Friend Mac Donald Part 15

Heaven be thanked! dinner is announced, and I offer my arm to the lady of the house.

It is a family dinner. My host has before him a fine joint of beef, there are two chicken in front of my hostess, and I am placed opposite a boiled ham. A pair of carvers, laid with my cover, tell me that I shall have to carve the ham which is here eaten with the chicken. The idea is excellent; but all at once, down go the heads almost to the tablecloth.

My host looks at the chicken, at the ham, and lastly at the ribs of beef. His face clouds and, bending over the beef, he growls a few inarticulate words at it. It is not, as Mark Twain would say, that there is anything the matter with it, Scotch beef is the best in the world.

These words, that I was unable to catch the sense of, were meant to invoke the blessing of Heaven on the repast: it was Grace before meat.

Very right. I like the idea of thanking Heaven for its favours, but why the frown?

A servant stands behind his master's chair, another behind my hostess.

My host arms himself with his carving knife and fork and, without relaxing a muscle of his face, says to me:

"Can I a.s.sist you to a little beef?"

"No, thank you, I think I will take a little chicken."

"Can I a.s.sist you, my dear?" he said looking at his wife.

"No, thank you, I will a.s.sist myself," replies that lady.

"May I a.s.sist you to a slice of ham?" I ask, seeing her put the wing of a chicken on her plate.

"A very small piece, please."

When everyone is _a.s.sisted_, conversation resumes its little monosyllabic jog-trot, until the arrival of the puddings and sweets, when each of us again begins to propose to a.s.sist the other, and to think "We will take a little of this or that."

The sensation of needles and pins in your legs, the phraseology that consists in expressing one's thoughts by _I think I will take a little tart, I do not think I will take any cheese, very little of this, a very small piece of that_, when one feels hungry, those few moments of solemn suspense during which the company look at one another waiting for the hostess to rise--all these things give you cold shivers.

At last the ladies withdraw, the men are left to themselves, and you feel a little less restrained.

I had already been present at many little scenes of this kind in England, not in high society where one finds much ease and liveliness, but in a few middle-cla.s.s houses among straight-laced people. The little scene which I have attempted to describe pa.s.sed in a country mansion.

Yet I cannot enumerate all the delicate attentions with which those kind Scotch people surrounded me during my short stay among them. In most of the Scotch houses where I had the honour of being entertained, I found a generous and considerate hospitality, a hospitality which was all the more agreeable for not being overpowering. No fuss, no noise, no frivolous politeness. On my arrival the master of the house explained to me the geography of his habitation.

"This is the smoking-room, this the library, here is the drawing-room, and there is your bedroom. And now, my dear sir, be at home, or get home."

That is the best kind of hospitality. The Scotchman puts all the resources of his house at your disposition and, in a really hospitable spirit, leaves you to use them according to your taste.

Several families I know of keep open house all the year round. The friends of friends are friends, and are always well received no matter at what hour they may make their appearance. Some will arrive in time for dinner, play a game of billiards and retire. At the breakfast table, the mistress of the house enquires of her husband how many guests he has, and he often finds it very difficult to answer her question.

I was very much amused one Sunday morning in one of these houses. The breakfast was on the table from nine to half-past twelve. The guests took as much sleep as they liked and came down when they pleased. When I thought they were all down there were more to come. They helped themselves to tea or coffee, and having boiled an egg over the fire, set down comfortably to their breakfast. Some had gone to church, others to the library to smoke, or to the park to take the air. Two only turned up at two o'clock to luncheon. I should not wonder if one or two stayed in bed all day, for I think I remember that, at dinner-time, I saw a face or two that looked to me like fresh acquaintances.

Good society is the same everywhere--like hotels, as Edmond About said.

It is only a question of more or less manners in the first, and more or less fleas in the second.

In Scotland fleas are rare. They would starve on the skin of the Scotch men and are too well-mannered to attack that of the Scotch ladies.

As to good society it is no exception to the rule here.

