STYLE IN NARRATION.

1. William Makepeace Thackeray.

Born 1811. Died 1863.

FROM Vanity Fair, CHAPTER XXXII.

IN WHICH JOS TAKES FLIGHT, AND THE WAR IS BROUGHT TO A CLOSE.

[The effect of the passage which follows may best be summed up in the words of Professor Wendell :

"An interesting composition from this point of view [rhetorical mass] is the chapter in Vanity Fair which tells of the battle of Waterloo. In point of fact, I rather think Thackeray had never seen a great battle, and was too prudent an artist to venture on the description of a very notable kind of thing which he knew only from hearsay. He lays his scene in Brussels, then, and tells with great vividness and detail the story of the panic there,—not essentially a different thing from any other scene of general excitement and confusion and terror; a great deal nearer the ordinary experience of human beings than any form of battle, murder, or sudden death. But he never lets you forget that what has made this panic is Waterloo: every now and then you hear the growling of the cannon, and feel, hovering not far off, the dreadful shadow of Bonaparte. So-in my little Tauchnitz edition—he writes for twenty-two pages, dwelling at greatest length on that part of his subject which he was best able to treat, and leaving in the reader's mind-what every writer really wishes to leave therea deep sense of reality and of power. But this has not told his whole story. In the last page and a half he tells very briefly what had been doing in the field all this time, and in his very last

paragraph-and the very last words of it-he tells the fact which makes the passage an essential part of his story. . . For skillful massing that chapter has always impressed me as notable. It is the space given to Brussels that emphasizes the part of the story which Thackeray could tell best; it is the placing of that single sentence about George Osborne-not even a sentence, only a relative clause-which leaves it once for all inevitably in the reader's memory."-English Composition, p. 171.

Specifically, the battle is kept before the reader in several ways there is first the narrative of the general alarm at the news that the French had entered Belgium, and the panic which followed the marching out of the English from Brussels; then follows Jos's scare, played upon by the resoluteness of Mrs. O'Dowd, the braggart tale of the Belgian hussar, and Rebecca's trickery; the proclamation of the actual result of Quatre Bras; the arrival of Tom Stubble with news from the field; the long night watches; the nearer and vaguer and more appalling rumors of the second day; the flight of Jos; and the brief narrative of Waterloo itself. In each of these well-blended episodes the style is fitted to the point of view; there is some scurry at first; Jos's absurdities are genuinely humorous; and the simple dignity of the style in the last scene adds much to the climax. The purpose of the whole is undoubtedly to convey through style, as well as through the events, the miscellaneous effect of panic. The closing chapter of The Newcomes deserves comparison with this.

As in the foregoing passage from Silas Marner (III., 7) the spelling of the English edition is retained.]

WE of peaceful London city have never beheld— and please God never shall witness-such a scene of hurry and alarm as that which Brussels presented. Crowds rushed to the Namur gate, from which direction the noise proceeded, and many rode along the 5 level chaussée, to be in advance of any intelligence from the army. Each man asked his neighbour for news; and even great English lords and ladies con

descended to speak to persons whom they did not know. The friends of the French went abroad, wild with excitement, and prophesying the triumph of their Emperor. The merchants closed their shops, and 5 came out to swell the general chorus of alarm and clamour. Women rushed to the churches, and crowded the chapels, and knelt and prayed on the flags and steps. The dull sound of the cannon went on rolling, rolling. Presently carriages with travellers began to Io leave the town, galloping away by the Ghent barrier. The prophesies of the French partisans began to pass for facts. "He has cut the armies in two," it was said. "He is marching straight on Brussels. He will overpower the English, and be here to-night." "He 15 will overpower the English," shrieked Isidor to his master, "and will be here to-night." The man bounded in and out from the lodgings to the street, always returning with some fresh particulars of disaster. Jos's face grew paler and paler. Alarm 20 began to take entire possession of the stout civilian. All the champagne he drank brought no courage to him. Before sunset he was worked up to such a pitch of nervousness as gratified his friend Isidor to behold, who now counted surely upon the spoils of the owner 25 of the laced coat.1

The women were away all this time. After hearing the firing for a moment, the stout major's wife bethought her of her friend in the next chamber, and ran in to watch, and if possible to console, Amelia.

'The interest, it will be observed, shifts suddenly from paragraph to paragraph before settling down, so to speak, on Jos and the little group of watchers,

The idea that she had that helpless and gentle creature to protect, gave additional strength to the natural courage of the honest Irishwoman. She passed five hours by her friend's side, sometimes in remonstrance, sometimes talking cheerfully, oftener in silence, and 5 terrified mental supplication. "I never let go her hand once," said the stout lady afterwards, “until after sunset, when the firing was over." Pauline, the bonne, was on her knees at church hard by, praying for son homme à elle.

IO

When the noise of the cannonading was over, Mrs. O'Dowd issued out of Amelia's room into the parlour adjoining, where Jos sate with two emptied flasks, and courage entirely gone. Once or twice he had ventured into his sister's bedroom, looking very much alarmed, 15 and as if he would say something. But the major's wife kept her place, and he went away without disburthening himself of his speech. He was ashamed to tell her that he wanted to fly.

But when she made her appearance in the dining- 20 room, where he sate in the twilight in the cheerless company of his empty champagne bottles, he began to open his mind to her.

"Mrs. O'Dowd," he said, "hadn't you better get Amelia ready?"

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Are you going to take her out for a walk?" said the major's lady ; sure she's too weak to stir."

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"I-I've ordered the carriage," he said, "and-and post-horses; Isidor is gone for them," Jos continued.

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"What do you want with driving to-night?" 30 answered the lady. "Isn't she better on her bed? I've just got her to lie down,"