"We must be gentle, now we are gentlemen."--SHAKSPEARE.
"Manners are not idle, but the fruit
Of noble nature and of loyal mind."--TENNYSON.
"A beautiful behaviour is better than a beautiful form; it
gives a higher pleasure than statues and pictures; it is the
finest of the fine arts."--EMERSON.
"Manners are often too much neglected; they are most
important to men, no less than to women.... Life is too
short to get over a bad manner; besides, manners are the
shadows of virtues."--THE REV. SIDNEY SMITH.
Manner is one of the principal external graces of character. It is the
ornament of action, and often makes the commonest offices beautiful by
the way in which it performs them. It is a happy way of doing things,
adorning even the smallest details of life, and contributing to render
it, as a whole, agreeable and pleasant.
Manner is not so frivolous or unimportant as some may think it to be;
for it tends greatly to facilitate the business of life, as well as
to sweeten and soften social intercourse. "Virtue itself," says Bishop
Middleton, "offends, when coupled with a forbidding manner."
Manner has a good deal to do with the estimation in which men are held
by the world; and it has often more influence in the government of
others than qualities of much greater depth and substance. A manner at
once gracious and cordial is among the greatest aids to success, and
many there are who fail for want of it. [181] For a great deal depends
upon first impressions; and these are usually favourable or otherwise
according to a man's courteousness and civility.
While rudeness and gruffness bar doors and shut hearts, kindness and
propriety of behaviour, in which good manners consist, act as an "open
sesame" everywhere. Doors unbar before them, and they are a passport to
the hearts of everybody, young and old.
There is a common saying that "Manners make the man;" but this is not so
true as that "Man makes the manners." A man may be gruff, and even
rude, and yet be good at heart and of sterling character; yet he would
doubtless be a much more agreeable, and probably a much more useful man,
were he to exhibit that suavity of disposition and courtesy of manner
which always gives a finish to the true gentleman.
Mrs. Hutchinson, in the noble portraiture of her husband, to which
we have already had occasion to refer, thus describes his manly
courteousness and affability of disposition:--"I cannot say whether
he were more truly magnanimous or less proud; he never disdained the
meanest person, nor flattered the greatest; he had a loving and sweet
courtesy to the poorest, and would often employ many spare hours with
the commonest soldiers and poorest labourers; but still so ordering his
familiarity, that it never raised them to a contempt, but entertained
still at the same time a reverence and love of him." [182]
A man's manner, to a certain extent, indicates his character. It is
the external exponent of his inner nature. It indicates his taste, his
feelings, and his temper, as well as the society to which he has been
accustomed. There is a conventional manner, which is of comparatively
little importance; but the natural manner, the outcome of natural gifts,
improved by careful self-culture, signifies a great deal.
Grace of manner is inspired by sentiment, which is a source of no slight
enjoyment to a cultivated mind. Viewed in this light, sentiment is of
almost as much importance as talents and acquirements, while it is
even more influential in giving the direction to a man s tastes and
character. Sympathy is the golden key that unlocks the hearts of others.
It not only teaches politeness and courtesy, but gives insight and
unfolds wisdom, and may almost be regarded as the crowning grace of
humanity.
Artificial rules of politeness are of very little use. What passes by
the name of "Etiquette" is often of the essence of unpoliteness and
untruthfulness. It consists in a great measure of posture-making, and
is easily seen through. Even at best, etiquette is but a substitute for
good manners, though it is often but their mere counterfeit.
Good manners consist, for the most part, in courteousness and kindness.
Politeness has been described as the art of showing, by external signs,
the internal regard we have for others. But one may be perfectly polite
to another without necessarily having a special regard for him. Good
manners are neither more nor less than beautiful behaviour. It has been
well said, that "a beautiful form is better than a beautiful face, and
a beautiful behaviour is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher
pleasure than statues or pictures--it is the finest of the fine arts."
The truest politeness comes of sincerity. It must be the outcome of the
heart, or it will make no lasting impression; for no amount of polish
can dispense with truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed to
appear, freed of its angularities and asperities. Though politeness,
in its best form, should [18as St. Francis de Sales says] resemble
water--"best when clearest, most simple, and without taste,"--yet genius
in a man will always cover many defects of manner, and much will
be excused to the strong and the original. Without genuineness and
individuality, human life would lose much of its interest and variety,
as well as its manliness and robustness of character.
True courtesy is kind. It exhibits itself in the disposition to
contribute to the happiness of others, and in refraining from all that
may annoy them. It is grateful as well as kind, and readily acknowledges
kind actions. Curiously enough, Captain Speke found this quality of
character recognised even by the natives of Uganda on the shores of
Lake Nyanza, in the heart of Africa, where, he says. "Ingratitude, or
neglecting to thank a person for a benefit conferred, is punishable."
