Produced by Chris Curnow, Miki Goral, Sam W. and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note
Italic text is indicated with _underscores_, bold text with =equals= signs.
Left- and right-pointing finger symbols are represented with <== and ==>
respectively.
Twenty-Fifth Thousand.
THE LEADENHALL PRESS
MAX O'RELL.
John Bull's
Womankind
_(Les Filles de John Bull)_
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"John Bull and his Island"
_HALF-A-CROWN: CLOTH, THREE-AND-SIX._
[Decoration]
_LONDON:_
=FIELD & TUER; SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO.; HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO.=
(English Copyright Edition. All Rights Reserved.)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration] | [Illustration] | [Illustration]
By Appointment to | By Appointment to | By Appointment to
H.R.H. the Princess | Her Majesty the | H.I.M. Empress of
of Wales. | Queen. | Russia.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
REDFERN,
Ladies' Tailors and Habit Makers
COWES, ISLE OF WIGHT; 26, CONDUIT STREET, LONDON;
PARIS; and NEW YORK.
"At the Concours Hippique, we
noticed a striking fact this
year, that nearly all THE people
were dressed à la Redfern. And
also in the Bois, one is not
considered at all 'pschutt' in
the morning unless habittee par
ce tailleur celebre."--_Continental
Times_, Paris, April 12th, 1884.
[Illustration]
"I heard a lady say lately she
had never seen a Dress of
Redfern's on a bad figure, but I
expect the truth is that
Redfern's Gowns make a figure
look well, however little nature
may have done for it."--_Life_,
Nov. 12th, 1884.
Specialities: WALKING & TRAVELLING GOWNS,
JACKETS, ULSTERS & RIDING HABITS,
Quiet, Lady-like Style, with Perfect Fit and Finish.
Full Sets of Newest Patterns and Designs, post free,
from Cowes, where the art of fitting perfectly without
a personal visit is especially studied; or on
view at 26, Conduit Street, Bond Street, London.
JOHN REDFERN & SONS devote personal study and care to
each order entrusted to them.
ROWLANDS' MACASSAR OIL
Serves and beautifies the hair; it contains no lead or mineral
ingredients, and can be had in a golden colour for fair-haired
children and persons. Sizes, 3s. 6d., 7s., 10s. 6d. equal to
four small.
[Illustration]
ROWLANDS' ODONTO
Is the best and most fragrant preparation for the teeth. All
dentists allow that neither washes nor paste are as efficacious
for polishing the teeth and keeping them sound and white as a
pure and non-gritty tooth powder; such Rowlands' Odonto has
always proved itself.
ROWLANDS' KALYDOR
Is the most cooling, healing, and refreshing wash for the face,
hands and arms, and is perfectly free from any mineral or
metallic admixture; it disperses freckles, tan, redness,
pimples, and produces a beautiful and delicate complexion.
_ROWLANDS' EUKONIA_
Is a beautifully pure, delicate, and fragrant toilet powder.
Each box has inside the lid a certificate of purity from Dr.
Redwood, Ph.D., F.C.S., &c. Sold in three tints, white, rose,
and cream, 2s. 6d. per box. Ask any Chemist or Hairdresser for
Rowlands' articles, of 20 Hatton Garden, London.
EVERY DAUGHTER OF JOHN BULL
SHOULD READ
NEW
VOLUME
COMMENCES
WITH THE
NOVEMBER
MONTHLY
PART.
==> THE Girls
Own
Paper.
6d.
MONTHLY,
OR
ONE PENNY
WEEKLY.
LONDON: 56, Paternoster Row,
AND OF ALL NEWSVENDORS.
[Illustration]
FIELD & TUER
Ye Leadenhalle Presse, E.C.
T. 4199.
TO MRS. JOHN BULL.
Dear Madam,
Now please not to frown, still less to cry out, "Shocking!"
I assure you, you may turn over the leaves of this book from beginning
to end without fear of encountering a single piece of indiscretion.
I know that fresh air and cold water are your delight. You dearly love
to shiver at the contact of a dripping sponge; but your door is
carefully closed, and I have seen nothing.
It is not your undraped photograph that I publish, it is the litany of
your good qualities that I sing.
May I be allowed here to say freely what I think?
Well, dear Madam, I think that, if the human race, including Mr. Bull
your husband, felt for you half the admiration which your charms and
virtues inspire in me, you would be justly proclaimed the goddess of
conjugal felicity.
Now you ought to give me a smile for that, I think.
Open this little volume fearlessly, dear Madam, and if you should
light upon any mention--I will not say of your faults, for most
certainly you have none--but of some few little oddities perhaps, do
not be offended; but remember that our real friends are those who tell
us the truth--_en ami_, of course--but still who do tell it us.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
To Mrs. John Bull iii
Hors d'œuvre ix
I.
Flirtation--Sweethearting--Love in the Open Air--_Où il
y a de la gêne il n'y a pas de plaisir_ 1
II.
Declarations of Love--Kisses--Disobliging Britons 8
III.
Love in Marriage--Mrs. John Bull's Bedroom--As you make
your Bed, so you must lie on it--Young People, English
and French--How it may sometimes be an economy to take
your Wife with you when you travel on the Continent 12
IV.
