Potiphar's?"
Is this the assembled flower of manhood and womanhood, called "best
society," and to see which is so envied a privilege? If such are the
elements, can we be long in arriving at the present state, and necessary
future condition of parties?
_Vanity Fair_ is peculiarly a picture of modern society. It aims at
English follies, but its mark is universal, as the madness is. It is
called a satire, but, after much diligent reading, we can not discover
the satire. A state of society not at all superior to that of _Vanity
Fair_ is not unknown to our experience; and, unless truth-telling be
satire; unless the most tragically real portraiture be satire; unless
scalding tears of sorrow, and the bitter regret of a manly mind over the
miserable spectacle of artificiality, wasted powers, misdirected
energies, and lost opportunities, be satirical; we do not find satire in
that sad story. The reader closes it with a grief beyond tears. It
leaves a vague apprehension in the mind, as if we should suspect the air
to be poisoned. It suggests the terrible thought of the enfeebling of
moral power, and the deterioration of noble character, as a necessary
consequence of contact with "society.
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