THE KISS AND ITS HISTORY
THE KISS
And its History
BY
DR CHRISTOPHER NYROP
_Professor of Romance Philology at the University of Copenhagen_
TRANSLATED BY
WILLIAM FREDERICK HARVEY
_M.A., Hertford College, Oxford; Barrister-at-Law of the Inner
Temple; Lecturer in English at the University of Lund
(Sweden); sometime Professor of English Literature
at the University of Malta_
LONDON
SANDS & CO.
12 BURLEIGH STREET, STRAND
1901
TO
WALTER BENSON, Esquire
I DEDICATE MY MODEST PART IN THIS BOOK
IN TOKEN OF A FRIENDSHIP WHICH
HAS GROWN STAUNCHER WITH
THE GROWTH OF
YEARS
ἦ μεγάλα χάρις
Δώρῳ ξὐν όλίγῳ· πάντα δἐ τιμᾶντα τἀ πἀρ ϕίλων
THEOCRITUS, _Idyl_ xxviii., 24, 25.
“Surely great grace goes with a little gift, and all the offerings of
friends are precious.”
Je célèbre des jeux paisibles,
Qu’en vain on semble mépriser,
Les vrais biens des âmes sensibles,
Les doux mystères du baiser.
DORAT.
To gentle sports due praise I render,
At which some wits have vainly sneered:
The true delight of spirits tender,
The kiss’s mysteries endeared.
W. F. H.
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE
The following treatise, which is the work of a Romance philologist of
high European reputation, has not only gone through two editions in
Denmark, but has also been translated into German, Swedish, and Russian.
The popularity which this learned and at the same time charming little
book rapidly acquired abroad, and the favourable criticisms passed on it
by Continental scholars, have encouraged me to present it to my
fellow-countrymen in an English dress. With regard to the numerous
poetical quotations that form so striking a feature of this book, those
which I have translated myself may be distinguished from such as I have
borrowed from standard versions by the appended initials, W. F. H.
INNER TEMPLE, LONDON, _2nd August 1901_.
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
Wenn ich nur selber wüsste,
Was mir in die Seele zischt!
Die Worte und die Küsse
Sind wunderbar vermischt.
Oh, could I but decipher
What ’tis that fills my mind.
The words are with the kisses
So wond’rously combined.
HEINE.
Dante, in the fifth canto of his _Hell_, has celebrated the power a kiss
may have over human beings. In the course of his wanderings in the
nether world, when he has reached the spot where abide those who have
sinned through love, he sees two souls that “flutter so lightly in the
wind.” These are Francesco da Rimini and her brother-in-law Paolo. He
asks Francesco to tell him:
“In the time of your sweet sighs,
By what, and how love granted, that ye knew
Your yet uncertain wishes?”
Whereto she replies:
“One day
For our delight we read of Lancelot,
How him love thrall’d. Alone we were, and no
Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading
Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue
Fled from our alter’d cheek. But at one point
Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,
The wished smile, so rapturously kissed
By one so deep in love, then he, who ne’er
From me shall separate, at once my lips
All trembling kiss’d. The book and writer both
Were love’s purveyors. In its leaves that day
We read no more.”[1]
I have had a special object in prefacing my studies on the history of
kissing with these famous verses, for I regarded it in the light of a
duty to caution my readers emphatically, and at the very outset, as to
the danger of even reading about kisses; and I consider that, having
done this, I have warned my readers against pursuing the subject, and
“forewarned is forearmed,” or, “_homme averti en vaut deux_.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. WHAT IS A KISS? 3
II. LOVE KISSES 29
III. AFFECTIONATE KISSES 79
IV. THE KISS OF PEACE 101
V. THE KISS OF RESPECT 113
VI. THE KISS OF FRIENDSHIP 141
VII. VARIOUS KINDS OF KISSES 161
VIII. THE ORIGIN OF KISSING 177
L’ENVOI 189
I
WHAT IS A KISS?
