So long as the foot remains entirely covered, its beauty is, on the
whole, of less importance than the grace of its movements. Grace, under
all circumstances, is as potent a love-charm as Beauty itself—of which,
in fact, it is only a phase; and if young men and women could be made to
realise how much they could add to their fascinations by cultivating a
graceful gait and attitudes, hygienic shoemakers, dancing-masters, and
gymnasiums would enjoy as great and sudden a popularity as
skating-rinks, and a much more permanent popularity too.
It is the laws of Grace that chiefly determine the most admirable
characteristics of the foot. The arched instep is beautiful because of
its curved outlines; but its greatest value lies in the superior
elasticity and grace it imparts to the gait. The habitual carrying of
heavy loads tends to make the feet flat and to ruin Grace; hence the
clumsy gait of most working people, and, on the other hand, the graceful
walk of the “aristocratic” classes.
The proper size of the foot, again, is most easily determined with
reference to the principles of Grace. Motion is graceful when it does
not involve any waste of energy, and when it is in accordance with the
lines of Beauty. There must be no disproportion between the machinery
and the work done—no locomotive to pull a baby-carriage. Too large feet
are ugly because they appear to have been made for carrying a giant; too
small ones are ugly because seemingly belonging to a dwarf. What are the
exact proportions lying between “too large” and “too small” can only be
determined by those who have educated their taste by the study of the
laws of Beauty and Grace throughout Nature.
From this point of view Grace is synonymous with _functional fitness_. A
monkey’s foot is less beautiful than a man’s, but in _climbing_ it is
more graceful; whereas in _walking_ man’s is infinitely more graceful.
Apes rarely assume an erect position, and when they do so they never
walk on the flat sole. “When the orang-outang takes to the ground,” says
Mr. E. B. Tylor, “he shambles _clumsily_ along, generally putting down
the outer edge of the foot and the bent knuckles of the hand.”
I have italicised the word “clumsily” because it touches the vital point
of the question. Man owes his intellectual superiority largely to the
fact that he does not need his hands for walking or climbing, but uses
them as organs of delicate touch and as tools. To acquire this
independence of the hands he needed feet, which enabled him to stand
erect and walk along, not “clumsily,” but firmly, naturally, and
therefore gracefully. Hence in course of time, through the effects of
constant use, there was developed the callous cushion of the heel and
toes; while, through discontinuance of the habit of climbing, the toes
became reduced in size. In the ape’s foot, it is well known, the toes
are almost as long as the fingers of the hand: a fact which led
Blumenbach and Cuvier to classify apes as quadrumana or four-_handed_
animals. But Professor Huxley showed that this classification was based
on erroneous reasoning. The resemblance between the hands and feet of
apes is merely _physiological_ or functional—because hands and feet are
used alike for climbing. But _anatomically_, in its bones and muscles,
etc., the monkey’s apparent hind “hand” is a true foot no less than
man’s. If the _physiological_ function, _i.e._ the opposability of the
thumb to the other fingers, were taken as a ground of classification,
then birds, who have such toes, would have no feet at all but only wings
and hands.
There is a limit, however, beyond which the size of man’s toe’s cannot
be reduced without injuring the foot’s usefulness and the grace of gait.
The front part of the foot is distinguished for its yielding or elastic
character. Hence, says Professor Humphrey, “in descending from a height,
as from a chair or in walking downstairs, we alight upon the balls of
the toes. If we alight upon the heels—for instance, if we walk
downstairs on the heels—we find it an uncomfortable and rather jarring
procedure. In walking and jumping, it is true, the heels come first in
contact with the ground, but the weight then falls obliquely upon them,
and is not fully borne by the foot till the toes also are upon the
ground.”
One of the reasons why Grace is more rare even than Beauty on this
planet is that the toes are cramped or even turned out of their natural
position by tight, pointed, fashionable shoes, and are thus prevented
from giving elasticity to the step. Instances are not rare (and by no
means only in China) where the great toe is almost at right angles to
the length of the foot. In walking, says Professor Flower, “the heel is
first lifted from the ground, and the weight of the body gradually
transferred through the middle to the anterior end of the foot, and the
final push or impulse given with the great toe. It is necessary then
that all these parts should be in a straight line with one another.”
It is a mooted question whether the toes should be slightly turned
outward, as dancing-masters insist, or placed in straight parallel
lines, as some physiologists hold. For the reason indicated in the last
paragraph, physiologists are clearly right. With parallel or almost
parallel great toes, a graceful walk is more easily attained than by
turning out the toes. Even in standing, Dr. T. S. Ellis argues, the
parallel position is preferable: “When a body stands on four points I
know of no reason why it should stand more firmly if those points be
unequally disposed. The tendency to fall forwards would seem to be even
increased by widening the distance between the points in front, and it
is in this direction that falls most commonly occur.”