to train the person and the limbs to the ease and grace you wish.
It is difficult to straighten the stem long left to diverge into
irregular wildness; but the tender tree, pliant in youth, needs only
the directing hand of a careful gardener to train it to symmetry and
luxuriance.
Many of the naturally most pleasing parts of the female shape have
I seen assume an appearance absolutely disgusting; and all form an
_outre_ air, vulgar manners, or hoydening postures. The bosom, which
should be prominent, by a lounging attitude, sinks into slovenly
flatness, rounding the back, and projecting the shoulders! On the one
side, I have seen a finely-proportioned figure transform herself
into a perfect fright by this awkward neglect of all propriety and
grace; and, on the other, I am acquainted with a lady, whose beauty,
taken in the common acceptation of the word, would not obtain her a
second look, but in the elegance of her manners, in the dignity of
her carriage, in the taste and disposition of her attire, and in the
thousand inexpressible charms which distinguish the gentlewoman, she is
so powerful that none can behold her without captivation.
A late author, in a work entitled, “Remarks on the English and French
Ladies,” very ably points out the superior attention which the women
of France pay to the cultivation of their air and manners; and he
proceeds, with no inconsiderable degree of eloquence, to exhort the
British fair not to lose, by a careless neglect, the advantages which
nature has given them over the _belles_ of _la grande nation_.
“It must not be dissembled,” says this writer, “that our much fairer
countrywomen (the English) are too often apt to forget that native
charms may receive considerable improvement by attending to the
regulation of carriage and motion. They ought to be reminded, that
it is chiefly by an attention of this kind, that the Frenchwomen,
though unable to rival them in such exterior perfections as are the
gift of nature, attain, however, to a degree of eminence in other
accomplishments, that effaces the recollection of their inferiority
in personal charms.” He proceeds to observe, that “the gracefulness of
a French lady’s step is always a subject of high commendation in the
mouth even of Frenchmen;” and again he says, “conscious where their
advantage lies, they spare no pains to improve that grace of manner,
that fund of vivacity, which are in their nature so agreeable, and
which they know so well how to manage to the best effect.”
My intimacy with the French manners makes me quote these short extracts
with greater pleasure; and as I bear witness to the truth of their
evidence, I hope that an amiable ambition will unite in the breasts
of the British fair, to rise as much superior to their French rivals
in all feminine graces, as our British heroes are to the French on
the seas! We shall then see cultivated understandings, unaffected
cheerfulness, and manners of an enchantment not to be exceeded by the
fairest sorceresses in beauty and grace.
_Sorceresses_ I would make you, my gentle friends; but your spells
should be those of nature and of virtue. While I exhort you to preserve
your persons in comeliness, to array yourselves in elegance and sweet
attractive grace, I would not lead you to believe, that these are
all your charms; that these are sufficient “to take the captive soul
of love, and lap it in Elysium!” No; woman was created for higher
attainments; many a heart was formed to pant for dearer joys than
these can produce. Woman must, in every respect, and at all times,
regard her form as a secondary object; her mind is the point of her
first attention; it is the strength of her power; the part that links
her with angels; and, as such, she must respect, cultivate, and exalt
it.
But as these familiar pages are expressly intended as a little treatise
on _the dress_ of these admirable qualities, I do not suppose it
demanded of me to enter so minutely into the subject of mind, as I
otherwise should have esteemed it my duty. We have before admitted,
that while on this earth wandering amongst the erring and voluptuous
sons of men, virtue must be clad in an attractive garb, else few
will love her for herself. To this end, then, like Solon of Athens,
I give the best directions the inmates of this gay world are capable
of receiving--though, perhaps, not the best I could lay down. I would
win the too earth-clinging soul by his senses, to give up his sensual
enjoyments, and, caught by earthly charms, see and feel his connexion,
and leaving the grosser part, aspire to mingle being with those alone
which partake of immortality.
