Your Affectionate Godmother

by Elinor Glyn

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