XXIIHUMAN NATUREMagnetism and Its Elements.—Every one Carries the Marks of His Trade.—How Men are “Sized Up” at Hotels.—Facial Resemblance of Some People to Animals.—What the Eye First Catches.—When Faces are Masked.—Bathing in Japan.—The Conventions in Every-Day Life that Hide Us from Our Fellows.—Genuineness is the One Thing Needful.
Magnetism and Its Elements.—Every one Carries the Marks of His Trade.—How Men are “Sized Up” at Hotels.—Facial Resemblance of Some People to Animals.—What the Eye First Catches.—When Faces are Masked.—Bathing in Japan.—The Conventions in Every-Day Life that Hide Us from Our Fellows.—Genuineness is the One Thing Needful.
The oftener a man—any man, from the beginner at vaudeville to the great actor or orator—appears before audiences, the more he is impressed by the many varieties of human nature and the many ways there are of comprehending it.
A few people who have to meet large numbers of their fellow-beings have no trouble on this score, for they possess something that for lack of a better name is called magnetism. Some actors who are full of faults succeed by means of this quality; twenty times as many who are more intelligent and thorough fail through lack of it. The same may be said of Congressmen, lawyers, preachers and presidents. Magnetism seems to be a combination of sensitiveness, affection, impulseand passion, so it is not strange that only a few people of any profession possess it.
For instance, go into Weber & Fields when both Lillian Russell and Fay Templeton are on the bill. The former delights the eye and ear, for she is beautiful with a charming voice. Yet Miss Templeton gets beyond the eye and ear to the heart; she takes possession of the company as well as of the audience; even the “chorus”—and the chorus is noted for paying no attention to anything or anybody but itself and its personal friends—loves Fay Templeton and manifests close interest in her work.
But one need not be on the stage to study human nature. Wherever there is a successful business organization, there you will find close observers of human nature. Go into a great hotel—the Astoria for instance—and even the bell-boys are adepts to it. Walk down the lobby, supposing yourself unobserved, and you are “sized up” at once. If you are a reporter, the whole house from the bell-boys to the head clerk know that you are not of a class that can be “pigeon-holed.” The Southern man, with his family on a pleasure jaunt, is accurately “tabbed” at once. So is the public man—not always by his clothes, but by his manner. The “drummer” signifies his business by a side-to-side movement, something like a wheat-hopper in an elevator.The prominent man betrays himself by using his legs as if they were intended solely to hold up his body, which, no matter how well off he may be, is almost sure to have an empty buttonhole somewhere. The needy man is likely to be carefully clad, but his trousers are out of season, a trifle short and pieced out with gaiters. The hotel clerk takes in all these signs at a glance, and gives answers and rooms accordingly.
“The needy man is likely to be carefully clad.”
“The needy man is likely to be carefully clad.”
I believe many men size up people by resemblances to animals; I know I do, and with uniform success—when I select the right animal; so my mind contains a menagerie of acquaintances and a few strangers not yet identified. It isalmost impossible to see a man with a fox-face without finding him foxy. Then there are monkey faces, with eyes close together and shifty—eyes that seem to look into each other. Beware of them! I have heard good housekeepers say that they prefer servants with eyes wide apart, for the other kind have invariably been connected with missing silver and other portable property. Nearly every criminal whose portrait appears in the “Rogues’ Gallery” has monkey eyes; the criminal class is recruited from this type.
The bulldog face may be seen every day among the never-give-up men in every business. The late William M. Evarts’ face suggested the eagle, and he made some great fights side by side with our national bird. What is the matter with Joseph H. Choate as the owl, the late Recorder Smyth as the hawk, Dr. Parkhurst as the wary tabby on watch for the mouse? We have some orators who look like pug-dogs; preachers who resemble fashionably sheared poodles, and I know one unmistakable Dachshund of the pulpit. Strong combinations are occasionally seen; Roger A. Pryor suggests a clean-cut greyhound with the face of a mastiff. Other men resemble great-hearted St. Bernards, with intelligent eyes and a reserve force that is never squandered on trifles or bickerings. Daily, one may see a man in a carriagewith his dog, and the two look so alike that you hesitate to say which dog is driving.
The first thing apt to be noticed about a man is his hat; then his shoes, collar and clothes in the order named; the face is generally left to the last, though it should be the first. Nothing is so significant to me as the eye, especially if it won’t look straight at me. Some men of great mental vitality carry so much strength focalized in the eye that they absolutely absorb. After an earnest conversation with such a person one feels as if he had done a day’s work.
“You hesitate to say which dog is driving.”
“You hesitate to say which dog is driving.”