It is not by the showy attire of meretricious splendor, by the
seductive air of Sybaritical refinement, that I would effect this. “It
is good that virtue keep ever with its like!” my means should ever be
consistent with their object. So, with me, beauty, elegance, and grace,
should be the only pleaders for the empire of morals and religion. On
these principles, as I am aware that the most estimable and amiable
qualities adorn the wives and daughters of our isle, I cannot but be
the more solicitous that their outward deportment and appearance should
exhibit a fair specimen of their inward worth.
“An upright heart, and sensibility of soul, are doubtlessly the most
noble qualifications of the fair sex. These, Englishwomen possess in
an eminent degree. But there are lighter, and perhaps more catching
attractions, which, though they will not bear a competition, are
nevertheless great smoothers of the rough passages of life, and very
necessary conducives to social happiness.”
It is the opinion of wiser heads than mine, that no circumstance,
however trifling in itself, should be neglected, which strengthens
the bonds of an honorable and mutual attachment; and so great is the
privilege allowed for this purpose, that it is deemed laudable in woman
to collect into herself all the innocent advantages, mentally and
corporeally, which may render her most admirable and precious in the
eyes of him who may be, or is, her husband.
This latter sentiment reminds me to impress upon my young friend, that
there are shades of demeanor which must be varied according to the
sex, degree, and affinity of the persons with whom she converses. To
men of all ranks and relations, she must ever hold a reserve on certain
subjects, and indeed on almost every occasion, that she does not deem
necessary to observe with regard to her own sex. To inferiors of both
sexes she must ever preserve a gracious condescension; but to the men a
certain air of majesty must be mixed with it, that she need not assume
to the women. To her equals, particularly of the male sex, her manners
must never lose sight of a dignity sufficient to remind them that she
expects respect will be joined with probable intimacy. In short, no
intimacy should ever be so familiar as to allow of any infringement
on the decent reserves which are the only preservers of refinement in
friendship and love. What are called _cronies_ amongst girls, are among
the worst of connexions, as they generally are the very hotbeds of
fancified love-fits, secrecies, and really vulgar tale-bearing.
“Celestial friendship!
Whene’er she stoops to visit earth, one shrine
The goddess finds, and one alone,
To make her sweet amends for absent Heaven,--
The bosom of a friend, where heart meets heart,
Reciprocally soft--
Each other’s pillow to repose divine!”
This friendship is indeed the gift of Heaven--a boon more precious than
much fine gold; but it is not usually to be found in school _cronies_,
or in the confidence of misses, whose unbosomings usually consist of
flirtations, complaints against parents and guardians, and schemes
for future parties of pleasure. Friendship is too sacred for these
pretenders; under her influence, “heart meets heart,” and acknowledges
her as the pledge of Heaven to man, of immortality, and endless joys.
To such an intimate your whole soul may be laid open. But such an
intimate is rare. You may meet her once in the shape of a female
friend, and in that of a tender husband! But believe not that her
appearance will be more frequent. Hers are “like angels’ visits, few
and far between!” Earth would be too much like heaven were it otherwise.
To the generality, then, of your equals, while you are affable and
amiable with them all, you must be intimate with few, and preserve an
ingenuous reserve with most. Show them your sense of propriety demands
a certain distance, and with redoubled respect they will yield what you
require. With men of your acquaintance, you ought to be more reserved
than with women. But while I counsel such dignity of manners, you
must not suppose that I mean starchness, stiffness, prudery; I only
recommend the modesty of the virgin--the sober dignity of matron years.
The present familiarity between the sexes is both shocking to
delicacy, and to the interests of women. Woman is now treated by the
generality of men with a freedom that levels her with the commonest
and most vulgar objects of their amusements. She is addressed as
unceremoniously, treated as cavalierly, and left as abruptly, as the
veriest puppet they could pick up at a Bartholomew Fair.
We no longer see the respectful bow, the look of polite attention, when
a gentleman approaches a lady. He runs up to her; he seizes her by the
hand, shakes it roughly, asks a few questions, and, to show that he has
no interest in her answers, flies off again before she can make a reply.
