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THE MAN WHO PLEASES
AND
THE WOMAN WHO CHARMS
BY
JOHN A. CONE
"Look out lovingly upon the world and the
world will look lovingly in upon you."
HINDS & NOBLE, Publishers
31-33-35 WEST 15TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY
_Schoolbooks of all publishers at one store_
_Third printing, February, 1904._
Copyright, 1901.
by
JOHN A. CONE,
in the
United States
and
Great Britain.
Entered at Stationer's Hall,
London.
All Rights Reserved.
TO
MY MOTHER.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE MAN WHO PLEASES 1
THE WOMAN WHO CHARMS 16
THE ART OF CONVERSATION 29
GOOD ENGLISH 37
TACT IN CONVERSATION 48
THE COMPLIMENT OF ATTENTION 57
THE VOICE 65
GOOD MANNERS 73
DRESS 84
THE OPTIMIST 97
PERSONAL PECULIARITIES 106
SUGGESTIONS FROM MANY SOURCES 114
PREFACE.
The makers of books have been divided into two classes--the creators and
the collectors. In preparing this volume the author has made no claim to
a place in the first division, for he has been, to a great extent, only
a collector. The facts which the book contains are familiar to
intelligent people, and the only excuse offered for presenting them in a
new dress is that we need to be reminded often of some truths with which
we are most familiar.
In our daily intercourse with one another, we may forget to render to
others that thoughtfulness and attention which we exact from them.
We all know that the essence of courtesy is the purpose, in speech and
manner, to be agreeable, attractive, and lovable, to awaken by our
presence happy impressions in another. We all understand this, but we so
easily forget it, or, at least, forget to put it into practice.
Courtesy is not the least of the Christian virtues, and it should be
studied as an art.
The reader is requested to accept these chapters in the spirit in which
they were prepared. They are not profound psychological studies, or even
original essays, but only a bringing together of simple, yet important
truths, which are of concern to us all. Possibly they may be of some
help--"Lest we forget,----"
THE MAN WHO PLEASES.
_The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best-conditioned and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies._
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
_He hath a daily beauty in his life._
OTHELLO.
_Such a man would win any woman in the world if a' could get her
good will._
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
There are few subjects of deeper interest to men and women than that of
personal fascination, or what is sometimes called "personal magnetism."
We commonly talk about it as though it were some mysterious quality of
which no definite account could be given.
"A man is fascinating," we say, "he is born magnetic; he has an
indefinable charm which cannot be analyzed or understood," and, with the
term "naturally magnetic," we hand the matter over to the world of
mystery.
Is this quality of so bewildering a nature that it cannot be understood,
or will a study of those men and women who possess preeminently the
power of pleasing show us the secret of their influence, and prove to us
that the gift of fascination is not, necessarily, innate, but that it
can, to a great degree, be acquired?
Will we not find that what appears to be the perfection of naturalness
is often but the perfection of culture?
From all our well-known public men who have won the reputation of being
"naturally magnetic," perhaps we could not select a better example than
James G. Blaine. With the possible exception of Henry Clay, no other
political leader in our history, under all circumstances, had so devoted
and determined a following. Both Clay and Blaine possessed sympathetic
and affectionate dispositions, and both understood human nature and the
art of pleasing. It may be said that Mr. Blaine's popularity was due, in
a great measure, to the brilliant and attractive nature of his public
service, and this was, no doubt, true to a certain extent. No man knew
better than he the importance of making the most of opportunities for
dramatic and sensational display, and his methods of statesmanship were
always calculated to please the multitude.
His greatest power, however, was manifested in his winning men by direct
and individual contact. One thing which assisted him in this direction
was the fact that he was, perhaps, the most courteous of all the public
men of his generation. Whenever a stranger was introduced to him, a
hearty handshake, a look of interest and an attentive and cordial manner
assured him that Mr. Blaine was very glad to see him. If they chanced to
meet again, after months or even years, the man was delighted to find
that Mr. Blaine not only remembered his name, but that he had seemed to
treasure even the most trivial recollections of their short
acquaintance. He had a marvellous memory for faces and names, and he
understood the value of this gift.
This ability to remember faces is not difficult to acquire. We could all
possess it if we would make sufficient effort. No two figures or
countenances are precisely alike, and it is by noting how they differ
one from another that you will remember them.
In explaining his own remarkable memory for faces, Thomas B. Reed once
said to a reporter that he never looked a man in the face that some
striking peculiarity, a line, a wrinkle, an expression about the eye,
the set of the lips, the shape of the nose, something set that man's
face down in his mind indelibly, and distinguished him from the rest of
mankind.
Blaine carefully trained himself to pick out some feature or peculiarity
by which he could distinguish one face or person from all others and by
which he could associate the name of the individual.
