_Your Affectionate
Godmother_
By ELINOR GLYN
Your Affectionate Godmother
The Point of View
Guinevere’s Lover
Halcyone
The Reason Why
His Hour
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
[Illustration: “_Never ask your husband questions_”
[PAGE 146]]
_Your Affectionate
Godmother_
_By_
_Elinor Glyn_
_Author of “The Point of View,” “The Reason Why,” etc._
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by Grace Hart_
_D. Appleton and Company_
_New York_ _1914_
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Copyright, 1912, 1913, by Harper’s Bazaar, Inc.
Published in England as
“Letters to Caroline”
_List of Illustrations_
_Page_
“_Never ask your husband questions_”
_Frontispiece_
“_I think, firstly, she ought to understand
the colossal importance of beauty_” 39
“_By all means play your golf and tennis,
but try and make your partner
feel that these things are a means to
securing the end he desires_” 47
“_Numbers of young women do the
seeking and the hunting_” 51
“_Marriage is the aim and end of all
sensible girls_” 77
“‘_It is better to marry the life you like,
because after a while the man does not matter_’” 81
“_Think what it would be to be with him always_” 85
“_If you want to keep him in the blissful
state, attend to pleasing his eye
and ear when alone with him_” 103
“_Above all, do not be dramatic_” 129
“_A great position will count more than
the romantic part of love_” 134
“_I wonder if you smoke, dear girl?_” 161
“_The Tango--dance it, if your friends
dance it, and try to do it with the
most perfect grace_” 207
I
_Your Affectionate Godmother_
NOVEMBER, 1912.
Now that you are soon about to return from Paris, Caroline--polished,
let us hope, in education--it may be interesting for us to have some
little talks together upon the meaning of things and the aspects which
life is likely to present to you.
If you had been with me from early childhood you would by now have grown
so completely to understand my point of view that words would not be
necessary between us. But circumstances have arranged that only in your
eighteenth year have you been given into my charge, so, as I want you to
be happy, my dear godchild, we must lose no time in looking at a number
of points which can assist that end.
I understand, by what I know of your character, that you have a clear
idea of what you want, and that is to take some place in the world of no
mean importance. Therefore, the first thing to assure yourself of is
that you are not the square peg screaming to get into the round hole.
There is nothing so warping as that egotistical ignorance which feels
itself fitted for whatever position it desires without question or
further effort.
To me the most startling difference between the Americans and the
English is this--that the English never boast of their attainments or
prowess, _in words_, because for hundreds of years they really have been
supreme among the nations, and so now they are simply filled with the
belief that this is still the case, and therefore that it is unnecessary
for them to try to learn anything new; on the other hand, the Americans
boast _in words_ continually that they are already ahead of the rest of
the world, while using their clever brains all the time to pick up from
every other nation equipments which will eventually make them so.
I leave it to your own powers of deduction to decide which, at the
present stage of the world’s rapid evolution, seems the more likely to
win in the end! But we are not now going to talk of the national
characteristics of your two parents--I merely use this as an
illustration of what I want to teach you so that you may have the
advantage of knowing how to cultivate the good side of both. The thing
to aim at is to make yourself fit for whatever position you aspire to,
and to keep your receptive faculties always on the alert to continue to
acquire good things even when you have obtained that position. Then you
will never need to demonstrate your supremacy _in words_, every human
being who comes in contact with you will see it. And you will have the
dignity of the one country and the ability of the other in your
possession.
The advice which was generally given to girls was a mixture of
altruistic idealism coupled with the intention to throw dust in their
eyes upon most of the facts of life.
We have fortunately changed all that now. But, before we come to any
material points, we shall have to get down to the bedrock of the main
principle of life which is our religion. And I do hope, Caroline, that I
shall not bore you by speaking of this--for my religion, and the one I
want you to believe in as yours, is a very simple one, and will not take
me long to explain. You see, we cannot possibly go on until this point
is settled, because it is the key to all others.
I believe I had better enclose you a dialogue I once wrote when
strongly under the influence of the style of Lucian, that later Greek
master of inimitable cynical humor. Your appreciation of style and your
sense of humor, I trust, have been cultivated sufficiently to be able to
grasp the fact that a reverent and divine belief is wrapped up in what
at first reads as flippant language. I wrote a number of these dialogues
upon all sorts of subjects when I was in the same mood, and, if you like
them, and understand them, I can send them to you from time to time, to
illustrate my meaning, for the finishing of your education, and the
perfecting of your armory of weapons which must be of a sort which is
not obsolete for the fight of life.