The Marriage Ceremony in England--Civil Marriages--
Elopements--Marriage in Scotland--Show your
Credentials--One word more about the _dot_ 22
V.
After the Ball--My Wife makes me a little Confidence (from
the Diary of a Frenchman married to an Englishwoman) 30
VI.
The Beauty of English Women--Their Dress--Their Hair--Advice
to French Ladies--Hyde Park--Interior of English
Theatres--O Routine! such is thy Handiwork! 37
VII.
The Word and the Thing--Little Essay on the English
Language--There is nothing like a good Telescope if
you want to see well--Master Dubius--Puritan
Parlance--Salvation Fair--May Meetings and Spring
Cleanings--Are you _Pooty_ Well?--A Suitable Menu 46
VIII.
The Boas of the Aristocracy--The Prettiest Women in
London--Shop Girls--Barmaids--Actresses and
Supernumeraries--Miss Mary Anderson 58
IX.
The _Demi-monde_--Sly Dogs--The Disreputable World--The
Society for the Protection of Women--Humble Apologies
for Grave Mistakes 66
X.
Reflections of an Innocent upon Women in general and
Englishwomen in particular--Epistle to John Bull--Women's
Rights--A Stormy Meeting--Viragos and other British Guys
of the Sisterhood of St. Catharine 72
XI.
Women at Home--Daughters, Wives, Widows, and Mothers--
Comparisons--The Hospitality of Mrs. John Bull--Provincial
Life 83
XII.
Mrs. John Bull at Home on the .... _R.S.V.P._--An
Intelligent Landlord--Meaning of the word "Concert"--The
Conversazione--The Royal Academy 100
XIII.
Ladies of the Royal Family--Mrs. Christian--Minnie and
Alec--The noble Lord the Poet-Laureate--Wanted an
English Academy 110
XIV.
The Governess and other Servants of Mrs. John Bull's
Household--Lady-Helps--English and French Servants--
Burglar Chase: the Policeman is successful for once 120
XV.
In the Smoking Room (_Causerie_) 136
XVI.
The Brune and the Blonde--Madame la Comtesse d'A. and
Lady B. chat a little about their husbands, discuss
their respective merits, and indulge in several little
confidences 146
XVII.
The Teetotal Mania--Second Epistle to John Bull--The
darling Sin of Mrs. John Bull according to a Venerable
Archdeacon and a few Charitable Ladies--A free-born
Briton, member of the Yellow Ribbon Army 164
XVIII.
New Salvation Agencies--Priestess Rubbers--_Asinus
asinam fricat_ 176
XIX.
The Vicar's Wife (Fragments)
I. 180
II. 187
III. 200
XX.
Apotheosis of the Daughters of John Bull 209
XXI.
John Bull and His Island (_Postscript_) 228
Appendix 234
HORS D'ŒUVRE.
In proposing the toast to the ladies at a City dinner, one evening,
Lord Derby expressed himself in these terms:--
"Before appointing an Englishman to any post of importance, the first
question the electors ask is:
"'_What kind of a wife has he?_'"
And, indeed, the English, who introduce diplomacy into everything,
place discretion above all the qualifications that an English
candidate sends to the members of an electing board, in the form of
testimonials.
The chief thing required of a man who is to be placed at the head of a
Society, an Institution, a College, is that he should know how to
maintain order and good discipline: not with fuss and severity, but
with calmness and discretion; and the English are quite right, for
self-control and discretion are the two qualities that most fit a man
for government. "Now," the electors say, "if Mr. _So-and-So_, who is
one of our selected candidates, cannot keep his wife in order, how
will he keep a thousand men or boys in order? If he cannot maintain
good discipline in his house, how will he maintain it in our Society?
If he is ruled by his wife, it is his wife and not he whom we shall be
electing. Therefore Mr. _So-and-So_ will not do for us."
Very proper reasoning.
How many talented men could I name, who will owe to their wives, all
their life-time, the honour of being and remaining obscure heroes!
What is the main cause of England's greatness and prosperity? Simply
this:
The thousands of small republics, all independent each of the other,
that are called Societies, Hospitals, Colleges, etc., are governed,
not by idols that have hands and handle not, or by badly salaried
potentates who have eyes and see not, but by energetic and
clear-sighted men, who receive immense salaries, but who, in return,
devote to the Institutions that they rule over, all the resources, all
the force of their minds.
Take the schools and colleges for instance.
I am convinced that, in Paris, a _proviseur_ does not know the names
of more than thirty or forty of the pupils attending his _lycée_. At
any rate, there are not twenty of them that he could recognise in the
street and call by their names. His emoluments range from five to six
hundred pounds a year.
In England, the head-masters of the great Public Schools receive
three, four, five, and even six thousand pounds a year. Well, I
guarantee that these head-masters know individually every one of the
thousand boys or so that are under their care. They know the place
that each one occupies in his class. The pupils are placed by the
head-master, according to their merit and aptitude, in such and such
form, in such and such department. He will write to some parents,
"Your son has no taste for classics. I will put him in our modern
school to learn mathematics and science. I advise you to make an
engineer of him, an officer," etc.
In France, work is generally in inverse ratio to the emoluments.
In England, work is in proportion to the salary: responsible work, at
all events.
Take the Church.
