live as the rest of my neighbors, with great hospitality. I
have been ever reckoned among the ladies the best company in
the world, and have access as a sort of favorite. I never came
in public but I saluted them, though in great assemblies, all
around; where it was seen how genteelly I avoided hampering my
spurs in their petticoats, whilst I moved amongst them; and
on the other side how prettily they curtsied and received me,
standing in proper rows, and advancing as fast as they saw
their elders, or their betters, dispatched by me. But so it
is, MR. SPECTATOR, that all our good breeding is of late lost
by the unhappy arrival of a courtier, or town gentleman, who
came lately among us. This person, whenever he came into a
room, made a profound bow and fell back, then recovered with
a soft air, and made a bow to the next, and so to one or two
more, and then took the gross of the room by passing by them
in a continued bow till he arrived at the person he thought
proper particularly to entertain. This he did with so good a
grace and assurance that it is taken for the present fashion;
and there is no young gentlewoman within several miles of this
place has been kissed ever since his first appearance among us.
We country gentlemen cannot begin again and learn these fine
and reserved airs; and our conversation is at a stand till we
have your judgment for or against kissing by way of civility or
salutation, which is impatiently expected by your friends of
both sexes, but by none so much as
“Your humble servant,
“RUSTIC SPRIGHTLY.”
* * * * *
The custom of salutation by kissing appears to have prevailed in Scotland
about 1637. It is incidentally noticed in the following extract from
“Memoirs of the Life of Tames Mitchell, of Dykes, in the Parish of
Ardrossan (Ayrshire), written by himself,” Glasgow, 1759, p. 85; a rare
tract of 111 pages:
“The next business (as I spake before) was the Lord’s goodness and
providence towards me, in that particular, with Mr. Alexander Dunlop,
our minister, when he fell first into his reveries and distractions of
groundless jealousy of his wife with sundry gentlemen, and of me in
special. First, I have to bless God on my part he had not so much as a
presumption (save his own fancies) of my misbehavior in any sort; for,
as I shall be accountable to that great God, before whose tribunal I
must stand and give an account at that great day, I was not only free
of all actual villany with that gentlewoman his wife, but also of all
scandalous misbehavior either in private or public: yea, further, as I
shall be saved at that great day, I did not so much as kiss her mouth in
courtesy (so far as my knowledge and memory serves me) seven years before
his jealousy brake forth: this was the ground of no small peace of my
mind, ... and last of all, the Lord brought me clearly off the pursuit,
and since he and I has keeped general fashions of common civility to
this day, _12 December, 1637_. I pray God may open his eyes and give him
a sight of his weakness and insufficiency both one way and other. Now
praise, honor, glory, and dominion be to God only wise (for this and all
other his providences and favors unto me), now and ever. Amen.
“I subscribe with my hand the truth of this,
“JAMES MITCHELL.”
* * * * *
Relative to kissing among men, Sir Walter Scott has the following passage
in “Waverley” (ch. x.):
“At his first address to Waverley, it would seem that the hearty pleasure
he felt to behold the nephew of his friend had somewhat discomposed the
stiff and upright dignity of the Baron of Bradwardine’s demeanor, for the
tears stood in the old gentleman’s eyes, when, having first shaken Edward
heartily by the hand in the English fashion, he embraced him _à-la-mode
Françoise_, and kissed him on both sides of his face; while the hardness
of his gripe, and the quantity of Scotch snuff which his _accolade_
communicated, called corresponding drops of moisture to the eyes of his
guest.”
In “Rob Roy” Sir Walter also says (ch. xxxvi.):
“A boat waited for us in a creek beneath a huge rock, manned by four
lusty Highland rowers; and our host took leave of us with great
cordiality and even affection. Betwixt him and Mr. Jarvie, indeed,
there seemed to exist a degree of mutual regard, which formed a strong
contrast to their different occupations and habits. After kissing each
other very lovingly, and when they were just in the act of parting, the
Bailie, in the fulness of his heart, and with a faltering voice, assured
his kinsman that ‘if ever a hundred pund, or even twa hundred, would
put him or his family in a settled way, he need but just send a line to
the Saut-Market;’ and Rob, grasping his basket-hilt with one hand, and
shaking Mr. Jarvie’s heartily with the other, protested ‘that if ever
anybody should affront his kinsman, an he would but let him ken, he would
stow his lugs out of his head, were he the best man in Glasgow.’”
