For ages past, the amenity of foreign manners in general, and French
manners in particular, has been the theme of every tongue; and the
bold Briton, who would fain look down upon all other nations, cannot
deny the superiority of his continental neighbours in this respect at
least. Why this should be, it is difficult to say, but there is no
doubt that it is so; and even the coarse German is less repulsive in
his manner to strangers than the true-born and true-bred English man
or woman. The French of all ranks teach their children, from their
earliest years, politeness by _rule_, as they do grammar or geography,
or any other branch of a sound education. From _La Civilité Puérile et
Honnête_, up to works which treat of the etiquettes of polite society,
there are books published for persons of every class in life; and
although of late years one sees the same sort of writings advertised
in England, they have certainly not as yet produced any apparent
effect upon us--perhaps from being written by incompetent people, or
perhaps from the author dwelling too exclusively upon usages which
change with the fashion of the day, instead of being based upon right
and kind feelings, or, at anyrate, the appearance of them. I have
lately met with a little French book, entitled _Manuel Complet de la
Bonne Compagnie, ou Guide de la Politesse, et de la Bienséance_,
which, amid much that is, according to our ideas, unnecessary and
almost ridiculous, contains a great deal we should do well to
practise.
It begins with treating of the proper behaviour to be observed in
churches of all denominations and forms of faith. Keep silence, or at
least speak rarely, and in a very low tone of voice, if you positively
_must_ make a remark: look grave, walk slowly, and with the head
uncovered. Whether it be a Catholic church, a Protestant temple, or a
Jewish synagogue, remember that it is a place where men assemble to
honour the Creator of the universe, to seek consolation in affliction,
and pardon for sin. When you visit a sacred edifice from curiosity
only, try to do so at a time when no religious service is going
forward; and beware of imitating those Vandals who sully with their
obscure and paltry names the monuments of ages. Do not wait to be
asked for money by the guides, but give them what you judge a
sufficient recompense for their civility, and this without demanding
change, with which you should on such occasions always be provided
beforehand. Whether you give or refuse your mite to a collection, do
so with a polite bow, and never upon any account push or press forward
in the house of God, or shew by your manner that you hold in contempt
any unaccustomed ceremony you may happen to witness. Never in
conversation ridicule or abuse any form of belief; it grieves the
sincerely pious, gives rise to the expression of angry feeling in
those more fanatical or prejudiced, and offends even the sceptic as a
breach of good manners in any one--but in a woman peculiarly
disgusting--even when the listeners are themselves deficient in
Christian faith.
In speaking of family duties, persons who have had educational
advantages beyond those of their parents, are particularly recommended
never to appear sensible of their superior cultivation, and to be even
more submissive and respectful. All near relatives, whether by blood
or marriage, are directed, whatever their feelings may be, 'to keep up
a kindly intercourse by letter, word of mouth, trifling presents, and
so forth, treating your husband or wife's connections in company as
you do your own, merely introducing a little more ceremony.' Those
newly-married couples who go into company to look at, dance with, and
talk to each other, are held up to ridicule, and advised to follow the
example of the English, who wisely remain secluded for a month, in
order to be surfeited with each other's society, and repeat
extravagantly fond epithets until they themselves feel the folly of
them; and their mothers or maiden aunts--who are now sometimes found
at large in France, since the practice of sending poor or plain girls
into convents has ceased to be so general--come under reproof.
'Consider, O ye affectionate-hearted women, that others feel no
interest in the children who to your eyes seem so perfect, and have no
inclination to act as inquisitors over their little talents and
accomplishments. Spare your friends the thousand-and-one anecdotes of
the extraordinary cleverness, vivacity, or piety of the little people
you love so blindly: do not excoriate their ears by making them listen
to recitations or the strumming of sonatos; or weary their eyes by
requesting them to watch the leaping and kicking of small stick-like
legs.' You only render your boys and girls conceited, and make them
appear positive pests to your visitors, whose politeness in giving the
praise you angle for is seldom sincere; and thus, by committing a
fault yourself, you force your friends to do the like in a different
way. 'But even this is better than finding fault with either children
or servants in the presence of strangers; this is such gross
ill-breeding, one feels astonished it should be necessary to take
notice of it at all, and to the little ones themselves it is
absolutely ruinous:' it makes them miserable in the meanwhile, and in
the end, careless of appearances, indifferent to shame.