English bishops are fortunate mortals, who receive emoluments
amounting to something like eight and ten thousand pounds a year. But,
over here, a bishopric is no sinecure.
In France, the clergy of a diocese receive from their bishop orders
which they obey blindly; they all teach the same dogma, and have no
competition to keep up; but, in England, everybody reasons and argues:
the young clergyman, fresh from Oxford or Cambridge, has his own way
of interpreting the Scriptures, and the bishop is constantly called
upon to pacify, to conciliate all his little clerical world who are
for ever dogmatising, discussing, disputing, in the pulpit, in
meetings, in the newspapers, and keep him on the alert all the year
round. If a French priest shows signs of independence of thought, he
is treated as a rebel, and his case is soon settled; public
indifference to religious matters consigns him to swift oblivion, when
he has succeeded in making a little noise, which happens very rarely;
but, in England, the priest who holds original views is backed up by
partisans who immediately take up his cause; at any moment, he may set
up for a martyr and become a source of continual annoyance to his
bishop.
Above all things, the man in office must avoid a scandal, what the
English call in slang, a row. So he must be discreet, conciliating,
and an accomplished diplomatist: such, I repeat, are the
qualifications of any man occupying a high and responsible position in
England.
Take the man of business, the City man. Everywhere you find the same
activity, the same feverish, high pressure kind of life.
Under these circumstances, the part that the English woman has to
play is clear enough: to make her husband forget, in private life, the
strain, the rebuffs, the deceptions, the snubs and kicks that he has
to endure in public life; to prepare for him a retreat in the calm
atmosphere of which he may refresh himself and acquire new strength;
to do the honours of her house with that liberality, that generous
hospitality, which are only met with among the English; in short, to
be satisfied with a part which, when filled with that abnegation and
devotion of which the women of all countries are capable, is no less
beautiful for being a secondary one.
Now, dear reader, if you will once more do me the honour of accepting
me as guide, we will visit together those beautiful girls a trifle too
emancipated, those virtuous wives a little too much respected, those
good mothers perhaps a little neglected; those women hospitable above
all others, whose ingenious forethought for the smallest needs of life
makes of a humble cottage a little palace of cleanliness, order, and
comfort.
JOHN BULL'S WOMANKIND.
I.
Flirtation--Sweethearting--Love in the open air--_Où il y a de la gêne
il n'y a pas de plaisir_.
Seeing that the word _flirtation_ seems to have been definitely
received into the French vocabulary, it is natural to suppose that our
language contained no equivalent for it, or that the thing itself
never existed in France.
Flirtation is, in fact, an essentially English pastime. No one flirts
in France: we are more serious than that in love affairs.
Some etymologists have thought that the verb _to flirt_ was formed
from _fleurette_ in the expression _conter fleurette_; but the best
authorities agree in thinking that it took its origin from
_fleardian_, an Anglo-Saxon word which means _to trifle_; and thus it
seems possible that it may have some connection with the verb
_fleureter_, which, in old French, signified "to say little
nothings," whence _plaisanter_, _badiner_.
However this may be, let us leave to _savants_ the task of deciding
the matter, while we concern ourselves about the thing itself. What,
then, is flirtation?
Flirtation is a very innocent little pastime. I have read in the
confession albums of young ladies of good society, "What is your
favourite occupation? Flirting." The answer is not in exquisite taste,
even from the English point of view, I admit; but no one would think
of taking it amiss ... all the more so, I should add, because these
confessions are not meant to be taken very seriously.
Young girls who at a ball had made themselves specially agreeable to
certain of their partners, and succeeded in drawing a few compliments
from them, might say, "We had such flirtation."
_To flirt_, then, is to make a young fellow believe that "_on l'a
remarqué, distingué_," as the Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein says; it
is to encourage him by sweet smiles and tender wiles, to quit his
reserve and carry his gallantry almost so far as to declare himself.
This kind of thing would be very dangerous with a young Frenchman; it
leads to no bad consequences with the young Englishman, for flirtation
is "attention without intention," as some one--I forget whom--has very
aptly put it; and an Englishman is able to pay a lady attentions
without harbouring any intentions. I compliment him upon it.
A woman who flirted would pass in France for giddy, even fast: she
knows her countrymen well, and is aware, when she coquettes with them,
what she is exposing herself to. A young girl would never even think
of it. But, in England, men are not so inflammable, and in flirting, a
woman does not play with fire. Witness the following little scene,
which gave me a quarter of an hour's diversion, at a conversazione
given by one of the great learned societies of London.
A young girl, lovely as an Englishwoman knows how to be lovely, when
she sets about it, stood in the corner of one of the rooms talking
with a young fellow of eighteen or twenty.
You should have seen with what a mischievous delight this little
angel, or rather this little demon, tortured the young booby, who
appeared to me not to know what to do with himself, or which way to
look, to escape the sight of a lovely and freely displayed _corsage_,
that rose and fell, a few inches from his nose. "Poor dear child!" I
thought to myself, "how oppressed you appear to be!" She seemed to be
doing her utmost to sigh her life away; and what amused me most, was
that, when the poor fellow appeared to have taken the firm resolution
not to be tempted, his pretty torturer stopped her chatter, and set to
work to fasten, with many careful and delicate touches, a rose that
threatened, at one moment to escape, at the next to be swallowed in
the heavy sea.