True politeness especially exhibits itself in regard for the personality
of others. A man will respect the individuality of another if he wishes
to be respected himself. He will have due regard for his views and
opinions, even though they differ from his own. The well-mannered man
pays a compliment to another, and sometimes even secures his respect,
by patiently listening to him. He is simply tolerant and forbearant, and
refrains from judging harshly; and harsh judgments of others will almost
invariably provoke harsh judgments of ourselves.
The unpolite impulsive man will, however, sometimes rather lose his
friend than his joke. He may surely be pronounced a very foolish person
who secures another's hatred at the price of a moment's gratification.
It was a saying of Brunel the engineer--himself one of the
kindest-natured of men--that "spite and ill-nature are among the most
expensive luxuries in life." Dr. Johnson once said: "Sir, a man has no
more right to SAY an uncivil thing than to ACT one--no more right to say
a rude thing to another than to knock him down."
A sensible polite person does not assume to be better or wiser or richer
than his neighbour. He does not boast of his rank, or his birth, or his
country; or look down upon others because they have not been born to
like privileges with himself. He does not brag of his achievements or
of his calling, or "talk shop" whenever he opens his mouth. On the
contrary, in all that he says or does, he will be modest, unpretentious,
unassuming; exhibiting his true character in performing rather than in
boasting, in doing rather than in talking.
Want of respect for the feelings of others usually originates in
selfishness, and issues in hardness and repulsiveness of manner. It may
not proceed from malignity so much as from want of sympathy and want of
delicacy--a want of that perception of, and attention to, those little
and apparently trifling things by which pleasure is given or
pain occasioned to others. Indeed, it may be said that in
self-sacrificingness, so to speak, in the ordinary intercourse of life,
mainly consists the difference between being well and ill bred.
Without some degree of self-restraint in society, a man may be found
almost insufferable. No one has pleasure in holding intercourse with
such a person, and he is a constant source of annoyance to those about
him. For want of self-restraint, many men are engaged all their lives
in fighting with difficulties of their own making, and rendering success
impossible by their own crossgrained ungentleness; whilst others, it
may be much less gifted, make their way and achieve success by simple
patience, equanimity, and self-control.
It has been said that men succeed in life quite as much by their temper
as by their talents. However this may be, it is certain that their
happiness depends mainly on their temperament, especially upon their
disposition to be cheerful; upon their complaisance, kindliness of
manner, and willingness to oblige others--details of conduct which are
like the small-change in the intercourse of life, and are always in
request.
Men may show their disregard of others in various unpolite ways--as,
for instance, by neglect of propriety in dress, by the absence of
cleanliness, or by indulging in repulsive habits. The slovenly dirty
person, by rendering himself physically disagreeable, sets the tastes
and feelings of others at defiance, and is rude and uncivil only under
another form.
David Ancillon, a Huguenot preacher of singular attractiveness, who
studied and composed his sermons with the greatest care, was accustomed
to say "that it was showing too little esteem for the public to take
no pains in preparation, and that a man who should appear on a
ceremonial-day in his nightcap and dressing-gown, could not commit a
greater breach of civility."
The perfection of manner is ease--that it attracts no man's notice
as such, but is natural and unaffected. Artifice is incompatible with
courteous frankness of manner. Rochefoucauld has said that "nothing so
much prevents our being natural as the desire of appearing so." Thus we
come round again to sincerity and truthfulness, which find their outward
expression in graciousness, urbanity, kindliness, and consideration for
the feelings of others. The frank and cordial man sets those about him
at their ease. He warms and elevates them by his presence, and wins
all hearts. Thus manner, in its highest form, like character, becomes a
genuine motive power.
"The love and admiration," says Canon Kingsley, "which that truly brave
and loving man, Sir Sydney Smith, won from every one, rich and poor,
with whom he came in contact seems to have arisen from the one fact,
that without, perhaps, having any such conscious intention, he treated
rich and poor, his own servants and the noblemen his guests, alike, and
alike courteously, considerately, cheerfully, affectionately--so leaving
a blessing, and reaping a blessing, wherever he went."
Good manners are usually supposed to be the peculiar characteristic of
persons gently born and bred, and of persons moving in the higher rather
than in the lower spheres of society. And this is no doubt to a great
extent true, because of the more favourable surroundings of the former
in early life. But there is no reason why the poorest classes should not
practise good manners towards each other as well as the richest.
Men who toil with their hands, equally with those who do not, may
respect themselves and respect one another; and it is by their demeanour
to each other--in other words, by their manners--that self-respect as
well as mutual respect are indicated. There is scarcely a moment in
their lives, the enjoyment of which might not be enhanced by kindliness
of this sort--in the workshop, in the street, or at home. The civil
workman will exercise increased power amongst his class, and gradually
induce them to imitate him by his persistent steadiness, civility, and
kindness. Thus Benjamin Franklin, when a working-man, is said to have
reformed the habits of an entire workshop.
One may be polite and gentle with very little money in his purse.
