plain situation come naturally in place. But where it is sought to stir pity and fear and sympathy with the sufferings and heroisms of men and women; where, as in tragedy, self-conscious observation of the writer's art should be lost in overwhelming feeling for the hero's destiny, there, so far as I know, such names have never been adopted. Ben Jonson, much of whose work is, as Mr. Swinburne has recently said, a study not of humanity but of humors, uses significant names almost exclusively in his comedies. Shakespeare, on the other hand, is sparing in his use of them. Justices Shallow, Slender, and Silence, with Fang and Snare the sheriff's officers the majesty of the law always fares badly in the hands of satire; the constable, Dull; Froth, a foolish gentleman; Martext, a vicar; and that ragged regiment of Falstaff's recruits, Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf,. almost exhaust the list.

flave we not here the explanation of the instinctive shock which we feel on being introduced by George Eliot or Trollope to the doctors, Wrench and Filgrave? We are taking Middlemarch and the Middlemarchers in perfect seriousness and good faith. We know the people well, and understand their life; we need no prompting to divine the jar between the old humdrum practitioners and Lydgate with his modern science. To be told that the humdrum practitioner is named Wrench or Filgrave is like receiving a slap in the face. We are rudely awakened, the illusion of reality is brusquely dispelled. The names are so glaringly made up; it is too unnatural to find these names crying in the wilderness, preparing in the medical desert of Middlemarch a highway for a truer science. Where the aim is to produce by art an illusion of every-day reality, where the artist desires to keep himself and his artistic scaffolding entirely out of sight, or only presents himself for the purpose of commenting on people and things which are supposed to exist independently of him, then the flinging in the reader's face of palpably manufactured names is the unpardonable sin of art, inconsistency. It is not to be pleaded that names of this kind do actually occur in real life, sometimes with startling appropriateness. That truth is stranger than fiction, it has been said, is but another way of saying that fiction may not

dare to be so strange as truth. And the cleverest disciples of perhaps the greatest master of legitimate naturalism in fiction have recently admitted that the realists should rather call themselves illusionists, and must abstain from reproducing what is startling in reality. In George Eliot's case the explanation would seem to be, that she adopted significant names just for the smallest parts, to serve instead of the long description which they would not bear; just as at the end of the list of dramatis persona, instead of "servingmen,' "sheriff's officers," or a more unsavory retinue, the playwright sometimes puts "Fang, Snare, sheriff's officers." But, however legitimate for the playwrights, it is a practice really inadmissible in works like " Middlemarch" or Trollope's novels. There, small as the point is, it is a flaw. It makes the art obtrusive just where it should remain concealed; it wakes the reader's suspicious criticisin, just where such criticism should be lulled to sleep. It is a reappearance in the least naïve of the arts of those scrolls, which issue so naïvely out of the months of the personages in old pictures.

It is not difficult to see with how much more of natural ease Dickens can introduce his Jingles and Veneerings. The art of Dickens is often the art of caricature, often it is the art of farce. His world is a grotesque, pathetic, lurid, ludicrous world of his own. He has brought together a teeming population of quacks and mountebanks, and waifs and strays, and monstrosities, for whom his most extravagant names are accepted as the only natural and proper ones. Another reason,

no doubt, that many of his names fit the people with such convincing exactitude is simply that the people themselves have as little of a third dimension as the names. In his wonderful art Dickens found room for characters that are hardly characters at all-not men and women, that is to say, but rather phantasms, admirably suited to heighten the effect of his mise-en-scène ; phantasms that crack their finger-joints like Newman Noggs, or play some other pantomime which will add just the ghastly, or droll, or bizarre tone which he needs for his effect.

But what shall we say of Thackeray and his Deuceaces and Bareacres and the rest? Thackeray is verily as great a realist as a great artist can be. He prides himself on

presenting life as it is, unseasoned by the hot spices of artificial romance. Nay, he employs devices to entrap the credulity of the reader-the device, for example, of making Arthur Pendennis, whom we know independently, tell the story of his young friend Clive Newcome, and the noble meek-hearted gentleman with whom he had seen the boy at the Cave of Harmony. Yes, Thackeray is a great realist, if ever there was one. His characters are no decorative figments to amuse our fancy. They have become some of the men and women we know best, personal friends or foes of our own. It consoles us for living in these late days of a reformed Parliament, that we have lived late enough to have known Colonel Newcome. They were no tears of unreal sentiment that we wept over his martyrdom; it was a very genuine itch we felt to kick Barnes. In Thackeray's case the justification of the artificial names, if it be right to speak of justification, lies in this, that with all the solid reality of the life portrayed, we are never allowed to lose sight of the author and his art in portraiture. He is ever at

