The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness
by Cecil B. Hartley · English · Gutenberg #39293 · 522,894 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness
Author: Cecil B. Hartley
Release date: March 28, 2012 [eBook #39293]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by Julia Miller, S.D., and the Online Distributed
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENTLEMEN'S BOOK OF ETIQUETTE AND MANUAL OF POLITENESS ***
Produced by Julia Miller, S.D., and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE
GENTLEMEN'S BOOK OF ETIQUETTE,
AND
MANUAL OF POLITENESS;
BEING
A COMPLETE GUIDE FOR A GENTLEMAN'S CONDUCT IN ALL
HIS RELATIONS TOWARDS SOCIETY.
CONTAINING
RULES FOR THE ETIQUETTE TO BE OBSERVED IN THE STREET, AT
TABLE, IN THE BALL ROOM, EVENING PARTY, AND MORNING
CALL; WITH FULL DIRECTIONS FOR POLITE CORRESPONDENCE,
DRESS, CONVERSATION, MANLY EXERCISES,
AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS.
FROM THE BEST FRENCH, ENGLISH, AND AMERICAN AUTHORITIES.
BY
CECIL B. HARTLEY.
BOSTON:
G. W. COTTRELL, PUBLISHER,
36 CORNHILL.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
G. G. EVANS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.
INTRODUCTION.
Man was not intended to live like a bear or a hermit, apart from others
of his own nature, and, philosophy and reason will each agree with me,
that man was born for sociability and finds his true delight in society.
Society is a word capable of many meanings, and used here in each and
all of them. Society, _par excellence_; the world at large; the little
clique to which he is bound by early ties; the companionship of friends
or relatives; even society _tete a tete_ with one dear sympathizing
soul, are pleasant states for a man to be in.
Taking the word in its most extended view, it is the world; but in the
light we wish to impress in our book it is the smaller world of the
changing, pleasant intercourse of each city or town in which our reader
may chance to abide.
This society, composed, as it is, of many varying natures and elements,
where each individual must submit to merge his own identity into the
universal whole, which makes the word and state, is divided and
subdivided into various cliques, and has a pastime for every
disposition, grave or gay; and with each division rises up a new set of
forms and ceremonies to be observed if you wish to glide down the
current of polite life, smoothly and pleasantly.
The young man who makes his first entrance into the world of society,
should know how to choose his friends, and next how to conduct himself
towards them. Experience is, of course, the best guide, but at first
starting this must come second hand, from an older friend, or from
books.
A judicious friend is the best guide; but how is the young man to know
whom to choose? When at home this friend is easily selected; but in this
country, where each bird leaves the parent nest as soon as his wings
will bear him safely up, there are but few who stay amongst the friends
at home.
Next then comes the instruction from books.
True a book will not fully supply the place either of experience or
friendly advice, still it may be made useful, and, carefully written
from the experience of heads grown gray in society, with only well
authenticated rules, it will be a guide not to be despised by the young
aspirant for favor in polite and refined circles.
You go into society from mixed motives; partly for pleasure, recreation
after the fatigues of your daily duties, and partly that you may become
known. In a republican country where one man's opportunities for rising
are as good as those of another, ambition will lead every rising man
into society.
You may set it down as a rule, that as you treat the world, so the world
will treat you. Carry into the circles of society a refined, polished
manner, and an amiable desire to please, and it will meet you with
smiling grace, and lead you forward pleasantly along the flowery paths;
go, on the contrary, with a brusque, rude manner, startling all the
silky softness before you with cut and thrust remarks, carrying only
the hard realities of life in your hand, and you will find society armed
to meet you, showing only sharp corners and thorny places for your
blundering footsteps to stumble against.
You will find in every circle that etiquette holds some sway; her rule
is despotic in some places, in others mild, and easily set aside. Your
first lesson in society will be to study where she reigns supreme, in
her crown and holding her sceptre, and where she only glides in with a
gentle hint or so, and timidly steps out if rebuked; and let your
conduct be governed by the result of your observations. You will soon
become familiar with the signs, and tell on your first entrance into a
room whether kid gloves and exquisite finish of manner will be
appropriate, or whether it is "hail, fellow, well met" with the inmates.
Remember, however, "once a gentleman always a gentleman," and be sure
that you can so carry out the rule, that in your most careless, joyous
moments, when freest from the restraints of etiquette, you can still be
recognizable as a _gentleman_ by every act, word, or look.
Avoid too great a restraint of manner. Stiffness is not politeness, and,
while you observe every rule, you may appear to heed none. To make your
politeness part of yourself, inseparable from every action, is the
height of gentlemanly elegance and finish of manner.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 3
CHAPTER I.
CONVERSATION 11
CHAPTER II.
POLITENESS 31
CHAPTER III.
TABLE ETIQUETTE 50
CHAPTER IV.
ETIQUETTE IN THE STREET 66
CHAPTER V.
ETIQUETTE FOR CALLING 75
CHAPTER VI.
ETIQUETTE FOR THE BALL ROOM 91
CHAPTER VII.
DRESS 116
CHAPTER VIII.
MANLY EXERCISES 154
CHAPTER IX.
TRAVELING 176
CHAPTER X.
ETIQUETTE IN CHURCH 183
CHAPTER XI.
ONE HUNDRED HINTS FOR GENTLEMANLY DEPORTMENT 186
CHAPTER XII.
PARTIES 222
CHAPTER XIII.
COURTESY AT HOME 228
CHAPTER XIV.
TRUE COURTESY 244
CHAPTER XV.
LETTER WRITING 252
CHAPTER XVI.
WEDDING ETIQUETTE 280
CHAPTER XVII.
ETIQUETTE FOR PLACES OF AMUSEMENT 294
CHAPTER XVIII.
MISCELLANEOUS 298
GENTLEMEN'S BOOK OF ETIQUETTE.
CHAPTER I.
CONVERSATION.
One of the first rules for a guide in polite conversation, is to avoid
political or religious discussions in general society. Such discussions
lead almost invariably to irritating differences of opinion, often to
open quarrels, and a coolness of feeling which might have been avoided
by dropping the distasteful subject as soon as marked differences of
opinion arose. It is but one out of many that can discuss either
political or religious differences, with candor and judgment, and yet so
far control his language and temper as to avoid either giving or taking
offence.
In their place, in circles which have met for such discussions, in a
_tête à tête_ conversation, in a small party of gentlemen where each is
ready courteously to listen to the others, politics may be discussed
with perfect propriety, but in the drawing-room, at the dinner-table, or
in the society of ladies, these topics are best avoided.
If you are drawn into such a discussion without intending to be so, be
careful that your individual opinion does not lead you into language
and actions unbecoming a gentleman. Listen courteously to those whose
opinions do not agree with yours, and _keep your temper_. A man in a
passion ceases to be a gentleman.
Even if convinced that your opponent is utterly wrong, yield gracefully,
decline further discussion, or dextrously turn the conversation, but do
not obstinately defend your own opinion until you become angry, or more
excited than is becoming to a gentleman.
Many there are who, giving their opinion, not as an _opinion_ but as a
_law_, will defend their position by such phrases, as: "Well, if _I_
were president, or governor, I would," &c.--and while by the warmth of
their argument they prove that they are utterly unable to govern their
own temper, they will endeavor to persuade you that they are perfectly
competent to take charge of the government of the nation.
Retain, if you will, a fixed political opinion, yet do not parade it
upon all occasions, and, above all, do not endeavor to _force_ others to
agree with you. Listen calmly to their ideas upon the same subjects, and
if you cannot agree, differ politely, and while your opponent may set
you down as a bad politician, let him be obliged to admit that you are a
_gentleman_.
Wit and vivacity are two highly important ingredients in the
conversation of a man in polite society, yet a straining for effect, or
forced wit, is in excessively bad taste. There is no one more
insupportable in society than the everlasting talkers who scatter puns,
witticisms, and jokes with so profuse a hand that they become as
tiresome as a comic newspaper, and whose loud laugh at their own wit
drowns other voices which might speak matter more interesting. The
really witty man does not shower forth his wit so indiscriminately; his
charm consists in wielding his powerful weapon delicately and easily,
and making each highly polished witticism come in the right place and
moment to be effectual. While real wit is a most delightful gift, and
its use a most charming accomplishment, it is, like many other bright
weapons, dangerous to use too often. You may wound where you meant only
to amuse, and remarks which you mean only in for general applications,
may be construed into personal affronts, so, if you have the gift, use
it wisely, and not too freely.
The most important requisite for a good conversational power is
education, and, by this is meant, not merely the matter you may store in
your memory from observation or books, though this is of vast
importance, but it also includes the developing of the mental powers,
and, above all, the comprehension. An English writer says, "A man should
be able, in order to enter into conversation, to catch rapidly the
meaning of anything that is advanced; for instance, though you know
nothing of science, you should not be obliged to stare and be silent,
when a man who does understand it is explaining a new discovery or a new
theory; though you have not read a word of Blackstone, your
comprehensive powers should be sufficiently acute to enable you to take
in the statement that may be made of a recent cause; though you may not
have read some particular book, you should be capable of appreciating
the criticism which you hear of it. Without such power--simple enough,
and easily attained by attention and practice, yet too seldom met with
in general society--a conversation which departs from the most ordinary
topics cannot be maintained without the risk of lapsing into a lecture;
with such power, society becomes instructive as well as amusing, and you
have no remorse at an evening's end at having wasted three or four hours
in profitless banter, or simpering platitudes. This facility of
comprehension often startles us in some women, whose education we know
to have been poor, and whose reading is limited. If they did not rapidly
receive your ideas, they could not, therefore, be fit companions for
intellectual men, and it is, perhaps, their consciousness of a
deficiency which leads them to pay the more attention to what you say.
It is this which makes married women so much more agreeable to men of
thought than young ladies, as a rule, can be, for they are accustomed to
the society of a husband, and the effort to be a companion to his mind
has engrafted the habit of attention and ready reply."
The same author says: "No less important is the cultivation of taste. If
it is tiresome and deadening to be with people who cannot understand,
and will not even appear to be interested in your better thoughts, it is
almost repulsive to find a man insensible to all beauty, and immovable
by any horror.
"In the present day an acquaintance with art, even if you have no love
for it, is a _sine quâ non_ of good society. Music and painting are
subjects which will be discussed in every direction around you. It is
only in bad society that people go to the opera, concerts, and
art-exhibitions merely because it is the fashion, or to say they have
been there; and if you confessed to such a weakness in really good
society, you would be justly voted a puppy. For this, too, some book
knowledge is indispensable. You should at least know the names of the
more celebrated artists, composers, architects, sculptors, and so forth,
and should be able to approximate their several schools.
"So too, you should know pretty accurately the pronunciation of
celebrated names, or, if not, take care not to use them. It will never
do to be ignorant of the names and approximate ages of great composers,
especially in large cities, where music is so highly appreciated and so
common a theme. It will be decidedly condemnatory if you talk of the
_new_ opera 'Don Giovanni,' or _Rossini's_ 'Trovatore,' or are ignorant
who composed 'Fidelio,' and in what opera occur such common pieces as
'_Ciascun lo dice_,' or '_Il segreto_.' I do not say that these trifles
are indispensable, and when a man has better knowledge to offer,
especially with genius or 'cleverness' to back it, he will not only be
pardoned for an ignorance of them, but can even take a high tone, and
profess indifference or contempt of them. But, at the same time, such
ignorance stamps an ordinary man, and hinders conversation. On the other
hand the best society will not endure dilettantism, and, whatever the
knowledge a man may possess of any art, he must not display it so as to
make the ignorance of others painful to them. But this applies to every
topic. To have only one or two subjects to converse on, and to discourse
rather than talk on them, is always ill-bred, whether the theme be
literature or horseflesh. The gentleman jockey will probably denounce
the former as a 'bore,' and call us pedants for dwelling on it; but if,
as is too often the case, he can give us nothing more general than the
discussion of the 'points' of a horse that, perhaps, we have never seen,
he is as great a pedant in his way.
"_Reason_ plays a less conspicuous part in good society because its
frequenters are too reasonable to be mere reasoners. A disputation is
always dangerous to temper, and tedious to those who cannot feel as
eager as the disputants; a discussion, on the other hand, in which every
body has a chance of stating amicably and unobtrusively his or her
opinion, must be of frequent occurrence. But to cultivate the reason,
besides its high moral value, has the advantage of enabling one to reply
as well as attend to the opinions of others. Nothing is more tedious or
disheartening than a perpetual, 'Yes, just so,' and nothing more.
Conversation must never be one-sided. Then, again, the reason enables us
to support a fancy or an opinion, when we are asked _why_ we think so.
To reply, 'I don't know, but still I think so,' is silly and tedious.
"But there is a part of our education so important and so neglected in
our schools and colleges, that it cannot be too highly impressed on the
young man who proposes to enter society. I mean that which we learn
first of all things, yet often have not learned fully when death eases
us of the necessity--the art of speaking our own language. What can
Greek and Latin, French and German be for us in our every-day life, if
we have not acquired this? We are often encouraged to raise a laugh at
Doctor Syntax and the tyranny of Grammar, but we may be certain that
more misunderstandings, and, therefore, more difficulties arise between
men in the commonest intercourse from a want of grammatical precision
than from any other cause. It was once the fashion to neglect grammar,
as it now is with certain people to write illegibly, and, in the days of
Goethe, a man thought himself a genius if he could spell badly.
"Precision and accuracy must begin in the very outset; and if we neglect
them in grammar, we shall scarcely acquire them in expressing our
thoughts. But since there is no society without interchange of thought,
and since the best society is that in which the best thoughts are
interchanged in the best and most comprehensible manner, it follows that
a proper mode of expressing ourselves is indispensable in good society.
"The art of expressing one's thoughts neatly and suitably is one which,
in the neglect of rhetoric as a study, we must practice for ourselves.
The commonest thought well put is more useful in a social point of view,
than the most brilliant idea jumbled out. What is well expressed is
easily seized, and therefore readily responded to; the most poetic fancy
may be lost to the hearer, if the language which conveys it is obscure.
Speech is the gift which distinguishes man from animals, and makes
society possible. He has but a poor appreciation of his high privilege
as a human being, who neglects to cultivate, 'God's great gift of
speech.'
"As I am not writing for men of genius, but for ordinary beings, I am
right to state that an indispensable part of education is a knowledge of
the literature of the English language. But _how_ to read, is, for
society more important than _what_ we read. The man who takes up nothing
but a newspaper, but reads it to _think_, to deduct conclusions from its
premises, and form a judgment on its opinions, is more fitted for
society than he, who having all the current literature and devoting his
whole time to its perusal, swallows it all without digestion. In fact,
the mind must be treated like the body, and however great its appetite,
it will soon fall into bad health if it gorges, but does not ruminate.
At the same time an acquaintance with the best current literature is
necessary to modern society, and it is not sufficient to have read a
book without being able to pass a judgment upon it. Conversation on
literature is impossible, when your respondent can only say, 'Yes. I
like the book, but I really don't know why.'
"An acquaintance with old English literature is not perhaps
indispensable, but it gives a man great advantage in all kinds of
society, and in some he is at a constant loss without it. The same may
be said of foreign literature, which in the present day is almost as
much discussed as our own; but, on the other hand, an acquaintance with
home and foreign politics, with current history, and subjects of passing
interest, is absolutely necessary; and a person of sufficient
intelligence to join in good society, cannot dispense with his daily
newspaper, his literary journal, and the principal reviews and
magazines. The cheapness of every kind of literature, the facilities of
our well stored circulating libraries, our public reading rooms, and
numerous excellent lectures on every possible subject, leave no excuse
to poor or rich for an ignorance of any of the topics discussed in
intellectual society. You may forget your Latin, Greek, French, German,
and Mathematics, but if you frequent good company, you will never be
allowed to forget that you are a citizen of the world."
A man of real intelligence and cultivated mind, is generally modest. He
may feel when in every day society, that in intellectual acquirements he
is above those around him; but he will not seek to make his companions
feel their inferiority, nor try to display this advantage over them. He
will discuss with frank simplicity the topics started by others, and
endeavor to avoid starting such as they will not feel inclined to
discuss. All that he says will be marked by politeness and deference to
the feelings and opinions of others.
La Bruyere says, "The great charm of conversation consists less in the
display of one's own wit and intelligence, than in the power to draw
forth the resources of others; he who leaves you after a long
conversation, pleased with himself and the part he has taken in the
discourse, will be your warmest admirer. Men do not care to admire you,
they wish you to be pleased with them; they do not seek for instruction
or even amusement from your discourse, but they do wish you to be made
acquainted with their talents and powers of conversation; and the true
man of genius will delicately make all who come in contact with him,
feel the exquisite satisfaction of knowing that they have appeared to
advantage."
Having admitted the above to be an incontestable fact, you will also see
that it is as great an accomplishment to listen with an air of interest
and attention, as it is to speak well.
To be a good listener is as indispensable as to be a good talker, and it
is in the character of listener that you can most readily detect the man
who is accustomed to good society. Nothing is more embarrassing to any
one who is speaking, than to perceive signs of weariness or inattention
in the person whom he addresses.
Never interrupt any one who is speaking; it is quite as rude to
officiously supply a name or date about which another hesitates, unless
you are asked to do so. Another gross breach of etiquette, is to
anticipate the point of a story which another person is reciting, or to
take it from his lips to finish it in your own language. Some persons
plead as an excuse for this breach of etiquette, that the reciter was
spoiling a good story by a bad manner, but this does not mend the
matter. It is surely rude to give a man to understand that you do not
consider him capable of finishing an anecdote that he has commenced.
It is ill-bred to put on an air of weariness during a long speech from
another person, and quite as rude to look at a watch, read a letter,
flirt the leaves of a book, or in any other action show that you are
tired of the speaker or his subject.
In a general conversation, never speak when another person is speaking,
and never try by raising your own voice to drown that of another. Never
assume an air of haughtiness, or speak in a dictatorial manner; let your
conversation be always amiable and frank, free from every affectation.
Put yourself on the same level as the person to whom you speak, and
under penalty of being considered a pedantic idiot, refraining from
explaining any expression or word that you may use.
Never, unless you are requested to do so, speak of your own business or
profession in society; to confine your conversation entirely to the
subject or pursuit which is your own speciality is low-bred and vulgar.
Make the subject for conversation suit the company in which you are
placed. Joyous, light conversation will be at times as much out of
place, as a sermon would be at a dancing party. Let your conversation be
grave or gay as suits the time or place.
In a dispute, if you cannot reconcile the parties, withdraw from them.
You will surely make one enemy, perhaps two, by taking either side, in
an argument when the speakers have lost their temper.
Never gesticulate in every day conversation, unless you wish to be
mistaken for a fifth rate comedian.
Never ask any one who is conversing with you to repeat his words.
Nothing is ruder than to say, "Pardon me, will you repeat that
sentence--I did not hear you at first," and thus imply that your
attention was wandering when he first spoke.
Never, during a general conversation, endeavor to concentrate the
attention wholly upon yourself. It is quite as rude to enter into
conversation with one of a group, and endeavor to draw him out of the
circle of general conversation to talk with you alone.
Never listen to the conversation of two persons who have thus withdrawn
from a group. If they are so near you that you cannot avoid hearing
them, you may, with perfect propriety, change your seat.
Make your own share in conversation as modest and brief as is consistent
with the subject under consideration, and avoid long speeches and
tedious stories. If, however, another, particularly an old man, tells a
long story, or one that is not new to you, listen respectfully until he
has finished, before you speak again.
Speak of yourself but little. Your friends will find out your virtues
without forcing you to tell them, and you may feel confident that it is
equally unnecessary to expose your faults yourself.
If you submit to flattery, you must also submit to the imputation of
folly and self-conceit.
In speaking of your friends, do not compare them, one with another.
Speak of the merits of each one, but do not try to heighten the virtues
of one by contrasting them with the vices of another.
