Family Life -- "Can I assist you?" -- "No, I will assist myself,
thank you." -- Hospitality in good Society. -- The Friends of
Friends are Friends. -- When the Visitors come to an End there
are more to follow. -- Good Society. -- Women. -- Men. --
Conversation in Scotland. -- A Touching little Scene.
The hospitality of the Scotch, the simplicity of their manners, and the
authority which the father wields, give Scotch family life quite a
patriarchal aspect.
The existence which the Scotch lead is a little morose in its austerity,
but it becomes these cool, calm people, brought up in a religion that is
the enemy of joyousness, and in a climate that induces sadness. Gaiety
is produced by an agreeable sense of existence; it is the reflection of
a generous sun in temperate climates.
Austerity banishes familiarity from family life and engenders
constraint. I have seen Scotch homes where laughter is considered
ill-bred, and the joyous shouts of children are repressed. I felt ill at
ease there; that reserve inspired by an overdrawn sense of propriety
paralysed my tongue, and I could only answer in monosyllables the
monosyllabic remarks of my host and hostess. Happily nothing more
elaborate was expected of me.
"Is this your first visit to Scotland?"
"No, I have had the pleasure of visiting Scotland several times."
"Our country must seem very dull to you after France."
"A little ... but I live in England."
"Which do you like best, England or Scotland?"
"Oh! Scotland, certainly."
"It is very cold to-day."
"Yes, but not colder than usual."
Heaven be thanked! dinner is announced, and I offer my arm to the lady
of the house.
It is a family dinner. My host has before him a fine joint of beef,
there are two chicken in front of my hostess, and I am placed opposite a
boiled ham. A pair of carvers, laid with my cover, tell me that I shall
have to carve the ham which is here eaten with the chicken. The idea is
excellent; but all at once, down go the heads almost to the tablecloth.
My host looks at the chicken, at the ham, and lastly at the ribs of
beef. His face clouds and, bending over the beef, he growls a few
inarticulate words at it. It is not, as Mark Twain would say, that there
is anything the matter with it, Scotch beef is the best in the world.
These words, that I was unable to catch the sense of, were meant to
invoke the blessing of Heaven on the repast: it was Grace before meat.
Very right. I like the idea of thanking Heaven for its favours, but why
the frown?
A servant stands behind his master's chair, another behind my hostess.
My host arms himself with his carving knife and fork and, without
relaxing a muscle of his face, says to me:
"Can I assist you to a little beef?"
"No, thank you, I think I will take a little chicken."
"Can I assist you, my dear?" he said looking at his wife.
"No, thank you, I will assist myself," replies that lady.
"May I assist you to a slice of ham?" I ask, seeing her put the wing of
a chicken on her plate.
"A very small piece, please."
When everyone is _assisted_, conversation resumes its little
monosyllabic jog-trot, until the arrival of the puddings and sweets,
when each of us again begins to propose to assist the other, and to
think "We will take a little of this or that."
The sensation of needles and pins in your legs, the phraseology that
consists in expressing one's thoughts by _I think I will take a little
tart, I do not think I will take any cheese, very little of this, a very
small piece of that_, when one feels hungry, those few moments of solemn
suspense during which the company look at one another waiting for the
hostess to rise--all these things give you cold shivers.
At last the ladies withdraw, the men are left to themselves, and you
feel a little less restrained.
I had already been present at many little scenes of this kind in
England, not in high society where one finds much ease and liveliness,
but in a few middle-class houses among straight-laced people. The little
scene which I have attempted to describe passed in a country mansion.
Yet I cannot enumerate all the delicate attentions with which those kind
Scotch people surrounded me during my short stay among them. In most of
the Scotch houses where I had the honour of being entertained, I found a
generous and considerate hospitality, a hospitality which was all the
more agreeable for not being overpowering. No fuss, no noise, no
frivolous politeness. On my arrival the master of the house explained to
me the geography of his habitation.
"This is the smoking-room, this the library, here is the drawing-room,
and there is your bedroom. And now, my dear sir, be at home, or get
home."
That is the best kind of hospitality. The Scotchman puts all the
resources of his house at your disposition and, in a really hospitable
spirit, leaves you to use them according to your taste.
Several families I know of keep open house all the year round. The
friends of friends are friends, and are always well received no matter
at what hour they may make their appearance. Some will arrive in time
for dinner, play a game of billiards and retire. At the breakfast
table, the mistress of the house enquires of her husband how many guests
he has, and he often finds it very difficult to answer her question.
I was very much amused one Sunday morning in one of these houses. The
breakfast was on the table from nine to half-past twelve. The guests
took as much sleep as they liked and came down when they pleased. When I
thought they were all down there were more to come. They helped
themselves to tea or coffee, and having boiled an egg over the fire, set
down comfortably to their breakfast. Some had gone to church, others to
the library to smoke, or to the park to take the air. Two only turned up
at two o'clock to luncheon. I should not wonder if one or two stayed in
bed all day, for I think I remember that, at dinner-time, I saw a face
or two that looked to me like fresh acquaintances.