CHAPTER I
WHAT IS A KISS?
It may perhaps seem somewhat futile to begin with discussing what a kiss
is: that every child of course knows. We are greeted with kisses
directly we enter the world, and kisses follow us all our life long, as
Hölty sings--
Giving kisses, snatching kisses,
Keeps the busy world employed.
W. F. H.
Nevertheless the question is not altogether superfluous. It seems to me
even to offer certain points of interest, inasmuch as it is by no means
so easy as people may imagine to define what a kiss is. If we turn to
the poets we are often put off with the answer that a kiss is something
that should be merely felt, and that people would do well to refrain
from speculating as to what it actually is.
What says this glance? What meaning lurks in this
Squeezing of hands, embrace, and ling’ring kiss?
This only can your heart explain to you.
What have such matters with the brain to do?
W. F. H.
So, for instance, says Aarestrup; but he adds as a sort of explanation--
But when I see thee my fond kiss denying,
And straightway, nathless, mine embrace not spurning,
Then needs must I to tedious arts be turning,
And let crabb’d wisdom from my lips go flying.
Know then the voice alone interprets rightful
And with poetic fire from heart’s depth welleth,
And yet the sweetest of them all by no means!
Whereas the bosom, arms, and lips, and eye-sheens--
How shall I call it? for the total swelleth
Unto a language wordless as delightful.
W. F. H.
which has not brought us nearer to a solution of the question. Other
poets give us an allegorical transcription, couched in vague poetical
terms, which rather refer to the feelings of which the kiss may be an
expression than attempt to define its physiology. Thus Paul Verlaine
defines a kiss as “the fiery accompaniment on the keyboard of the teeth
of the lovely songs which love sings in a burning heart.”
Baiser! rose trémière au jardin des caresses!
Vif accompagnement sur le clavier des dents,
Des doux refrains qu’Amour chante en les cœurs ardents
Avec sa voix d’archange aux langueurs charmeresses!
This definition, which seems to me to be as original as it is beautiful
and apt, deals, however, exclusively with the kiss of love; but kisses,
as we all know, are capable of expressing many other emotions, and it
enlightens us not one whit as to the external side of the nature of a
kiss. Let us, therefore, leave the poets, and seek refuge with the
philologists.
In the _Dictionary of the Danish Philological Society_ (_Videnskabernes
Selskabs Ordbog_) a kiss is defined as “a pressure of the mouth against
a body.” As every one at once perceives, this explanation is very
unsatisfactory, for, from the above statements, we could hardly accept
more than one, viz., the mouth. Now, of course, it is quite clear that
one of the first requisites for a kiss is a mouth. “Einen Kuss an sich,
ohne Mund, kann man nicht geben,” say the Germans, and it is also
remarkable that in Finnish, _antaa sunta_, “to kiss,” means literally
“to give mouth.”
How does the mouth produce a kiss?
A kiss is produced by a kind of sucking movement of the muscles of the
lips, accompanied by a weaker or louder sound. Thus, from a purely
phonetic point of view, a kiss may be defined as an inspiratory bilabial
sound, which English phoneticians call the lip-click, _i.e._, the sound
made by smacking the lip. This movement of the muscles, however, is not
of itself sufficient to produce a kiss, it being, as you know, employed
by coachmen when they want to start their horses; but it becomes a kiss
only when it is used as an expression of a certain feeling, and when the
lips are pressed against, or simply come into contact with, a living
creature or object.
The sound which follows a kiss has been carefully investigated by the
Austrian _savant_, W. von Kempelen, in his remarkable book entitled _The
Mechanism of Human Speech_ (Wien, 1791). He divides kisses into three
sorts, according to their sound. First he treats of kisses proper, which
he characterises as a _freundschaftlich hellklatschender Herzenskuss_
(an affectionate, clear-ringing kiss coming from the heart); next he
defines the more discreet, or, from an acoustic point of view, weaker
kiss; and, lastly, speaks contemptuously of a third kind of kiss, which
is designated an _ekelhafter Schmatz_ (a loathsome smack).