This little performance certainly lasted a quarter of an hour, and
really I pitied from the bottom of my heart this poor Tantalus--if one
may call Tantalus a young innocent who did not attempt to get
nearer--when, to my great satisfaction, I saw him beat a retreat. I
felt relieved. So did the poor fellow, I am sure.
A young Frenchman would soon have put an end to such a game by taking
some liberty that the young girl, after all, would have only too
richly deserved.
Sweethearting is a very different thing: we come now to love-making
taken _au sérieux_. Sweethearts are two young people who have
confessed their love to each other and have become mutually affianced,
with or without the consent of their parents. This English word has an
old-fashioned flavour about it. It corresponds very much to our _bon
ami_ and _bonne amie_. In speaking of the intended husband of a lady
of good society, you would now rather use the word _lover_.
Sweethearting could hardly exist in France, where the most firmly
betrothed lovers scarcely ever have a chance of renewing their vows
of love, except in the presence of a future mother-in-law. In England,
sweethearting means to make love openly; to take one's choice about,
to friends' houses, to concerts, to the theatre, to parties, for
sentimental walks more or less solitary; to be allowed a thousand
charming little liberties; it means, in a word, to play the comedy of
love. Of course, accidents will happen, it is inevitable: carried away
by the success of the play, the best actors may forget themselves. But
it is far from being the rule: it is even a very rare exception,
especially in the educated classes.
It is a curious spectacle, in a country where reserve, prudery, and
propriety are carried to a point of uncomfortableness, to observe the
couples of lovers walking about in the evening, holding each other by
the hand, by the waist, around the neck, and, in rather deserted
streets, forming regular processions. I am not speaking of the better
classes, of course; but still I speak of the lower middle class--of
clerks, shopmen, and shopgirls, very well dressed, and for the most
part very respectable. These couples go "sober, sober," like the "poor
man" in the nursery rhyme, and, with their eyes bent languishingly on
each other, appear to find very little to say with their lips. When
you pass and look at them, they seem to say to you: "You have been
through it yourself, old fellow, haven't you? You know all about it:
there's no need to mind you."
The seats in the parks and public promenades are occupied all the
evening long by such couples. These seats are made to hold three
persons, but, with a little management, they will accommodate six. The
occupants are there by the hour together, each couple taking no notice
of the others, but clasped in a silent embrace, motionless and
rapturous. I have always admired these stoical young Englishmen who
can thus undergo, for hours, this voluptuous treatment without any
inconvenience.
One evening, in the month of March of last year, I crossed Hyde Park
to get to the Marble Arch from Piccadilly. As I saw those couples
reposing at their ease on the grass, and not attempting to disturb
themselves for such a trifle as a man passing, I thought to myself, "O
free England! to what lengths, after all, will thy love of liberty
carry thee!"
As I was waiting at the Arch for my omnibus, a fine, good-humoured
looking policeman was pacing up and down. I went up to him, and began
by asking him if there would soon be a Bayswater omnibus passing.
Seeing him disposed to be chatty, I said to him, "They seem to make
themselves at home in the park, those lovers! They don't budge for
anybody."
"No, sir; no, not they," he replied naïvely; "no fear!" _Où il y a de
la gêne il n'y a pas de plaisir._
The policeman was evidently there at the entrance of the park to
protect the sweethearts, and prevent anybody from disturbing them. I
had always wondered why policemen were stationed outside the London
parks, and never entered them after dusk. I understand at last: one
does not take in everything at a glance.
II.
Declarations of love--Kisses--Disobliging Britons.
I never much admired our manner of making love declarations in France.
We go down on our knees, in our nineteenth-century costume, at the
feet of a woman whom we allow from her superior height to contemplate
us in all our servility. With her sweet, downcast eyes, this little
demon of observation takes an inventory of our slightest blemishes: of
our hair, that is not so luxuriant as it was; of our rounded upturned
eyes, that appear to be all whites; of a small wart, that we fondly
fancied no one noticed; of our dignity, that we have abdicated in
going on our knees, to implore favours that we are destined to pay
enough for, Heaven knows, and which, after all, mean promotion for her
who grants them; for I maintain that a woman who marries is promoted
over her sisters. Well I say it plainly, our part in this little
scene is a supremely ridiculous one. If you are not of the same
opinion, gentlemen, put the following question to yourselves: Should I
ever think of being photographed in such a position? I await your
reply.
They manage these things differently in England. The favourite seat of
young girls at home is a low chair, an ottoman, or very often a simple
footstool. How often have I seen pretty daughters of Albion, and that
in the best society, sitting Turkish fashion on the rug in front of
the fire, on winter evenings, caressing one another, or listening,
while some interesting novel was read aloud! These little scenes, full
of charm, have often suggested to me sweet pictures of domestic
happiness, in which each one plays the part that, according to my
ideas, is most befitting.