To cure our coxcombs of this conceited impertinence, I would strongly
exhort my young and lovely readers. When any man, who is not privileged
by the right of friendship or of kindred, to address her with an air of
affection, attempts to take her hand, let her withdraw it immediately,
with an air so declarative of displeasure, that he shall not presume
to repeat the offence. At no time ought she to volunteer shaking hands
with a male acquaintance, who holds not any particular bond of esteem
with regard to herself or family. A touch, a pressure of the hands, are
the only external signs a woman can give of entertaining a particular
regard for certain individuals; and to lavish this valuable power of
expression upon all comers, upon the impudent and contemptible, is an
indelicate extravagance which, I hope, needs only to be exposed to be
put forever out of countenance.
As to the salute, the pressure of the lips--that is an interchange
of affectionate greeting, or tender farewell, sacred to the dearest
connexions alone. Our parents--our brothers--our near kindred--our
husband--our lover, ready to become our husband,--our bosom’s inmate,
the friend of _our heart’s core_--to them are exclusively consecrated
the lips of delicacy, and wo be to her who yields them to the stain of
profanation!
By the last word, I do not mean the embrace of vice, but merely that
indiscriminate facility which some young women have in permitting what
they call a _good-natured kiss_. These _good-natured kisses_ have often
very bad effects, and can never be permitted without injuring the fine
gloss of that exquisite modesty, which is the fairest garb of virgin
beauty.
I remember the Count M----, one of the most accomplished and handsomest
young men in Vienna. When I was there, he was passionately in love with
a girl of almost peerless beauty. She was the daughter of a man of
great rank and influence at court; and on these considerations, as well
as in regard to her charms, she was followed by a multitude of suitors.
She was lively and amiable, and treated them all with an affability
which still kept them in her train, although it was generally known
that she had avowed a predilection for Count M. and that preparations
were making for their nuptials. The Count was of a refined mind and
delicate sensibility. He loved her for herself alone--for the virtues
which he believed dwelt in a beautiful form; and, like a lover of such
perfections, he never approached her without timidity, and when he
touched her, a fire shot through his veins that warned him never to
invade the vermilion sanctuary of her lips. Such were the feelings,
when one night at his intended father-in-law’s, a party of young people
were met to celebrate a certain festival. Several of the young lady’s
rejected suitors were present. Forfeits were one of the pastimes, and
all went on with the greatest merriment, till the Count was commanded
by some witty mademoiselle to redeem his glove by saluting the cheek
of his intended bride. The Count blushed, trembled, advanced to his
mistress, retreated, advanced again--and at last, with a tremor that
shook every fibre in his frame, with a modest grace he put the soft
ringlet which played upon her cheek to his lips, and retired to demand
his redeemed pledge in evident confusion. His mistress gaily smiled,
and the game went on. One of her rejected suitors, but who was of a
merry unthinking disposition, was adjudged, by the same indiscreet
crier of the forfeits,--“as his last treat before he hanged himself,”
she said,--to snatch a kiss from the lips of the object of his recent
vows--
“Lips whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,
As Love had fanned them freshly with his wing!”
A lively contest between the lady and the gentleman lasted for a
minute; but the lady yielded, though in the midst of a convulsive
laugh. And the Count had the mortification, the agony, to see the lips,
which his passionate and delicate love would not allow him to touch,
kissed with roughness and repetition by another man, and one whom he
despised. Without a word, he rose from his chair, left the room--and
the house; and, by that _good-natured kiss_, the fair boast of Vienna
lost her husband and her lover. The Count never saw her more.
ON THE MANAGEMENT OF THE PERSON IN DANCING, AND IN THE EXERCISE OF
OTHER FEMALE ACCOMPLISHMENTS.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined.
_Childe Harold._
It is vain to expend large sums of money and large portions of time in
the acquirement of accomplishments, unless some attention be also paid
to the attainment of a certain grace in their exercise, which though a
circumstance distinct from themselves, is the secret of their charms
and pleasure-exciting quality.
As dancing is the accomplishment most calculated to display a fine
form, elegant taste, and graceful carriage, to advantage; so towards
it, our regards must be particularly turned; and we shall find that
when Beauty, in all her power, is to be set forth, she cannot choose a
more effective exhibition.