I must leave out, or at least pass slightly over, a great deal which
sounds most strange to us, such as, the necessity of preventing
servants from 'sitting down in your presence, more especially when
serving at table;' permitting ladies to wear curl papers on rising,
but hinting that they should be hid under a cambric cap; and although
taking it for granted a lady would 'not put on stays' at the same
early hour, reminding her that she may still wear a bodice, and
begging her not to make hot weather an excuse for going about with
naked arms 'and _legs_ and feet thrust into slippers,' but to adopt
fine thin stockings; 'and,' says our author, 'although the _tenue du
lever_ for a gentleman is a cotton or silk night-cap, a waistcoat with
sleeves, or a dressing-gown, he is recommended to abandon _cette mise
matinale_ as early as may be, that so attired he may receive none but
intimate friends.' Unmarried women, until they pass thirty, are
debarred from wearing diamonds or expensive furs and shawls, or from
venturing across so much as a narrow street without being accompanied
by their mother or a female attendant; desired never to inquire after
the health of _gentlemen_; nor, indeed, should married women permit
themselves to do 'so, unless the person inquired after is very ill or
very old.' When you dine out, you are requested 'not to pin your
napkin to your shoulders;' not to say _bouilli_ for _boeuf_,
_volaille_ for _poularde dindon_, or whatever name the winged animal
goes by; or _champagne_ simply, instead of _vin-de-champagne_, which
is _de rigueur_; not 'to turn up the cuffs of your coat when you
carve,' eat your egg from the 'small end, or _neglect_ to break it on
your plate _when emptied, with a coup de couteau_; to cut, instead of
break your bread;' and so on.
There is a great deal of sensible advice upon dress. Ladies _sur le
retour_--that is, those who are _cinquante ans sonnés_--are
recommended never to wear gay colours, dresses of slight materials,
flowers, feathers, or much jewellery; always to cover their hair, wear
high-made gowns, and long sleeves; not to adopt a new fashion the very
moment it appears; and all women, old or young, rich or poor, are
reminded that what is new and fashionably made, and, above all, fresh
and clean, looks infinitely better and more ladylike than the richest,
most expensive dresses, caps, or bonnets that are the least tarnished,
faded, or of a peculiar cut no longer worn. Those candid ladies who
persist in wearing gray hair--a mode the author rather approves of,
except where nature, which she sometimes does, silvers the locks while
the countenance still continues youthful--are requested not to render
themselves absurd by intermingling artificial flowers; and a great
deal of ridicule is also directed against the English, who not only
caricature the French fashions they copy, but go about grinning in
incongruous colours, instead of tasteful contrasts, jumbling old
bonnets with new gowns and half-dirty shawls, and who walk the streets
in carriage costume. Brides bearing about orange-flowers longer than
the day of their marriage are unmercifully quizzed; as likewise the
habit of wearing satins in summer, or straw in winter--sins
exclusively British. Young married women are told not to go into
public without their husbands or some steady middle-aged matron; they
may take a walk with an unmarried friend, although this last must
never attempt to fly in the face of propriety by promenading with a
companion like herself; and no lady of any age can possibly enter a
library, museum, or picture-gallery alone, unless she wishes to study
as an artist.
