student of psychology, "Hamlet" and "Macbeth" may be better
instructors than all the books of a wilderness of professors of
aesthetics or of moral philosophy. But, as evidence of
occurrences in Denmark, or in Scotland, at the times and places
indicated, they are out of court; the profoundest admiration for
them, the deepest gratitude for their influence, are consistent
with the knowledge that, historically speaking, they are
worthless fables, in which any foundation of reality that may
exist is submerged beneath the imaginative superstructure.

At present, however, I am not concerned to dwell upon the
importance of fictitious literature and the immensity of the
work which it has effected in the education of the human race.
I propose to deal with the much more limited inquiry: Are there
two other classes of consecutive narratives (as distinct from
statements of individual facts), or only one? Is there any known
historical work which is throughout exactly true, or is there
not? In the case of the great majority of histories the answer
is not doubtful: they are all only partially true. Even those
venerable works which bear the names of some of the greatest of
ancient Greek and Roman writers, and which have been accepted by
generation after generation, down to modern times, as stories of
unquestionable truth, have been compelled by scientific
criticism, after a long battle, to descend to the common level,
and to confession to a large admixture of error. I might fairly
take this for granted; but it may be well that I should entrench
myself behind the very apposite words of a historical authority
who is certainly not obnoxious to even a suspicion of
sceptical tendencies.