CHAPTER EIGHT

Voice Lessons

I have found my voice again and the art of using it.

—COLETTE, FROM THE VAGABOND

THE FRENCH WOMAN IS A PERPETUAL MYStery, and many articles and books have been written about how she manages to keep us endlessly fascinated. You might think her secret is her seeming insouciance—the way she ties that Hermès scarf around her neck in a most beguiling knot. Or perhaps you imagine her charm has something to do with her walk and the mesmerizing click-click-click of her heels. Then again, maybe you assume it’s her knowledge of wine and food, fashion and seduction, cinema and literature.

And you’d be close to the source of her special power, but you’d be missing a very important key to her allure. And this is because the real secret to a French woman’s charm is very simple, very obvious, and very important.

It’s the sound of her voice.

It’s the power of her voice to hypnotize and seduce.

I’ve always felt this about the French voice, but it wasn’t until I met Nicole, the creator of a concierge service called Personal Paris, that I truly appreciated the power and subtlety of the voice.

It’s a Tuesday night, and Nicole texts me that we should meet at the Metro Abbesses in Montmartre, and then she adds that once I’ve arrived at the station, if I want some exercise I should take the stairs.

Being the hardworking American that I am, I am always interested in multitasking. I think, Well, of course I’ll take the stairs!

And so I arrive at Abbesses and notice that I have two options: the elevator—and, believe it or not, there are a bunch of French people crowding into the elevator—or the stairs. The people on the elevator seem a little grouchy to me, but, ah, the people who have chosen the stairs are laughing!

I definitely want to take those stairs. And I am so glad I decided to take the long, circular route, round and round and up and up, because I am rewarded with so much more than just exercise. The walls along the steps are painted with the most beautiful murals. I step past a painting of dozens of smiling soldier boys playing the drums in red, white, and blue uniforms, wearing bright red Phrygian caps, also known as liberty caps, a reference to the French Revolution.

I round the corner along with a man and woman who hold on to each other’s hands, laughing in low, sexy voices. I try to keep up, climbing up more steps, but I lose sight of them, and then I must slow down and breathe, as I come upon a big, bold abstract depicting the Moulin Rouge. And then, climbing and turning, round and round, I arrive in a kind of very blue night sky with stars and fanciful dancing white horses with wings. It feels like a dream, and I catch my breath again to turn round and round and climb up the steps, and then I find myself in front of a mural of Montmartre, with a view of the city of Paris below, and the Eiffel Tower far in the distance, as if to tell me I have come a long way from the 7th arrondissement. I am definitely in the 18th arrondissement now, home of the Sacré-Coeur. Just as the magic of Montmartre seems to take hold of my heart, I step up to an explosion of watercolor blossoms, painted in tones of rich butterscotch yellow.

Yes, the enchantment is complete, and so, by the time I take my last step and meet Nicole, I have already surrendered.

THE SOUND OF HER VOICE

This is the first thing that I notice about my new friend, Nicole, when she greets me. I can hardly concentrate on what she is saying to me—something about the rain, but I am so distracted by the beauty of her voice that I simply agree with her and follow her. Her voice isn’t breathy, but it has a tonal quality that is very calming, as if she doesn’t want to cause a ruckus or garner attention from the people around us. Yes, that’s it. There’s a slight secretive quality to her voice. I immediately feel that I am about to learn all the French secrets. Okay, maybe not all of them, but certainly a lot.

Nicole is a true Parisienne. She has worked for Chanel haute couture and Dior perfumes and makeup, and Petit Bateau, a century-old French brand that makes the famous striped Breton shirt, the “mariner.” She wears a red lipstick and one of those striped Breton shirts (I assume it’s from Petit Bateau) under her leather jacket and a boyish cap that gives her a certain gamine look. It’s the same cap you’ll see on the little boy in Les Misérables. “Titi Parisienne,” Nicole tells me, meaning “typically Parisienne.” It’s called a casquette, a typical worker’s cap from the 1900s—the same iconic hat that her father wore, and her grandfather before him. Nicole tells me that this hat is a sign of freedom and rebellion.

Nicole tells me that she wants to show me a very special place that she knows I will adore. I agree and follow her up the steep hill, careful not to slip on the rained-on cobblestone streets. “I want to show you my secret Paris.”