I grieve to say, in that portion which is devoted to modesty and
propriety of behaviour, the extreme freedom of manner and conversation
in which young English females indulge, are both severely reprobated;
their imprudence in walking about and sitting apart with young men
held up as an example to be sedulously avoided by well-bred French
girls; their so frequently taking _complimens d'usage_ for real
admiration, and either fancying the poor man, innocently repeating
mere words of course, to be a lover, or else blushing and looking
offended, as if he meant to insult, is sneered at rather
ill-naturedly. You are next told how you should enter a shop, which,
however small, you must term a _magasin_, not a _boutique_; and the
_marchand_ himself also receives his lesson: he is to salute his
customer with a low bow and a respectful air, offer a seat, and
display with alacrity all that is asked for; and however imperious or
whimsical he or she may be, to continue the utmost urbanity of manner;
though, if any positive impertinence is shewn, the shopman is
permitted to be silent and grave; he must apologise if forced to give
copper money in change, and treat his humblest customer with as much
respect and attention as those who give large orders. But as
politeness ought in all cases to be reciprocal, the purchaser is
instructed to raise his hat on entering, and ask quietly and civilly
for what he wishes to see. No one should say: 'I want so and so;'
'Have you such and such a thing?' but, 'Will you be so good as shew
me?' or, 'I beg of you to let me look at,' &c. Should you not succeed
in suiting yourself, always express regret for the trouble you have
given. If the price be above what you calculated upon, ask simply if
it is the lowest; say you think you may find the article cheaper
elsewhere; but should this be a mistake, you will certainly give the
person you are speaking to the preference, &c. We ought to strive to
be agreeable to every one.
_Les gens de bureau_ come next under discussion. They are, it seems,
not renowned for politeness; and one should not, therefore, be
displeased if, instead of rising from his seat and placing a chair,
the banker merely bows and points to one. Lawyers, on the contrary,
are expected to behave like any other gentlemen; so also physicians.
The patient is directed in both cases to relate his grievances in
short, pithy sentences; answer all questions clearly; apologise for
taking up their time by asking them in turn--in consequence, he must
say, of his own ignorance; and then finish by warmly thanking them for
the attention they give to his affairs. Authors and artists must
affect great modesty if their performances are brought upon the
_tapis_ and complimented, and say nothing that can lead to the
supposition, that they are envious of any _confrère_ by criticising
him. Their entertainers ought to talk to them in praise of their
books, pictures, or performances; and if not connoisseurs, at least
declare themselves amateurs of the particular sort their guest excels
or would be thought to excel in; but not confining the conversation to
this, as if you supposed it was the only subject the person you wished
to please was capable of taking any interest in.
Politeness in the streets is a chapter in itself, and a long one. To
give the wall to females, old age, or high public dignitaries, is very
right in France, where there seems to be no rule for going right or
left. In England, however, it is surely more easy for all parties to
keep to their proper side of the way; but in both countries
burden-bearers, those of babies excepted, should give way, go into the
kennel, and never presume to incommode passengers of any rank. You are
entreated neither to elbow, push, nor jostle, but stand sideways to
let elderly people or ladies pass, who in their turn should express
their thanks by a slight inclination of the head. We are further
directed to tread on the middle of the stone, and not slip carelessly
into the mud, and run the risk of splashing our neighbour. An
Englishwoman, it is observed, either allows her petticoats to sweep
the streets, or lifts them in an awkward manner, sometimes even using
both hands; whereas a Parisian with her right hand gathers all the
folds to that side, and raises the whole dress a little above the
ankle, without fuss or parade. We would recommend our fair
countrywomen to practise this elegant mode of avoiding soiled
garments, and likewise doing what is termed _s'effarer_--that is, to
avoid as much as possible touching or being touched by those who pass;
mutually giving way, instead of charging forward _à l'Anglaise_,
careless of whom you run against, so as only you make your own way.