The ability to remember names and faces is one of the most valuable
accomplishments for the man in public life, or, indeed, for any man or
woman who wishes social success. Not only does it insure comfort to
one's self, but it is especially pleasing to others. Next to the comfort
of being able to address by name and without hesitation a person one has
met but once, and without mistake, is the comfort of being recognized
one's self.
Another reason why Mr. Blaine was popular with the masses was because he
was not difficult to approach, and he never missed a chance to be useful
to a person who might some time, in turn, be useful to him.
The _St. Louis Globe-Democrat_ said shortly after his death: "It was not
the habit of Mr. Blaine to wait for men to seek favors from him. He
anticipated their desires, and doubled their obligations to him by
doing voluntarily what might have been delayed for solicitation. That
gave him the kind of popularity which outlasts defeat and resists all
ordinary influences of criticism and hostility. He could always count
upon a certain measure of unflinching and unconditional support,
whatever forces happened to be arrayed against him; and he changed
bitter enemies into zealous friends with a facility that was a source of
constant surprise and wonder."
But why should his success in attracting others to himself be a source
of "surprise and wonder"?
Mr. Blaine, in common with many other magnetic men and women, understood
that the secret of personal fascination lies in one single point; that
is, "in the power to excite in another person happy feelings of a high
degree of intensity, and to make that person identify such feelings with
the charm and power of the cherished cause of them."
Any quality, good or evil, that enables a man to do this, renders him
fascinating, whether he be saint or sinner. Indeed, some of the men who
have been the most skilful in the art of pleasing have been scoundrels.
Said a writer in the _Boston Herald_: "It used to be said of Aaron
Burr--so irresistible in charm of manner was the man--that he could
never stop at the stand of the ugliest old crone of an apple-woman,
without leaving on her mind when he went away the conviction that he
regarded her as the fairest and most gracious of her sex. And so, had
woman suffrage prevailed in his day, he would have had the solid vote of
the apple-women for any office he might aspire to."
Aaron Burr clearly understood that the woman does not exist who is
wholly without sentiment, and he always appealed to that part of a
woman's nature.
He understood very well the truth of these words written by Croly: "In
the whole course of my life I never met a woman, from the flat-nosed and
ebony-colored inhabitant of the tropics to the snow-white and sublime
divinity of a Greek isle, without a touch of romance; repulsiveness
could not conceal it, age could not extinguish it, viscissitude could
not change it. I have found it in all times and places, like a spring of
fresh water, starting up even from the flint, cheering the cheerless,
softening the insensible, renovating the withered; a secret whisper in
the ear of every woman alive that to the last, affection might flutter
its rosy pinions around her brow."
Burr, understanding this, left in the mind of the apple-woman the firm
impression that he thought she must have been at one time a duchess,
reduced in fortune by some accident, and now driven to the last refuge
of an apple-stand, and that those sad facts evidently accounted for the
traits of high breeding and delicate refinement so visible through all
her present poverty.
He understood the fact that all people live in two distinct worlds--the
world of reality and the world of imagination. In the world of reality
they use brooms and shovels, wash floors and dishes, or sell apples; in
the other, they live in drawing rooms, feast sumptuously and are the
wonder and admiration of mankind.
"Few people," continues the writer in the _Herald_, "would believe that
an ugly, dilapidated looking apple-woman could dwell in the enchanted
realm of imagination just as much as the rich and favored do. But Burr
believed it, so when he spoke to the old crone, he went up, not to her
withered and beggarly self, but to her ideal self, imaginatively
entering into the duchess dream in her, and instinctively became
deferential in his bearing.
"Forthwith the duchess in her came out to meet the courtly gentleman in
him, and greetings were exchanged as between two incognito scions of
noble lineage. Each enjoyed the meeting, each had vividness enough of
imagination to impart to it the flavor of reality, and to keep out of
sight common, material facts."
"But," you say, "not every man can make such an impression, for few are
able to do and say things with the ease and grace of a Burr. There must
be a naturalness of manner which never suggests suspicion. Let the
average man attempt to force his nature and to manufacture smiles and
looks of pleasure, and the old apple-woman will know at once that she is
being fooled." Very true, and it is not desirable that the average man
should possess the ability of an Aaron Burr to influence others. Few
persons try as he did to acquire that power, but because the average man
cannot at once exercise that potent influence over others which he did,
it does not follow that we are unable to understand the secret of Burr's
success, nor is it evident that other men cannot acquire something of
this power by thinking it worth while to do so.
It would not be safe to say that all men can be equally successful, try
as they will, in inspiring in others "happy feelings of a high degree of
intensity," for nature has not been impartial in bestowing equally upon
all the gifts of adaptation and expression.
There are a few persons so constituted by temperament and mental
organism that they exercise a depressing influence over their
associates. They have a negative, flabby spirit that seems to operate,
speaking figuratively, much as a wet shoe does upon one who is compelled
to wear it. They draw upon the nervous strength and exhaust the patience
of those who are compelled to be much in their company. But there are
not many of this type. Most of us could make far more progress in
acquiring social graces and in the art of pleasing than we do.