Many other writers have, although in a less scientific manner, sought to
define and elucidate the sound that arises from a kiss. Johannes
Jørgensen says very delicately in his _Stemninger_ that “the plash of
the waves against the pebbles of the beach is like the sound of long
kisses.”
It is generally, however, an exclusively humorous or satirical aspect
that is most conspicuous. In the _Seducer’s Diary_ (_Forførerens
dagbog_) of Sören Kierkegaard, Johannes speaks of the engaged couples
who used to assemble in numbers at his uncle’s house: “Without
interruption, the whole evenings through, one hears a sound as if a
person was going round with a fly-flap: that is the lovers’ kisses.” A
still more drastic comparison is found in the German expression, “the
kiss sounded just like when a cow drags her hind hoof out of a swamp.”
This metaphor, which is used, you know, by Mark Twain, is as graphic as
it is easy of comprehension; whereas, on the other hand, I am somewhat
perplexed with regard to an old Danish expression that is to be found in
the Ole Lade’s Phrases (_Fraser_): “He kissed her so that it rang just
as it does when one strikes the horns off felled cows.” Another old
author speaks of kissing that sounds as if one was pulling the horn out
of an owl.
The emotions expressed by this more or less noisy lip-sound are manifold
and varying: burning love and affectionate friendship, exultant joy and
profound grief, etc., etc.; consequently there must be many different
sorts of kisses.
The austere old Rabbis only recognised three kinds of kisses, viz.:
those of greeting, farewell, and respect. The Romans had also three
kinds, but their classification was essentially at variance with the
Rabbis’: they distinguished between _oscula_,[2] friendly kisses,
_basia_, kisses of love, and _suavia_, passionate kisses. The
significance of these words is clearly expressed in the following
lines:--
Basia coniugibus, sed et oscula dantur amicis,
Suavia lascivis miscantur grata labellis.
But the Romans’ division is by no means exhaustive; kisses are and have
been actually employed to express many other feelings than those
above-mentioned.
That kisses in this book are arranged in five groups, viz., kisses of
passion, love, peace, respect, and friendship, is chiefly due to
practical considerations; for, to be precise, these artificially-formed
groups are inadequate, and, besides, often overlap one another.
A modern French writer reckons no less than twenty sorts of kisses, but
I find in German dictionaries over thirty different designations:
_Abschiedskuss_, _Brautkuss_, _Bruderkuss_, _Dankkuss_, _Doppelkuss_,
_Ehrenkuss_, _Erwiderungskuss_, _Feuerkuss_, _Flammenkuss_,
_Frauenkuss_, _Freundschaftskuss_, _Friedenskuss_, _Gegenkuss_,
_Geisterkuss_, _Handkuss_, _Honigkuss_, _Inbrunstkuss_, _Judaskuss_,
_Lehenskuss_, _Liebeskuss_, _Mädchenkuss_, _Minnekuss_, _Morgenkuss_,
_Mutterkuss_, _Nebenkuss_, _Pantoffelkuss_, _Segenskuss_,
_Söhnungskuss_, _Undschuldskuss_, _Vermählungskuss_, _Versöhnungskuss_,
_Wechselkuss_, _Weihekuss_, _Zuckerkuss_, etc., etc. In German the verb
itself, “to kiss,” is varied in many different ways, _e.g._, in Germany
one may _auküssen_, _aufküssen_, _ausküssen_, _beküssen_, _durchküssen_,
_emporküssen_, _entküssen_, _erküssen_, _fortküssen_, _herküssen_,
_nachküssen_, _verküssen_, _vorbeiküssen_, _wegküssen_, _widerküssen_,
_zerküssen_, _zuküssen_, and _zurückküssen_.
