Soirée dansante.--Young Ladies.--Old Ladies.--Anecdote.--The
Consolations of Chaperones.--Flirtations.--Discussion upon
the variations between young Married Women in France and in
England.--Making love by deputy.--Not likely to answer in
England.
Last night we were at a ball,--or rather, I should say, a "_soirée
dansante_;" for at this season, though people may dance from night to
morning, there are no balls. But let it be called by what name it may,
it could not have been more gay and agreeable were this the month of
January instead of May.
There were several English gentlemen present, who, to the great
amusement of some of the company, uniformly selected their partners
from among the young ladies. This may appear very natural to you; but
here it is thought the most unnatural proceeding possible.
To a novice in French society, there is certainly no circumstance so
remarkable as the different position which the unmarried hold in the
drawing-rooms of England and _les salons_ of France. With us, the
prettiest things to look at, and the partners first sought for the
dance, are the young girls. Brilliant in the perfection of their
youthful bloom, graceful and gay as young fawns in every movement of
the most essentially juvenile of all exercises, and eclipsing the
light elegance of their own toilet by loveliness that leaves no eyes
to study its decoration,--it is they who, in spite of diamonds and of
blonde, of wedded beauty or of titled grace, ever appear to be the
principal actors in a ball-room. But "they manage these matters" quite
otherwise "in France."
Unfortunately, it may sometimes happen among us, that a coquettish
matron may be seen to lead the giddy waltz with more sprightliness
than wisdom; but she always does it at the risk of being _mal notée_
in some way or other, more or less gravely, by almost every person
present;--nay, I would by no means encourage her to be very certain
that her tonish partner himself would not be better pleased to whirl
round the mazy circle with one of the slight, light, sylph-like
creatures he sees flying past him, than with the most fashionable
married woman in London.
But in Paris all this is totally reversed; and, what is strange
enough, you will find in both countries that the reason assigned for
the difference between them arises from national attention to good
morals.
On entering a French ball-room, instead of seeing the youngest and
loveliest part of the company occupying the most conspicuous places,
surrounded by the gayest men, and dressed with the most studied and
becoming elegance, you must look for the young things quite in the
background, soberly and quietly attired, and almost wholly eclipsed
behind the more fully-blown beauties of their married friends.
It is really marvellous, considering how very much prettier a girl is
at eighteen than she can possibly be some dozen years afterwards, to
see how completely fashion will nevertheless have its own way, making
the worse positively appear the better beauty.
All that exceeding charm and fascination which is for ever and always
attributed to an elegant Frenchwoman, belongs wholly, solely, and
altogether to her after she becomes a wife. A young French girl,
"_parfaitement bien élevée_," looks ... "_parfaitement bien élevée_;"
but it must be confessed, also, that she looks at the same time as if
her governess (and a sharp one) were looking over her shoulder. She
will be dressed, of course, with the nicest precision and most exact
propriety; her corsets will forbid a wrinkle to appear in her robe,
and her _friseur_ deny permission to any single hair that might wish
to deviate from the station appointed for it by his stiff control. But
if you would see that graceful perfection of the toilet, that
unrivalled _agacerie_ of costume which distinguishes a French woman
from all others in the world, you must turn from mademoiselle to
madame. The very sound of the voice, too, is different. It should seem
as if the heart and soul of a French girl were asleep, or at least
dozing, till the ceremony of marriage awakened them. As long as it is
mademoiselle who speaks, there is something monotonous, dull, and
uninteresting in the tone, or rather in the tune, of her voice; but
when madame addresses you, all the charm that manner, cadence, accent
can bestow, is sure to greet you.
In England, on the contrary, of all the charms peculiar to youthful
loveliness, I know none so remarkable as the unconstrained, fresh,
natural, sweet, and joyous sound of a young girl's voice. It is as
delicious as the note of the lark, when rising in the first freshness
of morning to meet the sun. It is not restrained, held in, and checked
into tameness by any fear lest it should too early show its syren
power.
Even in the dance itself, the very arena for the display of youthful
gracefulness, the young French girl fails, when her well-taught steps
are compared with the easy, careless, fascinating movements of the
married woman.
In the simple kindness of manner too, which, if there were no other
attraction, would ever suffice to render an unaffected, good-natured
young girl charming, there must be here a cautious restraint. A
_demoiselle Française_ would be prevented by _bienséance_ from showing
it, were she the gentlest-hearted creature breathing.