No matter how absurd are the anecdotes that may be told in your
presence, you must never give any sign of incredulity. They may be true;
and even if false, good breeding forces you to hear them with polite
attention, and the appearance of belief. To show by word or sign any
token of incredulity, is to give the lie to the narrator, and that is an
unpardonable insult.
Avoid, in conversation all subjects which can injure the absent. A
gentleman will never calumniate or listen to calumny.
Need I say that no gentleman will ever soil his mouth with an oath.
Above all, to swear in a drawing-room or before ladies is not only
indelicate and vulgar in the extreme, but evinces a shocking ignorance
of the rules of polite society and good breeding.
For a long time the world has adopted a certain form of speech which is
used in good society, and which changing often, is yet one of the
distinctive marks of a gentleman. A word or even a phrase which has been
used among the most refined circles, will, sometimes, by a sudden freak
of fashion, from being caricatured in a farce or song, or from some
other cause, go entirely out of use. Nothing but habitual intercourse
with people of refinement and education, and mingling in general
society, will teach a gentleman what words to use and what to avoid. Yet
there are some words which are now entirely out of place in a parlor.
Avoid a declamatory style; some men, before speaking, will wave their
hands as if commanding silence, and, having succeeded in obtaining the
attention of the company, will speak in a tone, and style, perfectly
suitable for the theatre or lecture room, but entirely out of place in a
parlor. Such men entirely defeat the object of society, for they resent
interruption, and, as their talk flows in a constant stream, no one else
can speak without interrupting the pompous idiot who thus endeavors to
engross the entire attention of the circle around him.
This character will be met with constantly, and generally joins to the
other disagreeable traits an egotism as tiresome as it is ill-bred.
The wittiest man becomes tedious and ill-bred when he endeavors to
engross entirely the attention of the company in which he should take a
more modest part.
Avoid set phrases, and use quotations but rarely. They sometimes make a
very piquant addition to conversation, but when they become a constant
habit, they are exceedingly tedious, and in bad taste.
Avoid pedantry; it is a mark, not of intelligence, but stupidity.
Speak your own language correctly; at the same time do not be too great
a stickler for formal correctness of phrases.
Never notice it if others make mistakes in language. To notice by word
or look such errors in those around you, is excessively ill-bred.
Vulgar language and slang, though in common, unfortunately too common
use, are unbecoming in any one who pretends to be a gentleman. Many of
the words heard now in the parlor and drawing-room, derive their origin
from sources which a gentleman would hesitate to mention before ladies,
yet he will make daily use of the offensive word or phrase.
If you are a professional or scientific man, avoid the use of technical
terms. They are in bad taste, because many will not understand them. If,
however, you unconsciously use such a term or phrase, do not then commit
the still greater error of explaining its meaning. No one will thank you
for thus implying their ignorance.
In conversing with a foreigner who speaks imperfect English, listen with
strict attention, yet do not supply a word, or phrase, if he hesitates.
Above all, do not by a word or gesture show impatience if he makes
pauses or blunders. If you understand his language, say so when you
first speak to him; this is not making a display of your own knowledge,
but is a kindness, as a foreigner will be pleased to hear and speak his
own language when in a strange country.
Be careful in society never to play the part of buffoon, for you will
soon become known as the "funny" man of the party, and no character is
so perilous to your dignity as a gentleman. You lay yourself open to
both censure and ridicule, and you may feel sure that, for every person
who laughs with you, two are laughing at you, and for one who admires
you, two will watch your antics with secret contempt.
Avoid boasting. To speak of your money, connections, or the luxuries at
your command is in very bad taste. It is quite as ill-bred to boast of
your intimacy with distinguished people. If their names occur naturally
in the course of conversation, it is very well; but to be constantly
quoting, "my friend, Gov. C----," or "my intimate friend, the
president," is pompous and in bad taste.
While refusing the part of jester yourself, do not, by stiff manners, or
cold, contemptuous looks, endeavor to check the innocent mirth of
others. It is in excessively bad taste to drag in a grave subject of
conversation when pleasant, bantering talk is going on around you. Join
in pleasantly and forget your graver thoughts for the time, and you will
win more popularity than if you chill the merry circle or turn their
innocent gayety to grave discussions.
When thrown into the society of literary people, do not question them
about their works. To speak in terms of admiration of any work to the
author is in bad taste; but you may give pleasure, if, by a quotation
from their writings, or a happy reference to them, you prove that you
have read and appreciated them.
It is extremely rude and pedantic, when engaged in general conversation,
to make quotations in a foreign language.
To use phrases which admit of a double meaning, is ungentlemanly, and,
if addressed to a lady, they become positively insulting.
If you find you are becoming angry in a conversation, either turn to
another subject or keep silence. You may utter, in the heat of passion,
words which you would never use in a calmer moment, and which you would
bitterly repent when they were once said.
"Never talk of ropes to a man whose father was hanged" is a vulgar but
popular proverb. Avoid carefully subjects which may be construed into
personalities, and keep a strict reserve upon family matters. Avoid, if
you can, seeing the skeleton in your friend's closet, but if it is
paraded for your special benefit, regard it as a sacred confidence, and
never betray your knowledge to a third party.
If you have traveled, although you will endeavor to improve your mind in
such travel, do not be constantly speaking of your journeyings. Nothing
is more tiresome than a man who commences every phrase with, "When I was
in Paris," or, "In Italy I saw----."
When asking questions about persons who are not known to you, in a
drawing-room, avoid using adjectives; or you may enquire of a mother,
"Who is that awkward, ugly girl?" and be answered, "Sir, that is my
daughter."
Avoid gossip; in a woman it is detestable, but in a man it is utterly
despicable.
Do not officiously offer assistance or advice in general society. Nobody
will thank you for it.
Ridicule and practical joking are both marks of a vulgar mind and low
breeding.
Avoid flattery. A delicate compliment is permissible in conversation,
but flattery is broad, coarse, and to sensible people, disgusting. If
you flatter your superiors, they will distrust you, thinking you have
some selfish end; if you flatter ladies, they will despise you, thinking
you have no other conversation.
A lady of sense will feel more complimented if you converse with her
upon instructive, high subjects, than if you address to her only the
language of compliment. In the latter case she will conclude that you
consider her incapable of discussing higher subjects, and you cannot
expect her to be pleased at being considered merely a silly, vain
person, who must be flattered into good humor.
Avoid the evil of giving utterance to inflated expressions and remarks
in common conversation.
It is a somewhat ungrateful task to tell those who would shrink from the
imputation of a falsehood that they are in the daily habit of uttering
untruths; and yet, if I proceed, no other course than this can be taken
by me. It is of no use to adopt half measures; plain speaking saves a
deal of trouble.
The examples about to be given by me of exaggerated expressions, are
only a few of the many that are constantly in use. Whether you can
acquit yourselves of the charge of occasionally using them, I cannot
tell; but I dare not affirm for myself that I am altogether guiltless.
"I was caught in the wet last night, the rain came down in torrents."
Most of us have been out in heavy rains; but a torrent of water pouring
down from the skies would a little surprise us, after all.
"I am wet to the skin, and have not a dry thread upon me." Where these
expressions are once used correctly, they are used twenty times in
opposition to the truth.
"I tried to overtake him, but in vain; for he ran like lightning." The
celebrated racehorse Eclipse is said to have run a mile in a minute, but
poor Eclipse is left sadly behind by this expression.
"He kept me standing out in the cold so long, I thought I should have
waited for ever." There is not a particle of probability that such a
thought could have been for one moment entertained.
"As I came across the common, the wind was as keen as a razor." This is
certainly a very keen remark, but the worst of it is that its keenness
far exceeds its correctness.
"I went to the meeting, but had hard work to get in; for the place was
crowded to suffocation." In this case, in justice to the veracity of the
relater, it is necessary to suppose that successful means had been used
for his recovery.
"It must have been a fine sight; I would have given the world to have
seen it." Fond as most of us are of sight-seeing, this would be buying
pleasure at a dear price indeed; but it is an easy thing to proffer to
part with that which we do not possess.
"It made me quite low spirited; my heart felt as heavy as lead." We most
of us know what a heavy heart is; but lead is by no means the most
correct metaphor to use in speaking of a heavy heart.
"I could hardly find my way, for the night was as dark as pitch." I am
afraid we have all in our turn calumniated the sky in this manner; pitch
is many shades darker than the darkest night we have ever known.
"I have told him of that fault fifty times over." Five times would, in
all probability, be much nearer the fact than fifty.
"I never closed my eyes all night long." If this be true, you acted
unwisely; for had you closed your eyes, you might, perhaps, have fallen
asleep, and enjoyed the blessing of refreshing slumber; if it be not
true, you acted more unwisely still, by stating that as a fact which is
altogether untrue.
"He is as tall as a church-spire." I have met with some tall fellows in
my time, though the spire of a church is somewhat taller than the
tallest of them.
"You may buy a fish at the market as big as a jackass, for five
shillings." I certainly have my doubts about this matter; but if it be
really true, the market people must be jackasses indeed to sell such
large fishes for so little money.
"He was so fat he could hardly come in at the door." Most likely the
difficulty here alluded to was never felt by any one but the relater;
supposing it to be otherwise, the man must have been very broad or the
door very narrow.
"You don't say so!--why, it was enough to kill him!" The fact that it
did not kill him is a sufficient reply to this unfounded observation;
but no remark can be too absurd for an unbridled tongue.
Thus might I run on for an hour, and after all leave much unsaid on the
subject of exaggerated expressions. We are hearing continually the
comparisons, "black as soot, white as snow, hot as fire, cold as ice,
sharp as a needle, dull as a door-nail, light as a feather, heavy as
lead, stiff as a poker, and crooked as a crab-tree," in cases where such
expressions are quite out of order.
The practice of expressing ourselves in this inflated and thoughtless
way, is more mischievous than we are aware of. It certainly leads us to
sacrifice truth; to misrepresent what we mean faithfully to describe; to
whiten our own characters, and sometimes to blacken the reputation of a
neighbor. There is an uprightness in speech as well as in action, that
we ought to strive hard to attain. The purity of truth is sullied, and
the standard of integrity is lowered, by incorrect observations. Let us
reflect upon this matter freely and faithfully. Let us love truth,
follow truth, and practice truth in our thoughts, our words, and our
deeds.
CHAPTER II.
POLITENESS.
Real politeness is the outward expression of the most generous impulses
of the heart. It enforces unselfishness, benevolence, kindness, and the
golden rule, "Do unto others as you would others should do unto you."
Thus its first principle is love for the neighbor, loving him as
yourself.
When in society it would often be exceedingly difficult to decide how to
treat those who are personally disagreeable to us, if it were not for
the rules of politeness, and the little formalities and points of
etiquette which these rules enforce. These evidences of polite breeding
do not prove hypocrisy, as you may treat your most bitter enemy with
perfect courtesy, and yet make no protestations of friendship.
If politeness is but a mask, as many philosophers tell us, it is a mask
which will win love and admiration, and is better worn than cast aside.
If you wear it with the sincere desire to give pleasure to others, and
make all the little meetings of life pass off smoothly and agreeably, it
will soon cease to be a mask, but you will find that the manner which
you at first put on to give pleasure, has become natural to you, and
wherever you have assumed a virtue to please others, you will find the
virtue becoming habitual and finally natural, and part of yourself.
Do not look upon the rules of etiquette as deceptions. They are just as
often vehicles for the expression of sincere feeling, as they are the
mask to conceal a want of it.
You will in society meet with men who rail against politeness, and call
it deceit and hypocrisy. Watch these men when they have an object to
gain, or are desirous of making a favorable impression, and see them
tacitly, but unconsciously, admit the power of courtesy, by dropping for
the time, their uncouth ways, to affect the politeness, they oftentimes
do not feel.
Pass over the defects of others, be prudent, discreet, at the proper
time reserved, yet at other times frank, and treat others with the same
gentle courtesy you would wish extended to yourself.
True politeness never embarrasses any one, because its first object is
to put all at their ease, while it leaves to all perfect freedom of
action. You must meet rudeness from others by perfect politeness and
polish of manner on your own part, and you will thus shame those who
have been uncivil to you. You will more readily make them blush by your
courtesy, than if you met their rudeness by ill manners on your own
part.
While a favor may be doubled in value, by a frankly courteous manner of
granting it, a refusal will lose half its bitterness if your manner
shows polite regret at your inability to oblige him who asks the favor
at your hand.
Politeness may be extended to the lowest and meanest, and you will
never by thus extending it detract from your own dignity. A _gentleman_
may and will treat his washerwoman with respect and courtesy, and his
boot-black with pleasant affability, yet preserve perfectly his own
position. To really merit the name of a polite, finished gentleman, you
must be polite at all times and under all circumstances.
There is a difference between politeness and etiquette. Real politeness
is in-born, and may exist in the savage, while etiquette is the outward
expression of politeness reduced to the rules current in good society.
A man may be polite, really so in heart, yet show in every movement an
ignorance of the rules of etiquette, and offend against the laws of
society. You may find him with his elbows upon the table, or tilting his
chair in a parlor. You may see him commit every hour gross breaches of
etiquette, yet you will never hear him intentionally utter one word to
wound another, you will see that he habitually endeavors to make others
comfortable, choosing for them the easiest seats, or the daintiest
dishes, and putting self entirely aside to contribute to the pleasure of
all around him. Such a man will learn, by contact with refined society,
that his ignorance of the rules which govern it, make him, at times,
disagreeable, and from the same unselfish motive which prompts him to
make a sacrifice of comfort for the sake of others, he will watch and
learn quickly, almost by instinct, where he offends against good
breeding, drop one by one his errors in etiquette, and become truly a
gentleman.
On the other hand, you will meet constantly, in the best society, men
whose polish of manner is exquisite, who will perform to the minutest
point the niceties of good breeding, who never commit the least act that
is forbidden by the strictest rules of etiquette; yet under all this
mask of chivalry, gallantry, and politeness will carry a cold, selfish
heart; will, with a sweet smile, graceful bow, and elegant language,
wound deeply the feelings of others, and while passing in society for
models of courtesy and elegance of manner, be in feeling as cruel and
barbarous as the veriest savage.
So I would say to you, Cultivate your heart. Cherish there the Christian
graces, love for the neighbor, unselfishness, charity, and gentleness,
and you will be truly a gentleman; add to these the graceful forms of
etiquette, and you then become a _perfect_ gentleman.
Etiquette exists in every corner of the known world, from the savages in
the wilds of Africa, who dare not, upon penalty of death, approach their
barbarous rulers without certain forms and ceremonies, to the most
refined circles of Europe, where gentle chivalry and a cultivated mind
suggest its rules. It has existed in all ages, and the stringency of its
laws in some countries has given rise to both ludicrous and tragic
incidents.
In countries where royalty rules the etiquette, it often happens that
pride will blind those who make the rules, and the results are often
fatal. Believing that the same deference which their rank authorized
them to demand, was also due to them as individuals, the result of such
an idea was an etiquette as vain and useless as it was absurd.
For an example I will give an anecdote:
"The kings of Spain, the proudest and vainest of all kings of the
earth, made a rule of etiquette as stupid as it was useless. It was a
fault punishable by death to touch the foot of the queen, and the
individual who thus offended, no matter under what circumstances, was
executed immediately.
"A young queen of Spain, wife of Charles the Second, was riding on
horseback in the midst of her attendants. Suddenly the horse reared and
threw the queen from the saddle. Her foot remained in the stirrup, and
she was dragged along the ground. An immense crowd stood looking at this
spectacle, but no one dared, for his life, to attempt to rescue the poor
woman. She would have died, had not two young French officers, ignorant
of the stupid law which paralyzed the Spaniards, sprung forward and
saved her. One stopped the horse, and whilst he held the bridle, his
companion disengaged from its painful position the foot of the young
queen, who was, by this time, insensible from fear and the bruises which
she had already received. They were instantly arrested, and while the
queen was carried on a litter to the palace, her young champions were
marched off, accompanied by a strong guard, to prison. The next day,
sick and feeble, the queen was obliged to leave her bed, and on her
knees before the king, plead for the pardon of the two Frenchmen; and
her prayer was only granted upon condition that the audacious foreigners
left Spain immediately."
There is no country in the world where the absurdities of etiquette are
carried to so great a length as in Spain, because there is no nation
where the nobility are so proud. The following anecdote, which
illustrates this, would seem incredible were it not a historical fact:
"Philip the Third, king of Spain, was sick, and being able to sit up,
was carefully placed in an arm chair which stood opposite to a large
fire, when the wood was piled up to an enormous height. The heat soon
became intolerable, and the courtiers retired from around the king; but,
as the Duke D'Ussede, the fire stirrer for the king, was not present,
and as no one else had the right to touch the fire, those present dared
not attempt to diminish the heat. The grand chamberlain was also absent,
and he alone was authorized to touch the king's footstool. The poor
king, too ill to rise, in vain implored those around him to move his
chair, no one dared touch it, and when the grand chamberlain arrived,
the king had fainted with the heat, and a few days later he died,
literally roasted to death."
At almost all times, and in almost all places, good breeding may be
shown; and we think a good service will be done by pointing out a few
plain and simple instances in which it stands opposed to habits and
manners, which, though improper and disagreeable, are not very uncommon.
In the familiar intercourse of society, a well-bred _man_ will be known
by the delicacy and deference with which he behaves towards females.
That man would deservedly be looked upon as very deficient in proper
respect and feeling, who should take any physical advantage of one of
the weaker sex, or offer any personal slight towards her. Woman looks,
and properly looks, for protection to man. It is the province of the
husband to shield the wife from injury; of the father to protect the
daughter; the brother has the same duty to perform towards the sister;
and, in general, every man should, in this sense, be the champion and
the lover of every woman. Not only should he be ready to protect, but
desirous to please, and willing to sacrifice much of his own personal
ease and comfort, if, by doing so, he can increase those of any female
in whose company he may find himself. Putting these principles into
practice, a well-bred man, in his own house, will be kind and respectful
in his behaviour to every female of the family. He will not use towards
them harsh language, even if called upon to express dissatisfaction with
their conduct. In conversation, he will abstain from every allusion
which would put modesty to the blush. He will, as much as in his power,
lighten their labors by cheerful and voluntary assistance. He will yield
to them every little advantage which may occur in the regular routine of
domestic life:--the most comfortable seat, if there be a difference; the
warmest position by the winter's fireside; the nicest slice from the
family joint, and so on.
In a public assembly of any kind, a well-bred man will pay regard to the
feelings and wishes of the females by whom he is surrounded. He will not
secure the best seat for himself, and leave the women folk to take care
of themselves. He will not be seated at all, if the meeting be crowded,
and a single female appear unaccommodated.
Good breeding will keep a person from making loud and startling noises,
from pushing past another in entering or going out of a room; from
ostentatiously using a pocket-handkerchief; from hawking and spitting
in company; from fidgeting any part of the body; from scratching the
head, or picking the teeth with fork or with finger. In short, it will
direct all who study its rules to abstain from every personal act which
may give pain or offence to another's feelings. At the same time, it
will enable them to bear much without taking offence. It will teach them
when to speak and when to be silent, and how to behave with due respect
to all. By attention to the rules of good breeding, and more especially
to its leading principles, "the poorest man will be entitled to the
character of a gentleman, and by inattention to them, the most wealthy
person will be essentially vulgar. Vulgarity signifies coarseness or
indelicacy of manner, and is not necessarily associated with poverty or
lowliness of condition. Thus an operative artizan may be a gentleman,
and worthy of our particular esteem; while an opulent merchant may be
only a vulgar clown, with whom it is impossible to be on terms of
friendly intercourse."