We must give the Germans the credit of being thorough, and in the
highest degree methodical and exhaustive in their nomenclature, for can
we conceive a more admirable word than, for instance, _nachküssen_,
which is explained as “making up for kisses that have been omitted, or
supplementing kisses”? However, on the other hand, it cannot be denied
that they are at the same time awkward and tasteless in their
expressions; a word such as _ausküssen_, which, for instance, is used in
the refrain: _Trink aus! Küss aus!_ seems to me to smack perilously of
the ale-house.
We have now seen what a kiss is; but before proceeding to investigate
the different kinds of kisses, their significance in the history of
civilisation, and treatment in poetry, it still remains for us to reply
to some of the ordinary queries regarding the nature and characteristics
of the kiss.
In the first place we must investigate the kiss in its gustative aspect.
I here confine myself to what Kierkegaard calls “the perfect kiss,”
_i.e._, the kiss between man and woman; kisses between men are,
according to that authority, insipid.
_Küssen, wo smekt dat? see de maid._ Yes, its taste naturally depends
entirely on the circumstances, and experience is here a teacher that
sets every theory at nought; but a few leading features may, however, be
indicated.
When Lars Iversen, in Schandorph’s _Skovfogedbørnene_, has kissed Mette
Splyd, he wipes his mouth and says, when he has got well outside the
door, “That tasted like meat that has been kept too long.” When the old
minnesinger, King Wenceslaus of Bohemia, had kissed his sweetheart he
sang: “Just as a rose that opens its calix when it drinks the sweet dew,
she offered me her sugar-sweet red mouth.”
Recht als ein rôse diu sich ûz ir klôsen lât,
Swenn si des süezen touwes gert,
Sus bòt si mir ir zuckersüezen ròten munt.
As we perceive from both these examples, there is a great distinction
between kisses in their gustative aspect, but, for obvious reasons, I
shall entirely exclude the variety represented by Mette Splyd.
The most frequently employed and, at the same time undoubtedly the most
fitting epithet of a kiss, is that it is sweet. The shepherd in the
French pastorals is fond of asking for a sweet kiss (_un doux baiser_),
and poets innumerable, like Wenceslaus, have sung about the beloved’s
sugar mouth. During the Renaissance such expressions as her _bouche
sucrine_ (sugary mouth) and _bouche pleine de sucre et d’ambregris_
(mouth full of sugar and ambergris) were often employed.
We find this further borne out by two Latin epigrams. One asks:--“What
is sweeter than mead?” and the answer runs: “The dew of heaven. And what
is sweeter than dew?--Honey from Hybla? What is sweeter than
honey?--Nectar. Than nectar?--A kiss.”
Quid mulso præstat? Ros cœli. Rore quid? Hyblæ Mel. Melle hoc?
Nectar. Nectare? Suaviolum.
The second epigram goes through a similar string of comparisons, and
arrives at the same result: “What is better than sugar?--Honey-cake.
Than honey-cake?--The flavour of honey-combs. Than this flavour?--Dewy
kisses”--
Saccharo quid superat? Libum. Quid libo? Favorum Gustus. At hunc
gustum? Basia roscidula.
Kisses are sweet as woman’s gentle breath, which, according to a
Roumanian folk-song, smells of “delicate young wine,” or, as the French
poets say, of “thousands of flowers.”--
Laughing mouth, mouth to caress,
Kissing ere its lips you press;
Sweet for kissing, balmy breath
Like the perfume of fresh heath.
W. F. H.
A woman’s breath, which intoxicates man, is, as it were, the ethereal
expression of her whole being. In the description of the youthful
Blancheflor we are told that her breath is so delicious and refreshing
that he who experiences it knows not pain, and needs no food for a whole
week.
De sa bouche ist si douce haleine,
Vivre en peut-on une semaine;
Qui au lundi le sentiroit
En la semaine mal n’avroit.
