ways and means to do the thing prescribed, and who at the same time set out that which happened-or did not happen-in high-sounding philosophical phrases; and when the hard, self-willed, spoiled Sovereign had departed this life, then the Minister, long before crystallized into a Polonius, carried on the play from his own hand, because it had become to him a second nature, and he really believed that thoughts stood behind his phraseology. Varnhagen tells us how, in the year of Francis's death, he visited the Chancellor in Baden, and how astonished he was at his toleration. Everything the Minister then said sounds like a chapter out of the just published Autobiography: there are the same commonplaces, expressed often in the same words-a proof, by the way, what a good listener and what a faithful reporter Varnhagen was. There is the same self-sufficient, pedantic, didactic tone which became, by degrees, "excessive and very wearisome, but there is also the same fairness to persons of another way of thinking. The "powerful attraction which he possessed in so rich a degree for the most diverse natures was due to this, that he left your mind and intelligence perfectly free." So, again, he spread harmless freedom and security," and admitted the opinions of his guests, although the flow of his talk seldom suffered them to be expressed; nay, he boasts that nobody understood the value of freedom of speech better than he, and he could even enjoy Heine's attacks, provided his vanity was not the loser; he knows" in business neither love nor hatred ;" persons are for him entirely excluded from consideration," etc.; exactly as in the "Key to the Explanation of my Way of Thinking and Acting." There is much self-deception in all this, and even the shrewd Varnhagen was deceived by it; but there is some truth in it, nevertheless. A fine and just judgment of men is one of Metternich's best points, and this psychological insight, as well as indifference to criticism, increased in him as he advanced in life. The inexorable tyranny of the press, the Carlsbad resolutions, and everything of that sort must, in the first instance, be referred to the Emperor Francis, whom Metternich served 66 only too submissively. But we must not lose sight of the limits of Metternich's toleration. The Chancellor was before all a man of society, and obeyed without troble the supreme law of all social intercourse, that one should see in the society one visits or receives only equals, whose opinion one is bound to respect from simple good breeding, not from principle or policy. This was naturally not the case with him in official intercourse with inferiors, where discipline and hierarchical subordination are necessary. Nor was it so with him in public life, and toward social equals, whose natures were totally different from his own. But that was not intolerance, but a defect in understanding them. He knew how to estimate all varieties of men of his own category, and gave them their due. He could even come to an understanding with a Napoleon, highly as he surpassed him, and fantastic as he could be, because he spoke the same kind of language; but he could not possibly do so with a Canning or a Stein, because the Realist could see nothing but enthusiasts or reprobates in such idealists. Now he who does not understand idealism does not understand reality perfectly either. either. Ideas which have become facts are realities, and to mistake them even after they have become facts is justnarrowness. A true statesman must have seen that in the years 1815-1830 revolution, as a destructive force was no match for the reinvigorated preserving powers of society, and that to persecute it could only be to give it new strength, as it has actually done. true statesman must have seen that revolution as a moving force was a fact which could not be suppressed, and that he had consequently to reckon with it, and not waste his time and trouble trying to annihilate it, and Metternich, who tried this, was in nowise better than the narrow politicians of the democratic school, who imagined that one could and must extirpate the Conservative forces from the national life. Metternich's antirevolutionary policy-or, to speak more correctly, the anti-revolutionary policy of the Emperor Francis which Metternich applied, reduced to a system, and finally believed in-has been bitterly avenged on its heirs. Thirty-three beautiful years of peace, which seemed to A have been as it were made for the very purpose of affording the continental nations a time of apprenticeship to the art of self-government, were lost, and the result was the immaturity of 1848, under the consequences of which we still labor. It is not enough that one is a perfect diplomatist, as Metternich undoubtedly was, to be also a great guiding statesman. merit in producing the forty years' · peace. These were the consequence of the universal need for rest, and the profound exhaustion of Europe, and not the consequence of wise combinations on the part of the diplomatists of Vienna. What new statesmanlike thought was there realized at Vienna ? Was the famous balance of power really established there? Will any one seriously assert that the kingdom of Prussia, which certainly contributed as much as the other three Powers to the downfall of the common enemy, counted for as much after 1815 as any one of the other four Powers? On what, then, did this balance of power rest but on the dismemberment and subjection