SECTION III.. _of Narrations, Analysis, and Digressions._

Of Narrations, Analysis, and Digressions.

There are many conditions indispensable to the success of a narrative. These conditions are, first, novelty; the best stories weary when they are multiplied too much, because every one wishes to be an actor in his turn upon the stage of the world. So that, when you have anything excellent to relate, consult less your own desire to tell it, than the wishes of others to hear you. There are but too many people who discover the secret of wearying while telling very good things, on account of their too great eagerness to tell them.

The next thing is to take a suitable opportunity. Let your narration spring naturally from the conversation; let it explain a fact, or come in support of an opinion, but let it never appear to be introduced by the foolish pleasure of talking, or by a not less foolish desire of making a display of talent. Remember that the most meagre recitals, when they are àpropos, frequently please more than the best things in the world, when they are said out of time. And even endeavoring to monopolize the conversation is in bad ton, particularly for young persons and ladies, especially if it is but a few moments since they occupied the attention of the company. It is an agreeable and modest mark of propriety to request some one to relate an anecdote of the day, of which you have made mention, and the circumstances of which you desire to know. This is well suited to persons of distinguished talents. The person called upon, bows and excuses himself with a few words before acceding to your request.

It is of all importance that the language correspond to the different forms which the narration requires; that, under pretext of adorning our story, we do not wander into far-fetched comparisons, dull details, or interminable dialogues; that if we relate anything amusing or striking, we should observe the utmost seriousness, and finally, before commencing a recital of this kind, we keep in mind these lines of Lafontaine;

Il ne faut jamais dire aux gens, Ecoutez un bon mot, oyez une merveille, Savez-vous si les écoutans En feront une estime à la vôtre pareille?

When, for want of observing this, as well as many other similar rules, narrators fail of the expected effect, and think to be able to tell it over again, and remarking on the comic part of the story, and laboring to repeat it thus;--Do you not think this excellent, wonderful? Alas! they only add to their own defeat, and to the ennui of their poor hearers.

If one relates an anecdote which you already know, permit him to finish it, and do not in any way draw off the attention of those who are listening. If your opinion is asked, give it frankly, and without wishing to appear better informed than the narrator himself. Still farther; if you happen to be in tête-à-tête with the same narrator, observe the same silence, and listen with an air of interest, and if he happens to impart to you what he related the preceding day, which he had from you yourself, you should appear to listen with equal interest, as if for the first time. Frequently, in the midst of a recital, the narrator, through forgetfulness, hesitates, and thinks that he can recall it. Look at him attentively. If he is in doubt, declare that you are altogether ignorant of the subject in question. If his memory returns, request him to continue, at the same time saying; I listen to you always with new pleasure. This delicate politeness is particularly to be observed towards old persons.

When your narrations have had success, keep a modest countenance; leave others to point out the striking parts which have pleased them. The surest means of not having the approbation of others, in actions as well as other things, is to solicit it, whether it be by looks, or by words.

As every hearer is obliged to listen or understand without objecting, the consequence is, that we should feel our ground before speaking, and ask if such or such a thing is known to the company. When a story has been published in the newspapers, so that it is not entirely new, or seems borrowed from a compilation of anas, if we attribute it to some person of our acquaintance, (of course one that is absent,) an ineffable ridicule very properly stigmatizes the narrator.

We come now to what seems to me the most difficult part of conversation, and if you are not sure of being able to class your ideas with regularity, to express them with much clearness, and an easy elegance, do not have the temerity to wish to analyze a book, or a dramatic piece. You would be laying up for yourself a rude mortification, which would have an unfavorable influence on your entrée into society. You would be wrong, however, in concluding, that I condemn you to perpetual silence; I only wish to inspire you with a salutary diffidence, in order to preserve you from such a rude check, and to put it in your power some future day to answer, in this particular, the wishes of a distinguished and brilliant assembly.

Begin by putting down upon paper a hasty sketch of a short piece, as for instance a vaudeville, or a little comedy. You will do this until, being sure of the manner in which you would embrace the ensemble, and dispose of the details, you can produce it without embarrassment. When arrived at this point, abstain from these kinds of analysis, which though indeed more correct, seem labored. They have besides less freedom, appropriateness, and grace.

Know this, and remember it well, that every other preparation than thinking what you are about to say, will make you acquire two intolerable faults, affectation and stiffness.

To conclude, I give this advice only to those persons who, by a quick and penetrating perception, by a love of the fine arts, and by a peculiar readiness, find themselves able to speak properly of literary productions.

Those who are less engaged in these things, should content themselves with simply and briefly explaining a subject, and of mentioning the emotion they felt; with speaking of some brilliant passage, and adding that they do not pretend to pronounce judgment.

The first degree of digression is the parenthesis; provided it is short, natural, and seldom repeated; and that you take care to announce it always; and finally, in order not to abuse it, you should make a skilful use of it. The second degree of digression becomes more nice, for it includes those accessory reflections, those common but agreeable and well-settled expressions; those general or particular allusions, which are only to be used with a peculiar emphasis, which is to language what the italic character is to printing. This method of speaking in italics may be striking and artless; but it often becomes obscure and trivial; the habit is dangerous, and one should use this difficult digression only before intimate friends.

We now come to the third degree, to what is properly called digression; most frequently it is involuntary. Often in a lively and animated dialogue, the impetus of conversation carries you, as well as the person with whom you are conversing, far from the point from which you started. If it is a question of pleasure or interest, return to your point by employing a polite turn, as, Pray let us not lose sight of our business. But if it is an affair of nothings succeeding nothings, let it flow on.

Voluntary digression, when it is not a mere work of loquacity, may be employed in serious discourse, as political, philosophical, or moral discussions; but it is important to treat it with infinite reserve, and care, and never to introduce a personal apology, or a domestic incident, altogether out of place, as those persons do, who, in narrating any event relative to an individual, recount his life, their connexion with him, or his whole family, and make the event of an hour remind us of ages.

Lawyers, literary people, military men, travellers, invalids and aged ladies, ought to have a prudent and continual distrust of the abuse of digressions.