By the _exhibition_, it must not be understood that I mean to
insinuate anything like that scenic exhibition which we may expect
from professors of the art, who often, regardless of modesty, not only
display the symmetry of their persons, but indelicately expose them,
by most improper dresses and attitudes, on the public stage. What I
propose by calling dancing an elegant mode of showing a fine form to
advantage, has nothing more in it, than to teach the lovely young woman
to move unembarrassed and with peculiar grace through the mazes of a
dance, performed either in a private circle, or public ball.
It must always be remembered, and it cannot be too often repeated,
“That whatever it is worth while to do, it is worth while to do
_well_.” Therefore, as all times and nations have deemed dancing a
salubrious, decorous, and beautiful exercise, or rather happy pastime
and celebration of festivity, I cannot but regard it with particular
complacency. Dancing carries with it a banquet, alike for taste and
feeling. The spectator of a well-ordered English ball sees, at one
view, in a number of elegant young women, every species of female
loveliness. He beholds the perfection of personal proportion. They
are attired with all the gay habiliments of fashion and of fancy; and
their harmonious and agile movements unfold to him, at every turn, the
ever-varying, ever-charming grace of motion.
Thus far his senses only are gratified. But the pleasure stops not
there. His best feelings receive their share also. He looks on each
gay countenance, he sees hilarity in every step; he listens to their
delightful converse, communicated by snatches; and, with a pleasure
sympathizing with theirs, he cannot but acknowledge that dancing is
one of the most innocent and rational, as well as the most elegant,
amusements of youth.
It is indeed the favorite pastime of nature. We find it in courts, we
meet it on the village green. Here the rustic swain whispers his ardent
suit to his blushing maid, while his beating heart bounds against hers
in the swift wheel of the rapid dance. There the polished courtier
breathes a soft sigh into the ear of the lady of his vows, as he and
she timidly entwine their arms in the graceful _allemande_. But dancing
has been appropriated to higher purposes than these; it formed a part
of the religious ceremonies of the Jews.
In every age of fashion but the present, dancing was as much expected
from young persons of both sexes, as that they should join in smiles
when mutually pleased. In days of yore, in the most polite eras of
Greece and Rome, and of the chivalrous ages, we find that dancing was
a favorite amusement with the first ranks of men. Kings, heroes, and
unbearded youth, alike mingled in the graceful exercise. Even in our
own island, we read of the splendid balls given by our Plantagenets and
Tudors; and that every prince and nobleman contended in happy rivalry
who should best acquit themselves in the dance. Here it was that the
royal Harry lost his heart to the lovely Anna Bullen, and in such
scenes did the gallant lords of his virgin daughter’s court breathe out
their souls at the feet of British beauty.
Such _was_ the court of England! but now, where is “the merry dance,
the mirth-awakening viol?” In vain our princes led forth their royal
sisters and the fairest ladies in the land to celebrate, with festive
steps, the birth-day; our noble youth, smit with a love of grave folly,
abandon the ball for the gaming-table. The elegant society of the fair
is disregarded and exchanged for fellowship with grooms and masters
of the whip. Shame on them! I cannot descant farther on such vulgar
desertion of all that is lovely and decorous.
Besides the royal brothers, a few yet remain amongst the young men of
our higher ranks, who, in this respect, set a worthy example to the
youth of inferior stations; and them we still meet at the assemblies of
taste, moving with propriety and elegance in the social dance. To make
acceptable partners in the minuet, cotillon, &c. with these yet loyal
votaries of Terpsichore, I beg leave to offer a few hints to my gentle
readers.
Extraordinary as it may seem, at a period when dancing is so entirely
neglected by men in general, women appear to be taking the most pains
to acquire the art. Our female youth are now not satisfied with what
used to be considered _a good dancing-master_; that is, one who made
teaching his sole profession; but now our girls must be taught by the
leading dancers at the opera-house.