of two great civilized peoples? But, it will be said, that was also the case with the Westphalian Peace, which yet so many historians extol as the greatest diploYes, matic masterpiece of all times. but Germany and Italy had recovered in 1815 the consciousness of nationality they had completely lost in 1648, which alters the case entirely. And little as a German can praise the Westphalian Peace he must yet confess that France, which in the first half of the seventeenth century contended at the head of Europe against the thirst of the Hapsburgs for the empire of the world, understood its task in Münster better, and knew better how to execute it, than Austria understood or fulfilled its task in the beginning of the nineteenth century, when their respective parts were transposed. For even were one to admit that Metternich had a right to sacrifice the interests of Europe to those of Austria, it is still very questionable whether he did this effectively--and whether he thus introduced any new idea into history. not Thugut and Cobenzl already inaugurated the Italian policy of Metternich? And even if one acknowledges that it was conformable to the German and imperial traditions of Austria to prefer seeking the basis of its position as a great power in Germany and Italy rather than in the East, and that it needed a statesmanlike genius of the first rank to strike out voluntarily into this new path, which then offered so many fewer difficulties than it now does since the awakening of the feeling of nationality in the motley Austrian Empire, and which has only But were not the years of peace his work, and that of those who were of the same mind with him? And is this blessing of forty years' peace to be rated so low? Certainly not; but it is by no means so clearly made out, as it would, appear from Metternich's representation of it, that the long peace was the work of the diplomatists assembled at Vienna. Much was spoken there about balance of power, and much was spoken there about virtue, but it all issued in a higgling about souls. Talleyrand denounced the division of Poland with all the chivalrous indignation which became him so well, but he resisted its restoration, if that were to be purchased at the price of the aggrandizement of Prussia. Geographical, historical, nay, even military considerations, were not from first to last taken into consideration. On the occasion of previous treaties of peace, it was asked what province was necessary to the conqueror for his protection, what one would open an outlet for his trade, what combinations would be for the good of Europe in general but in Vienna none asked anything, except how many souls, i.e., recruits and taxpayers, it could get hold of, but whether they were South or North, whether they were Polish, Italian, or German in nationality, whether they were former subjects or new accessions-that was all sentimentality and enthusiasm to great Realists who had all gone more or less to Napoleon's school. Even the Utrecht peace, in which the conquerors gave away quite as light-heartedly every advantage they had gained, showed more political wisdom, for it took for its basis the traditions of Europe, and the organic historical conditions and interests which had grown up, whereas chance and caprice supplied the rule for everything at Vienna. No; the Vienna Congress, which, moreover, was not led by Metternich, but by Talleyrand, had little Had been forcibly entered upon in our own day the way in which the two dependencies of Austria in Central Europe, Germany and Italy, were ruled, remains in the eyes of posterity an extremely short-sighted one, and in the latter country even a brutal one, which, like all short-sighted and violent government, could only weaken the governing state. And what good did Prince Metternich's conservative Eastern policy do him? Did Greece not free itself in spite of it? Was not the influence of Russia at Constantinople greater after the treaty of Adrianople than before it? Did it hinder the alliance of Hunkiar Iskelessi? Did it withdraw the Danubian Principalities from Russian influence? And what was gained by the blind fear of Russia which Metternich and his creature Gentz at that time brought into vogue, which has paralyzed Central Europe and kept it in a tremor for forty years, and which has not even yet disappeared, after we have had so many proofs of the aggressive impotence of that power, and after every liberated province of Turkey has developed into a secret enemy of its liberator? And the part of leader of Europe, which the Chancellor fain ascribes to himself, how long did it last? Not ten years passed after the Congress when Austria was everywhere compelled to terms, where it hoped to lead. Neither Canning, nor even Villèle, neither Nicholas, nor even Frederick William III., went in tow after Austria; and in fact it was Russia or the Western Powers which gave the decisive word in all European questions, and not Austria. That ought not to make us blind to Metternich's services to Austria and Europe in a difficult time; only we should not forget how dear he has rated these services himself. Metternich, who guided Austria between 1809 and 1813 past the most threatening rocks with vigilance, adroitness, and decision, let the ship he saved rot and go to pieces, because he thought that the constitution which had enabled it to weather the most dangerous storm must also serve for the calm sea, and that every improvement