Evelyn, in his “Diary and Correspondence,” writing to Mrs. Owen, says:
“Sir J. Shaw did us the honor of a visit on Thursday last, when it was
not my hap to be at home, for which I was very sorry. I met him since
casually in London, and kissed him there unfeignedly.”
And Charles Dickens, in “Little Dorrit,” gives us this amusing paragraph:
“‘You will draw upon us to-morrow, sir,’ said Mr. Flintwich, with a
business-like face, at parting.
“‘My cabbage,’ returned Mr. Blandois, taking him by the collar with both
hands, ‘I’ll draw upon you; have no fear. Adieu, my Flintwich. Receive at
parting’—here he gave him a southern embrace, and kissed him soundingly
on both cheeks—‘the word of a gentleman! By a thousand thunders, you
shall see me again.’”
* * * * *
As a token of affection between father and son, the kiss, of course, has
prevailed from time immemorial. Wickliffe, in his quaint rendering of the
Bible, thus translates one of the earliest recorded instances, that of
Isaac and Jacob (Gen. xxvii. 26, 27):
“Gyve to me a cosse, son myn. He come near and cossed him.”
But the preference in most cases, it must be confessed, is that of the
young English sailor in Congreve’s “Love for Love.” On his return, Ben
dutifully seeks his father:
“_Sir Sampson._ My son Ben! Bless thee, my dear boy; thou art heartily
welcome.
“_Ben._ Thank you, father; and I’m glad to see you.
“_Sir S._ Odsbud, and I’m glad to see thee. Kiss me, boy; kiss me again
and again, dear Ben. [_Kisses him._]
“_Ben._ So, so; enough, father. Mess, I’d rather kiss these gentlewomen.
“_Sir S._ And so thou shalt,” etc.
And so he does, with right good will and alacrity.
MEMORABLE KISSES.
That was a wonderful kiss which Fatima received from her lover:
“Last night when some one spoke his name,
From my swift blood that went and came,
A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shivered in my narrow frame.
Oh, love! oh, fire! Once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul through
My lips—as sunlight drinketh dew.”[7]
Then there was the precious kiss which Margarida gave her troubadour
lover, when “she stretched out her arms and sweetly embraced him in the
love-chamber,” which coming to the knowledge of her husband (Raimon de
Roussillon), he gave her the troubadour’s heart to eat, disguised as a
savory morsel. And there was Francesca’s kiss, so sweet and yet so sad,
so guilty and so pure, when trembling Paolo kissed her and they read
no more that day. And there are the kisses that Antony wasted a world
so gladly for, “on a brow of Egypt,”—or rather, we suspect, on lips of
Egypt,—and Othello’s farewell kisses, which, tender and heart-broken as
they were, had no magic in them to redeem poor Desdemona’s life. Who does
not remember that grand kiss of Coriolanus—
“Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!”—
which exhibits such a world of character and passion? and Romeo’s dying
kiss in the vault of the Capulets? and the famous kiss of Bassanio? Then
there is the kiss Queen Margaret gave Alain Chartier, the memory of
which is still fresh after three centuries have passed away. He was a
poet, and the ugliest man in France. The last of his race died in Paris
in November, 1863. The queen with her maids found him asleep one day,
and bent over him and kissed his dreaming lips. “I kiss not the man,”
she said; “I kiss the soul that sings.” Another poet, the countryman of
Chartier, had, two centuries later, the honor of being publicly kissed
in the stage-box by the young and lovely Countess de Villars; but in
Voltaire’s case the lady gave the osculatory salute not of her own free
will, but in obedience to the commands of the _claqueurs_ in the pit, mad
with enthusiasm for the poet’s “Merope.” Then there is the kiss which
the fresh cheek of young John Milton received, during his college days,
from the lips of the high-born Italian beauty, and the kisses of Laurence
Sterne, concerning which he says, “For my own part, I would rather kiss
the lips I love than dance with all the graces of Greece, after bathing
themselves in the springs of Parnassus. Flesh and blood for me, with an
angel in the inside.”
Here is a white rose that has not faded through three hundred years,—the
white rose sent by a Yorkist lover to his Lancaster inamorata:[8]
“If this fair rose offend thy sight,
Placed in thy bosom bare,
’Twill blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there.
“But if thy ruby lips it spy,
As kiss it thou mayst deign,
With envy pale ’twill lose its dye,
And Yorkist turn again.”