Let us now consider some of the particular qualities which render a man
pleasing to the opposite sex.
Of course different types of men please different women. Some women care
little for the moral element in men. They do not admire them for their
goodness or nobility of character, but rather for their manners and
their ability to flatter and say pleasing things. Some women are
fascinated by mere brute strength, but they are not many. Rank, wealth,
and social position are very attractive to some, but these things do not
make the man himself more attractive to the true woman.
While a girl is young, she may go into raptures over "a cameo profile, a
Burnes-Jones head of hair, or a pre-Raphaelite languor and pallor," but
these things are bound to pall, and become absolutely distasteful. Some
even admire downright wickedness in men, and these are the women who
send delicacies to murderers in prison, and overwhelm them with
bouquets. But, fortunately, these types represent but a small fraction
of the fair sex, and this chapter has to do only with the great
majority; the intelligent, moral, cultured women of the land. What
qualities in men are most attractive to them?
Physical beauty is always attractive in either sex, yet the handsome man
has the advantage of his plainer rival only in this--he is able to draw
attention to himself at once. He must, however, have something more to
hold that attention. He may be physically an Apollo, but if he be
ill-mannered, dull or ignorant, he will stand no chance beside the man
skilled in the artful polished ways of what is called society, who is
master of that grace of manner and flexibility of speech which more than
wealth, reputation, or personal attractiveness, win their way with
women.
It has been proven, again and again, that even ugliness of face and form
is not, by any means, a bar to popularity with women, and while we are
often amazed at the choice which brilliant, beautiful women sometimes
make from a crowd of admirers, at the bottom of every apparent fantastic
selection, there is a solid, and, usually, a sensible reason.
Ernest Renan was certainly not handsome. He was exceedingly corpulent,
his complexion was said to resemble nothing else so closely as tallow.
He had claw-shaped hands, bushy gray eyebrows, and thin gray hair, yet
wherever he went into society he was sure to be the center of an
admiring group of women. He was not fascinating by reason of his
ugliness, but in spite of it. There was enough in the subtle charm of
his manner, and the melodious flow of his conversation, to make up for
all outward deficiencies.
Liszt was not a handsome man--quite the contrary; yet probably no other
man ever lived who exercised a more magnetic and potent influence over
women. Even when he had become gaunt and old, his eyes dim, his blonde
hair snow-white, his spare, lean figure wrapped in a black, priestly
gown, he was followed about by a train of fair admirers.
Chauteaubriand could charm at eighty-four, the Abbe Liszt at
seventy-five, and Aaron Burr--who was by no means handsome--had at
seventy a charm of manner that was irresistible.
The fact is, one cannot recall half a dozen very talented men who were
admired for their personal beauty. Pope was very plain; Dr. Johnson was
no better; Mirabeau was "the ugliest man in France," and yet he was the
greatest favorite with the fair sex.
These examples are not cited to prove that women do not care for
physical beauty in men. On the contrary, that is a very strong
attraction, but not the most powerful factor in holding them. Women more
frequently prize men for their sterling qualities of mind than men do
women. A perfection of physical beauty rarely associates itself with
great mental ability in either sex, but still there have been some
notable exceptions, especially among women, and every pretty woman who
reads this may consider herself one of these exceptions.
As a general thing, the man who pleases is the man who understands. It
does not matter much to a woman whether a man has great and brilliant
thoughts of his own, if he comprehends her wishes and her feelings, as
well as her thoughts. He should, if he desires to please, make a careful
study of that mysterious and complex thing--a woman's nature. He must
understand that it is of a finer fibre than his own; that it is
sensitive and easily hurt. He should have sentiment, but not be a
sentimentalist. He will be wise, indeed, if he can skilfully draw the
line between the two things. "Sentiment is divine: sentimentalism
absurd." He should be able to say much in little and he must not be a
chatterer. A woman who talks too much becomes tiresome; a man who is an
aimless talker is an intolerable bore to both sexes.
Few men understand a woman. They do not look at things from her point of
view, and, therefore, do not realize to what extent civilized life has
permitted her to assume that convention of manner and those civilities
of speech which are in some harmless degree hypocritical. It could not
be otherwise. Her ideal of a man is a very high one, but she rarely
meets him, and so she accepts the one who comes nearest to her ideal and
makes the most of the situation. She would that he were different, but a
woman can love in spite of very many things. Usually she is obliged to
if to love at all. She is much cleverer at love-making than a man. "She
is an artist where he is a crude workman, and she does not go through a
love scene without realizing how much better she could have done it if
the title role had been given to her."
If she is a woman of sensibility, she is shocked by a hundred
disagreeable habits which many men think justifiable. She is repelled by
awkwardness of manner, coarse modes of speech, by carelessness of person
and dress, and yet, for all that, she loves.
