The Express.
London, England, 1847-11-04 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

Vanity Fair: Ten and Pencil Sketches of English Society.
By W. N. TRACK MUT. Nos. I. to X.
The public offerings of the ci-decant Michael
Angelo Titmarsh are ever pleasantly welcome to us :
welcome as an invitation to banquet with a graceful,
well-informed, and favourite friend. He is the prince
of etchers and sketchers. Full of mind, wisdom, and
healthy mirth, are all his works. His lightest, not
leas than his most serious words, are always worthy
of the listener's ear. The sage is bleat with the
satirist ; and he is equally master of our sunniest
smiles and most unselfish tears. He speaks always
with a purpose too. Fun is a means, not
an end, in the extermination of the snobs.
Laughter is legitimated by the high aims accom-
plished through its instrumentality. His pencilling
too, although, perhaps, lacking somewhat of the force
and vigour of a master-hand at drawing, have inva-
riably a feeling about them which suggests the
artist mind, and a character which indicates an ori-
ginality of conception in the choice of means for the
production of striking results. His pencil is not,
however, so potent an engine as his pen. Still every-
thing which he does is characteristic—quaint, facile,
pleasing, even when—which is seldom—he does not
rise to the superb. The author of " Vanity Fair" is
unquestionably a man of original mind—a mind to
which the exercise of intellectual power is natural,
easy. His genius is environed with a warm and
glowing atmosphere of fine feeling and cultivated
fancies—light, playful, kindling, acting upon the ima-
gination and the heart of the reader with a secret but
irresistible influence. A humour, remarkable for
its geniality, plasticity, and spontaneity, illumines
and vivifies every page. Thackeray's satire is of the
soothing and corrective, not of the burning and cor-
rosive kind. Hie arrows are keen and piercing, but
they are not poisoned. Not to kill, but to cure, is the
aim of his medicinal words. Wit he has, and of a
high character, but it is not sharp, startling, explo-
sive, like a meteor or a flash of lightning, dazzling the
eye and blinding it ; but rather resembles the calm
and steady sparkle—the equable and continuous flow
of light from a permanent star.
Rigid, unproportioned, east-iron character—ex-
treme and unnatural incident--spasmodic attempts to
escape from the common-place into the incon-
gruous—and the poverty which is forced to seek fur
novelty in exaggeration, and interest in the incre-
dible, have no place in this gallery of illustrations
of our many-phased, but still homogeneous humanity.
The artist rather loves to linger in the common
haunts and walks of life, finding poetry in those who
have never learned to give it utterance according to
the forms," and heroism in hearts which in their
gentler moments a bird might flutter into fear—not
the less heroic on that account—and apparently never
distrusting his own ability to invest the seeming
common-places of life with a deep and touching in-
terest. Flesh and blood are the materials which he
moulds. Abstractions and idealities he avoids. The per-
sonages of his drama are real men and women—men
and women endowed with strong physique, personality,
and individuality—not merely types, symbols, expo-
nents of classes and sections of society : the interests
are material, moral, tangible—the dealing with the
duties, fortunes, and malfortunes of active life. Yet
he never condescends to flatter the follies of one class
of society, nor to applaud the vices of another ; and
he keeps himself honourably free from that prevailing
impertinence of modern writers for the great audience
of the world—the disposition to patronise the people.
" Vanity Fair, Pen and Pencil Sketches of English
Society"—so far as it has yet appeared, and judgment
can be pronounced upon a fragment—is unquestion-
ably Mr. Thackeray's finest and most original pro-
duction. To the title with which he has chosen to
invest his subject, and to the direct,inference to which
that title points, we must, however, take exception.
Upon its merits as a picture of life, and not upon the
fulfilment of the special intention supposed to be in-
volved in its name, must the novel stand or fall, and
Visnity Fair can well afford to challenge criticism
upon independent ground. Vanity Fair is not a
portraiture of English life. The characters drawn
are, as we said, individuals, not types,—individuals
couflaed to a limited class and a narrow locality.