hand to underline the snobbery or laugh off the pathos. There is a strong strain of the satirist in him, and satire is akin to allegory; there is even a strain of the caricaturist ready to emerge in the midst of his noblest art. He is especially fond of putting on the airs and graces of the showman. His preface to "Vanity Fair" is headed, "Before the Curtain ;" and this great novel of real life concludes with "Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out." And we accept Thackeray's showman's humor. He chooses to treat a character as a puppet and call it Deuceace— that is his whim; we know the man, and believe in him none the less. We are not to be taken in with the made-up name. "The famous little Becky puppet," he wrote, "has been pronounced to be uncommonly flexible in the joints and lively on the wire." No for my part, I cannot allow Thackeray himself to treat Mrs. Rawdon Crawley as a mere puppet; and that, I think, is why I resent her artificial maiden name.-Blackwood's Magazine.

"Après une longue guerre, L'enfant ailé de Cythère Voulut en donnant la paix Venir à Vienne au congrès, Il convoque en diligence

Les dieux qu'on put réunir, Et par une contredanse

On vit le congrès s'ouvrir !"

THE graceful lines with which the Frince de Ligne welcomed the opening of the congress of 1814 well express the nature and spirit of that assembly. It was not merely a convention for the settlement of certain political questions. It was rather a grand united display of exultation on the part of the old European dynasties at the downfall of Napoleon; a kind of saturnalia in which the votaries of reaction met together to celebrate their return to power. The Congress of Vienna therefore surpassed all previous international gatherings, not only in the rank and number of its members, but in the gayety and splendor that attended their deliberations. There were present the Emperors of Aus

tria and Russia; the Kings of Prussia, Denmark, Bavaria, and Würtemburg; fifteen other sovereigns and six mediatized princes from the smaller States of Germany. All the other European States, save Turkey, which took no part in the congress, were represented by their most eminent statesmen. Among the non-royal visitors were the two most celebrated diplomatists of the time, Talleyrand and Metternich; Pozzo di Borgo, the bitterest of Napoleon's enemies, so well known later on as Russian ambassador at Paris; Capo d'Istrias, subsequently President of Greece; and the great and good man, whose work has had such an influence on the history of Germany, Karl von Stein. But the above list conveys little idea of the galaxy of rank and talent then assembled at Vienna. Nearly all the sovereigns and statesmen present were accompanied by their wives, families, and official suites; and it was to the presence of these latter that the social brilliancy of the congress was mainly due.

As entertainer in chief to the distinguished crowd, the Emperor of Austria first demands a brief notice. There was little in the appearance of Francis to arouse interest or inspire loyalty. In figure he was small and spare with stooping shoulders; his face was very long, with shrunken features and cold blue eyes surmounted by a narrow forehead. His expression, which never changed, was one of listless indifference. The man's nature was too dull, his consciousness of rank too ever present to allow disaster or success to draw from him a sign of emotion. Francis had been badly educated, and his intellectual capacities were very low. He took no interest in the work of government or the details of policy. Of art, literature, philosophy, he knew nothing. Admirers have fondly recounted how this lord of many nations spent his leisure time in making varnished boxes and bird - cages. He liked mechanical toys, and in his model of a feudal castle at Laxenburg were dummy sentinels and dungeons, the mimic prisoners in which wrung their hands and groaned by clock-work. He was fond of gardening, and would work for hours at favorite flower-beds; and he had some slight practical knowledge of natural history. His one political idea was a fanatical belief in the virtues of absolute monarchy. people," he used to say, "I know nothing of the people, I only know of subjects !" Lenient in other cases, he never pardoned a political offender. But, though the whole policy of the Austrian Government during his reign was one of blind repression, there was nothing in the manner of Francis that bespoke the tyrant. With the cunning that frequently marks very dull men, in his relations with his people he affected the extremes of simplicity and good nature. One day in every week he received private petitions from any of his lieges who chose to present themselves. He talked to them familiarly about their private affairs, instructed one how to deal with a scapegrace son, advised another about the marriage of a flighty daughter. This sham geniality gained its object to the The Austrian nobility, intellectually the most backward class in Europe,*

full.