The lover who is most successful in retaining the affection of a
sweetheart or a wife is the one who expresses over and over again the
love and the tenderness he feels. Women, more than men, like to hear
things talked about. They are far more wide-awake to the value of
trifles, and more sensitive to changes of mood. They are given to saying
in many ways, with delicate variations, what a man is satisfied to state
once for all, even to state badly.
A man will believe in a woman's love and be satisfied with far fewer
visible tokens of it than are necessary to confirm his tenderness and
keep her convinced of it.
The truth is that a man's power of pleasing does not depend upon some
occult quality of which no account can be given, but upon the degree in
which he holds certain attractive qualities--innate or acquired. We have
no difficulty in understanding any single one of these qualities, yet
when a man possesses such a combination of them as to entitle him to the
term "fascinating" we pronounce it incomprehensible, and fall back upon
that vague term, "personal magnetism."
The personal elements which are most conducive to our influence over
others are, in a broad way: good manners, a pleasing voice, the ability
to converse well, personal neatness, taste in dress, tact, good morals,
culture and refinement, physical beauty, and intellectual force. We are
pleasing or offensive just in proportion to our possession of these very
desirable characteristics, and, possibly, what we term "personal
magnetism" is simply the result of a well-balanced development of some,
or all, of these enviable characteristics.
THE WOMAN WHO CHARMS.
_Look on this woman. There is not beauty, not brilliant sayings,
nor distinguished power to serve you; but all see her gladly; her
whole air and impression are healthful. Manners require time, as
nothing is more vulgar than haste._
EMERSON.
_Possessed with such a gentle, sovereign grace,
With such enchanting presence and discourse._
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
_She's a most exquisite lady._
OTHELLO.
Is it the handsome woman? Yes, sometimes, but not always. Beauty is
always attractive, but the handsome woman has the same advantage only
that the handsome man possesses--she draws attention to herself at once.
If she has nothing but her beauty to rely upon, she does not hold the
attention.
It was Balzac who reminded us of the fact that nearly all of the most
celebrated attachments in history were inspired by women in whom there
were noticeable physical defects. Mme. de Pompadour, Joanna of Naples,
Cleopatra, La Valliere--in fact, almost all the women whom a romantic
love has invested with a halo of interest--were not without
imperfections and even infirmities, while nearly all the women whose
beauty is described to us as perfect, have been finally unhappy in their
loves.
"Perhaps," says Balzac, "men live by sentiment more than by pleasure.
Perhaps the charm, wholly physical, of a beautiful woman has its bounds,
while the charm, essentially moral, of a woman of moderate beauty may be
infinite."
Whether this be true or not, women surely overestimate the influence of
mere physical beauty to attract and hold men. Madame de Stael, whose
dominion over the hearts of all those with whom she came in contact is
well known, declared that she would gladly give up all her gifts of
person, and all her learning, if she could receive beauty in exchange.
It was fortunate for her that her wish was not granted, for, had it
been, probably she would have found her kingdom slipping away. While
she did not have a beautiful face, she possessed physical
characteristics and personal traits which rendered her absolutely
fascinating.
To a sensible man nothing is quite so insipid as a vain, brainless,
tactless beauty, whose opinions are but echoes, and who imagines that
her beauty alone will hold him chained to her chariot.
Beauty holds for a time, but after a man's eyes are satisfied, he must
be entertained, and the plain girl who possesses brains and tact need
have no fear of her more beautiful rival. Modern research has proved
that not Sappho, not Aspasia, nor even Cleopatra were women who would
have attracted any special attention by reason of their physical beauty.
Their highest charm was intellectual--the possession of an "immensity to
give," as Plutarch expresses it, in the way of grace and accomplishment.
The idea that plain girls are allowed to run to waste as "unappropriated
blessings," is not supported by evidence, for we are constantly meeting
wives far plainer than the majority of the unmarried women of our
acquaintance; and it frequently happens that a man who has a wife
physically beautiful, becomes enamored of an exceedingly plain woman who
possesses a certain quality of congeniality, some trait of adaptability
which he misses in his partner.
Says a writer in _Lippincott's_: "It is safe to make the broad
generalization that a homely girl, all other things being equal, is
likely to have fewer offers than a pretty girl, but quite as likely to
receive the one offer which will make her a happy wife. But all other
things (save the gift of beauty) seldom are equal between the homely and
the pretty girl; by the natural law of compensation, the homely girl has
either some inherent or some acquired ability that is lacking in the
other, which asserts its charm as acquaintance progresses. Beauty only
has the start in the race."
It frequently happens that the beauty makes the mistake of expecting to
be entertained by her admirers, and does not exert herself to please.
The plain girl, however, is often superior in tact, for being obliged to
study human nature closely in order to get the most out of
companionship, she learns to depend upon this knowledge in her efforts
to please. She is not dazzled by admiration, nor is she unduly confident
when she obtains it that she will retain it.