All godmothers writing to their godchildren--and indeed all women
writing to the young--are very apt to be dreadfully serious and to give
them only the heaviest fare, which must inevitably weary them. Now,
Caroline, there is not going to be any of that kind of thing between you
and me, because my aim is not to show you how many stereotyped moral
sentiments I can instill into you on orthodox lines--but it is to try to
prepare you for that place in the social sphere which you have a right
by accident of birth and fortune to expect. And, above all, my aim is to
try to help you to gain happiness spelt with a big H--as happiness is
obtainable in this hour of the world’s enlightenment. It is not always
possible for older people to secure it, because, when they were in the
gloomy retrogressionist atmosphere which held sway in their younger
days, they laid up for themselves limitations which may take them all
their lives on this planet to get through.
You, Caroline, have not had time to incur any serious debts to fate, so
you have a real chance to achieve the desired end, and so progress in
body, soul, and spirit. Now read the dialogue.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN ELINOR AND JOHN
_Dedicated to the shades of Lucian and Don Quixote_
ELINOR: Very well, my good friend, let us begin by discussing religion
then, and from there we can branch off to other matters which come up,
and, as you are here merely to make a few remarks, I gather, and leave
the hard work to me, I consider I have the right to select my
subjects--and I choose religion to begin upon.
JOHN: I’ll do my best to listen, but women are illogical beings, and you
will pardon a yawn now and then.
ELINOR: All I ask is good manners--conceal your yawn behind a respectful
hand.
JOHN: Begin--as yet I am all attention!
ELINOR: My religion is very simple. It started by being a rebellion
against the narrow orthodoxy which I had been taught in my youth. I
refused to credit the idea that we were all born miserable sinners. I
felt that we were glorious creatures who should stand upright and rise
into space. I resented the attitude of all saints and martyrs as
depicted in statuary and painting--a _mea culpa_ attitude--a pleading
for the charity of some omnipotent being to overlook a personal
fault--as it were to say, “If I grovel enough your vanity will be
appeased and you won’t punish me.” I looked round at the glorious world
of nature and at the wonder of my own body, full of health and vitality,
and I wanted to cry aloud to God, “Dear God, I am so glad you have made
me, and I mean to do the very best I can for your creation in return.”
JOHN: That is not altogether a bad idea.
ELINOR: I felt that human beings, because of their gift of articulate
speech, were different to animals, and had been given a higher spark of
the divine essence in their possession of the loan of a more responsible
soul. I seemed to realize that we had no smallest right to soil it or
degrade it, since God need not have lent it to us at all if He had not
wished. We were, so to speak, on our honor with the thing. I suddenly
understood that it was unspeakable disgrace to commit paltry actions
just because people would not know about them--that even if one had to
admit the necessity of bluff in the affairs of men sometimes it was
perfectly childish to use it in dealing with God--and not only childish,
but useless.
JOHN: You would be honest with God! Tut, tut!--a pretty state of things!
A theory like that could upset the world.
ELINOR: _Tant pis!_--I am not talking of expediency. I am stating my
beliefs.
JOHN: Go ahead.
ELINOR: I felt that because we had received this divine triple loan from
God of understanding, apprehension, and emotion, with its branches of
deduction, critical faculty, and appreciation--all things beyond the
material--we at least owed Him something in return. You will admit, I
suppose, that decent people do not accept the loan of a friend’s house
and then utterly neglect and defile it?
JOHN: It would be in shocking taste.
ELINOR: Then doing the thousand-and-one actions which defile the soul
are in shocking taste also. Don Quixote was infinitely nearer a true
knowledge of the obligation entailed by the possession of this loan than
any of us modern people!
JOHN: Oh, heavens! are you going to drag in fictional characters to
illustrate your tirade? I feel the yawn coming.
ELINOR: Then I will state what to me are the facts of religion. I
believe that I personally, and each one of us, have received from God,
for the term of our sojourn on earth, a spark of Himself, and, since He
has had the intelligence to construct this planet and a number of
others, He cannot be so wholly wanting in logic as deliberately to throw
this spark of Himself into temptation, and then deliberately to punish
it for falling. If I believed God capable of that I should utterly
despise Him.
JOHN: It sounds mean.
ELINOR: Of course. Now think a moment. Each unit being a part of the
eternal scheme, the soul of each unit being a spark of the Divine
Consciousness, it follows surely that the basis of all religion is that
we must not soil our souls--not from the fear of hell or hope of heaven,
but because they, being lent by God, must return to Him untarnished.
The law of cause and effect takes care of the punishments or rewards. We
bring each upon ourselves by our own actions; setting in motion an
inevitable machinery producing consequence, as surely as when we thrust
our hand into the fire it is burnt.
JOHN: That sounds all right; go on!
ELINOR: You see, then, our setting in motion this law can have nothing
to do with the anger or approval or complacency of God. “Be good, and
you will go to heaven: behave evilly, and you will go to hell”--one was
taught. Reward and punishment--personal gain or personal pain--which
gets it back to pure selfishness.
JOHN: Then you would take away these strong motives to influence human
conduct? You _are_ getting on to a high plane!
ELINOR: I began by saying we were talking of religion; you seem to
consider we are discussing a business concern.
JOHN: So it is--put it how you will.
