Let that be a point settled.
I am not _writing_ on Frederic the Great; nor at all practically
contemplating to do so. But, being in a reading mood after those
furious _Pamphlets_ (which have procured me showers of abuse from
all the extensive genus Stupid in this country, and not done me
any other mischief, but perhaps good), and not being capable of
reading except in a train and _about_ some object of interest to
me,--I took to reading, near a year ago, about Frederick, as I
had twice in my life done before; and have, in a loose way,
tumbled up an immense quantity of shot rubbish on that field, and
still continue. Not with much decisive approach to Frederick's
_self,_ I am still afraid! The man looks brilliant and noble to
me; but how _love_ him, or the sad wreck he lived and worked in?
I do not even yet _see_ him clearly; and to try making others
see him--?--Yet Voltaire and he _are_ the celestial element of
the poor Eighteenth Century; poor souls. I confess also to a
real love for Frederick's dumb followers: the Prussian
_Soldiery.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278