Mme. Hading, who is a strikingly handsome woman, and, therefore, can
discuss beauty without falling under suspicion, once said:
"A woman is very unfortunate who has nothing but beauty to insure her
success. There are other things superior to beauty. Taste, good taste,
brains, tact, health, those are the things a woman must have to hold
people. And then there are good manners--so rare and yet so easily
cultivated. To be refined, to be gentle, to be amiable, to be charitable
in thought and in speech, to be intelligent, is to be charming, in spite
of an unattractive body and an ugly face. To be well born is, indeed, to
be blessed, but to rise above low birth is sublime. The greatest painter
of the age could make only a caricature of a face for the Empress
Josephine, and yet the sweetness of her smile and the charm of her
pleasing and gracious ways immortalized her name. There are other ends
to happiness than mere wealth; there are sweeter things in a woman's
face than beauty."
Again, the woman who charms is not necessarily young. History is full of
accounts of women who have been fascinating when beyond middle life. The
truest and strongest love is not always inspired by the beauty of
twenty. The enthusiasm over sweet sixteen is not supported by the old
experience which teaches that the highest beauty is not found in
immaturity. Louis XIV. wedded Mme. Maintenon when she was forty-three
years old. Catherine II. of Russia was thirty-three when she seized the
Empire of Russia and captivated the dashing young Gen. Orloff. Even up
to the time of her death--at sixty-seven--she seemed to have retained
the same bewitching power, for the lamentations were heartfelt among all
those who had ever known her personally.
Cleopatra was considerably over thirty when Antony fell under her spell,
which never lessened until her death, nearly ten years later.
Livia was thirty-three when she won the heart of Augustus, over whom she
maintained her ascendancy until the last. Aspasia did not wed Pericles
until she was thirty-seven, and for more than thirty years after that
she was regarded as one of the most fascinating women of her time. Ninon
de l'Enclos, the most celebrated wit of her day, was the idol of three
generations of the golden youth of France, and she was seventy-two when
the Abbe de Berais fell in love with her.
Helen of Troy, the celebrated Greek beauty, was over forty-five when she
took part in the most famous elopement in history; and as the siege of
Troy lasted ten years, she must have been at least fifty-five when the
ill-fortune of Paris restored her to her husband, who is reported to
have received her with unquestioned love and gratitude. Mlle. Mars, the
celebrated actress, was most attractive at forty-five, and Mme. Recamier
was at the zenith of her good looks and of her power to please when
between thirty-five and fifty-five. Diana de Poitiers was over
thirty-six when Henry II., then Duke of Orleans, and just half her age,
became attached to her, and she was regarded as the first lady and the
most beautiful woman at court up to the time of the monarch's death and
the accession to power of Catherine de Medici.
The common idea that the mature beauty of forty is less fascinating than
that of the girl of seventeen or eighteen is without foundation. By
beauty is not meant merely well-formed features and a fresh
complexion--these things even dolls possess. In spite of the rosy, fresh
complexion bestowed upon youth by nature, a woman's best and richest age
is really between thirty-five and forty-five, and sometimes considerably
beyond that period.
No one would dare say how old Madame Patti is. Everyone who meets her
exclaims at her marvellous youthfulness and vivacity. Patti's
explanation of her bright eyes, smooth skin and happy expression is
given in a few words: "I have kept my temper. No woman can remain young
who often loses her temper."
As a woman grows older, she ought to become more attractive in certain
ways than she could be in her youth. One of the most needful things for
attaining this result is good health. Fine muscles, a healthy, glowing
skin, eyes bright with energy and ambition--these make a valuable
foundation for the woman who would be attractive. The woman who, at a
certain age, considers herself _passe_, commits a great error. If she so
regards herself; if she believes she has passed the time when she can be
interesting, others are quite likely to find her unattractive. Surely a
woman should be more interesting after she leaves the period of
girlhood. She ought to be able to converse better, she should possess
more wisdom, greater tact, broader knowledge of human nature; and she
should have more repose, more grace of manner. Indeed, she should have
all her accomplishments well in hand, and be more facile in their use
for the pleasure of others; and she will be able to use them to better
advantage if she has cultivated placidity of temper, human sympathy and
generosity, and is not careless of her personal appearance. It
frequently happens that women who have reached middle life neglect many
of the aids to physical beauty which they once carefully followed. They
are careless about dress, and grow to esteem it excusable to dispense
with those simple and necessary accessories of the toilet which formerly
helped to make them so exquisitely fresh and dainty. They grow
accustomed to think that untidiness must necessarily be associated with
drudgery. But in these days it is becoming more possible to carry the
element of refinement and beauty with us everywhere.
Many women could seem much finer, more delicate than they appear, if
they were not accustomed to think that a certain homeliness, and even
negligence of attire is quite excusable, and, indeed, almost inseparable
from common work-a-day life. As we grow older, it becomes more necessary
that we use care in always presenting that appearance of personal
neatness which never fails to be attractive to those with whom we come
in contact.