Politeness goes far, yet costs nothing. It is the cheapest of all
commodities. It is the humblest of the fine arts, yet it is so useful
and so pleasure-giving, that it might almost be ranked amongst the
humanities.
Every nation may learn something of others; and if there be one thing
more than another that the English working-class might afford to
copy with advantage from their Continental neighbours, it is their
politeness. The French and Germans, of even the humblest classes, are
gracious in manner, complaisant, cordial, and well-bred. The foreign
workman lifts his cap and respectfully salutes his fellow-workman in
passing. There is no sacrifice of manliness in this, but grace and
dignity. Even the lowest poverty of the foreign workpeople is not
misery, simply because it is cheerful. Though not receiving one-half the
income which our working-classes do, they do not sink into wretchedness
and drown their troubles in drink; but contrive to make the best of
life, and to enjoy it even amidst poverty.
Good taste is a true economist. It may be practised on small means,
and sweeten the lot of labour as well as of ease. It is all the more
enjoyed, indeed, when associated with industry and the performance of
duty. Even the lot of poverty is elevated by taste. It exhibits itself
in the economies of the household. It gives brightness and grace to the
humblest dwelling. It produces refinement, it engenders goodwill, and
creates an atmosphere of cheerfulness. Thus good taste, associated with
kindliness, sympathy, and intelligence, may elevate and adorn even the
lowliest lot.
The first and best school of manners, as of character, is always the
Home, where woman is the teacher. The manners of society at large are
but the reflex of the manners of our collective homes, neither better
nor worse. Yet, with all the disadvantages of ungenial homes, men may
practise self-culture of manner as of intellect, and learn by good
examples to cultivate a graceful and agreeable behaviour towards others.
Most men are like so many gems in the rough, which need polishing by
contact with other and better natures, to bring out their full beauty
and lustre. Some have but one side polished, sufficient only to show the
delicate graining of the interior; but to bring out the full qualities
of the gem needs the discipline of experience, and contact with the best
examples of character in the intercourse of daily life.
A good deal of the success of manner consists in tact, and it is because
women, on the whole, have greater tact than men, that they prove its
most influential teachers. They have more self-restraint than men,
and are naturally more gracious and polite. They possess an intuitive
quickness and readiness of action, have a keener insight into character,
and exhibit greater discrimination and address. In matters of social
detail, aptness and dexterity come to them like nature; and hence
well-mannered men usually receive their best culture by mixing in the
society of gentle and adroit women.
Tact is an intuitive art of manner, which carries one through a
difficulty better than either talent or knowledge. "Talent," says a
public writer, "is power: tact is skill. Talent is weight: tact is
momentum. Talent knows what to do: tact knows how to do it. Talent makes
a man respectable: tact makes him respected. Talent is wealth: tact is
ready-money."
The difference between a man of quick tact and of no tact whatever
was exemplified in an interview which once took place between Lord
Palmerston and Mr. Behnes, the sculptor. At the last sitting which Lord
Palmerston gave him, Behnes opened the conversation with--"Any news,
my Lord, from France? How do we stand with Louis Napoleon?" The Foreign
Secretary raised his eyebrows for an instant, and quietly replied,
"Really, Mr. Behnes, I don't know: I have not seen the newspapers!" Poor
Behnes, with many excellent qualities and much real talent, was one of
the many men who entirely missed their way in life through want of tact.
Such is the power of manner, combined with tact, that Wilkes, one of the
ugliest of men, used to say, that in winning the graces of a lady, there
was not more than three days' difference between him and the handsomest
man in England.
But this reference to Wilkes reminds us that too much importance must
not be attached to manner, for it does not afford any genuine test of
character. The well-mannered man may, like Wilkes, be merely acting a
part, and that for an immoral purpose. Manner, like other fine arts,
gives pleasure, and is exceedingly agreeable to look upon; but it may be
assumed as a disguise, as men "assume a virtue though they have it not."
It is but the exterior sign of good conduct, but may be no more than
skin-deep. The most highly-polished person may be thoroughly depraved
in heart; and his superfine manners may, after all, only consist in
pleasing gestures and in fine phrases.
On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that some of the richest and
most generous natures have been wanting in the graces of courtesy and
politeness. As a rough rind sometimes covers the sweetest fruit, so a
rough exterior often conceals a kindly and hearty nature. The blunt man
may seem even rude in manner, and yet, at heart, be honest, kind, and
gentle.
John Knox and Martin Luther were by no means distinguished for their
urbanity. They had work to do which needed strong and determined
rather than well-mannered men. Indeed, they were both thought to be
unnecessarily harsh and violent in their manner. "And who art thou,"
said Mary Queen of Scots to Knox, "that presumest to school the nobles
and sovereign of this realm?"--"Madam," replied Knox, "a subject born
within the same." It is said that his boldness, or roughness, more than
once made Queen Mary weep. When Regent Morton heard of this, he said,
"Well, 'tis better that women should weep than bearded men."