It is a pity that we do not know who plucked that rose with such
courtly grace. The lines, like “Chevy Chase,” “The Nut-brown Maid,” and
“Allan-a-Dale,” are a _filius nullius_, and, like many other anonymous
waifs which have floated down to us, could, just as well as not, have
carried a name on to immortality. What sort of a kiss was it that sweet
Amy Robsart’s friend Leicester placed upon the lips of Queen Bess, and
which, according to a chronicle of the time, “she took right heartilie”?
It was certainly a bold proceeding “before folks,” considering who the
parties were. The kiss that Chastelard asked of Mary Beaton was a notable
one. Said the gallant Frenchman:
“Kiss me with some slow, heavy kiss,
That plucks the heart out at the lips.”
* * * * *
When the Cardinal John of Lorraine was presented to the Duchess of
Savoy, she gave him her hand to kiss, greatly to the indignation of
the churchman. “How, madam!” exclaimed he: “am I to be treated in this
manner? I kiss the queen, my mistress, and shall I not kiss you, who
are only a duchess?” and without more ado he, despite the resistance of
the proud little Portuguese princess, kissed her thrice on the mouth
before he released her with an exultant laugh. The doughty cardinal was
apparently of one mind with Sheldon, who thought that “to kiss ladies’
hands after their lips, as some do, is like little boys who, after they
eat the apple, fall to the paring.”
* * * * *
The proud and pompous Constable of Castile, on his visit to the English
court soon after the accession of James I., we are told, was right well
pleased to bestow a kiss on Anne of Denmark’s lovely maids of honor,
“according to the custom of the country, and any neglect of which is
taken as an affront.”
* * * * *
When Charles II. was making his triumphal progress through England,
certain country ladies who were presented to him, instead of kissing
the royal hands, in their simplicity held up their pretty lips to be
kissed by the king,—a blunder no one would more willingly excuse than the
red-haired lover of pretty Nell Gwynn.
* * * * *
When the excommunicated German emperor Henry IV. had been humbled by
three days of penance, barefoot and fasting, in the month of January,
before the palace of Pope Gregory VII., he was admitted to “the
superlative honor” of kissing the pontiff’s toe. This, perhaps, was no
greater humiliation than that of the haughty Doge, who, after seeing
Genoa bombarded by the fleet of Louis XIV. on account of the assistance
he had given to the Algerines, was reduced to the indignity of going to
Versailles to kiss the hand which had given his city to the flames.
* * * * *
Marie Antoinette frequently shocked the etiquette of her day at the
French court. Once, upon receiving the Austrian ambassador, Count
von Mercy, she advanced to meet him, and reached her hand to him,
allowing him to press it to his lips. Of course Madame de Noailles was
horror-stricken. The kissing of the queen’s hand was a state ceremonial,
and inadmissible at a private interview.
A pleasanter incident at the court of this queen is thus related by
Madame Campan:
“Franklin appeared at court in the costume of an American husbandman:
his hair straight and without powder, his round hat, and coat of brown
cloth, formed a strong contrast with the spangled and embroidered coats,
the powdered and pomatumed head-dresses, of the courtiers of Versailles.
This novelty charmed all the lively imaginations of the French ladies.
They gave elegant fêtes to Doctor Franklin, who united the fame of one of
the most skilful physicians [Madame Campan was led into this mistake by
Franklin’s title of doctor] to the patriotic virtues which induced him to
take the noble rôle of apostle of liberty. I was present at one of these
fêtes, where the most beautiful (the Comtesse de Polignac) among three
hundred ladies was chosen to go and place a crown of laurel on the white
hair of the American philosopher, and kiss both cheeks of the old man.”
* * * * *
Tom Hood once asked whether Hannah More had ever been kissed,—that is
to say, by a man. It is almost impossible to conceive of such a thing;
and yet it has been asserted by one of the authors of the “Rejected
Addresses.” But to think of her having been kissed “on the sly,” and in
church-time! Horace Smith distinctly affirms that, on a certain occasion,
“Sidney Morgan was playing the organ,
While behind the vestry door,
Horace Twiss was snatching a kiss
From the lips of Hannah More!”
* * * * *
Chevalier Bunsen, who rose from a humble position in life to great honor,
was a man of vast _savoir_ but little erudition. As a theologian, the
character to which he most aspired, he was severely criticised by the
celebrated Dr. Merle d’Aubigné. The two savans met at Berlin at the
Evangelical Alliance held several years ago. Bunsen kissed Merle; of
course the polite Genevan could but return the compliment. Great was the
ado about the “kiss of reconciliation,” as the Germans called it, much to
the annoyance of Dr. Merle, who had no idea of compromising the solemn
writers of theology by a kiss! Besides, he said, he preferred the English
custom in kissing to the German. A delicate insinuation, that; but the
professor meant nothing wrong.