* * * * *
Good society is the same everywhere--like hotels, as Edmond About said.
It is only a question of more or less manners in the first, and more or
less fleas in the second.
In Scotland fleas are rare. They would starve on the skin of the Scotch
men and are too well-mannered to attack that of the Scotch ladies.
As to good society it is no exception to the rule here.
To study the manners of the Scotch, as well as to study the manners of
any other nation, you must mix with the middle classes, with the people
above all, for they are the real repository of the traditions of the
country. You must travel third-class; there is nothing to be learnt in
first. For that matter, there is nothing alarming about that in
Scotland, their third-class carriages are superior to our French
seconds.
* * * * *
The Scotchwoman is pretty.
She has not the sparkling, piquant physiognomy of the Frenchwoman; she
has not the beautiful clear grey eyes--those eyes so dreamy and
tender--of the Irishwoman. But she looks more simple and reserved than
her English sisters, although her manner is just as frank.
I have often admired Scotchwomen of a pronounced Celtic type. They have
large eyes, dark and well shaped, with long lashes; their features are
admirably regular, they are generally rather under middle height, with
broad shoulders and perfectly proportioned sculptural lines.
Red hair is common in Scotland. One sees more of it in Edinburgh and
Glasgow than in the whole of England; but the skin is so fine, the
features are so delicate, the complexion so clear, that the little
defect passes unperceived or forgiven.
The men are hard and sinewy.
In point of appearance I prefer the English and Irish men. Scotchmen are
well fitted for the battle of life. They are useful to their country but
hardly ornamental.
The Scotchman is absorbed in business. In his leisure moments he goes
into politics or theology; he studies or takes outdoor exercise. He has
little time to consecrate to women. He prefers the company of men.
The women are timid, the men reserved, and if you feel ready to
undertake the burden of the conversation, you will be listened to in
Scotland; but I cannot guarantee that you will be appreciated. Your
words are criticised, examined, and sifted, and when you flatter
yourself with the sweet thought that you have given your host a high
idea of your conversational powers, you will often only have succeeded
in making a fool of yourself in their eyes.
Never try to entertain the Scotch. Rather hear what they have to say.
Reply to their questions; but if you would inspire them with respect, be
sober in your speech, and above all avoid dogmatising. Leave the door of
discussion always open, so that each member of the company may enter
easily. Many Frenchmen have the bad habit of dogmatising, as if their
verdicts were without appeal. This habit is an outcome of our frank,
impulsive character; but the Scotch would be slow in appreciating it.
When a Scotchman asked me--which he invariably did--what were my
political opinions, I answered him that a monarchy has its good points,
and a republic has incontestable advantages. That allowed each one to
express himself freely upon the two forms of government, and instead of
entertaining them, I listened, which was infinitely more prudent, and
perhaps also more profitable for me.
* * * * *
I have several times been a witness of very touching little scenes in
Scotland, which proved to me that there are hearts of gold to be found
under the rough surfaces of Scotchmen.
Here is one among many; it is a reminiscence of my visit in a country
seat not far from Edinburgh.
"I want to introduce you to an old lady, who wishes very much to make
your acquaintance," said my host to me one day.
"Who is the lady?" I asked.
"It is an old servant who has been in the family more than eighty years.
It was she who brought up my father, myself, and my children. She is
ninety-eight years old to-day, and with our care we hope to see her live
to a hundred."
We went upstairs, and on the third floor we entered a little suite of
apartments, consisting of two most comfortable rooms, a bedroom and a
little parlour. There we found the _old lady_, sitting in an arm-chair,
and having a chat with one of the young ladies of the house.
"Janet," said my host, "I bring you our friend who wishes to present his
respects to you."
"I am no as active as I was," said the good old soul to me, "but I am
wonderfu' weel for my age. I shall soon be a hundred years of age."
"Nonsense," said my host kissing his old nurse, "who told you that? You
have forgotten how to count, Janet; don't get absurd ideas into your
head."
"We never leave her alone," he said to me; "my wife and daughters take
it in turn to pass the day with her and amuse her. They bring their
needlework and help poor old Janet to forget time."
I looked around me. The walls were covered with drawings and a thousand
ornaments that only the heart of woman knows how to invent. Never a good
dish came on the table without Janet having her share. At night all the
family met in her little parlour for prayers and Bible reading.
I shook hands with the old servant and went away greatly touched.
"She is no longer a servant," said my host to me; "she has property, and
all the household call her _the old lady_. She will be buried with us. I
have already seen to the carrying out of her wishes on this subject. She
wants to lie at the feet of the family, and has begged to have her grave
made across the foot of ours. So I have bought a piece of ground next to
our vault, and Janet's desire is to be carried out. We hope to keep her
many years yet; we shall all miss her when she is gone."
All this was said without apparent emotion, without the least
ostentation.
"Well," I said to myself, "in Scotland more than anywhere one must not
judge people by their exterior."