The consequence is, when a young lady rises to dance, we no longer see
the graceful, easy step of the gentlewoman, but the labored, and often
indelicate exhibition of the posture-mistress.--Dances from _ballets_
are introduced; and instead of the jocund and beautifully-organized
movements of hilarity in concord, we are shocked by the most
extravagant theatrical imitations. The chaste minuet is banished; and,
in place of dignity and grace, we behold strange wheelings on one leg,
stretching out the other till our eye meets the garter; and a variety
of endless contortions, fitter for the zenana of an Eastern satrap,
or the gardens of Mahomet, than the ball-room of an Englishwoman of
quality and virtue.
These _ballet_ dances are, we now see, generally attempted. I may say
_attempted_, for not one young woman in five hundred, can, from the
very nature of the thing, after all her study, perform them better than
could be done any day by the commonest _figurante_ on the stage. We all
know, that to be a fine opera-dancer, requires unremitting practice,
and a certain disciplining of the limbs, which hardly any private
gentlewoman would consent to undergo. Hence, ladies can never hope to
arrive at any comparison with even the poorest public professor of the
art; and therefore, to attempt the extravagancies of it, is as absurd
as it is indelicate.
The utmost in dancing to which a gentlewoman ought to aspire, is an
agile and graceful movement of her feet, an harmonious motion with her
arms, and a corresponding easy carriage of her whole body. But, when
she has gained this proficiency, should she find herself so unusually
mistress of the art as to be able, in any way, to rival the professors
by whom she has been taught, she must ever hold in mind, that _the same
style of dancing is not equally proper for all kinds of dances_.
For instance, the English country-dance and the French cotillon require
totally different movements. I know that it is a common thing to
introduce all the varieties of opera-steps into the simple figure of
the former. This ill-judged fashion is inconsistent with the character
of the dance, and consequently so destroys the effect, that no pleasure
is produced to the eye of the judicious spectator by so discordant
an exhibition. The characteristic of an English country-dance is
that of _gay simplicity_. The steps should be few and easy, and the
corresponding motion of the arms and body unaffected, modest, and
graceful.
Before I go further on the subject, I cannot but stop a little to dwell
more particularly on the necessity there is for more attention than we
usually find paid to the management of the arms, and general person, in
dancing.
In looking on at a ball, perhaps you will see that every woman, in a
dance of twenty couple, moves her feet with sufficient attention to
beauty and elegance; but, with regard to the deportment, of the rest
of the person, most likely you will not discover one in a hundred who
seems to know more about it than the most uncultivated damsel that ever
jogged at a village wake.
I cannot exactly describe what it is that we see in the carriage of
our young ladies in the dance; for it is difficult to point out a want
by any other expression than a negative. But it is only requisite for
my readers to recall to memory the many inanimate, ungraceful forms,
from the waist upwards, that they nightly see at balls, and I need not
describe more circumstantially.
For these ladies to suppose that they are fine dancers because they
execute a variety of difficult steps with ease and precision, is a
great mistake. The motion of the feet is but half the art of dancing;
the other, and indeed the most conspicuous part, lies in the movement
of the body, arms, and head. Here elegance must be conspicuous.
The body should always be poised with such ease as to command a power
of graceful undulation, in harmony with the motion of the limbs in the
dance. Nothing is more ugly than a stiff body and neck during this
lively exercise. The general carriage should be elevated and light;
the chest thrown out, the head easily erect, but flexible to move
with every turn of the figure; and the limbs should be all braced and
animated with the spirit of motion, which seems ready to bound through
the very air. By this elasticity pervading the whole person when the
dancer moves off, her flexible shape will gracefully sway with the
varied steps of her feet; and her arms, instead of hanging loosely by
her side, or rising abruptly and squarely up to take hands with her
partner, will be raised in beautiful and harmonious unison and time
with the music and the figure; and her whole person will thus exhibit
to the delighted eye perfection in beauty, grace, and motion.
This attention to the movement of the general figure, and particularly
to that of the arms (for with them is the charm of elegant action,)
though, in a moderated degree, is equally applicable to the English
country dance and the Scotch reel, as to the minuet, the cotillon, and
other French dances.