* * * * *
In the famous Brooklyn trial, Tilton _versus_ Beecher, in which the world
was favored with some extraordinary revelations respecting the ethics and
æsthetics of modern osculation, the defendant, Mr. Beecher, while on the
witness-stand, testified to his singularly varied experiences. In the
course of his testimony, he said:
“Mrs. Moulton then came in; she came to me and said, ‘Mr. Beecher, I
don’t believe the stories they are telling about you; I believe you are
a good man.’ I looked up and said, ‘Emma Moulton, I am a good man;’
she then bent over and kissed me on the forehead; it was a kiss of
inspiration, but I did not think it proper to return it.”
When subsequently asked what he meant by a kiss of inspiration, he
replied:
“I meant—well, it was a token of confidence; it was a salutation that
did not belong to the common courtesy of life: neither was it a kiss of
pleasure, or anything of that kind, but it was, as I sometimes have seen
it in poetry—if you will excuse me—it was—it seemed to me, a holy kiss.”
_Q._ “You have said something about your not returning it?”
_A._ “Well, sir, I felt—I felt so deeply grateful that if I had returned
the kiss, I might have returned it with an enthusiasm that would have
offended her delicacy; it was not best, under the circumstances, that she
and I should kiss.”
This led the newspapers to ask for the interpretation of a kiss which
Mr. Beecher had previously characterized as “paroxysmal.” It was
comparatively easy even for people who were accustomed to do their
kissing without analysis to comprehend the other varieties which had
been introduced during the progress of the trial, such as the impulsive
kiss, the enthusiastic kiss, the holy kiss, the kiss of reconciliation,
the kiss of grace, mercy, and peace, and the kiss mutual. But the kiss
“inspirational” and the kiss “paroxysmal” were likely to be understood
only by those who remembered the story of the good old Methodist deacon.
The young people of the church were in the habit of playing games whose
forfeits were kisses; but the pious old gentleman was much troubled about
it, and said that he was not so much opposed to kissing if they did not
kiss _with an appetite_.
The Tilton-Beecher case evoked from the newspaper writers an infinite
amount of comment. Among those whose views attracted marked attention was
Mrs. Jane G. Swisshelm, who said, in the Chicago “Tribune:”
“We can all see the impropriety of verbal declarations of passion in such
cases; and how much more unsafe any act bearing such interpretation!
Wherever men and women meet in friendly or business relations, one
or both must be constantly mindful of the differences and dangers of
the sex,—must guard looks, words, and actions, and in no moment of
overwrought sympathy can the stern barriers of decorum be safely broken
down. Before kissing Mr. Beecher, Mrs. Moulton should have waited until
he had taken that powder, until it had done its work and the undertaker
had the body ready for burial. Only in his coffin is it safe for even ‘a
section of the day of judgment,’ in the shape of a woman, to kiss any one
man in a thousand. There seems to be no room for doubt that she is, or
was, a perfectly upright woman; but her childish act shows the atmosphere
in which these men have been living,—shows the unconscious steps by which
they passed from virtue to vice,—and ought to awaken all lovers of virtue
to a more careful guard of her outside defences. Chastity is not the
natural condition of the race, but the very opposite, and it can only be
secured by ages of culture and constant vigilance. It is a something to
be acquired and maintained through grace and watchfulness, and those who
open doors through which the enemy enters and causes the fall of others
are responsible for their negligence and mistaken confidence.”
This judgment brought out some humorous responses. A lady thus expressed
her indignation in the “Graphic:”
“I never saw Mrs. Swisshelm, thank goodness; but what a perfectly
ridiculous old creature she must be! According to her own account, no
live man could be found who would venture to kiss her, and so she was
obliged to go and unscrew a dead man’s coffin and kiss him. I never heard
of anything so dreadful in the whole course of my life.
“Mrs. Swisshelm’s letter is enough for me. I can understand just what a
dreadful old person she must be. She wears trousers, I am told, besides
that perfectly preposterous garment, the ‘chemiloon.’ If I was a man, I
would no more kiss such a woman than I would kiss a pair of tongs that
had been left out over-night in a snowbank.