As Knox was retiring from the Queen's presence on one occasion, he
overheard one of the royal attendants say to another, "He is not
afraid!" Turning round upon them, he said: "And why should the pleasing
face of a gentleman frighten me? I have looked on the faces of angry
men, and yet have not been afraid beyond measure." When the Reformer,
worn-out by excess of labour and anxiety, was at length laid to his
rest, the Regent, looking down into the open grave, exclaimed, in words
which made a strong impression from their aptness and truth--"There lies
he who never feared the face of man!"
Luther also was thought by some to be a mere compound of violence and
ruggedness. But, as in the case of Knox, the times in which he lived
were rude and violent; and the work he had to do could scarcely have
been accomplished with gentleness and suavity. To rouse Europe from its
lethargy, he had to speak and to write with force, and even vehemence.
Yet Luther's vehemence was only in words. His apparently rude exterior
covered a warm heart. In private life he was gentle, loving, and
affectionate. He was simple and homely, even to commonness. Fond of all
common pleasures and enjoyments, he was anything but an austere man,
or a bigot; for he was hearty, genial, and even "jolly." Luther was the
common people's hero in his lifetime, and he remains so in Germany to
this day.
Samuel Johnson was rude and often gruff in manner. But he had been
brought up in a rough school. Poverty in early life had made him
acquainted with strange companions. He had wandered in the streets with
Savage for nights together, unable between them to raise money enough
to pay for a bed. When his indomitable courage and industry at length
secured for him a footing in society, he still bore upon him the scars
of his early sorrows and struggles. He was by nature strong and robust,
and his experience made him unaccommodating and self-asserting. When
he was once asked why he was not invited to dine out as Garrick was,
he answered, "Because great lords and ladies did not like to have their
mouths stopped;" and Johnson was a notorious mouth-stopper, though what
he said was always worth listening to.
Johnson's companions spoke of him as "Ursa Major;" but, as Goldsmith
generously said of him, "No man alive has a more tender heart; he has
nothing of the bear about him but his skin." The kindliness of Johnson's
nature was shown on one occasion by the manner in which he assisted a
supposed lady in crossing Fleet Street. He gave her his arm, and led her
across, not observing that she was in liquor at the time. But the spirit
of the act was not the less kind on that account. On the other hand,
the conduct of the bookseller on whom Johnson once called to solicit
employment, and who, regarding his athletic but uncouth person, told him
he had better "go buy a porter's knot and carry trunks," in howsoever
bland tones the advice might have been communicated, was simply brutal.
While captiousness of manner, and the habit of disputing and
contradicting everything said, is chilling and repulsive, the opposite
habit of assenting to, and sympathising with, every statement made, or
emotion expressed, is almost equally disagreeable. It is unmanly, and is
felt to be dishonest. "It may seem difficult," says Richard Sharp, "to
steer always between bluntness and plain-dealing, between giving
merited praise and lavishing indiscriminate flattery; but it is very
easy--good-humour, kindheartedness, and perfect simplicity, being all
that are requisite to do what is right in the right way." [183]
At the same time, many are unpolite--not because they mean to be so, but
because they are awkward, and perhaps know no better. Thus, when Gibbon
had published the second and third volumes of his 'Decline and Fall,'
the Duke of Cumberland met him one day, and accosted him with, "How do
you do, Mr. Gibbon? I see you are always AT IT in the old way--SCRIBBLE,
SCRIBBLE, SCRIBBLE!" The Duke probably intended to pay the author a
compliment, but did not know how better to do it, than in this blunt and
apparently rude way.
Again, many persons are thought to be stiff, reserved, and proud, when
they are only shy. Shyness is characteristic of most people of Teutonic
race. It has been styled "the English mania," but it pervades, to
a greater or less degree, all the Northern nations. The ordinary
Englishman, when he travels abroad, carries his shyness with him. He
is stiff, awkward, ungraceful, undemonstrative, and apparently
unsympathetic; and though he may assume a brusqueness of manner, the
shyness is there, and cannot be wholly concealed. The naturally graceful
and intensely social French cannot understand such a character; and the
Englishman is their standing joke--the subject of their most ludicrous
caricatures. George Sand attributes the rigidity of the natives of
Albion to a stock of FLUIDE BRITANNIQUE which they carry about with
them, that renders them impassive under all circumstances, and "as
impervious to the atmosphere of the regions they traverse as a mouse in
the centre of an exhausted receiver." [184]
The average Frenchman or Irishman excels the average Englishman, German,
or American in courtesy and ease of manner, simply because it is
his nature. They are more social and less self-dependent than men of
Teutonic origin, more demonstrative and less reticent; they are more
communicative, conversational, and freer in their intercourse with
each other in all respects; whilst men of German race are comparatively
stiff, reserved, shy, and awkward. At the same time, a people may
exhibit ease, gaiety, and sprightliness of character, and yet possess
no deeper qualities calculated to inspire respect. They may have every
grace of manner, and yet be heartless, frivolous, selfish. The character
may be on the surface only, and without any solid qualities for a
foundation.