The following remarks upon the "Character of a Gentleman" by Brooke are
so admirable that I need make no apology for quoting them entire. He
says; "There is no term, in our language, more common than that of
'Gentleman;' and, whenever it is heard, all agree in the general idea of
a man some way elevated above the vulgar. Yet, perhaps, no two living
are precisely agreed respecting the qualities they think requisite for
constituting this character. When we hear the epithets of a 'fine
Gentleman,' 'a pretty Gentleman,' 'much of a Gentleman,' 'Gentlemanlike,'
'something of a Gentleman,' 'nothing of a Gentleman,' and so forth; all
these different appellations must intend a peculiarity annexed to the
ideas of those who express them; though no two of them, as I said, may
agree in the constituent qualities of the character they have formed in
their own mind. There have been ladies who deemed fashionable dress a
very capital ingredient in the composition of--a Gentleman. A certain
easy impudence acquired by low people, by casually being conversant in
high life, has passed a man current through many companies for--a
Gentleman. In taverns and brothels, he who is the most of a bully is the
most of--a Gentleman. And the highwayman, in his manner of taking your
purse, may however be allowed to have--much of the Gentleman. Plato,
among the philosophers, was 'the most of a man of fashion;' and therefore
allowed, at the court of Syracuse, to be--the most of a Gentleman. But
seriously, I apprehend that this character is pretty much upon the
modern. In all ancient or dead languages we have no term, any way
adequate, whereby we may express it. In the habits, manners, and
characters of old Sparta and old Rome, we find an antipathy to all the
elements of modern gentility. Among these rude and unpolished people,
you read of philosophers, of orators, of patriots, heroes, and demigods;
but you never hear of any character so elegant as that of--a pretty
Gentleman.
"When those nations, however, became refined into what their ancestors
would have called corruption; when luxury introduced, and fashion gave a
sanction to certain sciences, which Cynics would have branded with the
ill mannered appellations of drunkenness, gambling, cheating, lying,
&c.; the practitioners assumed the new title of Gentlemen, till such
Gentlemen became as plenteous as stars in the milky-way, and lost
distinction merely by the confluence of their lustre. Wherefore as the
said qualities were found to be of ready acquisition, and of easy
descent to the populace from their betters, ambition judged it necessary
to add further marks and criterions for severing the general herd from
the nobler species--of Gentlemen.
"Accordingly, if the commonalty were observed to have a propensity to
religion, their superiors affected a disdain of such vulgar prejudices;
and a freedom that cast off the restraints of morality, and a courage
that spurned at the fear of a God, were accounted the distinguishing
characteristics--of a Gentleman.
"If the populace, as in China, were industrious and ingenious, the
grandees, by the length of their nails and the cramping of their limbs,
gave evidence that true dignity was above labor and utility, and that to
be born to no end was the prerogative--of a Gentleman.
"If the common sort, by their conduct, declared a respect for the
institutions of civil society and good government; their betters
despised such pusillanimous conformity, and the magistrates paid
becoming regard to the distinction, and allowed of the superior
liberties and privileges--of a Gentleman.
"If the lower set show a sense of common honesty and common order; those
who would figure in the world, think it incumbent to demonstrate that
complaisance to inferiors, common manners, common equity, or any thing
common, is quite beneath the attention or sphere--of a Gentleman.
"Now, as underlings are ever ambitious of imitating and usurping the
manners of their superiors; and as this state of mortality is incident
to perpetual change and revolution, it may happen, that when the
populace, by encroaching on the province of gentility, have arrived to
their _ne plus ultra_ of insolence, irreligion, &c.; the gentry, in
order to be again distinguished, may assume the station that their
inferiors had forsaken, and, however ridiculous the supposition may
appear at present, humanity, equity, utility, complaisance, and piety,
may in time come to be the distinguishing characteristics--of a
Gentleman.
"It appears that the most general idea which people have formed of a
Gentleman, is that of a person of fortune above the vulgar, and
embellished by manners that are fashionable in high life. In this case,
fortune and fashion are the two constituent ingredients in the
composition of modern Gentlemen; for whatever the fashion may be,
whether moral or immoral, for or against reason, right or wrong, it is
equally the duty of a Gentleman to conform. And yet I apprehend, that
true gentility is altogether independent of fortune or fashion, of time,
customs, or opinions of any kind. The very same qualities that
constituted a gentleman, in the first age of the world, are permanently,
invariably, and indispensably necessary to the constitution of the same
character to the end of time.
"Hector was the finest gentleman of whom we read in history, and Don
Quixote the finest gentleman we read of in romance; as was instanced
from the tenor of their principles and actions.
"Some time after the battle of Cressy, Edward the Third of England, and
Edward the Black Prince, the more than heir of his father's renown,
pressed John King of France to indulge them with the pleasure of his
company at London. John was desirous of embracing the invitation, and
accordingly laid the proposal before his parliament at Paris. The
parliament objected, that the invitation had been made with an insidious
design of seizing his person, thereby to make the cheaper and easier
acquisition of the crown, to which Edward at that time pretended. But
John replied, with some warmth, that he was confident his brother
Edward, and more especially his young cousin, were too much of the
GENTLEMAN, to treat him in that manner. He did not say too much of the
king, of the hero, or of the saint, but too much of the GENTLEMAN to be
guilty of any baseness.
"The sequel verified this opinion. At the battle of Poictiers King John
was made prisoner, and soon after conducted by the Black Prince to
England. The prince entered London in triumph, amid the throng and
acclamations of millions of the people. But then this rather appeared to
be the triumph of the French king than that of his conqueror. John was
seated on a proud steed, royally robed, and attended by a numerous and
gorgeous train of the British nobility; while his conqueror endeavored,
as much as possible, to disappear, and rode by his side in plain attire,
and degradingly seated on a little Irish hobby.
"As Aristotle and the Critics derived their rules for epic poetry and
the sublime from a poem which Homer had written long before the rules
were formed, or laws established for the purpose: thus, from the
demeanor and innate principles of particular gentlemen, art has borrowed
and instituted the many modes of behaviour, which the world has adopted,
under the title of good manners.
"One quality of a gentleman is that of charity to the poor; and this is
delicately instanced in the account which Don Quixote gives, to his fast
friend Sancho Pancha, of the valorous but yet more pious knight-errant
Saint Martin. On a day, said the Don, Saint Martin met a poor man half
naked, and taking his cloak from his shoulders, he divided, and gave him
the one half. Now, tell me at what time of the year this happened. Was I
a witness? quoth, Sancho; how the vengeance should I know in what year
or what time of the year it happened? Hadst thou Sancho, rejoined the
knight, anything within thee of the sentiment of Saint Martin, thou must
assuredly have known that this happened in winter; for, had it been
summer, Saint Martin would had given the whole cloak.
"Another characteristic of the true gentleman, is a delicacy of
behaviour toward that sex whom nature has entitled to the protection,
and consequently entitled to the tenderness, of man.
"The same gentleman-errant, entering into a wood on a summer's evening,
found himself entangled among nets of green thread that, here and there,
hung from tree to tree; and conceiving it some matter of purposed
conjuration, pushed valorously forward to break through the enchantment.
Hereupon some beautiful shepherdesses interposed with a cry, and
besought him to spare the implements of their innocent recreation. The
knight, surprised and charmed by the vision, replied,--Fair creatures!
my province is to protect, not to injure; to seek all means of service,
but never of offence, more especially to any of your sex and apparent
excellences. Your pretty nets take up but a small piece of favored
ground; but, did they inclose the world, I would seek out new worlds,
whereby I might win a passage, rather than break them.
"Two very lovely but shamefaced girls had a cause, of some consequence,
depending at Westminster, that indispensably required their personal
appearance. They were relations of Sir Joseph Jeckel, and, on this
tremendous occasion, requested his company and countenance at the court.
Sir Joseph attended accordingly; and the cause being opened, the judge
demanded whether he was to entitle those ladies by the denomination of
spinsters. 'No, my Lord,' said Sir Joseph; 'they are lilies of the
valley, they toil not, neither do they spin, yet you see that no
monarch, in all his glory, was ever arrayed like one of these.'
"Another very peculiar characteristic of a gentleman is, the giving
place and yielding to all with whom he has to do. Of this we have a
shining and affecting instance in Abraham, perhaps the most accomplished
character that may be found in history, whether sacred or profane. A
contention had arisen between the herdsmen of Abraham and the herdsmen
of his nephew, Lot, respecting the propriety of the pasture of the
lands wherein they dwelled, that could now scarce contain the abundance
of their cattle. And those servants, as is universally the case, had
respectively endeavored to kindle and inflame their masters with their
own passions. When Abraham, in consequence of this, perceived that the
countenance of Lot began to change toward him, he called, and generously
expostulated with him as followeth: 'Let there be no strife, I pray
thee, between me and thee, or between my herdsmen and thy herdsmen; for
we be brethren. If it be thy desire to separate thyself from me, is not
the whole land before thee? If thou wilt take the left hand, then will I
go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to
the left.'
"Another capital quality of the true gentleman is, that of feeling
himself concerned and interested in others. Never was there so
benevolent, so affecting, so pathetic a piece of oratory exhibited upon
earth, as that of Abraham's pleading with God for averting the judgments
that then impended over Sodom. But the matter is already so generally
celebrated, that I am constrained to refer my reader to the passage at
full; since the smallest abridgment must deduct from its beauties, and
that nothing can be added to the excellences thereof.
"Honor, again, is said, in Scripture, peculiarly to distinguish the
character of a gentleman; where it is written of Sechem, the son of
Hamor, 'that he was more honorable than all the house of his father.'
"From hence it may be inferred, that human excellence, or human
amiableness, doth not so much consist in a freedom from frailty as in
our recovery from lapses, our detestation of our own transgressions,
and our desire of atoning, by all possible means, the injuries we have
done, and the offences we have given. Herein, therefore, may consist the
very singular distinction which the great apostle makes between his
estimation of a just and of a good man. 'For a just or righteous man,'
says he, 'one would grudge to die; but for a good man one would even
dare to die.' Here the just man is supposed to adhere strictly to the
rule of right or equity, and to exact from others the same measure that
he is satisfied to mete; but the good man, though occasionally he may
fall short of justice, has, properly speaking, no measure to his
benevolence, his general propensity is to give more than the due. The
just man condemns, and is desirous of punishing the transgressors of the
line prescribed to himself; but the good man, in the sense of his own
falls and failings, gives latitude, indulgence, and pardon to others; he
judges, he condemns no one save himself. The just man is a stream that
deviates not to the right or left from its appointed channel, neither is
swelled by the flood of passion above its banks; but the heart of the
good man, the man of honor, the gentleman, is as a lamp lighted by the
breath of GOD, and none save GOD himself can set limits to the efflux or
irradiations thereof.
"Again, the gentleman never envies any superior excellence, but grows
himself more excellent, by being the admirer, promoter, and lover
thereof. Saul said to his son Jonathan, 'Thou son of the perverse,
rebellious woman, do not I know that thou hast chosen the son of Jesse
to thine own confusion? For as long as the son of Jesse liveth upon the
ground, thou shalt not be established, nor thy kingdom; wherefore send
and fetch him unto me, for he shall surely die.' Here every interesting
motive that can possibly be conceived to have an influence on man,
united to urge Jonathan to the destruction of David; he would thereby
have obeyed his king, and pacified a father who was enraged against him.
He would thereby have removed the only luminary that then eclipsed the
brightness of his own achievements. And he saw, as his father said, that
the death of David alone could establish the kingdom in himself and his
posterity. But all those considerations were of no avail to make
Jonathan swerve from honor, to slacken the bands of his faith, or cool
the warmth of his friendship. O Jonathan! the sacrifice which thou then
madest to virtue, was incomparably more illustrious in the sight of God
and his angels than all the subsequent glories to which David attained.
What a crown was thine, 'Jonathan, when thou wast slain in thy high
places!'
"Saul of Tarsus had been a man of bigotry, blood, and violence; making
havoc, and breathing out threatenings and slaughter, against all who
were not of his own sect and persuasion. But, when the spirit of that
INFANT, who laid himself in the manger of human flesh, came upon him, he
acquired a new heart and a new nature; and he offered himself a willing
subject to all the sufferings and persecutions which he had brought upon
others.
"Saul from that time, exemplified in his own person, all those qualities
of the gentleman, which he afterwards specifies in his celebrated
description of that charity, which, as he says, alone endureth forever.
When Festus cried with a loud voice, 'Paul, thou art beside thyself,
much learning doth make thee mad;' Paul stretched the hand, and
answered, 'I am not mad, most noble Festus, but speak forth the words of
truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these things, before whom
also I speak freely; for I am persuaded that none of these things are
hidden from him. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets? I know that
thou believest.' Then Agrippa said unto Paul, 'Almost thou persuadest me
to be a Christian.' And Paul said, 'I would to God that not only thou,
but also all that hear me this day, were not only almost but altogether
such as I am,--except these bonds.' Here, with what an inimitable
elegance did this man, in his own person, at once sum up the orator, the
saint, and the gentleman!
"From these instances, my friend, you must have seen that the character,
or rather quality of a GENTLEMAN, does not, in any degree, depend on
fashion or mode, on station or opinion; neither changes with customs,
climate, or ages. But, as the Spirit of God can alone inspire it into
man, so it is, as God is the same, yesterday, to-day, and forever."
In concluding this chapter I would say:
"In the common actions and transactions of life, there is a wide
distinction between the well-bred and the ill-bred. If a person of the
latter sort be in a superior condition in life, his conduct towards
those below him, or dependent upon him, is marked by haughtiness, or by
unmannerly condescension. In the company of his equals in station and
circumstances, an ill-bred man is either captious and quarrelsome, or
offensively familiar. He does not consider that:
'The man who hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves, by thumps upon your back,
How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much a friend indeed,
To pardon or to bear it.'
"And if a man void of good breeding have to transact business with a
superior in wealth or situation, it is more than likely that he will be
needlessly humble, unintentionally insolent, or, at any rate, miserably
embarrassed. On the contrary, a well-bred person will instinctively
avoid all these errors. 'To inferiors, he will speak kindly and
considerately, so as to relieve them from any feeling of being beneath
him in circumstances. To equals, he will be plain, unaffected, and
courteous. To superiors, he will know how to show becoming respect,
without descending to subserviency or meanness. In short, he will act a
manly, inoffensive, and agreeable part, in all the situations in life in
which he may be placed.'"
CHAPTER III.
TABLE ETIQUETTE.
It may seem a very simple thing to eat your meals, yet there is no
occasion upon which the gentleman, and the low-bred, vulgar man are more
strongly contrasted, than when at the table. The rules I shall give for
table etiquette when in company will apply equally well for the home
circle, with the exception of some few points, readily discernible,
which may be omitted at your own table.
A well-bred man, receiving an invitation to dine with a friend should
reply to it immediately, whether he accepts or declines it.
He should be punctual to the hour named in the invitation, five or ten
minutes earlier if convenient, but not one instant later. He must never,
unless he has previously asked permission to do so, take with him any
friend not named in his invitation. His host and hostess have the
privilege of inviting whom they will, and it is an impertinence to force
them to extend their hospitality, as they must do if you introduce a
friend at their own house.
Speak, on entering the parlor of your friend, first to the hostess, then
to the host.
When dinner is announced, the host or hostess will give the signal for
leaving the drawing-room, and you will probably be requested to escort
one of the ladies to the table. Offer to her your left arm, and at the
table wait until she is seated, indeed wait until every lady is seated,
before taking your own place.
In leaving the parlor you will pass out first, and the lady will follow
you, still holding your arm. At the door of the dining-room, the lady
will drop your arm. Pass in, then wait on one side of the entrance till
she passes you, to her place at the table.
If there are no ladies, you may go to the table with any gentleman who
stands near you, or with whom you may be conversing when dinner is
announced. If your companion is older than yourself, extend to him the
same courtesy which you would use towards a lady.
There are a thousand little points to be observed in your conduct at
table which, while they are not absolutely necessary, are yet
distinctive marks of a well-bred man.
If, when at home, you practice habitually the courtesies of the table,
they will sit upon you easily when abroad; but if you neglect them at
home, you will use them awkwardly when in company, and you will find
yourself recognized as a man who has "company manners," only when
abroad.
I have seen men who eat soup, or chewed their food, in so noisy a manner
as to be heard from one end of the table to the other; fill their mouths
so full of food, as to threaten suffocation or choking; use their own
knife for the butter, and salt; put their fingers in the sugar bowl; and
commit other faults quite as monstrous, yet seem perfectly unconscious
that they were doing anything to attract attention.
Try to sit easily and gracefully, but at the same time avoid crowding
those beside you.
Far from eating with avidity of whatever delicacies which may be upon
the table, and which are often served in small quantities, partake of
them but sparingly, and decline them when offered the second time.
Many men at their own table have little peculiar notions, which a guest
does well to respect. Some will feel hurt, even offended, if you decline
a dish which they recommend; while others expect you to eat enormously,
as if they feared you did not appreciate their hospitality unless you
tasted of every dish upon the table. Try to pay respect to such whims at
the table of others, but avoid having any such notions when presiding
over your own board.
Observe a strict sobriety; never drink of more than one kind of wine,
and partake of that sparingly.
The style of serving dinner is different at different houses; if there
are many servants they will bring you your plate filled, and you must
keep it. If you have the care of a lady, see that she has what she
desires, before you give your own order to the waiter; but if there are
but few domestics, and the dishes are upon the table, you may with
perfect propriety help those near you, from any dish within your reach.
If your host or hostess passes you a plate, keep it, especially if you
have chosen the food upon it, for others have also a choice, and by
passing it, you may give your neighbor dishes distasteful to him, and
take yourself those which he would much prefer.
If in the leaves of your salad, or in a plate of fruit you find a worm
or insect, pass your plate to the waiter, without any comment, and he
will bring you another.
Be careful to avoid the extremes of gluttony or over daintiness at
table. To eat enormously is disgusting; but if you eat too sparingly,
your host may think that you despise his fare.
Watch that the lady whom you escorted to the table is well helped. Lift
and change her plate for her, pass her bread, salt, and butter, give her
orders to the waiter, and pay her every attention in your power.
Before taking your place at table, wait until your place is pointed out
to you, unless there are cards bearing the names of the guests upon the
plates; in the latter case, take the place thus marked for you.
Put your napkin upon your lap, covering your knees. It is out of date,
and now looked upon as a vulgar habit to put your napkin up over your
breast.
Sit neither too near nor too far from the table. Never hitch up your
coat-sleeves or wristbands as if you were going to wash your hands. Some
men do this habitually, but it is a sign of very bad breeding.
Never tip your chair, or lounge back in it during dinner.
All gesticulations are out of place, and in bad taste at the table.
Avoid making them.
Converse in a low tone to your neighbor, yet not with any air of secresy
if others are engaged in _tête-à-tête_ conversation; if, however, the
conversation is general, avoid conversing _tête-à-tête_. Do not raise
your voice too much; if you cannot make those at some distance from you
hear you when speaking in a moderate tone, confine your remarks to those
near you.
If you wish for a knife, plate, or anything from the side table, never
address those in attendance as "Waiter!" as you would at a hotel or
_restaurant_, but call one of them by name; if you cannot do this, make
him a sign without speaking.
Unless you are requested to do so, never select any particular part of a
dish; but, if your host asks you what part you prefer, name some part,
as in this case the incivility would consist in making your host choose
as well as carve for you.
Never blow your soup if it is too hot, but wait until it cools. Never
raise your plate to your lips, but eat with your spoon.
Never touch either your knife or your fork until after you have finished
eating your soup. Leave your spoon in your soup plate, that the servant
may remove them both. Never take soup twice.
In changing your plate, or passing it during dinner, remove your knife
and fork, that the plate _alone_ may be taken, but after you have
finished your dinner, cross the knife and fork on the plate, that the
servant may take all away, before bringing you clean ones for dessert.
Do not bite your bread from the roll or slice, nor cut it with your
knife; break off small pieces and put these in your mouth with your
fingers.
At dinner do not put butter on your bread. Never dip a piece of bread
into the gravy or preserves upon your plate and then bite it, but if
you wish to eat them together, break the bread into small pieces, and
carry these to your mouth with your fork.
Use always the salt-spoon, sugar-tongs, and butter knife; to use your
own knife, spoon, or fingers, evinces a shocking want of good-breeding.
Never criticize any dish before you.