A young Englishman of my acquaintance, who, though he had been a good
deal in French society, was not initiated into the mysteries of female
education, recounted to me the other day an adventure of his, which is
german to the matter, though not having much to do with our last
night's ball. This young man had for a long time been very kindly
received in a French family, had repeatedly dined with them, and, in
fact, considered himself as admitted to their house on the footing of
an intimate friend.
The only child of this family was a daughter, rather pretty, but cold,
silent, and repulsive in manner--almost awkward, and utterly
uninteresting. Every attempt to draw her into conversation had ever
proved abortive; and though often in her company, the Englishman
hardly thought she could consider him as an acquaintance.
The young man returned to England; but, after some months, again
revisited Paris. While standing one day in earnest contemplation of a
picture at the Louvre, he was startled at being suddenly addressed by
an extremely beautiful woman, who in the kindest and most friendly
manner imaginable asked him a multitude of questions--made a thousand
inquiries after his health--invited him earnestly to come and see her,
and concluded by exclaiming--"Mais c'est un siècle depuis que je vous
ai vu."
My friend stood gazing at her with equal admiration and surprise. He
began to remember that he had seen her before, but when or where he
knew not. She saw his embarrassment and smiled. "Vous m'avez oublié
donc?" said she. "Je m'appelle Eglé de P----.... Mais je suis
mariée...."
But to return to our ball.
As I saw the married women taken out to dance one after the another,
till at last there was not a single dancing-looking man left, I felt
myself getting positively angry; for, notwithstanding the assistance
given by my ignorant countrymen, there were still at least half a
dozen French girls unprovided with chevaliers.
They did not, however, look by many degrees so sadly disappointed as
English girls would do did the same misfortune betide them. They, like
the poor eels, were used to it; and the gentlemen, too, were cruelly
used to the task of torture,--making their pretty little feet beat
time upon the floor, while they watched the happy wedded in pairs--not
wedded pairs--swim before their eyes in mazes which they would most
gladly have threaded after them.
When at length all the married ladies, young and old, were duly
provided for, several staid and very respectable-looking gentlemen
emerged from corners and sofas, and presenting themselves to the young
expectants, were accepted with quiet, grateful smiles, and permitted
to lead them to the dance.
Old ladies like myself, whose fate attaches them to the walls of a
ball-room, are accustomed to find their consolation and amusement from
various sources. First, they enjoy such conversation as they can
catch; or, if they will sit tolerably silent, they may often hear the
prettiest airs of the season exceedingly well played. Then the whole
arena of twinkling feet is open to their criticism and admiration.
Another consolation, and frequently a very substantial one, is found
in the supper;--nay, sometimes a passing ice will be caught to cheer
the weary watcher. But there is another species of amusement, the
general avowal of which might lead the younger part of the civilized
world to wish that old ladies wore blinkers: I allude to the quiet
contemplation of half a dozen sly flirtations that may be going on
around them,--some so well managed! ... some so clumsily!
But upon all these occasions, in England, though well-behaved old
ladies will always take especial care not so to see that their seeing
shall be seen, they still look about them with no feeling of
restraint--no consciousness that they would rather be anywhere else
than spectators of what is going forward near them. They feel, at
least I am sure I do, a very comfortable assurance that the fair one
is engaged, not in marring, but in making her fortune. Here again I
may quote the often-quoted, and say, "They manage all these matters
differently at least, if not better, in France."
In England, if a woman is seen going through all the manoeuvres of
the flirting exercise, from the first animating reception of the "How
d'ye do?" to the last soft consciousness which fixes the eyes
immovably on the floor, while the head, gently inclined, seems willing
to indulge the happy ear in receiving intoxicating draughts of
_parfait amour_,--when this is seen in England, even should the lady
be past eighteen, one feels assured that she is not married; but here,
without scandal or the shadow of scandal be it spoken, one feels
equally well assured that she is. She may be a widow--or she may flirt
in the innocence of her heart, because it is the fashion; but she
cannot do it, because she is a young lady intending to be married.
I was deeply engaged in these speculations last night, when an elderly
lady--who for some reason or other, not very easy to divine, actually
never waltzes--came across the room and placed herself by my side.
Though she does not waltz, she is a very charming person; and as I had
often conversed with her before, I now welcomed her approach with
great pleasure.
"A quoi pensez-vous, Madame Trollope?" said she: "vous avez l'air de
méditer."