There can be no doubt as to which of the two sorts of people--the easy
and graceful, or the stiff and awkward--it is most agreeable to meet,
either in business, in society, or in the casual intercourse of life.
Which make the fastest friends, the truest men of their word, the most
conscientious performers of their duty, is an entirely different matter.
The dry GAUCHE Englishman--to use the French phrase, L'ANGLAIS
EMPETRE--is certainly a somewhat disagreeable person to meet at first.
He looks as if he had swallowed a poker. He is shy himself, and the
cause of shyness in others. He is stiff, not because he is proud, but
because he is shy; and he cannot shake it off, even if he would. Indeed,
we should not be surprised to find that even the clever writer who
describes the English Philistine in all his enormity of awkward manner
and absence of grace, were himself as shy as a bat.
When two shy men meet, they seem like a couple of icicles. They sidle
away and turn their backs on each other in a room, or when travelling
creep into the opposite corners of a railway-carriage. When shy
Englishmen are about to start on a journey by railway, they walk
along the train, to discover an empty compartment in which to bestow
themselves; and when once ensconced, they inwardly hate the next man who
comes in. So; on entering the dining-room of their club, each shy man
looks out for an unoccupied table, until sometimes--all the tables in
the room are occupied by single diners. All this apparent unsociableness
is merely shyness--the national characteristic of the Englishman.
"The disciples of Confucius," observes Mr. Arthur Helps, "say that
when in the presence of the prince, his manner displayed RESPECTFUL
UNEASINESS. There could hardly be given any two words which more fitly
describe the manner of most Englishmen when in society." Perhaps it
is due to this feeling that Sir Henry Taylor, in his 'Statesman,'
recommends that, in the management of interviews, the minister should
be as "near to the door" as possible; and, instead of bowing his visitor
out, that he should take refuge, at the end of an interview, in the
adjoining room. "Timid and embarrassed men," he says, "will sit as if
they were rooted to the spot, when they are conscious that they have
to traverse the length of a room in their retreat. In every case, an
interview will find a more easy and pleasing termination WHEN THE DOOR
IS AT HAND as the last words are spoken." [185]
The late Prince Albert, one of the gentlest and most amiable, was also
one of the most retiring of men. He struggled much against his sense
of shyness, but was never able either to conquer or conceal it. His
biographer, in explaining its causes, says: "It was the shyness of a
very delicate nature, that is not sure it will please, and is without
the confidence and the vanity which often go to form characters that are
outwardly more genial." [186]
But the Prince shared this defect with some of the greatest of
Englishmen. Sir Isaac Newton was probably the shyest man of his age. He
kept secret for a time some of his greatest discoveries, for fear of the
notoriety they might bring him. His discovery of the Binomial Theorem
and its most important applications, as well as his still greater
discovery of the Law of Gravitation, were not published for years after
they were made; and when he communicated to Collins his solution of the
theory of the moon's rotation round the earth, he forbade him to insert
his name in connection with it in the 'Philosophical Transactions,'
saying: "It would, perhaps, increase my acquaintance--the thing which I
chiefly study to decline."
From all that can be learnt of Shakspeare, it is to be inferred that he
was an exceedingly shy man. The manner in which his plays were sent
into the world--for it is not known that he edited or authorized
the publication of a single one of them--and the dates at which they
respectively appeared, are mere matters of conjecture. His appearance in
his own plays in second and even third-rate parts--his indifference to
reputation, and even his apparent aversion to be held in repute by his
contemporaries--his disappearance from London [18the seat and centre
of English histrionic art] so soon as he had realised a moderate
competency--and his retirement about the age of forty, for the remainder
of his days, to a life of obscurity in a small town in the midland
counties--all seem to unite in proving the shrinking nature of the man,
and his unconquerable shyness.
It is also probable that, besides being shy--and his shyness may, like
that of Byron, have been increased by his limp--Shakspeare did not
possess in any high degree the gift of hope. It is a remarkable
circumstance, that whilst the great dramatist has, in the course of
his writings, copiously illustrated all other gifts, affections, and
virtues, the passages are very rare in which Hope is mentioned, and then
it is usually in a desponding and despairing tone, as when he says:
"The miserable hath no other medicine, But only Hope."
Many of his sonnets breathe the spirit of despair and hopelessness. [187]
He laments his lameness; [188] apologizes for his profession as an actor;
[189] expresses his "fear of trust" in himself, and his hopeless, perhaps
misplaced, affection; [1810] anticipates a "coffin'd doom;" and utters his
profoundly pathetic cry "for restful death."
