ry began that great
struggle of philosophy against tyranny and worn-out abuses which
culminated in the French Revolution. The noblest minds were engaged in
the struggle, and, like most reformers, they pushed their conclusions to
extremes, and too often lost sight of the need of a due proportion in
things. The Margravine's influence on the intellectual development of
her country is untold. She formed at Baireuth a centre of culture and
learning which had before been undreamt of in Germany.'

The historical value of these _Memoirs_ is, of course, well known.
Carlyle speaks of them as being 'by far the best authority' on the early
life of Frederick the Great. But considered merely as the autobiography
of a clever and charming woman, they are no less interesting, and even
those who care nothing for eighteenth-century politics, and look upon
history itself as an unattractive form of fiction, cannot fail to be
fascinated by the Margravine's wit, vivacity and humour, by her keen
powers of observation, and by her brilliant and assertive egotism. Not
that her life was by any means a happy one. Her father, to quote the
Princess Christian, 'ruled his family with the same harsh despotism with
which he ruled his country, taking pleasure in making his power felt by
all in the most galling manner,' and the Margravine and her brother 'had
much to suffer, not only from his ungovernable temper, but also from the
real privations to which they were subjected.' Indeed, the picture the
Margravine gives of the King is quite extraordinary. 'He despised all
learning,' she writes, 'and wished me to occupy myself with nothing but
needlework and household duties or details. Had he found me writing or
reading, he would probably have whipped me.' He 'considered music a
capital offence, and maintained that every one should devote himself to
one object: men to the military service, and women to their household
duties. Science and the arts he counted among the "seven deadly sins."'
Sometimes he took to religion, 'and then,' says the Margravine, 'we lived
like trappists, to the great grief of my brother and myself. Every
afternoon the King preached a sermon, to which we had to listen as
attentively as if it proceeded from an Apostle. My brother and I were
often seized with such an intense sense of the ridiculous that we burst
out laughing, upon which an apostolic curse was poured out on our heads,
which we had to accept with a show of humili