January, 1914.
SINCE you came out last May, Caroline dear, we have seen so much of each other at intervals that I have been able to tell you things, and have had no occasion to write. But as I shall be abroad for several months, and you in England, I shall have to begin again to help you in every way I can by letters,—as—far from my task being over after your presentation—we both found, did we not, dear child? that it had only just begun! Because there are always new questions cropping up, which you are sweet enough to want to ask my opinion about. And now I shall answer the one contained in your letter of yesterday. You write that you want to know what I think of the Tango and whether you ought to dance it?
Let us take the subject from its broadest point of view, first—that of new fads and fashions in general, and then we can get down to this particular one which seems to be agitating so many minds in various countries.
The first thing to realize is the utter futility of going against the spirit of the Age. From the earliest days of civilization, waves of an irresistible desire for some change—some freer expression of emotion—have periodically swept over society; all the people with limited horizons of thought have immediately launched forth their protests, and their horrified and outraged feelings upon whatever the subject happens to be have been expressed in frantic cries. But the spirit of the Age has just laughed at them, and gone its way and they have either eventually had to fall in with its mandates, or have been swept aside and left high and dry in loneliness. I have no space here, or desire to bore you, Caroline dear, by giving instances in the past of what I mean, and besides most of them have been already cited in the papers over this matter of the Tango. But to state two—everyone knows the horror the introduction of the valse created, and the thought of a lady bicycling would have made your grandmother shudder!
About every fad, every fashion, every new thing which is started, the wise woman, Caroline, reserves judgment. Because these matters are not questions of right and wrong, which a sense of duty should direct her to have a decided opinion upon immediately; they are merely questions of taste and expediency, and a calm review of them first is necessary before making up the mind. If a girl or woman is of a sufficiently distinguished personality, and is endowed with prestige and great social position, she can start originalities herself if she pleases. But, if she is a very young girl, this is most hazardous, and the really sensible thing to do is to follow the oft-quoted maxim of the Prime Minister and “wait and see!” It is as foolish to plunge with ardor into an untested new fad—which you may be ashamed of presently—as it is to treat it with antagonistic scorn and swear you will never have anything to do with it! Either course of action may possibly place you in an undesirable or ridiculous position after a while, when the fad or fashion has either shown itself to be vulgar and impossible—or has come to stay!
Give no opinion upon any radically new departure, my child. Quietly and in your own mind weigh its merits and demerits, and see if they come above or below the standard of your own self-respect and the true sense of the fitness of things—and then presently decide for or against. Never be ruled by the outcries of old-fashioned people any more than you must be led away by the feather-brains of your own age. But when you have arrived at the moment for decision judge the thing itself by those two standards that I have just indicated, and not by what anyone else thinks of it. Ask yourself, “If I play this game, or wear these clothes, or dance this dance, am I degrading my ideal of myself in any way? Is there really something indecent and immodest in it? Or is it shrieked at simply because some of the shriekers are too old to enjoy it, or their minds have turned to whatever side of it they can fix upon which can be developed into something suggesting impropriety?”
When you have sifted the motives for the outcries against the new fashion, whatever it may be, and have come to your own conclusions, go along steadily on your way, and be not disturbed, remembering always that excess in anything is undesirable and all eccentricity is vulgar in a young girl. There will be plenty of unbalanced youths and maidens in your world who will rush headlong into any new fad the instant that it is suggested to them. Well, Caroline, be very sagacious! And let them be the ballons d’essai! Watch how the thing seems to you and if it is likely to lead to pleasure or disgust. You will not have committed yourself to either side by this abeyance of expressed opinion, and can (to use another political phrase!) be safely “seated upon the fence” for a sufficient time to be able to decide whether the debated thing is only some small passing folly of one set—or if it is really something brought by the spirit of the Age. You will soon be able to settle this question, and, if you find that it has this omnipotent force at its back, do not hesitate to adapt it to your desires, and use it gracefully. I have emphasized these three words on purpose, because therein lies the whole pith of the subject—for it is so often the manner of a thing which counts more than the matter.
There is another important fact to be remembered, namely, the tremendous force of familiarity and custom which can turn startling innovations into unnoticeable and innocuous every-day occurrences.
If one stops to think for a minute one can conjure up numbers of sights which, viewed from a detached point uninfluenced by the familiarity of custom, would seem horribly shocking to one or other of our senses. For instance, if we had never seen a butcher’s shop before, some of us would faint at the first view of it! This unpleasant simile I give merely to show you in a very concrete and forcible manner what I mean—your own intelligence will apply the test to other subjects.