One of the strongest elements a woman can possess to attract the other
sex is a sympathetic interest in a man's work. This was what attracted
Dr. Schliemann, the famous Greek scholar and explorer, to the young
woman whom he married. She was familiar with the Iliad and the Odyssey,
and was an enthusiast upon the subject of uncovering the ancient cities
of Homer.
Men like to have women interested in the things in which they themselves
are interested.
One who has read Richard Harding Davis' "Soldiers of Fortune" may
remember that Clay grew very fond of Miss Langham. His first
disappointment in her came to him when he discovered her lack of
interest in his work of opening up the iron mines in South America. Miss
Langham's younger sister, Hope, was, on the other hand, extremely
interested in the mines, made an exhaustive study of the methods of
mining, and when she, with the other members of the family, visited the
scene of Clay's engineering operations, it was she who drew Clay's
attention to herself by intelligent questions and suggestive remarks. He
was delighted with her, admired her, fell in love with her, and then
married her. That day at the mines was the beginning of the end of the
old love, and the awakening of the new.
To interest men a woman should, by reading the papers, acquire, and be
able to express, a reasonably clear idea of what is happening in the
world. She should ascertain what is of special interest to the
particular man she wishes to attract, and, whether the subject be
politics, business, out-door sports, art, science, or literature, she
should be able to contribute something in a conversation upon that
subject more interesting than a mere yes or no.
As it is the manly man who wins and satisfies a good woman, so it is the
womanly woman who pleases and retains the regard of the estimable man.
Men like the womanly woman. She need not be soft or silly, weak or
nervous; she may be strong, vigorous, resolute, and brave. A man has
little sympathy for the girl who imitates men either in dress, manner
or conversation. If a womanly man is not pleasing to either sex, what
shall we say of a manlike woman!
He thoroughly expresses the writer's view who said: "A perfect woman may
be adorable; a woman who is perfect would be beyond endurance." Yet,
however irreligious a man may be himself, he always dislikes irreverence
in a woman. He wishes and expects his wife to be better than he is, and,
generally, she is.
Men do not like the over-dressed woman--the one who goes to the extreme
of a fashion and a little further. He does not care for costliness of
apparel, but he is always attracted by freshness and daintiness.
A sense of humor is a valuable gift in a woman who wishes to please. Men
like the girl who sees the funny side of a thing; who can make them
laugh; who can be witty without being sarcastic; who can jest and not be
malicious; who can relate humorous experiences without saying things
calculated to make others uncomfortable.
A man likes a woman who entertains and amuses him. Young girls often
express surprise that one of their number is so popular among men. They
know she is not so pretty as dozens of other girls. She is not dressed
so richly as they are, yet, at a party, she will have half a dozen
young men about her while they are neglected and alone. She must, they
conclude, have that indefinable quality of magnetism, and that is all
that can be said about it, and they could not find out the secret if
they tried. But probably there is no secret about it. Although she is
not pretty, and does not possess a vast amount of information, she has
tact, and a quick and electric vivacity of spirit which acts as a breeze
on the sluggish waters, making ripples of pleasure and laughter, and so
produces an exhilarating effect upon all about her.
Many young men, if diffident or awkward, feel, it may be, a little out
of place. They hardly know what to do or say, but this particular girl
wakes them up, and they find themselves laughing and talking with
astonishing ease. She understands how to make them feel at ease, how to
draw them out, and as they associate with her they become unusually
elated, and it is not at all strange that in every company they look
eagerly for her presence.
While, judging from the descriptions and representations which we have
of her, Cleopatra was by no means beautiful, there is no mystery about
her fascinating influence over men.
"She had," said a writer in _The Boston Herald_, "jaded Roman conquerors
to deal with, men sated with every form of mere animal pleasure. There
was no piquancy left in anything; all had palled and staled on their
cloyed palates. But in Cleopatra was evermore something fresh,
unexpected, perfectly original!
"No wonder the bystanders cried, 'Age cannot wither nor custom stale her
infinite variety.' What had she to fear from the rivalship of mere youth
and beauty so long as her nimble intellect was fertile, like the Nile
floods, in successive harvests, in the one quality her lovers were ready
to lavish kingdoms for, namely, 'infinite variety.'"
To go back to the definition of personal fascination given in the
preceding chapter, we repeat that it consists "in the power to excite in
another person happy feelings of a high degree of intensity, and to make
that person identify such feelings with the charm and power of the
cherished cause of them."
There may be such a thing as the "indefinite quality of magnetism" which
draws people to the possessor whether they will or no; but there are
many personalities who are charming because they have willed to be,
because by painstaking perseverance they have acquired those
characteristics which enable them to please and charm all with whom they
come in contact.
THE ART OF CONVERSATION.
"_Though conversation, in its better part,
May be esteemed a gift and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture and the sowing of the soil._"
COWPER.