ELINOR: I deny that from my point, but I admit it if you are going to
traffic with rewards and punishments.
JOHN: Then you mean to tell me that each unit is always to behave in the
purest manner and do his level best simply to return to God at death an
untarnished soul?
ELINOR: Certainly.
JOHN: But you would do away with all priestcraft, all politics, all
society! ’Pon my word, this is worse than Socialism. You know I never
bargained for that!
ELINOR: Nothing of the kind! The basic principle is that God is
omnipotent. Granted this, and the poorest intelligence might then credit
Him with having the best of all the attributes with which He has endowed
mankind, whom he created--chief of these being common sense.
JOHN: Go on.
ELINOR: It is hardly likely, then, that He is perpetrating a colossal
joke upon His creation by making the whole system experimental. It is
conceivable that a brain which could evolve the intricate organism of a
minute ant might be far-seeing enough to devise an immutable law which,
when our evolution is sufficiently advanced, we shall be able to
perceive, and to fall in with its action.
JOHN: We are all as yet struggling in the dark, then?
ELINOR: More or less. You see time is no object to God--these cycles
which to us mean so much may be no more than a day to Him. I think you
will admit we have let in a good deal of light in the last hundred years
or so.
JOHN: Well, yes. But just think, then, of the waste of time all the
religions and conventions and superstitions have entailed in the past.
It makes one giddy to realize it! Where would we be if we had always
understood your basic principle?
ELINOR: Nowhere. The evolution of the world has been perfectly
necessary, my good John--you don’t ask children to play golf before they
can walk.
JOHN: No--but now I gather from your remarks that you would sweep away
the incumbrances and restrictions of orthodox religions.
ELINOR: Not at all! In a large family everyone cannot be grown up at the
same time; the little ones have still to be thought of.
JOHN: I think we are getting a bit out of our depths--had we not better
get back to your muttons--in this case your idea of religion?
ELINOR: But I have stated it plainly; it is simply to endeavor to keep
the soul untarnished so as to return it to God--as a good butler keeps
his employer’s silver under his charge highly polished, even though it
is not all used every day.
JOHN: Then what is the first step to this end?
ELINOR: To think out the reason why of things, to try to see the truth
in everything.
JOHN: Good Lord! A fine task! Are you aware, my good woman, that this
has been the modest ambition of several million of philosophers and
theologians and metaphysicians before your day, and that none of them
have altogether succeeded? If I did not mind being rude, I might say, “I
like your cheek!”
ELINOR: Oh, say what you please! Your words cannot alter my basic
principle, which you will find very sound, if you care to apply to it
the test of common sense.
JOHN: You mean, to bring it to ordinary facts, that when I can get the
better of a friend by a bit of sharp practice and make a pot of money
without the risk of anyone’s finding me out, I am to refrain from doing
so because of this soul business? I do call that hard! considering I go
to church every Sunday, and subscribe to all the charities
liberally--and to the football clubs.
ELINOR: Yes, I mean that.
JOHN: And when you are jealous of a woman you are not to set about a
vile, false insinuation against her, even though it could never be
traced to your door?
ELINOR: Certainly not.
JOHN: But, my poor child, that would produce a universal state of
brotherly love. You had not suggested that before as one of your
component parts of religion!
ELINOR: John, when God made man I do believe He left out one colossal
quality in him--the faculty of seeing the obvious. Women can see it
sometimes, but men!--almost never! So I shall have to tell it to you in
plain words. _God is love!_
HERE ENDS THE DIALOGUE
Now, when you have digested all this, Caroline, I want you to think what
that sort of religion really means--and how it must elevate its
believers into great broad aims and ends. How it must destroy all paltry
meannesses, because, once a person realized that, even if no one on
earth could ever know of his small action, his own soul would be aware
of it, and become tarnished in consequence--then surely he would
hesitate to commit that which would injure his own self-respect.
There is another point to be considered: how best to arrive at what is
actually right or wrong. And this can only be done by psychological
deduction, through effect back to cause. If the results of an action
produce pain and sorrow and evil, then the action--which is cause--must
be bad. And, as there is nothing new under the sun--and all actions you
would be likely to commit have already been committed by others in the
past--you can get a general idea as to their probable result. But, above
all other sides, the one to be examined is the effect upon the
community. If the result of the action can only affect yourself, then
you have the right to consider whether or no you will be prepared to pay
the price of it before you commit it. But if there is plain indication
that it can degrade or injure others who are near to you, or the
community at large to which you belong, then the sin of it “jumps to the
eyes,” as the French say.
The test of every action is whether or no it would injure your own
_self-respect_; firstly, entirely for you; and, secondly, in regard to
the community--because your self-respect would be injured if you felt
you had hurt the community.
You are a responsible being, you know, Caroline, a being with naturally
fine qualities, and one who has had the fortune to have received the
highest education. Therefore you must “make good,” and show that, when
art and science, directed by common sense, have done their best for a
young girl, she can prove in herself that it is worth while to use these
two things for the perfecting of the coming woman who is to be the
mother of that race of mental giants which we hope the middle of this,
our century, will produce.
