MARGINAL COMMENT
By HAROLD NICOLSON IF one be both shy and short-sighted, the occasions of social embarrassment are much increased. It is bad enough when one fails to recognise a person with whom one lunched three days before. It is even worse when one greets a person with lavish affability, only to discover from his bewilderment that never in this long and varied life has one set eyes on him before. Astigmatics like myself are specially prone to this form of optical delusion, since they see objects in outline rather than in detail. A man with square shoulders and his hair en brosse is for them indistinguishable from another man who wears his hair en brosse and possesses square shoulders : they can only differentiate between such individuals by the sound of their voices, and all too often the error has been perpetrated before the voice (the somewhat startled voice) is heard. In order to diminish the frequency of these mistaken identities, the astig- matic adopts a neutral manner when accosting anyone. If the person confirms his identity by using the voice that he was expected to use, then the astigmatic can raise the pleasure and the intimacy of his discourse, indicating that he recognised his friend from the very start. If, on the other hand, the voice suggests that the accosted person was previously unknown, then the astigmatic can lower the temperature of his greeting and convey the vague impression that he is a very social animal, an excellent mixer, who enjoys speaking to strangers in the street. I am not suggesting that this is a safe or comfortable rule, since I know how often it causes offence to friends and bewilderment to strangers. But it is the only protective device that a man who is shy, astigmatic and sociable can possibly adopt. He will acquire the reputation of cutting his friends dead while accosting strangers. But he must realise that every physical affliction must bring with it many human and social dis- advantages.
Even those who are not astigmatic, but only shy, find it diffi- cult to cope with the problem of managing elegantly and easily their hails and their farewells, their Ayes and their Vales. Too forced or exaggerated a welcome may lead to an after-vacancy and the embarrassment of continuing the conversation at the same level of delighted surprise. Too cold or wary a welcome given to the friend just back from China may chill the hearts of both. We are expected, even when shaking hands with an acquaintance, to allow the facial muscles to expand into an expression of pleasure or at least satisfaction; the welcome to a friend returning from the distant West must necessarily be something more than the curt nod. But if taken unawares by the encounter it often happens that one strikes a note higher than what is in harmony with the real state of one's relations and that therefore the conversation begins in the wrong key. It requires long experience and considerable practice to modulate the tones of voice so that, without causing any lasting offence, they drop down to the lower key that is more consonant with the mutual feelings involved. But even then we pass onwards on our way reflecting that once again an encounter has been bungled, and how incompetent we are not to have mastered the technique of greeting unexpected people with exactly the right note of jubilant satisfaction that the occasion demands. Ungainly we feel as we walk onwards, incompetent in the affairs of life, foolish in our clumsiness; and the encountered friend, as he also passes onwards in the opposite direction, is probably reflecting that it is strange that a man of experience should remain in such matters a self-conscious buffoon. How can a person who is not astigmatic realise the harrowing confusions by which an astigmatic is assailed ?
But if our Ayes are difficult, our Vales can be even worse. I am grateful to my old head-master, Dr. Pollock, for many things. He taught me to regard Greek and Latin as literatures rather than as exercises in grammar or prosody; he taught me useful verse maxims which I repeat to myself regularly; and he taught me how to part from a person with whom one has been walking. He indicated that the abrupt cessation of discourse, the sudden swing round upon the feet, the stalking off in the opposite direction, was a difficult operation to exercise if no offence were to be caused. It was better to retreat away from the person, keeping the face turned towards him for the space of two or three yards, raising the voice slightly as the distance increases between you, and then , gradually allowing the encounter to, if I may use a B.B.C. term, fade out. I often observe the movements of others when they part from each other in the public street, hoping from their example to improve my own technique. I notice that even after the encounter has been faded out, the smile of affectionate farewell is allowed to linger for a few instants upon the lips, and is then snapped suddenly as its wearer turns to face an indifferent world. The gaiety with which, just before turning, he will exclaim, "Well, we shall be meeting shortly ! " is allowed to hang as an after- glow upon the features; that is one of the lessons that observa- tion has taught me. I think I have also grasped the technique of coping with farewells which, owing to some mischance, have to be repeated a few minutes later.
In the days of sailing ships our ancestors were accustomed to the most terrible forms of anticlimax. The family would drive down in their coach to Falmouth in order to speed their young son on his long journey to Calcutta. The last night would be spent at the inn with punch and tears at bedtime; the hand- kerchief would wave next morning as the ship set sail; from the hills above weeping sisters would watch the slow vessel tack across the sound and round the cape. An hour later, back the ship would come and remain at Falmouth thereafter for the next six weeks. There followed a period when farewells really stayed put. The young ensign out to join his regiment on the Hoogly would embark at Tilbury, and the P. & 0. steamer would leave at the scheduled time and not return until the ensign had been disembarked on the Indian shore. Today the vicissitudes of climate in our exposed islands frequently subject passengers by air to similar awkward returns after the heart- rending farewell. Most difficult are these things to manage, and the readjustment of emotion requires a strong heart and brain. But I have found that even the minor reunions after departure can cause embarrassment to the unprepared. We bid farewell to a friend who is leaving for some months; we are sorry to lose him, and our parting words are well chosen, and in their way moving; then half an hour later we meet him in the London Library where he is accumulating books for his journey. The note which should not be struck on such occasion is the note of surprise. "Fancy seeing you again ! " is the last expression that should be used. It is best to slide naturally into conversa- tion as if the occasion were completely normal. " Ah ! " one should murmur as one scans the books under his arm, "how wise to take the Promessi Sposi with you ! " It is essential not to repeat the moving parting words that were uttered half an hour before. But the situation is not an easy situation : it is a difficult situation.
I suppose that even the most competent and self-assured people have dropped bricks in their time; I suppose that in their time they have been shaken by gusts of shyness that have made them talk unlike themselves, or merely wince away awkwardly. But do they remember their occasions as I remember mine ? Every brick that I have dropped has in the passage of the years formed a pyramid of its own, and looms gigantic in my memory across the rimless sand. Gaunt spectres, they arise at night- time, shadowing the sunshine of a happy past. All very astig- matic, you will say; all quite unnecessary.
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