Seated comfortably at your ease, you have near you, but a little lower
than yourself, the beloved object of your dreams, or better still, the
dear companion of your daily life; in whose ear, without dislocating
your vertebræ, you can murmur sweet words of love. All your defects,
if defects you have--and be sure of it, you are not without some--are
out of the range of her eyesight. Over you, in perfumed waves, spread
her beautiful tresses that you caress, knot, unknot, and never tire of
playing with. With the eyes of a lover, and at the same time a
protector, you admire the graceful contour of her form, that vibrates
with pleasure at the sound of your voice, and her eyes that seem to
implore your protection and thank you for the cloudless life you map
out for her. Thus seated, you might even, without fear of annoying
her, smoke your cigar while you hold sweet converse, and build your
castles in Spain. I say, without fear of annoying her, for your wife
will certainly allow you to smoke, if she is not a simpleton.
"Your husband in love savours somewhat of the pacha," some emancipated
lady will perhaps exclaim.
Not in the least. We are not speaking of a master and his slave, but
merely putting in their proper places the possessor and the possessed:
the one who will have the battle of life to fight, and the one who
will fit him for it, who will encourage him by her tenderness and
love, rejoice with him in his joys, and cheer him in time of
adversity: "a state not of slavery, but of exalted duty."
Ah! Madam, how I am filled with admiration for you, when, meeting your
husband, I hear him say to me: "Excuse me, my dear boy, if I leave you
so quickly, but I am in a hurry to get home; my wife is expecting me!"
I know so many husbands who are in no hurry to go home, and for good
reason.
The kiss on the lips is almost the only one practised in England.
Do not imagine, however, that this pleasant little pastime can be
indulged in as freely as you might desire. No, here as elsewhere, the
same difficulty presents itself: the people that you may kiss are
those that belong to you; the people whose lips you are forbidden to
approach, are those that belong to that stern Cerberus that the French
call _Autrui_.
I would willingly initiate you further, dear inquisitive lady reader,
into those little scenes of intimacy, always so interesting, no matter
whether they pass amid English fogs or beneath Italy's pure sky; but,
you see, in all the houses where I have had the honour of being
invited, I have watched and observed in vain; I have scarcely seen
anything worth noting down. Those provoking Britons always waited
until I had left the house to proceed to business.
III.
Love in Marriage--Mrs. John Bull's bedroom--As you make your bed, so
you must lie on it--Young People, English and French--How it may
sometimes be an economy to take your Wife with you when you travel on
the Continent.
John Bull owes his success in this world--and perhaps in the next
also--to his indifference towards woman, an indifference that he is
fortunate enough to owe to his peculiar organisation and the uniform
temperature of his blood, and which not only enables him to keep a
cool head before the charms of the fair sex, but also to maintain them
in a complete state of submission.
The submission of woman to man is the basis of every solid social
system.
In John's eyes, woman is almost a necessary evil; a wife a partner of
the firm; love-making a little _corvée_ more or less disagreeable.
The Englishman is unquestionably well fitted for making colonies, but
badly formed for making love: he has no _abandon_ about him, cannot
forget himself, and passes his life in standing sentinel at the door
of his dignity. It requires more skill to make love than to lead
armies, said Ninon de Lenclos, who was an authority.
Go to the theatre and you will hear the young lover declare himself to
his lady-love in about the same tone as we should use at table in
asking our neighbour, "May I trouble you for the mustard?"
This "I love you" may be sincere, and is, I doubt not; but it
certainly can never have the power of our "_Je t'aime_." The English
language, in avoiding the second person singular, avoids familiarity.
Here a man says _you_ alike to his mistress and his bootmaker. Who
among us does not still feel a thrill of emotion and pleasure as he
thinks of the moment when, for the first time, he grew bold enough to
change _vous_ into _toi_? Where is the woman whose pulses did not
quicken with love at the sound of those words, _Si tu savais comme je
t'aime_, breathed low in her ear by her accepted lover. It is true
that in our high society a man uses _vous_ in speaking to his wife,
but if he loves her, _vous_ is only for the gallery: there are times
when _toi_ is indispensable.
After all, perhaps _you_ sits better on an Englishman, with his
respect for his wife: a respect of which she must be a little inclined
to complain occasionally.
Only go and see John Bull's house, and once more, let me repeat that
by John Bull I always mean the middle-class Englishman, with an income
of from two to five hundred a year. You will find it all very
comfortable: drawing-room, dining-room, library, breakfast-room. But
the bedroom!
Ah! the bedroom! You see at a glance that you are not in the temple of
love, but in a refuge for sleep and repose.
Of all the rooms in an English house, the bedroom is the least
attractive looking, the one that has had the least care and money
spent upon it: it always looks to me like a servant's room. No little
cosy arm-chairs; no pretty furniture; no ornament. Few or no
curtains.[1] You look in vain for a boudoir, that green-room of the
little elf-god. No: six straight-backed fragile-looking cane chairs;
an iron or brass bedstead; a dressing-table in front of the window; a
chest of drawers; a washstand, and a sponge-bath.
[1] Many Englishmen are of opinion that curtains make a bedroom
unhealthy. Health is the first thing to be considered.
Nothing more. What! my dear Mrs. Bull, not even a screen! Is John no
longer a man in your eyes?
Better still. Would you believe that in very good houses, I have seen,
and very plainly too ... yes, positively, I have seen _it_ on the
floor under the washstand?... I have often noticed by the side of the
English bed, a little piece of furniture, resembling a music-box in
shape, which I think does not add much poetical charm to the couch of
Mr. and Mrs. John Bull.