I deliberated for a moment whether I should venture to tell her
exactly what was passing in my mind; but as I deliberated, I looked at
her, and there was that in her countenance which assured me I should
have no severity to fear if I put her wholly in my confidence: I
therefore replied very frankly,--
"I am meditating; and it is on the position which unmarried women hold
in France."
"Unmarried women?... You will scarcely find any such in France," said
she.
"Are not those young ladies who have just finished their quadrille
unmarried?"
"Ah!... But you cannot call them unmarried women. _Elles sont des
demoiselles._"
"Well, then, my meditations were concerning them."
"Eh bien...."
"Eh bien.... It appears to me that the ball is not given--that the
music does not play--that the gentlemen are not _empressé_, for them."
"No, certainly. It would be quite contrary to our ideas of what is
right if it were so."
"With us it is so different!... It is always the young ladies who are,
at least, the ostensible heroines of every ball-room."
"The ostensible heroines?"... She dwelt rather strongly upon the
adjective, adding with a smile,--"Our ostensible, are our real
heroines upon these occasions."
I explained. "The real heroines," said I, "will, I confess, in cases
of ostentation and display, be sometimes the ladies who give balls in
return."
"Well explained," said she, laughing: "I certainly thought you had
another meaning. You think, then," she continued, "that our young
married women are made of too much importance among us?"
"Oh no!" I replied eagerly: "it is, in my opinion, almost impossible
to make them of too much importance; for I believe that it is entirely
upon their influence that the tone of society depends."
"You are quite right. It is impossible for those who have lived as
long as we have in the world to doubt it: but how can this be, if,
upon the occasions which bring people together, they are to be
overlooked, while young girls who have as yet no position fixed are
brought forward instead?"
"But surely, being brought forward to dance in a waltz or quadrille,
is not the sort of consequence which we either of us mean?"
"Perhaps not; but it is one of its necessary results. Our women marry
young,--as soon, in fact, as their education is finished, and before
they have been permitted to enter the world, or share in the pleasures
of it. Their destiny, therefore, instead of being the brightest that
any women enjoy, would be the most _triste_, were they forbidden to
enter into the amusements so natural to their age and national
character, because they were married."
"But may there not be danger in the custom which throws young females,
thus early and irrevocably engaged, for the first time into the
society, and, as it were, upon the attentions of men whom it has
already become their duty not to consider as too amiable?"
"Oh no!... If a young woman be well-disposed, it is not a quadrille,
or a waltz either, that will lead her astray. If it could, it would
surely be the duty of all the legislators of the earth to forbid the
exercise for ever."
"No, no, no!" said I earnestly; "I mean nothing of the kind, I assure
you: on the contrary, I am so convinced, from the recollections of my
own feelings, and my observations on those of others, that dancing is
not a fictitious, but a real, natural source of enjoyment, the
inclination for which is inherent in us, that, instead of wishing it
to be forbidden, I would, had I the power, make it infinitely more
general and of more frequent occurrence than it is: young people
should never meet each other without the power of dancing if they
wished it."
"And from this animating pleasure, for which you confess that there is
a sort of _besoin_ within us, you would exclude all the young women
above seventeen--because they are married?... Poor things!... Instead
of finding them so willing as they generally are to enter on the busy
scenes of life, I think we should have great difficulty in getting
their permission to _monter un ménage_ for them. Marriage would be
soon held in abhorrence if such were its laws."
"I would not have them such, I assure you," replied I, rather at a
loss how to explain myself fully without saying something that might
either be construed into coarseness of thinking and a cruel
misdoubting of innocence, or else into a very uncivil attack upon the
national manners: I was therefore silent.
My companion seemed to expect that I should proceed, but after a short
interval resumed the conversation by saying,--"Then what arrangement
would you propose, to reconcile the necessity of dancing with the
propriety of keeping married women out of the danger which you seem to
imagine might arise from it?"
"It would be too national were I to reply, that I think our mode of
proceeding in this case is exactly what it ought to be."
"But such is your opinion?"
"To speak sincerely, I believe it is."
"Will you then have the kindness to explain to me the difference in
this respect between France and England?"
"The only difference between us which I mean to advocate is, that with
us the amusement which throws young people together under
circumstances the most likely, perhaps, to elicit expressions of
gallantry and admiration from the men, and a gracious reception of
them from the women, is considered as befitting the single rather than
the married part of the community."