Thus, I remember, when first I saw a rather stout and elderly lady on a bicycle, I felt a wave of repulsion and, with others in the street, I turned my head to look at her in disgust. One sees them every day now and one does not even remark the fact. I went with a party to a very fashionable restaurant to see in 1913, where as a rule only the Élite of society congregate—and where reserve and decorum are the natural tone of the place. However, for the New Year’s Eve feast, it seemed to have opened its doors to a crowd of the most aspiring inhabitants of Suburbia, who afterwards danced in the ballroom. They indulged in wonderful “Bunny Hugs” and “Turkey Trots”—and probably the Tango, although its name had not become so famous then, and I did not recognize it. I recollect how we stood and watched them and laughed at some of the sights. Respectable, and often very plump, mÈres de familles with agonized faces of strain in case they should forget a step, were bumping against and clinging in strange fashion to some equally preoccupied partner! I thought then how undignified, how even revolting it was. But now when I go out here in Paris, even among the most recherchÉes grandes dames and see them (grandmothers some of them!) taking their hour or two of exercise by dancing the Tango, I am moved by no spirit of disgust, I merely feel critical as to whether or no they do it well—so far has custom and familiarity removed antipathy!
So I want you to take this powerful factor into consideration, Caroline, dear, in all matters of innovations. I want you to realize that they will become unremarkable and unimportant—so that the only sensible, just and sagacious way to look at them, if you should feel you wish to indulge in them, is to try to find out how far you can do so at that present moment of the day without making yourself ridiculous or looking unseemly. You can always exploit and expand your style when you see it is advisable. As I said before, there is no rigid law of right and wrong about such affairs, all are weighed by custom and suitability to present circumstances. As an illustration I will tell you a story of, perhaps, nineteen years ago.
I was in one of the great capitals of Europe when bicycling was just starting, and at a court held a young American girl was presented to the Queen. The presentations there were arranged quite differently to ours in England and the august lady said a few words to each dÉbutante. When it came to the turn of the American girl, the Queen—a lady of perhaps forty-five—asked her if she was interested in seeing the sights of the ancient city.
“Why, no, Your Majesty,” the sprightly maiden replied, “I bicyclate—do you bicyclate? It is no end of fun.”
The Queen became very pink and said coldly, “Such pastimes are hardly suitable to my age or position,” and passed on—but the nice point of the tale is that at that very moment the Sovereign was taking lessons in the strict privacy of her own royal garden! Only her perfect sense of the fitness of things made her not expose herself at that early day of the fashion in public, or even admit that she was countenancing the new exercise.
Do not think for a moment, Caroline, that, in all this that I have been saying, I am advocating a hypocritical course of conduct which may be applied to other things. This “wait and see” attitude I am only suggesting as prudent to adopt over such light matters as fashions and fads. But this, I hope, child, you have been intelligent enough to understand as you have read my words. You are fortunately not of that turn of mind which twists sentences to your own liking. So now, as I feel that you will have grasped my point of view about all new amusements and innovations, we can get on to the actual point of the much discussed Tango!
It would seem that it has been brought by the spirit of the Age, and so no outcries from any section of society will stop its progress. It will only cease to be danced when satiety has set in, and the spirit which brought it has moved further on. Its great difficulty will help to lengthen its reign. Emperors and strict parents may desire its banishment, and forbid its being indulged in by those over whose actions they have command,—but presently their orders will be evaded by even these, for youth will have its way, and general society will do as it pleases.
This being the case, Caroline, you can come off your prudent fence (where you were quite right to sit until now!) and take the very best lessons in the Tango you can procure without a troubled thought in your pretty head as to whether or no you ought to dance a dance of “low Argentine origin,” or whether or no vulgar and immodest people can weave into it some unpleasant features—the more they do so the more gracefully and in the more distinguished fashion can you try to practice it.
Do not endeavor to learn too many steps. Stick to a few until you can do them so well that you can dance with any good partner without that look of strain overspreading your face, and in the certainty that you will be able to follow his lead. You can say to him as you start, “I only know such and such steps.” Try at first to peep at yourself moving in some long mirror—notice if your attitude is graceful and sufficiently reserved without being stiff. And one thing I do implore of you, Caroline, do not cavort constantly with any creature who may have crept into the houses where you go, just because he is a good Tango dancer, if he has no other quality to recommend him. Try to stick to the young men of your own class and set, whose company you are accustomed to in other games and other moments. They will learn to become good dancers soon enough when they find that for them to do so is the wish of the nicest girls. If you want an instance of what I mean, there was a perfectly admirable illustration in the Daily Mirror not long ago in that page where the funny sketches are. I think it was called “Her Ladyship’s Tango Partner,” or some such title, and was quite exquisitely humorous—and gives the exact note of what I am advising you about. If you did not happen to see it get the back numbers and look it up, as it will show you exactly the way that it is undesirable that you should have to look at those young men whom you allow to be your partners. When they have sunk into just that “Her Ladyship’s Tango Partners,” then you can know that I should not approve of your dancing with them. Unless you have deliberately paid them to teach you, when the situation is different and you turn into pupil and master, not a thoughtless Caroline, using some humble person for her own ends without remuneration, or with the remuneration of favors which should only be granted to those of her own class.