If a dish is distasteful to you, decline it, but make no remarks about
it. It is sickening and disgusting to explain at a table how one article
makes you sick, or why some other dish has become distasteful to you. I
have seen a well-dressed tempting dish go from a table untouched,
because one of the company told a most disgusting anecdote about finding
vermin served in a similar dish. No wit in the narration can excuse so
palpably an error of politeness.
Never put bones, or the seeds of fruit upon the tablecloth. Put them
upon the edge of your plate.
Never use your knife for any purpose but to _cut_ your food. It is not
meant to be put in your mouth. Your fork is intended to carry the food
from your plate to your mouth, and no gentleman ever eats with his
knife.
If the meat or fish upon your plate is too rare or too well-done, do not
eat it; give for an excuse that you prefer some other dish before you;
but never tell your host that his cook has made the dish uneatable.
Never speak when you have anything in your mouth. Never pile the food on
your plate as if you were starving, but take a little at a time; the
dishes will not run away.
Never use your own knife and fork to help either yourself or others.
There is always one before the dish at every well-served table, and you
should use that.
It is a good plan to accustom yourself to using your fork with the left
hand, when eating, as you thus avoid the awkwardness of constantly
passing the fork from your left hand to your right, and back again, when
cutting your food and eating it.
Never put fruit or bon-bons in your pocket to carry them from the table.
Do not cut fruit with a steel knife. Use a silver one.
Never eat so fast as to hurry the others at the table, nor so slowly as
to keep them waiting.
If you do not take wine, never keep the bottle standing before you, but
pass it on. If you do take it, pass it on as soon as you have filled
your glass.
If you wish to remove a fish bone or fruit seed from your mouth, cover
your lips with your hand or napkin, that others may not see you remove
it.
If you wish to use your handkerchief, and have not time to leave the
table, turn your head away, and as quickly as possible put the
handkerchief in your pocket again.
Always wipe your mouth before drinking, as nothing is more ill-bred than
to grease your glass with your lips.
If you are invited to drink with a friend, and do not drink wine, bow,
raise your glass of water and drink with him.
Do not propose to take wine with your host; it is his privilege to
invite you.
Do not put your glass upside down on the table to signify that you do
not wish to drink any more; it is sufficient to refuse firmly. Do not be
persuaded to touch another drop of wine after your own prudence warns
you that you have taken enough.
Avoid any air of mystery when speaking to those next you; it is ill-bred
and in excessively bad taste.
If you wish to speak of any one, or to any one at the table, call them
by name, but never point or make a signal when at table.
When taking coffee, never pour it into your saucer, but let it cool in
the cup, and drink from that.
If at a gentleman's party, never ask any one to sing or tell a story;
your host alone has the right thus to call upon his guests.
If invited yourself to sing, and you feel sufficiently sure that you
will give pleasure, comply immediately with the request.
If, however, you refuse, remain firm in your refusal, as to yield after
once refusing is a breach of etiquette.
When the finger-glasses are passed, dip your fingers into them and then
wipe them upon your napkin.
Never leave the table till the mistress of the house gives the signal.
On leaving the table put your napkin on the table, but do not fold it.
Offer your arm to the lady whom you escorted to the table.
It is excessively rude to leave the house as soon as dinner is over.
Respect to your hostess obliges you to stay in the drawing-room at least
an hour.
If the ladies withdraw, leaving the gentlemen, after dinner, rise when
they leave the table, and remain standing until they have left the room.
I give, from a recent English work, some humorously written directions
for table etiquette, and, although they are some of them repetitions of
what I have already given, they will be found to contain many useful
hints:
"We now come to habits at table, which are very important. However
agreeable a man may be in society, if he offends or disgusts by his
table traits, he will soon be scouted from it, and justly so. There are
some broad rules for behavior at table. Whenever there is a servant to
help you, never help yourself. Never put a knife into your mouth, not
even with cheese, which should be eaten with a fork. Never use a spoon
for anything but liquids. Never touch anything edible with your fingers.
"Forks were, undoubtedly, a later invention than fingers, but, as we are
not cannibals, I am inclined to think they were a good one. There are
some few things which you may take up with your fingers. Thus an epicure
will eat even macaroni with his fingers; and as sucking asparagus is
more pleasant than chewing it, you may, as an epicure, take it up _au
naturel_. But both these things are generally eaten with a fork. Bread
is, of course, eaten with the fingers, and it would be absurd to carve
it with your knife and fork. It must, on the contrary, always be broken
when not buttered, and you should never put a slice of dry bread to your
mouth to bite a piece off. Most fresh fruit, too, is eaten with the
natural prongs, but when you have peeled an orange or apple, you should
cut it with the aid of the fork, unless you can succeed in breaking it.
Apropos of which, I may hint that no epicure ever yet put a knife to an
apple, and that an orange should be peeled with a spoon. But the art of
peeling an orange so as to hold its own juice, and its own sugar too, is
one that can scarcely be taught in a book.
"However, let us go to dinner, and I will soon tell you whether you are
a well-bred man or not; and here let me premise that what is good
manners for a small dinner is good manners for a large one, and _vice
versâ_. Now, the first thing you do is to sit down. Stop, sir! pray do
not cram yourself into the table in that way; no, nor sit a yard from
it, like that. How graceless, inconvenient, and in the way of
conversation! Why, dear me! you are positively putting your elbows on
the table, and now you have got your hands fumbling about with the
spoons and forks, and now you are nearly knocking my new hock glasses
over. Can't you take your hands down, sir? Didn't you learn that in the
nursery? Didn't your mamma say to you, 'Never put your hands above the
table except to carve or eat?' Oh! but come, no nonsense, sit up, if you
please. I can't have your fine head of hair forming a side dish on my
table; you must not bury your face in the plate, you came to show it,
and it ought to be alive. Well, but there is no occasion to throw your
head back like that, you look like an alderman, sir, _after_ dinner.
Pray, don't lounge in that sleepy way. You are here to eat, drink, and
be merry. You can sleep when you get home.
"Well, then, I suppose you can see your napkin. Got none, indeed! Very
likely, in _my_ house. You may be sure that I never sit down to a meal
without napkins. I don't want to make my tablecloths unfit for use, and
I don't want to make my trousers unwearable. Well, now, we are all
seated, you can unfold it on your knees; no, no; don't tuck it into your
waistcoat like an alderman; and what! what on earth do you mean by
wiping your forehead with it? Do you take it for a towel? Well, never
mind, I am consoled that you did not go farther, and use it as a
pocket-handkerchief. So talk away to the lady on your right, and wait
till soup is handed to you. By the way, that waiting is the most
important part of table manners, and, as much as possible, you should
avoid asking for anything or helping yourself from the table. Your soup
you eat with a spoon--I don't know what else you _could_ eat it
with--but then it must be one of good size. Yes, that will do, but I beg
you will not make that odious noise in drinking your soup. It is louder
than a dog lapping water, and a cat would be quite genteel to it. Then
you need not scrape up the plate in that way, nor even tilt it to get
the last drop. I shall be happy to send you some more; but I must just
remark, that it is not the custom to take two helpings of soup, and it
is liable to keep other people waiting, which, once for all, is a
selfish and intolerable habit. But don't you hear the servant offering
you sherry? I wish you would attend, for my servants have quite enough
to do, and can't wait all the evening while you finish that very mild
story to Miss Goggles. Come, leave that decanter alone. I had the wine
put on the table to fill up; the servants will hand it directly, or, as
we are a small party, I will tell you to help yourself; but, pray, do
not be so officious. (There, I have sent him some turbot to keep him
quiet. I declare he cannot make up his mind.) You are keeping my servant
again, sir. Will you, or will you not, do turbot? Don't examine it in
that way; it is quite fresh, I assure you; take or decline it. Ah, you
take it, but that is no reason why you should take up a knife too. Fish,
I repeat must never be touched with a knife. Take a fork in the right
and a small piece of bread in the left hand. Good, but--? Oh! that is
atrocious; of course you must not swallow the bones, but you should
rather do so than spit them out in that way. Put up your napkin like
this, and land the said bone on your plate. Don't rub your head in the
sauce, my good man, nor go progging about after the shrimps or oysters
therein. Oh! how horrid! I declare your mouth was wide open and full of
fish. Small pieces, I beseech you; and once for all, whatever you eat,
keep your mouth _shut_, and never attempt to talk with it full.
"So now you have got a pâté. Surely you are not taking two on your
plate. There is plenty of dinner to come, and one is quite enough. Oh!
dear me, you are incorrigible. What! a knife to cut that light, brittle
pastry? No, nor fingers, never. Nor a spoon--almost as bad. Take your
fork, sir, your fork; and, now you have eaten, oblige me by wiping your
mouth and moustache with your napkin, for there is a bit of the pastry
hanging to the latter, and looking very disagreeable. Well, you can
refuse a dish if you like. There is no positive necessity for you to
take venison if you don't want it. But, at any rate, do not be in that
terrific hurry. You are not going off by the next train. Wait for the
sauce and wait for vegetables; but whether you eat them or not, do not
begin before everybody else. Surely you must take my table for that of a
railway refreshment-room, for you have finished before the person I
helped first. Fast eating is bad for the digestion, my good sir, and not
very good manners either. What! are you trying to eat meat with a fork
alone? Oh! it is sweetbread, I beg your pardon, you are quite right. Let
me give you a rule,--Everything that can be cut without a knife, should
be cut with a fork alone. Eat your vegetables, therefore, with a fork.
No, there is no necessity to take a spoon for peas; a fork in the right
hand will do. What! did I really see you put your knife into your mouth?
Then I must give you up. Once for all, and ever, the knife is to cut,
not to help with. Pray, do not munch in that noisy manner; chew your
food well, but softly. _Eat slowly._ Have you not heard that Napoleon
lost the battle of Leipsic by eating too fast? It is a fact though. His
haste caused indigestion, which made him incapable of attending to the
details of the battle. You see you are the last person eating at table.
Sir, I will not allow you to speak to my servants in that way. If they
are so remiss as to oblige you to ask for anything, do it gently, and in
a low tone, and thank a servant just as much as you would his master.
Ten to one he is as good a man; and because he is your inferior in
position, is the very reason you should treat him courteously. Oh! it is
of no use to ask me to take wine; far from pacifying me, it will only
make me more angry, for I tell you the custom is quite gone out, except
in a few country villages, and at a mess-table. Nor need you ask the
lady to do so. However, there is this consolation, if you should ask any
one to take wine with you, he or she _cannot_ refuse, so you have your
own way. Perhaps next you will be asking me to hob and nob, or
_trinquer_ in the French fashion with arms encircled. Ah! you don't
know, perhaps, that when a lady _trinques_ in that way with you, you
have a right to finish off with a kiss. Very likely, indeed! But it is
the custom in familiar circles in France, but then we are not Frenchmen.
_Will_ you attend to your lady, sir? You did not come merely to eat, but
to make yourself agreeable. Don't sit as glum as the Memnon at Thebes;
talk and be pleasant. Now, you have some pudding. No knife--no, _no_. A
spoon if you like, but better still, a fork. Yes, ice requires a spoon;
there is a small one handed you, take that.
"Say 'no.' This is the fourth time wine has been handed to you, and I am
sure you have had enough. Decline this time if you please. Decline that
dish too. Are you going to eat of everything that is handed? I pity you
if you do. No, you must not ask for more cheese, and you must eat it
with your fork. Break the rusk with your fingers. Good. You are drinking
a glass of old port. Do not quaff it down at a gulp in that way. Never
drink a whole glassful of anything at once.
"Well, here is the wine and dessert. Take whichever wine you like, but
remember you must keep to that, and not change about. Before you go up
stairs I will allow you a glass of sherry after your claret, but
otherwise drink of one wine only. You don't mean to say you are helping
yourself to wine before the ladies. At least, offer it to the one next
to you, and then pass it on, gently, not with a push like that. Do not
drink so fast; you will hurry me in passing the decanters, if I see that
your glass is empty. You need not eat dessert till the ladies are gone,
but offer them whatever is nearest to you. And now they are gone, draw
your chair near mine, and I will try and talk more pleasantly to you.
You will come out admirably at your next dinner with all my teaching.
What! you are excited, you are talking loud to the colonel. Nonsense.
Come and talk easily to me or to your nearest neighbor. There, don't
drink any more wine, for I see you are getting romantic. You oblige me
to make a move. You have had enough of those walnuts; you are keeping
me, my dear sir. So now to coffee [one cup] and tea, which I beg you
will not pour into your saucer to cool. Well, the dinner has done you
good, and me too. Let us be amiable to the ladies, but not too much so."
"_Champ, champ; Smack, smack; Smack, smack; Champ, champ;_--It is one
thing to know how to make a pudding, and another to know how to eat it
when made. Unmerciful and monstrous are the noises with which some
persons accompany the eating--no, the devouring of the food for which,
we trust, they are thankful. To sit down with a company of such
masticators is like joining 'a herd of swine feeding.' Soberly, at no
time, probably, are the rules of good breeding less regarded than at
'feeding time,' and at no place is a departure from these rules more
noticeable than at table. Some persons gnaw at a crust as dogs gnaw a
bone, rattle knives and spoons against their teeth as though anxious to
prove which is the harder, and scrape their plates with an energy and
perseverance which would be very commendable if bestowed upon any object
worth the trouble. Others, in defiance of the old nursery rhyme--
'I must not dip, howe'er I wish,
My spoon or finger in the dish;'
are perpetually helping themselves in this very straightforward and
unsophisticated manner. Another, with a mouth full of food contrives to
make his teeth and tongue perform the double duty of chewing and talking
at the same time. Another, quite in military style, in the intervals of
cramming, makes his knife and fork keep guard over the jealously watched
plate, being held upright on either side in the clenched fist, like the
musket of a raw recruit. And another, as often as leisure serves,
fidgets his plate from left to right, and from right to left, or round
and round, until the painful operation of feeding is over.
"There is, we know, such a thing as being 'too nice'--'more nice than
wise.' It is quite possible to be fastidious. But there are also such
inconsiderable matters as decency and good order; and it surely is
better to err on the right than on the wrong side of good breeding."
CHAPTER IV.
ETIQUETTE IN THE STREET.
A gentleman will be always polite, in the parlor, dining-room, and in
the street. This last clause will especially include courtesy towards
ladies, no matter what may be their age or position. A man who will
annoy or insult a woman in the street, lowers himself to a brute, no
matter whether he offends by look, word, or gesture. There are several
little forms of etiquette, given below, the observance of which will
mark the gentleman in the street.
When walking with a lady, or with a gentleman who is older than
yourself, give them the upper side of the pavement, that is, the side
nearest the house.
When walking alone, and you see any one coming towards you on the same
side of the street, give the upper part of the pavement, as you turn
aside, to a man who may carry a heavy bundle, to a priest or clergyman,
to a woman, or to any elderly person.
In a crowd never rudely push aside those who impede your progress, but
wait patiently until the way is clear. If you are hurried by business of
importance or an engagement, you will find that a few courteous words
will open the way before you more quickly than the most violent pushing
and loud talking.
If obliged to cross a plank, or narrow path, let any lady or old person
who may also be passing, precede you. In case the way is slippery or in
any way unsafe, you may, with perfect propriety, offer to assist either
a lady or elderly person in crossing it.
Do not smoke in the street until after dark, and then remove your cigar
from your mouth, if you meet a lady.
Be careful about your dress. You can never know whom you may meet, so it
is best to never leave the house otherwise than well-dressed. Bright
colors, and much jewelry are both unbecoming to a gentleman in the
street.
Avoid touching any one with your elbows in passing, and do not swing
your arms as you walk.
Be careful when walking with or near a lady, not to put your foot upon
her dress.
In carrying an umbrella, hold it so that you can see the way clear
before you; avoid striking your umbrella against those which pass you;
if you are walking with a lady, let the umbrella cover her perfectly,
but hold it so that you will not touch her bonnet. If you have the care
of two ladies, let them carry the umbrella between them, and walk
outside yourself. Nothing can be more absurd than for a gentleman to
walk between two ladies, holding the umbrella himself; while, in this
way, he is perfectly protected, the ladies receive upon their dresses
and cloaks the little streams of water which run from the points of the
umbrella.
In case of a sudden fall of rain, you may, with perfect propriety,
offer your umbrella to a lady who is unprovided with one. If she accepts
it, and asks your address to return it, leave it with her; if she
hesitates, and does not wish to deprive you of the use of it, you may
offer to accompany her to her destination, and then, do not open a
conversation; let your manner be respectful, and when you leave her, let
her thank you, assure her of the pleasure it has given you to be of
service, bow, and leave her.
In meeting a lady friend, wait for her to bow to you, and in returning
her salutation, remove your hat. To a gentleman you may bow, merely
touching your hat, if he is alone or with another gentleman; but if he
has a lady with him, raise your hat in bowing to him. If you stop to
speak to a lady, hold your hat in your hand, until she leaves you,
unless she requests you to replace it. With a gentleman you may replace
it immediately.
Never join a lady whom you may meet, without first asking her permission
to do so.
If you stop to converse with any one in the street, stand near the
houses, that you may not interfere with others who are passing.
You may bow to a lady who is seated at a window, if you are in the
street; but you must not bow from a window to a lady in the street.
Do not stop to join a crowd who are collected round a street show, or
street merchant, unless you wish to pass for a countryman taking a
holiday in the city.
If you stop any one to enquire your own way, or if you are called upon
to direct another, remove your hat while asking or answering the
question.
If you see a lady leaving a carriage unattended, or hesitating at a bad
crossing, you may, with propriety, offer your hand or arm to assist her,
and having seen her safely upon the pavement, bow, and pass on.
In a car or omnibus, when a lady wishes to get out, stop the car for
her, pass up her fare, and in an omnibus alight and assist her in
getting out, bowing as you leave her.
Be gentle, courteous, and kind to children. There is no surer token of a
low, vulgar mind, than unkindness to little ones whom you may meet in
the streets.
A true gentleman never stops to consider what may be the position of any
woman whom it is in his power to aid in the street. He will assist an
Irish washerwoman with her large basket or bundle over a crossing, or
carry over the little charges of a distressed negro nurse, with the same
gentle courtesy which he would extend toward the lady who was stepping
from her private carriage. The true spirit of chivalry makes the
courtesy due to the sex, not to the position of the individual.
When you are escorting a lady in the street, politeness does not
absolutely require you to carry her bundle or parasol, but if you are
gallant you will do so. You must regulate your walk by hers, and not
force her to keep up with your ordinary pace.
Watch that you do not lead her into any bad places, and assist her
carefully over each crossing, or wet place on the pavement.
If you are walking in the country, and pass any streamlet, offer your
hand to assist your companion in crossing.
If you pass over a fence, and she refuses your assistance in crossing
it, walk forward, and do not look back, until she joins you again. The
best way to assist a lady over a fence, is to stand yourself upon the
upper rail, and while using one hand to keep a steady position, stoop,
offer her the other, and with a firm, steady grasp, hold her hand until
she stands beside you; then let her go down on the other side first, and
follow her when she is safe upon the ground.
In starting for a walk with a lady, unless she is a stranger in the
place towards whom you act as guide, let her select your destination.
Where there are several ladies, and you are required to escort one of
them, select the elderly, or those whose personal appearance will
probably make them least likely to be sought by others. You will
probably be repaid by finding them very intelligent, and with a fund of
conversation. If there are more ladies than gentlemen, you may offer an
arm to two, with some jest about the difficulty of choosing, or the
double honor you enjoy.
Offer your seat in any public conveyance, to a lady who is standing. It
is often quite as great a kindness and mark of courtesy to take a child
in your lap.
When with a lady you must pay her expenses as well as your own; if she
offers to share the expense, decline unless she insists upon it, in the
latter case yield gracefully. Many ladies, who have no brother or
father, and are dependent upon their gentlemen friends for escort, make
it a rule to be under no pecuniary obligations to them, and you will,
in such a case, offend more by insisting upon your right to take that
expense, than by quietly pocketing your dignity and their cash together.