Their characteristics are not specially English, nor the
persons of all of them wholly so, even according to
Mr. Thackeray's own authority. The tale is announced
as " a novel without a hero, —a novel undertaking,
but scarcely borne out in the work, since our respect,
sympathy, admiration, are all powerfully centred in
William Dobbin, from the opening of the story
to the latest page which has yet appeared ; but an
heroine it has, and a most uncommon one. In her
the interest of the story dwells. This is Rebecca
Sharp, the daughter of an English artist, and—a
French opera dancer. The child, too, inherits as much,
rather more perhaps, of the maternal idiosyneracy
than of the paternal. She, the moving spirit, the
prominent figure of the drama, is more French than
English to commence with. The intriguing spirit of
the Parisian is largely infused into her constitution ;
and as time and circumstances come to exercise their

mighty influences over her mental and moral organi-
sation, the daring and unscrupulous intrigante be-
comes powerfully developed. Thus the descent and
the constitution of the heroine falsify the title.

Otherwise this character is drawn with extraordi-
nary skill and power. She is at once fascinating and
repulsive—an icy incarnation of power—of intellect
uncontrolled by moral principles and governed only
for selfish ends—lago's spirit in a woman's form
and a new set of circumstances. As a psychological
creation, it may rank beside the finest mental por-
traitures which genius has ever painted in words.
Cold, keen, coquettish—witty, watchful, logical—with
an affluent imagination, thirst for luxury and influ-
ence, and unappeasable ambition—shrewd, disciplined,
self-sustained—quick to devise, and prompt to act
what her ready brain conceived—unscrupulous as to
means, and reckless of consequences—a profound hy-
pocrite, and a perfect mistress of the arts of successful
dissimulation : such is Rebecca Sharp, the heroine of
" Vanity Fair"—a dangerous enemy, but a still more
dangerous friend.
She is thrown upon the world at a twelve years
age, by the death of her parents, who, besides her
orphanhood, bequeath her the inheritance of a low, or
even still more questionable, origin. Her whole youth
is a prolonged crisis—a struggle with the world for
life. A woman while. yet a child, and nursed in the
bitter school of suffering—she determines to achieve
a position in society. Leaving school she sets about
to capture a husband. By a narrow chance she
misses the fat, shamefaced, yet vain, collector
of Bogglewhollaugh. She then lays siege to Sir
Pitt Crawley, Bart., the old and ugly sensualist:
but he holds out too long ; and in the meantime the im-
patient young lady angles for, and hooks, his son,
who marries her clandestinely. He is a stalwart
dragoon, and is aeon after his wedding ordered
tojoin his regiment in Belgium, whither his young
wife follows him. After the battle of Water
100 they go to Paris. General Tufts was already
at her feet, and she is now surrounded with gallants,
and plays the grand lady with infinite echre. For-
tune smiles upon the dauntless little warrior—in her
battle with the world she is evidently conquering:
but whether destiny, in the shape of Mr. Thackeray,
will step in at the final close of the drama, to crown
her with a coronet or condemn her to a convict's
doom, is yet uncertain. Either extreme is possible.
There is enough of good and bad in her to merit both.
The foil to this character is Amelia Sedley—a young
lady decidedly possessing more of the elements of
English womanhood. She is soft, generous, con-
fiding, in an eminent degree—even to weakness.
Her lover—afterwards her husband—is another ably
drawn but disagreeable personage. George Osborne,
it is to be feared, is the type of a large class who
pass current in society as good fellows—men who
combine the " vicious virtues " of youth—levity, reck-
lessness, sztravaguice—with the settled ielfisluiess of

later years. He loved Amelia only because the affec-
tion of so beautiful a creature flattered his vanity, and
he married her after her father @ fall of fortune only
because some remnant of that love rose up to trouble
his hollow heart, and left her afterwards to swell the
train of Becky Sharp (now Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's)
adorers. He, properly enough, gets killed off in the
charge of the Guards at Waterloo, and leaves his
widow to a worthier mate. But will she listen to the
love of noble, bashful, valiant William Dobbin ? This
the future must unfold. Splendidly is this fine
fellow depicted. So is old Osborne too—the vain,
purse-proud, coarse, and vulgar father—who filched
a crest from the heralds office of a great
ducal family, and tried to impose upon and deceive
himself into a belief that he was, in some unaccount-
able way, connected with it, and who banished and
cursed his son for marrying the daughter of his bank-
rupt benefactor. The picture also of that unfortu-
nate, sitting daily in the dark City coffee-house,
fumbling and mumbling over his papers, with his
anxious but vacant look, and brain disordering, is too
sad and too true to be otherwise than painful. Be-
sides these, there is a large gallery of portraits ; the
strong-minded Countess of Southdown, who sermon-
, Med and medicated all her acquaintance and de-
pendents with a high hand, and " who would order
Gaffer Jones to be converted just as she would order
Goody Hicks to have a James' powder, without
appeal, resistance, or benefit of clergy :" the whole
and notable family of the Crawleys—and especially the
fastidious, worldly, and cynical Miss Crawley—whose
property they are all intriguing to become possessed
of. These form an admirable and most amusing
group ; and the various forms and fortunes of their
diplomacy keep up one of the strong centres of inte-
rest in the novel. The coarse, rough heart of a Sir
Pitt Crawley—who, on finding out his son's mar-
riage, takes a country wench as his mistress—
drives her about in the family carriage—keeps
low company, and gets drunk daily in common
pothonacs with most scurvy companions, we cannot
Imagine as the type of a class now existent in Eng-
iand, whatever it may have been once.
