Callan - Parisian charm school: French secrets for cultivating love, joy, and that certain je ne sais quoi

ITS A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON IN LATE SEPTEMBER. Its my first French lesson with the mysterious Madame M. On this particular afternoon, for our very first meeting, I arrive at Madame M.s home precisely at three oclock. Okay, I actually arrive at seven minutes after three. I am still reeling from my drive to her cottage in the woods, the slow approach down the steep and narrow path lined with ancient pine trees that seem to whisper to me, demanding that I respect the quiet in the cool autumn air. I park my car behind an aging silver Camry. And then I stand at her door, feeling as if I am now in the realm of the fairies, swept into an enchantment, where there are heart-shaped stones collected by the steps and the doorknocker is shaped like a dragonfly. I am thinking about the song Over the River and Through the Woods when Madame M. opens her door. She is a femme dun certain age to be sure, what that age might be, I honestly couldnt tell you. She wears her white-blond hair pulled up in an iconic French twist. She wears a cream-colored cardigan and an almost-but-not-quite-matching pencil skirt. She is wearing a delicate shade of pink/plum lipstick and a plum-toned silk scarf thats artfully tied around her neck. She smiles at me, seemingly amused, and I cant help but think how she looks uncannily like my own French grandmother, now long gone. But, honestly, it feels as ifhere she is: my French grandmother, alive again, in front of me. And at this moment, I know without a doubt that a new story is about to begin.

I have come to Madame M. to become fluent in French. At this point, I do not yet know that I am about to become fluent in so much more than simply French. I am about to become fluent in the secrets of French women, the mystery of allurement, and the language of charm.

After greetings in FrenchBonjour, comment tallez vous?she leads me into her home, past the radiant heat of the blazing fire in the fireplace, and around the table with wildflowers in little vases (I will learn later that she takes a walk every day in the woods and collects these flowers). She turns to me with intelligent eyes and tells me, La ponctualit est la politesse des rois.

Madame M. waits for me to tease out what this means. She is patient as I reach back into the recesses of my mind to reconstruct the words from all the French classes and numerous visits to France to figure out that La ponctualit est la politesse des rois means Punctuality is the politeness of kings.

After this, I will never be late again.

Okay, maybe a little late, but I will always make sure to call to let her know, and Madame M. will always say, in French, of course, that I shouldnt worry and to drive carefully.

Weeks go by and then months and then years. We read poems and stories about Paris in the fin de sicle and the life of French farmers in the country. We translate poetry from Verlaine and Voltaire. We talk about the philosophy of Montaigne. We discuss politics and the difference between the French and the Americans. Sometimes we forget that Im supposed to be improving my French and we switch to English because what Madame M. wants to tell me is too important to be lost in translation.

And we talk about love. A lot. We talk about men. A lot. We talk about how a woman can garner the attention of a man she has just met, without the slightest hint that she might be dreaming of more. Madame M. tells me its important to keep a man guessing, wondering. This is what keeps love alive and growing. We talk about French dinner parties and her occupied village during World War II. We talk about how she met an American GI and then came to America as a young woman to teach English at Wellesley College.

As time goes by, my French improves, but more than this, Madame M. teaches me about something much more important than my subjunctive verbs (regular and irregular)she teaches me about the power of charm.