To study the manners of the Scotch, as well as to study the manners of any other nation, you must mix with the middle cla.s.ses, with the people above all, for they are the real repository of the traditions of the country. You must travel third-cla.s.s; there is nothing to be learnt in first. For that matter, there is nothing alarming about that in Scotland, their third-cla.s.s carriages are superior to our French seconds.

The Scotchwoman is pretty.

She has not the sparkling, piquant physiognomy of the Frenchwoman; she has not the beautiful clear grey eyes--those eyes so dreamy and tender--of the Irishwoman. But she looks more simple and reserved than her English sisters, although her manner is just as frank.

I have often admired Scotchwomen of a p.r.o.nounced Celtic type. They have large eyes, dark and well shaped, with long lashes; their features are admirably regular, they are generally rather under middle height, with broad shoulders and perfectly proportioned sculptural lines.

Red hair is common in Scotland. One sees more of it in Edinburgh and Glasgow than in the whole of England; but the skin is so fine, the features are so delicate, the complexion so clear, that the little defect pa.s.ses unperceived or forgiven.

The men are hard and sinewy.

In point of appearance I prefer the English and Irish men. Scotchmen are well fitted for the battle of life. They are useful to their country but hardly ornamental.

The Scotchman is absorbed in business. In his leisure moments he goes into politics or theology; he studies or takes outdoor exercise. He has little time to consecrate to women. He prefers the company of men.

The women are timid, the men reserved, and if you feel ready to undertake the burden of the conversation, you will be listened to in Scotland; but I cannot guarantee that you will be appreciated. Your words are criticised, examined, and sifted, and when you flatter yourself with the sweet thought that you have given your host a high idea of your conversational powers, you will often only have succeeded in making a fool of yourself in their eyes.

Never try to entertain the Scotch. Rather hear what they have to say.

Reply to their questions; but if you would inspire them with respect, be sober in your speech, and above all avoid dogmatising. Leave the door of discussion always open, so that each member of the company may enter easily. Many Frenchmen have the bad habit of dogmatising, as if their verdicts were without appeal. This habit is an outcome of our frank, impulsive character; but the Scotch would be slow in appreciating it.

When a Scotchman asked me--which he invariably did--what were my political opinions, I answered him that a monarchy has its good points, and a republic has incontestable advantages. That allowed each one to express himself freely upon the two forms of government, and instead of entertaining them, I listened, which was infinitely more prudent, and perhaps also more profitable for me.

I have several times been a witness of very touching little scenes in Scotland, which proved to me that there are hearts of gold to be found under the rough surfaces of Scotchmen.

Here is one among many; it is a reminiscence of my visit in a country seat not far from Edinburgh.

"I want to introduce you to an old lady, who wishes very much to make your acquaintance," said my host to me one day.

"Who is the lady?" I asked.

"It is an old servant who has been in the family more than eighty years.

It was she who brought up my father, myself, and my children. She is ninety-eight years old to-day, and with our care we hope to see her live to a hundred."

We went upstairs, and on the third floor we entered a little suite of apartments, consisting of two most comfortable rooms, a bedroom and a little parlour. There we found the _old lady_, sitting in an arm-chair, and having a chat with one of the young ladies of the house.

"Janet," said my host, "I bring you our friend who wishes to present his respects to you."

"I am no as active as I was," said the good old soul to me, "but I am wonderfu' weel for my age. I shall soon be a hundred years of age."

"Nonsense," said my host kissing his old nurse, "who told you that? You have forgotten how to count, Janet; don't get absurd ideas into your head."

"We never leave her alone," he said to me; "my wife and daughters take it in turn to pa.s.s the day with her and amuse her. They bring their needlework and help poor old Janet to forget time."

I looked around me. The walls were covered with drawings and a thousand ornaments that only the heart of woman knows how to invent. Never a good dish came on the table without Janet having her share. At night all the family met in her little parlour for prayers and Bible reading.