"The

*See, among other witnesses to this effect, Lord Dudley's Letters to the Bishop of Llandaff." "A great nobleman here (at Vienna) is in general a dull, ill-informed, and very debauched person, which is all natural enough,

looked on their Emperor as a true chip of the old Hapsburg block; and the unthinking multitude vociferously saluted him with the title of Father Francis. He preserved his indifferent attitude through all the excitement of the congress. Metternich could be trusted to do his best for the Austrian interests; and Francis contented himself with acting the part of a figure-head, a sort of incarnation of patriarchal virtue, before which all men might bow down in grateful adoration.

Very different to Francis was the Emperor of Russia, Alexander I. The tall, strong figure; the broad, handsome face; the kindly, smiling eyes made up a personality as charming as it was noble. In social intercourse Alexander's manners were perfection.

"The Emperor Alexander," says a contemporary observer, Count Lagarde, was adored by those who enjoyed the honor of his intimacy; and the simplicity of his manners, together with his easy politeness and gallantry, won all hearts in Vienna."

It is to be feared that Alexander's personal graces were more to be commended than his political character. On his accession men had hailed him as a knighterrant; before he had been long on the throne they had learned to revile him as a Greek of the Lower Empire.

is

"Alexander's assistance," wrote the Prussian Gneisenau after the treaty of Tilsit, as ruinous to the country he affects to protect, as the attack of the enemy, and he winds up by sharing in the spoil taken from his unfortunate ally."

In fact, the Muscovite Bayard was quite ready to break the most solemn engagements if his own advantage could be thereby secured. Moreover, though he on certain occasions showed a bias toward generosity and enlightenment, this was only in cases where his own interests were not concerned. On the entry of the allies into Paris in 1814 he restrained the fury

of Blücher and compelled Louis XVIII. to grant a liberal constitution to his subjects. But he never introduced any reforms into his own dominions, and his foreign policy was one of consistent aggression. At the congress Alexander, to the secret amusement of those who had found him out, tried hard to maintain his favorite character of protector of the oppressed. The German patriot Stein and the Greek patriot Hypsilanti were both to be counted among his intimates. Notic ing also that Eugène Beauharnais, exviceroy of Italy, stepson of Napoleon, was rather coldly received at Vienna, he specially attached himself to that person, rode with him in public and singled him out for conversation at dinners or receptions. Alexander caine to Vienna with the Russian Empress Elizabeth, the Grand Duke Constantine and the Grand Duchesses Maria and Catherine; he was attended by an enormous suite and a full military staff of nine generals and a host of minor officers. He plunged with delight into all the amusements of the congress. To the ladies especially he paid great attention. They with one accord dubbed him "The handsome Emperor," in return for which compliment he drew up an amusing list of the reigning branches of the congress. "La beauté coquette" was represented by Caroline Szechenyi; "la beauté triviale," by Sophie Zichy; "la beauté étonnante," by Rosina Esterhazy; "la beauté céleste," by Julie Zichy; la beauté du diable," Countess Sauerma; and "la beauté qui inspire seule du vrai sentiment," by Gabriella Auersperg.

The third great European sovereign present at Vienna was Frederick William, King of Prussia. A simple-minded, peace-loving, conscientious man, he had the misfortune to be born in an age in which his good qualities could only prove his ruin, Married when young to the beautiful Louise of Mecklenburg Strelitz, for the first nine years of his reign he had lived a life of ideal happiness. The young king and his lovely wife, we are told, used to spend the most delightful days together reading sentimental novels. Enbowered in a romantic paradise, intrigue and war had no attraction for Frederick William. Once when the Tsar Paul pressed him very hard to join a coalition against France he quite lost his temper. "I will be and will remain neutral," he said; "and if

Paul compels me to go to war, it shall be only against himself.” But the doom came in 1806, and with the disaster of Jena the glory of Prussia seemed departed forever. Frederick William had to fly from Berlin and take up his residence at Königsberg for three gloomy years. But the worst was still to come. In 1809 his beloved Louise, whose pure bright figure shines like a star through that age of brutal force and barefaced selfishness, was taken from him; and in spite of the great change subsequent events made in his political fortunes there was a shadow on his life for all time. A tall, grave figure with a solemn face rarely lightening with a smile, he was out of place amid the gayeties of the congress. Men of the world made cruel sport of his attempts at sociability. "The King of Prussia's disposition," says the satirical Nostitz, " is rather tender and sensitive, and he shows a very romantic feeling for Julie Zichy. The lady now knows by heart in what manner the troops are drawn up on parade at Potsdam, how the Prussian army was formerly dressed, and how it is dressed at present; in return for which she regales her royal admirer with sublimity and religion. These conversations often last whole evenings, in confidential but apparently very gloomy tête à-têtes.”

