treets, or lifts them in an awkward manner, sometimes even using
both hands; whereas a Parisian with her right hand gathers all the
folds to that side, and raises the whole dress a little above the
ankle, without fuss or parade. We would recommend our fair
countrywomen to practise this elegant mode of avoiding soiled
garments, and likewise doing what is termed _s'effarer_--that is, to
avoid as much as possible touching or being touched by those who pass;
mutually giving way, instead of charging forward _a l'Anglaise_,
careless of whom you run against, so as only you make your own way.
Here follows what sounds strange to us--namely, that if you are
overtaken by a heavy shower, and see a stranger walking in the same
direction with an umbrella, you may, without a breach of good manners,
request to share it. The umbrella-bearer should on his side, it is
remarked, cheerfully accord you shelter; and if the end of your
respective promenades are too distant from each other for him to
conduct you to your residence, he should make an apology at being
forced to deprive you of the accommodation, which, 'but for being
obliged to be at home at such an hour, or some excuse,' it would
otherwise have given him so much pleasure to afford you. 'Those little
graceful turns of language,' which we might think downright
falsehoods, are not to be more so considered than--'I am happy to see
you,' or 'I am your obedient servant' at the end of a letter. They
are, it is argued, understood forms of speech, which every well-bred
person practises--some of the 'sweet small courtesies of life, which
help to smooth its road.' When walking with a friend, should he raise
his hat to an acquaintance whom you never even saw before, you are
bound to pay the same compliment; and this idea is so much _de
rigueur_, that formerly very polite persons would rather affect not to
see their friends than force their companions to salute them also.
Now, however, the proper style is to say: 'I take the liberty to
salute Monsieur So-and-so,' to which the answer is: 'Je vous en prie
monsieur.' 'Never,' says our author, 'appear to see any one who is
looking out of his window or door, both improper practices, especially
the latter.' When a gentleman speaks to one much older than himself,
or to a lady, he not only raises his hat quite off his head--for none
'but an ignorant boor or a _fier Anglais_' ever does otherwise--but
holds it in his hand until requested to replace it. W