On the whole, " Vanity Fair" promises to be a
work of great interest and popularity. If the Leigh
Huntian aphorism—slightly altered from one of un-
questionable authenticity—that "he who makes a
laugh in this world, where before laugh there was
none, shall be entitled to the gratitude of his fellow-
men," be accepted as a true one, then Mr. Thacke-
ray may not unreasonably look for a due acknowledg-
ment and reward for his labours.

Abe ariuna.
Palseess's.—The portion of the audience whom
the "bluff King Harry" of Mr. Cooper did not frighten
prematurely from the theatre last evening were regaled with
a new farce, entitled " A Trip to Hampton." It is a pro-
duction of a somewhat small standard of merit, in which,
however, Mr. S. Cowell, who has considerable talent in his
peculiar line, acts a good part. The story of the piece is
somewhat ingenious, and indeed constitutes its main merit ;
for the dialogue is quiet enough, and the situations present
no feature of novelty. Mr. Dramagogue is a literary gen-
tleman with a large heart and a small purse—the one lead-
ing him into a matrimonial engagement with a young
lady, and the other causing him considerable em-
barrassment as to how he shall maintain both him-
self and his pretensions. The pair are engaged to
a picnic party with two other couples ; but the funds of Mr.
Dramagogue partaking of the general depression, he feels
himself unequal to the outlay, and rushes back to his
lodgings with the intention of destroying himself. On his
way, however, he finds a pocket-book containing a hundred
pounds, which he appropriates, and astonishes the pic.niis
party with his unwonted liberality. They are presently
joined by the uncle of his mistress, who explains his late
arrival by recounting a severe loss which he bad met
with in the morning, on the very spot where Deo-
magegue picked up the pocket-book. He does not
particularise, but there can be but one inference,
and the literary gentleman writes a penitential letter
confessing his discovery of the pocket-book. A denouement
ensues, and it appears that the old gentleman has not lost
money, but simply his wig, which he demonstrates by re-
moving a large hat with which he had endeavoured to dis-
guise his lOW. A letter is then handed to Mr. Dramagogus
from his aunt, which should have been accompanied by a
remittance of one hundred pounds. The money in qsestion
had been loot on the road, and of course Mr. Dramagogua
had found it—a discovery which explains everything, and
leaves everybody contented. Thus much for the material,
which would have appeared more original had it been more
dexterously worked out. The piece was well supported by
Mr. Neville, Mr. Harris, Miss Vallee!, &e. It was well re-
ceived, and announced for repetition.
' SADLER'S WELLS.—A new play, in five acts,
called " John &vile of Haysted," was produced at this
theatre last evening. It is from the pen of the Rev. James
White, a gentleman who has already gained an honoured
name in our dramatic literature. It was triumphantly suc-
cessful, having been received by a crowded audience with a
degree of enthusiasm which we have seldom seen exceeded.
The action of the piece takes place in the early part of the
reign of our King Charles 1., when his favourite, the famous
(or infamous) George Villiers Duke of Buckingham, en-
joyed unbounded power, which he abused by acts of lawless
oppression, rapacity, and licentiousness, which made his
name hated and dreaded by the whole kingdom. At the
beginning of the play this profligate minion appears sur-
rounded by his train of retainers, the instrument, of his
vices, one of whom tempts him by the description of a young
country girl of the neighbourhood, and succeeds, with some
difficulty, in exciting the curiosity of the blast, voluptuary,
who determines, in disguise, to see this rustic beauty. We
are then transported to Haysted.hall, near Ipswich, the
house of John Sanile, of Ilaysted, an English squire of the
olden time, plain, blunt, honest, and independent, rough
and hasty, but full of the milk of human kindness, and
dotingly fond of his only daughter, Lilian. There is a sweet
domestic scene between the father and daughter, full of that
playful tenderness which has such a charming effect in the
opening ef Sheridan Knowles's " Virstinius." The girl is a
child of seventeen, whose fine qualities of mind and heart
are mixed up with an imaginative and enthusiastic tempera-
ment. Her soul is full of the Duke of Buckingham, whom
she has never seen, but of whose greatne's, in personal
qualities as well as rank and power, she has formed the meet
exalted conceptions; creating an image which she worships
with a sort of rapturous admiration. the is the rustic beauty
pointed out to the Duke by Triode, his worthless retainer.