HÔTEL PARTICULIER

Nicole and I turn onto a street and approach what looks like the gate to a private home. She approaches the large wrought-iron door and finds a little box where she punches in some numbers, a secret code. Magically, the gate opens, and so I follow her through a lush garden, full of green flowering plants made even greener by the rain. We come to the end of the cobblestone pathway, and Nicole gestures into the night sky. “Look,” she says, and there in the distance, between the branches of the trees, down the hill below, peeking between the rooftops of Montmartre, is the beacon of Paris, the Eiffel Tower, lit up for the evening in golden shimmering lights. “This is very beautiful, no?” Nicole asks me. “You’ll want a photograph,” she adds, reading my mind. We both take photos, knowing that this will be a lovely memento of the evening the Parisienne shared her personal Paris with this American writer.

After this, we walk down the garden path, past the terrace with white wrought-iron café tables and chairs, to a white château with white shutters. This is the hotel/restaurant, Hôtel Particulier. It was once a wealthy French person’s private home, but has been transformed. We walk up the steps, open the door, and it really does still feel as if we’ve entered a very fashionable private home—filled with flowers and candlelight and the melodic shushing sounds of a French chanteuse singing about love. Nicole whispers something to the young woman in the black dress—the hostess—and she motions for us to follow her. We walk through various rooms, filled with French people laughing and drinking and eating and whispering and, yes, even kissing in the quiet corners. We pass an elegant bar and enter a candlelit room filled with giant green ferns and black lacquer tables. We are seated at red velvet chairs, facing each other. Once settled, Nicole smiles at me from across the table and then asks if I like it here.

I nod. Yes, I like it here!

Nicole explains that we will simply have an apéro—a glass of wine—here at Hôtel Particulier, and then for dinner, she will take me to La Mascotte.

“I know all the secret places in Paris,” she says in a low voice. “Not typical tourist things. Special things. Authentique.” Nicole tells me about her company, called Personal Paris, and her website dedicated to custom-made tours, VIP services, and events. She creates Paris experiences for her clients and shows them the real Paris that only a local really knows. “In Paris,” she explains, “you need a code.” Then she lowers her eyes and adds, “I have the code.”

I love the way she says this, pursing her red-lipsticked lips and smiling slightly. But it’s her voice that is the most disarming part of her charm. This is when I notice that while the restaurant is very crowded and I am surrounded by French people talking, I can’t hear what they’re saying. This is the key to the French voice. They never shout, but rather they lower their voices so that everything they say becomes even more intriguing.

I imagine that the couples are all having clandestine love affairs and whispering scandalous secrets to each other. They are probably not doing this, but still I do believe it’s that hush-hush quality that makes the French voice so sexy.

OYSTERS, CHAMPAGNE, AND GIFTS FROM THE SEA

Later, Nicole takes me on another cobblestone walk down the hill and then over to Rue des Abbesses. I recognize the street from Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, but I don’t mention this, because I am so delighted when she takes me into La Mascotte, the brasserie. I look at all the seafood—oysters, scallops, prawns, and snails—displayed like beautiful works of art on piles of chipped ice. Nicole explains that this is where we will have dinner and that La Mascotte, originally opened in 1889, is famous for its seafood.

We toast with flutes of champagne, and oysters arrive shortly after that. And then Monsieur Campion, the owner of La Mascotte, arrives at our table. He is such a gentleman, dressed in a blue suit, with a salmon-toned tie, and he kisses Nicole on each cheek, à la française, and takes my hand, greeting me with so much warmth and charm.

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

Nicole is telling me about her many visits to New York City and Cape Cod and how much she adores staying with her American friends in Greenwich Village’s historic Patchin Place.

Somehow we are the last patrons at La Mascotte. The evening has just flown by, and now Nicole and I are getting ready to leave, but before this, Monsieur Campion returns to our table and he and Nicole exchange a few words. They are speaking softly in French, and somehow, before I know what is happening, Monsieur Campion gives me a gift—three cans of sardines. Nicole explains to me that these sardines are very special and very fine.

Each can has a picture of a French girl on the cover. My favorite is the one with the red-haired mermaid, wearing a blue dress made of shimmering fish scales.

