But perhaps the two greatest sinners against the code of frigid impartiality were Froude and Carlyle.  Both were intensely convinced of the truth of the gospel which they preached, and both were careless of detail if they could strain the facts of history to support their doctrines.  The apotheosis of the strong man formed no part of Carlyle’s original philosophy.  In 1830, he wrote:  “Which was the greatest benefactor, he who gained the battles of Cannae and Trasimene or the nameless poor who first hammered out for himself an iron spade?” He condemned Scott’s historical writings:  “Strange,” he said, “that a man should think he was writing the history of a nation while he is describing the amours of a wanton young woman and a sulky booby blown up with gunpowder.”  After having slighted biography in this characteristically Carlylese utterance, he straightway set to work, with splendid inconsistency, to base his philosophy of history mainly on the biographies of men of the type of Cromwell and Frederic.

The invective levelled against Froude by Freeman is now generally recognised as exaggerated and unjust, but it would certainly appear, as Mr. Gooch says, that Froude “never realised that the main duty of the historian is neither eulogy nor criticism, but interpretation of the complex processes and conflicting ideals which have built up the chequered life of humanity.”

Yet when all is said that can be said on the necessity of insisting on historical veracity, it has to be borne in mind that inaccuracy is not the only pitfall which lies in the path of the expounder of truth.  History is not written merely for students and scholars.  It ought to instruct and enlighten the statesman.  It should quicken the intelligence of the masses.  Whilst any tendency to distort facts, or to sway public opinion by sensational writing of questionable veracity, cannot be too strongly condemned, it is none the less true that it requires not merely a touch of literary genius, but also a lively and receptive imagination to tell a perfectly truthful tale in such a manner as to arrest the attention, to excite the wayward imagination and to guide the thoughts of the vast majority of those who will scan the finished work of the historian.  It is here that some of the best writers of history have failed, Gardiner has written what is probably the best, and is certainly the most dispassionate and impartial history of the Stuart period.  “With one exception,” Mr. Gooch says, “Gardiner possessed all the tools of his craft—­an accurate mind, perfect impartiality, insight into character, sympathy with ideas different from his own and from one another.  The exception was style.  Had he possessed this talisman his noble work would have been a popular classic.  His pages are wholly lacking in grace and distinction.”  The result is that Gardiner’s really fine work has proved an ineffectual instrument for historical education.  The majority of readers will continue to turn to the brilliant if relatively partial pages of Macaulay.