merciful. He sees perfectly well that on Peter, as on other kings elsewhere, was forced a war to the death with a turbulent, faithless, and by no means too patriotic nobility; that some of his most outrageous acts were justified by the common opinion of the time, and so forth. He tolerates the king's lawless amours; he even clears him of responsibility for some of the crimes brought against him. But once more he will hardly ever—in spite of himself he does now and then—breathe, as he so easily could, the little wind of the spirit that would clothe the dead tyrant's bones and endue his flesh with blood and life. We may do it if we like; we may—to change the metaphor—make the salad for ourselves. The green stuff is all beautifully washed and dished up; the bowl and spoons and forks are bright and clean; the cruets are full and at hand. But he will not exactly make it for us; at any rate he will not give it the last magical toss and whisk that completes the making.
Now readers (and they are not wholly to be blamed) usually resent this treatment, or at least decline to read the author who so treats them. It is beyond all doubt a noble ambition to "write true history," to assume that the reader is a serious student who desires nothing more