_In all countries where intelligence is prized, a talent for
conversation ranks high among accomplishments. To clothe the
thoughts in clear and elegant language, and to convey them
impressively to the mind of another, is no common attainment._
MRS. SIGOURNEY.
The man or woman who is an intelligent, tactful conversationalist,
commands one of the most essential elements of a pleasing address. While
all of us may have certain defects which we cannot wholly overcome,
however earnestly we may try, we can, if we will, re-form our
conversation. We can so train ourselves that good nature,
considerateness and benevolence will always have a place in our
intercourse with others. We can, if we will, use good English, and we
can avoid the temptation, so common, to talk of persons rather than of
things. Theoretically, we despise gossip; practically, most of us add
our mite to the common fund. We may not be ill-natured, and the sweet
charity that "thinketh no evil" may have a home in our hearts; yet
sometimes, if we are not watchful, it may fall asleep, and bitterness,
or the spirit of spitefulness come creeping stealthily to the surface.
We can, if we will, be intellectually honest--a kind of honesty which is
indeed rare. The principal reason why arguments and discussions lead to
so must dissatisfaction and ill-feeling on the part of the disputants,
is the lack of this quality.
Two men are engaged in conversation and a question of religious belief
or of politics is brought to the front. Each takes a side in the
discussion and maintains his opinions to the end. Neither is searching
for the truth, but is eager to defend his side of the question against
the attacks of his opponent. It does not occur to either that anything
else can be the truth except the things he has been taught to believe.
To both, the truth simply takes the form of their own opinions; and
since they are most firmly attached to their opinions, neither ever
questions his own devotion to the truth. Such persons can scarcely be
said to use their minds at all, for their thinking has been done by some
one else. Many a hostess is obliged tactfully to separate aggressively
argumentative and disputatious guests, who have never learned that
others have an equal right to their own opinions, and that not every
dinner party is the proper occasion to plunge into heated argument in
the hope of changing another's views.
Again, we can all avoid the habit of exaggeration--a fault which does
not get itself called by the name of "falsehood," but which is in
dangerously close proximity to it. A man hears something, true enough in
its original shape, but he passes it on with a little addition of his
own. The one to whom he tells it adds his touch of exaggeration, until,
at last, the statement is so swollen and distorted as to convey anything
but the real truth. It would be difficult to charge any one with
deliberate prevarication. The result is a sort of accumulative lie, made
by successive individual contributions of little dashes of exaggeration.
Thousands who would never be guilty of inventing an entire story
derogatory to the reputation of another, are constantly contributing to
the formation of these accumulative falsehoods, which are quite as evil
in their results as though conceived and concocted by one person.
We can put into requisition a nice sense of honor in our conversation.
In a hundred different ways this most fitting attribute of the true
woman and the real gentleman is often put to the test. We can remember
that it is quite as easy to be ill-mannered in speech as in conduct.
There are men and women who, at a dinner, would not under any
circumstances, transgress the rules of table etiquette, but who may
offend quite as grossly by a thoughtless or an intemperate use of words.
They may not dispense with the fork, but they wound the heart by unkind
words. They may observe all the amenities from oyster-fork to
finger-bowl, yet they offend some member of the company by sarcasm or
personal innuendo. They may not misplace or misuse the napkin, but they
may render the entire company uncomfortable by declining to yield, in
argument, to the greater weight of evidence; or by overloading a story
with unimportant details. They may be scrupulously neat, and of easy and
graceful deportment, but may never have learned the gentle art of
keeping one's temper sweet when criticised or when confronted by a
contradiction.
These very suggestive words appeared in "The Churchman": "It is almost a
definition of a gentleman to say that he is one who never inflicts
pain. The true gentleman carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a
jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast. He has his eyes on all
his company; he is tender toward the bashful, gentle toward the distant,
and merciful toward the absurd. He avoids unreasonable allusions on
topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and
never wearisome. Another delightful trait in him is that he makes light
of favors when he bestows them, and seems to be receiving when he is
conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never
defends himself by a mere retort. He has no ears for slander or gossip;
is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and
interprets everything for the best. He is never mean or small in his
disputes, never insinuates evil which he dare not say out. He has too
much good sense to be affronted at insults, and is too well employed to
remember injuries. He may be right or wrong in his opinions, but he is
too clear-headed to be unjust. He is as simple as he is forcible, and as
brief as he is decisive."
The entertaining talker is not, of necessity, a great talker; he is
often a good listener. He understands that a bright story, briefly told,
will amuse, but that people are bored by a long story, filled with
pointless details. He is not necessarily learned or profound. He
understands that small change is of as much importance in social
intercourse as it is between men in business. "Although deprecated by
some wise people as vain and frivolous," says _Zion's Herald_, "small
talk has a legitimate function in human intercourse. It is the small
coin of conversation. Those who despise its use often get on as badly in
social life as would the merchant who should exclude the dimes and
quarters from his money-drawer. Without them, the wheels of trade would
be blocked. An honest old copper penny will often turn the corner of a
good bargain. Chit-chat gives ease to conversation. The strait-jacket is
removed; the mental forces have full play; the man acts himself; and the
communication of soul with soul becomes free and delightful. With small
talk he is familiar, and can toss it about as a juggler does his cards.