I think I am a crusader for the cause of common sense--which is only
another word for what God meant when He endowed Solomon with wisdom.
And, as these letters to you go on, you will observe that every single
point we shall discuss will be ruled by this aspect.
For the highest ideals are only common sense poetically treated. And
now, Caroline, good-night--we have finished this talk upon religion--and
need not refer to it again, since I believe your intelligence is such
that you have grasped my basic principle. You will hear from me soon
upon another subject.
Your affectionate godmother,
E. G.
II
DECEMBER, 1912.
I hope you were not very bored by my last and rather serious letter,
Caroline. I was obliged to begin in that solid way, so that we could be
sure of our points of view being the same for future talks, but in this
missive I am going to write about something quite different, and almost
as important--your manners!
The tendency of the present day is to do away with all gentle things,
and among them courtesy has gone by the board, so that to see anyone
still with beautiful and gracious manners is a thing to be remarked
upon and rejoiced over. And I want you to be among this small company
of the survival of other days!
The modern young woman is so innately selfish that, as a rule, her
manners are only good when some definite momentary gain to herself makes
their display worth while. She is too short-sighted to look ahead and
see their value, and she is no longer a proud person remembering what is
due to herself, and, therefore, that good manners ought to be the stamp
of her breeding. She is often as primitive as a young savage, with a
smattering of a fair mental education on top.
Numbers of kind-hearted mothers about forty years ago began to think
that their own training had been horribly stiff and cruel, and gave a
much greater license to their offspring. Deportment masters and
mistresses grew to be less and less in vogue, and ridicule was cast upon
the rules that had been in practice for every girl entering society.
People began to laugh at numbers of things, a sense of humor was
reviving, and it attacked the methods and fashions of “young ladyhood.”
The children of those days, who are now mothers of the present young
girls, went a step further, with the best intentions, and augmented, by
the craze for exercise and out-of-door games, the effect of the lax
rules of deportment, so that now one hardly ever sees a really gracious
and graceful young girl, and some of them are the most unattractive
specimens of youthful females in consequence.
Now, Caroline, I want you to be a cunning creature and combine the
methods of the old and the new. If your tastes incline to violent
outdoor games, assiduously cultivate beautiful and gracious manners as
well, so that the young men you play with, while admiring your skill,
will not feel they can treat you as “another fellow,” hardly with
courtesy, and with no consideration.
Try not to swing your arms and be ungraceful in walking. Try not to sit
in every awkward position that may be comfortable. Do not cross your
legs and display yards of ankle, and, above all, do not lean both elbows
upon the table and eat as though at a picnic where gipsy’s ways were
good enough. One sees all these defects so constantly now that one has
almost ceased to remark upon them. The very tight skirts have done one
thing for women--they have enormously improved their walk, making those
long, manly strides impossible. I suppose no nation in the world has
such naturally perfectly-shaped bones and proportions--and no nation
spoils these advantages so much by their atrocious movements as we do.
Well, what a pity! And why cannot common sense step in and rectify this
failing? Why do anything with exaggeration? Why play games to death,
turning a pleasure into a grind? All is out of balance; and by these
unattractive methods girls have often had to become the seekers, not
the sought-after!
You must remember, Caroline, that you will be in a country where women
are in an enormous majority--and the effect of this is that the men,
unconsciously and naturally, have a great idea of their own value. It is
not their fault, or because they are particularly vain men; it is simply
because there are so few of them and so many of us! Therefore, if you
want really to enjoy life and count as a coveted quantity, you must rise
above the general company of young, unmeaning beings of your sex, so as
to make the nice young man you may fancy think of you, not as one of a
batch for him to choose from, but as the only desirable creature in all
the world for him to strive to obtain. The really interesting thing is
to be a personality, not one of the herd. And I would like to see you,
Caroline, with your beauty and your position, starting a new fashion in
young girls when you come out. For, my dear child, realize one
thing,--all the stuff and nonsense which you may have been told about
women fitting themselves for a self-sufficing existence, and their
“rights” and their assertion of equality, are pitiful makeshifts, of use
only if the poor things do not obtain the sole real joy and
happiness--to be the loved and honored mate of some nice man. If, by
your self-assertion and exaggerated mentality, you have been able to
crush out all sex instinct, then you become as the working bee--of a
third sex, an anomaly in nature, and a ridiculous excrescence in God’s
scheme of human progression. So for heaven’s sake, my sweet Caroline,
keep this in view. Train what individuality in yourself you will, but
keep your clear perspective so as to be able to see the ultimate goal of
happiness.