I know many gentlemen will cry out at my assertion; but I have observed
this matter, and know many _ladies_ who will sincerely agree with me in
my opinion.
In a carriage always give the back seat to the lady or ladies
accompanying you. If you have but one lady with you, take the seat
opposite to her, unless she invites you to sit beside her, in which case
accept her offer.
Never put your arm across the seat, or around her, as many do in riding.
It is an impertinence, and if she is a lady of refinement, she will
resent it as such.
If you offer a seat in your carriage to a lady, or another gentleman
whom you may meet at a party or picnic, take them home, before you drive
to your own destination, no matter how much you may have to drive out of
your own way.
Be the last to enter the carriage, the first to leave it. If you have
ladies with you, offer them your hand to assist them in entering and
alighting, and you should take the arm of an old gentleman to assist
him.
If offered a seat in the carriage of a gentleman friend, stand aside for
him to get in first, but if he waits for you, bow and take your seat
before he does.
When driving a lady in a two-seated vehicle, you should assist her to
enter the carriage, see that her dress is not in danger of touching the
wheels, and that her shawl, parasol, and fan, are where she can reach
them, before you take your own seat. If she wishes to stop, and you
remain with the horses, you should alight before she does, assist her
in alighting, and again alight to help her to her seat when she returns,
even if you keep your place on the seat whilst she is gone.
When attending a lady in a horse-back ride, never mount your horse until
she is ready to start. Give her your hand to assist her in mounting,
arrange the folds of her habit, hand her her reins and her whip, and
then take your own seat on your saddle.
Let her pace be yours. Start when she does, and let her decide how fast
or slowly she will ride. Never let the head of your horse pass the
shoulders of hers, and be watchful and ready to render her any
assistance she may require.
Never, by rapid riding, force her to ride faster than she may desire.
Never touch her bridle, reins, or whip, except she particularly requests
your assistance, or an accident, or threatened danger, makes it
necessary.
If there is dust or wind, ride so as to protect her from it as far as
possible.
If the road is muddy be careful that you do not ride so as to bespatter
her habit. It is best to ride on the side away from that upon which her
habit falls. Some ladies change their side in riding, from time to time,
and you must watch and see upon which side the skirt falls, that, on a
muddy day, you may avoid favoring the habit with the mud your horse's
hoofs throw up.
If you ride with a gentleman older than yourself, or one who claims your
respect, let him mount before you do. Extend the same courtesy towards
any gentleman whom you have invited to accompany you, as he is, for the
ride, your guest.
The honorable place is on the right. Give this to a lady, an elderly
man, or your guest.
A modern writer says:--"If walking with a female relative or friend, a
well-bred man will take the outer side of the pavement, not only because
the wall-side is the most honorable side of a public walk, but also
because it is generally the farthest point from danger in the street. If
walking alone, he will be ready to offer assistance to any female whom
he may see exposed to real peril from any source. Courtesy and manly
courage will both incite him to this line of conduct. In general, this
is a point of honor which almost all men are proud to achieve. It has
frequently happened that even where the savage passions of men have been
excited, and when mobs have been in actual conflict, women have been
gallantly escorted through the sanguinary crowd unharmed, and their
presence has even been a protection to their protectors. This is as it
should be; and such incidents have shown in a striking manner, not only
the excellency of good breeding, but have also brought it out when and
where it was least to be expected.
"In streets and all public walks, a well-bred person will be easily
distinguished from another who sets at defiance the rules of good
breeding. He will not, whatever be his station, hinder and annoy his
fellow pedestrians, by loitering or standing still in the middle of the
footway. He will, if walking in company, abstain from making impertinent
remarks on those he meets; he will even be careful not to appear
indelicately to notice them. He will not take 'the crown of the
causeway' to himself, but readily fall in with the convenient custom
which necessity has provided, and walk on the right side of the path,
leaving the left side free for those who are walking in the opposite
direction. Any departure from these plain rules of good breeding is
downright rudeness and insult; or, at all events, it betrays great
ignorance or disregard for propriety. And yet, how often are they
departed from! It is, by no means, uncommon, especially in country
places, for groups of working men to obstruct the pathway upon which
they take a fancy to lounge, without any definite object, as far as
appears, but that of making rude remarks upon passers-by. But it is not
only the laboring classes of society who offend against good breeding in
this way; too many others offend in the same, and by stopping to talk in
the middle of the pavement put all who pass to great inconvenience."
In meeting a lady do not offer to shake hands with her, but accept her
hand when _she_ offers it for you to take.
"In France, where politeness is found in every class, the people do not
run against each other in the streets, nor brush rudely by each other,
as they sometimes do in our cities. It adds much to the pleasure of
walking, to be free from such annoyance; and this can only be brought
about by the well-taught few setting a good example to the many. By
having your wits about you, you can win your way through a thronged
street without touching even the extreme circumference of a balloon
sleeve; and, if each one strove to avoid all contact, it would be easily
accomplished."
CHAPTER V.
ETIQUETTE FOR CALLING.
A gentleman in society must calculate to give a certain portion of his
time to making calls upon his friends, both ladies and gentlemen. He may
extend his visiting list to as large a number as his inclination and
time will permit him to attend to, but he cannot contract it after
passing certain limits. His position as a man in society obliges him to
call,
Upon any stranger visiting his city, who brings a letter of introduction
to him;
Upon any friend from another city, to whose hospitality he has been at
any time indebted;
Upon any gentleman after receiving from his hands a favor or courtesy;
Upon his host at any dinner or supper party, (such calls should be made
very soon after the entertainment given);
Upon any friend whose joy or grief calls for an expression of sympathy,
whether it be congratulation or condolence;
Upon any friend who has lately returned from a voyage or long journey;
Upon any lady who has accepted his services as an escort, either for a
journey or the return from a ball or evening party; this call must be
made the day after he has thus escorted the lady;
Upon his hostess after any party to which he has been invited, whether
he has accepted or declined such invitation;
Upon any lady who has accepted his escort for an evening, a walk or a
drive;
Upon any friend whom long or severe illness keeps confined to the house;
Upon his lady friends on New Year's day, (if it is the custom of the
city in which he resides;)
Upon any of his friends when they receive bridal calls;
Upon lady friends in any city you are visiting; if gentlemen friends
reside in the same city, you may either call upon them or send your card
with your address and the length of time you intend staying, written
upon it; if a stranger or friend visiting your city sends such a card,
you must call at the earliest opportunity;
Upon any one of whom you wish to ask a favor; to make him, under such
circumstances call upon you, is extremely rude;
Upon any one who has asked a favor of you; you will add very much to the
pleasure you confer, in granting a favor, by calling to express the
gratification it affords you to be able to oblige your friend; you will
soften the pain of a refusal, if, by calling, and expressing your
regret, you show that you feel interested in the request, and consider
it of importance.
Upon intimate friends, relatives, and ladies, you may call without
waiting for any of the occasions given above.
Do not fall into the vulgar error of declaiming against the practice of
making calls, declaring it a "bore," tiresome, or stupid. The custom is
a good one.
An English writer says:--
"The visit or call is a much better institution than is generally
supposed. It has its drawbacks. It wastes much time; it necessitates
much small talk. It obliges one to dress on the chance of finding a
friend at home; but for all this it is almost the only means of making
an acquaintance ripen into friendship. In the visit, all the strain,
which general society somehow necessitates, is thrown off. A man
receives you in his rooms cordially, and makes you welcome, not to a
stiff dinner, but an easy chair and conversation. A lady, who in the
ball room or party has been compelled to limit her conversation, can
here speak more freely. The talk can descend from generalities to
personal inquiries, and need I say, that if you wish to know a young
lady truly, you must see her at home, and by day light.
"The main points to be observed about visits, are the proper occasions
and the proper hours. Now, between actual friends there is little need
of etiquette in these respects. A friendly visit may be made at any
time, on any occasion. True, you are more welcome when the business of
the day is over, in the afternoon rather than in the morning, and you
must, even as a friend, avoid calling at meal times. But, on the other
hand, many people receive visits in the evening, and certainly this is
the best time to make them."
Any first call which you receive must be returned promptly. If you do
not wish to continue the acquaintance any farther, you need not return a
second call, but politeness imperatively demands a return of the first
one.
A call may be made upon ladies in the morning or afternoon; but in this
country, where almost every man has some business to occupy his day, the
evening is the best time for paying calls. You will gain ground in easy
intercourse and friendly acquaintance more rapidly in one evening, than
in several morning calls.
Never make a call upon a lady before eleven o'clock in the morning, or
after nine in the evening.
Avoid meal times. If you inadvertently call at dinner or tea time, and
your host is thus forced to invite you to the table, it is best to
decline the civility. If, however, you see that you will give pleasure
by staying, accept the invitation, but be careful to avoid calling again
at the same hour.
No man in the United States, excepting His Excellency, the President,
can expect to receive calls unless he returns them.
"Visiting," says a French writer, "forms the cord which binds society
together, and it is so firmly tied, that were the knot severed, society
would perish."
A ceremonious call should never extend over more than fifteen minutes,
and it should not be less than ten minutes.
If you see the master of the house take letters or a paper from his
pocket, look at the clock, have an absent air, beat time with his
fingers or hands, or in any other way show weariness or _ennui_, you
may safely conclude that it is time for you to leave, though you may not
have been five minutes in the house. If you are host to the most
wearisome visitor in existence, if he stays hours, and converses only on
subjects which do not interest you, in the least; unless he is keeping
you from an important engagement, you must not show the least sign of
weariness. Listen to him politely, endeavor to entertain him, and
preserve a smiling composure, though you may long to show him the door.
In case he is keeping you from business of importance, or an imperative
engagement, you may, without any infringement upon the laws of
politeness, inform him of the fact, and beg him to excuse you; you must,
however, express polite regret at your enforced want of hospitality, and
invite him to call again.
It is quite an art to make a graceful exit after a call. To know how to
choose the moment when you will be regretted, and to retire leaving your
friends anxious for a repetition of the call, is an accomplishment worth
acquiring.
When you begin to tire of your visit, you may generally feel sure that
your entertainers are tired of you, and if you do not want to remain
printed upon their memory as "the man who makes such long, tiresome
calls," you will retire.
If other callers come in before you leave a friend's parlor, do not rise
immediately as if you wished to avoid them, but remain seated a few
moments, and then leave, that your hostess may not have too many
visitors to entertain at one time.
If you have been enjoying a _tête-à-tête_ interview with a lady, and
other callers come in, do not hurry away, as if detected in a crime, but
after a few courteous, graceful words, and the interchange of some
pleasant remarks, leave her to entertain her other friends.
To endeavor when making a call to "sit out" others in the room, is very
rude.
When your host or hostess urges you to stay longer, after you have risen
to go, be sure that that is the best time for departure. You will do
better to go then, when you will be regretted, than to wait until you
have worn your welcome out.
When making a visit of condolence, take your tone from your host or
hostess. If they speak of their misfortune, or, in case of death, of the
departed relative, join them. Speak of the talents or virtues of the
deceased, and your sympathy with their loss. If, on the other hand, they
avoid the subject, then it is best for you to avoid it too. They may
feel their inability to sustain a conversation upon the subject of their
recent affliction, and it would then be cruel to force it upon them. If
you see that they are making an effort, perhaps a painful one, to appear
cheerful, try to make them forget for the time their sorrows, and chat
on cheerful subjects. At the same time, avoid jesting, merriment, or
undue levity, as it will be out of place, and appear heartless.
A visit of congratulation, should, on the contrary, be cheerful, gay,
and joyous. Here, painful subjects would be out of place. Do not mar the
happiness of your friend by the description of the misery of your own
position or that of a third person, but endeavor to show by joyous
sympathy that the pleasure of your friend is also your happiness. To
laugh with those who laugh, weep with those who are afflicted, is not
hypocrisy, but kindly, friendly sympathy.
Always, when making a friendly call, send up your card, by the servant
who opens the door.
There are many times when a card may be left, even if the family upon
which you call is at home. Visits of condolence, unless amongst
relatives or very intimate friends, are best made by leaving a card with
enquiries for the health of the family, and offers of service.
If you see upon entering a friend's parlor, that your call is keeping
him from going out, or, if you find a lady friend dressed for a party or
promenade, make your visit very brief. In the latter case, if the lady
seems unattended, and urges your stay, you may offer your services as an
escort.
Never visit a literary man, an artist, any man whose profession allows
him to remain at home, at the hours when he is engaged in the pursuit of
his profession. The fact that you know he is at home is nothing; he will
not care to receive visits during the time allotted to his daily work.
Never take another gentleman to call upon one of your lady friends
without first obtaining her permission to do so.
The calls made after receiving an invitation to dinner, a party, ball,
or other entertainment should be made within a fortnight after the
civility has been accepted.
When you have saluted the host and hostess, do not take a seat until
they invite you to do so, or by a motion, and themselves sitting down,
show that they expect you to do the same.
Keep your hat in your hand when making a call. This will show your host
that you do not intend to remain to dine or sup with him. You may leave
an umbrella or cane in the hall if you wish, but your hat and gloves you
must carry into the parlor. In making an evening call for the first time
keep your hat and gloves in your hand, until the host or hostess
requests you to lay them aside and spend the evening.
When going to spend the evening with a friend whom you visit often,
leave your hat, gloves, and great coat in the hall.
If, on entering a parlor of a lady friend, in the evening, you see by
her dress, or any other token, that she was expecting to go to the
opera, concert, or an evening party, make a call of a few minutes only,
and then retire. I have known men who accepted instantly the invitation
given them to remain under these circumstances, and deprive their
friends of an anticipated pleasure, when their call could have been made
at any other time. To thus impose upon the courtesy of your friends is
excessively rude. Nothing will pardon such an acceptance but the
impossibility of repeating your call, owing to a short stay in town, or
any other cause. Even in this case it is better to accompany your
friends upon their expedition in search of pleasure. You can, of course,
easily obtain admittance if they are going to a public entertainment,
and if they invite you to join their party to a friend's house, you may
without impropriety do so, as a lady is privileged to introduce you to
her friends under such circumstances. It requires tact and discretion to
know when to accept and when to decline such an invitation. Be careful
that you do not intrude upon a party already complete in themselves, or
that you do not interfere with the plans of the gentlemen who have
already been accepted as escorts.
Never make a _third_ upon such occasions. Neither one of a couple who
propose spending the evening abroad together, will thank the intruder
who spoils their tête-à-tête.
When you find, on entering a room, that your visit is for any reason
inopportune, do not instantly retire unless you have entered unperceived
and can so leave, in which case leave immediately; if, however, you have
been seen, your instant retreat is cut off. Then endeavor by your own
graceful ease to cover any embarrassment your entrance may have caused,
make but a short call, and, if you can, leave your friends under the
impression that you saw nothing out of the way when you entered.
Always leave a card when you find the person upon whom you have called
absent from home.
A card should have nothing written upon it, but your name and address.
To leave a card with your business address, or the nature of your
profession written upon it, shows a shocking ignorance of polite
society. Business cards are never to be used excepting when you make a
business call.
Never use a card that is ornamented in any way, whether by a fancy
border, painted corners, or embossing. Let it be perfectly plain,
tinted, if you like, in color, but without ornament, and have your name
written or printed in the middle, your address, in smaller characters,
in the lower left hand corner. Many gentlemen omit the Mr. upon their
cards, writing merely their Christian and surname; this is a matter of
taste, you may follow your own inclination. Let your card be written
thus:--
HENRY C. PRATT
No. 217 L. street.
A physician will put Dr. before or M.D. after the name, and an officer
in the army or navy may add his title; but for militia officers to do so
is absurd.
If you call upon a lady, who invites you to be seated, place a chair for
her, and wait until she takes it before you sit down yourself.
Never sit beside a lady upon a sofa, or on a chair very near her own,
unless she invites you to do so.
If a lady enters the room where you are making a call, rise, and remain
standing until she is seated. Even if she is a perfect stranger, offer
her a chair, if there is none near her.
You must rise if a lady leaves the room, and remain standing until she
has passed out.
If you are engaged in any profession which you follow at home, and
receive a caller, you may, during the daytime, invite him into your
library, study, or the room in which you work, and, unless you use your
pen, you may work while he is with you.
When you receive a visitor, meet him at the door, offer a chair, take
his hat and cane, and, while speaking of the pleasure the call affords
you, show, by your manner, that you are sincere, and desire a long call.
Do not let your host come with you any farther than the room door if he
has other visitors; but if you are showing out a friend, and leave no
others in the parlor, you should come to the street door.
A few hints from an English author, will not be amiss in this place. He
says:--
"Visits of condolence and congratulation must be made about a week after
the event. If you are intimate with the person on whom you call, you may
ask, in the first case, for admission; if not, it is better only to
leave a card, and make your 'kind inquiries' of the servant, who is
generally primed in what manner to answer them. In visits of
congratulation you should always go in, and be hearty in your
congratulations. Visits of condolence are terrible inflictions to both
receiver and giver, but they may be made less so by avoiding, as much as
consistent with sympathy, any allusion to the past. The receiver does
well to abstain from tears. A lady of my acquaintance, who had lost her
husband, was receiving such a visit in her best crape. She wept
profusely for some time upon the best of broad-hemmed cambric
handkerchiefs, and then turning to her visitor, said: 'I am sure you
will be glad to hear that Mr. B. has left me most comfortably provided
for.' _Hinc illæ lacrymæ._ Perhaps they would have been more sincere if
he had left her without a penny. At the same time, if you have not
sympathy and heart enough to pump up a little condolence, you will do
better to avoid it, but take care that your conversation is not too gay.
Whatever you may feel, you must respect the sorrows of others.
"On marriage, cards are sent round to such people as you wish to keep
among your acquaintance, and it is then their part to call first on the
young couple, when within distance.
"Having entered the house, you take up with you to the drawing-room both
hat and cane, but leave an umbrella in the hall. In France it is usual
to leave a great-coat down stairs also, but as calls are made in this
country in morning dress, it is not necessary to do so.
"It is not usual to introduce people at morning calls in large towns; in
the country it is sometimes done, not always. The law of introductions
is, in fact, to force no one into an acquaintance. You should,
therefore, ascertain beforehand whether it is agreeable to both to be
introduced; but if a lady or a superior expresses a wish to know a
gentleman or an inferior, the latter two have no right to decline the
honor. The introduction is of an inferior [which position a gentleman
always holds to a lady] to the superior. You introduce Mr. Smith to Mrs.
Jones, or Mr. A. to Lord B., not _vice versa_. In introducing two
persons, it is not necessary to lead one of them up by the hand, but it
is sufficient simply to precede them. Having thus brought the person to
be introduced up to the one to whom he is to be presented, it is the
custom, even when the consent has been previously obtained, to say, with
a slight bow, to the superior personage: 'Will you allow me to introduce
Mr. ----?' The person addressed replies by bowing to the one introduced,
who also bows at the same time, while the introducer repeats their
names, and then retires, leaving them to converse. Thus, for instance,
in presenting Mr. Jones to Mrs. Smith, you will say, 'Mrs. Smith, allow
me to introduce Mr. Jones,' and while they are engaged in bowing you
will murmur, 'Mrs. Smith--Mr. Jones,' and escape. If you have to present
three or four people to said Mrs. Smith, it will suffice to utter their
respective names without repeating that of the lady.
"A well-bred person always receives visitors at whatever time they may
call, or whoever they may be; but if you are occupied and cannot afford
to be interrupted by a mere ceremony, you should instruct the servant
_beforehand_ to say that you are 'not at home.' This form has often been
denounced as a falsehood, but a lie is no lie unless intended to
deceive; and since the words are universally understood to mean that you
are engaged, it can be no harm to give such an order to a servant. But,
on the other hand, if the servant once admits a visitor within the hall,
you should receive him at any inconvenience to yourself."
He also gives some admirable hints upon visits made to friends in
another city or the country.
He says:--
"A few words on visits to country houses before I quit this subject.