It might naturally be supposed that Shakspeare's profession of an actor,
and his repeated appearances in public, would speedily overcome his
shyness, did such exist. But inborn shyness, when strong, is not so
easily conquered. [1811] Who could have believed that the late Charles
Mathews, who entertained crowded houses night after night, was naturally
one of the shyest of men? He would even make long circuits [18lame though
he was] along the byelanes of London to avoid recognition. His wife says
of him, that he looked "sheepish" and confused if recognised; and that
his eyes would fall, and his colour would mount, if he heard his name
even whispered in passing along the streets. [1812]
Nor would it at first sight have been supposed that Lord Byron was
affected with shyness, and yet he was a victim to it; his biographer
relating that, while on a visit to Mrs. Pigot, at Southwell, when he saw
strangers approaching, he would instantly jump out of the window, and
escape on to the lawn to avoid them.
But a still more recent and striking instance is that of the late
Archbishop Whately, who, in the early part of his life, was painfully
oppressed by the sense of shyness. When at Oxford, his white rough coat
and white hat obtained for him the soubriquet of "The White Bear;" and
his manners, according to his own account of himself, corresponded with
the appellation. He was directed, by way of remedy, to copy the example
of the best-mannered men he met in society; but the attempt to do this
only increased his shyness, and he failed. He found that he was all the
while thinking of himself, rather than of others; whereas thinking of
others, rather than of one's self, is of the true essence of politeness.
Finding that he was making no progress, Whately was driven to utter
despair; and then he said to himself: "Why should I endure this torture
all my life to no purpose? I would bear it still if there was any
success to be hoped for; but since there is not, I will die quietly,
without taking any more doses. I have tried my very utmost, and find
that I must be as awkward as a bear all my life, in spite of it. I will
endeavour to think as little about it as a bear, and make up my mind to
endure what can't be cured." From this time forth he struggled to shake
off all consciousness as to manner, and to disregard censure as much
as possible. In adopting this course, he says: "I succeeded beyond
my expectations; for I not only got rid of the personal suffering of
shyness, but also of most of those faults of manner which consciousness
produces; and acquired at once an easy and natural manner--careless,
indeed, in the extreme, from its originating in a stern defiance of
opinion, which I had convinced myself must be ever against me; rough
and awkward, for smoothness and grace are quite out of my way, and,
of course, tutorially pedantic; but unconscious, and therefore giving
expression to that goodwill towards men which I really feel; and these,
I believe, are the main points." [1813]
Washington, who was an Englishman in his lineage, was also one in his
shyness. He is described incidentally by Mr. Josiah Quincy, as "a
little stiff in his person, not a little formal in his manner, and not
particularly at ease in the presence of strangers. He had the air of
a country gentleman not accustomed to mix much in society, perfectly
polite, but not easy in his address and conversation, and not graceful
in his movements."
Although we are not accustomed to think of modern Americans as shy, the
most distinguished American author of our time was probably the shyest
of men. Nathaniel Hawthorne was shy to the extent of morbidity. We have
observed him, when a stranger entered the room where he was, turn his
back for the purpose of avoiding recognition. And yet, when the crust
of his shyness was broken, no man could be more cordial and genial than
Hawthorne.
We observe a remark in one of Hawthorne's lately-published 'Notebooks,'
[1814] that on one occasion he met Mr. Helps in society, and found him
"cold." And doubtless Mr. Helps thought the same of him. It was only the
case of two shy men meeting, each thinking the other stiff and reserved,
and parting before their mutual film of shyness had been removed by a
little friendly intercourse. Before pronouncing a hasty judgment in such
cases, it would be well to bear in mind the motto of Helvetius, which
Bentham says proved such a real treasure to him: "POUR AIMER LES HOMMES,
IL FAUT ATTENDRE PEU."
We have thus far spoken of shyness as a defect. But there is another way
of looking at it; for even shyness has its bright side, and contains
an element of good. Shy men and shy races are ungraceful and
undemonstrative, because, as regards society at large, they are
comparatively unsociable. They do not possess those elegances of manner,
acquired by free intercourse, which distinguish the social races,
because their tendency is to shun society rather than to seek it.
They are shy in the presence of strangers, and shy even in their own
families. They hide their affections under a robe of reserve, and when
they do give way to their feelings, it is only in some very hidden
inner-chamber. And yet the feelings ARE there, and not the less healthy
and genuine that they are not made the subject of exhibition to others.
It was not a little characteristic of the ancient Germans, that the more
social and demonstrative peoples by whom they were surrounded should
have characterised them as the NIEMEC, or Dumb men. And the same
designation might equally apply to the modern English, as compared, for
example, with their nimbler, more communicative and vocal, and in all
respects more social neighbours, the modern French and Irish.