Men often suggest their business occupations by their walk. A dentist displays the gait and bearing he has when he is coming to the side of your chair to draw a tooth. A printer carries his arm forward, as if feeling for the “case.” The preacher you can almost hear saying “Now we will hear from Brother Hawkins.” The rôles of stage people stick to them on the outside; the tragedian I rarely mistake; the “leading man” can’t get rid of his descriptive look. The villain and the comedian you will know apart, although, strange to say, their real characters are generally diametrically opposite to the parts they play.
Faces are like looking-glasses; they generally reflect the treatment they receive. Driving in the park, the wealthy lady wants Mrs. Jones to know she is on deck—footman, mountings, dog-chairs and all. You can tell her by the “Oh-have-I-to-go-through-with-this-again?” sort of look. The young Wall Street plunger’s face says, “You thought I wouldn’t be here, eh? well, here I am.” One man’s face tells you he is driving with his sweetheart; the simple soft quietude of one woman’s face tells you that she is beyond all else a mother.
As a rule, however,—and more’s the pity—a man’s real nature is obscured when he is in pursuit of gain—absorbed in business, of any kind. You would no more know him then, than youwould your own house-cat when the Mr. Hyde side of his nature crops out on your garden fence late at night. Two boys were selling newspapers on a car; the larger in his eagerness for business, pushed the other off. The little fellow fell, dropped and scattered his papers and began to cry. Instantly the big boy was a different being; he lost all thought of business, hurried to his disabled rival, put the little chap on his feet and got his papers together for him.
Some people have a magnetic manner that is both instant and quelling in its effect. A certain woman enters a parlor, and for some subtle, indefinable reason all eyes are fixed upon her. She may not be brilliant yet she holds the winning hand; she bears on her face “a royal flush,” yet let her go out and some inferior will say, “now that she’s gone, we can talk about her.” Her quality is generally called instinctive, but probably it was slowly acquired, for lives are like lead-pencils—it takes long experience to sharpen them so they will leave a clear, keen line. Sometimes this line appears in the profile, which I have often believed a sure indication of character; so did Talleyrand.
Human expression is much affected by geographical location and custom. An American in Japan asked his host’s servants for a bath, and was soon informed it was ready. As hesaw nothing to indicate its whereabouts, he asked,
“Where?”
“Look out into the garden, sir.” He looked and saw his hostess and host, the latter being governor of the town, awaiting him, beside an artificial pool, and entirely nude. He was told that according to Japanese custom the first plunge is the right of the guest, so there was no time to lose, for the good people were shivering while they waited. The guest went out looking like Adam before the downfall, and much embarrassed besides. Stepping into the water he found it too hot and begged for cold water; the Japanese take only warm baths, but at once the pool was emptied and cold water was turned in. Meanwhile the lord and lady stood as unadorned as Greek statues, this being Japanese custom while waiting at a bath. Such a performance in New York would cause even Tammany to rally around Dr. Parkhurst, but in Japan it “goes.” This gentle, courteous, considerate family also expressed wonder at the straightness of their guest’s legs, their own being bent through the habit of sitting on them in tailor-fashion;—Japanese custom again.
When men do not act in accordance with their looks, some tradition or custom of their ancestors or associates will account for it; a man is generallya Democrat because his father was one, though it doesn’t invariably follow that because “the governor” is a total abstainer the “Martigny” is unknown to his son. Men unconsciously initiate other men and their ways, because other men have done it. We dress in black when some one dear to us dies.
Why, oh men of Athens, do we do these things? Should any dear relative of mine die, I think I would go to the theatre that night,—if I felt like it. I believe, with Mr. Beecher, in rose-colored funerals; not in those which are gray and ghostly with ashes. There is too much convention about these things. Why do we have all the formal funerals, when the only real sentiment is attended to by the hearts of the bereaved? When the body is dead it should be put away quietly, kindly, reverently, but without any display of tears—and without the cards and flowers. They are the style, you know, but—why cards? Why shouldn’t we send flowers anonymously, so as to spare the real mourners the pains of writing an acknowledgment? Let us steer clear of conventional sorrow when we can, for there is enough of the real article to go round. If the night must come, sprinkle it with stars; if there be the winding sheet of snow, tinkle sleigh bells over it. The living want your love far more than the dead want your tears.
But, after all that can and must be said against it, human nature is kind. Deceit, love of gain, suspicion and even violence are often mere means of defense. Get through the joints of any one’s every-day armor and reach the heart and the same sweet response of sympathy rings out, the world over, in tones as mellow as old Trinity’s chimes on New Year’s eve, and self-disguised people become genuine. For illustration, let an old man or old woman enter a streetcar crowded with men whose faces are hard with business cares; why every seat is at their disposal; there is the genuineness of the people.
Yet if we were all and always genuine there would be no human nature to study, for “Truth is simple, requiring neither study nor art.”