I think I have been rather generalizing, so now I want to come down to a
concrete description of what I think would be a perfect young girl, and
you must tell me if you agree with this picture of a female “admirable
Crichton”! I think, firstly, she ought to be sensible enough to
understand the colossal
[Illustration: “_I think, firstly, she ought to understand the colossal
importance of beauty._”]
importance and value of beauty, and to have learned to take care of her
personal appearance, so that in every way she is a pleasure to the eye.
She ought to have discovered early what style of garments suits her; she
should have practiced until she can do her hair becomingly; and by
exercises, and by care in remembering what is ugly and to be avoided,
she should have perfected the grace of her body’s movements. All these
things having been looked upon, not as vanities, but as the natural
polishing of the body God had entrusted her with, as the shrine for her
soul.
Her voice should be soft, and her cultivation at least
sufficient--should she not be naturally clever--to make her know the
topics of the day which are interesting to converse upon; and she should
be broad enough not to be prejudiced about any of them.
Unselfishness in her should go as far as not to want always to have her
own way, regardless of whom it hurts or discomforts. (One could not
expect more than that in these days!)
She ought to have so high a respect for herself that she could never
make herself cheap, but she should also have common sense enough to
realize that, because it is, numerically, such an unequal fight between
the sexes, she must have her weapons of attraction peculiarly well
polished. Then, out of the limited circle of possible husbands she will
have to choose from, she may hope to attract _the best_--because like
clings to like.
As she is my ideal young girl, she will not be stupid enough to set out
with the idea of making her own life self-sufficing. Whatever
circumstances may force her to do afterward, at least to start with she
will know that to be happily married is the natural goal, and that to
obtain this good thing she must take care of her equipments and fit them
for the post she aspires to.
She must have tact and a highly cultivated sense of humor, so that she
may not be a bore with her notions and her egotism. She must not stand
against the times, but be so ruled by fine taste that she cannot be
drawn into any exaggeration.
Her ambition is to become the inspiration and adored mate of whatever
nice man she may marry, because, as she is very highly refined and
balanced, she will not be attracted by the weakling or the fool, whom
she would inevitably rule while she despised him.
If she finds that somehow she has drifted into union with one of these
beings, then it will be time enough for her to assert her supremacy--and
the more self-controlled and equilibrated she is, the more successfully
will she be able to stand alone if necessity requires her to do so. But,
Caroline, remember that the natural goal and the happy and glorious goal
of a woman is to strive to be the refining influence, the inspiration
and the worshiped joy of a man. When she has to be self-sufficing,
then, no matter how great she may become, the happiness is only
second-best. So as you have youth and a clear sky, child, I want you to
set forth with a desire for this best and greatest happiness.
There are splendid and suitable young men coming on every year, so this
should not be an impossible attainment. Do you remember what Tennyson
wrote about King Arthur making his knights swear this vow after the
others?
To love one maiden only, cleave to her,
And worship her by years of noble needs,
Until they won her; for indeed I knew
Of no more subtle master under heaven
Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
Not only to keep down the base in man,
But teach high thought and amiable words
And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
And love of truth, and all that makes a man.
Now, even with your limited experience, Caroline, I am sure you will
agree with me that there are very few modern maidens who are able to
make a young man desire to shine in any of these ways. They do not
inspire him with much reverence for themselves, or even much love!
Often the most they can make him feel is that they play a good game of
golf, or that they “aren’t bad sorts,” or something of that kind. For
you must not forget that whatever the other person thinks and feels
about you is what you yourself have given him the presentment of. It
[Illustration: “_By all means play your golf and your tennis, but try
and make your partner feel that these things are a means to securing the
end he desires._”]
entirely lies with you, therefore, what impression on his heart and
brain you wish to create. I do assure you, Caroline, that it is
infinitely more agreeable when he thinks you all that is perfect, and is
passionately in love, than when he is mildly attracted by your golf and
your _camaraderie_, while his unemployed senses, left at liberty to
roam, stray to the more cunning young women of the chorus, who have
realized that some feminine allurements are not bad things to cultivate.
By all means play your golf and your tennis if they give you pleasure,
but try and make your partner feel that these things are a means to
securing the end he desires: namely, your company and companionship; not
that you are the means to his enjoyment of the game. Do not throw away
all mystery and appear a loud, jolly schoolboy, because, if you do,
naturally the other “boys” will treat you as one of themselves, or as a
sister--not as “another fellow’s sister,” to be considered, and whose
favors are to be schemed for.
There used to be an idea that girls must be warned about wolves in
sheep’s clothing, who wandered in society ready to lead them astray,
corrupt their morals, and break their hearts! But, if these fabulous
creatures ever existed, they only survive now in a few daring, youngish
married men who make it their business to flirt with girls. I need not
warn you against these, Caroline, because
[Illustration: “_Numbers of young women do the seeking and the
hunting._”]
I know that you are a proud little lady, and one, therefore, whose
instincts would tell you that the attentions of a married man were
merely an insult, disguised in whatever form they happened to be. It is
only the lowest and cheapest sort of girl who willingly encourages such
people, blazoning to the world that her vanity is colossal and her
self-respect _nil_. So we need not touch more upon this subject. If a
man is not free to marry a girl, his assiduous attentions are an
impertinence, to say the least of it.