There are always weird people in society among all ranks who seem to take a delight in removing barriers, and the landmarks of suitable conduct, by bringing paid instructors of fashionable pastimes out of their places—making everyone round them uncomfortable, and themselves conspicuous. These people—no matter what their worldly rank may be—must have some strong strain of vulgarity in themselves not to understand better the sense of the fitness of things, and they do much to sound the death knell of the pastime itself. You should never forget that gentle courtesy is due from you to every paid instructor you employ in any of your games—but no familiarity—and if the golf master, or the skating master, or the Tango master respects himself, he will be disgusted with you if you forget your place with him. I believe this is quite unnecessary advice to you, Caroline, child, but I cannot help giving it, so unpleasantly surprised have I been at the behavior I have witnessed among some girls who ought to have known better.
There is one other thing I have noticed and want to tell you about. I do not know if it applies to England now also because I have not been there since June, but here in Paris, for some strange reason, no one wears gloves when dancing the Tango! And the result is that these clever Parisiennes have taken unusual care about their hands—which seem whiter and more attractive looking than ever, with superlatively polished nails. It has brought in a regular cult of dainty fingers which I sincerely hope will spread across the Channel. Just consider how grateful we ought to be to the Tango if for no other reason! When one thinks of the unappetizing red fists such numbers of our country-women used to flourish!
Here at first one had an inclination to laugh when one saw the mothers dancing the Tango as well as the daughters, but if they do this in England do not let yourself be spiteful about it, Caroline. The exercise is so splendid, and it keeps them young and inclined to be more sympathetic with their children. What is really ridiculous in these elderly ladies is to do anything—soi-disant—for pleasure which is in reality a labor and a fatigue, just because they want to be in the swim. But if mothers and chaperones honestly enjoy dancing and can find willing partners, why not let them indulge their desires in peace? If they have the dignity which they ought to have they will realize the situations and the entertainments in and at which they ought to refrain from participating actively. But try to be tolerant, Caroline, in your judgment of them. For this is another remarkable feature which the Spirit of this Age has brought—the intense desire in everyone to keep young, and it is a good desire at its base.
I do not dance the Tango myself, although I am at the fashionable age for it here (over forty!), but it is not from principle, but because it would bore me terribly to have to do so—and I have arrived at a time of life when I can please myself about my amusements. But to you who are young I give this piece of worldly advice. Even if the Tango does not particularly attract you, if it is the rage among your set try to learn it because otherwise you will soon begin to feel yourself left out and neglected, no matter how pretty and accomplished you are in other ways, for I know you well enough now to know that you are not strong enough, dear child, to turn a tide or make any considerable quantity of your friends follow your lead. There are only about three women in every age who can ever do this, so do not be offended with me for my plain speaking.
And for a last word about the Tango. Dance it, if your friends dance it, and try to do it with the most perfect grace and modesty that diligent
practice and natural refinement can suggest. It is hard work, and nothing looks more unattractive than this dance when badly done. Be particularly careful how you hold yourself and how you permit your partner to hold you, and do try to keep your face from looking as though you were counting. If a thing which is supposed to be a recreation requires such concentration as that, it becomes no longer a pleasure to indulge in it yourself, and gives none to those who are looking on at you doing it. There are still numbers of old-fashioned people who have never seen the Tango and who talk the most incredible nonsense about it, based upon “what they have heard.” Let any of them see the dance beautifully performed, and I am sure all prejudice against it would be removed. But whether this is so or no, Caroline, I advise you, child, to enjoy it while you can, allowing good taste and good sense to guide you as to how you do it, where you do it, and when you do it.
And now, good-bye,
Your affectionate Godmother,
E. G.
| Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: |
| you will be so disguished=> you will be so distinguished {pg 94} |
| Copyright, 1912, 1913, by Harper’s Bazar, Inc.=> Copyright, 1912, 1913, by Harper’s Bazaar, Inc. {front} |