But there is one characteristic which marks the English people, as it
did the races from which they have mainly sprung, and that is
their intense love of Home. Give the Englishman a home, and he is
comparatively indifferent to society. For the sake of a holding which he
can call his own, he will cross the seas, plant himself on the prairie
or amidst the primeval forest, and make for himself a home. The solitude
of the wilderness has no fears for him; the society of his wife and
family is sufficient, and he cares for no other. Hence it is that the
people of Germanic origin, from whom the English and Americans have
alike sprung, make the best of colonizers, and are now rapidly extending
themselves as emigrants and settlers in all parts of the habitable
globe.
The French have never made any progress as colonizers, mainly because
of their intense social instincts--the secret of their graces of
manner,--and because they can never forget that they are Frenchmen. [1815]
It seemed at one time within the limits of probability that the French
would occupy the greater part of the North American continent. From
Lower Canada their line of forts extended up the St. Lawrence, and from
Fond du Lac on Lake Superior, along the River St. Croix, all down the
Mississippi, to its mouth at New Orleans. But the great, self-reliant,
industrious "Niemec," from a fringe of settlements along the seacoast,
silently extended westward, settling and planting themselves everywhere
solidly upon the soil; and nearly all that now remains of the original
French occupation of America, is the French colony of Acadia, in Lower
Canada.
And even there we find one of the most striking illustrations of
that intense sociability of the French which keeps them together, and
prevents their spreading over and planting themselves firmly in a new
country, as it is the instinct of the men of Teutonic race to do. While,
in Upper Canada, the colonists of English and Scotch descent penetrate
the forest and the wilderness, each settler living, it may be, miles
apart from his nearest neighbour, the Lower Canadians of French descent
continue clustered together in villages, usually consisting of a line of
houses on either side of the road, behind which extend their long
strips of farm-land, divided and subdivided to an extreme tenuity. They
willingly submit to all the inconveniences of this method of farming for
the sake of each other's society, rather than betake themselves to the
solitary backwoods, as English, Germans, and Americans so readily do.
Indeed, not only does the American backwoodsman become accustomed to
solitude, but he prefers it. And in the Western States, when settlers
come too near him, and the country seems to become "overcrowded," he
retreats before the advance of society, and, packing up his "things" in
a waggon, he sets out cheerfully, with his wife and family, to found for
himself a new home in the Far West.
Thus the Teuton, because of his very shyness, is the true colonizer.
English, Scotch, Germans, and Americans are alike ready to accept
solitude, provided they can but establish a home and maintain a family.
Thus their comparative indifference to society has tended to spread this
race over the earth, to till and to subdue it; while the intense social
instincts of the French, though issuing in much greater gracefulness of
manner, has stood in their way as colonizers; so that, in the countries
in which they have planted themselves--as in Algiers and elsewhere--they
have remained little more than garrisons. [1816]
There are other qualities besides these, which grow out of the
comparative unsociableness of the Englishman. His shyness throws him
back upon himself, and renders him self-reliant and self-dependent.
Society not being essential to his happiness, he takes refuge in
reading, in study, in invention; or he finds pleasure in industrial
work, and becomes the best of mechanics. He does not fear to entrust
himself to the solitude of the ocean, and he becomes a fisherman, a
sailor, a discoverer. Since the early Northmen scoured the northern
seas, discovered America, and sent their fleets along the shores of
Europe and up the Mediterranean, the seamanship of the men of Teutonic
race has always been in the ascendant.
The English are inartistic for the same reason that they are unsociable.
They may make good colonists, sailors, and mechanics; but they do not
make good singers, dancers, actors, artistes, or modistes. They neither
dress well, act well, speak well, nor write well. They want style--they
want elegance. What they have to do they do in a straightforward manner,
but without grace. This was strikingly exhibited at an International
Cattle Exhibition held at Paris a few years ago. At the close of the
Exhibition, the competitors came up with the prize animals to receive
the prizes. First came a gay and gallant Spaniard, a magnificent man,
beautifully dressed, who received a prize of the lowest class with an
air and attitude that would have become a grandee of the highest
order. Then came Frenchmen and Italians, full of grace, politeness, and
CHIC--themselves elegantly dressed, and their animals decorated to the
horns with flowers and coloured ribbons harmoniously blended. And
last of all came the exhibitor who was to receive the first prize--a
slouching man, plainly dressed, with a pair of farmer's gaiters on,
and without even a flower in his buttonhole. "Who is he?" asked
the spectators. "Why, he is the Englishman," was the reply. "The
Englishman!--that the representative of a great country!" was the
general exclamation. But it was the Englishman all over. He was sent
there, not to exhibit himself, but to show "the best beast," and he did
it, carrying away the first prize. Yet he would have been nothing the
worse for the flower in his buttonhole.
To remedy this admitted defect of grace and want of artistic taste
in the English people, a school has sprung up amongst us for the more
general diffusion of fine art. The Beautiful has now its teachers and
preachers, and by some it is almost regarded in the light of a religion.