Moreover, as the flavour of a kiss depends on the woman’s mouth, let
us, therefore, investigate how a woman’s mouth ought to be fashioned in
order to fulfil its purpose from a philematological point of view. When
the mediæval French poets describe a beautiful and desirable woman they
say of her mouth that it must be “well-formed and sweet to kiss” (_bien
faite et douce pour baiser_). The troubadours likewise in their love
poems praise the mouth that is _ben faita ad obs de baisar_.
If more detailed explanations are wanted they can easily be given. The
lips must, in the first place, be bewitchingly soft; next, they must be
as red as coral:
Los labios de la su boca
Como un fino coral,
or else red as roses:
La bocca piccioletta e colorita,
Vermiglia come rosa di giardino,
Piagente ed amorosa per baciare.[3]
This last simile is one of the most frequently employed. The beloved
one’s mouth is likened to a rose; it has the scent and colour of a
rose:
Hæc dulcis in amore
Est et plena decore,
Rosa rubet rubore,
Et lilium convallium
Tota vincit odore,
sang the wandering clerks in the Middle Ages, the jolly Goliards, and
they extolled the youth who was lucky enough to kiss the mouth of such a
woman:
Felix est qui osculis mellifluis
Ipsius potitur.
And, they went on to say, “on every maiden’s lips the kiss sits like a
rose which only longs to be plucked”:
Sedit in ore
Rosa cum pudore.
The old German minnesingers use the expression _Küssblümlein_
(kiss-floweret), and a bard of the Netherlands sings: “My beloved is my
summer, my beloved is my joy, all the roses bloom every time she gives
me a kiss”:
Mijn liefken is mijn somer,
Min liefken is mijn lust,
En al de rosen bloejen
So dicmael si mi cust.
But all this is only poetry, merely feeble imageries which only give an
entirely weak idea of the reality. How accurate is Thomas Moore when,
in one of his poems, he declares that roses are not so warm as his
beloved’s mouth, nor can the dew approach it in sweetness.
Now if we turn to the other aspect of the case and see what women expect
from a man’s kiss, then the question becomes somewhat more difficult to
treat, inasmuch as so exceedingly few women have treated of kisses in
poetry--a fact which is also in itself quite natural. Runeberg, who
himself has so often sung the praises of kissing without, however, being
versed in their nature:
For my part I’ve ne’er understood
Of kisses what can be the good;
But I should die if kept away
From thy red lips one single day.
W. F. H.
asks his beloved:
Now, dearest maiden, answer me,
What joy can kisses bring to thee?
W. F. H.
But she fails to answer him:
I ask thee now, as I asked this,
And all thy answer’s kiss on kiss.
W. F. H.
Besides, it seems very evident from the last line that the situation did
not admit of the calmer and more sober observation which forms the
necessary condition for a reliable answer to the question. I am,
therefore, obliged to attempt to reply to the question myself; but I
readily admit my deficiency in the essential qualification of being able
to do so in a satisfactory manner. Moreover, the literary material at my
disposal is exceedingly inadequate, and, for that reason, I cannot claim
any universal application for my treatment of the subject.
In the first place it seems indisputable that a woman gives a decided
preference to a man with a beard; at all events a heiduke sings in a
Roumanian ballad: “I am still too young to marry; my beard has not yet
sprouted. What married woman then will care about kissing me?”
Că simt voinic neinsorat;
Nici mustete nu m’a dat:
Cum simt bun de sărutat
La neveste cu bărbat?