Since a man's house is his castle, no one, not even a near relation, has
a right to invite himself to stay in it. It is not only taking a liberty
to do so, but may prove to be very inconvenient. A general invitation,
too, should never be acted on. It is often given without any intention
of following it up; but, if given, should be turned into a special one
sooner or later. An invitation should specify the persons whom it
includes, and the person invited should never presume to take with him
any one not specified. If a gentleman cannot dispense with his valet, he
should write to ask leave to bring a servant; but the means of your
inviter, and the size of the house, should be taken into consideration,
and it is better taste to dispense with a servant altogether. Children
and horses are still more troublesome, and should never be taken without
special mention made of them. It is equally bad taste to arrive with a
wagonful of luggage, as that is naturally taken as a hint that you
intend to stay a long time. The length of a country visit is indeed a
difficult matter to decide, but in the present day people who receive
much generally specify the length in their invitation--a plan which
saves a great deal of trouble and doubt. But a custom not so commendable
has lately come in of limiting the visits of acquaintance to two or
three days. This may be pardonable where the guest lives at no great
distance, but it is preposterous to expect a person to travel a long
distance for a stay of three nights. If, however, the length be not
specified, and cannot easily be discovered, a week is the limit for a
country visit, except at the house of a near relation or very old
friend. It will, however, save trouble to yourself, if, soon after your
arrival, you state that you are come "for a few days," and, if your host
wishes you to make a longer visit, he will at once press you to do so.
"The main point in a country visit is to give as little trouble as
possible, to conform to the habits of your entertainers, and never to be
in the way. On this principle you will retire to your own occupations
soon after breakfast, unless some arrangement has been made for passing
the morning otherwise. If you have nothing to do, you may be sure that
your host has something to attend to in the morning. Another point of
good-breeding is to be punctual at meals, for a host and hostess never
sit down without their guest, and dinner may be getting cold. If,
however, a guest should fail in this particular, a well-bred entertainer
will not only take no notice of it, but attempt to set the late comer as
much at his ease as possible. A host should provide amusement for his
guests, and give up his time as much as possible to them; but if he
should be a professional man or student--an author, for instance--the
guest should, at the commencement of the visit, insist that he will not
allow him to interrupt his occupations, and the latter will set his
visitor more at his ease by accepting this arrangement. In fact, the
rule on which a host should act is to make his visitors as much at home
as possible; that on which a visitor should act, is to interfere as
little as possible with the domestic routine of the house.
"The worst part of a country visit is the necessity of giving gratuities
to the servants, for a poor man may often find his visit cost him far
more than if he had stayed at home. It is a custom which ought to be put
down, because a host who receives much should pay his own servants for
the extra trouble given. Some people have made by-laws against it in
their houses, but, like those about gratuities to railway-porters, they
are seldom regarded. In a great house a man-servant expects gold, but a
poor man should not be ashamed of offering him silver. It must depend on
the length of the visit. The ladies give to the female, the gentlemen to
the male servants. Would that I might see my friends without paying them
for their hospitality in this indirect manner!"
CHAPTER VI.
ETIQUETTE FOR THE BALL ROOM.
Of all the amusements open for young people, none is more delightful and
more popular than dancing. Lord Chesterfield, in his letters to his son,
says: "Dancing is, in itself, a very trifling and silly thing; but it is
one of those established follies to which people of sense are sometimes
obliged to conform; and then they should be able to do it well. And,
though I would not have you a dancer, yet, when you do dance, I would
have you dance well, as I would have you do everything you do well." In
another letter, he writes: "Do you mind your dancing while your dancing
master is with you? As you will be often under the necessity of dancing
a minuet, I would have you dance it very well. Remember that the
graceful motion of the arms, the giving of your hand, and the putting
off and putting on of your hat genteelly, are the material parts of a
gentleman's dancing. But the greatest advantage of dancing well is, that
it necessarily teaches you to present yourself, to sit, stand, and walk
genteelly; all of which are of real importance to a man of fashion."
Although the days are over when gentlemen carried their hats into ball
rooms and danced minuets, there are useful hints in the quotations
given above. Nothing will give ease of manner and a graceful carriage to
a gentleman more surely than the knowledge of dancing. He will, in its
practice, acquire easy motion, a light step, and learn to use both hands
and feet well. What can be more awkward than a man who continually finds
his hands and feet in his way, and, by his fussy movements, betrays his
trouble? A good dancer never feels this embarrassment, consequently he
never appears aware of the existence of his feet, and carries his hands
and arms gracefully. Some people being bashful and afraid of attracting
attention in a ball room or evening party, do not take lessons in
dancing, overlooking the fact that it is those who do _not_ partake of
the amusement on such occasions, not those who do, that attract
attention. To all such gentlemen I would say; Learn to dance. You will
find it one of the very best plans for correcting bashfulness. Unless
you possess the accomplishments that are common in polite society, you
can neither give nor receive all the benefits that can be derived from
social intercourse.
When you receive an invitation to a ball, answer it immediately.
If you go alone, go from the dressing-room to the ball room, find your
host and hostess, and speak first to them; if there are several ladies
in the house, take the earliest opportunity of paying your respects to
each of them, and invite one of them to dance with you the first dance.
If she is already engaged, you should endeavor to engage her for a dance
later in the evening, and are then at liberty to seek a partner amongst
the guests.
When you have engaged a partner for a dance, you should go to her a few
moments before the set for which you have engaged her will be formed,
that you may not be hurried in taking your places upon the floor.
Enquire whether she prefers the head or side place in the set, and take
the position she names.
In inviting a lady to dance with you, the words, "Will you _honor_ me
with your hand for a quadrille?" or, "Shall I have the _honor_ of
dancing this set with you?" are more used now than "Shall I have the
_pleasure_?" or, "Will you give me the _pleasure_ of dancing with you?"
Offer a lady your arm to lead her to the quadrille, and in the pauses
between the figures endeavor to make the duty of standing still less
tiresome by pleasant conversation. Let the subjects be light, as you
will be constantly interrupted by the figures in the dance. There is no
occasion upon which a pleasant flow of small talk is more _àpropos_, and
agreeable than in a ball room.
When the dance is over, offer your arm to your partner, and enquire
whether she prefers to go immediately to her seat, or wishes to
promenade. If she chooses the former, conduct her to her seat, stand
near her a few moments, chatting, then bow, and give other gentlemen an
opportunity of addressing her. If she prefers to promenade, walk with
her until she expresses a wish to sit down. Enquire, before you leave
her, whether you can be of any service, and, if the supper-room is open,
invite her to go in there with you.
You will pay a delicate compliment and one that will certainly be
appreciated, if, when a lady declines your invitation to dance on the
plea of fatigue or fear of fatigue, you do not seek another partner,
but remain with the lady you have just invited, and thus imply that the
pleasure of talking with, and being near, her, is greater than that of
dancing with another.
Let your hostess understand that you are at her service for the evening,
that she may have a prospect of giving her wall flowers a partner, and,
however unattractive these may prove, endeavor to make yourself as
agreeable to them as possible.
Your conduct will differ if you escort a lady to a ball. Then your
principal attentions must be paid to her. You must call for her
punctually at the hour she has appointed, and it is your duty to provide
the carriage. You may carry her a bouquet if you will, this is optional.
A more elegant way of presenting it is to send it in the afternoon with
your card, as, if you wait until evening, she may think you do not mean
to present one, and provide one for herself.
When you arrive at your destination, leave the carriage, and assist her
in alighting; then escort her to the lady's dressing-room, leave her at
the door, and go to the gentlemen's dressing-room. As soon as you have
arranged your own dress, go again to the door of the lady's room, and
wait until your companion comes out. Give her your left arm and escort
her to the ball room; find the hostess and lead your companion to her.
When they have exchanged greetings, lead your lady to a seat, and then
engage her for the first dance. Tell her that while you will not deprive
others of the pleasure of dancing with her, you are desirous of dancing
with her whenever she is not more pleasantly engaged, and before
seeking a partner for any other set, see whether your lady is engaged or
is ready to dance again with you. You must watch during the evening,
and, while you do not force your attentions upon her, or prevent others
from paying her attention, you must never allow her to be alone, but
join her whenever others are not speaking to her. You must take her in
to supper, and be ready to leave the party, whenever she wishes to do
so.
If the ball is given in your own house, or at that of a near relative,
it becomes your duty to see that every lady, young or old, handsome or
ugly, is provided with a partner, though the oldest and ugliest may fall
to your own share.
Never stand up to dance unless you are perfect master of the step,
figure, and time of that dance. If you make a mistake you not only
render yourself ridiculous, but you annoy your partner and the others in
the set.
If you have come alone to a ball, do not devote yourself entirely to any
one lady. Divide your attentions amongst several, and never dance twice
in succession with the same partner.
To affect an air of secrecy or mystery when conversing in a ball-room is
a piece of impertinence for which no lady of delicacy will thank you.
When you conduct your partner to her seat, thank her for the pleasure
she has conferred upon you, and do not remain too long conversing with
her.
Give your partner your whole attention when dancing with her. To let
your eyes wander round the room, or to make remarks betraying your
interest in others, is not flattering, as she will not be unobservant
of your want of taste.
Be very careful not to forget an engagement. It is an unpardonable
breach of politeness to ask a lady to dance with you, and neglect to
remind her of her promise when the time to redeem it comes.
A dress coat, dress boots, full suit of black, and white or very light
kid gloves must be worn in a ball room. A white waistcoat and cravat are
sometimes worn, but this is a matter of taste.
Never wait until the music commences before inviting a lady to dance
with you.
If one lady refuses you, do not ask another who is seated near her to
dance the same set. Do not go immediately to another lady, but chat a
few moments with the one whom you first invited, and then join a group
or gentlemen friends for a few moments, before seeking another partner.
Never dance without gloves. This is an imperative rule. It is best to
carry two pair, as in the contact with dark dresses, or in handing
refreshments, you may soil the pair you wear on entering the room, and
will thus be under the necessity of offering your hand covered by a
soiled glove, to some fair partner. You can slip unperceived from the
room, change the soiled for a fresh pair, and then avoid that
mortification.
If your partner has a bouquet, handkerchief, or fan in her hand, do not
offer to carry them for her. If she finds they embarrass her, she will
request you to hold them for her, but etiquette requires you not to
notice them, unless she speaks of them first.
Do not be the last to leave the ball room. It is more elegant to leave
early, as staying too late gives others the impression that you do not
often have an invitation to a ball, and must "make the most of it."
Some gentlemen linger at a private ball until all the ladies have left,
and then congregate in the supper-room, where they remain for hours,
totally regardless of the fact that they are keeping the wearied host
and his servants from their rest. Never, as you value your reputation as
a gentleman of refinement, be among the number of these "hangers on."
The author of a recent work on etiquette, published in England, gives
the following hints for those who go to balls. He says:--
"When inviting a lady to dance, if she replies very politely, asking to
be excused, as she does not wish to dance ('with you,' being probably
her mental reservation), a man ought to be satisfied. At all events, he
should never press her to dance after one refusal. The set forms which
Turveydrop would give for the invitation are too much of the deportment
school to be used in practice. If you know a young lady slightly, it is
sufficient to say to her, 'May I have the pleasure of dancing this
waltz, &c., with you?' or if intimately, 'Will you dance, Miss A--?' The
young lady who has refused one gentleman, has no right to accept another
for that dance; and young ladies who do not wish to be annoyed, must
take care not to accept two gentlemen for the same dance. In Germany
such innocent blunders often cause fatal results. Two partners arrive at
the same moment to claim the fair one's hand; she vows she has not made
a mistake; 'was sure she was engaged to Herr A--, and not to Herr B--;'
Herr B-- is equally certain that she was engaged to him. The awkwardness
is, that if he at once gives her up, he appears to be indifferent about
it; while, if he presses his suit, he must quarrel with Herr A--, unless
the damsel is clever enough to satisfy both of them; and particularly if
there is an especial interest in Herr B--, he yields at last, but when
the dance is over, sends a friend to Herr A--. Absurd as all this is, it
is common, and I have often seen one Herr or the other walking about
with a huge gash on his cheek, or his arm in a sling, a few days after a
ball.
"Friendship, it appears, can be let out on hire. The lady who was so
very amiable to you last night, has a right to ignore your existence
to-day. In fact, a ball room acquaintance rarely goes any farther, until
you have met at more balls than one. In the same way a man cannot, after
being introduced to a young lady to dance with, ask her to do so more
than twice in the same evening. A man may dance four or even five times
with the same partner. On the other hand, a real well-bred man will wish
to be useful, and there are certain people whom it is imperative on him
to ask to dance--the daughters of the house, for instance, and any young
ladies whom he may know intimately; but most of all the well-bred and
amiable man will sacrifice himself to those plain, ill-dressed, dull
looking beings who cling to the wall, unsought and despairing. After
all, he will not regret his good nature. The spirits reviving at the
unexpected invitation, the wall-flower will pour out her best
conversation, will dance her best, and will show him her gratitude in
some way or other.
"The formal bow at the end of a quadrille has gradually dwindled away.
At the end of every dance you offer your right arm to your partner, (if
by mistake you offer the left, you may turn the blunder into a pretty
compliment, by reminding her that is _le bras du coeur_, nearest the
heart, which if not anatomically true, is, at least, no worse than
talking of a sunset and sunrise), and walk half round the room with her.
You then ask her if she will take any refreshment, and, if she accepts,
you convey your precious allotment of tarlatane to the refreshment room
to be invigorated by an ice or negus, or what you will. It is judicious
not to linger too long in this room, if you are engaged to some one else
for the next dance. You will have the pleasure of hearing the music
begin in the distant ball room, and of reflecting that an expectant fair
is sighing for you like Marianna--
"He cometh not," she said.
She said, "I am a-weary a-weary,
I would I were in bed;"
which is not an unfrequent wish in some ball rooms. A well-bred girl,
too, will remember this, and always offer to return to the ball room,
however interesting the conversation.
"If you are prudent you will not dance every dance, nor in fact, much
more than half the number on the list; you will then escape that hateful
redness of face at the time, and that wearing fatigue the next day which
are among the worst features of a ball. Again, a gentleman must
remember that a ball is essentially a lady's party, and in their
presence he should be gentle and delicate almost to a fault, never
pushing his way, apologizing if he tread on a dress, still more so if he
tears it, begging pardon for any accidental annoyance he may occasion,
and addressing every body with a smile. But quite unpardonable are those
men whom one sometimes meets, who, standing in a door-way, talk and
laugh as they would in a barrack or college-rooms, always coarsely,
often indelicately. What must the state of their minds be, if the sight
of beauty, modesty, and virtue, does not awe them into silence! A man,
too, who strolls down the room with his head in the air, looking as if
there were not a creature there worth dancing with, is an ill-bred man,
so is he who looks bored; and worse than all is he who takes too much
champagne.
"If you are dancing with a young lady when the supper-room is opened,
you must ask her if she would like to go to supper, and if she says
'yes,' which, in 999 cases out of 1000, she certainly will do, you must
take her thither. If you are not dancing, the lady of the house will
probably recruit you to take in some chaperon. However little you may
relish this, you must not show your disgust. In fact, no man ought to be
disgusted at being able to do anything for a lady; it should be his
highest privilege, but it is not--in these modern unchivalrous
days--perhaps never was so. Having placed your partner then at the
supper-table, if there is room there, but if not at a side-table, or
even at none, you must be as active as Puck in attending to her wants,
and as women take as long to settle their fancies in edibles as in
love-matters, you had better at once get her something substantial,
chicken, _pâté de foie gras_, _mayonnaise_, or what you will. Afterwards
come jelly and trifle in due course.
"A young lady often goes down half-a-dozen times to the supper-room--it
is to be hoped not for the purpose of eating--but she should not do so
with the same partner more than once. While the lady is supping you must
stand by and talk to her, attending to every want, and the most you may
take yourself is a glass of champagne when you help her. You then lead
her up stairs again, and if you are not wanted there any more, you may
steal down and do a little quiet refreshment on your own account. As
long, however, as there are many ladies still at the table, you have no
right to begin. Nothing marks a man here so much as gorging at supper.
Balls are meant for dancing, not eating, and unfortunately too many
young men forget this in the present day. Lastly, be careful what you
say and how you dance after supper, even more so than before it, for if
you in the slightest way displease a young lady, she may fancy that you
have been too partial to strong fluids, and ladies never forgive that.
It would be hard on the lady of the house if every body leaving a large
ball thought it necessary to wish her good night. In quitting a small
dance, however, a parting bow is expected. It is then that the pretty
daughter of the house gives you that sweet smile of which you dream
afterwards in a gooseberry nightmare of 'tum-tum-tiddy-tum,' and waltzes
_à deux temps_, and masses of tarlatane and bright eyes, flushed cheeks
and dewy glances. See them to-morrow, my dear fellow, it will cure you.
"I think flirtation comes under the head of morals more than of manners;
still I may be allowed to say that ball room flirtation being more open
is less dangerous than any other. A prudent man will never presume on a
girl's liveliness or banter. No man of taste ever made an offer after
supper, and certainly nine-tenths of those who have done so have
regretted it at breakfast the next morning.
"At public balls there are generally either three or four stewards on
duty, or a professional master of ceremonies. These gentlemen having
made all the arrangements, order the dances, and have power to change
them if desirable. They also undertake to present young men to ladies,
but it must be understood that such an introduction is only available
for _one_ dance. It is better taste to ask the steward to introduce you
simply to a partner, than to point out any lady in particular. He will
probably then ask you if you have a choice, and if not, you may be
certain he will take you to an established wall-flower. Public balls are
scarcely enjoyable unless you have your own party.
"As the great charm of a ball is its perfect accord and harmony, all
altercations, loud talking, &c., are doubly ill-mannered in a ball room.
Very little suffices to disturb the peace of the whole company."
The same author gives some hints upon dancing which are so excellent
that I need make no apology for quoting them. He says:--
"'Thank you--aw--I do not dance,' is now a very common reply from a
well-dressed, handsome man, who is leaning against the side of the door,
to the anxious, heated hostess, who feels it incumbent on her to find a
partner for poor Miss Wallflower. I say the reply is not only common,
but even regarded as rather a fine one to make. In short, men of the
present day don't, won't, or can't dance; and you can't make them do it,
except by threatening to give them no supper. I really cannot discover
the reason for this aversion to an innocent amusement, for the apparent
purpose of enjoying which they have spent an hour and a half on their
toilet. There is something, indeed, in the heat of a ball room, there is
a great deal in the ridiculous smallness of the closets into which the
ball-giver crowds two hundred people, with a cruel indifference only
equalled by that of the black-hole of Calcutta, expecting them to enjoy
themselves, when the ladies' dresses are crushed and torn, and the
gentlemen, under the despotism of theirs, are melting away almost as
rapidly as the ices with which an occasional waiter has the
heartlessness to insult them. Then, again, it is a great nuisance to be
introduced to a succession of plain, uninteresting young women, of whose
tastes, modes of life, &c., you have not the slightest conception: who
may look gay, yet have never a thought beyond the curate and the parish,
or appear to be serious, while they understand nothing but the opera and
So-and-so's ball--in fact, to be in perpetual risk of either shocking
their prejudices, or plaguing them with subjects in which they can have
no possible interest; to take your chance whether they can dance at all,
and to know that when you have lighted on a real charmer, perhaps the
beauty of the room, she is only lent to you for that dance, and, when
that is over, and you have salaamed away again, you and she must remain
to one another as if you had never met; to feel, in short, that you must
destroy either your present comfort or future happiness, is certainly
sufficiently trying to keep a man close to the side-posts of the
doorway. But these are reasons which might keep him altogether from a
ball room, and, if he has these and other objections to dancing, he
certainly cannot be justified in coming to a place set apart for that
sole purpose.