Such is the temple in which the Englishman sacrifices to Venus.
You have probably heard it said, dear reader, that a stranger never
penetrates into the bedroom in England. That is true, and may easily
be understood. However, should you call on an Englishman and be
persuaded to prolong your visit a little, after some time he will be
sure to ask you if you would not like to go upstairs and wash your
hands. It is the formula.
When I say that the bedroom is quite devoid of ornaments, I exaggerate
a little: the walls are adorned with illuminated texts from the Bible,
hung by means of ribbons. They are texts chosen for their
suitableness. "Thou God seest me," ... etc. The best was one that I
saw thus posted up at the head of an English bed: "Watch and pray,
lest ye enter into temptation; for the spirit indeed is willing, but
the flesh is weak."
One more word upon the English bedroom.
In making a bed in England, every covering is not taken off
separately, as it is in France, to be replaced carefully one after the
other, without the slightest crumple. Here the whole is taken off, or
rather turned back, over the foot of the bed, the feather bed is
shaken, and the clothes returned to their place as they came.
* * * * *
Cold as an Englishwoman, has said Alfred de Musset. And as the
illustrious poet was an authority on women, we still say in France:
_froide comme une Anglaise_. Don't believe a word of it; it is a
calumny. You form your judgment from stiff collarettes that look as if
they had never been crumpled. In my mind, one of the Englishman's
greatest faults is his not appreciating at their proper worth such
sweet charming women, all the more attractive for their little air of
propriety and prudishness.
The finest Stradivarius would give forth but sorry sounds in the hands
of an ignoramus. How can you expect women to look very lively when
they have to pass the first fifteen years of their married life
_enceintes_ or _en couches_, suckling all the little John Bulls
destined one day to introduce cold beef and pickles in the four
corners of the Globe?
* * * * *
When a Frenchwoman gets married, her good time begins; when an
Englishwoman gets married, her good time is over. Within a year her
case is settled: _comme mars en carême_. Thanks to the liberty that is
allowed to young couples, there may be a little mistake in arithmetic
made occasionally. As I do not wish to seem to calumniate for the
pleasure of calumniating, I must hasten to add that it is a very rare
thing to hear of an Englishman breaking faith where his attentions
have been too successful.
French men and English women generally live very happily together in
matrimony, often quite like lovers.
On the contrary, English men and French women seem to lead dull and
wretched lives. Of course, I am speaking of those that I know; I do
not wish to generalise, it would be absurd; and yet it seems to me one
might say that there were never two beings who appeared to be less
suited for each other; as well try to marry the day and the night.
Far be it from me to think of contesting the virtue of Englishwomen.
Women are born virtuous all the world over: this is one of the firm
convictions that I delight in holding. Is it simplicity or innocence
on my part? I do not think so.
Only, I would remark that the virtue of an Englishwoman runs less risk
in a country where young men are by temperament less enterprising, by
education more reserved, and by natural awkwardness more shy with
women than in Continental countries.
I do not say this in order to be critical, quite the contrary; and as,
in making these observations, my intention is not either to please the
French or to court the English, but simply to write conscientiously
what I think and what I see, I will hasten to add, that I greatly
prefer the young Englishman of twenty, shy, awkward, and childish as
he may appear to our school heroes, with his cricket and his football,
to the young Frenchman of the same age, who runs down women, and looks
at them with a bold and patronising air, as he twirls his moustache.
The young English girl knows more of life than the young French girl;
she may be as pure, but she is less innocent, less intact, and
consequently knows better how to take care of herself. A young married
woman will sometimes have a young sister not out of her teens, to stay
with her, during her confinement. Such a thing would never be done in
France. I do not say who is right; I merely draw attention to the
facts.
Unless a married woman courts danger, she runs no risk, surrounded as
she is by her children. All these things are so many safeguards for
the Englishwoman of the middle classes. I say _middle classes_; for,
if one may believe the reports of divorce cases published in the
newspapers, it is evident that the English upper classes cannot cast
the stone at their Continental neighbours.
As for the lower orders, I have resolved to speak of them as little as
possible in this volume. The subject is as repulsive as it is stale.
* * * * *
Our worthy friend John Bull would doubtless like to have his virtue
discoursed upon at length. He prides himself upon it not a little; he
likes it talked about.
Yet one would be almost tempted to believe that he leaves all his
superfluous stock of that commodity in the cloak-rooms at Dover and
Folkestone, before embarking on board the boats of the South-Eastern
Railway Company. Good heavens! But what an emancipated look he has in
Paris! What a metamorphosis! How the corners of his mouth go up! How
he throws his insular reserve overboard! Why, this can never be John!
Somebody must have substituted an inferior article; he does not look
half so good. And when he returns home to his island, what endless
tales he has to tell about the immorality of Paris and Brussels!
Shocking! Dreadful!
Funny constitution! When he has had his little round of a fortnight on
the Continent, he seems to resume his quiet, godly habits for the rest
of the year. How he must have improved each shining hour!
* * * * *
The virtue of an Englishman is bounded on the south by the English
Channel; on the west by the Atlantic Ocean; on the east by the North
Sea.
* * * * *
"Why do you employ so many Germans in your offices?" I asked one day
of a great City man.