The philosopher with his learned and exact phrases at once deadens the
flow of soul."
Men and women are not strictly original. The things we say to-day have
been said just as well a thousand times before; but that forms no reason
why we should not say them again. The coins in your purse have been
through a hundred hands and are not the less useful in serving you
again.
The fellowship enjoyed rather than the store of wisdom communicated, is
the end of conversation. Whether they say anything of importance or not,
we like to hear some persons talk; they inspire us and set our own
mental machinery in motion. Small talk often brings us most readily in
contact with another soul.
All good conversationalists know the use of small talk. To be sure, they
know something more, something larger and better, but the chinks in the
larger subject are filled in wonderfully by a familiar interpolation of
the smaller things in a chatty way. Many a wise and learned man would be
a better talker if he had at hand a supply of small coin. He can talk
extremely well on serious and recondite subjects, but the quick jest and
easy repartee of the parlor and the dining-room are beyond him. He is,
in spite of his learned lore, at a disadvantage in society, where there
is no time for homilies or for treatises on erudite topics. Persons less
gifted chat and laugh and have a good time while he sits in gloomy
silence. Those who would please and be pleased in social intercourse
must carry with them and be ready to dispense the small change of light
and witty conversation.
To be popular in society, find out whether your companion prefers to
talk or listen; avoid personalities; endeavor to lead the conversation
to subjects familiar and interesting to others rather than especially
pleasing to yourself; never indulge in sarcasm; be good-natured and
sympathetic; strive to be tactful; exchange small courtesies; talk to
all with equal attention and interest, and whatever the topic of
conversation, or wherever you may be, appear cheerfully contented.
Acquire, and then exhibit, that adaptability to place and people which
conduces ever to grateful and pleasing companionship.
William Mathews writes in _Success_: "Conversation rules the destiny of
the state and of the individual; from diplomacy, which is essentially
the art of conversing skilfully on political themes, down to the daily
transactions of the mart and the exchange, its empire is evident to all.
"Such being the potency and importance of conversation, why is so little
attention given to its culture to-day? Why is it that so many educated
men, who are fastidious regarding their personal appearance, and bestow
upon their bodies the most solicitous care, are yet willing to send
their minds abroad in a state of slovenliness, regardless of the
impression they make?"
GOOD ENGLISH.
_We should be as careful of our words as of our actions._
CICERO.
An accomplishment, in its accepted meaning, is "something acquired which
perfects or makes complete; an attainment which tends to equip in
character, manner, or person, and which gives pleasure to others."
Surely, then, the man or woman who desires to please cannot possess too
many accomplishments; and, accepting the definition just given, is there
any other accomplishment of greater importance than facility in speaking
and writing one's native language with ease and with elegance? Is there
any other single test of culture so conclusive as this? Is it not the
matter, and, particularly, the method of one's speech more than anything
else which impresses the person whom we meet for the first time, either
favorably or unfavorably in regard to our acquirements? We may have but
few opportunities during a lifetime to display our knowledge of
geometry, algebra or astronomy; we may be for weeks in the company of
other people without giving them an opportunity to suspect that we
possess any knowledge of Latin or Greek, but as long as we live, and
every day we live, we are giving evidences of facility or awkwardness in
the use of our mother tongue.
How much time is wasted in practicing upon unresponsive musical
instruments--unresponsive because not touched by sympathetic fingers!
How much time is spent in acquiring a slight knowledge of French and
German, which results, generally, in an ability to use a few simple
phrases, and to translate easy sentences with the aid of a dictionary!
How many young women, with no artistic ability whatever, spend weeks and
months under the instruction of teachers in vain attempts to produce
something in oil or in water-color worthy to be called a picture! How
much more to the advantage of these young women would it be if a part of
this time were spent in acquiring a better understanding of the use of
English!
The writer once knew a girl who, after playing a selection upon the
piano, left the room and burst into tears because she had been guilty of
a slight blunder in her execution--a blunder not noticed by two of the
twenty persons assembled in the parlor. This same girl, however,
exhibited, habitually, a carelessness in pronunciation, and an
ignorance of English grammar of which she should have been heartily
ashamed, and which caused far more annoyance to her friends than her
blunders in music.
Boys and girls should be trained to feel that it is as discreditable to
them to confound the parts of speech in conversation, as it is to make
discords in music, or to finish a picture out of drawing, or to be
guilty of some inadvertence of manner. They should be made to feel that
proficiency in music, French, German, or painting, or any other
accomplishment, so-called, will not compensate for slovenliness of
diction.