“Kissing, when done innocently, is as innocent as strawberries-and-cream,
and as nice. If Mrs. Swisshelm could only grow young and pretty, and take
off her trousers and dress like a Christian, she would soon change her
mind about kissing. Her letter is the expression of a cross old woman’s
envious mind, and she ought to be ashamed of herself.”
Another writer, who objected to such forcibly expressed and sweeping
opposition to kissing, said, in the “Inter-Ocean:”
“We believe in temperance, but not in total abstinence, so far as
this business is concerned. Mrs. Swisshelm takes credit to herself
for carefully avoiding kisses during her protracted life. To this she
attributes, in part, her longevity and general heartiness. In one
instance only did Mrs. Swisshelm deviate from this rule. It was in a
hospital. A poor boy had been suffering long and much, and she had
visited and cared for him. One day when she came in she found him dead
and in his coffin. Then the law was suspended for a moment, and, bending
her head, she kissed him, satisfied that he had passed beyond the thrill
of an unholy thought thereat. A moment after, she bethought herself
that others were in the room to whom the kiss might prove unprofitable,
and for a second she upbraided herself for her foolish fervor; but an
examination proved that these fears were groundless, for the others
were dead also. This is the story as we gain it second-hand. We do not
sympathize with this sentiment. If the poor boy needed a kiss at all, he
needed it before his life had gone out and left the body only a clog. A
kick or a kiss is equally unimportant to a piece of inanimate clay. The
fact that there may have been too much kissing in high life of late years
does not alter the fact that osculatory salutes are very good things in
the family.”
* * * * *
The late Father Taylor, of the Seamen’s Bethel at Boston, narrates the
following incident:
“While in Palestine, I went out one evening, and sat upon the grass
on what was thought to be the hill Calvary. I lay down, and, with my
arms under my head, looked up at the stars and meditated on what had
happened on that sacred spot. With pain I suddenly remembered a man in
my far-distant home who had always been hostile to me. I felt that my
feelings also had not been right towards him, and I told my Lord that
if I lived to get home I would see that man and ask his forgiveness.
It was permitted me in due time to reach home. The incident had faded
from my mind, when, one day, walking in Exchange Street, I saw that man
approaching. My old feeling returned. I passed him without a sign; but
just then I remembered Calvary, and turned to look after him. To my
surprise, he also was turning. I went back to him, threw my arms about
him, and kissed him! and I felt better.”
* * * * *
Herr Hackländer, writing on the subject of osculation, says:
“There are three kisses by which the human race are blest: the first is
that which the mother presses on the new-born infant’s head; the second,
that which the newly-wedded bride bestows on your lips; the third, that
with which love or friendship closes your eyes when your career is ended.”
After which rhetorical flourish he adds:
“But I, more blest than other mortals, have to boast of a fourth kiss of
bliss, that of Father Radetzky!” Hackländer had written a description
of the battle of Novara, which brought him, among other distinctions, a
_kiss_ from the old field-marshal.
* * * * *
Turning back to mediæval history, we find an amusing incident in the
career of Charles the Simple, of France. The viking Rollo, having been
banished from Norway by Harold, proceeded southward to conquer a new
domain. Entering the mouth of the Seine, he took possession of Rouen,
where he spent the winter of each year, employing the summer in ravaging
France, till at last the king, Charles the Simple, as the only hope of
obtaining peace, promised to give him the province of Neustria as a fief,
provided he would become a Christian.
Rollo was baptized at Rouen, in 912. He had then to pay homage to King
Charles by kneeling before him, kissing his foot, and swearing to pay
him allegiance. Rollo took the oath, but nothing would induce him to
perform the rest of the ceremony, and he appointed one of his followers
to do homage in his stead. The Northman, as proud as his master, wilfully
misunderstood, and, instead of kneeling, lifted the king’s foot up to
reach his mouth, so as to upset king and throne together, amid the rude
laughter of his countrymen.
* * * * *
When the famous crusade of Godfrey de Bouillon, early in the eleventh
century, was nearing its successful issue, Tancred, with a few other
knights, was the first to come in sight of Jerusalem. When the Crusaders
beheld the Holy City, the object of all their hopes and toils, they all
at once fell down on their knees, weeping and giving thanks, and even
kissing the sacred earth, and, as they rose, hymns of praise were sung by
the whole army. So when Columbus and his followers stepped on the beach
of San Salvador, all knelt down, reverently kissing the ground, with
tears and thanks to God.
* * * * *
Jean Paul Frederic Richter, in his “Autobiography,” thus describes a
thrilling event in his life’s history:
MY FIRST KISS.