"But I suspect that there are other reasons, and that, in most cases,
the individual can dance and does dance at times, but has now a vulgar
desire to be distinguished from the rest of his sex present, and to
appear indifferent to the pleasures of the evening. If this be his
laudable desire, however he might, at least, be consistent, and continue
to cling to his door-post, like St. Sebastian to his tree, and reply
throughout the evening, 'Thank you, I don't take refreshments;' 'Thank
you, I can't eat supper;' 'Thank you, I don't talk;' 'Thank you, I don't
drink champagne,'--for if a ball room be purgatory, what a demoniacal
conflict does a supper-room present; if young ladies be bad for the
heart, champagne is worse for the head.
"No, it is the will, not the power to dance which is wanting, and to
refuse to do so, unless for a really good reason, is not the part of a
well-bred man. To mar the pleasure of others is obviously bad manners,
and, though at the door-post, you may not be in the way, you may be
certain that there are some young ladies longing to dance, and
expecting to be asked, and that the hostess is vexed and annoyed by
seeing them fixed, like pictures, to the wall. It is therefore the duty
of every man who has no scruples about dancing, and purposes to appear
at balls, to learn how to dance.
"In the present day the art is much simplified, and if you can walk
through a quadrille, and perform a polka, waltz, or galop, you may often
dance a whole evening through. Of course, if you can add to these the
Lancers, Schottische, and Polka-Mazurka, you will have more variety, and
can be more generally agreeable. But if your master or mistress [a man
learns better from the former] has stuffed into your head some of the
three hundred dances which he tells you exist, the best thing you can do
is to forget them again. Whether right or wrong, the number of usual
dances is limited, and unusual ones should be very sparingly introduced
into a ball, for as few people know them, their dancing, on the one
hand, becomes a mere display, and, on the other, interrupts the
enjoyment of the majority.
"The quadrille is pronounced to be essentially a conversational dance,
but, inasmuch as the figures are perpetually calling you away from your
partner, the first necessity for dancing a quadrille is to be supplied
with a fund of small talk, in which you can go from subject to subject
like a bee from flower to flower. The next point is to carry yourself
uprightly. Time was when--as in the days of the _minuet de la cour_--the
carriage constituted the dance. This is still the case with the
quadrille, in which, even if ignorant of the figures, you may acquit
yourself well by a calm, graceful carriage. After all, the most
important figure is the _smile_, and the feet may be left to their fate,
if we know what to do with our hands; of which I may observe that they
should never be pocketed.
"The smile is essential. A dance is supposed to amuse, and nothing is
more out of place in it than a gloomy scowl, unless it be an
ill-tempered frown. The gaiety of a dance is more essential than the
accuracy of its figures, and if you feel none yourself, you may, at
least, look pleased by that of those around you. A defiant manner is
equally obnoxious. An acquaintance of mine always gives me the
impression, when he advances in _l'été_, that he is about to box the
lady who comes to meet him. But the most objectionable of all is the
supercilious manner. Dear me, if you really think you do your partner an
honor in dancing with her, you should, at least, remember that your
condescension is annulled by the manner in which you treat her.
"A lady--beautiful word!--is a delicate creature, one who should be
reverenced and delicately treated. It is, therefore, unpardonable to
rush about in a quadrille, to catch hold of a lady's hand as if it were
a door-handle, or to drag her furiously across the room, as if you were
Bluebeard and she Fatima, with the mysterious closet opposite to you.
This _brusque_ violent style of dancing is, unfortunately, common, but
immediately stamps a man. Though I would not have you wear a perpetual
simper, you should certainly smile when you take a lady's hand, and the
old custom of bowing in doing so, is one that we may regret; for, does
she not confer an honor on us by the action? To squeeze it, on the
other hand, is a gross familiarity, for which you would deserve to be
kicked out of the room.
"'Steps,' as the _chasser_ of the quadrille is called, belong to a past
age, and even ladies are now content to walk through a quadrille. It is,
however, necessary to keep time with the music, the great object being
the general harmony. To preserve this, it is also advisable, where the
quadrille, as is now generally the case, is danced by two long lines of
couples down the room, that in _l'été_, and other figures, in which a
gentleman and lady advance alone to meet one another, none but gentlemen
should advance from the one side, and, therefore, none but ladies from
the other.
"Dancing masters find it convenient to introduce new figures, and the
fashion of _La Trénise_ and the _Grande Ronde_ is repeatedly changing.
It is wise to know the last mode, but not to insist on dancing it. A
quadrille cannot go on evenly if any confusion arises from the
ignorance, obstinacy, or inattention of any one of the dancers. It is
therefore useful to know every way in which a figure may be danced, and
to take your cue from the others. It is amusing, however, to find how
even such a trifle as a choice of figures in a quadrille can help to
mark caste, and give a handle for supercilious sneers. Jones, the other
day, was protesting that the Browns were 'vulgar.' 'Why so? they are
well-bred.' 'Yes, so they are.' 'They are well-informed.' 'Certainly.'
'They are polite, speak good English, dress quietly and well, are
graceful and even elegant.' 'I grant you all that.' 'Then what fault can
you find with them?' 'My dear fellow, they are people who gallop round
in the last figure of a quadrille,' he replied, triumphantly. But to a
certain extent Jones is right. Where a choice is given, the man of taste
will always select for a quadrille (as it is a conversational dance) the
quieter mode of performing a figure, and so the Browns, if perfect in
other respects, at least were wanting in taste. There is one alteration
lately introduced from France, which I sincerely trust, will be
universally accepted. The farce of that degrading little performance
called 'setting'--where you dance before your partner somewhat like Man
Friday before Robinson Crusoe, and then as if your feelings were
overcome, seize her hands and whirl her round--has been finally
abolished by a decree of Fashion, and thus more opportunity is given for
conversation, and in a crowded room you have no occasion to crush
yourself and partner between the couples on each side of you.
"I do not attempt to deny that the quadrille, as now walked, is
ridiculous; the figures, which might be graceful, if performed in a
lively manner, have entirely lost their spirit, and are become a
burlesque of dancing; but, at the same time, it is a most valuable
dance. Old and young, stout and thin, good dancers and bad, lazy and
active, stupid and clever, married and single, can all join in it, and
have not only an excuse and opportunity for _tête-à-tête_ conversation,
which is decidedly the easiest, but find encouragement in the music, and
in some cases convenient breaks in the necessity of dancing. A person of
few ideas has time to collect them while the partner is performing, and
one of many can bring them out with double effect. Lastly, if you wish
to be polite or friendly to an acquaintance who dances atrociously, you
can select a quadrille for him or her, as the case may be.
"Very different in object and principle are the so-called round dances,
and there are great limitations as to those who should join in them.
Here the intention is to enjoy a peculiar physical movement under
peculiar conditions, and the conversation during the intervals of rest
is only a secondary object. These dances demand activity and lightness,
and should therefore be, as a rule, confined to the young. An old man
sacrifices all his dignity in a polka, and an old woman is ridiculous in
a waltz. Corpulency, too, is generally a great impediment, though some
stout people prove to be the lightest dancers.
"The morality of round dances scarcely comes within my province. They
certainly can be made very indelicate; so can any dance, and the French
_cancan_ proves that the quadrille is no safer in this respect than the
waltz. But it is a gross insult to our daughters and sisters to suppose
them capable of any but the most innocent and purest enjoyment in the
dance, while of our young men I will say, that to the pure all things
are pure. Those who see harm in it, are those in whose mind evil
thoughts must have arisen. _Honi soit qui mal y pense._ Those who rail
against dancing are perhaps not aware that they do but follow in the
steps of the Romish Church. In many parts of the Continent, bishops who
have never danced in their lives, and perhaps never seen a dance, have
laid a ban of excommunication on waltzing. A story was told to me in
Normandy of the worthy Bishop of Bayeux, one of this number. A priest
of his diocese petitioned him to put down round dances. 'I know nothing
about them,' replied the prelate, 'I have never seen a waltz.' Upon this
the younger ecclesiastic attempted to explain what it was and wherein
the danger lay, but the bishop could not see it. 'Will Monseigneur
permit me to show him?' asked the priest. 'Certainly. My chaplain here
appears to understand the subject; let me see you two waltz.' How the
reverend gentlemen came to know so much about it does not appear, but
they certainly danced a polka, a gallop, and a _trois-temps_ waltz. 'All
these seem harmless enough.' 'Oh! but Monseigneur has not seen the
worst;' and thereupon the two gentlemen proceeded to flounder through a
_valse à deux-temps_. They must have murdered it terribly, for they were
not half round the room when his Lordship cried out, 'Enough, enough,
that is atrocious, and deserves excommunication.' Accordingly this waltz
was forbid, while the other dances were allowed. I was at a public ball
at Caen soon after this occurrence, and was amused to find the
_trois-temps_ danced with a peculiar shuffle, by way of compromise
between conscience and pleasure.
"There are people in this country whose logic is as good as that of the
Bishop of Bayeux, but I confess my inability to understand it. If there
is impropriety in round dances, there is the same in all. But to the
waltz, which poets have praised and preachers denounced. The French,
with all their love of danger, waltz atrociously, the English but little
better; the Germans and Russians alone understand it. I could rave
through three pages about the innocent enjoyment of a good waltz, its
grace and beauty, but I will be practical instead, and give you a few
hints on the subject.
"The position is the most important point. The lady and gentleman before
starting should stand exactly opposite to one another, quite upright,
and not, as is so common, painfully close to one another. If the man's
hand be placed where it should be, at the centre of the lady's waist,
and not all round it, he will have as firm a hold and not be obliged to
stoop, or bend to his right. The lady's head should then be turned a
little towards her left shoulder, and her partner's somewhat less
towards his right, in order to preserve the proper balance. Nothing can
be more atrocious than to see a lady lay her head on her partner's
shoulder; but, on the other hand, she will not dance well, if she turns
it in the opposite direction. The lady again should throw her head and
shoulders a little back, and the man lean a very little forward.
"The position having been gained, the step is the next question. In
Germany the rapidity of the waltz is very great, but it is rendered
elegant by slackening the pace every now and then, and thus giving a
_crescendo_ and _decrescendo_ time to the movement. The Russian men
undertake to perform in waltzing the same feat as the Austrians in
riding, and will dance round the room with a glass of champagne in the
left hand without spilling a drop. This evenness in waltzing is
certainly very graceful, but can only be attained by a long sliding
step, which is little practised where the rooms are small, and people,
not understanding the real pleasure of dancing well, insist on dancing
all at the same time. In Germany they are so alive to the necessity of
ample space, that in large balls a rope is drawn across the room; its
two ends are held by the masters of the ceremonies _pro-tem._, and as
one couple stops and retires, another is allowed to pass under the rope
and take its place. But then in Germany they dance for the dancing's
sake. However this may be, an even motion is very desirable, and all the
abominations which militate against it, such as hop-waltzes, the
Schottische, and ridiculous _Varsovienne_, are justly put down in good
society. The pace, again, should not be sufficiently rapid to endanger
other couples. It is the gentleman's duty to _steer_, and in crowded
rooms nothing is more trying. He must keep his eyes open and turn them
in every direction, if he would not risk a collision, and the chance of
a fall, or what is as bad, the infliction of a wound on his partner's
arm. I have seen a lady's arm cut open in such a collision by the
bracelet of that of another lady; and the sight is by no means a
pleasant one in a ball room, to say nothing of a new dress covered in a
moment with blood.
"The consequences of violent dancing may be really serious. Not only do
delicate girls bring on, thereby, a violent palpitation of the heart,
and their partners appear in a most disagreeable condition of solution,
but dangerous falls ensue from it. I have known instances of a lady's
head being laid open, and a gentleman's foot being broken in such a
fall, resulting, poor fellow! in lameness for life.
"It is, perhaps, useless to recommend flat-foot waltzing in this
country, where ladies allow themselves to be almost hugged by their
partners, and where men think it necessary to lift a lady almost off the
ground, but I am persuaded that if it were introduced, the outcry
against the impropriety of waltzing would soon cease. Nothing can be
more delicate than the way in which a German holds his partner. It is
impossible to dance on the flat foot unless the lady and gentleman are
quite free of one another. His hand, therefore, goes no further round
her waist than to the hooks and eyes of her dress, hers, no higher than
to his elbow. Thus danced, the waltz is smooth, graceful, and delicate,
and we could never in Germany complain of our daughter's languishing on
a young man's shoulder. On the other hand, nothing is more graceless and
absurd than to see a man waltzing on the tips of his toes, lifting his
partner off the ground, or twirling round and round with her like the
figures on a street organ. The test of waltzing in time is to be able to
stamp the time with the left foot. A good flat-foot waltzer can dance on
one foot as well as on two, but I would not advise him to try it in
public, lest, like Mr. Rarey's horse on three legs, he should come to
the ground in a luckless moment. The legs should be very little bent in
dancing, the body still less so. I do not know whether it be worse to
see a man _sit down_ in a waltz, or to find him with his head poked
forward over your young wife's shoulder, hot, red, wild, and in far too
close proximity to the partner of your bosom, whom he makes literally
the partner of his own.
"The 'Lancers' are a revival, after many long years, and, perhaps, we
may soon have a drawing-room adaptation of the Morris-dance.
"The only advice, therefore, which it is necessary to give to those who
wish to dance the polka may be summed up in one word, 'don't.' Not so
with the galop. The remarks as to the position in waltzing apply to all
round dances, and there is, therefore, little to add with regard to the
galop, except that it is a great mistake to suppose it to be a rapid
dance. It should be danced as slowly as possible. It will then be more
graceful and less fatiguing. It is danced quite slowly in Germany and on
the flat foot. The polka-mazurka is still much danced, and is certainly
very graceful. The remarks on the quadrille apply equally to the
lancers, which are great favorites, and threaten to take the place of
the former. The schottische, hop-waltz, redowa, varsovienne, cellarius,
and so forth, have had their day, and are no longer danced in good
society.
"The calm ease which marks the man of good taste, makes even the
swiftest dances graceful and agreeable. Vehemence may be excused at an
election, but not in a ball room. I once asked a beautiful and very
clever young lady how she, who seemed to pass her life with books,
managed to dance so well. 'I enjoy it,' she replied; 'and when I dance I
give my _whole mind_ to it.' And she was quite right. Whatever is worth
doing at all, is worth doing well; and if it is not beneath your dignity
to dance, it is not unworthy of your mind to give itself, for the time,
wholly up to it. You will never enjoy dancing till you do it well; and,
if you do not enjoy it, it is folly to dance. But, in reality, dancing,
if it be a mere trifle, is one to which great minds have not been
ashamed to stoop. Locke, for instance, has written on its utility, and
speaks of it as manly, which was certainly not Michal's opinion, when
she looked out of the window and saw her lord and master dancing and
playing. Plato recommended it, and Socrates learned the Athenian polka
of the day when quite an old gentleman, and liked it very much. Some one
has even gone the length of calling it 'the logic of the body;' and
Addison defends himself for making it the subject of a disquisition."
CHAPTER VII.
DRESS.
Between the sloven and the coxcomb there is generally a competition
which shall be the more contemptible: the one in the total neglect of
every thing which might make his appearance in public supportable, and
the other in the cultivation of every superfluous ornament. The former
offends by his negligence and dirt, and the latter by his finery and
perfumery. Each entertains a supreme contempt for the other, and while
both are right in their opinion, both are wrong in their practice. It is
not in either extreme that the man of real elegance and refinement will
be shown, but in the happy medium which allows taste and judgment to
preside over the wardrobe and toilet-table, while it prevents too great
an attention to either, and never allows personal appearance to become
the leading object of life.
The French have a proverb, "It is not the cowl which makes the monk,"
and it might be said with equal truth, "It is not the dress which makes
the gentleman," yet, as the monk is known abroad by his cowl, so the
true gentleman will let the refinement of his mind and education be seen
in his dress.
The first rule for the guidance of a man, in matters of dress, should
be, "Let the dress suit the occasion." It is as absurd for a man to go
into the street in the morning with his dress-coat, white kid gloves,
and dancing-boots, as it would be for a lady to promenade the
fashionable streets, in full evening dress, or for the same man to
present himself in the ball-room with heavy walking-boots, a great coat,
and riding-cap.
It is true that there is little opportunity for a gentleman to exercise
his taste for coloring, in the black and white dress which fashion so
imperatively declares to be the proper dress for a _dress_ occasion. He
may indulge in light clothes in the street during the warm months of the
year, but for the ball or evening party, black and white are the only
colors (or no colors) admissible, and in the midst of the gay dresses of
the ladies, the unfortunate man in his sombre dress appears like a demon
who has found his way into Paradise among the angels. _N'importe!_ Men
should be useful to the women, and how can they be better employed than
acting as a foil for their loveliness of face and dress!
Notwithstanding the dress, however, a man may make himself agreeable,
even in the earthly Paradise, a ball-room. He can rise above the
mourning of his coat, to the joyousness of the occasion, and make
himself valued for himself, not his dress. He can make himself admired
for his wit, not his toilette; his elegance and refinement, not the
price of his clothes.
There is another good rule for the dressing-room: While you are engaged
in dressing give your whole attention to it. See that every detail is
perfect, and that each article is neatly arranged. From the curl of
your hair to the tip of your boot, let all be perfect in its make and
arrangement, but, as soon as you have left your mirror, forget your
dress. Nothing betokens the coxcomb more decidedly than to see a man
always fussing about his dress, pulling down his wristbands, playing
with his moustache, pulling up his shirt collar, or arranging the bow of
his cravat. Once dressed, do not attempt to alter any part of your
costume until you are again in the dressing-room.
In a gentleman's dress any attempt to be conspicuous is in excessively
bad taste. If you are wealthy, let the luxury of your dress consist in
the fine quality of each article, and in the spotless purity of gloves
and linen, but never wear much jewelry or any article conspicuous on
account of its money value. Simplicity should always preside over the
gentleman's wardrobe.
Follow fashion as far as is necessary to avoid eccentricity or oddity in
your costume, but avoid the extreme of the prevailing _mode_. If coats
are worn long, yours need not sweep the ground, if they are loose, yours
may still have some fitness for your figure; if pantaloons are cut large
over the boot, yours need not cover the whole foot, if they are tight,
you may still take room to walk. Above all, let your figure and style of
face have some weight in deciding how far you are to follow fashion. For
a very tall man to wear a high, narrow-brimmed hat, long-tailed coat,
and tight pantaloons, with a pointed beard and hair brushed up from the
forehead, is not more absurd than for a short, fat man, to promenade the
street in a low, broad-brimmed hat, loose coat and pants, and the
latter made of large plaid material, and yet burlesques quite as broad
may be met with every day.
An English writer, ridiculing the whims of Fashion, says:--
"To be in the fashion, an Englishman must wear six pairs of gloves in a
day:
"In the morning, he must drive his hunting wagon in reindeer gloves.
"In hunting, he must wear gloves of chamois skin.
"To enter London in his tilbury, beaver skin gloves.
"Later in the day, to promenade in Hyde Park, colored kid gloves, dark.
"When he dines out, colored kid gloves, light.
"For the ball-room, white kid gloves."
Thus his yearly bill for gloves alone will amount to a most extravagant
sum.
In order to merit the appellation of a well-dressed man, you must pay
attention, not only to the more prominent articles of your wardrobe,
coat, pants, and vest, but to the more minute details. A shirtfront
which fits badly, a pair of wristbands too wide or too narrow, a badly
brushed hat, a shabby pair of gloves, or an ill-fitting boot, will spoil
the most elaborate costume. Purity of skin, teeth, nails; well brushed
hair; linen fresh and snowy white, will make clothes of the coarsest
material, if well made, look more elegant, than the finest material of
cloth, if these details are neglected.
Frequent bathing, careful attention to the teeth, nails, ears, and hair,
are indispensable to a finished toilette.
Use but very little perfume, much of it is in bad taste.
Let your hair, beard, and moustache, be always perfectly smooth, well
arranged, and scrupulously clean.
It is better to clean the teeth with a piece of sponge, or very soft
brush, than with a stiff brush, and there is no dentifrice so good as
White Castile Soap.
Wear always gloves and boots, which fit well and are fresh and whole.
Soiled or torn gloves and boots ruin a costume otherwise faultless.