Owing to the scarcity of men, as I said before, they are inclined to
give themselves airs, and numbers of young women do the seeking and the
hunting, while the poor youths are scared of being captured, and, when
they are secured at all, it is unwillingly. Must not that be a hateful
blow to the girl’s pride when she thinks of it!
The legitimate way is to render yourself as utterly desirable as
possible, and then fate will bring you the particular needle your kind
of magnet draws.
There are all sorts of points about manners which add to a girl’s charm.
When you come into a room pay respect to elder people; it will not take
up much of your time, and is a gracious tribute of youth to age. And
when you go out to dine or lunch do not sit silent if you happen to be
bored with the person who is next you; you owe it to your hostess to
try to make things as agreeable as possible. And when you stay about in
country houses remember this also: You have been asked because the
hostess likes you, or you are a credit to her, or she is under some
obligation to return some civility from your family. In all three cases
you ought to make good by proving you are a most desirable guest. Try to
acquire prestige, so that none of the nicest parties are complete
without you; then you can choose which you prefer to go to. But prestige
is not acquired without tact and perfect manners on all occasions. The
tendency of all modern society is toward vulgarity and display, with a
ruthless, cynical, brutal worship of wealth, snatching at any means to
the end of luxury and pleasure. People accept invitations from those
they despise, for no other reason than because they are rich and the
entertainment will be well done. It is awfully cheap, is it not,
Caroline? and a long way from my basic principle which I explained to
you, that one must not in any way degrade oneself. Try to be kind to
everyone you come in contact with and make them feel at home, however
humble they may be, if they are your guests; be gracious and thoughtful
for their comfort and pleasure--you need never be familiar or gushing.
Be simple and modest; all pretense is paltry and all boasting is vain;
nothing but the truth lasts or gains any respect.
I should like to tell you a little story, Caroline, before I finish this
letter, as an instance of really exquisite manners.
A year or two ago I was staying in the North with a very great lady; we
were all going in to Edinburgh for the day. My friend was a little
short-sighted, and while we stopped at the bookstall before crossing
over the viaduct to the departure platform I noticed a rather
humble-looking little woman nervously and anxiously trying to bow to my
hostess, who did not perceive her. After we had mounted the stairs and
crossed the line her daughter told my great lady of this, and how Mrs.
Mackenzie, the new doctor’s wife, had looked quite hurt. My friend was
so distressed that she made an excuse to return to the bookstall, so
that she might casually pass the little woman again and bow and speak,
but not to hurt her feelings by making her feel she had done it on
purpose. I went with her, and while buying an extra paper she glanced up
sweetly at the humble-looking little woman, and said:
“Oh! how do you do, Mrs. Mackenzie? I hope your little children are
well, and the Doctor; so glad to see you are quite recovered from the
influenza I heard you had,” and then, with a gracious smile, she drew me
on, and we had to run back up the stairs to be in time for our train.
Such manners as these are the only true and beautiful ones, Caroline,
because they spring from a kind and tender heart.
Your affectionate Godmother,
E. G.
III
JANUARY, 1913.
I had meant, my dear Caroline, to write to you upon the interesting
subject of marriage in this letter, but before I can commence upon that,
I must speak of something else, and you must promise me not to be
offended at what I am going to say, since we both desire the same
end--your success and welfare. The fact is, your picture, which you tell
me was drawn by a friend, has just reached me. You say it is more like
you than the only photograph I possess of you, taken when you were
fifteen; and it is because of your assuring me of this that I cannot
remain silent--for, Caroline child, I must confess it shocks and
disconcerts me, and makes me feel that I must be very frank with you, if
you are ever going to be able to attain that position which we both hope
that you may.
Even if the drawing was perhaps done some months ago, and you have
altered your style of hair-dressing since then--still, that you were
ever able to have looked like that--you in Paris!--proves that your
observation and taste are not yet sufficiently cultivated to make you
anything of a success when you come out in May. Thus I must speak
plainly and at once.
Now, let us pretend that the little girl I see before me is not you at
all, but some abstract person; and let us dissect her bit by bit: her
type, her style, her suitability--or want of it--her attitude and the
general effect she produces. And then let me suggest the remedies and
alterations which can improve her.