only threatened its existence. There were two Metterniches, indeed— one before and another after 1815. Not that Metternich had suddenly altered at forty-nobody alters-but the situation was a different one, and youth had now departed from him. Metternich had no originality, but he had a high talent for adaptation. He allowed himself to be determined by things and men ; he did not determine things or men. Even where he won men to his person, he was unable to win them to his ideas, just because those ideas were wanting in all originality and all positive substance. Even in the field of diplomacy, where his proper importance lay, he was greater in defence than in attack, just because there is something creative in the offensive, and he lacked the creative power entirely. At last he persuaded himself, as we all willingly do, that his dispositions and capacities were the results of reflection and will. His want of creative power made him believe that political life had nothing at all to do with the creative, but only with the conservative activity. He thus suffered the qualities which he had developed in the strain of the moment and in the freshness of youth to slumber in tranquil times and in old age, because no lively excitement stirred them from without and called them into activity. Metternich the practical man became Metternich the theoretical. It is a pity only that the latter wrote the history of the former.-Contemporary Review. SHAM ADMIRATION IN LITERATURE. BY JAMES PAYN. In all highly civilized communities pretence is prominent, and sooner or later invades the regions of literature. In the beginning this is not altogether to be reprobated; it is the rude homage which ignorance, conscious of its disgrace, offers to learning; but after a while pretence becomes systematized, gathers strength from numbers and impunity, and rears its head in such a manner as to suggest it has some body and substance belonging to it. In England few exceptions) one may say without uncharity that the acquisition of ideas is not their object, though if they did acquire them they would probably be new ones. The majority of us, however, have much difficulty in surmounting the obstacle of an alien tongue; and when we have done so we are naturally inclined to overrate the advantages thus attained. Every one knows the poor creature who quotes French on all occasions with a certain stress on the accent, designed to arouse a doubt in his hearers as to whether he was not actually born in Paris. He, of course, is a low specimen of the class in question, but almost all of us derive a certain intellectual gratification from the mastery of another language, and as we gradually attain to it, whenever we find a meaning we are apt to mistake it for a beauty.* Nay, I am convinced that many admire this or that (even) British poet from the fact that here and there his meaning has gleamed upon them with all the charm that accompanies unexpectedness. literary pretence is more universal than elsewhere from our method of education. When young gentlemen from ten to sixteen are set to study poetry (a subject for which not one in a hundred has the least taste or capability even when he reads it in his own language) in Greek and Latin authors, it is only a natural consequence that their views upon it should be slightly artificial. The youth who objected to the alphabet that it seemed hardly worth while to have gone through so much to have acquired so little, was exceptionally sagacious; the more ordinary lad conceives that what has cost him so much time and trouble, and entailed so many pains and penalties, must needs have something in it, though it has never met his eye. Hence arises our public opinion upon the ancient classics, which I am afraid is somewhat different from (what painters term) the private view. If you take the ordinary admirer of Eschylus, for example-not the scholar, but the man who has had what he believes to be "a liberal education"-and appeal to his Since classical learning is compulsory opinion upon some passage in a Brit with us, this bastard admiration is much ish dramatist, say Shakespeare, it is ten more often excited with respect to the to one that he shows not only igno- Greek and Latin poets. Men may not rance of the author (the odds are twenty only go through the whole curriculum to one about that), but utter inability to of a university education, but take high grasp the point in question; it is too honors in it, without the least inteldeep for him, and especially too subtle. lectual advantage beyond the acquisition If you are cruel enough to press him, of a few quotations. This is not, of he will unconsciously betray the fact course (good heavens !), because the that he has never felt a line of poetry classics have nothing to teach us in the in his life. He honestly believes that way of poetical ideas, but simply bethe Seven against Thebes is one of the cause to the ordinary mind the acquisigreatest works that ever were written, tion of a poetical idea is very difficult, just as a child believes the same of the and when conveyed in a foreign lanSeven Champions of Christendom. A guage is impossible. If the same student great wit once observed, when bored by had given the same time-a monstrous the praises of a man who spoke six lan- thought, of course, but not impracticaguages, that he had known a man to speak ble-to the cultivation of Shakespeare a dozen and yet not say a word worth and the old