"The Beautiful is the Good"--"The Beautiful is the True"--"The Beautiful
is the priest of the Benevolent," are among their texts. It is believed
that by the study of art the tastes of the people may be improved; that
by contemplating objects of beauty their nature will become purified;
and that by being thereby withdrawn from sensual enjoyments, their
character will be refined and elevated.
But though such culture is calculated to be elevating and purifying in
a certain degree, we must not expect too much from it. Grace is a
sweetener and embellisher of life, and as such is worthy of cultivation.
Music, painting, dancing, and the fine arts, are all sources of
pleasure; and though they may not be sensual, yet they are sensuous,
and often nothing more. The cultivation of a taste for beauty of form
or colour, of sound or attitude, has no necessary effect upon the
cultivation of the mind or the development of the character. The
contemplation of fine works of art will doubtless improve the taste, and
excite admiration; but a single noble action done in the sight of men
will more influence the mind, and stimulate the character to imitation,
than the sight of miles of statuary or acres of pictures. For it is
mind, soul, and heart--not taste or art--that make men great.
It is indeed doubtful whether the cultivation of art--which usually
ministers to luxury--has done so much for human progress as is generally
supposed. It is even possible that its too exclusive culture may
effeminate rather than strengthen the character, by laying it more open
to the temptations of the senses. "It is the nature of the imaginative
temperament cultivated by the arts," says Sir Henry Taylor, "to
undermine the courage, and, by abating strength of character, to render
men more easily subservient--SEQUACES, CEREOS, ET AD MANDATA DUCTILES."
[1817] The gift of the artist greatly differs from that of the thinker;
his highest idea is to mould his subject--whether it be of painting, or
music, or literature--into that perfect grace of form in which thought
[18it may not be of the deepest] finds its apotheosis and immortality.
Art has usually flourished most during the decadence of nations, when
it has been hired by wealth as the minister of luxury. Exquisite art
and degrading corruption were contemporary in Greece as well as in Rome.
Phidias and Iktinos had scarcely completed the Parthenon, when the glory
of Athens had departed; Phidias died in prison; and the Spartans set up
in the city the memorials of their own triumph and of Athenian defeat.
It was the same in ancient Rome, where art was at its greatest height
when the people were in their most degraded condition. Nero was an
artist, as well as Domitian, two of the greatest monsters of the Empire.
If the "Beautiful" had been the "Good," Commodus must have been one of
the best of men. But according to history he was one of the worst.
Again, the greatest period of modern Roman art was that in which Pope
Leo X. flourished, of whose reign it has been said, that "profligacy and
licentiousness prevailed amongst the people and clergy, as they had done
almost uncontrolled ever since the pontificate of Alexander VI." In like
manner, the period at which art reached its highest point in the Low
Countries was that which immediately succeeded the destruction of civil
and religious liberty, and the prostration of the national life
under the despotism of Spain. If art could elevate a nation, and
the contemplation of The Beautiful were calculated to make men The
Good--then Paris ought to contain a population of the wisest and best
of human beings. Rome also is a great city of art; and yet there,
the VIRTUS or valour of the ancient Romans has characteristically
degenerated into VERTU, or a taste for knicknacks; whilst, according to
recent accounts, the city itself is inexpressibly foul. [1818]
Art would sometimes even appear to have a close connection with dirt;
and it is said of Mr. Ruskin, that when searching for works of art in
Venice, his attendant in his explorations would sniff an ill-odour, and
when it was strong would say, "Now we are coming to something very
old and fine!"--meaning in art. [1819] A little common education in
cleanliness, where it is wanting, would probably be much more improving,
as well as wholesome, than any amount of education in fine art. Ruffles
are all very well, but it is folly to cultivate them to the neglect of
the shirt.
Whilst, therefore, grace of manner, politeness of behaviour, elegance
of demeanour, and all the arts that contribute to make life pleasant and
beautiful, are worthy of cultivation, it must not be at the expense
of the more solid and enduring qualities of honesty, sincerity, and
truthfulness. The fountain of beauty must be in the heart; more than
in the eye, and if art do not tend to produce beautiful life and noble
practice, it will be of comparatively little avail. Politeness of manner
is not worth much, unless accompanied by polite action. Grace may be but
skin-deep--very pleasant and attractive, and yet very heartless. Art is
a source of innocent enjoyment, and an important aid to higher culture;
but unless it leads to higher culture, it will probably be merely
sensuous. And when art is merely sensuous, it is enfeebling and
demoralizing rather than strengthening or elevating. Honest courage
is of greater worth than any amount of grace; purity is better than
elegance; and cleanliness of body, mind, and heart, than any amount of
fine art.
In fine, while the cultivation of the graces is not to be neglected,
it should ever be held in mind that there is something far higher and
nobler to be aimed at--greater than pleasure, greater than art, greater
than wealth, greater than power, greater than intellect, greater than
genius--and that is, purity and excellence of character. Without a solid
sterling basis of individual goodness, all the grace, elegance, and art
in the world would fail to save or to elevate a people.