To judge from the part the heidukes play in the ballad literature of the
Roumanians and Serbs, they must be very experienced in everything that
has to do with women and love, and their testimony must therefore be
accepted as being sufficiently reliable. Besides, we find the same taste
among women in Northern Europe. In Germany there is said to be nothing
in a kiss without a beard: _Ein Kuss ohne Bart ist eine Vesper ohne
Magnificat_ (a kiss without a beard is like Vespers without the
Magnificat); or, still more strongly, _Ein Kuss ohne Bart ist ein Ei
ohne Salz_ (a kiss without a beard is like an egg without salt). The
young girls in Holland also incline to this point of view: _Een kussje
zonder baard, een eitje zonder zout_ (an egg without salt), and they
have in the Frisian Islands some who share their taste: _An Kleeb sanner
Biard as äs en Brei sanner Salt_ (porridge without salt). Lastly, the
Jutland lassies also take the same view of the matter--in fact they are,
if I may say so, even more refined in their requirements; a kiss is not
only to sound, but it must have some flavour about it--it ought to be
strong and luscious: _At kysse en karl uden skrå og skaeg er som at
kysse en leret vaeg_ (kissing a fellow without a quid of tobacco and a
beard is like kissing a clay wall), say those who express themselves in
the most refined manner; but there are others who are not so particular
in the choice of words, and these latter say straight out: _Å kys jen,
dæ hveken røger eller skråer, de æ som mæ ku kys æ spæ kal i r._,
(kissing one who neither smokes nor chews tobacco is like kissing a
new-born calf on the rump). On the other hand, a person should not be
too wet about the mouth--that they do not like; _e.g._, the scornful
saying: “He is nice to kiss when one is thirsty,” or, as the German
girls say: _Einen Kuss mit Sauce bekommen_ (to get a kiss with sauce).
It apparently follows from this that women are not so simple in their
tastes as men; a kiss by itself is not sufficient, it requires some
condiment or other in addition--and, for the credit of women’s taste,
let it be said--this need not always be tobacco. In a French folk-song
the lover tells us that he has smeared his mouth with fresh butter so
that it may taste better:
J’avais toujou dans ma pochette
Du bon bieur’ frais,
O qué je me gressais la goule,
Quand j’ l’embrassais.
I have already mentioned in my preface how dangerous the mere reading
about kisses may be; but, apart from literature, a kiss is something
which has to be dealt with most cautiously. Now hear what Socrates said
to Xenophon one day: “Kritobulus is the most foolhardy and rash fellow
in the world; he is rasher than if he meant to dance on naked
sword-points or fling himself into the fire; he has had the audacity to
kiss a pretty face.”--“But,” asked Xenophon, “is that such a deed of
daring? I am certainly no desperado, but still I think I would venture
to expose myself to the same risk.”--“Luckless wight,” replied Socrates,
“you are not thinking what would betide you. If you kissed a pretty
face, would you not that very instant lose your freedom and become a
slave? Would you not have to spend much money on harmful amusements, and
would you not do much which you would despise, if your understanding
were not clouded? Hercules forbid what dreadful effects a poor kiss can
have! And dost thou marvel at it, Xenophon? You know, I take it, those
tiny spiders which are not half the size of an obol, and yet they can,
through merely touching a person’s mouth, cause him the keenest pains;
nay, even deprive him of his understanding. But, by Jupiter, anyhow this
is quite another matter; for spiders poison the wound directly they
inflict a sting. O, thou simple fellow, dost thou not know that lustful
kisses are poisoned, even if thou failest to perceive the poison? Dost
thou not know that she to whom the name of beautiful is given is a wild
beast far more dangerous than scorpions; for the latter only poison us
by their touch, whereas beauty destroys us without actual contact with
us, and even ejects from a long distance a venom so dangerous that
people are deprived thereby of their wits. This is the reason why I
advise you, O Xenophon, to run away as fast as you can the very instant
you see a beautiful woman, and with regard to yourself, O Kritobulus, I
deem you will act most prudently in spending a whole year abroad; for
that is the least time necessary for curing thy wound.”[4]
It may perhaps be thought that Socrates’ fear of kissing is a trifle
exaggerated, his idea possibly arising from a certain prejudice derived
from Mistress Xantippe; anyhow, nowadays, we regard the matter from a
far more sober point of view. We ought, nevertheless, to be well on our
guard against the frivolous opinion expressed in so many modern sayings,
that a kiss is a thing of no consequence whatever. The Italians bluntly
assert “that a mouth is none the worse for having been kissed” (_bocca
baciata non perde ventura_), and a French writer of the present day even
goes so far as to compare a kiss with those usually-harmless bullets
which are exchanged in modern duels. _Bah! deux baisers, qu’est que
cela? On les échange comme des balles sans résultat, et l’honneur reste
satisfait_ (Bah! two kisses. What of that? They are exchanged like
bullets that miss the mark, and honour is satisfied).