Firstly, her type, Caroline, child, is not distinguished. She has a
large-eyed, dear little profile, which may be very pretty as a full
face, and which, framed in appropriately done hair, could succeed in
being picturesque, but in itself, with its little snub features, is
insignificant. She has rather a big head, and thick, bushy dark
hair--which I grieve to observe she has done in a large bun of sausage
curls!--a fashion which was never in vogue really among ladies, and for
over two or three years has been relegated to the pates of “roof-garden”
waitresses and third-class shop assistants. And further to provoke my
ire, although this girl in the picture is drawn in an ordinary morning
skirt and boots, she wears a light-colored ribbon in her hair! Caroline,
dearest, where could her eyes and observation and sense of the fitness
of things have been--with the example of the exquisite Parisiennes in
front of her--to be able to perpetrate these incongruities! But there is
more to come! Her skirt is a rough, useful serge skirt, and her boots,
although the heels are too high, are not a bad shape--but with this she
has put on one of those cheap, impossible blouses, cut all in one
piece--“kimono,” I believe they are called--with short sleeves and an
unmeaning black bow tacked to the cuff! Now, a shirt should be a
workmanlike thing, as neat as a man’s, and with long sleeves finished by
real shirt-cuffs with links. It can be composed of silk, flannel, or
linen, but if it is a shirt--that is, a garment for the morning, and to
be worn with a rough serge or tweed winter suit--it should have no
meaningless fripperies about it. If you want trimmed-up things, have a
regular blouse, and then wear it with an afternoon costume.
Short-sleeved blouses should only be indulged in in the summer, and when
they are made of the finest material. And even then, if the wearer has
what the little girl in this picture seems to have--thick wrists and
rather big hands--it is wiser to avoid them altogether!
Now that I have torn her garments and hair-dressing to pieces,
Caroline!--I must scold about her attitude. She is doing two of the most
ungraceful things: putting her arm akimbo and crossing her legs! You may
say every girl does them--which may be true, but that is no proof that
they are pretty or desirable habits! To digress a moment--I went to a
party the other night, a musical party where the guests were obliged to
sit still round the room quietly; and I counted no less than thirteen
of the younger women with their legs crossed, which in some cases, on
account of these very narrow skirts we are all wearing, caused the
sights to be perfectly grotesque. There is something so cheap about
exposing one’s ankles, to say nothing of calf, and almost the knee, to
any casual observer--don’t you think so?
But now to return to the girl in the picture! We have dissected the
details and got to her style, and the effect she produces. Her style, I
must frankly say, is common, Caroline, and the effect she produces is
unprepossessing, because it is incongruous; and incongruity in all
simple, morning, utility clothes is only another word for bad taste. I
could write pages and pages about the vagaries of fashion, and how what
looks _chic_ one year may be vulgar the next, but we have not time or
space for that. There are only these general rules always to be
observed: for the morning or the street, the most distinguished-looking
woman or girl is she who is garbed the most simply and the most neatly,
with tidy hair and every garment plainly showing its purpose and
meaning. It is in this that the Americans you can see any morning
walking on Fifth Avenue excel. But, alas! English maidens nearly always
spoil the picture by some unnecessary auxiliary touch or other.
Now, Caroline, be just, and, looking at the drawing with an unprejudiced
eye, you will admit that what I have said, though severe, is true.
With a type like yours you cannot be too particular to be on the side of
refinement and good taste, and my first advice is: Brush all that thick
bush of hair so that it shines, then part it and take the sides rather
farther back, so that they do not touch your eyebrows (I like the tiny
curl by the ear which has escaped--leave that!); then twist all those
dreadful sausages into the simplest twist, so as to make your head as
small as possible--which, apart from being the present fashion, is a
pretty balance. _Never_ wear a light ribbon in the day-time, although it
often looks very becoming at night.
In choosing an article of dress you must remember the vital matter of
its suitability; suitability generally, suitability for the occasions
you mean to wear it on, its suitability to yourself and your type. If
you cultivate these points and use your eyes and observation to see what
is the prettiest note in passing fashion, you can counteract the rather
commonplace, though pretty, appearance Nature has endowed you with, and
turn it into a quaint, picturesque little individuality.
Never buy things that you do not actually want just because they are
cheap. Cheap things nearly always have disadvantages, or they would not
be cheap. Have few clothes and good ones. Take care of them, and do not
ruthlessly crush and rumple them when you have them on, even though you
have a good maid to repair your ravages afterwards. I know you will not
have to bother about money, but I say all this because I see by the
blouse you are wearing in your picture that you have a leaning toward
these rubbishy things. Be extremely particular about your foot-covering,
too, Caroline. You look as though you had nice feet. Never buy any of
the eccentric fashions that you see in every shop window, and on the
feet of every little person trotting in the street. Go to one good
bootmaker and let him make a study of your foot, and then have the
simplest, neatest, and daintiest things made for you. You see, I am
writing to one who has ample money for whatever is required, so I am
giving her the best advice, because I fear her own taste is not
sound--and she is young enough to learn! If you were a poor girl,
Caroline, coming out in society on the narrowest means, I would send you
all sorts of hints how to arrange and manage to look sweet and lovely
upon a very small sum. It is not that all cheap things are ugly, but,
with a faulty taste and a large allowance, it is wiser for our end that
you should go only to the best shops. I implore you, Caroline, if the
instinct of personal distinction does not come naturally to you, to
cultivate it by observation. Every time you go out observe what women
look the nicest, and what makes them achieve this effect. Examine your
own little face, with its blue eyes and black hair, and try to imagine
which of the styles would suit you best and make you look the least
ordinary.
