Frank Harris - My Life and Loves, Book 1

These holidays were memorable to me for several incidents. A conversation began one day at dinner between my sister and my eldest brother about making up to girls and winning them. I noticed with astonishment that my brother Vernon was very deferential to my sister's opinion on the matter, so I immediately got hold of Nita after the lunch and asked her to explain to me what she meant by «flattery.» «You said all girls like flattery. What did you mean?» «I mean,» she said, «they all like to be told they are pretty, that they have good eyes or good teeth or good hair, as the case may be, or that they are tall and nicely made. They all like their good points noticed and praised.» «Is that all?» I asked.

«Oh no!» she said, «they all like their dress noticed too and especially their hat; if it suits their face, if it's very pretty and so forth. All girls think that if you notice their clothes you really like them, for most men don't.» «Number two,» I said to myself.

«Is there anything else?» «Of course,» she said, «you must say that the girl you are with is the prettiest girl in the room or in town-in fact, is quite unlike any other girl, superior to all the rest, the only girl in the world for you. All women like to be the only girl in the world for as many men as possible.» «Number three,» I said to myself: «Don't they like to be kissed?» I asked.

«That comes afterwards,» said my sister. «Lots of men begin with kissing and pawing you about before you even like them. That puts you off. Flattery first of looks and dress, then devotion, and afterwards the kissing comes naturally.» «Number four!» I went over these four things again and again to myself and began trying them even on the older girls and women about me and soon found that they all had a better opinion of me almost immediately. I remember practicing my new knowledge first on the younger Miss Raleigh whom, I thought, Vernon liked. I just praised her as my sister had advised: first her eyes and hair (she had very pretty blue eyes). To my astonishment she smiled on me at once; accordingly I went on to say she was the prettiest girl in town and suddenly she took my head in her hands and kissed me, saying, «You're a dear boy!» But my experience was yet to come. There was a very good looking man whom I met two or three times at parties; I think his name was Tom Connolly: I'm not certain, though I ought not to forget it; for I can see him as plainly as if he were before me now; five feet ten or eleven, very handsome, with shaded violet eyes. Everybody was telling a story about him that had taken place on his visit to the Viceroy in Dublin. It appeared that the Vicereine had a very pretty French maid and Tom Connolly made up to the maid. One night the Vicereine was taken ill and sent her husband upstairs to call the maid. When the husband knocked at the maid's door, saying that his wife wanted her, Tom Connolly replied in a strong voice: «It's unfriendly of you to interrupt a man at such a time.» The Viceroy, of course, apologized immediately and hurried away, but like a fool he told the story to his wife, who was very indignant, and next day at breakfast she put an aide-de-camp on her right and Tom Connolly's place far down the table. As usual, Connolly came in late and the moment he saw the arrangement of the places, he took it all in and went over to the aide-de-camp. «Now, young man,» he said, «you'll have many opportunities later, so give me my place,» and forthwith turned him out of his place and took his seat by the Vicereine, though she would barely speak to him. At length Tom Connolly said to her: «I wouldn't have thought it of you, for you're so kind. Fancy blaming a poor young girl the first time she yields to a man!» This response made the whole table roar and established Connolly's fame for impudence throughout Ireland.

Everyone was talking of him and I went about after him all through the gardens and whenever he spoke, my large ears were cocked to hear any word of wisdom that might fall from his lips. At length he noticed me and asked me why I followed him about. «Everybody says you can win any woman you like, Mr. Connolly,» I said half-ashamed. «I want to know how you do it, what you say to them.» «Faith, I don't know,» he said, «but you're a funny little fellow. What age are you to be asking such questions?» «I'm fourteen,» I said boldly.

«I wouldn't have given you fourteen, but even fourteen is too young; you must wait.» So I withdrew but still kept within earshot.

I heard him laughing with my eldest brother over my question and so imagined that I was forgiven, and the next day or the day after, finding me as assiduous as ever, he said: «You know, your question amused me, and I thought I would try to find an answer to it, and here is one. When you can put a stiff penis in her hand and weep profusely the while, you're getting near any woman's heart. But don't forget the tears.» I found the advice a counsel of perfection; I was unable to weep at such a moment, but I never forgot the words.

There was a large barracks of Irish constabulary in Ballybay and the sub-inspector was a handsome fellow of five feet nine or ten named Walter Raleigh. He used to say that he was a descendant of the famous courtier of Queen Elizabeth, and he pronounced his name «Roily,» and assured us that his illustrious namesake had often spelt it in this way, which showed that he must have pronounced it as if written with an o. The reason I mention Raleigh here is that his sisters and mine were great friends and he came in and out of our house almost as if it were his own. Every evening, when Vernon and Raleigh had nothing better to do, they cleared away the chairs in our back parlor, put on boxing gloves and had a set to. My father used to sit in a corner and watch them. Vernon was lighter and smaller, but quicker; still I used to think that Raleigh did not put out his full strength against him.

One of the first evenings when Vernon was complaining that Raleigh hadn't come in or sent, my father said: «Why not try Joe?» (My nickname!) In a jiffy I had the gloves on and got my first lesson from Vernon, who taught me at least how to hit straight and then how to guard and side-step. I was very quick and strong for my size, but for some time Vernon hit me very lightly. Soon, however, it became difficult for him to hit me at all; and then I sometimes got a heavy blow that floored me. But with constant practice I improved rapidly and after a fortnight or so put on the gloves once with Raleigh. His blows were very much heavier and staggered me even to guard them, so I got accustomed to duck or side-step or slip every blow aimed at me while hitting back with all my strength. One evening when Vernon and Raleigh both had been praising me, I told them of Jones and how he bullied me; he had really made my life a misery to me. He never met me outside the school without striking or kicking me and his favorite name for me was «bog-trotter!» His attitude, too, affected the whole school: I had grown to hate him as much as I feared him. They both thought I could beat him; but I described him as very strong and finally Raleigh decided to send for two pairs of four-ounce gloves, or fighting gloves, and use these with me to give me confidence. In the first half hour with the new gloves, Vernon did not hit me once and I had to acknowledge that he was stronger and quicker even than Jones.

At the end of the holidays they both made me promise to slap Jones' face the very first time I saw him in the school. On returning to school we always met in the big school room. When I entered the room there was silence. I was dreadfully excited and frightened, I don't know why, but fully resolved: «He can't kill me,» I said to myself a thousand times; still I was in a trembling funk inwardly though composed enough in outward seeming. Jones and two others of the sixth stood in front of the empty fireplace: I went up to them. Jones nodded, «How d'ye do, Pat?» «Fairly,» I said, «but why do you take all the room?» and I jostled him aside; he immediately pushed me hard and I slapped his face, as I had promised. The elder boys held him back or the fight would have taken place then and there. «Will you fight?» he barked at me and I replied, «As much as you like, bully!»