Extreme propriety should be observed in dress. Be careful to dress
according to your means. Too great saving is meanness, too great expense
is extravagance.
A young man may follow the fashion farther than a middle-aged or elderly
man, but let him avoid going to the extreme of the mode, if he would not
be taken for an empty headed fop.
It is best to employ a good tailor, as a suit of coarse broadcloth which
fits you perfectly, and is stylish in cut, will make a more elegant
dress than the finest material badly made.
Avoid eccentricity; it marks, not the man of genius, but the fool.
A well brushed hat, and glossy boots must be always worn in the street.
White gloves are the only ones to be worn with full dress.
A snuff box, watch, studs, sleeve-buttons, watch-chain, and one ring are
all the jewelry a well-dressed man can wear.
An English author, in a recent work, gives the following rules for a
gentleman's dress:
"The best bath for general purposes, and one which can do little harm,
and almost always some good, is a sponge bath. It should consist of a
large, flat metal basin, some four feet in diameter, filled with cold
water. Such a vessel may be bought for about fifteen shillings. A large,
coarse sponge--the coarser the better--will cost another five or seven
shillings, and a few Turkish towels complete the 'properties.' The water
should be plentiful and fresh, that is, brought up a little while before
the bath is to be used; not placed over night in the bed-room. Let us
wash and be merry, for we know not how soon the supply of that precious
article which here costs nothing may be cut off. In many continental
towns they buy their water, and on a protracted sea voyage the ration is
often reduced to half a pint a day _for all purposes_, so that a pint
per diem is considered luxurious. Sea-water, we may here observe, does
not cleanse, and a sensible man who bathes in the sea will take a bath
of pure water immediately after it. This practice is shamefully
neglected, and I am inclined to think that in many cases a sea-bath will
do more harm than good without it, but, if followed by a fresh bath,
cannot but be advantageous.
"Taking the sponge bath as the best for ordinary purposes, we must point
out some rules in its use. The sponge being nearly a foot in length, and
six inches broad, must be allowed to fill completely with water, and the
part of the body which should be first attacked is the stomach. It is
there that the most heat has collected during the night, and the
application of cold water quickens the circulation at once, and sends
the blood which has been employed in digestion round the whole body. The
head should next be soused, unless the person be of full habit, when the
head should be attacked before the feet touch the cold water at all.
Some persons use a small hand shower bath, which is less powerful than
the common shower bath, and does almost as much good. The use of soap in
the morning bath is an open question. I confess a preference for a rough
towel, or a hair glove. Brummell patronized the latter, and applied it
for nearly a quarter of an hour every morning.
"The ancients followed up the bath by anointing the body, and athletic
exercises. The former is a mistake; the latter, an excellent practice,
shamefully neglected in the present day. It would conduce much to health
and strength if every morning toilet comprised the vigorous use of the
dumb-bells, or, still better, the exercise of the arms without them. The
best plan of all is, to choose some object in your bed-room on which to
vent your hatred, and box at it violently for some ten minutes, till the
perspiration covers you. The sponge must then be again applied to the
whole body. It is very desirable to remain without clothing as long as
possible, and I should therefore recommend that every part of the toilet
which can conveniently be performed without dressing, should be so.
"The next duty, then, must be to clean the TEETH. Dentists are modern
inquisitors, but their torture-rooms are meant only for the foolish.
Everybody is born with good teeth, and everybody might keep them good by
a proper diet, and the avoidance of sweets and smoking. Of the two the
former are, perhaps, the more dangerous. Nothing ruins the teeth so soon
as sugar in one's tea, and highly sweetened tarts and puddings, and as
it is _le premier pas qui coûte_, these should be particularly avoided
in childhood. When the teeth attain their full growth and strength it
takes much more to destroy either their enamel or their substance.
"It is upon the teeth that the effects of excess are first seen, and it
is upon the teeth that the odor of the breath depends. If I may not say
that it is a Christian duty to keep your teeth clean, I may, at least,
remind you that you cannot be thoroughly agreeable without doing so. Let
words be what they may, if they come with an impure odor, they cannot
please. The butterfly loves the scent of the rose more than its honey.
"The teeth should be well rubbed inside as well as outside, and the back
teeth even more than the front. The mouth should then be rinsed, if not
seven times, according to the Hindu legislator, at least several times,
with fresh, cold water. This same process should be repeated several
times a day, since eating, smoking, and so forth, naturally render the
teeth and mouth dirty more or less, and nothing can be so offensive,
particularly to ladies, whose sense of smell seems to be keener than
that of the other sex, and who can detect at your first approach whether
you have been drinking or smoking. But, if only for your own comfort,
you should brush your teeth both morning and evening, which is quite
requisite for the preservation of their soundness and color; while, if
you are to mingle with others, they should be brushed, or, at least,
the mouth well rinsed after every meal, still more after smoking, or
drinking wine, beer, or spirits. No amount of general attractiveness can
compensate for an offensive odor in the breath; and none of the senses
is so fine a gentleman, none so unforgiving, if offended, as that of
smell.
"Strict attention must be paid to the condition of the nails, and that
both as regards cleaning and cutting. The former is best done with a
liberal supply of soap on a small nail-brush, which should be used
before every meal, if you would not injure your neighbor's appetite.
While the hand is still moist, the point of a small pen-knife or pair of
stumpy nail-scissors should be passed under the nails so as to remove
every vestige of dirt; the skin should be pushed down with a towel, that
the white half-moon may be seen, and the finer skin removed with the
knife or scissors. Occasionally the edges of the nails should be filed,
and the hard skin which forms round the corners of them cut away. The
important point in cutting the nails is to preserve the beauty of their
shape. That beauty, even in details, is worth preserving, I have already
remarked, and we may study it as much in paring our nails, as in the
grace of our attitudes, or any other point. The shape, then, of the nail
should approach, as nearly as possible, to the oblong. The length of the
nail is an open question. Let it be often cut, but always long, in my
opinion. Above all, let it be well cut, and _never_ bitten.
"Perhaps you tell me these are childish details. Details, yes, but not
childish. The attention to details is the true sign of a great mind, and
he who can in necessity consider the smallest, is the same man who can
compass the largest subjects. Is not life made up of details? Must not
the artist who has conceived a picture, descend from the dream of his
mind to mix colors on a palette? Must not the great commander who is
bowling down nations and setting up monarchies care for the health and
comfort, the bread and beef of each individual soldier? I have often
seen a great poet, whom I knew personally, counting on his fingers the
feet of his verses, and fretting with anything but poetic language,
because he could not get his sense into as many syllables. What if his
nails were dirty? Let genius talk of abstract beauty, and philosophers
dogmatize on order. If they do not keep their nails clean, I shall call
them both charlatans. The man who really loves beauty will cultivate it
in everything around him. The man who upholds order is not conscientious
if he cannot observe it in his nails. The great mind can afford to
descend to details; it is only the weak mind that fears to be narrowed
by them. When Napoleon was at Munich he declined the grand four-poster
of the Witelsbach family, and slept, as usual, in his little camp-bed.
The power to be little is a proof of greatness.
"For the hands, ears, and neck we want something more than the bath,
and, as these parts are exposed and really lodge fugitive pollutions, we
cannot use too much soap, or give too much trouble to their complete
purification. Nothing is lovelier than a woman's small, white,
shell-like ear; few things reconcile us better to earth than the cold
hand and warm heart of a friend; but, to complete the charm, the hand
should be both clean and soft. Warm water, a liberal use of the
nail-brush, and no stint of soap, produce this amenity far more
effectually than honey, cold cream, and almond paste. Of wearing gloves
I shall speak elsewhere, but for weak people who are troubled with
chilblains, they are indispensable all the year round. I will add a good
prescription for the cure of chilblains, which are both a disfigurement,
and one of the _petites misères_ of human life.
"'Roll the fingers in linen bandages, sew them up well, and dip them
twice or thrice a day in a mixture, consisting of half a fluid ounce of
tincture of capsicum, and a fluid ounce of tincture of opium.'
"The person who invented razors libelled Nature, and added a fresh
misery to the days of man.
"Whatever _Punch_ may say, the moustache and beard movement is one in
the right direction, proving that men are beginning to appreciate beauty
and to acknowledge that Nature is the best valet. But it is very amusing
to hear men excusing their vanity on the plea of health, and find them
indulging in the hideous 'Newgate frill' as a kind of compromise between
the beard and the razor. There was a time when it was thought a
presumption and vanity to wear one's own hair instead of the frightful
elaborations of the wig-makers, and the false curls which Sir Godfrey
Kneller did his best to make graceful on canvas. Who knows that at some
future age some _Punch_ of the twenty-first century may not ridicule the
wearing of one's own teeth instead of the dentist's? At any rate Nature
knows best, and no man need be ashamed of showing his manhood in the
hair of his face. Of razors and shaving, therefore, I shall only speak
from necessity, because, until everybody is sensible on this point, they
will still be used.
"Napoleon shaved himself. 'A born king,' said he, 'has another to shave
him. A made king can use his own razor.' But the war he made on his chin
was very different to that he made on foreign potentates. He took a very
long time to effect it, talking between whiles to his hangers-on. The
great man, however, was right, and every sensible man will shave
himself, if only as an exercise of character, for a man should learn to
live, in every detail without assistance. Moreover, in most cases, we
shave ourselves better than barbers can do. If we shave at all, we
should do it thoroughly, and every morning. Nothing, except a frown and
a hay-fever, makes the face look so unlovely as a chin covered with
short stubble. The chief requirements are hot water, a large, soft brush
of badger hair, a good razor, soft soap that will not dry rapidly, and a
steady hand. Cheap razors are a fallacy. They soon lose their edge, and
no amount of stropping will restore it. A good razor needs no strop. If
you can afford it, you should have a case of seven razors, one for each
day of the week, so that no one shall be too much used. There are now
much used packets of papers of a certain kind on which to wipe the
razor, and which keep its edge keen, and are a substitute for the strop.
"Beards, moustaches, and whiskers, have always been most important
additions to the face. In the present day literary men are much given to
their growth, and in that respect show at once their taste and their
vanity. Let no man be ashamed of his beard, if it be well kept and not
fantastically cut. The moustache should be kept within limits. The
Hungarians wear it so long that they can tie the ends round their heads.
The style of the beard should be adopted to suit the face. A broad face
should wear a large, full one; a long face is improved by a
sharp-pointed one. Taylor, the water poet, wrote verses on the various
styles, and they are almost numberless. The chief point is to keep the
beard well-combed and in neat trim.
"As to whiskers, it is not every man who can achieve a pair of full
length. There is certainly a great vanity about them, but it may be
generally said that foppishness should be avoided in this as in most
other points. Above all, the whiskers should never be curled, nor pulled
out to an absurd length. Still worse is it to cut them close with the
scissors. The moustache should be neat and not too large, and such
fopperies as cutting the points thereof, or twisting them up to the
fineness of needles--though patronized by the Emperor of the French--are
decidedly a proof of vanity. If a man wear the hair on his face which
nature has given him, in the manner that nature distributes it, keeps it
clean, and prevents its overgrowth, he cannot do wrong. All
extravagances are vulgar, because they are evidence of a pretence to
being better than you are; but a single extravagance unsupported is
perhaps worse than a number together, which have at least the merit of
consistency. If you copy puppies in the half-yard of whisker, you should
have their dress and their manner too, if you would not appear doubly
absurd.
"The same remarks apply to the arrangement of the hair in men, which
should be as simple and as natural as possible, but at the same time a
little may be granted to beauty and the requirements of the face. For my
part I can see nothing unmanly in wearing long hair, though undoubtedly
it is inconvenient and a temptation to vanity, while its arrangement
would demand an amount of time and attention which is unworthy of a man.
But every nation and every age has had a different custom in this
respect, and to this day even in Europe the hair is sometimes worn long.
The German student is particularly partial to hyacinthine locks curling
over a black velvet coat; and the peasant of Brittany looks very
handsome, if not always clean, with his love-locks hanging straight down
under a broad cavalier hat. Religion has generally taken up the matter
severely. The old fathers preached and railed against wigs, the
Calvinists raised an insurrection in Bordeaux on the same account, and
English Roundheads consigned to an unmentionable place every man who
allowed his hair to grow according to nature. The Romans condemned
tresses as unmanly, and in France in the middle ages the privilege to
wear them was confined to royalty. Our modern custom was a revival of
the French revolution, so that in this respect we are now republican as
well as puritanical.
"If we conform to fashion we should at least make the best of it, and
since the main advantage of short hair is its neatness, we should take
care to keep ours neat. This should be done first by frequent visits to
the barber, for if the hair is to be short at all it should be very
short, and nothing looks more untidy than long, stiff, uncurled masses
sticking out over the ears. If it curls naturally so much the better,
but if not it will be easier to keep in order. The next point is to wash
the head every morning, which, when once habitual, is a great
preservative against cold. A pair of large brushes, hard or soft, as
your case requires, should be used, not to hammer the head with, but to
pass up under the hair so as to reach the roots. As to pomatum,
Macassar, and other inventions of the hair-dresser, I have only to say
that, if used at all, it should be in moderation, and never sufficiently
to make their scent perceptible in company. Of course the arrangement
will be a matter of individual taste, but as the middle of the hair is
the natural place for a parting, it is rather a silly prejudice to think
a man vain who parts his hair in the centre. He is less blamable than
one who is too lazy to part it at all, and has always the appearance of
having just got up.
"Of wigs and false hair, the subject of satires and sermons since the
days of the Roman Emperors, I shall say nothing here except that they
are a practical falsehood which may sometimes be necessary, but is
rarely successful. For my part I prefer the snows of life's winter to
the best made peruke, and even a bald head to an inferior wig.
"When gentlemen wore armor, and disdained the use of their legs, an
esquire was a necessity; and we can understand that, in the days of the
Beaux, the word "gentleman" meant a man and his valet. I am glad to say
that in the present day it only takes one man to make a gentleman, or,
at most, a man and a ninth--that is, including the tailor. It is an
excellent thing for the character to be neat and orderly, and, if a man
neglects to be so in his room, he is open to the same temptation sooner
or later in his person. A dressing-case is, therefore, a desideratum. A
closet to hang up cloth clothes, which should never be folded, and a
small dressing-room next to the bed-room, are not so easily attainable.
But the man who throws his clothes about the room, a boot in one corner,
a cravat in another, and his brushes anywhere, is not a man of good
habits. The spirit of order should extend to everything about him.
"This brings me to speak of certain necessities of dress; the first of
which I shall take is appropriateness. The age of the individual is an
important consideration in this respect; and a man of sixty is as absurd
in the style of nineteen as a young man in the high cravat of Brummell's
day. I know a gallant colonel who is master of the ceremonies in a gay
watering-place, and who, afraid of the prim old-fashioned _tournure_ of
his _confrères_ in similar localities, is to be seen, though his hair is
gray and his age not under five-and-sixty, in a light cut-away, the
'peg-top' continuations, and a turned-down collar. It may be what
younger blades will wear when they reach his age, but in the present day
the effect is ridiculous. We may, therefore, give as a general rule,
that after the turning-point of life a man should eschew the changes of
fashion in his own attire, while he avoids complaining of it in the
young. In the latter, on the other hand, the observance of these changes
must depend partly on his taste and partly on his position. If wise, he
will adopt with alacrity any new fashions which improve the grace, the
ease, the healthfulness, and the convenience of his garments. He will
be glad of greater freedom in the cut of his cloth clothes, of boots
with elastic sides instead of troublesome buttons or laces, of the
privilege to turn down his collar, and so forth, while he will avoid as
extravagant, elaborate shirt-fronts, gold bindings on the waistcoat, and
expensive buttons. On the other hand, whatever his age, he will have
some respect to his profession and position in society. He will remember
how much the appearance of the man aids a judgment of his character, and
this test, which has often been cried down, is in reality no bad one;
for a man who does not dress appropriately evinces a want of what is
most necessary to professional men--tact and discretion.
"Position in society demands appropriateness. Well knowing the worldly
value of a good coat, I would yet never recommend a man of limited means
to aspire to a fashionable appearance. In the first place, he becomes
thereby a walking falsehood; in the second, he cannot, without running
into debt, which is another term for dishonesty, maintain the style he
has adopted. As he cannot afford to change his suits as rapidly as
fashion alters, he must avoid following it in varying details. He will
rush into wide sleeves one month, in the hope of being fashionable, and
before his coat is worn out, the next month will bring in a narrow
sleeve. We cannot, unfortunately, like Samuel Pepys, take a long cloak
now-a-days to the tailor's, to be cut into a short one, 'long cloaks
being now quite out,' as he tells us. Even when there is no poverty in
the case, our position must not be forgotten. The tradesman will win
neither customers nor friends by adorning himself in the mode of the
club-lounger, and the clerk, or commercial traveler, who dresses
fashionably, lays himself open to inquiries as to his antecedents, which
he may not care to have investigated. In general, it may be said that
there is vulgarity in dressing like those of a class above us, since it
must be taken as a proof of pretension.
"As it is bad taste to flaunt the airs of the town among the
provincials, who know nothing of them, it is worse taste to display the
dress of a city in the quiet haunts of the rustics. The law, that all
attempts at distinction by means of dress is vulgar and pretentious,
would be sufficient argument against wearing city fashions in the
country.
"While in most cases a rougher and easier mode of dress is both
admissible and desirable in the country, there are many occasions of
country visiting where a town man finds it difficult to decide. It is
almost peculiar to the country to unite the amusements of the daytime
with those of the evening; of the open air with those of the
drawing-room. Thus, in the summer, when the days are long, you will be
asked to a pic-nic or an archery party, which will wind up with dancing
in-doors, and may even assume the character of a ball. If you are aware
of this beforehand, it will always be safe to send your evening dress to
your host's house, and you will learn from the servants whether others
have done the same, and whether, therefore, you will not be singular in
asking leave to change your costume. But if you are ignorant how the day
is to end, you must be guided partly by the hour of invitation, and
partly by the extent of your intimacy with the family. I have actually
known gentlemen arrive at a large pic-nic at mid-day in complete evening
dress, and pitied them with all my heart, compelled as they were to
suffer, in tight black clothes, under a hot sun for eight hours, and
dance after all in the same dress. On the other hand, if you are asked
to come an hour or two before sunset, after six in summer, in the autumn
after five, you cannot err by appearing in evening dress. It is always
taken as a compliment to do so, and if your acquaintance with your
hostess is slight, it would be almost a familiarity to do otherwise. In
any case you desire to avoid singularity, so that if you can discover
what others who are invited intend to wear, you can always decide on
your own attire. In Europe there is a convenient rule for these matters;
never appear after four in the afternoon in morning dress; but then gray
trousers are there allowed instead of black, and white waistcoats are
still worn in the evening. At any rate, it is possible to effect a
compromise between the two styles of costume, and if you are likely to
be called upon to dance in the evening, it will be well to wear thin
boots, a black frock-coat, and a small black neck-tie, and to put a pair
of clean white gloves in your pocket. You will thus be at least less
conspicuous in the dancing-room than in a light tweed suit.
"Not so the distinction to be made according to size. As a rule, tall
men require long clothes--some few perhaps even in the nurse's sense of
those words--and short men short clothes. On the other hand, Falstaff
should beware of Jenny Wren coats and affect ample wrappers, while Peter
Schlemihl, and the whole race of thin men, must eschew looseness as
much in their garments as their morals.
"Lastly we come to what is appropriate to different occasions, and as
this is an important subject, I shall treat of it separately. For the
present it is sufficient to point out that, while every man should avoid
not only extravagance, but even brilliance of dress on ordinary
occasions, there are some on which he may and ought to pay more
attention to his toilet, and attempt to look gay. Of course, the
evenings are not here meant. For evening dress there is a fixed rule,
from which we can depart only to be foppish or vulgar; but in morning
dress there is greater liberty, and when we undertake to mingle with
those who are assembled avowedly for gayety, we should not make
ourselves remarkable by the dinginess of our dress. Such occasions are
open air entertainments, _fêtes_, flower-shows, archery-meetings,
_m
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