"With us, indeed, it is exactly the reverse," replied she,--"at least
as respects the young ladies. By addressing the idle, unmeaning
gallantry inspired by the dance to a young girl, we should deem the
cautious delicacy of restraint in which she is enshrined transgressed
and broken in upon. A young girl should be given to her husband
before her passions have been awakened or her imagination excited by
the voice of gallantry."
"But when she is given to him, do you think this process more
desirable than before?"
"Certainly it is not desirable; but it is infinitely less dangerous.
When a girl is first married, her feelings, her thoughts, her
imagination are wholly occupied by her husband. Her mode of education
has ensured this; and afterwards, it is at the choice of her husband
whether he will secure and retain her young heart for himself. If he
does this, it is not a waltz or quadrille that will rob him of it. In
no country have husbands so little reason to complain of their wives
as in France; for in no country does the manner in which they live
with them depend so wholly on themselves. With you, if your novels,
and even the strange trials made public to all the world by your
newspapers, may be trusted, the very reverse is the case. Previous
attachments--early affection broken off before the marriage, to be
renewed after it--these are the histories we hear and read; and most
assuredly they do not tempt us to adopt your system as an amendment
upon our own."
"The very notoriety of the cases to which you allude proves their rare
occurrence," replied I. "Such sad histories would have but little
interest for the public, either as tales or trials, if they did not
relate circumstances marked and apart from ordinary life."
"Assuredly. But you will allow also that, however rare they may be in
England, such records of scandal and of shame are rarer still in
France?"
"Occurrences of the kind do not perhaps produce so much sensation
here," said I.
"Because they are more common, you would say. Is not that your
meaning?" and she smiled reproachfully.
"It certainly was not my meaning to say so," I replied; "and, in
truth, it is neither a useful nor a gracious occupation to examine on
which side the Channel the greater proportion of virtue may be found;
though it is possible some good might be done on both, were the
education in each country to be modified by the introduction of what
is best in the other."
"I have no doubt of it," said she; "and as we go on exchanging
fashions so amicably, who knows but we may live to see your young
ladies shut up a little more, while their mothers and fathers look out
for a suitable marriage for them, instead of inflicting the awkward
task upon themselves? And in return, perhaps, our young wives may lay
aside their little coquetries and become _mères respectables_
somewhat earlier than they do now. But, in truth, they all come to it
at last."
As she finished speaking these words, a new waltz sounded, and again a
dozen couples, some ill, some well matched, swam past us. One of the
pairs was composed of a very fine-looking young man, with blue-black
_favoris_ and _moustaches_, tall as a tower, and seeming, if air and
expression may be trusted, very tolerably well pleased with himself.
His _danseuse_ might unquestionably have addressed her husband, who
sat at no great distance from us, drawing up his gouty feet under his
chair to let her pass, in these touching words:--
"Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen,
About the world have times twelve thirties been,
Since Love our hearts and Hymen did our hands
Unite commutual in most sacred bands."
My neighbour and I looked up and exchanged glances as they went by. We
both laughed.
"At least you will allow," said she, "that this is one of the cases in
which a married lady may indulge her passion for the dance without
danger of consequences?"
"I am not quite sure of that," replied I. "If she be not found guilty
of sin, she will scarcely obtain a verdict that shall acquit her of
folly. But what can induce that magnificent personage, who looks down
upon her as if engaged in measuring the distance between them--what
could induce him to request the honour of enclosing her venerable
waist in his arm?"
"Nothing more easily explained. That little fair girl sitting in
yonder corner, with her hair so tightly drawn off her forehead, is her
daughter--her only daughter, and will have a noble _dot_. Now you
understand it?... And tell me, in case his speculation should not
succeed, is it not better that this excellent lady, who waltzes so
very like a duck, should receive all the eloquence with which he will
seek to render himself amiable, upon her time-steeled heart, than that
the delicate little girl herself should have to listen to it?"
"And you really would recommend us to adopt this mode of love-making
by deputy, letting the mamma be the substitute, till the young lady
has obtained a brevet to listen to the language of love in her own
person? However excellent the scheme may be, dear lady, it is vain to
hope that we shall ever be able to introduce it among us. The young
ladies, I suspect, would exclaim, as you do here, when explaining why
you cannot permit any English innovations among you, "Ce n'est pas
dans nos moeurs."
* * * * *
I assure you, my friend, that I have not composed this conversation _à
loisir_ for your amusement, for I have set down as nearly as possible
what was said to me, though I have not quite given it all to you; but
my letter is already long enough.