----"Because they speak several languages," he replied.
----"But could you not find Englishmen who have lived abroad, that
would do as well?"
----"I could find plenty, no doubt; but I should have no confidence in
their steadiness. You must not lose sight of an Englishman."
----"You don't mean it!" I cried. "Is that the opinion you have of
your countrymen?"
----"I don't believe in the virtue of an Englishman on the
Continent," he replied seriously.
----"What! You would not trust a...."
----"I would trust nobody."
----"Not even a bishop?"
----"Not even a bishop."
* * * * *
"Things are dreadfully dear in France; one spends no end of money in
Paris," said another Briton to me one day.
----"Do you think so?" I replied. "When I am in Paris, and am staying
at an hotel, I spend but about twenty-five francs a day, and I live
like a prince."
----"Frightfully dear! I tell you."
----"And you talk of going again next month?"
----"Yes, but I shall have my wife with me."
----"What! you will take your wife! You will spend double as much
then...."
----"Not at all, I...."
My islander checked himself; he felt he had gone a little too far, and
a deep blush spread over his countenance.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," I cried; "of course you are quite right.... I
was not thinking."
Was I not a simpleton?
IV.
The Marriage Ceremony in England--Civil Marriages--Elopements--Marriage
in Scotland--Show your Credentials--One word more about the _dot_.
Marrying one of John Bull's daughters is not all honey.
One cannot help wondering how it comes to pass that the English, who
for centuries have been reforming their religion in every sense
imaginable, have never yet turned their attention to making the
language of the Church as choice and euphemistic as is the language of
good society. The Protestant Church alone seems to have retained the
sole privilege of calling a spade a spade, or something worse still.
At the ordinary services, it does not so much matter. The clergyman is
at a certain distance from the congregation, and when he reads you,
from the Bible, a story that makes you tremble for fear of what he
will read next, you can comfort yourself with the idea that the
charming young lady at your side has perhaps not been listening.
Besides, that which is addressed to everybody is addressed to nobody;
witness, the effect upon Christians of all the sermons that have been
preached to them for nearly two thousand years.
But when it comes to going through the marriage ceremony in church, it
is quite another matter.
You are standing beside your bride, and close to the clergyman who is
facing you. Six or eight bridesmaids, sometimes young girls twelve or
fifteen years old, are grouped behind the bride. Breaking the profound
silence, the minister thus addresses you, not in Latin, but in plain
English: "Dearly beloved brethren, we are gathered together here in
the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join
together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an
honourable estate ... not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand
unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and
appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but
reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God;
duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained." And
then he goes on to say that it was ordained for the procreation of
children, for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication, that
such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry and keep
themselves undefiled members of Christ's body.
That is how the ball opens. It is promising, is it not? You would give
the world to sink through the floor, or to be able to seize your dear
little wife, and fill her ears with cotton wool. You blush, as you
think of the sweet creatures in white, blue, and pink, who are just
behind you biting their lips, and wondering what those brute beasts,
that have no understanding, have to do with the ceremony, and you feel
ready to fall on your knees and implore the forgiveness of the
innocent young girl at your side, for having brought her there to hear
such things. And that which strikes you with wonder, nay, with
amazement, is that just after, when the minister says to her, "Wilt
thou have this man to thy wedded husband ... wilt thou obey him, and
serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health?" she
does not indignantly exclaim:
"No, indeed, not for the world!"
Thus have the English, in their rigid puritanism, managed to spoil a
ceremony that might, and ought, to remain engraven on the memory among
life's sweetest souvenirs.
And yet, what beautiful words might be said to young couples, and
that, without going out of the Bible for them: the Bible, that finest
monument of English prose, so poetical at times, so grand, yet so
melodious always! Never was woman painted in colours so poetical;
never were her duties traced with such a masterly hand as by the
famous King of the Hebrews; and one might extract from the Proverbs
and the Song of Solomon a most charming lecture to be addressed to
young couples presenting themselves at the altar.
The language of the English Bible is incomparably superior to that of
the Bible in any other idiom. It is like music, like trumpet blasts.
With the exception of the finest passages of Bossuet, I know nothing,
even in our splendid prose, that could be compared with this great
national epic.
The foregoing remarks on the Bible will perhaps give pleasure to the
English; not that I wrote them with any such intention: it is simply
the exact truth.
* * * * *
Plenty of people in England do without the religious ceremony. They
are not free-thinkers, for that; they are merely worthy people quite
orthodox, but who prefer the civil marriage as being more simple.
They present themselves at the registrar's office. No need to produce
any papers: the bridegroom gives his name and surname, as well as
those of the young girl he means to marry; the couple declare their
ages, in the presence of two witnesses, and state whether they are
spinster and bachelor, or whether either or both have been through the
ceremony of marriage before. The registrar's book is signed, and there
is an end of the matter. By means of a licence, that may be obtained
at Doctors' Commons for the sum of two guineas, the trouble of having
one's banns published may be avoided.
It is scarcely necessary to add that, when the parents give consent to
the marriage of their children, the ceremony generally takes place in
church; but the registrar is a great resource, when the parents are so
cruel as to stand in the way of the young folks' happiness.