A scheme is laid to obtain a favourable opening to her
acquaintance; a party of the Duke's servants make
a simulated attempt to carry her off from her
father's house, and she is rescued by the Duke
and Frirett. For this service she is full of gratitude,
and regards the stisnger with increased interest when
he tells her that he lis a kinsman of the Duke of Bucking-
ham. In the conversation which ensiles, her ardent and
enthusiastic character is finely displayed. She speaks ef the
duke in the glowing language prompted by the image she
has formed of him' but with innocent plainness laments the
odium with which he is regarded, and prays his kinsman to
counsel the Osmissal of those worthless favourites
to whom she ascribes the evil deeds imputed so
him. Her father is about to be deprived of his estate
I by means of one of those rapacious measures perpetrated
in 'those days in the name of the crown; and Lilian
expresses an eager desire for an interview with the duke,
that she may plead her father's cause; and resolves to
accompany the stranger, who offers to conduct her to the
duke's presence. All this happens during her father's
absence. On his return he discovers his child's departure,
and, supposing her guilty, is overwhelmed with
grief and anger. Another prominent character of
the play has been introduced before this period ;
the celebrated John Felton, by whose hand the Make of
Buckingham fell. Felton is represented, with historical
truth, as a brave old soldier, whose services had been neg-
lected and unrequited, and wbo, from a sense of injury act-
ing on his natural disposition, had fallen into a gloomy and
insane fanaticism. In the play be is a relative of, and lives
with, John Saris, to whom and to his daughter he is ten-
derly attached. Felton discovers accidentally that the Duke
is the betrayer of Lilian, and, in an attempt to rescue her,
is wounded and disarmed by the duke. Lilian, in the
duke's mansion,; is made to believe for a time that her
conductor, who continues to preserve his assumed character,
will bring her into the presence of the duke ; but at length
he throws off the mask, declares his rank, and avows his
passion. In a moment the girl's dream is at an end; her
lIIUMIT image of the Duke of Buckingham vanishes, and she
sees before her the man himself in all his baseness and defor-
mity. The situation is the most striking in the play, and
the burst of withering scorn with which she overwhelms him
is actually sublime from the intensity of its expression. The
villain, however, recovers his audacity, and is about to pro-
ceed to violence, when she hears her father's voice without,
and wildly *creams for assistance. The curtain falls upon
this scene ; but we find in the next act that the old man
has been overpowered, and that Lilian has been carried by
the duke to Portsmouth, !rem whence he is about
to embark in command of the troops scut for the
relief of La Rochelle. Lilian's situation is desperate.
Her father has followed her, and his only hope is in
the sums of an appeal to the king, which John Epslie,
a devoted friend (whose character has an interest of
its own into which we cannot enter) has undertakento make.
As a lost resource, the old man, through Epslie who, being a
retainer of the duke, has access to Lilian, conveys to her a
phial of poison, with a melange remieding her of the Roman
father who slew his daughter to save her from dishonour.
Buckingham, to accomplish his deem upon Lilian, resolves
to delay the sailing of the troops, and treats with hurtles
and brutal taunts the remonstrances of the-4We.*
envoy, against a delay productive of V 'meek
misery to the unfortunate people of RochelatieSpaher
ruf.orsdht,h"aet itimhnem:ediolateednereti iwlveserhas:).7oif.BLaucitcfaLtsg9s.
poimildmooteanith.f.r he see
the stage, he is stabbed to the heart by the fahrefron.
Poor Lilian, meanwhile, *icing no appearancero succour,
swallows the poison in despair, and dies in thi a hilt
father. This pathetic tale is very clearly .utifially
chomt
told. The incidents 112. well connect , I
rile to many striking initiation*. The':. . •
of the " fine old English gentleman ' -44_. ..,
' Ilghtful from beginning to end, and its representation,
Phelps, was one of the most successful that we kayo ever
' seen et this soter's efforts, Been in the most iatrweensa

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