terms the woman he most admired, Lady Ashburton, without a separation. But Châteaubriand's wife favored rather than discouraged the intimacy, knowing that it was necessary to his happiness.
Mivart's opinion, but it is a proposition which really does not stand on the footing of an undisputed axiom. Mr. Mill denies it in his work on Utilitarianism. The most influential writer of a totally opposed school, Mr. Carlyle, is never weary of denying it, and upholding the merit of that virtue which is unconscious; nay, it is, to my understanding, extremely hard to reconcile Mr.
This applies completely to men like Burns, Byron, Heine, and Carlyle, less to the Miltons, Shakespeares, and Goethes of the world. The crisis of bereavement, which promised to bind the husband and wife more closely together, brought to an end a dispute in which for once Mrs. Carlyle had her way.
Deeper humiliation than ever would be my portion when they drive me from East Lynne with abhorrence and ignominy, as a soldier is drummed out of his regiment; but I could bear that as I must bear the rest and I can shrink under the hedge and lay myself down to die. Humiliation for me? No; I will not put that in comparison with seeing and being with my children." Mrs. Latimer wrote to Mrs. Carlyle.
Panic hardens into pessimism; or else, what is often equally depressing, optimism. Carlyle, the most influential English writer of that time, marks all this by the mental interval between his "French Revolution" and his "Frederick the Great." In both he was Germanic. Carlyle was really as sentimental as Goethe; and Goethe was really as sentimental as Werther.
If there were a second son, he became an advocate or a doctor of medicine, while the sons of less distinction seldom went beyond the parish school, but settled down as farmers, horse-dealers, or whatever might happen to come their way. In the case of Thomas Carlyle, nature marked him out for something brilliant, whatever that might be.
A pause of consternation consternation at their collective forgetfulness and then a loud murmur of approaching to a shout, filled the room. Archibald Carlyle. It should be no other. "If we can get him," cried Sir John. "He may decline, you know." The best thing, all agreed, was to act promptly.
But it may be that the historical field of Parkman is too narrow to awaken a world-wide interest and I suspect that the American who will be recognized as the equal of Gibbon, Mommsen, Carlyle, or Macaulay must secure that recognition by writing of some period of European history better than the Englishman, German, or Frenchman has written of it.
I remembered what Carlyle was to the young men of thirty or forty years ago, in the days of that new birth, which was so strange a characteristic of the time. His books were read with excitement, with tears of joy, on lonely hills, by the seashore and in London streets, and the readers were thankful that it was their privilege to live when he also was alive.
Professor Masson says that "Carlyle had abandoned the Metaphysic of Christianity while retaining much of its Ethic."
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