This frivolous notion must not, however, be deemed peculiar to the Latin
nations: it is to be met with even in the North. In Norway there is a
song:
Jens Johannesen, the Goth so brave,
The maid on her chops a good buss gave.
He kissed her once, and once again,
But each time was she likewise fain,
But each time was she likewise fain.
W. F. H.
As you see, the last line of the verse is repeated as if for the
purpose of duly impressing the moral of the song.
It is said in Als: _Et kys er et stow, den der it vil ha et, ka vask et
ow_ (a kiss is like a grain of dust, which any one who would be rid of
it can wash away). We read as far back as Peder Syv[5]: _Et kys kan
afviskes_ (a kiss can be washed away), but he adds solemnly, and for our
warning: “She who permits a kiss also permits more; and he who has
access to kisses has also access to more.” Even the Germans say: _Kuss
kann man zwar abwischen, aber das Feuer im Herzen nich löschen_ (a kiss
may indeed be washed away, but the fire in the heart cannot be
quenched).
Thus hardly the shadow of a doubt ought to exist as to kisses being
extraordinarily dangerous--or, in any case, capable of becoming so--far
more dangerous, for instance, than dynamite or gun-cotton; in the first
place, at any rate, inasmuch as people are not in the habit of walking
about with such explosives in their pockets, whereas every one has
kisses always at hand, or, more correctly speaking, in their mouths;
secondly, we are rid of dynamite when once it has exploded, but, on the
other hand, we can never actually be quit of a kiss--without at the same
time returning it; for we take back the kisses we give, you know, and we
give, too, those we take back--and, adds the proverb, “nobody is the
loser.” _Einen Kuss den man raubt giebt man wieder_ (One returns a
stolen kiss), say the Germans; and the Spaniards have expressed the same
thought in a neat little _copla_: “Dost thy mother chide thee for having
given me a kiss? Then take back, dear girl, thy kiss, and bid her hold
her tongue.”
¿Porque un beso me has dado
Riñe tu madre?
Toma, niña, tu beso;
Dile que calle.
Marot has treated the same subject in his epigram _Le Baiser Volé_, or
the Stolen Kiss.
About my daring now you grieve,
To snatch a kiss without ado,
Nor even saying, “By your leave.”
Come, I will make my peace with you,
And now I want you to believe
I’m loth your soul again to grieve
By theft of kisses, since, alack,
My kiss has wrought such dole and teen;
Yet ’tis not lost; I’ll give it back,
And that right blithely, too, I ween.
W. F. H.
There is a French anecdote of the present day about a student who took
the liberty of kissing a young girl. She got very angry, however, and
called him an insolent puppy, whereupon he retorted with irrefutable
logic: _Pour Dieu! Mademoiselle ne vous fâchez pas, si ce baiser vous
gêne, rendez-le-moi_ (For goodness’ sake, don’t be cross, young lady. If
that kiss annoys you, give it back to me). It seems to have had a more
amicable settlement in the case of a Danish couple who had resolved to
break off their engagement: “It is best, I suppose, that we return each
other’s letters?” said he. “I think so too,” replied she, “but shall we
not at the same time give each other all our kisses back?” They did so,
and thus agreed to renew their engagement.
This little story shows us that a kiss is something which cannot be so
easily lost, and I hope, not least for the sake of my book, that we
shall concur in the Italian proverb which says: _Bacio dato non e mai
perduto_ (a kiss once given is never lost).
II
LOVE KISSES
A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth and love
And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;
Such kisses as belong to early days,
Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,
And the blood’s lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake,--for a kiss’s strength
I think, it must be reckon’d by its length.
BYRON.