Here follows what sounds strange to us--namely, that if you are
overtaken by a heavy shower, and see a stranger walking in the same
direction with an umbrella, you may, without a breach of good manners,
request to share it. The umbrella-bearer should on his side, it is
remarked, cheerfully accord you shelter; and if the end of your
respective promenades are too distant from each other for him to
conduct you to your residence, he should make an apology at being
forced to deprive you of the accommodation, which, 'but for being
obliged to be at home at such an hour, or some excuse,' it would
otherwise have given him so much pleasure to afford you. 'Those little
graceful turns of language,' which we might think downright
falsehoods, are not to be more so considered than--'I am happy to see
you,' or 'I am your obedient servant' at the end of a letter. They
are, it is argued, understood forms of speech, which every well-bred
person practises--some of the 'sweet small courtesies of life, which
help to smooth its road.' When walking with a friend, should he raise
his hat to an acquaintance whom you never even saw before, you are
bound to pay the same compliment; and this idea is so much _de
rigueur_, that formerly very polite persons would rather affect not to
see their friends than force their companions to salute them also.
Now, however, the proper style is to say: 'I take the liberty to
salute Monsieur So-and-so,' to which the answer is: 'Je vous en prie
monsieur.' 'Never,' says our author, 'appear to see any one who is
looking out of his window or door, both improper practices, especially
the latter.' When a gentleman speaks to one much older than himself,
or to a lady, he not only raises his hat quite off his head--for none
'but an ignorant boor or a _fier Anglais_' ever does otherwise--but
holds it in his hand until requested to replace it. When you ask your
way, even of a street-porter or an apple-woman, it is necessary
slightly to half-raise the hat, and address them as Monsieur or
Madame, 'which is the way to,' &c.; and really these courteous habits,
which give little trouble, are, we must own, as pleasing as our own
rough ones are the reverse.
The chapter on visiting is very French. You are reminded that, when
you make your calls, you should avoid doing so upon days when a cold
or headache prevents you from looking well or conversing agreeably.
From twelve to five are the hours mentioned for morning visits,
instead of from two to six, which we think a better time. You must be
dressed with evident care, but as plainly as possible if you walk:
hold your card-case in the hand with an embroidered and lace-trimmed
pocket-handkerchief, 'pour donner un air de bon goût.' You may
inscribe your title on your card, but it is better merely to put your
name, such as 'Monsieur' or 'Madame de la Tarellerie,' with an earl or
viscount's coronet, or whatever your rank, above; and if you have no
title, your name without the 'Monsieur,' as 'Alfred Buntal;' however,
when you visit with your wife, you write 'Monsieur et Madame Buntal.'
When, instead of sending your cards by your servant, you call
yourself, you add 'E. P.' (_en personne_); but this is only allowable
in very great people. 'In visiting people of distinction, you leave
your parasol, umbrella, clogs, cloak, footman, nurse, child, and dog,
in the ante-room among the servants, who are there to announce you;'
but in ordinary life, after ascertaining from the _concierge_, or the
cook in the kitchen, that your friend is at home, you only tap at the
door, and on hearing '_Entrez_,' step in. You advance with grace, bow
with dignified respect, seat yourself (if a man who visits a lady) at
the lower end of the room, and never quit hat or cane until desired,
and not then till _la troisième sommation_. The placing this said hat
properly, seems to be an affair of the utmost moment. You may place it
on the bottom of a table, on a stand, or even upon the floor, but are
warned not to put it on the bed, for as that always belongs to the
lady of the house, it should not be approached by the visiting
gentleman. The receiver should both appear and express him or herself
enchanted and charmed to welcome their _monde_, assure them of the
great regret felt at their departure--however you may wish them
gone--say, or repeat as said by others, what will please; and never
allude, even indirectly, to anything that can possibly hurt or mortify
any one. When other visitors are announced, those who have been above
ten minutes, had better go: a man should slip away without
leave-taking. If discovered, and begged to remain by the mistress of
the house, he must be asked and refuse three times before he consents;
then sit down for two minutes only, rising then, and saying an affair
of consequence obliges him to quit _la charmante société_. No
gentleman will permit, of course, any one to _reconduire_ him when his
friends are engaged with other company, but shut the door himself,
_vivement_, after a general _salut_ and a pretty compliment. But it
will better give an idea of the minute directions considered
necessary, if I translate a sentence entire:--When, during a 'visit of
half-ceremony,' you are earnestly requested to remain a little longer,
it is better to yield; but in a few minutes rise again. Should your
hostess still further insist, taking you by the hands, and forcing you
again to seat yourself, it would be scarcely polite not to comply;
but, at the same time, after a short interval, you must make your
adieus a third time, and positively depart.