Nicole explains that these sardines are from La Perle des Dieux in Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie and that like French wine, they have all been stamped with a date and will only become more delicious as time goes by. They are good for ten years and, in fact, each can of sardines has won the prestigious Millésime award.

Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever take sardines for granted again!

YOUR VOICE IS AN INSTRUMENT

Even if you don’t have a French accent and you’ll never be able to speak like my charismatic friend Nicole, nonetheless, you do have a voice, so why not recognize it as a powerful tool of seduction?

Never forget how powerful your voice can be.

And just as important, consider not speaking. Think about the power of listening. In fact, if you speak a little less, then when you do speak up, men are more likely to pay attention. Think about your choice of words and the images you conjure with your language. Why not create a dreamy and beautiful painting with your words, modulating your tone and volume so it’s almost a whisper? Talk about nature—the sky, clouds, flowers, and water. Describe a delicious meal—the flavors of lemon and rosemary, mint and tarragon. Talk about the feel of silk and satin, and the salty sea air on your skin when you visited the seashore last summer. You see how this works? When you engage in a little word painting, you can truly capture a man’s imagination. You can then conjure up people and places, all in the dream of your words. Never forget how powerful your voice can be. Take good care of it. Treasure it, because it is your magic flute.

Simply knowing this will change your life.

Parisian Charm School Lesson

The next time you watch a French film with subtitles, take a few minutes to close your eyes and just listen to the French voice. It’s so sexy—even when the characters are talking or arguing about the most mundane things, such as how they’ve been waiting in that café for so long and their friend Marie-Claire is late, as usual. It’s all so enticing—and you could say, well, it’s all those shhhhing and ooooohing sounds. It’s part of the French language. It’s all those soft consonants and round vowels.

Soften your voice, and you’ll begin to soften your heart.

And while this is partly true, you’ll notice that when you really listen to the French speak—especially French women—you can hear how they will use their voices as if they were fine musical instruments—sometimes going fast, then slow, coaxing, flirting, rolling their Rs, and always including more than a hint of mystery.

Take a look at the quintessential French film Amélie, starring Audrey Tautou. There, you’ll find the scene where she helps a blind man walk down the crowded boulevard, holding his arm, weaving in and out of foot traffic, and all the while describing the sights and sounds swirling around them—the smiling owner of the flower shop, the bakery with lollipops, the cheese shop, the sugarplum ice cream, and a man in front of the produce shop giving out free melon slices. All during this dizzying scene, Amélie speaks quickly in French, describing the delicious imagery of Paris. Her voice is musical, soft, and enticing and makes everything she has to say sound like a wonderful secret.

Yes, part of the reason the dialogue sounds so beautiful to our ears is simply the French language itself, but more than this, Amélie’s (or Audrey Tautou’s) voice is lovely because of the words she chooses and how she creates a sensory-rich experience for us, delighting in all the sights, sounds, and smells of a busy afternoon in Paris filled with joie de vivre.

Of course, there’s also the subtlety in her delivery. She never raises her voice, so that she and the man share their secret delight. It’s a completely captivating scene and you are swept away by it, just as the man in the street is swept away under the spell of her enchantment.

Americans have a reputation for loud voices. We laugh loudly. We shout out our greetings and we tend to make ourselves heard whether we’re in a crowded subway or a quiet restaurant. And the truth is, it leaves nothing to the imagination. And it’s just not necessary to be so loud, plus it’s not very sexy. As the old ad from French perfumier Coty so wisely said, If you want to attract someone’s attention, whisper.

Parisian Charm School Pratique

Start by recording your voice and really listening to it. Ask yourself if it’s possible to modulate your tone, to speak more softly and seductively.

Next, think about the words you choose. Are they pretty? Do they paint a delightful picture? Do you paint imagery in your conversation? If you swear a lot, consider toning it down. Subtlety can be so much more impactful than brute force.

Finally, be like French women and think of your voice as a gift you give to the world. If we don’t shout, we encourage people to lean in and listen. And the words we choose are important because we are painting pictures with our language. Consider the power your voice holds and use it to make the world a more delightful place. After all, you never know who’s listening. Perhaps love is right around the corner and your voice will be his very first impression.