COURTING IN FRANCE AND ENGLAND
Kneeling and sitting--The piquancy of French courting--The use of
the second person singular--The sealing kiss.
The art of courtship as practised in France and England leaves the
amorous Gaul sometimes at a decided disadvantage, and sometimes at a
marked advantage, by comparison with the Briton. On the whole, I think
honours are easy. Take the declaration of love. In France the foolish
animal has to go on his knees at the feet of the adored one, who
through her modestly drooping eyelashes can make an inventory of the
suitor's least defects--of the bald spot on his crown, his languishing
eyes, with their white turned up in the ardour of passion, maybe of the
little wart which will obtrude itself for observation, especially at
such a moment. The poor Frenchman is obliged to run the risk of making
himself very ridiculous.
But now turn to England. There, if you would a-wooing go, you sit down
comfortably, very much at your ease, with the beloved object of your
dreams at your side, or sitting on a cushion at your feet. Thus
situated, you can murmur your soft whispers of love into her ears
without any risk of dislocating your spinal column. The ladies will
possibly think that the business is more nicely arranged in France, but
they will hardly get the other sex to agree with them.
In America I never was able to make any observations on the subject.
Those provoking Yankees invariably waited until I had left their houses
to proceed to business.
What adds, however, to the charm of the French system of making love is
that French girls do not enjoy the same freedom as English ones, and
that the declarations of love are made in the sweet moments stolen from
the watchfulness of their parents.
What, for instance, would an English girl, or for that matter an
American one, think of the young lady in M. Victorien Sardou's comedy
of 'Old Bachelors,' who, finding herself alone with her lover--a lover
to whom she is engaged to be married--reproaches him with having
ventured into her presence when he knew that there was no one with her?
'N'est-ce pas que c'est bon d'etre ensemble?' pleads the young man.
'Je n'ai pas dit que ce ne fut pas bon,' replies the young lady in good
epigrammatic style; 'j'ai dit que ce n'etait pas bien.'
To the Anglo-Saxon people who have not familiarized themselves with
French customs and modes of thought, it seems simply inconceivable that
a girl who intends to entrust to a particular man the happiness of her
life should think there could be danger, indiscretion, impropriety of
any, even the slightest kind, in talking to him for a few moments
without the presence of witnesses.
* * * * *
I have always pitied the English-speaking people for using the second
person singular only when addressing the Almighty.
I am not speaking of poetry, of course, but of everyday conversational
prose. This second person singular seems to me indispensable for the
due expression of love. Where is the Frenchwoman who does not remember
with a thrill of pleasure the never-to-be-forgotten moment when her
lover, after many times saying to her 'Je vous aime,' got emboldened
enough, by her return of his deep affection, to change that 'Je vous
aime' into 'Je t'aime'?
She knows that this change of person sealed her fate, that from the
very moment that second person singular was used she became his. 'Je
vous aime' will, of course, always appeal to the woman who loves the
man who utters these words; but when 'Je t'aime' is whispered into her
ears, she will close her eyes in ecstasy and be transported to heaven
as if for eternal bliss.
This use of the second person singular in love affairs is not the only
superiority that the French have over the Anglo-Saxons in the
expression of the tender feelings. In England, and I believe also in
America, a woman is kissed on the lips by her father, mother, brothers
and lady and girl friends. Of course her lover will do the same, with
more ardour, more expression, more 'impressions;' but in France this is
very seldom the case. Girls are kissed on the forehead by their father,
and on the cheeks by all their other relatives and friends. Even a tiny
little girl, on being asked for a kiss, will offer her cheeks, never
her mouth. The lips are entirely reserved for Cupid.
A French philosopher has said that when a woman has surrendered her
lips she has surrendered everything; but he is right only as far as his
countrywomen are concerned. Even after saying 'Je vous aime,' the
Frenchman will not dare kiss his sweetheart on the lips. It is only
after risking the sacred second person singular, 'Je t'aime,' that he
will venture to do so, and thus stamp her his.
Well, after all is said and done, I have no doubt that Britons and
Americans find that the second person plural, for want of the second
person singular, answers the purpose well enough. And for ever and ever
men and women will love without attempting to discover new methods or
adopt foreign ones. The old story will ever be told; the old method
will ever do.