When several meet together, polite persons contrive to make those who
went last into one room enter first into the next; and as hosts
distribute attentions to all in turn--handing the lady of highest
rank, or greatest age, into a dinner or supper room--he or she
recommends a particular dish first to the second in consideration,
proposes to a third to examine a picture, or any pretty thing, before
handing it to others; and so on--making, as it were, every one of
consequence, and socially promoting _liberté_, _egalité_, and
_fraternité_. Those who are poor, and have no servant to attend at
their home during absence, should place a slate and slate-pencil at
their door, in order that those who visit them may write their names
and business.
When you receive company, your apartment should unite French elegance
with English comfort. If not rich, and able to keep many servants,
appoint one day in the week to see your friends, and keep to that day
always. Let your dress, and that of your domestic, and the arrangement
of your small domicile, be all in order: however poor and simple, be
clean and tidy; have flowers, and whatever small elegances you can
collect. 'It is better to receive in the _salon_, if you have one,
than in your bedroom; but that should be preferred before the _salle à
manger_.'--To understand this, we must remember, that in ordinary
life--especially in the provinces--the dining-room resembles in
general a servants-hall--deal-table, brick floor, or at best boarded,
with no carpet; and so forth; the lady's bedroom, on the contrary,
except the bed, might pass for a boudoir, everything unseemly being
removed during the day.--And when you give a party, you can
take coffee in your own private apartment, and receive your
morning-visitors there always. When any one enters, rise, go to meet
him, and say how glad you are to see him. A lady you take by the hand,
and seat her on the sofa, where the lady of the house may place
herself likewise; but the monsieur must not presume on such a liberty,
but draw his chair to a convenient distance from it for conversation.
You offer a young man an easy-chair, but an old gentleman you _insist_
upon occupying it. If the best place in the room be filled by a young
woman, and one to whom respect is due enters, the former cedes it to
the last arrival, and modestly places herself opposite the fire, which
in winter is considered the least honourable situation, as the side is
the most so. People of _bon ton_ present their guests with footstools,
not _chaufferettes_, as is the comfortable custom in grades less
distinguished. Those who are occupied working or drawing, must lay
both aside when but slightly acquainted with their visitor; if, on the
contrary, it is one whom you see frequently, you comply with the
request which she ought to make, that you will continue it. But should
it be a relative, or very intimate friend, you yourself beg permission
to go on with your employment, if at least it is one you can pursue
and converse easily at the same time; but it should be quite
subservient to your visitor's entertainment.
When a new guest arrives, the others rise as well as the master and
mistress of the house; it is considered very ill-bred not to do so, or
not to treat with politeness every one you meet at a house where you
visit--conversing agreeably, and not looking at a stranger with a
stony stare, like a stiff Englishman, as if you supposed they were not
as fit for society as yourself, a style of insular manners considered
insolent in that 'nation whose inhabitants give laws of politeness to
the world.' If there are many people present at a morning-call, the
earlier comers should retire. During extremely hot weather, or to an
author reading his production, you may offer a glass of sirup, or _eau
sucrée_, or if a lady becomes faint, some _fleur d'orange_ and water;
but it is provincial to propose anything else; and, indeed, the French
never eat between meals, or in any rank above the very lowest will one
be seen to partake of anything in the street, fruit or cake, or even
give them to their children, it being considered quite mob-manners to
do so.
It need hardly be said, in conclusion, that the French exercise
considerable tact in the matter of introducing one person to another.
They know who should be introduced to each other, and who should not.
In our own country, people sometimes think they are performing an act
of politeness in introducing one person to another, whereas they are
probably giving offence to one of the parties. And with this hint on
an important subject, we close our observations on the laws of
politeness.