dramatists, or even to the hearing in any of them. The humor of more modern English poets and the remark, as sometimes happens, has thinkers, he would certainly have got caused its wisdom to be underrated; for more out of them, though he would have the fact is that, in very many cases, all the missed the delicate suggestiveness of the intelligence of which a mind is capable is expended upon the mere acquisition of a foreign language. As to getting anything out of it in the way of ideas, and especially of poetical ones, that is almost never attained. There are, indeed, many who have a special facility for languages, but in their case (with a *Since the above was written my attention has been called to the following remark of De Quincey: "As must ever be the case with readers not sufficiently masters of a language to bring the true pretensions of a work to any test of feeling, they are forever mistaking for some pleasure conferred by the writer what is in fact the pleasure naturally attached to the sense of a difficulty overcome.' Greek aorist and the exquisite subtleties of the particle de. Having acquired these last, however, and not for nothing, it is not surprising that he should esteem them very highly, and, being unable to popularize them at dinner parties and the like, he falls back upon praise of the classics generally. art. Such are the circumstances which, more particularly in this country, have led to a well-nigh universal habit of literary lying of a pretence of admiration for certain works of which in reality we know very little, and for which, if we knew more, we should perhaps care less. There are certain books which are standard, and as it were planted in the British soil, before which the great majority of us bow the knee and doff the cap with a reverence that, in its ignorance, reminds one of fetish worship, and, in its affectation, of the passion for high The works without which, we are told at book auctions, "no gentleman's library can be considered complete, are especially the objects of this adoration. The Rambler, for example, is one of them. I was once shut up for a week of snow-storms in a mountain inn, with the Rambler and one other publication. The latter was a shepherd's guide, with illustrations of the way in which sheep are marked by their various owners for the purpose of identification : Cropped near ear, upper key bitted far, a pop on the head and another at the tail head, ritted, and with two red strokes down both shoulders," etc. It was monotonous, but I confess that there were times when I felt it some comfort in having that picture-book to fall back upon to alternate with the Rambler. 66 The essay, like port wine, I have noticed, requires age for its due appreciation. Leigh Hunt's Indicator comprises some admirable essays, but the general public have not a word to say for them; it may be urged that that is because they had not read the Indicator. But why then do they praise the Rambler and Montaigne ? That comforting word, "Mesopotamia," which has been so often alluded to in religious matters, has many a parallel in profane literature. A good deal of this mock worship is of course due to abject cowardice. A man who says he doesn't like the Rambler runs, with some folks, the 46 risk of being thought a fool; but he is sure to be thought that, for something or another, under any circumstances; and, at all events, why should he not content himself, when the Rambler is belauded, with holding his tongue and smiling acquiescence? It must be conceded that there are a few persons who really have read the Rambler, a work, of course, I am merely using as a type of its class. In their young days it was used as a school-book, and thought necessary as a part of polite education; and as they have read little or nothing since, it is only reasonable that they should stick to their colors. Indeed the French satirist's boast that he could predicate the views of any man with regard to both worlds if he were only supplied with the simple date of his age and his income, is quite true in the general with regard to literary taste. Given the age of the ordinary individual-that is to say of the gentleman "fond of books, but who has really no time for reading"-and it is easy enough to guess his literary idols. They are the gods of his youth, and, whether he has been suckled in a creed outworn" or not, he knows no other. These persons, however, rarely give their opinion about literary matters except on compulsion; they are harmless and truthful. The tendency of society in general, on the other hand, is not only to praise the Rambler, which they have not read, but to express a noble scorn for those who have read it and don't like it. I remember, as a young man, being greatly struck by the independence of character exhibited by Miss Bronté in a certain confession she made in respect to Miss Austen's novels. It was at a period when everybody professed to adore them, and especially the great guns of literature. Walter Scott thought more highly of the genius of the author of Mansfield Park even than of that of his favorite, Miss Edgeworth. Macaulay speaks of her as though she were the eclipse of novelists—“ first, and the rest nowhere"-though his opinion, it is true, lost something of its force from the contempt he expressed for "the rest," among whom were some much better ones. Dr. Whewell, a very different type of mind, had Mansfield Park, I believe, read to him on his death-bed. |