You have probably never thought of these things, and have just drifted
on with other school-girls until you present the mass of incongruities
your friend depicted in the drawing of you. I am extremely grateful that
you have sent me this sketch now, when it is not too late, and we have
still some months before us to alter matters. And your letter in answer
to my first one shows me that you have a charming nature, and will
understand this which I now write and take it as it is meant.
Exaggeration is one of youth’s faults, and easily corrected and
trained.
And now we can begin about marriage. But, as the post is going, I shall
not be able to say all that I want to in this letter.
Marriage is the aim and end of all sensible girls, because it is the
meaning of life. No single existence can be complete, however full of
interests it may be. It is unfinished, and its pleasures at best are but
_pis-allers_. You agree with me on this point, so we need not argue. But
marriage in this country is for life, unless it is broken by divorce,
which, no matter how the law may be simplified, and altered presently,
must always remain as a stain upon a woman and a thing to be faced only
in the last extremity. So, Caroline dear, when you marry you must
[Illustration: “_Marriage is the aim and end of all sensible girls._”]
realize that it is for life, and it is therefore a very serious step,
and not to be taken lightly. The rushing into unions without sufficient
thought is the main cause of much of the modern unhappiness. How can you
expect to spend peaceful, blissful years with a man whom you have taken
casually just because you liked chaffing with him and dancing with him,
or playing golf? Think of the hours you must spend with him when these
things will be impossible, and if you have no other tastes in common you
will find yourself terribly bored. In one of my books I once wrote this
maxim: “It is better to marry the life you like, because after a while
the man does not matter!” It was a very cynical sentence, but
unfortunately true. It is only in the rarest cases that “after a while”
either individual really matters to the other. They have at best become
habits; they are friendly and jolly, and if “the life” is what they both
like all rubs along smoothly enough. But love--that exquisite essence
which turned the world into Paradise--is a thing flown away.
Now, Caroline, I want yours to be one of those rare cases where love
endures for a long time, and even when it alters into friendship
continues in perfect sympathy.
So, when you feel yourself becoming attracted by a young man, pull
yourself together in time and ask yourself, if the affair goes on, would
you really like him for a husband?
[Illustration: “‘_It is better to marry the life you like, because after
a while the man does not matter._’”]
Think what it would be to be with him always, at the interminable meals,
for years and years, through all the tedious duties which must come with
responsibility. Ask yourself if his tastes suit yours, if his bent of
mind is the same, if you will be likely to agree upon general points of
view. And, if you are obliged honestly to answer these questions in the
negative, then have the strength of mind to crush whatever attraction is
beginning to spring in your heart. Once it goes on to passion, no reason
is of any use, so it is only in the beginning that judgment can be
employed.
You must remember that like draws like with more or less intensity
according to the force of
[Illustration: “_Think what it would be to be with him always._”]
characters. I know you are highly educated, Caroline, and if you do not
let yourself become priggish you should draw a very nice young man. Then
let us suppose you have done so, and marry him. You are then
contracting a bargain, and you have to fulfil your half. The modern
young woman seems to imagine she has done quite enough by going through
the ceremony, and henceforward she is to do exactly what she pleases,
and only consider her own pleasure on all occasions. This attitude of
mind makes things very hard upon the poor young man, who presently gets
bored with her, and, as in these days honor and rigid morality are
rather _vieux jeu_, he soon drifts away to other interests and
amusements. And one cannot blame him. It is upon your obligations and
behavior, not his, that I wish to write to you at length, Caroline, but
in this letter I shall have time only to begin. You must start by
understanding that the natures of men and women are totally different.
Men are infinitely more simple, and the British education helps them by
its drumming into their heads the knowledge of what is or is not
“cricket.” Their natural methods are more direct, and they are much
easier to deal with. They are fundamentally and unconsciously selfish,
because for generations women have been taught to give way to them. You
must accept this fact and not storm and rage against it. The only way
you can change it in regard to your own personal male belonging is by
inspiring in him intense devotion to yourself; but, even so, it is wiser
to face it and make the best of it, and not be disillusioned. You are
probably selfish also; it is one of the greatest signs of the age, the
growing selfishness of women. It is not altogether a bad thing; it is a
proof in one way of their increasing individuality; but meanwhile it
does not tend toward their happiness. Now, Caroline, I am sure you will
agree with me that to aim at happiness is a wiser and more agreeable
thing than just to express the growing individuality of your sex!
I must reiterate what I said in my former letters; I am advising you for
a _first start_ in all things. Circumstances may arise which may alter
possibilities, but, to begin upon, we may as well aim at the best, and
not fight windmills; storming that men _ought_ to be different, and
that women should not give way, being their superiors in most things!