* * * * *
Elopements are very common in England. Do not imagine, however, for an
instant, that an elopement means anything very romantic. No signal or
rope ladder at midnight; no carriage with two swift steeds waiting at
the corner of the next street; no masked postillions, such as one is
accustomed to at the Ambigu Theatre. Nothing of the kind. As I said in
"John Bull and his Island," "A young girl goes out one fine morning to
post a letter, and, on her return, informs her parents that she is
married." Only; of course, it sometimes happens that she does _not_
return.
In the appendix will be found the account of a case that has recently
been tried in Dublin.[2] The prisoner, aged forty-two, had been
through the ceremony of marriage five times.
[2] See Appendix (a).
But for marriage made easy, Scotland is the place. There civil
marriage, religious marriage, all is unnecessary. You gather together
your parents and friends, present to them the young girl to whom you
are engaged, and tell them: "This is the wife I have chosen." The
matter is settled: you are married.
If I may believe certain Scotch novels, this presentation even may be
dispensed with. It is sufficient for the young people to say to each
other: "I take you for my wife;" "I accept you as my husband," in
order to be able to consider themselves well and duly married. "A
wedding is all very well," Sandy will tell you, "but for real fun and
enjoyment, give me a good funeral."
I do not speak of these Scotch weddings with the least intention of
laughing at them. I think those primitive customs simply admirable.
Laws, contracts, and other impediments of all kinds are only made for
rogues.
Compare this charming manner of getting married with the bothers and
hindrances without end arising from the necessity for producing the
papers exacted by the French bureaucracy, both religious and civil:
certificates of birth, certificates of baptism, certificates of the
death of parents you may have lost, written consent of parents who are
unable to be present, _billets de confession_, and I know not what
besides; until you wonder Red Tape does not demand your own
certificate of existence. It would seem as though the marriage
formalities in France had been invented with the express idea of
making young people shun matrimony.
* * * * *
Dress coats are not worn at weddings in England; they are only used
for evening wear, and are called evening coats. The bridegroom, his
best man, and the other gentlemen, are in frock coats. The dresses of
the bride and bridesmaids are similar to those worn in France on such
occasions.
The bride is led to the altar by her father. When the clergyman says:
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" the father
advances, and replies: "I do." The dear man always appears to me
radiant on these occasions; with happy heart and beaming countenance
he answers: "I do." It is true he gives his daughter, but as that is
generally all he gives, it is a clear profit for him: one mouth less
to fill.
A suitor never thinks of asking for a _dot_ with his bride, as I have
said elsewhere. I even added: "Girls of the middle class in England
have no _dot_; or when they have, it is the exception, and not the
rule." This assertion brought down upon me a plethora of
recriminations. "What, Sir," wrote the indignant British parents, "we
give no _dots_ to our daughters! But, begging your pardon, we do so
when we have the means."
All I can say is that the exceptions may be a little more frequent
than I thought, although I doubt it; and whichever way the case may
stand, I know personally a great number of Englishmen very well off,
rich even, who have led their daughters to the altar, dowered them
with a few chemises and handkerchiefs, and ... wished them good luck.
The young couple manage as best they may.
V.
After the Ball--My Wife makes me a little Confidence (from the Diary
of a Frenchman married to an Englishwoman).
I am not jealous; yet, every time I reach home after a ball, I
experience a certain feeling of relief and satisfaction: I cannot help
it.
When you have seen your wife whirled round a room, in the arms of a
score of men, who have plunged their eyes in her _corsage_, inhaled
the perfume of her hair, held her waist and hand, felt her near them
at the distance of a hair's breadth, you are happy to find yourself
once more alone with her, and to feel that, after all, she is your
very own. Besides, there is another sentiment that animates you. The
dance has made your little wife radiant; it has brought a new glow to
her cheeks; her eyes are brighter; her whole being seems to exhale I
know not what intoxicating perfume; she is lovelier than ever in your
eyes; and those thousand little jealous ideas that have been passing
through your head have added fuel to the flame of your love ... in
short, I know nothing more pleasant, more delightful, than to return
from a ball with one's wife, to a cosy fire-side, to thrust her little
feet into her satin slippers, to pull off her gloves, and ask her for
a cup of tea.
We had had a little room arranged quite expressly for these
_tête-à-tête_. We called it the _reposoir_. We only used it on
returning from the play or a ball. What long confabulations we have
had in it! What delicious little chats its walls have heard! And,
thank Heaven, they often hear them still: I do not see why I should
not put all my verbs in the present tense.
This sanctum is about the size of a nutshell: there is just room for
two. The furniture consists of a table, a sofa, two inviting-looking
arm-chairs, and a Pleyel piano of the sweetest tone. A Turkey carpet
covers the floor, and two lamps with blue tulip-shaped globes throw a
soft, most exquisite light over the room. When the curtains are drawn,
we can imagine ourselves alone in the world.
My wife has more than once confessed to me that, to her, the greatest
pleasure about going to a ball or a theatre, was the thought of the
little _reposoir_ all ready to receive us on our return, and she never
forgot to give strict orders with regard to it before setting out.
I have more than once, at a party, caught her throwing me little
glances that seemed to say: "Have patience, darling; Parker is just
lighting us a lovely little fire; in a few moments we shall be all
alone, and I will soon drive that frown from your brow."
* * * * *