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His

Of the other monarchs present little need be said. The King of Denmark, the wit of the congress, was a small pale man, with fair hair and aquiline features. cheerful manners and amusing conversation made him a universal favorite. The elderly King of Bavaria, of heavy build, with a dull, surly face, looked like a stout German farmer. The King of Würtemburg made up for the smallness of his dominions by the colossal bulk of his per

son.

His stay at Vienna was cut short owing to an unfortunate incident. So enormous was his development that in all the dining-tables at home he had a semicircular space cut out, to enable him to sit down to his meals with comfort. It seems that no preparation had been made for him in the Austrian court dinnertables. One night a great banquet was given to which he was invited. In the course of the meal some remark was made which the king construed as a slight on himself. Wild with rage he jumped up with such suddenness that the table, caught by his protuberant bulk, was over

turned, and all the dishes, plate, glass and decorations were hurled upon the floor with a fearful crash. His majesty fled from the room pursued by shouts of laughter, and left Vienna that very night.

All the royal personages, with their families and most important officials, were lodged in the Imperial palace. Francis also provided each of his guests with a superb state carriage, drawn by from two to eight horses, according to the rank of the visitor. No less than three hundred of these equipages, painted green and richly decorated with gold or silver designs, had been specially built for the occasion. To every carriage were attached outriders, guards of honor, and the necessary servants.

The native nobility, the foreign ambassadors, and the leaders of the financia! world vied with one another in the splendor of their receptions. At an entertainment given by the Jewish banker, Baron Arnstein, in the middle of winter, the reception rooms were lined with fruit trees, specially imported for the occasion from the most distant countries, so that the guests might pluck their dessert from the branches. Every kind of amusement was devised to enliven the monotony of these entertainments. Tableaux vivants were very popular. Isabey, attached as court painter to the French legation, gave his advice regarding the details of costume and the disposal of light and shade. Another form of recreation much in vogue was the charade. A ludicrous description of one of these is given by Dr. Bright, an independent visitor to Vienna during the congress. "The word which was determined on was jumeaux.' Some of the actors, coming from their retirement, began to squeeze a lemon into a glass, calling the attention of the company very particularly to it by their action, thus representing the syllable ju.' Others came forward imitating the various maladies and misfortunes of life, thus acting the syllable meaux.' Then, finally, tottered forward into the circle an Italian duke and a Prussian general, neither less than six feet in height, dressed in sheets and leading strings, a fine bouncing emblem of jumeaux!" Gambling, though not pursued with such frenzy as in the decade immediately preceding the French Revolution, was still a very prominent NEW SERIES.-VOL. LIV., No. 4.

feature in social life; and there was a great deal of it at the congress.

But the chief amusement of the great world, the chief business of the congress, was dancing. People danced on every occasion and at every place. Every court dinner, concert or reception ended with a ball. Private balls, both plain and fancy dress, took place every night. On these occasions the monarchs themselves danced, not in the luxurious waltz, which would have been too familiar, but in more slow and stately measures, such as the polonaise. It became the fashion also for the most exalted personages to patronize the great public balls given in the Apollo Saal, and attended sometimes by 10,000 persons. No wonder serious people looked grave, and when they thought of the utter stagnation of public business in the midst of all this revelry, murmured with the Prince de Ligne: "Le congrès danse, mais il ne marche pas.'

66

"the

Owing to the season of the year, openair fêtes rarely took place. On the 18th of October, however, the anniversary of the battle of Leipzig, a great banquet was given in the Prater to 16,000 soldiers. The Emperor Francis presided at a special table and proposed three toasts, Visitors," the Generals," and "the Allied Armies." Each toast was accompanied by salvoes of cannon and tremendous cheering from an immense crowd of spectators. Occasionally the whole court drove out on sledges to the emperor's villa at Laxenburg. The sledges, many of them carved into fantastic shapes, were drawn by richly caparisoned steeds, their heads surmounted by nodding plumes. They were preceded by a band of music and escorted by the emperor's guards. At nightfall the whole party returned in similar state by torchlight, the procession being much appreciated by the loyal Viennese. Great court battues also took place on the neighboring imperial estates. These, however, were very tame affairs. The members of the imperial family and a few exalted guests sat in a semicircle with attendants behind them to load their guns. The game, which mainly consisted of hares, rabbits, foxes, and occasionally a wild boar, was then driven in front of them. The general body of spectators sat on a platform behind the shooting party to applaud their prowess. The ladies of

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